A lifetime of rock star excess has taken its toll on Eddie Vedder’s voice but not on his talent. Most recent performances have tilted towards the gentle, the acoustic, the Americana, reflecting his larger embrace of the broad expanse of American music. And yes, he can still rock when needs be.
But these isolated vocal tracks–”Alive” above and “Black” and “Porch” below–show how powerful Vedder’s pipes were back in the day at the height of grunge. Vedder used a lot of vibrato, more than one can hear in the full band versions. He doesn’t use it so much when he holds a note, but on all the little notes in between.
And on “Porch” there’s a powerful pleading to the entire delivery that’s both vulnerable and hypermasculine at the same time. Where Kurt Cobain always seemed to be delivering rage inward, Vedder delivered it outwards, like the sound of mountains as a logging company got to work.
The videos try to match up concert footage with these studio tracks and the fact they sync so well show the consistency in his delivery. (The sped up tempo changes, not so much.)
Of course, isolated vocals also mean remixers attack! Here’s a few that might horrify a few grunge stalwarts.
Ted Mills is a freelance writer on the arts who currently hosts the artist interview-based FunkZone Podcast and is the producer of KCRW’s Curious Coast. You can also follow him on Twitter at @tedmills, read his other arts writing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.
In 1971, post-Altamont fiasco, the Rolling Stones went into exile… not on some dusty small town drag, but on the French Riviera, where the band decamped for purposes of tax evasion and began recording in Keith Richards’ rented villa near Nice. Everyone knows what happened next—a sloppy, soupy, ragged, glorious hash of country, blues, and country-blues, filtered through a haze of booze and heroin and the Stones’ devotion to rock and roll as macho endurance exercise: Exile on Main Street.
The album, with its cover collage of Americana grotesquerie and kitsch, may have “killed the Rolling Stones,” Jack Hamilton argues at The Atlantic, but it launched a thousand imitators in the ensuing decades, a thousand would-be Keith Richards getting strung out and making dirty, raunchy rock, “pitched perfectly between earnestness and irony.” Fourteen years after the album’s release, darlings of trashy New York noise rock, Pussy Galore, covered the album song-for-song. The effort “sounds like it was recorded in the tank of a Lower East Side toilet,” writes Randall Roberts.
Pussy Galore guitarist Neil Hagerty surely deserves the Richards mantle—taking sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll, and lo-fi recording to absurd lengths with his later project Royal Trux. But one of the ironies of the testosterone-fueled Exile on Main Street’s influence on these bands is that they featured two of the toughest women in underground music, Julie Cafritz and Jennifer Herrema—women who labored obscurely in a “complicated world of men with guitars,” as Allison Stewart puts it at The Washington Post.
In 1993, Liz Phair stepped into this world with her career-defining Exile in Guyville, “one of the sharpest, boldest rock albums of its era, or any era,” which just happens to be a song-for-song response to the Rolling Stones’ opus. Next to the Stones, the production of Phair’s Exilesounds pristine—you can actually make out the lyrics! Her explosive debut was a defiant conversation, “clearly in a tussle with the sort of male-dominated music scene,” she tells The New York Times.
Using the Rolling Stones’ “Exile on Main St” was sort of like using their avatar. I thought that was the quintessential guy rock band, you know? So I substituted in my head the characters from “Exile” with the characters I knew from around the neighborhood. Sort of talking to them vis-à-vis the conversation I was having with the Rolling Stones.
The exercise began with Phair taking Exile on Main Street as a textbook, of a sort: “I was a visual arts major and I concocted the idea that I needed a template—learn from the greats,” she tells Rolling Stone. After her then-boyfriend sarcastically told her, “you should totally do that,” she became intent on meeting the challenge of writing her own take on the album. But Guyville was about much more than the Stones, who provide an armature for her explorations of “a million Guyvilles,” as she tells Stewart.
“It’s in the studios, where you try to get movies made and cast. It’s anyone being white-privileged, being whatever it is that gives you invisible safety or invisible benefits. ‘Guyville’ could be a catchphrase for any oblivious community that has no idea that they’re shoving people to the side.” Twenty-five years after the album’s debut, Phair’s commentary seems as trenchant as it was then, when she found herself one of a select few women in an industry dominated by a lot of sleazy guys: “The market forces… were gross. It was like, ‘Look hotter! Get more naked!’ Like as if it was a Jell‑O wrestling contest.”
The major difference now, she says, is that women have a significant presence in every genre: “I feel like every day on Twitter I find some new female band I’m interested in, and I can have my entire music diet be female songwriters and musicians.” Though she was then and now a reluctant “feminist spokesmodel,” Phair deserves ample credit for helping to break open the music industry’s Guyville, by taking on one of its most sacred objects. Exile in Guyville was re-released in a box set this month by Matador. In the playlist above, you can hear the conversation in full, with each song on Exile on Main Street followed by Phair’s Exile in Guyville rejoinder.
As you listen, be sure to read her interview at Rolling Stone, where she explains how she translated the early 70s classic into an early 90s idiom. She also tells the story of meeting Mick Jagger, who, she says, gave her a belittling look that said, “Yeah, all right, I’ll let you off the hook this time for completely making a name for yourself off our name, but don’t think I don’t know.” Her response: “I wasn’t mad. He’s Mick!”
The study of musical instruments opens up vast histories of sound reverberating through the centuries. Should we embark on a journey through halls of Europe’s musical instrument museums, for example, we should soon discover how limited our appreciation for music history has been, how narrowed by the relative handful of instruments allowed into orchestras, ensembles, and bands of all kinds. The typical diet of classical, romantic, modern, jazz, pop, rock, R&B, or whatever, the music most of us in the West grow up hearing and studying, has resulted from a careful sorting process that over time chose certain instruments over others.
Some of those historic instruments—the violin, cello, many wind and brass—remain in wide circulation and produce music that can still sound relevant and contemporary. Others, like the Mellotron (above) or barrel organs (like the 1883 Cylinderpositiv at the top), remain wedded to their historical periods, making sounds that might as well have dates stamped on them.
You could—and many an historian has, no doubt—travel the world and pay a personal visit to the museums housing thousands of musical instruments humans have used—or at least invented—to carry melodies and harmonies and keep time. Such a tour might constitute a life’s work.
You can search instruments by maker, country, city, or continent, time period, museum, and type. (Wind, Percussion, Stringed, Zithers, Rattles, Bells, Lamellaphones, etc….) Researchers may encounter a few language hurdles—MIMO’s about page mentions “searching in six different languages,” and the site actually lists 11 language categories in tabs at the top. But users may still need to plug pages into Google translate unless they read French or German or some of the other languages in which descriptions have been written. Refreshingly consistent, the photographs of each instrument conform to a standard set by the consortium that provides “detailed guidelines on how to set up a repository to enable the harvesting of digital content.”
But enough about the site functions, what about the sounds? Well, in a physical museum, you wouldn’t expect to take a three-hundred-year-old flute out of its case and hear it played. Just so, most of the instruments here can be seen and not heard, but the site does have over 400 sound files, including the enchanting recording of Symphonion Eroica 38a (above), as played on a mechanical clock from 1900.
As you discover instruments you never knew existed—such as the theramin-like Croix Sonore (Sonorus Cross), created by Russian composer Nicolas Obukhov between 1926 and 1934—you can undertake your own research to find sample recordings online, such as “The Third and Last Testament,” below, Obukhov’s composition for 5 voices, organ, 2 pianos, orchestra, and croix sonore. Obukhov’s experiments with instruments of his own invention prompted his experiments in 12-tone composition, in which, he declared, “I forbid myself any repetition.” Just one example among many thousands demonstrating how instrument design forms the basis of a wildly proliferating variety of musical expressions that can start to seem endless after a while.
New York Times critic Clive Barnes—a fan—caved to pressure from anxious preview audience members, who wanted him to warn prospective ticket buyers what they were in for. Tongue firmly in cheek, he complied within the body of a rave review:
A great many four letter words such as “love”
A number of men and women (I should have counted)… totally nude
Frequent approving references… to the expanding benefits of drugs
Homosexuality
Miscegenation
Flowers
Then, as now, a growing youth movement occupied the American public’s imagination.
If 2018’s Broadway producers are willing to take a risk on a musical that’s not adapted from a popular movie, we may well be entering ticket lotteries for Gonzalez! sometime in the very near future.
Back then, young people were in revolt against the Vietnam War and the values their parents held dear.
The original versions, both on and off Broadway, featured two of the show’s three authors, Gerome Ragni and James Rado, as antiheroes Berger and Claude. (Galt MacDermot wrote the music.)
While other cast members emerged from New York’s hippie scene, Ragni and Rado’s backgrounds were somewhat lacking in patchouli. Rado was an aspirant composer of traditional Broadway musicals. Ragni, as a member of The Open Theater, was a bit more tuned in, theatrically speaking.
There was so much excitement in the streets and the parks and the hippie areas, and we thought if we could transmit this excitement to the stage it would be wonderful. … We hung out with them and went to their Be-Ins (and) let our hair grow.
Barnes wryly noted in his review that “these hard-working and talented actors are in reality about as hippie as Mayor Lindsay.”
To learn more about Hair’s role in theater history—including understudy Diane Keaton’s refusal to get naked and a page from the Times’ theater listings showing what else was playing at the time—read The Bowery Boys photo-packed 50th anniversary salute.
Sing along with the original Off-Broadway cast below.
Through the magic of black and white video, this rare gig of Bon Scott-led AC/DC has been unearthed. The sound is poor, the lighting sometimes non-existent, but who cares? Just look at the faces of the 16-year-old girls in the front row as one of the hardest rocking bands plays (checks notes) the St. Albans High School gymnasium in 1976! It’s absolute madness. Who knew at that time that AC/DC were going to hit big, like stadium big, like essential hard rock band of all time big? To some it was probably a fun night out and isn’t it funny that the lead singer likes to rock a set of bagpipes?
In this key bit of investigation by Dangerous Minds, writer Cherrybomb wonders whether Bon Scott–a transplant from Scotland to Australia when he was six–actually could play the pipes at all. I mean, yes, one might *assume* that being Scottish means you’re half-way there, but in fact, according to a piper called Kevin Conlon, Scott only got an interest in the instrument during the recording of 1975’s T.N.T. :
I got a call from Bon, and he didn’t know who I was and I didn’t know who he was. He wanted to buy a set of bagpipes and have a few lessons. I told him they would cost over $1000 and it would take 12 months or more of lessons to learn how to play a tune. He said that was fine and came down for a few lessons, but as we were only going to be miming, he just had to look like he was playing.
Cherrybomb concludes that maybe, just maybe, Scott is playing the pipes during this number, instead of miming to a pre-recorded track over the P.A. But later the pipes got smashed up, and the number got dumped from the act. And reportedly the rest of the band was furious over their limited funds being spent on an instrument Scott couldn’t really play. The whole story has a tinge of Spinal Tap excess to it, but hey, you wouldn’t want it any other way, right?
Ted Mills is a freelance writer on the arts who currently hosts the artist interview-based FunkZone Podcast and is the producer of KCRW’s Curious Coast. You can also follow him on Twitter at @tedmills, read his other arts writing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.
Wired magazine has entered the video explainer game with a novel series that takes concepts from kindergarten to graduate school and beyond in under twenty minutes. Their “5 Levels of Difficulty” videos have it all: hip 21st century ideas like blockchain, cute kids saying smart things, a celebration of expertise and the communication skills today’s experts need to present their work to a diverse, international public of all ages and education levels. This is no gimmick—it’s entertaining and accessible, while still informative for even the best informed.
Take the video above, in which 23-year-old composer and musician Jacob Collier explains the concept of musical harmony. His students include a child, a teen, a college student, a professional, and… Herbie Hancock. “I’m positive,” he says, “that everyone can leave this video with some understanding, at some level.” At level 1, we understand harmony as an expression of mood or feeling, produced by adding “more notes” to a melody. A simple but effective definition.
Level 2 introduces basic theory—using chords, or triads, to explain how harmony can produce different emotions, modulating from major to minor, and creating “narratives” within a song. In Level 3, harmony becomes a language, and the vocabulary of the circle of fifths comes in. Collier’s college student companion also plays guitar, and the two jam through a few chord voicings to give his example song, “Amazing Grace,” a smooth and jazzy feel. At Level 4, a professional pianist learns a few things about overtones and undertones, compositional arranging, and “negative harmony.”
Then, at 8:30, we get to the main attraction, and, as tends to happen in these videos at the final stage, student and teacher roles reverse. Collier essentially interviews Hancock on harmony, both perched behind keyboards and speaking the language of music fluently. Non-professionals won’t have had nearly enough preparation in 8 minutes to grasp what’s going on. It’s high level stuff, but even if you’re mystified by the theory, stick around for the stories—and learn what Miles Davis meant when he told Hancock, “don’t play the butter notes,” advice on playing harmony that changed everything for him.
The old joke about supergroups being less than the sum of their parts often holds true in rock and pop. Too many cooks, and all that. But what happens when you bring together superstars from different genres? This was basically the idea of jazz fusion, and especially of Miles Davis, one of fusion’s principle pioneers in the late sixties and early seventies. It’s a genre of music people seem to either love or hate. Those who fall into the latter camp often cite the tendency of jazz-rock ensembles to overplay, to the detriment of both jazz and rock.
Following Davis’ innovations, virtuoso collaborators like John McLaughlin went on to form their own supergroups, while the star trumpeter checked out for a while. But “after five years of silence,” as People magazine wrote in 1981, his trumpet was “once again heard in the land.”
Davis assembled a few bands and charged ahead in an even more fusion‑y direction, despite some severe criticism from music writers, fans, and fellow performers. He covered Cyndi Lauper and Michael Jackson and collaborated with new wave bands and pop stars like Toto. He seemed determined to mix it up with as many major players as he could.
The results were sometimes less than the sum of their parts, though his experimentation crystalized in an excellent record in 1986, the Marcus Miller-produced jazz/funk/pop/R&B album Tutu. That same year, Davis and a loosely-assembled band took the stage at Giants Stadium for a short set at an Amnesty International benefit concert, where they were joined by jazz and rock guitarist Robben Ford and, on the last song, by special guest star Carlos Santana. Tutu, notes The Last Miles—website for George Cole’s book of the same name—“was still a few months away from its official release.”
The band jammed through two of the new album’s tunes, the title track and “Splatch.” Then, for the final song, “Burn”—“a rock-funk number that Miles first heard in 1980”—Santana took the stage. You can see video of them playing that song at the top of the post and hear the full audio of the short performance, less than 30 minutes, further up. The eight-piece band plays a typically busy fusion set, with solo after amazing solo over a full-on wall of electrified sound. I confess, I find this side of Miles a little assaultive next to the restraint of much earlier work, but that’s a matter of personal taste. It’s impossible to say a bad word about the quality of these performances.
How did these superstars end up working together, not only at this benefit but in other concerts and recordings? Find out in the interviews above from Santana and Ford, both of whom describe their experiences as major career highlights. The respect in both cases, a rarity with Miles Davis, was mutual.
Among my works, the one I like best is the Home that I have had built in Milan for accommodating old singers not favored by fortune, or who, when they were young did not possess the virtue of saving. Poor and dear companions of my life!
—Giuseppe Verdi
Is there a remedy for the isolation of old age?
What about the jolly fraternity and competitiveness of an art college dorm, as envisioned by opera composer Giuseppe Verdi?
Shortly before his death, the composer donated all royalties from his operas to the construction and administration of a luxurious retreat for retired musicians, designed by his librettist’s brother, architect Camillo Boito.
Completed in 1899, Casa Verdi still serves elderly musicians today–up to 60 at a time. Residents of Casa Verdi include alumnae of the Metropolitan Opera and the Royal Opera House. Guests have worked alongside such notables as Chet Baker and Maria Callas.
Competition for residential slots is stiff. To qualify, one must have been a professional musician or music teacher. Those selected enjoy room, board, and medical treatment in addition to, writes The New York Times, “access to concerts, music rooms, 15 pianos, a large organ, harps, drum sets and the company of their peers.” Musical programming is as constant as the fine view of Verdi’s grave.
Dining tables are named in honor of Verdi’s works. Those inclined to worship do so in a chapel named for Santa Cecilia, the patron saint of musicians.
Practice rooms are alive with the sound of music and criticism. As Casa Verdi’s music therapist told the Financial Times, “They are very competitive: they are all prima donnas.”
When memory fails, residents can tune in to such documentaries as actor Dustin Hoffman’s Tosca’s Kiss, below
Get a peek inside Verdi’s retirement home for artists, compliments of Urban Sketchers here.
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