One Track Mind: Nazz, "Open My Eyes" (1968)

by Pico

Back in July, we talked aboutTodd Rundgren's latest band, The New Cars. Then, we noted that the reconstituted and reconfigurated Cars threw out a few bones during their tour for the "Todd Is God" contingent in the crowd.

One of these golden oldies is the brilliant, power-pop "Open My Eyes," and in that article I, uh, sort of promised that the song would be the main topic at another time.

So why not now?

"Eyes" goes all the way back to Rundgren's first stop in his long and storied muscial career, those wonderful Brit-pop masters from Philly, the Nazz. The Nazz, a band that lasted for less than three years in the late sixties, might never would have been remembered for more than perhaps the first and largely forgotten version of Rundgren's "Hello, It's Me", if not for "Open My Eyes". "Hello, It's Me" was the lone single culled from The Nazz's eponymous debut album in 1968. "Open My Eyes" was the B-side of that single. (Todd later recycled "Hello" into a monster hit for himself in 1973).

Even though The Nazz was a four piece band of all capable musicians and a keyboardist named Stewkey Antoni sang the lead vocals, the band was driven by the creative force of a just-maturing Rundgren. TR wrote the two aforementioned tunes---hell, he wrote nearly all the band's tunes.

Already his compositions were revealing some of his legendary knack for melody and gut-socking raw emotion neatly wrapped in a three minute package. Rundgren could also add his crunching electric guitar and imaginative arrangements to the mix.

Never did he pull it all together better in the Nazz years than he did for his psychedelic rave-up "Eyes." Admittedly based a on a riff inspired by The Who's "Can't Explain," proceedings get underway with Stewkey's organ and first generation Rhodes followed quickly by Todd's acid fuzz guitar, amply supported by Carson VanOsten's rolling bass and Thom Mooney's drums and bongos.

The lyrics don't have the depth of Rundgren's later work, but it hardly matters when they're hard to make out except for the "can't see a thing 'til you open my eyes" chorus. Eh, it's that monster hook in the tune that grabs you.

And if you think that Rundgren's gift for soft, Beatlesque melodies didn't fully blossom until later, the brief, sweet bridge that's plopped right in the middle of the song will prove to you that Todd has always been Todd.

This interlude--featuring some gorgeous harmonies--would have been right at home on Something/Anything?.

After a decent guitar solo by the multi-talented mastermind and one last verse/chorus, the song fades out in a psychedelic haze at a very single-length two and a half minutes.

Why this song didn't just tear up the charts in 1968 is a mystery to me; being on the A side would have helped matters, however. At a time when the British were taking American rock 'n' roll and doing it better than the Americans, the Nazz with their knockout tune "Open My Eyes" were nearly outplaying the chaps at their own game.

Oh, by the way: the Nazz weren't just Brit in their music...as you can see below, they took their cue from the Fab Four's A Hard Day's Night via the Monkees for the accompanying video:



Purchase: Nazz Nazz


"One Track Mind" is a more-or-less weekly drool over a single song selected on a whim and a short thesis on why you should be drooling over it, too.

One Track Mind: Elton John, "Come Down in Time" (1970)

NICK DERISO: This song, taken from a brilliant album called "Tumbleweed Connection," is the reason why you have to hate Elton John's last period.

John is never in half light any more -- never so patient, so bravely remote, so note perfect. Back then, he put out piano music, with an active and jazzy rhythm section, and there was uncommon beauty.

The emotion around "Come Down in Time," a track about lost love, is only deepened by the expressive bass work of Chris Laurence, the quiet majesty of these Bernie Taupin lyrics, and then a lonely oboe.

It's true, the tune isn't representative of the rest of this occasionally rough and rascally tribute to the rural South, which in 2003 was ranked No. 463 on Rolling Stone's list of the 500 greatest of all time. More often than not, you'll find songs marked by a gospelly, but still honky-tonk feel -- notably on "Ballad of Well-Known Gun," "Son of Your Father," "My Father's Gun," and "Country Comfort."

But it is here, inside the spare arrangement by Paul Buckmaster, that John first successfully mines more melancholy themes that would become so familiar on 1970s radio. Even so, "Daniel" and "Rocket Man," to my ear, have nothing on "Come Down in Time."

John sings in the earnest, deeper version of his voice that was, back then, a tribute to Van Morrison. As he has aged, it is all that remains. But John never works with this kind of dark paint anymore.

There is a timelessness inside the unfulfilled romance of the song's characters because it mirrors our own fading allegiance to John, who has devolved into the kind of obviousness that the person who put out this record would never accept.

Twice, the song collapses into meloncholy, the way our hearts will. It has nothing to do with MTV, and everything to do with the kind of connecting resonance that this once-great artist hasn't approached in a generation.

You listen in slack-jawed wonder -- realizing that "Come Down in Time," alone, could have established the legend of any lesser artist. It's still a song that validates a career marked lately by such obvious hit-pandering and -- worse, really -- Disney soundtracks.

It's still a song you never, ever want to end.

Knowing that it does, that it all does, makes the crashing end so much the more powerful:

There are women, some hold you tight
While some leave you counting
The stars in the night.

A perfect metaphor, and a sad rebuke, for what later happened to Elton John and his songs.

Hold on to this one.



"One Track Mind" is a more-or-less weekly drool over a single song selected on a whim (usually) and a short thesis on why you should be drooling over it, too.

Davis and Coltrane, "Green Dolphin Street" (1960)

NICK DERISO: The last time Miles Davis and John Coltrane played together, as best I can tell.

Recorded in Holland in April 1960, the stirring song cycle was later issued stateside by the little-known Natasha Imports. One version, from the 9th, had just So What, 'Round Midnight, On Green Dolphin Street (obviously), Walkin and The Theme. Later copies, I think from other nights, had additional tracks. All featured Wyn Kelly, Paul Chambers and (the great, if erratic) Jimmy Cobb, as well.

What you hear from Coltrane is an amazing deconstruction of the blues, a kind of foreshadowing of his work for Impulse! called "Africa Brass," during a period when he seemed to grow somewhat distracted by the framework of Davis' stuff.

Coltrane was, even than, testing the waters on longer, freeform structures. It led to more than few heated exchanges, including one recounted by soulful saxist Julian "Cannonball" Adderly, another former Davis bandmate:
MILES: "Why did you play so long, man?"
COLTRANE: "It took that long to get it all in."

He wasn't long for this band, and that's why Sonny Stitt also appears on various releases from this period, standing in for Coltrane.

As with all endings, this one is notable, sad, terrific and in no small way definitive. You hear in these solos the first yearnings, the initial embryonic ideas, that would shape Coltrane's "Giant Steps" -- the title track of which might just boast one of mainstream jazz's most complex chord progressions.

And Coltrane was just getting started. And he wasn't the only one; Miles -- having been pushed around artistically -- would then hire a pride of brilliant young pioneers who then formed the foundation for his second great group.