RAZZING THE RAZZIES
As disappointed as I was with this year's Oscar nominations, the usually-dependable Razzies let me down too. This year's nominees have a glaring omission—how could they possibly leave out Snakes On A Plane? That piece of cinematic caca makes Anaconda look like Jaws...
CLASSIC MISHEARD LYRIC #2
"Signs"—FIVE-MAN ELECTRICAL BAND (1971) "Now hey you, Mister, can’t you read?" Again, on the AM radio when I was a kid, songs sounded less clear to me then: "Now hey you, Mr. Tangerine!"
YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST
Just as I predicted, head-butt butt-head Zinedine Zidane is being courted by Major League Soccer's Chicago Fire. I'm not one to brag, but did I call it or did I call it?
IT'S A BLOODY REUNION...
Too bad I'm not referring to one of my favorite Molly Hatchet songs here, but sadly, I'm referring to the impending Van Halen reunion tour as reported by Billboard.com, featuring the three Van Halens (Alex, Eddie and Wolfman—er uh, Wolfgang) and Diamond Dave. As someone said in each and every Star Wars flick, "I have a bad feeling about this..." In a similar maneuver, a Canadian radio station (C3PO, or some such thing) is reporting that The Police are rehearsing for a 40-date reunion tour this summer. This can only mean that Sting has finally given up on his wimpy solo career. At least he and Andy and Stewart are still halfway civil to each other to begin with, so this tour might actually be worthwhile. Could that Led Zeppelin reunion tour (with Jason Bonham on drums) be far off?
HE WAS A HOUSEHOLD NAME
I'm rather bummed to report the death of Hall of Fame hockey goaltender Lorne John "Gump" Worsley of a heart attack at age 77. The only man I know of to "out-Gump" Forrest Gump, he played his entire career in goal minus a mask except for his final season in the mid-'70s. In the words of Weird Al Yankovic, "He's Gump, He's Gump, but he's alright..." And that's all I have to say about that...
WE DISTORT, THEN DERIDE--STARDATE 012407.FNC
http://hotlineblog.nationaljournal.com/archives/2007/01/obama_versus_fo.html
I wasn't quite ready to board the Barack Obama bandwagon just yet, but seeing's how Faux News Channel is bashing him already, then I might well be swayed...
A little advice, Mr. Murdoch: Your little news channel would carry a helluva lot more credibility with yours truly and millions of other free-thinking individuals across the country if you actually reported the news instead of MAKING SHIT UP! To wit: John Kerry does NOT look French—the late Herve Villachaize didn't even "look" French, and yet he was! BTW, your boy Steve Doocy has to be the biggest dork this side of Jack Osbourne and Bob Saget...
One other thing while I'm here, Rupert, ol' buddy ol' pal: Tell your blonde morning news tart (the one who sits between Doocy and that other dork) to either wear pants or put some pantyhose on—it's fucking January, not June, for Chrissakes! I've seen prettier legs on fricken' Dalmatians...
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Radio Ga-Ga, Part II
The saga continues...
After the demise of the Mighty 1030, I interviewed at a few radio stations within shouting distance of home. I actually turned down an offer to work at a Country music station in Knob Noster, MO, about 45 miles from Raytown, because I didn’t know squat about Country music, and I felt part of my strength in being a DJ was my working knowledge of Top 40 music, plus the town was too damn small for me—it would have been culture shock for me to live there. Knob didn't even have a McDonald's. They do now, tho...
After about three months on the shelf, I managed to snag my second radio job—a part-time weekend gig 50 miles away in St. Joseph, MO with the rather ironic call letters KKJO (as opposed to the station I’d just left, KKJC) doing the graveyard shift from Midnight-6AM. Actually, it was an AM/FM combo station that did a mix of oldies and current soft Rock on the AM side (very similar to KKJC) and Country on the FM side, which was automated at night, so while I was on the air on the AM side, I had to babysit the FM side as well and make sure the commercials were all plugged in and the music tapes were all cued up and update the weather forecasts. A bit of a challenge at first, but it was fun once I got the hang of it. I made the 90-minute trek up I-29 to Joetown on Fridays and Saturdays (and the occasional weeknight fill-in shift) throughout the spring and summer of ’88 until my big break came along when the morning DJ went AWOL and was fired. The graveyard shift became mine six nights a week, beginning in late September, and I got an apartment in St. Joseph moved there in October.
I went by my real name on the air initially at K-JO (as I also did in Blue Springs), but because of my devotion to the Kansas City Comets indoor soccer team, I obtained the nickname "Captain Comet" with some of the K-JO staffers, so I started using it along with my real name for a while, and eventually went by the nickname exclusively when I went full-time. In addition to my air shift, I also got to run the board for St. Louis Cardinals game broadcasts that ran late, as well as tape-delayed hours of the "Tom Snyder Radio Show" which was actually a lot of fun to listen to—a helluva lot more exciting than Larry King’s nightly drone-fest. There were some nights I wouldn’t even get on the air until four or five in the morning if the Cards game ran late because of rain delays or they played on the West Coast (or both), followed by three hours of Snyder, but I kept myself entertained all the same. Unlike in Blue Springs, I also got to do some commercial spots and a few promos from time to time, and I ran through the ball scores a couple times a night on the air too.
A few other noteworthy things happened during my stint in Joetown. I was on the air the night singer Roy Orbison died, so I had the honor (if you want to call it that) of breaking the news before the networks did. I even got on TV during our charity softball game that pitted the K-JO staff against the KQ-2 TV staff (or "I.Q.-2", as we called them), in front of a whopping throng of 52. They showed me hitting a seeing-eye single past their weather tart at second base—and thankfully they cut to another shot just before I damn near fell on my ass as I rounded first! I also got to meet singer Ray Stevens backstage at a concert we promoted heavily on the station.
The fall and winter of ’88-’89 was a fun time for me, but changes were on the horizon for the radio stations as they were sold to a radio mogul from Sioux City, Iowa who came in and changed everything around. In March, he moved the very profitable Country station from the FM to the AM (which pissed off a lot of loyal listeners) and changed the FM format to Top 40. This was the beginning of the end for me, because my on-air delivery style is fairly low-key (think Dick Clark, for example), and Top 40 requires a more energetic style. I kept my same air shift on the new FM and gave it the old college try at being a screamer. Even though we did play some cool stuff like Def Leppard, Guns ‘N’ Roses and Van Halen, I was never comfortable with that format because I found it damn near impossible to feign enthusiasm for playing crap like Milli Vanilli, New Kids On The Block and Tone-Loc, ad nauseam, so I only lasted about three months and change trying to sound like Rick Dees. In a mutual parting of the ways, I resigned in early June and the last words I uttered on my last air shift were, "I am history…" and I was. Thus endeth my radio career. I knew I shoulda made that left turn in Albuquerque—er uh, Knob Noster...
I shopped myself around a little and interviewed at a couple other stations over the next few months, but I soon came to the conclusion that I really wasn’t cut out for a long career in the radio biz. As a DJ, I’d describe myself as adequate, and maybe over time I would have improved, but to be honest, I didn’t really excel at it. You have to be quick on your feet to be a really good DJ, and there were many times I would have something clever to say, but during the transmission of that thought from my brain to my mouth, it would come out all garbled, or my mind would just go blank altogether, and I'd sound like Bullwinkle! This still happens in normal conversation too. I’m pretty good with words and grammar, but just not verbally. In retrospect, you’re looking at the field I should have gone into—writing!
Anyway, I also feared falling into a pattern of my radio gigs only lasting a year or so, and I heeded the words of the singer on the "WKRP In Cincinnati" theme who "got kinda tired of packing and unpacking", so I bagged the radio career in favor of getting a real job. It was fun while it lasted and I do miss working in radio now and then, but there’s just too much instability, and it’s a very funny business (not in a good way) sometimes. There are too many egos to deal with (that was my other downfall—I had no ego, to speak of), and a lot of phonies too. Don’t get me wrong—I encountered a lot of GOOD people too, but there’s about a 2-to-1 phonies-to-good people ratio in radio. To put it in "WKRP" terms, for every Andy Travis in radio, there are TWO Herb Tarleks, and I grew tired of dealing with the majority real quick.
It’s a very cutthroat business, too—not nearly as glamorous as people think—and it’s gotten even worse in this era of multiple-station ownership by these big corporate monsters like Entercom, Susquehanna and Cumulus, et al. I read about mass firings all the time at these broadcasting entities, and it makes me glad I’m not a part of it now. I plan to delve into all that in a future chapter...
After the demise of the Mighty 1030, I interviewed at a few radio stations within shouting distance of home. I actually turned down an offer to work at a Country music station in Knob Noster, MO, about 45 miles from Raytown, because I didn’t know squat about Country music, and I felt part of my strength in being a DJ was my working knowledge of Top 40 music, plus the town was too damn small for me—it would have been culture shock for me to live there. Knob didn't even have a McDonald's. They do now, tho...
After about three months on the shelf, I managed to snag my second radio job—a part-time weekend gig 50 miles away in St. Joseph, MO with the rather ironic call letters KKJO (as opposed to the station I’d just left, KKJC) doing the graveyard shift from Midnight-6AM. Actually, it was an AM/FM combo station that did a mix of oldies and current soft Rock on the AM side (very similar to KKJC) and Country on the FM side, which was automated at night, so while I was on the air on the AM side, I had to babysit the FM side as well and make sure the commercials were all plugged in and the music tapes were all cued up and update the weather forecasts. A bit of a challenge at first, but it was fun once I got the hang of it. I made the 90-minute trek up I-29 to Joetown on Fridays and Saturdays (and the occasional weeknight fill-in shift) throughout the spring and summer of ’88 until my big break came along when the morning DJ went AWOL and was fired. The graveyard shift became mine six nights a week, beginning in late September, and I got an apartment in St. Joseph moved there in October.
I went by my real name on the air initially at K-JO (as I also did in Blue Springs), but because of my devotion to the Kansas City Comets indoor soccer team, I obtained the nickname "Captain Comet" with some of the K-JO staffers, so I started using it along with my real name for a while, and eventually went by the nickname exclusively when I went full-time. In addition to my air shift, I also got to run the board for St. Louis Cardinals game broadcasts that ran late, as well as tape-delayed hours of the "Tom Snyder Radio Show" which was actually a lot of fun to listen to—a helluva lot more exciting than Larry King’s nightly drone-fest. There were some nights I wouldn’t even get on the air until four or five in the morning if the Cards game ran late because of rain delays or they played on the West Coast (or both), followed by three hours of Snyder, but I kept myself entertained all the same. Unlike in Blue Springs, I also got to do some commercial spots and a few promos from time to time, and I ran through the ball scores a couple times a night on the air too.
A few other noteworthy things happened during my stint in Joetown. I was on the air the night singer Roy Orbison died, so I had the honor (if you want to call it that) of breaking the news before the networks did. I even got on TV during our charity softball game that pitted the K-JO staff against the KQ-2 TV staff (or "I.Q.-2", as we called them), in front of a whopping throng of 52. They showed me hitting a seeing-eye single past their weather tart at second base—and thankfully they cut to another shot just before I damn near fell on my ass as I rounded first! I also got to meet singer Ray Stevens backstage at a concert we promoted heavily on the station.
The fall and winter of ’88-’89 was a fun time for me, but changes were on the horizon for the radio stations as they were sold to a radio mogul from Sioux City, Iowa who came in and changed everything around. In March, he moved the very profitable Country station from the FM to the AM (which pissed off a lot of loyal listeners) and changed the FM format to Top 40. This was the beginning of the end for me, because my on-air delivery style is fairly low-key (think Dick Clark, for example), and Top 40 requires a more energetic style. I kept my same air shift on the new FM and gave it the old college try at being a screamer. Even though we did play some cool stuff like Def Leppard, Guns ‘N’ Roses and Van Halen, I was never comfortable with that format because I found it damn near impossible to feign enthusiasm for playing crap like Milli Vanilli, New Kids On The Block and Tone-Loc, ad nauseam, so I only lasted about three months and change trying to sound like Rick Dees. In a mutual parting of the ways, I resigned in early June and the last words I uttered on my last air shift were, "I am history…" and I was. Thus endeth my radio career. I knew I shoulda made that left turn in Albuquerque—er uh, Knob Noster...
I shopped myself around a little and interviewed at a couple other stations over the next few months, but I soon came to the conclusion that I really wasn’t cut out for a long career in the radio biz. As a DJ, I’d describe myself as adequate, and maybe over time I would have improved, but to be honest, I didn’t really excel at it. You have to be quick on your feet to be a really good DJ, and there were many times I would have something clever to say, but during the transmission of that thought from my brain to my mouth, it would come out all garbled, or my mind would just go blank altogether, and I'd sound like Bullwinkle! This still happens in normal conversation too. I’m pretty good with words and grammar, but just not verbally. In retrospect, you’re looking at the field I should have gone into—writing!
Anyway, I also feared falling into a pattern of my radio gigs only lasting a year or so, and I heeded the words of the singer on the "WKRP In Cincinnati" theme who "got kinda tired of packing and unpacking", so I bagged the radio career in favor of getting a real job. It was fun while it lasted and I do miss working in radio now and then, but there’s just too much instability, and it’s a very funny business (not in a good way) sometimes. There are too many egos to deal with (that was my other downfall—I had no ego, to speak of), and a lot of phonies too. Don’t get me wrong—I encountered a lot of GOOD people too, but there’s about a 2-to-1 phonies-to-good people ratio in radio. To put it in "WKRP" terms, for every Andy Travis in radio, there are TWO Herb Tarleks, and I grew tired of dealing with the majority real quick.
It’s a very cutthroat business, too—not nearly as glamorous as people think—and it’s gotten even worse in this era of multiple-station ownership by these big corporate monsters like Entercom, Susquehanna and Cumulus, et al. I read about mass firings all the time at these broadcasting entities, and it makes me glad I’m not a part of it now. I plan to delve into all that in a future chapter...
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Radio Ga-Ga, Part I
Time for yours truly, Sir Rant-A-Lot, to go to work on the very business I once sought to have a long career in—radio! Is it any small wonder that so many people are buying satellite radios these days, given the current pathetic state of terrestrial radio? I’ve thought about doing the satellite thing myself, but considering that I now have a CD player in my car and enough CDs to (literally) start my own radio station, I can’t really justify it. Sad to say, but radio as we know and love it, is dying a slow and painful death, with the blame due mostly to lack of imagination on the part of programmers and their desire to make every station sound the same. I plan to delve into all that down the road, but first I’d like to give you a little background on my brief, but somewhat eventful radio career.
My dream of becoming a disc jockey was born at approximately 3AM in the middle of the night sometime around 1978 or ‘79 while listening to KBEQ-FM in K.C., aka “Q104”. I distinctly remember thinking how cool it would be to just play records and talk about them on the radio all night, and how easy it would be for me, given my knowledge of Top 40 Rock ‘N’ Roll history and all. So, I wasted five years going to college to learn how to be a DJ (not realizing, of course, that there are far easier and shorter paths to that same goal), and I wound up with a totally worthless degree in Communications Studies from the University of Missouri-Kansas City (Class of ‘87). However, I was lucky enough to secure an internship at KKJC-AM in suburban Blue Springs, MO, or as it was affectionately known, the “Mighty 1030” (or on occasion, the “Dirty 1030”), beginning in the late fall of 1986.
The year 1987 will go down as my all-time favorite in terms of gainful employment, even though I didn’t make squat. My little internship quickly evolved into a part-time job with yours truly manning the very same control board once operated by the legendary Wolfman Jack (during a one-time guest appearance in 1985). I was living the dream (however humbly) with our modicum of listeners—all three of ‘em! I started off being strictly a board operator, plugging in commercials and such during our satellite hours on the Transtar Radio Network, during which I got to deliver the weather (on tape) twice an hour. Other dreams came true for me over time, including getting to read off the school closings when it snowed 14 inches on December 20, 1987 (as my car got buried in a snowdrift in the parking lot, all the while, and my friend Tom had to drive me home), running the board during Kansas City Comets indoor soccer broadcasts (that team being another MAJOR vice of mine during that time), and eventually having my own live shifts yapping on the radio and playing the hits.
It was the best of times and the worst of times, as the station was teetering on the brink financially and was tantalizingly close to being sold and combined with an FM station that would have made for a dandy AM/FM combo, but the deal fell through at the last minute because some horse’s patoot negotiator decided he wanted a little extra gravy for himself. Thus, the "little station that could" quietly faded into oblivion on Super Bowl Sunday, 1988 while the Redskins were pummeling John Elway and the Broncos in San Diego. We gave no prior notice to our loyal listeners (all three of ‘em) that we were signing off for good and there was no fanfare at all. I was rather miffed that no other station personnel were even present at the studio that night (just me and my best friend Tom were there), and I don’t think it was all because of the Super Bowl either—hell, we had the game on in the studio anyway. It was like I was the only person from the staff who even gave a shit about it, and it was very surreal to me.
The plan was to just let the final hours play out as normal off the Transtar satellite, but long about 9:00, I said to Tom, "This is wrong!" so, I hopped off the satellite and rounded up every song that we had on hand that had "Goodbye" or "Bye Bye" in the title ("Goodbye Yellow Brick Road", "Bye Bye Love", "Goodbye To Love", "Never Can Say Goodbye", etc.) and just played them back to back for the final 40 minutes of the "Mighty 1030"’s existence, culminating with The Nylons’ version of "Na Na Hey Hey, Kiss Him Goodbye" (dammit, I wish I had the original Steam version that night!) just before the clock struck 10PM CST and I uttered, "Music from yesterday on AM 1030, KKJC, Blue Springs." Thus, I was bestowed the very unique distinction of my voice being the last one ever heard on a radio station—something I’ll take to the fucking grave with me. As I switched the transmitter off, I turned to Tom and said, "It’s dead, Jim…" A couple minutes later, I get a call from the station owner, Dick Pryor (yes, I can truthfully say I once worked for Richard Pryor!) and he said, "Very appropriate," regarding my choice for the final tune.
R.I.P., KKJC-AM-"The Mighty 1030" (1984-88)
Little did I know at the time that my radio career was already halfway over, too—stay tuned for Part II…
My dream of becoming a disc jockey was born at approximately 3AM in the middle of the night sometime around 1978 or ‘79 while listening to KBEQ-FM in K.C., aka “Q104”. I distinctly remember thinking how cool it would be to just play records and talk about them on the radio all night, and how easy it would be for me, given my knowledge of Top 40 Rock ‘N’ Roll history and all. So, I wasted five years going to college to learn how to be a DJ (not realizing, of course, that there are far easier and shorter paths to that same goal), and I wound up with a totally worthless degree in Communications Studies from the University of Missouri-Kansas City (Class of ‘87). However, I was lucky enough to secure an internship at KKJC-AM in suburban Blue Springs, MO, or as it was affectionately known, the “Mighty 1030” (or on occasion, the “Dirty 1030”), beginning in the late fall of 1986.
The year 1987 will go down as my all-time favorite in terms of gainful employment, even though I didn’t make squat. My little internship quickly evolved into a part-time job with yours truly manning the very same control board once operated by the legendary Wolfman Jack (during a one-time guest appearance in 1985). I was living the dream (however humbly) with our modicum of listeners—all three of ‘em! I started off being strictly a board operator, plugging in commercials and such during our satellite hours on the Transtar Radio Network, during which I got to deliver the weather (on tape) twice an hour. Other dreams came true for me over time, including getting to read off the school closings when it snowed 14 inches on December 20, 1987 (as my car got buried in a snowdrift in the parking lot, all the while, and my friend Tom had to drive me home), running the board during Kansas City Comets indoor soccer broadcasts (that team being another MAJOR vice of mine during that time), and eventually having my own live shifts yapping on the radio and playing the hits.
It was the best of times and the worst of times, as the station was teetering on the brink financially and was tantalizingly close to being sold and combined with an FM station that would have made for a dandy AM/FM combo, but the deal fell through at the last minute because some horse’s patoot negotiator decided he wanted a little extra gravy for himself. Thus, the "little station that could" quietly faded into oblivion on Super Bowl Sunday, 1988 while the Redskins were pummeling John Elway and the Broncos in San Diego. We gave no prior notice to our loyal listeners (all three of ‘em) that we were signing off for good and there was no fanfare at all. I was rather miffed that no other station personnel were even present at the studio that night (just me and my best friend Tom were there), and I don’t think it was all because of the Super Bowl either—hell, we had the game on in the studio anyway. It was like I was the only person from the staff who even gave a shit about it, and it was very surreal to me.
The plan was to just let the final hours play out as normal off the Transtar satellite, but long about 9:00, I said to Tom, "This is wrong!" so, I hopped off the satellite and rounded up every song that we had on hand that had "Goodbye" or "Bye Bye" in the title ("Goodbye Yellow Brick Road", "Bye Bye Love", "Goodbye To Love", "Never Can Say Goodbye", etc.) and just played them back to back for the final 40 minutes of the "Mighty 1030"’s existence, culminating with The Nylons’ version of "Na Na Hey Hey, Kiss Him Goodbye" (dammit, I wish I had the original Steam version that night!) just before the clock struck 10PM CST and I uttered, "Music from yesterday on AM 1030, KKJC, Blue Springs." Thus, I was bestowed the very unique distinction of my voice being the last one ever heard on a radio station—something I’ll take to the fucking grave with me. As I switched the transmitter off, I turned to Tom and said, "It’s dead, Jim…" A couple minutes later, I get a call from the station owner, Dick Pryor (yes, I can truthfully say I once worked for Richard Pryor!) and he said, "Very appropriate," regarding my choice for the final tune.
R.I.P., KKJC-AM-"The Mighty 1030" (1984-88)
Little did I know at the time that my radio career was already halfway over, too—stay tuned for Part II…
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
The Day The Music Got Shot?
I read today that Jay Richardson, son of the late J.P. Richardson (aka The Big Bopper) has hired some forensics expert to exhume his father’s body in an effort to confirm the urban myth/legend that gunfire may have been a factor in the famous plane crash on "The Day The Music Died" in 1959. While it’s well-documented that a gun (supposedly belonging to Buddy Holly or Bopper) was found in the wreckage of the doomed plane, I’ve read and heard several detailed accounts of the crash, and none of them mention gunfire on board the plane. What the hell would be the motive for that anyway? Bopper was pissed because he couldn’t ride shotgun (no pun intended) on the plane? Buddy was annoyed because Bopper farted and stunk up the plane? To paraphrase the late Ritchie Valens: Come on, let it go, already!
Let’s look at the facts, shall we? You had a inexperienced pilot, one Roger Peterson (who wasn’t even yet qualified and/or certified to read some of the instrumentation on that particular model of plane) being called in unexpectedly late at night to fly (on overtime, making fatigue a factor), in poor visibility against the wind straight into a snowstorm using fairly primitive (albeit state-of-the-art) late '50s aircraft and weather forecasting technology. If that ain’t a recipe for disaster, I don’t know what is!
Supposedly, the exhumation of Bopper’s body will allow the forensic expert to find bullet debris in his bones—never mind that the man’s been dead for damn near fifty years! And, don’t you think if there were bullet wounds involved, the coroner would have spotted them during the original autopsies in 1959? I’ve read the autopsy reports on Ritchie Valens and Buddy Holly, and trust me, they’re pretty detailed (not to mention downright gory), so I doubt if Bopper’s autopsy would have been any less thorough to the point where the coroner would have whiffed on bullet wounds or anything of that sort.
While I’m at it—what the hell were those Winter Dance Party Tour promoters thinking by staging a concert tour in the Upper Midwest in January and February?!? One can only imagine how miserable that must have been riding on that cold, rickety old bus at night, especially when you consider they didn’t have the Interstate system to get around on back then—it took a whole lot longer to travel 300 miles or more at a time than it does now. That’s the time of year they should have been touring Florida or Texas or the West Coast and saved the Upper Midwest for April or May when the weather was at least halfway decent for traveling by highway. That whole tragedy could have easily been prevented if those sleazy promoters had been thinking with their brains instead of their wallets. What a waste…
Let’s look at the facts, shall we? You had a inexperienced pilot, one Roger Peterson (who wasn’t even yet qualified and/or certified to read some of the instrumentation on that particular model of plane) being called in unexpectedly late at night to fly (on overtime, making fatigue a factor), in poor visibility against the wind straight into a snowstorm using fairly primitive (albeit state-of-the-art) late '50s aircraft and weather forecasting technology. If that ain’t a recipe for disaster, I don’t know what is!
Supposedly, the exhumation of Bopper’s body will allow the forensic expert to find bullet debris in his bones—never mind that the man’s been dead for damn near fifty years! And, don’t you think if there were bullet wounds involved, the coroner would have spotted them during the original autopsies in 1959? I’ve read the autopsy reports on Ritchie Valens and Buddy Holly, and trust me, they’re pretty detailed (not to mention downright gory), so I doubt if Bopper’s autopsy would have been any less thorough to the point where the coroner would have whiffed on bullet wounds or anything of that sort.
While I’m at it—what the hell were those Winter Dance Party Tour promoters thinking by staging a concert tour in the Upper Midwest in January and February?!? One can only imagine how miserable that must have been riding on that cold, rickety old bus at night, especially when you consider they didn’t have the Interstate system to get around on back then—it took a whole lot longer to travel 300 miles or more at a time than it does now. That’s the time of year they should have been touring Florida or Texas or the West Coast and saved the Upper Midwest for April or May when the weather was at least halfway decent for traveling by highway. That whole tragedy could have easily been prevented if those sleazy promoters had been thinking with their brains instead of their wallets. What a waste…
Where bad ideas come from...
What goes around comes around, even when it comes to bad fashion. Witness Exhibit A, circa 1967, from the Intergalactic Wal-Mart Collection:
<----"Never fear, Smith is here!"
<----"Never fear, Smith is here!"
And the misbegotten Exhibit B, circa 1982, Vancouver, Canada, which was copied from Exhibit A!: 
"Run, Will Robinson!"
What's wrong with this picture?
Saw a blurb in the paper today that says "Judge" Judy makes $100 million a year—more than all the Supreme Court justices combined! Think about that—this phony judge, in this phony courtroom, with phony litigants and a phony baliff (who does crossword puzzles during the show)—not to mention a woman who utters such tripe as "She’s the boss, applesauce!", rakes in more salary than the very people who are entrusted to interpret the laws of our country! Is it any small wonder the rest of the world hates us?
Oscar nominations
The Oscar nominations were announced today. Of all the award shows, I think the Academy Awards have the most integrity and the most relevance, but as usual, the Academy members appear to collectively have short-term memories, since most of the nominations went to films that came out in or around December. Screw all those good flicks that came out last summer, huh? And Meryl Streep again for best actress? I don’t mean to imply that she hasn’t had some Oscar-worthy performances in the past—she certainly has—but I swear, this woman could play a crash test dummy in a film and get nominated! Sorry kids, but The Devil Wears Prada sucked (yes, I have seen it), and Streep’s character was too over-the-top, totally unlikable and unbelievable, and impossible for me to buy into. I truly hope Kate Winslet kicks her hiney in the voting...
Meanwhile, why the filth-flarn-filth wasn't World Trade Center nominated for Best Picture? For the first time since Platoon, Oliver Stone finally nailed one, and the Academy is sleeping at the wheel again. Excellent film, if you haven't seen it yet...
And a round of applause please for Jackie Earle Haley's nomination for Best Supporting Actor in Little Children. which I hear is quite good, but haven't seen yet. Talk about being picked up off the Hollywood scrap heap and being put back into circulation. This guy was (literally) on skid row at one point, and he's now the equivalent of the New Orleans Saints in terms of being the sentimental favorite at this year's Oscars...
Meanwhile, why the filth-flarn-filth wasn't World Trade Center nominated for Best Picture? For the first time since Platoon, Oliver Stone finally nailed one, and the Academy is sleeping at the wheel again. Excellent film, if you haven't seen it yet...
And a round of applause please for Jackie Earle Haley's nomination for Best Supporting Actor in Little Children. which I hear is quite good, but haven't seen yet. Talk about being picked up off the Hollywood scrap heap and being put back into circulation. This guy was (literally) on skid row at one point, and he's now the equivalent of the New Orleans Saints in terms of being the sentimental favorite at this year's Oscars...
Monday, January 22, 2007
General meanderings...
MAYBE LIKE PEYTON MANNING'S TEAM, MAYBE
That's my pick in SB XLI in two weeks. I was quite pleased to see Peyton and Tony Dungy finally get that simian off their backs yesterday by getting to the big show. I was hoping the Saints would make the big show too, but it was not to be, darn it. However, I was quite pleased that we won't have endure any more sideline shots of Patriots coach Bill Belichick this year--great coach, but I'm as sick of looking at him as I am of Bill Parcells (who did the world a big favor and retired today). P. Manning's been a class act throughout his career, and it's nice to see the good guys get rewarded here, especially after all the hell Dungy when through this time last year when his son committed suicide. As for the Bears, I have trouble getting behind a team with a head coach named "Lovie"--reminds me too much of Mrs. Howell on "Gilligan's Island". Therefore, GO Colts! BUT--in the event that Da Bears do indeed win the title, I'm going to ask them nicely to spare the world a sequel to their infamous "Super Bowl Shuffle" from the first time they won it all...
YA GOTTA BOOK A BOOGIE?!?
A little history was made recently in the National Hockey League, as the first Japanese-born player made his debut with the L.A. Kings, goaltender Yataka Fukifuji. One can only imagine what fun Chris Berman on ESPN is going to have with that name...
NICE PANTS, RANDY!
Was watching a Journey video on VH-1 Classic the other day from that misbegotten period when current "American Idol" judge Randy Jackson was their bass player. Couldn't help but get a chuckle out of seeing him waddling on-stage with his fat ass in those tight leather pants. He had about as much business wearing those damn things as I would at my current weight...
IN TRIBUTE TO TRIBUTE BANDS...
Top 3 Tribute Band Names Ever (So Far)
1) We Got The Meat (All-male gay Go-Go's tribute band)
2) A-She/D-She (All-girl AC/DC tribute band, featuring guitarist Agnes Young--And I presume singer Bonnie Scott or Brianna Johnson!)
3) Bjorn Again (ABBA tribute group)
UGLY BETTY
Have to admit, I was wrong in my original judgment of this show—it ain't half bad! The show's title made me immediately skeptical—sounded too gimmicky to me—but just for hoots and hollers, I tuned it in the other night and was pleasantly surprised. The premise is not unlike "Less Than Perfect", with the main character working in an office with a bunch of elitist snobs and/or "beautiful people" and constantly getting the rubber end of the plunger from them. The girl that plays Betty, America Ferrera, is actually rather cute when not made-up like Betty. The jury is still out on how long this show will last, but it's a damn sight better than "Desperate Housewives" or "King Of Queens". Worth a look, if you have the time...
That's my pick in SB XLI in two weeks. I was quite pleased to see Peyton and Tony Dungy finally get that simian off their backs yesterday by getting to the big show. I was hoping the Saints would make the big show too, but it was not to be, darn it. However, I was quite pleased that we won't have endure any more sideline shots of Patriots coach Bill Belichick this year--great coach, but I'm as sick of looking at him as I am of Bill Parcells (who did the world a big favor and retired today). P. Manning's been a class act throughout his career, and it's nice to see the good guys get rewarded here, especially after all the hell Dungy when through this time last year when his son committed suicide. As for the Bears, I have trouble getting behind a team with a head coach named "Lovie"--reminds me too much of Mrs. Howell on "Gilligan's Island". Therefore, GO Colts! BUT--in the event that Da Bears do indeed win the title, I'm going to ask them nicely to spare the world a sequel to their infamous "Super Bowl Shuffle" from the first time they won it all...
YA GOTTA BOOK A BOOGIE?!?
A little history was made recently in the National Hockey League, as the first Japanese-born player made his debut with the L.A. Kings, goaltender Yataka Fukifuji. One can only imagine what fun Chris Berman on ESPN is going to have with that name...
NICE PANTS, RANDY!
Was watching a Journey video on VH-1 Classic the other day from that misbegotten period when current "American Idol" judge Randy Jackson was their bass player. Couldn't help but get a chuckle out of seeing him waddling on-stage with his fat ass in those tight leather pants. He had about as much business wearing those damn things as I would at my current weight...
IN TRIBUTE TO TRIBUTE BANDS...
Top 3 Tribute Band Names Ever (So Far)
1) We Got The Meat (All-male gay Go-Go's tribute band)
2) A-She/D-She (All-girl AC/DC tribute band, featuring guitarist Agnes Young--And I presume singer Bonnie Scott or Brianna Johnson!)
3) Bjorn Again (ABBA tribute group)
UGLY BETTY
Have to admit, I was wrong in my original judgment of this show—it ain't half bad! The show's title made me immediately skeptical—sounded too gimmicky to me—but just for hoots and hollers, I tuned it in the other night and was pleasantly surprised. The premise is not unlike "Less Than Perfect", with the main character working in an office with a bunch of elitist snobs and/or "beautiful people" and constantly getting the rubber end of the plunger from them. The girl that plays Betty, America Ferrera, is actually rather cute when not made-up like Betty. The jury is still out on how long this show will last, but it's a damn sight better than "Desperate Housewives" or "King Of Queens". Worth a look, if you have the time...
Sunday, January 21, 2007
After further review...
Gene Simmons' stock hath fallen even further with me today. I watched a couple episodes of his lame reality TV show today (btw, ain't that a redundant term--lame reality TV show?), "Family Jewels". In one such episode, Gene and his lovely family were on some sort of vacation to do some snowboarding in the Colorado mountains, and our favorite wacky demon was freaking out about having to board a ski-lift to take him to the top of the mountain. This is the same guy who breathes fire and has absolutely no fear of being transported via fairly precarious cables to the top of the Kiss lighting rig in an attempt to give his audience the illusion of "flying" night after night in concert, and yet he's scared of a ski-lift? Riiiight. Hell, yours truly has ridden on a ski-lift (minus the snow on the ground, no less) without fear, not to mention the "Big Shot" ride 900 bloody feet above the earth on the Stratosphere tower in Las Vegas, and I didn't bat a fucking eyelash! Either Gene was play-acting or was truly scared shitless on his little TV show, and either way, he looked like a total wuss!
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Great Moments In Radio, Volume II
This story comes via the engineer I worked with at our little station in Blue Springs. He was previously a DJ in the late ‘60s at KUDL-FM in Kansas City when that station changed music formats with alarming frequency, and during one such switcheroo, the station went from middle-of-the-road Geritol-generation Perry Como/Dinah Shore/Bing Crosby music to Rock & Roll. One evening, he gets a call from this old lady bitching about the music, "This is terrible! What on earth is that?" "It’s Jimi Hendrix, ma’am," he replied. "Well that’s awful—you shouldn’t play that kind of music on the radio, blah blah blah." Well, this old hag would call him every night bitching about the music, until finally he could no longer take it, and one night he went off on her and said, "Oh, go fuck yourself, lady!" Next day, he went to the station manager and told him what happened just to cover his ass, and the manager said, "Yeah, she’s been calling me too—don’t worry about it." Sure enough, the old hag calls the manager that day, and says, "Your disc jockey last night was very rude and used profanity, blah blah blah." The station manager replied, "Did he tell you to go fuck yourself?" "Yes, he surely did!" she said, to which he replied, "Well, DO IT!"
So long, Mr. Harbor Master
Was very saddened to learn today of the death of former Mamas & Papas singer Denny Doherty at age 66 from kidney failure. John Phillips always seems to get the lion's share of the credit for that group's success, but Doherty was the unsung hero here. He was a very underrated vocalist--it was his voice you heard most prominently on all their hits harmonizing with Cass Elliot and Michelle Phillips, while John Phillips sang mostly backing vocals.
I refer to Denny as the "Harbor Master" because that's the character he played on this quirky little PBS kids program called "Theodore Tugboat". When I was working evenings back in the late '90s, I often caught the show in the mornings while doing housework and such, and found it to be a total hoot. Doherty voiced all the characters on this live action animated show featuring these little boats that talked and tooled around this miniature city. It was rather inventive, and got its point across to kids without losing its cool and/or being so condescending to kids like that "Barney" and "Teletubbies" drivel.
R.I.P., Denny, you done good...
Thursday, January 18, 2007
World's Dumbest Song Lyrics of All-Time, Vol. II
Again, in no particular order
"Play Me"—NEIL DIAMOND (1972) "Songs she sang to me/Songs she brang to me." Brang?!?!? A in’t no such word as "brang"! Unfortunately, neither the words "brought" or "provided" rhymed with "sang", so Brother Neil just made up a word…
"Just Like Paradise"—DAVID LEE ROTH (1988) "Susie’s woozy." Diamond Dave will never be renowned for his brilliant lyricism. Too bad, in this particular case, because he spoiled a really good song simply for a cheap and easy rhyme.
"Gimme Some Slack"—THE CARS (1980) "I wanna shake like LaGuardia…" Huh? Are we referring to LaGuardia, the man or La Guardia, the airport here? Either way, it’s too abstract for my feeble brain to deal with. Ric Ocasek’s lyrics always were pretty strange. In the words of the late Keith Moon: "Arty-farty, he is!"
"The Look"—ROXETTE (1988) "Kissing is the wet sand…her loving is a wild dog" They should have renamed this song "Things That Make You Go ‘Huh?’" "What in the world can make a brown-eyed girl turn blue?" Well, cutting off her air supply is one way…
"Blinded By The Light"—BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN (1973)/MANFRED MANN’S EARTH BAND (1976) What the hell was Bruce smoking when he wrote this song? Someone find out because I want some. I could probably write a whole book about this song, but I don't have the time at the moment. I always misunderstood the line "Wrapped up like a deuce" to be "Wrapped up like a douche"!
"My Love, My Life"—ABBA (1977) "I know I don’t possess you/So, go away, God bless you." Well ain’t that a fine how do ya do? Go away, and God bless you at the same time?!? I'm confused…
"Bad Medicine"—BON JOVI (1986) "Your love is like bad medicine/Bad medicine is what I need." Thanks, Big Jon! Your words are like dumb lyrics, and dumb lyrics are what I need…
"Aqualung"—JETHRO TULL (1971) "…as he bends to pick a dog end." What the fuck’s a dog end? And why on earth would you want to pick one?
"Take Me To The Pilot"—ELTON JOHN (1970) "If you feel that it’s real, I’m on trial/And I’m held here in your prison…Through a glass eye, your throne is the one danger zone/Take me to the pilot for control/Take me to the pilot of your soul." Another classic case of lyrics that sound really cool when you sing them, but don’t make a lick of sense!
"MacArthur Park"—RICHARD HARRIS (1968)/DONNA SUMMER (1978) Let me get this straight—there’s this cake named after a dead General and a park and someone left it outside in the rain causing it to melt and on top of all that, the dumbass that baked it lost the damn recipe? And this was considered topical enough to write a song about? Okey-fine…
"Love The One You're With"--STEPHEN STILLS (1970) "She's a girl, and you're a boy..." Gee thanks for clearing that up, Steve! As Archie Bunker once said to Edith, "Well, now that we know what we are, can we GET ON with it?!?"
"A Horse With No Name"--AMERICA (1972) "The heat was hot, and the ground was dry..." Direct from the Department of Redundancy Department. I do hope the water was wet too…
"Show Me The Way"--PETER FRAMPTON (1973) "Someone drops a cup, and I submerge." This song is chuck-full of oddball lyrics like this one, yet somehow, it was a huge hit when the live version came out in '76. Anyone have a clue here? I don't…
"Play Me"—NEIL DIAMOND (1972) "Songs she sang to me/Songs she brang to me." Brang?!?!? A in’t no such word as "brang"! Unfortunately, neither the words "brought" or "provided" rhymed with "sang", so Brother Neil just made up a word…
"Just Like Paradise"—DAVID LEE ROTH (1988) "Susie’s woozy." Diamond Dave will never be renowned for his brilliant lyricism. Too bad, in this particular case, because he spoiled a really good song simply for a cheap and easy rhyme.
"Gimme Some Slack"—THE CARS (1980) "I wanna shake like LaGuardia…" Huh? Are we referring to LaGuardia, the man or La Guardia, the airport here? Either way, it’s too abstract for my feeble brain to deal with. Ric Ocasek’s lyrics always were pretty strange. In the words of the late Keith Moon: "Arty-farty, he is!"
"The Look"—ROXETTE (1988) "Kissing is the wet sand…her loving is a wild dog" They should have renamed this song "Things That Make You Go ‘Huh?’" "What in the world can make a brown-eyed girl turn blue?" Well, cutting off her air supply is one way…
"Blinded By The Light"—BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN (1973)/MANFRED MANN’S EARTH BAND (1976) What the hell was Bruce smoking when he wrote this song? Someone find out because I want some. I could probably write a whole book about this song, but I don't have the time at the moment. I always misunderstood the line "Wrapped up like a deuce" to be "Wrapped up like a douche"!
"My Love, My Life"—ABBA (1977) "I know I don’t possess you/So, go away, God bless you." Well ain’t that a fine how do ya do? Go away, and God bless you at the same time?!? I'm confused…
"Bad Medicine"—BON JOVI (1986) "Your love is like bad medicine/Bad medicine is what I need." Thanks, Big Jon! Your words are like dumb lyrics, and dumb lyrics are what I need…
"Aqualung"—JETHRO TULL (1971) "…as he bends to pick a dog end." What the fuck’s a dog end? And why on earth would you want to pick one?
"Take Me To The Pilot"—ELTON JOHN (1970) "If you feel that it’s real, I’m on trial/And I’m held here in your prison…Through a glass eye, your throne is the one danger zone/Take me to the pilot for control/Take me to the pilot of your soul." Another classic case of lyrics that sound really cool when you sing them, but don’t make a lick of sense!
"MacArthur Park"—RICHARD HARRIS (1968)/DONNA SUMMER (1978) Let me get this straight—there’s this cake named after a dead General and a park and someone left it outside in the rain causing it to melt and on top of all that, the dumbass that baked it lost the damn recipe? And this was considered topical enough to write a song about? Okey-fine…
"Love The One You're With"--STEPHEN STILLS (1970) "She's a girl, and you're a boy..." Gee thanks for clearing that up, Steve! As Archie Bunker once said to Edith, "Well, now that we know what we are, can we GET ON with it?!?"
"A Horse With No Name"--AMERICA (1972) "The heat was hot, and the ground was dry..." Direct from the Department of Redundancy Department. I do hope the water was wet too…
"Show Me The Way"--PETER FRAMPTON (1973) "Someone drops a cup, and I submerge." This song is chuck-full of oddball lyrics like this one, yet somehow, it was a huge hit when the live version came out in '76. Anyone have a clue here? I don't…
This and that...
BEGONE, SUPERCILIOUS TWITS!
Is there anyone else who’s as tired as I am of hearing about Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt? Does anyone really give a damn that they’ve adopted some poor Guatemalan child (or whatever God-forsaken country their kid’s from)? These two are nothing but publicity whores to begin with, and I’m sorry folks, neither of them are worth it! Jolie, in particular, is insanely overrated (both in terms of beauty and acting ability), and Pitt’s an idiot for dumping Jennifer Aniston (who’s 100 times prettier) in favor of this airhead. Today’s headline sez they’re moving to New Orleans so they can operate their opportunistic "save the world from itself one-child-at-a-time" crusade from there. Whatever, kids…
WHY OBAMA?
Can someone explain to me why all of a sudden this Barack Obama guy is considered a potential candidate for President in ’08? Don’t get me wrong—I am certainly ALL FOR some fresh faces and new ideas in Washington, but why is this guy suddenly everyone's sexy choice to be Prez? I realize the Democraps are desperate for someone—ANYONE—to trot out there and lead them, but this guy with the terrible initials has only been in Congress a short while, so what’s so special about him? Surely, it’s not just on the strength of the big speech he gave at the Dem. Convention in ’04 alone, is it? The fact that he’s black doesn’t bother me at all (hell, I’ll take a PLAID President at this point, if he’s worth a damn!), but I just don’t get how someone can just suddenly come along out of nowhere and get everyone’s tongues wagging over him when he hasn’t really done anything.
CLASSIC MISHEARD LYRIC #1
Ringo Starr--"Oh My My" (1974): "It’s guaranteed to keep you alive…" When I first heard this song at age 9 on the ol’ AM radio, I thought he was singing, "This parakeet should keep you alive…"!
COME BACK WHEN YOU GROW UP
It’s rare that I would even have an opinion on professional golf, but why is it every other weekend I tune into ESPN and hear about Michelle Wie not making the cut in some men’s tournament? Seems to me she isn’t even good enough to beat other women right now. Can you say "overmatched"?
SPEND IT LIKE BECKHAM
I can’t believe no one’s used that headline yet! The soccer world in America is all in a whirl over the L.A. Galaxy’s signing of David Beckham for 250 million semolians just to kick a ball around for Major League Soccer. Yes, I know he’s world-renowned and a great player and married to Skanky Spice and all, but this whole thing smacks of desperation on the part of a struggling league hard up to sell tickets—the guy ain’t THAT good! It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if they go after that French head-butt butt-head Zinedine Zidane too. The old North American Soocer League prostituted itself around and snagged over-the-hill South American and European stars like Pele and Giorgio Chinaglia, et al, to play for them in the late ‘70s, and while it yielded great initial results at the turnstiles, they paid through the nose for it in the long run and the league went bankrupt by the mid ‘80s. I predict the same thing happening in MLS, and as for Beckham, I think he’s more style-over-substance than anything else—he’ll fill the seats for a year or two, not to mention provide plenty of tabloid fodder, but eventually people will get bored with and cease giving a hoot about him (and Skanky Spice) anymore.
YER NOT FROM AROUND HERE, ARE YA?
Speaking of British guys, I love this story about the TV show "The Nanny". Seems that several viewers complained during the course of the show’s run that actor Charles Shaughnessy, who played tight-ass Mr. Sheffield, didn’t sound "British" enough, even though he’s from merry ol' England. Many often asked why he couldn’t sound more like the guy who played Niles the Butler (Daniel Davis). What cracks me up about all this is that Mr. Davis hails from Arkansas, yet was able to pull off a British accent better than the British guy!
ONE OF MY FAVORITE JOKES OF ALL-TIME
Q: What's the difference between the Lawrence Welk Orchestra and a moose?
A: For one thing, a moose has its horns in the front and its asshole in the rear...
Is there anyone else who’s as tired as I am of hearing about Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt? Does anyone really give a damn that they’ve adopted some poor Guatemalan child (or whatever God-forsaken country their kid’s from)? These two are nothing but publicity whores to begin with, and I’m sorry folks, neither of them are worth it! Jolie, in particular, is insanely overrated (both in terms of beauty and acting ability), and Pitt’s an idiot for dumping Jennifer Aniston (who’s 100 times prettier) in favor of this airhead. Today’s headline sez they’re moving to New Orleans so they can operate their opportunistic "save the world from itself one-child-at-a-time" crusade from there. Whatever, kids…
WHY OBAMA?
Can someone explain to me why all of a sudden this Barack Obama guy is considered a potential candidate for President in ’08? Don’t get me wrong—I am certainly ALL FOR some fresh faces and new ideas in Washington, but why is this guy suddenly everyone's sexy choice to be Prez? I realize the Democraps are desperate for someone—ANYONE—to trot out there and lead them, but this guy with the terrible initials has only been in Congress a short while, so what’s so special about him? Surely, it’s not just on the strength of the big speech he gave at the Dem. Convention in ’04 alone, is it? The fact that he’s black doesn’t bother me at all (hell, I’ll take a PLAID President at this point, if he’s worth a damn!), but I just don’t get how someone can just suddenly come along out of nowhere and get everyone’s tongues wagging over him when he hasn’t really done anything.
CLASSIC MISHEARD LYRIC #1
Ringo Starr--"Oh My My" (1974): "It’s guaranteed to keep you alive…" When I first heard this song at age 9 on the ol’ AM radio, I thought he was singing, "This parakeet should keep you alive…"!
COME BACK WHEN YOU GROW UP
It’s rare that I would even have an opinion on professional golf, but why is it every other weekend I tune into ESPN and hear about Michelle Wie not making the cut in some men’s tournament? Seems to me she isn’t even good enough to beat other women right now. Can you say "overmatched"?
SPEND IT LIKE BECKHAM
I can’t believe no one’s used that headline yet! The soccer world in America is all in a whirl over the L.A. Galaxy’s signing of David Beckham for 250 million semolians just to kick a ball around for Major League Soccer. Yes, I know he’s world-renowned and a great player and married to Skanky Spice and all, but this whole thing smacks of desperation on the part of a struggling league hard up to sell tickets—the guy ain’t THAT good! It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if they go after that French head-butt butt-head Zinedine Zidane too. The old North American Soocer League prostituted itself around and snagged over-the-hill South American and European stars like Pele and Giorgio Chinaglia, et al, to play for them in the late ‘70s, and while it yielded great initial results at the turnstiles, they paid through the nose for it in the long run and the league went bankrupt by the mid ‘80s. I predict the same thing happening in MLS, and as for Beckham, I think he’s more style-over-substance than anything else—he’ll fill the seats for a year or two, not to mention provide plenty of tabloid fodder, but eventually people will get bored with and cease giving a hoot about him (and Skanky Spice) anymore.
YER NOT FROM AROUND HERE, ARE YA?
Speaking of British guys, I love this story about the TV show "The Nanny". Seems that several viewers complained during the course of the show’s run that actor Charles Shaughnessy, who played tight-ass Mr. Sheffield, didn’t sound "British" enough, even though he’s from merry ol' England. Many often asked why he couldn’t sound more like the guy who played Niles the Butler (Daniel Davis). What cracks me up about all this is that Mr. Davis hails from Arkansas, yet was able to pull off a British accent better than the British guy!
ONE OF MY FAVORITE JOKES OF ALL-TIME
Q: What's the difference between the Lawrence Welk Orchestra and a moose?
A: For one thing, a moose has its horns in the front and its asshole in the rear...
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
The continued pussification of America...
It's late here, but I have to rant after noting that they're closing the schools AGAIN tomorrow around most of the city here, in spite of the fact that there ain't a damn thing wrong with the roads! Okay, it was like 0°F this morning, thus why they closed the schools today, even though most of the roads were clear and passable, yet it took me ten minutes less to get home from work today than it normally does. Meantime, tomorrow morning's forecast isn't quite as cold, and the high is supposed to be ABOVE freezing tomorrow, yet many of the area's school districts are closing anyway! In the words of Col. Potter on "M*A*S*H", "Mule fritters!"
At the risk of this sounding like sour grapes, it took a fucking act of Congress to get them to close the schools 30 years ago when I was a student! As much as I used to love pining to hear "Raytown Consolidated School District #2" mentioned on the radio at 4AM on the official school closing list when I was 13, I now find it rather repugnant that they seemingly close the freakin' schools nowadays every time a dark cloud hovers overhead. And I certainly don't remember them EVER closing the schools because it was too cold out—WE were expected to suck it up and freeze to death at the bus stop. Sadly, the school districts are now so paranoid about potential lawsuits in the event a bus full of kids goes off in a ditch in the snow, etc., they evidently have no choice but to close the schools at the drop of a hat.
Hell, in early 1977, the Raytown school district dilly-dallied during a freezing-rain event (as they call them on the Weather Channel now) and waited until the last minute to call off school. My Dad and I were totally unaware of this fact, thus he drove me to school that day, and I waited and waited for the janitor to unlock the door to let me in. When he finally did, he informed me that school had been called off for the day. Thus, I wound up walking—er uh, sliding—the 1.5 miles back home, falling on my ass twice in the process. It was more than a tad ironical (pun intended) that the big hit song on the charts that week was Paul Simon's "Slip Slidin' Away"...
At the risk of this sounding like sour grapes, it took a fucking act of Congress to get them to close the schools 30 years ago when I was a student! As much as I used to love pining to hear "Raytown Consolidated School District #2" mentioned on the radio at 4AM on the official school closing list when I was 13, I now find it rather repugnant that they seemingly close the freakin' schools nowadays every time a dark cloud hovers overhead. And I certainly don't remember them EVER closing the schools because it was too cold out—WE were expected to suck it up and freeze to death at the bus stop. Sadly, the school districts are now so paranoid about potential lawsuits in the event a bus full of kids goes off in a ditch in the snow, etc., they evidently have no choice but to close the schools at the drop of a hat.
Hell, in early 1977, the Raytown school district dilly-dallied during a freezing-rain event (as they call them on the Weather Channel now) and waited until the last minute to call off school. My Dad and I were totally unaware of this fact, thus he drove me to school that day, and I waited and waited for the janitor to unlock the door to let me in. When he finally did, he informed me that school had been called off for the day. Thus, I wound up walking—er uh, sliding—the 1.5 miles back home, falling on my ass twice in the process. It was more than a tad ironical (pun intended) that the big hit song on the charts that week was Paul Simon's "Slip Slidin' Away"...
Fallen Idols
My apologies for the length of this post, but please indulge me a bit here, if you will...
"It’s not the pain that hurts—what hurts is finding out that one of your idols is a real asshole!"
Those are the words of a cocktail waitress at the famed Troubadour nightclub in L.A. who was accidentally punched by an out-of-control and drunk-off-his-ass John Lennon in 1974 at a Smothers Brothers show, during one of Lennon’s infamous lost weekends while separated from Yoko Ono. Although I’ve never been assaulted by one of my idols, I can relate to that quote in terms of watching those who I once worshipped go over to the Dark Side, so to speak. I guess it’s a sign of my own personal growth that I’m able to sort through the B.S. and see them for who they really are now, but it still sucks to realize they aren’t (or never quite were) the person I idolized when I was young.
The poster child for this phenomenon is Ted Nugent. When I was 14, I wanted to BE Ted Nugent. His music was loud and testosterony—perfectly suited for adolescents like me. I Ioved his attitude in concert: "Anybody wants to get mellow, you can turn around and get the fuck outta here!" I still love his music today (and always will), but I’ve grown really weary of all the right-wing psuedo-patriot histrionics he spews forth now via TV interviews, as well as his own radio show and lame reality TV show. Nugent has always had a big mouth, to be sure, but back in 1978, his cockiness and bravado were funny and rather endearing. Now it’s all just pure arrogant macho bullshit in my eyes.
My current distaste for Nugent began in the late ‘90s when he started portraying himself as "Mr. Conservative Family Values Man"—riiiight. This coming from a guy who played on-stage wearing nothing but a loin cloth, not to mention a guy who has had more paternity suits slapped on him than Hugh Grant. Conservative, my ass! Then he started kissing up to the Republican Party, campaigning for Dubya under the guise of being a "patriotic American", when I know damn well it was all just to ensure he and his NRA buddies could keep their precious guns.
My my, what raging paranoia these NRA-types have, by the way! Just for the record, my official stance on guns is if you just have to have them, fine, whatever, but they are way too easy to obtain in this country (witness Columbine, et al) and there need to be stricter gun laws to keep them out of the wrong hands. Oh yeah, one more thing: don't bash me just because I choose NOT to own a gun—this means YOU, Ted! I'm the last person you want owning a gun anyway—if I did, every barking dog within 200 yards of my house would be dead. But, I digress...
Long about that same time, Nugent got on this bigoted "Get out of America if you can’t speak English" kick during his concerts, which had absolutely nothing to do with the performances thereof, and I was really turned-off by it. When I attend a concert, I’m there to be entertained, not to be fed a bunch of radical right-wing political folderol and/or racism, and Ted crosses the line time and time again. I also find it highly hypocritical on his part to malign Hispanic people when his own bass player's last name is Mendoza, yet he constantly refers to him as a "blood brother"! Nuge has also been known to spout off about gays, liberals and anyone else who isn’t "just like him" and while Ted’s entitled to his opinions, I personally think he’s talking out of his ass most of the time now. The real shame about it is he can still play guitar with the best of them, but he doesn’t seem to care that much about his musical career anymore. There was a time when I’d have walked the proverbial "mile for a Camel" to see Nugent in concert—now I wouldn’t even walk to the end of my back yard to see him play because he’s become such an insufferable jackoff. Hey Ted, why don't you take the late Frank Zappa's advice: "Shut up and play yer guitar!"
As much as I love Kiss, Gene Simmons is another of the idols of my youth who’s become a major disappointment to me in recent years. While not nearly as offensive as Nugent, this once-great Rock & Roll warrior whom I idolized when I was 12 has revealed himself to be a total money-grubber and egomaniac, all the while pissing all over his own band’s legacy. True, the whole merchandising thing was part of the Kiss arsenal 30 years ago, but it seemed innocent enough then. Now, it’s become a joke to watch Simmons (and Paul Stanley, to a much lesser extent) look for every possible way to milk a buck off the band’s name to the point where you can now buy everything from Kiss tampons to your very own Kiss casket ("Death, I hear you calling…"). Sebastian Bach of Skid Row accurately pointed out recently that the ultimate piece of merchandise for the average Kiss fan right now would be a new Kiss album, but Gene doesn’t seem interested in providing the fans with one of those anytime soon.
Meanwhile (with all due respect to Eric Singer and Tommy Thayer—both fine musicians, indeed), the band itself now looks more like a Kiss tribute band than the real thing. Five years ago, it would have been unfathomable that I would miss a Kiss concert in Kansas City, but they’ve been through here twice since then and I passed both times—it’s just not the same without Ace and Peter, and it’s mostly because of Simmons that they are no longer in the band. Gene’s insatiable ego also manifests itself in other ways, like his lame reality show "Family Jewels", not to mention his arrogant claim to have had sex with 3,000 women (or whatever his current figure is). Give me a break already—if he’d tried to fuck that many women, he’d be dead by now!
A couple years back, I nearly lost all respect for Simmons when he showed up on "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?" to obstensibly play the game, when he was really there just to hawk his latest tell-all/Ace-and-Peter-bashing book, and the fucker didn't even know what a pachyderm was! Then I wanted to hurl when I found out the fire-breathing, blood-spitting demon I once idolized was also hawking his book on "The View" (witness this photo) with Baba Wawa and Co. See also my beer commercial rant on him a few posts back. Gene still talks a good game about how the fans are #1 and that he still cares about the music and all, but I'm not buying it anymore. I'd rather watch the old videos of then it was real...
Ted and Gene are just two examples, with another being Eddie Van Halen (whom I previously discussed a couple posts back), and I'd even include Danny Bonaduce in that league (although I never really idolized him all that much). I guess it's a testament to my own maturity that I'm not all starry-eyed and blindly worshipping these guys anymore. Still, I can't help but feel betrayed sometimes...
"It’s not the pain that hurts—what hurts is finding out that one of your idols is a real asshole!"
Those are the words of a cocktail waitress at the famed Troubadour nightclub in L.A. who was accidentally punched by an out-of-control and drunk-off-his-ass John Lennon in 1974 at a Smothers Brothers show, during one of Lennon’s infamous lost weekends while separated from Yoko Ono. Although I’ve never been assaulted by one of my idols, I can relate to that quote in terms of watching those who I once worshipped go over to the Dark Side, so to speak. I guess it’s a sign of my own personal growth that I’m able to sort through the B.S. and see them for who they really are now, but it still sucks to realize they aren’t (or never quite were) the person I idolized when I was young.
The poster child for this phenomenon is Ted Nugent. When I was 14, I wanted to BE Ted Nugent. His music was loud and testosterony—perfectly suited for adolescents like me. I Ioved his attitude in concert: "Anybody wants to get mellow, you can turn around and get the fuck outta here!" I still love his music today (and always will), but I’ve grown really weary of all the right-wing psuedo-patriot histrionics he spews forth now via TV interviews, as well as his own radio show and lame reality TV show. Nugent has always had a big mouth, to be sure, but back in 1978, his cockiness and bravado were funny and rather endearing. Now it’s all just pure arrogant macho bullshit in my eyes.
My current distaste for Nugent began in the late ‘90s when he started portraying himself as "Mr. Conservative Family Values Man"—riiiight. This coming from a guy who played on-stage wearing nothing but a loin cloth, not to mention a guy who has had more paternity suits slapped on him than Hugh Grant. Conservative, my ass! Then he started kissing up to the Republican Party, campaigning for Dubya under the guise of being a "patriotic American", when I know damn well it was all just to ensure he and his NRA buddies could keep their precious guns.
My my, what raging paranoia these NRA-types have, by the way! Just for the record, my official stance on guns is if you just have to have them, fine, whatever, but they are way too easy to obtain in this country (witness Columbine, et al) and there need to be stricter gun laws to keep them out of the wrong hands. Oh yeah, one more thing: don't bash me just because I choose NOT to own a gun—this means YOU, Ted! I'm the last person you want owning a gun anyway—if I did, every barking dog within 200 yards of my house would be dead. But, I digress...
Long about that same time, Nugent got on this bigoted "Get out of America if you can’t speak English" kick during his concerts, which had absolutely nothing to do with the performances thereof, and I was really turned-off by it. When I attend a concert, I’m there to be entertained, not to be fed a bunch of radical right-wing political folderol and/or racism, and Ted crosses the line time and time again. I also find it highly hypocritical on his part to malign Hispanic people when his own bass player's last name is Mendoza, yet he constantly refers to him as a "blood brother"! Nuge has also been known to spout off about gays, liberals and anyone else who isn’t "just like him" and while Ted’s entitled to his opinions, I personally think he’s talking out of his ass most of the time now. The real shame about it is he can still play guitar with the best of them, but he doesn’t seem to care that much about his musical career anymore. There was a time when I’d have walked the proverbial "mile for a Camel" to see Nugent in concert—now I wouldn’t even walk to the end of my back yard to see him play because he’s become such an insufferable jackoff. Hey Ted, why don't you take the late Frank Zappa's advice: "Shut up and play yer guitar!"
As much as I love Kiss, Gene Simmons is another of the idols of my youth who’s become a major disappointment to me in recent years. While not nearly as offensive as Nugent, this once-great Rock & Roll warrior whom I idolized when I was 12 has revealed himself to be a total money-grubber and egomaniac, all the while pissing all over his own band’s legacy. True, the whole merchandising thing was part of the Kiss arsenal 30 years ago, but it seemed innocent enough then. Now, it’s become a joke to watch Simmons (and Paul Stanley, to a much lesser extent) look for every possible way to milk a buck off the band’s name to the point where you can now buy everything from Kiss tampons to your very own Kiss casket ("Death, I hear you calling…"). Sebastian Bach of Skid Row accurately pointed out recently that the ultimate piece of merchandise for the average Kiss fan right now would be a new Kiss album, but Gene doesn’t seem interested in providing the fans with one of those anytime soon.
Meanwhile (with all due respect to Eric Singer and Tommy Thayer—both fine musicians, indeed), the band itself now looks more like a Kiss tribute band than the real thing. Five years ago, it would have been unfathomable that I would miss a Kiss concert in Kansas City, but they’ve been through here twice since then and I passed both times—it’s just not the same without Ace and Peter, and it’s mostly because of Simmons that they are no longer in the band. Gene’s insatiable ego also manifests itself in other ways, like his lame reality show "Family Jewels", not to mention his arrogant claim to have had sex with 3,000 women (or whatever his current figure is). Give me a break already—if he’d tried to fuck that many women, he’d be dead by now!
Ted and Gene are just two examples, with another being Eddie Van Halen (whom I previously discussed a couple posts back), and I'd even include Danny Bonaduce in that league (although I never really idolized him all that much). I guess it's a testament to my own maturity that I'm not all starry-eyed and blindly worshipping these guys anymore. Still, I can't help but feel betrayed sometimes...
Great Moments In Radio--Volume I
My radio career might’ve been brief, but it yielded more than a fair amount of funny stories, which I’ll share from time to time here.
Back in 1987 at the "Mighty 1030" in Blue Springs, MO, I stumbled across an album in the files one day by Huey "Piano" Smith, who did the original version of "Rockin’ Pnuemonia-Boogie Woogie Flu", which Johnny Rivers later successfully covered in 1972. On the back of the album jacket, someone scrawled a huge note next to that particular track title that read, "DO NOT PLAY—IT SKIPS IN THE WORST POSSIBLE PLACE!!!" So, just for shits and grins, I put the record on the turntable (off the air, of course) and sure enough, midway through the line, "I wanna squeeze her, but I’m way too low…" it skipped. Imagine the horror the poor unsuspecting DJ had to deal with: "I wanna squeeze her but [CLICK]/I wanna squeeze her but [CLICK]/I wanna squeeze her but [CLICK]…"
Former CBS News anchor Dan Rather once told a similar story about when he worked in radio back in the '50s and was playing this religious program that was on a vinyl record. The record got stuck on the last three words of the preacher's sermon where he said something like, "If you fail to do so, you will go to hell," whilst Dan was outside smoking a cigarette or something. Thus, the radio audience was treated to a good five minutes-worth of "Go to hell!" Fumble!!!
Back in 1987 at the "Mighty 1030" in Blue Springs, MO, I stumbled across an album in the files one day by Huey "Piano" Smith, who did the original version of "Rockin’ Pnuemonia-Boogie Woogie Flu", which Johnny Rivers later successfully covered in 1972. On the back of the album jacket, someone scrawled a huge note next to that particular track title that read, "DO NOT PLAY—IT SKIPS IN THE WORST POSSIBLE PLACE!!!" So, just for shits and grins, I put the record on the turntable (off the air, of course) and sure enough, midway through the line, "I wanna squeeze her, but I’m way too low…" it skipped. Imagine the horror the poor unsuspecting DJ had to deal with: "I wanna squeeze her but [CLICK]/I wanna squeeze her but [CLICK]/I wanna squeeze her but [CLICK]…"
Former CBS News anchor Dan Rather once told a similar story about when he worked in radio back in the '50s and was playing this religious program that was on a vinyl record. The record got stuck on the last three words of the preacher's sermon where he said something like, "If you fail to do so, you will go to hell," whilst Dan was outside smoking a cigarette or something. Thus, the radio audience was treated to a good five minutes-worth of "Go to hell!" Fumble!!!
Sunday, January 14, 2007
I'm so damn thankful...
...I don't have to wake up next to either of these creatures on a regular basis! In the words of Fred Sanford: "I'd rather kiss Mighty Joe Young's armpit!" Fuck that--even kissing Meat Loaf's armpit would be a step in the right direction!
Saturday, January 13, 2007
I gots my questions...
A few thoughts to ponder...
—Are clams really all that happy?
—Is rain always right?
—Is pie truly that easy?
—Are dogs actually that sick?
—Should we do an autopsy on door nails?
—Are mice all that quiet?
—Are rocks always solid?
—Should we be impressed with minds like steel traps?
—Is the sky the true limit?
—Is snot really that slick?
—Do the eyes really have it?
—How light is air, really?
—Is gold all that good?
—Are sheets always white?
—Are whips all that smart?
—Are machines usually that well-oiled?
—What is the exact I.Q. of box of rocks?
—Do logs actually sleep?
—Are clams really all that happy?
—Is rain always right?
—Is pie truly that easy?
—Are dogs actually that sick?
—Should we do an autopsy on door nails?
—Are mice all that quiet?
—Are rocks always solid?
—Should we be impressed with minds like steel traps?
—Is the sky the true limit?
—Is snot really that slick?
—Do the eyes really have it?
—How light is air, really?
—Is gold all that good?
—Are sheets always white?
—Are whips all that smart?
—Are machines usually that well-oiled?
—What is the exact I.Q. of box of rocks?
—Do logs actually sleep?
The Bottom Five WORST Guitar Solos of All-Time
Dedicated to those who don't have a clue how to grind an axe!
1) "I Love Rock ‘N’ Roll"—JOAN JETT & THE BLACKHEARTS (1982) Not sure who the guitar player is here (I don’t think it’s Joan), but it sounds like he/she played it in his/her sleep!
2) "I Love It Loud"—KISS (1982) It’s a mystery who actually played this stillborn thing (it's most definitely NOT Ace Frehley) because the lead guitarist position for Kiss was in flux at the time, but whoever it was, it sucked like a Hoover vacuum...
3) "Mad About You"—BELINDA CARLISLE (1986) Duran Duran’s Andy Taylor ruined a perfectly good love song with his squealy solo that sounded so out-of-place with the rest of the tune—hey Andy, come back when you learn how to play that thing, okay, Bud?!? Good rule of thumb: guitar feedback and love songs generally are not a good mix! The Carpenters had a song called "Goodbye To Love" that suffered from a similar malady.
4) "Hot Blooded"—FOREIGNER (1978) Mick Jones sounded like he was playing with an ice pick here instead of a guitar pick...
5) "Hot Girls In Love"—LOVERBOY (1983) With all apologies to Loverboy's Paul Dean, I’m not sure why this one bugs me—it just does. Dumb song and even dumber video too...
DISHONORABLE MENTION: "Cover Of The Rolling Stone"—DR. HOOK & THE MEDICINE SHOW (1973) This would have made the above list, except for one little thing—it was supposed to sound bad!
1) "I Love Rock ‘N’ Roll"—JOAN JETT & THE BLACKHEARTS (1982) Not sure who the guitar player is here (I don’t think it’s Joan), but it sounds like he/she played it in his/her sleep!
2) "I Love It Loud"—KISS (1982) It’s a mystery who actually played this stillborn thing (it's most definitely NOT Ace Frehley) because the lead guitarist position for Kiss was in flux at the time, but whoever it was, it sucked like a Hoover vacuum...
3) "Mad About You"—BELINDA CARLISLE (1986) Duran Duran’s Andy Taylor ruined a perfectly good love song with his squealy solo that sounded so out-of-place with the rest of the tune—hey Andy, come back when you learn how to play that thing, okay, Bud?!? Good rule of thumb: guitar feedback and love songs generally are not a good mix! The Carpenters had a song called "Goodbye To Love" that suffered from a similar malady.
4) "Hot Blooded"—FOREIGNER (1978) Mick Jones sounded like he was playing with an ice pick here instead of a guitar pick...
5) "Hot Girls In Love"—LOVERBOY (1983) With all apologies to Loverboy's Paul Dean, I’m not sure why this one bugs me—it just does. Dumb song and even dumber video too...
DISHONORABLE MENTION: "Cover Of The Rolling Stone"—DR. HOOK & THE MEDICINE SHOW (1973) This would have made the above list, except for one little thing—it was supposed to sound bad!
The Top 25 Greatest Rock & Roll Guitar Solos of All-Time
Dedicated to those who have an axe to grind...
1) ACE FREHLEY/PAUL STANLEY, Kiss—“Detroit Rock City” (1976) More Ace than Paul here, but this one has always been my favorite, and I can’t actually say why. It just is…
2) JIMI HENDRIX, Jimi Hendrix Experience—“All Along The Watchtower” (1968) This was Jimi’s finest hour, musically. Sadly, it was all downhill for him after this one, but when he wasn’t all drugged-out, he could make some amazing sounds with his fingers.
3) JOHN ENTWISTLE, The Who—“5:15” (Live-2000) Greatest bass solo ever recorded! A three-and-a-half minute roller coaster ride that'll render you awe-struck, dumb-struck, and downright dizzy, courtesy of the greatest bass player on the planet.
4) RANDY RHOADS, Ozzy Osbourne—“I Don’t Know” (1981) I could list most any solo he ever did here and it would be appropriate. Another favorite of mine is his solo on the live version of “Children Of The Grave” on the Tribute CD. One can only imagine what this guy would have gone on to do, and if he were still with us, he would be even more revered than Eddie Van Halen is. What a waste…
5) EDDIE VAN HALEN, Van Halen—“Eruption” (1978) Speaking of the devil, one can only guess how many countless guitar players were inspired by this track…
6) ALLEN COLLINS, Lynyrd Skynyrd—“Free Bird” (1973) I didn’t know until recently that he played this whole damn thing all by himself! This guy was better than I ever realized...
7) BUDDY HOLLY, The Crickets—“Peggy Sue” (1957) Short, sweet and petite, but very cool, and way ahead of its time. Ol' B.H. had really cool initials, too!
8) DRAKE LEVIN, Paul Revere & The Raiders—"Louie, Louie" (Live-1965) This rambunctious solo made Keith Richards and Dave Davies look like rank amateurs!
9) ERNIE ISLEY, The Isley Brothers—“That Lady” (1973) Under “blistering” in the dictionary it says “listen to this”. Every time I hear this lazer-like guitar work, it makes me think of a hot summer day. This thing could melt the siding clean off your house!
10) DUANE ROLAND/DAVE HLUBEK/STEVE HOLLAND, Molly Hatchet—“Fall of The Peacemakers” (1983) Sort of a poor man’s “Free Bird”, but still mighty fine guitar work.
11) ANGUS YOUNG, AC/DC—”Let There Be Rock” (1977) Never ceases to amaze me how this little dude rolls around on stage like that and NEVER misses a note!
12) ACE FREHLEY, Kiss—”Let Me Go, Rock ‘N’ Roll” (Live-1975) Space Ace gets to stretch his muscles and jam a bit—a rarity on a Kiss record.
13) DAVE EDMUNDS, Love Sculpture—“Sabre Dance” (1968/1994) Khachaturian’s classical classic gets re-worked into a four-minute guitar solo by Sir Edmunds. The cleaner, meaner ‘94 version (even with the drum machine) is every bit as cool as the original, too.
14) RANDY BACHMAN, Bachman-Turner Overdrive—“You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet” (1974) Not necessarily the solo here, but the sinewy guitar work throughout the entire song is downright awesome.
15) PETE TOWNSHEND, The Who—“Shakin’ All Over” (1970) Pete isn’t particularly renowned for his lead guitar work as much as he is for his songwriting and power chords, but on the night The "'Orrible 'Oo" recorded Live At Leeds, he sounded like Jimi Hendrix.
16) RITCHIE BLACKMORE, Deep Purple—“Highway Star” (Live, 1973) “Stupid-fast” is an apt description of the solo here on Made In Japan. Fortunately in this case, speed don’t kill...
17) BILLY GIBBONS, Z.Z. Top—“La Grange” (1974) Rev. Billy G. delivers a feedback-laden six-string sermon that would bring Godzilla to his knees. Haw-haw-haw-haw, indeed!
18) NILS LOFGREN, Bruce Springsteen—“Tunnel Of Love” (1987) This is the one that The Boss yodels along with, but for some reason, it really works!
19) JOHN ENTWISTLE, The Who—"My Generation" (1965) “The Ox” gave the world its first Rock ‘N’ Roll bass solo here. Often imitated, never equaled…
20) TED NUGENT—“Wang Dang Sweet Poontang” (Live-1978) Ah yes, the good ol’ days when Ted talked through his guitar instead of out of his ass…
21) RANDAL CHOWNING, Ozark Mountain Daredevils—"Jackie Blue" (1975) Just like "You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet", not only is the solo cool here, but the slide guitar throughout the entire song is downright hypnotic. Just as an aside, when this first came out, I thought it was a chick singing this song, so imagine my surprise when I saw OMD on "The Midnight Special" with this bearded dude with a high voice singing it!
22) HENRY PAUL/HUGHIE THOMASSON/BILLY JONES, The Outlaws—"Green Grass & High Tides" (1975) "Free Bird" inspired a wave of copy-cat triple-lead guitar solos that lasted over five minutes from other Southern bands, and this was the first (and best) of them. No doubt all the Album Rock DJs back then loved this song because it lasted long enough to smoke a joint or two…
23) SCOTTY MOORE, Elvis Presley—"Hard Headed Woman" (1958) Guitar solos were a rare commodity in the ‘50s, especially good ones!
24) DUANE ROLAND/DAVE HLUBEK/STEVE HOLLAND, Molly Hatchet—"Boogie No More" (1980) Yet another mini-"Free Bird", but a damn good one.
25) ACE FREHLEY, Kiss—"She" (Live-1975) Another of the rare times when Kiss would just jam on stage and allow Ace to really cut loose.
1) ACE FREHLEY/PAUL STANLEY, Kiss—“Detroit Rock City” (1976) More Ace than Paul here, but this one has always been my favorite, and I can’t actually say why. It just is…
2) JIMI HENDRIX, Jimi Hendrix Experience—“All Along The Watchtower” (1968) This was Jimi’s finest hour, musically. Sadly, it was all downhill for him after this one, but when he wasn’t all drugged-out, he could make some amazing sounds with his fingers.
3) JOHN ENTWISTLE, The Who—“5:15” (Live-2000) Greatest bass solo ever recorded! A three-and-a-half minute roller coaster ride that'll render you awe-struck, dumb-struck, and downright dizzy, courtesy of the greatest bass player on the planet.
4) RANDY RHOADS, Ozzy Osbourne—“I Don’t Know” (1981) I could list most any solo he ever did here and it would be appropriate. Another favorite of mine is his solo on the live version of “Children Of The Grave” on the Tribute CD. One can only imagine what this guy would have gone on to do, and if he were still with us, he would be even more revered than Eddie Van Halen is. What a waste…
5) EDDIE VAN HALEN, Van Halen—“Eruption” (1978) Speaking of the devil, one can only guess how many countless guitar players were inspired by this track…
6) ALLEN COLLINS, Lynyrd Skynyrd—“Free Bird” (1973) I didn’t know until recently that he played this whole damn thing all by himself! This guy was better than I ever realized...
7) BUDDY HOLLY, The Crickets—“Peggy Sue” (1957) Short, sweet and petite, but very cool, and way ahead of its time. Ol' B.H. had really cool initials, too!
8) DRAKE LEVIN, Paul Revere & The Raiders—"Louie, Louie" (Live-1965) This rambunctious solo made Keith Richards and Dave Davies look like rank amateurs!
9) ERNIE ISLEY, The Isley Brothers—“That Lady” (1973) Under “blistering” in the dictionary it says “listen to this”. Every time I hear this lazer-like guitar work, it makes me think of a hot summer day. This thing could melt the siding clean off your house!
10) DUANE ROLAND/DAVE HLUBEK/STEVE HOLLAND, Molly Hatchet—“Fall of The Peacemakers” (1983) Sort of a poor man’s “Free Bird”, but still mighty fine guitar work.
11) ANGUS YOUNG, AC/DC—”Let There Be Rock” (1977) Never ceases to amaze me how this little dude rolls around on stage like that and NEVER misses a note!
12) ACE FREHLEY, Kiss—”Let Me Go, Rock ‘N’ Roll” (Live-1975) Space Ace gets to stretch his muscles and jam a bit—a rarity on a Kiss record.
13) DAVE EDMUNDS, Love Sculpture—“Sabre Dance” (1968/1994) Khachaturian’s classical classic gets re-worked into a four-minute guitar solo by Sir Edmunds. The cleaner, meaner ‘94 version (even with the drum machine) is every bit as cool as the original, too.
14) RANDY BACHMAN, Bachman-Turner Overdrive—“You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet” (1974) Not necessarily the solo here, but the sinewy guitar work throughout the entire song is downright awesome.
15) PETE TOWNSHEND, The Who—“Shakin’ All Over” (1970) Pete isn’t particularly renowned for his lead guitar work as much as he is for his songwriting and power chords, but on the night The "'Orrible 'Oo" recorded Live At Leeds, he sounded like Jimi Hendrix.
16) RITCHIE BLACKMORE, Deep Purple—“Highway Star” (Live, 1973) “Stupid-fast” is an apt description of the solo here on Made In Japan. Fortunately in this case, speed don’t kill...
17) BILLY GIBBONS, Z.Z. Top—“La Grange” (1974) Rev. Billy G. delivers a feedback-laden six-string sermon that would bring Godzilla to his knees. Haw-haw-haw-haw, indeed!
18) NILS LOFGREN, Bruce Springsteen—“Tunnel Of Love” (1987) This is the one that The Boss yodels along with, but for some reason, it really works!
19) JOHN ENTWISTLE, The Who—"My Generation" (1965) “The Ox” gave the world its first Rock ‘N’ Roll bass solo here. Often imitated, never equaled…
20) TED NUGENT—“Wang Dang Sweet Poontang” (Live-1978) Ah yes, the good ol’ days when Ted talked through his guitar instead of out of his ass…
21) RANDAL CHOWNING, Ozark Mountain Daredevils—"Jackie Blue" (1975) Just like "You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet", not only is the solo cool here, but the slide guitar throughout the entire song is downright hypnotic. Just as an aside, when this first came out, I thought it was a chick singing this song, so imagine my surprise when I saw OMD on "The Midnight Special" with this bearded dude with a high voice singing it!
22) HENRY PAUL/HUGHIE THOMASSON/BILLY JONES, The Outlaws—"Green Grass & High Tides" (1975) "Free Bird" inspired a wave of copy-cat triple-lead guitar solos that lasted over five minutes from other Southern bands, and this was the first (and best) of them. No doubt all the Album Rock DJs back then loved this song because it lasted long enough to smoke a joint or two…
23) SCOTTY MOORE, Elvis Presley—"Hard Headed Woman" (1958) Guitar solos were a rare commodity in the ‘50s, especially good ones!
24) DUANE ROLAND/DAVE HLUBEK/STEVE HOLLAND, Molly Hatchet—"Boogie No More" (1980) Yet another mini-"Free Bird", but a damn good one.
25) ACE FREHLEY, Kiss—"She" (Live-1975) Another of the rare times when Kiss would just jam on stage and allow Ace to really cut loose.
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