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Classic Rock Crate Digger is a column I write for the Rhapsody Blog.

Over the last two weeks the Classic Rock Crate Digger has been obsessing over The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway, arguably the apex of the Genesis discography. I’ve always appreciated Peter Gabriel-era Genesis, but it hasn’t been until the last couple years that The Lamb’s sheer brilliance has revealed itself to me. It isn’t just prog; it’s a way-ahead-of-its-time art-pop album every bit as futuristic as David Bowie’s Heroes, Brian Eno’s Taking Tiger Mountain (By Strategy) and the Walker Brothers’ Nite Flights. We’re talking 100% avant rock, 1970s-style.

But here’s the catch: the Crate Digger, believe it or not, doesn’t know early Genesis nearly well enough to write about them. Oh sure, I know and totally dig the basics, but this is prog we’re talking about. It’s complex and arty and difficult. Any critique worth a damn needs to come from a hardcore fanatic who knows the band’s discography inside and out. Fortunately, I know two fanatics: Bob and Dave Kane. I grew up with the Brothers Kane in a place called Lyncourt, a miniscule speck of barely-middle-class houses and a china factory, rubbing shoulders with the city of Syracuse in central New York. Dave and Bob, a pair of seriously precocious preteens and gifted musicians to boot, were anything but average. When just about every other kid in the ‘hood was lapping up Top 40 fare from Casey Kasem, they were honing their chops and diving mind-first into old-school progressive rock, particularly the mighty Genesis. Hell, they were too busy Selling England by the Pound to even notice Madonna’s skimpy white lace.

Well, then again…

What I dig most about the Brothers Kane — in addition to their sharp wit, that is — are their open minds. Over the course of a single beer, the conversation can jump from early ’70s Genesis to alterna-cool like My Bloody Valentine to the latest Robert Pollard project. Of course, this ability isn’t terribly out of place in post-everything 2010. Nowadays, indie rockers don’t hate progressive rock quite like their punk-rock ancestors (Black Flag excluded, of course). Since the late 1990s a slew of diverse bands, from Radiohead to Don Caballero to Lightning Bolt to Espers, has helped make progressive rock cool outside its traditionally niche market. Plus, there’s no overestimating the influence of the Buffalo ’66 soundtrack, which includes some of director Vincent Gallo’s favorite Yes songs, including the gorgeous “Sweetness.”

But the Kanes’ love predates all these revisionist developments. They are authentically old school, flying that prog flag long before hipsters caught wind. They also make for a great interview. Not only can Bob and Dave pinpoint the exact reasons why Genesis means so much to them, they can explain why an album like The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway has aged so well and why it resonates with the ears of several generations more than 35 years after its release. Good stuff for sure.

First off, let’s give the readers out there in Rhap-land your prog-rock credentials. From what I can recall of our Lyncourt years, you two were into vintage progressive rock when most kids around our age were digging Thriller and Like a Virgin.

Bob: Dave and I were bred on late-’70s soft rock. But we were turned on to some of the huge bands in the early ’80s: The Who, Van Halen and Genesis, of course. We weren’t immune to ’80s pop. We liked Michael Jackson and the hits of the day. But Genesis just seemed to have more substance.

Dave: MTV was new, so most everyone just had cassettes of their favorite songs that they taped off the radio. The older kids were metalheads or stoners. I was a pious altar boy, who beat up boys for kissing girls. I’ve calmed down since then.

So you guys dig both prog and indie rock. Wow. You were ahead of your time! Progressive rock was deemed corny for so long, especially after punk hit, but over the last few years it seems as though more and more indie kids have been exploring the early stuff.

Bob: I really think that early Genesis; King Crimson; Emerson, Lake & Palmer; and a lot of those big prog monsters have had a huge influence on modern music. It’s just that only fellow musicians will admit to digging them. Nine out of 10 fans of bands like Grizzly Bear, the Decemberists, Radiohead and Robert Pollard will laugh if you mention Genesis. But talk to the actual bands, and they more than likely will tell you how much Genesis helped shape their sense of musicianship when growing up: their broad sense of melody, Phil Collins’ amazing feel on the kit, Peter Gabriel’s spacey stage presence and odd lyrics, Tony Banks’ well-written solos.

Dave: Yes. I think Radiohead brought back prog with OK Computer. And before that, the post-rock thing — with bands like Mogwai — were coming up with progressive-influenced ideas. The Flaming Lips are pretty prog. And I love bands like Deerhoof and Dungen. That stuff is way prog. I’m also a huge fan of Smoosh — three sisters, I think the oldest just got her driver’s license. They’re on their third album, and they are all about pop-prog. All of these bands borrow heavily from the sound of Genesis, and I’m sure they know it.

So how did you come to like old-school Genesis? What was it about them in particular that you dug?

Bob: Our older brother Kevin bought me Three Sides Live for Christmas in ’83. I was already hooked on them. Phil was one of the main reasons I started playing drums. I remember talking to my cousin Linda, another Genesis fan, telling her of my new favorite band. She basically said, “Well, you may like Three Sides Live and Abacab, but you won’t like A Trick of the Tail.” But I got into that album and was totally fascinated by it: the production, the playing, the drama of it. I didn’t really listen to lyrics as a kid, mainly the playing and the sounds. I just felt a strong emotional connection to the music.

Dave: Bob really was listening to Three Sides Live all the time. He was nine, by the way. Most of our Genesis albums, including Selling England by the Pound and A Trick of the Tail, were dubbed cassettes — copies of copies of copies of copies. But in those fourth-generation, super-hissy cheap tapes I found something I could relate to. They also opened my mind to many things. I was a super-nerdy 12-year-old still contemplating the priesthood. But I was somehow comforted by these English guys playing weird songs about space invasion and English mobsters. I listened to other prog bands — ELP, Yes, Pink Floyd — but nothing else seemed quite as me.

For any Rhapsody subscribers out there who want to begin exploring Peter Gabriel-era Genesis, what’s the first album you recommend?

Bob: Selling England by the Pound is a good introduction. It’s not too “out there,” and songs like “Firth of Fifth” and “I Know What I Like (In Your Wardrobe)” are pretty simple compared to some of their other works.

Dave: I definitely agree with Bob. It’s a little more accessible than Foxtrot or The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway.

It seems as if Genesis’ career is commonly split into two eras: the prog years with Peter Gabriel, and the pop years with Phil Collins. However, it isn’t quite that simple, is it? Late-’60s Genesis actually predates progressive rock, while the first few albums with Collins at the helm are very much prog.

Bob: Very true. The first album, From Genesis to Revelation, is very much influenced by the Bee Gees and the Moody Blues. It is a great record, though.

Dave: Probably more so the Bee Gees. But that first album is a prototype for the twee sound of Belle & Sebastian and Camera Obscura.

Every teenage boy into classic rock plays air guitar, but did you guys ever take it to the next level and dress up like early ’70s Peter Gabriel? Man, he was far-out looking!

Bob: Peter was a freak, especially that reverse Mohawk thing he did. Who has the ‘nads to do that to their head? I remember looking at Genesis Live at The Book Mark over in Shop City [a long-gone Lyncourt landmark for young music nerds like us], and really wondering what the hell Peter had on his head. Seeing pictures of The Slipperman outfit creeped me out, too.

Dave: For Halloween this year I considered dressing up in the Magog outfit, which is the character on the cover of Genesis Live. Peter is wearing what appears to be a red box-kite on his head. I had the sheet and the bag of rocks, too. But I decided to go with Charlie Brown. What is amazing is that for such a visual band, I didn’t see any of their stage props until years later. All I had in the early and mid-’80s were those dubbed cassettes. There was no way to search for videos or pictures of the band. The music all by itself spurred crazy pictures in my head. In fact, after listening to The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway hundreds of times, I still had never read the liner notes, explaining the album. I don’t think I read them until I was 20.

How deep into Peter Gabriel’s solo career have you ventured? Does it maintain your interest like his work with Genesis does?

Bob: I have heard most of Peter’s work. He never ceases to amaze me. He has such a soulful voice, such depth to it. But he’s far from perfect, sort of like David Bowie or Billy Corgan. His voice just has so much personality.

Dave: Gabriel has a distinctive, powerful singing style. I usually like more vulnerability, but he somehow does it all. I loved his instrumental input in the band on flute and oboe — and he had his own bass drum. The band had a very unorthodox stage setup, too: the singer next to the drummer in the middle, keyboards on one side facing the band and the bassist and guitarist sitting down on the other side. Also, the combination of Gabriel’s voice and Collins’ is the best match I’ve ever heard. They’re the same instrument, but Collins’ timbre is a little higher.

On the flipside, is there any post-Gabriel Genesis that you dig?

Bob: I am pretty much into everything until Invisible Touch. Duke is a great album. That album is the pinnacle of the Collins era. It has a few elements of the prog days, but also incorporates Phil’s very personal lyrics about his life at the time. “Mama” from the self-titled album in 1983 is probably one of their best songs. It’s powerful, dramatic and downright creepy. It’s almost too dramatic, but one of Phil’s strongest moments, vocally. He kills it on that tune!

Dave: I’m with Bob, but any of the Gabriel era is better.

Phil Collins gets a bad rap as the guy who turned Genesis into a silly pop group, but the guy deserves credit as a badass musician, right? He played on some awesome albums outside Genesis, like Brian Eno’s Another Green World.

Bob: Phil is the single biggest influence on my drumming. He has amazing feel, both in the pop aspect and when it comes to odd time signatures. Outside of Genesis, he’s done a ton of great work. The Brand X records blew me away when I was a kid. I loved his improvisation on that stuff. Another big record for me was Robert Plant’s The Principle of Moments. His playing fits the material so well.

Dave: Phil was a monster in his day. I realize he was using Billy Cobham [of Mahavishnu Orchestra] as a starting point, but he somehow made that work as a necessary voice in a song, kind of how Ringo’s drums are a real, expressive voice in the Beatles. But Phil could play a lot faster.

So let’s close out with the ubiquitous desert-island question. If you had one Genesis album to choose…?

Bob: I am going with The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway. It may be the strangest overall, lyrically. They really were in outer space when that was put together. But even with the crazy story, both the songs and performances are just right. Peter has so much soul in his voice. He’s never quite reached that again. That’s their masterpiece.

Dave: This is tough — but Bob’s right. And if for nothing else, it’s because in the midst of the surrealist fantasy the album paints, I find emotions and humanity that are real and move me, like the scariest, most passionate old blues.

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ARTIST SONG ALBUM LABEL
Ancient Methods untitled (side one) Fourth Method (twelve-inch) Ancient Methods
“Else” (Ugandan Methods Mix) Third Method (twelve-inch)
side two, track one Fourth Method
“White Flames” Third Method
untitled (side two, track two) Fourth Method
Scuba “Negative” “Speak” / “Negative” (ten-inch) [NakedLunch]
Sam Goldberg untitled (side two) Current Weird Forest Records
The Dog Lady untitled (side one, track three) Tapes RRR Records
Avarus “Putoan… Smäisk” Rasvaaja Secret Eye Records
Ancestral Diet “Dankest Cave” V.I.T.R.I.O.L.
ThiRD Word
Thrones “Ted Williams” Alraune Communion Label
En Halvkokt I Folie “Ehif Punk” Det Kristna Kamratskapet (cassette) Omnium Gatherum
Insayngel “Lets Not Forget” self-titled Heavy Tapes
The Rolls “The Unknown” Have Arrived (cassette) The New Product!
Ben Klock “Similarity” October (twelve-inch) BPitch Control
Levon Vincent “Invisible Bitchslap” Invisible Bitchslap EP (twelve-inch) Deconstruct Music
Jonas Broberg “Waif Twine” Kling Klang Salad (cassette) Konduktor Rekords
Orior “Call” Snatch Paste: An Assortment of Snatch Tapes Vinyl-On-Demand
Mood music during talking breaks: Cho-Ga: Tantric and Ritual Music of Tibet LP (Dorje Ling)

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ARTIST SONG ALBUM LABEL
Soft Machine “Facelift” Third Columbia
Herbie Hancock “Hidden Shadows” Sextant Columbia
Peter Baumann “Phase By Phase” Romance ’76 Virgin
Conrad Schnitzler “Krautrock” Rot Very Good Records
Moritz Von Oswald Trio “Pattern 3” Vertical Ascent Honest Jons Records
Scuba “Aesaunic” Aesaunic EP Hotflush Recordings
V/A (Bullwackies All Stars / New Breed Band) “Natures Dub” Natures Dub Wackie’s
The Upsetters “Callying Butt” untitled (Limited Edition Dub Plate) Trojan
Keith Hudson “California” / “By Night Dub” (showcase) Playing It Cool Joint International (Basic Replay)
Magas “Devil is Flying” Violent Arp Punch Records
Sightings “Saccharine Traps City of Straw Brah
Cattle Decapitation “Mauled” / “Joined at the Ass” Homovore Three.One.G
Profanatica “Betrayal of the Lamb” Profanatitas De Domonatia Hells Headbangers Records
Mammal “Days Into Days” Let Me Die Animal Disguise
Mood music during talking breaks: Emeralds – Laying Under Leaves cassette (Wagon)

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Classic Rock Crate Digger is a column I write for the Rhapsody Blog.

For the most part, the accepted guitar gods of classic rock are dudes who shredded, wailed and shredded some more. Understatement and tasteful restraint were never options for the likes of Hendrix, Mike Bloomfield, Santana, John Cipollina, Alvin Lee and Duane Allman. However awesome, they would always let it rip, and that’s just how it had to be. Even Slowhand, during his “I just heard Music from Big Pink and it blew my mind” phase (i.e. Derek and the Dominos), played a lot of notes and had a knack for filling space with too many needlessly complex blues licks.

The reason why classic rock fans champion the show-off is simple: folks like flash. It’s the same in baseball. Fans revere the swaggering power-hitter, who often strikes out more than any other player on the team, over the trusty hitter who parlays singles and doubles into a .330 batting average season after season. Tony Gwynn, I’m looking at you.

There do exist guitarists who have been embraced for the notes they didn’t play. The Band’s Robbie Robertson is one. Of course, he was once all about six-string shenanigans as well, that is until he started listening to Curtis Mayfield and Steve Cropper of Booker T. & the MGs. Not to jump off topic, but this brings up an interesting point: from whom did rock ‘n’ roll contract this thirst for overplaying? I’m no roots-music historian, but it certainly didn’t come from rhythm & blues (Ike Turner excluded) or country. These genres have always preferred solid rhythm chops and economical solos. That leaves electric blues and (interestingly enough) bluegrass, both of which are traditions notorious for producing pickers who refuse to let a good song get in the way of their long and winding noodles.

Outside an obvious pick like Robertson, who is else in classic rock mastered the unheralded art of restraint? Well, below are 10 badasses whom I believe fit the bill quite nicely. And as you’re about to find out, understatement and tasteful restraint come in myriad shapes and sizes, from moody blues rock to thunder metal to psychedelic funk.

Peter Green (Fleetwood Mac)
Peter Green is the Classic Rock Crate Digger’s all-time fave guitarist. The mercurial founder of Fleetwood Mac also boasts the distinction of occupying both camps: the shredders and the tasteful restrainers. His solo debut, 1970′s The End of the Game, is a lysergic mind dive into fusion-soaked psychedelia built from screaming ax solos. Amazingly enough, Green never produced sonic waste. Even when the Mac expanded to a three-guitar lineup and drifted from brawny British blues to extended free improv, he placed a premium on rhythm. The 25-minute version of “Rattlesnake Shake” found on Live in Boston, Volume 1 is a pinnacle in groove research. But when all is said and done, there is just a single piece of evidence required when proving Green’s mastery of playing as little as possible: “Albatross.”

Paul Kossoff (Free)
Sadly, Paul Kossoff’s lack of classic-rock renown has more to do with addiction, not his under-appreciated guitar style. Dude died in 1976, at age 25 — what a shame. When the mighty Free came together in 1968 Kossoff was like every other skinny Brit with a guitar. He desperately wanted to prove he could wail on the thing as if he were born and raised to record at Chess studios. But then something happened: his playing grew sparse and wiry, at times brutally so. When Free released their masterpiece, Fire and Water, there was almost nothing left for Kossoff to extract. The album contains entire stretches where he doesn’t play a single lick or riff or solo — nothing. But when he does, it’s like a muscle flexing around your heart. There’s something beautiful in the weight and simplicity of his playing. Plus, he’s the guy behind the groovy perfection that is the “All Right Now” riff. ‘Nuff said.

Rick Nielsen (Cheap Trick)
When Cheap Trick arrived on the scene in 1977, Epic Records had no idea how to market the band. Were they rock, punk or heavy metal? On the Trick’s self-titled debut, they certainly rocked as hard as just about anybody, yet they also knew how to craft sharp hooks that betrayed a genuine love for icons like the Beatles, the Move and Big Star. This fusion of power and pop forms the foundation of Rick Nielsen’s guitar style. The dude rips, often tossing a little “Helter Skelter”-styled atonality into the mix. But all the cacophony and fireworks are always in the name of a fantastic and extremely hummable tune. What a cool dude. Prime-cut Nielsen: “The Ballad of TV Violence (I’m Not the Only Boy).”

Billy Gibbons (ZZ f’n Top)
Yes, the beard is cool, so are his cameos on Bones and those novelty videos from the ’80s. But let’s not forget something: Gibbons is a guitarist — one of the greats, in fact. On the post-Hendrix hard-rock landscape, the man was an anomaly who believed in playing two, maybe three, notes tops. This he learned from John Lee Hooker circa “House Rent Boogie” and “Boogie Chillen.” Kossoff was equally minimal, but where he sounded grave and austere, as if his life actually depended on holding back the storm, the soulful Gibbons feels like warm pig grease slowing dripping from the grill. (I’m a vegetarian, by the way.)

Tony McPhee (Groundhogs)
First time I cranked Who Will Save the World? The Mighty Groundhogs, the darn thing utterly confounded me. Fellow fans of British blues told me Tony McPhee and company were one of the greats, yet what I heard sounded more like a proto-Minutemen: agitated and nervy, with an emphatic love for hard-bopping swing. It wasn’t that McPhee didn’t solo, it was that his solos felt wonderfully arty in all their gnarled glory. In a weird way he shared more in common with Captain Beefheart or even Ornette Coleman than John Mayall. So yeah, I was hooked! McPhee was punk.

Donald “Buck Dharma” Roeser (Blue Öyster Cult)
Buck Dharma’s talents aren’t easy to pin down. Heavy metal’s early years produced more superficially impressive six-stringers for sure. But very few of them had Dharma’s knack for working far-out ideas into rock anthems that were radio-friendly. A song like “ME 262,” off Secret Treaties, contains a blitzkrieg of sonic (and lyrical) weirdness, everything from manic prog-riffage to squalls of avant-garde feedback, but none off it ever overpowers what is essentially the perfect soundtrack to the Friday-night blowout. Dharma could also write great pop; “(Don’t Fear) the Reaper” never gets old. I guess you could say Dharma’s style kinda-sorta foresaw the emergence of Rick Nielsen, who would go even more pop.

Robby Krieger (The Doors)
I doubt Robby Krieger is taken seriously as a guitarist by anyone. His shredder skills were extremely limited. But I love the Doors, and I love his role in the Doors. Since Ray Manzarek’s keyboard served as the band’s primary instrument (excluding Morrison’s voice, of course), Krieger busied himself coloring free space with an array of robo-effects, undulating reverb and raga-inspired runs. A lot of these tricks are barely audible, but that’s what’s cool about them. Krieger was stridently modern in the way he created a droning psych-pop wash that didn’t often sound like an actual guitar. When he did pop out for a solo it was always something special, like the writhing electric goo in the middle of the epic “When the Music’s Over.” Yes, he never turned his amp up to 11, but make no mistake: he influenced everybody from the Stooges to wall-of-sound space rockers like Spacemen 3 and Loop.

Eddie Hazel (Parliament-Funkadelic)
It’s hard to argue that the musician behind “Maggot Brain,” a 10-minute guitar solo, didn’t have a terminal case of the neo-Hendrix noodles. But much like Fleetwood Mac’s “Albatross” (only way more out there), the composition stands as a prime example of how space and texture are just as important as the actual notes being played. Yes, Jimi’s innovations in feedback, distortion and volume deeply inspired Eddie Hazel, yet throughout his turbulent tenure in the Parliament-Funkadelic empire he never abandoned funk’s devotion to the groove (however warped). Economy and a full integration of melody, rhythm and power were always on his mind. In this sense, “Maggot Brain” is a more advanced piece of music than just about anything found on Electric Ladyland. Of course, the flip side of all this is that Hazel also helped spawn Chili Peppers-approved funk rock, but hey, nobody’s perfect.

Lindsey Buckingham (Fleetwood Mac — again)
It hasn’t been until the last decade or so that Lindsey’s genius is finally getting the recognition it deserves. Though more revered as a composer, there’s no overlooking the guitar’s role in his songwriting. And here we have to turn to his 1979 masterwork, Tusk. In addition to taking everything West Coast rock innovated between 1962 and ’75 and pushing it into the age of New Wave, Buckingham transformed the guitar into a paintbrush, one capable of laying down a million different shades of quirkiness. Possessing an ear for the symphonic, he also played with a decidedly percussive edge. It’s very Robby Krieger when you get right down to it, only more visionary.

Tony Iommi (Sabbath, baby)
A lot of you must be thinking I’m stone-cold crazy for including the father of heavy-metal bombast, Mr. Tony Iommi. And you’d be right, had Sabbath disbanded after their first two albums. In the group’s infancy, the guitarist nicked more than a few tricks from the jammy ways of Cream, Hendrix and Vanilla Fudge. In other words: too many solos that care little for advancing the group’s collective momentum. But much like Free (only way, way heavier), Iommi trimmed the fat and in the process helped design a group sound that at its absolute peak, 1972′s Vol. 4, just might have been the most well-oiled and finely tuned rhythmic force on the face of the planet. (Note: I pushed Iommi to the back of the line because none of Sabbath’s Ozzy-era albums are available digitally. L-A-M-E.)

Honorable mentions:

Angus Young (AC/DC)
Zero records available through Rhapsody = zero time for you.

Jimmy Page (Zep)
For sale only? Not good enough.

Paul Rudolph (The Deviants, Pink Fairies)
I will get to you soon, old friend.

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Classic Rock Crate Digger is a column I write for the Rhapsody Blog.

There are more than a few folks out there, believe it or not, who think the great Carlos Santana is nothing more than some hot-licks geezer who occasionally plays guitar behind Michelle Branch and Rob “Smooth” Thomas. It’s sad.

Though I dig the guy, he only has himself to blame. Back in 1999, Santana apparently decided he wanted to be a pop star again at any cost. On Supernatural, as well as its carbon-copy successor, Shaman, the Latin legend went cookie-cutter on us by jumping in bed with a who’s who of Billboard pop tarts. In addition to Thomas and Branch, the albums featured cameos by Dave Matthews, Nickelback’s Chad Kroeger, Lauryn Hill, Macy Gray and (for some odd reason) Everlast. The results? A slew of Grammys, millions of records sold and the fame he so obviously craved. Of course, Santana reduced his signature guitar style into a parody of itself, but hey, at least he gets to polish all those little gold statuettes lining his marble mantle.

Then again, it’s not as if Carlos Santana went from making killer jams straight to stone-cold sellout in the blink of an eye. The 1980s and ’90s were not fruitful decades for him. Once the crown prince of Woodstock, he turned into yesterday’s papers, a classic-rock dinosaur in the age of punk, New Wave, hair metal and, later, alternative rock. Outside of 1987′s Blues for Salvador, Santana’s discography during these years is filled with lukewarm forays into pop fusion and slick blues. By the time Supernatural came out it had been a long — I mean long — time since he had made a smoking album, since he actually mattered.

Yet there’s another reason why Santana’s legacy hasn’t weathered the ages as well as that of many of his classic-rock contemporaries. It’s one of them subtle points that are difficult to map, but let’s give it a go: back in the 1970s Santana monopolized Latin cool. Sure, Latin musicians living in America had made great strides in jazz, funk and folk, with genres like salsa, bolero and bossa nova generating more and more buzz. But for the most part he was mainstream America’s Latin rock god numero uno, a total poster boy. Well, that’s no longer the case. Thanks to a radically expanding market for reissues of once-obscure vinyl (see “Classic Rock Crate Digger: Rediscovering East-West and Super Session”), younger folk investigating hippie-era rock ‘n’ roll now have a wealth of amazing artists to dig into if they crave Latin flavor. These include some serious heavies: Os Mutantes, Caetano Veloso, Gilberto Gil, Traffic Sound, Almendra and a million killer garage-rock bands from Mexico. Santana, you see, was just the eensy weensy tip of the iceberg. The whole of Latin America — and I’m including Brazil here — underwent a hippie-rock revolution every bit as profound as our own. And a lot of the artists who fomented this revolution are now totally worshiped here in the States. So yeah, for the younger generations Santana is not always the go-to guy for Latin rock.

Despite me laying a double whammy on the guy, what he accomplished between 1969 and 1974 should not be lost to time. He produced a clutch of records that are truly visionary in their attempt to deliver a global sound: a blend of psychedelia, free jazz, fusion and various forms of Latin-based folk forms. Whether you are a 21st-century Rob Thomas fan who has no clue what I’m yapping about or a super-hip hipster who thinks Caetano slays Carlos, here are five old-school albums that prove Santana created some mind-bending classic rock.

Santana III (1971)
Forget Abraxas. This is far and away Santana’s crowning achievement and one of classic rock’s greatest albums. Much like Sly & the Family Stone on There’s a Riot Goin’ On, III is where the Santana who wowed Woodstock with his group’s white-light passion turned dark and gnarly. Young gun Neal Schon (yes, the guy who would go on to form Journey) joined the fray and immediately injected the music with screaming guitar madness. The band answered with even more madness, most of it funky, dense and jagged. Lyrically, the album wallows in loss, paranoia and sadness, all of which are soaked in the pungent odor of hard drugs. However challenging, III is one of those rock albums that’s easy to obsess over, especially Columbia’s legacy edition, which adds a second disc of outtakes and live tracks.

Caravanserai (1972)
The Carlos Santana who recorded Supernatural was most certainly not the same guy who created Caravanserai. The year is 1972. Santana and his band are one of the biggest rock acts on the face of the planet. But instead of churning out more “Black Magic Woman”-type hits for Clive Davis at Columbia, they ditch the beaten path for deep-space exploration. Caravanserai is Latin fire music, more in tune with Coltrane, Mahavishnu Orchestra and Bitches Brew-era Miles than anything found in the Top 40 at the time. Imagine if Nickelback followed up All the Right Reasons with a megaton slab of doom metal, and you begin to understand just how weird this album was for Santana fans.

Love Devotion Surrender (1973)
Not only did Santana turn to fusion in 1972, he also embraced the teachings of Sri Chinmoy, an Indian spiritual teacher then popular with hippies on the West Coast. Guitar god John McLaughlin, founder of the aforementioned Mahavishnu Orchestra and a regular in Miles’ electric lineup, was also a student when the two decided to team up for an ecstatic tribute to their beloved guru. Love Devotion Surrender makes Caravanserai sound like Leif Garrett. Both fret masters opened their souls to “god,” who apparently told them to play one blistering solo after another while allowing feedback to fly all over the studio. The album’s peak comes with a 15-minute rendition of “Let Us Go into the House of the Lord.” Prepare for your head, and soul, to explode into cosmic light.

Welcome (1973)
By the time he released Welcome, Santana had probably weeded out all the casual fans looking for more groovy radio fodder. There’s not much rock on this record. Featuring free-jazz diva Alice Coltrane, Welcome is a mix of fusion, soul, funk and Latin awesomeness. At the same time, it’s not nearly as heavy as Caravanserai, much less Love Devotion Surrender. It’s more about meditative beauty (imagine Sergio Mendes on hashish). I guarantee this record has been sampled at least 1,000 times.

Lotus (1973)
Lotus, originally released as a three-record set, is one of rock ‘n’ roll’s great live epics. It was also the perfect summation of everything Santana stood for up to this point in his career. He found a way to meld all his loves — Haight-Ashbury-bred acid rock, catchy Latin pop and exploratory fusion — into a single, unified whole. Lotus spoke to all his fans, those who wanted the hits and those who got off on all the jazzy freakdom. In our catalog review, old-school Rhapsody scribe Eric Shea writes, “…something magical happens every time you let Lotus play in its entirety.” Right on. (Note: “A-1 Funk” is electro-noise-jazz insanity. No lie.)

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My internet-radio show, Kill the Head, “airs” every Friday, 5 to 7 p.m. (eastern), on Asheville Free Media.

Super fun show this week. Two corrections:

1) I mistakenly said Miles Davis’ “Rated X” is from the album Live-Evil when, in fact, it’s to be found on the equally killer Get Up With It.

2) The CD-R Young Morgan (label: Sugar Creek) is a collaboration between Nate Young (Wolf Eyes, Demons) and Sightings guitarist Mark Morgan. I credited it to just the latter.

Listen: here

ARTIST SONG ALBUM LABEL
Santana “A-1 Funk” Lotus Columbia
Love Cry Want “The Great Medicine Dance” self-titled Newjazz
John McLaughlin “Purpose of When” Devotion Douglas
Miles Davis “Rated X” Get Up With It Columbia
Ginger Baker’s Air Force “Doin’ It” self-titled ATCO Records
The Pterodactyls “Shadie Area” Reborn Bulb Records
Parasites of the Western World “Mo” self-titled Criminal Records
Studio 1 (a.k.a. Wolfgang Voigt) “Rot 2” Studio Eins Studio 1
Philip Perkins “Closing the Big Deal” Desperately Seeking Suicide Priapismus Records
TuTwo Prong (a.k.a. James Taylors) “Ghost of Hockamoo” Music 4 Tweens self-released
Dearraindrop “Theme to the Pharaohs Secret” (track one) SSSarcophagus 1-4 Radius Waste
Keiichiro Shibuya Untitled (track 3) untitled ATAK (000)
Teitanblood “Morbid Devil of Pestilence” Seven Chalices Norma Evangelium Diaboli
Paranoid Time “Can I Play With Madness” RAT Life Troniks
Young Morgan untitled (track two) Bitter Old Man Sugar Creek
Spine Scavenger untitled (track one) self-titled (cassette) Hanson Records
N.V “Lado Omada” Izipho E.P. (twelve-inch) Future Days
Ancient Methods untitled (track two) First Method (twelve-inch) Ancient Methods
Mood music during talking breaks: Iannis Xenakis [conductor: Charles Brück] — Terretektorh / Nomos Gamma (Candide)

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(This show preview originally appeared in the Seattle Weekly.)

Lights is a post-everything band from Brooklyn, one which tosses all that is hip and cool into a bowl and stirs until yummy goodness ensues. At the group’s core lies a love for vintage FM rock. Vocalists Linnea Vedder and Sophia Knapp often sound like the teenaged offspring of Heart’s Wilson sisters (or maybe even the unknown mamas in Anonymous/J. Rider). But on Rites, Lights’ debut full-length for Drag City, the band tricks-out the rock with touches of post-punk, dub and funk. At times, Lights even dives mind-first into an arty free-bop that’s vaguely reminiscent of fellow New Yorkers Telepathe and Rings. However, the band is always mindful to return to what it knows best: riffs, jams and soaring harmonies.

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My internet-radio show, Kill the Head, “airs” every Friday, 5 to 7 p.m. (eastern), on Asheville Free Media.

ARTIST SONG ALBUM LABEL
Federal Roosters (a.k.a. Lance Romance) “Bee Careful of Da Beez” Session on Devils Day (cassette) MassDist
The Wooden Cupboard “Spirits and Retribution” Animals Speak the Spirit Tongue Lattajjaa
Jeff Mills “To Protect And Obey” The Defender Axis
Viki untitled (track one) Triple X (cassette) Animal Disguise Recordings
Woozlebug “Swamp Gas Air Force” Mullicana Morning Frost Recordings
Men/Eject “Draw” I Hate the Pop Group Vertical Slum Records
The Goslings “Croatan” Grandeur of Hair Archive
Pontiak “Headless Conference” Maker Thrill Jockey
Ben Klock “Red Alert” Tracks From 07 Deeply Rooted House
Milton Bradley “Don’t Phonk” Dystopian Vision Do Not Resist The Beat!
Bass Patrol “Your Daddy Baby Got Beef” Your Daddy Baby Got Beef Joey Boy
n/a “Cpak Sa” Bass Etc. n/a
All Leather “Audios Mi Amoebas” Hung Like A Horse Dim Mak Records / Downtown Music
Enema Syringe “Jag Vill Bara Sla Dig” Visa Mig Vagen Till Mellringe 1986-1988 UFO Mongo
Meat Slicer “Boiled Alive” self-titled SNSE
Wrnlrd “Haxanic Stairway” Oneiromantical War Flingco Sound System
Razor “Violence Condoned” Shotgun Justice War On Music
Burnt By Sun “Beacon” Heart of Darkness Relapse
Septic Death “Negative Threat” A Time We’ll Remember Vol. 7 Lost And Found Records
Eloe Omoe “Shagreen” Marauders Animal Disguise Recordings
Slapp Happy “Me & Paravati” Acnalbasac Noom Recommended Records
Mood music during talking breaks: Thuja’s Pine Cone Temples (Strange Attractors Audio House)

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(This show preview originally appeared in the Seattle Weekly.)

Van Dyke Parks digs the young ladies. After providing arrangements for Joanna Newsom’s 2006 epic Ys, the avant-pop genius has gone on to collaborate with two more honey-voiced songbirds, respectively: Inara George and Clare Muldaur Manchon of Clare and the Reasons fame. Both, interestingly enough, are the daughters of musicians from Van Dyke’s generation. I’m, of course, talking about Little Feat’s Lowell George and East Coast folk revivalist Geoff Muldaur. His work with both musicians is stellar, especially Inara’s album An Invitation, a wondrous collection of symphonic pop. Clare explores similar terrain on her first two albums: The Movie and the gorgeous Arrow. Actually getting the chance to see her perform live with the great Van Dyke Parks will be just heavenly.

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Classic Rock Crate Digger is a column I write for the Rhapsody Blog.

There are those who actually believe young’ns no longer appreciate the rock. Well, the Classic Rock Crate Digger is here to tell you that’s all hogwash. My generation — as well as those following us — know more about the history of bell-bottomed boogie, first-wave classic rock, heady prog and vintage psych-jams than the original dirties who created the sweaty stuff. Over the last 10 years just about every obscure stoner-nug recorded between 1968 and ’73 has been reissued — multiple times in many instances. What’s more, my generation’s desire to rediscover these lost jammers extends well beyond the Occidental world. What we’ve come to learn through our tireless excavation is that longhairs with guitars thrived in just about every country dotting great Gaia herself.

Though a lot of these reissues have been released on vinyl and CD primarily, the world of online music has been acquiring more and more of them. A hardcore rock fan can now wander the infinite maze that is Rhapsody’s catalog and encounter some seriously killer reissues, like Tibet’s Suzettes, released by the Peruvian group Traffic Sound. Cross Santana III (his best, I think) and the Beatles’ Revolver, and you get a rough idea of just how awesome this masterpiece from 1971 really is. Then there’s George Brigman’s Jungle Rot, which takes Fleetwood Mac-approved blues-rock and filters it through some truly visionary psychedelia. And let’s not overlook Live, Masonic Temple, Detroit 01/14/1978 from Sonic’s Rendezvous Band, one of hard rock’s all-time great live acts (though no one outside the Motor City knew it at the time).

But while all this great unknown stuff has been unearthed, the opposite has also happened: certain records that were once considered hard-rock landmarks have gradually fallen by the wayside. I’m thinking of two in particular: the Paul Butterfield Blues Band’s East-West and Super Session, featuring the one-off trio of Mike Bloomfield, Al Kooper and Stephen Stills. Both mid-’60s releases were pivotal in constructing the modern hard-rock template. Ask any old-school head about these albums, and chances are good they’ll rank them right alongside canonic fodder like Fresh Cream, Led Zeppelin II, The Doors and Electric Ladyland. But for reasons touched on below, a lot of younger hard-rock fans aren’t at all aware of their importance — or their heavy awesomeness for that matter.

Let’s tackle East-West first; it’s the big daddy of the two. To begin with, the Paul Butterfield Blues Band — sans their leader, interestingly enough — backed Bob Dylan when he went electric at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival. That’s a big deal in and of itself. But far more important is this: Butterfield’s band circa 1966 invented the free-form rock jam (though credit also needs to be given to the 13th Floor Elevators). On the album’s 13-minute title track, which could expand to a full half-hour in the live setting, the Chicago sextet laid the groundwork for San Francisco’s acid-rock movement, jazz fusion of the 1970s, jam-band shenanigans and the integration of psychedelia and world music. This last innovation served as a huge inspiration for prospective rock musicians around the world. Then there’s the ace guitar work. Wrapping each other into sonic pretzels, Elvin Bishop and Mike Bloomfield helped create the concept of the twin lead (see the Classic Rock Crate Digger’s “Roots of the Twin Lead” column).

To say the Paul Butterfield Blues Band were every bit as revolutionary as the Beatles and James Brown is no overstatement. Yet if that’s the case, then why doesn’t East-West receive more hipster kisses from young folk? There are a few possible explanations for this. The Butterfield band weren’t a rock act; they were bluesmen from Chicago who, for an all-too-brief moment, intersected with the rock ‘n’ roll scene. Though subsequent versions of Butterfield’s group continued to play before pop audiences (most notably at Woodstock and the Band’s Last Waltz), they for the most part retreated to the confines of the blues scene. That was their home, ultimately. Then there’s the sad case of guitarist Mike Bloomfield (whom we’ll talk about some more when digging into Super Session). “East-West” was his composition, making him one of the most influential six-stringers in rock history. The guy became one of the first guitar gods, right up there with Hendrix and Clapton. Unfortunately, he simply couldn’t keep it together. While the hard-rock sound he helped create went mainstream in the 1970s, Bloomfield toiled away in San Francisco clubs, where he nursed a serious heroin addiction. In 1981 he was found dead in his car, the victim of a drug overdose.

Bloomfield left Butterfield’s group in 1967 and formed the Electric Flag. But he soon left them as well (drugs and egos, according to rock legend). In 1968 Bloomfield hooked up with Al Kooper, the dude who played organ on “Like a Rolling Stone,” and recorded Super Session. Though the power trio Cream had already introduced the idea of the supergroup, on this album the idea was fully realized. Super Session, which went gold, is the first rock album consciously modeled after a jazz recording: go into the studio, record a few jam sessions and then release them in LP format, with the big guns advertised on the cover (BLOOMFIELD / KOOPER / STILLS). We’re talking the birth of the superstar rock musician, an archetype that would go on to dominate the music for the next decade.

Now, Stills actually doesn’t play with Bloomfield on Super Session. After his pal inexplicably disappeared for a few days (uh, drugs?), Kooper was forced to recruit the Buffalo Springfield badass. Thus, on the original album Bloomfield appears on Side 1 and Stills, Side 2. The lack of cohesion in terms of personnel doesn’t at all detract from the album. Super Session is a big, loud, brazen rock album exploding with thick grooves, screaming solos, brassy horns and psychedelic soul. On the spacey “His Holy Modal Majesty” Bloomfield continues his exploration of free jazz and world music. Stills, meanwhile, ups the ante on the 11-minute version of Donovan’s “Season of the Witch.” Very much inspired by Hendrix, this is a killer slab of groovy rock ‘n’ roll, with lots of trippy wah-wah and gut-rupturing organ. Kooper and Stills sound even more inspired by Mr. Hendrix on the next track, a cover of the blues standard “You Don’t Love Me.” A minute into the thing and you just have to wonder why this song is not worshipped as a classic of fuzzy psych-pop coolness.

Super Session’s fall from nobility is more mysterious than that of East-West. But it probably has a lot to do with two-thirds of the ensemble, Bloomfield and Kooper, becoming minor characters in rock’s development by the time the 1970s rolled around. In fact, like Butterfield, both were more comfortable working from within niche markets like blues and folk.

What isn’t mysterious is this: despite these records’ current status as mere historical footnotes, fans of hard rock — both young and old — owe them some thanks, for they surely played profound roles in the music’s evolution.

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