As I continue to fight a lingering cold--and I have not ruled out the use of nuclear weapons in this battle--I skipped this week's TIRnRR. But 10 Songs must go on! This week's edition discusses ten little numbers that I considered as subjects in my book The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1), but which aren't included in the book's current Table Of Contents.
As always: an infinite number of songs can each be THE greatest record ever made, as long as they take turns.
THE ANIMALS: It's My Life
Among instruments commonly used in creating pop music, the bass guitar is uniquely suited to herald an impending apocalypse.
Boom boom. Boom boom. Boom boom boom boom boom boom.
For the book, my concept of The Greatest Record Ever Made! is to offer an individual and equal celebration of each great song in its infinite turn. It is not a ranked list, and it is not an attempt to name the 100 (or whatever number) all-time greatest songs. It serves a higher purpose: to revel in the idea that any track you really love, in its moment, is The Greatest, for the duration of its presumably short running time. We don't need to pick just one, nor just one hundred.
That means there are dozens--hundreds--of other fantastic songs out there that also qualify, each as giddy a GREM! experience as anything discussed in my book. With that in mind, I figured early on that the book needed to deliberately omit a few of my own All-Time Top-Of-The-Pops Fave Raves, including "Five O'Clock World" by The Vogues, "Starry Eyes" by The Records, and "A Million Miles Away" by The Plimsouls.
The most prominent among these willful exclusions is "It's My Life" by The Animals.
I have adored this song for decades, and it has never left my consciousness since I belatedly discovered its gritty pop power when I was 16. It's always in my all-time Top 10, usually in my all-time Top 5, every once in a while my all-time # 1. It is the very model of The Greatest Record Ever Made!
But it's not in the book. Boom boom. Boom boom. Boom boom boom boom boom boom.
THE AVENGERS: We Are The One
The Clash sang that anger could be power. Even before that line appeared in The Clash's London Calling album track "Clampdown" in 1979, a San Francisco combo called The Avengers was on stage at Winterland in January of '78, opening for The Sex Pistols in that group's final appearance meltdown, and embodying the concept of cathartic fury. Anger. Power. Rock 'n' roll.
I came to The Avengers' music well after the fact, and actually heard some of Avengers lead singer Penelope Houston's folkier solo work in the '90s--Houston's "Scratch" remains poised to strike at any shuffled moment on my iPod--long before I heard the anger and power of The Avengers. I think "The American In Me" was my introduction, but "We Are The One" is indeed The One. The Avengers recorded the song twice, both versions are aces, but I go with the earlier 45 version.
THE BEVIS FROND: He'd Be A Diamond
When the tape runs out
The music keeps playing
And when the walls come down
It's still hard to cross the line
And when his love is gone
He says he still needs her
And he wants to let you know
That if he had his chance again
He'd be a diamond
What a truly awful feeling: that sick, twisted ache inside when we realize we've screwed things up beyond any possible hope of redemption. And we know every last miserable bit of it is our own stupid fault.
When you dab your eyes
The tears keep on falling
And when you blow your nose
It still gets blocked up and runs
And though you feel like shit
He says you look beautiful
And he swears by all the saints
That if he had his chance again
He'd be a diamond
I discovered the music of British singer, musician, and songwriter Nick Saloman (dba The Bevis Frond) through the Dana half of This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl. The Bevis Frond did a benefit for our overlords Syracuse Community Radio in the '90s, and the Frond's been a perennial TIRnRR pick over the 21+-year course of whatever the hell it is we do.
Is he lying to get what he wants
Or does he mean it this time?
Is he running low on affection
And beer and dope
And an ironing board
And an unpaid analyst who shags?
"He'd Be A Diamond" is the most powerful post-breakup song I know. Its heartbroken storyline is devastating, delivered casually in the third person, but no less harrowing, no less desperate, no less striking in its depiction of a faithless ex-lover who has seen the error of his ways far too late to make one damned bit of difference.
When you turn your back
You still see what's behind you
And when you start afresh
You still think of days gone by
And when a heart is broken
It still goes on pumping
And he told me just last night
That if he had his chance again
He'd be a diamond
The lyrics. Y'know, I'm primarily a melody guy, a song and dance man, slave to the rhythm and the feel and the hook. I generally sing along with snappy tunes as if all lyrics were la la la showaddywaddy shamalama ping pong. But these lyrics? I wish to God I had written them. I can't imagine a more eloquent expression of longing and regret. A diamond indeed.
THE LOVIN' SPOONFUL: Summer In The City
I never gave The Lovin' Spoonful any strong consideration for inclusion in my book (which is a shame, considering that I already have a perfectly good Spoonful piece I could have easily reworked into a chapter about "Summer In The City"). Hell, I might still end up doing that.
But I've been thinking about the group a bit lately, and not just because of Wild Honey Orchestra's all-star Lovin' Spoonful tribute show last week. My own reverie was inspired by a friend's recent online post wondering why the Spoonful were considered worthy of induction into The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I chose not to respond to the post--the friend is at least as pop-savvy as I am (and then some), and entitled to his opinion--but I've always been pleased that the Spoonful got into the Hall. Sure, there's a long list of acts I'd also wanna see honored, from The Monkees to The New York Dolls, but it wouldn't have ever occurred to me to question the bona fides of The Lovin' Spoonful. Hell, I was far more surprised that The Mamas & the Papas got into the Hall as quickly as they did, but they also deserve the honor.
"Summer In The City" was always my go-to Lovin' Spoonful track (rivaled briefly by the lesser-known "She Is Still A Mystery"), but it's not my only tuneful Spoonful something-that-rhymes-with-oonful. Balloonful. Macaroonful. Spitoonful? No, that doesn't work. Anyway. I also love "Rain On The Roof," "You Didn't Have To Be So Nice," "Day Dream," "Darling Be Home Soon," "Pow [Theme From What's Up, Tiger Lily?]," and especially "Do You Believe In Magic," which is also The Greatest Record Ever Made. This infinite number gimmick comes in handy.
THE MC5: Kick Out The Jams
1968. It was the end of the world as we knew it, and there wasn't anyone feeling fine. Kick out the jams, muthas and bruthas.
I wish I had worked out a way to include The MC5's "Kick Out The Jams" in my book. It's a prototype for many a metal and punk record that would follow, it's powerful and pissed-off, yet just barely polished enough to retain its angry, big rock groove, a statement of defiant intent as Rome and all its Romans burn. As relevant today as it was then.
(And incidentally, I first heard this song in its censored version, contained on an odd budget-priced 2-LP compilation set called Heavy Metal. Truth to tell, I'm fine with it that way; that version I can play on the radio.)
I'm not a hip-hop fan by any reasonable stretch of the imagination. But I have enjoyed a few rap tracks in the past, including LL Cool J's "Mama Said Knock You Out" and Grandmaster & Melle Mel's "White Lines (Don't Don't Do It)," and the latter track gets its own chapter in The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1).
I recently added Run-DMC's hit cover of Aerosmith's "Walk This Way" to my Table of Contents, and I'm just now about to remove it in an attempt to consolidate my sprawlin' li'l behemoth of a book. Even so, it's worth noting that some folks forget how important this record is, and classic rockers in particular tend to shrug off its significance.
But I was working in a record store in the '80s. Aerosmith was yesterday's news; an attempted reunion/comeback album, 1985's Done With Mirrors, was met by an indifferent buying public with a dismissive retort of Dream on! By 1986, Aerosmith was held in such little regard that MTV didn't even credit group members Steven Tyler and Joe Perry for their participation in both the recording and the video of Run-DMC's version of "Walk This Way."
With "Walk This Way," Run-DMC scored the biggest hit of their career. Some look back and think Aerosmith did Run-DMC a favor, and maybe they did. But really, it was Run-DMC that did the bigger favor; Aerosmith's nearly-moribund career was revitalized after the collaboration with Run-DMC, and Aerosmith went on from there to a string of successes that saved their falling fortunes. Aerosmith had been rendered lame, then made to walk (this way) again--all thanks to Run-DMC.
Oh. And when Aerosmith performed on this year's GRAMMY telecast, I thought they were boring...until Run-DMC joined them onstage and redeemed the performance. Saved by Run-DMC. Again.
(I don't hate Aerosmith, though the above might read as if I do. They've never been among my favorites, but I really like the song "Sick As A Dog," and I have varying degrees of affection/tolerance for some of their other '70s tracks, from "Back In The Saddle" to "Mama Kin" to "Sweet Emotion" to "Chip Away The Stone." I lose all interest in them from the '80s onward. I saw The Joe Perry Project in '83 or so, and I preferred their version of Perry's "Let The Music Do The Talking" to Aerosmith's remake on Done With Mirrors. I like the Aerosmith and Run-DMC versions of "Walk This Way" about the same.)
THE SAINTS: (I'm) Stranded
When it comes to the defining debut 45s of '70s punk, I'd rank "(I'm) Stranded)" by Australian rockers The Saints up there with The Ramones' "Blitzkrieg Bop," and even above the Pistols' "Anarchy In The UK" and The Clash's "White Riot," each of which is a fantastic rush of fast, surly energy. When I saw a latter-day line-up of The Saints perform in the late '80s at an off-campus bar near Syracuse University, I led the crowd (which likely included many punters not at all familiar with The Saints) in a chant of Stranded! Stranded! Stranded! Stranded!, setting up what I figured would be the band's inevitable encore. STRANDED!!
And they didn't play it. Damn it! Ever get the feeling you've been cheated? Wait--wrong '70s punk band. STRANDED! STRANDED! STRANDED!
THE STEMS: Never Be Friends
If memory serves, my friend Greg Ogarrio introduced me to this amazing confection by Australian pop gods The Stems in an exchange of power pop mixtapes in the late '80s or early '90s. Man, whatta record! In later years, I wound up corresponding a bit with The Stems' Dom Mariani, who allowed us to use DM3's "1 x 2 x Devastated" on the first This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio compilation CD. My awareness of the great Dom Mariani started here.
Oooh! And kudos to The Stems for the title of the album that gave us "Never Be Friends": At First Sight Violets Are Blue. That title is so intriguing to me, implying menace, mystery, romance, and danger, while really meaning nothing at all. Yeah!
THE TOYS: May My Heart Be Cast Into Stone
The Toys' "May My Heart Be Cast Into Stone" is such a magnificently over-the-top gush of hormonal, adolescent pinky-swears that it deserves its own genre. That first sentence you just read? It found its way into a discussion of the girl-group sound, contained within my chapter on "Will You Love Me Tomorrow" by The Shirelles. So, The Toys are kind of in the book, even though they aren't.
THE YARDBIRDS: Heart Full Of Soul
Like the Animals, Vogues, Records, and Plimsouls gems mentioned up top, The Yardbirds' "Heart Full Of Soul" is a permanent fixture in my Hot 100. Significantly in the development of my pop cosmology, it was The Flashcubes' live cover of that very song during my first 'Cubes show in 1978 that made me realize that The Flashcubes were always gonna be stars in my eyes. Later on, when the 'Cubes played a private gig in a fellow fan's garage on July 1st, 1979, I stumbled forward and delivered an urgent, drunken song request to guitarist Paul Armstrong: YARDBIRDS!! At PA's direction, The Flashcubes then did "Heart Full Of Soul" live for the first time in over a year. After that, bassist Gary Frenay asked Paul why he'd suddenly added a Yardbirds song to the set; Carl said! was his response.
"Heart Full Of Soul" was the first Yardbirds song I ever heard, courtesy of Utica, NY's WOUR-FM in 1977. It was part of my 1970s embrace and exultation of the '60s, particularly the British Invasion, that same whoosh of delighted discovery that hooked me on The Kinks. A clip of The Yardbirds performing "Heart Full Of Soul" was included in Rock Of The '60s, a presentation of vintage rock videos put on by Syracuse University one night in '77. I scored a used Yardbirds Greatest Hits LP at the flea market or somesuch, and I've never been without my own copy of "Heart Full Of Soul" since then.
I'm a fan of The Yardbirds. I love "Over Under Sideways Down," I love "Evil Hearted You," I love "Good Morning Little Schoolgirl" and "Train Kept A-Rollin'" and "Little Games" and "Still I'm Sad." I love "For Your Love," the hit song that made blues purist schmuck Eric Clapton flee the group. I liked The Yardbirds better with Clapton's replacement, Jeff Beck.
Most of all, I love "Heart Full Of Soul." It has a hook. It has that riff. Like The Bevis Frond's "He'd Be A Diamond," it has the hopeless regret of lost love. And it has a chorus that would almost sound like a suicide note if it weren't so damned catchy. It's...everything.
And it's The Greatest Record Ever Made.
It's just not part of my book about that subject.
Curious to see a few chapters that I completed for The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1) but ultimately decided not to include in the book? Well, I collected links to a few such things right here.
"He'd Be A Diamond" written by Nick Saloman, Universal Music Publishing Group
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