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dollarbin · 1 year

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Dollar Bin #10:

Bob Dylan at Budokan

My famous brother went out on one of his classic limbs this past week and told his approximately 64 million followers that it was time to get excited about Dylan's latest Archive reclamation project.

The Archives series has already saved Self Portrait and saved the Saved era; now Dylan and my brother want to convince us that Dylan at Budokan, Bob's cheese favored concert album from 78 is a misunderstood classic.

Without having listened to the entirety of this Dollar Bin mainstay in a few decades I'm going out on a much narrower limb than my brother right now and saying he's wrong. Wrong! I first picked this record up at my local library in about 90, back when you could still check vinyl records out of libraries. It sucked then, and I say it still sucks now.

Problem is, my famous brother is famous in part because he's never wrong about stuff like this. I told him Saved was unsaveable a few years back and he patted me on the head, chuckling. Then Dylan put out Trouble No More and proved my brother right. I also told him in about 1983 that I would always be taller and more handsome than him. And look what the hell happened.

Point is, my brother knows what he's talking about. He's famous for a reason. And yet! Lately he's been telling me I should listen to Manassas records, claiming that Stephen Stills' other 70's "supergroup" doesn't suck. Well, that sounds like a load of horse crap. Stephen Stills sucks, bro, and so does Dylan at Budokan.

So let's drop the needle and take a listen. I'll write this entry in real time, beer in hand. May the best brother win.

Side 1

Mr. Tambourine Man opens the album. Every time I try to listen to this record I start here, obviously. I can already see why I don't get much further. The song's arrangement is incredibly complex, and everyone is clearly talented. The opening guitar riff is lovely and returns toward the end to ramble and shine. But why does the flute never, ever stop? If I wanted someone on stage with a magic flute, I'd ask for it, Bob. I'm not asking for a magic flute, Bob. Ever.

Next we've got Shelter from the Storm performed by a strident Greek dramatic chorus. Sounds pretty good, I guess. The song makes sense for ancient masked tragedy. It describes a world of steel eyed death and men fighting to stay warm; they sell the guy's clothes; doom alone counts. But in-between verses tragedy falls away and Steve Douglas, the man formerly fingering his endless flute, is staggering around like the guy in a fat suit in a Satyr play, his sax beating everyone on the head like it's a giant pigskin phallus. His name, of course, is Steve; he and Stills outta go and compare their mammoth ding dongs in private: we don't want to see them.

Love Minus Zero follows. Dylan is suddenly fronting Van the Man's Caledonia Soul Orchestra, one of the best live bands of all time, but Bob has them juggling pineapples and riding unicycles. Rob Stoner, who possesses the best name for a bass player in the history of white people, ignores them all, rocking out underneath. The track is better than I remember, but everyone is still playing hopscotch gleefully during one of my favorite songs of all time, so the album still sucks - so far.

At this point, my famous brother is beginning to tremble with fright because he knows what comes next. Ballad of a Thin Man gives Steve "Must Be Related To Stills" Douglas another chance to slather his sax sized wienerschnitzel with all kinds of mustard and wave it in everyone's face. That thing was meant for procreation, Steve, not for playing with in front of the poor Japanese audience. Jesus Christ, the album is even worse than I remember.

And now it gets even more terrible! It Ain't Me Babe has a rumbling your way to the crapper vibe; something Bob ate is not sitting right inside him and the stage swirls while his drummer's bass drum drops a smoking load all over the floor.

Okay, bro, sure, the guitar solo mid-song is kinda awesome; but by that point everyone in my house, hell, everyone on my block, has their heads in their hands and is begging for it to stop. Bob's satin jumpsuit needs to be thrown away; no detergent will ever get these stains out. But even so he wants us to know it's alright, it's alright, it's alright!

Time to flip the record, and get another beer. We've got a long way to go.

Side two opens with Maggie's Farm. Never my favorite song, frankly. The wild thing about this album is how intricate the arrangements continue to be. Do I like this James-Belushi-running-up-a-series-of-down-escalators-at-full-speed take on the song? No. But everyone in the band charges on earnestly, working through reams of intricate lead sheets; even the drumming is perfectly notated so as to induce maximum seasickness.

Now One More Cup of Coffee is a song I always enjoy. It's creepy and seductive, a prequel to Senior, which Dylan must have been working on at this point. But this take replaces the sinister, elusive vibe of every other version with misplaced, chest-pounding bravado. What's Dylan need another cup of coffee for if the valley below is a place where everyone will gather and cheer while he does clap-as-you-rise push-ups? It sounds like Dylan is surrounded by Bukokan's finest break dancers. My brother stands to one side, cowering in shame.

However, Like A Rolling Stone is actually good here. This take lays the sonic foundation for much of Street Legal, the well-above-average album of new songs Dylan recorded with this band in the middle of this tour. Here, Douglas channels All Things Must Pass rather than Elvis's laced up leather pants. Sure, he flashes his midsection monster yet again at the end to interrupt a pretty solid guitar solo, but we're thinking about Dylan's great phrasing of the timeless lyrics, not Steve's Johnson.

The verse work on I Shall Be Released gives my brother's cause for further hope, but the chorus turns the song into This Little Light of Mine complete with hand gestures. The song is about dreaming of freedom, Bob. It should not sound like an upbeat prison torture soundtrack.

Speaking of Street Legal, Is Your Love in Vain is as great on this album as you'd expect, maybe better than the studio version at moments, especially when the mandolin elbows in. The song comes from a particular genre in the Bobosphere: the "Bob Shares Insights into Why He Never Stays Married" genre. The songs are often pretty good in this genre; but the lyrics are by turns offensive, hilarious and (hopefully) ironic. What Was It You Wanted? is a fun member of the club; Something's Burning Baby, is a particularly terrible entry, not because it features tender husband bon mots like, "Something is the matter baby, there's smoke in your hair," but because it's unlistenable. Bob, buy a clue: if your ladyfriend is on fire, don't write a song about it. Rather, go get a hose.

Just in case Bob's not sure, let's tell it to him straight, right here and now: no one wants to be asked if they can cook and sew and make flowers grow for you, Bob. Therefore, no one wants to understand your pain. But we still like your song!

Okay, we are almost 1/2 way through this record and the score is me 4000, my brother 2. But Going, Going, Gone sounds alright! We've got a pretty full rewrite going on, and the guitar noodles along nicely. I'd love to hear Bob Uecker sing this version of the chorus as a ball leaves the yard.

But then mid-track something wicked and gross this way comes. In what I guess we'll call the bridge, the band veers off Gordon Lightfoot's Carefree Highway and is suddenly going, going, gone into the River Acheron (you know, the one that welcomes all souls to hell). Moments later, the band regains form, and we are no longer trembling alongside Dante. But then the whole reckless thing restarts and I'd rather get in Charon's boat and compliment his flaming wheel eyes than listen a moment longer.

It's time for side three!

Finally we hear Alan Pasqua front and center on Blowing in the Wind; here he tinkles mysteriously along, going somewhere exciting. His intricate, conversational and utterly original playing on Murder on Most Foul led me down a lovely internet rabbit hole a few years back. Somewhere on the net (look yourself, you lazy reader, and bring me another beer while you are at it. I'm busy surviving this experience.) there's a huge and exciting interview with Pasqua all about this tour and his occasional work with Dylan during the past 45 years. Someone, somewhere in all that reading compared Murder Most Foul to A Love Supreme. The comparison is ridiculous, yes, but it's also interesting. All kidding aside, Dylan has made some of the last century's weirdest and best art. Just not here.

Anyway, this arrangement of Blowing gets increasingly intolerable as the rest of the band comes in; I'd be far more excited to have Dylan work the whole song through alone with Pasqua.

Just Like a Woman sounds nice here; it's another entry in the "I recommend you divorce me" Bobfiles, but if he wanted to play this at my $1000 Wedding I'd be fine with it. Dylan busts out his harpoon for some classic warbling at the end, setting the stage for the best harmonica playing of his whole career three or four years later on Every Grain of Sand. Blow Bob, blow! Your catching my brother up!

But uh oh, broheim, Oh Sister is moody and unrecognizable. Where is this going? This song has always been one of Bob's most terror inducing. Is he singing about lying in the arms of his actual sister? Is Oedipus joining them afterwards for light drinks and conversation? By the time Steve Douglas fingers his giant, one eyed, Achaean blood sausage yet again everything sounds like the fourth, thankfully edited out, hour of Boogie Nights. During the final instrumental section things are actually pretty exciting, but I'm glad Bob didn't introduce this one the way he introduces the next ("Here's a simple love story, happened to me...") because if this song and this version are non-fiction there are three headed people in Minnesota descended from Dylan's coupling with some poor sibling. Yikes. Next track, please.

Simple Twist of Fate is good! I'd prefer it if Dylan's hotel wasn't "renovated" and I'd be fine without the bridge, but David Mansfield's violin soars nicely towards the end, swimming in a lovely current with Billy Cross's lead guitar and Pasqua's surging organ. Score another one for the famous brother.

What can I say about All Along the Watchtower? Stoner's bass is bigger here than his bong. Mansfield's violin is awesome; the background vocals are great. Does this compete with Jimi Hendricks, or the Dylan and the Band version from 74, or the original? Hell no. But this is probably my favorite track so far: Dylan gives one of Dylan's most cinematic songs a great reboot.

Wow. I Want You! Maybe my brother is famous for a good reason after all. This take is soulful, unrecognizable and tender. It nearly wins my brother the whole bet. One of his big claims is that Bob really sings on this record, rather than the shouting he'd done on the previous tours. I concede that point, at least for the moment.

I'm at the bridge now (Remember? All this is being written while I sit here suffering! But this song is amazing so far.) and I'm praying Bob sent his sax player and his unsheathed whispermaphone straight to Tokyo jail. Ooooh - it's even better than that: Bob's making the guy play recorder instead. Forget you ever saw the long term tenant in the sax guy's trousers because we're swooning here. Wow! If Bob's reissue sounds like this my famous brother is going to be right yet again and I'll be left with Bob's own backyard brood of chickens' eggs all over my face. Curses!

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Side 4

Are there really only four sides so far? How many beers have I had? Do I really have to listen to All I Really Want To Do? It doesn't even crack my top 400 Dylan songs; Handy Dandy holds down number 400 and cannot be budged. Handy Dandy: he's got an all girl orchestra and when he says strike up the band, they hit it. Love that song....

It doesn't matter if it's Dylan giggling through All I Really Want to Do himself or if World Party are playing hommage to it, I've just never wanted to be friends with anyone while listening to this song. And this version isn't making me social; a few more minutes of this and I'm gonna go out and punch a neighbor. Any neighbor. All I really want to do is get to the end of this damn song.

Knocking on Heaven's Door explores whole new realms of terrible. Here's Bob, hawking bananas and other ripe fruits. He'll show you a yo-yo trick; he'll squeeze your baby's cheeks with affection and scare the hell out of them in the process. This might be the worst thing on the whole album. I'm winning, people! My famous brother: infamous. A plethora!

The next track lands like a jiggling jello dropped from a great height. It's Alright Ma combines with Gates of Eden to form the least tolerable moments of Bob's first golden era of solo folk; sandwiched between two stone cold classics on the acoustic side of his fifth record, they make clear that Bob going electric is a good idea. But then in 74 Bob sailed It's Alright Ma into his rushing flood of hollered greatness. Even the president of the United States has to love that version. But here at Budokan, Bob karate chops his way through each verse, surrounded by a flash mob of belly dancers. I don't want a sensie, Bob. I want this record to end.

Thankfully, we're winding down. My family is no longer begging me to turn this crap off. Forever Young and The Times They Are a-Changing end the album and both sound reasonable here, like leftovers from The Last Waltz's studio sessions, where the fabulously nuts Richard Danko and Richard Manuel were chained down to their desks and ordered to not freak out. Stoner takes one very intentional bass step at a time throughout each track, like he's completing a connect the dots page with fierce concentration. Slowly an image is revealed: a giant, white guy afro in profile: Dylan in 78.

Okay, it's over. Did I win? Of course not! No doubt my brother is right and the reissue will feature more outtakes like this one, leaving him the victor, yet again.

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#Youtube #bob dylan #stephen stills still sucks #nippon budokan #dante #hell #gloom and doom from the tomb

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julio-viernes · 1 year

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En el elepé "Song For Juli" de Jesse Colin Young tocó el bajista David Hayes de la Caledonia Soul Orchestra de Van Morrison y sus también asociados Jim Rothermel ("Veedon Fleece") al saxo y clarinete, y Pat O'Hara ("Saint Dominic's Preview").

Todo ese "toque" morrisoniano de fusión se puede apreciar muy bien en cortes como "Ridgetop". Pero Dorotea nos lo explica mucho mejor en su reviú del disco para rateyourmusic.

Creo que sé quién es esta increíble Dorotea, pero no lo puedo asegurar.

#jesse colin young #van morrison #dorotea #rate your music

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geologyedinburgh · 4 years

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A walk along the Seaton Cliffs

I walk across the cliffs of Angus from the smokie town o’ Arbroath, Towards the fishing cottages of Auchmithie, In-between lie mighty cliffs, Of sandstone and conglomerate adrift. Great features litter the coast: Needle E’e, Mermaid’s Kirk, Deil’s Heid and The Sphinx, With the Masons’ Cave hiding many a secret! The wind howls through the caves and stone arches like a ghostly piper, Labyrinths running out to the open seas for 15,000 years. The ocean like a great mason carved out the cliffs, Before hand, the ice shaped the coast, When its miles tall blanket covered Scotland…

The Sun is sinking, quick, bellow the horizon where the water and the land meet.

The rocks are divided into the two, like the mainland of Caledonia, The Lower Devonian is blood red, cross bedded sandstone, 410 million years old! With the middle missing, an Unconformity! Millions of years cast into the wind! The Upper Devonian is all conglomerate, 370 million years old when Scotland was at the equator under the tropical sun! The nation was part of an auld continent in the name of Laurentia, While England was part of the continent Avalonia, Both nations an ocean apart, Until the seas of the Iapetus closed under miles of grinding rock, Giving birth to volcanoes, mountain ranges, Beaches upon which life first walked, Tiny little lizards, tetrapods, Now little fossils in the river beds, hidden in Romer’s gap. Trapping many little worlds of stone, The multi coloured little pebble clasts, in the conglomerate contain many a wonder, From Granites to the odd Metamorphics, years in the billions, All from mountains as tall as the Himalayas, Now long gone, carried away by mighty rivers.

Dusk has came, as the Sun is gone, with seagulls settling back into their nests, Salty air tingles the nostrils with a bit of seaweed mixed in, The gentle sounds of the ocean splash away at the feet of the cliffs. Like an orchestra playing a tune, it is the song of the sea.

The cliffs play a testimony to the history of Scotland, My mind’s eye fill with the spirits of the past: … A Roman, in full armour just walked past, observing the fleet of Agricola as they sail up to Aberdeen. … A group of Picts are in a hurry to raise a tall standing stone with the Cross of St. Columba, … Viking armada, full of brave Danes, sails on the harbour, drums pounding, a guide through the cliffs. … Suddenly a monk shuffles past, rail lines run into the cliffs, as workmen cut stone for the new Abbey. … King Robert the Bruce, looks out onto the shores, as a boat, with a Declaration leaves for Avignon. … Ralph the Rover cuts down the Abbot’s warning bell over the Inchcape Rock, later, sealing his own doom! … A marry band of soldiers singing in Gaelic, clad in Tartan, march down the road for the rising of ’45, … Followed by Robert Burns as he profusely takes notes, grumbling about the weather in Scots. … Men with torches rush past me, as down below, screams, baskets lowered, to haul mariners to safety. … Sir Walter Scott rides past on horseback, as he is seeking the Inn Waverley, in Auchmithie. … Suddenly in the far distance, a blinking, pulsating light, the Bell Rock lighthouse rises out of the sea, … The Cutty Sark, the clipper ship, races across the waters, bringing tea from the Far East, … Sails give away to steam, as wood gives away to metal hull, a fishing fleet presses ahead, … The RNLI lifeboat speeds out onto open water, towards the souls, onboard the wrecked HMS Argyll, … In the sky, two Spitfires pursue a Messerschmitt, a kill shot, as the Iron Cross crashes into the fields. … As I walk ahead, a group of young lads carry the Stone of Destiny, as they disappear into the haar… I am alone again on the wide-open coastal path.

The full Moon is up in the sky, reflecting on the tranquil ocean, as it lights my path.

As I head away into the night, I hear the reverberation of a ghostly sound:

A native of Arbroath, the voice of Andy Stewart, echoing through the cliffs: “But gin ye permit me, tae gang a wee bit-tie, I’d show you the road, and the miles to Dundee…”

#Arbroath #Cliffs #scotland #geology

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spiritofcamelot · 5 years

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Songs about James Bond, Spycraft, and International Chaos.

Inspired by the amazing program on radio Scotland - Get it on - I wanted to make a list of Bond themed songs. Each song will link to a youtube track if available and will have a reasoning for the choice.

I Wish I Was James Bond by Scouting for Girls

I think this speaks for itself

The Last of the Secret Agents by Nancy Sinatra

As M points out, Bond is the last of a special kind of agent who lives in the shadows. (Although Bond is a bit better than the agent Sinatra sings about)

Contact In Red Square by Blondie

Meeting up with an intel agent in Russia to find out what the plan is, and maybe smuggle someone out of Russia

You Can Call Me Al by Paul Simon

Bond sometimes, on rare occasions, actually uses aliases. Before going ahead and blurting out that they can call him Bond, James Bond.

Barbados by Typically Tropical

I imagine Bond celebrates every time he gets assigned a mission that sends him to the sunny Caribbean while London is drowning in rain

I Ran (So Far Away) by A Flock of Seagulls

Bond does a lot of running from his problems, he runs all over the globe in fact

Whodunit by Tavares

Bond, seeking revenge for Tracy’s death, Paris Carver’s Death, Vesper’s death, so many women who he had a thing for

Roam by The B-52s

Being an MI6 agent means world traveling, and he really does roam around the world

Caledonia by Dougie MacLean

At the end of the day, he’s a Scot at heart and as proven in “Skyfall” he’ll go back home to make his final stand.

We Didn't Start The Fire by Billy Joel

Chose this one first because Bond probably denies responsibility for chaos a lot, but also MI6 had to have been involved with many of the events mentioned

Somebody's Watching Me by Morris Day

This is Q. Always watching, keeping an eye on everything from his agents to the enemy

Thorn In My Side by Eurythmics

Q, every time he has to deal with any of the 00s, but especially 007

I Spy (For The FBI) by Jamo Thomas

For Felix Leiter, our favourite American agent

Lone Star State of Mind by Nanci Griffith

When Felix is sitting alone in Texas missing James

Agent Double-O Soul by Edwin Starr & The Hutch Davie Orchestra

Remember that time Bond went to Harlem and thought he fit in? He was not agent 00-Soul, but that might’ve helped

Secret Agent Man by Johnny Rivers

Obvious

I might do a part II, but I wanted to get this up for Music Monday

#007 Fest 2019 #TeamQBranch #QB-J8 #music monday #james bond

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listentodelion · 6 years

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Tweeted

Current Favorite Band: The Caledonia Soul Orchestrahttps://t.co/iSIkJerszk

— Saul Wright (@Saul____Wright) November 26, 2018

#IFTTT #Twitter

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stevesmusicmonday · 6 years

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Van Morrison - Domino, from It’s Too Late to Stop Now...

Van Morrison is widely acknowledged to be a temperamental and erratic live performer. But in 1973, after playing a successful engagement at Carnegie Hall, something happened. Things clicked, he turned a corner, and felt like he was getting back into performing form. So he embarked on one of the most successful and consistent live tours of his career. Accompanying him was a ten piece band he put together specifically for the occasion. An amalgam of jazz, rock, and classical musicians dubbed The Caledonia Soul Orchestra, they gelled into a cohesive and responsive vehicle well suited to carry Van Morrison anywhere he cared to go and beyond. Anchored by David Hayes on bass, David Shaw on drums, John Platania on guitar, and Jef Labes on piano/organ, they added a horn section and a small string section to round out the sound.

Over the course of the tour, they amassed an arsenal of forty songs. The resultant double live album “It’s Too Late to Stop Now” immortalizes fourteen performances, and is frequently included in lists of the greatest live albums of all time. Of the original Van Morrison songs on the album, I would argue that every single one of them is better than it’s studio counterpart. The arrangements are better, the instrumentation is better, and the execution is better.

What makes the album all the more remarkable is that Van would not allow any overdubbing after the fact. (Regardless of what I said in the introduction to this month’s theme, post-production overdubbing and effects are frequently used to clean up a live album.) This policy resulted in the exclusion of Moondance (reportedly because of a misplaced guitar note), but makes you appreciate even more the incredible performances on the album.

You should listen to the whole album, it’s all worth listening to, but I’ll just highlight one song in this article. Take a listen to the dynamic performance of Domino captured here:

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You can compare it to the original studio recording here:

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Resources, Extra Credit

Here is a link to the entire album on youtube as a playlist. Quality not vouched for.

Here is a link to the album on Google Play Music. Quality vouched for.

For completists (guilty!), a few years ago, the entire set of recordings from the tour were released as It’s Too Late to Stop Now Volumes II, III, IV & DVD. It’s available on youtube or Google Play Music (and probably others.) The quality of the performances here are not as consistent, but there’s some great stuff on there, as well. You can hear Brown Eyed Girl and Moondance (not to mention a fantastic version of Bein’ Green – yes that Bein’ Green) here.

#music monday #live recordings #van morrison #domino #it's too late to stop now

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daniel-browne · 7 years

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Keep Me Listening?

Keep Me Singing is so tepid not even a version of Bobby “Blue” Bland’s 1963 “Share Your Love with Me” … seems to demand anything from Morrison, and the most notable new song, “Too Late,” catches your ear because, you realize sooner or later, it’s using the same melody as “Share Your Love.”

--Greil Marcus, “Real Life Rock Top 10,” Pitchfork

As a connoisseur of Van Morrison’s tepid years, I want to disagree with Marcus on this, but I can’t. Keep Me Singing is his most perfunctory album of original material in at least a decade, and that’s saying something. Punctuation aside, 2012’s Born to Sing: No Plan B hardly breaks new ground, but it sounds positively avant-garde compared to this year’s model.

The album’s opening lines (“Put another coin in the wishing well/Tell everybody got to go to hell”) are funny in that they sum up the mix of rote sentimentality and curdled cantankerousness that define late-period Morrison at his worst. Pretty strings, though. Things don’t really pick up till the four-song sequence that starts with track nine, “In Tiburon,” a gauzy reminiscence of beatnik San Francisco that at least grounds its clichés in a sense of time and place. “Look Behind the Hill” is a genuinely nifty little jazz tune, “Going Down to Bangor” a credible blues burner (seems like Morrison’s travel budget has taken a hit since Born to Sing’s “Going Down to Monte Carlo”). “Too Late,” as Marcus points out, is a rewrite of a song you just heard Morrison sing four tracks earlier. And that’s it for highlights. The album ends with an instantly forgettable instrumental, “Caledonia Swing.” If Morrison is evoking his late, great Caledonia Soul Orchestra (heard in all its glory on the recent reissue of Too Late to Stop Now)…well, maybe better he didn’t.

I may be overstating the offenses of what is essentially easy listening music, but it’s hard not to be disappointed. Unlike Marcus, I think Morrison has put out a lot of worthwhile stuff in his later years. In contrast to Bob Dylan and Neil Young (his only real peers in terms of longevity, productivity, and brilliance), he’s never made a terrible album. Then again, Dylan and Young have never made an album as willfully blank and inoffensive as Keep Me Singing. They’re both still chasing something that isn’t already within their grasp, asserting their prerogative as artists while Morrison keeps insisting he’s just an old-fashioned entertainer. Is it too late to stop now or is there still time for a breakthrough? I’d throw a coin in the ol’ wishing well, but I think I know what Morrison would say.

UPDATE: “His own strong songs and r&b standards, and a tremendous rebound from his last few albums. He may go farther down ‘Lonely Avenue’ than even Ray Charles did. He makes Sam Cooke’s ‘Bring It On Home to Me’ feel like it has a hundred years ahead of it.” --Greil Marcus on Roll with the Punches

Go figure. To me, the new one is almost as rote as Keep Me Singing. Is it possible my response was mediated by Marcus’ earlier critique? Maybe. I’m pretty sure, though, Morrison did a more forceful “Lonely Avenue” nearly 25 years ago on Too Long in Exile.

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