by Chris Kenner (1961)

There’s probably no way to get around the dorkiness of getting reacquainted with a song through the local Starbucks. I should probably lie for street cred and say I heard this long forgotten song again at some boutique you’ve never heard of but no. It was me and a really loud off duty firemen, both getting excited about the 1961 Chris Kenner hit, I Like It Like That, a song that reminds me of my pre-teen 1950’s obsession. Stand By Me had just come out, my sister (who had converse with “I Love River Phoenix” doodles on them) and I nearly wore through the tape of the white cassette soundtrack and almost like an answer to my little girl prayers, a glorious place called Fuddruckers had opened at a local strip mall.

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Posted on May 2, 2010

by The Doors

I have a bunch of friends that hate The Doors. On one hand, I simply do not understand but on the other, if you’re really big on the contemporary, sensitive and overly modest indie rock man style, I can see there would be more than a little resistance to the shirtless leather panted swagger of Morrison and co with their drugged up poetry and out of control sexual confidence. If you count yourself among these haters, you should definitely avoid The Doors in Concert. If you think he’s got the bluster of an high school senior talking the pants of every girl he meets on record, you should listen to him ask “wrap your legs around my neck” followed by “it’s getting hard” live. As full of high school hormones the innuendo is, god help me, it still works on me like gang busters.

As an adult, I might be snide about the equivalent sexual pop stars of kids today. The silly antics and puffed up machismo or bravado, but the same things make me tingle with delight here. It helps that the music is genuinely dynamic, exciting, and classic and never more so than when the band is performing at their best. And they’re at their best in phenomenal, angry versions of the epic When the Music’s Over – perhaps my favorite Doors song (it makes me want to scream along “We want the world and we want it now!”) as well as the equally epic The End and the jangly Roadhouse Blues.

There’s so much youthful exuberance and this is exactly the kind of album that makes me feel like I really missed out by not living through the sixties then wonder how everybody’s parents turned out so square and republican regardless.

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Posted on March 21, 2010

Lou Gramm and Gerard McMann (1987)

Even though it seemed inevitable, I was truly saddened by the news of Corey Haim’s recent passing. My sister and I grew up with the guy as a major pop culture icon and I still count myself a major fan of his best work, The Lost Boys. While the entire soundtrack was hardly pure gold (Jim has a real hard time with Echo and the Bunnymen’s ‘People are Strange’ cover), two songs stand out and are still on my iPod to this day.

So, in memory of the goofy kid whose voice would break, whose sideways smile would elicit sighs from preteen girls the world over, and who lived his adult life, tragically, as a lost boy, let’s play some Lou Gramm (Say hello to the night [lost boys] lost in the shadows!”) and, while we’re at, spin Gerard McMann’s Cry Little Sister (though shall not fallllll).

Wow, even just thinking about these songs memories of the tumultuous emotions and achingly conflicted and full heart I had to contend with in sixth grade come flooding back; these were the days my friends and I wanted to be in the Vampire cult (we made up the belief that if you used a ouija board in the deepest room in the house –in my case the basement laundry room – you could summon the spirits to turn into a vampire) and took major dressing cues from Star. It’s funny, it all seems so long ago, but when triggered by these songs, that intense time is as close as ever.

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Posted on March 14, 2010

by The Yardbirds (1966)

Whether it’s presaging the darker sludge of Black Sabbath (Since the World Began), a gentle Crimson and Cloveresque beauty (Shapes in my Mind), a roadhouse rattle (Nazz are Blue), some psychedelia (Hot House of Omagarashid), or capturing an energetic catchiness (Over, Sideways, Under Down) The Yardbirds’ Roger the Engineer is a perfect snapshot of the sound of its time.

This album is pre-Page Yardbirds with a heavy influence by the innovative guitarist Jeff Beck. The reissue I have includes several bonus tracks as well as a combination of both the US and UK original releases which were inexplicably different.

The band never seemed to resonate with the American public quite as strongly as other British Invasion acts did, but as it was the launching pad for Beck, Eric Clapton, and Jimmy Page, it’s hard to look back on the Yardbirds without wonder. Roger the Engineer is an eclectic display of their talents and it’s quickly becoming one of my favorites of the era. Plus, I adore the cover art: a wonky, trippy pen drawing by band member Chris Dreja.

Click here for the rest of Roger the Engineer

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Posted on February 21, 2010

by Matt Berry (2005)

It’s common knowledge that I suffer from periodic fits of Matt Berry obsession; fortunately, there’s always something new to discover and to fall in love with concerning the man with the golden baritone. This time it’s Opium, his semi-comedic album (available on iTunes!) that has lifted my spirits this week more times than I can mention.

If you thought the Snuff Box theme got in your head (due to the fact that it’s played at least twice per episode), you’ll be happy to hear that the same catchy melody resurfaces, and is set to new lyrics, on Opium. Another high point on an album replete with high points is a sexual escapade called ‘Taking Control of Your Body’ that’s bound to inflame the libido of fans of Barry White, Serge Gainsbourg and “Weird Al” Yankovich alike.

Opium is a difficult piece of music to attach a label to. It is, of course, not entirely serious – there are bizarre spoken word sections about visiting an old-timey prostitute in a tavern and lines like, “They want dancers, young gay dancers!” or, “I need some kind of black magic reggae to sort this one out,” and yet I’ve been listening to this record so, so much this past week that the irony has vanished and has been replaced with a sense of pure, familiar enjoyment.

It’s my dream to see the man in person, he plays out often in London (I even priced a trip out there for one of his shows, but it seemed a bit extravagant just to see One Track Lover – which is not included on Opium, FYI – though not quite as pricey as the trip Jim conceived around a rare Maddy Prior/Tim Hart appearance a while back) but there are no NYC dates listed on his site…

American audiences have yet to catch on, and the kind of specific and offbeat humor Berry deals in may not be immediately appealing to legions of Yanks, so my dream is likely to remain just that… Opium feels the void nicely though.

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Posted on February 14, 2010