I’m not a fan of INXS, but there’s a few of their songs I really like. “Don’t Change” is one of them. I think the reason I like this song so much (along with the other exceptions that appeal to me) is that it doesn’t really sound like most of their other stuff. When “Don’t Change” pops up on 80s or New Wave stations I sometimes listen to, I don’t change the dial. A very underrated song in their oeuvre. From the stupidly titled 1982 album “Shabooh Shoobah.”
An absolutely wonderful example of early 1960s pop: the driving bass and drums, the dramatic strings, the Byrds-like guitar sound, and that voice of DeShannon’s cracking with emotion. The Searchers and Pam Tillis may have had bigger hits with their covers of this, but the original by DeShannon is nothing short of magnificent.
From the 1979 album “Cool for Cats,” this is one of Squeeze’s most popular songs. “Up the Junction” is based on a 1968 British film of the same name (and a 1965 British television film directed by famed director Ken Loach), which in turn, was based on a 1963 novel by Neil Dunn.
I love the way the lyrics play out in this song, which tells a bittersweet tale of young love, resulting in some heavy consequences, which ultimately leads to a sad end. Despite the sad way the song ends, this is a brilliantly written pop song. An amazingly complex tale told in just slightly under three and a half minutes.
One of the best singles of the 1980s, “I Got You” is the only Split Enz song that ever made an impact in the United States. A fine blueprint for the terrific pop Split Enz-bandmate Neil Finn would later produce with his band Crowded House. For those who care, this was voted the 11th best New Zealand pop song of all time. (“Don’t Dream It’s Over” by Finn’s Crowded House was #2 … #1 is something called “Nature” by a band called Formylua from 1969).
The Shadows of Knight’s biggest and best-known song is their cover of Them’s “Gloria” (Them was Van Morrisson’s original band). However, in my opinion, “Shake” blows their version of “Gloria” out of the water. Some damn good 60s garage punk.
Bryan Ferry’s transcendent 1974 cover of the Dobie Gray – Ramsey Lewis jazz-soul classic from the 1960s. Ferry can totally rock a white dinner jacket and still kick ass better than most leather-jacketed would-be “tough” guys. He also has the good taste to include some dissonant electric guitars on this cover as a wink and nod to the hip rockers in the audience. Yes, Ferry looks like every bad personal injury lawyer on TV, but he arguably gets better as he gets older.
A damn good ballad … um … that’s just smoke in my eyes … I’m OK … really.
The opening track of Black Sabbath’s self-titled debut album, this song sets the stage for the marriage of heavy metal and Satanism, Goth, and other things some people are scared by and other people laugh at derisively. Yes, a lot of this is pretty silly, but the song still knocks me for a loop every time I hear it. And if I ever fulfill my childhood dream of becoming a filmmaker, I get first dibs on using this song for a scene in a mob film where a hitman plots taking out some enemies. This post will be registered with the WGA, so if any of you wannabe Tarantinos decide to steal from this wannabe Tarantino, my team of lawyers will see you in court.
By the way, Black Sabbath’s debut album was recorded for a mere 800 pounds ($1200 in American dollars). This is 1/5 the cost of the Ramones allegedly “low-budget” debut album which cost $6000 in American dollars.
Even though Black Sabbath are considered kings of heavy metal, “Paranoid” is pure punk rock in my humble opinion. While Led Zeppelin were bragging about giving you every inch of their love, Sabbath was fretting about war-mongering politicians and generals (their classic “War Pigs”) and emotional breakdowns. “Paranoid” contains one of my all-time favorite lyrics: “Make a joke and I will sigh and you will laugh and I will cry.” Damn, if that one line doesn’t sum up the downward spiral of the victim of a bully, I don’t know what does.
Whether you want to admit it or not, there’s a part in all of us that feels a certain pleasure when people who have risen to a higher level of success or notoriety than we have are taken down a peg … or twelve. This feeling is called “schadenfreude” and it’s the basis for for all of those clicks on TMZ.com and PerezHilton.com, all those times you pretend not to scan the headlines of the tabloids when you’re in the checkout line, and all of those times your computer mouse finds itself going to the “Entertainment” and “Celebrity” sections of your favorite news page. I’m not putting this practice down. While it’s a trait not too many people are proud of, it performs a necessary balancing act for our psyches. When you’re working a job you don’t like to pay for things you don’t need, it’s nice to be reminded those people who we think “have it all,” really don’t.
However, despite the rationalizations indicated above, I find it hard to rationalize why I’m addicted to Darwin Porter’s celebrity biographies. Forget TMZ. Forget Albert Goldman. Forget even Kenneth Anger (the author of the original “Hollywood Babylon,” the Magna Carta of Hollywood sleaze). Porter’s celebrity biographies are … hands down … the absolute FILTHIEST, DIRTIEST, and SLEAZIEST celebrity biographies you’ll ever read. I’ve read four of Porter’s bios so far (Steve McQueen, Michael Jackson, Marlon Brando, and Linda Lovelace) and every time I put one of his books down for sleep, I feel like I need one of those Karen Silkwood showers afterwards. This is because Porter focuses almost exclusively on the sexual lives of his subjects and he goes into extremely explicit detail about the sights, the sounds, and … sometimes … the smells of their sordid private affairs. Yet, while such details may seem titillating, they actually have the opposite effect. By the end, you feel like you’ve been ravaged by the entire series run of E! True Hollywood Stories and then abandoned with no cab fare for your efforts. I realize, of course, these protestations are hollow considering I’ve read four of these damn bios, but like Kyle MacLachlan’s character in “Blue Velvet” keeps going back to see Isabella Rossellini’s troubled character, I keep wandering back to Porter’s books.
Yes, most of Porter’s subjects are dead and therefore, can’t defend themselves. Yes, you’re a complete moron if you believe 100% of what you read in these books. However, there’s also the adage that “where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” So, if you’re looking for that literary equivalent of hanging out at the bar until closing to find that special someone who will utter the magic words “Why not?”, Porter’s books are the ticket. As long as you have your bulls–t director on high and have the Comet cleanser close by, you’ll do just fine. Of course, you’ll go to hell for merely browsing any of these books. But at least if you’re going to hell for reading a book, Porter makes it worth your while. Most of his tomes are over 400 pages long and all of them are jam-packed with with nothing but the “bad” (or “good,” depending on how evil you are) stuff you’re looking for. And … most of them are available digitally … so you can read these books without rousing too much suspicion. However, please be warned that Porter does love to throw the inappropriate pictures around like many people pass out after-dinner mints. Like a Whitman’s Sampler of sleaze, you never know what picture might pop up when you turn the page, so be careful reading these books on a plane.
Dave's Strange World 