"Any band that doesn't play live is only half a band as far as I'm concerned."
--Keith Richards
Most
musicians will tell you that most of their money is made on the road,
playing in front of a live audience--especially if you're albums aren't
exactly Top 40 material. As good, even great, as a studio album might
be, the artist typically has to go out and promote it. That usually
means concerts and late night TV appearances.
Playing
live allows for a certain amount of freedom. In the pre-CD era, bands
could take a song and turn it into a half hour jam session--for better
or worse. Obviously this wouldn't work in a studio when you only have
roughly 20-25 minutes per side of an LP. Admittedly this was done
primarily by jazz musicians and The Grateful Dead.
Some
artists, I think sound better live. As much as I love Santana's first
three albums--and I do--the live performances of those songs, especially
from their first album, never cease to blow my mind. Santana was one
of the breakout performances at Woodstock in 1969, roughly two weeks
before the release of their debut album. According to legend, Carlos
Santana thought the band was going on later in the day, so he dropped
some acid figuring it would wear off before they performed.
Unfortunately, he seriously miscalculated when they were playing and so
it kicked in as they were taking the stage. He's said that he has no
recollection of playing "Soul Sacrifice," he remembers wrestling with a
snake. But I contend it's still the best performance of that song ever
recorded--certainly better than the trimmed down 6-minute version that
closes the album.
A few years ago, I had the pleasure of seeing D.A. Pennebaker's concert film Monterey Pop.
Released in 1968, it documented the music festival organized by John
Phillips and Lou Adler the previous year. So many of the artists made a
name for themselves at that festival because of those performances,
which are now legendary. Jimi Hendrix famously sacrificed his guitar at
the end of his performance. Otis Redding began connecting to audiences
beyond soul and R&B listeners. (He would have continued to do so
had he not died in a plane crash six months later.) And Janis Joplin...
her performance of "Ball and Chain" with Big Brother and the Holding
Company is a sight to behold. I can't even begin to describe it. And I
don't have to--the look on Cass Elliott's face in the audience said
everything.
Obviously,
the main difference between a studio album and a live performance is
the audience. It's the ultimate way for an artist to know whether or
not the material works. Having chart success is one thing. But playing
your song and having thousands of people singing along is something
else entirely. Sometimes it's best to just let the audience have at
it. During a 1985 performance of "Breakdown" at L.A.'s Wiltern Theatre,
Tom Petty let the audience sing the first verse and chorus while he and
the Heartbreakers played. He quipped, "You're gonna put me out of a
job."
As
an audience member, I'm just as guilty as anyone of getting into the
performance and singing along more than I probably should. When I was
fifteen, I saw the Rolling Stones when they toured behind their album Steel Wheels.
It was my first concert. I was super stoked when they played "You
Can't Always Get What You Want," which has been my favourite song since I
was twelve. Mick just sang "You can't..." and 35,000 people sang back
the rest of it. It was the first time I ever felt like I was a part of
something bigger than myself. I still like to think I'm singing backup
on the 1991 live album Flashpoint. (I'm sure I'm not, but it's still fun to fantasize.)
That
interaction between artist and audience is almost spiritual. I saw
Billy Joel in the spring of 1994 with a bunch of friends from Ball
State, including the mother of one friend. When he closed the show with
his signature tune, "Piano Man," he just let the audience sing the
chorus to him. We not only sang along, we all had our arms around each
other and were swaying back and forth. I had my arm around my friend's
mom--who I only just met that afternoon--singing to one of my
favourite musicians. During the last chorus, not a sound came from the
stage. Not one guitar riff, not one drum beat, not a single note from
Billy's piano. The only sound in Market Square Arena (don't look for it
today, it's no longer there) was a singing audience. It still makes me emotional today when I think about it.
Some
artists connect with their audiences in almost mystical ways. When
listening to Bruce Springsteen's live recordings, especially with the E
Street Band, you can tell he feeds off the energy of the crowd and gives
it back to them. His shows notoriously run over three hours--quite a
feat for a guy now in his mid-70s. Some songs, like "Badlands," require
the audience to essentially sing backup. During some of those songs,
he goes into what I call "rock 'n' roll preacher mode." He basically
turns the concert into a religious revival. And even though I've never
seen him live, hearing those performances frequently makes me feel as
though I'm there with him.
Live
albums serve two important purposes. Firstly, they showcase what a
band can--or in some cases cannot--do on stage. It's often fun to
compare and contrast the live performances to the studio ones.
Secondly, they provide a nice souvenir for the audience who spent a lot
of money (especially these days) to see the show.
Some
live albums have become classic--even iconic--over the years. When I
hear some of them, I often wonder what it would have been like to be
there in person. This week's album is one of those. Strangely, I've
only just discovered it in the last month. I found a used CD of it on
Record Store Day and felt compelled to grab it immediately. Glad I
did--it's one of the best live albums I've ever heard. It was
originally released as a double album in 1971. There was enough
material that didn't go on the album that three performances were
actually included on their next studio album. In 2003, because of the
ability to put more music on a CD than a vinyl LP, a special deluxe
edition of the album was released featuring even more music than it
originally had three decades earlier. This week please enjoy that
edition of The Allman Brothers Band At Fillmore East.
Until
next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember
that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for
you.
Yours in peace, love, and rock 'n' roll!
The Reverend Will the Thrill
No comments:
Post a Comment