There are a lot of reasons to love Gothammost of them having to do with humans `cause let’s face it there just aren’t many mountain vistas herebut the one that tickles my fancy the most is what Billy Joel (sorry) famously called, the “New York State of Mind.” JayZ would have it “Empire State of Mind,” but you get the idea. After a premiere showing of Sounds and Silence, Travels with Manfred Eicher, the new film about the ECM founder, owner and inspiration, there was a brief Q&A period chaired by WNYC's Julie Burstein (left in JA's iPhone photo). The first hand up was in the back of the IFC Center in the West Village.
I can see the scene now, Gary, the mighty Max, the Big Man, all standing around the studio, looking at their feet, afraid to tell Bruce that one of his new songs, the otherwise very charming, “Outlaw Pete,” has a melody very similiar to the one found in KISS’ “I Was Made For Lovin’ You Baby,” their successful quasi-disco single off their otherwise weak 1979 stylistic stumble, Dynasty.
To write about music, you must first come to terms with your fanboy urges. You must brush off the fairy dust and see your heroes for who they really area picture that in many cases is all too human. Yet that first blush of idolatry is an experience you never quite forget, no matter how many times you interview a person.
There was a time, back in the St. Elmo's Fire 1980s, when Steve Earle's first album, Guitar Town, was an object of abject slobbery for a generation of rock critics. Turning a near-mint LP copy of that album over in his hands, Earle begins to reminisce about a record that changed Nashville and country-rock music and, for many, remains his undisputed career masterpiece.
James Brown at B.B. Kings in New York on Friday night. Big semi-crazed shows, what they used to call revues, like the one Brown brought to town are fast becoming a lost art. The band featured three horns, three drummers, four female backup singers called Bittersweet (two black, two white) and four guitar players all of whom were killer and all of whom played in widely diverse styles.
With increasing frequency, a litany of strange packages began arriving in my mail recently. Inside were, and continue to be, a series of very strange discs, entitled, Rockabye Baby!, that purport to be rock tunes made into lullabies. My first reaction? Smoking crack, as well all well saw in the 90's, can be a terrible, terrible thing.