Hello my little chickadees, and welcome to “Somebody Likes It.” Each week, we gather to talk about an album that, while very important to a lot of people, none of us really know that well. This doesn’t mean that said record is a cult classic, nay dear reader, as our intent is quite contrary to that line of thinking.
It's difficult to gaze back upon Elliot Smith's career and not see all of it, even the highlights, through a lens tinted with melancholy.
Fats Waller, son of a minister and a musician, kidnapped star of Al Capone's birthday party, and Satchmo / Pops / Louis Armstrong, perhaps the most bedrock figure in the history of American jazz, may have only played together a handful of times during Waller's lifetime before he passed in 1943. But there's little question the stride pianist and buoyant trumpeter were tuned in to the same human channel.
Before Ozzy Osbourne was a stammering reality show punchline, he really underwhelmed Lester Bangs, and there's something to be said for that, historically speaking.
It's been noted that perhaps Willis Alan Ramsey was Lyle Lovett...before Lyle Lovett was Lyle Lovett, mostly, come to think of it, by Lyle Lovett.
Put your hands together, or bang a gong, for our very special episode of Somebody Likes It.
As monikers go, Starcrawler might be more a more literal band name than you think: this act, punctuated by art school kids and fronted by the daughter of one of LA's premier rock shutterbugs, slinks and shrieks through their initial release. It seems they were destined for stardom, well, since they were crawling.
If you've been waiting patiently, all your waking life, to immerse yourself in Aussie-bred hard rock featuring a grown-ass-man wearing a Catholic schoolboy uniform with an astonishing level of longevity, well, this is your week.
Working on this podcast as I have for a couple of years, I am often taken aback at albums that completely flew under my radar and yet still had enough buzz around them as to create a massive following.
We all know the country music songwriter's recipe: start with a stretch of hardscrabble backstory, mix in some bad luck with the ladies, stir the bottom of the bottle around, maybe sprinkle in a stint in the pokey for good measure. Rinse. Repeat.
What happens if you take the Trip hop out of Portishead? You're about to find out.