In praise of the humble dawg

Hot dogs. They’re bad for you. They taste like shit. So why are they so good? Maybe it’s because they just act as a vehicle for whatever you like to put on them. Like wasabi on sushi. I love sushi too, but honestly I don’t crave the taste of raw salmon or tuna as much as I crave the sticky rice, chewy seaweed, and most importantly the nose flaring pungency of that sea green paste. Oh yeah, and lots of soy sauce.

Much like sushi, the tube steak and its cohort the bun serve as a virtual delivery system for what we really want to eat. Mustard and relish make a great combo and a nice crunchy contrast to that warm pink steamy vessel. Who could deny the glorious rapture of chili and cheese? Or the authentic mid-European tang of sauerkraut and onion dotted with bits of artery clogging salt pork.

Recently, I’ve discovered that cole slaw makes for a wonderful topping for a grilled doggy. Last night, I was trying to use up a head of cabbage that I’d had for a while and didn’t want to have to throw it out later. So, I commenced to grating. Memories of my dad came flooding back to mind as I recalled his own famous cole slaw. Other than his penchant for using Cain’s mayonnaise, I really have no idea how he made it, but I’m sure there was no recipe per se, and he just eyeballed everything.

I used a box grater to shred this stuff nice and fine so it would suck up that mayonnaise right away. If you grate it too thick, the cabbage stays too crunchy unless you let it sit overnight. Then I shredded a couple of carrots the same way. Had to settle for Hellman’s instead of Cain’s, then shook out some salt and pepper. Then I added about a tablespoon or so of Italian salad dressing, just for a little complexity. I don’t really know how much mayo I used, maybe a half a cup to about one small head of cabbage.

The end result was pure bliss. After grilling those dogs a little bit, and sliding them into those gluten rich white bread overcoats, we then piled on the slaw. The creamy, crunchy texture provided the perfect counterpart for that soft bread and the mysterious meat wrapped up in that crunchy intestinal casing. Swallowing this oversized bullet in two or three glorious mouthfuls, the idea of wasabi paste on a hot dog came to mind. Hmm, it would be much less messy and clear your sinuses too. Perhaps next time.

"Brian Wilson Re-imagines Gershwin" to be released on 8/17-I rehash his solo career today.

Thirty second sound samples of the new Brian Wilson record hit Amazon.com late last week, and I have to say, I’m somewhat encouraged by them. This is great news to me because in my opinion, Wilson’s solo career is a mixed bag of highs and lows (mostly lows).

We have to go all the way back to 1966, and “Caroline, No” to chart BW’s solo work to it’s very beginning. Although it appeared on the Beach Boys Pet Sounds album, the 45 release was credited to him as a solo artist. Granted, it’s a tough act to follow, but it hurts me as a fan to realize that other than a few shimmering moments, it’s mostly downhill from there.

It wouldn’t be until 1988 that Wilson would follow this up with his first proper solo LP. “Brian Wilson”, although somewhat drenched in dated production techniques that would soil so much of what was released in the eighties, was still a good and in some instances a great collection of songs. They served to not only bring him back into the public eye, but also boded well for the future.

The follow up, “Sweet Insanity” was rejected by Sire Records and it’s hard to understand why. Perhaps Wilson’s collaboration with his psychiatrist and that doctor's subsequent exposure as someone who was allegedly taking advantage of the man resulted in too much negative publicity. Either way, a pretty decent effort was left to rot on the shelf where it remains to this day.

In the fall of 1994, Wilson released “I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times” , an album of new recordings consisting of some of Wilson’s best loved tunes spanning his entire career produced by the "It" producer of that moment, Don Was. I can still remember my excitement as I walked to the record store on my lunch break to snag my copy on the day it was released. The original versions are still better for the most part, but this was a pretty good record and I actually prefer the versions of “Melt Away” and “Love And Mercy” here over the originals. It was also a treat to hear Wilson singing lead on some of the vocals originally handed to Mike Love back in the day on things like “Meant For You” and “Do It Again”. Overall, a solid effort.

I’m disqualifying “Orange Crate Art” from these proceedings because from a songwriting standpoint, it is essentially a Van Dyke Parks album with Brian on vocals.

That brings us to 1998’s “Imagination”, which is not terrible, but pales in comparison to the quality of the songs Wilson collaborated on with Andy Paley from around the same time frame that were unceremoniously scrapped. These were supposed to be released and for a time were even considered to be the main output of a Beach Boys album to be produced by Sean O’Hagan of The High Llamas. Some reports indicate that Carl Wilson and Mike Love lost interest in the endeavor, causing Brian to just drop the whole project and start over again. Other reports, such as the one in Britain’s “Uncut” magazine, seemed to hint that Wilson’s new wife Melinda, was trying to sway Brian away from the project and more towards the adult contemporary sound that permeates much of “Imagination”. It has some good songs, but the overly slick and antiseptic production kills the good time for me.

Not counting the two live albums (At The Roxy and Pet Sounds Live), it would be another six years before 2004’s “Getting’ In Over My Head” would reach store shelves. This unfortunate effort is mostly a mixed bag of “Sweet Insanity” tracks, and some songs from The Andy Paley collaboration finally seeing their official light of day. Unfortunately, this pot pourii of leftovers never makes it off the ground, despite it’s good intentions.

Hardcore Beach Boys fans know all about 1967’s ill – fated SMiLE project, intended to be the follow up to “Pet Sounds”. The album was never released, falling victim to it’s own lofty ambition, combined with dissension within the band regarding it’s musical approach. Over time, that music would become stuff of legend, as bootlegs would find their way into better record stores and on the internet.

Wilson would finally return to that music in late 2003, recording new versions and most importantly, stringing all the bits and fragments together in a working order to present a finished piece. “Brian Wilson Presents SMiLE” was one of the most positively reviewed records of 2004, and perhaps of all time. Although the jury is still out as to whether or not it was exactly put together the way it was initially intended, it’s miles closer than the tape fragments we had up to this point, and great care was taken to re-record that music as closely as possible to the original tapes, save for a few synthesized orchestral parts that turn up here and there.

After the release of a Christmas album that honestly I never even bothered to spin, Wilson returned in 2008 with “That Lucky Old Sun”. Although the loose concept and at times annoying narratives fall a little flat for me, It can arguably be stated that TLOS is the best collection of new Brian Wilson songs since the 1988 debut. In addition to this, it seems that more care is taken towards the production end of things to make the record sound more natural, without falling victim to some of the unnecessary vocal layering and the overuse of bass harmonicas, sleigh bells, clip clop percussion and other instruments that were purposely used to make “Imagination” and “Getting In Over My Head” sound “Wilson-ey”. In other words, the songs stand on their own a little more during this effort, and it works to the projects advantage.

This brings us to the present day, where we await the release of “Brian Wilson Re-imagines Gershwin” on August 17th. While I intend to review the album properly once it’s available, it would appear (based on the Amazon sound snippets) that the Wilson team has hit upon a winning combination. The songs of course are amazing, all Gershwin classics except for two unfinished pieces that have never been heard before and finished by Brian. The recordings are shimmering and beautiful, but this seems to be brought about by a natural progression and a labor of love rather than incessant turd polishing.

While I continue to reserve judgment until hearing the entire record, I’m once again encouraged by what I’ve heard so far, and combined with the positive buzz that appears to be swelling up around this effort, I’m going to color myself cautiously optimistic.

The Sunshine Bores The Daylights Out Of Me

I once joked to my friend Iman that I could never be a real music critic because I’d never heard “Exile” or “The River”. Although the comment was very much off the cuff, it was rooted in a little bit of truth because I really had not heard those records from start to finish. Also, if you’re really a rock critic it’s your job to hear everything so that when you write something you can do a better job at convincing your readers that you actually know what you’re talking about.

I’ve never been that much of a Springsteen fan. I acknowledge that he is great, but just not my cup of tea. The Stones, on the other hand I’ve been a fan of most of my life, so it’s hard to explain exactly why “Exile On Main Street” never found it’s way to my turntable or hard drive. I was of course, familiar with the three radio hits on the record but not the entire effort.

So, I really felt like I had to rectify this. Spinning “Exile” for the first time a couple of months ago I was compelled to write a post asking really what all the fuss was about. It seemed alright, but it kind of went out of it’s way to sound like some sort of authentic delta blues record. Too forced. My initial knee – jerk opinion was that an album like “Aftermath” had a much higher level of that bluesy authenticity while at the same time not trying half as hard to deliver the goods as “Exile” does.

So I went back to try to find some of the original reviews and I was quite surprised to read that the notices were somewhat mixed. Playboy magazine yearned for “The Stones of Yesteryear”. Circus magazine said “From the sound of things, the Stones weren't exiled on Main Street...they were deported.”

Robert Christgau gave the record an A+. However, even in doing so he acknowledged that it’s not the type of record that’s going to come right out and grab you from the git-go. He wrote, “More than anything else this fagged-out masterpiece is difficult -- how else to describe music that takes weeks to understand? Weary and complicated, barely afloat in its own drudgery, it rocks with extra power and concentration as a result. More indecipherable than ever, submerging Mick's voice under layers of studio murk, it piles all the old themes -- sex as power, sex as love, sex as pleasure, distance, craziness, release -- on top of an obsession with time more than appropriate in over-thirties committed to what was once considered youth music.”

These words seemed to vindicate my initial feelings. I almost felt like a rock critic. Thing is though, Christgau got the point about the record way before I did. He realized before he sat down at his typewriter that the sloppiness and murkiness that permeates “Exile” is precisely the point. He must have listened to the record dozens more times than the guys from Playboy and Circus did, because he did a better job at reviewing it. As I listen to “Exile” while typing this and glancing at his words, it may be the most spot on review ever written.

So, I’m still listening to “Exile On Main Street” this summer, and it’s charms continue to slowly reveal themselves to me with each subsequent spin. It still does not make complete sense yet, but good albums are supposed to challenge you a little bit, aren’t they? This one challenged me a lot, so it might actually be better than just good.

"Can I play you, um, some of the new things I've been doing which I think could be...commercial?"

I first heard “In The Court Of The Crimson King” when I was seven years old. Those who know me may be quick to quip something droll like “well, that explains a lot”, and in retrospect, the album cover alone can be quite a mind fuck for someone so young. But it was the contents within the wax that was the real brain bender. This music was brilliant, challenging, beautiful and scary all at the same time.

“Court” would play almost non stop at my house over much of 1969. Over the course of each subsequent year, each new King Crimson album from “In The Wake Of Poseidon” to “Red” would be bought and placed into heavy rotation on the family’s imitation wood grain stereo console.

Everything about the music seemed larger than life, especially through the eyes of an adolescent. The matte finish of the record jackets, the artwork, the complexities of the music itself, all seemed to be coming from a mountainous peak way up high in the sky.

Even though these childhood fantasies would wane and adolescence would reveal among other things that King Crimson were just a band, it was still surprising that some eight years later the main force behind them was a mere 100 or so miles from my doorstep in Hells Kitchen, NY trying to decide if he even wanted to be a musician anymore.

Robert Fripp disbanded King Crimson sometime during late 1974. Over seven studio albums he went from lead guitarist to almost being kicked out of the band to becoming their only constant member and prime motivator.

After a brief period where he considered among other things joining the priesthood, Fripp would instead would become a free lance axe for hire, playing guitar and sometimes producing records by Peter Gabriel and David Bowie. These sessions kept him busy but may have been somewhat unfulfilling, because in 1977, Fripp traveled to NYC to check out the burgeoning downtown music scene, keen on attempting to hone a new approach and get back his creative spark.

He played and recorded with Blondie and Talking Heads as well as producing the female vocal group The Roches. He also embarked upon a series of collaborations with artists such as Daryl Hall, Eno, Peter Hammill, Jerry Morrata, Phil Collins, Tony Levin, and Terre Roche. Many of these endeavors would be ultimately released on his first solo album, “Exposure”, released in June of 1979.

It comes as no surprise that this eclectic mix of artists would produce one of the most bizarre combinations of styles and sounds ever assembled under a groove. What is surprising is how seamlessly it all flows together. Daryl Hall delivers some of the most beautiful vocals he’s ever recorded on the positively immaculate “North Star”.

Other tracks like “Breathless” and “Disengage” rock ferociously with guitar riffage as heavy as anything Fripp had ever attempted during the Crimson years. The album’s second track, “You Burn Me Up, I’m A Cigarette”, is both a nod to the NYC new wave scene combined with the flavor of classics by rock pioneers such as Jerry Lee Lewis and Chuck Berry.

By the time the sheer beauty of “Water Music” and “Here Comes The Flood” wash over my now over stimulated ear drums, I find myself looking down at my watch, wondering where the last 45 minutes or so have gone. As it was in 1969, 1979, and today the music of Robert Fripp remains beautiful, brilliant, challenging and scary all at the same time.