Why Is This Man Laughing?

Tales of the Ignoble Frog: The Last (Swear to God) Entry!

Two final French-related thoughts(?) that have nothing to do with music. Sorry, I just couldn't resist.

The first is...this car. Saw it parked near our hotel last year and couldn't believe it was real, so we looked for it last week and sure enough it was in a space down the street. I'm informed it's a 2008 Fiat "Runt."


Seriously, this photo is not retouched or altered in any way. The car actually is that small. And believe it or not, it's a four-seater (albeit one that's literally the width of an umbrella that was lying on the back seat).

I'm also crazy about this place, which we stumbled across while walking around the first day in town. At first, I wasn't quite sure what it was...


...although for some reason it instantly reminded me of this great set from the 1960 version of The Time Machine.


Turns out it's the quite famous La Museum de la Ville, home of one of the primo modern art collections in the world; it was actually hosting a big Basquiat retropsective the week we were there, although we didn't have the time to check it out.

But when I Wiki'd the place I found this, which just slays me.

On 20 May 2010, the museum reported the overnight theft of five paintings from its collection. The paintings taken were The Pigeon with the Peas by Pablo Picasso, La Pastorale by Henri Matisse, Olive Tree near Estaque by Georges Braque, Woman with a Fan by Amedeo Modigliani and Still Life with Chandeliers by Fernand Léger. Total value of the purloined paintings is estimated at €100 million.

The French auctioneer and president of the Association du Palais de Tokyo, Pierre Cornette de Saint-Cyr, commented "These five paintings are un-sellable, so thieves, sirs, you are imbeciles, now return them."

Can't you just hear the guy saying that with an outrageous Monty Python French accent?

Words Fail Me (An Occasional Series): Post-Paris Beatles Edition

I'm still running on vacation time here, folks, so indulge me once again. In any case, this is definitely good for a mordant chuckle or two.

The Fabs, at a certain age.



Hey -- it could have come to this in real life.

Although the really dark fantasy I used to have was Jim Morrison if he hadn't croaked in that Parisian bathtub. Can you imagine that poor SOB, fat and fifty, still trying to pour himself into those leather pants and do those Nijinsky leaps onstage?

In any case, serious postings (or as serious as they ever are) resume on Monday.

[h/t Andy "Folk Rock" Pasternack]

[Shameless Blogwhore: My they-pay-me-for-it Cinema Listomania is now up over at Box Office, as usual. Theme: Best or worst movies about American politics. If you could spare a moment to go over there and drop a comment, I'd be forever in your debt.]

More Tales From the Land of the Ignoble Frog: The Blues Came Down From LeHavre...

Back from you know where, at last.

But given how little real rock'n'roll has ever been produced in that Socialist Hellhole, it seems only fitting that we close the book on our annual voyage with the exception that proves the rule. So -- from 1978, please enjoy surprisingly convincing roots rock Frenchies passing for punk Little Bob Story and the pretty damned good "Little Big Boss."



The song itself is from Off the Rails, the 1977 debut LP by Little Bob (nee Roberto Piazza), produced by the redoubtable Sean Tyla of Ducks Deluxe pub rock fame. On Stiff Records, where it belonged, actually (the Frenchie title was Livin' In The Fast Lane.) The petite little guy is still at it, apparently (here's his non-English website, for those who care); two of his import CDs can be found at American Amazon as well.

You don't want to know the kind of crap that passes for pop music in France at the moment, BTW....

We'll Always Have Paris...

My beautiful and brilliant girlfriend took this wonderfully evocative shot out of our Paris hotel window this morning at 8:00am, local time. Just before breakfast.

To our surprise, we could still see that old Parisien moon.


Why that old Parisien was mooning us, of course, we'll probably never know.









[Sorry, I just couldn't resist. Real music related posts resume tomorrow, I swear to god.]

A Vulgar Yet Heartfelt Dispatch From the Land of the Ignoble Frog

Dear Eschaton Troll Asshole:

This past Saturday I was on a bullet train between Paris and Reims.


Fuck you.

Love,
Steve

Live From DaytonOhio, France -- Part Deux!!!

From 1966, please enjoy the pre-cosmic Moody Blues, featuring original frontman Denny Laine, and the oh-so-sad-and-beautiful lover's lament "Boulevard de la Madeleine."




I've loved that song with a passion since I first heard it on an import Moody's compilation LP in 1972, and I still think it's the best pastiche of French pop in all of post-Beatles rock. So you can imagine how cool it was for me to pose on the very street Laine was pouring his heart out about at long last. Sentimental old fluff that I am.

That picture's from last year, BTW, but the passage of time since then has dimmed my youthful Groucho-ness not one whit, or so I like to think.

Weekend Listomania (Special Four Hour Erection Edition)

Well, it's Friday and you know what that means. Actually, in this case, it means you guys already know I'm in Paris on vacation at the moment, so there's no point in trying to fool you with another lame joke about me and my Oriental [insert smutty job description here] Fah Lo Suee and I heading off to the palatial estate of some rightwing shithead du jour.

That being the case, let's head directly to the Listomania, which was inspired by Mad Men creator Matthew Weiner's use of Sonny and Cher's "I Got You Babe" to great ironic effect at the conclusion of last week's season finale. I say ironic because somehow I just don't think Don Draper is a Sonny and Cher fan, although that not-to-be-trusted manipulating phony of a secretary he just married just might be.

In any case, and since I'll be too busy eating stinky cheeses and hanging out at dimly lit bistros with black-clad existentialists who look even stupider in berets than I do to post anything around here anytime soon, here's a hopefully fun little project to help us wile the way the hours until Monday:

Previously Existing Post-1953 Pop, Rock or Soul Record That Took On an Either Wonderful or Utterly Heinous New Meaning Thanks To Its Use in a Film, TV Show or Commercial!!!!

And my totally top of my head Top Six is:

6. Van Morrison's "Into the Mystic" as heard in Dusty and Sweets McGee




Two sad and mournful junkies shoot up to the strains of Van the Man's ode to spiritual and romantic transcendence in Floyd Mutrux's brilliant semi-documentary. Trust me -- once you've seen the scene, you'll never be able to hear the song without thinking of it.

5. Nick Drake's seraphically beautiful "Pink Moon" as heard in a brilliant Honda commercial



A video that does complete justice to a great record. How many exemplars of the genre can you make the same claim for?

4. Nilsson's "Jump Into the Fire" as heard in Martin Scorsese's Goodfellas



Along with snippets of "Memo From Turner," "Magic Bus," et al. I defy anybody to watch this scene without feeling they're wired out of their skull on the most primo Peruvian marching powder.

4. The Weepies' "All That I Want" as heard in a 2008 J.C Penny Christmas ad



I was falling in love when I first encountered this song on the tube, and perhaps as a result I thought it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard. The whole crass commercialism J.C. Penny connection notwithstanding, of course.

3. T. Rex's "20th Century Boy" as heard in a Levi's commercial with Brad Pitt



Marc Bolan's critical reassessment pretty much began when this obscure T-Rex b-side started showing up on the tube. And with good reason -- it's an absolutely killer rock 'n' roll track.

2. The Beach Boys' "Wouldn't It Be Nice" as heard over the beginning and end credits in Shampoo




The contrast between the achingly naive innocence of this great Pet Sounds track and the top-to-bottom corruption of Richard Nixon's administration (with Los Angeles standing in as a metaphor for the sickness of America's soul in the worst days of the Vietnam Era) couldn't have have been more pointed. Myriad props to star/producer Warren Beatty for having the nerve to use it like that, of course.

And the Numero Uno most despicable use of a great record in some context where it clearly doesn't belong quite self-evidently is....

1. Elvis Presley's Viva Las Vegas in those damned Viagra Ads!! [Dishonorable Mention: Howlin' Wolf's "Smokestack Lightning" doing similar duty for Cialis.]



A special circle in Hell awaits the Ferengi ad man who came up with the idea to rewrite the great Doc Pomus song to sell boner pills. I actually know the lawyer who licensed the track to the drug company; to her credit, she warned me in advance that the ad was coming. This is the first -- and by far still the worst -- in the series, BTW.

Alrighty then -- what would your choices be?

[Shameless Blogwhore: My parallel Cinema Listomania -- themes: Films that should or shouldn't have generated sequels -- is now up over at Box Office. As always, I'd take it as a huge post-birthday present if you could take a moment to go over there and say something snarky. Thanks.]

Happy Birthday!

Many happy returns to my stalwart co-blogger Steve, on his %$%^$*&#@th birthday, which he is spending in gay Paree with his lovely paramour. Have a wonderful time!



or, in another mode:



Hey, they cut off the last line: "Happy Birthday, you old bastard!" (Though that's obviously not appropriate here, so it's just as well.) I just hope simels lets me be Flanders to his Monty Burns for many years to come.

PS. For some reason, the last line of that scene just came to me. Mr. Burns turns to Smithers and says: "Have the Rolling Stones killed." Heh.

Live From Dayton,Ohio France -- It's a Particularly Obnoxious Early Clue to the New Direction

Well, I've just arrived in the land of the Ignoble Frog and I'm seriously jet-lagged.

That being the case, I offer my épuisement as an excuse, however lame, for asking you to enjoy -- from 1965 -- the late Phil Spector wannabe/schlemiehl Sonny (Bono) and the still living (albeit made of 100% recycled plastic) Cher. With their classic ode to togetherness against the odds "I Got You Babe."




Okay, off to find a croissant or something.

In the meantime, be assured that despite the current political situation here a coveted PowerPop No-Prize will still be awarded to the first reader who gleans the clip's relevance to the theme of tomorrow's Weekend Listomania.

Words Fail Me (An Occasional Series): The Present Day Antipodean Refuses to Die

From Australian TV in July of 1966, please enjoy The Easybeats and a blistering who-cares-if-it's-lipsynched? version of their self-penned hit "Sorry."



The show this clip is from -- a legendary special I'd read about but assumed (until yesterday) lost to the mists of time -- was designed as a farewell from the fans to the Easys, who would shortly head off to London to record for the first time with Who/Kinks producer Shel Talmy, and we all know how that turned out. Which is to say this was taped pre-"Friday On My Mind," and at this point in the band's career they already had a boatful of great singles (almost all written by their genius songwriter/guitarists Harry Vanda and George Young) behind them in the Australian charts. (BTW, YouTube has the rest of the show, with a bunch of equally cool performances of the aforementioned singles.)

In any case, watching this it's fairly obvious these guys were a truly world class band.

The Beatles/Stones of Australia? Not hyperbole at all, I think.

Words Fail Me (An Occasional Series): More Proof, As If Any Was Needed, That Chrissie Hynde Remains the Coolest Woman on the Planet

From last week, here she is with her fabulous new band JP, Chrissie & The Fairground Boys, live in Denver, Colorado, with a jaw-dropping version of...a Moby Grape song?

Specifically, the Wow classic "Murder in My Heart for the Judge."



Seriously -- had I been at this show, when she pulled the tune out of the hat I would have felt like I'd died and gone to heaven.

[h/t Jeffco]

Monday Conspiracy Theory

From 1982, it's Greenwich Village's finest, The Floor Models, and the opening four songs -- three originals and their blistering cover of The Records' "Hearts in Her Eyes" -- from an evening's performance at JPs, a low dive on Manhattan's Upper East Side (now defunct). Some guy whose name rhymes with Sleeve Nimels is on bass and sings lead on the third song.



Is it a coincidence that this video suddenly appeared on YouTube in the exact same week that The Rolling Stones' 1973 Ladies and Gentlemen, The Rolling Stones finally showed up on DVD?

I think not!!!

[h/t FD13NYC]

Weekend Listomania (Special Everybody's In Showbiz Edition)

Well, it's Friday and you know what that means. Yes, my Oriental glottal stop instructress Fah Lou Suee and I will be heading off to beautiful Flathead County, Montana, where we'll be investigating some of the odder reports in the recent Flathead Beacon Police Blotter. We're particularly taken with this item, from Monday: "Three vicious pit bulls on Kelley Road slobbered on a pregnant woman while she was out walking her dog."

That being the case, and since things will most likely be a little quiet around here for a day or two, here's a fun little project to help us all wile away the hours:

Post-Elvis Rock Group or Solo Artist Whose Life And Work Would Make a Great or Appalling Broadway Musical!!!

Totally self-explanatory, obviously, and I can't think of any arbitrary rules at all, you're welcome very much.

And my totally top of my head Top Six is:

6. The Monks



Five American GIs stationed in Germany during the Cold War shave their heads, invent Blank Generation Punk Rock ten years ahead of its time, and then return to the USA and three decades of complete obscurity. You can't make this stuff up, as it happens.

5. Patti Smith



Just finished reading her memoir, Just Kids, about her scuffling years and her love affair, if that's the phrase, with the late Robert Mapplethorpe. Fuck that Rent nonsense -- THIS has the potential to be the real La Boheme for the modern age.

4. Uriah Heep



The world's longest running, least photogenic and most clueless heavy metal band -- the real Spinal Tap, in other words, and what a comedy of errors their musical could be. Incidentally, there's a story -- possibly apocryphal -- that when this video debuted on MTV, the band's record sales began to plummet so dramatically that their management literally begged the network to stop airing the thing.

3. Michael Bolton



Dock of the Bay -- The Musical. Most Dramatic Moment: Michael changes the spelling of his last name so as not to appear too Jewish. Biggest Production Number: Michael sings "How Am I Supposed to Live Without You?" to his hair.

2. Jobriath



A story that starts in 1974 with an openly gay glam-rock star given the biggest hype in music history -- billboards in Times Square, choreography by the Joffrey Ballet, Peter Frampton and John Paul Jones playing on the album -- and ends with the now broke and forgotten hero playing Sunday brunch cocktail piano at a restaurant in Greenwich Village....



..before dying, alone and out of his mind, of AIDS in 1983. If there was ever a show about "That fame shit sure drives a hard bargain," this should be it.

And the Numero Uno musical life that most deserves to be on the wicked, wicked stage unquestionably was lived by --

1. The Kinks



For the story where Ray shoves a butter knife through Dave's ribs over breakfast alone. Although the story about the time Mick Avory thought Dave was spitting at him onstage needs to be in there too. Plus...oh, hell, there are enough great stories about this bunch to provide the book for ten musicals.

Alrighty, then -- what would your choices be?

[Shameless Blogwhore: My parallel Cinema Listomania -- theme: best or worst pop music documentaries -- is now up over at Box Office. As always, I'd take it as a personal favor if you could head over there at some point and leave something pithy in comments.]

An Early -- And Frankly Quite Terrifying -- Clue to the New Direction

I really don't quite know what to make of this, but from who knows when on what seems to be a cable access show from who knows where, please enjoy -- if that is even possible -- somebody named Record Man lipsynching to the sublime "Marlena" by The Four Seasons.



I should add at this point that over the years I've taken a great deal of crap from people over my fondness for the Seasons and this song in particular, and usually I'm defiantly unapologetic about it.

In this case, however, I am heartily sorry.

That said, a coveted PowerPop No-Prize will be awarded to the first reader who gleans the clip's relevance to the theme of tomorrow's Weekend Listomania.

Thursday Essay Question: The Lovin' Spoonful's "You Didn't Have to Be So Nice"

Power pop: Yea or nay?

I have a reason for asking.

	The Lovin' Spoonful - You Didn't Have To Be So Nice .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

It has something to do with the foreword I'm writing to a certain book by a certain blogger I know, in case you were wondering.

The song, of course, is from late 1965, which means -- historically -- that it's a little ahead of its time, genre wise.

So where do I come down on the question? Hmm. Let's see.

Gloriously melodic? Check.

Angelic harmonies? Check.

Great guitar riff? Check.

The drummer is totally kicking it? Check.

Yep -- it's power pop.

Wednesday Essay Question: Mick Taylor -- Greatest Rock Guitarist of All Time or What?

Just a little postscript, as it were, to our Rolling Stones discussion of the other week. Here's the best sounding version I've ever heard of "Travelin' Man," a studio outtake from sometime circa Sticky Fingers or Exile, which is mostly Taylor's show. And a rather jaw-dropping one, in point of fact.




As you can hear, the song is really nothing more than a three-chord vamp, and Taylor is essentially noodling over the course of it. And yet by the time the track nears the six minute mark, he still hasn't run out of ideas.

I think what I'm saying is that I'd kill to be able to play even a fraction of the licks he tosses off here so blithely.

More Proof, As If It Were Needed, That YouTube is the Greatest Thing Since the Library at Alexandria

From 1966, and the same German TV show (or so it seems) from whence yesterday's Kinks clip derived, here's Brit r&b outfit The Untamed and their flavorsome version of Marvin Gaye's great "One More Heartache."



This song has been, justifiably, covered a lot (including by my college rock group God in 1969) but not only was this version a new one on me, so was the band. Apparently, The Untamed were some kind of missing link between Georgie Fame and The Who (Who producer Shel Talmy had something to do with some of their singles). In any case, on the basis of this clip, at least, it seems they had quite a bit on the ball.

Incidentally, the DivShare thingie of the God version of the song at the above link seems to be broken; if you're curious, e-mail me and I'll send you the mp3.

Words Fail Me (An Occasional Series): The Blues Came Down From Muswell Hill

From (I think) German TV in 1966 it's The Kinks and an astounding totally live version of "Milkcow Blues."



Found this one the other day, having previously not even suspected its existence, and frankly you could have knocked me over with the proverbial feather. Until now, I was unaware that there was any decent live documentation of the Kinks in their original and greatest incarnation; most of the TV stuff I've seen has either been lip-synched or has terrible sound, and the admittedly entertaining 1967 Live at Kelvin Hall album features taped-looped audience noise, badly overdubbed solos, and is in general a mess from a technical standpoint.

This, however...wow. It helps, of course, that the Kinks' take on the venerable Elvis song is pretty much my favorite rave-up in all of 60s rock. And it's nice to finally have a chance to hear how it sounded on what I would say was a very good night.

Dave Davies was 19 at the time, I might add.

Also -- make sure you watch this with some decent speakers turned on; otherwise you'll miss the ace bass work by the criminally underrated Pete Quaife.

Tales From the Windy City

As noted yesterday, no Listomania -- again! -- this week, due to onerous professional obligations. Sorry about that, and I'll make it up to everybody, I promise.

But in the meantime, ace Chicago pop-punk combo and friends of PowerPop The Safes are going to be performing in Manhattan over the weekend. Here's "She's So Sad," their newest video.



Love the bear, BTW.

In any case, the guys will be performing at Fontana's [105 Eldridge Street; Phone: 212-334-6740], a low dive with continuous entertainment, tomorrow (Saturday) night. Admission is 8 dollars (cheap), and the show starts promptly at 9pm.

As it turns out, I'll be there (along with a certain shady dame). If you make the scene, you can't miss me -- I'll be the old Jew with the walker and the beret.

Welcome to the Working Week

From 1963, please enjoy the incomparable Sam Cooke, live at Miami's Harlem Square Club, and his ode to toiling for The Man -- "Chain Gang."





A great version, to be sure; you can practically smell the cigarettes, scotch and sweat. But if truth be told, I'm posting it because -- well, because I'm still snowed under with a bunch of freelance assignments that preclude me getting a Listomania up tomorrow.

I promise -- I'll make it up to you.

New Twilley: The Green Blimp

'Nuff said.



Get it here.

Happy Birthday!: Matthew Sweet Edition

We at Power Pop wish a very happy birthday to pop god Matthew Sweet, who completes his circuit around the sun today. Many Happy Returns!

And now: the most ambivalent love song evah!

Wednesday Self-Indulgent Cranky Old Guy Outburst

Okay, apologies up front: I'm acutely aware that the title of the blog you're reading at the moment is PowerPop, not Pissed Off Leftie.

But every now and then, something just sticks in my craw.

Case in point -- From yesterday's NY Times, and David Brooks' disgusting wet kiss farewell to departing White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emmanuel:

Over the summer, I wrote a tough column [about President Obama]...That week, I ran into Rahm at a Bruce Springsteen concert.

Isn't that sweet? Republican David Brooks, enthusiast for nuclear power, and Democrat Rahm Emmanuel, a nuke industry consultant who's probably responsible for the Obama administration's (IMHO) criminally stupid, short-sighted and dangerous enthusiasm for nuclear power, together at a Springsteen show.

Gee, I wonder if Bruce did this song -- written in response to the disaster at Three Mile Island -- the night those two cynical shitheads held hands.

I tried to find my way out to somewhere where I thought it'd be safe
They stopped me at the roadblock they put up on the interstate
They put me in detention but I broke loose and then I ran
They said they want to ask me a few questions but I think they had other plans
Now I don't know who to trust and I don't know what I can believe
They say they want to help me but with the stuff they keep on sayin'
I think those guys just wanna keep on playin'

Roulette, with my life
Roulette, with my kids and my wife
Roulette, the bullet's in the chamber
Roulette, who's the unlucky stranger
Roulette, surprise, you're dead
Roulette, the gun's to your head
Roulette, the bullet's spinning in the chamber
Roulette, pull the trigger, feel the click
No further danger

Nah. Probably not.

Words Fail Me (An Occasional Series): Hey, Hey, We're the....Yeah, Whatever.

Those who know me well are aware that I have long held that gorilla suits are intrinsically hilarious. But Oh. My. God.

Seriously -- I think this is the funniest thing I've ever seen or heard.

The Kongsmen(!) and "King Kong." Not the Kinks song, BTW.




Incidentally, I have no idea who these guys are or when this was done. I was going to Google them, but then I figured -- nah, this way madness lies. So fuck it.

Words Fail Me (An Occasional Series)

From 1984, please enjoy Warren Zevon and R.E.M. (minus the bald singer) doing business as The Hindu Love Gods. With a very loose, but surprisingly effective, cover of....The Easybeats' unbelievably great "Gonna Have a Good Time Tonight."





I mean -- say what?

Seriously, I had not only never heard this before, I was not heretofore aware it even existed. One assumes Zevon is playing piano somewhere deep within the murk of the mix; one also assumes that Peter Buck is doing the vocals.

Oh, and I wrote about the Easybeats original not so long ago; you can listen to it here if you missed it.

New Bandcrush: Vegas With Randolph

Sorry for my relative silence recently: I've been doing brave battle with the Manuscript that Never Ends, which is, finally, inexorably, drawing to a close. I promise.

But I have loads of catch-up to play here: bands which have sent me CDs, new releases by Paul Collins & Dwight Twilley, and a few observations I've been stewing on. At some point I will even hep you guys to my overarching theory about the failure of Big Star distribution and the subsequent cut-out-binning of same in a few specific regions and thus the relative overabundance or paucity of power pop in particular regions. Seriously.

But today, I want to talk about my new bandcrush: Vegas With Randolph from Fairfax, VA.

Now, I openly admit that part of me will always be thirteen where music is concerned: I have a remarkable ability to turn off my inner grownup when the song is catchy enough. But dig this adult love song, which positively shimmers. IMHO. (How much do we love that she's there all the time?)



(Well, hell. I can't figure out the letterbox thing. DOuble click it and watch it at the youtube, I guess.)

The peculiar name of the band references a trip that never happened: a jaunt to Vegas with a bunch of high school buddies (including one named Randolph, natch, who promised to make the trip colorful): as the trip approached, Randolph backed out. So they called the band after "the great misadventure that never was." The actual Randolph does wear his VWR t-shirt, they assure us in a recent interview.

They've been a band for about five years, but the songwriting partnership at the center of the band, John Ratts and Eric Kern, have been friends of many years' standing. They record in their home studio and self-produce; they're focused on writing and recording now as opposed to playing out much, though dates are promised once the second full-length CD is out this fall. (Kid C, I can crash on your couch, right?)

They cite as influences bands like Fountains of Wayne, so you know they're on the right track. And VWR has been known to hit that kind of tough balance FOW does in their best stuff: ironic self-deprecation without sneering. Consider, for example, the charmingly confessional "Marisa":



And indeed, who among us is not? Hell, I'm a straight woman, and I love her.

Probably my favorite VWR song is one that embodies all too well why you all have seen so little of me recently. No video for this one (yet), but it's on FB at their page, and on iTunes and Amazon and every place we look for music. I offer a sample lyric from the sublimely energized "Some Time to Live":

he gets up every morning at 6:30
so he can beat the traffic
try to get to work early
he starts in on the first thing
but soon gets interrupted
by the time he's had some coffee
he's discovered fourteen others
well he's not back to that first thing
by the time his friends are leaving
so another time this week
he'll be staying through the evening again

he don't mind going early
he don't mind working late
he don't mind all the effort he gives
but he just wants some time to live

well they're not sure how it happened
but they barely see each other
with the groceries and the drop-offs
and the trying to be a mother
there's a meeting and a party
and a possible connection
then a visit to the doctor
for a bronchial infection
and the air conditioner's busted
so the baby's always crying
yeah they're both so busy running
that they feel their life is flying away

well they're fine with the cooking
and the driving and the parties
and there's nothing they won't do
for their kids
but they just want some time to live

The only complaint: sometimes this one cuts a little too close to home, you know? But as soon as I heard this song, I immediately went out and bought everything they've released. Because I'm just that kind of geek.

And it would be remiss not to mention that they have kids' songs, which, of course, my kids love (though, thankfully, they are past the sippy-cup stage).

We'll keep you posted here about any VWR news we get, too. Enjoy!

Weekend (Not Actually a) Listomania: Special Classic Rot Edition

Sorry guys, I'm just totally jammed up with real-world writing assignments, so no Listomania this week. Again. God, I feel like such a slacker. Anyway, the Burton Cummings' "No Time" clue should make sense now.

Meanwhile, I chanced across this outtake from the 1964 Rolling Stones' EP Got Live If You Want It the other day, said EP being on my short list of greatest live recordings of anybody in the history of recorded music. An abbreviated, but to my ears not at all perfunctory, runthrough of Amos Milburn's "Down the Road Apiece."




And so I leave you with a question for the weekend:

The Rolling Stones -- truly the greatest rock band in the world, or just a bunch of overrated Boomer icons who stole everything they knew from a bunch of black people with far more talent.

Discuss.

[Shameless Blogwhore: My weekend Cinema Listomania -- theme: horror/fantasy/sci-fi film that either cries out for a modern remake or that you TOTALLY hope will never be remade -- is now up over at Box Office. Hey -- it pays the bills. In any case, if you could find a minute to head over there and leave a comment, I'd be eternally in your debt. Thanks.]