Busy day yesterday, as I drove down to CitiField (300 miles round trip) with Gavin and Nick to catch the Mets. My attendance record stands now at 0-3, and each game fairly abysmal. This is the price I pay, I tell myself, for being in attendance for Game 5 of the 1969 World Series, when the Amazin’s won it all and later went on The Ed Sullivan Show to sing, “The Impossible Dream.” Oh well, my boys were happy. It was a sweltering day, the sun beating down on our heads, and I spent more than $40 on water at the park.
Anyway, I wanted to post two photos yesterday for the holiday . . .
My father served in the Air Force. This photo was taken during his basic training in Tennessee, 1944. He wrote on the back of the photo, presumably sent to his parents in Queens, NY: “Here I am all dressed up. My hat is on cockeyed. Don’t I look independent?”
My brother Bill, the second oldest in the family, served in Vietnam. I figure this shot for somewhere in 1967-68. I remember when he was over the there, and the body counts on the nightly news, a little boy wondering, hoping. When he came home, I ran and jumped into his arms.
When you warm up the old scanner, it’s hard to stop. This is from my sister Barbara’s 8th-grade graduation from St. Frances de Chantel in Wantagh, NY. Back in in June, 1965, when the number one songs for the month were: “Help Me, Rhonda,” The Beach Boys; “Back in My Arms Again,” The Supremes; “I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie Honey Bunch),” The Four Tops; and “Mr. Tambourine Man,” The Byrds.
Music was really, really great when I was a kid. And it was about to get even better. (I think 1967 was the best year for music in the 20th century, since you asked.)
I used to be two years old. Go figure. This is from April, 1963, and I’m next to my sister Jean, age 5, going on 6. She was something with those straight bangs. On school visits, I’ll sometimes joke that there are no photos of me, because nobody bothers taking pictures of Kid #7. There’s truth in that, of course, but I’ve found some scattered old photos, too. Usually I’m standing next to somebody else, or a brother’s new car. These photos have become my small treasures.
“Now look, pal! I know a country where March comes in like an emu and goes out like a tapir. And they don’t even know what it means!” — John Belushi
Do you remember listening to comedy albums? I sure do. In the 60’s, I inherited some classic Bill Cosby disks from my folks, plus the great Allan Sherman. I wore the grooves off his debut record (below), which featured tracks such as “The Ballad of Harry Lewis,” “Shake Hands with Your Uncle Max,” “My Zelda,” and “The Streets of Miami.”
According to the usually reliable Wikipedia, Sherman’s 1962 disk, “My Son, the Folksinger,” became the fastest-selling album up to that time. Think about that for a minute. Imagine everyone on the show “Mad Men” running around quoting Allan Sherman. Soon after, I guess, the Beatles showed up and changed everything.
The Cosby album that I loved was “I Started Out as a Child,” and again, I listened to it over and over again. Those routines are burned into my skull: “The Giant,” “Sneakers,” “Oops!,” “The Lone Ranger,” and “Ralph Jameson.”
As I got older, I remember when Pat Sweeney and I discovered his older brother’s album, “Big Bambu” by Cheech & Chong, which came out in 1971 (“Sister Mary Elephant,” “Ralphie and Herbie”). Oh my, oh my. The original album, as I recall, came packaged with rolling papers! We didn’t even know what they were for . . . yet. Comedy was taking on a new edge, an outsider status — and we loved that subversive quality. Just listening to it felt like a small criminal act. For that reason, we loved George Carlin, who raised the stakes considerably. In 1972, he came out with “Class Clown,” featuring “I Used to Be an Irish Catholic” and, most famously, “The Seven Words You Can’t Say on Television.”
Again, it’s hard to describe the naughty thrill we felt as boys huddled around the turntable. We lapped it up and laughed and laughed, and somehow that counter-cultural strain seeped into our consciousness and shaped the way we looked at the world. Looking back now, I realize that I was at the exact right age for that moment in America, a tween when all the hypocrisy was hilariously exposed.
In 1976, when I was fifteen, I got a new album for Christmas (it was on my list, taped to our refrigerator), featuring The Not-Ready-For-Prime-Time Players. We had moved past Watergate and Vietnam, the 60’s were morphing into the Carter era and Disco was beginning to thump from speakers — as the Sex Pistols began gearing up against the bloated rock excesses of bands like Pink Floyd — and somehow this troupe of Saturday Night Live regulars had its collective finger on the pulse of America.
The stars are now legendary: John Belushi, Garrett Morris, Gilda Radner, Jane Curtin, Dan Aykroyd, Loraine Newman, and Chevy Chase — with a memorable guest appearance from Richard Pryor (“Word Association”).
The one skit that inspired me to write this today came from John Belushi, as a high-strung weatherman. Here he plays with the notion of March coming in like a lion and out like a lamb. (See full transcript below.) You can also click here to listen to a 30-second snippet of that routine, plus many other classics (“Emily Litella,” “News for the Hard of Hearing,” “Uvula,” “Dueling Brandos,” “Jimmy Carter,” and more). I loved that album, just as I loved the excitement of staying up late to watch the weekly show.
It may be an overstatement to say that comedy was dangerous, but it was definitely no longer my dad’s old Allan Sherman albums. Times had changed and it was reflected in what made us laugh.
Here’s the skit:
Last week we made the comment that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. Now here to reply is our chief meteorologist, John Belushi, with a seasonal report.
Thank you Chevy. Well, another winter is almost over and March true to form has come in like a lion, and hopefully will go out like a lamb. At least that’s how March works here in the United States.
But did you know that March behaves differently in other countries? In Norway, for example, March comes in like a polar bear and goes out like a walrus. Or, take the case of Honduras where March comes in like a lamb and goes out like a salt marsh harvest mouse.
Let’s compare this to the Maldive Islands where March comes in like a wildebeest and goes out like an ant. A tiny, little ant about this big.
(holds thumb and index fingers a small distance apart)
Unlike the Malay Peninsula where March comes in like a worm-eating fernbird and goes out like a worm-eating fernbird. In fact, their whole year is like a worm-eating fernbird.
Or consider the Republic of South Africa where March comes in like a lion and goes out like a different lion. Like one has a mane, and one doesn’t have a mane. Or in certain parts of South America where March swims in like a sea otter, and then it slithers out like a giant anaconda.
There you can buy land real cheap, you know. And there’s a country where March hops in like a kangaroo, and stays a kangaroo for a while, and then it becomes a slightly smaller kangaroo. Then, then, then for a couple of days it’s sort of a cross between a, a frilled lizard and a common house cat.
(Chevy Chase tries to interrupt him)
Wait wait wait wait. Then it changes back into a smaller kangaroo, and then it goes out like a, like a wild dingo. Now, now, and it’s not Australia! Now, now, you’d think it would be Australia, but it’s not!
(Chevy Chase tries to interrupt him)
Now look, pal! I know a country where March comes in like an emu and goes out like a tapir. And they don’t even know what it means! All right? Now listen, there are nine different countries, where March comes in like a frog, and goes out like a golden retriever. But that- that’s not the weird part! No, no, the weird part is, is the frog. The frog- The weird part is-
(has seizure and falls off chair)
As a final comment, and coming full circle, I have to confess to lifting some of those ideas for a brief scene in Jigsaw Jones Super Special #1: The Case of the Buried Treasure (maybe my favorite out of all the Jigsaw books, and amazingly still in print). I don’t think I consciously made that connection to Belushi and SNL, but in hindsight I can see that my roots were showing.
Setup: Jigsaw and Mila are at the bus stop, talking with Joey Pignattano. Note to teachers: the book focuses a bit on similes — it’s a minor theme running through the story — and you may find that instructive/helpful.
“I was wondering,” Joey Pignattano said to me. “What kind of animal do you think January would be?”
“What?!” I replied.
“I mean, if January were an animal, what kind of animal would it be?” Joey pondered.
“Do you understand what he’s talking about, Mila?” I asked. “Because I sure don’t.”
Mila smiled. At least I think she smiled. There was a big, fluffly scarf wrapped around her head like a hungry boa constrictor. “Maybe Joey is trying to think of a simile,” she offered.
Joey nodded gratefully. “You know how they say March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb? Well, I’m thinking that January would be an aardvark.”
I sighed. “Let me get this straight. March comes in like a lion. So you think January comes in like . . . an aardvark?”
“Yes,” Joey answered. “Or do you think maybe it’s more like an American bald eagle?”
“A woolly mammoth,” Mila stated.
I turned to her in surprise. “Nuh-uh,” I retorted. “January is definitely a skunk. This weather stinks.”
On Facebook, it’s popular for people to make lists of the 25 albums that “affected them profoundly.” As a music lover, I figured such a list was for me, but found it an impossible and wholly unsatisfying task. Yet I couldn’t quite let go of the idea.
Eventually it struck that a mere list was part of the problem. I needed to talk about the music a little, why it meant something to me. You see, music has played a central role in my life for as long as I can remember. The youngest of seven children, I inherited a great, vast collection of 60’s/70’s music. Recalling these albums, I began to see my life unspooling, circling like a needle on vinyl, as my growing mind took on new shapes, colors, and sounds.
A friend of mine, a 7th grade English teacher, recently read my upcoming novel, Bystander (Feiwel and Friends, Fall ’09). One line that he mentioned to me — and it’s often surprising to hear what folks connect with, or what gets quoted in reviews — was this: “Music helps.” And I think it does, and certainly has for me, just as it helps that book’s central character, Eric Hayes.
So appropos of nothing, here goes . . . something.
1) Batman, Original TV Soundtrack Album
I got this as a kid and wore it out. Actually, I think I got bubble gum stuck on it. But nevermind! It was the first album I’d reach for, over and over again, wearing a towel as a cape, pretend-fighting the Penguin, the Joker, the Riddler, King Tut and more. And I always, always won.
2) Monkees – Greatest Hits
Another childhood favorite, watching that silly TV show and listening to my sister Jean’s Monkees albums. As I grew up, my tastes became more sophisticated, and it took me another couple of decades before I fully appreciated the pure pop structures and giant, tooth-decaying hooks of these Boyce and Hart tunes.
3) Beatles – White Album
The Beatles have to be on here and this is the one I’d pick, despite all the flaws and warts, or perhaps because of them. Everything’s already been said about this disk, and this band; I just keep coming back to it, and hearing new things, finding new favorites, and it’s been more than 40 years ago today. I remember my brothers coming home with this one, and that strange plain white cover, the gatefold, and the four glossy photos inside. That’s how I learned their names, quizzed by my elders: “This one is Ringo, that’s George, he’s John, and the other one is Paul.”
4) Led Zeppelin – s/t
With four older brothers and two older sisters, I inherited one of the great record collections of all-time. We had everything, it was when classic rock was NEW, and I listened to it all at a very young age. I remember when this disk came out and how I liked the cover of that blimp exploding. Probably my first “heavy” album. This video is a cheat, “Immigration Song,” from the (underrated) 3rd album — but definitely definitive with a monster riff.
5) Andrew Lloyd Webber – Jesus Christ Superstar
I have a very specific memory of when my oldest brother, Neal, brought this album home. We were a Catholic-school family, and the very idea of this disk kind of freaked my mother out. True story: All seven kids crowded into Neal’s room — this was 1970, so I must have been nine — and we listened to it all the way through, both disks. And Mom and Dad were not thrilled. It gave me the inkling that rock could be dangerous, driving a wedge between generations. How cool was that?! Also: a great lyric booklet to study and sing along with! “Prove to me that you’re no fool/Walk across my swimming pool!”
6) Yes – The Yes Album
Like so many vets, my brother Bill returned home from Vietnam with a most excellent stereo system –- including one of those (cheesy) light boxes, with flashing colored lights that responded to the music. I remember sitting in his room, a bunch of his friends gathered around, listing to this album and just staring in red-eyed stupification at that dumb light box. Music became . . . a head thing. Steve Howe was probably my first guitar hero.
7) Allman Brothers – Fillmore East
Maybe not the greatest collection of tunes ever assembled –- and I am absolutely a song craft geek who loves Burt Bacharach and the Brill Building-era songwriters -– but the performances on this live album are staggering. Duane Allman at the peak of his prowess, that slide guitar rising up from some deep backwoods place, Dicky Betts playing alongside him, the two drummers churning, moving it all forward, Greg Allman’s white-boy soul-stirring vocals. This is also a double disk and one that defined a certain time and place for me, one of the first “air guitar” albums where you just had to play along. A great guitar album that still makes me think of an old childhood friend, Jimmy A, a transplanted Georgia boy who loved his Allmans.
8) Jimi Hendrix – Electric Ladyland
This is the first disk where Hendrix really took control in the studio, and thusly spread his wings and waved his freak flag in the sky. I’m stunned by the variety, the skill, the confident cool of this double disk. And I still get a kick out of listening to “Still Raining, Still Dreaming” on my headphones, hearing that guitar whoosh through my brain, one ear to the other, like some kind of 60’s skull rinse.
9) Neil Young – After the Gold Rush
One of the ultimate singer/songwriter disks, filled with sad lonely tunes from a sensitive young Canadian. It was a revelation: Oh, a boy can have feelings -– and express them?! “Oh, oh, lonesome me . . . .” Everybody, it seems, has a sad summer that they spend listening to Neil Young, and this was the album I heard. “Only Love Can Break Your Heart,” indeed. But, hey: “Don’t Let It Bring You Down.” This is a disk that makes me remember certain people, specific times, and it’s all good.
10) Bob Dylan – Blonde on Blonde
If I had to pick one Dylan album –- and I have nearly all of them –- this has to be the one. Or maybe “Blood on the Tracks?” Or “Highway 61 Revisited?” Anyway: Ranging from the pure blues of “Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat” to the visionary, surreal writing of “Visions of Johanna,” this is Dylan’s magnum opus. Here’s Bob at the height of his powers. He is absolutely my favorite all-time musician/songwriter; I consider him the greatest American artist, any genre, of the 20th century –- and he’s still kicking. No one is in second place.
11) Rolling Stones – Exile on Main Street
The template for a style of rock and roll I still love today, sprawling, a little sloppy, a little dirty, raw and imperfect. It’s about the spirit, not the polish. This isn’t a great singles collection, but a unified whole, though “Tumbling Dice” was the cool kids’ tune for the summer of 1972, But still: “Rocks Off,” “Sweet Virginia,” “Loving Cup,” “Ventilator Blues,” “Shine a Light,” 18 songs that define rock and roll. Also, amazing piano on this one from the unheralded Nicky Hopkins.
12) Genesis – The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway
This is the album that made me pour over the liner notes and parse the lyrics, attempting to figure out what the hell they were writing about. The story puzzled and intrigued me. While most prog has not dated well, this disk still stands up for me –- even if I’m still not sure what’s going on in this concept album’s surreal tale. Vintage Peter Gabriel on voice, some understated solos and guitar effects by Steve Hackett, great drum fills by Phil Collins, production touches from the great Brian Eno, Tony Rutherford on bass, and maybe too much keyboard wankiness from Tony Banks; it created a world and swept me away. Clip: Excerpt from “Supper’s Ready,” from “Foxtrot,” a song inspired by the Book of Revelations.
13) Stiffs Live
My first true introduction to punk, this 1977 compilation kind of baffled and frightened me. Uneven and imperfect, it nonetheless featured a rowdy take on Nick Lowe’s “I Knew the Bride,” “Wake Up and Make Love with Me” by Ian Dury and the Blockheads, and Elvis Costello and gang doing the mock-anthemic, “Sex & Drugs & Rock & Roll & Chaos,” the way another generation might play, “Will the Circle Be Unbroken.” At a time when I was impressed by musical virtuosity, this disk helped me value the importance of attitude.
14) Talking Heads – More Songs About Buildings and Food
It was 1978 and I was still listening to prog bands like Yes and Genesis, though that was clearly dying, when my oldest brother visited from NYC and handed me this brand-new disk. It took a little while before I got it, and it sent me hurtling in a new musical direction. I went on to become a huge Talking Heads fan for much of the 80’s . . . until they ran out of steam.
15) David Bowie – Ziggy Stardust
Here’s the English dandy, the art rock, the glam side of things. When so many in my environment were listening to southern rock or heavy metal, I was seduced by this disk’s crazy artistic pretensions and writerly concerns. “Starman,” “Suffragette City,” “Rock ‘N’ Roll Suicide” –- and it’s not just me. This is one of the most influential albums ever made. Music aspiring to . . . art. Connecting to Marc Bolan and T. Rex, and Robert Fripp, Brian Eno, Talking Heads, U2, etc.
16) The Clash – London Calling
Is this list too obvious? Am I boring you? Well, what can I say except, um, too bad. Released at the dawn of the Reagan Era, the Clash collectively cemented themselves as the only band that mattered. To me, the perfection of snarling punk spirit, with great songwriting and energetic performances that embrace ska, punk, rock, and even a touch of Motown. Mick Jones and Joe Strummer forever. This came out my first year of college and when I hear it, that’s where I am again, every time.
17) Richard and Linda Thompson – Shoot Out the Lights
Thompson is one of my musical heroes, an inventor of folk-rock, master guitarist, brilliant songwriter. And Linda has the voice of an angel. These deep, penetrating, personal tunes combine to make one of the great records, ever. That Richard & Linda’s marriage was breaking up during the recording of this disk somehow makes it all the more harrowing: “Shoot Out the Lights.” The track below, “A Heart Needs a Home,” is a cheat; it originally appeared on the album, “Hokey Pokey,” but it’s such a nice moment I had to share it.
18) John Coltrane – A Love Supreme
This is the sound of the soul unfolding, pure and free, a master of his instrument searching, experimenting, going off. Absolutely wild, it represents the opening up of all possibility in music. Not at all the slick jazz I once listened too – you know, those albums for “refined tastes” – this was as insane and alive as anything ever put on vinyl. He was a giant and to listen to this was to stand in his footprints.
19) REM – Murmur
Here was another album that came along, around 1984 or so, and made me rethink music. Punk and New Wave had come and gone, bland Hair Bands were ruling the airwaves, and this raggedy collection of guys from Athens, Georgia –- of all places –- arrived with a new sound. And what was up with that singer? What was he mumbling about? The guitarist wasn’t that good, but he had a certain something. They struck me as fresh and original. These guys only got better for a nice long stretch . . . until they got worse. Hey, it happens.
20) The Band – Music from Big Pink
Great American roots rock -– from a bunch of Canadians. The songwriting, the musicianship, the blend of traditional (“Long Black Veil”) and the new (“Chest Fever”), with some classics thrown in: “The Weight,” “This Wheel’s On Fire,” “I Shall Be Released.” The arrangements are ragged and rough, no shiny veneer at all, blending country, rock, R & B, folk, and soul. A perfect document of a particular place and time –- and also, timeless.
21) Beach Boys – Pet Sounds
It took me a long while to come to this album, since I tended to dismiss the Beach Boys as dumb surf dudes who were writing superficial ditties. Somewhere along the line I discovered song craft, and melody, and harmony, and realized that Brian Wilson was a genius, and that this was his shining hour. “I Just Wasn’t Made for These Times,” “God Only Knows.” This clip kills me.
22) Marvin Gaye – What’s Going On
I love 70’s soul, all those great singles, but this is the album, the unified whole, that transcended the genre. The nine songs lead directly into each other in a fluid song cycle that addresses themes such as the Vietnam War, drug abuse, the environment, economics, justice –- and you could dance to it. A disk that amazes me. “Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology),” “Inner City Blues (Make Me Wanna Holler),” “What’s Going On,” “Save the Children.” If you’ve never heard this as an album straight through, then you are in for a treat.
23) Bob Marley – Songs of Freedom Box
This is a cheat, of course, because it’s a box set and has nearly everything, but that’s only because for Marley it wasn’t about one disk or one song. He was the first World Music superstar, and he opened my ears to sounds outside the familiar comfort zone of my own Western culture. Beyond the easy riddums and sunny vibe, there’s this incredible man writing deep, meaningful tunes. “Redemption Song,” anyone?
24) Guided By Voices – Bee Thousand
This came out in 1994 and introduced me to the lo-fi, indie scene, with beguiling, hook-laden tunes recorded in a basement. From the opening fuzz of “Hardcore UFO’s,” here’s a 30-song buckshot of unfinished ideas, broken melodies, and hipster cool. Again, an album that just sort of changed my ideas of what an album could be. They were doing it themselves, without permission from the big record companies.
25) Elliott Smith – Either/Or
Styles change, but it always comes back to the songs for me, and the songwriter. Some guy at a piano, or idly strumming a guitar, picking out a melody. So I’ll end with this 1997 disk by Elliott Smith. Depression, drug addiction, suicide, and great songs: What more could you ask for? (Life, O life!) An indie darling with hushed vocals, as far from arena rock bombast as you could get, Smith connects Nick Drake with the Beatles, Ray Davies with Big Star, AC/DC with Modest Mouse. And of course he admired Dylan. Said Smith, “I love Dylan’s words, but even more than that, I love the fact that he loves words.” Elliott Smith died on October 21, 2003, and he is missed.