I wish I had a personal tailor so that he could make me a double-breasted suit coat with the pattern from this album sleeve. The suit coat would also have 3/4 sleeves and big, I mean freakin’ huge, shoulders and probably some gold buttons…maybe even with anchors on them. Then I’d go to the salon and purchase all of the Paul Mitchell hair products they had from this chick:
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Then I’d hop into my all white 1985 Mercedes 500SL with the AMG Package:
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Finally I’d pop the Pet Shop Boys into my Dolby Noise Reduction-enabled Becker Grand Prix tape deck:
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And listen to the West End Girls Dance Mix as I cruised down a palm tree-lined boulevard:
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And with that my 80′s summer day fantasy would be complete.
The majority of this album was recorded in the mountainous regions around Vancouver in 1974. Since the XXI Winter Olympics are currently unfolding in the same terrain I figured it’s a perfect time to post A Royal Hudson.
With the exception of small tourist getups, I’ve never seen a steam train muscling its way through the countryside. I can only imagine, after listening to this album, that it must be a heavy spectacle. The way the steel beast roars and echoes through the mountain passes on A Royal Hudson can at times be terrifying.
While listening to this I kept imagining that I was an injured baby fawn, perhaps with a split hoof and a mother killed by an unlicensed hunter, trapped on the tracks over the Capilano River–unable to move or comprehend what strange, fire-breathing monster laid in wait around the bend. The fear was overwhelming but thankfully the end will be quick. I hope.
**Album Notes From the Back Liner
Side 1
(1) 5:52
Ferry boat horns,sea gulls, and other delightful park woods sounds abound in this early October 1974 morning, as No. 2860, a beautifully restored ex-Canadian Pacific Royal Hudson, departs the North Vancouver area, northbound forSquamish. Our quadraphonic microphone is located just west of the Capilano River bridge that separates North Vancouver from West Vancouver.
(2) 3:46
The breathtakingly beautiful mountains that surround Squamish, B.C., provide a unique echo chamber for the whistle of Royal Hudson No. 2860, as she heads southbound of North Vancouver.
(3) 4:25
Kew Road in West Vancouver, a very fashionable suburb of the greater Vancouver area, plays host to the 4-6-4 daily during the Summer months except Tuesdays. What fun!
(4) 1:38
North Britannia, deep rockwall cut, and a 2% grade provide the stage, Engineer Frank Smith coaxes the star, and the result? A stellar performance by the object of just about everybody’s affection.
(5) 2:52
Burkehill Road, West Vancouver, first No. 2860 works her way over the crossing and past our microphone location. But then do we detect second No. 2860, on another track perhaps? About the only way we can describe this entire band, “twice is nice.”
Side 2
A cab ride! Yep, almost as good as leaning out the right hand side of the cab window yourself, and waving to everybody who turned out to see a Royal Hudson steam and whistle by today.
Your very own right hand seat box trip will include–
The air test and time signal over two way radio at North Vancouver;
pulling out of North Vancouver Station;
crossing the Capilano River bridge entering West Vancouver;
on the northbound grade from milepost 6-7 and 8-10;
the North Britannia grade through two tunnels yet.
All of the sequences noted above, have been edited or otherwise condensed from over one hour of actual recorded time, into twenty-one minutes of pure joy.
Important Special Notice
The British Columbia Ry. Observes all rules and regulations prescribed in the Uniform Code of Railway Operating Rules for Canada. However, certain liberties were taken during the actual recording scenes, particularly with the whistle signals; which are meant solely as entertainment and does not imply improper adherence to the Uniform Code by the British Columbia Ry.
If you take a look behind Mr. Triangular Turban, the one right there leaking digital flesh, you’ll notice the background resembles a Magic Eye poster. You remember, Magic Eye, the artwork you saw at mall kiosks during the 90′s. The first time you saw those curious technicolored splatters you didn’t really know what to make of them. The Kiosk Master sensed your bewilderment and explained, “Um they’re a hidden 3D picture, kind of. You sort of have to look through them or past them…or something. I think that one’s a dolphin jumping over a desert island. I think.” So you tried to stare through them. You also crossed your eyes, wiggled them, gouged them repeatedly because of your inability to see the hidden dolphin and his high-flying acrobatics.
Pleasures of the deep.
Then, just as you were about to kick the Kiosk Master in the nuts, the sea mammal and his sick air came into view. Oh, the beauty you beheld. Yes, it was just the outline of the dolphin and it wasn’t really the actual color of a dolphin and it gave you a terrible headache but it was AWESOME. It was like stepping into a whole ‘nother dimension where simply-shaped environments prevail and taste accounts for nothing: A dimension called The Tri-County Mall Foodcourt. With this freeing feeling about your person you confidently worked down the gallery lineup. Pyramids at Giza, Statue of Liberty, Bald Eagle over Star-Spangled Banner, Confused Pug Puppy in Easter basket….each one outdoing its predecessor. It left you with terrifying anticipation. You thought, “If we’re making Magic Eyes now in ’93 there’s no telling what 3D beast we will unleash come 2k.”
Pleasures of the deepest.
… Well, 2000 only brought retinal tears and activated gag reflexes within the stereogram universe. Sorry.
*Side Note: This album reminds me of The Moody Blues trapped in a Magic Eye poster with Four Loko Caffeinated Malt Alcohol-drinking narwhals as their transportation through a green lightning sea. I’m gonna grab a bottle of Old Grand Dad Bonded and jump in head first.
Remixes fantastique from the French getup Phoenix. I always anticipate their releases with great worry…always worrying they’re just one LP away from breaking my heart.
This is because I used to worry they were bitter that Cincinnati put a bad taste in their mouths after their performance at The Southgate House several years back. Because of this, I feared, they would only send us special Cincinnati Remixes with fart sounds replacing the vocals, similar to what Guster did with their album Keep It Together in 2003.
Back then Cincy was, even more so than now, in this terrible hipster-concert-audience-funk where everyone would shift their weight to one leg, put their hands in their pockets and do their best Helen Keller impersonation. Phoenix kept doing their darndest to get the audience involved by addressing them directly in French accents, “Hello, this is our first time in Le Kentucky, we will play our guitars very best with strong hearts,” but the knit-capped, sleepy-eyed crowd weren’t having it. I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarassed by an anonymous rabble.
So, they’ll probably never come back. Cincy put on a poor performance but so far Phoenix hasn’t returned the favor. I’m seriously surprised they still send vinyl to this market. Maybe they saw me fainting over and over from audience-induced melancholy up in the balcony and took pity. Yeah, that must be it.
This is the album that shepherded me into the rolling knolls of Vinyl Hunters Valley. This is because it causes the most mysterious synaptic firings within my squishy grey matter. Makes my temples swell with a pleasing uneasiness. Causes mysterious pockets within my loins to quake and flutter.
It's my HEAD, Schwartz, it's MY HEAD!
OK, so basically I have no idea what it does to me but I’m certain it transmits some sort of ultrasonic frequency that says, “GO ON EBAY AND BUY A TURNTABLE RIGHT NOW. NOT LATER, NOW. TURN OFF COPS, YOU’VE SEEN THIS EPISODE, GUY, BUY ONE NOW.” So I did and never looked back.
Despite the fact that I love, love, love this album I’ve been avoiding reviewing it here because it’s difficult to capture the essence with letters. Most stereoponies love to saddle the “Trip Hop” label onto this album but that does it no justice whatsoever. That term conjures the visions of hippies listening to hip hop, smoking a big J and spouting, “whoa man this rap groove is, like, so trippy. It’s totally gnarring my buzz, man.” While this album will most likely multiply and sassify marijuana-induced intoxication it’s so unfair to tie it to pot culture. Endtroducing would never, EVER get caught dead in patchwork corduroy pants.
Our youth are under attack.
Other bucking vinylbroncos like to describe the album by mentioning Endtroducing’s ingredients: hip hop, jazz, psychedelia, movie dialogue, television show trialogue, percussion samples etc. However none of these phonocowboys can ever really capture this wild one. True, you get a flavor of each along the winding train ride through British Columbia that is Endtroducing but it’s so much more than bits and pieces. It’s like describing your favorite pizza to a friend and saying, “Yeah man I had this awesome food today it was, like, a bit of tomato, flour, a touch of salt and some, like, I think cheese.” Those ingredients are all fine and good but separately they wouldn’t do an Adriatico’s Bearcat Pizza justice just like calling this album a fusion of genres is a crime. The sum is much greater than the parts.
I think, maybe, this album is like watching the most beautiful little bubble you ever saw. You can watch it dance on the wings of an invisible wind but as soon as you try to capture the damn thing in your hands it’s gone. You’ve taken your dirty little paws and ruined such a magical, delicate thing. You should be ashamed of yourself. We were all having such a wonderful time watching that little orb. Next time chill out, stop trying to bottle it up and just behold its angelic splendor while the gettin’s good.
"From listening to records I just knew what to do...mainly I taught myself. And you know I did pretty well...there were a few mistakes that I have just recently cleared up. I'd just like to continue to be able to express myself as best as I can. I feel like I have a lot of work to do still. I'm a student of the drums and I'm also a teacher of the drums too. And I would like to be able to continue to let what is inside of me, which comes from all of the music that I hear, I'd like for that to come out, and it's like it's not really me...the music's coming through me."
What’s truly incredible about Endtroducing is how it was composed. You have to remember that this was created in 1996 and if anyone even had a laptop it could maybe hold a gigabyte of files, if you were lucky and rich. In addition, music manipulation software like AudioMulch or Adobe Audition hadn’t been invented yet. So, Shadow had to use an Akai MPC-60 music sampler/beat machine to cut, splice, and melt his tracks together. If you then take into consideration exactly how much trial and error of listening to thousands of big vinyl discs it took to find the necessary sounds for the album it becomes evident that either a miracle was performed in the making of Endtroducing or Shadow’s some sort of DJ genius. I prefer to believe the latter, especially after taking watching the following video.
So if you haven’t heard this album, regardless of what music you’re into, you need to get in the boat and get your float on. If you’re a fan you can always use a higher quality rip. And, if you really want to get deep, pick up the vinyl and take a voyage into the continental divide…of your mind!!!!
The story of Elvis’ earliest music inklings is pretty quaint – just a small town teenager looking to make a record as a present for his mammy one hot summer day in 1953. What if he had decided to just buy her a Hallmark card instead and hadn’t strolled into Sun Records? Who would people be impersonating? Johnny Cash? God rest your soul, Mr. Cash, but it’s not as much fun dressing up in a black suit as it is a gold fringe and sequin onesie for Halloween.
"Hello, I'm not Johnny Cash."
It’s funny to think that the legend of the King of Rock of Roll was born in a little rink-a-dink R & B studio in Memphis. Most of the music stars you see today were run through child slavery media bootcamps like Disney or Nickelodeon and the like. But Elvis was just a hillbilly from Tupelo, Mississippi who was too dumb to know that he wasn’t supposed to be the most influential American musician of all time. Then again, Jesus was birthed in a manger full of goats, pigs and bed bugs so I guess the greats have to start somewhere.
Check out this excerpt on the King’s beginnings from the record sleeve:
Though Sam C. Phillips had been producing local R & B hit records since 1950,he used to boast to his competitors that, if he could find a young white singer who could sound and feel like a negro, he would make a billion dollars.
In 1954 Phillips discovered such a singer but, the most that he ever made was $35,000 when he sold both Elvis Presley’s recording contract and the tapes that constitute this album to RCA-Victor.
In Terms of commerciality, these 16 sides may not have been the most successful rock ‘n’ roll records ever releases but, beyond any doubt, they proved to be the most innovative. Other artists may lay claim to having cut the first bona fide rock single (Jackie Brenston’s Rocket 88 Chess 1458), but truly, this is where it all began.
Phillips’ ultimate ambition may have been to become a millionaire, but when Elvis Presley parked his Ford Pick-up truck outside the memphis Recording Service at 706, Union Avenue one hot summer’s afternoon in 1953, his only desire was to own the snazziest car in town. Within two short years, Presley was to take delivery of the first, of what was to quickly become, a fleet of Cadillacs. The events that let up to Prsley being signed to the Sun label may have all the basic cornball ingredients of a low-budget rock ‘n’ roll B-movie, but these are the facts as we know them.
Sun Records wa a local label which used to either sell or lease independently produced R & B masters to major companies at a very small profit. To boost its economy, the Memphis Recording Service was a lucrative subsidiary which specialised in recording weddings, club meetings, and anyone who wanted to preserve their amateur talent on wax.
Running the Memphis recording Service was Marion Keisker who, had quite recently abdicated her position as Miss Radio of Memphis, in order to collect the four dollar Service charged to cut a double-sided 10-inch acetate. Business was always brisk, and so when Elvis Presley – who was still employed as a $42 a week truck driver for the Crown Electric Company – stopped by one Saturday afternoon he was obliged to join the queue of local starstruck hilljacks and precocious pubescents waiting their moment of glory in the studio.
Cincinnati Metro was blanketed with 5 inches of fluffy snow this morning and afternoon. The doomsday-loving weathermen told me it’s supposed to snow shower again this evening. So, I figured I’d post this album because it’s a perfect soundtrack for watching the birth of a wintry mix.
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Get comfy, turn up the warmly glowing McIntosh Tube Amp-driven system I assume you all own and behold the beautiful dance of tiny, frozen ballerinas outside of your listening room window to the soothing sounds of M83.
This past Saturday I went to the RJD2 show at Southgate House in Newport, KY. It’s my favorite venue for a number of reasons: it’s a big converted creepy mansion reminiscent of The Munster’s crib, it usually has three shows playing at a time on various levels and it has the best quality sound system within a 100 mile radius. Also, by sheer coincidence they were playing Ray Charles on the patio’s PA system the night he passed so it will always hold a special place in my heart.
Anyway between sets filled with nose-tickling bass the title track from Blackalicious’ Blazing Arrow came on over the PA in the ballroom. Instantly it took me back to 2002 when I was heavy into the underground hip hop scene. Back when I was gobbling up anything coming out of Anticon Records, attending Scribble Jam in the summers and wearing Puma knit caps. I think it went hand in hand with attempting to become one with the decrepit urban landscape of Cincinnati. Wanting to become grittier…more legit if you will.
Over time I strayed from the heart of the hip hop scene. For a long time I thought that I was just growing up but on Saturday night, standing there in the middle of the ballroom of Southgate House amidst the odd mix of hipsters, hippies and oafish frat dudes, I began to reassess my hip hop position throughout the bubbling jaunt that is “Blazing Arrow.” Had I been wrong about hiding this double LP away in the bottom of my crates?
Well, after cleaning off the layers of resin that had accumulated on these discs from my days non-stop bong ripping, I took a listen and can tell you that I was so very wrong for letting this vinyl fester. This is one of the most completely balanced albums that I own. Usually with hip hop from earlier in the decade you get one mood. With Jurassic Five you got fun old school lyrically-driven hip hop. With Talib Kweli you got the real deep shit that made you contemplate the direction of your soul. Sage Francis just creeped you out, like being inside a musty old sleeping bag as a stranger tickles you from within the darkness. Each artist chose to go their own way and we were ok with that.
But with Blazing Arrow you got a little bit of everything. And surprisingly all corners of their musically mansion were tastefully adorned…exquisitely even. There’s never a point in this album where you don’t believe the artist’s ability to work this or that particular flow. It also helps that Blackalicious collaborates with Chali 2NA, Lateef The Truth Speaker, Chief Xcel, DJ Shadow, Hi-Tek, Ben Harper, Cut Chemist, DJ Babu, Zack de La Rocha, Saul Williams, Lyrics Born and plenty of others on this disc.
As I stated before the title track is just a poppin’ and skippin’ number that you can’t help to bob your head to. If you listen to it and your head ain’t moving, and your head ain’t in traction, then you’ve got serious groove problems. Then you go to tracks like “Chemical Calisthenics” where the word conveyor belt goes haywire at the lyric plant and verbs, adjectives, solubles, and isotopes flood the boiler room. On side 4 Blackalicious takes you real, real deep down into your subconscious with the psyche-shattering “Release Part 1, 2, & 3″.
It skips all of the touristy section of the city and hits up the hottest club, the holiest mosque and the dirtiest whore house. It takes you everywhere you need to go to become a true citizen of the Hip Hop Nation, even if aren’t comfortable with your new surroundings at first. Don’t worry, you’ll eventually settle right in.
It makes me sad that I neglected this masterpiece for such a long time. Luckily my ears are still working and I can make up for the lost time. Just don’t make the same mistake I did.
Traditional history tells that this ballet is something of a rabble rouser. Apparently when Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring premiered on May 29, 1913 at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées in Paris it incited a full-blown riot. As the story goes, early 20th century Europeans simply weren’t ready for such radical orchestral debauchery. The syncopation, the amelodic jaunts through the underbrush, the virgins performing fatal pirouettes to the tune of violently stabbing strings were all too much.
Stravinsky’s own description of the piece sums up why everyone was so riled: ” I saw in imagination a solemn pagan rite: sage elders, seated in a circle, watched a young girl dance herself to death. They were sacrificing here to propitiate the god of Spring.” I mean these people were expecting Swan Lake and they got Mad Max and the Thunderdome. The French still hold Mel Gibson responsible to this day.
Dancing pleases dragon. Spring comes again.
Reportedly all hell broke loose at the theatre almost immediately. Men were fist fighting in the aisles, Dandies were slapping each other with soft leather gloves…giggling wildly upon each blow, and full-figured women in corsets fainted in their seats, only to be revived by comically large Chinese fans. It was an eruption of pissed off Parisians that lasted until World War I began over a year later.
Ok, so not really. It only lasted one night at the premiere. And no one really knows the exact reason why it ruffled so many feathers. Some say it was because Stravinsky’s movement was too avant garde for the simple minds of the time. Others say it’s a reflection of the contentious atmosphere that permeated every level of European society in the days leading up to The Great War.
Violin and Bassoon Proof Masks
However, I believe that the real catalyst could have been something really stupid. If you get enough drunk assholes together in one location a single spark can fuel an inferno. All it takes is for a college team from Michigan to win or lose a title game and half of the Midwest goes aflame. Similarly, one butt rock douchebag can have a sore throat and downtown Montreal will turn into a pile of broken glass and broken French Canadians. Yes, I’m talking about you Axel Rose. I hate your guts.
People just love burning couches and throwing ‘bos for little or no reason.
That car was a Buckeyes fan.
So I’m thinking that the Rites of Spring Riot really wasn’t the significant social turning point that historians want it to be. What probably happened is that the concession stands didn’t serve vodka, only merlot, and Stravinsky completely flipped his wig. In typical Russian alcoholic fashion he proceeded to insult the general dress and physical appearance of everyone in line around him.
This incensed a few French fellows quite intensely. One guy in particular totally starting raging because he just had his mustache waxed and it looked so badass. I mean it was totally curled and everything like Captain Hook in the movie Hook, starring Robin Williams and Dustin Hoffman, but like ten, no a hundred times cooler. Consequently he started to roll up his sleeves and in his haste one cuff link went flying.
This little bugger flew approximately 15 yards out toward the lobby and into some poor sap’s wine glass which caused red wine to spill on Baron Du Champ’s mistress’s new powder blue evening dress and boom, the shit hit the fan.
So Stravinsky really did cause the riot but not because he moved the audience musically…he was just a real big jerk with a drinking problem.
