Soundtrack of my Life: Part 3

Man, where does the time go? It's hard to believe that it's already been two years since I climbed aboard the HickoryWind.org bandwagon. When I joined up, I was eager to write about music every Thursday, and I still find it enjoyable. I started by introducing myself with an A-to-Z list of tunes I like. On my one-year anniversary (or thereabout), I tried to tell you a little more about myself via a second alphabetical list of favorites. I think the lists are valuable for two reasons: 1) writing an annual "get to know me" list means that I only have to think of an idea to write about 51 times a year; and 2) lists help us determine what we have in common as well as what we don't have in common. Both are crucial if we are to have a meaningful discussion about music. I've learned a lot from this site's other authors and readers in the past two years. It's my sincere hope that I've passed on a worthwhile tip or two. But enough about me; let's talk about me. Here's the latest installment of The Soundtrack of My Life, presented this time in a chronological list of albums:

1969: "The Band," The Band. I've appreciated The Band for as long as I've been able to form my own opinions about music. I used to check out the VHS tape of "The Last Waltz" from the Lewiston (Maine) Public Library semi-regularly. Somehow I managed to overlook them a little, too. Maybe I took them for granted because they always were around. "The Weight," "Up on Cripple Creek" and "Chest Fever" figured prominently in the play list on the local rock-radio station, and I had the live album on which they backed Bob Dylan, "Before the Flood," on heavy rotation during my teens. Maybe there's something to the cosmic coincidence of their second (and best) album being released just a couple of months before I was born, because the musicianship and versatility displayed on "The Band" stand for most of what I find enjoyable about music.

1970: "Bridge Over Troubled Water," Simon & Garfunkel. "The Boxer" probably is my favorite Simon and Garfunkel song, but even without that song this album would get the nod based almost entirely on Art Garfunkel's beyond-beautiful vocal performance on "Bridge Over Troubled Water."

1971: "At Fillmore East," The Allman Brothers. One of the first albums I bought on CD (after "Buddy Holly: From the Original Master Tapes" and a Yardbirds compilation). Sometimes I like to jump in my truck, cue up "Whipping Post," and make the 15-minute drive to work on Saturday morning. Then I still get to enjoy another seven minutes of jam-tastic, dual-guitar goodness from Duane Allman and Dickey Betts after I park.

1972: "Exile on Main St.," The Rolling Stones. When I feel like hearing the Stones, this is pretty much the go-to album.

1973: "Grievous Angel," Gram Parsons. This is another album that I have grown to appreciate more over time. In truth, I think Parsons gets too much credit for being the "father of country/rock," but "Grievous Angel" certainly cements his legacy as a major player in the formation of the genre.

1974: "The Heart of Saturday Night," Tom Waits. This was recommended to me by a friend a couple years ago. I wish I had discovered it, and "Shiver Me Timbers," a lot sooner.

1975: "Blood on the Tracks," Bob Dylan. There were a lot of years on this timeline where a Dylan album would have fit nicely. Last year's "Modern Times" looks like it's going to stand the test of time, but "Blood on the Tracks" already has stood up and then some. Obviously I discovered this album and those before it well after they were released. There's only one way to properly appreciated "Blood on the Tracks," and a 6-year-old has no shot at it. Put it on after your first broken heart as an adult, though, and you'll get some idea where Dylan is coming from.

1976: "Fly Like an Eagle," The Steve Miller Band. My memory is fuzzy, but I'm pretty sure this album was in my first box of goodies from the Columbia House record and tape club, along with the first Boston album and the first one from the Cars. The title track was all over the radio back then.

1977: "Slowhand," Eric Clapton. I'm a guitar guy, and Clapton's one of the all-time great guitar heroes. As a young'un, I thought it was kind of cool that he did a song called "Cocaine." Now that I've grown up (somewhat), I get a bigger kick out of mellow grooves like the one on "Lay Down Sally."

1978: "Van Halen," Van Halen. It's not every day that you get to hear a sonic revolution. I remember like it was yesterday the day my buddy Chief put this album on. Rarely have I been as blown away as I was by Eddie Van Halen that day.

1979: "London Calling," The Clash. My first experience with this album was seeing the poster showing the iconic image of Paul Simonin smashing his bass in the window of DeOrsey's Records and Tapes in the Lewiston Mall. That photo still is a stark representation of the raw power of rock and roll. I don't know if The Clash had anything to do with drawing me in, but eight years later I ended up working at DeOrsey's. It's still the best job I've ever had.

1980: "Eagles Live," The Eagles. I loved this album for its version of Steve Young's "Seven Bridges Road," which wasn't available on other Eagles albums. The live version of "Hotel California" is pretty cool, too.

1981: "Hard Promises," Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers. Sure this disc has "The Waiting." But it also has one of my all-time, top-five Tom Petty mix-tape songs: "A Thing About You." Put it on a mix for a casual Petty fan, and the first thing they will ask you is "what album is this from?" As Brian Fantana of "Anchorman" fame would say, "Sixty percent of the time, it works every time."

1982: "Built for Speed," The Stray Cats. Because we're all friends here, I'm comfortable making a confession: As a 12-year-old, I was pretty pissed that the Stray Cats' "Stray Cat Strut" knocked Kenny Rogers' "Lady" off the top spot in Casey Kasem's American Top 40. Thankfully, I soon began to appreciate Brian Setzer's guitar playing and took a shine to rockabilly.

1983: "Texas Flood," Stevie Ray Vaughan & Double Trouble. SRV came on the scene just as I was ready to become a lifelong, diehard music fan. I couldn't have asked for a better influence. The first time I heard him on the clock radio in our kitchen, my life was changed. Stevie Ray's supercharged blues inspired a kid from Maine to wear broad-brimmed hats, buy a Fender Stratocaster and seek out the music of blues giants such as Buddy Guy and Albert King. I've probably never been so enthralled by a musician upon hearing them for the first time. I've certainly never been as deeply shaken by one's death.

1984: "Born in the U.S.A.," Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band. As you probably remember, there were five big hits off this one, including the title track. I always had a soft spot for the lesser-known cuts. I knew my wife Sharon and I were meant to be together when I found out that "Working on the Highway" was her favorite song on the album, too.

1985: "Brothers in Arms," Dire Straits. This album seemed to be playing everywhere that I went in the summer of 1985 (along with the Bryan Adams song "Summer of '69). "Money for Nothing" was the huge hit, but I already was developing a real love for deeper tracks. "The Man's Too Strong" always has been a favorite, and Mark Knopfler's guitar tone on the title track still gives me chills.

1986: "Guitar Town," Steve Earle. Earle was just one of the great artists I heard for the first time while working in the record store in my hometown. My introduction was actually 1987's "Exit 0," the album that taught me that country could be cool. My boss made me a tape with "Exit 0" on it. On the other side was "Guitar Town," which probably track for track is still the best country album I've heard. Steve Earle didn't stay with country, but this album's legacy will last for a long, long time.

1987: "The Joshua Tree," U2. Sometimes I wonder if I listened to anything else in 1987.

1988: "Slow Turning," John Hiatt. The title track was my introduction to Hiatt, and it's been a long, enjoyable ride from there with one of the great songwriters of our time or any other.

1989: "New York," Lou Reed. I was fascinated by Reed's street poetry on "Dirty Blvd." and "Romeo Loved Juliet," but never owned my own copy of the disc until a few years ago. I listened to my friend Matt Walker's copy so many times that I didn't need to have my own.

1990: "No Depression," Uncle Tupelo. They're one of my all-time favorite bands. I only wish I had discovered them in their time, as much as I enjoyed buying up blues records left and right back then.

1991: "88 Elmira St.," Danny Gatton. Gatton, who killed himself in 1994, was for a time billed as the "world's greatest unknown guitarist." This album gave him major-label exposure, and he held up his end of the deal. He was part Chet Atkins, part Les Paul, part Charlie Christian, part James Burton and part Roy Buchanan. But he was all of them at the same time, and he did it with blinding speed.

1992: "Hollywood Town Hall," The Jayhawks. Sweet harmonies and melodies get me just about every time.

1993: "Bottle Rockets," Bottle Rockets. Chief cook and Bottle Rocket Brian Henneman was a roadie for Uncle Tupelo, but there's no reason for him to have to take a back seat to Jay Farrar or Jeff Tweedy. This disc, the band's debut, isn't quite as good as some of its later work, but it is a highly underrated slice of alt-country.

1994: "The Brian Setzer Orchestra," The Brian Setzer Orchestra. It wasn't enough for Setzer to help bring rockabilly back in the dawn of the MTV era, so he took a chance by putting his red-hot guitar runs and his jazzy chords in front of an honest-to-goodness big band. Next thing you knew, there was a full-scale swing revival going on. It was more than a fad, though; Setzer's annual Christmas Extravaganza is hitting the road for the sixth time this fall.

1995: "Trace," Son Volt. The most positive thing to come out of Uncle Tupelo's breakup was this disc (and Wilco's "A.M." the same year). "Drown" gets most of the attention, and even got some radio play, but "Windfall" is the best song Jay Farrar has written.

1996: "BR5-49," BR5-49. HickoryWind's own Stacy Chandler put me onto this band, and am I ever glad she did. I'm not sure if they're the world's greatest hillbilly band, but I assure you that they're in the top five.

1997: "Too Far to Care," Old 97's. A Merlefest friend recently was asking which Old 97's disc to buy after "Fight Songs." I'll tell you what I told him: 'You should have bought "Too Far to Care" first.' It contains their best song ("Timebomb"), a handful of certified 97's classics ("Barrier Reef," "W. TX Teardrops" and "Melt Show") and two excellent re-recordings of previously released songs ("Big Brown Eyes" and "Four Leaf Clover"). While I'm dispensing advice, I'll add this: Buy all of their albums. But buy "Too Far to Care" first.

1998: "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road," Lucinda Williams. It's a damn near perfect album, and a standard that she's been chasing ever since. There will be no shame in not equaling it.

1999: "#447," Marshall Crenshaw. Crenshaw is a master of power-pop, and an underrated guitarist. He also writes top-notch material, such as this disc's "Television Light."

2000: "Broke Down," Slaid Cleaves. I like to take every opportunity to brag on Slaid Cleaves, a fellow Mainer who left home and made it big in Texas. "Broke Down" is a great example of the work that earned him so much acclaim in a state noted for songwriters.

2001: "Gold," Ryan Adams. A lot of people first became aware of Adams in 2001, particularly when his video for "New York, New York," which featured the World Trade Center in the background, became an unexpected hit post-9/11. My recollection is that I owned the album before that, but I'd be hard-pressed to say for sure. "Heartbreaker" is probably still his best, but this one's got a lot going for it, too. "Firecracker" has always been one of my favorite Adams songs.

2002: "The Big Come Up," The Black Keys. The White Stripes get all of the attention, but this guitar/drums duo kicks out the jams and then some. Greasy, grungy blues/rock that sounds like it comes straight out of Mississippi, even on their cover of the Beatles' "She Said She Said."

2003: "Break Your Mother's Heart," Tim Easton. Everybody has favorite singer-songwriters that they believe deserve wider recognition. Easton is one of mine. His material is consistently good on this disc and all of his other albums. "Poor Poor L.A" should have been a hit. If only Jackson Browne had recorded it. "Lexington Jail" has always been a favorite, too.

2004: "O.C.M.S.," Old Crow Medicine Show. Of all the new string bands bringing punk power and energy to old-time music, there is none that I like better than Old Crow Medicine Show. Jesus, that sounded dangerously close to the old Larry King columns in USA Today: "If the film 'Ernest Goes to Camp' doesn't entertain you, then you can't be entertained."

2005: "Exploration," Sarah Lee Guthrie & Johnny Irion. The husband-and-wife team ran the gamut from protest songs to prime Fleetwood Mac, wrapping it all in professionalism and polish. This was my favorite album of '05 (though it had a lot of competition). I hope to hear more of those harmonies soon.

2006: "Workbench Songs," Guy Clark. You can never go wrong with Guy Clark. Each of his albums is a display of craftsmanship, but turns out some of his finest work here, including "Walking Man" and "Magdalene."

2007: "Children Running Through," Patty Griffin. It's still too early to be talking seriously about best-of lists for this year, but the sheer number of spins Griffin's latest is getting at home and at the office indicates to me that I'll be associating it with 2007 for many, many years to come.