Narration by David Tennant (Doctor Who, Royal Shakespeare Company, etc.):
Swirl in a lark’s eye Sparks alive are swooping slow The Village is a tear in a quail-packed quilt Fluffed and flattened farm gardens Diced by dark-hedged crosswords Hardened in the moon’s stare Standing stone, laying stone Sleep like the people Who have calcified in the shade of the steeple Market Day and a creaking dray Wheel through the sky Deliver the yawning sun from the bed of the dale Splash awake their pale plate-faces The Village is alive
Tad: Hello Brad! It’s been awhile since we’ve had the time to collaborate. We’re both educators, and summer is supposed to be a time to catch our breath, but it wasn’t for either of us this year, was it? Anyway, there’s a very good reason for us to get together, and that’s the announcement from Glass Hammer that they are releasing a new album! You and I both love this band, which is pretty much founder Steve Babb’s project now. We’ve been avid fans for many years, and they have never made a dud of an album in my opinion, even though they have recorded in an amazingly wide variety of styles. But that’s what I like about them: they aren’t afraid to try new things, and they never get stuck in a musical rut.
Their new album is Black Light, and I’ve listened to it four times back to back now. Musically and lyrically, it’s another big change from Rogue, Arise, and the Skallagrim Trilogy. My first impression is how lively and playful these songs sound. What do you think, my friend?
Brad: Hello, Tad. Man, I’ve missed you, and I’ve missed our dialogues. Admittedly, the summer got in the way–a daughter’s wedding, some writing, a vacation, a number of talks. . . but, still! I missed you. Glad to be connecting again, as always, my great friend.
Yes, I’m totally with you. I’ve listened to Black Light twice now, and I’m very much in love with it. Babb has always been a brilliant bassist, lyricist, poet, novelist, and song writer (there are no limits to the guy’s creativity and drive), but, with this album, he’s become something much greater than all of these things: he’s become a composer. Truly, the composition of this album is just staggering. The flow is immaculate, the intensity is everything a prog fan would want, and yet, somewhat like Frost*There is a bit of witty whimsy here, too.
Tad: Brad, I think your comparison to Frost* is quite apt; these guys sound like they’re having fun, and the concept itself is even a tongue-in-cheek wink at some of progressive rock’s pretentiousness: a young rock musician in 1979 sees an intriguing black light poster in his band’s rehearsal space, and suddenly he’s inside the poster! In this trippy, dayglo world, he meets up with characters from throughout the career of Glass Hammer, which makes for a delightful experience for us longtime GH fans. I read through the liner notes, and they are hilarious! For example: Part 1. Concept-Album Excess – It Begins (In which I find myself stuck in a psychedelic dreamworld, a fluorescent paradise. For reasons unexplained, I begin singing, and stuff happens!)
I think my favorite track is the second one, Lost Horizons, which is a twelve-minute minisuite containing several beautiful passages. I think the three vocalists, Christopher Galen, Trevor Laake, and Olivia Tharpe, are all outstanding throughout.
There’s a definite ‘70s vibe to the melodies and instrumentation, and there are quite a few sections where the band just jams. If I had to describe it, it’s as if Jethro Tull, Boston, and Kansas all got together and created a hybrid band. Every song has a delicious hook, especially on Return to The Shadowlands, which is a funky Celtic rocker, if that makes sense. Ferran Ligero’s guitar work is outstanding here.
Also in his notes, Steve Babb tells of his recent surgery to remove a (thankfully) benign brain tumor. I think that experience must have liberated him in many ways. He’s even said that he believes the surgery has altered the way he approaches composing now. All I can say is how much fun and enjoyable this album is, and how thankful I am that Babb is creating such great art. Speaking of which, I am a sucker for good bass (Chris Squire was my favorite member of Yes), and Babb really cuts loose on the closing track, Kaleidoscope Skies.
Brad: Tad, thanks so much for this. An excellent synopsis. As you and I have said many, many times–so many times it should be an iron rule of prog–a band is only as good as its bassist. And, man, is Babb a brilliant bassist. I love his bass lines. So thrilling and so captivating.
Tad, if you don’t mind, I have to recount my history with the band. I was at a conference many, many years ago now, and one of my favorite colleagues in the history field, Amy Sturgis, knew how into music and especially prog I was. She mentioned knowing two guys from Tennessee in the prog band, Glass Hammer, who had just released an album called LEX REX. I had never heard of them or the album, but, of course, true to form, I immediately bought LEX REX, and I fell instantly in love with it. I couldn’t believe the mixing of music with the profundity of the lyrics. And, they weren’t afraid to be counter-cultural, especially in their embrace of tradition and Christianity. But, it was an intelligent and artful Christianity, not an over the top in your face evangelicalistic propaganda which I find so deeply troubling. If we really love Christ, our music doesn’t need to be about Christ, but we very much need to use the gifts Christ has given us in the music. Glass Hammer did exactly this.
As I had done with my hero worship of Greg Spawton, I decided to take a chance and email Steve Babb to strike up a friendship. Amazingly enough, he reciprocated. When chance had it that I was to lecture in Tennessee, Steve and I met for dinner–the first time we had met in person. I liked him instantly, and I think he felt the same. Even though I’m a historian and he’s a musician, there was a definite kinship right away. I thank God for that meeting and his friendship.
Being totally and unabashedly OCD, I immediately ordered all of Glass Hammer’s back catalogue, including a live concert DVD–which made me love the band even more–after I first heard LEX REX. And, on one of those DVDs, Steve’s amazing and beautiful wife, Julie, showed up. I was blown away by how extremely cool and normal Steve and his family were.
Admittedly, it doesn’t hurt that Steve and I view much of the world in exactly the same way–which, of course, make me love his music all the more. Plus, the guy is an entrepreneur, a dad, a husband, a poet, and a novelist. Is there anything he can’t do?
All of this leads me to Black Light. As I mentioned previously, there’s something immensely special about Black Light. This is not just another prog release, but a prog moment. The album is equally parts intense, whimsical, creative, and brilliant. Steve is so clearly having the time of his life. As you mentioned, Tad, he’s just come out of major brain surgery. You’d never know it except to say that Steve is so very, very happy to be alive. It comes through in every note of Black Light.
Tad: Brad, I love hearing the back stories of how you first encounter different groups. I got into Glass Hammer because of your recommendation. Perilous was the first CD of theirs I bought. I then picked up Cor Cordium, and I assumed Jon Davison was their consistent vocalist. As I acquired more and more of their albums, I soon realized that Glass Hammer is more of a collective, organized around Steve Babb and Fred Schendel – a lot like Steely Dan was centered on Donald Fagan and Walter Becker.
Anyway, I think we both enthusiastically give Black Light our “thumbs up”. It is one of Babb’s best efforts, and I am really excited to see the direction he is taking his music.
You can order Black Light directly from their store at https://glasshammer.com/. Support independent music and buy physical media!
The Tedeschi Trucks Band with Alabama Shakes, Acrisure Amphitheater, Grand Rapids, Michigan, August 25, 2026.
Taking our places on the lawn of our city’s new outdoor concert shed, my wife and I were hyped up by the crowd that had gathered. Used to a maximum capacity of 2,000 at Grand Rapids’ other outdoor venue, it was pretty exhilarating to see at least twice as many folks gathered on the grass around us – and even more than that in the covered seats up front! About 10,000 folks, both locals and fans who’d obviously made a pilgrimage from elsewhere, all in place for an evening of rootsy music.
I wasn’t sure what openers Alabama Shakes had in store; neither of their albums had impressed me, and they’ve only been back together for a couple of years following a lengthly hiatus, touring in anticipation of their comeback album I Must Be Dreaming. What we got, though, was a generous helping of langorous psychedelic soul that easily exceeded my expectations.
Looking and sounding for all the world like Sister Rosetta Tharpe returned, Brittany Howard commanded the stage from the start, her gospel-soaked vocals a thing of wonder, her stinging rhythm and searing licks on a foam-green Gibson SG going straight to the gut. Long-time bandmates Heath Fogg on guitar and Zac Cockrell on bass hail from the “less is more” school of down-home Southern music; set off by laid-back stage drummer Noah Bond (playing so far behind the beat he seemed to be in a different time zone), even with double keyboards and a backing vocal trio there was plenty of space for Howard to strut her stuff. And while Alabama Shakes’ songs can sound undercomposed and overfussed-with on record, they clicked live; focusing on their more experimental second album Sound and Color, the band mixed in enough new material (and the upbeat hits from their shorter, snappier debut Boys and Girls) to keep the audience spellbound and wanting more. Ultimately they stretched out for more than an hour, bringing a well-deserved co-headline set to a savory, simmering boil by the end.
Then, as the sun went down and the air took on a chill, the Tedeschi Trucks Band brought some welcome fire, complete with an encouragement on the video screens to stand up and dance! Susan Tedeschi’s gorgeous, gritty singing (with great vocal interjections from keys man Gabe Dixon) and Derek Trucks’ imaginative, heartfelt slide work set the pace across the up-tempo Motown jump of “Playing with My Emotions”, the straightforward drive of “Made Up Mind” and the Quiet Storm R&B of “I Got You” (from fabulous new album Future Soul) and “Midnight in Harlem”, as Tyler Greenwell and Isaac Eady laid down a flowing, bubbling bed of double drum work.
But it was on their thrillingly eclectic selection of covers that the 12-piece ensemble showed themselves a true band of equals. Tedeschi bragged and purred with both voice and guitar on Muddy Waters’ “Got My Mojo Working”; second vocalist Mike Mattison worried and wailed through Chuck Willis’ “I Feel So Bad”; after Trucks had brought Eric Clapton’s “Keep On Growing” down to a hush, trombonist Elizabeth Lea brought it all the way back up! Vocalist Mark Rivers, trumpeter Emmanuel Echern and sax man Kebbi Williams had their moments to shine too.
And the high point was yet to come: first TTB combined with Alabama Shakes’ backing singers for Sly Stone’s “You Can Make It If You Try”; then Brittany Howard tore it up duetting with Tedeschi on Stone’s transcendent “Everyday People”. That got the entire crowd on their feet, staying up as the band played right through to the city curfew, taking the set out with The Allman Brothers’ chugging “Stand Back”, original “I Want More” and a furious coda of Santana’s “Soul Sacrifice.”
“I’m building a kingdom in my soul/Where the fires first burned let flowers grow” were the first words from Brittany Howard’s mouth Tuesday night. “Hope your future’s got soul in it” is the chorus from that fine new Tedeschi Trucks Band album’s title track. Alabama Shakes and TTB have gone their separate ways for now; but if you want to build that kingdom of future soul inside you, seeing one or both of these bands would be a great way to start.
Glass Hammer, the progressive rock vehicle of founder and multi-instrumentalist Steve Babb, announces the release of Black Light for November 6th. Created in the months after Babb underwent surgery to remove a brain tumor, Black Light marks one of the most personal and stylistically distinct entries in Glass Hammer’s long catalog. Centered around a quirky, surreal story of a young prog-rocker drawn into a 1970s black-light poster, the album explores themes of nostalgia, longing, and the dual worlds of artistic inspiration. Black Light features an updated lineup and a vibrant, psychedelic sonic palette while remaining rooted in the band’s symphonic progressive style.
The updated lineup includes:
Christopher Galen – Lead & backing vocals Trevor Laake – Lead & backing vocals Olivia Tharpe – Lead & backing vocals Ferran Ligero – Lead & rhythm guitar Ken Kristiansen – Drums Oliver Day – Acoustic guitar Steve Babb – Keyboards, bass, percussion and backing vocals
The album will be available on CD and digital platforms. Run time is 56 minutes. Pre-order information and further details will be available at www.glasshammer.com.
Most artists wouldn’t start their live set with an obscure song from an now-obscure 20-year-old album (arguably a major label’s desperate attempt to justify their investment by breaking said artist back into the mainstream, via celebrity duets with Sting and Eric Clapton). Most artists definitely wouldn’t follow that up with another obscure song from his follow-up collaboration with a generational bluegrass talent.
But then, this is Bruce Hornsby we’re talking about. Seated at the grand piano stage left, facing his Noisemakers – J.T. Thomas on keyboards, Gibb Droll on guitar, J.V. Collier on bass, John Mailander on mandolin and fiddle, and Chad Wright on drums – grouped in a half circle, Hornsby launched into an extended, exploratory take on Halcyon Days’ “Circus on the Moon“, followed by “Gulf of Mexico Fishing Blues” from his duet album with Ricky Skaggs.
While a familiar track from Hornsby’s Top 40 years, “Look Out Any Window“, was up next, only the chords and the lyrics recalled the original recording. Instead of facing the audience, intent on making maximum impact, Hornsby and the Noisemakers seemed to invite us into a space where, though grateful for our company, their focus would be on the music. And the near-capacity crowd went there, leaning in to listen as Hornsby worried at the melody and the band took the tune’s structure new places, scaling heights of delicate interplay and spanning depths of ensemble groove.
The next stretch of songs, from the new album Indigo Park, confirmed that impression; “Ecstatic”, “Memory Palace”, and the title track continually blazed unexpected trails, individual Noisemakers stepping forward and pulling back, Hornsby choreographing with eye contact and hand gestures. And the hits were forthcoming – but only on Hornsby‘s terms. A wildly atonal piano prelude spanning the length and breadth of the keyboard gave away to a decorous, romantic waltz, eventually teasing Hornsby’s breakthrough song “The Way It Is”. At which point he turned to the audience and said, “You want the pretty version or the jammin’ version?“ The whoop of recognition and the crowd’s spontaneous rise to its feet decided the question in favor of a jam; and with Hornsby again scatting around the melody and extending the jazz piano breaks, the result bore only faint resemblance to that long-ago hit single.
By that point, Hornsby was in his comfort zone and ready to take multiple chances. The minor hit “Across the River”, his first recorded collaboration with the Grateful Dead’s Jerry Garcia, drew a warm ovation from the crowd. They also ooh’d and ah’d when the band unplugged and came forward, Hornsby picked up a dulcimer, and Wright donned a washboard vest for two more deep tracks, followed by an appealing, muted take on “Mandolin Rain”.
Appropriately, the high point of the night was the climax of the set: “Rainbow’s Cadillac“, jazzed up and stretched out; “The Show Goes On”, where a passionate piano/vocal solo morphed into a full on, full-band power ballad; and a tribute to Hornsby‘s Grand Rapids debut 40 years ago, Bruce strapping on his accordion to rock out the first track from his debut album, “On the Western Skyline “.
Throughout the night, Hornsby and his Noisemakers welcomed you into their world – but very much on their terms. If the instrumental jamming went on a bit too long, you could focus on how each person on stage was listening hard, adding their bit or laying out as required. Or you could focus on how Hornsby – whose voice now lacks the power of his youthful salad days, but brings to bear all kinds of canny tricks as he sings – constantly played with the tunes, twisting and turning them, familiar words perceived from fresh melodic angles. And whether any given moment moved toward stasis, languor or excitement, you could tell that, flashing and flickering, Music was there on this serene summer evening, leaning over, taking Hornsby, the Noisemakers, and all of us into its confidence.
Visibly excited to kick off his latest US tour leg in Grand Rapids (especially after persistent rain dogged his 2025 show in the same location), Jason Isbell laid out his cards right from the downbeat of anthemic rocker “Hope the High Road”:
I heard enough of the white man’s blues I’ve sang enough about myself So if you’re looking for some bad news You can find it somewhere else
Last year was a son of a bitch For nearly everyone we know But I ain’t fighting with you down in a ditch I’ll meet you up here on the road
I know you’re tired And you ain’t sleeping well Uninspired And likely mad as hell But wherever you are I hope the high road leads you home again To a world you want to live in
It’s Isbell’s subject matter in a nutshell: Everyman up against the wall, battling his demons and straining to make contact. Whether caught up in the daily struggle for sobriety (“It Gets Easier”), a generation-spanning family feud (the Drive-By Truckers classic “Decoration Day”), the stifling conformity of big city (“Last of My Kind”) and Southern home town (“Crimson and Clay”), or the hell of war (“Dress Blues”), his protagonists constantly stare down inevitable fate. And typically, fate wins: the singer of “Gravelweed” laments the wounds inflicted on a former partner (though not without a tremulous assertion of his own growth); the folky ballad “Live Oak” shifts imperceptibly from haunting sentiment to quiet, understated horror; the elegy of “Elephant” proves unsparing in both its depiction of cancer and its devastating punchline (“There’s one thing that’s real clear to me/No one dies with dignity/We just try to ignore the elephant somehow.”) In his own voice or inhabiting a character, Isbell knows that, in the end, we all run out of road in this world.
So what hope is there, given Isbell’s grim, wry vision of God as distant at best (“Last of My Kind”), actively uncaring at worst (the exhilarating, chilling rocker “24 Frames”)? His consolations turn out to be the simple, small attractions that move, leverage and sustain connection; familial bonds unpacked in fatherly advice (his Truckers breakthrough song “Outfit”); beauty recalled in the depths of barrenness (“Alabama Pines”); pride taken in meaningless, backbreaking work (“Something More Than Free”); art and music’s power to conjure up space, freedom, little victories (“Ride to Robert’s”). And, evanescent as it can be, a love as strong as death, fiercely yet tenderly rendered in the tough country ballads “Cover Me Up” and “If We Were Vampires”.
In sum, Jason Isbell is one genuinely mighty songwriter. And while he did toss out a semi-serious apology for so many “sad-ass songs”, he knows it and revels in it. Throughout the night, he sang with conviction and gusto, his finely detailed vocals shading the dark corners or lighting up fleeting moments of triumph. And while Isbell’s songs are more than good enough to stand on their own, his 400 Unit puts bone, muscle and skin on the heart and soul at their core; like Tom Petty’s Heartbreakers, they serve the music with grit and grace. Isbell considers his guitar playing “a hobby”, but he’s perfectly fine on both rhythm and lead – fluent, stylish, down-home or bluesy as the tune requires. Guitarist Sadler Vaden and keyboardist Derrick DeBorja proved both sympathetic duet partners with Isbell and down-and-dirty ensemble players; bassist Anna Butterss (the heartbeat of jazz guitarist Jeff Parker’s ETA IVTet – talk about versatility!) and drummer Chad Gamble rocked hard and grooved with flair; utility player Will Johnson amped up the power chords, held down the acoustic strumming, or joined Gamble to toughen the backbeat as the songs required.
So as the sun went down, Isbell and the 400s rolled into a pile-driving set close and encore. With Gamble slowing the beat ever so slightly and the now-vivid lighting hitting dramatic heights, “King of Oklahoma”, “Cover Me Up” and “If We Were Vampires” got the crowd on their feet; the Truckers’ melancholy, transcendent ode to The Band “Danko/Manuel” (“Can you hear that singing sounds like gold/Maybe I can only hear it in my head/Fifteen years ago they owned that road/Now it’s rolling over us instead/Richard Manuel is dead”) and fiery getaway rocker “This Ain’t It” (culminating in a Isbell/Vaden duet that reached peak Allman Brothers territory) left them hungry for more.
Jason Isbell is the real thing, one of the leading voices in today’s American music, fearlessly digging deep into the human condition, the pull of fate and the push of attraction. The 400 Unit fit his songs like a glove; as a collective, they make a powerful, compelling noise that straddles rock and country, yielding maximum emotional impact. On record, this music is impressive; live, this band is even more so, well worth hearing and seeing when they head in your direction.
Jason Isbell tours, with and without The 400 Unit, through November 2026; show dates are here. Setlist at Meijer Gardens Amphitheater, July 23, 2026:
Some Things Are Worth Remembering is the fourth album from The Bardic Depths. Dave Bandana once again takes the reins, with lead vocals, bass, keyboards, and overall production, while Gareth Cole returns on acoustic and electric guitar, Tim Gehrt handles drums and percussion, and Peter Jones sings and plays sax and keyboards. The ever-clever and polyhistoric Brad Birzer supplies most of the lyrics, which, as the album’s title suggests, are full of reminiscences, longing, and nostalgia.
I’ve listened to Some Things Are Worth Remembering several times now, and my overall impression of the album is one of mellowness. There is a gentle vibe to most of the songs that wouldn’t be out of place on a early-to-mid-70s rock album. Given that I pretty much came of age in the 70s, I find Some Things Are Worth Remembering a most pleasant and entertaining listening experience.
The opening track, “Islands”, is, according to the notes provided by Mr. Bandana, Brad Birzer’s tribute to the classic Big Big Train song, “The Underfall Yard”. In that track, BBT expressed their admiration for the Victorian engineers who surveyed and constructed the railways that crisscrossed the UK. BBT sang how those engineers “using available light, they could see far”. Birzer’s lyrics are a worthy tribute to the spirit of “The Underfall Yard”, as he writes,
The song that longs to linger in our souls
Long after we’ve heard the last notes
A memory so pure so delicate
The song that cries to the skies
The song that hovers over that moment
Away from eternity
The music of “Islands” has a nice jazzy feel, thanks to the excellent saxophone work of Peter Jones.
Next up is the very melodic “Fallen Leaves”, featuring beautiful wordless vocal harmonies that conjure memories of CSNY and The Beach Boys.
Things get a little funky on the third track, “Arribabok”. Birzer’s lyrics explore how language is like a living thing, always evolving and mutating. I really like Bandana’s bassline on this song, and Cole’s sinuous electric guitar solo. The arrangement reminds me a bit of classic Peter Gabriel – shades of “Secret World”.
Side One closes with my favorite track, “October Sun”, which is Birzer’s ode to Michigan autumns. Maybe because autumn is my favorite season, this song really speaks to me with its evocation of “greens and reds and yellows and browns”. There is more to the song than mere colors, however:
The veil between this world and the next
Is ever so thin
It’s always twilight here
October holds its breath
In the dusk of it all
And on the verge of death
October sun shines through
I may be reading too much into these lyrics, but they remind me of Ray Bradbury’s memoir of small town America, Dandelion Wine, where natural beauty coexists uneasily with darker undercurrents. The music for “October Sun” is outstanding as well, with the final half consisting of an instrumental workout. Peter Jones’ sax and Gareth Cole’s guitar play a game of tag in the October sun!
Side Two opens with Peter Jones’ composition, “From Empty Trees”. He plays keyboards on this one, and it brings to minds Barleycorn-era Traffic. It’s a very fun track with a lot of drive.
The next song, “A View”, is, according to Bandana, “about a man in space who awakes after his craft has been attacked and after finding out he is the only one left on board sees the Earth below in a totally different light.” Appropriately enough, the melody captures the longing and homesickness of that astronaut perfectly.
“Harder to See” is the portrait of a man who is not the most likeable person. Bandana wrote the lyrics on this one, and he describes someone who is trying to find himself:
You make it I’ll break it you bake it I’ll take it
You grow it I’ll blow it you know it I’ll throw it
It’s not easy to please me it’s harder to see me
I like you can’t find me no ties to confine me
I need to get me a plan find out if I really can
I need to see where I am… see where I am as a man
Some Things Are Worth Remembering closes with “Rewind”, which is Bandana’s recounting of attending a 1975 Genesis concert in London. Once again, there is a sense of longing for something that can never be recaptured.
I wish I could easily rewind my brain
All of the sights and the smells of old London Town
Sit and wait for the lights to die down
Music and drama and spells before our eyes
Stories of strange folk behind a disguise
I was there but I can’t remember now
Cole’s acoustic guitar work is outstanding, cleverly bringing to mind Steve Hackett from A Trick of the Tail-era Genesis. Cole also provides a muscular electric guitar solo that provides an intro to a beautiful vocal interlude. And when you think the song is over, we are given a wonderful pastoral coda that lasts almost five minutes.
All in all, Some Things Are Worth Remembering is a fine addition to The Bardic Depths’ discography. I especially enjoyed Peter Jones’ saxophone work throughout, and Tim Gehrt’s work on drums and percussion is excellent. As I stated at the beginning of this review, this album is mellow – it’s a genuinely pleasurable listening experience that is perfect for a lazy Sunday afternoon (in October!). Even though there isn’t an explicit concept – such as the Inklings in their previous album, What We Really Like In Stories – a common thread of nostalgia and longing runs throughout all the songs.
Finally, I noticed that the back cover has a disclaimer stating that, “No AI was used in the making of this album”. It’s a shame artists have to make that clear, but these are the time we live in. I hope Bandana, Cole, Jones, Gehrt, and Birzer continue to produce authentic music far into the future.
You can preorder Some Things Are Worth Remembering here.
In Episode 2 of Cecilia in Proghalla, Brad Birzer, Kevin McCormick, and Tad Wert have a wide-ranging conversation with the incredibly talented musician Phil Keaggy, and his gifted collaborator, author and poet Kevin Belmonte. They have a new album: Things of Heaven, that is a beautiful set of songs celebrating everything from Paul McCartney’s lost and then found Hofner bass to Easter and Christmas.
Along the way, we touch on Kevin’s new book, G K Chesterton on Life, and Phil’s fascinating career in music. Give it a listen:
Dear Spirit of Cecilia Readers, welcome back! We hope and trust you’re each doing well. We had such a great and nostalgic time reminiscing about our years in high school and our love of music, we decided it was time to take it to the next level and talk about our post-high school years. I say post high school, because not all of us went immediately to college. Our beloved Erik Heter served brilliantly in the navy–as a submariner–immediately after high school. The rest of us, though, went directly to college. So, we cover the years, 1979-1991.
Brad: Well, the single most important thing that happened to me my freshman year (1986-1987) was meeting our own beloved Kevin McCormick. Kevin lived in the dorm next to mine, and we had crossed paths several times in September. In mid-October, though, we found ourselves on the same flight, home for our week-long fall break. Though he was ultimately heading to San Antonio, and I to Wichita, we had the same flight from Chicago to Denver. Recognizing one another, we sat next to each other on the flight. Almost forty years later, we’re still best friends!
I really didn’t like flying, but Kevin taught me a great trick as we took off–to set up an album on the walkman so that the music began as the plane began to take off down the runway and then hit full stride as it went into the air. Brilliant.
After take off, though, we talked non-stop on the flight and then had time together in Denver before our connecting flights. A moment that changed both of our lives.
Though I knew much more about older prog and jazz, Kevin seemed to have limitless knowledge about New Wave. As it turned out, he didn’t just listen to music, he was a full-fledged (and mighty good) guitarist (classical and electric), composer, and poet. To be blunt, in 1986, Kevin, more or less, defined cool. He even, amazingly enough, looked like Bono.
Though I really, really liked Rush, Kevin adored them and knew every single thing about the band. My love of the band had grown since first encountering them in 1981, but it was Kevin who really convinced me of their brilliance, and especially of the brilliance of Neil Peart. Kevin also introduced me to Blancmange and other New Wave bands. He also convinced me that it was ok that Sting went out on his own, forsaking the Police! And, when I tried to convince Kevin that albums like Invisible Touch were still great, he would have none of it.
But, most of all, I just loved hanging out with Kevin when he jammed on the guitar. We would talk for hours and hours about everything music related.
Tad: Okay, Brad, you’ve opened up the floodgates when you want to know what music I was into in college! I was an engineering undergraduate at Vanderbilt from 1979 to 1984. I’ll start with 1980, which was an incredible year for new music. By that time, I was a DJ at the school’s radio station, WRVU. As a newbie, I had the 6 – 8 am shift. I loved going through all of the promo copies we’d get, and planning my playlist.
Here are a few(!) of my favorite albums from that year:
Utopia: Adventures In Utopia Joe Jackson: Beat Crazy XTC: Black Sea *U2: Boy *Robert Palmer: Looking for Clues Yes: Drama Genesis: Duke Roxy Music: Flesh + Blood Devo: Freedom of Choice Group 87: Group 87 *English Beat: I Just Can’t Stop It Weather Report: Night Passage Rush: Permanent Waves Peter Gabriel: 3 (Melt) *Pretenders: Pretenders *Talking Heads: Remain In Light David Bowie: Scary Monsters Elvis Costello: Taking Liberties Gary Numan: Telekon The Cretones: Thin Red Line Ultravox: Vienna Hall and Oates: Voices *B-52s: Wild Planet *The Police: Zenyatta Mondatta
*I was also on Vanderbilt’s concert committee, and these artists all played live there. U2 played in the law school auditorium to maybe 400 people, believe it or not! Talking Heads gave the best show I’ve ever seen, with an expanded lineup that was incredibly funky. During the B-52s show, we were seated in the balcony in the basketball gymnasium, and everyone was bopping so hard to the music that I could feel the concrete floor flexing up and down. I was currently taking a course in reinforced concrete design, and I knew that if a crack developed, the whole thing would collapse. I grabbed my date and we ran downstairs. The band actually announced from the stage that people in the balcony had to sit still, or they would stop playing!
A few notes on some of the above albums:
Group 87 was an instrumental trio consisting of Patrick O’Hearn (bassist for Missing Persons), Mark Isham (trumpet, keyboards), and Peter Maunu (guitar, keyboards). It is still one of my all-time favorite records.
Weather Report was the group that got me into jazz – Wayne Shorter was a coleader, and through him I discovered Miles Davis and Art Blakey. Jaco Pastorius was their bassist, and he had a unique sound that Joni Mitchell used on her Hejira and Don Juan’s Reckless Daughter.
Robert Palmer’s Looking For Clues was an unusual album for him – very electronic, and featuring some songs by Gary Numan.
Elvis Costello’s Taking Liberties was proof of how incredibly prolific he was early in his career. He had released four excellent albums in three short years, and Taking Liberties was just a collection of B-sides. Every single song on it was as good or better than any other song he had released. How many people can come up with lyrics as witty as That the word upon everyone’s lipstick that you’re dedicated/Though you may not be an old-fashioned girl, you’re still gonna get dated?
XTC’s Black Sea is where Dave Gregory really makes his mark in that band. Andy Partridge and Colin Moulding were both at the top of their songwriting form.
Rush’s Permanent Waves remains my favorite album of theirs.
The Cretones were a new wave band from LA, and their songs were wonderfully catchy. Linda Ronstadt recorded several for her Mad Love album. They disappeared after two great albums. I don’t think they were even reissued on CD.
Hall and Oates’ Voices is probably the most mainstream album in my list, but what a great lineup of songs! They were definitely listening to new wave music and taking notes.
I think I played Peter Gabriel’s third album more than any other on this list. I was obsessed with the sound he came up with on it. Tony Levin on bass, Jerry Marotta on drums (but no cymbals!), and David Rhodes on guitar. Every song was so dark and powerful.
Erik: So I’m going to be the outlier here for reasons Brad mentioned above – namely, the fact that I served six years as a submariner in the US Navy right after high school. Oh, I did eventually go to college, after completing my service, but my college days were spent working a full-time job while going to school part time. And a majority of those years were in the 1990’s, which didn’t have the same impact on me musically as the 1980’s, in which my navy years fell.
Joining the military, traveling around a lot, and eventually getting assigned to a sea-going command certainly changed how I listened to music. I went from a vinyl guy to a cassette guy; from a turntable guy to a Sony Walkman guy. And man, did I go through a lot of Sony Walkmans in that period. And the number of cassettes I owned rapidly overtook the number of vinyl albums I had collected up to that point.
Music significantly shifted during my high school years that immediately preceded my navy years, and that change continued to reverberate. But at the same time, there were some consistencies. For example, my fandom of Yes didn’t waver, and in fact was supercharged in 1983 with their new album 90125. With a new guitarist (and excellent vocalist to boot) in tow, Trevor Rabin, Yes released an album that was both a radical departure from their previous work while still sounding like something only they could pull off. And it drew me in like the proverbial moth to a flame, as I couldn’t get enough of it. I’ve listened to that album all over the world, from the Mediterranean Sea to the Sea of Japan and many locales in between, some on land and some underwater. And despite using a Walkman with headphones, when I listened to 90125, so did the people in my vicinity. Nigel Tufnel wasn’t the only one who knew how to turn it up to 11.
But 90125 wasn’t the only album that resonated with me to such a strong degree. In 1984, Rush released what I consider to be their second-best album, Grace Under Pressure. Having joined the military, I started to ponder what it meant to be in situations where “the world weighs on my shoulders.” Being at an age of just entering adulthood, I was “overwhelmed by everything, yet wanting more so much.” Neil’s lyrics definitely spoke to me on that one. Better yet, on the first, glorious Saturday night of November 1984, I saw Rush play on the Grace Under Pressure tour. That was my second of six Rush shows (spread across 5 different decades), and it remains to this day the best one of the bunch.
I also quite enjoyed their subsequent albums Power Windows and Hold Your Fire, which also came out during that timeframe.
Embracing the new wave of rock music came a little slow to me. But in early 1983, while undergoing some electronics training in Great Lakes, IL (north of Chicago), I first heard U2’s War album. That did the trick, and I started paying attention to subsequent releases as well. I still like War the best of their albums, but Bono’s inflated sense of himself notwithstanding, they made some good music over the years.
My heavy metal listening expanded a little bit during those years. And in particular, I took a liking to the prog-adjacent heavy metal band, Iron Maiden. My introduction to them was via a concert in San Diego on their World Piece Tour (no, ‘Piece’ is not misspelled here), and soon after that I owned their then-current album, Piece of Mind. I would go on to purchase their next three albums as well, all of which appeared while I was still on active duty.
A few other albums really knocked my socks off during these days. Once Upon a Time by Simple Minds is jam-packed with lush melodies and great songs overall, and was in heavy rotation for about a year after its release. And while I liked some of The Cult’s earlier songs (Rain, She Sells Sanctuary), they really sealed the deal for me on 1987’s Electric, which is chock full of raw guitar and more of a roots rock sound. I also really liked Pete Townsend’s solo album White City that he released in 1985.
Another thing I enjoyed was watching Robert Plant’s evolution as a solo artist. Unlike others who were famous from their time in another band, Plant’s output during the 80’s neither rested on his Led Zeppelin laurels, nor did it run away from them.
I, or should I say we (referring to myself and the other sonar technicians I served with) also had fun with our music … meaning we figured out how to jerry-rig our Walkmans to input signals into a spectrum analyzer in the sonar room of the submarine upon which we served. This allowed us to see the music along with hearing it. And let me tell you, a young Robert Plant, when he really wanted to belt one out, could produce some massive harmonics!
My time in the service came to an end in November of 1988. When I entered six years earlier, it felt like our country was on its back and the Soviet Union was ascendant. But those six years later, America was confident and one could sense that the Soviets, no longer led by a stodgy old hardliner, were on their last legs. I too had changed quite a bit. When it comes to music, the change in my tastes was primarily one of expansion and broadening. I still liked the music I listened to in high school; in that era when so much of what a person listens to becomes embedded in their personality. At the same time, a lot of great new sounds emerged, and many of them caught my ear for good. It was a great time, and I miss it.
Brad: A second critical thing happened to me at the end of freshman year. My tape of Invisible Touch, of all albums, broke. I bought a new one at the campus store, but it was broken as well. As was its replacement. I got so fed up with defective Invisible Touches, that I decided to buy something totally new, something I knew nothing about. And, yes, I very much judged the book by its cover! I came across an album adorned with a whole slew of colorful moths, one large one dominating all the surrounding ones. I immediately loved it. It was called “The Colour of Spring” by Talk Talk. Taking a chance, I bought the album, knowing nearly nothing about the band or the album. I had had a good friend in high school, Ritchie, who had bought a Talk Talk EP, but, otherwise, they were new to me.
I proudly showed Kevin the new purchase, and he assured me it was a great band. I popped the cassette into the tape deck, and I was immediately blown away by every aspect of the music. From the beginning there was something deeply alluring about Mark Hollis’s voice but, for the life of me, I couldn’t make out the lyrics, and there was no lyric sheet with the cassette. I, however, listened to it so many times that I had the vocal cadence down pat, even if I didn’t know the words.
The following school year, July 1987-July 1988, I spent two semesters at the University of Innsbruck in Austria, and Kevin spent the same year in Rome. That March (1988), we ventured together to London and stayed in a friend’s flat. While in London, we visited EMI (trying to meet Talk Talk), Virgin, and Trident Studios. At one point, we found ourselves in a record store, and the shop had a vinyl copy of The Colour of Spring, complete with lyrics on the sleeves. I studied that sheet for nearly an hour. To say that I was blown away would be the understatement of the year. I was utterly gobsmacked by everything Hollis had to say. I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried rather openly, so moved was I. “Try to teach my children/To recognise excuse before it acts/From love and conviction to pray.” These were words of immense love and immense integrity, words to live by.
I had already had a profound religious experience a month earlier in, of all places, central Morocco, and Kevin and I had talked theology nonstop. Prior to February 1988, I was a proud (if idiotic) atheist and skeptic. By April 1988, I was a full-blown Roman Catholic. To ignore Hollis in all of this would be a crime and an absurdity. My movement back to my childhood faith had Morocco, Kevin, and Hollis written all over it.
Tad: Brad, that is a very moving memory of yours; thank you for sharing it. I also didn’t really get into Talk Talk until The Colour of Spring, but they soon became one of my favorite groups. As a matter of fact, they are the reason you and I connected. Spirit of Eden is an all-time favorite album of mine, and I was bored one evening, so I did a search for reviews of it. I clicked on a link to something you wrote about it on a site called (I think) Stormfields. It resonated with me so much that I left a comment thanking you for your review. The next thing I knew, I had a friend request from you on Facebook, and the rest is history! So I also have a lot to thank Mr. Hollis for.
Erik, it is so cool to learn how you accessed music while in the military. You and I were listening to a lot of the same music, especially Once Upon A Time and Robert Plant. The Principle of Moments is my favorite of his solo works.
Okay, here is my list of favorite albums from 1981. Not as many as in 1980, but still pretty extensive:
Genesis: Abacab Squeeze: Argybargy The Human League: Dare King Crimson: Discipline The Police: Ghost In The Machine The Vapors: Magnets Rush: Moving Pictures Devo: New Traditionalists Ultravox: Rage In Eden Psychedelic Furs: Talk Talk Talk B. B. King: There Must Be A Better World Somewhere Joan Armatrading: Walk Under Ladders Jaco Pastorius: Word of Mouth
Abacab is one of those albums that I never, ever, tire of. It’s just a perfect set of songs.
King Crimson’s Discipline kicked off my favorite iteration of this venerable prog group. Bill Bruford, Tony Levin, and Adrian Belew clicked perfectly with Robert Fripp.
The Vapors had a minor hit on their first album with “Turning Japanese”, but I always thought their followup album, Magnets, was much stronger. It sank without a trace, though.
I heard the title track to B B. King’s There Must Be A Better World Somewhere on the radio, and it moved me so much I immediately bought it. My poor roommate told me I had to be getting tired of listening to it, but I never did. I didn’t know anything about the blues, but this album really spoke to me. I got a group of friends to see him live with me, and we were pretty much the youngest and whitest people in the audience!
The production of Joan Armatrading’s Walk Under Ladders blew me away. The liner notes said Tony Levin and Jerry Marotta played on it (the same rhythm section as on Peter Gabriel’s Melt!) as well as synths by some guy named Thomas Dolby. Hmm…
I’ll go ahead and share my albums that define 1982 for me:
Prince: 1999 Roxy Music: Avalon Laurie Anderson: Big Science George Winston: December Thomas Dolby: The Golden Age of Wireless Elvis Costello: Imperial Bedroom Adrian Belew: The Lone Rhino Joe Jackson: Night and Day Donald Fagan: The Nightfly Richard and Linda Thompson: Shoot Out The Lights Utopia: Utopia Joni Mitchell: Wild Things Run Fast
Roxy Music’s Avalon is one of the finest albums ever produced. It doesn’t hurt that it is also the album my future wife and I listened to frequently while we were first dating.
Laurie Anderson’s Big Science was a hit that shouldn’t have been – it’s really weird, with Anderson’s mostly spoken vocals, but for some reason it’s compulsively listenable.
George Winston’s December is a wonderful collection of solo piano pieces that are Christmas-related. One of the first “new age” albums (a classification Mr. Winston despised), it set a very high bar that has rarely been reached.
Donald Fagan’s The Nightfly remains one of the most immaculately produced albums ever made. The songs are delightful, and I still love to listen to them.
Shoot Out The Lights is an amazing set of songs by the guitarist for the British folk rock group Fairport Convention and his wife as their marriage was falling apart. It is both heartbreaking and beautiful.
Utopia was Todd Rundgren’s group, and their Utopia album is a really fun set of catchy power pop songs. It was a three-sided record: two vinyl discs, but one only had songs on one side! I think the label went bankrupt, and the album never got much distribution. If you like Beatlesque melodies, this is right up your alley.
Brad: Tad and Erik, I absolutely love your recollections. Erik, I know I’ve told you this before, but I want to thank you for your service, especially during the absolutely critical Reagan years. Our nuclear deterrent–especially our subs–were so essential to ending the Cold War. Thank you for playing your part, above and beyond what most give.
Tad, I had forgotten that we initially bonded over Spirit of Eden. That’s wonderful. What a blessing your friendship has been.
There are still a few things I’d like to mention about college. Again, Kevin is at the center of them. First, during my junior and senior years of college, I had a Friday night prog show, which I goofily called “Nocturnal Omissions.” Yes, I really did. Of course, we were making fun of our sexuality, but I also wanted to have a show that played music most folks missed. Not surprisingly, I played a ton of prog, even though I wasn’t really supposed to. During the day, WSND 88.9 FM was a classical station, but at midnight, its format changed. We were supposed to play only “college rock” or “alternative rock.” I did that, but I also played a ton of prog. Our station reached Chicago, and I used to get a huge number of callers, usually guys five or ten years older who were stunned that anyone was still playing prog. We did nights of nothing but Yes or Rush or Pink Floyd. Hours and hours of it. In between prog songs, we’d play XTC, English Beat, Blancmange, and Tears for Fears. We also played lots and lots of Talk Talk, especially after Spirit of Eden came out and lots and lots of Kate Bush. Interestingly enough, I purchased Spirit of Eden using station funds, and my station manager was upset because it only had four tracks on it!
Second, Kevin (yes, our Kevin) had the single most popular band on campus, St. Paul and the Martyrs. They played almost every Saturday evening at Ted’s–our dance club on top of the student center. And, every Saturday, I was front and center, dancing like a mad-man. I was a terribly uncoordinated dancer–tall and gangly–but I decided early in high school, I would never give a damn what anyone thought of me and that I would have a blast. And, lo and behold, I did!
As I think back to college, I think about deepening my old loves–especially Yes, Pink Floyd, Kate Bush, Simple Minds, and Kansas–but also adopting new ones, such as Talk Talk, Ultravox, The The, Psychedelic Furs, and The Sundays.
Tad: Brad, I didn’t know you did a stint as a radio DJ as well! I love the name of your program, and I’m surprised the station manager let you use it! The 80s were a wonderful time to be in college radio, because we had (relatively) free rein in terms of what music we played. I’m glad you mentioned The The, because their debut album, Soul Mining, was one I played a lot on WRVU in 1983. One of my favorite segues was between Martha and the Muffins’ track, “Several Styles of Blonde Girls Dancing” and The The’s “Uncertain Smile” – the former flowed perfectly into the latter.
Speaking of 1983 (how’s that for a segue?), here are my most-played albums from that banner year:
Yes: 90125 Vangelis: Antarctica Soundtrack Brian Eno: Apollo: Atmospheres and Soundtracks R.E.M.: Chronic Town EP Martha and the Muffins: Danse Parc Everything But The Girl: Eden Genesis: Genesis Gang of Four: Hard Paul Simon: Hearts and Bones Tears for Fears: The Hurting Bob Dylan: Infidels Joan Armatrading: The Key David Bowie: Let’s Dance Mark Knopfler: Local Hero XTC: Mummer R.E.M.: Murmur Robert Plant: The Principle of Moments The Fixx: Reach the Beach Stewart Copeland: Rumblefish Soundtrack The The: Soul Mining Steps Ahead: Steps Ahead Eurythmics: Sweet Dreams The Police: Synchronicity Mark Isham: Vapor Drawings
Looking back at 1983, I realize that was the year I really got into ambient and space music. My local public radio station played Stephen Hill’s program, Hearts of Space, and I faithfully taped it every Thursday evening. That’s how I learned about Vangelis and Brian Eno’s Apollo. Mark Isham’s Vapor Drawings wasn’t ambient, per se, but I was familiar with him from Group 87 (see my 1980 notes).
Besides being a great year for music, 1983 was the year I first met my future wife! We both loved Joan Armatrading, and we had the good fortune to see her live. Before the show, we were walking up to the auditorium when we saw Joan smiling and watching some skateboarding kids. We chatted with her, and she was really nice. When The Key was released, we ran down to the record store to buy it that day. I ended up working in that store while I was in graduate school.
Erik has already done a fine job extolling the greatness of 90125. I’ll just add that it and Roxy Music’s Avalon were the first compact discs I bought. I would play “Leave It” to demonstrate how quiet, crisp, and clear CDs were.
Paul Simon’s Hearts and Bones wasn’t a huge seller for him, but it remains a favorite of mine. He had just married Carrie Fisher, and it was full of romantic songs.
Steps Ahead was a jazz “supergroup” consisting of Michael Brecker (sax), Mike Mainieri (vibraphone), Eliane Elias (piano), and Peter Erskine (drums). They played a show at Vandy, and it knocked me out!
Finally, Mark Knopfler’s soundtrack to Local Hero remains one of the most haunting sets of Celtic-inflected ambient music ever recorded. It never fails to put me at peace whenever I listen to it. The movie itself is still one of my favorites – a very quirky comedy about a young oil company exec in Houston sent to acquire a coastal village in northern Scotland.
Kevin: So fun reading your reflections, Bradley, on those years and fascinating how much we have in common, Tad! Early college (‘86-’88) were years of exploration for me. Besides all that Brad shared above, I also was amazed by the music of U2, XTC, the Police, Echo and the Bunnymen, particularly, Ocean Rain, which I hadn’t realized was such an amazing album–punk folk with string orchestra!
After returning from a year abroad, Brad and I had our never-forget moment listening to his early copy of Talk Talk’s Spirit of Eden. Also learning tunes for the college band introduced me to a lot of new music and older music that I had missed. Learning the music to perform the entirety of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon was quite a masterclass. We did lots of late 60’s/early 70’s rock including The Who, The Stones, The Beatles, Lou Reed, Steely Dan, Yes. But there was a lot of college radio music as well. We even covered Talk Talk’s “Desire” from the new album. The other players were quite talented and there wasn’t much we weren’t willing to give a try.
It was a formative time and between the band and Brad’s library and radio show it really expanded my listening palette immensely.
Brad: Kevin and Tad, loved your recollections. Thank you both for those. I will admit, though, that there were bands that I adored in college that didn’t last beyond college for me. I was huge into A-ha and The Smiths. Neither of those stuck. But, bands like the Cure—especially when Disintegration (a top 10 album for me) did. I also came to love Bryan Ferry, and I still do.
Tad: Kevin, I wish I could have seen your band perform! Brad, I think Bryan Ferry is one of the most talented artists of the twentieth century. Roxy Music was my favorite group all through high school and into college. I still love the Smiths; I think Morrisey’s lyrics are hysterical, and Marr’s melodies fantastic.
My final year in undergraduate school was 1984. By this time, I had a job at Cat’s Records, near Vanderbilt. We had lots of fun in-store events, and a huge import section. Working there exposed me to Cocteau Twins, The Blue Nile, Guadalcanal Diary, and countless other alternative groups.
Here’s my final list – favorite albums of 1984:
Let’s Active: Afoot EPand Cypress Don Henley: Building the Perfect Beast Thomas Dolby: The Flat Earth Lindsey Buckingham: Go Insane The Smiths: Hatful of Hollow Howard Jones: Humans Lib This Mortal Coil: It’ll End In Tears dBs: Like This Psychedelic Furs: Mirror Moves Depeche Mode: Some Great Reward David Bowie: Tonight Cocteau Twins: Treasure Michael Hedges: Aerial Boundaries
Let’s Active was led by Mitch Easter, who produced the first two R.E.M. albums. He recorded four near-perfect albums of jangly rock that are a blast to listen to.
I always thought Lindsey Buckingham was the secret sauce in Fleetwood Mac, and his second album, Go Insane, had everything that I liked best about his music: quirky lyrics, catchy melodies, and terrific guitar.
This Mortal Coil was a “supergroup” composed of artists on England’s 4AD label. Very moody and angsty, but Elisabeth Fraser’s song, Another Day, is three minutes of the most beautiful music ever recorded.
I know Bowie fans generally don’t like Tonight, but I love it. Loving the Alien is one of my favorite songs of his.
Michael Hedges was an acoustic guitarist, and his Aerial Boundaries completely changed the way people thought the guitar could be played. I assumed he recorded it by overdubbing himself on several tracks. Then I saw him live, and he played every song perfectly, by himself. It was jawdropping. He died much too young.
Carl: I’m late and last to this party, but perhaps that’s fitting as I’m a (very!) little bit younger than my elder brothers in musical arms. And while there is some overlap, I’m struck by the huge holes in my musical tastes in college and how different my limited tastes were in many ways (for example, I didn’t get into jazz at all until I was 25, around the same time I got married).
I graduated from a small town (Plains, Montana) high school in May 1987, and a month later I was attending a year-long art program, essentially an Associate’s degree in graphic design, in Phoenix. The culture shock was real. It was also, overall, good for me in many ways. My roommate was an Italian-American kid from San Diego, and one of our first conversations was about music. I was into Kansas, CCM/John Fogerty, and an assortment of contemporary Christian (CCM) artists, especially Petra, Matthew Ward, Whiteheart, David Meece, and others. He was a huge Rush fan, which was common ground, but also into Depeche Mode and New Order, who held little to no interest for me. In fact, most New Wave bands left me cold at the time, although certain songs broke through.
In art classes, I sat next to Tim, a transplant from London with a glorious British accent. He was a musician, and he was, he told me, into “U2, the Smiffs, and the Baytills.” I recognized the first (I was a big fan of “Joshua Tree,” of course), then figured out the third (famous band from Liverpool that I rarely listen to), and had never heard of “The Smiths.” Bands such as The Smiths, The Cure, et al, did nothing for me and still don’t. But it was not an anti-British thing on my part, as I was an established fan of Yes, the Moody Blues, Queen, Asia, ELP, and GTR. Oddly enough, I never really listened to early Genesis, and rarely have.
What I discovered was that my schoolmates broke down into a couple of different musical camps. There was the heavy metal camp (Iron Maiden!), the alternative/punk folks (Butthole Surfers, anyone?), and the Top 40 crowd. My tastes tended to be either 10 to 20 years behind the times or far too Christian (Stryper, however, was an ecumenical choice for some).
From 1988-1991, I attended two Christian schools: Northwest Nazarene College in southern Idaho, and Briercrest Bible College in southern Saskatchewan. My one year at NNC was a strange one in various ways, but it was there that I first heard Tracy Chapman’s fantastic debut album, dived deeply into the back catalog of Elton John (inspired by his live album recorded in Australia), and went even further down the Kansas, Kerry Livgren, A.D., Steve Morse, Dixie Dregs rabbit hole, which I still enjoy to this day.
My two years in Canada influenced and shaped me in many ways, including on the musical front. It was there that I was introduced to the stunning music of King’s X, the brilliance of Phil Keaggy, my favorite Paul Simon album (“The Rhythm of the Saints”) and Eric Clapton album (“Journeyman”) and Queensrÿche album (“Empire”), as well as a host of CCM artists, several of whom I got to see perform live at the school. I would single out King’s X as especially important, as they introduced me to tunings, sounds, lyrics, and wild marriages of metal, folk, gospel, and prog that changed how I heard and understood contemporary music, helping me to appreciate groups such as Living Colour, Porcupine Tree, Soundgarden, and Radiohead.
I could well be wrong and chronologically-biased, but I think that the late Eighties and early Nineties was the final great era of exceptional contemporary Christian music, with landmark works by White Heart (“Freedom”, 1989), Charlie Peacock (“The Secret of Time”, 1990; “Love Life”, 1991), The Choir (“Circle Slide”, 1990), King’s X (“faith hope love”, 1990), Russ Taff (“Russ Taff”, 1987; “The Way Home” 1989), Margaret Becker (“Immigrant’s Daughter”, 1989; “Simple House”, 1991), David Meece (“Candle In The Rain”, 1987; “Learning To Trust,” 1989), Ashley Cleveland (“Big Town,” 1991), Chagall Guevara (“Chagall Guevara,” 1991), among several others.
Finally, a few other artists figure prominently at that time for me. First, I wore out my cassette of Trevor Rabin’s “Don’t Look Away” (1989), which is an underappreciated work of musical art. Secondly, I listened to a lot (a LOT) of Steve Morse and Eric Johnson, and I never tire of hearing any and all music by both men. Third, I was introduced to the magical voice of Maria McKee, whose debut album came out in 1989, and then to my first real Van Morrison album, “Avalon Sunset,” which came out the same year. In fact, a classmate had me listen to both on the same day, a wonderful “twofer”! And I will always have wonderful memories of driving 12 hours across Montana and into Canada—often not seeing another car for many miles—while blasting Rush’s “Chronicles”.
At that point, I was 21, and I had yet to discover jazz, which has been my biggest musical love for 30 years, or the music of Frank Sinatra, Mel Torme, Sarah Vaughan, Ella Fitzgerald, and other greats. And Radiohead, Soundgarden, Porcupine Tree, and others were also on the horizon, along with some trips through trip-hop, electronica, ambient, and so forth. But those four years of college were filled with an abundance of memorable music, much of which I return to today.
Tad: Well, dear readers, there you have it – some long and varied reminiscences of Spirit of Cecilia’s favorite music from their college days. The period from 1979 – 1995 was probably unique in the sheer variety of great music one could hear on the radio. We hope you enjoyed our little stroll down Memory Lane!
It’s a glorious Memorial Day afternoon – and, on this American holiday weekend, I’m looking back on five months of hearing and reflecting on America’s greatest musical invention. As always, there are plenty of worthwhile jazz albums (whether new or archival) easily in your reach; these are notable selections from what’s come to my attention so far this year. I’ve included listening links within album titles where available, along with a purchase link after my review where necessary.
The album I’ve turned to the most (despite being released only this past month) is the Jeff Parker ETA IVTet’s Happy Today. Recorded live at a congenial Los Angeles haunt, guitarist Parker, saxophonist Jeff Johnson, bassist Anna Butterss and drummer Jay Bellerose conjure two generous portions of sheer music from silence. Guitar riffs circle and morph; sax lines are looped into shimmering chords and textures; hovering above capacious, confident rhythm work, all four players constantly listening and reacting, moving together through gradual builds and sudden tempo shifts. Whether weaving around each other’s contributions in a supple dance (“Like Swimming”) or ascending a rainbow of tone colors to a light, sweet shuffle (the title track), there’s no hurry, no contention – just a collaborative climb to lofty, inspired heights. It’s a measure of how rich this album is that every time I listen, I want to hear it again!
Parker, Johnson and Buttress also lay down understated foundations on Flea’s solo album Honora. The Red Hot Chili Peppers’ bassist returns to his heritage as a jazz trumpeter here, and while he’s boned up in recent years, he knows he’s running with thoroughbred players. Flea’s vocal features on the album’s noisier bookends “A Plea” and “Free as I Want to Be” push straight to hot emotional extremes, but his trumpet work is cool and controlled (reflecting the influence of Chet Baker); his original compositions combine understated tension with winning introspection; and his choices of cover tunes (Funkadelic to Glen Campbell to Franks Ocean & Sinatra) and guest vocalists (Thom Yorke backed by a horn section! Nick Cave singing “Wichita Lineman”!) are uniformly surprising and superb. Not what you might have expected, and all the better for it.
Four years ago, I thought Immanuel Wilkins might be part of jazz saxophone’s future; after hearing his quartet’s breathtaking Live at the Village Vanguard, Vol. 1, I’m convinced he’s now the present, in every sense of the term. Taking one of NYC’s most famous clubs by storm, Wilkins and his quartet (endlessly inventive pianist Micah Thomas, rock-solid bassist Ryoma Takenaga, masterful drummer Kweku Sumbury) are all in their 20s and 30s, but they’ve already lit out beyond previously explored territory to map their own exuberant course; through the modernistic postbop of “Warriors”, the Bachian interplay of “Composition XII”, the deep-rooted, ecstatic gospel of Alice Coltrane’s “Charnam” and the two-part “Eternal” (a time-bending workout that collapses into hypnotic sub-toned minimalism), there’s elegance and earthiness, mind and heart in constant dialogue. The applause after each track is unforced, the audience reacting to the Quartet’s potential unfolding into assured maturity before their ears. (Vol. 2 & Vol. 3 are equally fine, but only available via downloads or streaming. Buy Vol. 1 at Blue Note Records, — or lobby ’em for a complete box set!)
In case you hadn’t heard, Miles Davis’ centennial is this year – this week in fact. There are plenty of reissues already out and still to come, with tributes aplenty following in their wake. The best of the latter I’ve heard so far is Gregory Hutchinson’s Kind of Now: The Pulse of Miles Davis. Drummer Hutchinson’s style as a Young Lion has blossomed into a strong yet tempered sense of groove, thoroughly assimilating the work of the amazing drummers who backed up Davis; here, he leads an all-star group on a wild ride from early bebop (“Ah-Leu-Cha”) through cool school (“Fran Dance”, “Seven Steps to Heaven”) and a quartet of enigmatic Wayne Shorter tunes (including “Orbits” and “Water Babies”) to the pioneering days of jazz-rock fusion (“Bitches’ Brew” and “Circle in the Round”). Ambrose Akinmusere’s thick, liquid trumpet, Ron Blake’s consummately attentive sax work, and Gerald Clayton’s versatile, tasty piano delight throughout; it’s impossible to know what they’ll do at any given moment, but always satisfying in the aftermath. Around and through it all, there’s Hutchinson’s drive, color and sense of space. This is a thoughtful take on the breadth of Miles’ achievement that’s consistently focused and gracious, but marvelously abstract and unpredictable as well. (Buy the CD from Amazon.)
And as always, Record Store Day has brought a clutch of archival releases courtesy of jazz detective Zev Feldman. On Feldman’s 15th production of Bill Evans, At the BBC, the music is exquisite as always, despite severe sonic limitations inherent in the original 1960s television broadcast. Evans and his current trio with Chuck Israels and Larry Bunker shift moods on a dime, using dynamics as a key component in their mutual ebb and flow. Even when they take an uptempo tune like “Nardis” or turn “Waltz for Debby” into a 4/4 swinger, the rapt contemplation at the core of ballads like “My Foolish Heart” and “Who Can I Turn To?” are still winningly present. (Buy the CD from Amazon.)
Pursuing an idiom 180 degrees away from Evans, Cecil Taylor demanded the same level of attentive listening via radically different means – a sidelong take on the jazz piano tradition that reveled in fractured time and tonality, extended compositional statements and improvisations, a nigh-incessant, athletic tsunami of notes too fast to separate. On Fragments, recorded live at a French festival in 1969, Taylor prowls the keyboard like a roaring lion, endlessly pouring out riffs, chords, clusters; saxophonists Jimmy Lyons and Sam Rivers dialogue with and echo Taylor and each other, overblowing and piling up hyperspeed motifs at a frenetic pace; drummer Andrew Cyrille miraculously cooks up a flow in the absence of any downbeat – turning, shifting, reacting, leaping ahead. The two takes of Taylor’s “Fragments of a Dedication to Duke Ellington” are 50 and 90 minutes long, and you’ll feel like you’ve run a marathon after you’ve listened. This isn’t for the faint of heart or the squeamish, but trust me: Taylor’s pioneering free jazz will open up your ears and brain even as they wear them down and possibly out. (Buy the CD from Amazon.)
Spirit of Cecilia 
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