1. "Let It Be" (album version), George Harrison
Perfect tone. A melody you can whistle. Versatility: I have learned and used this solo verbatim - in other songs. A transcendent overall form, building slowly to its highest notes, then relaxing back down to make way for McCartney. The perfect blend of repetition and freshness from one phrase to the next. The guitar comes raging back and is a soulful co-lead singer on the outro.
Honestly I could have made this whole list out of George Harrison solos. Hearing this song recently inspired me to write this list.
2. "Sympathy For The Devil", Keith Richards
The guitar solo that channels everything people who think Satan is cool think is cool about Satan. Violent, brusque, screaming insanity. The solo tells the story just as much as the lyrics do. And that last ripped chord before Jagger comes back in? A frustrated Satan vanishing in a burst of hellfire.
3. "Candy's Room", Bruce Sprinsteen
The fastest, most intense song on Darkness on the Edge of Town comes to a literally screeching halt then gradually speeds up and loses its mind to become even more intense than before. It seems he's tried to become this sort of this folky, songwritery guy now but here Bruce just freaking wails.
4. "The Wind Cries Mary", Jimi Hendrix
More eloquent than any words could be, this solo makes an initial powerful statement and then sings about the variations the statement suggests. Then it goes veering off into places that appear nowhere else in the song. Finally, a return and resolution of the early statements. This solo is like a satisfying mathematical proof if a mathematical proof was translated into a heroic fanfare.
5. "Sunshine Of Your Love", Eric Clapton
I once created a piece of art with construction paper, two corks, and a wire that tried to depict how this electric solo blazed and flew above a sea of color. This made me realize the necessity of getting my first wah pedal.
6. "Sweet Child O' Mine", Slash
The awkward fourth note of the scale has been involved in a lot of poignant moments over the years, usually yielding to the sweetness of the third, never more so than in the indelible first two lines of the solo over the verse chords. The more violent, minor solo later on and of course the intro that kicks the whole thing off are possibly the best guitar moments of the entire 1980s.
7. "Bell Bottom Blues", Eric Clapton
Like Coltrane he sort of plays the melody but with embellishments. Also like Coltrane (come to think of it) he uses harmonics. This song taught me to use the edge of my picking thumb to make the guitar cry a little bit.
8. "The Crane", Matt Wilson
From Trip Shakespeare's Across The Universe album. It's an entire melody to itself, climbing up in bent fits, then falling down into the lowest notes the guitar has to offer. Once I finally figured out how he was articulating some of the climbing parts, this solo taught me to bend a note on one string to match a note on a higher string, something I later found in Hendrix as well.
9. "Way Out West", Alex Chilton
From Big Star's Radio City album, a melodic distillation of everything good and chimey Roger McGuinn ever played. Hearing this taught me how to solo using chord shapes and to mix open strings with fretted strings where possible.
10. "Octopus' Garden", George Harrison
In a demo session in the now unavailable Let It Be film Ringo is plonking out this silly little number on the piano. Months later, with a fellow underrated Beatle leading the way it exploded into a 3-D rock masterwork. I used to quote bits of this during Honigman shows. The guitar intro, verse arpeggios, solo, and outro are justification for the song's existence and inclusion on the greatest rock masterpiece of all time, Abbey Road.
Also essential learning:
"Johnny B. Goode", Chuck Berry
"Patience", Slash
"Eruption", Eddie Van Halen
"Bohemian Rhapsody", Brian May
"Let's Dance", Stevie Ray Vaughan
"Dear Prudence", George Harrison
All right, what did I forget?
Showing posts with label Matt Wilson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Matt Wilson. Show all posts
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Wednesday, September 07, 2011
Have You Ever Met Your Heroes and They Were Totally Cool? I Have.
On July 22 I played bass at a Skittish show at Mears Park in St. Paul. We were opening for The Twilight Hours featuring Matt Wilson and John Munson, two of my all-time musical heroes. It was awesome to meet them, tell them how very much their music has meant to me over the years, and find out they are really great guys who are kind and considerate toward their fans. Here is that whole story, which I wrote up when I got home because I was very excited about it.
My Dad and I drove over to St. Paul and got a parking space directly behind the stage. It was perfect. I got my stuff set up. Then Matt Wilson arrived. I must have stared a little bit because as he walked by he said, "Are you playing tonight?" I said I was. After a little while I went to the back of Dad's Kia to change into my suit pants from my shorts. That was unpleasant, changing into a suit there on East 6th Street in downtown St. Paul in the back of a car.
I realized the knot in my tie, which I leave in due to not knowing how to tie one, was looking totally weak. I asked Dad to do it for me. He realized he couldn't do it without a mirror. He was doing it in a car window and said to the car's owner, "I'm not trying to peek in your car but I can't do this tie without a mirror." The car's owner was Twilight Hours' keyboard player Dave. Matt Wilson went over to my Dad and was trying to tie it on him.
At that point I came over and said, "You've further outsourced my outsourcing of tying my tie." Matt asked if he could put it on himself and do it. I said sure and he put a good, big knot in it. Dad asked him about schooling or something and he said St. Louis Park High School then a short time at Harvard. Dad bragged about me being in the St. Olaf Choir.
I told Matt I'd first seen him in December '92 at First Ave and how very much his music has meant to me over the years. He said thank you and said he was honored. I said I wished there was more of it and he said he did too. We talked about how music gets put into such a small stretch of time when you get older. "Unless you're Mick Jagger or my brother," he said. I agreed and said yeah I was in a similar boat. Then loud music started to play over the P.A. and he gestured to his throat and said something about his voice - needing to not shout to be heard right before the show presumably.
John got there a little later, while I was soundchecking my bass and when he walked up I said, "John Munson!" and we shook hands. I said I'd seen him for the first time at First Ave in 1992 and that his music had meant a lot to me. He said thanks and asked my name and I told him.
While the sound man was still setting up I went and got in a conversation with Matt, John, my friend and bandmate Pete Rivard (who has done some work for Twilight Hours), and Dave, Twilight Hours' keyboard player. John talked about vintage clothing acquisitions and golf. Pete brought up the ukelele and said he'd given me one and he hadn't gotten it back. I said I could not possibly give it back. John said he liked playing single note stuff on the uke - just sitting around and picking out melodies. That I would be fascinated to hear, but I didn't say that because I felt very conscious of seeming like an overly involved fan, which of course I am.
As Skittish was soundchecking and the soundman asked for bass I played the riff from Matt's "Raking Service". John noticed this walking by and laughed, which I found gratifying. We played the Skittish show and I was distracted by Skittish leader Jeff's acoustic and possibly my bass being badly out of tune. I'd been so busy chatting with John, Matt, and Pete that I neglected to tune right before the show. Skittish were okay but not great like we can be. I had to really try to get into "Little Things" but got there of course, partly by thinking that it may have been our last show. (It turns out this was probably true. There are currently no shows on the calendar and unfortunately co-leader Vonnie has quit again.)
The Twilight Hours part of the show was pretty great. Like their album, they started with "Dreams". They were much more electric and rocking live than on their album. Matt was lit in red and the night grew dark and the music became increasingly intense. Their musical interaction was really great to watch. They did stuff from the Twilight Hours album and several new songs. As far as I could tell only "Troublemaker" and "Descender" were older than 2010. They finished with "Descender" then encored with "Stay With You".
I spoke to both guys afterward. Matt mentioned how great it was that my dad seemed so totally with me. I agreed and we talked about the benefits of having good parents.
A moment passed and I radically changed the subject and mentioned that he had done a lot of new stuff and that I liked it. He said they're working on a new album. Matt signed my Twilight Hours CD soft case I brought with the Sharpie I also brought. He wrote, "I'm happy to adjust your couture anytime. Matt Wilson." Jeff and Vonnie came by and we chatted about ties. I said in high school and college that if you couldn't tie a tie it just meant you'd have to get a girl to do it for you and that was a good thing. Matt jokingly asked if that was what was going on tonight. I said no.
I talked briefly to John and he signed my CD as well, writing "A pleasure to meet you after all these years. John" and drew an arrow to his picture. I helped Jeff and Vonnie take their stuff to Jeff's parents' Chevy Suburban on the opposite side of the park. I was in a great mood and was much more talkative than I was when I was exhausted and hot at rehearsal yesterday afternoon. I don't know what the other people in Skittish must think of me. Probably just that sometimes and I am talkative and funny and other times I am stonily silent, which is accurate.
Dad and I drove home. Then I came downstairs and wrote this blog entry while it was all fresh in my mind. I feel so happy to have met those guys and to have had them be such friendly, gracious guys. I think I conveyed how much their music has meant to me without seeming creepy or obsessed. I feel inspired to really try and get something of my own going and finish an album and maybe even play some shows, even if only a few people ever hear it.
I remember how strongly I used to feel sort of sad and happy all at once after a Matt Wilson show. Like pretty much all my feelings at this age (39), I still sort of feel it but it's muted. It's a more manageable, practical feeling that won't interfere with my getting to sleep or send me into some kind of spiral one direction or another. Getting old is weird. Or maybe it's being young that's weird and you just don't realize it at the time.
My Dad and I drove over to St. Paul and got a parking space directly behind the stage. It was perfect. I got my stuff set up. Then Matt Wilson arrived. I must have stared a little bit because as he walked by he said, "Are you playing tonight?" I said I was. After a little while I went to the back of Dad's Kia to change into my suit pants from my shorts. That was unpleasant, changing into a suit there on East 6th Street in downtown St. Paul in the back of a car.
I realized the knot in my tie, which I leave in due to not knowing how to tie one, was looking totally weak. I asked Dad to do it for me. He realized he couldn't do it without a mirror. He was doing it in a car window and said to the car's owner, "I'm not trying to peek in your car but I can't do this tie without a mirror." The car's owner was Twilight Hours' keyboard player Dave. Matt Wilson went over to my Dad and was trying to tie it on him.
At that point I came over and said, "You've further outsourced my outsourcing of tying my tie." Matt asked if he could put it on himself and do it. I said sure and he put a good, big knot in it. Dad asked him about schooling or something and he said St. Louis Park High School then a short time at Harvard. Dad bragged about me being in the St. Olaf Choir.
I told Matt I'd first seen him in December '92 at First Ave and how very much his music has meant to me over the years. He said thank you and said he was honored. I said I wished there was more of it and he said he did too. We talked about how music gets put into such a small stretch of time when you get older. "Unless you're Mick Jagger or my brother," he said. I agreed and said yeah I was in a similar boat. Then loud music started to play over the P.A. and he gestured to his throat and said something about his voice - needing to not shout to be heard right before the show presumably.
John got there a little later, while I was soundchecking my bass and when he walked up I said, "John Munson!" and we shook hands. I said I'd seen him for the first time at First Ave in 1992 and that his music had meant a lot to me. He said thanks and asked my name and I told him.
While the sound man was still setting up I went and got in a conversation with Matt, John, my friend and bandmate Pete Rivard (who has done some work for Twilight Hours), and Dave, Twilight Hours' keyboard player. John talked about vintage clothing acquisitions and golf. Pete brought up the ukelele and said he'd given me one and he hadn't gotten it back. I said I could not possibly give it back. John said he liked playing single note stuff on the uke - just sitting around and picking out melodies. That I would be fascinated to hear, but I didn't say that because I felt very conscious of seeming like an overly involved fan, which of course I am.
As Skittish was soundchecking and the soundman asked for bass I played the riff from Matt's "Raking Service". John noticed this walking by and laughed, which I found gratifying. We played the Skittish show and I was distracted by Skittish leader Jeff's acoustic and possibly my bass being badly out of tune. I'd been so busy chatting with John, Matt, and Pete that I neglected to tune right before the show. Skittish were okay but not great like we can be. I had to really try to get into "Little Things" but got there of course, partly by thinking that it may have been our last show. (It turns out this was probably true. There are currently no shows on the calendar and unfortunately co-leader Vonnie has quit again.)
The Twilight Hours part of the show was pretty great. Like their album, they started with "Dreams". They were much more electric and rocking live than on their album. Matt was lit in red and the night grew dark and the music became increasingly intense. Their musical interaction was really great to watch. They did stuff from the Twilight Hours album and several new songs. As far as I could tell only "Troublemaker" and "Descender" were older than 2010. They finished with "Descender" then encored with "Stay With You".
I spoke to both guys afterward. Matt mentioned how great it was that my dad seemed so totally with me. I agreed and we talked about the benefits of having good parents.
A moment passed and I radically changed the subject and mentioned that he had done a lot of new stuff and that I liked it. He said they're working on a new album. Matt signed my Twilight Hours CD soft case I brought with the Sharpie I also brought. He wrote, "I'm happy to adjust your couture anytime. Matt Wilson." Jeff and Vonnie came by and we chatted about ties. I said in high school and college that if you couldn't tie a tie it just meant you'd have to get a girl to do it for you and that was a good thing. Matt jokingly asked if that was what was going on tonight. I said no.
I talked briefly to John and he signed my CD as well, writing "A pleasure to meet you after all these years. John" and drew an arrow to his picture. I helped Jeff and Vonnie take their stuff to Jeff's parents' Chevy Suburban on the opposite side of the park. I was in a great mood and was much more talkative than I was when I was exhausted and hot at rehearsal yesterday afternoon. I don't know what the other people in Skittish must think of me. Probably just that sometimes and I am talkative and funny and other times I am stonily silent, which is accurate.
Dad and I drove home. Then I came downstairs and wrote this blog entry while it was all fresh in my mind. I feel so happy to have met those guys and to have had them be such friendly, gracious guys. I think I conveyed how much their music has meant to me without seeming creepy or obsessed. I feel inspired to really try and get something of my own going and finish an album and maybe even play some shows, even if only a few people ever hear it.
I remember how strongly I used to feel sort of sad and happy all at once after a Matt Wilson show. Like pretty much all my feelings at this age (39), I still sort of feel it but it's muted. It's a more manageable, practical feeling that won't interfere with my getting to sleep or send me into some kind of spiral one direction or another. Getting old is weird. Or maybe it's being young that's weird and you just don't realize it at the time.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
It's Wild To Be Young (Alex Chilton, part 3)
Did you miss part 1 or part 2?
It's wild to be young, isn't it? You can actually fall fully in love with stuff without thinking about it. Someday, if I keep borrowing their albums from the library and listening to them once in a while, I might like Yo La Tengo a lot, or any of these other bands that smart people recommend to me. But I can't remember the last time I really fell in love with a band the way I did with Big Star or Trip Shakespeare or...that's it really. Oh, and They Might Be Giants. And kind of Ben Folds Five, but I was still only like 26 when I heard Whatever And Ever, Amen. And I still haven't bought every single thing he's done and seen him live every chance I could since then like with Alex Chilton or Matt Wilson.
Which reminds me. I can stop looking at the bar/band/show schedules in the back of City Pages now. Matt Wilson has an online presence and an active band and notification of upcoming shows again (finally!) and Alex Chilton, the only other name I was ever really searching for, is gone.
It's wild to be young, isn't it? You can actually fall fully in love with stuff without thinking about it. Someday, if I keep borrowing their albums from the library and listening to them once in a while, I might like Yo La Tengo a lot, or any of these other bands that smart people recommend to me. But I can't remember the last time I really fell in love with a band the way I did with Big Star or Trip Shakespeare or...that's it really. Oh, and They Might Be Giants. And kind of Ben Folds Five, but I was still only like 26 when I heard Whatever And Ever, Amen. And I still haven't bought every single thing he's done and seen him live every chance I could since then like with Alex Chilton or Matt Wilson.
Which reminds me. I can stop looking at the bar/band/show schedules in the back of City Pages now. Matt Wilson has an online presence and an active band and notification of upcoming shows again (finally!) and Alex Chilton, the only other name I was ever really searching for, is gone.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Shows (Alex Chilton, part 2)
Did you miss part 1?
I saw Alex Chilton in concert three times, all in the 1990s, each time with a different group. I saw him at Mill City Music Festival in Minneapolis. It was the big REV105 stage out on 1st avenue and he was playing before Soul Asylum. There were these crappy little punks two or three deep standing at the stage with their backs to it, squatting for Soul Asylum. Alex was constantly trying to get the sound men to turn down the volume on his own guitar, which was ear-bleedingly loud, a characteristic shared with every other band I saw that day. (Including a mutilated version of The Lovin' Spoonful (without John Sebastian for fuck's sake) and Etta James (who did some nasty things with the microphone if I remember correctly.) It did not surprise or terribly sadden me when this festival disappeared.)
I think Chilton played "In The Street" and maybe some other songs from his then most recent albums High Priest and Black List. Honestly, it was a disappointing show. He did not seem engaged and I couldn't really blame him and I've always held it against Soul Aylum for no good reason.
I later saw him at First Avenue with the 1990s version of Big Star with original drummer and singer Jody Stephens and Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow of the Posies. This was a better show, although the first thing I think of was his awkward, speaking-to-each-other-but-into-the-microphones fight with Jody before they played the song Jesus Christ.
Alex: We're gonna do this next song, but I don't want you to actually think we believe any of this crap.
(Some in crowd cheer)
Jody: I think it takes more courage to admit that you do believe.
(Others in crowd cheer or laugh nervously)
Alex sort of groaned and rolled his eyes and they went ahead and did the song. So I guess maybe Alex wasn't a Christian and Jody was/is? You think? Did we need to know that?
The other problem with that show was that the big pauses in the song Big Black Car were filled in with hi-hat quarter notes. Yes, the band all knew when to come back in but all the tension and despair that builds up between sections of that song was popped like a balloon.
The best show I ever saw him give was, strangely enough, a free show with the Box Tops at Taste Of Minnesota in St. Paul. In the Box Tops he didn't really write or play any instruments and as I understand it he quit way back in 1969 because he felt like a tool of the producers, who wrote all the songs, oversaw the recordings and record releases, and kept most of the money.
I guess the Box Tops got control of the name and at least some share of the money because the band I saw (with all the original members) was totally great and enthusiastic. Alex was singing his heart out and climbing the scaffolding at the side of the stage. His voice was energized and powerful, a truly soulful synthesis of the gruff voice he used on those original Box Tops recordings and the calmer, nuanced voice he had discovered and used in Big Star and his wonderfully varied solo work.
After the show he was actually standing behind a table in a tent signing autographs and talking to fans. I desperately wished I had brought one of my many CDs of him. I wanted to talk to him but didn't know what to say. How could I have put it that wouldn't have seemed totally weird?
I watched him sign a few CD booklets then someone tried to hand him a cassette, undoubtedly of their own music for Alex to listen to. He laughed and said he had stacks and stacks of tapes and he'd never get to listen to it. He was laughing and nice about it but he just left the tape on the table. Now that I'm older I totally get both sides of that.
When I was young I wanted to send my music to him and to Matt Wilson of Trip Shakespeare for no real particular reason except that I saw myself as part of the same line that led from The Beatles to those guys to me. Hearing Alex say that he had stacks and stacks of tapes that he'd never get to listening to made me realize I was not alone in that feeling (which I never actually acted on).
There's an interesting parallel here. Hearing Alex talk about all the tapes people sent him made me realize that I was not alone in wanting my idols to hear my music. When I first heard Alex' music it had made me feel that I was not alone in the way I felt back in 1993.
Go to part 3
I saw Alex Chilton in concert three times, all in the 1990s, each time with a different group. I saw him at Mill City Music Festival in Minneapolis. It was the big REV105 stage out on 1st avenue and he was playing before Soul Asylum. There were these crappy little punks two or three deep standing at the stage with their backs to it, squatting for Soul Asylum. Alex was constantly trying to get the sound men to turn down the volume on his own guitar, which was ear-bleedingly loud, a characteristic shared with every other band I saw that day. (Including a mutilated version of The Lovin' Spoonful (without John Sebastian for fuck's sake) and Etta James (who did some nasty things with the microphone if I remember correctly.) It did not surprise or terribly sadden me when this festival disappeared.)
I think Chilton played "In The Street" and maybe some other songs from his then most recent albums High Priest and Black List. Honestly, it was a disappointing show. He did not seem engaged and I couldn't really blame him and I've always held it against Soul Aylum for no good reason.
I later saw him at First Avenue with the 1990s version of Big Star with original drummer and singer Jody Stephens and Jon Auer and Ken Stringfellow of the Posies. This was a better show, although the first thing I think of was his awkward, speaking-to-each-other-but-into-the-microphones fight with Jody before they played the song Jesus Christ.
Alex: We're gonna do this next song, but I don't want you to actually think we believe any of this crap.
(Some in crowd cheer)
Jody: I think it takes more courage to admit that you do believe.
(Others in crowd cheer or laugh nervously)
Alex sort of groaned and rolled his eyes and they went ahead and did the song. So I guess maybe Alex wasn't a Christian and Jody was/is? You think? Did we need to know that?
The other problem with that show was that the big pauses in the song Big Black Car were filled in with hi-hat quarter notes. Yes, the band all knew when to come back in but all the tension and despair that builds up between sections of that song was popped like a balloon.
The best show I ever saw him give was, strangely enough, a free show with the Box Tops at Taste Of Minnesota in St. Paul. In the Box Tops he didn't really write or play any instruments and as I understand it he quit way back in 1969 because he felt like a tool of the producers, who wrote all the songs, oversaw the recordings and record releases, and kept most of the money.
I guess the Box Tops got control of the name and at least some share of the money because the band I saw (with all the original members) was totally great and enthusiastic. Alex was singing his heart out and climbing the scaffolding at the side of the stage. His voice was energized and powerful, a truly soulful synthesis of the gruff voice he used on those original Box Tops recordings and the calmer, nuanced voice he had discovered and used in Big Star and his wonderfully varied solo work.
After the show he was actually standing behind a table in a tent signing autographs and talking to fans. I desperately wished I had brought one of my many CDs of him. I wanted to talk to him but didn't know what to say. How could I have put it that wouldn't have seemed totally weird?
I watched him sign a few CD booklets then someone tried to hand him a cassette, undoubtedly of their own music for Alex to listen to. He laughed and said he had stacks and stacks of tapes and he'd never get to listen to it. He was laughing and nice about it but he just left the tape on the table. Now that I'm older I totally get both sides of that.
When I was young I wanted to send my music to him and to Matt Wilson of Trip Shakespeare for no real particular reason except that I saw myself as part of the same line that led from The Beatles to those guys to me. Hearing Alex say that he had stacks and stacks of tapes that he'd never get to listening to made me realize I was not alone in that feeling (which I never actually acted on).
There's an interesting parallel here. Hearing Alex talk about all the tapes people sent him made me realize that I was not alone in wanting my idols to hear my music. When I first heard Alex' music it had made me feel that I was not alone in the way I felt back in 1993.
Go to part 3
Friday, March 19, 2010
Thanks, Andy (Alex Chilton, part 1)
The fall of 1993 was a good time to become a Big Star fan for a few reasons. Logistically, Rykodisc had just issued the first complete, good sounding CD editions of the Third album, a live radio show, and Chris Bell's complete solo work. The previous year had seen the band's other two albums, #1 Record and Radio City, released on a single disc.
Personally, I was not doing so well. I may or may not have been suffering from what scientists today call clinical depression. Also, there was a girl. I thought about death a lot. I needed something to make me feel like I wasn't alone. Big Star music was that something.
Like most people who love the band, I did not hear about them from the media. I heard about them from other people who loved them. Trip Shakespeare, a band equally deserving of greater acclaim but which has received even less, covered "The Ballad of El Goodo" on their final album, Volt, which I loved. I did not know anything about the listed authors Alex Chilton and Chris Bell. If you can, try to imagine a world in which information about these mysterious people was not immediately available to me. There was nothing about them at the college libraries. If there was such a thing as searching the internet I was not aware of it. I had to actually ask people!
I asked the most knowledgeable music guy I knew, Andy Honigman. He provided me with a tape of a record of Third and his CD of #1 Record/Radio City, which, oddly, was signed by the drummer from Walt Mink. (Oh, by the way, which one's Mink?)
The Third/Sister Lovers album spoke to my emotional state like no other music ever had. I shortly thereafter bought the CD myself, along with all the rest of the band's music. I listened to it a lot. Along with Trip Shakespeare and R.E.M.'s then-new Automatic for the People album, this music and my own emerging writing and playing gave me a reason to get up in the morning. The music gave me a sense that other people had felt the way I felt. All this music was important to me, but Big Star was the most.
I learned the Big Star songs The Ballad of El Goodo, Thirteen, Give Me Another Chance, I'm In Love With A Girl, Blue Moon, Way Out West, In The Street, and the Chris Bell songs You And Your Sister and I Am The Cosmos. Except for the Beatles there is no other band whose songs I've put more effort into and had in my playing repertoire for longer. I'm being intentionally dramatic and overstating the case just a little when I say slightly (but only slightly) disingenuously that Big Star's music saved my life. Certainly it strengthened my friendships as I played those songs with people I loved and began to get the idea to name myself after the band's home town.
Go to part two.
Personally, I was not doing so well. I may or may not have been suffering from what scientists today call clinical depression. Also, there was a girl. I thought about death a lot. I needed something to make me feel like I wasn't alone. Big Star music was that something.
Like most people who love the band, I did not hear about them from the media. I heard about them from other people who loved them. Trip Shakespeare, a band equally deserving of greater acclaim but which has received even less, covered "The Ballad of El Goodo" on their final album, Volt, which I loved. I did not know anything about the listed authors Alex Chilton and Chris Bell. If you can, try to imagine a world in which information about these mysterious people was not immediately available to me. There was nothing about them at the college libraries. If there was such a thing as searching the internet I was not aware of it. I had to actually ask people!
I asked the most knowledgeable music guy I knew, Andy Honigman. He provided me with a tape of a record of Third and his CD of #1 Record/Radio City, which, oddly, was signed by the drummer from Walt Mink. (Oh, by the way, which one's Mink?)
The Third/Sister Lovers album spoke to my emotional state like no other music ever had. I shortly thereafter bought the CD myself, along with all the rest of the band's music. I listened to it a lot. Along with Trip Shakespeare and R.E.M.'s then-new Automatic for the People album, this music and my own emerging writing and playing gave me a reason to get up in the morning. The music gave me a sense that other people had felt the way I felt. All this music was important to me, but Big Star was the most.
I learned the Big Star songs The Ballad of El Goodo, Thirteen, Give Me Another Chance, I'm In Love With A Girl, Blue Moon, Way Out West, In The Street, and the Chris Bell songs You And Your Sister and I Am The Cosmos. Except for the Beatles there is no other band whose songs I've put more effort into and had in my playing repertoire for longer. I'm being intentionally dramatic and overstating the case just a little when I say slightly (but only slightly) disingenuously that Big Star's music saved my life. Certainly it strengthened my friendships as I played those songs with people I loved and began to get the idea to name myself after the band's home town.
Go to part two.
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