[bomp] the who, viv, and eric

[weisbaker <roky@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

re the who:

pics abound in The Who: Max R&B by Barnes, but music criticism is weak; 
giuliano's Behinfd Blue Eyes is factual but dumb, without much on loves, 
relationship with moon, and brit invasion; Brit Invsion: How the Beatles by 
Bill Harry is real good but doesn't really do american R&B as influence very 
well--fashions blah blah bl;ah [it's the fucking shirts and pants then every 
mancunian poof would be a genius: enough with the rad stylings!!; speaking 
of fashion, the bril;laint but eggheady--SO????--English IMaginaries has 
superb analyses of peter the poker townshend and a later one on dear dear 
Viv Westwood.

heylin writes so much i doubt voidoids is updated; am i the only person that 
feels that book doesn't capture the detroit/clevo/NYC synergistic  triad as 
well as it should? just coz you're first in print don't make it real.

keep on droppin like its hot.




btw there was a raspberries thread last week about which is best and their 
legacy: here is partial thing i wrote last year addressing the first 
(re-printed with permission of the author)--



The first album is the prettiest, the second one is the most grandly poppy, 
the fourth shows some tired wings by the second side, so it is the third, 
Side 3, that shows the Raspberries at their most dramatic: languid and lush 
vocals, two fine contributions from Smalley, songs moving freely from the 
solo singing aria mode into the recitative choruses, and the quickening 
rhythmic urgency that constantly burns away Cleveland's summer haze. Side 3 
triumphantly remains something of a curiosity. It invokes so deeply the 
British Invasion with Midwest grit that it seems unlikely to gain converts 
to its cause. But that would be a mistake-imagine anthemic odes and 
theatrical creations that sound like a hypothetical Big Star second album if 
it would have been recorded with Chris Bell, as the formidable Chilton 
instead sought meaning from the Alps and the cosmos. Add Mick Taylor-like 
musculature on guitar, resist the stubborn aggression of transistor radio's 
pleadings, and tell Eric Carmen to sing himself hoarse, and then turn up all 
the dials. The album is nearly book-ended by the band's two raunchiest 
rockers, the glorious opener "Tonight" and the penultimate and churning 
"Ecstasy." Here, and elsewhere, Bonfanti shakes the cobwebs out: he drums 
with true abandonment. Smalley's drunken background singing is more jagged, 
causing great variation within the simple songs; his Spartan bass transposes 
the melodies, as if we can hear Carmen saying repeatedly, "Louder! Faster!" 
The singing embraces more soulfulness, more of the inspired wailings of 
Steve Marriot's heroic voice. His diaphragm explodes on every song, with 
amplified and vibrating resonance. He trills, he croons, and he's a little 
bit country, a little bit rock, as on the excellent Poco-like "Should I 
Wait." The recorded sound is without fault.



On most of the songs there is a lively, brisk accented spirit of allegretto, 
with harmonic chord sequences that so sweetly fit the dynamics of the 
ballsy, but sugary, notes that resolutions end with achieved consonance. 
This is a firm and closed world. Although the music, with its Who-like 
surges, is often contrasted with Carmen's thrilling singing, everything is 
of a piece, so much so that there are songs here that achieve a kind of 
temporal palindromic quality: at the middle of the song, the song reverses 
at a stormy axis, and then the song traces backwardly the time order from 
the first half. This is tingling music, sumptuous and austere 
simultaneously, with no wimpy ballads, no rip offs from the lads from 
Liverpool. It is one of the best albums of the 1970's, from either side of 
the Atlantic.


*******************************************
Michael Baker/Mindy Weisberger
380 Mountain Rd #1213
Union City, New Jersey  07087
Tel/Fax: 201 867 0198
Email: roky@optonline.net

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