Friday Funtime: Pop Argot Wants Candy

Happy Halloween; may your costumes be flattering and your candy melamine-free. You can find "The Monster Mash" on your own time.

1. Screamin' Jay Hawkins, "I Put a Spell on You"
2. Edgar Winter Band, "Frankenstein"
3. Guess Who, "Clap for the Wolfman"
4. Kristin Hersh, "Your Ghost"
5. Crash Test Dummies, "The Ballad of Peter Pumpkinhead"
(don't worry; the superior XTC original is on tap for another day)
6. Oingo Boingo, "Dead Man's Party"
7. Stevie Wonder, "Skeletons"
8. R. Dean Taylor, "There's a Ghost in My House"
9. Ministry, "Every Day Is Halloween"
10. Bow Wow Wow, "I Want Candy"

ETA: Y'all didn't need to see "Thriller" again, didja?

Grace Slick, "Theme From the Movie 'Manhole'"

It's a day for cake. Happy birthday to my old friend from college Dave, who opened the door for my very first chance to write about music for a living. Happy birthday as well to Young Christopher, whom I met at that job all those years ago and has remained a treasured friend despite being far across the pond.

And more germane to the purposes of this blog, happy birthday to Grace Slick, one of my very favorite people who is not a personal friend. Slick, the former co-lead vocalist of the Jefferson Airplane/Starship, has been retired from the music world for several years, now living on her own schedule in Malibu and doing the odd painting of Jerry Garcia or Janis Joplin. But the elder stateswoman of rock had a profound effect on me in my teenage years - with her uncompromising judgments and piercing vocals, it wasn't for nothing that she was nicknamed "the Chrome Nun," and I have long been drawn to that powerful personality and powerful voice.

Indeed, it was a great thrill to briefly meet Grace roughly 10 years ago, when she issued Somebody to Love?, her memoirs of life in rock. She was giving a reading at the Booksmith on Haight Street in San Francisco, and one thing I'll always remember was her entrance: she immediately showed herself to be one of those exceedingly rare people who, when they walk into a room, all the light casts upon them. A wonderful and rare charisma.

And her musical chops were pretty sharp, too. Beyond that domineering vocal style, she had a knack for wordplay and a playfulness with block chords that could have sent her into '70s Carole King territory if that had been what she wanted. If I ever find a YouTube clip of "Ballad of the Chrome Nun" or "Come Again? Toucan," you'll see what I mean.

For now, in tribute, here's a relative obscurity from her uneven solo catalog, one so long it had to be broken into two parts. "Theme From the Movie 'Manhole'" isn't from that nonexistent movie; the title was just Grace having some fun (fellow feminists weren't necessarily amused by the term). It's awfully indulgent, but "Manhole" offers some of her most intriguing poetry:

The North Wind sounds like freezing horns
Sailing through the East Wind, and the East Wind has winding, unwinding strings
South Wind sounds like skin on drums, skin on skin,
Ah, but the West Wind moves like memory ...

And then, finally around the 13-minute mark (late in clip #2), she hits upon her declaration of independence:

Don't tie me down, I want to run, give me the sun
Don't tie me down, I want to run, give me the sun
And if you see - ah, you think I'm just about to leave?
You can follow me - but I'm already gone.
Give me the sun!

Words to live by - and at times, I have, to my frequent gratitude. Thanks, and many happy returns, Grace.

Poe, "Haunted"

Way back in 1996, an ingenue calling herself Poe scored a modern-rock hit with "Angry Johnny," a delicious revenge fantasy in which a self-described "Jezebel in hell" details the various ways she could kill the title character. Hell hath no fury, etc. The densely produced song couldn't have been better timed; Alanis Morissette (and to a lesser degree, Meredith Brooks) had confirmed an audience for fiery female fulminations, we hadn't yet exited the golden era of alt-women (Juliana Hatfield, Tanya Donnelly, et al.), and 1997's last great burst of modern pop was just around the corner.

Problem was, Poe was not prolific. Indeed, she's only released one album since that bright debut. But what an album it was: Haunted, issued appropriately on Halloween in 2000, was an audacious artistic statement, a concept album of sorts (Poe's found some old recordings of her deceased father and uses them to communicate with him and put some ghosts to rest) that both rocked and danced hard. Alas, it flopped since it didn't have The Hit Single (tm), she lost her record deal, and she's remained silent ever since.

But listen to the title track and tell me this isn't some of the more vital music of the 2000s - spooky yet spacious, vibrant and vivid, honest, melodic, possessed of both brains and heart. Perhaps this album could have fared better under the new media distribution of the late '00s. But without that viral kick, Haunted exists as a cult classic - in my mind if no one else's.

Jane Child, "Don't Wanna Fall in Love"

On some level, Jane Child is the queen of the near-misses. Her sole Top 40 chart entry, "Don't Wanna Fall in Love," peaked at #2, losing out in one of the closest battles in Billboard chart history to Tommy Page's "I'll Be Your Everything," an appropriately forgotten New Kid trifle. Child's follow-up, "Welcome to the Real World," narrowly missed the Top 40, topping out at #49.

But her whinnying visage lives on: Who could forget that mohawk adjoined by cornrows flailing like a beaded curtain, that nose ring making a dangling conversation with its connected earring, that fever dream of Ann Coulter scoring on St. Marks Place? Child's was a memorable moment, and it's to her credit that "Don't Wanna Fall in Love" sounds so much better than its lyrically embarrassing chorus might suggest:

I don't wanna fall in love
Love cuts just like a knife
You make the knife feel good
I'll fight you to the end

Whitman could hardly have said it better.

Friday Funtime: Pop Argot Goes Strictly Instrumental

I haven't been terribly verbose this week, I know. Distracted with work. So continuing in that vein, here are some musical moments for which no words are necessary: 10 of Pop Argot's very favorite instrumental tracks. The riff-based three-minute instrumental is a lost art, and I honor those practitioners who did it well.

1. Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass, "A Taste of Honey"
(Oh, hell, a bonus track: "Spanish Flea")
2. Paul Mauriat, "Love Is Blue"
3. Electric Indian, "Keem-O-Sabe"
4. Cliff Nobles & Co., "The Horse"
(Another bonus track: Didja know "The Horse" originally had lyrics and was to be released as "Love Is All Right"? The licks were just too hot, I guess. Nobles was the outfit's vocalist, giving him the dubious distinction of not appearing on his only Top 40 hit.)
5. Hot Tuna, "Water Song"
6. Booker T. & the MG's, "Hang 'em High"
7. Mason Williams, "Classical Gas"
8. Jefferson Airplane, "Embryonic Journey"
9. Incredible Bongo Band, "Apache"
10. Chuck Mangione, "Feels So Good"

Interested to hear others' favorites.

Gil Scott-Heron, "The Bottle"

Cautionary tales are always interesting things. Especially when they're spot on in their message. Especially especially when they have such danceable grooves as "The Bottle" has behind them.

And even when their authors ultimately fall victim to some of the same ills they're railing against. Which is why I always flinch a little bit when appreciating the drug-and-alcohol warnings of Gil Scott-Heron, an immensely talented poet and musician (best known for "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised") who now only makes the news when he's busted for coke - which has happened at least twice this decade. Guess we can't expect perfection from our truth tellers and village elders.

Sting, "Fields of Gold"

Pop Argot did a bad, bad thing: while carousing out of town with one friend this weekend, he completely forgot about the birthday of another. To remedy that, for the lovely Leah, here's a song that makes me think of her every time I hear it. Happy birthday, toots.

PS: Eva Cassidy may well have done the superior version of "Fields of Gold." But she'll come up another day.

Friday Funtime: Pop Argot Goes to the Doctor

I'm heading out of town Saturday for a long weekend to celebrate with a dear friend his successful defense of his Ph.D. dissertation. In honor of a good friend and good man who is doing good work, I present 10 "Doctor" songs:

1. The Beatles, "Doctor Robert"
2. Thompson Twins, "Doctor Doctor"
3. Men at Work, "Dr. Heckyll and Mr. Jive"
4. Doobie Brothers, "The Doctor"
5. Steely Dan, "Doctor Wu"
6. Carol Douglas, "Doctor's Orders"
7. Peter Tosh, "Bush Doctor"
8. Aretha Franklin, "Dr. Feelgood"
9. Kool Keith as Dr. Octagon, "Dr. Octagon"
10. KISS, "Calling Dr. Love"

Liz Phair, "Whip-Smart"

Someday I'll tell the story of how "Supernova" - and more precisely, the line "and you fuck like a volcano" - was instrumental in my falling head over heels in love with someone. (Unrequited, as usual.) For now I just want to say that when they do the double dutch, that's them dancing.

Calexico, "Quattro (World Drifts In)"

I'm slowly catching up on some podcast listening; yesterday's nighttime work commute offered a recent episode of "All Songs Considered""Morning Becomes Eclectic" fully devoted to the latest album from Calexico. Funny thing, Calexico: every time I hear something from them, I think to myself, "hey, I really like that," and then promptly forget about it, and them. I think it's because the vocals are always so meek, even when the music's risible.

Case in point: "Quattro (World Drifts In)," which actually made my year-end Top 10 Singles list in 2003, and yet I could not for the life of me remember the name of it until conducting a YouTube search. It may not be "memorable," but it's certainly marvelous. No one today mixes staccato horns into their grooves quite the way they do.

PS: Here's the rest of my list from that year - evidence of my chronic musical incompatibility with people I know, at least as contemporary stuff goes.

1. Dandy Warhols - "You Were the Last High" - Capitol
2. Alison Moyet - "Do You Ever Wonder" - Sanctuary
3. Wayne Wonder - "No Letting Go" - Atlantic
4. Junior Senior - "Move Your Feet" - Atlantic
5. Calexico - "Quattro (World Drifts In)" - Quarterstick
6. Queens of the Stone Age - "No One Knows" - Interscope
7. Fleetwood Mac - "Peacekeeper" - Warner Bros.
8. Floetry - "Say Yes" - DreamWorks
9. Flaming Lips - "Fight Test" - Warner Bros.
10. Robbie Williams - "Feel" - Virgin

Orlando Riva Sound, "Indian Reservation"

Because I didn't feel like celebrating Columbus Day on Columbus Day either.

Now, I was going to be serious about this and post the #1 hit version of "Indian Reservation" by the Raiders (Paul Revere was still with the group but didn't get a lead credit on this track; note how Mark Lindsay lip-synchs through clenched teeth here - he took the lyric personally), or maybe the original minor hit by Don Fardon. But YouTube directed me to this unintentionally humorous clip from German disco group Orlando Riva Sound, with sound effects right out of the Star Wars Christmas TV special and outfits that Tommy Seebach would have killed to use in his "Apache" vid.

Makes Cher seem downright consequential, dunnit?

Randi Driscoll, "What Matters"

National Coming Out Day came and went over the weekend. I must acknowledge that for the most part, the day doesn't carry the personal import for me it did in the early '90s, when coming out was still a novel and sometimes dangerous thing no matter where I went. For most of us in the bubble of urban America today, being out as gay, lesbian, or bisexual has reached mundane status.

But the day still carries at least one level of deep and grave importance, as it's also (give or take a day) the anniversary of the brutal murder of Matthew Shepard, a young, slight college student who'd befriended two young men with malicious intent at a Wyoming bar. Ten years ago, Shepard was found tied to a fence, beaten to within an inch of his life; he would not survive the ordeal. His death has become a symbol of the ongoing struggle for us GLBTs to live our lives proudly and without fear; and the Matthew Shepard Foundation carries on in his name the work of spreading a message of equality and understanding. Randi Driscoll, an independent singer-songwriter, provided the foundation with "What Matters," a pretty ballad reminding us all that what matters is not WHOM we love and are loved by, but simply THAT we love and are loved.

I wish that were enough. But when Matthew's mother Judy Shepard laments openly as to the lack of societal progress in the 10 years since his death, and when the city of Chicago thinks it may be necessary to open an explicitly gay-friendly high school because GLBT teens are being harassed out of their existing schools, it's obvious there's still a lot of work to be done. From where I stand, the primary onus must be on the nation's religious leaders to decry discrimination against and harassment of people on the basis of their orientation - and alas, I don't trust the kings and queens of Biblevania to rise to this task. So I shall simply salute all the people I've known who have had the courage to live as themselves no matter where, no matter when. They are true heroes of mine, and I hope I share in setting an example through the conduct of my own life.

PS: Here's what I wrote about the murder 10 years ago:


Matthew Shepard ... (although it may be too late)


Coming out is billed as kicking open closet doors,
entering emerald sunshine, jubilance, singing
a snappy little show tune from Judy Garland;

but some become Scarecrows instead.
Thrown headlong onto a fence, beaten with the
butt of a gun, swallowing blood rivulets and burned

to within a hair of a soul, left crucified
like some forsaken son, left to rot
in the thirty degrees of a deep Wyoming night;

Perhaps you can imagine this. This is Coming Out
when you’re not ascending an Emerald City,
when rainbows are distant like freedom

and you’re catching your breath continually
just to keep it from being stolen.
This is what makes us so bitter, so often.

Someone is kicking open a closet door as I speak and
someone is thinking about redemption while huddling over
Matthew Shepard’s carcass and I am choking on this brittle air.

Friday Funtime: 10 "10" Songs for 10/10

(First, if I may rant, let me say that when I open a fortune cookie, I want it to be a fortune inside. I didn't buy an aphorism cookie or a maxim cookie. And I really didn't buy a chastising cookie - of which I got my first the other night. "Perhaps you've been focusing too much on yourself," it told me. I was insulted. I yelled at the cookie: "Bitch, I work hard!")

(Maybe the aphorism cookies aren't so bad after all.)

Now, a celebration of the number 10:

1. Dusty Springfield, "I Close My Eyes and Count to Ten" (Gesticulate, Dusty, Gesticulate!)
2. Jayhawks, "Ten Little Kids"
3. Jefferson Airplane, "3/5 of a Mile in 10 Seconds"
4. Notorious B.I.G., "Ten Crack Commandments"
5. The-Dream f/ Fabolous, "Shawty Is a 10" (rest assured that you won't find any more Fabolous on this blog)
6. Harvey and the Moonglows, "Ten Commandments of Love"
7. Third Eye Blind, "Ten Days Late"
8. Beautiful South, "Perfect 10"
9. Led Zeppelin, "Ten Years Gone"
10. Aerosmith, "Big Ten-Inch Record"

John Lennon, "#9 Dream"

Happy birthday to someone this world really could use today (though I wonder what he'd think of life in the post-idealism age), whose life and musical output have approached mythic status. Even if we'll never know what "bawakawa pousse pousse" means.

PS: I hear there's a new book about John, Philip Norman's The Life, but have never heard of the author and am not sure there's anything left to learn about him that hasn't been covered in other bios already.

Raphael Saadiq, "Love That Girl"

I still visit record stores once in a while, but I don't often buy CDs in them anymore - usually only when I'm salivating for a brand-new release or buying birthday and holiday gifts. But I scored two great new ones this week, giving me reason to think I may be able to compile a Top 10 list of the best albums of '08 after all.

The Jefferson Starship, for whom my longtime love and appreciation are well documented, have their first new release in years, Jefferson's Tree of Liberty. It's a collection of mostly covers, many with folksy or political (or both) vibes, with the Weavers as Paul Kantner's avowed inspiration. The selections include the nicely obscure ("Santy Anno"), the familiar to folkies ("I Ain't Marching Anymore"), and one undeniable classic (Dylan's "Chimes of Freedom," which benefits here from thrilling harmony vocals from David Freiberg and new Starship passenger Cathy Richardson). I'm glad to see Kantner having fun again.

But even better - and completely on another corner of the musical map - is The Way I See It, the latest album from former Tony! Toni! Tone! and Lucy Pearl member Raphael Saadiq. His Way is straight-up Motown this time around, full-on retro, smartly written and sweetly sung. It's not as calculatedly dated as a Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings record; neophyte Ryan Shaw actually makes for a better reference point. Felix Hernandez (of local Rhythm Revue fame) should be rushing to add the colorful Saadiq to his radio playlist, as should all the U.K. purveyors of Northern Soul (a term I only fuzzily understand, genre-wise). Check out the Temptations-worthy "Love That Girl" and tell me I'm right.

The Spinners, "How Could I Let You Get Away"

Everyone's got the one that got away. Here's mine.

It was late October 1997. I was celebrating Halloween in the Castro district of San Francisco with a gaggle of friends from work. As we flowed through the merriment, a guy caught my eye. I was in a wizard's outfit; he was uncostumed as best as I can remember. We made instant deeply connecting eye contact - which to that point had never happened to me before. "What's your name?" I stammered, trying to be heard above the din. "Christopher," he replied. "I'm --" ... but before I could continue, the swollen crowd pushed me along. And since I got no phone number or other information from him, I forgot about that moment not long after.

Flash forward to early May 2001. I'm back in SF after having spent the prior year in Southern California - but not for long, as I've just made the decision to move back east, to Boston, a move that will take place in only a week or so. It's a Friday night, and I'm looking forward to meeting up with my visiting friend the Princess of Cairo for karaoke and then to hosting a visit from another out-of-town friend the next morning.

So I'm waiting for PoC at a bar called the Pilsner, getting tipsier than I intended, and then. It happens. I'm in the way of a stool at the bar, and this guy comes to reclaim his seat; we look at each other and immediately melt into each other's eyes, smitten immaculate. His name? "Christopher." We've already moved on to our first kiss by the time my late-arriving Princess makes it in, and so we become a party of three as we proceed to the Mint for song and drink.

PoC and I, at my insistent urging, perform Steely Dan's "Do It Again," trading lines in a Mamas-and-Papas fashion (it sounded better in my head than it ultimately did on the stage). I'm not paying her the attention she deserves, but she sees how well Christopher and I are connecting and magnanimously suggests that I go take advantage of the situation.

Which I do. And we do. We spend a marvelous night together at his nearby place, and I awaken the next morning to find him out on the deck in his underwear, smoking a cigarette. It's all perfect, except for my situation: in the words of Grand Funk, I'd picked a bad time to be in love. I remind him that I'm moving in a week. "Don't go," he swiftly and softly replies.

Now, I've moved a lot over the years, to many cities. No one before or since has ever said to me, "Don't go."

But go I did. And I didn't have the good sense to stay in touch with him. I'll probably never know if it was the same Christopher I met on both occasions. I'll probably never know if we were as tight a connection as we seemed for one night. All I know is that I think about him every once in a while - and I did so this morning, humming a Spinners chorus: "How Could I Let You Get Away?"

Frida, "I Know There's Something Going On"

Anni-Frid Lyngstad had only one moment of note on the U.S. charts after leaving ABBA, but what a note it was: "I Know There's Something Going On" is fembot pop at its absolute finest, Frida maintaining a steely figure for over 5 minutes of Phil Collins' monstrously drummed production. Grace Slick once called herself the Chrome Nun, but the appellation's more applicable here. I heard the tune this weekend and have been thinking that the Pussycat Dolls could have a hit with it if they sped it up and doubled the beat. (Of course, they'd throw a shitty guest rap in the middle - welcome to the 2000s.)

Friday Funtime: How Pop Argot Won on a Game Show

It was just about exactly 10 years ago (yikes!) that yours truly appeared on Rock & Roll Jeopardy, a short-lived game show on VH1 that helped launch the career of Survivor host Jeff Probst. I'm happy to report that I won; here are some of the responses that helped me do so.

1. Who is Emerson?
2. Who are the Funky Bunch?
3. Who is Grace Slick?
4. Who are the Heartbreakers?
5. Who is Daryl Dragon?
6. Who are the Playboys?
7. What is "Fun, Fun, Fun"?
8. What is "Counting Blue Cars"?
9. What is "Bittersweet Symphony"?
10. (Final Jeopardy response) Who is Ricky Nelson?

Bill Popp, "Stone to Throw"

I was talking the other day about Jim Croce having pop success without looking like a pop star, and how we don't have the benefit of that today. Here's a present-day example: Bill Popp has been shuffling around in indieland for quite some time, creating concise power-pop nuggets that ring nicely in the ear. But he's an older guy who looks more like Matt Pinfield than a Jonas brother, so our music media have no use for him.

And that's a damn pity, because his new album, My Lonely Mind, is a treat from nearly start to finish. The vocals don't soar, but they hang on for the ride just well enough - perhaps mid-'70s George Harrison tunes like "You" make for a good reference point. The music is immediate, catchy; and the lyrics reflect the confidence of a guy who's old enough to not have time for indecision. It's the sound of someone getting what he wants, or at least getting on the path to that. I haven't recommended much new music on this blog, but I'm recommending this album now. Check it out at CDBaby (I'm partial to "Heartbeat," "Garden Wall," and "Love Many, Trust Few," myself). And since none of those are up on YouTube yet, here's an earlier effort from him: 1996's "Stone to Throw."

You're welcome.

PS: I've been thinking tonight's VP debate is going to make me very, very sad.

Christie, "San Bernardino"

My friend Mike is a fan of the retro chart shows on a British radio station, Capital Gold, that simulcasts on the Web. The cool thing about British charts of the '70s is that you get a lot more OMGWTFLOL inexplicability: sauced football anthems, aging crooners, and glammy covers share the space with the more anticipated pop stars. So, for example, for the show airing this week, from November 1970, you get some things you might expect of the time (Edwin Starr's "War") along with some you may have forgotten (Dave Edmunds, "I Hear You Knocing") and some you never knew to forget (Jimmy Ruffin, "It's Wonderful"; Andy Williams, "Home Lovin' Man").

Decidedly in the latter camp is the pleasantly melodic if hardly memorable "San Bernardino" from Christie, a follow-up to their only hit in the U.S., "Yellow River." Now that's one hell of a long road trip. Hooray for British acts laying claim to random parts of California without knowing the lay of the land! (A list for another day.)

ETA: The Web suggests that they consistently misspelled it as "San Bernadino." Until I get tangible confirmation of that, I'll err on the side of correctness.