Show Review: Nick Lowe at the Paradise
Rock's most legendary obscurity plays a winning set



It’s hard to see your musical heroes grow old, mainly because a good deal of them don’t know how to do it gracefully. Fortunately, Nick Lowe is not only aging gracefully, he seems to be having the time of his life, and his singing, playing and songwriting are as sharp as ever.

That was the conclusion I reached Saturday night as I stepped out of Boston's Paradise Rock Club, after Nick performed for about 90 minutes to a delighted, appreciative crowd.

Nick’s name may not be altogether familiar to the average music fan, but if you’re a student of punk and power-pop from the late seventies, not knowing who he is should be a crime. Nick gained notoriety as a staff producer at Stiff Records, where a young Elvis Costello was first signed in 1977. Nick produced many of Elvis’ early albums (and subsequently had his hand in a few of the later ones, including Brutal Youth and Blood and Chocolate). In addition to Elvis, Nick produced works by the Damned, Graham Parker, the Pretenders and more.

He also found the time to write and record wonderful albums of his own, including Jesus of Cool and Labour of Lust (the latter album contained his only U.S. hit, “Cruel to be Kind”). His music was part new wave, part rockabilly with a streak of black humor. His side project with guitarist extraordinaire Dave Edmunds, Rockpile, yielded a fantastic 1981 album called Seconds of Pleasure (which was reissued earlier this year -- you should really own it).

Over the last decade or so, Nick’s quietly assumed the role of middle-aged elder statesman, playing more sedate, rootsy music with a crooner’s voice, while still keeping the black humor just under the surface. Albums like The Impossible Bird, Dig My Mood and The Convincer are hardly what you’d expect from one of punk’s premiere architects, but if you follow the trail of Nick’s career, it seems a natural transition, and one that doesn’t at all seem forced.

Opening for Nick on this tour, and accompanying him on keyboards at various times during the show was Welsh singer/multi-instrumentalist Geraint Watkins. Normally I’m not a big fan of opening acts, but Watkins was terrific. A frequent collaborator of Nick’s for the last several years, he can best be described as a combination of Van Morrison, Brian Wilson, Jerry Lee Lewis and Tom Jones. Banging away at the keyboard, Watkins conjured up zydeco, rockabilly, boogie-woogie, rhythm and blues and gospel. It’s a rare treat to have a support act who sounds great and isn’t just an excuse for the crowd to wander to the bar and restrooms. He performed mostly original material (except for his stellar version of the Beach Boys’ “Heroes and Villains”), but the songs were so good they almost sounded like standards (and his latest album, Dial “W” For Watkins, is readily available in stores if you’re interested).

Nick took to the stage with an acoustic guitar and treated the audience to a wide range of songs from his rich repertoire. Old songs were revisited (“Cruel to be Kind,” “Half a Boy and Half a Man,” “I Knew The Bride When She Used To Rock and Roll”) in addition to a few numbers from last few albums (“Lately I’ve Let Things Slide,” “Soulful Wind”). The songs often took a rollicking, upbeat turn, but Nick also dialed it down to a near whisper with gorgeous versions of “The Beast in Me” and “Lover Don’t Go,” two of his most beautiful ballads.

Nick was in a winning mood, bantering occasionally between songs about subjects such as the Paradise (which he claims to have played “267 thousand times”) as well as previous venues on the current tour (Portland’s Aladdin Theater, which he informed us was “a decommissioned porno theater”). He was completely gracious and seemed to be thrilled at the packed house.

Although not a particularly political artist, Nick did in fact end the set proper (before a couple of well-received encores) with a sublime rendition of (“What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding,” which was popularized by Elvis Costello but actually written by Nick. Accompanied by Watkins on piano, Nick’s impassioned singing (which sounds better than ever, by the way) gave the song great urgency, particularly given the current state of world affairs.

No fog machines, no lip-syncing, no Jumbo-tron TV screens, no self-centered divas. Just an incredibly talented singer/songwriter – hell, a legend – playing great music.

The Beautiful, Twisted World of Frank Zappa
Put something daring in your music collection



There’s nothing quite like a preconceived notion to block out an experience that could make your life so much richer. Consider, if you will, the strange case of Frank Zappa.

Zappa was a composer, singer, guitarist, arranger, bandleader, would-be politician, and all-around enfant terrible. Nothing in his art was ever really conventional. He hated what was considered “traditional.” He broke barriers. He worked in all genres and created new ones. He invented the concept album (his debut album with the Mothers of Invention, Freak Out, was apparently one of Paul McCartney’s inspirations for Sgt. Pepper), he probably invented jazz fusion, and composed classical music so brilliant that legendary French composer/conductor Pierre Boulez agreed to perform it.

Still, he’ll always be the guy who wrote “Don’t Eat the Yellow Snow” and “Valley Girl.”

How frustrating is this for me, who’s been a fan for more than 20 years? More than a little. I’ll admit, when I first heard Zappa’s music, it was the toilet humor that drew me in. Hey, I was in junior high school. Sue me. Over the years, through my older brother’s endless acquisition of Zappa vinyl (both official and bootleg titles), in addition to front-row seats at a 1984 Zappa concert (my first rock concert), the creation of countless Zappa mix tapes (for myself as well as Zappa acolytes), the acquisition of Zappa’s ever-growing CD titles, and deep sadness at hearing of his passing in 1993, Frank’s music has been a constant in my musical upbringing since the age of 13.

Why does this music speak to me? For one thing, the man was a complete and utter genius. His eclecticism floored me – he could write brilliant pop music (usually with tongue firmly-in-cheek) and then turn around and give you some dissonant chamber music. Or a sax-drenched jazz workout. How about a semi-parody of heavy metal? An instrumental for synthesizer? Sure, why not?

Frank did all this and made it so easy. The only common thread in his hundreds of compositions is probably the ridiculous titles he would give his songs. A transcendent duet for bouzouki and violin is titled “Canard du Jour.” One of his knottier instrumental numbers is called “Alien Orifice.” Classical pieces are not spared these idiosyncracies, either. How about a piece for orchestra (performed by the London Symphony Orchestra) called “Bob in Dacron?”

If you’re interested in diving into the Zappa archives, you’ve got your work cut out for you. Fortunately, the wonderful folks at Rykodisc have remastered virtually the entire FZ catalog on CD, and it all sounds wonderful. My own personal preferences for the ultimate Zappa starter kit would include “We’re Only In It For the Money,” “Hot Rats,” “One Size Fits All,” “Lather” and “You Can’t Do That On Stage Anymore, Vol. 2.” There’s also some fine DVD product to peruse as well (Baby Snakes, Does Humor Belong in Music, a long-awaited imminent release of the Roxy & Elsewhere concert).

I could go on with a long-winded biography, but this is just a starting point. This is music that has affected my life very deeply, and has done the same for countless others. See what the fuss is about.

The Beautiful South
A modest plea from me to you to embrace this band of Brits



There’s really no reason to bow to convention, unless you’re trying to impress your date’s parents. Unfortunately, some of the most unconventional music slips under the radar because its risky nature is not being adequately financed by the major labels. Or maybe everyone’s saving their money for the upcoming Paris Hilton album. Whatever.

This could be why the Beautiful South, while achieving reputable status in their home of England, have barely registered in the United States. Sure, they have their share of American fans (myself included), but a mere mention of their name will most likely garner confused looks from Yanks.

To be fair, their lack of popularity is somewhat understandable. Let’s examine the lyrics, for example. One of the most interesting and unique aspects of this band is their juxtaposition of sweet melodies and caustic, biting words.

They say always use a condom, I say always use a whip
They say be careful where you come at night, I just shoot straight from the hip
When it comes to loves great fountain, I won't just take a sip
I'll swallow and I'll gulp until the fountain makes me sick.

The song, “Mini-Correct,” is from the band’s 1994 album, Miaow, and is told from the point of view of a chauvinistic, sadistic bastard. Often, the band’s lyrics are like theater, with the two male vocalists and one female vocalist acting out the parts. Singer/lyricist Paul Heaton enjoys writing about relationships and seems to take a particular interest in the sometimes cruel and thoughtless nature of men. The women in his lyrics know this behavior all too well.

A woman goes to heaven, it's not important when,
As soon as she arrives, God has to send her down again.
"You've got an extra five years to clean up after men."
"I mean no disrespect, God...but you'd better make it ten."

(from “Gates,” on the album Gaze)

But the lyrics can also be sweet, unironic, and unapologetically romantic:

I once had a friend who I loved from my heart
But I went on and left her 'fore I'd made a start
Now I'm moaning the blues like the rest of the charts
Take me back

So I'll cry with a limp
Just get by on a limb
Till these blue eyes of mine they are closed
So here's to an old fashioned peck on the cheek
And farewell my sweet Northern Rose

(from “One Last Love Song,” on the album Carry On Up the Charts: the Best of the Beautiful South)

The Beautiful South, which formed in 1989, rose from the ashes of the Housemartins, a mid-eighties band where Heaton served as singer/lyricist (and whose bass player was a gentleman named Norman Cook, now better known to the world as Fatboy Slim). The best way I can describe the Housemartins is if the Smiths attended a gospel revival. The band made two excellent albums and released a greatest hits collection (featuring lots of rare tracks) before breaking up. Heaton soon formed TBS with the Housemartins’ drummer, Dave Hemingway, joining him on lead vocals. Soon a female vocalist (Briana Corrigan) was added, in addition to guitarist/songwriter Dave Rotheray, bass player Sean Welch and drummer Dave Stead.

Over the years, TBS have released a slew of albums (Welcome to the Beautiful South, Choke, 0898, Miaow, Blue is the Colour, Quench, Painting it Red, Gaze) rich with melody and biting wit. In the process, they’ve gained a huge following in the U.K., and have gone through three female vocalists (Briana Corrigan and her replacement, Jacqueline Abbott, have both quit due to personal conflicts with the band; their latest singer is Allison Wheeler, who, at this writing, is still with the group).

If you trust my Housemartins description, perhaps you’ll go along with my TBS description – actually, a friend who attended a TBS show with me in 2000 actually came up with the description, but I think it works: Elton John meets Squeeze. It’s pop music, all right; but teeming with sophistication that a thousand Britneys could never muster up. The vocals are always gorgeously arranged and sung (particularly by Heaton, whose voice is utterly amazing) and there are many traditional touches in the arrangements (lots of piano, for example), but they’re not afraid to throw in a subtle drum machine here or there, or even an odd sitar riff to give a tune a unique color. They pay homage to favorite songwriters by way of subtle imitation (“Pretty” copies an Elvis Costello line, “newlyweds and nearly-deads”) or even the traditional way, cover songs (their versions of “Everybody’s Talkin’” and “Dream a Little Dream of Me” are sublime).

In my experience as someone who enjoys introducing friends to new music, it’s worth noting that most people I know who hear TBS for the first time almost always like the music and subsequently seek it out. Every once in a while someone will lose interest once they hear the lyrics. But if you have beautiful music and boring lyrics, what fun would that be?

TBS has two best-of collections, Carry On Up the Charts (1995) and Solid Bronze (2001). The first one is a good place to start (the second one is a little redundant, if you ask me). I suggest getting the individual discs. My personal favorites are 0898 and Quench, but really, they’re all good. Get them now. Knowing the lack of imagination displayed by your friendly neighborhood record company executive, it may not be long before all Beautiful South albums fall out of print after a while.