The Replacements are the band that I was referring to yesterday. They were the best band of the eighties for several reasons, but at the top of the list is how they kept the spirit of rock and roll alive in a musically desolate decade. (And yes, I know that I wrote yesterday how I'm going to try to write only positive things and so on, but I had to live through it, OK?) Anyway, I recently read a very interesting book about the 'Mats (short for Placemats, a nickname for the band - it sort of sounds the same, I guess) called The Replacements: All Over But the Shouting: An Oral History (2007) by Jim Walsh, that was written in a very compelling way. Walsh allows the band's story to be told from numerous viewpoints - friends, family, fellow musicians, etc. - and their recollections and thoughts combine to give a sense of how important a story it is. They were a great band, but there is always a sense of ironic detachment in their work, and maybe they were even more interesting because of it. For example, often the central message they conveyed was that they shouldn't be taken seriously, but of course the self-knowledge and intellect that was always apparent underneath the nonchalant wildness said the opposite. I'll be writing more on them tomorrow, but in the meantime you might want to check out one of their "anti-videos": Search The Replacements "Bastards of Young" in YouTube or The Replacements "The Ledge" video in Google.

With the benefit of hindsight, it seems pretty clear that the worst decade in rock history was the eighties. In fact, I've been trying to avoid the subject, because, as I hope you've noticed, I was very much influenced by something Auden once wrote and I've been trying to apply it to this blog. It was something along the lines of there being so much good work that goes unnoticed or unappreciated, that there isn't (or shouldn't be) enough time to write about the things one doesn't like. He was writing about poetry at the time, but I think it's fair to apply the concept to music as well. OK, that being said, I'm going to stay positive about the eighties, and tomorrow I'm going to write about the decade's best band.

I just re-read some of the things that I wrote about the New York Dolls in June, and while most of it is OK, I think I was a little unclear in regard to their musicianship. Their playing, even now, is hard to describe. It contains a lot of energy, and a lot of blues and fifties-rock knowledge, but it's made up of jagged edges. Of course, smoothness was the last thing they were trying for - like many great artists they were interested in shaking an audience up, and they did it really well. Famously, they were proclaimed the best and the worst new group of 1973 by a Creem magazine poll. They were polarizing, in other words, just like their offspring, punk rock, would be a few years later. But it was clear to me, then and now, which side was right. The late, great Frankie Venom (frontman for Teenage Head) put it succinctly: "If you don't like the Dolls, you're not hip." Amen.

If there's a song that captures all of their qualities, it has to be "Personality Crisis", the first track from New York Dolls (1973) - where Johansen's opening seemed to foreshadow the reaction of the world: "Waaaaaaoo/ Yeah, yeah, yeah / Oh no no no no, no no no no/ Ow"

That says it all.

The entrance and opening number of a rock concert is often the most memorable part of the show. I've seen a lot of good ones, but the best by a mile was the Ramones at La Ronde, the island amusement park in Montreal, in the summer of 1991. Because of La Ronde's location (there is a large but contained body of water behind the stage) the band took the opportunity to make a unique and dramatic appearance - by boat. And there they stood, at the bow, never moving, like an album cover, as they slowly made their way toward the crowd that had gone down to the railings to meet them. They looked like rock and roll vikings. No, check that - they were rock and roll vikings. As soon as the gangplank touched down, they went tearing through the hysterical fans - with leather jackets, guitars, and drumsticks - onto the stage, where Dee Dee let loose the immortal words that bring forth rock and roll: "ONE TWO THREE FOUR!!!"

And this was just one of how many unforgettable moments these guys provided. Looking at their career from this vantage point, they seem very philosophically sophisticated - much more than they were given credit for at the time - because they managed to keep in mind that rock and roll is supposed to be fun. Even when they weren't having any themselves - according to the film, End of the Century: The Story of The Ramones (2003), they toured primarily by van and the two principal members, Johnny and Joey, didn't speak for seventeen years (!) - they made sure their audience did.

Johnny Ramone was once asked about his playing in a somewhat patronizing way by an interviewer from a rock mag. His reply was something along the lines of this: "I'd like to see one of the fancy guitar players strum as hard and fast as I do, for as long as I do." So great. So right. No one has ever played the guitar like Johnny Ramone. The excitement that he (and his band, of course) created is still being felt. His playing got to the essence of rock and roll at a time when it was badly needed. How many fancy guitarists have done that? (Suggested viewing: Search The Ramones Blitzkrieg Bop Live Studio Hamburg in YouTube. More on The Ramones tomorrow.)

Loaded (1970) was the fourth and final studio album by the Velvet Underground (until VU and Another View, both of which consist of material recorded before the Loaded sessions, were released in 1985 and 1986 respectively). Like the first three, it's a surprise. The sound of the album is more conventional, due largely to a more conventional rhythm section - Doug Yule had replaced John Cale on bass, and Maureen Tucker was on pregnancy leave. The album's title came from Reed, who correctly felt that the album was "loaded with hits". "Sweet Jane" and "Rock and Roll" are both among the greatest rock songs, and "Head Held High" is up there too, in my opinion. There are several examples of the kind of melancholy that it seem like only The Velvets can portray, as well: "New Age", "I Found a Reason", "Sweet Nuthin'" and "Who Loves the Sun" are all beautiful heart-breakers.

Loaded also contains several references to doo-wop, the form of fifties rhythm and blues that uses vocals as instrumentation, which was where Reed's rock interest began. It brought to mind a great line in "Down at the Arcade" from New Sensations, his brilliant 1984 solo album: "It's rooted in the fifties, but its heart's in 1984". Substitute 1984 for whatever year you're living in at the moment and you have a pretty good description of this timeless band.

The Velvet Underground (1969), the group's third album, was a big departure from their previous work. John Cale had left the band at this point, and no time was wasted in getting his replacement, Doug Yule, into the game: he sings the opening track, the majestic "Candy Says", the song that sets the stage for the rest of the album. It incorporates themes and images concerned with loneliness, disappointment, moral decision-making and transcendence. The chord progression is both very unusual and very natural (not an easy combination to achieve): D/ F# minor/ F major/ B7/ E minor/ A7/ D/ A. The F major chord, which occurs between "...says" and "I've come to hate my body" provides a highly chromatic moment that gives the melody a strong feeling of direction - which continues throughout the song. The sound of the album, which also takes its cue from the first track, is completely counter to White Light/White Heat. Here, the band was looking for beauty - and they found it. The lyrics, the melodies, the playing, the instrumentation (which features a lot of acoustic guitar) and above all, the honesty - beautiful is the only word for it. It is without question one of the greatest rock albums ever made, and it never entered Billboard's Top 200. (As was written on a sticker on one of Joe Strummer's guitars: "Ignore Alien Orders".)

For post number 100, it works out cool that I get to write about White Light/White Heat, the second and arguably the most adventurous and disturbing album by The Velvet Underground. It's an album that is meant to explore the underside of rock, without any dishonesty or apology. Its sound, while certainly not to everyone's taste, matches its subjects and succeeds in shaking up a listener, even today. The title track opener has (like "Sweet Jane") entered into the "very frequently covered" category, and deservedly so. The second track, "The Gift", consists of a short story written by Lou Reed and read by John Cale in one channel, and the band playing an instrumental (elsewhere called "Booker T.") in the other. "Lady Godiva's Operation", like "Here She Comes Now", features a melodic sense that is unique to The Velvets with an outrageous lyric (even by their standards) to top it off. It's bizarre but marvelous, as is the rest of the album, which closes with the escaped id screamer "Sister Ray", perhaps the most polarizing song in rock and roll. I'll let Sterling Morrison have the last word: "We were all pulling in the same direction. We may have been dragging each other off a cliff, but we were all definitely going in the same direction. In the White Light/White Heat era, our lives were chaos. That's what's reflected in the record."

A little nervous today, because for the next few days I'm going to be writing about The Velvet Underground, and I want to do them justice. I've decided that I'll write one post about each of the four albums, and so today it's The Velvet Underground and Nico.

OK, first off, if Andy Warhol was to only produce one rock album, it had be this one. It seems like everything that he did was, at the very least, thought-provoking and at times, like here, ground-breaking, iconoclastic, lasting. This album, completed in 1966, but due to all sorts of record company errors released in March of 1967, still sounds avant-garde today. Thousands of bands got their inspiration from it, but very few (if any) ever matched its depth and diversity.

It began with Lou Reed. I've always felt that if rock and roll were personified, it'd be him. A troubled teen who loved early rock and doo-wop, who wore nail polish (in the fifties!), who actually received shock treatment therapy with the OK of his distraught parents, who studied literature at Syracuse (where he met the poet Delmore Schwartz, from whom he got his anti-commercial, aboveboard bearings), became the first songwriter in rock to incorporate the goals of serious literature into rock music. Then there was John Cale, the Welsh-born multi-instrumentalist (bass, viola, celeste, etc.) with ties to the contemporary classical music world, who gave the album two of its most prominent characteristics: its use of drones (influenced by his work with La Monte Young) and his distinctive choices as a bassist. Sterling Morrison, on guitar, provided the group a potent lead player and a philosophically advanced thinker, while Maureen Tucker was a perfect drummer for a group that was both experimental and primitive - listen to her playing on "Heroin", for an example.

Then there is the group's extra-musical quality. I guess the best way that I can describe it is to call it a seriousness of purpose. It has the same earnest quality as the best jazz (Coltrane comes to mind), but their virtuosity is not primarily of a musical kind - it's conceptual and intellectual in nature. For example, the above-mentioned "Heroin" and "I'm Waiting for the Man" both deal with drug addiction from the point-of-view of the addict, which is a revolutionary concept, even for today. These songs encourage a listener to empathize and understand. And the album as a whole therefore, despite its dark subject matter, is ultimately (as another great poet put it) "an affirming flame".

The MC5 had a profound influence in three ways: their political stance, and us against them attitude, had a major effect on the activist branch of punk to follow. Groups like The Clash and Rage Against the Machine (and many, many others) got their playbook from them. Their sound had a major effect on the work of other Detroit bands like The Stooges and Alice Cooper (and therefore on all the groups that these ones influenced). Also, they had a free-wheeling, daredevilish quality that inspired many other groups, including Sonic Youth (who got their nickname from Fred "Sonic" Smith) and The New York Dolls, who have (I almost wrote "had") the same rare quality of fun-loving confrontation. And despite all this, they are frequently overlooked. But they won't be forever. As the years go by, it becomes clearer that some groups had artistic success without the commercial kind. The influence of The MC5 can still be heard in the best punk bands of today - Against Me! for example - and it will continue.

When rock musicians are called influential, it's usually meant to mean that a lot of other artists learned from them and tried to sound like them, and so on. But this can be a tricky area for a few reasons. One: the artists themselves may not completely understand where certain aspects of their musical conception came from. Even improvisers, who learn their craft largely through the detailed copying and emulation of their predecessors' solos, will not be entirely certain in this regard. Two: music has a much larger sphere of influence than on musicians only. Was the influence of Elvis Presley primarily a musical one? I don't think so - not primarily anyway. Three: when we start to discuss influence, we run the risk of forgetting that great music exists in an eternal present, and that we shouldn't put it in a museum, we should listen to it.

OK, for the next couple of posts I'll be writing about The MC5, and yes, they were influential - I'll go into that tomorrow. But today, with the help of two of their greatest songs, I want to make the point that they should be listened to - period. "Kick Out The Jams", a title that has become a rock and roll idiom, is a ferocious song with a famous, obscene opening that, like the band's stage antics, was meant (at least partially) to taunt the authorities that opposed and threatened them. It was 1968, don't forget. Those were different times, as one of their contemporaries once said, but the song's power and excitement is still there - to the max. And it might have the single most exciting line I've heard in a rock song ("Put that mike in my hand and let me kick out the jams!"). "Looking at You" from Back in the USA (1970), is a blistering two-chord classic. It's amazing that so much melody can unravel from such a small number of chords. The guitar solos, by Fred "Sonic" Smith and Wayne Kramer, are great examples of the way the band was influenced by the spirit of free jazz. Oops, there's that word again. Anyway, check 'em out. More tomorrow.

I got to see The Bad Plus at L'Astral last night (the early show) and they were brilliant. They did several songs from their new album - which I picked up yesterday and will be writing about soon - including the album closer, "Super America", which lives up to its title in both wit and wisdom; "My Friend Metatron", which is also by their incandescent drummer, Dave King; and the title track, "Never Stop", by their anchoring bassist, Reid Anderson. Another highlight was the ultra-sophisticated pianist Ethan Iverson's "Guilty" (from 2003's These Are the Vistas), an exploration of the blues, on which he displayed his wide-ranging skills and influences - they opened with a Stravinsky piece ("Variation d'Apollon") and made it swing, for example. (By the way, I highly recommend Iverson's blog; it's called Do The Math - here's the link: http://dothemath.typepad.com/ .) And they saved the best for last: the encore began with "Flim", a beautiful cover of a song by the electronic group Aphex Twin, and was followed by a version of the standard "Have You Met Miss Jones?" that I'm still processing. It's hard to believe what they did with it. I'll try to describe it as follows: they moved, with a logic that's beyond my comprehension, from a medium swing tempo to an ultra-fast one (at least 320 beats per minute) and back down, and then back up, etc. It was like a funhouse mirror show (or whatever those things are called) for the ears. I know two things: I can't really describe it, and I'll never forget it. To hear something comparable in effect, listen to their version of Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb" from For All I Care (2009), which features Wendy Lewis on lead vocal with a great harmony vocal from Reid Anderson. Other suggested listening: everything else by The Bad Plus.

A short note today to tell you what I'll be posting on in the next little bit. I haven't written much about punk, particularly the American variety - so upcoming will be some thoughts on the MC5, The Velvet Underground, The Ramones, The Replacements, and perhaps more. Tonight, I'll be going to see The Bad Plus, who could perhaps be categorized as jazz-punk. (If I ever meet one of them, I'll try to get their OK for this.) Obviously, their virtuosity precludes them from being considered as real punkers - Paul Robinson, singer of The Diodes, once told me that for him a punk band has to learn to play together - but their confrontational, anti-style attitude puts them in the honourary category, for me anyway. Also, they've covered songs by The Pixies, Blondie, Nirvana, Wilco... I'll be writing about their new album, Never Stop, and tonight's concert in the days ahead, as well. (Suggested listening: "Physical Cities", "Everywhere You Turn")

The guitarist Jonny Greenwood is Radiohead's secret weapon. The youngest member of the band, he functions as arranger, composer, and multi-instrumentalist. He is responsible for re-harmonizing and re-setting the band's songs, and in doing so incorporates ideas from jazz, modern classical music, electronic music, and reggae while finding innovative uses for a broad range of instrumentation. His compositional accomplishments outside of Radiohead are remarkable, as well. He's composed brilliant soundtracks for two films (Bodysong and There Will Be Blood), that easily stand with any modern classical compositions I've heard in the last decade. Listening to a musical artist of his caliber in a rock band is a rare treat. Roll over Beethoven? Why? He's in the group. (Suggested viewing: Search Pyramid Song: Prague DVD and These Are My Twisted Words: Prague DVD in YouTube.)

Arranging is the step that is missing from a lot of rock music. Many groups consider the song to be finished once the harmony (i.e. the chords) and the melody are done, producing an effect that usually sounds underwritten. If a group features one or more great players, their improvisational abilities (sometimes thought of as "arranging in the moment") can mask this fact. But even better is when the band is comprised of great arrangers, as is the case with Radiohead, a group that has developed their arranging abilities to an unprecedented level in rock music. And they didn't start out that way. Their first album, Pablo Honey (1993), although it shows some of their promise, almost approaches grunge music in its lack of development. Their next album, The Bends (1995), was a huge step forward with many (but not all) of the tracks showing their abilities at full power. OK Computer (1997) was the first in their unbroken string of five straight masterpieces, culminating in 2007's In Rainbows. The primary factor that led to these accomplishments was their growth as arrangers. In my post of June 25, I wrote about their songwriting process, which I learned about from a New Yorker article by Alex Ross entitled "The Searchers", the main point here being that their method of working requires that each member of the group be entirely responsible for creating his own parts, and in a band that features three guitarists, and has made two albums largely dominated by electronic instrumentation (Kid A and Amnesiac), that means creativity was (and is) required. More tomorrow. (Suggested listening: "I Might Be Wrong", "Scatterbrain", "Reckoner")

Yesterday, I referred to the orchestration done on Love's brilliant Forever Changes (1967). And in an earlier post, I discussed the difference between orchestration and arranging, because the terms are not synonymous - arranging involves writing parts based on a preexisting piece, while orchestration involves redistributing parts already written. But orchestration can be used to mean arranging occasionally, and in fact, I did so yesterday.

OK, today I'll recommend a recording that should clarify all of this. Frank Sinatra Sings for Only the Lonely (1958) was arranged (for orchestra) by Nelson Riddle. The point I'm trying to make is that even if the parts are written for an orchestra as they are here, it's still called arranging, because the parts are original work. Some consider arranging as similar to composing within a composition. In fact, one of the great pleasures in listening to Sinatra's greatest recordings is to listen to the arrangements that were done for them. Sinatra was a musical genius who inspired the best work from his colleagues, and Nelson Riddle was right at the top of the list. This album, apparently Sinatra's favourite, proves it.

Love, the Los Angeles-based band featuring Arthur Lee, is best known for Forever Changes (1967), which usually pops up on lists of the greatest rock albums in history. Rightly so. It's a brilliant record that captures its time with uncanny accuracy - because the "Summer of Love" should probably be remembered as much for its paranoia as for anything else. Both sides of the generation gap were locked in mental combat, with the media recording everything (Vietnam has been called the first televised war). This album brings us into the middle of all of it. Many great albums were released that year, including Sgt. Pepper's and The Velvet Underground and Nico, but Forever Changes still stands alongside, and maybe even above, all of them.

There are several reasons for its power and longevity. First is the songwriting. Arthur Lee had reached full maturity as a musician on this album (Love's third), and his songcraft and leadership are greatly in evidence. Also, the contributions of Bryan MacLean who wrote "Old Man", "Alone Again Or" (the album's tone-setting opener), and co-wrote (with Lee) the awesomely beautiful "Andmoreagain", were once again of major impact, although few in number. (It could be argued that he wrote the best single track on the first album, Love (1966) with "Softly to Me", and on the second, Da Capo (1967) as well, with "Orange Skies".) Another standout quality is the album's orchestration, done by David Angel, who worked largely by transcribing the musical ideas that Lee would sing to him. The result is unique and wonderful. The entire album is. (I'll be posting on their later, unjustly neglected albums soon.)

T. Rex' The Slider (1972) is a great album. It features Marc Bolan at his best. His vocals (he sounds like John Keats would, were he a rock and roll singer), his rhythm guitar playing (which like the best of them, is more about what's implied than what's played) and his songwriting were all at their peak. Every song seems built around a beautiful rock melody. The lyrics could be categorized as post-Dylan surrealist, and they're a blast. "Telegram Sam", perhaps my favourite track, may contain a tribute to the great man:

Bobby's alright, Bobby's alright

He's a natural born poet, he's just outta sight

Automatic shoes, automatic shoes

Give me 3-D vision and the California blues

With lyrics like these, song titles like "Metal Guru", and "Rabbit Fighter", and maybe the greatest album cover photo in history, well you know the rest...

"I'm Mandy, Fly Me", the center of 10cc's brilliant How Dare You! album from 1976, is a pop masterpiece. The lyric deals with the promise of adventure and romance which the advertising industry uses (and often abuses) for profit, but which may lead to good stuff anyway. It's unclear if we're meant to think of the story as real or imagined, and in one way it doesn't matter: The romantic yearning (and therefore the song itself) is there either way. Here's a representative excerpt:

I've often heard her jingle

It's never struck a chord

With a smile as bright as sunshine

She called me through the poster

And welcomed me aboard

Thematically, it raises a very interesting question - is the imagination or the reality of an event more important and/or productive? Musically, the song is as rich as the best of The Beach Boys or The Beatles (which is saying a lot, I know). It has a cinematic sweep to it (as 10cc's work often does), and it features a beautiful, expressive lead vocal by Eric Stewart. It's most definitely worth a listen.

10cc was the combination of the talents of four songwriters from Manchester. Their greatest album is probably How Dare You! from 1976. It was the last album that would feature all four original members (Kevin Godley, Lol Creme, Eric Stewart, and Graham Gouldman) and it's a wonderful listening experience for many reasons. First, they were a band that was most at home in the studio - they've been compared to Steely Dan in that regard - and their records demonstrate a proficiency in both playing and recording that makes them luxurious, sonically-speaking. This album features nine songs that were all written by either two or three members, in six different combinations, but never all four, and it's interesting to try to determine which parts of each song were the likely contributions of the different writers. The album showcases their senses of humour as well: "I Wanna Rule the World" and "Iceberg" are two good examples. It's not only the lyrics that show their wit - the music does as well. The title of their previous album was The Original Soundtrack (1975), and it was an appropriate one because the most apt description of their music might be "cinematic". Tomorrow, I'll write about the song that is the album's center-piece.

Stevie Wonder's Fulfillingness' First Finale (1974) might be the greatest r&b album of all time. The writing, arranging, singing, and playing are all at a level best described as unmatched. The album should be listened to as a suite (i.e. without interruption), and taken as a model for anyone involved in music - including listeners. The album (as the title suggests) is a sort of culmination of the years of work that preceded it - especially his time spent with the musicians of the Motown studio band known as The Funk Brothers. The influence of these musicians, and particularly the genius bassist, James Jamerson, can be heard throughout this record. I think it's clear that the record was intended, partially at least, as a tribute, and that's why Jamerson appears on only one track, "Too Shy to Say". (For a more representative example of Jamerson's work with Wonder, listen to "Hello, Young Lovers" on Ma Cherie Amour from 1969.) I'll be writing more on both of these giants in posts to come.

Bright Size Life (1976) was Pat Metheny's first album as a leader. He was twenty-one at the time of its recording. It features eight original compositions and one by his mentor, the free-jazz saxophonist Ornette Coleman. The rhythm section is Bob Moses on drums, who plays brilliantly throughout, and the nonpareil bassist Jaco Pastorius, who provides his usual combination of virtuosity and thoughtfulness. Like many of Metheny's works, the record has a heartland theme (he's from a suburb of Kansas City), with titles such as "Missouri Uncompromised", "Omaha Celebration" and "Midwestern Night's Dream". You can definitely hear it in the music. It's open and spacious - the sonic equivalent of a long highway drive. The album foreshadows Metheny's career: the writing, the adventurous and unique playing, the generous roles he supplies to his collaborators. And what a career it's been. Without question, he'll be remembered as one of the very greatest of all jazz guitarists - one of the greatest of all jazz musicians, in fact. For an introduction to his work, this is the album.

A jazz standard (as opposed to, simply, a standard) is a song written by a jazz musician that gets covered so frequently that it enters into the repertoire of improvising musicians on a permanent basis. It doesn't happen all that often (most jazz repertoire still comes from what is called The Great American Songbook - Broadway and Hollywood, in other words), but pieces such as "All Blues" and "Nardis" by Miles Davis, "Dolphin Dance" by Herbie Hancock, and "Round Midnight" by Thelonius Monk are some well-known examples. One jazz standard that I've heard many musicians call their favourite tune of any kind is "Falling Grace", by the great bass guitarist and composer, Steve Swallow. It is extraordinary in its modulations (i.e. key changes). Depending on how one analyzes it, it could be considered as changing its key center fourteen times (!) in a twenty-four measure song. Yet there is logic and consistency throughout. The piece was originally written for the piano giant Bill Evans, and his versions are the ones that I'll recommend at the top of the list, but search Gary Burton Quartet fea. Pat Metheny - Falling Grace in YouTube to hear Swallow (followed by Burton and Metheny) solo brilliantly on a brilliant song.

Of all the great songs on Little Feat's 1972 masterpiece, Sailin' Shoes, the one that keeps coming to the front (for me) is Bill Payne's "Got No Shadow". There are several reasons for this. For one thing, the song requires many hearings before it can be truly appreciated. The melody is elaborate and beautiful (the opening two words - "Take yourself" - require an astonishing ten seconds for the melodic material they contain to unfold); the band plays with the kind of freedom that can only arrive after much disciplined effort (their rhythmic interplay deserves its own listen); the recently deceased Richie Hayward's drumming can only be described as wonderful; and Lowell George's singing and slide guitar playing are at their glittering best. Also, the song seems to point the way that this unique group was going to be heading for the next thirty-eight years: creating American music that is both deeply rooted and entirely original. Here's hoping for many more.

Radiohead have been very impressive in their ability to interact seamlessly with the 21st century zeitgeist. Since OK Computer (1997), they've understood that the current age was going to concern interchange between mind and machine, and their work has rendered this fact in fascinating ways. This includes their live performances. Their recent tours of 2008 and 2009 dealt with this concept in a very interesting manner: Giant video images of the band at work were screened at the back, while what looked like stalactites of crystal lit up in numerous ways. In fact, it was often the case that the only things on stage that were not pulsating with light and colour were the band members themselves. To me, it symbolized the idea that it was not the band, but rather their emanations (as Blake might have put it) that were the objects of attention - the part of themselves that technology can capture, in other words. The song "How to Disappear Completely" from Kid A treats the same concept with the memorable and factual line: "I'm not here/ This isn't happening". Because, when we listen to a recording - he isn't here and it isn't happening.

The new DVD, Live in Praha (i.e. Prague) was recorded by some fifty cellphone-toting fans on August 23, 2009, and the band, impressed, approved the project and let them use the soundboard recording. It is now available as a free download: http://radiohead-prague.nataly.fr/ - or individual songs can be viewed on YouTube. (I haven't watched the whole thing yet, but my favourite number so far is the third - "Weird Fishes" from In Rainbows - which features all three guitarists playing interlocking parts and contributing to an extraordinary texture that, appropriately, brings to mind a sub-marine setting.) The entire project raises many questions of a philosophical nature regarding cooperation between artist and audience and the technology involved with each. If this is the future, count me in.

Little Feat's "Feats Don't Fail Me Now" (1974) may have the strongest opening three songs I've heard on any album, and the coolest thing is that each one was written by a different member of the band. "Rock and Roll Doctor", co-written by Lowell George and Fred Martin, is astonishing in its complexity. Its form, rhythms and harmonic content are all at very high levels of sophistication - the song quite literally doesn't repeat itself in any way, and yet it remains a unified, coherent whole. My theory on what George was trying to achieve with the piece is that he wanted to show that rock and roll can be as multi-faceted as jazz, classical or any other type of music - and it makes you want to dance on top of it. He might as well have been writing about himself when he wrote: "Two degrees in bebop/ A Ph.D. in swing/ He's a master of rhythm/ He's a rock and roll king."

Bill Payne's "Oh Atlanta!" and Paul Barrere's "Skin it Back" are two more brilliant rockers that repay multiple hearings. Listen for the combination of surprise and inevitability in the chord changes alone, for example. Of course, the band's performance on these songs (and the rest of the album) deserves close listening as well. Every member of this group had his own style and yet knew how to make it work for the collective. The great bassist Kenny Gradney, in discussing this quality, once called Little Feat a "baseball team band". To which I would add that there aren't many groups, to this day, that could go nine innings with them.

Little Feat recently lost one of its founding members: the great drummer Richie Hayward died on August 12, 2010 of pneumonia and complications from lung disease. To really appreciate his artistry, its important to understand his group. Little Feat's early leader - its singer and main songwriter - was Lowell George, one of the greatest of rock musicians. His talent, work ethic and democratic leadership allowed the band to grow at an incredible rate. Along the way they seem to have amalgamated virtually every form of American music into their style. They released an excellent self-titled first album in 1971, but their second, Sailin' Shoes (1972) was the first of many masterpieces to come. Over the years the lineup changed to include Paul Barrere (guitar), Sam Clayton (percussion), and Ken Gradney (bass), while the original core of Hayward, George and pianist Bill Payne remained intact. (Other important contributions to the Little Feat legacy have been made by Roy Estrada, Shaun Murphy, Craig Fuller and Fred Tackett.) I'm going to write about them for the next few days, but for today, I'm going to recommend you give a listen to the opening track to Sailin' Shoes, "Easy to Slip". It puts many of Richie's greatest attributes on display - his touch, his funk, his use of space, his technical ability. He'll be missed.

Among his many qualities, Elvis Costello has great taste in music. In fact, this attribute is not talked about enough when discussing musicians - how serious listening and discernment are important in building the other skills. Anyway, he once stated that in his opinion the three greatest American rock bands (I don't remember the order, or if he gave one) were Steely Dan, The Band and Little Feat. I've written about the first two several times, but I don't believe I've mentioned Little Feat yet. I'll correct that tomorrow.

Trying to determine the complexity of a song by counting the number of chords it contains is a mistake. For example, you sometimes hear people complain about "three-chord rock" and so on. First, it's important to remember that chords are resting places and not starting points. Therefore all music will tend to gravitate towards a small number of chords - often three, because all seven notes of a scale can be harmonized in that manner. Second, chords can be used in all kinds of ways - they can provide energy (dissonance) or rest (consonance). "Beyond Belief", the opening track on Elvis Costello's brilliant Imperial Bedroom album from 1982, is an example of both of these points. Check it out.

I hope that empathy doesn't disappear from rock music lyrics. It might be the most important function of art, if you think about it - the way that it can help us to enter imaginatively into another person's situation and emotional/psychological state. Because as life goes by, we realize that most of us will never encounter all the types of people that make up a world. There isn't the time for one thing. But with the help of literature, music, the visual arts, etc. we can go to many places and meet many people. (I always liked the title of William Blake's poem "The Mental Traveller".)

Over the last couple of posts, I've written about two great Robbie Robertson songs that require empathy to be fully appreciated. Here's another. "The Shape I'm In" from Stage Fright (1970) is one of the most powerful lyrics I've ever come across. It presents a series of rough experiences, unadorned. And it raises more questions than it answers - it's comparable to Hemingway in some regards - but once you've heard it, just try to forget it. The crux of the song comes at the end with the following line: "Save your neck/ Or save your brother/ Looks like it's/ One or the other". And it's all made more poignant by the fact that its singer, the great Richard Manuel, died by his own hand in 1986 at the age of forty-two.