Pieces of poetry, woven in a Webb

Something happened a decade or so before I was born that shaped my life forever.

People were in an introspective mood. It's easy to understand. The upheavals of the 1960s and early 1970s -- Civil Rights, feminism, Vietnam, Watergate -- had left their marks.

Everyone from philosophers to filmmakers were trying to make sense of it all. One songwriter in particular, Jimmy Webb, created pieces of poetry. He set them to music. Singers as varied as Glen Campbell and Richard Harris (!) were his interpreters.

Jimmy Webb is my favorite songwriter. He created songs that stretch deep and wide, plucking my heartstrings. Glen Travis Campbell was his most frequent and best conduit. (Although don't miss a fantastic more recent album of Webb's songs as sung by the superb Michael Feinstein.)

Last night I heard a line. No, scratch that. Last night, I heard the line.

And I need you more than want you; and I want you for all time...

So I dug out my vinyl copy of "Wichita Lineman." Whether by Webb or someone else, the songs grabbed me, stabbed me, convinced me this is Glen Campbell's best work.

Besides the title track, the album features Otis Redding's "(Sittin' On) The Dock of the Bay," "If You Go Away," The Brothers Gibb's "Words," Campbell's own composition "Fate of Man," the unfairly maligned "Dreams of the Everyday Housewife," Sonny Curtis' "The Straight Life," and Tim Hardin's "Reason To Believe."

Glen Campbell was at the top of the mountain here, as was Webb and arranger/producer Al De Lory. With a couple of misses (I'd prefer never to hear Billy Edd Wheeler's "Ann" ever again), this is an almost perfect phonograph.

Webb's lyrics, like others of the period, are light-years removed from today's popular music. I even like his mercilessly ridiculed "MacArthur Park," and I don't care what you think about that. It's a beautiful song, bombastic but majestic in its way, particularly the bridge (After all the loves of my life, I'll be thinking of you...).

What's more romantic than saying you need your love more than you want her, and you'll love her for all time?

Poetry, my friends. Pure poetry.

'Streets of London'

Folks, this song really got to me when I heard it last night.

It was written by Ralph McTell and performed here by Glen Campbell at the Royal Festival Hall in London in '77.

The song is called "Streets of London." If this doesn't touch your heartstrings, you don't have a soul.

34

"Today's my birthday. And...I'm...getting drunker!"

Before you laugh, sigh, or call my mother, that's a quote from a vintage 1997 "Saturday Night Live" satire of the then-popular A&E program "Biography." I know my friend Dewayne Lawson will remember it immediately.

Actually, I'm propped back on the couch, sporting my Hawaii Warriors hat, watching a mini birthday marathon of "Magnum, p.i." Jenn's away so I'm free to play...by watching old TV shows.

I always watch "Magnum" on my birthday. Particularly the episodes "Laura" (with special guest star Francis Albert "Frank" Sinatra), "Forty" (in which Magnum hits the big 4-0) and "Limbo" (which should have been the final episode of the series). I love this show. I want to go back to our 50th and most beautiful state. Soon. Now.

Depending on whether I can get to sleep, I'll also watch my favorite movie, the original (and best) "True Grit," with John Wayne and Glen Travis Campbell. Later today, I'll have lunch with my mom and then hang out with Halls grad and all-around great guy and guitar player Ross "Pat" Southerland. My guess is we'll dig out some old movies and cue up some tunes.

My wish for you is that you have a wonderful day, filled with love, hope, faith and laughter.

You honor me by reading this. Thank you.

Your friend,

Jake

Agog over Adele

So, we watched the Grammy Awards last night. First time in 15 or 20 years for me, I guess.

Before that, we saw a "60 Minutes" profile on the young British singer Adele (pronounced UH-DELL). Impressive. The girl has some pipes.

Even more amazing was her live performance on the awards show, her first since recovering from vocal chord surgery. Wow!

I'd come for Glen Campbell and stayed for the Beach Boys and ended up being all agog over Adele.

As you may know, she swept the Grammys last night, winning six. By the end of the evening, we were hooked.

So, I downloaded her hit album, "21." I have not been this impressed by a mainstream pop record since Norah Jones' debut release, "Come Away with Me."

"21" is a concept album of sorts, book-ended by pain and promise. "Someone Like You" is the stunner, the showstopper. But this is an album to be savored. Enjoy it. Every minute of it.

I'm not a fan of modern pop music. Most of it is mindless drivel brought forth by fashion models who may or may not be able to carry a tune. (Thanks, Autotune!)

Adele is an exception. A great one. A joyous one.

A refreshing one.

Touching tribute to Glen Campbell from Richard Marx

Folks, I'd like to pass along to you this touching tribute to Glen Campbell and his final studio album from singer/songwriter Richard Marx.

This is written much better than my tribute, that's for sure. He also makes a deeper point about recognizing deserving work before a person passes away.

This is quite good.

I have finally obtained a CD version of "Ghost on the Canvas" (I am leaving my vinyl copy sealed) and will give it my $1.98 review in a later post.

Webb gems on vinyl, via a guy named Glen

January has been tough to the Mabe household. Sickness and other stuff have given us a few weeks of rough water. So yesterday I briefly indulged in a much-needed diversion.

I can't remember if I ever told you I collect vinyl albums, particularly those of my two favorite singers, Elvis Presley and Glen Campbell. It can get to be an expensive hobby, especially when you're on a budget, so I usually only buy a few records a year.

But, I had a little Christmas money in my pocket and I wanted to check out the new location of Knoxville's coolest vinyl shop, Lost and Found Records on North Broadway. Maria and the gang have moved across the street into what appears to be a remodeled home. It's one cool joint.

I surfed through the Elvis section and didn't see any surprises. (One of these days, I'm going to find a good copy of the rare black-vinyl version of "Moody Blue" and not have to take out a second mortgage to pay for it. Or at least that's the dream.)

Then I made my way back to the country music section. And, yep, I found about five or six Glen Travis Campbell albums I didn't own. Most of these are Capitol recordings from Campbell's heyday as a popular singer (roughly 1967-77).

I know what you're thinking. "Hey, pal. It's 2012! Where's your iPod?"

Well, I listen to one nearly every day, but I'll go to my grave insisting the best way to get a stark, "live" sound is from a clear vinyl record played on good equipment.

Yesterday, I listened to one of my favorite albums, Campbell's "Live at the Royal Festival Hall," released in 1978. Highlights include a beautiful version of "Galveston" reworked to a slower tempo per composer Jimmy Webb's original composition, a give-it-all-you've-got cover of Webb's "MacArthur Park," a nice tribute to the Beach Boys (Campbell subbed for an ill Brian Wilson in the mid-60s) and a beautiful song I'd never heard before called "Streets of London." That's the great thing about these old albums -- getting to hear songs that have disappeared into the mists of time. You can hear it here.

Listening to Campbell in his vocal prime, backed by an orchestra, weaving through all those Jimmy Webb gems, well, it was just what this ol' fella needed yesterday. Better than a million bucks.

"Live at the Royal Festival Hall" is available for digital download, if you must. But, you won't have near as much fun as I did listening to the vinyl yesterday.

Nope, nope. Don't even try to tell me otherwise.

What did I ever see in you?

Have you ever re-watched a film you once thoroughly enjoyed only to think "What the heck was I thinking?"

And I'll ask the question the other way, too. Did you watch a movie when you were 15 that still held up nearly 20 years later?

Had both experiences over the weekend. One was great. One wasn't.

The film that held up -- and I don't care if you crucify me over this -- was "Saturday Night Fever." The one that didn't, much to my disappointment, was "Any Which Way You Can."

I may be one of about five people to admit it (sadly, critic Gene Siskel is no longer around to agree), but I think "Saturday Night Fever," the 1977 John Travolta film that forever stitched disco into the American experience, is a darn good movie.



Yes, it's dated. But that's the point. Like George Lucas's "American Graffiti" and Peter Bogdanovich's "The Last Picture Show," "Fever" captures a moment in time -- in this case late '70s Bay Ridge, Brooklyn -- better than any history book ever could.

Everybody remembers the bell bottoms and the Bee Gees, but what has managed to fade from our collective memory of "Fever" is the story itself, a good one, about a young man named Tony Manero (Travolta) who knows he's headed nowhere and wants to escape his dead-end life. That narrative is as universal as good vs. evil. Travolta delivers his best film performance (save, probably, his turn in "Pulp Fiction") as a guy who overcomes the drabness of everyday life by living it up on Saturday nights.

It's a sad story and a dark one, too. Its language and situations are rough in parts, but director John Badham had the guts to go behind the glitter of the disco's flashing lights and point his cameras toward the uglier aspects of the urban America of the period. The film has some rather pointed things to say about religion, too. There's no way it would be made in this politically correct era, which says something about how much we haven't advanced as a culture.

Now let's switch gears.

Saturday night we were looking to watch something completely stupid. We needed a break. We needed a laugh.

DirecTV was offering a free HBO preview and I recorded "Any Which Way You Can," my favorite of the two offbeat movies Clint Eastwood made with an orangutan. I'm not ashamed to admit that I loved this movie 20-plus years ago. I'm also not ashamed to now say it sucks.



I don't know who came up with the idea to pair Eastwood with "Clyde," but the first film, "Every Which Way But Loose," was a box office success in 1978. The sequel didn't do as well, but for whatever reason I liked it better. I rather vividly remember watching its network broadcast probably around 1982 or '83. And I can remember renting the film back when one still had to go to a brick-and-mortar video store.

I guess my tastes matured (one hopes that ones sensibilities don't peak in early adolescence) because watching this film all these years later was positively painful.

Other than a few scenes between Eastwood and Clyde, the film just wasn't funny. The acting, particularly that of Sondra Locke (Eastwood's girlfriend at the time), was atrocious. We weren't expecting much but this film makes "Smokey and the Bandit" look like "Citizen Kane." About all I can say for it is the song "You're the Reason God Made Oklahoma," some nice location scenes in Jackson, Wyo., and a brief appearance by Glen Campbell.

Such is growing up, I guess. Looking at the reruns now, I have no idea why I used to like "Green Acres" and "Bosom Buddies," either.

Oh, pointless junk, what did I ever see in you?

One last time...

I may be the only 33-year-old in America with a hand-picked, self-created "Glen Campbell's Greatest" playlist on my iPod. So be it.

I am a fan. Have been for a long time.

I guess it probably started with "Rhinestone Cowboy," one of those songs you grow up with. And "Gentle on my Mind," which I think is brilliant, and "Wichita Lineman," which I think is poetry. Plus, I liked the fact he used to be a Beach Boy. Somewhere along the way, more than 20 years ago now, I saw "True Grit." You know, the real one, with John Wayne. And with Glen.

I finally saw him in concert in the 1990s. He'd lost his high register by then, no longer sounding like a Dee-light, Arkansas country boy on speed ("Hello, everybody, I'm Glen Campbell!")

All those Jimmy Webb gems were favorites, including the rarer ones, like "Where's the Playground Susie?" and "Still Within the Sound of My Voice." And he could pick a guitar like nobody's business.

Saw him again two years ago in North Carolina. That time around, I started collecting his vinyl records. I finally stopped when I ran out of room.

Last night, I bought one more Glen Campbell vinyl: his final studio album, "Ghost on the Canvas." The Rhinestone Cowboy stopped in Maryville to say goodbye. He was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in July. Sigh, sigh.

You can read my thoughts on the show in Monday's Shopper-News. For now, I'll say it was a bittersweet night and felt very much like what it was -- a final salute to an old friend.

You'll be missed, Glen. Thanks for the music.

A few more words about the Rhinestone Cowboy

Further evidence that I possess an addictive personality:

After seeing Glen Campbell last Friday in North Carolina, I came home and set about trying to get my hands on everything he recorded.

This is nothing new. I am an "all or nothing at all" kind of guy, especially when it comes to music. What can I say! It soothes the soul.

Anyway, I tracked down the second volume of a CD trilogy Capitol Nashville released in the mid-1990s that chronicles Glen's years on that label. I bought the first volume the year I graduated from high school, but never followed up on the other two.

Big mistake.

Both are long out of print. The third volume now sells for anywhere from $65 to $100. But, I secured the second set -- an unopened copy -- for a whopping four bucks. It's easily my favorite Glen Campbell collection to date.

My favorite tracks are the live and rare songs and the album cuts that never became hits. One is Gordon Lightfoot's "If You Could Read My Mind." Glen delivers a beautiful cover, one that threatens to make my top 10 list.

He probably owes his career in part to songwriter Jimmy Webb. A handful of Webb gems are here, including a nice live performance of "Didn't We" and the often maligned psychedelic "MacArthur Park." I don't care what you say. I like that song.

(Did you know that Jimmy Webb wrote "Highwayman"? Me either.)

Other rarities are covers of Porter Wagoner's "The Last Thing on my Mind" and Paul Simon's "Homeward Bound" and a stunning rendition of "Greensleeves."

The hits are here, too. "Gentle on my Mind" and "Rhinestone Cowboy" and "Houston (I'm Coming to See You)."

Wish I could find even a burned copy of Volume 3. Alas, alas. This is what happens when you don't buy something when you see it.

For once, though, I'm glad for my nutty obsessions. I don't know how you feel about it, but to me there's nothing like discovering a gem of an album by a favorite artist.

Rhinestone Cowboy shines

CHEROKEE, N.C. -- The Rhinestone Cowboy has still got it!

Glen Campbell, country crooner of yesteryear, played to a full ballroom at Harrah's last night. He's no spring chicken anymore, so I wondered how "Wichita Lineman" would sound from a 73 year old.

Turns out it sounded just fine.

Sporting a black shirt and a blue sports coat, and picking two different blue guitars (an electric and a 12-string), Campbell weaved his way back through the years. One by one they came, all those Jimmy Webb hits -- "Galveston," "By the Time I Get to Phoenix," "Dreams of the Everyday Housewife."

Glen doesn't have his high register anymore (don't forget he was once a Beach Boy), but I thought his voice sounded stronger than it was when I saw him a decade ago. He looks like he's in great shape, plastic surgery not withstanding.

Allison Harned nearly had to restrain her husband Dean when Glen sang the theme song to the John Wayne film "True Grit." Glen, you may remember, was Duke's co-star.

"Glen Campbell represents a simpler time," Dean said. "He's one of the last links to that period."

The Harneds loved the fact that we were the youngest people in the room by at least 30 years. What can I say? Guess I never was meant for glitter, rock and roll.

Glen threw in a few surprises. He sang a nice cover of Hank Williams' "Lovesick Blues." His daughter, Debbie, sang the classic "Silver Threads and Golden Needles" and father and daughter teamed up for the Johnny Cash/June Carter classic "Jackson" and "Let it Be Me," the hit Glen once had with Bobbie Gentry.

You may not know it, but Glen Campbell is a virtuoso on the guitar. He was a session player in Los Angeles before racking up all those hits. He even played guitar on Frank Sinatra's "Strangers in the Night."

Last night, he strutted his stuff on the Mason Williams instrumental "Classical Gas" and "The William Tell Overture," even playing part of the latter over his back.

It would have been perfect had the Harrah's sound crew known what they were doing. Several times, Campbell had to step away from the front monitors because of a bad sound mix. Several times he asked -- into the mic -- for the bass to be turned down.

The other damper was bad management at the casino buffet. We got in line to eat at 7, figuring that we would be finished by 8 or 8:30, then get seated in the ballroom by 9.

Nope.

We waited for an hour and 15 minutes just to get a table. And it took an act of Congress to get a refill of sweet tea.

The good news is the food was delicious. Prime rib. All you can eat seafood. Yum, yum. Even if we did have to eat it fast.

Harrah's Cherokee is in the process of expanding. Here's hoping that means such mistakes are eradicated. It almost ruined my day off.

But, we were there to see the Rhinestone Cowboy, and as always, he sang as bright as a star-spangled rodeo.

At least I had the weekend...

It's easy to make it through a rainy Monday when you've got such a great life.

Friday night found me on Norris Lake, eating shrimp and watching baseball. The rain ran us inside, but that was OK. The Yankees beat the Twins. Boston lost.

Listened to Marvin West, the sportswriter with no equal, tell tales. Good ones, too. Like the time John Majors kept calling his hotel room in Lexington. John was angry because Marvin found out about a coaching change and put it in the paper before the coach had told the assistant. Oops.

Marvin said Majors called him back about seven times. The next time they saw each other it was as if the incident never happened. Which is the way it should be if you think about it.

Was under the weather Saturday. So, I stayed home and rooted the Vols to victory over the Dawgs. The boys looked good. I'm thinking I need to get sick and stay home more if they keep playing like that without me.

I started Sunday, like always, reading Rheta Grimsley Johnson. Her column is a graduate course in great writing. This week's piece was about the too-short month of October. Poignant.

She's coming to town, by the way. I'll get to hear her at a lecture on Oct. 29. Can't wait.

Enjoyed breakfast at Amber with my dear friend Jaci Spicer. It was so good to see her again. And, as it always does, two hours flew by like a house at the side of the road. It was a nice treat. (In case you're wondering: two eggs, medium, sausage, biscuits and gravy, regular coffee.)

Singing practice was canceled, so I plopped down in the recliner and watched a "Gunsmoke" marathon for most of the afternoon. Doesn't get much better than that.

Last night, I headed out to Oak Ridge, to hang out with Mike and Judy Finn awhile. We have to re-create our Barley's experience now.

So, Mike put on a few Robinella bootlegs, we downed some cold ones and chatted about the songs, and the Detroit Tigers, and Napoleon's Waterloo and how the weather was. Mike and I caught a little bit of football and baseball on the tube before time to go home.

Then, to top it all off, Dean Harned called to say that Dean, his wife Allison and I are going to see Glen Campbell this Friday night in North Carolina. He's always been one of our favorite singers. After all, Glen's the Rhinestone Cowboy. He even played opposite John Wayne in "True Grit"!

So, yeah. If I can't have a pretty Monday, at least I had the weekend...

I long to see you...

Heard a song getting ready for work this morning that took me to the beginning of my long love affair with American folk/roots music.

Oh Shenandoah, I long to see you/Away you rolling river...

I was back in music class at Brickey Elementary School, that beautiful old brick building that no longer stands. I can still see me sitting there on the bleachers, wearing an alligator shirt and singing to my little heart's content, full of naive wonder about the world.

Away, I'm bound away/Across the wide Missouri...

Wikipedia says that "Shenandoah" originated in the early 19th century as a river chantey. The song spread up and down the Missouri and Mississippi rivers and eventually became a haunting installment in the American songbook.

The meaning is disputed. Obviously a tale about a wanderer's love for an Indian girl, arguments have arisen over whether Shenandoah is an Indian chief or the famous Virginia river. Apparently the doubt was enough to keep the song from becoming a Virginia state song a few years ago.



The version I heard this morning was from an old late 60s/early 70s Glen Campbell album. His cover is full of lush strings and a choir; it is a wistful treatment that fits the moment. One can almost feel the longing.

Away, I know I'll go/Across the wide Missouri...

The song has made its way into our popular culture. Bob Dylan recorded the song on one of his albums. Richard Nixon, who apparently loved the song, left instructions for it to be played at his funeral. Filmmaker Oliver Stone used the song to close his 1995 biopic on the 37th president.

Good stuff.

Sad song of the week: Found a new sad song that I'm climbing the walls over.



A few weeks ago, I read News Sentinel columnist Wayne Bledsoe's interview with The Everybodyfields, the Alt-Country Johnson City duo Sam Quinn and Jill Andrews. I missed the group's appearance at the World Grotto because of illness, but their new album "Nothing is Okay" is a sight, er sound, to behold.

I'll write an elaborate review later, but you simply have to stop what you're doing and find a copy of this song "Savior." This may replace George Jones's "He Stopped Loving Her Today" and RobinElla's "Teardrops" as my favorite sad song. Here, listen:

Love's not a savior/when you're messed up/when you're messed up, forever

You feel you're drowning in red hearts/Wrapped in red ribbons/And blue skies

Then somebody pulls the plug/It all goes down the drain/Don't we all change?

God, that should be illegal.

Anyway, I think I've found a new favorite. I'm going to catch these folks next time they are anywhere near East Tennessee.

Beautiful, simply, wonderfully, heartbreakingly beautiful.

The last time I saw her...

I'm a fan of story songs.

I especially like tunes that are somewhat ambiguous, that leave something to the imagination. You know something's not quite what it appears. But it isn't clear. The ultimate example has to be Bobbie Gentry's "Ode to Billy Joe."

But I digress.

Waiting for pages to roll out of compo this afternoon, an old Gordon Lightfoot composition came on the iPod.

Called "The Last Time I Saw Her," the song is a haunting ballad about a doomed love affair. Like all of his best work, Lightfoot's lyric is pure poetry, full of ethos and imagery.

This particular version was recorded not by Lightfoot, but by Glen Campbell. The arrangement fits the song, full of strings and an elaborate presentation. It's one of Glen's most beautiful songs, but I'm not sure it ever became a hit.

Yet another beautiful gem lost to the passing of time. The lyric is below:

The last time I saw her face
Her eyes were bathed in starlight
And her hair hung long

The last time she spoke to me
Her lips were like the scented flowers
Inside a rain-drenched forest

But that was so long ago
That I can scarcely feel
The way I felt before
And if time could heal the wounds
I would tear the threads away
That I might bleed some more

The last time I walked with her
Her laughter was the steeple bells
That rang to greet the morning sun
A voice that called to everyone
To love the ground we walked upon
Those were her good days

The last time I held her hand
Her touch was autumn, spring and summer
Winter, too

The last time I let go of her
She walked away into the night
I lost her in the misty streets
A thousand months, a thousand years
When other lips will kiss her eyes
A million miles beyond the moon
That's where she is

The last time I saw her face
Her eyes were bathed in sadness
And she walked alone

The last time she kissed my cheek
Her lips were like the wilted leaves
Upon the autumn covered hill
Rested on the frozen ground
The seeds of love lie cold and still
Beneath the battered marking stone
It lies forgotten