Don Dixon may never quite achieve the lofty stature of rock and roll’s Great Men, but there’s no questioning that for nearly 40 years he’s been one of the industry’s great guys. He’s a repository of well-told tales about musicians famous and forgotten; a producer of renown who midwifed some of the ’80s’ greatest “college-rock” hits; and co-godhead of a cult following that blossomed over years of onstage magic he created alongside his wife, singer Marti Jones. Through all of that, Dixon also has built a small but diverse catalog of recordings under his own name. His songs have explored themes ranging from the personal to the momentous to the ridiculous, but even as his work has matured Dixon has never forgotten the value of a great pop hook.

Dixon’s recollections of his producing career were the topic of last week’s Hooks ’N’ You column, and he reflected on some of his best-remembered songs two weeks ago in that same space. We’ve got more Dixon- (and Jones-) related tricks up our sleeve in the coming weeks here at Popdose; in the meantime, here is an overview of his recordings, with commentary from the man himself.

Most of the Girls Like to Dance But Only Some of the Boys Like To (1985)
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The word “seminal” gets tossed around way too frequently in rock-crit circles, but here goes: In 1969-70, as a student at the University of North Carolina, Dixon co-founded a band called Arrogance that played a seminal role in the growth of the music scene around the state’s “triangle” area (Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill). Arrogance released five LPs over the next decade, and nearly made the big time despite the usual assortment of personnel changes and label difficulties. Their best chance came with a signing to Curb/Warner Bros. and the release of an album titled Suddenly in 1980; unfortunately, the album stiffed, and within a couple years Arrogance was no more. (Tracks from the band’s records can be downloaded from efolkmusic.org.) (more…)

No, I’m not dead, but neither can it really be said that I’ve been resting, either. Sorry for the monthlong interim between columns, but I was in Los Angeles July 7-23 covering the Television Critics Association press tour, and I returned to a combination of family stuff and car issues that kept me hopping for well over a week after my return. To give you an idea of what my luck was like with my car, it died on my wife while she was in a McDonald’s drive-thru and involved trips to the AAA Service center and Pep Boys as well as two trips to the Hyundai dealership to work out the issue. And while I was borrowing my father’s truck during all these vehicle woes, the truck managed to get a flat tire and have its battery die on me. As for the family stuff, well, as it happens, that brings me to the subject of this week’s column.

If things had gone differently, this column would’ve run last week or even the week before, because the intent was to have it go live on the week of my daughter’s third birthday. Her name is Allyson Faith Harris. She was an in-vitro baby, and we’re pretty sure the doctors at the New Hope Center for Reproductive Medicine slipped a few extra “cute” and “smart” genes into her petri dish, because she’s both things, and this isn’t just typical proud papa crap — a few weeks ago we drove past a Chick-Fil-A, and the kid said, “Look, Daddy, they have an indoor play area!” A few months ago I told her I thought we didn’t need to put gas in the car until the morning, and she put on a pouty face and said, “I’m so disappointed that we’re not going to the gas station.” This was a two-year-old. I don’t know where she stands on an emotional level, but at the very least she’s got a pretty darned advanced vocabulary for her age. As for the cuteness, you be the judge:

Allyson stayed on the bike — this time.

Yes, as you can see by her shirt, the kid is into music. She could name all four Beatles before she was two, her favorite songs are Nick Lowe’s “Cruel to Be Kind” and the Left Banke’s “Pretty Ballerina,” and, perhaps most importantly, when she hears the Crayons’ “Allyson Fell Off the Bike,” she immediately says, “That’s my song!”

Who are the Crayons? That’s a fair question. Heck, even I didn’t know who the Crayons were until I discovered them on the sixth volume of the ongoing series of International Pop Overthrow compilations, but when I happened upon their selection, a little ditty called “Allyson Fell Off the Bike,” I was enamored immediately. The slightly ominous riff at the beginning of the song instantly made me think of Echo & the Bunnymen’s “The Killing Moon,” which was a surprising enough touch to hear on a collection of power-pop artists, and with my interest held, I was so swept up in the huge chorus that I knew it was time to head straight to my computer and find out if the Crayons had an entire album.

Fortunately, they did, and its title asked a highly appropriate question for a band called the Crayons: What Color Are You?

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Bell Biv Devoe - “Poison”

Dave: “Never trust a big butt and smile.” Has there ever been a statement so true? And this coming from three dudes that sang “Mr. Telephone Man.” I love the fact the Ricky Bell, Michael Bivins and Ronnie DeVoe pushed themselves into a new genre, getting rid of the squeaky clean New Edition lyrics and coming out hard. There were so many generic New Jack Swing artists that it was exciting to hear someone really extend the genre a bit.

Will: And yet it bears remembering that while New Edition graduates Bobby Brown and Ralph Tresvant were able to make solo careers for themselves, these three guys needed to team up to create a viable musical product. And the key word here is definitely “product,” since no-one in the trio had the first thing to do with writing this song. Instead, they turned to new jack swinger-for-hire Elliot Straite, who would soon go on to provide another band (Color Me Badd) with their signature song (”I Wanna Sex You Up”).

Dave: Tick-tock, you don’t stop, do you, Will? If this is what you are defining as “product” then Bobby Brown and Ralph Tresvant wouldn’t have had careers either. Tresvant’s hit “Sensitivity” was a Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis track and last time I checked they were still recycling the same old Rhythm Nation sound. And Babyface and L.A. Reid wrote a nice chunk of Bobby’s hits as well. You can’t really blame them for going and getting a hit record now, can you? What makes “Poison” so fresh sounding in the New Jack Swing genre is that Teddy Riley didn’t write it. And what makes a solo career so much better than a group? (more…)

I was going through a box of CD singles that I’m weeding out of my collection, and I couldn’t help but grin as I thumbed past a ridiculous number of cover songs. Once upon a time I used to absolutely live for cover songs, spending way too much money on import singles. Did I really need a copy of Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine singing the Monkees’ “Randy Scouse Git”? Probably not. But I bought it anyway, and I bought a hell of a lot of others too, believe me. But before I try to make a few bucks off these things, I thought I’d offer Mr. Giles a little assistance by throwing a few of them together and making this week’s Mixtape. (If anyone wants a sequel, just say the word.)

The Beautiful South - I Started a Joke from We Are Each Other (1992)
Levellers - The Devil Went Down to Georgia from One Way (1991)
Judybats - Cars from Daylight (1991)
The Wonder Stuff - Closer to Fine from Full of Life (Happy Now) (1993)
U2 - Paint It Black from Who’s Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses (1992)
Gene - Nightswimming from Where Are They Now? (1997)
R.E.M. - Arms of Love from Man on the Moon (1992)
Robyn Hitchcock & the Egyptians - More Than This [Live] from Madonna of the Wasps (1989)
Tears for Fears - Creep [Live] from God’s Mistake (1995)
Pet Shop Boys - Girls and Boys [Live] from Paninaro ‘95 (1995)
Squeeze - End of a Century [Live] from This Summer (1995)
Tom Jones - Unbelievable [Live] from Burning Down the House (1999)
Nine Inch Nails - Get Down Make Love from Sin (1989)
Menswear - Public Image from Being Brave (1996)
The Candyskins - The Day the World Turned Day-Glo from Mrs. Hoover (1996)
Lightning Seeds - Hang On to a Dream from Joy (1990)

I wouldn’t want to be the lone man out, so let me begin by opening this contribution to PopDose’s Al Jarreau Week by admitting that I, too, was hesitant when asked if I might want to chime in on the genius that is Mr. Jarreau. It’s not that I can’t get behind a tribute to the man; it’s simply that I’m not all that familiar with his back catalog.

I do, however, have 1996’s Best of Al Jarreau, so I immediately broke out that disc in order to spin it and see which songs leapt out at me with instant familiarity. As it turned out, all I really had to do was glance at the track listing for memories of one of the songs to come flooding back: “We’re In This Love Together.” The finger-popping goodness and silky smooth synth and sax sounds of this track still hold up, at least to my well-aged ears. Jazz? Not so much. But given the way the hook has stuck with me for 25 years, it’s sure as hell a top-notch pop song. Listening to it now, it has the same effect that so many singles from the early ‘80s have on me: it makes me start to wax nostalgic about a time when tracks from various musical genres could sit comfortably side by side on the airwaves without having to be so damned segregated.

And speaking of the early ‘80s, I always used to get Al Jarreau and George Benson mixed up back then (and I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m not the only who suffered from this malady), so I found it rather appropriate when I learned that the pair had teamed up in 2006 to release the collaborative effort, Givin’ It Up. As someone who gets inappropriately excited about a good cover song, it must be said that I probably enjoyed their take on Seals & Crofts’ “Summer Breeze” more than some, but the cover that really surprised me was Sam Cooke’s “Bring It On Home To Me,” courtesy of an unexpected third vocalist: Sir Paul McCartney. You can always tell when Paul’s having fun rather than just phoning it in, and this is clearly a case of the former; when listening to the soulful vocal harmony between these three guys, it sounds like the feeling was mutual.

Unfortunately, that’s about all the love I can comfortably offer for our man Al without totally clutching at straws. But here’s to ya, Al, and let it be said that, if nothing else, you made enough of an impression on me in my youth that I think of you fondly even now. That should count for…um, probably either nothing or, if you’re in a really bad mood, maybe even less than nothing.

But, hey, at least, it’s from the heart.

If there’s anything worse than having your heart broken in high school, when your fragile emotional identity is still developing, probably badly, it’s having your heart broken in elementary school, when it’s just sad, and you don’t even know why it’s sad, and you don’t even know what you can do to fix it. Actually, maybe that’s not true. In elementary school, at least you can still play with your “Star Wars” figures. They won’t judge you for your sobbing.

“Why Must I Chase That Cat?”
By Will Harris

This is a story I’ve told countless times to countless people, even working it into my review of the movie “Little Manhattan,” but it remains one of my favorites, and whenever Valentine’s Day rolls around, I find it’s always worth re-telling…

All men have stories of their first love, and here is mine, so let it be told: it was 1980, and the girl’s name was Kathy Hawbaker. She lived a street over from me, and she made me feel funny in my tummy whenever I looked at her. I was only nine years old, but having already received all the information on love I was sure I was ever going to need (courtesy of movies, TV, and Top 40 song lyrics, thank you very much), I decided to make a romantic gesture to Kathy on Valentine’s Day.

I bought a card and a box of candy — both of which ended up being far smaller than I’d originally planned, since my bemused mother assured me it was the thought that counted — and took the suddenly-interminable stroll from my house to Kathy’s. I knocked, her dad answered, and then he called to her. She came up to the screen door and I presented her with her gifts, somehow getting out the words, “These are for you.”

Kathy opened the door and, as she took the card and candy, uttered those three words that every nine-year-old boy longs to hear:

“Oh, my cat!”

Before I knew what had happened, her cat had shot past my ankles. With card and candy in hand, Kathy ran past me and retrieved the feline from the yard, then ran back past me, went inside, and closed the door behind her. I stood dazed for a moment, then, upon the realization that my first-ever romantic gesture had come to a decidedly anticlimactic end, I walked home sobbing, and, upon coming through my own front door, proceeded to take as much comfort as my mother was willing to offer.

I ask you: is it any wonder that I’m more of a dog person?

If you look at a Chinese calendar, you’ll see that 1980 was actually designated the year of the monkey. For yours truly, however, it will always be remembered as…cue the Al Stewart, please…the “Year of the Cat” (download).

Even since Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus first realized that they had a knack for writing songs together, it’s been an accepted fact that there’s something in the water of Sweden which gifts the residents of this kingdom with the abilities to write inconceivably catchy pop hooks. I mean, I’m not saying anyone’s actually done any sort of chemical analysis – or, at least, I haven’t, anyway – but given the sheer hummability of the average Swedish composition, it seems like as good an explanation as any. As late as the mid-1990s, however, my knowledge of Swedish pop was limited to two groups – ABBA and Roxette – and neither were exactly the height of cool – but, then, neither was I, which is why I had ABBA’s Gold and Roxette’s greatest hits, Don’t Bore Us, Get To The Chorus! (Even if you don’t like Roxette, I think you have to admit that that’s a really awesome title.)

It was right around this time that a man named Bruce Brodeen entered my life. (more…)

Let it be said here for the record: Jeff Giles can make you feel like a superhero.

When he dropped me a line, showered me with praise, and offered me the opportunity to write a regular column for Popdose about my favorite unheralded pop albums, for one shining moment, I imagined how Batman must’ve felt when Commissioner Gordon called the Batcave and told the Caped Crusaders that Gotham City needed their help. Of course, Mr. Giles in no way needs my help, given the fantastic staff of writers he’s already got here (not to mention the fact that he’s a fine essayist in his own right). But, still, he made me feel like I’d be adding something to the site and he played to my ego, so here I am with my first entry of Hooks ‘N’ You.

To start things off, I thought I’d spotlight a band who were pretty big regionally, if never as huge nationally as they should’ve been: Dillon Fence. (more…)

Never in my life have I been so glad that I wasn’t caught up in the hype for a film.

Yes, obviously, I was aware of Cloverfield. I’m way too big of a movie geek for it to have stayed completely off my radar. But while some spent the months before its release doing little more than surfing the web and scrutinizing every piece of information that leaked out (or, more likely, that producer J.J. Abrams knowingly and willfully released, albeit in a manner to make it look like it had been leaked), before going into the theater, I really only knew two things about it:

1) It was a creature feature about New York City being attacked by a monster big enough to rip the head off the Statue of Liberty.
2) It was done in a manner resembling “The Blair Witch Project,” where the footage was supposedly a found document, made by people who’d survived the attack.

Hey, man, you had me at “a monster big enough to rip the head off the Statue of Liberty.” (more…)