Mention, yesterday, of Jonathan Richman‘s disregard for the great Modern Lovers album that John Cale produced made me think of this most juvenile thread: What talented rock artist would you most like to give a wedgie? For me it’s Richman. Once he ditched the straight-edge VU sound of his early recordings and got into all that cutsie thumb-sucking music, I’m ready to yank up his briefs and see if I can’t get the elastic up to his shoulders. How about you? I know most of you are a lot nicer than I am, but what talented rock artist would you most like to give a wedgie? (It’s gotta be someone who’s produced a record or two that you love and at one time put a lot of stock in – not some band like Journey, unless you ever loved anything by them and are willing to admit that.)


What’s the last great Dylan song, you know, the last one that made the hairs stand up on the back of your neck? I was running an errand with my two sick boys this afternoon, and “Hurricane” was on. The song’s a bit of a mess on many levels, but I love hearing Dylan fired up and casting accusations left and right, the way he did so effectively in his prime. He’s so full of righteous indignation that he resorts to throwing out some curse words and other language I don’t recall him using prior to that song. When I hear that song I still feel as charged up as I did when I was 13 or so, whenever it first came out and got occasional airplay. I’ve liked some Dylan songs since then, and I respect some others, but my enthusiasm tells me that “Hurricane” is the last great Dylan song. What do you say?
As a tie-in to one of the themes of Exploitive Black Rock History Month as well as an excuse to make public, once more, my feelings on the film Almost Famous, I thought I’d re-run the following thoughts on films that don’t rock. Our initial discussion was fun, but I was surprised more failed rock movies weren’t brought up and hashed over. What’s that one about the fictional Carole King figure (Illyana Douglas) – Grace of My Heart! I liked it, but I’ve gotten into some long discussions with a couple of friends who KILLED the movie for having, like, a 1967 mixing board in the background during a scene that was set in 1965! Many other rock films do not rock – or cause split reactions among us rock nerds. I’m thinking of The Doors, Andyr. I can’t get by the glued-on sideburns; my man Andy is all-forgiving thanks to the mystical Indian/peyote scenes.
This post initially appeared 5/21/07.
I’ve probably said my piece just fine on my main beef with Almost Famous. Long story short, it’s a cheap, self-help, feel-good story for people who won’t help themselves to feel good. That, and Kate Hudson is among the most annoying screen presences of this era. The kid’s defense of Hudson’s groupie with a heart of gold, Penny Lane (Kid: “You guys are always talking about ‘the fans, the fans, the fans’ – She was your biggest fan!”), during the “truth-telling” flight scare, is especially embarrassing. Knowing glances follow as this 15-year-old dork tells it straight up. How phony! How conceited of semi-autobiographical writer/director Cameron Crowe to cast himself in this role. For whom does Crowe speak? What about that imaginary band’s imaginary fans, who wanted to believe the myth of the cocksmen and their groupies? What about the sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll? What about these imaginary fans having to see their imaginary heroes bond over “Tiny Dancer”? Surely there are more realistic, more noble ways to allow for a feel-good, coming-of-age tale in the middle of the world of rock ‘n roll!*
Let’s move onto the exquisitely conceived Black Snake Moan, or what I’ll refer to as Da Blooz Exorcist. Surely you were intrigued by the trailers a few months back of a barely clad Christina Ricci playing a white trash nymphomaniac who’s left by the side of the road, taken in, and nursed – in a sense – back to health and salvation by a blues-playing, Bible-totin’ Samuel L. Jackson, looking a bit like Pops Staples. I know I was intrigued! This had all the markings of a world-class, what-were-you-thinking turd of hilarious proportions. Last night I watched the film in my hotel room, and it nearly delivered the goods.
What they don’t tell you in the trailers is that Jackson’s Lazarus character has his own set of troubles, specifically woman troubles. What else? His woman done left him, and he’s been hittin’ the bottle pretty hard. Turns out he hasn’t been playin’ da blooz in public fo’ some time. The trailer makes you think he shows up on screen a fully formed blooz-slingin’, Bible totin’ healer from the git-go, doesn’t it?
Spoiler Alert! Beware before reading on.
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Rock collaborations between major artists can result in fantastic outcomes. I’m not talking about rock’s legendary one-shot duets, such as Ja-Bo or “Ebony and Ivory,” but full-blown collaborations or instances in which one established artist produces a slightly less-established artist. I would think that fans of one artist or another may feel that their favorite in the collaboration either lifted his or her collaborator by the bootstraps or, if the favorite artist was the perceived submissive partner in the collaboration, been held down or otherwise tainted by the more-popular partner. Following are just some collaborations. You tell me which artist benefitted most from the collaboration, which artist suffered, or if the collaboration was a rare case of a win-win partnership. In other words: Who wins? Who loses? Feel free to focus your thoughts on any one of these pairs. Feel free to call in a new pair for discussion. I expect we will have some initial disagreement.
- David Bowie and Iggy Pop
- Robert Plant and Alison Krauss
- Lee Hazelwood and Nancy Sinatra
- Eric Clapton and Duane Allman
- Robert Fripp and Brian Eno
- David Bowie and Brian Eno
- Jimmy Page and Paul Rodgers
- Buckingham-Nicks and Fleetwood Mac
- Daryl Hall and Robert Fripp
- Lou Reed and David Bowie
- Brian Eno and Talking Heads
- Nick Lowe and Dave Edmunds
- Jefferson Airplane and Papa John Creach
- Bob Dylan and The Band
- U2 and Brian Eno/Daniel Lanois
- Tom Petty and Jeff Lynne
- David Bowie and Mott the Hoople
- Frank Zappa and Captain Beefheart
- Brian Eno and Coldplay
I look forward to your responses.


Mad props to one of our basement dwellers for passing this along: The Boss blogs on his Super Bowl Halftime Show extravaganza. I can’t get enough of this side of The Boss. This is The Boss being The Boss! Don’t you wanna roll with Him and the E Street Band? Sometimes I do.
During “Tenth Avenue” I tell the story of my band…and other things “when the change was made uptown”…. It goes rushing by, then the knee slide. Too much adrenalin, a late drop, too much speed, here I come Mike…BOOM! And I’m onto his camera, the lens implanted into my chest with one leg off the stage. I use his camera to push myself back up and…say it, say it, say it, say it…BLAM! BORN TO RUN…my story…Something bright and hot blows up behind me. I heard there were fireworks. I never saw any. Just the ones going off in my head. I’m out of breath. I try to slow it down. That ain’t gonna happen. I already hear the crowd singing the last eight bars of “Born to Run” oh, oh, oh, oh…then it’s straight into “Working on a Dream”…your story…and mine I hope. Steve is on my right, Patti on my left. I catch a smile and the wonderful choir, The Joyce Garrett Singers, that backed me in Washington during the Inaugural concert is behind us. I turn to see their faces and listen to the sound of their voices…”working on a dream”. Done. Moments later, we’re ripping straight into “Glory Days”…the end of the story.
As an added bonus, I learned the name of the African American Robed Choir backing Bossman. Thanks for sharing, bro!


This Saturday — AKA Valentine’s Day, for all you lovers out there — Shawn Kilroy & The Dream Queens (Mike “Slo-Mo” Brenner, Jamie Mahon, Jenny Prescott, and Mark Landlord) debut Hessian Love Songs, the final installment of a trilogy of albums that started with 2004’s Neon Gate followed by Thai Stick Dragon, at Philadelphia’s Tritone. As might be expected of Kilroy (that’s Townsman shawnkilroy to us!) – whose bio counts him as a “lover” along with the usually lonely combo of musician, singer, artist, film-maker, and thinker – ladies will not be charged admission.
Lover that he is, Kilroy’s never shied away from proclaiming his affection for England’s proto-goth, mid-’80s, moody pop — bands like Depeche Mode, Orchestral Manuevers in the Dark, and Love and Rockets. Much of that time and place scared the bejesus out of me when I would go upstairs at Revival to take a piss, making sure not to knock anyone’s line of coke off a urinal. Revival was a mixed bag in Philly’s rock and dance scene during the late-80s, but I loved it. Downstairs, in a big, open, noisy room in what used to be a Swedish sailor’s church, Revival put on underground rock shows: Camper Van Beethoven, The Mekons, The Godfathers, Tuxedomoon, Pere Ubu… Flaming Lips played there in support of Oh My Gawd!, when they were three barely known, hippie Okies playing teenage garage-band Floyd and Zeppelin soundalikes with bassist Michael Ivins operating a smoke-and-light machine with his feet. The sound pounded off the room’s exposed marble, plaster, and tile…in a good way. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!
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Reading another anti-Band treatise on RTH reminds me of this idea for a thread I’ve been nursing for a while.
Alleged sacred cows like The Band and Pet Sounds get subjected to routine scourgings, here and elsewhere. After a while, do (or can) these totems (re)gain underdog status?
Some food for thought:
1) In the non-rock-nerd world, isn’t The Band treated as borderline footnotes, what with the measly three songs of theirs that make it onto Classic Rock-radio playlists? (At least, that’s what I remember from the late ’80s-early ’90s.)
2) A few weeks ago, waiting for The Wrestler to start, I heard the song “Pet Sounds,” over the theater’s sound system. And it sounded great!
3) Sometimes I wonder if expectations are too high for these titans. And then I wonder how these expectations got so high. How much of it is hype, and how much of it is how people process hype? Lately, I find the 24-hour-news industry especially deplorable, with their junkie-like need to construct an instant narrative for a news event that actually needs time to play out. I think sometimes there’s an analogous need to devise an instant narrative when an artist releases something that is somehow wanting.
4) Then I get to thinking of an old comment from Mr. Mod that I should’ve countered back when the thread was active:
As someone who was never much of a fan of Westerberg’s music (I hate to keep prefacing my comments like that [not really]), one of the things I find fascinating in this discussion is the notion that Westerberg had much room to grow.
I’m not sure “room to grow” has anything to do with anything. I like it when artists make good music, and when they don’t repeat themselves. I don’t think that’s the same as “growing.” Every musician has their limits. Isn’t making good music in some ways a matter of simply avoiding or obfuscating one’s deficiencies, even for the great ones?