And speaking as we were yesterday of Beatles-related frontispieces, it occurred to me -- and I must confess to being surprised -- that we've never tackled the subject of album covers in any of our weekend excursions over the years.
I know, I know, it seems unlikely, even given my widely celebrated lack of imagination, but it's true. Seriously -- I did the research.
So, of course, this leads us, inexorably, to today's business. To wit:
...and your favorite (or least favorite) album cover on a post-Elvis LP in any genre -- pop, rock, soul, country, jazz, comedy, original cast/soundtrack or classical(!) -- is...???
Discuss.
No arbitrary rules whatsoever, but for obvious reasons -- particularly that, post-Sgt. Pepper, the album cover had pretensions of being an art form -- I think we should restrict it to the pre-CD era. I mean, top of my head, I can't think of many small-scale covers that have made much of an impression on me in the last couple of decades. But your mileage may vary, of course, so I'm not gonna be a Hitler Jr. on the subject.
Oh, and in case you're wondering, my favorites are a four-way tie.
Beginning with this splendidly tacky example of 50s/60's classical cheesecake.
Yes, I said classical cheesecake. Trust me, it was a real genre, usually represented on stuff from the smaller, indie, classical labels. I should add that there were countless LP versions of this Rimsky-Korsakov warhorse that were similarly (and some a little more daringly) art-directed than the above. (Think: boobs.)
And then there's this one, which speaks for itself.
And this, which I think remains the most evocative and best art-directed album cover of all freaking time. I mean, really -- forgetting the layout and typography of the thing, I can hear the music and feel the Manhattan summer heat just looking at it.
And then, of course, there's this masterpiece.
What -- you seriously thought I wasn't gonna include something by a band I was in? It is to laugh. 😎
I should add that the above is currently hanging, framed, on the wall of my local Forest Hills watering hole the Keuka Kafe.
If you're in the neighborhood, drop by to ogle it and have the pierogies. Tell 'em PowerPop sent you.
In July 1964, the Beatles made a triumphant return to Stockholm, Sweden, after their February debut in America. They had been there nine months earlier on tour, where they had been greeted at the airport by only a few dozen fans.
The Fab Four took this in stride, seeing an opportunity to connect with their Swedish fans. However, when they returned, the airport was flooded with thousands of people. Par for the course after the Beatles’ big Ed Sullivan debut.
Among their fans that day was Roger Wallis, a British-born musician and researcher. In 1964, he was a member of the student brass band at the Stockholm School of Economics. The group called themselves Mercblecket, and Wallis often sang and arranged the music for the group.
Wallis managed to speak with Paul McCartney, and after chatting, he shared a copy of Mercblecket’s EP. Titled Mercblecket Beats the Beatles, the EP featured four covers of Beatles songs. It included “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” “This Boy,” “All My Loving,” and “I Saw Her Standing There.”
The cover of Mercblecket’s EP is eerily similar to the cover of the Beatles’ 1967 album Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. The group dressed in marching band uniforms and posed around a bass drum. The Beatles, in turn, seemingly recreated this on the Sgt. Pepper cover.
However, many Beatles fans have pointed out that there are more specific references and allusions in the Sgt. Pepper cover. This is most likely more than just a reference to a Swedish brass band. Still, the coincidence is hard to ignore.
In footage taken at the time of the Beatles’ arrival in Stockholm, it’s clear that Mercblecket were in attendance at the airport. Dressed in their uniforms, the brass band regaled the Fab Four with tunes as they exited the plane.
While the similar cover art is probably just a coincidence, many have speculated that Paul McCartney could have had the image in mind when he conceived the original sketch. McCartney was the first to receive the EP, after all.
From 2003, and the soundtrack to Not Another Teen Comedy, please enjoy power-popsters Phantom Planet -- featuring Wes Anderson rep company actor Jason Schwarzman on drums -- and the cover of Jackson Browne's "Sombody's Baby" I always heard in my head.
Seriously, I've loved that song since it first appeared (ironically enough on the 1982 soundtrack to Fast Times at Ridgemont High) but I always thought Jackson's version could have rocked a little harder. In any case, somehow I managed to completely miss the above (which is transplendent) until I stumbled on it last weekend, and I would just like to thank all you bastids for not hipping me to it earlier.
Okay, this strikes me as thoroughly unlikely but it is nonetheless true: The Floor Models, i.e. the Eighties 12-string pop band I toiled with, who were world famous in Greenwich Village, have a song on a new box set from Cherry Red Records, aka the World's Coolest Label.
From the promo material:
In 1979, The Knack kicked open the doors for a global power pop explosion, and a year or so later, almost as quickly, the doors closed again, but not before a mass of their contemporaries followed them through. Soon, a bunch of others got caught up in the excitement and the record business relearned the power of guitar-driven pop - the first few years of the '80s were as exciting for power pop as the last couple of the 70s had been, and even when it returned to the underground, the music continued to flow throughout the decade.
‘I Wanna Be A Teen Again’ follows the 80s power pop explosion from its hypocentre early in the decade to its enduring late period gems, exploring both leading and lesser lights, the old hands and new talents who made it such an exciting musical happening. By the middle of the decade, the term power pop had been all but retired, but a handful of new bands found success by avoiding it, whilst new movements, including the Paisley Underground and indie pop, helped keep others alive under new brandings. All the while a small number of holdouts, the pop equivalent of the soldiers lost in the jungle after the war had ended, strove to keep the music and the name alive.
Packed with classic cuts and long-overlooked rough diamonds, and appearing at a time when new outfits like The Lemon Twigs pick through the body of 80s power pop for material and inspiration and some key artists like Redd Kross and The Bangles are celebrated in books and film, ‘I Wanna Be A Teen Again’ is a timely examination and celebration of this action-packed era and its thrilling sounds.
We're on the second disc, in between Marshall Crenshaw and Cheap Trick -- and how fabulous is that?
The set features over 75 songs, neatly alternating between hits and deep cuts from a myriad of name artists/genre faves (I can't believe we're on an album with The Bangles, Rick Springfield(!), The Go-Gos, Shoes and Eric Carmen) and obscure characters like us; you can peruse the complete track listing -- and pre-order the thing, which will be available starting July 18 -- over at the Cherry Red website HERE. I'm told there will be a booklet with extensive liner notes and lotsa cool photos, including one of the Flo Mos; I'm also informed that you'll be able to stream the set over at Spotify, and I'll keep you posted on further details as I get them.
And may I just say, and for the record (as it were) that I'm over the moon thrilled and honored that we're a part of this thing, and my only regret is that my departed bandmates -- 12 string ace Andy Pasternack, who wrote the song, and drummer Glen Robert Allen -- didn't live to see it.
PS: Oh, and here's the compilation's title song, which I must confess I was previously unfamiliar with.
Of course, I am now, unsurprisingly, totally nuts about it.
Alright kids, right now we're going to venture a little far afield from what are considered the traditional esthetic parameters of this here blog. But it's something I've wanted to do for pretty much as long as I've been your humble host, and since life is short, I'm gonna finally go for it.
I mean, what the hell...it's not like the Power Pop Police are gonna come after me.
So -- this leads us inexorably to today's business. To wit:
The greatest male vocalist, in any popular music genre, who made hit records in the second half of the 20th Century, was Nat "King" Cole.
Discuss.
And by discuss, we mean starting with yes or no, obviously.
In case you're wondering, I vote yes.
Why? Well, as you can plainly tell from that clip, Nat's magisterial phrasing and sheer vocal gorgeousness simply oozed soul, elegance and sex appeal. And he made it look and sound so easy it felt almost supernatural.
Plus, when he wanted to -- he rocked.
Fun fact: His 1957 recording of "When I Fall in Love" (i.e., the one above) reached number 4 in the UK charts in 1987, when it was re-released in reaction to a version by Rick Astley. Heh.
Okay, look, I'm being a little silly here deliberately; I'm aware that this is all subjective and that of course there's no one greatest singer (or guitarist or songwriter or group).
And "greatest"? What the hell does that even mean?
I mean, c'mon, I'm a professional.
But, and I say this as a life-long rock-and-roll chauvinist: Nat rules, okay?
So anyway, as attentive readers are aware, Shocking Blue's 1972 Live in Japan album has been a sort of Holy Dutch Asian Grail for me since forever.
Why? Because (1) the original LP version was never released in the States, and (2) for some reason it was never on CD anywhere till 2022 (on some difficult to find non-US label).
Oh, and which, BTW, you can now get from Amazon for...dig this... two hundred bucks.
I mean -- what?
Weird!!!
Anyway: While browsing some Shocking Blue videos the other day, I discovered to my delighted surprise that said album -- complete -- is now up on YouTube for free.
Je repete -- complete. For free. Can you freaking believe it?
Anywhere, here's the link and enjoy! It's actually a really good album!!!
Have I mentioned that YouTube is the contemporary version of the Library at Alexandria? 😎
From 1972, please enjoy Holland's finest -- Shocking Blue -- and their delightfully infectious but lyrically ambiguous hit "Inkpot."
I've been on a Shocking Blue kick of late, in case you hadn't noticed.
Anyway, I had never previously seen the above video until I chanced across it the other day, and musical merits aside, but may I just say, and for the record, that lead singer Mariska Veres could have had me if she'd played her cards right. I mean -- hubba hubba, as today's kids put it.
But seriously, though -- for the life of me, I can't comprehend what this inspirational verse...
Put some love in your heart
Like you put the ink in the inkpot.
Learn it and you will enjoy it baby
To put the ink in the inkpot.
...could possibly mean.
Oh well, it was recorded, after all, in a uniquely censorious era, when songwriters around the world were forced to take great pains to disquise what they were really talking about. 😎
From their sophomore (1965) album, the unimaginatively titled Volume 2, please enjoy The Beau Brummels and their slyly droll trad-Catholic classic "In Good Time."
Inspirational verse:
I'm not one to start complaining
Why am I so sour?
I'm not losing ground, I'm gaining
Why am I so sour?
Everything is going my way
Traffic's moving on the highway Don't mind eating fish on Fridays
Still I'm feeling sour
I actually owned that album solely for "You Tell Me Why," a gorgeous folk-rock ballad that's one of the great lost singles of the Sixties, but that lyric from "In Good Time" always used to make me laugh when I cranked it up in my college dorm room. I hadn't thought about it in ages, but the other day, with the recent passing of Pope Francis, it (perhaps unsurprisingly) popped into my head unbidden.
I should add that if it came on the radio now, I kinda wonder how many contemporary listeners would even get the historical reference. 😎
So as you may have noticed, I've been kind of obsessing over that 2006 list of the worst songs of all time that appeared in Blender magazine.
And I finally figured -- oh fuck, let's just go for it.
Which leads us inexorably to today's business. To wit:
...and the worst fucking song/record ever in any pop genre, from the second half of the 20th century to the present day, is...???
No arbitrary rules whatsoever, for obvious reasons, but I will say that if you advocate anything by Staff Sgt. Barry Sadler I will come to your house and kill you.
And in case you're wondering -- this is MY nominee.
And if you're wondering why, here's a 1991 column I wrote for The Magazine Formerly Known as Stereo Review that pretty much lays it out.
MY MADONNA PROBLEM (AND YOURS)
By now, apparently everybody in the world has seen Madonna's
"Justify My Love" video and formed some passionate opinion about it.
That this has happened is, to be sure, no small testament to the business smarts of the former Madonna Louise Ciccone. In fact, given that the clip is verboten on MTV, its ubiquity bespeaks a media and marketing savvy demanding serious respect from mere mortals like you and me. And frankly, all the attendant brouhaha (Censorship! The Decline of the West! Bad Haircuts!) really is sort of neat: It means that what passes for art these days can still stir up controversy.
Of course, the irony here is that the artifact in question is hardly worth all the fuss, especially by the standards of Madonna's earlier work. Face it, kids: The song itself is just a functional piece of disco erotica, and the now-notorious video simply sells it efficiently, nothing more, nothing less. Granted, "Justify"'s evocation of polymorphous perversity might be hot stuff if you've never seen a Visconti movie or Duran Duran's "Girls on Film." But otherwise it's notable solely as an indication of Ms. Ciccone's alternately pretentious and pedestrian sexual preferences (translation: she has a thing, as they used to say, for Eurosleaze). In short, no big deal.
And yet, and yet...I've been thinking a lot about Madonna of late, a chore occasioned by the release of The Immaculate Collection, her nearly complete (that is, without "Justify") video retrospective on Warner/Reprise. And the conclusion I keep reaching has kind of brought me up short, especially since it seems to be a minority view, barring Tipper Gore and a religious nut or two. The conclusion, of course, is that Madonna's most hysterical detractors actually have it right, that this woman and the messages she sends are mostly indefensible on a (gasp!) moral level.
I am, I realize, verging on Cranky Old Man territory here. Obviously, there's no law saying pop music should be spiritually uplifting. Equally obviously, much of it -- including stuff I like a lot -- isn't. That's part of pop's appeal. If singles and videos were nothing but humanist pieties with a good beat, nobody in his or her right mind would ever bother with them.
All that allowed, however, The Immaculate Collection still makes me want to take a shower when it's over, and I think I know why -- it's so nakedly, so honestly scummy. Yes, clip after clip vibrates with subtexts ranging from the distasteful to the nearly evil: porn-palace peepshows as harmless rites of passage ("Open Your Heart"), the Sixties civil-rights struggle as just another pop image to be plundered ("Like a Prayer"), heartfelt odes to unwanted pregnancy ("Papa Don't Preach"), narcissism posing as liberation ("Vogue"), untrammeled greed ("Material Girl") and on an on. And yes, individually they can be (and have been) justified with the sort of arguments (Postmodern Irony! Subversive Ambiguity! She's Only Kidding!) you'd expect to hear in This is Spinal Tap. Unfortunately, when you watch the clips back to back their cumulative impact is anything but ambiguous or ironic. You realize that this stuff is an accurate representation of one woman's sensibility (her soul, if you will), like some ghastly disco version of Advertisements for Myself.
None of this is to knock the music. It's true that if Madonna had been run over by a truck in 1985 the subsequent direction of pop would not have been altered one whit, and it's hard to imagine a young musician somewhere listening to her albums and thinking "Wow, what a cool riff. I oughtta steal it." Still, the best of her singles are, unquestionably, well crafted and damnably catchy, which is why a lot of folks -- particularly feminists and gays desperate for something politically correct to dance to -- seem so ready to overlook or reinterpret what's actually being peddled.
Well, I can sympathize with that. Lord knows there are enough records in my collection that are (at best) guilty pleasures, and I'm hardly advocating some sort of ethical litmus test for pop music. But we shouldn't pretend that this stuff is value-neutral, either. What I guess I'm really saying is, okay, sure, go home and dance all you want to The Immaculate Collection: some nights I might even do the same thing. But when we do, let's at least have the grace to hate ourselves for it in the morning.
Okay, that's my two cents. And yes, as you can tell from the above, I could nominate any number of other Madonna songs for the honor, but I'm limiting myself to just the one in the spirit of fidelity to this week's theme question.
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