I’ve been spending all day downloading live shows.

The Linda Ronstadt radio show from the Record Plant back in ’73 wasn’t as audio-exquisite as one might expect, it being broadcasted and everything.

Karla Bonoff’s show from Nashville back in ’78 was revelatory.  How do they know the essence of life so young?  I had to enter my thirties, late twenties at best, before I knew most of what Karla and Jackson Browne were singing about as young pups.

And speaking of Jackson, there’s a great show from the Main Point back in ’73.  It’s good enough to release as is.

But not as good as this radio show from ’72, broadcast on WLIR.  This is BETTER than most live shows.  It sounds like they’re playing in your living room!

Back before she became the poster child for baby boomer perseverance, getting kudos for hanging in there, through the bad relationships and alcohol to find commercial success, Bonnie Raitt was a blues mama.  An irreverent one at that.  Actually, she’s still irreverent.  In a business that takes itself way too seriously.

When she sings that you should love her as a man, she retains all the sensitivities of a woman without being subservient.  When the Republicans are focused on so-called babes like Cindy McCain, I’d much rather spend time with someone three-dimensional, with a few miles on her, who’s not afraid to give me directions.

There’s her take on "Love Has No Pride", from "Give It Up", long before Ronstadt made it a classic.  Bonnie’s not oversinging, she’s lived it.

"You Got To Know How" is better than the take on the album.  Sans the production, it’s got authenticity.

The apotheosis is "Can’t Find My Way Home".  And one of the reasons it exudes such magic is the help Bonnie receives from John Hammond and Lowell George.  Lowell’s slide is barely there, sneaking in from the sidelines, it adds a dose of reality, it adds character, it’s the plot of the song come alive.

That was one of Lowell’s specialties.  Knowing when not to play.

Subtlety’s gone out the window.  Everything’s faders up, in your face.  We revere melisma, the singers who can belt.  But turning it up to 11 only works if you know how to play at 2.

Lowell doesn’t exactly play at 2 in his own number from this set, but he’s not jamming it down your throat, he draws you TO HIM!  Or, as Bonnie says…WAIT ‘TIL YOU HEAR THIS!  The fat man in the bathtub STEALS THE SHOW!

Back when record companies were trustworthy, I got turned on to Little Feat by a Warner Brothers Loss Leader, a double album of the label’s wares sold mail order for $2.

But I can’t say I loved "Dixie Chicken" from the moment I played it.  There was no context.  Lowell had played with Frank Zappa, but this didn’t sound like anything on "Weasels Ripped My Flesh".  But, then I got hooked by the penultimate number, "Juliette".

Don’t sing sad songs, Juliette

We no longer believe the words our acts sing, if we can make them out at all.  They’re written by hacks, or illiterates.  And they’re sold with such force it’s like a book hitting you in the face.  Whereas you’d prefer to turn the pages yourself, and let the story unfold.

That’s the power of Lowell George.  Occasionally he demanded attention, via a bit of bluster, but it’s the subtlety that got under your skin, that gave you the heebie-jeebies, that made you play the record again.

I can’t pick a favorite from "Dixie Chicken".  But I’d recommend the cut Bonnie ultimately covered, "Fool Yourself".

You might say you ain’t got a hold on yourself
You might say you always try your best
You might say you only need a rest
You might say you can only fool yourself
I said fool yourself
I said fool yourself

What’s fascinating is the position from which Lowell George is singing.  He’s an observer, the best friend, giving advice.  Not just telling you what you want to hear, but splicing in some truth.

Lowell drugged himself to death.  Only the good die young.  But, unless you’ve had hits, you’re usually forgotten.  Living on only in the memories of those who experienced you, there being no traction amongst the younger generation.

If Lowell George had traction amongst young ‘uns, it’d be a completely different music business.  With the focus on music.

"A Apolitical Blues" appeared originally on "Sailin’ Shoes".  An album I went back and bought after wearing out "Dixie Chicken".  It contains my favorite Feat cut, "Easy To Slip", another take on "Willin’", "Tripe Face Boogie" and the title cut, ultimately covered by Robert Palmer.  You can hear a live take of "A Apolitical Blues" as a bonus cut on "The Last Record Album".  But both commercially-available versions pale in comparison to the live take from WLIR.

Nobody is watching, and probably not a ton of people were listening, Bonnie had not broken through yet, but Lowell is playing like it’s a telethon, like he’s finally got a shot to exhibit all his wares, like people are FINALLY PAYING ATTENTION!

His voice is so sweet, that even when he’s imploring it sounds like his vocals are covered in honey.  This is a man.  The kind who’s capable of loving the woman in Bonnie Raitt’s song.  He doesn’t show up with gold jewelry.  He doesn’t exit from a Mercedes.  He doesn’t look like a movie star.  He just exudes humanity, personality, CHARISMA!

Well my telephone was ringing
They told me, told me it was Chairman Mao
Well my telephone was ringing, hear it ringing?
They told me it was Chairman Mao
I don’t care who it is
I just don’t want to talk to him now

We’d been burned by the sixties.  Baby boomers were licking their wounds in apathy.  They’d tried to change the world and ended up with Nixon and an extended war in Vietnam.

Some people maintain that with the death of hope the flame of music was extinguished, that all the great stuff expired with the sixties.

But one listen to Lowell George will tell you otherwise.

Little Feat ultimately got some radio action, even had a song resembling a hit.  But Lowell did too much dope, ultimately went solo and died.  And since his triumphs were so subtle, he’s been forgotten.  But he shouldn’t be.