December 16, 2008 Earworm

What I thought was nothing more than the re-broadcasting of an old clip proved to be far more prophetic than I could have guessed when Meredith Viera yucking it up about Bette Midler's new show had me humming "Mr. Rockefeller" as I went about my morning routine. Recognizing the daily earworm at work but, unfortunately, unable to get to it due to my morning routine expanding to include five very demanding puppies who have no time for songs or my ramblings about them. Looking anxiously at the clock, I tucked it all away for the famous "later" that currently houses an awful lot things to which I've yet to get.

My mother often jokes that she erased any thoughts of me being gay because I never liked Judy Garland. She failed to note that Bette Midler's appearance on some award show or other around 1976, a giant turntable hat atop her shocking head, was just the sort of jolt a budding gay boy needs to get his head around a few facts. The next day, I ran to the store to find anything by this bizarre apparition and snagged a copy of "Songs For The New Depression", and ran home to fall in love with side one, track three; "Mr. Rockefeller".

To me, no amount of tongue in cheek can erase the beautiful sadness of this song, with its dashed dreams so beautifully played out via a one-sided telephone conversation. There's plenty of self-pity, self-entitlement, and plain old selfishness but as the anxiety in Bette's voice frantically fans the dying fire in her belly, I can't help but feel all of it right along with her.

It's to "Mr. Rockefeller" I turn when I am faced with airing number
eleventy hundred of ghastliness like "From A Distance" and "Wind Beneath My Wings", or worse, another broadcast of "Beaches"; to the bawdy broad fighting so hard for attention that she wore a turntable as a hat and somehow changed a kid's whole world.
And now that I know that, come January 9th, I will have a lot more time to get to all that later I've been storing, I hope to find a way to fan my own fires. Fortunately, I am a man of many hats, and I'm not afraid to call collect.

December 05, 2008 Earworm

It looks as though Boy George is going to have to serve some jail time thanks to his alleged imprisonment of a male escort and I can't imagine how he can survive that sort of scenario. If he does, let's hope that he has learned that inviting hustler's up to view his "art photos" is as dangerous as it is cliched.

The delirious disco flash of "Mystery Boy", a b-side much played on jukeboxes all over Baltimore back in the Club's banner year of '83, seems almost too perfect. But, it is was it is and it is the weekend so we might as well start lacing up our dancing shoes.

November 26, 2008 Earworm

We approach the designated day of thanks and, unless you are a turkey or a totally self-absorbed meanie-head, surely you can find something for which to be grateful. If not, they may want to consider the idea that they're doing something wrong. Right?

The last Stax hit by Sam & Dave is an obvious choice for today so 1968's "I Thank You" it is. Now I want everybody to get off of your seat and get your arms together and your hands together...

If that doesn't work, flip the 45 and "Wrap It Up".

November 25, 2008 Earworm

Lacking liner notes that provide lyrics, I have tried to figure out all of the lyrics to Bernard Butler's "Not Alone" for about ten years. I'm still unclear of them all and today I realized why: I can't listen to it without getting lost in the beautiful noise.

It's a kiss-off to someone, and probably the boys of Suede, but it's really about the joy to be found in the noise, and thrill of realizing that the noise is coming from you. Joy and talent, not alone. Ever.

And speaking of not alone, I became a little less alone tonight when I picked up two puppies and my gaze was returned. My expression of joy was met with expressions that could only mean one thing: "What the fuck are you?!"

Priceless.

November 18, 2008 Earworm

Our dog to human ratio skewed on Friday and even with Kmatt here for a visit, we're outnumbered. Granted, the five squeaking pups have enough to worry about just lifting their heads to eat, but their presence has dramatically altered the household, and they are in control. While we bi-peds still have the thumbs and the car keys, departures from the mothership are now carefully considered and even more carefully orchestrated, to the point that the thought of walking out the door is nerve racking.

On the other end of the spectrum, mother is holed up in a makeshift den, heat lamp and whelping box her primary surroundings, removed from any interaction with her own mother, Laney, and from her partner in crime, Mac: it's no longer the dog's life to which she's become accustomed but instinct and duty now rule her roost and she's admirable in commitment to the cause. Her brief breaks from her duties are only for necessities, augmented with a brief run through the house which appears to be an effort to confirm that the world in which she once lived still exists.

But the ones who have it the worst are Laney and Mac. Faced with a rare restriction, they stand outside the gate that guards the helpless and protector, they can only smell the air and strain to hear the cries of the strangers who have invaded their world. Realizing that they the focus has shifted to area which currently has no place for them, they act out in rude ways, demanding the attention that is normally only a palm away.

While preparing for a shower, I encountered Mac, rolling around on the spot I fill in the bed that is normally shared by all, co-mingling our scents, and alternately sighing and crying. Scooping up this 40 pound mound that usually consists of 90% canine bravado, 5% helpless puppy, and 5% indifference, I was rewarded with a rare kiss before he collapsed into fetal position, released a contented sigh, and drifted off to where ever he goes when receiving a heartfelt belly rub.

And that's why I've been singing Sinead O'Connor's "I Want Your (Hands On Me)" all morning.

November 12, 2008 Earworm

With all this Angels stuff going around my head, it was only a matter of time that Bobby Vee would rear his well-coiffed head via "Walkin' With My Angel". Bless his heart, he starts off trying to sound his butch best, even working up a nice little growl. But Bobby never was one for swinging pipe and within seconds he's strolling onto the set of some b-movie musical, waiting for an off-screen toss of a top hat and cane. As usual, the strings don't help his effort to walk like a big dog. But "Walkin' With My Angel" is an ace Goffin-King song and even it's being relegated to b-side of "Run To Him" couldn't keep it from charting at a respectable #53 in '61.

Four years later, Herman's Hermits would record "Walkin' With My Angel" for the b-side of their cover of "Silhouettes". It didn't chart but the boys managed to sound tougher than Bobby.

You know you got trouble when you've been out-butched by Peter Noone...

November 11, 2008 Earworm

Due to my recent relapse with Facebook, I find myself communicating with people I've not spoken with since the last dance at the Senior Prom. It's been fun to discover who I have absolutely nothing in common with now that the books are closed and surprising to find those with whom I had nothing in common aside from mutual friends who shared actually shared the same passions that we never got around to discussing.

The status of a friend of friend recently read that she was attending the Vocal Group Hall of Fame event. Surprised to find a potential kindred spirit and green with envy, I commented on her status, she commented back, and an instant message dialogue proved necessary. She was as surprised by my interest in the event as I had been with hers and a casual remark about being the step-daughter of one of The Angels briefly stopped my heart. I asked, "Is your step-mother Peggy?", and, after a brief moment, she replied, "Yup!".

I promptly became a slobbering fan, blabbering on about how much I love "Give Her Up (Baby)" and "Beggin'" and, when she had the chance, she replied, "Wow, you really know your stuff. Do you want some autographs from the event?" Needless to say, my answer was yes.

Since then, I've been constantly playing The Angels' follow up to "My Boyfriend's Back", the criminally overlooked "I Adore Him". How the country could resist this cheer leading for the dysfunctional relationship is beyond me, I can barely get through the thing with searching for a set of pom-poms. Peggy sounds as young as spring and maybe as horny. As always, there's something in that girl's delivery that suggests more than she says, that the love she gets when she's alone with him may be more than the hand holding variety that parents hoped for their daughters, and that it is flat out awesome.

Why else would she put up with this jerk?

November 07, 2008 Earworm

I don't know about the rest of you but I'm exhausted. Hours of rigidly hanging off the edge of my ashtray with one hand clinging to my facebook, and preparing to be the angriest voter in the world while hoping for the best takes a lot of a guy. Then, the celebration, followed by attempts at discretion - no need to be obnoxious about it, right - leading to clandestine hugs and jumping up and down... Oh, and then there's the day job.

What a week.

And now the weekend. The usual chores, friends' house for dinner, a possible reunion, and preparations for the arrival of Kmatt should keep me busy enough to lead me right back to exhausted. Life goes on during the holding pattern, so go we must.

To cap the weekend, I'm going with Tommy James & The Shondells' follow up to "Crimson And Clover", "Sweet Cherry Wine". One, because it's just groovy enough to match how I feel, yet not too pushy. Two, because Callie said, "When was the last time you heard "Sweet Cherry Wine", the other day and then seemed surprised when I replied, "Last weekend". This, in turn, surprised me because I thought every home had a copy of "The Best of"... even if it's on vinyl.

Anyway, have a great weekend.

November 06, 2008 Earworm

The Fonz was nowhere in sight when I woke up with my internal jukebox on the fritz. No song in the head. Nothing. Nada. I began to wonder if Dan had been slipping Prozac in my Pepsi. The morning news failed to turn it on and even some catty swipes at Beyonce's magic wig cabinet didn't do the trick. Fortunately, Jimmy LouWho mentioned that he'd been listening to Charley Pride at the same moment that another image of Barack Obama hit the tv screen.

"Didn't he do "Kiss An Angel Good Morning"?
"Yep"

Perfect. Charley was a first, too.

After a good start as a pitcher for the American Negro League's Memphis Red Sox, he signed with the C farm team of the New York Yankees where an arm injury lessened his chance for the big league. In 1958 he paid a visit to Sun Records and recorded a few tracks, none of which were released at the time, with only one surviving for posterity. After two years in the army, he tried to return to baseball but, with diminishing returns in that field, he began to focus on a career in music.

By the time he caught the ear of Chet Atkins it was 1966, a time when no African-Americans could get traction in that market. His first few singles were credited to "Country Charley Pride", perhaps to convince disc jockeys that the only thing black about his records was the RCA label. It took three singles to get Charley a major hit and "Just Between You And Me" made him a Grammy winner and the first non-white face to appear at The Grand Ole Opry.

Four years and thirteen top ten country hits later, seven of them number ones, "Kiss An Angel Good Morning" became his eighth country chart topper and the long awaited big cross over to the pop charts, where the single peaked at #21. To be honest, I hated it at the time which is probably why I am surprised to learn that it wasn't a number one. I remember it as being inescapable for years. Listening to it now, it's obvious that producer Jack Clement - who probably had met Charley at those earlier Sun sessions - managed to capture a large helping of happy thoughts on the tapes, creating what has to be the country equivalent of bubble gum music.

Charley never hit the upper reaches of the pop chart again but his trail of country top tens would continue for another twelve years, proving the strength of his fan base. I, however, don't recognize any of them.

Thanks for the kick, Jim.

November 05, 2008 Earworm

Forty-four years after it inadvertently became a call to action, the dream has become a reality, and that alone is reason for "Dancing In The Streets". But let's not get carried away, fixating on the accomplishment of one goal while forgetting all that needs to be done. The truth is, it's not that we needed a change, it's that change has to happen. Now, change must be clearly defined and that, my swinging friends, is the challenge before us.

Now, back to dancing... even you, Arkansas and Florida. Maybe you'll find the beat, heed the call, and drag yourselves into this century.

November 04, 2008 Earworm

The Beastie Boys' "Fight For Your Right" is the earworm for today. Now get 'em up! It's your party, help plan it.

November 03, 2008 Earworm

Having been reprimanded for being a bit "over" the endless dissection of what the polls mean, what the candidate meant, and what they are or are not, I concede to the fact that it is quite amazing to see so many talking about so much. Still, with so many people talking, there's a lot who have obviously done no more than listen to what so and so said about this and that or worse, forwarding emails full of details that are obviously false without bothering to see if any of it is true. Is it really that difficult to download the Google tool bar? I mean, if you are that impressed with your candidate, wouldn't you know that he didn't spend twenty-two years in the military? Everyone is so busy "getting the word out" that they don't even bother to read.

I try to keep the idea that everyone wants what they think is best for their country, but it's become more and more apparent that it's not just children that should be seen and not heard. I'm referring to both sides of the aisle now because even I'm a little tired of Obama as the second coming.

The truth is, no matter who gets this E-ticket, it's going to be one crazy ride and it's not going to be easy to fix things while their hands are up in the air, trying not to scream. So strap yourself in and get over yourself, we're all in it together and I'm pretty sure that we're going to need everyone's help in fixing this rode hard and put up wet clusterfuck that is the United States of America.

Oh... the song of the day is "I'll Hold Out My Hand" by The Clique and even if you hate the idea of a clique, when one holds out it's hand to you, the least you can do is shake it. It's just common decency. And doesn't everyone think that they are a decent person?

October 31, 2008 Earworm

There are pages and pages of returns when you google Jack Kittel but very little information about the loose screw who recorded "Psycho" in 1974. Liner notes from Ace's "Dead! The Grim Reaper's Greatest Hits" says that he is/was from Michigan and that's about all that I can find.

"Psycho" was written by Leon Payne and originally recorded by Eddie Noack in 1968. It received no airplay and immediately became one of those titles prefaced with "Hey, did you ever a hear a song called...". Jack Kittel released his version six years later on Atlanta's own GRC label, home to Sammy John's blandly licentious "Chevy Van". From what I've read, everyone seems to be in agreement that Jack's straight-faced delivery makes it the choice of choice, besting a cover by Elvis Costello during his almost blue period. It also makes a perfect antidote to the equally ghastly "The Christmas Shoes"

"Psycho" is disturbing enough but its full creep credentials are found outside of the grooves and in the story of GRC label owner, Michael Thevis, known as "The Scarface of Porn", who started the label in an attempt to hide his more illicit gains. Read more about Michael Thevis and you'll see what I mean.

Have a devilish weekend.

October 30, 2008 Earworm

Two years after I left, a few haphazardly thrown punches were strong enough to create a wave of repercussions that sent me and mine out into the increasingly chilly air of fall and back to Charles Village, this time to the north west corner, where a pair of girls gave us shelter while we figured out the next step. It would prove to be an insular time as it was too cold to walk to our usual nightlife in Mt. Vernon and everything we needed could be found within walking distance of our block of Charles and 33rd. The corner WaWa provided soda and cigarettes, an independent grocery across the street lost inventory to an increasingly brazen "help ourselves" attitude, and second hand bookstores catering to the Hopkins crowd fed our heads. I know, and well remember, many excursions outside of the neighborhood yet the most vivid memories of that time take place in the few blocks that surrounded a one bedroom apartment housing five not quite kids, working elaborate schemes to amuse ourselves, planning world domination, and playing "Spades" by Lulu Kiss Me Dead.

One was never there and when she was, had to have recognized that she would forever be a peripheral - a fact sadly proven when we realized that the handwriting on all the correspondence from her boyfriend was strikingly similar to her own; two was going to be a teacher, the sort that kids remember for the rest of their lives; three was going to design clothes that, at that time inspired by two, would save the figures not found in fashion magazines from the cut rate look found on most racks; four, also taking temporary shelter, wanted to be the figure found in fashion magazines but would never admit it, and me, who sat and watched and wondered where I would fit in, grasping at the idea of being a photo stylist in an attempt to be needed and to keep the gang together.

We didn't have money to eat but we always had cigarettes and the latest issue of Vogue - the US, British, and Italian editions, and thanks to two's stint on the college radio, the newest import records were taped from the radio, her playlist becoming our group letter to Santa Claus. Looking back, some of us think that this is how "Spades" came in to our lives but I'm still not sure; in my memory it was there from the beginning, a theme for three and me, the words "all I feel is all too much" always in my head as a declaration of my romantic nature while its negative implications were left unexamined, the irony of its constant query of "who are you" not yet realized.

Pushed by the point of Sartre's "No Exit" and fueled by the absurdity of Kopit and Albee, we plotted telethons for the sartorially challenged, with "Jewels For Jews" and "Fashions For Fags" being our favorites as they were created for our own benefit. The floor of the furniture-less living room was where everything was started and nothing but packs of cigarettes was finished, perpetually littered with records and books and scraps of paper full of ideas no longer as great as they had been before the pencil hit the paper. We were so busy plotting the first step up the ladder of success that we never managed to get off the ground. We were so enthralled by the idea of our renaissance that we ignored the basic science of survival and reality would pull the plug on our enclave. On New Year's Eve we closed the door for the last time, the living room floor that was once littered with our ambition, now gleaming like all of our ideas and as equally unfulfilled. The girls all went their separate ways, leaving me and mine walking down Charles Street in the snow, assuring each other that the new year would be better, clueless as to how, not bothering to define the comparison.

October 29, 2008 Earworm

Delusions, myths, and flat out lies run rampant in Rilo Kiley's "Dreamworld" so it's no surprise to find it stuck in my head as the hyperbole grows louder, the frenzy intensifies, and the lines linger longer. Fortunately, there is a glimmer of hope in the subtext and a shimmer of Lindsey Buckingham in the production: without it, a guy could grow cynical...

October 28, 2008 Earworm

After watching the faces of fellow listeners for more than two decades, it's become obvious that "If being strong is what you want, than I need help here with this feather" is the arrow to the heart lyric for a majority of the fans of The Replacements' "Swinging Party". It's simple, it's painfully honest, and it's delivered without an ounce of self-pity or opportunity for useless arguing. The image it conjures is perfect in capturing the inertia felt by so many who came of age in the eighties.


However, it only describes the symptom and to find the cause, we move to the second verse: "Pound the prairie pavement, losin' proposition, quittin' school and goin' to work and never goin' fishin', water all around, never learnin' how to swim now." It's there that Paul Westerberg succinctly describes what was, what wasn't, and what seems unlikely to be: reminding everyone that even the simplest childhood dreams don't come true for everyone. Deftly using swimming as a childhood rite of passage, he reminds us that he is barely treading water in adolescence and that he will probably drown in the sea of expectations of adulthood. "Swinging Party", for better or for worse is the latch-key kids' anthem.

Early fans of The Replacements were quick to sell out when the band began to expand their sound but if "Swinging Party" is the product, the price was well worth it. I suspect that those same fans were the ones who drowned, who acknowledged only the symptom, who failed to explore the cause.

October 27, 2008 Earworm

The Satisfactions' ode to a biker boy, "Daddy You Just Gotta Let Him In", is revered by girl group fans around the world but for me, the flip-side, "Bring It All Down", is their shining moment. Written in 1966 by Bob "Elusive Butterfly" Lind for Cher - who turned it down - "Bring It All Down" is a wordy rebuke; a warning of the shelf-life of fame, and the danger in believing the words of one's sychophants. In the hands of Sonny Bono - and the mouth of Cher - it's highly doubtful that their version would have turned out as tender, thereby turning the words into a lecture that probably would have gone ignored. Jack gives his wife, Gracia, a comfortable cloud to sit upon as she addresses the head attached to the person bound to fall, an angelic choir to back up her words, a light string line waits to soften the landing, and a stunning yet simple ending that suggests that the mission was accomplished.

Listen up, Superman, and presidential candidates, too.

October 24, 2008 Earworm

The Clique came from Austin, Texas, and were brought to the attention of the White Whale Records owners via a lawyer who happened to have an office in the same building. Under the production wing of sunshine-Meister Gary Zekley, they released a cover of Tommy James and The Shondells' "Sugar On Sunday", neither improving upon nor detracting from an already perfect album track. It must have done well in the Baltimore area because it was a 45 that I would see in the collection of every friend's parents, and my own. Already familiar with The Shondells' version, I took more of a shine to the flipside as most little boys encountering a song called "Superman" will.

Why this adenoidal treasure was relegated to b-side status at the height of the nasal propelled yummyyummyyummychewychewy era is a mystery but the song, if not the band, would be given its chance to fly with a cover by REM that neither improved upon nor detracted from the original. That it did not inspire me to tie a towel around my neck should not be held against it as I'd simply found other means of elevation by that time.

Have a super weekend.

October 23, 2008 Earworm

The Beach Boys' "All I Wanna Do" sounds like it was recorded in a cavern slowly filling with rain. It also sounds like a tear in the time/space continuum where sixties sunshine pop shook hands with eighties revivalism and then graciously introduced nineties britpop: I can't imagine what Mercury Rev would sound like without this record.

The lyric to "All I Wanna Do" was written by Mike "That's 'MR. DOUCHEBAG' to you, fella" Love which proves that transcendental meditation could be inspirational, if not completely successful in cleansing a vinegar and water spirit. To be honest, I would have thought it was written by Dennis but that may have been just for fantasy fodder.

"All I Wanna Do" was on 1970's "Sunflower", an album that proved to be a low point in their commercial appeal and the critics weren't too kind, either. Fortunately, time has shown "Sunflower" respect for it's uncluttered, soulful sound and was recently ranked at #380 in Rolling Stone's list of the 500 greatest albums of all times. More important, for an all too brief time, "All I Wanna Do" allows me to believe that heaven and earth and peace and love are simultaneously within reach and that Mike Love is more than an asshole. And that, folks, is a miraculous achievement.

October 21, 2008 Earworm

Dee Dee Warwick, sister of Dionne, niece of Cissy Houston, cousin to Whitney, had five entries on the Hot 100 but never managed to reach the Top 40 or the conscious of the general public, despite two Grammy nominations and first dibs on two songs now considered to be standards.

As a member of the Drinkard Sisters, her voice backed some of the most enduring pop tracks of the early sixties and, following Dionne's entry into the soft focus spotlight of Burt Bacharach, Leiber and Stoller put her up front for the only version of Clint Ballard's "You're No Good" where the singer sounds as though she means what she is saying. There is nothing soft about Dee Dee's record, it's minimal arrangement is all jab and punch with a piss-off vocal that is double-tracked for maximum damage. It's the sound of a woman scorned and it is clear that it's best not to argue.

To my ear, Dee Dee was best served by Leiber and Stoller - the follow-up, "Standing By", is another scorcher - because they understood the power of that voice and were savvy in shoring it up. Too often, her later records - the Blue Rock/Mercury releases - tended to wobble under the weight of her ferocious delivery, unable to back up what she was laying down and when they did - "I Want To Be With You", her biggest R&B hit - the result sounded a few years beyond it's sell date. Still, I never doubt her sincerity and that's what keeps me listening.