La Fin de la Semaine Essay Question: Special "Everybody's in Show-Biz" Edition

First of all, a little news.

As I suggested earlier this week, my brilliant new single...

...will in fact finally be available on multiple streaming services -- along with the previously mentioned Bandcamp, Soundcloud, YouTube and Amazon -- beginning tomorrow.

I'm talking Deezer, Pandora, Tidal, IHeart Radio and the rest of those younster-friendly favorites.

I should add that I've had a limited number of actual physical CDs (with printed labels and genuine front covers) run off, and depending on who you are and how much you're willing to shell out, those aspiring collector's items will also be available. Lemme know if you're interested.

Ain't life as a rock star grand?

Anyway, that leads us to the next couple of days' business. To wit:

...and your favorite or least favorite post-Elvis recording of a song by someone NOT mostly famous because of their musical skills is...?

Here are mine. Starting with the hit by Zach, who's one of my all-time heroes.

And also this post-Watergate fave (which seems oddly pertinent now, for obvious reasons).

I realize this is a sort of cheap way of discussing all that Golden Throats stuff, but there are, in fact, some actually good tracks out there by famous folks who had unsuspected musical talent.

You know -- kinda like me. 😎

Alrighty then -- what would YOUR choices be?

And have a great weekend, everybody!!!

Nancy's Record Collection (And Mine): An Occasional Series

From 1994 and his debut solo album Soma City, please enjoy downtown guitar god Kevin Salem and his astoundingly brilliant "Lighthouse Keeper."

Seriously -- that's as perfect a guitar-riff-driven should-have-been smash single as I've ever heard.

I should add that when the album/single (I believe it was on Roadrunner Records) first came out, my brilliant friend and then colleague at Stereo Review Glenn Kenny took me aside and said (I'm paraphrasing) -- "Dude, if you like Television [the band], you're gonna dig the shit out of this one."

Boy, was he right. 😎

A Child's Garden of Kinks

And speaking as we were yesterday of Face to Face, i.e. the Shel Talmy-produced 1966 masterpiece by that quartet from Muswell Hill, please enjoy the opening spoken intro (celebrating a now vanished communication technology) to the album's infectious lead off track "Party Line."

I should add that said spoken intro is provided by the bands' then co-manager Robert Wace. Apparently -- according to John Mendelssohn's sadly out of print 1984 bio The Kinks Kronikles -- Wace was, as they say extremely posh, and the band was known to make merciless class-based fun of the guy behind his back.

I should also add that the aforementioned intro is now the ring-tone for the phone of a certain Shady Dame of my acquaintance.

And speaking (again) of Face to Face, I would like to go on record (heh) as saying that its accompanying back-cover essay is, IMHO, the single most evocative piece of writing ever to accompany the posterior of an LP sleeve. Here it is for your enjoyment.

It has been said by mercenary-minded persons that upon setting out along life's road the bread, the filthy lucre of W. Shakespeare of highly regarded memory, would seem to be the thing to go for.

So if you accept the opinion of these aforesaid persons in the spirit in which it is given and get cracking you get the loot.

So what next?

So far on your passage through this vale of tears you have been a hick, a nothing and an unheralded nobody. To be a well respected man must be your next aim, and with the loot in your pocket and the wicked world being what it is, you become a well respected personage ere you know it.

Then comes dedication to the dictates of fashion. The Carnaby Street. The striped natty suiting. Touches of velvet upon the collar. Touches of lace upon the underwear.

And of course ties of polka dot and Persian-originated Paisley pattern.

Next? Country house, yacht, powered by sail and/or steam, with the motor car in lurid colour and with white walls to its wheels smiling in the golden gravel drive.

Ladies of course. Ladies with long legs and little bosom, hair the colour of corn, very mini, very skinny dresses. Status symbol ladies with rich dark sheen in the depths of the skin.

Dwindling in the end to one lady, one Special who gets in among the soul.

The trouble being that the perfect woman becomes a bore, like having Venus de Milo constantly upon one's hands.

As if this is not enough, fate flings its last custard pie.

The taxman cometh.

And you are left with the glass of ice cold beer, and the sun on the uplands with dappled shadows and all, which is much better, as the poet has it, than a poke up the nostril with a burnt stick.

(Now read on).

Raymond Douglas Davies, a musician, not forgetting David, his hith and kin,

Peter Quaife, bass guitar who once wrote a story about an embarrasing affliction from which Ray's grandfather suffered for over forty years,

And Michael Avory, drummer and the possessor of four shoes, two for each foot,

have continued the story. And stories parallel to his sad one.

About the frustration of the telephone, About rainy days and sunny days, about sessions men and dark ladies, about P.V.C. grass skirts in Waikiki, about memories, and dandies, and most of all about the breadwinner who was in the beginning, who lost all, sold his most exclusive residence, and passes into the bosom of his fathers. -- Frank Smyth

Wow. That's just lovely; in fact, I can't think of another jacket essay even half as perceptive, funny and poetic.

BTW, I'd long assumed that "Frank Smyth" was a pen name, but as it it turns out, he was a real person, i.e. a long-time publicist for the band. According to a posting Ray did at a Kinks fan board I discovered in 2011, when I first posted a version of this, the head Kink had lost track of him (after dismissing Smyth and a partner over some imagined slight circa "Lola"), but around the time of Ray's late 90s The Storyteller tour, he tried to get in touch with the guy -- to verify some 60s stories -- only to find that he had just died.

I was also surprised, recently, to learn that Ray absolutely hated the album cover back in the day; thought it was too psychedelic or something. That's as may be -- it certainly has a Yellow Submarine vibe -- but I still think, as I did in 1966, that it's utterly charming and apt. No idea who the artist was, however, so if any of you readers can help me out here...

Shel Talmy 1937--2024

Oh, damn. This guy produced sooooo many of my all-time favorite songs and albums. Classics by The Who, The Kinks, The Easybeats...the list is semi-endless.

Hell, if for nothing else than this 1966 masterpiece of an LP...

...he would deserve to be immortal.

I should add that -- and I was unaware of it until the other day -- he was also at the helm for this little gem, which has a special place in my heart, sentimental old fluff that I am.

Doesn't seem like his style, per se -- you know, like "My Generation" or "You Really Got Me" et al -- but just beautifully, beautifully crafted. A gorgeous pop record.

Okay, now I have to tell a story.

When that Chad and Jeremy song came out originally (in 1964 -- wotta year!), my long time friend and bandmate (of Weasels fame) Allan Weissman was particularly known, at least amongst our high school chums, for his song parodies. I can't remember all the hits Al rewrote satirically, but I recall he did a particular classic, featuring our 11th grade science teacher Mr. Dubin, which was set to the tune of Petula Clark's "Downtown."

Anyway, Al was later inspired to write a take-off on "A Summer Song," which we actually performed in public on a couple of occasions, and it still cracks me up. The revised lyrics (and sing along, won't you?) were...

Planes
Crashing into mountainsides
With a loss of many lives
That's what I like

Soft
Areas of baby's heads
Hit them there and they'll be dead
That's what I like

They say that all good things
Must end someday
Governments must fall
But don't you know
That I like it more
When I read in the news...
That someone got mugged last night
It serves them right

So when your aunt
Goes and takes her landlord's life
And does it with a butcher knife
That's what I like
That's what I like...

Thank you.

And thank you, Shel Talmy. You did good, sir.

Today's Comic Strip Chuckle

Rex Morgan M.D., from 11/16/2024.

Note the album cover art in the panel on the left. (If you can't quite make it out, click on the image to embiggen).

And in the meantime, here's a delightful song from the brand new(!) album in question.

Mr. Lowe still has it, obviously. 😎

And I think it's pretty cool that Rex Morgan artist Terry Beatty is a fan.

Weekend Listomania: Special "The Pen is Quieter Than the Guitar" Edition

[Okay, I originally posted a version of this in 2011 (oy gevalt). As is my wont on these occasions, I've done some rewriting and -- more important -- updated it with a couple of new entries. Enjoy. -- S.S.]

You know, some days we forget that our current fascist dictator first came to our attention through the literary medium, i.e. he had a best-selling hardcover tome called Mein Kampf.

Oops, sorry -- The Art of the Deal.

Anyway, of course, he didn't really write it and Tony Schwartz -- the guy who did write it, and who knows Stupid Hitler© better than anyone alive -- is on record as saying that Trump is a functional illiterate with a vocabulary of (at most) 700 words who has never read an entire book all the way through in his entire depraved life.

Which leads us, as you've probably suspected, to the weekend's thought experiment business.

To wit:

Best -- or Worst -- Rock Biography, Autobiography or Memoir!!!

No arbitrary rules at all, you're welcome very much, and I'm willing to give you a lot of leeway about the definition of "memoir." Also -- band bios are totally kosher in this context.

Oh wait -- there IS an arbitrary rule. You can't include either Keith Richards' or Bruce Springsteen's tell-alls. Yeah, I know they're both great, but I'm just declaring them off limits because they're way too obvious choices. So there.

And my Totally Top of My Head Top Nine is:

9. Boys Don't Lie: A History of Shoes (Mary E. Donnelly, 2013)

A love letter from a fan (the once and future Proprietress of This Here Blog) to a band, and no better group history exists. Obviously, I'm prejudiced (hey, I wrote the foreword) but I happen to be right about this.

8. The Colonel: The Extraordinary Story of Colonel Tom Parker and Elvis Presley (Alanna Nash, 2014)

I wasn't a huge fan of Baz Luhrman's Elvis bio-pic (heh), but say what you will, it got the historical stuff more or less accurately. And the main reason it did is because it was largely and, er, unofficially -- what's the word I'm looking for? inspired? based? -- on my friend and colleague Alanna Nash's splendidly researched-and-written book about El and his sleaze-ball manager. Required reading for anybody who claims to understand the roots of American pop music in the immediate post-WW II years.

I should add that Alanna's one of the most brilliant, and nicest, folks I ever encountered as a result of my tenure at Stereo Review. Hi, Alanna!!! 😎

7. I Slept With Joey Ramone (Mickey Leigh, with Legs McNeil, 2009)

In case you hadn't heard, Mickey Leigh is Joey's kid brother and a genuine musical talent on his own. I figured I already knew everything I needed to know about The Ramones, but as it turns out I was wrong, and then some. Which is to say that Leigh's book is both a fascinating account of the birth of punk rock and a funny and ultimately very touching account of one the great sibling rivalries of our time. Highly recommended, even if you never went to CBGBs.

6. Time Between: My Life as a Byrd, Burrito Brother, and Beyond (Chris Hillman, 2020)

One of the best rock memoirs ever. In the sense that a) Hillman turns out to be a really good writer, and b) that even before he gets around to the music stuff, the chapters on his childhood (in Hillman's case, in Rancho Santa Fe California) are absolutely engrossing and evocative. Note to Byrds fans: Chris gives the true fact lowdown on the real life character who inspired his great Byrds song "Old John Robertson," which in itself is worth the price of admission.

5. Wouldn't It Be Nice (Brian Wilson, with Todd Gold, 1988)

Not really bad, as these things go, i.e. it sounds like Brian's voice. But the pernicious influence of the head Beach Boys' probably evil shrink/adviser/claimer of songwriting credits Eugene Landy is all over it, and after a while you just want to find the guy and smack him.

4. Papa John (John Phillips, 1986)

A very creepy book by an apparently very creepy guy. I read this when it first came out, i.e. years before the really disquieting stuff alleged by daughter McKenzie became public, and even then there were long stretches of the thing where I felt like I needed to take a shower after finishing them.

3. Unsung Heroes of Rock 'n Roll (Nick Tosches, 1985)

Maybe not the best book ever written about rock, but certainly the funniest; Tosches deserves secular sainthood for the chapter on Jimmy "Rocket in His Pocket" Logsdon alone. I should also add that if you haven't read Dino -- his absolutely astounding portrait of the black hole of nullity that was Dean Martin -- you need to get over to your favorite local bookstore pronto.

2. The Lives of John Lennon (Albert Goldman, 1988).

Having deliberately and inaccurately attributed a racist remark to Sam Phillips in his earlier Elvis biography, thus inserting a bogus element of bigotry into the very moment of the birth of rock 'n' roll, the now mercifully forgotten Goldman was moved to pen a life of the martyred Beatle whose theme -- reiterated endlessly -- is that its author has a larger penis than the subject of his research. Truly, one of the most loathsome misuses of dead tree products in the history of publishing.

And the number one best rock literary ego-trip -- c'mon, you just knew this was going to be the clincher -- is...

1. The Simels Report (Steve Simels, [hopefully] 2025)

My combination greatest hits anthology and memoir, and trust me, it's brilliant. My New Year's Resolution is that I'm gonna sell this to a big time publisher, but if god forbid I can't pull that off, I promise you guys I'll get it on-line in some form before 2026, if only to soothe my ego.

Alrighty then -- what would YOUR choices be?

And have a great weekend, everybody!!!

Okay, For Some Reason This Song Seems Awfully Relevant All of a Sudden

Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention, from their 1966 debut album, and one of the greatest (for want of a better phrase) topical protest songs of its era -- "Trouble Every Day."

Long time readers are aware that, while I will readily concede that Zappa was a genius, with few exceptions -- like the above -- his music gives me absolutely zero pleasure.

I should add that when I interviewed him for Stereo Review in 1979, he clearly thought I was an idiot. And I wasn't crazy about him either. 😎

Anyway, for some reason I was thinking about him this morning, and "Trouble" popped into my head. Make of that what you will.

Today's Cartoon Chuckle

I think my musician friends know the feeling. 😎

It's True -- the Masses are Clamoring for a Nasal-Voiced Jewish Rock Critic From Forest Hills Singing a Paul Westerberg Song!!!

Okay kids, please enjoy the world premiere of "I'll Be You" -- a cover of the 1989 Replacements classic -- produced and warbled by some guy whose name rhymes with Sleeve Nimels.

Oh, and it has an instrumental b-side. Which that Nimels guy not only wrote, but also plays the left and right channel guitar parts on.

As you can see, both the a-and-b sides are currently up for listening (YouTube) and purchasing (Bandcamp); the complete single will also be up elsewhere -- i.e., Spotify and the rest of the usual youngster-friendly streaming suspects -- in the next couple of days, depending on my work ethic. At some point, I'm probably gonna press up a handful of CD versions, with the actual record company label art reproduced on the disc; I'll keep you posted on that, if any of you are wacky enough to want such an artifact/collector's item.

I should add that the friends and musicians generously supporting me on this Folly of My Old Age include David Achelis, Benny Landa and J.D. Goldberg on the electric and acoustic guitars. Brent McLachlan (who engineered) is on drums. Art direction is by Joan Harrison and a certain Shady Dame of my acquaintance. Steve Schwartz, (a prince), is responsible for the YouTube transfer. (I'm on everythig else, i.e. lead vocals, bass and keyboards.)

Thanks, guys -- you did killer work, and cheap!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the thing -- it'll probably be the last recorded representation (at least that I'll share with anybody) of what I laughingly refer to as my musical career, and I gotta say, it's not horrible for a geezer.

Well, This Actually Improved My Mood

From some festival somewhere in 2014, it's Joan Jett and Slash and an utterly infectious version of The Stones song with the title you're not supposed to render accurately.

Hey, since Wednesday, I've not been a big believer in the healing power of music anymore, but the above at least made smile.

Sorry...

...I'm still coming to terms with living in Nazi Germany II: Electric Boogaloo.

Talk to you next week, maybe.

What -- I'm Supposed to Write About Something as Trivial as Crappy Pop Music at a Time Like This?

I don't think so.

Maybe Friday. But I'm not guaranteeing anything.

Words Fail Me

Sorry -- just learned we're now officially a fascist dictatorship.

Assuming I don't blow my brains out, music stuff returns on Thursday. But don't count on it.

Vote!!!

This fabulous Sha Na Na song is pretty much traditional around here on these occasions.

Have I mentioned -- vote?

Assuming we're not living in a fascist dictatorship by then, music more appropriate to the mission statement of this here blog will resume tomorrow. 😎

My Back Pages (An Occasional Series): Special "Print is Dead!" Edition

And speaking as we were last week of Warren Zevon's Exciteable Boy, here's what I had to say about it in the January 1978 issue of Stereo Review. (If you have trouble reading the below, just click on it to embiggen.)

I think that's a pisser of a review, actually, and -- unusually for me -- in retrospect I'd hardly change a word.

I should also add that I'm particularly amused by the "irony of the beholder" joke. 😎

La Fin de la Semaine Essay Question: Special "I'm Not Gonna Even Bring Up the Hall of Fame Issue" Edition

From his 1978 masterpiece Exciteable Boy, please enjoy the late great Warren Zevon and IMHO the most beautiful song from same, the haunting "Veracruz."

The reason I mention all this is because...well, okay. I'm gonna get a little verklempt here.

The short version is that Friend of PowerPop© (and moi) Phil Cheese just gifted me the greatest birthday present I've had since I don't know when.

A double album vinyl version of the aforementioned Exciteable Boy LP from Mobile Fidelity. In a pristine, never been played package, cut from the original master, and -- dig this -- pressed at 45 rpm.(!!!!!!)

I really lack the words, but I'll just say -- and you'll have to take this on faith -- that the above version of "Veracruz" sounds absolutely pathetic by comparison with what I just listened to at home thanks to Phil.

Anyway -- bless you, dude, and I owe you big time.

Which brings us now to business. To wit:

...and your favorite (or least favorite if such a thing is possible) Zevon album track (or cover version of same by another artist) is...???

Here's my nominee, in case you were wondering. For least fave.

Wow. Not really very good. But hey -- they meant well, at least.

Alrighty then -- and your choice(s) would be?

And have a great weekend, everybody!!!