Showing posts with label Paul McCartney. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Paul McCartney. Show all posts

Friday, April 9, 2010

Cords Of Fame

It was on this day in April in 1976, thirty-four years ago today, that musician Phil Ochs committed suicide. Although Ochs is generally known as a folk-protest, singer-songwriter strongly associated with the civil rights and anti-war movements of the 60s, his career actually consisted of two stages: his early, folk-topical material on Elektra, and his later, more personal material on A&M. I prefer his later, rock-oriented albums on A&M, such as Tape From California (1968) and Rehearsals For Retirement (1969); the latter album is, in my view, the best album he ever made. However, perhaps the best introduction to his work for the uninitiated is the now OOP three-disc box set Farewells & Fantasies (Rhino, 1997), a comprehensive career retrospective, that also happened to be nominated for a 1998 Grammy Award for Best Album Notes, comprised of contributions by Michael Ventura, Mark Kemp, his daughter Meegan Ochs, and Ben Edmonds.

For many years I’ve held Phil Ochs in sentimental regard, perhaps because he died so young, at age 35. His short, troubled life has been the subject of two biographies, both of which painfully recount the decline of Ochs’s mental condition in the 1970s, including his career-ruining alcoholism. So far as I know there’s never been published a formal professional opinion regarding the nature of Ochs’s mental illness; neither biographer indicates that Ochs ever sought psychiatric care nor help for his alcoholism. Marc Eliot, in the updated and expanded edition of his biography Death of a Rebel: A Biography of Phil Ochs (Franklin Watts, 1989; orig. pub. 1979) mentions Ochs’s “manic depression,” while Michael Schumacher, in There But For Fortune: The Life of Phil Ochs (Hyperion, 1996), simply refers to his recurring depressions. Surprisingly, there’s much about Ochs’s life that remains unknown. For instance, it wasn’t until the publication of David Cohen’s Phil Ochs: A Bio-Bibliography (Greenwood Press, 1999) that anyone knew Ochs had anonymously recorded the LP Camp Favorites (Cameo, 1962 or 1963), an album rather obviously consisting of traditional campfire songs. Apparently no one in Ochs’s family had ever seen a copy. In addition, there are certain events, accepted as fact, that frankly are poorly documented.

As an example of an event in Ochs’ life generally accepted as fact, but which begs credibility, consider the alleged strangling and robbery incident that took place in the city of Dar es Salaam in Tanzania in late 1973. As the story goes, Ochs was walking along the beach—alone—when he was attacked, strangled, and robbed. Both biographers dramatically recount the event, as follows:

Eliot: In September, Phil decided to take a trip to Africa. . . . He set up several concerts in African cities to coincide with a month long safari he planned to take. . . . The first evening he was in Tanzania, he took a long walk, alone, on the beach at Dar es Salaam, as the ocean glowed a gelatinous white. Suddenly, without provocation, he was jumped from behind by three black men. One held him around the neck, while the other two went through his pickets. Phil tried to scream as the arm tightened around his neck, rupturing the vocal cords. He couldn’t breathe, he tore frantically at the steel-like arm with his hands. His knees began to buckle, he felt himself starting to fall, blacking out on the way down. The men beat him savagely before taking off with his cash, leaving him sprawled on the beach. They found him early the next morning and rushed him to the hospital. His wounds were mostly superficial, except for his throat. The upper register was gone. He had no high notes. (221)

Schumacher: In late September, Phil flew to Africa for what he hoped would be a two-month period of restful travel and relaxation. . . . Dar-es-Salaam proved to be his undoing. One evening, while walking alone on the beach, he was attacked by three men, who jumped him from behind, strangling him and beating him to unconsciousness before robbing him and leaving him for dead. He was found early the next morning, still unconscious, and was taken to a nearby hospital. His vocal chords [sic] had been ruptured while he was being choked, and to Phil’s horror, he could no longer sing the upper three or four notes in his vocal range. . . . Phil stayed in the hospital for several days, during which he replayed the mugging over and over in his head. (279-80).

There are, of course, differences in the dramatic accents in each account. While both writers aver robbery as the motive for the assault, for Eliot, it was the first evening in Dar es Salaam; for Schumacher, it was “one evening.” Eliot indicates the attackers were black men; Schumacher doesn’t say. More significantly, Schumacher indicates Ochs was left for dead, while Eliot avers the wounds “were mostly superficial, except for his throat.” Nonetheless, while the wounds “were mostly superficial,” both biographers indicate he spent the night unconscious on the beach, because he wasn’t found (by whom?) until the next morning. These accounts raise some puzzling questions. Were the three attackers indeed black men? For if he were jumped from behind, as both biographers claim, how did he know the muggers were black, according to Eliot? And if he were beaten so severely by the attackers, so badly that he remained unconscious on the beach the entire night, why does Eliot aver the wounds were “mostly superficial”? Eliot indicates a “steel-like arm” was wrapped tightly around Ochs’ neck, while Schumacher doesn’t mention the powerful arm, just that he was strangled and choked. If Ochs’ vocal cords were indeed damaged, that would suggest the act of strangulation, in which case Ochs very likely would have known the racial identity of his assailant.

Frankly, the entire episode begs credibility. Although Schumacher refers on several occasions to a diary Ochs began keeping in the early 70s, he makes no reference to this diary during his recounting of the attack in Dar es Salaam. Since Ochs purportedly was alone at the time of the attack, on what basis do the biographers take the event as credible? When did the story originate? A clue is provided by Marc Eliot, who at least provides an actual quotation. Apparently Ochs was committed to a concert in Johannesburg, South Africa (which Schumacher also acknowledges), a performance that was something of an embarrassment. Eliot:

During that show [at Johannesburg], which lasted all of forty minutes, Phil drank beer continuously on stage, the icy brew helping to cool his burning throat. He put it down next to him at one point and kicked it over. He stopped singing until the bottle of beer was replaced. Then, while slurring something about his voice not being in the best condition, he fell completely off the stage, headfirst, into the orchestra pit. The next day, the front page of the Johannesburg Star headlined the story.

“Yeah, man, I was pretty crazy,” he told a reporter. “Getting all that beer down was not a normal part of my act. I’ve been in a dilemma for days, as I can’t decide whether to stay in South Africa or go back to America. I’ve got trouble with my voice. In Dar es Salaam three guys jumped me and strangled me as they robbed me. My voice is not right yet. I’m seeing a doctor.” (222)

Hence the evidence for the event, so far as I can tell, is from this remark in the Johannesburg Star (the date is not indicated in the text). Schumacher interviewed a friend of Ochs’s named David Ifshin (spelled “Ifshkin” on p. 206 of Eliot’s biography, the only time he is mentioned), who met up with Ochs in Kenya—after the Dar es Salaam incident, in other words. Schumacher:

“I vividly remember waiting for him outdoors as his plane landed in Nairobi,” said Ifshin. “He’d been strangled by muggers and he was really out of it. He had deteriorated badly from our adventure in South America. Almost the first thing he said was, ‘We’re going to have to control the drinking. You gotta help me stop on this trip. All I want is one beer a day.’ (281)

Since neither biographer indicates that Ifshin was with Ochs in Dar es Salaam, he obviously learned of the alleged strangulation from Ochs himself (again, both biographers indicate Ochs was alone at the time of the attack). Surprisingly, Schumacher places the recording of the songs “Bwatue” and “Niko Mchumba Ngambe” after the mugging, while Ifshin and Ochs were in Kenya, as is widely acknowledged. He also places the disastrous Johannesburg performance after the recording of these two songs in Kenya, so one is left to wonder just how badly his vocal cords were damaged. (Ochs simply indicated he was having trouble with voice, having been strangled while being robbed. Nothing about being beaten unconscious or ruptured vocal cords.) I should indicate that I have a fan-club reissue of the “Bwatue”/”Niko Mchumba Ngambe” single, and I notice no discernable difference in Ochs’ voice from previous recordings, although I don't claim to be an expert. But then again, I’m assuming, based on the biographical accounts, the recording of these songs took place after the Dar es Salaam event, not before.

As should be clear by now, based on the available evidence, I am dubious of the Dar es Salaam strangulation incident. I say this for another reason as well. While I’ve done no extensive research on the subject—and I state this explicitly—I feel it necessary to bring up the robbery of a rock star that serendipitously took place on the west coast of Africa at about the same time as the strangulation incident in Dar es Salaam. I’m referring, of course, to the mugging of Paul and Linda McCartney that happened while they were recording Band on the Run in Lagos, Nigeria in August and September of 1973. According to the liner includes included in the 2-disc, 25th anniversary box set of Band on the Run issued in 1999, Paul McCartney and Wings left for Lagos on 9 August 1973. They spent roughly the next six weeks there working on the album, returning to London on 23 September. Again, I don’t know the actual date, but during the time they were in Lagos recording the album, they were robbed at knife-point by a group of black men (young men?) who took their belongings but spared their lives. I accept this event as true, primarily because McCartney was with his wife at the time of the attack, that is, not alone. My question is whether this robbery was reported in the press, rock or otherwise; if it were, then Ochs might well have known about it and been inspired by its dramatic impact, using the same story as an excuse for his embarrassing performance in Johannesburg. Was the event reported by the press (print or electronic, that is, television)? I don’t know, but I find it a remarkable coincidence that it happened at about the same time as the event in Dar es Salaam, especially since Ochs was in Africa to make a recording as well.

The problem is the dating. On p. 279, Schumacher writes that Ochs left for Africa in "late September." Eight pages later, on p. 287, he writes that Ochs was in Africa on 11 September 1973, that is, during the military coup that overthrew Chilean president Salvador Allende. (The two biographers do not seem to be definite as to whether Ochs knew about the coup before, or after, his trip to Africa.) Is 11 September considered late in the month, as Schumacher suggests? In contrast, Eliot simply indicates the month was September, without indicating a specific time. These sorts of broad approximations of dates and places are extremely frustrating when trying to determine the authenticity of a specific event, as I hope I have demonstrated here.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Magneto and The Crimson Dynamo

Early last month I wrote about the connection between comics and popular music, observing that it’s unusual to see a reference to comics invoked in the context of popular music. I mentioned that one of the earliest explicit connections I remember between comics and music, revealing that the two could come into confluence, was Paul McCartney and Wings’ “Magneto and Titanium Man,” from VENUS AND MARS (1975), a song about two obscure villains from the Iron Man comics.

I have been told that a couple of days ago, over at The Cool Kids Table blogspot, “KP” posted a picture of famed comics artist and occasional Iron Man writer Jack Kirby with Paul McCartney, taken backstage at a Wings concert around 1976. As it turns out, KP found a link to a Beatles photo blog (the link to the photos is available by clicking on The Cool Kids Table blogspot link above) that has several pictures of the backstage meeting between Kirby and McCartney. KP also posted an excerpt from an interview he conducted with Lisa Kirby, daughter of the artist, in which she says the former Beatle introduced her father to the audience during the concert, then went into “Magneto and Titanium Man.”

Many thanks go to my friend Dion Cautrell for finding this information and sharing it with me.

Friday, December 12, 2008

Jet, Suffragette

My friend Tim Lucas wrote to me last night asking me what I understood to be the meaning of Paul McCartney’s song “Jet,” a song that can be found on Paul McCartney and Wings’ highly regarded album Band on the Run (released December 1973). I answered his query about “Jet” with a rather lengthy response. Shortly after receiving my response, he emailed me back urging me to re-post my email as a blog entry, given all the work I’d put in to it. To be honest, the response didn’t take me a whole lot of time, but having been laid up with a terrible cold the past few days and as a consequence not having the energy to blog for the past several days, I thought I’d honor his suggestion and post my response to him as today’s blog, which hopefully might have the additional benefit of getting me back into the habit of blogging again. I apologize to everyone for having been silent for the past few days, but there have been extenuating circumstances. Hopefully today’s post will make up for my absence from cyberspace.

I’ve tweaked a few things and added some additional thoughts, but what follows is the gist of what I wrote to Tim earlier today. The first set of lyrics below (beginning “Ah Mater . . .”) are the set of lyrics Tim had a specific question about. [Addendum--6:43 p.m. CST: See Tim's comment below. As he indicates, he'd always misunderstood "much later" as "Paul Schrader," and one of his motives for writing to me was to ask me if indeed he had misheard the lyric.] I think the image I’ve included with this blog entry is entirely appropriate, as it is the cover of Rolling Stone No. 153, dated January 31, 1974, featuring Paul and Linda McCartney—an issue of the magazine published just a few weeks after the release of Band on the Run.

Tim -- I’d always heard (I say “always,” although I don’t know from what point I heard this claim) that “Jet” was, in part, a satirical jab at David Bowie and the then trendy androgyny of so-called “glam” rockers. My understanding is that the title “Jet” serves as a dual reference, one to his then wife Linda (as suggested by the lyrics “Jet, I can almost remember their funny faces/That time you told them that you were going to be marrying soon,” and “Jet/A little lady/My little lady . . . yes”) but also as a cloaked reference to Bowie by way of a play on words to the song “Suffragette City” (1972)—a verbal wordplay similar to Bowie’s “The Jean Genie.” According to lyrics reprinted in the 25th Anniversary Edition 2-CD set of Band on the Run, the lyrics are:

Ah Mater want Jet to always love me
Ah Mater want Jet to always love me
Ah Mater . . . much later

“Mater” is the Latin word “mother,” of course, but I think "Mater" is also an old-fashioned British usage for “mother” as well.

Just to confirm this interpretation I did some checking on release dates and such. I pulled out my 30th Anniversary 2-CD Edition of David Bowie's The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust—the Ziggy Stardust period being the one in which Bowie was really pursuing his androgynous image, although he had already by this time posed in a dress on the cover of the album The Man Who Sold the World—and it indicates in the liner notes that the 7” single of “Starman”/”Suffragette City” was released on 28 April 1972, that is, well over a year before McCartney began recording Band on the Run in Lagos, Nigeria. Bowie’s album, The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars, was released 6 June 1972, and Bowie started doing his famed act of simulating fellatio on Mick Ronson's guitar during a stage show on 17 June 1972. Subsequently, the cultivated androgyny—and homosexual subtext—of “glam” rock was born (most certainly you know of Todd Haynes’ 1998 film Velvet Goldmine).

Hence I think there’s some to support this interpretation; most certainly particular lyrics support this line of thought. For instance,

And Jet I thought the major was a lady suffragette

“I” (McCartney?) is saying that he initially mistook Bowie to be a female, a “lady suffragette.” “The major,” is a reference to the “Major Tom” of “Space Oddity” and “lady suffragette,” as I indicated earlier, also refers to Bowie via the song “Suffragette City.” And the line,

And Jet I thought the only lonely place was on the moon

would seem to refer to “Space Oddity” as well (“Here am I floating round my tin can/Far above the moon”). In contrast, lines such as, “Jet with the wind in your hair/Of a thousand laces/Climb on the back and we’ll go for a ride in the sky” would seem to refer both to Linda McCartney and his band (their band), Wings.

I think this general line of interpretation is born out by other songs on the album Band on the Run, which may carry allusions to many other songs contemporary to that period, although I haven’t done extensive research on this topic. For instance, I think the title song, “Band on the Run,” alludes to another band popular at the time, particularly in 1973, the year Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon was released:

Well, the undertaker drew a heavy sigh
Seeing no one else had come
And a bell was ringing in the village square
For the rabbits on the run

The lines, “the undertaker drew a heavy sigh” is an allusion to Pink Floyd’s “Time” and the lyrics

The sun is the same in the relative way, but you’re older
And shorter of breath and one day closer to death

The reference to “a bell was ringing” alludes to the famed alarm clocks on Dark Side of the Moon, while the line “For the rabbits on the run” refers to “Breathe”:

Run, rabbit run
Dig that hole, forget the sun

The entire album may be filled with such crafty allusions, but again, I haven’t done extensive research on the subject.

Hope this has been of some use.


Addendum, 7:06 p.m. CST: My wife Rebecca confirms that "mater" is indeed a common British vernacular term for "mother": she says, read your D. H. Lawrence.