LET'S RICK!

Courtesy of a Leapster review, I've been reading Rick Johnson's Tin Cans, Squeems & Thudpies. You should be, too.

Why?

This is why.

ELO: Discovery
Jeff Lynne, chief cook and viola tamer with the Ethiopian Lapdog Orchestra, is one of those people who complicates things. He scrambles his eggs with an undersea drilling platform.

Peter Frampton: I'm In You
Peter Frampton is such a nice guy. He never strikes infants with baseball bats. He always sends his mum a card on Mother's Day even though she's dead. He'd probably stoop over to rescue a worm drying out in the sun. That's not so bad. Ted Nugent would eat it. It's hard to find something bad to say about such a nice person, but I'll try.

Bernie Taupin: He Who Rides The Tiger
A lot of thinking goes into picking the best album of the year, but how about the worst? It's easy to go down the line, throw your favourite LPs into a pile and the forcibly align them with reference to some imaginary standard. But how do you measure STINKERS?

Talking Heads: Remain In The Light
The main thing that people and Talking Heads fans alike want to know about the new, improved line-up is: What does it sound like? Well, either that or, can it get those stubborn plutonium stains out of Junior's bib?

The Who: Who Are You
This new pan of Who Helper isn't nearly as useless as their last couple of records, but it's still nothing to fall down the stairs over.

The Rolling Stones: A Bigger Bang
A Bigger Bang is a truly disgusting dish, something that even a dog would rather roll in than eat.

Wings: Back To The Egg
Paul McCartney is well on his way to becoming Rod Stewart. Not his image - it's a little hard to imagine Paulie running around in see-thru Danskins, wagging his weenie at the front row and whispering "D'ya think I'm sexless?" But it's not too difficult at least to imagine an infinite string of formulized Wings albums stretching into that dreaded future time where people have forgotten to say, "Who cares?"

About now you are probably wondering whether it's the done thing to pinch Rick's gear. You might even think what Bill Sherman at Blog Critics thinks: "It's tempting to pad this review with even more of his great lines -- this is a guy who packed a Budgie review with nuthin' but parakeet jokes -- but why spoil the yuks?" But let's not beat around the thick foliage, I'm no book reviewer. I just decided, in my definite wisdom, to give you a Reek sneak peek at what Thudpies has up its sleeve, figuring you would rush down to the nearest internet to buy it. What's more, there's LOTS more. If you're a music fan of a certain age, you will find hundreds of reviews of bands ranging from Jo Jo Gunne and The Raspberries to the artists that used to be known as N.Y.Dolls and B.O.Cult to Split Enz - "Nobody knows what Split Enz is: some weird group from some two-bit country, frequently confused with Skyhooks" - to TV, food, sport, video games and stuff. As Molly Melodrama used to say: "Do yourself an immeasurable service."

Comments

[Ann O'Dyne]

Thanks AGB, I sort of enjoyed what I found at the 3 links.
I used to buy Creem in 1969.
There wasn't the mountain of music media then that there is now ... (in 1968 I contacted the Australian subscriptions agent about getting Cashbox magazine, and he told me "I'd like to help you son but you're too young to vote" ah no he said: "sorry dear, it's just for 'trade people' - he's dead now. ha!)

"Rick was there for it all" -
Rock n Roll is the first musical era to have, decades later, new discoverers seeking old stuff.

It's a weird feeling for somebody else who "was there for it all" too.
Spicks and bloody RockSpecks indeed.
(I bought the BeeGees single the day it came out, but kept this fact quiet from my musically hip friends who were hot for Howlin' Wolf at the time)
No doubt this book of Johnson stuff will be purchased and memorised by all the music show panellists.

Gosh isn't War Myfhurst fabulously clever and hip about music?
Last week everybody fell at her feet when she mentioned The Shaggs fer chrissakes.
well shit miff, I bought The Shaggs before you were born, unfortunately, being old and plain, nobody wants me on TV and radio talking about it.
My generation didn't try to wrest a Cultural Claim on Sinatra, Crosby, or Al bloody Bowlly from the previous generation, and I wish all these arrivistes would just stick to my/our mantra of "anybody over 30 is beneath contempt"

(oh look - it's 5:05 - time for Bombay Blue Sapphire I do believe)
peas and love

[Nabakov]

CREEM! Yeeha!

I read it in the late 70s/early eighties. And it was good. Damn good. OK, fucking great. Interesting to compare it with the NME at the same time. Both had some bloody good writing then but CREEM really made it clear the Yanks invented this rock and roll shit and would always be crazier at it than the Brits. Not least because while Julie Burchill and Tony Parsons always had one eye on long term careers in medialand, Ranger Rick and Lester Bangs just didn't give a shit about anything that didn't make 'em shit 'emselves.

Also CREEM was so much more eclectic than the NME. Boston or Devo, Beefheart or Heart, Cheap Trick or Pere Ubu, it covered them all with equal gusto. Plus it had colour pages! And segments like "top ten guitar solos of all time" which described the end of Keith's solo on "Sympathy for the devil" as ending with the chomp of a barracuda biting down. Rick must have had (or lost) a hand in that line.

So yeah, I'm gonna check out Thudpies. And you should check out Lester Bangs' "Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung".

[Tony T.]

Thanks Anne, I sort of enjoyed your comment.

BUT! I especially enjoyed your rant about S&S and Myf (the name of my best friend's dead cat) and your point that "There wasn't the mountain of music media then that there is now". Seems to me most youngsters and the tedious old youngsters that watch S&S get most of their opinions from someone else, rather than having a good old fashioned think-for-themselves. And somewhere in my gizzards I've got this nebulous rumbling of anger(?) about popular music, popular music listeners, popular music press, in fact, the whole popular music "thing" which I can't quite put into words.

Nabs: I remember back to that dim dark distant era when the only music mag I could get (apart from Juke and Ram) was Rolling Stone. Sadly, after years of hearing about it I was distraught to discover it was a lame music industry rag. Wenner had sold out! And I think? it was an Australian version, too.

Some more Ranger Reek then:

The Jam have gone back to the early Who (My Generation LP only) and early Kinks (Kinks Eat Babies and Kinks Kill Honkies).

Aaand:

I've gone googoo for the Go-Go's. You will too, but you should probably play the record first.