The Popdose Interview: Ian Anderson Is Not Living In The Past

To Ian Anderson’s mind, at this stage in a career that will span fifty years come 2018, “Jethro Tull” is less a fixed institution than an idea that has encompassed the talents of “thirty-three different people who have passed through the ranks of the band.” Among these figures are the band members who currently work with him, from the previously Jethro Tull-credited tour to this year’s exploration of the catalog: Florian Opahle, electric guitar; John O’Hara, piano, organ, keyboards, accordion; David Goodier, bass guitar; Scott Hammond, drums, percussion; and Ryan O’Donnell, providing additional vocals.

Also encompassed under that umbrella are works by Anderson with significant ties to the canon like Thick as a Brick 2 (2012) and Homo Erraticus (2014), both of which play with the character of Gerald Bostock, the fictional prodigy who “wrote the epic poem Thick As A Brick” upon which the classic Tull album was alleged to be based. While not strictly Jethro Tull by brand name (the former is credited as Jethro Tull’s Ian Anderson; the latter credited solely as Anderson), it can hardly be argued that Ian Anderson is inextricably Jethro Tull, and Jethro Tull is Ian Anderson.

And Anderson is comfortable with that. In our conversation, he seemed genuinely proud of the fifty years of music that delighted many, infuriated some, and certainly challenged the boundaries of what popular music could and should be. Tull is rock, but is also folk, blues, abstractly progressive, romantic at turns and equally polarizing.

Anderson, the man, remains as he was seven years ago, being the last time we spoke. He is a raconteur, a gentleman, smarter than anyone purporting to be a rocker ever ought to admit, and fully engaged in not only honoring the legacy of Jethro Tull The Band, but also extending it. In our conversation, he discussed the continuing series of expanded Tull reissues and also dropped hints of new recordings. All this while preparing a new tour that will mix music both old and new, but in light of the impending anniversary will be weighted toward the 1970’s output.

A recent Anderson-involved effort revealed to the world outside of botany studies that, yes, Jethro Tull was named after a real person. I wondered why the band decided upon that name.

You mentioned that the band took its name from a historical figure. In fact, it wasn’t the band; it was our agent who came up with the name “Jethro Tull” in what, I think, was the last week of January 1968. We appeared for the first time, as far as I can recall and find evidence to support, on the first or second of February in London’s famous Marquee Club under the name Jethro Tull.

I didn’t realize — and I don’t believe the band did either — that Jethro Tull was the name of an 18th-century agriculturalist who invented the seed drill. It wasn’t until a couple weeks after that I found out, to my horror, that we’d been named after a dead guy in the history books. But it was too late to change it. We’d started in that first couple of appearances at the Marquee Club to gain a bit of attention, and begin to have a following, so to change our name would have been a bad career move just as we were at the point where, for the first time, we were getting notice. We ended up sticking with the name over the years, but it’s always been something that’s caused me a bit of embarrassment and a little regret in that I hadn’t that part of history when I was in school.

The current band performed on record with TAAB2 and Homo Erraticus. In your view, are they now Jethro Tull, or have you sort of created a separation there, that they are Ian Anderson’s band which also includes the music of Tull? They have been with you for some time now.

Well, yeah, and going back some time before that, to around 2005 or 2006. All the guys in the band today have played as members of Jethro Tull, when it had simply been called Jethro Tull. These days, I try to put my own name in the mix and I think of Jethro Tull — perhaps rather gallantly, in the musical sense, anyway — as being thirty-three different people who have passed through the ranks of the band over a period of going on over 50 years. I think of it as being a very large group of people under that brand name of Jethro Tull.   

More importantly for me, I think of Jethro Tull, for me, primarily as the repertoire, as the music. I think that’s what we remember the most about, for example, The Beatles. That’s what we remember about Mozart or Beethoven. we don’t know anything about them personally.  When we say, “Oh, I love Beethoven,” we don’t mean Beethoven the person, we mean Beethoven the music.  That’s the legacy. That’s what he left behind. He didn’t have a Facebook account. We have no idea what his Twitter ramblings might have been, if he’d been in the position to have that technology. we don’t know much about him, but we know the music. That’s the thing I think gets left behind. When you finally kick the bucket, it’s the music that’s going to live on if, indeed, anything does.    

It’s coming up to about 300 songs I’ve written over a period of 50 years. It’s a lot of material, and choosing that material to play live onstage, to actually whittle it down to about a hundred songs that I tend to look at because they’re the most suitable, practical songs for playing live, onstage. Then I get it down to perhaps a working 50, then down to perhaps 20 songs that on a particular tour or particular night on a tour, we’re going to play that collection of material. I try to make sure that it is representative of the different styles and different influences of my work over that period of time, as a record producer as well as a writer and performer.

The upcoming tour is an anniversary tour, but you have consistently written and recorded throughout the 2000s and the Teens. What material will, then, make its way to the setlists?      

This is essentially a “Best Of Jethro Tull” tour with the production niceties of adding videos, a lot of visual stuff with brief appearances from a couple of virtual guests on the screen behind me. (The material) comes up to date, and one song that will probably be in the setlist is a piece that was only written in 2016. There’s a piece from 2012, and from various points in the history from each decade.                

Clearly, the ones I suppose most people will readily respond to are the ones from the albums that were released in the ’70s. That was the period of time when Jethro Tull came to the attention of audiences all around the world, who will have focused on that material when it was shiny and new and fresh out of the box. I suppose that will always have a strong place in any setlist. Indeed, next year we will be focusing very much on the decade  — well, I suppose 1968, ’69, on through to ’78 — will make up most of the material we play in the anniversary year of 2018. But we’re not there yet, so we’re performing a slightly broader mix of music. 75% of it will be well-known to those who describe themselves as Jethro Tull fans.

What is the current status with the Chrysalis reissue series? The most recent remaster was Songs From The Wood. I was wondering if that meant Heavy Horses was next, whether you would be jumping around the chronology to go to The Broadsword and the Beast, or if the series was concluded?

Heavy Horses is indeed the next one, and has been completed and signed-off as far as the stereo remixes are concerned, that Steven Wilson has been working the material with me over several years. He himself has a new album out (To The Bone -ED.) and he is preparing a whole bunch of tour dates, and so he’s a bit tied up when it comes to doing the 5.1 surround stereo mixes. Therefore, it is now being released in the early part of next year. It will be a lavish boxed set with a lot of material. We’ve been working on that during the last many months. It’s kind of ready to go as soon as Steven plugs in the actual stereo mix layout and then redistributes things in 5.1, and makes a few little tweaks and changes. Then I’ll go to his studio and listen to it, and we’ll hopefully get that on the road in time for a release in the early part of 2018.               

Apart from that, I’ve been working on a new album which I wrote last February, or completed writing last February. I’ve made some demos for the band and we recorded in the end of March. I think we’ve recorded seven tracks, two of which I’ve pretty much completed. The others I need to add my parts to, and another five songs to record in the periods between tours this year.   

What was the impetus for bringing back the character of Gerald Bostock which, fictionally, was credited as the lyricist of the original Thick as a Brick? For TAAB2, the narrative centered around the meta-notion of what might have happened to Bostock in his post-fame life. With Homo Erraticus, Bostock is once again credited as the writer, so that latter album has more similarity to the original Thick as a Brick than the presumed sequel. I wondered what caused you to revisit the character.

It’s really about having fun with ideas. We all quite like when characters revisit, in movies or in books that we read. Seeing familiar people crop up again is always rather endearing, but I’ve done it three times now. That’s enough. I think I’ll let Gerald Bostock go out to pasture now. He’s done his job. the next album has absolutely nothing to do with Gerald Bostock, but you’ll have to wait until 2019 to hear that one.     

Visiting new notions with some references to old characters is just me having fun with the job of being a songwriter.  With Thick As a Brick 2 and Homo Erraticus,  there were some elements i could bring into play, but they’re really quite different albums. Homo Erraticus is very specifically written as a concept album on the topic of the migration of homo sapiens, the species and movement and inventiveness; not necessarily physical movement, but the movement of ideas, of religion, it’s all about the way in which we migrated across the planet. I don’t really tackle the very early years, but I choose to begin that little notion by looking at migration as it affected my own country, from the time of the end of the last ice age, only going back about…10,000 years.                              

I just have fun with the idea of looking at the way that migration, as a topic, is not just about Donald Trump building a wall to keep the Mexicans out, or Britain leaving the EU so we control our borders. It’s not that which I’m really talking about at all. I’m talking about the “bigger topic,” which is really a part of what we are as a species. That’s perhaps rather grand, and maybe a little academic, certainly an intellectual position to take and it may well be beyond what most people want in terms of detail when they start looking into the lyrics. You try to find a way to present, sometimes, more complex ideas but keep it in the context of music that people can understand.                                  

That, maybe, is the art of being a good songwriter; that you can tackle difficult lyrical topics but, as long as it is easy on the ear musically, you may get the message across. Or at least, you get the musical message across.

In an interview that coincided with an anniversary for the Aqualung album, probably in the mid-1980s or very early-1990s, you had mentioned that while you fondly remembered the earlier Tull recordings, you needed more in it to really keep your engagement going. You cited at that time the song “Budapest” as being more challenging, but more rewarding to play, than those earlier songs. I wanted to dig into that idea that you needed that creative growth to be sustainable, and perhaps the “broad brush” of the initial recordings were a little less satisfying over time.

I think, by the time I got to recording the Aqualung album, that was an album of rather more songwriting maturity. It was one where I was — perhaps not for the very first time —  the album did tend to be consisting of songs, some of which were about big topics, of homelessness, or organized religion, issues like prostitution; lots of stuff that focused on bigger ideas. Aqualung, as an album and maybe all points in-between there and the track “Budapest” on Crest of a Knave some fifteen or sixteen years later, wasn’t a huge gulf. “Aqualung” is a song, ostensibly, which isn’t about a homeless person. Rather, it is a song about our reaction towards homelessness and the difficulty we have, the embarrassment, the uncomfortable feelings we have when we’re confronted by people on the streets begging for money or whatever.

It is, nonetheless, a character study. It’s about a person in a landscape, in a context — the context is quite important —  and similarly with “Budapest.” It’s a song about a person, a middle-distance runner, and it is important that we know it is in Budapest and she’s an Eastern European girl growing up in a country only very-recently liberated from the yoke of the USSR. It’s important we know the context. It’s important we know the landscape she fits into. In many ways, these two songs are quite similar in terms of the rationale and the structure of making the music.

Prior to Aqualung, some of the songs were very simplistic, particularly on the first couple of albums. Lyrically, they were not that adventurous. Looking back on them as I do, because I still sing many of them from time to time today, of course I have to think about what I’m singing, what the words are, what they mean. I have to put myself into that rather simpler, perhaps rather more naive state of mind to be able to do them justice.  

But that’s not difficult for me to do. That’s what I’m paid to do! I’m supposed to be able to do that kind of thing, and I do. I step into the shoes and take on the role. I would find that if I was sitting down to write music today, I’d find it difficult to write words that, perhaps, were as simple and — in terms of the vocabulary — were not as interesting, and perhaps not as interesting in lyrical construction.    

They are what they are. It was where I began, and we can’t emerge from the egg fully fleshed out and ready to do our best work. We have to go through kindergarten first.                                               

What is it like that, after this period of time, you find there’s still such a big and enthusiastic audience for what you do? And how do those continued expectations affect your process of being a live performer?

The stage, wherever it might be when I step onto it, out of the wings, seems to me a very familiar place. Sometimes it is a festival stage and there’s no soundcheck, and you hope everything is going to work. You jump out there with your fingers crossed and it can be a little nerve-wracking in that scenario. But if it is a regular show with a soundcheck and a seated audience, it’s a bit more calm and prepared. That’s a very familiar place to be. There’s no sense of nervousness, really.                       

If it’s a regular gig, this is what I do. I suppose I feel focused and attentive in the same way as your Southwest Airlines pilot hopefully is when he sits down to do his pre-flight cockpit check, look at the weather and make some cabin announcements, and then roll out onto the runway and push those levers forward.

It’s not blase because you know there’s a lot at stake. But at the same time, you’re not in a state of anxiety or nervousness.  At least, I certainly hope that Southwest Airlines pilots are better trained than that. You should hope that I’m better trained too, because I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I think I balance the emotions to keep kind of on the edge, to keep focused and attentive…a heightened sense of awareness and sensitivity and energy, without it getting too crazy and out of control.             

That’s my job, to learn how to handle that, and I always look forward to doing it. At the time I step out onto the stage, there’s always going to be that sense of commitment, but maybe if you got to me an hour earlier, I might be thinking, oh god, I have to do this again tonight? Or that moment when the van comes to pick you up and you think that you might not really want to be doing this.

But by the time that van rolls down the freeway a little bit, heading to Heathrow Airport, then my sense of commitment and anticipation comes to the fore. I think everybody would like to have my job. I can’t imagine anybody not wanting to do what I do but, regardless of what it is you do, we all have our Monday mornings.    

But I always remind myself that I’m very lucky, very honored to have the job that I do, and still having an audience waiting to see what comes next. It was very gratifying when our tickets went on sale last week for some dates in the U.K. in May next year, and we immediately sold 70% of the Albert Hall. It’s very encouraging to know that you have a group of dedicated fans who are rushing out there to buy tickets for a concert that’s some ten months away.               

Ian Anderson’s Jethro Tull anniversary tour gets underway in the U.S. this fall. Popdose thanks him for taking the time to speak with us. Special thanks go to Anne Leighton for facilitating the interview and Danielle Barrouk for capturing notes.           

Don Williams, Country’s “Gentle Giant”: 1939 – 2017

Don Williams, the Country Music Hall of Famer known as the “Gentle Giant,” died Friday, September 8th, after a short illness. An internationally popular country star, Williams recorded dozens of hit songs, such as “Tulsa Time,” “Lord, I Hope This Day Is Good” and “It Must Be Love.”

Some of the other known standards of Williams’ catalog include “We Should Be Together,” which became the singer’s first Top Five hit; his first #1 single, “I Wouldn’t Want to Live If You Didn’t Love Me”; “You’re My Best Friend” and “I Believe In You”.

However, it was the song included below that this writer has loved since I first heard it in 1976.  It was covered by no less than Pete Townshend and Ronnie Lane and is not only a masterpiece, but a work of perfection.  To me, “Till The Rivers All Run Dry” was Don Willliams at his finest – which is what made him my favorite country singer.

Farewell, Gentle Giant.  And thank you for gracing us with your songs.

Nobody’s Favorite Record Reviews #3: Aerosmith’s Night in the Ruts

1979’s Night in the Ruts is, I dare say, nobody’s favorite Aerosmith record.

Recorded when the group was at the height of their druggy excess and yet were still riding high on reputation (their previous two albums, not-terrible Draw the Line and placeholding Live! Bootleg– didn’t yield the radio hits they had become accustomed to), they had all seemed to be coming apart at the seams by this point, especially Toxic Twins Steven Tyler and Joe Perry- Perry bailed while the group was touring during a break from recording and subsequently embarked on his short-lived solo career- and a lot of it was done with a handful of guitar-slinging replacements including Jimmy Crespo, who eventually took over for Perry in the 80s for a while. Tyler, for his part, was partying hard and living the rock and roll lifestyle and found himself experiencing severe writer’s block. The record company was antsy because of the low sales situation. It was not a happy campground for the Aerosmiths; they couldn’t even keep their longtime producer Jack Douglas on board- he had fallen out with them over personal matters, and the record company thought a change might help, so it was done with Gary Lyons behind the desk.

Despite all this, when I listen to it now, it sounds to me like a sloppy, half-assed, weird kinda masterpiece. And now, here’s where I elaborate.

The album gets off to a great start with “No Surprize”… why the “Z”? Who the hell knows? It’s ostensibly a summing up of the band’s career history to that point, boasting some slyly funny lines from Tyler (“Vaccinate your ass with a phonograph needle”) and for his part, Perry just plugs in and does relentless no-break Chuck Berry-esque chunka-chunka-chunka-chunka, only stopping for a three-and-six-note punctuation breaks before chunka-chunking again…allowing the rest of the band to surf along on a sea of Jagermeister. It has a stoned low-key urgency, and before you know it the momentum builds…by the time the song’s done you’re surprised to find your head bobbing. Well, I was anyway. Well done, fellas.

Next up, “Chiquita”, with its crosscut saw guitar and low key buzzy horns, and sink me if I don’t like it better than its predecessor. Basically Tyler singing about some senorita that’s caught his eye, I guess, it’s the arrangement more so than Steve’s ludicrous Mexican accent imitation that gets me off here…it’s got a rollercoaster rhythm that plays off those horns and guitars in fine fashion.

Here’s where things get dicey for a while.

“Remember (Walking in the Sand)”, while not the worst cover of a golden oldie by a hard rock group I’ve ever heard, has “blatant attempt at a hit single” written all over it. Despite this, it was not a hit, and barely troubled the charts.  I like the swaggering “Remember!” breaks, which feature chicksingers and snapping fingers, and Tyler does sing himself into a lather throughout. No Perry on this one.

“Cheese Cake” is a Zep-style slide guitar blues workout (the guitar reminds me a lot of “In My Time of Dying” in places), which unfortunately plods along too much to keep it from really flying. It’s not terrible but one feels like it could have and should have been tighter somehow.

“Three Mile Smile” opens side two on the original vinyl release; it has that patented Aerosmith bluesy shuffle-rhythm in play but while it jitterbugs along it doesn’t take off either, like “Cheese Cake”. Likeable but slight. It seems to be concerned lyrically with the environment and radiation (hence the play on “Three Mile Island”), but the words are too vague and nonsensical to really make any kind of coherent point.

Things pick up with “Reefer Head Woman”, a hilarious blues from the 40’s given a 70s hard rock treatment… you just KNOW they smoked a pound of hash each just to record this.

“Bone to Bone (Coney Island Whitefish Boy)” is the “Big Ten Inch Record” of this LP; it was a favorite of the band’s, because they played it in their live set for years. While it doesn’t have the retro sound of that Toys in the Attic track, it is a lively would-be blues kinda thing that boogies along agreeably and also introduced the slang term “Coney Island whitefish” to the vocabulary of young Dave in Kentucky. Unsurprisingly, Joe Perry was still on board for this one.

“Think About It” comes across like a retread of better songs like “Toys in the Attic” and “Rats in the Cellar” (Itself a retread), but does at least keep the album moving along.

“Mia” aspires to the bathetic “Dream On” and achieves its modest goal. Written for his daughter, it was written with the best of intentions, I’m sure, but it has a glum tone and a mixed message that Tyler says reflected his feelings about the band at the time; an odd sort of lullabye for sure.

 

When this came out, I dutifully picked it up, and was mostly unimpressed though I do remember thinking “Chiquita” and “Reefer Head Woman” were pretty cool. Didn’t play it much after that. I was pleasantly surprised when I recently revisited this record; as 70s Aerosmith albums go it hasn’t aged all that badly.

Sometimes an album jumps up out of nowhere and bites me on the ass. Night in the Ruts doesn’t really bite that hard, but it sure sneaks up on you and nibbles..and that’s all right with me.

Len Wein, Co-Creator of Wolverine and Swamp Thing, Dies at 69

As if dealing with the passing of comics art legend Bernie Wrightson in March of this year wasn’t hard enough, Popdose has learned that his writing partner on the book Swamp Thing, Len Wein, has passed away. He was 69. The cause of death has not been announced. Wein had been dealing with medical issues both last year and this year, but was nonetheless able to seen a triumphant return of Swamp Thing to comic stores, a partnership with artist Kelley Jones.

Wein and Wrightson’s work on Swamp Thing alone would put the writer in the Hall of Fame. But Wein had much more than that to back his bona fides. Wein gave the comics world one Logan, aka Wolverine, debuting in Incredible Hulk #181 in 1974.

Wolverine would join Storm and Colossus, along with a refurbished Cyclops and Jean “Phoenix” Grey, in the New X-Men. With these characters in play, Marvel’s second golden age got underway, and not long after, Chris Claremont and John Byrne took over The Uncanny X-Men, the comics landscape would never be the same. 

Wein also was editor on DC’s groundbreaking Watchmen mini-series by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons.

Popdose will have a look back on the career of Len Wein later this week. We offer our condolences to his family, friends, colleagues, and his many fans.

Box Office Flashback: August 27, 1987

As the latest round of would-be blockbusters packs ’em in at a theater near you, Popdose looks back at the box office totals of yesteryear. This week we revisit the top ten films of August 27, 1987, because deadlines shmeadlines! Besides, on August 27, 2017, Hurricane Harvey was upending millions of people’s lives in Houston and beyond, and now Hurricane Irma is wreaking similar havoc in the Caribbean and Florida, so writing about three-decades-old cinematic escapism can feel incredibly shallow when so many people are being forced to escape from their homes or risk drowning in floodwater. But if you want to know why the summer of ’87 was the big-screen equivalent of the “Latin pop explosion” of the summer of ’99, by all means read on …

10. Masters of the Universe (distributor: Cannon; release date: 8/7/87; final domestic gross: $17.3 million)

Twenty years before Hasbro’s Transformers were first transformed into CGI-enabled robot behemoths on the big screen, Cannon Films gave moviegoers “the first live-action film created from a toy line,” according to its PR machine. “It was kind of slightly embarrassing to sign on playing a toy,” says Dolph Lundgren, the embodiment of muscle-bound action figure He-Man in Masters of the Universe, in the highly entertaining documentary Electric Boogaloo: The Wild, Untold Story of Cannon Films (2014). But two years later he was playing the Punisher, a Marvel Comics B-lister, before comic-book movies were all the rage, so embrace your role as a trendsetter, Mr. Lundgren — even if you did set those trends in low-budget, quickly forgotten schlock. Actually, Masters was an attempt by Cannon, following the Sylvester Stallone arm-wrestling epic, Over the Top, and Superman IV: The Quest for Peace, to compete at the level of the major studios by spending big on stars and special effects. Or maybe there was nothing left in Cannon’s bank account after Stallone cashed his $12 million check — the flying effects alone in Superman IV were bad enough to ground that franchise for the next 19 years, and the action of Masters mostly takes place on Earth, where location shooting, especially within the greater Los Angeles area circa 1986 A.D., is much more cost-efficient than on He-Man’s home world of Eternia.

9. RoboCop (Orion; 7/17/87; $53.4 million)

Masters of the Universe started as a toy line from Mattel before becoming an animated TV series designed to advertise those toys and, lastly, a feature film. RoboCop has a more traditional origin story: it’s a feature film whose box-office success led to an animated TV series and, as mentioned in Screen Junkies’ hilarious Honest Trailer, a toy line from Kenner. But unlike, say, Ghostbusters, RoboCop is a blood-splattered, hard-R action movie — director Paul Verhoeven ain’t got time to be placatin’ parents with no PG-13s — so why manufacture toys based on a movie kids would never be allowed to see? Because they were going to see it anyway, just as I did, on VHS, at a sleepover in sixth grade while my friends’ parents were asleep. RoboCop was sequelized in 1990 and ’93 to diminishing returns — the second installment featured a prepubescent villain who strangled cops and offed other bad guys with a machine gun, so that one’s on you, Kenner — and remade in 2014. The remake, however, had a price tag of $100 million, while the original cost only $13 million — $9 million less than Masters of the Universe and set in the “near future” of bankrupt Detroit, not present-day Burbank, which means every penny’s up there on the screen — yet the update only grossed $5 million more than RoboCop 1.0 in the U.S., despite its more family-friendly PG-13 rating. Prime directive for Hollywood: if a crime-fighting cyborg ain’t broke, don’t reboot it. (Secondary but actually more important directive: nobody knows anything, so don’t listen to me.)

8. The Lost Boys (Warner Bros.; 7/31/87; $32.2 million)

Imagine the Brat Pack as a pack of eternally youthful vampires and you have the titular bloodsuckers of director Joel Schumacher’s follow-up to St. Elmo’s Fire (1985). In fact I’m pretty sure the ponytailed, baby-oiled saxophonist who shows up near the beginning of The Lost Boys (inspiring a Saturday Night Live digital short starring Jon Hamm two decades later) is really just Rob Lowe’s sax-playing bad boy from St. Elmo’s Fire after being bitten. The Lost Boys, which absolutely could’ve used a killer theme song with a lyrical hook like “Fangs / I’m gonna live forever,” was cowritten by Jeffrey Boam, who also worked on the screenplay for Innerspace, another highlight of the summer of ’87 and the one that got him hired by Steven Spielberg to write Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989).

7. La Bamba (Columbia; 7/24/87; $54.2 million)

This biopic of Mexican-American singer Ritchie Valens, who died along with Buddy Holly and the Big Bopper in a plane crash on February 3, 1959 (“the day the music died,” as Don McLean calls it in his 1971 song “American Pie”), was a big hit — it earned more than double the box-office take of Innerspace, for example, at a quarter of that film’s budget — and its title song, a cover by Los Lobos of Valens’s 1958 rock-and-roll twist on a Mexican folk song, spent three weeks at the top of the Billboard Hot 100. Yet the writer-director of La Bamba, Luis Valdez, a trailblazer for Latino theater in the ’60s and ’70s, never helmed another feature film. Why? Donald Trump. Can I prove that? No, but the current president of the United States can’t prove any of his conspiracy theories, either. No more questions. But here are some further facts, or nonfake news, about La Bamba: It was coproduced by Taylor Hackford, who received an Oscar nomination for Best Director for his 2004 Ray Charles biopic, Ray, after previously directing Hail! Hail! Rock ‘n’ Roll (1987), a documentary about Chuck Berry, and The Idolmaker (1980), which, like La Bamba, was set against the backdrop of the burgeoning rock scene of the late ’50s. Lou Diamond Phillips, meanwhile, got his big break playing Valens, and starred in the western Young Guns the following summer with Lost Boys vampire Kiefer Sutherland and official Brat Packer Emilio Estevez — a Spanish-American, no less, and the real son of a fake (but nonetheless qualified) president, The West Wing‘s Martin Sheen.

6. The Living Daylights (United Artists; 7/31/87; $51.1 million)

In the action-packed previous installment of Box Office Flashback, I mentioned that Timothy Dalton was offered the role of James Bond in ’86 after Pierce Brosnan was sidelined by a contractual obligation to NBC’s Remington Steele. Dalton only made two Bond films, The Living Daylights and Licence to Kill (1989), before the series was put on hold for six years while producer Albert R. Broccoli and MGM, the parent company of United Artists, fought in court over TV distribution rights. Although he had a three-picture deal, Dalton opted in 1994 not to return for a third go-round as Bond, allowing Brosnan to take over for GoldenEye (1995). The Living Daylights was notable at the time for being the first James Bond movie in which the British spy only sleeps with one woman. “Because of AIDS,” said Richard Maibaum, the writer or cowriter of 13 Bond movies, from the very first, Dr. No (1962), all the way through to Licence to Kill, in a 1989 New York Times article. “I didn’t think he could alley-cat around,” he added. “But they felt the picture would have done better if there had been more sex in it.” Therefore, Agent 007 had two love interests in Licence to Kill — which, when adjusted for inflation, has the lowest domestic gross of any film in the Bond franchise. Sex didn’t sell? Once again, nobody knows anything.

5. No Way Out (Orion; 8/14/87; $35.5 million)

Kevin Costner’s cinematic summer of ’87 began with his lead role in Brian De Palma’s adaptation of the TV series The Untouchables (ABC, 1959-’63) and ended with an even bigger showcase for his leading-man talents, No Way Out, itself an adaptation of a 1946 Kenneth Fearing novel titled The Big Clock that was first made into a movie in ’48 with Ray Milland in the lead. No Way Out transfers the novel and original film’s action from New York to Washington, D.C. and adds an era-appropriate Russian mole in the U.S. government. Or is the whole thing a wild goose chase? A witch hunt, if you will? You wish, President Trump! Costner reteamed with No Way Out director Roger Donaldson 13 years later for Thirteen Days, a retelling of the Cuban Missile Crisis that our president should probably watch before he shoots his mouth off at North Korea again. (It’s based on a 1997 work of nonfiction, but since Trump doesn’t read books, I’d advise not going that route.)

4. Dirty Dancing (Vestron; 8/21/87; $63.4 million)

I know quite a few women who grew up in the ’80s without ever seeing a Star Wars movie. Dirty Dancing was their Star Wars: not every woman is crazy about it, but they’ve all seen it at least once. But did you know that costars Jennifer Grey and Patrick Swayze didn’t get along? And did you know that James LeGros’s egotistical movie star in Tom DiCillo’s 1995 comedy Living in Oblivion isn’t based on DiCillo’s experience working with Brad Pitt, pre-superstardom, on Johnny Suede (1991), but that LeGros did base his performance on his own experience working with Patrick Swayze on Point Break (1991)? So do you now feel bad for Jennifer Grey, who’d already paid her dues by making out with future Young Guns star Charlie Sheen (born Carlos Estevez, which means he’s been in denial for decades, so of course he’s a Trump supporter) in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (1986)? Do you feel better knowing that she won Dancing With the Stars in 2010? Good. The success of the three Star Wars “special editions” at the beginning of 1997 allowed Dirty Dancing to enjoy a tenth-anniversary rerelease that same year, adding another half million dollars to its box-office tally, but the studio that made it, Vestron Pictures, was long gone, having failed to capitalize on Dirty Dancing‘s unexpected success with subsequent releases like Dream a Little Dream (1989), starring The Lost Boys‘s dynamic duo of Corey Feldman and Corey Haim.

3. Born in East L.A. (Universal; 8/21/87; $17.3 million)

The most famous line of dialogue in Dirty Dancing is probably “Nobody puts Baby in a corner.” Well, nobody puts Donnie in a corner, either — he can do it all by himself, thank you very much, even with Steve Bannon out of the picture. Which is why I’d love to get his reaction to a 30th-anniversary screening of Born in East L.A., written and directed by and starring Cheech Marin as a native Angeleno who’s accidentally mistaken for an illegal immigrant and deported to Mexico. Then again, I don’t want to give him any ideas. It is noteworthy, though, to see two films centered on Latino characters in this box-office top ten from August of ’87, and by the following spring Warner Bros. and Universal, respectively, had released the true-life high school drama Stand and Deliver, starring Lou Diamond Phillips and Edward James Olmos, and The Milagro Beanfield War, directed by Robert Redford but featuring Rubén Blades and other Latino actors in a story of farming and government interference set in New Mexico. “The success of La Bamba and Stand and Deliver proves that Latinos yearn to see themselves on the big screen — and not just as gangsters, maids and immigrants,” wrote Dennis Romero in L.A. Weekly earlier this year, lamenting that the major studios gave up on movies with Latino leads shortly after the release of American Me, directed by and starring Olmos, in ’92, a slap in the face to a minority that now makes up 18 percent of the U.S. population and, according to 2016 statistics compiled by the Motion Picture Association of America and cited by Romero, is “responsible for about one in four movie tickets sold, a far greater per-capita showing than any othe race or ethnic group.” The Los Angeles Times reported that approximately 425 million tickets were sold during the summer of ’17, the industry’s lowest tally in 25 years, so if you really do yearn to see yourselves on the big screen, Latino moviegoers, exploit your leverage by staying home and causing a brownout at theaters across the nation.

2. Can’t Buy Me Love (Touchstone; 8/14/87; $31.6 million)

Can’t buy a new John Hughes movie starring Anthony Michael Hall? Make one directed by The Buddy Holly Story‘s Steve Rash and starring a not-yet-“McDreamy” Patrick Dempsey instead! (I haven’t read Trump: The Art of the Deal, which was published in 1987, but I’m pretty sure the president — or at least the guy who actually wrote the book, journalist Tony Schwartz — would agree with that piece of business advice.) In this gender-reversed high school spin on George Bernard Shaw’s play Pygmalion, a nerd (Dempsey) pays a popular cheerleader (Amanda Peterson) $1,000 to pose as his girlfriend for a month in the hopes of improving his social status. Disney, the studio that released Can’t Buy Me Love (via its Touchstone Pictures imprint), probably paid 100 times that amount to Michael Jackson, then the owner of the Beatles’ song catalog, to use the band’s 1964 hit in the movie as well as borrow its title, an improvement over the teen comedy’s original name, “Boy Rents Girl.” I doubt Universal paid Cheech Marin $100,000 for the rights to “Born in East L.A.,” the lead-off track on Cheech & Chong‘s seventh and final comedy album, Get Out of My Room (1985), that was promoted with a conspicuously Chong-free music video, but it got me thinking: Is Born in East L.A. the first movie adapted from a video? And why don’t more movies borrow from music videos the way videos have routinely rummaged through film history for inspiration, from Madonna’s “Express Yourself” (1989), a David Fincher-directed homage to Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, to Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf” (1982), in which Russell Mulcahy references both Raiders of the Lost Ark and Apocalypse Now? The lost boys of La La Land are always looking for “presold” intellectual property they can sink their teeth into, especially if it’s cheap, and the content of music videos can be interpreted any which way. Take Rod Stewart’s 1981 video for “Tonight I’m Yours (Don’t Hurt Me),” which has “some fairly obvious ’80s imagery: a nun in a rowboat, that sort of thing,” according to Mulcahy, who directed it, in the 2011 oral history I Want My MTV: The Uncensored Story of the Music Video Revolution. Well, who is that nun? Why is she in that rowboat? Is she braving the treacherous waters of the Sunset Marquis Hotel’s pool to retrieve a shipment of narcotics for a certain blond Englishman? And is she actually a French maid? Because she looks like one in the video, so if she really is a nun, why is she in disguise? So many mysteries to unravel. I can’t wait to see David Fincher’s $100 million adaptation two summers from now, or maybe even a big-screen version of Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” video that explores the backstory of the brave Planning & Zoning official who risked everything to bring light-up sidewalk tiles to the inner city.

1. Stakeout (Touchstone; 8/5/87; $65.6 million)

Since I’m already in pitch mode, how about a docudrama detailing all the bad decisions that went into the making of Billy Squier’s video for “Rock Me Tonite” (1984), considered one of the worst to ever air on MTV? As the choreographer of Dirty Dancing, Kenny Ortega dreamed up dance moves that would be widely imitated for years to come, but as the choreographer and director of “Rock Me Tonite,” this California-born Latino reminded the world that, Patrick Swayze notwithstanding, white men can’t dance. I see Oscar Isaac as Ortega and Andrew Garfield as Squier — sure, call me a dreamer, but please say it quietly or else I might be deported next spring — but if that idea swings and misses, maybe Isaac and Garfield can make a “buddy-cop” movie like Stakeout. It’s my second-favorite buddy-cop movie of the ’80s, after Running Scared (1986), because, for one thing, the cops in these movies actually are buddies when we meet them — they bicker like a married couple now and again, but we don’t have to go through the motions of watching them meet, then fight, then fight some more, then come to a mutual understanding and realize the whole is greater than the sum of its parts over the course of 100 minutes. In Stakeout Richard Dreyfuss and Emilio Estevez have an easygoing chemistry as Seattle police detectives Chris Lecce and Bill Reimers, respectively. That’s right, Estevez’s Latino heritage is ignored, but Dreyfuss is playing an Italian-American, so it’s all up for grabs. At least Madeleine Stowe, whose mother was Costa Rican, is Dreyfuss’s Mexican-Irish-American love interest, Maria Guadalupe McGuire, and she receives a bonus diversity point for taking a shower to the tune of Gloria Estefan & Miami Sound Machine’s “Rhythm Is Gonna Get You” while, unbeknownst to her, Dreyfuss watches. The music video for that song doesn’t include any footage from Stakeout, most likely because it was never intended to be the centerpiece of a Stakeout soundtrack album — none exists — but if I may return to pitch mode one more time, a character study of the Pacific Northwest’s most unethical door-to-door loofah salesman sounds like a surefire box-office hit to me.

Box-office tallies and release-date information provided by Box Office Mojo, IMDb, and The Numbers.

Album Review: Neil Finn, “Out Of Silence”

It would seem that the less obstruction between Neil Finn’s conception of a song and its completion, the better the final product will be. This was an impression I got when the unnecessarily noisy Crowded House album Intriguer appeared. That impression was only strengthened when Finn’s cluttered solo record Dizzy Heights crossed my path. Finn’s latest, Out of Silence, finally proves this point not by being the most blatant example of over-workmanship, but the polar opposite of it.

It started with Finn’s initial concept of broadcasting sessions that would ultimately become the album on the Internet. These were, to my knowledge, live, and certainly not heavily-edited electronic press kits. He had this crazy plan to get the players together with this batch of songs and practice, practice, practice. When they were confident in what they were to do, they’d record it all in one fell swoop, together as a single unit, just as it used to be. Thus, Out of Silence is more a live album than most live albums are.

But what about the songs? The first thing the listener will need to grapple with is that none of the songs on Out of Silence are rockers. In a sense, the record is to Finn as Apple Venus was to XTC. These are pop songs built around the piano, orchestral strings, a choir, and occasionally rock band instrumentation, but these instances are few. Once that expectation is managed, what the listener is left with is what will arguably be 2017’s most beautiful album. Finn, sounding nearly as he did in the late-’70s with Split Enz, has no need to bend and twist the note for effect. His vocal lines, even when he utilizes a falsetto, hit the mark dead-center. The piano tone breathes. The melodies of these tunes are intended to dig deep into the listener’s brain and stay for a very long time.

And so they do. “Alone” finds him paired with brother and sometime-bandmate Tim Finn, sharing a sentiment I think most people would recognize: being physically placed in a bustling and overcrowded city, but feeling so alien and apart from all of them that it might as well be deserted. “Independence Day” is elegant, but not arrogant or pompous. That’s another thing Out of Silence manages to avoid. When artists mix the elements of orchestral backing and choirs, there’s always that temptation to play the role of the “composer,” to be stuffy and “good for the listener” as if this was an educational endeavor. The arrangements here never serve their own ends but are, instead, always in service to the song.

Even the overt message of “The Law Is Always On Your Side,” woven into a narrative of a man taken into custody for what might be a crime he didn’t commit, is delivered thoughtfully through the skills of the songwriter and not of a protester using the song as a delivery method. Again, Finn barely sounds different from the moment you first heard Crowded House’s “Don’t Dream It’s Over.”

If there’s a problem with the album — and wouldn’t it be nice if most albums suffered such issues — it is that each of the ten songs, and the album as a whole, are really short. Each track is complete, mind you, and certainly feel like complete statements, but are carried off with such grace that you actually would have liked another minute or two with them.

So some may carp that this is “chamber pop” and they would prefer Finn to hit that rock and roll again. Others may gripe that what is here is too mature, a description that shouldn’t ever be derogatory. Even more will say that his methodology in the record’s creation slightly smacks of a gimmick. What Out of Silence actually is, outside of any naysayer’s contrivances, is Neil Finn’s best solo album, full of organic performances that are allowed to live fully in a digital age where such is incredibly rare. 

REVIEW: Radon Chong – “I Keep On Talking To You”

Captain Beefheart devotees, rejoice!

Shape-shifter Don van Vliet might be deceased but his spirit – and that of his ever-evolving Magic Band – is alive and well in Pittsburgh. Local band Radon Chong channel the Captain with passionate precision, vibrant originality, and colorful flare on its nine-song debut, the mind bogglingly good I Keep On Talking To You, available now on cassette through Philadelphia’s Single Girl Married Girl.

Sounding like Beefheart had picked up the Slint mantle and adopted a mission of crafting angular post-rock, Radon Chong drops eerie bridges a la Cheer-Accident but ends sounding somehow quirkier, somehow more cerebral. This is calculated music, meant to sound as instinctive as a knotted rope. In short, dissonance has rarely sounded so good.

On “Farm Pays For Me,” the quintet’s multi-guitar, frontal-lobe assault results in bridges that are not so much interwoven as tangled. Bass and treble elements stumble over each other and it’s a minor miracle that the band’s drummer can keep time. While fellow Pittsburghers Night Vapor have toyed with these recipes in a more post-metal/avant-punk vein, Radon Chong takes them past illogical conclusions, crafting music that is both rarely distorted, in the electric guitar sense, and completely distorted, in most other senses of the word. The middle of “Cold Hands,” all barking over guitar verses falling apart, is enthralling stuff. Glassy guitar figures backed by chugging bass and subtle whispers on “Second To One” are downright riveting. The opening of “Grandma Anthropology,” where the band’s front-man waxes poetic over driving refrains, will knock you down.

What to make of their place in the City of Steel? The band is, surprisingly, in good company, as more and more look to forebears like Beefheart or prog icons and offer up compositions that are increasingly nuanced and demand repeated listening. (Aaron Myers-Brooks, I’m looking at you.) But I Keep On Talking To You is also a singular accomplishment – it leaves just about everything else being served up out there looking a little clueless or elementary. This is not music for everyone – on its Bandcamp page, Radon Chong hints at this with its “serious music” tag – but, for the adventurous out there, it won’t leave your tape deck. Essential listening for the year of our Lord 2017.

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Soul Serenade: Benny Spellman, “Lipstick Traces (On A Cigarette)”

Sometimes it’s not all about where an artist is from. Instead, it’s about the place where they did their best work. Some would say that Jerry Butler is a good example. Although he is a Chicagoan through and through, he will always be associated with Philly Soul because of the work he did in that city with Kenny Gamble & Leon Huff. The same is true of the O’Jays who came from Canton, Ohio and also pushed Philly Soul hits up the charts. Otis Redding came from Georgia, but will always be associated with Memphis music. You get the idea.

Another good example is Benny Spellman. He was born and raised in Pensacola, Florida in 1931, but music wasn’t his first love, football was. His love for the game gained him a scholarship to Southern University in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He began his singing career in Baton Rouge, hooking up with Alvin Battiste’s jazz group. But then the Army called, Spellman served, and when he got out he went back to Pensacola.

In 1959, fate intervened. Huey “Piano” Smith and his Clowns were on tour in Florida when they wrecked their truck. Spellman stepped up and offered to drive the band back to New Orleans. Once they were back in the Crescent City, Smith offered Spellman the opportunity to become one of the Clowns. Spellman took him up on the offer and became a New Orleans resident from that point on.

Fortunately for Spellman, he had arrived in town at a great time. The local R&B scene was flourishing and before long he had a deal with a new record label called Minit. His first recordings for the label didn’t get much attention and Spellman survived by working as a background singer on other people’s records.

Once again Spellman found himself in the right place at the right time. This time he happened to be in the studio when Allen Toussaint was producing the session that would result in Ernie K Doe’s massive hit, “Mother-In-Law.” Toussaint, who wrote the song, wasn’t very happy with the way the session was going and he called on Spellman to help out. Spellman sang the distinctive bass part that put the song over the top.

Benny Spellman

That was the start of a relationship that found Spellman recording a double-sided single featuring two Toussaint songs, “Lipstick Traces (On a Cigarette),” and “Fortune Teller.” The record turned out to be Spellman’s biggest hit, reaching #28 R&B chart and #80 on the Billboard Hot 100. The record spent six weeks on the chart.

“Well, ‘Lipstick Traces’… the guy, Benny Spellman, that sang the bass part on “Mother-In-Law” — he didn’t know what it was worth at the time we were doing it, but when ‘Mother-In-Law’ came out and sold, and went to number one, let’s say, Benny Spellman that sang the bass part made sure that everyone within the sound of his voice got to know that he sang that part,” Toussaint told Terry Gross of NPR.

“And then he would go around — he would gig — based on [the fact that] he sang the low part on “Mother-In-Law,” Toussaint added. “And he encouraged me … with much force, to write him a song that he could use that concept. And one result of that was the song ‘Lipstick Traces.’”

The Rolling Stones covered “Fortune Teller,” and the O’Jays released their version of “Lipstick Traces,” but Spellman never had another chart record. By 1968 he was done with the record business and he went home to Pensacola where he got a job as a Miller Beer salesman. He tried for a musical comeback in the 1980s but a stroke cut the effort short.

In 2009, Spellman, by the residing in an assisted living facility, was inducted into the Louisiana Music Hall of Fame. Two years later he died at the age of 79.