Contrary to the impression I might have given with the sixth post in this ongoing series surveying past glories of A&M Records — I spend #TuesdaysWithJerry to remember late great mogul Jerry Moss — Joe Cocker was not in fact the first rock act signed to the rapidly rising label.
We’re still inching our way toward the ‘70s, a stylistically packed decade that will see A&M Records (the focus of this #TuesdaysWithJerry offshoot of #VinylTwosDays) swing from soft pop to hard rock to new wave by the time that era’s glittering New Year’s Eve ball dropped into 1980.
Now that I’ve undertaken this #SoundtrackSunday project, do I wish I’d started my A-Z rundown of those we own a month earlier, so that this second installment could have appeared shortly before Halloween? Maybe a little.
I did warn you there would be more of this stuff. Nearly a quarter of the way through this century we have easy access to the cream of Fleetwood Mac’s concert crop from three-quarters of the way through the previous century — and at this point that almost seems by design.
Mick Fleetwood was keen to put out a live set not long after ‘Rumours’ arose but the rest of the band shot the idea down. Didn’t stop them from recording an estimated 400 shows between ’75 and ’80 during increasingly in-demand tours that built this particular Mac’s reputation almost as much as their multiplatinum monoliths.
This wasn’t the pairing I planned to present today for the 10th installment of my #TuesdaysWithJerry series, an ongoing look at the history of A&M Records (cofounded by the late Jerry Moss) that I’ve hitched to ye olde #VinylTwosDays wagon, captained each week by @vinyl_is_life.
That’s right, Mac watchers, you’ve guessed correctly: It’s time now to resurrect a trove of Tusk-an tour mementos. Buckle up, kids, because there are two more live sets right behind this one — literally seven LPs & 14 sides of performances to get through before we take a fresh look at 1982’s Mirage.
We’re technically jumping into the ‘70s with these compilations when there’s still plenty left in the ‘60s worth mentioning. The Procol Harum assortment with the inexplicably celestial cover is from ’73, Spooky Tooth’s set with peeking tiger from ’76.
If you’ve spent time listening to any of these alternate versions of Fleetwood Mac’s beloved behemoths, whether in vinyl form (like this parallel Tusk) or via scores of tracks that litter deluxe-edition digital copies, you’ve got to admit: Sometimes it’s really hard to discern much difference between outtakes and finished products.
Like so many other milestones from the early A&M Records catalog, these records were always a reach away in my pre-digital childhood home — yet rarely were they played. I’ve always put their neglect down to the instant antiquity of ever-changing styles.
Music moguls have rarely been as monumentally influential as Jerry Moss was. Last week’s loss of the M half of A&M Records — Herb Alpert, the A, is still kicking at 88, the same age his partner reached — rises to a level of recognition reserved for legendary scene-shapers such as Mo Ostin at Warner/Reprise or Ahmet Ertegun at Atlantic. Like those fellow Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductees, Moss was a crucial titan with a decades-deep effect on careers and stylistic shifts.
