Stay Up Late

The night was like an alien world as a kid. And, staying up late was one of the first conquests of childhood.

I have no doubt that the first time I reached midnight was probably watching television with my father. It was, more than likely, something on the CBS Late Movie in the early ’70s. The show’s nightly fare often consisted of sci-fi or suspense stuff – one of the more terrifying being a flick called Gargoyles, set in a remote stretch of highway in the Southwest.

(I’d be curious how it has held up after thirtysome years, but it seems to be available nowhere)

There was something comfortable about hearing the familiar intro music and seeing the opening graphics, then, the announcer dramatically announcing, “Tonight, on the CBS Late Movie…” A short trailer would follow which would either heighten the anticipation or puncture it.

Of course, with only half a dozen channels from which to choose and all but one or two concluding the broadcast day with a somber sign-off sometime around one in the morning, you either muddled through or went to bed.

(or, you fell asleep on the couch under a pile of blankets while attempting to muddle through)

There was something wonderful about the solitude and peace at that time of the night. I’d peer out the window behind me and there was little but inky blackness and, perhaps a light or two from one of the few neighboring homes in our rural area.

As everyone else in the house was usually asleep, I owned the world.

(not bad for some kid that wasn’t old enough to drive)

There was nothing left to accomplish aside from raiding the fridge during the next commercial break.

Elvis Costello & The Attractions – B Movie
from Get Happy!

Elvis Costello is one of those artists for whom I feel a sense of failure that I have never embraced as much as I feel I should. The critics love him. Friends from almost every period of my life, whose taste I respect, love him. Paloma loves him.

I’ve always been a bit more ambivilant. And, despite that ambivilance, I realize that I own a large chunk of his catalog.

Maybe I need to make more of an effort to meet Elvis halfway.

Pulp – TV Movie
from This Is Hardcore

I owned a trio of Pulp’s records from the mid-’90s when they reached their highest profile in their native UK. Here in the States, the group garnered little attention (which is too bad).

Jarvis Cocker always reminded me of a latter day Ray Davies. This is Hardcore was a darker, more somber affair than the band’s previous Different Class. TV Movie, lamenting a failed relationship, is somber, but it is also lovely and moving.

Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band – TV Movie
from Tracks

Of all the artists whose heyday has overlapped with my years as a music fan, few amassed as much unreleased music as Bruce Springsteen (Prince would be in that conversation, too). Some of that music popped up as b-sides or as hits for other acts (Pink Cadillac fell into both categories).

Springsteen finally raided the archives on the box set Tracks. TV Movie was an outtake from Born In The USA and though that set isn’t lacking by its exclusion, the song is a fun, self-effacing romp.

Elton John – I’ve Seen That Movie Too
from Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

In retrospect, Elton John produced a staggering amount of amazing music in the ’70s and his classic album Goodbye Yellow Brick Road has a little bit of everything that made him a superstar for the ages.

It’s not difficult to picture Elton playing the resigned I’ve Seen That Movie Too in some piano bar at an hour when the crowd has dwindled and I would have been crashed out on the couch during yet another showing of Night Of The Lepus on the CBS Late Movie.

Give My Regards To The Eye In The Sky, Mr. Woolfson

The Drunken Frenchman, whom I have mentioned numerous times, would often inform me of the passing of someone – usually the member of some band whose heyday was in the ’60s or early ’70s and who I had maybe a passing knowledge of at best.

A few days ago, I stumbled across a mention of the death of Eric Woolfson last week. It was mentioned again at The Hits Just Keep On Comin’.

The name might be unfamiliar to a lot of people. Even the name Alan Parsons Project -with Parsons, Woolfson was part of that ensemble’s core -might mean little to most folks twenty-five years later.

Most people would know some of Woolfson’s music with Parsons, though. The group had a number of songs on the radio in the late ’70s and early ’80s like I Wouldn’t Want to Be Like You, Time, and Eye In The Sky. In the ’90s, if you watched Chicago Bulls home games, it was an Alan Parsons Project instrumental, Sirius, that was played during player introductions.

Despite having some impressive credentials as musicians (Parsons had engineered albums like Abbey Road and Dark Side Of The Moon), I don’t think I could have picked either Woolfson or Parsons out of a line-up. I think they had beards and, based on some online searches, it seems I was right.

I did (and still do) own a good amount of the group’s catalog, at least from 1980’s The Turn Of A Friendly Card onward. It was that album that had arrived around the time that my interest in music was beginning and Games People Play was getting a lot of attention on the Top 40 station that was popular with my junior high classmates.

The group would have a handful of hits over the next half decade or so (and had already had a handful over the previous few years). Though they didn’t necessarily fit in with much of the music we were listening to at the time, my friends and I listened to a lot of Alan Parsons Project during high school.

Our interest began to wane with 1985’s Vulture Culture (commercially, the group had topped out the previous year with Ammonia Avenue and the hits Don’t Answer Me and Prime Time).

The duo released two more albums before splitting up. Their finale, Gaudi, arrived during the winter of ’87 when my friends and I had headed in separate directions and were in the midst of our first year of college. I didn’t hear that album until summer break when I was with two of those friends.

(it happened to be in the tape deck when we crashed the family station wagon which the one friend had borrowed that day)

Here are four songs from Alan Parsons Project…

Alan Parsons Project – Sirius
from Eye In The Sky

Alan Parsons Project always had a couple of instrumentals per album. When I went back and discovered their music prior to 1980’s The Turn Of A Friendly Card, I was surprised to find I knew many of their instrumentals from their use on television programs and commercials (a local furniture store used I, Robot in one of the latter).

As for Sirius, most people would be familiar with the song though likely not know it by name. The Bulls during their championship runs of the ’90s were one of many sports teams to make use of the track which segued into Eye In The Sky on the album and, occasionally, the two remained linked on radio.

Alan Parsons Project – Eye In The Sky
from Eye In The Sky

Alan Parsons Project used a revolving cast of lead singers with Woolfson handling the task on a handful of tracks. However, he provided the lead vocals on several of the group’s best-known hits including Time (which I mentioned recently), Don’t Answer Me, and Eye In The Sky.

I remember first hearing the hypnotic Eye In The Sky when it first hit radio in late summer of ’82. It was on a family vacation and I kept coming upon the song on the radio as I channel-surfed during long stretches in the car.

Alan Parsons Project – Don’t Answer Me
from Ammonia Avenue

With its shuffling melody and Phil Spector-influenced sound, Don’t Answer Me sounded amazing on the radio in the spring of 1984. Of course, most of Alan Parsons Project stuff was sonic, but, with Don’t Answer Me, they also married their stellar production to one of their most memorable songs.

As I mentioned, JB at The Hits Just Keep On Comin’ noted Woolfson’s passing and praised the video which accompanied the song. It’s well worth a viewing there.

Alan Parsons Project – Days Are Numbers (The Traveller)
from Vulture Culture

Alan Parsons Project had no shortage of pretty, ethereal songs in their catalog. Days Are Numbers is among the prettiest.

It got a bit of airplay in the autumn of ’85. My girlfriend at the time had gone off to college and my friends and I, who were in the midst of our senior year of high school, were within sight of our own parting of ways. Perhaps those events made the song and its subject matter resonate so strongly with me.

Godspeed You Jane Of The Highway

There’s a phenomenon that Paloma and I (well, mostly me) have observed on our treks to my hometown the past couple Thanksgiving – the highways of Kentucky are lawless.

It’s not like Mad Max with mohawked, shoulder pad-wearing thugs, roving the countryside in search of petrol and such.

It’s not like The Road, either, which I happened to read over the holiday. Admittedly an oddly grim choice for such a festive time, but I’ve been picking up copies at every airport bookstore I’ve been in over the past two years. Paloma finally bought a copy and, with the movie coming out, I checked it out.

(it is a grim tale, but understatedly poignant – it kind of snuck up on me – and it has stayed with me)

Tangents and half-baked book reports aside, one of the states between here and there is Kentucky and, as soon as you enter the state, the drivers have more enthusiasm for speed. Until you exit the state, it is as though most everyone becomes Tom Wopat behind the wheel, attempting to throw off pursuit on the backroads of Hazzard County.

On the trip home, the transition to the state where the grass isn’t really blue was even more jarring. For nearly an hour before we reached Kentucky, I drove behind someone who reminded me that not everyone on the highway is a vehicular maniac hell-bent on contributing to my untimely demise.

This woman drove safely, but she drove to her potential with a steady hand that made me weep. She was in a zone, doing about seventy-five – a speed fast enough to allow one to make time but not so fast that you can’t catch a few minutes of sleep or stare straight ahead unblinking ’til the images on the horizon begin to form shapes of things like dancing lemurs.

She only strayed into the left lane with purpose.

She remained there long enough to pass the more timid and tentative, signaled, and eased rightward again.

May the diety of your choice pelt me with Jell-O and cottage cheese (two food items whose textures I find disturbing) if I exaggerate – this woman signaled without fail.

“This is a delight!” I declared to Paloma.

“What?”

“Driving behind Jane.”

For some reason she struck me as a Jane. She was from Wisconsin and I wondered if maybe she was a professor at a small college there and perhaps an amateur beekeeper.

“Jane?”

I explained to Paloma what a pleasant experience it was to not have to think about driving while driving. I expend a lot of mental energy on the road, feeling compelled to (mostly) concentrate on driving.

This drive was simple.

Jane signaled. I signaled.

Jane passed. I passed.

I was free to not think.

(or, imagine giant lemurs on the horizon, crashing through power lines and wreaking havoc upon the citizens like some late-night horror flick from the ’70s)

It lasted for a good sixty miles. Then, we hit the Kentucky border.

The mayhem demanded I pay attention again.

But, I salute Jane.

As Sam Elliott’s narrator was comforted by knowing The Dude was somewhere out there, “takin’ it easy,” at the end of The Big Lebowski, I’m comforted knowing Jane is out there, making someone’s drive a bit less stressful.

Gordon Lightfoot – Carefree Highway
from Sundown

I’ve expressed my curiousity with Mr. Lightfoot before.

Gordon loves the open road, apparently as much as I love bacon. If Gordon and I were on a road trip, you can be damned sure that we’d be eating bacon along the way (and likely arguing over what radio station to listen to).

Oh yeah, apparently there is a stretch of interstate in central Arizona which is actually referred to as the Carefree Highway.

The Blessing – Highway 5
from Prince Of Deep Water

I don’t believe I ever heard The Blessing on radio or saw them on MTV in the late ’80s when they released two albums. If I hadn’t received a copy of their debut as a promo, I very well would have no knowledge of them at all.

But I did receive a copy of Prince Of Deep Water and it is an undiscovered gem, soulful adult rock highlighted by the vocals of William Topley who is reminiscent of Fine Young Cannibal lead singer Roland Gift.

Robert Plant – Tie Dye On The Highway
from Manic Nirvana

Personaly, I think that Robert Plant has carved out a fine, post-Zeppelin solo career. When Manic Nirvana was released in 1990, Plant was coming off of the success of Now And Zen two years earlier.

Although Tie Dye On The Highway sounds a bit dated – there is a distinctive slick sheen common to the period – it has a fantastic groove and got a lot of airplay at the time.

AC/DC – Highway To Hell
from Highway To Hell

I remember reading an interview with AC/DC guitarist Angus Young sometime in the late ’80s upon their release of a new album. The interviewer asked him to address critics that accused the band of releasing the same album twelve times.

Angus corrected him, informing him that it was, actually, thirteen times.

Well played, sir.

Hall & Oates

I haven’t really been all that enamored with the new spin-off from Family Guy, The Cleveland Show. I am still holding out on a final decision, though, as it did take me awhile to warm up to American Dad.

(though I dug Roger, the incorrigible alien, from the start)

The other night they made a reference to Peabo Bryson which was amusing because, musical considerations not considered, Peabo is a fun word to say and it is a fun word to hear said.

(however, aside from that one infommercial for some soft rock collection which Bryson hosted and possibly Casey Kasem, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard someone say “Peabo”)

Hall & Oates was also referenced as a good angel/bad angel on Cleveland’s shoulders, trying to influence a decision.

I lived through the years of the early ’80s, they were my musical formative years, so, at the time I began listening to radio, Hall & Oates was a pop music juggernaut.

Pull up a list of their hits and run through their singles during that period; it’s staggering.

I don’t recall if Hall & Oates had any credibility in the early ’80s. The only rock criticism I had access to at the time was a still somewhat relevent (but beginning to decline) Rolling Stone. I think that the magazine mostly ignored Hall & Oates.

But, I don’t remember animosity toward the duo, either. Everyone knew the songs and most were big radio hits. However, this ubiquitousness didn’t seem to generate the rancor usually accompanying such familiarity.

You’d hear the songs, enjoy some more than others, but I don’t remember knowing anyone, personally, that was passionate about Hall & Oates – no one mocked them, no one wore their concert shirts.

Most of those songs still sound fantastic thirty years later, though. And Hall & Oates do seem to be experiencing a rediscovery during the past few years (and getting some long-overdue acclaim).

It made me consider what Hall & Oates songs that I’d most want to hear at this moment.

I don’t want to hear You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling. To be honest – and I know this statement will make some shake their heads in dismay – I don’t want to hear that song by anyone.

(Thanks Top Gun)

I’m so tired of You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling, I can’t remember if I ever liked it.

I dug Adult Education at the time, but time has not been kind to the song. Now, I think I find it overwrought and even a bit creepy.

Method Of Modern Love was too goofy for me in 1985 and it’s still goofy but not in a way that appeals to me.

But most of the songs are ones that are more than welcome to pop up on shuffle.

Some of the lesser hits – How Does It Feel To Be Back, Your Imagination, Possession Obsession – are appealing (maybe because they weren’t as monstrous hits as songs like You Make My Dreams, I Can’t Go for That (No Can Do), or Maneater).

So, if I wanted to hear some Hall & Oates right now, I think here are a quartet of songs I’d be inclined to pull up (and Wait For Me would be on here if it hadn’t made a recent appearance)…

Hall & Oates – Kiss On My List
from Voices

So, after touting Hall & Oates lesser hits, the first one I opted for was one of their biggest, but, from the stutter-step opening, Kiss On My List hooks me when I hear it. It’s lighthearted, playful, and has a fantastic chorus.

It’s also the first song by the duo which I remember being all over the radio. It also makes me think of rainy Friday afternoons in seventh grade when our homeroom teacher would allow us to play albums. She usually went with Christopher Cross, but I recall Kiss On My List being a favorite, too.

Hall & Oates – Your Imagination
from Private Eyes

In the summer of ’82, we took a family vacation to Western Pennsylvania. For two weeks, I heard Your Imagination, which I hadn’t heard on the stations back home. Those stations still weren’t playing the song when we returned and it was though it had never existed.

Maybe it was because Hall & Oates had already had the massive hits Private Eyes and I Can’t Go For That (No Can Do) as well as the underappreciated gem Did It In A Minute from their Private Eyes album, but the quirky, understated Your Imagination seemed to get lost in the wake.

Hall & Oates- Family Man
from H2O

Dark and paranoid, Family Man stood out from Hall & Oates hits of the early ’80s with its agressive guitars and New Wave vibe.

The track is actually a cover of a song by Mike Oldfield, of Tubular Bells fame. I used to have a copy of Oldfield’s version and, aside from the female vocalist on the original, Hall & Oates take is, as I recall, pretty faithful.

Hall & Oates – Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid
from Big Bam Boom

By the time Big Bam Boom came out in late 1984, pop music and Top 40 stations had begun to hold far less interest for me than it had merely a year earlier. So, I was unimpressed with Out Of Touch and Method Of Modern Love, the first two hits from the album. I’ve already declared the latter to be goofy, but the former just seems soulless and stilted.

Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid was the album’s third hit the following spring and is neither soulless nor stilted. It bobs along on a gentle melody and was one of the last songs by Hall & Oates to get a lot of airplay even if it didn’t reach the heights that they had earlier in the decade.

Thinking Of George

Years ago, half dozen or so of us who worked together at a record store would often go for a drink – “the odd one” – after (or sometimes during) our shift.

The odd one was never one and hours would pass with the conversation equally divided between music and nonsense.

For the musical portion, The Drunken Frenchman was usually the tour guide and, nearly twenty years later, I don’t believe I’ve known another soul possessing more knowledge of rock music (or pop culture) prior to 1980.

It was an education.

And, like many folks of his age, those who had actually watched the Ed Sullivan Show performances live, The Beatles were the touchstone for almost everything that had occurred during his life. So, the discussion of favorite Beatle was a fairly regular topic.

There was no debate as far as The Drunken Frenchman was concerned.

It was The Quiet One.

Although there was a time when I would have reflexively answered “John Lennon” as my favorite of The Fabs, having heard The Frenchman offer up innumerable reasons as to why George Harrison was his guy, that’s no longer the case.

I vividly recall waking on this date eight years ago and opening the paper. George had passed away.

I immediately thought of The Frenchman. Our clan from the record store had scattered in various directions several years earlier. Had we not, we would have likely been together that night. And, as we often would do on significant dates in music history, we certainly would have hoisted a few toasts to The Quiet One.

So, today, eight years later, here are a few favorites from George Harrison…

The Beatles – While My Guitar Gently Weeps
from The White Album

The Beatles – Here Comes The Sun
from Abbey Road

George Harrison – All Those Years Ago
from Somewhere In England

Traveling Wilburys – Handle With Care
from Traveling Wilburys Vol. 1

Nothing Like The Threat Of Armageddon To Stoke An Appetite

Thanksgiving, like the once annual airing of The Wizard Of Oz used to be, is an event.

Yeah, some people make it out to be dysfunction junction (and for them, maybe it is), but getting to watch football all day on a day which usually would be spent slogging through work is a brilliant concept.

And, of course, it is a chance to feast.

It’s like being king for a day.

Bring me gravy! I shall gnaw on this turkey leg in a slovenly fashion as these superhumans on the television perform amazing feats for my amusement!

OK. It’s not necessarily that dramatic and, as the Lions always play on Thanksgiving Day, the feats are not always amazing in a good way.

(though I cannot imagine how empty a Thanksgiving without the Lions playing the early game would be – it would be like a Halloween without a visit from The Great Pumpkin)

One Thanksgiving was spent living in London, eating some take-out pizza in an ice-cold flat.

And, in a cruel twist, my favorite team, the Steelers, was making a rare Thanksgiving Day appearance. They would lose, in overtime after a bizarre coin toss snafu to begin the extra period.

It was a game that would have been maddening to have watched and it was maddening to miss.

Thanksgiving hasn’t been brilliant every year, but that year – no food, no football, no heat – is really the lone one I recall as being truly miserable.

As a kid, our parents dragged us off to mass. I mean, you have the day off school and can sleep in and lounge on the couch; the last thing you want to be doing at an early hour is trudging off to church.

When I was fifteen, the priest decided to use his sermon to rattle off a laundry list of accidental nuclear exchanges between the US and USSR that had been narrowly avoided.

(this was 1983 and two months earlier there had been all of the hullaballoo surrounding the television movie The Day After)

I kept having images of an extra crispy bird and excessively dry stuffing.

It was a bit of a bummer.

It was also a year when the Steelers had a Thanksgiving game. Detroit beat them 45-3.

I had forgotten (or blocked it out) and had to research who played that season.

But, global tensions and football smackdowns aside, I have no doubt that the food was good.

That autumn, I was still listening to a lot of Top 40 stations, but Q95, an album rock station out of Indianapolis, had caught my attention as well and 97X was exposing me on a semi-regular basis to modern rock for the first time. Some of the songs on the radio that Thanksgiving…

Men At Work – Dr. Heckyll And Mr. Jive
from Cargo

By the end of 1983, Men At Work, who had burst onto the scene a year earlier, was over. It was amazing how massive they were and how quickly it ended, but their quirky music still sounds delightful twenty-five years later.

Dr. Heckyll And Mr. Jive was their third hit from album number two and had been preceded by Overkill and It’s A Mistake on the airwaves. I still think the former is their finest moment, but the latter did little for me.

I don’t actually recall hearing Dr. Heckyll And Mr. Jive on the radio much, but I always smiled at the line, “He loves the world except for all the people.” Some days, it’s quite true.

Rufus And Chaka Khan – Ain’t Nobody
from Stompin’ At The Savoy

I wasn’t much into R&B growing up. There was one station and, on occasion, I would end up there, but, unless the song crossed over to the pop stations, I wasn’t likely hearing it.

Ain’t Nobody crossed over big time and it hooked me the first time I heard it.

Michael Stanley Band – My Town
from You Can’t Fight Fashion

Cleveland’s Michael Stanley was a major act in the Midwest in the late ’70s and early ’80s. Living on the Indiana/Ohio border, their music found its way onto many of the stations to which I was listening.

There was a lot of economic malaise in the first few years of the ’80s, especially in the Rust Belt. The punchy, anthemic My Town was rock straight from the heartland and its sing-a-long chorus got it a lot of airplay, especially when stations began editing in a shout out to their respective city – Cincinnati! – into the song.

Genesis – Mama (radio edit)
from Genesis

Paloma professes to like Phil Collins, yet, whenever a song of his pops up on shuffle, she invariably is displeased and hits next. It’s a fascinating phenomenon that has us both baffled.

As for Mama, it was the first song from Genesis’ followup to Abacab and the album continued the trio’s trend toward more pop-minded fare (for the most part). Mama, though, is a sinister sounding track which is what happens when your lead singer cackles like he’s been on a bender with Gary Busey.

Evolution Isn't Pretty

Paloma bought me an early birthday present yesterday, a copy of Andre Agassi’s new autobiography Open.

The book has caused a bit of an uproar in the sports world for some of its revelations and even rippled beyond as the man’s celebrity transcends the tennis court.

As a reformed jock, I played a fair amount of tennis growing up, but a lack of self-discipline – I smashed more than a couple rackets – hindered any natural ability I might have had. Ironically, the player I most admired was Bjorn Borg, the cool, unflappable Swedish great.

I was playing less tennis by the time Agassi began rising through the ranks. I was in college and other things were occupying my time. I wasn’t even following the sport as much.

In fact, I first really took note of Agassi when I was mistaken for him while traveling in Southeast Asia. It was 1989 and I had a mullet-like hair, a bit spiky on the top that was similar to his. In Singapore, some German tourists wanted an autograph. In Thailand, some local tried to dupe me into a common ruse to purchase worthless jewels – “You wealthy tennis player.”

I’ve read plenty about Agassi over the years inclduing an amazingly poignant piece in Sports Illustrated a few years back which I wish I could find. Driven from the time he was a small child to be a tennis machine by a father who had boxed for Iran in the Olympics, his tale reminded me of that of Michael Jackson.

I’ve also read excerpts from Open, including Agassi’s admission that he used crystal meth in an attempt to destroy/escape from a career that he, for the most part, never wanted.

I won’t discount that his career has afforded him a life that most of us would envy, though I imagine few of us would have had the fortitude to achieve. That said, I find the ballyhoo surrounding his tome to be missing the point.

The man wasn’t driven by blinding greed to pilfer and destroy the economy, placing the lives of millions in a precarious position. He didn’t manipulate facts in order to launch an illegal war to invade a sovereign nation, treating the lives and treasure of millions as his own toy chest.

The man hit tennis balls and did so well enough to become one of the best to ever do so. His mistakes were his own and though those mistakes likely caused those around him hardship and pain, they didn’t cause the average person watching him perform his athletic feats hardship or distress.

By all accounts, Agassi owns those failures in his book. There’s no, “Yeah, but…”

Since 1994, Agassi has been described as perhaps the most charitable athlete of his generation, founding a tuition-free charter school for at-risk children in Las Vegas as well as several other endeavors. And, as he played his final US Open match in 2006, he was arguably the most beloved US athlete.

In short, Agassi has travelled a star-crossed path from there to here, arriving a better person, an admirable person, flaws and all. If he’s to be held accountable for the hiccups along the way, he should also be applauded for rising above them.

It’s an interesting twist of fate that his book should arrive at the same time as another autobiography, that of someone who’s greatest attribute appears to be the ability to gut a moose, a woman who did quit when facing adversity, has no shortage of folks she blames for her failures, and apparently craves revenge more than redemption.

But, I suspect that Sarah Palin doesn’t believe in evolution.

Aimee Mann – Save Me
from Magnolia soundtrack

Sometimes it takes a while for the light bulb to go on. And, sometimes people need a hand. The closing scene of the movie Magnolia expressed those sentiments as powerfully as any film I think I’ve ever seen and Aimee Mann’s heartbreaking song Save Me was the perfect accompaniment.

Fiona Apple – Better Version Of Me
from Extraordinary Machine

Fiona Apple’s third album found the eccentric artist working with long-time Aimee Mann collaborator Jon Brion. The record had a troubled birth, rejected and held up by Apple’s label for a belief that it lacked commercial appeal.

It went on to be one of the most critically acclaimed releases of 2005.

Yoko Ono – Revelations
from Rising

Personally, I like Yoko’s music – not all of it, but there’s some compelling stuff in her catalog – and Revelations is simply lovely with lyrics that are words to live by.

Garbage – When I Grow Up
from Version 2.0

When I Grow Up is twisted fun from Shirley Manson and crew.

Time To Burnish My Legacy

As someone commented the other day, I’m old.

Well, not really. I mean, I am older than I was, but I’d like to think that I am not close to as old as I will be.

However, since my brush with death last week, I’ve been giving great thought to my mortality and the things I have yet to achieve.

(it really wasn’t so dire and I rarely think of my own mortality aside from the fact that it would be an unimpeachable excuse to stay home from work)

I do eyeball the obituaries in the New York Times most days. It’s nothing morbid. Some of it is a natural interest in current events.

Some of it is because of a game a couple of friends and I played when we were co-workers, working on Billboard‘s musical database. When an artist died, whoever removed them from the database first received a small, photocopy the size of a postage stamp of a skull and crossbones.

This competetion became quite heated and we proudly taped our “kills” to our cubicle walls.

But, one reason to read the obituaries in the Times is for the intriguing taglines like “Robert Rines, Inventor and Monster Hunter, Dies at 87 ” or “William Belton, Self-Taught Ornithologist, Dies at 95.”

I’d like something like that for myself when the time comes except I am not an inventor, monster hunter, or self-taught ornithologist. I have done pioneering work in the combination of peanut butter and bacon as a sandwich and I do quite like those Monsterquest documentaries, though.

But, the only thing involving birds that I have taught myself, so far as I can think, is how to make fried chicken (though I’m more inclined to drag Paloma out of the way on a road trip for such foodstuff).

So, in the meantime, I’ve got some work to do. Fortunately, I’m hoping I have some time to amass some accomplishments that will result in an eye-catching lead when I do finally shuffle onward.

Here are some songs by artists who have passed away in the month of November in years past…

Quiet Riot – Cum On Feel The Noize
from Metal Health

From all I’ve read and based on a few first-hand accounts, Quiet Riot lead singer Kevin DuBrow worked ceaselessly to break his band. Then, he proceeded to alienate most of the music industry and Quiet Riot, who had been the first metal act to have a Number One album in the US, plummeted back to obscurity (with DuBow getting fired from the band).

However, during the autumn of ’83, Quiet Riot’s cover of Slade’s classic Cum On Feel The Noize was inescapable and Metal Health was heard blaring from every car stereo in our high school parking lot. DuBrow, who later rejoined the band, passed away on November 19, 2007 of a cocaine overdose.

Chris Whitley – Power Down
from Terra Firma

Texan Chris Whitley went from busking on the streets of New York City to being one of the musical surprises of 1991 when his debut Living With The Law found favor with critics and fans. It took four years for him to follow it up and, when he did he incorporated elements of grunge, alternative rock, and dissonant noise to his bluesy folk rock.

Power Down is a smoldering four minutes of jagged, wiry rock. Sadly, the underappreciated Whitley – who counted artists including Bruce Springsteen, Bruce Hornsby, Tom Petty, Iggy Pop, John Mayer, Daniel Lanois and Keith Richards among his admirers – passed away from lung cancer on November 20, 2005.

Bow Wow Wow – Do You Wanna Hold Me?
from When The Going Gets Tough, The Tough Get Going

Bow Wow Wow was formed when impresario Malcolm McClaren poached Adam’s Ants and made teen-aged ingenue Annabella Lwin lead singer. The result was one of the iconic songs of the ’80s with their version of The Strangeloves’ I Want Candy.

The group also had a minor hit with the equally energetic (if less remembered) Do You Wanna Hold Me? Guitarist Matthew Ashman died of diabetes-related complications on November 21, 1995, but, having been in both Adam & The Ants and Bow Wow Wow, he managed to be in two of the most beloved acts of the New Wave era.

Manic Street Preachers – This Is Yesterday
from The Holy Bible

Almost unknown in the States, the Welsh band Manic Street Preachers have been superstars in the UK for two decades. And, anyone who has followed the band is well aware of their history, particular rhythm guitarist/lyricist Richey Edwards, who mysteriously vanished in February, 1994.

The lovely, melancholic This Is Yesterday appeared on The Holy Bible, the group’s third album and one which is regarded by many critics to be as powerful as and the equal of Nirvana’s landscape-changing Nevermind. Edward’s vanished a day prior to embarking on a US protional tour for the record.

Edwards has never been found (though he has been “sighted” everywhere from India to the Canary Islands). It was only on November 23, 2008 that he was officially declared to be “presumed dead.”

Reducing A World Of Wonder To A Microwavable Moment

It’s a world of convenience and if I had any doubts, the fact that I am watching The Wizard Of Oz makes it quite clear.

Actually, I’m not watching – at least not with same the rapt attention I once did. Why should I? It’s on tomorrow night, too.

And the night after that as well.

Yes, TBS, as they have done for a number of years now is broadcasting the movie three nights in a row.

I perk up and stop, certain scenes finding favor with me for minutes at a time, but I’m also doing several other things. I’ve literally told myself to stop and enjoy this classic, but there’s no sense of urgency since I am well aware that I have, as the announcer coming in and out of commercial breaks reminds me, “two more chances to watch.”

Even if The Wizard Of Oz wasn’t available at will, if not on television, then on DVD or some other format, it is unrealistic to expect the experience to have the impact it did for me as a child.

You only discover fire once.

(and how did the career of the human who discovered fire fare? Was there a follow-up? Did this being possibly invent popcorn and, then, have to endure the carping of critics who whined, “yeah, you’ll be amazed by popcorn but it lacks the urgency of fire” as though it was some mediocre second album?)

Mutterings aside, I recall seeing The Wizard Of Oz for the first time at the age of four-, maybe five-years old, sometime in the early ’70s. I remember watching it with the lights off in our living room, sprawled on the floor with a pillow and blanket.

It was certainly not in high-def on a screen the size of a wall, but it didn’t need to be. The visuals and scope of the film couldn’t be contained or diminished. It seemed to fill the room.

I quickly learned that, like Charlie Brown specials, The Wizard Of Oz would magically reappear annually, but would not be shown at any other time like some common movie that might pop up here and there on a Saturday afternoon or on The Late Show.

You got one shot.

(for some reason, I also recall it used to be shown in the spring, though it now airs near Thanksgiving and multiple times)

Even into my college years, there was something special about the annual airing of The Wizard Of Oz and I often made a point to watch.

It is an iconic flick, one of the most iconic in the history of cinema, and I still try to catch it. And, if I don’t, I’ve still got at least two more chances this holiday season.

They keep reminding me.

Belly – Now They’ll Sleep
from King

Led by ex-Throwing Muse/Breeder Tanya Donnelly, Belly became indie rock darlings in ’93 with the gloriously catchy Feed The Tree from their debut album Star.

Now They’ll Sleep, a title inspired by a comment from the Wicked Witch, was from the band’s second (and final album) King.

Big Country – We’re Not In Kansas
from No Place Like Home

Big Country was nearly a decade past their brief fling with success in the US with their 1983 hit In A Big Country when they issued the album No Place Like Home in 1991. If I recall, its release in the States was delayed for some time and, when it did arrive, few cared.

It’s too bad as We’re Not In Kansas, while hardly as memorable as their lone US hit, is a driving rock track that deserved a better fate.

Elton John – Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
from Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

As I write this, I realize how often I’ve been so mesmerized by the melodies of many of classic Elton John songs, I pay little attention to the lyrics aside from the choruses. The lyrical content of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road isn’t quite as muddled as some of John’s songs, but, whatever questions I might ponder evaporate when he reaches the soaring chorus.

America – Tin Man
from Holiday

America very much reminds me of childhood as songs like A Horse With No Name, I Need You, and Sister Golden Hair seemed to be constantly on the radio (or, at least on the rare occasions – usually in the car – when our family had the radio playing).

And, like those other songs, America’s ode to the character desiring a heart is breezy, endearing, and as comfortable as an old sweater.

It's Not Lobster Flu, But It's Not Swine Flu, Either

It’s difficult to be whimsical when you’re sick.

This year, it’s also tiring to have everyone ask, “Is it swine flu?”

(it’s not)

It has led me to wonder if there would be be less concern if it was Lobster Flu. Lobster is a meal for the bourgeoisie, so suffering from Lobster Flu might have more cachet.

(though I suppose such a malady would be scientifically impossible – yes?)

So, with little whimsy or patience to be had, writing is less appealling than sprawling on the couch, staring expressionless as the television channels at my command flicker by, nothing enticing me to stop.

Twenty-five years ago, there was one viewing destination.

In the fall of 1984, our town finally had MTV. Our family didn’t have cable, but several friends did.

MTV was new. It was shiny. It was riveting stuff.

We would gather at someone’s house, usually the basement of our friend Streuss, and stare at the images for hours at a time.

It was the greatest waste of time that we had ever experienced.

According to an old MTV playlist from that time, here are some of the videos that we might seen in the autumn of ’84…

The Police – Synchronicity II
from Synchronicity

Bruce Cockburn – If I Had A Rocket Launcher
from Stealing Fire

The Time – Jungle Love
from Ice Cream Castle

The Ramones – Howling At The Moon (Sha La La)”
from Too Tough To Die