What Makes a Great Album Cover? - by JCE

NOTE: I wrote this piece a while back and never sent it to Pencil Storm. I had done a number of stories with lists, top ten this or top ten that…..it got tiresome so I started writing mostly about shows I went to see, or great records. Well, thanks to COVID-19, I am not getting to any shows anytime soon, so I dusted this one off for your reading pleasure. Comments at the end regarding what you agree with and what you don’t would be greatly appreciated!

Every rock n roll fan loves album artwork, or at least most do. Some may enjoy liner notes or printed lyrics even more, but me, I love the artwork. I always have. I am the same way with my massive collection of vintage skateboards. It’s all about the artwork. Here are some album covers that I think are noteworthy:

The New York Dolls. I was late to the party with this band, likely due to my age. I discovered punk rock and a whole new world of music starting with The Sex Pistols and The Clash. When I finally wised up to the greatness of the New York Dolls, I found this double album, which was just their first two records packaged together. Love this artwork. Glad I still own this.

Ricki C.’s two cents: JCE has been kind enough to allow me throw in some extraneous thoughts on his picks. He & I have figured out in the course of our long-distance friendship that he’s 11 years younger than me, the same age-gap as my child bride Debbie & I. In the case of The New York Dolls, that 11 year difference is HUGE. I was 21 years old in 1973 when the first Dolls record came out and it quite literally changed my life. I’ve often said - and it’s probably in Pencil Storm somewhere - if it wasn’t for the New York Dolls right at this moment I would have a grey pony-tail halfway down my back, granny glasses on & be listening to Grateful Dead bootlegs. Thankfully I’m not. Here’s photographic proof of that rock & roll transformation from the 1970’s…..

The Ramones / Road To Ruin. The Ramones debut album cover is iconic, and I love the photo of the band in ripped jeans and leather jackets leaning against a brick wall. Rocket To Russia was good too. But this comic book style cover and the bright yellow logo and the big amps with NYC in the background is just awesome to me.

Ricki’s two cents: The first time I saw The Ramones live was in 1976 or 1977 - I was still drinking then, so it’s a little hazy - at a Columbus, Ohio bar called Cafe Rock & Roll, that three months before had been a grocery store. Best conversion of a retail space EVER.

The Damned / Damned Damned Damned. This is a classic punk rock record. It was groundbreaking. The song “New Rose” is an amazing single. But I am not here talking about the music, this is about album covers. I don’t quite know what draws me to this one other than the super clean and simple Damned logo and the fact that the photo screams punk attitude to me (I just realized how similar the Ramones record above looks to this one).

Ricki’s two cents: I bought the single of “New Rose” because Nick Lowe produced it - and Nick Lowe was my Number One Rock & Roll Hero at that moment - and because it was on Stiff Records. What more could a West Side boy have asked for? I never had the album. (And still don’t.)

Minor Threat. This is the debut from legendary D.C. hardcore band Minor Threat. I absolutely love this photograph by Susie Horgan. It was taken during a hardcore show at the Wilson Center, a place I went to several times. Almost everyone thinks the photo is Ian Mackaye, the lead vocalist. In reality, it is his brother Alec asleep on the steps at a Wilson Center show. Alec was not even in the band.

Ricki’s two cents: I never “got” hardcore, probably because I came of rock & roll age in the 1960’s and still needed a little melody mixed in with my love of guitar chaos/noise, hence my affection for Boston’s The Neighborhoods, maybe the greatest blend of punk aggression & pop hooks ever, and the band that is the basis for JCE’s & my friendship.

The Replacements / Let It Be. Boy, what can you say about this. The photo seems so perfect for the unbelievable music that is on this record. Paul Westerberg’s seeming indifference is priceless. I have seen a ton of photos of this band and this one remains my absolute favorite. I recently read that the initial concept for this record cover was going to be the band stumbling across Abbey Road mimicking the Beatles record of that name.

Ricki’s two cents: Yeah, I love this cover. It’s SO Midwest. Perfect.

The Clash / London Calling. I saved the best for last. This is my favorite record cover of all, 100%. I remember buying my copy in 1979 and the sheer aggression depicted just got me so amped to play the album. My copy had a little sticker on it that said “The Only Band That Matters.” That is bad ass.

Ricki’s two cents: I may miss Joe Strummer more than any other rocker we’ve lost, and that’s taking into account Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, John Lennon, Johnny Cash & Tom Petty.

I listen to all kinds of rock n roll, including a lot more metal than I care to admit, but when it comes to album artwork, the punks get the nod! - JCE

Damn, That Was Stupid / Nine Amazing Shows I Missed - by JCE

I recently had plans to go see Watershed play the Slim’s 30th Anniversary show in Raleigh, NC. The show was a little over four hours from my home in Virginia, so my wife booked us a hotel just three blocks from Slim’s and we had a plan. I have been contributing here on Pencilstorm for over two years now, so I was looking forward to meeting the guys behind it, and finally seeing a band I have followed since 1994. Unfortunately, a family emergency arose and I had to cancel. Nothing I can do about that. But here are nine shows I could (and should) have gone to that I still kick myself about. In chronological order:

U2 – The Bayou, Georgetown, Washington, D.C.

U2 released the album “Boy” in 1980. I was still in high school but I was regularly seeing shows at Georgetown clubs. All ages shows weren’t really a thing back then, but it was easy getting into places. U2 came to the very small Bayou. It was their second show ever in the United States! I could have gone, but I had not heard the record and I wasn’t sure if I would like them. Only a few weeks later I had “I Will Follow” blasting several times a day. Damn, that was stupid.

The Clash – William & Mary Hall, Williamsburg, VA.

In late 1982, The Clash played at the College of William and Mary. I was a couple of hours away at the University of Virginia. Somehow, I didn’t know about the show until the last minute, so me and three friends decided to jump in a car and drive down there. We had no tickets but we were pretty sure we could get some. We headed down Route 29 South. The driver (not me) missed the exit onto Route 64 without realizing it and we just kept driving, almost to Lynchburg. At that point, we were way out of the way, time was running out and we had no tickets, so we just decided to drive back to school and drink a bunch of beer. It was the “Combat Rock” tour, but still… I never saw The Clash. It was my future wife’s very first concert (we had not yet met). She was 16 years old. Damn, that was stupid. Extra stupid.

The Lords of the New Church - The Bayou, Georgetown, Washington, D.C.

I loved the Dead Boys, so when Stiv Bator teamed up with Brian James from The Damned to form the Lords of the New Church, I was all in. I bought the record and loved it. I was away at college in Charlottesville when I saw an ad for upcoming shows at the Bayou (clipping attached to ticket below). I bought a ticket ($5, wow that’s cheap!) and was so psyched for this show. About two days before the show I found myself faced with a massive architecture project due and I had done next to nothing. The project was due the morning after the show. All-nighters followed and I bailed. Damn, that was stupid. I did eventually get to see both the Dead Boys and the Lords of the New Church, so this one is a little less painful. By the way, I never became an architect.

Oasis – WUST Music Hall, Washington, D.C.

My wife and I got three tickets to see an Oasis show at WUST Music Hall. WUST was a radio station before it became a music venue, and then later it became the new 9:30 Club that is still there today. The radio broadcast tower still stands on the roof of the club. Anyway, our friend who had dibs on the third ticket got held up at work. We waited for him. And waited. Finally, we hit the road for the hour and a half drive and got to the club around 9:40. We prayed that they would start late, but as we pulled up, the club was emptying out. Show over. Damn, that was stupid.

Marvelous 3 / Eve 6 – Trax Nightclub, Charlottesville, VA

In the late 90’s, there was a slew of “alternative rock” coming from everywhere. My wife and I went to three of the huge WHFS music festivals at RFK stadium in D.C. DC101 was the radio station of choice. Two of my favorite bands from that particular era were the Marvelous 3 - which was led by musical genius Butch Walker - and Eve 6. They played together one night at Trax in Charlottesville, a mere 45 minutes from my house. I still don’t remember why I didn’t get off my ass and go. Damn, that was stupid.

Watershed – The Pit, Kill Devil Hills, NC

My wife and I used to go to the beach on the Outer Banks of North Carolina two or even three times a year. On one particular trip, we had reached the end of our week-long stay. We packed the car and headed out for the five hour trip home. On the radio comes “Small Doses” by Watershed. The DJ says, “Great band, go see them tonight at The Pit,” (in Kill Devil Hills, NC---the Outer Banks!). I wasn’t even out to the highway yet. I was in town for God sakes. We had dogs to pick up from the kennel, and other stuff to get back to, but we could have made it work. I kept driving. Damn, that was stupid. (editor’s note: Not to make John feel worse, but I roadied that gig, and it was a GREAT show. That WAS stupid. - Ricki C.)

The Damned / The Briefs – Black Cat, Washington, D.C.

I saw The Damned back around the era of The Black Album, but I love The Damned, and I haven’t seen them for a long time. So when Dave Vanian and Captain Sensible got together recently and went on tour, I should have made an effort. I saw they were coming to the Black Cat, and the openers were The Briefs, who make great punk songs, short and fast like the Ramones. After being lazy, whining that it was a Sunday night and not going, I looked up the set list. It was amazing. I should have gone. Damn, that was stupid.

The Biters / Wyldlife / Frankie and the Studs – Voltage Lounge, Philadelphia, PA

The Biters have been pretty much my favorite overall band for about four years. My favorite band changes almost daily, but The Biters keep coming to the forefront. After The Biters, next might be Wyldlife. So when they play together, well you can’t miss that. I mentioned the show to my wife and daughter. It was three and half hours away, and the Philly hotels are damn expensive, but look at this double bill in a small club. YOU. HAVE. TO. PULL. THE. TRIGGER. YOU HAVE TO. I did not. Now The Biters have called it quits. I did see them once. I still haven’t seen Wyldlife. Damn, that was stupid. Really F*cking stupid.

Supersuckers / Upper Crust – The Broadberry, Richmond, VA

I love both of these bands. The Supersuckers are just great ragged punk ‘n’ roll with a little country thrown in. The Upper Crust are from Boston. They play hilarious but excellent rock with a theme and great costumes. I’ve heard it called costume rock, but it’s not goofy at all, it just rocks. One of the members of Upper Crust recently hurt himself and they are on indefinite hiatus. I suspect I may never get to see them play live. This show was in Richmond, an hour and a half away. I was getting up early the next morning to leave for a family vacation. I didn’t want to be tired for the long drive the next day. I did not go. Damn, that was stupid.

Maybe you also have made some bad decisions that haunt you.….feel free to share in the comment section below.

Click here for a Spotify playlist for this story.

Ricki C. and JCE (John, to his friends & family) first bonded over their shared mutual love of Boston's Finest Sons - The Neighborhoods - and everything extended out from that rock & roll ripple.  JCE lives in Culpeper, Virginia with his wife & daughter, and he & Ricki are STILL waiting for the long-rumored NEW Neighborhoods record to be released. Maybe in 2019.

Talking Spaghetti with Joe Strummer - by Pat Dull

As I write this, I am listening to the first album I ever bought with my own money.  I bought London Calling by The Clash because I had read a tremendous review describing the opening title track as “too apocalyptic” for the other songs to follow.  Scooping up my meager paper-route and lawn-mowing earnings, I simply had to get that album.

I bugged my parents to drive me to the Salem Mall in Dayton, Ohio and - once there - dashed immediately into Camelot Music.  I vividly remember London Calling being displayed majestically, six copies wide, upon the wall.  When I saw the cover, I was 100% certain it would be the greatest record I had ever heard.  When I learned it was a double-LP selling for the price of a single, I was even more certain than 100%.  

Back home, I played the shit out of that record.  I had never heard anyone sing like Joe Strummer; it utterly floored me.  In a later interview, Joe claimed he was not a singer: “Sam Cooke – now that’s a singer.”  Whatever. I loved his voice, and I really loved London Calling.

My mom was not quite as smitten, however, and was constantly yelling “Turn that down!” up the stairs.  Fortunately, thanks to Joe’s unique enunciation (or maybe just because the sound was travelling through the floorboards) she never quite seemed to hear the lyrics.  To her, it was all just noise. That all changed, however, the day mom decided to snoop in my room while I was at school.

Snooping Mom lower left corner.

Although my room was suspiciously tidy when I got home, it did not seem openly violated.  We had dinner like normal people – we definitely had spaghetti – and afterward I went to play London Calling.  The records were on the turntable – double-stacked – and the album cover was on my bed.  Hunky dory.

I typically read album credits and lyrics while listening to records, so I started to scan my room for the two inner sleeves.  Those sleeves were printed with handwritten notes and lyrics, and were almost as important to me as the music itself. But they were not anywhere I looked – and I looked everywhere.  I flipped that room upside-down, but the sleeves simply were not to be found.

Eventually – and reluctantly – I asked mom if she had seen them.  Her response was a wickedly cold, calm, and cryptic, “You don’t need to know where those are.”

I protested: “What? Why?!?”  “You don’t need trash like that,” she said.  I knew then that she had thrown them away, and I was pretty sure which lyrics had doomed the sleeves to the trash heap.  

While the lyrics on London Calling can be earthy – see “Lover’s Rock” for frank talk on erectile dysfunction – I didn’t feel particularly uncomfortable about any of them, except one.  If you’ve heard the album, you know the one: “He who fucks nuns will later join the church,” (from “Death or Glory”). On the other hand, however, my parents had raised me fiercely Protestant, and I was fairly certain Martin Luther would have approved of, If not this exact lyric, then at least the spirit of it.

Further, I felt the first stirrings of independence mixed with righteous indignation: those sleeves were mine, and I had paid for them.  How dare she take them. I was nun-fucking mad.

I resolved to get the sleeves back somehow, and landed upon the rather obvious scheme of sneaking out of the house to salvage them from the trash.  To this day, I am surprised mom had no counter-offensive prepared. A rookie mistake for a mother of four.

That night, after everyone went to bed, I quietly snuck out of my small second story bedroom window, climbed down a nearby TV antenna, crept through the backyard to the garage and, in the dark, rummaged through the garbage cans.  I found the sleeves relatively quickly – they were on top of the pile, and had been angrily crumpled into two little balls of paper. Oh yeah, they were also freshly splotched with that evening’s spaghetti sauce. On the return trip to my room, I nearly fell off the TV antennae as I tried to silently climb back through the window. Back inside, I wiped the sleeves clean and pressed them between two large, heavy books.  After a few days, they were pretty flat and, although stained with spaghetti sauce, they resumed their rightful place inside London Calling, where they remain to this day.

Almost 20 years later – on November 15, 1999, to be exact – I was in Columbus, Ohio, having moved there for school.  That night, Joe Strummer was in town playing at the Newport, in support of his solo LP, Rock, Art & the X-Ray Style.  I was going to the show, having won tickets that morning during a CD-101 radio contest: I had to sing Clash lyrics on the air over the phone.  (editor’s note: I REMEMBER this. I was listening to CD-101 that day when Pat won.) The show was great, of course, and I tried to meet Joe afterward by waiting around the back door of the venue. Unbelievably, I was the only person waiting.  A roadie popped his head out of the door and said “Don’t worry, Joe will come out this way, he always meets with fans.”  He popped out several more times, reassuring me each time. As I was the only person waiting, we actually spoke a bit, and I remember giving him some Twizzlers.  His name was Brian.

After about half an hour, Brian came out again and said, quite sincerely, “Hey, I’m really sorry, but Joe got snagged by some radio people, and he went out the front door.”  Man, I was bummed. Joe was my hero, I had brought London Calling with me to get signed, and I had even made friends with Brian, but now I had to go home without meeting Joe Strummer.

Four days later, my roommate Eric asked me if I wanted to go to Cleveland to see Joe Strummer at the Odeon – he had free passes waiting at the box office.  Of course I wanted to go, so we piled into his brother’s car and drove two hours to Cleveland.

Once there, however, tragedy struck: the passes were not at the box office, and we had stupidly brought no money with us.  Supremely disappointed, we began to trudge back to the car for the long drive back to Columbus. Before we had walked 20 steps, however, I saw Brian, the roadie, walking up to the Odeon.  

I called out to him – “Brian!”  He turned around and recognized me – those Twizzlers had paid off!  I quickly explained what happened, and he just as quickly said not only would he get us four passes to the show, but he would also get us four backstage passes to meet Joe afterward!  

True to his word, that is exactly what Brian did.  After the show, he escorted us backstage, ahead of everyone else – even radio contest-winners.  The band was sitting around toweling off, having been off-stage for only about 10 minutes or so.  There Joe was, not 10 feet away from me. When Brian introduced us, Joe immediately said “have a beer!”  Which, of course, we did.

I was shaking with excitement – here I was, having a beer with Joe Strummer!  Joe was sitting down, and I was standing next to him. He very kindly, very patiently, listened to me gush about his records, and he happily signed my copy of London Calling.  When he saw Mick Jones’ autograph already on the LP, he faux-angrily pointed to Mick’s autograph and said “wanker.”  Hilarious!

Joe was so generous with his time that I could not resist telling him about how I bought the record with my own money, how my mom had thrown away the inner sleeves, how I climbed out of the window to get them back, and how I then cleaned and re-flattened them.  I even pulled out the sleeves to show him the still-visible spaghetti stains. Again, he was so kind, so patient.

People often say, “Don’t meet your heroes.”  Not true. At the end of my breathless, five-minute re-telling of my life, Joe didn’t appear tired or bored, although he may have been both.  Instead, he smiled, looked me right in the eye, and said “That is the greatest story anyone has ever told me about the inner sleeves of one of my records.”  He didn’t have to say that, but he did. And I believed him. And I still believe him.

Pat Dull was born and lowered in Greenville, Ohio.  Back in the 1950's, his dad saw live shows by Little Richard, Buddy Holly, and Elvis Presley.  Pat has never seen anything remotely as cool as that, but he does have a boyish curiosity that gets him into scrapes from time to time.

Hamell On Trial @ The Hungry Soul Cafe, Friday July 25th, 8 pm / Bonus Content by Ricki C.

So let’s say one day you find yourself thinking, “I wish I could go see the 1978 Clash, only instead of a four-man punk band, they would be rolled into one bald, sweaty guy with a 1937-vintage acoustic guitar.  And instead of being just deadly serious, The Clash would simultaneously be as socially conscious & hilarious as Richard Pryor was at his prime.  I wish I could go see a show like that.”

Well, dear readers, as always Pencilstorm is here to make your wishes come true: This Friday, July 25th, The Hungry Soul Café (downtown at 30 S. Young Street, phone 224-1944) will present Hamell On Trial, a solo acoustic rock & roll act that has been described as “Bill Hicks, Hunter S. Thompson and Joe Strummer all rolled into one” by Philadelphia Weekly and a “one-man Tarantino flick: loud, vicious, luridly hilarious, gleefully & deeply offensive” by New York’s Village Voice.   

Showtime at The Hungry Soul is 8 pm, tickets & reservations are $8 in advance, admission at the door will cost you a laughably minimal $10.  Parking meters around The Hungry Soul need not be fed after 7 pm, so parking is essentially free.  For more info and reservations, visit info@hungrysoulcafe.com.   

Please note: Video is not for the faint of heart. If you are easily offended, you'd best skip it.

Hamell On Trial by Ricki C.

Pencilstorm Conflict of Interest Statement: I served as road manager for Hamell On Trial for 10 years, 2000-2010, before knee surgery for a torn ligament sidelined me and made it infinitely more difficult to traipse around these United States hauling guitars & amps and making nine & ten hour drives between gigs. But make no mistake, boys & girls, for those ten years I worked every night in the presence of greatness, and I would mean every word of this blog whether I had ever traveled & worked with Hamell, or just stared up at him on the stage from the audience, awestruck from the other side of the footlights.

I first encountered the phenomenon that is Hamell On Trial at the South By Southwest Music Convention in Austin, Texas, March 1996, at a huge outdoor Mercury Records showcase – 10,000 people in the street on a gorgeously warm Texas afternoon/evening. Ed was signed to Mercury then, his first record, Big As Life had just been released, and they were using him to keep the crowd occupied between the other performers' sets (God Street Wine, The Refreshments, and Joan Osborne - for those of you scoring at home). While roadies scurried around changing out amps, drums, etc. Ed would play from the very front of the stage, maybe five songs at a time, three sets in all.

From the very first dive-bomber kamikaze guitar strums and the staccato spitting delivery of the best lyrics I had heard in years it was rock & roll love at first sight. The next day I lucked into seeing him at a really, really small coffeehouse in his allotted South By Southwest slot. I was there to see the act following him and had arrived early to snag a good seat. While Ed was setting up I thought to myself, "Cool, this is the guy I saw yesterday at the outdoor show, but how the hell is he going to play this tiny coffeehouse? He'll have to tone the act down so far it won't work."

Only he didn't tone it down. He played a fifty-seat coffeehouse at exactly the same manic intensity and nearly the same volume he played the huge outdoor show. People walked out of the place wincing and holding their ears during the first song. I, on quite the other hand, was in six-string sonic heaven. This was everything I had been looking for since I quit playing in bands and started doing solo acoustic shows: extreme volume and attitude, great lyrics, a sense of humor. This was fiercely intelligent rock & roll played on an acoustic guitar with no hint of lingering folkie kum-ba-yah-ism.

I saw him again in March 1997 at South By Southwest and he had a whole set of new songs potentially even better than the ones I saw him play just a year earlier (including "The Vines," the song that ended my 20-year career of warehouse work and sent me into music full-time.) In August of '97 he played Columbus and I cadged my way onto the bill as the opening act. I got to the club early, watched his soundcheck, screwed up my courage and walked up to him as he was packing up his guitar. I held up my CD covers to Big As Life and The Chord Is Mightier Than The Sword and said, "Hi, I'm your opening act and I just wanted to get the gushing fan stuff out of the way. Could you autograph these for me?"

I was fully poised, balanced back on my heels, ready to take off if he growled, "Motherfucker, do you think I don't have anything better to do than sign your little CD's?" Instead he smiled and said, "Ah, you got my CD's. Do people know who I am here?" I said, "Yeah, you get airplay on our local NPR station, I think it'll be a good crowd." I thanked him and started to walk away after he signed and he said, "Hey, come on back to the dressing room and we'll talk." I replied, "No, I don't wanna bother you." (First rule of opening acts: Never ever, under any circumstances, bother the headliner.) Ed said, "I'm in that car eight hours a day, every day, by myself, I never get to talk to anybody, come on back." I looked around. "Don't you have a roadie?" I asked. Ed replied, "Do I look like I can afford a roadie?"

It turned out we had bought all the same records in all the same years (Lou Reed, The MC5, The Stooges, Mott The Hoople, The New York Dolls, Patti Smith, Jim Carroll). We'd both witnessed nature’s most perfect rock & roll organism – The Who in 1969 – fifteen days apart: November 1st (me) and November 16th (him) when Keith Moon ruled the universe. We lived very similar rock & roll existences: i.e. played in bands for years, then went solo acoustic. We had the same kind of working class reprobate rocker friends; him in Syracuse, New York, me in Columbus, Ohio. It was like we were brothers who grew up in different zip codes.

When he was going onstage that night I said, "Hey, I've seen you play before, I know you're gonna break strings. Why don't you show me where your extra strings & tuner are and I'll switch them out for you if anything goes wrong." He just stared back at me and said, "Really?" "Yeah," I said, "doesn’t your opening act offer that wherever you go?" Ed replied, "No, nobody ever offers anything, anywhere, anytime."

I played roadie that night. I helped out around the Midwest after that. When tours with Ani Difranco came up in 2000 I got a tryout and made the grade. I stuck around. – Ricki C. / January, 2012

(editor’s note: As always, because it IS Ricki C. after all, this piece has been heavily edited & condensed from the original. For the complete blog, please visit Hamell On Trial, Growing Old With Rock & Roll, January, 2012.)

apropos of not much more than that I got to meet Wayne Kramer of The MC5 last Sunday at a Shadowbox Live gig, here's a bonus encore video of Hamell On Trial.