R.I.P. Levi Stubbs

The Four Tops frontman died today at 72.

The Bee Gees save lives!

Attributed to Will Dunham, Reuters:

"U.S. doctors have found the Bee Gees' 1977 disco anthem 'Stayin' Alive' provides an ideal beat to follow while performing chest compressions as part of CPR on a heart attack victim."

Just one more freakin' thing for those damned baby  boomers to be smug about.

Fuck Work

At Rock Geek Chic headquarters, we've just obtained a new CD: Fuck Work, by the Unemployed Misfortune. While multiple listenings will be required before we can speak about this music with our full expertise, so far I think it's the total independent rock album, with a bold title, stunning cover art, and music that is arrestingly catchy and close enough to power pop to get me to turn it up a notch.

And it has a message.

Is it just me...

...or does Aimee Mann sound like Karen Carpenter?

Happy Birthday, Sammy Hagar!

That's right. The old spank who brought the world immortal AOR classics like "I Can't Drive 55," "There's Only One Way to Rock," and "Mas Tequila" turns 61 today.  IROC-Z owners are rejoicing everywhere.

Annoying Mistakes the Unenlightened Make

• Referring to Jethro Tull as "he"

• Attributing "Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress" to CCR

• Referring to The Jesus and Mary Chain as The Jesus and Mary TRAIN (seriously, I heard this a few times on WPGU)

• Attributing "Stuck in the Middle" to Bob Dylan

• Attributing "A Horse with No Name" to Neil Young

• Referring to "Is There Something I Should Know" by Duran Duran as "Please Please Tell Me Now"

Spinal Tap moment #58

.38 Special at the Illinois State Fair, 1995.

The former wild-eyed Southern boys, weathered and bloated, unenthusiastically slogged through their set of late '70s/early '80s hits. But by mid-show--and after a few beers, perhaps--lead singer Max Carl (or was it Don Barnes?) was itching for  some rowdy audience participation, 1981-style. Launching into the raucous chorus of "Rockin' into the Night," he roared at the crowd to sing along, put his hand to his ear, and thrust his microphone toward blank yuppie boomers in Bermuda shorts. But instead of mass off-key shouting and fist-pumping, only crickets chirped. Tumbleweeds blew across the Grandstand. The faraway sound of a carousel rang through the summer air.

As if opening for a splintered Beach Boys lineup wasn't bad enough.