Posts Tagged ‘Rick Dees’

CHART ATTACK!: 11/20/76

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So before we get started with today’s chart, I need to call your attention to those purty lil’ Amazon graphics below. They were created by the awesome Brian Ibbott, the man behind my favorite podcast (after the Popdose podcast, of course), Coverville. I figured Brian had taken them from the Amazon website, and since I couldn’t find them over at Amazon, I just took ‘em straight from Brian. I didn’t mean to be a thief, but turns out I am. So all credit for that nifty graphic that nobody clicks on goes to Brian — thanks, Brian! And if you’re not listening to Coverville, you’re missing out on one of the best, most compelling podcasts on the web. Check it out!

Okay, so now that I’ve stopped Brian’s team of blood-thirsty lawyers in their tracks (kidding!), we can take a look at this week’s chart. And I don’t mean to cast a cloud over this Top 10, but I’m not thrilled with most of these songs. Although three of them did hit #1 (one of them is actually the #1 hit of 1977), five of them didn’t make the Top 100 of either 1976 or 1977 at all. And as you’ll see, the songs that actually did hit #1 aren’t that great either. Things were better earlier in 1976 and later in 1977, but this specific week is, in my opinion, a low point. Do you agree? Let me know — and let’s attack November 20, 1976!

10. Do You Feel Like We Do — Peter Frampton null
9. Beth — Kiss null
8. Just to Be Close to You — Commodores null
7. Rock’n Me — Steve Miller null
6. The Rubberband Man — Spinners null
5. Disco Duck (Part 1) — Rick Dees null
4. Muskrat Love — Captain & Tennille null
3. Love So Right — Bee Gees null
2. The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald — Gordon Lightfoot null
1. Tonight’s the Night (Gonna Be Alright) — Rod Stewart null

10. Do You Feel Like We Do — Peter Frampton

nullOne day, if I’m lucky enough to have kids as geeky as I am (seems kind of inevitable), I’ll sit them down and tell them about the improbability of this song’s success. Sure, I’ll have to explain terms like “double album,” “record label” and “radio,” but I think it’ll be worth it. I’ll explain to them how Peter Frampton managed to remain on a major record label, A&M, despite the fact that his first three albums (as well as his first eight singles) didn’t even crack the Hot 100 (”what’s the Hot 100, daddy?”) and his fourth album peaked at #32. And that despite these failures, A&M decided that his next release should be a live album — and when he turned in the live album, the head of the record label (Jerry Moss) complained that it was too short (!) and should be a double album (!!). And so Frampton — who had recorded most of the album at the Winterland Ballroom in San Francisco, went to record more tracks live at SUNY Plattsburgh, better known as the least sexy of all the NY State-owned colleges. (I know. My dad went there.) “Do You Feel Like We Do” was one of the tracks recorded on the college campus. Unedited, it clocks in at 14:15. And children, guess what? “Radio stations,” as they were known back then, actually played the full, unedited version of the song! “Disc jockeys,” who were the people who actually had some control over what songs were played on the radio, used the song as an excuse to go to the bathroom or do other things that I’ll tell you about when you’re older. A&M understood that some stations might not want to play a 14-minute song, though, so they reasonably edited the song…to 7:19. 7:19 was considered reasonable, children!

At this point, my kids will probably be asleep from boredom, and that’ll be a shame, because I haven’t even explained to them why the unedited version of this song became so successful. Two words: TALKBOX SOLO. And here’s what I want to know, people: why do I have to wait SEVEN MINUTES AND 25 SECONDS for the talkbox solo? There should have been one in the beginning, in the middle, and then another one at the end. No, wait: the end one should be a false ending, and then there’d be another one after that one. There. That’s your perfect song. And I know the audience would have agreed, because you can hear how loud they cheer when he starts using the damn thing. You can’t deny the power of the talkbox. The talkbox is so powerful that the audience forgets the fact that anybody using one looks like a total douche.

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“durrrrrrrrrrr!”

Frampton does a talkbox solo for four full minutes, making “Do You Feel Like We Do” not only our CHART ATTACK! Song of the Week, but perhaps The Greatest Song of All Time, Excluding “What a Fool Believes.”

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Into the Ear of Madness: Week 23 — Betty Boop Meets Elihu Smails

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Over the next year Terje Fjelde has agreed to listen to nothing but David Foster on his iPod. He’s loaded the thing with over 1,200 songs produced, arranged, composed, and/or played by David Foster. A deal with the devil? He keeps wondering.

Book a seat. David Foster is set to score a new musical about Betty Boop, and the show aims to debut on Broadway in the 2010-2011 season. David Foster has worked on Broadway musicals before – he won a Grammy for his production work on Dreamgirls starring Jennifer Holliday in 1982 – but this will be his debut as a composer. And I may be some sort of Foster expert, but never in a million years would I have predicted that his next career move included Betty Boop. David Foster continues to surprise and amaze us.

This is an appropriate time to bring out some of the weirdest and most unlikely collaborations throughout the recorded history of David Foster, wouldn’t you agree? I’ve been waiting for the right moment and this seems to be it.

Foster has been so eclectic and productive in his career that it’s tempting to assume that nothing he has ever done can come as a surprise at this point. Yet he has specialized in music so firmly planted in the “middle-of-the-road” that it’s hard to convince people he’s actually done anything in his career besides overproducing piano-driven ballads with high-pitched male vocalists and divas.

Of course, faithful readers of this series know better. The Rocky Horror Show and Jaye P. Morgan hardly fit the bill of your average Foster gig. He played on the Wheel of Fortune theme and he co-wrote a song called “Thicke of the Night” with Alan Thicke. Here are a couple of sessions which may make your jaw drop even further. Then again, maybe not — Betty Boop probably did the trick. (more…)

Bottom Feeders: The Ass End of the ’80s, Part 23

Last week’s E.G. Daily track reminded me of bar trivia with my buddies, so I thought I’d expand that into an intro. For a good three years, Wednesday was the day to show off my geek-tastic knowledge of ‘80s music. From ’03 to ’06, my buddies and I went to Steppy’s Bar & Grill in East Norriton, Pa., a bar with a bowling alley attached to it; we went for “Sports & Music Trivia With DJ George.” From nine until about one in the morning every Wednesday night, we’d drink and answer sports questions. There were four quarters, each consisting of six questions. George would read a question, then play a Billboard Hot 100 song from any decade, and you had to answer the question before the song ended as well as give the name of the artist and the year it charted.

Things started off easy. The questions were semi-softballs and the music was like Guns n’ Roses or the Beatles. But as the game moved along, everything grew more difficult. Everyone in my group was in their 20s or 30s, so we had a rough time with the music from the ‘60s, but we made up for it with my knowledge of the ‘80s. There would be two ‘80s songs in the final quarter — a really hard one, and the final song of the night, which would be the “impossible” song George chose specifically to try to stump me each week.

The final question of the night was always ridiculous — the “name every …” question, e.g. “Name every Philadelphia 76ers head coach in order from oldest to most recent.” And the song was something that no one ever got but me. George loved playing those late-‘80s freestyle tunes or one of those Cugini-type songs; Pajama Party and Nocera tracks were also big on his list. Every now and then he would stump me, and of course that would piss me off. But most of the time I was the only person in the bar to know the final song. If that makes me an ‘80s nerd, so be it — but quite a few times it got us some decent prizes, and in some small way it probably led me to writing Bottom Feeders.

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