Harry Nilsson's original album sounds it's best on cheap, crummy stereos while The Walkmen's take sounds best on sound systems that have sub-woofers.

That's it. They both come from the same place, and have the exact same effect. That being said, why don't you own both of them already, huh?

Long live Nilsson.
Long live vinyl records.

P.S.
The Walkmen rule, too!

P.P.S
I'm drunk, which is the best and only time to ever listen to Pussy Cats, you self-righteous dick.

But what a depressing list that one is.  Apparently I needed to add to my criteria for a good cover: "Takes an existing song and mines it for all its sonic and lyrical sadness."

So, it's a pleasure to report three covers that are least slightly less doleful and worth checking out.  In no particular order:

Stevie Wonder covers "We Can Work It Out" by The Beatles

Though his best work is inarguably on albums like Talking Book, Innervisions, and Songs in the Key of Life, there's much to enjoy in his earlier records, such as Signed, Sealed, and Delivered.  His take on "We Can Work It Out" is classic Stevie, with infectious vocal optimism, a funky arrangement, and some prominent harmonica riffs.  And on the subject of covers, you've gotta love the cover of the album itself.  Yike.

Neko Case covers "Buckets of Rain" by Bob Dylan

Though this song, admittedly, isn't necessarily a happy one, Neko Case's rendition actually makes the song sound a bit less sad without undercutting the poignancy of the lyrics.  It's simple, straightforward, and beautifully sung.

Luna covers "Everybody's Talkin'" by Fred Neil

The mellow warmth of Dean Wareham's voice is a perfect match for this song, most famous for its appearance in Midnight Cowboy, covered by Harry Nilsson.  Though it's incredibly lame to say this, it's difficult to listen to this song without smiling and bopping your head a little.

When the UK had 'suffered' enough Chicory Tip at Number One, it then propelled a peculiar love song to the top of the charts. 

"Without You" was written and originally recorded by Badfinger, a band from Wales who were (somewhat inexplicably IMHO) signed to The Beatles' Apple Records. 

The song was heard by John Lennon's pal Harry Nilsson - who had already enjoyed chart success with "Everybody's Talkin" in 1969 - who gave it a new lonely starkness to produce what some people might describe as a "timeless wedding day classic".

I liked the song a lot more then than I do now. In between it seemed to feature in all my relationship woes of the 70's, 80's and early 90's, so perhaps it has just soured on me? I do know that I was horrified by this version by Mariah Carey, but I'll admit she's a lot better to look at than poor old Harry.

OK, now when I said I liked most of the Number 1's of 1972 - or at least suggested I had an inkling of affection for them - there is one that is most definitely NOT included in that comment.

Now, I'm not a fan of the turgid religious yawn known as "Amazing Grace" at the best of times, but when it played by bagpipes I usually look for the nearest gun to shoot myself with.

I HATE bagpipes.

So for 5 weeks in 1972 I doubtless cut my recording of the Top 30 chart short whilst The Drums & Pipes & Military Band of the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards' hideous interpretation of the song was Number 1. (I even feel as if I should apologise for including the link?!)

What do you have if you have the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards up to their neck in sand? Yep, not enough sand.

The wailing octopi were followed by yet another Number One hit for T.Rex, this time the magnificent "Metal Guru", Bolan's tribute to (in his words) "a god of no specific nature".

Presumably one who sits in an armour plated chair and doesn't have a telephone?

(The whole glam rock thing with Bolan, Bowie, The Sweet, Slade and... yes, even The Rubettes, deserves several posts all to itself... so anticipate my thoughts about it all sometime in the next few months)

With Chicory Tip having beaten his classic "American Pie" to Number 1, (despite my personal attempts to ensure everyone knew the lyrics) Don McLean followed it up with his strange ode to painter Van Gogh.

"Vincent (Starry Starry Night)" is a lightweight fluffy pop song which contains the dubious refrain "This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you"... to which the painter could only have replied "PARDON?"

Trivia fact: Roberta Flack's 1974 hit "Killing me Softly with His Song" was written about Don McLean, specifically about a concert he played in LA in 1971. (If any readers win pub quizzes with this kind of material I expect my cut!)

We go from dreary old Don to screamy young Noddy.

Slade's "Take me Bak 'Ome" - quite aside from sharing my own penchant for deliberate speling errors - was the second of Slade's six number one singles in the UK. I've written about Slade before (an example here) and I guess I always had something of a soft spot for them.

Not as much as other people I went to school with though. It's weird the things I can remember from my youth.....

In 1973, Slade's drummer Don Powell was involved in a serious car crash in which his 20-year-old girlfriend was killed. Powell ended up with broken ribs, smashed ankles and other injuries including skull damage. He did eventually recover from the accident - for a few months he had to be lifted onto his drumkit for performances  - but it left him with no sense of taste or smell and severe short-term memory issues.

For whatever reason I was somehow amused by the fact that one of my schoolchums - I think his name was Robin? - told me he had sent Powell a "get well" card whilst the drummer was in hospital. Why I would remember that I have absolutely noidea, but whenever I see Slade on TV, video or the internet I am always reminded of it. Weird huh?

[continued in Part 3]....

Number 541

"Happy Together"

(1967)

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Genre:Psychedelic Rock

 Anyone home?

What was it with the naming of bands in the 60's? I mean, The Animals, Beatles, Turtles, Byrds, Troggs, Monkees, Zombies & the Buggles, ok, so Buggles are 70's, but, well, you get my drift. It almost makes me want to Google™ bands with names like The Slugs* or Moth* or the Caterpillars, hey, what about the Larva's? Is that not where it all started? Mind you if you think about today's names like Scissor Sisters, Maroon 5, Foo Fighters and Mint Chicks i guess then the 60's gen "baby boomers™" are really laughing at us (But wait, im gen X :p). Lesson learnt, never laugh at the generation before you, cos you really know ..... its going to get worse. You will find yourself more in tune with the generation before you, much more than the one after. (*after i wrote it i researched and yes, there were 2 bands with these names, very funny)

Though many remember only their 1967 hit "Happy Together," the Turtles were one of the more enjoyable American pop groups of the 1960s, moving from folk-rock inspired by the Byrds to a sparkling fusion of Zombies-inspired chamber-pop and straight-ahead good-time pop reminiscent of the Lovin' Spoonful, the whole infused with beautiful vocal harmonies courtesy of dual frontmen Howard Kaylan and Mark Volman. Though they hit number one in 1967 with the infectious "Happy Together," the Turtles scored only three more Top Ten hits and broke up by the end of the '60s. Kaylan and Volman later joined Frank Zappa's Mothers of Invention during the early '70s and also recorded themselves as Flo & Eddie, but were on the oldies circuit with a revamped Turtles by the mid-'80s.

Born within two months of each other in 1947 (though on opposite coasts), Howard Kaylan (b. Howard Kaplan) and Mark Volman attended the same school, Westchester High in Los Angeles (Kaylan had moved from New York as a child). The two sang in the school's a cappella choir, where Volman soon heard about Kaylan's instrumental surf group, the Nightriders (which also included choir members Al Nichol on lead guitar, Don Murray on drums and Chuck Portz on bass). Volman joined the group just before they became the Crossfires in 1963. After high-school graduation, the Crossfires continued on while its members attended area colleges (picking up rhythm guitarist Jim Tucker along the way).

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The group finally got its big break in 1965 after local disc jockey and club owner Reb Foster heard them. Foster liked the Crossfires so much, he became their manager and found the group a contract with White Whale Records. The sextet changed their name to the Tyrtles (an unveiled homage to the Byrds, soon amended to the correct spelling) and recorded a Bob Dylan cover as their first single. The song's fusion of folk with glittering rock & roll was also lifted from the Byrds, and "It Ain't Me Babeed the Top Ten in August 1965, just three months after "Mr. Tambourine Man" had hit number one. Moving from the songwriting talents of Dylan to the new "king of protest," producer P.F. Sloan, the Turtles hit the Top 40 twice more during 1965-66 with "Let Me Be" and "You Baby," after which Murray and Portz left (to be replaced by John Barbata and, for a short time, bassist/producer Chip Douglas).

Though the Turtles had appeared to run out of steam by the beginning of 1967, the group stormed back with a song they'd heard in a batch of demos, a surefire hit written by Gary Bonner and Alan Gordon. "Happy Together" spent three weeks at number one on the American charts, and proved to be one of the biggest hits of the year. The Turtles' next three singles were written by Bonner-Gordon, and each hit the Top 20: the number three hit "She'd Rather Be with Me" (which eclipsed even "Happy Together" in terms of international success), plus "You Know What I Mean" and "She's My Girl." Chip Douglas, who had arranged the horns on "Happy Together," left the group to work with the Monkees, and was replaced by Jim Pons (formerly with the Leaves). Original member Jim Tucker left the group as well, after a tour of dingy pubs in England caused more than a bit of disillusionment about the group's lack of success.

Like so many other pop groups in the late '60s, the Turtles felt they had to stretch artistically to keep pace with their more critically respected rivals, and beginning with "You Know What I Mean," the Turtles' revolving-door cast of producers and arrangers made their sound progressively more psychedelic, though they were still much closer to the pop/rock mainstream than to the era's premier psychedelic groups. The group asserted their rights in late 1967, and self-produced the disappointing "Sound Asleep," which was the band's first single after "Happy Together" to miss the Top 40. White Whale Records demanded an outside hand be brought to the studio, so the Turtles compromised by going back to Chip Douglas. The result, "The Story of Rock and Roll," was shut out of the Top 40 as well, prompting the career-saving "Elenore" in September 1968, which hit number six (the best placing by a single actually written by the Turtles). The inevitable concept LP came in November 1968: The Turtles Present the Battle of the Bands, on which the group attempted to sound like (and even dress up as) 11 distinct bands -- one for each song on the LP. It was an interesting concept, and a measured success, with "Elenore" to its credit as well as another number six hit, "You Showed Me" (originally written and recorded by the Byrds). Drummer John Seiter joined the Turtles after the recording of Battle of the Bands, replacing Barbata (who had left to work with Crosby, Stills & Nash).

After White Whale attempted to record Monkees-style, with the vocals of Kaylan and Volman added to a generic studio backing track, the duo rebelled and attempted to get back to the band aesthetic. Inspired by the Kinks' recent Village Green Preservation Society LP, the Turtles recruited frontman Ray Davies to serve as producer for their 1969 LP Turtle Soup. Two singles from the album, "You Don't Have to Walk in the Rain" and "Love In the City," both failed to reach the Top 40. Kaylan and Volman formed their own label, Blimp Records, and signed a few acts, including folksinger Judy Sill, who wrote the Turtles' last recording, "Lady-O." More wrangles with White Whale, on top of the lack of chart success, had destroyed the Turtles by 1970, though. White Whale continued to raid the vaults during the year, releasing old singles, a second hits compilation and an album of rarities (Wooden Head).

Before the end of 1970, though, Kaylan, Volman and Pons had joined Frank Zappa's early-'70s edition of the Mothers of Invention. (The use of the Turtles' name or even their own names in a musical context was illegal according to an earlier contract, so Kaylan and Volman appeared as the Phlorescent Leech & Eddie.) Besides touring with Zappa, the trio appeared on four of his albums from 1970 to 1972: Chunga's Revenge, 200 Motels, Live at the Fillmore and Just Another Band from L.A. After Zappa was injured in an onstage altercation, though, the re-christened Flo & Eddie toured with several of the Mothers for awhile, and recorded five LPs for themselves between 1975 and 1981. The duo also did session work, composed music for childrens' movies (The Care Bears, Strawberry Shortcake) and broadcast their own radio show on L.A.'s KROQ and later New York's WXRK. By 1984, the Turtles' name had reverted back to the group, and Volman and Kaylan began touring with a new lineup as the Turtles...Featuring Flo & Eddie. ~ [John Bush, All Music Guide]

Roll Call .....

For the Beatles see Number 947, 894 & 587

For the Monkees see Number 608

For the Zombies see Number 700

For the Buggles see Number 699

For Bob Dylan see Number 929 & Number 841

For PF Sloan see Number 543

For Crosby, Stills & Nash see Number 660

For Foo Fighters see Number 535

What does Rolling Stone think about Turtles?

While hitting the Top 10 in 1965 with Bob Dylan's "It Ain't Me Babe" and releasing a number of P.F. "Eve of Destruction" Sloan songs, this L.A. band proved too gigglesome an outfit for the philosophical strainings of folk rock; they moved on to infectious, and exuberantly slight, radio fluff. With Howard Kaylan and Mark Volman, the Turtles possessed two strong lead singers -- of a visual mold riotously at odds with rock-star stereotypes -- and their combination of careful song selection and self-mocking humor made them successful and endearing. "Happy Together" (1967) remains their most memorable track; released the same year, "You Know What I Mean" and "She'd Rather Be With Me" were also crafty rock candy. With the same eccentricity that later found Volman and Kaylan recording with Frank Zappa, and, as "Flo and Eddie," singing backup for T. Rex, the Turtles expressed a laudable, if occasional, discontent with their limited role as hitmakers. They flexed this urge not only on the concept album The Turtles Present the Battle of the Bands (the album has the group doing send-ups of a vast range of styles) but also in an artful choice of songwriters, Harry Nilsson and Warren Zevon among them. Rhino's 20 Greatest Hits exhaustively covers the straighter Turtles; Turtle Wax does the same for the bent. (PAUL EVANS) [From 2004's The New Rolling Stone Album Guide]

Happy Birthday Rolling Stone turning 40!

For Harry Nilsson see Number 599

Artist Fact File

Name:The Turtles..................Related to³:Frank Zappa

Yrs Active:1965 to 1970...........Site:www.theturtles.com

Best Song¹:Happy Together.........#1fan:www.fanpop.com

Best Album²:It Aint Me Babe.......Grammy Awards:0

Albums Sold:60 Million............Next best thing:The Monkees

¹Number of downloads WINMX ²Artistdirect choice ³Associated acts or collaborations

Rolling Stone Top 500 Songs ranked this song at Number (er, Turtles? you mean Tuttles right?) and the Album ranked at Number (Hey wer'e 40, dementia and all)

This song has a crowbarred of 73.8 out of 108 pts

Lyrics to the song

Previous Song 540 ..... Next Song 542

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underlay

Keith Moon was best known as a member of the Who, but he was far more than that, even within the context of his role within the group. Moon, with his manic, lunatic side, and his life of excessive drinking, partying, and other indulgences, probably represented the youthful, zany side of rock & roll, as well as its self-destructive side, better than anyone else on the planet. In that sense, he was the soul of the Who, as much as Pete Townshend was its brain and Roger Daltrey was its heart; and, along with John Entwistle, Moon was at the core of its sound, and not just for his drumming per se. He played the skins with the kind of wild abandon that most trained musicians before him, not knowing any better, would have described as lunatic, in the worst sense of the word, and he lived his life with just about that same degree of intensity (even once running himself over with his own car). But more than the drumming itself, it was the lunacy that he brought to the personality mix of the four members that kept their music and their playing, not to mention their image, on the cutting edge of youth, even as they all moved into their thirties and tried to get more serious about music.  Moon's musical importance was similar to that of Brian Jones in the Rolling Stones. In much the same way that Jones, through his talent (and his abuse of it) helped lift the Stones above the level of every other blues-based band going, and made their image distinct, Moon did the same thing for the Who. When Jones left the Stones, to die just a few weeks later, they became more professional musically; they settled down with a true and admirable virtuoso in the guise of Mick Taylor, and their sound tightened up, but the youthful edge, the teenage lust was gone, not only from their sound but from their playing. When Keith Moon died, the Who carried on and were far more competent and reliable musically, but that wasn't what sold rock records.  Moon occasionally played on other peoples' records, but he only finished and released one solo album of his own, Two Sides of the Moon (though another may have been planned in 1975). Not taken seriously at the time, this record now appears to have captured the essence of Moon's nature. Recorded in a series of marathon sessions that were as notable for their huge bills for alcohol as the studio time involved, it is a strange, haunting mix of innocent '50s/early-'60s rock & roll and leering, joyful lust, and a savage sense of wit directed at the music business and played out both between and in the songs themselves. - Bruce Eder (All Music Guide)

Moon died of an accidental overdose on September 7, 1978.  The drug he OD'd on was prescribed to help him in his battles against alcoholism.  He and his girlfriend, Annette Walter-Lax were staying in a flat owned by Harry Nilsson.  Mama Cass Elliot died in the same room as Moon four years earlier.

1974:

Pussy Cats (LP)

Art Direction: Acy R. Lehman

Bruce Gary was best known as the drummer for the music group The Knack. He was nominated for two Grammy Awards as a stage performer, producer, and recording artist.  Born in Burbank, California, the young Gary was a bundle of energy and for that reason his parents allowed him to set up the drum kit that his cousin had offered him after getting bored with it. Gary left home at 15 and was drawn to the musical scene of Topanga Canyon, California. He made friends with guitarist Randy California. In the 60's and early 70's he played with bluesman Albert Collins. By the time he was twenty-four he was touring and recording with former Cream bassist Jack Bruce and guitarist Mick Taylor, who had just left the Rolling Stones. This stellar lineup also included jazz pianist Carla Bley. Gary also worked with Dr John in the 70's.  In 1978 he found himself in a band with singer Doug Fieger, guitarist Berton Averre, and bassist Prescott Niles. Fieger and Averre brought in a tune they'd written about Sharona Alperin, a teenage girl Fieger was obsessed with. Despite his initial reservations about the song, Gary came up with a beat to match "My Sharona"'s stuttering style. He later said he approached the song like a surf stomp. As he explained, drummers in surf bands often play songs using no cymbals, just kick drum, snare drum, and toms. He also borrowed from the drum part to "Going to a Go Go" by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles. The final ingredient, he said, was the drum rudiment called a flam, in which one drumstick strikes the drum just before the other does; the flam registers as a single beat, but with a particularly full sound. Gary's immediately recognisable kick-and-snare-drum intro helped propel the power-pop anthem to the top of the US charts.  The Knack's debut album "Get the Knack" sold 6 million copies.   After the breakup of The Knack in the early 1980s, Gary became an in-demand drummer for studio work and live performance with some of the premier musicians of the era including Bob Dylan, George Harrison, Stephen Stills, Rod Stewart, Sheryl Crow, Bette Midler, Yoko Ono, Harry Nilsson, and Doors guitarist Robby Krieger. He also worked with blues masters Albert King and John Lee Hooker.  In addition to his work as a drummer, he achieved recognition for his work as a producer - recording new albums with The Ventures and co-producing (with Alan Douglas) a series of seminal archival recordings of Jimi Hendrix including the Blues compilation.   He died at the age of 55 at the Tarzana Regional Medical Center in Tarzana, California of Non-Hodgkin lymphoma. - From wikipedia

I'm overjoyed at how my contributors have stepped up their game of late.  Their reviews, probably as a result of being less frequent, are overall better than mine, which I love.  Feels like bringing in hired guns (and if you wish to see that analogy explored further, check out my own contributor bio over at BOTO).  And I also know that this is probably a punctuated equilibrium thing, and that these runs will be the exception, not the rule, and I'm perfectly cool with that (but I do dare my contributors to prove me wrong).  Still, if it gets me to step up my game, awesome.

This review was long-delayed, and I think it was because I wanted this review to be bigger than the album itself, because I think this jumped to my favorite album of the year basically the second time I listened to it all the way through and has only solidified itself as such since.  I was just looking for an angle, and thanks to previewing it with Ben and Kriti, I think it's well-developed enough to finally write about here.

I think that this album is important in balancing out this year in music.  Up until this album's release, the physical version of which will happen on August 19th (you can buy it digitally for 5 bucks that go to charity here! Do what I did and be a good person!), the great indie rock albums of the year, which in my opinion are: Devotion by Beach House, Red, Yellow & Blue by Born Ruffians, Visiter by The Dodo's, Nouns by No Age, and Vampire Weekend's self titled album, have all been youthful.  When I say youthful, that can be applied in different ways; Born Ruffians is about teenage awkwardness and the love that is borne and hampered by it, Vampire Weekend is so college it just switched majors from "Being like by all the cool kids" to "Being dismissed, but still secretly liked, by all the cool kids", Nouns is an album that glories in being undeveloped, ragged, and teenaged, The Dodo's are just generally bright-eyed, and Beach House implies in both theme and the name of their band what they stand for - a summer vacation.

The Walkmen stand for none of these things on their newest album, You & Me.  The one word that has stayed in my mind about it is mature.  All of the albums mentioned above were either the first or second full-length from their band; this is the Walkmen's fourth LP, fifth if you include their note-by-note cover of Harry Nilsson's 1974 Album Pussy Cats, titled Pussy Cats Starring The Walkmen, and you can really hear how confident they are in their sound.  In addition, all the above albums except for No Age were released in March or earlier, with Nouns coming out in May.  The music industry had taken its yearly break for summer tours and festivals, and those of us who can't blow hundreds of dollars one weekend for a music festival have been without something fresh for a while.  So here comes You & Me, the perfect introduction to the second half of the music year, hopefully an indicator of things to come, in addition to showing us why child's play is just that.

Beyond that, however, you can tell that this album is about adult love, not young love.  And this isn't even the adult love I talked to Kriti about, where you go on a first date, a second date, and you begin a relationship with having a relationship as the stated intent (as opposed to young love, where you see a girl in your chemistry class and you Chem Is Try to get her to make out with you).  There's both the "I'm still in love with you, after all these friggin' long years" love ("On The Water"), the "we're both older and without love, so what the hell" love ("Canadian Girl"), there's the "I've spent so long being your friend that I'm fucking tired so I wish were in love" love ("Seven Years of Holidays"), and a different kind for every song.  None of these loves are physical, except in "Red Moon", where the "you're beatiful" line still feels more like an emotional thing than lust.

This album really could be considered a concept album, in that I can imagine that every song here can be sung on some old riverboat going gently down the Mississippi River, just with different characters with different histories on each song.  This goes beyond just maturity, it's world-weariness that's downright charming and enrapturing.  I mean, all of these lyrics (and this is a mark of incredibly well-developed songwriting) could be just read as a poem and still be understood and appreciated.  In "Postcards From Tiny Islands", lead singer Hamilton Leithauser croons: "I’ll be drunk before too long/And I’ll keep up this sappy talk/This letter does it all/It's too much to enclose/These postcards from tiny islands/do more than you know."  Leithauser is best known for having the most Dylan-esque voice around, if a little raspier and higher, but throughout the album he takes the similarities a bit further, adding Dylanesque sentimentality to his bag of tricks, while keeping the songwriting a little less verbose, a little more "read-between-the-lines".

On a purely musical level, this album doesn't really have any flaws, and isn't all that ostentatious.  The drums from Matt Barrick are totally solid, but not spectacular like on previous records, but that's more than tolerable; this isn't as drum-centric as 2004's great Bows & Arrows was, but as Drowned in Sound, the only journalistic review I could find already published, says, "The musicianship is almost routine in its excellence; Matt Barrick’s drums in particular kick and roll throughout, propelling the songs with a sick-at-sea feel..."

The classic Walkmen sound is back, with lots of space in the music for echoes (not reverb) from the guitar and the cymbal crashes.  But the difference here is that unlike previous albums, either with the keyboard in their first two or the brass band in A Hundred Miles Off, the four key rock components (vocals, guitar, bass, drums) are the only primary sounds on the album.  A couple trumpet flourishes aside (most notably, and beautifully, in "Red Moon"), this is a self-contained effort, and I think the album benefits from it.  These songs don't need a keyboard to make them better; they're great as is.

Individual highlights, while hard to pick out since really, every song is great, are probably these: "Red Moon"'s slow, slow waltz is absolutely sublime, and "Canadian Girl", which follows it, shows Leithauser channeling Motown with his "ahh-ah-ahh's", and flexing a bit of versatility.  "On The Water" is the most aggressive song on the album, but it still manages to keep some benign influence to prevent it from being just another repeat of their breakthrough single "The Rat" from back in '04.

Well, 2008, you don't seem to be done cranking out the great music, but you've still got a lot of work to do if you want to surpass '07.  If TV On The Radio matures like the Walkmen have in their third effort, that should make it a lot easier.

A movie review will probably come tomorrow.

Every once in a blue moon I get a CD, mp3, or whatever the label wants to give me, of a band that I am already familiar with. This happened recently with a magazine that I haven't written for in over a year, yet I still get loads of music from (via a secret link to a secret website that has an enormous list of full albums for download...score) and, for obvious reasons, I haven't filled them in on this fact. Included in this last "shipment" was the long-awaited follow up to the Walkmen's A Hundred Miles Off, entitled You & Me. Being the music hermit that I've become (I shouldn't say become, after all it was a teenage me that spent nearly every night in my room in front of the stereo, between the pages of music zines [Creature, the Christian Death Metal zine was a favorite], learning Hendrix tabs, or watching things as horrid as Tourniquet's Video Biopsy whilst marveling at their metal shenanigans, all caught on home video [not typical metal shenanigans, mind you, but CHRISTIAN metal shenanigans like funny voices, hanging out, and practicing].) I nearly passed gas all over my britches. If one can't surmise from my near-wind-breaking, I'm a fan. In my mind I've built up an imaginary relationship with these guys. An ex-girlfriend went so far as to call them my boyfriends. And I didn't argue. Since then, I've called them the same.

SIDE NOTE - OTHER FELLOWS I'VE ALSO DEEMED "BOYFRIENDS":

1. Slayer (duh, it's Slayer)
2. Tom Waits (he actually owns the night, for chrissakes)
3. Don Knotts (this is entirely unexplainable, but his name seems to come up quite a bit in my conversations, i.e., "What would Don Knotts do?")
4. Bob Odenkirk (master of comedy and, for one reason or another when he screams it completes me)
5. Harry Nilsson (anyone that uses a choir of elderly people to sing a song titled, "I'd Rather be Dead," complete with lines such as, "I'll tie my tie/'Till the day I die/But if I have to be fed/Than I'd rather be dead," is an ace pilot to me.)

Now, these Walkmen gents...it was 2002 when my pally Patrick clued me in on their awe-inspiring debut Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me is Gone. I didn't know what to make of the sparse instrumentation ("The piano sounds like it's in my bathroom right now.") and Hamilton's voice, a long nasal drawl learned from (my guess) years and years of not being able to sing very well (though his voice sounds nearly identical in his last outfit, the Recoys, circa late 90s), didn't really grasp me on the first few listens. It was just that I had never heard anything so disconnected, swirling, and ballsy. It was only after a few months of constant rotation (and the climbing feeling that I realized that I was already becoming a rabid fan, if not obsessed) that I discovered that they have that thing that makes music eternal; over time the songs actually change. Listening to "We've Been Had" today is not the same as listening to it then. It evokes no memories, no regrets. It is as poignant now as it was then. Timeless might be a better word for it.

While in the studio with my old band, Patrick and I played for our producer Everyone... and his explanations on how they got this sound and what-not deepened my affection and wonder even more.

Their follow-up, the much touted Bows + Arrows, caught on as slowly as Everyone.... The expansive sounds remained, but a more "rock" approach hindered my smiling at first. Again, hours and hours of relentless sitting with headphones on 11 (something not good for the ears, but wonderful for the soul) opened up the songs in a way that I began to understand them more fully, I think. They had actually progressed, and not vice-versa like I first thought. The lyrics had more of a storyline than before (which were more of statements such as, "I don't care much for the go-go/Or the retro image I see so often/Telling me to keep trying," from "We've Been Had") where people are actually living and breathing, waiting for trains, and pounding on the door because, "Goddamn it, baby, it ain't over yet." (Those are not lyrics, just my interpretation of the events surrounding the song, "The Rat.") Damn it guys, you've trumped my taste again.

Rumors began circling of their next album, A Hundred Miles Off, and I honestly worried about what was to happen to my precious Walkmen. A friend told me that he read that Walter (keys) and Peter (bass) had traded instruments to "give it a different feel," or some bullshit like that. "Fuck, they've run out of ideas. That's really the only thing they could come up with?" The album dropped and I was there on the blessed Tuesday, an important day for music fuckheads like me, and I sat in front of the stereo afraid to play the album. Honestly. "Louisiana" opened and out of nowhere came a cowboy saloon piano and Mexican-ish horn section (which they reproduce live by asking local horn players to join them onstage, with a little forewarning and planning, of course) and I was still worried. Yes, I loved the song but what is coming? Just one of my favorite songs ever recorded, "All Hands and the Cook." To this day I've never heard anything so dissonant, deconstructed, revengeful, regretful, and apathetic as this sonofabitch. Here they've regressed, lyrically, to Everyone... in that it is merely a statement and not a story. The sheer scope and beauty, though, is astounding. Two trudging, pulsating parts border the single "chorus" in what appears to be a manic episode. For some reason, this "chorus," fills my heart with glee. Maybe I've felt it, in this order? Who knows: "Stop talking to the neighbor's dog/I've got a temper when it's late/Break all the windows in my car/Burn down the room when (where?) I'm asleep/Break out the bottles when I go/I'll dig a hole for all your friends" Maybe it's just that pulsating bass. Maybe it's the desperation to retaliate and also give up at the same time. I'll never know. I had to accept that my taste, and judgment, were trumped yet again.

I knew the Taste of Randolph street festival was going to be wonder for two reasons:

1. At the time my friend, Suzanne, worked for Whole Foods, who also happened to be a major sponsor for the event, which meant free entry and beer for me, and
2. The Walkmen were performing

We crowded to the front and waited. They took the stage in suited glory and opened with, you guessed it, "All Hands..." That was my cue to make this the "Best Saturday Ever." I got drunk, jumped into the lake, and broke my foot. Thanks, Walkmen. (Now, I don't blame them, really. It was the aforementioned booze that told me that everything would be fine if I lept with abandoned glory.)

Back onto A Hundred Miles Off..., who closes an epic album with a cover from an unknown band such as Mazarin? The Men, that's who. And it's a right good song at that. Though Mazarin doesn't do it nearly as well.

Now comes the time when the Walkmen surprise me moreso than I thought even possible. The press release merely said that they were going to do a song-by-song cover of Harry Nilsson's unknown Pussy Cats. The original was recorded during Lennon's (and Nilsson's) "Lost weekend," when both were recently left by their significant others. I was unaware that they were Nilsson fans and I had not expected it. After all, who is a Nilsson fan? Who knows him? Sure, everyone loves the song "One" but think it is a Three Dog Night song. Or an Aimee Mann soundtrack gem. (It is taking all of my gusto to not start penning about Nilsson, my #1 boyfriend when it comes down to it.)

Sure, it was overlooked as bait for their next full-length. The reviews were so-so (it was noted time and time again that they didn't "do anything" to the songs...but what can you do to a Nilsson tune? Sit back and hush up, and that's it) and it was merely passed over for the next big thing. No, they did nothing to the songs. They mimicked every sound and mood in each song perfectly. As an homage to their original Maracata studio, it was perfect. Friends, booze, rolling tapes, and percussion instruments galore conveyed exactly what they, and I, wanted when the idea first became realized.

These guys have balls.

Now, to the point. This new record that I've mistakenly gotten my grubby paws on (not illegally, mind you) has already eschewed its way into the top spot. It may be a little unfair, though, in that I decided, after realizing Bows + Arrows that anything they put out is going to be ground-shaking and tear-welling, at least in my world. I won't go into it, either, as I can't. My official review will be published elsewhere in due time, and as a freelancer it is kind of understood that you don't write the same articles in two different places.

Just listen, for a second, and I can assure you, as a possible Walkmen fan, that you will be perplexed, dumbfounded, and equally elated at what these Men have been up to in these years since their last original excursion rocked little more than my own world.

Enjoy this bit from the Taste of Randolph ("Look Out the Window," from the Walkmen/Calla Split):

"Everybody's talking at me
I don't hear a word they're saying
Only the echoes of my mind"

I imagine that these Harry Nilsson lyrics are what's streaming through Cookie's brain in this picture as we drive through the Sierras. For the record, Mrs. Poppy is sitting in the back seat.

Last week we hit the road for Cheyenne, Wyoming for my cousin's wedding. It was a wonderful time and Cookie was a very well behaved lady bulldog. She had a lot of "firsts" in terms of experiences: First car-car ride in a convertible, first drive-thru burger pick up at In-N-Out, first chase of a bunny rabbit at Gunslinger Square in Old Downtown Cheyenne, and first "off-leash prowl" at the Capitol building.

She was a little confused at the hotels, but met a lot of people and mostly just soaked up all the attention. She did alright on the road, mostly sleeping throughout the 16 hour drive, but, she was very hot in Nevada. It's a good thing she had her Cowboy Kerchief which any good cowgirl always keeps handy for survival situations. In this picture, we see Our Girl cooling off under her bandana that has been soaked in cool spring water.

All in all, we learned that Cookie is an easy going roadtripper. We learned that she hates most hotels (sorry Plains Hotel for the little present by the third floor elevator), she prefers riding shotgun and while in the car, she will only receive tepid bottled water by the capful while reclining. Anything for the Queen Of The Road!

NILSSON

Coconut.

And you can hear it in this movie.

Fire.

And you can hear it in...uh, the movie that was used to make the above video...duh.

Don't tell anyone, but this is my all time favorite Nilsson song...Seriously, it almost makes me cry every time I hear it.

I'm happy to say I have the soundtrack:

And you can hear it in this movie.

Since this song is one of the more sadder songs ever written it made me think of just as equally sad songs. So here is a list (i can hear the world sighing (Oh no, not another f**kng list). This list is compiled by pop culture madness.com and here is the first 10.

1. He Stopped Loving Her Today - George Jones
2. The End of the World - Skeeter Davis

Although he synthesized disparate elements of both rock and pop traditions, singer/songwriter Harry Nilsson was at heart a maverick whose allegiance belonged to neither. His initial series of albums in the late '60s made him a personal favorite of the Beatles, who found a natural affinity with his knack for catchy melodies, witty lyrics, and extraordinary vocal range. Thought of as a songwriter first and a performer second, he became a pop star himself in the late '60s and early '70s with "Everybody's Talking" and "Without You." He lost some of his original audience, however, with subsequent detours into pre-rock styles of pop, and did little recording over the last 15 years of his life.

Nilsson had been struggling to make inroads into the music business for over five years before his critically acclaimed 1967 album, Pandemonium Shadow Show. He made demos, sang commercial jingles, and shopped songs, all the while keeping his job at a Los Angeles-area bank. In the mid-'60s, he wrote a few songs with Phil Spector that were recorded by the Ronettes and the Modern Folk Quartet; occasionally he released records of his own. The Monkees recorded his "Cuddly Toy," and the Yardbirds did "Ten Little Indians" on a single in their waning days. But Nilsson didn't quit his bank job until after the release of Pandemonium Shadow Show, which gave him creative rein in the studio for the first time, and showcased his three-and-a-half-octave voice to full advantage.

The album caught the attention of the Beatles (helped, no doubt, by its ingenious medley of classic Beatle tunes, "You Can't Do That"). John Lennon and Paul McCartney named him as their favorite American singer at a press conference, an extraordinary accolade for an unknown. (Nilsson was sometimes even rumored to be joining the group.) Three Dog Night took his "One" into the Top Ten in 1969, and Nilsson's second LP, Aerial Ballet, continued the ambitious pop/rock direction of his debut, marrying his slightly eccentric, bouncy (if sometimes precious) tunes to baroque orchestral production. When one of its songs, "Everybody's Talkin'," was used as the theme for the Midnight Cowboy film, Nilsson had his first Top Ten hit. The irony was that Nilsson, although was primarily identified as a singer/songwriter, the song was actually a cover of a composition by folk-rocker Fred Neil.

"Without You" appeared on 1971's Nilsson Schmilsson, which included a couple of other hits, the faux-tropical "Coconut" and the surprisingly gritty "Jump Into the Fire," which rates as his hardest-rocking cut. During the first half of the 1970s, he continued to broaden his range from the well-crafted, peppy, sensitive tunes that had dotted his early releases, cutting some tougher, more sour work. He lost some of his constituency, however, with 1973's A Little Touch of Schmilsson in the Night, a collection of pre-rock pop standards with an orchestra conducted by arranger Gordon Jenkins (most noted for his work with Frank Sinatra). His affection for the music wasn't entirely surprising, as there had always been a strong Tin Pan Alley flavor to much of his writing, but it wasn't exactly in step with the times.

Much of Nilsson's notoriety stems from a period in the mid-'70s when he was a drinking buddy of John Lennon in Los Angeles (where Lennon was living during a separation from Yoko Ono). The drunken pair were thrown out of L.A.'s Troubadour club in a well-publicized incident, following which Lennon offered to produce Nilsson's next album. The timing was not opportune; Nilsson lost his voice during the sessions, rupturing one of his vocal cords, keeping it a secret out of fear that Lennon would abandon the project. Released as Pussy Cats, it was his last album to make the Top 100. During the same period, he also embarked on a project with another L.A.-based ex-Beatle, Ringo Starr, acting and writing music for the little-seen Son of Dracula film.

The upper register of Nilsson's voice, which was ultimately his greatest asset, had been permanently (though not irredeemably) damaged. After a few rather unsuccessful late-'70s album, withdrew from the studio into family life and other business ventures, spending much of his energies campaigning for gun control after Lennon was shot in 1980. In failing health in the 1990s, Nilsson diagnosed with diabetes and suffering a massive heart attack, he died in early 1994, just after finishing the vocal tracks for a new album.~ Richie Unterberger, [All Music Guide]

For Gilbert O'Sullivan see Number 825

For Pearl Jam is @ MM Vol 1 Number 116

For Linda Ronstadt see Number 665
For Split Enz see Number 618 & Number 671
For The Monkees see Number 608
For The Beatles see Number 894 & Number 947
For John Lennon see Number 639
For George Jones see Number 544

For Eric Clapton see Number 537

For Frank Sinatra see Number 933
For Ringo Starr see Number 901

What did Rolling Stone think of Harry Nilsson?

Even before Harry Nilsson scored a hit, John Lennon and Paul McCartney, in 1968, proclaimed the Brooklyn-born, L.A.-based songwriter as their favorite American singer. This was shortly after the Monkees recorded his cute and cleverly nasty "Cuddly Toy" but before Three Dog Night reached the Top Ten in 1969 with a cover of his lyrically despairing "One," which Aimee Mann and others have subsequently rendered evergreen. As a singer, Nilsson got lucky when his wistful rendition of Fred Neil's "Everybody's Talkin' " became the theme for Midnight Cowboy.

Blessed with a tenor that could make angels weep and the smarts to know how to use it, Nilsson nevertheless failed to ignite the album charts until 1971's Nilsson Schmilsson. The hit single was Nilsson's powerful cover of "Without You," a previously overlooked cut written and first recorded by Badfinger. The rest of the album established Nilsson as a talent of unusual depth and scope: Years before public escapades with future drinking buddy Lennon confirmed Nilsson's personal excesses, Schmilsson plays like a study in bipolar disorder. Beginning with the manic "Gotta Get Up" and continuing with the equally breezy and busy "Driving Along," the mood takes a dip with the skeletal and enchanted "Early in the Morning" before plummeting with the bluesy "Down." Side Two starts out with the Caribbean giddiness of "Coconut," then goes bonkers with "Jump Into the Fire," a wailing seven-minute bass-and-drum tantrum recently covered live by dance rock's LCD Soundsystem. On the albums that followed, Nilsson ventured into standards and ragged rock, but he would never again be this consistent or popular.[Rolling Stone]

Rolling Stone Top 500 Songs ranked this song at Number (We don't care even if the Beatles liked them) and the Album ranked at Number (Next!)

This song has a crowbarred of 72.2 out of 108 pts

Lyrics to the song

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Tags:Harry Nilsson, 1971, Singer Songwriter, George Jones, Skeeter Davis, Pearl Jam,Eric Clapton, Linda Ronstadt, Eric Carmen, Split Enz, Staind, Phil Spectre, The Monkees, The Beatles, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Three Dog Night, Fred Neil, Frank Sinatra, Yoko Ono, Ringo Starr, Badfinger, Music, Metallica, YouTube, Music Video, Rolling Stone Magazine, Crowbarred, New Zealand, Crowbarred Unleashed, The Definitive 1000 Songs Of All Time, Mellow Mix Volume 1