Tag: Paul Anka

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Canadian Songwriter Hall of Fame

I didn’t know this until recently, but there is a Canadian Songwriter’s Hall of Fame. It’s purpose is “to honour, celebrate, and educate Canadians about the outstanding accomplishments of Canadian popular music songwriters and those who have contributed significantly to their legacy.”

I’m not sure what the distinction is between “outstanding accomplishments” and those who made contributions to “their legacy”. How could you make a contribution to a “legacy” unless you were a great songwriter who would be worthy, therefore, of inclusion, for your “outstanding accomplishments”? More words=more important. More better.

Unless… don’t tell me they are going to honor promoters and agents and producers? Oh no… they probably are. That would be more than a shame: it would be ridiculous. There is already a music hall of fame for the hucksters and the promoters: leave the songwriters alone.

But then…

This year’s entries: “Sugar Sugar”, recorded by the Archies in 1969, and “Far Away Places” (recorded by the immortal Ray Conniff and his orchestra), and “Clap Your Hands”– all “outstanding accomplishments”?

Yes, these stunning lyrics are now immortalized in the Canadian Songwriter’s Hall of Fame:

Sugar Sugar
Honey Honey
You are my candy girl
And you got me wanting you.

I’m not making those words up. “You got me wanting you”. The raw authenticity of that unrestrained emotion must have impressed the judges or Board of Directors or whoever it is gets to stand in front of a group of solemn reporters and music executives and explain why “Sugar Sugar” deserves to be immortalized in this awesome way. My question is this: how did they manage to get into the Hall of Fame ahead of Gino Vanelli and Corey Hart?

Burton Cummings and Randy Bachman are in. So is Gordon Lightfoot, and Leonard Cohen. Does that mean all of their songs are in? I see “Sugar Sugar” listed but not “Suzanne”. “Four Strong Winds” and “Universal Soldier” but not “You Were on My Mind” or Buffy Sainte Marie. No Poppy Family yet even though Susan Jacks had the loveliest midriff of any singer-songwriter blonde singer chick ever, of that era.

Okay, so there is a list of the songs which, I presume, earned the song-writer entry into these hallowed corridors.

And now— Paul Anka. I think it is fair to say that the Canadian Songwriter Hall of Fame and Paul Anka were made for each other.

And I would like to start a movement. I would like to organize a petition drive to keep Neil Young out of the Canadian Songwriter’s Hall of Fame.

Furthermore, I think we need to form a musical commando squad to parachute into the Canadian Songwriter’s Hall of Fame and excise Leonard Cohen and Gordon Lightfoot before they find out that someone has decided that their life’s work is at least as good as “What a Friend we Have in Jesus” and “Aint Nobody Here but Us Chickens”.

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The Worst Pop Singles of All Time

Of course these are not really the worst singles of all time. Most people have never heard the worst singles of all time– like “The Times They Are A’Changin'” by Rabbi Abraham Feinberg, or “Clouds” by Leonard Nimoy or “Big Yellow Taxi” by Bob Dylan or “Mr. Tambourine Man” by William Shatner– because they simply have never been played on the radio.

So, actually, these are songs that stink even though they were massively promoted and acquired a certain following.  Note that in a few cases, the song itself, like “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, might be pretty good: it is this specific performance that makes the list.

  • Wonder Wall (Oasis)
  • Seasons in the Sun (Terry Jacks)
  • I Write the Songs (Barry Manilow)
  • The Night Chicago Died (Paper Lace)
  • Honey (Bobby Goldsboro)
  • I am I said (Neil Diamond)
  • Cracklin’ Rosie (Neil Diamond)
  • Candle in the Wind 1997 (Elton John)
  • Popcorn (Hot Butter)
  • Achy Breaky Heart (Billy Ray Cyrus)
  • Smells Like Teen Spirit (Paul Anka)
  • Hanky Panky (Tommy James and the Shondells)

Honorable Mentions (added November 2007)

  • Three Times a Lady (Lionel Richie)
  • Every Thing I Do (Bryan Adams)
  • Puppy Love (Donny Osmond, written by Paul Anka)
  • Glamour Boy (Guess Who)
  • We Will Rock You (Queen)
  • Never Been to Me (Charlene)
  • Feelin’ Groovy (Simon & Garfunkel)
  • Do Yah Think I’m Sexy (Rod Stewart)

Most ill-advised single of all time:

  • Pet Me, Poppa (Rosemary Clooney).

Most horrible earworm (tie):

  • “Mandy” (Barry Manilow),
  • “Sweet City Woman”, (Stampeders)

Note: the writers of “Hanky Panky”, Jeff Barry and Ellie Greenwich, have no illusions: they wrote the song in the hallway of a recording studio to be on the b-side of a new single.  Both admit it is a terrible piece of work.

Dissent:

Wonder Wall” was recently voted the best pop song ever by a segment of the British public which is probably also responsible for the tabloids and Benny Hill. I don’t get it. I can’t even finish listening to it once. It sounds to me like your older brother, when you are 11, and he is about 13, and he is making fun of a song you like, by singing it in as unpleasant a voice as he can manage, without any noteworthy accompaniment. And it sounds like he is making up the lyrics at the same time, in a kind of sing-song, nasal, whine on the “now”.

I was just stunned to learn, recently, that “I’ve Never Been to Me” was first released in 1977!  1977!  Was it written by a man?  I knew it!  Written by Ron Miller, Kenneth Hirsch!  How did I know?  Because almost all bad songs written about women’s roles are authored by men:  “Having My Baby”, “I am Woman”.

And a good one:  “You Don’t Own Me” performed by Leslie Gore.

A British Worst
Singles of All Time List.

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The Geriatric Cover Song

Great and Not so Great Covers

There’s something interesting in Nouvelle Vague’s version of the Clash’s “Guns of Brixton”, and it isn’t the novelty effect. There’s an insouciant poignancy in the song, that isn’t there in the Clash’s version, a shimmering, simmering insinuating sneer. The Clash was an arrogant thug. Nouvelle Vague is a precocious child, asking the beaten and bruised: “how yah gonna come”? Come on now. Are you as tough as you think you are? It’s superb.

The same goes for Cat Powers remake of the Stones’ “Satisfaction”. She has absorbed the song, chewed it over, fanged it a couple of times, and emerged with an utterly twisted, vicious, revision. It’s brilliant.

I say that because the idea of doing over a great song isn’t necessarily a bad one. But it is when Paul Anka does “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and Rod Stewart does “It Had to be You” and now Carly Simon releases an album of torch ballads– I want to get out the torch.

There’s probably a lesser-known antecedent but I seem to recall that this awful trend started around 1979, when Linda Ronstadt’s career took a dive and she tried to reposition herself as a chanteuse with an album of pop “standards” by various allegedly great songwriters. Ronstadt, previously known for her country ballads and power-pop tunes, (“Different Drum”, “Long, Long Time”) was praised for her brave excursion into the mainstream, even though her performances of these songs were not particularly distinguished. To go with her new-found sense of sophistication, she lost weight and posed for some cheese-cake photos for Annie Liebowitz for Rolling Stone Magazine.

The critics are expected to fall over themselves to be the first to proclaim that they have such good taste that they could enjoy something that did not feature an screaming electric guitar or a hook.

And actually, I do believe that some of these, at least, are “great” songs, in the same way that some girls are “great” girls. They look so beautiful and refined and tasteful and sweet, you just want to buy them a diamond. Just don’t expect oral sex in return.

What you do not want to see in a great song is Rod Stewart’s lips behind it.

As for those reviewers– what are they going to do? It occurred to me that they are extremely unlikely to do otherwise than lavish praise on these wholesome tributes to the old fart school of music composition. Firstly, they would be absolutely stricken if anyone were to accuse them of having tunnel vision– don’t you know that “Summertime” is one of the greatest songs ever written? Secondly, I don’t think most of these critics, with the exception of the Times’ Stephen Holden, have a clue about what they are reviewing. The uniform adulation of mediocre vocalists like Norah Jones and Diana Krall tells you that a certain amount of posturing is going on. These women look great and they have astute management and they can mostly hold pitch. That’s about it.

If you’re really convinced that Diana Krall is a great singer, please name me a song or two performed by Emmy Lou Harris, Aretha Franklin, Nina Simone, Gladys Knight, or Lucinda Williams that would reflect kindly on Ms. Krall’s talents in comparison.

Unlike the Nouvelle Vague’s version of “Guns of Brixton”, or Die Toten Hosen’s version of “Hang on Sloopy”, or Cat Powers’ searing “Satisfaction”, none of these artists actually bring a whole lot of originality or creativity to their remakes. If anything, as Holden observes, most of these updates are dumbed down, the orchestrations more like movie sound tracks than settings, the phrasing pedestrian and utterly predictable. Worse than that– the posturing. All the irreverence and inventiveness and wit and fun of rock’n’roll is gone. I am now an artist, as in, the artist will appear at 10:00, in an evening gown or tuxedo, and he or she will be serious. She is going to sell the song. He is going to hold notes longer than he does when singing “Maggie Mae”. The audience will grovel at 10:06:15, then return to their martinis.

What they have forgotten is that there is a reason that the Beatles were like a breath of fresh air in 1963, and why Bob Dylan mattered.

You want covers? I’ll give you GREAT covers:

Satisfaction (Cat Power)
I Fought the Law (The Clash)
My Back Pages (Tom Petty, Eric Clapton, George Harrison, etc.)
Positively Fourth Street (Lucinda Williams)
Hang on Sloopy (the Toten Hosen)
Downtown (The Killer Barbies)
Tower of Song (Nick Cave)
He Hit Me (and it felt like a kiss) (Hole)
Oh Lonesome Me (Neil Young)
Wayfarin’ Stranger (Emmy-Lou Harris, with an exquisite lead acoustic guitar from Albert Lee)
Jolene (White Stripes)
You Aint Goin’ Nowhere (the Byrds)

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Beware of Young Girls

We’re all familiar by now with the Woody Allen scandal. Woody Allen, the 56-year-old director, was caught having an affair with his adoptive step-daughter, Soon Yi. Mia divorced Woody and sought custody of the children– excluding Soon Yi, presumably.

Our society is so confused about sex. We don’t know what the rules are anymore. The various governments now award survivor benefits to gay spouses; couples bicker in court over frozen embryos; a woman sues the company that makes Viagra because the drug enabled her newly potent husband to leave her and find a new lover; an “independent” (read “Republican Toady”) investigator spends $30 million to discover whether or not sex between consenting adults took place in the White House; a 30-year-old grade school teacher has an affair–and a child–with a 13-year-old male student, and is sent to jail for seven years.

The one thing we do know about sex is that our society has a hysterical obsession with it. Freud would have observed that this hysterical obsession is due to a profound discomfort with the subject, and, indeed, with our own bodies.

The truth is, our society is grossly immature and childish about sex. We want it more than anything else and we get upset and envious when we think someone else is getting more than we are.

Why do you suppose preachers preach more about promiscuous sex than any other sin, including materialism, greed, and racism? Because sex is private. Everybody in the congregation can sit there comfortably and pretend to feel righteous indignation because they know that nobody knows what sexual sins lurk in their own hearts. If, on the other hand, the minister points out that our ruthless greed and materialism and conspicuous consumption is driving one third of world into abject poverty and starvation… well, gee… hope nobody notices my Cadillac or my Hummer in the parking lot, or my three tv sets, or my Rolex watch.

So Woody Allen has sex with his adoptive step-daughter. Some clarity here: apparently Soon Yi is the adoptive/foster daughter of Mia Farrow. After Woody and her became an item, he sort of became Soon Yi’s “step-foster” father. So when Woody has sex with Soon Yi, is this incest?

Well, not really. Incest is sex between a man and his biological daughter. I think our society is relatively straight on that: not allowed. Ever.

So, what is wrong with Woody having an affair with Soon Li? Well, he is in a position of trust over her, and she is a vulnerable young woman, half his age (or less). We frown upon that. We make it downright illegal in many cases, say, for example, a teacher and a fifteen-year-old student.

But wait, Soon Yi is 20-years-old. So she is the age of consent. So is Woody Allen, we think. Did Soon Li have a choice or was she pressured? It’s hard to believe she is not able to walk away whenever she wants. All right. Consensual. Like Monica Lewinsky and Bill Clinton. In both cases, powerful, famous men had consensual adulterous relationships with young, naïve, but awe-struck women. I don’t know of any law against that, because, in our society, adultery is not illegal. It is grounds for a nasty divorce settlement, but not a criminal offense.

Well, let’s look at one more little aspect of this case. I’ll bet a lot of those tabloid readers don’t remember that Mia Farrow was once involved in a little scandal of her own. Mia, you see, is the daughter of John Farrow and Margaret O’Sullivan. Frank Sinatra was a friend of the family, more than twice her age back in 1965. And guess what? Mia and Frank had an affair. Indeed, they were briefly married, until, I think, Frank realized she was a Beatles fan. Since Frank was a friend of the family and more than twice Mia’s age, it might be fair to ask if he wasn’t sort of a father figure (or step-father figure) who took advantage of a position of trust to have a sexual relationship with a vulnerable young woman.

Then we get the kicker.  Mia Farrow, while living with composer Andre Previn and his wife Dory, had an affair with Previn– who was 39 in 1968 (Farrow was 23).  Dory had a nervous breakdown when she found out Mia was pregnant with Andre’s child.  After she recovered, she recorded an album that featured the song “Beware of Young Girls“.  Amazing.  (The song also predicted the fate of that relationship: “one day she’ll go away”.)

One last weird note. Frank Sinatra used to sing a song called “My Way”, which is the anthem of macho egocentric self-sufficiency, but which Frank, insufficient as he was, was not able to write himself. Canadian Paul Anka wrote the song, along with many others like the immortally offensive “Having My Baby”. Paul Anka broke into the business with a fabulously successful single called “Diana”, which, we were told, was a love song about his baby-sitter.

Just imagine a party at some Hollywood mansion. You show up with your wife and your daughters and Jerry Falwell, and circulate among these guests: Frank Sinatra, Mia Farrow, Woody Allen, Jimmy & Tammy Faye Baker, Monica Lewinsky, Bill Clinton, Paul Anka, Princess Diana and the other Diana, Prince Charles, Camilla Parker-Bowles, Charlton Heston (with his gun), and, just for fun, Dr. Ruth. The leading lights of Western Civilization.

Hey everybody… let’s play twister….