The tributes to R.B. Greaves started popping up on Facebook late this afternoon, while I was off the grid. The smooth R&B singer was 68 when he died last week in Los Angeles.
His self-titled LP from 1970, the one with “Take A Letter, Maria” on it, was among the first big bunch of records I bought when I got back into collecting vinyl a few years ago. It was part of a haul of 20 records for $20 from the $1 record boxes in the tent in my friend Jim’s back yard.
I wrote about that record from time to time, and I’m glad I did so while Greaves was still with us.
Twice, it was to share his cover of “Always Something There To Remind Me.” Most recently, it was to celebrate the songs of Hal David, the great lyricist, something I did not do while David was still with us.
The first time, it was after I’d accidentally erased a small audio clip of our son’s voice, recorded before his voice changed. That was four years ago, and somehow, I still remember what that little boy’s voice sounded like. Maybe writing that post about a little bit of innocence lost helped to preserve it in my head.
Once, though, it was a deep cut from that self-titled LP, which despite that familiar hit single summons up a bunch of little mysteries.
I also have R.B. Greaves’ second album, also self-titled, which was released on Bareback Records in 1977. It’s full of pleasant enough but unremarkable mid-’70s pop-R&B. The 1970 LP is the only one you really need to have.
After Stevie Wonder hit it big with “Superstition” in 1972, it’s no wonder Jeff Beck was perhaps the first to cover it.
While working together in the studio for Wonder’s “Talking Book” album, on which Beck played guitar, Beck concocted the drum beat around which Wonder built the rest of “Superstition.” So Wonder offered the song to Beck.
However, Motown studio chief Berry Gordy thought Wonder ought to keep it for himself. So “Superstition,” by Stevie Wonder, was released by Motown in October 1972.
By that December, Beck was cutting that song in the studio with his new power trio, Beck, Bogert & Appice.
“Superstition,” Beck, Bogert & Appice, from “Beck, Bogert & Appice,” 1973. It’s out of print but is available digitally. When this LP came out, the “Superstition” cover was about the only thing many critics liked about it.
Dig this, too. Now that, friends, is a ’70s power trio.
Beck has played “Superstition” at his shows for years.
Here, he accompanies Wonder. This is from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame 25th anniversary show at Madison Square Garden in New York in October 2009.
The end of softball season signaled that summer was waning.
Fall arrived a couple of weeks ago, when I started working out to get ready for next summer. It takes that long when you’re older than dirt.
My iPod is my constant companion at the Y. I have a mild hearing loss, so I sometimes get a better understanding of songs, especially lyrics, when I hear them on the headphones.
So it is with “The Boys Of Summer,” the Don Henley song from 1984 that has long been one of my faves. The line that caught my attention was this:
“I feel it in the air. Summer’s out of reach.”
Yes, I thought, it is.
As I listened more closely to the rest of that familiar song, I realized this: “The Boys of Summer” is a nerd anthem.
Perhaps you were friends with the boys (or girls) of summer, perhaps loving them from afar, but never hooked up with them as you’d hoped. Still, you never will forget those nights.
There’s hope.
Maybe, someday, they’ll see that you, too, have something cool and beautiful going on, something that still goes strong after the boys (or girls) of summer have gone.
Then you won’t have to show them what you’re made of.
The folks at the fine Star Maker Machine blog shared this laid-back cover a couple of years ago. It’s from the second solo release by Sharp, a Philadelphia-born singer, songwriter and actress. She now performs as part of Beautiful Small Machines, a duo with her longtime writing partner Don DiLego.
A couple other covers worth seeking out: The punk-pop version by the Ataris, which had a Black Flag sticker on that Cadillac and came out nine years ago this month, and the dance version by the UK’s DJ Sammy, which came out 10 years ago this November.
Please visit our other blog, The Midnight Tracker, for vintage vinyl, one side at a time.
My dad and I hit the road on Labor Day, a trip that yielded some nice surprises. Not long after we arrived at my aunt’s house for a visit, she handed me a small album full of old family pictures.
Janet and I are celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary, and our wedding was in those pictures. This picture, our first dance, was among them.
The only pictures we have from that Labor Day weekend bash in 1987 were taken by family and friends. The photographer we hired was mortified to find, after the fact, that there were no pictures from our wedding. Technical difficulties.
We showed this picture to Evan, our 17-year-old son. He looked at it and said: “Nice amp.”
And now, the rest of that story.
Janet has long had a wonderful gift for handling my many quirks with patience and grace. She needed it as we planned the wedding. Then as now, we had a big record collection. I thought it would be fun to have the music at the reception come from our albums. So we did that.
If I could do it over, we would hire a band instead of renting a sound system with that “nice amp” and tell that clueless music nerd where to stick his mix tapes. They were dreadful.
After hearing what likely was one too many Dave Edmunds song, quite possibly “I Knew The Bride,” Janet’s aunt asked whether we had anything besides “that cowboy music.” Aunt June was right. How bad was it? The Georgia Satellites’ “Keep Your Hands To Yourself” was on one of those mix tapes. Gahhhhh.
By the end of the evening, one of our guests had become so weary of our mix tapes that he went out to his car, grabbed a Springsteen tape and demanded we play it instead. At that point, we turned off the sound system and adjourned to a bar for the rest of the night.
If I could do it over, our first dance would be to something more sophisticated than Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling In Love.” At the time, I was really into Elvis. Again, gahhhhh.
It would have been more fun for everyone — and Aunt June probably would have approved — had we danced our first dance to this.
“Just In Time,” Dean Martin, from “This Time I’m Swingin’!” 1960. He’s backed by a wonderful big band led by the incomparable Nelson Riddle. Its big horns evoke the nightclub era at its peak. (This rip is from “The Best Of Dean Martin,” a 1966 compilation on Capitol Records.)
Just in time, I found you just in time
Janet has long loved old musicals, and this tune comes from “Bells Are Ringing,” the 1956 Broadway musical. Few songs have a pedigree better than this one. Jule Styne wrote the music. Betty Comden and Adolph Green wrote the lyrics.
You found me just in time And changed my lonely life that lucky day
This was cut at the Capitol Recording Studio in Hollywood on May 17, 1960, the last day of a nine-day session during which Dino was really in a groove.
The LP is out of print but the song is available on “Dino: The Essential Dean Martin,” a Capitol CD that lives up to its billing. It was re-released last year with six tracks added to the original 2004 release.
Please visit our other blog, The Midnight Tracker, for more vintage vinyl, one side at a time.
My dad, who is 87, dropped his TV remote. It shattered. Without it, he can’t watch TV. Watching TV has been my dad’s main source of entertainment for as long as I can remember. You can see where this might be a problem. So we got him a new remote and managed to fix the old one.
However, there still are no variety shows for him to watch.
In the ’60s and ’70s, we frequently heard the sophisticated pop songs of Hal David and Burt Bacharach on those shows. At the time, they worked most often with singer Dionne Warwick, of whom David once said: “She always interprets my lyrics in a way that sounds as though she had written them herself.”
Four years ago, I took Dad to see Dionne Warwick. I was certain Dad would remember her from those long-ago variety shows. He didn’t. But once his hearing aid was adjusted, and he heard the songs, he recognized them. That night, Warwick performed two Bacharach-David tunes — “I Say A Little Prayer” and “Do You Know The Way To San Jose” — with new, Latin-flavored arrangements and new phrasing. They sounded just fine.
That’s what makes them classics, and why the songs of Hal David — who died earlier today at 91 — are timeless. No matter who interprets them, they usually sound just fine. (Well, those Isaac Hayes covers might be an acquired taste.)
David and Bacharach worked together from 1957 to 1973, an arc that matches the first 16 years of my life, a time often spent watching TV with my dad. Enjoy, as we did, a little variety, some of the most familiar versions of Hal David’s songs, and some covers.
“(There’s) Always Something There To Remind Me,” R.B. Greaves, from “R.B. Greaves,” 1969. Warwick did the original version as a demo in 1963. Lou Johnson had the first hit with it in 1964. It’s such a great song that it became a hit all over again in 1983 for the British synth-pop duo Naked Eyes.
““One Less Bell to Answer,” the 5th Dimension, from “Portrait,” 1970. Out of print, but available digitally. The original version, with Marilyn McCoo’s tremendous vocals.
Finally, a little glimpse of one of those old variety shows.
That’s Tom Jones, of course, doing “What’s New Pussycat.” In 1965, he did the original, for which David and Bacharach were nominated for an Oscar for best original song.
Please visit our other blog, The Midnight Tracker, for more vintage vinyl, one side at a time.
These are not my guitars, but this is my guitar story.
One of the distinctly Wisconsin ways in which we raise money for our school’s music programs is the brat fry.
We usually camp out in front of the grocery store, fire up the grill, plug in the roasters and fill up the coolers, selling burgers and brats and pop to anyone who comes along. If we’re not working at one, we’re having lunch at one.
So it was last month at the music store run by our band director’s husband. After having downed my brat at their brat fry on that blisteringly hot day, I took momentary refuge inside the air-conditioned store, where visitors were encouraged to sign up for raffle prizes. On my way home from a record-digging trip that afternoon, I learned that I had won a nice Yamaha acoustic guitar.
Our son Evan, who has a gift for talking people into giving him guitars, figured my guitar also would be his. After all, his pal Collin loaned him the guitars you see above. (Not seen is the old amp that also came from Collin.)
Well, let’s just say my new guitar is on semi-permanent loan while I continue the search for my old guitar.
Back in the ’60s, my dad brought home an electric guitar that had been damaged in shipping. It had a big crack along the side of the body. The customer didn’t want it, and understandably so. (My dad worked for REA Express, sort of like today’s UPS. If a customer declined a shipment, he could put in a claim for it.)
I’ve been looking for my old guitar for some time now, wading through Google image searches. After all that research, I’m fairly certain it was a 1964 to 1966 Sears Silvertone, a model that apparently was a favorite of garage band guitarists of modest means. I’m not sure it’s the red one in the picture from the 1966 Sears catalog, but that’s as close as I’ve gotten.
We kept that guitar, crack and all, well into the early ’70s. It had to have been around the house in 1973, because I sussed out and cranked out the chords to “Smoke On The Water” like every other 16-year-old.
One day, though, it went out in the trash.
So, yeah, I’ve been thinking about my old red guitar as Evan noodles on his. Maybe someday I’ll find out exactly what kind of guitar I had.
I ain’t putting up with this any longer, he must have thought.
The second week of August 1971 in New York was hot and humid, steamy and sultry. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, each of those days reached 90 during the day and cooled only into the high 70s at night. The end of the week brought a little relief — 10 or so degrees cooler — but apparently not enough relief.
So Curtis Ousley went out and got himself an air conditioner. As Thursday night turned to Friday morning, he lugged it back to his brownstone apartment at 50 W. 86th St., a long block west of Central Park.
When he got there, a couple of guys were sitting on the steps. Junkies, they say. Doing drugs, they say. They got into it, Curtis Ousley and the dudes on the stoop. One of them pulled a knife. He stabbed Ousley in the chest. Ousley grabbed the knife. He stabbed that guy four times.
Curtis Ousley — known professionally as King Curtis, the great sax player — and his attacker, one Juan Montanez, wound up at the same hospital. Ousley died an hour later. Montanez survived, only to be arrested, convicted and imprisoned.
That was 41 years ago today — Aug. 13, 1971.
King Curtis, then just 37, had reached the top after 25 years of hard work.
Yes, he was just 12 when he started playing the sax in his hometown of Fort Worth, Texas. One of his hometown peers was Ornette Coleman, the great jazz sax player who was four years older. Ousley’s first big gig came in Lionel Hampton’s band. At the time of his death, King Curtis had lived in New York for almost 20 years and had become one of its most highly regarded session men.
And 1971, oh, what a year that was for King Curtis.
Early that year, Curtis and his band, the Kingpins, backed Aretha Franklin on her tour. In July, he did session work, solos, on two cuts on John Lennon’s “Imagine” album. Also that year, a new TV show needed a theme song, so he reworked his 1962 song “Hot Potatoes (Piping Hot)” as “Soul Train (Hot Potato)” and recorded it with the Rimshots.
His new album, “Live At Fillmore West,” was released in early August, a week before he came across the dudes on his stoop. It was recorded in San Francisco in the first week of March, at the same time as “Aretha Live at Fillmore West.”
“Memphis Soul Stew,” King Curtis, from “Live At Fillmore West,” 1971. It’s out of print but is available digitally.
King Curtis never lived to see this album become his biggest solo hit. It reached the top 10 on the Billboard jazz and soul charts and topped out at No. 54 on the Billboard Top 200 in the week after his death.
“Memphis Soul Stew” is just one of two original cuts on the record, which begins with that one and ends with “Soul Serenade.” Jammed in between are scorching and/or simmering covers of familiar tunes by Procol Harum, Led Zeppelin, Jerry Butler, Buddy Miles, Bobbie Gentry, Jerry Jeff Walker and Stevie Wonder.
All that scorching and simmering was performed and arranged by Curtis, yet seasoned by the mighty Kingpins. That all-star band included Billy Preston on organ, Bernard “Pretty” Purdie on drums and the formidable Memphis Horns.
Please visit our other blog, The Midnight Tracker, for more vintage vinyl, one side at a time.
The rest of the story: Juan Montanez, who was 26 at the time King Curtis was stabbed to death, was charged with second-degree murder. During his trial in February 1972, he agreed to plea to a lesser charge of second-degree manslaughter. He got seven years in prison and served almost six, the maximum possible with good behavior. He was released in December 1977. He hasn’t been heard from since.
Bummer when you see another blog has done almost exactly the same James Bond movie theme song post you'd planned. bit.ly/SGIdLc1 week ago
B-Side Records, where I bought new LPs when I lived in Madison in the '80s, is celebrating 30 years in business. bit.ly/OgKmfP1 week ago
Finished putting all the vinyl into a spreadsheet. About 1,000 LPs. Too many. Looks like I'll be selling records at the spring record show. 1 week ago
Wondered this while cataloguing more vinyl tonight: Have I listened to that Nazareth "Hair of the Dog" LP at any time since the late '70s? 1 week ago
Adele's "Skyfall," the theme to the new James Bond film. Echoes of John Barry, Shirley Bassey. Well done. youtu.be/7HKoqNJtMTQ1 week ago
Late to the party
As usual.
Always delighted to hear from you. Your guide can be reached at jeffash at new dot rr dot com
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About the music
These are mp3s from my collection, taken from vinyl whenever possible. Enjoy. They are intended to encourage you to get out to the music stores, real or virtual, or out to support live music.
If you hold the copyright to something posted here, and you don't want it posted, please e-mail me at jeffash at new dot rr dot com and I'll remove it. Then again, who else is exposing your music to a new audience today?
About the words
The text is copyright 2007-2012, Jeff Ash. Text from other sources, when excerpted, is credited.
