“Long After The Fire” (Label 51 Records)
By Eleni P. Austin
“Reminisce about all the nice things we do, and what I meant to you, and what life standed for then, and what it stands for now.”
That’s Vicki Peterson and John Cowsill on “Don’t Look Back, a track from their new album, Long After The Fire. The couple, who have been married since 2003, were last heard from, along with Bill Mumy (that’s “moo-mee” to you), as part of the Country-flavored Power Pop trio, Action Skulls. But this is their first release as a duo.
Both have experienced the vagaries of the music business, the incredible highs and the frustrating lows. John fist found fame pounding the drums for his family’s band, The Cowsills, which included brothers Bill, Bob, Barry, sister Susan and their mom, Barbara. The group skyrocketed up the charts in the late ‘60s. Not only did they score three Top 10 singles, “The Rain, The Park And Other Things,” “Indian Lake” and “Hair, they were the inspiration for the hit TV series, The Partridge Family.
Bill and Bob were the original driving forces behind the band, but their dad Bud ruled the family with an iron fist. When Bill defied him by trying to gain some independence, Bud threw him out of the group. Bob, his mother and the rest of his siblings soldiered on, playing as many as 200 live dates a year. But the breaking point came when it was discovered that their finances were in a tangle, mostly thanks to Bud.
The Cowsills have endured their share of heartache. In 1985, their mom, Barbara died from emphysema. Seven years later Bud lost his battle with Leukemia. Tragedy struck in 2005 when Barry was trapped in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina. He chose to ride out the storm, but went missing. His body was discovered months later. As the family gathered for Barry’s memorial in 2006, they received word that their eldest brother Bill had died, having succumbed to myriad health issues. Richard, Bob’s fraternal twin and the only non-performing member of the family passed away in 2014. Of course, their story is told in more eloquent and poignant terms in Louise Palanker’s documentary film, The Cowsills: Family Band.
Once the family band began fraying at the seams, the siblings went their separate ways. John continued making music with artists like Dwight Twilley and Tommy Tutone. For 23 years he was the driving backbeat for Mike Love’s touring version of The Beach Boys. Despite that rigorous schedule, he still found time to participate in semi-annual reunion shows with his family.
Vicki, of course, achieved massive success in the ‘80s as lead guitarist and vocalist for The Bangles. Growing up in the San Fernando Valley in the ‘60s and early ‘70s, Vicki and her younger sister Debi were Pop Music obsessives. Vicki’s constant companion was her guitar and Debi became a proficient drummer. They cycled through nascent bands until they connected with Susanna Hoffs (vocals/guitar) and Annette Zilinskas (bass/vocals).
Initially, the four-piece were known as The Bangs, but quickly elongated it to The Bangles when it turned out there was another Bangs band out there. Their sound was a sharp synthesis of all their ‘60s touchstones, British Invasion, Garage Rock, Baroque Pop, Folk Rock and Psychedelia. Along with The Three O’ Clock, The Dream Syndicate and Rain Parade, they became progenitors of the Paisley Underground movement.
Hometown success came pretty quickly. Following a self-titled EP, the band inked a deal with Columbia Records. Around this same time, former Runaways bassist Michael Steele replaced the departing Annette. Their first long-player, All Over The Place arrived in 1984, going into heavy rotation on L.A.’s tastemaker radio station KROQ and garnering airplay on MTV. Rather quickly, they came to the attention of Prince.
That year, the Minneapolis musical savant was at the height of his Purple Reign, and he was clearly smitten with the band. Under the pseudonym Christopher, he wrote the song “Manic Monday” specifically for The Bangles. It was the first single from their sophomore album, Different Light and propelled the band into the mainstream.
In 1988, they released their hard-charging third effort, Everything. Although the band had never rocked harder, adding a soupcon of Glam to their signature sound, it was the lugubrious “Eternal Flame” single that shot up the charts. The album was a rousing success, but a year later, the band parted ways.
In the ensuing years, Vicki became an integral part of Continental Drifters. An indie super-group of sorts, it included ex-Dream Syndicate bassist Mark Walton, Peter Holsapple from the db’s and Susan Cowsill, from (duh) The Cowsills. Vicki and Susan branched out on their own as The Psycho Sisters, finally releasing their long-awaited debut in 2014. The Bangles reunited periodically and recorded new music, 2002’s Doll Revolution and 2011’s Sweetheart Of The Sun, which was produced by Matthew Sweet.
Rather than showcase their own songs on debut, Vicki and John opted to shine the spotlight on older brothers Bill and Barry. In the years since his dad had kicked him out of the family band, Bill had relocated to Canada and made a name for himself as a musician and producer, and most lastingly in his band, The Blue Shadows.
Barry led a more peripatetic existence. He was a musician first and foremost, but he worked odd jobs to make ends meet. Primarily a solo artist, he recorded A Portrait Of Barry Cowsill, a limited-edition cassette of demo recordings in 1980. His first official solo album, As Is, arrived in 1998. His second effort, U.S. 1, was released posthumously in 2009. Each brother left a treasure trove of original songs, Vicki and John determined the time was right to honor them both.
The record crackles to life with Bill’s “The Fool Is The Last One To Know.” A rollicking rave-up, it’s powered by rumbling guitars, walking bass lines, swirly organ notes and an insistent boom-chicka-boom rhythm. John is out front here, as Vicki adds pliant harmonies. His wounded mien is mirrored by pointed lyrics that confront a faithless wife: “I overheard you on the phone, you were whispering sweet and low, something that I never heard, saying just what lovers say, when two lovers talk that way, yes, the fool is the last one to know” A boisterous guitar solo charges through the break, nearly camouflaging the lyrical ache.
On this 12-song set, the tracks are evenly split, hopscotching between Bill’s and Barry’s compositions. Bill’s take up most of side one. “Vagabond” opens with a powerful kick-drum beat, expansive guitars, flinty bass and lonesome pedal steel. John’s warm-hearted croon wraps around lyrics that seem to reflect Barry’s nomadic existence: “Vagabond, you’ll never settle down, you spin your wheels like an endless merry-go-round, and there’s not a place that you can call home, you’re a vagabond, drifting like a rolling stone.” Vicki’s kindred harmonies shadow John, adding a soupcon of melancholy to the mix. Rangy guitars and weepy pedal steel dovetail on the break.
On the soaring “Is Anybody Here,” John’s vocals land somewhere between Buddy Holly’s Texas drawl and Roy Orbison’s melismatic power. It was recorded at the legendary Sun Studios in Memphis (while he was in the midst of a Beach Boys tour). It’s just John and producer Paul Allen building a track from scratch that reaches a Spector-esque Wall Of Sound grandeur. Strumming guitars and sinewy bass lines cocoon a walloping beat. Lyrics sketch out a solitary scene: “Out my window in the street, the shadows fall on a deserted street, where the people used to meet, now but never when the sun goes down.” A twitchy guitar solo unspools on the break, underscoring the majestic hurt.
Meanwhile, the song “You In My Mind,” is a Cowsills deep cut originally written and recorded by Bill after their father Bud had kicked him out of the band. Bud insisted that Bill’s vocals remain on the released recording, which was a blow absorbed by Bob, who had become de facto leader of the band. Performing that song live, meant the siblings had to lip sync to Bill’s voice, an ignominy they suffered silently. The original was a deft Countrified Rocker, in Vicki and John’s hands, the arrangement is accelerated slightly, fueled by frisky guitars, loose-limbed bass, roller-rink keys and a piledriving beat. Vicki takes the lead, summoning her inner-Loretta Lynn, recalling her Honky-Tonk resilience. Lyrics like “I got you, you, you, in my mind, all through, through, through the changing line, you’ve been true to me all this time, I got you, you, you, in my mind,” indicate a serial philanderer is ready to change her ways. On the break, scattershot guitar solo rides roughshod over slashing keys. Winsome piano flourishes usher the tune to a close.
Barry’s tracks are equally compelling, beginning with “Come To Me,” a song that was originally located on an old cassette tape. John cedes the spotlight to Vicki, and the number opens with her stacked, angelic harmonies washing over blurred guitars, crushed velvet keys and a muted tom-tom beat. Contite lyrics plead for a second chance: “If you’re thinking times are bad and your feelings have all been sad, well then come to me, baby now you can come to me, give it another try, give it another try/You know it’s hard to see a change, but I’ve been working on it, you know it’s worse to see the same, but I’ve been hanging on it.” Time signatures shift, accelerating slightly on the bridge. Just as the arrangement seems to slow, it shapeshifts once again, when a basher beat is matched by an explosive guitar crescendo that tilts in a surprising ‘70s AOR direction, before quietly powering down.
The sonic stomp of “Sound On Sound” give Vicki , and John a chance to display their Rock Star bona fides. Brawny guitars partner with stinging bass and a bruiser back-beat, John is in the driver’s seat on the verses as Vicki rides shotgun on the chorus. Lyrics offer up a flurry of Barry’s patented cosmic-speak: “I love the sound of lotion in motion, I love the tune of cream from a dream, if you’re around, you’ll know what I’m saying, if you’re away, you’ll know what I mean.” As the kids say, if you know, you know. On the break, John unleashes a cataclysmic yowl that lands him in Roger Daltrey territory, just ahead of Vicki’s epic guitar solo, which squalls and scorches, leapfrogging across a punishing beat. A second solo ups the ante by slyly refencing T.Rex’s “Bang A Gong,” and The Cars’ “Dangerous Type.” On an album stacked with superlative tracks, several stand out from the pack. “A Thousand Times” and “The Embers” were co-written by Bill (along with Mark Irwin and Jeffrey Hatcher, respectively). Rather than trade verses or add harmonies, Vicki and John’s vocals intertwine on both. On the former, cascading mandolin, willowy pedal steel, shimmering guitars and tensile bass are tethered to clip-clop beat. Her feathery contralto lattices his rough-hewn tenor as lyrics walk a tightrope of marital fidelity: “Don’t get me wrong, it’s crossed my mind, I just won’t step across that line, she’s someone I don’t want to lose, true love is hard enough to find/Go give your heart to someone else, then maybe you’ll see for yourself, and understand the reason why, I told you no, a thousand times.” Mandolin and guitars tangle on the break, ringing and chiming in sweet synchronicity and true devotion.
The latter is equal parts torch and twang. Burnished guitars partner with keening pedal steel, shivery bass and a brushed back-beat. Echoing antecedents like George Jones and Tammy Wynette, or Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris, these two are toe-to-toe, face-to-face as lyrics attempt to unravel exactly where it all went wrong: “Unkind words were spoken, but we said them in haste, now two hearts are broken, true love is nothing to waste, but my memories are ashes, and there’s this haunting desire, cause the embers keep burning long after the fire.” Lachrymose pedal steel acts as a wordless Greek chorus between verses. Following the bridge, as smoky harmonica lines up with searing pedal steel, magnifying the heartbreak.
While Bill’s songs hew more closely to a Country Rock blueprint, Barry’s songs are all over the map, but in a good way. Take “Downtown,” which simply swaggers. Chunky power chords collide with rubbery bass lines and a thrashy beat. John’s demeanor is dismissive as he ditches a homebody for a more cosmopolitan experience: “Well, the Valley’s getting to me I’ve been working all the time, and you kiss the boss’ ass for a raise, that’s a mighty high fine, now I want it all paid back before I die from the work or a heart attack.” Vicki’s harmonies add some urgency to the chorus: I’m going downtown, got to see the lights, I’m goin’ downtown, goin’ downtown tonight, I’m goin’ baby, got to see what I see, I’m goin’ downtown, won’t you come along with me. Traces of Punk, Rockabilly and Power Pop coalesce as a staccato guitar solo ricochets through the break.
“When Hearts Collide” executes a stylistic 180. Barry performed this tender encomium at Vicki and John’s wedding, so it’s wholly apropos that they’ve given it their own spin. Liquid guitar figures wrap around limber bass lines and a lanky beat. Vicki’s harmonies are just a beat behind John’s towering tenor as warm-hearted lyrics celebrate a forever love: “No matter how far or long ago, you’ll live in me for always, and we will sing and take to flight on the wings of our love.”
The aforementioned “Don’t Look Back” manages to split the difference between the sonic strut of “Downtown” and the slightly sappy sincerity of “When Hearts Collide.” Originally written by Barry in the late ‘60s, it first appeared on The Cowsills’ IIxII album. Here, sun-dappled guitars meander as shaggy bass lines are wed to a sly shuffle-rhythm. Vicki gets things started and John joins in on the second verse. A bit of a restless farewell, the opening couplets display a wisdom beyond Barry’s 14 years: “When you leave us far behind in the morning, when you drive away from here, try to hold back all your tears, and don’t look back, Baby, don’t look back.” Plaintive harmonica cris-cross sunshiny guitars on the break. There’s an added poignance to the final verse, with the knowledge that Barry (and Bill) have been gone nearly 20 years: “When you leave from here, return on the morrow, leaving all the things you cherish, please do something as you perish, don’t look back, Baby, don’t look back, Baby, don’t look back.”
Vicki has the last word on the album’s closer, the Barry composition, “Ol Timeless.” Plangent guitars are bookended by minimal percussion. Introspective lyrics seem to be addressing a higher power, tendering a mordant meditation on mortality: “And I move on down the road, ease along the way, take me to your dreams, Ol’ Timeless, I gotta know, put me on the path, there’s nothing more to say ‘cept swing your mighty scales, let’s be onward/And I take the secret treasures of my heart and soul, gonna keep them covered safe within my reach, ‘til the time when I can share them with the others.” Pastoral Spanish guitar oscillates across the break, adding an ethereal lilt. By turns pragmatic, progressive and sweetly spiritual, it casts the gruff Rocker in a different light. It’s a hushed finish to a great record.
There’s something quite wonderful about Vicki and John sidelining their own original music so they can showcase their brothers’ limitless talents. Long After The Fire breathes life into songs that slipped through the cracks. Somewhere Bill and Barry are smiling.
