Posts Tagged ‘Ratt’

Bottom Feeders: The Ass End of the ’80s, Part 72

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At first, on paper, this week didn’t seem like much. But as I was writing it up, I found myself groovin’ pretty hard to the tracks — it sneaks up on you just a bit, but is thoroughly enjoyable. See if you agree as we take a look at another set of songs that charted below #40 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart during the 1980s.

Eddie RabbittEddie Rabbitt
“Gone Too Far” — 1980, #82 (download)
“You Can’t Run From Love” — 1983, #55 (download)
“You Put the Beat in My Heart” — 1983, #81 (download)

I know many of you have had your memory jogged by something in this series and I’m happy that same thing happens for me every now and then as well. I’ve often said how my mother had some 45s, but I only remember a few of them, and then I hit another artist in the series that completely takes me back to the ‘80s and my mom’s 45 crate. Eddie Rabbitt is one of those artists. My God, how could I forget the constant spinning of “I Love a Rainy Night” — almost a perfect pop song? I remember the red Elektra label spinning on that record player with the bright yellow adapter you had to put in the hole of the record just perfectly so it would fit snugly on the player. There’s a nice vivid picture of me sitting on my grandparents’ floor listening to this over and over in my head right now and I usually don’t remember anything. See, this is what music does to me. So thank you, Eddie Rabbitt. Unfortunately, none of these three songs even come close to “Rainy Night.”

Gerry Rafferty
“The Royal Mile (Sweet Darlin’)” — 1980, #54 (download)

This is a strange week for me, as I also have vivid memories associated with Gerry Rafferty. His 1978 hit “Right Down the Line” is another brilliant pop record that my mother spun with me. In fact, I’d almost bet many times it was directly before or after “I Love a Rainy Night.” And I don’t know if it’s because it’s in every dollar bin or from my mom, but the cover to his album City to City sticks in my mind as well. I don’t however ever remember hearing “The Royal Mile”; I think my mom was pretty broke raising me, so she didn’t have the money for too much music, so maybe this never made its way into my house. Shame too, because I’m diggin’ it a lot right now.

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Long, Cold Winter: The Music of “The Wrestler”


“The only place I get hurt is out there. The world don’t give a shit about me.”

I. Well, I’m Frustrated and Outdated

The first voice you hear is a dead man’s scream. It’s one of those full-throated primal belts, like Roger Daltrey’s in “Won’t Get Fooled Again.” Here it’s Kevin DuBrow, his scalded screech busting the floodgates for “Bang Your Head (Metal Health),” the second single from Quiet Riot’s landmark Metal Health (1983), the first slab of fuzz ’n’ meedley to ever reach #1 on the Billboard Albums chart.

The band was at its mainstream zenith then. Randy “The Ram” Robinson (Mickey Rourke) was probably just getting started, years of toil finally paying off as professional wrestling graduated from the sweathouse din of high school gyms to respectable arenas in metropolitan cities. It came with a price, of course. Regional territories were swallowed by ambitious, growing monoliths. But that wouldn’t matter for a while, not even to the Ram. Luckily, he was in his prime, synchronous with the era. He was the ’80s.

Someday that would come back to haunt him, but someday was just a harmless, nebulous future. For now we’re in his past. Wisely, director Darren Aronofsky (on a Robert D. Siegel script) never shows us this past except as a collage of scattered magazines and handbills against the ghostly chatter of ringside patter and a raucous anthem that rocked a long-gone summer, growled by a man who in 2007 was silenced forever.

But Ram still struts to this hoary buzzsaw, having plucked it during its popularity and transformed it into his ring-entrance music. When the riffs kick in to summon his fist-pumping form, the crowds respond as they would at a concert. They know what’s coming: a classic blast from their childhoods, riding into town with a near-suicidal need to entertain. And the outcome is always predetermined. Once their faded hero climbs the ropes and drops that old-school Ram Jam finisher — his greatest hit — it’s over, brother.

All over. (more…)