ALBUMS: Joel: Piano Man ( 1973): John: Don’t Shoot Me (I’m Only the Piano Player; Greatest Hits) ( 1973, 1974)
MVC Rating: Piano Man 3.5/$$; Don’t Shoot Me 4.0/$$$; Greatest Hits 4.0/$$
They both are about the same age. They both play piano. They have toured together. They both have bunches and bunches of hits over decades. Their last names both start with ‘J’ — and that is why I am reviewing them together now for MVC as we count down alphabetically my 678 vinyl records.
I grew up listening to both of these artists. I think I am more familiar with John’s work. My thumbnail analysis would be this:
Songs: John overall with 19 No. 1 hits; Joel has three.
Song: Tie: John –Benny and the Jets; Joel–Piano Man. Benny is a strange but deceptively great song. I know most would pick ‘Candle in the Wind’.’ From Joel, Piano man is the definition of a great drop-in scene setter, even if the lyrics sometimes seemed to stretch for the rhyme Sample: ” Davy who still is in the Navy.”
Singing: Joel — Elton’s voice had some character and is instantly recognizable but I never considered it a great voice. I was surprised in re-listening to the Piano Man album, just how well Joel sang.
Songwriting: Tie –Elton has the quantity, but Joel has some really strong songs that compete, perhaps even surpass Elton material. Joel’s ‘Still Rock and Roll to Me’ is exemplary songwriting. Same with “Only the Good Die Young,’ ‘You may be Right,’ and ‘Uptown Girl.’ ‘Captain Jack’ could have been great but the line about masturbation was TMI, waay TMI. ‘John’s ‘Your Song’ is a simple but enduring ditty with a beautiful melody. ‘Don’t Let the Sun Go Down’ and ‘The Bitch is Back,’ along with the aforementioned ‘ Benny and the Jets’ are all excellent songs. John’s songs were of course co-written with Bernie Taupin, who supplied the words before Elton put it to music. I was always amazed at that collaboration and at how John could turn some of Taupin’s oblique lyrics into a catchy song, but he did time and time again. Funeral for a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding is special.
Live Performance: John. I never saw either live but from those who have and what I’ve seen on video, Elton wins this category with eyeglasses and apparel alone.
Best Album: John– Goodbye Yellow Brick Road edges the Stranger.
I haven’t followed either one much in recent years. John still seems active, but I haven’t heard what Joel has been doing. They are both great popular artists. I wouldn’t shoot either one, even if they were not the piano man.
ALBUMS: Fervor (1983); Lost and Found (1985); Still Standing (1986)
MVC Rating: Fervor,4.5/$$$; Lost 4.0/$$$; Standing 4.0/$$$.
When I think back to Jason in the 1980s, I think Sloss, the steel refinery turned venue near downtown Birmingham.
Jason and the Scorchers ‘Still Standing.”
I think of Jason climbing up into the rafters (or whatever the ceiling’s infrastructure was called), until he was sitting dozens upon dozens of feet in the air. Still singing. I was hoping he didn’t take to swinging.
The band was a high energy rock band that some called country punk, or punk-a-billy music. They played fast and hard and were really quite the thing, a contrast to synthesizer driven bands popular at the time such as Depeche Mode, the Cure and Ultravox.
I think. Jason crazy!
Colleague and longtime AL.com writer Bob Carlton once called lead singer Jason Ringenberg and guitarist Warner Hodges the “Mick and Keith of cowpunk.”
But like all good things, they eventually ran out of steam. I think it was in a way the usual story: Pressure to be more commercial resulted in higher production, which hurt, not helped, this band. Jason and the Scorchers scorched and climbed up into the rafters. Tamping down on that took the essence away, whether overt or not. J&S was a shot of Wild Turkey, not fancy brandy.
For the above reasons I recommend the first album, Fervor, as a first buy. The Dylan cover, Absolutely Sweet Marie, is excellent and sets the tone. ‘Help There’s a Fire‘ puts the punk in Billy.
But all of the albums (at least these three are excellent). I think it’s pretty hard to find some of these used. But still not super expensive if you search online. (As always check with the locals first).
Other bands around that time playing similar music included the Beat Farmers, Rank and File, Rubber Rodeo, Webb Wilder, and perhaps you could throw in Lone Justice and the very excellent Long Ryders.
Sure, it’s a cliche’. But you know what they say about cliches’ — it became a cliche’ for a reason. The phrase sums up what I’m about to say about dementia.
The hardest thing about living with Lewy body dementia or any fatal disease is the unknown and dealing with that psychologically.
Will my brain damage progress slowly with controllable symptoms until I die peacefully (if that’s a thing) in my sleep?
Or will I shout, scream, accuse my wife of seeing other men or trying to poison me? All stories I’ve heard from caregivers and patients.
Will I be incontinent, impolite, and insulting, one who wanders out the front door and disappears? As Bob Dylan wrote,”No direction home, a complete unknown.” Will I be a heartbreaking shell of the man who was a father, son and husband?
When the word got out through my columns, I began hearing lots of stories. I have heard stories from friends, neighbors, in online support groups, emails from strangers. Some people run down in explicit detail how their loved one was at the end.
“He was in extreme pain,” one person wrote me. Another said she wouldn’t wish the disease on her worst enemy. I’m so sorry Mr. Oliver, another wrote.
I’m try to process this.
Many folks living with dementia or caring for a loved one with Lewy body, Parkinson’s or Alzheimer’s want information. And this is where I see light.
Certainly everybody can decide for themselves how to handle this — until you can’t. I chose to come out in public early with my diagnosis in an effort to raise awareness of this little known form of dementia. But my advice works on a broader scale, I hope.
Learn what you can about the disease, what can happen from best to worst, from living a full, relatively long life to sitting in a nursing home blank faced and unresponsive, not even knowing your daughters’ names as they stand crying before you.
This is serious.
Don’t be afraid to do the research, to name the disease, to listen to people’s stories. But you are not obligated. OK, you might say at some point: I get it. My brain is dying which controls everything I am, my perceptions, my memories, my motor skills.’ That doesn’t sound good. Talk to your friends and loved ones openly and make a plan for the worst.
I was diagnosed at a relatively young age for Lewy body — age 57. Now 59, I have progressed slowly due, in part to medications which were developed for Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s patients. (That there are no specific drugs developed for Lewy body dementia I see as a sign the disease is flying under the radar, and that’s a key reason I am trying to spread the news and keep up the pressure to find a cure for Lewy body dementia.)
Once you know how bad it can be, you can begin to expect the best.
When I was young I remember my parents had a book called ‘The Power of Positive Thinking,’ a title that kind of made me roll my eyes. But I’m thinking there may be something there.
“Stand up to an obstacle,’ wrote Norman Vincent Peele decades ago. “Just stand up to it, that’s all, and don’t give way under it, and it will finally break. You will break it. Something has to break, and it won’t be you, it will be the obstacle.”
Exercise, treat yourself to healthy but delicious meals, go see something you haven’t seen, write about your life, engage in a community of fellow LBD patients, or just friends, family, faith-based groups.
And I’m no Norm Van Peale but I offer up another suggestion:
This is an opinion column by Mike Oliver who writes for AL.com about his fatal brain diagnosis and other life issues. See his Living With Lewy Body blog at www.myvinylcountdown.com
He was a contortionist in the family circus at age 4. Based in Albany, Ga., he did fancy trick horseback riding up until some horses tried to trample him, only to be saved by his mother’s pony. All this on his Wikipedia page.
He went on to become a band leader and his band was the first to back a young singer named Frank Sinatra.
Musically he was well-respected for his technical prowess on the instrument. My album is great. I have to admit that when I play jazz it’s usually one of my Blue Notes or Chet Baker or even Teo Macero. But I’ve had my James record on the turntable for several days now, and it is fabulous. It is sweet sounding, transports you to another time without being maudlin. It’s the sound of tinkling glasses, a post-war giddiness and a Cold War caution.
The liner notes give an interesting history of the trumpet itself and its place in music.
The vinyl is rigid and thick and says “unbreakable” on it. It’s sort of in the mode of the heavier vinyl used in new pressings. For you old-timers who may remember, the circus he grew up with was called the Mighty Haag Circus.
Some songs: Autumn Leaves, Moanin’ Low, If I Loved You, How Deep is the Ocean.
This is not an expensive record and could probably be ordered online at $5 to $10 plus shipping,
Jimi Hendrix died at 27, one of many rock stars whose lives ended at that sweet young age.
Big Chief Ellis, a blues piano player of the highest talent, died in Birmingham on this date — Dec. 20, 1977.
He was 63.
Not many folks know today his the anniversary of his death. He was a self-taught piano player, professional gambler and ‘rolling stone.’
As he sings in the attached recording: “I do love to drink and gamble but I stay broke all the time .”
His piano playing is effortless, rolling and rocking.
I definitely want to learn more about this blues great. I found Ellis on a spreadsheet posted online. It is Wikipedia’s “List of deaths in rock and roll.”
There’s a bigger story here. In our culture of celebrity worship, where Elvis is king, and thousands pack Graceland on that Aug. 16 anniversary, there are a lot of great musicians who die in obscurity. For every Jimi Hendrix and John Lennon who lived and died with millions of fans there are those that played great music, died too often it seems, tragically.
Elvis was 42 when he died in 1977, of heart failure due to years of prescription drug abuse.
Other examples:
On the night before Christmas in 1985, Tommy Blake, a rockabilly pioneer, was shot to death by his third wife, according to the Wikipedia list. (Steve’s Dead Rock Stars and thedeadrockstarclub are also resources.} Blake was 54.
On Christmas Day in 1954, Johnny Ace (real name John Marshall Alexander Jr.) accidentally shot himself in the face while goofing around. Blues legend Big Mama Thornton saw the whole thing. At 25, with hits on the charts, Ace’s life was cut short. Witnesses said he was drunk.
I am writing this as I listen to Big Chief Ellis play some tasty blues. Ellis is now singing.
“I do love to drink and gamble but I stay broke all the time.” He sings the line twice in the blues tradition.
He sings more: “You know my life has been just like a rolling stone, until I find someone who loves me I just keep on moving on.”
He was born in Birmingham taught himself piano and traveled extensively in the 1920s and 1930s, according to an Allmusic.com bio. He settled in New York City and was known in blues circles for years there and later in Washington D.C. He came home to Birmingham and died at 63 in 1977.
The title of this post comes from poet, basketball player and former heroin addict Jim Carroll, who with his rock band wrote and released’ People who Died’ in 1980. (The writings that inspired the book, The Basketball Diaries, also was made into a movie starring Leonardo DiCaprio.) The Jim Carroll Band’s ‘Catholic Boy is coming up quick on MyVinylCountdown.com
‘All the people who died,” Carroll sings in the punky-pop song which is built around a list of friends who died. “They were friends of mine.”
That led me to the Wikipedia list, and I was struck by the number of rock stars who died tragically or prematurely.
Jim Carroll’s Basketball Diaries was made into a movie featuring Leonardo DiCaprio.
I was also struck by how many of these deaths I had either forgotten about or never heard before.
There is what appears an outsized number of tragic deaths associated with the show business industry, especially rock stars. If true, maybe it’s because they put so many hours on the road that the law of percentages kicks in.
Plane crashes have taken out some of our biggest stars. Several members of Lynyrd Skynyrd, including key writer and leader Ronnie Van Zant, crashed in Mississippi. Buddy Holly, Big Bopper, and Richie Valens died in a plane crash near Clear Lake, Iowa. Otis Redding and four members of the Bar-Kays died in a crash in a Wisconsin lake flying from Cleveland to another gig.
And there was Stevie Ray Vaughn, one of the all time great guitarists, who died in a plane crash near East Troy, Wisconsin. And Patsy Cline died March 5, 1963, in a plane crash outside Nashville. Jim Croce at age 30 died in a plane crash in Louisiana on Sept. 20, 1973.
The list also raises the question of whether being an entertainer or rock/poet may put you at greater risk for depression and substance abuse. It certainly seems that way anyway.
Or is that just a fallacy built on highly publicized overdose deaths of rock and rollers such as Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and Jim Morrison to name just a few
We aren’t going to prove that the rock and roll life significantly affects your lifespan here today. But I would like to look at this list and pluck out some musicians who died an untimely death, that is drug or alcohol abuse, plane crash, car crash or something else that would be considered tragic or premature.
Here are some deaths you may not have known about or may have forgotten.:
Danny Cedrone with Bill Haley and the Comets (of Rock Around the Clock fame) died June 17, 1954,from a broken neck after falling down the stairs.
Sam Cooke, along with Otis Redding, was among the vocal greats of all time, was shot to death in Los Angeles on Dec. 11, 1964.
Bobby Fuller, of ‘I Fought the Law’ fame, died under mysterious circumstances July 18, 1966. He was found dead in his car and the coroner cited suicide in his report but put question marks beside it. He was 23.
Brian Epstein, the manager/agent who ‘discovered’ the Beatles died of an accidental overdose at 32 on Aug. 27, 1967.
Brian Jones, the Rolling Stones guitarist, drowned in a swimming pool on July 3, 1969 at 27.
King Curtis, Grammy award winning saxophonist, was stabbed to death during an argument in New York City on Aug. 13, 1971.
Duane Allman, one of the most promising guitarists in his day with the Allman Brothers and Derek and the Dominos, died in a motorcycle accident at 24 on Oct. 29, 1971 in Macon, Ga.
Berry Oakley, also with the Allman Brothers, died in a traffic accident Nov. 11, 1972.
Leslie Harvey, with rock band Stone the Crows, was electrocuted by a live microphone while on stage in Wales on May 3, 1972.
Gram Parsons, member of the Byrds and pioneering alt-country artist, died of a drug overdose Sept. 19, 1973 in Joshua Tree, California.
Nick Drake, influential singer-songwriter-guitarist, died at 26 by suicide in England on Nov. 25, 1974.
Keith Relf, a member of the pioneering band the Yardbirds, was electrocuted by his guitar on May 14, 1976 in London. He was 33.
Marc Bolan, front man for T-Rex, died in a traffic accident, Sept. 16, 1977, in London.
Sandy Denny, folk-rock singer with Fairport Convention, died April 21, 1978 of a brain hemorrhage after an accidental fall.
Sid Vicious, key member of pioneering punksters, the Sex Pistols, died of drug overdose or suicide, Feb. 2, 1979.
Chris Bell, member of Big Star, died Dec. 27, 1978, in a traffic accident near Memphis.
Lowell George, Little Feat leader, died June 29, 1979, of a heart attack at 34. He had drug and alcohol problems in addition to being obese.
John Bonham, drummer for Led Zeppelin, died by asphyxiation on vomit (same cause as Hendrix, drug/alcohol related). He was 32.
John Lennon, of the Beatles, died by gunshot, on Dec. 8, 1980, at the age of 40.
Tim Hardin, died of a drug overdose, Dec. 29, 1980 in Los Angeles.
Bob Marley, reggae legend, died at 36 of Acral lentiginous melanoma on May 11, 1981.
Roy Buchanan, virtuoso guitarist, hung himself in jail after being picked up on a drunk and disorderly charge in Virginia on Aug. 14, 1988.
There are many more on this document who died untimely deaths: Karen Carpenter, Quiet Riot’s Randy Rhoads, Dennis Wilson of the Beach Boys, Ricky Wilson of the B-52’s, Phil Lynott of Thin Lizzy, Ricky Nelson, Liberace, Cliff Burton of Metallica, Richard Manuel of the Band, Peter Tosh, Jaco Pastorius, Kurt Cobain of Nirvana,
Mike Oliver is counting down his vinyl record collection on his blog MyVinylCountdown which was created to raise awareness of Lewy body dementia. From that blog and other sources he culls material for weekly columns at AL.com.
Prosby rubbed his head, wincing at the pain from the wound on the side of his head.
He was cold on the concrete slab floor. He wasn’t restrained.
“Again Mr. Prosby, may I offer you some water, or perhaps something stronger?”
The woman appeared to be in her 40s, wearing some kind of one-piece zip-up suit with lettering on the right side of her chest, like something an auto mechanic might wear. Only it was bright neon blue.
The lights greatly enhanced his headache and he tried to stand up. He fell to a knee, inviting laughter from the woman and others he could not see.
“What do you want?” he asked, giving up on trying to stand.
:Well, Mr. Prosby, the question is ‘What do you want? Actually and more precisely, the question is: Do you want to live or die.”
“We all die some time,” He snapped back quickly, with sarcasm.
‘You’re death will be sooner than the natural world would give you and, trust me, it will be much much more painful,’ The woman in the jumpsuit continued. “And I will personally see to that.’
“You see, Mr. Prosby, our deal comes with an expiration date. It’s not a pay as you go sort of thing. If you don’t accomplish this task, and bring us what we seek, by that certain date, you will expire.
His mouth moved to answer but he couldn’t hear a word he said because of the deafening metal machine music.
When I was about 9 living in the Athens, Ga., I begged my mother to let me mow the lawn. Previous requests had been denied on account of “you’ll cut your leg off.”
That was the standard Mom line, kind of the go-to parallel of “You’ll put your eye out,” as immortalized in the boy’s pursuit of a BB-gun in the movie :A Christmas Story.”
Besides mowing, I also had been pushing for a BB gun.
I didn’t get one of those until about age 12. (A Daisy single pump).
But on the lawn mowing thing, she caved in earlier. Looking back, I’m sure Dad, who had some skin in the game, as the primary lawn mower helped come up with the idea to get the aptly named ‘push mower.’ That is a lawnmower with no gasoline, no engine and no motor-driven whirling blades to cut my leg off.
I didn’t know the nuances of lawnmowers; I was just happy to finally get to mow the lawn. So, I started one bright, hot and humid Saturday and golly it sure was hard to push. But I kept pushing, learning from some instruction to go up and down the lawn in rows leaving no grass in between. I hadn’t figured out the square spiral method of mowing yet where you made a big square of cut grass all around the edge of the lawn and descended with a spiral square until you had a satisfying tiny block of grass left.
No, on my first day, I realized this was no easy job. After about 20 or 30 minutes I had mowed two rows, came inside and declared I would finish later. Sunday came and I went at it, maybe knocking out three rows before quitting. I was hitting a rhythm. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, knocking off a couple or three rows each day in about 30 minutes of sweltering work. I remember skipping my mowing workout on Friday to play street ball with friends.
But on Saturday I finally finished. I had pushed that powerless grass cutter over every inch of the lawn in one week’s time.
Now for my big life lesson.
I invited my Mom out to see my handiwork. She said she was proud of me. And she said: “It’s time to start mowing again.”
“When?” I asked, fighting tears.
“Now,’ said Mom. “See how it has grown back on this side of the lawn?”
That is when I learned that life is dukkha __ one of the four Noble Truths in Buddhism is that much of life is suffering. My wife, Catherine, taught me the word decades later, learning it from her theological studies. But I learned the concept that hot day, leaning up against a silent, immobile push mower.
I’d like to say I kicked that mower and began stomping it to pieces. That’s what I was thinking anyway. But then I know if I did that my Mom would say something.
“Careful, you’ll cut your leg off.”
So, here I am 50 years later. I have a degenerative brain disease and I’ve made a vow to fulfill a bucket list item of dunking a basketball on a regulation 10-foot goal. I’ve never dunked in my life.
But like mowing the lawn with that push mower, training can be exhausting, hot, and discouraging when you see no end in sight. It can be body breaking and soul shaking.
As Little Feat sang: “It’s easy to slip.:
And I did.
But don’t bet against me just yet. After a multi-week layoff, I was back on the basketball court Wednesday night. The game was brutal on me. I won’t be dunking anytime soon.
In the meantime, on Nov. 9, I turned 59. Some days I feel every bit of my age and more.
Those who have been following my story know that I have Lewy body dementia, a form of dementia that is the second leading cause after Alzheimer’s.
To those following along – and bless you by the way – I have a blog where I am counting down my vinyl record collection numbering 678. It can be found at www.myvinylcountdown.com. I’m also an AL.com columnist and post a column using pieces of MVC (My Vinyl Countdown). My challenge, I see now, goes beyond exercising my body.
I’m operating under the notion that my life will be shortened. The average lifespan after diagnosis is 5-8 years or 4-7 years, depending on the source. I was diagnosed at age 56; I am now 59. But averages are averages and I hope to be a long living outlier – as long as my quality of life remains reasonably bearable.
I will tell you this: I feel way better than I feel two years ago. I attribute that to medications, early diagnosis, exercise, and music.
Stay with me, as Rod Stewart used to sing. Maybe just maybe you’ll see me defy not just gravity but health age and common sense.
I had forgotten how good this album is. Mostly instrumental, this album has Howe showing off a precise and beautiful touch on guitar and other string instruments. Songs are varied and probably would be labeled progressive rock like his band Yes. But much of it is jazzy folk and a little country (English style.
But that doesn’t aptly describe the variety and quality of the music . ‘Pennants’ opens it up with a riffy rock feel. ‘DIary of a Man Who Vanished’ is melodic and enduring. ‘Meadow Rag’ i s what it says it is and very well played. ‘Cactus Boogie’ is too what it says it is. These songs are so disparate yet they all seem so familiar, like they belong together.
On the gatefold, Howe shows off his instruments in photos. Quite a collection includes a Martin 0018, a Kohno Spanish guitar. a Gibson Les Paul, a Danelectro Coral Sitar Guitar and a Fender Telecaster , among others. Probably well over $100,000 or way more for these precious instruments.
Speaking of worth. I don’t know how rare this album is but the Howe album I have fetches $20 to $30 on Discogs. If I remember, I bought this one new in Athens, Ga. during my freshman year at UGA, 1979.
ALBUMS: Suddenly it’s The Hi-Lo’s (1957, Reissue 1981); Robyn Hitchcock and the Egyptians, Globe of Frogs (1988).
MVC Rating: Hi-Lo’s 3.0/$$: Hitchcock 3.5/$$
Robin Hitchcok’s Globe of Frogs
OK I am doubling up as I am wont to do every now and then. I’m finishing up the H’s in the next few posts. Continuing on my way to review and reminisce about my 678-record collection. I’m doing this alphabetically (more o r less) and I still have more than 400 to go.
I chose to review these together mainly because they were the next two alphabetically speaking. But it’s an interesting contrasting combination.
This is a review of a 1950’s vocal jazz group and an alternative psychedelic folk rock artist . What can you say about Hitchcock, an artist who opens his liner notes with words like: “All of us exist in a swarming pulsating world, driven mostly by an unconscious that we ignore or misunderstand.”
The Hi-Lo’s meanwhile in this 1981 reissue of a 1957 album are all about fresh faced optimism, suits and un-ironic bow ties. The four men sing in harmonies and seem happy warbling away at songs like ‘Swing Low Sweet Chariot’ and ‘Stormy Weather. I listen to it when I want to go to something completely different in my collection. It’s surprisingly uplifting music.
If I were writing a traditional consumer guide I’d probably say ‘hey old folks check out the Hi-Lo’s they are like your old music. And say to the younger folks, dig the new Robyn HItchock album, it’s out of this world.
But I recommend the vice versa position. Kids meet the Hi-Los. Grown-ups see what psychedlic folk hipsterism is all about. (It’s not too bad, I promise — except ‘Devil’s Mask‘ — live from Athens, Ga., — might blow some minds.)
So with both albums from divergent styles you can still say about both of them: And now for something completely different.
Mike Oliver writes frequently about life and health issues and his diagnosis of a fatal brain disease, Lewy body dementia, on AL.com and his blog, www.myvinylcountdown.com
It’s the little things for which I’m thankful.
It’s the little things that bring joy to life on this spinning sphere of mud, rock, and water.
I’m thankful for the red Maple leaf that spins to the ground like a ballerina.
A quiet lake with the sun powering through the clouds. I am thankful.
I am thankful for small observations that invite a deeper reality. Living in the world is both illusory and concrete, full of heartache and pain. From the head, the heart and the soul.
A roaring ocean with storm clouds gathering at dawn like hungry white wolves.
I’m thankful for the moments that defy life’s suffering. Roller coasters, trampolines and front porch swings.
Butterflies and zebras and moonbeams and fairy tales.
Handpicked blackberries in a cobbler, hot with a scoop of fast melting vanilla ice cream.
An after dinner Thanksgiving walk. Holding hands.
The rust-colored poodle who thinks he’s golden, running the house like a greyhound after being let in from the cold.
Lightning and thunder and the inherited primal fear of it, a tiny injection of prehistoric adrenaline.
Understanding that disappointment is a manipulative device with a pinch of well meaning, but misplaced, love.
Yellow and red leaves of autumn like stained glass in November’s leaning light.
Pancakes and maple syrup, carb loading on a cold day.
A sincere compliment that makes you smile and stumble.
Hot yoga, frozen yogurt and boiled peanuts.
Sonny and Cher singing I got you, babe.
My 20-something daughter saying ‘I know this song.’
