Good to Great (Jim Collins, 2001)

Back in my retail days, when I was impervious to long hours and low pay, Good to Great was one of a number of business titles I read in my quest for superior inventory management techniques. As I wrapped up grad school and got out of management, I lost interest in reading them and at times I felt outright hostile to Good to Great. After all a book that extols the virtues of Fannie Mae (corruption) and Circuit City (bankruptcy) must have missed the mark.

Much to my surprise as I returned to a leadership role in my career, I found that people still recommended this book. So, with a measure of trepidation, I returned to Jim Collins's masterwork. I have to say, although it takes some brain power to disassociate a number of distasteful events that affected the "good-to-great" companies, the principles distilled from his thorough research still resonate strongly. Overall, the trick is to work from the inside out, starting with "Level 5 leadership", then getting the right people on board, before working on the one great concept you're passionate about and can be the best at (the "hedgehog concept").

I've been long aware that this book is a "prequel" of sorts to Collins's earlier book Built to Last. He connects concepts between the two books at the end and I think I'll need to go back and read that one to fully grasp some of the points. Also, I think some brain power will be necessary to translate the stories of successful publicly-traded for-profit companies to a library environment. It's not easy, but I know the connections are there.

As an amusing aside, the touting of "hedgehog" puts Collins in direct contrast with an earlier book I read this year, The Signal and the Noise by Nate Silver. In that book, Silver advocates for the "fox" instead. However, he was advising this for aspiring political pundits, not business leaders, so take that whichever way you like!

Sabotage (Black Sabbath, 1975)

Reviewing some of the past Black Sabbath posts here, it looks like I've already tipped by hand regarding my thoughts on Sabotage, so I'll try not to be too repetitive. Although it is typically regarded by Ozzy purists as the last "great" album by the band, it's probably better to describe the album as a gateway of what was to come from the band.

Sabotage retains a number of musical elements that were expressed to their fullest on 1973's Sabbath Bloody Sabbath, particularly in emphasizing riffs over solos. On the other hand, the band was now on the other side of a rather introverted period for the band with very little activity beyond their appearance at the 1974 California Jam (oddly notable for showing Iommi minus the mustache). They were beat down pretty hard during this time, mostly in the legal department. At the same time, they were continuing to seek a somewhat new musical identity and it pops up in places here.

The red meat for the purists here are "Hole in the Sky", "Megalomania", and the first chunk of "Symptom of the Universe". In fact I remember walking back into the stockroom during my bookstore days and hearing "Symptom" going full-bore and the employee just standing there having his mind blown. No doubt it's a really hard charging song, but overall not the direction the band was heading. The evidence is in the second part, introduced in the studio, softer and acoustic and everything the first part wasn't. Lest anyone doubt this part appeared later, witness the live version (originally from Live at Last, then made official on Past Lives) that abruptly ends after the first part.

Moments like this, along with instrumental bits like the acoustic "Don't Start (Too Late)" and the choral workout "Supertzar" show this is a band not intent on revisiting the old days of Paranoid. The synthesizers are ramped up as well, particularly on the album's second side in songs like "The Thrill of It All" and the overtly commercial "Am I Going Insane (Radio)". To be clear, the latter is not a "radio edit", but instead the greatest case of a British band messing with their American fans since Zeppelin's "D'yer Mak'er", as "Radio" is rhyming slang for crazy (crazy=mental=radio rental). Finally, "The Writ", a rare song that features lyrics by Ozzy (Geezer was the usual lyricist for the band and I can only guess putting Ozzy in the credits was an act of generosity), brings everything together, a heavy, solo-less mini-epic polemic on the band's legal woes. Depending on your version of the album, the fadeout of the monster riff brings things to a close, or a little ditty by Ozzy and Bill Ward called "Blow on a Jug" appears after the fade, a rare moment of sheer whimsy on a Sabbath album.

For the continuing saga of Sabbath, you can continue on to Technical Ecstasy. If you like to read about bands going off the rails, it makes for some gripping reading!

Low Town (Daniel Polansky, 2011)

It's surprising that nobody has thought of putting a classic noir story in a fantasy setting. Or maybe somebody already did and I just never heard about it until now.

Low Town (British title: The Straight Razor Cure) is a smart mashup of the two genres. As many other readers have noted, it's not a stretch to completely lift the main story out of its fantasy setting and into the worlds of Dashiel Hammett or Raymond Chandler. In fact, this is the main liability of the novel: the fantasy world at times doesn't hold up particularly well. In particular, a visit to a corrupt noble's home feels like the Warden (our nameless hero) walked into a mid-20th century estate in the nice part of town.

Although Daniel Polansky is an American author, he seems to have lost his
American publisher. Therefore, the remaining two books in the series are UK-only titles, and his new series (a duology, I think) is also not available in the United States. But, it's a small world after all, so I'm sure this won't prove an overly cumbersome barrier to being able to read these books sometime down the road.

Ellen Foster (Kaye Gibbons, 1987)

With the exception of The Joy Luck Club (1989), Ellen Foster is the latest chronologically published book to date in the Novels for Students series. For reference, there are 49 volumes in the series and this is the third, published nearly 20 years ago. With a little quick math, one learns this book was only ten years old when included in the series. We've already tread here with Democracy, but it's clear the compilers of the series were not identifying "classics" in the strictest sense of the term, but also trying to identify "current literature" that may have been entering the classroom at that time. Some, like The Giver (1993) enter proudly into the classics column at a young age. Others sort of just run their course.

While I'm not sure Ellen Foster has held up as well as some of its contemporaries, it enjoyed the fruits of the "Oprah effect" when it was picked for the book club in 1997 along with Gibbons's second book, A Virtuous Woman. Over time it's been buried heavily by subsequent more prominent and/or controversial selections. It would be easy for me to dismiss this as Oprah fodder (female main character, serious family problems, frank discussion of race), but I'll try to take the high road here. Like most of Gibbons's books, it's very short. Having not read any of the other books, I can't say any comparative about the structure, but this book is a kind of micro-Odyssey as Ellen, the eponymous 11 year old protagonist of the book, flees from her abusive father and seeks a surrogate parent. Either due to outside circumstances (friend's family, teacher), or internal conflict (aunt, grandma), nobody really fits the role to Ellen's expectations. There's a little bit of deus ex machina in the conclusion, but the structure of the book, going back and forth in time, ensures it is no surprise what will eventually work for Ellen.

As I was fully aware going into reading some of these books in the series, I'm likely not the target audience of this book. However, I tried approaching it with an open mind and found there was plenty interesting about the book. While I'm not going to rush out and complete my Kaye Gibbons bibliography, I'm glad I read this book.

The Beta Band (1999)

The Beta Band's first proper album was hailed as "the worst album of the year" and "f&*#ing awful" (this is a family blog) by the band itself. Granted, the album is a mess, but it's a beautiful mess. It's safe to say that the band resides in the weirder realms of my music collection, but, both before and after this album, the band was constantly doing fine-tuning along the spectrum.

The previous year, the band garnered a good deal of attention by combining their first three EP's into a single album, cleverly called The Three EP's. While many are inclined to just accept it as their de facto first album, it's actually better appreciated by its component EP's. Champion Versions (1997) and Los Amigos del Beta Bandidos (1998) were fairly "normal" outings, while The Patty Patty Sound (1998), released between the two, is, by all measures, a strange one. It's almost as if the band is "reacting" to its preceding recording. I'll save a detailed analysis of the early years for whenever I finally dial up The Three EP's for the blog. For now, I'll posit that the self-titled album was reacting to the tameness of their third EP.

From the opening track of this album, you know it's going to be a wild ride. "The Beta Band Rap" is a triptych of "Mr. Sandman", hip-hop, and rockabilly that somehow manages to tell the story of the band up to this point. Although I've heard this song many times, I'm still incapable of relating the story back. Maybe some OCD-afflicted soul has transcribed this to a lyrics site somewhere. "It's Not Too Beautiful" is the second track and the standout of the ten. Hate on this album as they do, I was pleased to see it remained in their live show through the rest of the band's lifespan. Sampling John Barry's score to "The Black Hole"? Genius. "Simple Boy" is a short and unremarkable song except for the fact the bass put my car's Bose speakers to the test. "Around the Bend", if I call correctly, was the most promoted track of the album, though I can't say if it was a proper single. Like the best parts of The Three EP's, it has a more acoustic feel, with trademark rambly lyrics thrown in for good measure. "Dance O'Er the Border" continues what the previous song started in the lyrics department, a maybe-not-intentional stream of consciousness approach, but now set to a thumping dance floor beat. Jangly guitars return for "Brokenupadingdong", later overtaken by some impressive percussion work, presumably by Robin Jones, all of which worked like a cup of strong coffee on my morning drive.

Up to this point I don't think I'd be out of line to call the band's criticism of the album out of line. However, the last four tracks show signs of fatigue. "Number 15" just isn't that exciting a song and "Smiling" is about 6 minutes longer than it needs to be. For close observers, though, it is a relative to "Monolith" from The Patty Patty Sound (where "Dry the Rain" was the past, "Smiling" was the future, though listeners in 1998 didn't know it yet!). About the best thing I can say about "The Hard One" is that I still love how they mess up the lyrics to "Total Eclipse of the Heart" such that now the singer is always falling in love. In fact, I think I like that better. The downside is that 10 minutes of this is a bit wearing. Finally, "The Cow's Wrong"? I still have no idea what's going on here, but it's the only appearance of Gordon Anderson in the credits of the album.

Aside from Robert Christgau (the embodiment of everything wrong with music criticism), most people will rank this album lower than The Three EP's. It's understandable, keeping in mind that album routinely appears on 1990's best-album lists. However, with the gift of hindsight, we know that a more "synthetic" future lay ahead for the band. Also, everything was tightened up considerably for the next album, Hot Shots II, most likely in reaction to this album. While technically a more coherent effort, much of the charm present on this album was absent from that one, an (in yet another reaction!) only partly restored on their final album.

Nonzero (Robert Wright, 2000)

Nonzero has been on my to-read list for quite some time. In fact, it's been so long since I added it to the list that I can't even remember how it got on my radar. It turns out that a lot of the stuff I added back around 2011 and 2012 came from referrals from David Brin's blog, Contrary Brin. I haven't read the blog in quite some time, mainly because it seemed to be getting a little too crackpot in places and too verbose in general, though I generally think he makes a lot of sense (on a side note here, I'm saddened that Brin can write a torrent on his blog, but only deliver two novels in the 21st century).

Fast forward to 2015 and Nonzero has percolated its way of the list to the top of the queue. In this book, Robert Wright, author of The Moral Animal, explores the idea that both biological and cultural evolution advance toward some kind of purpose. That purpose is advanced through the notion of "nonzero-sumness", a game theory concept that we advance as a species through "win-win" outcomes. In other words, one entity's success need not be the result of another's failure. He is quick to distance himself from the old-school cultural evolutionists of the 19th century that used the notion to fuel racist and imperialist agendas, but he is clearly against the more recently popular notion that every culture is special in its own way and one society is not necessarily more advanced than another. Indeed, it's a bit of a tightrope-walk, but in his overview of human and biological history he demonstrates how both have "advanced" - indeed, improved, over time, through zero-sum "games". It's an interesting hypothesis, that I think many will initially disagree with, though it's hard to find fault with Wright's reasoning.

Maybe I'll need to get back to reading Contrary Brin to see if I can find some more book recommendations. It's not like I don't have enough to read as it is!

StressFest (Steve Morse Band, 1996)

In spite of his impressive work with Kansas (in the 1980's) and Deep Purple (from the 1990's onward), not to mention his own bands, the Dixie Dregs and eponymous band, Steve Morse remains a largely unknown guitarist outside the community of musicians. Musically active since the 1970's, Morse generally stuck to instrumental rock, a genre that was of niche interest at best since the mid-1960's. Even attempts to add vocals from hired guns like Alex Ligertwood and Patrick Simmons did not propel him into the mainstream. He probably had his best first crack at something larger when he joined the reborn Kansas in 1986 for two albums: Power and In the Spirit of Things. But even that career move wasn't going to be a definitive breakthrough as that Kansas bore little resemblance to its Kerry Livgren-era counterpart. It was no surprise that Morse returned to instrumental work with a tighter trio-configured version of the Steve Morse Band, which advances the story to around 1994.

At the end of 1993, the seemingly unrelated legendary British hard rock band Deep Purple was dealt what for most bands should have been a death blow. The second departure of Ritchie Blackmore was designed to kill off the band once and for all. One need not look any further back for proof than the first time he quit, with the band folding less than a year later. American replacement Tommy Bolin, in spite of his impressive chops on the guitar, was never accepted by the fans back then. It seemed like history would repeat itself when the band initially drafted Joe Satriani for a few shows, followed by less contract-bound Steve Morse on a more permanent basis. Neither choice was exactly what you would call inside ball and I'm pretty sure nobody in Purple had ever played with Morse prior to meeting.

Thankfully, the Morse decision paid off handsomely and he has been with the band for over 20 years, unseating Blackmore as the longest-serving guitarist of the band. However, Morse (and indeed most member of latter-era Deep Purple) maintained his side projects, including the Steve Morse Band in its regular formation of Dave LaRue on bass and Van Romaine on drums. StressFest, the first album released by SMB during Morse's Purple tenure, would invariably introduce his solo work to a whole new audience. Most of the attention that year was on his Purple debut, Purpendicular, so I'm guessing the album was probably done on the fly, following up a series of albums going back to 1991's Southern Steel. It pretty much follows the same formula as these albums, a trio approach where each instrument holds down around 33.3% of the sound. Well, maybe more like 45-30-30 in Morse's favor, and yes I'm doing the math correctly because these guys always give at least 105% effort. While it's great that the SMB has the confidence to keep doing what they always have, it is a little weird that in spite of over a year together, there is very little here that sounds even remotely like Deep Purple. I should amend this somewhat; they covered "Speed King", which was sadly relegated to Japanese bonus track status and didn't even make it into the later pair of Major Impacts cover albums.

Overall, like its three predecessors, StressFest is a listener's album and a musician's album. Although it chugs and rocks along in many places, one can't really appreciate it as background music. Many of the songs are subtle variations along a theme, so if you aren't paying close attention you can be forgiven for thinking the songs sound a lot alike. Around 10 years ago, I saw Steve Morse in concert, with the Dixie Dregs opening. Yes, Steve Morse opened for himself. How often do you see that happen? Anyway, near the end of the set, SMB busted through the title track and the slower and deeper "Eyes of a Child". Both were rendered excellently and received very well by the Coach House audience in San Juan Capistrano, which leads me to believe that this album still holds a very important place in the hearts of both Morse and his fans.

Meddle (Pink Floyd, 1971)

Except for Syd Barrett purists (see A Very Irregular Head), the "classic" era of Pink Floyd began with the 1971 release of Meddle. By this time, pretty much all of the Barrett influence had been scrubbed from the music and Roger Waters was asserting a greater leadership role, sharing or having sole credit on every song, as well as writing all the lyrics. It's the first album to use a genuine segue, with the howling wind of "One of These Days" whooshing listeners into the first notes of "Pillow of Winds". Of course, the real champion track is the side-long "Echoes". Normally, sidelongs are a Bad Idea, with Love's "Revelation" being probably the worst offender. "Echoes", however, is a multi-stage sonic journey, one that seems to get its sections just right, moving along before things get too dull. Even the "rock" section could probably pass for chillout if you are open-minded enough to accept music other than Enya. Being pre-Dark Side, though, there is still a little weirdness. For instance, pretty much everyone considers "Seamus" to be not much more than a failed experiment in having a dog serve as co-lead vocalist. "San Tropez", the only vocal outing by Waters, is the latest iteration in the Waters songbook of shuffle-type songs that had evolved along the lines of "Biding My Time" and "Free Four" and would ultimately reach fruition on "Money" a couple years later.

While Meddle is overall a fairly "stable" recording for Pink Floyd, the album is bookended by two shakier albums. Atom Heart Mother precedes, and is a more haphazardly recorded experience. While one may criticize Waters's skill as a musician, his architecturally-inspired management was a welcome addition (albeit in later years rather draconian). Meanwhile, Obscured By Clouds, which followed, represented the final soundtrack-contract work by the band and feels more like a throwback to the days of old rather than the album that would directly precede the following year's Dark Side of the Moon.

On a final random (and frankly mathematical) note, I picked up this album on CD in 1993, one of my first ventures outside of Wall/Dark Side territory. It's a little sobering to think my CD is now as old as the original album was back when I got the CD. And I thought 1971 was thousands of years ago back then!

A Very Irregular Head (Rob Chapman, 2010)

There is something about reading books by music journalists that is inherently unsatisfying. I think it has a tendency to be too opinionated in all of the wrong ways. More on that later. First, an overview of the very thorough Syd Barrett biography, A Very Irregular Head.

As a Pink Floyd-listening teen, I'd argue with my friends about who "was" Pink Floyd and the battle lines were drawn between David Gilmour and Roger Waters. By the way, the technically correct answer is neither; only Nick Mason appears on every Pink Floyd album. Of course we'd snicker at the random few people who contended that Syd Barrett was the real Pink Floyd and that every album since A Saucerful of Secrets was a fraud. We'd also get a good laugh at the concept of Syd Barrett himself. I mean the guy was totally nutters, right? There were all kinds of crazy stories of the "founder" of Pink Floyd doing freaky stuff, probably under the influence of LSD. Heck there was even Syd's First Trip (a questionable video account of his first time dropping acid), just to prove it!

Well, Mr. Chapman is one of those crazy Syd-defenders and he would have been absolutely appalled at how we gobbled up all of the stories. In 400 pages, he takes on the daunting task of disproving these stories and, in turn, painting a portrait of the real Syd Barrett, a genius with a fragile mind, not a simple "acid casualty". Now, 400 pages is a lot of material to write about a man with an extremely short recording history who destroyed virtually all of his primary source documentation. Chapman himself was not exactly a contemporary, having met Barrett only once, during the ill-fated Stars era and de facto end of his career. Therefore the book relies heavily on extensive interviews of his friends, though (aside from a few public statements) no input from Gilmour, Waters, Wright, or Mason. Also adding to the padding is a lot of pop lit-crit, tying the lyrics to childhood inspirations, particularly The Wind in the Willows and Alice in Wonderland.

Since there isn't a lot of professionally-recorded material by Syd Barrett - two albums with Pink Floyd, two solo albums, a few singles, and a bushel of outtakes - it's pretty easy for Chapman to analyze each song with a degree of depth probably not possible in, say, a book covering the entire discography of Pink Floyd. To Chapman's credit, and what makes this the only Syd Barrett bio you need to read, is that he treats Syd Barrett with great respect and doesn't resort to telling "Syd stories" which other bios heavily depended upon. Unfortunately, toward the end of the book this passionate defense of Syd turns into an excoriation of his old band, and a general disgust with the direction of rock by the 1970's. I just didn't see the point of labeling the Rolling Stones nothing more than a "druggy jam band", saying Ray Davies couldn't write after 1970, and writing off any band who bailed on psych rock (like...ahem...the Beatles) as ultimately a failure. By the end of the book, he had sort of become that depressing friend you know that doesn't like any bands anymore because their first album was as good as it got. It reminded me too much of watching those awful "Critical Rock Review" documentaries featuring a bunch of talking heads bemoaning a band's entire career because, god forbid, they changed and weren't just rehashing their first album over and over.

Anyway, with these caveats in mind, if you have a strong interest in Syd Barrett, you should definitely check this one out. However, if you believe losing Barrett was the best move Pink Floyd ever made, or  you like 1970's rock, this book may very well just end up making you angry. It's your call.