These Boys’ Speed Endures

I’ve recently been revisiting the recordings of a little-known, but brilliant, local bar band that I discovered by chance about 30 years ago. I never saw them live, but I sure listened to their two LPs a lot back in the day. Listening to their limited catalog now for the first time in quite a while, I’m reminded of why I liked them so much.

Hailing from the Lancaster, Pa.-area, The Speedboys perched precociously on that big musical hinge between the music of the 1950s and the early 1980s. Traditionalists at heart, the ’boys added a sardonic attitude and modern edge to the vintage R & B, soul and boogie that dominated the ’70s. With solid musicianship and song craft, they appealed to those of us who relished the better sounds of those days gone by, but also yearned for continued evolution as we crossed the threshold of the ’80s. Yes, they treaded similar terrain as Dave Edmunds, Nick Lowe and Graham Parker, with occasional touches of Dylan and the early Stones, but they also added a dash of Big Star and a pinch of Albert King. Garnish all that with early ’80s sensibilities and, well, you get the picture.

On top of all that, everyone in the band was named Bobby something – you know, just like The Ramones were all brothers! The singer was, of course, Robert Bobby. His sparring partners were Bobby Kinsley on guitar and vocals; Bobby Lowry on keyboards, vibes, harmonica and vocals; Bobby Blue Blake on slide and lead guitar; Bobby Lawson on bass; and Bobby Schmidt on drums.


Despite the gimmick though, these guys had the chops. Even today, I’m impressed with how the simple but precise guitar lines weave in, out and around the boogie-woogie piano riffs (often the driving force of the tunes), bolstered by taut-shuffling drums, soulful harmonica and robust vocal harmonies. Bobby’s (Robert, that is) lead vocals have an endearing bluesy falsetto hiccup that also manages to conjure the celtic soul warbling of early Van the Man.

That’s What I Like  (see a better version on YouTube)

What’s most impressive and lingers with me about this band, though, is how equally adept musically (from songwriting and arranging to playing) they were at doing tongue-in-cheek vintage rockers on the one hand and super-sensitive heartfelt ballads of emotional pain and desperation on the other. Not a dichotomy that many bands manage with such aplomb.

There’s the pseudo reggae of “I Want You,” with the punchline conclusion to the title (“... to be like me!”) enumerated in a number of humorous ways; the utterly un-PC (and morally degenerate, but totally rockin’) “Girls, Girls, Girls”; and the upbeat, boppin’ blues rock of “Talkin’ About My Baby.” Then you have the plaintive pop love song, “Secret of the Heart,” and the aching melancholy of “Little Bit Nasty, Little Bit Nice.” Somewhere in between these two extremes lie the ahead-of-its-time – though somewhat dated now given a few lyrical references – ode to steroids, “Anna”; and the post-Three-Mile-Island love song, “Hearts Like Atoms Split.”

Secret of the Heart  (see better version on YouTube)

The opening track of The Speedboys’ first LP represents the more subtle, romantic side of the band.

Not that all that isn’t enough, but – for me – there’s a bit more to the story. How did I, a teen at the time in New Jersey, ever come across this obscure Central Pa. band with just two albums on the microscopic “I Like Mike” record label?

Well, the bass player’s father was one of my math teachers in high school. Somehow, through him, I obtained a poorly recorded cassette tape of their first LP (which even then was out of print). A while later I managed to get a vinyl copy of their second album (by writing directly to the record label, I seem to recall). Fortunately, both albums are now again available on CDBaby. They’re both recommended, but the first one is stellar.

Much of Robert Bobby’s subsequent solo material (yes, he has retained the stage name), some of it very good and a worthy successor in it’s own right, is available there, too. His newer stuff plays the folk singer-songwriter card more pronouncedly and is more Dylanish/Steve Earlesque in style compared to his former band’s R & B leanings. 

Girls, Girls, Girls   (see better version on YouTube)

As un-PC as this is by today’s standards, this tongue-in-cheek re-write of “Louie, Louie” is at once raunchy and innocent – as rock used to be. Some tasty guitar licks, too.

Miss My Baby’s Cakes  (see better version on YouTube)

“I said, ‘Woh!’ ...” Another standout Speedboys’ track, this time featuring lead guitarist Peter Kinsley taking the lead vocal role.


More:
•  Check out The Speedboys’ two fine LPS, 1981’s  That’s What I Like and 1983’s Look What Love’s Done to Me Now at CDBaby.com.

•  Check out Robert Bobby’s website and his catalog on CDBaby.

Creative Psych and Transference

What a wonderful, thought-provoking post, I came across recently courtesy of author Daniel Levitin’s tweet about it. I wish I had the time, insight and wherewithal to write about topics like “The Artist’s Battle Within”

Essay like this fascinate me, and I’ll certainly be paying closer attention to Professor Woody’s work, including his wonderful blog: Being Musical, Being Human.

As for the aforementioned essay in particular, I agree that there are shared traits among creative people regardless of the media in which they work. (Hey, do landscapers get no respect? They’re certainly equal to chefs in my book ... and I’m not dissing chefs). But I’m not sure we’ve seen much evidence that the application of that orientation crosses disciplines all that often. Yes, throughout history, there have been some legitimate “Renaissance” men and women, but not too many Leonardo’s in the writing set as far as I can tell.

Even as someone with at least a rudimentary skill as a wordsmith and some experience as a historian, I’m hard-pressed to name any literary greats who showed a gift for music, and more significantly (especially given modern inclinations) equally few who have made an equitable transference from musician to literati – and it’s not for lack of trying. Perhaps Bob Dylan, Patti Smith, Tom Waits and Leonard Cohen make the cut, but (a) even that’s debatable and (b) they’re in sparse company.

What do you think? What musicians – if any, modern or old – have distinguished themselves as literary lights, too – or vice versa? (And please don’t say Jim Morrison, I’m being serious here.)

The Majestic Beauty of Frisell’s Dreamers

Bill Frisell’s current trio with Eyvind Kang and Rudy Royston goes by the name Beautiful Dreamers, after their eponymous album of last year. It’s an apt moniker for the majestic tapestry of transportive music the trio weaves.

With Kang on violin and Royston on drums, the soft-spoken bespectacled guitarist again graced the stage of Narrows Center in Fall River, Mass., last night. Like last year’s show there (see my write up of that concert here), it was a magnificent palette of colorful sounds and musical interplay.

What this trio does is a jazzy take on Americana, flavored with modern effects and occasional new-agey elements – all rendered with impeccable musicianship. If not for Frisell’s clear country and folk influences, and his notable propensity for twiddling the knobs of his various stomp-box effects, it would be easy to label him a “jazz guitarist.” And most do. But that charts too narrow a course for his wide-ranging, intuitive and, ultimately, joyous musical explorations. Yes, there are plenty of modal chords in the mix, and the complex melodies he and Kang play in unison are straight out of the jazz playbook. But Frisell’s sonic sparring with delay and other effects puts him in another place than most jazzers dwell. It’s not quite The Edge or Robin Trower (re: the effects) meets Chet Atkins and Les Paul, but it is something akin to that – though clearly with more emphasis on the latter two six-string icons.

With steady concentration, Frisell and co. build a mounting swirl of sound that expands and then ambles onward as it evolves. The guitarist barely breaks a sweat – you won’t see any rock star posing or facial contorting (other than the occasional gleeful smile aimed at a bandmate after a particularly inspired passage). Yet, when the moment is right, he can seriously rip it up. Even then, though, he does it with precision and control, looking at his instrument with a studied thoughtfulness.

That’s not to suggest any lack of passion or feeling in his playing. In fact, it’s exactly the opposite! His fingers effortlessly feel out the most emotive melodies and chord patterns, often infused with a joy that borders on giddiness. This is most evident in the trio’s jaunty take on the Carter Family classic, “Keep on the Sunny Side,” which seems to be emerging as one of the several standards that Frisell is often associated with (along with his unique renditions of “Heard It Through the Grapevine,” “Shenandoah” and a few others). So while his particular brand of flare on the instrument may be understated, it’s no less impactful.

Of those nods to past country and r&b classics, only “Sunny Side,” was featured in Saturday’s two-set, 100-minute performance. But it was a standout along with “Tea for Two,” “Hard Times” and a stunning encore of “Goin’ Out of My Head.”

Lousy iPhone picture of Bill Frisell's Beautiful Dreamers at the Narrows Center, 6/18/11

This was the third time I’ve seen Frisell in the trio format, and the second time with this particular trio. Quite the active musician, he also performs with a quartet and a larger ensembles featuring horns. In addition, he makes guest appearances on many artists’ albums, most recently Buddy Miller’s outstanding Majestic Silver Strings collaborative, as well as with Lucinda Williams and others. The first time I saw him, six years ago, was with a different trio in tow. I’m guessing that – to my ears, anyway – the trio is his best musical setting; at least it’s where his guitar virtuosity shines most brightly. And that’s why I’m there.

I love the interplay between Frisell and Kang (interesting and creative violin playing always gets me, too). Kang has a nuanced feel for a variety of styles, and he’s more than just an adept counterpart for Frisell, mirroring the guitarist’s jazzy licks. On many songs, it’s Kang who leads the way, with Frisell providing the supportive reflections and foundation. Last night reminded me why I was so impressed by Kang last year. But this time I was even more struck by his stunning pizzicato string work. I don’t recall ever seeing a violinist finger pick the strings as much or as adeptly as Kang.

The dynamic that Royston’s super-subtle percussive touch brings to the group is unparalleled. This time around, I had a different vantage point on the triangulated trio, and thus a much better view of the drummer’s surgical stick work (his light dexterity on the cymbals was extraordinary). Royston’s playing is, most of the time, fittingly low key, but every once in a while he executes a controlled explosion, as if to say, “Yeah, I can do that, too!”

In the end, however, as much as Frisell would probably like to make it otherwise, it really is primarily about the guitarist. Playing a red Fender Stratocaster, rather than his familiar Telecaster, he let his musical comrades shine, but left no doubt as to why he was the focal point of the affair. I can’t wait for the next time around.

The Godfather King Soul Man

My younger daughter is about to finish third grade. Through the course of her brief academic career, I’ve become very familiar with acrostic poems. First-, second- and third-graders do a lot of them it seems.

In case you’ve forgotten (or – gasp! – didn’t know), an acrostic poem is one in which a designated letter in each line (usually the first letter), when read together in sequence vertically form a word or words. Typically, that means the acrostic poem, “Spring,” goes something like this:

Summer sun is yet to breach the horizon

Precipitation, the order of the day

Rainbows appear as the satisfying reward

I long for on these wet, windy, warming days

Nights begin to buzz, but can be quite damp and cold

Go on summer, seize the days, and take your hold!

OK, maybe a third-grader wouldn’t write that exactly, but I’m not going to wake mine up at this late hour just to get a more authentic example. You get the point.

Now we all know that boxing great Muhammad Ali was quite loquacious in his prime. In fact, his legacy maybe as far reaching in rap today as it is in the ring. The Champ fancied himself not only a fleet-footed, bantam-like basher with lightning quick fists, but also a taser-tongued talker – and, on certain occasions, something of a poet, too.

I recently came across this example of his early efforts (I believe it predates his later butterflies and bees work). The Godfather of Soul was a logical and worthy subject of inspiration to many back then and now (artistically at least) – even if “King James” did eventually devolve into a wild-haired, crack-addled, wife-abusing (yet still God-fearing!) convicted felon. So as evidenced below, like future generations, Ali's early poetical compositions employed the acrostic form:

Not the Deputy

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