Poppin' the Cherry

Okay, this strikes me as thoroughly unlikely but it is nonetheless true: The Floor Models, i.e. the Eighties 12-string pop band I toiled with, who were world famous in Greenwich Village, have a song on a new box set from Cherry Red Records, aka the World's Coolest Label.

From the promo material:

In 1979, The Knack kicked open the doors for a global power pop explosion, and a year or so later, almost as quickly, the doors closed again, but not before a mass of their contemporaries followed them through. Soon, a bunch of others got caught up in the excitement and the record business relearned the power of guitar-driven pop - the first few years of the '80s were as exciting for power pop as the last couple of the 70s had been, and even when it returned to the underground, the music continued to flow throughout the decade.

‘I Wanna Be A Teen Again’ follows the 80s power pop explosion from its hypocentre early in the decade to its enduring late period gems, exploring both leading and lesser lights, the old hands and new talents who made it such an exciting musical happening. By the middle of the decade, the term power pop had been all but retired, but a handful of new bands found success by avoiding it, whilst new movements, including the Paisley Underground and indie pop, helped keep others alive under new brandings. All the while a small number of holdouts, the pop equivalent of the soldiers lost in the jungle after the war had ended, strove to keep the music and the name alive.

Packed with classic cuts and long-overlooked rough diamonds, and appearing at a time when new outfits like The Lemon Twigs pick through the body of 80s power pop for material and inspiration and some key artists like Redd Kross and The Bangles are celebrated in books and film, ‘I Wanna Be A Teen Again’ is a timely examination and celebration of this action-packed era and its thrilling sounds.

We're on the second disc, in between Marshall Crenshaw and Cheap Trick -- and how fabulous is that?

The set features over 75 songs, neatly alternating between hits and deep cuts from a myriad of name artists/genre faves (I can't believe we're on an album with The Bangles, Rick Springfield(!), The Go-Gos, Shoes and Eric Carmen) and obscure characters like us; you can peruse the complete track listing -- and pre-order the thing, which will be available starting July 18 -- over at the Cherry Red website HERE. I'm told there will be a booklet with extensive liner notes and lotsa cool photos, including one of the Flo Mos; I'm also informed that you'll be able to stream the set over at Spotify, and I'll keep you posted on further details as I get them.

And may I just say, and for the record (as it were) that I'm over the moon thrilled and honored that we're a part of this thing, and my only regret is that my departed bandmates -- 12 string ace Andy Pasternack, who wrote the song, and drummer Glen Robert Allen -- didn't live to see it.

PS: Oh, and here's the compilation's title song, which I must confess I was previously unfamiliar with.

Of course, I am now, unsurprisingly, totally nuts about it.

[cross-posted at Floor Your Love]

Your Monday Moment of Words Fail Me

Hey -- it makes sense to me. 😎

La Fin de la Semaine Essay Question: Special "There Were Giants in the Earth in Those Days" Edition

Alright kids, right now we're going to venture a little far afield from what are considered the traditional esthetic parameters of this here blog. But it's something I've wanted to do for pretty much as long as I've been your humble host, and since life is short, I'm gonna finally go for it.

I mean, what the hell...it's not like the Power Pop Police are gonna come after me.

So -- this leads us inexorably to today's business. To wit:

The greatest male vocalist, in any popular music genre, who made hit records in the second half of the 20th Century, was Nat "King" Cole.

Discuss.

And by discuss, we mean starting with yes or no, obviously.

In case you're wondering, I vote yes.

Why? Well, as you can plainly tell from that clip, Nat's magisterial phrasing and sheer vocal gorgeousness simply oozed soul, elegance and sex appeal. And he made it look and sound so easy it felt almost supernatural.

Plus, when he wanted to -- he rocked.

Fun fact: His 1957 recording of "When I Fall in Love" (i.e., the one above) reached number 4 in the UK charts in 1987, when it was re-released in reaction to a version by Rick Astley. Heh.

Okay, look, I'm being a little silly here deliberately; I'm aware that this is all subjective and that of course there's no one greatest singer (or guitarist or songwriter or group).

And "greatest"? What the hell does that even mean?

I mean, c'mon, I'm a professional.

But, and I say this as a life-long rock-and-roll chauvinist: Nat rules, okay?

So have a good time with this, won't you?

And have a terrific weekend, everybody!!!

Fred Armisen Explains It All to You

Specifically, the history of punk-rock guitar strumming styles from 1970-2000.

That's dead-on, and very funny. I particularly like the bit about Sonic Youth.

The Last Shocking Blue Post Ever -- I Promise!!! (Okay, Maybe Not the Last, But We'll See)

So anyway, as attentive readers are aware, Shocking Blue's 1972 Live in Japan album has been a sort of Holy Dutch Asian Grail for me since forever.

Why? Because (1) the original LP version was never released in the States, and (2) for some reason it was never on CD anywhere till 2022 (on some difficult to find non-US label).

Oh, and which, BTW, you can now get from Amazon for...dig this... two hundred bucks.

I mean -- what?

Weird!!!

Anyway: While browsing some Shocking Blue videos the other day, I discovered to my delighted surprise that said album -- complete -- is now up on YouTube for free.

Je repete -- complete. For free. Can you freaking believe it?

Anywhere, here's the link and enjoy! It's actually a really good album!!!

Have I mentioned that YouTube is the contemporary version of the Library at Alexandria? 😎

Overly Subtle Metaphors in Contemporary Popular Music (An Occasional Series): Special "Big in Japan" Edition

From 1972, please enjoy Holland's finest -- Shocking Blue -- and their delightfully infectious but lyrically ambiguous hit "Inkpot."

I've been on a Shocking Blue kick of late, in case you hadn't noticed.

Anyway, I had never previously seen the above video until I chanced across it the other day, and musical merits aside, but may I just say, and for the record, that lead singer Mariska Veres could have had me if she'd played her cards right. I mean -- hubba hubba, as today's kids put it.

But seriously, though -- for the life of me, I can't comprehend what this inspirational verse...

Put some love in your heart
Like you put the ink in the inkpot.
Learn it and you will enjoy it baby
To put the ink in the inkpot.

...could possibly mean.

Oh well, it was recorded, after all, in a uniquely censorious era, when songwriters around the world were forced to take great pains to disquise what they were really talking about. 😎

Great Thoughts of Western Man (An Occasional Series): Special "Pre-Vatican II" Edition

From their sophomore (1965) album, the unimaginatively titled Volume 2, please enjoy The Beau Brummels and their slyly droll trad-Catholic classic "In Good Time."

Inspirational verse:

I'm not one to start complaining
Why am I so sour?
I'm not losing ground, I'm gaining
Why am I so sour?

Everything is going my way
Traffic's moving on the highway
Don't mind eating fish on Fridays
Still I'm feeling sour

I actually owned that album solely for "You Tell Me Why," a gorgeous folk-rock ballad that's one of the great lost singles of the Sixties, but that lyric from "In Good Time" always used to make me laugh when I cranked it up in my college dorm room. I hadn't thought about it in ages, but the other day, with the recent passing of Pope Francis, it (perhaps unsurprisingly) popped into my head unbidden.

I should add that if it came on the radio now, I kinda wonder how many contemporary listeners would even get the historical reference. 😎

La Fin de la Semaine Essay Question: Special "Flogging a Deceased Equine" Edition

So as you may have noticed, I've been kind of obsessing over that 2006 list of the worst songs of all time that appeared in Blender magazine.

And I finally figured -- oh fuck, let's just go for it.

Which leads us inexorably to today's business. To wit:

...and the worst fucking song/record ever in any pop genre, from the second half of the 20th century to the present day, is...???

No arbitrary rules whatsoever, for obvious reasons, but I will say that if you advocate anything by Staff Sgt. Barry Sadler I will come to your house and kill you.

And in case you're wondering -- this is MY nominee.

And if you're wondering why, here's a 1991 column I wrote for The Magazine Formerly Known as Stereo Review that pretty much lays it out.

MY MADONNA PROBLEM (AND YOURS)

By now, apparently everybody in the world has seen Madonna's "Justify My Love" video and formed some passionate opinion about it.

That this has happened is, to be sure, no small testament to the business smarts of the former Madonna Louise Ciccone. In fact, given that the clip is verboten on MTV, its ubiquity bespeaks a media and marketing savvy demanding serious respect from mere mortals like you and me. And frankly, all the attendant brouhaha (Censorship! The Decline of the West! Bad Haircuts!) really is sort of neat: It means that what passes for art these days can still stir up controversy.

Of course, the irony here is that the artifact in question is hardly worth all the fuss, especially by the standards of Madonna's earlier work. Face it, kids: The song itself is just a functional piece of disco erotica, and the now-notorious video simply sells it efficiently, nothing more, nothing less. Granted, "Justify"'s evocation of polymorphous perversity might be hot stuff if you've never seen a Visconti movie or Duran Duran's "Girls on Film." But otherwise it's notable solely as an indication of Ms. Ciccone's alternately pretentious and pedestrian sexual preferences (translation: she has a thing, as they used to say, for Eurosleaze). In short, no big deal.

And yet, and yet...I've been thinking a lot about Madonna of late, a chore occasioned by the release of The Immaculate Collection, her nearly complete (that is, without "Justify") video retrospective on Warner/Reprise. And the conclusion I keep reaching has kind of brought me up short, especially since it seems to be a minority view, barring Tipper Gore and a religious nut or two. The conclusion, of course, is that Madonna's most hysterical detractors actually have it right, that this woman and the messages she sends are mostly indefensible on a (gasp!) moral level.

I am, I realize, verging on Cranky Old Man territory here. Obviously, there's no law saying pop music should be spiritually uplifting. Equally obviously, much of it -- including stuff I like a lot -- isn't. That's part of pop's appeal. If singles and videos were nothing but humanist pieties with a good beat, nobody in his or her right mind would ever bother with them.

All that allowed, however, The Immaculate Collection still makes me want to take a shower when it's over, and I think I know why -- it's so nakedly, so honestly scummy. Yes, clip after clip vibrates with subtexts ranging from the distasteful to the nearly evil: porn-palace peepshows as harmless rites of passage ("Open Your Heart"), the Sixties civil-rights struggle as just another pop image to be plundered ("Like a Prayer"), heartfelt odes to unwanted pregnancy ("Papa Don't Preach"), narcissism posing as liberation ("Vogue"), untrammeled greed ("Material Girl") and on an on. And yes, individually they can be (and have been) justified with the sort of arguments (Postmodern Irony! Subversive Ambiguity! She's Only Kidding!) you'd expect to hear in This is Spinal Tap. Unfortunately, when you watch the clips back to back their cumulative impact is anything but ambiguous or ironic. You realize that this stuff is an accurate representation of one woman's sensibility (her soul, if you will), like some ghastly disco version of Advertisements for Myself.

None of this is to knock the music. It's true that if Madonna had been run over by a truck in 1985 the subsequent direction of pop would not have been altered one whit, and it's hard to imagine a young musician somewhere listening to her albums and thinking "Wow, what a cool riff. I oughtta steal it." Still, the best of her singles are, unquestionably, well crafted and damnably catchy, which is why a lot of folks -- particularly feminists and gays desperate for something politically correct to dance to -- seem so ready to overlook or reinterpret what's actually being peddled.

Well, I can sympathize with that. Lord knows there are enough records in my collection that are (at best) guilty pleasures, and I'm hardly advocating some sort of ethical litmus test for pop music. But we shouldn't pretend that this stuff is value-neutral, either. What I guess I'm really saying is, okay, sure, go home and dance all you want to The Immaculate Collection: some nights I might even do the same thing. But when we do, let's at least have the grace to hate ourselves for it in the morning.

Okay, that's my two cents. And yes, as you can tell from the above, I could nominate any number of other Madonna songs for the honor, but I'm limiting myself to just the one in the spirit of fidelity to this week's theme question.

Alrighty then -- What would YOUR choices be?

Discuss.

And have a great weekend, everybody!!!

How Do You Say "Vinyl Rules" in Yiddish?

Heh.

A particularly argumentative music weekend posting will be here on the morrow. 😎

Cahiers Du Merde (An Occasional Series)

So speaking as we were yesterday of that Blender magazine list of the 50 Worst Songs of All Time -- you may recall that Lionel Ritchie's "Dancing on the Ceiling" came in at number 20, which I felt was a tad unfair -- I got curious about the rest of the list. And because I love you all more than food, here's a link to it for your amusement. Please take a look before you continue reading the rest of today's poor scribblings.

That chore completed, let us stipulate that said list was compiled in 2006, and thus there's nothing on it by, say, fashionable contemporary mediocrities like Chappell Roan or Morgan Wallen.

And yes, I think we can all agree that most of the songs listed therein do, in fact, suck.

That said, I think it's kinda jive that there's nothing on it pre-Beatles; apparently the people at Blender either believed contemporary music as we know it began in 1965 or else they thought there was no crap whatsoever in the 50s.

Yeah, right.

But speaking of the Fabs, I was also a little irked to note the presence of "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" at number 48. Which, whatever your opinion of the song musically -- I think it's charming -- displays a certain, er, ignorance as to its historical context and significance.

As you can see from this piece from MOJO, which I originally posted after it ran in their September 2008 issue (not coincidentally the 40th annniversary of The White Album).

That summer, race was a much bigger story than the Beatles.

Between starting "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" in March in Rishikesh and the first attempt to record it in Abbey Road on July 3, Conservative Shadow Defence Secretary Enoch Powell gave the notorious "Rivers of Blood" speech on April 20, 1968 (which would have been Hitler's 79th birthday). In it, he prophesied a racial apocalypse in Britain if immigration from the former Empire continued. It was headline news, provoking protests both pro and anti.

So when Paul McCartney wrote what he intended to be a Number 1 hit whose male lead was clearly to be identified as West Indian ("Desmond is a very Caribbean name"), set to music that hybridised British music hall and a ska beat, how could he not be making a point? McCartney was in the business of making points in a publically palatable style: he'd written the Beatles previous single A-side, "Lady Madonna," in solidarity with women's daily struggle. The inspiration for "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" came from a citizen of a former British colony typical of those in the Powellite firing line. Born Jimmy Anonmuogharan Scott Emutakpor in Nigeria, jazzman Jimmy Scott came to England in the '50s, for a while playing congas in Georgia Fame and the Blue Flames; he met McCartney in Soho's Bag O'Nails club. His Yoruba catch-phrase, 'ob-la-di, ob-la-da,' meaning 'life goes on', sparked a hit chorus just as Ringo's stray catch-phrase 'a hard day's night' had with Lennon four years before. And like that 1964 smash, McCartney's new song celebrated workaday romance -- but whose folksiness pictured a friendly face of Britan's controversial new arrivals in a familiar British street setting, the West Indian lilt giddying up a public bar knees-up.

The old joanna [cockney slang for piano -S.S.] intro came courtesy of John Lennon whose "fresh attitude," according to Macca, "turned the whole song around" after it had become bogged down in repeated takes with Ringo and George that totalled 42 hours over seven days.

Vetoed as a single by the other three -- all that effort and ill-temper for "granny music" was their verdict -- the song went to Number 1 anyway as covered by Marmalade, a better version by Leeds-based West Indian musicians The Bedrocks having just scraped into the Top 20.

And Jimmy Scott? He played congas on an early take (Anthology 3), and McCartney later settled a legal bill for him in return for dropping a claim for royalties on the song. Later he joined UK ska revivalists Bad Manners, in 1986 contracting pneumonia on tour in the US and dying after being held for hours naked when strip-searched by immigration officials at Heathrow Airport. McCartney really had a point, it seemed. But not even his fellow Fabs got it. -- Matt Snow

I must admit, that whole story was news to me when I read it in MOJO.

And hey -- its sudden relevance to current events here in the USA will escape no one's notice. 😎

In any event, I've always liked the record, as unfashionable as it may have been to say in rock crit circles, and it's certainly more important than the snobs at Blender gave it credit for.