Radio Vickers Speaks It's Mind no. 2

Guess Who’s Not in the Hall of Fame

Anytime anyone has put pen to parchment or thumb to I-phone to craft a well-intentioned list of things meritorious, people have lined up for days to ladle the cold and lumpy vomit of their disgust down the back of that individual’s shirt collar.   Today is no exception.  Pull out your shirt collar, Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame, because I’ve got my whisky-barrel-sized ladle and it’s full to brimmin’ with the icy cold sick of my discontent.

 

Let’s start with The Guess Who, shall we?   Is it because they’re Canadian?  That they eat round instead of strippy bacon, so they can go fuck themselves?  Surely, no other plausible explanation can be proffered for this find exemplary band’s inexplicable snubbing at the hands of that strangely shaped building in Cleveland.  Obviously, those American bastards still haven’t forgiven us for setting fire to their goddamn White House or dropping Celine Dion on them.  It really boils my garters when I think of some of the musical lightweights that have been joyously, and with much ceremony, trotted into that big glassy pyramid.  One cannot help but wonder whether Wavy Gravy is handing out Syd Barrett levels of the leftover Brown acid from Woodstock during their selection meetings. 

A Case in Point:

 

Sure, the Dave Clark Five and Donna Summer had their moments in the sun – but do either of them have the hits or the staggering catalogue that Bachman, Cummings, Winter and Troiano bestowed upon the world?  This is not a close call, folks.  NOOOO, they fucking don’t!  The Guess Who were pumping out top notch rock albums from the mid 60’s thru 1975.  Now, I know that Donna Summer is dead, but that’s no excuse.  Being dead is not a body of work.  It’s just a body.  By all means, put her in the Disco Hall of Fame or the Over-Produced-Ass-Wag-Music Hall of Fame but Rock ‘n’ Roll?  Really?  Can you even name a Donna Summer song that could honestly be described as rock ‘n’ roll?  And her horrifying reinvention of McArthur Park made about as much sense as the song’s lyrics.  That’s got to be worth a few demerit points.  

 

But perhaps I’m being unfair.  I can sort of buy the “Apples and Oranges” argument.  Why not compare a bunch of white guys with instruments with a different bunch of white guys with instruments?  

Yes the Dave Clark sold a few billion copies of Glad All Over, Bits and Pieces, Do You Love Me and….and…well, you name another song of theirs that’s lasted more than a week or two in the bowels of the Charts.  Does anything spring to mind?

Whereas The Guess Who Tallied…

1965 Shakin' All Over

1969 These Eyes

1969  Laughing

1969 Undun

1970 American Woman

1970 No Sugar Tonight

1970 No Time

1970 Share The Land

1970 Hand Me Down World

1971 Rain Dance

1971 Albert Flasher

1971 Hang On To Your Life

1972 Heartbroken Bopper

1972 Sour Suite

1972 Running Back To Saskatoon (live)

1973 Follow Your Daughter Home

1974 Clap For The Wolfman

1974 Star Baby

1975 Dancin' Fool

            Most of these songs are Classic Rock radio staples.  When was the last time you heard “Over and Over” coming through the car speakers on a clammy summer’s night? 

And the Guess Who weren’t just a singles band.  How about Orly, Glamour Boy, Rich World/Poor Word, Dirty, Nashville Sneakers, All Hashed Out, Bye Bye Babe, Glace Bay Blues, Truckin’ Off Across the Sky, Those Show Biz Shoes, Hoe Down Time etc. etc. ??? 

 But, receiving “the big invite” is obviously not just about being great songwriters.  Worthy inductees Jackie Wilson and the Supremes didn’t pen their own tunes. 

What if performing prowess is a large portion the nomination equation?   Imagine, if you will, that you had to wager a large dollop of your procreative appurtenances on whether the Dave Clark Five were a better and more rockin’ band live than The Guess Who.  Would you even entertain placing the wellbeing of your nut sack or growler on the former Fab Five for a second?  Have you heard Live at the Parmount?  

Well, if it isn’t the hits, songwriting or performance that put the DC5 way out ahead of the GH, how about musicianship?

Is Lenny Davidson a better or more inventive lead guitarist that Randy Bachman, Kurt Winter or Domenic Troiano?  Grow the fuck up.

Is Mike Smith a better singer than Burton Cummings?  Mr. Smith is a workable warbler but Burton Cummings in one of the very best rock singers of his generation. 

We’re running out of possibilities here.

Is Dave Clark a better drummer than Garry Peterson?  Not even if Garry had as many arms as that guy from Def Leppard (and possibly a few toes on his hi-hat foot missing). 

So, what is this mystical metric that these mavens of the music biz are utilizing when they pick these nominees? 

And here’s a further puzzler.  What drunken evil warlock spell made them decide to induct Frankie fucking Lymon?  He barely had a career!  Let’s face it, being found dead next to a toilet is as close as this guy will ever get to being Elvis Presley.  Deep Purple were eligible to be nominated that year.  Can you, in any universe or hitherto unknown dimension, picture a scenario where Frankie Lymon gets on a stage and out-rocks Deep Purple?   

 More Cavilling:

Since we’re happily slopping the frigid and lumpy regurgitations about, let’s take a quick gander at the career of Status Quo.  So, is Cleveland home to “The Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame” or is it “The American Only and Nobody Else Rock and Roll ’n’ Hall of Fame?”  Quo started recording in 1967 and continue putting out top-selling, head-boppin’ albums to this very today.  They’ve had 63 chart hits in the UK (more than any other group).  They have 22 top 10 singles.  They’ve sold 128 million records worldwide.  I saw them live in a sea of screaming Mexicans in Hollywood and they blew the roof off.  Why, I don’t believe even a rock god the magnitude of oh, say…FRANKIE LYMON could have put on a better, more rockin’ show.  They’ve been eligible to be nominated for 23 years, Goddammit!  What do these guys have to do, short of shitting Beatle wigs, to get in to the Hall? 

I don’t even get me started on Cliff Richard. 

 

My Final Chunk Puddle of Irritation:

I know there’s been a lot of talk about the questionable methodology of the Hall’s decision makers.  Apparently, these industry big wigs have been accused of casting a very kind eye on artists connected with their own record labels.  Say it isn’t so!

Even Murray the K. was somewhat covert about his corrupt practices.  He didn’t get on the air and announce, “The only reason I’m playing this single is because I just received a trunk full of Jacksons from the record company and the lead singer’s wife jerked me off into my silly straw fedora.”  The nominating board isn’t even that subtle in their monetarily rewarding selection process.  But, let’s put aside the sordid and unpardonable history of this ethical No Man’s Land where talent and merit hold about as much weight as the helium in Katy Perry’s tits. 

Let’s take a look at this year’s nominees and see who is worthy?

 

Yes – Abso-fucking-lutely!  These guys should have been inducted in their first year of eligibility.  They invented art rock as we know it today.  So what if Jon Anderson couldn’t find a decent lyric if someone nailed it to the end of his Nous Sommes Du Soleil.  When one takes a look at their body of work and the staggering musicianship…

Bill Bruford?  Steve Howe?  Rick Wakeman?  Heard of any of these rhythmically advanced fellows?  Musically, they are the best of the best and every prog band out there has stolen from them.  This is their first nomination.  Chic have been nominated 8 times.  Society has gone mad, I tell you.  Is it any wonder that our children turn to drugs and violent I-phone games involving fruit. 

 

Kiss – Again: pure insanity these guys are not already in.  They may not have written more than three good songs in a 40 year career but who cannot marvel at their contributions to the stage craft and spectacle of rock.  Sure, Gene Simmons is a world class jerk but Chuck “let me videotape you while you’re taking dump” Berry isn’t?  

 

Linda Ronstadt – Sadly, she will probably get in because she is ailing.  That’s no reason to put someone in the Hall.  The reason Ms. Ronstadt should have been welcomed in a decade ago, is because she’s damn fine singer and she’s had a massive career.  Her mega-successful albums with Nelson Riddle sent every fading rock star in sight scrambling in search of an orchestra.  Plus, millions of today’s middle-aged men grew up masturbating to that poster of her sitting with pigs.  Even the great Neil Diamond can’t make that sort of boast.

 

Hall and Oates – Not really my cup of tea but they probably deserve it.

 

NWA – No fucking way.

 

The Paul Butterfield Blues Band – Yes.  

 

Peter Gabriel – It’s lucky it isn’t the Prolific Hall of Fame because he wouldn’t even get a single vote.   Peter is so slow; he couldn’t even come up with titles for his first three solo records.  But he definitely should be in the Hall.  

 

LL Cool J – No.

 

Chic – No. No. No. No. No.

 

Nirvana – A short career but (like the Velvet Underground and the Stooges) one which spawned a whole generation of admirers and imitators.   Perhaps they shouldn’t get in on their first nomination but one day. 

 

The Meters - They should definitely be in the mix.

 

The Replacements – I have a soft spot in my crusty heart for this band.  I’m a huge Westerberg fan and they probably deserve to be in.  Plus – they have a dead member – that seems to hold some sway with the board (See Lynyrd Skynyrd).

 

Cat Stevens – To me, he’s borderline.  Some nice songs but a short career of quality work, followed by some real drivel before he quit music to call for the religious assassination of Salman Rushdie and to educate little children. 

 

The Zombies – Probably too small a canon to warrant their inclusion. (See Dave Clark Five)  Perhaps Rod Argent should be admitted for the Zombies and Argent combined.

 

Link Wray – As sidemen go – he probably deserves it.  However, I don’t see him making the top five in this mega-talented group.

 

Deep Purple – A touching personal story.  When I was in Nobby Clegg – we had the pleasure of warming up for Ian Gillan at the El Mocambo for two nights.  The legendary rocker and former Jesus was a superstar asshole to us.  First, he made us change in the El Mocambo kitchen because we weren’t worthy of being in his presence.  Then, during the performance, his tech crew refused to give me monitors.  Huh?  Was the singer of “Smoke on the Water” and “Space Truckin’” actually afraid that I was going to wipe the vocal floor with him, if I were allowed to actually hear myself?  Probably not.  He was just being a fucking overweight, drunken prick.  But…even having suffered such shoddy and reprehensible treatment at the hands of this steel-tonsiled, criminally inconsiderate troubadour, I still believe he should be in the Hall of Fame.  (And I hold on to grudges.)

My five top picks for the Hall from this year’s nominees. (Obviously, the Hall chose to disregard these sage words.  That's why they're soulless bums.)

1.      Yes

2.      Kiss

3.      Linda Ronstadt

4.      Peter Gabriel

5.      Deep Purple – Even including that son of a bitch they’ve got singing for them.

Some Random Thoughts

You can also follow Radio Vickers on Facebook!

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Radio-Vickers/182423558563540

It has only just occurred to me: those 4,000 holes that it takes to fill up the Albert Hall – did John Lennon mean Assholes?  As in assholes sitting in the seats and filling it up?  If so, the Albert Hall holds just over 5,000.  Does that mean that only 4,000 of them are assholes and the other 1,000 attendees are rather nice people?  And if that is so, how does the Albert Hall manage to maintain its asshole-to-nice-person ratio when dispensing tickets?  Do they sell the first 1,000 tickets to, say, little old ladies and then the rest to the Koch Brothers?

            Some other things that have been on my mind that might interest you.

“Are we human, or are we dancer?”  What in the living, steaming, piss-bucket of pointless, shitty lyric-writing does this mean?  I hear it constantly at my gym and want to punch an unsuspecting trainer every time it rains down on us from the ceiling speakers.  Now, I sort of like The Killers.  Mr. Brightside was a reasonably good song.  But, if they are vying to be the worst lyricists in rock and roll?  They don’t and will never hold a candle to the puerile, meaningless resplendence of Neil Peart or Jon Anderson so they’d better sit down, grab a goddamn pencil and stay in that fucking recording studio until they’ve got something sensible to sing about.

When I was a bachelor, I often wondered, “Can potpourri be used as a vegetable?”  I mean, you visit people’s houses and it’s just sitting there on top of the toilet with nobody eating it.  Seems like such a waste.  I imagined, when you boiled it up, it would taste sort of like really pleasant smelling broccoli.  

Shouldn’t we make beef jerky even worse for you, health-wise?  I mean, it already looks like a doowanger stolen from an Aztec mummy.  The “people” who eat those grizzly, revolting sticks of desiccated meat obviously don’t care whether they’re alive or dead so why should we or the Department of Health?  Why not stuff these noxious nibbley nummy-nums with every imaginable banned additive and trans-fatty flavor-enhancer until they ooze coagulated arterial sludge out of every dehydrated pore?  Perhaps, toss in a dollop of radioactive waste.  It would be of inestimable aid to society by getting rid of unwanted and highly toxic refuse and the conscientious carrion connoisseur would be able to locate the handy snack in his glove compartment without having to turn on the light in his pickup truck.  

Am I the only one who thinks there are too many fucking musical genres today?  Trance, dance, techno, minimal, ambient, downtempo, chillout, house, Euro House, progressive house, electro house, (just how the fuck do these differ?) Italodance, tech house, dubstep, beats, breakbeat, glitch, abstract and lounge.  That’s an awful lot of sub-categories for a type of music that’s about as enjoyable as being caught masturbating by your mother while wearing striped knee-socks at a big plastic duck bill.  

 

Do you think the Crab Nebula being shaped like an actual crab is mere coincidence or is it God on high saying to all people of all nations, “You should try eating these things.  Sure, crustaceans are as ugly as fuck but they’re really quite tasty.”

 

And lastly (and probably leastly), how the hell does “Homeland” get nominated for and win Emmy Awards?  Have the Academy members that voted for this intellectual bidet actually seen the show?  If you want to reward an actress who can pop the eyes out of her like J. Wellington Wimpy when espying a succulent hamburger, then by all means vote for Claire Danes but this woman’s acting is about as subtle and nuanced as a colonoscopy performed by the Three Stooges.  Ms. Danes appears to be a serious candidate for spontaneous human combustion in just about every scene stampedes through.  I’ve met less crazy people at stop lights, washing my windshield with their soiled underwear.  I can only imagine that they cast poor Claire in this part because Soupy Sales is no longer with us.  Wal-Mart would have second thoughts about letting this woman into one of its stores as a customer but the CIA head honchos seem more than happy to entrust the wellbeing of the entire free world to her. 

But I guess in a show where, if you want to warn a terrorist leader in the Middle East of an impending assassination, you can simply text him on your cell phone from inside the White House war room (As long as you keep your I-Phone under the table, no one will notice.)…well, anything is possible.  

I’ve always thought of television as the “special needs” brother of the entertainment world but it appears to be sliding downhill faster than a Brazilian village in a downpour.  Mandy Patinkin must wish he were still being knocked unconscious by the Dread Pirate Roberts every time he picks up a script.  This drama/thriller has bigger holes in it than Lindsay Lohan’s septum.  If you have to move a man’s family to a “Safe House” because they’ve been targeted for assassination by a crack team of international bad guys?...  Well, put them in an apartment that has floor to ceiling windows the entire length of the living room and never draw the curtains!  Now, I’m as big a fan of sproingy breasts and downy female posteriors as any man alive, but this show would have to have pre-orgasmic, undulating supermodels hanging from suspension ropes in every scene to  make me watch a third season.

Sure, there have always been shitty shows with talentless casts vomiting up witless dialogue but they didn’t win Emmys!  (well, mostly)  If only “My Mother the Car” had stayed on the air, Ann Southern would have won a big shiny statue for best performance by an actress farting nitrogen oxide.  

I’m sorry, but Cory Monteith was a mediocre actor and a so-so singer who couldn’t even take drugs right, while Jack Klugman had a sparkling career going back to 1950.  He was brilliant at the fluffiest comedy and the darkest drama.  So, which recently deceased performer did the Academy decide to spend big minutes honoring?  It’s enough to make you scream like Roger Daltry.   

At some point, the Academy of Television Arts & Sciences has to take a good look at itself and say, “You know what?   Most of what we produce is unadulterated crap.  Let’s only give out awards when they’re actually merited.”  Television would have to change for the better or the Emmy Awards Show would only be about 25 minutes long, including lively dance numbers.

Now, for something far more sensible:  

People send me all kinds of cool and groovy stuff at Radio Vickers to share with my mailing list. (Which you can become apart of by writing me at radiovickers1@gmail.com!)

Steve B. sent me this terrific video.  It’s a six minute musical tour through the different guitar solo styles that have tickled our eardrums since the early days of rock and roll.

http://now.msn.com/mark-sidney-johnson-shows-the-history-of-the-guitar-solo

 

Brent M. sent in a brilliant trailer for Monty Python and the Holy Grail…if it were made today.   This is so true.  Very nice piece.

http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2013/09/11/monty_python_and_the_holy_grail_modern_trailer_watch_video.html?wpisrc=obnetwork

Something else quite sensible:

I have discovered some top notch music over the last month – while not writing a column.  Take a listen and try to forgive my typing tardiness.

The Wild Feathers – Backwoods Company  - this thing really rocks.  Good old fashioned rock and roll like you almost never hear on the radio these days. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k1eYfrT-hBw

Another terrific song by the Wild Feathers from their debut album.

The Wild Feathers – The Ceiling

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPkGcKckjao

Ida Maria – Last Dance – There is something wonderfully 80’s about this song – the good CFNY kind of 80’s – not that teeth-bleedlingly horrible shit CHUM used to inflict on its poor, criminally undiscerning listeners.  It even has a little lead riff that remains me of Tom Verlaine.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LsZHhzmY3zE

The Golden Suits – Swimming in 99 – pop music at its best.  Plus, the video offers two very attractive watches for your consideration.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BfSlDZVVXqY

The Strypes – Blue Collar Jane – Massively cool and noisy song performed by two year-olds.  I wonder if the singer meant to look so much like a young Paul Weller in the opening shot.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gZb8nEemK2k