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Essays on the greatest singer-songwriters

Below are the essays written on some of the greatest singer-songwriters of our time. Most of these were written for a literary magazine called Gentleman between 1998 and 2001.

The pieces below are on Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan, Van Morrison, Paul Simon, Joni Mitchell, The Beatles, Neil Young, The Velvet Underground, Leonard Cohen, Richard Thomson, R.E.M., John Lennon solo and the Grateful Dead. There is also a tribute piece on George Harrison. Most of the pieces are between 2200 and 2500 words.

The series originally also had pieces on Stevie Wonder, U2, Pink Floyd, Sting and Nirvana but those are not accessible currently; hopefully will be soon.

The objective of these pieces was to pique the curiosity of readers not familiar with this music and introduce the artist through the more accessible albums. To me, these were personal tributes.

Jaideep Varma
August 2005

The compassionate Boss
What makes Bruce Springsteen’s music so special?


I remember the first time I heard “Thunder Road” as if it were yesterday. Over 10 years ago, at about 3 a.m., when I was staying up all night to study for an important exam I had little chance of clearing. Anxious and frustrated, I thought maybe music would calm me down. Someone had taped the album Born To Run for me. The cassette was a bit dicey, the sound slightly muffled, the lyrics almost impossible to pick out. Still, the album opener “Thunder Road” absolutely stunned me. Exactly what I was feeling inside was suddenly coming in right through my ears. I had no clue what the damn words were, it was the sound that got me. It seemed to emanate from a man trapped in a situation he just couldn’t handle, he was imploding because of it, but there was this great will to break out of it. Thousands of miles away, 13 years before that instant when I first heard this song, Bruce Springsteen had captured what I was feeling then to a T, and he certainly wasn’t singing about anything near exam blues. It still seems wondrous to me.

Obviously, I’m not the only one. There’s something about his music, especially the albums, Born to Run, Darkness On The Edge Of Town and The River, that somehow evokes this kind of a response in people who are feeling, or have felt, desperately trapped in some situation (career-related, romance-related, family-related). Over the years, every single person I’ve met who’s truly loved Springsteen’s best music, has been in that kind of a situation sometime or the other. Another interesting thing - Springsteen’s body of work is somewhat like the internet, it doesn’t matter where you get in from, once you’re in, you’ve entered his world, all his music is suddenly accessible to you. Of course, there is a common thread running through a lot of his music. The point-of-view of a man who finds it difficult to accept his life the way it’s turning out, but has to. Springsteen creates characters and tells their stories directly, often very evocatively. He does his groundwork well, crafts the songs with care and performs them passionately. There is a fierce perfectionist streak in him, clearly the reason for his having released just 11 studio albums in 25 years of recording. More than half of these are all-time-great albums; the rest of it is very far from ordinary too.

The most remarkable thing about Springsteen’s musical career is that it seems immaculately scripted. Every alternate album Born To Run onwards has been a commercial success, relatively speaking. Each such album has been followed by a less accessible and darker album that steers well clear of the mainstream. It’s as if Springsteen courts commercial success, gets it, then he balances the euphoria with something more introspective, as if it’s a right that he has earned (which he probably has), and then to avoid getting too indulgent, he goes “commercial” again and the cycle continues. Intentional or not, what’s amazing is that his “commercial” albums are almost invariably as good as his “introspective” ones. All his songs have the authority of a self-assured and confident artist aware of his tremendous talents. That’s how he got nicknamed “The Boss”, by fellow musicians who recognised this quality in him even before his career had taken off.

It wasn’t always like this. Bruce Springsteen spent his formative years at Freehold, New Jersey- a provincial, conservative town. It was a typical middle-class upbringing. His father changed jobs many times - he was a mill-worker, cab driver, bus driver, even a prison guard for a while. A frustrated, bitter man who believed he never quite got his due, Bruce’s father wanted his eldest son (Bruce has 2 younger sisters) to do better than him so that he could avoid the difficulties of a blue-collar life. It was a life Bruce saw and experienced closely and it never ever left him. Things got worse after Bruce touched adolescence and began dreaming of a different life for himself. He had ferocious fights with his father that left him embittered, isolated and unsure. The young Bruce Springsteen was very sensitive, very thoughtful, perhaps a lot like his father, with one difference - Bruce had rock ‘n roll as his outlet. Ultimately, that made all the difference.

Bruce was 13 when rock ‘n roll hit him. The radio became his life-force as it radiated energy through Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, The Beatles, The Animals, The Byrds, The Who…and most significantly Bob Dylan. The last according to Bruce, “freed” his mind and made him realise the tremendous possibilities in this new art form. But interestingly, as he began to play the guitar and gradually started performing, it was the grand orchestral sound of Phil Spector and the raucous energy of lesser known rock bands that influenced his sensibility. He and his band used to perform in the relative isolation of the Jersey shore. In retrospect, this was significant because the area was not very “hip” thus preventing unnecessary pressures of trends and put-on styles. Very quickly the young Bruce Springsteen began to explore numerous influences and develop something new and fresh of his own. His talent was noticed and suddenly Bruce had an audition with John Hammond Sr - the man who had discovered Bob Dylan and Aretha Franklin. Bruce had barely performed 3 songs when Hammond signed him up. In Hammond’s own words, “I reacted with the force I’ve felt maybe three times in my life. I knew at once that he would last at least a generation.”

Springsteen’s first album Greetings From Asbury Park, NJ was released in 1973. Despite having some excellent songs like “It’s Hard To Be A Saint In The City” and “Growin’ Up” it faltered because of its lack of focus. Wanting to write like Bob Dylan led to verbal diarrhea, the sound was restrained because the producers didn’t identify the rock‘n roll inherent in the compositions, Bruce himself gave voice to too many influences all at once. Still, it promised a great deal.

The next album, The Wild, The Innocent And The E-Street Shuffle was many steps forward. The rock band sound from a superbly skillful ensemble of musicians brought out Bruce’s poetic best as he wove his story songs around adolescent restlessness and urban unrest. He sounded assured and driven, clearly he was beginning to find his own voice. An outstanding album, it showcased exquisite, albeit fancy, playing by the talented musicians on it best exemplified in the final track-the superb “New York City Serenade”. Though the critics loved it, the album was a commercial flop.

One of those critics - John Landau then went to one of Springsteen’s concerts and posted a legendary report that included the lines, “I saw rock ‘n roll’s future today and its name is Bruce Springsteen. And on a night when I needed to feel young he made me feel like I was hearing music for the first time.” This was largely a tribute to Bruce Springsteen’s soon-to-be legendary live act. He had firmed up his back-up band - now called the E-Street Band, and the chemistry wasn’t just palpable to the cult following they had garnered by now. Things began to happen after Landau’s review. Bruce’s record label quoted it everywhere and after some time even hired Landau to co-produce the next Springsteen album. A project Bruce had been struggling with for a while.

Bruce’s vision for the album was to write songs around a feeling giving the entire album a very consistent mood. He wanted a “big” sound, with lots of instruments, the Phil Spector effect. Though he and the band worked very hard at the studio, things just wouldn’t fall into place. The pressure grew. The intensity of the sessions was scary, particularly since they went on and on. It took 4 months to produce it and every minute of it would prove worthwhile.

Born To Run came out in 1975. “Thunder Road” opened the album with a feeling that never faltered throughout its 8 stunning songs. The sound had a near-mono feel that seemed to add poignancy to the vocal as it came searing out of the chaos of the E-street Band’s robust, focused playing. The brilliant “Backstreets” and the incredible title track married passion with compassion better than anything in popular music. The album marked his first commercial success and confirmed Springsteen’s status as an all-time great rocker. Even if he didn’t record anything again, his place in musical history was secured.

In any case, legal wrangles prevented him from recording for 3 years. Darkness On The Edge Of Town (‘78) was a darker, more introspective album than Born To Run. Though songs like “Badlands”, “The Promised Land” and the title track were from Born To Run territory, the characters were older (by 3 years?) in this album, understandably therefore, they were less hopeful and romantic , more isolated and resigned to their fates. Springsteen avoided the sonic embellishments of Born To Run here and kept it more straightforward with his furious guitaring and impassioned vocals. Though Bruce would later feel that he “oversang and the band underplayed”, this was another magnificent album that represented his constant growth as an artist.

The next album would be an even better example. The River (‘80) was Springsteen’s first double album. With 20 varied songs demonstrating Bruce’s formidable narrative abilities, none more than the folkie title track where the river was an evocative metaphor for life going on, regardless of everything. The mood ranged from up-tempo to sheer joy to frustration to sadness to introspection to upbeat again. There was folk, raunchy rock, rockibly, country, affecting ballads - all stamped with the distinctive, assured Bruce Springsteen touch. The characters in the songs were older (31, like Bruce?) and some of them were even married (a first, in Springsteen’s songs). This was his most complete album and it did well commercially too. “Hungry Heart” became a huge chart hit, his first. The album tour led him to Europe, Japan and Australia. In 1981, Bruce Springsteen became a world, albeit cult, figure.

The next year produced the first dramatic change in his musical career. Bruce had recorded a demo of songs at home with just guitar (and harmonica) as accompaniment and he took them to the studio for polishing them up. Landau, by now his manager, heard the songs and insisted they didn’t need dressing up; they were perfect as they were. The songs in Nebraska (‘82) were not just stripped bare in sound; even the characters in them put their deepest feelings on the line. They were isolated from every aspect of their life, which led to, in Bruce’s own words, “a spiritual breakdown”. It was a stunning album, intimate enough to give the feeling of the characters trying to converse with you. There were thoughtful touches, like the suffix “sir” being used by some of the characters, as if they were looking up to you, from a position of inferiority. Critics hailed the album as a masterpiece, though it didn’t do well commercially. Neither was unexpected.

Bruce had made demos of a few more songs besides the ones that made up Nebraska. They were in the same vein, about loneliness and isolation and the difficulties of coping. But this time he decided to treat them differently. Without changing the song themes, he wanted them to sound upbeat, tuneful and accessible. He and the band got working and the result was the most significant album of their careers. Born In The USA (‘84) was a massive worldwide commercial hit that made Bruce Springsteen a household name. The songs, almost like celebrations of despair, were just magnificent. Ironically, it was a gross misunderstanding that contributed the most to the album’s commercial success.

A casual listening of the songs in the album, particularly the title track, suggested that they’re infused with a patriotic “hoo-haa-America” sentiment. As Bruce put it “these people only heard the chorus, not the lyrics”. The title track in fact, was scathingly sarcastic. Songs like “No Surrender” and Bobby Jean” were raucous rockers, yet had broody lyrics. The mega-hit “Dancing In The Dark”, for all its infectious tunefulness, was really about a man who can’t cope with loneliness. “My Hometown”, for all its nostalgic feel, was really about things going wrong in small-town America. Forget the paying public, even the US president Ronald Reagan missed the point. Egged on by his geriatric advisors no doubt, Reagan actually mentioned Springsteen during his election campaign, promising to fulfil the same “dreams” Bruce sung about. Springsteen wasn’t amused.

Despite being one of the great live acts of all time, Bruce and the band had never released a live album in all these years. They made up with the release of 3-album-set Live 1975-85. Besides the superb alternate versions of well-known songs (like “Thunder Road”) or terrific songs that weren’t included in any album (like “Fire” or “Because The Night”), the surprisingly beautiful parts were the little stories he told (mostly about his adolescence) before performing some of the songs. He spoke evocatively about the communication breakdown with his father in a manner that could move you deeply (especially an incident he mentioned just before performing “The River”).

Tunnel of Love was Springsteen’s last great album. After the commerciality of Born In The USA, he set about making his most personal record. It was the first album after his marriage and he almost exclusively confronted love in it. However, there was an aura of sadness and an introspective tinge to everything on it, clearly the result of the disintegration of the marriage. It was Bruce’s quietest album, with him playing most of the instruments himself. Despite being uniformly brilliant the album wasn’t a commercial success. Too many people wanted back the accessibility of “Born In The USA”. Bruce wasn’t about to comply.

The ‘90s haven’t always seen Springsteen at his best. His best songs, in fact, were film contributions - the Oscar-winning “Streets Of Philadelphia” and “Secret Garden” (from “Jerry Maguire”). In 1992, the 2 albums he released - Human Touch and Lucky Town suggested the first signs of decline. There were some good songs in both the albums -particularly the title tracks and the ethereal “My Beautiful Reward” (from Lucky Town), but somehow the hallmark Springsteen consistency was missing. His biggest commercial success in the ‘90s came immediately after that when he released his Greatest Hits package, predictably great value for money.

The Ghost Of Tom Joad (‘95) was a partial return to form. A sparse acoustic guitar, harmonica set of songs, it mined the same territory as Nebraska 13 years later. But this time the songs were set in Western America (Bruce had moved to LA recently after his 2nd marriage) and were about illegal Mexican immigrants, drug smugglers, serial killers – just people who couldn’t keep themselves together because of circumstances. Quieter than “Nebraska”, the most interesting difference in Joad was in the attitude of the characters in the songs. They were more fatalistic than those in Nebraska (maybe because they were 13 years older?). It was an honest, sincere effort though flawed somewhat by its staleness. A lot of the tunes seem like déjà vu recalling those in Nebraska and even Tunnel Of Love. “The Line” sounds like Dylan’s “Love Minus Zero”. However, as usual, there are some stunners on this album too - the title track, “Youngstown” and “The Border” are brilliant. The album won Springsteen his first Grammy - a joke, because it’s nowhere near his best effort. (Echoes of Dylan?)

Finally, the greatest thing about Springsteen’s music is not that he’s given blue-collar America and its outsiders a voice like no-one else. Or that he assimilated the music of his previous generations and came with a body of work quintessentially his. Or that he balanced introspective art with commercial acceptability like very few have. His towering achievement is the universality of his expressions. His songs about inherent American concerns (like the Vietnam draft, for instance) can make even people at the other end of the world relate to it. (Maybe that’s why every single one of his albums is available in India). An artist like this doesn’t “lose relevance” - as they’ve been saying about him lately. Hold on, his best may be yet to come.


Gentleman
January 1999

The Picasso of Song
Bob Dylan’s music revisited

Statisticians suggest that half the humans who have ever lived are alive today. Surely then, it is not hyperbolic to say that Bob Dylan is the greatest songwriter who has ever breathed.

He is, after all, the leading songwriter of the century. The man who gave popular music a voice, as it were. Who, as Bruce Springsteen put it, “freed your mind the way Elvis had freed your body”. Who changed the status of rock from an exuberant distraction to a very significant art-form. Who elevated lyrics to a level where they held their own with the finest poetry of its age. Who, 300 years later, will probably share the same status that Mozart and Beethoven enjoy today.

This living, breathing genius is amidst us today. Album after album, he repeatedly puts himself on-the-line, exposing his inner self, his deepest feelings. He keeps breaking new ground, making a mockery of people’s expectations of him. By now, the only thing to expect from him is the totally unexpected.

Almost always being ahead of his time has had its fallouts. Dylan has never enjoyed the sales that his peers, indeed many of his “disciples”, have had. Moreover, he’s won just 2 Grammys (excluding the “Lifetime Achievement”) and considering they were by no means for his best work, it does make total mockery of the Grammy Awards. Instead, Dylan has always been a musician’s musician. It was Leonard Cohen who called him “the Picasso of Song” - a rare tribute from an accomplished peer. Eric Clapton recently said, “There isn’t a rock musician in the world today who doesn’t owe him a debt”.

The biggest mistake people make is assuming that’s because of his lyrics. Big fallacy. His pioneering approach to lyrics notwithstanding, it is the music he has created that sets him apart. Many of his tunes are breathtakingly beautiful, more accessible to some when more “popular” musicians render them. (e.g. Guns ‘n Roses, Eric Clapton, Rolling Stones, The Pretenders...the list is endless). Then, there are people who tend to be put off by his voice. That is missing the forest for the trees. Raspy, snarling, rough-edged - however you find the voice; that is a small price to pay for its expressiveness, its intensity and its articulation. Think of Dylan’s voice as a musical instrument. Think of his words as musical notes significant often for the sound they make, not their meaning (particularly true for classic songs like “Visions of Johanna” or “Desolation Row where trying to decipher the eccentric imagery can be pretty futile). The accent in his words is on feeling, not meaning. When they mean something (and there’s a lot of that too), it’s a bonus and a spectacular one at that. Otherwise, just like you don’t question a passionate guitar solo or a beautiful piano piece, don’t directly seek clarity of intent. Their “meaning” lies in the feelings they evoke in you.

Dylan’s prodigious output has been the result of the many phases he’s been through as a human being and a musician. But one thing’s for sure - being a Dylan fan is not a phase. Since his music has always reflected the changes in his life, his listeners have grown with him too (a new listener can make the same journey in any order he/she pleases). Dylan’s albums act their age - lyrically and even more so, musically. For example, it is hard to imagine a young person singing a single song from Dylan’s last album. This is a fantastic achievement.

Dylan’s early work from the Acoustic Folk period had already shown signs of extraordinary genius. He had written “Blowin’ In The Wind” at the age of 21 and “The Times They Are A-Changin’” at 22. The latter, written just before John F. Kennedy’s assassination, turned out to be eerily prophetic. But then again, neither of these songs are ever likely to get dated. Nor is “A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall” (from Freewheelin...) that was compared to Classical English Poetry. Or “Masters of War” - the seething anti-war song (from Freewheelin’...). Within 3 years, Dylan had become an American legend.

For a man who’d always said he “played folk songs with a rock’n roll attitude”, Dylan’s going “electric” in 1965 and adding a band to his sound shouldn’t have upset his hard-core fans. But it did, and Dylan couldn’t have cared less. His “Electric” phase albums transformed rock, and indeed, popular music. First, Bringing It All Back Home, with one side of acoustic and one of “electric” songs, was hailed as rock’s greatest masterpiece. It had the ethereal “Mr Tambourine Man”, the eclectic “Subterranean Homesick Blues” that machine-gunned images of American culture, it had “It’s Alright Ma, I’m Only Bleeding”- an enraged, contemptuous comment on the times.

Dylan had a near-fatal motorcycle accident in mid-1967. He used his recovery period wisely to slow down. Thus began his Quiet phase where he recorded 3 excellent albums of originals. The first, John Wesley Harding is the only album till date in which Dylan completely wrote out the words before setting them to music. Lyrically, The Bible seemed an influence and the themes of loneliness and intrigue almost contradicted the gentle feel of the album. But the songs were beautiful and totally different from what was happening in the music world at that time. The next two albums - the quintessentially country Nashville Skyline and the happy New Morning suggested that Dylan had found contentment in family life. Some of his fans began to miss the old, restless, angry Dylan. Little knowing it was just around-the-corner.

After contributing the classic “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door” for the film Pat Garrett and Billy The Kid, Dylan changed tone. The passion seemed to come back in Planet Waves - his first album in the Turbulent ‘70s phase. The album contained 2 versions of “Forever Young” - an enduring gem written for his youngest son - Jakob (The Wallflowers one) who’d been born recently. There were also several songs written to Sara, his wife - but the sentimental, idyllic feel of the previous 3 albums had gone. Something was afoot.

In early-1974, Dylan was attending classes of an art teacher called Norman Raeben. He applied his newly learnt painting techniques into his songwriting. Techniques that enabled him to “do consciously” what he “felt unconsciously”. Dylan wanted to create “audio paintings” that “defied time”, that could “enable you to see any part of it or all of it together”. Blood On The Tracks was a result of this experimentation. But the real spirit of the songs came not from the techniques he learnt, but the real pain he was feeling, the passion, bitterness and sorrow he was experiencing because his marriage was breaking up. This was his most personal album, where his soul stood stark naked for all to gape at. Take the song “Simple Twist Of Fate” - regardless of whether you’ve experienced a break-up in your life or not, the song will give you goose pimples. There’s “Idiot Wind”- bursting with hatred and pain, the angriest song he’s ever done. There’s overwhelming loss in “You’re A Big Girl Now”, reluctant resignation in “If You See Her, Say Hello” and hints of reconciliation in “Buckets of Rain”. The songs cut deep, but are not, by a long-shot, heavy or depressing. This is no adolescent angst but a mature pain (he was 33 years old). Some of these songs, believe it or not, are actually hummable.

Blood On The Tracks is great art - it draws you in, fills you up and swirls you around in his pain, and then deposits you distinctly uplifted. The album was loved and hailed as a masterpiece. A year later, Dylan said revealingly that it was hard for him to relate to people enjoying “this type of pain”. After the intense intimacy of Blood On The Tracks, Dylan looked outwards. His next album - Desire had some of his finest story songs. It had “Hurricane” - a song about a boxer, Rubin Carter, who’d been wrongly convicted of murder. “Romance In Durango” was about a outlaw and his lover on the run. The album’s departure in sound lay in Scarlett Riviera’s electric violin. Desire was followed by Street Legal - one of his most pleasant, tuneful albums marred somewhat by its muddy sound.

In late-1978, Dylan became a Born-Again Christian. Inevitably, it influenced his music, and how. This was his Gospel phase during which everything he wrote was about this new aspect in his life. There was a new vitality in his songs. Slow Train Coming, besides having his best album cover, had foot-tapping, funky rock (aided by Mark Knopfler’s guitar) like “Gotta Serve Somebody” - that won him his first Grammy (for “Male Rock Vocal”, an irony considering how much his vocals have been mocked). His final Gospel album Shot of Love ends with the gorgeous “Every Grain of Sand”- a song many tip to be among the most likely ones in popular music to outlast the 21st century.

Dylan’s ‘80s albums are unremarkable by the standards he had set. But almost all have some sparks of sheer brilliance. Infidels has the stunning “Jokerman”, Empire Burlesque has the exquisite “Dark Eyes” and the lilting “Tight Connection To My Heart”, Knocked Out Loaded has “Brownsville Girl”(co-written with Sam Shepherd), Under The Red Sky has “Born In Time”. The standout album of this period is Oh Mercy produced by Daniel Lanois (U2’s producer). Lanois gave some of the best songs Dylan had written in years a haunting ambience that further enhanced their dream-like, stream-of-consciousness quality. The album, one of Dylan’s very best, ends with the simply beautiful “Shooting Star”- a reflective expression of regret about a failed relationship that only a master like him could have created.

Dylan’s Folk Revival albums of other people’s folk songs are charming and often touching in the manner he makes cover versions his own. His expressive vocals notwithstanding, it is his beautiful guitar-playing that is the showpiece of these 2 albums.

Finally - Time Out Of Mind, his most recent album, his 2nd with Lanois and certainly his most hyped (thanks to the damn Grammy). No doubt, it’s a very good album, with its concerns of ageing and endless wandering, with its gutsy, blunt, spit-out bluesy sound. No doubt it takes time to grow on you and no doubt it has the magnificent “Not Dark Yet” - again, something only Dylan could have written. But as an album, on sheer
overall merit, this would just about make it into any list of the 10 best Dylan albums. If you’re just getting into Dylan, pick up his Greatest Hits collection first. It encapsulates his Folk and Electric Stages. Give it a few listens. If it excites you, then get onto the individual albums. It’s one of the most pleasurable journeys imaginable. And once into it, scrounge, beg, borrow, but buy The Bootleg Series - a 3 CD set of previously unreleased material. Be mindful of not listening to his live albums before being familiar with his studio albums. Dylan never plays a song the same way twice, and his concert versions, though often breathtaking, are not always accessible on first listen. His MTV Unplugged might be an exception to this, though. (As far as the lyrics are concerned, they’re all on the Internet.)

Dylan’s greatest achievement as a songwriter has been his vast range of concerns. And the intensity with which he has expressed each one of them. Whether it be the apocalyptic “Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall” or the joyful “On A Night Like This”(from Planet Waves), whether it be an intelligent children’s song “Man Gave Names To All The Animals” (from “Slow Train Coming”) or one from a prisoner’s point-of-view “I Shall Be Released” (from More Greatest Hits), whether it be a personal expression of disillusionment -“It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” (from Bringing It All Back Home) or a curious tale of morality - “Ballad of Frankie Lee And Judas Priest”(from John Wesley Harding), whether it be his trademark blistering hate songs like “Positively 4th Street” (from More Greatest Hits), or his numerous “love” songs, Dylan is true to his art, he believes in what’s he’s singing. No-one has examined love and relationships as he has through song. From rejecting - “It Ain’t Me Babe” to being rejected-“ I Don’t Believe You” (both from Another Side…) from lovesick -“Lay Lay Lay” (from Nashville Skyline) to troubled - “We’d Better Talk This Over” (from Street Legal), from bitterly angry - “Just Like A Woman” (from Blonde On Blonde) to sentimental - “Emotionally Yours” (from Empire Burlesque), from estranged- “Girl Of The North Country” (from Freewheelin’...) to joyful -“The Man In Me” (from New Morning), he’s written some of the finest love songs of the century. Actually, the best of them are the ones he clearly wrote for his wife Sara - “Sad Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands” (from Blonde On Blonde), “If Not For You” (from New Morning), “Wedding Song” (from Planet Waves) and finally, the achingly beautiful “Sara” (from Desire).

To really understand Dylan’s startling impact, you could just play perhaps his most underrated song - “When He Returns” from Slow Train Coming. This was his first Born Again album and in this song, he sings of The Second Coming of Christ and all that jazz. Now, you may be a complete non-believer, even an atheist (like me), but the passion and the power of his singing (accompanied by just a piano) will just blow you away. No -one, repeat, no one, has this resonance and feeling. I’m still an atheist but that song moves me greatly every single time I hear it. This is the magic of Bob Dylan.


Gentleman
October 1998

BARD’S EYE-VIEW
To get an overview of Dylan’s 37 years of recording and 28 studio albums, you can roughly divide Dylan’s output into the following phases.

The Acoustic Folk phase (‘61-‘64; sparse folk format - guitar, vocal, harmonica; includes the albums Bob Dylan, The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan, The Times They Are A Changin’, Another Side of Bob Dylan, ½ of Bringing It All Back Home),

the Electric phase (‘65-‘67; plugged in, with accompanying bands; includes ½ of Bringing It All Back Home, Highway ‘61 Revisited, Blonde On Blonde),

the Quiet phase (‘67-‘73; with band, subdued, tuneful, even happy sound; includes John Wesley Harding, Nashville Skyline, New Morning, Pat Garett And Billy The Kid),

the Turbulent ‘70s phase (‘73 - ‘78; accompanying bands, both acoustic and electric; includes Planet Waves, Blood On The Tracks, Desire, Street Legal),

the Gospel phase (‘79-‘81; big-band sound with background choruses, organ - the works; includes Slow Train Coming, Saved, Shot of Love),

the ‘80s rock phase (‘83-‘90 ; with accompanying rock bands; includes Infidels, Empire Burlesque, Knocked out Loaded, Down In The Groove, Oh Mercy, Under The Red Sky),

the Folk Revival phase (‘91-‘94 ; back to roots-guitar, harmonica and vocal; includes Good As I Been To You, World Gone Wrong)

and finally, the Grammy-winning Time Out Of Mind. (‘97; back to rock, albeit very bluesy).

Paul Simon's Muse
Why his solo work is superior


Paul Simon sits in a Chinese restaurant, waiting for his order. A friend's words keep coming back to him. "Simon and Garfunkel is a household word. Whatever you do alone, you'll never be able to touch that success." This was said to him a year ago, in 1970, when he and Art Garfunkel broke up their legendary act. It was about time. Simon had written all those great, classic songs - "Homeward Bound", "The Boxer", "Bridge Over Troubled Water", Garfunkel given them voice (harmonised with his own)…but the songs were too lush, too lustrous, too limited. Simon wanted to do funkier, more experimental, more cutting-edge work, Garfunkel didn't. This, coupled with Garfunkel's acting ambitions, had pulled them in different directions. Now, here he was, mulling over his first solo project. There's something about this chicken and egg dish that is inspiring. An idea is forming in his mind, images of his dog that recently died appear, as do thoughts on mortality. He doesn't know it yet, but this idea will graduate to "Mother And Child Reunion" - a poignant song about the loss of someone close. Whether it is the loss of Garfunkel as his artistic partner or of Peggy - his soon-to-be estranged wife, that is subconsciously driving this song, he doesn't know.

The simply titled Paul Simon (1972) was his first solo release. Recorded all over the place - Jamaica, Paris, New York, Los Angeles - Simon worked in several musical styles while demonstrating a lyrical inventiveness. The opening track, despite its humble gastronomic origins, was a tour de force. He used reggae, becoming the first major white artist to do so. It was even recorded in Jamaica, with Jamaican sessions musicians including a backing singer Cissy Houston, who had a cute little daughter called Whitney. There were other classy tracks, like the coming -of-age, idiosyncratic-sounding "Duncan", the exquisite "Me And Julio Down By The Schoolyard" which used no drums - just percussion, the collaborative instrumental with legendary violinist Stephane Grappelli "Hobo's Blues" and the sad, sarcastic "Congratulations" where he wondered "Can a man and a woman/live together in peace?" The album garnered respectful reviews but sold barely a tenth of what the last Simon and Garfunkel album had. But Simon was confident - he'd matured as an artist and it showed.

Paul Simon throws a softball off the wall while pacing the room. It's his oldest, truest writing aid. Helps clear the mind. He's trying to write a song on his young son Harper. It's a long haul, he's too overcome with love to write. Damn, all I want to say, he thinks, is that you totally amaze and mesmerize me and I can't contain myself, and that's just not a healthy song to write. But the album's shaping up well. The songs are lighter than anything he's done before, yet as engaging, perhaps more. The album opens with "Kodachrome" with the words, "When I think back on all the crap I learnt in high school…" and covers every kind of mood through its 10 songs. Reverend Juter's done a nifty falsetto on the New Orleans carnival song "Take Me To The Mardi Gras". And "American Tune" - that's turned out well. Have to make it clear that it's Bach's melody, not mine. Maybe I should just write a lullaby for Harper, he thinks. These lines write themselves, "If I can't sing my boy to sleep/well it makes your famous daddy look so dumb." This would be one of his finest songs ever ("St Judy's Comet"), but right now he's struggling with it.

There Goes Rhymin' Simon (1973) was one of the masterpiece albums of the seventies. Every song exquisitely crafted and gloriously performed. "Kodachrome" ran into trouble though, banned by some US radio stations who objected to the word "crap", banned by the BBC, who considered it advertising! But "American Tune" made up for both these hiccups. It practically became an alternative national anthem - remarkable for a wistful song of broken dreams, devoid of any jingoistic fervour. In 1977, he would perform it at President Carter's Inaugural Ball. In 1986, at the 100th birthday celebrations for the Statue of Liberty. Studying classical guitar and listening to diverse forms of music, like Jobim and Gospel, had matured Simon and his music. The next album would bear even better testimony.

Paul Simon stands with his handful of Grammies backstage. To the flashing cameras he says he won because Stevie Wonder hasn't released an album this year. The laughter pleases him. It had been a tough year. He'd felt worthless and lost after his divorce. He'd done a song with Artie (Garfunkel) in this album - a short-lived pleasure, he'd finally written a song on baseball - his other great love ("Night Game"), he'd overhauled his musical style in this album, they'd all worked beautifully. The easy, flowing, jazzy feel represented his body rhythms now. This was seventies East Coast music, and yet, it would stand the test of time, he felt. He had broken new ground, he thought, like " 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover" - one of those rare hit songs where the chorus is actually weaker than its verses. But what depths one has to plunge into, what pain one has overcome, to create worthwhile art. The whole album is about Peg and our broken marriage, he ponders. "I Do It For Your Love", I remember crying while writing its lyrics. Out of that pain comes this joy - of being this feted songwriter, at the pinnacle of one's craft. Is this the pinnacle? God, surely not….

Still Crazy After All These Years (1975) was an amazing album. It was jazz-inflected and gospel-influenced. In fact, a critic would say years later that Woody Allen's 1979 film Manhattan was the cinematic equivalent of Still Crazy… There are lots of similarities in their work, and indeed, their personalities - both New York Jewish neurotics examining man-woman relationships, with feeling, often with a lightness-of-touch. (Simon would even go on to act in Allen's legendary film Annie Hall). The collaboration with Garfunkel "My Little Town" was a highlight too. The song about the claustrophobia felt in a small town could well have been an expression of how Simon felt working with Garfunkel now. Yet, 1975 was an eventful year for Simon, with a pleasant culmination. But it would be his last hurrah in the seventies.

Paul Simon sits in an LA psychiatrist's couch talking about his feelings of inadequacy. He'd been suffering from depression for some time now. After his stunning success with Still Crazy…, he'd lost the plot somewhat. His first attempt to write and direct a feature film One Trick Pony didn't go down too well. Its accompanying album of songs also sunk. Then, he'd reunited with Garfunkel for a memorable Central Park concert, but the old ghosts came between them again. They weren't even on talking terms anymore. His second marriage to Star Wars star, Carrie Fisher, was breaking up too. He feels immobilised, unable to break out of the writer's block he's clearly in. Are you working just to produce hits, he is asked by the psychiatrist, or is it to make a contribution, any contribution? I just feel that my music is of no importance now, Paul says. A long discussion ensues at the end of which the psychiatrist tells him that the way to contribute is through the songs. It's not up to Paul to judge their merits, but just to write the songs. Paul begins to feel liberated.

Hearts And Bones (1983) was the resulting album and it was the lowest-selling album of his career. But it was an artistic success. Easily his most personal, intense collection of songs, the title track was a beauty. Analysis had helped heighten self-awareness in Simon, and the songs were therefore more introverted, particularly lyrically. Simon himself felt that two of these songs were among the best he'd ever done. But the slight sales were again dispiriting. It gave the message loud and clear that his audience had moved on. The future seemed empty. All that seemed to occupy him now was rearing his son and staring at the sea.

Paul Simon is demo-ing a song, multi-tracking himself to give the chorus effect. Nothing new, after all, the famous Simon & Garfunkel harmonies were accentuated by doubling the voices. But this music is miles away from what he and Artie used to do. He's trying to create a song with just voices here, without any musical instruments. The line, "moonlight sleeping on a midnight lake" had been floating in his mind. The song, the voices, would be around this line. Joseph is now adding some Zulu lyrics to it; the blend is working. Yes, this is definitely working. As Paul sweats over the demo, the future smiles knowingly. This track would become "Homeless"- a shimmering gem in a magical album that would change Paul's life and art forever.

The album that became Graceland (1986) had ironical origins. Two years ago, a bootleg cassette called Gumboots: Accordian Jive Hits, Vol II had come into Simon's hand. The music in it, South African township jive, fascinated and overwhelmed him - he felt the same excitement and musical freshness that had pulled him to music 30 years ago. He heard more indigenous black South African artists and made up his mind - he was going to merge his sensibility to this glorious sound. Soon, he was in Johannesburg recording with the very same musicians who'd played on that Gumboots tape. Lyrics and melodies were improvised over the basic rhythms … and the results were stunning. Local groups like Ladysmith Black Mambazo ( their frontman was Joseph Shabalala, who co-wrote "Homeless") and new wave rock-and-roll bands like Los Lobos gave each and every song a separate identity. Yet, overall, it was distinctly a Paul Simon album - his trademark calm sense of balance driving the songs. Graceland was that very rare album that married commercial and artistic success and took popular music a few steps forward. Yet, Simon had his detractors, who accused him of "stealing" South African music. An amazing charge, considering how thankful the musicians themselves were of Simon, for having literally pushed them to the international stage. There is no better example of the unifying power of music. As Graceland won the 1987 Grammy for Best Album, the "has-been" was suddenly a "visionary artist" again.

Paul Simon is singing his words, shaping the lyric, while listening over and over to the backing track they recorded. The song is called "Can't Run But" and it's his favourite track in the new album. His friend J.J. Cale is playing blues guitar. What fabulous percussion, what amazing musicians - these are classically trained guys who've invented their own instruments! Paul sings, "A winding river/Gets wound around a heart/Pull it/Tighter and tighter/ Until muddy waters part/Down by the river bank/A blues band arrives/The music suffers, baby/ The music business thrives/ I can't run but/ I can walk much faster than this…" Stream-of-consciousness is fine, Paul thinks, but it's got to be coherent. How radically he has overhauled his songwriting method. Before, it was guitar, pen and paper - words and music would emerge together. Now, the words come from the rhythms, and the lyrics have actually gotten better, but that’s probably a function of age and maturity. This album's more interesting than Graceland, yet people around him insist it's less accessible, despite instantly likeable songs like "Obvious Child", "The Coast" and "Born At The Right Time". Hmm… maybe it’s the fact that the vocals are 3 decibels under the tracks. Jeeze, it'll be tough mixing this record. But hey, there's no problem we can't solve in the recording studio, its not like life.

Rhythm Of The Saints (1990) was a very worthy sequel to Graceland. This was a Brazilian - West African hybrid album and continued his experiments with indigenous sounds. Simon even went to Rio and Bahia to record, with renewed accusations of "musical tourism" leveled at him. Though this is not an instantly likeable album, it definitely grows on you. It contains lots of subtle riches, and will surely stand the test of time.

Paul Simon stares at the yellow legal pad in front of him. Nobel prize-winning poet, and collaborator on this project - Derek Walcott, sits opposite him. They're writing a Broadway musical together, yet another experiment for Paul. They end up discussing the potential scope of controversy in their subject matter. The Capeman is the true story of a Puerto Rican gang member in New York who was sentenced to death in 1959 for murdering 2 teenagers. Wait and see, they'll say we're glorifying a killer, says Derek. This is not a story about killing, but about human life, Paul exclaims. Sure, but will they buy it? They should, because it's not a superficial treatment of the characters, I mean, it’s a musical but not light escapist entertainment. Yeah, it either stands up as a work of art or it doesn't. What's really exciting Paul is that the period necessitates using doo-wop and Latin music - fifties style, certainly a progression of his own musical journey.

Songs From The Capeman (1997) had 14 songs from the play, all lovely, if you liked the style of music. For the first time in his career, Simon told a story through its lyrics, thus reinventing himself again. But for those who found this musical style outdated, it was a disappointing collection from this master songwriter. And the play didn't do well either. "Killers tale in doo-wop" is how someone described it, the moral outrage not exactly unexpected by Simon.

Today, Paul Simon's work can be divided in 3 categories - the early folk stuff with Garfunkel, the jazz-influenced work in the seventies and the music that celebrated world music in the eighties and nineties. His body of work in any of these categories would propel him to the top of any songwriters' heap. But all three make him a giant, a legend, a truly great artist. The best thing is - the magic is far from over.


Gentleman
September 1999

The Consensus of the Century
How The Beatles captured everybody's imagination


"Ladies and gentlemen - The Beatles!"

The deafening hysteria that greeted this announcement is now legendary. These 4 young men from Liverpool, England achieved a level of popularity that has never been touched this century, indeed in human history. Amazingly though, they were also among the most creative entities the world has ever seen. Popularity and genius never had a better marriage.

The Beatles recorded 186 songs in 8 years (1962-70). They released 11 studio albums in all, each one a veritable classic, each one a progression from the last one. Their songs perfectly captured the spirit of its times, coincidentally also the most culturally vibrant decade of the century. New ideas were explored in the sixties, new paths traversed, like never before or since. Pop music, comprehensively revolutionised, became an art form, primarily because of the phenomenal creative impetus The Beatles kept on giving it throughout the decade. They were the first pop group to write their own songs. And the songs somehow appealed to aesthetes and the lowest common denominator alike. Their peers worshipped them; even famed musicians of other genres (their most likely critics) like Leonard Bernstein and Aaron Copeland praised their work. By changing popular music and popular culture, by default The Beatles really did change the world. An impact that wasn't just felt in the western hemisphere. Our own R.D. Burman, for example, was highly influenced by The Beatles and sixties rock 'n roll. We all know the role he played in shaping Hindi film music.

The early Beatles story is folklore now. On 6th July 1957, Paul McCartney met John Lennon during a village fete where Lennon's skiffle group Quarry Men was performing. Both were impressed by the other's musical skills. The younger George Harrison came through McCartney on the strength of his "raunchy" guitar-playing. His "audition" for Lennon was held on the empty top deck of a double-decker bus. Along with drummer Pete Best, they called themselves The Beatles, and were subsequently booked to play in Hamburg. They came back penniless in December 1960 and continued playing at various Liverpool clubs. Meanwhile, a customer walked into a local record store and asked for a Tony Sheridan recording backed by The Beatles in Hamburg. The store manager, Brian Epstein, didn't have it in stock. He ordered it, heard it, loved it and went to one of The Beatles' performances. Enraptured, he offered to manage them. They agreed. After a bit of a struggle, in June 1962, The Beatles were finally signed on by EMI. Ringo Starr replaced the inadequate Pete Best. The rest, put mildly, is history.

The Beatles' music can be divided into 3 distinct phases - Adolescence, Maturity and Adulthood. They gradually progressed through each phase just like a human being does, though on a different time-scale, of course. Their work in each phase was stunningly innovative and brilliant. Taken together, it was superhuman.

Adolescence (1962-65): includes the albums Please Please Me, With The Beatles, A Hard Day's Night, Beatles For Sale and Help

Lennon had once stood at a 4th-storey window and exclaimed to McCartney, "Wouldn't it be fascinating to jump from here and experience the feeling of falling? Come on, let's jump!" McCartney said, "No, you jump, then tell me how it felt". This true story demonstrates beautifully the difference in the personalities of the band's songwriters. Lennon believed in first-hand experience, he wanted to express his own feelings through song. McCartney, conversely, had a novelist's mindset - he liked inventing characters and situations, viewing them often as a third party. This was partly the reason for Lennon's ironic cynicism and McCartney's upbeat optimism. What bound them together was the love of rock 'n roll, a dislike of authority and the pain of having lost their mothers early. "Lennon-McCartney" became a legendary songwriting credit all right, but it was a bit of a misnomer. They essentially wrote their own songs and whoever wrote it, sung it. Of course, they contributed to each other's songs - a lyric here, a refrain there, sometimes even a counterpoint. And ultimately, all 4 Beatles made the songs come alive, whoever wrote them. People who knew them at this point were struck by how close they seemed, how tightly-knit they were. They understood each other almost instinctively, almost telepathically. They were, as McCartney said, "four parts of the same person". Harrison's guitar-work and Starr's drumming had their own special place in the magic. As did their exuberant harmony-singing that was fresh and unique. "Love Me Do", their first single, was reasonably successful. Then, with "Please Please Me" the floodgates opened. "From Me To You", "She Loves You", "I Want To Hold Your Hand", "A Hard Day's Night", "I Feel Fine", "Eight Days A Week", "Ticket To Ride", "Help" and "Yesterday" were all comprehensive chart-toppers.

It was the ignorance of musical conventions that helped The Beatles the most. For example, they were spectacularly innovative when it came to chord progressions, simply because they did not know any better! Their musical unorthodoxy propelled them into directions unthought-of, onto paths never traveled upon. The innovativeness, however, did not extend to the lyrics. At this stage, they just wanted to get their "sound" right, the words were not important as long as they didn't come in the way. Almost all their songs at this stage were straightforward love songs, yet with a spontaneous, joyous feel that was never maudlin. It was this avoidance of sentimentality (that most of pop was riddled with then) which became the key factor to their freshness. Interestingly, their passion and intensity was most keenly felt on the cover versions they did, particularly "Twist And Shout", "Money" and "Rock And Roll Music". They actually out-performed the originals here, a very rare thing indeed. By mid-1965, The Beatles had the world at their feet. Amazingly, it was merely the beginning. The highly precocious child was still flowering.



Maturity (1965-66): includes the albums Rubber Soul and Revolver

Bob Dylan's songs from across the Atlantic made The Beatles think about more than just their sound. They began to expand their frontiers lyrically and thematically. Ironically, at the very moment The Beatles were changing their approach, Dylan was changing his - he was moving towards the electric sound of The Byrds, who in turn had been inspired by The Beatles! Everybody would gain.

In September 1965, The Beatles returned from an exhausting American tour to the news that they had to finish an album in 2 months, as per their contract. Both Lennon and McCartney found themselves really pushed for time, but strangely their songwriting actually thrived under the pressure. Within a month, they had written, recorded and produced their new album, which was far from ordinary qualitatively. In fact, Rubber Soul was hailed as the greatest pop album ever when it was released. Lennon's "In My Life" cut deeper than anything The Beatles had done till now. Harrison played sitar for the first time on Lennon's "Norwegian Wood" (Harrison had heard Ravi Shankar for the first time recently and "it had just felt so familiar"). On "We Can Work It Out", both Lennon and McCartney collaborated as equals. McCartney's "Drive My Car" was a story-song, with a punchline. Lennon's "Girl" and McCartney's "Michelle" demonstrated their sighing, gentle sides. The strides the band had taken were very evident.

Within months, Revolver bettered Rubber Soul. By now, Lennon was addicted to LSD and true to character, it showed in the songs. "Tomorrow Never Knows", with its chaotic, hallucinatory feel was the quintessential "drug song". "I'm Only Sleeping" was similarly trippy (and autobiographical), though more melodic. Harrison at last came into his own as a songwriter with the witty "Taxman" and the enigmatic sitar song "Love You Too". Starr sung the nursery-rhymish "Yellow Submarine", that became hugely popular. McCartney came up with "For No One" - a beautiful, sophisticated love song. But his greatest triumph was the stunning "Eleanor Rigby", arranged by their producer George Martin, who used violins, violas and cellos to underscore a melancholic, thoughtful lyric that even touched upon death. "Eleanor Rigby" was their greatest triumph yet and The Beatles hadn't played a note on it!

With Revolver, The Beatles didn't just come of age, they reached their peak. They would never surpass this album, but then, neither would anyone else.


Adulthood (1966-70): includes the albums Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, The Beatles (White Album), Let It Be, Abbey Road

Years of touring had taken its toll on The Beatles. The screaming was so loud that they couldn't even hear themselves play. Fed up with the pressures, The Beatles - particularly Lennon and Harrison, just refused to take it anymore. They put an end to touring and concentrated wholly on creating songs in the studio.

Lennon's "Strawberry Fields Forever" was the first track they did after this decision. Even now considered the greatest rock song ever, it combined Lennon's childhood Liverpool memories with his present drug-altered mind. Stunningly expressive, it spurred on the healthy competition between him and McCartney. The latter immediately came up with "Penny Lane", where he combined his childhood longings with his breezy melodic gift. George Martin's innovative production of both these songs began a new era in recording history. The world's collective jaw dropped in awe. Again, this was just the beginning.

There was another interesting "competition" going on between The Beatles and The Beach Boys. The latter's album Pet Sounds was their response to Rubber Soul. Though The Beatles had released Revolver after that, they still saw their next album as their "answer" to Pet Sounds, which The Beatles, particularly McCartney, rated very highly. Likewise, McCartney had a new idea for the entire album. He wanted to submerge their identity as The Beatles, in favour of a conceptual band, and have related themes throughout. While collecting all the cultural icons of the time in one place. The others went ahead with the idea, but discarded it mid-way as Lennon felt it was limiting their creativity. So at one stage half the songs were part of a concept album, half were individual, self-sufficient pieces. The brilliant George Martin (whom many called "the 5th Beatle") however gave the songs a holistic treatment, and they all somehow became part of the same soundscape.

Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band was a great album, but also overrated. This contradiction arose because all the songs weren't brilliant, their presentation was. The innovations and creativity that made the songs come alive were truly pathbreaking. There were two indisputably great songs on the album though - McCartney's touchingly compassionate "She's Leaving Home" and Lennon's brilliant "LSD-perception" song "A Day In The Life". Sgt. Pepper has been credited with "changing Western Civilisation" - an overstatement perhaps, but not entirely untrue. The album played in every corner of the world and The Beatles were household names everywhere. The Beach Boys' frontman Brian Wilson suffered a breakdown when Sgt. Pepper was released, and never fully recovered his creative powers thereafter.

The Beatles reaffirmed their pre-eminent cultural position by preparing a song for BBC's One World global TV broadcast viewed by a record 400 million audience worldwide. The song "All You Need Is Love" - a Lennon composition, captured the sixties spirit better than anything else. It also marked the beginning of the sing-along anthem that much of rock would soon be identified with.

Thereafter, events took a sharp turn in The Beatles' history. Their beloved manager Brian Epstein died, their Magical Mystery Tour film flopped (despite a fine soundtrack, including the Lewis Carroll - inspired brilliant "protest" song "I Am The Walrus"), Harrison got more and more into Indian music and spirituality (he even recorded a basic track in Bombay for "The Inner Light" with Hariprasad Chaurasia, Shivkumar Sharma, Ashish Khan and Mahapurush Mishra), the others - particularly Lennon, got deeply into Indian spirituality through Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. In February 1968, The Beatles and their wives came to Rishikesh to the Maharishi's Himalayan Meditation Centre.. This was significant because transcendental meditation and the cool mountain air played a big part in changing their mindset, at least for a while. They were also LSD-free here, and this made them phenomenally prolific. Between them, they wrote about 30 new songs in Rishikesh. Starr and McCartney left within a month but Harrison and Lennon stayed for over 3 months. They too finally left, disillusioned and dissatisfied. Lennon soon wrote a song about the Maharishi called "Sexy Sadie", which was just so typically ironic of him.

The Beatles went back to their irregular lifestyle in London, while recording a lot of the "India songs" and others in what would be known as "the White Album". The Beatles was a sprawling, immensely varied, utterly brilliant double album that once again stunned the world. (Some, like George Martin, felt that it should have been a single, more consistent album, rather than such an erratic double. Interestingly, those people still cannot agree on which tracks the single album should've had - thus justifying the decision to have released a double album.) Lennon produced autobiographic expressions like "Julia", "I'm So Tired" and "Yer Blues" and whimsical stunners like "Happiness Is A Warm Gun". McCartney came up with melodic beauties like "Martha My Dear", "Mother Nature's Son" and "Blackbird" and rockers like "Back In The USSR". Harrison contributed "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" (in which Eric Clapton guested) and the highly underrated, unbelievably beautiful "Long Long Long" (about an exhausted reconciliation with God). Most of these were actually written in Rishikesh, but given form in London. Even Starr wrote a song ("Don't Pass Me By") and gave lead vocals on "Good Night". The Beatles had grown up. Lennon, McCartney and Harrison were all asserting their own manifestos. For all their immaculate musicianship, this was the album from where The Beatles began diverging. The album sounded as if 3-4 separate (and brilliant) individuals had pooled their material together. Yet, the finished product was so magnificent that it reactivated their sense-of-pride as a band outside the haze of recording-induced cabin fever that was producing an "I quit" threat a week.

Meanwhile, the McCartney-authored masterpiece "Hey Jude" became the biggest-selling US single of all time. The "community singing" at the end of the song (and "Hello Goodbye" before this) also contributed greatly towards the origins of the rock anthem. The Lennon-McCartney rivalry was still healthy, as far as the music went anyway.

It was Lennon who provided the idea for the new album. He wanted The Beatles to do an "honest" album, with a live sound, without the overdubs and edits they'd gotten so used to. Everybody warmed up to the idea and unknowingly they embarked on the Let It Be (then called the "Get Back" project) fiasco - the final nail on The Beatles coffin. The Beatles gradually realised that they were now temperamentally unsuited to execute the "honest playing" concept. Impatient and unmotivated to achieve requisite perfection, they couldn't handle the repeated rehearsals that graduated to full-scale rows. Yoko Ono's continual presence alongside Lennon (even in the studio) irritated the others, who considered her an intruder to their domain. Lennon's drug-sodden weirdness was going out of hand. McCartney and Harrison began to have serious ego clashes. Finally, The Beatles did a 3-song impromptu (and now legendary) concert on the rooftop of Apple Studios, before abandoning the Let It Be project for the moment.

The end was nigh. Financial disputes and legal wrangles further rocked the already sinking boat. Finally, The Beatles set out to do one last album - the "old way". The album that became Abbey Road was marked by a joyous, liberated, even celebratory feel balanced by an unsentimental sadness. All four knew this was going to be the last one. The 2 best songs in the album were, amazingly, Harrison's compositions ("Something" - called "the finest love song of the last 50 years" by none other than Frank Sinatra, and "Here Comes The Sun") - making a mockery of the 2-song-quota he'd been given over the years. Lennon sparkled with "Come Together" and "I Want You (She's So Heavy)". Starr wrote the cute "Octopus's Garden". But it was McCartney who brought the album together. Besides the gorgeous "Oh! Darling", he was also responsible for the idea of the Long Medley of unfinished fragments of their tunes - the pick of which were his. "You Never Give Me Your Money" and "Golden Slumbers" with their moving tones of regret would not leave a Beatles fan dry-eyed. "The Weight"(Boy/ You're gonna carry that weight/ a long time) and "The End" (And in the end/ the love you take/ is equal to the love you make) tellingly brought down the curtain.

How this album came to be called Abbey Road was typical of The Beatles. Throughout their career, they'd deliberately cultivated randomness in their thinking - later even more accentuated by LSD. A stray remark, a casually-noticed newspaper headline or TV commercial…things like this tended to make their way into Beatles songs, often without any apparent meaning. In fact, they took a perverse delight in misleading "intellectual" critics thus. (For example, Lennon made a mistake while recording "You've Got To Hide Your Love Away" by singing a line as "feeling two foot small" instead of "two foot tall". Mischievously, he insisted on keeping it unchanged to "confuse the pseuds".) Here, the working title of this final album was "Everest". When the time came to design the sleeve, it was suggested that The Beatles fly down to the Himalayas for the picture. Sod it, they said, we'll walk in front of this studio, take the damn picture and call it "Abbey Road" (the name of the studio). Inspiration or laziness, take your pick.

Let It Be was remixed by the famed Phil Spector and released just after The Beatles formally split-up. This became their swan-song thus. Though flawed somewhat (largely due to terrible mixes of some tracks where Spector's injudicious "romantic" orchestrations injected a mushiness The Beatles had steadfastly avoided throughout their career), it had some absolutely stunning songs. Primarily, it was McCartney's triumph, who besides the classic title track, also wrote the exquisite "The Long And Winding Road" (even Spector's unimaginative treatment couldn't kill its inherent beauty) and the breezy "Get Back". "Two Of Us", also by him, provided the moving moment of Lennon and McCartney seeming to merge their voices and spirits together…though the song was really about McCartney and his wife Linda. And "I've Got A Feeling" became the last time Lennon and McCartney combined two ideas in one song. Harrison's "I Me Mine" was also on the album - ironically the last recorded Beatles song. Ironic, because the main reason for The Beatles splitting-up was the fact that Lennon, McCartney and Harrison had all become their own men, with their own motivations, their own agendas.

It's sad that four young men capable of so much beauty were not infallible to the inherent pettiness of human nature. They'd loved each other dearly before, but now they couldn't stand the sight of each other. The bane of adulthood. But the magic theyproduced together is replicated maybe once a century. The three Anthology sets released in 1995-96 proved their undying popularity yet again. Though the "new songs" were just 2 rough Lennon demos remixed by Jeff Lynn the ELO way (with the 3 Beatles overdubbing new parts), both "Free As A Bird" and "Real Love" were really very fine songs. Yet, many fans and critics were unable to enjoy them because they'd moronically expected the "new songs" to match their classics. Otherwise, Anthology's collection of out-takes and alternate versions was a mixed bag. Anthology 1 was predictable and totally avoidable. Anthology 2 and particularly Anthology 3 had some very interesting moments. For example, the Anthology versions of "Across The Universe", "The Long And Winding Road" (both mauled by Spector on Let It Be), "Ob-La'Di, Ob-La-Da" (a lovely jaunty guitar arrangement) and "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" were all better than what had been released earlier. Then, there were unused songs that eventually made the solo albums of their authors in the seventies (like McCartney's "Junk" and Harrison's superb "All Things Must Pass"). Ultimately, Anthology demonstrated the genesis of genius effectively.

The possibility that The Beatles would get back together one day was rudely extinguished by Lennon's assassination in 1980. The large-scale mourning wasn't just for Lennon's death. Everyone realised that The Beatles had also died with him. If John Lennon was alive today, I think The Beatles would be together (they'd thawed towards each other considerably by 1980). And even if they couldn't be as consistent as they were in the sixties, they would probably still be producing occasional works of sheer genius well beyond the millennium. Expressing our times, their own ages and universal truths.

And we'd all have a little more to look forward to.



CLASSIC SONGS, INTERESTING ORIGINS

Please Please Me:
Inspired by an old Bing Crosby hit, John wrote this song at his Aunt Mimi's house. The Beatles rehearsed it in the studio first at a much slower tempo, with a high-pitch lead vocal a la Roy Orbison. George Martin insisted that the song be speeded up. They complied. After the final take, Martin pressed the control room intercom button and said, "Congratulations, gentlemen, you've just made your first Number One!"
Recorded on 11th September 1962.

Yesterday:
Paul woke up one morning with this tune running through his head. He stumbled to a piano to work it out, using "scrambled eggs" as his lead-in lyric (which later became "yesterday"). Unable to believe that a tune like this would just come in a dream, he was worried that he'd subconsciously lifted the tune from somewhere. Only when he was convinced that was not the case, he recorded it. Till date, it is the most covered song in the history of music.
Recorded on 14th June 1965.

Nowhere Man:
John had been awake the whole night trying to write a song for the new album, to no avail. He finally gave up the struggle near dawn. Amazingly, almost immediately, his subconscious took over, and the song just occurred to him. As a song, this was uncharacteristic Lennon, but one of his best. Drugs, no doubt, featured in its creation too.
Recorded on 21-22 October 1965.

She Said She Said:
John was taking LSD with Roger McGuinn and David Crosby of The Byrds in Los Angeles. Suddenly, actor Peter Fonda burst onto the scene and insisted on telling John about the hospital operation during which he'd had a near-death experience. "I know what it's like to be dead," Fonda said. John had him thrown out but the encounter stayed with him. It became one of the best songs on Revolver.
Recorded on 21st June 1966.

With A Little Help From My Friends:
There was pressure to finish the new album. Paul came to John's house with some chords in mind, and the two doodled away at a piano, randomly singing whatever came to their minds. They even picked up strands of the conversation between their friends in the same room. They laughed, flipped through magazines, played other songs… but all the time trying to get that elusive thought down. This trance-like state that brought the subconscious into play really worked for them. This was no exception, though they made Ringo sing this one.
Recorded on 29-30 March 1967.

Hey Jude:
Paul was driving down to meet Cynthia, John's estranged wife. He was fond of her and felt bad that things had come to this pass. He began to think of what he'd say to 5-year-old Julian Lennon. "Hey Jules, don't make it bad, take a sad song and make it better" came to him instantly. Later, he demo-d it on a piano and played it to John, who called it the best song Paul ever wrote.
Recorded on 29-31 July 1968.

Dear Prudence:
Actress Mia Farrow's sister Prudence was in Rishikesh with The Beatles and their wives. Excessive meditation had made her hypersensitive and she was most reluctant to leave the small hut where she was staying. John and George had to coax her out. John even made this song out of it, using the finger-picking guitar style.
Recorded on 28-30 August 1968.

Let It Be:
Paul had tried everything to keep The Beatles alive but everything was disintegrating around him. Distressed and insecure about their future as a band, he was becoming an insomniac. But finally one night, he slept well, and he had a dream in which his dead mother Mary appeared and told him to relax, to just let things be. Yet again, Paul turned a dream into a celebrated song.
Recorded on 25-31 January 1969.

Here Comes The Sun:
George was walking around in Eric Clapton's garden alone. The sun was out and he was gently strumming his guitar. He knew The Beatles were about to break up. But the last few months had been so stressful and cantankerous that he felt distinctly liberated about the prospect. The seventies would soon be here, with fresh beginnings to be made. These thoughts and the warmth of the sun made him feel optimistic. And then he hit upon the intro.
Recorded on 7-19 August 1969.


Jaideep Varma
Gentleman
November 1999

After The Revolution
Why John Lennon's post-Beatles work works

Every year, on October 9th and December 8th (John Lennon's birth and death anniversary respectively), articles appear in the media about Lennon's incredible contribution to The Beatles and his inadequate solo work. The latter is utter nonsense. Despite Lennon's best solo albums having been released in India for a while now, none of these "with-it music critics" seem to have taken the trouble to listen to them closely. Or bothered to examine the life this music represents so completely, and gloriously.

They are just so many myths about Lennon's life after The Beatles. They completely obscure the truth and even the proof of the pudding - the music. Just a little homework can bring a little clarity, and it's well-worth the effort. Ray Coleman's fine biography and a marvellous 4CD set of his solo work entitled Lennon will doubtlessly be a revelation to anyone who suspects John Lennon lost it after The Beatles split up. Both are available in India.

In 1966, when John Lennon met Yoko Ono in an art exhibition, neither could have known how historic that meeting would be. As the unofficial leader of perhaps the world's most popular entity, John had the world at his feet long enough to be somewhat bored by it. After being instrumental in changing the face of popular music, the only way to go seemed to be downhill. His experimentation with drugs had also made him restless. Subsequently, things started going wrong. The beloved Beatles manager Brian Epstein died, then disillusionment set in with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in Rishikesh. As if to balance all this out, John and Yoko came together finally in 1968.

Myth: Yoko confused John. Fact is, John found clarity with Yoko. They were true soul-mates with similarly unique artistic sensibilities (though very different expressions). John's output would give evidence of their connection again and again over the years.

Myth: Yoko split up The Beatles. Seen superficially, it appears that way. Paul McCartney and George Harrison resented John bringing Yoko for all their recording sessions; they'd never had an outsider (even family or friends) sit in while they created music. But the fact is, in any case, Lennon, McCartney and Harrison were writing songs increasingly on their own. They may have been recording together, but they weren't exchanging ideas as much as they used to while writing the songs. The “White Album” (1968) gave the first evidence of that. Yoko's presence may have added to the tension and perhaps hastened the split, but it would certainly have happened sooner or later even without Yoko. Indeed, John, Paul and George were their own men in the late '60s, with their own priorities and visions. Not very conducive to continue creating as a group.

Myth: John and Yoko did weird things because they were unhinged. They did "weird" things all right. Like posing nude for the cover of their album Two Virgins (full frontal pose on the front cover, rear view on the back cover). Or creating an album full of peculiar electronic sounds in the name of music. All this was basically the combination of 2 things - very heavy drug usage and the restless urge to experiment. But the "weirdest" thing they're remembered for is the "bed ins" they did all around the world. They just basically lolled in bed for days with TV cameras all around them, and spoke about peace. This is where the song "Give Peace A Chance" happened. John passionately believed in peace and wanted to use his fame to popularise its message. He saw things like "bed-ins" as advertising gimmicks. Unusual, but insane? Come on.

Myth: John Lennon started the Plastic Ono Band after The Beatles split up. Fact is, there was no band called Plastic Ono Band. It was a "conceptual" band, consisting of whoever played with John and Yoko, in the studio or live.

Myth: Lennon couldn't really write great songs without McCartney. Absolute bullshit. Since the mid-sixties, Lennon had decided to write more and more about himself, from his point-of-view. Near the late-sixties, almost all the songs he wrote represented his life. He would clearly become more "confessional" as he grew older. So, where did McCartney come into this scheme of things? Sure, the magic that happened sometimes when they merged two ideas together (eg. "We Can Work It Out", "A Day In The Life", "I've Got A Feeling" etc.) would not be there. But that was not the cornerstone of Lennon's music anymore, anyway. As John delved inside himself to articulate his deepest feelings through song, Paul no longer had a role to play. Yoko did.

Myth: Lennon's post-Beatles work was mostly weak. The most idiotic presumption of all. A fair amount of his solo work was a genuine progression from the Beatles music. He extended the boundaries of his muse on his own. From the complex, often drug-inspired (and brilliant) music he wrote during his last years as a Beatle, he now went down to the basics. Striving for simplicity, eschewing clever word-play, opting for clear-eyed, absolutely straight, no-nonsense communication. He'd written a scarily blunt song about his withdrawal from hardcore drugs called "Cold Turkey" while he was with The Beatles. Both McCartney and Harrison were not keen to put it out as a Beatles song. This had piqued John. Now, with his first real solo album, Plastic Ono Band (1970) Lennon gave an awesome demonstration of his confessional powers. Just before he wrote its songs, John had been going through famous psychiatrist Arthur Janov's primal therapy - a programme during which mentally disturbed patients were encouraged to scream and yell as a form of catharsis. The treatment spilt over into the album. He sung frightening (yet beautiful) songs about his troubled childhood ("Mother"), the bitterness he felt for the system he grew up in ("Working Class Hero"), the loneliness he and Yoko experienced despite having so many people around them ("Isolation"), the disillusionment with his past that he was feeling so strongly ("God"), the anger he felt because of past mistakes ("Remember"). There were quiet, reflective (and stunningly beautiful) moments too ("Love" and "Hold On"). All in all, this was blistering, fearless honesty that only someone of his immense stature could have even had the confidence to attempt. The simplicity and the starkness of the arrangements were in sharp contrast to all his previous work. He could never have done such deeply personal work with The Beatles. Despite the generous helpings of self-pity, Plastic Ono Band remains a classic, underrated and unique album that took popular music a few steps forward. Not surprisingly, the album sold poorly.

That changed with the next album. It began with the song most associated with John Lennon - the title track that he actually wrote it in a plane on a hotel bill. Imagine (1971) was a mellower, lusher album - gently reflective, even happy. There were a few tracks, however, that didn't seem to stay with the general plot - the angry "Give Me Some Truth" about the Watergate scandal and "How Do You Sleep" - a petty personal attack on Paul McCartney. The album closer was one of the finest love songs ever written - "Oh Yoko", not sentimental, not even reflective, just plain happy. Simplicity was the key ingredient in Imagine and it worked beautifully, critically and commercially. The latter, John was slightly surprised about. He felt Plastic Ono Band and Imagine were very similar albums, except that the latter was "sugar-coated". So this was the formula for success, he noted wryly.

1971 ended with John and Yoko's classic Christmas song "Happy X-Mas (War Is Over)". Drawing from his pacifist ideals, Lennon created a classic song that reverberates all around the world even now. John and Yoko left England in 1972 and settled down in New York. The thrust of his music changed again. He became very politically - conscious, going back to his days of "Revolution" and "Give Peace A Chance". His style changed, this time from an introspective poet's to a dynamic journalist's . He wrote songs about things and people and moved on immediately, without dwelling on them. The music suffered. Sometime In New York City (1972) was probably his weakest solo album. Yet, snappy singles like "Instant Karma"(written, recorded and mixed in one single day) and "Power To The People" worked in their own way. His next album Mind Games (1973) despite the remarkable title track and the lovely "Out The Blue" was not very satisfying either. Things weren't quite working out for John at this stage. Then. he and Yoko separated. John fled to Los Angeles and hit the bottle. A new album Walls And Bridges (1974) happened there (this period, very aptly, is called "The Lost Weekend"). Lennon co-wrote with Elton John ("Whatever Gets You Thru The Night" - that, surprise, surprise, would be Lennon's first no 1 hit), and Harry Nilsson, recording a decent album with a few gems (like the moody" #9 Dream"). But still, he was nowhere near his best. Yoko and he were soon reunited and the exuberance returned. In 1975, Lennon brought out Rock 'n Roll, where he did covers of his favourite songs that influenced him during his formative years. With an infectious enthusiasm and a familiar wit, the album captured John Lennon's spirit beautifully. Affectionately, he made the songs his own. Anybody who loves good old-fashioned rock 'n roll will love this album. Soon after this, John and Yoko became parents. John decided that he was going to bring up the baby since Yoko had gone through enough. Yoko went to work and John became the world's most famous house-husband.

John stayed away from music for 5 years. During this time he literally reared his son Sean and obviously enjoyed it thoroughly. Finally, he couldn't ignore his muse anymore. With Yoko, he brought out a collaborative album called Double Fantasy (1980). John had 7 songs in it and most of them were fabulous. Yoko's songs were weaker and this brought down the general standard of the album. But John was in sparkling form. "Starting All Over", where he used his "Elvis" voice, was happy and optimistic. "I'm Losing You" was interestingly moody. "Woman" was tender. "Dear Yoko" was exuberant and rocky. The album's finest songs were "Watching The Wheels" - a breathtakingly beautiful song about premature retirement (my favourite Lennon song, Beatles or otherwise) and "Beautiful Boy" - a touching song dedicated to the 5-year-old Sean. In the latter, John sang, "I can hardly wait/to see you come of age/ but I guess we'll both just have to be patient/cause it’s a long way to go/a hard road ahead/but in the meantime/before you cross the street/take my hand/life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans…" Barely 2 months later, John was gone - shot dead by a crazed lunatic. The world grieved for one man like never before. It would take Yoko Ono 4 years to release Milk And Honey (1984) - a collection of songs she and John had worked out roughly for their next album. Again, John's songs were superb. "I'm Stepping Out" and "Nobody Told Me" were tuneful and witty. "Borrowed Time" was introspective, yet so very accessible. The last track on the album was a home demo of an achingly beautiful "marriage" song called "Grow Old With Me". Life doesn't get more ironic than this.

Myth: Double Fantasy and Milk And Honey did well because of sentimental reasons. Just listen to the songs. And judge them on their merit, not the baggage Lennon came with. What an absurdity it is that Lennon's solo work has to be measured only against his Beatles work. Compare it with the work of his contemporaries. Fact is, if John Lennon's solo music was all that he ever recorded, he would still be right up there on its merit.

Myth: Albert Goldman's 1988 book exposed Lennon. Goldman was a hack who made a living by trashing dead legends. He painted John as a helpless, paranoid drug addict completely under Yoko's control (who practiced witchcraft, it seems). The stupidity of his "controversial" book is this: John's music was his soul's diary since 1965. Nothing reflected his feelings more accurately than his songs. Why on earth would that change in 1980? His Double Fantasy and Milk And Honey songs are so joyous and full of life, you have to be completely whacked-out to think they emanate from a tortured, paranoid, has-been musician. Goldman's career ended with this book.

In its short life of 45 odd years, pop music's greatest loss till date has been the death of John Lennon. It's been a bigger blow than Jim Morrison's untimely death, or Janis Joplin's, or Jerry Garcia's or Kurt Cobain's. Even Jimi Hendrix's or indeed Elvis Presley's. John Lennon's contribution as a songwriter was greater than theirs, despite Presley's pioneering impetus. The biggest tragedy is that John was taken away when he was at the height of his powers, at the age of 40 when, like the old saying, life had really seemed to begin for him.

John Lennon loved irony. Even in death he achieved it.


Gentleman
February 1999

Guitars Weep, the Sun Dims
Saying goodbye to George Harrison – honorary Indian



Fifty-eight has been the retirement age in India for a long time. Maybe, it is more than mere coincidence that George Harrison was this age when he retired from the world.

When the Beatles were recording their last album Abbey Road in 1969, they all knew it was the last one. There was sadness, but there was relief too; individual ambitions had left the collective dream behind. After years of being under the colossus of Lennon-McCartney, George Harrison contributed his two greatest songs to this album (“Something” and “Here Comes The Sun”). He was 26, and at his creative peak. He hadn’t lived even half his life, but as one fourth of the most significant cultural entity of the twentieth century, he probably knew the high notes of his life had been struck.

Despite being the youngest, he was also the quietest and the most serious, with more than a passing interest in matters of the spirit. He already had a deep-rooted connection with India – Ravi Shankar and the sitar, Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, Rishikesh, Krishna consciousness…his musical sensibility had shown overt evidence of all these influences but now, divested of the cumulative band sensibility, these influences (getting stronger by the day) would permeate everything he did.

It took a little time though. His first post-Beatles album All Things Must Pass (1971)– an amazingly consistent triple album was rightly recognized as a masterwork. But thereafter, gradually, critics and fans almost unanimously pronounced his musical journey as a downhill trip. It’s a simplistic view, and deserves closer examination.

The most significant thing about rock and roll music (indeed was true for the Beatles too) has always been - vitality. The music always celebrated youth, sensually, with verve and passion. Even the darker music (from bands like Velvet Underground, The Doors, etc) came from youthful expressions (Lou Reed and Jim Morrison were in their twenties after all). Post-Beatles, George Harrison was perhaps the first major rock and roll artist who let his changing worldview and his sensibility suffuse all his output.

His spiritual concerns made him eschew the vitality of rock and roll totally. For a man who had always preferred being a facilitator with the Beatles, who had sacrificed guitar virtuosity for the overall cause of the song (despite being a great guitar player), this was a natural progression. This vitality was replaced by a clear-eyed examination.

The weight that anyone delving into one of the oldest human civilizations must carry, transformed his sensibility, which became quintessentially Indian, in the purist Classical sense. The manifestation of this in the rock and roll format sounded weary and passionless. And this was the antithesis of rock and roll music.

Not surprisingly, the West shunned his music. Sadly, the East, that follows the West in its prescriptions of what should be heard in this art form (it originated in the West, after all) never really got to hear his best solo work. Pity, because the temperament of most of his solo work is essentially Eastern; more specifically, Indian.

This is ironic because the more obviously Indian – inspired music Harrison did was when he was with the Beatles (“Love You Too”, “Within You, Without You”, “The Inner Light”, the sitar embellishment of Lennon’s “Norwegian Wood”, etc). In most of his post-Beatles work, Harrison hardly used the sitar, but actually it is this music that is even more Indian in spirit.

While quite a few of these songs are repetitive and perhaps overly self-absorbed, there are some wonderful ones too - of quiet, elegant beauty. Songs like “Lay His Head”, “You Are The One”, “That’s The Way It Goes”, “Love Comes To Everyone” have a fatalism, a sense of gentle tolerance and a world-weariness that characterizes the Indian essence, for better or for worse. “My Sweet Lord”, and “Give Me Love” (among the many beautiful ambiguous God-love songs he wrote) do too, but they also have a catchiness that masterful rock and roll musicians often achieve. Both these huge hits happened early on in Harrison’s solo career. “All Those Years Ago”, his other hit (in 1981) was an uncharacteristically jaunty song (by his then standards) in tribute to John Lennon who had just died. Cloud Nine, his last solo album (1987) had a lot of that jauntiness too (like the obscure Rudy Clarke cover “Got My Mind Set On You” that he made into a hit, his last one) but also had songs in his characteristic vein (like the breathtakingly beautiful “Someplace Else”). Cloud Nine was a collaboration, with ELO frontman Jeff Lynne as producer, which explained the overall tone of the album. Shortly thereafter came another collaboration (though unobtrusively led by Jeff Lynne again) – the Traveling Wilburys, through which another band sensibility emerged (it appeared to do even Bob Dylan some good). Unfortunately, they just did two albums’ worth. Harrison never released anything else, solo.

Harrison’s vocals bear an interesting footnote to his music. He was conscious of his inadequate singing voice and its limited range. Therefore, interestingly, the songs he wrote are invariably the easiest to sing for that very reason (with the Beatles and thereafter). Yet, despite the obvious limitations, his expressive fragile vocals brought out a vulnerability that represents the emphatic integrity he always stood for as an artist. It is curious that when the legendary American band The Byrds married Dylan’s words with Beatles harmonies and changed rock and roll forever, the lead singer Roger McGuinn sounded more like George Harrison than anyone else. Since then, even Tom Petty has sometimes sounded like Harrison, Jeff Lynne – often, Gerry Rafferty too. Inexplicably, Harrison might have been the most influential vocalist within the Beatles!

Harrison was also the bridge between Dylan and The Beatles. He is the only Beatle to have co-written songs with Dylan (in All Things Must Pass and with the Traveling Wilburys; his work with the latter was interestingly different from his solo work). There was a promise of greater things to come.

Finally, and I have to get personal here, it saddens me greatly that George Harrison died without getting the rightful recognition for a truly unique musical sensibility. It would have come in the future, as rock and roll grows older and marches into the unchartered territory of old age, wisdom and its attendant concerns. Harrison had already mined a lot of that territory. Some of my all-time favourite songs are Harrison’s, quite a few of them from his solo output, and nobody I know loves those songs even half as much. Maybe I hear more in them than what is actually there, but I know they touch a chord in me like nothing else does. Maybe, someday, the world will catch on too. Maybe not.

My very favourite George Harrison track is the Anthology 3 demo version of “All Things Must Pass”, without the ersatz Phil Spector embellishments (released only in 1996). There’s a gently strumming electric guitar in the foreground, with a slight reverb. His thoughtful, quiet voice appears to be trying to make sense of the chaos of life that he must go through, with grace and dignity. It’s the most harmonious struggle you can hear. For me, this is the quintessential George Harrison.


Jaideep Varma
www.blueear.com
November 2001

Portraits of Integrity
Why Neil Young's best music won't age


It's 1971. You're a singer-songwriter. Your lingering back ailment played up and you suffered a slipped disk. After the operation you've been allowed just 4 hours on your feet. You have the urge to write, but the electric guitar's too heavy, so you use an acoustic guitar and write songs accordingly. You record practically on your back and finish a lethargic downbeat album. Next year, it becomes the biggest-selling album in America.

1974. You're half-drunk, with an unkempt beard, uncombed hair over your shoulders, dark sunglasses. You're standing in front of a heckling crowd that wants you to sing your hits…songs that seem from another time to you now. Because now you're grieving the drug deaths of 2 of your friends, you've recorded a bunch of songs for them, feeling your way to their situation, their pain. And these are what you're going to sing now, the audience can go hang itself. "If you can get back to where you were two years ago", you yell at the barrackers, "I'll get back to where I was…."

1996. You've recorded an amazing, brilliant bunch of songs, flawless and incandescent, with stunning electric guitar-work. You round it off with a beautiful, intimate acoustic song - one of your best. You listen to the album. No, it's too well-crafted, almost unreal. So, you add an extra track… an 8-minute bootleg-quality cover, recorded live with a single audience mike as audience chatter offsets the performance. There. No-one will call it a masterpiece album now - rock 'n' roll is about spontaneity, not perfection, dammit.

If you're Neil Young, this is all in a day's work. Eccentric? Obsessive? Perverse? He's been called all these things in his 30-odd years as a premier and visionary singer-songwriter. Since 1967, he has been using his immense musical gifts to explore the truths inside and around him. The result is a vast and varied body of work, a third of which are certified all-time classics. Primarily, his music has been in three basic styles - solo acoustic ballads, country-rock and hard-edged rock. But it's been his high voice that's the most distinctive thing about his music - vulnerable , yet lived-in, full of longing, yet immediate and as writer Paul Evens says, "keyed to a note of wonder". He broke new ground, first with classic sixties band Buffalo Springfield (often called "the American Beatles"), then with the band Crazy Horse (termed "the American Rolling Stones" by some), with CSNY (still retaining its cult status) and solo - making Neil Young a colossus of popular music. Though it is his seventies work that made him a living legend, it is his nineties music that is most amazing. It is a tribute to his vitality as an artist that he has turned out to be the only sixties icon who cruised through this decade at his best. He celebrated rock 'n' roll with Crazy Horse and associated himself with contemporary bands like Sonic Youth and Pearl Jam. A collaborative album with the latter got him the sobriquet "Godfather of Grunge" - a soundscape that Young, in fact, was largely instrumental in creating during the sixties itself.

Born in Toronto, Canada, Neil Young got into the local folk scene in the sixties. Rock 'n' roll excited him too and in 1966 he joined a band called the Mynah Birds, which fizzled out pretty quickly. He drove to Los Angeles ("The great Canadian Dream was to go to America", Young would say later) with band bassist Bruce Palmer, and ran into fellow-Canadian folkies Stephen Stills and Richie Furay in a traffic jam. They formed the band Buffalo Springfield, named after a tractor. This band broke new ground and went on to become one of the most important American bands ever. Stills' "For What It's Worth" would become an alternative hippie anthem. Young contributed classics like "Broken Arrow", "I Am A Child", "Mr. Soul" and "Nowadays Clancy Can't Even Sing", the band combined folk, rock and country traditions to create timeless music. Stills and Young also discovered the D modal tuning for the guitar where it was possible to make the string ring and get a droning sound going (influenced by Indian raags). Young would work on this and refine it throughout his career - in both his electric (grunge's infancy?) and acoustic work. Despite Buffalo Springfield's brilliance, Young was dissatisfied because he felt he needed more space. He quit, then rejoined again when he realised the enormity of what they were doing. By 1968 however, the intense chemistry of the hugely talented band-members spurred them on in different directions and the band split up.

After recording a decent self-titled solo album, Young yearned for the chemistry of being in band again. He found it with a bunch of raw but brilliant musicians and named them Crazy Horse - a band that still survives. The first album they did as "Neil Young and Crazy Horse" was Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere (1969) where Young embarked on extended instrumental interplays with the band. Both "Down By The River" and "Cowgirl In The Sand" were almost 10 minutes long -full of intuitive, spontaneous, passionate and freewheeling forays (amazingly, both these songs were written on the same day by Young, when he was in bed, burning with fever). "Cinnamon Girl" was a powerful demonstration of the D modal tuning sound and the title track was a heartfelt gem. The album was a critical success and Neil Young was getting known as a solo artist.

Then, inspired by a film screenplay (about an earthquake causing floods), Young wrote some songs on his own. Due to lack of finance, the film was scrapped but the songs were recorded as an album. After The Gold Rush (1970) became a big success - critically and commercially. A true classic, it was Young's first solo masterpiece. The tough guitar strains of the brilliant "Southern Man" and the ardent "I Believe In You" were just 2 standouts in this superb album.

Meanwhile, old bandmate Stephen Stills, David Crosby from The Byrds and Graham Nash from The Hollies, had teamed up and released an album as CSN. But they needed someone to hold the instrumental end up and Stills asked Young to join. Young agreed on the condition that he could be in and out as he pleased. For him, it was an opportunity to play with Stills again (which he treasured) but also to enjoy himself as just a guitar-player without worrying about doing all the songwriting (as it was with Crazy Horse). Still, some of the songs that he did contribute were easily the most soulful the band ever did, songs like the lovely "Helpless" and the brilliant "Ohio" (Crosby actually cried after the recording of the song, which was about anti-Vietnam protesting students being shot in Ohio). CSNY became hugely popular and still have a cult following but really, much of their music is vastly over-rated (showcasing a slick wistfulness). Most of their songs haven't passed the test of time, except some of Young's contributions, which in fact makes the post-Young CSN seem facile and shallow (the CSNY 1999 reunion album Looking Forward proves it too - the best songs are Young's).

Young's next solo album Harvest (1972) became the largest-selling album in America and made him a superstar. It had a host of accessible nuggets including his first and only no.1 - "Heart of Gold". "This song", Young was to famously write later, "put me in the middle-of-the-road, travelling there soon became a bore, so I headed for the ditch. A bumpier ride, but I met more interesting people."

The "ditch" was the severe depression that hit Young when Crazy Horse lead guitarist Danny Whitten and CSNY roadie Bruce Berry died of drug overdoses. Both were close friends of Young and their wasteful loss was something Young felt he had to exorcise through his music. He rounded up the remaining members of the band and booked Berry's brother's studio. They'd come there at 5 pm, drink tequila and play pool. Around midnight, when they felt on the edge, they'd start playing. An amazing outpouring of feelings resulted in the album that became Tonight's The Night. Young sounded drunk throughout, the band was fluid and intense, overall there was a raw rehearsal sound. Technically, it was a disaster. On "Mellow My Mind", for example, Young's voice cracked several times, straining with feeling, which made it deeply moving and wondrous. Indeed, many songs on the album redefined beauty in the conventional sense; the pain that caused their creation became something vividly tangible, and it takes one's breath away even now. Ironically, his record company refused to release it without "smoothening it out". Young refused and it took the company two years to relent. Tonight's The Night stands as a veritable classic of heartfelt art, one of the greatest rock albums ever, and probably Neil Young's finest.

In 1974, Young joined CSN for a concert tour. He travelled separately with his son and two friends rather than with the entourage (that included prostitutes on the pay-roll for "sexual snacks" and people with cocaine tablets for "instant highs") and finally called it quits with them. Once again, he began to concentrate on his solo work and continued writing great songs (like "Cortez The Killer" from 1975's Zuma and "Like A Hurricane' from 1977's American Stars 'n Bars). In between, he released his monumental compilation triple album - Decade, which still stands as one of the greatest compilations in contemporary music. In 1978, he released Comes A Time, an album of pretty country tunes accessible enough to become his biggest hit after Harvest. A line from one of the songs on it gave away the plot perhaps - "In the field of opportunity / it's ploughing time again".

Neil Young & Crazy Horse then released the utterly brilliant Rust Never Sleeps (1979). One side was fully acoustic, luminous with beauty, the other was angry, electric rock 'n' roll - masterful and commanding. The first and last tracks were the same song "My My Hey Hey" - rendered acoustically, then electrically (a device Young would make famous) and it had a classic line that would come back to haunt him later.

After the success of Live Rust - the live counterpart to Rust Never Sleeps, Young slowed down. His eighties work was often experimental and mostly unsatisfying.
Re-ac-tor (1981) was gawky rock 'n roll, Trans (1982) played around with Kraftwerk - like Synth sounds, Old Ways (1985) was a maudlin country album, Landing On Water (1986) and Life (1987) were bland rock albums and This Note's For You (1987) used R&B horns unconvincingly. A large part of this period was spent by Young trying to communicate with his son Ben who had cerebral palsy (his elder son Zeke had also had a milder version of the same disorder). This anxiety with its attendant concerns had affected his music and the most amazing by-product of this was his music company Geffen actually suing him for "not being himself"! He left Geffen, and ironically, very quickly found his form with Freedom (1989), which spawned the hit single, the catchy anthem "Rockin' In The Free World".

A year later, Young was at his peak again with Crazy Horse as he brought out the magnificent Ragged Glory (1990) - the title describing the album perfectly. This was conventional hard rock 'n' roll, immaculately executed. Interestingly, the melodies were lovely. "Country Home", for example, was really a pretty tune, surrounded by power chords and garnished by fiery guitar solos. "Mother Earth" was like a traditional hymn, accentuated by a choral sound, with a gnawing electric guitar arrangement around it (much like Hendrix's "Star Spangled Banner"). The two live albums Young released around the same time - Weld and the fully instrumental Arc, made it clear to all that he was in rollicking form.

And then, as usual, Young took an about turn again in 1992. He released a fully acoustic album, with gentle, wistful songs. Harvest Moon, deliberately named to evoke his 1972 classic, was actually the result of a medical disorder (just like Harvest). Now, he was suffering from tinnitus which had made him overly sensitive to loud sounds. Hence, while recovering, he did this quiet album that actually ranks among his best.

In 1994, Nirvana frontman Kurt Cobain killed himself with a suicide note that quoted Young's famous line from "My My, Hey Hey" - It's better to burn out/ than to fade away… Young was a great admirer of Cobain and this broke him yet again. He released Sleeps with Angels that very year with Crazy Horse, the title track clearly eulogising Cobain (though he refused to talk about it). Some of the other tracks were about death as well. Overall, this was a brooding, low key, even mournful album. A huge critical success, Sleeps With Angels is still considered one of the great albums of the nineties.

Young also admired the other grunge supergroup Pearl Jam. In 1995, he released his album Mirror Ball, where he was backed by this band (instead of Crazy Horse). Here, Young took a look at the sixties counterculture, hippiedom and all, through the nineties view-finder. A contemporary sound to evoke a timeless spirit - the album was another massive critical success. The very next year saw him back with Crazy Horse and releasing Broken Arrow (1996), still very much at his peak. This was another stunning album, very melodic despite being totally electric, delectable guitar solos embellishing the songs, piercing lyrics sung with feeling. Overall, the album was crisp and supple. The second-last track "Music Arcade" was the only acoustic song - he practically whispered the lyrics in a quiet masterpiece. Inexplicably, he then ended the album with a rough live cover of a fifties standard, that left you wondering…

Young's famous distaste for digital sound says it all. He abhors the absence of variation and nuance, the averaging out from a universe of possibilities. It's not real, he says, it's not true emotion. Without emotion, Neil Young is nothing.


Gentleman
February 2000


ESSENTIAL NEIL YOUNG
Decade (1977)
Tonight's The Night (rel. 1975)
Rust Never Sleeps (1979)
After The Gold Rush (1970)
Sleeps With Angels (1994)
Broken Arrow (1996)

The Lord Byron of rock
The distinctive music of Leonard Cohen


In February 1999, Leonard Cohen was in Mumbai to meet an 81-year-old guru. Later, he reportedly strolled through Rhythm House – Mumbai’s best music store. He must have chuckled at finding his titles displayed in the “Easy Listening” section. He’d have remembered the American newspaper that had described his songs as “music to slit your wrists by” some years ago and chuckled some more.

Being perceived at two different extremes at the same time is nothing new for Cohen. As a bohemian who’s rather well-turned-out, as a famous lover of women who never married and lives alone now, as a Jew who practices Zen, as an introspective poet and novelist with a considerable following in popular music, as a singer-songwriter of ostensibly gloomy songs yet with a sparkling sense of humour in real life…the truth always lies somewhere in between, so it is not surprising that his greatest success too came in Europe (especially France) – which is geographically between America and India, where these two extreme points-of-view emanated from.

The fact is that Cohen has mined a very narrow territory in popular music – that of the incurable romantic, but he’s been a master at what he’s done. His brand of “European Blues” has been a direct contrast to the visceral American Blues – his world-weary delivery, highly romantic sensibility and an innate sense of irony giving life to songs that appear intrinsically gloomy. Sure, they aren’t party songs, but if we accept the bald fact that feelings of loneliness, despair and nostalgia visit us more often than fair-weather euphoria, then it is perhaps easier to understand the chord Cohen’s music has touched and continues to touch. Above all, Leonard Cohen is a poet, popular music’s only published poet, therefore economically perhaps the most successful poet of all time (there are guitars behind all my writing, he says, even my novels). His gentle, brooding, often hypnotic songs brim with compassion, wisdom and a strange kind of passion…filling, perhaps, holes in the soul, applying balm on psychic wounds. Some souls and wounds, certainly, of that there is no doubt.

Is it possible to identify moments from an artist’s life that shaped his sensibility? We can try to pick out a few perhaps. Could one be his father’s poor health and premature death when Leonard was just nine? It took him a long time to understand his feelings and this pain; 13 years later, he dedicated his first book of poems Let Us Compare Mythologies to his father. The poem “Rites” was not his only piece of writing that dealt with death even after so many years…an inherent gloominess that stayed. How significant were his forays into hypnotism as a high school student? With a yellow pencil waved back and forth, his first successful subject was the family maid (whom he immediately undressed to fulfill an adolescent fantasy). Later, he used it as a counselor to disturbed children. Basically, he wanted to use hypnotism for its transcendent powers – to observe without falling asleep himself, “to kiss with one eye open”, “to make debris beautiful”, “to be a magical priest”. Poetry and music would later become expressions of the same desire. How important was the year 1949? At the age of 15, he bought a guitar. He found a teacher in a 19-year-old Spanish immigrant in Montreal (the Canadian city Leonard was born and brought up in) who gave him three lessons in minor chords and flamenco but never showed up for the fourth. Apparently, he had committed suicide; Cohen never managed to find out why. But this teaching and its strange end perhaps fired his muse, perhaps set the wheels in motion. That same year, he discovered the brooding poetry of Fredrico Garcia Lorca, which taught him to “understand the dignity of sorrow” through flamenco music. A whole new sensibility had gripped Leonard Cohen and it never left him. By 1956, he’d written his first book of poetry and been included in CBC’s recording of “Six Montreal Poets” which put him in the company of his mentors.

Could leaving Montreal be a defining moment of some sort? He sought a “freer artistic world, one without boundaries or roots”, and went to New York, studied English Literature in Columbia University. He found it very uninspiring – “passion without flesh”, “love with no climax”. This was accentuated when he was allowed, to his amusement, to write his term paper on his own book of poems (which he castigated mercilessly). The general lack of rigour in the study of literature put him off and he quit to become an elevator operator for a while. He was dismissed soon for refusing to wear the uniform. The restlessness began to push him. He was soon in London, where he stayed with friends for a while and wrote three pages a day. Then onto Greece on a whim, as he wanted to experience springtime there. How vital to the Leonard Cohen story is the next trip – to Hydra, a Greek island five hours from Athens? Here, he would buy a house from a $ 1500 inheritance, settle down, leading a spartan life, a writer’s life, working on his poetry and his novel The Favourite Game. Meeting Marianne Ihlen – a Norwegian model, was momentous too for sure. She became his Muse and later moved in with her son. The domesticity spurred on the writer and soon Cohen would embark on his second, more acclaimed novel Beautiful Losers (that would later make the Boston Globe remark “James Joyce is not dead, he is living in Montreal under the name of Cohen”). Perhaps the most significant thing was the fact that, despite all the critical acclaim, Cohen just could not make enough money to survive as a writer. He was forced to consider an alternative career.

How important was Bob Dylan then, for Leonard Cohen? His music had impressed Cohen greatly and inspired him to start singing in 1966. Dylan’s vocal skills must have given him confidence too – both had, in a manner of speaking, a “non-voice”. Coming to New York later that year and feeling at home in the folk sensibility was the clincher, surely. The plot unfolded quickly, as Cohen stayed at Chelsea Hotel surrounded by drugs and dope-addicts, met Janis Joplin (whom he got involved with), met Lou Reed (who told him to ignore rude drunks because after all, he’d written Beautiful Losers), fell in love with Nico (who spurned his advances), got involved with Joni Mitchell and finally sang Judy Collins some of his songs, a few of which she covered in her next 2 albums. The songwriting got Cohen noticed and soon he had a deal with John Hammond (the man who discovered Billie Holiday, Count Basie, Aretha Franklin, Bob Dylan and later Bruce Springsteen). Without doubt, that first album - Songs Of Leonard Cohen (1968) was a watershed because it pretty much laid the template for all his future work in music. It was a masterpiece, with songs like the ethereal “Suzanne”, which would become one of the most famous songs of all time. Cohen insisted that he had done mere reportage in the song; apparently he’d put down his exact interaction with the lady of the same name. The genesis of the lovely “Sisters Of Mercy” was more poetic. During a blizzard in Edmonton, Canada, Cohen had taken refuge under a doorway where two young women hitch-hikers with backpacks were doing the same. Since they had no place to stay, Cohen invited them to share his hotel room. Being dead tired, they went off to sleep immediately. Cohen sat near the window, watched the storm subside, saw the moonlight reflect off the river ice and fill the darkened room. He worked out this song and had it ready before they woke up. The bittersweet “So Long Marianne” pretty autobiographically said goodbye to a close relationship. Though the album was a moderate chart success, it was feted in intellectual circles. Filmmaker Robert Altman used the tracks for his film McCabe and Mrs. Miller.

At 35, Leonard Cohen was a highly unlikely debut pop star. His obsession for women was now getting regularly reciprocated. He lived up to his image as the eccentric romantic. At a party once, he approached a beautiful woman, took a strand of her long hair, dipped it into his wine glass, slowly sucked it dry, let it fall and walked away without saying a word.

The next two albums – Songs From A Room (1969) and Songs Of Love And Hate (1971), though not as consistent as his first effort, still had some truly great songs. Like “Bird On A Wire” – Cohen himself considers it his finest song; Kris Kristofferson actually plans to put the first verse on his tombstone (which goes “Like a bird on a wire/like a drunk in a midnight choir/I’ve tried in my way to be free”). It’s a breathtaking song, using several images and moments from Cohen’s days at Hydra. “Chelsea Hotel No. 2” is specifically about Janis Joplin and more generally about those who find fulfillment in art, not life. His next album – New Skin For Old Ceremony (1974) was a stylistic departure as he opted for a more orchestrated sound. “Who By Fire” was its masterpiece – a simple song about retribution after death, based on a prayer recited on the Jewish Day Of Atonement. Perhaps the next album – his weakest, constituted a big learning? Death Of A Ladies Man (1977) had an unlikely producer-collaborator in Phil Spector. Cohen believed that Spector, who liked Cohen’s music, could perhaps help draw out the more popular element from his songs and help them reach a wider audience. It was a misjudgment because the legendary sixties “wall-of-sound” producer had been caught in a time-warp for quite a while and was way past his best. His mixes were bizarre; he used first take vocals and buried them under inaccessible orchestrations, all executed with armed guards outside the studio with instructions to let no-one, particularly Cohen, in. With his next album Recent Songs (1979), Cohen rectified the flaw with sparser, more delicate, arrangements. Various Positions (1984) showcased Cohen’s increasing interest in religion and his introspective explorations. The highlight was the song “Hallelujah” – a stunningly intimate song about the realization that the only way to be in peace is to, as Cohen put it, “accept your ignorance and say out loud - Hallelujah, I don’t know a fucking thing at all”.

Cohen’s greatest success came with I’m Your Man (1988) – a superb album where he transformed himself into a smooth crooner, albeit an introspective one. The songs were exquisitely orchestrated and sound their age, yet with an undeniable catchiness. Songs like “First We Take Manhattan” (its first verse became a catch phrase in Europe), “Tower Of Song” (a tour-de-force; brilliant doo-wop arrangement by longtime musical colleague and background vocalist Jennifer Warnes) and “Ain’t No Cure For Love” are classics now. “Take This Waltz” was a beauty – a translation of a Lorca poem, on which he reportedly worked for over 150 hours. The album went to no.1 in many European countries. The next album The Future (1992) was in the same vein and of the same standard. From a perfectionist like him, the lines – “Forget your perfect offering / there is a crack in everything / that’s how the light gets in” from the song “Anthem” were indeed curious, especially because he hasn’t recorded a studio album since. Cohen Live (1994) is fine concert selection and More Best Of (1997) is a superb compilation of his work in the eighties and the nineties. A perfect intro to his work along with The Best Of -later called Greatest Hits (1975), which has his earlier, more path-breaking, classic songs.

What is left to ask about an artist who has caused a staggering 550-odd cover versions of his songs officially, from places as unlikely as South Korea, Croatia, Siberia and Japan? Several tribute albums have been produced – I’m Your Fan and Tower Of Song being the most notable ones. Artists as diverse as R.E.M., Diana Ross, Bono, Don Henley, Peter Gabriel, Nick Cave, Aaron Neville, Billy Joel, Johnny Cash, Neil Diamond and Sting have covered his songs. Jeff Buckley’s version of “Hallelujah” is a classic in its own right.

It can be asked now – what made Leonard Cohen give it all up in late-1993 and retreat to the mountaintop, the Mount Baldy Zen Center to be precise? Over six thousand feet above sea level, Cohen serves as a “cook, chauffer, drinking buddy” to a 94-year-old Japanese monk. In 1996, Cohen became an ordained Zen monk and took on the name of “Jikan” meaning “Silent One”. Cohen found in Zen what he found missing in Judaism – a focus in the methods of prayer and meditation. To oversimplify, he says, the attempt here is to dissolve the mind of questions rather than try to define the answers. When he calls religion “ a voluptuous and delicious entertainment”, you know his sense of humour is still very intact. You can be damn sure that his next album, whenever it comes, will prove that he hasn’t lost his amazing musicianship either.

Gentleman
October 2000

ESSENTIAL LEONARD COHEN
Greatest Hits (1975)
More Best Of (1997)
Songs Of Leonard Cohen (1968)
I’m Your Man (1988)

Mystical Poet Of Sound
A journey through Van Morrison’s music


It is September 1968. A short, eccentric, earnest 23-year-old man from Ireland is in the vocal booth of a recording studio in New York trying to cut an album. His session musicians are some of the best jazz players in the city. Strange, because the man is not a jazz musician, nor is he cutting a jazz album. His label has hired these musicians because they want to minimise recording costs as they aren't totally convinced about the project. Competent jazz musicians are expected to keep the margin of error low. It's not working out too well. The man refuses to elaborate on what the songs are about or how he wants the musicians to play. The musicians don't appreciate that. So here he is, in the studio alone, just singing the songs to his acoustic guitar, while the musicians wait outside for him to finish so that they can then dub their parts and go home.

The man is Van Morrison and the album being recorded is Astral Weeks. His name doesn't mean much to the musicians outside since they are all from the jazz world. But Van Morrison is a highly respected figure in the rock/pop world. Someone called Jim Morrison idolises him, even copies his stage swagger. Jim's band, The Doors, have just had a huge hit with "Gloria"- one of Van's songs. Van himself used to front a band called Them - considered one of the finest bands in America. He'd written a song called "Brown Eyed Girl" - a huge hit that made him popular as a songwriter. The world had been at his feet. But he was turning his back to it. Them had disbanded because Van balked at its positioning as "The Rolling Stones of America". That is not how he sees himself. He wants his music to bring out his deepest feelings. In fact, just a few months back, he'd tried that with a song called "TB Sheets". In the 9 1/2 minute song full of raw pain, Van had sung about a girl dying of TB in a hospital and the feelings of her boyfriend. No-one knows whether this was autobiographical but the fact is that after recording it, he'd broken down in the vocal booth and sat devastated on the floor for a long time. However painful the experience had been, he'd probably felt that this is how far he wanted to go with his music, for now at least.

This is what he is doing now with Astral Weeks. He's written a few songs partly autobiographical, partly stories about others, but all rooted in the pain of "TB Sheets", though in a less direct, more ethereal sort of a way. There's a strange "otherworldly" yearning in the songs as if something very momentous is about to happen, as if something held very dearly is about to end, as if there'll be some sort of a rebirth soon.

He doesn't know it now, but that is exactly what would happen to his career as a musician. Astral Weeks would be hailed as among the most original and astonishing albums ever and would send Van Morrison's stock soaring in the world of music. Inspite of the massive critical success, the album would sell poorly. He would attribute that to the "sameyness" of the songs in the album, something he'd become very conscious about. Determined to break the constant, almost monotonous sound of Astral Weeks (which in many ways was the real strength of the album as it gave it a moody, trance - like feel that lasted right through), Van would produce and arrange his next album.

Moondance ('70) would be another breathtaking album. Unlike Astral Weeks, it would be joyous and relaxed, it would swing, there'd be jazz, soul, blues and rock in it and they'd mesh together as one sound with his sublime voice celebrating every moment in the album. This melodic, accessible album would become Van Morrison's commercial breakthrough on his own terms. Moondance would sound like the new beginning Astral Weeks is hinting at. He would find happiness in marriage and in his success as a highly respected songwriter. His next 2 albums His Band And The Street Choir and Tupelo Honey would reflect this. The albums would be mostly exuberant and happy, but uneven. The title track of Tupelo Honey would be a true classic - a beautiful, beautiful love song that would even feature in an Oscar-winning film (Ulees Gold) 26 years after it was written.

But all that's a long way off. Right now, Van is singing the song - "Cypress Avenue"- about the pain a grown man feels as he watches a 14-year old girl walk back from school. He's in love with her but there was no way he can even talk to her, let alone get to meet her. He sits alone in his car, watching her walk by, as he does every day, maddened by his helpless, hopeless love.

Van himself was to feel a different sort of pain 4 years later when his marriage fell apart. His music, however, wouldn't let on - he was never comfortable about outright "confessional" work. Instead, the album St. Dominic's Preview ('72) would have songs of rootlessness and travel, that gave subtle cues to his personal turmoil. Another fabulous album, it'd almost be a combination of Astral Weeks and Moondance, some moody and introspective songs, some joyous and jaunty. The highlight being the marathon "Listen To The Lion" - another song of yearning, where he would try to voice the lion he heard inside his consciousness. (Sounds weird? But what a song! ) He would sing, moan, grunt, roar, hum, yelp and produce a hypnotic, breathtaking performance of a remarkable song no-one else would ever dare to attempt.

Meanwhile, in the studio, Van is about to give one of the most stunning performances of his career. The jazz musicians have finally gelled with him and reconciled somewhat to his style of working. The are now doing the first take of a song that begins with Van singing -- "If I ventured in the slipstream / between the viaducts of your dreams / where immobile steel rims crack / and the ditch and the backroads stop / could you find me/ would you kiss my eyes / and lay me down/in silence easy / to be born again". No-one has a clue what he's singing about. No-one cares. Because the song is absolutely riveting and there's a strange kind of magic in the air. The musicians play as if they're mere physical representations of one solitary soul. The first take is to be the only take. Van has left the room. The song would be called "Astral Weeks". They would name the album after it.

1974's Van Morrison album would be called Veedon Fleece. The result of his recent travels through Ireland, it was to be a ruminative, mostly lacklustre album with a few moments of brilliance, like the sparkling "Bulbs". By and large, Van would not create great music for a while. Then 1978 would hear Wavelength - one of his most melodic, catchiest albums ever (perhaps to a fault). Many of the songs would seem almost celebratory - about life, love the past and the future. The title track would be partially a tribute to radio, which had been a great influence during his youth. But it would be 1979 before Van Morrison touched greatness again. With an album called Into The Music, his first overtly spiritual album. The songs weren't to be evangelistic though. Van's faith was always more personal, more mystical. Through it would emerge optimistic songs like "Bright Side of The Road " and "You Make Me Feel So Free". In the lovely "Full Force Gale" he would sing "No matter where I roam / I will find my way back home / I will always return to the Lord". A perfect encapsulation of where he was to be at. But it'd be the second half of the album that would give it its "classic" status. With passionately sung, exquisitely played, magnificent songs like "Angelou" and "The Healing Has Begun", he would remind the world how far above other musicians he was. Something they'd again forget in the early '80s, as his music, completely consumed by matters of the spirit, would lose some vitality. He'd be drawn to spiritual movements like New Age teachings and Scientology and write about heavenly realms and mystical raptures and even attempt to create music for meditation. Van's longtime interest in poetry and other writing would show up in songs like "Cleaning Windows" and "Rave On John Donne" - a tribute to the metaphysical poets. He'd even devote a song each to William Blake and Rimbaud in A Sense Of Wonder ('85) - an album that would combine his spiritual muse with his musical aims more convincingly than before. Once again, he'd seem to be getting back to his best.

Van is now singing "Madame George" - possibly the best track on Astral Weeks. A compassionate, heart-rending song about a drag queen. Not something most of us can empathise with but then this what great art is about - making you feel deeply for the plight of an unlikely other. The song suggests a finality, an end in something. Many would later feel that the song had captured the mood of its time - the sixties were ending, the hippie dream was fading, disillusionment was creeping in. Van refused to ever speak about the song.

He wouldn't talk about his 1986 album No Guru, No Method, No Teacher either. No-one would know at that time that the title was derived from his understanding of J. Krishnamurthi's thoughts, someone who'd greatly interest Van. The themes of contemplation, healing through music and spiritual redemption would be all over this superb album. One of his most breathtaking songs ever "In The Garden" was to be also his most spiritual, suggesting Christian leanings, though a closer listening indicates otherwise. Van's spiritual quest would never be about religions or sects, but about "the other world", about a oneness with nature, among other things. Still, all this wouldn't make his music heavy. As the hummable "A Town Called Paradise" and the marvelously tuneful "Ivory Tower" would testify. Or "The Mystery" from his next album Poetic Champions Compose ('87). This album would also have gloriously melodic tracks like "Alan Watts Blues" (about retreating to the mountains with a book by Alan Watts - well-known Irish philosopher), "Give Me My Rapture" and "Did Ye Get Healed" (both blatant expressions of his spirituality). 1988 would bring Irish Heartbeat-Van Morrison's fine collaborative album with legendary Irish band- The Chieftains. They would re-interpret traditional Irish songs joyously, with great feeling.

"Ballerina" is possibly the most autobiographical song on Astral Weeks. Sung with amazing intensity, the song is probably about his future wife Janet, who is at this time dabbling in ballet. Maybe "Beside You" and "Sweet Thing" are about Janet too, Van won't say. The obscure lyrics and introspective tone compounded gloriously by Van's soulful vocals would make the scope of all possible explanations superfluous. There is somehow a great sadness in the music, and this is the source of its immense beauty.

Between '89 and '91, Van Morrison would come out with 3 beautiful albums all juxtaposing his spiritual search with a preoccupation of his past, his childhood mostly. Avalon Sunset ('89) would be one of his finest albums, ever. Starting with a catchy evangelist duet with Cliff Richard (a chart hit), the album would graduate to more introspective, moody, yet marvelously musical tracks. From those, "Have I Told You Lately" would become a huge hit for Rod Stewart. (The difference between Stewart's sentimental, maudlin version and Van's original rendition aptly exemplifies the difference between chart-topping, best-selling music and sincere music from the real talents). Again, it'd be the second half of Avalon Sunset that would make it one of the stunning albums of the '80s, particularly the incredible personal lament "When Will I Ever Learn To Live In God". Van's next album - Enlightenment ('90) would carry on the tone of Avalon Sunset. Mellower than the earlier album, it'd still have some absolutely magical moments, none more than the 'touching' "Memories", about the loss of a loved one, sung with great feeling and without the sentimentality you'd associate with such songs. (This lack of sentimentality is what makes Van Morrison's music special. Sadness, sometimes even happiness, without mushiness often leads to great beauty and that is exactly what happens with a lot of Van's work). Hymns To The Silence ('91), his last spiritual album, and his first double studio album, would exemplify that beauty again. With superb songs about the past - "Take Me Back", about love-"Carrying A Torch", about discontentment - "I'm Not Feeling It Anymore" and even about the hardships of being a respected songwriter - "Professional Jealousy". He even did traditional Christian hymns like "Just A Closer Walk With Thee" demonstrating with superb performances the inherent beauty in these time-honoured compositions.

The '90s would be a time of expanding musical frontiers. Van would do a blues album with the legendary John Lee Hooker - Too Long In Exile ('93). Then a full-fledged jazz album with Georgie Fame -How Long Has This Been Going On ('96). Both albums would showcase his magnificent singing and exquisite musicianship. These albums would be interspersed with 2 average ones. Days Like This ('95) would be an easy listening, unremarkable collection of songs except the title track - a true diamond amidst pebbles (This is the song Helen Hunt brightens up to in As Good As It Gets, it's also the song Bill Clinton requested Van to perform when he went to Ireland for the Irish accord). The Healing Game ('97) would be slightly better, with a terrific counterpoint to "Days Like This" called "Sometimes We Cry".

It's getting late. Astral Weeks is playing in the studio. The album's been completed, the jazz musicians have gone home satisfied with a somewhat different day's work. The singer's voice seems to emanate from someone in great pain, the songs seem to be about people who cannot entirely comprehend their lives, the music is unlike anything ever recorded. The studio staff concur that this is not going to a hit. They'd be proved right - this album would sell barely 400,000 copies in 30 years. But what they don't know is that Astral Weeks would sell approximately the same amount year after year and show no signs of ever fading out.

Van is walking back home because he's too broke to take a cab home. He doesn't know that his music will be revered by generations of musicians (many aren't born yet) from Dylan to James Taylor to Bruce Springsteen to Sting to Bono to REM to Counting Crows to Beck. He doesn't know that despite never shooting a video or giving many interviews, his music would be heard all around the world. He doesn't know that he'd be one of those rare artistes for whom "greatest hits" compilations would never do justice (two volumes are available in India and they have some of his best songs, but they're rather like a collection of best paragraphs from a body of great novels). He doesn't know that his enduring contribution to mankind would be to suffuse popular music with a rare integrity and give it a deeper, spiritual side. He doesn't know that Astral Weeks has been the starting point of this sensibility. He doesn't know anything. Right now, he just wants to sleep.

Jaideep Varma
Gentleman
December 1998

Rock’s best kept secret
Why Richard Thompson is a musician's musician


"Personally, being somewhat envious of Richard's songwriting and guitar playing, it's somewhat satisfying he's not achieved household-name status. It serves him right for being so good." This is David Byrne (of Talking Heads) typically understating his case.

He's not alone. R.E.M., Bonnie Raitt, Lou Reed, Robert Plant, Suzanne Vega, Shawn Colvin, Los Lobos, Dinosaur Jr. and Elvis Costello are just a few who place Richard Thompson somewhere near the top in popular music. As a guitar-player, both electric and acoustic, many take his name in the same breath as Hendrix's or Clapton's. As a songwriter, it is not hyperbolic to bracket him with Dylan, Van Morrison, Neil Young and The Beatles. The best musicians in the world, his peers, acknowledge his brilliance despite his relative commercial obscurity.

Apparently, it's not easy to get his music even in America, forget India. Still, sometime in 1995 in Mumbai, I was lucky enough to come across Beat The Retreat - a Richard Thompson tribute album. It had contributions from many of the artists mentioned above (all of whom sell more albums than Thompson does) - which was probably why the album was released in India in the first place. What was surprising about the album was not just its variety (good tribute albums invariably have this) but a peculiar common sensibility that seemed to bind the songs together, despite being performed by very diverse artists. This sensibility was palpable. R.E.M's superb version of "Wall of Death" had a strange sadness to it, despite R.E.M.'s characteristic catchy jangle. David Byrne's "Just The Motion" too sounded melancholy despite being quirkily infectious (like Talking Heads' music). "When The Spell Is Broken" was quintessential Bonnie Raitt, yet somehow related to the track by Los Lobos. There seemed a brilliant songwriter at work here, and I had to hear the original songs. So I spent a good part of my yearly bonus on his 3 CD box set that had previously been released in Britain. It turned out to be a superb investment. Watching The Dark (1993) showcased his awesome talent, throughout his 25-year-old career. His electric guitar work was totally distinctive - as recognizable as a human voice. Sometimes lilting and melodic, often staccato and crisp, always urgent…his voltage enhanced guitar sound was also unique for the sense of approaching danger it seemed to warn against. His acoustic work was breathtaking too - technically perfect yet amazingly innovative. And this virtuoso guitar-playing never came in the way of the songs, but added to their power which was very considerable to begin with. This box set, which had several of his great songs, affecting live performances and even some previously unreleased material, put me on a Richard Thompson trip I'm still on. Gradually, one has been able to source out a lot of his albums and through the internet understand their contexts.

Richard Thompson - the son of a policeman, was brought up in the suburbs of London. For a schoolboy who learned to play guitar through impromptu lessons from his older sister's boyfriends ("luckily she took hours to get ready for dates"), he made very rapid progress. By 17 he'd left school and joined a band where he was several years younger than anyone else. This band, Fairport Convention, became one of the most important bands of the sixties. They were the only British band that didn't look westwards for their musical inspiration. Instead they delved into their own heritage and culture and fused English folk to electric rock. Their first two albums were eclectic and the band were yet to find their sound. Yet, they were highly engaging and masterful in their grasping of different folk styles. Even the several Dylan and Joni Mitchell covers they did sounded very different. By their 3rd album - the brilliant Unhalfbricking (1969), this unpredictability had become their hallmark. The band's only hit, in fact, came from this album - a Dylan cover sung in French! The band was quickly garnering a cult audience when tragedy struck. Late one night, while returning to London from a show, their van overturned and their drummer Martin Lamble died. Deep in shock, the band broke up. But within weeks, they'd figured out the need to keep going and were galvanised into action when they heard an album called Music From Big Pink by The Band. Across the Atlantic, this Canadian band was delving into their North American traditions to create their brand of rock. Lamble was replaced, experienced English folk fiddler Dave Swarbick joined the band full-time and the explorations began in earnest again. The result was the album Liege And Lief (1969), which would become Fairport's most successful album. The material was now more focussed than before - English folk music, electrified, as it were. Thompson's guitar-work apart, it was his co-songwriting with Swarbick that stood out in this and the next album Full House (1970). Both albums are considered classics to this day.

However, the band's innovative forays were leading it into contradictory, even opposing directions that kept resulting in line-up changes. Thompson too, began to feel that he wasn't being able to express himself fully as he always had to write songs with the band in mind. In 1971, he left Fairport Convention to see what he could do on his own. But financial constraints forced him to guest on other people's recordings for a while. On one such assignment he met a singer called Linda Peters. They were drawn to each other and soon married.

After Richard's solo album Henry The Human Fly (1972), which was remarkable for its use of the English brass band sound, the couple became a musical duo. They released 7 albums as "Richard & Linda Thompson" between 1974 and 1982. At least 3 of them were exquisite, 1 was an all-time classic and the others had some excellent material too. Linda's ethereal voice offset Richard's ominous pessimism beautifully. Richard wrote all the songs and merged Celtic traditions to rock formats immaculately, perfecting what he'd already begun with Fairport Convention. Their first 2 albums - I Want To See The Bright Lights Tonight and Hokey Pokey (both 1974) displayed their awesome range of moods, from playfully happy to reflectively sad. Some of the sparse melancholic songs he wrote for her to sing were just breathtaking. Songs like "Withered And Died" and "Dimming Of The Day" evoked great beauty through the sadness, without ever being sentimental or mawkish.

Then, the Thompsons got interested in Sufism and soon embraced the faith. To Richard, Islam was just a way of life, not something he converted to. It found expression on their 3rd album - the outstanding Pour Down like Silver (1975) where he wrote ambiguous love songs and like he'd always done - gave vent to his fascination for traditional forms of music, in this case by using Arabic and middle-eastern melodies and instrumentations. The songs were still recognizably his, just the context had changed a bit. Both Richard and Linda then involved themselves more closely with the creation of a Sufi community. They performed with Sufi bands and seemed to be moving away from their original sensibilities. Their album First Light (1978), despite some interesting moments had heavy religious themes that somehow diluted its overall power.

But in 1979, they released Sunnyvista, where Richard stopped writing about Islam altogether (though he continued being a Muslim). His brand of quirky rockers suggested that he was getting back to old territories. An uneven album overall, at least the recognisable Richard Thompson was peeking out again. Its follow-up had them working with British pop star Gerry Rafferty (of "Baker Street" fame) as producer. But Richard wasn't happy with the finished product as he found it "too smooth". He asked Fairport producer Joe Boyd to have a re-look. One of the things Boyd did was to reduce Linda's pure, fragile vocals and increase Richard's overall sonic bearing (guitar and vocals). A peculiar creative tension was palpable as Richard's menacing, edgy tone contrasted with the familiarly melancholic bits. The truth was that their marriage was very rapidly disintegrating, and this was to be, unwittingly perhaps, the musical document of its breakdown. The album was Shoot Out The Lights (1982). Every song was stirringly emotional and impassioned, the musicianship immaculate (and exciting), the mood grim (yet strangely inspiring). The Thompsons split up after soon after this, ending their partnership with a huge bang. The album was a true masterpiece; later Rolling Stone even placed it at #9 in a list of "100 Best Albums of The Eighties".

When Richard had left Fairport Convention, no-one had expected his songwriting skills to develop so dramatically. When he split up with Linda, no-one could have known that he'd barely hit his stride. However, his immediate solo efforts were uneven, despite several sparks of brilliance. Then, with Daring Adventures (1986) he touched new heights. The songs were tuneful and superbly crafted, his voice more assured than ever before. Interestingly, at this juncture, he changed record labels by switching to Capitol, who seemed committed to increasing his much-deserved popularity. He did an unintentional trilogy of albums thereafter - each one more jaw-droppingly beautiful than the other - Amnesia (1988), Rumour And Sigh (1991) and Mirror Blue (1994). Their commonality was in the use of LA-based rhythm sections within which Thompson experimented with texture and technique. Amnesia showcased the explosive glory of his electric guitar through some scorching solos and his gentler, ruminative side with superlative songs like "Waltzing's For Dreamers" - touchingly romantic with more than a tinge of regret. And he was just warming up with this album.

"Richard Thompson can say more in one line than I can in a whole song." This is John Mellancamp, possibly referring to Thompson's nineties work. Indeed, with Rumour And Sigh, he touched yet another peak. His songwriting was at an all-time high - refined, literate, pithy and entertaining. The arrangements here were accessible, with a slicker, commercial angle perhaps (relatively speaking). But what a magical album it was - songs about a young boy learning about the birds and the bees, a social misfit out to create trouble, misunderstandings, betrayal in love and so on… dark, humourous, angry, wistful, playful… covering the entire gamut of moods. "Keep Your Distance" was the masterpiece - a heartfelt, even catchy song of doomed love (perhaps about his marriage to Linda), but with an emotional resonance only the finest art can achieve. Mirror Blue, too, lived up to the dizzy standards Thompson had set for himself. The album was perfect in every way, from the songwriting to the execution, even though it didn't break new ground.

With You? Me? Us? (1996) - Thompson's first studio double album, he changed his format. Half of it was performed electrically, with a band; the other half was acoustic - almost entirely solo. The songwriting and musicianship were still totally brilliant - demonstrating both sides of his genius. His amazing consistency in the nineties culminated with Mock Tudor (1999) - a concept album with songs about living in suburban London. Despite not being as uniformly excellent as his other nineties albums, it had enough moments of sheer brilliance to warrant a "highly recommended" review.

"No review of a Richard Thompson album is complete without a plea for a larger audience to discover his rare virtues." This is Rolling Stone editor Anthony DeCurtis, a huge fan of Thompson's work. Despite having done to English Folk what Eric Clapton did to American Blues, Thompson's lack of commercial success is among life's greatest mysteries. His live shows have always drawn crowds though, for those in the know.

"Whether it's electric with a band, or acoustic solo, on a good night Thompson can make you believe he's the best in the world." This is writer/musician David Sinclair, echoing the feelings of whoever's attended a Richard Thompson gig. But we're still talking quality here, what about the quantities? Some theorise that Thompson's fascination for social misfits and psychos as subjects for many of his songs put people off. Hell, what about Tom Waits, Lou Reed and Leonard Cohen then - they write about fringe weirdos too but they sell more, don't they? Some wonder if it's because he gives the finger to trends, markets and expectations…but hey, Dylan and Van Morrison do that too, but they're still considered living legends, aren't they? Some suggest that he's not an artist whose work appeals to you instantly, but tends to grow on you. Maybe. But what does the artist himself feel?

"I suppose there's music I want to hear that I don't hear other people doing, and because it doesn't exist, I have to do it. Or else become a seething psychopath." This is Richard Thompson himself, getting closest to the truth. As always.

Gentleman
March 2000


ESSENTIAL RICHARD THOMPSON
Shoot Out The Lights (with Linda Thompson)-1982
Rumour And Sigh -1991
Watching The Dark (box set) -1993
I Want To See The Bright Lights Tonight (with Linda Thompson) -1974
Mirror Blue -1994

Uncle Sam’s Band
Why The Grateful Dead was a true American band

A little over 3 years ago, I happened to be listening to FM radio wondering if I'd hear something by the Grateful Dead as their frontman Jerry Garcia had just died. After a lot of inane babble and mindless songs, the DJ mentioned Jerry Garcia. He said that he owned 2 ties that Garcia had designed and hadn't his female host noticed that he'd worn one to work just the day before? Then he guffawed and the song that followed wasn't even by the Grateful Dead.

This is symptomatic of how the Grateful Dead have often been seen - as a hep fashion statement. Appearing to like them meant you had a cooler side. This is especially true in India where their music is acknowledged more as a fitting accompaniment to Scotch Whisky or hashish rather than what they really were - one of the most accomplished bands in the history of popular music.

A band that lasts 30 years, as the Grateful Dead did ('65-'95), cannot be anything less than a phenomenon. They've left some excellent original songs behind but their real contribution to popular culture was their live shows. Meandering and improvisational, their performances borrowed more from jazz traditions than rock 'n roll. Sometimes they fell on their faces, when they were off-time and affected, but more often than not, Jerry Garcia's and Bob Weir's guitars would touch dizzy melodic heights while Bill Kreutzmann's and Mickey Hart's double drumming and Phil Lesh's bass, spurred them on. Almost till the end, 98% of their income came from the concerts they gave. Grateful Dead fans spanned generations and transcended cultural barriers. Collectively called Deadheads, many of the fans travelled city to city, state to state, sometimes even country to country, to watch their beloved band play and even capture the concerts on their own recording instruments. Despite the band folding up in 1995 due to Garcia's death, the Deadheads stay as well-networked as before, with the same unique sense of community and well-being. A lot of them attend solo concerts of other band members such as Bob Weir.

Grateful Dead were nothing if not an American band. Their music reflected all the changes from glorious hippiedom in the '60s to the selfish yuppieness of the '80s . The songs resonated with the mood swings and change-of-hearts of the American people through the most vital part of their cultural history. They proved more than anyone else that musical sophistication and naiveté could be two sides of the same coin.

The recording studio was not the band's favourite place in the world. They produced just 13 studio albums in 30 years. Most of them were uneven yet with indisputable high points. Anthem Of The Sun ('68) was too experimental; Aoxomoxoa ('69) was tuneful but inconsistent; Blues For Allah ('75) was full of jazz riffs and often too eclectic (but with some fabulously groovy moments like "Franklin's Tower"); Terrapin Station ('77) was interesting but sometimes over the top; Shakedown Street ('78) and Go To Heaven ('80) were their nod to disco and straight rock 'n roll and a lot of it worked; In The Dark ('87) was their best-selling, only hit album with some marvelous songs like the opener "Touch Of Grey" - with concerns of ageing; Built To Last ('89) was catchy but weak. There were some terrific live albums in between, none better than the all-electric Dead Set and the all-acoustic Reckoning (both'80).

But the Grateful Dead's claim to all-time greatness lies in the music they recorded and released in the year 1970. In that one year, through the 18 songs in the 2 albums they did, their place in musical history was secured. These two albums of genius were Workingman's Dead and American Beauty. The first was a response to the withering hippie dream and the unrest in American society at that time. The album opened with the autobiographical "Uncle John's Band" - a lovely, gentle, beautifully harmonised song that demonstrated the focus the band seemed to have found. "New Speedway Boogie" was about a brutal murder at a Rolling Stones concert in 1969 - an event that had come to symbolise the end of the '60s idealism. The breezy "Cumberland Blues", the moody "Black Peter" and the witty "Casey Jones" all demonstrated the band's diversifying musical roots.

Then came American Beauty - a collection of mellower, calmer songs where the songwriting was even stronger, the playing was tight and masterful. The serene gem "Box Of Rain" opened this superb album that was labeled as the peak of hippie country-rock music. Garcia's pedal-steel guitaring and the band's thoughtful arrangements gave the tracks a timeless, undefinable quality that sound fresh to this day. The classy catchiness of "Friend Of The Devil", "Sugar Magnolia" and "Till The Morning Comes", the hymn-like quality in "Brokedown Palace" and "Attics Of My Life", the absolutely ethereal "Ripple" and the quintessential road-song "Truckin" are all up there with the greatest songs ever written. All the lyrics in these 2 albums were written by folk singer/poet Robert Hunter. Almost 20 years later, he was to reveal that Jerry Garcia's deeply-felt singing in American Beauty was possibly also the result of his mother's death in an automobile accident, just before the album was recorded. Though the songs were quiet, gentle, often joyful - there was a strange sad quality to them, and great pathos in Jerry's voice. As Hunter put it - "There's no emotion more appealing than the bittersweet when it's truly, truly spoken."

These two fantastic albums are both available in India on CD. Most of their other albums are available on cassette. A good alternative to buying the later albums is to get the recently -released 2 CD set The Arista Years which picks out their best songs from '75-'95. To initiate yourself to the Grateful Dead magic, you could pick up Skeletons From The Closet (in cassette or CD) - a competent compilation from the early period.

It's sad that Jerry Garcia passed away at just 53. With him died one of the world's most enduring and legendary bands. Strangely, the last song performed by the Grateful Dead at their last concert (they wouldn't have known it then) was the beautiful "Black Muddy River" (from In The Dark). The song is about going on despite life's disappointments and heartbreaks, and if you listen closely to the words, it sounds like Jerry Garcia is saying goodbye to the world. Equally eerie is the last track in Grateful Dead's last studio album (Built To Last). The song is called "Standing On The Moon" and it describes how the earth looks from the heavens. Both these albums are available in India. That FM DJ could have played either one that day.


Gentleman
November 1998

The Queen of Songwriting
Why Joni Mitchell is an all-time -great


There is hypocrisy in this world. There is abject, two-faced, perverse chauvinism. That is really the only way to explain the way Joni Mitchell has been treated by most of the popular press in the last 2 decades. The effect has been all-encompassing. Music channels on TV and radio hardly play her songs. Young music enthusiasts are completely unfamiliar with her work; most of the older ones seem to remember her vaguely.

Her influence, however, is heard all around the world wherever a singer-songwriter steps up to unload the soul. Particularly true if the singer-songwriter is female; no-one inspired women to take to the guitar and sing about personal feelings as she did. Indeed, Joni Mitchell is the quintessential musician's musician - revered amongst the finest musicians, yet infuriatingly obscure in the mainstream. Infuriating, not because she could care less but because songstresses of far less talent have the fame, fortune and significance as if quality isn't an issue. Calling Jewel "the new Joni Mitchell" is like calling Oasis the new Beatles. Alanis Morissette's and Sheryl Crow's affected styles are the rage, but even they've themselves admitted that Joni Mitchell's on "a different planet". She's one of the very few artists (and the only woman) whom Bob Dylan considers his songwriting equal; Madonna adores her music and Prince says she's his favourite songwriter. That's a pretty staggering spectrum, as popular music goes. And when you consider that jazz great Charlie Mingus specifically asked for her to collaborate with just before his death, when you learn that she's often on the list of "100 best guitarists ever", it surely registers - we're talking about a veritable legend here. Add to this her painting talent (she's done the cover of most of her albums and even won a Grammy for art direction and design in 1995), the way she has with words (as demonstrated by her often remarkable song lyrics) and it becomes difficult not to brand her a "renaissance woman".

Her beginnings were depressing. Born Roberta Joan Anderson on November 7, 1943 in a grim, cold, colourless remote Canadian town, she was a frail child troubled greatly by a series of ailments including Polio. After an excruciatingly painful recovery, she discovered her interests really lay in music, painting and art. A dissatisfying year at the local Art college was followed by an attempt in Toronto to become a folk singer. Unfortunately, she got pregnant - the result of a crush with a fellow painter. Her subsequent marriage to older folk singer Chuck Mitchell disintegrated soon. Desperate and broke, and not having the nerve to face her parents, she had no choice but to put up her baby girl for adoption. The pain of this event would never leave her.

Adopting Joni Mitchell as her stage name, she moved to New York - the hub of the folk scene. David Crosby of The Byrds noticed her considerable talents and helped her get her first break. Her self-titled debut album and the next one Clouds (1969) showcased her songwriting abilities. Then cult British group Fairport Convention covered her song "Chelsea Morning" (a certain Hilary and Bill Clinton would later name their only child after this song). And popular singer Judy Collins covered her "Both Sides Now" which became a big hit and even won her a Grammy. An illustrious career had just begun.

Tiring of city life, Mitchell moved to a small town near Los Angeles, California. This is where the first of her series of pathbreaking albums evolved. Ladies of The Canyon (1970) enhanced her reputation. There were thoughtful songs on it like a lovely depiction of morning settling on a town, the performance of an excellent roadside clarinet player being ignored because he wasn't famous, the soon-to-be- legendary "Woodstock", the first-ever pro-environment hit song "Big Yellow Taxi" - and lots of personal ruminations. "The Circle Game"- a song of hopeful longing was soon closing eighth-grade graduation ceremonies around America. She seemed as adept with the piano as with the guitar, her writing was artful, the album excellent.

But the next one- Blue (1971) was even better. Even today, this album is considered one of popular music's greatest. She just created magic on it. For starters, it was very sparse - just her clear, soaring voice pitted against either guitar or piano - symmetrically arranged in the album. Most were relationship songs, yet without the sentimentality or self-pity usually associated with such music. These were clear-eyed, mature musings, with exquisite musicianship, immaculately arranged and superbly performed - with Stephen Stills and James Taylor pitching in with guitar on separate songs. Joni Mitchell sung magnificently on it, often employing a peculiar but charming soprano to transform potentially maudlin moments into something touching and poignant. Lyrically, she was economical yet evocative, intimately personal yet universally meaningful. The mood changed gloriously, yet subtly. There was bittersweet longing, plain happiness, a tender, sad song about the child she'd given up for adoption, playful mischievousness, nagging regret, a lovely dose of homesickness and a moody title track that stunningly captured the disillusionment of its times ("Acid, booze and ass/ Needles, guns and grass/Lots of laughs, lots of laughs/Well, everybody's saying that hell's the hippest way to go/Well, I don't think so/But I'm going to take a look around it though".) Though this was a uniformly brilliant album, you'd have to pick out two tracks. "River" started off with the Jingle Bells theme and developed to a sad reflection filled with longing, as many are wont to do during Christmas time. "A Case Of You" was about a cherished relationship gone wrong, with a guitar refrain that's just too beautiful for words. Without even paying too much attention to what's being sung about, the songs in Blue can move one greatly. There is just so much feeling in the tracks; the ocean of true feeling is probably universally accessible, whatever the origin of its streams may be.

For The Roses (1972) was a strong follow-up to a classic album like Blue. Though Mitchell was more lyrically introspective, the arrangements were more fleshed out. And not all the songs were intimately personal. "Cold Blue Steel And Sweet Fire" was a chilling description of an addict looking for a drug dealer at night. "Judgement of The Moon And Stars (Ludwig's Tune)" - the result of her interest in Beethoven, was the deaf composer's muse talking to him inside his head. There were evocative analogy songs like "Banquet", "Electricity" and the delightfully catchy" "You Turn Me On, I'm A Radio"(the last was a conscious attempt to create a hit song and it was). The personal songs still had great bite. Like the title track, which while touching on her estranged relationship with James Taylor, was also about the effect success in the music business had on him. She sang, "In some office sits a poet/And he trembles as he sings/ And he asks some guy/ To circulate his soul around/On your mark red ribbon runner…" - a marvelous summation of serious artist's situation in the commercial world. Maybe her own, too?

In 1974, Joni Mitchell stepped out of the "folk singer" shadow with Court And Spark - the most different sounding album she'd done till date. Though lacking the depth of Blue, it compensated amply with immaculate, imaginative musicianship in a variety of styles. She used the rock idiom for the first time without ever losing control over it. Robbie Robertson played electric guitar on the delightful "Raised On Robbery" and Jose Feliciano on "Free Man In Paris". It's a pity her musical tastes didn't extend to rock because here was evidence of the heights she could've scaled in it. There was also a distinct pictorial quality to some of the songs, reflecting her interest in painting. On "Car On A Hill", she made famed woodwindist Tom Scott play the horn like passing cars and on "Trouble Child" she asked pianist Joe Sample to sound more like a wave to accentuate the lines "It's really hard to talk sense to you/Trouble child/breaking like the waves at Malibu." These are really things classical musicians do. But the overall looseness in the album indicated that she was headed Jazzwards. She even closed the album with a jazz standard - the first cover she'd ever done. Court And Spark is still considered one of the great albums of all time. Many even rate it higher than Blue, which is really as good as it gets.

But there was trouble in store for Joni Mitchell. As she began her jazz experiments, she began to lose the standing she'd achieved with her last 4 albums. The press began mocking her efforts and when she responded by being even more uppity, they indulged in childish personal attacks. Like the chart Rolling Stone magazine drew of her former lovers - it hurt her a lot. This was clear sexual discrimination because no-one ever drew "lover charts" of male stars like Mick Jagger, for example. Nor did the press boycott Bob Dylan for being uppity with them - ostensibly because arrogant behaviour was considered the domain of male superstars. Mitchell's way of dealing with all this was to withdraw. It only strengthened her resolve to do her own thing. Her album The Hissing Of The Summer Lawns (1975) was rated "Worst album of the year" by Rolling Stone magazine. Ironically, they had to reassess it soon because others in the music world praised it. Hejira (1976) and Don Juan's Reckless Daughter (1977) further alienated her following. Amidst jazz-lovers however, her stock soared. Jazz legend Charlie Mingus collaborated with her on Mingus (1979), which was interesting like all her other "jazz albums", but a terrible "career move". She was deemed by the mainstream music world to have "crossed -over".

Things didn't improve much professionally in the eighties. On the personal front, she got married to bassist Allen Klein and began collaborating with him. Dog Eat Dog (1985) was her most political album. Apparently, Mitchell felt she was betrayed for money by everybody around her - the Govt. of California, her bank, business manager, personal manager, housekeeper…. it made her more interested in worldly things than ever before. Likewise, despite being rock-oriented, this album was full of protest songs about greed, TV evangelism and the like. Chalk Mark In A Rainstorm (1988) with its New Age easy listening feel was probably her weakest album, despite guests like Tom Petty, Peter Gabriel and Willie Nelson.

The nineties would be her least prolific period, but the most substantial. Night Ride Home (1991) was a glorious return to form. She went back to her folk roots, to the acoustic intimacy that was once her hallmark, to the exquisite songwriting the world missed from her. There were personal songs like the sprawling beauty "Come In From The Cold” - clearly a reference to her comeback in the music business. There were sad stories like the one about child - abuse "Cherokee Louise " and enigmatic pieces like "Slouching Towards Bethlehem" - where she set a W.B. Yeats poem to music. The title track was simple and lovely - about an all-night drive with her husband. She played to her strengths in this album and it worked. There were murmurs of approval all around. They would soon become roars.

Pablo Picasso and Miles Davis – arguably the greatest expressionists of the 20th century, had often themed their work on colours (eg. Picasso's Blue Period and Davis' albums like Kind of Blue and Aura) exploring the emotions those colours brought out in their audience. Admirers of both, Mitchell had herself done this in Blue. With Turbulent Indigo (1994), she mined the same territory. The angry title track castigated people's inability to understand the pain true talents like Van Gogh go through to create. Songs with lyrical imagery coupled with lovely, but often tension-fraught melodies were luminous in Mitchell's brilliance. Though compulsive smoking had weakened her voice, she made up with dexterous guitaring. The songs were instrumentally sparse, recalling Blue. The sadness in the album came from the breakdown of her marriage yet again (she would say later that it was her tendency to constantly confront her relationships that caused the strife - interestingly, it is this very quality that fuelled her finest songs). Yet, there was a lightness-of-touch. On "Last Chance Lost", for example, she conveyed her pain explicitly, but it was a lilting track with her crooning like a jazz singer. An excellent example of how the same heartache leads to two totally different expressions at the ages of 28 and 51. Universally praised, Turbulent Indigo sent Joni Mitchell's reputation soaring again. It won her 2 Grammys and propelled her into receiving the Billboard Century award in 1996.

Two more significant things happened to her in the late nineties. One, she began performing again after 13 years. She'd stopped because her song catalogue had an amazingly diverse 51 guitar tunings. This was great for songwriting but terribly cumbersome for performance. A chance encounter with the Roland VG-8 synthesizer which could store the tunings, changed her mind. She even went on an extended tour last year, when Bob Dylan asked her to join him. Two, she reunited with the daughter she'd given up for adoption. Suddenly, she became a mother and a grandmother at one shot. Personally, it almost seemed like she'd turned full circle.

The recent release of her first-ever compilation is an excellent pointer to her attitude as an artist. The 2 albums are entitled Hits and Misses. The latter has her less accessible, more eclectic work. Hits, as she beautifully put it, has her "most gregarious children".

"Songs are like tattoos", Joni Mitchell had sung in "Blue". Hers certainly are. They have the lasting power that distinguishes the classic from the popular. After years of putting substance before style and soul before fluff, she is probably Canada's greatest gift
to the world. A world that has yet to fully catch on.


Gentleman
June 1999


Joni Mitchell's best albums
Blue (1971)
Court And Spark (1974)
Turbulent Indigo (1994)
Ladies Of The Canyon (1970)
Night Ride Home (1991)

The second-most influential band ever
Why The Velvet Underground are so important

There is a famous joke by the redoubtable Brian Eno - "Hardly anyone bought Velvet Underground records, but those who did, went on to form their own bands." David Bowie, Patti Smith, David Byrne, REM, U2, Sonic Youth, Bryan Ferry, The Pretenders - they would all confirm this.

The Velvet Underground were a rock band that lasted just 5 years (1965-70). They recorded just 4 albums, none remotely close to being a hit. Their live performances were largely commercial disasters. The band's line-up kept changing. The band-members were weary and broke when The Velvet Underground finally folded up. No-one mourned the band's demise. In fact, they were remembered as a fad act promoted briefly by pop-art superstar Andy Warhol.

The world hadn't caught on. Today, almost 30 years later, The Velvet Underground are considered the most influential band ever, after The Beatles.

This is a mock interview with the two mainstays of the band - Lou Reed and John Cale. The facts here are all totally authentic, taken from their biography and autobiography respectively. The license lies in juxtaposing their warring spirits together, demonstrating how magic happened when two different artistic sensibilities became one - for a short while anyway.


Interviewer:
It is widely acknowledged that rock sounds the way it does today because of the Velvet Underground. Do you agree?

John Cale:
Well, uh…I don't know, I guess I don't really listen to a lot of rock you know.

Lou Reed:
How the f*#* does it matter?! The Velvets music speaks for itself. Why get the rock universe into it?

I:
Doesn't it sometimes surprise you to hear young rock bands mimic The Velvet Underground even today?

LR:
Yeah, we were always ahead of our time.

JC:
And we paid for that, didn't we?

I:
But at that time, 30 years ago, did you ever feel that what you were doing is revolutionary?

JC:
Of course. We were doing things no-one else was doing at that time. In terms of arrangements, guitar distortion, feedback, the works. And lyrically, we were miles ahead. We were combining avant garde and rock.

LR:
I remember, in 1966, John went to London on a Classical scholarship, he came back with albums by The Kinks and The Who. What we heard made us realise they were catching up with us.

JC:
And we were the ones without a recording contract!

LR:
See, I always harboured the hope that the intelligence that inhabited fiction and films would ingest rock. That was beginning to happen.

I:
Where did you meet for the first time?

LR:
Umm..early 1965. We were both 22. I was a hired songwriter with Pickwick Records.

JC:
I'm originally from Wales. At that time, I was in New York as an avant garde classical musician.

LR:
We worked on some shitty concept band project…

JC:
Then Lou played me some of his own songs, on acoustic guitar, like folk songs, and I missed the point because I hated folk music. Then when I read the lyrics, I realised how different they were - the lyrics were well-expressed, tough, novelistic expressions of life with a tremendous literary quality.

I:
What struck you about the other?

LR:
John was a very idealistic sort, with a great sense of purpose. He'd put himself solidly behind a cause… in this case, it was music. He was a superb musician.

JC:
Lou was high-strung, intelligent and very street-smart, yet fragile, you know what I mean? He'd been around and was bruised and insecure. He thought he was crazy because he was seeing a psychiatrist. That was nonsense, because no-one writing songs like that could be crazy. I found I could fit the things Lou played into my world. On a personal level, Lou was the sort of person who could survive in New York and I wanted to learn from him.

LR:
We had something else in common. Drugs.

JC:
Oh yes, it opened a channel between us, you know, a conspirational us - against-them attitude, which would become the hallmark of the band. We were just anarchists, but we were anarchists with heart.

I:
How did the band come together?

LR:
I had a chance encounter with Sterling Morrison, an old friend who was a superb guitar-player. He joined. Sterling's friend had a sister Maureen (Moe) Tucker, who was a drummer. The four of us gelled, so we were set.

I:
What about the band name?

LR:
Swiped that from the title of a cheap paperback book on suburban sex. Seemed to fit in with our affiliations and intentions.

I:
And then, Andy Warhol happened.

LR:
We used to perform at this club - Café Bizarre.

JC:
Perform, in a manner of speaking. We were really playing for ourselves, audiences were a necessary evil. We absolutely hated them.

LR:
That's why we wore dark glasses. We couldn't stand the sight of them. Anyway, Andy came to Café Bizarre with his entourage and offered to manage us.

I:
What was it that attracted Andy Warhol to the band, you think?

LR:
We were doing the same thing he was, in a sense - make people uncomfortable. Then our name, the fact that we sang about taboo subjects, our appearance - Moe looked androgynous, John's electric viola was a novelty…

JC:
Moe's tom-tom drumming, Lou's deadpan delivery…but Andy, he had a problem with Lou's singing. So they decided to have a beautiful singer-actress from Germany called Nico front the band.

LR:
Andy was this catalyst, always putting jarring elements together. We were selling a kind of screeching ugliness, and hey, a beautiful girl standing in front of all this decadence, worked.

I:
It was all about performance then, not about doing a record?

LR:
Oh totally about performance. We did this multimedia show called Exploding Plastic Inevitable. We performed, all in black, with backs to the audience, 2 Warhol films played side by side, 2 Warhol dancers acted out the images from our songs, while Andy focussed coloured strobe lights on the stage. F#*#*#* awesome sight for the mid '60s.

JC:
Then we did get to cut an album.

I:
Yes, let's talk about the music. That first album, The Velvet Underground and Nico, recorded in just a few days, is part of rock folklore now. What made it so special?

JC:
Our music was really Method Acting in song… it was amazing how quickly Lou changed character from one song to another. There was a very urban slant, both lyrically and musically.

LR:
This was "real" music, adult music. We reached for the underpass, man, not the sun, like the west coast shit. And the great thing about John was that he was totally unaware about rock. So he knew no cliches. His bass lines were illogical and inverted and his searing electric viola sounded like a jet engine.

JC:
I always wanted to make everything a little slinkier, slow and sexy. Uptempo numbers never grabbed me. "Venus In Furs" was our sound because it was unique and nasty. Very nasty. Then Lou moved in with Nico and wrote 3 exquisite songs for her to sing - "I'll Be Your Mirror", "All Tomorrow's Parties" and "Femme Fatale". Nico was supposed to sing "Sunday Morning" too, but the moment Lou got to know that was slated to be the single, he insisted on singing it himself - in a weird, almost falsetto voice. Typical of Lou.

I:
"Heroin" is probably your most famous song, tempo-changes and all. How did that happen?

LR:
I wrote that in college. The band really made it come alive. The whole album, actually came out pretty much as imagined. Maybe better.

I:
The 2nd album White Light/White Heat was your most powerful and abrasive, its core being that 17-minute masterpiece "Sister Ray". Still the album reflected a distinct internal tension. What exactly was going on?

JC:
We were at each other's throats. I'd seen myself primarily as a composer and arranger in an orchestra, but despite my love of language, I'd not written songs because I thought the abstraction of instrumental music was more powerful than songs. But words came easily to Lou as musical improvisation to me. But then I found that our collaboration was not as equal as I'd expected. Still, I trusted him and never thought he was going to claim all the publishing rights and credit himself.

LR:
We'd also parted ways with Andy and all other appendages like Nico. Life was tough without Andy's shadow, we weren't making any money. So there was a lot of strife. Our musical goals were different too by now. John's original idea - to create an orchestral chaos in which I spontaneously create lyrics- didn't interest me anymore. I thought we'd exhausted its scope.

JC:
That's crap, really. We'd just begun. Lou basically just saw the band as a means to fulfil his creative urges. He was more interested in writing pop songs with an emphasis on his lyrics- a far cry from material like "Sister Ray" which I thought was my finest accomplishment.

I:
Yes, you broke new ground with "The Gift" too. A short story set to music.

LR:
Yeah, that was again a story I'd written in college. John recited it, and we put a musical track against it, both on different speakers. So you can hear either one, or both. I recommend both.

I:
Your line-up changed now. John Cale left and was replaced by the much younger bassist Doug Yule.

LR:
Yeah, I fired John.

I:
Right. The music changed though. The Velvet Underground was a quiet and thoughtful 3rd album. A real departure.

LR:
Yeah, I finally wrote about love, which I was confused about.

I:
There are some classic rock songs here - "Beginning To See The Light, "What Goes On" and certainly your finest ballad - "Pale Blue Eyes".

LR:
That was about someone I missed very much. Actually, her eyes were hazel.

I:
There's a song called "Jesus" - was religion a part of life then?

LR:
Nope. The song goes round and round with the only words being - "Jesus/help me find my proper place/help me in my weakness/cause I'm falling out of grace". That's about life, not religion.

I:
Whatever you say. And "Afterhours"? Maureen Tucker sung that, didn't she?

LR:
Yeah, at gunpoint. It's a song from a very shy girl's point-of-view. You could say it was guileless singing, but it was perfect casting. Moe was a painfully shy person. That's why it worked beautifully.

I:
Were you happy with the album?

LR:
I thought it had this soothing quality, you know. It's the sort of album you'll like listening to after a hard day's work.

I:
Your final album - Loaded was catchier and more commercially astute than anything the band had done before. There are some truly classic rock tunes on it - "Sweet Jane", "Rock And Roll"…but you didn't sing on some of the other tracks, how come?

LR:
My throat was overworked from constant performing. So, Doug sung some of the songs. No slur on him, but he didn't really understand a lot of the lyrics. Also, Maureen wasn't on this album - she'd just gotten pregnant. Doug's brother Billy played drums. Some good songs on it, sure, but not my favourite Velvets album.

I:
For a lot of people, it's their favourite.

LR:
From the most advanced art rock band in the world, we were becoming just another rock 'n roll band. Doug, in fact, was being seen by our manager as the potential star frontman. This was the end, really. I couldn't do the music I wanted to do, too many commercial pressures. I didn't want to be in a mass pop national hit group with followers. Drugs also played its part - the paranoia that results from it. I left, and the band dissipated shortly.

I:
So John Cale was vindicated in a way.

LR:
After many years, I did see his point. We'd done something revolutionary for a while.

I:
What did all of you do after the band split up?

LR:
John and I went our own musical ways, Sterl taught English and later pursued his PhD. Moe raised a family. Life went on.

I:
And then, in June 1990, the unthinkable happened. The band reconvened.

JC:
Yes, Lou, Moe, Sterl and me - we were the band really - got together in a small town outside Paris to celebrate the life and art of Andy Warhol. We found that the spark was still there.

LR:
We toured Europe in 1993. The reception we got was f#@*#@* AMAZING, man. We were bigger than we'd ever been, at our peak in the '60s. Thirty years later.

I:
The Czech president Vaclav Havel received you in Prague, didn't he?

JC:
He was actually a great fan of ours. Apparently, right through the '60s and '70s, he and other members of the Czech political resistance listened to smuggled copies of our records. For solace and inspiration, he said.

LR:
Somehow, our music has seemed to always speak to the isolated. Being a Velvets fan is a bit of a loner's joy, they say.

I:
After being trashed during the band's lifetime, it must feel great to be feted today.

LR:
It makes me feel really good that our music is every bit as contemporary as we meant it to stay. People thought we were bullshitting, being pretentious, for trying to do something you could hear years from now. Something that would engage you, your sensibilities and sensitivities, in a way that is timeless and isn't just based on teenage angst.

I:
Sterling Morrison's recent death must have been a huge shock. Will you still play as a band?

JC:
We'd stopped playing before that, no-one could take abuse from Lou anymore. His behaviour at times was inhuman. To me, how a person like him could write beautiful songs like he wrote, is a bigger mystery than the existence of god.

LR:
Is our music available in India too?

I:
The albums are, on CD. On cassette, there's your live '93 album and there's also a neat compilation available.

JC:
What's it called - "Greatest Hits"?

(laughter)

I:
Thanks for the interview, gentlemen. You were both unusually talkative. Hope we can meet again to discuss your solo careers.

LR:
In your dreams.

I:
Like this one.

(You can tell this was an imaginary interview. Lou Reed did not have the last word.)


Gentleman
August 1999

The world’s finest band
How R.E.M. went beyond the American Dream


No-one comes close to REM for the mantle of the world's finest band in the nineties. That, by the way, is one-fifth of pop history.

Think about it. Popular music, as we know it, is in its 5th decade. Every decade has had one or two artists who defined it with path-breaking music of a consistently high quality. Elvis in the fifties, The Beatles and Bob Dylan in the sixties, maybe Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd in the seventies, Sting and U2 in the eighties; the nineties have seen Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Beck, Radiohead, even U2 has sparkled…but nobody's output comes close to R.E.M.'s. There have been 5 albums from R.E.M. in the nineties. Each one of them is superb, all different from each other, yet with a quintessential R.E.M. touch.

The interesting thing, however, is that R.E.M. really is an eighties band. Their story began in 1979 in Athens, Georgia - a small southern American college town. Peter Buck (guitar), who was working in a record store, used to set aside his favourite albums to keep for himself. An Art student, Michael Stipe (vocals), regularly sauntered in to ask for the very records that Buck was holding for his private collection. Sparks flew and they soon became roommates. After much convincing from Stipe, Buck picked up a guitar and the pair started a band with fellow-students Mike Mills (bass) and Bill Berry(drums). They called themselves R.E.M. (Rapid Eye Movement) which is the physical indicator of the deepest state of dreaming. Pretty arty, huh?

Punk had just died and amidst the early '80s new wave bands, R.E.M. brought melodic guitar-pop back to the American underground. The band began by playing shows in an abandoned church and soon moved up to local bar audiences. Those who hated them would never return and those who loved them passed on the word and became die-hard fans. Then the band recorded a rough single "Radio Free Europe", which became a hit on college radio stations around America. Combining a punk attitude, a dance beat and American roots rock, R.E.M. were creating a new style of music that would soon be called Alternative Rock.

Their first full-length album Murmur (1983) won them outstanding critical acclaim. It was Rolling Stone magazine's best album of the year, beating out mainstream biggies like Michael Jackson's Thriller and Police's Synchronicity. Murmur really set the "R.E.M. sound" in concrete. Mature, intricate, yet very tuneful, it had songs like "Catapult" about childhood memories and "Talk About The Passion" about the country's nose-in-the-air" attitude to the homeless. Demonstrating that the group was not, from the beginning, afraid to be personal or political. "Shaking Through" was an imaginative mixture of pop melody and country twang. The sound was that of a band looking optimistically at the road ahead. If ignorance is bliss, Murmur is its soundtrack.

R.E.M. had arrived and the anthemic "So Central Rain (I'm Sorry)" from Reckoning (1984) further expanded their cult status. The first slew of bands began imitating their sound and R.E.M. gladly supported them. Then came Fables of the Reconstruction (1985). Recorded in London, this is till date the darkest album in the R.E.M. catalogue, even though it has splendid, pop-friendly songs like "Driver 8" and "Can't Get There From Here". With Life's Rich Pageant (1986), they cleaned up their sound which once again brought them tremendous critical acclaim and an increase in audience. There was a song about acid rain ("Fall On Me"), environmental pollution ("Cuyahoga") and even America's covert political actions in Central America ("The Flowers of Guatemala"). But it was really with Document (1987) that R.E.M. got its first taste of mainstream success. "The One I Love" (written because Stipe was determined to use the word "love" in a song) was misinterpreted just like Springsteen's "Born In The USA" in 1984. Many thought this was a classic love song as it began with: "This one goes out to the one I love". Then came the twist - the lover was described as " a simple prop to occupy my mind". The famed R.E.M. touch again. The commercial implications were fortunate. The song became R.E.M.'s first Top Ten single and the highly praised album sold reasonably well too. Warner Bros now signed them up for a massive contract and R.E.M's last eighties album - Green (1988) further accentuated the band's strength as songwriters and music icons.

R.E.M.'s eighties work had helped shift the focus to where rock 'n roll was headed. They had challenged the corporate shackles on the music business like no-one else. R.E.M. never compromised on their vision, they never went to success, success came to them. They inspired numerous later-to-be rock superstars away from the superficial mainstream music of the eighties to the intricate, meaningful, do-it- yourself sound that the world couldn't appreciate till the nineties came along. Through optimism, naiveté, and the adventurous, imaginative spirit of youth, R.E.M. produced a catalogue of music in the eighties that is touching, yet awe-inspiring. They had realised their "American Dream" by becoming America's greatest band in the eighties, by constantly growing artistically, yet gradually increasing their audience. The amazing thing, in retrospect now, was that R.E.M. had just begun to hit its stride.

Primarily, R.E.M's format in the eighties had been guitar, bass, drums and voice. Even though they created magic within it, with their brand of "jangle 'n mumble", there was ultimately a "sameyness" to the sound. But, almost as if on cue, they started the '90s with a fairly radical departure.

In Out of Time (1991), they accommodated strings and harpsichord, mandolin and organ in some songs, there was even a slight nod to rap in "Radio Song". The album had a curious instrumental track with Stipe humming along ("Endgame"), an interesting ramble ("Belong") and a downright ironic duet with Kate Pierson of B-52's ("Shiny Happy People"). But the real magic happened on the tracks that had the distinctive "R.E.M touches" - "Losing My Religion" "Near Wild Heaven" and "Me In Honey", yet sounded different somehow. There was a newfound lightness-of-touch in the songs that clearly made the album more accessible than anything they'd done before. Out of Time became the first R.E.M. album to reach Number One on the Billboard charts. It was also huge hit internationally and suddenly the band was world-famous. The boundaries had been pushed. The world had finally caught on.

R.E.M. sweated over their next album. They stayed off the road and recorded in various studios around the country. When Automatic For The People (1992) finally came out, it was instantly recognised as an all-time-great album. Its soulful melancholy and gentle tone make it one of the most tasteful albums ever recorded. The arrangements were largely acoustic and subtle, the playing innovative, the singing sharp yet compassionate. Songs like "Everybody Hurts", "Try Not To Breathe", "Find The River", "Nightswimming" and “Man On The Moon” are genuine pop masterpieces. This is an album that touches people of any musical taste - I've seen Classical Music purists and Hindi film music buffs appreciating Automatic. Lyrically too, there was more clarity. R.E.M. songs had always had obscure lyrics before. Here, without ever losing the sophistication, there was an emotional directness that made the songs that much more accessible.

Not long before he died, Kurt Cobain stated that R.E.M. was his favourite band. Considering how different Nirvana's musical direction seemed to be from R.E.M.'s, this seemed to be a strange admission. Actually it was symptomatic of how R.E.M. had bridged the gap between alternative and mainstream music. Cobain went on to say that it was his ambition to do an album like Automatic - "quiet and acoustic". Unfortunately, he committed suicide before achieving his goal. What followed was ironic.

Kurt Cobain and the actor River Phoenix were among Michael Stipe's closest friends. Their deaths, within months of each other, affected him deeply. As it was, R.E.M was having trouble with the next album. Doing a follow-up to Automatic no doubt would be intimidating for any band, even if they were as accomplished as R.E.M. The next album was bound to be compared with Automatic and likely to fall short - great albums like Automatic happen once-in-a-blue-moon. Maybe that's why they decided to go to the other end of the spectrum - to avoid that very comparison. From a quiet, restrained acoustic sound to a loud, in-your-face, electric sound; from the ambit of folk-rock to something very close to heavy grunge-rock. Kurt Cobain had wanted to move towards the shimmering beauty of Automatic. Instead, the creators of Automatic had gravitated towards Kurt Cobain's soundscape. It was a perverse thing to do, commercially speaking. Their two nineties albums had got them lots of new listeners, while strengthening the old fan-base. Now, with this new album, they stood to alienate a significant part of their audience, people who basically expected to hear acoustic gems (shades of Dylan going electric in 1965 ?).

However, Monster (1994) was a masterful album. Right from the wonderfully jumpy "What's The Frequency, Kenneth", the 12 songs demonstrated all the exquisite songwriting qualities associated with R.E.M - only the format had changed. Buried under the urgent-sounding electric guitars, the song-lyrics commented on the problems of personal identity and the media onslaught on it - obviously something clearly affecting R.E.M. Not a very accessible album, Monster still had songs where the old magic showed up instantly, like the beautiful "Strange Currencies" and the gut-felt ode to Kurt Cobain "Let Me In". The playing, too was fantastic - Peter Buck's guitar-work, Mike Mill's melodic bass lines, Bill Berry's crisp, decisive drumming…interestingly, this was R.E.M.'s edgiest album ever. A state-of-mind that almost resulted in R.E.M. breaking up. They reached a stage where they weren't even talking to each other. Though they sat down and sorted things out, a spate of medical emergencies threatened their existence next. Stipe, Mills and Berry all landed up in hospital within weeks of each other. Berry, in fact, almost died of a brain aneurysm. Characteristically, they survived this too and went on a world tour to support Monster.

They planned to create their next album while on-the-road, by recording their sound-checks, jam-sessions and even some live performances. The resulting album New Adventures In Hi-Fi (1996) was perhaps their most spontaneous, even though it sounded like a well-crafted studio album. It was also more varied than any former R.E.M. album - with a languorously moody track (the terrific "How The West Was Won And Where It Got Us"), enigmatic chant-like talk-songs (the superb collaboration with Patti Smith "E-Bow The Letter"), raucous rockers ("The Wake-Up Bomb"), the familiar REM sound ("Bittersweet Me") and the ethereal Automatic feel (the fantastic "Electrolyte"). This was yet another sensational album. The album ended with Stipe singing, "Your eyes are burning holes through me/I'm not scared/ I'm outta here". Words that would soon prove prophetic for Bill Berry.

After 16 remarkable years with R.E.M. Bill Berry decided to call it quits. He was finding it difficult to cope with the pressures of continuously creating music of such high quality and the rigors of touring had also exhausted him. How would the world's most accomplished band manage without their drummer? Well, they've much more than just managed in Up (1998). Just like a newly blinded man suddenly finds his hearing power enhanced, R.E.M. have discovered facets to their music they'd never consciously deliberated on before. They've reinvented their sound yet again, with a more layered and orchestrated sound that seems influenced by Radiohead's OK Computer. In fact, lots of influences seem somewhat recognisable for the first time on an R.E.M. album. Leonard Cohen in "Hope", The Beach Boys in "At My Most Beautiful", David Bowie in "Lotus", Bryan Ferry in "Suspicion" and the '60s folk-rock band Love in "Walk Unafraid"…their spirits are all recalled here, yet without R.E.M. ever losing their individuality on the songs. The superb "Daysleeper" is the only vintage REM song in the album. "Diminished" is an excellent story song, "Why Not Smile" is as romantic as Stipe's ever got, "You're In The Air" (originally titled "Bombay" till Stipe rewrote it) is enigmatic, "Falls To Climb" is resonant and memorable. "Sad Professor" is a masterpiece - the most beautiful cry of despair you'll ever hear. In fact, all the songs in the album are about personal crises of different individuals, introspective moments you feel you're eavesdropping into. Stipe brings a variety to his singing for the first time ever, with enthralling results. Up is a truly great album…with the promise of even greater music to come.

Berry, Buck, Mills and Stipe have always been low profile and non-controversial, very unlike rock stars. They've always made creative and financial decisions democratically and their songs have always been credited to all four of them, a very unique thing indeed. Now, even without Berry (who Stipe revealed as the one who wrote "Everybody Hurts"), R.E.M. still continues to stride upwards, breaking new ground, creating a body of work that'll stand the test of time (all their '90s albums and a few of the '80s ones are available in India; their '80s work till Document is nicely compiled in The Best Of R.E.M.). Indeed, for being able to do their best work without ever compromising on their artistic integrity, they are worthwhile role models for people in any field, artistic or otherwise. In 1986, REM had said they'd split up on 31st December, 1999. Thankfully, they were just joking. At the rate at which they're going, the first decade of the 21st century should also be theirs.

Jaideep Varma
(with Debika Chaterjea)

Gentleman
April 1999