Aerosmith - Devil's Got A New Disguise, The Very Best Of Aerosmith


Artist: Aerosmith

Label: Columbia

Release Dates:

Original: October 10, 2006
CD: October 10, 2006

Discs: 1

Aardvark's Rating:




How many greatest hits packages does any one band need? Well, if your name is Aerosmith then the answer to this question would be a whole whack. Let me see. In 1980 they released Aerosmith's Greatest Hits, not the most imaginative of titles but what the hell. 1988 saw the release of Gems, a collection of deeper cuts like Rats In The Cellar, No Surprize, Adam’s Apple and their ever welcome take on the old Yardbirds warhorse Train Kept A Rollin’. Then came the first of the Geffen era GH packages called Big Ones, released in 1994. 2001 saw Young Lust: The Aerosmith Anthology, another Geffen package which, this time, pulled together a few rarities like Love Me Two Times, Head First and the orchestral version of Amazing.

Next up came the career spanning O, Yeah! Ultimate Aerosmith Hits the result of Columbia and Geffen cutting through the legal red tape which comes with the division of royalties when you are talking about two competing companies trying to collaborate.

Throw in the re mastered and expanded Aerosmith - Greatest Hits 1973-88 in 1997 and I believe that brings the total up to six. Throw in any number of packages released in other countries and the number becomes even scarier. And, if you are the type to lump live albums in with Greatest Hits packages, you can tack another five onto the total.

So why another greatest hits package? Well... money, I suppose.

Don't get me wrong, Aerosmith have been through a hell of alot of shit this past year. First off, the band were forced to cancel the remainder of their Rockin' the Joint tour due to vocal problems that Steven Tyler was having; A trend whcih, sadly, had been becoming more and more the norm over the past number of tours.

Tyler had to go in for laser surgery on his throat, which necessitated him resting his voice for six weeks, a Hurculean task for someone as talkative as he is.

This would not have been the best of news at the best of times but, since the band were planning on working on a new album following the RTJ tour the timing just could not have been worse.

Next up, original bass player Tom Hamilton was diagnosed with throat cancer. The ensuining treatment has left him unable to tour with the band when they hit the road again for their co-headlining Route Of All Evil tour with Motley Crue this past fall.

So any plans to release a new album this year were pretty much DOA; shot down before they could really get started. But why release yet another greatest hits package instead? As I mentioned above, for the money, I suppose.

I was going to go into another little bit here about the merits of each indivdual song included herin. But then I thought "Why?" Each and every song on this disc, save two, are available elsewhere, most notably on the real career spanning O, Yeah! Ultimate Aerosmith Hits set.

Those two exceptions are a couple of new songs: Sedona Sunrise and the titular Devil's Got A New Disguise. Songs, I might add, which were originally slated to appear on the new album.

You see, the "new" album was to be made up primarily of reworked studio out takes, a practice not unheard of in the wonderfull world of rock and roll. Sedona Sunrise was originally a song demo'd for their album Pump from 1989 while Devil's Got A New Disguise was originally recorded for 1994's Get a Grip.

Both songs have been reworked from their original demo versions for release here.

Sedona is a song, not unlike their classic What It Takes and could very well have been a cross over hit on the new country stations with the right kind of promotion. Sadly, the studio seems to have missed that boat. But then again, what else is new for Aerosmith.

Devil's has the feel of a Love In An Elevator / Eat The Rich hybrid; an uptempo rocker with hooks you could rip your flesh on and a number of double entendres that Tyler has become famous for over the years ("If you see Kay, tell her I love her").

Neither of these songs are instantly great, but then again, how many songs truely are. I guess only time will tell if they become long standing staples in Aerosmith's set list a la Sweet Emotion and Walk This Way, or if they become relegated to the status of also rans. My gut tells me it will probably be the later.

Aerosmith are one of my favorite bands. Their musical cannon, while comparitively sparse for a band that has been around for as many years as they have is none the less strong (especially their first five albums). To get a true sense of who they are you need to see them live and see them in their natural habitat.

So, it is with a heavy heart that I give this recommendation.

If you are a long time fan this album is pretty much a non starter. Unless you are a completist (like I am) the two new songs may not be worth the investment. Rumours are running wild right now that these songs may well be included on the new album when it comes out, which will make this disc doubley redundent.

Even if you are new to Aerosmith there are far better discs to purchase. If you are only interested in one greatest hits package then go for O, Yeah! Ultimate Aerosmith Hits. It contains a fine sampling of their early Columbia days, their "comeback" days spent with Geffen and their later day Sony output.

But if you really want to get to know these bad boys from Boston, then why don't you just go out and buy each of their solo albums. I'd recommend starting with Toys in the Attic and Rocks from the early days, Permanent Vacation and Pump from their Geffen cannon and Nine Lives and Honkin' On Bobo from their Sony period.

In the end, I suppose it might make a good stocking stuffer. The music is all worthy; it's just been done any number of times before and in better configurations.

Disc One: Dream On / Mama Kin / Sweet Emotion / Back In The Saddle / Last Child / Walk This Way (Run DMC version) / Dude (Looks Like A Lady) / Rag Doll / Love In An Elevator / Janie’s Got A Gun / What It Takes / Crazy / Livin’ On The Edge / Cryin’ / I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing / Jaded / Sedona Sunrise / Devil’s Got A New Disguise

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow,
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, saw dawn, felt sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Doctor Major John McCrae, 1st Field Artillery Brigade May 3, 1915, Second battle of Ypres, Belgium

Any time that I read the words to Lieutenant Colonel McCrae’s oh so famous poem it has never failed to bring a tear to my eye. The thought that men and women who I have never met were and are willing to lay down their lives so that I might enjoy the kind of freedom that I do has never ceased to touch me in the most profound manner.

The poem was rescued from a trash heap when McCrae, not satisfied with the words that he had written, tossed it away. It was originally published in England’s “Punch” magazine in December of 1915.

The general impression in my mind is of a nightmare. We have been in the most bitter of fights. For seventeen days and seventeen nights none of us have had our clothes off, nor our boots even, except occasionally. In all that time while I was awake, gunfire and rifle fire never ceased for sixty seconds..... And behind it all was the constant background of the sights of the dead, the wounded, the maimed, and a terrible anxiety lest the line should give way.(Prescott. In Flanders Fields: The Story of John McCrae, p. 98)

Unless you have been there, how could any of us truly appreciate the horror that war brings.

McCrae himself didn’t survive the Great War, the war to end all wars. During the summer of 1917, he was troubled by severe asthma attacks and occasional bouts of bronchitis. He became very ill in January 1918 and diagnosed his condition as pneumonia. He was moved to Number 14 British General Hospital for Officers where he continued to grow weak.

On January 28, after an illness of five days, he died of pneumonia and meningitis. The day he fell ill, he learned he had been appointed consulting physician to the First British Army, the first Canadian so honoured.

John McCrae was buried with full military honours in Wimereux Cemetery, just north of Boulogne, not far from the fields of Flanders. Bonfire led the procession, McCrae's riding boots reversed in the stirrups. His death was met with great grief among his friends and contemporaries. A friend wrote of the funeral:

The day of the funeral was a beautiful spring day; none of us wore overcoats. You know the haze that comes over the hills at Wimereux. I felt so thankful that the poet of `In Flanders Fields' was lying out there in the bright sunshine in the open space he loved so well.... (Prescott. In Flanders Fields: The Story of John McCrae, p. 129)

For me, Remembrance Day has always found a focus in one person; Alexander Greenaway, Uncle Alec to me.

My uncle enlisted in the Irish Guard Armored Division in 1943 as a radio man. He saw action in France, The Netherlands and Germany during the Second World War. He landed on the continent on D-Day +6. He took part in Operation Market Garden, the failed Allied offensive of September 1944. If you’ve ever seen the movie A Bridge Too Far then you have a general idea of what happened.

He never spoke very often of his time in the military; at least not to me. But when he did I was rapt. I have always had an extremely healthy fascination with history. The how’s, why’s and wherefore’s of what has transpired.

A few anecdotes that my uncle proffered to me come to mind.

My uncle and a few others visited the grave of a fallen comrade buried in a small graveyard somewhere in France. While paying their respects a German barrage started up, shells falling all around them. Uncle Alec and his friends hit the deck and crawled on their bellies until they could get out of the open and take shelter.

“Afterwards,” he said, “I remember looking down at my uniform. There were little tufts of grass twisted around the buttons.”

Following the bombardment they made their way back to the barracks which were situated several kilometers up the road. On the way they were greeted by any number of newly liberated French families brandishing bottles of Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon.

“Tommy,” they cried, “Come, eat, drink.”

By the time they made it back to their billet they were more than just a little tipsy.

Another time my Uncle’s tank was out on patrol. The forest they had been driving through suddenly gave way to a clearing. Feeling exposed, the tank commander ordered them to back up into the woods. No sooner had the tank retreated than a shell from an unseen enemy whizzed by the front of their Sherman and exploded on a hill to their left. Unbeknownst to them, a German Tiger tank had pulled up beyond a knoll to their right.

There were more stories of camaraderie, but the one that sticks out most in my mind is the story that my uncle told me about the death of his best friend, Billy Waters. It was during Operation Market Garden which started on September 17th, 1944 and ended on September 25th, 1944, short of their ultimate objective of the Arnhem Bridge. The 3rd Division of the Irish Guard were actively involved in this attempt to push through to Germany’s doorstep and end the war by Christmas.

While their tanks were in line along the approach road to bridge at Nijmegaen a German 88mm gun opened up on the column. My uncle’s tank along with a number of others was dispatched to hunt down and destroy this threat to their flank. It was only after he had returned from this action that he found out one of the tanks destroyed by this threat had been Billy’s.

On his next leave home he went to visit Billy’s mother, to pass on condolences and share in their grief. Mrs. Waters threatened to break both of my uncle’s legs, not because she blamed him in any way, shape or form for her son’s death. On the contrary, she wanted to incapacitate my uncle so that he would not have to return to active service. So much did she think of her son’s friend, she did not want to see the same fate befall him.

58 years later, sitting in my parent’s basement on the occasion of my fathers 70th birthday, this memory was still so fresh in Uncle Alec’s heart that it was all he could do to raise a glass in his friends’ memory. You see, my dad’s birthday is September 22nd a date which fell in the middle of the battle oh so many years ago. So sharp was the emotion that there was nary a dry eye amongst the men who had retired to the basement to have a drink and a friendly game of darts.

My uncle survived the war. He spent time in Palestine, joined the elite British Airborne before ultimately moving from Belfast, Northern Ireland to Toronto, Canada, a place which he called home until his death.

Even in his new homeland he continued to serve, joining the Toronto Metropolitan Police, a job which he held until his retirement. Always on the front line; always ready to give of himself on behalf of others. That was my Uncle Alec.

My uncle joined his fallen comrades this past fall. All of his years with the Guard, the Paras and Metro’s finest could not lay him low. In the end it was illness which felled him. In hindsight his sickness was mercifully short, although it never ever seems that way at the time to those that love him, does it?

Much to my ever lasting shame, I never took the opportunities afforded me to say thank you, to press, even a little, the better to understand all that he had been through. I can only hope that, having gone to his great reward, he can some how sense the admiration that I felt for him.

Not much to hang on too, but in the face of the death of a loved one, sometimes it is all that we have.

And so, while my thoughts have always turned to my uncle as a very real embodiment of all that Remembrance Day has stood for, it is now tinged with a deep melancholy; a tangible sense of loss.

If you know someone who has served; or even know of someone who has served, please take a moment to talk to them; to endeavor to understand the sacrifices they have made, and the brotherhood which they have forged in the process. At the very least, to say thank you.

In the end, regardless of whether or not you agree with the idea of war and the reasons why it is still waged, and probably always will be, remember, it is never started by those who serve their country, sometimes making the ultimate sacrifice, always marked by the experience even if they don’t.

Have a care, recognize that they are putting themselves in harms way for you, for me, for all of us.

Thank you Uncle Alec. Your duty is well and truly done.

I will never forget you.

Live Review

Aerosmith / Motley Crüe
Monday, October 2, 2006
Air Canada Centre

It was the best of bands; it was the worst of bands (with apologies to Charles Dickens).

Rhonda and I made our way to the concert, not sure what to expect from one band and knowing full well what we were in for with the other.

We are long time Aerosmith fans who have seen them live 12 times dating back to 1977. It would be our first time seeing Motley Crüe. I’ll admit upfront that we are not huge Motley Crüe fans; that being said we really had nothing against them either. We knew any number of their more popular tunes; Dr. Feelgood, Same Old Situation, Kickstart My Heart, you know; their classics.

So, off we went. The Motley Crüe set started with a couple of scantily clad women, several rather large explosions and the amplified strains of Dr. Feelgood; so far so good. Mick Mars thrashed away on guitar, Nikki Sixx rumbled away on bass and Tommy Lee anchored the whole damn thing, wailing away on the drums like his life depended on it. And then there was Vince Neil, erstwhile silver throated singer and ring leader of the whole damn thing.

As with any time I am going to see a band live for the first time I had started to do my homework on all things Motley. I had read reviews that said Vince Neil was a rather bloated, drunken shadow of his former self. I had also read reviews that said he "ROCKED DUDE!!!" Let me just say this about that; having never seen the Crüe in their heyday I have no point of reference to definitively state whether he was, in fact, a shadow of his former self.

Right from the word go he let the crowd carry a goodly chunk of the vocal duties during the chorus. I mean, there is getting the audience involved and there is shirking your duties for fear of shooting for and missing those high notes. From a stage presence perspective he was pretty flat, regardless of what kind of energy his entire expletive laced ravings were supposed to inspire.

Now before you go thinking that I am dismissing Vince's performance based solely on the fact that he fucking swore a fucking whole fucking lot... well, think again... fuckers.

But it has always been a pet peeve of mine when performers feel compelled to cheerlead.

"I can't fucking hear you, you motherfuckers!!!"

"Well, maybe if you fucking played fucking better we would fucking cheer louder!!!"

And this between every expletive deleted song. I mean, low self esteem anyone?

Ten minutes into the show, Rhonda turned to me and screamed in my ear, "O.K., now we've seen Motley Crüe. They can get off the stage anytime."

Beside the aforementioned Dr. Feelgood just about every other song was unintelligible. Maybe it was all of the flash pots and explosions they set off every three or four minutes that deafened me, but most songs were nearly half way done before I was finally able to discern what the hell it was they were purportedly playing.

I like my music loud. If you are at a concert and can talk to the person next to you in a normal voice then the sound man just isn't doing their job. When the drummer hits the kick drum I want to feel it in my solar plexus. When the guitarist tears off a blazing solo, I want to feel like the sound is peeling my scalp back and exposing my skull. When a singer hits that high note I want to feel like it has pierced my very soul.

Motley Crüe just played to damn loud. I know, I'm old, I can't take the real deal anymore... Like hell. When a song sounds like one big mashed up ball of slush and the lead singer's voice is barely audible above the cacophony, that is, when he can remember the damn words at all, then that is too loud.

That and the pyro; I swear to God that if the Motley one's took all of the explosives they lit off during their 80 minute set and detonated them at the same time the world would have come to an end.

The only saving grace of their performance was Tommy Lee. Vince was drunk, Mick was catatonic and Nikki was... well, Nikki I suppose. The following day was Tommy's birthday so he was in fine spirits. When the band presented him with a birthday cake in the shape of a pussy (and I'm not talking cat here folks), he dove headfirst into the treat and lapped it up.

After the Crüe wound up with Kickstart My Heart, Nikki smashed his bass guitar for no readily discernable reason. If it was his response to the culmination of the energy the crowd had been feeding him all night then, well, he has a pretty low threshold for receiving energy. What kind of effect did this display have on the crowd? Some people cheered, others watched in a kind of detached fascination quite possible wondering what the hell had brought this all on. Me? I just found myself sincerely hoping that he didn't have a spare instrument. Fortuitously, he did not and their time in the spotlight was over. Done like dinner; Finito. Thank God for small mercies...

"Well, one good thing about their set," offered Rhonda.

I looked at her in, what I hope was my best “And what would that be” kind of look. The thought that anyone who truly loved live music could have gotten anything out of that set was foreign to me.

"I'm much warmer now than when I first came in."

And here I’d thought all those pyrotechnics had been a complete waste…

Aerosmith took the stage at 9:30 with a blistering version of Toys In The Attic. Compared to the Motley stage, Aerosmith’s set up was downright Spartan; a row of monitors flanking both sides of a modest drum riser with an elevated ramp in back. Presiding over the stage, a veritable revealer of the sanctum sanctorum was a massive video screen.

At the beginning of the tour the set list was pretty heavy on the Geffen era cannon, quite possibly in deference to the hey day of their co-headliners and, more specifically, the audience which said co-headliners would draw. Six tunes in all including Dude (Looks Like A Lady) and Rag Doll from 1987's Permanent Vacation and Pump's What It Takes… good songs to be sure but they had been done to death and all of them save What It Takes has never really done much for me in concert.

By the time the show made it to Toronto the majority of the songs were 70’s classics like the rarely played (before this tour anyways) S.O.S. (Too Bad) and a haunting version of Seasons Of Wither from Get Your Wings, Mama Kin and Dream On from their eponymous first album and all the usual suspects from Toys in the Attic, which, along with Rocks, is considered by many to be their finest hour musically.

As an early birthday present Joey graciously stepped aside to let Tommy Lee lay down the beat to a ragged but energetic and completely infectious reading of the Brad Whitford penned Rocks tune Last Child. The whole time Tommy had a sappy, star struck I really can’t believe I’m up here playing with Aerosmith kind of look on his face. Who says that the famous can’t get gob smacked themselves. And when Steven lasciviously commented that Tommy was “the luckiest guy alive” there were few present that didn’t get what it was that he was driving at.

For me, Aerosmith have never failed to please. And any show that they don’t break out that saccharine tome I Don’t Want to Kiss Your Thing; well, let me tell you. I could probably live the rest of my life without hearing that damn song again. Yeah, I know it’s their biggest hit. Yeah, I know that more women have given “it” up after listening to that tune than you can shake a stick at. Yeah, I know. That doesn’t change the fact that the song is just so damn formulaic; and here I bet you figured I was just going to take the weak assed road and say the song sucked, which it does.

The last couple of tours have been extra sweet for me since they broke out a couple of old favorites which I have never seen played live before. On their Rockin’ The Joint tour it was No More No More (a personal favorite). For this tour it was their cover version of the old Peter Green era Fleetwood Mac classic Rattlesnake Shake. The later song is the one that ostensibly provided the reason we have an Aerosmith in the first place, as Steven so gleefully relates to anyone who cares to listen. Which I can totally get behind; you can’t forget your roots now, can you.

Between S.O.S. (Too Bad) and Cryin’ Steven afforded some guy in the audience time on his microphone to propose marriage to his girlfriend. A crowd of 18,000 went pretty damned quiet while this guy poured his heart out to the love of his life. I guess she must have glanced at Steven after the proposal because he replied, “Don’t look at me like that. I could be the first guy to break up a marriage before it ever takes place.”

Looking back on it now that, in a bizarre kind of microcosm, helped to differentiate the two bands right then and there; so at ease with themselves Steven would actually stop a show for all of sixty seconds to allow a proposal to take place; to hand over the microphone, his microphone, to some rube in the crowd. I think Vince would have been to embroiled in swearing at his audience to have noticed. Maybe I just missed the whole Motley point. Maybe that is what being a Motley Crüe fan really consists of; being subjected to a stream of vulgarities, a wall of sound assaulting your senses and blast after blast of explosives. Oh, and the scantily clad women. We should never forget the scantily clad women.

The contrasts, ah the contrasts; when two bands play back to back like this it is so hard not to hold one’s performance up to the others.

Vince Neil came off as some buffoonish rube who could barely remember the words, at least when his vocals were audible above the cacophony. He constantly felt the need to curse, swear and cajole the crowd. Steven Tyler was coolness incarnate; no need to harangue the crowd, no need to cheer lead. Just get up there and sing his fucking heart out. I’ve read a few posts from Motley Crüe fans who chided Tyler for the presence of Teleprompters displaying the song lyrics. The first thought that came to my mind was “Vince could bloody well use one of those”. In reality I can’t honestly remember any time during the gig when Tyler had to use them.

As for Mick Mars, my first impressions were that he was rather static for a guitar god. I have since found out that he is suffering from a degenerative bone disease which goes a long way to explaining his lack of mobility. Sadly I can’t really comment on his virtuosity because the mix was so horrendous. God knows he might have been the greatest guitar player to have ever graced the planet. I really doubt it but I was unable to draw any viable conclusions from this night. This I lay at the feet of the sound man. Joe Perry played with heart and soul, imbuing his performance with subtlety when called upon, vim and vigor when the song dictated and an overwhelming sense of passion laced with sublime confidence.

Brad Whitford was even more Brad Whitford than usual. For a band with two guitar players the concept of a lead guitarist and a rhythm guitarist has always been as foreign to these guys as trigonometry must be to an Aardvark. On the surface Aerosmith have always been about Steven and Joe; dig a little deeper and you will realize that they truly would not be nearly as good without the Krawhitham trio of Joey, Brad and Tom. Brad played his ass off, weaving in and out of Joe’s leads but never hesitant to take the lead himself. All done effortlessly and with as much drive as anyone could ever hope to ask.

The rhythm section of Nikki Sixx and Tommy Lee, again, were largely lost in the mix. The former Mister Pamela Anderson was certainly the most energetic member of the Crüe but that was largely wasted while he was relegated to the drum seat. The other members of the band seemed downright catatonic by comparison, relying on the explosions to provide most of their energy.

Aerosmith’s rhythm section was as tight as any rhythm section that had been playing together into their fourth decade might be. Better maybe. Ah, but here’s the rub; they had only been playing together for a matter of months. Founding member Tom Hamilton has been fighting a battle with the big ‘C’. Between that and the radiation treatments necessary he was in no shape to tour. Except for a one off performance of his trade mark song Sweet Emotion played in the bands home town of Boston Tom has yet to tread the boards on this tour.

Instead, and with Tom’s blessing, former Joe Perry Project bass player David Hull has been enlisted to hold down the bottom end in his absence. And a mighty fine bassist he is. Now any time you throw a new musician amongst a group of other musicians that have been playing together for so many years could and very frequently does spell disaster; regardless of the new musician’s proficiency at their instrument. And while the abscence of the blonde bomber was felt it really did not detract from the show in the least. If anything the enthusiasm that Tommy Lee expended during his one song provided only a hint of the new blood energy that seemed to infuse the entire set.

Should the band can Tom and hire David on full time? Are you high? I suggest nothing of the sort. Let’s just say, on this night anyways, I don’t think David was the only one finding the challenge of playing with a new band invigorating.

So, on the one hand we got to see Motley Crüe trying to convince the crowd that they were still the high school pranksters. Smoking In The Boys Room was a very apropos song for them to record; it embodies everything that the Crüe have been and probably always will be. And you know what? More power to them. As I said at the beginning of this review, who can argue with scantily clad women, booze, explosions and music played really fucking loud. Thing is, I think that the Motley ones really see things in exactly that order. Pity since, as you can see, the music comes last.

Aerosmith on the other hand have always seemed to live by the Joe Perry penned credo Let The Music Do The Talking.

Or, as Steven Tyler once so succinctly put it;

“Some bands are into jerking off; we’re into fucking.”

Kind of gets you right here, doesn’t it?

Setlists:

Motley Crüe

Dr. Feelgood / Shout At The Devil / Wild Side / Looks That Kill / Live Wire / Same Old Situation (S.O.S) / Home Sweet Home / Don’t Go Away Mad (Just Go Away) / Louder Than Hell / Too Fast For Love / Sick Love Song / Primal Scream / Girls Girls Girls / Kickstart My Heart

Aerosmith:

Toys In The Attic / Mama Kin / S.O.S. (Too Bad) / Cryin’ / Baby Please Don’t Go / Stop Messin’ Around / Seasons Of Wither / Dream On / Last Child / Rattlesnake Shake / Love In An Elevator / Sweet Emotion / Draw The Line / Walk This Way

For more pictures of Aerosmith set go here.

Jethro Tull - Aqualung


Artist: Jehtro Tull

Label: Capitol

Release Dates:

Original: March 19, 1971
CD: June 18, 1996

Discs: 1

Aardvark's Rating:



Sitting on a park bench, eyeing little girls with bad intent,
Snot running down his nose, greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes

With those lines one of the more enduring tunes in the classic rock pantheon was born; lines I might add that were taken, almost verbatim from a conversation Ian Anderson had with his first wife following her photo shoot of homeless people.

Just goes to show you that you should always listen to your spouse; you never know what you could miss. Couple those words with one of rocks more memorable guitar riffs and an album which many consider to be Jethro Tull’s masterpiece is off and running.

A fan of Jethro Tull in general and this album in particular I just recently re-listened to it’s 25th anniversary incarnation. As the songs passed by like old friends seldom seen it struck me; this is  a microcosm of all which Ian and company would ultimately become best known for; Prog rock, acoustic noodlngs, straight ahead rock and roll. This album has it all.

Anyone just learning about Jethro Tull could do one hell of a lot worse than start here. Prior to this release the band had moved from the blues roots of their inaugural record This Was with tunes like “Someday The Sun Won’t Shine for You”, “My Sunday Feeling” and their take on the old blues chestnut “Cat Squirrel” to the electric folk of “With You There To Help Me” and “To Cry You A Song” from 1970’s Benefit.

Then came Aqualung. Musically diverse and lyrically dense the band tackle no less topics than homelessness, teenage prostitution, organized religion and death. Common enough themes maybe in the ensuing years but in 1971 it was a revelation. The critics labeled the album a concept piece, something which Ian Anderson the bands writer / singer / leader has always vehemently denied.

Yet one can’t deny the inherent division apparent on the original vinyl release; side one dealt with the homeless nearly sub-human Aqualung… a species of man so named because of the rattling breath sounds it / he / she emitted. Side two had a distinctly anti religion bent. Anti religion mind, not anti God as so many religious fundamentalists have always claimed. The flip side dealt extensively with the mockery which man has perpetuated in the name of the almighty, a theme introduced in the inner sleeve of the original album’s gatefold:

In the beginning Man created God; and in the image of Man created he him.
2. And Man gave unto God a multitude of names, that he might be Lord over all the earth when it was suited to Man.
3. And on the seven millionth day Man rested and did lean heavily on his God and saw that it was good.
4. And Man formed Aqualung of the dust of the ground, and a host of others likened unto his kind.
5. And these lesser men Man did cast into the void. And some were burned; and some were put apart from their kind.
6. And Man became the God that he had created and with his miracles did rule over all the earth.
7. But as all these things did come to pass, the Spirit that did cause man to create his God lived on within all men: even within Aqualung.
8. And man saw it not.
9. But for Christ’s sake he’d better start looking.

A lurching flute driven rocker follows the titular track as we are introduced to the under aged vixen Cross-Eyed Mary, a victim of her own insatiable wants and needs who seeks out the company of a “letching grey” or perhaps a dalliance with the predatory Aqualung.

Cross-Eyed Mary finds it hard to get along
She’s a poor man’s rich girl, and she’ll do it for a song
She’s a rich man’s stealer, but her favour’s good and strong
She’s the Robin Hood of High gate, helps the poor man get along

The electric machinations are temporarily suspended here as the band flex their acoustic muscle. Cheap Day Return documents a day trip that Anderson made to visit his ailing father by way of British Rail; expressing in the all to brief reading the concerns that any man’s son might have for his not to long for this world father.

And you sadly wonder, does the nurse treat your old man
The way that she should. She made you tea, asked for your autograph
What a laugh

Followed closely by the surrealistic ramblings of the infinitely hum able Mother Goose; Aqua Velva ingested hallucinations anyone?

And the lady said to me, if you start you raving and your misbehaving
You’ll be sorry. Then the chicken-fancier came to play
With his long red beard (and his sister’s weird, she drives a lorry)

Can Aqualung truly know love? The way the Ian tells it, he most certainly can… for one night at the very least. Wond’ring Aloud is a beautiful, melancholy acoustic piece that survives in the Tull’s set list to this very day.

Wond’ring aloud, how we feel today
Last night sipped the sunset, my hands in her hair
We are our own saviors, as we start both our hearts beating life
Into each other

The raucous Up To Me disrupts the pastoral acoustic styling's, barely hinting at the cacophony which is to follow. A cacophony that succinctly lances the foibles and shortfalls of organized religion with such heart felt passion that only the most zealous of religious fanatics can resist the blatant imperative to revisit all that they have “known” and recant that very knowledge.

My God, the song formerly known as the start of side two pulls no punches and takes no prisoners in it’s inquisition. Organized religion has done more over the years to alienate the faithful from the very God that they seek to get closer to than any atheistic army could ever have hoped to accomplish. Anderson’s beef against “the church” had less to do with the concept of God himself and more to do with just what it is that we, as human beings, have managed to make of the whole thing which we call religion.

People—what have you done, locked Him in His golden cage
Made Him bend to your religion, Him resurrected from the grave
He is the god of nothing, if that’s all that you can see
You are the god of everything, He’s inside you and me
So lean upon him gently, and don’t call on him to save
You from your social graces and the sins you used to waive
The bloody Church of England , in chains of history
Request your earthly presence, at the vicarage for tea

The follow up to My God, Hymn 43 still has the deep rooted resonance that all songs of substance must posses if they hope to stand the test of time. It deals with the concept of Jesus Christ as a logical progression of what he must become if in fact He was a product of our grasping imagination.

Oh father high in heaven - smile down upon your son
Whose busy with his money games—his women and his gun
Oh Jesus save me!
And the unsung Western hero, killed an Indian or three
And made his name in Hollywood, to set the white man free
Oh Jesus save me!
If Jesus saves—well he’d better save Himself
From the gory glory seekers who use His name in death.

The brief snippet of a song “Slipstream” introduces the concept of death as a final reckoning; a settling up of the tab as it were.

And you press on God’s waiter you last dime
As he hands you the bill
And you spin in the slipstream, timeless—unreasoning
Paddle right out of the mess

Next up comes the other song which, next to Aqualung, is probably their most popular song to this very day. Locomotive Breath is life (and death) as a runaway train. Starting out with a lilting piano riff the song soon builds to a raging torrent which barely lets up for the remaining four minutes odd. The Grim Reaper as an engineer.

He hears the silence howling, catches angels as they fall
And the all time winner, has got him by the balls
He picks up Gideon's Bible, it’s open at page one
Old Charlie stole the handle and the train won’t stop going
No way to slow down

But my favorite, the song which sums it all up for me, “Wind Up” finishes the original album off, speaking earnestly of a young boy, pure of spirit as only the young can be, growing more and more confused by the dictates placed upon him by his elders. Dictates that, even as a young boy, he could see as facile.

When I was young and they packed me off to school
And taught me how not to play the game
I didn’t mind if they groomed me for success
Or if they said that I was just a fool
So I left there in the morning with their God tucked underneath my arm
Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules
So I asked this God a question and by way of firm reply
He said—I’m not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.
So to my old headmaster, and to anyone who cares, before I’m through, I’d like to say my prayers
I don’t believe you, you had the whole damn thing all wrong
He’s not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays

The whole concept of what it means to be a Christian has plagued better minds than mine. But the irony of what a man made concept makes of the almighty has always vexed me. Man is imperfect. Man is fallible. Why then rely upon the dictates of man to guide the way that we relate to the divine. It has never made sense to me. And until I discovered the final track on the original issue of Aqualung I felt as though I was alone in my vexation.

Now tell me true; who doesn't know someone who is an outwardly pious person, attending church regularly, contributing to the rector’s discretionary fund, paying their tithes, attempting to get “good with God” through hollow gestures and monetary contributions. The whole concept of tithing sprang up from a church desperate for money… oh yeah, and the salvation of the faithful of course.

Thing is the rich and corpulent would gladly pay these tithes so that they could wipe out a lifetime of being a jack ass, abusing their fellow man, gouging everyone that they possibly could and generally being a certified grade “A” son of a bitch. But it was all good because they had coughed up some money, ostensibly so that God would look the other way.

“Sure the guy was a prick,” says God, “but he did donate $10,000 dollars to my earthly envoys last year so it’s all good.”

Yeah, sure. To quote Bono during one of his very frequent in concert rants:
“The God I know isn’t short of cash, mister.”

Which kind of emphasizes my point, I think, at the same time that it kind of exposes Mr. Paul Hewson’s idea of his place in the grand scheme of things.
“God? Yeah, I’ve got him on speed dial. Right after my accountant.”

But I digress.

By saying that God isn’t the “kind you have to wind up on Sundays” Anderson was actually saying that, to know God, you should feel His presence 24/7, 365 (366 in a leap year). The knock was against those who only ever felt the touch of the divine during designated business hours (read Sundays).

There are 6 bonus tracks on the 25th Anniversary edition and the subsequent regular edition release. Lick Your Fingers Clean was a track originally intended for the Aqualung release but was left off for reasons known only to Anderson. Perhaps it didn’t fit in thematically…. But what am I saying. After all, this isn’t a concept album, is it. A very good rollicking track nonetheless, finally finding the home initially denied it.

The Quad Mix of Wind-Up follows. Remember Quad? That was the 70’s attempt to take recordings to the next level. If stereo was exponentially better than mono, then surely four channels would be that much better than two.

Then again, maybe not. Now we have the 5.1 discrete channels of Super Audio CD’s and DVD-Audio. Back then it was a gimmick with instruments swirling around the four speakers with no rhyme nor reason evident for the effect. It was done because it sounded cool. It was done because a goodly number of those listening might well be on some sort of mind altering drug or another. It was done because, well, what the hell else were you going to do with four speakers to fill.

The third bonus track is actually Ian Anderson’s ruminations on the recording of the album and it’s place in musical history. The remaining are BBC recorded versions of “Song For Jefferey”, “Fat Man” and “Bouree” from their first three discs.
In the final analysis you shouldn’t let the religious overtones scare you away from this disc. At the end of the day it is a kick ass album, with enough rock and roll to get you Ya Yas Out, with enough underlying concepts to get you thinking, even if it is only subliminally. Aqualung is not the answer to anything. That being said, it may just be the catalyst that you have been looking for to get you looking for those answers.

Highly recommended.

Disc One: Aqualung / Cross-Eyed Mary / Cheap Day Return / Mother Goose / Wond’ring Aloud / Up To Me / My God / Hymn 43 / Slipstream / Locomotive Breath / Wind-Up / (Bonus Tracks) Lick Your Fingers Clean / Wind-Up (Quad Version) / Excerpts from Ian Interview / Song for Jeffrey / Fat Man / Buouree

Billy Joel - 12 Gardens Live


Artist: Billy Joel

Label: Sony

Release Dates:

Original: June 13, 2006
CD: June 13, 2006

Discs: 2

Aardvark's Rating:



12 Gardens Live is the latest live effort by Billy Joel, one of pop rocks elder statesmen and what a great album it is. This disc brings Mr. Piano Man's total of live official offerings to four, and to my way of thinking it is probably the most satisfying one to date.

These recordings stem from a series of 12 sold out shows at Madison Square Gardens this past spring; no small feat to be sure. In fact, the attendance record that he broke was his own, a previous 10 date stint at the self same venue. This disc could quite easily have degenerated into yet another greatest hits package as so many live albums tend to do these days. I'm happy to tell you that this temptation was avoided here to very great effect. Don't get me wrong, the hits are here; and mighty fine versions of them they are. Smoking takes of Joel hits My Life, Big Shot and Only The Good Die Young are played with much vim and vigor.

Yet it is the deeper cuts that make the album. A stirring version of his Vietnam epic Goodnight Saigon here, live staple Miami 2017 (I've Seen The Lights Go Down On Broadway) there; sprinkle in a pinch of the infrequently played Vienna mix with a haunting rendition of And So It Goes and serve while still hot.

Naturally, the inclusion of personal favorites New York State of Mind, Scenes From An Italian Restaurant and Movin' Out (Anthony's Song) didn't hurt my opinion of this disc any.  What can I tell you; previous efforts KOHUEPT (Live in Leningrad) and 2000 Years: The Millennium Concert pale in comparison. The former was to contrived; the latter to sterile.

For me this disc captures a true sense of verisimilitude: a real sense of being there.

To my ears the mix is excellent. Vocals are front and centre without over powering the instruments, exactly where you would expect to find them. Drums have presence, the piano a nice timbre and the guitars have a suitable amount of bite to them. I mean, let's not kid ourselves here, this is Billy Joel we are talking about. Not Metallica or Voivod.  But still with all...

I've read some reviews that question the relative merits of the sound on this disc. To my way of thinking they are comparing those merits to the studio versions. A big no-no in my book. The sound was so much better when I went to night x of his 12 night stand. Bullshit. Songs just sound different live. Get over it. You can't tell me that the sound at any live event could ever hope to sonically surpass a professional recording of that self same event. I've been to my fair share of concerts since the early 70's and quickly learned that comparing the sound at any given concert to anything other than the sound at any other given concert is folly at best.

What sets the experience of attending a live concert apart from merely listening to the audio of that very same concert after the fact is the immediacy one gleans from actually "being there". If you've never been to a rock and roll concert I couldn't expect you to understand that of which I speak. There's nothing quite like being packed into a dark room (for even large stadiums are nothing more than rooms on 'roids) with hitherto fore strangers all fixed on a shared focal point while bright, rhythmically pulsating lights and music played just below the pain threshold assault your senses. And if you've just so happened to ingest any mind altering substances before hand... whew... as Joe Pesci said in Goodfellas... fugedaboutid...

How then could any recording of that event ever hope to match the actual experience. There are certain flaws inherent to just about any professionally captured live recording. Leave the sound too raw, capture exactly what was available to be captured at the event and you might be setting yourself up for failure. Vocals might be to low, or be to muddy. Guitars could be out of tune. Drums could be buried in the mix. One way or t'other it could add up to disaster.

On the flipside, live recordings can also be mixed to within an inch of their life. Mixed so severely that any kind of power or artist spark that a truly great live performer might imbue it with is all but gone. Over produced to the point that you may as well be listening to a re-recorded studio version of the songs. Which is a cardinal sin in my books. Keep in mind that I grew up listening to bootleg recordings of live shows by my favorite bands. Bootlegs are, by and large, the antithesis of most professional live recordings.  I'm happy to report that 12 Gardens Live preserves a more than adequate balance between a live concert sound and the type of sound that most record company types with potential dollar signs floating before their eyes almost universally insist upon.

I highly recommend this disc. Of course it doesn't sound like the studio versions of these songs. If you want to listen to the studio versions, the tried and true comfort that intimate familiarity imbues a song with then... well, listen to the damn studio version of the songs and leave live music to those that truly appreciate it's differences.

This recording has been called an "official" bootleg, a trend in music that owes more than just a casual nod to all those industrious folks who provided the hardcore fans with what they really wanted... more product from their favorite artists.

Like any good bootleg, songs are sometimes overlooked on the credits but are
on the disc none the less. Witness the uncredited version of "Draw The Line" which was tacked onto Aerosmith's take on the old James Brown standard "Mother Popcorn" on their "Live! Bootleg" release. In that self same vein there are two additional uncredited tracks on "12 Gardens Live" (one on each disc). Once the final strains of "Laura" on disc one have faded out the listener is treated to a rocking version of "A Room Of Our Own". Likewise, the emotional take on "And So It Goes" is followed up by a ruckus "It's Still Rock And Roll To Me".

Disc One: Angry Young Man / My Life / Everybody Loves You Now / Billy The Kid / The Entertainer / Vienna / New York State of Mind / The Night is Still Young / Zanzibar / Miami 2017 / The Great Wall of China / Allentown / She's Right on Time / Don't Ask Me Why / Laura / A Room Of Our Own (not listed)

Disc Two: Goodnight Saigon / Movin' Out (Anthony's Song) / An Innocent Man / The Downeaster "Alexa" /Always A Woman / Keeping the Faith / River of Dreams / A Matter of Trust / We Didn't Start the Fire / Big Shot / You May Be Right / Only The Good Die Young / Scenes From an Italian Restaurant / Piano Man / And So it Goes / It's Still Rock And Roll To Me (not listed)

We Be Wired...

Originally published on aardvarksaattic.com on Wednesday, September 6, 2006

No longer merely content to follow in the footsteps of other major metropolitan cities Toronto has embarked upon a pilot project which will, ultimately, see the entire city blanketed in wireless internet bliss.

Toronto Hydro, one of the few utilities that already have the basic infrastructure in place, today launched a six month free trial period for wall to wall wireless internet connection for everyone and anyone who live, work or play in Toronto’s downtown city core. From Front Street to the south to Queen Street to the north and Spadina Avenue all the way east to Church Street. As of today you are all covered. You and anyone else who chooses to spend any amount of time in that xx mile square grid.

Over the next three years Toronto Hydro hope to stretch this self same blanket to include all of the Greater Metropolitan Toronto Area; but the service will only be free for the aforementioned six month period. Meaning that those fortunate enough to live, work or play within the selected coverage zone will be the only ones eligible to partake of this freebie.

For the rest of us, depending upon when the service is extended into our own neighborhoods, we are pretty much shit out of luck.

In the grand tradition of drug dealers everywhere following the initial taste a rate of $29 a month, $10 a day or $5 an hour will apply.

Still, the concept intrigues. Too be able to travel anywhere and everywhere in this wondrous city of ours and remain connected the whole time? The very thought invites shivers to tingle up and down my spine. Then again, I’m a bit of a geek. If I wasn’t, would I actually have a web presence of any kind? My point exactly.

So, for this to work a couple of things are going to have to happen. First and foremost, Toronto Hydro are going to have to convince a goodly number of people that being able to seamlessly travel around the city and remain wired is a luxury that they just can’t live without. In theory, you could be traveling on a street car, trucking along Queen Street from Kingston Road right the way out to xxxxx all the while emailing Natasha or IM’ing Roxy. Or downloading the latest hit by “Fiddy Cent”. Sorry, that just kind of slipped out; I, of course, meant downloading the latest hit by “Aerosmith”. That should in no way shape or form count towards the previously expressed criteria for you to pop a cap into my oh so sorry lily white ass, alright?

Now where was I. Right; a pretty inviting concept if you are the wired type. But how many of us are there, really?

Secondly, and potentially more importantly, what kind of thru put should we expect from this? I have been around long enough to remember when the now painfully slow process of watching a screen refresh line by line at 300 bps was still a miracle to behold; the whole idea that I was able to remotely connect to anything. But that feeling of awe is long gone. I’m now at the point where a slow high speed connection is frustration incarnate, regardless of the fact that a slow high speed connection is still faster than dial up.

Ultimately, I think this will be the litmus test for this emerging technology. If you build it fast, they will come. If you build it and it operates at a snails pace, probably not so much.

Either way, Toronto will definitely have a leg up on, well, pretty much anywhere else in North America with this far reaching scheme. We will stand on our own.

Personally, I can hardly wait. These days not being wired makes me feel I am not being all that I possibly could be. Regardless of how much I may use this service, the fact that it will be there waiting for me should I choose to is more than enough to satisfy

But it’s gotta be a pisser, ya know…

If you want to find out more about this initiative you can check it out here, here or here.

Dawson College, Montreal, Quebec, September 11, 2006

Originally published on aardvarksaattic.com Tuesday, September 12, 2006

So, another poor, misguided soul has decided that life wasn’t giving him all that he felt it owed him in expedient enough fashion. Hard done by, all on his own (except, of course, for his mother), what does this hero decide his best course of action is? Why, arm himself to the teeth, head downtown to Montreal’s Dawson College and start ruining or ending the lives of a multitude of other young people his age in a rain of terror and hail of bullets which, while brief in geological terms, must certainly have been the longest 15 minutes of these poor unfortunates lives.

I have always felt a kind of abstract pity for anyone who has come to the brink of suicide and, staring it down, leapt, crept or shuffled over it’s, at the time, oh so inviting precipice. Hell, all but the most well adjusted of us have come to within shouting distance of the act, haven’t we? Even if the thought of suicide didn’t consciously enter our minds. There but for the grace of God and all that.

What has always fried my ass about this type of freak is their need, their obsession with taking other people with them. My life is shit, goodness knows it can’t be my fault that I have wound up where I am so I must hunt down those at who’s feet the blame must surely rest and punish them. Never mind the fact that these sick fucks may not have even know the individuals upon whom they take out their “vengeance”.

Listen, growing up is all about feeling different, feeling under appreciated, feeling alone. Don’t you think that even the most popular of youngsters feel that pressure, that alienation. Not that they would ever own up to it at the time. Hell, not that they would ever necessarily own up to it as an adult either. That’s one of the reasons shrinks make as good a living as they do. It all comes down to the way that you deal with these feelings. If everyone who felt alienated, misunderstood and alone took up arms, well, let’s put it this way; I’m sure the daily commute to work would be one hell of a lot less crowded.

I myself have listened to a number of the same bands that this jack ass listened to. Ozzy, Black Sabbath, Metallica. I’ve listened to and even sang myself “Sympathy for the Devil” by The Rolling Stones.. I’ve played first person shooters on my computer by the score. Shit, I even consider “Stephen King” to be one of the greatest writers of our time. I’ve watched “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre”, “The Exorcist” and “There’s Something About Mary”. And do I feel like going out and mowing down a bunch of complete and utter strangers? Or friends for that matter. I think not.

The argument that any or all of these factors have caused sickos like this asshole to go over the edge is weak at best. If it wasn’t a Metallica song, a Stephen King novel or an undercooked burger at Burger King it would be something, anything else. Remember “The Son of Sam”? He killed people ostensibly because his next door neighbors dog told him to. So don’t even go there with me, o.k.?

The worse thing is this bloody freak of nature left clues. Clues; hell, he left big fucking neon signs, all over the place. Cries for help you say? Maybe. But I ask you, what kind of help is there for someone whose best friend is a semi automatic weapon.

I get pissed off enough as it is at people who feel they are at wits end and need to end it all who then jump in front of subways or off bridges in front of cars, Nothing like scarring others for life by their thoughtlessness, is there. Self centered jerks. Maybe it is a cry for help. God knows I am no psychologist. But if you are going to do yourself in, then do it in private. Don’t make anyone else the instrument of your destruction. It’s bad enough that, killing themselves in private, loved ones are more likely than not to be the ones who find them. Preferably laying around for a month or two in a closed room in the sweltering heat so their bodies can be nice and ripe I’m sure.

There is an article on the canoe.ca website titled “Shootings Likely To Rekindle Gun Control Debate”. Gee, do you figure? I mean, why was this twisted individual able to get hold of the arsenal that he made his fateful trip with? Fine, I understand there are any number of responsible gun owners, enthusiasts and farmers who consider it their right to own firearms. But let me ask you this. Outside of the military, who the hell NEEDS a fully automatic weapon. AK-47’s, Uzi’s, and Baretta CX4 Storm semi-automatic rifles such as this bozo came armed with. Never mind the term semi automatic; even I can leave off this piece, head out on the internet and be back in under five minutes with instructions on how to turn any semi-automatic weapon into the fully automatic kind.

The only thing that fully automatic weapons are made for is killing people. Either that or killing off entire species of animals at one go.

I’ve gone out of my way not to mention this dip shit’s name, nor the name of the site where he had his blog which included a photo of a tombstone with his own name on it with the caption “Lived Fast, Died Young, Left a Mangled Corpse”. If you are so inclined you will be able to find these tidbits out for yourself. Me, this is about as much time as I am willing to afford this psychopath.

My thoughts, prayers and condolences go out to those killed, injured and scarred by this senseless act of violence.

While I hope that something like this never happens again I realize that it is folly at best and blind ignorance at worst to expect such.

In this day and age, it is only, sadly, a matter of time…