Wig Bubbles

It’s all anyone’s talking about, when not talking about Justin Trudeau.

Rush. Potentially. Perhaps. Going. Into. The Rock. And Roll. Hall. Of Fame.

Excited? Me neither. Still, many have this week voiced “it’s about time” words of praise, even as Gram Parsons, Fela Kuti, The Troggs, Afrika Bambaataa, Burning Spear, James Carr, Willie Nelson, X, Ali Farka Touré, Marc Bolan, Toots and the Maytals, Guided By Voices, Sun Ra, Merle Haggard, The Zombies, The Carter Family, The Shadows, The Jam and, yes, The Monkees continue to be shunned by the supposedly hallowed hall.

Is this to be Rush’s moment? It likely depends on what the band’s label is preparing in the way of a retrospective (and which artists other labels are lobbying for… the prestigious institution has an uncanny knack for dividing the spoils evenly between the majors). But if Rush is to be recognized, let it be for the lineup that graced the trio’s debut album: arguably, the finest album Led Zeppelin never made. Continue reading →

Kudos to Psy.

Some years ago, I wrote a column for a local paper that urged open-minded music lovers to listen beyond the English language. Specifically, the call to open our ears to francophone artists. In the world of pop music, after all, lyrics seldom serve a purpose beyond breaking up the monotony of the instrumental backing. Thousands of songwriters have attempted to introduce profundity to pop. They have, almost invariably, seen their efforts trumped by monosyllabic odes to hemp, hops or humping. It’s difficult to imagine, therefore, why a song in a language other than English has never stood a chance on the charts. Continue reading →

I’ve been listening to Jim Reeves today and realizing that the man is much more worthy of his legendary status than I’ve ever given him credit for. For me, the late crooner was never much more than the sleepy He’ll Have To Go, a song I frankly despised when I was a kid.

But while He’ll Have To Go doesn’t exactly rock, I’ve finally come to appreciate its easy-listening magnificence. Moreover, apart from the whole jukebox thing, it’s still relevant. When Jim Reeves recorded it, he conjured for listeners the image of a man nursing a stiff drink while calling on a payphone. Today, it seems everyone is on the phone all the time. Hence, a more relevant song. Sorry, Jim, for once being glad that you are gone. Continue reading →

Recently, as I’ve been absorbed in The Beach Boys’ Smile album, I’ve considered the possibility that we have judged Mike Love too harshly all these years. Sure, the man appears to have some slightly dick-ish qualities, and there was that infamous Rock and Roll Hall of Fame speech.

But, uh, he contributed to some of The Beach Boys’ greatest hits; he is the voice of many of the best-loved songs; and, even if he had not avoided drugs, we would be able to take solace in the fact that unlike Brian Wilson, Mike Love would not have destroyed a great mind.

But no, it seems Mike Love really is as much of a jerk as has long been supposed. I mean, firing Brian Wilson mid-way through the band’s most celebrated tour in decades? True, it’s entirely possible that Brian will never realize that he has been fired. But let’s not forget Al Jardine and David Marks, also fired for — well, presumably for being Al and David. And not Mike.

There is a petition circulating to have the original Boys reinstated for the remainder of a tour that is, thankfully, not coming to Ottawa. Good luck with that, Beach Boys fans. I mean, it’s not like Mike Love isn’t a reasonable man.