The Enduring Twenty Year Legacy Of Nirvana's Nevermind

Unless you've been off living in a cave somewhere these past few weeks, you've no doubt been unable to escape all the hype surrounding the 20th anniversary of Nirvana's landmark 1991 album Nevermind.

That the album itself was an unexpectedly earth shattering event has never even been in question. Nevermind was without a doubt, one of those rare moments in music where a single release changed literally everything. That the album knocked the piss out of everyone (especially King Of Pop Michael Jackson) by inexplicably rising to the top of the charts on the strength of little more than street buzz that caught everyone by surprise, in and of itself makes it one of those rare and wonderful happy accidents where the fans became the tail wagging the industry dog.

Prior to 1991, the last time this occurred was when the Beastie Boys revealed to the world that black kids weren't the only ones listening to rap with 1987's Licensed To Ill. As big as that record proved to be though, the scale of Nevermind's success was something on an entirely different level.

Of course, it can be argued that not all of Nevermind's initial impact was necessarily positive. Who doesn't remember that brief, early nineties period when you couldn't turn on a radio without hearing a slew of imitators (Silverchair, anyone?).

All of the renewed "voice of a generation" accolades these past few weeks have also proven to be just a little bit much. Kurt Cobain's legacy is marked as much by his suicide, as it is by his music. Which probably makes the comparisons to John Lennon most often heard when discussing his impact, more than a tad annoying to some Beatles fans. Understandably so, too.

Lennon's murder was arguably a political act — albeit the fact of its being carried out by a deranged fan. Cobain on the other hand chose to take his own life, to become forever immortalized in what could rightfully be called the ultimate case of the angst-ridden, reluctant rock star. Where Lennon died for his art, Cobain may have died because of it.

Either way, Nirvana (and by association, the rest of the Seattle based grunge movement) represent the last time rock music really mattered in both a musical and a cultural sense. The successes of modern day hitmakers like Coldplay and Kings Of Leon notwithstanding, rock and roll is mostly on life support these days. It just hasn't produced anything comparable to the way that Nirvana and a fan-based, street level movement like grunge impacted mainstream culture on a similarly massive level since. In that respect, Nirvana really were a lot like the Beatles.

Among the many Nirvana tributes making the rounds right now, two notable new releases arrived in stores this week. The 2-CD expanded edition of Nevermind will be followed next month by a limited edition 5-CD boxed set. But for fans, the release of Live At The Paramount on DVD and Blu-ray is the more significant event of this week's Nirvana mini-windfall.

Recorded on Halloween night 1991 at Seattle's Paramount Theatre, this show has been long coveted by Nirvana fans. It was a triumphant homecoming for the reluctant hometown heroes, as Seattle's music and scenester communities turned out en masse to welcome back the band who had so recently (and inexplicably) conquered the world. On Live At The Paramount you can feel this electricity in the air. It is both powerful and palpable.

I've seen Nirvana in concert just twice. Once at this show, and the other about a year later at the MTV Video Music Awards telecast in Los Angeles. But I most distinctly remember being at the Paramount in Seattle on October 31, 1991 — right along with the rest of the local record industry.

For guys like us, attendance at Nirvana's triumphant return show was mandatory, like a bizarre combination of the social event of the year and some kind of industry wide meeting. Your presence was not an option. It was required. Nirvana's big homecoming show is probably the last event of this type I can recall before the record industry eventually imploded on itself from within.

What I also remember though, is feeling like the only guy in the room who still didn't quite get it yet. I mean, great punk rock band? Absolutely. But it just didn't feel like the second coming, in the same way it seemed to be to everyone else there. I'd already seen the saviors like Springsteen, and the "only bands that matter" like the Clash before. While Nirvana certainly combined some of the better elements of both, they just didn't feel quite that "special" to me. At least not on the level they were being made out to be by everyone and their mother back then.

Of course, I didn't dare voice this opinion out loud. Privately, I rationalized my mild indifference towards Nirvana by wondering to myself if I had become musically out of touch. Perhaps two years working with Sir Mix-A-Lot and the music coming from the "other Seattle" had insulated me too much from what was happening in the rest of town. Looking back on it now, at the time I think I just thought homegrown bands like Soundgarden and Mudhoney sounded better, and maybe even deserved it more. What I also know now however, is that I was dead wrong.

Watching that same concert today on the Live At The Paramount DVD, I now see just what I missed, even though I was right there when it happened. As seen here, the electricity in the building for this show is pretty much off the charts. And although one still senses some reluctance to all this new found attention from the band themselves, Nirvana rise to the occasion like the heirs to the rock and roll throne they had just become.

In terms of pure, over the top energy, the closest thing I could compare the performance on this DVD to is something like vintage Who, as heard on The Who Live At Leeds and seen on the Live At Isle Of Wight 1970 DVD. Drummer Dave Grohl in particular turns in a frenzied show of Keith Moon like drumming, all flailing hair and sweat as he pounds away at the skins like a man possessed on songs like "Lithium," "Territorial Pissings" and "Aneurysm."

Cobain mostly just stands there, with his now classic pose of low slung axe and dirty blond hair covering his face. But the sounds he gets out of his guitar, though mostly cast in simple chord sequences transformed into thundering riffs, are astonishing to hear even now. Combined with Krist Novoselic's pounding bass riffage, the prototype of punk rock power trio becomes an afterthought as Nirvana creates a racket that sounds like the product of a band with twice as many musicians. It's one hell of a beautiful sounding noise.

The sound mix on Live At The Paramount also deserves singling out for praise though. Although most of this performance has previously surfaced on various bootlegs and now rare official releases like Nirvana Live! Tonight! Sold Out!, it has just never sounded this good.

The mix is as bright, edgy, and loud as the show itself. Cobain's raspy, emotional vocals are balanced perfectly with his razor-like guitar shredding. Novoselic's bass riffing rumbles the speakers just as it should, and Grohl's chaotic wildman drumming is wisely mixed way out front. It can't be stressed enough, this DVD should be played at the maximum level allowed by your TV speakers.

The video is not quite as good — you don't get enough clear shots of Cobain for one thing (although there are ample opportunities for drummers of both the professional and air varieties to be hypnotized by Grohl here). But it does do an admirable job of capturing the electric atmosphere of what proved to be an unforgettable, historic night.

In my own case, it just took me a few decades to realize it.

This article was first published at Blogcritics Magazine.

Sooner Or Later, It All Gets Real....

For the ten or twenty of you who are still actually reading this (BC's attribution policy killed this sad old blog o' mine dead some months ago -- at least in terms of unique hits), there was some great news on the Neil Young book front this week. First, we have ourselves a cover (Jeff Allen's beautiful shot from the 1969 taping for ABC-TV's Music Scene, seen above).

Second, Backbeat has set an official release date of May 22, 2012, as revealed on the beautiful one-sheet published this week on those crazy internets. Neil Young FAQ is also now officially available for pre-order. To reserve your copy, go here. Hell, buy me a beer and I may even autograph the bloody thing.

Alice Cooper's New Nightmare: The Old Ghoul Has Still Got It

Music Review: Alice Cooper - Welcome 2 My Nightmare

Alice Cooper's place in rock and roll history was assured long before his massively overdue induction into the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame earlier this year. Let's face it, were it not for Alice Cooper — for better or for worse — there would never have been a Kiss, a Twisted Sister, a Marilyn Manson, or a Slipknot.

Not that any of these latter day "shock rock" bands ever possessed Alice's unique gift for combining the gender bending, parentally horrifying social outrage of the day with a great pop hook of course (Twisted Sister probably came the closest with "We're Not Gonna' Take It"). For that, one only needs to reference original Alice Cooper classics like "I'm Eighteen," "Be My Lover" and "School's Out."

What Alice's biggest fans also know however, is that by the time of his first solo album, 1975's Welcome To My Nightmare, the party was pretty much over.

Not that the original Nightmare isn't a great album.

In fact, when viewed from the rear window of time, the original Welcome To My Nightmare album holds up remarkably well. The makeshift band of studio hot shots assembled for that album — guys like guitar ace Steve Hunter — certainly had the chops. The songs, like "Black Widow," "Department Of Youth" and Nightmare's lone hit "Only Women Bleed" weren't half bad either.

But they never really recaptured the original spirit of the great, though occasionally ragged original Alice Cooper Band as heard on the string of early seventies albums that made Alice a star in the first place. The fact is, what followed the original Welcome To My Nightmare album, was a brief run of TV movies with the likes of octogenarian Helen Hayes, appearances on the celebrity golf circuit and shows like Hollywood Squares. Sadly, this was followed shortly after by a fall from grace marked dramatically by years in and out of rehab recovering from a very severe booze habit which very nearly took Alice Cooper's life.

You wanna' talk about an Alice Cooper album demanding a sequel now? That discussion begins and ends with 1973's masterpiece Billion Dollar Babies.

The best news about 2011's long-awaited Nightmare sequel is that it reunites Alice with original AC band members Neal Smith, Dennis Dunaway and Micheal Bruce for the first time in decades. They still sound pretty great here too. Songs like "When Hell Comes Home," serve as a musical reminder of what brought Alice's shock-rock act to the dance in the first place. Longtime Alice Cooper producer Bob Ezrin is also back on board, and the songs on this album are some of Alice's best in years.

Sadly, the idea of great hard rock songs with catchy hooks probably comes a few decades too late for the present-day musical climate of here today, gone tomorrow pop stars. Speaking of which, Ke$ha also makes an appearance on this album on the song "What Baby Wants" — which is something I am still trying to wrap my original Alice Cooper fan around.

All minor quibbles aside, Welcome 2 My Nightmare is easily the most listenable Alice Cooper album in years, and proof positive that when the old ghoul puts his mind to it, he can still deliver the goods.

In the meantime, diehard fans like me are still await that Billion Dollar Babies sequel.

This article was first published at Blogcritics Magazine.

ELP 2011: Bring On The Prog, Dude

Music DVD Review: Emerson Lake And Palmer - 40th Anniversary Reunion Concert

Emerson Lake and Palmer is a band that has been — unjustifiably in my own opinion — universally shat upon by rock critics over the years. Personally, I have never quite understood the hostility.

Back in their brief, early seventies heyday, ELP provided the blueprint for the progressive rock power trio format later employed to varying degrees of success by bands ranging from imitators like Triumvirat (not so much), to those who really took the ball and ran with it (Rush and the latter day Phil Collins led version of Genesis).

What most people don't remember though, is that back in the early to mid-seventies, ELP ruled. With a string of mostly great — though occasionally indulgent — albums like Tarkus, Trilogy and especially their masterpiece Brain Salad Surgery, ELP held the undisputed title of the greatest "musician's band" on the planet.

As most of their most diehard fans already know, the party was pretty much over when ELP released the Works Volume 1 set (three sides of solo albums, plus a fourth side of group tracks), followed by the mostly outtakes Works Volume 2 set. Much ego-wrangling followed, culminating in the particularly wretched Love Beach album, and their eventual breakup.

But back when ELP inspired the same sort of debate amongst keyboard enthusiasts between Emerson and Rick Wakeman of Yes, as Beck Vs. Page did amongst guitarists, these guys were the real deal. As for Carl Palmer, and with all due respect to Rush's Neil Peart and Porcupine Tree's Gavin Harrison, no one outside of perhaps Keith Moon has better defined the term "monster drummer" before or since.

That said, ELP's 40th Anniversary Reunion Concert DVD is mostly a nostalgia trip. It also has a few very noticeable flaws sound wise in the early going, particularly during "The Barbarian." Here, the band don't seem to be playing as a tight unit (although they do eventually find their place on the later tracks). Emerson's mike also noticeably cuts out.

Even so, the crowd doesn't seem to care.

The guys all look mostly good (although former groupie magnet Greg Lake has gotten pretty fat), and they still can play their asses off. Which is what really matters in a DVD like this. When Lake bellows out the improbable "Karn Evil 9," lyrics rhyming "gypsy queen" with "vaseline" and "guillotine," any original critical nitpicks are reduced to irrelevancy. ELP are recapturing a moment in time here, and God bless em' for it.

As the concert progresses, and the band falls into a familiar groove, all the theatrical stops are pulled out. Cannons are fired during the otherwise ponderous "Pictures At An Exhibition." Emerson reprises the knive wielding, keyboard destroying theatrics of his nationally televised performance at 1974's California Jam, and Carl Palmer turns in a spellbinding solo on his revolving drum kit.

It's all enough to make one yearn nostalgically for the days of pretentious, seventies indulgent prog-rock. Sign me up, Scotty.

This article was first published at Blogcritics Magazine.

Praying For My Little Brother Steve

This is the only known picture I have of my little brother Steve Boyd.

I got it from Facebook. Of all of my brothers, Steve is the one I have most closely related to myself. He is a kind, sensitive guy who just can't seem to cut himself a break (sound familiar?). Earlier tonight, I learned that Steve was involved in a horrible traffic accident where a person was tragically killed. Apparently, Steve was also drunk.

Whatever you might think of Steve, I know that amongst a band of Boyd brothers that have a well earned reputation as bad boys, Steve has a great heart, and this is probably eating him up inside far more than the extended jail time he is undoubtedly facing now. We Boyd boys seem to have a particular tendency for drawing out the devil (whether intentionally or otherwise), and from what I know, Steve has had a particularly bad go of it in recent years (losing a daughter among other things).

What I also know is that the fact that Steve may have been responsible for taking another person's life is probably eating him up more inside far more than the extended stay in a jail cell he now undoubtedly faces.

This is a good kid who made a horrible mistake, folks. Honestly, Steve is not a bad guy.

And knowing Steve as I do, I am quite sure he believes he deserves everything that is coming to him. But what I also know is that he didn't mean it, and if he could rewind time and take it back, he would so in a heartbeat.

Please pray for my little brother Steve. He really is a good kid. Thank you.

The Joyous Rock And Holy Roller Noise Of Kings Of Leon

Sometimes it takes something like watching a movie to really "get" an artist or band. This week, after watching multiple screenings of Stephen C. Mitchell's Talahina Sky: The Story of Kings Of Leon documentary on Showtime, I think I may have finally gotten the appeal of the post-modern, southern fried, gospel tinged rock of the Followill boys.

Better late than never I reckon. The thing is, it's still not for the reasons you might expect.

As a live band — despite their recent graduation to headlining arenas and stadiums — Kings Of Leon have yet to take that next big step which elevates them to the big leagues as a "must see" attraction on the same level as a Bruce Springsteen, U2, Radiohead or even Coldplay.

In fairness though — and based on the all-too-brief concert clips in this film — Kings Of Leon still rock convincingly enough. But outside of the big lights and production values that come when your albums begin to do the platinum business KoL's have, there is little difference between their current use of stagecraft, and the not-quite-ready-for-prime-time band I saw open up for Bob Dylan nearly a decade ago.

With a few notable exceptions (like the gorgeous "Talahina Sky," which closes this film on a perfectly bittersweet note of uncertainty that I'm sure was completely intentional), Kings Of Leon's songs also still fall in the mostly very good to just above average range.

What does come through about Kings Of Leon in Talahina Sky though, is the fact that this is an extremely earnest and thoughtful, sincere and likable bunch (especially Caleb). This is a band who rose from very poor and humble beginnings to their current (if somewhat tenuous) status as perhaps the last truly great American rock and roll band.

Fan or not, Talahina Sky: The Story of Kings Of Leon is not only a film that will leave you rooting for this band to carry on — but one which will stick with you for days on end after seeing it.

The Kings Of Leon story is already well known to those who follow such things. The Followill brothers (Caleb, Jared, and Nathan), along with cousin Matthew, are the rock and roll spawn of a southern Bible Belt family led by tent revival preacher Ivan Followill. With no apologies, KoL left that Red State, Pentecostal existence behind to conquer the music world as international rock stars. Except, at least according to this uncommonly honest and unguarded rock-doc, maybe they didn't leave it back in the church at all. Not completely, anyway.

The story of rock and roll artists coming from church backgrounds, and then going on to a life long struggle between the pleasures of the flesh and the joys of the spirit is of course nothing new — especially in the deep south. Artists ranging from Elvis and Johnny Cash, to Jerry Lee Lewis and Little Richard have famously fought this spiritual battle between a higher calling and the so-called "devil's music" throughout their careers, and often in quite public fashion. In the case of Kings Of Leon front man Caleb Followill, he even aspired to follow his father's footsteps into the pulpit from an early age.

In Mitchell's Talahina Sky: The Story of Kings Of Leon, we see the way this inner struggle between flesh and spirit can exact a profound psychological toll, in up close and personal fashion.

This is possibly the closest thing to a "real time" story of this type ever made, and although the notoriously hard drinking Kings Of Leon aren't a band particularly known for their musical proselytizing, this film shows they haven't left their faith completely behind either. In Caleb's case, this inner turmoil seems to manifest itself most dramatically when he drinks — which he does often here.

In light of recent events which have cast some question over the future of Kings Of Leon as a band, Mitchell's film is also much more than just the latest exercise in self-aggrandizing rock-doc puffery. Taken in this context, it is actually quite the eye-opener.

Much of the film is framed against the backdrop of the annual Followill family reunion picnic, which takes place somewhere on a private patch of creekside land tucked deep inside the furthest boonies of Oklahoma. Here we see the Followill boys engaged in wholesome family activities like group prayer, pitching horseshoes, fishing for crawdads, and drinking plenty of hooch.

This is a tight knit clan of cousins, uncles, grandmas and grandpas that are also clearly quite proud of their most celebrated sons, the Followill boys of Kings Of Leon. Even so, fame is still defined by some of these folk as meaning being referenced on the game show The Price Is Right.

With a colorful cast of friends and relatives that seems to have sprung straight out of some backwoods trailer park, the Okie-authenticity of these characters is hard to miss. Good old boys like Uncle Cleo (who died of cancer shortly after this film was completed) and roadie cousin Christopher "Nacho" Followill make nighttime shots gathered around a raging campfire eerily reminiscent of a white supremacists gathering (minus the racist elements, of course).

Numerous home movies taken from the Followill boys childhood provide the clearest look at the real backstory here though. At times, these private family reels seem to be pieced together without much regard for continuity, giving the film the occasional feel of patchwork. But taken together, they tell what may be the most crucial element of the overall Kings Of Leon story.

We see Caleb and Nathan as squeaky clean church boys singing hymns for the congregation, scant years prior to their transformation into boozing, worldly rock stars. But we also learn that when their father went from preaching the gospel at revival meetings to hitting the bottle at local beer joints, it took a heavy emotional toll on the Followill boys, and on their faith.

At this point, any sheltered illusions the Followills had of a two dimensional world consisting only of saints and sinners were pretty much shattered. Caleb — remember, this is the sibling who once aspired to become a preacher himself — in particular seems to continue struggling with these lingering demons.

In one of Talahina Sky's more telling moments, we hear Caleb say "As soon as I got a record deal...I knew I was going to hell." There are also numerous scenes cut throughout the film of what appears to be a recent one-on-one interview between Caleb and the unseen camera man. Here, Caleb drunkenly rambles on about the band, his life and his mortality, as he proceeds to smoke and drink literally everything in sight.

We also see Caleb fighting with his bandmates in the studio, at one point mercilessly berating cousin Matthew over a guitar part, and finally being read the riot act by brother Nathan. In the very next scene, we see the band come back together in a circle of prayer, with all transgressions apparently forgiven (for the moment, anyway).

With the recent cancellation of an American tour following Caleb's strange outburst during a concert in Texas putting a question mark on the band's future, Talahina Sky places these events into a much larger context. Their current hiatus has been officially explained away as a much needed break and an opportunity for Caleb to heal up his vocal chords.

But Twitter posts from the band members themselves have done little to quiet the Caleb rehab rumors out there. What is clear in watching this film, is that this is a band who are collectively dealing with considerable issues, and that Caleb himself seems to be wrestling with a personal crisis of conscience and faith.

But what is also clear is that these are four very likable, mostly good, clean Christian boys, with four very distinct personalities. Jared is the most "rock star" of the group, Nathan is the one who is "all business, all the time," and Matthew, as seen here anyway, seems to be the adorable goofball. Caleb, of course, is the earnest thinker who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, which may at least partially explain his searching for the answers inside of a bottle.

Fans of this band will find that Stephen C. Mitchell's Talahina Sky: The Story of Kings Of Leon provides at least some of these answers (not to mention some pretty great music). It is also the sort of rare, unvarnished insider look into the private lives of jet-setting rock stars — complete with warts and all — that makes you wonder what possessed the band members to sign off as executive producers for this project. Ultimately though, this is a film that makes a great argument that some rock stars are just as human as the rest of us — at least if they happen to be the Kings Of Leon anyway.

I'll be rooting for them. Talahina Sky: The Story of Kings Of Leon is currently playing on cable television's Showtime network. You'll find playing times by checking for them at Sho.com.

This article was first published at Blogcritics Magazine.