7. Often heard to crow, "your hair is beautiful"... but only when he's with his mates.
"Your hair is beautiful," is from Atomic. Roosters crow. This guy was the guitarist with Atomic Rooster, but he also had a solo hit with the tune below...
You may argue that I’m stretching the definition of “celebrity” today. Still, if you’re famous enough to have a song written about you, you’re a celebrity in my book. You might not be invited on Celebrity Big Brother or Celebrity Wife-Swap or Celebrity Dung Inspectors… whatever’s the latest big celebrity thing to clog up the TV schedules like a rancid fatberg in the sewerage tunnels... but then I've rarely heard of any of the "celebrities" they drag out for these shows anyway... and the ones I have heard of, I generally find objectionable.
Better yet, today's "celebrity" hasn’t had a song written about him by any old Tom, Dick or Harry Styles. He had a song written about him by arguably the greatest songwriter in the history of truly great songwriters. But we’ll get to that…
Phil “Flip” Sloan was born in New York in 1945. When he was 13, his family moved to Hollywood and his dad bought him a guitar. Legend has it that he met Elvis in the music shop, and wangled his first ever guitar lesson from the King of Rock 'n' Roll.
A year later, he wrote and released his first single…
Sloan soon got a job writing songs for Screen Gems, one of many record companies in the 60s employing teenagers to write songs for their own age group. That's where he met a soon-to-be frequent collaborator, Steve Barri, and together they penned their first minor hit...
This led to further success, writing hits for The Turtles, The Searchers and Herman’s Hermits, although Sloan's most known for a tune that became a big Vietnam protest anthem…
PF Sloan also wrote the theme tune to the US version of the Patrick McGoohan show, Danger Man, retitled Secret Agent on American TV. Originally recorded by Johnny Rivers, many years later that song cropped up on the first LP I ever bought...
Sloan also joined The Wrecking Crew as a session guitarist. While playing with that legendary ensemble, he came up with a particularly fine opening hook…
Regardless of his success as a songwriter and musician, what Phil Sloan really wanted was to be a star in his own right. But that was not to be, and in the early 70s he abandoned the music industry altogether and spent many years as a recluse, fighting depression and mental illness. Although he enjoyed a brief comeback in the 21st Century, he sadly died of cancer in 2015.
Now rewind… to the mid-60s, and a lazy day when Sloan agreed to meet a budding junior songwriter and offer him some words of encouragement. When Sloan heard the songs that young man had to play, they brought him to tears. He thought every one of them could be a major hit...
Jimmy Webb never forgot the support he'd received from PF Sloan early in his career. A few years later, he wrote a timeless tribute to his lost hero that goes something like this...
Bruce Springsteen's manager, Jon Landau, called PF Sloan "a masterpiece [that] could not be improved upon". Even Billy Bragg has something to say about it. The song was also recorded by The Association, Unicorn and Jennifer Warnes, among others, but the definitive version wouldn’t arrive for another 40 years.
Love is an emotion we primarily link to our hearts,
perhaps because our heart beats faster when we see the person we love. Except
it’s only doing that because that’s what our brain told it to do.
Part of the whole attraction process is strongly linked
to physiological arousal as a whole. Typically, that's going to start with
things like increased heart rate, sweatiness and so on.
Simply thinking about the object of your affections is
enough to trigger dopamine release, making you feel excited and eager to do
whatever it takes to see them.
Then, when you actually do see them, your brain “rewards”
you with more dopamine, which you experience as intense pleasure.
I could go on, but putting aside adolescent hormones and teenage
notions such “being in love with love”, or as Donny put it…
…I think it’s fair to say I was getting a fair few
dopamine hits whenever I saw this girl, spent time with her, or thought about her.
Doesn’t sound quite so romantic, that, does it?
2. Was she actually called Maddie? Well, her name was
Madeline, and that was how she referred to herself. I never heard anyone else
call her Maddie, but I did on occasion. Did I do this as a sign of affection?
Clearly. Was it actually what she wanted? I’m not sure.
The reason I called her Maddie (and possibly one of the
reasons I was so “in love” with her) is because I was obsessed with the TV show
Moonlighting at the time, and its main characters were David (Bruce
Willis) Addison and Maddie (Cybill Shepherd) Hayes. I didn’t particularly fancy
Cybill Shepherd, and “my” Maddie looked nothing like her, but David and Maddie
had a whole “will they / won’t they” thing going on, and in my head I was
confusing fantasy with reality, as teenagers are wont to do. The other thing
that happened in Moonlighting was that David Addison occasionally broke the
fourth wall, and seemed at times to be aware that he was a character in a TV
show. This notion appealed to me greatly, and together with my mate Richard, we
regularly talked about our own lives as though they
were episodes of a TV show. Actually, this was an idea I’d been working on
throughout my childhood – in my head, I had my own TV station (one that
switched over to being just a radio station when I went to bed… it was
complicated). This might seem like irrelevant information, but you’ll need to
know it later. There will be a quiz.
3. Clearly Maddie did know I existed since we had regular
conversations, mostly on the long bus journeyhome where we would often sit together – well,
not together on the same seat, but usually on adjacent seats. And when we got
off the bus, those conversations would often continue while I walked her home –
well, we were going in the same direction, and I carried on up the hill after
she’d crossed the road to go into her own house. Were both of these situations led
by me? I mean, did she ever choose to sit by me or was she always on the bus
when I got on with empty seats in her vicinity? Was I merely preferable to some
of the other losers and malcontents on that bus? Did she secretly want to walk
up that hill on her own but she was just being polite when I tagged along?
Looking back, I might think that. I certainly
manufactured situations in which we could bump into each other or be in the
same place together, but that’s what you do at that age, isn’t it? The whole
thing’s a minefield, and I’m glad I don’t have to deal with it any more. In my
defence, I will offer the rainy lunchtimes we spent together in the music
block, practicing our instruments. (Not a euphemism.) She played piano better
than me, and some other kind of wind instrument (clarinet?) while I had my
tenor horn and we would, on occasion, hang out in one of the practice rooms, mucking
about with music, but mostly just chatting and having a laugh.
(I should perhaps at this point reveal that, about a year
or so later, my friend Simon got so sick of me going
on about Maddie that he went to ask her if she’d like to go out with me.
Because clearly I was never going to do such a thing myself. I was great at dropping
hints, but no way was I going to approach her directly. So anyway, Simon
asked her out for me… and what ensued? Only one of those awful, embarrassing
(for everyone) sitcom scenarios in which Maddie actually thought that Simon was
asking her out for himself (rather than me), excitedly accepting, only to then…
well, you can guess the rest.)
In my previous Self-Help For Cynics Post, I wrote about
the Storytelling Brain. How the brain uses stories to create neural pathways
which teach us how to deal with things that happen to us in our lives. This appears
to be a wonderful thing… until it goes wrong. And when it does go wrong, those
same neural pathways end up reinforcing negative opinions, beliefs or ideas
based on responses to negative experiences. Dr. Faith explains, in her own
inimitable style…
But clearly the storytelling brain has the capacity to be
a serious fucking problem too. We start telling ourselves (and believing)
certain stories about ourselves and the world around us. Our brains are wired
to crave certainty. We WANT to see patterns in what happens to us so we can
make better decisions about the world and how we are supposed to keep ourselves
safe in it.
The emotional brain makes a decision for us and the
thinking brain has to scramble to come up with a reason why.
Which brings me back to the will-they / won’t-they romance
in my 16 year old brain.
It was the end of term. Or, in the TV station of my head,
it was the last episode of the series. Everything was building up to a climax,
because that’s what happens at the end of a series. On our final journey home
together before the holidays, I got up the courage to clumsily drop the biggest
hint so far to Maddie that I was interested in being a little more than
friends. The ironic thing is, I have very little memory of what I actually
said, I only recall that it went as well as it could have done (no outright
rejection, anyway… then again, clearly she didn’t swoon into my arms either)
and that I was left with a distinct feeling that when I saw her again… maybe…
we’d be ready to move up to the next level. Like, I dunno, actually sitting
together on the same seat or something.
As a result, I walked home that night in a state of
euphoria. Which is all in the brain, again! Healthline
explains…
That giddy, euphoric
excitement you feel when spending time with the person you love (or seeing them
across the room, or hearing their name)? You can trace this entirely normal
effect of falling in love back to the neurotransmitter dopamine.
Ah, that pesky dopamine again. I’m surprised it took me so long to get to
that little critter. Harvard
Health goes into more detail…
Dopamine is most notably
involved in helping us feel pleasure as part of the brain’s reward system. Sex,
shopping, smelling cookies baking in the oven — all these things can trigger
dopamine release, or a "dopamine rush."
This feel-good
neurotransmitter is also involved in reinforcement. That’s why, once we try one
of those cookies, we might come back for another one (or two, or three).
Hopped up on dopamine following my seemingly successful
hint drop, I was keen to share this with my friend Richard, who understood the
language of 4th wall breaking imaginary TV shows better than any of
my other contemporaries.
A little bit about Richard, before I go on. We’d been
mates for about three or four years by this point, and along with my other mate
Simon, who I’d known since junior school, we’d formed a pretty tight little
group. Best friends? I’m not sure I’ve ever had a best friend, but the three of
us were as close as we could be without ever using that terminology. Although
Simon and I had the longer friendship, and many shared interests, Rich and I
had bonded over a love of music. That began with Queen (particularly A Kind Of
Magic, which was out around then) and classic Motown. Although lately, his
tastes had been changing. He’d become obsessed with the Smiths (who, at the
time, I hated) and the Pet Shop Boys, a band I liked (bought quite a few of
their singles) but clearly didn’t connect with on the same level that he did. I
liked Neil Tennant’s arch lyrics, while Rich liked the beats. It was the
mid-late 80s, and although I didn’t realise it at the time, I was losing him to
dance music.
I don't like country-and-western I don't like rock music I don't like, I don't like rockabilly or rock 'n' roll particularly Don't like much really, do I? But what I do like I love passionately
On that fateful evening then, I gave him a call to update
him on the end-of-season cliff-hanger involving Maddie… but when he answered
the phone, something was off. There was music playing in the background, and
Rich seemed distracted. As I poured my euphoric heart out, it quickly became
apparent that Rich was only half listening to me, that someone else was there,
and that they were taking up more of his attention. And after a few minutes I
realised that whoever it was, was laughing at me. Laughing at the private
conversation I was having with my friend, at my pathetic attempts at romance,
and that Rich was laughing too.
You call me on the phone, you left me all alone All I get from you is shellshock Another day goes by and all I do is cry All I get from you is shellshock
I stopped and asked Rich what was going on. Who was there
with him? And that’s when he told me.
It was Swanny.
All you need to know about Swanny is that he lived a few
doors down from Rich and that he was a complete and utter arsehole. A couple of
years prior, he’d indulged (along with a few other kids) in some minor league
bullying, of which I was one of his semi-regular marks. And as far as I was
concerned, the scars were still fresh.
“What are you doing?” I asked Rich, meaning, “Why are you
laughing at me? Why aren’t you being the friend and confidant I’ve come to
expect and rely on? Why are you pissing all over my euphoria… with fucking
Swanny!?!”
“Nothing,” said Rich. “We’re just listening to the new
New Order record.”
I hung up the phone and didn’t speak to Rich again for
the next nine months. Eventually Simon managed to get us talking again, and we
made up… in a way. But it was never the same.
When I was a very small boy Very small boys talked to me Now that we've grown up together They're afraid of what they see
Thirty-five years later, I still can’t listen to New
Order. This is something which sets me at odds with large sections of the music
blogging community who worship the ground Bernard and Peter (and whatever the
rest of them are called) make beats on. And it’s all down to my story-telling
brain, which has inextricably linked the anger, embarrassment and shame I felt
that evening in 1988 to New Order’s Technique. Neural pathways have been
created which mean that whenever I hear New Order on the radio, or see another
post pop up about them on one of my favourite blogs, I’m taken back to that
night and all those unpleasant feelings.
"Unpleasant feelings" though... as adolescent trauma goes, I will admit that this is pretty mild. However, the same principle applies to much deeper wounds, in theory.
Since I was born I started to decay Now nothing ever, ever goes my way
Dr. Faith would no doubt tell me that this can be fixed.
That if I started listening to more New Order, thereby allowing my brain to
create new neural pathways which could over-ride the old ones, that would
eventually lead to positive associations and responses, and my opinion of the
band might change. It is possible to re-wire your brain in this way… after all,
as I mentioned earlier, I used to hate The Smiths, and then in my 20s, various
things happened which allowed me to hear them in a new light. If I put enough
energy and effort into it then, perhaps I could make myself like New Order.
Are there any bands you hate because your brain has
linked their music to painful memories?
I would like a place I could call my own Have a conversation on the telephone Wake up every day that would be a start I would not complain of my wounded heart
Post script...
A weird thing happened while compiling this post. I actually sat and listened to the New Order songs above, and I didn't hate them as much as I thought I did.
Now you can call this wishful thinking or a self-fulfilling prophecy, or me just trying to make a point. Wanting to believe in something, then making it so. Theodor Herzl: "If you will it, it is no dream." Surely it can't be as easy as that...?
If you haven't watched The Bear, you're missing the best show on TV at the moment. I don't care if you haven't got Disney+ - get the trial offer and binge-watch the first two series. Do it now. Well, after you've finished reading this post anyway.
The Bear is about a chef who inherits the management of a busy Chicago sandwich shop after his brother commits suicide. He decides to turn it into an up-market restaurant, using the same staff who worked in the sandwich shop. It's a very tense show - it really gives you a feel for what it's like to work in a fast-paced food service environment (lots of shouting) - but it's also very funny. Lots of big name actors want to appear in it - Jamie Lee Curtis, Olivia Coleman, Will Poulter and Bob Odenkirk all pop up in Season 2 - clearly recognising the strength of the scripts. But something occurred to me while I was watching the most recent episodes... one of the show's main themes is mental health.
All the characters in The Bear are damaged in one way or another. Jeremy Allen White, who plays lead chef Carmen Berzatto, is an expert at showing inner turmoil with little more than a twitch of his brow. But the real star of the show for me is Ebon Moss-Bachrach who plays Carmy's cousin Ritchie, a character who quickly begins to feel out of his depth as his workplace transforms around him. Ritchie is full of bluster, but it masks a deep, deep insecurity. I have a lot of time for Ritchie, out of all the great characters in The Bear, he's the one I relate to the most.
The episode that really brought this home came midway through the second series. Sensing Ritchie's disquiet, Carmy sends him to work for a week in one of the top restaurants in the country. He starts by cleaning forks, a job he thinks beneath him, but by the end of the week, he's virtually running the restaurant floor. It's never explicitly stated in the script, but what happens over the course of that episode is that Ritchie learns to respect himself, and in doing so earns the respect of his colleagues. A grumpy, middle-aged man singing along to a Taylor Swift song has never sounded so sweet...
It's not a complete transformation: he's still Ritchie at heart. He just likes himself a little more, and finds a purpose and value in what he's doing. He commits to a change and he feels better because of it. A number of things in my life triggered this blog series, but I honestly think that this episode of The Bear was an epiphany. It made me realise I can't just sit around waiting for the world to change to make me happier. Instead, I have to change the way I see the world. If that sounds like bollocks, then yeah... I'd have thought the same thing a few months back. And maybe I still do, deep down. But I'm trying not to. And that's a start.
I've always been content to take the pieces
That I've been given
Make a mess with the results
Justify it all
Everybody's using all their breath telling everyone else
Some of the many causes of low self-esteem may include: Unhappy childhood where parents (or other significant people such as teachers) were extremely critical. Poor academic performance in school resulting in a lack of confidence. Ongoing stressful life event such as relationship breakdown or financial trouble.
But I look at those potential explanations and I can't see any that fit me. My childhood, in particular, I remember as a mostly very happy time. I grew up in a loving home and while I didn't have loads of friends, I was OK with the ones I had. There was a recurring bullying situation in my early teens which left some emotional scars, but no worse than a lot of people. So why do I have such a downer on myself? Maybe the why doesn't matter, just that I'm finally trying to do something about it.
Mind offers all kinds of tips for improving self-esteem, though they are keen to stress that "different things work for different people at different times. Only try what you feel comfortable with."
I think I'll skip past this one...
Say positive things to yourself. Some people like to do this in front of a mirror. It can feel strange at first, but you may feel more comfortable the more you do it.
But you listen to those lyrics and you realise that the reason they find The Greatest Love Of All "easy to achieve" is because they already respect themselves. What about the rest of us?
If you don't love yourself, you won't be happy with yourself. If you can't love yourself, you can't love anyone else. You can't make anyone love you without loving yourself first.
But where I come from, Kemi, there's nothing worse than someone who loves themselves. We call that arrogance, egomania... or being just like Kevin.
Girls try to attract his attention But what a shame, it's in vain, total rejection He will never be left on the shelf 'Cause Kevin, he's in love with himself
In my head, loving yourself goes hand in hand with not giving a shit about anyone else. And I've spent my whole life fighting against people like that. Or at least getting exceedingly pissed off by them.
How then to find the right balance? Well, much as I would like someone to send me to work in a top restaurant for a week so that I can learn how to like myself, it's probably not going to happen. Mind says, "Try to avoid comparing yourself to others." So I'll put Cousin Ritchie out of my mind.
I started this post with the original version of Respect Yourself by The Staple Singers. It's a fine song. A classic. But you know what? The 1987 cover version by Bruce Willis means much more to me. As I've mentioned before, it was the first 7" single I ever bought. Many people are ashamed by their first record purchase and make excuses for it, saying things like, "I was really young and I hadn't developed my musical taste..." I could say the same... but honestly, I listen to this now and it still makes me smile the way it did when I was 15. And I guess I respect myself at least enough to admit that to you.
5. Bob James, David Sanborn & Al Jarreau - Since I Fell For You
Farewell then to Al Jarreau, who passed away on Sunday, aged 72. I won't pretend to be the biggest expert on his work (I'm not going to attempt a Top Ten), but there are two recordings of his I will treasure forever. Both are from the soundtrack to the TV show Moonlighting, and I've explained my teenage obsession with that show in previous posts. Of course, Al recorded (and co-wrote) the Nile Rodgers-produced theme tune, which brings memories flooding back whenever I hear it. But there's another, lesser-known song he also recorded for the soundtrack which I love even more.
Since I Fell For You was written in 1945 by Buddy Johnson and has been recorded many, many times since by everybody from Van Morrison to Glen Campbell, Fontella Bass to The Rascals. But though I've heard a number of other versions, nothing comes close to this collaboration between Al Jarreau and jazz heroes Bob James and David Sanborn. And that's all down to the first time I heard it...
Towards the end of the third series of Moonlighting, the "will they, won't they?" dynamic between Cybil Shepherd and Bruce Willis was reaching its peak. Episode 11 was titled Blonde On Blonde, and it is possibly my favourite episode of any television show ever. A bold claim, perhaps, but I vividly remember the first time I watched it, my reaction to the final scene, and how fortunate I felt to have recorded it on VHS so that I could watch it again and again and again... until the tape wore out and I had to buy the series on DVD.
In the episode, David Addison (Willis) becomes insanely jealous when he realises his business partner Maddie Hayes might be heading off to find a stranger for a one night stand. He follows her all across town to "protect" her, but ends up following the wrong blonde and gets arrested for a murder he didn't commit in the process. Willis has never been funnier and Glenn Gordon Caron's script is bursting with cracking one liners I now know off by heart. While in the police station holding cell, David meets the "wrong" blonde he's accidentally been following who confesses to the murder herself and also persuades David to tell Maddie just how he feels. Released from custody, David hot foots it over to Maddie's house late at night, in the pouring rain, to profess his love. As he knocks, he - and the viewers - feel the weight of three season's build up... and then, Mark Harmon opens the door.
This is the moment teenage Rol sat up in bed and screamed at the TV: "Nooooo!"
Fade up Al Jarreau over the closing credits...
Moonlighting ran for another couple of seasons and I loved every episode, even the duff ones, but it was never as good as this again.
In December, I'll be counting down (as I do every year) my favourite albums of the year. Before that... a confession.
Over at What's It All About, Alfie? recently, Alyson revealed the first album she ever bought. She seemed almost reluctant to admit it was an Elvis album... as though that was something to be embarrassed by. God, I wish my first record was an Elvis record.
It's time that the tale were told...
(After Queen and Neil Diamond, I think you're ready for this now.)
I was 15 when I bought my first records. Quite late, considering. I'd been getting into music a lot around that time. Both my sister and brother had left home and had kids of their own, so I used to babysit for them often to earn a bit of spending money, and when I did I always ended up working my way through their records. I'll be honest, my sister had the cooler collection, although my brother did have A Kind Of Magic by Queen, and I played the grooves out of that (as previously discussed). My sister though: she had Elvis, and the Supremes, and the Beach Boys, and Bowie, and Kate Bush... and I babysat for her a lot because she worked till 9 in the evening and her husband was a long distance lorry driver, only home on weekends. Four or five nights a week then, I'd sit in my sister's living room after my nephews were in bed and watch a bit of TV... then fall into that record collection. It was my teenage awakening.
Eventually, I got my first record player. I might be imagining this, but I think it was a little red turntable with built in speakers. I don't think I had it long and I have no idea what happened to it (or whether it's just romanticised nostalgia) but I know that pretty soon after I got a midi system with a built in cassette deck for making mixtapes... and the rest is history. Thirty years later, this blog is the end result.
The first album I owned then, there's no problem there. Queen's Greatest Hits. A Christmas present from my sister because she saw how much I loved that band. I thought Bohemian Rhapsody was the greatest song ever written. There are days when I'll still fight its corner.
But that doesn't count as my first record, does it? It has to be the first one I bought with my own money, right? Strangely enough, the first single I ever bought, rapidly followed by the first album I ever bought, were both by the same artist. Here's a few clues to his identity...
It was 1987 and he was riding an incredible wave of success.
We shared the exact same birthday (day, not year... I was only 15, remember).
He grew up in New Jersey.
I honestly thought that when I grew up, I wanted to be him.
Oh, yes.
His name was...
Longtime readers of this blog will by now have guessed that my favourite artist is Bruce Springsteen. (There was a time I'd have said it was a toss-up between him and Morrissey, but I'm coming to realise, as I grow older, Bruce is in a different class.) I believe in the redemptive power of rock 'n' roll, and Bruce has been my constant companion since I first dove into its river. So wouldn't it be a wonderful kind of symmetry if the first single - or the first album - I ever bought was one of his?
But life's not that neat, is it?
No.
This is the first single I ever bought...
Then, a week or so later, this was my first album...
And you know what, I'm not ashamed to admit this: I loved them then, and I still love them now.
I could tell you how I was a huge fan of Moonlighting, and David Addison was the coolest guy on TV.
I could tell you that the song Respect Yourself (originally by the Staple Singers) is such a classic, even a smug Hollywood egomaniac couldn't ruin it.
I could tell you how the single was saved by the uncredited - at the time - guest vocals of June Pointer (with her Sisters on backing vocals).
I could even go with the flow and say, hey - as croaky as Willis sounds on this record, at least his voice isn't as bad as Meat Loaf's on that record I chose as my Number One last month.
But why should I have to defend the purchasing choices made by a musically-naïve adolescent any more than I have to defend the "guilty pleasures" of a 44 year old muso-irker?
Respect Yourself was a reasonably classy, yet still tongue-in-cheek, rendition of a great old song - and, I'd argue, Willis's cover of Under The Boardwalk, backed by the Temptations was even better (plus it was the 12th best-selling UK single of 1987, folks... so never underestimate the British record buying public). And there were some equally fun tracks on the rest of the album. It was never going to set Willis on the road to rock 'n' roll stardom (maybe he foolishly thought it would... but then Die Hard came along the following year and he saw a much more lucrative future), but it did the job right then. And it holds a special place in my heart.
(Willis's second, and final album, was called If It Don't Kill You, It Just Makes You Stronger. It didn't make his recording career stronger. I still have a copy on my shelf, one I'll never, ever give to the charity shop (and let's face it, who'd buy it?), even though I probably won't ever listen to it again.)
We only get one life and the choices we make matter, even the duff ones. They all mean something to us, and this record means something to me. Let's never forget...
If you disrespect everybody that you run into How in the world do you think everybody's supposed To respect you?
