Richard Stekol: The Point of Stars and The Black Plums

By Steve Krugman
October 11, 2024

The Nate Connection
In its early days, Hollywood Drum featured drummer Nate Wood in both a 2009 Hittin’ show review (with Kneebody) and a more long-form 2010 interview. At the time, Nate was a bit of a LA secret—those who knew, knew. Since that New-Year’s-eve day interview in 2009, just days before his move to NYC, Nate has gone on to much deserved, wider acclaim.

But this is not the reason we’re here now.

Here’s a short excerpt from the copy accompanying that post: [Nate] invited me out to another Seven Grand Show the night before the interview—this time with guitarist, singer/songwriter Richard Stekol; Adam Benjamin from Kneebody on Rhodes; and Greg Leisz on pedal steel. “Pretty fun band,” he wrote in an email.

The day of the interview, he’d presented me with a CD featuring an expanded version of that “pretty fun band”: Stekol’s 2008 The Point of Stars. He also mentioned an upcoming 2010 release, with a stripped-down version of the band, titled The Black Plums.

I believe it was the following December when I first heard that band live at the storied, and now sorely missed, Blue Whale in DTLA. There was a fleeting, glorious stretch of time that the band—Stekol, Wood, Benjamin, and whichever other members of Kneebody might be in town—would reunite for an annual Christmas show at the venue.

Those shows, while short-lived, became highly anticipated for me, and Christmas in LA hasn’t been quite the same since.

Obsession
I quickly had The Black Plums (and, of course, The Point of Stars) downloaded to my red iPod Mini, and the obsession began. I was mesmerized and moved by these albums. Later, it was Spotify and iPhone, and they remain in high rotation. Since around 2011, there’ve been few albums I’ve listened to as often—easily in the top ten.

In fact, I’ve come to think of these two albums, released successively, as one extended work. Sharing musicians and sonic quality (both exquisitely engineered, mixed and mastered by Wood), there’s strong continuity between them. I also just can’t pick a favorite, at least for long, so thinking of them as bound volumes—a duology, let’s say?—keeps things easy and fair.

They’ve been with me at home, on the road, through flights, and even during a few tattoo sittings. They’re a go-to when I’m feeling introspective, energized, or just need a soundtrack to a light, warm rain. They’ve become trusted old friends, and we have history.

I’d been searching for The Black Plums on CD (vinyl is but a fantasy) for years. I still own a decent CD player along with my hi-fi, and desired to hear that album properly. Not too long ago, I decided to email the source directly:

Hi Richard. Thought I’d try you here on a whim. Was just listening to The Black Plums, again(!!)—one of my all time fav albums, for real—on Spotify and searched high, low, east and west for a CD copy to no avail. Do these exist?? I’d sure love to have one. MP3 hardly does it justice. Thank you, in any case, for that masterpiece of music.

A timely response followed:

Hey, thanks for the kind words. i have some in the garage and….the one before that one was done with Nate’s band kneebody, if that interests you. give me your address and i’ll send them along, on the one condition: no money. i need to keep my hippie status intact.

This guy. What a guy. And he sent multiples. So now, I’ve been listening to both (Vol.1/Vol.2) through a good system, and discovering new delights.

The Point of 5 Stars?
OK, great. We get it—you love these albums. But why take the time to review something we now already know you love, that’s fifteen years old, and presently only available to stream?

Good question, friends. My answer: It deserves it.

Stekol, now in his seventies, has enjoyed an impressive career as a guitarist and songwriter, but his solo albums—he’s made many—have received lamentably scant attention. Concerning The Point of Stars and The Black Plums, it’s a flaming shame that unknown numbers of copies of these masterpieces sit boxed inside his garage, too, largely unknown.

They deserve to be recognized and lauded. And who knows? Maybe the man can clear some extra space for his car. (On the one condition: Yes, money. Hippie status be damned.)

The Point of Stars

~Volume One. The first in our duology is The Point of Stars.~

Transformation and Transcendence
Every Stekol record is filled with smart, soulful songwriting. Lyrically, cleverness, ambiguity and wit are balanced with plain-spoken directness, empathy and heartfelt sincerity. Melody can soar and surprise alongside sophisticated and rich harmony. There’s an emotional range and purity—a sweetness, even—in his midrange, slightly nasal vocal that, I suspect, might only be diminished by more technical distinction. He plays a mean guitar. The man can write a song, and consistently delivers throughout a sizeable catalog of music.

The Point of Stars is no different. And entirely different. Enter Kneebody.

The band’s far-reaching inventiveness and technical prowess propel and transform Stekol’s masterful songwriting into something transcendent.

Kneebody—Wood, Adam Benjamin (keys), Shane Endsley (trumpet), Ben Wendel (sax), Kaveh Rastegar (bass)—formed two decades ago in LA, and have become pioneers on the vanguard of modern improvised instrumental music—sure, call it jazz if you like. (On the record, and for the record: Wood plays bass throughout, with the exception of track 5; add legendary pedal steel guitarist, Greg Leisz, on tracks 5 and 8.)

Stekol played in a briefly-known 70’s-era band called Honk, with Nate’s dad, keyboardist Steve Wood (and, interestingly, Tris Imboden on drums). He watched Nate grow up from infancy. The relationship has become one of love and mutual admiration—just ask Nate who his favorite songwriter is. The match, while outwardly eclectic, is certainly not random.

Rounded Points
Of the two records, this one, with expanded instrumentation, is more lush in sound and, overall, more relaxed in feel. Intensity—purpose and urgency—never waivers. It’s also, perhaps, more aching—beautifully aching—in tone. Themes of longing, loss, regret, and loneliness recur. Still, warm rays of hope and redemption peek through the lyrics, as a constant…well, star at the center of Stekol’s emotional orbit.

Almost immediately, the horn arrangements, sonic richness and musical sophistication brought to mind Bill Frisell’s 1999 The Sweetest Punch, a companion to Painted from Memory from Elvis Costello and Burt Bacharach. No surprise, I happen to love that record. Beyond that, The Point of Stars is derivative of little else, largely defying comparisons.

Let’s Begin…and End
The body of the work is bookended by two solo piano pieces titled “Overture”, at 4:09 minutes in length, and, in true Stekol character, “Underture”, at half the duration. Both pieces echo thematic elements from the songs between them in loose, lyrical fashion. Benjamin was seemingly given free reign, and improvises within the forms beautifully; masterfully and seamlessly threading otherwise disparate material together. Skip past these at your loss. The careful listener will be amply rewarded. The pieces signify beginning and end, and come as a reminder that this is an album, in the best sense—a complete work of art meant to be experienced in its totality.

Blood in the Tracks
The Arms of Emptiness
“Only in the arms of emptiness could I feel,” comes an anguished and rather profound lyric from the opening track. And, without delay, we hear the power of a great band and masterful arrangement to elevate. I honestly can’t imagine this song in its rawest state, untouched by its collaborators and ultimate creators.

It’s been said that a song can only be truly great if it can stand alone. Yes, Dylan’s “Just Like a Woman”, Joni’s “Court and Spark”, Simon’s “I do It For Your Love “or Springsteen’s “Lost in the Flood” would all be great sung from the living room couch with a guitar. But, I wonder about the virtue of this measure. What if a great song existed only as a totality of its elements? Standing alone, yes, but as a whole. Is its greatness qualitatively different? A great painting doesn’t have to begin with a great sketch after all. (Some might object to that analogy, arguing the song is the painting. Got it.)

I get the sense of this occasionally listening to these albums. There’s something divine that seems to come directly out of this holy communion. It’s difficult to imagine some of these songs stripped of their context. That may be a different, perhaps even rarer, signal of greatness. “The Arms of Emptiness” is an early example.

The eight-bar intro establishes the mood—not just of the mid-tempo track, but the entire album (the duology, even). A richly arranged sax and trumpet melody floats atop ethereal, jazzy bass, drums, Rhodes and guitar, before landing solidly on beat four and locking into the stank-face, soulful groove of the verse. Something different is happening here, and off we go.

Verses are spoken, offering an intimate introduction to Stekol’s voice, with a sweetly sung refrain. Benjamin’s rich Rhodes accompaniment is gorgeous, contrasted with a raunchy distorted solo midway.

The choices are nowhere near obvious—they’re daring. It’s the brand of invention, confidence and adventure that comes from a true, longstanding band of players (not simply sidemen) sensitively supporting an artist they deeply respect. Although, even that may be over general: It’s the brand of invention, confidence and adventure that comes from Kneebody baking Richard Stekol. Together, their choices seem not only obvious, but preordained.

Girl on a Waterfall
The dreamy “Girl On a Waterfall” opens with Stekol’s mandolin and Wood’s sixteenth-note shaker-like brush pattern, followed by gentle Rhodes and bass, underlying the introductory statement of melody on guitar.

The first lyric follows naturally: “Floating through space with her arms open wide, embracing each moment in time…” We’re instantly, happily, floating with her, whoever she is. Never mind her fate, which goes unknown. “Girl standing on the edge of a waterfall, trying to decide if she’s worth it after all.” Sounds ominous. Or, is the leap one of faith? The mystery of the lyric is never betrayed by the music, and the result, for me, is a 6:30 odyssey of hope. “…the decent ones all feel unsure,” Stekol observes.

Stekol has a masterful way of indirectly expressing a feeling or idea without obfuscating it. He tells us just enough about his girl on a waterfall to form our own image of what she might be doing up there, and why it might be important. While some of his lyrics are more direct, he uses the tools of language more as paint than hammer and nail.

In addition to—conjunction with, really—Wood’s driving, interestingly voiced drumming, his full, melodic bass playing is of note. In the above mentioned interview post with Wood, I’d written: You’ll never hear a tighter, more telepathic rhythm section than Nate Wood on drums with Nate Wood on bass. This was in reference to him playing both instruments simultaneously live, but the statement remains relevant here. He fills in admirably for the outstanding (Kneebody bassist) Rastegar on the bulk of the album.

He’s Taken My Place
Warm, silky sands turn sinking as the slower paced “He’s Taken My Place” holds you captive, and you surrender. And just in case, this song will soon enough bring you to your knees. The horns irresistibly lead to the first lyric with round, harmonic quarters: “In the hourglass days when your love and mine were made…”. Later, “Sands of the past, they were never made to last; and today is in your hands”—this is to be another tale of longing and fragile hope.

Heartbreaking resolve is revealed in the chorus: “Time will build you a home out of days you’ve been alone, and you’ll find he’s taken my place.”

The inclusion of banjo on this track brought to mind the old Steve Martin routine [While playing happy banjo music]: “Isn’t that a happy sound? You just can’t sing a depressing song while you’re playing the banjo. You just can’t go, Oh death, and grief, and sorrow and murder. You’re playing the banjo, everything’s OK.” It’s still a funny, classic bit, even when Stekol decisively disproves it (minus the murder). He also continues to manage themes of grief and sorrow without being “depressing”. Sorry on all counts, Steve.

Only Yesterdays
A short spoken-word poem pronouncing the reality of life not as a diner, but a hunt, opens “Only Yesterdays”, a song in which a more upbeat, modified country shuffle feel belies motifs of the past, memories, roaming, loneliness and redemption.

Greg Leisz makes his first appearance on this track and adds a certain wailing to the vocal, in the way that, really, only pedal steel, violin/cello, or maybe harmonica in masterful hands can do. Wood reinvents what could be a more pedestrian swung-sixteenth train rhythm with characteristic creative voicing.

Overall, the track is the lightest outing of the bunch, and, due to thoughtful placement, serves as an effective (near-) midway marker. This, younger friends, is why albums exist and are best played in full; have a seat, maybe put on some decent head(not ear)-phones(not -buds), pour yourself a nice cold Arnold Palmer and, you know…listen. True, not all albums reward such attention. The great ones beg it of you.

A Heart for a Heart
As a songwriter, it’s one of those titles/concepts you wish you thought of first.

An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. …Only in love, it’s a heart for a heart.

That’s only to say it’s a clever idea, no doubt. Sting himself would be proud. Beyond that, it’s a bit like a painter saying, “If only it occurred to me to paint a woman with a enigmatic smile…”. Stekol somehow weaves verses of the inquisitor Saint Peter, a lost love, and his “Philadelphia son, the bitter one,” to the theme of mutual destruction. It’s a tapestry made ever more beautiful—no surprise here—through musicianship, instrumentation and arrangement.

From friendly conversations with him over time, a couple things he’s mentioned to me come to mind. 1. Lyrics tend to come first and inform the music. That seems clear here. Loss, pain and regret in words imbue loss, pain and regret in sound. 2. Members of Kneebody, minus Wood who co-produced with Stekol, showed up cold to the studio, arranging and performing their parts in a matter of days. This is much less evident, and all the more impressive. These arrangements and performances are fully formed. They’re also inspired. That immediacy, freshness and presence of the muse are all felt as strongly here as anywhere on the record. All biblical references aside.

It’ll Take Time
A haunting melody. I’ve been surprised by the refrain of “It’ll Take Time” randomly singing itself in my head. Oh yeah, that’s that Point of Stars song. The song itself is also just plain haunting.

Time is evoked in terms both large-scale universal and celestial, and small-scale universal human heartbreak. While the sun seems unbothered, we’re left to count our rotations around it. “…time to let all the pain go through” and “…to free everything of you.”

Yes, the feeling is universal—this isn’t the first and won’t be the last song to express it. It’s just a damn good one. It does, though, occur to me that there’s something—other than exquisite songwriting and song execution—unique to this song and others from this album on love and loss that sets them apart: It’s Stekol himself. They come from a man who’s lived some life and paid enough attention to glean some perspective—call it wisdom—to impart. This is a song that could as readily bring a broken-hearted teenager or grown man to tears.

You know how sometimes you can watch bad acting and pretty much see the script? I often feel that way about bridges of songs. It’s the point of a song where songwriters tend to panic: OK, now we need a bridge. Shit. Bridges can easily become afterthoughts and sound tortured in the process. The bridge on this song is stunning and feels more like an evolution of thought—it’s integral. It serves as a beautiful, melodic breakdown into an equally beautiful instrumental interlude led by Benjamin’s melodica. It’ll take time, and this song will take as much as it needs.

The Hollyhocks of Mission San Yguerra
Complete with Leisz’s pedal steel, this track, arguably the most traditional in format (alongside, maybe, “Only Yesterdays”), might be the highlight on some talented Americana artist’s well-made record. Although, I highly doubt that guy’d be singing about dropping out at a mission dubbed “the Spanish school for bums.”

And it would also likely be nearly half the 7:30 length, sans the artfully done, broken down 1:50 intro, and fading well before the last minute mark, when things get…much more Kneebody than Nashville.

Nearer (My God) to Me
With Nearer (My God) to Me, we return to our regular programming, and the defining sound of The Point of Stars. A sultry, slow 12/8 opening with luscious layered horns, velvety Rhodes, full, rich bass and warm, present drums.

It’s otherwise a relatively simple offering. It’s own particular godliness lies, simply, in its substance.

Lyrically, expressions of defeat and resignation…

I go somewhere but I’m not there; I feel something but i don’t care: I’m a fighter who don’t want to fight; I’m a seeker without sight.

…Are balanced with expressions of resolve and acceptance.

Every failure brought me farther from where I’ll never be; and nearer, my god, to me.

Add a beaut of a trumpet solo by Endsley.

The Sea of Change
As noted, “Underture” is a satisfying bookend to close the album. But the true finale is its triumphant final song, “The Sea of Change.” It’s all in there: The floaty, jazzy bits; the killer groove; signature instrumentation, arrangement, and musicianship; and concise, colorful storytelling.

This time, four verses featuring unique characters—a slave trader, Billy the KId, a pastor and a king—sharing similar fates, lead to a refrain finding each “Drowning in a sea of change”—all falling victim to their individual flaws and the changing times. It’s a sophisticated device, that Stekol pulls off flawlessly.

The intro is a musical “Once upon a time…” turning directly to the first verse. Benjamin’s Rhodes solo follows the third chorus and the whole thing fades to a close on a Wendel soprano sax solo that you know goes on well beyond. But that will have to do. If Stekol’s taught us anything along this journey, it’s that all things must pass, whether we like it or not, and that’s probably alright. Harrison may have written the song (with the masterwork bearing its name), but with The Point of Stars, Stekol dedicated an entire album—an exquisite one, at that—to the notion.

A Word on Nate the Engineer
Drummer Nate Wood understands something pretty profound as Engineer Nate Wood: Drums can be effectively forward in a mix if tuned, recorded and eq’d with this concept in mind. The drums on both records are warm, articulate, in-the-gut and very present. Drummers rejoice!, yes, but this is not a drummer’s record. Musical balance is maintained, but the percussive presence to which we all tend to respond live, and that’s often lost on recordings, is thankfully preserved in the able hands of both drummer and engineer Wood.

Overall, these records sound as good, often better, than anything out there—confuse the humble packaging with project studio production at your…OK, peril is too strong a word. Like I said, vinyl is currently a fantasy, but it would shine.

The Black Plums

~Volume Two. The second in our duology is The Black Plums.~

A ‘Tude
Most everything pertaining to the singularness and excellence of The Point of Stars can be cut and pasted when describing The Black Plums. I’m contending, after all, that they’re closely related in such regard. They diverge somewhat in theme, but, most strikingly, in attitude. The Black Plums is more stripped down and muscular. More avant and experimental. (Even) More free and improvisational. More adventurous. More band-like. It’s not surprising that Stekol chose to name this collective, rather than self-titling.

In this instance, we just might be able to judge a book by its cover. Where The Point of Stars cover art features the partial face of Stekol in shadow, striped by rays of light, as if from partially open window blinds, neatly framed by white and red squares; The Black Plums cover portrays a greyscale image of a rocky mountainside behind grassy hills behind a tree-lined field with a blurry bovine figure in profile, and a frightening (in a Monty Python kind of way), largescale, wide-eyed human face peeking out of the shadowy hillside. Somethin’s up.

The smaller ensemble consists of Wood (drums, bass), Adam Benjamin (Rhodes, effects), and Stekol (guitar, mandolin, banjo, vox). The absence of horns and pedal steel frees things up, either serving or resulting in the shift of approach. Neither record lacks sonic space, but this one allows for added space creatively.

Fire in the Tracks
It’s a challenge to think of any record that leads off with three more stunning tracks in sequence. As long as I’m dubbing these two albums a duology, I’m going to call these three tracks a holy trinity. Try and stop me. Not only are they intwined by unerring groove and intensity, they share loosely tied sociological themes, in contrast to the more personal, if not biographical, explorations in many of Stekol’s songs. Any one of these tracks alone would make an album special. (Note: Nate’s dad, Steve Wood is credited with recording tracks 1-3. Credit due where duly earned.)

Free Man
Things begin with an eight-bar compressed, lo-fi drum intro and spoken introduction by Stekol:

Hey everybody, We’re the Plums—welcome to the show. Gonna play ya some songs—here we go!

They go high fidelity from there and never turn back.

Frenetic and percolating, the Plums blaze steadily through the first two verses and choruses, into Benjamin’s Rhodes solo—where notes become more dissonant and Wood’s rhythms more displaced, an airy bridge section, and deftly building guitar solo. The “Free” in the title might denote both the strain of human freedom in the lyrics, and artistic freedom in the music—in this track, but also throughout the record.

Verses voice an embrace of the spectra of sexuality, race, and generation, declaring in the choruses, “Free man and love will follow.” If there’s a personal undertone, it might be unintentional. Coming from a man in his sixties, I hear a lesson in aging well: Stay open and don’t stagnate; there’s freedom—youth, even—in moving forward with time, not just accepting change, but participating in it. And if there’s a thematic throughline within the album, it may, quite intentionally, be facing, head-on, aging and mortality…

Meanwhile, Wood’s solo over the out vamp is a highlight at nearly a minute in length at the fade.

Black in Mississippi
The heavy, bluesy guitar riff intro is sonic Dio devil horns. Add Wood’s driving eighth note bass, and we’re rocking. Indeed, this may be the most aggressive track of the entire bunch. The distorted guitar sound is angry sounding. Whereas Stekol may be empathetic and a bit aspirational in “Free Man,” here, he’s just pissed off. “…Your blood is their gold and everybody knows when you’re black in Mississippi.” Those devil horns soon turn to a raised fist.

Yeah, it’s a blues rocker, but in the hands of Stekol and two-fifths of Kneebody, it’s something…else. Extended Rhodes and guitar solos are far-reaching and raucous. It’s a singular sound. With that, there’s an irresistible instrumental refrain, into verses and at the vamp out, that does remind me of a slightly faster, hipper, more nimble version of an interlude in Sting’s “The Hounds of Winter” from Mercury Falling. Fine with me.

And for our purposes here, I can’t leave out Stekol’s own callback to Vol. 1: “Then you’re lying in the gutter, wondering what’s the point of stars…”. It’s such a great line, and the only time the title appears in either album. Connect the dots, like constellations in the night sky.

Be the Beatles
I mean, the title alone. Really, who writes this song? Following the previous two body blows, it’s a musical uppercut. A knockout.

A spacey guitar intro, and four-bars of pumping eighth notes (toms and a vaguely Hofner-sounding bass) fade in. Verses are propelled and sustained by eighth-note bass and floor tom ride, into a rising pre-chorus; the second of which shoots a wink that Lennon himself might appreciate:

Do the Pony, win a Tony, play a Wurlitzer, win a Pulitzer; take heart, take control, you’ve got mind, you’ve got soul…

Then…

Be the Beatles (x4)

No, of course you can’t be the Beatles, but aim high, fall short and still be great.

A delicate half-time instrumental interlude to a driving bridge:

Nobody wrote “Revolver” lying in the sack; even if they did, they ain’t never comin’ back…

Be the Beatles (etc.)

Yes, the Beatles are gone, but you’re not. Whad’dya got?!

Come on, who writes this song? Practice what you preach, in action.

A rousing outro, cleverly, seamlessly merging the bridge melody and four-on-the-snare chorus, includes some tasty McCartney-esque bass lines from Wood.

Sidewalk Serenade
I evoked Monty Python above when speaking on the album cover art; here, it might aptly be: And now, for something completely different.

This bittersweet and hopeful tune might be another standout on a more traditional singer/songwriter outing. It’s a perfectly lovely ballad, filled with the dulcet touchstones of a well crafted song. On this record, it feels a bit like a dear old lady strolling into a biker rally—she’s just fine and well received, maybe the mother or aunt of one of the burlier types, but conspicuously out of place. It hits differently than “Only Yesterdays,” another relatively traditional track on The Point of Stars, which comes more like an open stretch of road between denser towns. Interesting that both tracks are placed fourth in the order.

As Stekol sings in “A Heart for a Heart” on the previous album, “I guess if you got ’em, smoke ’em.” It’s still our same three guys, after all, providing substantive continuity. The basic instrumentation of mandolin, acoustic guitar, Rhodes, bass and drums—meditative sixteenth-note brushwork from Wood—feels familiar and provides a fitting scene for Stekol’s sweetly sung serenade.

It enters with a pretty slick quarter equals dotted-eighth metric modulation (4:3) out of the intro, that recurs in the arrangement—it’s nothing forced, just a natural sounding, musical touch, adding dimension and interest. There’s also a particularly pretty mandolin melody coming out of the second and third choruses.

To whom or what is this serenade sung? From a verse:

The catcher on your windowsill, tells me that you know me still.

From the bridge:

There’s more to us than meets the eye; more than sun and sea and sky.

Some of the same sense of loss and longing (and hope) from The Point of Stars continues. As does the pervasive star symbolism. We’re bound to the sun’s orbit, the sun to the galaxy and galaxy to the universe (and beyond?), dwarfing our earthly passions. “There’s more to us.” Yet, each of us is a tiny universe, bound to our hearts. Stars are the point, and maybe there’s no point at all. This little serenade is sung to all of this, or none of this at all. Or, maybe, it’s just to the girl that got away. All said, not too bad for a 3:50 out-of-place ballad.

Dog Tears
Once more, now back to our scheduled program. The adventurous, experimental “Dog Tears” opens with syncopated mandolin and broken drum rhythms voiced on rim and tenor snare, then angular bass and atmospheric guitar and Rhodes, all rolling—on square wheels—hypnotically, rising and falling, into and through cycles of verse/chorus.

Something seems to be happening with a crazy ex-lover, the character-in-question calling the narrator’s dog to say goodbye: “She was goin’ to have her say, even if it made a puppy cry.” And, apparently, then set her house on fire: “The fire started in head, where I guess it’s burning still.” All before the first chorus, she gets tied down in a cop car after wildly wielding a knife with a pot on her head: “She lost her heart and she lost her shoes, and I have no idea where they are.”

I say ‘character’ because, well, I don’t think all this actually happened. Most of Stekol’s lyrical scenarios seem more relatable and plausible, again, if not autobiographical (“Girl on a Waterfall from The Point of Stars comes to mind as an earlier exception). And I say ‘narrator’ because that’s what he is, but also due to the speak-sing with which he delivers the verses.

The tone shifts with the first chorus and beyond from bad break up yarn to something more existential.

A look of hope of the face of death; right then I knew what this was all about.

From a “poet from somewhere a long time ago,” he quotes what seems to him a good epitaph:

A man roams the streets, promising a death; a promise he keeps with his very last breath.

And from the chorus:

We can’t stay here, we can’t go home…

We next find him “lying in some driveway bleeding with the stars…wondering what kind of man I’d be if I would just let things change.”

Down and out, staring up at the stars and pondering existence once again. His resistance to change, his demise. Stekol, he’s established, knows this, but we get the idea here that it’s come hard won. As all true wisdom demands.

The final three minutes of the 7:50 track send the listener on an instrumental journey up beyond that black and vast star-filled sky, as the Plums wind their way through the musical cosmos. Think: Kneebody meets “A Day in the Life”. It’s one of the instrumental highlights of the record.

Down Along Jane
“Down Along Jane” demonstrates that The Black Plums can play a ballad as The Black Plums. It’s a most gorgeous slow 12/8 that feels right at home here. Please pardon, in advance, overuse of the word ‘gorgeous.’

Mandolin and Rhodes intro. Have you ever heard those two instruments alone together? You guessed it: gorgeous. Bass, drums and arpeggiated guitar come in with the verse. Stekol’s self harmony on the molten chorus, vowels pulled like taffy into one long confection, is gorgeous.

Down along Jane, where I go at night…

Benjamin’s spacious Rhodes solo, with just the right touch of dissonance toward the end, is sweet and sour to perfection. Gorgeous.

Of the great Stekol uses of language, “She said she’d rather miss me than miss her train” ranks high. Jane is a memory. Haunting and gorgeous.

One More Winter
A slow burn in 4 with a timelessly satisfying blues A-A-B structure, “One More Winter” is an ode to the passage of time and seasons of life.

I sit out back, look all day at the two tall trees (x2); They used to be the same size as me.

For Stekol, it seems, it’s also a strained acceptance of age and all that comes with it.

The future threatens my little backyard (x2); I must learn not to take it so hard.

The Rhodes solo patiently embellishes the form through two choruses before another two stanzas. The blues in the song fully manifests with the final solo, as Stekol affirms his words through his guitar.

For no one but myself, I’m compelled to acknowledge the goat-toe shaker on, as far as I can tell, every beat four throughout the track. It’s a testament to both Wood’s attention to detail and masterful production skill, creating the space and separation for everything to breathe and stay lucid. This holds true throughout both records.

The Yang-tze Trail
The motifs of death and (possible) renewal permeate this pulsing ballad. Something awful seems to have happened along the Yangtze.

…I took my shelter in a locked-out brain; stacking boys in the Yangtze rain.

Something from the final verse…

Bury me deep in the springtime boys, when air is sweet and the ground will ply…

…brings altered meaning to the chourus:

I won’t be back, I won’t be back, till heather blooms again on the Yangtze trail.

I will not presume to project meaning onto Stekol’s words here, but, even with their weight, there’s something in the accompanying music that leaves me feeling somehow hopeful. Banjo, Rhodes, acoustic guitar, bass and Wood’s crisp brushwork keep things moving lightly forward in a way that supports the notion. So too with the extended (1:30), lilting instrumental outro, beautifully ornamented by Benjamin’s Rhodes. Through my time with these records, I’ve come to fully trust Stekol’s instincts and careful cues.

The 3000 Year-Old Girl
At 8:15, the last track of our duology, “The 3000 year-old Girl” is also its longest, and possibly most cryptic, daring and epic. It’s quintessential Black Plums, and the perfect way to go out.

And, in a sense, we end where we begin: It’s difficult to imagine this song outside of its context. It’s one of those. Beyond the hard-driving, extended pre-choruses, things stay rhythmically angular, compositionally unconventional, highly improvisational and atmospherically spacey.

Verses are spoken word with lines such as, “We drew from the well…and we pay what’s fair; I live in hope, but I’m not really from there.” The pre-choruses elicit something about consequence, while the refrains repeat the lyric, “the three thousand year-old girl” over swollen whole notes and buoyant cymbal work. I can’t tell you precisely what this song is about (I’ll spare my theories), other than: That’s the idea.

While Wood is credited with both drums and bass throughout, I’m quite certain he’s playing both simultaneously on this track—that thing he does. If you haven’t seen him do it, it’s a tough sell; but this is what it sounds like, he’s absolutely capable, and it’s actually harder to believe he didn’t, given the nature of the performance.

Band Aid
So, is it possible that had Kneebody not existed as a band, and Stekol happened to hire these guys off the street to record this collection of songs, he might have achieved the same result? It would have been good, no doubt. Would it have been double tribute-review extraordinary? Less likely.

Dylan knew this when he hired the Band. Sting (that guy again?!) knew it when he pilfered Scofield’s Still Warm band. Bowie knew it when he recruited McCaslin’s group for Blackstar. The virtue of a band. (In the case of the Plums, Wood and Benjamin, longtime bandmates, still hit the mark.)

It was the collision of these particular elements—this artist with this band—that ignited musical fusion powerful enough to birth (…I won’t say it) these two masterworks.

Thank You, Richard
The writing of this tribute is my thank you for the many joyful hours I’ve spent with this music over more than a decade now. Hopefully, it inspires others, who may not have had the pleasure, to discover it for themselves; and those who know, to rediscover it.

Also, along those lines, it’s come my attention that, unfortunately, Richard is currently, as of this writing, experiencing some health issues requiring extended treatments. Woefully, it’s affecting what he calls his “croaker,” the source of so much good he’s given to the world.

A GoFundMe campaign has been set up to help. Maybe listen to his music and send him some appreciation of your own.