Telegraphing the Tension Through the Title
The tension between solo work and band work is sometimes palpable, as is the resentment of the post-breakup competition. Sometimes it’s laid right out in the album title. Here are my five favorite pissed-off, post (or pre)-breakup album titles. Or at least, the first five that occurred to me while writing this.
5. Bach’s Bottom by Alex Chilton. The mercurial lead singer of Big Star has had some pretty confounding output as a solo artist. His first almost-complete record mostly consists of covers (fans would eventually get used to this). His nervy and needy cover of “Can’t Seem to Make You Mine” is the best ever, while his original “Bangkok” features a double entendre that would make AC/DC’s eyes roll. Alex was in a band called the Box Tops, y’see, before Big Star. See, bad puns abound!
4. Rigor Mortis Sets In by John Entwistle. The Who’s bassist, the writer behind “Whiskeyman” and “Boris the Spider” (which, for the record, was Jimi Hendrix’ favorite Who song), dabbled in a solo career as Townsend the artiste started hogging entire records with his damn “operas.” I guess even the Ox had to admit that his creative juices weren’t quite flowing the way they used to by the time of his third record.
3. I’ve Got My Own Record To Do by Ron Wood. Rod Stewart used to be cool, back when he was in the Faces. He was still a bit of a prick, though, as he cultivated his solo career at the expense of his band. “I’ve got my own record to do,” was his excuse for skipping band sessions. Wood, the Faces’ guitarist, decided to use his time off productively, cutting a record with none other than Keith Richards. By the time Rod the Mod announced that he was through with the Faces, Woody had a better job lined up.
2. Congratulations, I’m Sorry by the Gin Blossoms. Your band has just scored a string of hits on “alternative” radio, but your principal songwriter (who is not the singer) has a huge heroin problem. How to deal? Kick him out of the band, but be sure to buy his rights to the songwriting royalties. Now, how do you apologize when he spends all that money on heroin, and then blows his brains out? Do it in the follow-up album title.
1. 75% Less Fat by Chris Mars. Mars was the drummer for the fabulously fucked-up Replacements. He was “replaced” for their last record and tour. Two years later, when he returned to recorded music, Mars decided to play the whole album himself. The Mats were a quartet. Do the math.
Extra! Extra! The Socialist Is Online!
After much ado, the complete September-October issue of “The Socialist” is finally available online.
The United States Postal Service has apparently revamped its bulk mail
rules which has resulted in an extremely disappointing delay in this
issue getting our readers’ hands all ink-stained and sloppy.
When this issue went to press, back in late August, articles like B.
Guise’s expose of Bush’s ExxonMobil connection and Barbara Garson’s
skewering of Paul Wolfowitz were poppin fresh and relevant. Now they’re
merely relevant. Sadly, David McReynolds’ “troops out now” article could probably be published verbatim two years from now and still be fresh.
In any event, please check out the new issue, and consider subscribing. Thank you for your support.
Sell Out!
I miss the days of “selling out” in rock and roll. It’s hard to fathom the purist fury that fans once generated over “plugging in” or signing to a major label. These days, not only does the clearest act of selling out – licensing music for teevee commercials and even performing in such commercials – not generate controversy, it is rewarded by higher sales!
The once-underground techno star Moby became famous by licensing all of the songs off of his 1999 album, “Play,” for use in movies and commercials. For many, it was their first exposure to his music, and it led to more radio airplay and huge record sales. Established “catalog” artists discovered that this strategy could work for them as well. An old Who album cut, “Bargain,” has become a classic rock radio staple after being used in some car commercial. New Who “best of” collections had to be assembled to include the track, which sold like gangbusters.
What’s worse is that some stars are appearing in these ads. As a fan, I want to go to concerts and see rock stars, not ladies’ lingerie salesmen. Yes, fine, my objection is partially some kind of hipster elitism about what is cool. So shoot me. It’s also based in my commie revulsion of crass commercialism. But, while many artists may not have once shared my objection to such commercialism, and thus can’t be argued to have sold out any of their own principles, they are still selling out something precious by licensing their back pages.
“People lost their virginity to this music, got high for the first time to this music,” says former Doors drummer John Densmore. “That’s not for rent.” That’s well said, even if his refusal to allow Doors songs to be licensed in commercials is a high-minded cover for his longtime estrangement from his former bandmates.
Still, Densmore is passing up a $15 million payday for sticking to his guns. That kind of money is something of an aberration, I’d wager. My friend, Alan Amalgamated (himself a rock drummer, who spent years in the industry), predicts that one day corporations will make artists pay for the privilege of having their music promoted in these ads. Already, with so many artists willing to sell out, I’m sure the market price of one’s soul has dropped considerably. $15 million for a famous rock song like “Break On Through,” which is not yet associated with any corporate product is kinda understandable. But what about a song like “Lust for Life.” That bugger’s been used for everything. What corporation is going to pay the big bucks for someone else’s sloppy seconds?
The problem for many of the artists is that they get robbed left and right, by producers, managers, directors, A&R men and many more. It is not uncommon for rockers who are made “millionaires” by their major label record contracts to wind up “thousandaires” once the final accounts are settled.
Recording artists desperately need some sort of collective action to balance the power at the major labels. Fans should engage in some kind of boycott themselves. I would say, don’t buy any song that’s used in a corporate advertisement. Don’t encourage this lousy system. If you like what you hear, and don’t already own it on scratchy, dusty vinyl, then, by all means, illegally download.
Even better, throw your teevee out the window, like I did years ago. You won’t even know who’s selling out anymore, and you’ll have more times to simply listen to the music.
More Turkeys
I got a check for $400 from Mike Bloomberg yesterday. He’s so thoughtful! It came right in the nick of time, too: all those start of the month bills were piling up. What timing.
What timing, indeed. The general election is one month away, and it’s not like that good-for-nothing Freedy Ferrer can afford to cut a check that fat for every voter. However, unlike last year’s property tax rebate, this check wasn’t signed by the Mayor. City ethics rules prevent a candidate’s name from appearing in a high profile city-funded mailing such as this within 90 days of the election.
It’s a nice nod to ethics, but how are the last 90 days supposed to counter-balance an entire term spent plastering the incumbent’s name and face all over government funded mailings, tv ads and billboards? All politicians do this. George Pataki can be heard extolling the beauty of New York in tourism ads, and crowing about health care for tots in PSA’s. In the town of Hempstead (where, yes, I have been spending an awful lot of time), the blasted name Kate Murray is ubiquitous. Her ads are everywhere. Her name appears on every town building, van, pamphlet – you name it. Seniors, got a problem? Call Kate Murray’s senior hotline.
The spoils of office have been exploited since the earliest days of cities and party politics. Tammany Hall hacks famously gave out free turkeys at Thanksgiving to maintain the loyal votes of the poor. So why mask it with this veneer of fairness in the very late days of the election campaign? Just put the mayor’s name and face at the top of the ballot, along with a special message from him saying “these elections are the city’s way of thanking you for keeping New York City strong during difficult times.”
Alternatively, we can ban elected officials from appearing in taxpayer financed advertisements and mailings. In fact, let’s ban anyone with a remote chance of running for office from appearing in these materials. I nominate convicted felons and undocumented immigrants to be the city’s new spokespeople. If this is too controversial, perhaps we could arrange for an anthropomorphic cartoon puppy, or perhaps a reanimated dead celebrity?