Sea Level – Southern-Fried Elevator Music

If the last thing that comes to mind when you hear the onerous term “Southern Rock” is jazz/fusion, then you’ve not been listening to Sea Level.

Formed by sometime-Allman Brothers keyboardist Chuck Leavell (get it? Chuck LEAVELL? C. Leavell? Yeah, I know, but I couldn’t resist), Sea Level made a few albums in the late 70s/early 80s that were Southern in lyrical sensibility, but closer to Spyro Gyra than the Allman Brothers.

By now my embarrassing propensity toward elevator music is evident. So if you enjoy lite jazz/fusion/Muzak with a Southern accent, then by all means enjoy…

Nothing Matters But the Fever
Dare I say this one is… funky? Just a little? I like the slightly-ominous piano, the sinuous guitar, and the drawn-out lyric. Interesting that this is from a band called “Sea Level,” as parts of it sound as though it were coming from underwater. Not to mention that this is probably as close to sexy as poor old Sea Level ever got.

A late night, cigarettes and bourbon, post bar-hopping classic, also my favorite Sea Level song.

That’s Your Secret
A little more upbeat, but no less enticing. I’ve listened to this song countless times, and I still don’t know what the secret is. I think that’s the whole point.

Lyrically, I liken Sea Level to Dire Straits – I’m not sure if the lyrics are deeply profound, or profoundly ridiculous. I guess it depends on one’s mood.

Cagey lyrics aside, this song has a nice rolling rhythm, with some really interesting drums. The organ is a nice touch, as well.

Glacier Gardens
This instrumental does more than most of Sea Level’s work to belie the band’s origins with the Allman Brothers. A gorgeous guitar piece, “Glacier Gardens” puts me in mind of “Little Martha,” surely one of the most beautiful songs Duane Allman ever played on. It’s almost country, almost folky, very Southern, yet there’s nothing Skynyrd about it.

Sea Level did a number of instrumentals, most good, including a version of Scarborough Fair that’s almost unrecognizable – possibly due to another Allman-esqe guitar – but still an interesting, very jazzy piece.

More More More – the 70s

Because we all know that all anyone did in the 70s was make out in the middle of a field.

It’s been a week now, and I’m still listening to the 70s A.M. Gold cds I picked up at the library. These cds are like crack, people. For real.

To share the joy, here are a few more choice cuts:

Jim Croce – You Don’t Mess Around With Jim
Lord have mercy. If I had a dime for every time I heard this song… nevermind. I can’t help it – I love most of Jim Croce’s songs.

“You Don’t Mess Around With Jim” is a part of the lexicon; maybe not as prominent as “Stagger Lee,” but nonetheless one of those songs that you can’t remember not knowing, that you can’t imagine anyone on earth not knowing all the words to. It’s closest kin is Mark Twain. This sounds like the kind of stories Huck Finn tells.

Jim Croce’s delivery is awesome. He compels you to listen to him, to hang on every word. He’s a storyteller; the music is background, even when it’s good.

Jim Croce probably doesn’t get the respect he deserves. No one talks about Jim Croce when they talk about songwriters who wrote truly universal songs. Maybe because his premature death in a plane crash left us with so little of his work. Or maybe his songs are taken for granted. Maybe we’ve all heard them so much we can’t appreciate them anymore. What a shame.

The 5th Dimension – (Last Night) I Didn’t Get to Sleep at All

Like Jim Croce, the 5th Dimension are woefully underrated. They are undeniably associated with elevator music. A pop-soul confection, their sound is impeccably mannered, I admit, but like Dionne Warwick or even Glen Campbell, this is not always a demerit.

I don’t know what it is about this song that I like so much. There’s a yearning lilt to this song that makes it the kind of Muzak you actually look forward to hearing.

Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show – Cover of the Rolling Stone

And now for something completely different.

My mother had a large collection of 45s, mostly from her high school and college years in the early 70s, that she inexplicably hid from me. I have no idea why she mistreated me this way. I’d already worn out several of those suitcase-type record players by the time I was five, and spent hours lovingly caring for my own 45s the way most little girls cared for their baby dolls. I actually did my brother bodily harm once because he broke one of my Rod Stewart records. I could have been trusted, Mom.

Anyway, she hid these 45s from me, but would occasionally dole them out like the buried treasures I considered them to be. I remember distinctly the night she unearthed this gem. She brought it to me with a sly grin, and said, “here’s you a record.” Why she thought this was appropriate for a seven year old girl is beyond me, but we listened to it no less than about 15 times in a row, and I howled the whole time. I think she got a big kick out of how funny I thought it was. She did have to caution me not to sing the part about Cocaine Katie at bible school.

A 70s Kind of World

It’s a sunshine day! Have a Coke and a smile! Groovy! Bullshit!

I have always loved 70s A.M. pop. It’s probably due to the fact that this was the music my mother listened to when I was growing up, but there’s something about the pop music from the 70s that makes me want to have a Coke and a smile.

Imagine, then, how thrilled I was when I got to college and found that my roommate, the venerable Lucille, also loved this kind of music. A soul mate, indeed. I can’t count how many times we would cruise around, maybe a little smoked up, singing along to “Sweet City Woman” or such like stuff. Nor can I count the times the other girls who were unfortunate enough to live with us rolled their eyes when they saw us, through a door left ajar, putting on our makeup or fixing our hair and singing along to “Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl).” I’ll bet they had a kegger when we moved out. Poor Ruby and Lucille. So misunderstood.

Who knows why we latched on to this music the way we did. If A.M. pop was created in the 60s, and surely it was, then it blew all to hell in the 70s. While there’s an innocence about this music, there’s also a subversiveness about it that most of the 60s pop (well, at least until the late 60s) often lacked. Brandy may be a fine girl, but there’s pretty good chance she’s also a hooker. And have you ever heard the song “Timothy?” By the interestingly named Buoys? It’s about cannabilism.

The pop music of the 70s is often sugary, glossy and cheap somehow, but that’s not always a bad thing. Other times it’s bizarre, absurd, and so strange that you wonder how it ever ended up on the radio at all.

So anyway, when I went to the library today, and saw, for my check-out pleasure, an almost-complete set of Time-Life AM Gold 70s CDs, you better believe I snatched them all up, honey. Nevermind the fact that I already had the majority of these songs on other CDs. And as soon as I got in the car, I called Lucille and said, “girlfriend, you’re not going to believe what I have. No, wait – what I got seven of.” Sigh. Too bad that we’re so responsible now that she didn’t even guess that it was green and skunky…

Now, for your listening pleasure:

Harry Nilsson - Coconut
Lord have mercy. Everyone in the dorm would hit the door when Lucille and I would start on this one. You could hear them muttering outside the door “what the hell are they listening to? And why are they giggling like that?”

Harry Nilsson was a genius. It would take a genius to pull this off.

Talk about your strange songs to hit the charts. “Coconut” has to be one of the 100 craziest songs to ever be in regular rotation on radio. Still, who can resist it?

Todd Rundgren – Hello It’s Me
Whenever I hear this song, I think of my mother, and how we would listen to this song on one of those K-tel type albums that she had.

Todd Rundgren has to be one of the most underrated songwriters ever. The album that this comes from, Something/Anything, is full of some of the very best pop songs ever recorded, period. Besides this one, you have “I Saw the Light,” “It Wouldn’t Have Made Any Difference,” and “Couldn’t I Just Tell You,” just to name a few. He had a way of writing songs that were both catchy and radio-friendly, while at the same time a little deeper and more truthful than most of the other songs on the radio. And he was succinct; there’s not a wasted word or note in any of these songs; they are as bittersweet and wonderful as anything I have ever heard, yet none of them last a second too long. Did I mention that it’s a double album, and that he played every instrument himself on most of the songs?

Paper Lace – The Night Chicago Died
Turns out Lucille and I weren’t the only ones who loved 70s pop. For a time, we worked at a steakhouse, a hellhole that was nonetheless full of people so fascinating that 10 years later, we still talk about them.

One of these charmers was a skinny little crackhead, all of about 5 ft. tall, who looked like he’d been eating D-Con, had about four teeth in various states of decay, yet somehow managed to romance not one but three of the biggest women (and when I say big I mean amazon – one of these women looked like a WWF wrestler in drag) that worked there. He was a grill cook, and he liked to sing while he worked. On Sundays he sang only gospel – every song was about the glory land. On the other six days of the week, “The Night Chicago Died” was one of his favorites. Better still, he was very open to suggestion; all Lucille had to do was stand behind him and whisper “Daddy was a cop/on the East Side of Chicago,” and that would get him started. However, if she tried to sing along with him, he’d get pissed off and quit singing.

This song is completely fictional, by the way – the ambush never happened, Chicago never died.

Here’s one more, just for Lucille and stray cats…

Go Go GODZILLA!!!!

Ordinarily, I get really upset when I hear a song I love on a commercial. I don’t like to have songs that are near and dear to me associated with the mundane, such as the Aleve commerical that uses Curtis Mayfield’s “Move On Up.” Somehow, I doubt that the empowerment Curtis had in mind is the same as what Aleve is touting.

However, I think that the Auto Trader commercial with Blue Oyster Cult’s “Godzilla” ROCKS. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because the commercial is about cars – I like cars. Maybe it’s because most of the cars are Pontiacs – I like Pontiacs. Maybe it’s because so very few people respect Pontiacs OR Blue Oyster Cult. I don’t know. I just know the commercial warms my heart.

See, I know that “Godzilla” is an awesome song. I know this because every child that I know that hears it not only loves it, but loves to sing along to it. Children often have better taste than adults, this is a fact. I use this as one of the talking points when I hold forth on the virtues of Blue Oyster Cult.

And Blue Oyster Cult’s virtues are many. Here are three examples:

E.T.I. (Extra Terrestrial Intelligence)
This is a song that is best played in the car. LOUD. With the top down, if possible. I think it’s supposed to be about someone who has had a UFO experience and is then told not to tell it. His name may be Balthazar. I’m not sure. All I know is that it sounds great in the summer, in the car. It has a spooky sound that’s great just at dusk. A little mood music, you know.

O.D.’ed On Life Itself
Again, I have no idea what this song is about. Sometimes I think that BOC are too intelligent or at least too wordy for their own good. Or for mine, anyway. What can you expect from a bunch who’d have a rock critic for a lyricist? Anyway, I like it. And any song that includes the lines “This wedding in heaven was made up in hell/This victim as bride and life, life itself.” The guitars have a slicing quality. Visceral.

Godzilla
Finally, a song that anyone, even I can understand. It’s just like in the movie – Godzilla plowing through Tokyo. I have yet to find a child, regardless of how small or female, that will not start singing along with this song by the time the chorus comes around the second time. And ask to hear it again. And again. And again.

It’s a simple song, unlike most of BOC’s songs, obviously, but pay attention to just how many words they get in per line. I mean “a purposeful grimace and a terrible sound?” For real.

The Bourbon is 100 Proof…

It wouldn’t be right to write about anyone but the Band for this blog’s first post.

Although I grew up listening the Band, mainly “The Weight” and “Up on Cripple Creek,” it wasn’t until I found a discard copy of Greil Marcus’ Mystery Train in my high school library and read his essay about the Band that I had to go out and find every scrap of song that they’d ever recorded. And I, who was always so indecisive, and could never decide who was my favorite band/singer, found my all time favorite.

I could write my own book about the Band, about all the things that I have heard in their music, about how they sound like no music or no band before or since, about how there is so much going on in every song that you can almost hear something new each time you listen, no matter how many 1000s of times you have listened before.

Each member – Levon Helm, Rick Danko, Richard Manuel, Garth Hudson, Robbie Robertson – could play the hell out of at least five instruments, everything from the jew’s harp to the mandolin to the trombone.

As if it were not enough, the Band had not one, not two, but THREE guys who could sing, and not just sing, but bring their personality so completely to the song that you couldn’t imagine either of the other two singing it. My darling baby brother, who also grew up listening to the Band by fault of being born 11 years younger than his sister, seems to have a different favorite singer every time we talk about the Band. Mostly, it’s a toss up between Levon and Rick for him. But then I’ll argue for Richard, or if he’s leaning toward Rick, for Levon, and the argument begins all over again…

I’ve never been able to choose my favorite. Here’s why:

Levon

Don’t Do It
When the Band covered this on their seminal live album Rock of Ages, it was already a warhorse, a Motown cover that they’d been playing live for years. Motown, however, rarely sounded as ragged or right as this. Levon sings this like his life depends on it. When he says he’s been trying to do his best, you suspect his best ain’t much, but that for him, that’s saying something, and you don’t care. If you are a woman who grew up anywhere from Kentucky on down, you know exactly what I mean.

Levon was the only American amongst the Band, the cracker amongst the Canadians. He brought all the southern soul to their sound, the honky-tonk and the chitlin-circuit.

Then there was Rick:

Unfaithful Servant
If Levon was the honky-tonker, the hell-of-a-feller in the Band, then Rick was the sidekick, the one who’s rippin’ and tearin’ hid a heart of gold.

I’ve always strongly suspected that Gram Parsons wanted to sound like Rick Danko. I’ll wear this word out, but there was a soulfulness about Rick Danko, a catch in his voice that told you that he was really just a wide-eyed kid who couldn’t believe his luck. No affectation.
On “Unfaithful Servant,” he knows he was wrong, and that there’s nothing he can do about it, and you believe it.  The situation may be hopeless, but he’s not.  After all, he sings, “life has been good to us all/even when that sky is a-rainin’.”

And finally, there’s Richard:

Across the Great Divide
Most of the Band’s members have said at one point or another that Richard Manuel was truly the soul of the band.

His voice was often compared to Ray Charles’; that warm, husky, bluesy sound is here in “Across the Great Divide,” but so is the country sound, and the touch of humor. As Richard pleads with “Molly” in the song, she’s holding a gun on him, but he doesn’t sound worried. He’s talked his way out of worse situations before.

In other songs, Richard Manuel would sing with desperation, with fragility, with anger and some of Levon’s bravado.  Sometimes he sang every bit of that in the same song.  But he always sang with heart. You always can always tell that he’s feeling every word sings.

See. I told you I could go on and on about the Band. I could write all night. But instead, I’ll leave you with this blog’s namesake.