"Bullets Over Broadway" (1994): One of Woody Allen's Best

I try to keep up with every new Woody Allen film that comes out. It all started when friends who knew my taste started telling me I would love Annie Hall (1977), Allen's watershed romantic comedy where he began exploring more serious themes without missing a step on the comedy.

I do still love Annie Hall to this day; for me, it never gets old. If I had to pick a handful of Allen's best films of the three decades since Annie Hall, one would certainly be his 1994 comic drama Bullets Over Broadway. Set in 1928, a heyday for Broadway, the mob, and Greenwich Village cafe' intellectuals, Allen and co-writer Douglas McGrath blend these three worlds seamlessly. And as with Annie Hall, Woody's trademark wit and charm make this film one fun ride. So take the dive and see this witty exploration art, love and life in Roaring Twenties New York -- you'll want to break out the good bathtub gin. (For a peak inside the film, check out the trailer below.)

Tracing Roots: "Cowboy Junkies" do Patsy Cline

Banyan Street, Boca Grande, Florida

I'm back from a South Florida beach vacation high that just won't let go. Boca Grande is simply full of memories that go back generations. Every time I visit I come back with more stories about family, friends, storms, fishing and fisherman.

Just running on instinct, when I got back I put on the first thing that popped into my head: The Cowboy Junkies 1988 album The Trinity Session. So, sticking with my half-developed theme of rediscovering roots, here's a cover of Margo and the boys doing a beautiful blues arrangement of the Patsy Cline classic Walking after Midnight (1957), released 54 years ago this year.

"In Love and Art and Rock n' Roll, the Whole Had Better Equal Much More Than the Sum of the Parts"

(Repost from 2008 for while I'm away. Catch you next week.)

In 2005, U2 was inducted into the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame. I remember hearing the induction speech by Bruce Springsteen during a broadcast of the ceremonies to this day. It's one of the best essays on the meaning of rock n' roll I've ever heard, succinctly covering the essence of both U2 and also rock n' roll generally as an artistic force.

The speech captured just how cosmic the reach of great rock n' roll can, should, and arguably must, be. The speech is also brilliant, as my brother noted, in its simplicity. Further, Springsteen makes it personal. And I'm sure every reflective rock fan can tell you how they relate on a personal level to their favorite artists -- how this music touches their lives.

My mid-Atlantic correspondent, the Paullinator, recently found a transcript of the speech on The U2 Station News Blog. Though I here break my rule about the maximum length of a post, judge for yourself whether or not I made a good call. (For clarity, I've added a several links on one song and a few of the record industry folks referred to.)

Bruce Springsteen Inducts U2 into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

(text by Bruce Springsteen)

Uno, dos, tres, catorce. That translates as one, two, three, fourteen. That is the correct math for a rock and roll band. For in art and love and rock and roll, the whole had better equal much more than the sum of its parts, or else you're just rubbing two sticks together searching for fire. A great rock band searches for the same kind of combustible force that fueled the expansion of the universe after the big bang. You want the earth to shake and spit fire. You want the sky to split apart and for God to pour out.

It's embarrassing to want so much, and to expect so much from music, except sometimes it happens -- the Sun Sessions, Highway 61, Sgt. Peppers, the Band, Robert Johnson, Exile on Main Street, Born to Run -- whoops, I meant to leave that one out (laughter) -- the Sex Pistols, Aretha Franklin, the Clash, James Brown...the proud and public enemies it takes a nation of millions to hold back. This is music meant to take on not only the powers that be, but on a good day, the universe and God himself -- if He was listening. It's man's accountability, and U2 belongs on this list.

It was the early '80s. I went with Pete Townshend, who always wanted to catch the first whiff of those about to unseat us, to a club in London. There they were: A young Bono -- single-handedly pioneering the Irish mullet; (laughter) the Edge -- what kind of name was that?; Adam and Larry. I was listening to the last band of whom I would be able to name all of its members. They had an exciting show and a big, beautiful sound. They lifted the roof.

We met afterwards and they were nice young men. They were Irish. Irish! Now, this would play an enormous part in their success in the States. For what the English occasionally have the refined sensibilities to overcome, we Irish and Italians have no such problem. We come through the door fists and hearts first. U2, with the dark, chiming sound of heaven at their command -- which, of course, is the sound of unrequited love and longing, their greatest theme -- their search for God intact. This was a band that wanted to lay claim to not only this world but had their eyes on the next one, too.

Now, they're a real band; each member plays a vital part. I believe they actually practice some form of democracy -- toxic poison in a band's head. In Iraq, maybe. In rock, no! Yet they survive. They have harnessed the time bomb that exists in the heart of every great rock and roll band that usually explodes, as we see regularly from this stage. But they seemed to have innately understood the primary rule of rock band job security: "Hey, asshole, the other guy is more important than you think he is!" They are both a step forward and direct descendants of the great bands who believed rock music could shake things up in the world, who dared to have faith in their audience, who believed if they played their best it would bring out the best in you. They believed in pop stardom and the big time. Now this requires foolishness and a calculating mind. It also requires a deeply held faith in the work you're doing and in its powers to transform. U2 hungered for it all, and built a sound, and they wrote the songs that demanded it. They're keepers of some of the most beautiful sonic architecture in rock and roll.

The Edge. The Edge. The Edge. The Edge. (applause) He is a rare and true guitar original and one of the subtlest guitar heroes of all time. He's dedicated to ensemble playing and he subsumes his guitar ego in the group. But do not be fooled. Take Jimi Hendrix, Chuck Berry, Neil Young, Pete Townshend -- guitarists who defined the sound of their band and their times. If you play like them, you sound like them. If you are playing those rhythmic two-note sustained fourths, drenched in echo, you are going to sound like the Edge, my son. Go back to the drawing board and chances are you won't have much luck. There are only a handful of guitar stylists who can create a world with their instruments, and he's one of them. The Edge's guitar playing creates enormous space and vast landscapes. It is a thrilling and a heartbreaking sound that hangs over you like the unsettled sky. In the turf it stakes out, it is inherently spiritual. It is grace and it is a gift.

Now, all of this has to be held down by something. The deep sureness of Adam Clayton's bass and the rhythms of Larry Mullen's elegant drumming hold the band down while propelling it forward. It's in U2's great rhythm section that the band finds its sexuality and its dangerousness. Listen to "Desire," "She Moves in Mysterious Ways," [sic] the pulse of "With or Without You." Together Larry and Adam create the element that suggests the ecstatic possibilities of that other kingdom -- the one below the earth and below the belt -- that no great rock band can lay claim to the title without.

Now Adam always strikes me as the professorial one, the sophisticated member. He creates not only the musical but physical stability on his side of the stage. The tone and depth of his bass playing has allowed the band to move from rock to dance music and beyond. One of the first things I noticed about U2 was that underneath the guitar and the bass, they have these very modern rhythms going on. Rather than a straight 2 and 4, Larry often plays with a lot of syncopation, and that connects the band to modern dance textures. The drums often sounded high and tight and he was swinging down there, and this gave the band a unique profile and allowed their rock textures to soar above on a bed of his rhythm.

Now Larry, of course, besides being an incredible drummer, bears the burden of being the band's requisite "good-looking member," (laughter) something we somehow overlooked in the E Street Band. (laughter) We have to settle for "charismatic." Girls love on Larry Mullen! I have a female assistant that would like to sit on Larry's drum stool. A male one, too. We all have our crosses to bear.

Bono...where do I begin? Jeans designer, soon-to-be World Bank operator, just plain operator, seller of the Brooklyn Bridge -- oh hold up, he played under the Brooklyn Bridge, that's right. Soon-to-be mastermind operator of the Bono burger franchise, where more than one million stories will be told by a crazy Irishman. Now I realize that it's a dirty job and somebody has to do it, but don't quit your day job yet, my friend. You're pretty good at it, and a sound this big needs somebody to ride herd over it.

And ride herd over it he does. His voice, big-hearted and open, thoroughly decent no matter how hard he tries. Now he's a great frontman. Against the odds, he is not your mom's standard skinny, ex-junkie archetype. He has the physique of a rugby player...well, an ex-rugby player. Shaman, shyster, one of the greatest and most endearingly naked messianic complexes in rock and roll. (laughter) God bless you, man! It takes one to know one, of course.

You see, every good Irish and Italian-Irish front man knows that before James Brown there was Jesus. So hold the McDonald arches on the stage set, boys, we are not ironists. We are creations of the heart and of the earth and of the stations of the cross -- there's no getting out of it. He is gifted with an operatic voice and a beautiful falsetto rare among strong rock singers. But most important, his is a voice shot through with self-doubt. That's what makes that big sound work. It is this element of Bono's talent -- along with his beautiful lyric writing -- that gives the often-celestial music of U2 its fragility and its realness. It is the questioning, the constant questioning in Bono's voice, where the band stakes its claim to its humanity and declares its commonality with us.

Now Bono's voice often sounds like it's shouting not over top of the band but from deep within it. "Here we are, Lord, this mess, in your image." He delivers all of this with great drama and an occasional smirk that says, "Kiss me, I'm Irish." He's one of the great front men of the past twenty years. He is also one of the only musicians to devote his personal faith and the ideals of his band into the real world in a way that remains true to rock's earliest implications of freedom and connection and the possibility of something better.

Now the band's beautiful songwriting -- "Pride (In The Name of Love)," "Sunday Bloody Sunday," "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For," "One," "Where the Streets Have No Name," "Beautiful Day" -- reminds us of the stakes that the band always plays for. It's an incredible songbook. In their music you hear the spirituality as home and as quest. How do you find God unless he's in your heart? In your desire? In your feet? I believe this is a big part of what's kept their band together all of these years.

See, bands get formed by accident, but they don't survive by accident. It takes will, intent, a sense of shared purpose, and a tolerance for your friends' fallibilities...and they of yours. And that only evens the odds. U2 has not only evened the odds but they've beaten them by continuing to do their finest work and remaining at the top of their game and the charts for 25 years. I feel a great affinity for these guys as people as well as musicians.

Well...there I was sitting down on the couch in my pajamas with my eldest son. He was watching TV. I was doing one of my favorite things -- I was tallying up all the money I passed up in endorsements over the years (laughter) and thinking of all the fun I could have had with it. Suddenly I hear "Uno, dos, tres, catorce!" I look up. But instead of the silhouettes of the hippie wannabes bouncing around in the iPod commercial, I see my boys!

Oh, my God! They sold out!

Now...what I know about the iPod is this: It is a device that plays music. Of course their new song sounded great, my guys are doing great, but methinks I hear the footsteps of my old tape operator Jimmy Iovine somewhere. Wily. Smart. Now, personally, I live an insanely expensive lifestyle that my wife barely tolerates. I burn money, and that calls for huge amounts of cash flow. But I also have a ludicrous image of myself that keeps me from truly cashing in. (laughter) You can see my problem. Woe is me.

So the next morning, I call up Jon Landau -- or as I refer to him, "the American Paul McGuinness" -- and I say, "Did you see that iPod thing?" And he says, "Yes." And he says, "And I hear they didn't take any money." And I said, "They didn't take any money?!" And he says, "No." I said, "Smart, wily Irish guys." (laughter) Anybody...anybody...can do an ad and take the money. But to do the ad and not take the money...that's smart. That's wily. I say, "Jon, I want you to call up Bill Gates or whoever is behind this thing and float this: A red, white, and blue iPod signed by Bruce "the Boss" Springsteen. Now remember, no matter how much money he offers, don't take it!" (laughter)

At any rate...at any rate, after that evening, for the next month or so, I hear emanating from my lovely 14-year-old son's room, day after day, down the hall calling out in a voice that has recently dropped very low: Uno, dos, tres, catorce. The correct math for rock and roll. Thank you, boys.

(applause)

This band...this band has carried their faith in the great inspirational and resurrective power of rock and roll. It never faltered, only a little bit. They believed in themselves, but more importantly, they believed in "you, too." Thank you Bono, the Edge, Adam, and Larry. Please welcome U2 into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

© Bruce Springsteen, 2005

*****

Dusty Springfield: "Breakfast in Bed" (1969)

Repost from the summer of 2011:

Think back, it's 1969 and the R&B wizards at Atlantic Records are wrapping the Memphis sound around an extraordinarily talented British pop singer, Dusty Springfield. And the product couldn't fit in less with the times in America. So the tracks must age and then resurface.

They don't write 'em and record 'em like this anymore. Damn shame, too. This one gets more soulful and just plain gutsier the more you think about all the rules the lyrics break. But the sound, that Memphis sound wrapped around Dusty's blue-eyed soul voice -- it's still not politically correct, but that's not what's important here. Listen and you will find out what I mean.

Addendum: By coincidence, a song of Dusty's related to this one came up at Echoes in the Wind today. Here's the relevant part of what I wrote as a comment:

A sidebar regarding Dusty Springfield’s “You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me”, in that No. 5 slot [on the US pop singles chart this week in 1966]. A few years later, Muscle Shoals songwriters Eddie Hinton and Donnie Fritts used that song line in the chorus of a new song for Dusty’s 1969 album “Dusty in Memphis”. My lead post this week at Gold Coast Bluenote, by coincidence, is about that song, “Breakfast in Bed”.

Groovy coincidence, eh?

"U2": "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" ("Rattle and Hum" film, 1988)

In my heart I always knew this was a gospel song. Here's the proof, but Edge tells it better than I ever could. This recording is only used in the film Rattle and Hum (1988) -- a different live version is used on the companion album. That version doesn't touch this one.