A collection of highlights from the great rock and roll revival (c. 1968-1984). In the late 1960s, psyche rock fatigue and a cascade of challenging world events fueled rampant ’50s nostalgia; spurring, among other things, renewed public interest in rock’s earliest styles and innovators.
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Back In The U.S.S.R. (2018 Mix)
Lady Madonna
Elvis Presley – Opening Production Number ('68 Comeback Special)
Cheap Thrills
Abraham, Martin And John
Jerry Lee Lewis – Another Place, Another Time
Summertime Blues (40th Anniversary Version – Live At Leeds)
Creedence Clearwater Revival – Travelin' Band (Official Music Video)
Elvis Presley – Suspicious Minds (Official Audio)
Chuck Berry Live 1972 ~ My Ding-a-Ling
I Hear You Knocking
Freedom Blues
Slade – Get Down and Get With It (Slade Alive!) [Official Audio]
Canadian prog institution Rush are part of the triad of most highly exalted personal favorite rock acts (along with XTC and Red Hot Chili Peppers) that largely dominated my listening habits for the past thirty-five years. But, in tune with their reputation as an “acquired taste,” my fandom didn’t come instantly. Rather, it simmered slowly throughout the ’80s; finally coming to a frothy head in ’89 with A Show of Hands.
SET THE WHEELS IN MOTION
As I’ve said before, no one had a greater influence on my early music preferences than my older brother. Sure, we diverged somewhat when the stars of music video breached my consciousness c. ’82-’83, but our tastes still intersected more often than not.
His music was cool. He dabbled in quirky new wave stuff where melodicism balanced perceived weirdness (the Cars; Flock of Seagulls; the Fixx). Most importantly, he introduced me to some of the biggest prog/prog adjacent bands of the mid-late ’70s and early ’80s. Some of his favorites – Boston, ELO, Asia, ELP, and Yes – struck me pretty quickly. Rush, however, required more time to sink-in. I guess that Geddy Lee’s signature whale-pitch and Neil Peart’s contemplative, erudite lyrics combined with the group’s elaborate, sophisticated song structures were just too far ahead of me at the time. And the ’80s were supposed to be their most commercially accessible period (ha!).
ALL THIS COOL MACHINERY PLAYING MODERN MUSIC
Anyway, Rush records started filtering into the house in the early ’80s after my brother bought his Akai stereo* system. I think he started with the Permanent Waves or Moving Picturesand then steadily worked his way backward through their catalog until he’d caught up.
Late Saturday nights, he caught glimpses of the famed power-trio on The Beat. Hosted for our local PBS affiliate by DJ “Doc” Doug Podell and simulcast over WLLZ 98.7 FM (“Detroit’s Wheels”), the rock-focused music video show unfortunetely aired later than my “official” bedtime for most of the ’80s. But I found ways to partake of all the heavy rock awesomeness. I fit in strategic bathroom visits here and last-minute cups of water there. Maybe I accidentally forgot to pick-up a stray Ewok from the living room earlier that night… Either way, I distinctly remember wondering why the cheery kid was riding a nuclear missile in Rush’s “Distant Early Warning” clip. Yeah, I was getting curious, but I still didn’t fully understand the appeal yet.
* The coolest thing I’d ever seen up to that point, btw.
IF YOU PICK UP THE BEAT
But then Les brought home the VHS and cd editions of A SHOW OF HANDS. After a month or so of repeat viewings, Rush just…clicked! Like my brother, I couldn’t get enough. It’s impossible to say how many times we watched the video together. It’s just amazing that it didn’t fall apart.
By this time, I was singing along and vocalizing to Lee’s and Alex Lifeson’s dizzyingly diverse arsenal of bass/guitar licks. The true sign I’d been hooked, however, came when I started half-assed tracking Peart’s painstakingly arranged drum parts. My list of drum heroes would fill two pages, double-sided, but, seriously… From that point forward, he was the one; my personal messiah of all things percussion. What a scene it must have been – the sight and sound of drum-nerd brothers lap-tapping in tandem to the condensed Rush catalog. It’s almost as sweet as it is dorky (…almost). But that’s us (shrug).
IF YOU CHOOSE NOT TO DECIDE YOU STILL HAVE MADE A SOUND CHOICE
A Show of Hands was the third of four live Rush albums to follow a cycle of four consecutive studio efforts and officially mark the end of a distinct phase of their career; the second to be issued with a companion video. Interestingly, like their previous tandem live release – Exit…Stage Left – each version of A Show of Hands serves a different purpose. Where the LP pieces together highlights from the previous two tours to (mostly) present an overview of the band’s output during that specific period, the video documents a specific date from their ’87-’88 Hold Your Fire tour and (mostly) captures the excitement of an actual Rush concert performance.
Now, one might think that continuity of experience between the distinct editions of A Show of Hands would be middling, but I don’t find that to be the case. The track listings are comparable enough. Further, the songs featured on both editions are virtually identical. Most importantly, the uniformly warm, dynamic, and tonally rich sound mixes arguably present “definitive” recordings of all Rush compositions presented. So the band overdubbed their parts to correct imperfections in the original recordings. Who cares. So what if the video omitted “Subdivisions,” “Time Stand Still,” “Mystic Rhthyms,” and “Distant Early Warning” and the record dropped “YYZ,””The Spirit of Radio,” “Tom Sawyer,” and the grand medley “2112 Overture”/”The Temples of Syrinx”/”La VIlla Strangiato”/”In the Mood.” It is kind of odd that the record dropped “Prime Mover” given how the lyric provided the album title, but I’m quibbling. In the end, the collective songs have rarely sounded better.
CLOSER TO THE HEART
I’ve taken a lot of ribbing for being a Rush fan over the years – particularly from females and “serious” music snobs. Whatever. Rush made my world bigger. If Asia, Yes’ 90125, Emerson, Lake, & Powell, and Star Wars (props to John Williams) were my initial pathways to appreciating complex forms, A Show of Hands blew out the conduit. Thanks to Dirk, Lerxst, and Pratt (AKA Geddy, Alex, and “Professor” Peart), I can listen to classical, jazz, and other challenging forms, separate the parts, and follow what’s going on despite my lack of formal music theory training. Pretty cool.
Even now, eight years after their last tour and three years after dread cancer claimed Neil Peart, Rush still inspires me. With their wise words and music, they taught me to think and listen intentionally. Their success reminded me that, although nothing’s guaranteed, good things can come to those who work hard, keep perspective, and never give up on living their passions. Life is a marathon. Roll the bones. Peart’s playing was a prime mover behind the decision to finally buy my own drum kit (I’m just forcing-in the Rush puns, aren’t I). Just over two years ago, I started this blog to develop my writing and prompt creation of new art. Maybe I’ll never be more than a blunt instrument, but that’s not the point. Win or lose, whatever the obstacles, regardless of pace, it’s important to keep learning and growing. Keep piling on those little victories. Anything can happen.
No artist/group has had a more profound long-term influence on my musical sensibilities than the Beatles. There’s also no denying my attraction to acts that share musical DNA with and/or owe debts to the “Fab Four.” But what album had the biggest impact? That’s a tough pick. No single, specific Beatles album stands alone as my favorite-ist favorite. But, all things considered, Rubber Soul probably played a bigger role than any other LP in hooking me on British rock for life.
Rediscovering Rubber Soul
Until recent years, I’d always assumed that my childhood indoctrination to the Beatles was limited to old 45s, Detroit rock oldies radio, and the ’60s cartoon; not the proper albums. In my late-teens, I acquired Sgt. Peppers; then, in my early-20s, added Magical Mystery Tour, Revolver, and Rubber Soul. But these albums received little play because my listening queue was overcrowded with other, more (relatively) recent music. Then I got older. Over the last fifteen years or so, growing feelings of alienation toward contemporary pop and rock forms prompted me to gradually shift focus back to the music I heard as a child; intentionally filling gaps in my collection with music from the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s. Naturally, I started with the Beatles 2009 remastered stereo U.K. cd set.
All the Beatles studio albums (and the included Past Mastersnon-album single collections) re-ignited warm fuzzy feelings from childhood, but one disc stood apart; inducing a heightened, disorienting state of deja vu. I didn’t just know every word and note from every song on Rubber Soul by heart. I knew the play order, as well. That kind of imprint only comes with strict repetition. Somehow, I heard this album many, many times as a young child. It had to have been among the records my eldest siblings regularly borrowed from Nana and Pap Pap’s.
Why Rubber Soul is Special
The Beatles’ knack for writing genuine pop hooks and melodies was present from the beginning and they experienced exponential growth as songwriters, players, singers, and arrangers with each successive album. Nevertheless, their sixth LP, Rubber Soul, represented a bold step forward for the group.
First, the record ended their practice of padding track listings with obligatory, albeit enjoyable, American r&b, rock, and pop covers. Thus, all fourteen of the golden slabs featured are original compositions credited to John Lennon/Paul McCartney and George Harrison. Second, while early Beatles albums generally played like random collections of singles, the track listing on Rubber Soul sounds intentional. The record takes the listener on a genuine journey. Each song flows naturally into the next; each song provides a complimentary musical counter-point to those around it.
Starting a psychedelic journey
Also, while each of their albums were adventurous in their way, Rubber Soul clearly points toward the psychedelic revolution that soon followed. True, nothing here plays as dramatically trippy as “Tomorrow Never Knows” from its follow-up, Revolver, but the journey begins here.
Rubber Soul’s masterfully crafted, acid-tinged album cover provides the first hints that the Beatles had entered their psychedelic phase. The downright groovy, muted orange, curvilinear, hand-drawn title design in the upper-left corner contrasts strongly with the conventional blocky fonts used on all their prior U.K. releases. Also, the slanted camera attitude of the cover photo presents a less straight-forward image of the group. Accentuating the feeling that the boys had, perhaps, ascended to another level of consciousness, the subtly distorted photo is shot from below eye-level and treated with a green filter. Additionally, the image they project is less buttoned-up than in the past. Their trademark mop-tops are noticeably longer; matching suits and ties traded for unmatched, informal brown and black jackets and turtlenecks.
Musically, signs of their growing psych-leanings are evident in the deep-grooves on the riffing lead track “Drive My Car” and the driving proto-hippie anthem “The Word.” But that’s not all! Dig the formidably fuzzy guitar licks on “Think For Yourself.” Sit anywhere and ponder the gentle acoustic ballad “Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)” as it mixes free-spirited beatnik imagery with exotic east-Indian instrumentation. Was this the first appearance of a sitar on a Beatles album? I think it was!
WHat else goes on
Let’s see… What other developments are going on here…? The melancholy moods that seasoned the group’s musical stew since Beatles For Sale continue on “Nowhere Man” and “Girl.” Harrison’s chiming 12-string folk rocker “If I Needed Someone” would’ve sounded right at home on the Byrds Mr. Tambourine Man (that’s a compliment, btw). The Beatles also wonderfully continue their tradition of heartfelt, reflective love songs with “In My Life” and “Michelle.”
Lastly, Rubber Soul showcases the Beatles’ talent for disguising dark/difficult lyrical themes in catchy sing-along tunes. I find this particularly interesting because the trait is unusually common among my favorite songwriters (Andy Partridge/Colin Moulding; Elvis Costello; James Mercer). Each case is one of a relationship that’s gone awry. On “I’m Looking Through You,” Macca sings of disillusionment with a “girl” he no longer holds up on a pedestal. “You Won’t See Me” has him describing the pain of having been cut-off completely. Ringo Starr laments his “girl’s” unfaithfulness on the country number “What Goes On.” Predicting the band’s impending retirement from live performance, Lennon’s anxious vocal on “Wait” has him returning to a partner/lover after a long time away, seemingly unsure of what will greet him when he gets there.
Twisting the tone from anxious to outright menacing, the lyric for the memorable album closer “Run For Your Life” portrays Lennon as an unhinged abuser who’d rather see his “little girl” dead “than to be with another man.” That’s about as dark as it gets folks, but I dare you to not sing along. Like everything else here, it’s an absolute earworm.
Hello all! Once again, my compulsion to show off has taken me way off-track and now I’m collating from an unmanageable mess. As much as I’d like to relate everything I think I know about the 1970s music scene, to try and do so in a single article is simply insane. There’s just simply too darned much ground to cover; metal, prog, and punk will just have to wait*. So, join me now as I reminisce about childhood experiences with the sounds of the ’70s.
* They didn’t enter my life until much, much later anyway.
TV RERUNS in the ’70S
Looking back, one of the things I most appreciate about being a ’70s kid is the variety of programming on TV. And I watched a lot of TV. Yes, outlets were limited, but the bewildering array of sounds and images they broadcast roughly spanned the history of modern music and cinema (1930-1980).
THE CLASSICS
I recall watching a multitude of classic theatrical shorts and full-lengths that dated back to my parent’s youth. On the occasions when I thought to turn on the TV after Mom and Dad’s Friday bowling nights, I caught rough-cut glimpses of Laurel & Hardy and the Three Stooges. Little Rascals/Our Gang and Abbott & Costello movies ran on Sunday mornings before church. Every once in a while, when I was really lucky, I managed to find a Marx Brothers movie.
Vintage black and white Hollywood musicals starring Shirley Temple, the Andrews Sisters, and Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers helped me gain an appreciation for big band jazz orchestras. Old animated Disney cartoons like Snow White, Pinocchio, and Dumbo were always as much fun to hear as they were to watch. Mom and Dad both especially enjoyed color-era MGM musicals like Singin’ in the Rain. The Wizard of Oz was an annual family tradition on-par with Rankin & Bass holiday specials.
MY LIFE IN RERUNS
And then, course, we have the countless hours of old TV reruns I effortlessly absorbed on a daily basis. ’50s situation comedies like I Love Lucy and Leave It to Beaver were ritual afternoon viewing. Family adventure dramas like Davey Crockett and Lassie still aired frequently. The Adventures of Superman and the Lone Ranger reinforced my early interest in costumed heroes.
More than anything, I was exceptionally struck by reruns from the ’60s and early ’70s. Innovative and sometimes daffy sitcoms from that period gave viewers curious scenarios that ranged from talking horses (Mr. Ed) to bumbling super-spies (Get Smart) to WW II POWs (Hogan’s Heroes). Most commonly, however, programmers played with fish-out-of-water scenarios, from displaced city dwellers in humble rural settings (Green Acres) to desert island castaways (Gilligan’s Island). Societal norms/hypocrisies were satirized by high-fantasy comedies like the Munsters, Addams Family, and Bewitched. Some quietly progressive shows (Andy Griffith Show; Brady Bunch; Family Affair) centered around non-traditional families.
MONKEYING AROUND
Few ’60s sitcoms commanded my attention, though, like the Monkees. Equal parts music variety show and surrealistic meta situation comedy, it played like A Hard Days Night meets Monty Python.* The music was catchy and memorable. The lighting-round pace and self-referential bent of the jokes, both visual and narrative, were unbelievable. The quick-quippy chemistry of it’s principal performers – Mickey Dolenz, Davey Jones, Mike Nesmith, and Peter Took – was unlike anything TV would see again until Community arrived in the ’00s. That’s how far ahead of the game they were. How can a scripted show feel so spontaneous? I don’t know, but they nailed it.
* I can’t be the first one to draw that analogy.
CARTOONS AND ADVENTURE SHOWS
Being that I was kid born into the golden age of Saturday Morning Cartoons, animated fare was unsurprisingly consumed by the pound. Streaming didn’t exist yet, but, believe me, I didn’t go wanting… Compilations of classic Popeye, Bugs Bunny, Woody Woodpecker, and Chilly Willy theatrical shorts aired 7-days a week. Weekday afternoons overflowed with repeats of Marvel Super Heroes, Flintstones, Yogi Bear, and Bullwinkle cartoons.
’60s reruns also included a ton of cool sci-fi/action programming to stimulate young imaginations. The Twilight Zone presented twisted morality tales. Lost In Space and Star Trek adventured into uncharted (and often unfriendly) outer space. The colorful live-action Batman program provided an exciting introduction to the caped crusading comics legend.
MODERN VIEWING
And, of course, I watched tons of contemporary programming. Some of my earliest memories of the ’70 involve morning kids shows like Captain Kangaroo, Romper Room, and Mr. Dressup. PBS fare figured prominently (Sesame Street; Electric Company; Mister Rogers; National Geographic). Saturday mornings meant copious quantities of Hanna Barbara cartoons, Krofft productions, the Bugs Bunny/Roadrunner Show, and Fat Albert. Bi-annual Planet of the Apes and Godzilla weeks were an afternoon movie tradition of our local ABC affiliate. In the late ’70s, live-action superheroes (Six Million Dollar Man; Wonder Woman; IncredibleHulk) and space adventures (Battlestar Galactica; Buck Rogers) kept me engaged during prime-time hours.
After bedtime, I remember listening-in on my parent’s viewing choices – shows like M.A.S.H., Three’s Company, Rockford Files, All in the Family, and Taxi. When ABC aired James Bond flicks I usually managed to stick around the living room long enough to eat some popcorn and catch the pre-credits action sequence before being toted off to bed. Yeah, like I said, I watched a lot of TV (sigh).
NOSTALGIA FOR A TIME THAT NEVER EXISTED
The great American hangover that followed the civil rights movement & Vietnam War was often reflected in ‘the’70s media. Many films (All the President’s Men; Deer Hunter; Network) mirrored the citizenry’s growing disillusionment toward once hallowed institutions. Shows like the White Shadow, Good Times, Maude, One Day at a Time, and Diff’rent Strokes considered changing attitudes toward “traditional” societal norms. But all not all media of the day was bent of reminding us how screwed up we were. Some ’70s media merchants, hoping to restore our collective (false) sense of security, trended toward blind nostalgia and “pure” entertainment.
ROCK REDUX
One example of how the entertainment industry romanticized the past is the emergence of rock oldies radio. How do you make people feel good? Play music that reminds them of the time before things went all to hell. You know – the “good ol’ days.”
The nostalgia paradigm is also evident the way contemporary artists persistently referenced past music eras in their work. In keeping with the rock and roll revival, many artists (ELO; Elton John; Billy Joel; Bay City Rollers) mined early rock heroes and styles for inspiration. Don McClean’s “American Pie” – arguably the most nostalgic song of the rock era – famously lamented “the day the music died.”
Other modern artists, betraying much broader influences, called back to earlier popular 20th century forms to inform their work. Harry Nilsson frequently channelled classic Tin Pan Alley songwriters (“1941“). Bette Midler’s cover of the Andrews Sisters’ “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” and Stevie Wonder’s tribute to “Sir Duke” exhibited the respective singers fondness for vintage big band jazz orchestras.
NOSTALGIA AT THE MOVIES
Period pieces are nothing unusual in Cinema. Here are some top examples of how nostalgia films played in the 1970s.
Redford’s Romanticizing
Two Robert Redford period pics made waves on the record charts in the early ’70s. First up, the depression-era caper film The Sting reunited Redford with Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid co-star Paul Newman. The soundtrack peaked at #1 in four countries while re-popularizing Scott Joplin’s 1902 piano rag “The Entertainer.”
The second film, The Way We Were is a sociopolitical romantic drama set between 1937 and 1959. Topping all accolades garnered by the film, the title track earned composer Marvin Hamlisch an Oscar for best song and scored Barbara Streisand her first #1 pop single. Op! I almost forgot. Streisand also won the Oscar for Best Actress for her performance in the film.
REMEMBER WHEN ROCK WAS YOUNG
George Lucas’ American Graffiti boasted a killer 4-sided official soundtrack loaded with hits spanning rock’s first ten years.
In a similar vein, John Landis’ raucous 1960s college romp Animal House featured many well-known r&b and garage tracks from the late ’50s-early ’60s (“Shout”; “Louie Louie”).
LET’S DO THE TIME WARP
Subversive naughty-campy cult glam musical comedy Rocky Horror Picture Show is a wild ride. Stitched together from a shopping list of ’50s nostalgia tropes, the movie satirized traditionalist America’s vain pining for simpler days, old-time rock ‘n’ roll, b-grade science fiction movies, and much more.
Grease Is the Word
Grease, starring John Travolta, completed leading lady Olivia Newton-John’s transition from pop-country singer to full-blown mainstream pop superstar. Set in the late ’50s, the “flipped”* re-imagining of Taming of the Shrew features a title song performed by Frankie Valli, a cameo from former teen idol Frankie Avalon, a lengthy appearance by Sha Na Na, and enough ’50s inflected hooks fill a high school gym. …Or a drag strip… Oh, forget it…
* The “good girl” must turn “bad” to get her guy. Real nice.
jailhouse rock
My personal favorite is 1980s The Blues Brothers (another John Landis entry), starring John Belushi and Dan Ackroyd. Absolutely packed with classic ’60s r&b/soul standards and covers, the comedy romp also features a who’s who of jazz/blues/soul royalty (Cab Calloway; James Brown; Aretha Franklin; Ray Charles; STAX/Booker T. & the MGs Steve Cropper and Donald “Duck” Dunn). An absolute classic!
NOSTALGIA ON THE TUBE
A lot of shows on television in the 1970s, new and old, looked backward. Westerns – a staple of network television since the very beginning remained popular in reruns. Holdovers from the ’50s, like Bonanza and Gunsmoke, ran uninterrupted until the early ’70s and then lived on in syndication. What I remember best from that period are reruns of programs that worked modern culture’s more recent interest in science fiction (Wild Wild West) and martial arts (Kung-Fu) into the standard western premise.
Old-fashioned contemporary programs like Little House on the Prairie and Grizzly Adams romanticized frontier/pioneer America. The Waltons reflected on working-class family life during the Great Depression. Wonder Woman’s first season positioned the Amazonian princess in WW II as part of the allied forces efforts to stop Hitler.
Beloved long-lived Korean war dramedy M.A.S.H. mutated the darker, subversive traits of the film that inspired it into a more family-friendly platform for moralizing the physical and psychological hazards of life. Also, in stretching a four-year conflict to eleven, it engaged in a lot of revisionist history. For example – I don’t care if the actors didn’t want to look “square” – professional men, let alone those in the military, did not wear long hair, let alone scruffy mustaches, in the early 1950s.
AYYYYYYYY!
Happy Days was the most influential of all the nostalgic 1970s television shows. Premiering on the heels of American Graffiti and set during the heyday of sock hops, soda fountains, hot rods, and poodle skirts, the show fed the decade’s ’50s craze; complimenting the rise of rock oldies radio and, consequently, helping to extend the rock and roll revival.
Henry Winkler’s Fonzie – originally a background character – became a pop culture icon. Popular character catchphrases became part of the national vernacular (“Sit on it“; “Ayyyyy“). Hoping to repeat Happy Days‘ massive success, ABC used the show to spawn numerous spin-offs. Some of these projects worked (Laverne & Shirley; Mork & Mindy); some not so much (Blansky’s Beauties; Joanie Loves Chachi). Many episodes included musical numbers performed by regular cast members & guests (Frankie Avalon; Suzi Quatro).
Unfortunately, as is very common with programs that outlast their creative peak, Happy Days “jumped the shark” about 3/4 the way through its run. Although the show remained extremely popular as the seasons piled up, it struggled to maintain authenticity. Where it at least once attempted to present a reasonable, if stylized, facsimile of suburban middle-America in the mid-late ’50s, quality control issues led to increasing reliance on gimmicky storytelling devices, the shedding of original cast members, and lax continuity. The clash of contemporary fashions, hairstyles and social content against the show’s time period was just too much. Throw in some f-bombs and moments of random extreme violence and you have a Quentin Tarantino movie.
Nostalgia in Contempoarary Settings
Some shows set in the then-present day romanticized the past as a contrast against the always forward-moving realities of life. Archie Bunker – the eternally frustrated patriarch from All in the Family – vocally opposed the changing times (“Those Were the Days”). The good ol’ boys from Dukes of Hazzard sentimentalized the past by naming their car “General Lee” and painting a Confederate flag on top of the cab.
THAT’S PURE ENTERTAINMENT
Beyond the opaque nostalgia that saturated American media in the ’70s, further evidence confirming the entertainment industry’s move toward pure escapism can be found in a preponderance of TV variety programs that aired during my childhood. I still don’t know why the medium achieved peak popularity at the time. Was it due to honest demand or because it accounted for (seemingly) 2/3 of all available viewing options. No matter. The wide range of programming offered something of interest for all ages and proclivities.
TALK TALK
Before sensationalized shock-talk/reality formats staged a hostile takeover* of daytime TV in the ’80s and ’90s, homemakers (and their non-school aged kids) filled rare gaps in their afternoons with soaps and talk-variety programs.
As is still the case today, the Tonight Show aired late at night, so I have few solid recollections of Johnny Carson in the ’70s. Likewise, Dick Cavett changed networks and time slots often – mostly in the late evening hours. Therefore, my first meaningful experiences with variety/talk formats came via popular, mild-mannered daytime hosts (Mike Douglas; Dinah Shore; Merv Griffin). Like their late-night counterparts, daytime talk shows mixed interview segments and live performances with varying degrees of social commentary and humor. Viewers never knew who would turn up!
* Thank you Phil Donahue.
THANKS FOR THE ’70s MEMORIES
Still very much rooted in vaudevillian tradition, straight variety show formats balanced comedy bits with performance segments. Like a lot of programming in the ’70s, the overall quality of these shows fluctuated wildly. Suffice to say, the odds were good that anyone experiencing their “15 minutes” at any point in that decade had a time slot waiting.
Program frequency ranged between one-offs, annuals, bi-monthly, and series. Squeaky-clean MOR entertainment institutions like Bing Crosby, Perry Como, and Andy Williams typically hosted annual Christmas specials. Actor-crooner holdovers from old Hollywood (Dean Martin Show) and former hippies-done-good (Sonny & Cher Comedy Hour) occasionally enjoyed a good run. Regular spots were afforded to comedians who played to broad demographics (Flip Wilson; Paul Lynde). Averaging just under 6 shows annually over a 47-year span, the undisputed king of the variety special – hallowed comedic actor Bob Hope – hosted 272 specials for NBC between 1950 – 1996.
Primarily, though, viewers were just trampled under by a parade of kitschy/schmaltzy, mostly short-lived vehicles for amiable flavors of the day (Tony Orlando & Dawn; Donny & Marie; Captain & Tenille; Sha Na Na).
AND OUR VERY SPECIAL GUESTS
In all the above scenarios, hosts and musical guests alike were generally sexy, if unthreatening, contemporary figures like Olivia Newton-John and Andy Gibb. Veterans of big band pop tradition (Frank Sinatra; Sammy Davis Jr.) turned up frequently. Execs also loved to lean on big names from the golden age of television (Groucho Marx; Milton Berle; George Burns).
In-line with the ’50s revival, early rock acts, such as Jerry Lee Lewis and Chuck Berry, were sometimes deployed to play their hits. However, as I said before, the overwhelming proportion of music figures conscripted were safe choices. As such, musical guests with 1950s roots were typically former teen idols (Paul Anka), pop country sweethearts (Teresa Brewer), and lightweight r&b singers (Chubby Checker) who appealed to (white) conservative, middle-aged, middle-Americans.
Ah one, and ah two, and ah…
Popular live-music-based variety programs of the ’70s seldom entered my sphere. Of course, exceptions occurred, but generally only when I happened to be playing in the living room when they happened to be on. To folks with an ear for saccharine melodies who were born before, or in close proximity-to, World War II (like Mom and Dad; grandparents), the Lawrence Welk Show was their jam. Anyone looking to hear the latest and greatest in rock tuned-in late Friday and Saturday nights to the Midnight Special and Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert.
By all appearances, early Saturday afternoons appear to have been the agreed upon time to broadcast music shows that intermingled “live”performances by contemporary stars with clips of dancing audience members. Dick Clark’s American Bandstand was laughably obvious at times regarding the practice of having bands mime to a backing track. I’m sure this happened on Soul Train as well, but I’ve been watching videos on YouTube; they at least let James Brown strut his stuff in front his fully functioning band the way the “good foot” intended.
sketch comedy
Variety sketch comedy programs have been a fixture in network television since the beginning; jump-starting countless careers along the way. For example, Mel Brooks (Blazing Saddles), Neil Simon (The Odd Couple), Carl Reiner (Oceans 11), Selma Diamond (Night Court), and Imogene Coca (National Lampoon’s Vacation) all worked on Sid Caesar’s Your Show of Shows in the 1950s.
Keeping the tradition well, some ’70s sketch shows proved to be some of the most influential of all variety programs that aired during that time.
SOCK IT TO ME!
Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In (’67 – ’73) launched the careers of future movie stars Goldie Hawn and Lillie Tomlin. Further, the show raised the profile of emcee voice actor Gary Owens (Space Ghost), and boosted the careers of character actors Artie Johnson, Ruth Buzzi, Henry Gibson, Jo Anne Worley, and Richard Dawson.
CBS’ Carol Burnett Show (’67 – ’78) made legitimate stars of TV veterans Burnett (Gary Moore Show), Tim Conway (McHale’s Navy), and Harvey Corman (Blazing Saddles).
Hee Haw (’69 – ’93) introduced Gen X-ers to bluegrass legends Roy Clark and Buck Owen and made “Minnie Pearl” a household name.
The number of careers ignited by Lorne Michael’s Saturday Night Live (1975 – present) and SCTV (’76 – ’84), on the whole, is too long to list here. So I’ll how about I just offer a list of the ones they launched in the 1970s…
SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE (SNL)
SECOND CITY TELEVISION (SCTV)
Dan Ackroyd John Belushi Chevy Chase Jane Curtain Al Franken Garrett Morris Bill Murray Gilda Radner Paul Shaffer
John Candy Joe Flaherty Andrea Martin Rick Moranis Catherine O’Hara Eugene Levy Harold Ramis Martin Short Dave Thomas
And now for something completely different
I very rarely ever saw the BBCs Monty Python’s Flying Circus (’69 – ’74) as a child. To begin with, the show was far too naughty and delightfully weird/random to suit my parents. What’s more, it was only ever on way past my bedtime after it reached the states. So, my fandom grew slowly in the ’80s. First, through glimpses of random reruns captured from PBS in the ’80s. Then, from gradual familiarity with the Pythons that grew from films like A Fish Called Wanda, Time Bandits, Yellowbeard, and Eric the Viking. And then, finally, clinched with my first viewing of Monty Python and Holy Grail. You always know when fellow Python fans are near when the talk of silly walks, dead parrots, and spam begins. Just brilliant!
muppetsational
The Muppet Show – a personal favorite from my childhood – was the absolute best! Yes, I was extremely young during it’s run, and my bias for Jim Henson’s work on Sesame Street surely figures in my high esteem for the show, but it really was that funny. Kids loved it for the colorful characters and sight-gags! Parents loved it for all the subtle adult in-jokes that sailed right over their kids’ heads! And, in contrast to most modern “family friendly” media, Henson did it all without being overtly crass or smugly speaking above or below his audience’s perceived intelligence level.
Muppet characters were all distinct, nuanced and (figuratively) 3-dimensional. Repeated gags always had enough new angles to prompt fresh laughs (and groans). Guest hosts (Rita Moreno; Big Bird; Alice Cooper; Steve Martin; Loretta Lynn; Edgar Bergan) hailed from diverse enough realms of acclaim to appeal to virtually all generations living at the time. …And their house band had the snazziest name ever (Dr. Teeth & the Electric Mayhem). Great stuff!
COUNTRY GOES POP
Another case that exemplifies nostalgia’s grip on ’70s culture was the ever-presence of country-western music entertainers.
As evidenced by countless screen westerns starring singing cowboys, country music has been a significant player in popular culture since at least the ’30. The influence ebbs and flows in the mainstream, but it’s always there. In the 1960s, a number of singers with southern roots who’d enjoyed success in the ’50s pop/rock scene (Teresa Brewer; Brenda Lee; Jerry Lee Lewis) transitioned to careers as straight-up country artists. Interestingly, the move didn’t just bring rock closer to country; it brought country music full-on into the pop mainstream.
COUNTRY Rock Rising
Right around the same time, the work of ’60s American folk rock icons Bob Dylan, the Byrds, and Grateful Dead also began to explicitly express the country traits that’d always been evident in their music; influencing, in turn, the rising roots rockers that dominated AOR in the ’70s (Allman Brothers; Lynyrd Skynyrd; Eagles).
Disco – arguably the most influential touchstone of 1970s culture – had already sewn itself into the fabric of the world by the time I was out of diapers. Sure, other significant trends were happening, but almost everything in the mainstream had been seduced. Architecture and décor; fashion; TV & film scores (Kojak; Love Boat; Wonder Woman; Charlie’s Angels; Starsky & Hutch/Car Wash; Dirty Harry; Rocky; Xanadu); popular music… All aspects of life seemed to fall to its sway.
Obviously too young to have partaken in the disreputably decadent ’70s club scene, my impressions of disco culture are principally summed up from what I saw on TV. I remember blinking, Technicolor checkerboard dance floors. All women were pretty, bone-skinny, had long, well groomed hair, and wore blousy strapless dresses. All men were smarmy-looking hyper-macho “players” with helmet hair in wide-open, flared-collared leisure suits (man-perm, gold medallion, pinky ring, & porn ‘stache sold separately). …And mirror balls. My GOD the mirror balls.
WITH DISCO COMES WISDOM. EVENTUALLY
God knows I’m guilty of casting stones from time to time. …Especially when seeing and/or hearing things my brain perceives as utter excrement. But I never understood the vitriol of the Demolition that marked the de facto nadir of disco in mid-’79. Well, ok, I understand some of the hate… When thinking back to the embarrassingly tacky, sequin smothered superficiality of the clothes worn by revered, legacy acts (Elvis; Neil Diamond). But this was the world I was born into. This was “normal” for the ’70s. Anyway… Whatever all the insecure white dudes in too-tight blue jeans and Led Zeppelin t-shirts choose to believe, it wasn’t all bad.
My folks liked disco music and were very good dancers, but, with four kids to feed, a mortgage, car payments, and so on, they were too busy “adulting” to stay current with all the latest pop culture trends and worry about being “cool.” If anything, they actually appeared to be willfully devoted to being “uncool.” That said, now firmly (if restlessly) ensconced in middle-age myself, I can look back and relate on a number of levels. 1 – I now see that they were comfortable with who they were and knew what they liked. 2 – What they liked tended to be pretty good when viewed through the wide lens of history. And 3 – I too no longer give two (expletives) about being cool. That ship has sailed.
DISCO’FECTS
As I alluded to earlier, disco had been simmering for few years before it caught fire in the U.S c. 1975. Born of a multitude of forms, it pulsed with Latin polyrhythms and grooved like the black “Moses of soul” (Isaac Hayes). It’s lush sound borrowed from Phil Spector’s “Wall of Sound” and the symphonic rock of Electric Light Orchestra. Some soul artists who came to be identified with disco, like Earth, Wind, and Fire, complimented deep-in-the-pocket funk bass and drums with full brass sections and, as an added bonus, dressed like Glam rockers.
My Dad has always been a resolute fan of classic, Sinatra-style big band crooners. As such, his response to flamboyant performers is typically rough; falling into the category of “intolerance punctuated by unflattering expletives.” This being said, he sometimes makes exceptions for colorful showmen like Rod Stewart.
Back in the late ’70…I think we were watching Solid Gold… Out bounds Stewart to sing his sellout disco single “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy.” For those who don’t know or remember what Stewart was like in those days, he was covered in full animal-prints with spiked-hair that went everywhere. He jumped and hollared like his pants were on fire. This was before hair metal. It was a scene, man. Dad usually can’t tolerate rock and rollers, but there he was – laughing and enjoying the show.
To this day, he still brightens up when we reminisce about “that time we saw that crazy Scottsman… On TV… You know…awwwww (shifting modes to scold himself) c’mon Al, what’s his name!?” Good old Dad (smile).
TAKE THOSE NEW RECORDS OFF THE SHELF
As I mentioned earlier, my parents were older and busy “adulting,” so buying new music wasn’t really a high priority. As such, most of the records filed in the family record cabinet dated to ’60s and earlier. Show tunes; big bands; Herb Alpert; classical recordings; kids stuff… That sort of thing. This being the case, most of the then-current pop music I encountered reached my ears through television and radio rather than the family hi-fi. Notable exceptions did occur, however…
Although not technically “pop,” this record broke the modern classical/popular music barrier as a consequence of Star Wars‘ overwhelming success. At home, it provided a perfect backdrop for activities. Regardless of whether I was playing, drawing, or simply chilling with the album sleeve, I stayed engaged as it played-through. FYI – “Johnny” Williams also composed the music for another childhood favorite sci-fi epic – Lost In Space. Further, after Star Wars, he went on to score virtually every future film by George Lucas and/or Steven Speilberg. In the end, although Williams’ work didn’t change my preference for rock music, it certainly influenced my receptiveness to prog and “true” orchestral forms.
This collection from ’70s compilation kings K-Tel harvested hits from 1976, including “Torn Between Two Lovers,“I’m Your Boogie Man,” and “Right Back Where We Started From.” Truth be told, this 2-disc didn’t impact my musical preferences in any immediate way. But I do recall being exceptionally interested in the album sleeve design. Titled in a large, chunky, rounded faux-neon font, the cover featured pics of contemporary popular artists encased in circular graphic borders against against a backdrop of pyramid-stacked gold bricks. It screams “tacky,” I know, but it was the ’70s. Regardless, the impression left by sleeve pics of Heart, ABBA, Hall & Oates, Linda Rondstadt, and Seals & Crofts has lasted four decades.
Barry Manilow Live, 1977.
Barry Manilow owned easy listening radio in the ’70s but, honestly, there isn’t much I can recall that distinguishes this album. I believe it belonged to my oldest sister and remember the cover. Manilow covered most of his hits. I liked it well enough when it played, but the only song that sticks out is its rendition of “Daybreak.”
Saturday Night Fever Original Movie Soundtrack, 1977
The Saturday Night Fever soundtrack was a fixture on my parent’s turntable in the late ’70s. Thus, absorbed by way of countless repetition, it remains permanently etched into the inner-reaches of my consciousness to this day.
Perfectly distilling the virtues of disco*, Fevercollected the best-of-the-best artists working within that style at the time. The Bee Gees – going with their recent rebirth as new-slick-gods-of-the-dance-floor, contributed eight tracks, including “Staying Alive,” “You Should Be Dancing,” and “If I Can’t Have You” – the latter performed by singer-actress Yvonne Elliman. KC & the Sunshine Band, Kool & the Gang, chipped-in songs as well. Interestingly, right around the same time David Shire’s “Night On Disco Mountain” caught my ear, the classical composition it was adapted from – Mussorgsky’s original “A Night on Bald Mountain” – made its way into my consciousness via Disney’s Fantasia. Pretty cool.
Now, regarding the Saturday Night Fever film itself, I agree with my folk’s response of disappointment. But where they were turned off by an unfavorable ratio of bad language vs. dancing and music, I was bored by the shallow story and general absence of likeable, relatable characters. Maybe it plays better to city crowds? I don’t know. Either way, it would’ve likely tanked like so many other disco films if it not for all those glorious tunes.
* Yes, you heard me right – I said “virtues.”
THE MAGIC OF ABBA
ABBA-mania had largely run its course by the time The Magic of ABBA and Super Trooper LPs entered heavy rotation on my parent’s hi-fi in 1980. The anti-disco movement meant nothing within the cultural bubble of my childhood home. Thus, influenced by Mom and Dad’s appreciation for sweet melodies and flowing, danceable rhythms, we enjoyed these records as a family for many years.
However, starting at age 10 (c. ’82-83), my personal preferences began to diverge greatly. My personal journey took me through MTV darlings (Duran Duran), ’70s classic rock/prog (Rush), alternative (Red Hot Chili Peppers), post-punk rock classicists (XTC) and so on. Then, finally, about twenty years ago, I finally came back around again to the favored sounds of my childhood (Beatles). Now, having rediscovered ABBA after several decades of peer-influenced denial, I can admit that their long-term impact has been unquestionable. I get it now. In retrospect, of all the artists stigmatized for lacking substance when the rock “purists” came for everyone’s disco records in ’79, I feel that ABBA deserves a lot better.
ABBA: the Phenomenon
Swedish pop perfectionists ABBA achieved stardom after their Eurovision song winner “Waterloo” swept the globe in 1974. In ’76 they become international pop sensations thanks to the disco inflected hit “Dancing Queen.” Although they never reached the saturation levels in North America that they achieved abroad, I still remember the phenomenon well. Their faces stared at me from posters, magazine racks, t-shirts, toy shelves, binder folders, trading cards boxes. Ads for their concert film, ABBA: the Movie, chased Star Wars promos in newspapers in 1977. New record releases and TV appearances always received maximum hype (Olivia!, ’78; ABBA in Concert, ’80). Being among the first to fully exploit the music video medium, promotional clips for their songs periodically filled gaps in TV programming before the advent of MTV. They were unavoidable.
THIS AIN’T JUST NO DISCO
While generally associated with disco, I observe that ABBA was less a straight dance outfit than a classic girl group-inspired glam/power-pop confection filtered through a “Wall of Sound.” Were they an almost too-varnished-to-be-authentic embodiment of the disco aesthetic? At times they were, of course. Disco didn’t get much more “disco” than the big, driving beats and aural melodrama of “Voulez Vouz.” But then, looking beyond the spectacle, one witnesses a mannered stage presence more reminiscent of the Lawrence Welk singers than Alicia Bridges or Bony M.
So much more than mere disco poseurs, they specialized in good old-fashioned, hooky melodies, honey-dipped productions, professional playing, and tonally rich/pitch perfect vocal harmonies – all achieved without the benefit of Pro-Tools or Auto-Tune. Benny & Bjorn had to actually write the songs from scratch (no templates). Agnetha & Anni-Frid had to actually sing that well to stay in key. All the musical tracks for mixes had to be laid down by living, breathing, musicians! Imagine that.
listen closely
Further, the range of their music was out of this world! Yes, admittedly, “Take a Chance On Me” was a swinging disco number. But what about the fetching bubblegum pop track “Honey Honey” and the kitschy ’50s-inspired charmer “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do?” How about the sophisticated new wave inflected “Super Trooper? “Chiquitita“ somehow seamlessly melded tender Spanish balladry to Bavarian Biergarten folk songs. Each tune is memorable and distinctive. Nary a single melodic hook digs or lands the same way. Yet their signature sound remained intact from beginning to end.
That, my friends, is something lesser songwriters/performers simply cannot do. It was certainly beyond the chops of the average, ho-hum, conveyor belt disco act. Look – one doesn’t have to be a #1 superfan in order to find value and give credit where it’s due. By reflexively lumping ABBA in with the Village People, the anti-disco crowd proved that they weren’t listening closely enough to develop informed opinions, much less voice them.
* Ex: Nine #1s – one; favor Germany over U.S.
LET THERE BE ROCK
As I stated earlier, ’70s hard rock forms were pretty much outside of my childhood experience. Yes, heavy-hitters like Led Zeppelin were part of the cultural zeitgeist, but I don’t remember hearing them during that time. The only acts permitted to break-through from FM AOR to AM pop radio were those our beloved corporate media overlords deemed safe for mass consumption. Therefore, slickly melodic groups (Eagles; Fleetwood Mac) got in and hard rockers (Deep Purple; Black Sabbath) were left out. That said, can you imagine, then, what it must have been like to watch darkly ostentatious heavy-glam-rockers KISS ascend to the highest level of pop culture oversaturation.
KISS was everywhere and their image was everything. They performed on prime time TV variety specials and made movies. They targeted youth via Halloween costumes, lunch boxes, comic books, pin ball machines, trading cards, toys – you name it. It was a mass-media campaign worthy of the Beatles.
In terms of showmanship, only their fellow glam rockers (Bowie; Gary Glitter), Parliament and, maybe, Liberace could compare. But musically, they weren’t doing anything that ground-breaking. Underneath the caked-on black & white horror makeup, black & silver spandex, fake body armor, and (in bassist-vocalist Gene Simmons’ case) silver stilettoed demon-headed boots, KISS were (are), fundamentally, just a straight-forward, if not particularly accomplished, hard rock band. They had some good songs, but probably wouldn’t have blown-up if not for their commitment to marketing the image.
Catching a New Wave
By c. 1979, the musical tastes of my high-school-aged eldest siblings began to diverge. Where my sister leaned toward soft rock (Barry Manilow; Carpenters; Air Supply) and bubble-gum glam acts like Bay City Rollers, my brother shifted attention to the FM dial – meaning too-loud/weird-for-the-parents hard rock and prog. Because we were roommates, my brother’s listening habits became mine. Whatever he plugged into his trusty old portable Panasonic tape player-recorder, I was there to hear it. When he got into Boston, the Who, ELP, ELO, Asia, Yes, and Rush, I got into them as well. Anyway, at one point in the late ’70s/early ’80s, he discovered a new wave favorite – The Cars.
Good Times Roll
In short order, he acquired their first three cassettes (The Cars; Candy-O; Panorama) – which he played with dogmatic reliability virtually every night at bedtime for what must have been a solid year. Talk about reinforcement. I still remember being called-out by 2nd grade school-mates for incessant finger tapping as “Just What I Needed…” What can I say? The songs continued to play in my head long after the tapes ended (hiss-delay… “click”).
Don’t let the skinny ties fool you. The Cars were never just another fluffy new wave act in puffy shirts and gull-wing hairdos. My brother and I listened to a lot of rock oldies radio in the ’70s; we always knew that their appeal lay in their unique blending of old sounds with the thrill of the new.
Greg Hawks’ synths and Rik Ocasek’s disaffected vocals and may have bubbled and quirked like new wave, but the band’s heavy riffs and melodic hooks betrayed a power-pop-esque affinity for old time rock & roll. Elliot Easton’s tuneful guitar solos were on par with those of Rick Nielsen of Cheap Trick. Many of their songs exhibited these traits, but never better than on the 1981 hit “Shake It Up.” In the mid-’80s, innovative music videos during MTV’s boom years spurred their commercial peak, but those first few albums will always be my favorite.
Once upon a time (a few days ago), while still firmly devoted to the idea of developing a blog that covered just music, I set out to find a title that related in a very specific, personal manner to this subject that occupies the largest, most favored territory in my pop-culture nerdom. The Wall of Tunes was always my first choice.
YES THE MAYOR’s GONNA HELP BUILD THE WALL
Several years ago, my wife (the Mayor), ever the nurturer, graciously honored my desire to rescue our music collection from certain doom in a cold, damp Michigan dungeon. Thus, by reallocating wall space in the home “office” to this end, The Wall of Tunes was born. To this day, I wonder if she fully understood what she was getting into.
At first, the Wall was confined to roughly 3/4 of a shallow-depth 4′ x 7′ shelf we rescued from the garage. However, it’s since spread completely out-of-control like a…super-cool…virus (?). Today, much to my own amazement, it covers 3/4 of the entire 10′ x 8′ wall area and then some.
Our first amendment was the right-side addition of a 4′ wide shelf – half of which accommodates my old component stereo system and our modest combined record and cassette collections. This segment of the collection, by-and-large, remains stable. For better and for worse, the inflated value of vinyl right now has all but eliminated opportunities for inexpensive additions. Nosireemaam, the main offender is cds.
Ever since the digital revolution tanked demand for hard-copy media, cds just get cheaper and cheaper to attain; making holes in the collection easier than ever to fill. The main shelf is stuffed almost beyond carrying capacity. I had to make auxiliary space across the room solely for discs with paper/cardboard sleeves.* I can’t (won’t) help myself. It’s like…helping the collection to fully live up to its name has become my life’s driving ambition. It’s our own little library of congress…
* Vertical stacking was damaging the delicate packaging – and that will not do.
Origins OF A NAME
Our daughter (the Kid) was still a wee little person when the collection took up permanent residence in the room next to hers. Even at such a young age, she recognizing the significance of this monumental happening! Moved by the power of maximum musical awesomeness, she crafted a sign that officially christened the cd shelf “The Wall of Tunes.” It was perfect!
ORIGINS OF A BLOG
Of all the passions I’ve indulged in my lifetime, none have been more enduring than my love of music and fascination with those who make it. To be clear – I’m not a proper musician. Absent formal training, I can offer few sophisticated insights into music theory. Regardless, whatever my shortcomings, I’m compelled to listen intentionally, analyze what I’m hearing, and discuss with others who share my passion, if not always my conclusions. Twenty years ago, I even considered committing my thoughts to writing but, ultimately, shelved the idea.
Fast forward to about three years ago. Consistent positive feedback on my Facebook musings re-ignighted the idea of creating a dedicated forum for my writings on music. Of course, once I began researching the availability of “Wall of Tunes,” sure enough, found that belonged to an obscure record label based in India. INDIA!!! They have a Facebook page and everything (many LOUD NOISES)! Awesome. Now what?
Desperate for fresh inspiration, I consulted with the court of public opinion (FB friends) and contemplated alternative titles. At one point, the term “forte” – used in musical notation to indicate “loud or strong” – struck a chord (pardon the pun) because, well, I tend to like things loud. However, harboring no illusions that mere ownership of a drum set played with all the skill and refinement of an angry baboon* makes me a proper musician, this choice seemed false.
No, something more befitting a devoted fanboy/collector was in order.
* Seriously, though… My playing isn’t that bad. It’s just that I’m not studied enough to be worthy of such a refined, academic term.
FURTHER BRAINSTORMING
Hmmmmmmmmm… What about something completely random like “Ostrich Genitals” or “Underwater Necromancy?” No…? Ok.
What if I copped my name from a favorite song title? The Flaming Lips always had some great ones (“Psychiatric Explorations of the Fetus with Needles”). Meh. Too long and weird for the normals. Plus, the novelty would only qualify as “original” to folks who aren’t familiar with the songs. Hmmmmm…
How about something straightforward and literal, such as “Vinyl, Plastics & Magnetic Tape?” That sounds ok, but the redundancy kills it for me (vinyl IS a plastic).
I floated plays on my given name, as well, but that wouldn’t do. I’m (supposed to be) smart. Surely, I could find a more imaginative way to brand my work than resorting to transparent narcissism… Oh! I could have called it “Get Off My Lawn…” Most of the stuff I write about is considered “gramps” music now, anyway. “Spleen?” Yeeessh! Sounds like the name of a 90’s grunge clone band. Negative.
Ahhh, well. SOMETHING else would have come, but my creative process is like that of Dr. House: a lot of wheels spin before satisfactory solutions pop loose. No thank you (blowing a raspberry).
It’s settled then. My first choice it is.
I like “THE WALL OF TUNES.” It’s personal, it’s right and it’s MINE, precious.
Greetings! My name is Forrest. Welcome to the WALL OF TUNES blog.
In college, friends jokingly likened me to John Cusak’s character from High Fidelity because, well, I’m angsty and I like to talk about music – a LOT.
THE WALL OF TUNES blog dives deep into my personal experiences with media – expanding upon the mix of informational content and highly subjective analyses I post on Facebook, but with more detail, better quality control, and less bad language (smile).
…Have different angles to consider or comparable stories to tell? Please… Start a conversation in the comments section!
FYI: “Easter Eggs” are nested everywhere in highlighted text.
