This Week in Purchases (Friday, July 9, 2011)

The arrival of summer means two things for this blog. First, I no longer have school as an excuse to convince myself that I’m too busy to update this thing. Second, now that I have a job that pays me in real-life dollars, and not only life experience, I have enough extra scratch to buy new music every week. Add these two up and what you get is a (hopefully) weekly post from yours truly. Each Friday, I take my paycheck to the bank to deposit it with roughly the same vigor that LeBron James takes the ball to the basket (you know, as long as it’s the first three quarters of a game). After doing so, I drive straight to CD Central to get my fix for 1) supporting local business (how hippie-ish of me, right?) and 2) new/old music. Each week, I hope to post about my purchases and why you should emulate my impeccable taste in music.

Aerosmith—Rock In a Hard Place (1982)

The only Aerosmith release to not feature guitarists Brad Whitford and Joe Perry, both of whom left due to “creative differences” (code for a I really fucking hate those assholes) in the years prior to the recording of the album. Few people bought this when it was released and even fewer know about it know. And this is a shame. The album was considered a flop at the time, which is true to a degree since it sold like shit and cost $1.5 Million to make (an unbelievable amount at the time).

Tyler performing fucked up circa 1982

However, there is more than enough redeeming material on this album to rank it comfortably in my Top Ten Aerosmith albums. This is Steven Tyler at his weirdest and druggiest, and I fucking love it. There is a 70-second vocoder prelude to a song about butterflies, rocking horses and….well, a bunch of other weird shit (“Prelude to Joanie/Joanie’s Butterfly”), which honestly, sounds like a late-60’s Beatles song and makes me long for a one-hitter.  Tyler also performs to be what I think is his finest vocal performance ever on the cover of the Arthur Hamilton-penned Julie London-sang “Cry Me a River” (if anyone sees this title and thinks of that fucking Justin Timberlake song, so help me God).  We’re also treated to some quintessential, delightful Tyler perversion in songs about those girls who are oh-so-tempting but may also get us thrown in the crowbar motel (“Jailbait”) and good, old-fashioned fucking while high (“Bolivian Ragamuffin”). Throw in a straight ahead rocker about engaging in a round of fisticuffs with one’s rival (“Lightnin’ Strikes”) and we have a pretty damn good album. And that’s before we even get to the female misogyny (“Bitch’s Brew”). Finally, although on the surface, the album closer “Push Comes to Shove” appears to be your traditional break-up/lost love song. However,  I have always seen it as Tyler venting about the loss of the most important relationship in his life, the one he has with bandmate, songwriting partner and fellow substance connoisseur Joe Perry (“You said ‘the music does the talkin’ but all you’ve done is talk about”)

Thus, the lyrics are traditional Tyler with a few twists and new, stoned directions thrown in. And frankly, they’re infinitely more interesting than anything he has written in the past 15 years at least. His performance on the album is a bit uneven, very strong at some points, especially the aforementioned “Cry Me a River.” On this one, there is the perfect combination of the right drugs that day, the right song choice and one of the most gifted rock singers that ever lived. A masterpiece. However, there are times when it is clear that Tyler is unhealthy and you can hear the drugs affect his performance. This is not an entirely bad thing. In the strain of his voice, you can hear the authenticity of strung-out, living-on-the-edge-of-an-overdose rock star. And you know what? I dig it. So there.

Although this will be an affront to many Aerosmith fans (especially the soccer mom contingent), I have to say that I think Jimmy Crespo brings a lot to this album. Given the impossible task of filling Anthony Joseph Perry’s shoes as the lead guitarist for the American Stones, Crespo does a bang-up job and even does a few things superior to Perry. He handles nearly all of the guitar parts on the album. His balls-out, punch-you-in-the-dick riff in “Bitch’s Brew” is not only one of my favorite Aerosmith riffs of all time, it’s on my short list of all-time favorites.  He does a good deal of tasteful acoustic work on “Joanie’s Butterfly” and takes a refreshing less-is-more approach on “Cry Me a River.” Plus, he also melds perfectly into Aerosmith’s always underrated ability to bring the funk with his work on “Bolivian Ragamuffin,” “Rock in a Hard Place,” and “Jig is Up.”

Chances are anyone reading this does not own this album. Chances also are that anyone reading this has probably gotten laid while listening to “I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing.” And that depresses the hell outta me. So, for my sake, buy this album. Best $3.99 you’ll ever spend.

Bob Dylan—“Love and Theft” (2001)

It’s a rare sight for an artist to continue producing relevant music into their 60s, years that most artists reserve to appear on VH1 countdowns, play at state fairs and host glorified talent shows. It’s even rarer for said artist to produce what one could arguably call one of his greatest achievements. This is exactly what Bob did with “Love and Theft,” a title borrowed from an early 1990s study of minstrel shows (hence the quotation marks).

At the time of the release of this album, Bob was in the midst of an artistic and critical resurgence that began with the 1997’s Time Out of Mind. Most critics were quick to point to “Love and Theft” as a continuation of Time Out of Mind, but (as usual) they are wrong. Time Out of Mind has Bob ruminating and coming to terms with aging and the imminent demise of his powers. The album was a major achievement for Dylan but the subject matter was very heavy on death, echoing the theme of some of Dylan’s earlier work with songs like “Not Dark Yet” with its death-is-approaching chorus (“It’s Not Dark Yet, but it’s gettin’ there”) or “Highlands,” in which the narrator curses his fate as an aging man with nothing left in this realm whose heart is already  in “the highlands.”

Bob looking wonderfully raggedand a bit confused on the album cover

While “Love and Theft” confronts the idea of aging, it does so in a playful, boastful and humorous way that Time Out of Mind does not. On this album, Bob’s voice is delightfully ragged and there is a lilt and energy expressed that is nowhere to be found on Time Out of Mind. Despite the lack of range in his voice these days, Bob still conjures an expressiveness from the phrasing he uses that most singers spend their careers searching in vain for. In “Mississippi,” he pulls off one of my favorite lines in recorded music history. As the music builds to a crescendo where most singers would want to oversing and get into the proverbial dick-waving contest, Dylan uses subtlety and nuance in the emphasis of his words and the pauses when he sings, “I need some-thin strong to dis-tract my mind, I’m gonna look at you ‘til my eyes go blind.” In those lines he captures an honest yearning for the glance of this woman to push his troubles out of his head.

Speaking of “Mississippi,” it is one of the most crucial songs on the album and (in my mind) should have been the lead track. It sounds as if Dylan is giving us an updated version of “Tangled Up in Blue,” with the narrator is consumed with a woman whose love he lost through some mistake or event that we are given only one vague hint as to what this was (“Only one thing I did wrong, I stayed in Mississippi a day to long”). “Mississippi” takes the framework one step further and has the narrator reflecting on this at the end of his life. And although this life seems to have been fraught with difficulty (“My ships been split to splinters and it’s sinkin’ fast, I’m drownin’ in the poison, got no future got no past”), the life was one that the narrator ultimately enjoyed and looks back upon fondly (“But my heart is not weary, it’s light and it’s free; I got nothin’ but affection for all those who have sailed with me”). Here the album’s theme of fond reflection and graceful aging is expressed perfectly.

One of the most underrated aspects of Dylan’s catalogue is his use of humor in his lyrics. This is present in heaps on this album. “Lonesome Day Blues” has the narrator recounting various events from different times in his life (as old people are prone to do) in alternating fits of humor and irony (“Samantha Brown stayed in my house ‘bout four or five months; don’t know how it looked to other people, but I never slept with her even once”) and with great non sequiturs (“Leaves are rustlin’ in the wood, things are fallin’ off the shelf; you’re gonna need my help sweetheart, you can’t make love all by yourself”). “Po’ Boy” gives us Dylan reciting some tongue-in-cheek jokes that one may hear their eccentric uncle make (Po’ Boy in the hotel called The Palace of Gloom, he called down to room service and says ‘send up a room.’). We also see Bob dropping phrases like “Hop into the wagon babe, throw them panties overboard” and “makin’ a 2 a.m. booty call.” The effect of the horniness in these lyrics is both hilarious and horrifying, much as if you’re grandpa were to throw these phrases out at Thanksgiving dinner.

“Love and Theft” also has Dylan creating several twisted, instantly memorable characters that come straight out of Dylan’s folk and country roots. There’s the duo of ne’er-do-wells causing trouble and getting wasted at Mardi Gras in “Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum,” the troubadour reflecting on the life he has lived and those who have been a part of it in “Mississippi,” the worn-out-but-still-full-of-piss-and-vinegar of the old tobacco hand in “Floater,” the good-humored, down on his luck drifter in “Po’ Boy,” and the narrator in “Bye and Bye” whose devotion to his lady becomes increasingly stalkerish as the song progresses (“You were my first love, and you’ll be my last” and “I’m gonna baptize you in fire so you can sin no more”). All of these wonderful characters serve as a furtherance of the folk-music tradition of celebrating memorable, vivid characters who are both enthralling and somewhat terrifying, with the perfect example in “Floater” of the field hand who muses fondly on going down the “Ohio, the Cumberland, the Tennessee, all the rest of them rebel rivers” but warns in the next breath that “If you ever try to interfere with me or cross my path again, You do so at the peril of your life.” All of these characters share the common theme of being rather aged but run the gauntlet from hilarious to horny to terrifying. Bob at his best.

For me, the highlight of the album is “High Water,” Dylan’s version of the events of the Great Louisiana Flood of 1927, the flood in which songs by Memphis Minnie and Led Zeppelin are based. In his version, Dylan gives a chilling adaptation of the events of the flood itself (“High water risin’, the shacks are slidin’ down; folks lose their possessions, folks are leavin’ town” and later “High water risin’ 6 inches ‘bove my head; coffins droppin’ in the street like balloons made out of lead”). However, Dylan takes it a step further and uses the flood as a backdrop for the racial and political climate of the South in this era, singing of a woman warning that “you dance with who they tell you to, or you don’t dance at all” and a judge calling for the execution of that heretic Charles Darwin. The track itself is propelled by an ominous banjo, a rocking rhythm section and periodic moans that give a chilling sense of foreboding. My favorite song on one of Bob’s best albums. Good stuff.

Speaking of the album’s music, it would be a crime to verbally fellate Dylan for this album without giving credit to the music itself. As Bob grows older, he has dug deeper into his roots in rural country and folk music, combining them with a sense of blues and rock. This has the effect of giving the listener a tour of the history of American music. The album ranges from jump blues (“Cry a While,”) rockabilly (“Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum,” countrified rock (“Mississippi”), lounge balladry (“Moonlight” and “Po’ Boy”), straight ahead rock (“Honest With Me” and “Summer Days”), foreboding folk-country (“High Water”) and the traditional, 12-bar blues of “Lonesome Day Blues.” The album continues Dylan’s recent trend by placing a spooky, dirge-like ballad at the conclusion; in this case it is “Sugar Baby,” a sparse song filled with apocalyptic imagery ala “Desolation Row.” The album was recorded with Bob’s touring band at the time, who had been with him for several years and countless shows. The move was a wise one, as the band is incredibly capable and perfectly comfortable pulling off so many various song structures and musical styles.

So, there you have it. I just spent a couple thousand words doing everything but taking a picture of myself splooging on the album cover. Thus, it must be good. So buy it. And then come thank me.

Good times and happy listening to all,

Cam.

Ten Albums Pt. II (or the second 5 albums on the list)

Bob Dylan—Blood on the Tracks

Robert’s second appearance in my list, though this album is markedly different than Freewheeelin’. Bob’s focus here is completely personal, as the songs can easily be heard as a journal of his crumbling marriage to Sara Lownds. This, my friends, is the ultimate confessional/heartbreak album. I remember Blood on the Tracks being in a large box of albums I got for Christmas one year and I was transfixed from the opening notes of “Tangled Up In Blue,” a song told from the narrators view of a woman who’s touch he can’t quite shake (“Split up on a dark sad night, both agreein’ it was best”), his eventual determination to track her down (“So now I’m goin’ on back again, I got to get to her somehow”), and his resignation to his troubadour lifestyle (“But me, I’m still on the road, headin’ for another joint”).

The album takes the listener on an emotional rollercoaster from the heartbreak of “Simple Twist of Fate,” a song of a one night stand in which the narrator hopes, against all odds, that he may find her again one day (“Hunts her down by the waterfront docks where the sailors all come in; Maybe she'll pick him out again, how long must he wait; Once more for a simple twist of fate”).

“Idiot Wind” is a bitter, 8-minute narrative based around a swirling organ riff in which we find Bob lashing out with anger and self-pity at his partner (“You hurt the ones that I love best and cover up the truth with lies; One day you'll be in the ditch, flies buzzin' around your eyes”) before taking some responsibility for the failure of their relationship in the end (“You'll never know the hurt I suffered nor the pain I rise above; And I'll never know the same about you, your holiness or your kind of love, And it makes me feel so sorry”). This is the standard for any singer-songwriter confessional song. Bob takes every failed relationship down through the ages, from Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn to O.J. and Nicole, and nails all the feelings of pain, remorse, and in an 8-minute masterpiece. Chilling stuff.

After listening to this album straight through, I felt emotionally exhausted. I had accompanied Bob through the failure of relationships (“Tangled…” and “Idiot Wind”), the sadness in the aftermath of the failure (the dirty blues of “Meet Me in the Morning,” with the great line, “Everyday’s been darkness since you been gone”), and his reminiscing of better times with the woman who inspired such a beautiful album with the underrated “Shelter from the Storm” (“I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form; "Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm").

The true beauty of the album is that, unlike most heartbreak songs, we’re not told whom to side with. While Bob wallows in self-pity and lashes out in anger for much of the album, we are also provided with hints that perhaps the real victim is the woman in the relationship, a victim of Dylan’s emotional blackmail. We, as listeners, are left to decided whether this woman has broken Dylan’s heart and has left Bob a shell of a man, or whether, well, Bob may just be kind of a prick and he deserved to be left.

Key Tracks—Tangled Up In Blue, Simple Twist of Fate, Idiot Wind, Shelter from the Storm

David Bowie—The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars

Never has a single album offered such a varying reaction from people when I tell them it is one of my favorite of all time. They generally fall into two categories, with one being something along the lines of, “Wow, man, Ziggy’s one of my favorites. Bowie is a genius,” and the second being, “Bowie, huh? I didn’t know you were gay…not that there’s anything wrong with that.” Needless to say, it’s a rather polarizing album.

However, looking past Bowie’s admittedly bizarre androgyny, Ziggy Stardust is simply a genius album. Within the 11 songs on the album, Bowie creates a world in which it has been foretold that the Earth will be destroyed in five years (“Five Years”). Into this world comes Ziggy Stardust, the human manifestation of an alien being bringing the humans a message of love and peace (“Starman” and “Ziggy Stardust”). However, to get this message across to the masses, Ziggy is created as a rock star.  “Moonage Daydream” describes the creation of Ziggy from a combination of religion, romance, sexual freedom, rebellion, and passion (“I'm the space invader, I'll be a rock 'n' rollin' bitch for you”). Of course, as a rock star in the early ‘70s, Ziggy falls into the traps of the lifestyle, whether it’s the daily grind of being a musician (“It Ain’t Easy), criticism for his androgynous persona (“Lady Stardust”), attempting to change the world from the stage (“Star”), losing one’s identity (“Hang On To Yourself”), and the inevitable drugs and groupies (“Suffragette City”). Ziggy reaches the height of his Earthly success and ego in the glam rock anthem “Ziggy Stardust” (“Ziggy really sang, screwed up eyes and screwed down hairdo; Like some cat from Japan, he could lick 'em by smiling; He could leave 'em to hang, Came on so loaded man, well hung and snow white tan.”) Unfortunately, as was the case with many of the icons from the time period, the pressure of fame and the excess prove to be too much for Ziggy. In the albums’ closer, “Rock and Roll Suicide,” Ziggy is battling a drug-fueled depression and paranoia and a unnamed narrator is pleading in vain for Ziggy to save himself (“Oh no love! you're not alone; You're watching yourself but you're too unfair; You got your head all tangled up but if I could only make you care”).

Hearing this album for the first time left me with chills, and no, it’s not because I think Bowie is hot or anything. What Bowie did with this album was bring a sense of stage drama to rock and roll that it had previously never known. While there had been concept albums produced in the past, none were as intricate and detailed as this. The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust remains the ultimate fusion of rock and roll and the theatre/drama genre.

Looking past all this high-brow, rock and roll elitism, the performances are jaw-dropping. Bowie showcases all of his versatility, singing straight-ahead rock songs (“Moonage Daydream,” “Ziggy Stardust,” “Suffragette City”), ballads (“Soul Love,” “Lady Stardust”), and operatic/avant-garde pieces (“Five Years,” “Rock n’ Roll Suicide”) with equal emotiveness, power, and effectiveness (Okay, maybe I do have a bit of a crush on Mr. Bowie). Mick Ronson’s guitar proves perfect compliment to the sound Bowie was seeking here. The music sounds as if it is coming from a futuristic place, fusing blues, rock, proto-punk/metal into a final product that sounds like it is indeed coming from a distant, future planet. In short, the album makes me want to apply make-up, a rooster wig and pretend I’m a rock star alien. Pretty influential, no?

Key Tracks—“Five Years,” “Moonage Daydream,” “Starman,” “Ziggy Stardust,” “Rock n’ Roll Suicide”

Gram Parsons—Sacred Hearts and Fallen Angels (Anthology)

Going from androgynous glam rocker David Bowie to country icon Gram Parsons? Some may wonder if this is a list of influential albums or a list of people who would have absolutely nothing to talk about if they came face to face. But never fear, we’re still on track and I just have a very eclectic musical palette. If music genres were women, I would not be differentiating in the least between blondes, brunettes, redheads, or even various shades of pink/blue/green for the alternative crowd.

Anyway, I know this isn’t an album proper, but it is the best representation of one of music’s forgotten pioneers. If anyone has a problem with me using a compilation here, I will kindly introduce you to my law firm, Buh Low & Mee. Anyway, I remember downloading a Black Crowes concert in which they performed two covers, “She” and “Hot Burrito 2.” I was floored by both of these songs, the achingly poignant storytelling of “She” and the romantic exuberance and frustration of “Hot Burrito #2.” I immediately ran out to CD Central and picked up this anthology and was hooked from the opening notes. The two-disc package highlights Gram’s recordings with the International Submarine Band, The Byrds, The Flying Burrito Brothers, and his two solo albums.

For me, Gram represents the fusion of all of America’s musical genres, from folk to gospel to country to blues to rock and roll. He was on a quest to combine all of these into what he called Cosmic American music and, after listening to Sacred Hearts and Fallen Angels, it is clear that he was successful in his mission.

Over the course of the two discs, Parsons displays equal aptitude for pure country (“Miller’s Cave,” “Hickory Wind,” “You’re Still on my Mind,” “You Don’t Miss Your Water,” “Sing Me Back Home”), rock and roll (“Ooh Las Vegas,” “Christine’s Tune,” “One Hundred Years From Now”), gospel (“In My Hour of Darkness,” “The Angels Rejoiced Last Night”) and his own brand of music he created with the Flying Burrito Brothers and his two solo albums he cut before a drug overdose in the California Desert. More specifically, the material on The Burritos’ Gilded Palace of Sin and the solo albums GP and Return of the Grievous Angel, encapsulate the combination of all of the various forms of American music into a style that escapes any other categorization aside from Cosmic American Music. The uniqueness of the material actually prevents me from doing it justice in a song by song analysis. To understand his influence, it has to be noted that Gram paved the way for every alt-country act this generation has produced (think: Wilco, Whiskeytown, Ryan Adams, My Morning Jacket, etc.). The best advice I can give any potential listener is to just go buy this compilation. Some of the best 20 bucks I ever spent. If you buy this and you can actually get the heartbreak of “Hot Burrito #1” or “$1000 Wedding” or the American journey of “Return of the Grievous Angel” or the sly humor of “Sin City”  out of your head, I will personally buy your copy off of you. Hell, I’ve already worn mine out so I may buy it off you anyway.

Key Tracks—Miller’s Cave, Hickory Wind, You Don’t Miss Your Water, Sin City, Hot Burritos #1/#2, Dark End of the Street, Wheels, She, Return of the Grievous Angel, $1000 Wedding, Ooh Las Vegas, In My Hour of Darkness, Do Right Woman Do Right Man

The Black Crowes—Before the Frost…Until the Freeze

With this 2009 release, my favorite band produced the album they’ve been trying to make for 20 years and I was given what will likely be the blueprint for my musical tastes for the next 60 or so years. So, looking back on it, my threats/pleadings with the clerk to let me buy it at midnight on the release date were well warranted.

Upon hearing that the album would be recorded in front of a live audience at ex-Band member and American treasure Levon Helm’s barn in Woodstock, I had a good feeling about this album. After the first chords of album-opener “Good Morning Captain,” a lovely little song about the wonders of morning/afternoon sex, I knew this was something special. The songs themselves show a road-tested band at a creative peak, exploring the textures of groove-rock (“Good Morning Captain,” “A Train Still Makes a Lonely Sound,” “Make Glad,”), Gram Parsons-esque Americana (“Appaloosa,”  “The Shady Grove,” “Shine Along,” “Roll Old Jeremiah”), traditional country/bluegrass (“The Last Place that Love Lives,” “Garden Gate,” “So Many Times,” “Fork in the River), Stones-style disco (“I Ain’t Hiding”) and blues (“Kept My Soul”), muscular jams (“Been a Long Time (Waiting on Love),” “Greenhorn”) and even experiments with Middle Eastern stylings (the largely instrumental “Aimless Peacock”).

The band sounds equally adept at pulling off each of these genres. After three years with the same line-up (a long time in Crowe-land), we see a confident Rich Robinson leading the band through this two-album journey with a rock-solid rhythm section in place (bassist Sven Pipien and drummer Steve Gorman) and guitarist Luther Dickinson stepping to the forefront after his tentativeness on their previous effort, Warpaint, and ripping off blazing leads on “Good Morning Captain,” “Been a Long Time…,” and the Led Zeppelin III-esque “Make Glad.” Dickinson also shows his ability to scale back and play with an almost pleading tone on rustic, easygoing material such as “Appaloosa,” “Houston Don’t Dream About Me,” “The Shady Grove,” “Greenhorn,” and “Roll Old Jeremiah.” Guest Larry Campbell adds the finishing flourishes to this masterpiece on many songs, such as his banjo on “Good Morning Captain,” fiddle on “Aimless Peacock” and “Garden Gate,” and superb pedal steel on “So Many Times,” and “Roll Old Jeremiah.”

Chris Robinson’s voice is perfectly suited for the music on the album, as he is able to balance straight-ahead blues/soul singing for the albums more rocking material and the more country-leaning material. I also loved the lyrics to the album upon first listen, as Robinson gives us songs about morning delight in “Good Morning Captain” (“I wish there was another way, but my baby is wanting me to roll around in her bed all day”), the excess of big-city life in “I Ain’t Hidin’” (“Line at the Bathroom, line at the bar; Take it outside, do the rest in the car”) and “Kept My Soul” (“You can see right through these holes in my arms, that I still kept my soul”), multiple odes to going back home to simpler times in “Appaloosa” (“Take me home, where I dream my days away”) and “Shady Grove” (Hey boys up on high, don’t get stopped ‘fore you reach the sky; hey boys let it ring, a song for everyone to sing”), love lost in “A Train Still Makes a Lonely Sound” (“Way out West is where I’m goin, to forget the one I left behind”), “The Last Place that Love Lives” (It’s the last place that love lives; behind your eyes”) and “Shine Along” (If you her out on some Friday night, tell her I don’t miss her; won’t you tell her time is treatin’ me right), love kept in “Greenhorn” (“I wanna wake up in the mornin’, wake and look into your eyes”).

Combining the exploration of music’s wonderful genres, the unparalleled musicianship of a band with 20 years of road experience and the voice and lyrics of the best singer of my generation, with the general feeling of optimism and positive vibes flowing from the record, Before the Frost…Until the Freeze sums up my musical taste and much of my philosophy on life in general in two albums of pure majesty.

Key Tracks—Good Morning, Captain, Been a Long Time (Waiting On Love), A Train Still Makes a Lonely Sound, I Ain’t Hidin’, Make Glad, The Shady Grove, Shine Along, Roll Old Jeremiah, Greenhorn

TBD

I spent many hours (a slightly embarrassing number, actually) thinking about which of the scores of albums that I love should go in this spot. After not being able to come to a consensus of one on the topic, the proper conclusion went Chris Brown on me and slapped me in the face (too soon?). The reason I couldn’t figure out which album belonged here was because I haven’t heard it yet.

And therein lies the beauty of music and my fascination with and love for it. Musical tastes continually evolve over a lifetime. You never know when you will hear a song that will stop your heart and give you chills and research that artist and their influences. Music, for those who care about it like I do, is a continuing journey filled with countless breathtaking moments and pleasant surprises. I mean, if you told me six or seven years ago that I would be enjoying a southern-rock band doing a cover of Gram Parsons covering an Aretha Franklin song in a pure country style (“Do Right Woman, Do Right Man”), I would have told you that you were nuts and cranked up Aerosmith’s Rocks to an even louder volume. Music is a beautiful ride if you choose to let it take you wherever it may.

10 Albums that Changed My Life and the Lives of Those who Ride in My Car (Part I)

What do you get when you take a law student with three weeks of rediscovered freedom and a lifelong, borderline obsession with music? You get a music blog, boys and girls. Coming from the musical taste nadir that is rural southeastern Kentucky (I’m pretty sure Three Doors Down could set up an Elvis-in-Vegas-esque residency here and become billionaires), it is a minor miracle that I discovered good music. All statistics indicate that I should have ended up a whiskey-drinking, football-loving Toby Keith fan. Luckily, I only came away with two of those traits—hint: I love Maker’s Mark and the Buffalo Bills. Given the astronomical odds that I would turn into a person with good taste in music, I feel it may be my mission to be a beacon of musical guidance in a musical world that is filled with complete and utter shit (see: Nickelback).

As an introductory piece, I want to shed some light into my musical taste. The following list was compiled after some extensive searching of both my soul and my album collection and consists of what I think have been the ten most influential albums I have heard thus far in my life. Disclaimer: This is NOT my list of ten best albums of all time. This is a subjective list of the ten albums that have had the greatest amount of influence on me from the ages of 10-23.

AC/DC—Back in Black

Here’s the scene:  Ten-year old Cameron is hanging out with some of his older cousins and random “cool” neighborhood people shooting pool at his uncle’s place. I denote “cool” in this particular instance as a question how cool these guys were if some fifth grader is allowed to hang out with them. Regardless, I’m hanging with these guys and they’re listening to who knows what when one of the dudes puts in a new cassette (old school, baby). That cassette happened to contain AC/DC’s 1980 masterpiece and my life would never be the same. Was I scared by the tolling bells and slightly evil imagery of “Hells Bells?” A little. Was I confused as to what Brian Johnson was talking about when he wanted some young woman to shake him all night long? Unfortunately, yes. Did I fail to pick up on some of the 4,562 references to cunnigulus? Of course. None of that mattered. What I heard was this amazing force: Two guitars (from brothers Angus and Malcom Young) blasting out huge, singable riffs, a singer with an immensely powerful (if not versatile) voice, and well-written songs with big, sing-a-long choruses about booze, women, and hell. This clicked with me and my musical journey was off and running. Sure, AC/DC can be accused of juvenile lyrics or reworking the same three chords for the last 25 years, but I will always remember how I spent days trying to get the riff to “Back in Black” out of my head after hearing it for the first time and how I spent hours playing air guitar and fancying myself as Angus Young Jr, playing the riffs to “Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution” or “Shoot To Thrill.”

Key Tracks—Back in Black, Shoot to Thrill, Hells Bells, Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution

Aerosmith—Rocks

The next step in my musical evolution came courtesy of five rough-looking kids from the metropolis of Sunapee, New Hampshire. I had been exposed to Aerosmith prior to hearing Rocks, but it was either the older hits (think: Walk This Way, Sweet Emotion, Dream On) or their late-career fluff (think: Cryin’, Crazy, Dude Looks Like a Lady). I remember picking up Rocks from a K-Mart (remember those?) with some money I had gotten for my birthday from my uncle or grandma or the town rapist or somebody. I dunno. But what I do remember is hearing that ominous six-string bass riff of “Back in the Saddle” played by Joe Perry building up and up and up until it reaches a peak with Steven Tyler screeching “I’m BAAAAAAAAAACK!!” Almost instantly, I’m pretty sure my testicles increased substantially in size. From there, the album never lets up, from songs of funky rebellion (“Last Child”) to earthquakes (“Nobody’s Fault”) to cheeky sexual innuendo (“Lick and a Promise”) to drug use (“Rats in the Cellar”) and more drug use (“Sick as a Dog”). Oh, I forgot, a little more drug use (“Combination”). This was Aerosmith at their drugged out, sleazy peak. Steven Tyler’s lyrics are sleazy, clever, and his voice is one of a confident singer who knows he had, by that time, surpassed Mick Jagger in the Bad-Ass Frontman category. Guitarists Joe Perry and Brad Whitford were both at the top of their game in terms of catchy, groovable songwriting (“Last Child,” “Back in the Saddle”) and guitar interplay in “Rats in the Cellar,” an amazing song that sounds like Beck-era Yardbirds on steroids and a few ounces of heroin. I had found rock and roll’s gutter and I was in love. This was Aerosmith at their peak. This was the album that made Slash of Guns n’ Roses turn down a sure lay and run to buy the album (the same thing happened for me, only swap the willing girl with, well, no girl for 16-year old Cameron).

Key Tracks—“Back in the Saddle,” “Last Child,” “Rats in the Cellar,” “Sick as a Dog”

The Black Crowes—Amorica

I had heard of these guys before (I’m 17 or 18 at this point), but mostly just the stuff that gets overplayed on classic rock radio (Jealous Again, Hard to Handle, She Talks to Angels). I’d always liked what I heard (singer Chris Robinson sounds like a hybrid of Rod Stewart, Levon Helm, and Joe Cocker), but was never blown away. That all changed when I saw this album with a bikini pic on the front complete with protruding pubic hair. After purchasing this album with my Captain D’s money, I popped it into my player and was blown away. I had found my favorite band, and one I would spend the better part of four years following around. The Crowes are the epitome of what I want from a band.

Fantastic singer—check.  Chris Robinson’s voice is equal parts soulful, powerful, and emotive.

Great songwriting—check. The Brothers Robinson (Chris and Rich) produced their most remarkable songs on this album. The sprawling, 12-minute salvo of “Ballad in Urgency/Wiser Time” captures the essence of a road-weary band pushing on looking for that good day when everyone can “part the sea.” “Cursed Diamond” is equal parts desperate confessional (“I hate myself, Doesn't everybody hate themselves; I scare myself, Then I tell myself it's all in my mind) and longing pleading (“I wanna shine for you, I wanna sparkle too; just like a Diamond Cursed”)

Musicianship/Talent—We’ve already covered Chris’ voice, which this biased observer has seen as the epitome of American vocal talent. Brother Rich is this generation’s best riff-maker and the heir apparent to the Chuck Berry/Keith Richards lineage, with “Gone” and “P.25 London” being prime examples of put-your-dick-in-the-dirt guitar riffs. Now ex-guitarist Marc Ford may be the most underrated lead player of all time, being equally adept at playing off of Rich (the guitar duel before the final chorus of “Wiser Time” and the acoustic interplay in “Non-Fiction”) and taking his own soaring, Beck/Clapton-esque leads complete with Hendrix-like distortion in the breaks between the verses in “Gone,” and the blistering solos in “She Gave Good Sunflower.” Laying the foundation for this all is the rock-solid foundation laid by drummer Steve Gorman, the man Jimmy Page deemed to be worthy to fill the kit once held by the immortal John Bonham. Keyboardist Eddie Harsch provides one of my favorite piano-riff driven songs of all time (“Descending”).

Needless to say, I played this album repeatedly. In my car. While running. In the shower. During sex (kidding—sorta). This was the album that propelled music to the forefront of my life and ultimately sent me to 10 Crowes shows from 2007-2010 and led several of my friends to wonder if my ultimate goal was to get onto the tour bus and bang the Robinsons. Yeah, this was an important album.

Key tracks—“Ballad In UrgencyàWiser Time,” “Cursed Diamond,” “She Gave Good Sunflower,” “Gone,” “Descending” 

The Rolling Stones—Exile on Main St.

Here’s where this gets tough. What the hell can I add that hasn’t already been said about the album which has probably received more media coverage/commentary than any other in the history of music? Can I really add anything of substance to an album David Fricke recently wrote another in-depth piece about?  Attempting to do so would be like me going to Tommy Lee to give him tips on being, um, well-endowed.

What I can do, however, is give an account of what the album means to me in a subjective sense. I loved the Stones and thought Keith Richards was the definition of swash-buckling rock star. And then I bought Exile on Main St. I didn’t get it at first. In fact, I thought it kinda blew. The sound was muddy, the album seemed to be too long, and Jagger’s vocals are buried deep in the mix. After giving it a few spins, I still wasn’t convinced.

A funny thing happened on about my 14 1/2th listen. Something clicked. A switch flipped. I was listening to Jagger’s ode to Richards (“Torn and Frayed”) and it felt like the music gods sent a shock through my body and I was no longer unwashed. It all made sense. This is the quintessential Album. The sound isn’t muddy; It’s the sound of a group holing up in a French mansion and recording an album at the peak of their rebellion. It’s not too long. Every song on the album adds something, whether it’s the break-neck tour of America in the proto-punk of “Rip This Joint,” the sly political twist of the album in “Sweet Black Angel,” the gospel overtones and redemptive lyrics of “Shine a Light,” or even the quick folk/blues romp of “Turd on the Run.” Jagger’s voice isn’t buried in the mix; it blends in as one of the instruments and becomes powerful in its own way. He’s at the top of his lyrical game here, combining humor (“Tumbling Dice,” “Casino Boogie,” and “Sweet Virginia”), angst (“Rocks Off,” “Ventilator Blues”) and redemption/longing (“Loving Cup,” “Let it Loose,” “Shine a Light”). His vocal on the underrated “Let it Loose” is the standard for that of the longing, soulful, pleading singer.

“Exile…” has it all. The opener, “Rocks Off,” is the ultimate disenchanted rock star song (“The sunshine bores the daylights outta me”). “Tumbling Dice” is a rollicking trip through a raunchy casino/riverboat and makes me want to catch the next plane to Vegas and blow thousands of dollars on gambling and fast women every time I hear it (luckily, I don’t have thousands of dollars). The Stones delve into the roots of American folk/country in “Sweet Virginia,” “Torn and Frayed,” and “Stop Breakin’ Down,” and put their own definitive stamp on Americana. “Torn and Frayed” will be played at my funeral; if it’s not, my ghost will be piiiiised. “All Down the Line” reminds us that no one does straight ahead rock better than the Stones and gives us one of the defining Keef riffs.

In short, Exile on Main St. is everything that an album should be. That’s the best way to describe it. Buy it. Listen to it. Listen to it again. Listen until you “get it.”

Key Tracks—“Tumbling Dice,” “Rocks Off,” “Let it Loose,” “Shine a Light,” “Torn and Frayed,” “Loving Cup,” “All Down the Line,” and “Sweet Virginia.”

Bob Dylan—The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan

Before I heard this album, I thought good music could only be produced with a singer, two guitars, bass, drums, and perhaps a keyboard. Robert Zimmerman changed all of that nonsense. By the time I got into Bob, I was in college and I think Dylan is required listening for any new college student (I think this album and a couple ounces of weed were in my Welcome to School packet waiting for me in my first dorm room).

This is my ultimate man-and-a-guitar album. The inquisitive “Blowin in the Wind” gets lumped in with the label “60s protest song” all too often, but is really just an emotional plea for any oppressed group that will be relevant from now until the end of time. Political commentary also flows from the angry “Masters of War,” where Dylan unleashes a bitter attack on those who control the weaponized destruction of man without ever seeing the front lines. The peculiar strumming of the guitar and the sheer contempt in Dylan’s vocal delivery give the song an ominous sense of foreboding which will send chills down your spine, provided you have a soul and all. “A Hard Rain’s a Gonna Fall” is almost indescribable. It’s one of the most powerful and complex songs ever written, written in a question-answer format that foretells the ultimate destruction of man via some inevitable force. The final verse says everything there has ever been to say in music. No one will ever top this song; it’s like the Michael Jordan of folk songs.

The versatility sets this album apart from the other folk albums of the 60s. Bob’s humor is on full display, especially in the absurdist, improvised musings in “Bob Dylan’s Blues,” and the satirical “Talkin’ World War III Blues,” in which Dylan takes the talking blues format and shows the absurd and humorous side of nuclear hysteria (“I said, “Howdy friend, I guess there’s just us two”; He screamed a bit and away he flew, Thought I was a Communist”). The contrast between “WW III Blues” and “Hard Rain” are the perfect illustration of Dylan’s mastery of songwriting. He can be profound and complex, while at the same time making you laugh your ass off all while singing about the same subject.

Bob’s dalliance with Suze Rotolo gave the world the ultimate break-up song. “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right” is simply brilliant. A self-pitying song for any man who feels he has been wronged by some harlot (“I give her my heart but she wanted my soul; But don’t think twice, it’s all right”), Bob goes into “Eff-You Mode” and you just want to hunt down the woman who made him feel this way and yell obscenities at the tramp. The hallmark of any song is the sense of emotion it incites, and “Don’t Think Twice…” inflames the senses and causes us to question how we could ever be naïve enough to think romance really exists. Wistful nostalgia is the theme of one of the albums other central songs. “Girl From the North Country” takes the Scarborough Fair melody and spins a tale about a protagonist wondering aloud about a past love. The song is melancholy (“I wonder if she remembers me at all, many times I’ve often prayed”) but there is a subliminal sense of optimism in that the song reinforces the notion of the existence of true love.

Freewheelin’ represents Dylan’s leap from folk interpreter to master songwriter with complete dominion over the poetic muse. For me, the album represents a transition from a pure rock and roll fan to a true student of music. The album proved to me that one man can break your heart with one line and send you into a seething anger with another and make you fear for the fate of mankind with another. All you need is a man and a guitar. And a little genius.

Key Tracks—“A Hard Rain’s a Gonna Fall,” “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right,” “Girl From the North Country,” “Talkin’ World War III Blues,” “Blowin’ in the Wind”

10 Albums that Changed My Life and the Lives of Those who Ride in My Car (Part I)

What do you get when you take a law student with three weeks of rediscovered freedom and a lifelong, borderline obsession with music? You get a music blog, boys and girls. Coming from the musical taste nadir that is rural southeastern Kentucky (I’m pretty sure Three Doors Down could set up an Elvis-in-Vegas-esque residency here and become billionaires), it is a minor miracle that I discovered good music. All statistics indicate that I should have ended up a whiskey-drinking, football-loving Toby Keith fan. Luckily, I only came away with two of those traits—hint: I love Maker’s Mark and the Buffalo Bills. Given the astronomical odds that I would turn into a person with good taste in music, I feel it may be my mission to be a beacon of musical guidance in a musical world that is filled with complete and utter shit (see: Nickelback).

As an introductory piece, I want to shed some light into my musical taste. The following list was compiled after some extensive searching of both my soul and my album collection and consists of what I think have been the ten most influential albums I have heard thus far in my life. Disclaimer: This is NOT my list of ten best albums of all time. This is a subjective list of the ten albums that have had the greatest amount of influence on me from the ages of 10-23.

AC/DC—Back in Black

Here’s the scene:  Ten-year old Cameron is hanging out with some of his older cousins and random “cool” neighborhood people shooting pool at his uncle’s place. I denote “cool” in this particular instance as a question how cool these guys were if some fifth grader is allowed to hang out with them. Regardless, I’m hanging with these guys and they’re listening to who knows what when one of the dudes puts in a new cassette (old school, baby). That cassette happened to contain AC/DC’s 1980 masterpiece and my life would never be the same. Was I scared by the tolling bells and slightly evil imagery of “Hells Bells?” A little. Was I confused as to what Brian Johnson was talking about when he wanted some young woman to shake him all night long? Unfortunately, yes. Did I fail to pick up on some of the 4,562 references to cunnigulus? Of course. None of that mattered. What I heard was this amazing force: Two guitars (from brothers Angus and Malcom Young) blasting out huge, singable riffs, a singer with an immensely powerful (if not versatile) voice, and well-written songs with big, sing-a-long choruses about booze, women, and hell. This clicked with me and my musical journey was off and running. Sure, AC/DC can be accused of juvenile lyrics or reworking the same three chords for the last 25 years, but I will always remember how I spent days trying to get the riff to “Back in Black” out of my head after hearing it for the first time and how I spent hours playing air guitar and fancying myself as Angus Young Jr, playing the riffs to “Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution” or “Shoot To Thrill.”

Key Tracks—Back in Black, Shoot to Thrill, Hells Bells, Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution

Aerosmith—Rocks

The next step in my musical evolution came courtesy of five rough-looking kids from the metropolis of Sunapee, New Hampshire. I had been exposed to Aerosmith prior to hearing Rocks, but it was either the older hits (think: Walk This Way, Sweet Emotion, Dream On) or their late-career fluff (think: Cryin’, Crazy, Dude Looks Like a Lady). I remember picking up Rocks from a K-Mart (remember those?) with some money I had gotten for my birthday from my uncle or grandma or the town rapist or somebody. I dunno. But what I do remember is hearing that ominous six-string bass riff of “Back in the Saddle” played by Joe Perry building up and up and up until it reaches a peak with Steven Tyler screeching “I’m BAAAAAAAAAACK!!” Almost instantly, I’m pretty sure my testicles increased substantially in size. From there, the album never lets up, from songs of funky rebellion (“Last Child”) to earthquakes (“Nobody’s Fault”) to cheeky sexual innuendo (“Lick and a Promise”) to drug use (“Rats in the Cellar”) and more drug use (“Sick as a Dog”). Oh, I forgot, a little more drug use (“Combination”). This was Aerosmith at their drugged out, sleazy peak. Steven Tyler’s lyrics are sleazy, clever, and his voice is one of a confident singer who knows he had, by that time, surpassed Mick Jagger in the Bad-Ass Frontman category. Guitarists Joe Perry and Brad Whitford were both at the top of their game in terms of catchy, groovable songwriting (“Last Child,” “Back in the Saddle”) and guitar interplay in “Rats in the Cellar,” an amazing song that sounds like Beck-era Yardbirds on steroids and a few ounces of heroin. I had found rock and roll’s gutter and I was in love. This was Aerosmith at their peak. This was the album that made Slash of Guns n’ Roses turn down a sure lay and run to buy the album (the same thing happened for me, only swap the willing girl with, well, no girl for 16-year old Cameron).

Key Tracks—“Back in the Saddle,” “Last Child,” “Rats in the Cellar,” “Sick as a Dog”

The Black Crowes—Amorica

I had heard of these guys before (I’m 17 or 18 at this point), but mostly just the stuff that gets overplayed on classic rock radio (Jealous Again, Hard to Handle, She Talks to Angels). I’d always liked what I heard (singer Chris Robinson sounds like a hybrid of Rod Stewart, Levon Helm, and Joe Cocker), but was never blown away. That all changed when I saw this album with a bikini pic on the front complete with protruding pubic hair. After purchasing this album with my Captain D’s money, I popped it into my player and was blown away. I had found my favorite band, and one I would spend the better part of four years following around. The Crowes are the epitome of what I want from a band.

Fantastic singer—check.  Chris Robinson’s voice is equal parts soulful, powerful, and emotive.

Great songwriting—check. The Brothers Robinson (Chris and Rich) produced their most remarkable songs on this album. The sprawling, 12-minute salvo of “Ballad in Urgency/Wiser Time” captures the essence of a road-weary band pushing on looking for that good day when everyone can “part the sea.” “Cursed Diamond” is equal parts desperate confessional (“I hate myself, Doesn't everybody hate themselves; I scare myself, Then I tell myself it's all in my mind) and longing pleading (“I wanna shine for you, I wanna sparkle too; just like a Diamond Cursed”)

Musicianship/Talent—We’ve already covered Chris’ voice, which this biased observer has seen as the epitome of American vocal talent. Brother Rich is this generation’s best riff-maker and the heir apparent to the Chuck Berry/Keith Richards lineage, with “Gone” and “P.25 London” being prime examples of put-your-dick-in-the-dirt guitar riffs. Now ex-guitarist Marc Ford may be the most underrated lead player of all time, being equally adept at playing off of Rich (the guitar duel before the final chorus of “Wiser Time” and the acoustic interplay in “Non-Fiction”) and taking his own soaring, Beck/Clapton-esque leads complete with Hendrix-like distortion in the breaks between the verses in “Gone,” and the blistering solos in “She Gave Good Sunflower.” Laying the foundation for this all is the rock-solid foundation laid by drummer Steve Gorman, the man Jimmy Page deemed to be worthy to fill the kit once held by the immortal John Bonham. Keyboardist Eddie Harsch provides one of my favorite piano-riff driven songs of all time (“Descending”).

Needless to say, I played this album repeatedly. In my car. While running. In the shower. During sex (kidding—sorta). This was the album that propelled music to the forefront of my life and ultimately sent me to 10 Crowes shows from 2007-2010 and led several of my friends to wonder if my ultimate goal was to get onto the tour bus and bang the Robinsons. Yeah, this was an important album.

Key tracks—“Ballad In UrgencyàWiser Time,” “Cursed Diamond,” “She Gave Good Sunflower,” “Gone,” “Descending” 

The Rolling Stones—Exile on Main St.

Here’s where this gets tough. What the hell can I add that hasn’t already been said about the album which has probably received more media coverage/commentary than any other in the history of music? Can I really add anything of substance to an album David Fricke recently wrote another in-depth piece about?  Attempting to do so would be like me going to Tommy Lee to give him tips on being, um, well-endowed.

What I can do, however, is give an account of what the album means to me in a subjective sense. I loved the Stones and thought Keith Richards was the definition of swash-buckling rock star. And then I bought Exile on Main St. I didn’t get it at first. In fact, I thought it kinda blew. The sound was muddy, the album seemed to be too long, and Jagger’s vocals are buried deep in the mix. After giving it a few spins, I still wasn’t convinced.

A funny thing happened on about my 14 1/2th listen. Something clicked. A switch flipped. I was listening to Jagger’s ode to Richards (“Torn and Frayed”) and it felt like the music gods sent a shock through my body and I was no longer unwashed. It all made sense. This is the quintessential Album. The sound isn’t muddy; It’s the sound of a group holing up in a French mansion and recording an album at the peak of their rebellion. It’s not too long. Every song on the album adds something, whether it’s the break-neck tour of America in the proto-punk of “Rip This Joint,” the sly political twist of the album in “Sweet Black Angel,” the gospel overtones and redemptive lyrics of “Shine a Light,” or even the quick folk/blues romp of “Turd on the Run.” Jagger’s voice isn’t buried in the mix; it blends in as one of the instruments and becomes powerful in its own way. He’s at the top of his lyrical game here, combining humor (“Tumbling Dice,” “Casino Boogie,” and “Sweet Virginia”), angst (“Rocks Off,” “Ventilator Blues”) and redemption/longing (“Loving Cup,” “Let it Loose,” “Shine a Light”). His vocal on the underrated “Let it Loose” is the standard for that of the longing, soulful, pleading singer.

“Exile…” has it all. The opener, “Rocks Off,” is the ultimate disenchanted rock star song (“The sunshine bores the daylights outta me”). “Tumbling Dice” is a rollicking trip through a raunchy casino/riverboat and makes me want to catch the next plane to Vegas and blow thousands of dollars on gambling and fast women every time I hear it (luckily, I don’t have thousands of dollars). The Stones delve into the roots of American folk/country in “Sweet Virginia,” “Torn and Frayed,” and “Stop Breakin’ Down,” and put their own definitive stamp on Americana. “Torn and Frayed” will be played at my funeral; if it’s not, my ghost will be piiiiised. “All Down the Line” reminds us that no one does straight ahead rock better than the Stones and gives us one of the defining Keef riffs.

In short, Exile on Main St. is everything that an album should be. That’s the best way to describe it. Buy it. Listen to it. Listen to it again. Listen until you “get it.”

Key Tracks—“Tumbling Dice,” “Rocks Off,” “Let it Loose,” “Shine a Light,” “Torn and Frayed,” “Loving Cup,” “All Down the Line,” and “Sweet Virginia.”

Bob Dylan—The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan

Before I heard this album, I thought good music could only be produced with a singer, two guitars, bass, drums, and perhaps a keyboard. Robert Zimmerman changed all of that nonsense. By the time I got into Bob, I was in college and I think Dylan is required listening for any new college student (I think this album and a couple ounces of weed were in my Welcome to School packet waiting for me in my first dorm room).

This is my ultimate man-and-a-guitar album. The inquisitive “Blowin in the Wind” gets lumped in with the label “60s protest song” all too often, but is really just an emotional plea for any oppressed group that will be relevant from now until the end of time. Political commentary also flows from the angry “Masters of War,” where Dylan unleashes a bitter attack on those who control the weaponized destruction of man without ever seeing the front lines. The peculiar strumming of the guitar and the sheer contempt in Dylan’s vocal delivery give the song an ominous sense of foreboding which will send chills down your spine, provided you have a soul and all. “A Hard Rain’s a Gonna Fall” is almost indescribable. It’s one of the most powerful and complex songs ever written, written in a question-answer format that foretells the ultimate destruction of man via some inevitable force. The final verse says everything there has ever been to say in music. No one will ever top this song; it’s like the Michael Jordan of folk songs.

The versatility sets this album apart from the other folk albums of the 60s. Bob’s humor is on full display, especially in the absurdist, improvised musings in “Bob Dylan’s Blues,” and the satirical “Talkin’ World War III Blues,” in which Dylan takes the talking blues format and shows the absurd and humorous side of nuclear hysteria (“I said, “Howdy friend, I guess there’s just us two”; He screamed a bit and away he flew, Thought I was a Communist”). The contrast between “WW III Blues” and “Hard Rain” are the perfect illustration of Dylan’s mastery of songwriting. He can be profound and complex, while at the same time making you laugh your ass off all while singing about the same subject.

Bob’s dalliance with Suze Rotolo gave the world the ultimate break-up song. “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right” is simply brilliant. A self-pitying song for any man who feels he has been wronged by some harlot (“I give her my heart but she wanted my soul; But don’t think twice, it’s all right”), Bob goes into “Eff-You Mode” and you just want to hunt down the woman who made him feel this way and yell obscenities at the tramp. The hallmark of any song is the sense of emotion it incites, and “Don’t Think Twice…” inflames the senses and causes us to question how we could ever be naïve enough to think romance really exists. Wistful nostalgia is the theme of one of the albums other central songs. “Girl From the North Country” takes the Scarborough Fair melody and spins a tale about a protagonist wondering aloud about a past love. The song is melancholy (“I wonder if she remembers me at all, many times I’ve often prayed”) but there is a subliminal sense of optimism in that the song reinforces the notion of the existence of true love.

Freewheelin’ represents Dylan’s leap from folk interpreter to master songwriter with complete dominion over the poetic muse. For me, the album represents a transition from a pure rock and roll fan to a true student of music. The album proved to me that one man can break your heart with one line and send you into a seething anger with another and make you fear for the fate of mankind with another. All you need is a man and a guitar. And a little genius.

Key Tracks—“A Hard Rain’s a Gonna Fall,” “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right,” “Girl From the North Country,” “Talkin’ World War III Blues,” “Blowin’ in the Wind”