Cocteau Twins' "Blue Bell Knoll"

Cocteau Twins

 

            The Cocteau Twins was found in 1981 by everlasting friends Elizabeth Fraser, vocals and Robin Guthrie, songwrier and guitarist, and was later supplemented by Simon Raymonde. On pianos, guitar, bass, and developer of the bands’ distinct sound The former two come from Grangemouth, a small industrial town in Scotland that has been described as dirty and boring (wikipedia has a nice panoramic view to support this claim), and the latter is from Tottenham, England.  Together the dynamic trio developed a unique sound which blossomed and flourished between 1982 and 1996 and inspired, not surprisingly, many notable shoe gazer bands like My Bloody Valentine and Lush. I discovered the Cocteau Twins about 6 years after they broke up from my friend’s ridiculously eccentric mom, of all people.  Her reason for liking them was mostly because “the vocalist sings all crazy and makes noises instead of singing real lyrics that anyone can understand!”  And there, a sophomore in high school, I entered a new era of understanding popular music that could never have been credited without the Cocteau Twins’ aural explanation.  Names of songs that I couldn’t make sensible image of in my mind, this kind of cheesy sense that I was surrounding myself in a pastel gothic world willingly. Blue Bell Knoll felt like death, and death didn’t seem like such an ugly state of  unbeing.  That might sound a little dramatic but this album is charged.

            Where as normally popular music conveys its message primarily through a commonly understood language, the Cocteau Twins allow themselves few discernible advantages on The Blue Bell Knoll. This album, particularly, is really special because Elizabeth uses her voice as an instrument.  Most of the lyrics on this album are sung as mouth tones holy tongues Elizabeth’s goal seems to be forgetting straightforward communication.  Words no longer possess their conventional meaning, for they are contorted by Elizabeth’s voice and woven into the instrumental orchestration of every song.  Perhaps the idea of distorting lyrics into sounds is a way to transcend the boundaries of language into a medium of communication that relies on evoking more abstract emotions and feelings in the listener.  Even in songs that supposedly contain English lyrics, the listener who attempts to decipher any clear annunciations will only do so in vain.  The lyrics are only a sketch on the napkin, a skeletal structure for the greater living thing. I am tempted to call Blue Bell Knoll an instrumental album, as the vocals contribute greatly to the atmospheric quality of the music.

            The music as one entity carries the listener with it. We are idle passengers in this 35 minute blast of sonic warmth. Songs like “Athol-Brose” will melt the ice off of any field and embrace the listener in a sparkly and soft, gooey womb. The guitar plucks in “Spooning good singing gum” and Elizabeth’s voice multiplied in “For Pheobe still a baby” are an underwater spectacle with mermaids singing and all the sea creatures acting some instrumental part.  The guitar releases in “Cico Bluff” foster this imagem and “A kissed out floatboat” emits a sea cave vibe. This album is certainly reminiscent of an old fairy tale as I know and old fairy tale to be, probably a little tinged with Disney, that is if fairy tales could have sound tracks.  Even if the vocals are not discernible, and even though words mean nothing in this album, it is clear that this album is quite optimistic and I always feel an overwhelming sense of comfort.  It is warm and child like, friendly and care free.  Blue Bell Knoll is simply beautiful.  Blue Bell Knoll is an important album because it illustrates that popular music is not just interpretable by predominating lyrics.  The listener doesn’t even have to search for another way of understanding, however.  Music becomes a universal form of communication that everyone can connect with.  Words don’t matter; everyone is welcome, as there seem to be no linguistic walls to block any listener.  

Gary Wilson's Mary Had Brown Hair

In the very same moments when Punk rock was saying fuck you to the previous generation’s current decadence and disco techniques, Gary Wilson self-released an album called “you think you really know me”, doing it himself like so many others in 1977.  He preluded the synth craze of the 80’s with a concoction of strange sounds, funkadelic grooves, and lyrics that would make any woman’s skin crawl if only it were in the form of a silent love poem, unadulterated by the all those outlandish and distracting sounds.  His performances were (and still are) a spectacle as well- he always wears sunglasses and a wig, and on stage he will wrap bags around himself and his band with electric tape or whatever he can find. Costuming has also been DIY for Gary.  After releasing “you think you know me”, Gary stopped recording, though he claims that he still performed in smaller venues in Southern California that unfortunately did not receive him well, and the 600 albums that circulated New York and other places created a slight cult following of this clearly novel and strange mystery man that seemed to have disappeared from even the underground media’s watchful eye. Gary resurfaced in 2002, when Motel Records re-released “you think you really know me”  and “forgotten lovers” in 2003.  Unfortunately, they went under shortly after the 2003 release, but almost instantly Stones Throw Record’s Peanut Butter Wolf saw his opportunity and swooped Gary from the depths and now he resides in the hip hop label that takes a special interest in funk and funky beats.  Mary had Brown Hair is the first album released by Stone’s Throw in 2004.  It meets all expectations of a fan expecting more creepy songs about girls that you can dance lonely to, and new comers are in for a rare delicacy.

            His music is ridiculous.  It is jazzy and funky and under the influence of other worldly substances.  All of this accompanying even more absurd chants and repetitive pleas to Linda and Debbie to just pay attention to him.  Even at his creepiest in songs like “Gary’s in the park” and “Mary had Brown Hair”, I can’t help but laugh and think about when I was twelve and stalked other boys in that harmless leaving-mix-tapes-in-your-mail-box kind of way; the most harmless thing a fixated person can do is give the gift of music, free of sexual perversion and any cause for real alarm.  His music has been a healing tool for me at times when I have gotten a little too crazy with the boyfriend, too.  When my boyfriend and I would get into arguments while I was overseas, I was forced to either listen to Gary or whine to other people about my problems.  Realizing that other people probably didn’t care, I was able to detect the absurdities in my own dramatic life in Gary Wilson’s swanky and at times sleazy songs that make me shudder and giggle at the same time- a truly uncomfortable sensation.  Gary’s woes were mine, and if he could give me the worst in himself then I could loosen up a bit, too.

            But, who is the man underneath the trash bags and behind the sunglasses? The album only further mystifies the innocent maniac and brings us closer to his obsessive persona, a past filled with women and pubescent woe. We know the women by name, Linda, Debbie, Lisa, Shauna, Mary, Cindy, even Frank Roma, the guy that Gary spotted kissing Linda, but Gary refers to himself in the third person in many instances and alters between his regular speaking voice and a high pitched chipmunk, probably generated without the aide of any machines. 55 year old Gary allows himself many different personalities that have the capacity to love so many different women based on a few dates and an adolescent fantasy. His music is obsessive , insane, experimental, but that the lyrics spread themselves so thinly over an array of similar scenarios lends little to any potential depth to Gary’s purposely veiled identity. I watched his documentary today and it did not give me much else to work with.  After seeing award winning documentaries on artists like Daniel Johnston and The Brian Jonestown massacre, I was spoiled with the expectation that every documentary conveyed a defined purpose, -giving the viewer an intimate portrait of the artists(s) with the intention of explaining either the music or the artist’s path. Something like that.  But “You think you really know me” was more a sloppy synopsis of how Motel Records was able to discover Gary before anyone else, allotting them a prized amount of street cred.  I even got acquainted with Frank Roma, but the documentary didn’t really go into any detail on Roma’s relationship with Linda. During many instances Gary showed himself without anything covering himself, but I still didn’t discover the man I wanted to meet.  I wasn’t satisfied; the convoluted compositions weren’t given any story except a jazz background and an obsession with John Cage and Dion.  I suppose  the music is the only place to uncover, or atleast appreciate, the mystery of the small town freak form Endicott, New York. 

            Rock Criticism from the beginning: Amusers, bruisers, and cool headed cruisers is Co-written by two Danish men, a Swedish man, and a Norwegian man; it is not written from the perspective of an insider American, but rather a group of countries that have been influenced in one way or another by Rock and Roll from both America and Britain.  Their perspectives have the potential to differ from that of an American or British disposition, as they don’t hesitate to mention that all “serious” Rock criticism has come from America and Britain, that the field is dominated overwhelmingly by white men[1], and that a lot of it is US-centric (though not all, especially in the case of Lester Bangs). 

            Rock criticism from the beginning  starts by explaining first the difference between high culture, that of established and accepted artforms (think classical music, and eventually jazz) and low culture (rock and roll in the beginning, and most African American music in its genesis).  They mention that high culture tries to degrade low culture, but it is dependent upon it at the same time as a defining “other”.  They proceed to take Bourdieu’s reflexive sociology and applies it to rock criticism. What is this reflexive sociology?  I might be able to answer that.  His theory supposedly has transgressed the boundaries between objectivism and subjectivism, making social reality a “dynamic unity of the agents’ [or person?] dispositions [habitus] and systems of positions (fields), which are subject to historical change” (29).  Habitus is “embodied knowledge- a person’s taste, style and way with words.  It determines how people think, perceive, evaluate and act, not as a fixed prescription but rather as adjustable dispositions, which are internalized very deeply and change very slowly. Habitus is embodied socialization, determined by background, present circumstances and future prospects… the market value of certain habitus is settled only as it is realized in a social field.” (30)  Basically, The “social field” is a place of conflict “occupied by special agents and institutions”.  Fields are comprised of “production and consumption” and are “dominant and dominated”.  They are “populated by different kinds of artists, directors, producers, publishers, gallery owners, journalists, critics, editors, etc” (31).  All fields require a habitus because “in order to have any success in the game/struggle of the field the participants must have incorporated certain ways of thinking and acting, some of it consciously but always to a high degree unconsciously” (31) A field takes time to develop and is always in conflict with some other field about taste. It tries to gain credibility, or “cultural capital”, and autonomy from these other fields that are trying to suppress it.  Tastes are divided into three categories; “legitimate (already established and respected) “middlebrow” (the potential to bring highbrow to the masses) and “popular” (hedonistic pleasure, no educational worth).  But all of this explanation is just one of many lenses with which to explore their study.  They are going to keep an open mind.

            So, when thinking about Rock music, rock criticism can be seen as a field with many people in it that possess certain habitus that might be different or similar, who all possess strong urge to legitimize rock and roll through their blossoming discourse.  This discourse began a little after Rock began- in the 60’s and initially with the hope that rock would save the world. Critics felt the compulsion to write about it because it was serious to them and they felt its healing powers and hoped they could convince others of It as well.  It developed when pop art was in vogue and when new journalism (see tom wolfe and maybe even Thomspson) was in its prime.  But Rock Criticism actually started as an attempt to legitimize rock in Britain with magazines like melody maker and NME, whose writers, and musicians for that matter, thought that rock was exciting, a common first inclination of the rock fan to become the rock critic. Instead of asking rock musicians trivial questions like what’s your favourite colour, these critics sought to treat them seriously. People like welch and coleman were spreading the news abou the beatles and Clapton, making sales go up exponentially because their magazines had that much power. They also took an interest in American Blues as an “authentic” form of expression when American music critics were totally dismissing it as trash because of its lack of technical skill. In this develops the question of authenticity. Authenticity in terms of the blues was actually experiencing the blues.  If you had never had it, you couldn’t play it Interestingly British critics found the rolling stones to possess the ability to play the blues authentically because they were working class kids even though the stones denied that. Rock criticism would develop a little bit later in the us

            There were three main rock critic magazines in the 60’s – Crawdaddy!, Rolling stone, and Creem.  Crawdaddy! Was the first.  But the most influencial critics of this time period according to this book were, Jon Landau, /Robert Christgau. Greil Marcus, Steve Marsh, and Lester Bangs. Landau, based out of Boston, was a firm believer in the 50’s rock n roll as opposed to the conventional belief that the 60’s was king.  He was skeptical of white bands save the ones who played the blues right, even though he was the cause of Cream’s break up.  Landau’s credibility is based upon academic training and record production experience. His idea of authenticity is “a ressurection or extension of the spirit of early rock ‘n’ roll” .  He always promoted African American music, (despite the rolling stone’s hesitance to cover acts).  However, he is extremely US centric, and does not consider any other countries.  Rober Christgau, based in New York, was an“opinionated, self-conscious, and antielitist”,  critic who  distinguished rock from the academic.  He took no prisoners, save women and non white people, because he felt guilty. Unlike his counterparts who promoted the live experience as an atmosphere for review, christgau supported AM radio. Christgau is versatile yet has had consistent tastes for the past 4 decades.  Greil Marcus, unlike Christgau, supported the idea that rock was not counter culture, It was a part of American history and pointed to more cultural and political ideas of the 60s. This became a legitimizing force for rock music. He paid attention to overarching thenes.figures, and myths in the music which reflected American culture. Unlike other new jounrnalists who championed their own presence at an event as the credibility that reader needed to believe, marcus was more subtle.  He explained how he felt watching it instead of placing himself in the action. To marcus, rock is respectable and it forms the American identity.  He is supposedly the best person to connect rock to “wider cultural and political discourse” and has written many books about it. Dave Marsh, based in Detroit, was a supporting member of the white panthers in this ultra politically charged atmosphere, supported all the African American artists, but got his big break when he covered MC5.  He believed that “rock music” was “ aform of culture for the uncultured, and particularly as a means  of expression for those to whon more rigorously credentialed channels are denied”.  To him, good works were always collaborations, and seldom was something good was done alone.  Instead of catering to the idea that britian reintroduced rock with the british invasion, Marsh insisted that “rock and soul” are “a fruitful interplay between black church-based music and crossover rock” (173)  His writing was deeply involved in the personal experience, and when heavy metal came around, Marsh defended the freedom of expression.  Lester Bangs was a wild man who died of a drug overdose in 82. He did not write with credentials to back him up like other critics; all he had was a deep commitment to writing about music.  He was a fan of the beats and crafted his whole sensibility based on this mentality. Culture, to him, was defined by the negative ways in which culture reacted against him.  He spared no one in his interviews and became “the master of irreverence”.  Lou Reed was his hero because “he stands for all the most fucked up things that I could ever possibly conceive of” (181).  All of these critics were searching for an identity and authenticity in their writings.  They began with a love for rock and roll and helped uplift rock to legitimacy because they felt that rock was the vocal chord of some cultural movement, whatever they saw that culture being.

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[1] They say that “until recently the female critic’s choice seem to have been limited to becoming a token, identifying with the male dominated approach of the critical institution or moving into another niche….publications which have a higher female readership and emply more women as journalists tend to be in the teenage pop area…which treat music in a less analytical and more anecdotal manner, and are more concerned with fashion, health, and social relationships” (21)

Fred Frith's "Cheap at half the price"

Fred Frith is a youngest child, like I am, and he graduated with a BA and a masters in English literature (I’ve got the first half, at least). He seems like someone I’d want to be and it seems possible because our paths are similar.  His brothers are Simon Frith, famous sociologist and prominent Rock Critic, and Chris Frith, well-known psychologist.   Fred Frith is an amazing guitar player and no mode of playing is too silly or weird for him.   He experiments with different materials and sounds by making his own instruments.  On Cheap at half the price, Frith uses many of his inventions and guarantees an appropriately indicative solo in almost every song, creating an interesting piece of work that is sure to amuse and entertain.

             Cheap at half the price, released 1983 on Ralph Records (the mysterious act The Residents founded this label) is an album that migrates back and forth from the political to the personal, providing a manic tension between lyrics and instrumentation. Songs like “Some Clouds Don’t” “Cap the knife”, and “Too much, too little” all emanate carnival like atmosphere while advising listeners not to trust the wise and to be weary of those who claim to be spreading prosperity (see Ronald Reagan samples in “cap the knife”) but are really just killing others in the name of true democracy.  “Too much, too little”, is an ironic euphemism musically for its heavy content. With lyrics like “what the eye doesn’t see the heart won’t mind” it becomes certain that the lightheartedness of the music reflects the nonchalance of leaders on issues that should be taken more seriously, as well as the sad reality that much of the world’s suffering is covered shamelessly so that those causing trouble won’t be held accountable.

“True love”, “Same old me”, and “the Welcome” are more personal songs that express definite discontent and hopelessness.  For instance, after a hysterical one man fight in “true love”, an audience can be heard clapping, as if the song’s horrific occurrences were something sensationalized for entertainment. “Some clouds do” is an explosive attempt for reconciliation that does not find any middle ground or solace.  All of these songs are extremely shrill and overflowing with positivity from an instrumental standpoint.  The rest of the songs somehow slide into less rocky terrain, where the obstacles of sheer excessiveness are ironed away.  Lucidity can prevail, though maintaining complexity, less hindered by the manic depressiveness of his previous songs. 

            Turmoil eventually settles into more ambient rhythms without lyrics that begin to convey honest notions unattached to the previously pervasive irony.   The instrumental section is interesting, not only because it sounds, strangely enough, like the more avant-gard and more stimulating father of radiohead, but because it  does not follow the law of opposition to another element like the instrumentation in previous songs does with the music.  It is by itself, at once making each piece more genuine yet increasingly abstract. The instrumental movements give some resolve to Fred Frith’s worries and to adopt the role of the “Great healer” of all the trauma that world is continuously causing.  Indeed, the last song of the album is a far cry from the beginning or even the middle, which seemed hopelessly entangled in a million mental knots.  It is soft and subtle, calming and hopeful…

            And the end could possibly put you to sleep if you aren’t patient.  The majority of this album doles out a sort of sensory overload in the form of a crazy carnival that slowly wanes as it nears its final moment.  As the album progresses it sheds its mores of insanity and all the disconcerting friction caused by overly uplifting sounds underlining unpleasing issues that could cause  undue sensitivity.  Maybe Frith is making a point, that the “great healer” is only a façade,  way to end the album, close some doors, and start anew, even if things aren’t quite that way in reality.

1. Some Clouds Don't

2. Cap the Knife

3.  Evolution

4. Too Much Too Little

5. Welcome, The

6. Same Old Me

7. Some Clouds Do

8. Instant Party

9. Walking Song

10. Flying in the Face of Facts

11. Heart Bares

12. Absent Friends

13. the Great Healer

David Bowie's "Heroes"

David Bowie has traversed many different fashionable arenas and ways of expressing himself musically, but no time period was ever as sophisticated, beautiful, and cohesive as “heroes” (1977).  Bowie created “Heroes” along with two other albums, Low and Station to Station with the help of Brian Eno while Bowie went on a hiatus from England to live in Berlin and recover from a lengthy and taxing addiction to cocaine.  While in Berlin, Bowie became interested in the emerging Krautrock scene (Kraftwerk, Neu!, and Can are some notable artists) and embarked upon his experimental phase.  Where other points in his musical career may have been a bit superficial, Bowie is at his best in this era, as “Heroes” mixes Soul with the Experimental Avante Gard to create an emotionally coherent current and a tightly orchestrated cloud of cacophonous synth, distortion, and organic music.

             Immediately in the beginning of  “Beauty and the Beast” during the song’s initial buildup, Eno’s distinct synth can be heard to introduce this semi-collaborative album’s eclectic amalgam of sounds. The first five songs situate themselves in an implosion of many different areas of musical expression.  David Bowies previous stint with soul is still present as his back up singers make the meat of all the choruses, the saxophone has its fair share of flamboyant solos, and the music is driven primarily by an unwavering beat.  The back up singers provide Bowie’s frantic vocal moments both clarity and intensity. Soul’s influence is accompanied by Eno’s signature noises, multiple untamed electric guitars playing at once, and Bowie’s emotionally driven voice.  Indeed, Bowie’s voice signals the cerebral mania of each song in the first half of the album, as he switches from being calm and collected into a wailing ball of anger and wretchedness amongst all the weaving noise.  The movement of the music just won’t quit.  The lyrics denote a certain despondency as well; “Beauty and the Beast” claims “You can’t say no to the beauty and the beast”, that resistance to distractions that are abound is futile. “Heroes” concludes that “nothing will drive them away”, them being the forces that keep two lovers from living peacefully and happily together. where Bowie’s voice is best heard in “Joe the Lion”’, he tells us, “It’s Monday, slither down the greasy pipe, so far so good no one saw you, hover over any freeway” and eclipses into the proclamation that “you’ll be just like you dreams tonight”.  Not a pretty picture being depicted here.

            The second half of the album is instrumental and begins with “V2 Schneider” with an upbeat group of saxophones that introduce the next three instrumental songs.  This trio of very dramatic pieces are a rise and fall of emotional turmoil. “Sense of doubt” sounds like being in a dark cave of uncertainty with little glimmers of light that eventually wash away into a new tide of dread. This pattern recurs throughout the song overlapping and then settling into“Moss Garden”, which is a bit of a reprieve, a breath of fresh air with chirping birds and peaceful instrumentation.  There sounds to be a hope that equilibrium is possible until we reach “Nukoln”. “Nukoln” displays a similar set of contrasts that “Sense of Doubt” has, though the main voice is a saxophone that sounds as if it is in mourning. Doom descends in three notes with celestial pricks and pangs in the background, and the saxophone’s death is the last thing we hear.

            Bowie and his back up singers return for a surprisingly buoyant finale that will make you clap your hands and start dancing, even after that semi-over the top plunge into the abyss. “The Secret Life of Arabia” is an unsuspecting but perfect solution after everything that we have just been through. Although I have broken this “heroes” into two parts, the album flows very well together despite its seemingly separate styles.  This is one of the most cohesive albums I’ve ever listened to. While listening to it in my leisure time, I have always found myself at the end thinking that I have just gone on a long and arduous journey through emotional and physical ups and downs, all driven by music that makes sense. 

1. Beauty And The Beast 2. Joe The Lion 3. Hereos 4. Sons Of The Silent Age 5. Blackout 6. V-2 Schneider 7. Sense Of Doubt 8. Moss Garden 9. Neukoln 10. The Secret Life Of Arabia

Roky Erickson's "I think of demons"

Roky Erickson and his Austin, Texas band the 13^th Floor Elevators were one of the first to play what we know today as psychedelic music, complete with an electric jug and the usual suspects- guitar bass, and drums, and, as Roky stated in an interview featured in his documentary, Erickson’s singing was heavily influenced by little Richard’s music and wailing voice.  Of course, as it seems was par for the course of most, if not all, psychedelic bands of the 60’s, Roky Erickson dabbled in acid.  Actually, he wasn’t exactly the recreational acid user; he ingested something like 300 hits in one year, or so the legend goes. But that kind of over indulgence may not have been the sole factor that changed him after he emerged from his three-year sentence at the mental hospital as a diagnosed schizophrenic.  It could have been the regular shock therapy treatment and the daily deluge of mistakenly prescribed psycho-actives (as was common those days) that contributed to his unchanging state of mental illness. Whatever the agitating factors may have been, after he came out in 1973, he began to work on some, well, you could say, thematically congruent songs with his new band, The Aliens.

             “I Think of Demons” (1980) was the first album to be released by Roky Erickson and the Aliens since the 13^th Floor Elevators. Just like the old band, the new group’s music is obviously inspired by old fashioned rock ‘n’ roll (so much so stylistically at times that it seems like Roky’s tastes have been forever encapsulated in the 50s), and Little Richard’s influence remains intact in Roky’s voice. However, keeping with the traditional Roky Erickson manner of interpretation, there are a few musical innovations and lyrical twists that make this album very listening worthy. Just about every song is a reference to an old B horror movie. It is apparent that Roky Erickson is a big fan of horror flicks, (Daniel Johnston mentions watching horror movies with Roky Erickson at his house in one of his songs) so he dedicated a whole album to what seems like a collection of his own theme songs to these movies.  “I walked with a Zombie” is named after a 30’s movie of that title and arranged as a typical slow dancing song anyone would hear in a dance hall in the 50s; it sounds almost romantic when taken out of context. “Don’t Shake me Lucifer” is a song made for people to do the shake or to twist and shout to get the demons out.  That he imposes the devil and other evil creatures into formulaic music that has been played millions of times is really genius, because this guy is totally serious about his music.  Other songs that don’t quite resemble a 50’s style is a complete burst of energy fraught the need for expulsion. There doesn’t seem to be any irony attached to his lyrics, his multiple run on gems like “If it’s rainin’ and you’re runnin don’t slip in mud cuz if you do you’ll slip in blood”  or “baby goes in the 1900s says beat him with your chain…drag your spoon, drag your chain away”.  To an innocent bystander it all sounds like insanity, and it is.

            And maybe there is another side to this literally crazed fan’s album dedicated to old horror movies. Roky places himself within these narratives of ghoulish mayhem and they become his experiences.  He confesses that “white faces always haunt me so beautifully”, admitting that it brings out “the white of the devil in me”.  Similarly, in “Don’t shake me, Lucifer”, he screams, “I’ve been up all night, and no suicide plot will work”.  I feel like I’m getting to know some of Roky Erickson’s deepest and darkest secrets when I listen to this album, because  I don’t see it as just a collection of possible B movie title tracks.  They may very well in some vein be musical manifestations of his bouts with schizophrenia, and they perhaps might even deal with his experiences in the mental institution.  He sings about insomnia, voices, demons, hallucinations, and many other occurrences associated with schizophrenia.  Perhaps superimposing himself into horror movies, where the supernatural regularly takes place, allows him a kind of therapy as well as  some sort of grasp on reality. In any case, it seems obvious that playing music is what this man was meant to do.  He takes everything he loves and brings it all together for one lively, strangely uplifting, and undeniably weird album- an intense debut which charges through and sheds his psychedelic moorings for a new kind of rock and roll. 

1. Two Headed Dog (Temple Red Prayer)

2. I think of Demons

3. I walked with a Zombie

4. Don't shake me Lucifer

5. Night of the Vampire

6. Bloody Hammer

7. White Faces

8. Cold night for Alligators

9. Creature with the Atom Brain

10. Mine mine mind

11. Stand for the fire demon

12. Wind and More

Rolling Stone

Uncensored History of Rolling Stone is written by a journalist removed from the magazine whose information comes primarily from input given by many people comprising the ever changing  staff from its birth in 1967 to roughly 1989.  The current and (many) former staff’s wealth of information creates an overly comprehensive history (some of which I really don’t need to know about) that revolves around one man- founding member Jann Wenner- and essentially all of his whims.  As the story goes, Wenner wanted to be where all the glamour was, hanging out with rich friends and begging to go all the great parties when he wasn’t necessarily welcome in such high circles. He was a superior networker who worshipped people like Lennon, Dylan, and Jagger in the 60s; his ultimate goal seems to have been to meet them and to be among people like them. When he convinced his father figure friend Ralph Gleason, a music journalist characterized by his belief in the healing, mystical, and all seeing powers of music (clearly partial to a psychedelic 60’s reasoning), to join him in making a magazine, as well as convincing others to support him financially, it was all most likely to meet these figures and to become one of them, to be the “ultimate groupie”.  The details divulged in this “uncensored History” include all of the intense business deals that had to be made to keep the magazine afloat, what seemed to be the constant changing in and out of employees and the unceasing shuffling of roles,  plenty of cocaine and speed, and overall a hectic system that left little room for sleep.  In this hairy mess of negotiations and principled writers who actually made the magazine, a few things came to my attention.

            There were few aspects and people of the Rolling Stone as presented in this book that I have either learned from or wish to think about further. Being a total fan about your subjects brings politics into the reviewing process, and it could potentially make the magazine into a sort of place for idol worship;  What I really got out of this book was how many people Jann collected and how he saw that his success depended on all the people that he sucked up to.  While the magazine was in publication, he would specifically instruct his reviews writers to write positive reviews for his friends or people that he wanted to be his friends, and in turn his writers, like Ed Ward, would write passive aggressive endings like “In the end, this is an album that, the less said, the better” (132 about a Bob Dylan album).  My volatile hero, Chuck Young, had to fight for what he wanted to write, especially since he was coming in as a reviewer toward the end of the seventies, a certainly dry period for rock n roll, but also the beginning of Punk Rock, to which he fastened himself. Jann would always tell Young to “quit writing about Punk Rock!” for “Jann’s tastes were either social (Jackson Browne, Boz Scaggs and other recent cover subjects), or sentimental (Dylan, the Beatles, and the stones), and in both cases antiquated.” (my italics)” (280).  Whereas James Cameron, the 15 year old boy writing for Rolling Stone, “embodied all the traits of mid seventies American Rock- amiable, unoffensive, and enormously successful,” (271) Young sought to “smear the cult of celebrity that so infatuated his boss” (277). He did so with humor and constant deconsecration to get his point across., using his spot to ask, “which would you rather do; read another ‘random note’ about Mick Jagger or pull your own teeth?”  which received favourable response from staff members and readers alike (288). Wenner even admitted that Jagger thought it was funny.   Young is my ideal rock and roll journalist because he holds nothing sacred.  He has no political attachments that would inhibit his ability to critique an album or a musician thoroughly and honestly. That is pretty hard to come by in a magazine, especially one whose life depends on record company endorsement and subscriptions as well as multiple other companies who put up their add space. The more people whose money goes into the magazine, the less space the magazine has to work with.

            It seems as if in some cases the Rolling Stone’s hands were tied, especially if Jann Wenner was aware of the effects of print.  But in terms of politics, Jann was pretty a-political- if anything only because he had no interest, or he didn’t have a clue. If Hunter S. Thompson hadn’t come on to the staff, the Rolling Stone would have perhaps stayed a lukewarm magazine uninterested in Politics.  Jann once thought that the world should be run by a good business man, exhibiting his total ignorance.  Rolling Stone’s political stance was that of Thompson’s.

            Jann Wenner had a very specific vision for his magazine- one which largely excluded African Americans and ugly people on the staff and in the magazine.  Africans Amercans were either ignored or “black music- despite Landau’s presense [probably the only writer who gave black music a chance] despite 1974-75 music editor Abe Peck’s varied tastes and depite the occasional brilliant profile…-was usually discussed only with great discomfort” (270)  They hated disco in the 70s, which claimed to have a “different audience, blacks and gays and women” (270).    He was also known never to hire someone because they were particularly ugly.  One female staffer who was not conventionally beautiful was not allowed to be in the company photo. (216)

            A woman was welcomed into the office, and if she could “get the job done, so be it” (217).  However, most women were stuck bringing Jann coffee or were subject to sexual harassment, save the photographer, who was able to hang out with the boys.  After Marianne Partridge was hired to be copy chief, she “changed the dynamics of the office forever”, and gave these women official jobs. (217)  Before Partridge, Women were not necessarily restricted forcibly, they were neglected, and their roles were just assumed.

Zines chapter 6 comments

When thinking about the history of advertising in relation to the counter culture movements across the 20^th c one major similarity in strategy stands out- the advertiser’s way of honing in on what the phlolosophies of that counter culture are, their ability to use these beliefs that are held fast by revolutionaries in their own right and making a profit.  Convincing  young women that smoking cigarettes are a symbol of power and that every woman should smoke them if they want to be equal to men, selling irrelevant items with hippie slogans of peace and love and harmony, claiming a pair of mass produced shoes are alternative and will help YOU express your individuality more freely- all of these tactics take the very core of the underground and attach it to items that are meaningless to create meaning. I have an example of advertising’s manner of cracking a hipster's shell of today, or, better yet not just a hipster, but my whole generation- brought to you by my ex advertising school boyfriend and supplemented by the encyclopedia for the people by the people.  Pabst Blue Ribbon has certainly become the drink of choice for youths my age, but how is Pabst keeping up as the coolest beer around?  What kind of people is it catering to, and how will they embrace Pabst without feeling betrayed?  Well, here’s how- It doesn’t advertise at all on a large scale, but rather “through the surreptitious sponsorship of indie music concerts, local businesses, dive bars, and radio programming such as NPR’s all things considered”.  (Wikipedia)  

zine chapter 6 DISCOVERY

Chapter six in Zines deals with the mainstream media’s discovery of Zine’s and the culture of “neglected…angry, lazy cynical, media savvy, apathetic” 18-29 years olds worth potentially “$125 billion” in the early 90’s and teases through the corporation’s infiltration process, harkening back to other moments in the 20^th century when the underground is discovered and marketed.

            When record companies discovered the underground, they signed Nirvana and sold millions of copies of their albums, and “zines became de riguer on the new generation and its music” (132).  All of the mainstream magazines covered these “wacky” zines in their more frivolous sections, for they were “not to be taken too seriously”, of course.   But the mainstream media had found a gold mine.  The underground was accessible, and the key to selling products to this disaffected generation.  All concepts that the underground held sacred were exposed; “the underground’s condemnation of the dominant culture was being used to package and sell that very same culture” (133).  For example, MTV had shows like alternative nation, which played ‘alternative’ music and had converse commercials, as well as a road trip show called “road Rules”.  A plethora of magazines came out that were incredibly corporate- slacker, details (how to make your expensive clothing look dirty), Slant, by Urban outfitters, another corporation posing as underground fashion, and Dirt, commissioned by Time Warner.  All these were tools to reach the alienated generation.

            But how exactly does a corporation trick the generation of “media savvy” people into thinking they are not corporate?  Says one magazine, “the idea is to fake an aura of  colorful entrepeneurship as a way to connect with younger consumers who yearn for products that are hand-mad, quirky, and authentic” (135).  The first way to do this is to make them believe that what is being sold is not imposing upon the individual, but rather it is part of that culture’s life already.  In order to do this, they make it seem homegrown and stylize it after respected artists or styles of that culture.  The second is to appeal to “bohemian libertarianism” that demands constant change (137).  Unfortunately this has been going on since the 1920s.  Apparently Bohemians are the perfect consumers, as they have to be with it at all times, and, as Edward Burnays, the guy who basically started PR, found out, products define being with it.  For instance, women’s seeking suffrage in the 20s was defined by smoking cigarettes- the liberated woman smoked the “torches of freedom” – a huge boost for tobacco companies.  The same thing happened to the beats, the hippies, and people in the 70s seeking inner freedom as opposed to social freedom. The reaction against corporate bullies appropriating the underground for profit is and has always been to “stay pure”, meaning stay one step ahead, do anything you can to escape the man, even if it means becoming militant (in the case of the 60s and such groups as the weathermen).  In the next chapter, entitled, “Purity and Danger”, we will discuss the dangers of staying pure at all times.