Last week’s column opened by noting that, when you hear the name “Don Dixon,” you’re probably more likely to think of him in terms of his production career than for his accomplishments as a singer and songwriter. Although I followed this observation by noting that this tendency gets really annoying for those who’ve lived and loved to Dixon’s albums over the years, I also clarified that it should in no way be taken as a dismissal of his production work; the guy has had his hands on some of the best albums of the ’80s and ’90s, some of which you may have forgotten about. But, hey, that’s what I’m here for…

Popdose: I wanted to ask you about a couple of your production jobs…well, quite a few of them, actually, because I’m a big fan of a lot of the artists you’ve worked with. In fact, looking over your resume, it looks like you had a hand in about 7/8 of the American music I was listening to in the late ‘80s!

DD: I was busy!

PD: You were!

DD: And I made records quick. And cheap. That was the other thing. I made quick, cheap records.

PD: I’m a huge fan of the Connells’ Darker Days.

DD: I love the Connells. In fact, Arrogance just played with the Connells at an outdoor thing for a…well, it was kind of a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame thing. And the Connells still sound great.

PD: They used to play the Boathouse every other week, it seemed like, and I think I was there for most of the shows.

DD: I think I was only at the Boathouse once. We were there when Marti was opening for Chris Isaak, and I did some of the shows on that tour. I was doing some projects, so I wasn’t on every date, but she did a couple of months with him, and I think I was…no, I know I was at the Boathouse show, because I can remember exactly where the buses were parked. The Boathouse was kind of an odd show, because it was mostly theaters on that tour, and at the Boathouse, it was hard to fit all three buses in the lot.

PD: I can believe it. I’m sure they were all lined up next to the water.

DD: Uh-huh. So, anyway, the Connells. Let’s talk.

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One of of the most overlooked films of 2006 (a terrible, terrible year for movies; with redemption only brought by the likes of The Departed, Borat, and Casino Royale) was the noir high school murder mystery Brick. The independently produced film took a story and characters that would normally belong in a Dashiell Hammett novel and deposited them in the setting of an Orange County high school. The movie features the familiar face of Joseph Gordon-Levitt filling the role of the hard-boiled detective unraveling the conspiracy that resulted in the murder of his dame, and he inhabits the role so brilliantly that his performance instantly erased all of the ill will I’d harbored towards him for all those years he spent on Third Rock from the Sun.

While occasional films will address the tense high-school relationships between children and their parents or other authority figures (Rebel Without a Cause, The Breakfast Club, Dead Poets Society) most teen films conveniently relegate adult characters to the periphery, only letting them occasionally affect the events of the film. A variety of techniques can be used to ensure that adults stay out of the picture; they can be on vacation (Risky Business), absent (Napoleon Dynamite), dead (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire*), or simply invisible (Lucas). In Brick, the only adult figure (aside from a brief glimpse of the Pin’s mom) who becomes involved in the narrative in any way is the Assistant Vice Principal Gary Trueman (Richard Roundtree). And even AVP Trueman doesn’t really affect how the story plays out; he inhabits the hard-boiled detective novel equivalent of the local police chief who reluctantly agrees to allow the private detective the freedom of movement he needs to solve his case. And despite a number of scenes taking place during the school day, the high school campus is virtually deserted.** It’s these aspects of Brick that are the most challenging to an audience in terms of willingly suspending their disbelief.

The Film: Brick

The Song: “Sister Ray”

The Artist: The Velvet Underground

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Eric Clapton - “I’ve Got a Rock and Roll Heart”

Dave: Did Clapton have to record this to pay back the writers for lending him money for blow? This record is such a piece of dogshit that a couple of Phil Collins-produced records and selling out to Michelob were considered a “return to form.” And that lyric “I get off on screaming guitars” would be horrible even if the guitar lick actually, you know, screamed. Maybe the problem was that he was too busy removing his dick from the tailpipe of a ‘57 Chevy to realize his tone sucked.

Scott: What do you have against a man and his masturbatory habits, David? When Clapton recorded this song, he’d kicked drugs for the first time; he needed something to get his rocks off. Still, this song isn’t that bad. It’s an natural extension of the drug fueled reggae influenced shuffles he churned out in the 70’s, except this time he was sober. Maybe “I get off” was a bad selection of words, but when you look at the charts from 1983 (Men at Work, Human League, Culture Club) who the hell expected this song to be a hit? Certainly not Clapton. The look of his face on the cover of “Money and Cigarettes” tells it all: “I don’t give a shit. I’m Eric Clapton.” I’m sure some dumb ass exec enthusiastically told him that this song was a bona fide hit. To which Clapton most likely replied, “Fuck it, ya poofter, release whatever god damn song you want. I’m ERIC FUCKING CLAPTON! Now bring me a Trans Am, I’m through with that saggy old Chevy.” Seriously, the song’s obviously a throwaway that became a fluke hit. How else do you explain him selling his soul to the devil and teaming up with Phil Collins?
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