Jun 132021

Hey, gang — I need some help with some Stones lyrics. I cued up a bunch of trackssss from across their career — nothing too obscure — and wrote down what I heard, starting right at the top of each tune. But Mick was pretty much incomprehensible, so I stopped transcribing before I hit the choruses. Which was pretty stupid, because now I don’t remember which songs these are. Can you help ID the tunes? Once I get the song names, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to figure out what the heck Mick is yelling about. Thanks.


Yeah, once papa cold when I was crazy spade

Gear New York’s lanky legs

I saved my money, I took a plane

Ever I go seems the same


I’m a little bit clean of mulcher

All my friends are cultures, snot feelers too


When your walrus is rough

Satan’s glove

I been browned in your love

You got a front door blue, yeah

I’m from the same one that you, yeah

Oh, I mock the helm mop blues


Break me five, big me down, me runny, know my way around (assy Choo cha!)

Pig me pile, ping me dan, beat me run-in, beat me on the ground


No git, can’t sleep, wing up, no sleep, sky diver insider, slip brooch, sky dang

Moon bed lover, got no time on feen

One less sucker bare freak on the soul scene

Oh, for bid nay oh, git stand


Made me think of Percy

All the kind of worsen

Make me fer the cattle on thang

Baby, Baby

Doe these the jews in a frown


Reb troll up the cold town bully

Come on bend my hand

Riff so yo you braille buddy

Briss so muss so pram

Bray buss every lane granny you and stay

But I lost a lot of girl over you

Jun 112021

Not sure where or how to start this rant, but — well, let me just call all of RTH out (yes, including me) for being a bunch of bullshit rockist pansies. How is it possible that in the 15 years or so that we’ve been bloviating about music we’ve never stopped to acknowledge how truly amazing the Bee Gees were?

And look — before any of you start yammering about their output in the ’60s, or their silly-psych concept albums, or any other rockist justification for liking the band — let’s just call a spade a spade: during the second half of the 1970s, the Bee Gees’ batting average for crafting powerful, moving, era-defining, ethnic ghetto-busting pop music was literally close to 1.000.

My wife and I had to spend a lot of time on the highway over the last few days for work reasons that are too boring to get into here. Because my shoulder is still pretty jacked up, my wife had to do all of the driving — and that meant she got to choose what we listened to as we trundled down the highway. For a while, I was able to sneak shit that I wanted to hear on the rental car stereo, but it didn’t take long for her to start making specific demands — and the last one, made in the interest of staying awake and alert, was “play something you can dance and sing along to.” Enter the Bee Gees. I found a pretty generic greatest hits package on Amazon Music, and pressed play. A full hour later, I was shocked by the fact that we hadn’t exited the 1970s yet, and each and every tune we’d heard was aces.  

And let me be clear:  sure, these tunes are danceable. Yes, they’re catchy. They do make you feel happy. But they’re stealth vehicles for some of the densest Kentonism in pop music. I’m not smart enough to describe the music theory going on behind “Nights On Broadway,” or “How Deep Is Your Love,” or about a dozen other songs that owned the charts 45 years ago, but their music was some seriously brainy shit.

So let’s give it up for the Bee Gees, shall we? And please do so without referencing their 1960s output. That stuff is occasionally excellent, but we need to face the truth here: the Bee Gees made pop music great in the late 1970s.

I look forward to your responses.


Jun 012021

There I was, all ready to uncork a new RTH Glossary entry on you — “pullin’ a Daltrey,” meaning over-enthusiastically singing somebody else’s words, in a way that suggests you’re not entirely sure you know what they mean. I even knew what tune best exemplified this behavior. But when I sauntered in through the doors of YouTube, looking for a performance of “You Better You Bet” that would show you what I was talking about, I was crestfallen. In my mind’s eye, I could see our titanium-throated mega stud punching the air with his fist and twirling his mic, bursting out of a rock power squat while owning lines like “especially, when you say YES!” and “… I look pretty crappy SOMETIME!” But then… this. What a let-down. How can I explain what pullin’ a Daltrey means if Daltrey won’t even pull one for me?

Can any of you find a video clip of The Who, or any other band or artist, that better showcases this glossary term?

I look forward to your responses.


May 252021

Greetings, fellow Rock Town Hall loiterers! I come before you today with a simple thought experiment — something to get you scratching your chin for a moment or two, to distract you from the cares of the day. So wedge your monocle firmly into your eye socket, pour yourself a dry martini, lean back, and let’s begin.

Here’s what I have in mind: there are songs that common wisdom might lead one to believe are essentially flawless. When was the last time, for example, that you heard anybody trash-talking “She Said, She Said” or “Superstition” or “All Down the Line”? I submit, however, that perfection does not exist, and that whatever track we submit to the RTH hive mind, at least one of us can find something wrong with it. And that’s what I want us to do. Think of this exercise as our beloved “If You Can’t Say Anything Nice About…” series, but backwards.

We’re going to do this like a game of tag. I’ll start by saying:

Well, I may be nitpicking, but I just can’t stand the way Hendrix sings “two riders were approaching… and the wind begin to howl” in his version of “All Along the Watchtower.” Would it be too much to ask Jimi to sing “begins,” or “began”? It drives me crazy! Now, “Waterloo Sunset” — now that’s a perfect song!

… and whoever jumps in next shares at least one reason why “Waterloo Sunset” is not at all perfect, starting with the words “Well, I may be nitpicking, but…”, and finishing off their comment with a nod toward the song they believe is without flaw.

Make sense? Then why not join in the fun by nitpicking “Waterloo Sunset”?  Come on — show us just how petty you can be!

I look forward to your responses.


May 052021

Until somebody far cleverer than me takes the time to post something meaningful and thought-provoking, I intend to continue clogging the RTH pipes with meaningless drivel and pointless fun and games — like this post, in which I’ve taken the liberty of running some easily identifiable lyrical snippets through online translators thusly:

English > Afrikaans > Albanian > Amharic > Basque > English

Your job is simple:  deduce what the original lyric actually says.  Here we go:

  1. Motorhead: If you want to bet, I’ll tell you I’m your husband – they win, they lose, it’s the same for me
  2. Beatles: Keep your head up, relax and swim
  3. Girl, you found me. You found me so I don’t know what to do
  4. There is a back seat now, my lover is always covered and I will talk until my dad speaks
  5. Elvis Costello: Oh girl, it’s fun to watch after so much, and I realize you weren’t surprised by how you look
  6. He’s like me, he’s like me and we’re all together
  7. ZZ Top: Get up, go down, take the word, my way, I don’t ask for much
  8. Prince: If you want to kiss me and your photo, browse
  9. Dylan: How many steps does it take for someone to call?
  10. I get up and nothing falls on me. If you have any difficulties, I have seen the most difficult ones in the area

I look forward to your responses.


Apr 272021

Please identify these albums. To assist you, I’ve zoomed in on at least one of the hands featured on the front cover — I imagine that should be enough to help. I look forward to your responses.


Apr 232021

Earlier today, I fell down an internet rabbit hole while looking at posters for obscure music festivals from the late 60s/early 70s. My question for you is simple: which, if any, of these festivals would justify a trip in RTH’s notoriously vomit-inducing time machine? Note that you would have to live as the locals do upon arrival — camp in the mud, eat bad concert food, politely refuse a nibble of the ‘shrooms being passed around, etc.

I look forward to your responses.



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