The FABulous Return of. . . pt. 2

Before we get back to the Beatles, Gerry Tenney asked me to mention that Khane Yachness is the translator without whom Schvereh Togedike Nakht would not have been. Gerry says, "She was a Kinderland person herself, and her father Zalmen Yachness was the Lakeland social director for many years, and her mother sang in the chorus and was an actress." Gerry and Khane: a dank.

And now. . .

There are at least a few artists you could accuse of injecting death into a cover version, but James Taylor would probably not top your list. And yet here he is, referencing his own demise at the end of With a Little Help from My Friends. Nu? Not sure what he's up to. Maybe it's the ultimate extension of the sensitive folksinger persona? This song - revised last line and all - was his standard opening number for early 70s live gigs (this particular recording is a 1970 concert at Harvard's Sanders Theatre). Whatever his reasons, kudos to Taylor for steering clear of the clichéd suicide/drug OD approach, in favor of a scenario where his friends bear the responsibility for having done him in. Maybe they finally got sick of the sensitive folksinger persona.

Actually, the Beatles/James Taylor connection is surprisingly conspicuous. Taylor's self-titled debut was released in 1969 on Apple Records, having been recorded the previous year at London's Trident Studios, where the Beatles were next door putting The White Album together. The "holy host of others standing around me" in Carolina on My Mind is a reference to the lads, a couple of whom did uncredited work on the song (the initial release, not the more familiar version from 1976). It's a matter of record that when Bob Dylan first met the Beatles, he introduced them to marijuana. You are free to let your mind wander in imagining what momentous development transpired as a result of Taylor hooking up with the Fab Four. The KassaNostra knows enough to steer clear of such debauchery.

James Taylor: With a Little Help from My Friends [live]

I wanted to include this version of Hello Goodbye by the Soulful Strings specifically as a bulwark against the innumerable classical/easy listening Beatles tribute albums in existence, just waiting around to be snatched up by the gullible, the ignorant, and the obsessive Beatles fan. (Not going to take a shot here at the redundancy of all three. . . oh wait, I just did.) Richard Evans was the in-house svengali at Cadet Records in the 1960s and 70s: an accomplished musician (played bass for Sun Ra and Ahmad Jamal), producer and arranger (Marlena Shaw, Dorothy Ashby, Ramsey Lewis, Richard "Groove" Holmes, Brother Jack McDuff, to name a few) - he formed the Strings in 1966, a time when whitebread cover LPs of hit pop tunes were ubiquitous. "Strings" is a bit of a misnomer, since they operated with an electric rhythm section and incorporated a variety of other instruments into their sound. But the group, bolstered by Evans' magnetic arrangements, flies high above the sea of easy listening pap, with a soul/funk dynamic that paints a musical picture that's both easily recognizable and intriguingly different. Listen here in the second verse/chorus, how the rhythm guitar, bass, flute, strings and vibes all dance around each other, seamlessly passing off the lead and then coming back to undergird the melody, and how all that suddenly gives way in the bridge to the groove of the lead guitar solo, which in turn gets reigned in by the strings when they come in with the familiar coda. It's all rather wonderful.

Soulful Strings: Hello Goodbye

We acknowledge the Lennon/McCartney songwriting team as something more than just a pop act - it's a template for the loftiest possibilities of pop music, and that's how it should be. But then we also should acknowledge that a really great Beatles rendition requires a performance that's up to the task of respecting the source material. Nobody ever expects magic from a high school Gilbert and Sullivan production; subsequently, while the ethos of rock dictates that any combo can and should muscle their way through any song, the fact remains that the Beatles are great in part because they transcended the limits of rock music to incorporate a pop sensibility that opened the door on countless sonic innovations. That's not to say that every attempt to cover the Beatles should realize a certain level of sophistication. But many, many such attempts - in every genre - fail because they willfully ignore the complexity of the music. And it's a rare and transcendent thing when someone like Evans comes along and completely gets it right.

Anyway. . .

You say you want a Revolution? You gonna call on a buncha snotty puss-puss basement-dwelling mushy pea and turnip fawningly polite sons of the motherland fugazi Howlin' Wolf parody dirty collar-wearin' tea-sippin' empire-lovin' nancy boys? Or are you gonna call on Nina Simone? There's the Beatles version of the song, and there's Simone's "cover" version, and only one of them is about getting your hands dirty. (And right now, you should all be thinking the same thing: it's about damn time the KassaNostra put some Nina freakin' Simone up on this site! I hear ya.)

Nina Simone: Revolution

Chubby Checker had a career-defining hit with The Twist back in 1960, and then spent the next fifteen years spiraling towards irrelevance. Luckily, when a guy hits it that big, somebody'll always pay him to make records. Also luckily, the further away Checker got from his moment in the sun, the more he seemed keen on pushing the musical envelope. His 1971 Chequered! LP is, if not an outright masterpiece, than one of the finest cultural oddities you'll ever listen to. He wasn't exactly there yet in 1969, but his cover of Back in the U.S.S.R. is still a fine effort. The decision to approach this song in complete over-the-top Vegas lounge act fashion was undeniably the correct choice. There are Superbowl halftime shows less choreographed than this production, but Checker's heart is clearly driving the performance, and the unabashed excess behind him is glorious. If the Beatles were less image-conscious, they would've cut this live, with a 30-piece band and two-hundred showgirls in the buff save for tastefully arranged babushkas; Chubby's version is the next best thing.

Chubby Checker: Back in the U.S.S.R.

To wrap this post up, I give you a 1969 BBC recording of Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, by Desmond Dekker (plus a brief segue into his own tune, Wise Man). As far as I know, this wasn't formally released until it appeared on a 2005 compilation CD. I'm guessing he's being backed by his longtime group The Aces - no info to confirm that, but the timing's right. There's nothing particularly special about this recording, but I think we can all agree that the coolness factor goes through the roof when you're able to cover the pop song the Beatles wrote specifically about you. No word on what his actual wife, Margaret, thought about this Molly floozy they set him up with. By the way, I know a lot of people hate this song, but it's the KassaNostra's favorite McCartney-penned tune.

Desmond Dekker: Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da/Wise Man

Okay - part 2 is in the books. Part 3 in a week. Until then, stop yer minds from wandering. . .

Peace & Vinyl,

The KassaNostra