Which Recording Has the Greatest Liner Notes?

Anyway, I think nothing quite beats the liner notes of the "Pet Sounds Sessions" box set. But I guess a box set book(let) may not count?

Also, the Miles Davis 60s quintet reissues have pretty fabulous liner notes with lots of musical analysis of the tunes and the solos, they really helped me get into certain things at the time.

Byron Coley's notes on Borbetomagus' "Seven Reasons For Tears" were good too.

OOOH MAN! Alex SOOO OTM! I was obsessed with those liner notes.....didn't they divide stuff up into categories too like "Old School" "Next School Posse" and shit like that? God, i used to be so obsessed with who thanked who on 80s hip hop cassette liner note...I heard of lots of groups for the first time on Fear, like Ultramagnetic for one...JVC Force...all those

http://tgk.konshak.org/nww/

But also, the liners to the first Warp AI comp, where they polled Aphex, B12, Black Dog, Autechre, the Orb etc on their favorite labels, influences etc. Introduced me to worlds of dance music.

It was about two A.M. on an unseasonably chilly evening in June when the phone rang. Having just put the finishing touches on a rather lukewarm review of the Leo Sayer concert out in Queens, I was anything but ready for the rapid-fire monologue delivered long distance from L.A. by a man who introduced himself as Steve Diener. After a half hour or so, I came to understand that this garrulous gentleman worked for ABC Records and was inviting me out to Hollywood to observe a Steely Dan recording session, the object being to compose an eyewitness account of the proceedings for a posh European publication. Of course, I was delighted at the prospect and perhaps even a wee bit flattered when I was told that the group had specifically requested my presence. I later found out that this was not entirely true. In retrospect, I should have realized the assignment would not be all sweetness and light; in no way has Steely Dan made its reputation by catering to the rock press. In fact, their contempt for pop music critics was well known to myself and my colleagues. As it turned out, a little caution on my part would not have been out of order. By the end of the first session at Producer's Workshop in Hollywood, it had become abundantly clear to me that nobody in the "group" new or cared who I was or what I was doing there.

Several sessions later, after Donald and Walter had been apprised of my identity, there was trouble. To make a long story short, I managed to attend perhaps a dozen sessions at three different studios and, on two occasions, attempted to inter- view the composers. Unfortunately, both cassettes were seized under grievous circumstances by a fellow whom I believe to be in the employ of the reluctant interviewees. The loss was inconsequential considering that fact that, at that point, my relationship with the belligerent song writing duo had become so strained as to produce a dialog that consisted mainly of threats, insults, and rude remarks. This, then was the raw material I had to work with. I had squeezed out about three thousand words when I heard from a friend in London that the afore- mentioned European magazine had folded.

It was not until a year later that I received a second phone call from Mr. Diener, now president of ABC Records, who informed me that the "guys" had specifically requested yours truly to write the liner notes for the new album and that a cassette copy of same would be forthcoming. Putting aside personal rancor, I gave "Aja" a listen. I have listened many times since. When they made their recording debut in 1972, Steely Dan was more or less a conventional rock group comprised of six active members. Almost immediately, the roster began to shrink until, by the time "Pretzel Logic" was released, the two composers appeared to be dependent on the performances of a baffling array of crack session regulars. Thanks to their deliberately vague manner of listing album credits, it became virtually impossible to determine who was playing what on any given track (a practice that has persisted until now). This latest album, following on the hot heels of that depraved and cynical masterpiece, "The Royal Scam", represents a departure from the puerile brooding that has distinguished Donald and Walter's work up to now. In this writers opinion, "Aja" signals the onset of a new maturity and a kind of solid professionalism that is the hallmark of an artist who has "arrived".

Side One opens with "Black Cow", a catchy disco-funk number that defies categorization. Bitterly sarcastic lyrics are underpinned by cloying jazz-crossover harmonies, the whole thing propelled by an infectious, trendy beat. Featured here is Victor Feldman's thoughtful electric piano solo followed shortly by Tom Scott's earthy tenor sax. The tile cut, "Aja", is a rather ambitious work in which a latin-tinged pop song is inexplicably expanded into some sort of sonata or suite. The result is a rambling eight-minute epic highlighted by Wayne Shorter's stately, rhapsodic solo which descends gracefully intoa recapitulation of the vocal theme. The sensitive, sometimes explosive performance by drummer Steve Gadd may be his finest recorded work to date. The side closes with "Deacon Blues", an Edge City ballad enlivened only by Pete Christlieb's haunting tenor work and a tasty chart by Scott.

Side Two finds vocalist Donald Fagen admonishing yet another lover in a danceable ditty entitled "Peg". Jay Graydon's electric guitar threatens after the initial refrain. The composer's describe this piece as a "pantonal 13 bar blues with chorus". That's the kind of double- talk they were giving me towards he end. We are now confronted by a stunning feet of pop legerdemain. "Home At Last", on first listening an unpretentious roadhouse shuffle, turns out upon close inspection to be a minor marvel of poetic grace and structural economy. At this late date, it would hardly seem possible for an artist to take Homer's immortal tale, so thoroughly exploited by Joyce in 1922, and educe from it new insights - especially within the narrow scope provided by the medium of popular song. Beneath the attractive, effortless flow of words and music, one discovers a lyric presence and fineness of perception that is a rare thing on disc nowadays. I can't say enough about this lovely rhythm-and-blues poem. "I Got The News", a Manhattan-jukebox thump-along, serves as a vehicle for the coy pianistics of Victor Feldman, whose labors are capriciously undermined by Walter Becker's odd, Djangoesque guitar and pointlessly obscene lyric. The final cut, "Josie", exemplifies Steely Dan's remarkable versatility. Rich with images of random violence, copulation, drug abuse, loitering with intent and other misdemeanors, this sociopathic jump tune is sure to become a classic zebra in the annals of Punkadelia.

Michael Phalen

Drew, do you just mean the little comments in the track listing like LISTEN WITH PAIN, HEAR WITH PAIN, EARS ARE WOUNDS etc. and short little discriptions like tools/metal plates/scratching metal/smashing glass (which are all mine has), or was there an earlier edition with more extensive liners?

Everyone hates them but I always liked the liner notes to Blood on the Tracks...I have a soft spot for that mid-70s meloncholy, where everyone turning 30 was wondering what the hell happened, reflecting back on how the 60s blew their minds, etc.

Oh yeah the interview booklet is great. I also like the Vol. 2 tray card that lists the instruments SM played.

WORST liner notes: Moby's "Play".

Too many collaborations of musical giants turn out to be bummers where either the forces nullify each other, or only the mere fact of collaboration, and not the end product, is what matters. This collaboration is no bummer. It is, in fact, the paradigm meeting of titans on record. Description adds little to the event, but it is hard to resist throwing your own critical gravy when men are throwing in so much of their own art. So here is perhaps the most awesome case of men really getting their teeth into each other's viscera, each other's cliches.

Muddy, Bo and Wolf stay out of each other's way, step all over each other, laugh at and with each other. They intimidate each other, shrug off and ignore each other, groove on and with each other. Equal moves from all directions come out of all this pressure, further insuring the same total nibbling at the entire cosmic scene -- where everything is relevant because everything is visible and nothing is relevant because visibility is nothing and nothing is everything. Everything appears as hint because nothing is there, and there are no hints because everything is there. And the blues is all. And Muddy, Bo and Wolf are the blues. They are even the Nietzschean multiple divinity at the very least.

Also, don't forget his amazing ones for Guitar Boogie (you know, that Page/Beck/Clapton exploito-thingy)(I'm not gonna transcribe 'em)

(but in all seriousness, Fahey rules; especially on Return of the Repressed -- lots of humor, lots of anecdotes, lots of insight; TOTALLY worth it even if you own all of his records, as I do)

(also, to sort of echo Jordan, upthread, -- the liner notes to the John Coltrane Complete Prestige Recordings, by Doug Ramsey and Carl Woideck, really went a long way towards teaching me how to LISTEN to jazz; to recognize individual soloists' styles, the song structures and bar patterns, time signatures, etc. Just a great, great set all around.)

Y'know, Mr. Snrub, we don't often agree. But you my friend should check your ass for nickel poisoning because you're ON THE MONEY.

Totally nonsensical. Lovely.

oh yes oh yes oh yes oh yes. funny, irreverent, rude and totally otm. and he continued the story on the liner notes to the great lost kinks album.

Plus anything and everything written by Robert Fripp on one of his own recordings. I tell you, the guy cracks me up!

The Shaggs are real, pure, unaffected by outside influences. Their music is different, it is theirs alone. They believe in it, live it. It is a part of them and they are a part of it. Of all contemporary acts in the world today, perhaps only the Shaggs do what others would like to do, and that is perform only what they believe in, what they feel, not what others think the Shaggs should feel.

The Shaggs love you, and love to perform for you. You may love their music or you may not, but whatever you feel, at last you know you can listen to artists who are real. They will not change their music or style to meet the whims of a frustrated world. You should appreciate this because you know they are pure what more can you ask?

Betty, Helen and Dorothy Wiggin are the Shaggs. They are sisters and members of a large family where mutual respect and love for each other is at an unbelievable high. They study and practice together, encouraged and helped by those around them. Betty, Helen and Dorothy live in a small town in New Hampshire, in an atmosphere which has encouraged them to develop their music unaffected by outside influences. They are happy people and love what they are doing. They do it because they love it.

Back to the Starting
Point! The Kickoff, Hebrew
Letters on the wall, Victor Hugo's
house in Paris, NYC in early
autumn, leaves flying in the park, the
clock strikes Eight. Bong - I dropped a
double brandy & tried to recall the events...
beer halls & pin balls, polka bands, barbwire
& thrashing clowns, objects, headwinds &
Snowstorms, family outings with strangers -
Furious gals with garters & Smeared Lips
on bar stools that stank from sweating
pussy - doing the Hula - perfect,
priests in OVERhauls, glassy eyed,
Insomnia! Space guys off duty with
big dicks & ducktails All wired up &
voting for Eisenhower, waving flags &
jumping off of fire engines, getting
killed on motorcycles whatever -
We sensed each other beneath
the mask, pitched a tent in the
Street & joined the traveling circus,
Love at first sight! History
became a Lie! The sideshow took
over - what a sight...the thresh-
hold of the Modern Bomb,
Temples of the Pawhee, the
Cowboy Saint, the Arapahoe,
snapshots of - Apache poets
searching thru the ruins for a
glimpse of Buddah - I lit out
for parts unknown. found Jacob's
Ladder up Against An adobe wall &
bought A serpent from a passing Angel -
Yeah the ole days Are gone
forever And the new ones Aint far behind, the
Laughter is fading away, echos of a star,
of Energy Vampires in the Gone World going
Wild! Drinking the blood of innocewnt people,
Innocent Lambs! The Wretched of the Earth,
My brothers of the flood, Cities of the flesh -
Milwaukee, Ann Arbor, Chicago, Bismarck, South
Dakota, Duluth! Duluth - where Baudelaire Lived
& Goya cashed in his Chips, where Joshua brought
the house down! From there, it was straight up - a Little
jolt of Mexico, and some good LUCK, a
Little power over the Grave, some
more brandy & the teeth of
a Lion & a compass

I've always loved this whatever-you-want-to-call-it.