2024 Album Preview Series: Tier 1 - Part 7 of 12

Apologies to Mo Troper for mis-speaking the title of his fantastic Jon Brion tribute album...

Marnie Stern - The Comeback Kid (2023) Colin Stetson - When we were what wept for the sea (2023) Nick Hakim - Cometa (2022) Mo Troper - Troper Sings Brion (2023)

And, y'know - the LIST!

The Jellyfish Family Tree Part 7: Falkner's Mercurial Fortunes

Jason Falkner’s solo debut solidified him as a power pop icon in my book, and his relatively marginal status turned me into a staunch advocate of his work. It’s worth mentioning here that Falkner was also a contributing member of The Grays, and it was around this point in the timeline that I obtained my first copy of their singular release Ro Sham Bo. Creating a family tree based on the comings and goings of this power pop supergroup would also have some interesting results, but it would prohibitively widen the scope of this particular project. I have already dedicated a post to Ro Sham Bo that I am still quite fond of, but I think it would be irresponsible not to directly mention The Grays in any discussion related to Jellyfish and Jason Falkner. .



Jason Falkner released his second solo album Can You Still Feel? in 1999.  The album boasted a step forward in terms of production, undoubtedly due to the presence of Nigel Godrich. His production made the entire experience far more textured than its predecessor, perhaps overly so. I think that the effort to polish these tracks buffed out some of the grit that made Presents Author Unknown so engaging. In any case,  Can You Still Feel? still retained the vast array of musical nuance that is Falkner’s stylistic trademark. At times, the wider production expands his work to nearly symphonic proportions.



As was the unfortunate trend among Jellyfish-related projects, Can You Still Feel? did not get much push from the record company.  Like many artists in the late 90s, Falkner lost his recording contract due to weak sales which, like many artists, were the result of poor record label promotion - the most common and infuriating catch-22 from that era!  Probably discouraged (speculation, of course), he faded a bit into the background as a solo artist.  The astute, however, could catch his name popping up on various projects as a producer and performer.  Despite taking a step back from the spotlight, he did have a short-form solo release in 2004 in the form of the Bliss Descending EP.

At that point, I don’t think that Falkner was trying too hard to break into a larger audience.  Bliss Descending was quietly released to those that were paying attention. Where Can You Still Feel? was Falkner’s most overt attempt at a big studio record, Bliss Descending was quite its opposite. The songs were not lacking in their usual level of detail, but Falkner’s performances were more casual than they had been, and the production was somewhat informal. This laid-back, relaxed approach opened up an introspective side of Falkner that actually served Bliss Descending rather well.


The woes and disappointments of being an immensely talented and hardworking musician during the late 90s and early 00's were undoubtedly very frustrating for Falkner.  This was a transitory time in popular music, when record company dominance was slowly giving way to the more recent independent artist models that we see today.  For Falkner, the future probably seemed very unclear, if not bleak.  He would not release another full-length album for awhile, and his strategy for keeping himself afloat in this chaotic period would make it even longer for that record to become readily available in the States. I tried to stay aware of Falkner's career, but there was activity amongst other branches in the Jellyfish family tree that would garner my attention.

To refresh yourself on where we have come from, click here.
To go on to the next post, head here.

The Days, The Grays, and the Life of Mork

The sound of live music in Dallas during the 90s was generally a wash of post-Smashing Pumpkins groups vying to be "The Next Nirvana." Due to the gentle flapping of Jellyfish's wings, however, there was a powerful undercurrent of melodic rock aimed at reimagining the work of the Beatles. I was caught up in this undertow during my stint as a semi-professional rock musician. As a result, for several years the majority of my diet of "new" music was coming from power pop bands, many of them local to the Dallas area.

One of my favorites from this scene was The Days. This amazing trio had brilliant songwriting and stellar three-part harmonies that distinguished them from the crowds of unfocused, jangly pop groups. Additionally, they turned out to be three really nice guys. The Days' debut CD, The Mystery of the Watched Pot, was enviably good. Like the output of many independent bands from the pre-internet 90s, however, this great album is probably doomed to obscurity. I can't guarantee that there are any copies still in existence besides the one in my collection. Streaming clips and MP3s of The Days seem to be nonexistent and the only footage that I have found of them is this early and pretty murky clip from Club Dada.



(UPDATE! Streaming Days track found!  Also, album available here! Enjoy!)



Even with all of the available resources of the internet, relating a really good impression of what they were like when I was into them may be nearly impossible. However, the Days included many great cover songs in their set lists, and this one by The Grays fit them so well that I was convinced, for a very long time, that it was a Days original.

This track, written by Grays guitarist Buddy Judge, is from their singular 1994 release Ro Sham Bo. This album is also relatively obscure entry and has long been out of print, but it is an incredibly important recording in the 90s power pop timeline.  In retrospect, The Grays was a supergroup of incredible musicians before they became super. In addition to Judge, the Grays were also led by Jason Falkner, who had just left Jellyfish in frustration due to lack of creative input, and a young Jon Brion on bass whose studio career had just barely begun. Although all of these musicians had impressive resumes when they formed the Grays, their careers were still mostly in front of them. 



With three distinct songwriters the group, Ro Sham Bo could have been easily been uneven, but the album is unified by their common melodic interest and shared harmonic vocabulary, which allowed the divergences in their writing styles to add variety.



I had a copy of Ro Sham Bo in the mid 90s, thanks to the emergence of CD burning technology and the generosity of Paul, the Days' drummer. I eventually purchased a legit used copy from Amazon. Both this and The Mystery of the Watched Pot are amazing albums that are absolutely worth hunting down. They also have a personal nostalgic value because they mark off a period of time, one that I have been contemplating today in particular.

Mork hanging at the sink, circa 2005

Rick, the Days’ bassist, took a turn singing lead on their cover of Nothing and was the granddaddy of my cat Mork, who I lost this morning after a long and happy life.  Mork originally came from world of live gigs and bass rigs that existed long before I was a teacher or properly tied a white belt around my gi.  He traveled as my companion free of condition through some incredibly difficult times and saw me into happier ones.  I loved and appreciated him in ways that I am sure he did not fully understand, but I am convinced that, given the gift of words, he would have said the same about me.  Mork was, and probably always will be, the only cat I ever had the honor of really knowing.  I will miss him terribly.