Friday, November 29, 2019

Crash Course, No. 15: Battle of the Bands, Dad Rock Edition

In which, clouds, carpets and lazy dogs are "arena rock."
A couple weeks ago (now pushing three weeks), I challenged myself to choose the catalog of one band from my childhood to take with me to a desert island as the only music I would hear for the rest of my life. Here are the bands in play: Styx, Journey, REO Speedwagon, Boston, and Foreigner. Now, for a little framing.

First, why did I choose those bands? Mostly, they were what passed for cool in the American Midwest circa 1980. I’ve since discovered that they passed for cool just about everywhere: even back then and before I had a working understanding of what “big” meant, I grasped that Journey, at least, was massive. Musically, they shaped my earlier understanding of what “rock ‘n’ roll” sounded like and, to some extent, what rock stars looked like. With that, we reach a pivot.

Even though I called three of these bands my personal favorite at some point in my confused little life (for the record, Foreigner, REO Speedwagon and, yes, Styx; Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” sunk a pretty deep hook too), whatever mystique stood between me and at least four of those bands evaporated as I got older and as those bands kept putting out new albums and videos. For instance, some latent instinct told me that 3/5’s of Styx looked anything but “cool” in the video for “Too Much Time on My Hands” (e.g., white pant-suit for James J. Y. Young, the purser’s uniform for drummer John Panozzo, and…just Dennis DeYoung), while Foreigner always came off as middle-aged men singing music suited for guys in their late teens, and REO Speedwagon’s Kevin Cronin knows better than anyone that he doesn’t remotely fit the mold of a rock ‘n’ roll front-man. Between those details and a pile up of fresh inputs – e.g., the immediately mockable “Mr. Roboto,” REO Speedwagon’s pun-infused video for “One Lonely Night,” or even Foreigner’s band-breaking mega-hit, “I Want to Know What Love Is” – it became clearer with each passing year that these were popular bands, and on the cutting edge of absolutely nothing. Everyone involved had real talent, but what they put out stopped meaning anything to me by 1982. (Boston gets a pass in all this because, if I remember right, I had no sense of what they looked like – and for good reason as it turns out.)

Fast forward to today – or, more accurately, to a couple months ago – the fact that I didn’t know anything about all those bands started nagging at me. Defining as all these bands were to their era – i.e., disco, punk, funk, progressive rock, even late-early stage heavy metal all existed or matured at the same time - they occupied a fucking weird space of, for lack of a better word, normal. They were rock music for the straight world…and I still somehow worried that I missed something with one or two of them. So, after starting with a far larger sample (e.g., the first pass included Loverboy, Toto, and about a dozen others), I reduced the sample size to those five bands and started listening – and reading.

My light research into all five bands (seriously, it’s just Wikipedia entries and (massive hat-tip to @morrisonicpod for reminding me they existed!) the Behind the Music features on each) turned up all kinds of surprises. The biggest of those came from how often the same kind of storylines showed up in the different bands – for instance, how many of them started without their most famous and/or revered band members, the instability of their line-ups (and, sometimes, their styles), and how much ego and brand preservation drove that instability. That said, and obviously, no band’s story runs parallel to another’s: think of overlapping circles in a Venn diagram more than anything else, and with a big circle in the middle that reads “arena rock.”

I’ve already written about all five bands in separate posts, and links to those are below. I posted them according to how far or close each band got to coming with me to that desert island, from the last band I’d take to the first one. With that, here are the results and links to each of the earlier posts:

Foreigner, aka, Mick Jones’ Control Issues

One final note: further/continued listening and attempting to create a “Dad Rock Top 20” revealed that Styx belongs in last place. As it turns out, I’m partial to a couple Foreigner ballads, while even the stuff I used to like about Styx rubs me the wrong way.

Tuesday, November 26, 2019

Dad Rock Primary, No. 1: Yes, REO Speedwagon, The Champagne of Champaign, IL

Eh, close enough.
The Biggest Surprise: That the band that made this video/song spent a decade partying itself into rehab (with one tragic exception).
The Most Famous Line-Up: Too many to count, honestly, but here's the short list: Neal Doughty (piano/keys); Alan Gratzer (drums); Kevin Cronin (vox/rhythm guitar); Gary Richrath (lead guitar); Bruce Hall (bass/backing vocals).

What You Need to Know
It all started in the electrical engineering program at the University of Illinois, when Doughty met Gratzer and spent an afternoon jamming in their dorm basement. That happened in 1966; a decade-plus would pass before the REO Speedwagon managed a stable line-up. For example, Cronin - that's the lead singer you're picturing with them now, yes  - played on their second album, R.E.O. T.W.O., but left during production of the third over proverbial creative differences. He wouldn’t return for three albums and four years, and a guy named Greg X. Volz still had to pass on the job before he got it (he decided to stick with Jesus). (Alternately, most band members agreed an inevitable coming-to-senses made it happen on Behind the Music.) Cronin was actually the band’s second vocalist: a guy named Terry Luttrell (later in Starcastle) handled vocals on REO’s very different sounding debut album, while another singer, Michael Bryan Murphy, sang on the three very different albums in between Cronin’s first and second stints with the band (well, I've only heard the one, honestly). Members would come in and out of the line-up at just about every instrument until 1977, with one key exception - Richrath drove 100 miles from Peoria determined to join the band (“I’m going to be a part of that band whether they like it or not”). He came on board as lead guitarist in 1970 and, despite the churn, the band built a strong regional following by playing – and partying - like a rock band. With that reputation and a stable line-up, the band talked Epic Records into a live album, Live: You Get What You Play For (1977; I still haven’t listened to it). They moved to LA and went national, but the departure of one of the members they left in the Midwest (Gregg Philbin, who was replaced by Hall), foreshadowed a couple trends:

“Depending upon which band member is expressing an opinion, it was either because Philbin was disenchanted with the new corporate-structure REO where Cronin and Richrath got bigger slices of the pie instead of the equal credit they once shared as a ‘garage band,’ or he was asked to leave over his lifestyle issues affecting the music quality.”

Monday, November 25, 2019

Dad Rock Primary, No. 2: Journey, aka, The Panic Attacks of Steve Perry

Surely, someone told them....
The Biggest Surprise: Not that everything passed though Steve Perry, but the way it did.
The Most Famous Line-Up: Neal Schon (guitar); Ross Valory (bass); Steve Perry (vox); Gregg Rolie (replaced by Jonathan Cain and a different keyboard); Aynsley Dunbar (drums; replaced by Steve Smith in 1978)

What You Need to Know
“We’re gonna write about people’s lives, about what’s on their mind. ‘Just a small-town girl'…”
- Jonathan Cain

According to the Journey Behind the Music, a succession of tragedies propelled Steve Perry’s career in music, and he’d have a couple in Journey’s third act (against convention, it’s a four-act play). The first version of the band formed in San Francisco when former members of Santana – a ridiculously young Schon and Rolie – teamed up with former members of Frumious Bandersnatch – Valory and (very briefly) George Ticknor to form, first the Golden Gate Rhythm Section, then Journey. Three albums came out of (most of) that line-up – an eponymous debut in ’75, Look Into the Future in ’76, and Next in ’77. They played a jam-heavy sound back then and swapped singing duties, looking for the right mix. After laying three eggs, the band’s label more or less ordered the band to hire a lead singer, but that search also rescued Perry from mourning the death of someone from his previous band and his movie-perfect then-career of repairing chicken coops. Thrown together in a Denver hotel shortly after Perry came on, he and Schon wrote the first song for Journey’s first step to the main stage, 1978’s Infinity, “Patiently,” in just a few minutes. (“Wheel in the Sky” came from the same album.)

When Rolie took off after Departure (he was just tired of the life), Perry formed a writing partnership with his replacement, Cain, who came over from The Babys at Rolie’s suggestion. Those two repeated the trick from the Denver hotel room, only with a better (or more commercial) song: “Open Arms.” Despite critics’ and Schon’s cool reaction (and general antics around it), the single was massive, Escape was massive, and Journey was “Atari-designed-a-video-game-for-them” big. Because he seemed to be the nerve center for making it all happen, the rest of the band generally let Perry take over the band’s direction (to paraphrase Schon, “I took my hands off the wheel”) – an arrangement that could only last as long as he did. Fame started eating at him, and Perry retreated from the rest of the band. What started with traveling separately with then-girlfriend, Sherrie Swafford (yes, “Oh, Sherrie,” who still left him in the end) ended with him throwing Valory and Smith out of the band (a decision he seems to regret). After a crisis that involved his mother’s death, Perry wound up bolting (I believe) in the middle of the tour supporting Raised on Radio…and that was it…

…until Perry called up the rest of the band for a reunion in 1996. They recorded an album called Trial by Fire, and were all set to tour it…only to have a degenerative bone disease hit Perry while hiking in Hawaii preparing for the same tour. When he couldn’t go, the rest of the band decided to go without him. The feelings about all that remain incredibly complicated…the Behind the Music on that angel is pretty damn incredible.

My Favorite Anecdote
Pretty much all the stories around “Open Arms,” whether Schon visibly hating on it during recording, or him pissing off Perry by telling him “that song really kicked-ass” after it killed on its live debut. Also, this quote from Schon:

“When we were a jam band, it was mostly guys in the audience, and now our audience is 80% women. Y’know, they loved the ballads. That’s what I noticed the difference when I looked out there. It was very pleasing on the eyes.”

Why They Didn’t Make the Island
A couple Journey songs still actually get a response out of me – “Anyway You Want It,” (Departure, 1980) “Stone in Love,” (Escape, 1981) maybe something that sounds like “Lights”(Infinity, 1978) – and I think of all of those as the best version of Journey with Steve Perry (also, could be I'm just a Rolie stan). I’d never put any of those songs on a playlist, not because they’re awful, but because Journey has this knack for bubbling up in the zeitgeist now and then that has always felt misplaced to me. That said, I did have some fun knocking around their pre-Perry catalog, where I found a song I genuinely like (“Hustler”) and a song that answered the question, “why did the label want a singer?” (“She Makes Me (Feel Alright)”). So, bottom line, “peak-Journey” is played out for the rest of my lifetime, and the early stuff...well, it's missing something.

Other Featured Songs: I dedicated 1/3 of this playlist to giving people a taste of pre-Perry Journey, which got “It’s All Too Much” from Look Into the Future and (for me) the more mature, yet somehow not yet tied together, “Spaceman” and “People” from Next. With the Perry era material, I included hits from a couple yards off the beaten path – “Anytime” and “Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’” (because I learned the story behind it) – and then a handful from the band’s hey-day to show a little of what else they did: “Walks Like a Lady” (lounge meets honky-tonk?), “Escape” (actual rocker, one for Neil) and “Lay It Down” (a more melodic rocker). Finally, there’s “Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)” because a guy I chat with likes it and that makes me pull for it. One of the worst videos every made, btw, but what the hell?
Most Journey Song: "Open Arms,” both for its popularity and the way it demonstrated the hierarchy of the band. On a personal note, if you blurted out, "name a Journey song!" I'd answer with "Wheel in the Sky," because I was mesmerized by Neal Schon's afro in that video for a whole damn year.

Sources
Wikipedia

Dad Rock Primary, No. 3: Styx, I, Too, Blame Dennis DeYoung

It was a bad idea.
The Biggest Surprise: Styx was more business than band. According to Tommy Shaw, they rarely hung out.
The Most Famous Line-Up: Dennis DeYoung (keyboards/vox), James J. Y. Young (lead guitar), Tommy Shaw (more guitar), Chuck Panozzo (bass), and John Panozzo (drums)

What You Need to Know
Between 1972 and 1974, Styx put out four albums – Styx, Styx II, The Serpent Is Rising, and Man of Miracles (full disclosure, I skipped the last two) – none of which found traction, but Styx II is the album to keep the eye on. As it happened, Styx had secret fans at WLS, a Chicago radio station with the power to make things happen, and, two years after Styx II came out, a DJ named Jeff Davis gave the album the first boost it over had by playing DeYoung’s ode to his wife/childhood sweetheart, “Lady,” at the same time every day. That singular decision revived interest in Styx (the band) and Styx II (the album), and that started them on the path to stardom. “Lady” also had the effect of convincing DeYoung that he had the magic touch. As he tellingly put it in Behind the Music:

“I always described Styx as a democracy, of which I was the president. But there was always the houses of Congress to deal with.”

With the band on the edge of fame, their label, A&M Records, made said “Congress” bigger by pushing for a more commercial sound and/or a new guitarist. Styx’s tour manager, Jim Vose, pointed them to Tommy Shaw, a songwriter in his own right, a choice that both added new dimensions to the band’s sound and sowed the seeds of its breakup. Styx didn’t get far on Equinox (1975, “Lorelei” and “Madame Suite Blue”), but the band (and Shaw) pulled all the elements together for Grand Illusion (1977, “Come Sail Away” and “Fooling Yourself (Angry Young Man),” by DeYoung and Shaw, respectively), while it looks like DeYoung threw Shaw the B-side of 1978’s Pieces of Eight with “Renegade” and “Blue Collar Man (Long Nights).” This started a record run of four straight multiple-platinum albums that carried through, significantly, to Paradise Theater (1981) and the crazy stack of hits the (again) concept album lined up (“Too Much Time on My Hands,” “Rockin’ the Paradise” and “The Best of Times”).

Sunday, November 24, 2019

Dad Rock Primary, No. 4: Boston, A Prolific, Constipated One-Man Act

You see success, I see excess, so....
The Biggest Surprise: The story behind the “Mary Ann” on “More Than a Feeling,” or the fact that every person in that video is playing a lie....
The Most Famous Line-Up: Tom Scholz on everything (and all production), but also Brad Delp (vox/guitar), Barry Goudreau (guitar), and, later, Sib Hashian (drums), and Fran Sheehan (bass).

What You Need to Know
“I was just writing the kind of music I wanted to hear.”

Tom Scholz developed the material that became Boston’s first album in his basement, with him playing, recording, and crucially manipulating the production to get the sound he was after. He financed the whole thing through a day-job with Polaroid and, no matter how many record executives tried to flush Scholz out of the various basements he created, he never produced a Boston album anywhere outside the basement studios he built for himself wherever he settled down. And that’s the real point of interest in all this: Scholz has as many technical achievements as he has musical ones. When he couldn’t figure out how to get a sound out of the equipment he had, he made new equipment – all of them analog, notably, a point of pride he advertised on some Boston albums. And he really did some incredible stuff with this – specifically, the guitar sound, which, one person interviewed in that “Behind the Music” described as “crunchy guitar that sounded almost three-dimensional.” By my (untrained) ear, he did the same thing with Delp’s vocals – i.e., adding layers to them to make his voice sound like a chorus. When Scholz needed a physical band to record final demos or for the “showcase” he arranged to secure a recording contract to put out six albums in 10 years, he called in connections he made playing in bands during college (e.g., Freehold and Mother’s Milk). Scholz creative process/perfectionism made that rate of production laughably unrealistic - he never got over the b-side of Boston’s rushed (for him) second album, Don’t Look Back (1978) - and a major lawsuit inevitably followed when he insisted on taking his own damn time for a third album. That album, Third Stage, finally came out in 1986 and produced one monster hit (“Amanda”), but Boston’s history basically dries up there (and gets a little weird; see the final minutes of that “Behind the Music” linked to below).

Because Boston is based on Scholz’s singular vision, it’s probably worth taking a little time on Scholz’ influences. He grew up listening to and (I think) playing classic music. According to the “BtM” documentary, The Kinks were the first rock band he really liked – and he did branch out from there – but, if two things stand out about Boston musically, it’s the intricate structure of the songs and, most of all the production. The success of the band’s first, best-known album (1976, “Foreplay/Long Time,” “Peace of Mind,” and “More Than a Feeling*”) still feels like the creative peak. Full disclosure: I barely looked into either Third Stage, never mind 1994’s Walk On, and on the grounds that Boston’s time had passed.

My Favorite Anecdote
As Scholz bravely confessed, the inspiration for “Mary Ann” came from an older cousin Scholz had a crush on when he was 8 or 9 years old. Given the timing, I’m willing to give him a pass.

Why They Didn’t Make the Island
I struggle with Boston because too much of Scholz’ music sounds the same - something that could come from my own shitty ear just as much as repetition. I chose the one track I did from Third Stage – “We’re Ready” – precisely for its slight tonal differences with Boston’s earlier music, whether reining in the trebles or leaving a little more dead-air in the production. That gets at another fun detail: the song “Let Me Take You Home Tonight,” is a rare example of song that didn’t come from Scholz; that more roots-based tune came from Delp, and it’s enough to make you wonder what a different balance would have sounded like

Other Featured Songs: I also added "Don't Look Back" (LIVE!) but only as an act of hostility; that sounds so, so very Boston; the same goes for another successful single from the same album, "A Man I'll Never Be." It's the same gimmicks, the same vague uplift that defines some part of arena rock. That’s not the kind of thing one takes to a desert island, because until the end of your life? Seriously?
Most Boston Song: “More Than a Feeling,” and sorry for being boring.

Sources
Wikipedia
Behind the Music (actually a Japanese/reverential documentary on Boston).

The Dad Rock Primary, No. 5: Foreigner, aka, Mick Jones' Control Issues

He's not wrong....
[Ed. Links to all sources besides the songs are at the bottom of the post.]

The Biggest Surprise: The extent to which the band operated like Leninist Russia.
The Most Famous Line-Up: Jones (guitar) Lou Gramm (vocals), Al Greenwood (keys), Ed Gagliardi (bass), Dennis Elliott (drums), and Ian McDonald (not clear, but I think guitar with them).

What You Need to Know
Foreigner’s chose their name deliberately, or at least after rejecting “Trigger.” Because the original membership split evenly at the time between Yanks and Brits, at least half the band would be foreign no matter where they played, or that was the joke. In his defense, Jones did start the band: “stranded” in New York and with his current band imploded, he assembled a new band one man/instrument at a time with encouragement from a friend named Bud Prager. The search for a lead singer became the final, fateful piece. Auditioning 40-50 singers finally knocked loose a memory of Gramm, an American from upstate New York he saw perform earlier with a band called Black Sheep. Gramm was “cleaning a public safety building from seven at night till about 11:30” when Jones came calling, but they hired him almost as soon as he stepped out of the booth. Once they launched – which would take some time and something like Prager’s life savings – they could neither stop churning out hits – e.g., “It Feels Like the First Time” and “Cold As Ice” from their 1977 eponymous debut and the title track and “Hot Blooded” from 1978’s Double Vision - nor hold the band together. Most of the band’s musical direction came from Gramm and Jones (though McDonald insists he got his hands in there as well), but Jones seized ownership of creative control early by way of a succession of purges – e.g., Gagliardi before Double Vision, then teaming up with Gramm to oust founding members (Greenwood and McDonald) on the way to making the band a four-piece and recording 4 (a name with multiple, fairly dull connotations), the band’s biggest album, in 1981 (ft. “Juke Box Hero,” “Urgent,” and  “Waiting for a Girl Like You”).

Even Gramm eventually strained against the short leash Jones kept on the band. Feeling stifled (paraphrase, “I was tired of singing someone else’s songs”), he recorded a solo album (with the single, “Midnight Blue”), which, no shock, Jones resented for sounding too much like Foreigner. According to Behind the Music’s account, the lead single for 1984’s Agent Provocateur, “I Want to Know What Love Is,” caused the final break…but it takes a strained narrative to hold that together – specifically, that the “hard-rocking” Foreigner recoiled at the idea of attaching their name to a ballad. I’m trying to square that against the many ballads in Foreigner’s oeuvre going back to their debut fucking album with “Woman Oh Woman” and “Fool for You Anyway” (also, what was “Waiting for a Girl Like You” on 4?). After a couple decades, some profound health scares for both Jones and Gramm (and Gramm’s was/is rough, though not as rough as Gagliardi’s actual death), the band still plays, and Jones finally achieved his dream of absolute creative control.

My Favorite Anecdote:
Gramm on the controversial album cover for Head Games (third album, and the least successful from their hey-day; picture above):

“Part of that was because of the cover. The song Head Games was banned by a lot of radio stations after the cover of the album came out. Today, that would not have even been a problem. But in the Bible Belt, the cover of the cute little girl in the boys' bathroom erasing her number off the wall...They didn't see the humor in that. It wasn't supposed to even be sexy. She was sexy....she was cute… She was erasing her phone number off the wall of the boys' bathroom and that's all it was. A big deal was made out of that and it really hurt our sales."

Why They Didn’t Make the Island
With as little disrespect as possible, Foreigner always struck me as the cheesiest band of this bunch - yes, that’s with Styx in the mix. Too many of lyrics are laughable (or cringey AF; see “Love Has Taken Its Toll”), and listening to Gramm stretch bad writing to fit the music doesn’t help. The predictability of the guitar combined with rhythm structures that don’t have any bounce in them probably turn me off more than anything else.
Other Featured Songs: “You’re All I Am” (another ballad; nice one, too) and “Blue Morning, Blue Day,” another song I almost like. I like them best when they play off type. "Break It Up," more or may not have achieved that feat, but it got some props somewhere I read...
Most Foreigner Song: “Hot Blooded,” where they don’t fuck around and nail the hard-rock energy.

Sources
Wikipedia

Thursday, November 21, 2019

One Hit No More, No. 16: The Blues Magoos, "(We Ain't Got) Nothin' Yet"; Call It Bluesedelic

Shit happened, man...
[Ed. Note – In order to avoid warping the narrative to get in links where I want them, all the sources for this post are listed and linked to at the end. Hope it works for you…and me.]

The Hit
A proto-psychedelic rock tune called “(We Ain’t Got) Nothin’ Yet” The Blues Magoos dropped into the Greenwich Village scene in 1966 – the very cusp of what counts as the psychedelic rock era (or enjoy this crappy live version). It opens with a shimmer of electric organ before clearing space for a grooving bass riff that holds the song together. It blew up worldwide – No. 5 on Billboard, and I read loose talk of No. 5 worldwide, but who knows? It’s a fun little tune that just about screams “mid-60s!

That said, I’m excited about this band/post because, for the first time since I started this project, I finally found a band that might have gotten screwed into being a one hit wonder.

The (Original) Band
Emil “Peppy” Thielheim, aka, Peppy Castro (vox/guitar), Dennis LePore (lead guitar), Ralph Scala (organ/vox), Ron Gilbert (bass), Jon Finnegan (drums).

The Rest of the Story
The Blues Magoos started in Greenwich Village, playing wherever they could, trying to live on $8-10 a night, and crashing at home when they couldn’t earn enough playing shows. They started young too - right out of high school – which made home a live option. According to both Castro and Scala, a band that didn’t write its own songs would die in the Village, something that had the band writing songs at the same time they learned their instruments. All the members had their influences ("it was all Country-Western, Rhythm and Blues and Delta Blues"), but Scala notes that they wrote songs “as the commercial end.” And that will come up later…

From what I gather, “(We Ain’t Got) Nothin’ Yet” was one of The Blues Magoos’ first polished tunes, so they hit the ground running. With Greenwich Village crawling with industry people, all it took was a series of one introduction leads to another moments to land the band to a deal with Mercury Records. They recorded two albums in quick succession – Psychedelic Lollipop in 1966 and Electric Comic Book in 1967 – and that’s where all the stories take off.

Thursday, November 14, 2019

One Hit No More, No. 15: The Gentrys, "Keep on Dancing," and One Brilliant Second Act

He wrote songs for the talent on top of this...
The Hit
Keep on Dancing,” a garage-inspired tune with a “recorded-in-a-box” sound with a notable structure: “The second half of the song, after the false fade, beginning with Wall's drum fill, is the same as the first.” There’s more than one way to get to two minutes fifty…

Inspired by what they’d heard from the UK, The Gentrys wanted to record more songs with that sound. They recorded “Keep on Dancing” for a local label – Youngstown Records, I think – but, sadly, when MGM signed them to sell that hit and whatever came after it, they connected them to the wrong producer. At least that’s how guitarist/lead singer, Larry Strawberry, saw it and that name…a blessing, I tell you.

The Rest of the Story
The Gentrys formed as a group of friends at Memphis, Tennessee’s Treadwell High. To go through the rest of the members, they were: Pat Neal on bass guitar, Larry Butler on keyboards, the drummer Larry Wall (and later Rob Straube), Bobby Fisher on sax and keyboards, Jimmy Johnson on trumpet and, finally, Bruce Bowles and Jimmy Hart as back-up vocals…and hold onto the last name in that list.

They started the band as juniors and, to put some meat on what Strawberry called “our little rise to fame,” they went from playing dances and killing every Battle of the Bands they came across, to getting Youngstown to put out the single “Sometimes,” to steadily touring the mid-South (with chaperones! rock 'n' roll, MFs!), to doing a (possible dodgy) triple on the Ted Mack Amateur Hour, to recording “Keep on Dancing,” to playing on shows like Hullabaloo Shindig! and Where the Action Is (i.e., shows featuring rockers for the teenyboppers). MGM called somewhere in there and, next thing you know they’re touring on Dick Clark caravan tours and playing with The Beach Boys (damn!) and Sonny and Cher (huh).

To skip to the end, after doing the math on what Dick Clark paid and seeing the solid support from family members and girlfriends get a little more complicated, the band’s members played out their careers on, as Strawberry named it, “the red-dirt circuit.” They made, like, 1.5 to four times per show doing that than what Dick Clark paid them, but they also lost the national exposure.

Monday, November 4, 2019

Crash Course, No. 14: Parquet Courts, Regular Dudes, Killing It Every Day

Not bad for inspiration....
Personal
Parquet Courts first piqued my interest with “Almost Had to Start a Fight/In and Out of Patience” a lively punk number kissed with ska/dub rhythms. That grew into a fixation when the jaunty “Tenderness” rolled around (sorry about the "fan-cam" quality on that video). Both came from the band’s 2018 release Wide Awake!, which didn’t mean anything to me at the time, but does now.

A Little History
“The songs are told from a first-person perspective about experiences we’ve had, what someone feels like when fighting a square job from 9-5, and finding beauty and meaning in the world. It’s really important to all of us, and a lot of people can relate to that.”

I’m about to struggle to write much of interest about the (mostly) New-York-by-way-of Texas Parquet Courts. That has less to do with them not being thoughtful and/or intelligent, than it does with the reality that I’d need another month or so to learn their music well enough to properly comment on what they’re trying to tell the world. They definitely come from the “punk” tradition – a genre labeling almost as useful as “rock” at this point - their lyrics are political, they talk collective action, but, from what I gather, more from a “state of the world/existential” point of view than specific advocacy. They’re not given to grand declarations, at least not in interviews, so that aspect is contained entirely in their music, which’ll take more time to tease out than I’ve given myself for this, and I hate getting over my damn skis, so I’ll leave it there. In some fundamental way, they seem like any other four guys going to a job one day after the other, only they go to a much better job.

Parquet Courts is a four-piece, arranged like so:

“Led by two Texas transplants — Austin Brown, 27, and Andrew Savage, 26 — Parquet Courts’ is rounded out by bassist Sean Yeaton and Savage’s younger brother, Max.”

To fill in the blanks, Max Savage hits the drums (and looks distractingly like Andrew), while both Brown and Andrew Savage manage guitar and vocals and, near as I can tell, do all the songwriting. Based on what I’ve seen A. Savage “leads” the band – i.e., who does all the talking in this 2018 Face Culture interview (Part 1) – but don’t lead singers always do that(?), but I also didn’t catch too many instances of Brown taking a full musical lead outside of “Mardi Gras Beads” (the post-chorus guitar is fantastic; also, about the strike-through, it turns out Brown sings on several of my favorite tracks on Wide Awake!). Still, no one in the band looked or sounded sad or thwarted in any interview I’ve seen, and they’ve been at it as Parquet Courts since 2011, so, till further notice, they look like band who knows what works and feels comfortable doing it. Boring as hell, basically. (In other words, what’s my hook, dammit!)

Saturday, November 2, 2019

One Hit No More, No. 14: Jonathan King, "Everyone's Gone to the Moon," and He Should Have

NOTE: King does not usually look like Mitch McConnell, but...
“I have been studying the music industry for the last three years and it is one big joke. Anyone can make it if they're clever and can fool a few people.”

Back in 1965, a Englishman named Jonathan King wanted to be a pop star very, very badly, so he wrote a song called, “Everyone's Gone to the Moon.” It’s not a great song, one of those popular music hold-outs in the early(ish) age of rock ‘n’ roll that borrowed from it while still sounding like something your local radio station would play after a Petula Clark hit. Whatever I think of that song, Jonathan King understood how pop stardom worked. Maybe not in the most traditional way – and, as it happened, not without prison time(!) – but King gave one hell of a lot more to popular culture than that one cheesy song…

…if nothing else, you can thank him for the “ooga chaka ooga ooga” in his remake of “Hooked on Feeling.” (Even if his version wasn’t the most popular; paging Blue Swede.)

Born to privilege in 1944, King became obsessed with pop stardom around the time he was working on his A levels. He was already performing with a band, The Bumbles, as well as writing and producing for them. That accounted for King’s first crack at fame, a single titled “Gotta Tell” (which I can't find). That flopped, but it only took his third/fourth attempt to write the hit that made him famous. "Everyone's Gone to the Moon" hit No. 4 on the UK charts behind The Beatles’ “Help!” at No. 1 and, to deepen the foreshadowing introduced above (e.g., “prison time(!)”), King played on Jimmy Savile’s Top of the Pops. Wait for it…

The decision to flag “Everyone’s Gone to the Moon” as either King’s third or fourth attempt touches on a curious aspect of King’s career. King had persuaded Decca Records to release a 45 based on another song titled “Green Is the Grass”; when they’d asked him for a B-side, he delivered “Everyone’s Gone to the Moon,” which immediately became the A-side. “Green Is the Grass” flopped in the end, but the way King released his next hit – e.g., without his name attached to it; he didn’t even perform it – established a template that he’d return to throughout his career. That single was titled “It’s Good News Week,” by Hedgehoppers Anonymous. King continued to release hits under his own name – e.g., “Lazy Bones,” Flirt,” and “Hooked on a Feeling” – but he’d also put out songs under names like The Weathermen (“It’s the Same Old Song” (yes, it's a (bad) cover)), Nemo (“The Sun Has Got His Hat On”), Sakkarin (“Sugar, Sugar”), and St. Cecelia (“Leap Up and Down (Wave Your Knickers in the Air)”). There was a certain logic to it all: