A friend recently sent me a link to a video of the beginning of 33 1/3 Revolutions Per Monkee. I'm glad I watched it, but boy does it suck. Now, I'm a big Monkees fan. Really big. I take a back seat to no one when it comes to Monkee fanhood. Except for people who actually like 33 1/3 RPM. Boy, does it suck.
Just to fill in the unfamiliar, 33 was the Monkees' TV special from September, 1969. Their TV show had been cancelled, their movie, Head, had bombed, and they had done 6 albums (including the soundtrack to Head), and sales were declining. They put together this annoying self-referential special that was meant to satire their existence. Head had gone a long way to not-so-subtly, complain about their manufactured image. Some say (and I use the word "some" as a first-person singular) that Head was heavy-handed with its message. But 33 was a sledgehammer.
Did I mention that it sucked?
Now, the over-the-top delivery of the message would be forgivable if it had been done with humor or if the music was good. But no such luck. Fortunately (or un-, your call), you can see it on Youtube, nicely split into seven digestible pieces. I could try commenting on this mess, but I think it's better let it vomit for itself. So, here it is:
My sister posted something on Facebook asking for help identifying a song. She wrote:
I'm trying to find the name of some music. It was something like second line or second verse or second something. And I think it had the name Avery in it. It is a swingy tune that is popular in New Orleans, and sounds sort of like Rock Around the Clock. Can anyone help me?
As it turns out, she was looking for something called "Joe Avery's Piece," which I haven't ever heard of. Following is a video:
I'm not sure what she was referring to when she wrote about "second line or second verse or second something." Maybe the version she heard had lyrics. At any rate, I can see why she thought of "Rock Around the Clock." There are parts of the melody that are very similar. But all that's neither here nor there.
The reason I am bringing it up is that someone suggested:
Possibly the bouncy pop tune "Henry the Eighth?" It has the lyric 'second verse, same as the first!' and was made popular in the early sixties by either The Monkees or The Turtles.
I read that and almost had a conniption. The Turtles? The Monkees? Everyone knows that I'm Henry VIII, I Am was a pop hit for Herman's Hermits. I'll also note that it was a hit in 1965 (not the early sixties), and that the above suggestion is internally inconsistent since the Monkees weren't even assembled until 1966.
But then my more rational, my more forgiving, side asserts itself. And I remember that what may be obvious to me may not be obvious to someone with a different set of interests.
As I mentioned in a recent post, I hadn't heard of "Trance" as a musical genre before last week. And when, at a Passover Seder, I asked my sister-in-law about it, I referred to it as a new form. She chuckled a little. How would I have reacted if she had laughed. I probably would have joked it away. But part of me would have thought something like "Well who the hell cares?" Similarly, the responder to my sister's post may not care as much about the Monkees, the Turtles, or Herman's Hermits.
Also, I will happily admit to the many gaps in my knowledge of pop music. I know what I know, and not what I don't. One of the reasons I didn't ultimately pursue a career in music journalism was that I didn't want to have to know all the things one should know in that field. But that's a story for another post.
Before I leave you with a a video of Herman's Hermits doing "...Henry..." I just want to note that I was very pleased that my sister knew it wasn't a Monkees song.
I was listening to a Bay City Rollers compilation this evening. Also, Dolenz, Jones, Boyce and Hart are in my head since I mentioned them in connection with Davy Jones' death a few weeks back.
With the combination of the two in my head, I realized something: Even though DJBH was billed as a Monkees reunion (though only a partial one), the fact is they sounded much more like The Bay City Rollers than the Monkees. I suppose that's a function of the times. But still.
One of the more interesting articles that I saw in the wake of Davy Jones' death was by David Hinckley, a writer for the Daily News. Hinckley argued that one of the Monkees' important roles in pop music was as an entry point for young people:
But Jones and the Monkees were more important on a different level. As quintessential teen idols, they were the main entry point into popular music for millions of teenagers
Joke, if you will, that this is like calling marijuana the gateway drug to heroin. But it’s the way music works.
Just as we go from lullabies to Barney to the Wiggles to “Sesame Street,” at some point almost all of us find pop music, the pop music of the moment, the pop music that will become our own.
We don’t start with Kanye West or Taylor Swift. We start with something that’s catchy, simple and friendly while it embeds the hook that starts the ride.
For millions of listeners, the teen idol is the first point where the music feels like the listener’s own.
Interesting thesis. For me it's true in many ways. Certainly the Monkees were my first entry into pop music, although it'snot as if I transitioned to them from some other, more-juvenile, interest. Like many others, I got interested in them through their TV show. I used to keep a portable tape recorder next to the set so I could record the musical sequences. Then I'd walk around the neighborhood holding that recorder, playing these bad quality recordings. I specifically remember having "Sometime in the Morning" and "Look Out (Here Comes Tomorrow)." And my sister and I bickered over whether "Monkeemania" or "Partridgemania" made more sense as a phrase,or sounded better.
Gnerally, though, I didn't get into other, more-adult, groups directly through the Monkees. But So when, on shabbatons with other teens during my early high school years, there was a group singing Rolling Stones, or Bob Dylan or Simon & Garfunkel (while one or two played guitar), I was there enjoying it. I remember declaring myself a fan of "sixties music." And I'm sure that part of what was going on was that my brain had started preparing the wiring for this (in part) because of the time I had spent time listening to The Monkees.
There was, however, one group that I got into in a big way as a direct result of the Monkees influence on me. That group was...The Monkees. Now, here I am drawing a distinction between the early bubble gum Monkees of the TV screen, and the later Monkees. In actuality, there were arguably several phases in which the group (or nongroup, as the case may be) had an identity different than it was in the other phases. I won't go into the detail now. But I am thinking of songs such as "Oklahoma Backroom Dancer," "Never Tell a Woman Yes" and "Circle Sky." While I certainly enjoy the early hits that had the major airplay and dominate the compilation albums, in some ways these later songs were much more interesting.
Here to illustrate is the video of "Circle Sky" from the Monkees' movie, Head. I'll note that this liver versio used in the movie was vastly superior to the studio version put in the soundtrack album.
I was listening to a CD I got through Freecycle. It's The Bobby Darin Story.
It's generally a good CD. Pretty much what you'd expect -- a compilation of Bobby Darin songs. As near as I can tell (though I'm not bothering to look it up), it was a CD reissue of an old compilation.
But my one big complaint concerns the first track: "Splish Splash." (As an aside, I'll note that for some reason whenever I think of that song I can't help picturing Anson Williams as Potsie Webber singing it at Arnold's.) It's preceded by a spoken introduction in which Darin talks of how he got his career started. Now I assume that the intro is there because it was on the record that was being reissued. What annoys me about it is that they didn't separate the introduction from the song -- it's one track with both.
In terms of ripping this into my iTunes library, there's the complication that I have three options:
Take "Splish Splash" from another CD (assuming I have it on another disc -- I think I do, but I'm not sure offhand, and I'm too lazy to check my database);
Take "Splish Splash" complete with the introduction. That's not the worst thing in the world, I'll admit. But it offends my sense of aesthetics; or
Use software to edit the track and remove the introduction. But my anal-retentive side won't let me do that unless I also create a new CD with the intro-less version and enter that CD in my database.
By the by, this isn't the first time I've had issues with where the track breaks are placed on a CD.
On the first reissue of Nick Lowe's Pure Pop for Now People the break between "Nutted by Reality" and "36 Inches High" was placed a little to early, so if you listen to music out of the album order (either by shuffling a disc, putting it on a mix disc, or (as I do), by putting an entire iTunes library on shuffle play), "Nutted by Reality" ends abruptly while "36 Inches High" begins with a half-second of echoing guitar.
"Weird Al" Yankovic's album, Off The Deep End, has a hidden track called "Bite Me." It's a few seconds of cacophony after ten seconds of silence at the end of "You Don't Love Me Anymore," which is the last listed track. The idea is that someone who has the album on may forget to turn off the stereo after the final track. So, ten minutes after the album seemingly ended there is a sudden burst of noise. Of course, this was accomplished by making the final track last about 14 minutes.
On some reissues of the Monkees album, Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn and Jones, Ltd. the spoken word "Peter Percival Patterson's Pet Pig Porky" is part of the same track as "Pleasant Valley Sunday," while in other rereleases there's a track break between them.
Lots of concert albums seem to have incorporated questionable decisions as to where to split tracks. If, for example, between songs X and Y, the singer talks to the audience, and says something along the lines of "Now, we'd like to do a number that has special meaning for me. It's called Y," then it's best to try to get that patter in as the beginning of the track for Y rather than at the end of the track for X. When you're listening on shuffle, it just works better.
Part of my issue with this stuff, I'll admit, has to do with my anal-retentive side and how I keep my CD database. I should probably post about that at some point. The short of it is that my database is relational, and any given track can appear on more than one album. Take, for example, "Tempted" by Squeeze. That track was originally on their East Side Story album. It also appeared on their compilation, Singles, 45's and Under. It's also appeared on other Squeeze compilations, and a bunch of various artists compilations as well. My database identifies these as all the same track. Aside from helping me to know what I have, it also makes it easier to avoid putting more than one copy of a given track into iTunes. Also, of course, it lets me fiddle with music and databases. Assuming, hypothetically, that some other album has an alternate mix of "Tempted," or a live version thereof, those are listed as different tracks. Note that it's not all science. If a remastered version comes out, I don't treat that as a different track if they didn't change the mix. Mea database, mea praecepta.
Now, the issue for me, is that if the mix is the same but there's some issue with track breaks -- the end of the song cut off on one issue (see first bullet), an additional thing that's not part of the song but part of the track on one album (see second bullet), or some other thing like it, that screws me up. It also bugs me with issues of deciding whether a track is what I call "mixworthy" (i.e., worthy of being ripped from my CD collection into my iTunes library.
I see Shonen Knife put out what is, for me, a "gotta get" album last year. It's called Osaka Ramones.
Shonen Knife, for the uninformed, is an all-female pop-punk trio from Japan. Their music has that hard grungy guitar sound of contemporary punk, but they manage to give it a certain childish charm and happy poppy energy. One thing that helps is that a lot of their songs are innocent ditties about food. There's "Sushi Bar" "I Wanna Eat Chocobars" and "Banana Chips."
But what I like best is when they do cover versions. My favorite is "Daydream Believer," which (heresy though it is for a Monkees fan like me to say) I like better than the Monkees version. Another one is "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head," which they did for a various artists Burt Bacharach tribute album.
Osaka Ramones is Shonen Knife's album-length tribute to the Ramones. I actually found it as a result of Davy Jones' death. After I wrote a post about it (here), a friend emailed me a video of Davy performing "Daydream Believer" onstage with U2. I responded with Shonen Knife's version. But in looking for that on Youtube (in order to send my friend the link), I noticed a bunch of covers of Ramones songs. Watching them, I got confused, seeing "Osaka Ramones" listed with some of them. I wondered if that wasn't the name of a Japanese tribute band, and if these weren't their renditions. However, Amazon confirmed that Osaka Ramones is an album by Shonen Knife.
Before I say anything, let me turn it over to Micky Dolenz:
I find myself at a loss as to how to discuss Davy Jones' death. What to say about it.
It's no secret that I'm a big Monkees fan. And Davy Jones was, in many ways, the iconic Monkee -- the first one who comes to most people's mind, and the face that seems to represent the group. And because of that, there are a bunch of articles and Youtube videos that identify him as the Monkees' frontman or as their lead singer.
To be sure, Jones did sing lead on some songs -- most notably on "Daydream Believer." But to the extent that there was one person who could be called the lead singer, it would be Micky Dolenz, who sang lead on "Last Train to Clarksville" and "I'm a Believer." Frontman? I think it's hard to say there was a definitive frontman, though I guess if I had to name one it would be Davy.
That's not because of his singing or his musical ability, but because he was cute. And he had the British accent. He, more than the others, made the girls go ape. And so he, more than the others, became the defining face of the Monkees. But of the four, I think he ranks third (behind Dolenz and Mike Nesmith) in terms of importance to the Monkees sound and style. But maybe without him the TV show wouldn't have taken off, and the music (directed by Don Kirshner, who was the real creative mind behind the music early on) wouldn't have sold, and the Monkees wouldn't have ever become a real band. So maybe he was the crucial element, just for that.
Davy had charisma, and a good sense of timing as a singer. But he was not a rocker. He was a song and dance man with a background in (and, I can only assume, a love for) musical theatre. To me he never seemed right singing rock and roll.
This isn't coming out as a eulogy. And maybe that's proper. I'm just trying to get across my conflicting thoughts and feelings. But I never knew Davy Jones. I never had a relationship with him. So I can't talk about what a nice guy he was. I want to, because his death does sadden me (more on that in a bit), but to do so would be dishonest. That's why I included the video above. Micky Dolenz knew him and has the standing to talk about him. I suppose I can go into the customary discussion of what a great talent he was. But others are doing that. So instead I'll post some videos below, with some comments.
So I'm back to the fact that I am saddened by his death. I watch the videos of him and think "this guy is dead." And since he was a childhood idol, this is a reminder that I am no longer a child. I'm no longer a young adult. Yesterday, after hearing the news I said to my boss "I'm officially old." Maybe that's too strong, but Davy Jones' death makes me feel that way.
So now, a few videos to reminisce:
Davy was the Artful Dodger in the cast of Oliver! on Broadway. Here, the cast appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show. Coincidentally, this was the same episode that introduced the Beatles to America.
Davy does a screen test for the Monkees.
The video for "Daydream Believer" from the TV show.
The video for "Valleri" from the TV show.
Davy doing what he did best -- a song and dance routine for "Daddy's Song" from the Monkees' movie, Head
After the TV show was cancelled and the group broke up, Davy's star was sinking. He appeared as a guest on The Brady Bunch
An attempt at reuniting the Monkees for their tenth anniversary resulted in Dolenz, Jones, Biyce and Hart. This is the video for "I remember the Feeling"
Consumate performer that he was, Davy never let high winds stop a show.
Davy evades the question of whether The Monkees should be in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
The celebrity guest appearance is an easy ploy for TV shows to use. There's a certain excitement to the guest star that can boost ratings, and the guest star gets some additional exposure. It's easy. Almost as easy as a blogger posting a list of things such as celebrity guest appearances on TV shows.
Anyway, the following are ten memorable appearances by singers or bands on regular TV shows. The order of presentation is not meant to imply an preference. These are in alphabetical order by the name of the show.
This harmonic duo has their voices stolen by Catwoman. Funny how nobody seems to notice as she and her henchmen stroll onto the stage. FWIW, Paul Revere and the Raiders appear in another episode of Batman, trying to rally electoral support for Penguin. Also, Chad and Jeremy also performed on The Dick Van Dyke Show. But that was as "The Redcoats." Here, though, are Chad and Jeremy on Batman:
2) The Brady Bunch: Davy Jones
Usually the first such guest appearance anyone of my demographic mentions. This was after the Monkees had broken up and Jones' stock was at an ebb. Still, a credible song.
In this list I not willing to include performers' appearances in which they play characters other than themselves. That's why Suzi Quatro's appearances on Happy Days (as Leather Tuscadero) don't count. I make an exception here only because the Flintstones had a pattern of renaming people and places to include some geologic reference. For the purposes of that show, appearing as Ann-Margrock is essentially the same as appearing as herself. In one part of the episode she sings Pebbles to sleep. As good as that lullabye is, it can't hold a candle to "Ain't Gonna Be a Fool":
Donny performs two numbers (the first as a solo, exciting an obviously-enamored Eve Plumb. The second, as a duet with Lucie Arnaz). He reminds me of a second-rate Vegas lounge crooner.
Best known as the songwriting duo behind some of the Monkees' biggest hits, Boyce & Hart were also performers in their own right and had some chart success of their own.They were also not above making guest appearances, having done so on The Flying Nun, Bewitched an I Dream of Jeannie. The last of these is my favorite because of the way they managed to subtly milk their Monkees connection. The covers of the first three Monkees albums are shown within the first fifteen seconds of the first clip below (The Monkees is the album that Bobby Hart is holding when Jeannie blinks him to her home -- you can see that at 13 seconds; At five seconds in, both More of the Monkees -- in the rightmost bin -- and Headquarters -- above his right shoulder -- are visible at 5 seconds in. Meanwhile, a jazzy version of "Last Train to Clarksville" is playing in the background. In the second clip, you can see the cover of Davy Jones' pre-Monkees solo album attached to the wall. It's above and to the right of Jeannie's head at the beginning of the clip It's clearly visible again, in front of Jeannie's face as she plays the drums, 53 seconds in:
This was before the Standells' big success with "Dirty Water," which I suppose is why they performed a Beatles song for this guest appearance. Oh, and that's writer/actor/director/producer, Zalman King, as the bearded man:
The Simpsons featured a bunch of musical segments over the course of its run. There was the time Homer managed singer Lurleen Lumpkin. There was Homer's old vocal group, the Be Sharps. And there was the psychiatric patient who nthought he was Michael Jackson. This was my favorite:
New wave music was a big part of this Square Pegs. Devo appeared in a later episode. And in one episode, Johnny Slash formed a band (called Open 24 Hours), including John Densmore (formerly the drummer for the Doors). Throughout that episode, Densmore is referred to as the drummer from the Doors. But I liked the Waitresses's appearance best:
Raj and company take on the thorny issue of music piracy. Who says What's Happening!! didn't have gravitas? This appearance is noteworthy because of its shear length. Rather than one song and out, the Doobies did a miniconcert.
I guess I’m just perpetually behind, but I only now heard
about the lost guitar solo that George Harrison recorded for “Here Comes theSun.” The Living in the Material World (Note: the link I just provided is to the DVD released in the British format. The only reason I didn't link to the American format is that I couldn't find it on Amazon.) documentary includes footage of
Harrison’s son in the studio with George and Giles Martin, listening to recordings
from the session that produced the Beatles classic. The solo is one of the
things they hear. You can see it in the following clip, with the solo starting
at just about the one minute mark.
It’s a well-played solo, and musically very interesting. But
it just doesn’t sound right to me; it’s not in keeping with the general tone of
the song. An old friend once said, there are usually reasons why those
alternate and unused takes remained alternate and unused. He was right (said
the guy who buys every damn rerelease of every Monkees album as soon as Rhino puts
it out so he can hear…).
