Willie Nelson – Laying My Burdens Down

Laying My Burdens Down

Willie Nelson – Laying My Burdens Down RCA Victor LSP-4404 (1970)

In the late 1960s and early 1970s Willie Nelson’s album displayed a clear interest in what was happening in rock/pop music. He had a few years of national touring under his belt, and had been exposed to the wider world somewhat. His records still adhered to the dictates of the Nashville system, but tried to combine Nashville country with pop/rock. The thing was, these were somewhat timid attempts. Willie latched on to only the most conservative pop of the day.  He also still clung to an old-fashioned way of singing for the most part. It was as if he took a correspondence course on how to be a successful singer and he dutifully followed a list of instructions that included “Enunciate clearly.” In a way, he still sang like a louder, southern Bing Crosby or Frank Sinatra.  After his Nashville home burned, and he and his band briefly relocated to Texas under communal conditions, he finally did summon the courage to try bolder things with his music. That eventually led him to Atlantic Records in New York, where he made a string of classic albums and achieved stardom.

Laying My Burdens Down displays clear attempts to look beyond country music.  The results aren’t as awkward as on the following year’s Willie Nelson & Family, but they are cheesier.  The backing vocals retain a little of the classic Nashville feel, though they make overt attempts to combine pentecostal gospel chorus and 5th Dimension-style pop affectations.  The horn arrangements lean heavily on the style of Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass.  Willie does play his acoustic guitar Trigger some, but also an overbearing electric guitar much of the time.  In general, his guitar playing is aimless and confused.  The guitar ranges from being overbearing to indistinctly cluttered.  The strings are fine, if a little cheesy.  Willie’s vocals show signs of moving beyond the old crooning style, but only tentatively.  It would be a few more years before his vocals settled into the style that helped make him a superstar.  This album isn’t terrible.  It still is a lesser Nelson effort.  Some of the backing vocals and other orchestration was stripped away on a few songs for Naked Willie, released almost four decades later, which provides a somewhat contrasting perspective.  It is curious to think about how Willie’s interests in rock and the counterculture were problematic because he was a southern outsider, not able (if willing) to step into that milieu directly, but also having no one at his Nashville-based record label able (if willing) to help him connect with the predominantly northern rock music world.  Willie was kind of stuck between two incompatible worlds — a bit like the film Electra Glide in Blue from a few years later.  So this remains a transitional effort that pales in comparison to what hindsight shows was just around the corner.  Yet this does retain some kitsch value.

Judy Collins – A Maid of Constant Sorrow

A Maid of Constant Sorrow

Judy Collins – A Maid of Constant Sorrow Elektra EKL-209 (1961)

A nice debut from the sadly neglected Judy Collins.  At this time, she sang with a slightly husky tone as if honed performing belting her vocals at a near shout, without amplification, at some Greenwich Village coffee house.  Comparisons to folk stars of the previous decade like Pete Seeger are àpropos.  As Collins evolved, she incorporated elements of Broadway theatrics, with a lighter touch and more legato phrasing.  But those techniques lay in the future back in ’61.  Yet even from the beginning she clearly had quite a voice.  Enjoy.

Paulo Freire – Pedagogy of the Oppressed

Pedagogy of the Oppressed

Paulo Freire – Pedagogia do Oprimido [Pedagogy of the Oppressed] (Myra Bergen Ramos, trans., Seabury Press, 1970)

Pedagogy of the Oppressed by Paulo Freire is a founding document of the the “critical pedagogy” school of educational theory.  In a nutshell, this school of thought takes Marxist–Leninist politics and combines it with the classic Socratic method.  Along the way, it adds post-Leninist insights drawn from Fromm, Mao, Guevara, Fanon, and more.  Freire doesn’t really ever mention it, but his approach is founded on the real Socratic method, not the bastardized anti-socratic thing called “The Socratic Method” in schools, especially western law schools.  He also remains consistent with Leninist aims, citing What Is to Be Done? extensively, but really drawing from The State and Revolution principally.  The most basic insights of “critical pedagogy” is this:

“Cultural action either serves domination (consciously or unconsciously) or it serves the liberation of men and women.”

This flows directly from the Leninist view that everything is political.

“Lenin’s famous statement: ‘Without a revolutionary theory there can be no revolutionary movement’ [What Is to Be Done?] means that a revolution is achieved with neither verbalism nor activism, but rather with praxis, that is, with reflection and action directed at the structures to be transformed.  The revolutionary effort to transform these structures radically cannot designate its leaders as its thinkers and the oppressed as mere doers.”

Freire is immanently practical.  And just as Lenin routinely denounces “reformists” and “opportunists”, Freire picks apart the flaws of accommodations to elites and minor reforms.

“It would be naïve to expect oppressor elites to denounce the myth which absolutizes the ignorance of the people; it would be a contradiction in terms if revolutionary leaders were not to do so, and more contradictory still were they to act in accordance with that myth.”

But he also is great at pointing out common tactical errors of the political left:

“the Left is almost always tempted by a ‘quick return to power,’ forgets the necessity of joining with the oppressed to forge an organization, and strays into an impossible ‘dialogue’ with the dominant elites.  It ends by being manipulated by these elites, and not infrequently itself falls into an elitist game, which it calls ‘realism.'”

Sound like Alexis Tsipras and Syriza in Greece, no? (see also Jodi Dean, Crowds and Party).

This is an excellent book, just as relevant today as when it was written.  It is meant to be readable by general audiences.  One flaw, however, is Freire’s repeated argument that humans are different from animals.  This is basically hypocritical, in that he repeatedly argues that all humans are equal, but tries to convince readers of that point by arguing that humans are superior to other animals.  Aside from the flimsiness of Freire’s argument here, which merely attempts to shift an antagonism among humans to one between humans and other animals, it is an argument that ecological crisis has conclusively rendered untenable.  As one latter-day Leninist put it, alluding to R. Buckminster Fuller‘s “Spaceship Earth” metaphor:

“We have to accept that we live on a ‘Spaceship Earth’, responsible and accountable for its conditions. At the very moment when we become powerful enough to affect the most basic conditions of our life, we have to accept that we are just another animal species on a small planet.”

Still, that unfortunate argument can be largely ignored.  (If you must, read instead something like V. Gordon Childe’s more nuanced explanations).  Given the importance of education to Leninist political philosophy (through the October revolution, Lenin was finally able to institute educational programs that his parents had been blocked from doing under the tsarist autocracy, this being one of his most lasting concrete political achievements), Freire’s views are crucial in expanding upon the the overall organization of education, primarily at a more adult level.

Variety Shows Then and Now

It recently occurred to me—while watching a Muppets movie—that there is a noticeable different between television variety shows from the time when The Muppet Show was on TV and today.  Back then, variety shows with song, dance and miscellaneous acts tended to have a stable company performing regularly, and drew in guest performers.  Sometimes the guests were “new” potential stars, being “introduced” through the show, but as much or more often they were established professional entertainers of some sort.  Today, in marked contrast, the traditional “variety” shows (and specials) are mostly gone, but in their place are “reality” shows framed around competitions.  These are sometimes exclusively singing or dance oriented, or might be open to a variety of “talent show” acts beyond just song and dance.  These new shows often have judges, either supposed industry “experts” or entertainment celebrities, who pass judgment on the competing acts.  These differences between similar television shows of these eras actually matches up quite closely with the “market” logic of the present “neoliberal” era.  Now, the shows have “elite” judges and a bunch of rabble competing for some sort of recognition or prize, their being too little reward allocated for all performers.  There is no job security for the contestants, who have to compete against each other–the judges standing apart from that competition.

Thomas Ferguson, Jie Chen & Paul Jorgensen – Fifty Shades of Green

Link to a report by Thomas Ferguson, Jie Chen & Paul Jorgensen of the Roosevelt Institute:

“Fifty Shades of Green: High Finance, Political Money, and the U.S. Congress”

 

Bonus Links: Golden Rule: The Investment Theory of Party Competition and the Logic of Money-Driven Political Systems and “Money Still Rules US Politics”

Tom Waits – Mule Variations | Review

Mule Variations album cover

Tom Waits – Mule Variations Anti- Records 86547-2 (1999)

Waits’ late-90s “comeback” album has aged well.  After the achievement of Rain Dogs in the mid-80s, and Bone Machine in the early 90s, he largely slipped from view for a few years.  His comeback positioned him as something of an elder statesman of the independent rock scene, which still had some vitality even as major labels had already started to consolidate their investments around a fairly narrow range of music that excluded stuff like this.

When David Bowie had mild resurgence a couple years prior with EART HL I NG, he seemed to draw his subject matter from watching movies on TV.  Although Bowie and Waits go in much different directions in terms of genre, and only Waits leans on the use of humor, Waits’ lyrical focus has shifted to more middle-aged circumstances as well here too.  Take “Come on Up to the House,” which might be viewed as one of the best rock songs about a dinner party.  The lyrics, which cajole someone loaded with excuses to come over for a visit, have some great turns of phrases (like about coming down from that cross because we could use the wood).  It also features orchestration that recalls the album-closing style of “Anywhere I Lay My Head” from Rain Dogs or, reaching back further, “Cripple Creek Ferry” from Neil Young‘s After the Gold Rush.  As Harry Nilsson once did so well, “Cold Water” also evokes the mundane aspects of daily life, like taking a shower.  And “What’s He Building?” is an eerie rock monologue in the tradition of The Velvet Underground‘s “Lady Godiva’s Operation” but with a neighborly suspicion narrative like that of the Tom Hanks film The ‘Burbs.  Sure, Waits had released “In the Neighborhood” on Swordfishtrombones, but the irony of that song in muted if not absent here more than fifteen years later.

At the time the album came out, “Hold On” was the single, and it met with success.  It hearkens back to the sentimental (and sometimes maudlin) side of Waits’ music—think “Tom Traubert’s Blues (Four Sheets to the Wind in Copenhagen)” from Small Change, “Ruby’s Arms” from Heartattack and Vine, and “time” or “Blind Love” from Rain Dogs. This is something that appears elsewhere on the album too.  Yet this is a softened, more mature sentimentality that stops just short of being truly maudlin.  These songs work well here.  The opener “Big in Japan” also tended to be liked by audiences.  It has a heavier beat and more rock and roll edge to it, with some gruff histrionics.  While these are solid songs, the album as a whole has much more to offer.  It is really the more mature, middle-aged attitude (Waits was nearly 50 years old when it was released) that shines through in hindsight.  It lacks nothing in terms of relevance and appeal to listeners of all ages.

Maybe surprisingly, this is really one of the finest full-length albums of Waits’ entire career, all told.  He continued to put out some decent music later on but despite some nice highlights it was not as consistently solid at album length.

Willie Nelson – Here’s Willie Nelson

Here's Willie Nelson

Willie Nelson – Here’s Willie Nelson Liberty LST-7308 (1963)

A common opinion is that Willie Nelson’s second full-length album Here’s Willie Nelson was a step back from his debut …And Then I Wrote.  Those people often say that this is “Nashville cliché”, referring to the “countrypolitan” style it evinces.  But a response to all that should be, “And?”  Yes, Here’s Willie Nelson fits in the mold of the weepy drama of the “Nashville Sound” — a close comparison would be Skeeter Davis‘ “End of the World.”  But it really represents the best possible execution of the Nashville Sound.

There are a couple of things that boost this album.  First is producer Tommy Allsup.  He was a touring member of The Crickets and once lost a coin flip to Ritchie Valens such that he lost a seat and was not on the plane that crashed near Clear Lake, Iowa on February 3, 1959 that killed Valens, Buddy Holly and The Big Bopper.  Allsup brings out the best in the instrumental performances, accentuating the spark and energy of all the performers and balancing Willie’s vocals with the orchestration.  He eschews the prominent focus on Nelson’s vocals evident on his debut.  Surprisingly, pushing the vocals down a little in the mix works well.

Another key factor in the album’s success is the arranging work of Ernie Freeman and Jimmy Day.  The orchestral treatments by Freeman are really quite excellent and much better than the formulaic leftovers that characterized Willie’s albums later in the decade for the RCA Victor label.  Each song gets its own distinct character, matched to the tone of each song.  Just check the calmly sizzling trills and glissandos from the strings on the bluesy closer “Home Motel,” and contrast the pastoral elegance and more complex harmonic blocking of “Half of Man” or the busy energy of the strings on “Take My Word,” or the juxtaposition of pedal steel guitar with sweeping string orchestration and indistinct backing vocal chorus of “Second Fiddle” where the orchestra briefly trades off with a solitary country fiddle solo and closes with a country/Euro-classical solo fiddle flourish.  “The Way You See Me” displays masterful balancing of traded instrumental backing behind Willie’s insistent singing and a gently and slowly walking bass — alternating the more prominent voicing between fiddle, piano and pedal steel guitar in a way that reflects the song’s protagonist’s attempt to put up a dignified and happy facade to conceal his heartbroken loneliness.  The vocal choruses combine both male and female voices, which adds a rich textural/timbral dimension. “Lonely Little Mansion” uses sustained vocal backing to add a kind of protestant church aesthetic of serene, austere, atmospherics, somewhat like what Johnny Cash used on songs like the B-side “Were You There (When They Crucified My Lord).”  But then “The Last Letter” uses the vocal chorus’ expanding vibrato to emphasize a slight polyrhythm against the song’s core waltz rhythm.  The orchestration is never overly complex or abstract.  Yet there is still clearly much more effort put into it than on so many other Nashville sound recordings of the day.

After releasing his debut, Willie lamented that he wasted too many good songs on it.  In other words, he felt the album was too good and should have been watered down!  Unfortunately, that sort of thinking would prevail all too often over his long career.  But it is also kind of a self-important statement, because it implies that his own songwriting was inherently better than that of cover songs he might record.  Here’s Willie Nelson features a mix of original songs and covers.  The covers are quite good though!  There is absolutely nothing wrong with something like “Feed It a Memory” or a chestnut like “Roly Poly.”  The stately elegance of a song like “Things I Might Have Been” captures the frustrated aspirations that perfectly fits the “countrypolitan” style.  He may have choosen some covers rather than all originals here, but nothing is watered down.

Willie’s singing here is much looser and relaxed than on his recordings from later in the 1960s.  He also tempers the “jazzy” affectations of his debut somewhat.  Though those tendencies are still here.  He still sings with a vibrato-less tone way behind the beat.  On the opener, the western swing staple “Roly Poly,” he gets so far behind the beat that he barely finishes the verse he’s on before the band has moved on to another part of the song!  In these various ways he finds a balance that suits the “countrypolitan” style better than on any of his other recordings in that style.  His singing, honestly, isn’t always particularly great on the second side of the album.  But it is never bad.  But for the most part Willie singing on record became less welcoming for many years, until he passed through a sort of existential personal crisis in the early 1970s.

“Take My Word” is a weaker offering (but is also the shortest song here), as is “Let Me Talk to You,” with Willie limping along with jazzily dissonant phrasing.  And, no, nothing here quite matches the heights of the best songs on the debut …And Then I Wrote.  But this album still avoids the more jarring discontinuities between Willie’s singing and the studio band’s performances that appeared on his debut, and it manages to be more consistent on the whole.  Frankly, Willie wouldn’t make a record this uniformly rewarding until 1971’s Yesterday’s Wine.