Where's That Sound Coming From?

Dateline December 30 2023. The spinoff is now the main event. Welcome to Where's That Sound Coming From Presents: Questions But No Answers! Yes, WTSCF has become what might be the only podcast centered on the musical career of a person whom I consider to be one of the most creative, if underrated and misunderstood, musical minds of the mid-late 20th Century: the late, great Michael Nesmith. I made a list of 75 songs he recorded between 1965-2016 which I feel support my opinion (mostly original, but I had to include a handful of wonderful cover versions) and I intend to devote a 30-60 min episode to each song (though if appropriate I might clump two together in one episode). True to Nez's own philosophy of letting ideas unfold in time and space to allow for growth, I only have a general idea of what I want these episodes to be like. More details to be found in this episode. I hope you dig. And Happy Nez, er New Year!

Brian and Joeman are back, this time to discuss what each of them truly believe to be one of the most exciting live albums, right up there with Buck Owens' Carnegie Hall Concert, The Rolling Stones' Get Yr Ya-Ya's Out and KISS Alive! The album in question? The Monkees' Live 1967, released with little fanfare by Rhino in the summer of 1987, and compiled from three concerts in August '67, during a two month summer tour during which they played as a self-contained psychedelic/garage/jangle-pop quartet. Despite both of us purchasing this episode's featured album the same summer at the same place (Newbury Comics in Harvard Square), Joeman (John Hendrickson) and I did not yet know each other in the summer of 1987. But we did both belong to an exclusive demographic: Late 80's adolescent Monkees freaks that were also 1) feverishly absorbing as much rock and roll history as possible (so we knew what was what) and 2) enthusiastically pursuing an instrument (Joeman=guitar; Brian=drums) because each of us had already noticed that life did not appear to get much more fun than being in a good rock band.In the relative dark ages of 1987, it was easy to be surprised by a new release by a beloved artist. Being informed took much more work. And that was cool! The pleasantly unexpected is harder to come by in the 21st century.Neither of us saw Monkees Live 1967 coming and it flipped both of us out irreversibly. It's indeed a perfect presentation.—One's FIRST impression upon seeing the album cover for the first time: These are four guys serious about being in a band. No pearly white smiles, no embarrassing outfits or goofball expressions, just the guys at work. Guitar necks and drumsticks are seen being put to work. All with a subtle psychedelic glow contrasting with the black background. Excellent job by whomever at the Rhino Art Dept was responsible, because…—One's LAST impression, should one listen to the full album, is shock, exhilaration, joy, ready to take on the fucking world!! The promise of the album cover is paid in full, with interest! Why? Because the last song echoing in the listener's ears, a 5 minute “Stepping Stone” with a perfect psychedelic jam and nods to their new buddy Hendrix, is simply, still, one of the few live recordings that kills me EVERY time (The Who's “A Quick One” from the Rock and Roll Circus and the Grateful Dead's “Morning Dew” from Cornell 1977 are the other two that come to mind). Listened to out of context, one might mistake the freakout section for Syd-era Floyd or Cale-era VU—except for the screaming girls in the background. It's so good. For this fleeting moment in Monkees history, they wanted to tour as a real band and play the songs the way THEY wanted to play them. Indeed, The Monkees succeeded in creating a unique sound between the four of them, and it worked. For a certain breed of Monkees fans--the ones who identify more with the music--especially the music they weren't supposed to create--more than the TV series,  Live '67 is a personal victory—vindication that they were a very cool REAL band, even if for a very short time. It should've been a victory for the four Monkees at the time, because what we hear is audio proof that in the summer of 1967 they could get as freaky in concert as anyone at Monterey Pop, and rock harder than some of their contemporaries. But nope- the weirder they got, the fewer albums they sold. They'd keep a percentage of mainstream oldies fans that would crop up with each subsequent reunion, but then there are those like Joeman and myself, who represent the formidable, insatiable, nuanced fan. And Live 1967 was most likely the radioactive spider that bit us and others like us back in the summer of ‘87, setting us on this bizarre path. Join us as we start to explore this excellent live album.

The pilot episode of Freaking Out in the Afternoon, a Monkee-centric podcast produced by Where's That Sound Coming From and cohosted by myself and my old friend Joeman. In this first episode we discuss how we first discovered The Monkees, what reeled us in, concert stories from '86-97 and, well, why in the world would two well-educated, well-travelled, well-read, musically well-rounded grown men continue to heed the call whenever the great Monkee Signal appears in the sky. We grapple with that conundrum as well as celebrate it. Peppered with fun sound bites and introducing the recurring Song of the Moment. We're still figuring out what works and not, so feel free to send emails to wheresthatsoundcomingfrom@gmail.com. 

"And now, from the elegant pump room of the magnificent Palmer House..." This is not a real episode, but a mini 10 minute announcement (with fun soundbites). I'll explain. Wanting to keep podcasting, but not jazzed about going back to the old format, I finally entertained the great suggestion of my old friend, and fellow rock geek, John Hendrickson, that he and I team up and co-host a "sidecast" which deals in seldom-explored aspects of...THE MONKEES. Their final tour was announced recently, and so it seemed the mood was right. When combining the totals, John and I have seen The Monkees and/or solo endeavors close to 50 times since 1987. That's a total guess. Maybe it's more like 30.. We'll find out together. On one hand we want to talk about our personal experiences as Monkees fans--it's a lonely road a lot of the time.. The peaks (the first time hearing "Circle Sky") and valleys (our personal "Marge Simpson Monkees Lunchbox Moment"). John and I are both lifelong musicians. We're also equally admiring of old school punk rock as we are The Grateful Dead. So our knowledge comes from a deep well of having listened to, read about and played a LOT of music in our lives. Which is why we also want to explore things like "why Eddie Hoh's drumming defines much of the best Monkees songs". Or "Nesmith's best rhythm guitar work" or "Davy ballad that went from worst to first as we got older". Oh, and there will occasionally be special guests! We have two lined up already! Anyway, stay tuned. This will be fun.

In Part Three (of three) of this miniseries on The Beach Beach Boys and The Grateful Dead, we finally reach our destination in space and time--the Fillmore East on April 27, 1971. This is a two hour episode, and in it, I compare and contrast the career arcs of each band leading up to the gig. In 1970, The Beach Boys released a single, "Add Some Music To Your Day", which only reached #64 on the US pop chart. This was embarrassing for them because it reaffirmed how unpopular they'd become. In 1970, The Grateful Dead released a single, "Truckin'", which only reached #64 on the US pop chart. This was embarrassing for them because #64 was perilously close to the Top 40--which was a place they had no intention of getting cozy with. Still, despite the two bands' contrasting ideas of success, there was a great admiration between them as well as shared influences. I read from several accounts of this concert, from books and articles, and note the wide contrast between descriptions. The subtitle of this episode, "Honest. Not Perfect.", comes from a snatch of Brian Wilson studio chatter in early 1967. He's instructing his brother Carl on how to sing a certain part and says that "it doesn't have to be perfect, just kind of honest", and I took that phrase and unpacked it. Threw stuff everywhere. In fact I made quite a philosophical/psychological/psychedelicized mess all over the place and hope you can deal with it. The reward is the concert. Dennis and Billy having a blast despite very different drumming styles. Carl and Jerry trading a solo. Bobby, Al and Carl singing together. The Fillmore Dead audience cheering wildly for The Beach Boys (drowning out the one or two hecklers). I hope you enjoy this episode and thanks for listening. 

So it looks like there’s going to be a Part 3 to this madness, since we haven’t arrived at the Fillmore East yet. My apologetic tone is facetious, of course, because this has been nothing but fun for me. I hope my self-indulgence is slightly more entertaining/enlightening than annoying? Anyway, this episode takes a look at the evolution of the song “Help Me, Rhonda” through all its changes between 1965-80, from its spelling to its instrumental and vocal arrangement to the lyrics to who sings lead which year. I use its evolution as a metaphor for the changes in pop music, its artists and its fans during that time period. Then we take a brief look at the bill the two featured bands were on together on June 8, 1974 (didn’t play with each other though). Finally, as a “pregaming” exercise for the Fillmore East show, we take a look at some other versions of the songs the two bands played together. Both bands sure loved The Coasters! An oddly paced, oddly weighted episode, but imagine that we hit traffic on the way to the Fillmore East and took a strange alternate route.

Initially, this was supposed to be a straight forward episode in which I'd examine what occured on April 27, 1971 at the Fillmore East, and what led up to it. This was the night that Jerry Garcia invited "another famous California band" up onstage and out came...The Beach Boys! A seemingly unlikely combination of bands, their off-the-cuff mini set sounded a lot more listenable than the vast majority of "come on up and jam" type situations I've heard, either live or on tape. Why? Well, that's what I wanted to explore, and, like Brian Wilson adding parts to SMiLE only to find it kept needed redefinition, I kept adding elements to my script until I realized that I needed to make this a two parter and that part 1 wouldn't even get to the Fillmore East. The theme of this episode is like a Beach Boys song in that it seeks to find all the harmonious relationships between elements of the two bands (and, thus, perhaps, fans of one that think they don't like the other). But the structure of this episode is a bit like certain Grateful Dead songs, which start and end with strength and purpose, but a little meandering happens in the middle while trying to figure out which road leads to the destination. This is sort of a love letter to both bands (mostly concentrating on 1966-73, my favorite eras of each), and during this terrible year, they've each been of great comfort. This episode includes lots of musical montages, discussions of music, LSD, Charles Lloyd, Phil Spector, Yo La Tengo and...well, just listen. And short answer as to why The Beach Boys and Grateful Dead would sound ok playing together without any rehearsal is, they're both bands that know how to listen.  

Episode 23 of WTSCF has been a long time coming, basically due to life getting a bit derailed. But I hope you'll agree that it was worth the wait. What we have here is not your average interview with Michael Nesmith. This is sort of grad-level Nez. Spirituality. Metaphysics. Creativity. Psychedelics. Turning away from the darkness of that era.  Not a word about The Monkees. No MTV. No Country Rock Pioneer. No Liquid Paper. Have you noticed that most bios and interviews with Nez seem to gloss over The Prison (1974) and his life at the time? As a long time fan of Nez, The Prison for a long time was this mysterious work that I kept trying and failing to get into. Eventually I realized I wasn’t hearing the original work-I was hearing the touched up version Nez released in the 90’s. A few years ago I finally heard the 1974 original, and it all came together. Plus, I sensed a psychedelic infliuence which turned out to be accurate. In this podcast, my long-winded intro is followed by Nez onstage in 1975 telling the plot of The Prison, and finally, the main course: my conversation, recorded in April 2019. Stuff gets very deep, very spiritual, puzzling, funny and always fascinating. Enjoy. 

New episode! Note to self: think twice before doing another one with 25+ cover versions. That was a haul. "Reason to Believe" is a thoughtful and mature Tim Hardin song from 1966 in which the singer is fully aware that he's choosing to carry on a relationship with someone who deals in dishonesty and disrespect. The song's timeless theme struck a chord with many artists (and countless listeners) upon its release, and it was covered by about a dozen artists in 1967 alone. This episode features over 25 versions of this song (spanning from 1966 to 2017) so most aren't played in their entirety. I feel compelled to include some post-production footnotes, as I had a few thoughts once it was too late to include them in the episode. So here are a few things I wished I'd touched on: 1. A mention of Artie Butler and how his string arrangement on the Hardin original was an important component on many subsequent versions; and the many cool ways it was adapted and expanded upon. 2. How the electric piano on the Ian and Sylvia version seems to have influenced a few other versions, including the Carpenters'. 3. How some alternately sing "still I'd LOVE to find a reason to believe". 4. How I mentioned the fusion of Eastern European violin and country fiddle in relation to both Rod Stewart's version and in relation to Camper Van Beethoven's music, but not in relation to each other. 5. How Hal Blaine's drumming on the Scott McKenzie version is magnificent as always. 6. How I can actually see why Doug Dillard wasn't into The Dillards' new direction on Wheatstraw Suite. The fluffy woodwinds on their version of Reason to Believe are a little corny and while Doug obviously didn't object to pop, he wanted to keep things real in his own projects. Enjoy!

Conceived of (successfully) as an "instant folk song" in the age of instant mashed potatoes and instant coffee, "Long Black Veil" is a tale of murder and infidelity, yes, but is it also a tale of (I hate to say it) "bros before hoes" taken to its senseless, meaningless extreme? The narrator of this song, singing from The Great Beyond, may have wanted to go down a hero by admitting to a crime he didn't commit (murder) so he wouldn't have to admit to a crime he did commit (sleeping with best friend's wife). But I can't help but see him as a selfish coward who's done nothing but add to the burden of those still living. Life goes on without him, and that means 1) there's still a murderer at large and the townsfolk have no idea 2) he died while his best friend was still in belief of his lies 3) neither his mistress' nor his best friend's life is going to get any easier now that he's gone. Not in the short term anyway. Great song though! I'm a bit rusty after some time off, so forgive me any production errors.

This episode had quite an evolution of its own. It began as a written piece intended for the forum on Nesmith's Videoranch website during my brief, experimental stint working for the site. Once the experiment was abandoned and I was back writing for myself, I decided to turn this into a podcast. In retrospect I should have cut much of the armchair psychoanalysis contained in the first 15-20 minutes, and if you agree, you can always skip to the musical analysis. I'll just say in my defense that I wrote that part while in a very analytical mindset influenced by the vibe of the stuff being written, by myself and others, on the Videoranch forum. Add to that it being the dark days of New England winter as well as my mother living out her final weeks. Things were heavy and I was reflecting that mindset. But as I got more into the podcast, I remembered "entertainment value!" and lightened up. So if you find yourself zoning out at the beginning, I encourage you to utilize the fast-forward until it sounds like things are getting fun. Because they do get fun! And as I say, please go to my Facebook page or my Blogger site and let me know which version is your fave!

Truth is at least as strange as fiction. Fact intertwines with my flights of fancy in this episode. At its core is an analysis of the fifth album The Monkees SHOULD have released. I was asked to contribute something to the excellent blog, Monkees Live Almanac back in May of this year to help celebrate the band's 50th anniversary. I thought about it intermittently for two months, wrote it sporadically over the course of the next two months and recorded/produced it in fits and starts over the last two months. And here it is. You do not have to be a fan of the band to dig this one. Enjoy.

My conversation with Andrew Sandoval continues and concludes in this episode. More stories, revelations and insights into the life and career of one of the hardest working people in the music industry. I admittedly turn into a bit of a chatty fanboy in this half but pull myself together and stick with my planned questions. Enjoy.

Veering away from the regular format, this is part one of a two part interview with producer/engineer/historian/author/singer-songwriter Andrew Sandoval. In 1990, at the age of 17 he wrote the liner notes for and sequenced The Monkees' Missing Links 2 album for Rhino Records. Since then he's produced countless reissues and rarities collections (Big Star, The Kinks, Bee Gees, Turtles, Beach Boys....), was nominated for a Grammy in 2010, has authored two books and countless liner notes and has been Tour Producer for The Monkees since 2011. The Monkees are celebrating their 50th anniversary this year and Andrew has been a huge part of making it a year to remember for Monkees fans, with the critically acclaimed (!!!!) new album, Good Times! as well as a Blu Ray box set of every Monkees episode, plus their film Head and tons of recently unearthed rare stuff. Our chat took place at the Hampton Beach Casino Ballroom (New Hampshire) on the afternoon of July 16, 2016.

A belated tribute to David Bowie as well as my final podcast before an official hiatus. Not many notable cover versions of this song, but Bowie covered it and that's all that matters. I may have overcompensated for the small amount of cover versions with too much yapping, but hey, I haven't talked to you in a long time and won't be talking to you for a few months. So enjoy. We can have fun just _______ around, can't we?

Ever pursue a love interest only to find that he or she has been simultaneously pursuing you? Yeah, rarely do things work out so conveniently, but it can happen; and that's what Smokey Robinson chose to write about in his 1966 composition, "The Hunter Gets Captured By The Game". It's a little pocket masterpiece, both lyrically and musically, and the spectrum of artists who have covered it is quite wide indeed. More quality than quantity. Enjoy.

A barely-known Canadian folk singer wrote this cautionary post-apocalyptic song (her first song) in 1962. In 1967 a somewhat obscure folk rocker rearranged it, wrote an additional verse and sneakily claimed co-authorship-an injustice that often goes unnoticed in the history books. Cruelly, most covers are based on this arrangement. The same year, the leader of a not-yet legendary band more radically rearranged it on his band's debut album, and added a key final line, but knew enough to claim no credit. This episode sorts out the song's meaning, its origins, its various paths and twists and turns and the many cover versions that range from folk to disco to industrial/goth.

Sorry for the long time between episodes, but in the interim, I became a father. Audrey Ruth was born Dec 15, and so I wanted to celebrate by featuring a song first made famous by another lovely Audrey. I skipped over many of the biggest versions of this song and went right for the most interesting (for the most part). Enjoy!

A cry-in-your-beer classic told with a healthy dose of irony, "She Thinks I Still Care" has been covered in a wide range of styles since its initial release in 1962, has gender-role-flipped a few times, but never fails to deliver a sentiment that most of us has felt at one time or another.

From Harry Nilsson's RCA debut LP, Pandemonium Shadow Show (1967), "Without Her" is a perfectly written, perfectly sung and perfectly arranged and produced (by Rick Jarrard) song that perfectly evokes the empty, lonely feeling in the wake of a breakup. Did I mention how perfect it is? Several of the cover versions you'll hear aren't too shabby either.

It's the TENTH episode of WTSCF, the first of the summer, and the first one to feature a song by Bob Dylan. And thus, it's by far the longest and most self-indulgent. But what amazing versions you'll be turned on to! Dylan is known for his verbose songs, and so I thought it only appropriate to make this a long-winded episode. I will not be offended if you listen to it in a couple/three installments. Enjoy!

A bit late to cash in on the 50th Anniversary of The Beatles arriving in the USA, but better late than never. "I Saw Her Standing There" is unquestionably a timeless classic pop-rocker, and unquestionably much more McCartney than Lennon. Lennon even chose to cover it at what would be his final big concert appearance. You can hear that version, and the story behind it, as well as many other versions and the stories behind those (by everyone from Bob Welch to Mary Wells to Daniel Johnson...) Enjoy!

A folk song written by an Englishman for a play about his home town, but which has become most popular in the hands of a couple of Irish acts. Yet all the featured versions from the last decade have been by Americans. This underscores the song's timeless, universal appeal, especially at the end of winter as many of us look out the window at our own dirty old towns.

Not the most impressive song in the Leiber and Stoller oeuvre, but one that an impressive and amusing bunch of artists has covered.

A teenage Jackson Browne wrote this world-weary classic (some know it as a Nico song; some know it as a Gregg Allman song...) while living in sunny southern California. Since then, it has been covered in a variety of styles, undergone some drastic changes, and seems to have returned to its owner in a matured, but similar state as it was in when he first gave it to the world. Browne can now sing his jaded words with some wisdom instead of teen angst. We'll hear several treatments of the song from 1967 to now.

A celebration of one of the best pop singles of all time, and the many cover versions it has spawned. Enjoy.

One of the first bona fide classics from the mind of Antonio Carlos (Tom) Jobim--as well as from the genre he helped to create, Bossa Nova. With a melody partially lifted from Chopin, lyrics in both Portuguese and English--that have totally different meanings but are both equally sad--and cover versions by a surprisingly wide range of artists from Shatner to Iggy, what's not to love? A couple of technical glitches threatened to waylay this episode, but I think I succeeded in nursing it back to health.

As promised, a summer theme. This is one song to which I don't feel any improvements are needed. The original is perfect, and only a few of the covers featured do I feel succeed in doing something new and exciting. I think the Everly Brothers and Van Halen win the cup this time. See what you think. In researching this episode, I discovered something interesting, which became the sub-theme of this episode: That both The Who and the Grateful Dead both began covering this song in a straight ahead form in each of the band's early days. Both retired the tune, only to each rework it in the late 70's. So I bookend this episode with those bands' versions. Yes, I might spend a few extra minutes on the Dead's version(s), but that's just because their musical references are so rich, that it's hard for me to resist diving in. I also wish I cut the Little Richard version a minute or two earlier--I started out loving it, but grew to dislike it after repeated listening. Otherwise, you will hear some prime examples of how music changed between the 60's and 80's. I can't really say that things have changed half as much in the last 20 years.

This episode looks at The Bee Gees' 1967 single, "To Love Somebody" and cover versions from The Upsetters, The Animals, Roberta Flack and more--some expected, some not so... I should put forth the fact that my commentary on these episodes comes from the viewpoint not of a music critic, but of someone who has had a hand in writing, arranging and producing music for the last decade and a half. Also, from the viewpoint of a music lover and historian. Enjoy, and if you find out where that sound's coming from, let me know! -Brian

The first in a long series (I think) examining songs that have been covered by wide ranging and sometimes unlikely artists. This episode: Around and Around by Chuck Berry. Some expected and not so expected versions of this 1958 classic.