Opening Doors

Now that we’ve made it through the Holiday Season and those pesky Mayans seemed to have missed the mark once more it’s time for something new here at WMMCM. We’re going to be heading in a slightly different direction in the days to come. While not abandoning the classic rock we love so dearly we have decided to get a bit more down in the dirt so to speak.

With all that has been happening in music these past few years we’ve felt a little limited in what we were able to write and argue about so, the door is swinging open quite a bit further. Starting today we are going to comment about pretty much any form of music that strikes our fancy from our beloved classic rock all the way to whatever the heck it is that Taylor Swift really does. (Other than serial dating.)

So with out further adieu, we will tip our hat to a guy who was on the edge of stardom as a pop singer after writing one of the most successful and memorable singles of the 1960′s who then became an actual pop superstar while somehow not ever really doing any pop music.

That can only be John Denver.

To Leave on a Jet Plane, use this E-Mail Link!

As even most diehard rock n’ rollers know, John Denver became a true superstar for many years in the 1970′s. What they may not know is that Denver’s first real brush with fame came in 1967 when the – then – major folk act, Peter, Paul & Mary recorded Denver’s ballad. In fact “Leaving on a Jet Plane” was Peter, Paul & Mary’s biggest hit and only number one single in a career that continued until Mary Travers’ death in 2009.

Peter, Paul and Mary on a Jet Plane!

When the young and quite unknown John Deutschendorf wrote “Leaving on a Jet Plane” in 1966, he was the new guitarist and lead singer for the Chad Mitchell Trio. The Chad Mitchell Trio was a folk act that had been doing reasonably well in the confused times of the mid-60′s when rock and folk mixed easily before the great musical changes that occurred a few years later when hard rock and heavy metal made folk all but irrelevant to most young listeners.

Folk, didn’t really die or go away, it just very quietly morphed into the roots of the singer/songwriter movement that was so popular in the early 1970′s. Along the way something extraordinary happened to the newly christened John Denver. By 1971 and the release of “Take Me Home, Country Roads,” John Denver was one of the biggest stars in the country. Denver would follow over the next five years with three number one albums and twelve number one single chart appearances.

The odd thing was, that John Denver was never really considered a country artist at the time.

With his squeaky clean image and boyish, almost cartoonish looks, Denver was never taken quite seriously by the country music establishment. He was a pop star and that guy who sang with the Muppets – long before that was considered cool – by anyone not a thirteen year old.

Denver, to his credit, just kept writing great songs and singing them all over the world selling between 35 and 40 million albums along the way.

Another way in which John Denver was never quite given the credit due to him was in the quality of his singing. Denver always had a wonderful way of delivering his lyrics. His delivery was always powerful when needed while still maintaining a closeness to his listener that felt like a conversation with a good friend. While the music industry never warmed to Denver, his audience certainly did.

John Denver always sounded like he was talking directly to you when he sang. Much better singers than Denver never came close to the level of comfort and familiarity that Denver made his career with. That easy friendship with his audience made him a star.

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Lost in the middle

I have mentioned from time to time that I moved early this year from Los Angeles to the far south end of Nevada. So a few days back, I was waiting around for a prescription to be filled, and a youngish man in a wheelchair passed by, singing “This Little Light of Mine.” The pharmacy tech behind the counter instantly joined in, and they sang a chorus, waved at each other, then went on about their business. This is one of the things — along with burro warnings on the radio and coyote chatter across the street — that tends not to happen in L.A.

And I don’t really have a segue from that, as we continue our moonstruck wanderings, because I don’t have any specific idea of what the Alan Parsons Project are going on about in today’s moon tune.

Children of the Moon” link for the e-mail people.

“Children of the Moon” is from 1982′s Eye in the Sky, whose nifty title track was the Project’s biggest hit. And, after an ominous boomping opening set around with a military snare, singer David Paton advises,

Pay no attention to the writing on the wall
The words seem empty
‘Cause there’s nothing there at all

And suggests that some kind of religious or political disaster has taken place:

We let the wise men beat the drums too soon
We were just children of the moon

The song then speeds up with a melodic hiccup as the grim truth is revealed:

No one to turn to
Nowhere to run to even if we could

The next verse suggests this may be an environmental-doom scenario, while also making you wonder who he’s talking to (“Too late to save us/But try to understand”), but then the swinging, echoing, couldn’t-be-anybody-but-the-Project chorus zooms us right out into space:

We’re lost in the middle of a hopeless world
Lost in the middle of a hopeless world
Children, children of the moon,
Watch the world go by
Children, children of the moon
Are hiding from the sun and the sky
Children, children of the moon
Watch it all go by
Children, children of the moon
Are blinded by the light in their eyes

The “wise men” of the first verse are madmen in the last: “We let the madmen write the golden rules,” and then there’s a hint of who may be being addressed here: “We were no more than mortal fools.” (Is he speaking to someone who is … not mortal?) After a last chorus, Paton’s Jon Anderson-ish “Hiding from the skyyy” is followed by a nice, throaty guitar solo, then there’s a forced-march fade that is reminiscent of “Breakdown” from the earlier I Robot album.

This is a singer’s song, and Paton is worthy of it, going at it with guts and conviction. And also with the able assistance of Parsons’ production, always friendly to a singer and able to help sometimes quite limited vocalists make the absolute most of what gifts they had. Indeed, Pilot’s hit “Magic” was also sung by David Paton, but there he was forced to duke it out against cheesy, bass-burdened production (and his Scottish accent) and ended up sounding uncomfortable, shouty, and shrill.

Paton didn’t quite have the gift for anxiety Allan Clarke demonstrated on “Breakdown,” but he was given a song that, whatever it’s all about, requires resignation that sounds like it could slip at any moment into panic. And that’s exactly what he delivered. Could do a lot worse than that.

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Deserted on The Moon

There comes a time in practically every band’s lifespan that one member or another decides to move on. Sometimes it’s willingly as when Bill Berry decided to leave his post as the drummer of REM over a decade before they finally broke up or when longtime Rolling Stones bassist Bill Wyman stepped away after thirty one years with Mick and Keith in 1993.

Having survived 31 years as a Rolling Stone or even 17 years as a member of the far less lethal REM is quite an accomplishment. There are other times of course when a members departure, or dismissal, is not so smooth and comfortable. The on again, off again David Lee Roth and Van Halen saga is perhaps the most famous with Steve Perry and the Journey guys coming in at a close second. There was however another parting of the ways in the 1980′s of a long time and quite prominent band member that was not quite so shocking, at least for us in the audience, as it was to the guy in question.

E-Mail of the Desert Moon!

All the way back in 1961 three young guys from the South Side of Chicago got together and started making music. With the average age of 14, it would be some time before they made their mark on the music world, but working all through the 60′s and into the early 1970′s brothers, Chuck and John Panozzo and their friend Dennis DeYoung managed to hang on long enough to add James Young and John Curulewski to the band known as TW4.

Now TW4 never really made much of a mark outside of their home turf in Chicago but after signing with Wooden Nickle Records in 1972, they also decided to change the band’s name.

Now known as Styx, the Chicago prog rock powerhouse was ready for a national audience.

That came along slowly. More slowly than could ever had happened in today’s one shot and you’re out music business. Styx released four albums in the next two years and all of them went exactly nowhere. That is until 1975 when Styx had already decided to move on to A&M records a local Chicago radio station picked up the single “Lady” from their second album Styx II and soon it became their first national hit setting the stage for their first A&M release, Equinox.

Why does all this matters to our bit of little Green Cheese? Well because the creative force behind Styx all through those early years was none other than Dennis DeYoung. He was the primary lead singer, keyboardist and songwriter. He also made it clear that he was the boss.

Now that worked well enough for the first five albums and all those years learning their craft but also in 1975, lead guitarist John Curulewski decided to leave the band just as they were becoming a huge success. His replacement was a young guitarist from Alabama named Tommy Shaw.

Shaw’s impact on the band was immediate. The strength of his songwriting and singing voice gave Styx a harder and more commercial sound which launched the band, dare I say, to the moon? (Or at least to the top of the charts.) In fact the first album with Shaw was titled Crystal Ball after what would be the first of many Shaw’s rocking progressive songs.

And yes, I mean rocking progressive songs. An alliance of sorts soon sprang up inside of Styx between Tommy Shaw and James Young wanting to push Styx further away from the truer progressive rock sound that defined the band at that time to a more solid rock and roll sound. DeYoung for his part, was drifting further and further towards a more pop oriented prog rock sound with singles like “Babe” and “The Best of Times.”

The creative tension was so bad at one point after the Pieces of Eight album and tour, DeYoung was actually fired from the band. Shaw, with his more rock oriented approach, had after all produced all three of the albums hits; “Blue Collar Man,” “Renegade” and the charming “Sing for the Day” while DeYoung’s music failed to make any radio entry. This was soon patched up of course and DeYoung came back with the band’s only number one hit, “Babe” giving him a reprieve of sorts.

Things remained on an even keel through the Paradise Theatre album and tour but when it came time for the next project, what would become the Kilroy was Here concept album, it became clear that there was a battle between two different styles of music going on.

While there are many good and even a few great songs on Kilroy was Here, the entire concept was tortured and incoherent. A flimsy story about how rock n’ roll music has been banned by an influential evangelical minister while a young rock rebel fights his way to freedom while holding his guitar is really as silly as it sounds.

Being DeYoung’s concept, with his recent number one single in his hand, the other band members very unwillingly went along. While the album itself may not have been a disaster, the tour certainly was.

In the era of huge stadium concerts with fifty thousand screaming fans, DeYoung’s magnum opus didn’t have a single note of music for the first forty-five minutes! It was rock opera run amok. Tommy Shaw and “cast members” would be roaming the stage producing only DeYoung’s dialog of his rock n’ roll triumphs all story while the crowd not only doesn’t understand what’s going on onstage, they don’t care!

They want Rock n’ Roll music! Not a badly written play performed by the obviously uncomfortable Shaw, James Young and the Panazzo brothers. The only one seeming to enjoy this, was of course, Dennis DeYoung.

Shortly after the tour, (which thankfully for all concerned, dispensed with the dialog after several audiences nearly rioted,) DeYoung was fired from Styx by the other members.

DeYoung, to his credit, soon went out and made the album he’d been wanting to make. His first solo album, Desert Moon, did very well in the middle of the MTV era with the album reaching the 24th spot and the single, “Desert Moon” becoming a number ten hit – on the pop charts.

“Those summer nights, when we were young
We bragged of things, we’ve never done
We were dreamers, only dreamers
And in our haste, we’ve grown too soon
We loved our innocence, on desert moon
We were dreamers
Only dreamers

On desert moon
On desert moon
On desert moon
Desert moon.”

While Dennis DeYoung’s “Desert Moon” is not likely to end up on my iTunes playlist anytime soon. It’s not a bad song really. DeYoung has always been a wonderful singer who actually does quite a bit with not all that much voice. And he certainly has written some great songs over the years as well. “Lady,” that got things going for Styx as well as “Come Sail Away” which made them stars. But as DeYoung moved more and more in a pop direction while Shaw and Young moved towards hard rock, this wasn’t going to last.

But, for while it did last, the creative tension between the two camps produced some great music until those forces just couldn’t exist any longer in the same space.

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