Poptopia!
Power Pop Classics of the ’70s, ’80s & ’90s (Rhino)
by Katy Shea & Monty Woods
An odyssey of pain and euphoria. A Homeric tale of horror and hope intertwined against the backdrop of the last three decades of popular music. Influential and critical, power pop has its place in our modern music history, and kudos to Rhino for recognizing that. However, the selections Rhino was able to assemble took us on a ride unlike anything we had conceived would be possible from such a seemingly benevolent label. Sit back, grab a beer. Welcome to the Terrordome.
The ’70s CD brought us into a state that necessitated a jaunt down to The Model Bar for a shot of courage. When that proved insufficient we ventured/staggered down to O’Malley’s where we listened to the legendary proprietor Red Bentley talk of his friendship with George Harrison, drew inspiration from the grandiose reflections of yesteryear, and drank Jim Beam until we were finally opiated enough to reflect upon what we had heard.
The Raspberries start off with “Go All the Way,” a lounge hair ballad as sickening as it is malignantly delightful. This weirdly casted medley – the Beatles, Bad Company, Shaun Cassidy, Queen, and the Beach Boys – comes off like howling rednecks seeping through the gauze strips holding the decade together. The overwhelming sentiment: The sound of a cinderblock falling into an empty dumpster and echoing throughout middle America. Continuing the theme, Todd Rundgren does “Couldn’t I Just Tell You,” a song with the kind of pop hooks that would resonate well in the car you were having sex in. Just think of it; your Led Zeppelin t-shirt hanging on the antenna, crushed Bud pony cans all over the dash, a feathered carnival roach clip hanging from the mirror. El Caminos and halter tops, despair and water tower climbs – we are getting the era, but are we to honestly believe that these are the songs that grew out of dedication to bands like the Beatles, the Who or even the Byrds? The yearning for a return to the simple melodies and sweet vocal harmonies of a bygone era does not appear to be the motivation for the songs here. Rhino is taking us on a ride and I’m becoming more and more distrustful of their power pop claims and promises.
Blue Ash‘s “Abracadabra (Have You Seen Her)” sounds like the Frankenstein of mismatched and inferior power pop organs. Like if the Beatles and the Stones just kinda sucked. Conveying the contained wildness of a pet goldfish, the bass drum fills make me think of driving on an empty polluted highway. The attempted melodic bridge makes me sick and worried; a stalker’s anthem. It sounds like 13 year olds with voices far too deep. I throw up in my sink and dive out the window. Such a frightening experience, I want to play it again.
People who like power pop probably like Cheap Trick a lot, but when asked, they say they like Big Star. Alex Chilton may well be the latent king of power pop, but even this golden boy can’t keep Big Star’s “September Gurls” from wilting over time as its sugar-filled leaves turn brown and begin to smell. Monty says this is the kind of music that trucks get rolled to, and its sweetness cuts his gums like a broken beer bottle. Although it has pickled some with time, this is the kind of song with the power and the saccharine twist that would have fueled my dreamy pop summer if I’d been 14 in 1974. This track brings out the key element of this whole compilation – the bands they selected, especially good bands like Big Star, are totally misrepresented here as Rhino picks songs that will those curious about power pop and/or desirous of insight into the bands and the songs that shaped this decade bewildered and upset.
Cheap Trick gets similar treatment as Rhino gives us “Come On, Come On,” a b-side anthem, maddening when you think of all the songs that could have represented Cheap Trick. This sounds like the soundtrack for those Junior Achievement ads in the ’70s – gray t-shirts with blue trimmed sleeves and red trimmed collars blotched with the sweat and debris of a misinformed generation content to be happy and glib amidst the backdrop of change and corruption. “Come On, Come On” is pretty much what you feel like screaming as the CD goes blathering on and on, squandering the talent of important bands and wasting time with imperfect examples of the genre they claim to be exploring.
With this in mind, the only option is to turn to the dark side and let the evil run through your veins. We chose to undertake the struggle and give you a sense of what listening to these CDs was really like. Foto-maker‘s “Where Have You Been All My Life” whines and whines but they weren’t around for Reagan! I felt the bile creeping into my esophagus and craved insulin until I was prostrate and defenseless to its force-fed molasses. This song should have been on the soundtrack to Ice Castles, or at least some movie starring Robby Benson. Monty Says: “I would love to shoplift to this tune.”
The shining moments of this compilation, The Knack‘s “Good Girls Don’t” (Monty: “ahh… everybody knows the teenage sadness”) and Nick Lowe‘s “Cruel to be Kind,” are diamonds in the rough, but the experience is akin to putting salt in your Cool Whip. Regardless of the presence of songs that resonate with the influences and timeless pop value that makes power pop interesting, the overwhelming stench makes it impossible to recommend this CD. After completing this review, one of us ended up face down on the linoleum floor gurgling unintelligibly in their own vomit, the other stared into the ceiling fan for long periods of time without blinking (the weird part being neither of us has a ceiling fan). Not for the weak… maybe not for anyone.
