All About That Squire Bass

This past Saturday was a sad day. Chris Squire, bassist and backup vocalist for legendary progressive rock band Yes, passed away at age 67. He'd been unwell for some time, and finally lost out to leukemia. But his huge body of recorded work lives on, as inspiration and entertainment to musicians and fans alike.

I'm a long-time Yes fan, and have always admired Squire's abilities alongside those of his bandmates, including Steve Howe, who is perhaps my favourite guitarist (Alex Lifeson gives him a run for his money in my books). 

As an instrumentalist, few can touch Squire's level of talent. Technically and creatively, he forged a sound and style that is easily recognizable throughout the Yes catalogue. And dear Chris was the one constant among all the personnel changes in the band over their years... well, decades... together. To chart his progress: just listen to his work on the Fragile album... stunning; then try out Going for the One.... mind-blowing; and on to say Drama.... whoa! And even with the pop version of Yes in the 80's - on the album 90125, Squire was key to great songwriting, bass parts, and vocals. He's been the glue that kept things together even as the band fractured then reformed over and over again. 

Self-taught on bass, he quickly excelled on the instrument, developing new ways of expressing melody while serving as part of the rhythm section. Squire has long been hailed as one of the top rock bassists of all time, alongside fellow luminaries John Entwhistle, John Paul Jones, and Jack Bruce. Squire inspired and influenced generations of bass players, including notables Geddy Lee, Steve Harris, Cliff Burton, and Les Claypool. Those "youngsters" cut their teeth on music by Yes, The Who, Zeppelin, Cream and other progressive and hard rock bands of the 60's and 70's. 

Squire's tremendous singing voice was nurtured as a lad serving as choirboy in church. Taken to the prog rock arena (and studio), he turned that asset into yet another beautiful layer in the huge Yes sound, 

I've been a Yes fan for decades, casually in the 70's (as a kid), then seriously in the 80's, when I began to see the band in concerts. I had the pleasure to see Chris Squire a few times live onstage, and he, along with his prog cohorts, impressed the living hell out of me. 

A fond farewell to a legend... who will not be forgotten.

A Friend in Steed

June 25th marked, sadly, the passing of television and film actor Patrick Macnee, aged 93. The British-American gent packed a lot of achievements into his lengthy lifetime. 

I probably first saw Macnee in the role of Jacob Marley in the 1951 film A Christmas Carol. In my mid to late teens I discovered The New Avengers shows on TV, and was immediately hooked. I was already a fan of spy fiction and film, enamoured with the James Bond and Matt Helm movies shown regularly on the tube. I don't think I've ever seen the original Avengers series, but the second series made an impression on me. 

Born into a noble family, Macnee studied acting as a young man, then left the UK after serving in WWII and taking some small film roles. He kept at the biz in Canada, then moved to the States where more lucrative offers awaited him. Then back to the UK for an exciting opportunity in '61. 

Best known as agent John Steed on TV's The Avengers (1961-69), Macnee was teamed up with fellow agents to combat crime. Of those agents, the female lead was played by some very notable actresses, like Honor Blackman and Diana Rigg, who would both go on to star in James Bond films (incidentally, Macnee himself appeared in the Bond picture A View to a Kill), and Linda Thorson . Joanna Lumley took over as female lead in the 70's revival of the show, The New Avengers. 

The bowler hat and umbrella, along with Macnee's British gentleman manners, conveyed the prim and proper attitude that made agent John Steed a charismatic character. Macnee hated guns thanks to his harrowing war-time experiences, so he avoided using them in the TV series, instead resorting to fancy footwork and clever umbrella slinging. Steed was a brainier, more elegant version of James Bond. More polished, light-hearted and courteous. 

Macnee appeared in dozens of TV shows as far-ranging as The Twilight Zone and Love Boat, and acted in over two dozen films such as The Sea Wolves (with Roger Moore; a pretty good flick, too, I must say) and The Howling (a favourite horror film of mine and a fave Macnee role), and was one of very few actors to have played both Sherlock Holmes and his sidekick Dr. Watson on the screen. He brought a touch of class and quirky light humour to everything he worked on. 

I had the pleasure of spotting young Patrick in a rather obscure, but personal favourite, 1949 film called The Small Back Room. And of course, he was part of musical history when he appeared as Sir Denis Eton-Hogg in This is Spinal Tap, the mother of all mockumentaries. 

Macnee kept busy in other pursuits over the years, doing some TV commercial work, narrating behind-the-scenes features for James Bond DVDs (quite funny when you consider that he hated the cinematic Bond, much preferring the original Fleming books), reading for audio books, and even appearing in music videos - one time as his beloved Steed character. 

Got My Kiss Records Out

Some of my friends recently returned to record collecting, after decades away from the hobby, all this time contenting themselves with the compact disc. There's something attractive about going back to vinyl, yet I can't bring myself to go that route. First I'd need a turntable... then I'd need to knock down a wall in my crammed little apartment just to make room for record storage. 

I know that vinyl - records, that is - never really went away. When audio cassette tapes became the format of choice in the 80's, there were still record collectors on the fringe. And even when CDs came into the fore, and seemingly wiped the slate clean, claiming superior sound quality, the vinyl purists were even more sceptical and steadfast in their preference.

Stevie Wonder's "Sir Duke" single, one of my first

record store purchases

Older music lovers probably bought some tapes but never fully embraced that medium. The audio fidelity of tapes was noticeably lower than that of records. But it was a matter of taste and convenience for most people. Younger adults and teenagers were more easily brought into the fold since they possibly had never devoted much time or money to vinyl. Records were larger in size, requiring significant storage space. And they weren't portable, which became an issue with a large chunk of the population in the early 80's, when the Sony Walkman, the boombox, and similar on-the-go music personal music systems came around. Plus the new music collectors had little or no exposure to the greater sonic subtleties of vinyl. Tapes were easy to carry around and play on their person, in their car, the beach, home, anywhere. The fact that this wasn't high fidelity didn't even enter the equation. Sometimes the sound on tapes was better than average, especially when played on a quality car or home system. 

My early memories of record stores conjure up images of rows of bins of brightly-coloured album jackets. The vast variety of large (larger than CDs, anyway, at twelve inches square) images on the covers were the most immediate draw of a record store. The new arrivals in the shop window, the best sellers prominently displayed near the front of the store, and then the bins full of older vinyl. I was in an intimidated state of reverence on my first trips to record stores. Here I was, barely into my teens, hesitantly browsing the front-most sections of the bins, sneaking furtive glances at other shoppers, all older than me, usually guys, often sharing with the clerk arcane knowledge of recording labels, bands and singers and instrumentalists, and even technical details of home stereo equipment. A lot of stuff that I'd come to appreciate in later years. I had a lot to learn.

I look back fondly on recollections of shopping trips to my hometown record stores. There was one small, dark shop where I bought my first Rush album, 2112. Then there was the larger, slightly better lit, independent spot where I picked up my first brand new records (I'd earlier bought used vinyl off a friend), including some Stevie Wonder and BeeGees singles, and Kiss and Zeppelin LPs. Then a new gunslinger came to town... I'm not one hundred percent positive, but I think it was called The Record Stop. I loved going in there with a pocketful of cash from my paper route, scouring the racks, and walking out with stuff like Cheap Trick's early albums. 

One of my earliest vinyl acquisitions back in the 70's...

I re-bought this first Cheap Trick album to hang on my wall

And that sense of anticipation as I hurried home, either walking or by bus, glancing now and then at the front and back covers of my purchases. It was a pleasurable nervous state that is hard to describe to someone who just doesn't "get" the record thing. And let me tell you, I never never felt that same sense of "Christmas morning" with new CDs. It just wasn't the same. The ritual of carefully peeling off the plastic wrap, sliding out the liner sleeve and gingerly removing the record, trying not to touch its virgin plastic surface with my fingertips. Then onto the turntable platter, power on, volume up, click, click.... and away it went. It's a sensual thing. The magic and mystique of hearing beautiful, powerful, emotional, sometimes not so beautiful music emerging from this thin plastic disc.... it seemed a technological marvel. And yet the recorded music medium existed as far back as the late 1800's. 

Once the record began spinning and the speakers filled the room with music, I'd focus on the record packaging... admire its front cover image, the song listing and band and recording details on the reverse, sometimes images and song lyrics on the paper inner dust sleeve. And if you were really lucky the cover would open like a book - called a gatefold, providing even more space for info and graphics. Gatefolds first came into use for double albums, so that one record would be stored in each half of the folded cover. That Rush "2112" I bought in my youth was a gatefold, with lyrics and cool graphics printed on the inside surfaces. But as we all know, 2112 was a single disc album. The gatefold design was often used even for single record packaging, giving the buyer more for his or her money. 

A lot of work goes into the album cover, and it is even more important on vinyl record packing than on CDs. The reduced size of CD cases can render subtle or complex cover images next to useless, certainly lacking impact and even legibility. So the small size demands less attention to detail, one would think. The record jacket, though, is large enough for a sizable artist name or logo, album title, and it acts as a decent sized canvas for an artist or photographer to impress us... and sell that record to us. I guess the challenge for designers may be greater with the smaller CD format, faced with developing an image bold and simple enough to be easily viewed and understood. It's always disappointing to see a great classic record album cover reduced to CD size. 

Some original pressings of 60's James Bond movie

soundtracks - collectible and groovy as wall art

I think many people who grew up with CDs (and even more so with the MP3 generation) take them for granted and never think about what an amazing invention recorded music (or any audio, like voice or other natural sounds) was and is. I've dabbled in all the formats - vinyl, cassette tape, 8-track tape, CD, and digital file), and though there is the tactile and visual appeal of vinyl, I am fine with the CD, which is cheaper and easier to store and maintain. I have hundreds of CDs, and I can't imagine how much space in my little apartment it would take to house the same number of records. I just don't have the room.

I have always taken great care of my possessions, and my music collection was (and is still) no exception. I made a point of setting myself up with proper shelving for records, storage cases for tapes, and even more shelving for CDs. And way back in my vinyl days, I enjoyed the maintenance aspects - rituals, I thought - of the "hobby", cleaning the disc until the dust specks gave way to the brilliant sheen again, dabbing at the tone arm stylus to flick away grit. Dusting the surfaces of the turntable and its cover. Carefully handling the records by the edges and the central spindle label as I returned them to their dust sleeves and jackets. 

I have a small handful of records, but I also have the CDs of those same albums... for listening purposes. Maybe someday, if the urge is unbearable, I'll invest in a turntable and get back to basics. 

Stereoscopic Madness

I"m not a fan of three-dimensional technology for movies. I've seen a few films wearing the cheap cardboard or plastic goggles, and I spent more time fidgeting with the uncomfortable frames than enjoying the thrills bursting from the silver screen. Much of the time, it seemed pretty dull to me, with only sporadic interesting or startling moments. If I have a choice, I'll take the more common 2D presentation anytime. 

The earliest 3D experiments weren't very successful. Audiences of the first 3D short films were baffled by the poor attempts at stereoscopic imaging. Back to the drawing board. Though there's debate about the first 3D film, it is often said that the 1903 L'arrivee du train, a short by the Lumiere brothers, led the pack. 

The first feature length 3D film was Power of Love (1922), not to be confused with the Huey Lewis song. Power of Love was the first to use anaglyph glasses, the eye-wear with different coloured lenses that merge the dual images into something with depth. Over the next decade, the process was refined and by 1936, Nozze Vagabonde became the first 3D "talkie" (movie with sound). In 1947, the Russian film Robinson Crusoe was the first 3D talkie in colour. What was unique about this picture was that the typical blue and red lensed glasses weren't necessary; a different technique was used... a special corrugated metal screen reflected twin images separately to the right and left eyes of the viewers. But this difficult method never became as popular as the simpler and probably cheaper 3D glasses process.

Bwana Devil of 1952 spawned the Golden Age of 3D in the 50's. The first 3D feature film with stereophonic sound was House of Wax, released in 1953. Starring Vincent Price, this horror flick was a good vehicle for the depth trickery that would wow audiences. Price was attached to other 3D productions at the time, including The Mad Magician. 

The Creature From the Black Lagoon and Dial M for Murder were two prominent 3D movies of the era. While the gimmick was fun for a while, the fad lost steam before the end of the decade. At the heart of the matter were issues with the 3D technology (high maintenance projectors) and waning popularity with audiences (citing eye strain and headaches). The final 3D film of the Golden Era was Revenge of the Creature in 1955, the sequel to Creature From the Black Lagoon. 

3D films were produced only sporadically after that, the only one of note from the 60's being The Mask, a bizarre Canadian horror flick that was displayed in 2D until the moment the main character donned a cursed tribal mask. At that point the audience was instructed to put on their anaglyph glasses for the 3D effect. Not a very good movie really, but a curiosity.

New technologies were developed over the next decade or so, and by the 70's and 80's, a string of low-budget horror and raunchy comedy movies were released in Stereovision. Some of the films presented in this 3D format were Jaws 3D, Amityville 3D, and Friday the 13th Part III. The lowest of the low. As popular as this multi-dimensional shlock was, audiences, filmmakers, and theatre owners alike eventually lost interest. Again.

IMAX then stepped up and developed more highly polished 3D films. Through the 80's and 90's, IMAX 3D made great advances in the process, releasing not only documentaries and visuals for theme parks, but also spin-offs of cinema franchises, like Honey, I Shrunk the Audience and Jim Henson's Muppet-Vision 3D.

James Cameron took it a step further with Ghosts of the Abyss, using HD cameras and digital film to capture undersea wonders. In 2004, the CG animated The Polar Express represented a major turning point, as it was released in both standard and IMAX 3D theatres. The success in IMAX put the movie industry on its ear, and ever since, both venues have been frequently used to present commercial films.

Several new competing 3D technologies exist, all eschewing the traditional anaglyph glasses for either polarized or LCD glasses. Nowadays, we can choose betwen 2D and 3D versions of movies in theatres, which is nice for a purist like me. I've seen a few modern flicks in three dimensions, and I have to say that the gimmick doesn't impress me much. It actually detracts from the experience, distracting me from the story... or lack thereof. 

Again, James Cameron upped the ante, developing more sophisticated and costly systems for 3D visuals. With Avatar, Cameron created the most expensive and highest-grossing film of all time. Great movie, but I chose to see it in 2D. Did I miss out? Maybe....

Hey, watch the claws, buddy!

And as for 3D TV, well, I sure hope I'll have a choice next time I shop for a new flatscreen. I have no desire to watch everything in that manner. Glasses are uncomfortable, annoying, and distracting. It is a fact that 3D is an imperfect and expensive technology. There's something "wrong" with the picture, I find... a lack of sharpness and something is off with the colour. Watch the 2D version to compare. 

3D manufacturers are now working at the next frontier, autostereoscopic displays that display two images that are merged into one.... for viewing without the need of special glasses. I wonder if that might work for me. It'll cost a fortune, though, I'm sure. So far, this tech is only aimed at smaller devices like cell phones, for it demands that the person view from a direct and constant angle. 

When I was a kid, I got a magazine with a cool spacey poster inside that was printed in 3D, and included a pair of anaglyph glasses. Man, I loved that thing. Then one day, I learned that a 3D movie (one of those 80's horror flicks, I think) was to be shown on TV. I wore my goofy glasses for that, but the results were less than great. Yes, occasionally a hand or chainsaw popped out of my TV screen, but other than that, there was simply a weird and unnatural look to the picture. Big screen, small screen, it doesn't matter. I'm not a fan. 

I guess my only slightly cool 3D experience was when a local repertory theatre showed that classic oldie, The Creature From the Black Lagoon. Now that's a favourite Universal monster movie of mine to begin with, but a chance to see it in its original 3D form was something I couldn't pass up. Sadly, not much of the movie lent itself to the medium. Only once in a while did a clawed hand reach slightly beyond the cinema screen. But again, I found that much of the film would have looked fine, no - better, in 2D. A nice crisp, black and white image with no blurry, oddly-coloured lines. Oh well, I guess I'm a dinosaur just like the Creature....

A Horror Legend

This past Sunday June 7, 2015 marked the passing of film veteran Christopher Lee. At age 93, Lee had amassed a huge body of work that will influence and entertain the world for ages. He acted in over two hundred movies, his first back in 1948. His versatility gave him the opportunity to take on a variety of roles, though after his premiere as Frankenstein's creature in 1957, he tended toward the mysterious and even morbid. And he helped kick-start the waning horror genre. 

Christopher Lee joined earlier horror great Lon Chaney Jr. as one of very few actors to portray several of the classic movie monsters. Chaney Jr. played Dracula, Wolfman, and the Frankenstein monster. Lee tackled roles as Dracula, Frank's monster, and the Mummy. Like Chaney, and even Karloff, Lee imbued his performances with pathos. Even with the snarling and violence, we could sympathize on some level. There was always a deeper background story than the immediate beastly behaviour. 

Just a few of Lee's horrific - and effective -

contributions to the genre that would not die

I've had a blast discovering Lee's wonderful films over the decades, Back in the late 70's and early 80's, while in my early teens, I used to set my alarm clock for 1 or 2am just so I could watch a great old Hammer, Amicus or AIP horror movie on TV, often starring Lee. And that was how I first saw him as the evil undead count, and as the unholy creation of the professorial madman Baron von Frankenstein. He also had strong, though sometimes secondary, roles in films like The Two Faces of Dr. Jekyll, The Man Who Could Cheat Death, and The Hound of the Baskervilles. He also did a string of lurid Italian horror flicks in the early 60's, but I've never seen those. 

The Gorgon and Rasputin The Mad Monk are a couple of my favourite weird and creepy Lee movies. I had only seen a handful of his films until the mid-90's, when I became a serious "student" of cinematic horror history. I read books and websites, and began collecting home videos of both landmark and obscure movies of the genre. That was when I unearthed some gems and finally saw Lee in all his glory in all (finally!) of the Drac and Frank movies. And then I came across notables like The Wicker Man and The Devil Rides Out.

In Hound of the Baskervilles, Lee got

co-star billing to buddy Peter Cushing.

The two joined forces many times in

horror and mystery films of the era.

Then Sir Christopher Lee (for he was knighted for services to drama and charity in 2009) wowed us with some great non-horror roles, such as James Bond villain Scaramanga in 1974's The Man With the Golden Gun, one of my favourites. During the 80's, Lee had various and numerous smaller parts in movies, and I confess I didn't see many of them... but the man certainly kept busy. I have a soft spot for the demented Howling series, and Lee appeared as a vampire hunter in the first sequel.

As an elder statesman of the acting profession, Lee found his footing in parts that suited his age and appearance in the 2000's, and gave his career a serious reboot. The biggies were as Count Dooku in the Star Wars prequels (joining old Hammer buddy Peter Cushing in the Star Wars universe; Cushing was Tarkin in A New Hope) and especially as the evil sorcerer Saruman in the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Good, but not quite the stuff I'll remember him for best.

I know Mr. Lee also carved out little niches for himself in other areas, such as voice acting, contributing to video games and animated films. He was also a recording artist, having worked in things as divergent and unusual as opera and heavy metal. 

But my fondest memories of Christopher Lee will always be his horror classics of the 50's, 60's and 70's. And with that, I will now watch one of my favourites, only the second of his fright films, from 1958, The Horror of Dracula. 

R.I.P., Sir!

Better than Lugosi, in my books

That's Amore

"I'm a little busy here, Mac."

Tomorrow, June 7th, will be the birthday of late great entertainer Dean Martin. I suppose I first saw him on TV in the early 70's. The Dean Martin Celebrity Roasts were pretty funny, not just because of Martin, but also the wide variety of star "roasters" who'd affectionately kid or insult the celebrity guest - or "roastee". I still remember that Don Rickles cracked me up the most, with the hilariously nasty and aggressive abuse he'd heap upon people. Even though I was young at the time, I think I was aware of the drunkenness of the participants on the show.

Dean Martin was also in the movies, and that was how I became a fan as a youngster. First off, Martin co-starred with Jerry Lewis in a series of comedies in the 50's. The Martin-Lewis team made an impression on me as a kid watching their pictures on TV. Martin was less likable than poor "innocent" Jerry, always with drink in one hand, a girl in the other, firing mean and condescending remarks toward Lewis. But there was a chemistry that made the duo's shtick work, at least for a while.

I only saw a handful of Dean Martin's solo films. Some of those were: Rio Bravo, Sons of Katie Elder, Ocean's 11, Airport and Cannonball Run. He generally just played himself or a caricature of himself, a boozing womanizer (or was that a womanizing boozer?). But my favourite Dino flicks from my youth were the Matt Helm movies. 

Martin starred as special agent Helm in four films adapted from the gritty thrillers by author Donald Hamilton. The movies were light, comedic, and musical escapism. They were silly and fun, and sometimes a bit bad, but I loved the spy stuff over all else. At a time when I was all about James Bond, this was a nice way to supplement my fixation.

In recent years, I actually tried out a few of the Hamilton novels, and they weren't really far off Ian Fleming's James Bond books. Not bad, but not so great that I wanted to proceed with the rest of the series. 

As an adult, I learned to appreciate the music of vocalists like Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Matt Munroe, and others from that genre and era. Dean Martin is among my favourites with his swinging, smirking renditions of That's Amore, Sway, and Ain't That a Kick in the Head. I prefer his interpretations of Christmas classics over other crooners' versions, too. 

A few Christmases ago, I treated myself to the Matt Helm Lounge DVD set of all four of the movies. All these years later, I was less impressed with the movies than I was as a lad. Clumsy, convoluted scripts, weak jokes (even Martin doing an eye-roll right to the camera), and slow, phony-looking fight scenes are culprits. But after some happy juice, I can let this stuff slide and simply enjoy the goofy fun. Like Bond, Helm is all about girls, guns and gadgets. Helm is just more B-movie in tone, but I can forgive it. Hey, it was the 60's... when everything was cool. Cheers, Dino!

David Isn't Here, Sir

Hey man, just act natural....

Back in the late 70's, as I reached my mid-teens, the comedy duo Cheech and Chong were making waves around the world. Their style wasn't exactly for everyone, for it was very obviously "stoner comedy" and this either offended or even downright frightened the squares. But the boys found themselves a big audience and defined a genre that exists to this day.

Richard Marin, nicknamed Cheech, hooked up with musician Tommy Chong, and they embarked on a voyage of hippie/counter-culture adventures. It all began with their stand-up comedy act, where they fleshed out their characters and now-famous routines. Their best bits included classics like Dave and Let's Make a Dope Deal, and they were quite adept at writing hilarious songs like Earache My Eye and Basketball Jones. 

From their auspicious beginnings in Vancouver, Canada, the pair took their act on the road and released a string of successful albums, the third of which won a Grammy for Best Comedy Album Of the Year (and they were nominated for several others). In 1978, with the release of their first movie Up In Smoke, they truly hit the big time. The flick's low budget wasn't an issue, because it raked in over $100 million, and spawned several more films. The early sequels were good but the quality did decline with each subsequent picture. I think their type of humour is pretty limiting, though Cheech and Chong did produce some material that wasn't drug oriented... like Ralph and Herbie, and Evelyn Woodhead Speed Reading Course. But those were exceptions to the rule. And in the later movies, it felt like the boys' shtick simply couldn't overcome weak script-writing (not necessarily their fault), so that their "antics" became a bit tired.  

Still got my creaky old "Greatest Hit" tape.

But for listening purposes, there's the

internet now, right?

When I was only about thirteen years old, I got my first taste of Cheech and Chong when a friend played something from his older brother's record collection.... it was the "Dave" routine. I gradually heard more of their stuff, and caught their early movies on TV and on video.

I remember seeing my first C&C movie in a movie theatre back in 1981. It was a last minute decision to go, so I hurried on down to the cinema, bought a ticket to Nice Dreams, and plunked myself down in a seat. Underage. Nice Dreams was my first R-rated movie. I think the fact that I was on my own helped my chances of not getting kicked out, plus I was tall for my age. An entertaining film, and sadly, the last one that I liked much. The next C&C picture was Things Are Tough All Over, and while it had its moments, it was the beginning of the end as far as I was concerned. 

After the pair stopped releasing their own duo movies, they began appearing in other people's films, either together or separately. As the 80's waned, C&C parted ways, and Cheech began a solo career in film and TV. His work was funny and fascinating, for we could see that he had more talent than his druggie persona with Chong ever showed us. Chong showed up occasionally on TV shows, but with little more than occasionally recurring roles (like on That 70's Show) - and always playing his stoner self. Funny but not very ambitious to stretch out. His stint in prison probably didn't help his comedy career. But I think he had other plans anyway.

Over twenty years after their split, the guys have still not made any more movies together. There were talks about projects at times, but nothing ever materialized. Cheech and Chong have reunited for some touring and special appearances in recent years, but their act just isn't quite the same anymore. They were a product of their time. What they captured on albums and in movies during their heyday will remain classic comedy, but it can be hard for aging entertainers to recapture that spark decades later. It doesn't always work. 

Things are tough all over....