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…)
Bill Champlin has a lot to be happy about these days. He’s got a steady gig singing and playing keyboards with Chicago, a spot he’s held since 1982. His solo album 
TO: D’Angelo
I’d like to pay tribute to my mother-in-law, Judie, a woman whose perseverance has set an example not only for all of her kids, but for all of us to follow. In the summer of ’92, before I began dating Julie, I knew her mother as a customer at the Bin, the natural foods store where I worked. Back then she was just Mrs. Flynn, and once a week she stopped in to buy fresh fruit and vegetables, bringing a ray of positive energy into the store. I first took notice of her kindness when my dad went in for open heart surgery. Judie expressed great empathy, even though she hardly knew me. Her kind words and prayers gave me some peace of mind during a turbulent time.
Before there was an 
All right, let me stop all you young ‘uns right there — 1980’s Xanadu is not a great movie, a lost treasure, or an overlooked masterpiece of fun. It’s a dreadful film, downright boring in parts, somewhat laughable in others, but not quite laughable enough to deserve the “campy cult classic” tag it’s earned through the years. But the soundtrack — well, it was stellar enough to keep the brand alive for nearly 30 years and even give the film new life as an intentionally campy Broadway musical in 2007. We all know the Olivia Newton-John hits and ELO classics from the album, but one number is my favorite, and it’s my pick for quite possibly the first mash-up ever.
Anyway, I’ve been blunt about my current health status, so I might as well be blunt about the music. Here we go: David Foster composed the score for this movie in 1988, and I have to admit that I love the Stealing Home soundtrack. I love the sentimentality of it, I love that it’s overloaded with strings and sweet synth sounds and I love the silly love lyrics penned by Foster’s wife for the love theme. I’ve kissed a thousand beautiful women listening to these tunes throughout my youth — well, in my dreams, anyway.