With the release, in practically
every format imaginable, of some TOO-long-awaited Forgotten Rebels tribute
albums, not to mention an accompanying eBook even,
I couldn’t help but cast what remains of my memory back to that good ol’ Summer
of Hate, and…
Ten Reasons
Why I Can NEVER Forget the Rebels
1. The very first time I ever laid eyes upon The Artist Soon To Be
Known As DeSadist, at Simply Saucer’s Hamilton,
Ontario band house in very late October 1977, he was meticulously dressed head
to foot as an ersatz yet somehow uniquely eclectic Johnny Rotten …and it wasn’t
even Halloween yet!
2. The very first thing Mickey DeS ever shouted at me that night
(over the din of Saucer’s four turntables simultaneously spinning a side each
of Metal Machine Music) was “If I get
a band together, can you give us a gig?” I promised that I would not only do
that, but I’d put him within the hallowed pages of my Pig Paper to boot. Yes, in a word, I was intrigued.
3. Amazingly, within a week (!) Mickey had not only assembled the very
first Rebels – and photographed them beating up some bearded hippie in a local
alleyway – he duly supplied me as well with enough biographical background (and
I quote, “Influences: Sex Pistols, Iggy Pop, James Williamson, Ace Frehley;
Ambition: to get my hands on Sally Cato”) to warrant a place of pride right
there in Pig
Paper # 8. In my own word then I was, yes, impressed.
4. So, keeping my promise, I invited
Mickey, Chriss Suicide, Mister Madness and Les Ripper to warm up the crowd at
the very next Simply Saucer soiree I held in the local YWCA. And warm up they certainly did, setting fire
to a Canadian flag at the end of their set and causing The Hamilton Downtown
Young Men’s Christian Association to sue me for $400 in damages (including
$25.00 over harm inflicted upon carrots and lettuces). “I would also like to
inform you that at no time in the future your group will be allowed to use the
YMCA facilities,” Y manager George [last name still blacked out on paperwork] informed us. Point taken.
5. Typically and totally undaunted however, Mickey proceeded to
canvas the town (meaning not only Saucer House, but the local Tim Hortons donut
shop as well) for all the ten dollar bills he could cadge, beg, borrow and
steal, rented a genuine Radio Shack mixer and some stray microphones, and soon
produced the obviously titled Burn The
Flag demo-slash-cassette. Upon hearing the abundant raw power therein, I
immediately insisted he corral all the Rebels he could and meet me over on the
nearby McMaster University campus for the band’s very first radio interview.
Well! Mickey was, as always, a wizard; a true star, part J. Rotten, part D.
Rickles. The telephone lines lit up, orders for over a dozen Burn The Flag’s poured in, and most
impressive yet fortuitous of all? Immensely respected concert promoter Gary
Topp asked that The Forgotten Rebels perform as soon as possible …all the way
over there in Toronto!
6. Interestingly, but not that surprisingly, Mickey quickly assumed
the focal point for all things Rebel …just as he had all those months ago
whilst holding court at Saucer’s. Gary Topp tried to convince me to convince
Mickey to start appearing on stage alone, as in solo – sans FLQ guitar even! –
as a monologuist. But, rather than become Henry Rollins years before the fact,
Mickey then and forever after remained stubbornly and resolutely loyal to his
vision, his ideals, and to his beloved Rebels. Why, he wouldn’t even let me
produce An Evening with Mickey DeSadist
spoken-word album for him ...and if that
ain’t Hollywood, I’m not sure what is!
7. Meanwhile, thanks to my run-in
with George at the YMCA, not to mention pouring all the money I didn’t have
into Simply Saucer’s first record, the Rebels’ “National Unity” b/w “Angry”
never did appear as planned on Pig Record # 2. But, most happily, their career
on vinyl turned out more than alright …I mean, who else but M. DeSadist could
take one listen to the Dutch single “We’re So Glad Elvis Is Dead” by Tits I was
distributing and morph it most effortlessly into that more-than-anthemic “Elvis
Is Dead”?!
8. And speaking of iconic socio-musical figures, who else but
Mickey could conceive of, and then convince (though I’m sure he knew nothing about it) no less than Prime
Minister Pierre Elliott Trudeau – fresh from a run-in with those semi-Rolling
Stones – to help promote the Rebels’ inaugural Tomorrow Belongs To Us release? Hopefully you’ve heard the tales;
luckier still, you’ve seen the
photographic evidence. And the Liberal Party of Canada? Believe me, they’ve
never been quite the same since.
9. May I just mention at this point that it has not always been
simply Mickey’s wholly P.T. Barnum M.O. that has impressed me and those all
around his show-bizzy circles. The man’s taste in music quite possibly equals
even his flair for the hautest in haberdashery. To wit: Who the heck else, at
the very height of Never Mind The
Bollocks and Road To Ruin, would
have the unmitigated cahones to strut around Hamilton with Sensational Alex
Harvey Band platters? Come to think of it, I believe Mickey was even the town’s
most unapologetic ABBA fan back then too …or maybe that was Steve from Teenage
Head…
10. Suffice to say though, when all is said and sung, The Forgotten Rebels have made it
through punk, new wave, no wave, new romantic, neo-rockabilly, (hair-) metal,
garage, grunge, and just about every other audio pigeonhole imaginable with
their audience, not to mention values, firmly and entirely intact. No small
feat indeed in these dear dead days of Green Day, for starters. And I credit
that all, as should you, to the one and only Mickey DeSadist,
Rebel without pause. And you know what? He did it all without ever giving up
his day job!
While those arbitrators of all
things rock and roll once again indoctrinated more of their own on
behalf of what remains of the music industry several weeks ago, I decided to
virtually canvas some of MY musical heroes with one simple, or perhaps not
so simple question:
Why on Earth is PAT BOONE still
not in the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame?
Phil Kaufman, Road Mangler Deluxe Pat Boone? Pop Hall Of Fame …or
the White Buck Shoe Hall. But NEVER Rock ‘n’ Roll! (P.S.: Where is the “ROADIE Hall”?)
R. Stevie Moore, DIY home
recording iconoclast (whose father Bobby actually attended East Nashville High
School with Pat!) Yes! Debate irrelevant... 50
hits, reason enough!
I've been knowed to be WRONG! (But
not very often!!!)
Carol Kaye, Bassist on many of the Greatest Records Ever Made I think that Pat Boone should be
inducted in the RRHOF because, regardless of who he supposedly
"copied" or tried to "sound like," he did something no
other singer of his time did: He brought
pop-rock into the mainstream of music, in a pretty good way I'd say.
P.S.: I played guitar (and then
bass later) on many of his things. He was doing stuff back then that the
ordinary pop singer didn't do at all.
Jeff Tamarkin, who just
helped Howard Kaylan write his “Shell Shocked” memoir Of course not, but I don't
believe James Taylor should've been either. Neither one is a rock ‘n’ roll
singer.
Stephanie Chernikowski, world-renowned photographer (…who actually
once received a kiss from the PRE-ARMY Elvis!!) Absolutely not. He is not rock
‘n’ roll.
Bob Brainen, WFMU-FM It's all relative, and there are
people nominated and selected that have less to do with rock ‘n’ roll than him.
As far as his place in the scheme of things, he was someone who watered down
rock ‘n’ roll, but I enjoy some of his records, so I'd say YES.
For one, he put out a great record produced by Terry Melcher
called “Beach Girl” in ‘64 (written by Melcher and Bruce Johnston, who also did
backing vocals). The flip side was “Little Honda.”
Peter Noone, the Artist
formerly known as Herman Hmmmm.
If he is inducted before Davy
Jones and Tommy Lasorda, who surely are more to do with rock ‘n’ roll than Pat
Boone, I will make Little Jimmy Osmond the editor of “Q Magazine.”
Mike McDowell, “Blitz” Magazine Does Pat Boone belong in the
Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?
Absolutely!
Joel Selvin, San Francisco
Chronicle I've heard Boone on this subject
– the popularizer vs. the innovator – and while he's right about the
significance of the popularizer, his records were too god awful to last. I'm
sorry, his "Tutti Frutti" doesn't hold up, while Bill Haley's
"Rip It Up" may out-rock Little Richard (boo! heresy!).
I say vote for Fabian. When it
comes to phony rock and rollers, he's the real deal.
Jon Sievert, Humble Press NEVER! Pat Boone was the
ultimate anti-rock ‘n’ roll figure, created by record companies for the sole
purpose of shielding white America from the likes of Fats and Little Richard
while ripping them off.
And his music really sucked,
which should be the ultimate criteria for determining worthiness.
Irwin Chusid, “Songs In The Key Of Z” I have a DEFINITE opinion on the
matter.
The answer, by the way, is
Yes.
Domenic Priore, Sunset Strip historian No. Unless Phil Collins gets in.
Because they are equals.
Mark Johnson, Cold Weather
musician Pat Boone was a more relaxed
actor than Elvis Presley (let’s put that adult contemporary
smooth temperament to good use) – more at ease on camera and he could
deliver his lines without making you feel like he knew he was on all the time – which unfortunately
was how I perceived Elvis in most of his films.
Why are we talking about Rock
and Roll when we could be talking about a lifetime achievement award for Journey to the Center of the Earth?
Brett Milano, Bosstown
journalist Yes, but only by virtue of that
cocktail version of "Stairway to Heaven" he did a few years ago.
Phil Angotti, a man of Life
and Rhymes No, absolutely not. He doesn't
have a rock ‘n’ roll bone (boone) in his body.
Mick Farren, original Deviant My first instinct was no,
never: It would be an insult to Little
Richard. RICHARD Boone did more for rock ‘n’ roll as far as I'm concerned.
But then I thought, yeah, why
not? It only shows the RRHOF as the dumb hype tourist trap farce it really
is.
Induct everyone! Tiny Tim, The
Chipmunks, One String Sam, Frank Stallone, The Big Bopper. I mean, where's Syd
Barrett, or Roky Erickson, and did they ever get round to Gene Vincent?
I can't even keep up with the
self congratulatory nonsense. It's the Paul Shaffer world and I don't go there.
Karl Ikola, Anopheles Records I did listen to my mother's Pat
Boone 45 singles as a little single digit lad in the very early '70s, but I
can't say I particularly liked them even then, even before I had taste : )
Kim Cooper, still Lost In The
Grooves When I was fifteen, the
headmaster of my freaky new age alternative school somehow arranged that his students would
appear on Pat Boone's Christian cable show.
As all of the other kids and
teachers were desperate to be televised, I was unable to get out of joining
this group at the taping, which took place in Pat's large suburban tract home
high above the Sepulveda Pass – in a street of houses notorious for having been
built atop improperly sealed landfill!
There was no way in the world
that I was going to appear on a Christian TV show hosted by someone who had
turned vital '50s rock ’n’ roll into namby-pamby candyfloss, and I was saying
as much to my pal Chris when Pat ambled over to ask why we weren't with the
other kids. I'm pretty sure he heard enough of my screed to get the point, but
he was extremely gracious and we reciprocated.
Chris and I sat out the taping,
remarking that Pat didn't seem like such a bad guy, really. I don't think he
belongs in the Hall of Fame, but then many of the past inductees don't either,
and his entry would at least inspire debate.
His fifties' recordings
presumably generated royalties for some deserving folks and helped ease the
mass acceptance of rock songwriting. I haven't felt the need to demonize Pat
Boone since the day he played it so cool with a couple of snotty kids. And you
gotta admit, that heavy metal phase was a hoot.
Ian Whitcomb, Ragtime
Raconteur and one-time Father of Irish Rock I'm assuming by your tone that
you assume most rocksters to have nothing but contempt for Pat Boone. But I
have always liked his music and the man himself.
In fact, I have very fond
memories of his version of “Love Letters In The Sand,” since it was to his
record that I received my very first kiss from a teenager called Debbie Briggs
in a punt (that's a low flat-bottomed boat) on a man-made lake at an upper-class
holiday resort in East Anglia, England in 1957. Needless to say, I was a
teenager, too. And what a kiss it was! Sent tingles all over me and I've never
had an experience as intense since. Boone’s record was what got her going.
What these silly myopic
rocksters don’t understand is that Boone was a crooner in the great tradition
of crooners, going back to the 1920s. And the mellifluous and comforting voices
of the best crooners will continue to spread contentment long after the noxious
caterwauling of the Dylans have been buried in a black hole.
During MY rock ‘n’ roll period I
appeared as a guest on The Pat Boone Show,
where I sang “You Turn Me On” to my uke accompaniment. Then I handed the uke to
Pat who proceeded to strum and sing “Love Letters In The Sand” while Soupy
Sales and I provided a tasteful doo-wop backing noise. I told Pat the story of
the kiss. He seemed impressed at the time. I have this show on film to prove
that I'm not lying. I've been known to invent, you know, but this was for real.
I'm sorry Boone decided to go
heavy metal, thus denying his impeccable wasp background. Somebody must stand up for pure white
traditions and if it has to be me, so be it.
Chad Stuart, Chad &
Jeremy WHY PAT BOONE SHOULD NOT BE
INDUCTED INTO THE ROCK AND ROLL HALL OF FAME:
Because he didn't make a genuine
contribution to the art form.
Because he made records which
were a pale imitation of the genuine article.
Because he never poured his
heart and soul into his recordings.
Because he was a pop singer, and
they don't count.
(The "pop" hall of
fame, maybe.)
Henny de Pater, Dutch Country
D.J. Association Will, or Must, Pat Boone be
inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?
Why not??
Like Elvis, he did a lot of
sweet ballads. My old girlfriend loved that warm and tender voice, and by
telling her that Pat Boone was my
favorite too (but then, what I didn’t
tell her was I was really a Rocker at heart!), I scored many points and left
other guys, who were after that same girl, far far behind me.
That’s why "good old"
Pat ought to be inducted: So that other
people won’t forget him either.
“Yeah, right,” I can see some
of you foreigners sneering right about now: “What the hell good ever come out
of Canada?!!”
Well, besides the (very early)
Guess Who, SCTV, and of course Young Neil, for seventy-seven years there roamed
across the Great Wide Northlands a man, a myth – dare I say, a LEGEND who cast
a long, black, yet somehow barely perceptible shadow over every guitar lasher
who means a half hoot on either side
of the dreaded U.S. / Canada border. A man who possessed a wicked tongue,
beaver-sharp mind, commanding left leg and, above all, a wit and wisdom before
which few others dare even stand, let alone deserve to approach.
That man, that myth, and/or that
legend was, and forever shall be…
I first became aware of the man
in 1970, as composer of what to this very day remains my absolute favorite
Three Dog Night tune, “Out In The Country.”
Then, in the years to follow, that same man would somehow become downright
ubiquitous upon the 25 living-color inches of the family RCA XL-100. On variety
and game shows galore, on The Tonight
Show of course (forty-eight times!), even trying to murder Police Woman Angie Dickinson. All as
some form of mutant, leisure-suited hybrid of David Cassidy and adorable Cousin
Oliver.
Then, as did most pre-punk cultural icons in the immediate wake of
that first Ramones album, Paul Williams seemed to vanish overnight from the
audio/visual airwaves; a figment, perhaps, of our Top Forty, prime time past;
an aberration, beloved as it may have been, from antiquated, tube-powered
memory.
What defiantly remained however, losing not one single iota of their insidious
appeal in all these decades since, was his string of perfectly crafted,
instantly and forever recognized pure pop chestnuts – “We’ve Only Just Begun,”
“Evergreen,” “Rainy Days and Mondays,” the Love
Boat and Boy in the Plastic Bubble
themes for example; need I cite any more? – which still have the innate power
to bore deep within our craniums and keep us shimmying, boogieing, or at least
grinning into infinity. Why, he even constructed the, um, “so close to terrible
and yet somehow believable” songs for Ishtar’s
dynamic Beatty and Hoffman duo: "It was one of the best jobs I've ever had
in my life. I've never had more fun on a picture, but I've never worked
harder."
Fun and bubble boys aside
though, it looked, and certainly sounded as if this wealth of utterly brilliant
four-minute, five-chord monuments to the middle of the road were all that would
remain of Paul Williams’ legacy; perhaps even his epitaph.
Until, that is, a man named Stephen Kessler arose.
A through-and-through true
child of the Seventies (“I still get excited when I see the words Hungry Man TV
Dinner!”) who was raised in the cathode shadow of Danny Partridge twenty-six
feet from the Long Island Rail Road – and to this day unabashedly claims he
always wanted to be Paul Williams –
Stephen decided to go one giant step further than simply wondering where his
idol went. He picked up a camera, assembled a film crew, and hit the asphalt in
search of his “friend from the television.”
The result is a truly touching,
yet at times emotionally gut-wrenching documentary that really could only be
called Paul Williams: Still
Alive, newly available on DVD from Virgil Films. In oh so many ways it
is a story of fame from a “morning after” perspective, yes, but with a (gasp) happy ending. I mean, after all, we are talking about the man who taught
Kermit how to find the “Rainbow Connection.”
And therein’s not only the rub,
but the proverbial key to Still Alive’s
impact and success as a film. Forgoing the typical confrontational guerilla
style of a Michael Moore or TMZ, Kessler approaches his subject first with
wonderment – at the 2006 “Phantompalooza” Festival in Winnipeg, one of only two
cities in the world, the other bring Paris, where the Brian De Palma / Paul
Williams epic Phantom Of The Paradise
was a box office smashapalooza. But then we watch that wonder turn to
curiosity, soon enough respect, and ultimately not so much empathy or even
sympathy as an understanding with and
obvious kinship for his subject
matter.
Equally as curious was Paul
Williams’ sudden decision, after filming had already begun, to go ALL the way,
cinematically and otherwise and bring Steve, with lens, totally into
his life and world for nigh on five entire years. A world which in many ways,
good and bad – mainly good, though –
is much, much different today than it was back in those glory years spent
collaborating with De Palma and The Muppets …or mired deep within the Battle for the Planet of the Apes for
that matter.
“We’ll make it The Paulie and Steve Show!” the former,
in true Little Enos Burdette bravado, insisted after bonding with Kessler one
day over garlic pepper squid at Thai House Express. In a “keep your enemies
closer” mode, perhaps? Whatever the cases may be, there goes a newly emboldened
Steve, following his subject backstage, eavesdropping on him checking e-mails
and doing throat exercises from hotel hallways, and ultimately becoming a quite
unwilling participant on Paul’s especially harrowing post-9/11 tour of the
Philippines, which is indeed every bit as Apocalypse
Now as it is “An Old Fashioned Love Song.” “Safe and scenic, safe and
scenic,” the local promoter continually insists upon packing all involved onto
a six-hour bus haul through the treacherous – especially according to U.S.
State Department warnings – Mindanao jungle between gigs. But once safely back
on a California golf course a few weeks later, for all his terror-fuelled
troubles, Stephen is rewarded with an actual sleep-over chez Williams! That includes bed and breakfast.
Then, later, the motherlode:
Paul actually lets his chronicler loose in a storage locker filled with
memorabilia including over 600 hours of VHS tape. Then lets him take home, and
USE, anything he wants.
Stretching all the way back to
Paul’s on-screen debut in 1965 as a twenty-four-year-old child actor alongside
Jonathan Winters in The Loved One,
that exhumed footage, as fascinating and kitschily coated as much of it may be,
honestly never once manages to overwhelm or even upstage the sight of the
renewed, revitalized 21st Century Williams. No, The Paulie and Steve Show more than holds its own against vintage
clips from Bugsy Malone or even Baretta, such is the unmistakable,
undeniable buddy-charm which “director” and “star” grow between them as Still Alive spins out its rollercoasting
eighty-four minutes.
Cue “You and Me Against The
World,” and fade to Bonus Footage.
P.S.: And if you haven’t gathered as much already, I’m most pleased to report our unflappable hero remains happy,
healthy, and ultra-productive to this very day. Since 2009 Paul has guilelessly
served as President and Chairman of the Board of ASCAP, keeps his own songwriting chops sharp (on the
Scissor Sisters and Richard Barone, for example) while proudly keeping his
goldies alive on stage (with Craig Ferguson just the other week), is at this
moment co-writing a book based on, in his own careful words, “gratitude and
trust” (“the two rails my choo-choo runs on”), continues the good fight to get Phantom Of The Paradise mounted at long
last upon the Broadway stage, and graciously savors each and every sincere and
loving “heart payment” he receives back from folks both known and unknown the
world over – yes, even deep within the Filipino jungle – in recognition of his
beautifully sculpted, musical lyrical body of work.
See? I told you this story has a happy ending!
Or, as the man himself
explains, “I didn’t have the best childhood, but I had the longest.” Words to remain Still
Alive to, yessir, for lovers, dreamers, you and me.
Those Beach Boys and Rolling
Stones weren’t the only septuagenarian rockers celebrating 50th (give or take)
Anniversaries over the past twelve-or-so months, absolutely not. Just about
each and every singer/songwriter/guitarist still standing – well, those with
lucratively deep catalogs ripe and ready for recycling, that is – had multiple
multi-media packages (and, in the Stones’ case, four-figure-plus concert tickets) competing for what
remained of a loyal boomer’s nest egg throughout 2012.
So should you feel so inclined, unless you’re still busy searching for the real
Bob Dylan via David Dalton’s Book Of The Year “Who Is That Man?” that is, may I
wholeheartedly suggest Going Metric with:
Well, it certainly provides the
Perfect soundtrack to the Man/the Legend's latest Rolling Stone interview, for starters. Neat "Duquesne
Whistle" video, too.
2012 was an admittedly slow year
for forever-young Neil: only two albums, one film, one autobiography, one death
scare (this one c/o NBC News!) and
one ear-boggling audio format. Still.
Another veteran, long-lasting
Canucklehead, Edgar spent his own Zuma years flying the proto-legendary Simply
Saucer, landing today with precisely the kind of funk blue folk amalgam which
continues to elude, for one, Robbie Robertson. Instead, Edgar’s textural Patches swirl steadily up and down the
roadways and railways of North America via Michael J. Birthelmer’s nuanced yet
nutty production/arrangement, managing even to take 3:17 out for a reasonably
alt. bossa nova along the way.
David Grahame = was Paul in the
Broadway production of “Beatlemania”
Lane Steinberg = was one of
“three teenage Jews attempting to remake With
The Beatles in Miami in 1982” with his band The Wind (according to Victim Of Time dot
com)
David = has opened for Elvis
Costello and The Pretenders
Lane = has covered Henry Mancini
and The Mothers of Invention
David = co-wrote “To Be With You”
with Mister Big
Lane = co-wrote – and recorded! – an entire album with R.
Stevie Moore
David = some of his songs have
been on “Party of Five,” “Ed,” “Providence” and “Dawson’s Creek”
Lane = some of his songs have
been on Maria Bartiromo, Condoleezza Rice, Lindsey Buckingham’s beard
and Puffy’s handgun
David = once turned down a deal
with Atlantic Records (who wanted to make him “another David Cassidy”)
Lane = once recorded the definitive version of “I Think I Love
You”
Grahame Steinberg = one of the
undoubtedly twelve best of 2012 I have heard...and
the same will go for you.
And speaking of Brian’s Boys, two
of those other much-revered retro-“B”
icons (as in Big Star via Badfinger) are instantly conjured as Chris’ latest
and greatest kicks straight up into a solid half-hour of beaty, BIG, and bouncy P-pop. A special Gary Pig
tip-o-the-virtual-snout must go as well to GYLLsO
producer David Feeny, who records the Subtractions’ six-strings with a raw
stinging power unheard since the storied days of Tim Boykin’s Lolas …not to
mention Steve Jones’ Bollock-ing of
yore.
Of the song “Cold Turkey” (no,
not the fine Plastic Ono 45) (or even the Dick Van Dyke movie), may I quote
this disc’s liner notes: “Cold Turkey was recorded in 1968 at Pete Miller’s
home-studio on Margetson Avenue in Norwich, England on a Bang & Olufsen
Beocord 2000 tape-recorder running at a tape speed of 3 3/4 i.p.s. The
dominating snare reverb came from the reverb unit for a Farfisa organ. Vocals
were sung through a Shure 726 ‘Elvis mic’ and also a Reslo ribbon mic. The WW2
air-raid shelter in Pete’s garden served as the echo chamber”...and that’s just
ONE of the dozen vintage Big Boy beauts you should hear herein!
Meanwhile, bravely home-recording
on the other side of the planet, here’s yet another slyly sonic, all-singing,
sometimes stinging self-confessional from the One and Only Rickenharper; a friendly
Ghost on the Canvas...along with a thin wild "We're In The Money"
that even hearing isn't quite believing!
One terrific sonic stew of Syd,
Eric’s SanFran Animals, indelible String Band, eclectic Prunes, prehistoric
Unit Four + 2, Love ‘n’ Fugs, Gainsbourg and Hazlewood, some Varèse even, all
beautifully buoyed by Alan’s never-fearing lyrical-slash-melodic munificence.
P.S.: and guitarist/engineer/producer Wreckless Eric herein has never sounded so… well, wreckless!
The don’t-ever-be-fooled-by-imitations New Jersey Doughboys resolutely enter
their second half-century making the kind of utterly joyous noise even Raider
rough-houser Mark Lindsay can’t help but contribute liner notes (not to mention
sax!) to.
Honestly, after an entire year
spent listening — and listening — to
this latest Best Record Ever by Nashville's greatest, the only thing I could
possibly fault, if pressed, would be the misspelling of Marcia Brady's given
name on the enclosed press sheet. But, by 2013, I'll be ready to forgive even
that.
PETE TOWNSHEND Who I Am
(the audio book)
(unabridged, I'll have you know) www.petetownshend.com
yes, All 15 ( ! ) discs; all 19 (
!! ) hours of it ....no, Really !!!
Yes indeed, it goes without
saying that Brian Wilson and his familial band have enjoyed a career quite
unlike any other across the cuckoo annals of show business.
Scoring a local hit in 1961 straight
off the mark with their very first little indie single, then soon after placing
a sophomore release into no less than the hallowed Billboard Hot 100 – and all at a time when the majority of the guys
still had to be home in time to attend class the next morning – The Beach Boys,
it could be argued, really started their marathon run at the very tip-top,
suicidally crash-dove towards oblivion a few short years later, and only then slowly but surely began their
struggle up the ladder of ever-lasting fame, fortune and, ultimately,
all-American glory …and just finished touring the globe promoting a new (!!) hit album, need I remind
anyone.
As the opening credits of this MVD Visual DVD state, (and I quote), "On September 3, 2010, Iggy and the Stooges performed Raw Power live in Monticello, New York. Six fans filmed the concert and interviewed Iggy and the Stooges after the show."
Really then! A concept so crystalline in both its simplicity and beauty – much like Iggy himself, one such as myself could argue. But the result is mountains above and beyond the ultimate DIY epic for Generation YouTube: What we have here is a real-time and, of course, real LOUD (thanks in no small part to the work of audio recordist Max Bisgrove) down 'n' dirty antidote to all those precious Jonathan Demme-style concert films regularly being awarded art-house praises and prizes.
Raw Power Live: In The Hands Of The Fans is in fact, with all apologies to The TAMI Show, the best on-screen rendering of rock 'n' roll I have ever seen.
