Released as a single in May of 1982, Cheap Trick’s If You Want My Love. Although is only reached #45 in America, its deft use of multiple Beatle-influenced elements resulted in it being a fan favorite and an international hit. It was also included on their Lp, One On One, alongside their MTV hit, She’s Tight.
After years of playing in bands in and around the Chicago area, Chip Muellemann decided to call it a day and embark on a solo career under the psuedonym Here’s Chippy. Based in Park City, Illinois, the singer, songwriter and multiple-instrumentalist has just completed “Pieces,” which marks his sixth full-length studio album.
The old adage – “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” – certainly applies when it comes to Here’s Chippy’s music. You always know what to expect when you purchase an album bearing the name, and “Pieces” proceeds to portray his tried and tested practice of straight up rock. The influence of bands such as Cheap Trick and Enuff Z Nuff are evident, while Here’s Chippy’s vocals tend to echo the cheeky grit of Joe Walsh.
Therefore, tightly-coiled songs, brimming with harnessed energy flood the album. “Everytime I Think Of You,” “No One To Hold,” “Old Friend” and “A Woman Like You” roll in as specific sonic specimans amplifying Here’s Chippy’s knack for braiding together grinding rhythms and heavy hooks into a cohesive concoction. Crunchy guitar chords abound, and a powered backbeat keeps perfect time.
Although hard rock is the theme, “Pieces” does feature a couple of slight diversions. Peppered with swirling atmospherics, floating melodies and phased vocals, “In My Head” ripples with psychedelic impressions, where the properly titled “Bump” grooves and grunts to a fierce and funky pitch.
If you’re itching to hear a big blast of no-nonsense rock, “Pieces” is the album to turn to. And the sound is crisp and clear, propelling these songs to leap right out of the speakers!
Fast & Loose (Big Stir Records 2020)
September 18 is a date to celebrate, because that is the day Nick Frater – who hails from Croydon, England – releases his fifth studio album, Fast & Loose. Those already acquainted with the multi-tasking musician need not be informed of his forte for siring ingenious songs bleeding with radio-friendly frequencies. Nick’s radiant vocals, rife with melody and movement, are custom fit for the type of songs he writes so well.
Operating at an arresting tempo, supported by cracking guitar licks and ringing organ chords, Luna produces memories of Paul McCartney and Wings, and although Cocaine Gurls mentions The Talking Heads, Stevie Nicks and Steely Dan, the song crosses a rocking Cheap Trick inspired bite with the wry wit of Elvis Costello.
Locked and loaded with infectious breaks and divine harmonies, Let’s Hear It For Love is a bona fide power pop marvel, while the title track of the album is a blazing instrumental, pronounced by an inviting interplay of slick dance rhythms and ripping rock grooves. Switching the dial to the easy listening station, there’s finely-engineered ballads such as Moonstruck, That Ship Has Sailed and Endless Summertime Blues, which emphasize Nick’s appreciation for the moodier and more experimental side of The Beach Boys.
Filled to the limit with top-floor sounds and expressions, Fast & Loose captures Nick’s golden gift for reprising classic pop rock styles into his own understanding of the current moment. Diligently-designed songs, matched by a consistently punctual delivery, provide the album with pint after pint of scrumptious sonic delights.
Ever the generous guy, Nick recruited a group of good pals to contribute their talents to Fast & Loose, including Spygenius, The Stan Laurels, Whelligan, Super 8, Emperor Penguin, Do Me Bad Things and Steve Lowe.
Not one to remain idle, Nick is now hard at work on his next album. Until then, spin the heck out of Fast & Loose and have fun singing and swinging along with these great songs. No mask or social-distancing required!
Continuing a look back at my first exposure to a number of rock ‘n’ roll acts and superheroes (or other denizens of print or periodical publication), some of which were passing fancies, and some of which I went on to kinda like. They say you never forget your first time; that may be true, but it’s the subsequent visits–the second time, the fourth time, the twentieth time, the hundredth time–that define our relationships with the things we cherish. Ultimately, the first meeting is less important than what comes after that. But every love story still needs to begin with that first kiss.
A tabloid called Phonograph Record Magazine was a starting-point for a lot of my rock ‘n’ roll revelations in the ’70s, and it’s where I first heard of Cheap Trick. Flo & Eddie (aka Mark Volman and Howard Kaylan, formerly of The Turtles) had a regular PRM column called “Blind Date,” which featured our happy-together heroes reviewing new releases without being told upfront what the hell they were reviewing. For one 1977 “Blind Date,” they were given the eponymous debut album from Cheap Trick, and offered the clue that the band’s name was like an inexpensive subterfuge. That was my introduction to Cheap Trick.
It seems likely that I must have heard Cheap Trick on WOUR-FM a time or several in ’77, but I have no recollection of that. As was the case with many other new rockin’ pop discoveries for me in 1977, my first conscious memory of hearing Cheap Trick came in the fall of ’77, when I was a freshman at the State University College at Brockport. Most of the new music I heard then was courtesy of the campus station WBSU–“The station where we BS you!”–but Cheap Trick first filled my ears on a commercial station in nearby Rochester, either WCMF-FM, or maybe even the usually-lame Magic 92. The song was “So Good To See You,” a track from the second Cheap Trick album, In Color. I think the cut got a little bit of subsequent radio play as well, though it wasn’t really a hit. In my mind, I hear it alongside “See Forever Eyes,” a then-contemporary prog-pop song by a group called Prism. I liked both “So Good To See You” and “See Forever Eyes,” though neither was specifically at the toppermost of my poppermost.
So I can’t claim to have been ahead of the curve in adoring Cheap Trick. I caught on to the irresistible appeal of Rockford’s Phenomenal Pop Combo about the same time everyone else did: with the track “Surrender” on their third album, Heaven Tonight, in 1978, and full-tilt Cheap Trick mania with Cheap Trick At Budokan, released as an import in late ’78 and–by overwhelming popular demand–domestically in 1979. There was a brief period there were everyone seemed to like Cheap Trick. For once, I was in the mainstream!
The “everyone” in this example included my lovely girlfriend (and now lovely wife) Brenda. We each bought our own copy of Cheap Trick At Budokan–me, to play with my Ramones and Jam records, and her to play with her Santana and Earth, Wind & Fire (plus the Buddy Holly, Rolling Stones, and Who LPs she’d “liberated” from my collection; she also bought a copy of The Kinks‘ Greatest Hits at the flea market, so her horizons were already expanding). Harmonic convergence!
I eventually acquired all of Cheap Trick’s early catalog–Cheap Trick, In Color, Heaven Tonight, Budokan, and Dream Police–and loved ’em all. When The Ramones’ fab flick Rock ‘n’ Roll High School played on campus in 1980 (the second time I’d seen the film), it was accompanied by a cool video promo for Dream Police; fitting, since Cheap Trick had been an early choice to star in that film (some time after director Allan Arkush convinced producer Roger Corman that the film shouldn’t be called Disco High, but before Johnny, Joey, Dee Dee, and Marky were cast).
I have to confess I lost interest in Cheap Trick after Dream Police. I didn’t care for the George Martin-produced All Shook Up in 1980, and it would be a while before I was interested in any new Cheap Trick albums. Turns out I missed some pretty cool stuff in that period. But I got back on board the Cheap Trick bandwagon with 1997’s underratedCheap Trick album on the Red Ant label. I had a chance to finally catch the Trick live on that club tour.
In the summer of 2016, our daughter Meghan accompanied Brenda and me to see Cheap Trick at an outdoor concert in Syracuse, and that was an even rarer harmonic convergence right there. Mommy’s all right, Daddy’s all right, we just seem a little weird. An inexpensive subterfuge? Cheap f***ingTrick!
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Happy birthday to Cheap Trick bassist Tom Petersson, who turns 69 today.
YOKO ONO: “Kiss Kiss Kiss”
Geffen, 1980; A-Side: JOHN LENNON: “(Just Like) Starting Over”
Some called her a Dragon Lady. To John Lennon, she was probably the one true love of his life.
A lot of rock ‘n’ rollers never understood Yoko Ono, and likely never will. I don’t exempt myself from that; I’m not a fan of her music, either with John or the material she made after his murder. But I don’t think I ever fell into the trap of demonizing her, or wishing she were out of John’s life, or blaming her for The Beatles’ breakup. Honestly, I think Yoko saved John’s life; I have a hard time believing that the rudderless Lennon of the mid ’60s could have survived into the ’70s had he not met Ono. His 18-month “lost weekend” without her in 1973-75 could serve as evidence for or against that idea; he looked back on that time with regret, and he clearly drank and partied too much, but he also seemed happy in the moment with girlfriend May Pang, and he worked prolifically as a recording artist (three albums in that short span o’ months), producer, and musical collaborator. Still, ultimately John needed Yoko. The separation didn’t work out.
My respect for Yoko One as a person need not have any bearing on my appreciation of her work. In general, her music just isn’t for me. There was, however, one instance where I preferred Yoko’s music to a contemporaneous song by John. That was Yoko’s “Kiss Kiss Kiss,” the B-side of John’s “(Just Like) Starting Over” in 1980.
For me, the summer of 1980 marked three years since I’d first heard The Sex Pistols and The Ramones. I graduated from college in May of ’80, moved into an apartment with my girlfriend, and became a professional burger-flipper at the mighty Golden Arches. I still loved The Beatles, but felt punk and new wave pulling me away from most post-’67 Beatles–no power on Earth could ever hope to separate me from Beatles ’62-’66–and I was increasingly disinterested in contemporary releases by former Beatles. I thought George Harrison and Ringo Starr had become boring. I liked some of Paul McCartney‘s recent stuff, particularly “Coming Up” and 1979’s “Getting Closer,” but found him unreliable, and I actively disliked “Arrow Through Me” and “Goodnight Tonight.”
And John? John was MIA. After his lost weekend ran its course in ’75, he realized he needed to be with Yoko. Yoko wasn’t so sure. But when Lennon appeared as Elton John‘s special guest, singing a few songs with The Elton John Band at the conclusion of their 1975 Madison Square Garden show, Yoko met John backstage, and the reconciliation commenced. One wonders if John thought of the lyrics to the song he’d just performed–a song he introduced as “by an old estranged fiancé of mine called Paul,” a Beatles oldie John had never sung before, and the last song that John Lennon would ever sing in concert:
Well my heart went boom
When I crossed that room
And I held her hand in mine
Oh, we danced through the night
And we held each other tight
And before too long
I fell in love with her
Now I’ll never dance with another
Oh, when I saw her standing there
That’s the legend, anyway. Real life, real love, isn’t quite as simple or uncomplicated, but the end result was the same: John & Yoko. Together, man. They had a son, Sean, and John became a devoted father, retiring from public life for five years. He baked bread. He was Daddy. He was there.
I don’t remember how much of this I knew at the time. On the one hand, I saw a photo of Lennon in Rolling Stone, and he looked…old. On the other hand, in my punk-fueled mind, John had been the rocker in The Beatles, the fast ‘n’ loud balance to Paul’s silly love songs. It was a fiction I believed. As disconcerted as I was by the image of a grandfatherly ex-Beatle, I was convinced that Lennon could still return and show ’em all how it was s’posed to be done.
So I was delighted to hear that John Lennon was working on a new album in 1980. Early hype was encouraging; John & Yoko were working with producer Jack Douglas, and recording with a little help from new friends Cheap Trick, the one band–really, the only band–that every rock ‘n’ roll fan seemed to like at the end of the ’70s. The album was Double Fantasy, and its cover depicted John & Yoko sharing an affectionate little kiss. John had shaved his scraggly grandfather beard, and cut his hair to a properly fab mid ’60s love-me ‘do. The first single, “(Just Like) Starting Over,” was released ahead of the LP, and I eagerly traded cash for vinyl at Brockport’s Main Street Records to own a copy of that 45.
And I was so disappointed with it.
My expectations were unfair. I wanted Revolver and Rocket To Russia and power pop and punk and new wave and jangle and buzz and harmonies and Rickenbackers and drums and yeah-yeah-YEAH! That wasn’t gonna happen, even if Cheap Trick had been involved; as it was, most of the Trick’s contributions were omitted from the official version of Double Fantasy. There was certainly no audible evidence of them on this single. Instead, “(Just Like) Starting Over” fell somewhere between pre-Beatles pop and Electric Light Orchestra, and I wasn’t at all impressed. It was…okay. That’s all. Okay.
John had the A-side; Yoko had the B-side. I surprised myself by liking “Kiss Kiss Kiss” immediately. It seemed an edgier track, its herky-jerky riddum reminiscent of Marianne Faithfull‘s Broken English, its vocal styling similar to what I heard on records by Public Image, Ltd. and avowed Yoko Ono acolytes The B-52’s. Plus, like, it sounded like the Lennons were shakin’ the sheets at the end of the song. “Kiss Kiss Kiss” popped for me in a way the A-Side couldn’t. Although I gradually developed some level of fondness for “(Just Like) Starting Over,” “Kiss Kiss Kiss” was the side I played, and I played it often.
I held off on getting Double Fantasy. I heard another song or two on the radio, definitely the Beatley “Woman” (which I thought nicked its riff from Argent‘s “Hold Your Head Up,” but which I liked nonetheless), and probably “Watching The Wheels,” Lennon’s statement of defiant domesticity. On December 8th of 1980, a nobody with a gun decided his pitiful craving for attention was more important than John Lennon’s right to live, Yoko’s right to a husband, Sean’s right to a father. The killer’s name will never be mentioned in anything I write.
The events that followed the album’s release made it impossible to assess Double Fantasy on its own merit. I still can’t. There was a rumor (and I betcha it’s true) that Rolling Stone had a negative review of Double Fantasy all set to run, but pulled at the last minute in the wake of Lennon’s murder, with a glowing and reflective review run in its place. I can’t say if that was the right thing to do. Probably. Maybe. I kinda doubt that I would have ever really embraced the album, but who knows? I sure don’t know. I can’t separate the album from that lingering memory of how bad I felt on the evening of December 8th.
We can grieve for people we’ve never met, losses that may not seem personal to onlookers, but losses that hurt, that ache, as if a vital part of our lives has been ripped from us. We shouldn’t commit the sin of comparing our feelings in the wake of John Lennon’s murder to what Yoko felt, what Sean felt, to the anguish of older son Julian, ex-wife Cynthia, Aunt Mimi, or Paul, George, and Ringo, or May Pang. It’s not the same, not even close. Still hurts anyway, though.
On the evening of the murder, John and Yoko had been in the studio, working on a new Yoko single, “Walking On Thin Ice.” Can’t separate that one from its circumstances either, and I’ve never been able to enjoy it. An album called Milk And Honey was eventually assembled from unused Double Fantasy sessions, and I wound up digging its focus tracks “Nobody Told Me” and “Living On Borrowed Time” more than I liked most of Double Fantasy. Different circumstances. Different expectations.
Nowadays, I don’t often listen to “Kiss Kiss Kiss.” Among solo Beatles, I’m generally more likely to spin some McCartney than a Lennon, Harrison, or Starr record. I never listen to Yoko Ono at all. Yet I’m still fond of “Kiss Kiss Kiss,” and I still recall with vivid immediacy the rush of realizing I liked the Yoko track better than I liked the John track. Honestly, I think John Lennon would have forgiven me. Yoko saved his life, for a while anyway. She was the one true love of his life. He just wanted us to appreciate her, too.
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This week, I’m taking another look at reviews I wrote of various Adam Schlesinger projects, when my Quick Spins column ran in The Kenosha News. Adam’s recent passing due to the pandemic has really impacted me, so I’d really like to be a part of people discovering what made him such a special guy.
Tinted Windows (S-curve)
Wow, did this album take me back. Tinted Windows‘ debut is a power pop feast that harkens back to the late seventies and early eighties. It’s no surprise then, to learn just who makes up this stellar group.
Tinted Windows are; Bun E. Carlos of Cheap Trick (drums), Adam Schlesinger of Fountains Of Wayne (bass), James Iha of Smashing Pumpkins (guitar)and Taylor Hanson of Hanson (lead vocals). Quite a line-up, to be sure.
“Kind Of A Girl” starts things off as one of the greatest singles I’ve heard in several years. With muscular guitars and drums propelling the ageless vocals of Taylor Hanson, it’s hard not to be suckered in.
You’ll find that most of these eleven tracks will blow by in what seems like seconds. They are catchy as all get out, especially the Latin-flavored “Cha Cha.” This is gonna sound great in the car this summer. Buy this. Now.