Every generation has a band that defines their era. Fortunately for my generation, Oasis is that band. Some might argue Radiohead clearly defined the 1990s, while others might say Pearl Jam, Nirvana or even a different band. Only Oasis has consistently remained remarkable all throughout their career thanks largely due to their amazing songwriting capabilities. The early 1990s saw the emergence of alternative and grunge music as mainstream music. When grunge and Nirvana disappeared, Oasis was one band ready to take the torch. Could it really be 15 years ago when I was first introduced to Oasis? As the name of their new singles compilation, Time Flies:1994 -2009, implies, that’s true. Looking at those words on the screen I am still shocked it has been that long. Still, Oasis remains one of the most talented rock n’ roll bands around. The album celebrates Oasis’ entire body of work. Oasis has sold over 70 million records worldwide and their legacy still remains strong even after Noel Gallagher left the band in August 2009. Beginning with their debut single “Supersonic” to the final track “Falling Down,” the album is jam-packed with 26 irresistible singles. Music was revitalized readily by two brothers named Liam and Noel Gallagher in the early 1990s. Oasis breathed fresh air into the music industry and gave birth to Brit pop. Although they despise the term, like the Beatles during the British Invasion of the 1960s, Oasis opened the door for other British pop bands during the mid to late 1990s. Their presence helped open the door for future European pop bands to cross over into America. Magnetic, majestic and mesmerizing, they sold millions of records to become one of the best pop bands in the world. Listening to their music now I can’t help, but get taken back to when I first heard that particular song when I listen to the album. Their breakthrough song, “Wonderwall” is arguably my favorite song, but more importantly, the song that introduced me to Oasis. From the moment the song begins I am immediately transported back in time to fall 1995. Oh, what a feeling! How many bands have that ability? Unlike most contemporary compilations, Time Flies, is an engaging, entertaining and eclectic album that comes across as a concert set list instead of “a greatest hits album.” Energized by memory filled tracks like “Supersonic,” “Don’t Look Back in Anger,” “Lyla,” “Live Forever,” etc. this is a definitive album every 1990s music aficionado should own. Call me crazy, but this is a must own album. Time Flies does include two previously unreleased tracks “Lord Don’t Slow Me Down” (2007) and “Whatever” (1994), but for Oasis haters, they will criticize it’s mostly “A” side tracks and misses what the Stop the Clocks album accomplished by having more obscure/ “B-side” tracks. Sure, that’s true, but not everyone is interested in bootleg and/or obscure songs. If you’re an Oasis fan this is a must own for your collection.
There I was, late night, burning the midnight oil in the Ripple office. Reviews to write, press releases to ready, new releases to schedule. Sofi, as always, took her place in her bed to my right, snuggled in amongst the brimming stack of vinyl. But I had no time to dig into that enticing vinyl buffet. Ripple work called to me. An eerie silence tingled my neck.
And then the light came.
Consciousness lost in a second, I awoke, no longer at my desk. The room looked vaguely familiar to me, a place from a distant memory. Rising from my desk, I spun, disoriented, searching for a clue. The familiar call letters KSPC FM blazoned on the wall across, separated from me by a thick layer of glass. Lights flashed in chaotic rhythms, engulfing the switches, knobs and buttons on the mixing board at my hands. A vinyl record spun to my right, pumping the room with moody, atmospheric, neo-gothic psychedelia. Somehow, in some unspeakable way, I’d been transported through time. Inexplicably, it was 1984 again.
And the record spinning was the Jet Black Berries.
Bursting onto the scene in the mid-eighties, the Jet Black Berries were part of the amazing stable of artists attached to the Enigma/Restless label. The Cramps, TSOL, Tex and the Horseheads, 45 Grave, Green on Red, The Leaving Trains, The Pandoras, Redd Cross, Get Smart. Talk about a label that had tapped into a sound, Enigma produced some of the all-time best American dark psychedelia ever released. One band after another, there seemed to be no end to their talent. And on that essential Enigma Variations volume I album, The Jet Black Berries ranked with the best.
Blending a river of never-ending hooks to their blackened atmosphere and a touch of cowboy/western punk, the JBB released three albums in the mid-late 80’s, and contributed a standout track to the classic horror shtick sound track, Return of the Living Dead. Then, like their zombie brethren, they disappeared.
Until now.
As I rose from the desk in my 1984 radio station, I noticed something was different. The JBB spinning wasn’t Sundown on Venus or the soon to be released underground classic, Desperate Fires. The sound was familiar, but different. Hauntingly pulling at a memory, but inspiring in entirely new ways. Ringing of the past, but powered by the energy of the future.
This wasn’t 1984; it was present day and the Jet Black Berries were back and better than ever with a brand new album,Postmodern Ghosts. Reuniting four original members of the band with newcomer singer/guitarist, Johnny Cummings, the JBB had risen from the ether, back to lurk amongst the living. And what an album they’ve put out!
You don’t have to be familiar with JBB’s original incarnation to jump right in with the start of this album. Following a haunting synth and church bell opening, “God with A Gun,” literally erupts from the speakers in searing post-punk psychedelic glory. Riding a guitar passage reminiscent of The Chameleons, “Don’t Fall,” this just may be my track of the year. An outburst decrying people who use religion as an excuse to commit acts of barbarism, “God with a Gun,” isn’t just a great pop song, it’s potent. “Are you sure this is a song you’re ready to sing/if God with a Gun is love, let’s make him king” Johnny sings over a rampaging, bass-heavy, chiming soundscape. Guitars swirl and churn in glittering rivers of texture. Dig that mid-song bass breakdown, the maniacal run across the toms in the post-chorus bridge, the layered harmony vocals, the subtle escalation of pace until the song explodes into that raise-your-hands-in-the-air-and-sing-along-at-the-top-of-your-lungs chorus. I mean seriously, talk about a chorus that can elevate you to that place. That special place where the world around you dissipates and the music enveloping you is all that remains.
But Postmodern Ghosts is no one song wonder. “Ominous” tells the tale of the odd things that happen, the murder and mayhem, that somehow is still a part of the human psyche . . . unstoppable . . . always ready to re-emerge . . . an ominous presence. Now take that message and wrap it up in a post-Church or later day Echo and the Bunnymen vibe of pulsating bass, rising and falling, swirling guitars and you’ll find one of the catchier songs to penetrate your consciousness in sometime. “Pipes of Pan,” takes this Church influence one step further in a rousing, keyboard swept pumper. Johnny even sounds a touch like Steven Kilbey here, singing deep in his range.
Throughout, the sound of the original JBB’s is as refreshing as that breath of yesterday. Roy Stein’s drumming is solid and penetrating, Chris Yockel’s guitar shimmers and sparkles, Mark Schwartz’s keyboards lay down the atmosphere, and Gary Trainer, the main songwriter, drives the whole thing from the back of the bus with his unrelenting, swooping bass. And the new kid, Johnny Cummings is a revelation, fitting into the mix seamlessly. “Welcome to My World,” is another dark psych masterpiece, slow and inviting at times, vicious and intoxicating the next. “Psychic Children of Doom” shows these cats haven’t lost the tongue-in-cheek horror attitude that landed them on the Living Dead soundtrack, and they attach this “postmodern ghosts on the radio,” vibe to a jaunty, muscular rocker. “Invocation” rides an Echo and Bunnymen bass line through swirling mists of tension and mood. “Garden of Delight,” has to be the next single off the album, so effectively mining the still-sparkling Paisley Underground-vibe of yore, married to a hyped-up sound of crashing guitars and smashing drums. Catchy as fuck.
Then there’s “They Walk Among You,” a remade classic from the Sundown on Venus bonus album. Digging into their quasi-cowpunk roots, “They Walk Among You,” is without a doubt the greatest zombie-epic ever penned and performed in song. How this song has avoided being used in a zombie film soundtrack defies all logic and thought. With zombies as hot as vampires these days, I will make it my personal mission to get this song included on some major motion picture. Somewhere.
With the final pulse of the closing punkish rocker, “American Survival” still ringing in my ears, I watched as the radio control panel before me faded away. I re-emerged in 2010, the new JBB album still spinning in my player.
The past is gone, the present is here, the future awaits. And it’s all good.
Feeling down? Trouble at home? Financial stress? Relationship problems? Then you should probably stay away from the new one from US Christmas (aka USX). Or maybe you need to revel in your pain. If that’s the case, then get this one pronto and feel the darkness. Run Thick In The Night is 13 lucky tracks in 77 minutes from these North Carolina depressionists. USX has been inflecting their brand of psychedelic gloom on the underground for 8 years and show no signs of letting up.
USX is a heavy band, but not so much in the Black Sabbath sense, more in the Swans, Killing Joke and Neurosis vein. Add a healthy dose of Hawkwind and druggy Velvet Underground noise to the mix and you’ve got something pretty out of the ordinary. The opening song “In The Night” sets the tone for the entire record – 13 minutes of sprawling, crawling ear pummeling drone rock. Somewhere La Monte Young is proud.
The entire album flows together very well as one very long piece. Once you put it on it’s hard to take off and the echoes of all the seesaw violin and slide guitar feedback stick in your brain long after the disc is done spinning. There’s also a nice blend of acoustic and electric instruments weaving in and out of the mix. Vocals are mainly hoarse and shouted but carry a weary melodicism. The recording by Sanford Parker is clean enough for all the separate elements to come through clearly and never gets murky in detuned fartery.
The standout song for me is definitely “Wolf On Anareta.” I’m sure this was not the intention of anyone involved but the riff bears a very strong resemblance to “Too Hot To Stop” by The Rods. If you’ve ever wondered what Hawkwind would sound like covering that classic metal jam (and I have) then you will be thrilled. Even if you haven’t, you might still like this one.
“Dr. Penfold I just can’t take it anymore. I think I’m really at the breaking point.”
“Calm down Mr. Noname,” I say in a slow, pacifying manner. “There’s no benefit to getting this worked up after we have been talking through your issues for at least twenty five minutes. If you really were this upset, you should have expressed your discontent at the very beginning of your session. We’ve had this discussion before…many times. It’s alright. Just take some deep breaths. That’s it, there you go. Now, why don’t you tell me what is really troubling you.”
“Well Dr. Penfold, the whole world hates me. I literally feel the weight of the world bearing down on my shoulders all the time. Sometimes it literally slows me down to where I’m moving at half my normal speed or less, and…”
Okay, here we go again. At this point I pretty much tune out. I realize that it is my duty as a psychiatrist to pay close attention and make note of any new information that my patient wishes to provide, but frankly after treating this particular gentleman for the past several years – Mr. Noname (pronounced no-nah-mi) – the hackneyed nature of our discussions has worn me down. Honestly, I’ve compared notes and voice recordings from randomly chosen sessions spread over several years and the overlap is unreal. An outsider would definitely be forgiven if they assumed I had multiple mislabeled copies of the same session.
Recently I have been racking my brain trying to come up with something, anything really, that would help Mr. Noname out of his oh so common bouts of depression. Nothing from any medical journal or publication has proven to have any kind of lasting impact. Sure the techniques provided might ‘cure’ my patient for about a day, maybe a week, but the next session would reveal that we were right back to square one. Aggravating? You bet.
“…and I always hit red lights, never green. It is always storming all day long on my birthday. The grocery store never has my favorite cereal in stock, even though when I ask them about it they say they will get more in soon. Every Christmas, Mother Nature gives me the gift of a flu bug. If I become a fan of a sports team, they immediately start losing and quickly go bankrupt. When I…”
“Mr. Noname, I’m going to stop you there. What you are describing to me are circumstances that you can’t expect to have any control…you know what, I have an idea.” My idea would end this drivel for the next few minutes and give me some peace in which to try to come up with a new ‘cure’. “I want to play some music for you Mr. Noname. Whenever I am sad or upset I always put this album on and my day turns around 180 degrees.”
“What album is it Doctor?”
“The album is called The Point! by a man named Harry Nilsson.” I found my office copy on a shelf and put the CD into the stereo system.
“Huh, I’ve never heard of it before Doctor.”
“That’s okay Mr. Noname. Strangely enough, not very many people nowadays have.” Although I maintained my calming speech and demeanor, I could not press play soon enough.
The Point! was originally released in 1971. The album is the soundtrack for an animated movie of the same name. Both endeavors were the result of Harry Nilsson’s bountiful imagination. They tell the story of Oblio, a unique young man living in a society dominated by omnipresent points. Every individual person has a head that literally comes to a point. These people live in the Land of Point where everything is produced with at least one point in its design. Oblio upsets the balance of this society by being born without a point on the top of his head. The story follows Oblio as a young boy when he is singled out for his pointless condition, his subsequent banishment to a place known as the Pointless Forest, and finally his heroic return to the Land of Point with important life lessons in tow. The story is a wonderful morality tale that will appeal to kids and adults in equal measure, but enough about that. What about the music?
As stated earlier I listen to this album often when I am feeling down. Why would I do that you ask? Simple. This music has healing powers. It is actually impossible for anyone listening to this album not to be happy and content. Not the superficial happiness that people often experience with some new material possession or fake accomplishment. No, no, no. The happiness produced by this album is far more powerful and all-encompassing. While the music plays, and for at least a short time thereafter, everything seems right with the world.
All seven songs comprising the album qualify as pop music marvels. In all my years of music listening, I have yet to come across songs that are as instantly memorable as these. Once, I tried to break the songs down to their respective elements to try to understand the formula garnering such perfection. The music itself is provided by a multi piece band and is often very orchestral in nature. On top of the standard drums, bass, guitar, and piano of modern pop music Nilsson often includes strings, wind instruments such as flutes, horns, and also extra percussion in the mix. With all of these incorporated elements each song is very playful and engaging. The real star of the show however is the sublime vocal performance provided by Nilsson himself.
Harry Nilsson is hands down one of the best vocalists I have ever had the pleasure of hearing. He had absolute control of his three and a half octave vocal range, and he used it to great effect. Unlike some of today’s singers who show off their range seemingly in an attempt to shatter glass, Nilsson went about things entirely differently. He would record differing takes of a song in the studio to successfully harmonize with himself or add additional vocal flair to a passage. The end results are stunning. These harmonies radiate warmth like a high dollar furnace along with an overwhelming sense of compassion, and all of the individual layers give listeners the opportunity to continuously pick out nuances they did not notice before. The descriptor that automatically comes to mind is spellbinding.
Due to the top to bottom quality of this album, it is impossible for me to select an overall favorite track. On the other hand, I can tell you which of these songs pop into my mind with more frequency than the others. “Me and My Arrow” is intoxicatingly sweet with an ever-present playful organ line running behind some of the best sing along vocals in existence. The last song on the album, entitled “Are You Sleeping?”, is absolutely phenomenal. It opens a direct line to your soul, formally introduces itself, and proceeds to whirl your soul away in a dance of joy (it’s always a waltz for me) for a little over two minutes. Truly, not enough positive exclamations exist to adequately convey my feelings about this magnificent music.
Getting back to the present, the album was ending and I had not yet come up with a new ‘cure’ for my patient. “Alright Mr. Noname, this week why don’t we try…”
“Actually Doctor, I feel fine.”
“Really?” I admit it, I was dumbstruck. I couldn’t really believe it, but this manic depressive actually looked happy. Was that a smile on his face? It couldn’t be.
“Yeah, I can’t even remember what I was complaining about earlier. Do you mind if I take a copy of this music. I would really like to listen to it some more.”
“Of course, of course. Are you sure you are all right?”
“Yes Doctor Penfold. This music has made me feel like a new man. Thank you so much for playing it for me.”
“Your welcome Mr. Noname.”
I wrote a special note in my journal, and made sure it was underlined. Order More Copies of The Point! It Works!
In my teens I was kind of rebelIious. I had a general disgust with the status quo (guess that hasn’t changed much) and was drawn to like-minded individuals and music that could give voice to my angst, such as Patti Smith.
I first saw Patti Smith in 1971 when she was reciting poetry in a small Venice Beach coffeehouse. She railed against everything - the government, people, life. A few years later she formed the Patti Smith Group and churned out some of the finest punk rock of the mid-70’s. Her 1975 album “Horses,” that commences with Smith’s scream “Jesus died for somebody’s sins but not mine,” is still one of my favorites.
Static People released its first EP (which it calls on its MySpace page “Propaganda”) this April and it recaptures the definitive punk style of the mid-70’s Patti Smith Group. The band consists of bassist Daedalus Howell, vocalist Dmitra Smith, drummer Mundo Murguia and guitarist Pascal Faivre. Static People is produced by Jason Carmer, who has also produced such notables as The Donnas, Third Eye Blind and Run DMC. The band members hail from wine country (or should that be “whine country”), Sonoma, California. They write all of their own material and consider their influences to be the usual punk suspects - Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Clash, The Pixies, Sex Pistols, Radiohead, Bauhaus, etc. Although they fail to attribute their sound to Patti Smith, you just have to listen once to Dmitra Smith to know that Patti Smith is truly the progenitor of Static People’s sound. (When I heard her I immediately thought the two Smiths must be related. I haven’t found any information that confirms or refutes my conjecture.) Even the band’s Facebook page espouses the anti-establishment anarchic position found in Patti Smith’s poems. It states that one of their influences is “general disgust of government.”
The EP consists of five punk rants - “Save The Worst,” a pounding damnation of the “Save the World” evangelists that have gone before the present generation; “American Robot Mother,” a stab at the homogenous and consumptive nature of American society; “Just Sink Down,” a driving tome about allowing oneself to devolve into the depths of darkness, despair and death; “Carrier,” an odd, slow, punk waltz poem about conquest, euphoria and relationship power struggles; and “You Know It’s There,” a highly processed, echo-laden, electronic homage about trust in knowledge rather than perception. Each track has Dmitra Smith’s voice front and center, full of the same angst and derision that propelled Patti Smith to stardom.
You can catch Static People at gigs throughout the Bay Area and occasionally playing live on 87.9 FM, San Francisco’s Pirate Cat Radio. A video is in the works and should be released this December. If you are disgusted with the world as it is, and are looking for a safe outlet to scream about it, this may be your band.
Let me share with you this lovely post from a friend of mine who spent the walk round with the sprogs last night in slight amazement of the ramshakled nature of Halloween in the UK:
Here, Halloween is an unusual experience.
The local conservation association circulated a flyer, printed on orange paper, to explain how it all works:
"Halloween: what is it? Halloween is a holiday celebrated on the 31st of October, in which children dress up and go door to door collecting sweets."
Seriously. If you live in a country where Halloween is a given, consider yourself fortunate. There are many, many people here who simply do not understand the concept.
No matter how hard I try, how many fancy words I string together, to try and describe Opeth’s In Live Concert at The Royal Albert Hall, I fear I simply won’t do this package it’s due justice. To aptly describe this majestic release, I would have to channel the essence of James Michener, who’s thousand page epics have a tendency to sprawl across hundreds, nay . . . thousands of years of a subjects existence, depicting the great land movements, the tectonic shifts and violent volcanic episodes that formed the environment that the subject may call home. I would then have to detail out every last bit of emotion and nuance from the main character(s), so rich in detail that you would feel that you’ve just spent the last century walking in their shoes. Then, I’d weave such an intricate tapestry of words that you would swear that you could taste the dust of a country road on your tongue, feel the bitter cold of a Chesapeake winter, or smell the floral scents of perfume on a maidens breast . . . or, in the case of Opeth, the stinging taste of battery acid on your tongue, the sweltering heat of an enclosed venue, or the ripening smell of the bodies struggling within said venue.
I can use all of those nifty adjectives that we writers like to use so much. Awesome. Amazing. Fantastic. Astonishing. Yeah, they all work because they do express some amount of excitement about that which they are describing. But in the case of In Live Concert at The Royal Albert Hall, they’re simply not adequate enough descriptors. A four disc vinyl set with two DVD’s will never adequately be described by one word, especially a set as painstakingly detailed as this particular issue. This set deserves . . . no, requires a tome of words to form a shadow of what is actually going on. The set will require another volume to add color.
For Opeth’s twentieth anniversary, Mikael Akerfeldt and company decided to do a short tour, hitting a few venues that harbor an image of class and respect, and then release the subsequent recordings in a package that would be represent the band and cater to the record collecting masses (of those of us who are still out here.) The two album set is all recorded live and spans the full career of Opeth, paying homage to many of the members of the band who have since moved on, and spotlighting with special attention their breakout album, Blackwater Park, by performing it in its entirety. The packaging on this set draws me back to those glorious days of the 1970’s, an era when rock n’ roll, progressive music, whatever, paid close attention to the visual marketing of the album art, the imagery, the overall sensation of buying a record and vegging for hours with the music as the soundtrack to the visual stimuli that the artist had created . . . a phenomenon that was inhibited by the CD revolution and completely lost in the digital age. This particular box set includes a concert poster and a twenty page book with “Awesome. Amazing. Fantastic. Astonishing” photos from the concert at The Royal Albert Hall . . . all serious eye candy to lose oneself while the vinyl does its glorious dance on the turntable.
However, the imagery really means nothing if the musical quality isn’t there. Let’s face it. We all have those great pieces of vinyl where the album art is infinitely superior than the musical quality . . . Meatloaf, I’m looking at you. In the case of In Live Concert at The Royal Albert Hall, the musical quality is sharp, loud, and clearer than just about any live recording I’ve heard, and the performances are a testament to the physical and mental abilities of these five musicians. I’ve said it before, with the advent of Pro Tools and all of the various technical studio tricks, recording ten minute epics that shift moods, musical styles, tempos, and time signatures is cool, but it’s almost too easy. Maybe I’ve become jaded. But to pull off that feat live, without a net, as they say . . . that, my friends, is what being a musician is all about! To put this latest live adventure into perspective, imagine that Opeth is playing all of Blackwater Park, which they do, without fucking up the parts and transitions (coz’ you should know that there are plenty of those lying around) and then follow it up with an additional eight songs that touch on every variation of the bands creativity, every stylistic change, every musical nuance from the last twenty years. Breath taking.
I could go through every song and wax poetic about their deeper meaning to my every heartbeat, but that got old the second I thought about it. Instead, you really need to listen for yourselves. In particular, “Bleak,” “Blackwater Park,” “Advent,” “The Moor,” “Harlequin Forest,” and set closer “The Lotus Eater” jump to mind as the moments that I felt the greatest shiver of someone walking on my grave, of staring into the mesmerizing gaze of a thousand succubi, or breathing in the noxious and intoxicating fumes of Hades. I can’t help but marvel at the performances of these musicians, the rich textures that they apply with their respective instruments, and the overall exhilarating physical sensation that I get when I hear the sounds and tones spew from my speakers and bathe me in their brilliance.
After basking in the sonic splendor of the aforementioned four discs, I made my way to the Ripple Theater and dropped in the DVD’s. “Awesome. Amazing. Fantastic. Astonishing.” I honestly don’t think I breathed for something like four hours. Mouth agape, I stared . . . completely transfixed on the visual performance of this concert. The band must have used something like 3,000 cameras (a slight exaggeration) for this production. We had the standard center stage angle, left stage angle, right stage angle . . . got a little creative with the behind the band, over-the-shoulder angle, some nice crowd angles and then a few nice shots of the drummers foot (always a fan of the drummers foot work) . . . and then there were the camera angles where I swear I could count the musicians’ nose hair. The visuals were cool, nothing interstellar like a band mascot running out on stage and catching fire (as cool as that always is), just clean and concise images that help separate Opeth from any other band on the face of the planet. I found the stage presence of the various band members intriguing. Martin Mendez with his hair whipping from side to side, Fredrik Akesson dropping into the classic metal headbanging pose, the relaxed, almost bored look of drummer Martin Axenrot, and maniacal glare and eccentric demeanor of keyboardist Per Wiberg . . . and, of course, the stalwart center figure of Mikael Akerfeldt . . . they all just had that look!
When watching this, note the guitar issues that the band has during particular songs. With a simple wave of his hand, Mikael Akerfeldt signaled to his guitar tech, and without panic, without stepping away from the mic, continues belting out his trademark death growl with the same sincerity as we’ve grown to become accustomed . . . guitar tech switches out guitars in mid vocal line and BAM! He disappears and the show goes on. I give a nod of respect to the professionalism that Akerfeldt shows here because I’ve seen the opposite from bands in the past, people become flustered, they freeze or start throwing tantrums, ultimately making the show suffer. Not here, not with Opeth. The best part though is in the second set closer, “The Lotus Eater,” as guitarist Fredrik Akesson has his own set of technical issues with his gear. In listening to the LP version, it simply sounds like the band has an extended quiet passage going on in the song, kind of like they’re playing with the crowd a bit . . . as if this was a planned break. Seeing what actually happened fills in the gaps from the pure audio portion, but I think it’s interesting how the mind goes places based on the information it’s given.
Yeah, I spent more money than I could really afford on this production, but food is overrated anyway. Hey! It’s not like anyone’s ever really starved to death, right? In truth, based on how much I want to listen to this album, and spend four-plus hours glued to my television watching this performance, how excited I get when I start talking about this album to people, how many words I just wrote as tribute on this release, hell . . . I’d spend the money all over again. If you’re an Opeth fan and you’re on the fence about this album for any reason, then I would hope that these words have acted a gentle nudge to knock you off the fence. If you’re new to Opeth and are looking for a jumping off point to get into this band, this is the place to do it. You get Blackwater Park in its entirety and select choices from every album before and since, with performances that capture the band at the height of its creative brilliance. If you don’t like Opeth and have no interest in the band whatsoever, I thank you for reading this far though I’m confused why you would have spent your time doing so. - Pope
FYI – this release does come in numerous formats, so don’t feel that because I wrote about the vinyl edition that you have no other choices. Rock on!
You’d be forgiven for thinking that a DVD titled Johnny Winter Live Through The ‘80s wouldn’t be all that great, but you’re wrong. Johnny Winter went through a bit of a rebirth in the 1980’s thanks to the popularity of Stevie Ray Vaughan and a new contract with Chicago blues label Alligator Records. Both of these helped introduce Johnny to a new audience and got some youngsters showing up at his concerts. I should know, since I was one of them. Even during the peak of my snotty thrash metal high school powers, I still loved blues and classic rock. A friend and I went to see Johnny at the Beacon Theater in NYC, early 1985 and were blown away by the frail, shirtless Texan’s incredible energy and fiery playing. (His brother Edgar opened the show and did a great set that included a truly bizarre hip hop version of “Frankenstein.”)
This DVD really brought me back to that great night at the Beacon 25 years ago. Starting off in Toronto, 1983 there’s a kick ass version of “Unseen Eye” and 3 other smokers. Johnny’s leading a powerful trio with John Paris on bass & harmonica and drummer Bobby Torello. In 1984, Tom Compton takes over on drums and there’s footage from 3 different concerts – 1 from Europe and 1 in the US. The playing is tight but loose and production is primo. The band really rips it up on songs like “Mad Dog” and his frenzied take on Dylan’s “Highway 61.” After a semi-embarrassing music video for the song “Don’t Take Advantage Of Me” (it was the 80’s, all videos sucked) there’s an electronic press kit Alligator Records put together with a cool interview with Johnny. After that, it’s right back to the boogie with more footage from Europe in 1987 and 88.
Back in the 80’s Johnny stopped using his gorgeous Gibson Firebird guitars in exchange for butt-ugly Steinberger guitars. Despite their cosmetic unfortunateness, Johnny still makes them sound great. Proof that good guitar tone is all in the hands and not in the gear. If you’re a blues-rock lover you’ll definitely want to pick this up and give your TV speakers a work out.
