October 26, 1999--

Just a note about the passing of Hoyt Axton, who died today....
I know his wasn't a household name, but during the early '70s in particular, Hoyt was among a handful of great songwriters who skewed their songs toward whimsy instead of self-importance.
Hoyt patiently answered questions throughout his life about the fact that his mom, Mae Axton, co-wrote "Heartbreak Hotel" for Elvis. (Who, by the way, is said to have hated the song and argued against recording it!)

Anyway, a personal remembrance, if you'll indulge me....
--I was 22, and in the summer of 1973, landed a job booking, managing, and promoting a live venue called "Tulagi" in Boulder, Colorado, where national acts played weekly.
Many 'up-and-coming' stars honed their acts that year at Tulagi, including Bonnie Raitt, Asleep at the Wheel, Albert Brooks, Steve Martin, John Prine, Steve Goodman and more.
Our standard performer's contract was for six nights, two shows a night, for $2,500-- plus 60% of whatever we grossed at the door over $3,000.
Hoyt easily made it into "percentage", no small feat in 1973 dollars, at $5 a head.
My job included escorting the artist around Boulder for the week, be it for a mountain outing, a CU Buffalos' football game, a radio interview, to and from the airport, or just plain hangin' out.
One of my first visiting artists was Hoyt Axton, and believe me, Hoyt was a good hang.
A story teller of fine, lyrical wit and humility, he would tell tall tales about his friends, like Mason Williams ("Classical Gas") or just people he'd met along the way. I remember giggling with Hoyt in my boss's Town Car the whole time.
"Jeramiah was a bullfrog... was a good friend of mine..."
Ring a bell?
That's a Hoyt Axton song.
His laid-back, self-effacing style was very new to a somewhat 'full-of-himself ' New York transplant (me), and probably was, in retrospect, my first taste of true Southern charm.
Anyway, Hoyt's thick, bushy grey sideburns framed a deeply dimpled, worldly-wise smile, and his baritone would fill any room, any car, and any lucky adjacent soul with whatever the equivalent of a bear-hug must be.
His contemporaries were few at the time--Randy Newman and Martin Mull, both very similar in their approach to writing and performing, each drew fewer fans to the club than Hoyt did--but his audiences responded as though it were Woodstock, chanting his whimsical words right back at the stage:

"Work your fingers to the bone, what do you get?"
(Insert four seconds of obedient silence here, then an entire audience singing with the genial giant...)
"Bo-o-o-o-o-o-o-oney FINGERS!"

Jimmy Buffett certainly studied a few licks from "The 'No No' Song" when writing "Margaritaville," released a couple years later.
Hoyt Axton was a lot of things:
A fine character actor.
A kind man, a pleasure to be around,
and an unforgettable lesson in humanity and humility to this once-young man....

That, to me, was
Hoyt Axton.
He had so big a smile that
the man in the moon may finally have found a worthy replacement!

Goodbye, Hoyt...

October 10, 1999....

Lest you think all of my favorites are "oldies," may I give quick props to Sugar Ray, whose economical pop is carrying on some high traditions. I hear bits of "Because" by the Dave Clark Five, and especially Chad and Jeremy's "Summer Song" in their latest single (note the accoustic guitar changes).
As if to prove his rootsy mettle in this shallow world of contemporary music, Sugar Ray made minced-meat out of both Joe Walsh (no surprise) and the usually articulate Graham Nash on VH1's Rock 'n' Roll Jeopardy not too long ago. They came in cocky, and went away stunned (and pointless)!!! The boy was answering "C,S,N,Y" trivia better than the guy whose name forms the "N", for goddsakes!!! In short, he knows more about their music than THEY do.
Embarrassing for we dinosaurs? Yup.
But encouraging, too---at least some of the kids making music today know all they need to know, and they've got good taste to boot.
And, on a favorite "pop" topic of mine:
Don't knock the mainstream guys just 'cause they've hit it big.
Heck, I'd rather hear Sugar Ray than Lucinda Williams any day. Sorry!
(Admit it, so would you.)
It would do no good to fight the politically correct critics who kneel at "alt" Lucinda's feet....but, hey, I've listened hard--there's nothing there for me. She ain't no Bonnie Raiit; she certainly ain't no Lou Reed; and besides, this ain't 1981. Have you seen any of her recent TV appearances? This is pure posturing, and a LOT more pretentious than anything SugarRay does. Get over yourself!! Serious "artistes" can be mighty tiresome. The only "tortured" ones are us, watching you.

Speaking of which, a few words (probably more than he deserves) about Garth Brooks. If you're going to play another character, at least have the guts to go for it, and play it 100%. Instead of just throwing his "Chris Gaines" at the marketplace, remaining incognito, creating something cool, and seriously testing the waters, this egomaniac hedged every bet he could, and PLASTERED his own name all over everything. (Surprise, surprise.)
"GARTH BROOKS in the life of Chris Gaines."
Wow.
Big risk, butterball!
So unsure were his marketing people of this 'alter-ego' stuff that they actually put life-sized "stand-ups" of Garth, complete with cowboy hat, at the front of every record store. Does it say "Chris Gaines?" Well, if you look really closely, at the bottom, yes.
But the big letters, at the top, say "THE ARTIST OF THE DECADE makes THE ALBUM OF A LIFETIME."
If it were truly a gutsy move, the marketing wouldn't be nearly this gutless.
But the slogan is accurate, in one sense:
Any one of Brooks' albums would seem like a "lifetime," if listened to end-to-end.
Don't try this at home, unless you're battling a sleep disorder.

On some happier musical notes....

Paul McCartney's new rockabilly album is nice, and Chris Hillman is out with another decent bluegrass effort.
But there are two albums that have worn out my CD player around the world this past month....and I'm afraid "newness" will be relative here.
They're delightfully new to me, though!!!

As he always could during his earliest days, '57 Sinatra transits from sharp, swingin', boozy riffs to a touching, sweet coda, the kind of sensitive moment that made bobby-sox-ers line up outside the Paramount a dozen years earlier.
Absolute heaven, is this.
Likewise, "A Foggy Day in London Town" contains a hilarious ad-lib in a bow to his Italian heritage, "The British Museum...'ee wuza looza de charm..."
As I've often said, if aliens from another galaxy needed to hear one voice, just one, who could represent what our species did during the twentieth century, that voice would have to be Frank Sinatra's.
It embodies everything about us.
Our sophistication, our sense of romance, our cockiness, boorishness, vulnerability, and our very sense of what is civilized.
No other voice, no other single voice could better represent the human condition, were it to be studied from "the outside."
And now, like some lucky aliens, we have this--a newly uncovered, archeological, and most musical treasure.
None this good is likely to be found again.
(I'd have to say that's worth the extra ten bucks!)