Posts Tagged ‘Timothy B. Schmit’

Bottom Feeders: The Ass End of the ’80s, Part 77

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So I’ve been mentioning this to my wife, and I’m going to mention it here: lately on Popdose, and for all of eternity on the majority of sites that share opinions, there’s been a ton of the “What have you done for me lately?” comments if someone doesn’t talk fondly about something.

It rarely happens at Bottom Feeders, but I attribute that to the fact that even though I rag on various artists, this series is less about writing and more about entertaining. Well, that and the fact that there aren’t quite as many fanatical fans of bands who only had one hit a quarter-century ago.

All over the place, though, when a a piece of media is reviewed by someone and their opinion differs from the fanatic’s point of view, all of a sudden it’s a jealousy thing. I’ve never been able to figure out the “Are you jealous because you can’t sing as well?” comments. If I’m saying an artist sucks, why would I be jealous of them? If I was jealous at all, wouldn’t I be jealous of the artists who are my favorites? I hate Nickelback with a white-hot fury, but that’s not because I’m jealous that they have money and fame and I don’t.

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You Again?: Timothy B. Schmit, “Expando”

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Poor Timothy B. Schmit.

No matter how many millions of dollars he has in the bank, or how many Caribbean islands he owns, it’s hard not to feel bad for Schmit, because he’s never been much more than the country-rock equivalent of Jan Brady — a guy whose two biggest gifts are a knack for walking into a room after Randy Meisner leaves and a singing voice that combines the estrogen-frosted purity of Christopher Cross with the raw energy of an angry Art Garfunkel. Schmit has definitely paid his dues (most notably during a nearly decade-long run with the perennially talent-rich and sales-poor Poco), and he can certainly sing and/or play the bass, but his timing sucks; he joined the Eagles after the bajillion-selling Hotel California, only to end up watching with dumb, Ted McGinley-esque horror as the band imploded around him.

Instead of spending the ’80s keeping the beat alongside Don Henley’s drum machine, Schmit wandered open-mouthed through a succession of embarrassing solo albums with titles like Playin’ It Cool and Timothy B. I personally think the video for 1987’s “Boys Night Out” is sadder than Schindler’s List: (more…)