Recorded in 1972. Utterly obscure ever since. Just got a CD. The perfect roaming soul of Chicago with ties to AACM. Dances. Reflections. Remorse. So long ago. So needed now.
GEORGE HARRISON’S MASTERPIECE
ALL THINGS MUST PASS
CELEBRATED WITH SUITE OF NEW 50th ANNIVERSARY EDITIONS
SUPER DELUXE EDITION OF LANDMARK 1970 SOLO ALBUM COLLECTS 70 TRACKS OVER 5 CDS OR 8LPS INCLUDING 42 PREVIOUSLY UNRELEASED DEMO RECORDINGS, SESSION OUTTAKES, AND STUDIO JAMS
EXCLUSIVE ALL THINGS MUST PASS SCRAPBOOK FEATURES ARCHIVAL NOTES, TRACK-BY-TRACK ANNOTATION, RARE PHOTOS, MEMORABILIA AND MORE
VERY LIMITED EDITION UBER DELUXE INCLUDES 8LPS AND 5CDS IN SPECIALLY DESIGNED WOODEN CRATE ALONG WITH ELABORATE EXPANDED SCRAPBOOK, LASER CUT WOOD DETAILING FROM OAK TREE IN GEORGE’S GARDEN, 1/6 SCALE REPLICAS OF GNOMES FEATURED ON ICONIC COVER, LITHOGRAPHS, AND MORE
TODAY’S LAUNCH HERALDED WITH PREMIERE OF PREVIOUSLY UNRELEASED AND REMIXED “RUN OF THE MILL” (TAKE 36), AVAILABLE NOW TO STREAM AND DOWNLOAD AND WITH AN OFFICIAL MUSIC VIDEO
My instant conclusion from this is, “Yup, George Harrison is still dead — he would never approve of such an eco-catastrophe excess.” Have to add that I was never a fan of this release. Used to call it “All Things Must Piss.”
This all happened over the past couple days, but now is the time to summarize and celebrate.
Got my second shot. Take that, monster. Join polio with the micro-creep defeated threats of my life.
Got the air conditioner repaired and upgraded. Feel very secure about who to call now.
Ant-spary and lawn control fixed up for foreseeable future. (Fitting grim note: while we looked around the foundation of the house with the pesticide guy, ran across a bunch of Carpenter ants eating each other.)
Playing lovely rediscovered CD set:
Nice super-cold champagne.
Stephan Micus, Nomad Songs (ECM, 2015)
Lockdown ends after this week for us. This is an apt monument and farewell — solemnity blown along to an open future in tracks like “The Promise,” “Laughing at Thunder” and “The Dance.”
I had more to say about Micus here:
Can, Live in Stuttgart 1975 (Spoon, 2021)
Goblin, Roller, (Pickup, 2012) (recorded 1973)
Hey, I savor what I can find of this stuff — ProgEuro Vintage Advantage.
Here’s the scoop about how Live Can finally came about:
I also happened across information about Roller (is it the only Goblin album that wasn’t a soundtrack?) and so snarfed that, too.
The Can is a thriller for all brainy-prog fans and suggests a Grateful Dead instrumental jam done by Faust on acid.
Yeah, the Goblin is more uh, “cinematic,” and is recommended to already committed fans. Though I must add that the last track flies in and around your head like a weird creature with wings and fangs.The title? “Dr. Frankestein.”
“Beaches are a source” wrote one of the truest poets I know (I’m looking at you, Mr. Franzen).
Certainly are. Mellifluous, mixed clouds-and-shine day at Crane in Ipswich was an intoxication equal to any we’ve felt in the sand. Huge thunderstorm the night before, so remarkable shells thrown up on the beach and much fresh food for the protected plovers who were singing constantly as it felt like feeding hordes of chicks. Beautiful little jet-plane perfect birds.
Couple more quick points. Reading at the beach is a special immersive experience. Articles I had not finished seemed more profound that I remembered. Ones I had read before had force and clarity I had missed.
And the first meal after the sunshower is a burst of sensuality. Ours was fried seafood, clam chowder, and cucumber salad Of the Gods.
The summer of liberation has begun.
Through my usual convoluted sequence of associations (which included Ellen Willis/Bob Dylan/Dylan Thomas) I watched a couple documentaries about the poet who was an unmatched combo of oracle/bastard/fool/savant/suicide. Makes me both treasure and wary of the 1/8 of me that is Welsh.
In and out and round about, various works are touted (my favorite title is “A Child’s Christmas in Wales”). But after decades and decades of reading him, I think this evocation of fiery, gleaming childhood perceptions is the peak. Not least because it makes clear that any kind of adulthood will not be as satisfying, by a cosmic order.
Dylan Thomas – 1914-1953
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace,
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
This is a response to a Twitter thread I can’t be bothered to look up and link to. But it’s a worthy subject to chew on for a second.
First, this kind of review was always rare.
Second, it takes a special set of skills. You have to be both an insightful critic and an articulate comedian. There’s nothing worse than a supposed “fun to read” pan of a bad album that is itself a bomb.
Third, the always-small market for such works has vanished. All outlets these days have a strong proclivity for “reviews” that amount to PR hosannas. A “funny” dish would be like a zebra-striped-kangaroo-ostrich..
(Well, yesterday.) Alright, virus monster, I’ve got you half beaten-down. I join the shouters who say we all must get vaccinated ASAP. The shot itself was painless, the setting beyond calm and caring and the aftereffects a slightly sore arm, bit of ringing in my ears and yesterday I got tired suddenly and had to sleep about 10 hours. I would go back for a yearly booster at this location.
The playlist for the ride out and back:
- Trio Da Kali and Kronos Quartet, “Ladilikan”
- Gilberto Gil, “Refavela”
- Nik Bartsch’s Ronin, “Modul 36”
- Bettye LaVette, “Things Have Changed”
- Ry Cooder, “You Must Unload”
- Tracey Thorn, “Sister”
- Superchunk, “Break the Glass”
- Yo La Tengo, “Above the Sound”
- Lori McKenna, “You Can’t Break a Woman”
- Victoria, “C’est Un Tombeur”