The Road West: A Prog Masterpiece from Texas

       Progressive rock has a new champion.  Genesis, Yes, Peter Gabriel, and Asia?  Add the name Four Stories Tall to that list.  They've just released a debut recording of uncommon clarity, precision, and soulfulness, called "The Road West," and mark my words, this band is ready for a wider audience.

      Four Stories Tall bill themselves as Texas Prog and it's as apt of a description as can be made.  The musicians who comprise Four Stories Tall---- three veterans of seminal Lubbock, Texas,  progressive rock band, Asparagus Nightmares and a guitarist who'd walked away from his instrument for twenty years, have, over the past five years, turned weekend jam sessions and a shared love of progressive rock and jazz fusion into a disciplined, professional, functioning, and musically productive band.  And as a result of this process, the world has a stunning progressive rock masterpiece that transcends the genre.

       Allow me to explain my bold use of the phrase "transcends the genre."

       In May of 1978, I headed for the local record store with a pocketful of birthday cash.  When I came back from the store, I was carrying a copy of the album "Fragile" by Yes.  I didn't know much about Yes.  In fact, nothing at all.  I bought the album because I liked the cover art.  This sort of decision making has failed me numerous times over the years, but fortunately for me in May of 1978, I was rewarded richly for my decision.

       "Fragile" is widely regarded as a progressive rock masterpiece, and though I was completely oblivious to the progressive rock genre at that stage of my musical education, I had no problem appreciating the unique song structures, harmonies, and time signatures that characterized the album.  With "Fragile," Yes transcended the progressive rock genre.  It was not just a great progressive rock album, it was a great rock album.

       And that brings me back to "The Road West."

       From the slow-crawl heaviness and desperation of the albums' opener "Famine," the band shifts gears into a funky groove for the following tune "Brazos de Dios," featuring bedrock rhythm work from bassist Mark Matos and drummer John Wilson.

       Guitarist Mark Turner colors every song with his deceptively understated playing.  Turner is a master of mood, giving character to the trouble-bound narrator of "This is Where the River Brought Me" and a shimmering image of telephone poles in the sun for the tune "Telephone Road."

       Singer/keyboardist Mark Murray shines everywhere on vocals, but especially on "Mutt," an empathetic narration from the point of view of a dog that grew famous in the late eighteen-hundreds as a mascot for the Postal Service Railroad operations.  This empathetic quality of Murray's is also well demonstrated on the album's nine-minute closer "The Cotton Farmer's Wife," a country and folk flavored tale spiced with the pedal steel of Texas Country veteran Lloyd Maines and the fiddle of Dustin Ballard.

       Meticulously lived, created, and produced, "The Road West" is a good sign for those of us with high standards for progressive rock in particular and rock and roll in general.  And it's a testament to the skill and dedication of four friends from Texas who in search of quality music, decided to make it themselves.

       "The Road West" is a masterpiece that deserves to be heard.

        It's available on Amazon, iTunes, CD Baby, and their website. 

       And Like 'em on Facebook!

The Pure Prairie League: Pickin' to Beat the Devil

       I'm thinking of a morning in 1984. I'm driving across Texas, from Dallas to El Paso. I'm just west of Monahans on I-20 and halfway through a gas station cup of coffee with plenty of cream and sugar. It's just after sunup, the sky is pink, purple, and blue, and it's the kind of cold that you only find in the desert. I couldn't be happier.

        Guess what I've got on my cassette player.

        Give up?

        Pure Prairie League's "Live- Takin' the Stage."

 

        Remember Pure Prairie League? Their big hit was the wonderfully organic "Amie," from their second album, "Bustin' Out." Their album covers were modeled on the cover of the "Saturday Evening Post." Remember?

        Well, by 1977, when "Live--Lakin' the Stage" was released, they'd had a few lineup changes and Craig Fuller, the guy who wrote and sang "Amie," was no longer in the band. In fact, the very sound of the band had evolved into a more contemporary country-rock format. In the middle of a decade when southern rock bands did very well, Pure Prairie League managed to remain on the radar for a long time with a reputation for outstanding musicianship, great songwriting, and an unabashed willingness to demonstrate that traditional country and western unselfconscious earnestness.

        And there's earnestness a-plenty on "Live- Takin' the Stage." And lots of guitar, steel guitar, piano, banjo, and dobro---all served with tight harmonies and clever lyrics. All recorded at several shows from Ithaca, New York, to St. Louis, Missouri, between May 1st and July 26th of 1977.

        Songs you'd probably know? Well, there's "Amie," of course, but there's also a cover of Buddy Holly's "That'll be the Day."

        The stuff you'd probably like? The other eighteen songs!

        "Kansas City Southern," from their tragically underrated "Two Lane Highway" album, gets the album started with the guitars mimicking a train whistle. The audience responds with a roar of approval and the band kicks into a textbook example---and I mean that in the best possible way--- of a great country-rock song.

        The band only waits until the third song to unleash "I'll Change Your Flat Tire Merle," an audience favorite. The song tells the story of a hippie finding Merle Haggard stopped on the side of the highway with a flat tire. The chorus is priceless: "I'll fix your flat tire Merle, Don't you get your sweet country pickin' fingers all covered in erl, Cause you're a honky, I know, Merle you got soul, and I'll fix your flat tire Merle." It's a sweetly funny and honest tribute.

        Guitarist-Vocalist George Ed Powell's "Lucille Crawfield" and "Heart of Her Own" are pretty darn good. Pure Prairie League's music, and these songs in particular, bring wide western vistas to my mind, despite the fact that the band was actually from Columbus, Ohio.

        Larry Goshorn, the Guitarist-Vocalist who replaced Craig Fuller, adds highlights in the form of the songs "Feelin' of Love," "Harvest," and the four-minutes and fourteen seconds of country-rock perfection called "Two Lane Highway." I'm pretty sure that the song playing in my desert memory is "Two Lane Highway." It's a very honest and ultimately optimistic portrayal of life lived out on the road. Aren't we all looking forward to the day we can go home?

        And no discussion of "Live- Takin' the Stage" is complete without mentioning "Pickin' to Beat the Devil." It's a song about a preaching guitarist whose life is "dedicated to bringing God's children home." Describing his services, he sings: "Fourteen songs and a temperance sermon, that's what a good meal buys, for a little extra there's a guitar solo called Reward in the Sky." It's inspiring, in an old-timey way.

        I first bought "Live- Takin' the Stage" in 1984. It's passed in and out of my collection a couple of times since then. Still, I always come back to it fondly, like an old friend. Before I can slip into melancholy, wondering where the time has gone, I remember that cold desert morning when I was nineteen, and I'm reminded of the glorious road that's always ahead of me.

        Peace!

Pete Townshend! Who? Pete Townshend!

       I've got a confession to make, and I'm not talking about the kind of confession that requires me to go see Father John at 2:45 on Saturday afternoon. This is a confession about my music collection that could seriously injure my reputation as a rock and roll connoisseur.

       I don't own any albums by British rock and roll giants the Who. There, I've got that off my chest. I feel better.

       You see, it's not that I don't like the music of the Who, it's just that what I hear on classic rock radio is just about the right amount of variety and frequency I need from them. It's the same reason that I'll never own a Bad Company album.

       Still, while I don't own any Who albums, I do have an album by their guitarist-songwriter-(sometimes) singer, Pete Townshend. In fact, I've had this album since it's release in 1980. It's one of my all-time, hall-of-fame, desert-island-disc essential favorites, and it's called "Empty Glass."

       I can't remember my motivation for forking over my Mom's hard-earned money for this album. Perhaps I'd heard the song "Let My Love Open the Door" on the radio, or more likely, I saw a video for the song "Rough Boys"on Casey Kasem's video show "America's Top Ten." Whatever the case, it soon vaulted to the top of my "frequently played" list.

       The album starts out with "Rough Boys," a defiant statement by an aging rocker to his upstart punk rivals. By the end of the song, Pete is power-windmilling the chords and his position of authority is unambiguously affirmed.

       Next up is "I am an Animal," with Pete singing in a high, emotional tenor. When I bought "Empty Glass," I was primarily listening to AC/DC, Molly Hatchet, and Aerosmith, and so, looking back, I'm rather proud that I was able to appreciate such a sensitive and insightful song. Now, twenty-eight years later, I don't think it's likely I'll ever forget the lyric: "I was always here in the silence, But I was never under your eye, Gather up your love in some wiseness, For every memory shall always survive, And you will see me."

       The big hit for the album was "Let My Love Open the Door." I'm certain that I saw the video for this on "America's Top Ten." It was a simple performance video with Pete playing an acoustic guitar and singing in front of his band. I vividly recall my Dad complaining about the music and asking "Why do all rock stars have big noses and thinning hair?"  I thought Pete looked fine, and I really liked the song. It's simple and optimistic, and I've always liked that combination.

       There are plenty of other standout tracks, including "Keep on Working," with it's insistently silly sing-along lyrics, and "A Little is Enough" which features the most tasteful use of synthesizers ever recorded. (Steve Winwood's "While You See a Chance" is a close second.) Also, the song "Empty Glass" gets extra creativity points for finding a place for the word Ecclesiastes: "Why was I born today? Life is useless like Ecclesiastes say, I never had a chance, but opportunity's now in my hands."

       Finally, the bravado of the final tune, "Gonna Get Ya," was just what the doctor ordered for a fifteen-year old nerdy cross-country runner on the prowl for a girlfriend and badly in need of self-confidence. To this day I still get a charge out of it.

       Since "Empty Glass," Pete Townshend has remained active, writing, recording and performing both as a solo artist and with the Who. He's a talented and successful rock and roll elder statesman, and one of these day's I really should pick up a Who album. Maybe I'll buy a copy of "Who's Next" or "Live at Leeds," or even "Quadrophenia." I've heard nothing but good things about each of them. Until then, I'll be very satisfied with "Empty Glass."

       Peace!

Givin' it up for Delbert McClinton

       I recently informed Jessica of my decision to immerse myself in 1970's Country-Soul bands. That's right, Country-Soul. My plan was to listen to bands like Firefall, Wet Willie, and the Doobie Brothers. I was willing to go as far commercially as Loggins and Messina and as roadhouse-authentic as Delbert McClinton.

        A few days later, I commented to Jessica that I'd downloaded a few songs on iTunes.

        "I noticed," she said, with a well-honed dryness. "I knew you'd gone off the deep end when I saw you'd downloaded "Still the One" by Orleans."

        As it turned out, my 1970's Country-Soul phase was relatively short-lived. While it's true that some of these bands will no doubt fade to the back of my rotation, there are also those acts within the genre who possess a timeless quality that requires more frequent listening. The Doobie Brothers definitely fall into the second category. Delbert McClinton, too.

        I first heard of Delbert McClinton when he sang his hit tune "Givin' It Up For Your Love" on Saturday Night Live in March of 1981. I was immediately drawn to the joyously soulful chorus and resolved to get the record as soon as I could. Of course, funds being what they were to an unemployed and unmotivated teenager in El Paso, Texas, it was a few years before I finally had a copy of the album "The Jealous Kind." When I finally managed to get a copy, I was officially a fan.

        Even in the early eighties, I was a late-comer to the rootsy pipes of Lubbock, Texas' very own Delbert McClinton. He'd been perfecting his chops in bands around Texas as early as the late 1950's and was recording hits as a sideman by 1962. Since then, and through many different record labels, he's worked to perfect and define his distinctive blend of country music and soul.

        As the decade progressed, I tried to interest my buddies in Delbert McClinton's stuff, but they were mostly indifferent---Ratt and Night Ranger being more compelling to them at the time. As a result, I ended up doing things like attending his 1984 New Year's Eve concert at the Arcadia Theater in Dallas by myself. It was a fantastic show, and I even managed to snap a couple of dark, grainy, and slightly out of focus photographs. 

       I was happy to later realize that the keyboardist for Delbert on that night was Reese Winans, who would later surface in my consciousness playing for Stevie Ray Vaughn. Oh, and besides Delbert's sizzling set that night, I got a bonus country-blues history lesson by the opening act, guitar-slinger Lonnie Mack.

        In the early nineties, I came into possession of what I consider Delbert's quintessential recording: "Live From Austin." It's nothing short of a perfect balance of country and soul. Imagine the Blues Brothers in overalls, or maybe Waylon Jennings in a James Brown wig. Okay, maybe Waylon Jennings in a James Brown wig is pushing it, but you get my drift. Standout tunes are plenty, but the ones that immediately come to mind are "Givin' It Up For Your Love," "B Movie Boxcar Blues," and a stirring cover of Otis Redding's "I've Got Dreams To Remember."

        I was in the Coast Guard at that time and my friend Greg and I would spin "Live in Austin" while playing round after round of computer golf down in my Fire Control shop on the Coast Guard Cutter Boutwell. That CD helped us get through many boring patches in our Bering Sea patrols.

        Over the years, I heard from several sources that Delbert McClinton taught John Lennon to play the harmonica. In fact, I'd heard it so many times that there was no doubt in my mind as far as the truth of the tale. But unfortunately, I recently learned that while McClinton and Lennon did meet, Lennon had already learned to play the harmonica.

        Last Thursday, while driving around town in my work truck, I heard "Givin' It Up For Your Love" on Lonestar 92.5, Dallas' ultra-cool roots-rock radio station. It brought back a lot of memories.

        Delbert McClinton's still out there touring. He plays at Billy Bob's in Fort Worth every now and then, and I hear he performs steadily on cruise ships. Good for him. In show-biz, if you're not appearing, you're disappearing.

        Wherever he's playing tonight, I'll bet the audience is having a really good time.

        Peace!

The Ramones: What a Difference a Producer Makes

       Regarding the legendary punk band the Ramones, it's a common maxim that over the course of their career they released the same album over and over again. It's a line that usually gets me a good laugh in a crowd of rock and roll fans, but it's not really true.

        Sure, for over twenty years the Ramones generally stuck to their tried and true formula of really fast guitars, offbeat bubblegum lyrics, and sugary pop melodies. It worked for them. Still, given more than a casual listen, the discerning fan should be able to find the differences between their albums. The key is in the production.

        The most famous man to tell the Ramones what to do was 60's wall-of-sound wizard Phil Spector, who produced their album "End of the Century," which was released in January of 1980. Under his direction, the Ramones' sound was honed into a lean, (not-so) mean, pop machine with echoes of sixties girl-groups and beach party movies. It was a great album that contained Ramones standards like "Chinese Rock," "Do You Remember Rock and Roll Radio?," and "Rock and Roll High School." Not bad. Phil Spector had done what many deemed impossible: he'd made the Ramones' sound more accessible. Of course, whether or not "more accessible" was a good thing will be forever hotly debated among the Ramones faithful.

        Another well-known producer to get a crack at the Ramones was Graham Gouldman. As early as the mid-60's, Gouldman's presence in the British rock and roll scene was formidable. He wrote songs for the Hollies (Remember "Bus Stop"?) and the Yardbirds ("For Your Love"), while at the same time recording and producing his own projects. In the 70's, he found himself in the band 10cc, which resulted in two hit tunes: "I'm Not in Love" and "The Things We Do For Love." Finally, with a boatload of credibility in the music business backing him up, he was hired in the early 80's to helm the Ramones album "Pleasant Dreams" and the results were spectacular.

        "Pleasant Dreams" kicks off with the song "We Want the Airwaves" and a Ramones anomaly: a lead guitar. Guitarist Johnny Ramone famously hated playing lead guitar parts in Ramones songs. Somehow Gouldman coaxed something other than chords out of Johnny and it worked. The song manages to extend the Ramones' accessibility begun by Spector, while still remaining within spitting distance of their signature sound.

        The production on the rest of the album reaffirms what was accomplished on "We Want the Airwaves." The sound is cleaner and tighter than it had ever been or would ever be again, and the songwriting is definitely above par for them.

        Somehow, I came into possession of "Pleasant Dreams" in 1982 when I was living in El Paso. Honestly, I knew next to nothing about the Ramones when I first heard this album, but after one spin on the turntable I wanted to know everything about them. It was just impossible to ignore infectious tunes like "She's a Sensation," "Don't Go," and "You Didn't Mean Anything to Me." These songs practically begged to be played loud and often.

        I finally got a chance to see the Ramones in October of 1992 at the Greek Theatre in Berkeley, California. It was a cool show, but unfortunately it was kind of ruined for me by some people who were supposed to meet me there but ended up blowing me off. I spent the better half of the show watching the entrance carefully to make sure I didn't miss them. Eventually, I gave up and watched the rest of the show. As far as I can recall, the only song they played from "Pleasant Dreams" was "The KKK Took My Baby Away."

        Almost thirty years after first hearing it, I still listen to "Pleasant Dreams" on a regular basis. It's definitely my favorite Ramones album, and even Jessica, who's not a big Ramones fan, will admit that she likes the song "She's a Sensation." Do yourself a big favor and check it out!

        Peace!