“By 2019, it was evident that there would be a new Toad the Wet Sprocket album,” (American Songwriter). “As frontman Glen Phillips was toiling with what he thought was new solo material, something wasn’t sticking. What he had was a Toad record. ‘We’d taken a long break from recording together,’ says Phillips, ‘and it felt like we had the right songs and the right energy again.’
As he was pulling together Starting Now, Phillips was also coping with bigger life changes, the end of his 23-year marriage, and his kids leaving home, all shifts he says transformed his relationship to songwriting … He adds, ‘For me, it’s much more a matter of like, I am trying to find my way in the wilderness, and I need all the help I can get, so the songs are my own bread crumbs for the things that I know to be true but often forget, and in that realm, it’s about leaning towards hope.’”
“Starting Now,” the mid-tempo track from the 2021 album of the same name, begins in C# minor. An instrumental bridge (1:54 – 2:17) pivots subtly towards its end, leading to a shift up into D# minor at 2:18 as the next verse begins.
“Scott Walker … the pop idol turned crooner turned shocking avant-garde auteur, died (in 2019) at age 76, but not before leaving behind one of the most fascinating catalogues of the rock era,” (The Second Disc). “An American and child actor on Broadway who found his success in England as one third of The Walker Brothers, Scott could have been content reliving his glory days of ‘The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore,’ ‘Make It Easy on Yourself,’ and ‘Joanna.’ But the uncompromising artist never stopped pushing the envelope, as a songwriter, performer, and producer.
… The music business is famous for hyperbole, but it’s no exaggeration to say that few have had a career anything like that of Scott Walker. An American who skyrocketed to fame on British shores in the heady time that was the mid-1960s, Walker (born Noel Scott Engel in 1943) turned his back on the world of a pop idol. He became one of the first major performers to embrace and champion the dark musical melodramas of Jacques Brel but that, too, didn’t last long. After some largely undistinguished albums recorded during his self-described ‘lost years’ and a period of relative seclusion, Walker emerged, creating provocative soundscapes that dispensed with any traditional notions of melody or songwriting.”
“Angelica” (1967), written by Brill Building legends Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, begins in B minor. At 1:10, a soaring vocal melody leads us into the first chorus, with a shift into B major. At 2:03, the pattern repeats, beginning with a second minor verse.
“These are not veterans of bluegrass – these were three young people who drove their string machines like race cars … they have an appeal for the average ear just short of a confection – but never too sweet,” (Americana Highways). “They have the skill to play impressively and rollick in a bluegrass-commercial flavor that’s tasty … Their recordings are well-made and the group possesses a pearl of musical wisdom to perform with agility, passion, and creative beauty.
… Nickel Creek manages to balance these genres with each performance. It’s obvious the trio could play adeptly alongside such traditional mainstay contemporaries as the classic English ensembles Pentangle, Fairport Convention, Curved Air, the Acoustic Strawbs, Steeleye Span, Dando Shaft, Amazing Blondel and the Incredible String Band.”
After a soft-spoken, meandering intro, “Scotch and Chocolate” (2005) solidly settles into A major at 0:51. At 2:05, with the tempo now at a gallop, D major takes center stage for the balance of the track. This performance is from the COVID-cancelled series Live From Here, the more music-centric successor to A Prairie Home Companion. The series was hosted by Nickel Creek’s mandolinist, Chris Thile.
“Around the mid-to-late ’80s, major labels started to notice a new group of folk artists,” (Popdose). “They were more diverse than the Seegers and Guthries of decades past; the ‘new folk’ label could apply to traditionalists like Ellis Paul or Jonell Mosser just as easily as it could to the more overtly commercial Shawn Colvin. And the new folkies could be obvious direct descendants of living masters, like the Richie Havens-channeling Cliff Eberhardt, or they could head off in new directions entirely, like Patty Griffin. Though it’s doubtful anybody in a record label boardroom ever thought the “new folk” would be a huge commercial success, having an “Americana” imprint was sort of prestigious — it meant the suits hadn’t been entirely blinded to the meaning and appeal of music at the root level. A&M Records, recognizing this … signed David Wilcox.
Wilcox had been plying his trade in and around Asheville, North Carolina, for some years, and had become a favorite fixture at the legendary Bluebird Cafe. The Bluebird’s proprietor, Amy Kurland, was instrumental in the development of his career — even after the release of his second A&M album, the label was referring publicity calls to her — and it’s easy to see why she took such an interest. Other artists may have been more implicitly traditional, and thus more representative of ‘true’ folk, but Wilcox’s smooth vocals and emotional lyrics hinted at bigger things.
It’s no Born To Run, but for a folk musician in 1989, How Did You Find Me Here came fairly close — the album won him a modicum of critical attention on the national stage, nearly unanimous in its praise, and A&M realized it had a potential moneymaker on its hands.” One of the album’s standout tracks, “Rusty Old American Dream,” might be about an old car which has seen better days. But propelled by Wilcox’s intricate fingerstyle technique and impeccable time, an unprepared half-step key change (1:47) “gives that old starter a spin.”
The early 1970s was the Era of the Horn Band — Chicago, Blood Sweat and Tears, Electric Flag, and Ten Wheel Drive among them (anyone remember Ambergris or Sweet Apple?). They played jazz-tinged rock, or rock-tinged jazz, depending on your POV. Then there was Chase, led by trumpeter Bill Chase, an alum of the Woody Herman and Stan Kenton groups, and also of Maynard Ferguson’s group. Like Ferguson, he was a master of the highest registers of his instrument, and not shy about flaunting it. Unusually, Chase had only trumpets — four of them! — as its brass section.
Chase released three albums on Epic, but only their first self-titled release met with real chart success (Billboard #22 in 1971). The single presented here from that album was a decent hit, reaching #24 on the Billboard 100 chart. A second album, Ennea, recorded after several personnel changes with additional changes during its recording, performed much less well. By the time of Chase’s last album in 1974, Pure Music, only founder Bill Chase remained. Sadly, Bill Chase and several band members were killed in August 1974 when the small plane carrying them to an engagement crashed.
The song here contains the trademark Chase elements: virtuosic, outrageously pitched ensemble trumpet lines and a driving rhythm section, fronted by gritty blues-rock vocals. In case you thought the trumpets couldn’t play any higher, there’s an upward modulation at 2:34.
” … Extremely thoughtful, intelligent, articulate, insightful and thoughtful in nature, yet with energy, soul and a quirky sense of humor … In listening to Mays, you hear the strains and references to the contrapuntal music tradition of Europe but used in the unconventional context of high energy, real-time improvisation. All the traditional techniques far older than the jazz idiom, with which he is most closely associated, are continuously reworked, re-invented and used to great effect in the PMG (hey, long hair is still long hair).
The similarity in the reference both to the design and creation of structure and form in the abstract, from the ground up, is clear. And this is what Mays is all about… creation of structure: the new from the old and back again … Though an integral part of the Pat Metheny Group as a player for over a generation, Lyle Mays’ focus remains primarily on composition and arranging. Sifting for what’s new and unusual and presenting it in ever more creative ways … May’s first record (Lyle Mays, 1986) remains a testament to creativity and nuance in the pursuit of evocation of mood and imagery. The casting of impressionists Bill Frisell, Billy Drews, and others was almost as much a part of the compositional process for this music as the scores themselves.”
“Alaskan Suite: Ascent” from Mays’ debut album flies its colorful melodic banners over frequently shifting harmonic terrain. Beginning in G minor, the track shifts to D minor (0:27), A minor (0:55), and back to G minor (1:16). But the change to Db minor at 1:44 is more noticeable, followed by Bb minor (1:57). At 2:10, another step down to A minor feels like the gentlest of shifts after all the change we’ve already experienced. At 2:58, the storm has passed and piece finally settles into Eb (major, minor, other Eb scales too …), cycling again through the anthemic melody at 3:33 and repeating onward to the end; more voices join the texture with each repetition.
“Motown was on a tear, no question, and for most fans 1966 marks the apogee of the label’s anything-but-mythical Golden Age, the time when everyone at Hitsville was at their very best,” (Motown Junkies). “Motown’s prodigious output would be one thing, but the quality of that output at the time is, by and large, the stuff the label’s legend is built upon. Just as the city’s motor industry was firing on all cylinders, Motown brought worldwide attention to Detroit in the mid-Sixties, as the most successful music industry talent-spotting and -gathering operation of all time came to fruition. Berry Gordy had gathered around him the absolute cream of the industry’s black American talent, whether that meant in songwriting, musicianship, production, singing, dancing, marketing … you name it, Motown probably had someone who was the best at it.
… The Four Tops had somehow lasted until 1964 as perennial and well-known ‘local talent’ before getting a single on Motown, ten hitless years of hard slog rewarded and paid in full. By teaming the Tops with the Andantes, the immortal Motown female backing singers, the Holland-Dozier-Holland team created something close to alchemy, a blend of beautiful voices and gritty soul sensibilities verging on the perfect (and sometimes, as in the case of their début Motown 45 ‘Baby I Need Your Loving,’ actually perfect) … The Sound of Young America, conquering the world.
The biggest trademark of the genius Holland-Dozier-Holland writing and production team … is fully present and correct here. Not the 4/4 floor-filling beat, or the crotchet pulses the Funk Brothers throw in on the beat to keep things driving along, or even the swooping, sweetening vocal harmonies that lift those heavenly band tracks to another yet-higher celestial plane. Those are all here, alright, but I’m talking about another signature HDH feature, namely their ability to take a driving, fully danceable upbeat tune, and promptly marry it to the most anguished and depressing lyrics you could come up with. This is a song about a guy who is losing his mind, paranoid and permanently on edge, plagued by fears his partner is about to walk out on him, stoked by (possibly imaginary) rumors, fueled by insomnia. And it sounds like a party, like the narrator’s pain would make a great ringtone. That, right there, is the magic of Holland-Dozier-Holland, and this is as good an example as you’ll ever find in their catalogue.”
After the anguished storytelling of the song’s first half, followed by an instrumental verse, a half-step key change hits at 1:47.
“’I woke up in the middle of the night with that line in my head,’ Sting told the Independent” about “Every Breath You Take” (1983), (Ultimate Classic Rock). “He ‘sat down at the piano and had written it in half an hour. The tune itself is generic, an aggregate of hundreds of others, but the words are interesting. It sounds like a comforting love song. I didn’t realize at the time how sinister it is.’ Sting brought a demo of the song to his bandmates. Tensions were at their height back then, and arguments were commonplace. In keeping, the Police squabbled over the best way to attack ‘Every Breath You Take,’ and reportedly spent six weeks disagreeing on how to move forward. Eventually, everyone added their unique influence. Stewart Copeland’s backbeat propelled things along, while Andy Summers made an infectious contribution.
‘Without that guitar part, there’s no song,’ Summers told Record Collector. ‘ … I actually came up with it in one take, but that’s because Sting’s demo left a lot of space for me to do what I did. There was no way I was just gonna strum barre chords through a song like that.’ … the lead single for Synchronicity, ‘Every Breath You Take’ became a massive hit. The song reached #1 in six different countries, including the U.S., U.K. and Canada. It was the best-selling single of 1983 and won two Grammy awards, including Song of the Year.”
Written in a slightly uptuned G# major overall, the track’s chorus (first heard from 1:22 -1:43) shifts to F# mixolydian before returning to the original key.
“Peaches & Herb weren’t really reunited. The duo had been a pretty successful soul act in the ’60s, and then they’d disappeared for years before returning with their two biggest hits ever,” (Stereogum). But the Peaches & Herb of the late ’70s weren’t the same as the Peaches & Herb of the late ’60s. Herb was the same. (Herb was Herbert Feemster, a Washington, DC native who wisely took the stage name Herb Fame when he got famous). Peaches was different. The Peaches on ‘Reunited’ was Linda Greene, the third in a long line of Peacheses. Maybe ‘Reconstituted’ just wasn’t as catchy a song title.
… Back in 1968, the first version of Peaches & Herb had scored a minor hit with a cover of ‘United,’ an early Philly soul song that Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff had written for the Intruders. So ‘Reunited’ (1979) was a kind of sequel … The lyrics hint at past mistakes: ‘I can’t go cheating/ Honey, I can’t play.’ But they mostly refer to relationship bliss in the most generic terms possible: ‘I was a fool to ever leave your side/ Me minus you is such a lonely ride/ The breakup we had has made me lonesome and sad.'”
The sleepy track did quite well for itself: it topped both the R&B singles chart and the Billboard Hot 100 singles chart for four weeks in 1979. Selling over two million copies, it was ranked as the No. 5 song for 1979 by Billboard. After a start in Db major, “Reunited” features an early half-step shift to D major at 1:42, then another to Eb major at 3:10. The verses are just about identical to the choruses in harmonic structure, so the extra bumps in energy brought by the harmonic step-ups is welcome indeed!
“(Thirty) years after he last had his name up in lights on Broadway, and a little over (25 years) after his death, Peter Allen lives again on stage (Theater Mania) … Allen’s life and music are celebrated the musical The Boy From Oz … (For the 2003 production), Allen was portrayed by a fellow Australian, Hugh Jackman, who achieved box-office stardom in the X-Men movies … the show’s librettist, Martin Sherman: ‘Everybody who encountered him adored him. He didn’t have the greatest voice, but he had that dynamic quality, his secret weapon.’ Jackman, for his part, has remarked that ‘Peter’s whole essence was very joyous. He was fearless, outrageous, and childlike, and he definitely lived life to the full.’
… The conceit of Sherman’s libretto is that we’re at a Peter Allen concert during which the performer recounts the story of his life. ‘When I saw him in concert, I remember thinking, These songs sound like they belong in the theater,’ says Sherman. Spinning a musical out of an existing collection of songs is not at all unusual these days: Mamma Mia! took the approach of brazenly allowing the audience into the joke of how and where the songs were placed. The Boy From Oz goes in the opposite direction, creating the illusion that Allen wrote the songs to punctuate his life story. Popular hits recorded by the likes of Melissa Manchester (‘Don’t Cry Out Loud’), Olivia Newton John (‘I Honestly Love You’), Ann-Margret (‘Once Before I Go’), and Frank Sinatra (‘You and Me’) reveal unexpectedly deep emotional layers in this new context.”
Jackman’s version of “Once Before I Go” begins in A major. The tune is full of cliché melodic shapes and chord progressions, but particularly in light of Allen’s biography, the lyric is undeniably affecting. 2:44 brings a shift to Bb major.
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