Replacements – Nowhere Is My Home

I thought I knew most of the Replacements catalog, but this one somehow slipped past me. This song was recorded in early 1985 during sessions that eventually led up to Tim. What caught my attention immediately was the producer, Alex Chilton. Yes, that Alex Chilton from Big Star, one of the bands that influenced Paul Westerberg and the Replacements. The song didn’t make Tim, but it eventually appeared on the 1986 UK compilation Boink!! and later as a bonus track on the 2008 reissue of Tim.

The Chilton sessions took place at Nicollet Studios in Minneapolis in 1985. Along with this song, the band worked on early versions of Can’t Hardly Wait and Left of the Dial. Chilton produced this, and I really like the sound he got from the band. It’s still rough around the edges, because it wouldn’t be the Replacements otherwise, but the song has plenty of feeling underneath it.

That was always one of the things I liked most about Paul Westerberg. The Replacements could be a total train wreck. Westerberg could certainly be a out there himself, especially onstage, but then he could turn around and write something incredibly sensitive. The song looks at someone living without a real home or place to belong. Westerberg doesn’t turn the person into a character to laugh at or preach about. There is loneliness running through the song, and he lets that speak for itself.

That side of Westerberg sometimes gets lost behind all the stories about drunken shows and the band’s self-destructive behavior. Listen to songs such as Unsatisfied, Here Comes a Regular, Skyway, Bastards of Young, or this one, and you hear a songwriter who paid attention to people who didn’t quite fit in. He could write about loneliness and disappointment without making it sound overly sentimental. That’s not easy to do.

For me, Westerberg is probably my favorite songwriter to come out of the 1980s. I’m listening to the songs. This one is another example of why I rate him so highly. It also makes me wonder what Tim might have sounded like if Alex Chilton had produced the entire album. We will never know, but this recording gives us a pretty interesting glimpse of what might have been. Even decades later, there are still Replacements songs hiding around corners waiting for me to find them.

Nowhere Is My Home

Out to sea in a ship full of holes
Even though
With a heave and a ho
Gonna raise my sails
Rent a penthouse but sleep on a bench
Pass me the wrench
Take a shovel and a wrench
To this jail

I ain’t deserted
Just feel so disconcerted
I ain’t deserted at all

Sun beats down, neck turns red
In a toolshed, piss in the dirt
Put it right here on my arm
Where they hurt and bled
Commit a crime, in the world of straw
Perfect flaw
Now I fall apart

I ain’t deserted
Just feel so disconcerted

Nowhere
That’s my home, dear
Nowhere
Is where I’m from
Nowhere
Ain’t too far from here

Pitch a tent in a parking ramp
Postage stamp
On a milk carton, a missing kid
Ends up in the trash again, again

And now I got no answers
I got no clue, what will I do?

Nowhere
That’s my home dear
Nowhere
Is where I’m from
Nowhere
Ain’t too far from here

I ain’t deserted
Just feel so disconcerted
I ain’t got no answers now
I ain’t got no home at all

No, no, no
Nowhere at all
No, no, no
Nowhere at all
No, no, no
Nowhere at all
No, no, no
Nowhere at all

Bob Seger – If I Were a Carpenter

This is one of those songs where I heard the cover before I heard the original. I know some folk fans might not agree with me, but Bob Seger’s version of this classic song is still the one I think of first. Sometimes the first version you hear just sticks with you. Seger is from Michigan, but the South adopted him as one of their own. I heard him constantly while growing up. Whenever I’m in the small town I grew up in, the song Mainstreet is always in my mind. I remember hearing it when I played pool in Pop’s Pool Hall. I guess every town had a Pop’s Pool Hall in some form or name.

Tim Hardin wrote the song, one of those songwriters whose songs became much more famous than he did. Bobby Darin actually released his version before Hardin’s own recording came out. Darin’s version peaked at #8 on the Billboard 100, #7 in Canada, and #9 in the UK. Hardin’s version appeared the following year on Tim Hardin 2. Hardin would later perform the song at Woodstock in 1969.

What I like about Seger’s version is his voice. Hardin’s original has the style you would expect from the man who wrote it, and it is great. But Seger gives the song a completely different personality. His voice already had that rough edge that I love. Against such a tender song, that roughness works for me. If anyone deserved stardom, it would be Seger. Some believe he just magically appeared in 1976 with Night Moves; no, it was a long trek of touring in the 60s and 70s and building up his audience.

The song itself asks a pretty simple question. If everything associated with status and position disappeared, would you still love me? Would it matter what I did for a living or what other people thought of me? Hardin didn’t need a complicated arrangement or a lot of words to get the idea across. That’s probably one reason so many different artists have been able to make the song their own.

And there have been plenty of them. Bobby Darin had the first major hit with it. The Four Tops recorded it. Johnny Cash and June Carter turned it into a duet. Hardin himself gave us the songwriter’s version. Everyone brought something different to it. Bob Seger recorded this for his 1972 album Smokin’ O.P.’s. The album was made up mostly of covers, and the title was a play on “smoking other people’s” songs. Seger’s version was released as a single, and it peaked at #76 on the Billboard 100.

I’ll give Tim Hardin all the credit in the world. He wrote a beautiful song, and without him, none of those other versions would exist. But the first carpenter who showed up at my house was Bob Seger.

I’m sticking with him.

If I Were A Carpenter

If I were a carpenter and you were a lady
Would you marry me anyway?
Would you have my baby?

If I worked my hands in wood
I wonder would you still love me?
I say yes, I would, I’ll put you above me
That’s what I want you to say

And would you save my love from loneliness
Would you save my love from sorrow, if you would
I give you my onlyness, girl and all of my tomorrows

If a tinker were my trade, would you still find me?
Carrying the pots and the pans that I made
Walking along the highway
That long lonely highway

If I was a carpenter, and you were a lady
And I was just a carpenter
Instead of a rock and roll star
Just a carpenter, a carpenter, a carpenter

SS Kamloops: One of Lake Superior’s Enduring Mysteries

I first heard about this ship when I saw some divers go into it. It’s almost pristine. Lake Superior has preserved this ship almost perfectly. It had…

SS Kamloops: One of Lake Superior’s Enduring Mysteries

Please come over today as we talk about the SS Kamloops from the Great Lakes.

Clutch – Electric Worry

I like songs that announce themselves right away, and Electric Worry certainly does that. That guitar comes in and you know immediately this isn’t going to be a quiet ride. It’s heavy, dirty, bluesy rock, and when Neil Fallon’s vocal comes in, it has exactly the power the music needs. This isn’t normally the first place I go musically, but when a riff grabs me like this one does, genre doesn’t matter much.

Clutch formed in Germantown, Maryland, in 1991. The lineup of Neil Fallon on vocals, Tim Sult on guitar, Dan Maines on bass, and Jean-Paul Gaster on drums has remained remarkably stable through the years. They built their audience the old-fashioned way by playing constantly, developing a loyal following rather than depending on a string of radio hits. Their first full-length album, Transnational Speedway League, arrived in 1993, followed by their self-titled album in 1995. Over time, their sound moved beyond their heavier metal beginnings and incorporated more blues, funk, and straight-ahead hard rock.

This song appeared on the 2007 album From Beale Street to Oblivion. The album was produced by Joe Barresi and recorded at the legendary Sound City Studios in California. By this point, Clutch’s blues influence was impossible to miss, and Electric Worry sounds like somebody plugged an old blues record into a wall of amplifiers. Eric Oblander of Five Horse Johnson adds the harmonica, which is one of the ingredients that makes the record work so well.

There is some real blues history underneath the song. Parts of this song draw from the blues tradition surrounding Muddy Waters’ Trouble No More, and it’s connected to earlier Delta blues. You can also hear something of John Lee Hooker’s repetitive, hypnotic boogie approach. Clutch wasn’t trying to make an old blues record, though. They took that foundation and turned it into something much heavier.

The songwriting credits went to Neil Fallon, Jean-Paul Gaster, Dan Maines, Tim Sult, and Mississippi Fred McDowell. There’s actually a little inconsistency depending upon where you look. Some modern streaming metadata lists only Fallon, Gaster, Maines, and Sult, while copyright records and other release/film credits include McDowell. McDowell belongs there. The reason McDowell belongs there becomes obvious when you listen to his blues material. This song incorporates material associated with McDowell, particularly the old “Someday Baby” / “You Gotta Move” blues tradition. Clutch didn’t simply pretend those pieces appeared from nowhere. Their published copyright information explicitly includes Fred K. McDowell as a composer, which is indeed refreshing considering some of rock history’s less admirable habits with blues songwriting credits…Mr Page, are you listening?

The song became one of Clutch’s signature numbers and a fan favorite. In fact, there’s a wonderful endorsement attached to it: Lemmy of Motörhead reportedly described Electric Worry as Clutch’s “Ace of Spades.” That’s about as good a compliment as a hard-rock band could receive. THAT right there…makes it a winner in my book. When Lemmy spoke, I listened.

I think part of the appeal is how uncomplicated the basic idea sounds. Guitar, bass, drums, harmonica, and Fallon’s huge vocal all working around that groove. Nothing sounds polished to death. It sounds like musicians playing together and pushing the song forward. By the time they hit that repeated “Bang, bang, bang, bang” section, the song has built up a tremendous amount of momentum.

I’m also a sucker for music that connects different generations, and underneath all that power is the blues. Clutch took something very old and made it sound completely their own. Neil Fallon’s voice is a big part of it. He doesn’t sound like he’s trying to make the song heavy. He just sounds heavy.

And Electric Worry is definitely worth following.

Electric Worry

Well you made me weep and you made me moan
When you caused me to leave, child, my happy home.
But someday, baby, you ain’t worry my life anymore.

I get satisfaction everywhere I go.
Where I lay my head – that’s where I call home.
Whether barren pines, or the mission stair,
Take tomorrow’s collar and give ’em back the glare.

Bang, bang, bang, bang!
Vamanos, vamanos.
Bang, bang, bang!
Vamanos, vamanos.

You told everybody in the neighborhood
What a dirty mistreater. That I was no good.
But someday, baby, you ain’t worry my life anymore.

Doctor or lawyer, I’ll never be.
Life of a drifter, the only life for me,
You can have your riches, all the gold you saved.
Ain’t room for one thing in everybody’s grave.

Bang, bang, bang, bang!
Vamanos, vamanos!
Bang, bang, bang!
Vamanos, vamanos!

If I had money, like Henry Ford,
Lord, I’d have me a woman, yeah on every road.
But someday, baby, you ain’t worry my life any more.

Invocation of the dummies, requiem for a head,
Cash in at the corner, piles of street cred.
I get satisfaction everywhere I go.
One day, baby, you’ll worry me no more.

Bang, bang, bang, bang!
Vamanos, vamanos!
Bang, bang, bang!
Vamanos, vamanos!

Hank Williams – Lost Highway

This is country music stripped down to what matters. A great song, a small group of musicians, and a singer who makes you believe every word. His songwriting was beyond reproach. Ironically, this is one of my favorite Hank songs and one of the very few he didn’t actually write.

I’ve always loved Hank Williams, and this is one of those recordings where everything fits. His voice, the steel guitar, fiddle, and most of all the feeling. There is nothing fancy about it. It doesn’t need to be.

One interesting thing about it is that Hank didn’t write it. The song was written by Leon Payne, a blind country singer and songwriter who recorded his own version in 1948. Payne spent part of his early career traveling around looking for work. According to his wife, he came up with the song while hitchhiking from California back to Texas to visit his sick mother. He couldn’t get a ride and eventually received help from the Salvation Army. Somewhere along that road came this song.

Hank recorded the song on March 1, 1949, at Castle Studio in Nashville with Fred Rose producing. The musicians included Dale Potter on fiddle, Don Davis on steel guitar, Zeb Turner on electric guitar, Jack Shook on rhythm guitar, Clyde Baum on mandolin, and probably Ernie Newton on bass. Hank’s version was released by MGM later in 1949 and peaked at #12 on the country charts.

The strange thing is how perfectly the song fits Hank Williams. If you didn’t know better, you would swear he wrote it about himself. The lost man, the rambling, the mistakes, and knowing where the road is taking you but continuing down it anyway. Hank was only 25 years old when he recorded it. Less than four years later, he was gone. He packed a lot of living into those years, and you can hear and see it.

Leon Payne wrote this song, but when Hank Williams sang it, somehow it became his highway.

Leon Payne singing his song, Lost Highway.

Lost Highway

I’m a rolling stone, all alone and lost
For a life of sin, I have paid the cost
When I pass by, all the people say
“Just another guy on the lost highway”

Just a deck of cards and a jug of wine
And a woman’s lies makes a life like mine
Oh, the day we met, I went astray
I started rolling down that lost highway

I was just a lad, nearly twenty-two
Neither good nor bad, just a kid like you
And now I’m lost, too late to pray
Lord, I paid the cost on the lost highway

Now, boys, don’t start to rambling around
On this road of sin, are you sorrow bound?
Take my advice or you’ll curse the day
You started rolling down that lost highway

Randy Newman – I Love L.A.

I cannot believe I’ve never posted a Randy Newman song. I first heard of him through Short People, and that is not counting the countless covers I’ve heard of his songs covered by other people.

Being a Dodgers fan, I get a little extra kick out of hearing this song. The Dodgers play I Love L.A. after they win at Dodger Stadium, so when I hear those opening notes, I automatically associate it with something good happening. It’s hard for me to separate the song from baseball now. A Dodgers win followed by Randy Newman is a pretty good combination.

Randy Newman released this song in 1983 on his album Trouble in Paradise. Newman grew up in Los Angeles, but this being Randy Newman, the song isn’t quite the straightforward love letter that the title suggests. He genuinely loved the city, but he was also poking fun at it. The beautiful weather, convertibles, and palm trees are all there, but so are the less glamorous parts of Los Angeles. Newman was always good at writing from the viewpoint of a character who might not completely understand what he was revealing about himself.

The song reportedly grew partly from a conversation Newman had with Don Henley. Henley suggested that Newman should write a song about the city. Newman also had an earlier unreleased song called Something to Sing About that dealt with some of the same ideas about wealth and the Southern California lifestyle. Those ideas eventually helped develop into I Love L.A.

There is some serious talent playing on the recording. Steve Lukather plays lead guitar, Jeff Porcaro is on drums, David Paich plays organ, Nathan East is on bass, and Waddy Wachtel plays rhythm guitar. Lindsey Buckingham and Christine McVie are among the backing singers. That’s quite a collection of musicians for a song that sounds so loose and simple when you first hear it. Lenny Waronker and Russ Titelman produced it.

I Love L.A. wasn’t a big hit when it was originally released. It didn’t even make the Billboard 100, although the video received plenty of airplay on MTV. The song gradually became much bigger than its original chart position. It was used in connection with the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics and eventually became something close to an unofficial anthem for the city.

The video helped sell the song. Newman cruises around Los Angeles in a red convertible while the scenery mentioned in the song passes by. Like the song itself, it’s difficult to tell exactly where the celebration ends and the joke begins. I think that’s part of the reason it has lasted. You can hear Newman having some fun with the place he loves. And…

I love L.A.

Especially after the Dodgers win.

I Love L.A.

Hate New York City
It’s cold and it’s damp
And all the people dressed like monkeys
Let’s leave Chicago to the Eskimos
That town’s a little bit too rugged
For you and me you bad girl

Rollin’ down the Imperial Highway
With a big nasty redhead at my side
Santa Ana winds blowing hot from the north
And we as born to ride

Roll down the window, put down the top
Crank up the Beach Boys, baby
Don’t let the music stop
We’re gonna ride it till
We just can’t ride it no more

From the South Bay to the Valley
From the West Side to the East Side
Everybody’s very happy
‘Cause the sun is shining all the time
Looks like another perfect day

I love L.A. (we love it)
I love L.A. (we love it)
We love it

Look at that mountain
Look at those trees
Look at that bum over there, man
He’s down on his knees
Look at these women
There ain’t nothing like ’em nowhere

Century Boulevard (we love it)
Victory Boulevard (we love it)
Santa Monica Boulevard (we love it)
Sixth Street (we love it, we love it)
We love L.A.

I love L.A. (we love it)
I love L.A. (we love it)
I love L.A. (we love it)

Alvin Lee featuring George Harrison – The Bluest Blues

I found this song after posting about Ten Years After. One of my readers, M.Y. (Thank you, M.Y.!) brought this one up. She told me about it, and I could not believe I missed it all these years. Put Alvin Lee and George Harrison together on one song, and you already have my attention. Then make it a slow blues with both of them playing guitar, and I’m not going anywhere. George remade himself when he learned slide. He was a good guitar player before, but he became a great one on slide. That is a compliment because I do like his regular playing as well, but the slide became his identity.

This is why I still love looking for new/old music. I’ve been listening to George Harrison for most of my life. I knew Alvin Lee through Ten Years After. Yet somehow The Bluest Blues slipped right past me. They complement each other so well in this song.

The song itself is simple and melodic. But the guitars are what make this one special for me. George Harrison comes in with that unmistakable slide sound and plays a solo that says more than a hundred notes could. Then Alvin Lee answers him in his own way.

Two completely different guitar players. Two completely recognizable sounds. And somehow they fit together perfectly. I can’t believe it took me this long to find it, but that’s the great thing about music. Another song is always hiding somewhere.

The Bluest Blues appeared on Alvin Lee’s Nineteen Ninety Four, originally released in 1993 and later issued in the United States under the title I Hear You Rockin’. Lee was joined by Steve Gould on bass, Alan Young on drums, Steve Grant on keyboards, and Tim Hinkley on Hammond organ. The special guest was George Harrison playing slide guitar. Harrison also appeared on Lee’s version of the Beatles’ I Want You (She’s So Heavy) on the same album.

Lee and Harrison weren’t strangers. They had known each other for years and had worked together before. Lee appeared on Harrison’s Ding Dong, Ding Dong, while Harrison had played with Lee on earlier recordings. By this time they were also neighbors in the Thames Valley area of England. It was one of those musical friendships that quietly produced some great music without getting a lot of attention.

What really gets me about this recording is the difference between the two guitar players. Alvin Lee became famous as the lightning-fast guitarist from Ten Years After, especially after Woodstock. George Harrison was almost the opposite. He wasn’t interested in playing the most notes. George had a way of making a guitar line sound like another voice in the song. He would play for the song completely.

George takes the first major slide solo, and if you’ve listened to him for years, you know it’s him almost immediately. Lee loved the solo himself. He said it was one of George’s best and praised its tenderness and melody. He also said hearing George changed his approach. Instead of playing the more aggressive solos he had been playing, Harrison inspired him to become more melodic.

That’s when the song really takes off. Lee stretches out during the second half and reminds you that there was much more to his playing than speed. His solo has plenty of technique, but there is also restraint and emotion. George doesn’t try to sound like Alvin, and Alvin doesn’t try to sound like George. That’s what makes the combination work.

The Bluest Blue

I couldn’t wait to see you, waiting by the door
There’s no one there to meet me, and your clothes are on the floor
Sorry if I hurt you, and I made you cry
Couldn’t stand to see you, with another guy
It’s the bluest blues, and it cuts me like a knife
It’s the bluest blues, since you walked out of my life

Couldn’t really tell you, how you hurt my pride
Something broke within me, down inside
I never knew I loved you, til you went away
Now the loneliness surrounds me, everyday
It’s the bluest blues, since you walked out of the door
It’s the bluest blues, ’cause I won’t see you no more

I’m sorry if I failed you, if somehow I’m to blame
It’s the bluest blues I’m feeling, it’s a cryin’ shame
I just can’t live without you, face another day
It’s the bluest blues I’m feeling, and it’s here to stay
It’s the bluest blues, and it cuts me to the bone
It’s the bluest blues, when you can’t find your way home

Brian Eno – Baby’s On Fire

I mostly knew Brian Eno through his work with Roxy Music and David Bowie. I knew his name long before I really started digging into his solo albums. When I heard Baby’s On Fire, though, the thing that immediately grabbed me was Robert Fripp’s guitar. You can tell it’s him. Fripp has one of those sounds that doesn’t get confused with anyone else.

The song appeared on Eno’s first solo album, Here Come the Warm Jets, released in 1974. Eno had left Roxy Music after two albums with the band. Instead of forming another regular group, he brought together musicians from several different bands for the sessions. Members of Roxy Music, King Crimson, Hawkwind, Matching Mole and others appeared on the album. This record is full of strange and catchy rock songs.

This song was recorded in September 1973 at Majestic Studios in London. Eno handled the vocals and synthesizer, with John Wetton on bass and Paul Rudolph on guitar. Simon King of Hawkwind played drums. But it’s Robert Fripp’s long guitar solo that dominates the recording. Fripp reportedly recorded several passes, and Eno selected and assembled the parts he wanted. The solo takes up a huge portion of the song, but it’s totally worth it. He is a guitar player who is instantly recognizable when he plays.

Fripp and Eno were already developing an interesting musical partnership around this time. In 1973, they recorded the experimental album (No Pussyfooting) together, using tape loops and Fripp’s guitar. Their collaboration would continue for decades. Eno would also work with David Bowie, most famously during the period that produced Low, Heroes and Lodger. Fripp himself would appear on Bowie’s Heroes and later Scary Monsters.

I came to Eno from the opposite direction. I knew Roxy Music and his work with Bowie, but I never explored his solo career nearly enough. This song is weird, catchy, and just a little unsettling. Then Fripp comes in and takes the song somewhere else entirely. I love guitar players who have their own voice, and Fripp certainly has one. Give me five seconds of that guitar, and I know who is playing. He likes to build up and then burst; no one does it like him.

Baby’s On Fire

Baby’s on fire
Better throw her in the water
Look at her laughing
Like a heifer to the slaughter

Baby’s on fire
And all the laughing boys are bitching
Waiting for photos
Oh the plot is so bewitching

Rescuers row row
Do your best to change the subject
Blow the wind blow blow
Lend some assistance to the object

Photographers snip snap
Take your time she’s only burning
This kind of experience
Is necessary for her learning

If you’ll be my flotsam
I could be half the man I used to
They said you were hot stuff
And that’s what baby’s been reduced to

Juanita and Juan
Very clever with maracas
Making their fortunes
Selling second-hand tobaccos

Juan dances at Chico’s
And when the clients are evicted
He empties the ashtrays
And pockets all that he’s collected

But baby’s on fire!
And all the instruments agree that
Her temperature’s rising
But any idiot would know that

Ten Years After – I’d Love To Change The World

I heard this song Saturday and knew I had to move it into Sunday’s post. I’ve heard this song many times over the years, but sometimes a song catches you differently on a particular day. I love that acoustic opening, and then Alvin Lee’s electric guitar comes cutting through it. His playing always had a sound of its own.

Ten Years After formed in England in the 1960s with Alvin Lee, Leo Lyons, Ric Lee, and Chick Churchill. They came out of the British blues scene, but they could stretch far beyond straight blues. Alvin Lee became the obvious focal point because of his guitar playing. Their appearance at Woodstock in 1969, particularly their performance of I’m Going Home, introduced the band to a much larger American audience.

I’d Love To Change The World was written by Alvin Lee and released on the 1971 album A Space in Time. It became their best-known song in America and reached the Top 40 on the Billboard Hot 100. The album was also a change for the band. There was more emphasis on songs and acoustic textures instead of the extended blues workouts they had become known for.

What I like about the song is the contrast. It starts quietly with that acoustic guitar while Lee sings about a world filled with division, inequality and confusion. Then the electric guitar enters and changes the entire atmosphere. His guitar doesn’t overwhelm the song. It answers it. Lee was known for playing incredibly fast, but this is a good example of why speed wasn’t the only thing he had going for him.

I hear this song, and I’m transported to the sixties. Guitarist Alvin Lee wrote and sang it. It peaked at #40 on the Billboard 100 and #10 in Canada. It’s been in many movies and TV shows. When I think of Ten Years After, I think of Woodstock and them playing “I’m Going Home” and Alvin Lee playing his guitar like it’s on fire…plus this one.

I’d Love To Change The World is over fifty years old now. Unfortunately, we still haven’t figured out what to do. Maybe that’s why it still sounds so good.

I’d Love To Change The World

Everywhere is freaks and hairies
Dykes and fairies, tell me where is sanity
Tax the rich, feed the poor
Till there are no rich no more?

I’d love to change the world
But I don’t know what to do
So I’ll leave it up to you

Population keeps on breeding
Nation bleeding, still more feeding economy
Life is funny, skies are sunny
Bees make honey, who needs money, Monopoly

I’d love to change the world
But I don’t know what to do
So I’ll leave it up to you

World pollution, there’s no solution
Institution, electrocution
Just black and white, rich or poor
Them and us, stop the war

I’d love to change the world
But I don’t know what to do
So I’ll leave it up to you

Silos – Tennessee Fire

I love songs that make me want to roll the windows down and keep driving, and this one does exactly that. The guitar intro hooks me every time, and once it starts, I’m in. The Silos never became a household name, but songs like this remind me why digging is worth it. Sometimes the best roads are the ones that don’t show up on everyone’s map. This one reminds me a little of Mellencamp.

Critics loved them, musicians admired them, and years later people realized they were helping build what would become alt-country. Formed in New York in 1985 by Walter Salas-Humara and Bob Rupe, they mixed rock, country, folk, and punk into something that felt original. Their 1987 album Cuba earned them Rolling Stone’s Best New American Band in the critics’ poll and influenced countless roots-rock bands that followed.

For me, this grabs you before Walter Salas-Humara even opens his mouth. That guitar intro has a purpose. It sounds like the beginning of a long drive with no real destination. Then the rhythm section kicks in, and the song settles into that steady beat. It isn’t clever songwriting. It’s just simple and honest, and that makes it even stronger.

What I like most is how naturally everything fits together. The guitars have just enough edge without overpowering the melody. Their influences were Tom Petty, John Mellencamp, the Velvet Underground, and Gram Parsons. That combination you would hear more in alt-country.

Tennessee Fire

See you soon, but not like this
Afraid I am to think
I haven’t heard
I haven’t heard from you in weeks

All your letters, photographs
So far out of reach

Driving by the moonlight
Haven’t seen a service station in thirty miles or so
I’m running out of gasoline

All your letters, photographs
So far out of reach

High road, low road
Rolling on and on
Tennessee fire
Is it so far

Driving by the moonlight
Haven’t seen a service station in fifty miles or so
I sing along
I sing along to
I sing along to the radio

High road, low road
Rolling on and on
Tennessee fire
Is it so far

Ohio
Leaving you behind

Uncle Tupelo – Graveyard Shift

The first thing that got me was that guitar riff. It has a raw sound that I love, but Graveyard Shift has much more going for it than a good riff. Farrar sings it like someone who has already lived through everything he is singing about. That is what surprised me when I watched the 1989 performance. These guys were young, but they didn’t sound young.

There is country in there. There is punk in there. There is some garage rock as well. Most of all, though, it sounds honest. Uncle Tupelo wasn’t trying to make old country music or follow what rock music was doing at the time. They took all of it and made something that sounded like them. And that riff doesn’t hurt either.

They were formed in Belleville, Illinois, with Jay Farrar, Jeff Tweedy, and Mike Heidorn at the heart of the original band. They took country and folk influences and mixed them with the harder sounds of punk and alternative rock. Farrar has said they were listening to bands such as Hüsker Dü while also drawing lyrical inspiration from Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan. That combination helped create the sound that would eventually be called alternative country or Americana.

Graveyard Shift was written by Farrar, Tweedy, and Heidorn and became the opening track on their 1990 debut album No Depression. Farrar takes the lead vocal, and the song sounds like the area the band came from. Belleville had been hit hard during the late 70s to the 80s. That frustration found its way into his writing. The song is about wanting to escape a place where times were tough. The music matches the lyrics perfectly. That riff keeps pushing forward while the rhythm stops, starts, and changes direction underneath it.

The live video I found was recorded in 1989, before No Depression was released. It was aired on St. Louis television in November. Watching them play it then is strange because it’s so raw. They look like three kids playing, yet the sound is already there.

Uncle Tupelo would only last until 1994, but what came afterward tells you something about the talent in that little band. Farrar formed Son Volt, while Tweedy went on to form Wilco. Their influence also lasted much longer than the band itself. The title No Depression was eventually adopted by the magazine devoted to the kind of roots and alt-country music Uncle Tupelo helped bring.

Graveyard Shift

Hometown, same town blues
Same old walls closing in
Oh what a life a mess can be
I’m sitting here thinking of you once again
Won’t you talk to me

Well, time won’t wait, better open the gate
Get up and start what needs to be done
It’s winding down, there’s much you missed
Working on that graveyard shift

Well, I’m not saying there’s nothing wrong as the day comes along
If what I see is true I could learn to believe
Can’t look away
The powers that be might take it all away
Together we burn, together we burn away

Some say a land of paradise
Some say a land of pain
Well, which side are you looking from
Some people have it all
Some all to gain

Well a man in a tie gonna break his twenty dollar bill
There’s plenty of reasons in this world
We’re no longer standing still

But I’m not saying there’s nothing wrong as the day comes along
If what I see is true I could learn to believe
Can’t look away
The powers that be might take it all away
Together we burn, together we burn away

There’s too much time spent looking for a reason
It’s the simple ones that beat the most truth
Oh, what a life a mess can be
I’m sitting here thinking of you once again
Give a thought to me

Well, time won’t wait, better open the gate
Get up and start what needs to be done
It’s running down, there’s much you missed
Working on that graveyard shift

But I’m not saying there’s nothing wrong as the day comes along
If what I see is true I could learn to believe
Can’t look away
The powers that be might take it all away
Together we burn, together we burn away

Carmel – Bad Day

I just found this band recently, and this song caught my attention. It’s part jazz, soul, blues, and pop, and Carmel McCourt has a voice that makes you stop and listen. I can hear a few decades in the music, and I like that.

Carmel formed in Manchester in 1981 with McCourt on vocals, Jim Parris on bass, and Gerry Darby on drums and percussion. They were basically a trio, but they could sound much larger. Their music wasn’t easy to fit into a single category. They could move from jazz to gospel and blues with ease. They appeared at the ICA Rock Week in 1983, which helped lead to a deal with London Records. The band also sold out Ronnie Scott’s famous jazz club.

Bad Day was released in 1983 and became their breakthrough. One name in the credits jumped out at me immediately. Steve Nieve of Elvis Costello and the Attractions played keyboards on the song. Helen Watson and Rush Winters added backing vocals, which help give the record its gospel feel. The song later appeared on Carmel’s album The Drum Is Everything.

What caught me was how little this sounds like a typical record from 1983. There aren’t many production tricks getting in the way. The rhythm section is strong, along with McCourt’s powerful vocal. I can hear jazz in it, but I hear just as much soul and blues. The song peaked at #15 in the UK in 1983.

Bad Day

A hoo, hoo, a hoo, hoo, a hoo, hoo, a hoo, hoo

Ba ba ber dun ba ba, ber dun ba ba, ber dun ba ba

Bad day, bad day
Bad day when you wake up and you find out your dreams flown away
Don’t run away now, don’t be afraid be strong yeah, be strong now (?) Oh no

You better trust your faith, you better hide your tears (don’t, don’t cry, don’t, don’t cry)
Now everything you had has gone
This world keeps rolling on! Bad days come and bad days go away (?) oh no, oh no yeah!

Ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah

I heard, I heard about this (?) (What you say? What you say? What you say?)
I heard, i heard about this (?) (What you say? What you say? What you say?)

I say bad day, (bad day) bad day (bad day) now bad day (bad day)
Bad day you better go away now!
Now you better run away yeah!
I’m giving hope!
I’m giving hope!
I’m giving hope!
I’m giving hope yeah!

So bad day, bad day, bad day, ah you better run away now!
Ah you better go away

Mott the Hoople – All The Young Dudes

There are songs that become so connected to a band that it’s easy to forget they didn’t write them. All The Young Dudes is one of those songs for me. David Bowie wrote it and you can certainly hear Bowie all over it, but Ian Hunter’s voice made it belong to Mott the Hoople. Hunter has always been one of my favorite singers. He doesn’t have one of those perfect voices, and that’s exactly why I like him. There is personality and feel in every word.

By 1972, Mott the Hoople were in trouble. The band had built a loyal following as a terrific live act, but record sales weren’t matching their reputation, and they were considering breaking up. David Bowie was a fan and didn’t want to see that happen. He initially offered them Suffragette City, which they turned down. Bowie then played them a new song he had written called All the Young Dudes. This time they knew he had something.

Bowie produced their recording and also contributed backing vocals. The single was released in 1972 and became a hit in the UK, becoming the song that saved Mott the Hoople. It also gave the band their breakthrough in America. The song became closely associated with the glam-rock movement, although Mott never sounded quite like the other glam bands to me. There was always more straight-ahead rock and roll underneath everything they did.

What I love is how much it sounds like Bowie without Ian Hunter ever trying to be Bowie. You have Bowie’s melody, words, and production, but then that unmistakable Hunter voice comes through the speakers. Bowie later recorded versions himself, but Mott’s is the one. Bowie gave them the song, and Ian Hunter and Mott the Hoople gave it its identity.

Give me a singer with character over a technically perfect singer almost every time (and this has nothing to do with Bowie; I like his voice). This has that great slow build and a chorus made for a crowd to sing. Bowie may have written it, but when I hear that opening guitar and then Ian Hunter comes in, I don’t think of anyone else.

Mott the Hoople does a great job on this. This era is my favorite of David Bowie… All the Ziggy Stardust music (which this was originally written for) and the Hunky Dory album…not that any era of Bowie is bad.

David Bowie on writing the song for The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars album

David Bowie: “Ziggy was in a rock ‘n’ roll band, and the kids no longer want rock ‘n’ roll, there’s no electricity to play it. Ziggy’s adviser tells him to collect news and sing it, ’cause there is no news. So Ziggy does this, and there is terrible news. ‘All the Young Dudes’ is a song about this news. It is no hymn to the youth as people thought. It is completely the opposite.”

The song peaked at #37 on the Billboard 100, #31 in Canada, and #3 in the UK in 1972.

 

All The Young Dudes

Well, Billy rapped all night about his suicideHow he’d kick it in the head when he was 25Speed jive, don’t want to stay aliveWhen you’re 25

And Wendy’s stealing clothes from Marks & SparksAnd Freddy’s got spots from ripping off the stars from his faceFunky little boat raceTelevision man is crazy saying we’re juvenile delinquent wrecksOh, man, I need TV when I’ve got T.RexOh brother, you guessedI’m a dude, dad

All the young dudes (hey dudes!)Carry the news (where are you?)Boogaloo dudes (stand up, c’mon)Carry the news

All the young dudes (I want to hear you)Carry the news (I want to see you)Boogaloo dudes (I want to talk to you, all of you)Carry the news (now)

Lucy looks sweet ’cause he dresses like a queenBut he can kick like a mule, it’s a real mean teamBut we can loveOh, yes, we can love

And my brother’s back at home with his Beatles and his StonesWe never got it off on that revolution stuffWhat a drag, too many snagsNow I’ve drunk a lot of wine and I’m feeling fineGot to race some cat to bedOh, is that concrete all aroundOr is it in my head? YeahI’m a dude, dad

All the young dudes (hey dudes)Carry the news (where are you?)Boogaloo dudes (stand up)Carry the news

All the young dudes (I want to hear you)Carry the news (I want to see you)Boogaloo dudes (I want to relate to you)Carry the news

All the young dudes (what dudes?)Carry the news (let’s hear the news, c’mon)Boogaloo dudes (I want to kick you)Carry the news

All the young dudes (with the glasses)Carry the news (I want you)Boogaloo dudes (I want you in the front)Carry the news (now)

All the young dudes (now you bring him down)(‘Cause I want him)Carry the newsBoogaloo dudes (I want him right here)(Bring him, c’mon)Carry the news (bring him)

All the young dudes (I’ve wanted to do this for years)Carry the news (there you go!)Boogaloo dudes (how’d it feel?)Carry the news