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Placeology #9: The Rust Belt Goes for Gold

Andy Warhol Bridge, Pittsburgh

Photos and text by Rick Ouellette

A recent article mentioning that National Geographic has named Pittsburgh one of the Top 25 places to visit in the world (the only U.S. city to make the list), was posted online and made my Facebook feed. Invariably, one of the first comments was “That’s the best laugh I had all day.”

I was tempted to reply, “How so?” But I’m trying to be less judgy nowadays, so I let it slide and left a comment saying how much I enjoyed my own trip to Iron City last year. I mentioned the newly expanded Andy Warhol Museum, a great ballgame experience at the Pirates’ PNC Park with its bridge-and-skyline backdrop, the Nationality Rooms at the Cathedral of Learning and the colorful folk-art complex called Randyland. (See below)

Besides, if I asked that person why she thought it was so funny, the likely answer would be: “Really, I mean, PITTSBURGH?!” If there is one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that people love knowing what they already know, even when it’s wrong. This is esp. true when it comes to Rust Belt cities. If you mention Cleveland, a likely response is about the Cuyahoga River being on fire, even though that was 56 years ago. And don’t let’s get started about the state of New Jersey, which many motorists have reduced to the “smelly” stretch of I-95 opposite New York City, filled with refineries and powerlines. We want all the gasoline and electricity we can get—but are somehow offended to see where it comes from.

The AKG Museum in Buffalo. The mirrored surfaced of the institute’s modern walkway reflects both the older building and an outside sculpture.

Perceptions are gradually starting to change, and just not in Pittsburgh. Buffalo’s AKG Art Museum was named by Time magazine as one of The Greatest Places in the World in 2024. A dazzling modern addition has been added to the original 1905 Greek temple-style original, connected by a serpentine elevated walkway.

And the AKG is far from an isolated location: it sits in the middle of Buffalo’s cultural corridor near Frank Lloyd Wright’s jewel-like Martin House, the Buffalo History Museum (housed in the only remaining building from the city’s 1901 world’s fair), an outdoor Shakespeare theater and various gardens and a lake with flamingo pedal boats. All of this in the beauteous confines of the Frederick Law Olmstead-designed Delaware Park.

But my favorite part was staying at the nearby Richardson Hotel (above), which occupies the middle section of the former Buffalo State Asylum. Opened up in 1880 on grounds also designed by Olmsted, this massive architectural gem was an early commission of famed architect H.H. Richardson, fresh off his masterful Trinity Church in Boston. Underneath it’s two colossal towers, the main administration building, as well as its two matching Romanesque wings, make up the footprint of this remarkable boutique hotel. As with many such facilities, this asylum grew overcrowded and it was expanded (in brick, not the expensive Medina sandstone of the original building) to such an extent that it takes about a half-hour to walk around it.

The nighttime photo at top shows both the elegance of Richardson’s design and the great work of the restoration crew. The bottom photo gives one some idea of the scale of the former asylum, some of which is hopefully being set aside for much-needed affordable housing.

Like many other state hospitals, this one was closed in the late 20th century. But unlike others that were demolished without much opposition, Richardson’s piece de resistance sat there until the city realized what they had. Now this asylum is a point of civic pride, a lynchpin in the city’s ambition to become a design capitol, with a focus on the many significant buildings, including its magnificent City Hall (below) and Central Terminal (currently being restored), two of the region’s premier Art Deco edifices.

The effects of deindustrialization has been devastating for many U.S. cities in the Northeast and Midwest. The poverty, crime, population loss and disinvestment that followed is of historic proportions. But a potential silver lining is the fact that, at their economic peak, places like Buffalo, Pittsburgh, Cleveland and Detroit used some of that manufacturing wealth in the building of first-class (and often majestic)  museums, libraries, theaters, railway stations, hotels and monuments—all speaking to a grand sense of collective civic pride all but missing in our age of calcified socio-political divides.

A mural inside Buffalo City Hall from more optimistic times.

I’m not suggesting, or even hoping, that people will give up the default destinations like Las Vegas or Disneyworld. Yet the trend towards sub-genres of domestic travel is encouraging and should help in the nascent Rust Belt revival. These days, there is foodie tourism, historic preservation tourism, music tourism, film festival tourism, sports tourism—Pittsburgh is hosting the NFL Draft next year and it’s a BIG deal. Anything that gets us out and about on a path that leads to greater understanding of our common heritage is a welcome move in the right direction in these wrong times.

Lastly, a word about an even newer trend: abandoned steel mill tourism. In the not-too-distant past, places like the former Bethlehem Steel plant (above top) and the Carrie Furnaces (above bottom) were top-line locations for the urban explorer community. Now I’m no stranger to the wild and woolly world of urbex photography. But I have never been one of its real hardcore practitioners and I was glad when I eventually got the chance to visit such places without fear of arrest.

The gargantuan Bethlehem Steel plant (renamed Steel Stacks) is now the dramatic backdrop to an outdoor concert venue and cultural center. The elevated walkway brings one up close to this amazing structure. Placards inform the visitor of the “Hot, Loud and Dangerous” conditions that the steelworkers put up with to provide the nation with its infrastructure. It’s a “thank-you-for-your-service” moment that some risk-taking explorers would not realize or get the chance to find out.

The same goes for the formerly off-limits Carrie Furnaces, now a state heritage park. Visitors can learn that this was a big part of World War Two’s “Arsenal of Democracy.” Factories on an 8-mile stretch of the Monongahela River, starting in Pittsburgh, produced more iron and steel during the war than all the Axis Powers combined. The scale and complexity of the furnaces are mind-boggling, and the implied message of strength and national unity is haunting in an age where even the word “democracy” seems compromised. So let’s get out there and live and learn: and when someone asks, “Pittsburgh, really?” you can answer, “Yes, really.”

For The Records: The Cover Albums, Part Two

Well, here’s the concluding entry in my survey of recordings in that most star-crossed category, the covers album. Star-crossed in an almost literal way: here are stars performing the songs of other stars.

After listening to so many of these albums I can only conclude that placing one or two well-chosen covers on an album of your own original tunes works a lot better. The reason is a whole collection of tributes usually tends to lack coherence and make even the best artists look like a bar band.

The best way around this is for your covers album to have some sort of concept. The highest-ranking record of Part One of this survey (David Bowie’s Pin-ups) worked so well because of its tight focus. Bowie was paying homage to British bands and key songs from the 1964-67 period, just before he broke thru himself. A similar concept guides the first record reviewed here, the only one other than Pin-ups to gain an A- rating.

Songs From a Haunted Ballroom—The Skids (2021)

While not a household name, most fans of early UK punk will recall this tenacious band who moved down to London from their native Dunfermline in the late 70s. The Skids gained notoriety not just for their tough-guy rep (legend has it that they picked fights in clubs to get their names in the English music press) but also for their aggressive-but-artistic musical approach. That included at least two Brit punk classics: “Into the Valley” and “The Saints are Coming,” both of which are featured here in re-recorded versions.

The rest of Songs From a Haunted Ballroom have an association with the Kinema Ballroom, a vital but volatile music venue in their hometown. The Skids, whose guitarist was future Big Country leader Stuart Adamson, got their start here, playing live sets opening for the likes of the Clash before the place changed over to a discotheque later at night.

Both aspects of the Kinema are celebrated here. Mainstay vocalist Richard Jobson is joined here by ex-Big Country second guitarist Bruce Watson and his guitarist son Jamie Watson. The lads come charging out of the gate with Ultravox’s “Young Savage,” one of many allusions to the club’s stormy history (“Anything goes where no one knows your name”). They tip their hat to the Clash with a nice take on “Complete Control.” In light of the father-son axe duo backing him up, Jobson is obliged to use the song’s proclamation “You’re my guitar hero!” not once but twice.

Elsewhere, there are enthusiastic, high-energy tributes to the Adverts, Sex Pistols, Iggy Pop, Mott the Hoople and Magazine. Just as welcome are some of the less obvious choices like Ace Frehley’s “New York Groove” and Garland Jeffrey’s “35mm Dreams.” The key track is probably their ominous take on David Essex’s glam hit “Rock On.” As an after-hours disco, the Kinema was a magnet for the region’s various violent gangs and apparently “Rock On” was the signal for the trouble to start. Jobson describes the scene in a mid-song monologue as the AV Toi (“the most mental gang in Scotland”) get ready to rumble. Grade: A-

Acid Eaters—The Ramones (1993)

As punk-rock pioneers, the Ramones need no introduction, but once you get past their mid-to-late 70s heyday, they become a lot less examined. By the late Eighties, original bassist and key songwriter Dee Dee Ramone had left, leaving CJ Ramone to man the front line with Joey and Johnny. CJ, who took some lead vocals, was an energizing figure but the band’s run was almost over.

On this, the Ramones’ penultimate studio album, the band matter-of-factly reposition themselves as acid-rock casualties: just look at the disconcerting covert art. Of course, it’s still them so don’t expect Dead-style noodling or Floydish space jams. Opener “Journey to the Center of the Mind” (sung by CJ) may be trippy but it also rocks.

The results here are entertaining if a bit predictable. The Ramones are in a comfort zone when covering their antecedents like the Animals, Seeds and Troggs. And it’s a blast to hear Joey’s long-loved voice singing the Who’s “Substitute” with no less than Pete Townsend guesting on guitar. The same goes when ol’ Bobby Dylan gets the Ramones’ patented faster-and-louder treatment. Their buzzsaw rendition of “My Back Pages” (check out Marky’s triple-time drumming and Joey’s rare lead guitar shredding) gives the Byrds’ celebrated version a run for its money

As usual, though, the results here vary. The Credence vibe (as in “Have You Ever Seen the Rain”) doesn’t seem to suit da brothers and their take on “Somebody to Love” (despite backing vocals by porn star Traci Lords) won’t make any baby boomer forget about Grace Slick. For my money, the Ramones’ best cover came on their next (and last) album Adios Amigos. Their version of “I Don’t Wanna Grow Up,” Tom Waits’ seriocomic take on the old Peter Pan trope, is made all the more affecting by being the final bittersweet salvo of the group’s perpetual teenage rebellion. (The video’s witty animation was done by famed comic artist Daniel “Ghost Story” Clowes). Grade: B (B+ if you add in the Tom Waits tune).

12—Patti Smith (2007)

Rising up from the same Lower East Side scene that birthed the Ramones, New York punk poetess Patti Smith showed a great knack for incorporating others’ work into her own on her revolutionary debut album in 1975. Horses kicked off with her radical recasting of the Van Morrison warhorse “Gloria” with her famous opening line, “Jesus died for somebody’s sins but not mine.” On side two her group seamlessly added “Land of a Thousand Dances” to the outré 9-minute “Land.”

It wouldn’t be until 2007 that the covers-album bug would give Patti a bite. Smith is famously expansive in her fandom, so it’s no surprise that 12 is a grab-bag of songs of different eras and genres. If you want to know how to get from Jimi Hendrix to Tears for Fears to Neil Young in three easy steps, here you are. If you’ve been yearning for a slow-paced version of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” complete with banjo and fiddle, your wait is over.

This will be a pleasurable listen for Patti Smith fans like me. But the fact that her take on “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” is my favorite thing here (despite not being even close to my favorite tune covered) goes to show just how random these records are. Grade: B-

Dylan—Bob Dylan (1973)

This long-derided album can’t be blamed on the artist. A record of traditional songs and covers, they are outtakes from 1970’s lowly-rated 2-LP set Self Portrait It was released against Dylan’s wishes by Columbia Records in “revenge” after Dylan had the audacity to jump ship to Asylum (he came back two albums later).

His largely indifferent takes of various non-originals made up about two-thirds of Self Portrait, and these are the leftovers. There are lackluster tributes to contemporaries (“Big Yellow Taxi” and “Mr. Bojangles”), a few deep oldies (“Spanish is the Loving Tongue” dates to 1907) and a three-hankie Elvis ballad (see below). Bob sings in his appealing “Nashville Skyline” voice but his delivery is lazy, and the record is marred by the overuse of a shrill female chorus too high in the mix. Some have suggested that the ever-cryptic Dylan was engaged in some perverse self-sabotage during this period. I tend to believe it. In his re-issue series, a collection from the same period, called Another Self Portrait, was released in 2013 and it’s freaking great. Grade: C-

Covers—Cat Power (2022)

Chan Marshall, the Atlanta-born singer/songwriter who goes by the stage name Cat Power, has been beguiling fans since she came on the scene in 1992. Her brand of subtle intensity may not be for everyone, but her unique musical stylings make her esp. suitable for doing other people’s material (this is her third, and most recent, covers album). Not everything here sticks the landing, but when it does it’s quietly captivating.

The best to my ears are her artful renditions of two poignant slow numbers. First is the Pogues’ “A Pair of Brown Eyes,” with Marshall accompanying herself on Mellotron (see below). Second is the Replacements’ barroom ballad “Here Comes a Regular.” There are other selections that show the depth of her musical appreciations: Nick Cave’s “I Had a Dream, Joe” and Kitty Wells’ proto-feminist anthem “God Didn’t Make Honky Tonk Angels,” the first C&W #1 hit by a solo woman. On the flip side, she does a song by lesser-chanteuse Lana Del Ray, Bob Seeger’s “Against the Wind” (barely recognizable) and a number from Ryan Gosling’s short-lived group. But with cover albums, variety is the spice of life. Grade: B

Kojak Variety—Elvis Costello (1995)

More “variety.’ First off, I’m glad that this album was named after a store near where it was recorded in Barbados, and not after the charmless TV detective played by Telly Savalas. Secondly, most know that Costello, a generational songwriting talent, has a keen ear for and encyclopedic knowledge of other great tunesmiths—he did a country covers LP (Almost Blue) only a few years into his career. This one also wisely sticks to a plan (the cover touts “Rhythm & Blues, Popular Ballads”) and said tunes are delivered in Elvis’ familiar self-assured style. You get them coming and going: songs by Willie Dixon, Mose Allison, Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, Little Richard, Jesse Winchester etc. Your favorite will depend on your preference for a particular tune. I love his emotive take on Dylan’s “I Threw It All Away” and esp. his elegiac take on Ray Davies’ bittersweet “Days.” This Kinks Klassic Kover was originally from the soundtrack of the Wim Wenders’ film “Until the End of the World,” where it was also a group sing-along during a campfire scene. Grade: B

Through the Looking Glass—Siouxsie and the Banshees (1987)

The distinctive, imperious voice of goth icon Siouxsie Sioux was well known by the time she and the Banshees decided to do this tribute album of early influences a la David Bowie’s Pin-Ups. And like Bowie, she was able to put a unique stamp on many of the well-chosen covers here. Dark and delectable tunes like John Cale’s “Gun,” the Doors’ “You’re Lost Little Girl,” and Kraftwerk’s “Hall of Mirrors” are naturals for her and delivered in excellent style.

Other tracks go next level: Iggy Pop loved Siouxsie’s version of his nocturnal road-tripping “The Passenger” (which added a neat brass section) so much that he asked to do a later duet version with her. Her goth take on the Billie Holiday nightmare classic “Strange Fruit” is not afraid to sit up right up there in the pantheon. And her eerie vocal on Television’s “Little Johnny Jewel” gives that early punk gem a second life, with guitarist John Valentine Carruthers ably reproducing the song’s infamous 8-note guitar motif while wisely avoiding a go at Tom Verlaine’s nervy, virtuoso solo. Grade B+

I didn’t have time to fully review Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds 1986 covers LP Kicking Against the Pricks but was taken by its closing number. It became a signature song (along with “Georgy Girl”) for fellow Australians the Seekers. Written by Tom Springfield, it seems an appropriate place to close. Like a carnival, cover albums have plenty of fleeting pleasure before they move on to another town, while you turn back to your favorite artists doing original material.

No Penalties, No Substitutes, No Freedom: “Rollerball” at 50

The 1975 science-fiction drama “Rollerball” was a bit of an odd duck of a film: come for the bloodsport, stay for the philosophy.   Some weren’t buying. Though a success at the time, this movie has always split viewers and critics. While not sensationalistic enough for certain action fans, it was sometimes seen as too plodding in its thematic thrust by the smarties.

But for someone like me, who enjoys thoughtful sci-fi but also grew up watching Roller Derby on late night TV, “Rollerball” hits just right. Its stature has grown over time and is well worth a look now, esp. as the near future it predicted (the film is set in 2018) has come to pass by several years. (Please note that I’m recommending the James Caan-starring original and not the inconsequential 2002 remake, which currently has a 14% rating om Metacritic).

Directed by Norman Jewison, with a script by William Harrison based on his own short story, Caan stars as the foremost superstar of a global sport that combines elements of the old banked-track skating derbies with motorcross and barely-controlled mayhem. Jonathan E. by name, this seemingly indestructible team leader excels like no other at jamming the heavy silver ball into the goal without getting maimed for life (it’s not unusual for there to be fatalities during these “games”).

The setting is what I would call a “model dystopia,” where war has been eliminated and all material wants met in a world is run by a cabal of supposedly benevolent corporations. Rollerball is the one unifying element for regular folk to have a visceral outlet for the violence which has supposedly been eliminated otherwise. The game is tightly controlled by the corporations, who are starting to think that Jonathan E. is transcending this concept of social control.

The plot is simple: the corporation wants Jonathan to retire, Jonathan does not want to and attempts to use what leverage he has to resist. No offense to James Caan, who was at the height of his movie-star power and acquits himself well, but the real star of the show is John Houseman as head of Houston’s Energy Corp. and who runs the locally based team.

Houseman, who came up in the theater working with Orson Welles, enjoyed a late-career resurgence as a character actor, winning an Oscar for his imperious Harvard law professor in 1973’s “The Paper Chase.” He is similarly authoritative here, making perfect use of his haughty mid-Atlantic accent which he later employed in memorable TV ads.

His Mr. Bartholemew is a tough nut to crack but Jonathan E. pushes back, wanting to know how their decisions are made, and even to get to the bottom of the mysterious “corporate wars” that brought forth the “material dream world” that he apparently doesn’t appreciate enough, especially in view of the luxury lifestyle he is guaranteed even after retiring.

Aside from the fact that he loves the game and is loyal to his teammates, it is sometimes hard to understand Jonathan’s motivational end game. If he were to beat the global conglomerate, what would he do: bring back war and poverty? I’m kidding, but this does bring up a core problem with the model dystopia brand of futuristic fiction. I recently re-read Adolus Huxley’s classic “Brave New World,” which “Rollerball” resembles in its false-utopia of Pavlovian conditioning helped along by easy access to pleasure drugs and the state-sanctioned rotation of sex partners.

Yes, we have no books: James Caan as Jonathan and (left) John Beck as teammate “Moon Pie”

Bernard Marx, Huxley’s morose protagonist, does rebel against the mindless contentment of his world, chafing against the notion that “Everybody’s Happy Nowadays,” a phrase that inspired the great punk-rock single by the Buzzcocks. Bernard’s attempts to buck the system predictably leads to disaster and although Jonathan’s fate after the film’s climatic and grisly rollerball championship is left ambiguous one is left pondering: when we get the real-world dystopia we have coming to us, it probably won’t be with this government guaranteed sexual fulfillment and free Ecstasy. Just saying.

But although the expository scenes of this film may slow it down at times, Norman Jewison’s artful direction makes it a great watch. Jewison (whose credits include In the Heat of the Night, Fiddler on the Roof, Moonstruck and the original Thomas Crown Affair), was one of those versatile, populist filmmakers of his era—Sydney Pollack and Walter Hill are two others—who did consistently fine work without ever being considered an auteur.

Perhaps to counter audience desensitization, the corporations keep upping the ante, until the final match is played with “No penalties, no substitutions, and no time limits,” essentially setting up a “Hunger Games” type scenario.

Despite that his work here has a certain Kubrickian vibe. “Rollerball” has shades of “Clockwork Orange” in its ultra-violence and “Eyes Wide Shut” in its upper-class decadence—and even a bit of “2001” in the forbidding hi-tech architecture of the corporate state (provided by the then-new BMW Headquarters in Munich). It’s here that master thespian Ralph Richardson gives a humorous late-career performance as the head “librarian” whose actual job is to tend to the overtaxed super-computer called Zero. In a movie that needed a little comic relief, the befuddled caretaker explains to Jonathan that Zero (who earlier that day “lost the 13th Century”) is so smart that “his borders touch all knowledge.” But the librarian also admits that Zero, who “considers everything,” seems to not know anything at all.

This is perhaps the film’s most prophetic moment, pointing to our own superconnected/disconnected present world. It sends Jonathan E. back to the rollerball arena safe in the knowledge that: Yes, We Have No Utopias.

Eggs are Stupid.

Someone had to say it. That people would let their democracy slip away on such an embarrassing (and solvable) inflection point as the rise in price of a dozen eggs, is like a national pathology that is nearly impossible to reckon with.

Of course, that was not the only issue that caused the re-election (after a four-year interval) of the convicted felon, admitted sex offender and debased traitor who tried to overturn his 2020 defeat by having a mob kill his own vice president. For the hardcore MAGA crowd it is certainly easier to complain about grocery prices than to admit to being a straight-up (and potentially violent) bigot, with a head stuffed to the gills with false grievances. But what about the rest of us? (I’ll say us to be polite even though I of course voted for Kamala Harris).

Alex had the right idea in “A Clockwork Orange.” He wants to “smash ’em” and so do I.

Fuck eggs. It would be futile for me to argue that the 166 MILLION chickens that died from the recent bird flu may have had something to do with the price hike. Because that would be too normal. Complaining is more fun. I’m not suggesting that there are not real economic troubles affecting some people, but to use that to put back in office a proud psychopath who already said he wanted to be a dictator?

Didn’t anybody ever suggest boycotting those stupid eggs? If most of the country could agree to do this the price would have come down quick, maybe even quick enough to avoid a witless slide into an authoritative nightmare. Joe Biden had about as much to do with egg prices as I have in getting a Pulitzer Prize.

Fuck Eggs. They are the modern equivalent of the old canard that at least Mussolini “made the trains run on time.” No he did not. Reportedly, only the Italian tourist trains ran on schedule. This led some witless British tourists to say that things are better with an autocratic leader running the show from Rome. This then got repeated until it sounded like the truth.

Gang of Four saw thru the ruse. (Lyrics in description)

So in 2024, eggs became some sort of defining issue, much like “soccer moms” were all the demographic rage a few election cycles back. So much so that even a Democratic consultant, was quoted in the paper in January as saying that perhaps it was inevitable that his party lost because, “Just look at the price of eggs.” WTF, dude? With people like that on your side, who needs adversaries?

Also in that day’s New York Daily News there was a poll that showed that about 70% of people thought less of President Biden for pardoning his son Hunter. In the same breath, 70% said they would pardon their own child, Welcome to the USA, kids.

Kamala Harris is certainly no Winston Churchill but I was hoping for at least a little original thinking in her campaign against such an obvious threat to democratic norms. Sure, she may present as America’s “cool aunt,” but recent history has proved that many don’t mind voting for a malignant and demented uncle. If Harris could have convinced a few of them that unkie would be better suited to a padded cell, she may have even squeaked out a victory, God save us.

One little plea. Let’s try to better to learn of “overstanding.” It’s one thing to “understand” that egg prices are high, and a completely different thing to “overstand” the issue and realizing we are being sold a bill of goods much more than $9 a dozen.  You don’t even have to man the barricades. On social media, at least treat Trump, Musk et al to a smart-ass putdown, instead of looking up terrified at the sky of worst-case-scenario. We don’t need to be any more anxious than we already are.

To get back to Alex. In the penultimate scene of “A Clockwork Orange,” he has the upper hand even in a full body cast, being fed the precious eggiwegs (not to mention “steaky-wakes” and “lomsticks of toast”) knowing that he has the unscrupulous Interior Minister right where he wants him (he is obliged to feed Alex his breakfast while being subtly taunted). They both know that the barbaric technique that “cured” him of his criminality also made him defenseless and suicidal. Now Alex has been re-cured and taken to calling the Minister (“my little droogie”) knowing instinctively that thuggery can exist just as easily thrive in the halls of power as it can on the backstreets of London.

In this “horrorshow viddy” clip, Anthony Sharp plays the Interior Minister and, of course, the legendary Malcolm McDowell is Alex DeLarge.

Many readers will know that the Anthony Burgess novel had a “controversial” final chapter that was not included in American editions of the book—and also not included in Stanley Kubrick’s towering film adaptation. Too bad, as it is quite fascinating. It begins almost exactly as the first chapter: Alex is back in the Korova Milkbar with three new droogies. They are making up their “rassoodocks” about what crimes to commit that evening. But later, he runs into his old droogie Pete and is astonished to find him happily married and with a regular job. The softening begins (“Youth must go”) and he imagines himself doing the same. In the end, normalcy will (or should) reign and hopefully Alex will not be the kind of citizen who welcomes a dictatorship because of a temporary spike in the price of eggiwegs. “Alex like groweth up, oh yes,” he thinks to himself. Maybe it’s time to do the same. Righty right.

Placeology #8: Please Don’t Ruin the Ruins!

Graffiti Highway (parabolic), Centralia PA. All photos and text by Rick Ouellette except as noted.

In the late 1700s, towards the tail end of the Age of Enlightenment, the French painter Hubert Robert became well-known for his large-scale canvasses depicting ancient ruins of France and Italy. These romantic (and often semi-fictional) scenes spoke to an age where there was a strong interest in classical antiquity and preserving what remained of it. Hubert and the other artists who followed this trend were surely aware of the evocative power of decay when it came to lost societies.

A typical Hubert Rubert joint.

Flash forward to the 21st century. We may well be deep into the Age of Un-Enlightenment, where hot-takes and online trolling has replaced the philosophical imperative. Yet the “picturesque” art style embodied by Hubert Robert has been carried on into the burgeoning field of ruins photography, the depiction of urban and industrial decay. Closely tied into the subculture of urban exploring, this field of photography has divided opinion. There are commendable practitioners like Matthew Christopher (in his two “Abandoned America” books) and Christopher Payne (the haunting and humane “Asylum: Inside the Closed World of State Mental Hospitals”) that have looked long and hard into the reasons and consequences of how  and why certain American institutions have been left to die on the vine.

Trolley Graveyard #1, Photo by author.

Critics have pointedly taken aim at some aspects this “urbex” photography, namely the exploitation of people’s natural morbid fascination with the wreckage of off-limits locations, not to mention the implied insensitivity to a region’s economic decline. I have seen a lot of that online, where intrepid shutterbugs return from their trespassing adventures and post pics online to curiously adoring fans who practically gloat over the collapsed remains of defunct shopping malls and shuttered Rust Belt factories.

Which brings me to Seph Lawless. Curiously, he released two high-profile photo books in 2017 by two different publishers. “Abandoned: Hauntingly Beautiful Deserted Theme Parks” is exactly as it says, and he put in the big miles to significantly document a big urbex sub-category.

Then somewhere the same year was the boldly presented “Autopsy of America.” In case you don’t get it, you can turn to the back cover where we get in big letters, “Death of a Nation.” Really, the whole nation?? Published by a house called Carpet Bombing Culture (kind of a red flag in itself) the text for this book is so over-the-top that it can only work as self-parody.

“Is this just another recession? Or is this the beginning of the end?”

“America is a giant… mistake.”

“I want Americans to see what is happening to their country from the comfort of their suburban homes and smartphones.”

Oh gawd, spare me the edgelord/drama queen posturing! 😉. As usual, the photography is tremendous, though by this date we’ve all seen enough abandoned houses, darkened shopping centers and the odd isolated ghost town. (Lawless throws in several of his eye-catching theme park images for contrast). Yeah, there is serious income inequality. But it’s preposterous to pretend that cities like Pittsburgh and Cleveland (to name two I have personal evidence of) are hollowed-out landmarks of a country in its immediate death rattle.  Many of those cities have growing, transitional economies and don’t need this. But I get it. He’s Seph LAWLESS for heaven’s sake, and the hype (and apocalyptic rhetoric) often goes with this territory.

Graveyard Trolley #2, photo by author.

So while I may wince when Seph, like a supervillain in waiting, stands on a half-collapsed roof and gazes at a distant metropolis, you got to hand it to him. The logistics and craft it took to depict these places that so many want to know about. I’m just a part-time amateur at this game and have only been to one of the locations featured in “Autopsy of America.” I took a tour of the (now former) Trolley Graveyard outside of Johnstown, Pennsylvania with the aforementioned Matthew Christopher. He had photographed this huge collection of streetcars, owned by a super-hobbyist, many times before, including the pre-smartphone/GPS days. By the time I got around to committing to a tour, vandals had graffitied almost every car and smashed almost every window on them. It just got too easy in the Internet age to popularize and locate these spots, for good or ill.

But Rust Belt tourism is a thing and these cities often have a long-established culture in arts, cultural attractions and professional sports. As soon as we start realizing the value and vitality of such places, the better it will be for everyone, and we can all avoid the “Autopsy.”

Ranking the Rankin/Bass Christmas Specials: The Good, the Bad and the Bizarre

The prolific producing-directing team of Jules Bass and Arthur Rankin, Jr. have had a huge impact on our holiday viewing traditions. They made no less than 17 animated Christmastime special between 1964 and 1985. The duo created such iconic Yuletide characters as Rudolph, the Little Drummer Boy and Frosty the Snowman—-and memorable side players like Yukon Cornelius, BurgerMeister MeisterBurger and the Snow Miser/Heat Miser brothers.

Rankin and Bass were among the first American producers to employ Japanese animation teams and the resulting “Animagic” stop-motion puppet films (often mistaken for Claymation) are distinctly hand-crafted, often enchanting (even trippy) and sometimes unsettling. So let’s review those Christmas TV memories, both delightful and disturbing:

THE GOOD

“The Year Without a Santa Claus” (1974)

This entry has shot up the charts in many people’s holiday hit list in recent years, due in large part to the increased popularity of the irrepressible Snow Miser and Heat Miser, who do meteorological battle to control the holiday weather via a vaudeville sing-off. But overall, this is an attractive and well-written entry without the dark psychological underpinnings that lurk in other R/B productions.

Here, a very believable Santa (voiced by Mickey Rooney) is fatigued and under the weather. Suspecting that we mortals have stopped believing in him anyway, he decides on a mental health holiday just as December inconveniently rolls in. But the sensible and resourceful Mrs. Claus (Shirley Booth), showing us that it’s not only the Hubbie who knows how fly a reindeer, conspires to save the day. Features the songs “Here Comes Santa Claus” and a children’s version of “Blue Christmas.”

“Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” (1964)

This perennial favorite celebrated its 60th anniversary this month by returning to NBC from whence it first aired. That it came out so long before the “safe space” era makes it great meme fodder for those who want to imagine the magnanimous Rudolph with a different answer to Santa’s famous question. This request for help coming after ol’ Ruddie Red Nose was practically disowned by his dad and bullied and ostracized by nearly everyone at the North Pole, forcing him into a dangerous (but ultimately rewarding) exile.

In these days of everyone-gets-a-trophy, “Rudolph” can stand tall as a great example that the world can be a cruel and callous place, and that a true test of character is not the worst thing. Rudolph “finds his tribe,” first teaming up with would-be dentist elf Hermey who has fled the town’s forced-labor camp, oops, I mean Santa’s workshop. They sing the great non-conformist anthem “We’re a Couple of Misfits” before heading out for their colorfully weird adventures with Yukon, on the Island of Misfit Toys, and against the Abominable Snowman. Note that when Rudolph returns to save the day, only his father straight-up apologizes for his previous cruelty, leaving a lot of unanswered questions about Santa’s alleged kindness.

“The Little Drummer Boy” (1968)

By the late Sixties, Rankin and Bass had hit upon a good dependable working model. This usually involved building a story around a preexisting holiday song (“Drummer Boy” was first recorded in 1951 by the Von Trapp Family), getting celebrity talent to do the voice work (June Foray, Paul Frees and guest narrator Jose Ferrer) and not shying away from subject matter that was a little dark for the kiddies. I confess to traumatizing my own son at a tender age when he witnessed the house of drummer-boy Aaron being torched by bandits while his parents were still inside.

Oopsy! The orphaned and embittered Aaron wanders the Middle Eastern desert, leading on his team of three surviving farm animals, by laying down some beats on the drum he received from his parents before you-know-what. He is exploited by a shady showman, before being led to Bethlehem on the coattails of Three Wise Men. Cue the Vienna Boys’ Choir for the stately rendition of Katherine Kennicott Davis’ revered (and sometimes reviled) carol. Behind that soaring chorus, the scene at the manger with Aaron and his stricken lamb is unabashedly religious and admittedly moving.

“Santa Claus is Coming to Town” (1970)

Fred Astaire gets the “Told and Sung By” honors here, as the R/B team hits on all cylinders. House scriptwriter Romeo Muller pens a succinct origin story for the big guy, and the Animagic cinematography team, led by Kizo Nagashima, do splendid work all the way from the icy-blue Mountain of the Whispering Winds down to the Teutonic grays and browns of Sombertown. The original music by Bass and Maury Laws is Broadway-worthy stuff, especially the two “Toymaker” songs and Claus’ self-improvement tune, “Put One Foot in Front of the Other,” sung to the easily-won-over Winter Warlock.

Voice actor extraordinaire Paul “Boris Badunov” Frees, was the voice of ace villain Burgermeister Meisterburger as well as his assistant Grimley.

This is also the first appearance of Mickey Rooney voicing the part of Santa, a role he would reprise a few times over the next decade. His is a nicer Santa than the ethically dubious one we saw in Rudolph. However, I still have a bit of an issue with the title song, first sung on the radio in 1934 by Eddie Cantor. I mean, here’s a guy who “sees you when you’re sleeping/knows when you’re awake.” Stalker, much?

Jack Frost (1979)

Moving away from the Santa-centric holiday fare, here’s a tale of everyone’s favorite wintertime sprite, one of the team’s most visually appealing entries. But this special’s affecting tale, much of it taking place in a splendorous silvery-blue domain, is hamstrung by a rather odd Groundhog Day framing device, with corny ol’ Buddy Hackett as narrator as Pardon-Me-Pete explaining at length the connection between Jack and his big day on February 2nd.

Otherwise, this is a grown-up story of how lovelorn Jack, crushing hard on the pretty but flighty Elisa, asks Father Winter if he might become human in an attempt to win her hand. She was a fangirl of ol’ Frost in his invisibility mode, but as a real boy it’s more like let’s-be-friends. Nevertheless, Jack proves himself in battle against the fearsome Kubla Khan, the Cossack King, who rules January Junction atop his mechanical horse and has at his disposal a steampunk army and an iron-plated sidekick called Dummy. (Kubla is memorably voiced by Paul Frees in his Boris Badunov voice).

The voice of Elisa is Debra Clinger, of the Clingers. She and her sisters were the first all-girl rock band signed to a major label.

Ultimately though, Jack is obliged to return to his former nipping-at-your-nose occupation, making this maybe the only R/B production with a romantic heartbreak theme.

The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus (1985)

It’s back to the Santa origin story in this adaptation of the 1902 book by “Wizard of Oz” author L. Frank Baum. This is the last, and one of the best, of Rankin/Bass holiday productions, driven by the almost psychedelic visuals inspired by Baum’s ripe imagination. The grand procession of The Immortals that kicks things off in grand style.

The conclave of these pagan bigwigs is called by the Great Ak (“The Master Woodsman of the World”) to decide whether to confer Immortal status on the human orphan named Claus, who they took in after he was abandoned some 50 years previous. Of course, Ak relates the whole backstory, how he and young Claus had travelled the medieval world and got a close-up look at man’s inhumanity to man. Claus is esp. offended at the plight of neglected children and commits himself to their happiness. (But not before the Immortals have to take out the fantastical kid-hating baddies known as the Awgwas).

After a half-century of service, Santa is feeling his age so will the Immortals step up to the plate and make him an Immortal? No spoilers here. Rankin and Bass and their Animagic collaborators in Japan went out on a high note, so don’t miss out on this special special. After all, not all R/B creations we were great, and below we will look at some of their Greatest Misses.

The Bad and the Bizarre

“Frosty the Snowman” (1969)

As if the 1950 Gene Autry song wasn’t annoying enough, this cartoon is so appallingly awful that it shouldn’t appeal to anyone over the age of five with at least one working brain cell. Here is the IMDB capsule description: “A living snowman and a little girl struggle to elude a greedy magician who is after the snowman’s magic hat.” Let’s get one thing straight off the bat: the hat belongs to the magician!! He is clearly shown as the owner when he does his rather inept magic show for the school children. That it later accidentally blew unto their snowman is beside the point.

Merry Christmas, kids!

Let’s admit it, Frosty was better off as an inert snowman. As a living being he is a chucklehead always in danger of melting and thus breaking the hearts of the impressionable kids. Jimmy Durante, as the defensive narrator (“That hat DID belong to Frosty and the children, that point must be made very clear”) sees nothing wrong with Frosty taking one of the children along with him to the North Pole, even though the girl almost freezes to death in the process. But, hey, it’s a classic, I guess! Rankin and Bass always had less luck with their cel animation, though this one paid off handsomely.

“Nestor, the Long-Eared Christmas Donkey” (1977)

This well-meaning but derivative program is also based on a Gene Autry ditty, and Roger “King of the Road” Miller does the honors as narrator and singer here. Shades of “Rudolph” abounds as Nestor is discriminated against because his ground-dragging ears make him clumsy. But Mary and Joseph look kindly on him and Nestor is enlisted to help them make it to Bethlehem. Note to parents: this special is rife with savage Roman soldiers, meanie animal merchants and even Bambi-level tragedy. But it all ends well on that fateful night at the manager, so we all good?

“The Stingiest Man in Town” (1978)

In view of their prolific output, it is no surprise that Rankin/Bass would have a crack at Dickens’ timeless tale. But this operetta-style version of “A Christmas Carol” is best left forgotten. The cel animation is uninspired at best and the musical numbers are mediocre, esp. considering the lazy lyrics (Jacob Marley to Ebenezer: “My chain of wrong is very long/But yours is even longer”). And whatever Walter Matthau was paid for voicing Scrooge, it was too much.

The First Christmas: The Story of the First Christmas Snow (1975)

The unwieldy title is not the only awkward thing about this entry. I mean, Christmas at the convent? I had eight years of parochial school, so it’s a hard pass for me. However, I did like Angela Lansbury’s version of “White Christmas.”

‘Twas the Night Before the Christmas (1974)

There are mouses in the houses in this rodent-infested version of the inescapable holiday poem. And they are stirring, unfortunately. Another example of how the R/B team were seemingly indifferent with their cel animation works, this one looks like a Hanna-Barbara reject.

Rudolph and Frosty’s Christmas in July (1979)

The youngsters should love this crossover effort. It has two of Rankin and Bass’ most beloved creations, and the stop-motion work looks great. I continue have doubts about the problematic top-hatted snowman, who still insists on using tobacco products in the company of children. Put away that corncob pipe and I’ll wish even you a Merry Christmas, Frosty!

So what do you think, what’s your most and least favorite Rankin/Bass show? Let me know and have a great holiday season! –Rick Ouellette

Edgar Allan Poe: The American We Need Now

He warned the world about global warming in the 1840s. He had the foresight to know that the application of science and technology without the balancing spirit of poetry would yield a “rectangular obscenity.” He decried the myriad media hoaxes of the middle 19th century and concocted a few of his own as a warning to the gullible. Oh yeah, and he wrote some nifty horror stories as well.

Meet the other Edgar Allan Poe. Everyone knows about the haunted, hard-drinking author of such psychological terror tales as “The Tell-Tale Heart” and “The Pit and the Pendulum” that all but invented the modern Goth aesthetic. Most are familiar with the rigorous poet behind the famous verses of “The Raven” and “Anabel Lee.” But far fewer are aware of Poe the inspired cosmologist, the young man who studied engineering and mathematics at West Point, and who, as America’s first de facto science reporter, cast a very skeptical eye on the era’s centralization of power in that growing field.

In the extraordinary 2021 book, “The Reason for the Darkness of the Night,” author John Tresch goes a long way into giving this iconic American figure his full due. The fourth and fifth decades of the 19th century saw significant advances in industrialism and science, which had only recently graduated from its previous incarnation as “natural philosophy.”

It was also an age of chicanery, of dubious pseudo-sciences like phrenology, which could be used for racial profiling in an age when the conflict between slavery and abolition were headed to a boiling point. According to Tresch, Poe’s writing (in both fiction and reportage) “dramatized the act of inquiry and the struggles, fears, hopes, and delusions of the human undertaking.”

Foremost in the struggle was Poe’s conflicted feelings regarding the dawning Industrial Revolution. He wrote his “Sonnet to Science” early on (while still in the service), asking this new field “Why prey’st thus upon the poet’s heart/Vulture! Whose wings are dull realities!” and later asking “Hast thou not dragg’d Diana from her car?” In other words, are we now destined to only see the Moon as Earth’s cratered satellite and not perceive the lunar patroness riding her celestial chariot? As both an exceptional book-learner and an amateur astronomer since his youth, Poe could appreciate both.

Poe’s enduring popularity even extends to speculation about his childhood, in this personal favorite of cartoonist Harry Bliss.

Around the same time Poe, in a letter, declared “I am a poet… if deep worship of all beauty can make me one.” His deep reverence for—and uneasy awe at the power of—the natural world oozes out of his lesser-known fantasy stories like “The Domain of Arnhiem” and “Tale of the Ragged Mountains.” Oftentimes, Poe depicted a desolate or decayed landscape (read the stark opening of “The Fall of the House of Usher”) a background to what he may have felt in the newly industrializing cities of his East Coast haunts from Boston down to Richmond. A smoke and/or fog blankets many of his tales and while he was no Luddite, the growth of polluting factories free from regulation was indicative to Poe of the at-any-cost mindset when business, science and government were centralized without popular input.

Poe famously had a tough life. His mother, foster mother, brother and wife all died of TB (then called consumption) which he memorably personified in “Masque of the Red Death.” His wealthy rat-fink foster father all but disowned him, undermining his enrollment at the Univ. of Virginia and cutting Poe out of will while providing for several illegitimate children. Poe lived the life of a penurious journeyman writer, struggling to get published and drifting in and out of the employ of various journals and newspapers. Despite fleeting fame for the hugely popular “The Raven,” widespread acclaim avoided Poe in his lifetime.

From 2015, the excellent animated anthology “Extraordinary Tales” is also highly recommended.

But despite (or because) the morbidity of his circumstances and the flavor of his best-known work, Edgar Allan Poe is an enormously popular figure. At his core a man of the people, he’s the guy we need right now. His instinctive opposition to giving great power to those who excel only in a technical sense. One need only look at the barely recognizable human “qualities” of a Mark Zuckerberg or the unstable rantings of an Elon Musk to see where the problem lies into giving such people nearly limitless agency. And that’s not to mention the scourge of the Orange Grotesquerie, whose appeal to grievance and hatred in the pursuit of power is a horror even the master himself would maybe be challenged to depict.

I don’t want to speculate too much on a man that’s been dead for 175 years, but I think Poe today would provide a refreshing antidote to modern society’s pitfalls. Despite his personal tragedies and epic binge drinking, our man Edgar was at heart an idealist. Never afraid to mix it up in the court of public opinion, he would probably be a social media sensation, and a modest Go Fund campaign might alleviate his persistent money problems. A year before his death, he wrote and lectured on his cosmological treatise “Eureka” part of which positioned us all as part of a universal brotherhood united by our common inheritance of a single unitary effect at the beginning of time (Poe was an early proponent of the Big Bang Theory). Tresch begins “The Reason for the Darkness of the Night” with Poe’s last stand, reading “Eureka” before a small but rapt audience in New York City. The author thought that this manifesto would be his defining work, though it was not to be. But still, (in Tresch’s words, “Poe’s work embodies the defining tensions” of both his age and ours: “between popular diffusion and elite control, between empathy and detachment, between inspired enthusiasm and icy materialism.” While we don’t have the Poe we need today, Tresch’s illuminating book and a deep dive into his subject’s lesser-known but still invaluable works, is recommended, if not essential.

Coppola’s Protopian Messterpiece

I come to praise Cesar (Catalina), not bury him. For many, “Megalopolis” is an easy film to dislike, but it’s a rewarding one to give an honest look at. Francis Ford Coppola’s long-gestating mega-project is messy and often unfocused, with moments of unintentional hilarity. But those moments are not nearly as laughable as some of the negative opinions lobbed at it.

In an age where cynical slasher movies and DC/Marvel sequels are puked off a cinematic assembly line at record pace, calling “Megalopolis” the “worst movie of all time” with “no redeeming qualities” is kind of like settling on Milli Vanilli’s “All or Nothing” as your favorite album because you thought the Beatle’s “White Album” was too sprawling.

In a re-imagined New York City called New Rome, superstar architect Cesar Catilina (Adam Driver) has altruistic ideas for rebuilding a city that is a teetering empire very obviously based on its namesake. Against a backdrop of garish decadence (there are orgy-like parties and even a chariot race) Cesar’s proposal, as chief of the city’s Design Authority, is opposed by the old-school mayor Franklyn Cicero—played by Giancarlo Esposito who bears a strong resemblance to NYC’s current embattled mayor Eric Adams.

In its own loopy way,  “Megalopolis” is a sincere plea for an idealistic way forward for a world society in a time of debilitating tribal and nationalistic divisions. Comparing the bitterly polarized America of today to the approaching fall of the Roman Empire is not exactly a novel idea, but Coppola’s visual representation of this concept is the film’s strongest element.

From the late 19th century to the mid-1940s, New York was built to a majestic, inspirational scale comparable to what the Eternal City was in the ancient world. Cesar’s apartment/studio is in the defunct Cloud Club atop the Chrysler Building. Imposing low angle views of the Helmsley Building, Grand Central and other classic Manhattan structures are used to great dramatic effect, and we get to go underground to get a glimpse of the faded glory that is the old City Hall subway station. Colossal living statues sit despondently or crumble in alleyways, their great allegorical symbolism forgotten.

At the core of “Megalopolis” is a factor often overlooked but important enough to warrant its own section in the movie’s Wikipedia entry: “Artistic Idealism as Antidote to Polarization.”   That is, the role of the creative class in helping create more inclusive and livable cities. I can only hope that Coppola’s vision at least inspires some younger artists to foster a new generation of bold, humane visions (and in all the various ways they can be attained) in a world that so surely needs it.

The film’s closing title card attempts to transcend both nationalism and identity politics.

I did, however, have a problem with Cesar Catalina’s use of the word “utopia” which Mayor Cicero correctly identifies as a fantasy land. What Cesar really strives for is a “protopia,” a practical way forward to a better world for all. I think it was a deft move by Coppola to have the cerebral Cesar allied with the more grounded mayor for the film’s corny but uplifting closing scene.

Hopefully, this noble-but-flawed valediction for the 85 year-old filmmaker will outlast the confidence of the naysayers who to me sound too smart to know any better. “Is this way we’re living the only one available to us?” Cesar memorably asks at one point. I would like to think so, but I’m far from sure about it.

For the Records: Cover Albums, Part One

It’s a funny thing, the long tradition of rock artists recording songs written by others. The origin story of untold thousands of bands has them cutting their teeth on an old Chuck Berry number or blues standard, or maybe “Louie Louie” and/or “Gloria.”  Many groups soon to be famous for penning their own tunes, from the Beatles and Stones on down, peppered their early albums with cover material. Hell, even Bob Dylan’s 1962 debut only featured two songs written by the man himself.

But from the mid-Sixties on, the only true way forward in the rock business was to be performing your own compositions. Unlike the Sinatras or Tony Bennetts of an earlier era, the pantheon of Boomer-era acts featured few song “interpreters” (Linda Ronstadt and Joe Cocker are two that spring to mind). If you can’t write ‘em, your outfit may soon be relegated to eternal bar-band status.

Yet no matter how good a band’s own material may be, musicians are always fans first. A well-placed cover song can really add to an album’s success, whether it be Jimi Hendrix’ definitive take on Dylan’s “All Along the Watchtower,” the Clash’s “Police and Thieves,” the Talking Heads’ “Take Me to the River” or name your favorite.

But an album full of other’s material by those well known for penning their own songs rarely turns out to be a triumph. Is it because many are contractual obligations, or place markers when one is a little thin on new material? While some are fun, rarely is it a discographical highlight. Let’s have a look.

“Pin Ups” David Bowie (1973)

Let’s start with a good one, so we can see what makes for a successful covers album. The reason Pin Ups ranks so high is that it has a workable concept and there is an effort made on some tracks to put a new spin on the material. David gives props to the British bands that inspired him in the years 1963-67, just prior to his own recording career taking off.

He does a slowed-down version of the Who’s “I Can’t Explain,” playing a sexy sax refrain to go with it. The wild instrumental coda he gives “See Emily Play” makes it even more acid-drenched than the Pink Floyd original. True, elsewhere he sticks close to the original, as on the two Pretty Things selections and the Kinks’ great anti-anthem “Where Have All the Good Times Gone.” But these are helped by the fact that they are backed up by the Ziggy Stardust band, featuring guitarist Mick Ronson on guitar. Another highlight is Bowie’s lovely, doleful take on the Mersey’s “Sorrow” which was a hit single in several countries. Grade: A-

“Moondog Matinee” The Band (1973)

“Why don’t we just do our old nightclub act” the late Levon Helm recalled someone in the Band saying, but the drummer/vocalist can’t recall who, per his lively memoir “This Wheel’s on Fire.”

The group was in the middle of a ten-record deal with Capitol Records and short of new material. They were also in the middle of a group relocation from the Catskills to Malibu and cutting a quick record of tributes bought them some time. It’s more a well-curated and well-performed selection of early R&B and rock ‘n’ roll chestnuts than a nightclub act, though they deliver some potential crowd-pleasing things like the cheeky Lieber-Stoller rug cutter “Saved.”

Elsewhere, songs from Sam Cooke, Allen Toussaint, Fats Domino and Chuck Berry abound. There a few twists: keyboard wizard Garth Hudson has a great go at the timeless “Third Man Theme” and Helm used a then-newfangled talkbox to get the needed croaking part on Clarence “Frogman” Henry’s “Ain’t Got No Home.” A fun listen but inessential, like many in this category. Grade: B

“Rock ‘n’ Roll” John Lennon (1975)

John Lennon was well known for his deep-rooted love for Fifties music but the actual impetus for this album came from a court settlement. The notorious music publisher Morris Levy sued Lennon because the music to the Beatles’ “Come Together” (though slowed down) and one line (“Here come old flat-top”) bore a strong resemblance to Chuck Berry’s “You Can’t Catch Me,” which Levy owned. The agreement read that John would record three songs from Levy’s publishing company on his next album.

When word got out in the fall of ’73 that Lennon was recording a tribute album in Los Angeles, all his musician friends/drinking buddies showed and it was quite a scene. Producer Phil Spector shot a hole in the roof and a bottle of whisky spilled onto the console, amongst other hijinks. Some material managed to get recorded but then Spector ran off with the master tapes. Lennon shelved the project and recorded Walls and Bridges instead. The tapes were eventually recovered, and the rest of the album was knocked out (under further legal duress from Levy) in three days in the fall of 1974 for an early ’75 release.

The results were predictably patchy but there are some fine moments: an energetic stomp thru “Bony Moronie,” a reggae-inflected “Do You Want to Dance,” and a soulful take on Ben E. King’s “Stand by Me” that was a Top 20 single. Elsewhere, several tracks sound rushed or uninspired, and admittedly one of the best things about Rock ‘n’ Roll is Jurgen Vollmer’s great photo of a young, leather-jacketed Lennon leaning in a doorway from the Fab’s Hamburg years. Grade: B-

“Givin’ it Back” The Isley Brothers (1971)

Well, here’s a bit of a “twist” in the covers album scheme of things. The Isley Brothers, whose songs had been covered by many Sixties rock bands (esp. in the case of the Beatles’ “Twist and Shout”) return the favor by covering an eclectic collection of (mostly) white artists. Side One consists of three extended tracks, marching out of the gate with a powerful protest medley of Neil Young’s “Ohio” and Jimi Hendrix’ “Machine Gun.” The Vietnam War was still very much happening in 1971, and there’s no missing the urgency in Ron Isley’s lead vocal. Meanwhile, kid brother Ernie, not quite twenty at the time, gets to show off his already prodigious guitar chops. Hendrix was briefly in Isley’s backing group and his influence was quite clear on Ernie, who knew Jimi as a kid.

Turning James Taylor’s regretful ballad of a friend’s suicide into an Issac Hayes-style psychedelic soul number may not have been the best decision, but their “Fire and Rain” is interesting, nonetheless. More successful is their ten-minute slow jam on Bob Dylan’s “Lay Lady Lay” which gives Ron plenty of time for seductive ad-libbing, stopping just short of Barry White territory. (On successive albums, the Brothers would continue to produce extended soulful covers of soft-rock hits like “Summer Breeze” and “It’s Too Late,” often featuring dramatic guitar workouts from Ernie). The album rounds out with two Steve Stills’ numbers (the single release of “Love the One You’re With” hit #18 on the pop charts) and Bill Withers’ “Cold Bologna” with the songwriter guesting on guitar. Grade: B+

“Compliments of Garcia” Jerry Garcia (1974)

When I was in high school, I received a complimentary (if you will) armful of Grateful Dead-related vinyl from my girlfriend’s neighbor who worked as a publicist for the band. There were acknowledged classics (Workingman’s Dead), a few oddities (the outré soundscape Seastones on which a couple of Dead members appeared), and a few solo albums, including this covers album which for some time was a left-field favorite of mine. It presents as a record to be lightly regarded, as Jerry gives low-key props to some of his wide-ranging influences. But as soon as the train whistle and shuffling beat kicks off the album (with Chuck Berry’s “Let it Rock”), I was drawn into the record’s laid-back appeal.

Maybe it hasn’t aged all that well in this less laid-back time. His takes on Smokey Robinson and Dr. John are pleasant if unspectacular, and Garcia maybe should have second-thought the inclusion of “Let’s Spend the Night Together” (one reviewer quipped that this version made it seem like the couple in question spent the night playing cards). But there are also well-considered versions: his in-the-pocket rendition of Van Morrison’s “He Ain’t Give You None” is preferrable to the author’s undisciplined original on T.B. Sheets. Best of all is a beatific, slowed-down take on Seatrain’s “Mississippi Moon.” And it ends nicely with “Midnight Town,” an atmospheric number by Garcia Band bassist John Kahn. Grade B-

“The Hit List” Joan Jett (1990)

I was a bit surprised at how quickly this album flat-lined for me. Maybe because Jett’s breakout solo LP (1982’s I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll) featured three definitive cover tunes. The title track she made completely her own, turning it into a worldwide #1 single. Another breakout performance was on Tommy James’ “Crimson and Clover,” where her breathy, come-hither vocal memorably mixed with crunching power chords. And it ended with one of the best-ever holiday rock songs, a bratty “Little Drummer Boy” that concluded with an instrumental rave-up worthy of the Who’s Live at Leeds.

So where did The Hit List go so wrong? For one, randomness never bodes well—Jett goes from ZZ Top to the Sex Pistols to Credence as if all three bands were cut from the same cloth. Secondly, her vocals range from pro forma to uninspired. She practically sleepwalks thru “Love Hurts,” only serving to remind one of the full-throated drama of Nazareth’s hit version or the plaintive charm in the way Gram Parsons did it. And strangely enough all we get is autopilot mode on AC/DC’s “Dirty Deeds,” which should have been a natural for her.

There are a couple of modest highlights. There’s the one left-field choice (the Hendrix obscurity “Up From the Skies”) and an appealing version of the Kinks Klassic “Celluloid Heroes.” Here we get the Sweet Joanie voice and a convincing arrangement that leads up to one of her patented shouts, maybe the only one on the whole record. Saved from a D+ for the glamourous cover photo. Grade: C-

“Thank You” Duran Duran (1995)

In deference to some of the selections above, being uninspired is one thing but being downright bizarre is quite another. And so we have New Wave glamour boys Duran Duran. They may have peaked in popularity in the early 80s but in the mid-90s their records were still regularly in the Top 20, esp. in their native UK. So I’m not sure what inspired them to foist this rummage sale of a covers LP on the world. Taking on vintage R&B, hip-hop, classic rock and ballads with the same dilettantish insolence, Thank You was voted the worst album of all-time by staff of Q magazine in 2006.

Probably most galling for the critics, were DD’s take on two notable rap numbers. Their Beck-like version of Public Enemy’s “9-11 is a Joke” is a joke. But it’s not as bad as the presumptuous run-thru on Grandmaster Flash/Melle Mel’s classic “White Lines.” You can’t fault the boys on their energy level but the cognitive dissonance is too pronounced to overcome. Let’s just say it’s a long way from a Bronx block party to a Notting Hill boutique.

Elsewhere, there are very unimpressive takes on oft-covered material like “Ball of Confusion,” “Lay Lady Lay” and Lou Reed’s ubiquitous “Perfect Day.” I will give bassist John Taylor props for his work on the “funkier” numbers, but singer Simon Le Bon didn’t get the memo that there is more to paying tribute in song than just knowing the words. Worst of all is a regrettable version of the Sly Stone’s “I Wanna Take You Higher” which concludes with some teenybopper girl dumbly asking the guys where they wanna take her and when they dumbly reply “higher” you realize that this giant mistake of an album couldn’t get any lower. Grade: D

More coming up soon in Part Two, including entries from the Ramones, Patti Smith, Cat Power and Elvis Costello. —Rick Ouellette

“In a Dream of Strange Cities” Part 3

The third installment of my comic “In a Dream of Strange Cities” is below. Written and conceived by myself (Rick Ouellette), illustrations by Ipan. Here, our protagonist Swain, now well into his extended visit to the “Second World,” begins to perceive that he may be called into the service of the protopian leader, Lady Domine, helped along by the members of the charismatic band Machine Age Maven. If interested in the previously published IAD edition (“Chthonic Days,” a self-contained story) click on the to-buy link on the right column of this blog, thanks!)