Monday, December 23, 2024

Michael Brewer 1944 - 2024

You know him as one half of hippie duo Brewer and Shipley, i.e. as the "One Toke Over the Line" guy...

...hey, I bet he absolutely loved the Welk version!!!

But, more to the point of this blog's mission statement, to me, he will always be the ultra-cool pop/garage punk/psych dude who co-wrote (t's credited to his partner, but both he and Shipley were actually responsible) one of the truly great lost singles of the Sixities.

So please enjoy LA hepsters The Poor and their Brewer-and-Shipley penned 1967 regional hit "She's Got the Time (She's Got the Changes)."

The Poor -- whose bass player was Randy Meisner. who later found fame and fortune in both Poco and The Eagles -- had seemingly everything going for them, including being managed by the same Greene/Stone team who handled the Buffalo Springfield, but alas it was not to be. I can, however, verify that the above received significant airplay; in fact, I actually bought the 45 version at Sam Goody's (at the Garden State Plaza mall in Paramus New Jersey) after hearing it several times on Top 40 powerhouse WMCA-AM in New York City.

Speaking of which, along with the news of Brewer's passing, I also learned last week that the next to last Sam Goody store in the nation is about to close. Talk about the end of an era.

I should also add that the above Poor single featured prominently on a fabulous mix-tape playlist I compiled back in the 'aughts, appropriately entitled Great Lost Singles of the '60s. Which I have burned to CD and gifted to various friends over the years.

Hmm...I should probably post more of those songs. Maybe next week.

In the meantime, farewell Mike Brewer; here's hoping you're now residing happily in the great train station in the sky. With a heaping bag of free cannabis gummies from the smoke shop nearby.

Friday, December 20, 2024

La Fin de la Semaine Essay Question: Special "Sweet Baby Me" Edition

From his brand new and quite splendid 2024 album Common Sense, please enjoy veteran/Grammy-winning Nashville guy Gary Nicholson and my two randomly determined favorite tracks.

First -- the drolly amusing product endorsement that is "Bob Dylan Whiskey"...

...and then the obviously-and-frighteningly relevant to our current historical moment "Follow the Money."

As you can probably intuit, the album can justifiably be interpreted as a commentary on life under the incoming Vic Hitler Jr. administration. But even forgetting that, it's a splendid piece of acoustic-ish Americana songwriting, and it also just sounds great, thanks to the instrumental contributions of such worthies as guitarists Rick Vito and Anson Fundergurgh. I should add that it has now become an entry in my surprisingly short list of Albums of the Year.

Seriously -- it's that good.

In the meantime, you can find out more about Nicholson, and hear (and order) more of his music, OVER HERE.

Which brings us, however obliquely, to the other subject at hand. To wit:

...and your favorite or least favorite largely (or somewhat) acoustic-instrument based album that might be (or has been) characterized by the less than reputable genre name "Soft Rock" is...???

No arbitrary rules whatsoever, but as you no doubt have realized, we're mostly talking about post-Beatles singer/songwriter stuff here.

And in case you guys are wondering, here's my favorite song from my favorite album of the genre.

I should add that I include it largely because Carole King's piano work on it is so goddamned brilliant it hurts. As it is on the album as a whole; as far as I'm concerned, she's the record's secret weapon.

Man, what I wouldn't give to be able to play stuff like that.

In any event, discuss.

And have a great weekend, everybody!!!

Thursday, December 19, 2024

Wails From the Crypt (An Occasional Series): Poodle Rock Lives!!!

From the December 1979 issue of Stereo Review, please enjoy...

NIGHT OF THE LIVING POODLES

One of the interesting things about pub crawling, especially in a major metropolitan area, is that sometimes you chance upon the birthing of a whole new sociological phenomenon. Usually, of course, you don't realize it untill a few months, even years, later, after you've read about it in some-trend-sensitive, circulation-under-forty-thousand tabloid, but that's the risk you take. For example, seasoned observer that I am, I had no idea, on a long-ago summer night in 1973 when I stumbled into a stygian Bowery dive and noticed the bass player of the band rending his T-shirt on a tiny stage between solos, that this was the soon-to-be-legendary Richard Hell in the process of inventing punk rock fashion. In the immortal words of the 2000 Year Old man -- who knew?

Be that as it may, I have noticed that an entire new subgenre of rock-and-roll -- utterly without redeeming social value, shamelessly anachronistic, and bereft of any media attention whatsoever, has been festering of late, like some some hideous herpes, right under our collective nose. Cogniscenti (there are a few of us) refer to it as Poodle Rock, though not because it has anything to do with the antics of the group affectionately known as the Fab Poos. Briefly stated, Poodle Rock is the music purveyed by any group of musicians sporting long shag haircuts, flashy eye make-up, platform shoes and immense stacks of Marshall amplifiers. It is invariably loud and heavy on the macho posturing (even when performed by women) and it invariably sounds like a variant of what Bad Company plays on an off night, although there are some exceptions.

Its antecedents are obvious: the 1969 Rolling Stones (many of these bands have all but memorized the dialogue in Gimme Shelter), the 1971 Rod Stewart and Faces, the snake-period Alice Cooper, and the latter-day KISS (especially in New York, where Ace and Gene and the rest are viewed as local boys who made good). Among its distinguishing characteristics is that all the bands put ads in the Village Voice giving height requirements. It used to be called Glitter Rock, Heavy Metal and Big Rock, and most critics have long since written it off as fatally passé and even irrelevant, which of course explains why so many groups, signed and unsigned, are attracting large crowds by playing it.

In New York City, Poodle Central is a place called Great Gildersleeves, located on the Bowery just down the street from the shrine known as CBGBs (and easily sighted because of the expensively garish neon sign out front). Gilderseeeves started out as a sort of less-uptight alternative to CBs; they booked blues bands, mainstream rockers and three-chord weirdos without a thought about what was hip and what wasn't. Unforunately, the major labels began using it as a showcase room for aging heavy-metal veterans, attendance picked up and the owners realized they had a potentially good thing going. The result? An endless succession of the most boring, obnoxious (and proud of it) bands in Christendom, complete with tired old theatrics (smoke bombs in this day and age?) vacuous groupies, and an audience dressed exactly like the performers.

On an average night at Gildersleeves you might see...the Richie Scarlett Band. Scarlett is a guy capitalizing on a physical resemblance to Keith Richards in such an obsessive manner tht it verges on the pathological. He gets this year's "Jeff Beck Erect Left Nipple" award for performing in a leather jacket without a shirt. His music sounds like what a Sherman tank looks like, and it has been known to reduce more than one listener to whimpering "I'll talk, I'll talk..." Then there are The Brats, who've been playing drivel in white-satin gangster outfits since the days of the Mercer Arts Center, apparently without wising up. At a recent performance they attracted nonmusical media attention when one of their flash-pots exploded prematurely, sending several patrons to the hospital, Any press is good press...Or you might take The Bonnie Parker Band -- please! Ms. Parker is a bass-playing young woman with a voice like Gabby Hayes and a stage demeanor that suggests Rod Stewart on angel dust and testosterone. And there's Falcon Edy, a power trio with a lead singer really bugged that he's not as good looking as Roger Daltry...Moonbeam, with a lead guitarist who will answer much in heaven to Jimi Hendrix...and Face Dancer, of whom I will say nothing except that their name is not the worst thing about them. There's more, but I'm, uh, pooched out.

When I reread this recently for the first time in years, I actually laughed out loud.

Anyway, the reason I bring it up to begin with is that over at a rock critic's forum I frequent on Facebook, there was a mini-brouhaha the other day over a so-called genre that's been dubbed Yacht Rock. (The fight, among other things, was over whether Steely Dan and Christopher Cross both belong in it. I found the whole thing pretty stupid, actually.)

In any event, it reminded me that I had invented a much more apt genre/and title back in the day, and I figured it needed to be re-introduced to a waiting world.

Hence the above.

I should add that out of curiosity, I looked up a couple of the bands/artists name-checked in the column and to my, er, delighted surprise I discovered that some of them -- Richie Scarlett, Bonnie Parker and a couple of the others -- are still plying their trade in public here in the 21st century (although their home club Gildersleeves, which was my actual subject, has been gone for ages).

To which I can only say, in all sincerity -- Rock-and-roll Lifers of the World, I salute you!!!

Wednesday, December 18, 2024

Closed for Monkey Business (Part Deux)

Had to help a certain Shady Dame with some medical problems in Manhattan today.

Actual delightful new music will appear on the morrow. Cross my heart and hope etc.

Tuesday, December 17, 2024

Closed for Monkey Business

Had a rotten day -- chased (unsuccessfully) our pussycat around the house without being able to grab him and take him to the vet (he was supposed have dental surgery) and then had to shlep into Manhattan in the rain for a doctor's appointment of my own. (Nothing to worry about, but a pain in the tush, not meant literally.)

Delightful new music resumes on the morrow, scout's honor.

Monday, December 16, 2024

À la Recherche du Cassettes Perdu

You know, some days it really pays to get out of bed.

More specifically, I got this e-mail the other day, out of the blue, and was frankly gob-smacked.

Steve:
I was finally (finally) cleaning up the garage and going through some old boxes of tapes and such and I found this…

We (then girlfriend, now wife) listened to it a lot back in the day. She always said The Floor Models were her 2nd favorite band in the Village. That’s because she liked mine better, but you would expect that, right?
Thought you might get a kick out of seeing it.
All the best,
Tom Scarpino

I frankly (to my shame) did not remember Tom off the top of my head, so I asked him about his band.

We were called The Silent Types. (Name was meant to be ironic, ended up being literal — no one heard of us).
I do remember you saw us once at Kenny’s and were generous in your appraisal. All a long time ago. Good times nonetheless.

Alas, I still didn't remember those guys -- and I ran it by my Floor Models compadre Gerry Devine, who didn't remember them either -- but it was still a complete gas to be reminded of that part of our life. Those Kennys' days in the Village really were good times. So thanks, Tom.

I should add that I'd love to hear a transfer of that cassette, which was -- if memory serves -- the first demo we were naive enough to be providing to the music biz types we thought might make us stars. I'm not sure I even still have the particular versions of those songs. Wow.

Friday, December 13, 2024

La Fin de la Semaine Essay Question: Special "How Many Roads?" Edition

Alright kids, let's get right to the action.

...and your favorite -- or least favorite -- cover version of a song by Bob Dylan is...???

Discuss.

BTW, here's my favorite. And I gotta say -- I suspect it's gonna strike a lot of our long-time readers as surprising. Hell, it strikes ME as surprising.

In case that's a new one on you guys, that was actually a minor AM radio hit at the end of 1967. I remember thinking at the time it should have been much bigger, and being kinda pissed that it wasn't.

I should add that I haven't been able to find the musician credits anywhere online, so I 'm not sure who's playing (brilliantly) on it. I mean, I think it's Paul Butterfield on harmonica, but I can' t be sure. And the rhythm section just kills, but who are they?

I should also add -- and I'm not even remotely a Peter, Paul and Mary fan as a rule -- that a certain Shady Dame of my acquaintance noticed the other day that Mary Travers' vocals on it are oddly reminiscent of Carly Simon. Interesting.

An amusing postscript: My old college band The Hounds used to do a fabulous live cover of the song, but because we were wiseguys we used to sing it as "Say hello to valium/Say hello to librium."

In any case -- have a great weekend, everybody!!!

Thursday, December 12, 2024

Today's Cartoon Chuckle

That's the work of the great Barry Blitt, of The New Yorker fame, in case you were wondering. And the Charles Bukowski caricature is a particularly droll touch.

BTW -- click on the image to embiggen it.

I should add that, yes, I'm looking forward to seeing Chalamet's Dylan bio-pic, although I'm profoundly skeptical going in.

I mean, he may be a great actor, but he just reads too goyische for me to find him convincing in the role.

Anyway, as you may have suspected -- a coveted PowerPop No-Prize© will be awarded the first reader who gleans the above's relevance to the theme of tomorrow's Weekend Essay Question.

Wednesday, December 11, 2024

All In the (Ridiculously Talented) Family

From 2008, please enjoy my old friend/former bandmate Ronnie D'Addario and his genius offspring Brian and Michael (AKA The Lemon Twigs) and the wonderful pop confection that is "Trophy Girl."

Okay, that just kills me on a number of levels.

For starters, it's a fabulously crafted pop song/record. Ronnie plays everything and wrote/produced it, and it's not an exaggeration to say it could have (should have) been a hit.

I mean, c'mon; just on the conceptual level, it's hilarious. Teenage boys singing about a trophy girl? Words fail me.

I should also add that I love the fact that the Twigs sang it before their voices had changed. And brilliantly, I might add.

Have I mentioned that it could/should have been a hit?

Oh well. In the meantime, you can order "Trophy Girl" and much much else, on Ronnie's delightful 3 CD box set retrospective Don't Wait For Yesterday 1986-2017 over HERE.

Get going to the link, and tell 'em PowerPop sent you!!! 😎

Tuesday, December 10, 2024

Your Tuesday Moment of (Xmas) Words Fail Me

Okay, this is the weirdest thing in the history of Christmas stuff ever.

How I missed this when it originally came out, I'll never know.

BTW -- get me drunk sometime and I'll tell you a very amusing Billy Idol story about when we both lived in Greenwich Village in the early '80s.