Dan Schorr: News/Music Writing

It has taken for the keyboard instrument family to find a permanent role in rock. After enjoying dominance in early rock and roll, the piano was soon outshone by the guitar, with which it could not compete in cachet (or in volume, versatility, and portability). For a time, keyboard instruments found a role as suppliers of coloration – I am thinking most notably of the harpsichord, as well as of the very first synthesizers. Various types of organs became more popular as well, and ever more elaborate as the years went on. But the piano has become, with some famous exceptions, essentially a rhythm instrument in most of the pop music that doesn’t take its cue directly from jazz.

Many keyboard instruments are inconvenient to move around and keep in tune (the pioneering synthesizer sounds of the 60’s and early 70’s were also difficult to recreate on stage). When rock artists feel the urge to simplify, to pare down their sound, it is often the keyboard that is jettisoned. However, there is one keyboard instrument that has found almost universal and unquestioned acceptance. I am referring to the electronic keyboards that have come into their own during the last 25 years or so. They are often used to simulate other keyboards (most often the piano or organ) on stage and very often on record as well. They are affordable, easy to transport, and durable.

Possibly because of their ease of use, the use of the electronic keyboard, like that of the guitar, is rarely questioned. They are considered essential as a conventional piano or organ never would be.* It would be considered churlish to say that these keyboards almost always sound artificial, that they bring inauthenticity to musical performance.

But the way keyboards really do their harm, in my opinion, is by filling in all the empty spaces in a band’s ensemble sound, with the result that all the instruments end up lacking articulation. I don’t have the knowledge to prove this scientifically, but it has always seemed to me that the keyboard, while it may sound enough like a piano to give the impression of being ‘real’, occupies a wider band on the sound spectrum than a live piano. The notes are ‘fatter’, which gives the keyboard a bit more presence, but also causes it to take up a lot of sonic space. When you add to this the tendency of many guitarists to sustain their notes, it becomes that much more difficult to establish tonal contrasts or to use dynamics to any advantage.

If we took a more judicious approach to the portable keyboard, we might end up not using it at all in most cases, and allow for more empty spaces in the music. A real piano or organ could sometimes be substituted.

*not just for wedding bands and the like, but in the music that is most highly regarded by critics and discerning fans.

...just scroll down until you find your topic.

Montgomery Gentry is a mainstream country vocal duo – aside from that I know little else about them. I have not heard any of their albums in their entirety, and for some reason, I am not seeking to do so. But I have listened to their singles from 2000 to the present, closely, and with as much enjoyment as I have experienced with almost any other records. I will contend that these half-dozen songs are the best American roots music that has been released in the last ten years.

(The fans of “roots” music, who are a devoted lot -- sometimes religiously so -- might well dismiss this out of hand.)

Every kind of pop music has its purists, but few are more unbending than the adherents of “classic” country music. Modern commercial country music is not even ‘country’ music to them. It is a watered-down, deracinated music, not of the farm, but of the exurbs that have been built over the farmland.

Actually, it is hard not to agree with this argument. What people don’t realize, or at least don’t take into account, is that country music has always been influenced by the mainstream of pop music, to a greater or lesser degree. Eddie Arnold showed the influence of the pop crooners of his day. Bob Wills embraced jazz. Decades later rock styles and even disco would seep into country music (Of course, some of the most distinguished country artists resisted the commercialism both of pop and mainstream country).

Nowadays things are no different. The weakness of modern country is the weakness of pop music in general. Country gets its sentimental power ballads from pop, its lyrical and musical bombast from stadium rock (U2, and so forth); it has lost its connection with the British Isles ballad and American swing, just as rock has lost its connection with
R & B and gospel. The mediocrity of country songwriting forms part of the mediocrity of popular music songwriting as a whole.

So, one day I’ll buy a Montgomery Gentry album, and hope for the best. Meanwhile, I’ll revel in the singles masterpieces they have thus far created (no doubt with the help of brilliant producers and, yes, songwriters). Their first one came out in 2000 or thereabouts: “Daddy Won’t Sell The Farm”, with its brilliant lyric that, while not taking itself at all too seriously, is able to remark upon cultural and environmental decline with a subtlety that all singer-songwriters should emulate. “Gone” and “What Do You Think About That?” are two more gems that were released subsequently. My favorite, though, is one of their more recent hits, “Hell Yeah”, a lyrical tour de force, and a musical composition whose taut development is worthy of closer analysis by aspiring songwriters.

I find so much to listen to in these songs. Every arrangement choice is purposeful and well articulated. There are bluegrass instruments: the mandolin introduction and marvelous dobro solo in “What Do You Think About That?”; there is guitar work that displays the unlikely combination of virtuosity and musicality; there is rhythmic drive that is seldom found in contemporary popular music of any type. Even the best independent roots music seems a bit fussy when compared to Montgomery Gentry’s best work.

If you find yourself frustrated by the lack of spontaneity, the lack of articulation between instrumental parts, the lack of point of view and a sense of humor, the generic quality of the music you hear, then you should consider Montgomery Gentry, unless you can’t abide contemporary country on principle -- which I would have to accept is likely.

Go to the "Music" page to download "Moo Cow In My Backyard", a favorite from 3rd grade music class. You can also get "The Lady In The Tree" and "ABC Animal Adventure".

When I compare more recent and contemporary popular* singers with their forebears from earlier decades, I am struck by how fundamentally different people's singing voices used to sound (even taking into account improvements in recording technology). I am referring both to vocal quality and the emotional character of the voice. It is as if past singers came from a different culture altogether from our own.

I don't believe pop singers used to try consciously to insert emotion and expression into their voices -- 'getting the emotion across' is much more the the order of the day now than it was in earlier decades. One reason for it is that (I believe) performers are now very conscious of the legacy of the great singers who came before them: Aretha Franklin, George Jones, Otis Redding, Sinatra, to name just a very few of the most influential. Self-consciousness may be one reason some pop singers nowadays seem to strive for emotionalism, sometimes to excess.

However, I think that however hard singers of the past worked to be successful, they were not always striving so mightily for a tour de force. Another way to put it would be to say Otis Redding, for example, never tried to be 'Otis Redding'; he stayed in his own skin, never trying to manipulate how the audience experienced him. However strong they may be technically, some contemporary singers do not seem to trust that we will hear them for who they are, so they over-interpret, putting emphasis where it doesn't belong; they can be uncomfortable with their organic selves.

The pitfall for singer-songwriters is an over-awareness of following in a tradition. I believe traditions are inherently enriching, should be approached with respect, even reverence. But in music, tradition can also be burdensome -- a pitfall. Revering a certain musical tradition can make us think that adherence to a particular style is just as important as songwriting and composing, as creating an original vocal persona. There are so many talented vocalists in folk music and related genres. But their singing and songwriting styles can oftentimes be generic. I listen for whether a singer truly 'inhabits' the songs he or she is singing. To me, Lucinda Williams is an example of a singer-songwriter who accomplishes this.

In earlier times, pop music performers tended to be gifted amateurs, whereas now one has to be much more professional, and usually more polished, in order into enter into the the pop music field and remain successful. There was a time when pop singers did not have an 'approach'; singers did not usually take their craft with the seriousness (sometimes it is self-seriousness) that we see more nowadays. Or they did, but the seriousness was not heard in their vocal style. Today, singers are much more conscious of their craft; they are more competent and professional than in any previous era. We need to remember that the voice is not only an instrument, but an expression of personality.

*by this term I mean all genres that could be grouped in the category of popular music: popular standards, blues, country, bluegrass, rock, many kinds of 'world' music etc.

Go to danschorr.blogspot.com to read this essay.

The importance of playing a musical instrument extremely well varies according to the musical style in question. In Western classical music and jazz, it is not possible to have a meaningful professional career unless one is very accomplished on one’s instrument; the same seems to be true for performers in the classical traditions of non-Western cultures. The matter is simply not up for discussion in these cases, nor should it be, perhaps.

Obviously, though, there are other musical areas in which there is more latitude regarding technical ability on an instrument. Pop music (in the broadest definition of the term), has successful performers whose skill level ranges much more widely. There are those who are the technical equals of classical musicians, in some cases because they have been trained classically; some people can move back and forth easily between the classical world and that of their particular pop genre (Mark O’Connor is one of the foremost examples of this class of musician). But this case is obviously exceptional. It goes without saying that there are also musicians of limited skill who can make memorable music. And songwriters can also vary widely in instrumental skill level (though nowadays, successful professional songwriters tend also to be technically adept on an instrument).

I should mention that bluegrass should probably be grouped with jazz in that, ever more over the years, the community that plays bluegrass professionally and semi-professionally demands that its performers be technically very able; the audience for the music seems to want this as well. Also, as pop music grows ever more professionalized, with its performers boasting conservatory training in many cases, the average level of musicianship that you will see at a folk festival or major club venue is very high, particularly among the musicians in the bands backing the featured performers.

However, in pop music, virtuosity can still be an aesthetic choice, particularly when at least some of the instruments play parts that are improvised, or at least semi-improvised. And with this as a premise, it is useful to examine the strains of virtuosity that are seen in the pop world.

Virtuosity became one of the tools of rock musicians in the late ‘60’s, as it has been plentifully noted by rock historians. During the '70’s, the virtuosic abilities of some performers entered into the realm of self-parody. The stereotype of the guitar player who strives to fit the most notes possible into a measure, the drummer with the 3-bass-drum kit who embarks on 20 minute solos, the Royal Conservatory-trained organist who plays rock fugues, is a less true one than 30 years ago. However, virtuosity-for-its-own sake has taken a permanent place in the performance culture of musicians. Those players who are masters of their instrument – I envy them all – must struggle, in some cases, with deciding when to avoid playing too much. I would imagine they must also fight against ‘voluntary simplicity’ – playing too little in an attempt to establish a kind of musical humility, only to appear inauthentic in the final result. Soloists in pop have, it would seem, far too many choices. They have not just one, but multiple sets of traditions and vocabularies to draw upon (‘Should I play this line like Hendrix, or John McLaughlin? What would Neil Young have done here? Or Steve Cropper or James Burton?’) The balance between instinct and training can be lost, and perspective with it. I confess I hear a lot of skill in pop music (again, the term ‘pop’ is being used as broadly as possible) – and again, I would love to have much more of it myself than I do – but less personality than I would wish for as a listener. Even some of the best players in contemporary music I find to be indistinct stylistically. Too much knowledge is reflected in their work; it is oftentimes culturally ambiguous.

The greatest pop music instrumentalists of today clear their minds of their predecessors’ legacies, and strive only to ensure that the intention of their musical ideas is unmistakable. Those who can bring focus, or even ‘narrative’ to their performances, are to my mind the best of the very distinguished lot of musicians we now have.

There is a species of ant -- the fire ant -- that has moved up from the tropics and established itself in the South. When I was a child I had heard the fire ant was a pest, so I resolved to search the property for fire ant nests and eradicate them. I believed I had seen the fire ants before, but I could not distinguish them in my imagination from other harmless kinds of ants. I believed the only way of becoming familiar with fire ants was getting bitten by one. They could kill animals with their stings; this frightened me, but also attracted me to them.

There was a number of small dirt mounds scattered around the yard. I could see tiny red ants going in and out of holes at the tops of these mounds. Surely these were the ones. Only wicked, fearless insects would have established themselves so conspicuously and so near human habitation.

In appearance they were not fearsome creatures, but something in their comportment was unsettling. Their movements seemed deliberate, even measured. I believed they were conspiring in some way, and would accumulate in numbers until they became invincible.

The only appropriate way to kill them would be in a duel of wits. I wanted to challenge them on their own level, test their defenses, find and exploit their weaknesses. I hoped for circumstances that would require me to devise ingenious and bizarre weapons against the ants.

I first chose a certain ant nest off the side of the house. Once I had destroyed it, I would move on to the others.

The fire ant is very tough, and can withstand a blow. The only way of destroying one by force alone is by rubbing a stone or some other hard object over it repeatedly. At first I thought of digging the nest out of the ground with a shovel, then crushing the ants with my shoe. But this would have been too hazardous. Then the idea occurred to me of burning the ants to death with a magnifying glass.

I found this weapon worked well on isolated ants that were simply minding their business about the mound, if they were moving slowly enough. Surprise was necessary to get the beam of sunlight squarely upon them. If they detected the heat, they scurried away before the light could do harm. After a time I realized I was not killing enough of them to affect the life of the nest. They had to be drawn out and killed in numbers.

The ants were sensitive to disturbances around the nest. When I pulled on a blade of grass that was on the mound, or pushed a stick into an entrance hole, ants would stream out, ready to attack. In this defensive mode they were very agitated. But as soon as they sensed there was no intruder they began merely to mill around, and then they were easy to pick off with the magnifying glass. In this manner I increased the number of ants killed by two- or three-fold.

My methods of drawing out the ants were very damaging to the mound itself. Soon it was completely razed. The ants began to come out in smaller and smaller numbers. I assumed this was because I had killed most of the worker and warrior ants. The next step was to get at the higher castes, and eventually, the queen ant.

(Eventually, I did get get stung by some of the ants. The sting felt like a violent pinch, although it did not leave a welt. The stinger is in the abdomen, and the ant applies it by raising the rear of its body up, then pushing the stinger down into the skin.)

To reach the lower levels of the colony, I set off firecrackers in the gound. The explosions drew swarms of angry ants. After the smoke cleared I would light a second firecracker and drop it on the ants themselves. They would swarm over the firecrackers and sting them -- apparently thinking them living creatures -- and scurry away just before they exploded. Afterwards all the ants would be gone.

I began to see ants of other castes. There was a type with a larger abdomen that looked very fierce. There were also puny winged ants that were less aggressive than the others.

I could not tell how deep the nest went underground. I had made a crater about four inches deep with the firecrackers, but each explosion revealed new tunnels. Moreover, the ants seemed to be getting used to my attacks. I jammed sticks deep down into the tunnels and exploded quantities of firecrackers to draw them out, but they reacted less and less angrily each time. After a while, I felt they were ignoring me.

Finally, I decided to destroy the nest in one quick blow. I boiled water and poured it slowly over the nest, allowing time for the water to sink in. It was satisfying to know that the ants would be destroyed in the lower reaches of the colony, where I had not been able to reach. I left, expecting that when I returned I would find the nest completely lifeless.

When I came back some time later there was a neat pile of ant carcasses and destroyed larvae in the middle of a crater. The surviving ants were bringing more dead from underground and adding them to this pile. They went about their work with what seemed a horrible patience. Now and again a winged ant crawled to the surface and flew away -- later I surmised that these flying ants would begin new nests elsewhere. After that time I did not kill any more of the ants.

If Paul Revere And The Raiders are not as well remembered today as they should be, it may be partly because of the way the group presented itself during the 5 years or so (1965 until about 1971) it was before the national public. Drawing on the comic sensibility of silent movies, and performing in Revolutionary War costumes, the Raiders' stage presentation seemed somewhat behind even its own times, for all the popularity they enjoyed.

The Raiders also underwent many changes in personnel, beginning from the very first days of the group and continuing onwards throughout its career -- only the leader and keyboard player, who went under the stage name "Paul Revere", and Mark Lindsay, the singer and occasional saxophonist, remained constant. This undoubtedly prevented the band from forming a distinct public personality, in the way that other famous contemporary groups were able to do. Moreover, they were principally a singles group, never quite able to make an LP that could capture artistic notice on its own.

It is too bad that so much about the Raiders has been forgotten. For along with with the costumes, the pratfalls, and the choreographed stage moves, there was also the singing of Mark Lindsay, which was as distinctive and versatile, and in hindsight, at least as appealing as that of other, better remembered rock vocalists from that period (The Raiders' best work as a group has also not been given its due).

The Raiders, as some of you may know, were at the outset a rock and roll dance band from the Pacific Northwest. They had, at least at the beginning, a garage-band sensibility (among other things) that they unfortunately began to depart from on record. However, as a garage-rock singer, Mark Lindsay had no equal. "Just Like You", their first big national hit from '65, is maybe the best example for supporting this assertion, but one could also draw upon "Get It On" (an album track from the '66 LP "Midnight Ride"), and "Good Thing" and "Louise" (from "The Spirit of '67" album).

However, Lindsay was capable of much more even than this. At his best, Lindsay was also as good a pure pop/rock singer as any in the business. On "Him Or Me (What's It Gonna Be?)" (a single from late '66/early '67), Lindsay creates wonderful emotional tautness in the verses, then employs his trademark garage-rock intensity in the refrains -- at no time does he 'push' the feeling into the song (as some rock performers can do). This track is a textbook for rock singers.

Lindsay's voice had other distinct characteristics worthy of mentioning. On the track "Undecided Man" from "The Spirit of '67" (composed by Lindsay and Revere), he displays a pop sensibility influenced by nothing if not musical theatre. Another small masterpiece of the Raiders was for a TV commercial for a Pontiac muscle car known as "The Judge" (I don't think this song was ever put on record, but the commercial itself may be seen on YouTube). In this performance (the lyrics are nothing more than a list of "The Judge's" custom accessories) Lindsay's voice takes on a richness and smoothness reminiscent of the best of surf music.

The Raiders were unable to adapt to the increasingly ambitious and experimental direction of rock, and by 1967, they seemed at a loss as to how to proceed -- the attention of the listening public gradually went elsewhere. Over time, the Raiders' legacy was seen as less important than that of some of their contemporaries (however unjustly). As a result, Mark Lindsay's contributions to rock singing have not been recognized as much as one would have hoped.

I have put up a review of Teddy Thompson's album, "Upfront And Down Low" on upfrontanddownlowreview.blogspot.com

I have other webpages for writings less related to music: danschorr.blogspot.com for essays; danschorrfiction.blogspot.com for fiction pieces; hoobahboobahland.blogspot.com for history, culture, and politics of Hoobah Boobah Land.

Feel free to listen to and download my new composition: "Those Who Live Upon The Land Are Fools"

There have been many virtuosic achievements in studio recording in the last 50 years, and many of these have been exhaustively (I won't say 'obsessively') chronicled. I am as enamored of the studio-as-instrument as anyone, and take delight in learning rock recording trivia. I loved learning, for example, how the sword mandel, or dilruba, or whichever Indian instrument it was that George Harrison played on "Strawberry Fields Forever" would barely fit into Abbey Road Studios (or maybe it was that it took 2 or three people to carry it in). All that for probably a 30-second overdub. And I'm certain the Abbey Road engineers had to hot-wire their equipment in some ingenious way in order to record the instrument at all, etc. & etc., and that it is now all the stuff of recording legend.

I buy into this bit of recording studio legend, along with all the other ones that color the history of pop music, with untrammeled delight. Certainly, some pop music has been marvelously, ingeniously recorded over the years. And some of the overlooked examples of great rock/pop/country/soul recording would be worth looking into on their own.

But in thinking back through all the recorded music I've listened to over the years, I still feel that, outside the world of classical music, the greatest overall achievement in recording instrumental groups was made by Blue Note Records during the period from about 1955-1965 (to the jazz historian Phil Schaap: in the unlikely event you are reading this, go easy on me if I'm a year or two off on the dates).

If you're unfamiliar with Blue Note Records, they put out hundreds of milestone (no pun intended, Miles Davis fans) albums by Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers, Lee Morgan, Wayne Shorter, Dexter Gordon, Eric Dolphy, and other jazz greats.

I am no expert in the technical side of recording, and have not taken the trouble to read any books or articles about the way in which Blue Note artists were recorded (I'm sure some informative ones have been written). But somehow the engineers for Blue Note were able to obtain a combination of warmth, fidelity, balance, and presence that, to lesser or greater degrees, have eluded all who came before and after them. Listen to Lee Morgan's masterpiece "Sidewinder" album, to give just one example. It sounds as if it were recorded yesterday*.

While I personally am in favor of overdubbing, especially on pop and rock recordings (though I am ambivalent about many of the more recent recording innovations, such as pitch-correction software, the capability ProTools gives us of moving individual notes around with a computer mouse, the demise of recording tape in favor of just recording onto a computer hard drive), it should be noted that all the Blue Note recordings were done as full ensemble takes, without overdubbing. They would do more than one take at times, and seemingly just use the best one (on CD re-releases of the Blue Note catalogue they often include a couple of the alternate takes from the original sessions).

The intimacy of Blue Note recordings never feels forced, the presence of each individual instrument never exaggerated (listen, in contrast, to some jazz recordings of the 70's up to the present, on which the acoustic bass is so aggressively 'live' you feel the need to escape into the next room). I'm glad there is such an extensive tribute to focused understatement in recorded sound as exists in the Blue Note catalogue.

*in the sense that the recording still sounds fresh and vivid. However, it now occurs to me that if it had literally been recorded 'yesterday' (that is, on November 19th, 2007), even with the same musicians performing the exact same compositions, I would predict the recording would be lacking in the warmth and vivacity of the original, because of 'advances' in recording practices and technology.

I feel uneasy bringing up the topic of social class at all. To assign anyone to a particular class seems so alien to our time, to our unspoken aspirations to liberated classlessness. It might be seen as reductionist to try to describe the attributes of social classes -- to say that a person is from a certain class (in our country at least) is to do violence to that person's individuality, even to deny his or her humanity, in the eyes of some.

Yet so long as the class we're talking about is more or less an abstraction, and if we are at a physical or historical remove from the parties being described, we have less trouble with speaking of social class as a determining force in people's lives. The "working class" of pre-1939 Europe, or the "landless peasantry" of pre-communist China, colonial India, or of Central and South America in very recent or contemporary times are objects of impassioned allegiance with many people in America and in other affluent democracies. The above-named groups, to our minds, have definite characteristics; they can be thought of almost as individuals with their own personalities, thinking and acting in a certain ways which can be charted and predicted. It seems to me also that we have ascribed a great deal of virtue to the class groups mentioned above, as well as to the working classes in many other places around the world.

We read a statement such as "The urban working class in pre-Revolutionary Russia was almost as virulently anti-Semitic as the rural peasantry" (I am not actually quoting, though I could well be), and might be inclined to accept it uncritically, but if we were asked to take in the proposition that "In our times, the American working and lower-middle class is suffering from the effects of weakened family bonds, as well as from high consumer expectations frustrated by reduced spending power", we might well be offended.

Actually, I shouldn't say whether you would be offended or not. But I do know that honest discourse about social class and how it influences people's choices is very rare. I find this baffling, though not surprising in that we don't conceive of ourselves in terms of where we would be ordered in a class system -- the very notion of a class system itself probably seems arcane or irrelevant to most people.

Again, I share your distaste for even broaching the subject. But my interest in the connection between how the middle class (especially the upper-middle class) views itself and the phenomenon of family music is too great.

You may be aware that within the family music genre there is a division between the kind that is viewed as highly commercialized (The Wiggles, Disney, Barney) and another kind that has arisen at least partly in reaction to and even in protest against the first kind: 'independent' kid music: Dan Zanes, They Might Be Giants, Justin Roberts, and many others (the list is constantly lengthening); at any rate the latter category tends to be more home-grown, quirkier, less produced, etc.

The self-aware, conscientious subset of the middle class (which may be wealthier and better educated than the middle class as a whole) has embraced this latter-day flowering of independent family music. But I am struck by how sentimental so much of this independent kid music is, both musically and lyrically -- every bit as much as its 'unhip' counterpart. This is surprising, because the audience for this music is skeptical about institutions and authority figures, and is highly discriminating in how it goes about life in general -- it instinctively rejects the inauthentic or artificial in almost all arenas of life.

But in the music and lyrics of indy kid performers, maybe people are just looking for an appealing reflection of themselves: celebrations of looking for bottlecaps, your favorite childhood dog, sitting on front stoops, going to the thriftshop (this last activity is exclusively engaged in by upper-middle class, when it is done as a diversion). There are no dark corners, no misgivings, no regrets sung about in indy kid music (I am emphatically not referring to 'unhappy' childhoods, only to normal feelings experienced by children). I find this frustrating, because even placid-seeming childhoods are chock full of these things (the joyous experiences of childhood, which I would agree strongly deserve celebration in song, are, on the other hand, often written and sung about with a self-satisfaction that can be off-putting). It just doesn't ring true to me (the irony and the pop-culture throw-aways I hear in some of the music also seem somewhat glib). The indy kid music audience is very demanding about most other things in life: schools, pediatricians, food ingredients, toys, TV viewing (if that is even allowed at all). But I would have expected such people to want music that was a little more challenging (which does not necessarily mean louder or more dissonant).

One theme running through family music (this theme is certainly found in indy kid music as well) is that there may be much wrong with the world, but there is much to celebrate in ourselves. I would not go so far as to call this attitude a smug one, but I'm not sure how much the rest of the world sees things in this way. Or maybe it does, and I am wrong: some of the most prominent indy kid performers are getting mass exposure, and their popularity could prove broader and deeper than anyone would have thought. But the following is either an unscientific, unprovable generalization or a truism: children outside the warm confines of the comfortable, secure segment of the middle-class have not been much affected by indy kid music. Indy kid music (though some of it will certainly stand up to the test of time) speaks mainly to the upper middle-class world-view. And though I am uncomfortable admitting it, I find this view to be unconscionably restricted.

Recently my wife and I were purchasing Indian food at Whole Foods. I noticed the strains of "Please, Please, Please" by James brown above the hubbub. I expressed my annoyance aloud, an annoyance to which I could not give a name. My wife pointed out that the alternative could have been some kind of Muzak, and that I should appreciate the James Brown.

I agree that things could have been a lot worse. If I feel I have to object in writing to hearing James Brown at Whole Foods , or hearing Howlin' Wolf played over the speakers at Starbucks, then I know that my life may not be beset by insurmountable problems.

I can't argue that my aesthetic objections are significant enough to complain about publicly. I want to write instead about another subject -- one which I believe is legitimately raised when you hear a singer like James Brown at Whole Foods. That is, I would like to recall a time when not all music was considered equal.

In the 50 years before I was born, and up until when I was about 15 (more or less --I am about to turn 45), some kinds of pop music (in the broadest sense of the term) were considered vulgar. Shamefully for the society at large, much of that music was the music of African-Americans. When my mother (probably -- she is not absolutely certain it was him) saw Chuck Berry in Mississippi or Lousiana in the 50's, it was certainly without my grandmother's knowledge. We all are aware that 'race' music was marginalized. We are all also probably familiar with the oft-told story of how rock and roll and the folk revival changed people's attitudes towards 'vernacular' styles like gospel, blues, etc.

Of course, black music was not the only music that was scorned. The Hodges Brothers were a white string band from Bogue Chitto, MS., and played in southwest Mississippi honky-tonks in the 50's and possibly into the early 60's (they made only one record that I'm aware of). According to my uncle, many of their venues were burned down by the Ku Klux Klan. Since most of these were establishments frequented by whites only, the presumed reason for their immolation must have been the immorality to which some of the patrons became susceptible while inside. As for the music, I'm pretty sure my grandmother wouldn't have liked it any more than she would have Chuck Berry. I know for certain that she didn't like Jimmie Rodgers, for she told me as much just before I set out for Meridian, MS to visit his birthplace.

Now, at least outwardly, the American people, particularly the influential ones who are founding 'progressive' store chains like Whole Foods, who program radio, especially public radio, who write about music for a living -- but also the larger body of citizens who are drawn to progressive forms of consumption, are much more egalitarian. To suggest James Brown was not on the same order as any other composer would be considered barbaric. (I myself would never suggest this -- quite the opposite.)

So personally, I think it is wonderful that all musicians have the opportunity for acclaim. I just wonder how healthy this cultural conscientiousness of ours is for popular music as a whole. As I stroll through a Whole Foods (a not unpleasant experience, for sure), and see the profit motive suavely concealed under professions of environmentalism, of enlightened values; as I hear "Please Please Please" being played, with the probable intention of giving shoppers the feeling that their consumerism possesses some kind of 'edge', I draw back.

This may be my problem, and certainly not yours; you can call this a cynical view, if you must. You can also say it is cynical to maintain that some of the background music played in Starbucks, Barnes and Noble, etc. is infinitely more vital than the culture that has spawned these self-consciously benign chains; that there is a jarring disconnect when you hear "Beautiful Delilah" being played while people wearing handsome eyeglasses work on laptops and drink delicious (I think they truly are) caffeinated beverages.

Please don't interpret this entry as an expression of nostalgia. I am just observing that when pop music did not try to cross genres or reach unfamiliar or forbidden audiences, when the studious cultural egalitarianism of today would have been an inconceivable idea, American pop music, especially roots music, had a life force that is not present in our contemporary milieu. It is an awkward thing to acknowledge, but people who are 'apart', whose modes of expression are particular to a time and place and not representative of the general society, and who do not enjoy exposure and acclaim of the mainstream can oftentimes create the most interesting products. Taboos do not only repress.

At one time, parents merely tolerated their children's desire to play the drums. In recent years, so I've read, some parents have taken to encouraging their children take up the drums and other rock instruments, and then to form their own rock bands (again, with their parents' explicit approval).

In the Great Britain of the 1950's, from what I gather, such a notion would have been madness. But something I suspect would have been equally alien to that time and place would have been studying rock and other popular and semi-popular genres at the conservatory level (as is now commonplace). Rock musicians who came of age around 1960 would have to be self-taught, if they were to learn their instrument at all.

Rock is so much part of our cultural 'landscape' that buying our children drum kits and getting them a teacher seems perfectly normal. But 50 years ago, this would have been seen as 'daft'.

Without claiming to know a great deal about the childhood of Keith Moon, the original drummer for The Who, I am still fairly certain that he learned the first stages of his craft in a more or less unsupportive environment. His first kit was probably very cheaply crafted by today's standards, and the semi-detached house that I would wager he lived in scarcely would have room to practice. The neighbors, to say nothing of his own family, would have objected to the
" 'orrible row" he created. They also would have derisively rejected the notion that an instructor could teach someone to play the drums; paying a drum teacher would have been throwing good money after bad.

Whatever one's opinion of The Who as a group, it would be difficult to deny the utter originality of Keith Moon's drumming. No drummer I have ever heard from before, during, and certainly not after his time sounds even remotely like him. And no one has ever satisfactorily determined how he developed his style; Keith Moon himself was never much inclined to talk about his craft. He did not seem to be the kind of musical overachiever of which we have so many examples nowadays, patiently developing his or her craft over a long period, formally studying music theory and history and acquiring proficiency on other instruments, such as the piano, and venturing into other musical areas, such as composing and arranging. Not only his talent, but his ability also may well have been completely natural and untutored, developed mainly through recording and performing with his group. From what I do know of his personality, I can't imagine he set aside time to practice drums a great deal on his own -- though perhaps I am wrong on this.

He played in a way no teacher would ever sanction, and that no other group beside his own would tolerate (I have heard that his few efforts to play with other musicians were disastrous failures). He did not use the "ride" cymbal on stage that nearly all other drummers rely on to make an articulated 'ping'; he would make instead a constant crash -- imagine the sound of a wave breaking constantly -- on two or three smaller cymbals -- he never used a hi-hat on stage. And, interestingly, unlike many rock drummers of today, or of back then, his snare drum was not louder than the rest of the drums. Indeed, he rarely played straight time; he would punctuate the cymbal wash with elaborate fills that were (I can describe them no other way) created by his id -- attention-getting, to be sure, but, strangely and refreshingly, lacking the showboating quality that you often find in the playing of rock drummers.

Two Keith Moon performances that stand out for me are 1) The Who's appearance on The Shindig TV show in 1965. You can see it on YouTube, and it shows him when he played with a one bass-drum kit; and 2) The Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus, where they performed "A Quick One". I would compare the drum performances to a car driving fast along a precipice, threatening to fall off but never doing so.

The Who's career spanned several musical eras, and while I prefer their music prior to "Tommy", there is one post-Tommy performance of Keith's that I feel is not only stylistically but technically inimitable. I'm referring to the song (or if you prefer, the 'track') "Bargain" from 1971's "Who's Next" LP. You may say the kind of spiritual yearning expressed in the lyrics of "Bargain" seems quaint; you can rightly say this song is if anything overplayed on "Classic Rock" radio; but if I could I would like to claim that this song contains one of the best ever studio rock drumming performances.

I never tire of experiencing the spontaneity of Keith Moon. To me, our popular musical world nowadays seems so overly considered, so thoroughly mapped out. Self-consciousness dogs and bedevils our every move; we are told there is a precedent for everything we do, and unfortunately, many of us write and play songs as if we were just a bunch of influences with a human embodiment. But Keith Moon seemed utterly indifferent to how audiences, or for that matter, other people reacted to him; he had no precedent, and was not himself the precedent for anyone else. I am envious of this quality being free that he had. Of course, it was a double-edged sword both musically and personally for him. Sometimes his playing could be so undisciplined that the musicality he usually displayed could suffer -- he could cross the fine line between wildness and sloppiness. But I've always marveled at the musical risks that seemingly he had no fear of taking.

From 1968, when it was released, to around 1971, when the label that released it folded, probably no more than 50,000 record buyers purchased the album "George Jones Sings the Songs of Dallas Frazier". George Jones is one of the more amply recorded artists in American music, and over time, with changing tastes and ever more albums and singles to take up his fans' attention, this record was more or less forgotten. To my knowledge, it was never re-released on CD -- only a few of his records from 1960-1971 have been re-made into commercial CD's. From online retailers, it seems you can only get a couple dozen of his best-known songs from that period.

But insofar as it is possible to make a case in writing for this record to be one of the greatest long players ever made in the history of country music, I shall now attempt to do so.

For as much as I love country music, I would admit, if pressed, that much of it is indistinct melodically. Yet the most brilliant composers in the genre (of whom Frazier is certainly one), have been able to wrest consistently distinctive melodies from the 2-, 3-, 4-, and at most 5- or 6- chord progressions upon which the idiom is founded. I have heard novelists say they wish they could write a book of only one page. I have long felt that Frazier was able to express as much or more in an 8-line lyric than most songwriters could do in an entire album:

"Surely there's a place to rest a tortured mind/
Oh what I would give, if I could find/
A place where there's no memories of all those wasted years/
They all say I can't get there from here."

-- excerpted from "I Can't Get There From Here" (by Dallas Frazier)

Though Frazier wrote many novelty songs as well, there is a bleakness that runs through his writing that sets him apart from most songwriters. In that regard he was every bit as unsparing as Hank Williams. This bleakness, along with an melodic sensibility steeped in the Baptist Hymnal (if you like, see my entry on that influential song collection from earlier), may have consigned him to eventual obscurity, for all the success he enjoyed from 1960 through the early 70's.

But it is that very lyrical starkness, along with his particular melodic sensibility, that made him the perfect match for the voice of George Jones.

For all the superlatives that George Jones has (justly) had attached to his name over the years, one would also like to know what it is that has set him apart from other male country singers. He is able to convince listeners that any song he is performing stems from his own experience. Personally, I've always heard an unbearable resignation in his voice; his vocal persona is, at bottom, terribly rational and purposeful.

Maybe all this is why his voice is the ideal instrument for expressing remorse (a repellant sentiment if it comes with any trace of insincerity), and why he is the most qualified interpreter of Dallas Frazier, the master of the remorseful country song.

"George Jones Sings the Songs of Dallas Frazier" contains 10 brilliant songs performed by one of country music's greatest singers at the height of his powers. For those listeners (like myself) who are drawn to the 'worldview' of songwriters like Frazier, I cannot recommend this album highly enough.

(For those interested in buying hard-to-find records, the best source I've found is Old Homestead Records, in Michigan.)

Webb Pierce's 'moment' was the mid-1950's; his signature songs, "There Stands The Glass" (reputedly the first song to employ a pedal steel guitar -- or was that "Slowly", another W. Pierce standard?), "More And More", "Wondering", and others were recorded during that time.

However, some of Webb's most haunting records were made when he was past his commercial prime. During the 60's he continued making albums and mostly unsuccessful singles for Decca Records. The albums are somewhat formulaic and inconsistent. But a few of them were actually, on close listening, rather brilliant. And one in particular, "Country Music Time" (from 1965), is in the second category.

Webb's haunting tenor vibrato was the product of a different era, one with very different sensibilities from our own. I never heard Webb talk about his influences, but aside from the normal ones (Jimmy Rodgers, Hank Williams, etc.), I would not be surprised to hear that Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, and even Enrico Caruso helped form the Webb Pierce vocal style. Not that Webb was a crossover star, like another of his idols, Jim Reeves -- he was a pure hillbilly singer, and one of the things that may have contributed to his decline in popularity was a seeming inability or unwillingness to adapt to the more varied influences that began to seep into country music by about 1970.

Webb may have made as many as 20 albums in the period 1960-70. Proof that pop music history is written by the winners is found in his iTunes catalogue, which only contains about 20 of his best-known selections from the 50's. Only a couple of the 60's Decca albums were ever re-released on CD; most of these albums are only available on vinyl record, as far as I'm aware.

Back to "Country Music Time", which is, like the other albums, just a song collection. But at this time in country music, a mere song collection could be a potent thing. Side 2 begins with a song by Webb's frequent collaborators Wayne Walker and Max Powell, "Loving You Then Losing You": classic mid-tempo honky-tonk music. Later on that side, you'll find 2 great ones that Webb co-wrote: "It Took The Heart Right Out Of Me", and "Let Me Live A Little". These gems were probably composed on the back of his tour bus -- lost classics. On the other side you'll find the great Bill Anderson tune "I Don't Love You Anymore", Ernest Tubb's "Try Me One More Time", and the chestnut "LOnesome 7-7203".

Webb may not have had a style that could convert non-country fans, but as I listen to Webb's voice (I actually have the record on right now), I hear a vulnerability and a completely unpretentious conviction in the material -- here was Webb's distinctive signature. It's possible that Webb represented something in Southern culture that may have vanished by now; we're fortunate to have some trace of it left in "Country Music Time".

As we all know, in recent years a new style of family/kids' music has appeared that, though a little self-consciously in some cases, claims to be as enjoyable to adults as it is to children.

And these claims are totally merited. Parents say all the time, "I listen to the songs of [independent kid artist X] when my kids are asleep; I listen to his/her/their songs in the car on the way to work," etc.

But I am respectfully suggesting that it could be made even more enjoyable for adults than it is presently.

I don't know if you're familiar with Steve Earle. He is sometimes categorized as a country artist, which is inaccurate (though he was a 'mainstream' country artist very briefly in the 80's, and has collaborated with the Del McCoury Band on one album). He is really descended from the folk/country tradition of Townes Van Zandt. But rock also 'informs' his work, to be sure.

At any rate there is a song from one of his late-90's records called "The Unrepentant". I think it's a great song in its own right, but most remarkable for the drumming. Steve has as good a sense for a good rock tune as anybody out there today, and has worked with great rhythm sections, at least on record.

The drums on this track (I don't know who the drummer is) are smouldering, yet at the same time are played solely in service of the musicality of the song (with skill, power, but also discipline). I find this combination to be rare. Drums can end up being an afterthought, played with undue caution, or, in the case of most rock bands, are more like an extreme sport than an instrument -- and even worse, are played very predictably. Another noticable trend in contemporary drumming is the chilly competence of drummers who can play in most styles very well, but who stylistically are indistinguishable. Though it pains me to say so, one drummer is usually as good as another; drummers with really distinctive styles (Keith Moon, Ringo, Charlie Watts, etc.) are not as common as one would like.

On family records, it would be very satisfying to me if the rhythm sections would play with more energy, even aggression. In their laudable efforts to be as inclusive as possible, indy kid rockers sometimes take a generic approach, playing all styles "fairly well". There is an argument to make for doing that -- you will offend no one and engage the majority of your audience -- but it's a double-edged sword. You don't play reggae, but instead "reggae", not country but "country", and frankly, not rock but "rock."

I have difficulty because tunes like "The Unrepentant" (and another good one, "If You Fall In Love" from Earle's "El Corazon" record) for me set the standard. I should also have shared with you that the sounds that Steve Earle's electric guitar players obtain are just as brilliant as the drumming, and just as worthy of emulation by kid rockers.

I accept that a kindie rock band that played in a style (or in a spirit) similar to Steve Earle or Lucinda Williams would perhaps not engage audiences; maybe it is unfair/unreasonable to expect that anyone would or should take such an approach. I'm just putting forth the possibility.

These are just guitar/vocal demos that will sound quite different when finished. The "music" page needs a bit of cleaning up, but you can find "Super Smart Guy", "G-O-A-L-I-E", and "When Do I Get My Cell Phone?" there fairly easily.