The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan

Earlier this week I set my Facebook status to read: "What is Leonard Cohen's appeal?" This was met with mixed replies, but the gist is that I need to look past Cohen's voice and listen to what he has to say. I haven't taken on this project quite yet, but it's going to happen sooner than later. Anyway, the reason I mention this is because I have felt like a bit of a hypocrite for criticizing Cohen's vocals while preparing my entry about today's album, The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan.

Let me start by saying that if your problem with Dylan (if you've got a problem) is his vocals, this would be a good album to try on. For the most part, it's the man, his guitar, and a harmonica (with some very sparce light percussion), and you really get the impression that he's trying to give this singing thing a shot. The album contains three of what could be called Dylan's signature songs, including Blowin' in the Wind, A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall and Don't Think Twice, It's Alright. Two remain poignant social commentaries, while the third serves as a reminder of why one should never get involved with such a troubled poet.

But the standout track, in my opinion, is Girl from the North Country. Foremost, Dylan's guitar work is excellent, and this is probably the only example I can find in musical history of a harmonica joining a song to actually make it sound haunting. This is an account of busted romance, and it truly feels like it. I've always had a penchant for the depressing, but this goes beyond that and makes feeling forlorn seem so much more beautiful than it ever is. Don't Think Twice is a similar composition in some aspects, but the two produce entirely different moods, and really do show two different sides of Dylan.

Songs like Masters of War and Talking World War III don't leave much to the imagination, but that's the idea. The latter makes something of a jaunty square dance out of Dylan's political paranoia, and the former borrows from an old English folk tune to make one feel that death by bombing is pretty much imminent. Both sadly remain accurate in capturing what it is like to live in a climate of fear, but it is A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall that builds this foreboding set while still managing to come off as a sing-along. In fact, some of the album's most gruesome imagery comes from this track, which would be hearkened back to later in songs like The Times, They Are A-Changin'.

Listening to The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan makes you kind of understand why people got all up-in-arms when he went electric. You can hear the passing of the torch from that classic style of folk, kept alive in the 60s by bands like the Kingston Trio, to the understated, but vicious poetry of Dylan. I mean, the album inspired The Beatles. Did you get that? THE BEATLES. Sure, Dylan was reportedly the guy who got them all into pot as well, but that's another story...

Tapestry

Sometimes it's tough liking soft rock. No one is intimidated by me, none of my friends want to listen to The Bridge, and there's the general assumption that I'm kind of a wiener. It is unlikely that you will pull up beside me at a red light and find me blasting The Fray or Five for Fighting or some other interchangeable adult contemporary schlock, but it is entirely possible that my windows will be rolled up and I will be listening to Gilbert O'Sullivan or Nick Drake at a respectable volume.

Or, of course, Carole King.

Carole King should be known for co-writing some of the 60s' greatest hits, including Some Kind of Wonderful, I'm Into Something Good, The Loco-Motion and a plethora of others (and there are plenty of folks who I'm sure give appropriate credit to King). However, the reason why most celebrate her abilities as a songwriter is her 1971 album, Tapestry, which stands out as one of the greatest overall musical achievements of the 70s. Tapestry earned King four Grammy awards for Album of the Year, Best Female Pop Vocal Performance, Song of the Year (You've Got a Friend) and Record of the Year (It's Too Late). It also features both Joni Mitchell and James Taylor in various capacities, though you wouldn't know it without reading the liner notes.

The album begins with I Feel the Earth Move, which sets a soulful tone for later tracks like Beautiful, Where You Lead and (You Make Me Feel) Like a Natural Woman. King evokes the vocal styling of groups like The Chiffons and Shirelles -- groups that made her songs hits on the Pop charts in the prior decade -- but provides a more stripped-down facsimile, focusing more closely on a soft acoustic guitar and piano. Nearly 40 years later, it still feels like you're in a smoky lounge listening to a three-piece band, fronted by King, who is seated behind a modest electric keyboard.

So Far Away is a lovely ballad, and the version here is far superior to Rod Stewart's (which for some reason always played on the local soft rock station when I was growing up), but the crowning acheivment of Tapestry is its lead single, It's Too Late. Oddly enough, the song is one of two on Tapestry with lyrics by Toni Stern, but the music itself was composed by King. It wouldn't be right to call it jazz, because the notes are too methodical, but the song really just evokes the smoothest of jam sessions. So smooth, in fact, that the Isley Brothers slowed it down for their 1972 album, Brother Brother Brother. Stern's lyrics are excellent as well, if you can tear yourself away from playing air bongos long enough to pay attention to them.

Other tracks like Home Again, You've Got a Friend and Will You Love Me Tomorrow are easy examples of why King's songwriting style continues to infiltrate its way into today's music through artists like Diana Birch (watch this and tell me you don't see it). Kind of a new turn of the phrase to "If ain't broke, it's because Carole King already fixed it." Putting Tapestry on is all the proof anyone could need. If you don't know where to get it, trust me, it's in your mom's record collection.

Rest in Peace

Songs for Beginners

I've noticed this absurd trend with the hipsters of today (myself sadly included) telling others about how they must check out these albums and musicians that pre-date their own existence on this earth. This often takes the shape of a 20-year-old in tight pants saying something like, "Yeah, Ziggy was good, but if you really want to dig into Bowie, Man Who Sold the World is where to start" (this is a ridiculous statement by the way). It's laughable, because I find myself having these conversations with folks who actually had these albums on vinyl, and I'm throwing out production facts that I read on Wikipedia and trying to quote the lyrics I heard this morning from some song that appears on the "Chill Out" mix I made for my iPod. Stupid.

But it is what it is, and as such I would like to implement an idea I had the other day while I was obsessing about these notions of pretension. So, going forward, on Fridays I would like to highlight albums from "before my time" that I feel deserve a listen. First up is "Songs for Beginners" by Graham Nash, which was released in 1971, and is therefore 13 years older than I am (which is not too bad actually).

This is a great album, though it is by no means flawless. If you skipped over Be Yourself or We Can Change the World, I would understand. The lyrics of these songs are a little too obvious, so these days they end up coming across like the Barney theme. However, the album opener, Military Madness, is on-the-nose. Nash does an excellent job of weaving a poignant tale, and the persistent backbeat and bouncy piano make the song pop. Better Days is a good follow-up, but takes on a darker tone.

When you get down to Simple Man, it's time for a rest. This is the antithesis of a rocker, opening with a light piano echoing and Nash's vocals only. It's fairly minimal, which does the song a service. Strings join to play the melody, but that's about it. At times optimistic, but ultimately a downer, the track is totally suitable for rainy days and early mornings. Sleep Song keeps with this theme, though it at least ends pleasantly with "And as you sleepily rise // You'll find I'll be there..."

I don't presume to know what Nash is talking about in Chicago (reportedly something about the '68 Democratic Convention), but the organ sounds so cool that I really don't care. It's like a demented soulful carnival song, and I mean that in the most positive way. If Sleep Song lived up to its title, then this is the track that will get the blood pumping. Really, the edge on this album as a whole is a surprise from Nash, who is generally known for his light contributions to The Hollies and that other, lesser-known group, but as stated previously, it is definitely worth a listen.

Yeah, I think that went well.