We begin with the National Anthem because of today’s last item:
The number one song today in 1961 may have never been recorded had not Buddy Holly died in a plane crash in 1959; this singer replaced Holly in a concert in Moorhead, Minn.:
Britain’s number one album today in 1971 was The Who’s “Who’s Next”:
The number one song today in 1976 is a request to …
Birthdays start with Jimmie Rodgers:
Frankie Avalon:
Alan King of Ace:
Kerry Livgren of Kansas …
… was born one year before Michael Hossack, the first and current drummer of the Doobie Brothers …
… who was born one year before Lita Ford:
Who was Doug Colvin? You knew him as Dee Dee Ramone of the Ramones:
Joanne Catherall of the Human League:
Ricky Bell of Bell Biv Devoe:
One death anniversary; Jimi Hendrix joined the 27 Club by choking to death on his own vomit today in 1970:
Today in 1931, RCA Victor began selling record players that would play not just 78s, but 33⅓-rpm albums too.
Today in 1956, the BBC banned Bill Haley and the Comets’ “Rockin’ Through the Rye” on the grounds that the Comets’ recording of an 18th-century Scottish folk song went against “traditional British standards”:
(It’s worth noting on Constitution Day that we Americans have a Constitution that includes a Bill of Rights, and we don’t have a national broadcaster to ban music on spurious standards. Britain lacks all of those.)
Today in 1964, the Beatles were paid an unbelievable $150,000 for a concert in Kansas City, the tickets for which were $4.50.
Today in 1967, the Doors made their first and last appearance on CBS-TV’s “Ed Sullivan Show,” because Doors lead singer reneged on his promise to not sing “Girl we couldn’t get much higher” on “Light My Fire”:
Backstage, the show’s producer was furious and told the band “Mr. Sullivan wanted you for six more shows, but you’ll never work The Ed Sullivan Show again.” To which Morrison purportedly replied, “Hey, man. We just did the Sullivan show.”
Today in 1969, media breathlessly reported the death of Beatle Paul McCartney, who had been killed in a car accident in November 1966 and been replaced by a double for public appearances. This came as news to McCartney, who was vacationing with his girlfriend at the time.
Today in 1983, Paul Young’s first album, “No Parlez,” reached number one in Britain:
Birthdays begin with Hank Williams:
Jeanine Deckers was the Singing Nun (and if you criticize this song, you’re probably going to Hell):
Today in 1956, Elvis Presley had his first number one song:
Today in 1965, Ford Motor Co. began offering eight-track tape players in their cars. Since eight-track tape players for home audio weren’t available yet, car owners had to buy eight-track tapes at auto parts stores.
Today in 1970, Vice President Spiro Agnew said in a speech that the youth of America were being “brainwashed into a drug culture” by rock music, movies, books and underground newspapers.
I would say something about how all that ended, but that’s way too easy.
The number one single today in 1973:
The short list of birthdays begins with Ola Brunkert, who played drums for ABBA:
Today in 1968, ABC-TV premiered “The Archies,” created by the creator of the Monkees, Don Kirshner:
The number one single today in 1974 is a confession and correction:
Stevie Wonder had the number one album today in 1974, “Fulfillingness First Finale,” which wasn’t a finale at all:
Today in 1979, the film “Quadrophenia,” based on The Who’s rock opera, premiered:
Paul Young hadn’t had a very long career when he released “From Time to Time — The Singles Collection,” and yet he still had the number one British album today in 1991:
Today in 1994, Steve Earle was sentenced to a year in jail not for shooting the sheriff, but for selling crack cocaine:
Birthdays start with Pete Agnew of Nazareth:
Steve Gaines of Lynyrd Skynyrd:
Paul Kossoff of Free:
Barry Cowsill of the Cowsills:
Steve Berlin of Los Lobos:
Morten Harkett of A-Ha:
Amy Winehouse, whose biggest hit turned out to be prophetic:
Today in Great Britain in the first half of the 1960s was a day for oddities.
Today in 1960, a campaign began to ban the Ray Peterson song “Tell Laura I Love Her” (mentioned here Friday) on the grounds that it was likely to inspire a “glorious death cult” among teens. (The song was about a love-smitten boy who decides to enter a car race to earn money to buy a wedding ring for her girlfriend. To sum up, that was his first and last race.)
The anti-“Tell Laura” campaign apparently was not based on improving traffic safety. We conclude this from the fact that three years later, Graham Nash of the Hollies leaned against a van door at 40 mph after a performance in Scotland to determine if the door was locked. Nash determined it wasn’t locked on the way to the pavement.
One year later, a concert promoter hired two dozen rugby players to form a human chain around the stage at a Rolling Stones concert at the Empire Theatre in Liverpool. Rugby players are tough, but not tough enough to take on 5,000 spectators.
The number one album today in 1980 was Jackson Browne’s “Hold Out,” Browne’s only number one album:
Birthdays begin with a pair of horn rock legends — David Clayton Thomas of Blood Sweat & Tears …
… and Peter Cetera of Chicago:
Producer Don Was, who formed Was (Not Was) …
… was born the same day as Randy Jones of the Village People:
Today in 1956, London police were called to break up a crowd of teenagers after the showing of the film “Rock around the Clock” at the Trocadero Cinema.
That prompted a letter to the editor in the Sept. 12, 1956 London Times:
The hypnotic rhythm and the wild gestures have a maddening effect on a rhythm loving age group and the result of its impact is the relaxing of all self control.
The British demonstrated their lack of First Amendment by banning the film in several cities.
The Beatles had the number one album today in 1965 thanks to the help of record-buyers:
The Beatles had the number one U.K. single three years later:
The number one single today in 1976:
The number one single today in 1982:
Today in 1987, Peter Gabriel won several MTV Video Music Awards for …
The anniversary everyone knows about today (more on that in the next post) has one music link. Comic book illustrator Gerard Way was walking to work in New York when he witnessed the World Trade Center attacks. The attacks inspired Way to start the band that would become My Chemical Romance:
Today in 1962, the BBC banned playing the newly released “Monster Mash” by Bobby “Boris” Pickett on the grounds that it was offensive. To use today’s vernacular, really?
Eleven years later, the BBC banned the Rolling Stones’ “Star Star,” but if you play the clip you can hear why:
The Kinks had the number one song today in 1964:
The Supremes had the number one song today in 1966 …
… while the number one album was the Beatles’ “Revolver”:
The number nine song today in 1994 is a strange-sounding song about a strange incident in the somewhat professionally strange career of Dan Rather:
Birthdays start with Jose Feliciano …
… who was born one year before Danny Hutton of Three Dog Night:
Barriemore Barlow of Jethro Tull …
… was born one year before Joe Perry of Aerosmith …
… who was born the same day as drummer Don Powell of Slade:
Mr. Mister drummer Pat Mastelotto …
… was born one year before Johnny Fingers of the Boomtown Rats …
… who was born one year before Siobhan Fahey of Bananarama:
The rock group Jefferson Airplane titled its first greatest-hits compilation “The Worst of Jefferson Airplane.”
Rolling Stone magazine was not being ironic when it polled its readers to decide the 10 worst songs of the 1990s.
I’m not sure I agree with all of Rolling Stone’s list, but that shouldn’t be surprising; such lists are meant for debate, after all. To determine the “worst,” songs appropriate for the “Vinyl from Hell” segment that used to be on a Madison FM rock station, requires some criteria, which does not include mere overexposure (for instance, “Macarena,” the video of which I find amusing since it looks like two bankers are singing it).
Before we go on: Blog posts like this one require multimedia, so if you find a song you hate on this blog, I apologize. These are also songs that I almost never listen to because my sound system has a zero-tolerance policy — if I’m listening to the radio or a CD and I hear a song I don’t like, it’s, to quote Bad Company, gone gone gone.
My blonde wife won’t be happy to read that one of her favorite ’90s songs, 4 Non Blondes’ “What’s Up,” starts the list. (However, the techno version clearly should be on the list.)
To demonstrate that rock musicians are not like you and me, here is the lead Non-Blonde, Linda Clifford:
“I wasn’t really a big fan of my band,” she said. “I didn’t like the record at all. ‘Drifting’ was the only song I loved. I did love ‘What’s Up?’ but I hated the production. When I heard our record for the first time I cried. It didn’t sound like me. It made me belligerent and a real asshole. I wanted to say, ‘We’re a fucking, bad-ass cool band. We’re not that fluffy polished bullshit that you’re listening to.’ It was really difficult.”
My definition of “worst” includes such criteria as poor performance (William Hung’s “She Bangs” occupies its own level of musical hell), poor-quality production (Dave Edmunds’ “I Hear You Knocking,” which, apparently deliberately, sounds as if it was recorded on a pre-World War II wire recorder or was phoned in on land line from the middle of Africa), a substantial annoyance factor (for instance, the singer’s voice), general stupidity (two words: “Disco Duck“) and a concept that fits the category of “Just Because You Can Doesn’t Mean You Should” (for instance, most actors’ records, about which more momentarily).
Next on the Rolling Stone list is a song that MTV’s Kurt Loder described perfectly as “dopey but irresistible,” Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy,” which shouldn’t be on the list either because it’s actually cleverly written:
Dion has made an entire career of sappy ballads. Rock groups that make the strategic decision of recording their own sappy ballads in the interest of increasing record sales deserve inclusion on any worst list, including the entire post-Chicago career of Peter Cetera.
Other examples from this hall of shame include Kiss …
… and Alice Cooper …
… and Styx …
… and Starship …
… and Aerosmith …
… and Bryan Adams (who recorded a contemporary song for a movie set in the 13th century):
Being from the ’80s, I’m more likely to include songs like this on my list, and if you disagree, well, shaddupa you face:
I’ve written before that I’m a fan more of songs than of groups, which probably shows itself in my daily “Presty the DJ” posts. (Here’s a hint: If you notice that a song of a performer on a particular day isn’t there, either that’s because (1) the post is already hellishly long or (2) the blogger doesn’t like the song.) I confess to judging songs on how they sound — music and lyrics — rather than just lyrics. (Which is fortunate for Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods, because the words of “Billy Don’t Be a Hero” depict an unrecognizable war.) I hate Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the USA” not merely because of its blatantly anti-American lyrics, but because Springsteen’s singing on this song sounds like someone running a cheese grater across his teeth, accompanied by bizarre Chinese-sounding keyboards. (“Born in the USA” is not evidence of one of Springsteen’s strange musical obsessions, bells, heard prominently on “Born to Run.”)
Since I’m a fan more of songs than of groups, in the same way I don’t like every song of every act (such as the dreck, starting with “If You Leave Me Now,” of Chicago, my favorite rock group), I don’t hate every song of every act, except for Air Supply, one of whose singers, to paraphrase Aerosmith, sounds like a lady. Guns N Roses comes close, however, because singer Axl Rose is the singing equivalent of the broadcasting term known as “puking.” And why the local radio station’s morning host chooses to play “Sweet Child O Mine” at 6:40 a.m. every Monday remains a mystery, other than its function of motivating me to get out of bed so I don’t have to hear it. (Their Friday counterpart is the Scissor Sisters’ “I Don’t Feel Like Dancing,” which is merely an earworm co-written by Elton John, who plays the piano on the song.)
Michael Bolton deserves numerous inclusions on the hated-it list for not just the sappy nature of most of his work (with one exception), but also his voice, which sounds like he’s trying to tear his retinas. (Or yours.) Barry Manilow lacks Bolton’s hemorrhoid-shredding voice but (withthreeexceptions) has the same diabetes-inducing discography. Opposite Manilow is Frankie Valli, who has done somegreatmusic, but whose voice has occasionally been the musicalequivalent of a godawful annoying TV commercial. (Some might say if it’s annoying but you remember it, the commercial has done its job, but not if you refuse to buy the product being sold because of the commercial.)
You may have concluded by now that I am not a fan of, to use Paul McCartney’s phrase, silly love songs, whether upbeat or downbeat. (Replace “silly” with “stupid” in the lyrics, and that song makes perfect sense.) Dan Hill and I share the same birthday; that does not change my opinion of the vomit-inducing “Sometimes When We Touch,” which I will not dignify by linking to it.
Songs can be annoyances as well because they are non sequiturs. I don’t know about you, but when I think of hanging tough, I do not think of New Kids on the Block. Why the Beach Boys would sing of an Indiana town in a movie about a bartender on a tropical island … well, a lot of the ’80s don’t make sense. (Another example is Led Zeppelin’s “Fool in the Rain,” a musical self-ripoff of their superior “D’Yer Maker,” on their final album, “In Through the Out Door,” which includes the suicide-inducing “All of My Love.”) And can anyone say what this song is about? (Not to mention: What music genre is this? Techno-country?)
Country music is stereotyped as a variation on the theme of my-dog-died my-wife-left-me my-truck-blew-up my-roof-caved-in let’s-go-get-drunk. So why singers and songwriters decided on their own to create the teen tragedy genre of pop songs (also known as “death rock” or a “splatter platter”) is beyond my comprehension.
The most famous of this genre is probably “Teen Angel,” in which boyfriend stalls car on railroad tracks and pulls girlfriend to safety, only to watch in horror as girlfriend goes back to car and gets smucked by a train. (She was going after his class ring.) Or perhaps it’s “Tell Laura I Love Her,” in which a love-smitten young lad enters a car race intending to win enough money to buy a wedding ring for Laura. Laura’s boyfriend doesn’t get smucked by a train, he gets smucked by another (or perhaps his own) race car, and his racing career and wedding plans go up in flames.
Or perhaps it’s “Last Kiss,” another fatal car drive song first sung by J. Frank Wilson and banshee-sounding backup singers, and then covered by Pearl Jam (which makes one think Eddie Vedder lost a bet):
Many bad songs are covers, songs that were re-performed whether or not they should have been. If the song isn’t very good (for instance, Peter Frampton’s “Baby I Love Your Way”), you are usually guaranteed the remake will be even worse, particularly if it mangles a rock classic along the way:
Even if the song is a classic, it can be ruined by a bad performance:
Curiously (or maybe not), the aforementioned songs-performed-by-actors category mostly seem to include covers. (For whatever reason(s), singers seem to be able to act better than actors can sing.) John Lennon and George Harrison surely are rolling in their graves every time someone plays this:
And if the world wasn’t interested in hearing Captain Kirk sing, then why did Mr. Spock (who sounds like a cross between B.J. Thomas and Bruce Springsteen) feel the need to sing too?
On the other hand, this was the best version of Morris Alpert’s intolerable “Feelings”:
Actor David Soul, the latter of “Starsky & Hutch,” lacked the paint-peeling voice of the captain and first officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise. His one chart-reaching recording was merely another drop in a sea of sap:
The ’80s have, unfortunately, several examples of the actor-as-singer oeuvre:
Europhiles and those who look down at the U.S. claim that the Old World has much more sophistication, class and taste than the New World. I reply to that assertion with the observation that David Hasselhoff has released 17 albums and 16 singles. None charted in the U.S.
Speaking of actors singing, I’m not sure where to put “MacArthur Park,” which was written by one of the great American pop song writers, Jimmy Webb. Actor Richard Harris’ version of “MacArthur Park” proves that, had Harris been required to sing for his supper, he would have starved to death:
What rescues this odd song (which was inspired by Webb’s relationship with a cousin of Linda Ronstadt) is its arrangement, particularly the orchestral break (from 4:52 to 6:20), for which the song won a Grammy in 1969. (The Grammy surely was not for Harris’ singing.) The orchestral break led to this SCTV sketch:
Dave Barry’s Book of Bad Songs gives Harris’ version the honor (if that’s what you want to call it) of being Barry’s worst song of all time. (I would have chosen, from Barry’s list, Paul Anka’s “You’re Having My Baby” or Bobby Goldsboro’s “Honey” myself.) To prove that the bad reviews are the result of the performance, “MacArthur Park” has been covered more than 50 times, including Donna Summer’s number-one disco version …
… and Maynard Ferguson’s horn version …
… and Weird Al Yankovic’s own interpretation:
Obviously the definition of “worst song” is a matter of personal taste. Here’s a rule of thumb: A song should make your worst-music list if the song makes you want to (1) shoot any music device on which it’s playing, (2) shoot the performer(s), or (3) shoot yourself so you never have to hear it again.
Steve Prestegard.com: The Presteblog 