Loud Family - Music: What Happened?

1970
by Scott Miller

"Two Of Us" - The Beatles
The Twilight of the Beatles was indescribably surreal. Picture being a ten-year-old kid and, a few months after the smashing Abbey Road, reckoning with a Beatles bin populated by George Harrison's Electronic Sound (non-musical synth fiddling for half an hour), Ringo doing antediluvian standards on Sentimental Journey and country on Beaucoups of Blues, extensive quality-control-free peace, anguish, and wailing themed product from John and Yoko such as Unfinished Music Number 2: Life With the Lions (one track was nothing but several minutes of amplified heartbeat from a baby Yoko lost to miscarriage), and a Paul McCartney record I must have held off buying until I could assess whether it was made before or after he died (remember that?). In the midst of all that came the confusingly timed but great as ever Let It Be; the substitute Paul sounds great with John on "Two Of Us": in comes the warmth of a live bass player.

"25 Or 6 To 4" - Chicago
That's right, long ago, they used to be really good, and have horn arrangements—for my money, brilliant ones, this one being possibly my favorite ever with prominent trombones. In fact, trombonist James Pankow wrote a lot of the songs; keyboardist Robert Lamm wrote this, and a number of other durable ones. Looking at Wikipedia, Peter Cetera seems to have co-written 1973's very respectable "Feeling Stronger Everyday"—how did he end up so not a musician's artist? Maybe just smart.

"Come Saturday Morning" - The Sandpipers
There was a line of thinking where the seventies were ushering in an era of vapid sunniness; the golden age of heaviness was over, and now there was just the cultural equivalent of that smiley face sticker everywhere (I own this song thanks to the sarcastic Rhino "Have a Nice Day" CD series). Let me first vote for this not being stupid soft rock, but a masterful piece of Fred Karlin melody writing whose jumping-off point is as much the Velvet Underground's "Sunday Morning" as anything, and second, let me vote that the pop culture aesthetic of the early seventies was one of the most we-demand-a-bad-taste-in-our-mouths periods ever. At least in cinema--forget Saw, I want to see someone make it through Five Easy Pieces—and when one day I see The Sterile Cuckoo for the music, I want it to hit me with the same dash of Sylvia Plath as "We'll travel for miles in our Saturday smiles/And then we'll move on."

"The Story In Your Eyes" - The Moody Blues
This was as King Crimson as the Moody Blues would ever get, and saying that makes me apologetic that they get on my list but King Crimson doesn't. But what were they thinking with Wake Of Poseidon? It's the same record as Court of the Crimson King!

"I Think I See the Light" - Cat Stevens
Mona Bone Jakon is my overall favorite Cat Stevens album, and I couldn't pretend to separate the influence of the film Harold and Maude's most inspired of pop scoring. "Trouble" playing as Harold careens around—incredible. And where they're lying in bed and Harold is blowing bubbles, little Cat Stevens comes in with this, sounding like the thunder of judgment day.

"Fat Old Sun" - Pink Floyd
One great point of integrity of middle-period Pink Floyd was that they didn't succumb to the slightest anxiety over any piece possibly getting boring. My appreciable respect for the cow rock of the Atom Heart Mother suite is rather uncategorizable to this day, but "Fat Old Sun" is simply first-rate evocative, cattle-grazing-speed pastorale. Runner up: Rick Wright's "Summer '68," one of the rare songs from the era that will cut it with today's Brian Wilson people.

"Theme From Shaft" - Isaac Hayes
Sure, that wah-wah guitar is genius, and it's very hard not to enjoy "They say that cat Shaft is a bad mother/Shut your mouth!", but the most remarkable aspect is probably that you eventually learn a very long sequence of all those little scene-mood orchestral touches and can hum them, at least in your mind, as they happen.

"Fire and Rain" - James Taylor
"Fire and Rain" was the song that grabbed me the most, in the heyday of L.A. singer-songwriter music, as it actually happened. Neil Young and Joni Mitchell were a bit more a matter of retrospect. It transcended the limits of plainspoken songs using plain folk chords both in that the chords were in fact respectably expansive at strategic points (like either of the two changes in "Suzanne, the plans they made put an end to you"), and an ability to render loss with perfect chiaroscuro ("But I always thought that I'd see you again").

"Paranoid" - Black Sabbath
It still sounds inimitably huge when the drums and bass come in, doesn't it? It's one of those instances where the band is just rock solid in some nameless way. And, there is only one Ozzy. I'm right there with "War Pigs," too, and can feel the excitement of coming up with a rhyme for "masses."

"Who'll Stop the Rain" - Creedence Clearwater Revival
Only the second of the three chorusus sets up a rhyme with "rain": "Five year plans and new deals wrapped in golden chain(s)." I want to guess that was just unconsidered, but I'd sure respect it as a weird decision to make within their prettiest composition. Creedence were another key part of the real-time early seventies as opposed to the retrospective early seventies of "In the Street" and Hunky Dory—especially growing up as I did in Creedence's geographical backyard.

"Sweet Jane" - The Velvet Underground
I was used to the Rock and Roll Animal version before I heard this, and used to thinking of Lou as a beyond-the-pale shooting-up transgender menace, untouchable beyond the likes of an entertainer like Alice Cooper. It was a real shocker to reckon a few years later with how much I inclined toward his temperament, especially as a melody writer.

"Tangerine" - Led Zeppelin
Led Zeppelin III should have impressed rock critics with its challenge to expectations, backing off from heavy metal in favor of acoustic folk and blues, with a strange and believable malaise to cuts like "Friends" and "That's the Way" that recalled something like Skip James a lot better than foregoing British invasion projects. But then, that sounds like I know what rock critics are thinking, which I never do. "Tangerine" is one of those instances of vocals being better than on-key. You can really tell some of those notes are flat when there's a harmony part, and I find every syllable beautiful and emotionally charged.

"Maybe I'm Amazed" - Paul McCartney
Among other virtues, this proves Paul is the best non-improvised guitar lead player there is. He must have kept this song off Abbey Road saving it for the solo, don't you think? Tsk, tsk.

"Tell Me Why" - Neil Young
After the Gold Rush is such a collection of little personal moments that it's hard to pick one: to declare striking gold, as it were. "Tell Me Why" does the job for me. The harmonies are nearly the equal of CSN, but more casual and plaintive, much more the beginnings of a tearjerker than, oh, "Wooden Ships." "Only Love Can Break Your Heart" is up there, but there's something about, "Tell me why/Is it hard to make arrangements with yourself/When you're old enough to repay/But young enough to sell" that captures the truth about being young without, for me, referring even to any particular financial reality.

"The Love You Save" - The Jackson Five
It was years before I noticed that the boyfriends in the verses had inventor names, as in, "When Alexander called you, you said he rang your chimes"—Alexander Graham Bell, get it? Making this a very clever but bizarre song, since the chorus conceit is traffic safety ("Stop, the love you save may be your own/Darling look both ways before you cross me"). Anyway, it's a devastatingly catchy chorus tune, Berry Gordy's polyrhythm-venturing production is exactly right, and the vocal trade-off from Michael to Jermaine works surprisingly well.

"Nature's Way" - Spirit
This was a record Peter Buck and I bonded over in the last long conversation I had with him. They were L.A. guys tops in their musical abilities and too counterculture to keep having hits. Mostly a repetitive mantra, the appeal of this one is all in the details: the guitar riff with the ninths plus the cowbell and tympani, the ornate harmonies, the loading of the line "It's nature's way of telling you something's wrong."

"Holy Holy" - David Bowie
One of Bowie's first incisive lyrics, the subject was probably close to his heart: dread of having to be good and holy. "Helping one another/Just a righteous brother" is a believably spiteful brush-off; "Holy holy/Hold on to anyone/Hold on to anyone/But let go of me" is even better. And man, this is Mick Ronson the way God intended: harmony, devil of vibrato, and more sustain than Nigel Tufnel.

"Octopus" - Syd Barrett
It must have been a labor of love supreme for David Gilmour and others to cobble together this incredible result from the raw materials of Syd's measure-jumping, probably unrepeatable performances. Bold and confident in its chord changes and possessing a solid gold chorus hook, the song is tragic in its strong lyrical hinting at acknowledgment of mental breakdown: "You have no words/Please leave us here/close our eyes through the octopus ride."

"Jewel-Eyed Judy" - Fleetwood Mac
With its odd rockabilly moments, the Danny Kirwan Fleetwood Mac was the last certifiably eccentric line-up, unless you count Lindsey. There were splashes of real instrumental loveliness ("Earl Gray"), and this tungsten-hard pop rock. The slow, slide-guitar accented burn leading up to the chorus feels like it's going to explode, and then does, with the vocal-cord-shredding "Jewel-eyed Judy, please come home." The playing is wedded perferctly to what seem like a number of extreme and inspired in-the-red stages: the noise floor is high enough that I suspect a lot of just turning things up, and the mastering yields a rapturous buzz in my vinyl single, improving a little on the album vinyl for degenerate excitement. That little guitar figure in the fadeout that only repeats twice is God.

"No Matter What" - Badfinger
This is more properly power pop, and arguably the first of a handful of the true power pop masterpieces. Soundwise, it's a joyous, overdriven throbbing of all things analog. What sets this apart from many pretenders to the throne is Pete Ham's rich, resonant voice; he doesn't sound like a kid. Likewise, this isn't confession of adolescent feelings, this is laying down a commitment. One of many things that weren't understood well enough in Badfinger's time was their sense of gravity.

"Bell Bottom Blues" - Derek and the Dominos
The best feature of the Layla album was the harmony guitar leads, especially in combination with yelpy, backwoods-sounding blues vocals. Sounds crazy, works great. You'd think it would be an impossible formula to apply to Hendrix's "Little Wing," but damned if they don't come up with a version that's better than the original. It's the same formula on the all-out crawling across the floor torch anthem that is "Bell Bottom Blues," plus, if it's true, there is the marvel of adding the tablas in the chorus of a song about stealing George Harrison's wife.

"Lola" - The Kinks
I'm confident that if this weren't so gigantic a hit that it makes Kinks fans nervous about liking it, I would take the position that even with this fabulously rocking and humorous gem, they still can't get their obvious due. The whole Lola/Powerman album is terrific if you ask me—"This Time Tomorrow," "Strangers"—I think it's my favorite whole Kinks record. Blasphemy.