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.

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!!!

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!!!

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.

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.

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.

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!!!

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.

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!!! 😎

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.

Your Monday Moment of "Pardon Me, But I'm Getting a Little Verklempt"

So the great Dick Van Dyke, who has made 99 revolutions around the Sun to date, and Coldplay frontman Chris Martin (who hasn't), have made a video together.

I'm sorry, but that's about the most touching thing I've ever seen.

Hell, I even like the song (which is from Coldplay's latest album), and I'm not by any stretch of the imagination a fan of the group.

But hey -- I really hope both Dick and yours truly are around for his next birthday.

Just to hear those guys' next collaboration, of course. 😎

Weekend Listomania: Special "Rhythm is an Outmoded Western Conception*" Audio/Video Edition

[An early version of this originally ran here in 2008, and obviously words fail me. I've rewritten a lot of it, dropped one entry and added three new ones, on the theory that the less I look like a geezer slacker, the better. In the meantime, enjoy. -- S.S.]

Well, it's Friday and you know what that means.

Yes, my Oriental arm candy/stress management expert Fah Lo Suee and I will be taking an emergency meeting with the Prince of Darkness, i.e., Satan himself. Trying to figure out what we're supposed to do now that we're living in a Retro-Nazi fascist dictorship under that weirdo Trump guy with the heavy orange make-up.

That being the case, further posting by moi will be sporadic for a day or two.

In the meantime, then, here's a hopefully fun little project for us all:

Most Memorable Drums, Drumming or Drum Simulation on a Post-Elvis Pop/Rock/Folk/Soul/R&B/Hip-Hop Record!!!

Arbitrary rules: No actual drum solos, per se, unless they're deliberately brief show-off kind of things. You know -- like two measures, tops. Fills, more than solos.

Also: No jazz or jazz-rock records need apply. And absolutely NO prog-rock or fusion. Seriously, I couldn't care less if Bill Bruford can play in 12/8 or whatever, and if you try to sneak any of that crap onto the list I will come to your house and rip your lungs out with a set of fireplace tongs.

Other than that, though, pretty much anything goes.

BTW, my own choices here, as you'll see, have more to do with sound and vibe and sheer novelty than with great drumming or any musical expertise per se.

And my Totally Top of My Head Top Ten is:

10. The Knack -- My Sharona

The quite amazing (and underrated) Bruce Gary on drums. C'mon -- that intro? It doesn't get any better.

9. The Miracles -- The Tracks of My Tears

Funk Brother Uriel Jones on drums. Those between verse breaks are just astounding in their sublety and power.

8. Esquerita -- Esquerita and the Voola

An utterly confounding record, beginning with the idea that somebody at Capitol in 1958 actually thought that this howling weirdness could be a hit. That said, although the track's mise-en-scene clearly belongs to its crazed auteur, I think we can all agree that Esquerita would have been nowhere without the credited-on-the-label drumming of Ricardo Young. Kudos and huzzahs to both of them, obviously.

7. Cozy Cole -- Topsy Parts 1 & 2

This was a double sided smash in 1958, although (as you'll note) I've always been partial to the more popular B-side, if only for the spoken introduction, delivered by Cole (one assumes) with just the right note of on-the-nod aplomb. In any case, few who've ever heard this have been able to resist the temptation to drum along with whatever utensils were immediately at hand.

6. The Beatles -- Long Tall Sally

Ringo, making the dawn come up like thunder. The fact that there are still people out there who think he couldn't play just blows my tiny mind.

5. Outkast -- Hey Ya!

Apparently, the video notwithstanding, there is no actual drummer on this, i.e. it's all programmed or computerized or whatever. Frankly, I don't care -- this is one of the most kick-ass tracks of its decade.

4. The Wonders -- Dance With Me Tonight

From That Thing You Do -- Tom Hanks simulacrum Tom Everett Scott as Guy Patterson, my favorite fictional drummer of all time is playing the clip. In real life, nobody seems to be quite sure who actually plays that killer drum part.

3. The Legendary Stardust Cowboy-- Paralyzed

A perennial candidate for worst rock record ever made, obviously, but producer T. Bone Burnett's contribution, as the song's trash-can drum soloist, can't be over-emphasized. Titular star The Ledge (as he is known to his friends) has never had backing as sympathetic.

2. The Rolling Stones -- Honest I Do

A Jimmy Reed cover, and as laid back as that entails, but seriously -- Charlie Watts plays the entire song using only one hand. I'm not making this up -- just listen to it. And if you still don't believe me, get me drunk sometimes and I'll mime to the track and prove the point.

And the numero uno assault on those pagan skins (perhaps only metaphorically) clearly is...

1. The Roues Brothers -- Gloria

For my money, the definitive live version of the Van Morrison/Them proto-punk classic. Some asshole whose name rhymes with Sleeve Nimels is on vocals; listen for history's greatest drum solo, by my hero Ed Steinberg, beginning at approximately 5:04.

Okay -- and what would YOUR choices be?

And have a great weekend, everybody!!!

[*H/T once and future Weasels drummer Michael Sorrentino, who actually said it and meant it.]

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

Okay, today we're resurrecting a tradition that the geniuses at the old SPY magazine used to refer to as "Log-Rolling In Our Time."

So -- from their 1996 album Hourly, Daily, please enjoy second greatest (after The Easybeats) Australian rock band You Am I, and their power pop masterpiece "Mr. Milk".

The short version: Sometime after that song was originally released, I happened to wander into NYCD, the fabulous record emporium on Manhattan's Upper West Side that I lived a few blocks away from. The above song was playing on the store sound system at the time, and I had no idea what it was or who had done it and it flipped me fucking out. (I mean -- is that 12-string riff the coolest or what?)

Fortunately, friend of PowerPop and proprietor of the invaluable Burning Wood blog Sal Nunziato was behind the counter at the time, and was able to provide me with the track's backstory.

Bottom line: Thanks, Sal!

Ah, those were the days, n'est-ce pas? 😎

P.S.: Oh, and by the way -- the reason I'm bringing this whole thing up?

It's because the other day Sal put up an absolutely fabulous You Am I live cover of an Easybeats song that I was previously unaware of.

So may I just say again -- thanks, Sal!!!

Hey, This Guy is Good!!!

From just now in 2024, please enjoy wonderful be-Rickenbackered Irish pop/rocker Barry J. Walsh and his absolutely killer new single "The Sound."

Attentive readers will recall I first raved about Walsh back in August; the short version is Barry used to be in a '90s Irish power pop band called The Fireflys, who were named after Groucho's character in Duck Soup, so I love him unreservedly from jump.

In any case, Barry modestly describes the above track as fading in "with a chainsaw riff before shuffling between the strut and stomp of Mod, four on the floor Northern Soul and the snark and swagger of New Wave, all the while surfing a wave of chugging guitars and stacked, heavenly Powerpop harmonies. It’s a gobstopper popsicle of a song so suck it and see."

And I couldn't agree more.

Meanwhile, you can find out more about Barry and download or stream more of his music over at Bandcamp here.

Songs I'd Forgotten Existed, Let Alone Loved (An Occasional Series): Special "In That Jingle Jangle Morning" Edition

Okay, this had totally dropped off my musical memory radar until somebody posted it on FaceBook yesterday.

From 1970, and what ultimately became the Gene Clark album Roadmaster, please enjoy all five members of the original Byrds and a single that should have been huge -- "One in a Hundred."

Okay, that's sort of my definition of gorgeous. And it's no secret that I've spent most of my adult life as an attempted artist trying to chase that sound.

Kind of like a punk twit from New Jersey version of Moby Dick, now that I think of it. 😎

It’s My Beautiful and Brilliant Girlfriend's Birthday!!!

Of course, she's better known around these precincts as A Certain Shady Dame of My Acquaintance, or BG, but you get the idea.

In any case: I love you, kiddo, and I owe you more than I can express. I mean, for starters you (literally) saved my life a few years ago.

But now a couple of footnotes.

Number One: And I don't know if I've ever mentioned this here at the blog before, but we originally bonded over the fact that we had both attended The Yardbirds' legendary 1968 concert at the Anderson Theater in New York's East Village.

I should add that while the Anderson was (if memory serves) a 3000-seater (tops), at the point in history when BG and I first met, approximately 50,000 people were already on record as claiming they'd attended that historic show. So let's just say there was a certain amount of trust involved in our hooking up.

Number Two: I have another story involving us and the Yardbirds which I don't think I've previously shared either.

(And which also -- and more importantly -- proves just what a twit your humble scribe actually is.)

The short version: Sometime in 2010, after BG and I had been an item for a while, I suddenly found myself with a lot of time on my hands (specifially, I had just parted ways with the folks at Box Office Magazine, for whom I had been doing a daily online column for a couple of years). Anyway, as a result I decided to compile a greatest hits album by The Floor Models, i.e. the '80s band I had toiled in and which never received the popular/critical acclaim I was convinced we were due.

I also had a cover concept for said theoretical CD, and since I knew that BG was a terrifically talented graphic artist, I thought I might shnorr her into doing the actual artwork for said cover.

So anyway, I took her out for dinner one evening, the idea being that I would proposition her for the job at some point. And as we were waiting for dessert, I made the following pitch.

ME: Hey toots -- so am I correct that if I wanted to do a Floor Models album cover based on the front of the Yardbirds American debut LP, all I would need is four playing-card shaped photos of me and the other guys in the Flo Mos, and then a talented designer like you could subsitute our photos where Jeff Beck et al had originally appeared?

BG: Uh sure.

ME: Great. Would you like the job?

BG: Uh sure. And you're gonna call it "Floor Your Love," right?

ME: (fainting, and falling off my chair).

Swear to god -- that title had never occured to me.

Not even once.

Have I mentioned there's a reason I call her my beautiful and brilliant girlfriend?

Anyway -- happy birthday, babe. You're the best. Period.

Weekend Listomania: Special "The Glory of the Human Voice" Edition

[This is a revised version of one of the very first Weekend Listomanias ever (I originally posted it in early 2007, which as you know is several centuries ago in dog years.) As is my wont, I have done some re-writing, substituted some different video clips, and added two new entries, in part to have something actually recorded in the current century. Enjoy!!! -- S.S.]

Okay, kids here's a fun project for us all to contemplate:

Best or Worst post-Elvis a cappella Pop/Rock/Soul/Country/Folk/Hip-Hop Harmony Song -- by which we mean either totally a cappella, or with a cool a cappella section of whatever length!!!

And also -- I don't just mean doo-wop. Group harmony is group harmony, okay?

Okay -- and my totally Top of My Head Top Ten is:

10. Pentatonix -- Video Killed the Radio Star

Wow, that sucks.

I should add that I had no idea who those clowns were till a few days ago, when a Gen Z friend of mine informed me that there was actually a big shot no-instruments band in the current larger Top 40.

In any event, they're basically Manhattan Transfer without the sincerity and the street corner soul roots. I mean -- yuck.

9. Steeleye Span -- Gaudete

I don't know what's more amazing -- the Span's stunning medieval harmonies on this or the fact that at the time it was recorded, the band were actually pop stars in England with hit records on the charts. I should add that I was lucky enough to see them do that live. Heh.

8. Petra Haden -- I Can See For Miles

The Who's power pop classic done solely with mouths turned to eleven. Utterly mind-boggling.

7. Fairport Convention -- Percy's Song

The Dylan song, and the brief acapella intro for this is one of my all time favorite things; amazingly enough, the performance gets even better as it goes along.

6. The Beatles -- Because

Of all the reasons to hate the Fabs, the fact that they were -- on top of all their other talents -- absolutely astoundingly good harmony singers may be the most plausible.

5. Big Daddy -- Eye of the Tiger

The Survivor song recast as street-corner doo-wop, as it probably always deserved. The traffic noises at the top are a particularly droll touch.

4. The Benzedrine Monks of Santa Dominica -- (Theme from) The Monkees

Big Daddy again, but doing business under a Medieval nom du chant.

3. Crosby Stills and Nash -- Find the Cost of Freedom

The a cappella at the end is pretty spine-tingling, I think. One of their better songs, although the a-side -- "Ohio" -- sent the same message somewhat more forcefully with loud guitars.

2. The Beach Boys -- Their Hearts Were Full of Spring

A straight cover of the Four Freshmen's original, but if it doesn't bring a tear to your eye, I probably don't want to know you. And this despite the immense dickitude of Mike Love.

And the number one all-time top acapella pop/rock madrigal is ----

1. Imogen Heap -- Hide and Seek

I first heard this in late 2006 when it was used in a montage at the end of an episode of the short-lived Ray Liotta TV crime show Smith, although I'm told it had also figured earlier on The O.C. In any case, I remember practically falling off the couch at the time and thinking it's the most bizarrely haunting thing I'd ever encountered. It's almost a whole new genre -- Android Doo-Wop, anybody?

Alrighty now -- what would YOUR choices be?

And have a great Thanksgiving weekend, everybody!!!

It's Turkey Day!: Special "Matthew Fisher is God" Edition

From 1969, here's the original classic lineup of Procol Harum...

......and their utterly gorgeous "Pilgrim's Progress."

Pilgrim -- get it? It's not rocket science, kids.

As long-time readers may recall, this song is something of a Thanksgiving tradition around here by now.

But in any case, I promise that if you and I and our beloved country are still with us next year -- i.e., democracy has survived the President Mediocre Columbo Villain Administration© -- we'll start a new Thanksgiving tradition, i.e., post a different song.

Meanwhile, for now, enjoy the cranberry sauce and stuffing, everybody!!!

And get ready for a Way Cool Weekend Listomania on the morrow!!!

Closed for (Brief Pre-Thanksgiving) Monkey Business

Our current troubling times got to me again. Sorry 'bout that.

That said, tomorrow will feature a wonderful traditional holiday post, and then (more importantly) Friday -- one of the best (semi-new) Weekend Listomanias evah!!!

Music to Chase Cars By

From their just released new album Unleashed (heh) -- on Rum Bar Records, where it belongs -- please enjoy Detroit punk classicists The Dogs and their utterly fab and gear remake of Eddie and the Hot Rods' glorious 1977 British hit "Do Anything You Wanna Do."

These guys have been making loud noises in the Michigan area (and elsewhere) since 1968(!), so they come by their old-school sensibilities honestly; the new album, which is highly recommended, includes an ode to the MC5's mentor "John Rock & Roll Sinclair" and in general will rock your proverbial socks off.

BTW, I should add that "Do Anything..." is one of my favorite songs from that halcyon early British punk period, and it's long baffled me why it hasn't been covered more often. I should also add, for those too young to remember, that Eddie and the Hot Rods were actually more of a pub-rock band, i.e. they were closer to Brinsley Schwarz than the Sex Pistols, but when "Do Anything..." first came out it sounded radical enough that they got away with it anyway. In fact, the original is actually fairly power pop-ish by today's standards...

...which is one of the reasons I'm so, perhaps perversely, taken with the Dogs new cover, which isn't. I mean, none of that blatantly commercial echoed guitar lick stuff for our canine friends!!!

In the meantime, you can find more things Doggie-style -- including how to purchase and/or stream the album -- over at this charming website here.

I'm Sorry, I Just Couldn't Resist

This is not a fake, BTW -- President Stupid Hitler© is actually selling crappy guitars. (That one is going for ten grand, if you're dumb enough to spring for it).

My apologies. As I suggested up top, I really couldn't help myself.

In any case, to atone, actual music having actual relevance to the raison d'etre of this here blog -- a really cool new remake of a punk/pop classic -- will appear in this space tomorrow. 😎

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 youngster-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!!!

Where Has This Record Been All My Life? (An Occasional Series): Special "Brussels Beat Rules!" Edition

From 1969 (and previously unheard by moi before last weekend) please enjoy Euro-pop obscurities Wallace Collection and their sublimely symphonic Mamas-and-Papas-ish Daydream.

Not to be confused with the Lovin' Spoonful song of the same name.

Heh.

In any case, like I said, I had never heard that until last Saturday. And why it wasn't as big a hit in the USA as it was elsewhere is beyond me. (BTW: You'll note that the melody is stolen, bigly, from Tchaikovksy and Swan Lake. Hey -- that was the kind of thing they were doing back then.)

I should add that, apparently. said record's been covered successfully on a few occasions since. In fact, the way I first encountered it was at my local Forest Hills watering hole -- the Keuka Kafe -- in an early 21st century sampled version by one of those crappy electronic acts the kids like, aka I Monster.

Which I won't link to, because I consider you all friends. 😎

Anyway, the 1969 version is still a great pop confection by any standard you care to mention, even if the group originally behind it was from Belgium.

[h/t Bekka Sakhno]

Teri Garr 1944 - 2024

Okay, like that's not the cutest thing ever?

Coming tomorrow: An astounding obscure late Sixties pop masterpiece I had no idea existed until last weekend.

Trust me -- it'll be worth the wait.

Hey, I'm So Old That I Remember When Listening to Rock 'n' Roll Really WAS an Act of Rebellion

This just slays me.

American teenagers quickly became obsessed with rock and roll, much to their parents’ alarm. But even if Mum and Dad forbade them from listening to “the Devil’s music” on the family radiogram, they quickly found ways of circumventing the ban.

In the 1950s, RentaRadio in New York rented radios to teenagers for just 35 cents an hour. You had to rent it for a minimum of three hours – more than enough time to catch Alan Freed’s late night radio show Rock ‘n’ Roll Party on WINS.

Hey, I had a transistor that I kept under my pillow for late night listening on school nights.

But I had never heard about that rental thing. Which I think is absolutely fabulous, and just so New Yawk.

Jack Jones 1938 - 2024

And speaking of whom, here he is in a truly lovely performance (on The Ed Sullivan Show in 1971) of Gordon Lightfoot's "If You Could Read My Mind."

I must confess that I had been totally unaware of that clip before last Saturday, and seriously -- call me a sentimental old fluff if you will, but if you don't find that as surprisingly touching as I do, you really need to check your meds.

Our Gen Z readers (heh) may be unaware that Jack was the son of a very popular 30's crooner/sex symbol named Allan Jones, who is remembered today mostly for his romantic lead performances in the Marx Brothers' classics A Night at the Opera and A Day at the Races. As for the younger Jones, he was pretty much my favorite Beatles-era pop singer who wasn't a rock-and-roller. He was a fixture on tv variety shows for ages, and back in the day he actually (deservedly) had at least one good hit record -- a version of the Burt Bachrach classic "Wives and Lovers," which garnered him a Grammy in 1964.

Later, of course, he sang the theme from The Love Boat, but don't worry -- I won't inflict THAT on you.

In any event, I always thought he was a very cool guy and a terrific singer, and I'm gonna use his passing as an excuse to recount one of my all time favorite show-biz stories.

So anyway, Jack was on the Sullivan show one Sunday, and during the early afternoon rehearsal (sans audience), after Jack sang his number, Ed called him over (as was his wont with performers when they were done) and ad libbed "So -- is Allan Jones still your father?"

A big laugh from the tech crew ensued (Ed was, shall we say, not known for his sense of humor) and the show's producer said "Ed -- that's hilarious. Make sure you do that when we're on air."

Jack and Ed concurred.

Cut to the actual live broadcast, in front of a genuine theater crowd, later that night.

Jack finishes his number, and Ed calls him over and the following exchange transpires.

Ed: "Hey Jack, c'mon over. That was great."

Jack: "Thank you, Ed."

Ed: [taking a beat] "So -- is your father still alive?"

I am not making that up. Man, what I wouldn't give to find a version of that on YouTube. 😎

And may I say again -- this death shit is really starting to piss me off.

La Fin de la Semaine Essay Question: Special "Don't Deface My Vinyl, Dude!" Edition

From 1965, and their totally brilliant third American LP Animal Tracks, please enjoy the aforementioned The Animals and their hilarious and totally rocking proto-rap "The Story of Bo Diddley."

Which leads us to business. To wit:

...and your favorite obscure British Invasion album track by a solo artist or group that either had hits in America or didn't is...???

I should add that the above Animals selection, which I have always found aboslutely delightful -- particularly when lead singer Eric Burdon talks about Diddley's "GORGEOUS sister" The Duchess -- was once a topic of some disagreement from my old friend Eric C. Boardman.

[That's him in the pith helmet, stage right.]

Eric once borrowed said Animals record from me when we were living across the hall from each other at a dorm in Lake Forest College in the fall of 1965.

And he returned it to me with the ball-point-pen-written phrase "completely sucks" appended after the title of said song on the back of the album sleeve.

And yes -- we're still talking to each other after all those years, BTW.

Okay -- in any event...what would YOUR choices be?

And have a great weekend, everybody!!!

Closed for Post-Vacation Monkey Business

Spending a day in bed. Normal stuff resumes tomorrow.