Today’s News: The 3 Little Pigs

The Guardian recently published a two-minute video advertisement for it’s Open Journalism series that imagines how the story of The Three Little Pigs would be covered today if it were a news story.

The video (non embeddable) is both funny and scary in the degree to which it’s on the mark. View it here.

Crazy Cat Chops

I watched the Jeff Beck Rock and Roll Party DVD for the first time tonight. What a great DVD! As if one needed any confirmation of the magnitude of the affair (the guitar maestro in small NYC club honoring the music of Les Paul and others), the camera panning over the star-riddled audience was telling (David Bowie, Warren Haynes, Steven Van Zandt, Paul Shaffer and John McEnroe were just a few of the recognizable faces in the crowd).

Regardless of the stars in the crowd, Beck’s effortless dexterity and awesome chops were the center of all attention as he worked his fleet-fingered fretting and fancy finger-picking magic on several Gretsch, Fender and Gibson guitars – it’s not too often you see Beck playing a Les Paul, but the show, after all, was in legendary Les’ honor and staged at his home away from home, The Iridium Jazz Club.

The set was a nice combination of Jeff’s paying homage to two worthy guitar heroes: Gliff Gallup of Gene Vincent's Blue Caps and Les Paul, the latter represented here in this by famous Les Paul & Mary Ford tunes, presented with the able assistance of Imelda May, who came darn close to stealing the show (such is her charisma and vocal chops). When she wasn't convincingly channeling Mary Ford, she evoked an amalgamation of Billie Holiday, Ma Rainey and Janis Joplin. She drew attention even when just singing backing vocals.

I could go on and on about the many highlights and awesome guitar moments of all sorts on this DVD, but just check it out for yourself. You’ll have no trouble finding highlights of your own.

My cat dug this one, too!

Shock the Monkee to Life

I never anticipated doing a post about The Monkees on this blog. But the breadth of attention about today’s passing of the group’s Brit heart-throb, Davy Jones, has been surprising in the reactions it has elicited from a wide variety of sources – both professional and personal.

For me, it holds meaning mainly in that The Monkees were part of my very first introduction to pop music. Given the times (the early 1970s), they were a gestational checkpoint on a hard-to-avoid course. I inherited the group’s first two LP's from my older sister, and I remember digging a handful of their tunes – spinning them on my first record player, a blue-grey RCA flip top. (I’d now be tempted to quip: “Remember those?” except for the fact that my 17-year-old daughter just bought a record player, so they’re not quite time-capsule relics yet!)

Among the tunes that I remember “monkey-ing around” with – and which still hold up to varying degrees today depending on your perspective in the moment – were the band’s pop-rock classics “(I’m Not Your) Steppin’ Stone,” “Last Train to Clarksville,” “I’m a Believer” and “The Porpoise Song.” Then, of course, there was also the ludicrously elementary appeal of “Gonna Buy Me a Dog” and “Your Auntie Grizelda.”

OK, so, yes, it was hot-shit session musicians cranking out those tunes that the master songwriting duo Boyce & Hart delivered in bunches, but The Monkees were, in fact, musicians themselves – well, three out of the four were (ironically Jones, the most accomplished among the group in acting, was the least musical, contributing adequate backing vocals and tambourine, but excelling in the teen idol department). And, despite the group’s growing frustrations, the boys played along with the fame game – for a while.

The foundation of the whole premise – and where Jones, in particular, excelled – was The Monkees’ campy TV show, which was in syndication by the time I was viewing it, but it was still recent enough to merit frequent showing. Hence, I saw it quite often for a while there. (There were only a half dozen or so channels to choose from in the early ’70s!)

In recent years, there have been many interesting dissections of The Monkees’ phenomenon: the concept of a manufactured pop band, their revolt against the powers that created them and their musical talents. Among these, two stand out to me in terms of balancing the nostalgic fervor with the underlying issues:

• The excellent Sound Opinions podcast out of Chicago did an episode on these aspects in April 2011.

• Throwing Muses’ songstress and solo artist Kristen Hersh, who I’ve long admired, today posted a link to a lengthy and thoughtful blog post she did three years ago about the band. Though not about today’s news, her post (read it here) puts The Monkees’ real legacy in a perspective that is unknown or lost among many music fans.

And, in the end, didn’t everyone kind of want to say: “Screw you!” to Don Kirshner? The Monkees did it!

R.I.P., Davy

FURTHER:

• Not to be outdone, if you’re interested in more on The Monkees’ influence upon others, checkout this KEXP-FM collection of Monkees’ tunes videos from wide array of artists.

Sassy Stylin’ with that Open Tuning

It doesn’t matter how you do it, what comes out is what matters ...

Not quite sure where this is from, but check out this sister’s flamboyant strumming and tapping ... oh the joys of open-tuning! Who needs effects when you can do this. I like her sly attitude. She’s showing off (and knows it), but she’s not getting worked up about it either. Quite a jaunty, sportin’ little tune:

Waiting for the Worms .. or Not!

I came across several references to the same fascinating article in the past few days. The topic: “earworms” – that is, the commonplace reference for those occasions when you get a song, or a portion of a tune, stuck in your head. You know what I mean, people talk about it all the time.

Well, now apparently there’s some scientific perspective to ... ahhh ... clear the air, as it were ... or not! Check out this article from NPR’s The World on “Earworms: Tunes That Stick in Our Heads,” and the follow up detailing other NPR-staffers’ perspective on the topic.

Ironically, despite the seeming ubiquity of this phenomenon, this is not something I personally experience very often. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s because I listen to so much music there’s no space for earworms. Or maybe my head is just thick as a brick!