For the first four or five years of his life, Sam was obsessed with Cars. Lightning McQueen, Mater, Doc Hudson, Cruz Ramirez, Francesco Bernoulli, Finn McMissile... he had all the toys, knew all their names, watched the films over and over and over again.
I kind of miss those characters now, even though I was sick of them at the time. Strange how that goes.
After last week's post on The Motors, it seemed inevitable that I would check out bands called The Cars. Yet despite the inextricable link between pop music and driving, there were less contenders than I expected...
THE CARS #1
A reliable Volkswagen to start us off (I wouldn't do them the insult of making an Audi comparison), these German cars got together in 1966 and released a number of singles, both on their own and in collaboration with Scottish singer Kenny MacCaskill, formerly of The Fleets. In 1972, they changed their name to Revolver... so we could well see them back here again one day.
Boston New Wave band formed in 1976, led by Ric Ocasek and Benjamin Orr, unfairly maligned by those who only remember them for their synth-driven 1984 hit Drive, re-issued the following year as a charity song for Band Aid, raising a further £160,000 for St. Bob's coffers.
The Cars were so much more than Drive suggests, and they put out a fine selection of tunes prior to that, most notably this little power pop gem from 1978. Despite the double-whammy of Drive, this one remains their highest UK chart placing...
Ben: One of my supervisors lives in Hebden Bridge. I'm going to forward it to him.
Ha. It is full of wankers.
Then again, so is Holmfirth.
Well.
You moved there.
You set that one up too easy.
I live in Scholes. Proper Local Shop territory, this.
You live inside Paul Scholes?
I have no idea who that is.
He played football in the 90s. My football knowledge spans a year in the 90s to the football comic "Shoot".
And to Tony Curry. Who apparently was a good Sheffield United player because every kid who had their birthday at United's ground had Tony Curry come out at the end and sign a football.
"Ooh, kids, there's a special guest soon". Always Tony fucking Curry.
And some of the kids always lost their mind.
It's like, were you not paying attention the last six birthdays we came to here?
No joke, at my parents I have a small stack of signed Tony Curry photos.
More evidence for why you need serious drugs to help you sleep.
He doesn't live in my house.
My dad's mates with this local boxer, Kell Brooks.
He took my dad to a match in the celeb suite a few years ago.
Guess who he saw there?
Tony sodding Curry
Imagine seeing this face, every time you close your eyes.
It's not fair.
I'm glad I'm not your psychiatrist.
I've been spelling his name wrong, that's how little I know. It's Currie!
Is this the boxer?
I don't believe so.
I don't know sports.
That's Kelly Brook.
Does she box?
Well, you might end up with two black eyes if you got too close to her.
Thisshows how many autographs he does... There's no market for it.
Got to respect that entrepreneurial spirit.
Unless you're a Marxist.
I think they keep him alive in a cupboard, feeding him pies and pints of mild. Let him out on matchday and kids parties.
It's another world.
He starts getting excited when he hears the opening chords to Annie's Song.
So do I.
But he's excited for the United version.
Means he gets to have a fresh pint of mild.
Rather than the keg they keep in the cupboard with him that's stale.
Some football gits have stolen Annie's Song!? That proper fills up my senses...
Like a greasy chip buttie...
Nooooo!
I am never clicking that link.
I'm not saying it's any good, just showing that it exists.
I believe you. Just another reason to despair in the human race...
You're gonna love this song. Sums up your opinion...
Fair point. And I prefer that to the bastardisation of Annie's Song.
I think you'll like the new Manchester Orchestra album from Telepath onwards. It settles back into the Americana again from that point on.
Albeit with syncopation.
If by syncopation, you mean drum machines...
I mean syncopation. I'd have said syncopated drum machines if I meant that.
Is it dance music?
No. Syncopation is just varied rhythms coming together.
At the same time.
Sounds bollocks to me.
Good Time Roll by the Cars is a good example of syncopation.
The rhythm is *off* the main beat.
The reason the term is synonymous with dance, and as such, electronic music outside of music theory is that it has to rely on syncopation to create that movement.
It forces a rhythm over melody. Cuban music in the 50s and 60s that's completely danceable is due to it having syncopated rhythm.
Don't make snarky comments about things then I won't have to give you a music theory lesson.
I used to play in a brass band, so I know what syncopation means in principle. I just wasn't sure how you were applying the term.
Please tell me it was a colliery band.
Were you in Brassed Off?
What was Pete Postlethwaite like?
How I spent my teenage years, before I got into radio. It was all very Brassed Off.
Were you trombone? Or a saxophone?
Or did you put your tall body to comedy effect with a cornet?
I have so many questions.
I played tenor horn. Mid size. There are no saxophones in a brass band.
You could have been a maverick.
Did you have a nickname?
Why would I have a nickname?
It endears the audience to the narrative.
Did you enter competitions?
Did you win?
We entered lots of competitions, but we were only the junior section of the main band. At first, anyway. By the end, I was in the main band.
Best thing was at Christmas, we went round all the pubs in the village and played carols to drunks.
Long before I drank myself.
I'm going to turn this into a film where you sit in front of a fire and tell people about your youth.
Channel Five, Bravo and Men and Motors are interested.
The Blue Room song comes from the soundtrack to Ferris Bueller's Day Off, which wins it enormous points. But I'm too afraid of Skin from Skunk Anansie to tell her she's a loser, so...
I'm Sorry, Moz... this one goes to the Flowers. Never mind, you'll get another chance in a moment.
Of course, the big problem with Morrissey is right there in the title of this song. He's not sorry. He's never sorry. If only he could be, just once...
Tough one. Normally I'd let The Clash beat The Beatles because Phoney Beatlemania has bitten the dust... but I have a soft spot for early Lennon when he's prepared to shred his vocal chords as he does here. The Fabs take it.
Bill Bixby used to tell us not to make him angry... we wouldn't like him when he's angry. We like Alice when he gets angry though... and I guess he's going to be angry at losing out to Elvis here, but it takes a lot to beat My Aim Is True.
There was a time when I'd have welcomed being followed by Aunty Madge... these days, I'd be quick to get a restraining order. (Warren Beatty duets with her here... he probably thought this song was about him.)
Edwyn, on the other hand, can follow me any time he likes.
If you Don't Like Mondays and often find yourself wondering whether the Russians love their children too, here's the perfect post for you. The Sunday answers to Saturday Snapshots come around Like Clockwork and will leave you feeling like an Englishman in New York... probably.
Good team-work yesterday, folks. I think Lynchie just clinched the win, but Chris, C, Rigid Digit, Alyson all worked well together to solve the rest.
If you've never seen Disney's Cars trilogy, you wouldn't have stood much of a chance with this clue. I, however, have watched Disney's Cars trilogy more than any other film in the last five years... not entirely through choice.
Put on your bright suit Billy, and head for the right side of town next Saturday morning when I'll be Spreading A Little Happiness once again...
(Note to self: don't use a picture with two big stars in it again.)
Tom's drifting home with headlines in his eyes, fighting sleep... WAKE UP, TOM! Phew. Nearly left the road there for a second. How about pulling over at the next rest stop, buddy?
The Cars' biggest hit (twice) comes loaded with so much extra meaning, it's hard to just listen to it as a song anymore. Plus, it was played to death on the radio when I was a teenager and I think I OD'ed on it. Good song, but Rick Ocasek & co. made far more exciting records.
From Mr. DiMucci's late 80s comeback album, this keeps the hand-clapping doo-wop feel of his earlier hits filtered through more contemporary production courtesy of Dave Edmunds and Bryan Adams.
Well, when I say "contemporary", I mean "contemporary: 25 years ago". Sigh.
Fun fact - although everyone thinks Cyndi Lauper recorded this first (she made the charts with it before Roy), The Big O actually recorded it two years before Cyndi. It wasn't released as a single (with a little help from Jeff Lynne) until after his death in 1992. Anyway, much as I love Cyndi's sultry take on the tune, there's only one Roy O. Plus, although Cyndi's video features a car projected onto her naked body (not as exciting as that might sound), Roy's video guest stars a young Jennifer Connelly (and Jason Priestley, ladies). Ah, you decide. (Just don't suggest the Celion Dion version.)
Ed Hamell's Chandler-esque tale begins with a long drive in which his private detective hero leaves at midnight... worth a listen for any Philip Marlowe fans out there.
Doubtless if I ever get round to compiling a Top Ten Trucking Songs, this'll be Number One. Although McCall's convoy (the inspiration for Sam Peckinpah's movie starring Kris Kristofferson, Ali McGraw and Ernest Borgnine) trucks on through both day and night, it nudges its way into this chart because of the hour it begins:
Having already hurtled to the top of My Top Ten Motorway Songs, it was tempting to give Tom's trucker anthem a miss in favour of his other night driving anthem (a European retelling of the quintessentially English 2-4-6-8,) Drive All Night. But although that's a very fine song - and its title suggests it deserves a place here more than its more famous sibling - I just can't bring myself to choose it over 2-4-6-8. Plus, iffypedia informs me that the chorus of 2-4-6-8 is pilfered from a Gay Lib chant "2,4,6,8, Gay is twice as good as straight... 3,5,7,9, Lesbians are mighty fine". Brilliant!
I can't think of many Dutch rock bands, and I can only think of one other record by this bunch... but this song is good enough to have been covered by everyone from REM to Def Leppard to U2... and none of them came close to matching the original. Close your eyes and this could be Led Zep. It begins with some amazing power chords before the chugging drum rhythm kicks in and then Frans Krassenburg's Robert Plant-esque voice chimes in with those masterful opening lines.
I've been driving all night My hands wet on the wheel
By the time Brenda Lee starts coming on strong on the radio, I've almost driven through the central reservation. Just one fantastic rock record. Apparently Golden Earring had over 30 top ten hits in Holland. I might just have to splash out on a best of compilation...
1. Bruce Springsteen - Drive All Night / State Trooper
Although I feature Bruce a lot on this blog, I'm always wary of giving him the Number One because it reeks of favouritism. (Strange, I know - after all, it's my blog, I can do what I want. And it's not as though anyone's reading...) Here though is a double bill of two of his finest songs, both involving driving at night, albeit from completely different perspectives.
Simply put, Drive All Night is one of the greatest love songs ever written. I'd rate it just a step below Wichita Lineman, and there's no finer compliment in my book.
I swear I'll drive all night again Just to buy you some shoes And to taste your tender charms
The simplest of gestures, yet it speaks of true love in my book... and I'm sorry if that's perpetuating the "all women like shoes" stereotype... but Louise's wardrobe is one step away from Imelda Marcos's, and she's not the only woman I know like that. (Not that I'd ever dare buy her some shoes... I'm totally clueless in that department... as so many others. I'm no Bruce.)
State Trooper, on the other hand, is a much darker proposition. From the epically lo-fi Nebraska album (famously recorded on a 4 track cassette deck in Bruce's back bedroom), it's a tale of late night desperation. A man on a long, lonely drive across the states begs a policeman not to pull him over. It's creepy, brooding and compellingly tragic.
New Jersey Turnpike, ridin' on a wet night 'Neath the refinery's glow, Out where the great black rivers flow
License, registration, I ain't got none, But I got a clear conscience
'Bout the things that I done
Mister state trooper please don't stop me...
