There are of course are big differences between Slade and Zep; Zep's music is notably eclectic, a trait usually associated with bands that are critical favorites. Slade's musicianship is limited at best, especially compared to Zeppelin. Although the latter band was clearly informed by 60s psychedelia and counterculture ideals, they also seemed to prize the notion of the passionate virtuoso that was a legacy of nineteenth century Romanticism.
In fact, Zep are so eclectic that it gives Fast pause. She doesn't seem to know quite what to make of one strain of their eclecticism, their incorporation of Brit folk, although she deals at length and with insight on the Orientalism of "Kashmir." But I'm not quibbling: I'm very grateful to Fast for providing me with a vocabulary and methodology that allows me to think critically about less critically respected, more "popular," rock groups of the era.
While I'm getting my thoughts together on Slade, I thought I'd share my current listening list. My lists are inspired by chance songs I hear on the radio, and also by current reading.
For instance, I subscribe to "Rock's Back Pages," an online archive of rock criticism from the 1960s onward. It's led me to discover lesser known pieces by rock critics I admire, as well as turned me on to critics I didn't know much about. My current fave rave is Metal Mike Saunders, hailing from the great city of Austin. Like Lester Bangs, Saunders' early 70s pieces for Creem magazine hail the first wave of British metal bands. At the same time, Saunders has eclectic tastes that also includes what we would now call power pop: Zombies, pre-Tommy Who, Small Faces, and Badfinger. Saunders' bete noir is lethargy, which he hears in Humble Pie, late Cream, and Houses of the Holy. He's often screamingly funny, especially on Humble Pie, whom he regards as the kings of Rock Plod and Lethargy. Poor Steve Marriott!
Some of my links below came from reading Metal Mike's reviews yesterday; I bet you can guess which ones.
In no particular order:
Vin Scelsa's show reminded me how much I love the trance-like "Ladies of the Canyon":
Scelsa also played Dylan's version of "Barbara Allen" from Live at the Gaslight Cafe (1962), pairing it with Nico's cover of "These Days" (from Chelsea Girls, released Fall 1967, a few months after the Velvets' debut record), utilizing a very similar guitar picking pattern. You can hear the entirety of both Nick Drake and early Roy Harper in the Dylan cover. I can't find it to post, but I'm still looking. Here's Nico in the meanwhile:
Not really on the list, but how can I post a song from Chelsea Girls and leave out one of the most amazing recordings of all time from the same album:
Unreal. I think I found the Song I want to have played at my Funeral.
Just discovered this great, funky agit-blues from Eric Burdon and Jimmy Witherspoon. Thanks, Mike Marrone.
Metal Mike Saunders thinks the difference between Badfinger' second record, No Dice (1970) and Straight Up, can be chalked up to the same vices that distinguish the Beatles' Help! from Revolver: high seriousness, lack of energy, overt pretension. He could be right; certainly Straight Up was made under conditions--a rotating line up of producers (George Harrison, then Todd Rundgren), record company pressures--that would have made any group doubt themselves, let alone a band with a genius songwriter suffering from a tragic lack of self-esteem (Pete Ham, who would later commit suicide).
To my ears, though, the band sounds more certain and confident about their musicianship and songwriting on Straight Up than on No Dice: how can you argue with "Baby Blue," Metal Mike?
You decide; here's No Matter What, from No Dice.
From Straight Up:
Listen to those cavernous drums! Praise be to Todd, (aka God), for verily he knows how to get a great drum sound.
Vashti Bunyan gets on the play list, thanks to Rebecca.
And then there's this; the Heep at their oddest and loosest. I even hear a bit of Music Machine garage -psychedelia in this. Sadly, Heep became practically unlistenable for me after this, though I make an exception for the odd-man-out folk rock song, "The Wizard."
Picture this: you're sitting around the campfire in a forest, like you always do. Suddenly a little hobbit dude bums a cig (you still smoked in the 70s), asks for some wine from your hip flask, and discourses on universal love and brotherhood. Of course, they had me at "campfire." If you cannot resist a hobbit dude dreaming the hippie dream, mister, you're a better man than I.
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