Don’t Stay Up Too Late.

Ronnie Hawkins, Rock And Roll Resurrection

File Between: Fats Domino and Mott The Hoople

Comments: Most famous as the 50s rock & roller behind whom the Band was initially formed, Ronnie Hawkins had been flying under the radar for a good decade when he cut this comeback record (actually, every record he cut after 1962 was a comeback record, and on none of them did he ever come back, unless being famous in Canada counts). (It doesn’t.) I found it in a double-LP bargain set with his 1974 disc Giant Of Rock ’N’ Roll, and they’re of a piece: great old rock & roll covers with beefed-up 70s production. This disc has a solid New Orleans vibe, with prominent covers of Fats Domino and Lloyd Price, with a couple of Chuck Berrys and a Bo Diddley thrown in for good measure (but played Crescent City style). It wraps up with the sole contemporary song, Kris Kristofferson’s “The Same Old Song” (which Kristofferson wouldn’t get around to cutting for another two years), a gently noble lament which is out of place among all the good-time cheer and bragadoccio of rock & roll.

A Keeper? Hawkins doesn’t distinguish himself as a great singer, but as a singer of songs you can hear sung by every oldies act in every dive in America, he does fine.

Vinyl Rip: The Same Old Song

85. The Dixie Chicks, Home

JB: I have to admit, this album wormed its way into my good graces from its very first note: a guitar-banjo duet is always going to put a smile on my face. Following that good-time stomper with a pitch-perfect Fleetwood Mac cover nearly made the tears spring to my eyes. (I unabashedly adore the Nicks-Buckingham period.) The fact that the rest of the record never really lived up to that opening one-two punch doesn’t mean it wasn’t terrific anyway.

I’ve never really listened to the Dixie Chicks before, though of course I knew who they were — the ridiculous response to their perfectly justified (and in light of current polls, prescient) comments about Bush, their reputation for holding to traditional country elements in defiance of the pop-with-a-cowboy-hat Nashville establishment, the gleeful revenge fantasy “Goodbye Earl.” For some reason, though, I had the impression that they were more or less lightweights. Perhaps it’s residual sexism and/or rockism from my days as a true-believing rock & roller (ca. 1996-2002), but in another of those self-defeating never-heards, I’d convinced myself that since I hadn’t listened to them by now they weren’t really worth listening to. (Probably, come to think of it, some elitism in there as well. I mean, they win Grammys, which no self-respecting music act should ever do.)

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Yes, Close To The Edge

File Between: Mahavishnu Orchestra and Led Zeppelin

Comments: I wouldn’t consider myself a fan of Yes, but every time I listen to a Yes record I have to ask myself why I’m not. Then Jon Anderson starts singing and I say, “oh yeah, that’s why.” Unlike the typical progressive rock band, they’re not limited to the Western canon from Bach to Chuck Berry — they have serious elements of funk, fusion jazz, Middle Eastern music, and avant-garde sonics of the kind Brian Eno would make his name exploring in the rest of the decade. Squire, Bruford, and Howe are among the most forward-thinking instrumentalists of their day. Then Anderson comes in with his dippy sci-fi lyrics and helium vocals, and I have to wait for another fine instrumental passage. But then, too, whenever Rick Wakeman dominates, the whole thing tends to comes crashing to a deathly boring halt — although his supremely dull organ solo on the side-long title track is followed by a whiz-bang showcase once the rest of the band comes back in. It’s one of the better side-long tracks of the era (and yes, I have listened to quite a few; a formal study was cut short by the death of my iPod). The second side is less invigorating: the ten-minute “And You And I” is as goopy as its title sounds (though their rhythmic sense is still strong even in an acoustic ballad), and the nine-minute “Siberian Khatru” is too many good ideas stuffed in with a too many dodgy ones (a harpsichord solo right after the sitar solo?), but it’s pretty great funk-rock in several sections.

A Keeper? It’s not my favorite Yes album, but then Yes never made an album I’ve loved all the way through. Maybe Tales From Topographic Oceans. Maybe.

Vinyl Rip: Siberian Khatru

Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons, Chameleon

File Between: The Bee Gees and Neil Diamond

Comments: The sense of having lucked upon an undiscovered psych-pop masterpiece slowly gives way to the realization that it’s just another AM-pop record, albeit a pretentious one. Pretentiousness was in pretty high demand in the early 70s, as rock artists vied to show off how many high-culture references they could stuff into their overblown concept albums and jazz artists started talking about how fusion was the way of the future. Even the dependable, schmaltzy Seasons were not immune, and Chameleon finds them pitched halfway between the wacked-out studio psych of 1969’s The Geniune Imitation Life Gazette and 1975’s genteel disco-for-the-Lawrence-Welk-set “December, 1963 (Oh What A Night).” The first side is a suite of sorts, with repeated musical phrases and two songs with the same title bookending it; the second side drifts more into lamely sensitive grownup-pop. The production values are over-the-top — it’s a Motown record, and when early-70s Motown wasn’t letting geniuses do their thing, they were overloading their acts with unnecessary orchestrations — and ultimately it’s pretty dissatisfying. Frankie’s in fine voice — he’s just looking for something worth singing.

A Keeper? A couple songs scrape the edge of good-to-interesting, and I’m always a sucker for seeing what past-their-prime acts get up to out of the spotlight, but on the whole it’s a qualified flop.

Vinyl Rip: You’re A Song (That I Can’t Sing)

John Mayall, Jazz Blues Fusion

File Between: B. B. King and Gene Ammons

Comments: It is what it says on the tin: a bunch of numbers from a couple of shows in Boston and New York, with the legendary British blues guitarist and harpist leading a loose combo featuring sax, trumpet, keys, et cetera, establishing some grooves, and riding them. It’s closer to classic soul-jazz than to anything revolutionary for 1972, but Mayall manages to get some tasty licks in between all the hip chugging and honking. His singing gets in the way a few times, particularly when he goes high, like he’s trying to imitate Charley Patton’s keening voice and sounds like he’s making fun of blues singing instead, but on the whole it’s a solid, if unspectacular, live album with seven lengthy jams on it. The best tune on the record may be the eight-minute-plus “Exercise In C Major For Harmonica, Bass And Shufflers,” which Mayall sits out entirely.

A Keeper? It’s hard for me to get too excited about live albums, especially jammy ones like this, but as long as it leans harder on the jazz side than the “blues” (read: rock) side, I can dig it.

Vinyl Rip: Change Your Ways

Bob Weir, Ace

File Between: The Grateful Dead and Country Joe & the Fish

Comments: When I first found this record, I was filled with hope that it was the British pub band Ace (the one that later had a hit with Paul Carrack singing “How Long”). But no, it’s a Bob Weir solo record. Bob Weir is the Grateful Dead’s bass player and this is, for all intents and purposes, a Grateful Dead record, only Weir takes all the lead vocals and there are some backup singers and studio overdubs. And as a Dead record, it’s only okay. When the band forgets the pedestrian songwriting and just takes off into a spacey jam, as on “Playing In The Band,” the results are as magical as the Dead ever got (Pigpen’s piano is particularly beautiful), and the genre exercises (cod-mariachi on “Mexicali Blues,” 50s rock & roll on “One More Saturday Night”) are fun, but too often Weir and his session singers keep the music grounded in generic country-rock with a spacey edge. Which isn’t that bad — the Dead were fantastic musicians, after all, whatever the culture surrounding them was — but it’s not all that exciting, either.

A Keeper? It’s no Workingman’s Dead or American Beauty, but as a substitute for an actual Grateful Dead record (every copy of Europe ’72 I found was far too expensive), it’ll do.

Vinyl Rip: Looks Like Rain

Plainsong, In Search Of Amelia Earhart

File Between: Cat Stevens and Woody Guthrie

Comments: Englishman Ian Matthews was one of the voices of Fairport Convention during their formative period, but was pushed out of the group when they went further into British traditional music. His own musical influences were more American, ranging from West-Coast country-rock to the more stringent Southern tradition represented by the Carter Family. He led his own band, Southern Comfort, released some solo records, and then convened Plainsong to record this one album in 1972. The easygoing cosmic Americana of Gram Parsons and Gene Clark is a definite influence on about half the songs, and the rest are hardcore country-folk, including Leo Kottke’s “Louise” (sounding mannered compared to Jim Dickinson’s obliterating redneck version) and covers of Depression-era songs like “Amelia Earhart’s Last Flight” and “I’ll Fly Away.” Matthews’ own interpretation of Earhart’s biography takes center stage on “True Story of Amelia Earhart,” but it’s the uninflected dust-bowl ballad that sounds truer —even though it’s that song which gives away Matthew’s nationality; like any true rhotic speaker, he calls her Amelier.

A Keeper? About half of it is gorgeous country-folk; the rest of it is pretty dispensable, but not hard on the ears. The beautiful gatefold sleeve clinches it.

Vinyl Rip: For The Second Time

Rick Springfield, Beginnings

File Between: David Cassidy and Harry Nilsson

Comments: I saw this album on my very first 1972 crate-dig, but being both strapped for cash and skeptical about the artistic possibility of a Rick Springfield record, I left it behind. Of course, by the time I was open-minded enough to be genuinely curious about it, it was long gone — and it took another three years before I ran across another copy. But man, it was worth the wait. If all you know is the 80s cheese of “Jessie’s Girl” or his General Hospital fame, you’re in for a surprise with this record. It’s got the marks of the contemporary (then and now) teen-idol record, sure: plenty of emotional ballads with lots of soupy strings and big notes held for a long time. But there are also some left-field curveballs: power pop in the Big Star mold, rootsy good-time jive that ends up like a bubblegum approximation of the Band, and spacey Bee Gees-type pop that weds the melodic sense of Paul McCartney to the dramatic sense of what would become glam. And even the big ballads have some tasty guitar work reminiscent of George Harrison, played by Rick himself.

A Keeper? I don’t want to oversell it — there are no real hidden gems of the kind that make you wonder where this music has been all your life — but it’s a solid pop album. If you like the early-70s version of pop, you’ll like it.

Vinyl Rip: Come On Everybody

90. System Of A Down, Toxicity

MA: (Sang, quietly) Well, ya gotta give these cats credit for ambition. Anti-authoritarian “fuck! the! man!” screeds bump into meditations on science and spirituality,or the interplay between control and enthropy, and just when you think the whole thing’s turning too damn introspective you notice Toxicity’s wry, self-aware edge. Or if they don’t showya that, they might go downright silly, like the Mothers of Invention-esque “Bounce.” (Chorus: Jump! Pogopogopogopogo! Up! Pogopogopogopogo! Down!) There ain’t a heck of a lotta metal albums that can be described as thoughtful, and many fewer still that y’can label thoughtful AND funny, but….

(Shouted) BUT, MAN, SOME OF THESE LYRICS BLOW DONKEYS! The System cats spend most of the album lyrically beating you over the head all persuasive-paper-for-freshman-comp style

all research and successful drug policy shows/
That treatment should be increased/
And law enforcement decreased/
While abolishing mandatory-minimum sentences

Or they pull a complete 180, and move towards borderline incomprehensible!

“Trust in my Self Righteous Suicide?” Um… yeah. Whatevs, dude.

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95. T. I., Trap Muzik

JB: I ain’t gonna front: I’m somewhat in the position of a jazzhead in 1969 who totally digs Bitches Brew and is convinced that this rock & roll stuff is the music of the future, but wasn’t at Woodstock and can’t really say with a lot of authority what the aesthetic differences between the Velvet Underground, the Doors, and Led Zeppelin are, he just knows he likes their records. I haven’t been following any of the hip-hop scenes, mainstream, underground, East Coast, West Coast, Southern, etc. for any real amount of time, and my references are all the grab-bag of randomness that any dilettante can expect. The difference is that the jazzhead in ’69 didn’t have Wikipedia.

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