In celebration of her smartly titled recent solo album, Fierce Bliss, Goldmine asked classic rock icon Ann Wilson to divulge the meaning behind the titles of a few albums by her old band Heart.
Magazine (1977)
“Magazine was my idea. There was a whole theme behind it, where all the songs were going to be like articles in a magazine all tied together. There was going to be a booklet that was shot like a really cool artistic fashion magazine. And not just fashion, but news and stuff like that that we would make up. It was a whole project, but then the legal thing happened and we never got to make good on it. But that was a really good idea. The Magazine album did end up coming out but it was kind of piecemeal.”
Sometimes the spell of enchantment cast by a band’s music belies the tumult of the creative process.
The Left Banke, led by 17-year-old songwriter/pianist/whiz kid Michael Brown and his father, producer/arranger Harry Lookofsky, pioneered so-called baroque pop with a pair of gorgeous mid-60’s hits–“Walk Away Renee” and “Pretty Ballerina”–inlaid with the sounds of harpsichord, woodwinds, and a small string section.
The music was as innovative as it was sublime.
But the band’s short lifespan is testament to the fact that all was not harmonious in the studio.
Brown left during the recording of their second album, frustrated by the challenges of reproducing their complex sound live with young and inexperienced bandmates.
And his bandmates were frustrated with Brown, who wasn’t the easiest guy to get along with.
But like other bands who produced enduring and seminal work, the Left Banke had an extended afterlife, including short-lived reunions, one-off singles and even commercial jingles.
Strangers On a Train (titled Voices Calling in Britain) was recorded sans Brown by the remaining trio of vocalist Steve Martin-Caro, drummer George Cameron and bassist Tim Finn. The recordings are from 1978, though the album didn’t see release until ten years later.
Finn had signed a publishing deal with Camex music and recruited his former bandmates to fill out his demos at the suggestion of the company, who encouraged him to turn it into a Left Banke project.
It’s notable that Finn never considered the recordings to be “finished” even when released in ’86 under the Left Banke name.
George Cameron, Steve Martin-Caro, Tom Finn
That said, Strangers On a Train is worth hearing for fans of Badfinger, Big Star and even the Raspberries.
“Hold On Tight” could be an Eric Carmen power pop rave-up from ’72.
“And One Day” is a delicate, heart-tugging ballad of lost love featuring Martin-Caro’s McCartney-esque delivery.
And “Only My Opinion” lands squarely in Badfinger/Big Star territory, with tasty guitar fills and plaintive vocals.
The 2022 re-release of the album includes 6 additional tracks–Michael Brown demos recorded with Steve Martin-Caro on vocals–offering a tantalizing glimpse at what might have been had the band reunited one last time.
A moot point since Steve Martin-Caro and Tom Finn died in 2020, following George Cameron’s passing in 2018 and Michael Brown’s in 2015.
But the 1978 recordings–despite Michael Brown’s absence and the fact that the band had moved on from its trademark 60’s baroque pop adornments–sounds like a lost piece of the 70’s pop rock story.
If you miss that sound and have worn out your too-small collection of Badfinger and Big Star records, here’s some new old music for you.
Fifty years ago, in June 1972, Richard Thompson released his first solo album, the magnificent Henry the Human Fly. It sounded like a record of British folk standards, but Richard had written the songs himself.
Several lazy months later, Warner Brothers issued Henry the Human Fly in the States. A handful of folkie “weirdos” – Richard’s term – snatched up copies. It may be the poorest-selling record in Warner history.
“As rare as hen’s teeth,” Richard said, in an interview with AllMusic. “Promoted zero, and not a suitable record for the American audience, really, because it’s far too parochial, far too British. Worst-selling ever, in which I take great pride.”
Kings of Convenience: “I Don’t Know What I Can Save You From” (2001)
From Kevin Maidment’s Amazon.com album review:
Although Kings of Convenience are keen to play down any blatantly self-evident similarities to Nick Drake, Simon and Garfunkel, and Belle and Sebastian, the winsome and placidity-favoring Norwegian duo of Erlend Oye and Eirik Glambek Boe have probably already got the subway buskers of tomorrow lining up to lend an ear. Studentlike in appearance (one of them has a duffel coat and John Major specs) and unashamed to softly impart such nonrock lyrics as “put the kettle on” and “using The Guardian as a shield to cover my thighs against the rain,” the weightless and airy acoustic guitar muse of Quiet Is the New Loud isn’t a million miles from Radiohead’s “Nice Dream” or Pink Floyd’s “If” with a subliminal swish of bossa-nova rhythm. A contentedly purring cello, a plaintive touch of piano, and the muffled sound of a trumpet add necessary sonic depth, and the results are as pleasant and civilized as a little light conversation over tea in the drawing room. But what a shame they chose to name themselves after a lavatory.
George had an affair with Ringo’s wife, Maureen. It went on for months. Apple exec Peter Brown first wrote about it in “The Love You Make” in the 1980s, and band members and associates who commented dismissed his work as sensationalistic trash. It wasn’t: truth was a defense. Then Pattie Harrison wrote about the affair in her book about 20 years later (“Wonderful Tonight”), after speaking with Ringo first…
Every Moment Has A Song 