1968’s The Beatles, aka “The White Album,” is the Beatles at their most frightening: the sound of drugs, of implosion, of tension and competition. Added to that are the numerous songs which present the band at their most menacing, loaded with echo and reverb; sound collages and mumbles; the sudden bursts of vocals from Yoko Ono on “The Continuing Adventures of Bungalow Bill” and “Birthday.” A primary example is the slash and burn of “Helter Skelter,” which leaves the listener on edge as it fades out and back in, then starts to fade out again, but rushes back with a final crash, followed by the most punk moment in the history of the band: Ringo’s scream of “I’ve got blisters on my fingers!” and a final guitar slash. This song is scary enough as it is — made even more so by the claim from Charles Manson that it contained secret messages that led him to order the Tate-La Bianca murders.

Then there’s “Revolution 9,” which really isn’t a song — it’s an experimental art piece — but is spooky enough as it is, with the seemingly endless swirl of moans, crowd noises, backwards tracks, and the monotonous repetition of “number nine.” Add the rumors that it contains a secret message — that if played backwards, the “number nine” becomes “turn me on, dead man” — and you’ve got more possible chills. (As for the “dead man” rumor: yeah, it sounds a bit like that, if that was specifically what you were listening for when you played it. Otherwise, nuh-uh.)

But the track that really gets me on “the White Album” is what follows “Helter Skelter”: a track by my favorite Beatle, George Harrison. “Long, Long, Long” is, for some critics, Harrison’s high point with the group: a languid, swirling love song — possibly to God. Both the composition and arrangement are effective at keeping the listener on edge: it opens with an acoustic guitar amped to sound almost sitar-like, and doubled with a Hammond organ playing slow, Gothic triplets through a Leslie speaker to give it a swirling effect. George starts singing, double-tracked with himself — almost in a whisper, and a little behind the chord, as if he’s caught up in prayer. Then….THWACK, Ringo’s drums come in, puncturing the quiet with rolls drenched in echo. The basic structure of the song plays out a second time, then producer Chris Thomas joins in with a piano in the more forceful bridge, as at least three Georges sing in unison, almost screaming the “Oh!”’s at the end of this portion, then switch back to the creepy placidity of the verses one final time. (more…)

Some people are just flat-out smart-asses.

It’s not necessarily a bad thing to be at times, mind you, but a good smart-ass pulls it off with a modicum of grace and might give you a chuckle for it. In the music world, there are relatively few of the latter. Instead of a wink and a nod, they just about knock you unconscious and then ask if “you saw that.” You can tell one from the other by their choices in the realm of cover songs.

A word of note to anyone who is not a music nerd accidentally finding themselves at this site: a cover song is when an artist records another artist’s song, hence covering it. The term ‘remake’ fits as well. The term ’smart-ass’, at least relative to this article, refers to those who decide to go all hipster and record something that bears no relevance, charm or wit toward their own sensibility. I’m thinking of Madonna’s cover of “American Pie” or that godawful A Perfect Circle CD where the songs weren’t just reworked, they were worked over, until all that was left was roadkill disguised as tribute. Then there’s the Bluegrass Tribute to Pink Floyd’s The Wall. More notoriously, I’m thinking of the late-’50s pop songs from black artists covered by teen idol white artists because, you know, if it comes from a white guy in a sweater, the subtext can’t be about sex. Right? Pat Boone? Tutti Frutti?

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On March 8, 2008, the Rutland Times reported the breathtaking news that the world and elsewhere would soon be privy to something quite remarkable: “Rutlemania! The Tribute Concert.” Even more impressive to fans of the Prefab Four, however, was the announcement that the famed Mods & Rockers Film Festival would be handling the official 30th-anniversary celebration of the Rutles on March 17, with Dirk (Eric Idle), Nasty (Neil Innes), Ricky Fataar (Stig), and John Halsey (Barry) all in attendance for a screening of the original 1978 version of The Rutles: All You Need Is Cash, the 1975 British TV skit that inspired the film, Rutles-related footage from Saturday Night Live, and highlights from the 2003 film The Rutles 2: Can’t Buy Me Lunch.

Damn. I really wish I could’ve been there for that.

Fortunately, David Haber from WhatGoesOn.com was there, and provided two separate reports over at his website, one a general summary and the other focusing specifically on the Rutles’ first full reunion performance ever. Better you should go there yourself rather than allow me to cannibalize all the good stuff here, but let’s just say that any event that can draw an audience that includes Andy Summers, Jeff Lynne, Aimee Mann, Michael Penn, Stephen Bishop, Howard Kaylan of the Turtles, producer extraordinaire Peter Asher (who was also half of Peter & Gordon), Emo Phillips, Marcia Strassman, and Dan Castellaneta was clearly the place to be that night.

If you’re a Beatles fan who’s never heard the genius parody that is the Rutles, you’re really missing out. It’s a fair assessment to suggest that 90 percent of all power pop is unabashedly derivative of the works of John, Paul, George, and Ringo, and plenty of comedians have taken the world’s most famous Liverpudlians and had a laugh at their expense, but few have done such an exquisite job of it and gotten the blessing of the members themselves to boot — well, three-quarters of them, anyway. George actually made a cameo in the original film; as for the others (if we can trust Wikipedia’s word on the matter), Ringo liked the happier scenes but felt the ones that mimicked the sadder times in the band’s career hit too close to home, while John loved the film so much that he refused to return the videotape and soundtrack he was given for his approval, warning Neil Innes that “Get Up and Go” was too close to “Get Back” and to be careful so as not to be sued by Paul. This might explain why Macca always said “no comment” when asked of the film at the time of its release, as well as Innes’s remark that Sir Paul “had a dinner at some awards thing at the same table as Eric one night, and Eric said it was a little frosty.”

Well, fair enough, you can kind of understand that. It’s fine and well for us to have a laugh at it all, but then, we didn’t live it. George was around for much of the planning of the original film, but according to producer Gary Weis, even the Quiet One got a bit testy at one point, snapping, “We were the Beatles, you know!” Moments later, however, he shook his head and said, “Aw, never mind.”

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The call came in the middle of the workday, sometime after lunch. Julie was fighting back tears as she drove home from Jacob’s pediatrician’s office. What we had feared was confirmed: Jacob’s failure to thrive at one month old was because he was born with cystic fibrosis (CF). Here is the definition of CF from the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation:

Cystic fibrosis is an inherited chronic disease that affects the lungs and digestive system of about 30,000 children and adults in the United States (70,000 worldwide). A defective gene and its protein product cause the body to produce unusually thick, sticky mucus that clogs the lungs and leads to life-threatening lung infections, and obstructs the pancreas and stops natural enzymes from helping the body break down and absorb food.

We were vaguely familiar with some of the CF facts after we brought Jacob home from the UCLA medical center. One of his doctors there had mentioned, in passing, that a CF test had been done, but for some reason it hadn’t. Immediately, we did some initial research on the disease, but not too much. Our son was home and out of intensive care — that was what mattered. “Everything’s fine,” we thought. But obviously it wasn’t. When Jacob failed to gain weight and his color continued to be very pale, our pediatrician became concerned. A wonderful, caring man, he wanted to rule out CF after we mentioned what the UCLA doctor had told us when he ordered a blood test.

I should’ve been there. That’s what I was thinking as I hung up the phone. I should’ve been there with Julie and Jacob when the test results were given. But I didn’t believe it was cystic fibrosis. I was optimistic it was a virus or something easily treatable. I should’ve been there.

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Yeah, yeah, we know what you’re thinking: “The Hooters? Are they even still together?” Well, actually, if you’d asked that question between 1995 and 2001, the answer would’ve been a resounding “No.” After the tremendous success of the band’s 1985 breakthrough, Nervous Night, their commercial success in the States began a gradual descent; simultaneously, however, their stock was rising overseas. When the band took a break in 1995, singer-guitarist Eric Bazilian proceeded to keep very busy as a songwriter, working with everyone from Midge Ure to Jon Bon Jovi, but when the gang got back together in 2001 he was right there with them. The Hooters did a fair amount of touring in Germany, Switzerland, and Sweden, but it wasn’t ’til 2006 that the band finally started doing some shows in the U.S. The next thing you know, the band was back in the studio to record Time Stand Still, their first album in 14 years. Popdose had the good fortune to speak with Eric about the history of the band as well as his solo career, touching on subjects like the Hooters’ omission from the Live Aid DVD, what it’s like to meet three out of four Beatles, and what a glorious gift it was to have Joan Osborne record “One of Us.”

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