“I been in the right place, but it must have been the wrong time.” —Dr. John

Boy, if that doesn’t sum up the self-titled debut/swan song of Bounce the Ocean, I don’t know what does. Picture it: Washington, 1991. Hawk Bjorn and John Utter are surrounded by the burgeoning world of grunge, but choosing to follow their muse rather than the trends of the day, they produce an album of glossy, harmony-laden pop music that would’ve sounded more at home on the radio in 1981. They still managed to score a decent-sized radio hit, though, thanks to the album’s opening track, “Throw It All Away,” and another song — “Wasting My Time” — earned them at least a little bit of airplay, though it admittedly did so without ever actually charting.

You’d like to think that it was a testament to the quality of their work (because, wow, those harmonies are fucking incredible), but really, when was the last time quality had anything to do with a song becoming a hit?

In truth, the band had been working their way up through the ranks for a while, first getting some exposure by getting their music placed in the Patrick Dempsey flick Some Girls (1988), then by getting signed to Private Music, a label that had previously been known solely for its new-age artists (Yanni, Suzanne Ciani) but in ‘91 was getting ink in the music trades for securing Ringo Starr for their roster. It was probably the Private Music connection that did the most for their profile, but a high profile can only do so much when the music you’re making isn’t anything remotely like what “the kids” are listening to. In fact, looking back, it’s somewhat ironic that the band’s big-nosed labelmate was actually playing more to current musical trends than the members of Bounce the Ocean were, since Starr’s album featured a cover of the Posies’ “Golden Blunders” and had Andy Sturmer and Roger Manning from Jellyfish providing harmonies.

But, really, who’s complaining?

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Actor Jack McBrayer (Kenneth on NBC’s 30 Rock) e-mailed me recently, panic-stricken and possibly sweaty. He was convinced that the recent writers’ strike had made people forget who he was. “But Jack,” I said, “the last new episode of 30 Rock aired in January, and the next new episode airs Thursday, April 10, 8:30 Eastern, 7:30 Central. Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

“The public is fickle, Robert — I have to get my face back out there.”

“But you’re in Mariah Carey’s new video for ‘Touch My Body,’” I reminded him. “I saw it advertised on VH1 at the end of February, and I watched it on YouTube just the other day. Don’t worry. Everything’ll be alright.”

Unfortunately, nothing I said could calm him down. But four hours and a couple hundred e-mails later, Jack and I came up with a solution that would please everyone — a Popdose e-mail interview. Hooray! My work here is done. Well, except for the actual interview.

Jack and I grew up in the same town — Macon, Georgia — but when he was 15, his family moved to Conyers, Georgia, the home of Holly Hunter and a scorching outbreak of syphilis back in the ’90s. After graduating from the University of Evansville in Indiana in 1995, Jack moved to Chicago and studied improv and sketch comedy at the Second City and ImprovOlympic Theater (now known as iO). He was hired for the Second City Touring Company in ‘97, and two years later he was a writer-performer on the Second City e.t.c. stage. In 2002 he moved to New York City and began making regular appearances on Late Night With Conan O’Brien in various roles.

Jack’s next move was to Los Angeles in 2004, where he played a waiter on two episodes of the late, great sitcom Arrested Development, continued improvising at iO West, and in 2006 costarred in Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, followed closely by his breakout role as Kenneth the NBC page on the 2007 Emmy winner for best comedy series, 30 Rock. On April 18 he stars in the latest Judd Apatow-produced comedy, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, in which he plays the newlywed husband of Maria Thayer (Strangers With Candy).

Before Jack and his family moved to Conyers, he and I shared good times and youthful lung capacity in the Macon Boys’ Choir during the 1984-’85 school year. Unfortunately, I don’t think we talked to each other that much, seeing as how he was a sixth grader and I was a third grader. Nevertheless, my first question for the southern scene stealer was …

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I liked Nick Heyward before I ever knew I liked Nick Heyward.

In the hazy, lazy days known as the early ’80s, I was just as enthralled by MTV as everyone else, but I hadn’t yet begun my descent into music obsession, so I was basically just watching videos, enjoying the songs, and moving on. Because of this, I didn’t really know who was in what band…aside, of course, from the matinée names like Boy George, George Michael, and so on. Time passed, however, and the more I dove into my studies of alternative music (I have many a tattered edition of “The Trouser Press Record Guide” on my bookshelves), the more I learned about these various groups, and as the various bands broke up and found their frontmen going solo, I began to follow their careers as well…including, as you may have guessed, the former lead singer of Haircut 100.

My first introduction to Nick Heyward’s solo work was 1988’s easily-dismissed I Love You Avenue, and I’m clearly not the only one who felt that description was apt, given that I purchased my copy from a cutout bin, but just because it’s a slight album doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it. It’s definitely a very, very ’80s-sounding album, but there are at least a pair of songs which continue to hold up for me: “You’re My World” and “Tell Me Why.” (Possibly not coincidentally, these tracks were both mixed by John Hudson, who also worked with a-ha and The Dream Academy.) As you may have guessed, I Love You Avenue was not a tremendous commercial hit, and Heyward proceeded to vanish for a few years, but when he reemerged in 1992, it was with an album which would - gasp! - earn him a bonafied hit!

Yes, not only did From Monday To Sunday offer up the instantly memorable “Kite,” it also proved to be the strongest album of Heyward’s solo career to date, finding him shedding himself of almost all of his keyboards and getting back to basics…or, more specifically, back to The Beatles. Better yet, the critical and commercial success of the album in the U.S. meant that Heyward going to get the chance to expand on this new sound on his next record…which he did.

Too bad you had to pay ridiculous import prices to hear it.

Inexplicably, Epic - Heyward’s label at the time - took a pass on releasing his 1994 album, Tangled, in America. This is not hyperbole; I really have absolutely no explanation for why they chose not to put it out over here. The guy was in an optimal position to build on the success of From Monday to Sunday, and he was completely denied that opportunity, which is - to be frank - fucked up. Did someone think that he’d already defied the odds once by having a hit with a breezy pop song in the middle of grunge, and that there was no way he could repeat it? If so, they clearly never actually listened to Tangled. It would be an overstatement to suggest that Nick really rocked out with his cock out or anything, but to hear his opening salvo, “Kill Another Day,” was to be aware that he’d toughened up his act at least a little bit.

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He may not be a household name, but Matthew Ryan’s raw, emotional songs have struck a chord with enough fans to support a musical habit that has lasted over a decade and through 11 albums (so far). On the eve of the release of his latest effort, Matthew Ryan vs. the Silver State, he took time out to talk with Popdose about his past, present, and future. Read on!

Judging from the title and the album cover, I was expecting an album of Irish battle songs!

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

But that really isn’t the case.

Well, they kinda are …

They’re pretty low-key for battle songs …

(Laughs)

… and I think someone who listened to your last album, From a Late Night High-Rise, might look at this and assume that it’s sort of a rockin’ response to what was a very personal set of songs. But it isn’t really that either.

Well, it’s hard for me to be objective, but I think it has an emotional presence that’s a little more amplified.

It does feel like a more muscular record, more live, for lack of a better word, but it doesn’t feel like you’re bashing out the stuff you were carrying around for High-Rise.

Right. Well, I think in the last few years my work has gotten a little more confidential, and I think that might be a sign of maturity. You know? I wouldn’t say this record’s more a whisper than a scream, but I guess it is. And the things I’m writing about, I’d rather provoke a conversation than rage from a soapbox.

The songs have a really natural flow to them. I just noticed this morning that the opening track, “Dulce et Decorum Est” (download), is seven minutes long.

(Laughs) That’s good to hear, man. That’s what I’d hope would happen, ’cause if you’ve got a story to tell and you’re telling it well and it has its own cinema about it, time should become a bit more elastic, you know? (more…)

I can’t remember exactly when I first discovered The Brandos, but I can remember where I first discovered them: in Creem Magazine.

There they were, dressed to the nines in their Western ware and looking back at me from the ad for their debut album, Honor Among Thieves. I think it might’ve been frontman Dave Kincaid’s bolo tie that really caught my eye - snazzy, Dave, snazzy - but whatever the case, their name stuck with me. As a result, whenever it was that I was introduced to the band’s music, I was, like, “Oh, right, those guys!”

If I had to guess who made me hip to their tunes, it’s a fair bet that the great introducer was Jeff Castelloe; he and I have known each other for over thirty years now - his mother was my 3rd grade teacher - but starting at the arse end of the ’80s, we also spent a few years together in the music retail trenches. Jeff has also been guilty of wearing a bolo tie at one time in his life, so maybe that’s what led him to The Brandos in the first place, but all I know for sure is that he was a fan of theirs by the time he and I started working together at Record Bar, because the store used to subscribe to both HITS Magazine and ICE Magazine, and he would regularly scour their pages for information about the long-rumored sophomore effort from the band. Little did either of us know at the time that we were waiting in vain…but more on that in a few minutes.

Right now, let’s talk about this great little nugget of Americana from 1987 known as Honor Among Thieves.

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The name “Willie Wisely” has been music to discerning pop fans’ ears for well over a decade now, but he’ll be the first to admit his albums have thus far failed to penetrate the wider marketplace, despite reams of positive reviews and a fervent fanbase. With his latest release, titled simply Wisely, he hopes to change all that — and was willing to chat with Popdose during part of a 14-hour drive between gigs in order to help further his cause. If you’re somehow unfamiliar with the magic of Wisely’s songs, prepare to be enlightened…

Where are you right now?

I think I’m near Jacksonville, Florida. When I MapQuest for these gigs, I never pay attention — I only know I need to turn in 400 miles. Daytona Beach! There, that’s where I am. Started the morning off in Richmond, Virginia, so today I’ve been doing a good chunk of driving. I’m playing tonight in Melbourne, Florida, which I think is near Tampa.

Sounds like you’re in the thick of promoting the new album.

Yep, yep, lots of touring. This is something like date number 73 since October.

The new record came out in January, on Oglio. How did you end up with them?

I was working with Andy Dick — I was producing and co-writing an album for him, and it was suggested to me that we approach Oglio, because they have George Lopez and some other big names I don’t know, ’cause I don’t follow comedy, but they’re the go-to label for that sort of stuff. I always knew the president of the label had a pop music heart as well, but really, I was just approaching him on the Andy Dick record; there was a spoken-word album in the can and we were working on the musical project, so I went to them and said “Why don’t you release this?” and they said “Great!”

I was sort of the point man for keeping Andy involved in the promotion of the record, and I got to see what a great label Oglio is — and they got to see that I’m easy to work with. I sent them a rough edit of the video for “Through Any Window” before I sent them the album, actually, and asked them what I should do with it. Mark at Oglio said “Holy shit! What should you do? We should sign you!” We signed up pretty quickly after that. I sent them the rough edit of the album, and it all came together. There were no attorneys involved. (Laughs)

Andy Dick! There are obviously hidden depths to your career that I didn’t know about.

Yeah, I don’t like to emphasize it, ’cause he’s a friend. A great friend. (more…)

Eddie Money knows he’s an archetype, and he doesn’t mind it one bit. His 15-year run of AOR hits and arena-rock stardom, from the 1978 double shot of “Baby Hold On” and “Two Tickets to Paradise” through MTV hits like “Take Me Home Tonight” and “Peace in Our Time,” was interrupted in 1981 by a drug overdose that nearly took his life. Rehab stints for drug and alcohol problems later put a dent in his always healthy touring schedule, but Money soldiers on as he approaches his 60th birthday next year — staying clean and “trying not to smoke a million cigarettes,” as he rasped during our talk a couple weeks back.

He’s happy to talk about being a rock ‘n’ roll survivor; in fact, he’s happy to talk about anything at all, at approximately 1,500 words a minute. An interview with Money is almost guaranteed to feature at least one burst into song (in our case it was “Ferry Cross the Mersey,” during a discussion of Gerry & the Pacemakers’ Rock and Roll Hall of Fame prospects); when he gets tired of talking about his career, he’ll turn the tables and start peppering his interviewer with questions. The extracurricular topics ranged from his hometown Giants’ Super Bowl win (he’s still excited, more than a month later) to Roger Clemens’s stupidity, and on to politics. (”It had better not be that frickin’ Obama,” he said; when I told him I am, indeed, all about Obama and explained why, he conceded, “Yeah, you may be right. My kids like him, too.”)

Money’s most recent album, last year’s set of ’60s soul covers called Wanna Go Back, turned the spotlight on his daughter Jessica; she’ll soon be featured in an MTV reality series about rock-star offspring called Rockin’ the Cradle. Meanwhile, Eddie is writing a stage musical about his own life, and he’s plotting to become the latest rocker to go country. He’s working with Vince Gill and John Ford Coley (among others) on songs for an album called The Other Side of Money that will feature, yes, a Nashville-ified version of “Two Tickets to Paradise” and which he hopes will “open up a whole new market for me.”

So how’s it going, Eddie?
Oh, man, I’m just tryin’ to pull it together this morning. It ain’t as easy as it used to be, comin’ down from a road trip at my age.

You were playing a casino near Portland this weekend.
Yeah, it was great, we had a lot of fans come out. I’m breaking in a new keyboard player. The old one was with me for 10 years, but he decided he didn’t want to do any more of those 4:30 a.m. calls to get on the bus and head out. Can’t say I blame him.

The great thing is that I’m taking my daughter Jesse on the road with me these days. She’s a miracle. We do a couple duets, she sings “Turtle Blues” by Janis [Joplin], it’s a lot of fun. She’s a great singer — I think she’s gonna go far. (more…)

Two Canadian artists back to back?

Hey, don’t blame me. Blame Paul Myers.

If you happened to check out the comments in last week’s column, you might’ve seen the entry written by a man who described himself as a “Canadian in Berkeley, CA.” I’ve never actually met Paul personally, but we’ve traded E-mails a few times, and he and I have been fellow subscribers on an invaluable E-mail list called Audities. (The group sprung forth from Audities Magazine, and it’s been a haven for pop fanatics for quite a few years now; I can’t remember exactly when I first joined, but I know that when I attended the 1999 International Pop Overthrow in Los Angeles and met several listees, I’d already been a part of the list for a fair while.) The first time I received an E-mail from Paul via the list, though, I did a major double take, wondering, “Is this the Paul Myers?”

For the answer to why I asked myself this question, we must flash back to the mid-1990s, when I was sale-bin diving at a used CD store and happened upon a 2-disc collection of indie bands from Canada. I mostly bought it because it included an early version of “Be My Yoko Ono,” by Barenaked Ladies, and truth be told, most of the bands on the collection didn’t really do much for me, but in addition to discovering one of the great band names of our time (the Bourbon Tabernacle Choir), I also stumbled upon an incredibly groovy pop song called “Rome Wasn’t Built In A Daydream,” by The Gravelberrys. After one listen to the song, I knew I’d gotten my money’s worth and then some…like, to the point where I desperately needed to find out if the band had anything else available.

Fortunately, they did: a full-length album entitled Bowl of Globes.

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We may scoff at his constantly smiling public persona — not to mention vintage bits of ’80s cheese like the “Mornin’” video — but anyone who tries to deny Al Jarreau’s talent is simply a fool, and we’re not too proud to admit we were, to borrow a phrase used in an earlier Darren Robbins post, “chuffed to the ‘nads” to have a few minutes on the phone with the voice that made Grammy history with wins in the pop, jazz, and R&B categories. You aren’t too cool for Al, kids — quite the opposite. In fact, he was too cool to answer some of our questions directly, but we accept that. Jarreau exists on another, hipper plane, which is why this interview kicks off Al Jarreau Week here at Popdose. Meet us at the roof garden from now ’til Friday!

Mr. Al Jarreau! How are you?

I’m okay! Sorry I’m late. I’m just sort of stumbling, bumbling, tumbling downhill. Where’s a tree stump when you need one? It’s not today, it’s everything up to today, and what I gotta do tomorrow! (Laughs) That’s good stuff, you know. Having things that demand your presence and require you to be on the job!

Like this new Love Songs compilation. How did that come about? You haven’t been affiliated with Warner Bros. for awhile now…

Yeah, well, it should have happened years ago! In fact, seven years ago, this package got put together. My wife did it — she put it together, and said, “You should have a Valentine’s project, Al. You should do a compilation of all the love songs — you’re a love song ballad singer, and people are asking for these songs in concert, so put one together and call it Al’s Valentine Card,” you know? So all I did to complete this was to add a few things from newer projects, and make sure that “Like a Lover” was included. (more…)

You remember these guys, right? Okay, maybe you don’t. But I sure do.

Not that they’re not a great band, but the reason that it’d be easy enough to forget the Pursuit of Happiness (henceforth to be referred to as TPOH) is because Chrysalis Records seemed to want to focus almost exclusively on making the smart-ass “I’m an Adult Now” into their signature song rather than trumpeting the way more important fact — at least to music geeks, anyway — that their debut album, Love Junk, had been produced by Todd Rundgren. It’s not that “I’m an Adult Now” isn’t a funny song; it’s just that the older you get, the less often you find yourself interested in spinning it, as opposed to the follow-up single, “She’s So Young,” which has all the harmonic hallmarks of a Rundgren production to provide a lifetime of listening enjoyment. Of course, that really just means that it sounds like something from one of Rundgren’s own albums, but it’s not like that’s a bad thing. After all, if you give me the choice between listening to “I’m an Adult Now” and “She’s So Young,” I’ll go with the latter every single time.

Unfortunately, when Todd turned up to produce the band’s sophomore effort, One-Sided Story, Chrysalis pulled the same stunt again, opting for the awkwardly catchy “Two Girls in One” as the first single rather than the way more obvious (and way more Rundgren-esque) “New Language.” The result: the novelty angle didn’t work the second time around, the album died a quick death, and TPOH found themselves without a label.

Enter Mercury Records, who presented the band’s next record, The Downward Road, in 1993. Rundgren wasn’t producing this time around — that honor went to Ed Stasium — but he did schedule time to provide a guitar solo for “Love Theme for TPOH.” Also in tow for a song was Jules Shear, who wrote the lyrics and cowrote the music for “A Villa in Portugal.” Alas, despite the first single, “Cigarette Dangles,” getting a bit of love, The Downward Road continued the downward commercial spiral for the band and served as the swan song for their major-label career. And that’s where I lost pursuit of the band, as did most of America.

I’ve since gotten the impression that their 1995 indie album, Where’s the Bone, only picked up a tiny bit of steam because of the novelty hit “Gretzky Rocks.” As for me, I didn’t even know it existed until well after 2000, when I eventually stumbled upon it in a used bin; I discovered the 1996 follow-up, The Wonderful World Of…, first, and that’s only because the group’s label at the time, Iron Music, spontaneously sent it to the magazine I was writing for.

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