1984 album in review: Echo & the Bunnymen--Ocean Rain

Just for fun, I've decided to take a look back at some favorite or notable albums that were released forty years ago.

1984 was, in retrospect, a significant year for pop/alternative/metal/rock music. I have already made a long list of my favorites, and I will at least try to explore them here in this blog. These entries might be a little freewheeling, so beware. I mean, it IS a blog, right? I reserve the right to be a little sloppy.

Leading off is Echo & the Bunnymen's Ocean Rain. The album was the band's fourth album and was released on May 4 of '84. (May the Forth be with Echo and the Bunnymen--sorry, I couldn't resist). 

In full disclosure, and as should be no surprise to anyone who reads this blog, I had absolutely no awareness of this album's existence in 1984. The first I ever heard of Echo & the Bunnymen was accidentally seeing their name on the marquee of Detroit's Fox Theater in about 1985(ish). 

After arriving at college in autumn 1986, I was finally educated in the subject of "college rock," and part of my "graduation" included the acquisition of Echo & the Bunnymen's best-of compilation Songs to Learn and Sing. (If memory serves me, I got The Cure's Standing on a Beach: the Singles on the very same day). It wasn't until over a decade later that I finally decided that Songs to Learn and Sing wasn't enough and I decided that I need ALL the "EatB" albums. This, of course, included Ocean Rain.

So let's get to the album. All these years later, and I still don't know what these songs are about. I don't have a clue. But I love them. Echo & the Bunnymen are, for the most part, a "vibe" band. Their songs evoke moods. Ian McCulloch's lyrics range from impressionistic to surreal, but always poetic. Even on songs like "The Killing Moon," ostensibly a love song, nothing is straightforward.

From the album title and sleeve photo to many of the lyrics, sea, seafaring, and water is a consistent theme in Ocean Rain. Is this due to the band being from the seaport of Liverpool? Was Ian McCulloch going through a Patrick O'Brian reading phase? I really have no idea. Perhaps these questions will be answered in guitarist Will Sergeant's third installment of his highly entertaining memoirs.

As for the nautical mood of this album, there is a "blind sailor," a "tidal wave," swimming so well in the "seven seas," and all the presumably allegorical water and sailing imagery in the (beautiful) title track. I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the lyic that always makes me smile, "kissing the tortoise shell," which McCulloch pronounces like "tore-toys. "Tore-toys Shell" seems like a good name for a Echo & the Bunnymen tribute band.

The songs on Ocean Rain range from the unusual and experimental ("Yo-Yo Man", "Thorn of Crowns") to the comparatively poppier tunes such as "Silver," "Seven Seas," and "Ocean Rain." But when the album gets weird, it doesn't hold back, such as Ian McCulloch's "c-c-c-cucumber, c-c-c-cabbage" rant on "Thorn of Crowns." That's a song that seems as if McCulloch wrote it after looking through his refrigerator with the marijuana munchies.

One of the band's strengths is that the music matches the lyrical content, probably none more so than on "Nocturnal Me," another song that defies interpretation, but evokes a mood. It is a mood of darkness, passion, gloom, and icy coldness. All of that in one song. They keyboard sounds as if it's being played in the ice palace from Dr. Zhivago, or perhaps the dark cave pictured on the album cover.

On my list of favorite 1984 albums, Ocean Rain has risen in my estimation over the years. I would likely have it in my top ten. That said, it's not my favorite EatB album, but certainly slides somewhere into the top five.

After Ocean Rain, the band released the forementioned Songs to Learn & Sing compilation in 1985. After closing that chapter of their career, the Bunnymen were poised for their big breakthrough with their self-titled "Grey Album" in 1987, but it never happened. They simply weren't U2, more like U2's sullen, misbehaving brother. The death of drummer Pete de Freitas was a major blow. Though the band has continued to make good-to-great albums, they never made it beyond cult status.

My goal in 2024 is to revisit more 1984 albums in this blog. Perhaps I could throw in some 1994 albums, too. There are certainly some that deserve my expert analysis. So, we'll see how that goes. No guarantees, but I will give it a shot.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Happy St. Patrick's Day...or what's left of it. I'm sure by the time anyone reads this, the day will be over.

It has been almost a month since I wrote anything in here, so it felt like time.

Inspired by the Apple+ TV show of the same name, I'm reading Slow Horses by Mick Herron. It's not the sort of book I normally read, but so far, so good. I'm taking a short break from it right now to write this.

It's that late Sunday evening wind down from the weekend, probably my least favorite times of the week. Early Monday morning between 6 and 8 AM might be the only time that's worse. I don't want the weekend to end yet, so am feeling rather restless. 

I now feel compelled to return to my book. It is too late in the evening to give any account of my activities this weekend. Maybe later.

Berlin revisited...finally

It has been nagging me for months that I never returned to my promised blog post about Berlin, so I will return to it and try to retrace it to the best of my recollection.

We arrived at the Berlin hauptbahnhof from Halle in mid-morning on August 15, 2023. The Berlin train station is probably the largest one I have ever seen, and if it's not the largest, it's easily the brightest and shiniest, full of steel and glass. As is customary for us, we sought the nearest Starbuck's--conveniently located in the train station--and once sufficiently caffeinated, made our way into already sun-soaked Berlin. 

We crossed the Spree to the Spreebogenpark on the other side of the river, and then walked by the mid-century modern government buildings such as the German Chancellory and the Buro des Bundeskanzlers. My first thought was, "wait...this is Berlin? Is this what it looks like? So far, it reminds me of the drab government buildings of Lansing--only a bit larger." I assure you that my initial impressions soon changed for the better. It just took me more time to realize I was seeing perhaps .01 percent of the city.

Our next dilemma was that some in our contingent were in desperate need of a restroom, because I suppose we didn't have to pee in the train station and, thus, didn't seek out any facilities. After wandering around a bit more and desperately trying to locate the nearest public restrooms on (some of our) phones--what in the world would be do if we couldn't find all of life's necessities on our little handheld devices?--we ended up on the campus of Charite University of Medicine, were we found public facilities. Thus, all of us save our older son made our first "deposits" to Berlin's local "national trust."

At some point, we decided to retrace our steps back to train station and purchase tickets for a sight-seeing bus tour. We also witnessed firsthand the highly competitive nature of the various tour bus companies. The salespeople, who hustle for their respective tour buses, are territorial and take great offense if they sense a competitor breeching etiquette or trying to "steal" potential customers. At one point, I was worried that our particular salesman was about to engage in a fist fight with an over-aggressive competitor. Thankfully, that did not happen.

It was on the bus tour that I fully appreciated the sheer size of Berlin and realized that what I saw across the river from the train station was in no way all there was to this metropolis. I snapped hundreds of pictures with my phone of practically everything I saw: vestiges of the former East Berlin, whatever remains of the Wall (not much at this point), Potsdamer Platz, Alexanderplatz, the iconic television tower (Fernsehturm), and on and on and on. The enormity of Berlin is staggering, and I still think we only saw a fraction of the city.

When the bus tour ended, we hopped off and quickly made our way to the Pergamon. At this point, it was nearing mid-afternoon and Berlin was hot. Temperatures were easily close to 30 degrees celsius. Once in the Pergamon, we learned that, for reasons I won't fully disclose in order to save embarrassment for the person responsible, our tickets were messed up. The upshot was that only a few of us (me, Avery, and Calder) entered the Pergamon's galleries of archaeological and historical artifacts. The museum was crowded and hot from lack of air conditioning and the sheer mass of humanity. We blasted through the museum in about an hour or so and then decided to seek out an early dinner. Crossing the Spree towards the "three girls and a boy" sculptures along the river, we found a place and I consumed my very first authentic German schnitzel. The highlight of the meal was Avery and Calder acting incredibly goofy and slap-happy. I can't even remember exactly what they said or did, but it was entertaining.

The Brandenburg Gate (Brandenburger Tor) was absolutely THE landmark I wanted to see while we were in Berlin. We had thought we'd able to hop back on our tour bus and ride it west along Unter den Linden to our destination. Unfortunately, our tour bus had stopped running, so that meant we had to walk. Avery, Calder, and I walked at a brisk pace towards the Brandenburg Gate, while the rest of our contingent, er, walked at a slightly less brisk pace. This walk was the highlight of the Berlin trip for me. As the day made its way towards early evening, the temperature cooled a bit and made for a pleasant hike along this busy Berlin thoroughfare. Finally reaching the Brandenburg Gate was definitely a profound and powerful moment in my tourist/traveling life.

We then walked by the Reichstag and back to the Berlin train station, where we caught our train back to Halle, finally arriving at our hotel in the late evening, well after the sun had set.

Kick Out the Jams revisited

In the days since I wrote my Wayne Kramer tribute, I have been steadily bothered by my own unintentional slander of the MC5's debut album Kick Out the Jams. While I still consider it my least favorite among the band's three official albums, it's still a good album and absolutely worth investigating.

If it's the first MC5 album one listens to, one must place it in its historical context to appreciate it more. The band had only recently been signed to Elektra Records, and the story goes Elektra thought the "5" were too raw and inexperienced to record a studio album. (But what young band ISN'T raw and inexperienced when they enter a studio to record an album?). In any case, Elektra decided to record the band at their home stomping grounds, the Grande (pronounced GRAND-ee) Ballroom, at the corner of Grand River Avenue and Joy Road in Detroit, on October 30 and 31, 1968. Their debut would be a live album.

Detroit in October '68 was still only a year removed from the rebellion/riots of '67. The city still had gaping physical and psychic wounds that it's still trying to heal in 2024. (On the bright side, the Detroit Tigers baseball team had won its first World Series in 23 years on October 10 of '68, almost exactly three weeks prior to the recording of this album. I'm not sure how many in the crowd or on stage cared about baseball or the World Series. There are pictures of the MC5 playing baseball at Burns Park in Ann Arbor, so it's possible those guys had some interest). 

In any case, it was revolution and definitely not Tigers baseball that was in the air at the Grande--well, that and likely plumes of pot smoke--when the MC5 took the stage on October 30. The band was fresh off playing in Chicago's Grant Park during the notorious and catastrophic Democratic National Convention, which took place in August. They were the only band brave (or crazy) enough to play at the convention.* 

Perhaps I should backtrack for a moment. The MC5 was managed by John Sinclair, founder of the White Panther Party. The White Panther Party was a vehemently anti-capitalist, anti-racist, pro-marijuana, pro-socialism, pro-"sex, drugs, and fucking in the streets" radical group. The MC5 were, I suppose, the musical extension of the White Panther ethos. So when the emcee, Brother J.C. Crawford opens the album with this revolutionary rap to the young people gathered at the Grande, it's no bullshit:

"Brothers and sisters! I wanna see a sea of hands out there! Lemme see a sea of hands! I want everyone to kick up some noise! I want to hear some revolution out there, brothers! I wanna hear a little revolution! Brothers and sisters, the time has come for each and every one of you to decide whether you are gonna be the problem or whether you are gonna be the solution! You must choose, brothers! You must choose! It takes five seconds! Five seconds of decision! Five seconds to realize your purpose here on the planet! It takes five seconds to realize that it's time to move! It's time to get down with it! Brothers, it's time to testify and I want to know: Are you ready to testify? Are you ready? I give you a testimonial! The MC5!"

It may seem a little histrionic or melodramatic looking back at this in 2024, but this was real. The Vietnam War was at its apex, the Tet Offensive earliet in '68 had made it clear that the United States was not winning the war, yet the war effort escalated and many of the kids in the audience at the Grande were ripe for the draft. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy had both been assassinated within the last six months. The Kick Out the Jams album captures the heightened tension of the time. (And it also captures the sounds of young people who just want to have a fucking great time that night). Turn off the lights and burn some incense and/or weed and you, the listener, might feel you've taken the wayback machine to the Grande.

(MC5 at the Grande, October 1968. Photo by Leni Sinclair)

I recently heard some archive interviews with Wayne Kramer and he said that as soon as he started playing "Ramblin' Rose," the first song on Kick Out the Jams, he broke his E-string of his guitar and was immediately out of tune for the rest of the evening. (These were the days before guitar techs who could have handed him a new guitar or fixed the problem for him). As I wrote in my previous blog post--which was confirmed by Brother Wayne--he was thoroughly unsatisfied with the sound of the record. At the same time, there is an undeniable ENERGY to the album. This is a band that was committed and on fire. In the right mood, Kick Out the Jams is an exhilarating ride, and the title track remains one of the most incendiary, take-no-prisoners slab of high energy rock 'n' roll ever recorded.

So what the hell, ignore my advice in the previous post and go directly to Kick Out the Jams, with the understanding that what you'll hear is a loud and often grainy, out-of-focus snapshot of a gritty but wounded Midwestern industrial city in one of the scariest years in American history. If you are intrigued by that, then advance forward to 1970's Back in the U.S.A. (much tighter and cleaner but still pissed off) and then 1971's High Time (a perfect marriage of Kick Out the Jams and Back in the U.S.A.).

*Ignore the legend that the MC5 played six hours in Grant Park. Wayne Kramer has vehemently denied their set lasted anywhere near that length.

Rest in Power, Brother Wayne. (Wayne Kramer, 1948-2024)

WAYNE KRAMER (Scott Dudelson/Getty Images)
              

On my drive home from work yesterday, I saw the news that Wayne Kramer, MC5 guitarist and overall legendary Detroit rock musician, had died. It came as a shock, because the last I had heard, within the last few months, was that Wayne was set on recording a new MC5 album and doing live dates. (I won't get into the dubious nature of a new "MC5" album with only one of the then two surviving members participating, but the idea of new music from "brother Wayne" was exciting). To find out that he'd succumbed to pancreatic cancer was a total shock. I can only assume that in the usual "older Midwestern guy" tradition, he'd kept his condition a secret.

I then remembered the one time I saw Wayne Kramer in a live setting, when I caught the "MC50" show at the Fillmore in Detroit, celebrating the 50th anniversary of the Kick Out the Jams album. I inexplicably never mentioned it in this blog.

Here is what I wrote in Facebook back in 2018:

"Wayne Kramer and his band of all-star players put on a loud and incendiary show last night. Marcus Durant (Zen Guerrillas) channeled the energy and look of Rob Tyner. Matt Cameron (Pearl Jam/Soundgarden) and Brendan Canty (Fugazi) were more than adequate in replicating Dennis "Machine Gun" Thompson's drumming. Wayne and Kim Thayil meshed well together on guitar. Billy Gould (Faith No More) was on bass.

"Wayne looked like he was having a blast, and it couldn't help rubbing off on the other guys.

"In addition to the entire Kick Out the Jams album, the band played eleven additional MC5 songs, and Wayne (and Marcus) had some brief but pointed thoughts about the current political situation and urged everyone to vote, before launching into a fiery "Lookin' At You."

"The show lasted until midnight and we didn't get home until after 1 AM. We are fried and our ears are ringing! But it was so worth it."

In addition to Wayne Kramer and his MC50 band, other Detroit rock luminaries Detroit Cobras (R.I.P., Rachel Nagy) and Easy Action (featuring howling wild man John Brannon, also of hardcore punk band Negative Approach and incendiary blooze punk Laughing Hyenas) opened the show. It was one of the greatest evenings of music I've ever experienced.

I am now seeing "true testimonials" (MC5 joke) from folks who met Wayne and have nothing but good to say about him. He seems to have been a no-nonsense, no bullshit--yet warm-hearted--guy who never fogot his blue collar Michigan roots. Unfortunately, I never met him. The closest contact I has was when I drew a picture of him in celebration of his 73rd birthday and posted it on Instagram. He gave it a "like," which was exciting for me.

The caption--my "true testimonial" if you will--captures my relationship with and fandom of the MC5. Rest in Power, Brother Wayne. (I tried to post the drawing, but Blogspot freaked out and it looked terrible, so I will just write the text of my testimonial:

"Growing up in the Great Lakes State, one would think that the MC5 and other Michigan bands (like the Stooges) would be either taught in schools or otherwise disseminated more widely among the youth. But this never happened when I was young, because I believe the powers that be in Michigan were (and perhaps still are) embarrassed by the loud, wild, incendiary craziness of this music. Better to let the kids discover it on their own. If first heard of the MC5 back in 1986 when I was a freshman in college. Attempts to find any of their albums [were] fruitless. I did not own or even hear an MC5 album until Kick Out the Jams was finally issued on CD in 1991. This began a 30-year (and counting) love of the band, including this little salute to Wayne Kramer on his birthday (April 30)."

Anyone unfamiliar with Wayne Kramer or the MC5, but curious to explore further, here are my recommendations: the band only released three albums in their lifetime. Though Kick Out the Jams in the most famous, I'm not sure that is the best place to start--unless you like loud, muddy live, ever-so-slightly out-of-tune rawk music. This might be a controversial opinion, but I rate it last among their three albums. (Even the guys in the MC5 didn't like it much). Outside of the title track, which is brilliant, it doesn't do a lot for me and it's the one I reach for the least. I'd go with their final album, High Time, and then if you like that, listen to the second album, Back in U.S.A. Then, pick up Kick Out the Jams. Of course, living in the world of streaming, why not just go the streaming service of your choice and put MC5 on shuffle.

As for Wayne Kramer solo, give The Hard Stuff a listen and see how you like it. It's his best solo album as far as this writer is concerned.

Once again, rest in power, Wayne Kramer.

Yo-Yo Ma (and friends) at Wharton Center

L. and I went to see cellist Yo-Yo Ma, violinist Leonidas Kavakos, and pianist Emanuel Ax at Wharton Center last night. They performed three Beethoven pieces and, in an unexpected encore, a Schubert piece.

I am not particularly knowledgeable about classical music, but have slowly (like at a snail's pace) grown to appreciate it more over the last 25 years or so, but certainly even more so after our kids played in orchestra in middle school and high school. 

Regardless of genre, I will not pass up a chance to see live music, and particularly not when one of the performers is perhaps the most celebrated cellists...ever? Kavakos and Ax, as I have since learned, are also highly regarded musicians. (And I know any classical music experts reading this are shaking their fists in anger at my ignorance).

The musicians took the stage at 7:45, fifteen minutes after the scheduled 7:30. They were all wearing Michigan State baseball caps, and Yo-Yo Ma said, "Go Green!" to the audience, who responded with, "Go White!"  The trio then launched into their program. It was fascinating to see and hear how those three instruments interacted with each other and weaved in and out, the musicians communicating with each other through their playing. It struck me that what they were doing wasn't far removed from a jazz trio, the only differences being stylistic and jazz being principally improvisational. But the sonic result is similar: different instruments with different textures interacting, darting in and out, and weaving to create a whole. Ma's cello and Kavakos's violin conversed with each other throughout the evening. There was a musical dialogue going on. These are musicians who work well together and seemed to have a genuinely great time.

I was won over by Ma and Kavakos' showmanship. These are not stuffy, crusty classical musicians. They ended each movement with drama and flare, inviting the audience to enthusiastically applaud. Kavakos was also wearing a somewhat sparkly jacket and shiny gray pants with stylish black slip-on shoes. With his longish hair, he struck almost an Oscar Wilde-like visual presentation. (Yo-Yo Ma and Emanuel Ax, on the other hand, seemed a bit more professorial, especially Mr. Ax).

Ax, Kavakos, and Ma concluded the evening by donning the Spartan caps again and another "Go Green! Go White!" with Ax explaining that they'd initially messed it up and had meant to save it until the end. I don't think anyone in the audience cared.

49ers 34, Lions 31. A crushing end to the season.

The Lions lost a heartbreaker yesterday and I'm pretty devastated...well, as devastated as one can get from the result of a sportsball game.

Consider this a particular blog post a therapy session. My own private therapy session in which I vent to nobody in particular. Read at your own risk.

I may need to resign myself to the real possibility that the Detroit Lions will never go to a Super Bowl in my lifetime. I need to make my peace with this. (And you may need to take everything I write with a grain of salt because I'm despondent and simply venting).

I am honestly surprised and a little embarrassed that I'm taking this loss so hard. I'm sure a lot of it has to do with how great the team looked in the first half (24-7 lead) and how utterly abysmal they played in the second half (outscored 27-7; lost 34-31). The Lions dangled the Super Bowl carrot in front of us fans before quickly pulling it away.

I don't have anything else to say about this game, so this will likely be my only post about it.