“When the dream came | I held my breath | with my eyes closed
I went insane | Like a smoke ring day | When the wind blows”
I’ve been out of the blogging business for a while, haven’t I? Apologies to avid followers. What started as a short hiatus turned into a dismissed routine. Truth is: I went through a bit of a musical drought. Nothing was motivating me to write. No earworms to share with the world. A lot has happened since December-whatever-it-was… 21st birthday in February (at the height of my disappointment with music) brought Neil Young knocking in the form of his latest box set, The Neil Young Archives Vol. 1. I’ve been so impressed by the quality of the live performance that I could honestly write a dozen unique posts. Everything from the tuning dialogue to the subtle variations to the little imperfections make this 8-disc set utterly addicting.
I’ll start with “On the Way Home,” and “Don’t Let it Bring You Down” off of Live at Massey Hall (1971). Massey Hall is a museum of rock and roll in downtown Toronto, right around the corner from Yonge and Dundas Square where, yesterday afternoon, a crowd of thousands and thousands erupted as Crosby buried one behind Miller in Gold Medal OT. If hockey is Canada’s sport, Neil Young is Canada’s musician. I was so moved by this album that I went out and bought an acoustic guitar — I’ve slowly been working my way through each song. With these songs, I too am on my way home… the past two weeks have been a well-needed surge in patriotism. Congratulations, Canada.
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Monday, December 14, 2009
“Ég verð undir þér og ég skal dansa bara og aðeins fyrir þig | Ég skal syngja bara ef þú temur mig.
Ég verð undir þér og ég skal dansa bara ef þú hemur mig | Ég skal syngja bara fyrir þig.”
I guess if there’s one thing that separates my blog from others, it’s my slight obsession with all things Icelandic. Oh wait, blogs have already been through that phase… thanks a bunch, Sigur Rós. Truth is: most Icelanders are tired of their association with sleepy post-rock bands. Sure, there’s little to no light in the winter months, but don’t doubt that Icelanders know how to party.
I met Mammút at the Eistnaflug (literally: “flight of the testicles”) festival in Neskaupstaður, Northeast Iceland. I had been touring with a progressive rock band, Perla, and wound up at a local bar taking shots with the three lovely ladies (Kata, Asa, Alexandra) who constitute the core of the band. As far as I can remember, they were dressed up (read: dressed down) in Pocahontas costumes. “Svefnsýkt” was No. 1 on Icelandic charts while I lived there in 2008, though a language barrier prevented it from reaching North American shores that summer. This isn’t Josie and the Pussycats, this is real rock… a little evil, but undeniably sexy.
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Saturday, December 12, 2009
“Take it easy on the young man
They ain’t got nothin’ in the world these days
I said they ain’t got nothin’!
They got sweet fuck-all!”
The first track off the renowned Live at Leeds — the opening notes of what could possibly be the greatest live rock album of all time. And yes, that means that I’d take Live at Leeds over Frampton Comes Alive. Though the album has being through various reissues, the original LP remains the most representative of The Who’s absolute insanity. I remember picking up the record at a garage sale for, surely, no greater than 2 dollars when I was twelve or thirteen. I fear that the live performances of The Who are often clouded by their wacky stage antics, including but not limited to smashed guitars and exploding bass drums. While The Who were still recording, Live at Leeds was the first and only live album they released: no distractions, pure sound.
“Young Man Blues” was originally written and performed by Mose Allison, whose music went on to inspire the Rolling Stones, Van Morrison, The Yardbirds — you name it. “Young Man Blues,” as performed by The Who, stands out on the album because it showcases the individual personalities of the members, together summing up to one hell of a show. I’ll start with the most obvious. Keith Moon is and will always be the wildest drummer to ever grace a stage: the man practically goes through epileptic fits when you hand him a pair of sticks. Listen to those fills: the speed at which Keith produces improv variability in his drumming is positively mind-boggling. Does he ever play the same sequence of toms twice? John Entwistle stands out next: like George Harrison, Entwistle is the unsung hero of The Who. Though his bass hides in the background, it is the most technically impressive component of the band. Townshend is undoubtedly the frontman, the attitude of the band. And Daltrey is intelligent about his sparing vocals: people saw The Who live for their musicianship (and insanity), and Daltrey knows that his voice is better used as an instrument than as a distraction from the band’s sound. Crank this one to 11.
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