Tag Archives: Arnold Maxin

Ten Years Older Than Bob Dylan’s First Album, But I Still Have The Verve

 

 

Neither the age progression photographs of myself nor the bold title above have anything to do with what’s on my mind this month. I did have a birthday, but that was last month. Old new. I mean, really old. Originally I was going to use a Frank Zappa shot holding an electric fan, but I had used it years ago for another column. So you’ve got me in triplicate, but there is still a Zappa thread to pull.

The topic is Verve Records, which came to mind during a walk I took this afternoon. It has a long history that in some ways almost parallels my life. It was founded in 1956 – I was four by then – by Norman Granz, and became home to the world’s largest jazz catalogue. A producer and concert promoter, Granz was acknowledged as “the most successful impresario in the history of jazz” and he was also a champion of racial equality, insisting, for example, on integrating audiences at concerts he promoted. And he spearheaded the fight to desegregate the hotels and casinos in Las Vegas, arguing that it was unfair that black artists could perform on the stages, but could not stay or gamble at the hotels, or even enter through the front doors.

In 1965 Frank Zappa joined a band called Soul Giants and they changed their name to The Mothers. In early 1966, they were spotted by leading record producer Tom Wilson when playing “Trouble Every Day”, a song about the Watts riots. Wilson had earned acclaim as the producer for Dylan and Simon and Garfunkel and was one of the few African-Americans working as a major label pop music producer at this time. Wilson signed the Mothers to Verve, a division of MGM, which had built up a strong reputation for its releases of modern jazz recordings in the 1940s and 1950s, but was attempting to diversify into pop and rock audiences.

Verve insisted that the band officially rename themselves the Mothers of Invention as Mother was short for motherfucker—a term that, apart from its profane meanings, can denote a skilled musician.They released their first five albums (if you count Lumpy Gravy, which really wasn’t the Mothers) on Verve, and Zappa, his wife, and all of the Mothers of Invention moved from LA to New York where they got an extended booking at the old Garrick Theater on Bleeker. They moved back to California in 1968, formed a deal with his own Bizarre label and that was the end of Frank and Verve.

Let’s backtrack to 1964, and Jerry Schoenbaum of Verve and Moe Asch of Folkways created Verve Folkways to take advantage of the popularity of folk music and get it on the shelves of the record stores, something Folkways by itself wasn’t able to do. They were distributed by MGM Records which also owned Big 3 Publishing. The president of that entity was Arnold Maxin, who was a huge believer in roots music.  In an article in Billboard Magazine from 1965 he said “The most important music developments of our generation have come from the “roots”. I welcome all the material I can get from these sources for it is from these sources that we will obtain the standards of tomorrow”. With that he announced the signing of John Lee Hooker’s publishing.  (Arnold is my cousin and and we share the same last name, which helped open doors for me throughout my own music career.)

To broaden the label’s appeal, in 1967 the name was changed from Verve Folkways to Verve Forecast. They first signed The Blues Project and then quickly added Tim Hardin, Jim and Jean, Janis Ian, Richie Havens, Odessa and Dave Van Ronk. There was also The Paupers from Toronto, and Velvet Underground, who had little sales but would end up casting a long shadow.

Over the years MGM had acquired both Verve’s jazz label and Verve Forecast catalogs, and in 1968 Arnold oversaw all three. They were riding high until they weren’t. The following year MGM shut down Verve Forecast and the entire company was soon swallowed up themselves in a purchase by PolyGram, the huge German music company. The product from all three labels was sliced, diced and shifted to various divisions and labels. The party was over.

In May 1998, PolyGram was sold to Seagram which owned Universal Music Group. They  too split the catalog up like an apple pie. In 2004 they decided to reactivate the name Verve Forecast, and began signing new artists, Blues Traveller and Teddy Thompson among them. In 2016 Universal created the Verve Label Group to place all of it’s jazz and classical labels, as well as the flotsam and jetsam collected from over the decades. A few years later they made more changes and today the Verve Label Group reports up to the hip-hop/rap division. 

And that’s what I was thinking about today. Verve….it was a helluva label.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Everly Brothers Watch Good Love Go Bad

 

In 1960 I was an eight year old boy with a teenage sister who watched American Bandstand every day after school and had a Tele-Tone 45 rpm portable record player in her bedroom. With a big fat plastic spindle, she would stack up to about a dozen records and it would automatically drop and play them one at a time. I was entranced by the whole concept – the music, the machine, the grooves on the disc, and especially the labels, which I would spend hours reading and memorizing. Composers, arrangers, song titles, publishers, ASCAP or BMI, selection numbers, running times, and especially the stylized fonts for the label’s logos.

One reason I took an interest in music at such an early age was because my cousin Arnold was a hot-shot producer and the whole family followed his many successes. His first big hit was in 1956 with Screamin’ Jay Hawkins’ “I Put A Spell On You” for Okeh Records, and four years later he moved on to MGM, where he scored big with Connie Francis’ “Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool” and eventually was promoted to president of the label.

On Billboard magazine’s chart for the Top Hits of 1960, Francis had three songs versus Elvis Presley’s two. And while Chubby Checker’s “The Twist” begat a national dance phenomenon and a Percy Faith instrumental was the number one single, only Bobby Rydell, Brenda Lee, and The Everly Brothers rivaled Miss Francis. Don and Phil’s biggest records that year were “Cathy’s Clown” and “Let It Be Me,” but this is the one I dropped the needle on most often and to this day it remains stuck inside my head.

Written by Don Everly and the first track on their Warner Bros. debut album It’s Everly Time, “So Sad (To Watch Good Love Go Bad)” stayed on the American charts for 12 weeks and has been covered at least a dozen times. The biggest sellers of those all were country versions, starting with a duet by Hank Williams Jr. and Lois Johnson in 1970, followed by Connie Smith in 1976 and Emmylou Harris in 1983. When John Prine decided to include it on his classic In Spite of Ourselves duets album, he tapped Connie Smith as his partner on the song.

While I don’t know why I am so attached to this song, it turns out that there’s likely a scientific reason for it. Dr. Vicky Williamson is a music psychologist and memory expert at Goldsmith’s College in London, and several years ago she began studying earworms, otherwise known as stuck-song syndrome, sticky music, and cognitive itch. In a 2012 article I found on the BBC website, she suggests that “earworms may be part of a larger phenomenon called ‘involuntary memory,’ a category which also includes the desire to eat something after the idea of it has popped into your head. ‘A sudden desire to have sardines for dinner, for example,’” as she put it.

Jeff Lynne of the Electric Light Orchestra and Traveling Wilburys covered “So Sad” on his 2012 solo release, along with other songs of that era, and described it this way: “These songs take me back to that feeling of freedom in those days and summon up the feeling of first hearing those powerful waves of music coming in on my old crystal set. My dad also had the radio on all the time, so some of these songs have been stuck in my head for 50 years. You can only imagine how great it felt to finally get them out of my head after all these years.”

In 2013, Will Oldham (as Bonnie “Prince” Billy) and Faun Fables’ Dawn McCarthy released what has become one of my all-time favorite albums, titled What The Brothers Sang. An Everlys’ tribute album, it jumps over their entire Cadence Records catalog of hits from the ’50s, and dives deeper into the more obscure catalog tunes. In Pitchfork’s review, Stephen Deusner wrote: “ ‘Devoted to You’ and ‘So Sad’ are all the more powerful for being so spare in their arrangements, as though illustrating the power of a small country bar band.” One of the highlights of the year was having the chance to see them perform the album from end to end at Town Hall in NYC.

We used to have good times together
But now I feel them slip away
It makes me cry to see love die
So sad to watch good love go bad

Remember how you used to feel dear?
You said nothing could change your mind
It breaks my heart to see us part
So sad to watch good love go bad

Is it any wonder
That I feel so blue
When I know for certain
That I’m losing you

Remember how you used to feel dear?
You said nothing could change your mind
It breaks my heart to see us part
So sad to watch good love go bad
So sad to watch good love go bad

How an 8-year-old boy can latch onto a song such as this and hold it close for 47 years is almost unexplainable. The above-mentioned Dr. Williamson has been working on a “cure” for earworms, suggesting tips such as finding another song to replace it with, going for a run, or doing a crossword puzzle. But for myself, I think I’ll pop open a tin of sardines for dinner and give y’all a vertical stacking of some cover versions I’ve found. Bon appetit.

 

 

 

 

 

In 1973 Don Everly showed up drunk to a show. He kept screwing up the lyrics until Phil smashed a guitar over his head and stormed out. The only time the brothers spoke during the next decade was at their father’s funeral. The brothers patched things up in 1983 enough to embark on a lucrative nostalgia tour that yielded a double album and was captured and released on video.

 

This article was originally published as an Easy Ed’s Broadside column over at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music.

Easy Ed’s Broadside Outtakes #3

SDD5

Easy Ed’s Broadside weekly column has been a fixture at No Depression: The Journal of Roots Music for over ten years. These are odds and ends, random thoughts and fragments never published.

New Music Rising

By using the term ‘roots music’ as a description of what I listen to and wax about, you might come to think that I spend all my days listening to stuff like the Fruit Jar Guzzlers, Jelly Jaw Short, Wade Maniner…with a little Bull Moose Jackson and H-Bomb Ferguson thrown in for good measure. And while those musicians were indeed on this morning’s playlist, my taste runs deep, wide and inclusive…a tent so far and wide that I can barely see end to end.

Five years ago this week I published an interview…it was actually the first one I had ever done…on No Depression‘s post-print online website, my home away from home where I contribute a column called Easy Ed’s BroadsideI’d first seen and heard Massachusetts-based musician and artist Marissa Nadler on a few videos that she had uploaded to the Couch By Couch West online anti-festival that ran concurrent to that thing in Austin. Her music captivated and mesmerized me. It was right before her thirtieth birthday, and she’d already released five albums along with several side projects, amassing a highly-engaged international fan base that kept her on the road.

In my article and our conversation, which I do hope you can find the time to read or at the very least watch some of her videos that I’ve included, The Demystification of Marissa Nadler starts out with the words of others who’ve tried too hard to come up with a genre-box to explain who she is and what she does.

“The indie-folk pinup girl and mistress of the murder ballad.”

“She’s hacked away the art school whimsy, tossed out the crystals and burned the floaty headscarfs.”

“Simple, melancholic fingerpicked folk ballads that take advantage of her sonorous, spine-tingling vocals, narrating tales of damsels in distress or lovers absent or dead.”

“Compelling medieval twang.”

My take? I think Marissa makes incredible folk music. Maybe not your parents folk music, but it comes from a place where an eighteen-year-old Marissa would sometimes leaf through those early No Depression magazines and as she describes… ‘spend my awkward adolescence copying master paintings in my basement and listening to music on the boombox. A lot of this music was prog rock and classic rock. A lot of it was folk and Americana. I loved Gillian Welch and Lucinda Williams and they really spoke to me. Also, Emmylou Harris and Gram Parsons and the Fallen Angels. Elizabeth Cotton.’

StrangersOn May 20th Marissa will release her seventh full-length album titled Strangers, and she’ll be doing April dates on the USA West Coast, followed in May and June with dates in England, Scotland, Ireland, France, Belgium, Germany, Holland and Denmark. Here’s the link to her site

This week she released the new video which she shot, directed and animated herself. I’ll let her own words set it up for you.

 

With ‘All the Colors of the Dark’ I wanted to marry my love for the moving image with the song in a compelling visual that pulsated with the same rhythm. I’ve been inspired by the beautiful phantasmagoric worlds created by Svankmejer and Francesca Woodman, The Brothers Quay, among others. In the video, everyday objects move on their own, representing a lingering presence in my life.

Every Picture Tells a Story

SandyThe image at the top of this page was shot by my long-time-we’ve-only-met-online friend Sandy Dyas, who is a visual artist based in Iowa City that I’ve written about often. You can visit her website here and check out her work, books (buy them…really) and blog. And more of her images can be found on this site….including this one I originally published back in January 2014 at No Depression dot com.

From The Pages of Kithfolk: The Howard Rains Pictorial

HR1

There’s a marketing and publicity company that works out of the Shoreline Washington home of the Leger family called Hearth Music. They are musicians, wordsmiths and designers, with a passion for traditional music and art that goes beyond simply running a business.

KITHFOLK is their digital roots music magazine of long-form interviews, engaging articles, video and audio streaming premieres, album reviews, and columns from guest writers. Most of the time they don’t write about the artists that they are currently working with, but the people and places and sounds that catch their attention.

Wandering around the site the other night, I happened to come across a gallery of paintings from a gentleman by the name of Howard Rains that really jumped out at me. Here’s a small sampling of Howard’s work along with his thoughts…the full story will take you to the gallery.

HR2

I have painted since I was a kid, but for many years I have been painting old time fiddlers, drawing only from life and documenting living traditional musicians as they played. These portraits go through the filter of my style and I have often been told they look nothing like the individual I am painting; other times I have been told they look exactly like them. I have done this because I love to do it. Because I am obsessed with traditional music and the incredible people I meet through the music. Click here for the full story.

From The New Yorker: The Awkward, Enduring Influence of Hank William’s Jr.

AMHWJrThere seems to be an avalanche of press focus on the music and life of Hank Williams Sr. with the release of the biopic I Saw The Light, but David Cantrell has written an expansive and absolutely fascinating piece on his son.

Here’s just a little taste, but you should most definitely click here for the full story.

Hank Williams, Jr., was raised to be an echo, not an influence. His mother, Audrey Williams, pushed him to perform as Hank Williams, Jr., (his given name is Randall) and to play songs pulled almost exclusively from the catalogue of his father, who died when Hank, Jr., was three. He made his stage début, warbling his father’s first hit, “Lovesick Blues,” when he was only eight years old; he débuted on the Grand Ole Opry at eleven. He released his first album, “Hank Williams Jr. Sings the Songs of Hank Williams,” for his father’s old record label, M.G.M., just after turning fourteen, in 1964.

His father remains the genre’s key repository of myth and tradition (though he’s lately moved it on over a bit to make room for Johnny Cash). But listen closely to country radio’s defining sounds and points of view at almost any moment over the last four decades and Hank Williams, Jr., is right there—often, he was there first. When it comes to anticipating the direction of country music, Jr. has mattered more than Sr. for a long, long time.

In that picture above, which is from an old copy of Billboard Magazine, Junior is standing next to my cousin, the late Arnold Maxin. He was a true music man…playing horn in the big bands when he was fifteen, selling records for a Philadelphia distributor after the war, working A&R at Okeh Records, producing a number of hits including Screaming Jay Hawkins’ ‘I Put A Spell On You’ and pretty much every Connie Francis album, and ending up as head of MGM Records in the sixties.

Lucinda Williams Takes Me Far Beyond The Blue

On a Tuesday morning, Lucinda Williams’ husband Tom sent me a message asking how far I was from Tarrytown. I punched out “ten minutes” although it’s probably closer to twenty, and hit the send button. She was playing at the old theater there on Saturday night, and up until the day before, I held out hope that I could arise and attend, but it wouldn’t happen. I sent my apologies on Friday afternoon and said “Another time, for sure.”

My column this past week at No Depression is mostly about me and some trouble I’ve had, but also about how Lucinda and her music moved my needle last June on a stormy night. Click here to check it out

On the day you fly away, far beyond the blue
When you’re done, and your run is finally through
I’m forced to let go, there’ll be no greater sorrow
On that day you fly away, far beyond the blue

OH NO…A FACEBOOK FRIEND SUPPORTS DONALD TRUMP…WHAT WOULD PETE SEEGER DO?

I’ll make this quick. I used to be a serial-social-media -politicalized-poster. You know…that guy. The friend on Facebook who links every left (or right) leaning story on the internet because they think YOU NEED TO HEAR THIS!!! It’s ok….I’m in recovery. Here’s my story about what I now ask myself before I hit the button. What Would Pete Seeger Do?

Videos You Wouldn’t Know Existed, Unless You Found Them By Mistake.