The late ’80s were strange and hostile times for the ‘and then there were three’ incarnation of Duran Duran. Yes, their 1986 album Notorious sold like hotcakes, and its title track went all the way to #2, but the party was over almost as soon as it had begun. The album’s second single, the slinky Prince-like “Skin Trade,” barely reached the Top 40, while the third single, “Meet El Presidente,” was the first time the band failed to crack the Top 40. “Skin Trade” is now widely considered to be one of the band’s best songs, but at the time, the little girls did not understand.

It would not be a stretch, then, to say that the band went into the sessions for Big Thing with a chip on their shoulders. In the place of departed members Roger Taylor and Andy Taylor were a bevy of session musicians (notably Missing Persons guitarist Warren Cuccurullo), and there is nothing sexy about session musicians. If they weren’t going to get unconditional adulation, then they damn well better get some respect, so they decided to make their most experimental record to date. First on the docket: a tribute to the Normal’s “Warm Leatherette,” the feisty “I Don’t Want Your Love.”

Thank goodness for them, then, that the then-ubiquitous Shep Pettibone got a hold of it before the American public did.

Pettibone’s 7″ mix of “I Don’t Want Your Love” (download) is one of those “Sliding Doors”/”Run Lola Run” moments; if it doesn’t happen, it is entirely possible that Duran Duran does not make it out of the ’80s alive. Simply put, Pettibone saved Duran Duran’s ass. Armed with an explosive intro, bubbly percussion, a bottom-heavy rhythm section, staccato horns, and a brief but fierce guitar solo, “I Don’t Want Your Love” was a hell of an intro to Duran Mach II. Even my girlfriend at the time loved this song, and she hated Duran Duran.

It had a hell of a video to boot, one of the first micro-edited videos that MTV ever aired. Nick and Simon spend the majority of the time looking angry, making it extra-clear that they do not indeed want our love. John, on the other hand, looks indifferent to it all, until he gets to pantomime that Shep-adjusted bass line, which hits notes that don’t exist anywhere on his bass. Cuccurullo, the newbie, has an absolute blast during the solo, finger-tapping as if his life depended on it. And for a bit of obscure trivia, the man behind the drums is none other than ABC’s David Palmer. A thousand lashes, though, to the proofreader of the text that pops up intermittently throughout the video; it says “Your” during the line “if you’re keeping someone else behind.” Tsk tsk. Still, the eye-catching video, plus Pettibone’s ruthless makeover, propelled the song to #4 on the charts.

Now listen to what Pettibone had to work with, if you dare.

The B-side is the album version of the song (download), and holy cow, what a difference a remix makes. Where did the song go? The verses are D.O.A., the choruses have no energy, and the slightly longer guitar solo actually sounds worse, even though it’s the same solo. Had Capitol sent this to radio as is (i.e., if Gwyneth Paltrow gets on the train on time), the band is diddly doodly done, because there was nothing else on the album strong enough to keep it afloat. Witness the second single “All She Wants Is”; even with that huge post-”Love” wave of momentum, it had to scratch and claw its way to #22.

And so, on Duran Duran’s behalf, I officially declare this day to be Shep Pettibone Day, because without him, there is no “Ordinary World,” never mind the 2004 reunion album Astronaut. (On the plus side, that would mean that their covers album Thank You never happens, either.) In Shep’s honor, I give you his extended mixes for “I Don’t Want Your Love.” Dig in.

Duran Duran – I Don’t Want Your Love (Big Mix)
Duran Duran – I Don’t Want Your Love (Dub Mix)

Debbie Gibson – Anything Is Possible (1990)

We hear a lot about the sophomore jinx in music, and rightly so; making the jump from hit debut release to Greatest Hits, Volume 1 is a long road, and it’s got a big ol’ pothole where Album Number Two is supposed to be. For a minute, it looked like Debbie Gibson was going to make that jump — her second album, 1989’s Electric Youth, was an even bigger hit than her debut¹, and since all anyone ever talked about was how Debbie wrote, produced, arranged, and played on all her songs, she seemed to have what it took to stick around for the long haul.

And then the little-known third-album jinx snuck up behind her, said “Not so fast, bitch,” and punched Debbie Gibson right in her face.

This face-punching started with the release of this here cassingle, which was meant to lead off another season of chart success for Ms. Gibson. The title track to her third album, “Anything Is Possible” (download) found Gibbie working with Lamont Dozier in an effort to scrub the goody-two-shoes vibe from her sound. The (insufferably long) album was actually split between dance tracks and ballads, supposedly giving everyone something they could enjoy. (I said supposedly.) To his credit, Dozier did respectable work with what he was given; unfortunately, much of what he was given was as bad, or even worse, than “Anything Is Possible.” For your amusement:

Anything is possible
If you put your mind to it
Anything is possible
Just put your mind to it
Anything is possible
If you put your mind to it
Anything….
Is possible

Verse 1:
Thought I couldn’t slow him down
Long enough to look my way
Thought he was out of my league
Wouldn’t give me time of day
Thought he was like all the rest
Love her, leave her, no remorse
But I guess that I misjudged
And this thing just ran its course
He taught me

Chorus:
Anything is possible
If you put your mind to it
Anything is possible…
Just put your mind to it
Anything is possible
If you put your mind to it
Anything is possible

Break it down now….
No matter what it is,
it’s possible
Say, anything is possible
(Anything…) No
matter what it is,
it’s possible
Say, anything is possible
(Anything…) No
matter what it is,
it’s possible
Say, anything is possible
(Anything…) No
matter what it is,
it’s possible
Say, anything is possible

Verse 2:
Much to my surprise I felt
A warm, not cold vibe
When he looked in my eyes
(Oh yeah, it’s possible)
His bad boy front not charm
Was his disguise
Oh whoa whoa
(Let me tell ya)
He read so much into me
Listened so attentively
He liked me, I rest my case
Wasn’t just a pretty face

Bridge:
Anything…
If you set your mind
You can do anything you want
Not every guy is a bad guy
Don’t stereotype
‘Cause this guy, he
proved me wrong
(Anything is possible…)
He taught me
Anything is possible
Just put your mind to it
Ooooooo….
Ooo-Oooooo
Ooo-Oooooo
Ooo-Oooooo

If you put your mind
You know you can do anything,
Anything
Anything is possible
Anything is possible
Anything is possible
Just put your mind to it
Anything is possible
If you put your mind to it

Aside from the humor inherent in the lyrics, which invite all sorts of horribly dirty gags about what exactly “anything” is, and/or how exactly he taught her it’s possible, this is one lame song. It was only — and this is the last time in music history that this phrase applies — the strength of Gibson’s name that pushed the song into the Top 40.

Bad as the song is, it must be said that Atlantic didn’t do Gibson any favors by re-using the set of the “Electric Youth” video for the “AIP” promo clip:

Speaking of “Electric Youth,” were you aware of the existence of a Wikipedia page devoted entirely to the perfume Debbie Gibson named after her second album? Seriously, it’s out there, and it offers the following description of the premier celebrity scent available at finer Walgreens in 1989: “The core fragrance is composed of a blend of citrus and other fruit essential oils, rendering a fruity scent known to be popular with the teenager demographic of the day.”

(A further five minutes of research has revealed the existence of dozens of people desperately searching for Electric Youth perfume. Indeed, there seems to be a black market for counterfeit bottles of the stuff. The going rate is apparently somewhere around $30 for a 1.5-oz. bottle. Repeat after me: Oh my effing God.)

Anyway, uh, not much else to say about “Anything Is Possible,” other than Debbie must have been writing tons of songs at the time; not only does Anything Is Possible include a veritable buttload of tracks (I don’t remember exactly how many, but if memory serves, it was something like 400), but this cassingle includes a non-album B-side, “So Close to Forever” (download).

Debbie kept on churning out music on a regular basis into the mid-’90s, eventually moving onto Broadway, shitty direct-to-video movies, and cashing checks with Hugh Hefner’s name on them. She still releases albums occasionally, and enjoys the slavish devotion of many fans, some of whom will doubtless wander over here in the hopes of completing their Giblet B-sides collection and/or leaving enraged comments. Enjoy the show! It’s bound to be more entertaining than the music!

A Tribe Called Quest – Award Tour (1993) Here’s one I don’t have much to say about, but should still help you get over the hump to your lunch break. Jiminy Christmas, was it really 15 years ago that A Tribe Called Quest released its third album? What the hell happened?

This is the part where someone with more energy would lament the lost promise of the Native Tongues Posse, or cry about Q-Tip’s solo career, or say some snarky things about the state of rap today. But music this good was meant to be celebrated, not lamented. “Award Tour” (download) isn’t my favorite ATCQ song, not by a long shot — and the instrumental mix (download) is pretty pointless — but hey, it’s still A Tribe Called Quest. Plus, dig the added value of having “The Chase, Part II” (download) as a second track on the B-side!

Turn it up, and tell your Kenny Chesney-loving officemates to suck it. There’s nothing wrong with a little bass on a Monday morning, nothing at all.

Was (Not Was) – Walk the Dinosaur (1989)

Boom boom acka-lacka lacka boom, fuckers!

Yes, yes, I realize it’s become trendy in certain circles to dismiss (or just remain proudly ignorant of) the weird, wonderful bursts of pop genius that Was (Not Was) gave the world during the ’80s.

Of course, this is the band’s fault as much as anyone’s — singles like “Walk the Dinosaur” (download) are made for killing careers — but still, the band deserves better than it’s gotten. Sadly, a Cassingle Vault post isn’t really the place for changing minds about an artist’s work. Perhaps one day, we’ll get around to doing a Pocket Guide on the band. In the meantime, this will have to do.

Anyway. “Walk the Dinosaur.” Let’s just run the video, so we can get all the snark out of the way up front:

Yes, it’s as bad as you remember. And here’s the thing — “Walk the Dinosaur,” dumb as it is, fit right in with the Was (Not Was) aesthetic, but they weren’t a novelty act, per se. What they were is difficult to explain. Try to imagine what you might have gotten if Motown had gotten its start in the ’80s, and Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention had been one of the label’s first signings, and you’re sort of in the ballpark, but honestly, they might have been the strangest “mainstream” band of the decade.

The two best-known Was (Not Was) releases — 1988’s What Up, Dog? and 1990’s Are You Okay? — are, like the rest of the band’s catalog, woefully uneven. Don and David Was weren’t above doing stuff just because they thought it was funny, whether it was getting Ozzy Osbourne to rap (I guess he was rapping, anyway), bringing in Kim Basinger to do vocals, or having Frank Sinatra Jr. take the lead for “Wedding Vows in Vegas” (download) (this single’s B-side).

But behind all the silliness lurked a frightening amount of talent, led by the badass soul-singing duo known as Sir Harry Bowens and “Sweet Pea” Atkinson. The band deserves its share of lumps for stuff like “In K Mart Wardrobe,” but they were also making real soul music during an era in which it was desperately needed.

Why Sir Harry and “Sweet Pea” aren’t international superstars with dozens of their own records under their belts is a consistent source of bitter disappointment for me; I can take limited solace, however, in the backing vocals they’ve done for artists too numerous to count. (If your music collection doesn’t feature any Bowens or Atkinson, you need more music.) My personal favorites are the vocals they cut for Brian Wilson’s I Just Wasn’t Made for These Times, the Don Was-produced soundtrack to the Don Was-produced documentary of the same name. (Buy it.)

Given all this, it’s tempting to blame Chrysalis, the label that released What Up, Dog?, for taking a cheap novelty track like “Walk the Dinosaur” to rado — but really, there aren’t many labels that wouldn’t have done the same thing. Was (Not Was) must have given the Chrysalis promotion staff painful headaches, and even if “Dinosaur” spelled immediate doom for the band, it at least made them a few bucks in the process.

Happily, after an 18-year layoff, Was (Not Was) is back — the band’s new album, Boo!, is being released by Rykodisc next month. Brace yourselves for that Pocket Guide…

Zapp & Roger – Slow and Easy (1993)

We’ve owed Roger Troutman some props since the Chartburn post in which half the panel confessed total ignorance of his work. A Cassingle Vault post is sort of a cheap way of making it up to him, but until I can find someone willing to write a Popdose Guide to Zapp & Roger, this will have to do.

Troutman, as if you didn’t know, was the “Roger” in “Zapp & Roger,” the electro-funk collective responsible for smash R&B hits such as “More Bounce to the Ounce,” “Computer Love,” and “Dance Floor.” Aside from handling most of the instruments and a good chunk of the songwriting duties, Roger was responsible for bringing the vocoder and the talkbox into the R&B mainstream — an influence that persists (some would say unfortunately) to this day. For an example of the enduring Troutman effect, just take a look at this Snoop Dogg clip, from his latest Top 10 single:

That, my friends, is a page torn directly from the Roger playbook.

Roger never seemed to mind, though — when the hits started drying up in the late ’80s, he nimbly made the jump to supporting-character status, either by producing other artists (Shirley Murdock’s “As We Lay”), making cameo appearances (Scritti Politti’s “Boom There She Was,” 2Pac’s “California Love”), or simply by virtue of giving people something to sample (too many to count). He actually did a better job of navigating the choppy post-peak career waters of R&B better than pretty much any artist I can think of; sure, he was touring casinos in the ’90s, but he was also earning what had to be very healthy residuals. All of which made his death in 1999 even more of a stupid, senseless tragedy, but let’s keep things positive, huh?

“Slow and Easy” (download) is from Zapp & Roger’s 1993 best-of compilation, Zapp & Roger: All the Greatest Hits, which sparked something of a mini-revival for the band (although it apparently wasn’t enough of one to get this single onto the charts). It isn’t the most likable Zapp single — when listening to the B-side, “A Chunk of Sugar” (download), you can really hear all the warmth that the ’90s leeched out of Troutman’s music — but you can’t go too far wrong with a song that promises some slow ‘n’ easy lovin’, can you?

Earth, Wind & Fire – Sunday Morning (1993)

In a classic bit of Cassingle Vault good news/bad news, I give you, ladies and gentlemen, an Earth, Wind & Fire single!

(wild applause)

…From 1993!

(slow clapping, bewildered looks, scattered laughter)

Yes, gang, EWF was still kicking around the major-label pipeline in ‘93. They had, in fact, recently left their longtime label home — Columbia — for a new deal at Warner Bros. This wasn’t entirely unexpected; since being coaxed back into action by the Columbia brass in the late ’80s, EWF had found itself trapped on the steady downward sales slope that helped convince Maurice White to disband the group in the first place.

Here’s how dire things had become for the kings of “September”: If I’m remembering this right — and no one is here to disagree with me yet, so let’s just say I am — the release of the band’s 1990 effort, Heritage, was kicked off with a Burger King promotional tie-in. Yes, during Black History Month 18 years ago, you could get an Earth, Wind & Fire cassingle with your Whopper.

Genius.

Anyway, three years later, the band resurfaced on Warners, and led off its 16th album with the bright, horn-frosted slice of early ’90s funk that is “Sunday Morning” (download). Aside from being thoroughly awesome, it was the group’s best single in years, and the closest they’d bothered to come to their classic sound in a long, long time.

Was it a hit? No, not really, which is total bullshit, but what are you gonna do. “Sunday Morning” peaked at #20 on the R&B charts, and didn’t even make it into the pop Top 40. This unfortunate turn of events was a harbinger for the sales performance of the album, Millennium — Warners eked out a couple more singles, but they fared even more poorly, and before long, EWF was no longer affiliated with the label. Or any label. The ’90s were a terrible decade for Earth, Wind & Fire, actually — Maurice White was diagnosed with Parkinson’s, Don Myrick was shot to death by the LAPD, and the band didn’t release another album until 1997’s In the Name of Love (which was distributed by Pyramid, and therefore does not count).

The 21st century has been kinder to Earth, Wind & Fire; though their new music is still largely ignored, they’ve become a reliable live draw, and earned positive notices for their two-year double bill with Chicago. It’s always nice ending these things on a high note, isn’t it? Here, take the non-album B-side, “The L Word” (download) — a song that, to my memory, is leagues better than most of the crap that ended up on Millennium. Enjoy!

Siouxsie & the Banshees – Peek-A-Boo (1988)

Yes, “Peek-A-Boo” (download) turns 20 this year. You are old, old, so very old. I am too, but I have the slight advantage — I guess — of not having 20 years of memories attached to the song, as I was completely ignorant of Siouxsie and/or her Banshees in ‘88. (On the other hand, I’m at the extreme disadvantage of having been on what was probably my 5,000th listen of Toto’s The Seventh One when this was released.)

You know what I’m going to say next, so I’ll just get it out there: I wasn’t even aware of this song until Beavis started screaming “PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK-a-boo!” in the early ’90s, and studiously avoided the Banshees’ albums for years. Matter of fact, not counting this cassingle’s B-side, “False Face” (download), “Peek-A-Boo” is probably the only Siouxsie song I’ve heard all the way through.

That being said, “Peek-A-Boo” is thoroughly awesome. As a kid, I remember thinking that there was supposed to be something subversive about Siouxsie Sioux — possibly even dangerous — and although I believe I can be forgiven for thinking this (she did, according to Wikipedia, make her stage debut in “a cupless bra, black vinyl stockings and a black armband with a swastika on it”), there’s nothing subversive and/or dangerous about this delicious little slice of pop music.

So let’s just turn it up, shall we? I’ll leave you with a couple of parting fun facts first, however:

1. “Peek-A-Boo” was the inaugural Number One single on Billboard’s Modern Rock chart, in September 1988.
2. The entire instrumental bed was backmasked. Holy crap.

PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK-a-boo!

Keith Sweat – I Want to Love You Down (1992)

First of all, no. No, I did not own this when it came out. Not that there’s anything wrong with Keith Sweat, necessarily, but he wasn’t even on my lily-white radar in ‘92; it’s only been in the last few years that I’ve developed an (admittedly heavily ironic) appreciation for his gifts. Nope, “I Want to Love You Down” was part of a box of cassingles — still wrapped! — that arrived here last week, a gift from a benefactor who wishes to remain anonymous. You know, at one point, I was worried that I’d eventually run out of cassingles to write about. These days, the Vault is full to stuffin’, and I’m worried I’ll never run out.

Which is why Keith Sweat has to be the subject of this week’s Cassingle Vault. You see the look on his face. I can’t have him in there with the other cassingles, or they’re going to start multiplying.

What would be great is if this single had “I Want Her” on it. Then we could do less talking and just sort of dance around while the song played. But no, this was the third single from Sweat’s third album, 1992’s Keep It Comin’, and it marks the spot where he started to fall off. (Goddammit, Keith Sweat fans, I know he had hits well into the late ’90s — I’m saying this was where he started to fade.) “I Want to Love You Down” (download) didn’t crack the Billboard Hot 100, but more importantly, it was Sweat’s first single to peak outside the R&B Top 10.

And it’s easy to see why: Sweat’s New Jack sound, so popular (and influential) in the late ’80s, was losing popularity by ‘92. (Just ask Bobby Brown, whose Bobby tanked later in the year.) R&B was turning a corner in the early ’90s, and Sweat’s tinkling synths were rapidly becoming passé.

That being said, I sort of love this song, and here are the two reasons why:

1. In the second verse, when Sweat sings “Let’s take a shower, baby, you see the water is fine,” you can hear a shower in the background — and then he says “Pass me the soap.” Keith Sweat’s audience did not come to him looking for subtlety. He did his best to oblige.

2. In the picture on the cover of the cassingle, he’s wearing a bracelet that says “KEITH.” This is fucking awesome. I can just see him at the club in 1992:

Keith Sweat: (happening upon a young lady) Hello, baby.

Young Lady: Hi. What’s your name?

Keith Sweat: What’s wrong, bitch? Can’t you read?

Actually, no, wait, there are three reasons I love this single — the third one is that the B-side is called “Let Me Love You” (download), which is sort of like Boyz II Men putting a song called “The Place Where We Have to Stop and Park” on the flip side of “End of the Road.” Keith Sweat always did have a one-track mind, God bless him; he was the R. Kelly for a kinder, gentler time. I, for one, miss him. I think I may actually have to go buy his greatest hits now.

Clive Griffin – Commitment of the Heart (1993)

Ladies and gentlemen, meet Sony’s Next Big Thing of 1993!

A little explanation is in order, I can tell. You’ve never heard of Clive Griffin. (You have heard his voice — probably — but more on that in a minute.) He’s a footnote to a footnote now, but for a few months, Sony’s Epic/550 imprint did everything it could to convince the world that Griffin was a pop star in the making.

The label failed, of course, but before we start mocking them for their failure, let’s pause to acknowledge that records tank all the time, for lots of reasons, and hey, at least Epic put a little effort into promoting this one. And now that we’ve said something nice, let’s point out two things:

1. In making Clive Griffin a priority, Sony was committing millions of dollars to breaking a blue-eyed soul singer in 1993. They weren’t alone in this — various labels¹ released new albums and/or singles from Michael McDonald, Daryl Hall, and Paul Young the same year — but that doesn’t make the decision any less misguided. No one was buying McDonald, Hall, or Young records in ‘93, and those guys had name value.

2. Speaking of names: Pop stars are not named Clive.

Now, having said all this, the label did have cause for optimism where Griffin was concerned — he’d notched half of a Top 40 hit earlier in the year as Celine Dion’s duet partner for a remake of “When I Fall in Love,” from the Sleepless in Seattle soundtrack:

(Side note: They really, really don’t write them like this anymore. “In a restless world like this is/Love is ended before it’s begun/And too many moonlight kisses/Seem to cool in the warmth of the sun”? Don’t you think Edward Heyman and Victor Young would slap the shit out of Soulja Boy if we could somehow bring them back to life?)

Anyway, as I said, Sony had cause for optimism here. But they were forgetting a crucial detail, which is that Celine Dion has been given special powers by the devil in exchange for eating babies and bathing in the blood of virgins, and the success of “When I Fall in Love” had everything to do with those powers, not to mention the fact that everyone in America saw Sleepless in Seattle twice that year.

Which brings us to the fall of 1993, and Clive Griffin’s American solo debut, “Commitment of the Heart” (download). I won’t tell you who wrote it, but I will say the songwriter’s name rhymes with Shmiane Shmarren, which should tell you everything you need to know about A) the album’s sound, B) the amount of money Sony was willing to spend on songs, and C) the label’s level of confidence in Griffin’s own songwriting ability.

Then again, after listening to the Griffin-penned B-side, “Sensual Feelings” (download), you can sort of understand Sony wanting to bring in some outside material, no?

In the end, it’s hard not to give Griffin a little bit of credit — unlike a lot of one half-hit wonders, he knew when he was beat, and didn’t waste anyone’s time recording a follow-up album. He’s apparently something of an in-demand backup singer (his Wikipedia entry says he performed on Kylie Minogue’s “Your Disco Needs You”), and is available for your corporate or private event, but he seems to have put his dreams of stardom to rest. It’s kind of sad, I guess, but when you begin your career by sharing a microphone with pop’s leathery high priestess of the night, there really isn’t anywhere else you can go, is there?

Shakespear’s Sister – Stay (1992)

It’s the summer of 1992, and we’re in her living room. Like most days, she’s got MTV on in the background. I forget what I’m saying, but she cuts me off: “Hey, check it out. I like this song.”

I turn to the television. A woman, pale as my ass, is hovering over a guy who appears to be dying. They’re in space or something.

I raise one eyebrow.

Then — ahhh! — a freaky chick appears. She looks like she belongs in one of Siouxsie Sioux’s nightmares. I recoil, Beavis-style.

“What the hell is this?”

“Shut up. It’s beautiful.”

“Are you kidding? This is terrifying.”

She purses her lips, turns toward the television, raises the volume.

In retrospect, she may have had a point — Shakespear’s Sister’s “Stay” (download) is sort of beautiful, in an early ’90s oh-look-how-goth-we-are way. Still, I wish I’d known that afternoon that I was watching Siobahn Fahey’s post-Bananarama incarnation, so I could have said, “Ha! This chick co-wrote ‘I Heard a Rumour’ and ‘Cruel Summer’!”

Of course, she probably would have pointed out that “Cruel Summer” is a pretty righteous pop song, and I wouldn’t have had any response. But whatever. I’m pretty sure neither of us would have liked this cassingle’s B-side, “The Trouble With Andre” (download), so I maintain that I was partially right about Shakespear’s Sister. And for the record, the video still freaks me out a little: