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THE EVERLASTING FIRST: Suzi Quatro

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 story still needs to begin with that first kiss.

It was love at first sight.

Teen idolatry–specifically, the sort of starry-eyed quasi-romantic longing that conjures adolescent yearning for long walks in the moonlight hand-in-hand with the teen heartthrob du joir–has been part of pop music for as long as there has been pop music. I mean, I can’t speak for the probability of giggling young girls once makin’ ga-ga noises over noted hottie Ludwig von Beethoven, but Frank Sinatra? King Elvis I? Paul McCartneyMark LindsayBobby Sherman, and the lads in One Direction? Girls swooned over posters and magazines, LP covers and 45 sleeves, and kissed Monkees bubblegum cards with earnest, whispered wishes to one day become Mrs. Davy JonesI’ll be true to you, yes I will.
That was the girls. Boys? Not so much.

That’s the image, anyway. In reality, kids won’t always follow the rigid scripts adults throw at them. There were girls who found this whole notion of getting wobbly-kneed over a pretty face just absurd. There were boys and girls whose pop dreams favored teen idols with whom they shared a gender. And there must have been boys dreaming of sweet pecks on the lips from Mary Weiss of The Shangri-Las, or Marianne Faithfull, or Chaka Khan. In North Syracuse in 1975, there was certainly one fifteen-year-old boy who saw Suzi Quatro on the cover of a magazine, and promptly fell in love. And yes, of course that boy was me.

Duh.

The divine Miss Suzi was not my first pop crush; that was probably Nancy Sinatra circa “These Boots Are Made For Walkin’,” or possibly Lesley Gore when she sang “California Nights.” Expanding beyond the chanteuses who caught my eye, my other pop crushes likely included every pretty actress I ever saw on TV, from Yvonne Craig and Bridget Hanley through Linda Evans and all the women who ever appeared in Star Trek reruns. And Lorrie MenconiPlayboy‘s Miss February 1969. Nor was Suzi my final pop crush, as Stevie NicksJoan JettP.J. Soles, and Vanity were still off in my future when the calendar read ’75. But fickle and fleeting as I may have been, Suzi Quatro always remained my # 1.

I can’t say for certain how that particular issue of Rolling Stone found its way into my living room. Both of my older brothers were married and gone from the household by ’75, so the RS probably belonged to my sister Denise. It could also have come from my Dad, who worked at the post office and occasionally brought home subscription magazines that had been discarded as undeliverable. However it arrived in my suburban home, it was the cover of the Rolling Stone, dated January 2, 1975, that introduced me to this unfamiliar rock ‘n’ roll chick named Suzi Quatro.

Smitten. Immediately, irrevocably smitten.

Why? Man, answering that would be like trying to tell a stranger about rock ‘n’ roll. Some would say she wasn’t conventionally pretty in the way you’d expect a pinup or poster girl to be, but I found her irresistibly cute. It wasn’t even like the pictures of her in Rolling Stone were overtly sexy or deliberately provocative (though the cover and one interior photo did show how her leather pants loved to hug her derriere). I wish I could claim I was a budding feminist at 15, engaged not by Quatro’s looks but by her intelligence and personality, and by her music…but I’d be lyin’. I’d never heard her music, and I don’t know how much of her wit and wisdom could be ascertained from a casual read of a rock rag piece where she discussed the pros and cons of getting a tattoo on her butt. No, I have to admit it was something about her look. I was fascinated. And I was in love with her, as surely as all those girls reading 16 and Tiger Beat were in love with Donny Osmond.

It was a love with no kindling to feed its fire. In the immediate aftermath of discovering her, I didn’t see any more articles about Suzi Quatro. I didn’t hear her music on the radio. I didn’t see her on TV. I’m not sure if I saw any of her records at Gerber Music, but even if I had, I didn’t yet have enough concrete motivation to make a purchase. I was in love with a face, and a body wrapped tightly in leather; I had no idea if that was enough to make me a fan of the Suzi Quatro sound.

On May 1st of 1975, Alice Cooper was scheduled to appear in Syracuse for a concert at the Onondaga County War Memorial…WITH SUZI QUATRO OPENING…?! Glorioski! I thought Alice Cooper was one of the coolest things on AM radio at the time, and with Suzi Quatro on the bill, I knew I had to be there. My parents did not agree with the inevitability of this rendezvous, and refused permission. Years later, I would realize that my Dad was concerned about my seemingly fragile machismo, and was not going to allow his son to see a guy named Alice, no way, no how. I don’t know if Dad would have felt differently if he suspected my potentially prurient interest in Suzi Quatro. I missed my chance to see Alice Cooper, and my initiation into the musical world of Suzi Quatro’s music was likewise deferred.

That initiation finally took place in either late ’75 or in 1976. I’m not sure of the precise time frame, nor the exact sequence of events. Somewhere in there, I found and purchased a cut-out copy of Suzi Quatro, her debut LP. I can’t remember if that was before or after I saw Suzi Quatro on TV. For the sake of the narrative, let’s presume it was after.

Supersonic was a British rock ‘n’ roll TV series, showcasing performers in a cheesy ’70s studio setting, lip-syncin’ their hits and wannabe hits. It was briefly carried on Saturday afternoons by WPIX in New York City, and available to cable subscribers in Syracuse’s suburbs. I watched it when I could, eager as I was for more and more rockin’ pop, whenever and wherever. I saw some familiar acts on Supersonic, from The Hollies to The Bay City Rollers to The Crazy World Of Arthur Brown. I saw that loathsome little bug Gary Glitter. I saw a number of other performers my memory won’t surrender. Supersonic looms largest in my legend for one thing only: showing me Suzi Quatro on TV.

There she was. One Saturday afternoon in the ’70s, the date long faded away, but the image still vivid in my mind. Suzi Quatro. She was beautiful. And hey, whaddaya know? She rocked!
I was transfixed. Hey, ya heard about Susie from Baton Rouge? She wasn’t asking me, but I shook my head, jaw agape, as she continued, Well, lemme tell you ’bout it! Guitars and drums, a churning ’70s bop, grinding forward, Suzi Quatro’s bass booming as she not-quite-sneered, not-quite-smiled her way through.

Awright. This deal was sealed as far as I could see. Marry me, Suzi!

It was the only time I saw Suzi on Supersonic, or anywhere else for a while thereafter. And I didn’t catch the damned title of the song! I spent years looking for something called “Little Susie From Baton Rouge,” or “I’m Just Waitin’ For You,” or, I dunno, “Suzi Quatro’s Love Theme From Supersonic,” all to no avail. I bought the above-mentioned eponymous Suzi Quatro album, either before or after seeing her on Supersonic, and that song was not on the album. And the album…aw, the album didn’t do all that much for me, dammit.

Suzi Quatro ain’t exactly a bad record. mind you. It contains not one, but two of her all-time signature tunes, “Can The Can” and “48 Crash,” plus “Glycerine Queen” and covers of Elvis’ “All Shook Up” and The Beatles‘ “I Wanna Be Your Man.” At the time, I only knew the latter as a track on Meet The Beatles, not realizing that John and Paul had originally written it for Mick, Keith, and Brian, or that it had been The Rolling Stones‘ first hit in the UK. At 16 or so, I was intrigued by the notion of a female singing about wanting to be someone’s man, though it really just meant that Quatro didn’t care enough about gender politics to be bothered; she just wanted to sing the song, you stupid boys. Kinda like Ringo singing The Shirelles‘ “Boys” on the first Beatles album. It wasn’t a statement; it was benign indifference.
I like the album more now than I did then, and I didn’t exactly dislike it then. But it never threatened to overtake the top of my pops, not like Sweet or The Raspberries, or like Suzi’s song on Supersonic might have. My Suzi Quatro fandom meandered after that. I picked up a used promo copy of her Your Mama Won’t Like Me album on a visit to Record Revolution or The Record Exchange in Cleveland Heights; other than a track called “Paralyzed,” most of the album’s hybrid hard rock/faux funk posturing left me unimpressed. In the summer of 1978, I purchased an import Suzi Quatro album called Aggro-Phobia; the LP was two years old by then, but I’d never seen it before, and rightly figured What the hell–why not? 

I’d never quite stopped searching for that elusive, unidentified Quatro song I’d heard on Supersonic. It didn’t seem to be on her second album Quatro, an album I wouldn’t hear until a few more years thereafter, and it didn’t seem to be anywhere. I’m sure I was hoping it would be on Aggro-Phobia, but it was not. However, Aggro-Phobia did include a track which seemed to be a companion piece, since its mention of “Louisiana Sue” was a direct reference to Little Susie from Baton Rouge. The Aggro-Phobia track was called “Tear Me Apart.”

I’ll make your legs start shakin’ every time you hear my name
There’ll be no heartbreakin’, and you know you’ll never be the same
Don’t talk to me about Louisiana Sue
‘Cause she can’t do the things that I can do
So tear me apart if you wanna win my heart

loved “Tear Me Apart,” a brash and confident rock ‘n’ roller that moved more fluidly and winningly than any other Quatro track I owned up to that point. Most of Aggro-Phobia was forgettable for me; “Tear Me Apart” was classic.

Although Quatro was originally from Detroit (where she and her sisters started a band called The Pleasure Seekers when she was 14), she found stardom in England, stardom that did not translate back in the colonies. In 1977, Quatro had begun appearing in a few episodes of TV’s Happy Days, playing anachronistic chick rocker Leather Tuscadero. I bought a Suzi Quatro poster at Economy Bookstore in Syracuse, and displayed it proudly in my dorm room alongside my KISS and Sex Pistols. 1979 brought Suzi’s belated American success: “Stumblin’ In,” a duet with Chris Norman, broke through the American Top 40 in early ’79, peaking at # 4. I was happy for her success, while remaining resolutely uninterested in any of it. I tried to get into her hit album If You Knew Suzi…, but it was a lost cause. In the midst of my embrace of punk and power pop, If You Knew Suzi… was, well…boring. I didn’t know Suzi, nor was I about to.

That said, 1980’s Rock Hard had some pretty damned good moments, and I wish I’d been more aware of them at the time. I knew the title track from its inclusion on the cool soundtrack album to Times Square, a film intended to do for new wave music what Saturday Night Fever had done for dat ole debbil disco. I liked that track just fine, but it wouldn’t be until years later that I discovered a couple of other cuts from Rock Hard–the peppy pop song “Love Is Ready” and the way-cool “Gloria” ripoff “Lipstick”–that I liked even better.

I did eventually identify that track I’d seen Suzi Quatro mime on Supersonic years before. I think it was in the early ’90s, rummaging through 45s at a great North Syracuse record store called Knuckleheads (Motto: We ain’t in no mall!), when I found a Quatro single called “I May Be Too Young.” Cash made it mine, and a spin on the ol’ home turntable verified that my search had finally reached its end.
I may be too young to fall in love
But I’m still hangin’ ’round
I’m waitin’ for you
I’m just waitin’ for you

You’re never too young to fall in love. I wasn’t too young to fall in love with Mary Rose Tamborelli when I was five, nor with Suzette Mauro when I was six, and they weren’t too young to fall in love with me. Temporarily. They got over me quickly–a little too quickly in Suzette’s case, if you ask me–but we weren’t too young to fall in the first place. You’re not too young to fall in love with people, whether as friends or potentially something more. You fall in love with all sorts of sparkly things. You fall in love with books and movies, cartoons, comics, favorite meals, art and artifice. You fall in love with stars. At 15, I fell in love in Suzi Quatro.

One Sunday afternoon around 1976 or ’77, I was chatting with another music fan at the flea market. The subject of Suzi Quatro came up, and he insisted that she’d posed for Penthouse, and that she’d released a live-in-Japan album called Naked Under Leather. I don’t know about the latter claim, but the Penthouse thing was nonsense. That was never Suzi Quatro’s image. She never pandered, never tried to be sexy or provocative in that way. She wanted to rock like the boys rocked. She wanted to be your man. It wasn’t a statement of sexuality; her gender was simply incidental to her, another label like black or white, Mod or rocker, DC or Marvel. She didn’t care. Have ya heard about Suzi from the Motor City? She was punk before we knew what punk was. She was Suzi Quatro. She’s still Suzi Quatro. Go, go, go, little Suzi.

“Tear Me Apart” and “I May Be Too Young” written by Mike Chapman and Nicky Chinn

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The Monkees: Good Times! Review

In the novel Glimpses by Lewis Shiner, the protagonist develops the power of time travel, but a very specific sort of time travel:  he is able to travel back in rock ‘n’ roll history, and he tries to help artists like The Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, and The Doors complete works that were left unfinished in the real-world timeline.  Our hero’s crowning achievement is shepherding Brian Wilson through the completion of The Beach Boys’ unrealized 1967 masterpiece Smile; returning back from ’67 to the novel’s present-day setting, the now-completed Smile is released, and is embraced by fans worldwide as an unexpected, enduring source of pure joy and happiness.

Don’t worry:  no one’s going to compare Good Times!, the new 50th anniversary reunion album by The Monkees, to the mythical 1967 Smile, nor even to Brian Wilson’s 21st-century version.  But the above scenario is pertinent to today’s discussion, for one simple reason:  just as Smile caused pop fans in the novel to rejoice, The Monkees’ new album likewise inspires a delighted grin, a smile that grows wider and wider upon repeated listening.   Good Times!  Never has an album been more aptly named.

It’s a gift we may not have really anticipated.

Many of us know this story by heart:  The Monkees were formed in the mid-’60s by neophyte TV producers Bob Rafelson and Bert Schneider, who cast singin’ actors Micky Dolenz and Davy Jones alongside singin’ musicians Michael Nesmith and Peter Tork as the titular struggling rock ‘n’ roll combo in a new weekly television series; the series debuted September 12, 1966 on NBC.  Music mogul Don Kirshner was brought in to make Monkee music, bringing with him songwriters and session players, and directing the TV show’s four young stars to sing, Monkees, sing!  The records sold.  And sold.  And how!  A # 1 single, “Last Train To Clarksville.”  A # 1 album, The Monkees. Another # 1 single, “I’m A Believer.”  Another # 1 album, More Of The Monkees. Buoyed by success, but chafing under Kirshner’s control, The Monkees sought a more active role in their musical efforts, and were allowed to play on their recordings, and given a (somewhat) larger say in their fortunes.  More great and even greater records followed, but the TV show ran its course; after the dismal box office failure of The Monkees’ bitter, brilliant feature film Head, The Monkees’ pop success faded.  Tork left.  Nesmith left.  In 1970, Dolenz and Jones killed the lights on their way out, too.  The TV show’s two seasons were rerun again and again, across the course of generations.  There was a partial reunion (without Nesmith) in the late ’80s, and all four regrouped in 1996 for a new album, TV special, and a brief UK tour; both reunions ended in a flurry of bickering.  Dolenz, Jones, and Tork returned for an acclaimed 2011 tour that embraced The Monkees’ vast recorded legacy as never before.  Jones passed away in 2012.  To the surprise of…well, everyone, Nesmith rejoined Dolenz and Tork for a fantastic reunion tour in 2012-13.  Nesmith eventually withdrew from touring again, leaving Dolenz and Tork as The Last Monkees Standing (and Touring).

This was the state of Monkee affairs when word of a 50th anniversary reunion album leaked in February of 2016.  The questions came unbidden:  Would Nesmith participate?  Hell, would Tork?  Would it be a glorified Micky Dolenz solo album?  Would it be any damned good at all?  And how could these blasphemers presume to do this without the late Davy Jones?!

The answers arrived in a slow-cooked stew of guerilla hype and sly rumors let slip.  By the time of its release, we knew that Good Times! would be prepared under the auspices of Monkees superfan Andrew Sandoval and producer Adam Schlesinger (of Fountains Of Wayne and That Thing You Do! fame).  The album would be a mix of new recordings–including songs written by each of the surviving Monkees, as well as songwriting submissions from XTC’s Andy Partridge, Weezer’s Rivers Cuomo, Death Cab For Cutie’s Ben Hibbard, and the Britpop Modgasm pairing of Noel Gallagher and Paul Weller–with unfinished (and now finished!) ’60s stuff from the vaults.  Micky, Peter, and Michael were involved; Davy would be represented by a remixed 1967 recording, with new backing vocals from Micky and Peter.

This could have been a recipe for a big ol’ mess.  Instead, Good Times! has a good shot at being the best pop album of 2016.

Good Times! starts and ends with explicit exhortations of good times to be had and good times to be remembered.  The album opens with a title track written by the late Harry Nilsson; the track is actually Nilsson’s 1968 demo of the song, with Nilsson’s 1968 voice dueting with present-day Dolenz, a potentially scary prospect that avoids being ghoulish by just being so much freewheeling fun. You can feel Dolenz’s affection for his departed friend in every loose ‘n’ swingin’ hoot and holler.  The album closer, “I Was There (And I’m Told I Had A Good Time),” co-written by Dolenz and Schlesinger (based on Dolenz’s oft-told anecdote of being at a bacchanalia with The Beatles), likewise swaggers with satisfied pride in all the gusto grabbed along the way.  It’s not strictly essential, but it’s not a throwaway, either.  Perhaps that’s the nature of good times.

And in between those two tracks?  Oh Lordy–Good Times! is just magic.

Micky Dolenz–one of the most underrated pop singers of the rock ‘n’ roll era–is given three brand-new pop confections, all made with real sugar, and they’re irresistible.  Andy Partridge’s “You Bring The Summer,” Rivers Cuomo’s “She Makes Me Laugh,” and Adam Schlesinger’s “Our Own World” are light and sunshiney in all the right ways, as if More Of The Monkees had been made in 2016, and someone found a way to beam its tracks directly into the radio that plays inside your head.  “Radio-ready” is one of this blog’s favorite phrases, describing perfect pop music that is so pure as to be undeniable, the stuff you wish you were listening to right now on a car radio turned up way too loud. Man, pop tunes don’t come any more radio-ready than these.  Speaking of More Of The Monkees, Dolenz also gets to sing two songs that date back to that 1967 album:  the Jeff Barry/Joey Levine “Gotta Give It Time” is a sturdy garage-pop nugget, its backing track completed in 1967 by the Kirshner hit machine, now with newly-added vocals by Dolenz (and uncredited backing vocals by Nesmith); Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart’s “Whatever’s Right” was also submitted for The Monkees in ’67, but this is an all-new recording (with Hart himself joining in on vocals).  At 71, Dolenz can still bend a pop tune to his will like no other can, and all five of these tracks (plus the two “Good Times” celebrations) give him ample opportunity to do so.

Peter Tork was never The Monkees’ key singer, but he acquits himself quite well on his two tracks. The first is “Little Girl,” a song Tork originally wrote as a follow-up to “I Wanna Be Free,” a popular Davy Jones-sung ballad from The Monkees’ eponymous debut in 1966. While Jones never quite got around to recording a version of “Little Girl,” Tork’s all-new rendition is amiable and likable.  But Tork’s lead on the Carole King/Gerry Goffin “Wasn’t Born To Follow”–a track begun in the studio in 1968, with added vocal by Tork in 2016–is an understated triumph, one of the best performances that Tork has ever given on record.

Still, it’s Michael Nesmith who ultimately puts Good Times! over the top.  His own song “I Know What I Know” is disarming, quietly mesmerizing, uncluttered, and fascinating–yet it’s still somehow the least among the three tracks with Nesmith lead vocals.  Ben Gibbard’s “Me & Magdalena,” with harmony and counterpoint vocals from Dolenz, isfull of hope and/or heartbreak–one is never quite sure which–but the song just aches with love’s promise and life’s compromise; regardless of whether the song reflects the heart’s ongoing victory or an imminent, devastating loss, it is unforgettable.  The album’s tour de force is the Noel Gallagher/Paul Weller “Birth Of An Accidental Hipster,” where Nesmith’s co-lead vocals are again complemented by Mr. Mick.  This track certainly calls to mind Gallagher’s old band Oasis, but it sounds equally like THE Great Lost Monkees track.  It would have fit in well on 1968’s The Birds, The Bees & The Monkees album; it would have fit in well on the soundtrack of Head.   It’s a freakin’ psychedelic pop masterpiece, and it may be one of the all-time greatest tracks to ever bear The Monkees’ brand name.  Make no mistake:  if Good Times! had been completed without this track, it would still be a terrific album, maybe a great one; the inclusion of “Birth Of An Accidental Hipster” tosses that “maybe” away, and ensures that yes, Virginia (and Sandra, and Mary, and Valleri, and Fern), The Monkees have indeed made a great album in 2016.

The late Davy Jones is represented on Good Times! by Neil Diamond’s superb pop song “Love To Love,”  which was recorded in 1967 but unreleased until the ’80s.  Its inclusion here is curious; it’s certainly a wonderful track, one of Jones’ best, but it’s hardly a rarity.  Although this is its first appearance on a proper Monkees album, the track has been on compilations and repackages galore.  It is slightly remixed for Good Times!, with Davy’s original double-tracked lead vocal stripped to a single track, and with new Micky and Peter backing vocals on the chorus.  So yeah, an odd choice. Still, a great song’s a great song. “Love To Love” had a circuitous path to get here, but it’s a nice remix, and none should complain about it finally taking its rightful place on an actual Monkees album.

As a 50th anniversary celebration, Good Times! was specifically designed to include key figures from The Monkees’ history.  There are The Monkees themselves, of course (including Davy), plus songwriters Boyce & Hart, King & Goffin, Neil Diamond, Harry Nilsson, and “I’m A Believer” producer Jeff Barry, the late “Fast” Eddie Hoh (drummer on much of The Monkees’ best album, 1967’s Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Jones, Ltd.), and even Don Kirshner is sorta represented by the 1967 studio musicians performing on “Love To Love” and “Gotta Give It Time.”  Notable MIAs would be songwriters Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil (who wrote “Shades Of Gray” and “Love Is Only Sleeping”), and especially Chip Douglas, who produced both of The Monkees’ best ’60s albums, Headquarters and Pisces, and played on them as well. Douglas played an enormous role in The Monkees’ emancipation in ’67, and it would have been a kick to see him involved in here somehow.

Reunion albums are tricky, especially if it’s a reunion of a group you loved a long, long time ago.  There have been a handful of interesting reunion records by ’60s groups–The Animals’ 1977 album Before We Were So Rudely Interrupted comes to mind, as well as The Beau Brummels in ’75, and The Beach Boys’ more recent That’s Why God Made The Radio–but you’d be hard-pressed to find many reunion albums that could truly stand shoulder-to-shoulder among any group’s best-loved work. Hell, until now, you’d be hard-pressed to find one.  But Good Times! pulls it off–unexpectedly, miraculously, and convincingly–and can be considered right alongside the much-loved records The Monkees made in the ’60s.  Even its sequencing evokes the arc of The Monkees’ original recording career, from the prefab, peerless pop of the earliest tracks, skipping the self-contained hey-hey-we’re a-rock-band of Headquarters, but running full-force into a contemporary PiscesBirds & Bees, and Head, even subtly suggesting a post-1968 version of The Monkees if Tork had stayed in the fold.

With its mix of studio hotshots (particularly Schlesinger, guitarist Mike Viola, and drummer Brian Young on the new Dolenz-sung tracks) and bona fide contributions from The Monkees themselves, the album’s approach recalls the heyday of the Pisces record, mixed with a bit of the ol’ Golden-Eared Kirshner More Of The Monkees method on Dolenz’s sugarpop tracks.  “Birth Of An Accidental Hipster” then builds a bridge to the psychedelic heights of Head, and the whole damned thing should just make you gleefully, willfully giddy.  If this is The Monkees’ swan song, they’ll go out on top.  If they do more in the future…well, that would be welcome, welcome news.  Good times?  GREAT times.

Oh, and next stop?  The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  What on God’s green earth is there still left for The Monkees to prove?  We’re believers, anyway.

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Quick Spins

The Monkees / Live – The Mike & Micky Show

The Monkees

Live – The Mike & Micky Show (Rhino)

http://www.monkees.com

Micky Dolenz has often joked about the aging Monkees over the years, saying, “Eventually, there’ll be just one of us touring, billed as The Monkee.” Truth be told, though, Micky Dolenz, Peter Tork, Davy Jones and Mike Nesmith have toured in so many different groupings over the years, that diehard fans don’t find it particularly odd that further shows will only include Micky and Mike. Seems like par for the course, actually.

The Mike & Micky Show chronicles a string of shows done in March of 2019, and it’s one that is sure to please. Micky opens the show with an enthusiastic “Last Train To Clarksville,” followed by Mike’s “Sunny Girlfriend.” Both Monkees are in fine voice, evidenced by the fact that Mike belts out the ringing high notes in the bridge of his “You Just May Be The One,” and Micky still squarely nails the high notes at the end of “Pleasant Valley Sunday.”

Fans are also treated to several neglected Nesmith gems like “You Told Me” from 1967’s brilliant  Headquarters, and “Birth Of An Accidental Hipster,” written for him by Noel Gallagher and Paul Weller for the recent Good Times! long-player.

Also from Good Times! and arguably the highlight of these evening shows, is the beautiful duet between the old friends, which is an absolute master class in harmony vocalizing. These two Monkees have always had a really fine vocal kinship, but here, in the tender ballad, “Me & Magdalena,” it’s nothing short of gorgeous.

Fronting a skilled band that includes Mike’s son, Christian, and Micky’s sister, Coco, The Monkees are as strong and smile-inducing as they ever have been. Unlike their initial live album way back when, The Mike & Micky Show’s sound quality is superb. Additionally, it boasts a whopping twenty-five tracks, each as welcome to these ears as the one before it. Highly recommended.

D.P.

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Quick Spins

The Monkees / Good Times!

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.

D.P.

The Monkees

Good Times! (Rhino)

http://www.themonkees.com

A new Monkees‘ album couldn’t have come along at a better time. Knee-deep in political bile, social media aggression and civil rights unrest, planet Earth seems to be devolving into negativity at an alarming rate. What better antidote than Peter, Davy, Micky and Mike? Here they come, walkin’ down the street…

Good Times! is lovingly produced by Adam Schlesinger of Fountains of Wayne. Schlesinger, who wrote the theme song for Tom Hanks’s That Thing You Do!, unabashedly takes The Monkees back to their 1960’s heyday. While their previous reunion albums, Pool It! and Justus, were uneven attempts at being contemporary, Good Times! is all about taking it back to the beginning.

“You Bring The Summer,” written XTC’s Andy Partridge, and “She Makes Me Laugh,” by Weezer’s Rivers Cuomo, are perfect vehicles for Micky Dolenz’s apparently ageless voice. Mike Nesmith, he of the wool hat, shines on the pretty Western ballad, “Me & Magdelena.”

Though Davy Jones has passed on, his original 1967 vocals for the Neil Diamond-penned “Love To Love” fly in to keep things groovy. I’m so glad they found a way to make him a part of this, as he spent so many decades keeping the band’s legacy alive in concert. Peter Tork, though never recognized as a great vocalist, leaves not a dry eye in the house with his beautiful version of Goffin/King’s “Wasn’t Born To Follow.”

Good Times! is pure joy from start to finish, I can’t recommend it highly enough. It will make you want to roll down your car windows and put off running errands, in favor of a drive to the beach and an ice cream cone. It will lift your spirits, as it fills your mind with wonderful memories of good times and summers passed. If you’re lucky enough, CD-DVD-Games Warehouse might even have a Monkees’ coloring book for you when stop in to get your copy. What more could you ask for? Enjoy!

Categories
Boppin'

Michael & Micky

Michael Nesmith and Micky Dolenz should make a new album.

The two surviving members of The Monkees (Davy Jones died in 2012, and Peter Tork passed in early 2019) recently announced plans for another tour, and for release of a live album, The Mike & Micky Show Live, due out in April. That is welcome news, even though they’re still not coming anywhere near Syracuse. The mix of hits and deep cuts in the duo’s concert repertoire is intriguing, and they’ve assembled an absolutely crack combo to accompany them. It’s wonderful to hear that’s being preserved in official form; it’s further encouraging (and somewhat surprising) to learn that collaboration will continue for at least a little bit longer.

But man–they really should record a new studio album with their live band.

Why? Honestly, this particular combination of talents simply deserves an opportunity to do something more. The goal of a pop concert embraces familiar material, and rightly so; the audience may or may not be receptive to something new (a discussion for another time), but they for damned sure expect to hear some of the songs that made them fans, songs that made them wanna buy a ticket and throng to venues near and far. A live album documents that experience, both for those who were there and those who wish they could have been.

But an album of new material can expand our appreciation, and give us more songs to love. The Mike & Micky Show’s setlist includes “Birth Of An Accidental Hipster” and “Me & Magdalena,” two gems from The Monkees’ triumphant 2016 album Good Times! The presence of those songs amidst your “Pleasant Valley Sunday” and your “Listen To The Band” demonstrate the truth that great songs don’t care what year it is. 

So why not add to that motherlode? Why not continue to create?

The pool of talent is there, and it starts at the top. As the once-common dismissals of The Monkees as a mere prefab pop product recede into the realm of a grumbling, myopic minority (probably otherwise occupied with yelling at kids to get off of their damned lawn), more and more enlightened fans and pundits recognize the gift and artistry the individual Monkees invested in their work. Dolenz remains a soulful, accomplished singer, Nesmith retains his well-earned aura of gravitas, and the two of ’em sound magnificent together. They always have.

But the magic of this combo goes deeper than that. Their live band is just killer, propelled in large part by Michael’s son Christian Nesmith. The younger Nesmith is a rockin’ pop force of nature, his guitar and vocals fueling the group’s driving, irresistible sound. Christian’s wife Circe Link–a well-respected talent in her own right–and Micky’s sister Coco Dolenz add heart and harmony to this family affair, and all of the players–all of ’em–know exactly what they’re doing and how to do it. The Mike & Micky Show band can kick any ass that needs kickin’.

And I would so love to hear what they all could do on a new studio album.

I don’t want them to do remakes. I don’t want them to do a tribute to Monkees songwriters like Carole King or Neil Diamond or Boyce & Hart. I’m sure they could pull off a few well-chosen covers for flavor–I’m particularly fond of the idea of Micky singing Gary Frenay‘s unrecognized pop classic “Make Something Happen”–but come on! Don’t you think the members of this band could come up with some great songs you haven’t heard yet, songs that no one has heard yet? For cryin’ out loud, Circe Link & Christian Nesmith’s “I’m On Your Side” was our most-played song on This Is Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio in 2017, and I already know there’s more fantastic stuff where that came from. I wanna hear it, in the studio, with Mike and Micky. I bet you’d wanna hear it, too.

If such an album were ever made, I think I’d prefer that it not be billed as a Monkees record. While these two last surviving members of the group do have every right to call themselves The Monkees, the idea of a new Monkees album invites the idea of including recordings by the late Peter Tork and Davy Jones; many fans would want that, some would insist upon it, and I do not want that at all. We mourn those we have lost. We acknowledge our loss, and pay tribute when it’s appropriate. But we can’t live our lives trying to bring theirs back.

I know this is all a remote possibility. It’s a bit more plausible than my previously-posted fantasy of Micky Dolenz making an album with The Flashcubes. Frankly, I’m not even sure Nesmith or Dolenz would have the merest interest in doing something like this. But I’m still a believer, and I would very, very much like to listen to this band.

Wouldn’t you?

Categories
Quick Spins

Ken Sharp/Girl

Ken Sharp

Girl b/w Forget That Girl (Jetfighter)

kensharp.bandcamp.com

What’s not to love about this digital single? Benefitting The Davy Jones Equine Memorial Foundation, it features two songs that the man himself sang, “Girl,” which was a solo single featured on an episode of The Brady Bunch, and “Forget That Girl,” a swell Monkees’ track from their Headquarters Lp.

Sharp’s heart is clearly in the right place, and the joy is palpable in every note of these two “Davy” numbers. They’re just plain fun to listen to, and can’t we all use a bit of fun these days? More, please!

D.P.