Back in the days when rock music still had guitar heroes, when the term referred to lead and solo (generally electric) guitarists who played with greater technical skill, more imagination, and a bolder vision than almost all of their peers, when Guitar Hero meant more than a video game, Jimi Hendrix was the greatest guitar hero of them all. That’s not just me talking, it’s an opinion shared by some of the finest rock musicians ever, many of whom share their memories of Hendrix on this documentary DVD. If you are one of the unconvinced, and even if you are already a true fan, this disc goes far in explaining why, a full forty years after his death, Jimi Hendrix is still idolized by so many musicians and fans alike.
This film would appear to be unauthorized by the Hendrix estate, which might explain why there are only a few snippets of Hendrix in live performance here, with most of the background music consisting of other people’s oldies. I enjoy listening to Hawkwind, Harry Nilsson and Lorraine Ellison (among many others heard here) as much as anyone, but they seem out of place in this context. This to me is the only real negative in this documentary, yet it’s a fairly small one. But the fact that this is most likely unauthorized means that interviewees feel free to speak their minds freely, without censorship. Thus we have, for example, a no-holds-barred look at Hendrix’s drug use, which everyone knows about, but which has rarely been openly discussed in such detail.
The film is narrated by Slash, whose admiration for Jimi Hendrix is well-known, and who seems quite well-versed in Hendrix lore, even though he died when Slash was only five years old. The great bulk of the interviewees, however, are people who knew Hendrix, many of whom played/jammed/associated with him, sharing their memories rather than relating unfounded rumors or hearsay. The musicians interviewed on-camera (mostly in 2009) include Eric Clapton, Eric Burdon, Mick Taylor, Zoot Money, Ginger Baker, Joey Covington, Bev Bevan. Mickey Dolenz, Lemmy, Stephen Stills, Alan White and Chris Squier, Dave Mason, and Paul Rodgers. Important, less publicly known parts to the story are recounted by Hendrix’ longtime English girlfriend, Kathy Etchingham, and his brother Leon Hendrix. Journalist/author Charles Cross adds a great deal of well-considered perspective as well.
Indeed, Leon’s tales of Hendrix’s poverty-filled childhood, raised by alcoholic parents who eventually split up and left the young brothers at the mercy of the Child Welfare system, provide many of the most poignant moments in the film. We learn that the parents’ constant arguing inspired one of Hendrix’ most touching songs, “Castles Made of Sand”. One can only speculate how this upbringing influenced the guitarist’s subsequent lifestyle choices. We hear from several sources that despite his copious drug use and “wild man” on-stage antics, Hendrix off-stage was quiet, polite, reserved, constantly with a guitar in his hand, practicing/rehearsing. Indeed, we are told that many of those on-stage antics were pure show-biz, his version of African-American showmanship that he learned during his apprenticeships with Little Richard, the Isley Brothers, Wilson Pickett, and others. Many of his “stunts”, such as playing the guitar behind his head and with his teeth, were used by earlier generations of blues musicians such as T-Bone Walker (and, I would add, Charlie Patton), but seemed new to the rock audience who hadn’t seen them before. Even his most outrageous moments were calculated, designed to gain maximum publicity, including the infamous guitar-burning/smashing at Monterrey.
We learn of Noel Redding’s jealousy, that rather than thanking his lucky stars that he found himself in an important, highly visible band, he felt he deserved to be “the star”, the guitar player for the band. (He was after all, as he would remind people, the best guitar player in Kent!). It turns out that he actually intended to audition for a guitar opening in the Animals, but that manager (and ex-Animal) Chas Chandler hired Redding as bassist for the Jimi Hendrix Experience even though he had no experience on the instrument. Redding’s dissatisfaction with and bare competence in his role explains why so much of the bass work on “Electric Ladyland” was by Hendrix himself, overdubbing, rather than by Redding. Dave Mason talks about how he came to play the acoustic guitar part on “All Along the Watchtower”, and how Hendrix’ classic solo on that track was actually a combination of three solos, including a slide part played with a cigarette lighter. I suspect much of this material may appear in various printed sources, but it’s nice to have it all in one place, confirmed by people who were there.
Musicians will appreciate the technical discussions of Hendrix’ fingerings, chord formations, sound effects, and amplifier set-ups by Slash, Stills, Covington, and Lemmy (Noel Redding’s one-time roommate, who served as a roadie for the Experience for several months in his pre-Hawkwind/Motorhead days). Thus, we learn that not only was Jimi Hendrix a guitar hero (we already knew that), but we learn WHY he was one, and how he became one. On a related subject, Hendrix was fascinated by sounds, and was always striving to turn the sounds and colors he heard in his head into reality. Producer Alan Douglas says you “couldn’t produce” Hendrix, “you could only help him to produce himself”; he knew what he wanted, but did not always know the technical means by which to achieve his goals in the studio. Hendrix died leaving many of his ambitions unfulfilled. We’re told he wanted to write symphonies. not only for orchestra but for large ensembles of electric guitars. We’re told he wanted to form bigger bands, that the short-lived Gypsy Sun and Rainbows, the band he played with at Woodstock, was only a small step in that direction. Others tell us he wanted to go back to his blues roots, while Stephen Stills feels he would have turned in the direction of fusion. But the business heads around Hendrix insisted he continue to do “Purple Haze” and his other hits over and over, which he grew to despise.
Bonus Features include an irrelevant ten-minute featurette of silent film footage of the Monkees, taken by photographer Henry Diltz (another of the interviewees on this disc), who didn’t join the tour in which Hendrix opened for the Monkees (talk about your classic mismatch!) until after Hendrix was dismissed. While it’s by no means uninteresting to see (though not hear) the Monkees onstage, it should be on another disc, not this one. Much more illuminating is the one full-length performance by the Jimi Hendrix Experience on the DVD, an early live version of “Hey Joe”, in which it’s clear that Redding isn’t connecting with Hendrix and drummer Mitch Mitchell. Also included are a number of extended interviews, which include insights not chosen for the original film. As in the main program, some of the most perceptive commentary comes from Charles Cross, while some of the most significant comes from Leon Hendrix, with more fascinating info on his brother’s youth and musical upbringing. There are two small photo galleries, one of random shots and one of Henry Diltz material, plus a 20-page booklet of photos and biographical material, which does not merely reproduce the film’s contents.
In all, I would say that this would be a highly instructive and rewarding way to spend some of your Christmas gift money. Not only did I learn a lot, I found the great bulk, perhaps all, of it to be trustworthy, much more so than one might find on a bowdlerized “authorized” DVD.
Showing posts with label DVD. Show all posts
Showing posts with label DVD. Show all posts
Friday, December 24, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
“Eric Clapton: The 1960’s Review” (MVD)
Sometimes it seems as if Eric Clapton has always been around.. But there once was a time when many rock’n’roll guitar heroes made their reputations putting out instrumentals on 45-RPM vinyl singles. There once was a time when almost all blues recordings were performed by African-Americans. (Yes, one can point to exceptions to both of these assertions.) And there once was a time when Eric Clapton was not yet a “god”.
This excellent DVD documentary takes us back to the beginnings of Clapton’s career and illustrates how he emerged as a game-changer, the first true Guitar Hero in the pre-video-game sense of the term, and the role model for so many white blues musicians to follow. As the title of the disc indicates, it is strictly dedicated to his most significant and most influential decade, the 1960’s. I do not, of course, mean this to denigrate all of his subsequent work. Even so, a large percentage of the performances which made Eric Clapton such a monumental figure took place during this seminal decade. The program includes reminiscences by several of the musicians who worked with him at that time, consistently intelligent commentary by historians and critics, and a gratifying number of video and audio clips to illustrate their theses.
We learn that Clapton’s earliest influences were not in blues per se - the genre was just on the verge of being introduced into England - but in the blues-influenced rock’n’roll of Bill Haley and the Comets and Elvis Presley. Then, still at a young age, he heard Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee. At age 13 (1958), he was able to convince his guardians (grandparents) to buy him a guitar. From that point on, he was devoted to hearing, learning, and playing the blues, primarily off American records. Finding such records was not an easy task in London in this period, but a “blues underground” was developing whereby fans could meet up with other like-minded Londoners to listen to their music of choice. Many of these fans started to form bands, such as the group called the Roosters, which featured young Eric, Ben Palmer (subsequently Cream’s road manager), Tom McGuinness (known for his work with John Mayall and, later, McGuinness Flint), occasionally adding Paul Jones (of Manfred Mann fame). (All three of them are interviewed here.) The Roosters were more of an education, a jamming outlet rather than a “serious” band, though they did play gigs. Right from the beginning, Clapton was noted for building convincing improvisations over several choruses. But despite his ongoing quest for blues authenticity, Clapton would move on to a more pop-oriented band, Casey Jones and the Engineers.
In the meantime, Clapton’s school chums Chris Dreja and Top Topham were putting together the Yardbirds. Unfortunately, Topham’s parents made him quit because he was too young. (He and Dreja also contribute significant recollections on this disc.) Clapton was asked to join, which he did, because at the time the Yardbirds were a full-fledged blues band, quite unlike the Engineers.. The Yardbirds soon had a chance to witness the “real thing” up close, when hired to accompany Sonny Boy Williamson II on an English tour, as well as an LP and t.v. appearances, excerpts of which we get to see here. Two things are clear from the Williamson clip, as well as from a clip of the Yardbirds performing ”I Wish You Would” on British television. One, Clapton was not the main focus of the band; indeed, the late singer/harmonica player Keith Relf was the only member to stand out at all. Second, the Yardbirds were a fairly weak blues band when compared to the “real thing”.
Clapton also found the Yardbirds’ legendary “rave-ups” (think the last portion of “I’m a Man”) were “manipulative”, too carefully planned. Though a clip of “A Certain Girl” shows Clapton beginning to find his distinctive sound, his solo simply doesn’t seem to blend in with the rest of the band. The last straw came when it was decided the Yardbirds needed a commercial hit. Clapton wanted to cover an Otis Redding song, but instead they recorded Graham Gouldman’s “For Your Love”. The band thought they had much more in them than just to be a blues cover band. They wanted to explore their own concepts, establish their own identity. What’s more, Dreja feels Clapton was beginning to think of himself as “the star” of the band. He left the band almost immediately after the “For Your Love” session; whether this was a voluntary move or not is still a matter for disagreement among the parties involved. This is all fascinating stuff for historians and fans alike, and is covered in far more detail on the disc than this potted summary can allow.
Clapton soon joined John Mayall (who is also interviewed), who had to let go of Roger Dean (not really a blues guitarist) to make room for him. This not only gave Clapton a chance to play in a more congenial blues-dominated atmosphere, it also gave him access to Mayall’s enormous blues record collection. It was during his employment with Mayall that Clapton’s guitar work became more professional, more distinctive, more aggressive. It was also during this time that the infamous “Clapton Is God” graffiti began to appear. He quickly became the star attraction of John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers.
Even so, Clapton was dissatisfied once again. He felt that Mayall was too much of a taskmaster who had too many rules for his sidemen, that he paid them too poorly, and subsequently held his musicians back. Thus, he accepted drummer Ginger Baker’s offer to join him in a new band. Clapton agreed, if two conditions were met - he insisted that Jack Bruce be added on bass, though Baker and Bruce did not see eye to eye while members of the Graham Bond Organisation. He also made it clear that would not play jazz, which was in both Baker’s and Bruce’s backgrounds.
The result was the first “power trio”, Cream, a lineup modeled after Buddy Guy’s band. But if people were expecting hard-driving, “authentic” blues, Clapton chose to shock the audience by releasing a light, piano-based ditty, “Wrapping Paper”, as the band’s first single. As Paul Jones rightly points out, Clapton found himself right back in the position he had found himself in with the Yardbirds, a rock band fusing blues guitar roots with psychedelia, far from blues purism a la Mayall. Atco Records’ boss Ahmet Ertegun felt that Clapton should be played up as the star of the show, with Bruce and Baker merely acting as accompanists. Of course, that’s not how it turned out. Clapton seemed to be pleased with the band’s psychedelic direction, since the move was made in the name of musical integrity rather than commercial motives. However, he soon became disenchanted with the long, extended improvisations favored by Bruce and Baker, and the internal conflicts brought the band to a woefully premature end. They recorded one last album to satisfy contractual obligations, even though they were no longer speaking to each other. (One quibble - I would have liked to have learned more about Bruce’s lyricist, Pete Brown, whose contribution to Cream’s success was crucial. He is acknowledged, but not discussed to any real extent.)
The public was expecting Clapton to put together a new band. The result was Blind Faith, featuring Steve Winwood’s vocals. Clapton found himself in a much-hyped “super-group”, which was simply not able to live up to advance expectations. After one pleasant, not particularly consequential album, the band split, and Clapton joined forces with their opening act, Delaney & Bonnie & Friends.
There, our story ends, before Derek and the Dominoes, before “461 Ocean Boulevard”, before “Tears in Heaven”, before Clapton’s re-dedication to the blues and Robert Johnson, before the Crossroads Festival. This means, of course, that there are 40 subsequent years yet to cover (and more in the future, one hopes). There is no indication that this is the first in a series. But if future volumes should appear, one can only hope that they will be handled with as much care, intelligence, taste, and commitment to the historical record as this DVD.
Extras include Chris Dreja’s thoughts on the Yardbirds’ experiences with Sonny Boy Williamson II, and why it turned out to be a much tougher gig than they had anticipated; Paul Jones on the little-known tracks credited to Eric Clapton and the Powerhouse, which appeared on an Elektra white-blues anthology called “What’s Shakin’” just prior to the formation of Cream; and recording engineer Bill Halverson on the song “Badge”, on which Clapton and co-writer George Harrison experimented with a new kind of foot pedal. There are also short text bios of the dozen people who were interviewed for this project.
This excellent DVD documentary takes us back to the beginnings of Clapton’s career and illustrates how he emerged as a game-changer, the first true Guitar Hero in the pre-video-game sense of the term, and the role model for so many white blues musicians to follow. As the title of the disc indicates, it is strictly dedicated to his most significant and most influential decade, the 1960’s. I do not, of course, mean this to denigrate all of his subsequent work. Even so, a large percentage of the performances which made Eric Clapton such a monumental figure took place during this seminal decade. The program includes reminiscences by several of the musicians who worked with him at that time, consistently intelligent commentary by historians and critics, and a gratifying number of video and audio clips to illustrate their theses.
We learn that Clapton’s earliest influences were not in blues per se - the genre was just on the verge of being introduced into England - but in the blues-influenced rock’n’roll of Bill Haley and the Comets and Elvis Presley. Then, still at a young age, he heard Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee. At age 13 (1958), he was able to convince his guardians (grandparents) to buy him a guitar. From that point on, he was devoted to hearing, learning, and playing the blues, primarily off American records. Finding such records was not an easy task in London in this period, but a “blues underground” was developing whereby fans could meet up with other like-minded Londoners to listen to their music of choice. Many of these fans started to form bands, such as the group called the Roosters, which featured young Eric, Ben Palmer (subsequently Cream’s road manager), Tom McGuinness (known for his work with John Mayall and, later, McGuinness Flint), occasionally adding Paul Jones (of Manfred Mann fame). (All three of them are interviewed here.) The Roosters were more of an education, a jamming outlet rather than a “serious” band, though they did play gigs. Right from the beginning, Clapton was noted for building convincing improvisations over several choruses. But despite his ongoing quest for blues authenticity, Clapton would move on to a more pop-oriented band, Casey Jones and the Engineers.
In the meantime, Clapton’s school chums Chris Dreja and Top Topham were putting together the Yardbirds. Unfortunately, Topham’s parents made him quit because he was too young. (He and Dreja also contribute significant recollections on this disc.) Clapton was asked to join, which he did, because at the time the Yardbirds were a full-fledged blues band, quite unlike the Engineers.. The Yardbirds soon had a chance to witness the “real thing” up close, when hired to accompany Sonny Boy Williamson II on an English tour, as well as an LP and t.v. appearances, excerpts of which we get to see here. Two things are clear from the Williamson clip, as well as from a clip of the Yardbirds performing ”I Wish You Would” on British television. One, Clapton was not the main focus of the band; indeed, the late singer/harmonica player Keith Relf was the only member to stand out at all. Second, the Yardbirds were a fairly weak blues band when compared to the “real thing”.
Clapton also found the Yardbirds’ legendary “rave-ups” (think the last portion of “I’m a Man”) were “manipulative”, too carefully planned. Though a clip of “A Certain Girl” shows Clapton beginning to find his distinctive sound, his solo simply doesn’t seem to blend in with the rest of the band. The last straw came when it was decided the Yardbirds needed a commercial hit. Clapton wanted to cover an Otis Redding song, but instead they recorded Graham Gouldman’s “For Your Love”. The band thought they had much more in them than just to be a blues cover band. They wanted to explore their own concepts, establish their own identity. What’s more, Dreja feels Clapton was beginning to think of himself as “the star” of the band. He left the band almost immediately after the “For Your Love” session; whether this was a voluntary move or not is still a matter for disagreement among the parties involved. This is all fascinating stuff for historians and fans alike, and is covered in far more detail on the disc than this potted summary can allow.
Clapton soon joined John Mayall (who is also interviewed), who had to let go of Roger Dean (not really a blues guitarist) to make room for him. This not only gave Clapton a chance to play in a more congenial blues-dominated atmosphere, it also gave him access to Mayall’s enormous blues record collection. It was during his employment with Mayall that Clapton’s guitar work became more professional, more distinctive, more aggressive. It was also during this time that the infamous “Clapton Is God” graffiti began to appear. He quickly became the star attraction of John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers.
Even so, Clapton was dissatisfied once again. He felt that Mayall was too much of a taskmaster who had too many rules for his sidemen, that he paid them too poorly, and subsequently held his musicians back. Thus, he accepted drummer Ginger Baker’s offer to join him in a new band. Clapton agreed, if two conditions were met - he insisted that Jack Bruce be added on bass, though Baker and Bruce did not see eye to eye while members of the Graham Bond Organisation. He also made it clear that would not play jazz, which was in both Baker’s and Bruce’s backgrounds.
The result was the first “power trio”, Cream, a lineup modeled after Buddy Guy’s band. But if people were expecting hard-driving, “authentic” blues, Clapton chose to shock the audience by releasing a light, piano-based ditty, “Wrapping Paper”, as the band’s first single. As Paul Jones rightly points out, Clapton found himself right back in the position he had found himself in with the Yardbirds, a rock band fusing blues guitar roots with psychedelia, far from blues purism a la Mayall. Atco Records’ boss Ahmet Ertegun felt that Clapton should be played up as the star of the show, with Bruce and Baker merely acting as accompanists. Of course, that’s not how it turned out. Clapton seemed to be pleased with the band’s psychedelic direction, since the move was made in the name of musical integrity rather than commercial motives. However, he soon became disenchanted with the long, extended improvisations favored by Bruce and Baker, and the internal conflicts brought the band to a woefully premature end. They recorded one last album to satisfy contractual obligations, even though they were no longer speaking to each other. (One quibble - I would have liked to have learned more about Bruce’s lyricist, Pete Brown, whose contribution to Cream’s success was crucial. He is acknowledged, but not discussed to any real extent.)
The public was expecting Clapton to put together a new band. The result was Blind Faith, featuring Steve Winwood’s vocals. Clapton found himself in a much-hyped “super-group”, which was simply not able to live up to advance expectations. After one pleasant, not particularly consequential album, the band split, and Clapton joined forces with their opening act, Delaney & Bonnie & Friends.
There, our story ends, before Derek and the Dominoes, before “461 Ocean Boulevard”, before “Tears in Heaven”, before Clapton’s re-dedication to the blues and Robert Johnson, before the Crossroads Festival. This means, of course, that there are 40 subsequent years yet to cover (and more in the future, one hopes). There is no indication that this is the first in a series. But if future volumes should appear, one can only hope that they will be handled with as much care, intelligence, taste, and commitment to the historical record as this DVD.
Extras include Chris Dreja’s thoughts on the Yardbirds’ experiences with Sonny Boy Williamson II, and why it turned out to be a much tougher gig than they had anticipated; Paul Jones on the little-known tracks credited to Eric Clapton and the Powerhouse, which appeared on an Elektra white-blues anthology called “What’s Shakin’” just prior to the formation of Cream; and recording engineer Bill Halverson on the song “Badge”, on which Clapton and co-writer George Harrison experimented with a new kind of foot pedal. There are also short text bios of the dozen people who were interviewed for this project.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
John Mayall's Bluesbreakers - Live At Iowa State University
This concert performance by the 1987 edition of the Bluesbreakers serves as a telling example of why John Mayall has never quite become famous, yet has been able to keep a substantial career going for some 45 years or so.
John Mayall has become most renowned for discovering and nurturing the talents of a
surprising number of British blues and rock heroes. Eric Clapton came to his early
maturity after leaving the Yardbirds for the Bluesbreakers. While with Mayall, Clapton played alongside Jack Bruce, which led to the formation of Cream. The original lineup of Fleetwood Mac was rife with Mayall alumni. Mick Taylor became a Rolling Stone after his turn as a Bluesbreaker. These are the best-known names, but many more Mayall veterans have enjoyed at least a modicum of success over the years.
This 1987 edition of the band is no exception, with two bona fide blues-stars-to-be in the lineup, both of them Americans. Walter Trout had already spent time with Canned Heat before he joined Mayall, but it was turn as a Bluesbreaker that built his reputation to the point where he was able to step away in 1989 and start his own hugely successful career. And no wonder - his guitar scorches with such intensity in this Iowa State performance, I’m surprised it doesn’t burn a whole in the disc! The second guitarist in the band was Coco Montoya, still putting in his apprenticeship, but taking advantage of a few opportunities to show off his potential in the process.
Yet while Mayall is the leader and the musician featured most prominently throughout, he leaves this viewer with somewhat more ambiguous feelings. He acquits himself well on harmonica, keyboards, and occasional guitar, but he’s not really a technical master of any of them – good enough, but not great. He obviously knows his blues, and makes all the right moves. But in the end, he comes across, perhaps not as a lightweight, but certainly a lighter weight than Trout and Montoya, just as he was a lighter weight than the famous 60’s rock stars he spawned. Still, he’s an effective entertainer, puts on a good show, and keeps the audience (as well as this reviewer) coming back for more.
BUT – and it’s a crucial “but” – he simply is not, has never been, and at age 76 (in 2009), most likely never will be a great singer. His voice is bland, lacking in power and presence. If he indeed feels the emotion of the songs, he fails to communicate that feeling to the listener. He’s not so objectionable a singer that you want to scream at your screen, you simply wish he could be better. The thing is, in the long run, he’s an enjoyable performer - not a genius, just an enjoyable performer. What’s more, given the contributions of Walter Trout, Coco Montoya, and the rhythm section (Bobby Haynes, bass; Paul Hines, drums), this is certainly an enjoyable concert disc. Fans will want it, no question. People who may be unfamiliar with Mayall will be glad to hear Trout and Montoya in their formative years. But if you’ve disliked John Mayall in the past, you probably won’t become a convert on the basis of this disc.
The disc is considerably shorter than the length stated on the case. Extras include text bios and discographies of the principal players. American distribution is by MVD Visual.
John Mayall has become most renowned for discovering and nurturing the talents of a
surprising number of British blues and rock heroes. Eric Clapton came to his early
maturity after leaving the Yardbirds for the Bluesbreakers. While with Mayall, Clapton played alongside Jack Bruce, which led to the formation of Cream. The original lineup of Fleetwood Mac was rife with Mayall alumni. Mick Taylor became a Rolling Stone after his turn as a Bluesbreaker. These are the best-known names, but many more Mayall veterans have enjoyed at least a modicum of success over the years.
This 1987 edition of the band is no exception, with two bona fide blues-stars-to-be in the lineup, both of them Americans. Walter Trout had already spent time with Canned Heat before he joined Mayall, but it was turn as a Bluesbreaker that built his reputation to the point where he was able to step away in 1989 and start his own hugely successful career. And no wonder - his guitar scorches with such intensity in this Iowa State performance, I’m surprised it doesn’t burn a whole in the disc! The second guitarist in the band was Coco Montoya, still putting in his apprenticeship, but taking advantage of a few opportunities to show off his potential in the process.
Yet while Mayall is the leader and the musician featured most prominently throughout, he leaves this viewer with somewhat more ambiguous feelings. He acquits himself well on harmonica, keyboards, and occasional guitar, but he’s not really a technical master of any of them – good enough, but not great. He obviously knows his blues, and makes all the right moves. But in the end, he comes across, perhaps not as a lightweight, but certainly a lighter weight than Trout and Montoya, just as he was a lighter weight than the famous 60’s rock stars he spawned. Still, he’s an effective entertainer, puts on a good show, and keeps the audience (as well as this reviewer) coming back for more.
BUT – and it’s a crucial “but” – he simply is not, has never been, and at age 76 (in 2009), most likely never will be a great singer. His voice is bland, lacking in power and presence. If he indeed feels the emotion of the songs, he fails to communicate that feeling to the listener. He’s not so objectionable a singer that you want to scream at your screen, you simply wish he could be better. The thing is, in the long run, he’s an enjoyable performer - not a genius, just an enjoyable performer. What’s more, given the contributions of Walter Trout, Coco Montoya, and the rhythm section (Bobby Haynes, bass; Paul Hines, drums), this is certainly an enjoyable concert disc. Fans will want it, no question. People who may be unfamiliar with Mayall will be glad to hear Trout and Montoya in their formative years. But if you’ve disliked John Mayall in the past, you probably won’t become a convert on the basis of this disc.
The disc is considerably shorter than the length stated on the case. Extras include text bios and discographies of the principal players. American distribution is by MVD Visual.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
The Story of the Yardbirds
The official story of rock in the 60’s wants us to believe that the Beatles were the Great Original Innovators of the era, and that everyone else merely followed their lead.
Yet months before ”Norwegian Wood”, the Yardbirds attempted to record a sitar-and-tabla intro to “Heart Full of Soul”, only to realize that the result was a much thinner sound than they felt they needed. Thus, Jeff Beck came up with his now-famous nasally, sinuous distorted-guitar intro, which certainly ranks as one of the very first of all Indo-rock fusions. This is just one of the fascinating stories to be found on this British-made DVD documentary (released in the US by MVD) about one of the least-understood and most under-appreciated innovative rock bands ever, the Yardbirds.
You want to talk innovation? While the Beatles were putting the finishing touches on “Rubber Soul”, with its fairly tentative (albeit impressive) moves toward a more “artistic” style, the Yardbirds were releasing one of the most mind-bogglingly unexpected rock experiments released up to that time, their drastic re-interpretation of Bo Diddley’s “I’m A Man”. It wasn’t simply that the Yardbirds’ version was so much faster and looser than Bo’s slow grind. Partway through, the structure of the piece seems to crumble away, as the band gets ready to hammer madly on a single chord. Beck soon begins strumming wildly, scratching at the strings in a timbre that seems virtually devoid of pitch, entering the world of pure noise. With this one bold move, rock’n’roll was forever altered off its firmly established course of being commercial dance music for teenagers. Rock had found its avant-garde.
To be sure, there were precursors, most notably Link Wray’s biting power chords in the late 1950’s and Dick Dale’s heavily reverbed tremolo picking of the early 60’s, but neither broke with rock‘s melodic and rhythmic past as definitively as the Yardbirds did on “I’m a Man”. With one uncommon record, the Yardbirds had set into motion what would develop on one hand into psychedelia, and on the other, heavy metal. The Yardbirds would continue to explore the experimental periphery of rock, toying with tempo changes, random voices, distorted timbres, etc., though always rooted squarely within the blues roots of rock’n’roll.
Nevertheless, the Yardbirds had one major failing, which is pointed out more than once in this documentary. One can overlook the fact that their technical skills were sometimes lacking, since the ideas were there, and were realized adequately enough. One can forgive the indifferent production they were sometimes afforded, which is more a symptom of the times than anything else. Their fatal mistake, however, was not recognizing that the times were changing, that the revolution they had helped set into motion (and we must certainly credit the Beatles, the Mothers of Invention, and Beach Boys as significant contributors here as well) was taking place primarily in the LP format. Thematic “concept albums”, long-form compositions, LP’s built around variety within a distinct stylistic unity, an overall “progressive” outlook – these had all replaced the 7-inch pop single as the way rock musicians were expected to head if they wished to be taken seriously. The Yardbirds, however, heeded the bad advice of their record company and producers, and thus continued to think of themselves as a pop-singles band. Despite the increasing chasm between “serious” adult rock LP buyers and teen pop fans, the Yardbirds continued to gear their music toward the pop charts. When the hits dried up, so did the Yardbirds.
Almost everyone of importance connected to the Yardbirds (aside from singer Keith Relf, who died in a freak accident in the 1970’s) is interviewed here. Eric Clapton talks frankly about how, even in their earliest incarnation as a blues band, he left the band because of his dissatisfaction with the band’s pop and rock direction, whereas he wanted to keep the focus purely on the straight-ahead blues he preferred at that time. (One may wish to pause and reflect on Clapton’s music of the 1970’s in this light.) Chris Dreja talks about how Clapton was such a perfectionist, he would spend time practicing how to hold the guitar. Beck talks about how he came to join the band, when the guitarist they really wanted, Jimmy Page, was unavailable at the time. He also reveals the influence of Booker T. and the MG’s and the Mar-Keys on his music. (I wouldn’t have guessed). There are many such revelations, though long-time hard-core fans may very well be familiar with much of the material.
There are also many live and video (lip-synching and, er, hand-synching) clips. The earliest ones, with Clapton still in the band, come off in retrospect as pretty weak, blanched blues. Many of the clips suffer from shoddy sound quality, but retain their fascination as moments in time nonetheless. The clips that hold up best are, ironically, from the band’s later period as a four-piece, with Jimmy Page playing the lone guitar on arrangements originally conceived for two guitars. (The four-piece version of “Happenings Ten Years Time Ago” is the strongest, most-coordinated live clip here.) There is also a too-brief sample of Jimmy Page bowing his guitar as a Yardbird on “Dazed and Confused”, a song which is, of course, more closely associated with the next phase of Page’s career.
The main documentary runs a very-packed 52 minutes. There is also a very welcome bonus feature, a 14-minute performance for German TV by the 1967 four-piece Yardbirds lineup of Relf, Page, Dreja, and Jim McCarty. The band was nearing its commercial ebb and would soon disintegrate, but they’re in top-form here. The disc comes with a 20-page booklet, which brings the Yardbirds’ saga up to 2003. The booklet was obviously assembled to accompany their comeback CD (which featured Dreja and McCarty alongside new Yardbirds members, plus a raft of special guests). Not having seen nor heard that CD, I can’t comment on whether this is an exact reproduction of the notes for that release or not.
Needless to say, this DVD is an item no self-respecting Yardbirds fan should be without. With any luck, it will extend much further than that audience, and help restore the band to its rightful place among mainstream critics, who have ignored the Yardbirds’ highly significant and historically crucial innovations for far too long.
Yet months before ”Norwegian Wood”, the Yardbirds attempted to record a sitar-and-tabla intro to “Heart Full of Soul”, only to realize that the result was a much thinner sound than they felt they needed. Thus, Jeff Beck came up with his now-famous nasally, sinuous distorted-guitar intro, which certainly ranks as one of the very first of all Indo-rock fusions. This is just one of the fascinating stories to be found on this British-made DVD documentary (released in the US by MVD) about one of the least-understood and most under-appreciated innovative rock bands ever, the Yardbirds.
You want to talk innovation? While the Beatles were putting the finishing touches on “Rubber Soul”, with its fairly tentative (albeit impressive) moves toward a more “artistic” style, the Yardbirds were releasing one of the most mind-bogglingly unexpected rock experiments released up to that time, their drastic re-interpretation of Bo Diddley’s “I’m A Man”. It wasn’t simply that the Yardbirds’ version was so much faster and looser than Bo’s slow grind. Partway through, the structure of the piece seems to crumble away, as the band gets ready to hammer madly on a single chord. Beck soon begins strumming wildly, scratching at the strings in a timbre that seems virtually devoid of pitch, entering the world of pure noise. With this one bold move, rock’n’roll was forever altered off its firmly established course of being commercial dance music for teenagers. Rock had found its avant-garde.
To be sure, there were precursors, most notably Link Wray’s biting power chords in the late 1950’s and Dick Dale’s heavily reverbed tremolo picking of the early 60’s, but neither broke with rock‘s melodic and rhythmic past as definitively as the Yardbirds did on “I’m a Man”. With one uncommon record, the Yardbirds had set into motion what would develop on one hand into psychedelia, and on the other, heavy metal. The Yardbirds would continue to explore the experimental periphery of rock, toying with tempo changes, random voices, distorted timbres, etc., though always rooted squarely within the blues roots of rock’n’roll.
Nevertheless, the Yardbirds had one major failing, which is pointed out more than once in this documentary. One can overlook the fact that their technical skills were sometimes lacking, since the ideas were there, and were realized adequately enough. One can forgive the indifferent production they were sometimes afforded, which is more a symptom of the times than anything else. Their fatal mistake, however, was not recognizing that the times were changing, that the revolution they had helped set into motion (and we must certainly credit the Beatles, the Mothers of Invention, and Beach Boys as significant contributors here as well) was taking place primarily in the LP format. Thematic “concept albums”, long-form compositions, LP’s built around variety within a distinct stylistic unity, an overall “progressive” outlook – these had all replaced the 7-inch pop single as the way rock musicians were expected to head if they wished to be taken seriously. The Yardbirds, however, heeded the bad advice of their record company and producers, and thus continued to think of themselves as a pop-singles band. Despite the increasing chasm between “serious” adult rock LP buyers and teen pop fans, the Yardbirds continued to gear their music toward the pop charts. When the hits dried up, so did the Yardbirds.
Almost everyone of importance connected to the Yardbirds (aside from singer Keith Relf, who died in a freak accident in the 1970’s) is interviewed here. Eric Clapton talks frankly about how, even in their earliest incarnation as a blues band, he left the band because of his dissatisfaction with the band’s pop and rock direction, whereas he wanted to keep the focus purely on the straight-ahead blues he preferred at that time. (One may wish to pause and reflect on Clapton’s music of the 1970’s in this light.) Chris Dreja talks about how Clapton was such a perfectionist, he would spend time practicing how to hold the guitar. Beck talks about how he came to join the band, when the guitarist they really wanted, Jimmy Page, was unavailable at the time. He also reveals the influence of Booker T. and the MG’s and the Mar-Keys on his music. (I wouldn’t have guessed). There are many such revelations, though long-time hard-core fans may very well be familiar with much of the material.
There are also many live and video (lip-synching and, er, hand-synching) clips. The earliest ones, with Clapton still in the band, come off in retrospect as pretty weak, blanched blues. Many of the clips suffer from shoddy sound quality, but retain their fascination as moments in time nonetheless. The clips that hold up best are, ironically, from the band’s later period as a four-piece, with Jimmy Page playing the lone guitar on arrangements originally conceived for two guitars. (The four-piece version of “Happenings Ten Years Time Ago” is the strongest, most-coordinated live clip here.) There is also a too-brief sample of Jimmy Page bowing his guitar as a Yardbird on “Dazed and Confused”, a song which is, of course, more closely associated with the next phase of Page’s career.
The main documentary runs a very-packed 52 minutes. There is also a very welcome bonus feature, a 14-minute performance for German TV by the 1967 four-piece Yardbirds lineup of Relf, Page, Dreja, and Jim McCarty. The band was nearing its commercial ebb and would soon disintegrate, but they’re in top-form here. The disc comes with a 20-page booklet, which brings the Yardbirds’ saga up to 2003. The booklet was obviously assembled to accompany their comeback CD (which featured Dreja and McCarty alongside new Yardbirds members, plus a raft of special guests). Not having seen nor heard that CD, I can’t comment on whether this is an exact reproduction of the notes for that release or not.
Needless to say, this DVD is an item no self-respecting Yardbirds fan should be without. With any luck, it will extend much further than that audience, and help restore the band to its rightful place among mainstream critics, who have ignored the Yardbirds’ highly significant and historically crucial innovations for far too long.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Amy Winehouse: The Girl Done Good (MVD)
This British documentary DVD came out last year. I decided not to review it at that time, because – quite honestly – I didn’t know if I would be writing a review or an obit. Her tabloid-fodder life had sunk that low. Lately, however, she has managed to maintain a surprisingly low profile, which suggests that it may be time for a re-assessment of her career to begin.
“The Girl Done Good” covers Winehouse’s music and tempestuous goings-on up to the end of 2007. The first half-plus is devoted to a serious examination of her music, career highlights, stylistic influences. Needless to say, as the film progresses, the story becomes increasingly depressing, as the singer seems hell-bent on squandering her talents and, potentially, her life.
Our story begins with a rather plain, unassuming-looking mid-teenager with normal-looking hair and a voice and style far more mature than her years would warrant. As the people who discovered and nurtured her in these years suggest, she seemed headed for a career as a bluesy jazz singer on the order of Billie Holiday and Dinah Washington (seen in clips which demonstrate their influence on the young Briton). To be sure, such a career path would most likely not have brought her worldwide fame, and one can only speculate how differently her life might have turned out if she had stuck to this road.
Friends, associates, and most telling of all, a few well-chosen British music critics recount her subsequent moves toward soul revivalism. Almost to a person, the interviewees walk the line between worshipful adulation and bewilderment as to the way things turned out. These on-camera experts include three performers who know a thing or two about the ups, downs, pressures and pitfalls that can befall a rising star. Barb Jungr is known as a cabaret performer, but also works behind the scenes as a vocal arranger and educator. Mari Wilson’s beehived performance style of the 1980’s may have prefigured Winehouse’s visual style, but she also knows how quickly hot careers can cool down when the public gets weary of the flavor of the week. Veteran American soul singer, Geno Washington, who is far better known in the UK than at home, has seen his career take a few bounces since the British Invasion era, never reaching the heights his talents deserved.
Winehouse’s accomplishments and subsequent excesses are discussed in chronological order. This may be especially instructive for American viewers, since her CD’s were not issued in this country in the order they were recorded. Thus, our view of her musical development has been somewhat distorted by the vagaries of the music business. The DVD includes excerpts from Winehouse’s music videos and televised live performances. The more recent performances can be downright depressing, as the emotionalism and vocal skills she displayed in her early jazz performances have all but dissipated. The point is made, though, that she still (as of late 2007) was capable of good days. After seeing the evidence of her self-destructiveness, one can only wonder how.
The documentary lasts a packed 78 minutes. Extras include short bios of the contributors and an Amy Winehouse quiz. (My score was adjudged to be “mediocre”).
In all, this is a very nicely done package with much well-considered discussion and hardly any fluff.
“The Girl Done Good” covers Winehouse’s music and tempestuous goings-on up to the end of 2007. The first half-plus is devoted to a serious examination of her music, career highlights, stylistic influences. Needless to say, as the film progresses, the story becomes increasingly depressing, as the singer seems hell-bent on squandering her talents and, potentially, her life.
Our story begins with a rather plain, unassuming-looking mid-teenager with normal-looking hair and a voice and style far more mature than her years would warrant. As the people who discovered and nurtured her in these years suggest, she seemed headed for a career as a bluesy jazz singer on the order of Billie Holiday and Dinah Washington (seen in clips which demonstrate their influence on the young Briton). To be sure, such a career path would most likely not have brought her worldwide fame, and one can only speculate how differently her life might have turned out if she had stuck to this road.
Friends, associates, and most telling of all, a few well-chosen British music critics recount her subsequent moves toward soul revivalism. Almost to a person, the interviewees walk the line between worshipful adulation and bewilderment as to the way things turned out. These on-camera experts include three performers who know a thing or two about the ups, downs, pressures and pitfalls that can befall a rising star. Barb Jungr is known as a cabaret performer, but also works behind the scenes as a vocal arranger and educator. Mari Wilson’s beehived performance style of the 1980’s may have prefigured Winehouse’s visual style, but she also knows how quickly hot careers can cool down when the public gets weary of the flavor of the week. Veteran American soul singer, Geno Washington, who is far better known in the UK than at home, has seen his career take a few bounces since the British Invasion era, never reaching the heights his talents deserved.
Winehouse’s accomplishments and subsequent excesses are discussed in chronological order. This may be especially instructive for American viewers, since her CD’s were not issued in this country in the order they were recorded. Thus, our view of her musical development has been somewhat distorted by the vagaries of the music business. The DVD includes excerpts from Winehouse’s music videos and televised live performances. The more recent performances can be downright depressing, as the emotionalism and vocal skills she displayed in her early jazz performances have all but dissipated. The point is made, though, that she still (as of late 2007) was capable of good days. After seeing the evidence of her self-destructiveness, one can only wonder how.
The documentary lasts a packed 78 minutes. Extras include short bios of the contributors and an Amy Winehouse quiz. (My score was adjudged to be “mediocre”).
In all, this is a very nicely done package with much well-considered discussion and hardly any fluff.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Art Tatum: The Art of Jazz Piano
If I were the sort who believed extra-terrestrials come to Earth and walk among us, I could easily convince myself that Art Tatum was one of them, a benevolent being from a distant planet who was sent to this world to open up new musical possibilities for us. Pretty fanciful, right?
After all, no one but an ET could race through such rapid, harmonically lush piano runs, stop, change directions, and dash off again in dazzling profusion. No one else played like Art Tatum before Art Tatum came to Earth. Well, perhaps Luckey Roberts on a good night. But to my ear, Roberts - a product of an earlier era - had neither the imagination nor the advanced harmonic sense of an Art Tatum. What’s more, we’ve come to think (rightly or wrongly) of Luckey Roberts as a sometimes-memorable composer, rather than an influential pianist. Tatum may not be remembered as a composer, but his intricate pianistic arabesques affected the course of jazz far more than Roberts’ catchy rags.
Without Art Tatum to lead the way, there would have been no Oscar Peterson, not to mention any number of virtuoso Oscars manqué who dazzle us with a lot of flash, and little substance. But it doesn’t stop there. While I confess I had never considered the point before, this documentary film makes an excellent case for Tatum being a major stepping-stone between Swing and Be-Bop. While Tatum may not have thought rhythmically in the same manner as Bird and Diz, Bud and Monk, his harmonic adventurousness took jazz away from its rag, blues, and pop roots into a brave new world of chromaticism and structural upheavals, opening up all manner of artistic possibilities for musicians to absorb and follow – if they could.
This film could serve as a model for other biographical music documentaries. It digs into the details of Tatum’s life and career, it includes a wealth of intelligent commentary by a number of his musical associates and influencees (not the empty-headed ones, but the worthier ones, such as Hank Jones and Marian McPartland), it presents rare film clips of Tatum in action, and as a whole is highly compact and devoid of fluff. The film clips demonstrate that he was a surprisingly unemotional and non-visual player; perhaps the latter is related to his near-blindness?
There are no extras on this hour-long disc, but Tatum’s playing is a “special feature” in and of itself. Highly recommended, not only to listeners who have yet to discover Art Tatum, but to long-time fans as well.
After all, no one but an ET could race through such rapid, harmonically lush piano runs, stop, change directions, and dash off again in dazzling profusion. No one else played like Art Tatum before Art Tatum came to Earth. Well, perhaps Luckey Roberts on a good night. But to my ear, Roberts - a product of an earlier era - had neither the imagination nor the advanced harmonic sense of an Art Tatum. What’s more, we’ve come to think (rightly or wrongly) of Luckey Roberts as a sometimes-memorable composer, rather than an influential pianist. Tatum may not be remembered as a composer, but his intricate pianistic arabesques affected the course of jazz far more than Roberts’ catchy rags.
Without Art Tatum to lead the way, there would have been no Oscar Peterson, not to mention any number of virtuoso Oscars manqué who dazzle us with a lot of flash, and little substance. But it doesn’t stop there. While I confess I had never considered the point before, this documentary film makes an excellent case for Tatum being a major stepping-stone between Swing and Be-Bop. While Tatum may not have thought rhythmically in the same manner as Bird and Diz, Bud and Monk, his harmonic adventurousness took jazz away from its rag, blues, and pop roots into a brave new world of chromaticism and structural upheavals, opening up all manner of artistic possibilities for musicians to absorb and follow – if they could.
This film could serve as a model for other biographical music documentaries. It digs into the details of Tatum’s life and career, it includes a wealth of intelligent commentary by a number of his musical associates and influencees (not the empty-headed ones, but the worthier ones, such as Hank Jones and Marian McPartland), it presents rare film clips of Tatum in action, and as a whole is highly compact and devoid of fluff. The film clips demonstrate that he was a surprisingly unemotional and non-visual player; perhaps the latter is related to his near-blindness?
There are no extras on this hour-long disc, but Tatum’s playing is a “special feature” in and of itself. Highly recommended, not only to listeners who have yet to discover Art Tatum, but to long-time fans as well.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Bob Dylan/Cat Stevens
Bob Dylan 1978-1989: Both Ends of the Rainbow
Cat Stevens – A Classic Concert: Tea For The Tillerman Live
Something needs to be admitted right off. Bob Dylan was one of my heroes in the early 60’s, and even from the middle to late 60’s. I began to become disaffected around the time of “Nashville Skyline,” but I still supported each new release as it came out. Until his so-called “Jesus Period”, that is. He lost me at that time, and has only fairly recently won me back.
The reasons he lost me in the late 1970’s should be fairly obvious to anyone after watching the first sections of this film, a British television documentary released in the US by MVD. It wasn’t simply that his subject matter had changed. After all, his subject matter had changed before, and not always to what may have fashionable or to what people may have expected of him. The bigger problem was that the preachy style of his Christian songwriting seemed too simplistic, assuming that the listener would readily accept his conversion without bothering to ask for the explanations we felt would have been forthcoming a decade earlier. What’s more, the arrangements were simply too busy and in too hackneyed a gospel vein to suit his vocal style. This, of course, says as much about his listeners (myself included) as it does about Dylan.
But the overall theme of this DVD is not Bob Dylan’s relationship with Christianity (I’ve heard tell that there’s another, newer release that does indeed concentrate on this topic, though I have not seen it). Rather, it looks at the many changes in Dylan’s messages and music during a turbulent decade in his career, tracing his descent into critical purgatory and his long road back into critical favor. The visual emphasis is on the talking heads of critics rather than performance, but when the critics are authoritative and have interesting things to say, as is the case here, that’s hardly a bad thing . There are short video clips of Dylan performances of this period interspersed among the interview segments. Less compelling visually is a telephone interview with Dylan - the screen shows a tape recorder rolling.
The DVD includes a discussion of Dylan’s role in “We Are The World”, including a classic clip of Stevie Wonder trying to teach a seemingly clueless Dylan his part. Even more embarrassing is Dylan’s appearance at Live Aid. It’s as if Dylan craved desperately to fit in at these big events, to be seen and heard alongside the few other stars of his stature as well as lesser, then-current ones, but he simply doesn’t blend well. Dylan scored far more points at Farm Aid, a considerably more comfortable situation for him, performing “Maggie’s Farm” with Tom Petty.
There is a revealing interview here regarding how Dylan doesn’t pay attention to what other people think he should be doing. Guitarist Ira Ingber specifically discusses Dylan’s lack of focus while working on “Knocked Out Loaded.” It would seem from his comments that the album was more an attempt by Dylan to find his way into new forms of expression, rather than an attempt at slick commercialism or an illustration of eroding talents. It’s as if Dylan wanted to do something new and significant, that he didn’t wish to capitulate to demands that he merely repeat past triumphs. He was searching, but unfortunately, he wasn’t finding. To use Ingber’s phrase, the album had “no coherent plan”, which suggests the conclusion that the album was one long illustration of why performers should never think out loud, then release the results.
The disc further traces Dylan’s artistic and commercial decline, writing fewer songs by himself, falling back on collaborations, seeming not to really care anymore. The exception would be the Traveling Wilburys project, which took him away from the search for 1980’s relevance back to the sounds of an earlier era. The Wilburys revitalized Dylan the artist, as well as renewing interest in his career among a younger audience. Thus, Dylan began to find his way back at last.
With 1989’s “Oh Mercy”, Dylan at last found his way back to listenability, thanks in considerable measure to producer Daniel Lanois, who was determined not to make another Dylan dud. And even though Dylan would fall into decline again in the 1990’s, the fact that he had proven that he could work his way back meant that many people were at least ready to give each subsequent release a chance to impress them.
As a whole, the DVD is objective, consistently interesting, and thoughtfully presented. Extras include more interviews plus text bios of contributors. Unfortunately, the latter are printed so tiny that they were impossible to read on my 21-inch screen, even with new glasses. Time to upgrade!
Among the new breed of singer-songwriters who brought a gentler, more melodic approach to popular songwriting in the immediate post-Dylan era was Cat Stevens. I have to confess I didn’t “get” Cat Stevens at the time. I found his lyrics to be either too precious (“Moonshadow”) or too cryptic (“Longer Boats”) for my taste. Thus I wasn’t too sure whether I really wanted to watch “A Classic Concert: Tea For the Tillerman Live”, a brief (under a half hour) television special recorded in L. A. in 1971.
But darn, this is an enjoyable disc. The atmosphere is relaxed, the performance (in which Stevens is accompanied only by a second guitarist and a bass player – Alun Davies and Larry Steele, respectively) is no-nonsense/no-frills, the melodies hold up very well – I just can’t find any faults worthy of criticism in the performance. I still have reservations about Stevens as lyricist, but the half-hour goes by very smoothly.
There is one extra, an animated short called “Teaser and the Firecat”, which essentially has historical value only. It’s very much a psychedelic-era cartoon, strong on whimsy, short on insight.
But the concert is what counts here. Fans in particular will enjoy this, but even a non-fan such as myself had a marvelous time watching it.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Relaunching Under a New Name
It has come to my attention that someone else had previously come up with a name very much like "Eclectic DVD Review". Therefore, I am re-launching this DVD review blog under a new name, "GenEc DVD Review". (The name derives from my "General Eclectic" radio program. I have transferred the two reviews previously published in "Eclectic" into this new blog. Sorry for any inconvenience.
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