“Mechanical World”

I heard this on WDRC FM, out of Hartford, Connecticut.

It was a rite of passage. You wanted to get closer to the music. Your old record player with the heavy tonearm you put a nickel upon no longer did the trick, albums were in stereo, you had to hear it all, so you saved up your pennies or implored your parents and you got something with detachable speakers and a turntable with a force less than a gram and a half, and included was a receiver, which pulled in FM.

Now I lived close enough to New York to listen to WOR, and then WNEW and WABC when those free-format outlets ruled the FM airwaves. But I also explored, and came to love WDRC, which was an amalgamation of hip Top Forty and stuff just further out there, like this.

You noticed “Mechanical World,” because it sounded not quite like anything else. It wasn’t completely unique, yet it was anything but copycat. And it had a darkness and a heaviness such that it endeared itself to those who were not buying the high school b.s. That’s right, it was 1968, and we were questioning authority and everything was up for grabs and it was all led by music. Imagine that, artists on the bleeding edge beholden to no one but themselves, you became so enamored of the sound that you listened all the time.

“Fresh Garbage”

How to explain this? A song that’s rhythmic but also swings, that’s heavy and light all at the same time, with a pleasing lead vocal and equally pleasing lead guitar.

And there you have the magic of Jay Ferguson and Randy California.

And then there was the break, which was closer to jazz than anything on Top Forty radio, all done in a little more than three minutes, and this was the album’s opening cut, back then bands were not afraid to take a risk, to blow you away.

“Taurus”

Only famous now, an unheralded album track back then that almost no one took notice of except for…Jimmy Page.

Yes, “Taurus” is the track that Page ripped off for “Stairway To Heaven.”

Zeppelin opened for the band, Page had access, listen and you’ll hear the antecedent to the world’s most famous rock and roll track.

“I Got A Line On You”

Infectious.

Akin to its contemporary, Steve Miller’s “Living In The U.S.A.,” but with even more changes, and accessibility.

This actually went to number 25 on the pop chart, which was quite high considering “Mechanical World” only went to 129.

“I Got A Line On You” is the kind of track that puts a smile on your face every time you hear it, that has you cranking the radio, thrilled that there are such great sounding records in the world.

There’s percussion, bass, lead guitar, smooth, soothing vocals and a hooky chorus. Come on, what more could you ask for?

“1984”

Another single that penetrated the pop chart, that went all the way to number 69.

Once upon a time “1984” was a scary year, something that portended darkness, the end. And then it came and went. But before that…

This is mild psychedelia, but it’ll have you bopping your head in time.

It’s a little too smart for its own good, with too much packed into its brief length, but it works. Because you get the idea the people who made it were thinkers, were not just consuming the pabulum, but pushing the edge…contemplating what was to come.

And once again, Randy California’s lead guitar stings without overwhelming the track, the solo has you squinting your eyes and playing air guitar.

“Dark Eyed Woman”

A harbinger of what was to come, “Twelve Dreams…”

This is a magic track, especially in retrospect.

“So Little Time To Fly”

The Spirit track I listen to most these days.

It swings, it’s so SOULFUL! It lays down in the groove and then just stays locked on.

Randy California exhibits a guitar sound that you just want to get inside and marinate in. And he also sings lead, while Jay Ferguson performs backup vocals.

Not that John Locke, Mark Andes and Ed Cassidy were not integral members of the band. Andes and Cassidy were a rock solid rhythm section with no sludge, they kept the whole enterprise on track, and Locke’s keyboards were indispensable.

Once you discover “So Little Time To Fly,” you can’t listen only once. It ends and you’ve got to hear it again. That’s great music, something so incredible it doesn’t have to knock on your door for acceptance, rather you bang that barrier down just to get closer.

Welcome to the sixties, the rock revolution, when music ruled the world, drove the culture and experimentation was endless, when all the hits sounded different, when you were addicted to the radio because you wanted MORE!

“Prelude-Nothin’ To Hide”

And then comes…

It’s like the Moody Blues moved to Los Angeles, listened to every record from London to San Francisco and extruded an elixir so exquisite, so perfect as to resemble nothing so much as a diamond, not in the rough, but perfectly formed.

Really, “Twelve Dreams Of Dr. Sardonicus” is one of the greatest albums of the classic rock era. Astounding from beginning to end, one wonders how a band could get it so right.

You want me to believe in albums? Cut something as good as “Dr. Sardonicus” today.

No one’s come close.

This is the opening cut.

It starts off so ethereal, acoustic and moody, as if you’re singing to the most sensitive person in the world. And then…

That’s when the band turns on a dime, unleashes the force of rock and roll and implores you to WAKE UP!

You could never be asleep again after listening to “Dr. Sardonicus.”

Remember when records changed your life? When it wasn’t about the sponsor, but what was in the grooves?

THIS IS IT!

“Nature’s Way”

And then the record gets quiet again.

Arguably “Nature’s Way” is Spirit’s best track. They concocted something that was palatable to the masses yet doesn’t sacrifice the band’s essence, all the while sending a message.

If you don’t get “Nature’s Way,” you don’t like music.

“Animal Zoo”

And here we go back to the “I Got A Line On You”/”Living In The U.S.A.” sound without being derivative of what came before.

It’s a funny cut, wherein the verses scream and the choruses slow down.

If you don’t nod your head to this, you’re PARALYZED!

“Mr. Skin”

A secret society, either you’ve experienced the magic of this track.

Or you have not.

It’s like you’re floating down a river and then you go over the brink, you’re in the midst of the waterfall, AND IT FEELS SO GOOD!

And then there’s the middle part, totally unexpected, so different.

And then you’re back in the groove.

And this is just another album cut?

HOW CAN THAT BE!

“Morning Will Come”

It’s the chorus that closes you.

The track takes off on a tear and you cast aside all your preconceptions and possessions and just follow the music.

All of the above cuts are excellent.

But really, if you just played “Twelve Dreams Of Dr. Sardonicus” over and over you’d get it, you’d be satiated, you’d understand Spirit, you wouldn’t be able to stop talking about the band.

Which then imploded.

That’s right, there was too much talent for one act to contain. The band split in two. One still called Spirit and another entitled Jo Jo Gunne.

And then there were solo albums from Randy California and Jay Ferguson and the latter even had a hit single in 1978, long after the band’s debut.

Spirit is a rabbit hole you fall down into and never fully climb out of. You can stop playing the band’s music, but it will still be there in your head. You’ll be singing “Nature’s Way” when you least expect it, every time you hear one of their songs on the radio you beam, knowing there’s truly something to live for.

That’s right, REAL LIFE TRULY IS THIS WAY!

Ha!

Rhinofy-Spirit Primer

“David Carr, Times Critic and Champion of Media, Dies at 58”

Monday will never be the same.

Actually, Sunday. That’s when I kept refreshing the “New York Times” app on my phone, waiting for Carr’s column to appear. There will now be a hole in my life where Carr’s column used to be.

We only spoke on the phone once. I was kind of irritated that I was paying international rates to educate someone who didn’t end up quoting me in his column, but that’s what a reporter does, track down the story, and David Carr was very good at that.

Not that he always got it right. I excoriated him once not long ago. Because Mr. Carr had too great an investment in the way it used to be, it bugs me when people hold on to the past as opposed to jumping ship into the future.

And that’s what Nate Silver and David Pogue did. They left the “New York Times” for greener pastures where they could cast off their restraints and expand their vision. But David Carr stayed. He was one of the last stars at a paper that still doesn’t realize we live in a star economy, even in news.

No, I’m not talking about Brian Williams and the TV nitwits. They’re entertainers, barely different from those on sitcoms. They’re beautiful and play to the masses and they’re rarely real reporters.

David Carr was a real reporter.

And contrary to Mr. Carr’s belief, the real reporters will triumph in the end. The listicle people and the linkbait people will fall by the wayside. We hunger not for the quick hit, but the dense exploration. We want the truth, and David Carr did his best to uncover the truth.

So who was David Carr?

He was the guy who wrote the “Media Equation.” The Monday “New York Times” business columnist who analyzed what was going on in the world of entertainment in a way no one else did. Everybody else is just kissing up to money. If something pays well, if someone is rich, they’re untouchable. But David Carr asked the hard questions.

And I’ll miss him.

That’s what’s wrong with entertainment today, we no longer miss you when you’re gone. You’re a momentary blip on the radar screen, something to observe and forget, except in a trivia contest years down the road. No one has any substance, everybody’s whittling themselves down to the essence. There’s no hook for the Velcro hoop to grab on to.

So I’m sitting at dinner, researching Felice’s initial boyfriend, and then I slide over to the “New York Times” app, it’s inevitable, whenever I open my phone I end up there, I want to know what’s going on.

And I was shocked to find out that David Carr had died. He was only 58. He was feisty. He was fully alive.

But he’d been a drug addict. Could that have corroded his veins and heart?

Who knows, but he collapsed in the newsroom, after hosting a panel discussion about the film “Citizenfour.” He was working to the end.

You remember work, don’t you? The thing that’s so fulfilling the money’s superfluous?

Not the financial gigs the Ivy Leaguers gravitate to. They’re weak, they’re afraid of being broke, they can’t pass up the money.

But when you do something you love, it isn’t work, you don’t want to retire, you just want to keep on doing it.

And what David Carr did was ask the wheres and whys in a world where no one has analytical skills anymore, they can only see the surface.

And that appeals to me.

And I must note that Carr had no pedigree. He came out of local newsweeklies. He came up from the bottom. There was no silver spoon, no family connection, his success was all his. An American story. Whodathunk the “New York Times” could hire someone without the proper CV?

But it did.

And yes, the “Times” is bigger than its staff.

But not really.

Now, more than ever, we want to know who’s reporting the news. We want to know who you are, where you’re coming from. Which is why the star system is so important.

I feel sorry for David that he won’t be around to see how it all plays out, how the news evolves, what happens to the papers. Because he cared, not because of the money but because of the change, the thrill, WHAT IS GOING ON?

Who else turns me on as much?

Maybe Paul Krugman. But he’s got another gig, he’s a prize-winning economist, he teaches at Princeton, reporting was David Carr’s only job.

So think about that, even if you never read Carr’s column, if you have no idea who the man was.

This guy who was neither rich nor a star, made an impact. His absence will be felt.

That’s what you should strive for.

P.S. Carr is most famous for excoriating Vice in the film about the “Times,” “Page One.” But what most don’t know is he ultimately took it all back, said he was wrong, said Vice was great. Who does that? Admit a mistake and publicly acknowledge it? Phonies will accept awards they’re not entitled to, politicians will never say they’re wrong. Facts become irrelevant. Everybody’s so worried about their image. But he who is willing to do a 180, to adapt to the future and reality, wins in the end.

P.P.S. Despite working for the ancient “Times,” Carr was an inveterate tweeter, he embraced social media, he utilized all the new tools, because unless you’re familiar with them your opinion is worthless. He was the antidote to the b.s. Someone with a platform who was willing to get down into the pit with the young ‘uns, to admit we’re living in chaos and that the only way to survive is to jump in and swim!

Everybody hated them.

I did not.

But there were no hooks, no moments that drove me to the computer, that made me want to write to you.

It turns out everybody’s disappointed that their music wasn’t featured. Or, if it was, it was featured in a bastardized way. They’ve had enough of the “Grammy Moments,” they’ve had enough of the CBS promotions, and they’ve had enough of no-talents eclipsing legends.

Not that legends didn’t appear.

What are we supposed to do? How can the Grammys compete with the “Walking Dead”?

That’s why ratings were off. Because television is king and you can see all of the performers on the Grammy telecast all the time, they’re whoring themselves out for fame. And the more people beg, the more people sell out, the less we can identify.

The show started with AC/DC.

What kind of fucked up world do we live in where AC/DC begins “Music’s Greatest Night” with a new song that doesn’t qualify for an award and never needs to be heard again?

One in which Madonna loads so much crap upon one lame song you felt sad for her.

One in which Kanye gets two featured spots, as if everybody’s afraid he’s gonna diss them, so he gets his way. Any amateur knows Kanye was autotuned, because the man can’t sing, but he gets a pass.

However the song he did with McCartney and Rihanna…

Rihanna killed! Closed me in a second. Paul’s mic was nearly off and the song wasn’t a hit and…

That’s the problem with the whole damn show, the songs weren’t hits. In an era where only the best survives, only the best gets our attention, we were subjected to B and B+ material all night long which made the show limp.

That’s right, it all comes down to the song. And writing a great one is hard. Just because you diet down to nothing, spend all day in the gym, fly around Staples and are backed up by a choir and an orchestra that does not make your song good.

But I thought Jeff Lynne was pretty good. “Evil Woman” especially. And I loved seeing Paul McCartney stand and sing to “Mr. Blue Sky.” He did it spontaneously. Too much of the other standing O’s were herd mentality.

And the only performance I remember vividly is Dwight Yoakam’s with Brandy Clark. That was music. Some picking, a song and some singing. It’s easy when you know how to do it.

And I’m glad Sam Smith won all those awards.

As for Beck’s… That’s what happens when you have a geriatric white Academy membership. Letting these bozos vote on new music is like letting aged men vote on Oscars. Oops, that happens! But at least there are fewer movies. I guarantee you most people voting were not familiar with the material. There are a hundred categories. Name recognition is key.

Which is why the awards are worthless. If you’re proud you won a Grammy I feel sorry for you. The truth is great music ascends and survives. And so much of what the Grammys honor fades in the rearview mirror.

But you know who did win? Imagine Dragons. They hijacked the whole show. Target bought an ad that looked like a performance. And they got to perform ALONE!

Who said music must be a duet? This Grammy Moment thing is out of hand.

But come on, the show is better than it used to be. It used to have an endless classical segment and way too much talking, never mind a ton of awards. You’re just complaining they didn’t feature your tunes.

As for Prince talking about the necessity of albums…if only he’d made a good one in a zillion years.

But he’s a killer live performer. And the truth is the action has shifted from recordings to concerts, experiences. Recordings can be faked, can be canned, they’re the juice that gets you going, but the action is at the show.

So I don’t know where we go from here.

Kill the “Walking Dead”?

Require anybody on the Grammy telecast to not appear on TV for six months prior?

We can start by letting people only play their hits, that were nominated. We can try to restore gravitas and importance to the awards but the truth is the whole Grammy organization is whored out to CBS and is beholden to Ken Ehrlich. It’s all about that network check. And networks demand ratings. So you can take no risks.

But the truth is what once was is now gone.

What once was was artistry. Mystery. A magnetism that could not be denied.

What we’ve got now is overbaked, overdone productions. It’s like the artist is begging you to like them. And that’s positively creepy.

So, we need hits.

Performed by people who can play.

With little production.

But I don’t think that will move the ratings needle. Because music just ain’t that important. And the nominated are no longer heroes. You’ve got to be brain dead to look up to most of the nominees.

So when you sit home and complain that the show sucks, you’re right.

But this is the best these people can do. If you want any different, you have to wipe the slate clean and go in a whole ‘nother direction.

You’ve got to have self-respect.

That’s what’s wrong with music, it’s lost its self respect. It’s all about money and sponsors and bitching that you just can’t make enough cash.

When the truth is music is more powerful than everything but sex. When done right it’s a magic elixir that draws adherents and enhances life.

But little of that was on CBS’s telecast.

I feel your pain.

And if my thought dreams could be seen
They’d probably put my head in a guillotine

“It’s Alright, Ma, (I’m Only Bleeding)”

What kind of crazy fucked up world do we live in where Bob Dylan comes back from the dead and delivers the paramount rock and roll experience of the twenty first century?

That’s right, MusiCares is a clusterfuck nonpareil. The number one networking dinner of the year. Not only is it peopled by wannabes and no-name Recording Academy members, the movers and shakers all show up, the conversation is scintillating and informative, and then you retire to the ballroom where household names go through the motions, singing songs via Teleprompter.

Now the best stuff I saw in the auction room were the photos donated by Richard Lewis. That’s right, the comedian. He had one from the A.R.M.S. concert with every legend known to man, from Jeff Beck to Joe Cocker to Jimmy Page to Eric Clapton to Ronnie Lane, the inspiration for the show. Even more fascinating was the picture of Tim Hardin, before he was grizzled by heroin addiction, it was almost a completely different man.

And during the speeches I conversed with my table neighbors, nothing relevant or interesting was being said.

And then came the performances.

Now first I have to mention the crack band. Using all their chops and rehearsal to operate on a level so high, I don’t think it can be topped. Don Was the bandmaster. And Kenny Aronoff pounded the skins. Heartbreaker extraordinaire, Benmont Tench, tickled the keys. The legend only insiders know, Buddy Miller, picked the strings. And Greg Leisz was on pedal steel, this guy deserves to be more well-known.

Anyway, all the stars were good, but I can’t say there were many memorable performances. The song choices were confounding. A track from “Saved”? Another from “Oh Mercy”? Even the most dedicated Dylanologist would not only be disappointed, but would struggle to know the lyrics of these obscurities.

I figured John Mellencamp was gonna amp it up with a ripping version of “Highway 61,” but he turned it into a dirge.

And Tom Jones was fluid, but he never put the pedal to the metal, he usually blows us away, here he just barely brought the kettle to a boil.

Beck was all one note, there were no dynamics.

Jackson Browne was really good on an endless number from the early catalog that evidenced magic, but didn’t grab you by the gut and twist you.

Unlike Bonnie Raitt.

Bonnie Raitt, the Grammy darling, came back over the hill to reclaim her title as the sassiest mama with the best interpretive skills, all the while being a soulful slide player who can hold her own with the boys. She took the tertiary track “Standing In The Doorway” and not only made it her own, far eclipsing Dylan’s original, but delivered the best musical performance of the night. It was like being jetted back to 1992. Or 1972. As if no time had passed. There were a few lines in her face, but Bonnie was every bit as good. Really, if you’re a music lover, you would have smiled and then jumped to your feet, as we all did.

The second best performance, by a hair? Willie Nelson’s rendition of “Senor.”

Talk about a professional… Willie couldn’t read the Teleprompter at the back of the room. And the one on stage wasn’t working. So he and the band vamped endlessly until the glitch was rectified. Minutes. Talk about draining energy from the performance… But then Willie sang so beautifully, so soulfully, picked so amazingly, that he converted everyone on the fence into a fan. This guy is a deserved legend. He’s heads above everybody else. He wrung meaning out of that song that we didn’t know was there.

Jack White earned his place in the movie “It Might Get Loud.” He wailed.

And the Boss did a solid rendition of “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door,” and whipped out some leads to demonstrate that he’s not about to hang up his rock and roll shoes.

And then came Mr. Z.

Well, first we had Neil Portnow’s monotonic introduction. What a juxtaposition, a legend and an administrator.

But credit Mr. Portnow for knowing it was not his night, that he was not up to the task, for he relinquished the mic to Jimmy Carter.

That’s right, our 90 year old ex-President who was put into office by the Allman Brothers. And I didn’t believe half of what he said, but then he got truthful, you could feel the connection, and out came Zimmy.

Now this is usually the lamest moment of the show. When the winner holds the trophy, thanks the usual suspects and says nothing meaningful.

But not the poet laureate from Hibbing.

Bob talked in that insane voice he’s developed, like his skin is a different color and he was brought up in the holler. And he made some perfunctory remarks. And then he told us he was gonna read.

Oh god, he’s afraid of making a mistake, he can’t do it off the cuff, get ready to be bored.

And all night we were wondering if Bob would perform. Most people do, but when Neil Young was honored he did not. And really, I don’t want to see Bob mangle his old material, but maybe on this occasion he’ll hearken back to the originals.

It was better than that. Bob didn’t play a note, but he delivered a speech that dropped jaws and had you tingling, not believing you were there in attendance.

You remember that experience, don’t you? When the gigs weren’t productions matched to clicks and if you didn’t go to the show you didn’t know, there was no MTV, never mind YouTube? When you went because you never knew what would happen?

Well, something happened last night.

And what happened was that Bob Dylan revealed he’s been listening all the while, he knows what we’ve been saying about him, he’s got an opinion about it, and unlike everybody else in this sold-out business he’s not afraid to step on toes, he’s not afraid to offend.

It had a somewhat historical structure. These were not notes, Bob had written an essay, nearly a book, it took him half an hour to deliver it, turning the printed pages all the while. And he didn’t go all the way back to Minnesota, then again, there was a reference to Highway 61, but he did start with John Hammond, giving the man props for signing him, alluding to the luck he was the beneficiary of that no one likes to talk about.

It’s more than luck, it’s personality and drive and cunning and making opportunities others cannot see, never mind take advantage of. But there’s always luck.

And from there to his initial publisher Lou Levy, and Joan Baez, who he praised to high heaven, all the way to Jimi Hendrix on up to today.

Lou said Bob was ahead of the game, and if he was lucky the audience would catch up with him in three to five years.

Bob didn’t want to write novelty tracks like Leiber and Stoller, whom he excoriated. Bob was only interested in the truth, which he got from folk songs, which he knew by heart and played incessantly.

Yes, Bob told us where his songs came from. Made the connection from the past to the present. It was positively mind-blowing, the guy who obfuscates for a living is giving us the god’s honest truth in a way no one ever does. It’s like the fathers of our country telling us what’s behind the Declaration of Independence and the Bill of Rights, the only difference being Dylan is still alive.

You see Dylan impacted the culture, we’re just pawns in his game. The big story this week was the “Billboard 100,” the executives who run this enterprise. That’s how far we’ve come, we lionize the rip-off businessmen who’ll soon be forgotten. Even David Geffen’s almost been forgotten.

But Bob Dylan won’t be. Great artists cobble together something new from the past and inspire those who come after. Bob Dylan is a great artist.

And what a perspective!

He talked about his voice and the criticism of it. Wondered why he was singled out and Leonard Cohen was not. Why everybody else can do a covers album and get away with it but the critics put him through the wringer.

The truth is Bob Dylan is different from the rest. We hold him to a higher standard. Because he’s at the pinnacle, and we need to believe in him.

But Dylan’s an elusive sort. Bobbing and weaving like a boxer. Confounding expectations.

That was a highlight, when Dylan said this was not a job description, this is not what he does, he’s just following his own muse in search of the truth.

And I could recite more verbiage but if you’re interested in the details you can read excerpts online.

But ultimately it was more than the content. It was the fact that Bob Dylan trail blazed again. That he did confound our expectations. That he pushed an envelope we could not even see.

And we were there. When he went on not worrying what we thought, not worrying about losing us, because that’s what great artists do, follow their own path and not worry about pandering to the masses.

But now pandering rules the business. And those who are unique don’t realize that Bob Dylan could get away with his unique voice because he was the best lyricist of all time. Are you? I don’t think so.

And Bob Dylan is still demanding our attention. Who else can we say that of?

And I won’t say everything he does is good. But you’ve got to respect the man for trying, for continually being born instead of dying.

So there you have it. This is what got us to go to the shows way back when. Because a friend went and couldn’t stop testifying about what he’d experienced.

Last night I experienced the best speech by a rock musician ever.

And the honor is bogus, but all awards are. That was another of Dylan’s targets, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. An empty institution where the second-rate are members and the genuine article is excluded. That’s right, Billy Lee Riley might have only had one hit, “Red Hot,” but that track got inside Dylan in such a way as to not only inspire, but never be forgotten.

You remember inspiration, don’t you?

You remember the indelible experience, don’t you?

Or are you just about the money, and if someone’s got it they’re above criticism?

If so, I feel sorry for you. Because you wouldn’t have gotten Bob Dylan’s speech last night, you wouldn’t have understood where he was coming from, and you wouldn’t have been made to believe that the future is still in front of us as opposed to being in the rearview mirror, and you wouldn’t know that art trumps money every minute of the day, every hour of the week, and that without Bob Dylan our lives would be so much emptier.

So you can pledge fealty to false idols.

But the empty icons won’t keep you warm at night.

Grammy weekend is already over. Bob Dylan took home all the trophies, made the entire ceremony look small and he never sang a note.

That’s an artist.

Your move.