Book Review: One Train Later: A Memoir by Andy Summers

If guitarist Andy Summers was overshadowed in the Police by Stewart Copeland and Sting, it was only because he had the relatively smallest of the three raging egos in the band. His side of the story comes to light in his autobiography One Train Later. The title refers to a chance encounter with drummer Stewart Copeland when an early Police line-up was at the breaking point. Summers had joined a going concern and quickly recognized that he, Copeland and Sting had unique and highly developed skills and were being held back by novice guitarist Henri Padovani. Summers had discussed the situation with Sting but was hesitant to approach Copeland with his "him or me" ultimatum. The two ran into each other on the subway, hashed it out and sealed their fate.

This is just one of the colorful stories from Summers life. I knew he was older than his Police-mates and had achieved middling success prior to the Police, but I was unaware of just how much he had accomplished. Handed his first guitar in his teens, he fell in love with the instrument and worked constantly to improve and expand his technique. He moved to London from Bournemouth and hit the ground running. He lined up his first paid gig within days of his arrival and worked continuously for years, eventually relocating to Los Angeles. He describes the grueling pace, the influence of hallucinogens and the artistic striving for something bigger. He seems unfazed by his ease in finding work, with is own bands or joining existing ones, until it comes to an abrupt halt in the mid '70s. He spends the fallow period woodshedding, working on his craft and scraping by on a meager existence teaching guitar. He marries his second wife and brings her back to England with barely a penny to his name.

He makes a go of it as a touring guitar for hire, which provides a steady income and steady intake of alcohol but little artistic satisfaction. He eventually finds his way to the Police, where he finds his niche in the perfect confluence of factors. The band embraces the spirit and energy of punk but rejects punk's disdain for virtuosity; they struggle to find a pathway between the two extremes, retaining credibility in the punk world while carving a new sound. They tour relentlessly to all corners of the world, earning their fame one tiny audience, one dingy nightclub at a time, succumbing to the wear-and-tear of life on the road, the excesses presented them as their sales ratchet up and the rifts within the band caused by intertwined ego and artistic drive. He takes so much of the blame for his failed marriage that at times it feels that his motivation for writing the book was an extended apology to his wife. Ian Copeland's book had a more colorful description of getting their gear out of customs in Egypt, but Summers otherwise provides plenty of choice anecdotes about touring in exotic locales. His writing is so vivid, especially in the calmer moments of his life when there was less going on worth describing, that I wondered if he had a ghost writer. But I can't imagine anyone who takes such pride in his craft doing so.

Concert Review: The Hives, The Donnas, The Riviera, Chicago, February 29

Howlin' Pelle Almqvist is not lacking for ego. His repeated calls for applause and adoration would quickly wear thin if the band he fronts didn't actually deliver the goods. But the Hives were non-stop juggernaut of garage rock at the Riviera on Friday night, sometimes soul-inflected, but always smoking. Almqvist and guitarist Nicholaus Arson were the flashy showman, but the whole band was supremely tight. And at least Almqvist invocations for devotion were delivered with a wink, most obviously when informing the audience that they were the best crowd they have ever played to.

As for openers the Donnas, I wasn't that crazy about Van Halen 25 years ago, so an all-female, less debauched version holds little appeal today.

Concert Recommendation: The Hives, The Riviera, Friday, February 29

As much as I love the Hives as a live act, I'd written them off as a novelty one-album wonder after Veni, Vidi, Vicious. Then I heard their newest release, The Black and White Album, and my faith was restored. There is no obvious single because so many songs are so outstanding, a total rush that lends itself to their explosive shows. Come see how rock and roll should be lived and breathed.

The Hives play with the Donnas at the Riviera Theater, 4746 N. Racine Ave., Chicago, on Friday, February 29 at 7:30 p.m.

Event Recommendation: Sound Opinions at the Movies: The Kids Are Alright

In these days of social software, band interaction with their fans is a given. Four decades ago, it was far less commonplace. Yet the Who handed over the reins to a persistent, devoted teenage fan to make a documentary about them. That he managed to show what made the band so fun and fantastic is why the film still matters now. Jim DeRogatis and Greg Kot co-host a special screening of the result, 1979's The Kids Are Alright, followed by a Q & A.

Sound Opinions at the Movies, Music Box Theatre, 3733 N. Southport Ave., Chicago, 773-871-6604 at 7:30 p.m. on Thursday, February 7.

'80s College Radio DJ Let Loose in Mall?

Muzak has lost its stodgy "elevator music" image of bland instrumental versions of songs that were never terribly interesting to begin with. Lots of stores use programmed music with more distinctive personality, but it's usually obviously suited to the retailer's target demographic. Which is why I was so surprised today when shopping at a boring suburban department store, one where I shop infrequently specifically because their clothing styles lack even the slightest edge, to hear "Boys Don't Cry" by the Cure, followed shortly by "Seven Seas" by Echo and the Bunnymen. It was as if the Muzak programming booth had been hijacked by someone from Rhino who had compiled the Left of the Dial or A Life Less Lived '80s alternative and goth, respectively, box sets. Soon enough it was back to mall pap with a bright shiny retro hit from Wham! But it was so pleasantly disconcerting that I considered asking a staff member what was up.

Doonesbury Salutes NIN

Frazz is usually the only comic strip with funny music references, but Doonesbury had a great one on January 28.

http://www.doonesbury.com/strip/dailydose/index.html?uc_full_date=20080128

Album Review: The Redwalls

The quality falls off after the first three songs on the Redwalls' new self-titled release, but boy are those first three some real doozies. "Hangman" is the song the Stooges should have written and recorded for The Weirdness. "Modern Diet" and "Summer Romance" are like early to mid '70s Bowie, glam with a bit of blue-eyed soul inflection, the later with the sentimental but urgent refrain, "Please don't let me hear you say good-bye." Nothing stands out as much on the rest of the album, but it plays like the Strokes with an affection for Mott the Hoople.

Album Review: Jens Lekman Night Falls Over Kortedala

Normally when I review an album, by the time I've written the review I need a break from listening to it repeatedly, no matter how good it is. Maybe it's because I had a short turnaround for my review of Night Falls Over Kortedala by Jens Lekman for CDHotlist and only listened to it a few times, but I can't stop playing it. My "official" review won't run for a few weeks, but suffice it to say that it is charmingly dorky.

My New Writing Outlet

As of the November edition, I am writing for CDHotlist: New Releases for Libraries. Because the threshold is CDs that would circulate at a library or otherwise add value to its collection, my criteria for coverage is different that what I'd write about here. It is also implicit that it is unnecessary to review releases that are so popular that libraries wouldn't think twice about buying them, but I'm unlikely to write about such albums here, either. I'm not yet listed on the contributors page, so you'll have to take my word for it that those attributed to "MC" are mine.

Concert Review: Mudhoney, Double Door, November 2

Any disappointment I had over the Stooges reunion was more than mitigated by the appearance by Mudhoney at the Double Door. They're not just carrying the Stooges' torch, they're keeping the fire blazing. They were noisy but economical, without a wasted distorted note, and articulately pissed off. They blasted through their history with rip-snorting exuberance, from "Touch Me I'm Sick" to the strong, new material from Under a Billion Suns such as "Where Is the Future?"

The guys haven't gone to seed, with Steve Turner and Mark Arm looking as fit as even and Dan Peters looking as slightly unfit as ever. (New guy Guy Maddison on bass is built more in the Peters stocky mold.) While men hit an age where unshaven suggested "homeless" rather than "swarthy," Steve Turner with stubble still resembles a sleep-deprived grad student, a total guitar hero without ever looking the cliché. Even when untethered from his guitar, Mark Arm never commands the stage the way Iggy Pop does, but this is more of a democratic band than a star with a back-up group, and he certainly commits to the songs with his whole body, from his arched back to his scratchy wail.

Although they are the original grunge band that never struck gold off grunge, I have mixed feelings about their marginal appeal. While I wish the best for any band I adore, I'm glad they never fell prey to the shortcomings of fame and fortune. The best measure of what decent guys they are came when Arm cut a song off in the middle. They discussed the problem with smiles on their faces rather than accusations and recriminations, only for Arm to apologize to the audience for his fucked up ears before they resumed.

As for openers Thunderwing, I love a Monks song marginally popularized by the Fall as much as anyone, but I wish the glam revivalists had enough faith to open with their own compositions rather than a Velvet Underground cover.

Album Review: The Stooges The Weirdness

Sometimes reunions are better in theory than in practice. I wanted to love Iggy back with the band that established him, especially after the lame, generic backing he got from lame, generic neopunks Sum 41 on some tracks on Skull Ring, his last solo album. But I am sorry to report that The Weirdness is just blustery. They make a lot of noise, but it's all just wind blowing around. While the band are hardly maestros, their early work had a tautness and economy; now they just bash away aimlessly. Iggy's repeating lyrics doesn't emphasize a point they way, "I Wanna Be Your Dog," did; now it just implies that he doesn't have much to say. I'm glad that Iggy hasn't grown physically paunchy the way many of his aging rocker peers have; hoping for him to remain relevant is perhaps asking too much.

Movie Review: Control

Control, the new Ian Curtis biopic, just doesn't have the same commercial prospects as Ray or Walk the Line. Rather than ending, "...and he went on to become an American icon," this one wraps up, "...and the Macclesfield, England native committed suicide on the eve of the band's first U.S. tour." While a movie about the lead singer of Joy Division may not arouse mass interest, especially when it's shot in grim black and white, it is nonetheless a worthy picture.

The film follows Curtis from Bowie-obsessed teen to his death at 23, although the time frame between those points is vague. It shows his swagger and bravado, stealing his friend's girlfriend, approaching Tony Wilson and demanding that the band appear on the TV show Wilson hosts, so different from the public persona of his awkward, spastic stage presence, which actor Sam Riley captures perfectly. It delves into his ambivalence over fame, his ambivalence over his marriage which he refuses to end despite being in love with his mistress, and his unmanageable epilepsy, all of which lead him to his inevitable end.

While so much of the film is bleak, from the Manchester scenery to the band's spartan songs, it also finds plenty of levity. In an early scene with the band, bass player Peter Hook is portrayed as exceedingly flatulent. (I interviewed the man himself on several occasions and never recall hearing him let one fly.) He and a schoolmate visit an old lady just to raid her medicine cabinet. When he suffers an epileptic seizure on stage his manager tells him afterward, "Could be worse. You could be the singer for the Fall." Only followers of Mark E. Smith (of which my husband and I appeared to be the only ones in the theater) can appreciate why that is such a specific put-down, but it works even without such Manchester music knowledge.

Control is playing at the Music Box Theatre, 3733 N. Southport Ave., Chicago, 773.871.6604.

Concert Review: The Woggles, The Abbey Pub, September 7

The evening was not in the Woggles' favor. The Hideout Block Party was the hipster event of the weekend. The Woggles are hardly the indie rock band of the moment. Not surprisingly, the crowd at the Abbey was thin; they didn't even open the upstairs seating area. So maybe it was only diehard Woggles fans. But still, how often does the majority of the audience dance at a concert? Not just bob their heads in time to the music, but outright dance, moving their whole bodies. The band deserved such a reaction. To say that they committed to the material is an understatement. Lead singer the Professor frequently leapt from the stage, infiltrated the audience and even commandeered the furniture. He, guitarist the Flesh Hammer and bass player Buzz Hagstrom frequently danced in unison while playing, much like the Fleshtones. Mostly, they just peddled their infectious soul-inflected garage rock wares with gusto and earned every fan they made.

RIP Tony Wilson

It's not surprising that it didn't make much of a news splash in the U.S., but Tony Wilson died earlier this month. While he can't take full credit, the man was at least partly responsible for Factory Records, Joy Division, New Order, the Hacienda (a.k.a the Hallucienda), the whole Madchester scene and the irreverently post-modern bio pic 24 Hour Party People. NME has lots of coverage: obituary, news story and tributes from New Order and Alan McGee.

Movie Recommendation: Punk's Not Dead

My cousin's sister-in-law's documentary Punk's Not Dead is now playing at the Gene Siskel Film Center. It focuses on the more recent years of punk. The best part of the film's web site? Part of the URL could be read as "punk snot." How punk.

We Have to Face the Truth Some Time

I lamented not getting to see the Who when they toured earlier this year, at least until viewing Live at Lyon, the bonus DVD accompanying last year's Endless Wire. I've been a die-hard fan of the Who to the point that I could chalk up my disappointment over their 2002 Chicago area show to the recent death of John Entwistle and the poor acoustics and atmosphere of the venue. But as Roger sings in Mike Post Theme on that album, "We have to face the truth some time." Roger's voice is ragged. They play like they are just there to collect a paycheck. I still have faith in Pete's songwriting ability and they may have once been one of the finest live acts, but they are clearly past their prime.

Concert Recommendation: Os Mutantes, Metro, July 11

If you see only one garage psychedelic tropicalia reunion show this summer, make it this one. Os Mutantes play the Metro, 3730 N. Clark St., Chicago, 773.549.0203. at 9 p.m. on Wednesday, July 11.

Concert Review: The Police, Wrigley Field, July 6

There's a fine line to walk when playing a concert full of familiar hits. To just reproduce the recorded versions is artistically stale, but to blow them up too far leads to bloat. The trick is to find a way to make the songs fresh but not flabby. As the reunited Police trotted out their well-known back catalog, they mostly avoided the former but too often fell into the latter trap. They found their best success when mixing up their lesser-known mostly-instrumental songs with their big hits, which is ironic because it was generally the music, rather than lyrics, that got overextended.

The nontraditional location made it more of an event than a concert, but it was never quite as trancendental at Radiohead in Grant Park in 2001. The songs were still fantastic, and the reunion made up for not getting to see the band back in the day, but it rarely sent shivers down my spine.

Some other random thoughts:

• Heading into the encore, my friend asked what they hadn't done yet. I pointed out the obvious, "Every Breath You Take," but also going through my mind was all the odd songs that never get played on the radio, such as "Be My Girl-Sally."
• Sting is one of the few men who can get away with hair product and a receding hairline. I shuddered imagining Sting with a comb-over.
• Since Stewart Copeland brings athleticism to the drums, it makes sense that he favors athletic wear onstage: sweatband, gloves, a shirt from a manufacturer that specializes in moisture-wicking fabrics and, back in the day, track shorts, although he was in long pants last night.
• The Police are the most famous rock band with the least famous guitarist. I bet my husband was typical, unable to recall Andy Summers' name. Is there any other Rock and Rock Hall of Fame shoo-in where it's easier to remember who plays bass and drums than guitar?
• It was a toss-up which person sitting near us was the most annoying: the guy who wouldn't stop mauling his girlfriend except to demand high-5's from strangers, the dude yelling "Yeah!" along with "Invisible Sun" as if it were a frat boy-friendly party anthem rather than a song about searching for greater meaning in life or the oaf who clapped along loudly but never on the beat.
• I almost felt sorry for the suckers who paid to sit atop the buildings near Wrigley Field. The seats face home plate, but the stage was in the outfield.
• I don't know if my dwindled enthusiasm for huge concerts is related to the fact that I no longer have an in to buy good seats at reasonable face value. Ticket prices in general have skyrocketed, and my ticket connection is gone. I wonder if I'd paid through the nose for excellent seats I would enjoy it more or just have higher expectations that would more easily be shattered.
  

Album Review: The Fratellis, Costello Music

A friend who isn't into music at all, upon hearing Decksandrumsandrockandroll by the Propellerheads, commented that it was better than coffee. The Fratellis' debut Costello Music also fits that description. Their glam-infected power pop makes you want to jump up and down. Unlike Paper Tigers by the Caesars, this album lives up to the hype delivered by the track featured in an iPod ad.

Concert Review: Frisbie, Empty Bottle, June 14

Concert Review: Frisbie, Empty Bottle, June 14

It was a banner week in Chicago for power pop bands beginning with F. Fountains of Wayne headlined the Taste of Randolph Street on Friday, and Frisbie took the stage at the Empty Bottle the night before. Based on how sparse the Empty Bottle crowd was, I hesitate to use the term "local favorites" in describing Frisbie, but they could warrant that designation again with their upcoming album New Debut.

Their set started off displaying more potential than the actual goods. I kept thinking that the new songs would probably sound good on the new album, but I wasn't hearing it yet. The abrupt ending of the title track left the audience confused, especially since the persistent hum in the PA made it unclear if they had only come to a false ending. Then they fired up the early stuff, most notably "Disaster," and everything finally clicked. They excelled at both the power and the pop, rocking out with guitars blazing accompanied by gorgeous vocal harmonies.

After far too long with shows too sporadically scheduled, Frisbie plays the Double Door on July 14 for their record release party.