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Book Features Books

Two new books on two iconic musicians, Curtis Mayfield and Bruce Springsteen.

Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen (Simon and Schuster) and Traveling Soul: The Life of Curtis Mayfield by Todd Mayfield with Travis Atria (Chicago Review Press) are two books that don’t require comparison for any reason other than that they were published in the same week of October this year, the subjects’ active periods overlap, and they have both been influential to legions of musicians who have come after them. So compare we will.

Mayfield and Springsteen were born seven years apart, in 1942 and ’49 respectively. And while Springsteen’s book plays up the hardscrabble life of a blue-collar family in New Jersey, Mayfield’s son Todd paints a picture of his father truly living hand-to-mouth in Chicago. Both musicians were influenced by the church — Mayfield through his grandmother, a practitioner of “spiritualism” who embraced gospel music; and Springsteen down the street from St. Rose of Lima Church (and the most holy of altars in his neighborhood, his father’s local saloons of choice).

The common denominator between the two is their singular drive to succeed and to own their visions. They came of age before American Idol, before YouTube and social media and a thousand ways to get your name, face, and music in front of fans. They plied their trade, they traveled, they practiced, and they hustled.

Over the course of seven years, Mayfield “scored twenty-two hit singles on the pop and R&B charts with the Impressions, including four R&B number ones, and a dozen charting albums,” writes Todd Mayfield. “He’d written more than forty hits for other artists, toured the world, and become a major voice of his generation. He had fought and clawed his way to something only a handful of black musicians had ever attained in the business — autonomy.” He would eventually found his own publishing company, Curtom Records.

In 1971, Mayfield was offered the job of scoring the blaxploitation film Super Fly. With singles such as “Pusherman” and “Freddie’s Dead,” Mayfield was able to call upon his upbringing in Chicago’s Cabrini-Green and White Eagle housing complexes where he’d struggled as a child with his family. “He wasn’t just writing about [characters] Priest and Freddie; he wasn’t just writing about junkies and pushers; he was writing about himself and his childhood.”

At the same time Mayfield was working on the soundtrack, Springsteen was getting his first whiff of real success by signing with Columbia Records, forming the E Street Band, and recording his first album, Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J. Like Mayfield, Springsteen craved total control over his life and music — he needed to be The Boss. “Clarity ruled and allowed us to forge a bond based on the principle that we worked together, but it was my band,” Springsteen writes. “I crafted a benevolent dictatorship; creative input was welcomed within the structure I prepared, but it was my name on the dotted line and on the records.”

In the end, Springsteen’s songs are about hope, about breaking free of the cage that holds us, his characters on a last chance power drive: “Together we could break this trap, we’ll run till we drop, baby we’ll never go back.”

Mayfield’s songs are about survival with characters battling institutionalized racism and the violence and drugs in the street, doing what they have to do merely to stay alive: “Everybody’s misused him, ripped him off, and abused him. Another junkie playin’, pushin’ dope for the man.”

Mayfield was involved in a freak accident on stage in Brooklyn in 1990 when a hurricane-force wind blew a lighting rig onto him, paralyzing him from the neck down. He died in 1999, shortly after being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. His music has lived on through the sampling of today’s rap and hip-hop artists and in the influence of R&B chart-toppers. Springsteen, of course, continues to record and tour at a punishing pace for a 67-year-old man, often playing four-hour shows night after night.

Worlds collide: If you search YouTube for the 1994 Grammy awards tribute to Curtis Mayfield, you’ll see an all-star band led by Bruce Springsteen.

Categories
Film Features Film/TV

Time Warp Drive-In’s Hell on Wheels

Automotive and film technology came of age at roughly the same time, and cars have always been a particular source of fascination for filmmakers. When the first drive-in movie theater opened in New Jersey in 1933, it was the beginning of a potent and inevitable synergy between two of America’s favorite cultural forces. Movies sold the dream of freedom, and cars became the most prominent and expensive symbols of that freedom. People would pay to sit in their cars and watch movies about cars.

The theme of the next edition of the popular Time Warp Drive-In series (running the last Saturday of each month through October) is Hell On Wheels, which gave the organizers, filmmaker Mike McCarthy and Black Lodge Video proprietor Matthew Martin, plenty of choices for programming.

The night will kick off with George Lucas’ American Graffiti. The film was Lucas’ first big hit, made after the studio-destroying dystopian sci-fi film THX 1138 had all but ended his career. Few films can claim the deep cultural impact of Lucas’ Star Wars, but American Graffiti comes close. Its meandering, multi-character story structure bears a resemblance to Robert Altman or Richard Linklater’s work but is utterly unlike the Hero’s Journey plots that would come to be associated with Lucas’ later work. Still, Lucas’ techno-fetishism is on full display with the loving beauty shots of classic autos designed in the days before wind tunnels and ubiquitous seat belts.

Even though the film was set in 1962, the chronicle of aimless youth cruising around a sleepy California town kicked off a wave of nostalgia for all things 1950s. The pre-British Invasion rock-and-roll and doo-wop soundtrack became one of the best selling film soundtracks in history, and Ron Howard — who, as Opie on The Andy Griffith Show, was himself a bit of TV nostalgia — and Cindy Williams would ride the popularity of American Graffiti into starring roles on Happy Days and its spinoff, Laverene & Shirley. It also marked the big break of a struggling actor and part-time carpenter named Harrison Ford.

The second Hell on Wheels film, Two-Lane Blacktop, is a classic hot rod movie from 1971 starring James Taylor (yes, that James Taylor) and Beach Boys drummer Dennis Wilson. If American Graffiti manifested America’s longing for a simpler time before the social upheaval of the 1960s, Two-Lane Blacktop was one of the counterculture’s dying gasps. It’s an Easy Rider-like plot with muscle cars: Two nameless street racers heading east from California challenge a square (Warren Oates) to a cross-country race to Washington, D.C. The dialog is sparse and the performances fairly flat, but the real point of Two-Lane Blacktop is the wide-open vistas of a now-vanished America.

The third film of the night, 1968’s Bullitt, is similarly light on dialog, but it is the opposite of counterculture. Steve McQueen at his sexiest plays a homicide cop trying to solve the murder of a mob informant. McQueen’s Frank Bullitt is the prototype of the “playing by his own rules” cop that would become so familiar in later films, but the movie’s real significance lies in the epic car chase that sees McQueen driving an iconic 1968 fastback Mustang through the streets of San Francisco set to Lalo Schifrin’s swinging jazz score. The oft-imitated but never equaled scene is worth the price of admission for the entire evening.

The program closes with Robert Mitchum playing a Tennessee bootlegger in1953’s legendary Thunder Road. Mitchum co-wrote the screenplay and produced the movie, which tells the story of a Korean War vet’s turbulent return to the violent world of moonshiners and flophouses. The noir-inflected film served as the template for dozens of hot rod exploitation stories, taught greasers to emulate Mitchum’s laconic cool, and even inspired Bruce Springsteen to write a song about it. It’s a fitting capper to a night of burning rubber and tail fins.

Categories
Music Record Reviews

Record Reviews

Living With War

Neil Young

(Reprise)

Two old folkies and two young rabble-rousers: the summer’s best political records.

Written and recorded in two weeks, Living With War is unapologetic Bush-bashing that not only feels a little bit behind the curve politically but also has lyrics that flirt with being out and out silly. Saturday Night Live has already rushed in to poke fun at Neil Young’s diatribe, with the subtle-as-Tom DeLay “Let’s Impeach the President” as one of its highlights.

But the irascible ex-hippie who maintains his Canadian citizenship — and who is on record with his admiration for Ronald Reagan — saves himself from embarrassment by making a genuinely good and surprising Neil Young record. This isn’t Freedom, Rust Never Sleeps, or Comes a Time, but it’s better than a lot of his late-’90s work and comes to life in a way that Prairie Wind — which wasn’t a weak record — never did.

One great example is the searing “The Restless Consumer,” driven by grunge-era fuzz guitar and a fascinating push and pull between the title character with an endless appetite for oil and Young’s barking about “Don’t need no ad machine/Telling me what I need” and “Don’t need no more boxes I can’t see/Covered in flags but I can’t see them on TV” — then bluntly, “Don’t need no more lies.”

“Shock and Awe,” which tosses in trumpets, of all things, on top of the guitar, is Young’s best argument against Bush. “We had a chance to change our mind/But somehow wisdom was hard to find.” “Looking for Leader,” which

namechecks Barack Obama and Colin Powell, reaches too far and feels too much like Young throwing in his two cents on Bill O’Reilly’s “No Spin Zone.”

Ending the album with Young’s arrangement of “America the Beautiful,” sung by 100 voices (all credited on the CD), is corny, sure, but it’s uplifting in a satisfying way. Really, the whole album is like that. The moments where Young confounds expectations trump the moments that induce cringes. And Saturday Night Live has sucked this year anyway. — Werner Trieschmann

Grade: A-

We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions

Bruce Springsteen

(Sony)

Wow, didn’t see this coming. But then that’s what great art does. It creeps up on you like this knockout album, where Bruce Springsteen — who, despite being an aging icon, hasn’t made many memorable records of late — hijacks the Pete Seeger songbook for music that is the polar opposite of what you might expect. This isn’t musty, earnest folk musicology ready to be shipped to the Smithsonian but vital, exuberant, woolly, and wild sing-alongs. Seeger didn’t write these songs. He dug them out of America’s closet. Springsteen, backed by an army of musicians (13 total) and with a growl that’s lifted from Tom Waits, makes a case for each and every one. (“Erie Canal,” “O Mary Don’t You Weep,” “Shenandoah”) — WT

Grade: A

Pick a Bigger Weapon

The Coup

(Epitaph)

My favorite record of a so-far weak year underwhelmed at first because it contains no individual songs I love as much as the Coup’s earlier “Wear Clean Draws” or “Ghetto Manifesto.” It’s bloomed with each subsequent listen because this time the endless, elastic groove matches the funny, fearless worldview — West Coast Marxist hip-hop duo Boots Riley and Pam the Funkstress leaning hard on the (early-’80s) funk. This isn’t just the best Public Enemy record since 1990. It’s also the best Prince record since 1987, with direct or near-direct and well-earned references to Controversy and 1999. The Coup don’t just want to end the war and close the income gap. They want a revolution you can laugh, love, and fuck to. And for 65 minutes, anyway, they get it. (“Laugh/Love/Fuck,” “ShoYoAss,” “I Love Boosters!,” “Baby Let’s Have a Baby Before Bush Do Something Crazy”) — Chris Herrington

Grade: A