If you're going to cover "I'm A Believer" then I reckon this is the way to do it – not by playing it the way The Monkees played it (Smash Mouth, I'm looking at you), but by playing it as if it's a Status Quo song...
As a super-tremendously-wonderfully-splendidly-magnificent bonus, here are three more versions of the song that I like – versions that don't come from the "Hey, let's play it the way The Monkeees played it!" template.
First, here are The Four Tops giving the song a bit of soul, Motowning it up good and proper:
I have a sneaking suspicion that this particular coincidence will be very well-known to a lot of rock music aficionados. But if you're not familiar with either of these two bands (well, it is possible), at least it'll be new for you.
Here's the start of Nirvana's "Come As You Are" (1991):
"Eighties" appeared on Night Time, Killing Joke's splendid album from 1985 that I played relentlessly as a youngster (I was 24 at the time, a mere whippersnapper).
As a bonus, here's my favourite track on that album. It's the epic "Love Like Blood" – and you'll need to turn this one up as much as your ears will take, because at maximum volume this song sounds enormous:
"Coast is Clear" is the opening track of their second album, How We Survive (2009) – and a huge opening track it is, too. I won't call it "epic" – I think that description is reserved exclusively for U2 and Coldplay songs – I'll call it "enormous" instead. Yep, that'll do. It's an enormous song.
(*Where did the phrase "neck of the woods" come from? It's such a bizarre one that the more I look at it, the more bizarre it gets. "Neck"? "Woods"? Huh?)
However, before you press "play" I must warn you that, although the song is sweet and lovely, there's a rather rude word in it. If you're bothered by that sort of thing, or if you're at work and your boss is bothered by that sort of thing, then please turn the volume down to zero at the 51-second mark and then turn it back up again at the 53-second mark.
OK, if you've braced yourself for the rather rude word then feel free to press that little grey triangle:
I received an email a little while ago pointing me in the direction of a new album, That Covers That..., by US band Chris Richards and the Subtractions that's available to download for free. I duly visited the web page, pressed "play" and then turned my attention to other things, enjoying the music in the background, only half-listening to it. During the first song my ears picked up something in the lyrics and I thought to myself "Hang on a minute – they just sang 'Cos you like me too much, and I like you'. That's a line from a Beatles song. What a ripoff!" I then had a quick look at the song title on the web page and saw that it was called "You Like Me Too Much." My instant reaction was: "Hey, that's the name of The Beatles song they pinched the line from! And they've got the cheek give their song the same name! What an even bigger ripoff!"
Er, what I hadn't realised until I saw all the song titles on that page is that the album is comprised entirely of covers – including, um, The Beatles' "You Like Me Too Much." (I also hadn't noticed the blindingly obvious clue in the album's title – i.e., That Covers That....)
[Insert emoticon of man slapping forehead.]
Right. Now that he have that nonsense out of the way (note to self: pay more attention next time, Peter), here now for your listening pleasure is a Big Star-esque version of a Beatles tune (yes, I know that now, thank you):
My deep abiding adoration of The Beatles as the best band in the history of absolutely everything forbids me to prefer the Chris Richards and the Subtractions version, but I do like it.
Incidentally, if you pop on over to that web page to download the album – and Chris Richards and the Subtractions sincerely hope you do – I must warn you that it contains five tracks lasting a total of 13:26 which, as far as I'm concerned, makes it an EP. (If the page offering the download insists on calling it an album, then I think it probably qualifies as the shortest album ever released.)
Here's some nice laid-back post-Christmas boogie for you. It's New Zealand's best Australian rock band, The La De Das, with "Morning Good Morning" (1972):
Nobody, but nobody, did this stuff better in the 70's in Australia than The La De Das.
Incidentally, and rather irritatingly, the band (or maybe their record company) changed its name quite regularly. Depending on the record sleeve and/or record label for any given release, it could be:
The La De Das
The La De Da's
La De Das
La De Da's
That makes me go "Grrr", and I find it just as annoying as with The Master's Apprentices (Masters Apprentices / The Masters Apprentices / The Masters / Masters / Master's etc). Consistency, people, consistency!
(For the, er, record, it was "The La De Das" more often than any other spelling.)
I know that this can appear incredibly – and pointlessly – pedantic, but I just want to know how to spell a band's name correctly, and don't want anyone even more pedantic than me to write in about their favourite artist with a comment such as "Why did you spell it like that? Don't you know anything about music?".
Leaving behind the awkwardness of unhelpfully fluctuating band spellings, as a bonus here are the boys upping the tempo* with "The Place" (1973):
RubberBand is a Beatles tribute band from Denmark that recorded Xmas! The Beatmas, an album of popular Christmas ditties all given Beatles makeovers. Although the album had the potential to be as disastrous as you could imagine, it turned out to be the exact opposite – it's actually more fun than you could imagine. It's excellent. But don't take my word for it – you can get an idea of its excellent-ness at Dale Chan's BEATLES World, McBeatle.de, and at Amazon.com.
(*Now, I'm fairly sure that there ain't no such thing as yesterday's Christmas Eve Eve Eve, but I'd like there to be a Christmas Eve Eve. Well, why not?)
It's a pretty simple equation as far as I'm concerned:
The Wellingtons + Christmas + free download = bargain
So, here to celebrate the day before the day before Christmas Eve – which I guess would make it Christmas Eve Eve Eve* – is yet again an Australian power pop band I can't say away from (even at Christmas time):
I reckon "You Got It Off Me" would be a great song for dancing to, but I'm not keen on the song's name at all – it sounds as if you were dancing the night away with someone who had the 'flu, and sometime during the evening you ended up with millions of unwelcome microscopic visitors generously donated by the person you were dancing with.
Because it's an Easybeats song, and because it's Australian, it probably won't surprise you to know who wrote it. Yep, it's yet another ditty from the free-flowing pens of Vanda and Young. (This may be a slightly rhetorical question, but is there an Australian rock song from the 60's and 70's they didn't write?)
And guess who produced the Cheek track?
Incidentally, there's something I find odd about the original version. Maybe it's because it was recorded in 1967, when every single rock band on the planet* was trying to sound like The Beatlescirca-Sgt. Pepper's, but "Do You Have A Soul" is an Easybeats song that doesn't sound to me like an Easybeats song – it sounds more like psychedelic-era Who or Rolling Stones than The Easybeats. I find this slightly disorienting because The Easybeats have always had an easily identifiable sound. But it's understandable I suppose, considering the shameless emulation going on at the time even by the most popular bands that had their own easily identifiable sound – like The 'Oo and The Stones.
Anyway, enough of my pontificating – here's the original:
Update: Cheek's version of "Do You Have A Soul?" has turned out to be much more popular than I imagined. (I imagined it wasn't.) Two other blogs have posts about it: Australian Power Pop 1975~1995; and UK blog PUREPOP.
Back when I was a mere whippersnapper and in a band, our lead guitarist (Hi, Mick!) was mad on Steve Hunter and couldn't get enough of him (or Alex Lifeson of Rush).
If you haven't heard of Steve Hunter, don't sweat it too much. He was a behind-the-scenes guitarist in the 70's, and never a star in his own right. Steve was a sideman for people as diverse as Lou Reed (Hunter was one half of the superb twin-guitar attack on Rock 'n' Roll Animal, one of my all-time favourite live albums), Alice Cooper (Welcome To My Nightmare), and Peter Gabriel (his debut album, frustratingly called Peter Gabriel*).
"So what?" I hear you ask, quite rightly. "Just get on with today's song."
Okey dokey, then, I will. Here's a well-known Byrds song given the power-trio treatment by not-terribly-well-known guitarist Steve Hunter:
That pummelling version of "Eight Miles High" opened Steve Hunter's solo album, Swept Away. The album was produced by Bob Ezrin who also produced the aforementioned Welcome To My Nightmare and Peter Gabriel. Bob Ezrin was one of those 70's producers who had a signature sound (in his case it was bombastic and with incredibly well-recorded drums). He also produced Kiss' Destroyer and Pink Floyd's The Wall. Listen to any one of those albums and you know you're listening to Another Bob Ezrin Production. (You have to make them capital letters because they're big productions.) You can hear his production style a mile away (or, if you're in Australia: a kilometre away). Big, rich, full, and clear – that's our Bob. (I was going to call him "Bob the Producer" but then thought that would be an even weaker joke than usual, especially if you don't watch kids' television.)
And I've come to the realisation that I use parentheses way too much (and commas, too, perhaps) and need to do something about it. Just have a look at that last paragraph. Way too many. Are there any help groups on the Internet for people who use too many parentheses?
By the way, guitar-slingin' Steve appeared on plenty of albums produced by Bob Ezrin, so I'm guessing that whenever Bob had an assignment the first guitarist he'd call would be Steve Hunter. I'm glad he did, because Hunter's a great guitarist and added immeasurably to the albums he appeared on.
Before I forget, here's what "Eight Miles High" originally sounded like:
Even though The Byrds' version is great (well, it would be – it's the original, and it's by The Byrds), I also thoroughly enjoyed Steve's effort with its rampant guitar, distorted bass, and stampeding drums.
(At first I thought the drums were galloping but then realised that they were actually stampeding.)
Actually, I enjoyed it so much that I'm in the mood to play you another Hunter-fied song.
Here's Monsieur 'Unterr again, but this time reinterpreting The Beach Boys:
I would love to hear this performed by a cabaret singer wearing a shirt and jacket with exceedingly large collars, flared pants, platform shoes, and backed by a big, big Big Band. At maximum volume.
Here's a very early single from Rick Springfield, way before he flew off to America to become a hunky 80's actor/singer/pinup. It's the mystifying "Speak To The Sky" (1971), a song that went to number one here in Australia:
What I find mystifying is that Rick chose to launch his solo career with this, a song that sounds as if it belongs more in a revivalist's tent ("Roll up! Roll up! Sing your praises to The Lord! With a really cheesy tune!") than on the record charts. I don't know what possessed Rick to release it as a single (or to even record it in the first place), but I'm flummoxed as to why he chose "Speak To The Sky" specifically to represent his new career as a solo artist. "Hi, I'm Rick Springfield and this is the kind of music I now want to play for you as a solo artist." Pardon?
Listening to the song, I continually ask myself: What audience was he aiming for? Hippies? Christians? Hippy Christians?
Whoever he made it for, and considering his previous work in heavy rock band Zoot and subsequent singles released in the US, it's probably the oddest thing Rick Springfield ever recorded. (It is catchy, though.)
"My Girl" appears on the Gurus' first album, Stoneage Romeos (1984), and was written by singer / guitarist / songwriter / head Guru Dave Faulkner. Even at this early stage in the band's career, "Mr F"* was coming up with great tunes.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: Dave Faulkner couldn't write a bad song if he tried.
It's just occurred to me that I haven't played you a skinny tie song in ages. There's a simple reason for that: the paucity of skinny tie songs around here is due mainly to me being not much of a devotee of that particular sub-genre. I don't mind listening to the Shoes, 20/20, The Rubinooset al, and there are individual songs that I like, but overall I don't respond to them all with anywhere near as much gusto as I do with, say, Cheap Trick or The Raspberries. (Or, dare I say it... The Wellingtons.) If you're a big fan of skinny tie music, and you're suitably outraged, you probably think that this power pop blog isn't worth the electrons it's written on. I understand completely.
As a peace offering, here's Loaded Dice with "Mam'Selle" which holds the distinction of being the first (and possibly the only) English-language power pop song with the chorus sung entirely in French:
There are four versions of "Looking Through The Eyes Of A Beautiful Girl" and they were all recorded around the same time. The song was written by an Irish chap by the name of Tommy Swarbrigg and recorded in 1970 by his band, The Times. That's the original version.
The next two versions were both Australian. You've already heard the one by The Strangers (see above), and the other one is by Autumn. Here's what it sounds like:
Autumn - "Looking Thru The Eyes Of A Beautiful Girl" (1970)
But back to the version by The Strangers. Unlike Autumn, who celebrated the song by releasing it as an A-side, The Strangers' version was relegated to B-side status and, to make matters worse, was the B-side to the apparently loathsome "Mr. President." (I haven't heard "Mr. President" but my friend Col assures me that it's an awful country-ish ditty that has no place in a power pop blog, and that's good enough for me.*)
Apart from the unsettling title (it creeps me out, man – I'm wondering what kind of person would actually look through the eyes of a woman... maybe an ophthalmologist), there's a technical aspect of The Strangers' version that I find very interesting. The lead singer's voice is at a fairly regular volume (i.e., you can 'ear 'im) most of the song's length, but something weird happens at 1:45: his voice becomes much quieter. It doesn't drop in volume just a little bit – it becomes the quietest thing in the song. Now, I don't know if this was deliberate or not but I have two possible scenarios to explain the volume drop:
Option 1 – He moves away from the microphone.
Option 2 – The producer didn't like his voice and decided to turn it down after being fed up with hearing it.
Option 2 is distinctly possible, because the volume of his voice sneaks up a bit at about the 2:00 mark, and he valiantly tries to sing louder at 2:07 (he almost shouts here) but the volume drops down again, and from that point the singer's volume gradually creeps up a little only to drop down again until the fade-out. Hmmm... It all makes me wonder if the singer and producer were getting along with each other when they recorded that song.
Regardless of how well (or otherwise) the participants got along during the recording session, it's a weird bit of recording.
By the way, I just found out that one of The Strangers was John Farrar, a fact that blows my tiny mind because John contributed to Olivia Newton-John's stellar career, producing Livvy's output throughout the 70's as well as writing the occasional hit single (e.g., "Hopelessly Devoted To You" and "You're The One That I Want").
Here's an early interview with John:
(Yay, YouTube!)
I have a feeling that this post is turning into one big rambling post, and that's not fair to anyone reading it – especially you. I certainly don't want to waste your time (any more than I have already), so I'll try to wrap it up...
I couldn't find the version by Kal-Q-Lated Risk – or the original version by The Times – so I guess you'll have to be content with the two Australian versions.
And that, hopefully, is the end of this post.
Update (July 3, 2011):
It's not quite the end of this post. I finally found the two other versions:
Times - "Looking Thru' The Eyes of A Beautiful Girl" (1970)
(*Col sent me a copy of "Mr. President". It's dreadful, and sounds like a third-rate Byrds cover band playing a Byrds song that was rejected by The Byrds. The only reason I'd put this song on the blog is if someone dared me.)
Today's song is similar to Jeff Phillips' "Every Thing I Touch Turns To Tears" (posted on this blog a little while ago) in that musically it's quite nice, but lyrically it's very, very suspect.
Here's Australian band Jigsaw (not the British one) with "A Rose Has To Die" (1974):
I like the music – it's nicely poppy, chirpy, and bubblegummy – but those lyrics...
I would prefer not to reprint the lyrics. I think it's better to let you just listen to them.
I must admit that the first time I heard the song and got to the chorus I laughed out loud. It reminded me of those phrases like "Every time you ... [choose a sin] ..., God kills a kitten." That sort of thing. (I have a feeling that my reaction wasn't what the song intended.) I wondered who on Earth would pen such lines as "A rose has to die every time you tell a lie" and "Watch each rose bow its head when it knows our love is dead," so I went a-searchin'...
It turns out that a chap by the name of Ben Findon wrote it. Ben also wrote Billy Ocean's debut single, the faux-Motown "Love Really Hurts Without You," which was the only single of Billy's that I really liked. (It was dispiriting to hear Billy competing with Lionel Ritchie throughout his career – when Lionel released a poppy song, Billy would release a poppy song; and when Lionel released a ballad, Billy would release a ballad etc.)
I'm sure that Ben Findon was entirely sincere with those words, but I have trouble keeping a straight face when I listen to them, especially when they're nestled in such a jolly singalong tune.
Here's another version of the song (yes, somebody actually covered it). It's by The Dooleys, a UK act I don't think I've ever heard of (I certainly don't remember them). Before you play it, though, I must issue a warning about the video: you may find yourself with your mouth open but unable to speak (as I was). This is a result of being exposed to the combination of the lead singer's sincerity and his outfit:
And, believe it or not, there's yet another version (boy, this song was much more popular than I ever thought it would be). It's by The Ryders, a group from the Netherlands. I wasn't able to find that version, I'm afraid – but here's a picture of them at Spotnicksfestivalen 2008:
And here's a video of them at that very festival:
By the way, there's one more thing about "A Rose Has To Die" that I want to mention. I had originally thought about not mentioning this because it's neither here nor there, but it's a musical coincidence that's been bugging me and I feel compelled to point it out.
This (very) minor musical coincidence involves "A Rose Has To Die" and Sandie Shaw's "Long Live Love." Both excerpts are 15 seconds long. The coincidence occurs at the end of each excerpt:
I know it's only two notes – and they're hummed – but every time I hear the Jigsaw singer humming "Mm-mm" just before the verse starts in "A Rose Has To Die," I'm reminded of that humming at the end of the chorus of "Long Live Love." Every time.
Anyway, here's the full version of "Long Live Love," one of my favourite non-Beatles songs from the 60's. Love it, love it, love it:
Oh, no! I was just reading the Wikipedia entry for "Long Live Love" and it notes that Sandie Shaw was so confident that "Long Live Love" was going to be a hit she turned down "It's Not Unusual". Now that I think of it, "Long Live Love" and "It's Not Unusual" share some of the same chords and rhythms...
I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I'm in a bit of a Marshall Crenshaw phase at the moment which means that I'm listening to a lot of Marshall Crenshaw. That's great for me. The bad news is that because I'm listening to Marshall Crenshaw, so are you. That may not be terribly handy for you, as you might want to listen to something else.
Regardless, here's another pretty ditty from Monsieur C:
Mr Crenshaw never got around to recording "You're My Favorite Waste Of Time" officially – the recording here is a demo (MC played all the instruments) that ended up as the B-side of his 1983 single, "Cynical Girl." It eventually appeared on CD as a bonus track on the 2000 reissue of his 1982 self-titled debut, an album I couldn't stop playing when I first had it on vinyl. (Er, that may be an exaggeration. I guess I could stop playing it, because I was eventually able to play other records).
Being a great songwriter, Marshall Crenshaw has had plenty of his songs covered by plenty of different artists. Unfortunately, one of those artists is Bette Midler. Here's her version, which just reinforces my opinion that Bette Midler should never be allowed near a decent song – and, more importantly, never be allowed near a Marshall Crenshaw song ever again:
I was originally going to go on and on – ad nauseum – about how marvellous this song is, and use almost every piece of hyperbole I could think of ("magnificent," "splendiferous," "refulgent," "c'est magnifique" etc etc) but then realised that you can hear for yourself how good the song is.
As a bonus, here's Mr Crenshaw's demo of the song which, in its rawer state, is still pretty magnificent, splendiferous, refulgent etc etc:
