time goes by so slowly

Pay attention, cats and kittens, because I'm only going to go through this once. This is how Miss Melody Lane...

ENUNCIATES
PARKS HER ASS
EXERCISES
FREESTYLES
LANDS A COVETED ROLE
This will be included on the final exam. For additional research, I will refer you to Miss Melody Lane of Broadway, a 1950 comic series concerning a small town girl (livin' in a lonely world, naturally) who took the midnight train and found herself caught up in a nightmare world populated by the likes of Ed Sullivan, Eddie Cantor, and Guy Lombardo.

Brrrrr. It gives me chills just thinking about it.

Gene Vincent and The Blue Caps - Unchained Melody (from Gene Vincent and His Blue Caps, 1957) - Having endured the whole pottery fetish/Whoopi Goldberg/Righteous Brothers-fueled nightmare that was the Ghost phenomenon, I'm pretty confident in saying that I never need to ever hear this oft-covered romantic pop standard ever again.

If I did have to listen to the song again, however, this rockabilly-tinged interpretation would be the way to go.

Vacation 2008: Day 7 - A long way from Denver

Nothing too elaborate today, just a pair of curious celebrity homages to the bespectacled golden-haired prince of the 1970's easy listening pantheon, courtesy of The Muppet Show...


Jim Nabors - Thank God I'm a Country Boy (from Episode #1.6; June 8, 1976) - Well, golleeeee! Sadly, Frank Sutton's heartfelt rendition of "Annie's Song" has been lost to the sands of time.


Cheryl Ladd - Sunshine on My Shoulders (from Episode #3.24; May 10, 1978) - The voice of an Angel (and a one-time Pussycat, too).

and look what it's done so far

I've been trying to reorganize my popcult archives these past couple of weeks, in hopes of wresting a modicum of order from the chaos borne of laziness and neglect. While I have made some progress, the process has gone slower than anticipated because I keep getting distracted as I rediscover things I completely forgot I had, like a complete run of taped episodes of The Muppet Show.

I know there are fans out there whose devotion to the series rivals that of the most rabid Trekkie, but my familiarity with the characters barely extends past the principal cast, and is mostly rooted in syndicated repeats watched in hour-long blocks on Sunday mornings sometime during the first Reagan administration. The show remains as fresh and entertaining to watch now as it did then, but what has really captured my attention while reviewing the assortment of episodes has been the roster of guest stars over The Muppet Show's five seasons. The show featured a truly unparalled collection of contemporary and veteran performers that provides an excellent glimpse into the the entertainment scene of late 1970's, as well as reaffirming my argument about the cross-generational awareness engendered in the young'uns of my era towards the character actors and comedians of yesteryear.

The wide-open nature of the list of Muppet Show guest stars (from Alan Arkin to Bob Hope to Linda Lavin to James Coburn) and the fact that nearly all guests participated in at least one musical number might lead one to reasonably expect a fair number of Golden Throat-worthy moments over the course of a hundred and twenty episodes. Such was the skill of Jim Henson and company at assessing the strengths and limitations of the guest performers, however, that those moments were few and far between, with non-musical oriented stars like James Coburn or Sylvester Stallone having the vocal weight carried for them by their colorful Muppet co-stars, or buried in the mix of comedic spectacle.

So rather than rake a few celebrities over the coals on the basis of performances from three-odd decades ago, here are some interesting (and offbeat) numbers lifted direct from the show. The sound quality may be iffy in places, but that's the nature of the game in dealing with old video recordings.

Twiggy - In My Life (from Episode #1.21; November 9, 1976) - Beatles covers are a tricky business, but the real "World's First Supermodel" (Sorry, Janice!) does a creditable enough job with this bittersweet ode to times past.

Lynda Carter - The Rubberband Man (from Episode #4.19; January 29, 1980) - Wonder Woman takes on The Spinners!

Debbie Harry & Kermit the Frog - The Rainbow Connection (from Episode #5.9; August 4, 1980) - "Union City Green"? Another one of those popcult artifacts whose discovery makes me think for a moment or two that all these years spent sifting the dustbins of history have been entirely worth the effort.

Friday Night Fights: Frozen Peas and Cues

Once again, Bahlactus has issued the call to battle, and I shall respond in the only way I know how...


...with celebrity guest star Orson Welles in period costume slashing away at comical Martians who have modeled their society after the not-as-comical Nazi Germany.

It's from Superman v1 #62 (January-February, 1950). It's unquestionably the greatest team-up story ever, and rivals Citizen Kane as Orson's finest and most personal work.

"This is Mercury Theatre...in yo' face!"
New Bomb Turks - Brother Orson Welles (from Information Highway Revisited, 1994) - I dunno, I imagine Welles would have been more of an acid jazz or trip hop enthusiast than a fan of garage rock...

(If your curious about what the title of today's post refers to, go here and all will be explained.)

the king is dead

(This is a slightly tweaked version, featuring different songs, of last year's tribute to The King. I'm not reposting it out of laziness, but because I found myself writing the same damn thoughts down on this year's anniversary of his death. I also have a dentist appointment today, and while being doped up on painkillers might give me insight into the man and the legend, it's not really conducive to well thought out writing.)

Today marks the thirtieth anniversary of Elvis Aaron Presley’s death. On August 16, 1977, the King’s heart, weakened by years of drug abuse and too many deep-fried sandwiches, gave out as he squatted on the toilet in his palatial estate; an absurd yet mythic death for an absurd yet mythic figure.

It is Elvis’s role as a mythic figure that fascinates me. It is a tragic tale of celebrity and success, ruin and rebirth set against the backdrop of the American Century and the concurrent rise of mass consumer culture. A talented poor boy makes it big, only to fall prey to his own voracious appetites, the destructive counsel of self-interested handlers, and a hunger for wholeness that could not be sated by conspicuous consumption. Elvis’s story serves as the Platonic form embodying the distorted sense of perception which accompanies the loftiest peaks of celebrity status and amassed wealth.

I wonder how things would have turned out for the King he hadn’t spent over a decade tied up (thanks to his predatory manager, Tom Parker) making progressively awful films with even worse musical numbers. Set free from the stifling confines of his marketing-dictated persona and given access to some the first-rate songwriters and innovative musicians of the sixties, who knows what direction his career could have taken?

While he had no particular love for the Beatles (and bitched about their “anti-American” attitudes to Richard Nixon), Elvis saw Welsh crooner Tom Jones and Brill Building alumnus Neil Diamond as his rivals in the mid-to-late 60’s, suggesting grand pop inclinations consistent with his marvelous post-Hollywood output (“Suspicious Minds”, “Burning Love”). Despite being the seminal figure in the creation of rock’n’roll, Elvis never inextricably locked himself into the genre that way other early rock’n’roll and rockabilly artists did, preferring to see himself part of the broader tradition of pop vocalists.

Today's featured musical selections feature The King at his trancendent best and embarrassingly worst.

Elvis Presley - Trying to Get to You (from The Sun Sessions CD, 1990) - The Sun Sessions is the Elvis album, as far as I'm concerned. It's a series of historical moments (and outstanding songs) captured on acetate, refreshingly free of the foul dust that floated in the wake of his dreams.

Elvis Presley - Dominic the Impotent Bull (from the Stay Away, Joe OST, 1994) - "Milkcow Blues Boogie," it ain't. Hold it, fellas. That don't move me. Let's get real, real goofy for a change.

There's some question as to the actual title of the song. The soundtrack to 1968's Stay Away, Joe remained unreleased until 1994, when the film's songs were tossed onto the collected rerelease of the music from Kissin' Cousins and Clambake, where "the Impotent Bull" (really, the best thing about the song) was shed in favor just plain "Dominic."

but I thought it was just for fun

(The Mikester made me do it.)
The San Diego Comic-Con is upon us, offering the fan-faithful an opportunity to get the advance scoop on this year’s iteration of Snakes on a Plane or receive the official word about the creative team involved in comics’ NEXT BIG THING from the mouth of a weary publishing rep (as opposed to from the comics internet, where the info has been common knowledge for a few months now).

SDCC’s shift in focus from a gathering of fans and creators to multimedia trade show has been the subject of much discussion. Is it validation of the medium’s (by extension, its affiliated subculture’s) significance outside its traditionally small realm? Or proof that the scene has been co-opted by deep-pocketed marketing flacks from outside the comics’ biz for their own purposes? To me, it means too many people (with a significant proportion possessing dubious personal hygiene habits) crammed in with too much stuff in too confined (relatively speaking) a space.

To tell the truth, I’ve never been a big fan of conventions, even when I used to attend them with some regularity. Attending cons was a necessary evil, a means to an end – that end being the acquisition of fan ephemera unavailable from my usual suppliers. My typical con sojourn involved getting in, getting what I came for, and getting my ass out of there as briskly and efficiently as possible. The panels, symposiums, and creator appearances held zero appeal for me.

I’m apathetic about whole hobnobbing with celebrities (and I use that term in the broadest possible way) deal. While it’s nice to be able put a face behind a work I happen to enjoy (or despise, for that matter) or to pick up some contextual insights through an interview or article with a creator, I have a hard time imagining a scenario where I could offer more than a terse “I liked/hated -----” at a face-to-face meeting in a noisy venue. This is why I always disappoint when asked one of those “which five people living or dead would you like to meet” questions. My natural introvertedness and my aversion to hero worship have effectively killed my interest in meet-and-greet affairs. I did once shake hands with Larry Storch, and I quite literally bumped into Brett Anderson prior to an in-store appearance by Suede in the mid-1990’s.

I also really, really hate crowd scenes (which has also restricted my concert and club going to only the top tier of “must see” acts), and even the most sparsely attended cons make me feel claustrophobic. After a few minutes spent flipping through a longbox of poorly sorted teen humor comics, with several hundred pounds of Dorito-fed fanboy pressing in on either side of you, a two week stay in the Black Hole of Calcutta seems like a welcome alternative.

I’ve been trying to think of any amusing stories from my con-attending days, but so far I’m drawing a blank. Maura, on the other hand, has several. That crazy gal loves the con scene and makes the effort to travel to at least one of the bigger events every year, usually of the anime variety, though she’d like to eventually make it to the Small Press Expo or SDCC in the near future. My favorite story of hers has to do with an Anime Weekend in Atlanta even she attended a while back where the non-convention guests staged a minor revolt at the check-in counter over the all-pervasive aroma emanating from the otaku herd. Way to counter the stereotype, guys.

So, yeah, no nerd Hajj for me. It’s just as well, as I lost my faith some time ago and I’m fully content with being a comics agnostic.

Translator - Everywhere That I’m Not (from Heartbeats and Triggers, 1982) – “You’re in San Diego, but I’m not! You’re paying five bucks for a bottle of water, but I’m not! You’re stuck in line listening to a cosplayer dressed like Speedball loudly summarize his Generation X slashfic, but I’m not!” Actually, this song is a catchy bit of guitar pop honoring John Lennon, from a SF new wave outfit that, like too many bands of that era, never got the attention they justly deserved.

The Go-Go’s - Vacation (from Vacation, 1982) - Former Go-Go Jane Wiedlin is going to present the Eisner Awards at this year’s SDCC. For those unfamiliar with things comics-related, the Eisners are like the Oscars, but don’t really mean anything to folks outside the insular little scene.

Okay, so they’re more like the Tony Awards, then.

I know I posted this track last year (in a post about waiting for Maura to return from a con, oddly enough), but it fits perfectly with the Wiedlin-SDCC connection and the fact that my second vacation of this summer began a couple of hours ago. Synchronicity trumps all.

just pretend it doesn't hurt

A tragedy:


An utter fucking farce:


Guess which one got the most press coverage? If religion is the opium of the masses, then celebrity tabloid culture is crack cocaine.

The Mekons - Hello Cruel World (from The Edge of the World, 1986)

be a movie star, blah, blah, blah

Huh?
Wha-?
Oh, dear lord….

The above panels are from Iron Man v1 #227, part of the “Stark Wars” (more commonly known as “Armor Wars”) arc from the late 1980’s. Given recent events, I’ve had a hankering to read a story where Tony Stark takes the role of an anti-authoritarian jerk, and these stories have been effective at providing that fix. While it’s a bit overpraised, due to the warm and fuzzy aura of inflationary nostalgia, it remains a fun little read and quaint example of what passed for “badass” behavior in mainstream superhero comics at the time.

It also has those lovely celebrity cameos…. Let’s see, in the top panel we’ve got Lionel Richie (and thank you, Marvel Comics for getting that damn song stuck in my head), a brown-haired (?) Hulk Hogan, and George “Norm” Wendt from Cheers. I’m not sure if the big-haired woman next to Wendt is supposed to be Tina Turner after a coloring mistake or Motley Crue frontman Vince Neill in a dress. Either scenario is possible, I suppose.

In the middle panel, we have Don Johnson, looking very much like a porn star (what, no pastel blue suit?), and a young starlet named “Brie” (God bless the 1980’s!) whose career was given a boost by Stark’s Hollywood connections in a previous issue. No, it’s not what it sounds like – Tony was already engaged in the CCA-approved suggestive bedding of a high-class yuppie caricature named – are you ready for it? – Rae LaCoste. (Not that Brie didn’t try for the brass ring, though. A mullet like Stark’s is hard for the ladyfolk to resist.)

Finally, in the bottom panel we have Michael J. Fox, making one of the worst, self-promoting popcult jokes in comedic history. Other lines considered and rejected for that word balloon included:

“That villain ought to see a doctor – Doc Hollywood!”
“He’s getting his ass handed to him like a casualty of war!”
“Iron Man is really High School USA-ing his ass!”
“Ma-ah-ah-ah-lll…” (That's a reference to Family Ties, not Fox's struggle with Parkinson's Disease. I do have some standards, after all.)

I’m not sure who the other guy in the panel with Fox is supposed to be. If it’s Pierce Brosnan, he must have left his polished exterior in his other suit that morning.

I get what writer David Michelinie and artist Mark Bright were trying to do in this sequence. They were attempting to show the sorts of folks that run in playboy billionaire Tony Stark’s orbit, even if the end result resembled something lifted from an old issue of Cracked magazine.

The whole cult of celebrity eludes me, though. One of my wife’s guilty pleasures is reading the various gossip rags while dining on food from one of the many take-out eateries we frequent. Occasionally, I’ll flip though one of her scandal sheets if I’m bored or waiting for her to get ready in the morning, but the bitchy tone and vicarious obsession with the career trajectories of the stupidly rich and untalented leaves me cold.

However, the concept of celebrity, and its distortive effects on people, fascinates me to no end. Forget the feather, heart, and balances of ancient Egyptian myth; if you want to know the true measure of what lurks in someone’s soul, just give them a few million dollars, some face time, and a personal assistant. The truth will come out every time.

Reel Big Fish – She’s Famous Now (from Why Do They Rock So Hard? 1998) – “She’s like me/just not as ugly.” I don’t know why I love that line, but I do.

Roxy Music – Virginia Plain (from Roxy Music, 1972) – From the deceptively soft opening, to the lack of a chorus, to the astonishingly abrupt end, this is a song calculated to screw with the listener’s expectations. I love it so very much.

Leftfield and Lydon – Open Up (from Leftism, 1995) – I wish John Lydon had done more, either with a refurbished Public Image Limited line up or as solo/collaborative project, to follow up on this exceptional track, which felt like the next logical step in his musical evolution. Instead we got the mercenary efforts of a Mountain Dew commercial and a fairly embarrassing Sex Pistols reunion, while The Prodigy’s Keith Flint did his best Lydon impersonation on 1996’s “Firestarter.” I’m sure the money was grand, John, but was it really worth it?

another dumb casualty

I’ve long been fascinated with the concept of celebrity as it ties into the American Dream. The life and death of Elvis Presley serves as an ur-text in this regard – a poor kid makes it big, only to be destroyed by the currents stirred up by his own success. Fame and fortune come at a cost.

The idea that the unknown and the poor are intrinsically happier than the rich and famous may be a romantic fallacy, but money’s ability to buy happiness is limited. Some voids cannot be filled via the massive expenditure of cash, no matter what the legions of consultants, personal assistants, advisors, and other types of hangers-on may whisper in one’s ear.

A couple posts back I referred to Sid Vicious’s life as being “the Elvis Presley story as written by Charles Bukowski.” I suppose that would make Anna Nicole Smith’s life the Grace Kelly story as directed by John Waters, a tragic farce of a Cinderella story with equal measures of pathos and absurdity.

I really pity that poor baby she left behind. That kid is going to be part of the largest dynastic struggle since the Lancasters and Yorks threw down in the 15th Century.

INXS – Suicide Blonde (from X, 1990) - This track was supposedly inspired by singer Michael Hutchence’s ex-girlfriend, the talented and lovely Kylie Minogue.

Julie Brown – ‘Cause I’m a Blonde (from the Goddess In Progress EP, 1984) – Two LPs I regret not picking up in the early 90’s salad years of cheap vinyl are the Earth Girls Are Easy OST (which featured this track) and the Bachelor Party OST. I don’t care much for either film, but both featured a lot of interesting and otherwise unavailable songs.

Kim Wilde – Love Blonde (from a 1983 single, collected on The Singles Collection 1981-1993) – From “Kids in America” and “Chequered Love” to this soulless wannabe torch song? So depressing. So, so, depressing.

The song did get me wondering about the existence of “hate blondes.” I’ve narrowed the candidates down to this fellow and this gal.

jump blues and flamboyant fingering

Since my last two posts have been tributes to dead musicians, I figured I might as well close out the weekend with more of the same, dealing with two legendary figures who both happened to depart this mortal coil on February 4.

In one corner we have Louis Jordan, the master of jump blues and one of the godfathers of rock and roll. While I’ve seen it argued in various history books and documentaries that Jordan was the first rock and roller, I think that’s reaching a bit, and another example of the tendency to praise by overstating. (Histories of punk rock are rife with this sort of thing. “Mozart was the first punk rocker” or some similar hyperbolic statement.)

This is by no means a dig at Jordan or his musical legacy. His revved up mix of jazz and blues was a direct and highly influential predecessor of rock and roll, but where rock and roll was largely dominated by a strong lead guitar, jump blues mostly relegated the guitarist to the rhythm section and let the horns do the heavy lifting. The issue is further complicated by the fact that Jordan recorded rock and roll versions of a number of his old hits in the mid-50’s, adding the genre’s customary wild guitar licks to the mix. Here’s the rock and roll-savvy version of Jordan’s classic, Caldonia:

Louis Jordan – Caldonia (from Rock ‘N’ Roll, 1956)

In the other corner we have…Liberace. Sure, mock away, but the man was a masterful entertainer who knew how to give his audience exactly what they wanted – classical pieces presented in a pop style and pop pieces gussied up with classical flourishes, accompanied by Liberace’s charismatic (if somewhat smarmy) persona and over-the-top sense of style.

It’s not so much Liberace’s music that fascinates me as much as the bizarre popcult paradox that surrounded his celebrity. Entertainers like Liberace and Paul Lynde achieved great success through playing up traits – campiness, flamboyance, and/or acidic snarkiness - that their generally staid, conservative audiences would otherwise associate with homosexuality. The acceptance was predicated on an unspoken “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy that differs from the “Stepin Fetchit” tradition. While “Stepin Fetchit” antics are rooted in playing toward the audience’s assumptions and prejudices about the performer’s race, performers like Lynde and Liberace were able to exhibit traits popularly associated with gayness (which is a broad generalization, to be sure, but I’m talking audience perceptions, not the infinitely more nuanced reality) as long as it reamined unstated.

A more recent example of what happens when that line gets crossed can be found in the change in attitude toward Ellen DeGeneres and her sitcom, Ellen, when she made the decision to have her character on the show come out of the closet. There was a sudden hue and cry made about how she had politicized the show and was “rubbing her lifestyle in people’s faces,” even though her character on the sitcom retained the same comedic traits she possessed before coming out of the closet. The only difference being that her romantic interests changed from men to women. (The “rubbing it in our faces” argument regarding alternative lifestyles is an obnoxiously sly method of roundabout intolerance and in practice translates to “how dare they have the temerity to be unashamed about themselves.” No one – well, maybe some fundies – ever makes the same complaint whenever a straight actor/writer/comedian/miscellaneous creative type discusses or interacts with a member of the opposite sex.)

Shit, I went all heavy again, didn’t I? Here’s something guaranteed to lighten the mood…

Liberace – Beer Barrel Polka (from 16 Biggest Hits, 2000)

requiem for a hard workin’ man

Great talent and moral rectitude do not necessarily run hand in hand. Peter Schaffer’s 1979 play, Amadeus, used a fictionalized version of the life of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart to illustrate that fairly obvious point, but there are still folks out there who want their entertainers to do more than entertain. They need to support the right causes, whether it’s a well-intentioned, but quixotic quest to “save” Africa or advocate on behalf of hybrid cars, hemp, or homeless wallabies.

I’m pretty strident in my political beliefs. If some rich celebrity wants to shower money and or attention on a worthy cause, that’s more than fine with me. It doesn’t make them better at their craft, however, and it can be downright ludicrous when someone like K-Fed feels obligated to mention he really wants to do something “for Africa” (the current cause du jour, which only reveals to me that most celebrity advocates lack even the most rudimentary sense of historical and geopolitical awareness). From a pragmatic standpoint, it’s great, although it brings to the fore a whole other set of issues about the state of public discourse when celebrity status becomes equated with moral authority. From an aesthetic standpoint, it means jack shit.

Reprehensible conduct by a performer can impact how one views his or her work, of course. Evaluating work solely on artistic merits, and not on the personal credentials of the author, is something every critic should strive for, but it can be exceedingly difficult to accomplish. Artists whose work is capable of totally rising above the less savory aspects of their personal lives are rare indeed, especially in these times of total information awareness where a celebrity can't spit on the sidewalk without TMZ.com uploading a video of the act within fifteen minutes.

James Brown, “the hardest working man in showbiz,” has moved on to that all-star venue in the sky. While his personal “eccentricities” have long been fodder for the tabloid media and jokes of varying quality, there is no denying that few equaled his skills as a musical visionary and consummate showman.

“He made an impact on so many people,” my father said today, trying to explain the man’s greatness to some of my unhip relatives. “Some quite physically,” I deadpanned.

Even though I favored the Stax roster of “Memphis Soul” musicians during my stint as a soul boy in the mid-1980’s, I still maintained a large affection for Brown’s music. This was partially because the DJ’s hired for our junior high dances couldn’t be bothered to make room amongst their assortments of bland, big 80’s pop 45’s for something by Otis Redding or Wilson Pickett, but could be counted upon to have a copy of “Living in America” or “I Feel Good” handy, due to the songs being featured in Rocky IV and Good Morning Vietnam, respectively.

My fondest memory (my only fond memory, come to think of it) of junior high is of the time I got to bust out some of my nerdy, sixties-inspired dance moves in front of an adoring crowd while “Living in America” blared in the background. At the end of the song, I leapt off a cafeteria table and into the hands of my cheering classmates. For a brief moment, all the petty bullshit of junior high life faded away, and I felt invincible.

Because of that, I’ll always feel indebted to the Godfather of Soul. May he funk the hell out of the great beyond.

The Dead Milkmen – RC’s Mom (from Beelzebubba, 1988) – Irreverent? Certainly, but being a self-professed James Brown fan in a crowd of hipper-than-thou art students circa 1988 meant having to hear bits from this track quoted ad nauseum.

L.A. Style – James Brown Is Dead (Original Mix) (from a 1992 single) – True, but he outlived L.A. Style by more than a decade.

James Brown – Living in America (from the Rocky IV OST, 1985) – Rocky IV is the film where Stallone fights an ideological straw man for the Jingoistic Arrogance Heavyweight title of the world. It also suggests that decadently soft Americans need to toughen up in order to face down Communism. Yeah, the country went a little batshit during the Reagan era.

Halloween Countdown: October 24 – I’ll be there when you wake up screaming

Take the director, screenwriter, and several cast members from Repo Man, toss in a bunch of punk and new wave musicians (including the Pogues, Joe Strummer, Grace Jones, Edward Tudor-Pole, Courtney Love, and Elvis Costello), then add an incomprehensible screenplay cribbed from various spaghetti westerns. Bake under the Mediterranean sun for a few weeks and - voilà – you’ve got 1987’s cinematic mess-terpiece, Straight To Hell.

After director Alex Cox original plans for a concert movie fell through due to lack of funding, Cox managed to secure financing for a feature film and flew a small army of friends, musicians, and hangers-on over to Spain to make one of the most frustratingly entertaining movie misfires ever committed to film. An odd mash-up of Touch of Evil and A Fistful of Dollars, Straight to Hell attempts to follow up on the surreal quirkiness of Cox’s Repo Man (and several re-used bits and gags could be used to argue that both films happen in a shared universe), but lacks the earlier film’s goofy enthusiasm. The most inspired parts of the movie (The Pogues as a clan of caffeine-addicted, pickup truck-driving banditos) are too mired in its overall incoherence to achieve escape velocity. It’s a case of ten tenths failing to equal a whole, and one’s viewing experience ends up becoming eighty-six minutes of celebrity cameo-spotting.

The Straight to Hell soundtrack is pretty damn fine, though, and features several otherwise unavailable tracks by Joe Strummer and The Pogues. Most of the material consists of bizarre Morricone-meets Big Audio Dynamite instrumentals. The standout tracks come from The Pogues, who dabbled around with a zydeco-influenced sound on an alternate version of “If I Should Fall From Grace With God” and today’s selection, “Rake at the Gates of Hell.”

The Pogues – Rake at the Gates of Hell (from the Straight to Hell OST, 1987) – The CD reissue added some more incidental tracks and dialogue clips, but dropped a couple tracks from the vinyl release, most notably The Pogues’ sample-heavy version of The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly theme. I know it probably had to do with some licensing and royalties hassle, but part of me is always going to suspect record company execs who like fucking with collectors’ heads.

Halloween Countdown: October 23 – hair DIE!

Too hell with subtlety, let’s get buzzed on obscure punk. NYC’s Sic F*cks were a Rezillo-ish punk novelty act that featured the Bellomo sisters (the folks behind Manic Panic hair dye) and a lead vocalist who later became an IT bigwig at the Baseball Hall of Fame. Although meant as a one-off effort, the band managed to appear in the mildly amusing punk club climax scene of the 1982 film, Alone in the Dark, and get namechecked by the late John Belushi as a favorite band. (Belushi also favored jam sessions involving heroin, cocaine, and a syringe, so make what you will of that nugget of info.)

Here’s the F*cks’ heartwarming “Chop Up Your Mother,” from their self-titled 1982 12”. Clocking in one minute and fourteen seconds, it serves as a shining testament to the concept of not overstaying one’s welcome, something I wish more bands would pick up on.

The WTF Files: Volume #2 – And I’m not so sure just where I stand

Celebrity status doesn’t just enable one to get an easy pass for making anti-Semitic remarks while being stopped for driving while intoxicated, or a slap on the wrist for killing a child crossing the street while attempting to illegally pass on the left. It can also mean a record deal, quaint notions about so-called “musical talent” notwithstanding. (It’s an obsolete concept anyhow. The pop music production combines in Stockholm and London run 24-7 these days, turning sows’ ears into…sows’ ears with heavy overdubbing and pitch-shifted vocals.)

Most of these misguided attempts to cash in on reps made elsewhere crash and burn, often finding new life decades later as prized camp collectibles. The TV and movie stars-turned-troubadours featured in today’s post, however, all met with chart success, if only for a brief shining moment. Not included are teen idols of the Shaun Cassidy and Leif Garrett variety, as their musical careers were part of the total media saturation plans organized by their handlers. Rick Springfield isn’t included because his musical career predated his General Hospital stint by over a decade, and he even had a minor hit “Speak to the Sky” in the early 70’s.

David Soul – Don’t Give Up on Us (from Playing to an Audience of One, 1977) – Who knew Hutch invented emo? Now, Antonio Fargas Sings Cole Porter – that would be worth listening to. (Yes, Soul was a moderately successful folksinger before he landed the Starsky and Hutch gig, but this track isn’t folk, and it rode on the back of his TV stardom.)

John Schneider – It’s Now or Never (from Now or Never, 1981) – Bo (Duke) knows overproduced country music corn.

It’s really hard to explain to someone who didn’t live through the era just how huge the Dukes of Hazzard was to impressionable grade-schoolers in the late 1970’s. It meant making the “Dixie” horn noise when we jumped our banana seat Huffy bikes over the dirt mound by the railroad tracks. It meant slathering a layer of sticky, stinky Testor’s orange enamel paint over our favorite Hot Wheels cars. It meant being too young to notice we were watching utter, utter shit.

Jack Wagner – All I Need (from All I Need, 1984) – Rick Springfield set a really bad precedent for General Hospital hunks, although Wagner’s effort pales in comparison to the horrors of Stamos unleashed.

I admit I have a slight fondness for this song. It reminds me of junior high dances I attended where I’d lean against the cafeteria wall watching various puppy love affairs play out on the dance floor as the DJ cued up some cheesy prefab love song. Depressed and lonely, I’d sulk in the shadows and wonder if I’d ever find a girl that understood me, or whether or not the Fantastic Four would manage to defeat Psycho Man.

I take it back. I hate this fucking song.

Eddie Murphy – Party All the Time (from How Could It Be, 1985) –The album title says it all.

Don Johnson – Heartbeat (from Heartbeat, 1986) – From an Amazon.com user review for this album:

I always keep hearing people badmouth this album and I am sick and tired of it. This is not a bad album! If anything this sure as hell is better than any of today's music...and by that I mean anything made in the last 16 years.

Since the album was released in 1986, and the review was written a month ago, I wonder what 1990 song/album marked the reviewer’s cutoff point for good music. I’m going to make a guess and say Jane Child’s “Don’t Wanna Fall In Love.”

David Hasselhoff – Looking for Freedom (from Looking for Freedom, 1989) – Yadda yadda yadda ironic hipster affection for mediocre faded celebrity yadda yadda yadda the Chuck Norris thing was bad enough yadda yadda yadda just stop it, please.