An Open Letter to my Son About the Music that Changed my Life
Dear Harrison,
I have reached a point in my life where I believe I have learned enough to put some thoughts down in writing to pass on to you. As a person who has been passionate about music for almost four decades, I have endeavored to narrow down a list of those artists who have made the biggest impact on me. The nature of creating a list, that is having to choose whom to include and whom to exclude, is in itself a revealing act. This project causes me to reflect upon my values, past, and upbringing, and how my environment informs the ongoing development of my personality. Most importantly, it forced me to reflect upon the lessons I have learned, in addition to the pure joy I have experienced, through my relationship with music.
A person can reflect upon his or her life through many lenses - the family one has gathered, one's financial situation, religious views, etc. In my experience, art has always been both experiential and aesthetic. Yes, I listen to music to enjoy it - of course - but there are other levels that I experience music on. The experience of listening can prompt me to evolve my perspective, open myself to different experiences or values, or have different impressions upon my mind that cause a visceral or emotional response. I can remember very vivid experiences via my associations with listening to music at a given moment. For example, when I was 13, I remember my family making the drive to drop your Aunt Sarah, who is 5 years my senior, off to college for the first time. I was listening to Led Zeppelin II on my walkman. It was my favorite album at the time and was on a cassette tape I made which also contained The Door’s Soft Parade and Jimi Hendrix’s Rainbow Bridge. It was awesome. Every time I hear any of those albums, I am transported back to that day.
Bearing this in mind, I have undertaken the task of ranking the twelve musical artists who had the biggest impact on my life. Because I have had to distill down so many artists into such an exclusive group, there are many names I have left off my list, so I will try to make some honorable mentions along the way. More importantly, I try to sum up what each artist has meant to me in the form of a lesson - a small sliver of wisdom that I pass on to you.
12. Pablo Casals
I have been listening to the Bach Cello Suites played by Pablo Casals from before I can remember, so much so that it is simply a part of my soul. Your grandfather used to play the recordings quite a lot. In third grade, when it was time for me to choose which string instrument I wanted to play in school, I chose the cello because of my love of the sounds and atmosphere evoked in those recordings. When I listen, to this day, I can smell the air of the past, and am transported back to another world, one of my imagination, a world that never was, but one that is real, all the same.
The interesting thing about Casals is that he was not the most technically gifted cellist. Many have come after him whose virtuosity far surpassed his. However, he was the first cellist whose recordings became internationally known when the recording industry was in its infancy. It is fortunate because the poor sound quality of his recordings adds to the timelessness and mystery of the sound he generated. He was also the first to re-discover the Bach Cello Suites, and afterward, they became standard repertoire.
His other recordings are numerous, but his signature is forever written upon the Cello Suites. I can remember every note of them and tried to model my own cello playing after him in later years. He did not seek out perfection or precision in his style, but this made his recordings all the more human and attainable. Sure, it is always wonderful to listen to music performed as perfectly as Yo-Yo Ma or as passionately as Jacqueline du Pre, but with Casals, there was a level of authenticity and personality that was embedded in the sound which has forever left an impression upon me.
The lesson: Seek authenticity, not perfection, in all that you do.
11. Norman Blake
I was very close to your great uncle Rick growing up. He was a music teacher and introduced me to many musical artists. One such musician was the great Bluegrass guitarist and multi-instrumentalist Norman Blake. He was a part of the New Grass movement of the seventies which sought to develop and evolve the language of Bluegrass while still preserving its roots and values.
Blake was a profoundly talented session musician; he was famously featured on Bob Dylan’s Nashville Skyline, the album Will the Circle Be Unbroken, and backed up Johnny Cash. He began to release records in the mid-seventies featuring both traditional and original songs. He was incredible - he could play runs faster than anybody, but his style was still subtle and refined. He did not show off or deviate too far from the melody but rather kept his solos closely related to the melody while creating variations and ideas around it. His rhythmic styling perfectly captures the chord changes while featuring a prominent bass line. His songs could be funny or heart-breaking, but always managed to paint a picture of the mythical Gothic South as vividly as Faulkner’s writing.
Blake also played other instruments, including the mandolin and fiddle. He transformed simple melodies into head-spinningly complex music statements with an elegance that few ever possess. My favorite record is called Whisky Before Breakfast which features the song “Church Street Blues.” This was the song my uncle and I obsessed over. We used to drive from Connecticut to Nazareth, PA to the Martin Guitar Factory. Blake favored Martin Guitars, and for us, this annual pilgrimage was a way of preserving our love and admiration for the craft of guitar making and playing. Every car ride would include this song, and usually the whole album.
Blake was (and still is) a purist. He sings about the Civil War, steam trains, and hobos. He has the soul of Woody Gutherie and John Steinbeck but plays with the passion and imagination of Jimi Hendrix. But, as I said, he did not show off. His solos were pure beauty, not fireworks. And this constraint suits his music perfectly.
The lesson: Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should. There can be beauty in restraint.
10. The Smiths
The Smiths offer lyricism is poetic, dark, and brilliant. It expresses a sadness that is so personal, yet so relatable while masking it with a catchy pop veneer. The guitar playing of Johnny Marr is incredible! I think he might be the single most underrated guitarist of the eighties. He didn’t grandstand or use distorted, fast licks like many of his contemporaries, yet his sound was clean but so complex! The way he always moves between chords, constant passing tones and musical lines, arpeggios, and circular riffs - motion, motion, motion. The genius of the Smiths is that the sense of anxiety comes not only from the words but also from the guitar passages.
Their song structures are also very interesting. Morrissey often doesn’t structure his words to follow an obvious schema, but lines just come with no apparent rhyme or relationship to those before or after. Sometimes they repeat, and sometimes they come after long spans of silence. The generic form of verse/chorus/verse doesn’t capture his train of thought or mode of expression.
I sense an unspoken but ever-present theme of existentialism in his words. Things come and go, life happens to us. “We are born, and then we live, and then we die.” I think this point of view enables Morrissey to construct his own morality. After all, if there is no higher power or predetermined purpose, why can we not assign value or meaning to whatever we want? “Meat is murder” because he says it is, which may be that is ultimately more moral than blindly following a figurehead (the Queen) or a doctrine (the Church). This perspective had a profound impact on my thinking.
There was a point at which your mother could no longer listen to their music because I played it too often. Fair enough! But you know what - I don’t think a person can listen to The Queen is Dead or Meat is Murder enough in a lifetime, and I got off to a late start. When I bought my first Smiths record, the single “What Difference Does It Make,” it was not what I expected. I kept hearing about them and didn't know what I expected, but I was surprised by what I got. But I liked it and kept on getting their records. The great thing is, my interest kept branching out. I began moving past the Classic Rock era of my youth, the stuff I knew and grew up on, and began to discover the New Wave renaissance of the seventies and eighties. Talking Heads. Patti Smith. Elvis Costello. Joy Division. New Order. The Cure. Television. David Bowie. In that sense, their music opened my mind to many new perspectives and my ears to a plethora of brilliant artists.
Lesson: The story of the underdog can be more impressive than the story of the hero. Remember to tell both stories.
9. Jimi Hendrix
When I first watched the movie Woodstock I must have been about 10 or 11, and it changed my entire perspective of the world. I had been fascinated with the Beatles up to that point, and been obsessed with listening to and studying them. I had a similar interest in Dylan and the Rolling Stones, at least their music of the sixties. But Woodstock turned me on to many of the other bands of the era, especially those who peaked around this time. Janis Joplin. The Who. Jefferson Airplane. CSN&Y. Santana. But the guy who really blew me away was Jimi Hendrix. Seeing his performance, especially the climactic “Star Spangled Banner,” was like seeing a new color for the very first time. I didn’t know that a guitar could sound like that - but even more importantly, I wondered why the hell every guitar didn’t sound like that. The way he gripped his guitar, the way his fingers wrapped around it, it was unreal. He appeared to be moving in fast motion.
Naturally, I started collecting his music like it was the air I needed to breathe. His albums, his live recordings, his compilations. For a dude that only was around professionally for less than four years, his output is astonishing. I even bought my first guitar - a white Fender Stratocaster modeled after the one he played at Woodstock, complete with an upside-down headstock (to simulate the way he as a lefthander played an upside-down guitar) and an engraving of the man himself on the back plate. My entire attempt to learn guitar was a tribute to him.
Hendrix, in my mind, completed what I came to see as the Holy Trinity: The Beatles, Dylan, and Hendrix. Dylan was the Father - the voice of truth and reason. Hendrix was the Son - the rock savior with his guitar that could evoke the wrath of God. The Beatles were the Holy Spirit - the source of it all, the origins of the religion of rock. This was my religion, and from these three figures, I learned about the rest of the first golden age of rock and roll. The Doors. The Dead. Led Zeppelin. Cream. Pink Floyd. You get the point - the music of the sixties and seventies. But, as far as Hendrix was concerned, I was thunderstruck and have never looked back. I have made every attempt to collect every note the man committed to tape in order to keep his Gospel alive.
I do realize, of course, how silly this sounds. He was, after all, a guitarist, not a religious figure. But he did believe that his music was a religion, of sorts, maybe the religion that we need in the absence of real religion. It is a spiritual experience, afterall. Is it that farfetched to consider that in playing his music, Hendrix was touching the hand of God any less than Brahms or Beethoven? He called it the Electric Church, and I still attend regularly.
The lesson: Spirituality is anything that touches your soul. Listen to it, follow it, and stay true to it. It can come from anywhere, and don’t let anyone tell you differently.
8. David Bowie
As an adult, a friend once told me that I should give David Bowie a chance. I was either not interested in his music or had passively dismissed him as a cheesy pop star. I think I might have seen the video he did with Mick Jagger for “Dancing In The Streets” and subsequently written him off. But the recommendation, along with growing awareness of his reputation as an artistic and musical force to be reckoned with, was enough to give me the push I need. I am sorry to say that the first “album” I got was his greatest hits. I suppose, in retrospect, it was better this way, as it gave me an easy path in, an opportunity to sample his most popular moments and offer a bird’s eye view of the development of his career. This set glossed over his Berlin Trilogy, now my favorite era, so it was not a particularly insightful collection, but it might have been too soon for me to experience that stuff, anyway.
I did, however, like what I heard. I found I knew a lot of the songs anyway, even if I didn’t know they were his, and after this, I moved on to my first album, Ziggy Stardust. It has some recognizable tracks that are easy to listen to, yet thoughtful enough to follow a loose storyline. It sounds close enough to other “glam” rock/pop pieces of the era that I knew of, yet eccentric enough to be unique and interesting on its own. One by one, I got the albums and I dug deeper and deeper. I began to understand his career trajectory, his application of fashion and visual aesthetics, his androgyny and ambiguous sexuality, and his voice. His art was a multi-factored experience, appealing to more senses than just the one focused on listening. Musically, there was substance, but there was a Warholian pop-art aesthetic, as well.
I think the album that really took me by surprise was Station to Station. That opening track - Jesus! The funk of “Stay” and “Golden Years.” The vocal performance on “Wild is the Wind.” And these were not tracks on the greatest hits collection (except “Golden Years”). After digging into this album, I decided to dive deep into his Berlin Trilogy. I remember hearing Low for the first time and not knowing what to think or feel. This was a guy I had come to idolize, and I hadn’t even heard his best album.
Then, he died. At the beginning of 2016, he gave us an album. A masterpiece, his masterpiece. Blackstar. Two days later, he was gone. Whatever self-mythologizing he was responsible for throughout his career, this sealed the deal - it was the ultimate masterstroke. Legend became a myth, and the myth became a god. I continue to listen, appreciate, and learn, although my obsession has waned a bit. So while I cannot say I “grew up” on David Bowie, the way that I “grew up” on Dylan or the Beatles, I think, in a way, I did grow up a bit as a result of his music. It was part of that era of musical discovery for me that ran in parallel with the Smiths. Kraftwerk and Talking Heads made more sense to me, and the connections to Lou Reed & Iggy Pop piqued my interest, as well. The music of my adulthood shed new light on the music of my childhood. As his music and art become more deeply ingrained in my conscience, the obsession wears down, but the awe and respect continue to grow.
Lesson: Figure out what quirk makes you you, and capitalize upon it. Your unique you-ness makes you the only you there is, and it is important to let that shine in your own authentic way.
7. John Coltrane
Let me be clear - John Coltrane is the greatest jazz musician who ever lived. Ever. No one else comes close to what this guy could do.
He had the mind of Einstein, but for music. He saw the universe in a way that no one else could conceive of. He found ways of uncovering entire languages within a note by deconstructing and reconstructing it. He spoke the language of classical Indian music and made it swing. He pushed the boundaries of atonality, modality, unmetered rhythm, and form to degrees unexplored by most contemporary composers. He explored and uncovered facets of sound the way Picasso did with shape and color and Joyce did with language. He did all of this as his way of serving God in heaven and promoting civil rights on earth.
Naming even a single album of his puts him among the greatest jazz musicians. Blue Trane, My Favorite Things, Giant Steps, his work with Miles Davis in the quintet or on Kind of Blue, his apprenticeship with Thelonious Monk. Brilliant! And all of these examples predate his Impulse years.
Impulse Records is my favorite jazz label. It is so emblematic of the changing nature of jazz music in the sixties and Coltrane was its frontrunner. Every record they put out was a boutique item, with its orange and black design, gatefold center, and dramatic glossy cover photos. More importantly, it gave musicians who were interested in pushing jazz beyond what was typically accepted as popular or commercial. The label itself was progressive, as was the music it published. I do not mean to discount the significant contributions of other labels like Blue Note, Verve, Roulette, or even Columbia, but Impulse created an entire world unto itself in a way that few labels ever could. Its punk equivalent, in my mind, is Dischord Records.
Africa-Brass, A Love Supreme, Meditations. These three albums, if listened to side-by-side, might give a limited picture of the evolution that Coltrane went through during his tenure at Impulse. All of his albums, however, contain extraordinary playing. The pinnacle is, of course, A Love Supreme. I know I make a lot of tacky religious analogies, but permit me this last one. If Kind of Blue is the Old Testament, A Love Supreme is the New Testament.
I know the “free jazz” years, basically from 1965 until his death in 1967, are challenging to listen to, but it is well worth it. The thing that might be hard to understand about Coltrane is the sometimes aggressive nature of his playing. It sounds angry. He overblows. It sometimes lacks shape or direction. The music sounds random, uncontrolled, and without form. All of this is intentional. It is pure expressionism; his last album is even called Expression. If you listen to him in those terms you can begin to understand what he is saying a little better. It is like seeing a Jackson Pollock painting - it looks like a big random mess, but the more you look at it, the more you can see it take shape. It has a rhythm, an energy all its own. It is not pretty, it is not orderly. But neither is life. That doesn’t mean it can’t possess beauty.
Lesson: Seek the beautiful in the ugly. You will be surprised by what you might find.
6. Glenn Gould
Although he is known primarily for his recordings of the keyboard works of Bach, Glenn Gould’s recorded output is quite extensive. He was a genius, and incredibly eccentric. His most famous piece was the first recording he made, Bach’s Goldberg Variations. This recording is extraordinary and solidified his place as a legendary pianist. He revived the popularity of the piece, and it catapulted his reputation as a key interpreter of Bach. He recorded almost all of Bach’s keyboard works and his recordings are considered the definitive versions by many listeners.
His style was unique - his attack of the keys, his lack of sustain pedal, and the melodies and countermelodies that he emphasized. His style was perfectly suited to the polyphonic language of Bach’s work, and Baroque music in particular. He was not, however, celebrated for his Romantic performances, such as Beethoven, Brahms, and Chopin - in fact he openly criticized those composers. He did, however, excel at 20th-century music, particularly Schoenberg, whose style, although atonal, was largely polyphonic in the way that Bach’s was. I gravitate to his recordings of Bach and 20th-century composers.
He famously stopped performing live and devoted himself exclusively to studio recording (just like the Beatles). He believed that performance was not an authentic experience, but rather, a battle between the audience and the performer. The audience sits in judgment, just waiting for the performer to make one mistake that they could focus upon. Although this perspective is exaggerated, there is a degree of truth in it. He believed that in the studio, through the use of tape editing, a performer can create a perfect musical interpretation. His recordings are a testament to this theory and are still regarded as such.
Your grandfather and great-uncle had a fascination with Gould, especially because Bach is their favorite composer. Because of this, I grew up listening to Gould quite a bit, and have adopted his perspective as to how “perfection” can be achieved through artificial means without losing any integrity or authenticity. His recordings are like magical pathways through dark corridors of the imagination, musty and old but mystical and mysterious nonetheless.
His career was bookmarked by the Goldberg Variations. Toward the end of his life, he re-recorded the piece. It is fun to compare and contrast the two recordings. The first is by a young and energetic prodigy who is not shy about demonstrating his skill. The second is by a wise, learned man who favors musical cohesiveness and rhythmic continuity over virtuosic exhibitionism. He believed that there is an underlying pulse that unifies the piece and saw the variations as separate pieces of a whole (as opposed to independent songs). It is beautiful because it really sums up the evolution that he underwent, both as a musician and as a human, and signifies the evolution that continues in the world of art music and how listeners react to it.
Lesson: Do not be afraid to be eccentric, as long as it is authentic to you. It might enable you to see the world in ways that others don’t.
5. Fugazi
Fugazi has been a relatively recent obsession for me. I first heard them back in 2015 or thereabouts. I remember going record shopping with your Uncle Paul and stumbled across a copy of The Argument. I recognized the band’s name as being a group that your Aunt Sarah was into back in the nineties, and I asked Paul if he knew them at all. Little did I know that he was a devotee.
I remember liking the music at first, but it took me a while to really get it. I got more of their albums, and my interest continued to grow. I also began digging a little deeper into the hardcore bands of the eighties that preceded Fugazi, especially those on Dischord Records like Minor Threat and Rites of Spring, along with others like Black Flag and Dead Kennedys. Yet, it wasn’t until I watched the documentary Instrument that I fully began to appreciate what I had stumbled onto. What I saw was an example of a record label existing outside of the music industry. The music was made for the purpose of expression, not commodification. The real punk bands did not focus on making music that they thought people wanted to hear, or that they thought would sell. They made the music they wanted to make and wanted that music to be accessible to anyone who wanted to hear it. This applied to live shows as well as selling albums.
This realization flipped everything I thought I knew about music. It does not discount the great music that has been made for mainstream consumption. Hell, I could listen to Thriller every day for the rest of my life and not grow tired of it. It puts into perspective the accomplishments of great artists, like the Beatles or Dylan, who applied new and innovative techniques to popular songwriting and evolved pop into what we now consider “rock.” It doesn’t even prove the notion that pop punk bands (like Green Day for instance) are full of shit. It just frames the accomplishments of popular artists - musical or otherwise - as being conducted within the mainstream culture for the purpose of selling something.
Fugazi didn’t do that. They didn’t even say that doing that was necessarily bad, it just wasn’t them. They rejected lucrative offers to join major labels and tour professionally. They signed local bands and oversaw the recording, production, packaging, and distribution of their records. They created a model of DIY music that actually worked successfully (and continues to, to this day). This tapped into a long-dormant belief in my psyche that there are actually people out there who make music independent of the industry. I know the term “indie” is used too often; it sometimes carries about as much weight as “organic” does in a grocery store. But Fugazi was truly and authentically independent of the mainstream.
But ethos aside, the music is good. Like, really good. The lyrics are so eloquently written, the production is amazing, and the playing is so tight. I was really excited to learn about their writing process - the four of them jam, come up with riffs, piece together ideas, and put together cohesive ideas over time. Whoever brings in lyrics that fit the groove ends up singing them. But, otherwise, it is truly a rare collaborative process. Even Brendan, the drummer, brings in guitar riffs - and usually ones that prove challenging for the others to learn. How is that for a democratic process?
In short, Fugazi taught me what punk is all about, which helped put music into a more meaningful perspective. They drew the line between punk and MTV punk and helped me to better empathize with the trouble Kurt Cobain always spoke about with fame. Learning about the early hardcore days of the eighties and hearing the developments made in the post-hardcore days of the nineties helped me see how the greater political landscape of the country during this time shaped the music. And the music that existed outside of the MTV culture, through labels like Dischord, SST, Alternative Tentacles, Lookout!, SubPop, and others provides a more meaningful and accurate portrait of America.
One more thing you should know: they are really nice guys! Guys who show up to play, talk with fans, sell their own merch, and just treat people with respect. This is unheard of in the mainstream music industry. I got to see the Messthetics, which has two former members of the band, play a few times. Brendan Canty (drums) and Joe Lally (bass) have joined up with guitarist Anthony Pirog, and have now put out two records. I went to see them with Paul before their first album was released. It was one of the best nights of my life! Seeing these guys, who I idolized - and speaking to them casually before and after their set in a dive bar in Brooklyn - this was almost too good to be real. Guy Picciotto (Fugazi’s guitarist and singer) was in attendance, as well. I had a copy of Fugazi’s first record and had the three of them sign it, and that is the record that hangs on the wall of my office today.
This whole experience has set my life on a different path. No, I am not like a different person altogether. I just see things a different way. Ian MacKaye was a kid who felt like other high schoolers pressuring him into drinking, smoking, and having sex was a load of bullshit, and he found punk music as an anchor, grounding him in something real, safe, and genuine. He played in bands and founded a label that gave other musicians a medium to create music that was true to themselves. It fostered community. It gave a voice to the underdog to speak out against social injustice and political corruption. It let people know that if they reject the norm, and don’t follow others like a bunch of sheep, it is because they are strong, not weak. That is punk, and it’s a lesson that Fugazi taught me.
Lesson: Practice what you preach. Know what your values are, and live by them. In doing so, you are an example to others.
4. Miles Davis
He is not the best trumpeter, not by a long shot (Clifford Brown is, in case you were wondering). But no other jazz musician has a catalog quite as profound as Miles Davis. For a career spanning half a century, the developments his music took are profound. His early recordings contain some fine playing but it is not until (in my opinion, at least) his first great quintet with John Coltrane that his genius begins to take shape. The group recorded several albums and played mostly standards, but what stands out about this group is how each player developed during that time, and the space Miles gave each to do so.
This early era culminates with Kind of Blue, Miles’ adventures into the realm of modal jazz. This means that rather than play through a series of chords, the music stays on one chord for a longer period of time, which pushes the performer to improvise off scales (modes) related to that chord. It is closer in nature to Eastern music and was a significant turning point in jazz.
This album was particularly important to me - it was the first jazz album I ever listened to. I mean really listened to. I was listening to a radio marathon counting down the best 100 albums, and amongst the obligatory Dylan and Beatles albums at the top of the list was Kind of Blue. They played the entire record from start to finish, and I just sat and listened to it, not quite knowing what to expect. I was not interested in jazz until that moment, but from that moment on, the world of jazz was completely open to me. Or, more accurately, I was open to it. I began to listen to Miles, Coltrane, Monk, Clifford Brown, Basie, Duke, Dizzy, Ella, Mingus, and Dolphy. Every album I heard opened me up to new players. It is like a tree that continues to grow and branch out. You hear one album, and really like the piano player, so you begin listening to albums by that guy. And so on. The genesis (remember - the Old Testament!) for me was Kind of Blue, and to this day it is still my favorite jazz record.
After that point, his direction changed. He eventually formed his second quintet with Wayne Shorter and Herbie Hancock, both of who I have seen perform live. I even had the honor of meeting the bass player from this group, Ron Carter, at a jazz symposium I attended in college. The group’s compositions became looser, more explorative, and unlike any other group of the time. The music was the product of a collective mind, not a single one. Miles knew how to harvest the talent of younger players better than anybody else, and how to tap into their ideas to push his music into new directions.
He also began to transition to a more electronic sound, peaking with Bitches Brew, and later, On the Corner. After this point, for the first half of the seventies, his compositions became record-length explorations with insane tones and timbres. This is where a lot of people lose interest, but I love this period. Each of his albums is kind of like an impressionist sound painting. The notes flow in and out, and the colors shift and fade. There is no particular melody or form, it is just strokes of colors, sort of like in a dream. It reminds me of Monet, in a sense - it is not what life looks like, but what it feels like.
Lesson: Make sure everything you do leaves an impression.
3. Bob Dylan
If any single individual has had an impact on my life via the creative process, it is Bob Dylan. After discovering the Beatles, Dylan seemed the next logical move. I think I began with listening to my Dad’s records from the sixties, sorting through titles of songs that I seemed to recognize - “Blowing in the Wind,” “Mr. Tambourine Man,” “Like A Rolling Stone.” Before ever having listened to his music, I was aware of his work in the sense that a young child is aware of the name Shakespeare or Beethoven. It is a name of unquestioned genius, so deeply embedded in the cultural canon that it is simply accepted as such.
Your grandfather, who was a writer and student of English, listened to Dylan passionately in his youth but seemed to have lost interest during the seventies. He has most of Dylan’s records of the sixties, most of which were first mono pressings, and were kept in pristine condition - that is until our cat urinated on all of them. I guess she wasn’t a fan. Eventually, I replaced all of these covers with better ones and gave each of my father’s vinyl records an appropriate home to inhabit. I likewise took care of the records of Leonard Cohen and Joni Mitchell from the same era, many of which suffered the same injury that fateful day my cat let us know how she felt about the singer-songwriter genre.
For me, Dylan is best examined within the context of eras. His work seems to naturally sort of fall into certain periods, at least in my mind, and a given song or album is usually best understood based on what came before it, and even what came later. The periods can be described as such:
Folk, 1960-1964. This is the earliest phase of his career, sometimes labeled as “protest music.” This term is somewhat problematic, but it does encapsulate the notion that Dylan stood on a side of a given issue. Some of his music was traditional (or arrangements thereof), and some were humorous or topical. He obviously drew from many sources in the folk tradition, but his brilliance was his ability to reconstruct and create his own statement within a given structure. His sense of rhyme, meter, and narrative was brilliant, especially for someone in their early 20s.
Folk Rock: 1965-1966. This is generally considered Dylan’s finest period. In 1964, he released Another Side of Bob Dylan which, while it contained no amplification, was closer in scope and style to Bringing It All Back Home than anything that came before it. It is a transitional album that sees Dylan moving away from the topical and satirical and closer to impressionism. He even goes so far as to dismiss his early work in which he preached and took sides, completely disowning the “protest” movement he supposedly led. His music, moving forward for quite a long time, was decidedly amoral, and often used words to express something deeply personal, or words for the sake of their own beauty and construction, rather than to send a message.
Americana: 1967-1973. After his motorcycle crash, he retreated and recorded the Basement Tapes with the Band in Woodstock, and later released John Wesley Harding, which is arguably his most underrated album. Never has someone used the three-verse/no-chorus format with such depth and imagination. He went on, after this, to explore country music, the American folk songbook, and ultimately returned to a more subdued version of himself on New Morning. This period’s output is kind of hit-or-miss, but as his numerous outtake-riddled releases have gone to show, the albums of this period had some substance but were ultimately troubled by poor production and song choice.
Rock Star: 1974 - 1978. This was another period marked by highs and lows for Dylan. It starts off strong with Planet Waves, a half-forgotten collaboration with the Band. It is overshadowed by the masterpiece that came next, Blood On The Tracks, which is easily his best album of the decade. Yet, fame had clearly gone to his head, marked by the over-blown singing and eccentric tours, and a decline in quality toward the end of the decade. It reminds me that he was still a rock star, one who was out to make money at the end of the day. He was, by this point, a commodity. I also suspect cocaine was a factor…
Born Again: 1979 - 1981. This was a low point, in my opinion. The struggle, for me, is that he became so preachy. While it is true that he had always used Biblical imagery, it was never used to preach the word of God until this era. His relationship with the Bible before this era was like that of the Coen Brothers in O Brother, Where Art Thou? in that it was used as a device to connect to a tradition, and in doing so, gave larger meaning and depth to the story. Dylan’s Christian period is nothing like this - it is gospel music that one might imagine hearing during a TV broadcast from an evangelical tent.
Burnout: 1982 - 1996. Perhaps this is unfair. To be honest, I haven’t actually heard much of the music from this era. But let’s face it, there is a reason for that. The same can be said about many of the other rock Gods of the sixties by the time they were middle-aged. Perhaps they tried to maintain something they no longer had, or tried to fill shoes that were no longer theirs. It happens. But, at the end of the day, I am not spending my time listening to this stuff.
Renaissance: 1997 - present. Thank God. Time Out Of Mind was a turning point. It was like hearing Dylan be Dylan again, and he kept it coming. “Love and Theft” was actually a step up from there. The past quarter century has had its peaks and valleys, but it has been a strong output overall. What he succeeds in during this phase is what he succeeded in at the beginning - taking existing forms, words, phrases, ideas, etc., and re-crafting them into something new. It is like watching an artist take existing media and rework it into something unique. The idea that this is plagiarizing is wrong - this is what American folk, jazz, and popular songwriters have done since the pilgrims first landed. Would you accuse Andy Warhol of plagiarization because he used a photo of a soup can? No - he used an existing image and re-crafted it in a way that gave it new expression, meaning, and context to make it his own.
It should also be noted that since the 1990s, he has been releasing an extensive archive of his past work, including unreleased songs, live performances, and outtakes. This has been the way of the stars of the sixties and seventies in the 21st century, hasn’t it? The Beatles Anthology is a prime example of this. For better or worse, it gives the devoted fan a chance to examine, study, understand, and enjoy new dimensions of an artist, especially one whose golden era ended decades ago. Sure, it might be a cash grab for the artist or record label, but if it gives pleasure to the fan, then who cares?
Lesson: No lesson here. Just listen to Bob Dylan. He is the greatest songwriter who ever lived. His music will teach you plenty. (You can skip his stuff from the eighties).
2. Radiohead
The number two spot for me is Radiohead. I know that their music is challenging to listen to at times, and lots of people fall into the “before OK Computer” or “after OK Computer”. But there is much credit due to this band. Their longevity is impressive. Let us not forget that their debut album, Pablo Honey, was released in 1993. And while it is not my favorite of theirs, it is a brilliant album and is overshadowed by the success of work to come. Its follow-up, The Bends, was a definite step forward. These two albums feature great lyrics and melodies, an unusual three-guitar front, impressive bass lines, and stellar production.
But OK Computer is the undisputed masterpiece of their 20th-century output. It is impressionistic in its sound, thematic in scope, and does not have a single poor track on it. I was impressed (though not surprised) to read that it was largely influenced by Bitches Brew. I have often felt that OK Computer was impressionistic, in a sense - the sounds are fluid and more felt than heard. The lyrics are figurative, with more feelings than thoughts. Had Radiohead broken up after this record, I am curious what their reputation would be. A three-album series of masterpieces from the 90s - they would have gone out on a high note, maybe without the mythologizing of Nirvana, but definitely in the same ballpark.
I also love how Radiohead acts as a collective unit with additional personnel - producer Nigel Goodrich and artist Stanley Donwood. With OK Computer, their albums shift weight from just an album of music to an art exhibition. It was no longer about the group as individual personalities, but rather as a collective experience. The artwork is as much a part of the album as the music is.
Then, the 21st century came. Kid A and its follow-up Amnesiac, were recorded during the same sessions. I often wonder what it would have been like if it had been released as a double album. Instead, Amnesiac suffered the fate of a follow-up, always to be compared to its older brother. In any event, both albums are brilliant. Employing the Dadaist technique, lyrics were randomly assorted with no narrative trace, but rather impressionistic visions. Electronic beats and loops formed the basis of backing tracks - gone was the three-guitar powerhouse. Software-generated vocal tracks, ambient noises faded in and out, and beautiful but chilling orchestrations penetrated the songs. The vocals are treated as just another instrument, not the foreground of the song. And there are other details that are often felt, but not heard. Take for instance the drumming on “Optimistic” - a repetitive pattern that is played over and over again, without a single crash of the cymbals until the very end. Without them, the tension builds without release - until, that is, the final repetition of the refrain, where it feels like a tidal wave comes rushing through.
Hail to the Thief was their last major label effort. It was around this time (college, 2003) that I first began really getting into them. It felt pretty on the money for the politics of the time, and while didn’t pack the punch of Kid A, was definitely a strong record. It checked all the boxes above and felt cohesive while having some really strong tracks that rocked and scared the shit out of you.
After this record, we see Thom Yorke - solo artist emerge. The Eraser blew my mind with its electronic pops and fuzzy effects. Additionally, Johnny Greenwood scored the film There Will Be Blood. It was hard not to take these dudes seriously as artists, although I was scared they might be through as a band. Thankfully, they continued onwards while pursuing their own solo projects, including Atoms for Peace and the Smile.
As they released more albums, they created the model for what any musician of integrity hopes to do - self-release. They began as a major label act, found mainstream popularity, quickly dismissed it, changed directions, and then were free to release what they wanted and how they wanted when that contract ended. And, they had the balls to let fans name their own price. They continue to evolve because they don’t feel the need to sell records to a mass crowd anymore. God knows they will have the diehards (like me) that will put out every piece of music they create. The solo albums, soundtracks, and group efforts all continue in full force. Each has its own complete statement, both aural and visual. The music may be less catchy or direct, but it continues to send chills down the spine, and demands repeat listening to be fully understood.
In short, Radiohead is not just a group anymore. They are the fulfillment of the 21st century’s version of the composer. I mean, in the sense that Mozart or Beethoven were composers of “art music” or as we call it, “Classical.” Radiohead’s catalog is that - each album a symphony in and of itself. Sure, they are depressing, but they reflect back to us what they see in our culture, which music is supposed to do. And they do it with an intelligence and integrity that is unmatched in most musicians.
1. The Beatles
I will be honest with you, Harrison - I have dreaded writing this section. I cannot put into words what the music of the Beatles has done for me. I have been obsessed with them for over thirty years - hell, you are even named after one of them. Volumes have been written about the group. How they changed music, how they evolved from album to album, and how they elevated rock to an art form. I don’t need to write about that here. What I do want to do is attempt to give you a brief breakdown of their best albums. It is largely an arbitrary exercise, but let’s give it a try:
My favorite album: Abbey Road. This was the first one I heard, so it struck the deepest chord in my soul. It also is the culmination of all that they were capable of as a unit. It is impressive, given that the entire second side basically follows symphonic form.
Their greatest album: Revolver. This album was the height of their creative energies and experimentation with studio techniques. They expanded beyond the guitar-driven rock song while keeping the music accessible.
Their most underrated album: Rubber Soul. This was a giant leap forward for the group, and while it is not as experimental as their later work, contains multitudes of complexities that are still organic and lovely.
My sleeper favorite: A Hard Day’s Night. There is not one bad song on this album. Yeah, it is still their boy-band Beatlemania phase, but it is damned good songwriting that still rocks.
Their best effort: The White Album. It is an epic effort, for obvious reasons - it is a sprawling mosaic that never gets tiring to experience.
Their masterpiece: Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. It is a cohesive work that shifted the rock genre from emphasizing the single/song to the album as a cohesive artistic statement.
So there you have it. You need to listen to all their music, though. Even the deep tracks and outtakes, it is all worth hearing. If Beethoven had a tape recorder and recorded himself, it would be just as valuable.
Lesson: All you need is love.
I hope this list gives you a little insight into who I am, where I come from, and what I believe in. Now, go make your own list.
addendum
There are some names left off this list that, nevertheless, should be mentioned. I know, it is cheating, but these artists have had a profound impact on me and deserve to be noted. This is my second 12 names for you:
Talking Heads
Fela Kuti
Clifford Brown
Tony Rice
Neil Young
Thelonious Monk
Kraftwerk
Joy Division / New Order
Leonard Cohen
Patti Smith
Led Zeppelin
Pink Floyd