Photo by Merave Van Ness. Graphic design by Chris Pierson.
I am proud to announce the upcoming release of Someday Sessions, the new album by Joshua Van Ness & MOR.
A little backstory: the band was convened by songwriter/vocalist/guitarist Joshua Van Ness to back him up at the release show for his first solo album, DNA, in fall 2008. He called in his former bandmate from Souls’ Release (your dashing author) to play bass guitar. Eric Blankenship, a lifelong friend and long-ago bandmate of Joshua, took on lead guitar duties. And Joe Beninati, whom Joshua had met on the music scene years earlier and crossed paths with time and time again, manned the drum kit.
Much to our surprise, this one-off band had great chemistry and ended up performing together regularly over the ensuing 5+ years. I’ve spent my nights and weekends playing rock music for the better part of two decades, and performing with this group of guys has been one of the clear-cut highlights for me.
Photo by Rachel Beninati.
At some point, we casually named ourselves the Men of Rock (shortened to MOR) after Eric addressed an email with this offhand greeting. With the addition of saxophonist/percussionist Ralph Capasso in 2011 and John Van Ness (Joshua’s brother) on keyboards and guitar in 2013, the present lineup was complete. Various members of MOR had appeared on different tracks on Joshua’s two previous solo albums (both produced by John), but this year marked the first time we set out to record as a band.
Performing live is my favorite aspect of being a musician. Nothing beats locking into a groove with your fellow musicians and feeling the energy build and build, playing off the audience and each other to take the music higher and higher. MOR is first and foremost a live act, so when the time came for us to enter the studio, we decided to try to capture our live sound and feel to the best of our ability.
With John behind the board again as producer/engineer, Joe, Eric, Joshua, and I performed the basic instrumental tracks together in real time in our basement studio. Our hope was that we would capture the magic of playing off each other and creating music in the moment, like during our live shows.
The song that I think best demonstrates our live-band-in-the-studio approach is funky rocker “Twenty in Two.” In fact, it was the first track we completed on the first day of recording, and it set the tone for the rest of the album. Once we heard the playback of this take, we were convinced that the live-tracking approach was the way to go.
After the bulk of the album had been recorded in this fashion, we filled out the tracklisting with a few songs that we built piece-by-piece at individual recording sessions. Finally, we recorded the vocals, John and Ralph’s instrumental contributions, and other overdubs to complete the album. I can truly say that I have never had as much fun recording as I did this winter and spring when we were working on Someday Sessions.
The release party for Someday Sessions is taking place this coming Saturday, 8/2, at the legendary Bitter End on Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village. We’ll be playing a set heavy on songs from the album, and will have copies of the CD for sale. Our set begins at 9 PM. We are all extremely proud of this record and hope that it reaches the ears and hearts of many people as possible.
Happy New Year! Thank you so much for all of your support and for making 2012 such a memorable year.
– On my road trips in 2012, I tried to put a face on the “unwanted” horse population, over 3,500 of them, wherever these horses were, from local rescues and farms to the horses at the auction. Each week, I met these horses and interacted with them. The horses continually surprised and inspired me.
– I embarked on my second-annual fundraising project with my friend Gina Keesling from HoofPrints and together, we created Horses and Hope: Faces of Rescue, a 2013 calendar of our favorite rescue photos. Gina volunteered weeks of countless hours designing and producing these calendars. The final product was not a simple 12-month, 12-photo calendar, but was instead a masterpiece of inspirational quotes and over 100 photos. Although the photos could have easily created a gloomy tone, we worked hard to keep the theme positive and uplifting.
100% of the profit is donated to One Horse At A Time. OHAAT is an appropriate charity, since they are not a rescue that houses horses, but rather an organization that helps horses in need across the country. What I particularly like about OHAAT is their gelding grant program- how wonderful would it be for photos of our own rescue horses to help control the unwanted horse population? We raised over $40,000 with the proceeds from the 2012 calendar, and have already raised over $50,000 with the proceeds from the 2013 calendar!
– My work was published in several books and a variety of web/print publications, and featured as album art for bands. Through the TDN, my freelance work, and my volunteer work, I’ve met some tremendous friends and colleagues. HUGE thanks to the folks at HRTV, who took the time to interview me and promote the Horses and Hope calendar- you can view the interview here.
And now… on to the photos!
Sweet Lil Lolly and the rest of her broodmare band in Maryland were rehomed with the help of MidAtlantic Horse Rescue.
Walter, a horse found wandering the streets of New Jersey, settled in for some square meals and a roof over his head at Helping Hearts Equine Rescue in Perrineville, NJ.
No visit to Helping Hearts is complete without a photo of the best donkey ever, Jefferson Airplane:
Havre de Grace won the Eclipse for Horse of the Year, but the OTHER Horse of the Year was awarded to Neville Bardos, a Thoroughbred with an incredible story.
Star pranced and played at Horse Rescue United in Chesterfield, NJ:
The Retired Racehorse Training Project got off to an ambitious start with the Trainers’ Challenge, which took horses from the track to the Maryland Horse World Expo, then to the farms of their trainers, and then to the final showcase at the Pennsylvania Horse World Expo:
Meanwhile, I connected with yet another great rescue, the wonderful folks at Zoar Ridge Stables and Rescue in Newtown, CT. Belle was pretty as a picture during her photo shoot:
Also in Connecticut is Scarlet Rose Farm Equine Rescue, where Stiletto Slim, a Saddlebred, strutted his stuff:
In February, Georgia was on my mind. I took a ride with Lisa Post of Helping Hearts Equine Rescue, and we picked up the Quarter Horse Mare and did her intake photos (you’ll see more of her later).
Back at my barn, I enjoyed photographing Suzie Hehn’s weekly lessons, especially when the students jumped leftover Christmas trees:
My horse Wizard was content to catch snowflakes on his tongue:
Camelot Auction’s temporary closure did not prevent people from abandoning their horses on the property. After a licensing issue was settled, the auction was once again open for business (these horses also found homes).
Three weeks of good food gave Georgia some much-needed weight:
Here and there, I managed to get some time in the saddle:
In March, fan favorite Hansen won the Gotham at Aqueduct, much to the delight of an enthusiastic crowd:
Sweet dreams at Camelot:
Horses and humans alike celebrated St. Patrick’s Day at Handy Acres in Jackson, NJ:
44 days after intake, Georgia was proud to show off her healthy coat and weight gain:
In March, Festus and Eeyore, the famed “Aliens,” came into our lives:
Blue and White Brigid, a Morgan filly, shows off her Easter nest:
This spring, Jon and I visited the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame:
In April, I officially became a horse owner once again, and Wizard was signed into my name. Here he is taking a spin around the pasture at our new barn:
Some faces just beg for the camera:
A tall, dark, and handsome mule at auction:
The official kitty greeting committee:
Smithwick and Mel Monti prepare for the Thoroughbred Jumper Classic at the Garden State Horse Show:
Linda McBurney and Less Is More get ready for the same jumper class:
Saddlebreds at Camelot:
Four’s a Charm, aka Ruslan, and Kacey Rovere at the $4,000 Thoroughbred Jumper Classic at the Garden State Horse Show:
Scout and Toppy spar in the fog in Cloudland, GA:
Rosebud poses for her adoring fans at Central Virginia Horse Rescue:
Some horses (and minis) know just what to do when a camera is pointed at them:
A super-cool blaze at Camelot:
A star is born. Ruby (third from the left) makes her film debut:
And speaking of stars, my training blog about Thewifedoesntknow began in June:
Wizard and Sunny graze at sunset:
Brigid poses in the Black-Eyed Susans:
Cathy and Miss Tuesday enjoy an evening in the Assunpink:
Week by week, Thewifedoesntknow blossoms into a promising hunter prospect:
Oh, Ruby, it must be exhausting being so cute:
Halter tag at Camelot:
Three bay mares:
Ruby is her usual enchanting self, this time with Sophia:
A friendly face at Camelot:
Paynter, another racing fan favorite this year, storms home to win the Haskell:
Kris and her BLM Mustang mare Sunny score ribbons at their first-ever dressage show:
“Find beauty not only in the thing itself but in the pattern of the shadows, the light and dark which that thing provides.” -Junichiro Tanizaki
Paw, paw, splash, splash, bubbles, bubbles. Wizard loves his water crossings.
Thewifedoesntknow continues to progress under the careful guidance of Carole Davison:
Oh, and I got to RIDE HER!!!
In the lake with Wizard:
Thewifedoesntknow gets a massage:
A handsome face at Camelot:
Back at the barn after his victory in the Grade 1 Woodward Stakes at Saratoga Race Course, To Honor and Serve gets the star treatment from Hall of Fame trainer Bill Mott and his groom.
Thewifedoesntknow schools at her first horse show:
Rachel and Lily ace the crocodile complex during a judged trail ride at the Horse Park of New Jersey:
Sunny makes friends with one of the trail ride obstacles:
Remember Georgia from this February? Here she is in August!
Silver Gem at Horse Rescue United:
Bev Goff and her Camelot grad, Mimi, are all smiles at their first horse show:
Christie and Brigid enjoy a Centered Riding clinic with Kathy Culler at Stone Tavern Equestrian Center:
One white ear, one chestnut ear:
Point of Entry and John Velazquez win the GI Joe Hirsch Turf Classic Invitational S. at Belmont Park.
Tristan struts his stuff during his Horses and Hope calendar shoot:
Sunny dances and prances for her calendar session:
And Wizard zooms around like a nut after his bath:
I just love a great blaze:
Lots of spots:
My little helpers:
Hong Kong Express at Second Call Thoroughbred Adoption and Placement:
What’s black and white and cute all over?
10YO Thoroughbred, Tough and Good.
“Fall For Horses” All-Thoroughbred Charity Horse Show at the Horse Park of New Jersey, hosted by Second Call Thoroughbred Adoption and Placement:
Monmouth Park stands strong in the wake of Hurricane Sandy
Another Camelot supermodel:
Bill and Mary, now in the care of Central VA Horse Rescue:
Thewifedoesntknow, week 23: she gets better and better every time I see her.
She also was very good at her first show:
Simon, the Helping Hearts reindeer:
Joey P, a millionaire Santa:
Sunset at Camelot:
Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way… Oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open… jog cart! Jessica (driven by a giggly me in this photo) is available for adoption at Horse Rescue United.
Hailey the beautiful Belgian is also looking for a home:
My volunteer work started as a way to carry on the legacy of Alibar, my beloved first horse. It has shaped my philosophy as a student of the horse and a photographer. A “horse in need” can take many forms, from a horse standing in a feedlot, to a free pony on Craigslist, to an abandoned pet, to a critical case at a rescue. Next time you are feeling frustrated, I challenge you to take some time and give back to your community. Photographers: craft your own style. BE DIFFERENT. You may think that you only have a little skill and time to donate, but as you continue to give, you may find that you are able to give more and more. The horses will thank you.
In memory of Amy Tryon
In memory of Dynaformer
In memory of Mini Cooper
In memory of Lefty
In memory of Sweetie
In memory of Love of Money
In memory of Icarus
In memory of Bronson
In memory of Maram
In memory of Sightseeing
In memory of Johnny McCarthy
In memory of Steve
In memory of Cooper
In memory of Leela
In memory of Join in the Dance
In memory of Romeo
In memory of Cocoa
In memory of Graham
In memory of Abercrombie
In memory of Rio
In memory of Missy
Last but certainly not least, in loving memory of Slade vom Marinik. Forever handsome, forever game, forever alert, forever my mom’s devoted dog. And in my dad’s words, a knucklehead.
Mike Ferraro and the Young Republicans: “Metal Heart”
Yeah, I’m married to the bassist, but this song rules.
Peter Murphy: “The Prince and Old Lady Shade”
You can’t stop The Voice.
The Rapture: “How Deep is Your Love?”
Nervy title, but the boys deliver, and they have the sax to back it up.
PJ Harvey: “The Glorious Land”
Polly, you’ve done it again.
Low Roar: “Tonight, Tonight, Tonight”
Moody. I love moody.
Okkervil River: “Rider”
Does it mean I’m getting old if I am starting to like songs that are longer than 2 minutes? And, for that matter, that I like a song by Okkervil River?
Pet Lions: “When I Grow Old”
Nice drums.
Male Bonding: “Tame the Sun”
Sounds kinda like the HandGrenades song. At least I’m consistent.
Beck: “Stormbringer”
A fabulous tribute. And I’m totally not a Beck fan.
HONORABLE MENTION:
The Strokes: “Machu Picchu”
This song gets a nod because it’s the PERFECT CANTERING TEMPO for Wizard.
Happy New Year! I cannot thank everyone enough for all the support and friendship, through the highs and the lows.
First… the good:
– My work was published in four books and a variety of web/print publications, and featured as album art for two bands. The friends and colleagues I’ve met through the TDN and through my freelance work are tremendous people.
– Since January 2010, I’ve photographed over 2,500 homeless horses. On my many road trips in 2011, I visited 10 rescues in 7 states. I try to put a face on the “unwanted” horse population, wherever these “unwanted” horses may be, from local rescues and farms to the horses at Camelot Auction in Cranbury, NJ. Each week, I meet these horses and spend time interacting with them. The proprietors of the auction have been very gracious in letting me photograph their livestock, and our network on volunteers help to give these horses a unique opportunity. The horses continually surprise me. Over 2,500 animals beg to be captured by my camera.
– The impact and scope of the Camelot Effort has reached far beyond my wildest expectations for both the horse community and my personal views as a photographer. The public response to the auction photos has been overwhelmingly positive, and it became clear that they had value far beyond their initial “mug shot” for identifying horses’ faces and conformation. Although my time and budget were already stretched painfully thin, I embarked on a huge fundraising project with my friend Gina Keesling from HoofPrints and together, we created a calendar of our favorite auction photos. Gina volunteered weeks of countless hours designing and producing these calendars. The final product was not a simple 12-month, 12-photo calendar, but was instead a masterpiece of inspirational quotes and over 100 photos. Although the auction photos could have easily created a gloomy tone, we worked hard to keep the theme positive and uplifting. In the end, I think we were successful. We are doing a THIRD print run, and you can order a calendar here (click here).
100% of the profit is being donated to One Horse At A Time. OHAAT is an appropriate charity, since they are not a rescue that houses horses, but rather an organization that helps horses in need across the country. What I particularly like about OHAAT is their gelding grant program- how wonderful would it be for photos of our own Camelot horses to help control the unwanted horse population? To date, the calendar has raised over $33,000 for One Horse At A Time.
Penny Austin, co-founder of One Horse at a Time, said it best:
“Those of us who have these calendars know how special they are. Not only are they a work of art, they are an incredible teaching tool, but most of all, they are a resounding testament to the power of each one of us doing just one thing – and how each of our “just one thing” combined with everyone else’s has the power to MOVE MOUNTAINS. Don’t ever forget that. Don’t ever think that you can’t offer but a little. Your little is mighty. Always.”
Check out some of the great reviews of and discussions about the calendar:
Teresa Genaro’s Raceday 360 column here.
Fran Jurga’s Horse Tip Daily Radio Show here.
My own blog account of the project, along with dozens of amazing positive comments here.
A nice mention in the EQUINE Ink blog here.
Horse and Man’s “Booty with Benefits” gift ideas here.
And now… on to the photos!
A chilly New Jersey January 2011 greeted the horses at Camelot…
On what had to be the coldest day of the year, I took a drive to Long Island and visited Project Sage Horse Rescue. Not only was I delighted to see a barn full of happy, healthy horses, but I was touched to see the enthusiasm of the young volunteers at the rescue. The impact that these organizations have on the community and youth organizations is profound.
Brittany Rostron, founder of Project Sage Horse Rescue (and Sal!)
Fred, a beloved resident of Helping Hearts Equine Rescue braves the NJ cold with his friend Hayley for a photo op.
Tristan, a Belgian purchased at New Holland Auction, and his friend Tyler, at Horse Rescue United in NJ. He has been diagnosed with squamous cell carcinoma, but surgery on his eye has greatly improved his comfort and he’s currently living the good life at the farm.
Two heads are better than one at Camelot
Lean on Me
Romeo’s eye at auction (he is in the care of Hoofing Around Rescue)
Bedded down
Wizard steals a kiss while I’m trying to put my hair in a ponytail
Watching over you
Sleeping beauties
Slade loves the Asbury Park Press
And Slade has his eyes on the prize
Lily caught spring fever during a February warm spell
Trolley at Horse Rescue United after a successful surgery on the hole in her head
Duke at the Standardbred Retirement Foundation. Duke, 21, also known as Neet Control. He is blind and lives with his paddock friend Taxi at the SRF.
Julio Mendoza of Mendoza Dressage, LLC on Friesian gelding Meindert- dancing alongside Lindsey Winkler. Theatre Equus- Horse World Expo – MD & PA 2011.
Lily and the Peep
Stay Thirsty and Ramon Dominguez win the Grade III Gotham Stakes at Aqueduct
Jonathan Andrew at Maxwell’s in Hoboken. Mike Ferraro and the Young Republicans record release party.
When Irish Eyes are Smiling
Gatsby, a Camelot Auction graduate
Mimi, another Camelot grad
(Mimi at auction)
Juan the Hinny
Come hither
Rosa and a friend at Camelot
Rancocas Farm gate on the property of Helis Stock Farm in NJ
Zoey at Helping Hearts Equine Rescue (after photo)
Chance, available for adoption from Helping Hearts Equine Rescue
Simon is a man of few words…
One of the most striking examples of the hard work of volunteers and the strength of the equine spirit is Zodiac, a Thoroughbred currently living at Days End Farm Horse Rescue in Maryland. He was a victim of severe neglect, and over the past 18 months, I have been able to document his progress from standing in his sling to frolicking in his pasture. Zodiac is a farm favorite, and many volunteers have remarked that just saying hello to him in the morning can brighten a gloomy day. He is a horse with the heart of a lion, and he’s also a symbol of the spirit of rescue.
The everyday care of rescue horses is something so inspiring that it begs to be photographed. The selfless devotion that these people have for their equine friends is beautiful.
Percy at Scarlet Rose Farm Equine Rescue
Percy at auction
The Big Mare
Cosmo, Ponytales Rescue in PA
Little bubbly green cocktail at the Haskell
Chaps
Coil and Martin Garcia win the 2011 Haskell
Haflinger Hugs
The Dog Days of Summer
“Is that MY pedigree?” Whippendeal (Unbridled’s Song x Dream Supreme), Hip #111 at the Fasig-Tipton Saratoga Sale
Rajiv Maragh and Tizway- Whitney winners
Curious
Creature comforts
Shackleford’s workout
Saratoga morning
A 5 o’clock shadow and swishy tail usually end up in the photo cull pile, but they are key elements in this one…
One, Two, Three
Sunny, adopted from Helping Hearts Equine Rescue- Wizard’s new neighbor
Real Men Wear Pink
Wizard, prepared for Hurricane Irene
Valentine
Will this hideous watermark prevent this Havre de Grace portrait from ending up on eBay? Probably not
Larry Jones, trainer of Havre de Grace
Silhouette
Hopping hay bales with the Wizard
Do you hear what I hear?
Gatsby’s calendar photo
Jonathan Andrew and MOR at Buddie’s Tavern in Sayreville, NJ
FOG
THE fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
-Carl Sandburg
Between the bars
“Hello, Mo!” Havre de Grace eyes Uncle Mo at Belmont Park
Portrait of a Mule
Friends
Combined Driving at the Horse Park of NJ
Galileo- Friesian stallion
“I’ll lean on you and you lean on me and we’ll be okay” -Dave Matthews Band
Mr November
“The sincere friends of this world are as ship lights in the stormiest of nights.” Giotto di Bondone
Boys will be boys- Zehpyr and Mini Cooper at Helping Hearts Equine Rescue
Dragon Fire
My volunteer work started as a way to carry on the legacy of Alibar, my beloved first horse. It has shaped my philosophy as a student of the horse and a photographer. A “horse in need” can take many forms, from a horse standing in a feedlot, to a free pony on Craigslist, to an abandoned pet, to a critical case at a rescue. The face of equine photography is changing faster than you can imagine. I find myself photographing less frequently at the racetrack, where there is a line of a dozen photographers all trying to get the same shot; I find myself more often at a unique location, taking a unique picture, trying to make a change.
Next time you are feeling frustrated, I challenge you to take some time and give back to your community. Photographers: craft your own style. BE DIFFERENT. You may think that you only have a little skill and time to donate, but as you continue to give, you may find that you are able to give more and more. The horses will thank you.
Thank you for all of your support. 2010 was another year of firsts for me as a photographer- there was rarely a dull moment! From being interviewed for the local news (link here) to driving a Standardbred racehorse on a training track in a jog cart, there were never enough hours in the day. I photographed the World Equestrian Games, Rolex, all three Triple Crown races, the Breeders’ Cup, dozens of Grade 1 races, dozens of horses in need at local rescues, and over 1,000 horses at Camelot Auction. I was proud to contribute a photo to a magazine that won Bill Finley an Eclipse Award for writing.
Click on any of these photos for more information:
Happy New Year to all of my friends. I appreciate all of your comments and ideas. 2009 was another prosperous and thrilling year for me as a photographer. Some career accomplishments and highlights:
#1. Death From Above 1979: You’re a Woman, I’m a Machine (2004). In the 1970s, the Rolling Stones got the job done as a quintet. Four Pixies ruled the 1980s. Nirvana stormed the 1990s trio-style. And in the 2000s, two Torontonians called Death From Above 1979 unleashed all the fury the decade could possibly handle. We’ll be down to a one-man show in the 2010s, I suppose.
#2. Unwound: Leaves Turn Inside You (2001). I don’t even know the titles of the songs. Never learned much about the band. For the duration of this 74-minute masterpiece, I know very little at all.
PopMatters: Unwound plays with a tightness and richness that few bands can touch anymore; they have turned into the metal Minutemen.
#3. Songs: Ohia: Ghost Tropic (2000). It’s a horse race of Alydar/Affirmed proportions to decide which Y2K Songs: Ohia release is better: The Lioness or Ghost Tropic. In the end, I’m an Alydar girl and Ghost Tropicwins by DQ via interference. The difference between the two albums is vast- The Lioness is easy to love and Ghost Tropic is more rewarding in the end.
Allmusic: “Everything moves as slowly as a three-legged dog, and anyone neither patient enough nor attuned to Molina’s style of songcraft (imagine Neil Young doing very mellow gypsy folk music) might very well be put to sleep.”
#4. The Rapture: Insound Tour Support Series Volume 19/Out of the Races and Onto the Tracks (2001). Before dance-punk was a thing, there was a really cool band called The Rapture. Before they got their act together and released the “Echoes” album, they had some really cool singles and EPs, including Out of the Races and Onto the Tracks and the Insound Tour Support EP. It was a bit of bad timing that kept their name out of people’s iPods, since their prime material and sound was never captured on a full-length. The essence of their best live material is on these two EPs.
Pitchfork: Jersey, of course, isn’t all ugly. It’s almost like New York sometimes. Likewise, New Jersey is what New York is always on the verge of becoming. Hundreds of thousands of Jerseyites stream in to the city every day, becoming part of the place for eight hours before shuttling back across the borderline. With a sound in constant, uneasy flux, the Rapture speaks (not always eloquently, but effectively) for the commuter– the ordinary-looking joe capable of blending into the Broadway crowds but forever holding a dirty secret in his irradiated little heart..
#5. Landspeedrecord! Road to Flight (2000).The boys from Baltimore first blew me away at local venues with their live set and then they followed through with their recordings, a rarity among DIY bands. And the album cover is a thoroughbred racetrack win photo! Rock and racehorses all the way.
PopMatters: Landspeedrecord! are caught somewhere between the new-wave cool a la Devo and punk brilliance. With as much contemporary influence to keep the sound modern, Landspeedrecord! also delivers enough unique style that will inevitably keep them out of the loop of “cool” with all the kids. For the listener, the key is to not overextend hisself or herself with effort to understand the wired sounds escaping the stereo, but instead to embrace them for what they are. Landspeedrecord! has come a long way, perhaps Road to Flight will take them to the more prosperous spot on the punk rock hill they deserve.
#6. Elliott Smith: Figure 8 (2000). The world lost a great talent in 2003. This was the last album released during his short lifetime.
Q Magazine: Most riveting are the ballads, where he conveys a devastating truth with conversational ease.
PS- I was at this show…
#7. Supergrass: Supergrass (2000). I admit that The Grass nabbed me with “Caught By The Fuzz” in 1994, but they really hit their stride and rung in the new decade in a decidedly non-Coco fashion with their eponymous LP. PS- I hate the word Britpop.
BBC: Too many reviewers concentrated on the rather tired vibe effusing the whole album, mistaking weariness for laziness. What Supergrass really represents is the consolidation of what In It For The Money had dared to let us dream: that this cheeeky Britpop trio had morphed into a truly world class band.
cokemachineglow: Portland rockers the Thermal stand out as a lo-fi beacon of light in over-produced, uber-serious times. Whilst most rock has forgotten how to be fun, the Thermals remember the lessons of Robert Pollard and Lou Barlow and Kim Deal.
#10. Fugazi: The Argument (2001). Most of the time, I like the first or second album by a band more than any other album, but where Fugazi ended is where they just started to get it right.
New Musical Express: Whilst ‘The Argument’ still sounds unmistakably Like Fugazi, it’s the sound of an inspirational band, renewed, at play.
Tris McCall is pop music. He’s the summer’s hottest hip-hop jam, a twee indie hit with a singalong chorus, a haunting folk revival ballad. Joni Mitchell at the piano, KRS-One on the mic, Richard Thompson strangling his Strat, Bruce Springsteen prowling the stage of Giants Stadium—Tris McCall is all these and more. That’s because when he puts pen to paper (or, more likely, fingertips to keyboard), his wit, his passion, his humor, and his energy easily match those of his musical heroes.
For the last I don’t know how many years, Tris has honed his irreverent critical voice in publications such as the venerable Jersey Beat and, since 2002 or so, on his own site. An enthusiast of a wide variety of pop music styles, he weighs in on Jersey indie music, mainstream rock, and chart-topping hip-hop with the same vigor and critical acumen. He tirelessly champions his favorites, yet isn’t afraid to skewer sacred cows that he finds undeserving of the critical praise they receive. His output is as insightful as it is intimidating.
While many bloggers and online critics embrace the instant-gratification, fact-checking-be-damned ethos of Web 2.0, Tris’s arguments are always reasoned, his research always thorough, and—perhaps most importantly—his style always entertaining. Poring over his yearly Pop Music Abstract and the week-long posting of results from his annual Critics Poll have become mainstays of my holiday season, eclipsed only by the creation of my Amazon wishlist (Which Isaac Hayes CD should I ask grandma-in-law to get me this year?). His writings have shaped how we, in the tri-state area and beyond, think about music and scene culture.
On top of his impressive critical output, Tris is also a working independent musician with a sizable discography as both frontman and sideman, including several studio full-lengths and a live album released under his own name.
So what does this rogue critic and indie musician think is tops when it comes to music? We are honored to present Tris McCall’s Top 25 albums. Enjoy. -Jonathan Andrew
Preparing to skewer another sacred cow
TMC’s all-time Top 25, 1967-1994
So this was the hardest homework I’ve ever done. This was tougher than that assignment in college where I had to hunt down primary texts from the Council of Chalcedon. This was tougher than trying to get Jim Florio re-elected, even. It takes me a month of hard thinking (or what passes around here for hard thinking) to do my annual Top Ten albums list. Distill all of that into a Top Ten of all time? Shouldn’t I turn that in to the pastor during last rites?
I drew up some limits. No repeaters on the list; if you’ve got one album there, the rest of your records are disqualified. Otherwise, there’d be about thirteen Joni Mitchell albums in the top ten. No, seriously. I made the restriction broad: a solo album by the principal songwriter of a group that’s already on the list counts as a repeat entry. That means no Pros & Cons Of Hitchhiking, which, on reflection, is probably better than Pleasures Of The Harbor. If I played it a little looser, Roger Waters would be in at #20.
Also, I applied the fifteen-year rule. Asked in 1971 to evaluate the French Revolution, Zhou Enlai famously said it was still too early to tell; how am I supposed to know how Black Sheep Boy and More Adventurous will weather? Get back to me in 2025. Gun to my head?, I’d find a place in the Top Twenty for 808s & Heartbreak. I don’t negotiate with terrorists. 1994 is my cut-off date.
Also, I can’t bring myself to list a Beatles album. I suppose I could stick Abbey Road in at #5, but it’s a guess — especially since the guy who wrote #4 spent twenty years kneeling at the Lennon-McCartney altar. And he’s hardly been a congregation of one. Everybody on this list owes an incalculable debt to the Beatles. Can I get a pass on this one? Because any place I list the Beatles feels wrong. Rather than do a Fab Force, I’m leaving them out. Put them in at number zero: the arithmetic phenomenon that makes the rest of the counting sequence meaningful.
Okay, let’s count ’em down: album, artist, year recorded, and maybe a little commentary if I’m feeling loquacious. Hey, I have a bad reputation to uphold.
25. Genesis — Selling England By The Pound (1973)
Sort of the U.K. version of the album that tops this list, Genesis number four tries to do what The Kinks’ Arthur (which just missed) tries to do: make sense of the hash that British people have made of their own country. Ray Davies’ version is more poetic and his observations are sharper, but he didn’t have Tony Banks and Phil Collins shooting out the lights behind him. After this, Peter Gabriel would drive his obsessions over his screwed-up sexuality to the brink of incoherence, which ought to shed some light on what has happened to Kevin Barnes. But in ’73 he had his shit together. As the Blair-Brown economy continues to disintegrate, “The Battle Of Epping Forest” feels more relevant than ever. It’s figurative language, sure; what, you wanted a policy paper?
24. Prince — Purple Rain (1984)
Best party album ever. I don’t even like parties, and still I know this.
23. Nick Drake — Bryter Layter (1970)
Belle & Sebastian is arguably the best band of the last fifteen years. And yes, that argument mainly comes from wimpy aesthetes like me; still, we do make it as strenuously as we can manage between inhaler hits. But Stuart Murdoch isn’t a wimp — he likes to play the tough guy on record, yammering on about killing bullies and cheering the Iraqi army. He just does it all in that fluffy voice of his. It’s a trick he learned from Nick Drake, the doomed British folkie who could (and probably would) have decked Donovan in a streetfight. On his first and third albums, Drake hammered murderously on his acoustic guitar strings, but his vicious little folk-pop songs were often strangled by his own depression. On Bryter Layter, the sun comes out long enough for him to ponder possible futures — even if his basic relationship diagnostic goes “I just sit on the ground in your way”. Hey, you need a pick-me-up, go listen to Bobby McFerrin. Indiepop — the whole enterprise — is inconceivable without this album.
22. Boogie Down Productions — By All Means Necessary (1988)
Toss-up between this one, Criminal Minded, and the underrated Edutainment. I pick By All Means Necessary because as great as Scott LaRock was — and he was pretty great — you’re not here for the beats. KRS-ONE is rap’s answer to Bernard Shaw: a writer whose wit is too monumental to be restricted by formal conventions, and whose (justifiable) enthusiasm for his own titanic intellect forgives him even his stupidest excesses. “Illegal Business” condenses his worldview into two brutally-efficient verses; quibble about the economics if you must, but it’s not like CNBC has had anything better for you lately. Some joker in Blender recently called KRS one of the worst lyricists in pop history, spilling another toxic slick of wrongness into an Internet full of wrongness. In sheer embarrassment, I declare a five-year moratorium on white people writing about hip-hop. Which means I need to stop doing this list right now. Right, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. On to…
21. Marillion — Clutching At Straws (1987)
Marillion doesn’t get much respect, and some of the blame can be pinned to Fish’s own peacoat: his syntax is flowery to a fault, and he’s never met a metaphor he can’t torture. But as a kid growing up in the Eighties, with Winger to the left of me and Warrant to the right, I was relieved to hear a band that refused to insult my intelligence. Clutching At Straws is a neo-prog version of Malcolm Lowry’s Under The Volcano: a writer confronted with political and emotional destabilization takes refuge in mythology and alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Superficially a divorce-breakup album, Fish snaps halfway through the second side on the monumental “Slainte Mhath”, and lets you know what’s really eating him: the sense that World War II had been fought in vain, the postwar dream was an unsustainable illusion, and emotional fascism had become our operating interpersonal framework. Okay, guitar solo!
20. Phil Ochs — Pleasures Of The Harbor (1967)
Bob Dylan called him a journalist and meant it as a dismissal; Ochs took it as such, and never really got over the insult. Dylan was many things, but a journalist he wasn’t: his music is “timeless”, which means it tells you more about universal truths, or Dylan’s flinty version of universal truths, than about the place or year it was written. Ochs didn’t go in for that kind of thing: reporting was his mission, and specifics were meant to be chronicled for posterity. Feed him a newspaper article, and he’d shoot you back a beautiful ballad about Congress, or conflict, or crustaceans. “Outside A Small Circle Of Friends” turned the Kitty Genovese story into an eternally-quotable — and strangely funny — poem. “Miranda” surveyed the Cali counterculture from an excited newcomer’s perspective; “Pleasures Of The Harbor” was pure nineteenth-century Romantic storytelling. And then there’s “The Crucifixion”, an eight-minute examination of the Kennedy assassination, the execution of Jesus, the growing cult of the rock star, and the lethal undercurrents animating American history. He’d push it even further on the next album, but he was never paired with better or more visionary musicians: berserk woodwinds, a twisted string quartet, and an ornate pianist (Lincoln Mayorga) who sounded as if he was enjoying the brown acid a little too much. There’d be plenty of head music released in ’67, but none of it was trippier — or more telling — than this. Representative lyric: “the Howard Johnson’s food is made of fear”. Eat up.
19. Maddy Prior & June Tabor — Silly Sisters (1975)
With apologies to Anne Briggs, the competition for greatest British folk-revival album comes down to The Pentangle’s jazzy debut, Liege And Lief, and this one. It’s awfully close, but my money is on Silly Sisters. No collection of songs better demonstrates why patriarchy sucks — not merely because it’s unfair, but because it turns men and women alike into humorless, status-seeking automatons. Plus, the album contains June Tabor’s definitive reading of “Geordie”: for my money the sexiest recording ever made by a white person. Some like it when the girls sing about their milkshake bringing all the boys to the yard; “the blood would have flowed upon the green before I lost my laddie” is more my speed. This is the first album I spin when the weather changes in the spring.
18. Public Enemy — Yo! Bum Rush The Show (1987)
Don’t believe the hype — the best P.E. album is still the first. Not Chuck D as the spokesman for his race, or for his generation, or as a social commentator or talking head, but as a great emcee, dangerous and difficult, rapping confrontationally about his frat, his car, and his crew. And sure, Flav was always a joke, but in ’87, his role hadn’t yet degenerated into caricature and weird subservience. Most of the political stuff is left implicit, but everything in his arsenal of metaphors feels explosive. After this, Public Enemy albums would always have a whiff of NPR about them; from time to time, Chuck would even get apologetic about his vigorously-stated opinions. Not here. No equivocation on Bum Rush — just non-stop challenge.
17. Liz Phair — Exile In Guyville (1993)
Phair’s debut earned notoriety upon release for its blue language — folks weren’t used to liberal arts girls singing about dicks. Fifteen years later, Guyville sounds kinda tame; honestly, it sounded tame then, too. She opened the next album by admitting that she was secretly timid, as if we didn’t already know. She meant that all the curse words were, principally, show business. Still, there was never anything hesitant about her writing. Me, I’ve never been the kind of listener who’d gush about a chord progression, because usually I could give a damn. But Liz Phair’s pop-compositional architecture was so audacious that it demanded notice: check out “Stratford On Guy”, or “Girls, Girls, Girls”, or “Shatter”, or the opener. Those who loved her as a provocateur and feminist have found her subsequent records bewildering, but I think it’s telling that most pro musicians recognize Phair for what she is: one of the finest pure songwriters in rock history. Subtly innovative on the electric six-string, too.
16. Black Sheep — A Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing (1991)
Wolf opens with the only good g-rap parody ever done, and closes with a male chorus (courtesy of Millie Jackson) singing “fuck you” in multi-part harmony. In a round. In between, Dres picks up girls and strands others on the dancefloor, waxes fatalistic about fleeting fame and the cruel machinations of the music industry, and attempts to establish the middle finger as an alternative greeting to the handshake. Deejay Mista Lawnge handles the funny voices and Mandingo penis jokes, and Q-Tip and Chi-Ali cover anal sex and underage drinking, respectively. Incredibly funny and weirdly moving, A Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing is inexhaustible: every listen reveals new punchlines, new angles, and adds further nuance to Dres’s crazy-complicated perspective. Oh, and if this was an all-time singles list, “The Choice Is Yours” would stand a good chance of topping it outright.
15. Graham Parker & The Rumour – Squeezing Out Sparks (1979)
Now this is what they told me punk rock was supposed to be like: choruses that hit like blunt objects over the head, musicians going as hard and fast as they can, and the singer spitting snake-venom that gets in your eyes and stings like hell. Not a nihilist on the mic, but a hopeless romantic so bruised by his encounter with the world that he’s incapable of doing anything but lashing out. No band on earth could ever sound as angry as Graham Parker actually is, but on Squeezing Out Sparks, the Rumour comes close. And maybe it was just dumb serendipity that the old grease monkey happened to come up with his strongest batch of songs (and that’s saying something): ten rollercoaster rides through England in decay, no seat-belts, no stopping, no mercy on the high hills. Parker and his group sing and play every note like their lives depended on getting through to their listener, and considering the raw emotional state of the principals in ‘79, it probably did. Yes, there are a handful of better rock albums. But no album rocks any better.
14. Jungle Brothers – J. Beez Wit Tha Remedy (1993)
The problem with Zappa’s Freak Out!, insofar as there is one, which there really isn’t, is that it never seems like the Mothers are freaked out. Even when they’re ranting on about Suzy Creamcheese and the brain police and the son of Monster Magnet, Zappa’s rebellion against convention feels comprehensively storyboarded. The band is in absolute control, and madness, or “madness”, is just another option in the playbook. There is a conceptual precision to the project that undermines the band’s subversive intent. It has come to my attention over the years that the very best records are always at least a little unhinged — genuinely and sometimes frighteningly chaotic — and the wackos who make these albums don’t always realize how far out they’re going. For instance, it wouldn’t surprise me at all to discover that in 1993, the Jungle Brothers considered J. Beez Wit Tha Remedy a perfectly logical and reasonable successor to their first two records and well within the accepted bounds of avant-rap expectation. Listening sixteen years later, it blows my mind that it ever got released. No alternative emcees, or, for that matter, alternative rockers, have ever come within a country mile of its towering dementia — not even the Divine Styler on the frequently-terrifying Spiral Walls Containing Autumns Of Light. I write not only of the wigged-out tape experiments on side two, but of the three-minute hip-hop songs on the first side, all of which are creepy and sinister, road-weary, dream-haunted, and terminally paranoid. J. Beez Wit Tha Remedy has often been dismissed as a blunted indulgence, but you’ve smoked marijuana, too, and you haven’t cut any records like this one. Somebody in this project (probably Afrika Baby Bam) flipped his wig and made an album that could only have been released during that brief window of opportunity when major labels didn’t know what was going on with that newfangled rap thing that the kids seemed to like; but what the hell?, let’s just put it out there and see what happens. The world has changed: these days, mild departures from hip-hop expectation like Q-Tip’s Kamaal The Abstract molder in record company vaults, deemed unsuitable for a mass audience. The irony is that the side two sound-collage peaks with “For The Headz At Company Z”, a complaint about music-industry bullying unparalleled in its anguish. Warner Brothers had rejected the original Bill Laswell sessions for Remedy, and the JBs were pissed. Those tracks are noisier and busier than those that finally made the cut, but they’re no more insane, because you can’t get any more insane.
13. Richard & Linda Thompson — Pour Down Like Silver (1975)
Funny (but not really) that the most staggering 20c devotional music written in the English language is addressed to Allah. And unmistakably so: this is Muslim music, right down to the sweet surrender, the veil of darkness, and the never-ending dance. It took the son of a London policeman and his reluctantly-converted wife to get us to the desert; once there, we’re spellbound. If Abu Hamid Al-Ghazali’s stark, radiant, and proudly skeptical Sufi theology could be translated into song, this is what it would sound like.
12. Paul Simon — Graceland (1986)
Lots of vicious stories about this one; if you believe sax player Steve Berlin, Paul Simon swiped “The Myth Of Fingerprints” wholesale from Los Lobos. Much of the music credited to Simon was in fact purchased — or maybe purloined. Two decades later, the project still feels unethical and vaguely colonial: wealthy American pop star journeys, field-recording device in hand, to Africa to tape the natives? (It didn’t help that Ladysmith Black Mambazo’s most notable subsequent contribution to stateside pop was their CremeSavers commercial.) That Graceland sounds far more like a Paul Simon album than anything by Papa Wemba pleases provincial old me, but I’d understand if an Afropop fan considered it a hanging offense. As ethnomusicology, or as an exercise in international ethics, Graceland is a world-class failure. But even if you consider Paul Simon amoral, you couldn’t ever call him slow — and he’s way ahead of his critics here, writing persuasively and poetically about hemispherical collisions, cultural dislocation, and the tidal pull of history. Of course “Under African Skies” is exploitative; that’s part of the point. This is how a privileged, intellectual New Yorker encounters Johannesburg — or the American South — and to pretend otherwise would have been an aesthetically-bankrupt move. And aesthetically-challenged is about the last thing Simon is on Graceland: soul may have been sold and melodies may have been swiped, but he still sings and plays it all like an old master. If you don’t think Simon knows exactly what he’s doing — precisely how close he’s skirting the line between inspiration and outright theft — you need to listen to “The Boy In The Bubble” again. Even if it was assembled by sleight-of-hand, Graceland remains the most honest appraisal of rock’s debt to its African and African-American influences ever waxed. In order to be a hero, sometimes you’ve got to risk villainy; even The Dark Knight knew that.
11. Van Morrison — St. Dominic’s Preview (1972)
Only two guys are elemental enough to have earned the nickname “The Man”. Stan Musial’s twenty-two seasons in a Cardinal uniform were characterized by astonishing quality and consistency; he batted .315 as a 21 year old, and .330 two decades later. Musial was so good that baseball fans sometimes seem to take him for granted — when seamheads discuss the all-time greats, his name doesn’t always come up. Ditto for that other Man: we all acknowledge his massive influence, his electrifying performances, and his mastery of the rock and soul idioms, and hey, how about that Sex Pistols debut? But Van the Man was no flash in the pan — he has now recorded thirty-six albums of original material (thirty-eight if you count Them), and they’re all great. No, really, they are, every single one of them. St. Dominic’s Preview is my favorite, but you might prefer the hallucinatory poetry on Veedon Fleece, or the amaranthine pop hits on Moondance, or the ‘verbed-out soundscapes on A Sense Of Wonder, or the Celtic folk readings on Irish Heartbeat. There is no wrong answer. There are moments on Down The Road (particularly “Choppin’ Wood”) that are every bit as glorious and resonant as those immortal improvisational passages on Astral Weeks that every young mystic has memorized. Nobody else can boast a track record like that — forty years in the biz, never fading, never falling off, continually challenging himself, his audiences, and the ghosts that have followed him from Caledonia to Marin County, and back again.
10. PM Dawn — Of The Heart, Of The Soul, And Of The Cross: The Utopian Experience (1991)
The way I see it, God keeps two artists in his almighty record collection. (Others are there, of course, but they’re not indispensable to Him). When he’s feeling punk rock, he spins George Frideric Handel and has Himself a cosmic mosh. And when he’s feeling funky, he listens to this.
9. Pink Floyd — Dark Side Of The Moon (1973)
I’m usually a pitchfork-wielding philistine who throws stones at abstract art, but every now and then, I get sold into giving a chance to one of them there “experimental” records. Some of these are even cool. But, honestly, if you’ve heard the Floyd, nothing is going to surprise you. There hasn’t been a single production innovation in pop music for the past forty years that Pink Floyd didn’t anticipate. You name it: they did it first, and they did it best. Ground broken on the band’s late-Sixties and early-Seventies albums is still fertile today. Great groups are always inimitable: even at the zenith of U2’s popularity, it was always apparent that other bands would be able to mimic their sound. Every musician with progressive proclivities (and plenty with none) has attempted to recapture the Dark Side magic; has anyone come close? Has there ever been a more effective piece of musique concrete than those infernal clocks? Has any techno knob-twiddler ever challenged the mind-warping supremacy of “On The Run”? How many cheap imitations of “Great Gig In The Sky” do you want to sit through before you go and spin the original? A few final words on a tremendous loss: the recent death of Rick Wright robbed rock music of its finest synth player ever (and anybody who wants to contest that designation doesn’t know what he’s talking about.) No musician ever coaxed more evocative textures out of an analog patch bay. He exposed the jazz in the machine. Every time I sit down at an instrument of mine, I think of Richard Wright. He showed us the way.
8. Randy Newman — Good Old Boys (1974)
Randy’s best band, and best bunch of melodies, and probably his best argument, too. Critics weren’t ready for the “funny” racism back in ’73, and perhaps that speaks well of the critics. But as we’ve all gotten more comfortable shooting our mouths off for effect, the reputation of Good Old Boys has only ascended. Newman wants to show us the cost of our provincialism, and expose what’s really hiding behind our liberal platitudes, and if he had to give voice to redneck logic to make his points, I consider it a boon that he knows this territory well enough to make it all sound convincing. Those who refused to catch the irony must have ignored the part where Randy sings “we don’t know our ass from a hole in the ground”. He meant everybody, see; not just the hicks, but the East Coast sophisticates who believe they’ve managed to transcend four hundred years of racism by watching the right movies and TV programs. He was right then, and he still is.
7. Terry Allen — Juarez (1975)
Terry Allen’s raw piano-blues masterpiece is sort of a Western version of Good Old Boys: the story of the European encounter with native American culture, the English speaker’s tussle with those who habla espanol, and our bizarre relationship with the country on the other side of our southern border. Allen distills this into a fractured narrative of lust, graffiti, flight from the law, and death in the desert. Which kinda makes it sound like the Lifetime channel. But there’s nothing sentimental about Terry Allen’s vision, nor does anybody have his knack for allusive storytelling. He keeps stopping the music abruptly to deliver disturbing narration about his characters, he turns on the radio in the middle of a song and delivers a critique, and in a masterstroke of applied deep psychology, uses the sound of breaking glass to represent a murder (or worse). Throughout the set, Allen hammers on the keys like he’s trying to do structural damage to the floor beneath the piano, and sings his songs in a knowing cowboy croak. The trip peaks on “Cortez Sail”, a retelling of the North American foundational myth so blunt and uncompromising that I’m surprised Allen didn’t get his citizenship revoked. Although Juarez was cut thirty five years ago, its mid-‘00s reissue couldn’t have come at a more appropriate moment. To me, it will always be the definitive artistic statement about the Bush presidency — one made by a recalcitrant Texan with remarkable prophetic powers. We see best into the future when we study our own history. Sadly.
6. Joni Mitchell — For The Roses (1972)
“Come with me, I know the way”, purrs the poet, “it’s down, down, down the dark ladder.” And when you get to the bottom of the dark ladder, Joni, what do you see? Orual from Till We Have Faces — in many ways the jonimitchellest character in Western literature — descends into the pit and there discovers gruesome secrets about herself. Mitchell does, too, but she’s not alone on this trip: an emo version of Ludwig Van Beethoven is hanging out down there, too. Here is her portrait of the tortured artist in verse, in language evocative of the civil rights movement (I am including an extended quote, because once you start, it’s not so easy to stop). “You’ve got to shake your fists at lightning/ you’ve got to roar like forest fire/ you’ve got to spread your light like blazes all across the sky/ they’re going to turn the hoses on you/ show ‘em you won’t expire/ not ‘till you burn up every passion/ not even when you die/ c’mon, you’ve got to try/ if you’re feeling contempt, then you tell it/ if you’re tired of the silent night, jesus, then you yell it/ condemned to wires and hammers/ strike every chord that you feel/ that broken trees and elephant ivories conceal.” “Judgment Of The Moon And Stars” is to emo as Marx’s “Manifesto” is to revolutionary communism. Every confessional singer-songwriter ought to have that pinned to the bulletin board for inspiration. I’ll bet Will Sheff does — he’s certainly ripped off the rest of this album with gleeful abandon.
5. Yes — Close To The Edge (1972)
So, yeah, you can keep your Led Zeppelin. Oh, I know how great they were. Listening to Led Zep over the years has occasioned some memorable kickings of my ass. But what if you’d like to rock just as triumphantly, but do it in a manner that keeps your ass intact for further use? What if you want your ass elevated? No, I don’t mean Mix-A-Lot style; I mean lifted up on cloud nine and carried straight to the stratosphere. What if you want your ass hoisted to a realm where the air is thin (but oh so sweet), the sights are crystalline and sapphire-blue, and Mother Earth’s sacred ecology pulses and swells beneath you? What band can get you that high? C’mon, don’t say Radiohead; that’s silly. There’s only one mystic stormbringer — one chosen quintet with enough ozone to negate a lifetime supply of fluorocarbons. Sure, they get called names sometimes; weren’t you? Years ago, when it was still déclassé to admit liking them, I dreaded the day I’d turn the corner and discover what everybody else claimed to know: that Yes were bloated, self-indulgent, incomprehensible, and too fantasy-fey to rock the crowd. I braced myself for it; I resigned myself to the inevitable; I expected my teenage favorite to be torn from my hands by a gale of common sense. So I am ever so pleased to report that my appreciation of Close To The Edge has only deepened. Every gesture made on this album stands in contradiction to conventional wisdom. Every note has a purpose. Every performance is pointed. Jon Anderson’s lyrics are shockingly hard-eyed and weirdly prescient. The rock is ferocious when it ought to be, and as delicate as it needs to be. So druids rejoice!, Yes has arrived to exalt the globe and expose some elven soul. At their peak, they were the best band ever, glorious and mesmerizing, boldly experimental and unashamedly pop. Gaia will never see their like again.
4. Game Theory — Lolita Nation (1987)
For an alleged contrarian, I don’t really go in for idiosyncratic picks. In 1983, I was spinning Thriller along with the rest of the tweens on my block; my #1 album of 2008 sold millions worldwide. Much of the stuff in this post shows up on “best of” lists made by other goofs. I never mind rocking out to obscure records, but I’ve got no investment in keeping them secret. So it is with unmixed pleasure that I report that Lolita Nation has finally begun to be acknowledged as the classic that it is. Not by your mom, or by your square older brother on the varsity lacrosse team, of course. But if you’ve got a cousin in one of these new fuzzed-out pop bands that are all the rage in the hipper sections of the big city, he knows Lolita Nation as a cornerstone of the sound. If he’s a bit of a nerd-rocker, he’s probably got the album cover framed and hanging on the wall. For those still in the dark, Lolita Nation is a double album’s worth of hyperactive, hyper-literate, and insanely-catchy guitar-pop, plus berserk synthesizer and game-show instrumentals, plus tape experiments and funny voices, plus day-glo auditory hallucinations. This is a fifteen-car pile-up of ideas on a Northern California freeway, complete with sirens and flares and white city lights in the distance. Much like Prince, Scott Miller is a caffeinated Eighties superbrain with a penchant for computer-logic and a will to testify like a soul man. Unlike Prince, he doesn’t run his vocabulary through the strainer of public acceptability — so he sings (passionately!) about ailerons, the Heisenberg threshold, gravity, neuroscience. These are metaphors, sorta. He references Captain Kirk and makes fun of David Carradine. He pulls the conventional pop song apart, limb by limb, in “The Waist And The Knees”, and inserts bizarre contractual language into its chest cavity in lieu of a pacemaker. But he also makes room for two of the smartest songs any lovelorn intellectual could ever croon to his bespectacled girlfriend: “Nothing New”, and the ridiculously-gorgeous “We Love You Carol And Alison”. The wigged-out third side is new wave pulverized: pop smashed into shards and blown at the listener in a sonic sandstorm. Nothing to do on the fourth but pick up the pieces, and Miller does so with grace, poise, and unerring ear for melody intact. Most great rock records stick the landing; Lolita Nation floats down from the uneven bars like an angel descending. Scott Miller is a generous guy; he knows you’re going to need some time to recover from your encounter with his brilliance. He gives you a head start.
3. Elvis Costello & The Attractions — Blood & Chocolate (1986)
Costello famously called “revenge and guilt” his motivations for singing. This is the record where he makes good on that threat. And then some. I’m not sure who these songs were about, but whoever she was, she sure was spoken to.
2. De La Soul — De La Soul Is Dead (1991)
How many hip-hop albums contain a blanket dismissal of the genre in their liner notes? Penned by the lead vocalist? “Eye hate rap”, writes Posdnuos, who goes on to explain that he’s bought himself a trombone and is taking lessons. A trombone? Well, Pos did always pride himself on his marks of distinction; that’s what “Me, Myself & I” was all about. Normally a respectful and polite interview, he once flew off the handle when asked if De La was jumping on the jazz-rap bandwagon. “De La Soul doesn’t jump on any bandwagons”, he made clear. Inspiring, then, that this proudly complicated and pugnacious emcee and his equally incisive partners are still rapping. They can tell the sort of survivor’s tale that’s only available to those who’ve always had to struggle to make themselves heard. In ’91, they were just getting started, and only beginning to grasp the contours of the adversity they’d always have to face. De La Soul Is Dead describes a phantasmagoric Amityville, filled with two-faced promoters with secret agendas, clumsy amateur critics out for blood-sport, professional bullies and supercilious bitties. Spiritual conversions are bunko, drugs are rampant, violence can come from anywhere, and dissent is silenced by the iron fist of the lampin’ proletariat. The deejay gets his Pathfinder stolen; Santa molests his stepdaughter, and is shot dead in the department store before an uncomprehending jury of kids. Parts of the album unfold operatically– stories take place in real time — but nobody understands what anybody else is doing, and the listener is made to hold on by his fingernails as the narrative whizzes by. Don’t ask De La Soul to slow down for you; they’re not going to slow down. They’ve got their redoubts, their power-bases: the donut shop, the rollerskating rink, the local radio station. Most importantly, they’ve got each other. They don’t need anybody else to ratify their vision, and if their hometown finds it all a little confusing, a little cerebral, too bad. They’ve thought plenty about the relationship of the successful rap act to its community, and if they’ve decided that Amityville only cares about them insofar as their success can be treated as a public utility, it’s hard to begrudge them their bad moods. Often misrecognized as a retreat, De La Soul Is Dead is actually nothing of the sort: it’s a cold-eyed assessment of the crippling obstacles that face a conceptually-demanding act. Caustic and disgusted as they are, they let you know they aren’t afraid. They recognize how difficult it is going to be for nonconformists to make any mark in a world that won’t make room for difference; they acknowledge the cost of hanging in there. Then they go ahead and do it anyway. This album — and this group — is ten times tougher than all the L.A. gangster acts put together. They rap like they know it.
1. Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band — Born In The U.S.A. (1984)
Not because he’s from Jersey and I’m from Jersey and us Turnpike mooks gotta stick together. Not because of the strength and consistency of the songs. Not because of the economy of the lyrics; verses pared to the sinew and bone by one of rock’s wordiest writers. Not even because of Bruce Springsteen’s electrifying vocals, or the possessed performances coaxed out of a talented bar band that should have been capable of no such things. None of those are the reason I’m putting Born In The U.S.A. on top of this list. No, Springsteen claims the title because he saw it all coming; and I mean all of it. From his vantage point during Orwell’s year, he asked whether American identity still meant anything, and what it was going to mean for those who’d inherit the mantle. Surveillance, militarization, epidemic incarceration as the lazy answer to the loosening of the ties that bind; it’s all here. These archetypal-American characters are all slipping toward the penitentiary or to a rootless existence on an endless road; once born to run, they’ve come to realize that all their possible destinations have evaporated. Endless war and disenfranchisement of those citizens unlucky enough to fight in them, sickness and insecurity (economic and psychological), the fading of the flag, alienation and estrangement from things that were once familiar — here was our future, said The Boss, and the twenty-five years since the release of Born In The U.S.A. would prove the forecast accurate. Liberals worldwide cringed when Ronald Reagan tried to co-opt “Born In The U.S.A.” for his ’84 re-election campaign, and Brucie had to tell the president to cease and desist. But be fair: Reagan knew showbiz, and he could recognize a patriotic gesture when he encountered one. Nothing jingoistic about “Born In The U.S.A.”, but if The Boss wasn’t a true patriot, he wouldn’t be out in the heartland, howling for justice. Born In The U.S.A. has gone platinum fifteen times over, and it’s beloved by the warden and the prisoner alike; protesters and war profiteers can sing you back these verses. If any songs have been scratched into our souls, as Craig Finn puts it, it’s these. Cynically, you might say that this proves only that protest songs provide us with nothing but a tune for the hangman to whistle on the way to the gallows. It’s a valid interpretation. But I’d like to think it means there’s hope for us yet.
With great pride, I announce the official release of Arrivals and Departures, a CD by New Jersey musician and songwriter (and my husband) Jonathan Andrew.
A few months ago, you learned a little about Jonathan Andrew’s musical scope when his Top Ten Albums of All Time were posted here on the Rock and Racehorses Blog. Now it’s time to hear his music. The four-song CD was recorded in Hoboken, New Jersey. All songs were written and performed by Jonathan Andrew. The CD was engineered by Mike Ferraro and mixed by Ralph Capasso. Two-time Grammy Award winning audio engineer Tom Ruff mastered Arrivals & Departures.
The CD release party was held on July 3, 2009 at The Goldhawk in Hoboken, NJ. Jon performed all the songs on the CD, plus other originals and a few fantastic cover songs. He got a little help from his friends, and Jersey rock local luminaries Joshua Van Ness, Nick Ferriero, Mike Ferraro, Ralph Capasso, Jim Lovegrove, and Eric Blankenship graced the stage.
Album art for Arrivals and Departures was designed by the inimitable Chris Pierson, another talented rocker and also the web designer of my website, RockandRacehorses.com. The cover photo of the CD was taken by me in California on the last day of my Santa Anita Breeders’ Cup trip.
Thank you for supporting this fantastic musician and I look forward to hearing your comments about his music.
Fresh out of college, Jon made the trek from the San Francisco Bay Area in California to the Jersey Shore. He may know Black Ruby race calls by heart, but you should see the California Kid struggle with New Jersey snow on his car.
Ask him about Bay Meadows. Or ask him about any of the dozens of racetracks he’s visited. Ask him for the winner of the final race at any track that has closed since 1992. Or ask him for his top ten albums of all time:
1. The Who Sell Out-The Who (1967) The third LP by the ‘orrible ‘oo, a mock pirate radio broadcast, was the group’s first concept album. Included with the songs are fake commercials and “borrowed” jingles from Radio London broadcasts. Although the pirate radio broadcast concept loses steam at the end (apparently the group ran out of fake commercials and were in a hurry to finish production), it’s much more of a concept album than Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. The album is full of sharp social criticism, but the album never ceases to lose its goofy sense of humor.
2.Ramones-The Ramones (1976): Thanks to bands like Yes; Emerson, Lake & Palmer, and the band that brought us the #4 album on this list, rock ‘n’ roll had become bloated and needed a spark of energy. Which was exactly what The Ramones self-titled debut album offered. Rock, I believe, has fun at its core, but the genre had become so darn self-serious by then. I mean, how can’t you love a band that doesn’t “wanna go down to the basement” or “walk around with you”, but does “wanna sniff some glue”? Note the irony of a Jewish Brooklyn native singing about a “Blitzkrieg bop” and how he’s a “Nazi schatzi” who fights “for the fatherland. “ 1-2-3-4!
3. Who’s Next-The Who (1971): Anyone who listens to classic rock on FM radio is probably sick of hearing Baba O’Riley, Behind Blue Eyes, and Won’t Get Fooled Again. I mean, those are great songs, but I have this album ranked highly because I really like a lot of the lesser-known tracks. The Song is Over successfully combines poignant soft rock with harder stuff. Getting in Tune is simply, well, a good tune. And Going Mobile is a fun song to sing while driving. Not that I sing in the car or anything…
4. Wish You Were Here-Pink Floyd (1975): Real Pink Floyd fans may a disagree with me, but this is by far my favorite Pink Floyd album. Actually, it’s the only one I listen to. I know a serious Pink Floyd fan who thinks its “cliché.” And granted, it’s not as adventurous or ground-breaking as some of their other efforts. But that’s why I like it: It isn’t so damn obtuse! The songs make sense. The theme of Syd Barrett’s downfall after falling into the trappings of rock ‘n’ roll success is easy for feeble minds like mine to follow. (Actually, David Gilmour and Richard Wright agree with me. Said Gilmour: “I for one would have to say that it is my favourite album, the Wish You Were Here album. The end result of all that, whatever it was, definitely has left me an album I can live with very, very happily. I like it very much.” And Wright: “It’s an album I can listen to for pleasure. And there aren’t many of the Floyd’s albums that I can say that about.”)
5. Revolver-The Beatles (1966): On this single album, you’ll find the childish fantasy of Yellow Submarine and the hard rock psychedelia of Tomorrow Never Knows. The latter track still kicks ass nearly 43 years later, and they didn’t have modern luxuries like synthesizers or computers to produce the trippy effects. On the other end of the complexity spectrum is For No One, a melancholy two-minute tale of a romantic breakup that lacks of the excessive saccharine-ness of some of McCartney’s later efforts.
6.Rubber Soul-The Beatles (1965): Really, the five and six spots are interchangeable. This LP was the Beatles’ last effort before Revolver. It does have a much more organic feel than the preceding album, however, but still was a tremendous move forward from their early albums. Gone are the “boy meets girl” and “boy loses girl” songs, replaced by songs about seduction, jealousy, adultery, and isolation. The Word is their first song about love as a broader concept, and I prefer it vastly over the pretentious All You Need Is Love, which came two years later.
7. Leave Home-The Ramones (1977): This is the Ramones’ second album, which is a lot like the first. Except now they prefer sniffing Carbona cleaning products to glue. And we should now fear opening that door, instead of going down to the basement. And while Jackie is a punk and Judy is a runt, Suzy is a headbanger. Gabba gabba hey!
9. The Last Waltz-The Band (The concert was in 1976. Soundtrack released in 1978.): This album is about as “live” as Richard Manuel and Rick Danko now are (yeah, I went there), but hey, I like it. This soundtrack to the film of the same name is from The Band’s final concert with their original lineup. The album and film are filled with studio overdubs, but apparently Levon Helm’s drumming is live, so that’s good enough, right? And his vocals are pretty damn good on Up on Cripple Creek and The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down. Except that hack Martin Scorsese truncated a lot of the songs in the film and took out the verses in Up on Cripple Creek that were about going to the racetrack. Those were the best verses!
10. Bringing It All Back Home-Bob Dylan (1965): I like Bob Dylan a lot, but on most of his albums, I love half the songs and never listen to the other half. But on Bringing It All Back Home, I’ll listen to nearly all of them, except I do prefer the live version of Maggie’s Farm. Also, I don’t think it’d be a stretch to say Subterranean Homesick Blues was one of the first rap songs.
Rock and Racehorses: Sarah K. Andrew 