On the Use of Saxophone in Rock n' Roll
Listening to Supertramp on loan from the library the other day clarified something for me.
There is no musical sound I hate more than rock n’ roll saxophone. (Think Billy Joel’s “Say Goodbye to Hollywood.” Think all manner of Billy Joel songs actually.) Or that awful Jackson Browne song about life on the road that turns into “Stay,” I think there’s sax on that one…
There’s just this stereotypical sound I’m thinking of. It’s really harsh, maybe due to metal mouthpieces. Think of Lenny Pickett in the Saturday Night Live Band with some kind of vague 50’s nostalgia. You hear it about 2/3 of the way through live songs in the late seventies. There’s a IV chord and the crowd roars right as the sax player, (unheard in the song up until that point), plays some pickups into some manufactured emotional moment. That’s the “rock n’ roll sax sound” I’m talking about and it makes my skin crawl like a thousand microscopic, mechanical robot bugs living in my epidermis.
With only a couple of exceptions, rock n’ roll is no place for saxophone. In fact I think that harsh, piercing sound probably came about so as to cut through the mix of your typical rock n’ roll band.
It’s really just guitar envy. Just like the keytar was.
What’s funny is that I really like the sound of saxophone in jazz contexts: Charlie Parker, Joe Henderson, John Coltrane, Dexter Gordon, even weird old Roland Kirk. I’m totally down with all of that. But when you match the instrument with a backbeat, something horrible happens in the translation.
Notable exceptions: whoever played on Lou Reed’s “Wild Side.” The airy sax tone on that song is totally grooving. Also, the horn arranging by Chicago in the 70s. They had a sound all their own that thankfully didn’t include that 50’s pastiche sax sound.
And I’m a little bit on the fence about Pink Floyd’s use of saxophone in songs like “Money,” “Shine on You Crazy Diamond,” and “Dogs of War,” (off the largely overlooked
Momentary Lapse of Reason album.) I can go either way in that argument. The soprano sax on “Terminal Frost” off of
Lapse of Reason, however, is pure bliss.
On a somewhat related note, bearing the previous in mind, it’s probably no surprise that I’m not a fan of the album
Ghost in the Machine by The Police. Sting thought he would try his hand at the saxophone and the result is all over the album—saxophone as riff generator. Not quite as cloying as the “Billy Joel sax sound” described above, but still a weak moment in comparison with the general awesomeness of the rest of the Police’s music.
Bespoke Songs, Lost Dogs, Detours and Rendezvous- Songs of Elvis Costello (1998)
A Random CD Review from the Stutzman Memorial Archive
Bespoke Songs, Lost Dogs, Detours and Rendezvous- Songs of Elvis Costello by Various Artists (1998)
Haven’t done one of these in a while. The Excel spreadsheet gave me this album of songs written by Elvis Costello, but performed by other people. I’m sure there’s a story behind each song that explains why EC gave them away to other folks. In the case of “The Comedians” by Roy Orbison and “Hidden Shame” by Johnny Cash, the songs were written expressly for those artists. However, whatever the reasons for Costello’s creation interpreted by another performer, this is a wildly diverse album of various styles and contains some of my favorite pop music. Here are some highlights for me:
It kicks off with Dave Edmunds doing “Girl Talk,” and on this song he really commits to the melody in the pre-choruses much more than Costello did on the demo, (available elsewhere, I can’t remember where right now), bringing out the drama of some climbing chords.
Of course, you have Paul McCartney’s “My Brave Face,” the performance of which isn’t the ear worm that SR-71s punkish version is, but it’s a strong song.
Oh, man. “Miss Mary,” performed by Zucchero, who I’d never heard of before, he’s probably a legend in England or something. This is a meditation on a painting of the Virgin Mary and is soulfully sung and the screaming Hammond organ stopped me dead in my tracks the first time I heard it.
“Deep Dead Blue” is haunting in its a capella setting with several unorthodox modulations, and “Shatterproof” sounds like something you might have heard on the radio in the 80s…if radio in the 80s was awesome! This song is driving and the melody is striking. This is not music you can ignore.
And finally Chet Baker’s “Almost Blue” is a thing of dark, smoky beauty. He plays trumpet for a long time before singing on this track and it’s so minimal that when the crowd applauds at the end, it is jarring. Up until that point the sound is so intimate that you feel like this little jazz group is playing just for you, drawing out all kinds of melancholy loneliness. When you hear that crowd, it shocks you back to reality.
Well, I’ve done it. I’ve talked this album up enough that now I gotta go back and listen to it again.
Awesome Musical Collaborations That Only Exist in My Head
Divine Comedy and XTC
The Jackson Five and Phish
Pink Floyd (w/ Roger Waters) and Red House Painters
Ben Folds and Burt Bachrach
What say you?
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Divine Comedy and XTC for obvious uber-pop reasons. I'll bet that together they could create a song so catchy it would cure cancer.
In my head I can see the Jacksons in their bell-bottom-and-'fro early years trying to improvise a dance routine at the same time Phish improvises musically.
Pink Floyd and Red House Painters would create a song beautiful and dementedly sad enough to make Chuck Norris weep openly.
I'm on a Ben Folds kick lately. But I once heard him covering "Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head" live and it was very cool. Got me to thinking about how much they have in common.
Now, I realize a good collaboration doesn't necessarily imply striking commonalities. I was hoping that you, dear readers, would give me some other ideas...
Some music I've been listening to as of late...
Just a quick one.
I have been listening to Tom Petty's great album called
Wildflowers, which is pretty fantastic. I haven't heard some of this stuff since I was in high school when a girl that I had a major crush on raved about it. It's got a little bit of everything--some slow epic stuff with strings, some beautiful acoustic stuff, some simple riff rock that DOESN'T insult your intelligence. I've always like most of Petty's singles throughout the years, but there is a lot of other stuff on here that's definitely worth a listen.
Speaking of pop music, I just downloaded Ben Folds'
Supersunnyspeedgraphic off of iTunes last night. This is a compilation of EPs he originally released off of his website. This man is a pop genius. The album
Songs for Silverman left me kind of ambivalent, as it was a lot of same-ish sounding stuff. But this album reminds me of Folds's gift for melody.
"Going Home" for My Brother's Wedding- Part Two
I was talking about the actual wedding. My hope before this week was that I would be an usher, since I was given a choice of roles by my brother early on in the planning process. “Yeah, ‘usher’ sounds about right. Just walk people in and you’re done. No undue attention...”
No such luck. I wound up being up front with the rest of the goonsmen. I mean, groomsmen. Unlike the three other guys, I had no bridesmaid to go down the aisle with at the end of the wedding. “Alone again, eh?” Father O’Brien whispered to me as I turned to walk that aisle of shame on my own. “It’s my lot in life,” I said in return.
The only other hurdle to get through was the reception--a major source of dread since months before, when my brother told me he was engaged. A wedding reception is a perfect storm of “things which make Mike uncomfortable”- strangers, strangers standing around talking, strangers dressed up and standing around talking, not to mention dancing and a fiendishly uncomfortable tuxedo. Like I said, getting through the reception was the last hurdle. Thankfully, there were people who remembered me from when I was just a mere child and I was able to spend a good amount of time getting caught up with them.
A flurry of more photographs and it was finished.
On a plane bound for home the next morning.
"Going Home" for My Brother's Wedding- Interlude: A Mild Tangent About My Family's Religiosity
Both my dad and my oldest brother made comments about being struck by lightning or the building falling as they walked into the church for the first time. My family never talked about religious things as I was growing up. We’re polite.
“
All are welcome in the home of God,” I said, somewhat sarcastically. (I love talking in elevated language for humorous effect.) It wasn’t received sarcastically, but rather in silence, as if that was an idea to ponder.
You know that joke that goes- “Every family has a black sheep. If you can’t think of the black sheep of your family, you’re it?” I got to thinking how I’m seen as some kind of Christian or ambassador of God or of church or something, as my parents asked me to be the official pray-er at the rehearsal dinner-an idea which, I’ll be honest, worried me for two days. I don’t talk to God that much, especially vocally and the idea of doing it in front of strangers and being expected to say “just the right thing,” well that’s a lot of pressure, man.
“Why can’t the priest do it? He’s a professional,” I said to no avail.
"Going Home" for My Brother's Wedding- Part One
So, my older brother Todd got married a couple weeks ago in Savannah, GA. I traveled down there with my parents. They have an Airstream trailer that they pull behind their truck and that was my home, parked in a KOA campground for a week. Now, despite the fact that the trailer seems suited to two people living in it fairly comfortably and I like my space, the road trip with mom and dad wasn’t too bad. (Thank the lord for my new iPod, however, which drowned out the sound of Garrison Keillor’s voice on the radio for at least hundreds of miles.)
I was reminded that 75% of all my communication with my mom is one-way: namely, her giving me instructions. However, it still beat dishing out the dough for a hotel room. I am not a rich man. So, who knows how well my parents thought the week went, living with their son. Me? No real complaints.
A lot of my week was spent sitting in a lawn chair watching ducks swim in a pond. That’s about as close to a zen-like state as I get. The rest of the time was spent fulfilling familial obligations. This is most of what I dreaded for three reasons: 1) I hardly ever talk to the part of my family who live in Savannah. I usually go at least four or five years without seeing them in person and probably a year or so without ever talking to them on the phone. 2) Related to #1, I have very little in common with my brothers. We are very different types of people. This makes conversation feel very strained for me. 3) Conversation feels very strained for me about 80% of the time anyway. I am not a very social creature and I fear it’s getting worse as I get older. These three factors alone made me not look forward to this wedding week. Add to the mix all of the goofy traditions and expectations that accompany a wedding and rehearsal, etc. and there was the potential for misery for me. (All that said, I’m still happy for my brother and his getting hitched.)
But I must say, things went A LOT better than I could foresee. Here are some of the things that went well. I ate very well all week. I’ve never eaten so much fresh shrimp in all my life. And 9 times out of 10 I didn’t have to pay for it.
I bonded with my nephew, Mark Jr. who is in Pre-K right now. Everybody who knows me knows my disdain for children, but Mark is an exceptional little kid. He is calm most of the time and has no problem with just sitting and talking. Even though he didn’t let on, I think he was amazed at the physical strength of his uncle as he tried to arm wrestle. But he found me indefatigable. Those were his words, not mine.
Even though my one excursion off to the beach by myself was cut short by a final tux fitting, I was pleased to meet the groomsmen and wife from Texas, Darren, Eddie and Christina-who turned out to be hella nice folks, and I was blown away by the care that they have for my brother. (These folks, taking the time to fly in from Texas, scandalized the Stutzman family from up north who, for whatever reasons, didn’t make it to the wedding.) Anyway, meeting the Spauldings was one of the highlights of the trip for me, which made the rehearsal dinner much more enjoyable, having them to talk to.
It was also interesting to watch my parents deal with stress, as they were responsible for pulling off the rehearsal dinner. It seems that how I deal with stress is genetic-just put your shoulder to the wheel and visualize about when it will all be over- the Stutzman work ethic.
The actual wedding was quaint- a Catholic wedding in the chapel of an old orphanage for girls, where the bride works. Father O’Brien was a funny old guy with a thick Irish accent, very particular about how things should be done. And watching his shaky hands prepare the eucharist got me to thinking about faith and perseverance. I wondered how much the world had changed since that guy in the white robes was in school, first deciding that he was going to be a priest. I wondered what struggles and joys he had endured to bring him to that exact place in his life. The Catholic world is still a mystery to me, but I am always intrigued whenever my world intersects with it.
I promised at the outset of this blog, not many posts like this...
This is a moment of sublime bliss: listening to "Nomads" by High Llamas on my ipod here in the calm after the storm at work. The circular, confectionary pop in pristine detail as I recount the younger version of myself who took a chance on this music however many years ago. The fact that I can't remember where or who I was at that point only adds to the vague transcendence of it all.
And now as David Gray sings "Tears fall..." I
definitely remember the painful time of my life during which it served as a balm and shall henceforth always be tied to memories of that time--lost and unsure and nursing a "what-the-hell-were-
those-two-years about?" broken heart. The feeling of starting over--alone-- with a new college, new major, new people populating my new world. Sleepwalking through the drudgery of my new music store clerk job. A job which seemed so
perfect for me.
Turned out to not help. "Everything's colored by a broken heart," I once scribbled with a leaky pen next to calculations of gas mileage on a little notepad while driving myself to the edge of the continent one summer.
It's true.
The years connected with David Gray's album
Flesh just have this...sheet of unhappiness draped over them in my head. I mean an existential type of deep unhappiness. The kind of unhappiness that doesn't even bother to disallow you to smile or laugh. I'm sure I found things to laugh and smile about. But it's so big and all-encompassing that the trappings of happiness exist inside of it. Like those Venn diagrams you see in high school math class with sets and subsets.
Man, I'm glad those days are behind me.
