One of the benefits of my older brother (and I’m sure he’d be pleased to know that I use the plural form) is that as Beatles albums came out in the ’60s, he went to Kresge or wherever and bought them. And then on it would go to the hifi in the living room for hours and hours and hours. It was probably a good thing that our dad worked the afternoon shift, because otherwise I suspect that the longevity of the records would have been truncated rather rapidly. So we listened. Oh we listened. And as time went on, the Beatles records were joined by the Stones and the Who and. . .pretty much the entire British Invasion. We didn’t know. We didn’t care. We just listened.
All posts by Stephen Macaulay
Reelin' In. . .
Steely Dan at the Sound Board, Motor City Casino
Detroit, September 5, 2009
She resembled Kate Hudson in Almost Famous: slight, lithe, sexy. Her hair fell in ringlets, but red, not blonde. She was no older than the 21 required to attend, and her ID may have been gamed. She moved to the music with both intensity and grace, with familiarity and joy. And she was dancing to Steely Dan playing “Reelin’ in the Years,” a song that was released when she and her husband or fiance—there was a flash on diamond on her left hand, and she probably would know it—were still unrealized, undoubtedly not even considered. But there they were with seemingly boundless enthusiasm.
Those two were an anomaly at the Motor City Casino, not with regard to their enjoyment and appreciation, but demographically. By and large, those who packed the venue appeared as though they would have just as easily been spending that Saturday night at a Class of 1977 high school reunion. The men were buldging and balding; the women were trying and sagging. “The weekend at the college / Didn’t turn out as you planned.”
Meet "The Beatles"
When it was announced that Cirque de Soleil was going to do a performance based on the music of The Beatles—modified, remixed versions of the actual songs—there was a considerable bit of consternation among the Beatles’ purists, those who know, inside and out, the definitive versions, know them chapter and verse, and who have not inconsiderable knowledge of the variants (demo versions, live performances, etc.). That Sir George Martin was to be the man sitting at the mixing board (ably assisted by son Giles, which leads you to think that they’ve made something of a cottage industry from the band, assuming, of course, that by “cottage” you mean “castle”) served to mollify them, somewhat. But still. . .These are THE BEATLES! for fucksake. You just don’t go willy-nilly screwing around with works of three-minute acts of genius.
Then Play On
Consider. While there is certainly a percentage of rock in its multitudinous forms that is all about being pissed off and rebellious, about being disaffected and morose, about being loose and large, a greater percentage, arguably, is about relationships. Love lost. Love won. Love unrequited. Love that’s not really love. Love that dare not speak its name. Love sought but not found (which can lead to many of the feelings previously mentioned, as in pissed off, etc.).
Music (let’s stop using the word rock here as it can be too loaded as it can encompass too much, and the more generic term allows the focus to be on the argument, not the terms thereof) to a teen helps describe and define relationships or the lack thereof. Say you see a person of the opposite sex for the first time and you are immediately smitten. Chances are, if there is music playing, it is a song that you’re not likely to forget—at least not unless or until you meet someone else who wipes away the memory of the first one. Say she—and, yes, I am exhibiting my bias here, just to make this less prolix—has a song that’s her favorite. Now depending on your taste in music, there is a good likelihood that that is going to be among your favorites, as well. If you find it to be completely abhorrent, chances are there are going to have to be some rather significant factors that are going to overcome what you now know is a horrible taste in music, as you ask yourself: “If she likes that, what else can she possibly like?”, a question that causes your eyes to go wide with fear, despite the fact that you are talking to yourself.
This Is $uccess?
Here’s what passes for—what? credibility, authenticity, talent, ability—nowadays, it seems. Here’s what we’ve come to as regards musicians that we are supposed to add to our list of those who deserve our time and attention—to say nothing of our cash. It comes from a press release for Salme Dahlstrom, who, I must confess, I lack familiarity with, and, having watched/listened to her “Superstar Car Crash,” I can confidently say I will continue to lack deliberate familiarity with because, well, here’s the piece from the press release:
“Like Moby did with his hugely popular album Play, Dahlstrom has managed to license every track from The Acid Cowgirl Audio Trade including syncs with companies such as Suave, Vodafone, Nike, MTV, Chips Ahoy, Miller Lite, Subaru, Quiznos, Ford Models, Bank of America and television programs and films such as One Tree Hill, Veronica Mars, Laguna Beach, The Real Orange County, The Hills, and Ice Age 3.”
Fords in the House
The conventional wisdom around Motown these days is that of the domestic vehicle manufacturers, Ford Motor Company—commonly referred to by some denizens of Detroit as “Fords” and it is not clear whether that is supposed to be possessive case (as in “the company owned by the Ford family,” plural (as in “we build a lot of them”) or simply a bizarre case where someone who works in Dearborn suddenly manifests an accent that is more commonly heard in Minneapolis—is in the best shape.
At least unlike Chrysler it is not having its assets and liabilities assessed by a judge, and unlike General Motors, it isn’t teetering on the brink of some ignominious abyss. But while FoMoCo may be in “better shape,” that’s not the same as saying “good shape.” That is, while a Big Mac may be better for the conditions of your arteries and waist line than a Double Whopper with Cheese, that is not to say that it is good for you.
Summertime Blues
As we near the summer concert season, for the nights of trudging through parking lots in the semidarkness (“I thought I remember parking by that pole. . .or maybe that one”), of carrying damp blankets that began so well folded, of swatting mosquitoes that we think are there, of listening to the echoes in our ears of the music that we’d heard and that for which we wished. . . .
Are we really going to go?
Driven to Distraction, Part II
Part I ran back in a more innocent age. Eight years ago. In 2001. Pre-9/11. Back when car companies, including Honda, were selling cars with bootless abandon. Since then, there has been a greater level of solemnity. And one of the Big Three is now in bankruptcy, and another would be there right now if the president didn’t know that the economy would be teetering with a greater amplitude than it already is if GM did fall into reorganization.
But some things never change. Back then the issue was Honda sponsoring the “Civic Tour.” But now we are proud to report than Honda is one of the twelve sponsors of Lollapalooza 2009 and one of ten for the Austin City Limits Festival. It isn’t the “automotive” sponsor. No, it is an “Eco partner.” That’s right: a green partner. Says Tom Peyton, senior manager of Honda national advertising: “Many Honda customers are passionate about music and they care deeply about the environment. As an Eco-partner at these great music festivals Honda can help make being ‘green’ entertaining and fun.”
Glorious Noise Turns Eight Years Old Today
To celebrate the eighth anniversary of the founding of GLONO, we’ve asked some of the original contributors to share some thoughts about eight years of publication. We were all excited when Stephen Macaulay joined the crew. Mac was (and is) a real professional who had subscribed to Creem when Lester Bangs was the editor, and he’d seen the Faces live. The fact that he thought what we were doing was something special gave us a boost of confidence that we needed in the beginning.
—Jake
Eight Years After
No one is going to want to admit it, but essentially, Glorious Noise started out on a medium that was far different from the one you’re looking at now. Think of it more along the lines of Dixie Cups and string. The clever part was that whereas the cup-and-string routine is limited to pairs of senders and receivers, in the early days Glorious Noise actually had a drunken spider’s web of strings hooked up to a number of cups that you could count on both hands and have some fingers left over. Really.
Early on, it was sort of like a slightly elevated version of a dorm room flame session where one of the guys—yes, in the early days it was all guys, not a co-ed floor—would say something about someone (and as it was a guy thing, there were plenty of posts about Madonna, Alanis, Britney), with the others either piling on or positively chiming in. The idea that it was anything more than a means by which people were communicating across town in Chicago or across the lake into Michigan was something that was seemingly not all that considered. It was good, lively fun that could be accomplished from the comfort of one’s room, closet, or other space where there was a string, electricity, and, alright, a keyboard. Really.
Maybe He Can Get the Buick Gig Tiger Lost
“Let’s see. . .IMG”—that’s IMG Sports & Entertainment, which participates in “product and brand licensing; consulting services; event ownership and management; collegiate marketing, media, and licensing; fashion events and models representation; golf course design; and client representation in golf, tennis, broadcasting, speakers, European football, rugby, cricket, motor sports, coaching, Olympic and action sports”—”represents Tiger Woods, Eli and Peyton Manning, Venus Williams, Jeff Gordon, and. . .Stevie Van Zandt.”
So says Steven Van Zandt, who, according to the IMG bio, “is a musician, songwriter, arranger, record producer, actor, human rights activist, and radio disc jockey.” And can we now add corporate flack?