There are lots of pop artists out there that I’m supposed to like but don’t — and the ratio of pop idols I’m supposed to like versus pop idols I actually like diminishes with each year I advance in decrepitude.
On a recent outing to my favorite Bolivian restaurant, the correctness of my convictions about 1970s/’80s global megastars Boney M was soundly confirmed. That’s because I finally witnessed Boney M in concert, on the big screen usually reserved for soccer matches, while wolfing down my stew. These guys are the perfect distillation of everything that makes me sometimes think the rest of the world — but particularly Germany — is out of its fucking tree. This is what I saw:
Just wanted to make sure you all knew that it’s not like I’ve gone all Euro on you or anything. America still kicks the most ass!
There are lots of pop artists out there that I’m supposed to like but don’t — and the ratio of pop idols I’m supposed to like versus pop idols I actually like diminishes with each year I advance in decrepitude.
However! While on my recent holidays in Uruguay, I rediscovered a global superstar I had long since tossed on the cultural garbage pile, and discovered that I liked her! In fact, I don’t just like this new, mysteriously improved Kylie Minogue — I really like her. And not just because of the INCREDIBLY HOT cat-suit she prances around in, or the panty flash we get at 1:50 into the above video. No, I actually really like this song of hers. Yeah, it’s derivative. Yeah, there’s nothing new here. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t care. I love this song!
At Mr. Mod’s suggestion, I am posting a few choice tracks from Mick Taylor’s spottily excellent solo album, entitled simply “Mick Taylor.” I admit to having serious nostalgia-colored glasses as far as this record is concerned; I bought it when it came out, and it was a key part of the soundtrack to most of my high school years. I pumped my fist angrily through the rockin’ numbers, incompetently noodled along to the introspective, jammier pieces — and shed a lonely tear or two to the accompaniment of the treaclier ballads (Carla Boswell, how could you?!). Anyhow, as I said yesterday, the album is pretty good, if a bit dated. Mick’s lyrics are kind of dumb, for the most part, but — like one of the better Jeff Beck albums from the era — the LP is a masterpiece of guitar wankery. All in all, it could have been a lot worse, and I struggle to think of how it could’ve been any better, given what it is and who wrote it. I’m sure Mick Taylor wanted to produce a solid album that put the music first, and that showcased his talents to the best degree possible. To that extent, it’s a winner — and there are a few particular tracks (including those that follow here) for which no excuse or explanation is necessary.
So I was out walking the pooch the other day, earbuds in place (uncharacteristically so — Mod, I may be coming around to your perspective on these things; increasingly, I find I favor the sound of the wind through the trees over bonus tracks from the most recent Apples In Stereo album… but I digress) — anyhow, earbuds in place — when I experienced a somewhat jarring alphabetic song transition that really got me thinking. The first song that popped into my earbones was this one: Track One.
Now, understand, I love this song. And I also have some firmly rooted opinions about its Importance. But when this track followed it into my brain, I really had to stop and think: Track Two.
My first reaction, strangely enough, was one of, um, relief. In other words, though I enjoyed bobbing my head to Track One as it coursed through my head, I was pleased to listen to Track Two in comparison. This actually concerned me a bit. In an effort to allay fears about my taste in pop music, and how it might be in the process of geezification, I’ve been re-cue-ing this tune at odd intervals over the last four or five days — to make sure I wasn’t just liking Track Two more, you know, because I was strolling through the park on a pleasant winter’s day or something. Nope. I’m definitely liking this song more than Track One.
So I asked myself: why? And in the process, I came up with a few questions I’d like to pass along to all of you. Listen to these two tracks. (And I ask you to actually listen to them, in their entirety, before answering. I know you know both songs in question; for me, it was the *re*-listening that brought these issues into clear focus. Humor me.)
After listening, answer the following questions:
1. Which of these two songs do you think actually had the most, uh, measurable impact on day-to-day human behavior during its popularity? I seriously think that more people — though perhaps in a more modest, immediate, fleeting fashion — changed their behavior, or at least felt differently about themselves, upon hearing what Track Two had to say, than Track One.
2. Imagine you have an iTunes playlist of two songs: Track One and Track Two. Which are you likely to listen to more often, today? Please try to avoid wishful, rearview mirror-gazing/too-cool-for-school responses to this question.
3. Today, are there any popular — or even just critically popular — artists mining the veins these two artists explored 30 years ago?
I just got back from 10 days in a pretty cool little country called Uruguay. In addition to Uruguay being the land of my birth, this nation of farmer-aesthetes is also the land of The Mother Of All Flea Markets, held every Sunday over about 10 square blocks of the city. Needless to say, there are lots of dudes out there flogging vinyl, and I went to see what I could see.
At the end of the day, I walked out with about four or five choice-looking albums, about which I knew next-to or absolutely nothing. Finally, this morning, after a grueling 24-hour return trip home, I was able to cue things up and have a listen. Doing so yielded a couple of gems, and one disappointment.
To begin with, let’s get the disappointment out of the way. By far, the LP that held the most promise in terms of Look was the following:
A disappointment
I mean, come ON! These dudes are a) high-steppin’ and soul-clappin’ their way into your hearts; b) wearing matching uniforms of the coolest sort; c) playin’ some seriously twangy-lookin’ guitars, and… well, you get the idea. Sadly — very sadly — the music contained on the el-pee most certainly does not match the Look. Talk about mediocre! I suppose I should cut the Angels some slack — they were one of the earliest “beat groups” in Brazil, and they were learning by poorly copying what they heard, same as everybody else.
A lousy photo, perhaps — but this is all I got on Los Blue Caps, people
On a more positive note, I found a copy of the album Dejame Mirarte, by Los Blue Caps (no relation to any Gene Vincent act of any kind, I assure you). For the most part, the music produced by these Paraguay-by-way-of-Argentinians is standard pop treacle of the day. In fact, it’s even treaclier than *I* can handle, and I’ve been known to tap my toes to some pretty White music, indeed. I was about to write the album off, when — whoah! — buried on the last track of side 2, I found “Don’t Leave Me Alone”. The only song on the album sung in English, it is also very much the only tune that sounds anything like, well, this. I’m actually shocked it hasn’t found its way onto one of those obscure freakbeat comps that seem to be popping up like psychedelic mushrooms in cowflop these days. I hope you enjoy it; I doubt you’ll find it anywhere else.
Spot the unhappy bassist
Lastly, an anomaly from the band that brought you “Little Green Bag”, of Reservoir Dogs fame, The George Baker Selection. I picked up this album based on my hazy recollections of the “Little Green Bag” song and was deeply disappointed by everything I heard, until I got to this, the only song on the album not written by “George Baker” (actually Dutchman Jan Bouwens). The song, called “Suicide Daisy”, was instead penned by the co-author of “Little Green Bag”, band bassist Jan Visser. In my opinion, it’s a stone winner — especially compared to all the other totally shitty sngs the GBS foisted on a cheese-hungry world. I mean, George Baker was the guy who wrote this:
Imagine being Jan Visser in this band. I sure hope the drugs and groupies were good, ’cause he couldn’t have been happy in that band… could he?
Two worlds collide! Rock matter and anti-matter coexist! MOJO ceases publication, saying “what’s the point?” The rock space-time continuum folds in on itself, and we’re all collectively sucked into our own asses!
