J D Souther

"Troubadours: Carole King, James Taylor and the Rise of the Singer-Songwriter," a presentation of "American Masters" that airs Wednesday on KOCE, tells the story of the crowd that haunted Doug Weston's Troubadour in the late '60s and early '70s, the music they made, and (to a lesser extent) the mischief. The film, which seems to be built backwards from the reunion concerts Taylor and King performed at the West Hollywood club to mark its 50th anniversary (and the subsequent arena tour they undertook last year)

T he record industry loses one of its icons today when Joe Smith retires as president and chief executive officer of Capitol-EMI Music. Smith's career roughly spans the rock 'n' roll era. After years as a disc jockey, he spent 1961-1983 as an executive at Warner Bros. Records and Elektra/Asylum Records, where he had an up-close view of the pop culture revolution. Among the acts he helped sign: the Grateful Dead, Jimi Hendrix and James Taylor.

Pop & Hiss weighs in on the most notable music moments of the year. L.A. owns 2012: Our fair city never lacks for great rising artists, but rarely have two locals so dominated the national conversation with groundbreaking, major-label albums. Kendrick Lamar's “good kid, m.A.A.d city” and Frank Ocean's “Channel Orange” each commanded the country's attention --  Ocean, for both his brave coming-out and for his sheer skill; Lamar for taking the legacy of L.A. gangsta rap and turning it on its ear with a finely observed (and still banging)

If J.J. Cale wrote recipes instead of songs, each one would call for cooking at a simmer, never a boil. This notoriously laid-back native Oklahoman showed Saturday at the Coach House that, contrary to the hedonistic vow of his most famous song, "After Midnight," a rocker needn't "let it all hang out" to put on a performance that's tasty and full of juice.

If the domain of country music were one big metropolis, Nashville would be a moneyed, well-ordered neighborhood founded on commerce and convention, while Austin, Tex., would be a bohemian loft district across the tracks, full of scruffy, art-first eccentrics with holes in their pants. Hal Ketchum is the latest member of the Texas bohemian school to try life on the other side of the tracks.

J.D. Souther, Karla Bonoff and a good, efficient desalination process probably could alter the ecological future of Southern California. Harness the tear-jerking potential of these two quintessential exponents of mellow, '70s-vintage L.A. songwriting, and the region would be drought-proof.

Roy Orbison sang about loneliness and heartache with an intensity and poignancy perhaps unequalled in rock--and his death leaves the rock world itself a little lonelier. The only thing about Orbison that overshadowed his greatness was his niceness. In a field where gimmick and swagger often contribute to stardom as much as talent, Orbison was a singer who earned his place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Frank Casado, owner of Melrose Avenue's Lucy's El Adobe Cafe, who fed and advised politicians, actors, rock musicians and others, died Thursday after an eight-month battle with lung cancer. He was 66. His daughter, Patricia, said Casado died of congestive heart failure at 1 p.m. in the Hospital of the Good Samaritan with his wife and restaurant co-owner, Lucy, and actress Betty Thomas at his side. "He was a mentor to all these people," his daughter said.

Jack Tempchin's career is a lot like television's "Wheel of Fortune." It goes around in cycles: solo artist, songwriter, band leader. Solo artist, songwriter, band leader. And most every time the wheel stops, there's a winner--particularly the second time around. As a solo artist, Tempchin, now 39, first made a name for himself in the late 1960s on the local coffeehouse circuit. The next time he went out on his own, a decade later, he found even greater success.

Lucy Casado was trying. Her smile was forced, her eyes were sad. She looked, for a moment, all alone in the crowded restaurant that bears her name. How are you? she was asked. "I'm faking it," she admitted. She tried harder. "No, don't say that. . . . I am among the most loving, biggest family that Frank and I ever had. It was just wonderful today." After 42 years of marriage, Lucy Casado had every right to her sadness, but Frank wouldn't have wanted it that way.