Ah, Springtime, the season of renewal and reawakening! Delicate new green grass appears through the muddy ground, tulips and daffodils and cherry blossoms pop into colorful life...and PUNKS return to rule the earth! Therefore, it could not be a better time for Tacoma, Washington's greatest export, The Sonics -- the best damn garage band in the world -- to return to victorious form. The band have just released an astonishingly-awesome album entitled "This Is The Sonics," their first new music in 48 years. Yes, that's F-O-R-T-Y - E-I-G-H-T, friends, and it is just as dynamic and powerful and fun as their original bash-'em-out records of the mid-'60s. How?? How is this possible? Are The Sonics magical warlocks who have discovered the eternal remote-control opener to the Golden Garage Door? Was it even possible that they could replicate this Sonic Tsunami live?? Well, I am here to answer these burning questions, having attended The Sonics' tour-opening show featuring Mudhoney and The Intelligence at Seattle's historic Moore Theater last Thursday night. READ ON!
“We feared that the music which had given us sustenance was in danger of spiritual starvation. We feared it losing its sense of purpose, we feared it falling into fattened hands, we feared it floundering in a mire of spectacle, finance, and vapid technical complexity. We would call forth in our minds the image of Paul Revere, riding through the American night, petitioning the people to wake up, to take up arms. We too would take up arms, the arms of our generation, the electric guitar and the microphone.” ― Patti Smith, Just Kids
If your heart is dedicated to rock n' roll, as mine is, you understand what Patti is talking about. Music isn't a passing fancy, a background noise, a throwaway thing...it is your passion, your best friend, the driving force, and the greatest joy throughout your life. You will support and defend it until the end, because music does more for you than it is possible to express with words. This is why The Sonics' slammin' new record "This Is The Sonics" is downright heroic to me: to return after nearly 50 years to record an album just as kickass, relevant, and damn punk as their very first release in 1964 and then go on tour is so beyond extraordinary as to be inspirational. The Sonics are the coolest there ever was and will ever be!
The Sonics really were the very first garage/punk band, blasting out of the happening Pacific Northwest rock scene in the early '60s with their unrelentingly and unapologetic hard-hitting rock, made from gritty guitars, cacophonous trash-can drums, surf sax, and bad boy vocals. Lay on top of that some spooky/creepy/fun lyrics in songs like "Psycho," "The Witch," and "Strychnine," and you had a band whose unique sound created a musical influence that strongly continues into today, into not only garage and punk, but grunge, alternative, and metal. But as is so common, even the coolest bands have lives to live, and after recording an album that they were unhappy with in 1967, the members dispersed to other pursuits like college, work, and the Vietnam War. There were a couple of one-off reformations of the band in later years, but it wasn't until now that The Sonics decided to deliver their full-on, take-no-prisoners, awesome auditory assault once again. What's a half-century, eh?
"This Is The Sonics," recorded in "earth-shaking mono," is a triumph and an affirmation of the spirit of the garage: nasty, aggressive, crazy and fun as hell. These guys beat back Father Time with what must be the devil's drumsticks, because the energy throughout the record is jaw-dropping, bettering bands with members 50 years younger. I cannot tell you how much I LOVE and admire that they just WENT FOR IT and gave it everything they had. It'll rip your face off, son. (Side note: when I was playing the album through for the first time and heard they covered The Kinks' "The Hard Way" from Schoolboys In Disgrace I about jumped out of my chair in delight and went "WHOOO YEAH!!) Buy this record immediately!
Yesterday, I had the great pleasure to attend the first record-signing event for "This Is The Sonics" at Silver Platters in Bellevue, WA. I was so excited to be there that I hardly knew what to do with myself. Seeing fans there that ranged from granddads to grandkids made my entire being smile. The Sonics have two more meet n' greets for the Seattle area -- TONIGHT at Easy Street Records in West Seattle, and Wednesday, April 1st at Sonic Boom Records in Ballard, so be sure to head out there and show your support!
FURTHERMORE and IMPORTANTLY, The Sonics headline the Show To Beat All Shows at Seattle's Moore Theater on Thursday, April 2nd with grunge supahstahzMudhoney, and my very favorite post-punk princes, The Intelligence.Tickets are still available, and I just cannot stress enough that you NEED TO BE THERE. Seriously, do what you have to do, sell some blood, pawn your wife, whatever...GO!
The Sonics have indeed taken up arms once again. Join the revolution!
(As always, click on the photos to enlarge and click on the Flickr set link to see more!)
Tomorrow, June 21st, the inimitable Ray Davies turns 70 years old. I'm very comfortable with calling him "inimitable," having suffered through many possibly well-meaning attempts by other musicians over the last 50 years or so to jack his style. Writing a pseudo-nostalgic tune about blueberry scones whilst singing with a fake British accent does not cut it, my friends, no, no, and no. Ray Davies became an influential and honored songwriter by running with, through instinct or design, his major strength. He is able to take his razor-sharp observational skills, dust them with equal measures of contempt and compassion, and offer us tiny, perfect song-worlds filled with all-too-human characters that we can relate to, that we can sing along with, and remember always.
In the best of Davies' work, we feel a depth that is not often present in the work of most of his British Invasion songwriter peers, and that does include Lennon/McCartney, Townshend, and Jagger/Richards. The focus is smaller yet sharper, the expected subjects turned around, swagger twisted to anger, love as more of a distant concept than messy, heady reality. When faced with the overwhelming content demands placed on him as the leader and primary songwriter for the Kinks, he turned inward rather than outward for inspiration, so in looking back we now find very little of trendiness or hollowness in his work. Write what you know, sage advice goes, and Davies excels at this because he is able to not only translate from his own personal experience, but can hone in on what is essential to understand about others as well.
This vision depends upon higher levels of clarity and empathy; these are gifts, to be sure, but ones that also come with a great cost. Seeing humanity in all its beauty and brutality is an overwhelming thing, and it does not come with an "OFF" switch. Without question, Davies has struggled with doubt and deep withdrawal, at times can be cagey and cruel, yet remains far more accessible than the above-mentioned peers, and often is quite kind, even when there is no one to see it or laud it. The contradictions he presents are not so different from our own, but he takes them and makes them into art, often with tremendous wit and balance. He remains, at 70, a man still invested in becoming a better writer, still understanding that staying outside the mainstream and embracing imperfections keeps him fueled. He is fairly amazed by how his career has gone and how much he is cared for, which is actually rather lovely.
As someone whose imagination has always been sparked by moments frozen in time, I really like when the subject of photography is brought into song lyrics. When done well, the composer brings across that bittersweet feeling viewing life held static while the clock resolutely ticks on; when done poorly, the song becomes maudlin or trite. Here are ten of my favorite "picture" songs, with The Kinks clearly winning the event. Please to enjoy!
It is without question the advice given to all who might have any dealings with Ray Davies, the legendary songwriter, author, film director/producer, and former leader of the seminal British rock band The Kinks: Set your table for two guests, rather than one...so to speak. Much of Davies' career has examined flip-sides, coin-tosses, the misfit vs. the common man, the dualities that exist within society and within ourselves. This duality is particularly pronounced in Davies' own character, which may have given him the gift to be able to write so articulately and compassionately about others. The same duality surfaces in less benevolent ways as well, which has cost Davies' dearly in both his personal and professional relationships, and seems to leave him sadly unsettled within himself as well. Throughout Davies' autobiographical "Americana: The Kinks, The Riff, The Road, The Story" (Sterling, $24.95) one is struck how often his choices and perceptions battle each other for control and how this leads to such puzzling contradictory behavior and statements. Davies is a man who seems both tremendously self-aware and stunningly clueless, effortlessly charming and upsettingly cruel, naturally creative and desperate for inspiration, devoted and loyal yet closed-off and indifferent.
Davies uses the over-arching theme of "Brit in America" to frame his stories about his life and career, focusing primarily where his first autobiography, the strange and very clever "X-Ray: The Unauthorized Autobiography," left off in the early-1970s. Rather than a straight chronology, he chooses to punctuate the timeline with the events leading up to his near-fatal shooting in New Orleans in January 2004 and its aftermath. For those readers less familiar with Davies, this may make the book somewhat hard to follow, even though time frames are given at the start of each chapter. Which bodyguard/manager/handler died when? Which wife/girlfriend was left (or left him) to care for their infant daughter(s) alone? Which promotor threatened to end Davies' career for what bad behavior? Yet despite the jagged time shifts of sometimes alarmingly-similar events separated by decades, we see the profound and permanent impact the shooting had on him, how much he needs to tell the story in detail, as is common to victims of random violence and PTSD. The shooting and concurrent breakup of yet another romance takes Davies into a level of vulnerability and self-examination that seems at nearly 10 years later to still haunt him.
Yet "Americana" is not a morose or bitter essay on the seamy sides of America or England, not at all. One of Davies' very finest qualities, and one that he has used to great benefit in his writing, is his sense of humor. When a passage begins to feel weighty, there is a self-effacing moment to lighten the mood. When he begins to bemoan the loss of innocence, cohesive character, and national pride in his British homeland, he tries to think of creative ways to celebrate England while championing its quirks and changes. He is honest about how his initial impressions of America were fueled by Westerns and gangster films, and how much real work went into, with The Kinks, winning over not cowboys or Mafiosos, but college kids, not to mention music business moguls who knew well the reputation the band carried for being irrational -- if also exciting and irresistible -- jerks. There are real triumphs, well-deserved, and costs that most people would find too painful to choose to incur.
Wives, girlfriends, and children don't fare too well in Daviesland, and in "Americana," some of them don't even rate a first name, while some of them are turned into asterisked "composite characters;" odd, in an otherwise-straightforward memoir. Davies' brother and Kinks bandmate Dave Davies is something of a ghost in this book, mentioned most often for his increasing emotional and physical distance and escalating friction with original Kinks drummer Mick Avory. I imagine it sits very poorly with Dave that his older brother has taken to referring to The Kinks constantly throughout this book and in interviews as "my band," and their records as "my records," since Dave was the originator and leader of the band at the beginning of the 1960s. His guitar style was absolutely crucial to the Kinks ever having the chance to stand out from the British Invasion hoards at all. Although it is undeniable that Ray quickly became the lead singer and took over almost all songwriting and production duties for the band as soon as he could, to relegate the rest of the band members to "session man" status with the callous use of a two-letter adjective seems petty.
The disappointments a reader may feel while reading "Americana" perhaps are only reflections of how much one wants to like Ray Davies, for he is likable, smart, funny, and, we should never forget, has written some of the best songs of the 20th Century. The dualities within him rear up so frequently, however, that one begins to wonder if there is a real Ray Davies to know. It appears Davies comes to something of the same conclusion: unable to adjust to settled "normality" after a lifetime spent in planes, theaters, and hotel rooms, he wanders, no longer relating to an England he feels has lost its values nor an America that will always feel too brash, unpredictable, and foreign, unsure of what his life has meant, or will mean after he is gone. The 300-pages of the book go by in a whoosh, and we can feel that time must feel the same for Davies, as the details of tour schedule, a TV appearance, a record being carefully mastered, a car ride with a daughter, a death of a loyal associate, stack and add so quickly.
In the end, "Americana," is a fascinating glimpse into a man defined by his steadfast and stubborn resistance to be named or controlled by anything or anyone...to be "not like everybody else" to his last breath, even with the weight of regret at times settling uneasily on his chest. Ray Davies' dualities, for better or worse, took him from a dead-end working-class London suburb to travel the entire world, a great accomplishment in itself. He composes music that will live in the hearts of millions, and assuredly long after he is gone, and that made a difference to people. He gives courage and hope to those fans who see him as a voice for those who were outcast, awkward, or loners, and sings to them as a friend would, even if through a pair of headphones thousands of miles away on a record well-loved with pops and crackles. He entertains people, and gives them shows they will never forget. He survived career flops, failed relationships, and even a bullet.
It is part of natural human curiosity to want to know more about the things and people that have a profound impact on our lives, I think -- when something is meaningful to us, we like to set that into a context, perhaps reflecting on the unique qualities of a person or thing or movement or event that affected us so dramatically. We are curious, endlessly so, and this is seen no more obviously than in the modern world's obsession with celebrities and all that makes up pop culture. At its worst, this curiosity fuels the supermarket scandal rags and paparazzi ghouls, to where you'd not wish fame upon your most-loathed enemy. But at its best, the examination provides us with a glimpse into what makes up the extraordinary -- a hero, a gifted writer, a musical genius, a great leader, exceptional teamwork -- and we are able to understand and better appreciate them, and in turn, perhaps see a bit more of those qualities that exist within ourselves.
It is not at all an exaggeration to state that The Kinks had a profound impact on my life. For those of you who are not quite so musically passionate, it may seem a bit odd that a rock band could or should make any real difference to anyone, other than to provide simple entertainment. But there are some artists that have the ability to connect with their audiences in a deeper way through their music, and what they do not only moves your feet to dance, but provides your brain with fabulous fuel, too. Like their British musical peers of the 1960s The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and The Who, The Kinks were able to transcend time and trends to make music that mattered, and that still remains as fresh and vital as the day it was made. Unlike the other three, The Kinks contained a pair of brothers, Ray and Dave Davies, whose vastly differing characters and talents combined to produce some of the most powerful, observant, and intelligent pop music ever, while at the very same time, seemed hell-bent on destroying every professional opportunity and personal relationship they ever came across.
The Kinks' story is a captivating one, and author Rob Jovanovic has carefully crafted a fascinating read in "God Save The Kinks: A Biography," which will be released in the UK by Aurum Press on June 3rd. Jovanovic proves a thorough researcher and storyteller by understanding the readers' need to understand how and why The Kinks came to be, exploring the circumstances that helped to form one of the most influential and beloved bands of our time. By going back into both the band members' family histories as well as providing an ongoing broader historical framework, we get a feel for the gritty, war-and-Depression-scarred working class London that was home to the Davies brothers and the other two original Kinks, bassist Pete Quaife and drummer Mick Avory. Their everyday realities were a far cry from the pastoral green and pleasant land that Ray Davies often wrote about in his songs, a world more wished for than perhaps ever really existed. In post-WWII England, austerity was still the norm, the discriminatory class system firmly in place, and Davies, Davies, Quaife, and Avory were unlikely to ever break away from minimal wage work, spent driving lorries, cleaning band instruments, or illustrating weekly grocer's ads.
Jovanovic leads us from this seemingly-hopeless background into the story of how music began to pull the two distant teenage Davies brothers together for the first time, and how rapidly the pop business was changing in the immediate wake of The Beatles' staggering worldwide success. Through a combination of unprecedented musical opportunity for all British pop bands, tenacity, talent, ambition, and a lot of luck, the rather ragged Kinks secured a recording contract with major label Pye Records, promptly recorded two flop singles, and had one final chance to deliver a hit before the label would drop them. The song was "You Really Got Me," which not only ended up topping the British charts, but arguably became the foundation sound for completely new kinds of rock genres: heavy metal and punk rock.
There is nothing truer than the old showbiz adage that "you're only as good as your last record," so as the band and their strange assortment of managers and agents and producers and mentors toasted their spectacular success, the pressure was immediately applied for the band to make more hits. This, along with constant touring, the omnipresent press, crazed fans, incredible musical competition, and dramatic romantic relationships, put strain on the Davies' brothers already-fragile bond, and fighting -- both physical and verbal -- was near-constant. As one reads through "God Save The Kinks," it seems miraculous that the band survived a single year, much less thirty of them. As Ray Davies stepped up to take a leadership role in The Kinks, becoming the lead singer, frontman, primary songwriter, and eventual producer, bitterness and division followed quickly, even as the quality of the band's musical output continued to rise, often outshining their chart rivals.
Jovanovic is to be commended in his reporter's balance here; where it would seem to be easy to take sides in the story, he does not, instead carefully allowing the band's own words to speak for themselves. In choosing his quoted material, he shapes the history fairly, not an easy task when the very same event is told differently by nearly everyone involved in it! It is an easy, flowing read, testament to his skills as a writer, because the trajectory of The Kinks' story is often frustrating, punctuated by moments of musical triumph and redemption, but never able to completely be free of the chaos and cruelty that eventually caused them to stop, with no announcement, no fanfare, and no goodbyes. How so much magic and so many amazing songs were created in such a caustic environment will likely remain a mystery. That the songs are still able to bring great joy and insight to new fans year after year is not a mystery at all. They are that good.
(Note: I am very pleased and proud to be a photographic contributor to "God Save The Kinks." My thanks to Rob Jovanovic as well as Lucy Warburton at Aurum Press for a delightful working experience and the chance to be in such a gorgeous book, and to The Kinks, because I loved them so much I wanted to learn how to take pictures of them with a real camera.)
God Save The Kinks: A Biography
Author: Rob Jovanoic
ISBN:9781845136710 ISBN-10:1845136713 Format:Hardback (234mm x 153mm x mm) Pages:336 Imprint: Aurum Press Ltd Publisher:Aurum Press Ltd Publish Date: 3-Jun-2013 Country of Publication: United Kingdom
This morning, as I was rushing around getting ready to go out, I had the pleasure of hearing one of my favorite Kinks songs played on SIRIUSXM's "Underground Garage" radio: "The World Keeps Going 'Round," originally released in 1965. As I listened to it once again, I began to understand how my interpretation of the song had changed throughout my life, what the lyrics said to me, and I once marveled at how a simple set of words can bring so much to us. A gifted artist, such as composer Ray Davies, has the skills to offer us work that has shades and nuance, things we often cannot appreciate on a first listen.
When this song was written, Davies was a young man of 21, overwhelmed with the demands of new pop music stardom and the responsibilities of caring for an even-younger wife and their newborn daughter. "The World Keeps Going 'Round" is an early example of Davies moving away from the typical pop love song -- something he seemed to have mixed feelings about, anyway -- towards more reflective, personal material. At 21 years of age, the lyrics are a somber statement; the inevitable disillusionment with the world and its systems and people, the fall from a youthful "we can change things, we can do better than the generation before us" to "why care, why bother, why try?" The arrow of hope shot high into the sky from a child lands with a deep, predictable thud by young adulthood, sometimes driving far into the ground. Seeing things as the are and not how you imagined them to be is a bitter lesson for us all.
You worry 'bout the sun What's the use of worrying 'bout the big ol' sun You worry 'bout the rain The rain keeps falling just the same You worry when the one you need has found somebody new
But the world keeps going round The world keeps going round You just can't stop it The world keeps going round
You worry 'bout yourself What's the use of worrying now you're almost grown You worry 'bout your own What's the use of worrying 'cause you'll die alone Times will be hard, rain will fall And you'll feel mighty low
But the world keeps going round The world keeps going round You just can't stop it The world keeps going round
Times will be hard, rain will fall And you'll feel mighty low
But the world keeps going round The world keeps going round The world keeps going round The world keeps going round You just can't stop it The world keeps going round The world keeps going round
Almost 50 years later, both Ray Davies and I qualify for membership in AARP, and have been around the block plenty of times. With every corner rounded, it is always a hope that you learn and grow from your experiences, both pleasant and challenging. In "The World Keeps Going 'Round," my years have stacked well and strong, so that I can see more of the big picture within it. I no longer think of the endless patterns and routines of the world as impersonal and cold, going on without me, making my worries, my joys, and my entire existence meaningless. The cycle of days that turn into weeks and months and years and decades no longer seem to be a terrifying, heartless steamroller. No, what I hear now in this song is this: yes, bad things are going to happen to you, yes, you can't always count on people, yes, you will never have control over everything in your life...but...
Every time the world goes 'round, you get another chance. You get another day to make things better, to get move towards the life you want to have and to become the person you want to be. Some things fade and die, but others form and bloom. Along with all the harshness, life will always also bring you absolute beauty, grace, kindness, and delight. That the world keeps turning and keeps giving us the opportunity to be refreshed and renewed rather than wearing us down is actually a tremendous gift, and, I think, a more accurate perspective to trust in.
As I finished listening to the song while brushing my hair and thinking about it all, the next song began to play. It was Little Richard's "Rip It Up," which I thought was rather perfectly timed. I smiled.
Once again I have mined the cassette tape archives to bring you another Kinks cover version from '80s Midwestern punk rock legends, The Performa-Chords! This time, we have a Dave Davies composition -- the sweet folky moper "Wait 'Til The Summer Comes Along" was released by the Kinks in the fall of 1965. It's certainly a favorite Kinks song of mine to this day. Anyway, in introduction please allow me to remind you of the UNBREAKABLE RULES of The Performa-Chords:
1. ABSOLUTELY NO REHEARSING.
2. NO DO-OVERS.
3. Use whatever instruments or non-instruments are around.
4. Anyone can play. If you are in the room, playing is MANDATORY.
5. Alcohol will be served. A LOT OF IT.
6. After a song title is announced and the cassette recorder is turned on, BEGIN PLAYING!
The Performa-Chords cheerily mangled "Wait 'Til The Summer Comes Along" in the fall of 1981. The instrumentation is as follows:
Kevin: Acoustic guitar and vocals
Marianne: Electric guitar and vocals
Dena: slide whistle
??? - tambourine and drumsticks
I've been spending the last few nights going through my old battered Kinks negatives again for another project, so I haven't had a ton of time to spare to write, but thought I'd bring you these four failed photos of Ray and Dave Davies of the Kinks from the 1980s. I very SERIOUSLY don't miss the surprise of seeing these kinds of things returned from the film lab. The worst that happens when I shoot now? I fill up a memory card mid-show and have to spend a minute switching out to a new one.
Many, many years later, I can smile at these and almost call them art. Back then, I just swore.
Sprockets! This potentially-great beer spray shot was a little too blurry anyway, BUT DAMN.
You don't have to prod me much to do fun stuff like play guitar and such, but when my dear old friend Jim called me up and exhorted that I was NO KINKS FAN AT ALL if I didn't record a cover version for Talenthouse's "Interpret A Kinks Song" contest, I told him I couldn't do it. For one, I was at my mom's house and the only instrument she had there was some wooden horn from New Guinea. Secondly, I couldn't sing -- I've had full to lingering laryngitis for weeks. Jim recorded his own song for the contest, "Motorway," and ended up shaming me into doing this with 14 hours left before the thing closes.
I picked "Sleepwalker," one of my favorite Kinks tracks from 1977. It roaringly announced that the band was back and ready to climb the charts again, and that is just what they did. I used my dad's 1920s toy piano, a '65 Fender Electric XII (the same model that was used on many Kinks recordings), and you can definitely hear some squeaky weirdness in my voice! I hope it makes you smile, because I did have a lot of fun doing it.
This is my last post from Wisconsin this summer; an airplane back to Seattle awaits us this evening. Today I'd like to share with you these photos collected in a small ziplock bag wedged underneath a pile of dusty old cameras and expired rolls of film, which I purchased for four dollars at a huge rural antiques mall a few days ago. They all appear to be from the same local family, taken in the 1940s and earlier. I sort of feel like I rescued them, in a very modest way, and I like that they get one more chance to be seen, by someone or anyone. Please to enjoy.
People take pictures of the summerJust in case someone thought they had missed itAnd to prove that it really existed Fathers take pictures of the mothersAnd the sisters take pictures of brothersJust to show that they love one another You can't picture love that you took from meWhen we were young and the world was freePictures of things as they used to beDon't show me no more, please People take pictures of each otherJust to prove that they really existedJust to prove that they really existed People take pictures of each otherAnd the moment to last them foreverOf the time when they mattered to someone People take pictures of the summerJust in case someone thought they had missed itJust to prove that it really existed People take pictures of each otherAnd the moment to last them foreverOf the time when they mattered to someone Picture of me when I was just threeSucking my thumb by the old oak treeOh, how I love things as they used to beDon't show me no more please The Kinks, "People Take Pictures Of Each Other"
Where do I begin to tell you about my long weekend spent seeing and photographing the perennially-awesome Ray Davies at the start of his 2012 West Coast tour? Well, right here, I guess:
Hey ho, this is Marianne’s pal Dena, filling in for
Mari while she zips around the great Pacific Northwest this weekend, being
camera of rockstar. Marianne returns on Monday, hopefully with lots of photos and tales of crabwalks. Until then, you are at my mercy.
Since Marianne is off seeing and photographing Ray Davies, this weekend, I thought I would launch my blogidency with
a story of my special place. I’m speaking of the O’Hare Hilton, mind you, so
get your mind out of the gutter.
I’m sure you must have your own special places, locations
that are inherently mundane, but that are imbued with some deep personal
significance because they are permanently attached to a memorable experience.
The emotions aroused by these experiences may run the gamut, which is why I’ll
never eat another meal at Bally’s in Las Vegas. On the other end of the
pleasure spectrum, every time I get dropped off at O’Hare airport and spot the imposing
curve of the O'Hare Hilton, I find myself floating on air as I did the night I met Ray
Davies in the lobby.
It was June 11, 1978 by my reckoning, but I’m sure someone
will correct me if I have the date wrong. I had just seen my second Kinks show
with my ex and we had a tip that they were at the Hilton, so we drove out to
O’Hare. Still high on the show, I would have been delighted with a mere
sighting. I had discovered the Kinks while I was still living in Peoria and
spent the previous few years listening to their music intensively, even
starting a fanzine, “Autumn Almanac,” with my ex. I was all of eighteen years old at
the time and utterly infatuated with Ray Davies, whose lilting voice and
flamboyant stage presence had drawn me to the Kinks in the first place. Never
in my life had I come face to face with someone who was that important to me,
nor had I imagined such a portentous encounter would happen in the lobby of a
generically furnished chain hotel.
My memories of that night are not as sharp as they used to
be, but I do remember I was wearing a man’s hat and a black t-shirt with white
printed letters that said “Ramona.” I had originally had the shirt printed up
for a Ramones show that I wound up missing because the club arbitrarily raised
the minimum age for one night, but it was also an obscure Kinks reference
having to do with a glove. I can’t even remember if I walked up to Ray or he
walked up to me, but of course it must have been the former. I can’t remember
what Ray was wearing, if he was talking to someone else, or even what I said
when I started talking to him. It seems likely that I babbled something about
the show I had just seen, or perhaps I was speaking in tongues, but I’m not
sure Ray even heard my words. I think he simply took one look at me and could
see I was starstruck, baby, completely overwhelmed to be in his presence. He
must have found it endearing, because he abruptly bent down and kissed me on
the cheek.
I met Ray quite a few times after that and he was always
gracious, sometimes astoundingly so. But he never made my heart stop again the
way he did that night, simply because his gesture was so completely unexpected
and so completely kind. Ray didn’t owe me a thing, but he went out of his way
to acknowledge me because he could see the stars in my eyes. It felt like he
was thanking me for being there, but I’m the grateful one. I may not be the
rabid Kinks fan I once was, but Ray and I will always have Village Green
Preservation Society and the O’Hare Hilton. And if I repeat this story a few
more times before I kiss this increasingly scorched earth goodbye, it’s only
because it means that much to me.
We got it, I guess, about 20 years from a guy who lived in Westminster, Colorado from an ad in the newspaper, and for a good price. But around that same time I was also in college, having my first kid, and adult responsibilities soon took precedence over me banging around on a cool guitar. It's been stored away for many, many years.
Oh, how I missed it! It's a late-1965 Fender Electric XII, which as you might guess is a solid-body electric 12-string guitar. There's little doubt that this was a single-owner guitar -- it's in nearly flawless condition, came with the original Fender case, and even had the hangtag with it. Swoon!
In the midst of doing of spring cleaning today, I opened up yet another box of Ancient Saved Crap from my mom, which is always a total blast for me and a great distraction from actually cleaning anything. In a box of old books I found "The Book Of Rock Quotes," a 1977 compilation by Jonathon Green, and "The View '76," which was the arts yearbook of my own Oconomowoc (WI.) Junior High School. Today I'd like to pick out some of the quotes from the book that I circled as favorites as a 15-year-old, and from "The View," a review of a KISS concert in Milwaukee written by my classmate, Pete B.
I will add that these books smell old, like the smell I used to think was "old" when I went through my grandparents' old stuff. It happens.
"Let's face it, you can't worship a guy for destroying an instrument in the name of rock." - Pete Townshend
More videos from the Popthomology Vintage Footage Blender! I love making these.
First up, another video for White Fence, who is Tim Presley, who is one of my very favorite musical artists working now. "Down PNX" is from the new "Family Perfume Vol. 1" album on WOODSIST, with Vol. 2 coming in May. I'm finally getting to see White Fence play live here in Seattle at the Chop Suey on May 5th (along with another fave, Ty Segall), and I am already vibrating with psychedelic excitement! I think it's gonna be the show of the year for me.
Earlier today, I was just stunned to see, for the first time ever, this unbelievably mega-awesome promo video for the Kinks' 1973 song "Sitting In The Midday Sun." I had no idea this existed. Look at Ray Davies! Why he didn't go more for an acting career is beyond me; what an amazingly expressive face he has. Check it out!
Now, what's the first thing that came to my mind? Such lovely hair deserves a reset into a vintage '70s shampoo commercial! That amused me greatly, so I did it!
Think of it as more of an introduction, just to prepare the more dutiful Popthomology readers among ye for the possibility that I may need to step into Marianne’s shoes while she is off on the high seas on the Bruise Cruise on a ship to the Bahamas with a bunch of unbridled indie rockers, enjoying 24-hour room service and free puppet shows. It’s all sort of up in the air for now, depending mainly on whether Jello Biafra throws Marianne into the pool and fries her cell phone, but I'm here to serve as needed. Since I will at least be filling in as a transcriptionist here for the weekend, Marianne and I thought you should know something about who I am and why I'm here. Aside from having paid a hefty fee, that is.
Marianne and Dena: The Origin Myth
You may have seen my name pop up here occasionally, mostly as a founding member of the legendary Performa-Chords. What you may not be aware of is that Marianne and I came over on the Mayflower together and have been best friends ever since. We did not have any cell phones or computers in those days, so when I wanted to share something goat-related with Marianne, I had to bring her an actual goat. Batman did not exist yet, which made life fairly meaningless. Later, some inventor guy created television from a light bulb, five electrodes, and a handful of rubber bands. This changed the world by transmitting images of Lawrence Welk and Mr. Ed, a talking chimpanzee directly into the frontal lobes of human beings. This new-ish technology enabled a stiff but highly influential man named Ed Sullivan to introduce America to four moptops who made girls cry and throw Jujubes, in the process giving birth to the British Invasion.
The Kinks: A Revisionist History
The most important thing you probably don’t know about The Kinks is that they came into existence specifically so Marianne and I could meet. There once were two brothers who lived in the Black Hills of Muswell, and one day in the sixties they received simultaneous psychic transmissions that compelled them to purchase matching riding habits and form a rock music combo. The Kinks had several chart hits, including “You Really Got Me All Day and All of the Night, But I’m Tired of Waiting for You Till the End of the Day, Lola.”This measure of success served to keep The Kinks together as a band until that portentous day when Marianne and I finally kept our appointment with destiny at a Chicago swap meet and discovered our shared fondness for the combative tea drinkers, subsequently throwing in our lot together as a touring unit and tag wrestling team. At some point some fruit rolled down the aisle of a Greyhound bus and we laughed, but we disagree as to what type of fruit it was.
Marianne and Dena: The Story Continues
You know most of what Marianne has been up to lately because she gives you the skinny right here. Mostly she takes pictures, writes blog posts, and drinks coffee, occasionally pausing to feed a child, do laundry, or swear about politics. As for me, I routinely peruse Popthomology from a near suburb of Chicago, where I’m up to my elbows in books and up to my ankles in water (at least when it rains and I go down to my basement). I do a bit of freelance editing when there is freelance editing to be done, I sell books and pop-culture artifacts on Amazon Marketplace and Etsy for a few extra dollars, and I explore and share information on the internet because that's how I get my kicks. I’m also the mom of a bright and zany 11-year-old, a member of the extended Burning Man community, and a dedicated hooper, so I never lack something to do. I wish Marianne and I could get together more often, but given that she lives in Constantinople and I live in Timbuktu, I’m grateful we can get together at all
As I write this Marianne is in Flo-da, getting ready to cover Bruise Cruise and avoid being swallowed up by the Kraken. I am excited to see what she comes up with in the way of images and written commentary from this strange and exotic voyage. I am also grateful to Marianne for the chance to introduce myself to you and share highly embroidered stories of my misspent youth, which prevented me from eating an entire 2-pound box of salted chocolate-covered caramels today. I hope we meet again here, either sooner or later. In the meantime, I will take advantage of your kind attention this one time to flog the heck out of my various internet endeavors.
I'm Marianne Spellman. I am in Seattle-ish. I like and make music and words and photos and videos and coffee and have crappy eyesight, like every other blogger. I do freelance thingies for cool people and places every so often.
How To Choose A Democrat Nominee For President in 2020: 1. Candidate Aligns With Your Personal Values 2. Candidate Is Personable and Well-Funded 3. Candidate Is Maybe Not An Old White Man 4. Candidate Is Of Fine Character 5. The Person Who Will Beat The Orange Moron So Thoroughly That He Will Deflate Into A Gooey Melted Circus Peanut
"Twenty Feet From Stardom" film (June 4, 2013 via Facebook): "We love this review!!"
Ko Melina, The Dirtbombs, SIRIUS XM Underground Garage DJ (September 6, 2012, via Twitter): "Awesome #Bumbershoot photos of the @DirtbombsBand by @mariannesp..."
Kathy Valentine, The Go-Gos (August 23, 2011, via Twitter):
"Cool blog review & candid concert pics that capture the day perfectly!"
Bill Oglesby , Saxophonist, "Coronado," Deerhunter, Halcyon Digest (February 16, 2011, via YouTube):
"Hi Marianne, I'm the sax player on this cut and I've been enjoying this wonderful video collage that you put together for months.
I consider it quite an honor that you chose Illinois Jacquet to represent me not that I would compare my playing to his in any way, but Jacquet was a real soul-cat.
Thank you."
Keith Gordon, Co-Star & WM BFF, "Winnebago Man" (July 11, 2010, via Facebook):
Without doubt, the BEST and only original music with 'Bago bytes remix ever done. So this is what I get to hear swirling around in my head for the next few days? Welcome aboard; I'm delighted!"
Joel Heller, Producer, "Winnebago Man" (July 11, 2010, via Facebook):
"We love your song Marianne."
Ira Robbins, Trouser Press (March 20, 2010, via Facebook):
"great piece of writing. i liked the film better and the band less, but no matter. this is top-notch cultural criticism. give this woman a job!"
Chris Walter (Feb. 15, 2010, via Diarrhea Island):
"Nice piece, thank you. And thanks to Graham. I think all the photographers had a great time up there, it is an excellent book and exhibition.
Thanks
Chris"
Graham Nash (Feb. 8, 2010, via Diarrhea Island):
"Thanks so much for your very perceptive review of the show at the EMP...... Let's not forget to give thanks to Paul Allen and the people of Seattle for supporting the arts....
Again, well done."
John Cleese (Nov. 4, 2009, via Facebook):
"Nice review of the show by a real person."
God (Aug. 28, 2009, via Twitter):
"Listen, honey, if you weren't a chick you would so be smote right now."
September Film Reviews
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These are the reviews
and other projects I'm
working on this month.
*Cucalorus Film Festival:* member of the 2026 narrative features judging
committee.
...
MARI FROES
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If the music of Mari Fróes doesn’t completely stop time, it definitely
makes you slow down and appreciate life. It’s the sound of someone swimming
[…]
Benny Jensen Is an Undisputable Champion of Comedy
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Describe your comedy in five words: Not received well in Issaquah :( by
Megan Seling
One thing that all of this year's Undisputed Champions of Comedy seem...
Photos: Wa’z Japanese Kaiseki Restaurant
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Kaiseki master Hiro Tawara brings beautiful Japanese fine-dining to
Belltown in the form of his new restaurant Wa'z. Take a look at the
minimalist interi...
SAYHI wrap up blog
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today marianne blogged about seeing an indie hipster band called Say Hi
that records their songs on a mac. this most likely resulted in her having
to chang...
17 years ago
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© Copyright 2008- Marianne Spellman