We Built this Awfulness

Just...why?

 

I've admitted to being a sucker for lists.

That also makes me a sucker for clickbait, such as the Culture Sonar item that I found randomly on social media recently.

It's a list of Nine of the Worst Songs of the 80s. 

I'm not going to argue that some of them aren't my taste.

I mean, "Kokomo" is a crime against music, especially against Brian Wilson.

Thirty years have not changed my thoughts on New Kids on the Block either.

It's probably best that I don't go on an anti-Lionel Richie rant (save his stuff with The Commodores) but "Say You Say Me" cost Huey Lewis an Oscar, so you can probably guess my feelings there.

"I've Never Been to Me" is a rough listen.

We've addressed "We Built This City" many times of course.

"Lady in Red" is just cringe.

I don't agree with hating on either "9 to 5 (Morning Train)" or "Eye of the Tiger."

And then there's the stain on J. Paul McCartney's career in "The Girl is Mine" with Michael Jackson. I clearly remember making fun of that dreck back then. All I could think then -- and now -- was "What was Paul thinking?"

Truly only "Ebony and Ivory" is worse.

Yet, at the same time, what can never be forgotten is that all of these songs were popular. "The Girl is Mine," for instance, was a number two hit on the Billboard Hot 100 on Jan 8, 1983. Only "Maneater" by Hall and/or Oates kept Jackson and Macca out of the top slot.

Don't ask about the "and/or." 

Still, I feel like some of us knew these songs weren't our thing at the time. And popularity doesn't determine quality. Shall we revisit the horror of "Pac-Man Fever?"

But are these truly the worst of the 80s? For instance, "Red Red Wine" by UB40 deserves whatever form of hatred it gets and would be on my list if I had one.

It's all just so subjective and can change from day to day for me so I don't feel an urge to create a list.

Yet I'm sure the Exit 55 hive mind -- if one exists -- can come up with some 80s songs that just drive them up a wall.

There are plenty of other '80s songs that are pretty awful. 

Keep all sharp objects away from me when Billy Idol's version of "Mony Mony" comes on.

And give me a year (or more) off from any songs by Bon Jovi, Journey, and Bob Seger.

Of course, Mr. Mellencamp sits in a special place all by himself.

On the other hand, and finishing on a positive note, listen to this cover of a little ditty called "The Power of Love." 

Ho...lee...wow.

My Drive

 

We slapped this day together.

Breakfast? OK, we did that. There's an outstanding local place across the street that we ate at last year. Not everything has to be Waffle House.

After pulling ourselves together, the three guys (me, Sean, and Kris) grabbed three tickets to the Tampa Bay Rays/Philadelphia Phillies game at BayCare Ballpark in Clearwater. We bought the tickets as we drove, pulled into the parking lot, and were waiting for our tickets to be scanned as the national anthem sounded out.

Oh, we had "berm" tickets, meaning on the grass beyond the outfield fence, but we never sat down. We stood and leaned.

What a ballpark. Honestly, that might be the best of the spring training offerings.

And it was packed. 

The Phillie Phanatic. Pound-for-pound, he's as 
good as mascots come

And it was a pretty good game, as the Phillies rallied to take the lead before the Rays tied it in the top of the eighth and won it in the top of the ninth.

We also had a treat, grabbing Krispy Kreme donuts in Tampa on the way home.

And dinner. Oh, my. Steak, fries, salad.

To top it all off, Sean and I decided to make a late run to John's Pass in Madeira Beach. Kris and Lori elected to hang back, giving us some father/son time.

While I would have been pleased had they joined us, we still enjoyed ourselves.

The first stop -- after getting ripped off for parking -- was the beach. Sadly, any hint of daylight was behind clouds so we stepped into the Gulf of Mexico with no sign of sunset.

No matter. The water was chilly but we adjusted, simply talking and laughing and watching the nearby drawbridge lift up for a passing sailboat.

Then we walked around the shops and took in the evening. We did what we do -- telling stories and laughing. Even serious topics are mostly handled with honesty and humor.

In the end, neither one of us spent a dime, even passing on ice cream (Sean decided the lines were too long). 

That's when I decided to treat myself by just driving.

I drove closer to the water at first, coming up along US 19 Alt through Seminole and Largo and Clearwater before branching off at Dunedin.

Using SR 580, I connected with US 19 to roll up through Palm Harbor and Tarpon Springs into Holiday, where my grandparents lived for many years.

Dripping with nostalgia, I fought the urge to go any further as I veered toward our home away from home, passing the two cemeteries where my father and George Steinbrenner (!) are buried.

Two separate cemeteries. Just in case that wasn't clear.

Sean was content to do his thing as I fussed with the radio, listening mostly to Q-105, which I've listened to here for roughly 40 years. Even if I was less than pleased with their musical choices. Then again, that's sort of how I was when I was sitting in the passenger seat, hoping they'd play Huey Lewis and the News back in 1986.

Some things never change.

Rain is supposed to really dampen things (yeah, I know, bad pun) tomorrow but we're considering our options about how to spend the day before moving into the weekend.

Monday -- and the road home -- will be here soon enough.

The Game

 

OK, kick it off and let's go.

San Francisco (I've been there) and Kansas City (I have not).

Huey Lewis versus Taylor Swift.

So you'd think -- if that were true -- I'd be rooting for the 49ers.

But I've sort of never been a fan of them. I guess it's because they would tie the Steelers for the most Super Bowl wins with six. 

Oh yeah, the Patriots also. If you think those are legit.

But I don't know that I'm rooting for KC either. Sure, I like Patrick Mahomes and Andy Reid and I even like Travis Kelce.

And I have nothing against Ms. Swift. As I've said.

But, meh to the whole thing.

So I'd rather just not care. I'd rather root for drama. I'd rather sit here, eat pizza and wings, and enjoy the game. 

I'd rather it be close -- mighty close -- with a dramatic finish.

Oh, and I couldn't possibly care less about the halftime show. I'm a Beatles guy (this just in) and I loved McCartney's show. I don't care how "safe" it was. It had to be at that time. That's why they picked him.

I still think Prince was and is overrated. Yes. Sorry.

I'll be watching because I've watched them all since 1978.

I saw the days of the Cowboys and Giants and Washington (known by another name back then) and some little ol' squad from Pittsburgh.

I saw Buffalo deservedly make four straight. Then they lost each one.

I saw dominance from Montana and Bradshaw and Mannings and Brady and Mahomes and Timmy Smith (204 yards in SB XXII).

I saw incredible defense. The 85 Bears. The Ravens. The Buccaneers, who probably just intercepted Rich Gannon again.

And, of course, the Steel Curtain.

So let's just enjoy the game.

*****

Well, obviously, I didn't post this when I wrote it hours ago.

It's now overtime -- only the second time ever -- and it's been quite a night.

It's been sloppy and sleepy at times.

And Usher was boring.

But the food was great and so was the company.

I'm going to go back to watching the game.

Check Your Ego at the Door

 

While this is about music, it's not about The Beatles (yes, "Meet the Beatles" will be back next Sunday at 9 a.m. on WGCH and Robcasting).

But it's more about the intersection of music and culture and history.

I just watched the new documentary, The Greatest Night in Pop, on Netflix.

It returns to a long night of recording "We Are the World" on January 28-29, 1985.

Honestly, with the documentary having only come out today, I want to give nothing away.

It's not unfair to say it was a momentous night, following the American Music Awards that evening. Some of the stories of the evening have been told before, as I recall a Life magazine story covering much of what went on.

Of course, this goes deeper.

For the main people in assembling the project, it was a daunting task of picking who would be there and organizing the whole thing.

And damned if my band -- again, not The Beatles -- was there.

Huey Lewis and the News. All six of them were there. The entire band. Huey, Johnny, Chris, Sean, Bill, and Mario. All of them.

They all sang on it and Huey got a solo.

In case you're wondering, that sold me the song. 

Huey Lewis, Cyndi Lauper, Kim Carnes

But it was a who's who of pop at the time, with exceptions of course, as well as icons who might not have been truly relevant at that time. 

Plus a few who sort of didn't make sense to be there in the first place.

Plus the one who just...left.

And the one who never appeared.

But the truth was while their egos weren't going to disappear, everyone on hand needed to stay under control because they had one night to get it right. That's why Quincy Jones posted a sign that read "Please check your egos at the door."

The charity single as well as concerts weren't a new concept in 1985. George Harrison (I think he played in some band) organized The Concert for Bangladesh in Aug 1971 and the accompanying single and, among many others, Bob Geldolf helped create "Do They Know It's Christmas" in Nov 1984.

It was that song that inspired "We Are the World" as both songs were intended to raise funds for famine in Ethiopia.

Of course, in July 1985, Live Aid rocked the world in London and Philadelphia before Farm Aid began and others came along.

At that time, in fact, pop and rock for charity was a bit of a thing. Eventually, it became a bit much.

But for me, this documentary was a welcomed time machine back to being a 16-year-old boy. One detail I'll mention was a shot late in the show of Huey Lewis and Billy Joel hugging. It's very brief but seeing two of my musical heroes in this moment made me feel joy. When you think about it, it was quite rare to have such a list of people in the same place like this. Sure, there are awards shows but this was different.

The documentary is detailed but, honestly, there aren't many salacious details. I'd say, if anything, it focuses mostly on the positive.

And it definitely makes one person out to be a complete hero but I'll leave that to you to watch and figure out.

Even criticism from me is minimal. Normally, I'd be inclined to drop anvils on the artists who weren't exactly favorites of mine -- then and/or now -- but the joy I felt in flashing back minimized those feelings for me.

I don't even think I rolled my eyes. I made the conscious decision to watch this without judgment and just enjoy it.

Was it flawed? Sure. I never thought the song was particularly great despite the awards it won. I thought "Do They Know It's Christmas" was vastly better.

I also thought the cross-section of artists was interesting and certainly not very deep. That being said it was a pretty representative collection of artists for the time. If you were alive in 1985 I'm fairly certain you knew who everyone was in that room that night into the next morning.

I was a sophomore at Mahopac High School that night and almost definitely watched the American Music Awards since Huey and the band were there. I had a poster from a picture taken that night of Huey with Madonna. I was never a Madonna fan, for the record.

This also would have been through my first season as a member of the hard-rocking Mahopac High School bowling team. 

Music was my constant in the world, as I donned headphones to listen to my Walkman on the bus rides and wherever else I was allowed.

Thus, the idea of "We Are the World" was fairly epic.

And thus, so is this documentary.

It seems trite in hindsight. Almost phony. There were eventual criticisms of the charity concept, especially with concerns that the money wasn't going where it belonged.

But the music -- especially Live Aid -- has stood up.

Hard to believe that we're approaching 40 years since that all happened.

If you have any interest in the music of the era, give The Greatest Night in Pop a view.

It was a night when the heart of rock...um...pop...was still beating.

Christmas in Connecticut

Rascal's brother says hello

It's over.

Not the entire season, but Christmas.

Oh, I know, it's 8:13 p.m. as I start writing and technically Christmas isn't officially over, but do we need to split hairs?

No, we needed to just get through the day.

Make the calls and text the texts.

Bite your tongue when that relative shows up or whatever causes tension.

My goal is to not be that relative. 

Thus, I arrive close to on time or perhaps fashionably late, bring whatever it is I'm supposed to bring, participate as appropriate, avoid bad topics, and do not overstay my welcome.

It seems like a simple formula but it's not perfect.

I was a few minutes early at my nephew's but he and his wife and kids seemed happy to have me there and I was happy to have a few minutes with them before everyone else showed up.

From there, it's catching up, eating, watching the kids open presents, and hopefully just having a pleasant visit.

Sean did his usual Christmas Day thing and went to his mother's. I get to see him for a little time every Christmas morning but otherwise, we don't spend the day together. It's a shame but, conversely, I'm glad he has the relationship that he has with his maternal grandparents. He got to see them today and that's important.

My sister, not wanting me to go home alone, told me to stop by her place after leaving my nephew's. Thus we watched a little football, talked, and I played with her grandson.

Somehow, that little boy is about to turn four. Time. It flies.

I was just happy he wanted the old dude to drive Hot Wheels cars and a Hess truck with him.

Oh, the old dude. My first stop of the day was to get coffee -- that was my job -- at Dunkin (DONUTS). I went to the location in Cheshire.

The one, you may recall, in which I was offered a senior discount a few years back. Neither Chris Erway nor Sean will let me forget it.

Alas, no discount came my way and that's too bad since the Box of Joe isn't cheap!

But, 'tis the season and all.

I am home alone now, still grateful for the passing of another Christmas and it not being quite as lonely as it has been in other years.

Oh, and for those wondering, the annual father/son Christmas Eve Movie and Food Festival was again a success.

We dined on succulent mozzarella sticks, boneless Buffalo Wings, and other delights.

Our movie selection was, well, diverse, starting with one including music from a band who was a little too New Wave at one time.

Yes. We watched American Psycho. What can I tell you? It's not exactly the most uplifting Christmas Even movie but so it goes.

"I think their undisputed masterpiece is 'Hip to Be Square'"

Then, while flipping through our various streaming packages, I came across Barbie. And yes, we watched it. We both liked it.

Sean headed off to his room after that but I was awake enough for one more. Despite the questionable and unfavorable reviews that I've read, I was intrigued by Bradley Cooper's Maestro, filmed in part in both Rye, NY, and Fairfield, CT.

In my opinion, it's clear Oscar bait, especially for Cooper and he'll likely get a nomination. Beyond that, it was fine.

A week from tonight, the holiday season will be over and whatever is "normal" will resume.

Your mileage may vary on whether or not that is a good thing.

For me, it's about survival.

I survived.

Perfect Records

It's another one of those classic music questions:

What's an album you listen to from beginning to end?

Now, some will say that they never skip a song but, let's be honest, I'm guessing most of us do.

Thus, it's the question of a "perfect" album, if you will.

For me, it's easy to say The Beatles and, well, are there any songs I skip?

If you know, you know.

I do think Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band is a fairly perfect album, but I'll admit that I've often been guilty of skipping George Harrison's "Within You Without You." But, with age and wisdom comes a deeper appreciation of George and, by extension, the song. Thus I'm not so quick to bypass it anymore.

But let's head over to the album officially called The Beatles, shall we? There it sits -- all eight minutes and 22 seconds of sonic stuff.

"Revolution 9."

You know it.

"Number nine. Number nine. Number nine."

As one might say, "Rubbish."

So, yeah, basically everything else but that can be played from beginning to end. Specifically, A Hard Day's Night, Help!, Rubber Soul, Revolver, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Abbey Road, and Let It Be are all effortless.

And, yes, basically every step of the Huey Lewis and the News catalog falls into this world as well for me, but I'll especially note Picture This, Sports, and Fore!

Billy Joel chimes in as well, with high marks for The Stranger, 52nd Street, Glass House, and The Nylon Curtain. As much as love Turnstiles, the song "James" is just too much of a 70s curio for me.

In the jazz world, Kind of Blue by Miles Davis is perhaps the most magical trip one can take. The Dave Brubeck Quartet's Time Out is as smooth as butter.

I should mention that this list is not meant to be perfect. I'm sort of cherry-picking the albums that I can listen to from beginning to end and know I'll forget many.

I'm hoping it will get you to consider the same.

I'll also add, as always, that this is all subjective. I've grown over time. Some albums are here that wouldn't have been here at one time while others have fallen. Tastes change.

The world has lost the art of the album to a large extent and I suppose that makes the question -- asked by Eric Alper on X (Twitter) so pertinent to me.

The album still matters in its own way, much as batting average does to a segment of sports fans. It matters in its own place, I suppose.

Is Pet Sounds by the Beach Boys in this category? To some, yes. Where others might pick a different Rolling Stones album, such as Exile on Main Street, I'd pick Let it Bleed, which finds the Stones in an interesting time before the insane excess of the 70s.

The Globe Sessions by Sheryl Crow remains a deeply important album to me and I spun it from beginning to end just recently, inspired by the documentary of her that I watched. Radiohead's The Bends and OK Computer take me back to the turn of the millennium.

Then there are what one might find as difficult choices. Making Movies by Dire Straits is a fantastic album but ends with a bit of a clunker in the song "Les Boys." It's a song that I don't automatically bypass given it's the last song. But if lyrics rattle you then you're best to skip it. "Run For Your Life" at the end of Rubber Soul is another song that can produce eye rolls.

I wouldn't be true to myself if I didn't also include two Pink Floyd entries: The Dark Side of the Moon and Wish You Were Here. Both just go places and, at least for me, are an excuse to check out (and no, that doesn't involve any herbal assistance to do so). But Floyd can also be polarizing between often being overplayed and Roger Waters' sheer narcissism.

Duke by Genesis, almost inarguably the best and the peak of their post-Peter Gabriel era work, is an excellent listen. While I overall prefer the art rock of the Gabriel days, Duke is solid from end to end.

I must also throw in Tapestry by Carole King. An album that came out in 1971, I feel like my sister raised me on The Beatles and this record, and fifty-two years later, it stands up as great as ever.

So if it's Rumours by Fleetwood Mac or something else, an album is meant to be a journey. The concept album mostly began with Frank Sinatra's work on Capitol Records in the 1950s, with In the Wee Small Hours being a masterpiece. For the record, one wants to check on a friend who is playing his Only the Lonely record for what I think are obvious reasons. 

In the live album department, Sinatra at the Sands is basically perfection. One might groan at the spoken  "Tea Break" segment but I find it to be a comedy act from a museum. Also basically perfect is Johnny Cash's At Folsom Prison.

So I'm quite certain I'll press "publish" on this and regret not mentioning some album that I enjoy every piece of.

I hope -- even if you don't say what it is -- you'll consider some options of your own as we give the art form of the album some well-earned respect.

The San Francisco Treat

 

Outside SFO Airport

Hello from San Francisco.

Ah yes. Fisherman's Wharf, the Golden Gate Bridge, cable cars, In-N-Out Burger, the Presidio, the Pacific Ocean, Lombard Street, Coit Tower, Alcatraz, Oracle Park, and so much more.

It's warm here and we had a great flight. I'm glad I wore shorts because I'm so comfortable.

This is the place to be as we get ready for tomorrow's conference.

I wish we had time to rent a car and drive over the Golden Gate to head to "The Deuce" -- formally known as The 2am Club -- where the cover of "Sports" was shot 40 years ago.

Of course, I visited it in 2019 on my own but it would be a lot more fun with the Hunt Scanlon crew riding along. The vibe of that place fits us.

Time will not allow for that and, as it is, I'm probably wasting more time than I should by writing this post.

OK, I'm full of it. I'm actually writing this post from home in Connecticut on Monday night. I figure that in case time is tight I'll have the foundation of a post that I can lean on.

It was on that trip in 2019 -- one of my favorite days ever -- that I didn't write the post until after midnight Eastern time. However, it was 10:38 p.m. Pacific time when I posted it and, as such, I cut myself some slack in that it was still the same day where I was.

You can read that post here to understand why it was so special. I kid you not -- those couple of hours of driving around were spectacular. The whole day -- as exhausting as it was -- stands among my favorite days ever.

Consider how close I was to not getting he rental car given I was sort of run down from the trip and I was panicking about the cost of the rental. But thanks to the hotel not being able to give me a room, I decided to walk down to the Enterprise rental office.

And a day that was basically perfect was the result.

As I alluded to, my only regret was being alone. Oh, I don't mind traveling on my own but it's best when it can be shared with people who understand.

One day, perhaps we'll do that again and more. I still have yet to go across the Bay Bridge to Oakland and I really want to go to Alcatraz.

Maybe one of those will happen.

Once I'm actually in San Francisco.

Which I'm currently not.

But I'm glad I wrote this anyway.

*****

The Golden Gate is surrounded by fog

I'm now in San Francisco (for real). I'm typing the rest of this post on my phone so keep your expectations low. 

Our flight was uneventful. I'm just always happy when we get where we're going. 

It's been a day of checking the venue, checking into the hotel, and hanging around the Fisherman's Wharf area. 

We're here. Also, I'm tired. 

I'll get sleep and head to the conference tomorrow. 

Love to Love Songs

 

Paul, Linda, and Martha the dog, taken in Scotland

For as much as we all know social media is a cesspool there are also items that produce harmless thoughts and conversations.

A good account that I follow asked, "What is the most romantic verse out of a song that you really like?"

There were myriad responses from songs that you'd expect and, to be honest, mine was no reach. My immediate response was:

Maybe I'm amazed at the way you love me all the time

Maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you

Maybe I'm amazed at the way you pulled me out of time

You hung me on a line

Maybe I'm amazed at the way I really need you

If you don't know, that's from "Maybe I'm Amazed" by Paul McCartney from his 1970 album McCartney. While it's not really a "slow dance" number, it's a groove that hits - especially live, where it became a hit on the Wings Over America album.

The exercise led me into the love songs department and one thing to know is that, just like "Maybe I'm Amazed," love songs don't have to be Sinatra standards.

A great love song can come from an unexpected place.

But, of course, there are simply the classics, such as "Your Song" by Elton John (and co-written, as if it needs to be said, with Bernie Taupin).

I always found the line about the subject's eyes to be just incredible and I know I'm not alone.

So excuse me forgetting

But these things I do

You see I've forgotten, if they're green or they're blue

Anyway the thing is, what I really mean

Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen

Masterful.

Or the slow jam groove of Rev. Al Green's "Let's Stay Together." It gets right to the heart of things after an instrumental opening with horns and keys, to this:

I, I'm I'm so in love with you

Whatever you want to do

Is all right with me

'Cause you make me feel so brand new

And I want to spend my life with you

McCartney, George Harrison, and John Lennon could all appear on any list, with the brilliantly complex "Something" leading the charge from George.

You're asking me will my love grow

I don't know, I don't know

You stick around, now it may show

I don't know, I don't know

He's, er, devoted. Maybe. 

Paul was a master of the soupier songs, writing words of love that could have been about his then-girlfriend Jane Asher ("And I Love Her," "Here, There, and Everywhere," "I Will") and, of course, wife Linda later on ("Maybe I'm Amazed," "The Lovely Linda," "My Love,"). Lennon comes aboard with "If I Fell" and the deeply personal "In My Life."

Alas, we can break the lads down for hours and perhaps one day we will but there are myriad other songs that we can dive into.

Sinatra, of course, had standards that were complex as well ("I've Got You Under My Skin") as well as straight to the heart ("The Way You Look Tonight," "Fly Me to the Moon"). Elvis Presley checks in with "Can't Help Falling In Love" among others.

Then we hit the Beach Boys and few love songs are better than "God Only Knows."

I may not always love you

But long as there are stars above you

You never need to doubt it

I'll make you so sure about it

Billy Joel can say hello in with famous songs like "She's Always a Woman" or a hidden gem like "She's Right on Time." 

The Carpenters? Where to start. Simply the sound of Karen Carpenter's voice should be enough, right?

Chicago. The Eagles. Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell. Otis Redding. Sam Cooke. Smokey Robinson. Carole King. Diana Ross. Streisand. The Bee Gees. All have a case to make in this discussion.

And, of course, when speaking of love and complications, there's her. Taylor Swift. She's the problem. It's her. But, seriously, she wears short skirts and T-shirts and so on (yes, I know I'm butchering the lyrics).

Can we also mention the late Donna Summer and "Love to Love You Baby?" Because I was seven when that came out and it sort of scarred me but I digress. Then again, that could lead me back to The Beatles and "Why Don't We Do it in the Road" so we'll just leave things as they are. You know, family blog and all.

I suppose if anything troubled me about this exercise it was how overwhelming it could be.

Now, I've tried to avoid schmaltz but, as always, this is always subjective. You may want or expect Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, or Celine Dion, and justifiably so. I'm sure that some of you are thinking I'm leaving obvious choices out and that's OK. In fact, it's sort of what I want. In fact, Carey's "Vision of Love" was a favorite of mine to play on Majic 105 back in 1990-91. Things were still innocent then and we hadn't dealt with "Christmas Mariah" yet.

And these songs have all been basically messages of devotion, with a few complications thrown in. But even a breakup song is, at its heart, about love. Think of Carole King's "It's Too Late." It's heartbreaking because she still cares about her subject but "We just can't stay together, don't you feel it too?"

And let's not leave The Cure out ("Love Song") or even Led Zeppelin ("Thank You"). Love knows no musical boundaries -- be it hard rock, metal, goth, country, pop, or anything else.

Sometimes it's OK to express a feeling or two.

Oh, yeah, and there's one last love song that I will wrap up with. It's a, er, curious thing.

First time you feel it, it might make you sad

Next time you feel it, it might make you mad

But you'll be glad baby when you've found

That's the power makes the world go 'round

You knew I had to mention that one.

Feel the power of love.

Because love is all you need.

Notes on Music

 

Gordon Lightfoot

Two music notes (ha ha) of interest were in the news this week.

The first was the passing of Gordon Lightfoot. The Canadian singer-songwriter was well-regarded in the music world and was a national treasure in his native land. As music can always trip the nostalgic feels, hearing of his passing puts me back in my parent's 1971 Chevrolet Impala with WABC on the AM dial.

Note that we did not have FM in my parent's car until 1986. Yes, I thought that was insane also but, then again, my life has been working for an AM radio station.

But Lightfoot's songs -- so many, and all so popular -- emanated from the speakers of the car as we cruised from Mahopac to parts unknown. "Sundown," "Carefree Highway," the gut-wrenching "If You Could My Mind," and "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" are among the many hits.

I can hear the great DJ Dan Ingram talking up a Lightfoot hit in his humorous way right to the post of the vocal. Brilliance. All of it.

Lightfoot was beloved and many have expressed their love for him and his work as well as sadness of his passing.

In terms of music, I suppose it does evoke a simpler time of well-constructed and thoughtful songs with strong arrangements. In terms of modern music, think of the Lightfoot as the Soft Seventies (Taylor's Version).

May Lightfoot's music survive like the legend lives on from the Chippewa on down. Of the big lake they call Gitchigumi.

*****

Sheryl Crow

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame announced their 2023 class this morning. Of particular note to me was the inclusion of Sheryl Crow, who I admit to being a fan of since seeing her open up for The Eagles in 1994.

I'm surprised actually. Given the Hall of Fame does an online fan vote, and Crow wasn't tracking particularly strongly there, I didn't think she had the critical acclaim to make this leap.

But somewhere there were voters who supported her inclusion. 

My struggle with the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is just like everyone else's struggle. It's really of "Pop Music Hall of Fame" but nomenclature aside, it's astoundingly flawed. I'll join the chorus who are outraged at Warren Zevon missing out again, for instance. Iron Maiden and Soundgarden also appear, in my opinion, to be egregious oversights.

There have just been so many swings and misses, reminiscent of other Halls of Fame. There are acts in the Hall who, in one critic's opinion, are like letting the steroids users in (baseball reference if you're not getting it).

We could highlight the obvious choices -- The Beatles, Chuck Berry, The Stones, Beach Boys, Little Richard, and so on. Let's face it. Those are among some of the no-brainers.

But, as with anything else, it gets subjective (and personal). Given Maroon 5 isn't in and thank the musical gods for that (hi John Nash!) I won't call any particular bands out for being in the Hall of Fame, despite those who sing little ditties that give music a bad name.

I digress.

Here are the 2023 honorees:

Performer Category 

Kate Bush 

Sheryl Crow 

Missy Elliott 

George Michael 

Willie Nelson 

Rage Against the Machine 

The Spinners 

Musical Influence Award 

DJ Kool Herc 

Link Wray 

Musical Excellence Award 

Chaka Khan 

Al Kooper 

Bernie Taupin 

Ahmet Ertegun Award 

Don Cornelius

I'd rather highlight the good here (ignoring my rage against RATM). Again, forgetting being hung up on the "rock and roll" thing here, I love seeing Don Cornelius (come on? "Soul Train!"), Al Kooper, and Chaka Khan (Ch...Ch...Ch...Ch...Chaka Kahn!) among the nominees.

Bernie Taupin -- you know, he wrote a few things with Elton John -- should have been in a while ago so it's richly deserved. Taupin and his music will always make me smile.

I suppose I'd rather just nod to those who got the call this morning.

Otherwise, meh. 

I think it's key to save the rage (against the machine or otherwise) given that this is basically the Hall of Fame for a few egomaniacs. Look, I never expect Huey Lewis and the News to even get nominated. Does that bother me? I suppose a little given contemporaries that I think they stand up well next to have been nominated. 

I guess selling over 30 million records means nothing. 

But this is a dicey business where "critics" get their say and, a few voices get the ultimate say (Jann Wenner, anyone?). Again, in my effort to not criticize others (despite veiled attempts contained herein), I'll withhold comment.

But do I think any less of Lewis and company for not being nominated? Good grief, no. Like Don Mattingly, Paul O'Neill, Bobby Murcer, and countless sports and musical artists, they're in my Hall of Fame. While it would be great to see them immortalized I also wouldn't want them to get crapped on. I'm fairly certain Sheryl Crow is getting that treatment today.

As for Crow, look, at first glance, I didn't see her as a Hall of Famer. But I did see a body of work that is pretty fantastic with a lot of critical praise. Her 1998 album The Globe Sessions remains a treasured part of my music collection. Honestly, it's an important album to me. 

As a recent Showtime documentary demonstrated, she's had a huge impact on music, especially women in the business from Brandy Carlile to many others. 

Now, I'll wade into a dicey pool here and also mention that Crow has strong support among LGBTIQA+ and, in 2023, that's a good look for an organization like the Rock Hall. Call that controversial if you wish, and I'm not trying to say that Crow checks a particular political box, but it doesn't hurt her either. Her acceptance among fans works in her favor.

So, if you're paying attention: a solid body of musical work, is influential and popular among her peers, is a cancer survivor, and the Hall hasn't honored many females, she'll be seen as a solid pick.

But questionable among the masses I'm quite sure. 

Anyway, I think I'm going to listen to some music now.

Great Artist. Bad Record.

 

There are so many days and nights when I just hit a wall. No topics jump out.

Often, I get an assist from my writing muse. Susan rides in on her white keyboard with suggestions.

She texted me a Rolling Stone story the other night that I certainly found interesting. When I was talking with her the next day about this little ol' slice of internet hell, she suggested I write about the very story that she texted me.

She helped me talk it out a bit. It was a great idea.

And so, here we are.

The topic of the Rolling Stone story was to rank 50 Genuinely Horrible Albums by Brilliant Artists. As with everything R.S. does, it's utterly and completely flawed but still interesting. The text, written by Andy Greene, includes this passage:

There’s also no U2 record because we like them all, even Songs of Experience and October. Those are fighting words to some, and we’re sure many readers will have problems with this list. True suckiness — like true greatness — is a subjective quality.

Good lord. Considering it said "brilliant artists" and includes Kiss also adds to have just flawed the thinking is, but we can digress.

(Incidentally, the story did rank 50 albums, and number one was Ye by Kanye West.)

Since this is all subjective and it's my list, I'm going to just throw what are not great albums by artists I genuinely enjoy. And, yeah, U2 will likely show up in this. There's no great methodology here, and I don't intend to spend hours on this.

Well, let's just start with The Beatles. Now, if you know me, you know that on Babe Ruth's green earth there is no way I will tell you that there are any bad records of theirs. However, Beatles for Sale isn't my favorite. I will say that Let it Be has grown on me, thanks to the 2021 Get Back documentary. Magical Mystery Tour is a bit unfocused but has brilliance on it. Thus the answer has to be Yellow Submarine only because six Beatles songs followed by a collection of George Martin instrumentals.

Obviously, it's not dreck but I tried to find flaws.

Billy Joel, while revered, is a little easier. I never liked The Bridge but that can't be my answer. Hell, he barely cared about The Bridge and, well, it shows. Still, it does have "A Matter of Trust" and that counts for something.

But River of Dreams is just awful. Of course, it's awful by Billy Joel standards but when compared to, say, The Stranger in his canon, you realize it is terrible. I remember cranking the CD open right after it came out in 1993 and seeing that Color Me Badd sang backup on a song and realizing this was not good.

I mean, look, it still has some decent songs but, well, no.

Paul McCartney is easy to narrow down. Just go to the 80s. Critics and fans have come to recognize his 70s output (solo and with Wings) was much better than we ever gave credit for, mostly because it was being compared to that band he used to be in. By the 80s, things are much more unfocused as Paul clearly missed John Lennon following his death. Then he did the absolute train wreck that was "Ebony and Ivory" with Stevie Wonder and do we need to get into the Michael Jackson duets?

Sir Paul needed the end of the decade and Elvis Costello to discover his mojo (and his Hofner violin bass) again on Flowers in the Dirt. But while many mock his 1984 soundtrack to Give My Regards to Broad Street (he remade Beatles songs for the love of Lennon), Press to Play is not good. Classic rock artists didn't have the easiest time around 1986 and Macca was no exception. While I personally like "Spies Like Us" (from the same era but not on this album), his music at this time was dripping in gooey 80s production values.

No. 

I wanted to pick a truly awful Beach Boys album but I truly felt there was only one way to do this correctly.

Take virtually every non-Brian Wilson album. Bingo. You have an answer. Also, anything with "Kokomo." No, I'm not kidding. The Beach Boys played the Greenwich Town Party a few years ago and while it was a pleasure to take a few minutes to watch them, Sean and I were thankfully gone before they sullied things by playing "Kokomo."

How does one suggest a bad Elton John album? Well, let's see, we could go to his late-70s selections or anything after "I Guess That's Why They Call it The Blues." Leather Jackets, his 1986 album (again, classic rock and 1986) has got to be the right answer. It's truly amazing that Elton John and Bernie Taupin can come up with anything this bad.

Genesis. Oh, Genesis. Of course, they're a band who have a simple dividing line: the Peter Gabriel years and the non-Peter Gabriel years. Snobs like me see where the Gabriel stuff is great and non (read: Phil Collins) isn't. 

But that's not true. Duke is great and Abacab is very good and the Perfection pieces self-titled album is also terrific. Invisible Touch is fine and then there is We Can't Dance.

Glub.

Look, the Collins and Genesis-less Congo is insufferable but given Collins, Tony Banks, and Mike Rutherford are on We Can't Dance, well, that wins. The problem with that album is that we're into the cutesie-I-Make-Movies Phil Collins years. He's lost that loving charm by that time and, while there are a few OK songs on it, we've reached the border of the Phil Collins Disney years.

Make it stop.

Now how do I address Huey Lewis and the News? I mean, their early work was blah blah blah.

No, I revere their early work. I don't care it was a little too "new wave." The first four albums (self-titled, Picture This, Sports, and Fore) are sacred to me. Small World changed the game and Hard at Play was an attempt to remain pop-driven. 

But Soulsville is the album that I haven't listened to enough. Is it a bad album? No, not at all. In fact, I saw them touring in support of that album and the collection of soul covers on the album are solid. But, keep in mind, this was their second album of covers following the wonderful Four Chords and Several Years Ago.

Let's finish with U2 since Rolling Stone could never see any wrong with the four Irish boys.

They'd be definitively wrong.

Pop is a strange album but one in which they tried to embrace the electronica of the era. But they came back from that. Beginning with No Line on the Horizon, the game was over.

But Songs of Innocence was the end. Look, this was the album that the band and Apple forced on all of us. As I'm one to like free music, I was into the idea. But then I listened to it.

Sadly, whatever good I have to about U2 was over and done with.

So, no, Rolling Stone, I don't like them all.

What about you? What are the albums in the acts that you love that just aren't up to the standards you want? What Taylor Swift miscue makes you cringe? 

I'll leave any analysis of The Monkees to my writing muse.

Susan, it's all yours.

Do You Feel Like We Do?

Peter Frampton, 1976

 

Thanks, Dave Torromeo.

Dave, my good friend and co-host (with Mark Jeffers) of "The Clubhouse" posted on Facebook tonight. He said Frampton Comes Alive, one of the best live albums, was released on this day 47 years ago. Well, that it was.

The album is a touchstone for music listeners in the 1970s (including a seven-year-old). It's iconic and still holds up, even if it might be a touch dated. It was everywhere on the radio in 1976 with "Show Me The Way" and "Baby, I Love Your Way" rolling up the pop charts. 

Still, to most, it's "Do You Feel Like We Do" that might inspire the most nostalgia. I'm sure, contained within, are myriad memories that are, er, hazy.

You know, "alright alright alright."

Dave went on to call it the best live album ever and I'm not here to argue. I'm sure of working off the top of my brain on this one.

With that, he inspired me to write.

Of course, I remind you that these are purely opinions and, beyond that, are entirely subjective. To many of us, our favorite live albums weren't commercially available. I think of recording the audio of Huey Lewis and News's Feb 1985 show that aired on Showtime later that year. I have quite a few HLN live shows that are among my favorites. Still, the band released only one show commercially, Live at 25.

So, if we're going with commercial releases, I'll just throw a few out for fun. These aren't ranked and I'm not even trying to fire up a debate. 

I start with two non-rock and roll live albums, the first being Bennie Goodman's The Famous 1938 Carnegie Hall Jazz Concert. Unlike anything like it at the time because such shows were non-existent at Carnegie Hall. Simply the explosion of "Sing Sing Sing (with a Swing)" over 12 minutes is enough for me.

In that same way is The Drum Battle, featuring Buddy Rich and Gene Krupa. I've written about this one numerous times. The album -- also recorded at Carnegie Hall, in 1952 -- was a favorite of my father and you knew the windows would rattle if he put that one on the turntable.

Staying away from rock and roll for another moment, I'll add the monumental effort that is Sinatra at the Sands from 1965. Frank's the boss. Frank's the star. Frank is Frank (and only the 19th greatest singer ever, per Rolling Stone, but I digress). But Frank, with Count Basie and an incredible orchestra, fly through a list of songs with non-PC banter during "The Tea Break." "I've Got You Under My Skin" is still one of the finest songs I've ever heard on a recording. Basie's band and Sinatra's vocals combine for powerful magic. Frank is coming down from his Rat Pack peak but he's still tops in cool. Still, it was a strange time for Sinatra as he competed with The Beatles and rock and roll.

The next live album that I can think of straddles the rock and country line. It's Johnny Cash Live at Folsom Prison. From that greeting, "Hello, I'm Johnny Cash," to the raucous cheers of the inmates to "Folsom Prison Blues" and "Jackson" with June Carter Cash, this album is pretty great.

As we go into full rock and roll, certainly I'll acknowledge "Frampton Comes Alive" and if you've ever heard someone utter "Bob Mayo on the keyboard! Bob Mayo!" now you know why.

Lynyrd Skynyrd's, One More From the Road merits a mention, if only for another line that you've heard uttered countless times: "DO FREE BIRD!" There's a lot more to the album than just the epic 11:30 version of "Free Bird" but that's probably the highest of the highlights. That album had a big impact on me at the time.

The Band and The Last Waltz also deserve a nod, not only because of The Band themselves but because of the hall of fame collection of guests. Of course, Martin Scorses's film is an important document and that's where I became most beguiled by Joni Mitchell's version of her just-released "Coyote." Mesmerizing. Then you throw in Levon Helm doing basically anything and you've got greatness.

While it doesn't have the feeling that it was one singular show (because it was curated from several shows) Billy Joel's Songs in the Attic remains near the top of any list for me. It would have been easy to throw "Piano Man" and his late-70s hits together, but Joel instead presents a group of songs that might not have been familiar to his more-recent fans of that era. Yet all I need to hear are those opening notes of "Miami 2017 (Seen the Lights Go Out on Broadway)" to raise some chills. The crowd cheering the line "and picked the Yankees up for free" will further those chills and bring me to raise a glass.

Nirvana's Unplugged in New York is among the more poignant albums because of Kurt Cobain's suicide only a few months after it was recorded. There are too many great performances on this album to highlight just one.

Paul McCartney's Good Evening New York City will be the last I'll bring up because I was at one of the shows that the music is from. I basically was content to retire from attending big concerts after that night because I'd finally seen a Beatle and he was incredible. That album is a great souvenir.

OK, I could obviously do this all night, and, trust me, I'm forgetting a bunch. I didn't want to go crazy researching it as I mostly wanted to just see what I could think of.

I realize I'm not breaking down The Allman Brothers Bands' At Fillmore East and James Brown's Live at the Apollo, 1962, and a ton of others. The Who, the Rolling Stones, Talking Heads, and others all made important live records. 

I suppose I'll leave it to you to fill in the comments.

These Bootlegs Won't Be Walking

Billy Joel will be the headliner at the Greenwich Town Party later this month.

Once again, WGCH will be the official radio station of the event.

For the third year in a row, Sean will co-host with me.

Now, to be clear, Billy Joel's show will NOT -- repeat, NOT -- air on WGCH. We are not allowed to carry that. From what I've heard, we can air literally everyone else but Billy Joel.

We haven't finalized our broadcast plans yet but if it follows what we've done in the past, we'll probably be live by Noon and go until maybe 6 (or later this year).

But, as I talked about it on "Doubleheader" today, it got me thinking: why can't Billy Joel let us air it?

Oh, I know, I know. People could record the show and digitize it and sell bootleg copies.

Oh lordy! The horror!

Look, I love Billy Joel. I've been a fan of his music for over 40 years. And, I get it. Literally, every headlining act in the past wouldn't let us carry their show. From Lynyrd Skynyrd and Paul Simon to Eric Clapton and Steely Dan and, duh, the Eagles.

Yet...

Think this through for a moment. The ticket to this show is one of the hardest to get. Only a small amount of people (I've seen 6,000 but factor everything in and maybe it's 8,000) will get into Roger Sherman Baldwin Park (including the Adams Boys, who attend on media credentials).

There will be boats in Greenwich Harbor that will jockey for position to listen to the show.

There will be a lot of people that will gather on the sidewalks outside of the park on Arch Street. They, too, will be able to hear the show.

Many, however, will not. 

Billy Joel has always been one of the more "regular guys" in the rock and roll world. To me, that's always been part of his appeal to go along with the timeless tunes that I've been singing since I was probably eight or nine.

So, it would be really cool if he would be the one to say, "Let's throw a big party and air it on the radio so that everyone can hear it." It would look great for Billy, Greenwich, and of course WGCH (I'm not dumb).

As it is, he has so many live albums in existence. Probably countless more shows that have been turned into bootlegs over the years. Plus Billy always appreciated all kinds of bands, like the Grateful Dead, who let fans record their shows.

But I get it. What I'm saying makes zero sense.

To an extent, I still have a bit of a bitter taste in my mouth at the Eagles management shoved WGCH aside like we were, well, nothing. Which I guess we were.

But, ah, the good old bootleg. For every wise band that allowed such things (jam band Umphrey's McGee immediately springs to mind), there are countless others who would be horrified at such things.

Of course, it reminds me of the infamous episode of What's Happening!! in 1978 featuring the Doobie Brothers and a contraband cassette recorder in the hands of one Mr. Freddie "Rerun" Stubbs.

But it was really a staple of life. Now, while I never took an illegal tape recorder to a concert, you can bet I recorded a few shows off the radio. Concerts were a constant -- especially at night -- on outlets such as WNEW-FM and others who ran things like "The King Biscuit Flower Hour."

As I told the story on "Doubleheader" today, my most famous tape was when Huey Lewis and the News (of course) aired a concert on Showtime. That concert was then simulcast on WNEW. I went to my sister's apartment and watched the concert while recording the audio on a boom box. 

Postscript: the concert, filmed at the Kabuki Theater -- now a movie theater -- in San Francisco, was made available on VHS and won a Grammy.

I almost wore the cassette out, so much so that I made sure I had an extra copy available. That's the tape that I then played constantly, keeping the other one as the master tape. Eventually, that and other concerts became available digitally. The sound, needless to say, was light years better.

One night, a few years later, I caught an HLN show from their FORE! Tour on the radio. I rushed home and threw a cassette in my stereo to catch the rest of it. It was years before I got the whole show. That cassette featured the brilliant "Whole Lotta Lovin'" which then transitioned to "The Boys Are Back in Town." The poignancy of that was Huey was a good friend of Phil Lynott, the Thin Lizzy frontman who wrote and sang "The Boys Are Back in Town."

Huey, in fact, was producing a solo album for Lynott when the Irish performer died in 1986. Huey considered Lynott to be a mentor and he played harmonica on both a live Thin Lizzy album and a studio album.

Well, a post that was going to be more about bootleg albums turned into a deeper dive down a rabbit hole. Still, with digital media, there are plenty of ways to dig into the bootleg world. Gone is the tape hiss that those of us who grew up in that era knew all too well. Gone, also, is making sure you have just enough tape before it cuts off on a song. It was quite a dance.

So, dream all I want about Billy Joel's management giving us the "all clear" to air his concert later this month. 

It's not happening.

So the answer is to get a ticket or find a position where you can listen to the show.

The New Phone

 

It was past time for me to upgrade my cell phone.

Of course, me being me, this took far longer and more research than necessary.

Something would talk me out of pulling the trigger every time. The monthly cost was too high, I didn't like what came with it, the phone was out of stock, I didn't like the color. Literally, anything.

But my older phone was beginning to show some age and it felt best to get a good trade-in and move on once and for all. So, finally, I jumped.

The process, in the end, was mostly painless. It however reminded me of the painstaking process of setting up my mother's phone each time.

Well, she wasn't going to do it. Thus, it fell to me.

One thing I allowed myself was a phone with larger storage. I didn't go for a better camera and maybe I should have but I figured I have a fairly decent point-and-shoot camera still and the camera on this phone should do the job just fine.

But I decided I was done with using older devices as a repurposed MP3 player. I wanted my music and anything else on my phone.

It's part of my master plan to put on a pair of headphones, take something to knock me out, and listen to tunes as I sleep from New York to London in April.

Or on the train into New York in March.

Or in the car.

It was time to move into the 21st century in this regard.

So I went through the process of loading the phone with music tonight. There are nearly 17,000 songs on my older laptop so I decided to not overthink it.

Shocking, I know.

While it would have been easiest to just sync everything, I wanted a little more control so I opted to do it manually.

Look, some things are obvious. Almost all music by Huey Lewis, The Beatles, Billy Joel, and Messrs. McCartney, Lennon, and Harrison made the cut. I don't think I have much of Mr. Starkey, to be honest.

Certain complications from the above group didn't make it because I probably don't need every version of "The Heart of Rock & Roll." Studio? Yes. Live? Sure, a couple of different versions, please. But each version of "Sports"* plus greatest hits albums? Come on. Even I can't be that crazy.

I have four different versions of "Sports": the original, "expanded edition," Original Master Recordings, and 30th Anniversary Deluxe. It's a sickness but I'm the fool that falls for marketing.

Still, there's the album/original version of "Pretty in Pink" and the soundtrack version from the movie of the same name. Both by the Psychedelic Furs, of course. Many prefer the original. I love both.

The beauty of this exercise was just that: I could pick whatever I bloody well want!

If I didn't want to include Billy Joel's Russian concert album ("Концерт") or his efforts pre-solo years (don't ask if you've never heard it) then I could with ease.

If I wanted to weigh myself down with jazz then you knew I would. So Miles Davis and Dave Brubeck and Charlie Parker and Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington and Charles Mingus and John Coltrane and Benny Goodman all made the cut.

This always allows me the chance to see just much...awfulness I also have. I've acquired stuff from others over the years and always find myself in that spot of wondering if it's time to delete some things. Of course, the downside -- especially as a purveyor of production -- is that someone might need a certain song for a certain spot.

Or it's needed when I'm handling music and public address duties.

Or, as does happen with me, something or someone turns me onto the song or the artist and I suddenly enjoy that I have it in my collection. I can never thank Susan enough for making me care more about Joni Mitchell, for instance.

Then it's exciting to have Abba or Enya or Adele or something else that had basically a slim to no chance of winding up on my phone.

At least not this time around, and no offense intended to host artists. The point is there are a lot of things that I own that I find myself wondering exactly where I got that from.

Still, every picture tells a story (Rod Stewart, and no I don't have that). Or, in this case, maybe every song tells a story?

The music stretches across decades, from "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" recorded in 1908 to the earliest work by Louis Armstrong in 1925 to "McCartney III" by, well, the GOAT and "Weather" by Huey Lewis and the News (that other "GOAT") in 2020.

Nothing from 2021, apparently.

Oh I'll no doubt be looking for a song or an album one day when it will strike me that I didn't sync it to my phone. That's the downside of this, of course, but I'll take that in exchange for the ability to review what I own.

And cringe.

Well, at least some of it.

Oh and the deal with Verizon came with Hulu, Disney Plus, and ESPN Plus, which will make the sting less noticeable when I turn cable off.

He got the honor of the first picture

A Different Drum

 

This isn't my story. It's Susan's. She'll tell it when she's ready and when she is ready? 

Grab tissues.

We all have heroes and there are people that we associate with one another. I think of Susan and Paul when it comes to Billy Joel, for instance.

For Chris Erway, it's probably Brian Wilson.

For Harold, it was Lemmy (if you say "Lemmy who?" you probably need to stop reading) and Bruins/Rangers great Rick Middleton.

There are others but you get the idea, and I know there are a few names associated with me.

But, back to Susan. Early in our friendship, we talked about music a lot. She said -- almost sheepishly -- that she was a fan of The Monkees. 

She specifically spoke glowingly of Mike Nesmith, the dude in the wool hat who just seemed cooler and angrier than the others and that was OK. He was more detached from what The Monkees were. He was more confounding than the other three members. He had a John Lennon/George Harrison way about him.

I think she then recoiled as she prepared for me to launch into a holier-than-thou-they're-not-The Beatles attack.

I didn't. I always liked them. I laughed at the show and loved the music. I knew a lot of it -- even a few lesser-known tracks -- and had a healthy appreciation for the hits.

How could anyone -- seriously -- ever dislike "Daydream Believer" or "I'm a Believer" or brilliant stuff like "Pleasant Valley Sunday?"

I knew the jabs -- didn't write their own music, was the "Prefab Four," didn't play their music -- but great pop craftsmanship doesn't have to come from the hand of the artist in question. Twas once a time, boys and girls, where there were songwriters who cranked out songs for others to play.

Yet The Monkees didn't necessarily want others to play write or perform their stuff. Especially Nesmith. No, "Papa Nez" was willing to punch a wall for his artistic integrity -- literally. He didn't want to be "The Monkees." He wanted to be The Monkees. That is, he wanted to be a musician. An artist.

I've sadly buried the lead here, but Papa Nez died today at 78, just a few weeks after his last performance with fellow primate Micky Dolenz.

But I'm giving you too much of a biography here and, for the real appreciation, I'm handing the keyboard to Susan, where it belongs. I speak as an outsider. She's the expert.

What I instead want to focus on is my initial point: we all have heroes.

The problem often is we have people in our lives who insist on telling you how these people -- larger than life and often intangible -- "put their pants on one leg at a time." God, I've heard that crap far too many times.

Except, when their pants are on, they make gold records (paraphrasing legendary producer Bruce Dickinson on Saturday Night Live).

But, seriously, despite the naysayers, some of these people -- people we'll never know -- become like friends. We know their catalog so deeply, regardless of what it is. Their work takes us to a happy place. It's a touchstone. A flash in time.

It's also a connection to our kids. Our parents. Our friends. Our loved ones.

When I hear the live version of "Trouble in Paradise" by Huey Lewis and the News, I'm 16 again and my father is still alive and I'm in high school and my worries are few. The Yankees and Steelers are both sort of middling teams but my band is arguably the biggest band in the world. I hear the song now and blink a few thoughts of life and times gone by in that moment.

I have no idea it will all crash down by the end of 1989.

So, for Susan, I got it. I knew what this all meant. I even considered surprising her last year with an online hello from Papa Nez. Yet something she said to me told me she was content to leave things as they were.

Those memories are happily frozen in time.

Again, it's her story.

Somehow, I fear this is becoming about me but it's really a story of protecting my friend while explaining that it's really OK to feel sad today. They're not always "some vapid celebrity." They're a part of our lives.

See, with Susan, she honored me with a deep dive of Monkes Mayhem. She made me a mix CD -- maybe the last one she's ever made -- of all kinds of groovy goodies. She turned me on to deeper recesses of Nesmith, Dolenz, Peter Tork, and Davy Jones (beyond his famous "Brady Bunch" appearance).

She made me realize the love of "Propinquity (I've Just Begun to Care)" while examining the lyrics of brilliant "Randy Scouse Git (Alternate Title)" more closely. 

We'll never hear the words "The four kings of EMI are sitting stately on the floor" without glancing at each other. 

The Monkees...and The Beatles.

Nesmith, right, with a couple of Lads named George and John

Oh, did you ever hear the fact that The Monkees sold more records than The Beatles and Rolling Stones combined?

Nesmith admitted to Gilbert Gottfried in 2015 that he made the whole thing up for an interview he did. How did I learn that? Susan told me to listen to the Gottfried/Nesmith interview.

Amazing stuff (hear it for yourself).

So when I glanced at my email today and saw that headline: "Monkees Co-Founder Michael Nesmith Dead at 78," I audibly gasped and texted Susan.

"Call me. Now."

I didn't want it to come from some random heartless D.W. Washburn or Auntie Grizelda. For Pete's Sake, it had to be delivered delicately!

It hurt.

Still does.

I got it. 

For her, it's a connection to her daughter and...again...

It's her story.

Let her tell it. Let her sadness and, hopefully, joy flow.

Let her take a Last Train to Clarksville.

And raise a glass to the brilliant Papa Nez, who's being feted with proper respect tonight in the pop culture world.

Listen to the Band.

Thankful

 

I've been challenged. Well, sort of.

I'm not sure I have 30 days of it in me but I do think it's a good idea that I'm, er, thankful for.

Co-conspirator John Nash has been inspired by his muse to write about things he is thankful for. It's a wonderful concept.

I could certainly use a little more positivity around these parts. But, like I said, I don't know that I can keep that going for 30 days. I've accepted a few other challenges in the past and I feel like I lost the vibe for it a few days in, despite keeping it going.

Much like writing a post per day for 1,037 consecutive days. 

John's first post this month is about being thankful for his ability to write. It's a point I can't argue with. Much how I feel when it comes to Susan, I'm envious of John's (and Susan's and others) ability to spin a paragraph to the point that I often just want to stick to speaking. Which I'm barely capable of.

But, I do have things I'm thankful for and one hit me during the day.

I'm thankful for music, of course, but I'm also thankful for the bands and songs that have stuck with me over the years.

Stuck with me. Hmmm...Much like "Stuck with You."

As much as I love The Beatles and others, only one band inspired me get up before dawn to fly cross-country to visit the bar where the cover of their most famous album was created.

Granted, I went to San Francisco on business but I took advantage of the opportunity to drive a car into Marin County to grab a beer at The 2am Club, the site of the cover photo of "Sports" by Huey Lewis and the News.

I'm thankful -- sometimes, more than I realize -- for HLN.

I have these moments where I downplay the band. I even have moments where I wonder if I love them as much as I've professed over the years.

I've also had moments where it's even been a point of embarrassment. They've never been regarded kindly by critics.  Also, I'm quite sure, two things would come up if you were to ask people who knew me when I was young: 1) the Yankees and 2) Huey Lewis and the News with 3) the Steelers and other "Rob quirks" following up.

But, back to the band. To be honest, I disregarded them at first. I wasn't big on their first couple of singles. You've likely heard of them. One was called "Working for a Living" and the other was "Do You Believe in Love"

Yeah. I'm an idiot.

But, somewhere, as I watched an episode of "Friday Night Videos" on a VHS tape in the year of our musical lord 1984 (I recorded it every week) a bolt of lightning struck me.

It was, dare I say, "A little help from above," over a year before their biggest song hit.

It hit me. There, in the thick of synths and New Wave and electric drums and other 80s production trademarks was a band who honored the roots of rock and roll. "Sports," the album that made them (briefly) the biggest band in the world had "a clear, crisp sound, and a new sheen of consummate professionalism that really gives the songs a big boost" as Patrick Bateman said.

I listened to some of their rare older stuff as I drove home today and appreciated their early work. While it was really too "New Wave" for many, it's still stuff that I adore. Each album -- each song -- felt like a musical history lesson with not just New Wave elements but pop, rock, funk, jazz, blues, soul, zydeco, creole, country, and more. 

Plus they were the regular guys --the local bar band -- and having met several members over the years (and saying a brief hello to Huey himself) that really comes across in person.

So, yeah, I'm quite thankful for Huey, Johnny, Chris, Bill, Sean, and Mario (the original band) and the members that have come and gone in the years since.

The music became more than just the sound. It became a cultural touchstone for me. With songs and members that were completely harmless to the public, it was a fine connection to my parents, and hearing it takes me back to different times in my life.

So, to be listening to them as I crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and to have their (likely) last album cover debut while I was in San Francisco? An album cover that features the Golden Gate Bridge? The connection continues.

I can tell you about the big hits. I can tell you about the rarities. I can tell you about the songs that aren't as well-known that I love. I can tell you how great they were in concert and what a tight-sounding unit they were.

I can preach from the Good Church of the Power of Love, originally housed in a place called Uncle Charlie's and forever held in The 2am Club in Mill Valley, CA.

They don't need to be in the Hall of Fame. The songs that didn't make it (or get released) happened that way for a reason. 

I can tell you where I was when I first heard "The Power of Love." I can tell you where I was (and the radio station I was listening to) when I first heard "The Heart of Rock and Roll" and how I felt like my life -- yes, really -- had been changed.

I can tell you about standing in Record Town in the Jefferson Valley Mall, patiently waiting for the staff to cut open the boxes with "Fore" in them in 1986.

I can tell you about seeing them for the first time at the Orange County Fairgrounds in Middletown, NY, or the night at Madison Square Garden that I still hold sacred. But I can also talk about the more intimate shows.

I can tell you about standing in Scott Wilson's living room with MTV on when another video started. I rolled my eyes and said, "Oh what is this?"

Scott and his mother exchanged looks and said they'd change the channel.

Then I saw the caption.

Huey Lewis & the News
"Bad is Bad"
Sports
Chrysalis Records

"STOP! Don't touch a thing!"

I was enthralled. The video was past cool. 

It was hip to be square (even if the song was misunderstood).

You had to be there. You have to hear it and feel it for yourself.

They're my band -- not that I won't share them. 

But they'll always be mine.

I'm thankful for that.

The greatest American band is?

Is this the answer?

I thought it might be healthy to not talk about the Renegades tonight (even if I just did).

I took note of another bracket discussion on Twitter this evening. This one was on the greatest American band. From what I could tell, the Grateful Dead were on their way to likely winning the whole thing.

With all due respect, blech.

But, with that said, what is the right answer?

It seems much clearer in the UK, for instance, as The Beatles tend to get most love but the Stones, Who, Zeppelin, and others get hyped. It often feels like the US is playing for second or much further back.

Not to say the US has bad bands. We can claim the Beach Boys and Metallica and Van Halen as well as Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Eagles, the Velvet Underground, The Allman Brothers Band, The Doors, R.E.M., and Nirvana.

There are underappreciated bands like Big Star that we should mention as well.

Those saying Bon Jovi will be hit with a response that will include something about a band whose "early work was a little too New Wave for my taste, but when SPORTS came out..."

Yeah, I'm not kidding. Huey Lewis and the News are legit but I also know their place. They crafted legitimately great pop/rock songs as a band who honored Memphis soul combined with the trends of their time and harkened back to early American rock.

I realize there are tons of bands I'm not mentioning. I realize I haven't brought up The Ramones or Talking Heads or Blondie.

Or Up Front (for Jon and Jeff and Shagger Dave and anyone else who might get that reference). I can still claim that I attended an Up Front show in the late 80s and I'm a better man for doing so.

Then there are the bands that are a mix of Americans and elsewhere, such as Fleetwood Mac, which achieved global success after adding two Yanks, and The Band, who were largely Canadian but one can't forget Levon Helm from Arkansas.

Of course, one always leaves solo artists out even though they have great, tight bands behind them. Billy Joel comes to mind, for instance, especially in the main days of his band from the 70s until the late 90s. Then there are bands like The Pretenders, whose main four members were really only together for two albums. Besides, only Chrissie Hynde is American, and she's lived in England since 1973.

Chrissie Hynde is great and I will hear no slander on that topic.

What do we do with groups like the Mamas and the Papas and Crosby, Stills, Nash (and Young)? The Mamas and the Papas weren't really a band, I suppose, so OK.

And what about The Monkees? Surely, despite the disrespect over them being "the Prefab Four," they still made some remarkable music -- both from Brill Building writers and on their own.

Chicago? What about them? OK, we can deride their sappier "Cetera-influenced" years but the Terry Kath era was pretty great and that man was an intensely brilliant guitarist.

Like I said, we can just keep spouting band names. None truly grab me as clearly "the greatest."

I've often thought the easiest answer was the Beach Boys, simply with the work they created between 1962 and 1967. Brian Wilson's intricate works inspired the Beatles a few times. "Here, There, and Everywhere" and the "Sgt. Pepper's" album were both thanks to "God Only Knows" and the "Pet Sounds" album respectively. Greatness inspiring greatness.

The results post-1967 were middling, with the infighting and Mike Love's narcissism taking over. Of course, there's also the matter of Brian Wilson's mental health.

Sure, a case can be made for Nirvana and I'm fine with that. Still, their output was so brief before Kurt Cobain killed himself.

So there's the conundrum. Of course there's no correct answer. If you think it's the Dead, well, I know Huey Lewis had a connection with them. That pleases me. 

But, still.

If you think it's someone else, it's probably not wrong.

So, have at it. Honestly, I don't plan to dig my heels in on anything.