As the surge of hormones ran through my teenage loins, Pat Benetar appeared on the scene in a a French sailor-style striped shirt and leather pants. I knew that god put her on the scene to turn me on, but I found her to be a complete turnoff. Her music sure didn’t help.

One of her hits from her unavoidable debut album was a song called “You Better Run.” The main guitar hook was easy enough that even I could play it, as I fumbled with my newly acquired electric guitar. It was as if god put that song on the FM airwaves to turn me on, but I found her singing and the twists and turns the song would take as it hit the chorus to be a complete turnoff. Her objectively cute, petite body in that outfit didn’t help.

No biggie. There was plenty of FM rock music I couldn’t stand in the late ’70s. I learned to ignore the music of Pat Benetar and not stress out over the fact that I didn’t find her appealing, even though I knew she was constructed to appeal to my burgeoning tastes in women.

Two years later, when I finally started to figure out how to be remotely cool, I bought a used copy of the classic Rascals’ greatest hits album and realized that “You Better Run” was actually one of their songs. I had no idea. The Rascals were cool, man. Their version must have been the definitive one that Benetar and her guitar-wielding mate Neil Giraldo butchered.

Townspeople, it’s that time for cracking open summer music reading. My birthday just passed, which means I’ve got some new books piling up. I’ve been digging right into this oral history on David Bowie, listening to all the Bowie albums being covered as I read. So far, for all my complaints, I’m clearly enjoying it, but maybe in a bit of a “hate-read” way.

You may recall my longtime difficulties with Bowie. Despite the fact that I love 30 songs by him, he’s just…not my kind of guy. The focus of this oral history is on his devouring – aesthetically, sexually – side of him. It confirms so much of the foreign – to my sensibilities – vibe I’ve always gotten from him. He seemed like he was so ambitious, so eager to create a persona – two qualities I actually don’t have an issue with – but he wasn’t doing it for himself, the way my natural music hero John Lennon seemed to be doing. Instead, he seemed to do all this to insulate his inner void, or whatever. I’m thoroughly enjoying this book, I am ashamed to say, but the story so far, through Aladdin Sane and his dumping The Spiders, is making me a bit queasy.

I’m curious to see if this rock bio can end without chapters on our hero hanging out with Phil Collins and Sting at exclusive Caribbean resorts. I hate when that happens.

What music reading do you have underway or lined up for the summer?

In our recent Nitpicking thread, I picked a nit over Pink Floyd‘s most down-easy song, “Wish You Were Here,” for copping out with wind effects rather than find a more graceful end to the song. I am here to apologize for picking that nit.

Today, The Rolling Stones‘ “Wild Horses” started. It has a similar intro to “Which You Were Here,” which made me regret my nitpicking with that song and say to no one in particular, “I wish the Stones had cued the wind machine and left me wanting more!”

Maybe it’s just me, but I think “Wild Horses” goes on for a good 3 minutes longer than it has any business going on. The “plaintive,” on-bended-knee lyrics and delivery by Jagger are up their with “Lady Jane.” Or down there, I should say. It’s a charming, promising song at first – and I like the version by Flying Burrito Brothers a little better – but both bands should have had the good sense to cue the wind machine.

What song would you like to turn up the wind on?

Driving home after a wonderful anniversary dinner tonight, U2’s “New Year’s Day” came on the radio.

“There are enough U2 songs I like.” I said to my disinterested wife, “I wish this one would go away.”

She is expert in tuning me out when I go on such tangents, so I continued my conversation in my head.

“Why do you particularly dislike this song?” I asked.

“It’s nothing but the overly emotive crap that I can’t stand about Bono,” I said. Then I added, “And he ruins it right out of the gates with an unnecessary banshee wail.”

Bono has had more space to emote than any person in earth. He does a pleading banshee wail on every U2 song. Did he really need to start this one with a pleading banshee wail?

Then “we” (is, I and I) got to talking. Beside The Stooges’ “Loose,” does any song warrant opening with a banshee wail?

I don’t think Daltry, Lennon, Jim Morrison, or PJ Harvey, some of rock’s best wailers, opened a song with a banshee wail. I could be wrong.