Saturday Night at the Oldies: The 50th Anniversary of the Beatles’ Ed Sullivan Appearance

It was 50 years ago tomorrow.  Your humble correspondent was among the 73 million Americans who tuned in to see the Lads from Liverpool, the Four Moptops, the Fab Four, as they were variously known.  Later, in '64 or '65 I saw them live at the Hollywood Bowl.  What remains are all those great tunes, hundreds of them.  So pour yourself a stiff one, and give a listen.

Thank You, Girl, 1963

In My Life, 1965

Something, 1969.  Although not as prolific as Lennon and McCartney, George Harrison here proves he can write a song as good as anything they wrote. Frank Sinatra considered it the greatest love song ever written.  A Sinatra version.

The Night Before, 1965

Tomorrow Never Knows, 1966. A long way from Perry Como.

Eleanor Rigby, 1966

I'm Looking Through You, 1965

When I'm 64, 1967.  The boys must have thought that 64 is really old!

Penny Lane, 1967.

Rain, 1966. 

Abbey Road Medley, 1969.  This is how the boys' last album ends.

0:00 – You Never Give Me Your Money
4:03 – Sun King
6:29 – Mean Mr. Mustard
7:35 – Polythene Pam
8:48 – She Came in Through the Bathroom Window
10:47 – Golden Slumbers
12:19 – Carry That Weight
13:55 – The End

 

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Pete Seeger (1919-2014)

According to Ron Radosh, ". . . 'The Hammer Song,' known by most as “If I Had a Hammer,” was written by Lee Hays (not Seeger) as a song to be used in defense of the indicted Communists, and not as a clarion call for brotherhood."  May of us were fooled way back when, we who heard it first in the Peter, Paul, and Mary version. The Seeger version.

Buffy Sainte Marie and Pete Seeger, Cindy

Pete Seeger and Donovan, Colours

Pete Seeger, Sonny Terry, Brownie McGee, Rock Island Line

Pete Seeger and Doc Watson, You've Got to Walk that Lonesome Valley

Pete Seeger and Johnny Cash, Worried Man Blues

Back to Radosh for context, and to stem the deluge of uncritical praise (bolding added):

Pete Seeger’s death at the age of 94 has brought forth scores of celebratory tributes. America had long ago showered him with honors, which all but made up for the scorn with which he was once held in the age of the blacklist. Seeger received the National Medal of the Arts from President Bill Clinton and the Kennedy Center Honors in 1994, as well as multiple Grammys. He was named one of America’s “living legends” by the Library of Congress, was asked to sing at the 2009 inauguration of President Obama, and was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. He had become, as a Washington Post story once put it, “America’s Best Loved Commie.”

Without Seeger’s influence and sponsorship of folk music, from traditional Appalachian ballads to slave songs of the Old South, many would never have appreciated folk music, nor would it have become a genre whose influence has spread far and wide. He experimented with “world music” long before anyone had used that term; when abroad, he collected songs and brought them back to the United States. “Wimoweh (The Lion Sleeps Tonight),” written by Solomon Linda and used in The Lion King, is a major example of a South African song Seeger brought here generations before Paul Simon.

What other artist would receive a statement from the president of the United States honoring him, not to speak of the scores of senators and members of Congress who found inspiration in his voice and his singing? 

Yet, an honest appreciation of Pete Seeger cannot be left at what most accolades have done. Indeed, since his political vision, his service over the decades to the brutality of Soviet-era Stalinism and to all of the post-Cold War leftist tyrannies, was inseparable from the music he made, it simply cannot be overlooked. For, more often than not, Seeger’s voice was heard in defense of causes in which only fools could still believe. As Paul Berman put it, “Let us sing ‘If I Had a Hammer,’ then, and, at every third verse, let our hammers bop Pete Seeger on the head for having been a fool and an idiot.”

And calling him a fool and an idiot is, indeed, not too harsh a judgment to make about Pete Seeger. I say that sadly, as a person for whom Pete was a childhood hero. I studied banjo with him, got to know him, and visited him at the legendary home he built from scrap in Beacon, New York. 

For years, all that Pete Seeger said about Joseph Stalin, whose regime he served without a blink for decades, was that the Soviet leader was a “hard driver.”

[. . .]

During the Nazi-Soviet Pact (1939-41), Seeger sang antiwar songs that, in effect, called for the support of Hitler. When the Nazis invaded the Soviet Union, he withdrew the songs he had just recorded and suddenly supported the “antifascist alliance” between the United States and the Soviets. During the Cold War, he supported unilateral American disarmament and backed one Soviet propaganda campaign after the other. “Put My Name Down, Brother, Where Do I Sign?” he sang, calling for signatures on the Stockholm Peace Petition developed by KGB fronts in Europe. 

During the Vietnam war, Seeger not only helped lead the antiwar movement, he also sang in praise of the brutal Ho Chi Minh. Lyndon B. Johnson was called “a big fool” in one of his most famous songs, while he sang of Ho Chi Minh: He educated all the people, / He demonstrated to the world, / If a man will stand for his own land, / He’s got the strength of ten

In 1999, Seeger traveled to Cuba to receive an award from the Castro regime. The fading Cuban tyrants honored him with their highest cultural award, given for “humanistic and artistic work in defense of the environment and against racism,” which was in and of itself a travesty. Accepting an award from Fidel Castro should make it clear that Seeger’s would-be humanism and protest was aimed at one side only: his own country, which he clearly thought was led by the world’s sole oppressors. 

One cannot hope to be thought of as a defender of human rights and also accept an award from the Cuban police state. That, too, must be taken into consideration when evaluating what Pete Seeger really learned from his own Stalinist past.

In his last years, Seeger, who, in the period when the Soviet Union was briefly pro-Israel, sang songs in both Hebrew and Yiddish (including Israeli songs), gave his support to boycott-divestment-sanctions (BDS) against Israel, even to the extent that he handed over royalties from “Turn, Turn, Turn” to the movement.

A great folk singer who contributed much to the American story, he was fatally flawed by the leftism he imbibed with his mother’s milk. How telling that a man who sought social justice, peace, and a livable world could, at the same time, believe that serving leftist tyrants was somehow compatible with his dream of universality and solidarity.

Saturday Night at the Oldies: British Invasion, the Ds

British invasion 2Last time I left out one of the Cs, Petula Clark. A major omission, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.  Here's 1964's Downtown.

From the sweet to the Dionysian hard core of rock and roll, Spencer Davis, Gimme Some Lovin.  A great driving song.  Try not to pound a hole in the dashboard.

And from there to the folk strains of Donovan, Catch the WindColours.  Here is a dumbassed YouTube comment:  "The singing style, the guitar style, even the cap: everything here screams, 'Dylan impersonator!'" You may as well argue that Dylan was a Woody Guthrie impersonator. Though not on Dylan's level, Donovan was a major ingredient in the flavor of the fabulous and far-off 'sixties.

Colours duet with Joan Baez at Newport Folk Festival.   Here's another great duet version of Catch the Wind: Joan and Mimi Baez. Season of the Witch.  Drifting psychedelic . . . .

And then there was the Dave Clark Five, Glad All Over.   A little plastic . . . .  'Plastic' is '60s slang for fake, less than authentic, artificial.  Here is a glossary of '60s slang.  Not entirely accurate, but pretty good.

Saturday Night at the Oldies: British Invasion, A – C

British InvasionThis year we celebrate the 50th anniversary of the so-called British Invasion of 1964 – 1966.  Here is one reasonably complete list of 'invaders.'  Tonight, selections from A through C. 

Animals, We Gotta Get Out of This Place

Animals, Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood

Beatles, You Can't Do That

Beatles, It Won't Be Long

Cilla Black, You're My World.  Remember her?  Few popular songs capture the delightful delusionality of romantic love as this one.

Cilla Black, Anyone Who Had a Heart

Chad and Jeremy, A Summer Song

Chad and Jeremy, Yesterday's Gone

 

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Bridge Songs

In consideration of Governor Christie's troubles over a bridge, it seems more than fitting that we should devote tonight's 'show' to any bridge songs there might be, starting, naturally, with

Bridge Over Troubled Waters, Simon and Garfunkel.  The boys are getting old, but the magic is still there.  On a lighter note,

59th Street Bridge Song, Simon and Garfunkel

Bridge on River Kwai Theme, Mitch Miller

The Bridges of Madison County Theme

Seven Bridges Road, Eagles

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Phil Everly (1939 – 2014)

Phil Everly of the Everly Brothers died on Friday at age 74.  From the NYT:

The Everlys brought tradition, not rebellion, to their rock ’n’ roll. Their pop songs reached teenagers with Appalachian harmonies rooted in gospel and bluegrass. [. . .]

They often sang in close tandem, with Phil Everly on the higher note and the brothers’ two voices virtually inseparable. That sound was part of a long lineage of country “brother acts” like the Delmore Brothers, the Monroe Brothers and the Louvin Brothers. In an interview in November, Phil Everly said: “We’d grown up together, so we’d pronounce the words the same, with the same accent. All of that comes into play when you’re singing in harmony.”

Paul Simon, whose song “Graceland” includes vocals by Phil and Don Everly, said in an email on Saturday morning: “Phil and Don were the most beautiful sounding duo I ever heard. Both voices pristine and soulful. The Everlys were there at the crossroads of country and R&B. They witnessed and were part of the birth of rock and roll.”

You may remember it from Linda Ronstadt's version, but the Everlys did it first:  When Will I be Loved?

Carole King wrote it, but Don and Phil made it a hit: Crying in the Rain.

Bye Bye Love

All I Have to Do is Dream.  YouTuber comment: 

RIP Phil Everly. We can never thank you enough for the music and memories of a bygone era, long past, when cars were chariots of Chrome gleaming in the moonlight and shades of neon in the heat of summer…I still remember the crackle of the AM radio with reverb….Nothing can replace Phil and those days.
 

Saturday Night at the Oldies: ‘Last’ Songs for the Last Night of the Year

 Last Night, 1961, The Mar-Keys.

Last Date, 1960, Floyd Cramer.

Save the Last Dance for Me, 1960, The Drifters.

At Last, Etta James.

Last Thing on My Mind, Doc Watson sings Tom Paxton

Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream, Simon and Garfunkel. 

Last Man Standing, Ry Cooder

Last Call, Dave van Ronk.  "If I'd been drunk when I was born, I'd be ignorant of sorrow."

Bonus: Last Chance Harvey.

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Politically Incorrect Tunes

No day without political incorrectness! And no night either.

Ray Stevens, Ahab the ArabHere is the original from 1962.  In the lyrics there are references to two hits from the same era, Chubby Checker's The Twist (1960) and Lonnie Donegan's British skiffle number  Does Your Chewing Gum Lose its Flavor?  On second thought, the reference is to Checker's Le't's Twist Again Like We Did Last Summer (1960).

Larry Verne, Mr. Custer (1960). "What am I doin' here?"

And now a trio of feminist anthems. Marcie Blaine, Bobby's Girl.  "And if I was Bobby's girl, what a faithful, thankful girl I'd be."  Carol Deene, Johnny Get Angry.  Can't find the Joanie Sommers original, but this is an adequate cover.  "I want a cave man!"  k. d. lang's parody.  Little Peggy March, I Will Follow Him.  "From now until forever."

Meanwhile the guys were bragging of having a girl in every port of call.  Dion, The Wanderer (1961). Ricky Nelson, Travelin' Man. (1961)

Addendum:  I forgot to link to two Ray Stevens numbers that are sure to rankle the sorry sensibilities of  our liberal pals: Come to the USA, God Save Arizona.

Christmas Eve at the Oldies

Merry Christmas everybody.  Pour yourself a drink, and enjoy.

Cheech and Chong, Santa Claus and His Old Lady
Canned Heat, Christmas Boogie

Leon Redbone and Dr. John, Frosty the Snowman
Beach Boys, Little St. Nick.  A rarely heard alternate version.
Ronettes, Sleigh Ride
Elvis Presley, Blue Christmas
Charles Brown, Please Come Home for Christmas
Wanda Jackson and the Continentals, Merry Christmas Baby
Chuck Berry, Run Rudolph Run
Eric Clapton, Cryin' Christmas Tears
Judy Collins, Silver Bells
Ry Cooder, Christmas in Southgate.  Don't miss this one. Great video.
Bob Dylan, Christmas Bells

Who could possibly follow Dylan's growl except

Tom Waits, Silent Night.  Give it a chance. 

A surprising number of Christmas songs were written by Jews.

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Some Songs from Inside Llewyn Davis

The Llewyn Davis character in the brilliant Coen Bros. film suggests, I don't say represents, Dave van Ronk.  So let's start with some tunes (not necessarily the renditions) from the movie done by the Mayor of MacDougal Street.

Hang me, Oh Hang Me

Green, Green Rocky Road

Dink's Song.  Marcus Mumford and Oscar Isaac version.  Punch Bros. live versionCarolyn Hester Odetta. Dylan

Tom Paxton, The Last Thing on My Mind

Justin Timberlake, et al.  Five Hundred Miles.    PPM versionJourneymen version.

Please Mr. Kennedy clip

Friday Cat Blogging: Inside Llewyn Davis

Llewyn davis and catTo Scottsdale this drizzly dreary dark December morning to see the Coen Bros. latest on its opening hereabouts, Inside Llewyn Davis.    A tale of two kitties is a sub-motif that symbolizes the self-destructive folksinger's troubles, but it would take a couple more viewings for me to figure it out.

The film gripped me and held me its entire running length, but then I lived through that era and I know the music and its major and minor players.  Figuring out the the cinematic references and allusions is part of the fun.  Tom Paxton, Albert Grossmann, Jim and Jean, The Clancy Brothers, Bob Dylan . . . they are all there — or are they?  

A distinction is made between purely fictional objects (native objects) and immigrant objects: historical individuals that have been imported into fiction from reality.   Many of the characters in the Coen Bros. film seem to belong to a third category.  They are not wholly unreal like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, or lightly fictionalized individuals like many of the characters in Kerouac's novels, but fictional surrogates of real-life individuals.  For example, there is a character who suggests Tom Paxton, but could not be said unambiguously to represent him, pace Dave van Ronk's ex-wife who writes, in a critical review, "The character who represents Tom Paxton has a pasted-on smile and is a smug person who doesn't at all resemble the smart, funny, witty Tom Paxton who was our best man when we married." 

Ann Hornaday's Washington Post review ends brilliantly:

In many ways, “Inside Llewyn Davis” plays like a waking nightmare of creeping anxiety and dread, as the era’s grandmaster of brazen self-invention arrives unseen in New York while Llewyn’s self-defeating near-misses pile up like so much street-sullied snow. But this soulful, unabashedly lyrical film is best enjoyed by sinking into it like a sweet, sad dream. When you wake up, a mythical place and time will have disappeared forever. But you’ll know that attention — briefly, beautifully — has been paid.

The era's grandmaster of brazen self-invention is of course Bob Dylan, who blew into town that bitter winter of '61 and who in a few short years brought about a sort of Hegelian Aufhebung of the folk era: its simultaneous cancellation, preservation, and transmogrification into the heart of the '60s as represented by the trilogy of Dylan at his most incandescent: Bringing it It All Back Home, Highway 61 Revisited,  Blonde on Blonde.

It's all Over Now, Baby Blue from the the first-mentioned album perhaps sounds the theme of cultural shift.

 

Bill O’Reilly, Mungo Jerry, and Immanuel Kant

Mr. Bill made a mistake the other night on The O'Reilly Factor when he said that the British skiffle group Mungo Jerry's sole Stateside hit, In the Summertime, is from '67.  Not so, as I instantly recalled: it is from the summer of 1970.  I remember because that was the summer I first read Kant, ploughing through The Critique of Pure Reason.  I sat myself down under a tree in Garfield Park in  South Pasadena with the Norman Kemp Smith translation and dove in.  I couldn't make head nor tail of it.  But I persisted and eventually wrote my dissertation on Kant.

Now why is Mr. Bill's mistake worth mentioning?  Because, to paraphrase Santayana, those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.  And we wouldn't want to repeat the '60s.