On his YouTube channel, Pat Metheny has a series of solo performances of songs he loved growing up. I was surprised to see a cover of Antonio Carlos Jobim's Girl From Ipanema; it turns out that an attempt to learn a chord gave him the opening sound of a song he knew well from the radio.
A Neko Case performance from Q last fall. Martha was lucky enough to see Neko Case perform live a few years ago, and I was lucky enough to get a tour T-shirt ... except that it shrunk. Our son wears it now.
One of the standout songs from Quadrophenia is 5:15, which shows what an excellent racket the Who could make.
This was the winner of a competition in which fans were invited to make their own videos to illustrate 5:15. I thought it was fitting that the artist wrecks his work, presumably in a nod to a band that was infamous for trashing their gear in the Sixties.
I've occasionally been dipping into And I'll Scratch Yours, the collection of covers of Peter Gabriel released (after a few delays) last fall. It's the matching glove to 2010's Scratch My Back, in which Gabriel covered songs by others ... most of whom reciprocated for the followup.
David Byrne's take on I Don't Remember is one of my favourites. It sounds like it was made quickly at home, which is probable if you've read Byrne's book How Music Works, which extols the virtues of inexpensive digital recording.
Our son, Nick, has been very fond of this Arcade Fire song, sometimes replaying it three times in a row while we're in the car. (I'm a patient dad ... plus, I like the song, too.)
The video for Here Comes The Night Time was produced in the fall for a mini-film that aired after Saturday Night Live, with a visual trick that made it seem like the film, directed by Roman Coppola, was a transition from the show itself. The film is packed with cameos; I guess it says something that they were able to get Bono, Ben Stiller and others to show up for the looniness.
One bit of music trivia about The Band is that they shared the unfortunate luck of Tim Hardin, the Grateful Dead and others as being among the performers who took the stage at Woodstock in 1969, but were left on the cutting-room floor when the movie came out the next year.
Granted, the finished film was long enough, but one of the performances that didn't make the cut turned out to be The Weight, one of the most popular and enduring songs of the Sixties, and indeed what could be called the Woodstock generation. (The song is to used to quite good effect, you may recall, in The Big Chill, the ultimate baby boomer drama.)
The Weight never made the documentary, but the performance has lived on as an outtake, and on YouTube.
A random tweet about this song came across my view yesterday: a cover of Bruce Springsteen's megahit by a singer I had never heard of. And what a voice. A little Googling shows that Andrea Begley may have no profile here, but she's much better known in Britain; she won the U.K. version of The Voice a few months ago. I've never seen an episode of the U.S. version of the show, let alone from across the pond, but I can see why Begley did well.
Chris Montez was just one of many people to cover Call Me, a staple of Sixties pop charts; it was written for Petula Clark, and I imagine most lounge acts or piano combos of the period could play it on demand. The Chris Montez version was the handiwork of Herb Alpert.
Alta Moda was a bit of a thing in Canadian music in the latter part of the Eighties, although I'm not sure if much more than Julian (if that) gets airplay these days. Molly Johnson is still going strong; in addition to her career as a jazz singer (maybe chanteuse is more important), she's the voice of CBC Radio 2's morning show on the weekend.
Every now and again, I pick up one of those compilation albums that Starbucks puts on the market. Yesterday morning, we bought Twist & Shout, which pulls together a bunch of tunes from the early and mid-Sixties. We listened to it through twice in the car as we moved through the day. There are some staples of the era of the Watusi and the Frug, including the Isley Brothers' pre-Beatles crack at the title track, Shakin' All Over by Johnny Kidd and the Pirates and naturally Wilson Pickett's Land of 1,000 Dances.
The first tune is Let Her Dance by the Bobby Fuller Four; it took me a little while to recall that the song was used so well for the ending of the Fantastic Mr. Fox.
This is on my to-buy list: the latest from Booker T. Jones, who is not only still going strong after more than 50 years in the business (he's still only 68), but is back on Stax, where he made his name with the MGs in the Sixties. Mayer Hawthorne is the guest on the title track.
Earlier in the week, I had a Paul Weller tune; here is, effectively, a solo song from his Style Council collaborator, Mick Talbot. Talbot wrote several of these jazzy instrumentals over the fairly short history of the band, largely showcasing his love for Hammond B-3 organ. This is from a 1984 concert (featuring drummer Steve White, then still a teenager).
A hit for Santo and Johnny in 1959, Sleepwalk sounded like it had drifted in from the Pacific. This was, after all, the era of the movie South Pacific, the welcoming of Hawaii as the 50th state and the height of tiki culture. Whatever it brought to mind, I thought it was interesting that Santo and Johnny (they were brothers, surnamed Farina) were from Brooklyn.
Dot Dot Dot is Morse code for the letter 'S,' the full message Guglielmo Marconi claimed to have received atop Signal Hill in St. John's in 1901. It ushered in the age of telecommunications. My maternal grandfather worked as a telegraph operator for Canadian Marconi on Signal Hill for many years.
As well, I have a habit of overusing the ellipsis when I write ... as frequent readers might notice.