Music notes: Dylan bands, jazz pianists, guitar solo harmonics, first "official" heavy metal performance, Grateful Dead "mix-builds," Chopin journals, first (pre-Isleys) version of "Twist and Shout"

Wednesday 3/6/24

I don't really believe in the band on Blood on the Tracks, whereas I'm all-in with the primary Nashville Blonde on Blonde unit. The latter band is like some of the best jazz-one offs, such as the groups that made Andrew Hill's Point of Departure and Eric Dolphy's Out to Lunch. Blood on the Tracks is supposed to be this heartbreak précis, but "(Sooner or Later) One of Us Must Know" from Blonde on Blonde is more effective in a single track in that regard. It's the song, the band (which is the NYC Blonde on Blonde ensemble, actually, responsible for this sole number on the double LP), the singing. I will write a book called The Trial of Infinity: A Case for Bob Dylan's Complete 1965-66 Sessions as History's Ultimate Album.

There wasn't another jazz pianist who could do what Bud Powell could do. He was equally excellent in every setting. We cannot say this about Art Tatum, who did better alone. Jelly Roll Morton also worked best as just himself, though his approach was markedly different form Tatum's. Morton was a song-and-dance/narrative man as a piano player. A whorehouse or bar room guy. Tatum was more akin to the classical pianist on the stage at Carnegie Hall, except not at Carnegie Hall. Jelly Roll Morton and Jerry Lee Lewis had considerable overlap of persona, but Morton was more of a story-weaver, whereas Lewis was a first-person name-dropper/chest-thumper.

One of the most remarkable solos in rock and roll history is Jeff Beck's from the Yardbirds' "I'm a Man." The Bo Diddley original was this primal thing, as if it were a rhythm and blues number from the dawn of man. Some man came out of the ooze and there he was boasting about what a man he was, ready to fertilize some eggs. The Yardbirds number, conversely, is like that same man having been shot to Neptune and now returned, no longer only human but also part alien as well, a being with dual citizenship in this world and one billions of light years away. Singer Keith Relf also solos on harmonica in-between Beck's solos and does just as well. The solo always hit me hard because of how hard Beck hits the strings near the end. He has stopped playing the guitar by then as we think of playing the guitar, and has made it into a percussive instrument. Fascinating harmonics. Nick Drake does something similar--though in a much different way--on "Black Eyed Dog" (listen here at :27; the fingers make like feet, and start running).

I have much reason to be thinking about the Who and heavy metal of late, more on which anon. But I would say that the first "official" heavy metal moment in music occurs during the bridge section--"My name is Bill and I'm a head case"--in the Who's "I'm a Boy." There were many precursors to metal and quite a few of those precursors had metal strands running throughout them, but this was out-in-the-open metal. Good example, too, of the orchestral style of drumming that Keith Moon will employ four years later on Tommy, but you have to listen carefully to what he's doing "behind" the music, if you will, with colorative touches.

For certain Grateful Dead live recordings you can hear the mix being built early on as different levels are checked and tweaked, balances are made, and each instrument comes in. I find them fascinating, and the audible evidence of this mix building doesn't detract at all from the listening experience. A definitive example of what I'm talking about may be heard during the opening "Promised Land" of the May 17, 1974 Vancouver show, with another--not quite as pronounced--coming from the University of Montana concert three days prior, which was the gig that got me hooked on the Dead.

Chopin's études are like pianistic journal entries made available for public consumption, as Thoreau's journal entries were also made available. They are both private and public, like a form of writing and playing that mirrors the sensibility of an official bootleg. A bootleg that "just happened to get made," but which has the endorsement of the artist as well. This very journal is something like that.

The first version of "Twist and Shout" was done by a group called the Top Notes and came out in 1961. I doubt the Beatles knew this record--they likely believed the Isley Brothers disc from 1962 was the first recording of the song. The Top Notes were a Philadelphia rhythm and blues band and they certainly weren't pokey with the tempo on on the number. There's an elasticity to the performance, a loose-limbed quality forsaken by both the Isley Brothers and the Beatles. This rendition centers on fun rather than urgency. It's a kick, a gas, a lark, a giggle, whereas the Beatles made the song a "gotta have it" affair, an orgasm-or-die proposition.