Whose Year Is It Anyway?

So I have just learned that the kids really like the Paramore.



I kind of like that song too, actually. I just think I liked it better in the early 80s when it was by Pat Benatar. Or maybe Missing Persons....

Wednesday Shameless Blogwhoring

My latest and greatest Box Office post is now up here.

I understand there's been some technical problems with the commenting apparatus, but if you could see your way to putting up a little "hi there!" or something -- actually, it's by way of a quiz -- I'd be your best friend. As always, the more comments that show up, the more likely management is to give me a raise, thus enabling that romantic week in Paris I've been invited to share.

Somewhere, Glenn Reynolds is Experiencing Inappropriate Urges

Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto.

From the Associated Press:

DETROIT - The lights dimmed, the sold-out hall grew hushed and out walked the conductor - shiny, white and 4 feet, 3 inches tall.

ASIMO, a robot designed by Honda Motor Co., met its latest challenge Tuesday evening: Conducting the Detroit Symphony in a performance of "The Impossible Dream" from "Man of La Mancha."

"Hello, everyone," ASIMO said to the audience in a childlike voice, then waved to the orchestra.


As it conducted, it perfectly mimicked the actions of a conductor, nodding its head at various sections and gesturing with one or both hands. ASIMO took a final bow to enthusiastic shouts from the audience.

"It is absolutely thrilling to perform with the Detroit Symphony Orchestra. This is a magnificent concert hall," ASIMO said.

Later, cellist Yo-Yo Ma joined ASIMO onstage to receive an award for his efforts in music education. Ma bent to ASIMO's height and shook the robot's hand. Ma performed later on the program but didn't take questions from the media about ASIMO.

To be honest, I'm not sure why this is such a big deal. Seriously -- how is this any different from any David Bowie gig you've ever seen?

No Fat Chicks!*

Courtesy of the corporate weasels at Sony/Columbia, I got Gossip's Live in Liverpool CD/DVD package in the mail last week, and I've been checking it out.



My immediate short take (as per a discussion with our pal the incomparable Virgotex):

I have no doubt that if I was fifteen years old and deeply alienated and/or gay, I would absolutely love -- nay, lurve -- this band. And with good reason, because they would be talking to me -- powerfully and directly.

But since I'm neither, what I hear, basically, is just another band without a bass player, all of whom (with the exception, barely, of the White Stripes) suck by definition. And that includes Sleater/Kinney, who had a lot more on the ball than this bunch, both musically and in terms of sexual politics.

It’s an affectation, is what I’m saying, and an annoying one.

IMHO.

*And don't yell at me about the sexist title. Obviously it's a joke, stolen, in this case, from a Matt Groening Life in Hell strip featuring "Sullen Teen Magazine."

Actually, Rock 'n' Roll Does Forget

And people make fun of me for living in the Paris of the Tri-State Metropolitan Area. Well, guess whose band is playing just down the road from me on Wednesday.

“If you keep reflecting on it, you do become a little bit cynical,” Best said, “you do become a little bit twisted and acidic. But when you actually put that to one side and say, ‘Look, it’s happened, it’s over,’ then your priority is very much about today and tomorrow.”

Read more about the man and the gig here and weep.

Seriously -- what must it be like to be generally considered the single biggest loser of the 20th Century?

The Big Kiss-Off of 1979

Alert readers may recall that a few weeks ago I reprinted a review of the Sex Pistols album from back in my dim dark past at the old Stereo Review (now Sound & Vision). I did so a little nervously, if truth be told. When NYMary first gave the spare set of keys to the car here, I'd initially planned to rescue a lot of my old dead tree pieces, but as I mentioned with the reprint, on calm reflection I'd decided it would be a bad idea -- partly because it's a royal pain in the ass to transcribe the damn things, but mostly because after re-reading a decades worth of back issues I had come to the conclusion that too much of my old stuff was either dated, embarassingly wrongheaded or both, and that I really didn't learn how to write until the early 90s anyway.

That said, I chanced across the following Raymond Chandler pastiche recently -- a review of the simultaneously released solo albums by the four guys in Kiss, one of the great examples of 70s excess and nutso commercial miscalculation -- and I think it holds up; in fact, I think it's really quite funny and I'm rather proud of it. See what you think. [A brief note on the dramatis personae: Paulette Weiss was my editor at the mag at the time; (Noel) Coppage and (Joel) Vance were two of our other reviewers.]

And now, without further adieu, here it is as it appeared in SR in the Feburary 1979 issue.


It was about four o'clock when she walked into my office, dressed in a mourning suit that made her look like a road-show Ligeia.

"Are you Marlowe?" She wriggled slightly as she sat down, which either meant she liked me or she'd noticed that my furniture is upholstered in mohair.

I looked up. "That's me, like the sign says. Chris Marlowe, Aesthetic Investigator. What can I do for you, Miss -- ?" For some reason, she looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place her under the widow's weeds.

"The name's unimportant, but call me Ms."

"Frankly, I don't care if you want to be called late for dinner. You have a job you want done, spill it."

"Oh, a tough guy, huh?" She tossed four black record jackets onto my desk.

"The results of your Wasserman test?" I asked.

"No, shamus. Albums by Gene Simmons, Ace Frehley, Peter Criss and Paul Stanley, members of a rock band called Kiss. You'll notice they're all wearing disguises on the cover."

"Nowadays who doesn't?"

"Never mind. My employer wants you to find out why. What have these guys got to hide? You've got twenty-four hours to run down the answers."

"And if I don't?"

"Front-row seats for the Al Martino farewell tour. Get the picture?"

"I'm trembling in my Capezios."

"Don't crack wise with me, turkey. Remember, you've got twenty-four hours."

With that she was out the door. I reached for the bottle of Scotch in my desk. Mysterious liberated women, rock-and-roll...suddenly, I felt very tired.

I spent the evening listening to the four records and staring at the covers. After I polished off the Scotch I had most of the scam doped out; the rest I glommed after a few phone calls to some friends of mine in the low-life end of the music business. Rack jobbers. AM jocks. The scum of the underground. Nice people you know, Marlowe. What a world.

True to her word, she was back the next day at four.

"You look beat," she said cooly. "A rough night?"

"Rough enough," I said. "But I found out what you wanted to know. These Kiss guys have never appeared out of makeup. The records are their first solo efforts, and the idea is that they're supposed to give the poor slobs who buy this stuff a chance to find out what kind of music these guys might make if they weren't limited by the group concept. It's a symbolic dropping of the mask."

"That's pretty good, Marlowe."

"I'm not finished. The thing is, it doesn't add up; these records could be by anybody. Frehley does a bad punk imitation; Simmons has pop tendencies; Criss is a closet MOR wimp, and Stanley tries to be a guitar hero. In other words, it all still sounds like Kiss -- slick, dumb, and inconsequential."

"Good job, Marlowe," she said nervously. "Write it up and send it to this address; your check will be in the mail." She started to get up, but I beat her to the door.

"Not so fast, sister. Like I said, it doesn't add up. So I began to think. Who in her right mind would be so interested in all this that she'd hire a broken-down private dick to figure it out? And why the time limit?"

I ripped the veil and sunglasses off her face.

"I knew it. You're Paulette Weiss of STEREO REVIEW."

"I had to do it, Marlowe," she sobbed. "None of my regular reviewers would touch the stuff, and I had a deadline. It was the only way."

"You're good, sweetheart," I said, putting on my coat. "But not that good."

"You mean...?"

"That's right. I won't write the review for you. Understand?"

"But, Marlowe..."

"I won't do it, do you hear? Get Simels, or Vance, or Coppage; they'll write anything for free albums. But not me."

I started out the door. "Where are you going?" she asked in a voice as quiet as the grave.

"I don't know," I said. "Computer school, maybe. Anywhere I don't have to intellectualize over loud noises."

"You can't run out on me like this."

I shook my head. "You should have thought about it before you got into the editing racket. See you around, sister."

I walked slowly down the five flights of stairs to the street and thought about her. She wasn't the first good girl to miss a deadline, and she wouldn't be the last. Still, somehow I knew I'd never hear from her again. Like I said, what a world. -- Steve Simels

KISS--GENE SIMMONS.
CASABLANCA NBLP 7120 $7.98

KISS--ACE FREHLEY.
CASABLANCA MBLP 7121 $7.98

KISS--PETER CRISS.
CASABLANCA NBLP 7122 $7.98

KISS--PAUL STANLEY.
CASABLANCA NBLP 7123 $7.98

[h/t Ken Richardson]

Tom Petty: Mensch of the Year

Seriously -- what other major rock star would have even thought of doing this, let alone actually getting it done?



And the remake of "Lover of the Bayou" is better than the original.

And Remember -- Mom Upside Down is Wow

From the album Unusual Matricides.



I kid, I kid.

Seriously -- I don't quite know what I think about that, except that I'm not sure John Lennon wrote it as a vocal exercise/American Idol auditon piece for a graduate of the Mickey Mouse Club.

Weekend Listomania (Special Color My World Video Edition)

Well, it's Friday and you know what that means. Yes, my Oriental bete noire (bete jaune?) Hop-Sing and I are off on a weekend campaign junket with Senator Hillary Clinton (D-not bitter). Apparently, we're going some place where hard-working white folks hang out, wherever that might be. (Actually, I find that joke offensive myself, but as you'll see it has a certain thematic relevance so what the hell).

In any case, as a result, posting by moi will necessarily be somewhat fitful for a few days.

But until then, as always, here's a fun project for you all to contemplate:

BEST POST-ELVIS POP/ROCK SONG OR RECORD WITH A COLOR IN THE TITLE!!!!!

Totally arbitrary rule: No songs using the actual word color need apply. Which means, say, Love's otherwise brilliant "She Comes in Colors" should just get the fuck out of here. Also: No rainbows.

Okay, that said, here's my totally top of my head Top Ten.

10. Yellow -- Coldplay



I really don't care for this one at all but I figured we needed at least one entry recorded in this century.

9. White Lines (Don't Do It) -- Grandmaster Flash



Amazing how styles change. Back in the day, this was a founding artifact of hip-hop, and yet today it sounds like a classic rock song...

8. Brown Sugar -- The Rolling Stones



I wonder how many late 60s/early 70s backup singers think they're the inspiration for this. Supposedly it's this gal, but I don't think Jagger's come right out and said it.

7. Deep Purple -- Nino Tempo and April Stevens



I actually love this, but the main reason I included it is because the b-side has the greatest (and at the time, longest on record) song title ever: "I've Been Carrying a Torch For You For So Long I Burned A Great Big Hole in My Heart."

6. Raspberry Beret -- Prince



This would have been a tie with "Little Red Corvette" (one of my all-time fave videos), but as you can see, the clip here isn't Prince but rather some shmuck miming the track. Apparently, his Purpleness has been cracking down on YouTube appearances of his songs, old or new, going so far as to have the audio blocked on cell phone clips of his recent Coachella gigs. I'm beginning to think I liked him better when he was Symbol Guy...

5. Baby's in Black -- The Beatles



"She's dressed in black...because she thinks she's a nun...and it sure isn't much fun...when she's a nun."

How we sang it in my high school, if you must know.

4. A tie --

Pink Cadillac -- Bruce Springsteen



Much as I love the studio version, I simply LOVE this spare, minimalist "Nebraska" outtake...

and

Juicy John Pink -- Procol Harum



Can't say the same about this recent live performance, which can't hold a candle to the spare, minimalist "A Salty Dog" version (not, alas, online at the moment)....

3. Red Right Hand -- Nick Cave



Posted this in another list recently -- I think it was the one about bells -- but I just love it. Spookiest rock song ever.

2. Yellow Pills -- 20/20



For NYMary, who knows why....

And the numero uno, it's not even close so why are we arguing coolest song with a color in the title is ----

1. The Green Manalishi -- Fleetwood Mac



Featuring Peter Green, erstwhile lead guitarist of the nutso supergroup The Unravelling Wilburys (see last week's list).

Awrighty then -- what would your choices be?

Oh -- and sorry for the shameless blogwhore, but a companion movie Listomania will be going up sometime later this morning over at my new gig -- Box Office. Leave a comment if you're of a mind to and maybe management will buy me a pony.

Gender Inequity

I know I've been a bit obsessed with entrenched sexism lately--well, there's been a lot of it around--but I finally figured out why.

I just saw the Journey video for "Separate Ways," and I realize that, during my formative years, women were expected to be frosted, coiffed, made-up, and dressed in white, bedazzled denim. Men were expected to look like, well, Steve Perry.

Tell me that's fair.