Well, sort of. This year’s inductees are Depeche Mode, the Doobie Brothers, Whitney Houston, Nine Inch Nails, Notorious B.I.G. and T. Rex.
Thoughts on these acts and the Hall’s drifting sense of mission below:
Depeche Mode: I pulled half a dozen of their singles on YouTube and was even able to sit all the way through “People Are People,” the only one I remembered from the radio. None of them came within a hundred miles of Janie Wiedlin’s “Rush Hour” or Olivia Newton-John’s “Tied Up.” If we must have synth-pop, I vote we put them in the Hall.
Here, make up your own mind:
The Doobie Brothers: I wouldn’t argue for their Cosmic Significance but at least they had a string of radio staples (several of which I love and I bet nearly everybody loves at least one or two) and weren’t afraid to compete with black people (even had at least one black member themselves). And of course it’s ridiculous that they’re in the Hall while War, Spinners and others darker than blue sit outside, but, at least once, they were up even to that bar:
Whitney Houston: Okay, I even kind of like her bombastic take on “I Will Always Love Your.” And you could argue she’s the first major black singing star who owed nothing to soul, blues or rock and roll. But seriously why not Barbra Streisand? She at least made one great rock and roll record.
Nine Inch Nails: God knows I’ve tried to hear them but it’s a no-go. Not just Drone Music but Drone Dirge. A fine soundtrack to national suicide but isn’t the Rock Hall supposed to be preserving the lessons for survival that those who come after can learn from? At least Johnny Cash brought a touch of his I-shot-a-man-in-Reno-just-to-watch-him-die ethos to his version of one of their anthems of self-pity.
Notorious B.I.G.: Now we’re back to the old Rock/Hip Hop divide. I don’t think it’s a terrible idea to include Hip Hop in the Hall, seeing as how White America decided to kill the music business rather than let Black America take it over. Biggie was one of the principal victims of the transition. This seems the least we could do. Especially since he saw it coming:
T. Rex: All the arguments for and against the Doobie Brothers apply here (except most of Marc Bolan’s hits came in the UK). Also they had a claim on helping invent Glam Rock and therefore meet one of my own important criteria: If you helped define a major genre or invent an important minor one, you deserve to be in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame…making them this year’s only uncomplicated pick. Reason enough to carry on:
Oh yeah, Jon Landau and Irving Azoff were selected for the Ahmet Ertegun Award which, somewhere along the way, replaced the Non-Performer category. Nice men I’m sure, but this is pure cronyism and not worth commenting on except to say these picks reinforce many of the valid criticisms pointed at the Rock Hall almost since it’s inception…Those who fail to learn, etc.
The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has now clearly reached a crossroads and, absent a serious overhaul in the nominating and voting processes, signs for the future don’t look good. The question going forward is “How Much Rock and Roll Should We Have In The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?”
As a permanent champion of Big Hall over Small Hall and encouraging the broadest definition of Rock and Roll, I fear the answer will, increasingly be: Not much. It’s one thing for War and Spinners to be continually ignored. When Olivia Newton-John, who has never come close to being nominated, is more deserving than six of the eight inductees, and at least as deserving as the other two, then there’s a problem and, while it still may be fixable, it’s not a small one.
I will now go back to beating against the current.
Almost keeping up my movie-a-month pace…Modest spoilers ahead for those who do not know about Adolf Eichmann, Kermit Gosnell or A Star is Born, going in.
Operation Finale (2018)
d. Chris Weitz
A new film about the pursuit (and, to a much lesser extent, trial) of the Nazi functionary Adolf Eichmann years after WWII. The mix (biopic, adventure tale, procedural) is a bit awkward and the Hollywood gloss (for instance, a romance between Eichmann’s lead pursuer and a female colleague that never took place) more than usually unnecessary. The main thing to recommend it is Ben Kingsley’s carefully judged performance as Eichmann. Eichmann’s trial inspired Hannah Arendt to coin the phrase “the banality of evil.” Kingsley catches both the banality and the evil, with special emphasis on the qualities of sociopathy that allow such men to continue thinking well of themselves even after they are caught, judged and sentenced to execution. Whether the actor’s judgment is too careful will be a matter of taste. There’s always a risk some will miss the point. In a movie that needed some authenticity, I found him all too convincing. Persuading others to miss the point of their existence is something the Eichmanns of the world tend to excel at. If they didn’t, we’d be able to spot them in a crowd.
d. Nick Searcy
And then there’s Kermit Gosnell, in a movie whose full title Gosnell: The Trial of America’s Biggest Serial Killer is less honest–and less effective—than simply leaving it at his last name (as the marquees in my local theaters did). The film makes the point of the longer title well enough, so long as, like me, you didn’t hold contrary convictions going in. But I doubt it will convince anyone who actually paid to see it.
What it might convince somebody to do is to be wary of the smiling likes of Kermit Gosnell, the Philadelphia doctor who pushed the line where fetuses could be terminated all the way into the sort of baby-killing even our modern “laws” had to give a bit of attention.
Even then, his conviction was a rare thing, abetted by a veteran male reporter who, for Hollywood’s usual bogus reasons (I mean, damn, the lead detective is already being played by Dean Cain, no less, and a lady lawyer only gets you so far), is here replaced by a young, independent female blogger who is really on the other side of the prosecution but believes fair is fair. She may not think there ought to be a law, but as long as there is one….well, you know the type. You’ve met her before, if only in movies.
For its intended pro-life audience, Gosnell gets the job done and hits its marks with some skill and sensitivity considering every strike has to be on the nose.
Again, though, the only compelling element is the performance at the center.
Earl Billings’ Oscar-worthy (and, yes, fat chance) Kermit Gosnell, who keeps fetuses who may or may not have been born alive by the hundreds in freezers and petri dishes, plays beautiful classical piano, knows the laws of his land by heart, and never loses his cool, would have made a great cell mate for Adolf Eichmann, if the Israelis had been as forgiving as we are (Gosnell was, after all, convicted of three murders that should have turned stomachs the way Charles Manson’s did–but then we were a bit forgiving of Charlie too, weren’t we?).
Outside of Billings’ presence, the most effective scene in the movie does take place in the courtroom (which doesn’t take up as much of the movie as that long title suggests), when a “good” abortion doctor wriggles a bit–but only a bit–while trying to explain that the only real difference between what she does and what Gosnell has done is a matter of hygiene.
As to titles, I’d have gone with Baby Snuffer and let the chips fall where they may. But then I never did fit in.
A Star is Born (2018)
d. Bradley Cooper
What a relief. Not a sociopath in sight! Just the sturdy narrative Hollywood has forced itself to remake every now and then for the last eight decades, this being the fourth time it’s appeared under this very name.
The only previous A Star is Born I’ve seen is the Judy Garland/James Mason version and there’s no competing with that. But based on the clips I’ve seen, this one’s miles better than the Barbra Streisand/Kris Kristofferson version and it has a real subversive kick which I won’t even pretend to know was anywise intentional.
In every other version, the ingenue on her way up keeps getting bigger because she keeps getting better, while the older man who discovered and mentored her keeps getting worse because he’s falling apart due to drink or drugs or both.
Here, Lady Gaga’s Ally Maine (née Campana), keeps getting bigger because her music keeps getting crappier, something younger critics on-line have been more prone to noticing–perhaps because it’s that Gaga (and by that point there’s no more distinction between Gaga and her character than between Judy Garland and the woman singing “The Man Who Got Away”), the one who evolved from a street kid with big dreams and big talent into a Pop Tart with vast riches who is only distinguishable from the next in line by the “Performance” part of her Performance Art, that their generation loved enough to make a superstar.
And, since Bradley Cooper’s performance doesn’t exactly get all the way to why his Jackson Maine would commit the ritual suicide the story requires, we’re left with the possibility that it isn’t about internal collapse, but about the inabiliy to deal with external collapse. That, this time, it’s the culture that’s died, and to the point that even even Bro-country singers with wives they clearly don’t deserve can’t believe there’s anything worth living for.
Aided and abetted by fine performances from an almost unrecognizable Dave Chappelle, a completely unrecognizable Andrew Dice Clay (as Ally/Gaga’s pater) and an aging Sam Elliot (who, as Cooper/Jackson’s role model brother does quite well considering he’s the one with that thankless part, now de rigeur in every “serious” film, where saying “fuck” a lot means he’s really, really passionate!) it adds up to a powerful, chilling statement, whether anyone involved meant it that way or not.
I’ve always been fascinated by acts who have exactly one great rock and roll record in them. It happened a lot in rock’s first two decades, when amateurs or quasi-pros or wannabes often caught lightning in a bottle. Of such things were doo wop, girl groups and surf and garage band legends made.
Then there were the pros. Barbra Streisand singing “Stoney End” comes to mind. It really was just the one studio moment, as she’s camped up every performance of the song since the day she cut it.
In some ways even stranger is Bette Midler’s take on “Beast of Burden.” She recorded it as a replacement for Bruce Springsteen’s “Pink Cadillac” when he blocked her from releasing her version because it “wasn’t a girl’s song” and it doesn’t so much smoke the Rolling Stones as stomp a hole through their rotting carcass.
Stranger still because, unlike Streisand, rock and roll seemed like it should have been Midler’s forte. But, except for this, it wasn’t. I can see how the Stones never quite recovered from the shock. It’s one thing if Linda Ronstadt goes toe-to-toe with you. It’s another thing when someone whose entire career has careened from camp to sentiment and back again (sometimes, as on “The Rose” or her cover of John Prine’s “Hello In There,” earned sentiment, more often not quite), just flat out kicks you to the curb like it’s all in a day’s work.
Based on “Beast of Burden” you’d have thought she could be a better Pat Benetar without breaking a sweat.
I thought I had covered all this a few years back when I posted the MTV video of Midler and Jagger having a ball with it. There’s a cleaner version of the video available now–still the only proof I’ve seen that Mick has a sense of humor (as opposed to recognizing the uses of appearing to have one–that came with the Lucifer Lessons).
Even here, though, the Spirit of Camp is hovering nearby. Elsewhere, when Midler performed the song, live or synched, that Spirit always moved in and took over.
Except for once.
I’ll leave it to you to decide whether its angry dispersal here–and Midler’s total immersion in a synched performance, as if she and the song had fused into something no recording studio could contain–had anything at all to do with a nice Jewish girl refusing to camp it up in the home of Weimar decadence, a stone’s throw from the death camps.
Given that dynamic, it’s not impossible to imagine “I’ll never be your beast of burden” took on a whole new meaning. She didn’t do anything like this in Sweden.
**A few years later Natalie Cole’s version of “Pink Cadillac” scorched up the charts and no one was heard to complain. Midler’s live version on YouTube suggests she was better off with “Beast of Burden” but, given what she did with other live versions of “Beast” who knows? Maybe she had two great rock and roll records in her after all. Hope I get to hear her studio version some day, just in case.
This year’s performing nominees for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame were announced last week. I always like to put in my two cents and I try to come up with a new approach each year. This year, with artists I have strong feelings about being in short supply on the ballot, I’ve decided to list the actual nominees next to the artist they most resemble (spiritually or temporally) who is more deserving.
You know. According to me.
And rock and roll. Let’s not forget rock and roll.
It’s a long ballot this year, so be sure to strap on your seat-belt. And please, if your sphincter is, as Ferris Bueller might have it, prone to making diamonds from charcoal, proceed with caution…
Actual Nominee: Bad Brains. I don’t really know much about them, but, listening on YouTube, they sound like every other hardcore band except the Minutemen. Like most such bands (not the Minutemen), they started out pretentious (jazz fusion according to Wikipedia and who is surprised?) until they found out where the true belief they could ,milk a ready-made cult career from lay. I only listened to a few cuts, but they certainly sound as if they always knew which side of the bread the butter was on.
Dream Ballot: The Minutemen. I listened to one of their albums all the way through once when I was in my twenties. I’m in my fifties now and I’m still waiting to reach an emotionally secure place before I listen again. I don’t know much about hardcore but I know real genius and the sound of nerves being scraped raw when I hear it.
Actual Nominee: Chaka Khan. Fine. Unlike most rock and roll narrativists, and most of the Hall’s voters, I’m not ready to forget about black people in the seventies. Speaking of which…
Dream Ballot:Rufus, featuring Chaka Khan. Yes, Chaka should be in. She should be in with her great interracial funk band, and they should pave the way for the other great funk bands, interracial (War, Hot Chocolate, KC and the Sunshine Band), and otherwise (Kool and the Gang, Ohio Players, Commodores). It seems like the more the nominating committee screws these things up, the more things stay the same.
Actual Nominee: Chic. They should be in. They’ve been consistently nominated for years but can’t overcome the disco hatred. No surprise there. Donna Summer had to die to get in. Even so, they aren’t the most deserving in this genre. That would be…
Dream Ballot:Barry White. Chic has been on the ballot ten times. You’d think they could nominate an even more popular, more innovative and more iconic artist from the same basic gene pool at least once. Come on people. Let’s at least try to make it look like we know what we’re doing!
Actual Nominee:Depeche Mode.Drone music. Admittedly, not my thing. Lots of hits in England and I don’t like to step on other people’s tastes, let alone their passions, but If somebody asked for indisputable evidence of why Britannia no longer rules the waves and soon won’t rule Britannia, I’d play them Depeche Mode music all night long. They could make up their own minds about whether that’s a good thing. Might be more useful if they at least pointed to something better, instead of a black hole.
Dream Ballot: Roxette. I was gonna go with Eurythmics, though they aren’t of the same ilk either (and might actually get on the real ballot some day). But, broadly, this is all Europop, and if there is going to be Europop, then there ought to at least be a fun single every now and then.
Actual Nominee: Electric Light Orchestra (ELO). The early lineup included Roy Wood, and the RRHOF is including Wood in the lineup that will be inducted if they get the votes. They aren’t including Roy Wood for what he did in ELO, which means they are tacitly acknowledging that this really ought to be…
Dream Ballot: The Move/ELO. They did this for Faces/Small Faces which actually made less sense (The Faces were a much cleaner break from the Small Faces than ELO were from the Move) but certainly opened up nominating possibilities. If you have two borderline deserving bands linked by shared membership, why not just put them together? We could have Free/Bad Company or Manfred Mann/Earth Band, maybe one or two others I’m not thinking of right now. It makes more sense than a lot of other sins of commission/omission presently on the Hall’s head. The Move were probably deserving on their own, despite their lack of success in America. ELO are marginally deserving anyway, and not just because of their massive success in America. Why oh why does the Hall continually shadow box. You had a good idea there a few years back. Run with it.
Actual Nominee: The J. Geils Band. It’s not that the J. Geils Band aren’t deserving. They are. And it’s getting late. They’ve been eligible for a long time. But if we’re mining the White Boy Stomp vein, then let’s go with my old standby…
Dream Ballot: Paul Revere and the Raiders. One of my criteria is that if you either helped define a major genre or helped invent an important minor one, you should be in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. The Raiders had a hand in inventing what came to be called garage rock. They certainly helped define it, ergo it doesn’t matter if you call garage rock major or minor. And they were the only band that fits well within even the narrowest definition of the ethos to have a major run of hits. That they’ve never been on the ballot for a hall that includes the Dave Clark Five and the Hollies (both deserving, but still) is silly, really. [Alternate pick: Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels.]
Actual Nominee: Jane’s Addiction. A sort of thrash band with sort of Power Pop vocals. They started in the mid-eighties and you can feel them giving in to the awfulness of the times on just about any record I’ve heard (which I confess isn’t all that many, those I’ve heard not making me feel like I’ve missed anything except more dreariness, more unearned angst, more acceptance of defeat as the natural and permanent human condition we should all just learn to live with). Again, I realize these punk/alternative/alt metal//indie/thrash/etc. bands have had a profound impact on somebody’s life. I hate having to dis anybody’s taste. Still….nobody should take the world this hard unless they’ve been in a war.
Dream Ballot: Big Star. It doesn’t even matter who you (or I) like. The RRHOF has a responsibility to history. Putting Jane’s Addiction on a ballot where Big Star have never appeared amounts to criminal negligence.
Actual Nominee: Janet Jackson. No problem here. Miss Jackson had an enormous career and deserves to be in, maybe even on this ballot. But I’m curious…
Dream Ballot:Cyndi Lauper. Leaving aside why Dionne Warwick–Dionne Warwick!–has never appeared on a ballot, and sticking to the same era, why not do the all the way right thing and go with Cyndi? She made the best album of the eighties, was the last truly inventive vocalist of the rock and roll era (just before the suits allowed the machines to take over–and at a loss on the profit sheet, too–because the machines never talk back), and her acceptance speech would likely be even more priceless than her average interview.
Actual Nominee: Joan Baez. Inducting Joan Baez into the RRHOF as a performer would be a joke. She’s never made anything resembling a great rock and roll record. She’s a perfect candidate, however, for my long-running common sense proposal to have a “Contemporary Influence” category, especially now that the “Early Influence” category is running dry. Other worthy candidates for a concept which could acknowledge great artists who influenced their rock and roll contemporaries without being quite “of” them, would be oft-mentioned names like Patsy Cline and Willie Nelson (country), the Kingston Trio (folk), or even Barbra Streisand or Dean Martin (pop). It would have also been the right category for Miles Davis (already inducted as a performer) and a number of blues acts. But, if this category is not to exist, then at least go with….
Dream Ballot: Peter, Paul and Mary. They were the ones who put Bob Dylan on the charts, two years before the Byrds. If you think this–or Dylan becoming a major star–was merely inevitable, you weren’t quite paying attention. Woody Guthrie never made it…and don’t think he couldn’t have, if PP&M had been there to provide the bridge to the mainstream (whether he would have accepted it is another question, but my guess is he would have). Besides, unlike most of the people who would properly belong in a Contemporary Influence category, they actually made a great rock and roll record…which is not nothing, even if they just did it to prove they could to people who thought “I Dig Rock and Roll Music” was only a joke.
Actual Nominee: Joe Tex. No complaints. No arguments. Joe Tex is the last of the first-rank soul men not to be inducted. He should be.
Dream Ballot: Joe Tex.
Actual Nominee: Journey. I love, without irony or reservation, “Lovin’ Touchin’ Squeezin.” It’s a great record, period. And I don’t hate the stuff everybody else hates. i don’t listen to it, but I don’t run screaming from the room if it’s on either, or get a knot in my stomach that makes me want to start ranting about the decline and fall of civilization (and you know I can find endless reasons to do that). Plus, they sold a bajillion records. Still….Seriously?
Dream Ballot: Three Dog Night. The only reason Three Dog Night weren’t in a long time ago is they didn’t write their hits. If you follow along here, you know that’s not a good reason. Especially when, on average, their hits were a lot greater than Journey’s. (Alternate pick: Def Leppard…they have the advantage of being better than Journey and a more direct replacement. They just weren’t as good as Three Dog Night.)
Actual Nominee: Kraftwerk. Another good candidate for Contemporary Influence, especially since the Nominating Committee, which would control such a category, seems to love them. Again, this not being the case…
Dream Ballot: Roxy Music. Actually, I’m not the best person to make a case for them, but at least they had some hits and a tangential connection to rock and roll. This would also tacitly acknowledge and directly honor the fine work from Brian Eno’s and Bryan Ferry’s solo careers. And does anyone really believe they were less influential than Kraftwerk?
Actual Nominee: MC5. I let my MC5 CDs go in the great CD selloff of 2002. I liked them pretty well, but I never got around to buying them back. As one of the six great bands (The Stooges, Big Star, The Ramones, Mott the Hoople and one I’m about to mention were the others) who bridged the garage band ethos to punk, they should be in. I’d pick them last, mind you (The Stooges and the Ramones, the two I might have picked them ahead of, are already in), but they should be in. Some day. Meanwhile…
Dream Ballot: The New York Dolls. I wonder what might have happened if they had lasted longer. I always loved this performance on The Midnight Special (that they were even on tells you how great The Midnight Special was), where they start with about six fans and end with about eight. I don’t know how far another five years would have taken them…to a hundred maybe? a thousand?….but I bet they’d be in the Hall already if they had made it that far.
Actual Nominee: Pearl Jam. Of course they’ll get in. All that cred. They can’t miss. And that’s fine. They helped define grunge. That’s vital, maybe even major. Well deserving of induction. But here’s the thing…
Dream Ballot: The Shangri-Las. Just curious, but besides turning up the amps and groaning a lot, what did Eddie Vedder do in a quarter-century that Mary Weiss didn’t do, without a trace of his trademark stridency, in three minutes on her first hit? What new place did he get to? Go ahead. Explain it to me. Please….
[NOTE: For any of my fellow Shangs’ aficionados, this link contains an intro I’ve never heard before, plus the extended finale that I’ve linked in the past. It’s the story that never ends.]
Actual Nominee: Steppenwolf. Is Biker Rock really a genre? Is introducing the phrase “heavy metal” to the world enough, in and of itself, to ensure enshrinement? I’m not sure, but if either of these be the case, Steppenwolf should be voted in immediately. Just in case it’s otherwise…
Dream Ballot: Lee Michaels. Why not? If we’ve come this far down the where-can-we-find-more-White-Boys-to-nominate road, aren’t we just messing with people? (Alternate pick: The Guess Who.)
Actual Nominee: The Cars. Cheap Trick got in last year and it’s nice to see to see Power Pop getting some love. The Cars were probably also the most successful New Wave band after Blondie (already in), so I’d always consider voting for them. However…
Dream Ballot: Raspberries. If you really started and/or mainstreamed the Power Pop thing (to the extent that somebody was going to be forced to give it a name), and if your best records are better than anything the thing produced afterwards (well, except for the Go-Go’s maybe), and your front man was the biggest single talent in the whole history of the thing, then shouldn’t you be first in line?
Actual Nominee: The Zombies. I like the Zombies plenty. But the depth of the Nominating Committee’s love for them is a little odd. A few great singles and a cult album (Odessey and Oracle) that has traveled the classic critical journey once outlined by Malcolm Cowley (it boiled down to everything now underrated will eventually be overrated and vice versa) is a borderline HOF career at best.
Dream Ballot: Manfred Mann. Especially if you include all its incarnations (and after the Hall-approved Faces/Small Faces induction, why wouldn’t you?), the never-nominated Manfreds are more deserving on every level. The first version made greater singles and more of them. The second version morphed into Bob Dylan’s favorite interpreters of his music and, along the way, made an album (called The Mighty Quinn in the U.S.) which sounds better to these ears than Odessey and Oracle ever did. Then the third and fourth versions (called Chapter Three and Earth Band) became long running jazz fusion/classic rock troupers. (And yeah, I love their “Blinded By the Light” in both its single and album versions. We all have our heresies.) Mann’s greatest genius was for discovering standout vocalists to sell his concepts every step of the way. And, whatever gets played from the stage of next year’s induction ceremony, I bet it won’t be as good as this…
Actual Nominee: Tupac Shakur. If this is going to re-open the door for pioneers like Afrika Bambaataa or LL Cool J or Eric B. and Rakim, then fine and dandy. They’ve all been on the ballot before. I hope they won’t be forgotten in the coming years, when pressure to induct more modern hip-hop acts grows and when five will get you twenty the Hall’s obvious but never acknowledged penchant for quotas and tokenism remains firmly in place. Still, for me…
Dream Ballot: Naughty By Nature. Yes, even above all the rest. I still think “O.P.P.” is the greatest hip-hop record. I still think “Mourn You Til I Join You,” is the greatest tribute record in a genre that has required far too many. I still think “How will I do it, how will I make it? I won’t, that’s how,” is the finest rap line, (just ahead of Ice-T’s “How can there be justice on stolen land?”) Plenty of early rockabilly stars made it in on less (and deservedly). So sue me.
Actual Nominee: Yes. Prog rock. Yes, of course. That will be very useful in the days to come. Most helpful.
Dream Ballot: Fairport Convention. This year, of all years, we really should find every excuse to listen close. Admittedly, next year promises to be worse.
Happy Holidays ya’ll…Don’t let the Grim Reaper get ya’!
Anybody who spends any time here at all knows I’m highly skeptical of the “Svengali” theory of rock (or just culture), which holds that pretty much every great vocal ever delivered by a “non-writer” in the last sixty years was coaxed by a record producer. This theory extends so far that it even takes in Elvis from time to time (especially in the Sun days).
But it is especially all-encompassing when it is applied to great records sung by young women of whatever ethnicity and produced by young white (or at least crit-illuminati approved) males. Read the standard rock “histories” and you might come away thinking that Mary Weiss and Ronnie Spector and Darlene Love and Mary Wells needed Shadow Morton or Phil Spector or Smokey Robinson to go to the bathroom for them.
Heck, even the likes of Dionne Warwick and Dusty Springfield weren’t immune, and, coming forward in time, neither were Donna Summer (who actually wrote many of her hits and produced more than a few, but that’s another story for another time) and Linda Ronstadt.
So it’s pretty funny to discover that, once upon a time, along about 1970, the one Rock-era, non-writing woman who pretty much is immune from this particular style of condescension found herself resisting a song that she didn’t think she could do anything with.
Here’s her producer, Richard Perry, from an interview in 2011:
“She wanted to cancel the session….I said ‘I’ll cancel the session right now if you want. But I can’t believe that Barbra Streisand would back down from a challenge.'”
The ploy worked. They didn’t cancel the session. And the challenge ended up being this:
The record (covering the great Laura Nyro) ended up being Streisand’s first top ten record since “People” in 1964, as well as the first (and best) of many rock-tinged hits (several of them duets with the aforementioned Ms. Summer) in the years following.
But she didn’t need to wait for the charts to validate her response to Perry’s challenge. To finish the quote:
“After we did the first take…I called her in for a playback because it was clear that this was going to be a very special record….And while it was playing, she whispered in my ear ‘You were right and I was wrong. But it’s nice to be wrong!'”
Okay, as Svengali moments go, it wasn’t exactly Phil Spector locking his wife in the house and making her watch Citizen Kane every single day, but I’m glad Perry was on the job this particular day…and I bet Barbra is too!
(NOTE: All this was brought to the forefront of my ever-wandering attention this week after Streisand’s “Back to Brooklyn” special ran last weekend during the local PBS station’s pledge week. She spent the first part pulling off an outfit that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a Shangri-La in the year she hit with “People.” And both her voice and her singing (which way too many people need to be reminded aren’t quite the same thing) were better than I’ve ever heard them be. Which is saying something….And just as a final note, the intro to the video here is a tad strange, but I loved the sound….A needle dropping on Promo vinyl of a classic 45 and then running in the groove. Doesn’t get any better than that. UPDATE: Scratch that last, the video disappeared. Perils of YouTube. But you can still enjoy the record!)