Go to 86: Land by Patti Smith
Go to 88: Bloody Motherfucking Asshole by Martha Wainwright
In 1974, after three short years of underwhelming sales, acrimonious dealings with the record industry and inter-band punchups and walkouts, the remaining members of Memphis group Big Star disbanded. The band’s record label had decided that their weird, bitter, messy third album was not commercial enough to even bother pressing to vinyl, so main songwriter Alex Chilton and drummer Jody Stephens abandoned their recordings and moved on to other things.
But Big Star would not be forgotten for long. In 1978, the band’s first two albums #1 Record and Radio City were re-released, bringing their striking pop sound to the attention of a new generation. This was followed by the eventual release of that lost third album, first called Third then Sister Lovers. That record’s impassioned songs and scrappy production would go on to have a major influence on the alternative rock landscape of the 1980s and 90s.
Bands like R.E.M., The Replacements, Primal Scream and The Posies have all cited the impact that Big Star had on their music. Some critics have compared the group’s far-reaching impact on the independent scene to that of The Velvet Underground. While the latter band also has a legacy that far outweighed their sales, Lou Reed and co. were adored by their contemporaneous art school darlings and featured in Andy Warhol’s circle of wave-making artists.
By contrast, though Chilton and Stephens would later achieve some belated success when they reformed for a series of tours in the 1990s and 2000s, the first era of Big Star barely registered a ripple beyond certain critics. How did a band of such importance fail to make any impact at the time of their brief existence?
Far from being obtuse or overtly reveling in unpalatable themes like the Velvets, Big Star’s early releases had a style and accessibility that seemed tailored for success. Each of the four original members (Chilton, Stephens, plus guitarist Chris Bell and bassist Andy Hummel) was inspired to play music by The Beatles, while Chilton had previously scored a hit single with The Letter while singing in a group called The Box Tops. Combining a British pop sensibility with the rootsier sound of their hometown of Memphis, Big Star were like The Kinks crossed with Creedence Clearwater Revival.
Yet, the band would never achieve that which was so boldly proclaimed by their name or the title of their debut album. #1 Record was released on Stax Records, though by the early 70s, the legendary soul label was nearing its end and failed to distribute the record effectively. So while generally glowing reviews and the band’s own promotional efforts helped create initial demand, most fans were unable to actually buy the album.
Eventually Stax sold distribution rights of their catalogue to Columbia Records, but the major label refused to deal with any of Stax’s existing independent distributers and withdrew all available copies of #1 Record. The situation proved dispiriting for the band and the recording sessions for their second album Radio City were marred by a punch-up between Hummel and Bell—who also destroyed each other’s instruments—as well as master tapes going missing and the band splitting up.
Chilton, Stephens and Hummel soon reconciled and completed the record, but Bell, who was beset by drug problems, never returned. Building on the sounds of its predecessor, Radio City too received effusive reviews and critics seemed sure this was the record to shoot Big Star to the big time.
But once more, record company shenanigans would crush the band’s dreams. Columbia and Stax had a major falling out and the former refused to process Radio City, which ended up selling a mere 20,000 copies. By 1974, Hummel had quit Big Star after deciding the band would never succeed, while Chilton and Stephens began work on a new record under a new recording name, Sister Lovers (a reference to the fact that at the time they were dating sisters).
Looking back at this sad story from the vantage point of 2013, the omnipotent control over the world of music wielded by record labels is remarkable. It’s increasingly hard to imagine a similar situation occurring now where a band with such potential could fade into obscurity simply because a distributor decided not to aid their cause. While the digital age may have robbed the music industry of its powers of wealth-generation, it has provided music creators with a public outlet like no other.
Granted, Johansson's recording was not a mainstream sensation and probably sold very few copies. Released by the independent Swedish label Sincerely Yours and created by an artist about whom no one knows anything, it was never likely to trouble what remains of the charts. But the power of the internet made it easy for many people to hear the song and share it around the world to whichever ears are willing to listen.
And what a treat for those who did. While the original Big Star song, taken from the Sister Lovers album, is a quiet pastoral folk song, Kendal Johansson’s cover opens with a thundering dubby beat. Next comes the shimmer of a string followed by delicate electronic wibbles and shivering power synths, before the song bursts into life with a huge piano that elevates the tweedy melody of the original to epic new heights. And then the vocals arrive.
Simple yet elegant, androgynous yet unshowy, Johansson’s voice allows the purity of his emotions and the brilliance of his interpretation to shine through. He takes the gentle melancholy of the original and infuses it with something that’s part blistering hope and part eloquent despair as he pleads “let me be your one light”.
Blue Moon doesn’t have a chorus, middle eight or breakdown, it just continues in the same glorious range for two and a half minutes before slowly fading into the void. It doesn’t seem to go anywhere, achieve anything or reach any conclusion, so you press play again and once more revel in its splendid transcendence.
Perhaps the mystery surrounding its creator adds to this sense of singular wonder. While Big Star raged against their enforced obscurity, Johansson appears to us (rightly or wrongly) to be content with the one true musical gift he has bestowed on the world.
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If you like this, try:
Thank You Friends - Big Star
Holocaust - Big Star
The Ballad of El Gordo - Big Star
Daisy Glaze - Big Star
Go to 86: Land by Patti Smith
Go to 88: Bloody Motherfucking Asshole by Martha Wainwright
Just stepped into your blog via your Twitter feed. Pretty cool. Not much overlap between us to date, though we have a number of artists in common (Joy Division, Kinks). I absolutely adore Big Star's Third, but had never heard this cover. I like it. A lot of artists have done some remarkable things with the songs on that record; while I think it's perfect as-is, it also (like Dylan) works well as a blueprint for others' interpretations.
ReplyDeleteThanks for getting in touch. Glad you're enjoying my blog. Funnily enough, I had never heard Big Star before hearing Kendal Johansson's cover of Blue Moon, so writing this piece was my way into the Third album.
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