Saturday, December 24, 2011

Country Rawk

Country rock is sub-genre of popular music, formed from the fusion of rock with country. The term is generally used to refer to the wave of rock musicians who began to record country-flavored records in the late 1960s and early 1970s, beginning with Bob Dylan and The Byrds; reaching its greatest popularity in the 1970s with artists like Emmylou Harris and the Eagles. 
Rock and roll has often been seen as a combination of rhythm and blues with country music, a fusion particularly evident in 1950s rockabilly,[2] and there has been cross-pollination throughout the history of both genres, however, the term country-rock is generally used to refer to the wave of rock musicians of the late 1960s and early 1970s who began to record rock records using country themes, vocal styles and additional instrumentation, most characteristically pedal steel guitar.
Country influences can be heard on rock records through the 1960s, including tracks on the Beatles for Sale album (1964) (including "I'll Cry Instead", "Baby's in Black" and "I Don't Want to Spoil the Party"), on the Rolling Stones "High and Dry" (1966), as well as Buffalo Springfield's "Go and Say Goodbye" (1966) and "Kind Woman" (1968).[3]In 1966, as many rock artists moved increasingly towards expansive and experimental psychedelia, Bob Dylan spearheaded the back-to-basics roots revival when he went to Nashville to record the album Blonde on Blonde, using notable local musicians like Charlie McCoy.[4] This, and the subsequent more clearly country-influenced albums, John Wesley Harding (1967) and Nashville Skyline (1969), have been seen as creating the genre of country folk, a route pursued by a number of, largely acoustic, folk musicians.[4]Dylan's lead was also followed by The Byrds, who were joined by Gram Parsons in 1968. Earlier in the year Parsons had released Safe at Home (although the principal recording for the album had taken place in mid-1967) with the International Submarine Band, which made extensive use of pedal steel and is seen by some as the first true country-rock album.[3] The result of Parsons' brief tenure in the Byrds was Sweetheart of the Rodeo (1968), generally considered one of the finest and most influential recordings in the genre.[3] The Byrds continued for a brief period in the same vein, but Parsons left soon after the album was released to be joined by another ex-Byrds member Chris Hillman in forming The Flying Burrito Brothers. Over the next two years they recorded the albums The Gilded Palace of Sin (1969) and Burrito Deluxe (1970), which helped establish the respectability and parameters of the genre, before Parsons departed to pursue a solo career.[3][edit]PeakCountry rock was a particularly popular style in the California music scene of the late 1960s, and was adopted by bands including Hearts and Flowers, Poco (formed by Richie Furay and Jim Messina, formerly of the Buffalo Springfield) andNew Riders of the Purple Sage.[3] Some folk-rockers followed the Byrds into the genre, among them the Beau Brummels[3] and the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band.[5] A number of performers also enjoyed a renaissance by adopting country sounds, including: the Everly Brothers, whose Roots album (1968) is usually considered some of their finest work; former teen idol Rick Nelson who became the frontman for the Stone Canyon Band; John Fogerty, who left Creedence Clearwater Revival behind for the country sounds of The Blue Ridge Rangers;[6] Mike Nesmith who formed the First National Band after this departure from the Monkees; and Neil Young who moved in and out of the genre throughout his career.[3] One of the few acts to successfully move from the country side towards rock were the bluegrass band The Dillards.[3]The greatest commercial success for country rock came in the 1970s, with the Doobie Brothers mixing in elements of R&B, Emmylou Harris (a former backing singer for Parsons) becoming the "Queen of country-rock" and Linda Ronstadtcreating a highly successful pop-oriented brand of the genre.[7] Pure Prairie League, formed in Ohio by Craig Fuller, had both critical and commercial success with 5 straight Top 40 LP releases,[8] including Bustin' Out (1972), acclaimed by Allmusic critic Richard Foss as "an album that is unequaled in country-rock"[9] and Two Lane Highway, described by Rolling Stone Magazine as "a worthy companion to the likes of The Byrds' Sweetheart Of The Rodeo and other gems of the genre".[10] Former members of Ronstadt's backing band went on to form the Eagles (made up of members of the Flying Burrito Brothers, Poco and Stone Canyon Band), who emerged as one of the most successful rock acts of all time, producing albums that included Desperado (1973) and Hotel California (1976).[7][edit]LegacyOutside of these handful of stars, country rock's greatest significance was as an influence on artists in other genres, including The Band, Grateful Dead, Creedence Clearwater Revival, The Rolling Stones and George Harrison's solo work.[3]It also played a part in the development of Southern rock, which, although largely derived from blues-rock, had a distinct southern lilt, and it paved the way for parts of the alternative country movement.[3] The genre declined in popularity in the late 1970s, but some established artists, including Neil Young, have continued to record country-tinged rock into the twenty-first century. Country rock has survived as a cult force in Texas, where acts including The Flatlanders, Joe Ely, Butch Hancock, Jimmy Dale Gilmore and California-based Richard Brooker, have collaborated and recorded.[3][11] Other performers have produced occasional recordings in the genre, including Elvis Costello's Almost Blue (1981)[3] and the Robert Plant and Alison Krauss collaboration Raising Sand, which was one of the most commercially successful albums of 2007.[12]

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Royal Wigs Demos.

As previously noted, we're in the midst of demoing new material, which -- I think -- has gone pretty swimmingly.  All the songs we've done have exceeded expectation despite some of them being a little rough. Of course, being "rough" is a part of the whole demo process. In any event, you can check out some of our stuff HERE.

Cheerio,
TRW.

John Lennon: In Memoriam.

One moment of silence.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Happy Belated Birthday...

Mr. Hendrix.

Demos, Demos, Demos / NYC pix

As you might've seen we've been demoing songs down in Chad's home studio in D.C.  Cranked out a GREAT version, after multiple revisions, of "Juliet," which sounds truly fantastic.  We did a garagey and grungy version of "White Line Fever" and a space rock version of "Werewolf Party 1979," which sounds, well, spacey!  In any event, looks like we'll set up for acoustic guitars this week and do a bunch more songs, most likely "Heavy Weather" "Laurel Canyon Hangover Blues" and "D'yer Really Wanna Live Forever."  If I get particularly inspired, might even post something later in the week, yos.

For good measure, here's a shot of our esteemed Joe Black at Lucien in the lower east side with LES legend Clayton Patterson, whose numerous books on LES history are absolutely required reading. In fact, he has a several volume set of Jewish oral history of the LES that is in the work, and which will likely be amazing. You can support this project via several links which I'll post. He also made a line of custom embroidered hats, one of which you can see in the picture. Extremely cool, extremely collectible:

Also, a picture of Lucien (the restaurant's namesake, obviously) who runs imho the best culinary experience in NYC.  If you're in New York and you don't go to First Street and First Avenue to Lucien, you're doing yourself a ridiculous disservice.  Wonderful food and atmosphere.  And wine list.

Friday, November 18, 2011

Marriage...

We really don't have much to post on this blog yet, at least not bout dem Royal Wigs. We're really just sort of getting together and playing acoustic guitars and singing and drinking and laughing and all that jazz. Enjoying the creative process, which is the most important part. Boo to you mfers who are all about the inconsequential shit: wanna be a rock star, wanna get groupies, wanna act like a major label doucher in leather pants.  At the end of the day, this music is about being outside of all that, about things that matter to the heart or the head or the soul.

Waaaay back in grad school, when I was studying philosophy, I went through a total beat period. I think everybody does, and yeah its actually pretty obvious, but I loved the vibe of Ginsberg and Kerouac and Corso and Felinghetti.  By the time I got to them it was history, literally...but back in the day this stuff was revolutionary...and kind of dangerous.  In its way, not unlike how NWA was dangerous back in the late 80's early 90's or Public Enemy.

Gregory Corso was one of my favorite beat poets, although I'm not sure he ever really aligned himself as such. He was a big influence on Ginsberg, certainly, and was from that Harvard literature set that was so influential on the NY guys.  In any event, since we don't have anything much to tell you, we'll give you some great poetry to consider. Enjoy.



"Marriage" - Gregory Corso

Should I get married? Should I be good?
Astound the girl next door with my velvet suit and faustus hood?
Don't take her to movies but to cemeteries
tell all about werewolf bathtubs and forked clarinets
then desire her and kiss her and all the preliminaries
and she going just so far and I understanding why
not getting angry saying You must feel! It's beautiful to feel!
Instead take her in my arms lean against an old crooked tombstone
and woo her the entire night the constellations in the sky-
When she introduces me to her parents
back straightened, hair finally combed, strangled by a tie,
should I sit with my knees together on their 3rd degree sofa
and not ask Where's the bathroom?
How else to feel other than I am,
often thinking Flash Gordon soap-
O how terrible it must be for a young man
seated before a family and the family thinking
We never saw him before! He wants our Mary Lou!
After tea and homemade cookies they ask What do you do for a living?
Should I tell them? Would they like me then?
Say All right get married, we're losing a daughter
but we're gaining a son-
And should I then ask Where's the bathroom?
O God, and the wedding! All her family and her friends
and only a handful of mine all scroungy and bearded
just wait to get at the drinks and food-
And the priest! he looking at me as if I masturbated
asking me Do you take this woman for your lawful wedded wife?
And I trembling what to say say Pie Glue!
I kiss the bride all those corny men slapping me on the back
She's all yours, boy! Ha-ha-ha!
And in their eyes you could see some obscene honeymoon going on-
Then all that absurd rice and clanky cans and shoes
Niagara Falls! Hordes of us! Husbands! Wives! Flowers! Chocolates!
All streaming into cozy hotels
All going to do the same thing tonight
The indifferent clerk he knowing what was going to happen
The lobby zombies they knowing what
The whistling elevator man he knowing
Everybody knowing! I'd almost be inclined not to do anything!
Stay up all night! Stare that hotel clerk in the eye!
Screaming: I deny honeymoon! I deny honeymoon!
running rampant into those almost climactic suites
yelling Radio belly! Cat shovel!
O I'd live in Niagara forever! in a dark cave beneath the Falls
I'd sit there the Mad Honeymooner
devising ways to break marriages, a scourge of bigamy
a saint of divorce-
But I should get married I should be good
How nice it'd be to come home to her
and sit by the fireplace and she in the kitchen
aproned young and lovely wanting my baby
and so happy about me she burns the roast beef
and comes crying to me and I get up from my big papa chair
saying Christmas teeth! Radiant brains! Apple deaf!
God what a husband I'd make! Yes, I should get married!
So much to do! Like sneaking into Mr Jones' house late at night
and cover his golf clubs with 1920 Norwegian books
Like hanging a picture of Rimbaud on the lawnmower
like pasting Tannu Tuva postage stamps all over the picket fence
like when Mrs Kindhead comes to collect for the Community Chest
grab her and tell her There are unfavorable omens in the sky!
And when the mayor comes to get my vote tell him
When are you going to stop people killing whales!
And when the milkman comes leave him a note in the bottle
Penguin dust, bring me penguin dust, I want penguin dust-
Yes if I should get married and it's Connecticut and snow
and she gives birth to a child and I am sleepless, worn,
up for nights, head bowed against a quiet window, the past behind me,
finding myself in the most common of situations a trembling man
knowledged with responsibility not twig-smear nor Roman coin soup-
O what would that be like!
Surely I'd give it for a nipple a rubber Tacitus
For a rattle a bag of broken Bach records
Tack Della Francesca all over its crib
Sew the Greek alphabet on its bib
And build for its playpen a roofless Parthenon
No, I doubt I'd be that kind of father
Not rural not snow no quiet window
but hot smelly tight New York City
seven flights up, roaches and rats in the walls
a fat Reichian wife screeching over potatoes Get a job!
And five nose running brats in love with Batman
And the neighbors all toothless and dry haired
like those hag masses of the 18th century
all wanting to come in and watch TV
The landlord wants his rent
Grocery store Blue Cross Gas & Electric Knights of Columbus
impossible to lie back and dream Telephone snow, ghost parking-
No! I should not get married! I should never get married!
But-imagine if I were married to a beautiful sophisticated woman
tall and pale wearing an elegant black dress and long black gloves
holding a cigarette holder in one hand and a highball in the other
and we lived high up in a penthouse with a huge window
from which we could see all of New York and even farther on clearer days
No, can't imagine myself married to that pleasant prison dream-
O but what about love? I forget love
not that I am incapable of love
It's just that I see love as odd as wearing shoes-
I never wanted to marry a girl who was like my mother
And Ingrid Bergman was always impossible
And there's maybe a girl now but she's already married
And I don't like men and-
But there's got to be somebody!
Because what if I'm 60 years old and not married,
all alone in a furnished room with pee stains on my underwear
and everybody else is married! All the universe married but me!
Ah, yet well I know that were a woman possible as I am possible
then marriage would be possible-
Like SHE in her lonely alien gaud waiting her Egyptian lover
so i wait-bereft of 2,000 years and the bath of life.

America

I dunno...been on a huge Ginsberg kick lately. Not sure if its being back in the neighborhood -- his before it was mine -- or just feeling nostalgic when I read the news.  I don't agree with all the imagery, esp regarding communism, which I'm obviously not a big fan of, but its interesting to see how some things haven't changed since 1956.  It's all a big cycle. Or circle. Or whatever.

AMERICA - Allen Ginsberg

America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
from Russia.
I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and
twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco and Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they
sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the
workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party
was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother
Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have
been a spy.
America you don're really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.

Monday, November 14, 2011

At the Bowery Hotel...

Just got back to NYC after a few months away -- things honestly haven't changed that much here in the LES, but I'm still stoked. I'm obviously down on the Bowery, overlooking 3rd Street.  There's a drunk or perhaps homelses guy outside singing an incomprehensible soul song. A bunch of dudes at the mission next door -- that's been here since the CBGB days -- really dug my car.  The weather is amazing, the foreshadowing of chilly nights on the horizon. The skyline is exactly the same. Got my guitar here -- hopefully I'll write a song. And sleep some. Or maybe its time for drinks.

Everybody Knows...

There's music on Clinton Street, all through the evening...I love Leonard Cohen...





"Everybody Knows"

Everybody knows that the dice are loaded
Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed
Everybody knows that the war is over
Everybody knows the good guys lost
Everybody knows the fight was fixed
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich
That's how it goes
Everybody knows
Everybody knows that the boat is leaking
Everybody knows that the captain lied
Everybody got this broken feeling
Like their father or their dog just died

Everybody talking to their pockets
Everybody wants a box of chocolates
And a long stem rose
Everybody knows

Everybody knows that you love me baby
Everybody knows that you really do
Everybody knows that you've been faithful
Ah give or take a night or two
Everybody knows you've been discreet
But there were so many people you just had to meet
Without your clothes
And everybody knows

Everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows

Everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows

And everybody knows that it's now or never
Everybody knows that it's me or you
And everybody knows that you live forever
Ah when you've done a line or two
Everybody knows the deal is rotten
Old Black Joe's still pickin' cotton
For your ribbons and bows
And everybody knows

And everybody knows that the Plague is coming
Everybody knows that it's moving fast
Everybody knows that the naked man and woman
Are just a shining artifact of the past
Everybody knows the scene is dead
But there's gonna be a meter on your bed
That will disclose
What everybody knows

And everybody knows that you're in trouble
Everybody knows what you've been through
From the bloody cross on top of Calvary
To the beach of Malibu
Everybody knows it's coming apart
Take one last look at this Sacred Heart
Before it blows
And everybody knows

Everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows

Oh everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows

Everybody knows

Saturday, November 12, 2011

A Supermarket in California...

Sometimes, all you need is a little Allen Ginsberg to bring you up if you're feeling introspective...beat poet extraordinaire, genius, artist, angel, graybeard.







A SUPERMARKET IN CALIFORNIA


What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for I walked down the
streets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon.

In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit
supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!


What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night! Aisles
full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes! --- and you,
Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the watermelons?


I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber, poking among the
meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys.


I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops? What price
bananas? Are you my Angel?


I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans following you, and
followed in my imagination by the store detective.


We strode down the open corridors together in our solitary fancy tasting
artichokes, possessing every frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.


Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in an hour. Which way does
your beard point tonight? (I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel

absurd.)


Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees add shade to
shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be lonely.


Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love past blue automobiles in
driveways, home to our silent cottage?


Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher, what America did you
have when Charon quit poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank and
stood watching the boat disappear on the black waters of Lethe? 


Do the Bowery Boogie...

Not everybody lives in the East Village forever...so let the love affair continue.  This website, http://www.boweryboogie.com/ is freaking awesome for staying up to date on what's happening in the old neighborhood.

I think I have a date at DUMPLING MAN when I get back, ya'll.

14th Street East Village Blues, ya'll...

It's true. I get it. It starts, it stops, yada yada yada. So, we wrote some songs -- were gonna release 'em and then got a little sidetracked, and now we're back in the saddle so to speak.  When I was writing the lyrics to the album that will eventually come out as the next Royal Wigs album, I used to walk by this place quite a bit. It always amazed me...possibly because it was just so freaky, all the wigs and heads and shit. In any event, when it was time to name the band, this seemed like a perfect fit...mostly because the majority of the forthcoming album was written in the East Village (11th street to be precise), but also because NYC figures prominently in the lyrics.  Of course, there's also been a stylistic -- perhaps an aesthetic change as well -- difference to the music.  I just got so sick of whatever they call "alternative rock" or "modern rock" or who gives a fuck?  So there it is: frankly, the previous group had quite a bit of press and some laudatory comments -- I thought that meant something, and obviously it don't.  We just wanna make amazing music. All that other baggage be damned.  In about 3 days I'll be back, my ole EV...can't wait to see ya...

Cheers,
TRW.