Songs You May Have Missed #110

sam

Sam Phillips: “I Need Love” (1994)

Sam Phillips started out making power pop, then morphed sometime subsequent to this album into a singer with a sparer, artsier sound. I do prefer the power pop phase, especially this one.

See also: https://edcyphers.com/2013/06/01/songs-you-may-have-missed-423/

Songs You May Have Missed #109

harrison

George Harrison: “Love Comes to Everyone” (1979)

Lead track from 1979’s self-titled album, which was something of a comeback for Harrison after a case of writer’s block (and perhaps some residual bitterness over losing the “He’s So Fine”/”My Sweet Lord” lawsuit) (get it–“residual”?) kept him from the studio for a couple years. This cut, one of my favorites of his non-singles, established the airy, positive vibe that pervades the album.

Songs You May Have Missed #108

avett

The Avett Brothers: “Shame” (2007)

We can all learn from failed love. The good thing is it can make us more sensitive people. The sad thing it’s usually too late to apply the lessons to the lost relationship.

Glen Campbell: I Came, I Saw, I Cheered…I Cried a Little Too

Tonight I saw Glen Campbell on the Pittsburgh stop of his Goodbye Tour. I went there fully expecting to be sad…I planned to be sad, and was okay with it. And sad was one of the emotions I experienced. But I also felt thrilled, amazed, amused, touched and blessed.

I bought the ticket for other reasons than the desire to feel sad, among them the fact that I’ve always had a soft spot for the masterpieces of pop (many written by Jimmy Webb) that Campbell gave us. My father too was a fan before me. I figured the price of a couple tickets was the least I could do to say thanks, on behalf of myself and my dad, for the lifetime of great music.

But I feel the “sad” needs some explanation, because when I told some people I was going to see Glen Campbell, who suffers from moderate-stage Alzheimer’s disease and is soon to retire from music, they didn’t understand why I’d want to see something so sad. The reason became clear to me right around the time the Rhinestone Cowboy sang his last-ever Pittsburgh encore, “A Better Place”, the song in the above video. So let me explain:

My late-starting concert-going career (I was a high school senior when I saw my first show) cost me the chance to see many of the bands I grew up listening to while they were at their peak of popularity. Since attending concerts has become more of a passion in the second half of my life, I’ve seen bands well past their prime on many, many occasions. Of course, I wonder how it would have been to see Yes in ’72 or the Who’s original lineup, or the Dark Side of the Moon tour, but I’ve actually become aware of a certain attraction in seeing the same artists in their present, geriatric stage. It’s partly because I have no choice, of course. But it’s something else too.

Tonight I came to a fuller realization of what draws me to see artists in decline: it’s truer art.

If a musician is an artist (and he is of course) and one of the purposes of art is to help us to see something about ourselves (and it is of course) then the aging, well past his prime musician has as much to “say” as the pop star at the peak of his powers. It’s a different something, but equally valid. And he says it not only in his lyrics, but with his performance.

My dad taught me countless things at many stages of my life. And as his health declined and then he passed away almost a decade ago, he taught me something else: how to die. I hadn’t seen it done before, except by grandparents when I was too young to relate. But I knew my dad. He was close. And I thought he was as immortal as…me. And so as he died (with all the customary dignity with which he lived) he gave me a needed frame of reference about the process.

Worthwhile music informs our frame of reference in much the same way. Life is art, art is life. We can learn about aging, loneliness, melancholy and acceptance of fate from a lyric. Or we can see it in the performer onstage.

Glen Campbell spent 90 minutes or so showing me that even after you need a teleprompter to sing the lyrics, you can be an unbelievable guitarist. He showed me that you can do amazing things despite the wicked curveballs life throws you, especially if you have your family nearby (three of his children are actually in his touring band).

He showed me some of the same things I see each time Steve Howe walks onstage before my eyes and my brain must once again extend its comprehension of how old a rock guitarist can look and still shred it up…or when I see the two female backup singers added to a band’s lineup to get the high notes the barrel-chested lead singer once reached with ease…or when Robert Plant shows the good judgment not to reunite with Jimmy Page and call it Led Zeppelin…or when I see Roger Daltrey wearing a shirt. Artist growing old aren’t really sad unless they’re trying to act like they’re still 22. In fact, some are just growing into their songs. But they find a way to go on as artists, just as we all must find ways to go on, as whatever we may be.

Yeah, I felt a little like I was in Branson tonight, amidst the baldies and blue-hairs. But that was okay, because it was Glen freaking Campbell onstage, and I was lucky to be watching him. He’s a legend to me. Like my dad. And his courage in being up there, and his willingness to see it all through, and the poignancy of the songs all combined to move me in a deeper way than if I’d decided to see the Avett Brothers tonight instead.

Sad is great art. Glen Campbell’s songs always seemed beautifully sad to me. But all the more so now that he personifies beautiful sadness. And since the years have piled some sadness on me. I get Glen Campbell now. Because there’s been a load of compromisin’ on the road to my horizon, too.

Video

The Forgotten Hits: 70’s Soft Rock

Every era and genre of music has songs that were popular in their day, but whose footprints have been washed from the sand over time. Our goal in this series of posts is to resurrect their memory; to help in a small way to reverse the process of the “top tenning” of oldies formats, which reduce hit makers from previous decades to their most popular song or two and then overplay them until you almost loathe an artist you used to enjoy (think “Sweet Caroline” or “Don’t Stop Believin'”).

I’ll be citing the Billboard pop charts for reference. Billboard Hot 100 charts of the 60’s and 70’s were a much more accurate reflection of a song’s popularity, before there were so many other ways for a song to enter the public consciousness (reflected by the number of pop charts Billboard now uses). It was an era when radio ruled–before a car commercial, social music sharing site, or Glee were equally likely ways for a song to break through.


The genre of 70’s so-called “Soft Rock” is particularly littered with these “forgotten” songs–perhaps because many people would like to forget the genre entirely. Be that as it may, let’s exhume some hit songs…

Player

Player: “This Time I’m in it For Love”

#10 in 1978

Player are, in the perception of most, one-hit wonders. Clearly this is an ignorant and dismissive view of this talented California band. They were actually two-hit wonders.

Their 1977 number one single “Baby Come Back” is often mistaken for a Hall & Oates song because of its similarity to their hit “She’s Gone”. “Baby Come Back” is not only an oldies perennial, but has been sampled in at least nine R&B and rap songs from the 80’s to the present day.

“Baby Come Back”:

“This Time I’m in it for Love” is Player’s #10 follow-up from ’78. Is it familiar?


Ambrosia

Ambrosia: “Holdin’ On to Yesterday”

#17 in 1975

Radio has tossed aside, somewhat ironically, this 1975 paean to nostalgia and #17 hit.

Ambrosia are best known for two songs that both reached the number three position, 1978’s “How Much I Feel” and “Biggest Part of Me”, which peaked in early 1980.

“How Much I Feel”:

“Biggest Part of Me”:


Elan

Firefall: “Strange Way”

#11 in 1978

Firefall similarly had three major singles, only two of which seemed to survive the decade, 1976’s “You Are the Woman” (#9) and 1977’s “Just Remember I Love You” (#11).

But they were followed by another hit in ’78, that being “Strange Way”. Like Ambrosia’s “Holdin’ On to Yesterday” it’s a slower-paced ballad than the others. Perhaps music programmers prefer to stick more to uptempo oldies, figuring their listeners have enough trouble staying awake at their advanced age…

“You Are the Woman”:

“Just Remember I Love You”:


FOREVER LP (VINYL) UK INFINITY 1979

Orleans: “Love Takes Time”

#11 in 1979

“Love Takes Time” is one you may not have heard in a while. Crack it open like a vintage wine.

Orleans also hit the top 40 three times, with one of the three qualifying as a forgotten hit. “Dance With Me” (#6 in ’75) and “Still the One” (#5 in ’76) are still staples of oldies radio, the latter in particular having found a cultural niche as an anthem of relationship permanence.

“Dance With Me”:

“Still the One”:


Gary Wright: “Love is Alive”

#2 in 1976

Gary Wright had one timeless classic, that being 1976’s #2 hit “Dream Weaver”. Its immediate follow-up, “Love is Alive” also charted at #2, but hasn’t fared as well on oldies playlists, despite some mean cowbell and a bass line that you’d think rappers would find sample-rific.

“Dream Weaver”:


Epic Willie

Wet Willie: “Street Corner Serenade”

#30 in 1978

Wet Willie had one top ten moment. “Keep On Smilin'” charted at #10 in 1974 and survives not only on oldies radio but classic rock formats, due to the band’s status as a southern rock band (I’m like whatever). Anyway, it’s a nice bit of positive philosophy in a soft rock package, and deserves its continued popularity.:

“Keep On Smilin'”:

Mostly forgotten by radio but not by graying pop fans is their 1977 hit “Street Corner Serenade”, which is one of those songs whose modest chart performance (#30) belies its beloved status. It blends its arrangement and subject matter perfectly in a tribute to doo wop street corner singing, and has one killer chorus–right up there among such 70’s hits as “Drift Away” and “Thunder Island”.


Goodbye Girl

David Gates: “Took the Last Train”

#30 in 1978

David Gates, lead singer and songwriter of so many soft rock classics with Bread, had one enduring hit as a solo artist. 1977’s #15 “Goodbye Girl”, from the movie of the same name, is assured of everlasting popularity, mainly because the song is just so sad.

“Goodbye Girl”:

Not so Gates’ follow-up single, from the same LP, the #30 “Took the Last Train”. This tale of a one-night stand on the French Riviera almost sounds like a Michael Franks tune–pretty jazzy for Mr. Gates. I’m sure I never heard it on the radio once the 70’s ended. Hopefully you’ll recall it fondly.


If you’ve read this far you probably share to a degree my fascination with the syndrome of the forgotten hit. I don’t know why some hits endure and others fade away. But I do know oldies radio would be much more interesting if programmers dared to play top 40 that really went as deep as the #40 position, because some great songs lay between numbers ten and forty. Yet formats are fixed in top ten-only cement. This is a financially driven decision, of course: it’s a risk to play a song that doesn’t quite have the same proven (top ten) track record. Out of fear of you the listener (in 70’s terms) turning the dial, they bore you to death.

This “top-tenning” of oldies radio also skews the perspective of younger listeners, who may never come to realize that the Temptations had thirty-eight top 40 hits, while the Four Tops had twenty-three. Why play “Hey Girl (I Like Your Style)” when you can play “My Girl” again? Why play “You Keep Running Away” when you can play the unofficial anthem of oldies radio, “It’s the Same Old Song”?

Songs You May Have Missed #107

kiwa

Michael Kiwanuka: “I’m Getting Ready” (2012)

Of course these things are purely a matter of personal preference. But often “religious” music, with its tone of confident declamation, can leave me uninspired, whereas a more “secular” lyric expressing the humility of a searching soul can move me to tears. Sometimes it takes an artist who isn’t by definition a “religious” or “Christian” singer to put that searching across authentically.

Michael Kiwanuka is a British soul singer who may bring Bill Withers and “Dock of the Bay” Otis Redding to mind. If he doesn’t sound British, it’s because he’s the son of Ugandan parents who’d fled to England from the Amin regime.

The song’s message is as simple as it is profound–and takes the tone not of a sermon, but of a diary entry:

Oh my, I didn’t know what it means to believe/Oh my, I didn’t know what it means to believe
But if I hold on tight, is it true?/Would You take care of all that I do?/Oh Lord, I’m getting ready to believe

Previous Older Entries Next Newer Entries