So Lev comes over to my place last week—first time he’s been around in a while. We have a few beers and watch Tiger Woods implode, split a calzone from Napoli’s, chat a bit. He gets up to leave and, almost as an afterthought, tells me he has more Uncle Donnie memos in his car. Of course, I get pissed—I would have much rather spent the afternoon reading through Uncle Donnie’s memos than watching golf. Lev probably knew that, but his TV was broken and he really wanted to watch Tiger. Whatever.
This is a recent missive Uncle Donnie sent to one particular toothy Mormon Vegas singer. Methinks there might have been ulterior motives in play, though. -RS
TO: Donny Osmond
FROM: Don Skwatzenschitz
RE: Career Advice
From one Don to another, Donny, we need to get you out there, in a real way. Twenty years since your last hit is too long. Now, I understand you might not think the public is ready for you to reemerge, but you’re wrong, Donny-Boy. Really wrong.
Right now, this very minute, I could get on the facsimile machine and book you a US tour that would take you from Utah to the Florida panhandle, up to Maine, over to California, and back to Utah again. Seventy, eighty shows. And we could do it all in around six weeks, because we’d be playing in under-utilized performance spaces: abandoned Circuit City storefronts. Not inside the stores, mind you; outside them, on the sidewalk. Guerrilla style, like those Rage Against the Machine guys. Set up, play a half hour—”Puppy Love,” “Sacred Emotion,” “Go Away Little Girl,” “One Bad Apple,” “Love Me for a Reason,” maybe a cover of something current, then “Soldier of Love,” done—then pack up and move on to the next place. We could do three or four a day, depending on the routing. Think about it. People hanging around outside abandoned Circuit City storefronts are hungry for your music, and they don’t even know it. (more…)
As I’ve mentioned previously, Uncle Donnie’s been writing these things for years—decades, even. Lev brings over another box of them every once in a while. This one dates back to 1974, and is notable for the absence of Donnie’s can’t-miss bit of advice about faking one’s demise. It wouldn’t have made sense in this context; the band he’s writing to was pretty well unknown at the time. Enjoy. – RS
TO: The Ramones
FROM: Don Skwatzenschitz
RE: Career Advice
I’ve got to say, you guys are amazing. I mean, really amazing. You blew my mind at Seymour Stein’s birthday party at Max’s last weekend. I’ve never seen Sy look happier. Joey, you’re so tall. And your set was so … concise! Yes, concise! Thirty-one songs in 17 minutes? I mean, I haven’t been this blown away since I saw the Dead at Golden Gate Park three years ago—a show in which they played for 12 hours (pretty much the opposite of concise), including a two-hour “Turn on Your Love Light!” Do you guys like the Dead? I can get you a tape of the show, if you want one.
You’re right on the verge of something special—I can tell that. It’s my business to be able to tell that. And Sy is very big on you; I wouldn’t be surprised to see you make a record for Sire next year. You’ve got some time to hone some things, though. The world isn’t ready for the Ramones yet, and I’m not entirely certain the Ramones are ready for the world. Things will go a little smoother for you, though, if you consider doing the following: (more…)
I still feel bad about Kelly Clarkson. Weird, no? All I Ever Wanted has been out awhile now, the first single, “My Life Would Suck Without You,” is the big, power-chorus pop tune her fans wanted, and everything is supposedly back to normal with her career. She even gets to have things her way a little bit, as this album has a little of the rock edge and bite she was aiming for on her musical Declaration of Independence, My December(2007).
Yet I can’t help but wonder, at what cost? Surely you know of the drama and mishegoss behind the scenes, but for the sake of clarity, label head Clive Davis didn’t like My December. It lost the pop edge, recast cutie-pie Kelly as a much darker personality, and he felt he “didn’t hear a single.” Clarkson stood her ground and as the primary songwriter and guiding force of the project, she considered it to be that bold emancipation moment, out of the music-machinations, out of the clutches of American Idoldom… She pinned a lot on the fate of the album.
Well, even though it went platinum, it was considered a failure when compared to the figures set by the previous Breakaway(2004). Although the single, “Never Again,” did well digitally, it didn’t really do much to push the product. There were no substantial singles afterward, which meant a lot as both the modern music industry and Clarkson’s specific career niche was built on the foundations of being a singles-oriented artist. Critics were divided. Some felt the album was strong, bold and assertive. Others felt it blatantly and consciously aped Amy Lee and Evanescence (which is kind of absurd, since Evanescence bald-facedly apes Cristina Scabbia and Lacuna Coil, Anneke Van Giersbergen with The Gathering and a whole host of female fronted rock bands.) It is all to say that My December would have been considered a fairly substantive success for anyone other than Kelly Clarkson.
So we’re back to the present, Clarkson is now America’s cutie-pie again, working directly with her label’s hitmakers for hire Max Martin, Howard Benson, Kara DioGuardi (now herself an Idol piece of furniture) and the excreble Ryan Tedder. Perhaps more telling is that on the pop ladder, Katy Perry, who would fall somewhere under her, is now hired to write a couple songs for her (including “I Do Not Hook Up”). The imagery associated with the album is all bright, shiny and day-glo, a look we’ve come to associate mostly with Perry and, in fact, it’s hard not to believe Clarkson has been refurbished more in her image. It’s akin to a pop music version of All About Eve. (more…)
Hi, everybody! This week’s CHART ATTACK! takes us back a whopping 22 years, and wow, do I feel old, considering I remember hearing just about every single one of these songs on the radio when they first came out. The songs this week aren’t that bad, actually, but as you’ll soon see, almost all of them are linked together in…well…just about the worst way possible. Stay tuned as we review the Top 10 from April 11, 1987!
“The Finer Things” is just one of the many collaborations between Winwood and his writing partner for most of the ’80s, Will Jennings. Jennings co-wrote almost all of Winwood’s hits, including “While You See a Chance,” which clearly inspired the opening of this song — all synths, baby! I’m usually anti-synth, but if it’s Steve Winwood, I’m okay with it. “The Finer Things” was the second biggest hit from Back in the High Life, peaking at #8.
Jennings, as I’ve mentioned in previous posts, is quite the accomplished songwriter: in addition to his work with Winwood, he wrote/co-wrote songs such as “Tears in Heaven,” “Up Where We Belong” and “My Heart Will Go On.” There’s a nice interview with him over at Songfacts.
I had no idea I had ever heard this song before until I reached the chorus, although to be fair, it’s not like I can really remember the verses of “Everybody Have Fun Tonight,” either. While this song did make it to the Top 10 (peaking here at #9), it wasn’t a strong enough hit to make the overall Hot 100 for 1987. I do like this mention of the song over at Wikipedia, though (emphasis mine): “The single was a hit for Wang Chung in the United States, and it provided the band with their second (and so far, last) top-10 hit.” Isn’t that cute? Who knows, everybody — Wang Chung may be making a comeback! Simple Minds, you’re on deck!
Not much to say about “Let’s Go!” — It follows the same format as their previous hit: stupid lyrics, catchy chorus. But, uh, hey: if you liked Kids Incorporated, this should be a happy day for you. They covered it!
8. Midnight Blue — Lou Gramm
I remember what my father said. He said, “Son, life is simple. It’s either cherry red, or midnight blue.”
What the hell does that mean? Is that really the best advice you got from your father? ‘Cause that’s shitty advice. Really shitty advice. It’s just unhelpful. Is there some double entendre I’m missing here?
For fans of pop music with integrity, the pop charts of 1989 were a desolate place. Between an avalanche of soul-sapping covers (Michael Damian, Michael Bolton, Martika), the blatant New Edition ripoff that was New Kids on the Block, and Paula Abdul dancing with a frickin’ animated cat … well, it was a tough year for those of us who had been raised on pop’s true originals, from Elvis and Pat Boone to the Monkees and the Archies.
How refreshing, then, that the biggest-selling band of 1989 was all about the music, not the image. Milli Vanilli sold 6 million albums and 4 million singles with an innovative blend of R&B and hip-hop that served as a template for the pop music of the ’90s. Best of all, the group resisted the movement toward video-friendly prettiness and vapid dance moves that characterized so much late-’80s pop.
Indeed, it’s a mark of Milli Vanilli’s trend-bucking pursuit of substance that, for months, record buyers gobbled up the band’s debut album Girl You Know It’s True without even once seeing the singers’ faces.
Milli Vanilli began in the fertile mind of German uber-producer Frank Farian, who previously had concocted the funky reggae-disco of Boney M in 1978 before hatching the brilliant idea of joining the musical genius of Toto with the iconic grandeur of Led Zeppelin – the result, of course, being Far Corporation’s 1986 classic “Stairway to Heaven.”
Two years later, armed with a new vision of an R&B/rap hybrid that could take over the pop charts, Farian assembled a crack lineup of expatriate-American vocalists in his studio outside Frankfurt. He named his new act Milli Vanilli, and later claimed the phrase meant “positive energy” in Turkish. (In fact, the phrase translates directly as “National Vanilli.”) Forsaking glamour in his search for the ideal marriage of voices and songs — he even released the group’s album in a plain black-and-white sleeve, to preserve an air of mystique — Farian emerged with an irresistible sound that dominated first the European charts, and then American pop radio for much of 1989.
Milli Vanilli’s initial recordings were released on a small independent label in Europe, which laid the groundwork for the band’s success by securing a dancefloor hit, “All or Nothing,” in 1988. It was their second single, however, that broke the European market open and captured the attention of American labels. “Girl You Know It’s True” was a cover version of a modest European club hit of a couple years before, by the group Numarx. (The song was co-written by Numarx’s leader, Bill Pettaway, who eventually was able to quit his job as a gas-station attendant and parlay his Milli money into a career as a session guitarist for Justin Timberlake, Missy Elliott and others.) (more…)
Let us now praise famous do-rag-wearing guitarist/songwriter/deejay/record execs. Now, unless Clive Davis has a couple side gigs or fashion proclivities I’m unaware of, I can think of only one person who fits the bill—Steven Van Zandt. Call him Miami Steve, Little Steven, Silvio Dante, or Steven Lento, his main nom de rock should be “Almighty Savior of Garage Rock”—that soul-stirring mongrel amalgam of rock, soul, surf, folk, blues, punk, and the kitchen sink. Progenitors and practitioners of the three-chord stomp owe the recent interest in their work to Van Zandt’s radio program Little Steven’s Underground Garage and its various offshoots, including festival concerts, the show’s Web site, its satellite radio channel, and the wonderful Wicked Cool Records, the label through which Van Zandt has released a stack of loud and proud albums by the likes of the Chesterfield Kings, the Cocktail Slippers, and the Grip Weeds.
Wicked Cool is also responsible for a series of bitchin’ compilations named after Underground Garage’s weekly “Coolest Song in the World” feature. The eighth volume of the series has just seen wide release (after a four-month exclusive period with f.y.e., which sponsors the show), and it is a keeper. With its focus on new and young bands, the album shows garage as a living, thriving endeavor.
Palmyra Delran of the girl group the Friggs kicks off the comp with “Baby Should Have Known Better,” locking into a punky groove and spiking her cautionary tale with the kind of repetitive chorus that lodges itself in the listener’s head for years. It’s a fitting start to the record—the song was selected by Underground Garage listeners as the “Coolest Song of 2008″ and, well, it rocks.
“Terminal Boredom” finds the awesomely named Cute Lepers rocking a tune that could have been a Clash outtake. The Lepers are currently signed to Joan Jett’s Blackheart Records—a fitting connection, as Jett’s influence can be felt on a number of tracks led by female singers, like the Downbeat 5’s “Dum Dum Ditty,” which channels the Crystals through a Bad Reputation filter. That track would have made a an equally great Phil Spector single or deep cut on the Ramones’ first record, as would a number of old and recent Joan Jett tracks. (more…)
Happy Friday and welcome to another edition of CHART ATTACK! So last time we met here to dissect a Billboard chart, it was a Top 10 from 1971, and I got my ass handed to me by readers who (rightfully) corrected me on a million small errors I made (okay, okay, it was a Tony Orlando impersonator, not Tony Orlando! I’m sorry!). So this week, to try and save face, I thought I’d fast-forward ahead 20 years to a chart you probably don’t care about. That being said, if I botched something here, keep it to yourself let me know. Sit back and try to enjoy our journey back to March 16, 1991!
Anybody remember Tara Kemp? She had two singles in the Top 10, this one (which peaked at #3) and “Piece of My Heart,” which reached #7. This song vaguely rang a bell, but I’m not sure why: it really doesn’t have anything original going for it. It never changes chords and the drum beat seems as it was ripped off of Soul II Soul. Even worse, the song has quite a few irritating qualities. Let’s start with the “oh, whoa” that is clearly supposed to be the clever hook of the song.
Then let’s build on that with a synth riff that my dog could have written.
Then, let’s take the part where Tara breaks it down with some funky singing.
What the hell is that yelp at the beginning? On its own, it’s actually quite creepy. Imagine being married to Tara Kemp and hearing this whenever you forgot to take out the garbage.
And yet…at 2 A.M. last night, I couldn’t get “Hold You Tight” out of my head.
9. Where Does My Heart Beat Now — Celine Dion
I’m not gonna lie to you: I owned this album. I bought it after I heard her knock her vocal in “Voices That Care” out of the park. And although I only listened to it once and I don’t remember any of other songs, I’ll step up and defend this one. I think it’s a strong ballad and was a great choice to introduce Celine to the American audience: the single went to #4 and became the first of her ten Top 10 singles. And here’s a surprise for you (and me): this single was not produced by David Foster!
You were all expecting me to rip Celine apart, right? I can’t do it. I know it’s the popular thing to do, but I can’t really find any reason to dislike her. She has a fantastic voice, and she gives your mom a reason to still buy music. That should be enough right there, but if it’s not, you should watch this video (if you haven’t already). It’s obviously trying to be snarky, but I think it kind of fails in that regard.
Howdy, everybody! I tend to stick to the ’80s when writing CHART ATTACK!, as they’re the years I remember best. But this week, I decided to pull up something from the early ’70s and see what I could find. I came across a pretty solid chart with some great rock, pop, country and R&B … and Gordon Lightfoot. Enjoy as we take a look back the charts exactly 38 years ago today: February 27, 1971!
The first of four covers on this week’s Top 10, “Me and Bobby McGee” was written by Kris Kristofferson and Fred Foster, and found success by two other artists before Joplin: Roger Miller, whose version reached #12 on the country charts, and Gordon Lightfoot (also on this week’s Attack), who hit #1 on the Canadian country charts. At least five other artists recorded their own versions before Joplin, including Kenny Rogers & The First Edition and Bill Haley & His Comets, but clearly hers is the version most remember best. It was recorded only shortly before her death, and when it topped the charts, it became only the second posthumous #1 on the Hot 100 — the first being Otis Redding’s “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay.”
So who is Bobby McGee, anyway? According to Kristofferson, the title came from Foster, who knew a secretary named Bobby McKee. Kristofferson just misheard him.
9. Mr. Bojangles — Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
The problem with me not being around in 1971 is that I can’t always be like, “I remember when this song was a hit.” All I can do is occasionally add some personal thoughts, like “Bojangles” is the thing we’d say to each other in college as we tried to hit each other in the nuts. And that really has nothing to do with the song. Except I suppose if we had a teacher showing us how to do it, he’d be Mr. Bojangles. (By the way, this is what happens when you’re Managing Editor at Popdose. Nobody else reads your stuff before you publish it. Otherwise this last paragraph would be long gone.)
But what I can tell you is that contrary to popular belief, “Mr. Bojangles” isn’t about Bill “Bojangles” Robinson. Rather, it’s about an old homeless man that singer and songwriter Jerry Jeff Walker met while in jail in New Orleans. The man told Walker about the various trials and tribulations in his life, and when someone called him “Bojangles,” and hit him in the nuts asked him to do a dance for the other inmates in the cell, he obliged. Walker claims that Mr. Bojangles is “a composite. He’s a little bit of several people I met for only moments of a passing life. He’s all those I met once and will never see again and will never forget.”
None of this explains, of course, how the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band managed to reach #9 — their only top ten hit — with the song, higher than any other performer who’s covered it.
(Editor’s Note: Since Popdose’s earliest days, we’ve been blessed with some of the smartest and most music-savvy readers on the Web — and so, when we unexpectedly made the acquaintance of producer Tom Werman last fall, we knew we were looking at a unique opportunity for a series. This post marks the start of an ongoing, occasional look back at the time spent behind the boards by some of our favorite producers — beginning, fittingly enough, with the first chapter in Mr. Werman’s career in music. Look for more of these stories in the months to come, from a variety of names — and enjoy!)
This is the first of an unknown, unscheduled number of installments.
Jeff invited me to write something, so I have decided to write a number of brief chapters in preparation for a more detailed book on the same subject — my career in the record biz during the height of the industry. For those of you interested in discovering why there is no more record biz to speak of, I suggest a good book called Appetite for Self-Destruction, about the implosion of the record industry in the digital age. Meanwhile, we will be talking about the good old days, when record sales grew every year, expense accounts were fat, and a growing number of labels were constantly hiring new people to find the next big thing.
Fresh out of Columbia Business School with an MBA in 1969, I turned down a $12,000 a year job offer (a very nice salary then) from Procter & Gamble in Cincinnati, and instead accepted an offer from Grey Advertising in New York to work in the account group on Procter & Gamble products. An offer from Procter was reserved for the very best of graduate business students (which I was not), so my classmates considered me daft for rejecting it. I, on the other hand, was attracted to the hip world of advertising, and really wanted to stay in New York. I commuted from the upper west side, where as a newlywed I had scored a penthouse on the roof of a building at the corner of 98th and Riverside, overlooking the Hudson, for $180 a month.
During the year I worked at Grey, I discovered that working for Procter was as good as working at Procter, and I gradually grew less and less comfortable with my task of helping to formulate and execute marketing plans for Gain Detergent in its launch year, and then for Jif Peanut Butter. It was dull work. True, there were some interesting folks at the agency, and I befriended a couple of them, but after half a year or so when the novelty wore off, I was beginning to wake up each morning with a cloud of apprehension and depression over my head.
As the new guy, I had an interior office with no windows. All the offices on our half of the floor – the Procter & Gamble account group, which served seven Procter brands – were painted white, with little decoration. It was a no-nonsense vibe, far from what it was down on the hipper, more creative floors that housed the copywriters. One weekend I decided I would paint my little office pastel blue and pastel yellow – quite conservative, really — but for some reason I never bothered to ask permission from anyone. On Monday morning, the group head came in, passed my office, did a double-take, and came back to take a closer look. “Very nice,” he commented, returning to his spacious corner office down the hall.
The following Monday when I arrived at work, my office sported a clean fresh coat of flat white paint. Not a thing was out of place. It was as if I had actually stepped over the line into the Twilight Zone for a few seconds. At that point, I knew I had to get out of there and find more satisfying work. (more…)
TO: Donny Osmond
TO: The Ramones
next year. You’ve got some time to hone some things, though. The world isn’t ready for the Ramones yet, and I’m not entirely certain the Ramones are ready for the world. Things will go a little smoother for you, though, if you consider doing the following: 
I still feel bad about Kelly Clarkson. Weird, no? 
Two years later, armed with a new vision of an R&B/rap hybrid that could take over the pop charts, Farian assembled a crack lineup of expatriate-American vocalists in his studio outside Frankfurt. He named his new act Milli Vanilli, and later claimed the phrase meant “positive energy” in Turkish. (In fact, the phrase translates directly as “National Vanilli.”) Forsaking glamour in his search for the ideal marriage of voices and songs — he even released the group’s album in a plain black-and-white sleeve, to preserve an air of mystique — Farian emerged with an irresistible sound that dominated first the European charts, and then American pop radio for much of 1989.
