In 1994, I picked up a double CD compilation called The Best Punk Album In The World… Ever! with some credit I had from a return at Circuit City. Sandwiched in between the Modern Lovers’ “Roadrunner” and Richard Hell and the Voidoids’ “Blank Generation” was the Tubes’ “White Punks on Dope.” This was my introduction to the Tubes, and it had me wondering what the compilers were thinking, as this song seemed to be lampooning the “punk” movement in much the same way that Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention’s We’re Only in It for the Money skewered hippies in the late ’60s. Plus the Tubes were clearly better musicians than most punks. Imagine my delight when I learned that I had the opportunity to receive guitar lessons from the Tubes’ own Bill Spooner when I moved to San Francisco…
Of all the things that drew me to San Francisco – the weather, the cultural diversity, its rich musical history, its public transportation system (all things that are taken for granted, and worse – regularly maligned – by locals here on a daily basis) – something I didn’t count on was stumbling upon the Blue Bear School of Music during my search for new outlets and people for my amateur guitar/bass/vocal ambitions (if you can even call them that). (more…)
The new benefit album from Neil Finn’s 7 Worlds Collide collective, The Sun Came Out, doesn’t aspire to the sorts of Grand Gestures that mark so many multi-artist charity compilations. Instead, its charms are subdued and homespun, and its songs (such as “Learn to Crawl”) are intoxicating in their low-key tunefulness. Those same qualities, along with an enormous generosity of spirit, are the ones that have sustained Finn through three decades as a recording artist — perhaps the most underrated artist of his era, as wearepronetosuggestfrequently here at Popdose.
The album comes by those characteristics naturally. Finn and his family opened their home (and his home studio) in New Zealand for three weeks last Christmastime to most of the crew from the previous 7 Worlds incarnation — Johnny Marr, Ed O’Brien and Phil Selway from Radiohead, Sebastian Steinberg, Lisa Germano — as well as newbies including Wilco, KT Tunstall, and down-under singer-songwriters Don McGlashan, Bic Runga, and Glenn Richards. The sessions were, by all accounts, full of frivolity, on-the-spot collaboration, and various forms (this being the holiday season) of good cheer; they also marked a musical reunion for various Finn family members including brother Tim, sons Liam and Elroy, and — singing on record for the first time — Neil’s wife Sharon.
In addition to preparing and publicizing The Sun Came Out (which emerges tomorrow in the U.S.), Finn has been readying a new Crowded House album for release this winter and has recently found time to play a few gigs (with and without his 7 Worlds compatriots) in London and Los Angeles. His interview with Popdose, patched in from New Zealand through his U.S. publicist’s office (thus saving your intrepid interviewer a whopping phone bill), found him answering queries about the minutiae of long-past Crowded House gigs as well as reader questions ranging from the profound to the ridiculous. (Sadly, dear reader who calls himself “maxus,” he had no answer whatsoever for the question, “Imagine if writing songs in flat keys suddenly became a major felony. How would you imagine a day in Neil Finn’s Violent Life of Crime, circa September 2010?”) Here’s a live clip from the first 7 Worlds Collide project:(more…)
Call this mix the postscript of Beatles Week at Popdose … a postscript that’s a couple of weeks late! But better late than never, right? There’s been a lot of talk about the marketing savvy of Beatles merchandise, and it’s pretty damn impressive. I mean, getting people to buy remastered recordings they’ve probably had in their collections for years (and I’m talking about vinyl, cassette, 8 track, CD, and mp3s) is no easy feat – unless the product really is superior to what came before. And yes, the remasters did live up to the hype. But if I may start a second sentence with a conjunction, what also lives up to the hype is the long shadow of the Beatles’ style of music on popular recording artists. Billy Joel, Andy Partridge, Roland Orzabal, Jeff Lynne, Neil Finn, and the Gallagher boys must have all, at one point or another, fantasized about being “The 5th Beatle” while singing along to one of the Fab Four’s songs. So much so, that they all wrote songs that were unabashedly Beatlesque.
Billy is certainly a singer/songwriter who doesn’t need to copy the style of musical giants since, well, he’s in that pantheon. I’m not a big fan of his music, but The Nylon Curtain was, for me, the most impressive of his catalog. The sappy love songs were absent and the themes tackled were certainly a step up from what came before and after this album — and having several nods to the Beatles only added to the depth of this album. (more…)
Reader questions are becoming almost de rigueur for our higher-profile Popdose Interviews, so we thought some of you might like to be part of our upcoming conversation with one of our very favorite artists, Neil Finn. Submit your questions here before midnight on Monday, and we’ll fit in as many as he can (or is willing to) answer. Feel free to touch on the Split Enz years, the Crowded House era, his solo work, or his many collaborations with Tim, Liam and the whole Finn brood — including the new 7 Worlds Collide album, The Sun Came Out, which itself dawns on September 29 and benefits Oxfam.
Two years ago, when I was working on this column’s debut, I wrote about Bruce Springsteen’s “Book of Dreams” and what the song means to Julie and me. During the first month of our courtship I created my first mixtape for her, entitled HEY, HEY, JULIE! On that tape was the Springsteen song, one that’s grown to have profound meaning in our relationship.
We began dating in August of 1992, and soon thereafter, I threw this tape together in a flurry of inspiration, wanting to give Julie something that came from my heart. I don’t recall the actual minutes spent in my parents’ basement picking the songs or laying them down on a Maxell cassette (my brand of choice), but looking back on the list of songs, I’m happy to see they still add up to 90 quailty minutes of music.
Before Nick Hornby wonderfully wrote about what makes a good mixtape in High Fidelity, I assembled exactly the right combination of hip, well known and somewhat obscure songs from my small music collection. Combining big hits like “Learning to Fly,” “What I Am,” and “All This Time” with lesser-known songs by popular artists such as “Until the End of the World,” “Shining Star,” and “Getting to Know You,” while tossing in some hard to find (at the time) songs like “Baby Mine” and “Wild Night” made this tape eclectic, but still enjoyable to listen to and quite accessible. (more…)
The coolest thing about 7 Worlds Collide’s The Sun Came Out is also its biggest flaw: Namely, that “group” founder Neil Finn brought the whole damn thing together — all two discs and 24 tracks’ worth — in a scant three weeks.
7 Worlds Collide, as the Finn fanatics among you will remember, was the name Finn gave the stupidly awesome live album he released in 2002 — a name derived from the fact that he was joined for its performances by his brother Tim, erstwhile Smith Johnny Marr, Lisa Germano, Radiohead’s Phil Selway and Ed O’Brien, and Eddie Vedder. (And yet it wasn’t a huge hit. Go figure.) Seven years and one Crowded House reunion later, Finn has decided to revive the 7 Worlds banner for something even cooler than a star-studded live compilation: A star-studded charity compilation, assembled to support Oxfam.
For the occasion, Finn re-enlisted his old friends Johnny Marr, Phil Selway, Ed O’Brien, and Lisa Germano, as well as a multitude of Finns (including Tim, Sharon, Elroy, and his son Liam) — and then went further, recruiting Jeff Tweedy, K.T. Tunstall, Bic Runga, Glenn Richards, John Stirratt, Pat Sansone, Don McGlashan, and Sebastian Steinberg to take their own turns in front of the microphone. This sprawling collective (which was actually even bigger — I only named the vocalists) holed up Auckland for a few weeks and emerged with The Sun Came Out. (more…)
Let’s get the hyperbole out of the way early, shall we? This, for my money, is the best album Crowded House never made. And it pisses me off to think that I very easily could never have heard it.
The early aughts were dark, dark times for fans of what is now called classic pop. Radio was a wasteland, and online social networking was in the zygote stages – chat rooms, eeeek! – so it was quite difficult for most bands to find their audience, and vice versa. I subscribed to CMJ Monthly for the CD of the month and the dozens of reviews, and when I needed a power pop fix, I went over to NotLame, Bruce Brodeen’s utopia for all things Beatle-y. It was there that I found a three-year-old album by an Australian trio that did a wicked impression of a certain New Zealand trio. I could only hear the songs in 30-second samples, but they did the trick. I plunked down the coin for Sweeter Than the Radio (1999), and suddenly felt like I had been let in on the best-kept secret in the world. That’s what every band wants, right? To be the best-kept secret in the world? What? They all want to sell millions of records? Ugh. Fucking musicians. It’s all about them, isn’t it?
All kidding aside, Charles Jenkins, the singer and primary songwriter for Icecream Hands, wrote one hell of a batch of songs for this album, with bassist Douglas Robertson contributing a few key tracks as well. Of all the tributes to Crowded House that grace Sweeter Than the Radio, though, there is none more Finn than “Dodgy,” a bouncy slice of guitar pop with a fittingly neurotic lyric to counter the joy (”Feels like it wouldn’t be right if it were wonderful” is the opening line to the verses). Even the guitar solo sounds like it was ripped straight from Crowded House’s first album. “Rise, Fall and Roll” plays like a reworking of the “new” Beatles song “Free as a Bird,” while Robertson’s “Yellow and Blue” borrows a riff from the Squeeze catalog. Here is a side-by-side comparison of the riff in question, for the curious. (more…)
It’s amazing, the things a guy can learn even at my advanced age. The real treat for me, in slapping together this (too)-long-running series – which already has examined hits from the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s that ran out of gas just one block short of the Texaco – has been the opportunity to put into context some of the music-geek trivia that’s been crowding out more important information in my head for the last 30 years.
I’m embarrassed to say I was able to sit down at my laptop and reel off the names of about three dozen #2 hits from the grand and glorious ’80s without even cracking open my ever-present Joel Whitburn or Fred Bronson singles bibles. (The fact that I could do that, but can’t tie a Windsor knot, may explain why my career on Wall Street never took off. It also made narrowing down to 10 songs for this list a painful experience.) But it’s one thing to keep song titles and chart placements in your memory; it’s another to marvel at the tricks of fate, poor taste, or record-biz manipulation that launch one single over another on the way to Top 40 glory. Take this first juxtaposition, for example:
11. “Hazy Shade of Winter,” the Bangles. Here’s the hit that slaps some sense into those who mistake the Bangles for a novelty act, or stubbornly cling to the notion that Susanna, Vicki, Debbi and Michael didn’t really rock. They took a 20-year-old, twee-as-all-get-out Simon & Garfunkel tune and turned it into a fuzz-guitar anthem of ’80s excess, the perfect theme for what should have been a much better movie based on Bret Easton Ellis’ Hollywood-druggies novel Less than Zero. (Funny how the movie biz managed to mangle both Ellis’ book and Jay McInerney’s New York equivalent, Bright Lights, Big City. Of course, casting pretty boys Andrew McCarthy and Michael J. Fox as jaded protagonists didn’t help.) Anyway, how were the Bangles rewarded for their maturity and brilliance in transforming “Hazy Shade of Winter”? They were left in the dust by the god-awful ballad “Could’ve Been,” which might have been less terrible had it not been butchered by that caterwauling, flavor-of-the-month, shopping-mall princess Tiffany. A slightly interesting fact about “Could’ve Been”: Its composer, Lois Blaisch, was “discovered” while singing for her supper at a recently-shuttered restaurant a few miles from my house, called the Hungry Hunter. I knew there had to be a reason why I never considered going into that place … besides, of course, the goofiness of its name, particularly considering that it sat in the middle of a SoCal strip mall… (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?
If you’re a guitar guy, then all I have to do is write the name “Phil Keaggy” and you’re probably already prepared to offer up praise for his abilities. The man’s prowess with the guitar is legendary, so much so that he can’t turn around without someone bringing up the longstanding urban legend that no less an authority than Jimi Hendrix once declared him to be the best guitarist of all time. It’s been pretty well decided that such words never came forth from Hendrix’s lips…or, at least, Keaggy’s pretty sure of it, anyway…but God knows that plenty of other axe men have offered compliments along those lines.
The reference to the almighty is an intentional one. Although Keaggy started in the more traditional rock world as a member of the band Glass Harp, he’s been a staple of the Contemporary Christian music industry since the early 1970s. But, c’mon, don’t freak out, okay? I’ve always been mystified about how music fans can be totally psyched to hear about an album, only to dismiss it because there were lyrical references to religious beliefs. It’s music, people. No-one’s saying you have to embrace the lyrical content as the truth…but you can certainly enjoy the tunes.
My buddy Chris Commander is the person who was responsible for introducing me to the music of Phil Keaggy. This was in the early ’90s, when the members of my circle of friends were…you’ll forgive the expression…worshiping at the altar of Jellyfish and Crowded House. Chris said, “Dude, you’ve got to check out the album,” and he handed me a copy of Phil Keaggy and Sunday’s Child. I’m sure he mentioned that Keaggy was a Christian recording artist, but that’s not the sort of thing that would’ve turned me off, anyway, and, besides, I knew Chris’s tastes and he knew mine, so if he thought I’d like it, he didn’t have to tell me twice. And, of course, he was absolutely on the money. From the Beatles homage on the cover art to the plethora of pop hooks, this was very much my kind of album.
The new benefit album from Neil Finn’s 7 Worlds Collide collective, 
Reader questions are becoming almost de rigueur for our higher-profile Popdose Interviews, so we thought some of you might like to be part of our upcoming conversation with one of our very favorite artists, Neil Finn. Submit your questions here before midnight on Monday, and we’ll fit in as many as he can (or is willing to) answer. Feel free to touch on the Split Enz years, the Crowded House era, his solo work, or his many collaborations with Tim, Liam and the whole Finn brood — including the new 7 Worlds Collide album, ![Reblog this post [with Zemanta]](http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=e93b2baf-9e35-401d-8f4d-88ed55a0c529)
Two years ago, when I was working on this column’s debut, I wrote about Bruce Springsteen’s ![618P4xqm7zL._SCLZZZZZZZ_[1]](http://popdose.com/wp-content/uploads/618P4xqm7zL._SCLZZZZZZZ_1.jpg "618P4xqm7zL._SCLZZZZZZZ_[1]")
The early aughts were dark, dark times for fans of what is now called classic pop. Radio was a wasteland, and online social networking was in the zygote stages – chat rooms, eeeek! – so it was quite difficult for most bands to find their audience, and vice versa. I subscribed to CMJ Monthly for the CD of the month and the dozens of reviews, and when I needed a power pop fix, I went over to NotLame, Bruce Brodeen’s utopia for all things Beatle-y. It was there that I found a three-year-old album by an Australian trio that did a wicked impression of a certain New Zealand trio. I could only hear the songs in 30-second samples, but they did the trick. I plunked down the coin for 
It’s amazing, the things a guy can learn even at my advanced age. The real treat for me, in slapping together this (too)-long-running series – which already has examined hits from the 
