DVD Review: Deep Purple - Live at Montreux 2011

DVD Review: Deep Purple - Live at Montreux 2011
Eagle Rock Entertainment
All Access Review:  A-

Deep Purple has tried this before. Back in 1969, when the idea of a rock band sharing the stage with an orchestra seemed absolutely ludicrous, especially to so-called “serious musicians” who wanted nothing to do with anything besides classical music, Jon Lord’s ambitions were realized. The long-time Purple keyboardist had composed the three-part movement epic Concerto for Group and Orchestra, and plans were made for the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra to perform the piece at Royal Albert Hall … with Deep Purple, mind you.

Not surprisingly, as singer Ian Gillan recalls during a lengthy interview included with the new separate concert DVD and two-CD packages Live at Montreux 2011, many members of the orchestra “… had an air about them” and were not keen on cooperating with Purple in any capacity. At that time, classical musicians did not play well with others, which was somewhat understandable. There really wasn’t much precedence for this sort of thing, The Nice’s Five Bridges being the only other deal with the devil hatched between an orchestra and a rock band around that time. A forward-thinking conductor by the name of Malcolm Arnold wasn’t having any of it, however. Gillan remembers Arnold giving the whole orchestra a rather “… brusque ‘pull your socks up,’” which evidently is British code for, “stop acting like bratty snobs and get back to work before I give you what for.” The mutiny quelled, Deep Purple, still clinging to its progressive-rock approach while edging ever closer toward the more straightforward, riff-heavy attack they would unleash on 1970’s In Rock and 1972’s Machine Head, and the Royal Philharmonic ultimately joined forces to produce a performance that – perhaps because of the publicity the event generated – unexpectedly landed their collaboration on the charts.

What was once a groundbreaking proposition, reserved for only the most classically inclined bands of the progressive movement, has become old hat for Deep Purple, having performed with an orchestra several times over the years. Last year, Gillan, drummer Ian Paice, bassist Roger Glover, guitarist Steve Morse and keyboardist Don Airy, Lord’s replacement, went down to Montreux, the Swiss community forever linked to Deep Purple by catastrophe and the classic song, “Smoke on the Water,” inspired by the ruinous casino fire started “by some stupid with a flare gun” at a Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention concert. Backing them this time around at famed Montreux Jazz Festival was the 38-piece Neue Philharmonic from Frankfurt, Germany – under the blue-collar, workmanlike direction of Stephen “BK” Bentley-Klein – and in all likelihood, over time, Purple has learned a valuable lesson from other, more disastrous pairings such as this, and that is, don’t let the armada of cellists, violinists, and whatever other instrumentalists happen to be in the room play pretty and decorate these full-on, hot-blooded rock anthems with a lot of flair and ornamentation.

The buzz word for Gillan and Paice regarding this project is “augmentation.” Comparing the Neue Philharmonic’s purpose to that of Count Basie Orchestra, the two Purple war horses talk about how the orchestra swings and puts a strong shoulder to the grooves of the band’s classic hits, and the orchestra does indeed expand on and enhance them with huge, sweeping waves of sound that seem to lift and carry to heaven tracks like the lushly exotic “Rapture of the Deep” and the swooning instrumental “Contract Lost” – featuring Morse’s soaring, beautifully sketched guitar solo – that opens the doors of perception to a reflective, emotionally powerful “When A Blind Man Cries.” And when called for, Neue provides additional horsepower to “Woman from Tokyo,” “Space Truckin’” and a blazing, brightly lit version of “Highway Star.”

It all comes together on “The Well Dressed Guitar,” where Morse grinds away in brutally heavy fashion while glorious strings radiate blinding light as the crowd, in dazzling unison, raises their hands overhead to clap along with Gillan. Coming down however briefly from that incredible high, the two units launch into a powerful, majestic version of “Knocking at Your Back Door” that’s surges with dark melodic energy. On “Lazy,” Purple takes over, their bluesy breakdowns and uprisings needing no color or nuance, although Bentley-Klein does come down from his perch to offer up a scintillating violin foray to Morse’s clinical six-string dissection and Airey’s smoldering organ blasts. Between that and Airey’s needlessly showy, but nicely balanced solo blend of futuristic keyboard sounds and jazzy piano, “No One Came” works up quite a sweat, with Morse’s tricky lead finishing the job in spectacular fashion.

A bit glitzy, as if begging for a residency at some tacky Las Vegas hotel, and at times losing touch with the earthiness and guts that have always kept Deep Purple grounded, the lengthy Live at Montreux 2011 is, nonetheless, a lively, brilliantly filmed document of a magic night in the life of Deep Purple in a place that’s become to them a second home. The sound has great clarity and richness, while the high-definition cameras, shooting from a satisfying variety of angles and distances, provide a visual feast for the eyes. Packaged with in-depth, and quite candid, interviews with every current member of Deep Purple, plus a smattering of new and vintage footage, Live in Montreux 2011 is a heady rush of concert excitement. And when “Smoke on the Water” rises up like some sleeping giant awakened after around 40 years of dormancy, it fills Montreux with monstrous riffs, massive walls of strings and blaring horns trumpeting what feels like a new dawn for Deep Purple. It isn’t, actually, but for about 115 minutes, it seems as if the band, now having so much fun together, has dived right in to the Fountain of Youth and come out younger and full of vitality. And the Neue Philharmonic had something to do with that.

- Peter Lindblad

CD Review: Van Halen - A Different Kind of Truth

CD Review: Van Halen - A Different Kind of Truth
Interscope Records
All Access Review:  A-

When it comes to anything and everything related to Van Halen, the truth is always subjective. The first time around, when David Lee Roth exited stage left, what exactly happened between him and the rest of that band that caused their very public and nasty divorce? Then there was the whole Sammy Hagar debacle. Did he leave of his own volition or was he canned by Eddie and Alex? On the heels of that messy split came the aborted 1996 reunion with Roth and the MTV Music Awards fiasco that led Eddie to say something to the effect of, if Roth ever addressed him in a certain way again, “ … he’d better wear a cup.” If ever anyone was to attempt to write a rock and roll soap opera, they might as well abandon the idea right now, because chances are, no writer could, in his wildest dreams, concoct the kind of drama that has already unfolded within Van Halen.

And so, here we are in 2012, and pigs now evidently can fly. Roth is back in the Van Halen fold and a new album has arrived, the blessed event preceded by the release of an unsatisfying first single, “Tattoo,” that led to much head-scratching and quizzical expressions. Betrayed by a weak, lazy chorus, Eddie’s “going through the motions” solo and a sort of forced attempt to bring back that cheeky fun the boys exuded on smash hits like “Hot For Teacher” and “Jump,” “Tattoo” received mixed reviews – to put it charitably – and torpedoed expectations for A Different Kind of Truth, Van Halen’s first album with Roth since 1984. The bar lowered well below where it was set for Guns ‘N Roses’ Chinese Democracy, it turns out Van Halen was sandbagging us all along. Supposedly working off bits and scraps of material the band had left over from the good old days Van Halen has transformed this pile of ephemera into a powerhouse album engorged with Roth’s circus-barker vocals, Alex’s brawny, wrecking-ball drumming and the kind of molten riffs and high-flying, supersonic solos that made Eddie Van Halen a legend.

A Different Kind of Truth washes out the bad taste of “Tattoo,” the opening track, almost immediately with the rampaging stampede of “She’s The Woman.” As if circling high above a freshly killed carcass, in buzzard-like fashion, Eddie whips up a dazzling, intricate intro to the track that rushes headlong into a prison break of heavy, unbridled riffs and tenderizing rhythms. What should have been the initial single, “You and Your Blues,” is more darkly melodic, chugging tantalizingly ahead before giving way to a deceptively simple, cascading chorus that’s disarming, instantly memorable and becomes even more rewarding with repeated listens. Clearly, Eddie is reinvigorated and out to prove that he’s still the champ, as the dizzying flurry of knockout blows he delivers in the thundering blitzkrieg that is “China Town” – the closest Van Halen has ever come to sounding punk, although the raging, speed-addicted “Bullethead” that crops up two songs later would be a close second – so exquisitely proves, especially with the blindingly fast, Yngwie Malmsteen-like fretwork that turns the ignition on this hard-working engine.

A truly great guitar record, with scorching leads and contorted figures strategically placed throughout its burning landscape like claymore mines and Eddie effortlessly executing the kind of hairpin twists and turns that would cause other guitarists to crash and burn, A Different Kind of Truth gnashes its teeth and wails at a world that had begun to see Van Halen as a joke. It’s no party album; actually, it’s more of a thrill ride, a fast, frenzied rollercoaster that speeds through some of the darker territory Van Halen once traversed in “Runnin’ With the Devil,” “And the Cradle will Rock” and “Mean Streets” – “Honeybabysweetiedoll,” with its mad-dog growl and exotic Middle Eastern overtones, and “As Is” matching, chord for explosive chord, their surging power.

Uncharacteristically, though as slyly charming and as entertaining as ever, Roth seems comfortable taking a backseat to Eddie on A Different Kind of Truth, except on “Outta Space,” the philosophical “The Trouble with Never” and “Stay Frosty.” Roth’s trademark swagger and that comedic charisma he has are in full effect on the bluesy, gleefully entertaining “Stay Frosty,” which carries on the acoustic tradition and vaudevillian soft shoe of “Ice Cream Man” and “Big Bad Bill (Is Sweet William Now).” Propelled by the propulsive, pounding bass lines and Eddie’s stop-start dynamics that drive the humorous “Outta Space” forward, Roth lets it all hang out, singing as if he’s fighting for his career, dipping low and then rising to wrestle with Eddie’s guitar for the spotlight. Every grunt, yelp and excited utterance is emitted in the moment and without preconception, and for the first time in a long while, Roth, though never a great singer, doesn’t come off as self-serving or clownish.

Although there really isn’t a clear radio hit – even “You and Your Blues” is bereft of that mysterious “it” factor that pushes a song up the charts – and it could do with a little more refinement as far as song construction goes, A Different Kind of Truth leaves you breathless by the end, its energy and intensity almost overwhelming. Less generous with those big, juicy hooks of theirs than one would expect and missing those vocal harmonies that Michael Anthony used to supply in spades, A Different Kind of Truth is, nonetheless, a tour de force for Eddie, a chance for him to showcase all the new tricks he’s learned. Despite its clunky title, the album is a sonic whirlwind, and when everybody was asking what kind of response Van Halen had for Chickenfoot, nobody imagined that this was what Eddie and the gang had in mind. In its quest for truth, Van Halen has rediscovered much of what made them great in the first place.

- Peter Lindblad

VH Interview 

(direct from the Van Halen website) 

VH Interviews from Van Halen on Vimeo.

Metal Evolution - "Progressive Metal"

Metal Evolution - "Progressive Metal"
Sam Dunn
VH1 Classic


All Access Review:  A-

As if channeling some malevolent force from the Great Beyond, the moody schizophrenia and heart-of-darkness explorations of King Crimson's unsettling early 1970s progressive-rock seemed to emanate pure evil. Where more timid musical spirits braked to a screeching halt at the borders of that uncharted musical territory they explored with such curiosity, Robert Fripp and company pressed on, eager to discover bizarre sounds and encounter odd time signatures while welcoming any weirdness that might suddenly jump out at them from the blackness. Hardier souls like Metallica's Kirk Hammett embraced the more disturbing and strangely foreign elements of Crimson's oeuvre, and some, like Classic Rock magazine's Jerry Ewing, even go so far as to consider them a proto-thrash outfit.

It's not quite as easy as it sounds to establish that link between the early forefathers of English prog-rock, like Yes and Genesis, and heavy metal, but filmmaker Sam Dunn and his co-conspirators do just that in the beginning of "Progressive Metal," the latest chapter in his "Metal Evolution" series that's been dominating the airwaves on VH-1 Classic over the last few months. Over the life of "Metal Evolution," Dunn has shown the ability to make connections that don't seem patently obvious, and he doesn't do it in a ham-fisted manner. With regard to Crimson's influence on thrash, Dunn lets Hammett and Ewing make the case for him. And Genesis guitarist Steve Hackett, also interviewed by Dunn, bolsters the argument by adding "I doff my cap" to metal artists who have shown an affinity for weighty, challenging music. 

And this heavy metal sub-genre certainly has its share of challenging artists. There's the mysterious complexity of Tool and the blend of raging thrash metal, technical brilliance and melodic playfulness of Dream Theater - Dunn's inquisitive nature leading him to revisit Dream Theater's somewhat rebellious Berklee College of Music experience and study Tool's brooding intensity and penchant for remaining anonymous. All of that, however, is nothing compared to the extreme lengths Meshuggah goes to in pounding out its jazz-infected death metal assault or the completely insane prog-metal noise riots Dillinger Escape Plan ignites onstage. It is at this point that Dunn wonders if progressive-metal hasn't gone too far, the furious live clips of Meshuggah and Dillinger Escape Plan leaving viewers with mouths gaping wide. Mastodon brings "Progressive Metal" back to some semblance of normalcy, the Atlanta, Ga., prog-metal outfit combining unrelenting heaviness, surging power and intricate instrumentation on albums such as the "Moby Dick"-style concept record Leviathan, one of the truly important rock albums of the last decade. Dunn isn't shy about singing Mastodon's praises, and with good reason, considering the focused study of Leviathan he undertakes. Their lofty ambitions, Brann Dailor's multi-dimensional drumming, the hoary vocal blending of Dailor, Brent Hinds and Troy Sanders, and the sheer immensity of their sound has turned Mastodon into what is perhaps the biggest force in metal today, at least among the more independent-minded metal denizens plying their trade.

Of course, none of this would be possible without the fearless experimentation of 1970s progressive-rock envelope-pushers Yes, Genesis, and King Crimson. Dailor cites Crimson and Genesis, in particular, as inspiration at the beginning of "Progressive Metal," which leads Dunn to craft a concise, yet compelling history of prog-rock through intelligent, insightful interviews with the likes of Hackett, Yes/King Crimson drummer Bill Bruford, and Yes bassist Chris Squire, along with Ewing and another Crimson drummer, Michael Giles. Augmenting the tightly edited and endlessly fascinating dialogue is a series of period live footage from Crimson - playing "21st Century Schizoid Man" - and Yes, shown performing a lively, boisterous version of "Roundabout" that makes present-day Yes seem impotent by comparison.

Once Dunn dispenses with the old guard, he turns his camera eye on Rush. Neil Peart, Alex Lifeson, and Geddy Lee are all interviewed for Dunn's piece, and their commentary on the transition from Caress of Steel to 2112 is informative and interesting. Clearly, Rush is the suspension bridge that connects old-school prog and the progressive-metal community that is driving metal out of all its predictable ghettos and into places where others fear to tread. Dunn's keen interest in Rush shows, resulting in a long segment on the band's development from basic, blue-collar hard-rock dynamos to a trio that isn't afraid to stretch the limits of imagination. That hunger to expand and grow that's made Rush an enduring proposition has undoubtedly made an impact on the upstart metal bands swept up in their hugely influential wake. Plenty of Rush live footage - from yesterday and today - is offered that puts the band's rugged, uncompromising, and dynamic musicianship on display in "Progressive Metal," and when Lee, in his talk with Dunn, mentions how radio contains many "empty calories" and that people will also be on the lookout for interesting, unconventional music, it gives one a glimmer of hope that many will turn to early Genesis, Crimson and Yes to scratch that itch.

Though Dunn takes a more linear - and therefore, less artful - path in detailing progressive-metal's rise, he handles the subject matter with characteristic humility and sincere interest. He is thorough in his investigation of progressive-metal, leaving very few stones unturned. "Progressive Metal" is the last episode of the season for "Metal Evolution," and it is a strong chapter in the series. Whatever Dunn has up his sleeve for the future let's hope it matches the detailed examinations, intellectual groping and witty humor that have made "Metal Evolution" such wonderful television.


- Peter Lindblad

Metal Evolution - Progressive Metal

Watch the Full Episode - Here and Now! 

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DVD Review: Queen - "Days of Our Lives"

DVD Review: Queen - "Days of Our Lives"
Eagle Vision
All Access Review: A

Striding slowly across the stage in 1986, draped in a royal velvet robe with a gold crown on top of his head, Freddie Mercury, his head slightly tilted back, certainly bore a regal countenance. Preening to a packed stadium crowd, his arms spread wide in an ostentatious display of kingly arrogance, Mercury addressed his subjects, numbering in the thousands. As the waves of adulation began to subside at one of Queen’s final concerts, Mercury, laughing and smiling as if he didn’t have a care in the world, playfully places the crown on Roger Taylor’s head, as if abdicating his throne. To everyone, he looked as healthy as a horse. In secret, Mercury was already battling AIDS, and perhaps on some level, he knew then that he was inescapably doomed.

“I think he had an idea that he was not terribly well,” says Taylor, in between shots of the exultant audience, their arms raised to heaven in praise of Queen and the extravagant, theatrical rock and roll spectacle they were about to witness. That bit of foreshadowing from Taylor sets the stage for a moving narrative on Mercury’s last days and the touching elegy for this electric performer that encompasses much of Episode 2 of “Days of Our Lives,” an authoritative, engrossing and emotional two-part DVD documentary on Queen released on the last day of 2011, the 40^th anniversary of Queen’s birth. “Days of Our Lives” originally aired in May on BBC in the U.K. over two nights. The DVD release, also available on Blu-Ray with loads more (almost an hour’s worth of interviews and additional scenes) bonus material, includes Episodes 1 and 2, plus a clutch of seven newly created videos for some of Queen’s greatest hits and deleted footage that make for absolutely essential viewing.

It’s a ripping yarn, this tale. Told chronologically by longtime fans Rhys Thomas and Simon Lupton, with Matt Casey directing, “Days of Our Lives” neatly cleaves Queen’s career in two parts, the first spanning 1970-1980 and the second picking right up where The Game leaves off, forging straight on through the inner turmoil of Hot Space and Mercury’s tragic death, and then arriving in the present, where Mercury’s shadow still looms over the lives of the three remaining members. New interviews with Taylor and Brian May, who are both refreshingly open and honest about the excesses and infighting that threatened to destroy Queen, form the core of “Days of Our Lives” – interestingly, bassist John Deacon, considered by many to be Queen’s secret weapon, is conspicuous by his absence, his contributions limited to found interview footage from long ago. Their commentary, so engaging and revealing, is patched in smartly amongst seemingly hundreds of clips of blazing, visceral concert video – including glorious Live Aid and Wembley Stadium triumphs, and South American soccer arena blowouts, with May and Taylor, as well as other Queen insiders, reliving the tension and fear arising from their appearance in totalitarian Argentina – and an abundance of other archival footage, much of it rare and unreleased. From the scandalous “Bicycle Race” promos featuring nude women bikers pedaling their ten-speeds to scintillating TV performances (starting with the band’s first-ever “Top Of The Pops” appearance from 1974, which hasn’t been seen since then – remembered with mixed feelings by May and Taylor), scrapbook black-and-white stills from their youth, piles of interview material and vintage behind-the-scenes film culled from video shoots, “Days of Our Lives” proves to be the ultimate Queen scrapbook, lovingly compiled and artfully arranged to serve a captivating story.

“Days of Our Lives” would be an incredibly vital collection for all that alone were it not for the wealth of colorful anecdotes strewn throughout its well-ordered contents. By turns devilishly funny – as when former manager John Reid recalls walking out on Mercury in a restaurant over an interview he did without Reid’s consent, and Mercury responding by throwing a brick through Reid’s window and telling Reid, in no uncertain terms, that nobody does that to him – and crushingly sad, as when Taylor tears up remembering when he heard that Mercury had died, the documentary is an illustrious history, not given to hyperbole but ever conscious of Queen’s magnificent accomplishments. Rummaging through the past, “Days of Our Lives” thoroughly vets all of Queen’s highs and lows, from the controversial Sun City performance in a South Africa still segregated by Apartheid to the gross financial mismanagement that nearly sunk them early on and ultimately, winding up with the bittersweet catharsis that was the tribute concert for Mercury. Fascinating stories abound, including the revelation that Deacon forgot the memorable bass line he’d created for “Another One Bites The Dust” when the band went out for pizza. And, of course, there are the many remembrances of Mercury the man, courageous in the face of a terminal disease and a wildly creative workaholic right up to the very end, as he tried valiantly to squeeze in as many recordings as he could for Queen before passing on. 

Sharply edited so that every scene has an impact, “Days of Our Lives” runs along at a pace that is quick but not hurried. The story of how Smile morphed into Queen is fleshed out with just enough detail to whet appetites for what’s to come, and from there, “Days of Our Lives” segues seamlessly into the making of Queen I and II, tracking Queen’s early stages of growth and development with surprising candor, humor and historical truth. On the cusp of a breakthrough, Queen kicked down the door with Sheer Heart Attack, and the sophisticated artistry that designed “Killer Queen” is dissected with scientific curiosity. The remainder of “Days of Our Lives” walks that fine line between entertainment and information delivery with relaxed confidence and clarity of vision, all while somehow controlling a gushing geyser of details related to Queen’s recording sessions – particular attention being paid to the groundbreaking multi-tracking techniques and choral-like blending of voices that sounded so angelic on “Somebody to Love” and a bevy of signature Queen tracks – and other key moments in the band’s tumultuous life.

Billed as “the definitive documentary of the world’s greatest rock band,” “Days of Our Lives” is all that and more. And while it is slightly less audacious than Mercury was onstage, it does capture all the pomp and circumstance that made Queen a stadium-rock sensation – for proof, see the deft shuffling of clips of “One Vision” brought to life through May’s cutting riffs and Mercury’s spine-tingling vocals. At Live Aid, Mercury was in rare form, whipping the masses into a writhing, joyous state of ecstasy that threatened to lift Wembley off its foundations. He truly was rock royalty, and so was the classic Queen lineup. Guaranteed to blow your mind, “Days of Our Lives” is that rare video biography that’s both grounded in reality and a completely transcendent experience. Somewhere, Freddie Mercury is smiling. 

- Peter Lindblad

Metal Evolution - "Power Metal"

Metal Evolution - "Power Metal"
Sam Dunn
VH1 Classic

All Access Review:  A-

Many wars have been fought over religious differences, each side believing theirs is the one true faith. The heavy metal community has its own zealots, and today’s power metal scene – often the subject of ridicule for its “Dungeons and Dragons” imagery, fans all decked out in medieval battle garb and its “happy metal” accessibility  – is full of them. Huge in Europe, where festivals such as Metal Camp in Slovenia pack them in, power metal is populated by bands such as Hammerfall, Manowar, Falconer, Primal Fear, and female-fronted Finnish-Swedish power metal royalty Nightwish, among others. For the latest episode of “Metal Evolution,” filmmaker Sam Dunn, with silent partner Scot McFayden working behind the scenes, traces the roots of power metal all the way back to Rainbow and Ronnie James Dio, Judas Priest, Iron Maiden and the Scorpions and attempts to figure out where it all went so haywire.

Even Dunn isn’t quite sure what to make of this thing. Traveling overseas, he goes to great lengths to explore every single facet of a sub-genre marked by bombastic, epic arrangements, singers with operatic range, melodic guitars that fly at unheard of speeds, questionable fashion choices, and gothic sensibilities. At Wacken, there’s a small costumed marching band – with a drum major wearing a wig of long, flowing hair – that walks past Dunn playing Europe’s “Final Countdown.” An on-again off-again meeting with neo-classical guitar god Yngwie Malmsteen is scrapped when the notoriously flighty and sometimes difficult Malmsteen decides not to show up; then, Dunn is supposed to interview Malmsteen in a castle. Eventually, it takes place, and Dunn, finding the whole situation funny, graciously gives Malmsteen the spotlight to explain how he’s merged classical music and metal over the years, and all is forgiven.

His patience already tested, Dunn is also eager to tell the story of Manowar, the shirtless, loin-clothed defenders of what they’ve referred to as “true metal,” and their obsession with Conan the Barbarian. But, founding member Joey DeMaio refuses to sit down with Dunn. Undaunted, Dunn turns to ex-Manowar member Ross the Boss, also known for his past association with punk heroes The Dictators. Unlike DeMaio, Ross is comfortable talking about Manowar, whether or not they were “true metal” and why they were so into Conan. It’s so tempting to make jokes at Manowar’s expense and others have, taking jabs at their hyper-macho, caveman-like appearance and fantasy-laden lyrics. But, because Ross clearly doesn’t take himself or Manowar too seriously, it’s probably time to just leave them be and appreciate their actual dedication to bringing power metal back to its origins. The likeable Dunn, smiling all the way through “Power Metal,” takes the high road and does just that.

Where past installments of “Metal Evolution” have, perhaps, treated the subject matter at hand with reverence, “Power Metal” comes off as something of a lark. That’s not to say that Dunn, obviously having fun in revealing all the pomp and circumstance this kind of metal has to offer, has tongue planted firmly in cheek throughout or that he shows metal’s most outrageous sub-genre any disrespect. Dutifully, Dunn constructs a rich history of power metal through informative interviews with writers like Martin Popoff and Metal Hammer’s Sandro Buti, and members of power metal’s most influential artists, including Priest’s Rob Halford, Dio, and practically all of Iron Maiden. The German angle is pursued vigorously, with Dunn connecting the dots between Tokyo Tapes-era Scorpions and Accept and some of the newer power metal acts from that country. Meanwhile, contemporary power-metal players like the ultra-fast, “Guitar Hero”-gunslingers Dragonforce and the wintry, gothic, and breathtakingly dramatic Nightwish all explain how they are forging a new course for heavy metal. And when Nightwish keyboardist Tuomas Halopainen passionately discusses his love of making music for film and how that could be the new classical music, you can’t help but believe him.

Described somewhat disparagingly early on in the episode as “happy metal,” power metal in all its glory seems to be a force to be reckoned with in Europe. Like Maiden, these acts infuse melody and harmonics into an immense wave of sound, and it has caught on over there – especially with female fans. The popularity of Nightwish is living proof. And while power metal, with its festival crowds singing and chanting along as one big sweaty, foul-smelling mass of joyful metal unity, has not conquered North America, it could invade at any time and crash through our snobbish defenses to scale the charts with a sound that isn’t so different from Evanescence or Trans-Siberian Orchestra. Always straddling that line between being unforgivably cheesy and stunningly beautiful, power metal has come a long way, baby, and Dunn comes to that realization by the end of the show. Still incredulous, though, at its sheer audacity, Dunn celebrates power metal in all its ridiculousness, and in the end, sees it as not only harmless fun, but also as an art form that has its own magic and majesty.

- Peter Linblad

Metal Evolution - Power Metal

Watch the Full Episode - Here and Now!

Metal Evolution

Powerline: The Resurrection

Founded in 1985, Powerline began as an undergound hard rock/heavy metal mag, distributed mostly in record stores worldwide. As it evolved a few years later, it embraced more commercial hard rock

 (the popular genre at the time was classified as “hair bands”) and the mag was distributed as a high-gloss publication on American newsstands with a circulation of over 100K.

By 1992 the party was over. The magazine became defunct (for various reasons). The staff went onto other jobs. And the name gathered dust. Until now.

Resurrected online, Powerline covers hard rock/heavy metal music in general (truly From Glam to Slam!), as well as reminisce about the old days in the form of time-capsuled articles and experiences.

Backstage Auctions sat down with Pat Prince to talk about all things hard rock and heavy metal, the new online version of Powerline and the industry in general.

How did you start Powerline? And why?
I grew up reading magazines like CREEM and Kerrang! But I then became obsessed with seeking out and collecting metal fanzines – I loved Bob Muldowney's Kick Ass monthly and Metal Rendezvous — and the pure excitement of discovering new metal bands. Powerline was really born out of my love for fanzines and the metal underground but also my frustration of not being able to get enough of my photographs published in the metal press. I'd been sneaking my 35mm camera into metal clubs like L'amour in Brooklyn for years and taking photos of all the latest bands. Finally, in 1985, I figured I'd take my photographs and put them next to my ramblings about the bands I loved, so I started Powerline with a typewriter, pasteboards, and veloxes from my photographs. And, at first, I dropped off copies to sell in all the record stores in the tri-state area that carried metal. It progressed from there.

Since Powerline started as a fanzine. How much did the editorial content change upon hitting the newsstand?
After I teamed up with my friend Mike Smith in 1988, we merged the essence of the fanzine with the more popular hard rock/ metal acts of the time like Ozzy, Motley Crue, Bon Jovi, Skid Row, etc. It was really a great combination because it covered everything. Soon we were able to hire renowned metal journalists like Mick Wall (a favorite of mine from Kerrang!). And the graphics and quality became really fantastic. Some might of seen it as a sell out. But it was really an evolution.

What was your favorite issue to put together?
Each issue had its own great experience. But I would have to say the Metallica issue, September 1989. I was into Metallica from the very beginning of their existence but by the time I started Powerline in 1985, Metallica became too big to get access to. Finally, we were able to get an exclusive interview and make it a cover story, with great color live shots.

What was the strangest interview you've done?
L.A. Guns. It was in a hotel room in New York City and the band had their rock star hats on. They were rude and seemingly drunk out of their minds. My questions were repeated back at me and answered in a nonsensical manner. Steve Riley was laying on the bed and bouncing a rubber ball off the walls and giving me a juvenile play-by-play of it. I had brought Powerline t-shirts to give the band and Phil Lewis stood up and said sarcastically, 'Oh, great, t-shirts.' He picked one up and rubbed his crotch with it and then threw it across the room. Up to that moment Powerline had been a big promoter of LA Guns — not that that demanded my respect, but it certainly hurt witnessing this kind of behavior. I walked out of the room with Riley, Lewis, and Kelly Nickels in a laughing/giggling fit. I had loved Lewis' singing since he was in the UK band Girl, but I thought 'F*ck you. I don't care who you are.' The PR woman finally directed me to Tracii Guns' room. And walking in, you can clearly tell Tracii was in the middle of getting hardcore stoned. It was like walking into a hash den. But, completely opposite of his bandmates, Guns was one of the coolest musicians I've had the pleasure to meet. That's why when people ask me nowadays which faction of LA Guns I support — Tracii Guns' L.A. Guns or Phil Lewis' L.A. Guns — it becomes quite an easy question to answer.

How is the metal genre different than it was when you started Powerline?
Today's metal now has standardized extremities — it seems too forced at times. I like all kinds of metal for its musical value but I don't agree with this way of thinking. You don't have to be extreme to be intense.

Is it harder for a metal band to be recognized nowadays?
Metal seems to be making a comeback. Genres can be cyclical as far as popularity. But hard rock and heavy metal will always be there. It was very hard for metal bands to get recognized in the early - to mid-'80s— which made it seem more exciting, actually.

How are Metal fans/collectors unique? Do you collect metal memorabilia?
When you listen to a genre exclusively, you like to think that your music is the most unique, and its followers are the most enthusiastic. And there are some aspects of it that are unique. But, basically, fans and collectors are the same all over, no matter the genre. After being the editor of Goldmine I certainly realized that!
A lot of my favorite memorabilia, unfortunately, has been lost over the years. I had almost all the metal demos from the '80s, including Metallica's. And the heavy metal demos of the '80s were the most fun to collect and trade. It was a world onto itself — almost a secret society. And, unlike today's MP3s, bands wanted you to trade demos -- get the music out there. I'm glad I experienced it. The demos from bands like Malice and Mercyful Fate were better than a lot of the stuff that made it onto their studio albums. Brilliant stuff that you'd could only hear if you were part of that scene. And then you had bands like Surgical Steel that you can only hear on demo tape. It's a moment in time that you really can't recapture.

Why did you resurrect Powerline as a Web site?
I listen to all kinds of music now, but I had missed Powerline and the music it cherished being an important part of my life. Plus I got kind of sick of bands like Korn being seen as the face of heavy music. What about bands like Saxon, Riot, Accept, Raven and the hundreds of other great bands from the '80s — the ones that started it all?! They deserve the most respect!

What are Powerline's future plans?
To have Powerline conitnue to represent vintage Hard Rock/Heavy Metal bands. I love the idea of turning kids onto all that old school stuff for the first time. Kind of like how Kerrang! turned me onto it in the early '80s.

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Metal Evolution - "Shock Rock"

Metal Evolution - "Shock Rock"
Sam Dunn
VH1 Classic


All Access Review: A

Along with his similarly desensitized boyhood chums, a teenaged Sam Dunn took great delight in poring over the violent, gore-splattered imagery that bled all over the lyrics of death metal titans like Cannibal Corpse. The heavy metal-obsessed filmmaker waxes nostalgic for such warped innocence in his acclaimed documentary “A Headbanger’s Journey.” As someone with a strong stomach for such horrific scenes of human depravity and sick fantasies, it takes something truly frightening and unsettlingly dark to scare Dunn out of his wits. Des Moines, Iowa, mental ward escapees Slipknot had that effect on him.

On his way to the Midwest to interview Slipknot co-founder Shawn Crahan, otherwise known as Clown, during “Shock Rock,” the latest installment of his “Metal Evolution” series on VH-1, Dunn reveals how “terrified” of Slipknot he was the first time he saw them live. Intensely chaotic onstage, with an angry, relentlessly bleak nihilistic streak lyrically, Slipknot’s grotesque masks and matching uniforms, hellish growls, aggressive, multi-dimensional percussion and borderline psychotic stage shows make KISS seem cuddly by comparison. In fact, Monte Conner, A&R guy at Roadrunner Records, a regular on “Metal Evolution,” recounts how Clown would inhale deeply while holding a decomposing crow to his nose and breathe in all the evil and blackness that bird represented before shows. The stench often made him vomit, according to Conner, and sometimes, he would throw up in his mask and continue wearing it while playing whole concerts with that awful smelling spew in his face. Holy God, how do you top that?

The answer is … well, probably, you don’t. Although circus performer Danny Vomit, also interviewed for “Shock Rock” to provide commentary on how freak shows may have influenced shock-rock theatrics, cautions that somewhere some kid is dreaming up something even more appalling, it’s hard to imagine anything more assaulting to the senses than Slipknot or Marilyn Manson. Even the godfather of the genre, Alice Cooper, admits in the most recent episode of “Metal Evolution” that it’s probably impossible to shock anybody these days, and Rob Zombie concurs. And now that people are so anaesthetized to violence that we’ve gotten to the point where “Faces of Death” passes for entertainment, what’s left? Forget trying to shock people, says Cooper. That’s pretty impossible now. It all comes down to providing them an imaginative show, according to Cooper, who equates his own elaborately bloody stage show these days with Cirque du Soleil.

Dunn pretty much leaves it at that in what is quite possibly the best episode of the “Metal Evolution” series. “Shock Rock” has it all – controversy, a fascinating history, lively debate, and unflinching social commentary. There’s the gutsy Little Richard, strutting his gender-bending fashion sense and blatant homosexuality in the Deep South of the late 1950s, which earns the undying respect of one Lemmy Kilmister of Motorhead. Next up is the campy horror show of Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, complete with still shots of him arising from his coffin and vintage clips of him performing “I Put a Spell on You.” Perhaps more surprising, however, is how much crazy, manic footage there is of The Crazy World of Arthur Brown doing “Fire,” and Iron Maiden’s Bruce Dickenson admitting to copping much of his onstage persona from Arthur, who emerged from the psychedelic safe house of Paris in the ‘60s with wild ideas about confrontational performance art and challenging music – all of which Brown, with a red stripe of makeup running across his face, discusses in great detail with Dunn. That connection that Dunn establishes between Brown and heavy metal is a fascinating one and Dunn displays a deft touch in making it. There’s nothing heavy-handed about his storytelling technique; he’s a natural when it comes to interviewing, and the editing work that he and partner Scott McFadyen, who co-directs and co-produces “Metal Evolution,” keeps everything flowing naturally.

Not forgotten in the story of “Shock Rock” are Alice Cooper and KISS, of course. The infamous chicken incident is dissected with Alice, who goes on to regale Dunn with rehashed tales of how the band was banned in certain countries and how the “bad” publicity they received actually served to increase the band’s popularity – all with the help of former band mates Dennis Dunaway and Neal Smith. Whole books have been written about KISS’s makeup and the genesis of the band’s outrageous stage craft. Somehow, Dunn manages to squeeze all the essential information about KISS, as it relates to the subject at hand, while segueing into KISS’s gradual morphing from every parent’s nightmare into a somewhat more innocuous, family-oriented act that saw children arriving at shows made up as their favorite KISS character. While Criss bemoans the increasing commercialism that enveloped KISS, Frehley talks about having to tone down the sexual congress he used to perform with his guitar every night and reluctantly back off on his cursing. This is where things take a turn for the really, really weird.

With KISS having become sort of a kid-friendly cartoon, a shock-rock void developed. Nobody was testing the boundaries of good taste and social convention. Then along came Marilyn Manson. Taking on conservative Christian values with a fierce intelligence and a brutally tortured, gothic aesthetic that seemed to bring to life the inner workings of a serial killer’s scrambled mind, Manson and his deranged crew put on a stage show that was like some fascist S&M rally in a dystopian nightmare. When things got too real, though, as they did when responsibility for the Columbine massacre was placed squarely on Manson’s shoulders, this sinister creature went on MTV and took umbrage with the media for its ghoulish, uncaring coverage of the tragedy and the grief and sadness of those it affected the most. Interestingly, Manson’s one-time co-conspirator, Daisy Berkowitz, criticized Manson’s reaction, basically calling him out for being soft. That, combined with the bizarre, intensely personal stories of Clown and Slipknot, makes the second half of “Shock Rock” the most compelling television produced so far by Dunn.

“Shock Rock” alternates from lighthearted kitsch to serious debate on its effects on society and whether rock music could ever produce anything that could be considering “shocking” ever again. Again, it must be difficult to keep this train on the tracks, to maintain focus on the role “shock rock” plays in the evolution of heavy metal. And yet, Dunn does it, even while occasionally detouring into ancillary subject matter that would threaten to derail less talented filmmakers. Over and over, Dunn and McFadyen stitch together interviews, vintage live footage, still photography and any other ephemera he can get his hands to effortlessly tell a story that deserves this kind of exhaustive study. The world of heavy metal owes him a debt of gratitude.

Peter Lindblad

Metal Evolution - Shock Rock

Watch the Full Episode - Here and Now! 

DVD Review: The Rolling Stones - Some Girls: Live in Texas '78

DVD Review: The Rolling Stones - Some Girls: Live in Texas '78
Eagle Vision
All Access Review: A-

The punks were sneering at them from afar, and to the blow-snorting, booty-shaking hedonists living it up at Studio 54 and other less glamorous discos, the Rolling Stones might as well have been dead for all they cared. As big as they still were in the mid-to-late 1970s, the Stones were in danger of becoming irrelevant, of fading into the background. The black magic of 1972’s Exile on Main Street had long since worn off, and the Stones, with stardom further inflating Mick Jagger’s grandiose ego and drug addiction robbing Keith Richards of his bohemian talent and ambition, foundered. Satisfaction was becoming ever more elusive for the self-proclaimed world’s greatest rock and roll band.

Each succeeding album sunk them ever deeper into a quagmire of mediocrity – at least according to their lofty standards. The crass excess of 1973’s Goats Head Soup obfuscated the nasty sparkle of its brightest diamonds. It’s Only Rock ‘n’ Roll, released a year later, lacked cohesion and consistency, even if it did, more often than not, make the blood run red hot. And while training Ronnie Wood in the ways of the Stones, Mick and Keith messed around with extended, funky grooves and stylistic experimentation on 1976’s Black and Blue and got lost (I know that’s The Eagles’ line and I’m mixing my classic-rock metaphors, but I don’t care).

With their desire to indulge in regrettably long jams and the suspect mixing of incompatible genres out of their system, the Stones, perhaps stung a bit by the criticism leveled at them, sought inspiration from a contemporary music scene dominated by polar opposites. On the one hand, there was the seething fury and cynical anger of punk doling out its own brand of street justice on bloated, fatuous rock stars who had lost touch with what once made them great. And then there was disco, glitzy and lacking anything resembling substance, while also guilty of delivering the kind of hypnotic beats and head-spinning action that compelled its coked-up consumers to lose their inhibitions and get freaky on the dance floor and in the bedroom.

The Stones, up to this point, hadn’t had much to do with any of it. That was about to change with 1978’s Some Girls, an album that lashed out at those ready to write them off as has-beens. Of its time and yet something that couldn’t ever possibly be considered dated, Some Girls was as nasty and mean as the Stones wanted it to be, with sharp, tightly wound tracks like “When The Whip Comes Down,” “Shattered” and “Respectable” all spoiling for a knife fight and not caring a whit for anybody who gets cut. Even the relatively laid-back country charms of “Far Away Eyes” break out into a menacing sneer that has bad intentions behind it, and the nod to disco, “Miss You,” sounds dangerously seductive . The Stones were not going to be pushed around – not by the Sex Pistols and certainly not by Bee Gees.

And so, with Some Girls still brandishing its razor-sharp songwriting and explosive recorded performances at a suddenly reinvigorated fan base, the Stones toured, adopting a lean, stripped-down approach that showed they meant business. On July 18, 1978, they rolled into Fort Worth, Texas, eager to show everybody who came to the Will Rogers Auditorium that night that they’d regained their swagger – something that was apparent to anybody who’d seen them on previous stops, the 1978 tour being one of the Stones’ finest hours. Tickets went fast, even though the band shrouded itself in the mysterious pseudonym “The London Green Shoed Cowboys” that nobody fell for. Onstage, the Stones caught fire, and that rip-roaring performance was filmed for posterity by the Texas outfit Showco. Colorfully packaged and riotously filmed, “The Rolling Stones: Some Girls Live in Texas ’78,” released in late 2011 by Eagle Vision in three formats – DVD, Blu-Ray, and special edition DVD + CD and Blu-Ray + CD packages – is stunning visual and sonic proof that the Stones could throw down with anybody.

Backed by faithful Ian Stewart on piano and Ian “Mac” McLagan on organ and piano, plus Doug Kershaw on violin, the Stones tear into 17 tracks with fire in their eyes and raw, edgy energy to burn. Following a savory version of “Let It Rock,” a celebratory spin around “All Down the Line” and a predatory “Honky Tonk Women,” Mick and the boys burn and pillage their way through the notorious “Star Star,” otherwise known as “Starf**ker.” Ready again to rumble, after a brief respite, they flex their sinewy rhythmic muscles on “When the Whip Comes Down,” with Mick joining the fray on guitar – he has one in his hands through much of the show – sporting a t-shirt that says “DESTROY,” a yellow coat, a red hat and black leather pants. Feeling their oats, the Stones generate plenty of throbbing, sexual heat in a stretched-out “Miss You,” before turning a bit more innocent and sincere in their fantastic reworking of The Temptations’ “(Just My) Imagination,” one of the true highlights of Some Girls.

Always the showman, Jagger is in rare form, full of bravado while shucking and jiving his way through “Miss You” before grabbing the crowd by the throat with tough, commanding vocals in “Shattered” – the vicious guitars of Keith and Woodie exuding attitude and filled high-wire tension – and spearheading a vigorous run through a snotty “Respectable” that sweats bullets. While clearly sticking it to anybody who would dare question their live prowess or their passion, there’s also a playfulness and unabashed exuberance that shines off the Stones’ gleaming performance and is readily apparent in the almost gleeful, child-like interaction – however naughty these man-children are – between all parties. And make no mistake, this is a party.

Transitioning out of the deliciously boozy, countrified drawl of “Far Away Eyes” and “Love in Vain,” the Stones let it all hang out on “Tumbling Dice” and “Happy” before kicking Chuck Berry’s “Sweet Little 16” square in the ass. By the time “Brown Sugar” and “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” draw to a close, you are satiated, worn completely out like after the greatest sex of your life but not quite ready to see it end. And if the live portion of “The Rolling Stones: Some Girls Live in Texas,” so gloriously restored by Bob Clearmountain from the original multi-track tapes and shot from a variety of visually exciting angles, were all that one had to go on, it alone would be worth the $200 you were going to spend on hookers and drugs to make it through the night, but it doesn’t cost anywhere near that. Throw in a booklet full of memorabilia and detailed, well-written liner notes by James Karnbach and you have an essential piece of musical history.

What weakens the overall package are some of the extras: a throwaway interview with Jagger comprised of nothing but softball questions and bland, pat answers; a dull, poorly written Saturday Night Live skit with Dan Akroyd’s painfully unfunny turn as Tom Snyder doing the “Tomorrow” show with Jagger and the Stones’ subsequent flat SNL performance; and a segment of ABC News “20/20” interviews with the Stones from that era that hold some interest, but ultimately, don’t add much in the way of information or historical perspective. Don’t let that deter you from picking up “Some Girls Live in Texas ’78,” a landmark live DVD that makes for a great drinking buddy for Some Girls the album.

- Peter Lindblad

Official Trailer from Eagle Rock: 

DVD Review: The Doors - Mr. Mojo Risin' - The Story of L.A. Woman

DVD Review: The Doors - Mr. Mojo Risin': The Story of L.A. Woman
Eagle Rock Entertainment
All Access Review: B+

In a very real sense, after Jim Morrison’s infamous Miami arrest on morals charges and public drunkenness, The Doors as a whole were subject to house arrest. The south Florida homecoming for Morrison at the Dinner Key Auditorium, packed with 14,000 people, was the first stop on The Doors’ 1969 tour, and it was a night nobody would ever forget. Perhaps it even signaled that the end was near.

Three sheets to the wind, and perhaps inspired by seeing the confrontational performance of the experimental theater group The Living Theatre the night before, the Lizard King was in no mood to sing. And so, during “Break on Through,” he began a confused rant that at once embraced the slavish adoration of the crowd – noting his Floridian roots – and then turned on them with blazing hostility, rebuking them as conformists and calling them “f**king idiots” and “slaves,” while expressing his love for a weirder and wilder locale, his adopted playground Los Angeles.

It’s all there on screen in the documentary “Mr. Mojo Risin’: The Story of L.A. Woman,” which follows the making of The Doors’ magnificent coda, the slice of gritty, sinister blues and dark, surreal jazz known as L.A. Woman that would turn out to be Morrison’s last studio recording. There’s Morrison threatening to expose his genitalia for all to see. There’s Morrison feigning oral sex on guitarist Robby Krieger. And then, of course, there are the clueless cops hauling away a bemused Morrison, who seems completely satisfied with the circus-like chaos and complete disorder he has so diabolically orchestrated. But, maybe, just maybe, there was more to Morrison’s actions than a simple desire to create all-out anarchy. By this time, Morrison’s notoriety had already become the stuff of legend – people had taken to calling them the “dirty Doors” as Manzarek relates in the film – and the alcohol was doing a lot of the talking, leading to arrests and tales, whether made up or true, of incredible hedonism. But, as Manzarek explains, Morrison had some questions for the Miami audience and everybody else who wanted a piece of The Doors, one of them being, “What do you want from us?” Morrison might have been asking the same question of himself.

As longtime music writer David Fricke argues, the implications of Morrison’s actions probably affected him the most. The threat of going to Rayford Penitentiary and losing his freedom, even if for only a matter of months, weighed heavily on a man who valued that above all else. In the short term, all the legal complications forced The Doors to cancel that ill-fated tour. Left with nothing better to do since they really couldn’t go anywhere to play – nervous venue owners didn’t want anything to do with such outrageous behavior and banned them from most of the halls in the U.S.  – The Doors responded by going back in the studio to record what would become L.A. Woman, and “Mr. Mojo Risin’” offers a competent, if somewhat pedestrian, creation story.

The sessions, as producer Paul Rothschild tells it in vintage interview footage, did not begin well. Morrison seemed disinterested, and the music, at least to Rothschild’s ears, was uninspiring. Even Manzarek admits the playing was sub-par, and Krieger relates that Rothschild even felt “Riders on the Storm” sounded like lame cocktail music. In a move that stunned The Doors, Rothschild parted ways with the band, leaving The Doors to their own devices and top-notch engineer Bruce Botnick. The story of Rothschild’s departure and how it resulted in the band taking control of its music is handled with the utmost care, as all sides are given equal time. In fact, there is great honesty and detail that emerge from interviews with all the living Doors, Botnick and a cast of seemingly thousands.

Musicologists will wet themselves over the attention paid to the recording process behind L.A. Woman and the studio magic – which returned for The Doors when they left the drab, lifeless Sunset Sound studio for the livelier environs of their rehearsal and office space on Santa Monica Boulevard, where their music was “seeped into the walls,” as drummer John Densmore so vividly recounts – that gave birth to some of the most memorable songs in the band’s catalog. One moment, Manzarek is telling how the soft, rain-like piano parts for “Riders on the Storm” developed and how Elvis’s bassist Jerry Scheff, who sat in and played on L.A. Woman, was dumbfounded as to how to recreate thosee bass parts on his instrument; the next, the disagreement over whether “Love Her Madly” should have been the first single is rehashed, with Elektra Records founder Jac Holzman recalling how it raised the hair on the back of his neck and Krieger saying he thought it was “too commercial.”

Packed to the gills with revelatory and enthusiastic interviews and vintage photography and video footage of both candid, behind-the-scenes moments and blood-pumping live segments, “Mr. Mojo Risin’” is nothing if not comprehensive. The story of every song on L.A. Woman, with the possible exception of “Cars Hiss by My Window,” gets its own time in the sun, and the filmmakers take great pains to examine the bones and the guts of tracks like the stomping, swampy blues of “Crawling King Snake” and the simmering heat and seedy noir of “L.A. Woman,” a song that captures the essence of the city, it’s literary underbelly and its women and pays tribute to them all in Morrison’s vivid poetry. With Botnick at the sound board and Densmore, Krieger and Manzarek at their instruments, the musical evolution of key moments in each track are intensely explored, as are Morrison’s lyrics, pregnant with metaphor and primal, dream-like imagery.

What crashes the party is … well, the lack of anything resembling a good time. On occasion, “Mr. Mojo Risin’” begins to drift off and become tedious and dry, an academic paper come to life in documentary film form. While smartly emphasizing the actual blood, sweat and tears behind L.A. Woman rather than the sensationalism that seems to dog other Doors’ biographies, the filmmakers treat the subject matter with little wit and a seriousness that colors it in grey rather than the rich, bold hues and apocalyptic psychedelic paints the Doors brushed onto the canvas of their music. Still, the documentary doesn’t pander to the lowest common denominator. It is an intelligent and affecting history, especially as it relates to Morrison’s jetting off to Paris with girlfriend Pamela Courson after his vocals for L.A. Woman were done and the sense among friends and band mates that he wasn’t coming back.

One of the draws to this DVD is the appearance of a new Doors song, “She Smells So Nice,” included in the bonus features. A swinging, bluesy number that jumps off the dance floor of a southern backwoods juke joint, “She Smells So Nice” sweats heavily and steps lively as a cavalcade of Doors still pictures from days gone by passes through – that is before the song morphs into a slow-cooked, tantalizing stew of savory guitar notes, subtle brushed drums and neon electric keyboard lights. Even if the film isn’t quite as glorious or as transcendent as The Doors were, it does its job with workmanlike attention to detail and a tenacious desire to get the story right, to do it justice. And, in the end, isn’t that what we all want from a music documentary?

 - Peter Lindblad

Official Trailer from Eagle Rock:

CD Review: Yes - In The Present – Live From Lyon

CD Review: Yes - In The Present – Live From Lyon
Frontier
All Access Review: B-

The last few years or so have been some of the most dysfunctional in the long, storied history of progressive-rock institution and psychedelic chameleons Yes, and that’s saying something. Seemingly forever beset by internal strife, whether over creative differences, legal battles over the band’s name, personality conflicts, or even debilitating health problems, Yes’s instability has, at various times, threatened to tear the very hull of the band apart and cause it to sink down into the deep of a Technicolor, Roger Dean-imagined lake of lava on some distant, undiscovered planet. Through it all, bass wizard Chris Squire, the only remaining original member, has managed to guide Yes through the choppiest of waters and still keep the good ship seaworthy with an ever-evolving crew. He’s still at the helm and shows no signs of giving up the wheel.

Though he’s been in and out of the band more often than a hopeless addict shuffles through rehab, Jon Anderson, a founding member no less, is, without question, the one true voice of Yes. But, respiratory issues have, on occasion, caused him to excuse himself from a number of possible Yes tours as the loud cheering died down after the 35^th anniversary excursion in 2004. And while Squire and the rest of Yes entertained the notion of recording new music, Anderson, perhaps still stinging from the disappointing commercial results of 2001’s orchestral Magnification, was intractable in his opposition to the idea, certainly skeptical that Yes still had it in them to chart new musical territory. Here’s where things get sticky. In 2008, Yes again was set to tour the world, this time for its 40^th anniversary. However, the “Close to the Edge and Back” jaunt crashed before it left the launching pad, as Anderson was diagnosed with acute respiratory failure. On doctor’s orders, he opted to rest the pipes. Not willing to wait around for Anderson to recover, Squire, Steve Howe, and Alan White – along with Oliver Wakeman, son of the veteran Yes keyboardist Rick Wakeman – shanghaied a new singer, Benoit David. And wouldn’t you know it? David was Anderson’s vocal doppelganger.

Leaving Anderson behind to fume over this breach of loyalty – even though he’d left the band plenty of times before, including that well-publicized first split in 1980 – the rest of Yes embarked on what would become known as the “In the Present” North American tour, while Anderson twisted in the wind, not knowing if he was still a part of Yes or not. Interrupted by Squire’s leg surgery, “In the Present” was delayed, but in 2009, Yes went back out and on December 1 of that year, the reconstituted Yes played Lyon, France. In late 2011, Frontiers Records released a double-CD set that documented the beaming, if somewhat spotty, performance and paired it with a 55-minute DVD in a package titled In the Present – Live from Lyon. And it feels like the dawning of a new era for the band, with its mix of elder statesmen and hungry young lions.

Still, from sound of things on In the Present – Live at Lyon, this version of Yes has yet to reach its full potential. Despite some imaginative and diverse guitar soloing from Howe, “Owner of a Lonely Heart” drags its feet, the playing sluggish and sapped of Yes’s usual vitality, as is the hum-drum version of “I’ve Seen All Good People” that follows it on Disc 1. When it’s supposed to pick up steam and drive ahead, at that precise moment when the song shifts from a psychedelic-folk meditation on living unselfishly into a muscular, triumphant jam of spiritual uplift, it lazily, almost reluctantly, comes to its feet and tiredly walks to its destination.

Not everything on In the Present – Live in Lyon comes off seeming so distracted and disinterested. “Machine Messiah,” boasting Oliver’s beguiling keyboard runs and the twirling spirals of notes rising from Howe’s guitar that answer them, offers exuberance and haunting beauty, while “Heart of the Sunrise” dazzles with its complex musicianship and shape-shifting movements, as do the jazzy interludes of “Astral Traveler,” showcasing the head-spinning interplay of Howe and Wakeman and the controlled chaos of White’s drum solo.

Maddeningly inconsistent, the sometimes uninspired and masturbatory Disc 1 gives way to a more confident and wide-ranging Yes in the second CD. Lush and extravagant, “Siberian Kathru” is an epic flight over some of the more mountainous terrain Yes traverses, and the fan favorite “Southside of the Sky” explores the many moods of Yes, from dark, sloping sonic valleys to lofty peaks of emotion. “Tempus Fugit” is more expansive and radiant, a blast of light and balled-up energy that explodes all over the quietly reflective and romantic “Onward,” which features David’s most stirring vocals of these recordings.

Though it contains fewer hits from Yes’s catalog, Disc 2 surpasses Disc 1 in vim and vigor, with a rugged, captivatingly bright “Roundabout” leading the charge. Overall, the sound is clean and vibrant, and while David’s vocals aren’t quite as warm or as nuanced as Anderson’s, he handles the material with grace and power. Historically, a bone of contention between Anderson and others in Yes was how he always pushed for an increased dosage of pop sensibilities into the band’s otherwise classically influenced arrangements, where others argued for a heavier, more daring direction. Those tensions apparently have been resolved, and though Anderson’s up-in-the-air status with Yes remains controversial – Squire of late hasn’t ruled out future collaborations with Anderson, who’s been playing out as a solo artist in recent years – it appears they are capable of carrying on without him.

-        Peter Lindblad

Official Trailer from Frontier Records