Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7F5Hc4ta5ivrgpVGAs5m7y?si=57e28b9b0ed34a9c
This is where the Bad Company and Mott the Hoople versions of "Ready for Love" differ.
I've been pleasantly surprised at all the kudos Mick Ralphs has been receiving. I didn't expect this, especially since Bad Company gets no love from the press and the cognoscenti. Which has always baffled me. Because not only was Bad Company successful and ubiquitous and still-played on the radio today, THEY WERE GREAT!
There have been obits in every major newspaper. And more than a squib, there have been details.
And rock musicians have been testifying. You might have seen Joe Elliott's version of "Seagull":
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IaCSTttDAsQ
The irony being that this is the one number on the debut that Mick Ralphs did not play on, the acoustic guitar was played by Paul Rodgers, although Mick did co-write it. And the lyrics fit:
"Seagull you fly across the horizon
Into the misty morning sun"
That's the metaphor, that dead people are now birds, in any event are up in the sky, in heaven.
However there is a twist:
"And you fly all around 'til somebody, yeah
Shoots you down"
That's being a rock star. You fly above everybody else, they adore you, you look down upon them, but ultimately you are cut down.
As for "Seagull"... All dedicated Bad Company fans know this track that closes the second side of the album, I remember Tommy Nast mentioning it to me, actually singing it... Then again, maybe if you were a fan of Patti Smith or Whitney Houston you never even heard it. (As for me, I bought those Patti Smith albums, never a Whitney Houston one, but I could appreciate the greatness of Bad Company too. And although I occasionally sang "Kimberly" to myself back in the day, it's Bad Company songs that I sing to myself and play to this day.)
Anyway, since Ralphs died I've been on a jag, playing his music, which is not usually the case. I know, I know, someone dies and consumption goes up, but if I was a fan I was usually such a big fan that to hear their music weirds me out, I don't need to be reminded, I never forgot. But it's been different with Mick, maybe because his work encapsulated the core of rock and roll, you could draw a straight line from Chuck Berry to him, Bad Company had no frills, it was rock and roll sans extras, it was direct, and that was its power.
Anyway, I know the albums so well, I've been searching for additional material. And there are a number of live albums, but you've got to investigate, not all of them feature Ralphs. Like "Live at Red Rocks." Cut in 2018, Mick was already bedridden from his stroke at this point.
But there is one live set entitled "Live 1977 & 1979" that features the original band, including Mick. And last night I got hooked on that one.
The funny thing is live the band sounds a bit different, Paul's vocals are a bit less controlled. Then again, live is where rock and roll has always lived. The energy, the feel.
First I pulled up "Simple Man." I was stunned there was a live version of this, my favorite Bad Company song. But this take is less eerie, yet more powerful. Instead of being ethereal, it's down to earth. Performed on a stage right in front of you, from a band that was employing no tricks, it's just them and when they hit the chorus the emotion and the power rise.
"I'm just a simple man, trying to be me
Oh, it ain't easy"
These are the words that resonated most last night. I just want to be me. And that's a hard choice, a rough journey in today's world. You can't be you if you're busy trying to fit in and be a member of the group, if you're holding back for fear of offending someone.
Then I played "Good Lovin' Good Bad," you'd be stunned how Mick's guitar fills up the entire space. But what I love most about this number is it requires Rodgers to sing in a higher register, he's straining, like Levi Stubbs in those great Four Tops hits.
And I'm working through the numbers and ultimately have to play "Movin' On" to see if it's got the same energy as the original, recorded version. It's got Mick's sound and Paul is strutting and if you know the track you can envision how great it must have been to hear this live, that was what I always loved best, hearing my personal hits live, the ones I knew from playing the album from start to finish over and over again, that were embedded in my brain, I was not a casual concert attendee just there to hear the hits, not knowing much more.
But what I've been singing in my head most, what I've been playing most, is "After Lights."
We've already established that the versions of "Ready for Love" by Mott the Hoople and Bad Company are different. I mean compare Paul's strong vocal to Mick's weak, thin one. The irony is when Mick sings "want you to stay" it's even more believable, it evidences a need, a near desperation. And this is amped up in the second verse:
"Don't let go, you know I'm ready for you
Don't you be slow, you know what I'm going to do
Give it to me, you know what I'm talking of
Give it to me, I'm ready for love"
This may sound macho on paper, but if you listen to the record... He approached her, but now he's got up his gumption, he's emoting, he's proving why he needs her attention.
And then the track breaks down, Mick calms down, he's reciting the details without the emphatic emotion:
"Now I'm on my feet again
Better things are bound to happen
All my dues surely must be paid
Many miles and many tears
Times were hard but now they're changing
You should know that I'm not afraid"
You've got to understand, before they make it, before they break through, musicians struggle, sometimes even if they have a record deal. They're working all the time, they've got little money, but then like an alcoholic or drug addict now clean, Mick is approaching the object of his affection and letting her know he was lost, but he's ready to be found, he's ready for love.
Then at 3:07 the track modulates up. Adding more emotion, near-pleading, but then...it breaks down completely. There's a keyboard solo, dark in that classic U.K. way, and then he implores her once more.
"Oh, I'm ready for love
Oh baby, I'm ready for love"
And that's where the Bad Company version ends. But not the Mott the Hoople original. At 4:26 the number completely changes, now we've got AFTER LIGHTS! The cut quiets down and gets mellow, it's like the singer and the band have been launched into space and are floating around millions of miles away. The vocals moan and then whoo-ooh and then there are guitar licks like shooting stars. And they continue. And then the track enters a groove like a space capsule orbiting the earth, and who knows what happened between him and the woman. Is he happy in his own mind, in orbit, or are they together?
This is the part I've been singing to myself these past few days. Especially Mick Ralphs's moans and whoos. This has been the part that's killed me, the last two minutes, "After Lights." I've slid the slider to 4:26 in Spotify over and over and over again.
This is not hit music. Not in the way of the Spotify Top 50. But this is what the entire modern music business was built upon. It was singles with the Beatles and British Invasion, and then Hendrix and Cream came along and blew that paradigm apart. For years it was all about exploration, there were no time limits, records were adventures, it was the low spark of high heeled boys.
And then MTV made it about the hit single again. But then hip-hop, a singles driven medium, took over and now, a quarter of the way into the twenty first century it's like it was before the Beatles all over again. There is a music business, it is purveying hits, but they're evanescent candy that don't touch your soul in the same way as "After Lights." This was the experience, alone in your bedroom after dark, going on an aural adventure, having your head explode to the music. You knew other people felt the same way, but you didn't meet most of them until you were together at the gig. And the acts knew this was their job, to set the listener's mind free, take them away, and they could only do this by throwing off restrictions and testing the limits themselves. Who cared if the record company couldn't hear a single, the audience was tuned in, your fans were keeping you alive.
But it's very rare you get what is perceived to be a journeyman musician as a driving force of a superstar band. This is not the Edge getting kudos, no one talked about Mick Ralphs during his heyday, you just felt the music, the audience just knew. But without him there would be a hole not only in these bands, but in rock and roll history. You see if you did it right the roots were evident, but the end result was just a little bit different, which is what made you special. And you had to have the chops to make it. There was no autotune, no hard drives on stage, you were playing without a net and the audience could sense this tension.
Mick Ralphs was too ill to attend the Hall of Fame induction ceremony, yet he did know the band was finally in, but I wish he'd still been alive to experience this well of emotion, these testimonials from his peers and his fans, for this final victory lap.
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