March 29, 2002
Albums We Can't Live Without
Miles Davis
Kind of Blue
On Central Pennyslvania public radio they have a show, Desert Island Discs, in which someone notable gets interviewed about their top ten essential albums. I'm driving along one day and I tune in just as Bela Fleck is holding forth on a "fusion" album by Miles Davis. Here's a rare and satisfying moment for the casual jazz listener--I already know what album the man's talking about. It's gotta be Bitches' Brew.
Except then I hear the intro to "So What" and realize I'm a decade ahead of myself here. Kind of Blue as fusion? At best, the word conjures up arsenals of keyboards, big hair, and other assorted '70s-era excess; at worst, artistic dilution, compromise, etc. Make no mistake: Mr. Davis's 1959 recording is no less authentic jazz than Giant Steps. It also happens to be a stunning piece of pop music.
"Pop" not simply in the sense of bubblegum or boy band but rather implying a profound accessibility. Davis is one of a handful of the greatest jazz innovators, but whereas Coltrane and Coleman complicated their music and shrunk their listening base, Miles stripped and simplified. I love virtuosic bop, the more notes the better, but I concede it's not for everyone. Kind of Blue resonates on a more fundamental level. From neophyte to scholar, everyone loves this album. In the tripartite system of modern music, jazz musicians have occupied an interesting space between the effete snobs of classical and the good-looking idiots of rock: they were intelligent guys who also got women. Their culture was mysterious, difficult to penetrate, and centered around increasingly difficult music. Kind of Blue burst this bubble in 1959 and continues to do so--it democratizes cool. Like a pack of cigarettes, it offers cachet to just about anyone.
But there's nothing facile about this accessibility; the album is still sophisticated (and much better for you than smoking). "So What" may just be a two-note melody and a half-step modulation, but the simply surface yields layers and subtle shadings, not to mention some passionate (and much-transcribed) solo work. Simplicity--whether in Gregorian chant, minimalism, or rock--forces you to adopt new modes of listening. When you hear Charlie Parker launch into a tune, timbre and inflection get lost in the onslaught; when Coltrane begins one of his solos in Kind of Blue, you hear the individual fibers on his reed bristle. There's plenty here for everyone. Hell, I'm just getting started.
March 21, 2002
Albums We Can't Live Without
The Who Who's Next
by J. Wasserman
First of all, I want to say that this is an album that I can only own on vinyl. It's not because I'm a vinyl snob (while I love the cheapness of records, and the jackets are cool, I love CDs for their convenience). Rather, I think it's for sentimental reasons. I picked up my first copy of Who's Next at a garage sale back in high school for a quarter. It was pretty scratched up and the jacket was beat to shit, but when I put that record on my parents' turntable and the first keyboard noodly bits of "Baba O'Riley" came bleeping out, I knew I'd found something great.
There are times when a person needs to rock. I'm sure that you, as an informed reader, know when those times are. Who's Next, simply put, is a record to rock out to. It doesn't work with the volume down. This is an album you play as loud as you and your neighbors can stand, maybe even a little louder. Loud enough so you feel the amazingly fat drum sounds and your right arm is pinwheeling Townshendally without you even realizing it.
This is a record I play before I go out to get myself "pumped up," whatever that might mean. I play it when I need to wake up--it's like a black vinyl circle of caffeine. I also play it when I'm already going, when all of my nerves are on and I'm completely awake and everything, pretty much, is right in my world. It's a great album to put on at the end of the week, when it's Friday and you're about to go out and get some dinner with your best friends and see where the night takes you.
Who's Next might be the best old-fashioned, balls-out RAWK album of all time. It's got "Baba O'Riley," "Won't Get Fooled Again," and "The Bargain." It's also got a couple of great ballads, including "Behind Blue Eyes." Every track is a winner. When The Who played at that Paul McCartney-organized concert at Madison Square Garden right after Sept 11, I think 75% of their set came from Who's Next. There's a good reason why that was so. The firemen and police and everyone who were there wanted to rock out, to show that they were alive, and The Who delivered on that better than everyone else that night. They didn't die before they got old, and they aren't quite as great of a band as they used to be before Keith Moon vomited himself up to Rock Star Heaven, but they certainly showed Sir Paul what being an old rock star SHOULD sound like.