Rolling Stone's 1000th issue; Q magazine's worst albums ever

Magazines love making lists and running critics' and readers' polls, and those issues tend to sell well on newsstands and generate collateral publicity for the publications.

Hence yet another "special issue" from Rolling Stone; the mag, once a must-read for music fans, for its 1000th issue celebrates itself yet again with yet another fairly pointless list -- the best 100 RS covers or something.

But you gotta admit: The 3-D cover, an homage to the Beatles, is pretty impressive. The Fab Four's Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club was released in 1967, the same year that Rolling Stone made its debut, with that unforgettable shot of John Lennon in a publicity pic from Richard Lester's forgettable anti-war flick How I Won the War.

Here's Wenner's pitch for the covers, from the issue's introduction:

"The covers in this issue were chosen based on aesthetic criteria: the quality of the image, its uniqueness and how forcefully it communicates. On that basis, there are probably another hundred more that could have been included. These were not chosen because they sold the most issues, though some of our all-time best sellers are featured, from Bart Simpson to Elvis. We had plenty of choices. The Beatles, together or individually, have been on our cover more than thirty times; the Rolling Stones, in various configurations, twenty-three. Bob Dylan has appeared thirteen times (note to self: more Dylan!), Bruce Springsteen a dozen, Jimi Hendrix ten, Madonna ten."

Much more fun than Rolling Stone's latest special is the "50 Worst Albums Ever" cover story for British music magazine Q. It's a cheeky, funny piece of work, but is Duran Duran's 1995 disc "Thank You" really the worst?

Saint Bob?

Bob Dylan is playing in town this Wednesday, at the USF Sun Dome, one of the area's worst large venues for acoustic reproduction. And if I hadn't caught Dylan's entire set at Jazzfest in new Orleans (see post below), I'd give serious consideration to seeing him on a double bill with Merle Haggard.

Dylan lately is giving Elvis Presley a run in the omnipresence department. The latest round of exposure is by way of Richard Goldstein's insightful, well-written cover story, "Satellite Dylan," for the May 15 issue of longtime liberal standard bearer The Nation.

We thought we knew Dylan, the hero of the '60s counterculture, Goldstein writes.

"Now it's trickier. There's Dylan the artist in cap and gown, and Dylan the brand, hyping the new line at Victoria's Secret; Dylan the Nobel Prize nominee, and Dylan the franchise whose product is being diversified into a tribute musical by Twyla Tharp. And now there's DJ Dylan coming to the XM pay-radio network."

Goldstein's point, or one of them, is to rail against the Baby Boomers who are convinced that every move Dylan makes, and every move he will make, is pure, unalloyed genius.

"To his most fervent admirers he's not just another artist, certainly not a song-and-dance man, as he's often called himself. He's the emblem of his generation's splendor. Beatified in his youth, he's cruising toward sainthood today."

Goldstein then goes on to catalog the Dylanania pouring out -- his recent bio, the Scorsese doc, a forthcoming film from Todd Haynes, with four actors playing Saint Bob -- and rail a little more.

"This failure to distinguish between awesome and awful Dylan is evidence that his reputation rests less on his recent music than on his enduring status as a fetish."

He concludes with a salute to Bob's young fans, and a suggested approach to appreciating all things Bob.

"Now a new generation has discovered Dylan, but not for his late style. They flock to his concerts to hear the early songs, those still-gripping sagas of alienation and outrage written when Dylan was lost in the wilderness, and they come to hear how Dylan will sing those songs today, since he always performs them differently. They know Dylan as he should be known--as a striving, fallible artist, not a saint."

I was too young to appreciate the full flowering of Original Bob, but I've appreciated him, off and on, as an insightful singer and an always at least interesting interpreter of his own work. And more often than not he brings along a killer band -- rootsy, swaggering, marked by plenty of six-string bluster and earthy rhythmic drive.

What do you think? Has anyone out there heard Dylan's XM show?

Where's Wynton's Horn?

Several observers have asked why Wynton Marsalis hasn't played his trumpet during recent performances of his "Congo Square" composition for large ensemble.

The answer, courtsey of the New York Times: "Wynton Marsalis has an inflammation of the lip that has forced him to take a break from playing trumpet, Jazz at Lincoln Center confirmed yesterday."

According to the story, Wynton's doctor told the trumpeter that he shouldn't play during the month of May, because of an inflammation of the lip. The problem has resulted in the cancellation of a concert with the Orion String Quartet, and a June tour that he had planned with fellow New Orleans-bred acts Dr. John and the Neville Brothers.

(Marsalis and Dr. John, of course, have long lived in NYC, and only one Neville brother, keyboardist Art, is still based in the Crescent City).

Marsalis's lip troubles remind me of the time, a number of years ago, when fellow New Orleans trumpeter Terence Blanchard experienced lip problems, and took several months off to work on his embouchure. Blanchard, also known as the composer for Spike Lee's soundtracks, returned a much stronger player.

Blanchard, by the way, reportedly put on a great show at the Jazz Tent during the first weekend of Jazz Fest. I missed his set, but I did catch his terrific guitarist, West African-born Lionel Loueke, perform earlier in the day with Herbie Hancock, drummer Brian Blade and bassist Marcus Miller. My thoughts on that set are included in the Jazz Fest post, below.