September 10, 2007

Goodwill Hunting: Harry Nilsson

Webber Schmebber

Rant by Matthew Webber

I never thought I'd grow to tolerate, much less appreciate, the singer and songwriter of the "you put de lime in de coconut" song, which annoyed me to my nerve endings the few times I chanced to hear it. (What is this? A fruit industry public service announcement?)

So, my latest musical discovery, and my latest musical truth, came as a surprise: Basically, Harry Nilsson was a genius. Despite or because of "Coconut," which sounds more like a Jimmy Buffett song or something by, shudder, Sammy Hagar and the Waboritas than any of Nilsson's other songs, I've bypassed tolerance and shot past acceptance, and I'm well on my way to pure, unabashed fandom. Again, the guy was a musical genius.

Once again, my excellent local library (the same library that recently allowed me to check out indie-rock masterpieces by Arcade Fire and the Ditty Bops) rescued me from my own ignorance with its killer collection of free CDs. When I saw two studio albums and a greatest-hits compilation by Harry Nilsson on the shelves, I remembered how little I knew of the guy and his music and how much I felt I needed to fill these gaps. So I checked them out immediately.

So, three burned CDs and multiple listens later, I'm a convert. I'm a fan. I see why the Beatles loved this guy so much: Beautiful voice (to rival Jeff Buckley's, not that the Beatles would've made that reference), uncorruptable songwriting talent (to rival Lennon/McCartney's), and a truly unique and idiosyncratic artistic vision (to rival his own, I guess). Although his songs sound similar, and similarly great, no two songs sound the same.

The biography on his Wikipedia page, too, is fascinating, from his battles over creative control with his record label to his carousing in Hollywood with a drunken John Lennon.

If you don't know him at all, or if you only know "Coconut," I heartily recommend him, especially if you're a fan of Beatles-esque pop music.

My only complaint is that he includes the word "Schmilsson" in too many of his album titles.

September 09, 2007

Goodwill Hunting: We Are The World

Record Reviews of Actual Records!

Review by Matthew Webber

The Thesis

My studio apartment doubles as a library, with hundreds of DVDs, CDs, and books – and now, even records, actual records, warped and dusty, but surprisingly playable. For just one dollar, sometimes less, I can add whole albums to my music collection, a bargain too good to be anything but true.

With prices so low – they must be crazy! – I’ll gamble on a record, or two, or a dozen, where maybe I wouldn’t on a higher-priced CD (even though thrift stores sell them, too, often for less than $2.99). I’ll double up on albums I already own, just so I’ll own them in their older, cooler forms. I’ll even buy albums I’ve only slightly heard of, or albums I suspect will suck, just because there’s nothing to lose, except space.

And some people wonder why I don’t have an iPod. Ninety-nine cents for just one track?! Apple’s treasure is this man’s trash; Goodwill’s trash is this man’s treasure. St. Vincent de Paul is my rock (or my source); armories of misfit Toys in the Attics are my salvation.

But anyway, here’s a fossil I found:

USA For Africa, We Are The World

Like The Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, an album often named by music magazines and the Sgt. Pepper liner notes as the greatest of all time, the cover of USA For Africa’s We Are The World features a group photo of musicians and melty-faced wax statues (no less than six Jacksons took part in this “historical recording”!) for future pop-cultural historians (um, me, I guess) to struggle to identify. Thankfully for me, there’s a list of names on the front. Sadly for the members of Huey Lewis’ backing band, “& The News” is listed collectively.

Some of the faces are obvious today. Others are James Ingram and Jeffrey “Definitely Not Ozzy” Osborne. But peep this collection of mid-‘80s talent! Dylan, Springsteen, (Lionel) Richie... that Geldof dude who organizes benefits (he also played Pink in Pink Floyd’s The Wall!)... two token blind guys (and four other posers in sunglasses, indoors)... and, leading off the alphabetical lineup, Dan Aykroyd, representing all the white people who ripped off black people’s music, I guess. (In 1985, when this record was released, the Sgt. Pepper-suited Michael Jackson was still identifiable as a member of the latter race. The banana-suited LaToya, however, is as white as Kenny Rogers’ USA For Africa sweatshirt and matching beard.)

But more than merely a “We Are The World” single, We Are The World is an album, you see. Sure, there’s the song that everyone knows, but then you discover the deep album cuts: “Nine Previously Unreleased Songs,” according to the back cover, or “Nine New Superstar Songs!” according to the front (exclamation point mine).

Here’s the tracklist in decreasing superstardom: Prince & The Revolution, Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band (so far, so good), Tina Turner, Chicago, The Pointer Sisters (good at one time, or so I’ve been told), Huey Lewis & The News (great in Back To The Future), Steve Perry (solo), and Kenny Rogers (ugh).

The ninth superstar is Northern Lights, a supergroup you’ve never heard of, even though you’ve heard of some of its members. Unfortunately for actual superstars Joni Mitchell and Neil Young, the list of Canadian recording artists (Northern Lights, get it?) is alphabetical, so higher billing goes to the artists you’ve heard of either slightly less or possibly not at all: Bryan Adams, John Candy, Corey Hart, Gordon Lightfoot, Anne Murray, Aldo Nova (who?), Oscar Peterson (um?), and Mike Reno (who’s probably not even real). “And Others” also appear.

But wait! There’s more! Holy pop-cultural artifact, Hatman (my new nickname for the goofily hatted Steve Perry)! The record sleeve is an ad for even more outdated USA For Africa products: books, buttons, pins, posters, sweatshirts, T-shirts, and muscle T-shirts! USA! USA!! USA!!!

Tragically, this offer ended Feb. 1, 1986.

Before I even played this record, I knew the following statements would be true:

1. The title track is gonna be treacly.

2. The superstar B-sides are gonna be bad.

3. This is where Quincy Jones jumped the shark.

After one play, I knew I was right. This processed cheese is why I hate the ‘80s. (The Prince and Bruce cuts aren’t too bad, though.) Also, although we might be the world, we actually harmed the world with this music. (And Steve Perry, please, just reunite with Journey.) I’ll file this record as a conversation starter, not as something I’m going to play.

Goodwill Hunting: Vanilla Ice

Light up a Blunt and Wax a Chump Like a Candle!

(Re-released from the vaults)

Review by Matthew Webber

Regarding Mind Blowin, Vanilla Ice’s second album (yes, he actually released a post-To the Extreme album; actually, he’s released two and when he’s not slicing pickles he’s recording his third Where Are They Now? disc*), a friend asked me if it was as “good” as his debut.

So I blabbered something like the beats are rather primitive and he’s, like, trying to be a gangsta rapper but he’s white and he has no flow and his lyrics are kind of high school poetry-ish and there aren’t any songs that are catchy enough to be singles, but yeah it’s “good.”

Sadly, with the exception of two songs, the album’s as forgettable as MC Hammer albums after he shortened his name to Hammer and Dexy’s Midnight Runners’ albums that don’t include “Come on Eileen.”

But really, it’s not Vanilla Ice’s fault.

Any hardcore Iceman fans/believers or astute watchers of Behind The Music know our hero could actually rap and beatbox. (Remember “Havin’ a Roni”? He can even do that shit live!) But because he was white, his management turned him into a one-hit marionette with the quickest 15 nanoseconds of fame since that “Hey, Mickey, you’re so fine” chick. They draped him in American flags, notched his eyebrows, pompadoured his hair, labeled him the “Elvis of Rap,” cleaned up his lyrics and basically sold him out.

The slap-bracelet wearing set adored him. Anybody else who’d ever listened to real rap acts such as KRS-One and Eric B and Rakim thought he was slightly more real than Milli Vanilli’s live vocals.

Our hero, angry at being discarded like a poopy diaper, rebelled like any repressed child whose parents burned his Twisted Sister albums and would only allow him to listen to Stryper would do: he started smoking weed, ignored the Adam Duritz Postulate (white guys never look good with dreadlocks) and started rapping about dropping bombs on other MCs.

The result is Mind Blowin, an album as excessive as a rebellious teen’s orange hair.

Vanilla Ice really can have an original flow when he wants to. I swear. It’s just that he tries too hard to sound like Snoop Doggy Dogg on songs like “The Wrath”: “It’s like that ‘cause I’m the mizzak, I carry my strizzap/To bust a kizzap, don’t try to jizzak me.”

But give the man some credit. He co-produced every song on the album and responded the only way he knew how to do – through his music – to some of the harshest criticism the music press has ever dished. For this reason, Mind Blowin is worth a listen. It’s a document of a musician at an artistic and critical crossroads, reinventing his image and trying to prove his detractors – who by then made up the entire world – wrong.

Vanilla Ice may never be able recapture the glory of “Ice, Ice Baby.” It’s partly because nobody will let him.

* As of 2001. Not even I followed his career after that.

Goodwill Hunting: Pat Boone

Pat Boone Sells Out, or
Granny Kills Self While Listening to "Heavy Metal" Album

(Re-released from the vaults)

Review by Matthew Webber

I can’t decide what’s more nightmarish: A) a shirtless, gold-chain- and earring-wearing Pat Boone with a freakishly luminescent eye on the front cover of an album, B) a denim-clad, sunglasses-wearing Pat Boone on a Meatloaf-sized motorcycle on the back cover or C) the fact that Pat Boone, his management, his family and his friends thought an album of Pat Boone’s singing heavy metal songs was a marketable - or good - idea.

The resulting album, In a Metal Mood: No More Mr. Nice Guy, might just make you wet yourself. Not because of how scary the Deep Purple, Ozzy Osbourne and other heavy metal bands’ cover songs are, but because of how giggle-licious they are. Pat Boone’s late-life crisis album is the accidentally funniest CD since any Wesley Willis album.

I’d call Pat Boone’s crossover attempt laudable -- but then I’d change that D to a GH. I mean, nobody should cover a classic like “Stairway to Heaven,” especially a fart who wouldn’t know Led Zeppelin from Alice Cooper if his daughter committed suicide because of one of their backwards Satanic messages, but Pat Boone went ahead and oiled his chest (!) anyway.

The only people who would kill themselves while listening to this album are fans of the original heavy metal bands, grannies and gramps at various nursing homes whose idol just sold out (at least Lawrence Welk keeps it real) or anyone who enjoys good music in general.

In the liner notes, ol’ Patty claims he’s “ a product of the whole rock revolution” and that his fans “would buy anything [he] did.”

Hee hee hee.

Imagine an album full of you and your buddies getting drunk on a Tuesday night, cranking up “Enter Sandman” and “Paradise City” on your karaoke machine and pretending to sound like a sober Frank Sinatra, and you’ve successfully imagined In a Metal Mood and probably wet yourself.

In other words, you absolutely must find yourself a copy of this album!!!

Goodwill Hunting: Millennium Hip-Hop Party

Wanna Review Your Middle School Years?

(Re-released from the vaults)

Review by Matthew Webber

Young MC’s "Bust a Move" music video flashes across the television screen. A geeky music critic (um, not me) grins his whitewashed picket fence grin. He stares into your eyes/soul and does his best Ron Popeil homage:

"Do you remember standing against the wall at your seventh grade dance, admiring the acne-less 90210 reject flop his bowl haircut as he danced the Roger Rabbit and the Running Man as your favorite rapper at the time, MC Hammer, cautioned U not to touch him and your foot tapped uncontrollably but you wouldn’t actually dance at a school dance for another two years?

"Do you remember when the actor Mark Wahlberg was a rapper named Marky Mark? And do you ever lose sleep wondering when the Funky Bunch will get their own Behind The Music episode?

"Do you wax nostalgic for the [here, the geek elaborately quotes with his fingers] ‘hippin’est, hoppin’est cuts in hip-hop history,’ or at least for the poppy machinations that passed for real rap from ’87 to ’92?

"If the answer is yes – and I assure you it should be – then the Millennium Hip-Hop Party is the album for you. Containing eighteen of your puberty’s greatest hits, the Millennium Hip-Hop Party will turn your next party into the Millennium This Friggin' Rules, Dude, Party. Your all-time favorite songs (until you discovered grunge) are together for the first and only time on one CD."

As various members of the studio audience attempt to do me baby, a-do the Humpty Hump, keep doin’ the Hump, the geek advises you to act now and reach for your Visa or Mastercard and purchase the only compilation album you’ll ever need to own, which is only available for an unlimited time and is actually available in stores!

The track listing flows over the babies who got back, around the way girls, parents who just don’t understand and G thangs: Run-DMC’s "Walk This Way," Tone Loc’s "Funky Cold Medina," PM Dawn’s "Set Adrift on Memory Bliss," Arrested Development’s "Tennessee," House of Pain’s "Jump Around," Naughty By Nature’s "Hip Hop Hooray," Snoop Doggy Dogg’s "What’s My Name?" and every aforementioned song to which you still know all the words. (I know you do. You probably still know "Shoop," too.)

As if one compendium of memories from the most awkward years of your life weren’t enough, you can now own the New Millennium Hip-Hop Party, which features "blazin’-hot B-boy favorites to help you get your bounce on" such as Tone Loc’s "Wild Thing," MC Hammer’s "Pray," Naughty By Nature’s "O.P.P.." A Tribe Called Quest’s "Scenario," Coolio’s "Gangsta’s Paradise," Arrested Development’s "People Everyday," DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince’s "Summertime," Snow’s "Informer" (the single greatest song by a white Canadian who sounds Jamaican) and awesome songs you loved but forgot, like N2Deep’s "Back to the Hotel."

To tell you how phat these CDs are, I’ll revert to my pre-nocturnal emission hyperbole and tell you these are the greatest CDs of all time, not only for the songs but also for the hilarious liner notes.

You’ll laugh out loud as Snow "earns his props" as a gangsta rapper worthy of being on the same album as the Notorious B.I.G. You’ll cry when you realize how condescending it is to be a genuine fan of rap music and have to "consider yourself schooled" by the fan site-style language.

The geek says: "If I were to create a mix tape of every song I don’t just love but need, it would sound something like these CDs. Thank you, Rhino records, for doing it for me!"