The Dirt and the Resurgence of Mötley Crüe

It’s 2019, and lots of people are talking about Mötley Crüe. Who could have guessed an ‘80s heavy metal band that retired in 2015 would set the internet ablaze in 2019? It’s been a month since The Dirt premiered on Netflix and I’m still seeing posts from people who are watching for the second or third or fourth time. (The Crüe's resurgence is no fluke. The band was featured in a 2014 Fast Company article 5 Brilliant Business Lessons from Mötley Crüe- Seriously.)  

All kinds of people, not just Crueheads or heavy metal fans, like this film. The reviews usually read something like “Yeah, there were timeline problems and it was cheesy, but it was entertaining and I watched till the end.”

The raves, unsurprisingly, come mostly from long-time fans.

All types of people liked the movie, even folks you think would have no interest in even watching it.

People in industrial bands, intellectuals, people who lived in L.A. in the early ‘80s but didn’t like the metal scene, and many under 30s with a cursory knowledge of the band, liked the film. Most people took the Netflix movie at face value. This is a biopic about Mötley Crüe, based on the 2001 best-selling book “The Dirt”, not a somber candidate for the Criterion Collection.       

Snobs who believe that only certain types of music and entertainment are valid, or that anything from the past that wasn't politically correct should not be remembered or chronicled, hated the movie.

The Timeline, Actors, Fact-checking, etc.

A little fact-checking with the book version of “The Dirt” shows that the movie’s a bit more authentic than apparent at first sight. The fight during the band’s first show at the Starwood happened pretty much as portrayed in the film. Vince Neil did bang Tom Zutat’s girlfriend, but it was in a trailer at the US Festival, not in a dressing room at the Forum. 

McGhee never brought Nikki’s Mom into the picture. The band fired him after the Moscow Peace Festival in 1989, when Bon Jovi, another band McGhee managed, played a full set with pyro, while the Crue play a truncated opening set.

The fourth wall narration in the film explained that the Crue actually had two co-managers, that McGee didn’t really meet the band at their shitty apartment, and allowed the celluloid “grouchy” Mick provide some counterpoint to the rock ‘n’ roll excess.

And it was Thaler, not McGhee, who got the ill-fated Entertainment or Death tattoo.

Tommy, as played by Machine Gun Kelly, is a likeable, hyperactive kid in the movie. In the book, Tommy comes off much cruder, unless he’s in love, then he becomes a total teddy bear.

Nikki, as played by Douglas Booth, was pretty spot-on most of the time. He even nailed Nikki’s distinctive speaking voice, although it did waver from the original here and there.  

Vince (Daniel Webber), had the swagger of the pre-fame Vince down, and handled the tragic scenes, especially the emotional scenes with Skylar. The young actress who played Skylar was so heartbreaking in those scenes. “Daddy, don’t let them cut me again.”

Mick (Iwan Rheon) stole the film with his snarky, fourth wall comments. Mick Mars as Motley Crue’s voice of reason. Well, it’s a thankless job, but somebody had to do it.

The Dirt clocked in at an hour and forty eight minutes. You didn’t have to see the movie  to know it would be a quick cut, “best of” – all the  major scenes from the book, punctuated by the band’s music, with everything tied up in a neat package at the end.

Sure, the band’s history could have worked as a series, including more in-depth scenes from the Japanese train fiasco, Vince’s trial, Tommy and Pamela, but then the trolls would complain it was too long and boring! A series would have given the filmmakers more room to humanize the characters and show them as “grown-ups”.

The Groupies

The women who gave bands blow jobs under the tables at the Rainbow accounted for a small percentage of the young women in 1980s Los Angeles. They were mostly upper middle class girls from the Valley or Orange County trying to outslut each other to see who could do the most guys in bands. These young women wanted to be there. They weren't victims. 

The movie version of The Dirt opens with a raucous party at the band’s Hollywood apartment in the early ‘80s. Vince is banging some guy’s girlfriend in the bathroom (an event which occurs with alarming frequency, as we find out later).

However, the main event takes place in the living room, where Tommy pleasures a girl as a crowd parties around them. Then the money shot occurs as the girl squirts across the room.  The woman, known as Bullwinkle, opened the book, too. When you begin a movie with female ejaculation, where do you go from there? Hold my beer (or heroin or coke spoon), the Dirt replies.

There’s enough sex, drugs, and tragedy in this hour and 48 minute film to fit in a series

Nikki’s on H (with lots of close-ups of needles entering veins)

Nikki’s temporary death and revival with two adrenaline shots to the heart 

Everyone’s banging everyone else’s girlfriend

The obligatory hotel-bashing

Young Nikki slices his arm open and blames it on his Mom

Vince kills his friend Razzle in a drunk driving accident

Vince’s young daughter dies of cancer

Mick’s Ankylosing Spondylitis (arthritis of the spine) gets worse; he has hip replacement surgery

Heather kicks Tommy out because of his dalliance with a porn star

 And, of course, who could miss the Pearl Jam Ten album cover on the side of the rehearsal studio on a rainy day? That was a harbinger of doom for all ‘80s metal bands, not just Mötley Crüe.

Guest Appearances

Ozzy (Tony Cavalero) snorting ants had to be included in a film at some point. Even though you know what’s going to happen, the “ugh” factor is strong when viewing the reenactment. (The peeing part probably didn't happen, however.)

David Lee Roth (Christian Gehring) makes a blink and you’ll miss it appearance. Yes, DLR would be so out of it in the early ‘80s – a mirror would crack over his head without him noticing it.

Heather Locklear (Rebekah Graf) only makes a few appearances, and it’s uncanny how much Graf resembles '80s Heather. Tommy did mistake her for Heather Thomas, but they met at  an REO Speedwagon concert, not Vince’s party.

Tom Zutat (Pete Davidson),  the A & R rep who signed Mötley Crüe to Electra, is portrayed as somewhat of an earnest klutz. I’m not sure if that jives with his real-life persona. 

 Also, the biker chick who asks Mick if he’s in the band during the opening party sequence is played by Brittany Furlan, Tommy Lee’s new wife. (They got married on Valentine’s Day 2019.)  

Nostalgia and a Personal Take

When I first moved to L.A. in 1983, I didn’t know anyone. I hung out at the Troubadour – until I discovered the local punk rock scene and my whole life changed. Of course, I’m not sure that would have happened if Vince Neil hadn’t guest-starred with Top Jimmy at the Cathay de Grande one night.

I remember the accident that killed Razzle. I was living in L.A, at the time, looking forward to seeing Hanoi Rocks in L.A. at the Palace – or was it the Whisky? I had a copy of “One Step from the Move” move displayed by my stereo. The onscreen Vince’s dialogue about “it could have been any one of them” driving drunk and totaling the car rang true. L.A. rocker dudes in the ’80s were rarely sober. Any combination of hard rock/metal dude passenger/driver could be deadly at any given moment.

I was back home in Chicago for Nikki’s death and reanimation. By this time, my beloved rebels were now Enquirer fare, with everyone from my younger brothers to random teenage girls listening to Girls, Girls, Girls. By 1988, even Satan had gone mainstream. Teen girls on the bus had pentagrams drawn on their PF flyers along with the names of their favorite bands (Poison, Bon Jovi, Mötley Crüe).

When Dr. FeelGood, the band’s only number one album, was released, I was in New York, working for a music publisher. Then Mötley Crüe defected to the alternative/grunge sound with their self-titled album. Vince had quit/gotten fired, and John Corabi replaced him. It didn’t sound like classic Crue, sold over 500,000 copies, but was considered a flop. (Many fans now consider the album to be one of the group’s best.) I always liked it.

Throughout the ‘90s the band became mainstream celebrities, and appeared on many talk shows. I saw them many times on Regis and Kathy Lee. Now, it didn’t hurt that Tommy was married to Baywatch babe Pamela Anderson and Nikki to Donna D'errico. That aspect took main stage in the press, with the music secondary. 

I found out I liked a lot more songs than I thought, even lesser-known ones. We’re not talking the greatest rock songs ever, but fun party anthems. “Bad Boy Boogie”, “Same Old Situation”, everything from the first two albums, even “Saints of Los Angeles”.

The Critics

Metacritic.com gave The Dirt a 39 per cent score, based on 64 reviews. “Rock bad boy lore as endless bore”, writes Rolling Stone. “An ill-advised remake of Spinal Tap”, says the New York Times, “painfully dated and pointless”, says another review from The Playlist. “A terrible movie about terrible people,” says Stereogum.( 95% of  6124 audience reviewers liked it.)

Critics never liked the Crüe’s music or persona so it makes sense that they wouldn’t like a movie based on their exploits. The first batch of reviews was especially brutal out of the gate, and seemed to criticize the subject matter as much as the actual filmmaking. How dare you even make a movie about an out-of-control 1980s rock band in politically correct 2019?

Somehow, the neatly-tied up ending the meeting at the bar (the real meeting took place in an office with lawyers present) fit in with the fast-paced movie. A more complicated ending (and character arcs) would have only made sense in a fleshed-out series.

The Calm After the Storm 

I searched in vain for a download of one of the Sixx Sense shows on my hard drive. I’d saved the show because Nikki had said something really profound. And now I can’t remember it, or find the file. He talked about looking up at the night sky with one of his kids, that’s the only part of the show I remember.

Years ago, I read an interview with a rock star (Don Henley, I think, but it was so long ago I could be wrong) who talked about how hitting rock-bottom changes people, allowing them to survive and prosper.

People who succumb to drugs and/or depravity and then come out the other side, often have an understanding of life’s true meaning  that others lack, the interviewee (whoever it was) said.  Maybe that’s why I find a lot of Nikki’s comments today to be so profound.

Remembering Peter Tork 1942-2019

Peter Tork died on February 21 of complications from  adenoid cystic carcinoma, a rare form of cancer. He was 77, and the second Monkee to pass away. (Davy Jones died in February 2012,). He had battled cancer on and off for ten years. Peter died at his family home in Connecticut.

When Davy died,  it was a total shock. I sought solace with other fans through social media. I started a Monkees blog with two Millennial girls and learned more about my childhood idols than I’d ever imagined.

Now, with two Monkees gone, there's more of a numb resignation to the passage of time, and a tendency to celebrate the past and have more of a rock version of a "jazz funeral" along with traditional  mourning. We were so lucky to have Peter, and the rest of the Monkees, as part of our lives for so long.

Peter was known to the general public as the Monkees' lovable, dim-witted bass player, but  loyal fans knew him as an accomplished musician, free spirit, intellectual, and a constant, low-key presence in the Monkees-sphere.

When we were kids, everyone had their favorite Monkee (Micky was mine), but we loved ‘em all.  After watching two seasons of episodes, we appreciated them all and knew everything about all four Monkees from the fan mags.

Peter was third in line as a teeny-bopper idol after Davy and Micky. That’s hard to believe when you see his beautiful dimple and big doe eyes – shows you the wealth of looks and talent in that group.

There was so much more to Peter than being the Monkees’ third (or fourth) wheel, depending on your tastes.) There were several stages of Peter’s career, in and out of the Monkees.

Pre-Monkees

Peter made a short film in college (circa 1962) called “The Love Potion”. 

Music was his first creative love, though.  He moved on to Greenwich Village and tried his hand as a folk singer. He first met Stephen Stills in the Village. Later, they both auditioned for the Monkees. Stills was passed over due to his bad teeth, and suggested Tork audition for the role.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Peter was cute as a button and sharp-witted, as evidenced in this clip of his audition.

Pete’s auditions starts at 8:58

During the first season, Peter’s character (‘the lovable dummy”) was always getting in trouble. He was kidnapped by gypsies in search of the Maltese Vulture in  “Son of a Gypsy.” As a six year old, I was very worried about Peter in those early episodes, “Mommy, is Peter gonna be all right?” I would ask my Mom. I would always root for him when he couldn’t fly in the sky like the other Monkeemen “C’mon, Peter, you can do it,” I’d say.

In “Monkees Vs. Machine” Peter becomes flustered when a computer (DJ-61) interviews him for a job at a toy company. (Mike steps in to save the day and causes the computer to overheat.)  Peter’s character steals a portrait of Valerie the debutante in “One Man Shy” and the guys teach him the proper way to woo a lady.

 And look at his adorableness in this clip featuring "For Pete's Sake".

He was always wore his belt buckle to the side and often sported mismatched socks.  His most well-known musical contribution on the TV show was the wacky “Auntie Grizelda”. In the real world, Peter played the banjo, guitar, harpsichord, piano and organ as well as the bass.  

I liked the second season of the shoe better than the first..The clean-cut boys of the first season had turned into hippies! Davy and Peter dressed in Nehru jackets and love beads and Micky had an Afro. Mike wouldn’t have any of that nonsense. He still wore his wool hat occasionally, but favored brighter shirts.

We loved the way hippie Peter dressed, in his two toned leggings, flowered tunic, suede boots, and love beads. And, oh that beautiful, sandy blonde hair! He didn’t just dress like a hippie, though, he was one. At the end of one episode, he explained the difference between hippies and free people in San Francisco.

Peter’s comments about free people start at the 17:46 mark

During the second season, Peter (unknowingly) sold his soul to the devil for a harp in “The Devil and Peter Tork”. Considered the best episode of the series by most people, it ends with a moving speech by Mike about the power of love.

Peter  has his paintings snatched by gangster security guards, trades his guitar to a con artist for a treasure map, and becomes involved with a professor’s kidnapping. Davy only had to  fall in love, Micky had to be kooky, Mike had to be sensible and stoic, but Peter had to act dumb and/or disappear.. Sure, most of the episodes had repetitive, one-note plots, but they worked because of the boys’ charisma and chemistry.  

We remembered every bit of Peter’s obscure dialogue, just like we did with the others When my boyfriend an I saw a sign directing us to go down the alley to a punk rock club, we looked at each other and said, “Down the alley?”, imitating Peter in “Monkees Blow Their Minds.” as he walked to the storefront of Oraculo, the charlatan mentalist. 

That episode, the second to last one broadcast, had Peter walking around as Oraculo’s catatonic assistant. Even in the last episode “Mijacogeo (The Frodis Caper),”, he spent much of the story catatonic again, this time from watching the Frodis eye on the TV.

Post TV Show, Pre-Reunion

When I was in college, a friend of mine had a framed photo of Peter on her dresser. I didn’t recognize him at first. He had long, unkempt hair and had a “Jesus” look. When she told me who it was I felt a tinge of sadness. Could this be our sweet, goofy Peter?

Peter was the first one to leave the Monkees. After the TV show ended, he

had a band called Release with his second wife, Reine Stewart, on drums. He played CBGBs and other rock clubs as a solo artist. None of his post-Monkees musical projects met with much success.   

The early ‘70s were a hard time to be an ex-Monkee. Micky was a hard-drinking Hollywood Vampire, along with his buddy Harry Nilsson.  He appeared in a few B movies, including the infamous “Night of the Strangler. Davy appeared on “The Brady Bunch” and released a bunch of nondescript singles.

Mike didn’t need to deal with it, though. He forged ahead as a country rock trailblazer before inspiring MTV with such projects as “Elephant Parts” and “Pop Clips”.   

This 1979 video shows Peter holding his own against a smarmy interviewer. (Only a guy this smart could play a convincing dummy.)

 Peter joined Dolenz, Jones, Boyce and Hart onstage at Disneyland in 1976, released singles that went nowhere, and played shows at CBGB’s and other clubs. (Chrissie Hynde, Joan Jett, and Tommy Ramone were allegedly present for some of the recording sessions, according to Wikipedia.)

Peter worked as a teacher, baseball coach, and even a waiter before the Monkees reformed in the ‘mid-80s, He was his bouncy, joke-cracking self on the “Win a Date with Peter Tork” skit on David Letterman’s Show in 1982.

The '80s and '90s

Peter and Davy toured Australia just before the official mid-1980s reunion, when MTV reruns reignited the Monkees’ fame. The Monkees made the covers of teen magazines -four 40-something guys competing with the likes of Duran Duran, Kirk Cameron and Corey Haim for a Tiger Beat cover. But this time it wasn’t so much about being heartthrobs as it was about being everyone’s kooky adopted uncles.

Mike rejoined joined briefly in the mid-90s, with the release of “Justus”, the 1997 TV special. He joined Peter, Micky and Davy for a handful of shows. The ‘90s version of the Monkees gets short shrift in the history of the band, but the album Justus had a few bright moments, including Peter’s song “Run Away From Life.”

His longest ongoing band, beside the Monkees was Shoe Suede Blues. Ever the rapscallion, he had a lot of fun with post-Monkees songs, like “Milkshake” (from  his 1994 solo album Stranger Things Have Happened and “Dress Sexy for Me” from 2002’s Saved by the Blues with Shoe Suede Blues.  

In 1996, Peter released the album “Two-Man Band” with James Lee Stanley, a collection of blues and acoustic numbers that Allmusic.com selected as an Album Pick. 

2012-2018

Peter was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer of the salivary glands in 2009 After successful surgery, he continued touring with Mike, Davy and Micky.

Davy’s passing took everyone by surprised. The 2012 tour was a heartfelt tribute to Davy and Mike’s return to the stage with as a Monkee.  Micky was the consummate show biz professional, Mike had a dry sense of humor, and Pete was the quirky, sensitive one.  

In 2013, Peter went on a solo tour where he reminisced about the Monkees and his career and played an acoustic set (with lots of his trademark banjo.)  He performed lesser-known and unreleased songs, such as Come on In.

During an interview to promote the album Good Times! and 2016's 50^th anniversary tour, Peter teared up when mentioning Davy. They’ve removed the video from the CBS YouTube channel, but here's an article based on the interview. 

Davy and Peter two were the sensitive, sweet ones, even in real life. Peter’s difficulties seemed to be encapsulated in one span of time in the ‘70s, Davy’s hard times were scattered on throughout the decades. (Read his book “They Made a Monkee Out of Me” for more details.) 

 In an interview with the St. Petersburg Times in 2000, Peter remarked that “Micky's the best pal, but my heart connection is biggest with Davy. Davy is capable of as much heart as anyone I've ever met. I kind of had a crush on Davy for a while.”



After the 2016 tour, Peter played occasional shows with Shoe Suede Blues and made personal appearances at fan conventions with Micky.  He released his last album with Shoe Suede Blues, “Relax Your Mind”, a tribute to Leadbellly, in 2018. It included a musical appearance by his brother, Nick Thorkelson  (Nick is a cartoonist and illustrator by trade.)

Peter  always had a few creative surprises up his sleeve, even in his golden years.In 2015, he composed "Moderato ma non troppoa" a classical piece for piano and orchestra, which was performed by the Orchestra Kentucky of Bowling Green, Kentucky. In a total non-sequitur move, he acted in a 2017 indie horror movie called“I Filmed your Death”.

He stopped by The Institute for The Musical Arts in Goshen, Massachusetts in 2010, and played a set to raise funds for the non-profit. IMA is dedicated to helping girls and women succeed in the music business. The IMA was established by June Millington of the rock group Fanny and Ann F. Hackler. 

Peter sang lead vocals for “Angels We Have Heard on High” for the Monkees “Christmas Party” album, which was released in October 2018. You could hear in his voice that something was seriously wrong. The song is Peter’s last released recording.

People can contribute to The Institute for The Musical Arts’ scholarship fund in Peter’s name, per his family's wishes. Read more about IMA here.

http://www.petertork.com/

Book Review: Beat Me Til I'm Famous by Billy McCarthy

If you’ve read Motley Crue’s The Dirt or seen the Penelope Spheeris documentary The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years, you probably have a good idea what it was like to be in a hair metal band in L.A. in the late ‘80s.

But you didn’t learn about the day to day drudgery, desperation, and infighting that the struggle for a record contract entailed.

Billy McCarthy’s Beat Me Til I’m Famous follows the career of a third-tier (or fourth-tier, depending on your criteria) hair metal band called D’Molls. McCarthy was the band’s drummer, and he went by the name Billy Dior. The book offers a blow-by-blow description of what it was like to be in a hometown band (or bands), and finagle your way out of the Midwest to make in big in mid/late 1980s L.A.

McCarthy joined the D’Molls in the mid-'80s in Chicago, and they soon moved to L.A. to vie for a recording contract with hundreds of other bands. By the time they signed to Atlantic Records, the public’s appetite for guys with big hair and makeup who sang about sluts was fading. And, of course, there were the usual management and record company screw-ups that added to the band's bad fortune.

The side characters in Beat Me Til I’m Famous are often as interesting as the main players. There’s Rodney’ Dangerfield’s songwriter son, Brian, various shady record company people, managers, groupies, professional rock star girlfriends, sneaky, cutthroat band members, drug dealers, and pushy hangers-on. In fame-hungry Hollywood, there was always someone willing to give a band money and a place to crash, and hope to get a piece of the action if the band made it.

Beat Me Til I’m Famous captures the sleazy minutiae of the hair metal era with an intelligence and self-awareness you wouldn’t expect to find from someone in that scene. 

In 2011, McCarthy sued Poison over authorship of "Talk Dirty to Me" and some other songs. The D’Molls Wiki entry says the lawsuit was settled with McCarthy receiving an “undeclared sum”, but this is the only mention I’ve found online about any settlement. (McCarthy played in a band called Screamin’ Mimis with C.C. Deville  in 1984.)

Buy Beat Me Til I'm Famous on Amazon.com

Book Review: Surviving Agent Orange: And Other Things I Learned From Being Thrown Under the Partridge Family Bus By Gretchen Bonaduce

Surviving Agent Orange: And Other Things I Learned From Being Thrown Under the Partridge Family Bus

by Gretchen Bonaduce

Rare Bird Books,  264 pages

Most people recognize Gretchen Bonaduce from the reality series “Breaking Bonaduce” with her ex-husband, ex-child star, and current DJ Danny Bonaduce. Her new book, Surviving Agent Orange: And Other Things I Learned From Being Thrown Under the Partridge Family Bus summarizes the good, the bad and the ugly from her 16 year long marriage to the erratic redhead.

Gretchen met Danny when she was a promotions assistant for one of the guests on his radio show in Phoenix. A day (or so) later, they were married in a civil ceremony. They toasted their new life together with champagne from a local 7-11.

 Shortly after the wedding, Danny managed to encounter and assault a tranny prostitute.  Well, Gretchen stayed with Danny even after this snafu. It didn’t take long, however, before Danny’s crack addiction became evident (Pieces of aluminum foil started appearing around the house, for example). And we all know the trail of shenanigans that followed until the couple divorced in 2007.

Why did Gretchen stick with Danny so long? (Remember, he was always an on-again, off-again pain in the ass with everyone.) Gretchen admits that she always seemed to attract men who were fixer-uppers, and Danny was the most challenging fixer-upper of all. 

 A few people I know refused to read this book because it has a suspicious subtitle  “And Other Things I Learned From Being Thrown Under the Partridge Family Bus”,  but would anyone read the book if  it had a boring title like” My Life with Danny Partridge?”

 The author’s self-deprecating humor and earthy take on life can be refreshing. She writes about a TV director critiqued her acting ability by saying “That was the most unnatural walking through the door I’ve ever seen.”

 There are bits in the book about Gretchen’s pre and post Danny life, and some of them are pretty funny, too. She had a stint as a bar band singer and worked a day job at a Pizza Hut between gigs. There’s also a heartbreaking bit about an ex-roommate whose life spiraled out of control, and a section about Gretchen’s early life as an Army Brat.     

It’s been almost a decade since the chaos of Breaking Bonaduce and the divorce, and both Danny and Gretchen are doing pretty well.  Danny has remarried and has a radio show in Seattle. Gretchen is the singer for a 1980s cover band, Fatal 80s, and has worked on several reality TV shows and pilots.

Bonaduce’s writing style is stream of consciousness, like conversing with a friend who has lots of funny stories and can’t wait to tell you all of them. The book doesn’t have a straightforward chronological framework and skips around occasionally. Some readers may find this casual style disconcerting.   

Another reality show star, former “Top Model” Adrianne Curry wrote the introduction.  She refers to Gretchen as the “Mother Teresa of Hollywood” and credits her with helping her through her divorce from her first husband, Brady Bunch actor Christopher Knight. (Curry left showbiz and now lives in Montana with her second husband, voiceover artist Matthew Rhode.)

Despite the sub-title, Surviving Agent Orange is no hatchet job. It’s pretty even-keeled, and alternates between complimenting Danny’s good points and exposing his devious side. Danny often credited Gretchen with putting him on the road to redemption, both on-air and in his 2001 autobiography,  Random Acts of Badness.

For its honesty and humor,  Surviving Agent Orange: is a fun read for anyone who is curious about Danny Bonaduce, the Partridge Family, wacky B-list celebrities, or any dispatches from the outer edge of pop culture .

Buy the book here.

Why Do So Many People Hate the Eagles?

Some of the most hated rock groups of all time are also the most loved. People can’t hate you unless they know you, and they’re not gonna know you unless you’re successful. Look at that modern-day phenomenon, Nickelback. Many people who have never heard Nickelback’s music know that they are the most hated band of the 21^st Century.

Even after Glenn Frey passed away, many writers couldn’t help but lambaste the Eagles as the most hated successful band of the 20^th Century.

Yacht Rock is hip now,so how can Eagles music be “horrific”, as a NY Daily News article described it after Frey’s death? “Hotel California” is more horrific as compared to what, “Feelings” or “Afternoon Delight”, two other songs that shared the chart with Eagles hits in the mid-70s ?

People hate the Eagles because:

• Songs are overplayed
• An unlikable duo helmed the band (Henley and Frey)
• Songs are too wimpy
• It’s hip to hate them, gives you street cred
• Lebowski hated them 

The popularity of the “The Big Lebowski” was the deal-breaker that turned the public reaction to the band from, “They’re OK,” or “Meh” to “I hate the Eagles, man.”

But a lot of music fans aren’t quite as cynical. Marc Eliot’s beautifully written article about Glenn Frey’s passing reminds us that youth has long gone for fans who liked the band and their music in the ‘70s. ( Read Eliot's book "To The Limit: The Untold Story of the Eagles" for an in-depth look at the band.)

YouTube commenters tend to come up with the most poignant assessments, though, as Baby Boomers move closer to that Great Gig in the Sky.

“Makes a grown man cry... Everyone is so happy. Everyone in the building is young, in their prime, and full of life. I wish every day could be half as perfect as these moments.”

Imagine the World Before Sirius, the Internet, MTV or Walkmans!

I can’t listen to the ballads, because like everyone else, I heard them too many times in the ‘70s. Even though I haven’t heard some of the songs for decades, I still get out of earshot when I hear one start to play. Everybody bought Eagles records in the ‘70s, which meant your irritating, non-musical classmates and co-workers, including the squarest of the square, counted the Greatest Hits 71-75 among their albums.

I bought the single “The Best of My Love” in high school, but I listened to the flipside, “Ole 55” instead.

Despite being crazy about bands as a teen, my friends and I never got into the Eagles that way. We didn’t care about their personalities, looks, etc., just the music. I studied the Hotel California gatefold sleeve with my friend Mary, (before we made fun of my John Travolta album and after I proudly introduced her to the Runaways’ first album).  We did like Joe Walsh, however. He was the only animated person in the band, and we appreciated his sense of humor and hotel-trashing skills.

I was particularly intrigued by the lyrics to “Life in the Fast Lane” and wrote a novel based on it in my senior year of high school. Thankfully, the only manuscript I had is long gone now, but it would have fit right in with the exploitation flick craze of the 70s/early 80s.

You think “Take It Easy” is overplayed on classic rock radio now? Ha! Were you even alive in 1972? I was. The summer between sixth and seventh grade holds many fond memories for me.  I identify it with that transitional period in my life, so I like the song, no matter how many times I hear it. (The song reached #12 on the Billboard  Top 100 in July 22, 1972.) The Eagles songs were popular when I was in junior high and high school, and their music just happened to be everywhere.

However, Eagles songs don’t rate that high on the list of the offensively overplayed. “Take It Easy” is number 19 on this list. The worst offenders, to my ears, are “Black Water,” “Old Time Rock n Roll”, “Stairway to Heaven”, and “Don’t Stop Believing”. Enough already!

  On my Bucket List: A trip to Standin’ on the Corner Park

In the ‘90s, I watched the Hell Freezes Over tour on MTV. I was more interested in hearing the Henley solo songs, but I did watch the whole concert. I didn’t know, however, that the band included original material on the Hell Freezes Over album. I also had no idea the Eagles released an album in 2007 – sold exclusively at Walmart!  

Eagles Songs I Listen to On Purpose

Rock and Rock-ish

Witchy Woman

Outlaw Man

Already Gone

James Dean

Victim of Love

King of Hollywood

Too Many Hands

Those Shoes

Ballads

The Last Resort

King of Hollywood

Try and Love Again

Country-esque

Doolin Dalton

Seven Bridges Road

 If You Never Heard It before, You’d Like It

Hotel California

Life in the Fast lane

Take It Easy

I Can’t Tell You Why

Take It to the Limit

Tequila Sunrise

Desperado

With all the emphasis radio and mainstream media place on just a handful of songs, it’s probably been years since you’ve heard “Outlaw Man” or “James Dean” and maybe decades since you’ve heard “Too Many Hands”.  

“Witchy Woman” hit #9 on the charts in November 1972, and it was played almost as much as “Take It Easy”. It had that sinister vibe which was intriguing to a junior high girl. It’s the closest the band had to a sexy song. Ugh! I said Eagles and sexy in the same sentence.

Waiting for Randy Meisner to hit that high note on “Take It to The Limit” or Timothy B. Schmidt on “I Can’t Tell You Why” is a lot more pleasant than listening to “Best of My Love”  yet again. 

Also, “Desperado”, later covered by Linda Ronstadt, is dismissed as country rock tripe by idiots who don’t listen to the lyrics.

$$$$$$$$

I read Don Felder’s book, and he comes off as a really thoughtful guy. Of course, he seemed too nice and a bit of a push-over in some situations (well, that is until he sued them), but when you’re up against Azoff/Henley/Frey, you don’t have much bargaining power. One non-lawsuit subplot in the book involves a male stalker and is a reminder that weird, overzealous fans can make life hell for even less-conspicuous celebrities. 

The facts, as laid out in Felder’s book, state that the band had an agreement in the early days wherein monies would be split between the members equally.  Of course, then things changed, as Henley remarked in the History of the Eagles. The fact that there was a pesky legal document in the way was a minor inconvenience, and Azoff took care of it, with only Felder putting up a fight. 

This brings to mind the same situation that occurred when Van Halen cut Michael Anthony out of their original agreement. Once the band reached a certain point, the main songwriters figured they should get a bigger slice of the pie, regardless of any agreements made at the beginning of the band’s career.

The Eagles’ business choices may not endear them to many people, though. Here’s an entertaining bit from Letterman, where Dave wants to play an Eagles song but the show can’t afford it.

As I look back, I’ve always been more interested in “New York Minute” and other Henley solo songs than Eagles songs because of the lyrics. Yes, the lyrics are more mainstream than New York intellectual, but more haunting because of their simplicity. “Sunset Grill”, “Boys of Summer”, “I Will Not Go Quietly” are undisputedly well-crafted and poignant. I wore out my cassette of The End of the Innocence in ’89 and ’90.

I managed to make it all the way through a Youtube video of Billy Joel interviewing Henley at the 92^nd Street Y. A few minutes in, I thought, “Ya know, Henley has so much Virgo in his chart, it’ll make your head swim." I checked his horoscope and yes, his Ascendant and Moon are in Virgo and he has three planets in moody Cancer.  Frey had his Sun in Scorpio (like you couldn’t tell from his facial features) and Moon in Capricorn. That’s a match made in hell if you’re on the wrong side of the twosome. And I don’t even want to know Azoff’s chart.

Henley made a comment about seeing a Lawrence Welk concert as a kid. He said he saw Welk backstage with two groupies – nuns. His delivery and expression were so deadpan it took me awhile before I realized it was a joke. It’s hard to tell with those Virgos. Roger Waters is another classic rock Virgo (Sun sign and Venus) who is not known for his rollicking sense of humor.

The Eagles in 2018 consist of Henley, Walsh, Timothy B. Schmidt, Travis Tritt and Frey’s son, Deacon. 

The band (such as they are) will be playing three nights at the Forum in September. Ticket prices range from $59 for nosebleed seats to $700 for main floor, according to a recent look at Ticketmaster and StubHub.

Verdict: No, the Eagles aren’t horrific. Bland maybe, when compared with some of their overplayed contemporaries. (Which group has more interesting songs/personalities, Fleetwood Mac or the Eagles?) Try listening to one of their lesser known songs if you can’t stand the overplayed ones. Don’t be afraid. You won’t lose your coolness factor by listening to a few Eagles songs.

The LOOP, Disco Demolition, and the Wild Days of Chicago Rock Radio

Jonathon Brandmeier, Kevin Matthews, Steve Dahl & Garry Meier, mid-1980s  

I finally watched the Twisted Sister documentary on Netflix a few weeks ago. I’d been avoiding it for awhile, but figured, “Well, I’ve watched every other rock doc, I’ll give this one a try.” The doc was almost three hours long, and it covered the band’s slow climb to MTV fame.

Twisted Sister’s tale of slogging it out on the Long Island club scene in the ‘70s was more interesting than you’d expect. The tackiest part of a pretty tacky story involved scenes about the band’s onstage anti-disco tirades.

I was shocked at how vicious the Long Island anti-disco movement was, or that they even had such a movement in the first place. After all, I grew up in Chicago, where the most infamous anti-disco event of all took place, and I was there.

Disco Demolition

The stoner, Dazed and Confused ethos of my college days was accompanied by non-stop music, visits to Rose Records and Wax Trax, and wacky DJs. The soundtrack to my first year in college was provided by WLUP, and to a lesser extent by the other rock stations in town, WXRT, WLS and WMET.

Known more commonly as the Loop, WLUP was the home of Steve Dahl and Garry Meier. Steve and Garry were the dynamic, shock-rock duo that gained infamy – and a rowdy audience of teens and 20somethings - in Chicago and environs in 1979 and throughout the 1980s. 

Their biggest bit was an anti-disco spiel, which involved blowing up disco records via sound effects on their radio show. They brought their anti-disco message to listeners in person at public appearances, and more fans showed up than the venues and the station expected. The biggest anti-disco rally of them took place at the old White Sox Park (Comiskey Park) in 1979. 

 I thought that blowing up disco records was a comedy bit. I didn’t think it was a pop culture revolution. (Apparently, other people did.) My friends and I loved Steve and Garry and the Loop, so we penciled in the night of July 12, 1979 for a visit to Disco Demolition Night at Sox Park.

I owned lots of disco records, and I had a hard time deciding which record should be blown up. I wasn’t going to part with my “Saturday Night Fever” soundtrack, Donna Summer’s “Love to Love You, Baby”, and certainly not the Blondie ten-inch disco version of “Heart of Glass”. I finally decided on the single of Peter Brown’s, “Do You Wanna Get Funky With Me?”

 

We traveled from my friend’s parent’s house near Midway Airport to Sox Park. As it turned out, we were part of a contingent of what seemed like thousands of kids swarming the city buses headed to White Sox Park. They all wore the same uniform- a black Loop T- shirt, jeans and sneakers. (A jeans jacket was optional if it got chilly.)

I wore the same uniform as the other kids, but I carried an additional item with me- a copy of Newsweek, in case I got bored during the first game of the Twi-Night double-header.

A sea of kids descended from city buses and stormed Sox Park in droves. It was like the Day, or rather, the Twi-Night, of the Locust, right there at 35^th and Shields. When we got out of our bus, we saw kids scaling the side of the stadium like some kind of artificial mountain.

I don’t even remember if the ticket takers were bothering to collect the 98 cents (WLUP’s frequency was 97.9) entrance fee by the time we got there. I remember throwing my record into a bin. I felt sad about that, and looking in, I could see a copy of Saturday Night Fever.  It looked brand-new, like someone had specifically bought it to be “blowed up.” That, of course, would have actually helped disco’s bottom line.

The stands were full of kids drinking beer, smoking pot and flinging disco records like Frisbees. We sat down in the grandstand, passed around a joint and a bottle of Peppermint Schnapps, and watched the craziness around us.  

My friend Kathy and I escaped the vinyl Frisbees for awhile by hanging out on the ramps between levels. When she told me Minnie Ripperton had died (that’s Maya Rudolph’s Mom, for you youngsters out there), I almost fell off the ramp railing I was so shocked. (She died on the same day, July 12).

When we returned, a young married couple sitting in front of us, who had obviously come to see the game with their kids, couldn’t take it anymore and left. They shielded their bewildered children from the flying records as they walked to the exit.  I wonder if they asked for a refund.  I’d be mad if I were in their position.

Finally the first game ended, and Steve, Garry and Lorelei, the station's sexy spokeswoman, took the field.  It was great to finally see the guys we had listened to on the radio for the last few months get their due. The between game record blow-up was louder and more intense than I expected. I  didn't expect them to literally blow up the records, but they did, right there in center field.

I sat next to an Indian engineering student from my friend’s dorm. We spent most of the first game talking about a Newsweek article I was reading about how the world was going to hell in a handbasket. The moment the interlopers stormed the field, right on cue, the kid said “Now, see, this is what I was just talking about.” 

People said it was a riot, but it looked like a bunch of kids standing on a baseball field not quite knowing what to do. Some kids turned over the batting cage and started a small bonfire. That was the riot part, I guess. Future celebrities Bob Odenkirk (Better Call Saul) and Michael Clarke Duncan (Green Mile) were in attendance, though not necessarily on the field. White Sox broadcaster Harry Caray couldn’t get the kids to disperse, and then the cops cleared the field.

Most of the barbs on the radio and from the kids I knew were directed at John Travolta and the BeeGees, white upper middle class guys at North Side discos, rich celebrities at Studio 54, disco records by Cher, Rod Stewart, Charo and Ethel Merman, and the radio programmers and management types who catered to the trend. Anybody who made disco records was a target. If the Village People or Donna Summer made hard rock records instead of disco records, I doubt the kids or DJs would have complained.

Kids hated the music for two intertwined reasons – it wasn’t rock ‘n’ roll, and it was taking over the culture. Funny thing is, what we would call disco music was around in the mid-70s. "Disco Duck", "The Hustle", hits by the Hues Corporation, George McRae, Barry White, Shirley and Company, Thelma Houston and Donna Summer’s "Love to Love You Baby" constantly saturated the airwaves then, and no one complained about the music. (Well, except for “Disco Duck.”) The anti-disco movement didn’t start until Saturday Night Fever become a hit.

And, of course, the anti-disco movement didn't kill dance music. It just helped repurpose it in a better way as house, techno, trance, etc. by putting an end to the mainstream "blanding and corporatization" of disco.

I woke up on the floor of my friend’s dorm room the next morning, hungover, and heard Steve and Garry on the radio. “You were bad little Cohos,”, Steve  gleefully admonished. (The anti-disco army was called the "Insane Coho Lips".)  We listened to as much of the show as we could, guzzled coffee, and headed for class.  When we got home, we had to explain to our parents, grandparents and siblings that we did not go on the field and were not wooed into a vortex of juvenile delinquency, never to return.

The Rest of the Loop

There was much more to WLUP than Disco Demolition. To me, that was probably the least interesting aspect of the station’s heyday.

It was 24/7 wall to wall hilarity, with Steve and Garry, Les Tracy, Mitch Michaels, Sky Daniels, and Patti Haze. And, of course, Joe Walsh subbing for Steve and Garry when they were on vacation.

I teared up hearing this sound bite for the first time in close to 40 years. “Get jaked and blow lunch tonight.” Good times.

The station even had a Loopfest (not to be confused with Chicagofest) in the early 1980s.  One year they had the biker band The Boyzz from Illinois introduced by Ma Nugent (Ted’s Mom), but the event also featured local bands Pezband, the Hounds and Tantrum.   

And I somehow missed this comic book, released in 1980, which featured the Loop DJs in nonsensical adventures.

Steve & Garry’s newscaster Buzz Kilman did the Blues News - Buzz played harmonica as Steve read "down on their luck" news stories. (Buzz would later become Johnny B’s newsman). Steve's musical parodies included “Heal Me”, a parody of Blondie’s “Call Me”, which addressed the underhanded shenanigans of preacher Ernest Angley and his “faith healings” and “Another Kid in the Crawl”, about serial killer John Wayne Gacy, set to the music of “Another Brick in Wall.” (For obvious reasons, this parody was quickly shelved.)

Stan Lawrence did the All My Children report; there were traffic reports from “Tyrone”, complete with helicopter sound effects. Steve and Garry lambasted old-school Chicago radio heroes like Wally Philips and Cliff Mercer, the WGN announcer. Most of the bits were silly and harmless. However, Steve and Garry’s calls to Iran would result in an international incident or possibly World War III today. Eventually, Steve and Garry were fired for “violating community standards.” They then went to WLS and continued their affront to decency.

The great thing about the Loop in those days is that they played all types of bands - AC/DC, Van Halen, Graham Parker, Ian Hunter,  Pat Benatar, Tom Petty, The Police, Cheap Trick, Journey, The Stones, and local bands like Off-Broadway and Pezband. I even remember hearing an interview with Annie Lennox when she was in band called the Tourists.

 It was a mix of rock music, regardless of genre. The other rock stations in town did the same. We’d listen to WLS, WMET, and WXRT, too. (If you wanted the greatest mix of genres, that was up the dial at WXRT. They played Kate Bush, the Raincoats, obscure prog rock and even some jazz.)

I taped an interview one of WXRT’s jocks did with REO Speedwagon in 1978, so there was a lot of musical crossover between genres and stations. It was hard to keep track of what you heard and where sometimes. This was a time where you didn’t have to choose your party and stick with it, forsaking all others.

The Loop, Part 2 – Late 1980s/1990s

In 1983, I left for Los Angeles. Friends would occasionally send me cassettes of shows, but the Loop was always there when I came back home. By the time I returned in 1987, things got wackier, and less subversive.

The hyperactive Jonathon Brandmeier was the new wacky radio guy now. Brandmeier’s humor was more frat boy than current events. I remember him commenting on a news story about a new exhibit at the Art Institute saying he didn’t understand that “art crap.”

A recurring bit on Johnny B’s show involved sidekick/show producer Jimmy "Bud" Weiser trying to locate visiting celebrities checked into hotels under aliases. Johnny’s band, Johnny and Leisure Suits, had local hits with “We’re All Crazy in Chicago” and “The Moo-Moo Song” inspired by a guy who romanced a cow at the Lincoln Park Zoo.

Kevin Matthews (who I thought was the most talented of them all), did a whole slew of character voices and celebrity imitations. Pee Wee Herman did the traffic, and there were rock lyrics with Ronnie Reagan.

Matthews voiced the sportscaster character/sidekick Jim Shorts, a foul-mouthed know-it-all with no self-editing abilities. This surly character wouldn’t work in any other city but Chicago (and parts of Wisconsin, Michigan, and Indiana).

(Most people would wrinkle their noses at this and dismiss it as infantile. I’m looking for more episodes.)

The last go round for the crazy, personality-oriented LOOP was in the mid-1990s .Danny Bonaduce, Brandmeier, Kevin Matthews and Liz Wilde were the weekday DJs, and porno star Seka had a show on the weekends.

The gags weren’t mean-spirited like Howard Stern's, but they were silly and annoying. When Kevin Matthews or Brandmeier made prank phone calls, you could almost hear the person on the other end going, “What the hell was that?” after hanging up the phone.

I made a pit stop back to Chicago just in time for the 1994 charity boxing match between Donny Osmond and Danny Bonaduce. (Danny won.) Also, I got to hear the DJs do a play by play of the OJ slow-speed Bronco chase. Between that and the Howard Stern regular Captain Janks’ prank call to Peter Jennings, the commentary was like the pre-internet version of memes and social media, and could turn anything, even a tragedy, into a circus.   

In 1992, Eddie Schwartz joined the WLUP staff. (You’re setting yourself up for problems when you’re on the same station as a guy who makes fun of you.)

When I was about 12, I first listened to Eddie Schwartz when he did overnights on WIND. I had no idea what he looked like.  I was sitting in one of my college radio classes waiting for the teacher, when he walked in as our guest instructor for the day. To say he was larger than life is an understatement. He was morbidly obese, and weighed maybe 500-600 pounds. He had the class in stitches, telling a crude story or two and swearing a lot, in contrast to his nice guy radio persona. RIP Big Guy.

In the mid-2000s, terrestrial radio faded away, as podcasts and  internet radio took over. I found the Loop online, only to discover Mancow was the star DJ. I couldn’t stand the guy when he started on another Chicago station, WRCX-FM, in the early ‘90s. The station’s only other claim to fame was their sexy calendar girls, like a Lorelei for every month of the year. Otherwise, it was classic rock as usual.  

By the time the Loop was purchased by a Christian broadcasting company in March, the irreverent DJs of the ‘70s-‘90s were working at other stations or no where to be found. (Steve and Garry broke up in the mid-90s. Steve currently occupies the drive time slot at WLS-AM.)   

The Loop lives on the internet without all the fanfare and comedy, and you can still buy the Loop logo T-shirt.  In keeping with the spirit of the original Loop, the last song played before the station’s segue into Christian pop was “Highway to Hell.”

Today’s youthful comedy podcasts are more sophisticated and user-friendly, and music is optional. Yes, the radio we grew up with was cheeky and juvenile, but boy, did we have fun.

Read more about Disco Demolition in Disco Demolition: The Night Disco Died.

Documentary Review: The Terry Kath Experience

The Terry Kath Experience

Documentary

Directed by Michelle Kath Sinclair

When I mention the band Chicago, what do you think of? Syrupy love songs of the ‘80s and ‘90s and endless tours of the nostalgia circuit? That’s the recent and quasi-recent past, but that’s not the Chicago I remember.

The jazz-rock hippies of my childhood released double albums with songs in odd time signatures, with a prominent horn section and 12-minute songs based on classical music song cycles. And their original guitarist, Terry Kath, was deemed to be better than Jimi Hendrix by none other than….Jimi Hendrix. Unless you’re a musician or a longtime Chicago fan, you may not have heard of Terry Kath. He died in a freak accident in January 1978 when he was cleaning out one of his handguns.

The Terry Kath Experience, a documentary directed by Kath’s daughter, Michelle Kath Sinclair, retraces her Dad’s life via interviews with his friends, relatives, bandmates and fellow musicians. She was only two years old when he died and has little recollection of him. She produced the documentary through Kickstarter donations after traditional funding fell through due to the usual complaint - “limited appeal.”  

A daughter interviewing friends of the Dad she never knew gives the film an emotional appeal most other documentaries lack. (Of course, there are a few documentaries where an unrelated filmmaker interjects himself or herself into the subject’s life during the course of filming.) Even Peter Cetera showed up for this one. (He declined to be interviewed for the Netflix Chicago documentary.) There’s a clip of Kiefer Sutherland, Sinclair’s stepfather, at her wedding, recalling the day Kath died. 

There’s lots of archival footage - notes Kath was taking for his solo album, family photos and home movies, a concert filmed at Caribou Ranch and New Years Rockin’ Eve with the Beach Boys (both Dick Clark Productions).

In addition to her father’s bandmates in Chicago, Sinclair interviews all the usual suspects (Jeff Lynne, Joe Walsh, Mike Campbell, etc.) She also talks to a Chicago high school student who recreated Kath’s famous Fender Telecaster guitar after studying articles about the instrument in old guitar magazines. (Yes, there’s hope for the youth of today.)

Chicago at Caribou Ranch

The band’s first manager, James Guerico, bought Caribou Ranch, a recording studio/playground in Colorado for the band, and put them in Electra Glide in Blue, a movie he financed. But he also performed that obligatory rock manager move - cheating the band out of money. Like Cetera, he passed on the Chicago documentary, but grants Sinclair an interview

The documentary film crew pays a visit to the ranch on the day it’s slated for demolition. Camelia Kath recalls some of the memories in between the wood paneled walls. (The chivalrous way he wooed Camelia, whom he married in 1974, is endearing.)

A short interview clip reveals Kath wasn’t a connoisseur of groupies like many ‘70s rockers. Unfortunately, Kath did enjoy cocaine, another ‘70s vice, a bit too much, and that contributed to his early death.

The Chicago documentary Now More Than Ever (currently on Netflix) will fill you on the 40 years since Kath died. The band documentary also covers much of the same material in The Terry Kath Experience in more detail and with more era-appropriate drug and Playboy Bunny references.

Terry's famous Fender Telecaster

Sax player Walter Parazaider recalls Jimi tell him one night at the Whisky “Your guitar player is better than me.” (Probably the inspiration for the title The Terry Kath Experience.) The band’s keyboardist, Robert Lamm, among others, have said that Kath’s singing voice was that of a white Ray Charles. Those comments may sound over-the-top if you aren’t familiar with early Chicago. “Wait - this guy played guitar better than Jimi Hendrix and he sang like a white Ray Charles?” Here’s some supporting evidence.

25 or Six to Four (OMG Did they ever play this song on the radio ALL THE TIME)

After not hearing the song for years, you really appreciate it in all its glory.

If you doubt the accuracy of the statements about Kath’s guitar playing, this solo may convince you otherwise. 

Make Me Smile 

I’m a Man

Dialogue

Question 67 and 68

Cetera lip syncs to a recording in this clip. Check the comments section for Danny Seraphine’s memories of the filming and a great revelation from one viewer – “Whoa! Who’s that on guitar? I thought Chicago was weak-ass Dad music. That dude’s an animal.”

Takin It On Uptown

Little One (written for his daughter, it was the last song Kath ever sang with Chicago)

“Wishin’ You Were Here” (not to be confused with Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here”), and “Color My World” were other omnipresent songs in the early to mid ‘70s. There was no relief from Chicago ballads when I was in high school. Some kid played the intro to “Color My World” on the piano in the gym every damn day at the same time. Even the teachers complained, “Learn another song!!”

Listen to any pre-1979 Chicago album, especially Chicago Transit Authority and Chicago II, for more Terry Kath-era Chicago.

Michelle Kath Sinclair at  her father's alma mater, Taft High School in Chicago