The mullet. The worst haircut of all time. What excuse can be made for sporting this atrocity? And on a Beatle, no less! I ask you: Is this the worst look ever sported by any Beatle, at any point in time? Was this a cool, cutting-edge look on Macca, before it filtered into the general population? Combining the mullet with the sleazy mustache brings the look down even further. I’m thinking, as far as Beatle looks goes, this is the bottom, the worst.
My goal here, however, is to be wrong. Can you find a photo of a Beatle sporting a worse hairdo than this? Can we, once and for all, determine the worst-ever style on John, Paul, George or Ringo?
There was much to take in during a recent screening of the Brian Wilson biopic Love & Mercy, which Townsman E. Pluribus Gergely and I took in over the weekend. My overall critique appeared yesterday and is still open to discussion, but I plan on spending the rest of this week examining some of the finer points of the film. Today I’d like to discuss the troubling casting of a young Dennis Leary as Dennis Wilson as well as the broader issues I had with other casting decisions in regard to the ’60s-era Beach Boys.
I’ve grown to like Dennis Leary over the years, although I found his entire act entirely contrived when he burst on the scene with his MTV faux-chain-smoking rants. (He never looked like he inhaled, did he? Bogus!) Anyhow, Leary grew on me a bit when he followed up his failed fallen cop show with that fallen fireman show, Rescue Me. For the first time he struck me as actually passionate about something: himself playing this character. The show and Leary’s commitment too it were absurdly sincere. Although I rarely appreciated the show at anywhere but chuckling arm’s length, the peak into Leary’s humble freak aspirations helped me appreciate him and his act. It was an impressive run.
Even more impressive is how Leary transformed himself into a young man for his role in Love & Mercy. The problem, however, is twofold:
Steve Winwood’s surprising late-career muttonchops.
I believe I noted, a month or two ago, in my thoughts on a PBS documentary on Jimi Hendrix, that I was floored by modern-day Steve Winwood’s muttonchops, which appeared alongside his few seconds of commentary. Of all musicians who prospered during the hippie era, Winwood was probably only second to Joni Mitchell in keeping a clean-shaven face. Although he kept his locks flowing, culturing a forelock in a nearly Veronica Lake fashion, I don’t recall ever seeing Winwood with facial hair in the Spencer Davis Group, Traffic, Blind Faith, or anytime during his solo career. Are Winwood’s Golden Years Muttonchops, in their natural gray state, the most surprising late-career Look addition in rock?
If you’ve been following Rock Town Hall for even a couple of weeks you probably have an inkling of my severe distaste for the mainstream culture of the 1980s. If you didn’t live through that era and find it “charming” or whatever, I feel slightly worse for the future of humankind. That’s OK, I’m used to feeling that way. What troubles me is how we got to this point considering how great my generation was and how much greater our parents’ and grandparents’ generations were. If we were so great, shouldn’t the youth of today be better?
If you lived through that era and look back on it fondly, I am not-so-secretly jealous of you. I had a lot of youthful energy and love to give to the world at that time, and for all my exquisite taste I would have been happy to spread my energy and love on a mutually appreciative world, as you may have been able to do back then. Bravo, ’80s Mainstream Culture Beneficiaries!
Many of my associations with the ’80s, then and now, were filtered through my not-always exclusive pursuits of rock ‘n roll and girls, as I was young enough to call them through most of the decade. I desired a mastery of both, yet constantly found myself falling short of the mark. Most of the roadblocks encountered were part of my genetic makeup and/or self-erected. I think of all the poor decisions I made and inflexible stances I took owing to my born and bred stubbornness. I did have good taste, however, and I have no regrets about that. The mainstream culture of the 1980s threw its share of roadblocks at me. Perhaps no cultural artifact was a more daunting roadblock than a copy of Duran Duran‘s Rio placed at the front of a stack of albums in a girl’s dorm room or apartment.
You know you’ve been waiting for this one! The People have asked for a decision on this, and we will work together to supply the answer—once and for all!
What’s the greatest white Afro in rock? It can be natural or the result of a perm, but no wigs! It can be an artist’s running Look or a 1-time affair. The nominees and the RTH People’s Poll follow…after the jump!
Watching this video over breakfast today made me nostalgic for my rockin’ high school hairdo. Maybe some of you reading this are still in high school or still rocking your high school ‘do. Some might say that, minus a few brush strokes under a blow dryer, my hairdo has barely changed. What rockin’ hairdo best represents your past glories?
In the past I’ve been accused of not picking out stuff that’s bad enough for us to play nice. I admit, I’m not half the turdhunter as hrrundivbakshi, but lacking his leadership I will once more attempt to step into the void.
How about this 1970 clip of Hair star Robin McNamara performing “Lay a Little Lovin’ on Me”; is this bad enough for you? I’ve been known to be a sucker for these kind of bubblegum songs, but the song and McNamara’s performance define candy ass. Sorry, I can’t say anything nice about this one. I bet you can.
If so and if you still think I make it too easy to play nice, try this next performance by McNamara, of a more recent vintage: