I saw Living Colour earlier this week, and have been on a kick ever since. I thought it would be a good nostalgia show, and it was--their energy and musicianship is always first rate. But the songs also held up much better than I remembered. "Cult of Personality" is deservedly a classic, but the range of tracks they performed from Vivid and Time's Up made me wonder why both of those records are underrated in 2014.
My co-attendee commented on how surprisingly diverse their influences are, and that may have something to do with it. A band that covers Robert Johnson, Talking Heads, "Amazing Grace," MC5 and James Brown all in the same night is bound to alienate someone. The hipsters who know "Cult of Personality" probably lump it in with Megadeth and the other thrash metal bands they ignore, and headbangers who bought Vivid likely wanted more meat and potatoes rocking. But for those of us who enjoy more than one type of music, Living Colour offers a plethora of riches.
"Solace of You," from Time's Up, sounds like it could have been written and recorded for Paul Simon's Graceland. Living Colour are often wrongly described as "funk metal" (or worse, rap-metal) by people who don't know how to handle the individuality of an all-black rock band. But more so, Living Colour gave metal a stronger sense of African-American tropes and history than any other band, exhibited by the American Afrobeat of "Solace of You." Not only did they bring something to the game that distinguished them from Metallica and Guns N' Roses, but they beat (and bested) Vampire Weekend and tUnE-yArDs to these polyrythms by about 18 years.
If AC/DC just sat there onstage while a tape played "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap," "T.N.T.," "You Shook Me All Night Long," "Back in Black" and "Highway to Hell," they'd still earn consideration for this list. But as anyone who has seen The Who this century can tell you, playing great songs does not make you a great live band.
40 years into one of the most incredible careers in audio history, AC/DC are still claiming metal's greatest dancer, swinging from the clappers of Hell's Bells, giving us a Whole Lotta Rosie and leaving everything in their wake Thunderstruck. Getting had, getting took and telling folks it's harder than it looks.
By working their way into the 200 Million Sold club without ever deviating from the harder-than-hard rock formula that made them famous, AC/DC makes success look as easy as "The Jack." Then again, nobody has ever played those three chords with the kind of gleeful punch that Angus gives them, not to mention the wildman blues-metal freakout solo that often takes over "Let There Be Rock." The most famous Keith Richards quote about his guitars ("Give me five
minutes and I'll make 'em all sound the same") can be applied to Angus
Young. But give his admirers four decades, and none of them will sound
like him.
No great guitarist this side of Prince has made his instrument such an enthralling part of his performance, without taking away from the playing. Watching Angus Young with a Gibson is akin to watching James Brown with a microphone stand. "I'm a rotten guitar player if I'm standing still," Angus has said, and while I don't believe it, you can tell that he does.
AC/DC does not have many of peers, but even the ones who come closest are put to shame by AC/DC's show. They're not pretending to like each other (Aerosmith, Van Halen,) physically ravaged by their decades of drug abuse (Black Sabbath, Mötley Crüe) or dressing up their guitarist to look like the guy they kicked out (KISS, Guns N' Roses). AC/DC prefer to keep their drama beneath them, where it belongs. They continue to set examples for all younger artists, meaning nearly everyone, and meaning nobody who puts on a show like these guys do.
My sister is a costume designer who knows more about clothes than I do about music. She's responsible for most of my wardrobe that isn't band t-shirts, so the least I can do is send her a mix for her birthday.
Sharp Dressed Bands
Jenny Lewis & the Watson Twins, "Rabbit Fur Coat"
Jerry Lee Lewis, "Chantilly Lace"
Shorty Long, "Devil with the Blue Dress On"
Run-D.M.C., "My Adidas"
Elvis Presley, "Blue Suede Shoes"
The Cramps, "Sunglasses After Dark"
Spoon, "The Fitted Shirt"
Bob Dylan, "Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat"
Elvis Costello, "Green Shirt (acoustic)"
Charles Mingus, "Goodbye Pork Pie Hat"
David Bowie, "Fashion"
Paul Simon, "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes"
Dolly Parton, "Coat of Many Colors"
ZZ Top, "Sharp Dressed Man"
James Brown, "Hot Pants"
The Kinks, "Dedicated Follower of Fashion"
Tom Waits, "Pasties and a G-String"
Screamin' Jay Hawkins, "Yellow Coat"
Prince, "Raspberry Beret"
Minor Threat, "Good Guys (Don't Wear White)"
Leonard Cohen, "Famous Blue Raincoat"
Mick Jagger and The Chieftains, "The Long Black Veil"
The Residents, "Boots"
How much do I care about my sister? Enough to submit the creepiest version of "Chantilly Lace," the loneliest "Long Black Veil" and the weirdest "Boots." Enough to pretend that I forgot about "Denim and Leather" and "Undone (The Sweater Song)." Enough to consult The A.V. Club. Enough to track down the original "Devil with the Blues Dress On." Enough to wonder if she thinks David Bowie's "Fashion" is about clothes, dancing or fascism. Enough to sandwich ZZ Top between Dolly Parton and James Brown. Enough to treat her to an Elvis Costello demo and a Tom Waits deep cut. Enough to remind her of Screamin' Jay Hawkins.
Dad mixes are some of the hardest to make. Almost by definition, your father hates the music that you listen to. Mothers get far more musical tributes, and most father songs ("Come to Daddy," "Papa Don't Preach," "Had a Dad," "The End") are wildly inappropriate. Thus Father's Day mixes can be a chore, but let's give it a shot.
Dad Rock
Red Hot Chili Peppers, "Under the Bridge"
The White Stripes, "My Doorbell"
Shel Silverstein, "Dirty Ol' Me"
Squeeze, "Is That Love"
Fiona Apple, "Paper Bag"
Stevie Wonder, "Boogie on Reggae Woman"
Smashing Pumpkins, "Tonight, Tonight"
Sex Pistols, "Pretty Vacant"
Elvis Presley, "All Shook Up"
James Brown, "Night Train"
The Rolling Stones, "Loving Cup"
Harry Nilsson, "Maybe"
The Clash, "Rudie Can't Fail"
Jerry Lee Lewis, "What'd I Say"
R.E.M., "It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)"
Joni Mitchell, "Free Man in Paris"
Radiohead, "No Surprises"
Roy Orbison, "Only the Lonely"
Prince, "Starfish and Coffee"
Neil Young, "Comes a Time"
Santana, "Samba Pa Ti"
Shel Silverstein, "Comin' After Jinny"
In the five years where DC101's playlist was the most important thing in the world to me, Dad would occasionally meet me halfway, at "Under the Bridge" or "Tonight, Tonight" (he never came around to "March of the Pigs.") I met him at Neil Young and Prince, and years later at Joni Mitchell.
Dad and I share an appreciation for Shel Silverstein, who appears in the giddy "Dirty Ol' Me" and the bittersweet "Comin' After Jinny," and we've also agreed on "Samba Pa Ti," Santana's best number and a subject of Nick Hornby's 31 Songs. On a limb, I'm hoping to increase Dad's appreciation for Jerry Lee Lewis, The White Stripes and especially the Rolling Stones, gracing us with my favorite song here. Dad prefers the Beatles, so I've added Squeeze's best impersonation of the Fab Four.
This year, I've gone on Radiohead and Fiona Apple kicks, represented by father-friendly tracks, and more recently caught up to Roy Orbison, who joins a few of my favorite rock pioneers. The influence of artists like James Brown and Elvis Presley is now universal, and therefore taken for granted. A mix CD is ideal for emphasizing why they really matter.
The sore thumb here is "Pretty Vacant," which outguns everything else here by miles and shouldn't be on a mix for anyone over age 30. That being said, I do worship the Sex Pistols, and Dad likes Johnny Rotten's letter to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, so I'm taking a chance.
PS: Metalsucks has an excellent photo gallery of Metal Dads right here.
No one still needs to learn that happy music isn't written by happy people. Yet there's something shocking about all the misery in Everyday Sunshine: The Story of Fishbone, the Laurence Fishburne-narrated documentary about the world's most transcendent ska band.
Onstage, Fishbone are a jubilant blast of acrobatics, stage dives and and singalongs, sons of James Brown and fathers of Andrew W.K. Watching peers (Red Hot Chili Peppers, Primus) and followers (Sublime, No Doubt) find the success that eludes Fishbone is sad, but seeing middle-aged Angelo Moore move back in with his mom, bassist Norwood Fisher charged with kidnapping the band's Rapture-pushing guitarist and nearly-empty record store signings for a band that once performed on SNL is downright disheartening. It's funny to watch no one show up to an Anvil show, but only because Anvil got a second chance.
Before Kendall Jones started believing that his bandmates were demons, he wrote one of Fishbone's best songs, "Sunless Saturday."
Fishbone were on a major label (but not for much longer) and had the budget to get Spike Lee to direct their music video. To Lee's credit, it catches some of the frenzied excitement of a Fishbone show without ever looking like a concert movie.
"Sunless Saturday" is heavy, in the way that something with horns and major key progressions can still sound like helter skelter. The melody's controlled chaos makes me wonder how the band lasted ten years before someone went insane.
It's isn't punk, funk, metal or ska--Wikipedia calls it "alternative," which confirms that no one really knew what to do with Fishbone. Everyday Sunshine interviewees argue that they "were too black," "weren't black enough," "were too ahead of their time" or "should have been less of a democracy," the latter point being the only one that Fishbone's records back up. But everyone seems to agree on "Sunless Saturday."
