10 Songs is a weekly list of ten songs that happen to be on my mind at the moment. The lists are usually dominated by songs played on the previous Sunday night's edition of This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl. The idea was inspired by Don Valentine of the essential blog I Don't Hear A Single
This week's edition of 10 Songs draws exclusively from the playlist for This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio # 1320
SERGIO CECCANTI: Leave The Past, Don't Look Behind
Our little mutant radio show has a long and rewarding history with the mighty Kool Kat Muzik label. Even before Ray Gianchetti (Mr. Kool Kat hisself) made his superfine rockin' pop imprint the home of our TIRnRR compilation albums, we've been programming Kool Kat cuts since the dawn of ever. Every new Kool Kat release is automatically under consideration for TIRnRR airplay, and almost all of them result in at least one track getting a spin on one (or more!) of our playlists. We're FANS!
And right now, I'm a big fan of Leave The Past, Don't Look Behind, the new Kool Kat Musik release by Sergio Ceccanti. The title track is just perfect--perfect!--for the radio-ready vibe we crave, channeling a '60s garage-pop atmosphere in service of a steely-eyed determination to seek a sure-footed next step forward. It opens this week's show, and it plays again this Sunday night. As it oughta! This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio is kool for kats.
THE RAMONES: I Don't Want To Grow Up
"I Don't Want To Grow Up." Still true, and always gonna be true. I used a Greatest Record Ever Made! essay about the track in my 2023 book Gabba Gabba Hey! A Conversation With The Ramones, I included it on a list of my 25 favorite Ramones tracks, and upped the ante to cite it among my top five Ramones picks when Dana and I appeared as guests on a 2024 episode of the essential Only Three Lads podcast. I play it a lot every January, when science insists I've aged another year. As a flip of a calendar page means I'm getting older, I resolutely flip off the abhorrent notion of growing up. And as I've written before:
I take great satisfaction in the fact that a track on the very last Ramones record is among my all-time Fave Raves, right alongside the irresistible music on the Ramones' first four albums at the end of the '70s. Grow up? As if.
We're told that growing up is inevitable. It isn't. We age, sure, but there's more to life and living than the accumulation of calendar pages. What do you want to be when you grow up? When I was a kid, I wanted to be a writer. Somewhere along the way, I figured out I could be a better writer if skipped the maturity phase entirely. Honestly, I don't think I could have hacked adulting. Grow up! I say no. Why on Earth would I ever wanna do that?
Understand: I'm not Peter Pan, nor do I wish to be. I have responsibilities, and I carry them out. That's part of the deal, and that's cool. We can accomplish stuff, serious shit, without abandoning the sense of glee that helped get us this far.
Because I am proudly and emphatically a senior-citizen kid who still dreams, still reads superhero comic books, still listens to my rockin' pop music a little louder than I should.
And I've written books, books crafted by the wide-eyed spark that's always driven me, whether I was a six-year-old discovering Batman or a teenager hearing "Sheena Is A Punk Rocker" for the first time.
As always: Growing up is for squares, man. The Ramones weren't gonna do it. We don't have to do it either. Don't want to. Won't need to. Ain't gonna.
BOB WEIR: One More Saturday Night
In the course of the 1994 interviews that eventually became my Ramones book, I told Johnny Ramone that one could compare the Ramones to (of all people) the Grateful Dead; though the two acts were otherwise dissimilar and then some, both bands built their fan base upon a foundation of live shows rather than record sales or radio exposure. Johnny bristled at the merest suggestion that the Ramones and the Dead could be mentioned in the same discussion.
My younger self would have likewise bristled at the notion of ever developing any sort of appreciation for the music of the Grateful Dead. It turned out that declining the odious dead-end option of growing up didn't require me to keep my mind and ears closed. I resisted for a long time, but even amidst my intransigence I could never deny the sheer splendor of the Dead's "Uncle John's Band," nor the pure pop gravitas of their 1987 MTV smash "Touch Of Grey," nor the Nuggets-worthy blast of 1967 gems "The Golden Road (To Unlimited Devotion)" and "Cream Puff War." My long strange trip trucked its way into grudging acceptance of the Dead, and ultimately into a greater interest. While my preferred short-attention approach to digging music precludes the likelihood of me embracing extended jams, I have to admit that I've come to like a number of Grateful Dead tracks. I don't even hate "Sugar Magnolia" anymore--and I REALLY hated "Sugar Magnolia" when I was a teen.
TIRnRR occasionally (if infrequently) plays the Dead. Dana played "Box Of Rain" on August 10th, and I played "Scarlet Begonias" the following week. Now, the passing of guitarist Bob Weir compels us to play a couple of tracks, in tribute, in recognition and, of course, in gratitude. Sticking with songs that Weir co-wrote, we settled on "One More Saturday Night" and "Hell In A Bucket."
I've known "One More Saturday Night" for years, but my brain didn't remember it was a live track. Wikipedia directed me to the song's original retail appearance, as a studio track on Weir's 1972 solo album Ace. Solo album status notwithstanding, the other members of the Dead accompany Weir throughout Ace.
Whether live Dead or studio Weir with the Dead, "One More Saturday Night" bops with barroom authority. Early '80s new wave Americana beat rockers the Kingpins could have covered it pretty much as-is, and I wish my younger self had been more willing to listen. Hey, younger self! We won't waste time asking you grow up. But maybe you could lighten up? After all, what's one more Saturday night among friends?
THE LITTLE GIRLS: How To Pick Up Girls
I'd never heard this song from the Little Girls' 1983 album Thank Heaven! until about a month ago, but it's for damned sure become one of my current pop obsessions. And hey! There's a video for it!
We'll play "How To Pick Up Girls" again on our next show. When obsessions call, we better pick up.
BADFINGER: Baby Blue
The Greatest Record Ever Made!
Badfinger's "Baby Blue" is also my all-time # 1 favorite track, and I can't believe it took me this long to put the song into one of our weekly GREM! spots.
BLUE ASH: Say Goodbye
A chance to play previously-unavailable material by 1970s power pop stars Blue Ash? Yes, please. Dinner At Mr. Billy's dives into the archive to gather eighteen Blue Ash tracks recorded in a span from 1970 to 1974, and it's promised as the first in a series of Blue Ash rarity releases. The legacy grows!
HONEYCHAIN: Let's Get Pretty
"Let's get pretty." Worthy goal! Playing Honeychain on the radio is also a worthy goal, and their new single "Let's Get Pretty" is pretty amazing. I feel prettier already.
THE GRATEFUL DEAD: Hell In A Bucket
The Dead's other MTV hit, and just a fantastic track in its own right. Godspeed, Bob Weir.
DAVID BOWIE: Life On Mars?
On January 18th of 2016, an open letter to David Bowie served as the inaugural post of my new daily blog. I later expanded that original blog entry with additional commentary, to serve as a chapter in my 2024 book The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1):
I didn't see it coming.
David Bowie's death in January of 2016 had far more impact on me than I would have ever thought likely. There were external factors in play; my daughter had just begun a semester in London, and it would be, by far, the longest time I would ever go without seeing her. I felt fragile, mortal. I felt sad, my pride in her accomplishments and delight in her opportunities not quite sufficient to ease the ache inside. Bowie died. I wasn't even all that much of a fan. Yet his passing hit me harder than any celebrity death since losing Joey Ramone on Easter Sunday in 2001.
I needed to release the feeling. Somehow. I wrote this open letter to David Bowie, intending to use it as commentary for the posted playlist of our This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio tribute to Bowie, which played on January 17th of '16. My 56th birthday. Look at that caveman go.
It wasn't enough. I couldn't email the playlist out and just let it go. I needed more. I started my blog on January 18th, with this letter to Bowie as my inaugural post. It had been ten years since I gave up freelancing; it hadn't been fun anymore. I promised myself I would post something, however slight, every single day. Every. Goddamned. Day. No excuses. I had largely stopped writing. I needed to get back to writing. Immediately.
Although I had always liked the track "Life On Mars?," particularly when I saw Bowie perform it in concert, it had never been one of my top Bowie tracks. "Rebel Rebel," "Panic In Detroit," and "Suffragette City" had been my go-to Bowie tunes. That changed in 2016, as I found myself listening to "Life On Mars?" obsessively, clinging to its...what? Its artiness? Its desperation? The smoke and mirror of its implied depth, the verve of its execution, the simple beauty of its being? Yes. And Yes keyboardist Rick Wakeman, tickling the ivories so expressively on that recording. Sailors fighting in the dancehall, a lawman beating up the wrong guy. The song felt like a connection to what was lost, to what could still be recovered, to what could always be remembered.
The drumbeat of mortality seemed just incessant in 2016. Prince's death in June felt like the last straw, but it wasn't. Trump's election was a vicious blow. On election night, Meghan texted me from college, looking in vain for reassurance as we both watched the electoral results with growing dread and horror. Jesus, 2016 wasn't even two weeks old when Bowie died. We should have taken that as a sign to return the damned year to sender, postage due.
We survived. Not intact, not good as new, but...survived. As I mourned David Bowie here, my daughter was in England mourning actor Alan Rickman, so beloved by her for his role as Severus Snape in the Harry Potter movies. We commiserated with each other's loss. She wrote Rickman a touching thank-you note, which she placed at Charing Cross Station in his memory. I wrote a letter to David Bowie, and I started a blog. I cried. I wrote. I wrote more in 2016 than in any single year before that.
And I played a song called "Life On Mars?" Is there life on Mars? Is there life anywhere? The ache we feel is part of it. Talking about it helps. Writing about it helps. It's about to be writ again. It's a God-awful small affair. That's life.
THE HIGH FREQUENCIES: Cleanup Time
Looking at the news of the nation and the world, I say it's long past time for a cleanup, especially in the Oval Office. The High Frequencies have a soundtrack. Grab your disinfectant, and the will to use it.
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I compiled a various-artists tribute album called Make Something Happen! A Tribute To The Flashcubes, and it's pretty damned good; you can read about it here and order it here. My new book The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1) is now available, and you can order an autographed copy here. You can still get my previous book Gabba Gabba Hey! A Conversation With The Ramones from publisher Rare Bird Books, OR an autographed copy here. If you like the books, please consider leaving a rating and/or review at the usual online resources.
This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl airs Sunday nights from 9 to Midnight Eastern, on the air in Syracuse at SPARK! WSPJ 103.3 and 93.7 FM, streaming at SPARK stream and on the Radio Garden app as WESTCOTT RADIO. You can read about our history here.
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