by Roni Sarig
Before Grievous Angel could be released, Parsons overdosed on a mix of morphine and tequila; he was 26. When friends highjacked his coffin en route to New Orleans for burial and burned his body, as he had requested, in the Joshua Tree desert, the Gram Parsons legend had begun.
DISCOGRAPHY
(w/ International Submarine Band) Safe at Home (LHI, 1967; Shiloh, 1987); though hardly acknowledged, this was essentially the first country rock album.
(w/ the Byrds) Sweetheart of the Rodeo (Columbia, 1968); recorded during Parsons’ brief stay in the band, it strongly bears Parsons’ imprint in its country flavor.
(w/ Flying Burrito Brothers) The Gilded Palace of Sin (AGM, 1969); the fullest realization of Parsons’ “hippie country” vision.
(w/ Flying Burrito Brothers) Burrito Deluxe (AGM, 1970); a less-inspired follow-up to Gilded Palace, it features Parsons on his way out of the group.
(w/ Flying Burrito Brothers) Close up the Honky Tonks (ASM, 1972); a compilation.
G.P. (Reprise, 1973; 1990); Parsons’ first solo album, with a slightly more traditional approach to country songwriting.
Grievous Angel (Reprise, 1974; 1990); posthumously released, and reissued on one CD with G.P., this last Parsons’ recording was his most sophisticated effort yet.
Sleepless Nights (ASM, 1976; 1990); a mix of Flying Burrito Brothers songs recorded just before Parsons’ departure and outtakes from Grievous Angel.
Gram Parsons: The Early Years 1963-65 (Sierra, 1979); a collection of tracks from early Parsons bands such as the Shilohs.
Gram Parsons and the Fallen Angels Live, 1973 (Sierra, 1982).
(w/ Flying Burrito Brothers) Dim Lights, Thick Smoke and Loud Loud Music (Edsel, 1987); this collects all the band’s Parsons-era recordings not included on the two studio albums.
Warm Evenings, Pale Mornings, Bottle Blues 1963-1973 (Raven, 1991); a compilation covering Parsons’ entire career, both solo and as part of bands.
(w/ Flying Burrito Brothers) Farther Along: The Best of the Flying Burrito Brothers (ASM, 1988); contains nearly the entirety of Gilded Palace, plus an assortment of other songs from the Parsons-era band.
TRIBUTE: Various Artists, Conmemorativo: A Tribute to Gram Parsons (Rhino, 1993); features Uncle Tupelo, Bob Mould, Victoria Williams, Steve Wynn, members of R.E.M. and the dBs, as well as Parsons’ daughter, Polly.
NICK DRAKE
Nick Drake, “Fruit Tree”:
Fame is but a fruit tree, so very unsound / It can never flourish, ‘til its stalk is in the ground.
The archetypal lonely songwriter who pours his heart into music, Nick Drake has been an inspiration for countless musicians. A dark and romantic troubadour whose thin frame and soft features convey vulnerability, Nick Drake is today the focus of a sizable cult attracted to his intimate music and enigmatic personality. While it could be argued that Drake’s example has created far too many self-indulgent guitar-wielding weepers, those who’ve grasped the purity and beauty in his songs are generally better songwriters for it.
An early admirer, Elton John recorded Drake’s music in the late ‘60s, and artists as diverse as Lucinda Williams, Run On, and the Swans covered his songs later. Drake has been the subject of tributes by three generations of performers, from Richard Thompson to Robyn Hitchcock to indie rock band Ida. In the ‘80s, English pop groups such as the Lilac Time (named after a Drake lyric) and the Dream Academy (who dedicated their hit “Life in a Northern Town” to Drake) were clearly influenced by Drake, as were other gloomy Brits such as Morrissey and the Cure’s Robert Smith. More recently, singer-songwriters like Jeff Buckley and folk-oriented bands such as Red House Painters and Bell and Sebastian have mined similar stylistic territory. Decades after his death, Nick Drake remains one of the most vitally inspiring musicians in popular music.
Gary Louris, Jayhawks:
Nick Drake’s stuff was an influence on us in the late ‘80s. He was a little off-kilter, in-between styles. And it was pretty emotional stuff, beautifully arranged. “Take Me With You” is definitely patterned after a Nick Drake song, even though it sounds quite a bit different.
The son of a British lumber industry executive stationed in the Far East, Nick Drake was born in Rangoon, Burma, though his family returned to Tamworth-in-Arden, a village in the English Midlands, while Nick was quite young. Along with his parents and older sister, Gabrielle (who would go on to become a well-known actress in the U.K.), Nick grew up in a house large enough to have a name – Far Leys – where he was exposed early on to classical music through his mother, a singer and composer. Though he’d played piano since childhood, and later tried saxophone and clarinet, it wasn’t until Drake was 16 and away at boarding school that he first started playing guitar. An exceptionally gifted musician, the shy and lonely teenager took to the instrument immediately and was soon comfortable with advanced fingering techniques and innovative open tunings.
Chris Cornell, Soundgarden:
Everyone talks about the introspective, shy, quiet, tragic Nick Drake, but if you listen to his records and the way he plays guitar, he was incredibly forceful and aggressive on it. He’d just pull on the strings. There was some underlying thing going on that was almost angry. I don’t know if a lot of people set that, but I got it and it was kind of a surprise. For me as a guitar player, he’s someone I would think of as a guitar god.
While attending college in Cambridge, Drake became interested in the work of poets such as William Blake and the French Symbolists, and their influence began to show up in the songs he started writing. Soon he was performing in local coffeehouses, which had become a center for the blooming British folk revival of acts like Fairport Convention, Pentangle, and John Martyn. Drake proved to be a capable, if uneasy, performer of folk and blues standards, Dylan covers, and his own originals. He attracted the attention of Fairport Convention’s manager, Joe Boyd, who signed Drake to his Witchseason label (which was soon bought by Island Records). As he began to work on his first album, Drake dropped out of college to focus on his music.
Released in 1969, Five Leaves Left was an impressive debut for the 21-year-old musician. While the songs featured lush string arrangements or the light jazz-folk accompaniment of musicians from Pentangle and Fairport Convention (including guitarist Richard Thompson), the album remained predominantly acoustic and focused on Drake’s rich singing and guitar work. Songs like River Man and the eerily prescient Fruit Tree combined a romantic melancholy with wide-eyed enchantment, sung with perfect clarity and intimacy. Though Five Leaves Left was received warmly by critics, it failed to catch on with the public. Drake’s discomfort with performing made it difficult to promote the record through a concert tour, and by 1970 Drake gave up on playing live altogether.
Eric Matthews:
I had an immediate affection for his voice. Five Leaves Left is all solace and peace and quietude. The string arranging and the guitar, I think it had an influence on my direction. People think maybe I’m consciously trying to sing like him, though what I get from him mostly is the whole package, the string arranging. But if people think I’m influenced by Nick Drake, well they’re right.
Soon, Drake began work on a second album, Bryter Layter, which he released in 1970. It featured many of the musicians that had joined him on Five Leaves Left, with the addition of the Velvet Underground’s John Cale on keyboards and viola. The record fleshed out Drake’s songs with brighter, fuller arrangements that included horns and more prominent drums. Some of the songs, including Hazey Jane H and the title track, actually came closer to ‘70s light pop – a sound adopted by more recent bands such as Belle and Sebastian and the Cardigans – than Drake’s earlier folk compositions. Again, however, Drake’s music failed to connect with a large audience. Drake had long suffered from depression, and this perceived rejection of his work made the condition much more acute, to a point where it became debilitating. Following Bryter Later’s release, Drake left the flat he’d taken in London and, after a retreat to Spain, returned to his
parents at Far Leys.
Moby:
I almost feel foolish counting him as an influence because so many people – at least among people making records – cite him as one. He had such a beautiful voice and was such a phenomenal songwriter. On Bryter Later especially, the arrangement and orchestration is wonderful. Very vulnerable and very emotional.
Back in his childhood home, Drake became more withdrawn than ever. Rarely seeing friends – and at times alienating them – Drake spent most of his days sitting in his favorite orange armchair and listening to records of classical music; at night he stayed up trying to write. Then one day Drake entered producer John Wood’s studio and, barely uttering a word, proceeded to record 11 new songs with only his own guitar and piano accompaniment. Declining to add anything to the spare tracks, Drake took the master tapes and dropped them off unannounced at his record company’s reception desk.
Though Island was delighted to have Drake’s third album, which they released as Pink Moon, the label had no illusions that this collection of gorgeous but desolate music would succeed commercially. When their fears were realized, Drake’s mental state worsened to a point where he briefly entered a psychiatric facility. He decided to quit music altogether, and even looked into a job as a computer programmer, but was soon unable to work at all.
Jim O’Rourke, solo / Gastr del Sol:
One of the greatest songwriters ever. Very pure and specific, with a very simple use of language. The ability to use a few words to say so much is a gift only given to certain people, and he was definitely one of them. He was a beautiful singer, and he meant it. Whenever I hear someone who’s genuine, it helps me keep going.
By 1973, Drake had begun taking antidepression medication and his condition eased enough for him to begin writing songs again. Encouraged by French chanteuse Françoise Hardy’s interest in recording his music, and wanting to make another album of his own, Drake recorded four new songs and went to live in France. There, Drake tried to see Hardy, but she was not at home and he was turned away. In November of 1974, while returning for a visit to Far Leys, Drake overdosed on his medication and died in the night. His death was ruled a suicide, though his family says it was an accident. Either way, the fragile 26-year-old never lived to witness the slow bloom of his “fruit tree.”
DISCOGRAPHY
Five Leaves Left (Island; 1969; Hannibal, 1986); this debut album features Drake at his most mystical, with light accompaniment.
Bryter Later (Island, 1970; Hannibal, 1986); this record dresses Drake’s songs up with drums, strings, and horn arrangements, and is his brightest, most pop-oriented record.
Pink Moon (Island, 1972; Hannibal, 1986); recorded in two days and featuring only Drake accompanying himself, this is his most spare and depressed work.
Time of No Reply (Hannibal, 1986); a collection of early recordings and demos for a never completed fourth album.
Fruit Tree: The Complete Works of Nick Drake (Hannibal, 1986); a box set containing all of Drake’s available music.
Way to Blue: An Introduction to Nick Drake (Hannibal, 1994); a compilation drawing from all of Drake’s albums.
TRIBUTE: Various Artists, Brittle Days. A Tribute to Nick Drake (Imaginary Records, 1992); this English release features Drake’s songs done by the High Llamas, Nikki Sudden (of Swell Naps), Loop, and others.
THE CRAMPS
Birdstuff, Man or Astroman?:
My initial exposure to the deranged universe of the Cramps severely affected my psychological circuitry, displacing all previously known parameters of the Rock ‘n’ Roll medium. For the next year and a half of my pimple-fighting adolescence, I played my Bad Music for Bad People cassette until it sounded like Duane Eddy being blasted through an underwater PA system on the 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea ride at Disneyland. When I finally witnessed the Cramps live, my alien genetic code was quickly re-sequenced during the chaotic sonic centrifuge of the show-terminating Surfin’ Bird. Without question, my perception was forever thereafter permanently askew: The essence of potent music lies not in technology or endless hours of practiced virtuosity, but in energy, lust and obsession... My final stage of Crampdom was manifested in actually being a chem-activated exothermic stage-warmer-upper for those aforementioned “Lords Who Indeed Taught Us Songs.” Obviously, this was a thrill unable to be described in any non-direct-nerval communication.
Though they looked like a bunch of goons who’d just emerged from a cemetery crypt, the Cramps are covertly some of the most astute connoisseurs and musicologists in rock. They reintroduced to a post-punk world the characteristically American weirdness and insanity just under the surface of early rock ‘n’ roll. They were among the earliest indulgers in a “junk aesthetic” of white trash, fast food, Vegas lounge acts, late-night horror films, and low-budget teen rebellion that extends through current art and entertainment, from Tarantino films to Elvis sightings. The Cramps’ cultural significance lies in its disposable idiocy.
The band’s black leather, rock-animal approach to punk can be seen today in bands like D-Generation, Dash Rip Rock, and Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, and their skill in unleashing rock’s forgotten primordial ooze inspired the recent proliferation of twangy guitar bands with tongue-in-cheek concepts, from the space-age surfers of Man Or Astroman? to the trailer park tramps of Southern Culture on the Skids. Still going strong after more than two decades, Cramps’ disciples now constitute a genre – coined from early Cramps gig posters – known as “psychobilly.”
Kate Schellenbach, Luscious Jackson:
They haven’t really gotten the credit that’s due, as far as influence on today’s alternative bands. Jon Spencer Blues Explosion owes a lot to the Cramps, especially with the guitar-only line-up. They were very entertaining, horror-rock monsters. They played New York so often in the early ‘80s that their shows were like this really fun social scene.
Erick Purkhiser and Christine Wallace – who’d met during college in California – conceived the Cramps while living in Purkhiser’s hometown of Akron, Ohio. Hearing about the outrageous costumes of the New York Dolls and the thriving punk scene around CBGB, the couple moved to New York in 1975, then recruited guitarist Bryan Gregory and his sister, drummer Pam “Balam” Gregory. When Erick remade himself as the “Elvis crossed with Vincent Price” singer known as Lux Interior and Christine became the guitar-wielding icy vixen called Poison Ivy Rorschach, the Cramps became reality.
David Yow, Jesus Lizard:
I liked the Cramps quite a bit. Watching Lux Interior was a real blast. I can imagine that working its way into my thing. I liked how Elvis Presley had obviously had a big impact on his voice. I think I liked his Elvis more than Elvis’s Elvis.
By the time the Cramps started gigging at CBGB, the Dolls were long gone and the band’s haunted-house theatrics were quite out of place around the sober poetics of acts like Patti Smith and Television. But the Cramps’ hyperactive rockabilly – inspired by ‘50s guitar madmen such as Link Wray and Basil Adkins – provided just the energy release (and comic relief) the scene needed. After some personnel changes, Nick Knox became the group’s steady drummer, and the band emerged as one of the city’s premier live draws. Having developed a name for themselves, the Cramps journeyed to the heart of twisted old-time rock and roll – Memphis, Tennessee – where they recorded a series of singles (collected as Gravest Hits) with former Big Star leader Alex Chilton.
Gravest Hits, which consisted mostly of covers, provided only a taste of what was to come. Returning to Chilton’s studio in 1980, the Cramps recorded their debut album, Songs the Lord Taught Us, which fully mined the aesthetic that would define them for years to come. With originals that celebrated trash television (TV Set), trash movies (I Was a Teenage Werewolf), and just plain trash (Garbageman) – and covers of twisted garage rock obscurities (the Sonics’ Strychnine) and mangled pop classics (Fever) – the Cramps’ kitsch obsessions and rock ‘n’ roll exaggerations were sufficiently original and infectious to spark a genre of punk ro
ckabilly – or psychobilly – that continues to thrive.
Kins Coffey, Butthole Surfers:
We played with them once and I was star struck. They arrived for sound check dressed in full regalia, and a few hours later their fuzz guitars and echo boxes filled the room. Rarely have I been happier. Songs the Lord Taught Us is a great, scary album-they were able to fuse such distinctly American stuff to make their own weird thing. Later people copied what they were doing and it became known as psychobilly, but really the Cramps were in their own league. Sometimes the Butthole Surfers can go into a rockabilly thing, and I think we’re tapping into “songs the Cramps taught us.”
As the Cramps ventured out on national and international tours, word quickly spread of their highly entertaining rock / freak show. Audiences were thrilled by Lux’s seemingly endless energy on stage – where he’d often end up mostly naked in a frenzy of microphone-swallowing howls – while Ivy projected cool sexuality and stayed in character by never cracking a smile. They caught on particularly well in England, where, oddly, they were coupled on tour with the Police and Morrissey was an early member of their fan club, Legion of the Cramped.