When he became TAS music editor in 2008, he contacted me about writing for the magazine. Mark knew my journalistic experience included concert reviews for The Cincinnati Enquirer and several long, sprawling feature articles in the online version of Crawdaddy. After all, record collecting is serious business. That the private eye in the book, Harry Stoner, would stumble upon a corpse or two while unraveling the mystery behind the disappearance of some rare Living Stereo platters made perfect sense to me. Mark introduced me to Jonathan Valin, whose 1993 detective novel The Music Lovers depicts the battles between record hawks at library sales. That’s where I met fellow record hawk Mark Lehman, who preceded me as music editor of TAS. Record collecting was still in my blood when, starting in the late 1980s, the Cincinnati Public Library book sale suddenly had an Elysian Fields quantity of LPs from people who’d switched to CDs. To figure out what was going on, I realized that I needed to build a record collection-and as anyone who’s visited me since high school can testify, I succeeded. I had no idea who most of the artists were, because radio played only a fraction of what was current. Staring at all the colorful covers was both tantalizing and frustrating. This will take some explaining, but I can connect the dots between pawing through LPs at a headshop called Elysian Fields in Des Moines, Iowa, as a seventh grader, and becoming the Music Editor for The Absolute Sound.Īt that starting point-around 1970/71-Elysian Fields had more LPs than any other store in Des Moines. That’s the impression I get, anyway, when Daltrey comes in after a mean guitar break on “Sneaking Suspicion,” singing with an extreme sense of urgency, as if a particularly raunchy solo reminded him how it feels to give it your all. Roger Daltrey sounds more inspired than he has in some time, and you get a sense that, due to the tight recording schedule, the newly-created band was discovering itself while the tapes were rolling. Featuring a lineup that includes members of Johnson’s regular touring band, Going Back Home is both tight and dirty, Johnson’s choppy rhythms, quick staccato jabs, and scrappy solos constantly creating friction. Down by the Jetty sounded fresh at the time, and like other music Johnson has since written it held up, partly due to its lean, edgy, pub-rock sound, but also because Johnson’s lyrics tell a story people could relate to (and raise a pint to if they caught him live). In no way did the tight recording schedule harm the album-in fact, it enhanced the live-in-the-studio energy that’s characterized Johnson’s music since the first Dr Feelgood album came out in 1975. The album's rough-hewn quality is less of an asset on a ballad like "Turned 21" or a cover of Bob Dylan's "Can You Please Crawl Out Your Window.Due to Wilko Johnson’s late-stage terminal cancer, the clock was ticking when Going Back Home was recorded. "Some Kind of Hero" is a meaty slice of the blues on the evergreen topic of a cheatin' woman, but the lyrical bravado is laced with British self-deprecation: "I wish I was some kind of hero." Songs like "Keep it Out of Sight" and "All Through the City" have a swaggering energy and raw yearning. Daltrey growls lustily over Johnson's choppy riffs and it's spiced with lashings of dirty harmonica from Steve Weston and galumphing piano from ex-Style Council keyboardist Mick Talbot. The title track sets the tone of robust, rocking R&B. Recorded in a week with producer Dave Eringa and Johnson's touring band, its 11 tracks include 10 Johnson compositions, from the Feelgood days through his solo career. Inspired by a shared love of early British rockers like Johnny Kidd and the Pirates, "Going Back Home" is deliberately rough-edged and retro - even the label, Chess Records, is a heritage brand resurrected for the release. There have been sold-out shows, a slot at this summer's Glastonbury Festival and now an album with Roger Daltrey, lead singer of The Who.
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