Missed That One Completely

Back in the late 1990s and early 2000s, all sorts of music passed me by. I guess I was too busy with other stuff, and apart from new songs by old favorites (Clapton, Santana etc.), I was oblivious. Ordinarily, the kids’ music (my kids, that is) would have kept me informed, so to speak, but as I recall, they were listening to music which didn’t touch me — Limp Bizkit, Matchbox 20, Weezer, Shakira and all the teen-pop stuff — and I won’t even go into “club” music.

Well, maybe I should have listened to club music a little, because I completely missed someone called Anastacia — and that’s a Bad Thing.

Whoa. Talk about a seductive, and wonderful, mezzo-soprano: I’m Outta Love and Left Outside Alone (both of which I only encountered for the first time this past week) are astonishing. And as for Sick And Tired… phew.

Okay, let me get the obvious out of the way. The musical format of Anastacia’s music still leaves me untouched — in fact, I think it sucks — but good grief… that voice. It reminds me of a slightly edgier Tina Turner — and how does one get edgier than Tina?

Nor was she an overnight sensation, either: she’d really paid her dues.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Ms. Anastacia was as sexy as hell, too, not to mention gorgeous.

Of course, those were earlier pics of her, taken in her 30s. It’s been well over a decade since she “arrived” — she should have been discovered nearly ten years before then — and age has taken its toll on her, somewhat (not to mention Crohn’s Disease and breast cancer); but hell, even an older and plumper Anastacia can still turn heads, at age 50:

…and if anything, like a fine Scotch single malt her voice has got better with age. My only quibble is her music, which still sucks. I wish she’d become a torch singer, taking on the old jazz nightclub classics. She would be sensational.

And damn, I wish she hadn’t lost the glasses.

New Old Music

Imagine you were a virtuoso guitarist who didn’t want to just play in a rock band. What to do?

Well, if you were Spanish, you could form a symphony orchestra with a bunch of like-minded guitarists, call yourselves SInfonity, and play some classical music like, oh say, Bach’s venerable Toccato & Fugue in D minor.

Not that this would have been one of your goals, but you would end up making Kim du Toit a very happy man.

To my Readers: set aside ten minutes of your busy day and give the above a listen. And yes, it’s live.

No need to thank me; it’s all part of the service.

Slower Hand

Several years ago, as a demonstration about the importance of the rhythm unit (bass and drums) to a band’s sound, I had to play bass guitar to a live audience for the first time in over thirty years.

And I could barely play for more than a few seconds before the pain in my knuckles and wrist slowed me down. I haven’t touched a bass since.

At the time, I was 54 years old. How it would feel to play now, almost ten years later, I can only imagine — and how much pain I’d feel in another ten years or so is unimaginable.

Which is why I read this headline with the utmost sympathy for the man:

Musician Eric Clapton, 72, admits he’s going deaf and his “hands just about work” as he reveals concerns he will “embarrass himself” at 2018 shows

To say that I’m a fan of Eric Clapton would be one of the world’s great understatements. I first became aware of his skill when I heard the Cream hit “White Room”, which was a ground-breaker in that it had two lead solos — unheard of in any popular tune of the time. What was also ground-breaking was Clapton’s virtuosity, because (as I once explained to my son) while the solos now sound unremarkable, almost pedestrian, they were unlike anything else being played at the time. His playing was such that it spawned the various “Clapton Is God” graffiti on so many walls in Britain. My friend, the late Johnny Fourie was not only one of the jazz guitar greats, but was also for a couple of years the band leader at the famous Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club in London. After having seen him play a late-night jam session there, Johnny later described Clapton to me as “a shy, skinny kid who played like his guitar was on fire.”

And he got better. Much better.

I’ve seen Clapton play live, once at Madison Square Garden (during his Cocaine period), and much later at the old Chicago Stadium where he played only his favorite blues songs. While he was good at MSG, he was sensational in Chicago, and anyone who knows anything about him will know that while rock music might have made him famous, it’s the blues which holds his heart.

Here’s (to my mind) one of the best examples of his blues prowess:

Stormy Monday

…and here’s something different he did a couple years ago:

Autumn Leaves

Yeah, he can play the old jazz standards as well. Well, duh; he’s Eric Clapton.

Old age catches us all in its icy grip eventually, and not even “God” can escape it.

NEW OLD STUFF!

In an earlier post on music, I griped:

 I’ve become sick of all the old music, “old” being defined as 60s-70s music of my rock star (uh huh) youth. I mean, if I hear “Sweet Home Alabama” and anything by Led Zeppelin one more time, I’m going to slip the safety off the 1911.
…
So maybe that’s what Classic Rock needs: for new guys to reinterpret their music (as opposed to just reproducing it), much as Dred Zeppelin did to Led Zeppelin (I love the Dred, by the way).

And it’s happened, in (of all places) Finland (!). Have a listen to the Leningrad Cowboys (!!) performing the aforementioned Sweet Home Alabama live with the Red Army Choir (!!!) and be entertained by all the rest of the Cowboys’ interpretations of the old hits as they appear on the page (e.g. the turgid Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door and even the syrupy Those Were The Days).

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am a happy man today, and I have The Englishman to thank for bringing these guys to my attention. (I know they came on the scene in the 1990s, but somehow I missed them. More fool me.)

And now, if you’ll excuse me… I’m going to buy the album.