Jimmy Fallon Channels Neil Young Again: With Crosby & Nash!



It's a party in the U.S.A.

All Work And No Play Makes Glen...Well You Know the Rest...

Neil Young looks out over the horizon and wonders "Where's the damn book, Glen?"

Haven't updated the blog in awhile, so I thought I'd check in and bring y'all up to speed on all things Glen.

The book: As most of you already know, I'm working furiously to meet my publishers deadline for the book I'm writing on Neil Young originally scheduled to come out this fall -- but that will more likely be published next April (at least according to my own Google searches for book store pre-orders on Neil Young FAQ).

This is mostly my own fault.

I was supposed to deliver a finished manuscript this past April, and when it became apparent I wasn't going to make that deadline, I asked for an extension until June (which my publishers at Backbeat thankfully, if reluctantly granted).

The good news, is that although things like work have gotten in the way, I'm still confident that I will make Backbeat's graciously extended deadline.

But I'm not gonna' lie here... it's gonna' be tough. I've basically got about eight chapters and 30,000 words to complete, and about four weeks to get there. I will make it, but you are still not at all discouraged to wish me luck in getting there...

Work: The new day job is both a blessing and a bitch. For those of you who endured my near continuous bitching about being unemployed for two years until last October, you already know how much I needed this. The fact that I got my underpaid gig slinging cable at all is something I am also highly grateful for. That two years of total poverty took its toll.

That said, it's been a tough ride. The schedule sucks (mid-week days off), as does the commute from West Seattle to the East Side, a monster run encompassing both the notoriously tricky West Seattle Bridge and  three major freeways (I-5, I-90, and I-405). Despite the charming personality you all know and love, I also get the overall impression the youngsters at my day gig would love nothing more than to get me the fuck outta there. Hey, I gotta' call it like I see it. In just six months I've also been written up for a quick exit twice -- so far, I've managed to dodge both.

I'm probably not long for a future there, bottom line. That said, I'm doing the best I can -- and actually had a personal best sales day there today. But do I see a long term future of being screamed at by pissed off customers who don't understand their costly cable bills (and by the way, neither do I)? In a word, no I don't. I'm trying my best, I really am. But in reality the odds are not in my favor...they see me as an old fool.

I'm not of course, but in an odd sort of way, I sort of understand why they view me that way. After all, I was once an obnoxious, self-important, too cool for words twenty-something myself.

Better days lie ahead I'm sure. But for now, this is gonna' have to do. On a side note, thanks for getting Osama, Obama. Now please...please...get us some meaningful, well-paying, and yes "fun" jobs, sir.

Blogcritics: BC's role in re-establishing me as a still relevant music critic after chasing my own ass for much of the nineties following my spectacular flameout as an aspiring record exec in L.A. simply cannot be overstated, and for that I will always owe them an enormous debt of gratitude.

That said, I cannot deny the overall dip in quality of the music writing at BC over the past year in particular, nor the unfulfilled promises of improvement since the "regime change" to Technorati last year. The mass flight to greener pastures elsewhere from some of BC's best former music writers in the past 12 months or so speaks volumes -- but you already know that if you have been paying any attention.

My own recent absence at BC is largely due more to my need to get this book done than anything else -- I won't return to an active role there until NYFAQ is done (hopefully June 1). Once I do -- and if I do -- I will resume being as active as ever in my dual roles as a music editor and writer. The Rockologist and all the rest will be back in force.

But this is provided I see signs that things are improving. The fact that Donald Gibson is now the senior music ed is one of the biggest reasons I am optimistic that BC can regain its once mighty position. Donald is one of those guys who was pretty much born to edit and write about music -- and he does so very well. On the other hand, the fact that elsewhere the site has the increasing feel of a bunch of brats throwing sand at each other in a sandbox does not raise hopes that things are improving.

We'll see...

Social Life: Non existent at present, but stay tuned.

Steven Wilson And Aviv Geffen Reunite On Blackfield's Welcome To My DNA

Music Review: Blackfield - Welcome To My DNA

Welcome To My DNA, the third album in the on and off collaboration between Steven Wilson and Israeli singer/songwriter Aviv Geffen known as Blackfield, is a bit different from its two predecessors.

Wilson is of course, much better known to music fans in the western hemisphere as the creative mastermind behind modern progressive giants Porcupine Tree, and as the successful producer of such projects as the ongoing remastering of King Crimson's back catalog. Geffen — although far less known in this part of the world — is a huge pop star in his own right in his native Israel (where he is known as much for his outspoken political views, as he is for his music).

Coming from my own perspective as an admittedly diehard fan of Wilson's work with Porcupine Tree, Blackfield's albums have always represented a refreshing, if slightly more introspective and melancholic departure from his heavier records with PT. Aviv Geffen's role, to me at least, has always seemed to be more like a foil to Wilson, and a damned good one too — especially on songs like "Epidemic" and "Christenings" from Blackfield II.

This new album, on the other hand, is going to take some getting used to.

Geffen's presence on Welcome To My DNA is a lot more front and center for one thing. There's no more playing Andrew Ridgely to Steven Wilson's George Michael here. The music is also much lusher sounding (thanks to Wilson's densest production yet on a Blackfield album).

In fairness to Geffen (and again coming from my own somewhat admitted bias coming in as a Wilson fan), he largely rises to the challenge. Taking a much greater share of the lead vocals here (and from what I can tell, the songwriting as well), Geffen has lost most (but not all) of the distracting Israeli accent of past songs like "Epidemic." The new songs are mostly pretty strong too.

My lone complaint — and it's a relatively minor one — is that the mildly melancholic pop of previous Blackfield albums gives way to outright pessimism here, especially on darker songs like "Go To Hell" and the apocalyptic "Oxygen." The latter takes place in a world where "there's no oxygen left on our planet" and "everyone's sleeping with guns, someone's going to die."

Hey, I'm all for going green too. But can you say downer, dude?

But in the midst of all the gloom and doom, there are still some glistening modern alternative pop tracks to be found between the cracks. The first single from the album, "Waving" is a particularly good example. Steven Wilson is back up front on vocals and guitar for one thing. And despite the presence of some occasionally distracting strings, Wilson's ear for a pop hook remains as strong as ever (I'm assuming Wilson wrote this one).

Wilson's influence also comes through on tracks like "Blood" (the albums heaviest track, it plays almost like an outtake from PT's The Incident). The opening track, "Glass House," is another standout with a Steven Wilson lead vocal, and a string arrangement that manages the trick of being both subtle and lush at the same time.

Welcome To My DNA is Blackfield's most pronounced walk through the minefield of darkness and light yet. I suspect it will be growing on me for quite awhile.

This article was first published at Blogcritics Magazine.

On Leon Russell And Elton John

So I have to honest here. The first time I ever heard of Leon Russell was as a pre-teen kid cruising my way through the pages of Circus Magazine, where I came across an an ad for Leon's debut solo album, which was at the time still called Can A Blue Man Sing The Whites?.

Cool title, I thought.

The album was of course eventually released as Leon Russell's self-titled solo album by Shelter Records (not sure whatever happened to that original title), and upon the first time I heard it, I was instantly enthralled.

But to be completely honest here, the first side of this album did absolutely nothing for me at the time. It was the second side that I really liked.

I liked Leon's weathered, sand-papery voice well enough, and the production of the record, populated as it was by the then very much in vogue Muscle Shoals sound of people like Delaney and Bonnie Bramlett, by way of British pop stars like Eric Clapton also went down very easy.

But to me, a few of the songs were still kind of lacking.

The second side however? Well, that was something else entirely.

Kicking off with "Delta Lady," and proceeding from there to scream through an entire side of New Orleans delta funk like "Pisces Apple Lady" and "Roll Away The Stone," this damn thing didn't let up for a second. I was instantly hooked. Anchoring it all was Leon's world weary rasp, set against some of the funkiest, Nawlins' honky tonk piano you will ever hear in this lifetime.

From this auspicious debut as an amazing solo artist who was clearly (at least to my pre-teen ears) one to be reckoned with, Leon went down hill fast, at least for my money he did. Latter albums yielding hits like "Tightrope," as well as ill-advised experiments like the country tinged "Hank Wilson Is Back" albums, just never completely recaptured the spark of that initial, brilliant debut album for me.

Of course, let's keep things in perspective here. I was, after all, still a kid.

Obviously, Leon also went on to much bigger and better things. His stint as the bandleader and "master of space and time" in Joe Cocker's extended Mad Dogs and Englishmen band is particularly memorable — and was obviously pivotal in establishing him as one of the true greats.

Still, as great as Joe Cocker's blues shouting on his version of "Delta Lady" is on the Mad Dogs double live album from 1970 (and it is pretty great), I'll take Leon's, less celebrated original version in a heartbeat.

Not long after, Leon stole the show at the all-star benefit Concert For Bangla Desh show, by kicking the living crap out of a blues medley including songs like "Youngblood" and "Jumping Jack Flash." The other headliners that night, which included no less than George Harrison, Bob Dylan and Eric Clapton didn't stand a chance against him.

Which brings me to last nights episode of Saturday Night Live...

Like Leon Russell himself, Elton John is a great artist, who I personally feel shot his creative wad fairly early in the game, but for entirely different reasons.

In my own opinion, Elton's first five or so several records represent his best work. But even these are spotty. For every truly brilliant moment like "Burn Down The Mission," "Rocket Man," and "Madman Across The Water, there are also ample amounts of filler on these records.

And once we get past Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, the filler eventually gives way to paint by numbers hit-making. By the time of the eighties, even that formidable, but equally formulaic well of catchy pop tunes began to run dry.

The thing is, even for all of his concessions to blatant, and occasionally schmaltzy commercialization over the years, Elton's heart still seems to be in the right place — and nowhere is this more apparent than in the way he has taken Leon Russell under his wing in the past year.

I'm not entirely sure what got Leon to the place where Elton found him — apparently broke and semi-destitute, in failing health, and with his status as a legendary artist largely forgotten by a brutally short-sighted music industry.

All I know, is Elton came to his rescue in the past year — both making an album and going on tour with him and inducting him into the Rock And Roll Hall of Fame — and Leon has acknowledged the debt in kind.

Elton John's heart has never been in question in that respect. Still, it was kind of sad to see Elton and Leon together on Saturday Night Live this past weekend, when the former hosted the show. I give Elton ultimate credit for bringing Leon along to what ultimately may prove to be his last dance before a nationally televised audience.

But seeing Leon as a shell of his former "master of space and time" self (his voice was barely audible in the sound mix) was also kind of sad — especially as Elton participated in skit after self aggrandizing skit hammering home the fact that he is a very famous, very wealthy, and very gay pop star.

Look, Elton, we get it. You're rich. You're famous. You're gay. We get it.

But thank you once again for reaching out to Leon Russell.

This article was first published at Blogcritics Magazine

Marillion's Live From Cadogan Hall: Much More Than Just Another Acoustic Show

Music Review: Marillion - Live From Cadogan Hall (2 CD/2 DVD)

Marillion's third live concert DVD in recent years (dating back to 2005's Marbles On The Road) is a radical departure from both of its predecessors.

Filmed on the final night of the Less Is More tour — which took its name from Marillion's 2009 album of the same name, and featuring stripped down recreations of previously released songs from the progressive rock band's vast back catalog — Live From Cadogan Hall is still much more than the simple acoustic concert document you might think.

There is a whole lot more going on here than your standard two hours featuring a bunch of guys sitting on stools strumming folk guitars, and as a concert film, Live From Cadogan Hall leaves you with the inescapable feeling of having just witnessed something quite special.



The cathedral like ambiance of London's prestigious Cadogan Hall also makes for an appropriately elegant backdrop — especially during this DVD's many overhead shots showing a giant Christmas tree perched high above the band (the concert was filmed back in December 2009).

One of the first things you notice about this concert though, is the number of diverse, unusual instruments being played by the musicians on the stage.

These are things you wouldn't normally associate with a rock concert at all. There are xylophones, glockenspiels, dulcimers, celestes — there is even an autoharp which keyboardist Mark Kelly at one point claims to have built himself.

All manner of percussion instruments — bells, chimes, wooden blocks and the like — are also prevalent in this concert. They are not only played by monster drummer Ian Mosley either, but rather at one point or another by all five members of Marillion.

The thing is, all of these exotic instruments serve as far more than just window dressing for this concert. Marillion make fabulous use of all of them throughout, showing off their musical chops in ways that are only hinted at in the more grandiose progressive rock recordings the band is so much better known for.

From the oriental motifs of "Interior Lulu" to the lighter shades provided by Kelly's xylophone on "Hard As Love," this album is above all else a showcase for Marillion as a band of fabulous musicians. Even vastly underrated bassist Pete Trewavas gets a moment to shine here, turning in a series of fabulous sounding runs on "The Space," rumbling just underneath the tandem of Kelly's jazzy keys and Steve Rothery's gorgeous guitar.

Speaking of Rothery, although the guitarist is better known for the soaring, Pink Floydian heights he normally reaches with Marillion, his guitar work here is no less worthy. With the smaller arrangements heard here, Rothery is able to display a more subdued, but no less powerful and intricate side of his considerable guitar prowess. Lest anyone worry though, Rothery finally cuts loose with a ripping solo on the second disc closer "Three Minute Boy."

The setlist on Live From Cadogan Hall is also one sure to please Marillion fans. In addition to the entire Less Is More album — including new versions of everything from their earliest songs after Steve "H" Hogarth replaced original vocalist Fish in 1989 ("The Space") to more recent material from the group's 2008 double-disc Happiness Is The Road ("Wrapped Up In Time") — the second disc includes new takes on songs like "You're Gone," Marillion's near hit from the 2004 prog opus Marbles.

There aren't really any extras to speak of on this DVD, and that's okay. The 127 minutes of exquisite music here should be plenty enough to satisfy fans of the band, and for anyone willing to gamble twenty bucks, perhaps make them a few new ones as well.

The DTS Digital Sound Mix captures every musically nuanced highlight of this great concert (and there are plenty of them). The high definition video, while shot rather simply, is tasteful and straight forward, concentrating on the musicians onstage as well it should.

Marillion's Live From Cadogan Hall will be out on double disc DVD and Blu-ray on March 29, 2009, as well as on a double disc audio CD.

This article was first published at Blogcritics Magazine

Worst Neil Young Video Ever? You Decide...



Doing research for a book on Neil Young, unfortunately means also reacquainting yourself with some of his more embarrassing albums, such as 1986's particularly vapid Landing On Water. Here, "Touch The Night," a song that when played live with Crazy Horse circa 1984, could actually be mistaken for a slightly less great retread of "Like A Hurricane," is reduced to a typically overproduced, overdubbed eighties mess.

The drums are particularly awful (even though they are played by the great Steve Jordan). As for the video, well, get ready for Neil Young as Clark Kent.

But wait. I take it all back. This lovely little ditty, taken from the same album, may be the actual worst Neil Young video:

To V Or Not To V: All Hail Your New Reptilian Gods, Puny Humans

In case you missed it — and if the ratings for this season are any indication, most of you did — ABC wrapped up the second season of its once much-ballyhooed alien invasion series V this past Tuesday.

Officially, Tuesday's two months too early "Mother's Day" episode was only the season finale for this reboot of the eighties sci-fi cult classic. But few outside its most optimistic fans expect the show to be back next fall. In many ways, V was doomed from the start — a combination of both classic mishandling by the network (was the show ever around for more than a few weeks in between hiatuses?), and its own initial failure to live up to the enormous wave of hype preceding its 2009 debut.

Still, for pure balls alone, you've really got to hand it to these guys. If this really is the end of the road for V, then they have gone out on a full head of blood, guts, skin and cheese. In one of the more audacious risks ever taken on behalf of a show facing almost certain cancellation, the writers and producers of V threw the television equivalent of a last second, fourth and long, Hail Mary pass on Tuesday night.

Major characters, including lizard-loving teen drip Tyler, alien baby daddy Ryan, and repentant eighties alien Queen Bitch Diana (Jane Badler) all got killed off in the final thirty minutes (Diana's lizard spear through the gut was a particularly bloody scene for network TV). And in perhaps the ultimate "if we're going down, were taking you with us" move, the writers then proceeded to write the rest of us humans out of the show. As it turns out we weren't conquered by superior technology or military might at all, but rather by the "bliss" of alien lizard super crack.

Leading up to this, V likewise went for broke in trying to match the cheese of the original eighties series. They brought back original star Marc Singer — now sporting a Ming The Merciless Fu Manchu to boot!

There was even a brief eighties sliding split screen segueway from Tyler's death by rough alien sex aboard the mothership, to a "meanwhile, back on Earth" shot with Tyler's Mom Erika (Elizabeth Mitchell) being kidnapped by black hooded thugs. Earlier in the episode, a different set of kidnappers wore grey alien masks. Nice touch.

But there were also holes big enough to drive a fleet of saucers through. Like how for instance, does Ryan manage to sneak out of a fascist tent revival meeting full of lizard converts after her amphibious majesty Queen Anna demands their worship on bended knee?

Or, in V's biggest reveal, how does a full bodied, fifteen foot high lizard baby turn into a manufactured by skin, human clone of the shorter, much more petite Princess Lisa — who is still convincing enough to seduce the hapless romantic Tyler? Well, okay. The kid is dumb as a box of rocks and twice as gullible. Still, that is some serious skin shrinkage.

Cheese factor aside, this go-for-broke attitude is exactly what the finale needed if this is really it. Despite being mishandled by the network nearly every step of the way (and following an over-hyped, but underwhelming start), V really was starting to get good this year. One has to wonder if a third year might have brought a breakout season.

As it stands, V concludes with enough wide open spaces to fill several Grand Canyons. It could always still get picked up on cable by a network like SyFy or Chiller. Otherwise though, they have ended things up with an audaciously spectacular F.U.

All hail your new Reptilian Gods. Puny Humans.

This article was first published at Blogcritics Magazine.