I think it's safe to say that there are very few, and perhaps not any, rock guitarists who've used the instrument to as many ends as Queen's Brian May. Over the course of his career, he's experimented with all sorts of overdubbing techniques in his famed guitar orchestrations; used delay to extensive effect (particularly on "Brighton Rock" on both live and studio versions); arranged all sorts of accompaniments in countless styles; and played some of the most beautiful (and varied) solos ever recorded. He strikes me as part George Harrison (i.e. he puts the the band first and thinks like a session musician) and part Clapton (i.e. he can wail). I also think that working with Freddie Mercury must have pushed his abilities a great deal, as frequently Mercury would be quite precise in what he wanted from the guitar, but because he would use the piano to demonstrate, May would then be required to find ways of playing parts that were not in the standard bag of rock guitar tricks. Of course, he made large contributions to Mercury's development, and to the other members' as well. If I had to pick one track as representative of May's six-string artistry, it would be "Death On Two Legs", the opening track from A Night at the Opera (1975). Every note that he plays is brilliant, but the sound sculpture guitar solo is amazing, even by his standards: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4zmv1IFCOA.

Oscar Peterson is the most famous jazz musician from Montreal, and probably from Canada, in fact. He was one of the greats, certainly. And I don't mean this as a slight in any way, but I'm not sure that his will be the longest-lasting influence. I think Paul Bley's is, and will be, more significant for two main reasons: his conceptual contributions, and the importance of the people that he shared them with during his astonishing career. Aside from Miles Davis, I don't think anyone has a list of collaborators with the diversity of Bley's: Charlie Parker, Charles Mingus, Charlie Haden, Ornette Coleman, Pat Metheny, Chet Baker, Bill Evans, Gary Peacock, Carla Bley, and many others. Not only is this list of giants impressive on its own, but it seems as if Bley was involved with them at pivotal moments of their careers, and therefore of jazz history itself. A good place to learn about Bley's work is his 1999 autobiograpy, Stopping Time: Paul Bley and the Transformation of Jazz. It's surprising, insightful, funny and moving: sort of like his music. Here's "When Will the Blues Leave?" from his 1962 album, Footloose (with Steve Swallow and Pete LaRoca) one of his great trio recordings and a major contributor to the style of Keith Jarrett, among others: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kyjis-gBwAM.

In case there are any big Steely Dan fans out there that have never heard the great song called "Dallas" that was left off their brilliant debut album, Can't Buy a Thrill (from 1972), here it is: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aFM-xKKb6pw&playnext=1&list=PLF2E659FEDDFC2A23&index=12. Sung by the late Jim Hodder, who also sang "Midnight Cruiser", it brings this big Steely Dan fan back to the sense of astonishment that I felt in hearing them, and the above-mentioned album, for the first time. It takes a heck of a good album to exclude a song like this one, don't you think? Anyway, Poco, the excellent country-rockers originally formed by ex-Buffalo Springfield members, did a very good cover of it on their 1975 Head Over Heels album, but I can't find it on YouTube. But you might also want to check out "Sail the Waterway", if you like this one (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y8TAxYE-x-E&feature=related).

Another interesting moment in the Keith Jarrett: The Art of Improvisation DVD, that I've referred to a few times, comes during a conversation with the Standards Trio's incomparable rhythm section, Jack DeJohnette and Gary Peacock, when Peacock has a tremendous insight into the process required of an improvisor: "First, the music enters us. And if the music enters you, you don't have to worry so much about what to play; the music's telling you what to play." The reason that this is so helpful is that it happens very often that a musician begins to solo on a tune before the tune has been thoroughly learned. And until it has, nothing sounds right, even things that should be correct, technically speaking. But once the tune has been integrated, it's hard to go wrong. I think of it as the song-writer telling the player the following: "Now let me get this straight - you want to use my work as a vehicle for improvisation, but without really learning it." Strangely enough, the most important resource for playing ideas is the piece itself; if we're willing to take the time to let it in, it'll tell us all we need.

I read a revealing comment recently in an article about Elvis Costello in the November 8, 2010 New Yorker. His long-time producer/associate T-Bone Burnett said something along the lines of Costello having the ability to "knock off an album in an afternoon". And while I don't like to get negative in this blog, and despite the fact that in my younger years I was a very big Elvis Costello fan, I feel that the remark may explain a great deal about something that has troubled me for a while: why a recording artist's early albums often outshine later ones. This is not the case for Costello only, by the way; the same could be said about other important artists, including the Rolling Stones and David Bowie. And I don't want to extrapolate too much from the comment - Burnett said he could do it, not that he did. All that being said, here was the moment of realization: The only thing that makes music sound good (and last) is work. Without it, all the skill in the world just sounds like going through the motions.

Further to yesterday's post regarding Orwell's influence on rock, I can't leave the topic without discussing it in terms of Radiohead. I don't think it's too much to say that there's probably never been a band that owes so much to a writer. From their album art (which, because of the integrative process by which it's created - i.e. at the same time and place as the music - adds great layers of meaning to the albums) to their lyrics (which consider themes of mind control and the individual versus faceless power structures) to the music (which often sounds like it's made by a synthesis of man and machine), the single most descriptive word for all of it is probably "Orwellian". Which is fine. The issues that Orwell raised in his incredibly sophisticated fictions are front and center in our time, and will continue to be for the foreseeable future. And knowing their importance, the fact that he inspired the most important rock artists of the 21st century isn't really a surprise. Here's "2+2=5": (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lln2tSRuk_Q)

Aside from Shakespeare, no writer has had more of an influence on rock and roll than George Orwell. The primary reason for this, I believe, is the matter of subject and tone. Because as rock has entered into a more technologically-driven age, the music has gradually moved from having social origins and intentions toward an emphasis on isolation, power relations and paranoia. Of course, 1984 is the work that deals with these things most apparently, and it's also the one that has inspired the most allusions in terms of lyrics, song titles, and a little trickier to prove, world-views. This all came to me the other evening, as I was listening to David Bowie's classic, Diamond Dogs (1974), which was at least partially written with the intention of creating a stage production based on the novel. And although that didn't happen (and it would have been cool), we do have the amazing three songs that take their titles directly: "We Are the Dead" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CUflIrTSwK8&feature=related), "1984" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KByxC7B9WH0&feature=related), "Big Brother" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5EOlZyD26T4&feature=related).