Songwriting: Pearls vs. Diamonds

Have you ever held a pearl and really, really looked at it?  It's easy to see why they're so expensive.  They're beautiful, and they're also fairly difficult to collect.  Hold one up to the light; it's transluscent.  It looks like you can see deep inside it.  You know how they're made, of course.  Yeah, an oyster gets a piece of sand stuck, squirts some kind of juice all over it.  They cultivate pearls, too.  I guess that means they stick pieces of sand inside oysters.  Sounds . . . irritating.

Over the last couple of years I have gotten back to writing songs.  I've been inspired to do so by a couple friends of mine who are excellent songwriters; namely, Sky King and Jim Tyrrell.  Because of their inspiration I have gotten back to basics and been writing what could best be described as folksong-type songs.  A couple of verses, a chorus, maybe a bridge, not worrying as much about arrangement or style as expressing an idea.  Keeping it simple.

I consider songs like this to be like pearls.  One thing.  Simple, and beautiful, and often born out of things as small as a grain of sand, or any sort of emotional or intellectual irritant.  Something that deserves to be sung about.  Musically, it starts at the beginning, goes until the end, runs over whatever bumps are in the middle.  Hard to beat simple.

Now, if you follow this mess of bloggery and read the last couple of pieces, you know that I'm deep in the throes of a Kansas binge.  Got every album of theirs that I could lay my hands on and listened to them all, then went back to the beginning and started over.  As a break from that, I've veered away and dug out my collection of Steve Hillage, a very interesting Brit whose heyday (hayday? heydey?) was the late '70's.  Lots of similarities, once you break it down into the writing scheme.

Kansas, and Kerry Livgren in particular, had a distinctive style.  His songs tend to be made up of lots of little pieces stuck together.  One leads into another, and then another, which gives these songs a cohesiveness.  It's not just velcroing random parts together.  More like building a Ferrari.  You could actually take an early Kansas tune, break it down into its various chunks, and then flesh each of those chunks out into a whole album's worth of simple pearl-like tunes.  There are actually pros who do that sort of thing; grab a jazz album or a classical piece, pull out a riff or scale, and use it as the basis for a country or pop tune.  Randy Bachman of BTO actually admitted to doing so in a Guitar Player interview back in the '70's.

Have you ever seen a raw diamond?  It looks like just a rock, albiet kind of a transluscent one.  A jeweler takes a raw diamond and shaves it at various angles until the surface is covered with flat planes, or facets.  This allows light to travel through it and be twisted into various angles, giving it the visual beauty for which they are so famous.  Kansas songs, most of them, are like diamonds.

There was a point at which my songwriting had gone diamond-style.  They usually started with me experimenting with various sounds on the guitar or keyboard.  Then a lick, a chunk of a scale or something, would connect with that sound, and the process would begin.  At this point, it's decision time.  Do you just let it go around back to the beginning?  Do that a couple of times and you've got verses.  If that's not enough you come up with a chorus, maybe even a bridge.

Or, do you throw standard song-form out the window?  The verse you started with comes to a terminus.  Instead of another verse, you can take it on a sharp left turn.  Maybe you don't even let it become a whole verse.  See if you can find another lick to compliment the first one, and follow that thread a ways.  Especially good if it brings out a different lyrical thing, kind of like turning the stone and letting the light strike the facets from a different angle.  It becomes like building a Song out of little song-lets.

I'm currently working on a tune that's kind of an homage to the Marines in my life.  For whatever reason, the good Lord has seen fit to surround me with Marines.  My father-in-law, my pastor, the previous pastor, the drummer for the Red Hat band, his biker buddies that come to our shows, and they're all awesome people.  A poor ol' squid like me ain't got a chance.

The song was inspired by something my pastor, David Moore, said in a sermon recently.  As an illustration he was describing a situation he faced back in Vietnam.  He and his men came back off one mission but were immediately ordered out on another with some newbies.  They were tired, but it needed to be done, so they went.  And in doing so, they showed the green ones how to get the job done.  The way he put it was; "We were hard."

It wasn't said in a prideful way, like they had their chests puffed out and were going to show these greenies who da man.  It was just a statement of fact, like a weather forcast.  They were hardened, tempered, ready.  Wimping out and crying foul was not an option.  You get back up, grab your pack and your piece, and get it done.

The way the song fell together was almost automatic.  For once, the words came first.  Usually, I find the musical germ and let that settle the pattern the words will have to fit, but this was different.  In two short sittings the lyrics were right there, BAM!  Like writing a news story.  Three verses, seeing a moment through the eyes of a Marine, first in Vietnam, then Iraq, and finally at Valley Forge.  Each verse ending with the words, "We were hard."

So now I have to build some music around that.  I took an afternoon and went out to my office, plugged in my amp and effects unit, and grabbed my beloved Godin LG-90.  Tuned it to an open D, because I've been trying to do more with open tunings and slide, two things I dearly love and am not very good at.  Played around with some different effects and tonal colors, and found a lick.  Knew immediately that this lick was for those words, and got 'em out.

The first verse is a hard 2/2 beat, front pickup, compressor on, and a little of the amp's tremolo to make the light dance through it.  Just the guitar at first, with maybe the kick drum hitting the 2's for the first half, then the drums and bass coming in but beating hard on that 2.  Second verse kicks the heat up a notch, giving that bluesiness a bit of country twang but with more punch than boogie.  Third verse would take it back to the beginning, but finishing up more like the second.

So I got that far, but it needs more.  Left at that, it's about 2, 2 1/2 minutes long and frankly wouldn't leave much of an impression.  There needs to be a bridge between 2 and 3.  Instrumental, because more words aren't necessary.  Something that expresses the feelings; of coming in off the hard march, tired and hungry, and there's trouble, so you go back out.  Something a little angular, a little painful, maybe a quick shout to get the blood pumping, a roar at the sun, and go.

By this point, it was supper time, but as I'm packing up to go back in the house I heard a faint lick on the edge of my mind to think about until next time.  And it's seven notes long, so there's another decision; do I add the eighth-note rest, or build around the seven pattern?  The lick feels solid, so there's the angle and the twinge of pain.  I guess I'm going to let the Marines march through Kansas.

Now, this is a band song, so don't ask for it at the Green House.  And Red Hat don't do originals, so I'll have to call Tod again, or maybe Rocco, and push some more on the side project.  Stay tuned, and toss up a little prayer for me if you don't mind, and I'll keep you posted.  I'm dying to hear how this comes out.

People of the South Wind

The subtle and relentless advances in audio technology that have taken place during my lifetime are truly marvelous to behold. Or, be-hear, maybe. When I was growing up and beginning to collect music, we had advanced up from the 78 rpm record that held about 3 minutes of music to LP (Long Playing) records that held maybe as much as 20 or more minutes per side. Now, of course, everybody’s walking around with tiny MP3 players that hold more than my old record collection.

Somewhere in between those extremes we find the MP3 CD; a CD that, instead of holding simple audio files contains instead MP3 or WAV versions as data files. In this way, one can put sometimes 8, 10, or more “albums” on a single disc. I have recently acquired a car stereo that plays these MP3 CDs, and it has been a revelation. I can put an entire artists’ catalogue on two or three discs, put one in, and that’s what I’m going to listen to for the next week. Diggin’ it.

My latest excursion has been through the collected works of a group known as Kansas. Supposedly, the Indian word “Kaw,” from which the word “Kansas” is derived, means “People of the South wind.” Cool, eh? In reality, it should mean “people for whom the earth revolves around Kerry Livgren.” There have been many excellent musicians and songwriters in this band, but Kerry Livgren has always been the main dude. Even when he’s not in the band.

Like any long-term creative entity, Kansas has been through various periods of development. The Kansas band that got signed to a record deal and started making albums was actually the third incarnation of the band, which will come up again later. Their first three albums, “Kansas,” “Song for America,” and “Masque,” make a sort of set in which experiments were conducted and the band’s sound was solidified.

If there’s a problem with virtuoso musicians when they’re young, it’s that they feel it necessary to play at inhumanly fast speeds. For the uninitiated, listening to these first three albums can be a trifle exhausting. Well worth the effort, though. Excellent writing and arranging, spot-on performances, and for all the notes flying around, not one is wasted.

Many groups in the progressive rock arena took sometimes several albums, and several years, before really getting a handle on things. Not so with Kansas. From the first song on side 1 they hit the ground running and never looked back. If there were an award for best first prog-rock album, the first Kansas album would win hands down. Really, the only thing that took them a while was finding an audience. As good as these albums were, only a small cult following knew it.

Their first release was issued in 1974. By ’76 they had three relative flops in a row and were on the verge of being dropped by their label. When they went into the studio to begin work on their fourth album, Steve Walsh – the lead singer and other primary songwriter – announced that he had writer’s block and had brought no new material with him.

This turned out to be not such a bad thing. Kerry Livgren wrote or co-wrote every song on the record, and “Leftoverture” became and remains their best selling album to date. It starts with a song that he didn’t even mention to the band until the last day of recording, when it was decided they needed one more song. They ran through it once, laid down the track, and it became one of the biggest selling songs of the ‘70’s; “Carry On, Wayward Son.” It’s still a staple of classic rock radio. By this time their playing and writing had matured. It is, arguably, their best album overall. It also kicked off the next epoch in the Kansas story; The Popular Years.

The sad thing about peaks is that they lead directly to going down the other side. Many people pair that album together with the next one, “Point of Know Return.” I can see that, because they were both very confident, upbeat records. They were also very popular, and “Know Return” contained their other two most famous singles, the title track and “Dust In the Wind.”

But I pair “Know” with the one that followed it, “Monolith.” By this time there was a distinct Kansas Sound, and consequently a Kansas Formula. It seems you could write a Kansas song almost like you’d fill out a form, making sure all the required elements were in place. Some of the songs on these two albums sound like that. Now don’t get me wrong, there’s still some great stuff here, but for the first time there are songs that, frankly, they could have done without. If you took the best tunes from both, you’d have one great album.

“Know” and “Monolith” are like opposite sides of the same coin. “Know” is more upbeat, “Monolith” darker and more serious. Most annoying are things like the second cut on “Monolith,” titled “People of the South Wind.” We’ve already discussed where this title came from. The chorus says:

We’re the people of the south wind
The people of the southern wind

Now think about that for a moment. Are they the people of the SOUTH wind, or the SOUTHERN wind? If those two things are the same, why not pick one? If this is something by which you want to identify yourself, why leave it that vague? Why not put a little more thought into the second line, instead of just sticking something in there that fit the number of syllables?

Even so, the level of performance remained at the highest level. Up to this point I cannot recall a time when anyone in Kansas was just phoning it in. Even with Livgren and Walsh’s writing beginning to show signs of weakness and fatigue, Walsh always sang with passion and played the keyboards brilliantly.

The whole band was great. If Kerry Livgren was the brain, and Steve Walsh the voice, then violinist/vocalist Robby Steinhardt was the soul of the band. He’s a classically trained violinist, and in a band with three strong soloists and a great singer he staked himself out a place of his own. He also acted as the Master of Ceremonies for the band when playing live. If you want a clue on how incredible this band was, listen to any of their early stuff and pay close attention to Robby’s violin parts. Then realize that, unless Steinhardt shared a writing credit, his part was written out by Livgren. He was also a very good singer, his slightly rough, strident voice making an interesting counterpoint to Walsh’s soaring high tenor.

The rest of the band was this good as well. Drummer Phil Ehart, along with guitarist Rich Williams, are the only members to appear on every Kansas album. One of my ongoing complaints with their earlier recordings is that the drums never quite sound right. Ehart was extremely talented, and yet the drums always sound thin and somewhat muffled on the record. Bassist Dave Hope kind of disappeared into the background, but remembering that a lot of the parts were written out he gets credit for being able to play them.

Second guitarist Rich Williams is an interesting case study. Livgren, of course, set the tone for everyone else as not only main songwriter, but on keyboards and lead guitar as well. Even so, Williams wasn’t relegated to a simple rhythm guitarist role. His solos are hot, smokin’, and easily recognizable next to Livgren’s.

Williams seems to be the perfect sideman, rolling with every change and carrying his part with grace and class. In the band’s latter days he is the only guitar player, and holds up his end AND Livgren’s on the older material. He’s got a good gig and he knows it. That’s called mental health, people. On the whole, in spite of Livgren clearly being the Alpha Dog on the block, it’s a very democratic band with everyone having ample opportunity to shine.

Now, at this point I want to state that I am deliberately ignoring a major development in Kerry Livgren’s personal life. The reason is that, once it’s out there, it colors everyone’s perception of him and all the music he did from this point on. The purpose of this piece is to discuss the MUSIC of Kerry Livgren and Kansas, not his personal life.

In late ’79, early ’80, Livgren began recording his first solo album, “Seeds of Change.” In my humble opinion, it’s brilliant. It’s still one of my all-time favorite albums. Great songs, and guest performances by a wide range of musicians from fellow members of Kansas to vocalists Mylon LeFevre and Ronny James Dio. Worth of mention here is the song “Living For the King,” vocal by Dio and featuring one of my favorite guitar solos ever. There is something about this album that elevates it head and shoulders above “Know Return” and “Monolith.”

This vibe carried over to the next Kansas album, “Audio-Visions.” Despite touching all the bases of the “Kansas Sound” there’s nothing on this album that resembles the lowest fill-in-the-blank points of its two predecessors. Of particular note are the third and fourth songs, which work brilliantly together. Cut #3, “Hold On,” is a beautiful ballad by Livgren that manages to avoid the worst “power ballad” excesses and features a passionate vocal by Walsh. That leads right into the Walsh-penned rocker, “Loner,” kicking it off by repeating the last line from “Hold On,” a note higher. It sends chills down your spine. While not quite as good as “Leftoverture,” it’s still very, very good.

Unfortunately, it also marks the end of the band’s second period. “Audio-Visions” was the last Kansas album to earn a gold record. Philosophical differences between Livgren and Walsh caused the latter to leave and start his own band, “Streets.” This left open a seat for a lead vocalist and keyboard player.

For some inexplicable reason, the person chosen for the job was John Elefante. I’ve seen a short list of people who were passed over in Elefante’s favor. Having heard most of them, the question arises; what the hell were they thinking? He isn’t half the singer that Steve Walsh was. There must have been something about him that fascinated Livgren. It was a little like watching John fall for Yoko.

The Elefante period is marked by two albums with musical puns for titles; “Vinyl Confessions” and “Drastic Measures.” That also describes the music contained within, at least by Kansas’ high standards. “Confessions” is particularly dire, and you’re deep into side 2 (for you who remember vinyl) before hearing anything really resembling Kansas. “Measures” at least rocks harder, but it’s still not very good.

Violinist Robby Steinhardt is barely noticeable on “Confessions,” and the Wikipedia article on the band says that he “didn’t show up for the sessions for the next album.” After the support tour for “Measures,” Livgren himself left the band. He gathered some musicians, among them Warren Ham and Mike Gleason, both of whom Elefante had beaten out for the lead vocal chair in Kansas, and went into the studio to record his next solo album.

The session gelled so well that they decided to form a new band. Unfortunately, Livgren was contractually bound to Kansas for life. Livgren’s autobiography, also titled “Seeds of Change,” says that there was a small loophole, although again the Wikipedia article says the loophole was negotiated with the record company, that allowed him to form a band as long as they were marketed to a particular demographic. And so was born the band, “AD.”

I have the first two of AD’s four albums, “Time Line” from 1984 and ‘85’s “Art of the State,” and they’re excellent! Musically they hearken back to the “Audio-Visions” days, but moved on a little further. What is most striking, and different from Kansas, is an air of downright playfulness. As intricate and sophisticated as the music is, they sound like they’re having a great time playing it. And even writing it! Seriously, I could never imagine Kansas pulling out a song like “We Are the Men” from “Art of the State.”

The rest of Kansas didn’t entirely fade away, though. In 1985 Walsh, Williams and Ehart grabbed a new bass player and uber-fusion guitarist Steve Morse for a new album. It’s tempting to refer to this as the Morse years, as he got a lot of writing credits and was, after all, Livgren’s direct replacement. But it would be more honest to call it the Post-Livgren period.

The three albums this grouping recorded between ’85 and ’95 were . . . well, they were actually pretty good, and got progressively better. But they don’t really sound like Kansas. Frankly, they sound more like Journey or Styx. Which isn’t a bad thing . . . unless you’re really expecting Kansas. But Kansas without Kerry Livgren . . .

The first was “Power,” and Morse gets more writers’ credits than Walsh. Three years later was “In the Spirit Of Things,” which was a loosely-constructed concept album about the 1951 flood of Neosho Falls, Kansas. O-o-o-kay. And it took until 1995 for them to do another, during which time they were dropped by their label. Everything from “Freaks of Nature” on has been released on their own label.

They did reunite with Livgren for a tour between “Spirit” and “Freaks,” and even got David Ragsdale, another violinist, so they could do the older stuff live and sound more like themselves. But Livgren left after a while and Morse came back to do “Freaks” and finish their touring commitments.

In 1997 Ragsdale left and Robby Steinhardt returned! The band went into the studio with an orchestra and recorded “Always Never The Same.” It’s an odd collection; a couple covers, a few new tunes, and the rest old Kansas stuff. It may have been a mistake to do this one, because it just emphasizes how great Kerry Livgren’s songs from the ‘70’s were. But it sounds really great, and it shows just how good Rich Williams is on lead guitar. With no Morse or Livgren to cast a shadow over him, he steps forward and rocks the house.

In 2000 Kansas did it’s most recent album, “Somewhere to Elsewhere.” There is some mystery shrouding this album, because all the songs are by Kerry Livgren, even though he’s not officially back in the band. There are stories around that AD was more of a creative success than a financial one, and that he was left with quite a lot of debt. This is given as an explanation in some circles regarding the release of the last two AD albums, and for his offering these songs to Kansas. The other explanation is that they were desperate to touch base with their old fans, and went to him first.

Whatever the reason for doing it, the album . . . well, it’s not bad. Really. It’s probably better than any album under the Kansas name since Audio-Visions. But remember what I said about the first three albums, that everything was played at breakneck speed? That’s not a problem here. Everything seems so ss-l-l-o-o-ww in comparison. The songs aren’t bad, and if you like Kansas they’re probably better than anything from the Morse years. They’re just, well, kinda sleepy.

Livgren had what is described as a “massive stroke” in 2009, but since has recovered enough to continue to write, record, and tour. Remember what I said early on about the Famous Kansas being the third version? Well, the second version’s demo tapes got released in 2003 as “The Lost Kansas Tapes.” It attracted enough attention that Livgren got THAT Kansas back together for some more recording and a tour of Europe. It went well, so that’s been an on-again, off-again project working under the name of Proto-Kaw.

Livgren also has his own small label and production company called Numovox, and has done a few solo albums. I’ve only heard one, a collection of instrumentals called “One of Several Possible Musicks.” Didn’t care for it, frankly, but oh well. And that’s about it, I guess. I’m going to try and get my hands on some Proto-Kaw, and if I think it’s worth a mention I’ll do so.

Of course, it wouldn’t be worth doing one of these without making a recommendation for your collection. If you’re going to get one and only one Kansas album, make it “Leftoverture.” If you don’t like that one, you won’t like any of them. If, on the other hand, that whets your appetite for more, go for the three that came before it; “Kansas,” “Song for America,” and “Masque.”

Once you’ve gone that far, you owe it to yourself to get “Audio-Visions” and Livgren’s first solo project, “Seeds of Change.” By then, what the hell, go find some AD; “Time Line” and “Art of the State” are the best. If you must go further, head for “Point of Know Return” and “Monolith,” along with their first live album, “Two For the Show.” Only then should you consider getting the Morse albums and beyond, or just seeking counseling.

And finally, I would be remiss if I left you with the impression that Kerry Livgren was the whole band.  The Elefante years proved that they also needed Steve Walsh.  And Robby Steinhardt.  And as good as a lot of Livgren's work aside from Kansas has been, the six original members had a certain chemistry that could not be reproduced.

So enjoy the feel of that South wind on your face, and carry on, my wayward son.

Group Dynamics

A rock band is, inevitably, the interaction of two or more people.  How these people interact is always as unique as the people themselves.

The most popular group of all time were The Beatles.  The primaries in this group were, of course, John Lennon and Paul McCartney.  Originally John was the leader of the band, but over time Paul and his songs gained ascendency as John succumbed to internal pressures.  George grew resentful over the duo's control, and Ringo remained philosophical.  It was, of course, much more complicated than this, but that's pretty much it in a nutshell.  The struggle of egos finally broke them apart.

Every group of musicians, rock, country, jazz, even a symphony orchestra - heck, every group of people for any purpose - has its own group dynamic.  This dynamic directs what material gets done, what the next step in their development will be, and how long they'll last, among other things.

Duke Ellington was famous for writing concertos for his primary soloists.  During the Big Band era it wasn't unusual for a lead musician to leave, either to take a better offer from another band leader or to form a band of their own.  Ellington was able to keep his core group together for decades by showcasing them with pieces written specifacally for them.

The Doors didn't play anything except by unanimous consent.  They were known to halt a show for several minutes and argue about what to play next.  NRBQ, on the other hand, went on stage without any set list at all.  Their drummer, Joey Spampinato, called tunes on the fly.

Rush has survived with the same three members for about 35 years.  They have a unique ability to divide up responsibilities on every project; one will do the cover, one will oversee the promotion, another will do something else.  As a writing team, the drummer, Neil Peart, will submit lyrics.  Then the guitarist and bassist, Alex Lifeson and Geddy Lee, work out the music, tweaking the lyrics with Peart as necessary.  Lifeson is presented as the real leader of the band, but if he is he's a very wise one, leaving the others plenty of spotlight time and creative credit.

I especially like a comment he made in a recent video on the history of the band.  Peart wasn't the original drummer, coming in after the first album was already released.  There was the inevitable getting-to-know-each-other period while they were on the road, and Lifeson noted that Peart was always reading.  And some pretty heavy stuff, too.  His reaction was, "Gee, I bet this guy could come up with some awesome words."  And so, Peart was tapped to write lyrics.  A lot of band leaders would have seen someone like Peart as a threat, but Lifeson's attitude was to use that talent to improve the band.

A lot of bands center around one person who serves as the main provider of material and the front man in live situations.  Jethro Tull has Ian Anderson; Dire Straits, Mark Knopfler; John Fogerty served this function for Creedence Clearwater Revival.  Sometimes there are a duo who act as the band's primaries, like Mick Jagger and Keith Richard do for the Rolling Stones, or Robert Plant and Jimmy Page for Led Zeppelin.

Fleetwood Mac are a unique entity in the annals of rock.  Begun largely as a backing group for guitarist Peter Green, he was so impressed with his rhythm section of Mick Fleetwood and John McVie he suggested it as a name for the band.  When he left, the band continued on with other musicians through several iterations, keeping the name along with the rhythm section.  The new people each took a turn as tacit band leaders, but Fleetwood and McVie remained the constants.  Fleetwood even acted as the band's manager for a long time.

Another unique band was Rockpile.  This was a four-piece rock band that never played under that name until near the end of their time together.  The primaries in this group were guitarst Dave Edmunds and bassist Nick Lowe.  Both were songwriters and singers, and both had flourishing solo careers.  Whichever one had a new album to promote, the rest of the band would act as their backup for the following tour.  When it was time for everyone to go their separate ways, they recorded one final album as Rockpile and called it a day.

Supergroups are an interesting phenomenon that came out of the 1960's.  Cream are widely regarded as the first of these.  Eric Clapton rose to prominence playing guitar for the Yardbirds and John Mayall's Bluesbreakers.  He played with bassist Jack Bruce in the Bluesbreakers.  Bruce had previously played with drummer Ginger Baker in another group, and the three decided to join forces.  Although Clapton was arguably better known in the US, Bruce was clearly the leader of the band.  He handled most of the songwriting and lead vocal duties.

Probably the most successful of these bands was Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young.  Each had been in another popular band before they joined forces.  David Crosby and Stephen Stills met and became friends when they were in the Byrds and Buffalo Springfield respectively.  Graham Nash, singer and songwriter for the Hollies, met Crosby when the Byrds came to England.  In 1968, after the Byrds had fired Crosby, they met up again in California.  Crosby suggested they get together with Stills, whose band had imploded the year before, for a jam session at "Mama" Cass Elliott's home.  The rest, as they say, is history.  After a successful first album, they needed more musicians to back them up on tour.  Neil Young, who had been with Stills in Springfield, was brought on board and given equal billing.

This worked well as a partnership.  Crosby was the creative flake, always experimenting with alternate guitar tunings and musical ideas, and had a real gift for harmony.  He wrote songs like "Almost Cut My Hair," "Carry On," and "Deja Vu."  Stills was the workhorse of the band, playing everything on the first album except drums.  Not as wildly creative as Crosby, he was probably the most solid musician and songwriter.  His songs include "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes" and "49 Bye-Bye's."

Graham Nash wrote the hit singles, and they were great ones.  He gets credit for "Marakesh Express" and "Teach Your Children," among others.  As a trio, they seemed unstoppable.  Their pop instincts were brilliant, and their various talents complimented each other.  Enter Neil Young.

In his own way, Young was the equal and the inverse of each of the other three.  He wrote big hits, played every instrument, and was fearlessly creative.  But he was volatile, unstable, and darker than they were.  It could be argued that the album, "Deja Vu" from 1970, was a quantum leap above its predecessor, "Crosby, Stills, and Nash."  But the only two studio albums the quartet did after that were in 1988 ("American Dream") and 2004 ("Looking Forward"), and neither of them are very highly regarded.  As a trio, however, the other three have survived and thrived.

One thing that really drove this band was the ongoing competition between Stills and Young.  Young has always been singled out as the creative genius and his solo career was much more successful than that of the other three.  Stills, on the other hand, was never happy as the "little brother," and was always pushing to exceed his friend, while at the same time celebrating him.  His solo albums have included several of Neil's compositions.

The inner dynamic of The Beatles was a lot like this.  Paul McCartney was ever in John Lennon's shadow, even after songs like "Yesterday" made him the most popular songwriter.  Paul was The Cute One, but it was John's band.  This dynamic continues to this day, with Paul ever striving for John's respect, even after the latter's death.  Think on the 2002 live album by Paul, "Back in the USA," where he credited all the Beatles-era songs to "McCartney/Lennon" instead of the usual "Lennon/McCartney."  Nah, no psychological issues there.

Sometimes a band does well because the principals find a way to work together well and compliment each other's strengths, while de-emphasizing each other's weaknesses.  One example; a casual listen to CSNY's "Four-Way Street" reveals that Nash, in a solo setting, was pretty weak at guitar and piano.  But they wouldn't have gotten nearly the radio airplay without his songs, and his high tenor voice made their famous harmonies work.

Other times it's simply a matter of the band accepting their role as sidemen for their resident genius.  A group like Jethro Tull changes personnel regularly, but remains largly the same.  Charlie Watts sits grinning behind the drumkit behind Jagger and Richards, happy to be in one of the biggest bands of all time, and doing as he darned well pleases in his off-time.  Since the early 1960's they've had three lead guitarists, but only one drummer.

And sometimes three, four, or more powerful egos manage to find a way to work together for the common good.  Credit gets spread around, creative urges are indulged, and the show goes on.  Rush is a great example of this.  So is U2.  Lynyrd Skynyrd would fit into this catagory, operating mainly as an extended family with no real leader, especially since the passing of original lead vocalist Ronnie Van Zandt.  In groups like this, decisions are made by concensus and everybody has room to explore their own muses.

Speaking of Skynyrd, it would have been interesting to see how their relationship with Steve Gaines would have gone.  Gaines was brought in to replace departing guitarist Ed King, who is coincidentally back with the band.  Gaines proved to be a powerful singer and singwriter, sharing a good portion of those duties on his one studio album with the band, "Street Survivors."  It would have been interesting to see if he'd broken away for a solo career, or if Van Zandt would have let him have more of the spotlight.  Unfortunately, he died in the same plane crash as Van Zandt, ending the first era of the band.

The point of this is not necessarily to express a preference.  All these methods work, to varying degrees, mostly depending on the people involved.  Since all the acts mentioned above gained a considerable amount of fame and influence, it could be argued that they were all successful.  Even the ones that didn't last long.  There may be residual hard feelings between Eric Clapton, Ginger Baker, and Jack Bruce, but I've never seen anything to suggest any of them regret being in Cream.

I would be interested in hearing anything anyone has to say about any group they'd been part of; what worked, what didn't, where did ego help, where did it hurt, what did you do for good or ill?  What have you learned on the subject?  And no, don't feel obligated to name names, please.

If I have any suggestion for anyone contemplating a musical union, it would be to go into it with your eyes open.  Be aware of your own strengths and weaknesses.  Be on the lookout for those of the rest of the group.  Be supportive, but also be honest.  If there's something you want to do, say so; don't make the rest of the band guess.  And accept the answer you get.  If your ideas get a negative response, take the time to decide how much they mean to you.  You may have to press your case further, or put them aside for a time, or find another outlet for them.  Or, accept the possibility that they suck and you're wrong.

Jon Anderson has held an unofficial leadership role within Yes over the years purely out of obstinance and persistance.  He would suggest his ideas over and over until everyone broke down and tried them.  And, often, they were pretty good, but the band finally accepted the fact that, if Jon had an idea, they were going to try it.

And most importantly, be prepared for the end to come.  And it most likely will.  Try and let it come in such a way that will allow the members to still be friends.  Every band is an experiment.  And while it's tempting, especially when you're young, for everything you're interested in to be the center of the universe, it's really not.  The breakup of a band may suck, but it's better in the end to let it go and remain friends.  Learn from the experience, and move on with your life.

Boy Sopranos

This is kind of a prequel to a piece on the history of Kansas that I’m working on. It addresses one of my pet peeves regarding ‘70’s rock.

The 1970’s gets a bad rap as far as popular music goes.  The Beatles had broken up, a bunch of people like Jimi, Janis, and Jim Morrison had died, other people like Clapton, Dylan, and the Stones started putting out albums that made you forget how great they were in the ‘60’s.  And then there was Disco.

But if you look beyond that, there was a lot of great music produced between 1970 and 1979. You had the singer-songwriter movement, James Taylor, Jim Croce, Cat Stevens and the like, that came from the folk-rock thing. You had Southern Rock; everything from Skynyrd to Marshall Tucker to Charlie Daniels to the Allman Brothers. Heavy Metal started breaking out with Black Sabbath, Deep Purple, Zeppelin, etc. Punk came around later in the decade. And then there was my personal favorite, Progressive Rock.

One phenomena within all that to come to prominence was what I refer to as “Boy Sopranos;” men who could sing way, way up there. You could trace it back to the Doo-Wop groups, and even Southern Gospel, with men who were either high tenors or sang falsetto. The sound of Frankie Valli of the Four Seasons still makes my teeth itch and my hair hurt. But I think the two that brought this to rock ‘n’ roll were Robert Plant of Led Zeppelin and Jon Anderson of Yes.

Hiring Robert Plant was an easily justified call. Jimmy Page was building a new band from the ashes of the Yardbirds, he wanted somebody that sounded different, and Plant had not only a unique voice but a powerful stage presence. I have to say that, in spite of liking the music, I didn’t care much for him as a singer. As his voice has matured, however, I like him better now.

As for Jon Anderson, he was one of the founders of Yes. And although the occasional reviewer accuses him of singing falsetto, he does NOT! That’s his actual voice, and in his sixties it still has that much range and sounds that good. As a singer, he is definitely a unique specimen. The problem comes when you consider the two people who have tried to replace him at various points in the band’s career. In a nutshell, neither has been up to the task. The questions stands; why didn’t they just hire a girl?

I think that’s a valid question for all the group that employ boy sopranos; why not just get a girl? It’s not like there aren’t any women who like rock, and even very hard rock. And many of them can also play an instrument. It’s an especially valid question when a long-standing group loses its lead singer. Yes and Kansas spring immediately to mind.

There are two probable reasons for this. One is that, to varying degrees, a lot of rockers are misogynists. They just don’t want women around, period. When you’re in a band, you’ve kind of got to be friends with the rest of the group. You have to ride with them on a bus or plane, go to dinner, rehearse, perform, and it tends to be a boy’s club. They’re not comfortable hanging around with women in that context.

The other reason is, you have to ride with them on a bus or plane, go to dinner, rehearse, perform . . . check into hotels, maybe even share a room . . . How many bands have been busted up by sexual tension? How many bands with women and men together have involved romance? Yeah, grown-ups should be able to establish parameters and honor them, but we’re talking about rock ‘n’ rollers here. Young, healthy, creative people jammed full of fresh hormones.

This proved to be a problem with Heart, in spite of the fact that the Wilson sisters are the primaries of the band. But a relationship with their lead guitarist, and then its end, cost them the services of a very good player. Pat Benatar solved the problem by marrying the man who was her lead guitarist and primary songwriting partner, and last I knew they were still together. Janis Joplin just slept with everybody. That’s not true, but it’s the impression you get.

One of the most interesting examples is the group No Doubt.  Gwen Stefani, the lead singer, had an intimate relationship with the bass player.  In the process of recording their next album the relationship went south.  Gwen directed her energy into her songwriting, and the bass player had to put up with her showing up in the studio with her bringing new songs about how much of a bastard he was.  But he hung in there, and the album turned out to be their first hit; "Tragic Kingdom."

But to get back to the original point; do you really like the sound of Geddy Lee’s voice? Especially in the early days? Or Dennis DeYoung? Or Steve Perry, if you’re honest with yourself? Or any of a hundred others?

Personally, the most annoying thing about boy sopranos, aside from the fact that many of them just don’t sound good, is that normal human beings who happen to be male can’t cover their songs. I mean, what’s easier to play than “Dust In The Wind?” But who can SING the damned thing?!? Not me, that’s for sure. And every now and then someone will ask me if we do any Zep or Journey. Lessee, I’ll need a pair of vise grips and a couple of rubber bands . . . And don’t get me started on AC-DC!

Oh, all right, Steve Perry’s not that bad. In fact, he’s actually pretty good. And Dennis DeYoung . . . well, he’s all right, I guess. Steve Walsh of Kansas is VERY good. And Geddy Lee’s gotten a lot better. And Zep is so good, I don’t care how many times Plant goes “Aaaiii! Aaaiii! Aaaiii!” And Jon Anderson, well, he’s just unbelievable! And none of the others really lasted that long. The guy they got in GTR, that’s one album, I can take it as long as Howe and Hackett keep playing. New England (The Final Countdo-o-own) didn’t last long, along with all the other proto-hair-band dudes that sounded like ladies.

And in the final analysis, at least none of them were David Lee Roth.