(15th in a series of) Stepping Stones "Wheels of Fortune"

Song: Blinded by Love

Album: Steel Wheels

Released: August, 1989

As mentioned before (Gem Music Video # 54) the year 1989 was somewhat of a watershed for me in regards to music. When adding up the quantity and quality of all the live shows, album purchases, radio play, and even conversation with friends, the music was centric and all encompassing.  I’m pretty sure the vast majority if not all of my reading that year, whether magazine articles or books, was music-related as well.

The two biggest shows I attended in 1989 were the Who (July) and the Rolling Stones (October), each at the old Sullivan Stadium in Foxborough, Massachusetts.   In many ways both of these were ‘reunion’ tours.  For the Who, it was truly a reunion, as they had formally disbanded in 1983.  As for the Stones, although they have never officially called it quits at any time in their 50 year history, the years leading up to ‘89 were for all practical purposes a disbanding.  For Stones aficionados, it was hard to witness: The band that had made it through the toughest of times in the 60s and 70s had finally fallen prey to the same factors that had split up many of their contemporaries many years earlier, including creative differences, solo efforts, and public back stabbing through the press.  

Although there were many similarities in the two tours related to the concept of reunion, there was one big difference:  The Who were relying almost entirely on a back catalog of songs for their set list (there was some new solo Townshend music sprinkled in) while the Stones had released “Steel Wheels”, an album of new material, prior to their tour (the name Steel Wheels was also given to the tour).  This singular distinction would make all the difference in the general sense of fervor, vibes and intensity leading up to and encompassing these shows.

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I got wind of concert tickets going on sale for the Stones’ Steel Wheels Foxborough appearance via WBCN’s (104.1 FM) morning show “The Big Mattress”.  The big news aired on a weekday during my commute into Boston.  In those days I was working for USGS in the Tip O’Neill Building near North Station.  Commuting from Waltham could be monotonous no matter what you tried, and so I often mixed it up: Green Line for a stretch of time; Red Line another; MBTA train from Waltham yet another.  I would also drive on occasion, finding parking in oddball locations under the overpass which connected Storrow Drive to the Expressway (if you got there early enough).  Fortunately this was my commute of choice on that sunny summer day, DJ Charles Laquidara giving me the low down on the where (Quincy Market) and when (12 noon) for tickets.

Once in the office, I filled in colleague, good friend, and fellow Stones fan, Saiping, on the new lunch plans, and the two of us made the trek over to Faneuil Hall an hour before the ticket booth opened up.  We already had made the determination that at least a portion of the day would have to cut into our then-meager annual leave time.  But when we saw the line, already distressingly long and winding its way around half a block behind the kiosk, we realized we were in for a bit longer of a day off, possibly the entire afternoon.  After adjusting our mindsets to the decision that this was simply what had to be, we planted ourselves at the tail end of the line, which before long had become a midsection.

At noon, there was an audible rumble up front.  After a bit more time the line began to move, but it was at a snail’s pace, much slower than expected.  I told Saiping I was going to see what the deal was.  She kept our place and I walked up around the bend toward the kiosk.  When I got there, standing off to the side somewhat, I discovered there was a new concept in play:  Wristbands.  Still novel at the time, wristbands were used as an intermediate step, assigning you placement in a future line (typically a day or two later) for the final ticket purchase.  The idea (gimmick?) was to make the process a bit more orderly and reduce the potential for scalping. 

Remaining off to the side, I was tipped off by someone that there were two types of wristbands being offered:  Wristbands for seating in the stands and wristbands for (supposed) “festival seating” on the field (which meant first come, best standing position).  The folks up front who had been waiting all morning wanted only one thing:  Guaranteed good seats in the stands near the side of the stage.  That rumble I had heard earlier then became obvious:  The wristbands were being handed out by several kiosk workers making their way through the crowd in the immediate area around the kiosk, and the line up front had dissolved into a logjam as those who had received wristbands were trying to get more information on what was next.

One of the kiosk workers was holding all of the festival wristbands and almost pleading with the crowd.  No takers.  He looked around and repeated something along the lines of “floor seating wristbands”.  Off to the side, I finally said “here”.  To my surprise he walked in my direction without hesitation and slapped a wristband on me:  An amazing stroke of good fortune.  But what happened next was even more amazing as he explained that the floor plan was not festival at all, but assigned seating!  This being moments after the doors opened, I was guaranteed four great seats! 

I headed back to our place in line, wrist deep in pocket so as not to insight a feeding frenzy.  When I got there I urged Saiping with silent gestures to follow me.  She responded as if I had two heads, knowing we were losing our place in line.  But resisting logic, she obliged.  Far enough from the crowd, I revealed my wristbanded hand, explained what was happening, and suggested to Saiping to give it a try.  We worked our way around the logjam, and the same thing happened:  Same location, same kiosk worker, same result.  In fact, it was so much the same that Saiping’s position for the final ticket purchase later that week would end up being right behind mine:  The kiosk worker had not given out a single wristband in the interim between my good fortune and that of Saiping.  This would virtually guarantee all of our seats being together (which they were).  Pumped at having pulled off this coup, and with the knowledge that we had fantastic tickets to see the Rolling Stones, we made our way back to work for a productive afternoon of GIS analysis.

Much like these last few months of Stepping Stones, the weeks leading up to the Steel Wheels show was all Stones music all the time.  On the Friday before the weekend of the show, Paul from work (the ‘son of a preacher man’ discussed in the 2^nd Stepping Stone and the recipient of one of our tickets) was walking behind the Tip O’Neill building past a helicopter pad on the Charles River (typically used for traffic reports), when he watched a helicopter land and the Stones get off and into a Limo.  He managed to get their attention and a nod or two of comradery.  The band had a few days to hang in the Hub.  I believe we speculated on what they were doing with their weekend:  Ronnie probably on his way to hosting an art show on Newbury Street; Mick, a couple pints with Peter Wolf in the Fens and then off to the Kennedy Compound for a weekend of fun and sun; Charlie, a few nights at Ryles Jazz Club in Cambridge; Keith, open house in his hotel suite at the Ritz Carlton for anyone lucky enough to get the inside scoop; Bill, a quiet location to continue the writing of his 1990 autobiography “Stone Alone” (more likely a rendezvous with his lawyers and investment brokers to tally up his earning on the tour for a not-yet-announced life after the Stones).

As for the concert itself, the seats and show were over-the-top incredible.  Probably the best event I have ever seen.  The band was right on, with highlights including Tumbling Dice, Miss You, Ruby Tuesday, Honkey Tonk Women, Dead Flowers, 2000 Light Years from Home and Before They Make Me Run.  I do recall making a run-through of the set list in my head just after the show and concluding that the Stones did a masterful job of song selection; a cross section representing virtually every album they had ever made.  Not many bands can get away with that. 

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The combination of chemistry and creativity are rarely if ever recovered once lost.  Both are needed when a band makes its own music.  One is hard enough to deal with, and for more individual talents like Neil Young and Bob Dylan, creativity is the singular focus:  Lose it, and there is still realistic hope to get it back.  Both chemistry and creativity lost, though?  Now you’re shoveling shit against the tide. 

This brings me back to the contrast between the ’89 versions of the Rolling Stones and the Who.  Though the Who show was fantastic, the Stones show was closer to what you might call a Happening.   Why the difference?  Both bands had the history to grab hold of that higher calling.  I believe the difference was in the risk and effort leading up to the respective tours.  God love the Who. They are after all my favorite band, and they had every reason to cut a few corners during that period (which I do hope to discuss in detail at some time), but the Stones had more momentum going into their tour because they added a creative touch that year with their new album.  I am sure it is what transitioned their reunion into a Happening.

“Steel Wheels” the album was a big risk.  I believe the Stones knew that the old chemistry and creativity were not going to come back full boar overnight.  There would have to be a rekindling period, and that is how “Steel Wheels” comes across.  There is nothing great on the album and it’s almost naked in its honesty:  “Hey, we are trying here!” seems to scream out with every cut.  But it’s a good album.  I’ve been listening to it all over again all week, and there are no subpar songs to speak of.  A few are over produced and have the feel of Mick Jagger trying too hard (Mixed Emotions, Rock and a Hard Place) and the Keith Richards lead vocal tracks are not top draw by any means (Can’t be Seen, Slipping Away).  But again, it’s all very listenable, despite the fact that one of the best songs on the album, this week’s Stepping Stone Blinded by Love (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q98VSsahlJo) is a bit out of character:  Is this the Stones being parental?

Successful reunions with deep roots are not only great from a personal experience, they are great to witness.  There is always excitement behind the potential for the best of them.  We never did get to see a Beatles reunion, but wouldn’t it have been incredible?  Same for the original Kinks lineup, which came close to happening before Peter Quaife passed away 2 years ago.  Cream happened.  So did Simon and Garfunkel (see Gem Music Video # 36).  Then there’s all those SNL cast member reunions, and more locally, the Boston Bruins 1970 Stanley Cup Team.  Personally for me there’s been a recent reunion of old work related friends, including Saiping:  The common bond of a cutting edge past that has played out rather nicely.  And of course there was the reunion several years back of the Franklin crew, when old friend Jeff reconnected with all of us (see Gem Music Video # 86).  And finally the best of them all:  “Goldapalooza” and a week away with the entire family for Mom and Dad’s 50^th (which I do hope to write about in more detail at some time).

Keith Richards knew the Stones were back on track by the time the band convened in Montserrat to write songs for “Steel Wheels” (the title was chosen as a symbol of moving forward).  There’s a story in Rolling Stone Magazine from the period that included Keith thinking back to the moment he pulled his car up to the studio, hearing Charlie Watts’ drumming inside and subsequently smiling broadly into his rearview mirror.  It’s an indelible image for me.  Keith Richards’ cathartic moment was perhaps a brief insight into what was to come: Maybe not immediately on the album, but certainly by the time the band hit Foxborough. 

At the end of that show, every musician on stage stood arm in arm in front of the crowd to take in the rousing applause.  Then most peeled themselves away to leave the five core band member alone for a moment:  Bill, Mick, Charlie, Keith, Ronnie.  The cheering reached fever pitch for a job well done.

Take a bow, boys.  Take a bow.

-          Pete

(14th in a series of) Stepping Stones: "Night Vision"

Song: Moonlight Mile

Album: Sticky Fingers

Released: April, 1971

The Northeast Kingdom of Vermont is aptly named.  The region is roughly defined as the three rural counties (Essex, Caledonia, and Orleans) that geographically dig into northernmost New Hampshire, stretching from the small city of St. Johnsbury at the southern end to the even smaller city of Newport at the Canadian border.  It’s a magnificent place.  The Kingdom has escaped many a traveler’s destination by being tucked on the backside of the White Mountains and connecting Southern New England to very little of known quality further to the northeast (though some of us know better than that).  Its rolling hills are enchanted and extraordinary. 

I’ve had the luxury of travelling through this Shangri-La of a region a handful of times over the past four or five years for work-related excursions to Sherbrooke, Quebec, a mid-size French-speaking city about an hour or so over the border.  On several of these business trips I have taken up the benevolent offer of a USGS colleague to crash at his getaway cabin in the tiny village of West Glover, smack dab in the heart of the Kingdom.  Words cannot describe the views from this log cabin, which is perched on one of those prior-mentioned rolling hills.  Walking down the long driveway takes you to the Parker Pie, one of the most hip venues I’ve had the pleasure to visit in all my years of exploration.  Folks travel to “The Pie” from miles around by taking one of two winding country roads into West Glover.  Musicians go out of their way to perform there as well.  I’ve often told my colleague friend that putting it all together, cabin, “Pie”, and setting he has found a rustic version of the Promised Land.

At night, the Northeast Kingdom is pitch black, with very little in the way of man-made light inhibiting a view of the sky overhead, allowing the stars to take full control of the situation.  The Milky Way is easily spotted on a cloudless evening, as is Venus, Mars, Jupiter, both Dippers, and any number of other constellations (most of which I could not name without the aid of an iPhone stargazing app).  These views of the night sky are poignant from many vantage points; not the least being large stretches of Vermont’s highway system, where you can often find yourself above the horizon, including much of Route 91 which winds its way through The Kingdom.  This can make a night ride just as awe inspiring as a day ride, particularly when the moon lights the sky, mountains silhouetted all around as you weave your way through the tapestry of stars:  A lasting image of those evening drives from Sherbrooke Quebec down to West Glover.  How else to enter a dreamscape?

I got silence on my radio
Let the air waves flow
Let the air waves flow

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Among the many perks related to meeting Nancy was getting to know the North Shore, that region of the State where Massachusetts gets to round out its national image a bit to include that more gruff, hockey-centric, Dunkin Donuts, blue collar, “How we doing?” persona we all know and love.  Medford, Malden, Everett, Saugus, Melrose, Wakefield, Stoneham, Wilmington, Billerica, Reading, and of course, Woburn:  They were all included in this process of discovery.  If I were not a well-rounded, true-blue Massachusetts boy by the time I met Nancy, I became one soon after. 

In our earliest years of dating (’84, ’85), I was living back in Franklin on the South Shore side of the State. It was a time of transition for me, trying to find my path from college to career:  Mom and Dad, open arms as always, welcoming me back to home as I made attempts in fits and starts at figuring ways to climb that ladder of success.  And so, I relied heavily on my wheels for my earliest memories with Nancy, driving the hour long stretch, Franklin to Woburn, and back on any given weekday.  The miles clocked must have been impressive, as I believe I got to the point where I could have made the trek in my sleep (which I may just have done once or twice).  Of course, it was all worth it:  We all must go through our trials and tribulations in the courting game, yes?

Most of my driving back from Woburn was, of course, late at night.  The nice part of it was that the roads were free of heavy traffic, allowing for the unusual experience of cruising Route 128 at a good clip.  From there it was the Mass Pike to exit 13 to Speen Street in Framingham, to Route 27 through Sherborn, Route 115 into Millis, 109 into Medway and the back roads to Franklin.  A time for quiet contemplation or radio play after a magical evening out and about with my then future bride.

I am just living to be lying by your side
But I’m just about a moonlight mile on down the road

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The largest vehicle I have ever driven was a massive Winnebago.  I did this during a trip to Prince Edward Island (PEI) with Nancy, Mom, Dad, Jen, Dale, Fred, Kip, Joe, Mon, Amy and Pat in the summer of 1990, taking turns at the wheel with several other family members.  It was intense driving, because this was a formidable vehicle:  Although there were 11 of us, there was space to roam around; or take in a card game at the kitchen table; or dig for food and drink in the refrigerator; or sit in several other locations to enjoy the scenery; or use the bathroom.  A travelling road show, that’s what it felt like. In hindsight, I think it was, as the belly laughs and inside jokes were many.  The primary reason for our journey, however, was a family reunion with Mom’s extended family:  Seeing the homeland and home of my grandfather’s youth; the type of ancestry connection I would recommend to anyone.

Back then, the only way onto PEI was by ferry (you can now reach it via the 8 mile long Confederation Bridge):  All part of the adventure in this super-sized motor home.  A rental car on the island relieved our reliance on the Winnebago a bit, allowing for easier errands and side trips.  On one of these errands, Dale and I followed a townie to the local “bootlegger” after the beer store locked up in front of us as we sprinted toward the door in a valiant but failed effort to beat closing time.  Another side trip included a visit to a sandy beach; a brief respite from the hustle and bustle.  Mostly, however, it was all for one and one for all, which included a very memorable photo-op visit to “Steeves Mountain”, a private park in New Brunswick on the way up (which has since closed).

The most intense stretch of driving for me was in the middle of the night through a remote part of Maine: Route 9, from Bangor to the border town of Calais.  Most everyone was sleeping (or very quiet), including a few family members on the bunk above me.  It was quite a mental burden driving that beast of a vehicle on such a long, dark, narrow thruway.  Keep clear of the road-side drainage ditches!  How often did I repeat that to myself?

In the window there's a face you know
Don't the nights pass slow
Don't the nights pass slow

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About a month ago, during the kid’s winter break, the family and I took a day trip out to North Adams.  I had not made this trek in quite some time, though I had every intention of doing so for at least a few years.  As with every trip to North Adams, the place was sure to bring back a unique set of memories, and it did not disappoint, as I flashed back over and over while shuttling the family around the various haunts where I lived and learned for three years. 

What did surprise me though was the flashback of feelings during the ride out, on the Mohawk Trail.  Most of the flashbacks were associated with my freshman year, when I would make the occasional trip back to Eastern Massachusetts in my Lincoln Mercury Capri.  These forays back east helped to make the adjustment a bit easier that year, but the ride back to North Adams on a Sunday nite sometimes negated the value of these weekend trips, as the feeling of solitude often settled over me.  The Trail can do this to you at night, as it winds its way along first the Millers River (with flow) and then the Deerfield River (against flow):  Railroad, river, and road all weaving in synchronized fashion through the valleys beneath the Berkshires. 

As the hills got higher, the railroad would disappear, ultimately finding its way into the infamous Hoosic Tunnel, and later emerging in North Adams on the other end of the high peaks (the tunnel entrance in the opposite direction was a stone’s throw from one of my off-campus housing units).  The Trail would continue its wind uphill, soon losing the river as well.  Up and up it went, finally hitting a series of far ranging masterful views to take in, even at night, and then beginning the descent into North Adams via Hairpin Turn.  Though I did not realize it at the time, each one of those trips back to school was an invaluable growing experience, a time for inner soul searching and often prayer.

My dreams is fading down the railway line
I’m just about a moonlight mile down the road

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Montreal can be a pretty darn fun place, especially for a naïve crew of bozos in their late teens making an overnight trip to catch a Canadiens hockey game.  So was the case for myself and three other North Adams sophomores (TH 1-ers) on a cold day in the winter of 1981-82.  We had made the drive to Burlington Vermont in my car very early that day from western Massachusetts with the intent of having Mac join us from there (Mac attended St Michaels College in Burlington) for the extra leg to Montreal.  The plan was to get tickets to the game, enjoy a few more late-night hours in the big city, and then head back to Burlington (for a no-doubt short-night of sleep) before returning to North Adams the following day.  As it turned out, an unfortunate twist of fate meant that Mac could not join us, finding his hands tied with another last-minute visitor from home,  so a classmate of his volunteered to fill in as we made our way further north.

Fun times can often be enhanced when you have no idea what you are in for (hence the bozo reference).  And everything was a surprise to us on that trip:  Getting lost on Lake Champlain; finding Montreal despite our linguistic deficiencies ; finding the Forum; arriving on time; our shocking ability to get tickets to the sold-out game; the well-dressed fans; a chance encounter with Yvan Cournoyer; roaming the streets late night; making our way home.  But we pulled it all off, and then some.

Back in the car, I lost almost everyone to sleep by the time we crossed the St Lawrence River.  Kurt hung in there for a while, but soon he was comatose as well.  I’d been here before, alone with my thoughts on a long night ride (see prior Mohawk Trail story), and so I chauffeured on, putting up with the chuckling border police as they shined their flashlights into my car on the faces of all the snoring bozos around me (I can’t imagine those border police chuckling now).  They almost seemed impressed by my duties, as I mentioned to them that I was the only one of us that knew how to drive a stick shift, and that I had been driving all day.  By the time we finally made our way into our Burlington host’s apartment, the daylight was emerging all around.

Oh I’m sleeping under strange strange skies
Just another mad mad day on the road

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Of all the travelling I’ve been blessed to be able to do, the place that gave me the most remote, isolated sense about it was Newfoundland, which I’ve had the pleasure of having visited twice now with my family (and hope to do so more in the future).  Both trips were via ferry ride from Cape Bretton Island on the top of Nova Scotia.  The first of these two trips was to the closer western side of “The Rock”, where we disembarked in the wee-early hours at the small village of Port aux Basques after a 9-hour overnighter.  The thing about landing on the sprawling western end of Newfoundland (as opposed to the eastern end which includes the capital of St. Johns on the more compact Avalon Peninsula) is that to get anywhere, you still have a lot of driving to do.

And a lot of driving we did, starting out with that early dawn drive out of Port aux Basques.  Once again, I found myself with a car full of sleepers (not bozos this time!) soon after disembarking the ferry.  But, as with all the other times mentioned here, this gave me a chance to reflect and in this case, plan ahead for the splendid scenery that would be Gros Morne National Park, fjords, Twillingate and massive offshore icebergs.  This early stretch also gave me the chance to witness that true final thrust of the Appalachian Range, several peaks which were surprisingly impressive in their grandeur.  Charlotte was able to summarize the entire experience later, back on Cape Bretton Island, when she told us she had seen a poster on the return ferry which read “You can’t be any further from Disney than you are right now”.

Looking at our video footage I can still recall the feeling I had when the ferry entered into that foggy Port aux Basques harbor, surrounded by small homes, some of which appeared precariously perched on chunks of rocky outcrop.  The feeling was one of “I can’t believe I’m here” which was unlike any other.  It was a feeling of truly being in a “newly found land”.  Perhaps it had something to do with the fog, or the distance, or the precarious looking housing, or the chill in the early morning air, or a strange familiarity.  Whatever it was, it’s still hard to believe I was there.

Made a rag pile of my shiny clothes
Gonna warm my bones
Gonna warm my bones

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It’s been many years since I pulled an all nighter.  Back in the day, the tail end of one of these would often include breakfast, which tended to make for strange bedfellows:  Early risers, 3^rd shifters, and diehards.  These encounters led to fascinating conversation with the other clientele, waitresses, and cooks.  “What did you do last night?”  “Oh, I remember when….”  “To be young again” …and so on.  It’s always interesting the situations you can stumble into when you allow yourself to step out of the normal routine.

The nicest thing about predawn-opening breakfast haunts (which are few and far between) is that they would bring you that much closer to sunrise if you had it in you to want to catch one.  And when Boston was the scene of these all nighters (most often the case) the must see sunrise was a quick ride up and over the Tobin Bridge to Revere Beach:  A ‘before you die’ bucket-list event if there ever was one.

Part of that experience is no longer there, that being the elevated expressway through Boston, which has been replaced by the underground “Big Dig” and an <admittedly> much nicer, inter-connected downtown region (the Rose Kennedy Greenway is really coming along).  It was an interesting ride while it existed though, because you had a chance to see the city around you as you sat in traffic.  The rare time the ride was really enjoyable, however was when nobody was on it, which only happened around 4 am on a weekend night, on your way to Revere Beach to see a sunrise.  The roller coaster experience through the high-rises that make up the Government Center region of The Hub would put an amusement park ride to shame. 

I’m hiding baby and I’m dreaming
I’m riding down your moonlight mile

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I recall fondly these late-night/early morning  jaunts, and it’s quite likely I was listening intently to Moonlight Mile with whoever else was in the car (usually Kurt), heading to Revere Beach to start the new day in the best of possible ways.  Moonlight Mile could also have been playing in the Northeast Kingdom; and on the way home from a dinner date in Woburn; and in the Winnebago along that desolate stretch of Route 9 north of Bangor; and on my way back to North Adams along the Mohawk Trail; and while my bozo brethren slept on the way back from a hockey game in Montreal; and just off the ferry onto a newly found land.  When I first started to write this week’s Stepping Stone, I realized right off that my reflections of Moonlight Mile could not be about just any one of these experiences:  It had to be about them all.

As for the song itself (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ugYzDqQtdHU), the Rolling Stones caught lightning in a bottle when they recorded this ditty, the original guitar licks of which Keith Richards had recorded and referred to as “Japanese thing”.  The two Micks (Jagger and Taylor) then took it and ran with it, and in the process showed the world that the Stones can reveal a softer underbelly behind the public facade when up to the task.

Happy Easter everyone.

-          Pete

(13th in a series of) Stepping Stones: "When and When Not to Eschew Step Two"

Song: Hand of Fate

Album: Black and Blue

Released: April, 1976

On the office door of a colleague at USGS is a cartoon showing two professors staring at a blackboard.  One of the professors is reviewing a mathematical formula devised by the other.  On one end of the blackboard is “Step One” of the mathematical formula showing a complex array of equations and variables, and the other end shows a supposed brilliant solution.   In the middle is “Step Two”, which reads: “Then, A Miracle Occurs”.  The subheading of the cartoon has the comments of the reviewing professor which reads “I think you should be more explicit here in Step Two”.

In the mathematical world of scientific theory where a hypothesis has to be proven, such a leap of faith is by its very definition prohibited.  It’s a body of knowledge where phenomena must be explained.  In the world of music, however, “Step Two” is strived for.  It’s what turns a good studio song or concert event into a master stroke.  It’s what has you wondering, when listening, how it all came together.  This is probably the case for the musicians who created the work in the first place:  For like any miracle, wonder, or happening, the way in which a classic piece of music gels is nearly impossible to explain.

It’s not very often that these two contrasting worlds, science and music, could be as front and center at the same time as they were for me this week, during which I attended the biannual American Water Resources Association (AWRA) Conference in New Orleans.  On one side of Canal Street was the hotel where I spent my days presenting, attending and teaching sessions.  Across the street was the French Quarter, which was where I spent the evenings with my professional brethren, and which just happens to be home for some of the best music the world has ever produced.  Both environments were eventful and stimulating, but one was based on the quest for fact, where the other was based on the quest for that aforementioned cartoon’s “Step Two”.  It was an interesting transition we would make from dawn to dusk and back, adjusting daily into these diametrically opposed worlds.

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For as much as I’ve read on the Rolling Stones, the personality traits that make Mick Jagger and Keith Richards great songwriters remains a mystery to me.  I find it much easier to recognize the personality traits in other musicians that factor into this gift:  Pete Townshend is introspective; John Lennon, intense; Paul McCartney, melodic; Peter Buck, serious; Bruce Springsteen, persistent; Joni Mitchell, searching; Joey Strummer, altruistic; David Bowie, artistic; Leonard Cohen, poetic; Roger Waters, deep; Chrissie Hynde, sharp; Neil Young, grounded; Curtis Mayfield, empathetic; Randy Newman has great wit; Ray Davies is reflective; and Bob Dylan is amazingly clairvoyant. 

Most any other songwriter, I can see the driving force as well, but not Mick Jagger or Keith Richards.  This is what remains fascinating to me about the Rolling Stones: That “Then, a Miracle Occurs” applies perhaps more than usual.  On the one hand, I believe that Jagger/Richards have done a great job concealing their talents for the sake of their nonchalant image.  But on the other hand, I feel that even if I knew these guys personally, I still would not be able to figure it out.  I’m fine with that though.  Again, the mystery appears to have drawing power, at least for me. 

I did, however, get one small tidbit of a feel for how it all works with these cats when I read Keith Richards book, ‘Life’.  Richards describes Mick Jagger’s role in the band as that of ‘Rock’ where his own role is that of ‘Roll’.  Again, hard to define, but I believe this is what plays out on ‘Black and Blue’.

Let me try to explain.

‘Black and Blue’ may just be the Rolling Stones most underrated album.  It includes a number of very good to great songs, including, Memory Motel, Fool to Cry, and this week’s Stepping Stone Hand of Fate   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UKH9enYiFIU.  The songs on the album cover a range of styles, but nothing ‘Top 40’.  Their two prior albums, ‘Goats Head Soup’ and ‘It’s Only Rock n’ Roll’, were a bit substandard compared to the flurry of all-time classics that came out before them, and as a result ‘Black and Blue’ may have slipped the radar (their next release, ‘Some Girls’ would get the band back in the limelight as it was an undeniable comeback, being full of hits).

‘Black and Blue’ was also an interesting transition album for the band, as they were auditioning for a 2^nd guitarist after Mick Taylor abruptly quit just prior to the recording sessions (the reason for this has been unexplained for decades, but recent interviews with Charlie Watts and Taylor himself hint at substance abuse as being the major driving factor).  As many as 5 guitarists are on the album, including Wayne Perkins who plays the lead guitar bridge on Hand of Fate (as well as on Fool to Cry).  However, it was Ron Wood who would ultimately win the job over Perkins and others; making it onto the album cover, touring with the band just after recording, and remaining with them to this day.

Ok, back to that Rock (Jagger) and Roll (Richards) concept.  Reading between the lines some, I believe what Keith Richards means by this is that Mick Jagger is more of the practical, organized, and unflinching side of the partnership, where he himself has more of the ‘roll with it, baby’ attitude.  No band prioritizes and balances these critical elements for success better than the Stones.  It has led to consistent quality, and of equal importance, longevity.

When Mick Taylor quit the band, the Stones did not fret, though they had come to rely on his amazing talents over the prior five albums.  This ‘Rock’-like attitude served them well, but the ‘Roll’ angle certainly factored in their ability to move forward also.  The auditioning of guitarists during an album’s making, as opposed to prior, is quite unusual.  This ‘roll with it’ approach is something you see with the Stones all the time.  They have never tried to confine the band’s music to their own abilities.  They work with many other musicians to make a finished product, with the one criteria being that these musicians adapt to the Stones style and recognize their leadership, and not the other way around.   This open-door policy is not all that common in the music world.  And it may be the driving force behind what allows the band to adapt with new musical styles and genres. 

The ‘Rock’ and ‘Roll’ personas of Jagger and Richards may go all the way back to the near-beginning for the band, when the two of them were literally locked in a room by then manager Andrew Loog Oldham, in his effort to get them to write their own songs.  Originally, the band was content to just cover blues classics.  But one great thing about the 60’s was that this was the origin period for the singer-songwriter as being part of a band.  Tin Pan Alley was becoming a thing of the past.  This eventually allowed those like myself who are interested in music from this time period and beyond to evaluate the entire package, and not just the singer’s voice or guitarist’s notes.

Hand of Fate may just be the last of the raunchy-sounding songs that the Rolling Stones perfected in the 70s.  As far as I can discern, it’s about as close as the Stones get to emulating a Johnny Cash type of storyline:  A song about a man on the run.  Charlie Watts sounds particularly in the moment in this one as does Mick Jagger.

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New Orleans may have teetered after Katrina, but after a week of my taking in the place, it appears to have fully recovered.  The music scene was as good as I could have expected.  And it was omnipresent:  On many street corners you could hear musical sounds emanating from up to 4 or 5 locations at one time.  The diversity was there as well:  Jazz, Funk, Zydeco, Cajun, Rock, Blues, Boogie Woogie, Brass, Pop, and Folk.  It was all there.  Hand in hand with my work duties, taking this all in was to me, of equal importance, bordering on responsibility.  And by doing so, it may have allowed me to get a bit more insight into the inner workings of the Rolling Stones:  Those ‘Rock’ and the ‘Roll’ factors that contribute to the musical equivalent of that mathematical formula on my USGS colleagues office door.

-          Pete

(12th in a series of) Stepping Stones: "It's Just a Tray Away"

Song: Monkey Man

Album: Let it Bleed

Released: April, 1969

With the exception of ‘newspaper deliverer’, my first job description was that of busboy.  I worked in this capacity for several years at Welick’s Restaurant in my hometown of Franklin until I left for college in the fall of 1980.  At the time, Welick’s was the busiest restaurant in the region by a long shot:  A weekend dinner date would typically begin with a 2 hour wait in the lounge area.  When a party would finally hear their name called out over the intercom (“Jones, party of 2…. Jones party of…..2”), the well-lubricated patrons would then proceed into the dining area for a fantastic choice of surf and turf meals offered up by the restaurant’s secret weapon, Kammy, the head chef.

In those days, I suppose I was a bit on the gangly side.  And I’m pretty certain I looked the part, even when compared to others kids my age including the other busboys.  In all likelihood I was not much heavier than the large silver oval trays we would have to carry from dining area to dish room, stacked high with piles of dirty plates, silverware, and glassware.  To be most agile, you needed to learn to carry the trays at shoulder level, one handed, as you negotiated your way through the crowded areas in the dining room, prep room, and kitchen (the swinging doors from the prep room to the kitchen and back were a particularly tricky area to weave through).  This took some getting used to, and my first weeks on the job had a couple of highlight-reel moments, all eyes on me and my tray, as it came crashing down in resounding manner, instantly transitioning the tableware and leftovers into a pile of rubble.  After more experience though, this rarely if ever happened again.

It was a great job, and I got plenty out of it besides the pay.  I learned a lot about the adult world for example:  Adults under stress (owners, most of the management, the cooks, and some of the waitresses) and adults relaxing (diners); frugal adults (waitresses that gave us the minimum in tips) and generous ones (those who gave us extra).  I also learned to work hard and get good at something I got paid for.  The evenings were a whirlwind of activity, and by the end I was pretty well spent.  Yet there was a sense of shared accomplishment with most everyone else who clocked in on any given night.

On one of my last nights, after giving my two week notice, hostess extraordinaire Elaine approached me to let me in on something.  Elaine was the daughter of the owners and wife of Kammy, the chef.  I had gained a lot of respect for Elaine during my stint at Welick’s Restaurant for many reasons, not the least of which being her calm-under-pressure mannerisms.  What Elaine had to tell me was that I came within a whisker of losing my job after those massive tray drops years before, but that she had convinced her Mom, Dad and brothers (a tough bunch) to give me time.  Elaine also told me that she saw something in me early on that she thought would play out in a good way.  Then Elaine looked me directly in the eye and said that I proved her to be right.  It was such a great thing to hear, particularly from someone as reserved as Elaine was, and I’ve never forgotten it. 

Since I insist on staying positive when reflecting on my own life experiences for these weekly entries, I start off with this story.  There have been episodes in my life though where I experienced the opposite of what Elaine did for me… people who gave up way too early or never even bothered to try to get to know what I had to offer in the first place.  I choose to forget that stuff, and thankfully for me none of it was ever even close to being life-altering.  But this week’s Stepping Stone is just what the doctor orders when any of those feelings of rejection percolate back to the surface, because for the Rolling Stones, rejection was something they, and many of their contemporaries, had to face frequently. 

And they did this head on.

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Twenty years: That’s a rough guess on how long it’s been since I last listened to ‘Let it Bleed’ from beginning to end.  Consequently, popping this all-time-classic into the car’s cd player for the first of many-a play-through earlier this week, I knew things were eventually going to get interesting.  That’s because if there is anything that’s been consistent in this musical-recollection process, it’s that I gain inspiration through listening to entire studio albums, not just the individual chosen songs.  I already had a great song in mind for this week, Monkey Man, but not much to work with.  Listening to ‘Let it Bleed’ changed all that.

So, to be a bit more specific, my goal, as always, was to work my way up to the Stepping Stone patiently, not just jump right to it and surf around from there.  Yes indeed, there was an order of business in place for me to try and reconnect with Monkey Man, 8^th song on the track list for ‘Let it Bleed’.  Accordingly, I let it all play out, not just once, but often: First Gimme Shelter, then Love in Vain, followed by Country Honk, Live with Me, Let it Bleed, Midnight Rambler, You Got the Silver ….. and finally, Monkey Man, which I would then allow myself to play over and over (9^th and final track, You Can’t Always Get What You Want, suffered all week from this repetitive process, but I did manage to fit it in a handful of times).  As usual, I was bombarded with a suite of thoughts related to numerous topics including Rolling Stones history; my history; the time period of the album’s release; my first memories of the album; my favorite memories of the song; the meaning of the song; and so on.  Could I again build something on top of that menagerie? 

I once read a journalist’s observation, and I would have to agree, that the year of ‘Let it Bleed’s release, 1969, was more in line with the Rolling Stones musical sensibilities than earlier periods.  If any one word could be used to define the year, it would be ‘tumultuous’.  I’ve touched on this before.  After three assassinations and an increasingly unpopular and expanding war, the good vibes were steadily being replaced by bad ones, which were partially fuelled by a once-promising youth movement’s growing substance abuse problem.  The Stones worked well within this environment, but how and of equal importance, why?

With the Beatles in the process of disbanding and Dylan somewhat out of commission for a spell (motorcycle accident and retreat from the limelight), the Stones would find themselves thrust into a leadership role of sorts in 1969 (in hindsight, I believe the individual Beatles ended up being more influential as solo artists than they likely would have been if they continued as a band during this period, but this took a year or two to fully develop).  It is fascinating that the Stones would have to step into this vacuum at this particular time, since for years they had been branded as poster children by the establishment for what was wrong with the younger crowd.  In other words, at the very moment when it was all coming to a head, this band was caught in the crosshairs.

One of the biggest factors in the tumultuous nature of the time period was a clash of 2 strong-minded generations.  In this corner weighing in as having overcome hardship (The Depression) and tyranny (World War II) was the “Greatest Generation”.  And in this corner, weighing in as trying (and ultimately succeeding) to make a stamp of their own was the “Counter Culture”, likely the first youth movement in recorded history willing to make a stand for its own unique beliefs.  It was a serious heavy weight battle for many years, with both sides ultimately pointing fingers at the other one as the reason for all the tumultuousness.

It did not have to be that way. 

When I watch early TV footage of Rock n’ Roll musicians, say any time before 1968, one of the first things that strikes me is the respect those musicians appear to have for the host and audience.  There’s a ‘yes sir, no sir’ feel about it all.  The host was usually someone from the Greatest Generation, including Ed Sullivan, Jackie Gleason, Perry Como and Bob Hope, and the audience was for the most part the host’s peers.  Certainly a part of the respect was self-preservation driven, simply to keep doors open for future air time, but I believe there was something else there as well:  There was a respect for their elders in general and the sacrifices they made.  There had to be.  These new up-and-comers had parents who were part of that generation.  Most of them knew what they had all been through.

This respect was not always reciprocated, however.  And though it could be argued that respect had not yet been earned, there is a fine line between lack of respect and flat out rejection.  The Greatest Generation crossed that line early and often, which likely lead to an eventual erosion of respect in the other direction.  Certainly blame can go all around for the atmosphere, but this was a big part of it (and besides, weren’t these 30, 40, and 50 something’s supposed to be the adults after all?)  A perfect example of how this played out was Dean Martin’s treatment of the Rolling Stones on his TV show in the mid-60s ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qOr2a9oEzGQ ), particularly in regards to his closing remarks and body language.  Dean Martin was not alone and should not be signaled out.  His attitude was emblematic of many in his generation toward a counter culture movement they just did not understand, and probably feared.

If you have a chance to read the opening chapter to Keith Richard’s “Life” you will get a sense for this tension.  You can also hear it in the lyrics of Bob Seger’s Turn the Page, or read about it in any number of Tom Petty interviews when he reflects on being in a long-haired fledging rock band in Gainesville Florida in the early 70s.  Sure there was an ‘image to keep up’, but living this life was not for the faint of heart.  Given what the armed forces look for in a person, those sergeants, generals and admirals should have had some admiration for this crowd, since unlike those who could not change the color of their skin, or their accent, these folks had a choice on how they looked.  And they chose to stick out like a sore thumb.

By 1969 the rejection and all its negative ramifications had reached a boiling point.  Riots were breaking out in cities across the USA and Europe.  The Rolling Stones took an interesting tact at this point:  They exaggerated their image even more than before, playing with it all, like a cat plays with a mouse.  Most of this was done through the music, but in Keith Richards’ case, it would all play out in his life as well…. A kind of “oh, so this is what you see in me. Ok, I’ll give you it tenfold” type of attitude that would nearly kill him on numerous occasions. 

Allegorically, Monkey Man represents the tipping point, the point of no return.  For the Rolling Stones, We Love You and Dandelion were out; Gimmee Shelter and Monkey Man were in.   The song starts out so intensely; it’s a wonder to me that any reviewer would suggest it as a throwaway (and a few did).  First there are the opening ominous piano notes and the bass, and then the angry guitar, and finally Mick Jagger kicks in, his singing fitting precisely with the mood of the song:  Oh, so I’m a monkey ehh?  Ok, I’m a monkey:

I’m a flea bit peanut monkey

All my friends are junkies

It’s a great song.  Jagger appears to be having fun with it all (to a degree) while Richards seems to be taking it very seriously in his guitar playing (this contrasting juxtaposition may generally be why the Rolling Stones have been so successful).  Then, at the 2:34 mark of the attached video of the song ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GcB-JTAZQow) the bottom falls out.  I got to see the Stones perform this moment live.  It was intense, the feel of a giant vacuum being swept into the stadium.  At the end of the song (3:13), Jagger sounds almost intentionally obnoxious (predating Robert Plant and Steve Tyler in this paradox-like singing style).  I guess the monkey transformation is complete at this point: Images of those flying monkeys in the Wizard of Oz dance in my head.

Let’s face it, despite all the good that the Greatest Generation brought to the table (and let there be no doubt, I believe they did earn this distinction), there was quite a bit of prejudice mixed in there as well.  For some it may have had to do with facing an enemy of a different ethnic background in a horrible war.  Whatever the reason, this prejudice was not just geared to people of different races or religions, but also people who thought differently from the way they thought you were supposed to think.  But I know this generalization is an over simplification of reality.  It could also be argued that the Greatest Generation nurtured the questioning spirit behind the counter culture, allowing these folks to think for themselves, and be strong in their own beliefs.

For me, I was too young to feel that full brunt of rejection from the older generation, who eventually came around for the most part, but I did get the occasional wise crack growing up.  Hey, what the heck, I suppose it builds character.  It seems to have done so with the Stones.  The flip side approach is much more rewarding though, not only for the one receiving the support, but also the one offering it, as I believe was the case for Elaine who stood by me, willing to go a bit out on a limb with her family.  In my High School Year Book, I jokingly stated that I aspired to be a busman.  From Elaine’s perspective, I guess I did just that. 

-          Pete

(11th in a series of) Stepping Stones: "Spotlight on Brain Jones: The Effects of Longstanding Connections"

Song: Ruby Tuesday

Album: Between the Buttons (US version)

Released: February, 1967

Spotlight on: Brian Jones

Of all the lasting insights and interests I’ve garnered over my lifetime, most have been jump started via longstanding connections with family and friends.  I believe this is the case for most of us.  Sure, we can on occasion pick up a tip-that-lasts through other avenues, for example an acquaintance or professional.  But there’s something about personal ties that can set the best of wheels in motion, often resulting in the deepest, most enduring and creative of preoccupations.  Call it insider trading.  Call it an inside job.  Call it your inner circle. Call it whatever.  It works.

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Fred and I benefited greatly from the family move to Park Road during the spring of ’73.  First and foremost, we each got our own bedrooms (the room we were leaving behind on Martin Ave can best be described as a bevy of bunk beds).  That alone would have been good enough, but these rooms came with a few other perks.  There was an easy-access back staircase ***used by me one evening to sneak out of home at midnight for an hour or so while in my mid-teen years, tobacco-packed corncob pipe in hand, to hook up with Jeff (aka Popeye), John and others in the crew, several of whom had even more creative ways of sneaking out of their homes, including the use of windows, trees and deck pillars***.  There was a small bathroom between our rooms (whose porcelain bowl may have been loudly worshipped once or twice).  Most importantly, though, there was space:  Space for posters, stereo systems, and hobbies.  The space also came in handy for noise: The type of noise that a smaller, multi-generational home could not put up with….Rock ‘n Roll noise.

At the onset of our interest in Rock music, Fred and I each cobbled together small but diverse album collections.  Between us there was some Neil Young (including ‘Decade’), some Cars, Joe Jackson and the Kinks (‘Kronikles’), and lots of Beatles.  Later, our collections would expand to include The Who, Elvis Costello, The Clash, Mink Deville, The Jam, and others.  We dabbled into each other’s selections regularly.

Another of Fred’s earliest records was ‘Hot Rocks’, a classic double album he purchased in slightly used (but cheap!) quality at a flea market.  Arguably one of the greatest compilations of all time, ‘Hot Rocks’ opened me up to the world of the Rolling Stones.  There was the cover, with 5 faces, one inserted inside another, that initially had me thinking it was all one person.  There was the back cover, The Stones decked out in medieval regalia, Mick, Brian, Keith and Bill on the 2^nd ledge of a decaying castle, Charlie standing in the front (likely scared of heights?).  And of course, there was the music, which covered some of the Stones best material over their first decade.

A brief overview is needed at this point.  Rolling Stones history can be broken up into 3 main time-periods, each of which can be defined by the 2^nd guitarist.  The first of these 2^nd guitarists was founding member Brian Jones, who was released by the Stones in 1969 due to his fading contributions to the band (driven at least partially by substance abuse), and who died soon after, drowning in his own swimming pool (remaining the only Rolling Stone to have passed on at the time of this writing, excepting if you include Ian Stewart).  The Brian Jones years, however, can really be broken up into an A and B period.  Period A would be about 1962-65, when Jones faithfully stuck with his traditional instrument, the rhythm guitar.  Period B would be about 1966-69.  This was when Jones had virtually lost all interest in the guitar (to Keith Richards despair, who loves dueling with a partner), and ended up instead plucking, blowing into, and fingering just about any other instrument within reach.  These instruments Jones would learn to play with aplomb.

It was a three song stretch on side 2 of ‘Hot Rocks’ that initiated the transition for me from casual listener to aficionado with The Rolling Stones, and all three have Brian Jones as the key cog, playing an exotic instrument like a sage in each.  First there was his mood-setting sitar playing on Paint it Black; second his nimble handling of the marimba on Under My Thumb; and finally there was his beautiful use of the recorder on Ruby Tuesday, this week’s Stepping Stone.  It was all classy sounding.  It gave the Stones an edge over other bands.  It convinced me that this band was for real.

Brian Jones contributions to Stones songs in the last years of his short life would reveal his multi-faceted abilities playing out yet again and again, as he would include in his repertoire of instruments the grand piano, harmonica, slide guitar, accordion, organ, dulcimer, harpsichord, oboe, mellotron, saxophone, autoharp, and more.  This was all very interesting to me, and in hindsight, I now can pretty much say it was Brian Jones, not Mick Jagger (and certainly not the much-harder-to-connect-with Keith Richards) who opened the Stones doors for me. 

Which brings me back to that inside-job concept:  I truly believe that Brian Jones’ brilliant contributions on those 3 songs would have been impossible to have been performed similarly by a hired gun.  This is the fascinating concept behind long-term bonds:  They bring out a passion and creativity that cannot be artificially inseminated.  There was something going on within his band’s ranks, and only through years of being immersed in this atmosphere, as Jones was, could these musical superlatives be drawn out. I’m convinced of it, as this has happened often enough in my circles to recognize it in other ones.  And it’s these long-term bonds that are actually what lead me to The Rolling Stones in the first place, after poking through Fred’s collection all those years ago and pulling out ‘Hot Rocks’ for the first time.  Fred was curious enough in this band to purchase their album, and that was good enough for me.  It may not have played out as definitively for me as it did with the Stones.  But make no mistake about it:  It did play out, in equally extraordinary ways, and for this I am truly grateful.

Listening to Ruby Tuesday (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6DVCgKsqn30) numerous times this week, I was reminded of so many reasons why I enjoy this song.  There are the lyrics, with several poignant lines: “She would never say where she came from” to start it out; “She just can’t be chained to a life where nothings gained and nothings lost” in the second stanza; “Lose your dreams and you will lose your mind” in the third.  There’s the unique bass sound, which was orchestrated by Bill Wyman holding tight on the strings while Keith Richards plucked.  And of course, there’s Brian Jones recorder playing; which hits highlights throughout (with two moments in particular standing out for me at the 2:16 and 2:23 marks of the attached url). 

Brian Jones was a fragile soul… one of the most fragile in the history of Rock (Kurt Cobain also comes to mind).  His iconic image, that of the lone blond in a gang of British hooligans (he was not exempt) remains front and center for many Rolling Stones fans when conjuring up a snapshot of the band, despite 40 years of Stones history since his death.  Though eccentric and tough to deal with, the Stones were still very lucky to have this element in their circle for that relatively brief period of time in their long saga.

One other note:  The Beatles roots are in Rock but the Stones roots are in Blues, which made it harder for a suburban Caucasian kid like myself to connect to them right off.  ‘Hot Rocks’ was needed to initiate the process.  It collected together some of the Stones best early stuff together, the earliest of which were scattered among many blues cover songs on their first 3 or 4 albums.  I needed time and familiarity to break into that Blues sound.  With enough persistence, I eventually did.  But it was the music they first painted on top of the Blues, songs like Paint it Black, Under My Thumb, and Ruby Tuesday that started me down that path.  Keith Richards should have been grateful:  Though he lost a buddy to weave guitar notes with (he would eventually get this back with Ron Wood after several more Stones permutations, but these are stories for other times), he gained a much broader audience, and I’ve never heard of him complaining about the quality of those songs.  On the contrary, I believe he was inspired by them.  That creative spirit, spurred on by long-term bonds, would bite him deeply soon enough:  For as Jones faded, the Richards-prolific years kicked into high gear, carrying through at least the middle part of the following decade.

The Rolling Stones performed Ruby Tuesday very admirably, without Mr. Jones, on their Steel Wheels tour in 1989, although one of those aforementioned hired guns was needed to fill the void.  Those wheels grind on still, but for me it was Brian Jones, and my brother Fred, that set them to rolling in the first place.

-          Pete