Rick Springfield’s Beginnings: Younger Than Tomorrow, Wise As Yesterday

By Cait Brennan

I can’t prove this, but I suspect Rick Springfield‘s career began with the discovery of a magic lamp. A magic lamp with a particularly devious Jinn contained therein. Since he was a teenager, Springfield has been on the receiving end of some of the luckiest breaks a young rocker could’ve wished for in his wildest dreams. Yet too many of them went inexplicably off the rails despite his formidable talents. Such was his major-label debut, the indispensable, shoulda-been-a-smash Beginnings, released in 1972 on Capitol and recently reissued by a great new label called Real Gone Music. It’s one of 1972′s best albums, and one of the best you’ll hear in 2012, too.
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The Explorers Club, Grand Hotel

By Cait Brennan

You’ve got to admire Jason Brewer, the founder of Charleston, South Carolina’s The Explorers Club. Barely 30, Brewer has mastered the language of 1960s pop songwriting with the kind of heart, skill, and creative ambition that would be the envy of any musician, especially those who were old enough to have been there in the first place. His band’s well-reviewed 2008 debut, Freedom Wind, echoed some of the Beach Boys’ most gorgeous moments; it was such a grand love letter to Brian Wilson that Brian Wilson’s own 2008 album That Lucky Old Sun was probably only the second-best Brian Wilson album that year.
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Your Pretty Face Is Going To Sell: Iggy Pop’s Marketing K.O.

By Cait Brennan

In the twenty-first century, commercial endorsements are everywhere. For the right price, for the right product, every indie band would wrestle an angry bear for the chance to front an ad campaign, disregarding what was once the cardinal rule of rock and roll: Doing commercials isn’t cool. Even Hollywood stars know it, which is why in the pre-YouTube era, big shot showbiz weasels would don “Fargo North, Decoder” trench coats, phony accents, and Archie McPhee mustaches and skulk off to Thailand to bank a cool million for appearing in a 30-second carbonated hemorrhoid cream ad, knowing it would never see the light of day on American TV.
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Jimmy Carter and The Rabbit Incident

Even at the best of times, it’s no picnic being the President of the United States. Being President in the 1970s was practically impossible.

Nixon inherited the bloody Vietnam conflict and struggled to govern a deeply divided nation through the oil crisis, economic stagnation, and that little Watergate thing. Athletic, competent Gerald Ford started out his brief presidency by pardoning Nixon for his crimes, heroically sparing the country an even more divisive trial; for his trouble, he got not one but two assassination attempts, and Chevy Chase turned him into a bumbling national joke. But nothing compares to the travails of our Thirty-ninth President, James Earl Carter. Double digit inflation. A bloated and unresponsive federal government. The collapse of Iran, the rise of radical Islam, and the intractable hostage crisis.

And the rabbits. The relentless, murderous rabbits.

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So They Were Stars: The Razzle Dazzle Rockin’ Reign of the Hudson Brothers

By Cait Brennan

The Bible says music tore down the mighty walls of Jericho. In the 1960s and ’70s, rock and roll did the same for a generation of girls and young women. The rise of pop culture brought women and girls an unprecedented level of freedom, power, and influence. Perhaps it can’t quite be called “feminist,” and it may seem like a small thing, but before the mid-’60s, before the Beatles and Monkees, who could have imagined whole magazines devoted to pin-up boys?
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The Explorers Club, The Carolinian Suite EP

By Cait Brennan

The Grand Hotel is still under construction . . . but your complimentary suite is ready.

It’s been three years since Charleston, South Carolina’s pop revivalists The Explorers Club released Freedom Wind, a peach of a debut record that sounded for all the world like a Great Lost Beach Boys masterpiece. I’ll never forget the first time I heard that album’s “Last Kiss”—speeding down the 101 through Hollywood, right as the Capitol Records tower came into full view, all sunshine and blue skies and ocean breezes. The perfect soundtrack to a perfect day. Somewhere, Brian Wilson was smiling.
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Robyn Hitchcock, Chronolology

By Cait Brennan

Robyn Hitchcock has spent most of the past 40 years creating some of the most inventive, funny, poignant, and pointed songs of our time. From the “psychedelic punk” of his work with the Soft Boys to his clever, lyrical solo albums to the neo-garage Venus 3, few artists have been harder to pigeonhole. He’s produced surreal classics like “The Man With the Lightbulb Head,” “Sometimes I Wish I Was A Pretty Girl,” and “Do Policemen Sing?” as well as spare, melancholy acoustic gems like “I Used To Say I Love You” and “I Feel Beautiful”.

Two recent Yep Roc box sets—I Wanna Go Backwards and Luminous Groove—chronicled his best-loved solo albums and rewarded fans with lavish rarities. But for those new to his work, finding an “easy in” to Hitchcock’s formidable catalog might seem daunting.

Even listing it is daunting: depending on what you count and how you count it, Hitchcock’s body of work includes at least seven albums and EPs with the Soft Boys, 18 “solo” albums (including those with the Egyptians and Venus 3), about 20 “rarities” and live albums, three very incomplete best-of’s, a Jonathan Demme-directed concert film, and countless one-off appearances—all on a wide variety of US and UK labels, and until recently, much of it out of print. Newcomers could be forgiven for not knowing where to start.
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Crypts And Blood: A Creepy Crawl Through The History Of Horror Hosts

By Cait Brennan

“There’s nothing on,” you say. A strangely common complaint in an era with hundreds, if not thousands, of 24-hour-a-day channels. Once upon a time, there was literally nothing on, because the two or three local stations your town was lucky to have would shut their transmitters off at 11 p.m. Stations invented every possible kind of stunt (up to and including running the weatherman’s home movies) to fill airtime, but eventually the exhausted staff would finish the late local news, have a priest give a drunken invocation, run the national anthem, and pull the damn plug.

But as the signals died, there through the flickering static, in the dark dead of night, one station would keep its dim light on, transmitting faded images of 1930s ghouls into your darkened living room. Then, out of the black, when it all started getting just a little too real, some character covered in blood cut their way into the movie and cracked wise. You’ve just met your horror host, and whether your movie was terrifying or just terrifyingly awful, spooky late nights never had a better friend.
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A Day On The Tube: 35 Clown-Hating, Sponsor-Trashing, Kid-Riot Years With Wallace And Ladmo

By Cait Brennan

From left to right:
Wallace, Gerald (the “spoiled rich kid”), and Ladmo

In the spring of 2011, PBS’s acclaimed series Pioneers Of Television presented a special on the lost world of locally-produced kids’ TV shows. The names and faces were familiar, giants like Fred Rogers, Willard Scott as Bozo, Romper Room, Bill Cosby, Jim Henson. And among them—taking up almost half of the hour-long show—were names unfamiliar to most of the nationwide audience, but known and beloved in the Southwest for generations: The stars of the subversive, satirical sketch-and-cartoon show Wallace and Ladmo. On the air five days a week for a staggering 35 years, the show broke every rule in the kids’ TV book, and earned a legion of fanatical fans.
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Fab Films, Terrible TV: When “Based On The Movie” Goes Wrong

By Cait Brennan

Nothing succeeds like success, especially in Hollywood, California, USA. The vast echo chamber that is the Hollywood establishment loves nothing more than to recycle some easily packaged, cloyingly familiar property into remakes, reboots, reimaginings, musicals, ancillary merchandise, and Spider-Man Ham Sandwiches. Although the practice has faded in recent years, for much of TV’s life, enterprising producers have been adapting hit films into television shows—shows that were often less than successful. Here’s a small sampling of the worst film-to-TV adaptations.
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