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.
Today’s #TuesdaysWithJerry topic: samplers!
I wish more labels had kept up with this promotional practice, tossing together gateway tracks as a means of enticing ears to seek out more from their rosters, while sometimes slipping in a rarity or two to help such things become collector’s items.
Ordinarily I would’ve shared this latest installment in my #TuesdaysWithJerry series on, well, Tuesday.
But as I spent yesterday on the road from Tucson back to Cali, there simply weren’t brain reserves left to produce a post with any measure of meaning. And yet I don’t want to wait longer to nudge this never-ending survey of A&M Records along.
If you’re just joining this ongoing journey through the decades-deep A&M Records catalog — my way of memorializing that label’s late great co-founder Jerry Moss, who died in August at 88 — let me bring you up to speed.
Like so many other platinum acts from A&M Records’s pre-rock catalog, the Carpenters struck me even from a single-digit age as featherlight schlock, inescapably omnipresent (especially in the ‘70s) but instantly dismissed by Gen X’ers (I’m one) who had yet to grow out of ironic hipster attitudes toward everything straight-laced and square.
Some of you surely remember as fondly as I do how that outlook changed dramatically for the better via the 1994 compilation ‘If I Were a Carpenter.’ At the height of grunge, here was an earnestly sincere salute to all this sterling popcraft we’d never properly appreciated.
Because I’m not a boomer who came of age in the ‘60s, I neither fell for these cross-pollinated charmers as a swingin’ sophisticate nor first became aware of Brazilian music via the global smash — Stan Getz & João Gilberto’s ‘The Girl from Ipanema,’ with aloofly dreamy vocals from the late Astrud Gilberto — that put the beguiling sound of bossa nova on a wider musical map.
You might understandably wonder why I didn’t start my #TuesdaysWithJerry series saluting the late great Jerry Moss with this (or any) twofer from his A&M partner Herb Alpert and his long-running outfit the Tijuana Brass Band. After all, it was Alpert’s desire to release albums independently that led to the label’s formation in ‘62 with the emergence of his surprise hit ‘The Lonely Bull.’
How can any survey of A&M’s past begin anywhere else?
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.
