Buried deep within his iPod, Patrick Smith has a dark secret: Frampton Comes Alive.
I’ve been living a lie. A double life. And it’s time to come out.
Sure, I know. My iPod’s packed full of obnoxious punk rock and metal. Old stuff, new stuff. Jesus Lizard. Motorhead. Stooges. All the rest. I’ve always loved loud, vulgar, angry rock.
But today, friends, I’m here to come clean.
Hidden deep in my iPod, where only I can retrieve it, is the album I’ve lived all these years listening to, singing along with, and treasuring since the third grade.
Frampton Comes Alive.
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That wasn’t easy. But, yeah, I feel a little better. Get it out in the open.
This year marks the 35th anniversary of Peter Frampton’s iconic recording of a concert at San Francisco’s Winterland Ballroom.
I don’t care about anything else the English guitarist ever did. I never had any other Peter Frampton albums, pre- or post- Comes Alive. In fact, I’m not sure any of his other music wouldn’t make me cringe. Remember his ill-advised Sgt. Pepper remake with the Bee Gees? Sweet Jesus, that’s embarrassing. Or his 1977 release, I’m In You. (Ew!)
But the ’76 concert recording captures a moment worth capturing. It’s not just the music, though the music is decent enough. What makes Frampton Comes Alive exciting is the crowd.
In the album’s opening seconds, as 5,400 fans make the universal clapping signal for “start the show already!” we hear smooth-voiced promoter Bill Graham’s odd sentence-fragment introduction: “If there was ever a musician who was an honorary member of San Francisco’s society … Mr. Peter Frampton!”
The music begins. Frampton and his band open with “Somethin’s Happening.” I always imagine the crowd clapping along to the mellow rock, half-smiling, still wondering what the hell Graham meant by “San Francisco’s society.”
And then their minds wander into wondering why the letter “g” is contracted from “something” but not from “happening.”
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But Frampton fires up his guitar near the end of the first song and the fans are into it. “Hello, San Fran Siss KOE!” he shouts, and they respond with what can only be described as a genuine cheer. “Hello!” the crowd shouts back, as one. It’s like hippie Howdy Doody.
A few songs later, Frampton name checks San Francisco again. On “It’s a Plain Shame,” Frampton gets a little frisky. “New York to Boston, still the same in San Fran-cis-co, I just say bye bye.” (Huge cheers.) He’s a showman, that Frampton. And I imagine the crowd spending much of the rest of the song wondering if, at other shows, he says “still the same in Akron!” or “still the same in Baltimore!” But you can’t dwell. Enjoy the moment.
Throughout Frampton Comes Alive, you come recognize individual members of the crowd. There’s the guy with the booming voice who yells “yeeah!” at a crucially quiet moment during “Wind of Change.” The song contains the impenetrably stupid lyrics “I have itchy fingers … (‘YEEAH!’) … And butterflies are strange.” Is the yelling guy engaging in a celebration of itchy fingers? Do his fingers itch? Has he lived his whole life with a condition that makes his fingers itch horribly and has only now found someone who understands his plight?
But before we can get too deep into the booming/itching guy’s situation, we’re startled by a loud crack. Right in the middle of the chorus, a firecracker explodes. And everyone—the fans and Frampton alike—seem delighted by it. Can you imagine what would happen if someone threw a firecracker at a concert now? The entire arena would be flat on the floor. And then Homeland Security would come in and check everyone for powder residue.
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There’s the woman who, at several points throughout the show, is so overwhelmed that she’s compelled to actually squeal as though a giant has squeezed her stomach. Her piercing squeak cuts through “All I Wanna Be (Is By Your Side)” numerous times, culminating in a climactic burst at the song’s end.
If you don’t have the album, you’ve certainly heard plenty of it. “Baby I Love Your Way” is slow-dance lame. And “Show Me the Way” kind of misuses Frampton’s gimmicky talking guitar thing. Plus, if you love your baby’s way, then why is it necessary for her to show you the way?
But the payload on Frampton Comes Alive is undoubtedly the big finish: fourteen minutes and 18 seconds of “Do You Feel Like We Do?”
If you mean syntactically awkward, then hell yes!
This is a speedy, coke-y, stoner epic. Jazzy and keyboard heavy, an homage to hard partying. “Must’ve been a dream. I don’t believe where I’ve been. Come on! Let’s do it again!” That’s KISS-worthy, right there.
Frampton noodles and solos through the song, at one point getting real quiet and doing a call-and-response thing with the crowd and his quacking guitar. It’s gold.
The crowd rises and falls throughout the song, even when there’s nothing happening. Maybe Frampton is mugging around the stage and they’re reacting to it. Or maybe not. I like to think of this crowd as a plastic bag floating around on a windy day. It’s unpredictable and impossible to see what it’s reacting to.
So yeah. I’ve gotten it off my chest and it feels good. For 35 years, I’ve liked an album that’s kind of stupid and full of not-all-that-good songs.
Peter Frampton and members of the band that performed on Comes Alive are touring this summer, playing the whole album. Will I go? Hell no. But you can bet I’ll fire it up on the iPod and drive around town listening to it.
—Photo Piano Piano!/Flickr
I have news for you Patrick, I was there when that the “firecracker” went off. I was standing about center stage, about 30 feet from it, when the guy that’s standing next to me suddenly bends down, trying to get a cigarette lighter going. I saw the fuse light, and then he tossed it up into the air. The crowd may have liked it, but I did not. The firecracker landed right on my right shoulder and exploded. It hurt like hell and started my hair on fire. I turned to him and screamed “You Stupid Motherfucker ! ” Now… Read more »
Matt had much better taste than I did. Or do. But thanks.
As for N. Diamond, I’m afraid I can’t sanction that. My advice: bury deep in the iPod and listen furtively.
Thanks for reading, Mike.
Pat, you and Matt were always the heaviest musical influence on me and I am not surprised by this in the least! I actually contemplated purchasing Neil Diamond’s Love At the Greek, so I gave it a listen again. The cheese factor smacked me in the face like a nice strong Gouda! After reading this, I am convinced. Love At the Greek will get a welcome spot on my iPod!