Billy Joel 1: The Hassles and Attila

Billy Joel causes arguments like few other musicians of his or any generation. For some he’s a pompous hack, while others hail him as a terrific songwriter and live performer. For those of us who grew up near New York City, he seemed almost as ubiquitous on the radio as Springsteen, even though it took him a while to become a household name. And even though his last album of songs came out decades ago, an all-star benefit at Madison Square Garden isn’t complete unless he comes out to play songs loaded with local references.

As he’d say, he was a classically trained pianist who loved rock ‘n roll, and many of his melodies started out as instrumental pieces grounded solidly in classical piano. That’s one reason why his attempts to rock aren’t as convincing as when he emulates pieces by 18th-century longhairs. With the benefit of hindsight, we consider him a guilty pleasure, with all the meaning both of those words suggest.

But everyone’s gotta start somewhere, and in his case it was the Hassles, a Long Island combo equally influenced by tristate heroes the Rascals and Vanilla Fudge, to the point where they tried to meld soul with psychedelia. Their first album is dominated by radical, not always successful covers, and more Hammond organ than would be heard throughout his solo career. There are some originals, like the decent “Every Step I Take (Every Move I Make)” and the Sam & Dave-style “I Can Tell”, both of which showcase his voice better than the soul shouting he tries elsewhere.

The Hassles was expanded on CD in time for its 25th anniversary (with bonus tracks in the form of earlier studio recordings), but that was not the case for their second album, since lost to time and YouTube. Billy took over the songwriting for Hour Of The Wolf, still very much of its time. “Country Boy” turns into a Dead-type jam that fades very quickly, and several tracks try to be twee and poetic, but the 12-minute title track is just plain laughable. The lyrics are bad enough, but the drum solo is preceded by the band making the wolf sound effects themselves. At least his piano solo hints at future efforts, despite its pomposity and the maniacal laughter that follows and drowns out the guitar solo. The band is certainly competent, and somebody took the time to orchestrate arrangements, but the material just isn’t there.

That was it for the Hassles, but not for their singer and drummer. Attila saw Billy going all-out on the Hammond organ, sending it through amps and wah-wah pedals to make it sound like Led Zeppelin, accompanied only by drummer Jon Small in an imitation of what Lee Michaels was doing with Frosty in those days. The band name was bad enough, but they went all out by wearing furs like actual Huns, and were photographed inside a meat locker for their only album cover.

Billy is and was never Robert Plant, so his mewling throughout the albums is just plain embarrassing. “Wonder Woman”, “Rollin’ Home”, and “Holy Moses” may well have inspired Wolfmother, while “Tear This Castle Down” sounds like bad Deep Purple. “California Flash” is an attempt at ironic humor in its portrait of a gimmicky singer, and “Revenge Is Sweet” predicts his petulant attitude once he actually did make it. He gives his throat a break with the mostly jazzy instrumentals closing each side: the “Godzilla” segment of “Amplifier Fire” gets points for the name seven years before Blue Öyster Cult got around to writing their song about the same subject, which are lost with “March Of The Huns”, and “Brain Invasion” is more of the same.

Attila is far from the worst album ever made, but we’ll guess that this album is what got the Hammond organ out of his system for good. His ongoing discomfort about this being out there is well founded, yet there’s no denying he had chops.

The Hassles The Hassles (1967)—2½
1992 expanded reissue: same as 1967, plus 8 extra tracks
The Hassles Hour Of The Wolf (1969)—2
Current availability: none
Attila Attila (1970)—2
Current availability: none

Todd Rundgren 33: [re]Production

This curious album apparently arose from Todd Rundgren’s residency in the music department at Indiana University, and came to fruition during a record-making fantasy camp. The concept of [re]Production is intriguing, in that it finds Todd covering songs from his various production gigs over the decades. However, his quest to do something contemporary meant that the results were hi-NRG ‘90s style dance versions.

His voice is unmistakable—even when AutoTuned—and the digital instruments he uses are familiar from most of the one-man band albums he’d been putting out all century. Somebody might have had hits with these arrangements of Patti Smith’s “Dancing Barefoot”, Meat Loaf’s “Two Out Of Three Ain’t Bad”, or Psychedelic Furs’ “Love My Way”, but coming from Todd they sound like parody. It’s more successful on songs we don’t know, like “Chasing Your Ghost” by a band that would eventually evolve into Red Hot Chili Peppers, and on the gastronomic reconstruction of “Personality Crisis”. It is daring to put a banjo on “Tell Me Your Dreams” from Jill Sobule’s little-heard first album, and at least he doesn’t mess with Badfinger’s “Take It All” too much. Cheap Trick’s “I Can’t Take It” is just a little synthed-up, but we can’t hear XTC’s “Dear God” without the taint of his and Andy Partridge’s mutual rancor.

Todd himself acknowledges the callback to his earlier cover project Faithful in the liner notes, which was frankly more ambitious and successful. [re]Production is a novelty, and nothing more.

Todd Rundgren [re]Production (2011)—2

Steely Dan 10: Two Against Nature

Maybe it wasn’t inevitable, but after Steely Dan started touring regularly in the ‘90s, fans wondered whether a new album would happen. Indeed, Two Against Nature arrived nearly 20 years after Gaucho, and went on to win four Grammy® awards, including Album of the Year. But since the Grammys had been racking up several instances of questionable decisions, one must approach this album with skepticism. Given the Dan’s brand, it’s the natural response. They don’t exactly pick up where they left off, but with the loping rhythms, electric piano, different guitarist, horns, and drummers on every track, and Donald Fagen’s trademark sneer in the lyrics, there’s no mistaking said brand.

“Gaslighting Abbie” is generic CD101 jazz, a little too snappy for the crime elliptically described in the lyric. The story in “What A Shame About Me” is a little better—maybe because it’s a musical rewrite of “Josie”—wherein the narrator both shows his age and his wisdom in life choices. The title track is already a welcome departure, with the free jazz horn at the top and the non-standard meter covering up the gobbledygook of the lyrics. If the come-on in “Janie Runaway” is any indication, the dirty old man of “Hey Nineteen” hasn’t grown up any, and the leering seems to continue in “Almost Gothic”, which is more musically interesting, mostly because it’s based on “Deacon Blues”.

We hear echoes of “The Royal Scam” and “The Caves Of Altamira” in “Jack Of Speed”, another cautionary tale about drugs with a memorable hook in the title. But the catchiest song on the album is also the most cringey; “Cousin Dupree” is an aging slacker living on his aunt’s couch skeeving on a younger relative. At least the object of his desire has the sense to rebuff him. We’re not sure that can be said about “Negative Girl”, and by this time on the album we’re wondering whether the boys should be subject to court-ordered therapy for their proclivities. At least the vibes solo fits in with the more dreamy vibe. A sharp snare drives “West Of Hollywood”, which helps keep up interest even through the lengthy solos over the coda.

Most of the songs on Two Against Nature are in the same tempo, with little variation in dynamics, and very few hooks really leap out. Even after several listens it’s not easy to tell one track from another—or as they put it themselves in “Negative Girl”, “the original classic thing, more of the same”. If anything, this will send listeners back to the old albums.

Steely Dan Two Against Nature (2000)—2

Rickie Lee Jones 7: Traffic From Paradise

Having gone through pop jazz and adult contemporary, Rickie Lee Jones chose a unique path for Traffic From Paradise. Though recorded in several places with several people—anchored by Leo Kottke, Jim Keltner, old buddy Sal Bernardi, and John Leftwich on bass and cello—there’s a spontaneous, live-in-the-room feeling, dominated by acoustic instruments. Throughout, her lyrics provoke wonder, just as her voice continually veers between happy toddler and stoned chanteuse.

“Pink Flamingos” is typical, in that it rumbles into place, finally settling on a basic riff with references to Las Vegas and other kitsch. A disturbing image of a monk opens “Altar Boy”, which soon turns into a Leonard Cohen homage. The simple folk picking of “Stewart’s Coat” is a wonderful contrast, even in its wistful longing for a past love, or so it seems. But for David Hidalgo’s south-of-the-border touch, Bernardi’s “Beat Angels” could have come from any of her earlier albums. Two of the guys from the Blue Nile are thanked for inspiration on the surreal “Tigers”, which improves with that knowledge.

The stripped-back cover of “Rebel Rebel” is unnecessary, though it did likely bring Brian Setzer some cash in the days before he rode the swing revival. “Jolie Jolie” is a sweet little number with Cajun influence, leading into the love song within the Kottke-cowritten “Running From Mercy”, featuring harmonies from Lyle Lovett. There seems to be another scary tale driving “A Stranger’s Car”, though the touch of strings (which we assume comes from a keyboard) adds to the landscape. David Baerwald—whom some might remember from David + David and “Welcome To The Boomtown”—duets on “The Albatross”, a seafaring benediction.

Traffic From Paradise wasn’t much heralded then, and hasn’t seemed to have surfaced in any retrospective appreciation. Geffen didn’t do much except release the album, since most of their money was going to Aerosmith, Nirvana, and Guns N’ Roses that year anyway. But it’s another good choice for quiet evenings or early mornings.

Rickie Lee Jones Traffic From Paradise (1993)—3

Bill Wyman 1: Monkey Grip

As frustrated as Brian Jones was when Mick and Keith took over the songwriting and subsequent benefits in the Rolling Stones, Bill Wyman remained more so. Only one of his songs made it to an actual album, and while it was also released as a single, that was as far as he got. So with the strength of the Rolling Stones Records label behind him, Bill took advantage of the opportunity to make solo albums—the only Stone to do so for another ten years.

Monkey Grip was recorded with the help of some famous friends—mostly Danny Kortchmar—plus members of Manassas, Lowell George, and Dr. John. The latter two certainly helped give a New Orleans vibe to the proceedings, despite being recorded mostly in California with assistance by engineers usually based in Florida. The other Stones were conspicuous in their absence.

The nicest thing we can say about Bill’s voice is that at least it was better than Ron Wood’s, but on “I Wanna Get Me A Gun” he sounds a little like John Cale, while the lyrical content could be connected to John Entwistle. “Crazy Woman” isn’t as developed, but basically covers the same theme from another angle. A Nitty Gritty Dirt Band banjo drives “Pussy”, a bluegrass rewrite of a nursery rhyme with horns, and while he seems to have his lady troubles figured out on “Mighty Fine”, “Monkey Grip Glue” is a too-long extened advertising jingle for a product that will stick to mean mistreaters.

He puts on his creepy Cale voice again for “What A Blow”, which meanders to a fake fade and back again. “White Lightnin’” is an ode to moonshine, which suitably Appalachian touches. “I’ll Pull You Thro’” has enough stank in the music and suggestions in the lyrics to almost be a Stones contender; it’s the only track here we can hear Mick possibly singing. “It’s A Wonder” lopes around for five minutes, and now we hear a vocal resemblance to Joey Molland.

There’s nothing really wrong with Monkey Grip, except that it’s not very exciting. For his sake it would have been nice if this meant he got the solo thing out of his system, but it didn’t. Meanwhile, the strength of his name didn’t give it much of a push, and it would only be revived in the digital era by budget and/or independent labels. (The bonus tracks on the eventual gushing reissue included three outtakes—two of which were little more than jams, though “It’s Just A Matter Of Time” is better than most of the album—plus four single mixes, and a song that would be rerecorded for his next outing.)

Bill Wyman Monkey Grip (1974)—2½
2006 Bill Wyman Solo Collection Edition: same as 1974, plus 8 extra tracks

Clash 9: From Here To Eternity and Shea Stadium

While the Clash’s recorded legacy had been preserved on their albums and a growing number of compilations, their prowess as a live band couldn’t be as easily experienced before YouTube. That finally changed with From Here To Eternity, an hour-long sampler cherrypicked from five years’ worth of professional recordings. (It also worked as a setup for the first grand remastering of the catalog the following year.)

The music moves chronologically through their history, but while the performances themselves are often from different years, the album has an excellent flow, even between drummers. Three of the tracks are alternate mixes (and allegedly overdubbed) of music already heard in the Rude Boy film, and three others come from their legendary 1981 residency at Bonds in New York City. The energy stays up, up, up from the beginning, letting up at the fade after “I Fought The Law”, setting up “London Calling” and “Armagideon Time”, the latter helped out by Mickey Gallagher and Mikey Dread. Paul and Joe swap instruments on “The Guns Of Brixton”, to enable the former to sing while the latter covers his bass part. By that time their music was more hit-oriented, and the audience reaction reflects that. The packaging also included quotes from appreciative fans, along with dubious recording data. If anything, the program should have been twice as long. The streaming version added two songs at the end, which wasn’t enough.

Just one song was included from Shea Stadium, during their stint on the Who’s first farewell tour, and it only took about a decade for their set to be further commemorated. (Even the Who themselves sat on their recordings until 2015.) Beginning with associate Kosmo Vinyl baiting the crowd, they plow into their set, and while there were reports of booing throughout the tour, and asides by Joe about people talking in the audience, the crowd sounds engaged throughout. The band holds themselves well in such a large venue, with no dead air, and only a few acts of defiance, like cutting into “The Magnificent Seven” for a detour through “Armagideon Time” (which sounds like it’s in a major key) then back into “The Magnificent Seven”. Songs are played from every album, but only two came from the one they were ostensibly promoting; “Rock The Casbah” manages to work without the piano, and “Should I Stay Or Should I Go” was used as the official video back then. The echo effects prevalent throughout the set are on full for “I Fought The Law”, and they leave the stage, never to play New York again. To date, this is the only CD containing a full set by the band, which is a crime, frankly.

The Clash From Here To Eternity Live (1999)—4
The Clash Live At Shea Stadium (2008)—3½