Kind of a Drag

The New York Times had an interesting piece about Michael Jackson over the weekend, called “After Jackson, Fame May Never Be the Same.” It said that popular culture has fragmented to the point where no single entertainer is likely to repeat the massive crossover popularity that MJ enjoyed in his heyday. (That torch seems to have passed to Tiger Woods and Barack Obama.)

I saw the Times’ thesis first hand Thursday night, only moments after hearing of his death from a friend. We had gathered in a local organic food store which has taken to hosting local musicians. On this night my friend Mark’s band Cow Magnet was playing their highly accomplished takes on classic singer-songwriter tunes and acoustic Zeppelin tracks like “Hey Hey What Can I Do.”

The crowd was hungry for a tribute to the Gloved One however, so Mark launched his band into a very off-the-cuff version of “Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough,” yelling out the changes like the guy in Stevie Wonder’s “Fingertips.” It translated remarkably well to an acoustic arrangement.

While the well-heeled patrons bopped to the music and enjoyed locally grown, humanely-harvested free-range meats, veggies and cheeses, the passer-by seen above heard the song's seductive rhythms of the song from the train station across the street and poked his head in.

And by “his,” I use that term loosely, for this fellow fan of the King of Pop was a 6’5” drag queen in cocktail skirt, exposed midriff and Carrie Bradshaw heels.

The smiling transvestite stood in the doorway and dug the "Don't Stop" groove as Cow Magnet rode it end of the line, unaware of the latest addition to their audience. When the song ended, Mark turned his head and rather than being taken aback by the incongruity of a she-male in Martha Stewart country, held out his hand and said

“Hi, I’m Mark.”
“I’m Tony.”

They shook hands and Tony (or is it Toni?) went on his way. Where he was headed is anyone's guess.

But it just goes to show, if you’re thinking about celebrating Jacko, it don’t matter if you’re black or white. Hee hee.

R.I.P. Jacko

Michael Jackson's ability to electrify an audience and captivate the world were positively Elvis-like, and, tragically, so was his tragic, prescription-fueled, years-in-the-making death.


Though the self-proclaimed King of Pop lived eight years longer than the King of Rock & Roll (50 vs. 42), his musical relevance died somewhere around age 35. Thereafter came a tragic and, quite frankly, horrific decline; a cautionary tale in the pitfalls of child stardom and overwhelming celebrity, which included marrying Elvis's daughter. Even Elvis didn't hit it big until his 20s; Jacko was an icon when most kids would be in 5th grade. Like Elvis, but unlike The Beatles, Jackson had to face the pressures of mega-stardom alone.

For all his extremely dubious personal traits, Jacko was an immensely talented singer, dancer and songwriter, full of god-given joy and inspiration, the likes of which we see once every few decades, and his brilliant music is how Rock Turtleneck shall choose to remember him. Herewith, some of his greatest moments, courtesy of YouTube.





Some say that for Elvis, it was all downhill after he got drafted; for MJ, it was probably downhill from his performance on this Motown special. R.I.P. and TCB MJ.

Stone-Age Music

In a New York Times story today called "Flutes Offer Clues to Stone-Age Music", archaeologists have reported the discovery last fall of a bone flute and two fragments of ivory flutes that they said represented the earliest known flowering of music-making in Stone Age culture. They said the bone flute with five finger holes, found at Hohle Fels Cave in the hills west of Ulm, in southwestern Germany, was “by far the most complete of the musical instruments so far recovered from the caves” in a region where pieces of other flutes have been turning up in recent years.

The flutes are thought to be as much as 40,000 years old, meaning it took mankind approximately 39,959 years of flute-playing to get here:


... 39,963 years to get here:


And 39,995 to get here:

Dig the Hep New Sounds on the RT Hi-Fi

At Rock Turtleneck we lean mighty heavily on the giants of rock & roll: Dylan, Macca, Keef, etc. And while we can listen to Blood on the Tracks any day of the week (and do), nothing gets the blood pumping like a great new tune. Here are three new tunes that are well worth your while.

MGMT: "Kids"
Following in the heels of the equally awesome "Time to Pretend" and "Electric Feel," "Kids" is the third single off MGMT's watershed record Oracular Spectacular. This duo of Wesleyan grads is deceptively talented. Like Beck in his early days, their songs have a junkyard, tossed-off quality, but you can't get them out of your head - and you don't want to. And their live shows are supposed to be a total hoot. Paul McCartney says he wants to work with them. What are you waiting for boys?


Metric: "Help I'm Alive"
If you spent a lot of time listening to quote-unquote alternative music in the 90s, Metric will immediately conjure up fond memories of female led postpunk groups like Garbage, Belly and the Breeders. After years of not really listening to that type of music, it's nice to hear it again.


PJ Harvey and John Parish, "Black Hearted Love"
Polly Jean Harvey is one of the most eclectic musicians out there; some of her more indulgent stuff doesn't really do much for me. But when she sticks to traditional rock song stylings, as on this new collaboration with some dude named John Parish, she is thrilling. Here is the ethereal Ms. Harvey and her sharp-dressed band doing "Black Hearted Love" on Letterman a couple weeks back.

Happy Father's Day

Happy Pappy's Day to all patriarchs new and old out there. As a father of three yungins myself, I can say that fatherhood is immensely satisfying and I recommend it to all who are able and willing.

Thinking this morning about the ultimate Father's Day song, Harry Chapin's "Cats in the Cradle" came immediately to mind. Chapin did a magnificent job of capturing the passing of the generational torch, how it goes by seemingly in an instant, and how things generally turn out OK despite your worries and self doubts.


Then I read the Wikipedia entry on "Cats in the Cradle." While Harry wrote the music, the lyrics were written not by him, but by his wife. And not only that, she wrote them about her first husband, who was a New York City politician, a self-absorbed absentee father.

While the melody of the song lead one to believe it's a wistful look back at a father and son's shared memories, it's actually a stinging "Idiot Wind"-like indictment of a father in title only, more interested in furthering his career than being around for baby's first step. When both have gotten much older and the father is ready to reconcile with the son, it is now the son who can't be bothered to get together. The cycle of psycological abuse and selfishness has been passed on. "My boy was just like me" indeed.

So scratch "Cats in the Cradle." A more accurate and touching celebration of fatherhood is Paul Simon's "Father and Daughter." This track from 2003 was used in the animated film The Wild Thornburys but has implications and applications far beyond that film.

If you ever leap awake
In the mirror of a bad dream
And for a fraction of a second
You can't remember where you are
Just open your window
And follow your memory upstream
To the meadow in the mountain
Where we counted every falling star

I believe the light that shines on you
Will shine on you forever
And though I can't guarantee
There's nothing scary hiding under your bed
I’m gonna stand guard
Like a postcard of a Golden Retriever
And never leave till I leave you
With a sweet dream in your head

I'm gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow
Gonna paint a sign
So you'll always know
As long as one and one is two
There could never be a father
Who loved his daughter more than I love you

Trust your intuition
It's just like going fishing
You cast your line
And hope you'll get a bite
But you don't need to waste your time
Worrying about the market place
Try to help the human race
Struggling to survive its harshest night

I'm gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow
Gonna paint a sign
So you'll always know
As long as one and one is two
There could never be a father
Who loved his daughter more than I love you


Happy Father's Day! Now put the US Open on the flat screen, put your feet up and tell your kid to grab you a beer.

His Heart Is Like a Wheel

Happy 67th birthday to genius singer, songwriter, bassist, billionaire, piano player, hemp enthusiast, ex-Beatle and all around good egg Paul McCartney.

Thinking about how to celebrate Macca's birthday, I remembered how a couple weeks ago, a friend and I were having a late-night conversation about our favorite post-Beatle McCartney tracks. After listening to and discussing the merits of"Maybe I'm Amazed" and "Another Day" I said that my favorite is probably "Let Me Roll It" - and I was incredibly jealous of my friend because he had never heard it. Of course, he loved it.

"Let Me Roll It" was one of the key tracks on 1973's Band on the Run, generally considered Paul's solo apex. It's an homage to the spare, raw sound of Plastic Ono Band, the brilliant first solo album by his ex-chum John Lennon.

As everyone knows, Macca has a sometimes annoying affinity for sugary pop gems, but when he decides to break it down to the nitty-gritty as he does on "Let Me Roll It," the results are thrilling.


It is also worth noting that after years of digs at each other via album covers and interviews, Macca was sweetly paying homage to the music of his soul mate. It was moves like this, just when you thought they hated each other, here they are sending out musical love notes, that caused fans to hold out hope for a Beatles reunion right up until Lennon's tragic death in 1980.

Here's Lennon doing "Well Well Well" from his 1972 Concert in New York City. Spotting the connection between this and "Let Me Roll It" is easier than Heather Mills.


To wrap things up, here's Paul doing "Let Me Roll It" at this year's Coachella festival. The singer and the song still sound younger than their years. HB and TCB, Paul.

Smoke 'Em if You've Got 'Em

A few days ago Congress passed a bill giving the FDA unprecendented control over the tobacco industry. Curiously, all tobacco flavorings are to be outlawed (they make smoking appealing to young people), except for menthol, which is reportedly the preference of our cig-sneaking leader Barack Obama. That's power for you.

This law will no doubt save many lives. But what has gotten lost in the talk of the dangers of smoking is that some rock musicians have been able to turn cigarette smoking into an art form. So in celebration of this dying (literally) art, Rock Turtleneck is counting down Rock's Six Greatest Smokers.

#6: Eric "Slowhand" Clapton
Clapton pioneered the cigarette woven in the strings up past the nut by the tuning keys move, which has had almost as much impact on music as his actual guitar playing. Clapton worshiper Eddie Van Halen picked up this move as well.

#5: Elvis Presley
You probably didn't know the King smoked did you? That's because Elvis was also the King of smoke-sneakers. Of the literally millions of photos taken of him, only a handful show him TCSing (Taking Care of Smoking). They used to call Clinton Elvis, but in terms of smoking, Obama is the real King.



#4: Paul McCartney
Macca may not be the first smoking chap who comes to mind, but he made a mountain out of a Marlboro when he walked barefoot with a cig across Abbey Road for the iconic album cover of the same name. Nut-job Beatlemaniacs decided back then that smoking and being barefoot are symbols of death and burial in Upper Volta or somewhere. This, along with other dubious clues scattered throughout the Beatles albums and songs, meant that Paul is Dead, one of the greatest urban legends of all time.

#3: Frank Sinatra
While not a rock star per se, Ol' Blue Eyes certainly lived like one, and he sure as hell smoked like one, too. I remember reading somewhere that Frank never smoked till Happy Hour, which seems like a good policy to me. Then again, when you're Frank Sinatra, Happy Hour starts whenever you damn well please. Your money's on the dresser, baby.

#2: Bob Dylan

Folkie. Ghost of Electricity. Country Gentleman. Rolling Thunder Revuer. Born-Again Preacher. Riverboat Gambler. Smoker. Thoughout Dylan's many brilliant disguises, one constant has remained: an insatiable love of tobacco. The 1965 Dylan doc Don't Look Back is the Citizen Kane of smoking musician movies. Reading a newspaper article about himself which claims he smokes 80 cigarettes a day, Dylan says "I'm glad I'm not me." I believe he was smoking at the time.

If anti-smoking groups want to dramatically illustrate the effects of long-term tobacco use, instead of showing a black lung, they should play Dylan singing "Lay Lady Lay" in 1969 and in 2009.

#1: Keith Richards
He needs a smoke to keep him Happy. Keith Richards is the Michelangelo of rock-star smokers. The ubiquitous dangling cigarette is central to the outlaw myth not only of Keith, but of the Stones and rock in general. Finding the best picture of Keef smoking was hard - almost as hard as finding one where he's not smoking.

If Obama truly wants to cut federal spending, instead of regulating the tobacco industry, maybe he should regulate Keith Richards. Cheers, Keith. Got a light?

From the High Line to the Groove Line

Urban fetishists and historic preservationists are working themselves into a lather over today's opening of the High Line, an abandoned industrial railroad track on Manhattan's West Side that has been converted into an elevated park.

While I welcome the High Line to the New York landscape and admire the tenacity of those who turned a whim into a reality, I don't really see what the fuss is about. After all, the equally funky Groove Line has been open to the public since 1978.


Heatwave, the urban planners behind the Groove Line, was formed in the early 70s by two GIs stationed in Germany. They gradually added members and refined their sound, whipping up an irresistible disco/funk concoction that resulted in a steady stream of late-70s dance hits.

Though "Groove Line" hit #7 on the charts back over 30 years ago, it's fresher today than an al fresco stroll above the meatpacking district. It was an equally strong followup to their debut hit "Boogie Nights," the title of which was used for P.T. Anderson's superb film about the 70s L.A. adult entertainment industry.

I plan to make it over to the High Line later this week, as it is within walking distance of my office. I don't know what the weather will be like that day, but I'm expecting a Heatwave.

Thanks to Jeremy Sussman for the Groove Line suggestion.

R.I.P. Koko Taylor

R.I.P. and TCB to Koko Taylor, Queen of the Chicago Blues, who passed away this week at the age of 80.

Born near Memphis, like any good blues artist, Koko made her name in the electrified, gritty Windy City blues scene when she was discovered by the legendary Willie Dixon, who told her “I never heard a woman sing the blues like you sing the blues.” He signed her to Chess Records and wrote "Wang Dang Doodle" for her, which became her signature song.

Koko & Willie also recorded together for Chess, including an amazing track called "Insane Asylum."

She continued recording (later on Alligator Records) and playing over 50 live shows a year right up till the end. Her ferocious, feisty spirit lives on in the blues and far beyond, as PJ Harvey's amazing cover of "Wang Dang Doodle" atttests. Let's think of this as a eulogy to one of the great ladies of the blues. Take it away, Polly.

Worn Free

The aging rock hipster is an elusive beast, with an elaborate network of defense mechanisms built up and refined over decades of discriminatory listening and observation. Very few things pass muster, especially in the rock T-shirt arena. (Arena might not be the right word choice; perhaps "intimate club setting" or "invitation-only release party" would be more appropriate.)

Let's say you are a fan of Nirvana, maybe even saw them live. Are you going to walk around with a shirt with the swimming baby from Nevermind? Or a "Kurt Cobain 1967-1994" memorial shirt? Of course not.

But what if you could get an exact copy of the T-shirt Kurt wore on the 1992 MTV Awards, when the band picked a fight with Axl Rose? And what if that shirt was of a super-obscure, hand-drawn album cover by tragic DIY hipster Daniel Johnston? Now that would be a perfect storm of indie credibility.


The fashion company Worn Free has stumbled upon a genuinely original idea: replicas of T-shirts worn by famous musicians. Many were immortallized in the pages ofCreem or Rolling Stone or somewhere like that. It's a way to say "I am a true fan" in a secret language that only true fans can understand.

The folks at Worn Free were kind enough to send me the Cobain/Johnston beauty you see above. I wear it with pride. Each shirt is of the highest quality construction and comes with a nice tag showing the rock icon wearing it in their glory days. Here are a few of my favorites.

And oh how they danced... the little children of Stonehenge...

Gabba Gabba Hey/R.I.P. Joey

This shirt is so cool, I don't even mind making Yoko richer.

The Byrds, Stones, Emmylou Harris and U2 all made themselves cooler by name-dropping Gram Parsons. Now you can too!

What do we have for entertainment? Cops kicking gypsies on the pavement!

Debbie Harry, Bob Gruen and Mick Ronson in one fell swoop? Trifecta!

Cool Cat.

When will the Greil Marcus T-shirts be in?

Oh Lord, wontcha buy me a Worn Free T-Shirt?

After milking John's legacy bone-dry, Yoko did the unthinkable: licensed herself. This shirt quotes the notorious French come-on from LaBelle's "Lady Marmalade."

These are only a few of the growing list of icon-olicious designs available at Worn Free. Why not get a couple - tell 'em Rock Turtleneck sent you.

Buy Now: wornfree.com

Qu'est-ce que c'est? Part Deux

Last Friday I posted a dynamite clip of the young Talking Heads doing "Psycho Killer" on The Old Grey Whistle Test TV show. At the time, the clip seemed more than compelling enough to succeed without any pithy Rock Turtleneck commentary, until I read the song was influenced by equal parts Alice Cooper and Randy Newman.

According to Mix magazine, "Psycho Killer" was the first song Byrne ever wrote (he co-wrote it with bassist Tina Weymouth). Said Byrne:

“‘Psycho Killer’ was written as an exercise with someone else's approach in mind. I had been listening to Alice Cooper — Billion Dollar Babies, I think — and I thought it was really funny stuff. I thought, ‘Hey, I can do this!’ It was sort of an experiment to see if I could write something.

“I thought I would write a song about a very dramatic subject the way Alice Cooper does, but from inside the person, playing down the drama. Rather than making it theatrical the way Alice Cooper would, I'd go for what's going on inside the killer's mind, what I imagined he might be thinking.

“I wanted it to be like Randy Newman doing Alice Cooper. One way of telling the story would be to describe everything that happens — ‘he walks across the room, he takes so many steps, he's wearing such-and-such.’ That tells you everything that's going on, on one level, but it doesn't involve you emotionally. The other extreme is to describe it all as a series of sensations. I think that sometimes has more power and affects people a little stronger. It seemed a natural delusion that a psychotic killer would imagine himself as very refined and use a foreign language to talk to himself.”

Years ago, I read somewhere years that "Psycho Killer" was a nickname given to Byrne in high school, no doubt due to his uneasy stare. But rather than pull a Columbine, Byrne constructively sublimated his hurt feelings into a brilliant song. This story would make sense, as some of the lyrics seem directed at the "popular" table in the high school cafeteria:

You start a conversation you can't even finish it.
You're talking a lot, but you're not saying anything.
When I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed.
Say something once, why say it again?

Appearing on their incredible debut Talking Heads '77, "Psycho Killer" has been performed in many arrangements over the years. Perhaps the most famous is Byrne's duet with a beatbox in the opening sequence of Jonathan Demme's landmark 1983 concert film Stop Making Sense:


And here is another amazing version, from a 1980 Rome show, featuring Twang-Bar King Adrian Belew.