Day One. I feel a little like the Monkees must have felt having to go on stage after Jimi Hendrix opened for them in 1967. My friend Rian Murphy has just finished an epic account of ten great records that he holds dear, and he has selected me to carry forth the challenge. I ordinarily find it easy to shuck these sorts of tag-you’re-it exercises, but Rian reminded me of how much I love music, and how woven it is to identity and personal history, and out of respect to the grooves and the rockin’ one, here goes.
I almost started with the Monkees. This morning, they were on my mind. My first record was Meet the Monkees, and my parents had given me the money to go to Goldblatts to get it because I had finally raised my grades after a disastrous start to 4th grade. And I would have carried through with that album if not for the intrusions of Davy Jones songs, which are dreck.
1967 was a rough year for me. I was in constant trouble at school, regularly sent into the hall or principal’s office. The teacher once literally threw the book at me. But at home in the haven of my bedroom, I fell in love with rock and roll. My Uncle Jay, who I shared the room with, had been drafted to Viet Nam, and had left me his portable turntable and three records: Rolling Stones/ Out of Their Heads, Otis Redding/ Sitting on the Dock of the Bay, and Bill Cosby Sings. But my secret weapon was my Sears Silvertone radio set to WCFL with the timer set to turn it off after I had fallen asleep. I was an insomniac though, and a sleepwalker and i often laid awake in the wee hours with the wonder of a.m. radio. It was in one of those moments I first heard I Can See For Miles. There was nothing more intimate or exciting as hearing those opening chords beamed to me in the black of night. I know you’ve deceived me, now here’s a surprise—this was not I wanna hold your hand. One note solo over crashing chords.
It would be a few years after buying the single before finding the record it was on, on a rack near the registers at Jewel Foods, a fifty cent cut-out. Of course it looked absurd—Roger in the bathtub covered in baked beans, Pete with the giant Odorono deodorant under his armpit on the cover. And although the joke is played out through the course of the album, there are songs that defined the greatness of the Who, and they became my favorite band. Of course I loved the Beatles, of course I loved the Kinks, and The Rolling Stones—I would never argue that the Who were better, because it just doesn’t matter. The Who spoke to me. Pete and Keith were misfits. Punk rockers. Miscreants. Probably got in trouble at school when they were younger.
By no means is it the best Who record. Who’s Next, Tommy, Live at Leeds, and Quadophenia all got more spins in the big scheme of things for me. Sell Out was the Who bridging their career. They had just played the Monterey Pop festival and were on their way. The record seems like a throwaway, but in addition to their highest charting aforementioned single, there are some truly innovative sounds.
A radio jingle countdown of the days of the week gives way to the backwards guitar feedback of Armenia City in the Sky, a brilliant song written by a friend of the band, Speedy Keen. (I got to play guitar on a cover of the song for Bun E. Carlos’s solo record a couple of years back—a thrill indeed!) Mary Anne with the Shaky Hands follows the Heinz Baked Beans jingle (the jingles do not detract from the greatness!), one of the many masturbation songs written in the era—I’m sure it was over my head. Tattoo is great, but the next one, Our Love Was, Is along with I Can’t See You are two power pop songs that I’m sure influenced a young Alex Chilton.
Three songs on the b side are my favorites. Relax reaches a crescendo that blows my mind every time. There is a live version of the song I have on a bootleg, but it cuts off. Maybe my second favorite Who song next to Miles. Sunrise is beautiful, a solo Pete-sung song where he explores some of the rhythmic strumming that would define the songs of Tommy. Big Star would capture this sound perfectly. The finisher is amazing. Rael. No doubt the Beach Boys magic had been heard by Pete (we know Keith was a major fan), because there is no way some of the vocal stuff going on here was without precedent. It’s the opera between A Quick One and Tommy and contains the dna of Amazing Journey. A brilliant album closer on a brilliant album!
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