Countdown to Ecstasy. Steely Dan.
1973, ABC. Producer: Gary Katz.
Purchased, 1985.
IN A NUTSHELL: Countdown to Ecstasy, by Steely Dan, is a showcase for musicianship – a collection of songs from the days when Steely Dan was a band. Leaders Donald Fagan and Walter Becker write great songs, but talented guitarists Jeff “Skunk” Baxter and Denny Dias steal the show. The songs are fun and diverse and Fagan’s voice sells each and every one. They may be a dark, sarcastic duo, but Fagan and Becker write songs that their talented friends can devour.
NOTE: The setup – below the line ↓ – might be the best part … Or skip right to the album discussion.
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My favorite high school teacher, Mrs. Meyers, was fond of quoting Benjamin Franklin’s[ref]However, ol’ Ben actually adapted the quote from Robinson Crusoe author Daniel Defoe.[/ref] old axiom, “Nothing’s certain except death and taxes.” However, she always pointed out that Mr. Franklin[ref]And Mr. Defoe.[/ref] mistakenly left out one other guarantee in life. “Nothing’s certain except death and taxes,” she’d say, then add, “… and CHANGE! Everything changes!” For many folks, change may be scarier than either taxes or death.
I now believe Mrs. Meyers was even smarter than Ben Franklin[ref]Or Daniel Defoe.[/ref] in her assessment. As researchers push against aging and death, and billionaires, most of whom inherited or finagled their dough, convince more and more dumb Americans that taxes are bad, one can imagine a world where death and taxes become an uncertainty. (This confluence of events could hilariously lead to five quintillionaires remaining alone on Earth after devastating the planet in their race to “win,” lying atop their piles of money, unable to die[ref]Anyway, I find that hilarious.[/ref].) The fact that our relationship to death and taxes has the potential to change only proves what Mrs. Meyers said: change is certain.
Very little from the culture and society I knew in 1983, as a 15-year old in Mrs. Meyers’s history class, remains as it was back then. Everything has changed. Some things have gotten better, some things have gotten worse, but very little is the same. I’m fascinated by this change over time, and I’m happy it’s happened. In fact, it gives me hope that people can continue to improve their lives. You see, I’m one of those people who is not scared by change, but, in fact, am rather comfortable with it.
Now, for sure, the 1983, teenaged me would be horrified by all that’s changed since then. At that time I was a small-town kid, scared by the world around me and subconsciously trying to allay those fears by mocking, resisting and remaining willfully obtuse to anything new or different around me. Computers, gay people, strong women, the DH[ref]This is one area where I haven’t changed. All pitchers should bat. Now get out of my yard!!![/ref], non-English speakers[ref]Despite the fact that my grandparent’s family barely spoke English.[/ref], non-comedy movies, city-people, cats, non-Christians… At that time I wanted the world to be exactly what was in my head at that moment, and (I thought) I wanted it to stay that way forever.
My adulthood, however, has been shot through with change. I moved about 6 times in my early 20s, finally arriving in San Francisco, and moved three times in 8 years while I was there. Then I moved to New England and moved 5 times in 5 years before landing in my current home. I have worked at about 11 different companies since college, not counting the half-dozen or so little jobs I had before I joined the pharmaceutical industry. I’ve done stand-up comedy, acted in plays and performed improv for years – the one place where my love of never really knowing what the hell is coming next found a perfect setting. My adult life has been more about resisting stasis than resisting change. And one of the first big changes involved Dr. Dave.
Dr. Dave has been mentioned frequently in this space. He’s my longest-serving best friend – we met just about two-and-a-half years after Mrs. Meyers’s history class, as freshmen in the Toxicology program at Philadelphia College of Pharmacy and Science. We bonded quickly over music, particularly The Beatles and Yes, plus the Phillies, Columbo, Caddyshack and the ridiculousness of a career in toxicology. And a million other things. But within two years he had jettisoned toxicology for pharmacy[ref]Despite concerns from his advisor that as a pharmacist he wouldn’t have Cultured Rats, nor be able to “call de focking shots in de lab!!”[/ref], and I jettisoned the small private school in the city for a larger, public university in the country.
Given the nature of our personalities, our interests, and our friendship, it only makes sense that on the last day before I left the school forever, Dr. Dave drove me around the city of Philadelphia, the windows of his LeCar[ref]At least I think it was the LeCar? It may have been his folks’ station wagon.[/ref] down, blaring the Steely Dan classic from Countdown to Ecstasy, “My Old School.” The lyrics expressed all the regret I had about choosing that school in the first place, and the refrain, “I’m never going back to my old school,” was the exclamation point on my entire time there.
I’m sure we were both a little sad that we’d be seeing less of each other, but moving apart wasn’t all bad. It allowed us to keep in touch (pre-internet) in goofy ways, like writing letters to each other on notepad paper shaped like pills, capsules, suppositories, hearts, livers, and other vaguely medical shapes, all courtesy of the pharmaceutical industry, which showered undergrad science majors with weird gifts. (For years I had a small, clear-plastic-encased musculo-skeletal foot with the words “Roche – Naproxen®️” emblazoned across it.) We kept in touch, and visited each other, and played music together, and as our lives changed, and we changed, we stayed connected.
Our musical tastes have certainly grown in different ways, but because we’re friends, Dr. Dave graciously compliments my blog posts on albums he thinks I’ve rated too high, or too low, and I do my best to listen to Classical music now and then. But no matter how much our lives changed, the connection has remained because deep down we are still the type of guys who love Columbo and Caddyshack and would drive around the city singing a fuck-off song to a place we’re happy to leave behind. And what a song it is.
As I’ve mentioned before, I got into Steely Dan because my eldest sister had a milk crate of 70s albums, and their record Aja was one of them. That was an entree into the world of Steely Dan. By my senior year of high school, I had Countdown to Ecstasy on vinyl, and a few others as well. The world of Steely Dan started out in 1972 as a rockin’, dirty, guitar-driven place that, as the 70s progressed, was further gentrified with each album until the decade ended with a sound that, frankly, was so sparkling clean that it was unrecognizable as rock[ref]Which isn’t to say that I don’t like it.[/ref]. Countdown to Ecstasy is the band’s second album, when they were still mostly a guitar-based rock band with jazzy overtones, instead of vice versa. And “My Old School,” with its phenomenal guitar work by Jeff “Skunk” Baxter, is a straight-up guitar jam, despite the prominent horn section (which was absent from this American Bandstand appearance …)
It opens with a few piano chords, a horn fanfare, and a cool drum intro, then singer/keyboardist/band co-leader Donald Fagan starts singing about a college drug bust. Steely Dan’s lyrics are black licorice – you love them or hate them, with no room for middle ground. I love them. They’re clever, but not in an Elvis Costello-esque wordplay style. Costello is like a witty TV show; Steely Dan is like a layered crime novel[ref]There is a great website that breaks down Steely Dan lyric meanings, but when I went to click on it my computer warned me it was a security risk. I don’t know enough about websites to know if it’s legit. But if you search Steely Dan Dictionary, you can take your chances if you understand the risk.[/ref], where nothing is what it first seems, and characters are waiting to double-cross our typically less-than-upstanding protagonist. References to Gino and Daddy G, the Wolverine to Annandale, oleanders in bloom … they all create a world for the listener to step into while guitarist Baxter plays guitar lines and solos that, frankly, still astound me. I was going to list all the cool guitar parts I like – but it basically amounts to the entire song! Co-leader Walter Becker is a great bassist, drummer Jim Hodder is fast and creative, and I still think of this song as one of my favorites.
Another of my favorites (and the album only has 8 songs, so they’re all favorites, really) is the album opener, “Bodhisattva,” which is like a jazz piece – a repeating chord progression over which the band takes solos and Fagan sings a few lines about a Buddhist spiritual guide.
When my son was in middle school he had a basketball coach who told the boys, “I want you to have fun playing hoops. You could have fun out there by throwing basketballs at each other and goofing around, but I want you to have fun by playing the game the right way. When you do something the right way, you experience fun a whole different way.” On “Bodhisattva,” Steely Dan sounds like a bunch of musicians having fun The Right Way. Guitarist and founder Denny Dias[ref]Who eventually became a session guitarist for Fagan and Becker when they dissolved the band in 1975 or so.[/ref] plays a solo, at 1:35, that is wide ranging and fun and an incredible 54 bars long! A full minute. After some more vocals and a back and forth between keyboards and guitars, Skunk gets his due, as well. He plays the outro solo beginning at 4:09. Two lead guitarists – as fans of Lynyrd Skynyrd, Judas Priest, or Thin Lizzy can tell you – is twice the fun.
But for an act that values “chops,” and makes songs like “Bodhisattva” sound easy, they have a way with a melody as well. “Razor Boy” has a catchy melody, and Fagan’s nasal voice delivers it perfectly. The vibraphone and pedal steel guitar give the song a caribbean-yet-country feel. The lyrics are typical Steely-Dan-opaque, sort of accusatory, somewhat menacing.
A particular style of Steely Dan lyric is the story song – full of characters and events, but obliquely described, much like “My Old School.” Another one is “The Boston Rag,” in which something happens to a dude named Lonnie.
Just what “The Boston Rag” is, one never finds out. But we do find confirmation that “Skunk” Baxter and Denny Dias are guitar maniacs Check out, for example, the solo beginning at 3:18, (Dias) and continuing at 3:48 (Baxter). Also, Jim Hodder’s drums in this song are very cool, very understated but key to moving the song along.
Speaking of songs in which the lyrics are indirect and ambiguous … what the hell is “Your Gold Teeth” about?
The music has a groovy, calypso feel, almost 60s jazz. It’s a real showcase for Fagan’s keyboard playing – the solo at 2:44 is really top notch. And it leads into an angular, tough guitar solo by Dias. The song’s melody is singalong catchy, but what am I singing when I sing about tobacco they grow in Peking? The year of the locust? And who is Cathy Berberian,[ref]Cathy Berberian was an avant garde singer and composer in the 20th century.[/ref] and what are these roulades she sings? And how can I sing along to that last verse, where Fagan shows off his vocal skills?
Steely Dan would cease to exist as a touring entity and become a “studio only” band just a couple years after Countdown to Ecstasy. But although the band was filled to the brim with musical talent, on this album they were already bringing in hired guns when needed. Rick Derringer plays slide guitar on the funky Hollywood dis tune, [ref]An industry they remained at odds with well into their careers, even though they once contributed a title song for a movie.[/ref] “Show Biz Kids.” He basically plays a solo through the whole song, answering Fagan’s lyrics with tasty fills. Then about 3:00 he takes over for the remainder of the song.
Although Steely Dan has an air – perhaps more than an air, a dark, dense cloud – of detached cynicism about them, they could pull the heartstrings with their songs and stories. Case in point is the lovely “Pearl of the Quarter.” Baxter pulls some beautiful pedal steel guitar, adding a sadness to this country-esque tune. It’s a rather tired story of a regretful man who fell for a “lady of the evening.” But the descending chords of the chorus, and the guitar overcome the story to create a true feeling of regret. Drummer Hodder’s crisp rolls and syncopation sound great.
The final song on the album is the wonderful “King of the World,” a dark vision of the end of times[ref]A subject the duo and solo Fagan returned to regularly.[/ref]. It’s a perfect Steely Dan album closer.
The song, for me, is really the Denny Dias show, as his guitar demands your attention from the opening four seconds, when a faint, wah-wah riff enters below the shuffling high-hat. He plays a delayed, waterfall sound behind the vocals, then nicely mimics the ham radio of the lyrics (0:38). There are great harmonies in the chorus, and with every verse, Dias builds on what he did before – but you have to listen closely. Once again, this song sounds like a group of musicians having fun. There’s a very 70s, hooting organ at 2:00, and bassist Becker plays a cool line behind it. Throughout it all, Dias lurks in the background. Then, at 4:17 he goes nuts with a jazzy solo that sounds like it went for three minutes, but the song fades out.
Steely Dan was a band that changed over the years, from a touring rock band to a studio collection of jazz/rock musicians. Sure, I like the early rockin’ stuff, like Countdown to Ecstasy. But I like the later stuff, too. Look, things change, people change. Dr. Dave and I have changed. But there’s another old saying, too: The more things change, the more they stay the same.
TRACK LISTING:
“Bodhisattva”
“Razor Boy”
“The Boston Rag”
“Your Gold Teeth”
“Show Biz Kids”
“My Old School”
“Pearl of the Quarter”
“King of the World”
IN A NUTSHELL: Exile on Main St., by The Rolling Stones, is a double-album’s worth of straight ahead blues, uplifting gospel, dirty boogie and good ol’ rock n roll. Mick Jagger’s vocals are top-notch, as are Keith Richards’ harmonies, and the dueling guitar work by Richards and Mick Taylor warrants repeated listens. It’s a ragged, fun, human collection of songs revealing a great band at their shabby best.
I now understand that a) multitudes aren’t coming; and b) I might as well honor those who do come by keeping things as short as possible, 
In 2013, 
which was #497 on Rolling Stone‘s list. So, the notion of “Greatest” in the arts has a little, shall we say, flexibility to it.
favorite is a connection to it that is separate from the music – who you were with when you heard it, or a time in life that it represents. Conversely, an album that you can tell is “Great” might not really resonate with you. For me, 
And these examples don’t even get into the issue of genre preferences. Metallica may well be 
everyone else what is great and what isn’t. Then they write about the records, saying stuff like “the most prophetic rock album ever made,” and “[goes] deep inside himself, without a net or fear,” and speak of “the rustic beauty of the … music and the drama of their own reflections,” and a “declaration of committed mutiny, a statement of faith in the transfigurative powers of rock & roll.” Words like these are pretty, but I often find them more interesting than the music they describe.
To compile my list, I drove around listening to all my CDs, then I ranked them by “favoriteness.” This is a difficult-to-measure, impossible-to-quantify characteristic that involves several sub-categories, such as: good feelings elicited, great memories associated, reflexive urge to call old friend to discuss, cool-sounding music making me want to sing/play along, 
listened to very much but that really blew me away. These were records that didn’t have many of those first few aspects of my “favoriteness” determination, but whose undeniable … well, greatness had to be accounted for! A few that come to mind – and that, by revealing them here I am admitting that they will not be on my list – include 
After all my records were assessed, I went back over the highly-rated records and considered how much personal connection I had to the records and adjusted accordingly. Records like Paul’s Boutique dropped. 
Along with records like 
One of the 
started playing in a band with some friends. We called ourselves Tequila Mockingbird and played at some friends’ parties. Our setlist featured a big helping of Stones’ songs, and many from Exile on Main St., in particular. Between the band and my 100 Favorite Album project, I began listening to the record more often. And I fell in love with it.
“Rocks Off” also showcases perhaps my favorite unheralded aspect of the Stones: Keith Richards’s (Keef!) harmony vocals! They’re reedy and raw and always on the money. The song’s lyrics describe 
“Rocks Off” is one of my all-time favorite songs, and the band kind of duplicates the feat on the rocker “
Many of the songs on Exile on Main St. are quite moving. “
song a front-porch feel, and Mick and Keef’s harmonies are fantastic. The song also features Mick’s harmonica playing, which 
throughout. The rest of the band’s parts were added later. Keith’s harmonizing, I’ll say again, is also phenomenal on the album. On “
Mick Taylor plays bass on this song, as regular bassist Bill Wyman was frequently absent from recording sessions. (Read up on 
The bass line is terrific, another instance of Mick Taylor filling in for Bill Wyman. The performance sounds as torn and frayed as the band in the lyrics, creating a sense of wobbly-yet-satisfactory production that provides a charm to many of the songs. There’s a great pedal steel guitar solo from guest Al Perkins about 1:45, and a subtle organ throughout played by trumpet man Jim Price.
The album ends with two great songs that really bring the entire piece to a brilliant conclusion. My only complaint is that I’d have put the closing song, “
Given the well-known problems Richards had with heroin, and the 
IN A NUTSHELL: Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, by Lucinda Williams, is 13 songs about love and life sung by a voice with the heart and soul to match the emotional depth of its lyrics. I call it a country record, as it has the twang and pedal steel and world-weariness one expects of the genre, but I got into it because of its rock ‘n roll heart. Williams paints pictures of the jubilance of life, even when it’s found in heartache and loss.
plus 
my list was going to be confined to the rock/pop genre. The reason for this is pretty simple: I don’t listen to a whole lot else. Well, that’s not exactly true. What’s true is that I’m not invested in other types of music like I am with rock/pop. I like some stuff from other musical genres, but I’ve never felt the urge to dive in deeply, to compare artists and albums, and really consider the creativity and drive that goes into other musical types. Other than rock, I’m quite sure I couldn’t even name 100 albums in any genre.
Kind of Blue, Miles Davis. From talking to some folks who are jazz aficionados – at a couple parties, at a record store[ref]A record store was a store that sold records. (Records were physical items that contained songs to listen to, like if tracks on Spotify or Tidal were packaged on a thin disc that you’d put into a machine to listen to.)[/ref], at a concert or two – I understand that this album has been a victim of 
Criss-Cross, Thelonious Monk. This record floored me with its oddly beautiful piano sounds coupled with driving, complex rhythms. I haven’t heard the 
Mozart: Eine Kleine Nachtmusik and “Posthorn” Serenade. Sir Charles Makkeras Prague Chamber Orchestra. There is no genre of music on which I am a less-credible source of appreciation and information than Classical Music. It can sound boring to me, and even when I try to concentrate on it, I find that invariably it somehow morphs into background music for my asinine thoughts about baseball players, funny 80s movies, Columbo plots and The Beatles. However, I do own a few classical records, and this is the one I usually pull out if I’m going to play something. I like Mozart. 
Three Feet High and Rising. De La Soul. Other than Classical, there is no genre of music on which I am a less-credible source of appreciation and information than Hip-Hop. My Hip-Hop appreciation was a bloom on the 
The Low End Theory, by A Tribe Called Quest, was similar to Three Feet High and Rising in that it sounded like nothing else that I’d heard to that point – except for the jazz that it sampled. These samples created a 
Landscape of Ghosts. Rob Siegel. It was Louis Armstrong himself who said, “All music is folk music. I ain’t never heard a horse sing a song.” I find folk music hard to categorize, 
Funky Kingston. Toots and the Maytals. I saw Toots and the Maytals live about 8 years ago, and it was one of the best shows I’ve seen. He was about 70 years old, and he danced and sang and had the crowd in a frenzy. He was like the James Brown of Reggae. So I bought a bunch of his records, and this is the one I like the best. It includes the 
Ghana Special: Modern Highlife & Ghanian Blues 1968-81. Okay, okay, I know even less about Ghana Highlife music than I do Classical or Hip-Hop. I heard a song by Nigerian musician 
Here Come the ABC’s and Here Come the 123’s. They Might Be Giants. Kids music can be really, really annoying, but when you’re a parent and you see your kid so happy listening and dancing to, say 
Comedy isn’t music (usually), I understand that, but it’s a type of album I love! Here are a few tied for #1 favorite all time: 
This may appear to be an oversight, until you notice that I’m now writing about the fact that there aren’t any Country & Western records on the list, proving it’s not an oversight. The simple reason for its exclusion is this: I dislike Country & Western music.
And I’m biased against Country music.
Sure, I admit, I enjoyed 
“Down-home”-ness is characterized by a willingness to be willfully obtuse, to cling to the past in a way that seems childish, and to reject learning and education. It values the “simple wisdom” of lessons learned from family, from church and in the field – as opposed to, you know, from research and study. “It was below 0 for two days. What happened to ‘Global Warming’?” is an example of “simple wisdom.” Or “stupidity.”
(By the way, 
I was informed that “That’s not Country!!” And the truth is, I first heard a song from the album on a San Francisco rock radio[ref]”Radio” was a thing that played music that somebody else picked out for you, whether you liked the songs or not.[/ref] station in 1998. At that point I’d have immediately rejected anything I thought was “Country.” I was around 30, feeling old, and trying to stay connected to rock music. I bought great albums by 
speakers as Williams’ sultry voice stings of 
The four guitars are a reflection of Williams’s reported perfectionism, her desire to achieve a final product that meets her high standards – 
crying in the backseat. There’s no reason why, it all just happened. The melody is catchy and cries out to be sung by the listener, which has the effect of instilling those lyrics in one’s brain, which makes them all the more like ingrained childhood memories.
bars to create a mood, and the subtle dual guitars beautifully help to set the scene. It’s got a relaxed groove, and the slight guitar solo around 2:40 sounds nice. The guitars throughout the album are deliciously subtle. On “
with bass, then accordion, and pretty soon the song’s sadness has somehow become uplifting. It lets me know why folks might love a Country Western song – that melding of emotions. The song “
But in “
lots of fun to play in a band. There’s a lilting accordion providing a bit of sadness, but Williams’s voice and spirit make the song’s demand seem strong, not weak.
IN A NUTSHELL: Flood, by The April Skies, is a collection of ten infectious tunes with a terrific sound and an Alternative Rock feel. Bandleader Jake Crawford writes great melodies, and delivers them with a weary, yet determined, style. His guitar lines are always interesting and the band behind him always delivers. Drummer Mark Tritico is a highlight throughout, playing subtly intricate beats and rhythms that always serve the song. It’s a little band on a little label, but the results are very big!
I was really good at it, good enough to be in some honors bands and a trombone ensemble with little-to-no practicing. However, I never really liked it so after high school I rarely played it, and by about 25 I was done for good[ref]Except for pulling it out in my early 30s to play with my new wife’s musician stepfather a time or two, during those early years of a relationship when one doesn’t know how much support any wheel will provide to the ride ahead, and so one greases all of them as thoroughly as possible.[/ref]. At some point in my late 20s, my mom told me she was sad that I’d stopped playing. “I always imagined seeing you as a big, famous trombone player on TV,” she told me.
As my kids grew up, I realized that my predictions were based too much on the physical abilities of children. “That kid’s really fast! I’ll bet she’ll go to the Olympics!” “That kid built a Lego bridge! I’ll bet he’ll be an architect!” “That kid plays trombone really well! I’ll bet he’ll be a big, famous trombone player on TV!” However, I learned that those physical traits, even if they continue to develop and bring joy to kids and those around them, don’t account for all that is required to reach the equivalent status of “a big, famous trombone player on TV.” A larger necessity than physical traits is an innate DESIRE TO BE a big, famous trombone player on TV. The fast kid won’t go to the Olympics, but the fast kid who WANTS TO go to the Olympics might.
I don’t think my life would’ve been much different.
I’ve read dozens of rock and roll autobiographies. What I’ve learned from reading books by big names like 
member of the roots-rock outfit 
As I’ve said, I’ve continued listening to The April Skies since I left the band, and I’ve enjoyed all their music. But something about Flood clicked with me from the first listen. At the time it was released, in 2005, I was working in a lab, and I’d play it on my portable CD player all the time. The album opener, “322,” is an atmospheric, slow-burner that builds powerfully.
Mark Tritico, who drummed when I was in the band, plays on this record. He’s one of the most creative, yet powerful, drummers I’ve played with. I really like the syncopated rhythm he plays beginning at 1:10. At about 1:50 the song becomes a driving force, with Matt Mazick’s bass and Matt Higgins’s keyboards moving to the forefront. By 2:35, there’s a satisfying resolution, and the song fades quickly. Rte. 322 is a main thoroughfare in the band’s Hershey, Pa., town. Regarding lyrics, Jake says “some tornados had just cut thru this area. The fear and destruction it caused…felt like a great comparison to a few relationships I was privy to at the time.”
I love Jake’s guitar at 1:46 during the bridge, and the harmonies after 3:00. I especially love Tritico’s drums after 3:20 to his final, bubbling drum fill, which is one of my favorites in any song. Both Jake and Mark Tritico were in the band when I was, so maybe it’s because I know them, but I’m a fan of both. Their guitar, vocals and drums help make “
I could listen to this one all day. Jake’s guitar sound is also featured on “
Higgins’s keyboards add atmosphere and depth to many of the songs, for example on “
which always gives me chills.
this old gem, Crawford says, “The band worked up this music. And somehow, the lyrics re-appeared and it seemed to work. Our original intent was for it to be more Pixies/Radiohead with the verses being quiet and the chorus very loud. It sounds kinda Springsteen to me.”
Jake’s subtle, unmistakeable guitar sound is featured in the introductory solo, at about 0:48. He expands on the solo theme at the end of the song, 4:24. It’s another song that does a lot with only a few chords. It also features Cary Brown on backing vocals again. The lyrics are about a relationship coming to an end. “I had a recurring dream about this song,” Jake told me. “Long before we recorded it, we would jam it out at rehearsals. It would go on and on. My dream, we were playing somewhere out west, at Coachella or some outside event in front of 60,000 people. It was sunny and it starts raining lightly. While we play this song on and on. When I finally wrote the lyrics (long after the music was recorded), it only made sense to plead to keep the life we created together. Didn’t work. But at least I got this beautiful song.”
This last quote, to me, explains why some folks keep hammering away at their art. It says everything you need to know about creative people, and what it means to be “successful” as an artist. To an artist, there are dreams of your art bringing fame and fortune, and there are dreams of your art making a difference on people around you. But in the end, you do it because you could end up with something beautiful – an outcome that’s even better than being big, famous and on TV. The April Skies succeeded with Flood.
IN A NUTSHELL: Get Happy!!, by Elvis Costello and The Attractions, is jam-packed with 20 songs that sound like 60s Motown and Stax records filtered through white British punks. The band is superheated, its muscular rhythms pumping behind Costello’s deft wordplay. Bassist Bruce Thomas is a standout, but everyone contributes to the party vibe. And even when the lyrics get downhearted, you’ll still Get Happy!!
and the rest of 
and the country was still unaware of some of the unintended consequences of such advancements: 
he felt over his decisions after the fact (he was the king of the land of “I Should’ve”). But there was something to be said for a man who recognized the inherent bullshit of the marketer’s “New and Improved!” sloganeering, and recognized, too, that so many people around him easily allowed that messaging to permeate all aspects of their lives. He was a skeptic of “New and Improved,” whether it was technological, cultural, societal or commercial.
He was a smart guy. Also, he was very attuned to the people around him. The well-being of his loved ones and the feelings of those around him – whether he knew them or not – were very important. So while he may have been nostalgic for the old ways, he didn’t value the past over knowledge or humanity.
new computers and computerized machines, but as a tool and die maker, when he got to use his first computer-aided machine (the one with the instruction course in Chicago, for which he had to take his first airplane ride ever, as a 37 year old) he recognized its value and acknowledged its advantages over the old machines. And even though he’d expressed the typical late-20th-century, straight, middle-American homophobia into his adulthood, when he saw his own loved ones fall in love he warmly welcomed their sweethearts into his home and life regardless of their gender and orientation. 
He was more comfortable opening his heart by reassessing his beliefs than using them to build a fortress around it.
But when I discussed my own activities around the upcoming birth, he never mocked me, never said I was foolish, and never expressed a wish for a bygone era of indifference and inaction to return. When I told him about the experience of watching my child being born, he did say he was glad he didn’t see his own kids’ births, but also questioned why he didn’t choose to be at the hospital. 
He’s close to (
melodies and head-cold singing style perfectly. By the late 90s I was devouring Elvis, and while my wife was pregnant the songs on this record resonated with me. First of all, the album title provided a good reminder to me whenever the situation felt overwhelming or worrisome or scary that the biggest feeling I held was one of happiness. Secondly, the songs themselves are almost entirely upbeat, danceable, energetic songs that are hard to hear without smiling. Thirdly, the lyrical content often connected with me, even when the songs clearly were not meant to be about new families and future dads.
they stick with me nonetheless. His clever wordplay and economy of words (“The chairman of the boredom is a compliment collector/I’d like to be his funeral director”) are striking, even when they’re obtuse. Musically, the song encapsulates what Get Happy!! is all about: organ and bass and drums. Keyboardist Steve Nieve boops and beeps while bassist Bruce Thomas plays a clean, bouncing line throughout. Along with drummer Pete Thomas, The Attractions really carry the load on this record, with Costello’s guitar only making cameo appearances – some 
nice strumming in the choruses, a little twist during the fade out.
pre-chorus. This song uses Costello’s considerable metaphorical skills to position himself as 
but once again the star is the backing band. Nieve’s organ, Bruce Thomas’s 
his difficult love life
a little out of time piece just after each verse, and one can actually hear a little guitar throughout. 
Nieve was 
There are terrific harmony vocals, provided by Elvis himself, throughout. The tension builds through each verse, then is released with each chorus by Pete’s introductory snare roll. The lyrics are 
I often listen to the 
