Delaney & Bonnie: Comin' Home for the Weekend

Just a little Southern fried, bluesy, soul rock for the start of the weekend. Check out this married couple's 1972 album, D&B Together. They definitely showed Clapton a thing or two about groove. Diggin' it.

The 90s B-List: Bad Reputation

Sarah and I don't often have memories of listening to the same music in high school or college. Our experiences are separated by nearly 6 years. I was surprised tonight when I played Bad Reputation and she sang along. She acquired a copy of the tape from her high school English teacher. I like imagining a 15 year old Sarah Emerson, listening to this tape on her Walkman and walking along Bennoch Rd.

Freedy Johnston nailed it with this sweetly somber song. "Suddenly I'm on the street. Seven years disappear below my feet. Do you want me now?"

Drawn Back To Droge

Digging deeper into this first Pete Droge album (Necktie Second) and discovering some subtle gems. Straylin Street. There's something so stripped down and plain about Droge (his songwriting and arrangements). I love his voice. It's this lugubrious, soulful version of Jakob Dylan or Nash Kato from Urge Overkill. He never fully unleashes his emotion. There's this reserved quality to it. Never a sustained chorus. Just these dark, staccato phrasings. Straylin Street has that slowed down 4/4 groove with a conga line that sounds good on a Sunday night as you sip your favorite IPA. Enjoy, friends.

Pete Droge – Straylin Street

Beachwood Sparks: A Reunion That I Missed

When Beachwood Sparks sauntered onto the indie-country, psych-americana, buffalo hipsterfield scene at the turn of the millenium, I was drawn into their first two albums. One glimpse of their H Bar C shirts and Poco-like album covers and I knew that they were kindred spirits, steeping themselves in Flying Burrito hot sauce and Byrds psychedelia. My own band, Billy Midnight, was striving for a similar vibe. I caught them twice on their Once We Were Trees tour. Their show at the Casbah blew me away. Never had I seen a band play a lap steel with that much echo and reverb. It made me feel like I was floating. Later, I saw them play Cafe Du Nord in San Francisco. I had the opportunity to talk with Christopher Gunst, lead singer, who was a nice guy. Beachwood Sparks were down to earth and sincere about reproducing that Cosmic American sound from the early 70s. They were young guys trying to sound like old guys and they did it well.

Recently, I was spiraling through the Web and discovered that they had reunited in 2012 for a final(?) album, appropriately titled The Tarnished Gold. Now they actually look like old guys trying to sound like young guys making old guys' music. The results are very satisfying. In the midst of my first New England winter, The Tarnished Gold delivers a hazy, dusty, golden, coastal sound that is extremely heartwarming. The song I've chosen for my playlist is titled Forget The Song. It's a hyper-nostalgic, melancholic tune about putting an end to the smoldering past. It is Cosmic American perfection.

"It's time to stop pretending Those days, those days are gone It's time to stop wishing for endings Those old wounds have turned into scars Forget the song that I've been singing Lay down the way that I've been holding Hope that spring melts the winter in my heart"
 

The Boss Resurrects Some Obscure Tunes On His Latest

Springsteen's latest album, High Hopes, contains two covers that he's been kicking around for awhile (live and studio demos). The first, High Hopes, comes from some 90s L.A. band, The Havalinas. The Boss didn't do much to revamp this tune. It's grown on me after repeated listens, though. The Havalinas seem like a straight ahead rock band with an image problem that got marketed like an "alternative band." They're Janes Addiction-like and Suicidal Tendencies-ish in appearance. I can't figure out their sound. The drums and shout-along chorus are winners.

The next track, Dream Baby Dream, hails from the NY electronic proto-punk group, Suicide. Their version is ironic and chilling. Springsteen took all of the hipster out of it and turned it into a sincere anthem for post-apocalypse America. In a recent interview he explained that he tried to bring back Roy Orbison's zombie with his vocals.

Every Droge Has Its Thorns

After discovering the earnest joy of Pete Droge's music, I found a used copy of the Beautiful Girls soundtrack just so I could play his song, Beautiful Girl, a hundred times. By the time I get to the second chorus, I get lost in this bittersweet feeling of nostalgia that I just want to inflict on myself over and over again. So I do. Last night, I discovered this one-off from a Pete Droge collaboration with Matthew Sweet and Shawn Mullins. In 2002 they recorded this sunshiny, CSN-inspired, album, The Thorns. Beautiful harmonies. This song, Runaway Feeling, is probably as good as anything on the record. Some of the tracks are buried in production and perhaps too many vocal harmonies. I prefer the leaner production of Droge's Necktie Second album. This lead track from The Thorns is stripped down and sweet. It's more Sweet than Droge. But sustainably sugary nonetheless. Great stuff to play while in the midst of a polar vortex.

Feelin' The Droge

I remember a time in my childhood when my Mom would hear an old rock or Motown hit from the 60s and get all nostalgic. She'd sing a few lines from the chorus and then say, "It's been so long. I can't remember the rest of the words." A subtle smile would appear and thoughts, invisible to my novice perception, would parade in her head, hiding behind Carrera aviator sunglasses.

I get it now. That's how I feel when I hear certain songs from the 90s. That's how I feel when I hear Pete Droge sing Beautiful Girl (a song featured on the Beautiful Girls soundtrack). I never listened to Droge in the 90s. My nostalgia for his music is a what if scenario. What if I had been me (as I am now) with all of my strange musical tastes and experiences in the mid-90s? I would've like Pete Droge. He's the Seattle answer to Tom Petty. He's a secret admirer of country-rock and Gram Parsons.

I'm feelin' the Droge.


P.S. A special thanks to Buzzy Dudley for posting some pics from a mid-90s Pete Droge concert at Tower Records. This was the catalyst for my nostalgia implant.