Considered a sprawling, self-indulgent mess when first released in 1967 (RCA LOP-1511 mono/LSO-1511 stereo), and a warning to other bands and to record executives footing the bills for unlimited studio time (even the extra dollar added to the list price couldn't have paid for the studio time), After Bathing At Baxter’s has worn remarkably well, and in retrospect is a powerful, smoldering document reflecting a chaotic, violent and dangerous time in America—the kind of time we’d be having now if people would fucking wake up and smell the fascism.
Maybe it's the fact that it's early Saturday morning and I've just woken up on the couch with an endless sea of empty beer bottles in front of me on the coffee table that's got me to thinking. I mean, it seemed like a perfectly good idea at the time: drink as many beers as I possibly could in one night while listening to Tanglewood Numbers repeatedly in an attempt to get into the notoriously alcohol-soaked mind space of leader David Berman. After all, I'm always up for a scientifically based experiment, and considering I was using one of the great thinkers of our time, Neil Young, as my model, I figured nothing could go wrong.
Sundazed's recent mono After Bathing at Baxter's reissue, reviewed here (www.musicangle.com/album.php?id=381) prompted bassist Dan Schwartz to send this remembrance —ed.
There has never been a great rock band without a great drummer. Ringo took a drubbing from clever pundits and know-nothings as if he was not in the league of the other Beatles. But Ringo, "the greatest," changed the world in a most crucial moment in modern history with his sheer explosive and contagious joy in playing.
Part New Jersey diner, part Wurlitzer jukebox, with a snakelike tonearm that at certain angles looks vaguely lewd, this boxy, man-sized creation from Australia seems to have been built around its distinctive looks rather than for any functional purpose. Combine that with its sky-high price—itself almost obscene—and the result is apparently the sort of product that envious, cynical, self-loathing audiophiles love to hate, and reviewers love to write about.
This is part of an interview I conducted with the great recording engineer Bill Porter back in 1987. I met up with Porter at Denver audio dealer Listen Up! We chatted and listened to some of his recordings. The remainder of the interview will be posted at a later date, along with listening session notes.
In part I of my interview with legendary Nashville engineer, Bill Porter, I wrote, “In one month of 1960, Porter-engineered recordings accounted for 15 of Billboard's Top 100 Singles.” That was a mistake. In fact, Porter had 15 charted singles in one week.
Thompson’s first acoustic solo album (with overdubbed guitars and some keyboards added by Debra Dobkin) in many years is as the title and cover art promises, an intimate drawing room recital by a seemingly timeless artist who doesn’t get better with time because he dropped in seemingly fully formed during his Fairport Convention days much as James Taylor did on his first Apple solo album.
It’s hard to believe 22 years have passed since this now classic set was released and almost 16 since Vaughan died in a helicopter crash following a concert in which he appeared with guitar greats Buddy Guy, Eric Clapton, Robert Cray and his brother Jimmie.
The sound of this reissue is so spectacular, Classic can be forgiven for using the wrong cover art. They scanned a second pressing. The “SLP 18000 STEREO” is inside a mustard colored banner back and front on the first press, and the banner points to a Monument logo.
Whatever fans might hope for on a McCartney album is here: thoughtful pop tunes, accomplished melodic invention, focused, meticulous production and comforting glints of The Beatles. More importantly, what McCartney detractors (including the Beatles fans among them) might expect is missing: namely sugary confections, shlock-rock, and corny lyrics.