After kicking around in bands most Americans haven’t heard of (like Razorlight, We Are Scientists, and I Am Arrows) British drummer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalist Andy Burrows offered up his second album as a solo artist, on which he played all instruments.
Company is a beautifully ruminative record but confounding in that none of its four singles charted.
Then again, none of the wonderful songs we include here were among the singles, which is equally confounding.
Nevertheless, guys like Andy Burrows actually get played on UK pop radio. He’d probably never get played on American pop radio.
Yes, we won the Revolutionary War–but at what cost?
Donovan wrote his top 5 hit “Hurdy Gurdy Man” in Rishikesh India, as he tells the story in this live version, which includes a previously unrecorded third verse contributed by Beatle George Harrison.
Donovan has said he originally wanted the song to be recorded by Jimi Hendrix, and it’s not far-fetched given the studio session that produced it included three guys named Page, Jones and Bonham, and may have been responsible for the formation of Led Zeppelin.
There’s no electric guitar bombast here, however.
This version is from a live album, a live compilation really, variously titled Donovan Rising, The Classics Live, 25 Years in Concert, and Atlantis, depending on the continent–confounding for the pre-internet vinyl collector. (I collected it at least twice).
Nearly 100% of us who have a passion for music are familiar with this situation:
You ask whether an acquaintance, new friend or co-worker shares your love for, or at least interest in, a favorite artist. They respond with a blank look. You’re then forced to reference the one song they’ll probably know, but cringe knowing you’ve given a misleading, or underwhelming, impression of the band or artist you love.
You’ve just handed off a bad band calling card.
Though many of us can relate to the experience, the examples would be unique to each of us, one listener’s musical trash being another million listeners’ gold (or platinum) treasure. And of course, most times it is precisely the gold record that is the “calling card”.
The pain is real when the song you must use for a point of reference–the one song the uninitiated knows by heart–is one you the hardcore fan believe to among your beloved artist’s weaker, less interesting efforts.
That’s because when we talk about niche artists, under the radar bands, moderate sellers, what makes them interesting isn’t their broad, mainstream work. They may have struck gold once, but we their real fans know the true treasures in their catalog.
So what follows isn’t meant to be objective; like all music criticism, it’s all opinion.
But to my thinking these are some examples of songs that actually might have been an impediment to the uninitiated exploring an artist further.
“Stacy’s Mom”–Fountains of Wayne
For me this is the king of all bad band calling cards, and the reason this syndrome could be named “The Stacy’s Mom Barrier”.
Never (to my ears) has such a weak-ass effort become a talented band’s signature song. It’s like “Love in an Elevator” becoming synonymous with Aerosmith instead of “Walk This Way” or “Dream On”.
Fountains of Wayne’s writing core, bassist Adam Schlesinger and vocalist Chris Collingwood, are/were power pop geniuses (Schlesinger died from complications of COVID in 2020).
There is example after example of their songwriting chops and ability to blend humor and pathos with hooks galore.
I understand “Stacy’s Mom” was their highest-charting hit. I’m aware it was nominated for a Grammy. I know it reached the #1 spot on the iTunes’ “Most Downloaded Songs” list, and the video reached No. 1 on VH1’s VSpot Top 20 Countdown.
To me though, it almost sounds like it’s aimed at a whole different demographic than the rest of their catalog. It certainly lacks the subtle humor of tunes like “Halley’s Waitress” or the wistfulness of “I-95” or “Hackensack“.
“Stacy’s Mom” is, to my ears, a great band dumbing it down.
Yuck.
“Closing Time”–Semisonic
If ever a band deserved not to be a one-hit wonder, it’s these guys.
It truly pains me to throw out “Closing Time” in sussing whether someone’s hip to Semisonic, as if it sums up their worth.
“Copperhead Road”–Steve Earle
Steve Earle burst on the Nashville scene in 1986 with his stellar debut Guitar Town, and his early singles were hits on the country charts. But soon his rock edge, politics, and drug use made him Nashville-toxic, similarly to k.d. lang’s anti-beef stance and, well, being a lesbian.
With unflinching songs about Vietnam vets and empathetic depictions of prisoners on death row, he was too real and too Rock for Country radio, but also too Country for Rock radio.
“Copperhead Road” did, however, slip through the cracks to become a staple of classic rock formats, but isn’t a great indicator of the quality of most of his early work, which showed not only masterful lyric composition but hummable tunes as well.
“Copperhead Road” remains, unfortunately, the one and only Steve Earle song many people know, which is tragic.
“Walk the Dinosaur”–Was (Not Was)
I don’t have the space here to list the credentials of musician/producer Don Was. The Rolling Stones, Bonnie Raitt, Elton John, Kris Kristofferson are a few names of superstars he’s produced records for, and that’s just from memory.
In the 80’s he was part of the idiosyncratic dance/freak/funk/disco/beat poetry outfit Was (Not Was) who had a few club dance hits but are best remembered for the bizarre one-off “Walk the Dinosaur”.
Come to think of it, almost every song the band recorded could be described as a “bizarre one-off”, so any one of them would be equally unsuitable as a calling card.
But I find this the least appealing song on their best album–the amazing, weird and eclectic What Up, Dog?
Their one American hit song was truly a fluke: Mary Stuart Masterson, co-star of Benny and Joon, was playing it on her personal stereo when the director heard it and decided to incorporate it into the film.
This helped the song become a hit single five years after its original release. It has since racked up five times the earnings of the rest of the duo’s catalog combined.
“I’m Gonna Be” went to number 3 in the US, but didn’t fare as well in Switzerland or Germany, which isn’t surprising. Try singing this lyric:
I would walk 804.672 kilometers and I would walk 804.672 more
To be the man who walks 1609.344 kilometers to fall down at your door
The album it’s taken from, Sunshine On Leith, is loaded with songs every bit as enjoyable, some upbeat and cheery, some lilting and gorgeous, including the title track, which was adopted as the team anthem of the Hibernian football team.
Scotland’s Craig and Charlie Reid have written dozens of heartfelt, keenly insightful songs. It’s my opinion that their one freak accident of a hit has actually prevented them from achieving greater cult status; frequently a no-hit wonder is apotheosized more than a one-hit wonder.
“One Week”–Barenaked Ladies
Here’s where I’ll sound like the obnoxious “get off my bandwagon” fan.
I followed Barenaked Ladies from the start. After reading a review of their debut Gordon album (IMO the best they ever released) I picked it up and began evangelizing anyone I could. I also saw the original lineup live, before keyboardist/percussionist Andy Creeggan left the band for a student-exchange trip to South America.
I mean, my copy of Gordon has the original cover art, with the unflattering band photo they later replaced with the generic, nondescript, less Canadian version:
That first Pittsburgh show was an intimate, sweaty, standing GA-only affair, but it had the air of a happening you get from an up-and-coming band making its bones.
After another show in Philly my brother and I approached the “Ladies” and handed them a cassette tape of another band we liked for them to listen to on their bus. They were that accessible.
After the semi-novelty “One Week” became obnoxiously ubiquitous a few albums later, I sat behind thousands of 12-year-olds in a hockey arena to see my formerly best-kept secret band entertain the masses.
Almost thirty years later, Barenaked Ladies and “One Week” are archetypical of the “bandwagon” experience. The 12-year-olds who jumped on for “One Week” have mostly jumped off, and so did I after Steven Page left the band.
Page was the active ingredient in the band’s songwriting. They’ve gone bland without his spicy lyrical twistedness. But here’s a tip: it’s bad business to get caught with hookers and blow right after your band has released a children’s album.
If his solo career launched prematurely, his work sans Ladies has been far more interesting than BNL’s releases since turning the Page, but I digress.
Point is, if you don’t know songs like “Maybe Katie” or “Upside Down“, or Steven Page tunes like “A New Shore“, then you should give the band a deeper dive.
John Lennon was, in addition to being a great songwriter, a self-confessed “jealous guy”. Even when the sentiment was conveyed in a tender ballad, the message was hardly a romantic one.
His misogyny is well documented in his biographies. And if you were listening, it popped up now and then in his songwriting.
Here he is in his own words, from the possessive, to the stalkerish, to the downright menacing:
Nick Lowe is the type of artist to whom critics like to attach descriptors like “legendary”, but in appraising his discography they’ll frequently use phrases like “released to little success” and “largely went unnoticed”.
His biggest album in America was 1979’s Labour of Lust, mainly on the strength of the single “Cruel to be Kind”, his only US top 40 hit.
But 1979 was the year of The Knack, when New Wave music was breaking. By 1984 Lowe had wisely stopped looking for the follow-up hit that would never come and turned to a rootsier sound.
“Half a Boy and Half a Man”, with its roller rink Farfisa organ arrangement, sounds like Sir Douglas Quintet-brand Tex Mex.
“Live Fast, Love Hard, Die Young” is a Faaron Young cover.
“L.A.F.S.” is co-produced by Elvis Costello, whose first five albums had been produced by Lowe, and features the same TKO horns that graced Costello’s Punch the Clock of the same year.
The album as a whole is an exuberant affair, and garnered positive reviews from critics.
And fate has a way sometimes of rewarding persistent effort. Curtis Stigers’ recording of Lowe’s “(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding” appeared on the biggest-selling soundtrack in history, the My Bodyguard soundtrack, and the million dollars he made in songwriting royalties probably made Lowe’s previous sales figures a little easier to live with.
Every Moment Has A Song 