Tag Archives: essay

Paul Simon Writes about Nelson Mandela & the ‘Graceland’ Musicians

In todays New York Times Paul Simon has written an article, “Remembering Days of Miracle and Wonder” about Nelson Mandela, some of Simon’s experiences regarding his Graceland album and the African musicians he worked with and the behind the scenes tensions that arose from the musicians differing politics.

Simon writes:

This week, as we mourn Mr. Mandela and celebrate his life, I am thinking once again of my life-altering experiences with “Graceland.” There was the almost mystical affection and strange familiarity I felt when I first heard South African music. Later, there was the visceral thrill of collaborating with South African musicians onstage. Add to this potent mix the new friendships I made with my band mates, and the experience becomes one of the most vital in my life.

Most, but not all, of the “Graceland” troupe were fervent supporters of the African National Congress, and many had known Mr. Mandela personally or had meaningful memories of him. Hugh, exiled from his homeland since the early 1960s, recalled growing up with the Mandela family as close friends. Hugh’s former wife, Miriam Makeba, also a South African exile, was a longtime friend of Mr. Mandela and his second wife, Winnie.

Bakithi Kumalo, our bassist and the man responsible for that magical and impossible-to-play bass lick on “You Can Call Me Al,” SaveFrom.net recalled growing up in a house in Soweto not far from where the Mandelas lived. He remembered standing outside their home, singing freedom songs and, using Mr. Mandela’s clan name, chanting, “Madiba come home!”

Ray Phiri, our extraordinary guitarist, was a friend and follower of the anti-apartheid leader Steven Biko. Barney Rachabane, who played sax and pennywhistle, had to move his family from their home in Soweto to a nearby hotel every night, while his brother and cousins defended their goods from looters and anti-A.N.C. blacks. On long bus rides after gigs, passionate political debate alternated with music talk.

But then there was Ladysmith Black Mambazo. Its founder and leader, Joseph Shabalala, was from the Township of Ladysmith in KwaZulu, governed by the Inkhatha Freedom Party, led by the Zulu chief Mangosuthu Buthelezi. Mr. Shabalala was a proud Zulu and essentially apolitical, but there was a long history of tribal animosity, dating back centuries, between the Zulus and the Xhosa peoples. Most of the African National Congress leadership, including Oliver Tambo and Thabo Mbeki, were Xhosa, as were both Mr. Mandela and Miriam, who wouldn’t speak to the members of Black Mambazo.

To read the rest of Simon’s article, head to the New York Times.

Hugh Masekela – “Bring Him Back Home (Nelson Mandela)”
(Thanks for hipping me to this clip, John Hatzis)

“Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes”:

“You Can Call Me Al”:

-– A Days of the Crazy-Wild blog post: sounds, visuals and/or news –-

Time Tripping Back to 1970 with Neil Young: “Live at the Cellar Door”

“Opening up and finding what’s inside me to write.”

By Michael Goldberg.

Neil Young bangs away at the chords. And there’s such sadness in his voice. He’s playing an acoustic guitar. He’s nearly finished his third song of the night. Banging away too hard. Or maybe the way he’s banging at those chords is perfect. And oh, the sadness.

In that quavering voice he sings:

Yes only love can break your heart, What if your world should fall apart?

Love broke my heart, and my world fell apart. I was 17. When you’re 17 you don’t know you’ll recover. When you’re 17 everything about love is the first time, even if it’s not the first time.

When you were young and on your own, How did it feel to be alone?

She had long brown hair, almost down to her waist. She wore white peasant blouses and worn denim overalls. It was 1970 and the world was so different. There are a lot of clichés about the ‘60s, which actually didn’t end until the early ‘70s (countercultural movements don’t conveniently end as a new decade begins), a lot of misunderstanding about what it was like back then.

There was a day in 1970 when we sat together, her and I, in the swing that hung from a huge tree in her family’s very private, very large front yard, and the wind was making the leaves in the trees shimmer, and the future seemed wide open, full of possibility, I mean anything was possible. Her body warm against mine as we swung back and forth. The whole world about to be remade, I just knew it.

I am lonely but you can free me, All in the way that you smile.

Yes, that was exactly it. Exactly.

Neil’s music was part of my soundtrack during the ‘60s and the ‘70s. He sang the sad songs and as a teenager I didn’t want to know the pain I heard in his voice. But I did know it. Every time her and I were apart, I knew it. Still I loved to hear Neil’s voice.

And later, after it was over, when we just couldn’t make it together — that girl and I — I knew for real how true Neil’s words were, and today they’re still true.

Neil’s new album, Live at the Cellar Door, was recorded in 1970, 43 years ago, at the Cellar Door, a club in Washington, DC. Listening to it I see, hear, feel, smell those days, a rush of moving images, as if my life was captured on film and these old recordings are the key to starting up the projector. All the ways I blew it, and how crazy it got. And she wouldn’t take my calls, wouldn’t see me when I came to her door, and I thought I’d explode.

Yes, love can break your heart — a cliché and so what, ‘cause it’s the truth.

Hearing Neil sing those old songs in that tenor voice, the tenor voice of a young man, it breaks my heart all over again. Neil was 25 when he played those songs at the Cellar Door.

For the rest of this column, head to Addicted To Noise.

-– A Days of the Crazy-Wild blog post: sounds, visuals and/or news –-

Was The Guy Who Bought the Strat Bob Dylan Played at Newport Taken for a Ride?

Dylan playing a Fender Jazzmaster at Forest Hills Stadium.

When I read that someone paid $985,000 for the Fender Stratocaster that Bob Dylan played at the Newport Folk Festival, at first it kinda made sense.

Obviously that was a historic event, a turning point in Dylan’s career, one that resulted in some of the best rock music of all time and which had a profound impact on rock ‘n’ roll, and on the world at large.

But then I began to reconsider. Why is that guitar worth that kind of money? Well, you could say, because someone was willing to pay it. And I would disagree.

I think this is an example of the Emperor’s New Clothes syndrome. Or a fetishism that mythologies objects, giving them undeserving power and value.

A million dollars? Really?

The guitar that sold at auction for nearly a million dollars, and which Dylan supposedly played at Newport, is a 1964 Stratocaster, so Dylan could only have owned it for at most a year and a half.

Dylan’s lawyer, Orin Snyder, recently denied it was the guitar played at Newport.

“Bob has possession of the electric guitar he played at the Newport Folk Festival in 1965,” Snyder said in a statement he provided Rolling Stone. “He did own several other Stratocaster guitars that were stolen from him around that time, as were some handwritten lyrics.”

However vintage-instrument expert Andy Babiuk told Rolling Stone he’s confident it’s the guitar. He was convinced after PBS asked him to compare it to close-up color photos from Newport. “The more I looked, the more they matched,” Babiuk told Rolling Stone. “The rosewood fingerboard has distinct lighter strips. Wood grain is like a fingerprint. I’m 99.9 percent sure it’s the guitar — my credibility is on the line here.”

Babiuk has previously authenticated numerous guitars including a John Lennon Gretsch 6120 that’s been on display at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, and a Bob Dylan Hummingbird used by Dylan at President Bill Clinton’s inauguration.

So let’s assume the Strat sold at auction was the guitar played at Newport. It turns out that Dylan had a bunch of electric guitars he used at the time. There are pictures of Dylan playing a Fender Jazzmaster, both in the studio and on stage. In Bob Spitz’s book “Dylan An Autobiography,” he describes Dylan walking into Columbia Studio A on June 15, 1965 and plugging in a Fender Telecaster for a run through of “Like A Rolling Stone” before recording began.

So we can safely say that Dylan had at least six electric guitars he was using at the time of the Newport gig. There’s a reason Dylan had so many Fender guitars. Columbia Records owned Fender at that time, and so Dylan would have had easy access to the company’s guitars, and the company was surely happy to have their guitars associated with Dylan.

What can make a guitar really valuable? Well, if a musician uses it to compose songs that become classics. The guitar Neil Young used to write “Heart of Gold,” for instance, would be of some value, but if Neil Young had one acoustic guitar that he used from say 1964 through 1974 to write all his songs, that guitar would really be worth a lot. Neil Young himself might feel that particular guitar was key to his songwriting.

Some musicians customize their guitar, or buy a vintage guitar that’s been played for years and has a unique sound that they can’t get from just any guitar. Neil Young, for example, feels that way about Old Black, a 1953 Gibson Les Paul Goldtop that he’s had seriously customized.

But of course that isn’t the case with the off-the-shelf, year-and-a-half old Strat Dylan played that night.

Does the fact that Dylan played a Strat at Newport really mean anything? He could have easily played the Jazzmaster or a Telecaster instead, as he did at Forest Hills Stadium two and a half months later. Would those guitars be worth a million?

It would seem that simply because that was the guitar Dylan happened to play that historic night, it’s worth a fortune, and not because the guitar added anything to the performance. Well then what of the black boots Dylan wore? Or his black leather jacket? How about his shirt? A million dollars?

It’s not the guitar Dylan happened to play that matters, it’s that Bob Dylan turned his back on the rigid rules mandated by the folk music establishment and made a big statement by going electric and playing rock ‘n’ roll. It’s all about Bob Dylan, not whatever guitar he happened to play. In fact, he could have played any electric guitar.

According to Rolling Stone, Dawn Peterson, who is apparently the one who put the guitar up for auction, got it from her father, Victor Quinto, a private pilot who worked for Dylan’s manager, Albert Grossman, in the mid-1960s.

“After one flight, my father saw there were three guitars left on the plane,” she told Rolling Stone. “He contacted the company a few times about picking the guitars up, but nobody ever got back to him.”

It would seem, then, that those guitars were not that important. Dylan had lots of guitars. He clearly wasn’t attached to that guitar. It wasn’t a special guitar. He didn’t need that guitar to write great songs, or perform onstage. It was just a guitar he’d gotten the year before that he happened to play during his first electric gig.

Is it worth a million dollars?

As has been said before, there’s a sucker born every day.

“Like A Rolling Stone” at Newport Folk Festival, 1965:


Bob Dylan – Like a Rolling Stone (Live… by toma-uno

-– A Days of the Crazy-Wild blog post: sounds, visuals and/or news –-

Black Flag: Damaged Beyond Repair?

One of the great versions of Black Flag in the band’s heyday.

Geeta Dayal is very disappointed by the new Black Flag album and explains why in an essay that was posted at The Guardian today.

The piece begins:

In the early 1980s, Black Flag were one of the best bands in the world. Black Flag weren’t just a band – they were an art project, a movement, an ethos, a way of being. But Black Flag are no longer Black Flag. The storied hardcore punk group are now just a bitter parody. What the … is its first full-length album since the band’s break-up in 1986. Everything about it, from the lame album cover art to the pro forma lyrics to the generic riffs, screams of desperation.

Read the rest at The Guardian.

“Rise Above” from back in the day.

-– A Days of the Crazy-Wild blog post: sounds, visuals and/or news –-

RIP Dept.: An Overview of Electronic Music Pioneer Bernard Parmegiani

Parmegiani at work.

Bernard Parmegiani passed away yesterday, and today the electronic music expert Simon Reynolds points us to a piece he wrote for The Wire about Parmegiani.

Here’s the opening graphs:

“I don’t think I had any real musical influences,” Bernard Parmegiani has declared. Certainly, it’s true that he started out lacking any academic training in composition. A sound engineer for French television, he caught the musique concrete bug through an experimental music radio show called Club d’Essai. In the late Fifties Parmegiani dabbled in the young form during TV studio down-time he sneaked on the sly. Then, having teamed up with composer Andre Almuro as the latter’s engineer, his promise came to the attention of Pierre Schaeffer. But it took the godfather of concrete two whole years to steal Parmegiani away from TV (and a burgeoning side-career as a mime artist!). Only then did Parmegiani undergo, as a bureaucratic formality, the obligatory two-year composition course required to join the Groupe de Recherche Musicales.

Parmegiani’s sideways trajectory through the French equivalent of the BBC makes for a wonderfully wonky career path: from humble tape operator to venerable composer with a grand oeuvre now neatly tied-up and boxed in this twelve-disc set. The parallel would be if Dick Mills, chief sound effects maker at the Radiophonic Workshop, had been encouraged by the Beeb to lay aside Goons Show gastric-rumbles and Dalek voices and dedicate his energies to hour-long concrete operas inspired by A.J. Ayer. By the mid-Sixties, that was exactly what Parmegiani was up to: composing long-form works sparked by the philosophical pensees of Gaston Bachelard. The imprint of the latter’s classic ruminations on human perception as related to space, time, and the “poetics” of the four elements is detectable in Parmegiani titles like “L’Instant mobile” and “Capture ephemere”; often he would embark on a composition armed with nothing but a title borrowed from or inspired by the philosopher.

For the rest of this piece, head to ReynoldsRetro.

Listen to two of Parmegiani’s recordings:

Read: Morrissey Gives It to Carnivores Loud and Clear in New Essay

Today at the Morrissey fan site True To You the former frontman for The Smiths has posted an intense essay attacking carnivores.

Here’s some of it:

The world won’t listen
18 November 2013

The world won’t listen

I am not ashamed to admit that newspaper photographs in recent days of American TV presenter Melissa Bachman laughing as she stands over a majestic lion that had been stalked and shot dead by Bachman herself left me tearful. Although I have previously felt enraged by the asininity of U.S. congressman Paul Ryan, and political fluffhead Sarah Palin – both of whom also kill beings for fun, there is something especially lamentable about the Bachman smile of pride as the lion – a symbol of strength, heraldry and natural beauty, lies lifeless in answer to Bachman’s need for temporary amusement. The world struggles to protect the rhino and the elephant – both being shot out of existence, yet Bachman joins the murderous insanity of destruction without any fear of arrest. This comes in the same week that Princess Anne condones horsemeat consumption – since she is evidently not content with eating pigs, sheep, cows, birds and fish. Although her slackwitted view is reported with mild surprise by the British media, there is no outrage since the crassness and international duncery of the British so-called ‘royal family’ remains the great unsaid in British print. It is spoken of, of course, but it is not allowed to go further than that. Why does Anne approve of slaughter of any kind? Has she ever been inside an abattoir? Does she actually know what she’s talking about? Similarly, on October 5, the Daily Mail newspaper gave us all an “amusing” report of thickwit Pippa Middleton laughing as she stood over 50 birds shot dead by her friends and herself after a “busy day’s shooting”. We are reminded by the Daily Mail that Middleton is a ‘socialite’, which tells us that she is privileged and can more-or-less kill whatever she likes – and, therefore she does. The sick face of modern Britain, Pippa Middleton will kill deer, boar, birds – any animal struggling to live, or that gets in her socialite way. This is because her sister is, of course, Kate, who herself became ‘royal’ simply by answering the telephone at the right time, and this association allows Pippa’s kill, kill, kill mentality to be smilingly endorsed by the British print media, to which only the mentally deficient could join in with the laughter. The right to kill animals is endorsed by Prime Minister David Cameron who shoots stag whenever he feels a bit bored. In the Queen’s Honors List, awards have been bestowed upon musicians Bryan Ferry and PJ Harvey – both of whom allegedly support fox-hunting. There is not one single instance when an animal protectionist has found themselves knighted or applauded by the Queen. That animals are an essential part of our planet (that they are, in fact, the planet) and must be protected, is a shatterbrained concept to the British ‘royals’. Historically, we all remember Prince William proudly killing the baby deer, Prince Harry bravely giving the thumbs-up as he pointlessly ended the life of a water-buffalo, the Queen loading her shotgun in readiness to shoot birds out of the sky. How terribly regal.

To read more, head to True To You.

Thanks Consequence of Sound!

St. Vincent Reviews Arcade Fire’s “Reflektor”

Photo via The Talkhouse.

St. Vincent checks in with a fascinating review of Arcade Fire’s new one at The Talkhouse.

This crazy review starts like this:

Google search #1: Madonna “Like a Virgin” bass sound.
(The bass sound on “We Exist” vaguely reminded me of Madonna’s 1984 classic Like a Virgin.)
Result: Sequential Circuits Prophet 5
(Unconfirmed and will likely need to follow Nile Rodgers on Twitter and hope he @replies to my query directly.)

Unsatisfied, I contacted Jeremy Gara (Arcade Fire drummer) and asked what they’d used for the bass. Turns out it was NOT a Prophet but a Korg MS-20 — the vintage kind, not a new one or Reason, nerds! He even sent me a picture of the exact one! I was glad to have one pressing matter settled, but I continued down a Madonna rabbit hole and downloaded The Immaculate Collection. No “Oh Father”?????? Grievous oversight, Sire Records.

Related search: Is Seymour Stein still alive?
Result: Yes.

“FLASHBULB EYES” IS SUPER SICK AND DUBBY! KING TUBBY?! KING DUBBY?! AM I THE ONLY NON-STONED PERSON TO EVER MAKE THAT PUN?

For the rest of the review, head to The Talkhouse.

A Consideration of Joni Mitchell On Her Birthday

Today, November 7, is Joni Mitchell’s birthday, and to celebrate, Alex Macpherson has written a cool tribute for The Guardian.

Macpherson’s essay begins:

When it comes to confidence in one’s own talents, few can touch Joni Mitchell. When asked about a new generation of folk singers in 1990, she responded: “I don’t hear much there, frankly. When it comes to knowing where to put the chords, how to tell a story and how to build to a chorus, most of them can’t touch me.”

There was an irony to her entirely justified ego, though. It is her insistence on undercutting truisms and mythologies that makes her commentary so biting and her confessionals so piercing. What compels Blue, Mitchell’s 1971 masterpiece, is not so much raw honesty as the scientific precision with which she dissects herself – setting what she wants to believe against what she actually believes. It’s fitting that the album ends in a cynic’s stalemate: on ‘The Last Time I Saw Richard,’ she crafts a conversation in which the narrator and her former friend are both correct about each other and also lying to themselves.

For more head to The Guardian.

Meanwhile, give “The Last Time I Saw Richard” a listen:

Laurie Anderson On Lou Reed

Photo by Jean Baptiste Mondino.
Photo by Jean Baptiste Mondino.

The new issue of Rolling Stone pays tribute to Lou Reed. Laurie Anderson, Lou’s companion for the past 21 years, and wife for five of those years, reflects on Lou and their relationship. It’s a beautiful essay.

Here’s some of what Ms. Anderson wrote:

As it turned out, Lou and I didn’t live far from each other in New York, and after the festival Lou suggested getting together. I think he liked it when I said, “Yes! Absolutely! I’m on tour, but when I get back – let’s see, about four months from now – let’s definitely get together.” This went on for a while, and finally he asked if I wanted to go to the Audio Engineering Society Convention. I said I was going anyway and would meet him in Microphones. The AES Convention is the greatest and biggest place to geek out on new equipment, and we spent a happy afternoon looking at amps and cables and shop-talking electronics. I had no idea this was meant to be a date, but when we went for coffee after that, he said, “Would you like to see a movie?” Sure. “And then after that, dinner?” OK. “And then we can take a walk?” “Um . . .” From then on we were never really apart.

Lou and I played music together, became best friends and then soul mates, traveled, listened to and criticized each other’s work, studied things together (butterfly hunting, meditation, kayaking). We made up ridiculous jokes; stopped smoking 20 times; fought; learned to hold our breath underwater; went to Africa; sang opera in elevators; made friends with unlikely people; followed each other on tour when we could; got a sweet piano-playing dog; shared a house that was separate from our own places; protected and loved each other. We were always seeing a lot of art and music and plays and shows, and I watched as he loved and appreciated other artists and musicians. He was always so generous. He knew how hard it was to do. We loved our life in the West Village and our friends; and in all, we did the best we could do.

Like many couples, we each constructed ways to be – strategies, and sometimes compromises, that would enable us to be part of a pair. Sometimes we lost a bit more than we were able to give, or gave up way too much, or felt abandoned. Sometimes we got really angry. But even when I was mad, I was never bored. We learned to forgive each other. And somehow, for 21 years, we tangled our minds and hearts together.

For the entire essay, head to Rolling Stone.

Why Lou Reed Matters: “…every bit Bob’s equal”

Photo via the Village Voice.

This past week the Village Voice published a wonderful essay on Lou Reed. Peter Gerstenzang zeroed in on the import of Lou Reed’s songwriting, calling him “Bob’s equal,” the Bob being, of course, Mr. Dylan.

Gerstenzang wrote:

Even knowing there was a cat around named Bob Dylan, who often gets the credit for marrying poetry and mature ideas to Rock and Roll, Lou Reed, who died from the results of liver disease, is, I believe, every bit Bob’s equal. Unquestionably as important, possibly more influential. Although there’s some similarity in their backgrounds (they’re both real rockers who listened to Little Richard before they ever read Rimbaud), Lou did things differently than Dylan. Where Bob introduced surrealism and symbolism into our music, Lou Reed did the same for realism. Perhaps, more accurately, photorealism.

Sure, Dylan told us about the mystery tramp, Queen Jane, that ghostly Johanna, people who lived in our dreams. Reed, no matter where he grew up or who he studied with, told us about people who lived in New Yawk. In 1964 or so, with Dylan delighting in “majestic bells of bolts” and tambourine men, Lou was writing, in complex, but no uncertain terms, about the kind of people who couldn’t resist the siren’s song, the supremely majestic feeling of shooting smack. Or speed. No code words, no metaphors, no clever substitutions. And, without any obvious moralizing, how when these drugs turned on you, you just wished you were dead.

For the rest of this insightful essay, head over to the Village Voice.