Big Star:
Live on WLIR
Winding down a recent set, Alex Chilton asked,
"Anything else anyone needs done for them?" That
menacing kindness goes a long way toward explaining
the difference between trendy pop bands and the
phenomenon that Big Star and Captain have become
When together, Big Star sold very few records and could
have easily fallen through the cracks of rock and roll
history. Instead they attained the widespread influence
and importance that is theirs today - two decades since
the release of their first LP, more than 15 years since
their demise.
In this sad age of classic rock, the past is repackaged for
comfort. Once meaningful bands carry a false sense of
history. But Big Star is more than a sonic tour of the
seventies Like the Velvet Underground and unlike many
bands throughout rock and roll, the singular talent of Big
Star is evident not only within the context of their time
but outside it Big Star continues to attract, and unsettle,
new tans. This WLIR session is a clear window into the
impenetrable past, and the dogged pursuit of this
document - usually bootlegged so many times it sounded
like it was recorded on cotton fiber - is proud of the
devotion Big Star has garnered.
The story has ordinary beginnings. in 1971,
Memphis guitarist, vocalist and songwriter Chris Bell had
been working with drummer Jody Stephens and bassist
Andy Hummed (both of whom also sang and wrote) when
another musician friend returned to the city Alex Captain
had moved to New York following his 1969 departure
from the Box Tops, a semi-packaged AM radio teen
sensation. As a 16 year-old, Captain's gruff vocals
retained a casual air, sending "The Letter" to in 1967,
and yielding a total of seven top 40 hits, including "Cry
Like A Baby" and "Soul Deep."
The quartet fell in with the budding Ardent Studios, then
a relatively small facility and home o the now-defunct
Ardent label. Chilton said at the time, "it was the only
place in town that wasn't already locked up with a bunch
of tin pan alley writers and these sterile musicians
playing in the sessions." (Over the years, the studio
has grown to become one o the most respected in the
nation Jody Stephens is currently on their staff.) Taking
their band name rom a nearby supermarket, Big Star
optimistically titled their 1972 debut record #1 Record,
though the bright future would only materialize after their
break-up.
Shortly after its reissue, Ardent's distributor Stax (reeling
from a succession of owners) affiliated with Columbia
and #1 Record was lost in the shuttle. Critics who
heard it raved, but a disillusioned Chris Bell left the
group and Big Star recorded 74's Radio City as a trio.
The second album was also poorly distributed, the
band's frustration heightened by more critical raves.
Much of the praise was in response to the self-indulgent
progressive rock then prevalent - songs that were too
long, too meaningless, and too boring. Big Star's
melodic yet aggressive pop distinctly defied the trend.
They were likened to the Byrds and the Beatles; the
WLIR disc jockey on this recording even asks Chilton if
they are "anachronistic."
Before touring, bassist Hummel had departed, both to pursue his
engineering desires (today he works for General Dynamics) and because
Chilton was becoming increasingly difficult to work with; Memphian
John Lightman is the bassist on this recording. Big Star had begun as
a unit, but the band slowly crumbled. By the end of '74, Big Star was
Stephens and Chilton, the latter a very depressed man.
A very depressed, very poetic, very musical man. And in the company
of producer James Luther Dickinson, Chilton's emotions were transferred
to tape. The result is the achingly beautiful 3rd, released four years
later and re-released periodically since, sometimes under one of its
working titles, Sister Lovers (Chilton and Stephens were dating sisters;
Dickinson says that the album's layout was to be such that when both
jackets were folded together, the photos of the two girls inside would
kiss.)
intensified by the lack of effects, Chilton's vocals become
more audible, revealing the peculiar enthusiasm he puts
into the lines: "You're gonna die / Yes you're gonna die /
right now" Stephens anticipates this verse when he
bangs the drum four times unaccompanied, you can hear
death in the space between the notes.
The one song on this recording not previously released is
a cover of Loudon Wainwright's "Motel Blues," an
indication of the weariness and frustration which Chilton
was feeling as a music veteran at age 22 This feeling is
also evident in the interview which precedes his solo
acoustic set DJ Jim Cameron begins by praising Radio
City. Chilton is unmoved, answering snidely with a snort,
"Yeah, that's uh nice, I hope it sells." Cameron forges
ahead, asking about the Box Tops and "those days of
rock and roll " "Pretty scummy," summarizes Chilton
Cameron laughs politely and pauses, perhaps
regrouping, so Chilton continues, 'About as scummy as
now " He then falls into a pat description of the road,
which applies almost word for word to his present life.
The influence of Big Star/Chilton on contemporary rock -
twenty years after the fact - is remarkable. Given their
iii-fated career, you'd think they would have been
overlooked. Yet R.E.M, who constantly acknowledged
them in their early career, is at the top of the charts: the
Replacements, after first covering his material and then
being produced by him, wrote an ode to Chilton; his/their
name continues to dot music magazines in interviews,
references, and allusions. There will likely be another
burst of Big Star mania with the release of this disc (and
Bells solo album and 3rd), and despite the shallowness
of such hype, new fans will almost certainly be touched.
Alex Chilton remains active on the music scene,
his career still a classic rock and roll saga, its elements
a great novel He tours regularly, interspersing his club
dates with oldies revues where he sings Box Tops hits.
In the clubs, he has returned to R&B, soul, end some
blues. When uninspired, his sets would enhance
wedding receptions; the grind of the road removes the
spark of randomness which fires him. Considering that
there are a couple Big Star/Chilton tribute albums in the
works, perhaps he should consider letting his fans sing
lead on Big Star songs, the unknown variables providing
an excitement from which he could work Seeing him
play now, it's in anticipation of - hoping for - another
musical epiphany. Even if they are rare, most bands
never achieve them once.
Having watched his R&B persona develop, I interpret it
as a variation on the classic soul singer who casually
strolls onto the stage, works the audience to his liking,
and leaves them wanting more. He's not out of the Otis
Redding mold, the singer exerting the energy of a gospel
church, the sweat a testimonial. Rather, Chilton is calm
and cool, even smug and cocky, like a singer who just
left the wife of the club owner in his dressing room, and
now he's gonna give you some of what she got - but if he
gave it all, there wouldn't be none left for her after the
show, would there? it's a persona which can embrace
his career from the Box Tops and Big Star, as well as his
diverse solo endeavor. Also, it can be developed in the
club as opposed to the studio, where one needs time
which takes money.
A European deal gets Chilton in and out of the studio
every few years; it's been nearly half a decade since
he's had an American label, and more than twice that
since he was given a budget that allowed him to really
utilize his studio ideas. His documentary-sized budgets
only allow for getting in, rolling tape, and playing.
Though some say he's remained a minor artist because
he's difficult to work with, anyone could name a dozen
artists who are much more unpleasant and ornery, who
have less of a vision and less to show for it. As of this
writing, he's added new songs to his tired live set, and he
says he's been writing more. But I wonder whether
Chilton will ever be able to afford the studio time he
needs to make another album that does more than
replicate his live sound. And I wonder whether his muse
still visits.
You find an old picture of your lover. It dates from
before you'd met, and though you'd heard about this
period in his or her life, seeing it adds a whole new
dimension to the person who sits across from you at the
breakfast table. You study the photograph and its
wrinkles, looking for clues that might tell you more about
this friend you know so well can you see anything in the
pockets of that jacket, can you read any book titles on
the shelf in the background. You think about an
archeologist's work. When you next see your lover,
you're struck by things you'd never noticed. The skin
tone, the facial radiance - though the lamps in your
house are all the same and the sun does not appear to
be undergoing a supernova, he or she carries a different
light. As strikingly similar as the way your lover has
always appeared, he or she is also that different. You
shrug and smile Whatever has happened, you like it.
That's what this recording is about.
