Chaos, Disorder, Revolution And...Prince

Book Review: Prince: Chaos, Disorder, and Revolution by Jason Draper

Jason Draper's Prince: Chaos, Disorder, and Revolution is a stunningly thorough, meticulously researched account of one of rock's most influential and trail blazing, yet ultimately mystifying careers.

In just under 300 pages, Draper skillfully condenses all of the highs and lows of the Prince story into a tightly woven narrative. Draper's straight forward, matter of fact story is told with the eye to detail of a master journalist, but easily digested style of a great storyteller.

From the dizzying heights of his commercial peak in the eighties — a time when Prince's record sales and concert tours were matched only by Michael Jackson and Bruce Springsteen — to his often bizarre career moves (like changing his name to an unpronounceable symbol), Draper's blow-by-blow retelling of events doesn't miss a thing. Whether you are already a Prince fan, or just looking for insight into the star making (and breaking) machinations of the music business, this is a fascinating read.

Although Chaos, Disorder, and Revolution lightly touches on Prince's personal life — including both documented and rumored relationships with everyone from Vanity and Susannah Melvoin to Kim Bassinger, Carmen Elektra and Sheena Easton — Draper wisely places most of his focus on the music. As a result, the single biggest revelation of the book is just how much music Prince has actually recorded over the years.

The fact that Prince's artistic output has been quite prolific (to say the least) is of course hardly a secret to anyone who has followed his career. In the years immediately following his 1984 multi-platinum breakthrough Purple Rain, Prince cranked out albums (both by himself and with a stable of artists including The Time, Vanity and later Appolonia 6, Madhouse, the Family and others), at a dizzying rate — often driving the marketing department at Warner Brothers Records to fits in doing so. In more recent years, Prince has proved himself quite capable of dropping multiple album sets on a continuously revolving series of record labels with the same sort of regularity that the rest of us mere mortals change our underwear.

What is less known however, is the staggering amount of Prince material which remains unreleased, and which the artist himself seems perfectly content to allow to languish in a mysterious "vault" somewhere in Minneapolis. Draper places a particular emphasis on these "lost albums" — which may number as many as his official recordings — with acute detail. For hardcore Prince fans, this alone makes Prince: Chaos, Disorder, and Revolution an essential read.

In addition to these lost recordings, Draper also reveals little known insider details about Prince's various business dealings (Glam Slam, Paisley Park Records) and his often volatile relationships with the musicians he has worked with. In one of the more interesting stories here, Draper recounts how a reunion with the Revolution — arguably his most successful band — was scuttled when Prince suggested that band members Wendy and Lisa would have to renounce their lesbian relationship (Prince himself had just become a newly converted Jehovah's Witness at the time).

The picture which ultimately emerges from this book is that of an enigmatic, if not always pragmatic personality whose undeniable talent has perhaps only been held back by his own stubbornness.

On the one hand, Prince remains one of only a handful of artists to have reached his iconic level — Neil Young is another which comes immediately to mind — strictly on his own musical and artistic terms. On the other, this refusal to compromise has also resulted in some of the most colossal marketing blunders ever to come within a whisker of sinking a career. The "love symbol" phase, along with Prince's battles with Warner Brothers, and more recently, releasing far too many records on numerous labels for even the most devoted fan to keep up with would have been certain career-enders for a lesser artist. Prince's rationale for these, and other equally strange career decisions have never been adequately explained, and they aren't here either.

At the same time, Prince's innovations as an artist are beyond question. From pioneering the concept of multi-racial, gender bending bands in the eighties with the Revolution, to being among the earliest rock stars to embrace the possibilities of the internet (even though he is now on record as saying the same internet "is over"), Prince's legacy as a trailblazer is still largely being written.

He may not sell as many records these days. But Jason Draper's Prince: Chaos Disorder And Revolution makes a very convincing case that Prince remains as artistically relevant today as he has ever been. It is also one of the more eye-opening unauthorized rock bios in recent memory.

This article was first published at Blogcritics Magazine.

Goodnight In Jungleland: Remembering Clarence "Big Man" Clemons, Dead At 69

When I first heard the news on Saturday night, June 18 at about 7 p.m. that Clarence Clemons had died as a result of complications from a massive stroke he suffered the previous weekend, my immediate reaction was a myriad of emotions that came rushing through me all at once: Sadness. Surprise. Shock. Resignation. Man, this sucks.

Although there was a general consensus that Clemons' stroke had been quite serious — early reports indicated there might be at least prolonged partial paralysis, if he even survived — there had also been reason for hope of a miraculous recovery as recently as just a few days ago. In light of this, and despite concerns for Clemons' health among fans going back for several years now, in many ways the news that he didn't make it still came as a shock. As I write this, I honestly feel like I've been punched in the gut.

You see, I always thought Clarence Clemons was one of those mythical guys who'd live forever.

Part of this is pure selfishness, of course. Although I have seen Clemons perform with Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band numerous times dating back to the Born To Run tour in 1975 — that's nearly forty years ago now — the fan in me really wanted to see him do it just one more time. Even if it meant him taking to the stage in crutches.

Clemons himself did nothing to discourage such selfish optimism among his fans. Although he described the pain he felt touring with Springsteen in support of 2009's Working On A Dream album as "pure hell" — this following replacement surgery on both his knees and hips — in a recent interview, he'd indicated he was far from ready for the rock and roll retirement home.

"As long as my mouth, hands and brain still work I'll be out there doing it," he told Rolling Stone. "I'm going to keep going 'til I'm not there anymore. This is what's keeping me alive and feeling young and inspired."

Clemons had also kept reasonably busy in the recent months during one of the periodical E Street Band sabbaticals he'd no doubt become accustomed to over his many years with the Boss. Most recently, he was heard playing sax with pop sensation Lady Gaga on her single "The Edge of Glory."

Springsteen fans the world over have known Clemons by a variety of names, reflecting his larger-than-life persona in the E Street Band for some four decades. Many of these, such as "King of the World" and "Master of the Universe," became part of the universal language of E Street by way of Springsteen's lengthy, played-for-maximum-dramatic-effect introduction of his longtime sax player and all-around crowd favorite onstage. Ever aware of what (or in this case, who) moves an audience, Springsteen always saved Clemons for last when introducing the members of the E Street Band.

"Do I have to say his name?" Springsteen has been known at testify on stage with all the fire and brimstone of an old-time gospel preacher. "Do I Have To Say His Name?" Of course, E Street Band fans best knew Clemons simply as "The Big Man."

In addition to providing the unforgettable saxophone that proved such an integral part of the E Street Band's signature sound — including such standout sax breaks as those heard on "Badlands," "Born To Run" and especially "Jungleland" — the Big Man was the ideal onstage foil for Springsteen. Dating back to their earliest concerts in the '70s, Clemons cut a towering presence next to the comparatively smaller and wiry Springsteen, making for a unique onstage chemistry unmatched in all of live rock and roll.

Yet it was their onstage camaraderie, particularly as manifested in humorous stories Springsteen told with Clemons by his side, that became the stuff of legend. When Springsteen replaced the E Street Band with a group of studio musicians — including another sax player — for his 1992 tour behind the albums Human Touch and Lucky Town, fans never bought into the Boss' attempt to recreate this unique combination.

"He was my great friend, my partner," Springsteen said of Clemons in a statement Saturday night, "and with Clarence at my side, my band and I were able to tell a story far deeper than those simply contained in our music. His life, his memory, and his love will live on in that story and in our band."

That last promise could prove a bit tough for the Boss to keep. As much as carrying on the E Street Band might be the ultimate tribute to the memory of Clarence Clemons (as well as to keyboardist Danny Federici, who succumbed to melanoma in 2008), it neither could nor ever would be the same without the Big Man.

And so the change was made Upstairs and... well, you probably know the rest.

This article was first published at Blogcritics Magazine

I've Seen Fire And I've Seen Rain

Book Review: Fire And Rain: The Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel, James Taylor, CSNY, and the Lost Story of 1970 by David Browne

David Browne's masterfully researched and written Fire And Rain is the sort of book that should have come along much sooner than it actually did. It also serves as proof positive that as years go, 1970 was not only pivotal, but very definitely underrated in the larger scheme of history.

By focusing on the about to implode careers of three of rock's then greatest, most culturally significant acts — the Beatles, Crosby Stills Nash & Young, and Simon & Garfunkel — and combining this with the rise of another superstar in the making (James Taylor), Browne makes a very convincing case for a shift in the socio-political fabric of the culture itself.

Whether you buy into these arguments or not, at the very least it makes for a very compelling, thought provoking read. In the process of making his case, Browne gives you a ringside seat into the time tunnel of events surrounding everything from the Kent State Shootings which inspired Neil Young's "Ohio," to the legal turmoil enveloping the messy breakup of the Beatles.

What is most clear in reading Browne's Fire And Rain is that society itself was rapidly changing, and that the music of those turbulent times was dictating the change as much as anything else. With a narrative that will have you skimming its pages faster than you can turn them, Browne weaves together all of these events with the strokes of a master storyteller.

You are right there as Paul Simon's songwriter ego struggles with the idea of his sidekick Art Garfunkel making a bigger name for himself as an actor. You are likewise in the studio and backstage as the Beatles and CSNY try to hold it together amidst a gathering storm of clashing egos — and in the the Beatles case, the seductions of dueling evil businessmen.

Most interesting here though is the way that Browne details the rise of James Taylor.

In the midst of a culture that was shifting as fast as the music was, Browne rightfully points towards Taylor as the catalyst for a post sixties generation yearning for a cure to the hangover of those turbulent times in the form of a softer, less threatening musical soundtrack.

Although Taylor will never be remembered as the same sort of musical trailblazer that Lennon, McCartney, Bob Dylan, or Neil Young are, in that respect Browne's account of those times is dead on.

As much as the folk rock of the sixties may have been the bridge, it was Taylor who paved the road to its early seventies mass commercial acceptance. A very decent argument could be made that without Sweet Baby James, the Eagles and even Elton John never could have existed. Which is exactly what makes Fire And Rain such a fascinating read.

This articled was first published at Blogcritics Magazine.

Neil Young Knockoff Roc-Doc Is Saved From Dullsville By Its Soundtrack

DVD Review: Here We Are In The Years: Neil Young's Music Box

With a fresh crop of new Neil Young releases arriving in stores this month — including the MusiCares Tribute To Neil Young DVD collection and the 1985 concert recording A Treasure with the International Harvesters — this knockoff, straight-to-DVD style documentary is likely to get lost in the shuffle.

Even so, Here We Are In The Years: Neil Young's Music Box is not without its merits.

Like most similarly unauthorized rock documentaries, Here We Are In The Years was made without the participation or endorsement of its subject, and features a round table of music writers and other geeky types offering up their critical assessments of the artists work. If you've ever come across any of those cheesy classic rock DVDs with titles like "A Critical Review" in the bargain section of your local music store — or worse yet, ever watched one — this will give you a pretty good idea of what to expect.

What sets Here We Are In The Years: Neil Young's Music Box apart from the pack however, is its unique focus on a central theme — in this case, Neil Young's musical influences, from surf and folk to punk and grunge. But what really saves this from being another ninety dull minutes on the couch with a bunch of annoying critics is the soundtrack.

The film makes generous use of Young's music, including some fairly choice video performance clips. Drawn mainly from common sources like the Rust Never Sleeps film, many of these will of course already be familiar to Neil Young fans. But if you watch close enough, you'll see that some are of a much rarer vintage.

In discussing Neil Young's musical influences, the film often uses his own songs to punctuate the comparisons. When discussing folk guitarist Bert Jansch for example, the soundtrack features the great On The Beach track, "Ambulance Blues" (Young once claimed to have stolen the acoustic guitar melody from Jansch).

In another scene dealing with the Rolling Stones influence, Young's "Borrowed Tune" (the title refers to his own borrowed use of the Stones' "Lady Jane"), is given equally clever use. Scenes devoted to the impact of Kraftwerk on Young's underrated 1983 Trans album, split footage from the now rare Live In Berlin concert video, with the original Kraut-rockers themselves. It's a lot of fun to watch, and certainly more engaging than the canned music accompanying most of the other roc-doc knockoffs out there.

The geek squad of rock intelligentsia assembled for the project — including Rolling Stone's Anthony DeCurtis — offer up the usual insightful analysis, along with the prerequisite spoonful of self-importance. These are, after all, rock critics. Fortunately, a healthy dose of Neil Young music makes that medicine go down much easier.

This article was first published at Blogcritics Magazine.

The Rockologist On Macca In Mono And Other Pitfalls Of Remastered Recordings

Familiarity sells records.

For proof of this, look no further than the endless stream of repackaged, remastered, and in far too many cases, regurgitated deluxe reissues and boxed sets of classic albums by legacy artists — mostly from the sixties and seventies rock eras.

They just keep on coming, with no foreseeable end in sight.

When remastered deluxe sets are done right (see Neil Young's Archives Volume 1 and Bruce Springsteen's The Promise: The Darkness On The Edge Of Town Story), they can be a real treat for fans, offering up a pirates chest of previously unheard treasures like rare tracks and unseen DVD/Blu-ray concert footage.

Unfortunately, even the great ones can fall victim to a case of the record company going to the well one too many times though. The back catalogs of Elvis Costello and David Bowie for example, have by now been mined to the point of redundancy. In other cases, even the most seemingly well intentioned ideas can prove ultimately pointless.

For example, all the overdone four disc set devoted to Pet Sounds — Brian Wilson's sixties masterpiece with the Beach Boys — really succeeded in doing was proving that the original was just fine as it was, thank you very much.

But when a remastered, or otherwise "enhanced" deluxe recording is treated with the loving care it deserves, the results can be pure magic. Last year's remastering of Band On The Run as part of Paul McCartney's ongoing "Archive Collection" was a perfect case in point.

On its three disc version, the original recording is balanced nicely by a generously selected second disc of rarities and outtakes, as well as by a bonus DVD featuring rare footage from the studio and live onstage. The remastering of the actual Band On The Run album, overseen by Beatles engineer Geoff Emerick and Macca himself, likewise hits the mark.

The two most recent entries in McCartney's "Archive Collection," are however a decidedly more mixed bag.

First, the good news.

For the remasters of his two most famous "solo" albums, McCartney and McCartney II (Sir Paul plays every single instrument on each), Macca once again oversaw the project, so at least you know the loving care department has been covered. The packages are also very nicely done, mostly recreating the original fold out sleeves of the originals in the CD booklet, along with a few extra photographs. So far, so good.

But there is simply no way around the flat sound heard on the remastered version of Macca's classic McCartney. The music on McCartney's first solo album sounds just as good today, as it did back when it was first released in the wake of the Beatles breakup. The really great songs on this album like "Maybe I'm Amazed," "Every Night," "That Would Be Something" and "Man We Was Lonely" have only improved with age. Even the seemingly knock-off instrumental pieces like "Kreen-Akore" have a certain charm to them (overlooking the fact that they seem to be there for no other real reason than to show off McCartney's chops as a one man band).

I just don't remember this album sounding anywhere near this low-fi dull when I first heard it though. Maybe this is because the "do-it-yourself," homemade nature of the original recordings don't really lend themselves to the digital transfer process — I'm really not sure. But on the remaster, the recordings are so "clean" sounding, they sound as though they have had the life sanitized right out of them.

The drums and bass tones yield a low, dull thud, and there is so little definition elsewhere I had to check my speakers to see if the left and right channels were working properly. The vocals and guitars are on top as they should be. But everything else is so evenly and flatly distributed in the mix, the recording almost sounds like it was sound proofed.

Honestly, this sounds like McCartney in mono.

The extras on the bonus disc of McCartney are likewise disappointing. Most of the material, taken from sources like the oft-seen and heard One Hand Clapping and Live In Glasgow, has been previously issued on other remastered McCartney albums. Clocking in at just 25 minutes, the running time of the second disc also comes off like a bit of a cheat. Sorry, but I gotta' call it like I hear it here.

Truth is, I really had hoped for more with this one. But I still have to label the remastered two-disc version of McCartney as a mild disappointment.

Fortunately, the remastered sound on McCartney II is a bit better than on that of its predecessor. The bad news here is the McCartney II album itself is also the far less superior of the two, taken from a purely musical perspective. The fact that the sound here is a notch above, only serves to further demonstrate the technical inadequacies of the other.

Not that McCartney II is a bad album, because it's not. It's just that outside of maybe "Coming Up," there are nowhere near as many memorable songs as on the 1970 original. If anything, Macca is to be commended for doing something this experimental at the time. From "Coming Up" on down, McCartney II also proves that Sir Paul had his ear finely tuned to the syntho-wave sounds of its eighties day.

The stuff found on the bonus disc of rarities is especially revealing in this regard. It varies wildly from the beautiful Richard Niles arranged orchestration of "Blue Sway," to the comparatively simpler holiday message of "Wonderful Christmastime" (continuing a long standing tradition of Beatles Christmas songs). Other outtakes from the period like "Check My Machine" reveal that McCartney was nearly as obsessed with electronic advances in music technology as Neil Young was at the same time with his own Trans.

The difference here is that Macca was much quieter about it. The one thing for sure here is that the outtakes and unreleased songs on the remastered McCartney II certainly reveal another side of the normally perceived to be much more musically conservative Paul McCartney. For this reason alone, the remastered McCartney II is a definite keeper.

As for the actual album?

It's a decent, if not quite perfect representation of exactly where McCartney was at when the album was originally recorded. The sound is also quite a bit better (perhaps owing to the more advanced studio technology at the time it was originally made), than on the (musically speaking anyway) much more memorable McCartney album.

At the time it was first released, McCartney II was widely regarded as an artistic comeback for the former Beatle, and this certainly shows in pop gems like the aforementioned "Coming Up" and the Kraftwerk inspired "Temporary Secretary." Likewise, Macca shows he can still deliver the token syrupy ballad with "Waterfalls."

But there are precious few songs as memorable as "Maybe I'm Amazed" here. Which is a shame because the recording on this remastered album is so much better than on 1970's far superior album McCartney.

It's still a little flat sounding, but in this case eighties synths appear to win out over the DIY technology of seventies home recording. But the main pull of McCartney II remains the extras, which simply kick the crap out of those found on the remastered McCartney.

In fairness, I haven't seen the DVD/Blu-ray footage on the even more souped up versions of these remastered albums. But the audio versions nonetheless fall a bit short.

This article was first published at Blogcritics Magazine.

Steven Wilson, Aviv Geffen And Blackfield Hit A Home Run In Seattle

Concert Review: Blackfield At Studio 7, Seattle, WA, 5/31/11

For the Seattle stop on Blackfield's current American tour, the near capacity crowd at Studio 7, a tiny, hole in the wall club located in the city's industrial Sodo district, just a stones throw away from Qwest Field — where MLB's Seattle Mariners beat the Baltimore Orioles 3-2 on the same night — caught a break.

Following the passing of guitarist/vocalist Steven Wilson's father, several Blackfield shows were canceled as Wilson flew back home to England to pay his final respects. Thankfully for Seattle fans, their Studio 7 show marked the bands return to active duty, for what turned out to be a home run show.

Despite his recent personal loss, Wilson in particular, seemed to be particularly energized during a blazing and well balanced two hour set, drawing generously from all three of Blackfield's studio albums. When he is not busy with a multitude of other projects ranging from his more famous band Porcupine Tree to overseeing the remastering of King Crimson's back catalog, Wilson fronts Blackfield along with Israeli singer/songwriter Aviv Geffen.

For the Seattle show, Wilson even sat in briefly for the opening set from Dream Theater keyboardist Jordan Rudess. In addition to Wilson's unscheduled appearance, Rudess' treated the enraptured crowd to a virtuoso solo performance on the keys, highlighted by a brief medley of classic progressive rock tunes including Genesis' "Blood On The Rooftops."

After a brief break allowing for just about enough time to quaff a quick adult beverage, Blackfield took to the stage with a powerful version of "Blood" from their new Welcome To My DNA album. Like most of the new songs from DNA performed in Seattle, "Blood" took on a new power in a live setting only hinted at on the studio version. It was a killer opener, and a perfect segue into the song "Blackfield" from the bands debut album.

"Glass House" and "Go To Hell" also proved to be standouts from the new album, the former displaying Wilson's vocals and soaring guitar, and the latter showcasing an equally impressive vocal from Geffen. More than anything, the new songs proved just how well these two great musicians jell together as a unit.

Blackfield II — their best record for my money — was also well represented in Seattle. Although it would have been nice to hear the mysteriously absent "Christenings," great versions of "Epidemic" and "Miss U" proved to be just the right antidote.

A three song encore brought one of the best moments from Blackfield II though, as Geffen sang the lyrics to "End Of The World" from under a black hood in an apparent reference to living under the ever present shadow of terrorism in his native Israel.

It was a very powerful ending to an amazing show.

Setlist:

Blood
Blackfield
Glass House
Go To Hell
Open Mind
Pain
DNA
Waving
1000 People
Once
Hole In Me
Miss U
Zigota
Epidemic
Oxygen
Where U My Love?
Dissolving

Encore:
Hello
End Of The World
Cloudy Now

This review was first published at Blogcritics Magazine.