Squeezin'

 

From 1985, please enjoy what I thought was a new Squeeze single when I first heard it, George Benson's almost Top 40 hit, "20/20."

I don't believe George Benson has ever tried to sound like Glenn Tilbrook before, or for that matter, after this record. 

 

"Oh My God! Look At The Time!

I still haven't seen the Oscar winning motion picture "One Battle After Another." Why? Because it is two hours and forty two minutes long, which is about 50 minutes longer than I now want a film to be. This coming from a guy who has watched both "Godfather" films back to back, two times a year for as long as I can remember. Each of those back to back viewings equal six hours and twenty minutes, by the way.

When I first started writing in any serious way, I wanted to be a screenwriter. My roommate at the time, as well as two of my closest friends, already had three or four screenplays under their belts. I had one, my first feature after three one act plays, and it was both hilarious and cringemakingly horrible. The four of us would see five or six movies a week. It wasn't odd to see two in one day. We saw it as research. In 1988, I saw four films in one day, three times! 

Back in the day, if someone asked, "Any interest in seeing (insert film here)?" My immediate answer was "Yes." Didn't matter what it was. Our goal was to see everything, which is how I ended up in an empty theater with just my roommate watching the 1986 Hal Needham movie "Rad." It was one of the only films left that we hadn't seen. Now, if someone asks if I have an interest in seeing a film, my question is always, "How long is it?"

I've recently been editing down classic double albums to more manageable 40 minute playtimes. I'm trimming "The White Album" and "Quadrophenia" as if cutting fat off of chicken cutlets. 

Our friend Cleveland Jeff wrote a rave review of the new Cal Everett record over at his place "...Like Dancing About Architecture," and this paragraph stood out.

"The artist suggests listening to the record as a whole, and I did that the first couple of times, and that works. But that takes an hour. Without the little interludes and maybe four of the songs, it would be a perfect 45 minute record, and that's a big deal. Perfect is a high bar."

 

What exactly are we doing with those extra 15 minutes?

 

If the goal was to create a more perfect album, then I guess one man's fat is another's meat. But I think it's more than that.

 

Back in 2019, I wrote one of my favorite posts, thinking I was onto something, hoping it would open the eyes and ears of many. It received a measly five comments. The idea was simple. 

 

Long songs seem to be a turn off, especially when they are long prog rock songs, like the Genesis masterpiece "Supper's Ready," which clocks in at 23 minutes. But seven 3 minute songs, and for some reason, we've got a deal.

 

But guess what? "Supper's Ready," the legendary sidelong epic from Genesis IS seven 3 minute songs and they are mostly all terrific. There are seven different titles and if you have the vinyl, you can easily see the bands that separate each of the parts. But the jacket says, "Supper's Ready- 23:06," and that's the dealbreaker. The jacket also says "Genesis," so that may be the dealbreaker for some, as well

(There, I made the joke for you.)

The opening, "Lover's Leap," runs a bit under 4 minutes, and it is a lovely piece of British folk/pop, that would not sound out of place on a Cat Stevens or Sandy Denny record." "Willow Farm" isn't so far removed from British psychedelia, or for that matter, something The Beatles might have attempted on "Magical Mystery Tour." And "Apocalypse In 9/8" is quite frankly, some of the best drumming you will ever hear, courtesy of the World's Punching Bag, the amazing Phil Collins.

So, what is it exactly?

 

I realize that time becomes more precious the older we get, and maybe we have better, more appealing things to accomplish than binge-listening to the entire catalogue of one artist. But the aversion to length when it comes to music seems extreme. I like the instrumental title track from "Quadrophenia" just fine, yet I cut it on my edit. There ya go! Six more minutes in my life to do...what? 

 

I am very guilty here. I am not pointing fingers.

 

When it comes to film, you can't just snip out awkward or uncomfortable scenes. There are no "The Very Best Of Mutiny On The Bounty" DVDs for the impatient out there, or at least I hope not.

 

Records don't have plots or stories, unless you listen to concept records exclusively. When I first saw "The Deer Hunter," the wedding scene made ME want to play Russian roulette. It felt like an entire movie I didn't sign up for within a movie I paid to see. I was also 50 years younger. Now, I couldn't imagine that brilliant wedding not being in the film. But trimming down a 60 minute record to 45 minutes, or in my case, feeling so daunted by double albums, and movies over 2 hours, that I skip completely what could be brilliant art, is a habit I need to break. 

 

Why does music need to be said in 2:54, ten times?

What is so wrong with saying something in 7:21, five times?

 

 

World Class Pop From Class Three Overbite

 

"Class Three Overbite began in June of 2006 when Michael Elgert and Bradley Jendza came together to write the songs they would love to hear. Sharing a love for bands like Queen, The Beatles, Jellyfish & Kiss, the songs poured out of them one after another. In March of 2007, CTO’s debut “Rendezvous” was released receiving great reviews and gaining fans around the world. Now a little over a year later, Class Three Overbite has returned with their new release “Horses For Courses." It’s filled with 12 songs of exquisite pop/rock for the world to enjoy. You’ll sing, you’ll dance, you’ll laugh, you’ll cry and you’ll love it."

I pulled that off of their Discogs page.

I first learned about these guys back in January, thanks to my friend hpunch. I really enjoyed the first pass of "Horses For Courses," hearing solid pop with great vocals, some of it a bit camp like Queen and the Scissor Sisters. I went back to it this past weekend and enjoyed it even more. So, I thought it was time to pass it along to you dear readers.

 

 

 

Songs Of The Week, 2026: 5/16-5/22

 

Day's Dawning- Peter Frampton
Tears Of Rage- The Band
Play It All Night Long- Warren Zevon 
Voice Of Harold- R.E.M.
The Way It Will Be- Gillian Welch
Jewel In A Cobweb- Jules Shear
Yazoo Street Scandal- Bob Dylan & The Band

zip

Have at it!

A Celebration Of Tin Machine, Because I Love it And It's My Blog

 

Musician Chris Church reminded me that Tin Machine was released on this day, 5/22 in 1989. Here's what he had to say:

"The self-titled debut by Tin Machine was released on May 22 in 1989. I never understood or cared about the negative things that some people (even David Bowie's own fans, who seemingly are supposed to have supported his often drastic artistic turns) have said about this album over the years. I made my mind up right away and my opinion is strongly reinforced every time I listen. I frikkin love it. Bowie wanted to play guitar and be in a loud rock band, but it's still sophisticated and whip smart. I don't know if the haters even listened to it. Yes, I'll always love "Hunky Dory," "Scary Monsters," "Low," etc... I love so much of his wonderful, unique music, but most days, this one is my absolute favorite. The Sales Brothers' rhythm section is a thrill ride (opening track "Heaven's In Here" is as exciting and in the moment as rock music can be), Bowie sounds completely engaged - and when the song calls for it, properly artfully disengaged (see the brilliant "I Can't Read.") Reeves Gabrels is a guitar monster on a rampage (every damn song). Disagree all you want, it doesn't matter at all to me. This. Album. ROCKS."

I can't say I disagree with any of this.

But I added this:

On May 31st, 1989, the first (and only) International Rock Awards were held in NYC. The Replacements, Living Colour, Keith Richards and David Bowie were the musical acts I can remember. But it wasn't Bowie, it was the debut of Tin Machine. They played "Heaven's In Here" and it blew my mind. A few days later, while on my way to work, I notice these posters plasted all over buildings. They had a silhouette of four bodies standing and leaning, and again, if memory serves, nothing but "THE WORLD" was written below the silhouettes. The World was a short-lived, hole in the wall rock club on the Lower East Side. After some sleuthing, me and some co-workers figured it out. We got on a line with the other diehards and got to see Tin Machine in a very small room, blow our faces out. I have loved this record ever since.

I also wrote this on May 22nd, 2019:

On this day, 30 years ago, David Bowie unleashed Tin Machine's debut record into the world. Misunderstood from day one, and still considered one of the low points in Bowie's career, Tin Machine confused almost everyone. But not me. I loved it.

The music on Tin Machine's debut is metallic. It's both art rock and punk rock. It has some amazing music on it, as well as some true crap. As All Music writes, "A remarkable recording for many reasons, the debut of Tin Machine predates by nearly half a decade, much of the guitar-oriented alternative pop that followed the grunge explosion of 1991-1992. This record would have been more popular had it been released five or six years later"

The problem with the record is that it is unsure of what it wants to be. Bowie wanted it to be a band, so drummer Hunt Sales gets to sing a bit. Bowie also gives the spotlight, more often than not, to guitarist Reeves Gabrels, who shines at times, but also occasionally overplays to an uncomfortable extent. With the exception of the brilliant "I Can't Read," a song that remained in Bowie's setlist years later, little sounded like anything Bowie had done prior. The same could be said for just about every record Bowie had released from 1966 until his death 50 years later. It's just that this time, in 1989, after the huge MTV success of "Let's Dance" and "Blue Jean," the blame went on Gabrels and the Sales brothers and few took to the maniacal sounds emanating from those grooves. 

And I wrote this back in October of 2025:

I can't help but think if Tin Machine was a band of four unknowns, their debut record would be considered a classic instead of a lemon. The record is flawed, no question. Lyrically, it can be cringemaking at times. But it also has moments of raw power and unmitigated audacity. Tin Machine's 1989 debut is manic and unruly for all the right reasons. It's loud and it's grimy. It's four guys throwing shit against a wall and hoping some of it sticks. And what sticks and what doesn't, depends on where you are standing.

I love this record and I think more people could feel like I do if they dropped the baggage. Even if you hate David Bowie, this resembles nothing in Bowie's catalogue. And if you love Soupy Sales, this doesn't sound like him either.

 

And so, for its 37th birthday, I suggest listening to Tin Machine, either for the first time or again. It's time.

 

 

"Overrated Boy Band"

 

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Don't Try This At Home, Folks

 

I am neither for nor against what is happening here, but I will admit, I can't stop watching it.

Whether you love or hate punk rock, or whatever this is, there is something absolutely exhilarating about these kids, who go by the name of Otoboke Beaver, of course.

They have been around since 2009 and I am only hearing of them now.

I haven't dug deeper than this one video yet, but the drummer Leo is something to behold. I don't think I have ever seen anyone play that fast and that tight.