Showing posts with label Kiss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kiss. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

HALLOWEEN PLAYLIST


DRESSED TO THRILL

Getting into character for Halloween

By: MATT ASHARE |





Lux Interior and Poison Ivy of the Carmps
Maybe I'm just suffering from zombie fatigue. Or, perhaps, I've just been starting to feel that the overload of supernatural slasher films that crowd cable movie channels in the weeks leading up to All Hallows Eve has reached a tipping point — one in which Freddy Krueger's nightmares on Elm Street have become as annoyingly, even cloyingly routine as the pre-Christmas television blitz of Jimmy Stewart's "It's A Wonderful Life," an otherworldly allegory of quite a different sort. Or, it could just be that among the folks I'm connected with on Facebook, there seem to be quite a few more folks dressing up as women in binders than ghoully grrrrls this election year.
       In any case, while I'm happy to concede that there have been plenty of scary monsters and super creeps over the years – from the lipsticked glam dudes of the ‘70s, to arch goths like Bauhaus, to monsters of metal mayhem like the traveling freak show that is GWAR – rock and roll has really always been about playing dress-up in one form or another, going all the way back to Elvis' rockabilly quaff. After all, John Fogerty wasn't really born on the bayou (he was a Berkeley boy, as in Northern California): He just did his best to look and sound like he was. And, when Pearl Jam's manager suggested that they were a band with "no image" in the early days of grunge, he was rightly reminded that no image is indeed an image.
       With all of that in mind, I've done my best to opt out of the usual monster mashes for this year's Halloween. Instead, I went looking for more playfully eclectic playlist of bands and artists who, at various points in their careers, found unique ways to complement their music with the sort of stylized attire that continues to tweak my appreciation for the tricks and treats of rock-and-roll pageantry. As is so often the case, this is just the tip an iceberg that arguably encompasses anyone who's ever taken the stage, as John and Paul surely knew even in their pre-Sgt Pepper incarnation as the suit-and-tied Fab Four. And, ultimately, that's really sort of the point.

1) Rasputina, "Transylvanian Concubine"
       In 1996, this trio of female cellists dolled up in Victorian-era corsets and lace made a minor splash with "Thanks for the Ether," a strangely alluring debut that incorporated spoken-word reveries and classically-tinged songs encompassed everything from Shakespeare ("Dig Ophelia") to Howard Hughes. This track, the disc's de-facto single, set distorted cellos and some poetic versifying that could have come straight outta an Anne Rice novel to an incessant beat. It actually caught the ear of Kurt Cobain, who had them open for Nirvana, and Marilyn Manson, who did a darker remix of the song for the 1997 EP "Transylvanian Regurgitations." Still, I mostly remember Rasputina for the clothes.

Dresden Dolls' Brian Viglione and Amanda Palmer
2) The Dresden Dolls, "Coin-Operated Boy"
       Moving out of the 19th-century and into the early-20th, the Dresden Dolls came on in whiteface and formal, color-coordinated, thrift-shop garb with their remarkable 2003 debut to offer up something singer/pianist Amanda Palmer termed "Brechtian punk cabaret," a cleverly nostalgic twist on the pre-war scene in Weimar Germany. With little more than drummer Brian Viglione bringing some punch to the performative party, Palmer delivers a deeply creepy tale of mechanical romance in this standout track from the self-titled album that launched her unlikely career as something of an international underground sensation.

3) The Cramps, "Strychnine"
       The self-proclaimed "hottest thing from the north to come out of the south," the Cramps pretty much held the patent on punkabilly from 1976 until frontman Lux Interior's death in 2009. This cover of a fairly deviant ode to the pleasures of poison by the ‘60s garage band the Sonics is one of the more straightforwardly sinister rave-ups, replete with plenty of reverb-drenched powerchords courtesy of guitarist Poison Ivy, from their amusingly titled 1980 album "Songs the Lord Taught Us."

The Damned's frontman Dave Vanian
4) The Damned, "Wait For the Blackout"
       Although they do have the distinction of being bona-fide members of the original, class of ‘76 British punks, the Damned never really quite reached the heights of the Clash or the Pistols. They did have their moments early on, particularly with the fast and furious outburst "New Rose," a semi-classic that gets covered from time to time. But it was with 1980's "The Black Album" (pre-dating Spinal Tap by four years) that singer Dave Vanian embraced his inner (and outer) vampire, and adopted a deep croon that lends this apocalyptic mini-epic its ominous overtones.

5) Kiss, "Rock and Roll All Nite"
       Sure, Kiss, in full make-up, are an obvious Halloween pick. But one of my favorite, if brief, periods in Kisstory is "Dressed to Kill," the 1976 album with the wry black-and-white cover shot of the band in full face paint, but wearing natty Fab Four-style suits rather than their full costumes. It's definitely a look, although, sadly, not one they stuck with for very long. And, the disc does end with one of their all-time greats, a peon to partying every day and then switching over to rock and roll once the sun has set.

6) New York Dolls, "Personality Crisis"
       It wouldn't be fair to bring up Kiss without giving these trashy New York City proto-punks their due because Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley got their idea for playing dress-up from the tongue-in-cheek, dime-store drag queen look the Dolls sported when they first emerged in the early ’70s with a twisted take on Rolling Stones androgyny. I'm sticking with "Personality Crisis," the song that best describes what the Dolls once embodied, when they released their self-titled debut in 1973.

7) The Rolling Stones, "Child of the Moon"
       And, now that we've mentioned the Stones, it's not always worth remembering that they took a somewhat misguided trip into Sgt. Peppery psychedelia in 1967, with "Their Satanic Majesties Request." But a few good things did come out of the era that had Mick dressing up like a wizard, pointy black hat and all, including the single "Jumpin' Jack Flash" and it's luminesque b-side, an all too often forgotten tune call "Child of the Moon."

8) Siouxsie and the Banshees, "Dear Prudence"
       As a sideways nod to the Fab Four, who changed costumes more than a few times in their short time together, here's an alluringly eerie rendition of one of their late-career "White Album" cuts by the post-punk queen of goth Siouxsie Sioux and her Banshees. Released in 1983, it became one of their bigger UK hits, and helped popularize her dark diva stylings here in the States.

9) Devo, "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction"
       While we're at the crossroads of post-punk/new-wave covers and Beatles/Stones tunes, it kinda doesn't get much better and/or weirder than Devo, in their matching futuristic spacesuits, doing a number on this Jagger/Richards classic. It’s hard to imagine what anybody made of this when the Akron-bred band came out of nowhere with "Q: Are We Not Men A: We Are Devo!" in 1978. And, it remains a truly strange, yet oddly accessible transmission from the punk-rock era.

David Bowie as Aladdin Sane
10) David Bowie, "Cracked Actor"
       Ziggy Stardust is admittedly one of the benchmarks for rock-and-roll costumery. But the quick wardrobe change the Thin White Duke, as he'd later be known, made directly after his tenure with the Spiders From Mars, into the more elusive and introspective Aladdin Sane (as in, "a lad insane"), is too often underrated. With a multi-colored lightening slash painted across his face, he brought on what he's called an Americanized version of his glam sham with r&b-tinged rockers like "The Jean Genie" and the suitably schizophrenic "Cracked Actor," a somewhat deeper "Aladdin Sane" cut.  

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

THE DECEMBERISTS Double Live Gonzo


Double trouble: The Decemberists drop a two-CD live set


The Decemberists, We All Raise Our Voices to the Air (Live songs 04.11-08.11) (Capitol)

LIVE WIRED: The Decemberists deliver a concert keepsake
Kiss' Alive! (1975); Neil Young's Live Rust (1979); Rush's Exit. . . Stage Left (1981). Those are just three of the monolithic live double albums that had an immeasurable impact on me during my impressionable formative years. Two slabs of black vinyl packed neatly into an extra thick — double-wide, if you will — fold-out jacket that promised and delivered the next best thing to actually having been there, from the roar of screaming crowds (preferably not dubbed in post-production), to the nearly palpable exultation of the pro-forma extended guitar and drum solos, to the swaggering stage banter. . . those discs offered something akin to a genuine window into the seductive, even mythical realm of the Rock Concert.
       And there were more. As my record collection grew, and my musical vistas broadened, I submersed myself in Zeppelin's monolithic The Song Remains the Same (does anybody remember the hilarious "Stairway To Heaven" ad-lib "does anybody remember laughter"?), found myself wishing that the Who had been kind enough to add a second disc to Live at Leeds (which they finally did on the 2001 deluxe reissue), and marveling at the strange glam-era visage of Lou Reed that adorns the cover of Rock 'n' Roll Animal, an album that, in due course, led me back to discover 1979 Velvet Underground Live with Lou Reed, and finally Reed's hilarious and, at times, disturbing 1978 train wreck Live: Take No Prisoners, which, to this day, contains some of my favorite unintentional comedy routines. Oh, and let's not forget Ted Nugent's way over the top, not so cleverly self-referential Double Live Gonzo, if only because it's fun to say out loud and it pre-dates the Nuge's emergence as a right-wing wing-nut.
       My nostalgia for the double-wide, double-live experience has remained largely unabated over the years. As recently as 2000, for example, I took the time over the course of a single weekend to listen to all 25 of Pearl Jam's "Official Bootleg" series, which amounted to 50 discs in total. And I don't think I flinched once. So, if there's a target demo for We All Raise Our Voices to the Air (Live songs 04.11-08.11), a two-disc, 20-track live collection drawn from eleven shows the Decemberists' performed in the wake of their big commercial breakthrough (2011's The King Is Dead), then I guess I'm it.
       And yet, until a recent drive to Richmond, I was finding it surprisingly difficult to drum up the necessary enthusiasm to work my way through the entire set. The first disc starts out promisingly enough: frontman Colin Meloy, the band's bespectacled, well-read frontman, assures a crowd in Oregon that, "This is not the Keith Urban concert. . . if you mean to be at a Keith Urban concert you will be sorely disappointed" — just the kind of bemused, off-the-cuff banter you want from a good live album.
       And, this is a good live album. Very good, in fact. The band delivers the necessary King Is Dead hits ("Calamity Song," "Down By the Water," "This Is Why We Fight") with rousing aplomb. They offer up the requisite deep cuts, dating all the way back to "Leslie Ann Levine," an acoustic lament from their 2002 indie debut Castaways and Cutouts. And they indulge in their own brand of the extended jam, powering gracefully through all 16:09 minutes of "The Crane's Wife 1, 2, 3," an epic story with a suitably obscure narrative that ebbs and flows and then ebbs and flows some more.
       The problem is, by the time We All Raise Our Voices arrived, I’d already seen, streamed or in some way digitally accessed, various iterations of the material on the album, including the part where Meloy sheepishly introduces “Dracula’s Daughter” as “the worst song I’ve ever written in my life.” I even bookmarked YouTube clips from the tour that I found particularly amusing and/or compelling. Which begs the question, is there really a place for the live album, much less the double-live set, in the Internet age?
       I’m sure there’s no easy answer. But, the well-defined rationales behind the double-live have largely vanished. For the record label, it was once a rather cheap, if somewhat extravagantly packaged way to strike while the iron was hot by quickly bringing new product to market on the heels of a successful studio album/tour. It also bought time for the artist to unwind, recover, and begin work on the next album. And, fans got a raw, unvarnished keepsake to tide them over until the next big release and tour.
Sadly, very little of that applies anymore. So, until someone comes up with a new business model for the double-wide, it just may be on its way to being a thing of the past — a past that Colin Meloy, for one, apparently shares a certain nostalgia for. . .