Posts Tagged ‘rock’

By John Ruberry

Last week one of music’s giants, Robbie Robertson, the lead guitarist and the principle songwriter for The Band, died at the age of 80.

In this post I’ll rank their studio albums.

Much like Fleetwood Mac, The Band, when you reach back to their beginnings in Toronto, is one of the few musical acts that, like a nation, have a historical narrative.

Arkansas rockabilly singer Ronnie Hawkins found success with his backup band, the Hawks, in Canada in the lat 1950s. But one by one, each Hawk, except for drummer Levon Helm, got homesick and returned to America. The first Canadian to join the Hawks was Robertson, who was quickly supplemented by bassist Rick Danko, pianist Richard Manuel, and organist Garth Hudson, but all of the members of the band were multi-instrumentalists, particularly Hudson. The Band had three vocalists, Helm, Danko, and Manuel. Often, particularly on their first two albums, they would interchange leads—and beautifully harmonize.

The Hawks split from Hawkins in 1963, and under different names, performed as a first-rate bar band until becoming Bob Dylan’s concert backing band. Helm left during that tour. 

After Dylan was injured in a motorcycle accident in 1966, with the Hawks, he recorded new material that was released in 1975 as The Basement Tapes. Helm rejoined in 1967, after the newly-dubbed The Band was signed Capitol Records. 

After many ups and a few downs, The Band split after their final concert–with many guest performers–which was lovingly documented in the Martin Scorsese-directed movie, The Last Waltz. The soundtrack album is also an essential work of art.

In the 1980s, without Robertson, The Band reformed, went on tour, with the intention of returning to the recording studio. But Manuel committed suicide in 1986. The remaining Band members eventually recorded three albums in the 1990s, consisting mostly of covers, but the rump Band broke up for good after Danko’s death in 1999. Helm, who had been feuding with Robertson for years over songwriting credits and money in general, died in 2012. Hawkins passed away last year.

Hudson is the only surviving member of The Band.

And now let’s start the rundown of The Band’s albums. Yes, the ones with the original lineup.

Islands (1977): There are some great outtakes albums, The Who’s Odds and Sods and Elvis Costello’s Taking Liberties come to mind. Islands is like most of the others, where listeners can say to themselves, “I can see why these songs were left off of previous albums.” Because The Last Waltz soundtrack was promised to another label, Islands was compiled to satisfy The Band’s contractual obligation to Capitol Records.  It contains a curiosity, “Knockin’ Lost John,” the only Band song where Roberston sings lead. Next…

Cahoots (1971): Drugs had taken their toll on The Band by this time, and Robertson’s songs weren’t very good here. Cahoots starts off well enough, with “Life Is a Carnival,” but immediately sinks into them mud. Not even one of my favorites, Van Morrison, who co-wrote with Robertson “4% Pantomime,” which is about two drunk musicians in a bar complaining about life on the road, could save Cahoots. Listening to this album is about as enjoyable as sitting next to two drunk musicians in a bar as they…well, you get it. On the upside, the album artwork is gorgeous, and one of Morrison’s nicknames, the Belfast Cowboy, comes from “4% Pantomime.”

Moondog Matinee (1973): Two paragraphs ago Costello, who counts The Band as one of his major influences, received a compliment, now I’m evening the score. In 1995, Costello recorded an album of mostly obscure R&B covers, Kojak Variety. It’s a terrible record. Moondog Matinee, which also contains many lesser-known R&B tunes, is better than that. Predictably, it’s the better-known songs that The Band chose, including “I’m Ready,” “Mystery Train,” and “Promised Land,” which click. 

Yes, I do love The Band. Really, I do.

Now comes the good stuff.

Stage Fright (1970): While Cahoots understandably opens with its best song, on Stage Fright, the collection’s worst two songs, “Strawberry Wine” and “Sleeping” are the opening tracks. The first song was co-written by Helm with Robertson, and Manuel co-wrote the second one with Robbie. With the exception of one other tune, all of the rest of the songs were written solely by Robertson, including these Band standards, the title track, as well as “The Shape I’m In,” and “The W.S. Walcott Medicine Show.” More rock and R&B oriented than The Band’s first two albums, Stage Fright is also remembered for Todd Rundgren’s role as engineer.

Northern Lights-Southern Cross (1975): The Band, with their first studio album in four years, came back in a big way here. “Acadian Driftwood,” a musical cousin of sorts of “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,” recounts the ethnic cleansing of French speakers in the 1750s from Nova Scotia by the British. At the time, Robertson was married to a French-Canadian, tensions between Anglophone and Francophone Canada were at a peak then. Like the early days of The Band, Helm, Manuel, and Danko harmonize and swap lead verses. “Ophelia,” “Jupiter Hollow,” and “It Makes No Difference” are the other great tracks on this collection. Every song on Northern Lights-Southern Cross is a Robertson composition.

Music from Big Pink (1968): One of the best debut albums ever, and not just because of the great songs, such as “Chest Fever,” “The Weight,” and the Dylan-penned “I Shall Be Released.” No one knew it at the time, but Music from Big Pink was the first album of the Americana genre, or if you prefer, roots music. The album artwork featured a Dylan painting. “The Weight” is the ultimate Band song, Helm and Danko share lead vocals and Manuel adds perfect harmonies. Dylan cowrote, with Manuel and Danko respectively, “Tears of Rage” and “This Wheel’s on Fire.”

The Band (1969): Most bands with a great debut album effort suffer from a sophomore jinx. Not The Band, with their self-titled follow-up, also known as the Brown Album. There are no Dylan songs this time, but Robertson filled that vacuum with works that are now Americana classics, such as aforementioned “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,” as well as “Rag Mama Rag,” and “Up on Cripple Creek.” Sometimes it’s hard to ascertain why The Band was so great and so unique. “Jawbone,” a Robertson and Manuel collaboration, offers a clue. It was written in a 6/4 time signature, a rarity in popular music.

And so was Robbie Robertson, a rarity. Rest in peace.

John Ruberry regularly blogs at Marathon Pundit.

By John Ruberry

Three days ago, the Marathon Pundit family saw the revival of The Who’s Tommy at Chicago’s Goodman Theatre. 

The original The Who’s Tommy was directed by Des McAnuff, who collaborated with Pete Townshend for the musical. Townshend, the Who’s lead guitarist wrote most of the songs for the Tommy rock opera. The original theatrical production was first performed in 1993, and that was directed, as is the Goodman Theatre production, by McAnuff. 

While not the first rock opera, most rock scholars give that honor to Pretty Things’ S.F. Sorrow, Tommy was a commercial and critical success for the Who; they had struggled to gain attention in America, as did some of the other bands who emerged at the tail end of the British Invasion, such as Small Faces and the Move. 

The plot of Tommy, the rock opera, is quite clunky. The atmosphere of Tommy is of the late 1960s, and it is a reaction to the guru culture of that strange time, which was filled with charlatans such as Timothy Leary, the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, and much more darkly, Charles Manson. A better guru was Meher Baba–Pete Townshend remains a follower of his teachings. 

However, inexplicably, Townshend set the story of Tommy to begin shortly after the end of World War I. 

Tommy Walker becomes deaf and blind at around age four after he witnesses his father, who his mother believed was killed in the Great War, shooting her lover to death. Tommy’s parents look for a cure for their son, those attempts include bringing him to a “gypsy,” the Acid Queen, who fails to cure Tommy with LSD. Two relatives abuse him, Uncle Ernie, sexually, and Cousin Kevin, who tortures him. Tommy, despite his deafness and blindness, becomes a pinball champion and a celebrity. Tommy’s mother notices that her son often stares intently at mirrors. She smashes a mirror during one such gaze, which cures Tommy. He then becomes a cult leader, but eventually his followers reject him. Finally, Tommy realizes that he isn’t special, but everyone else is, as he sings in “We’re Not Gonna Take It.”

Listening to you I get the music
Gazing at you, I get the heat
Following you I climb the mountains
I get excitement at your feet.

But it was the songs, despite some dull filler such as “Underature,” that made the Tommy rock opera a smash. And the Goodman Theatre makes the most of the best-known numbers–along with some stupendous dancing–including “I’m Free” and of course “Pinball Wizard,” but also lesser-known tunes, such as “Amazing Journey” and “Sensation.” With a church backdrop, “Christmas” shines.

For those Who purists out there, beware, some of the lyrics of the songs have been altered to fit the adapted narrative of the musical.

There are many stand-out performances, foremost by Ali Louis Bourzgui as an adult Tommy, Alison Luff as Mrs. Walker, and Adam Jacobs as Captain Walker. The supporting cast is also superb, particularly Christina Sajous as the Acid Queen and Bobby Conte as Cousin Kevin. There are no casting mistakes here, unlike Ken Russell’s over-the-top Tommy film from 1975, which, like The Who’s Tommy, begins the story right after World War II. While Russell got it right with Who lead singer Roger Daltrey as Tommy, Tina Turner as the Acid Queen, Elton John as the Pinball Wizard, and Ann-Margaret as Mrs. Walker, there were some serious casting disasters in that move, including Eric Clapton (not an actor), Jack Nicholson (not a singer), and Oliver Reed, a drunk who played a drunk, but on the flipside, Reed couldn’t sing either.

Back to The Who’s Tommy at the Goodman: Not to be overlooked, the lighting, the costumes, the sparse but effective scenery, and the computer graphics are dazzling.

The play ends in an undefined, presumably fascist, future, with Cousin Kevin looking a bit like Joseph Goebbels. And with an attack, somewhat understated, on today’s celebrity and social media influencer culture. 

Last week, Bourzgui explained to the New York Times his interpretation of his Tommy portrayal, “He gets filled up by his followers,” adding “He keeps feeding off that, getting more gluttonous with power, until he realizes they’re following him because they want to feed off his trauma.”

The key word, in the 21st century context, is “followers.”

On the downside, a couple of songs, both penned by Who bassist John Entwistle and performed in succession, fall flat, “Cousin Kevin” and “Fiddle About.” In the latter, Uncle Ernie [John Ambrosino], sings about, well, I said what it is earlier. Both tunes are perfect times for a bathroom break, assuming you will be let back in before the end of first act. Mrs. Marathon Pundit dozed off during these tunes.

Townshend, since the release of the Tommy LP, said he was molested as a child. He was not charged after logging in a few times to a for-pay website that was advertising child pornography, stating at the time his motive to visit the site was “purely to see what was there” and that he was researching sexual abuse. In 2003, Townshend was placed on a sexual offenders registry for five years and he received a caution from the London Police. Townshend strongly denies every possessing child pornography. Citing those two sadistic Entwistle songs, Townshend said that he is too traumatized to ever perform Tommy again.

None of the other reviews of The Who’s Tommy I’ve read mentioned Townshend’s legal issues, but on the other hand, I paid for our tickets to this show.

Although not seen, the nine-piece band, led by Rick Fox, has some big shoes to fill by performing these songs–particularly those of Who drummer Keith Moon–is spectacular. I saw The Who in concert twice, in 1979 and 1980, with Kenney Jones on drums, Moon passed away in 1978. Entwistle died in 2002. Both of concerts were fantastic–and loud. My ears were ringing for days afterwards both times. 

Yes, it was a Sunday matinee performance, but it was a geriatric audience, reminiscent of the crowd on the Lawrence Welk Show, in attendance for the Goodman of The Who’s Tommy that day. Earplugs were available for the “loud” music at the Goodman–which wasn’t that loud. Oh, have times ever changed. 

The Who’s Tommy has been extended twice at the Goodman, some upcoming shows are sold out, the final Chicago performance is scheduled to be on August 6. The production is believed to be a dry-run for a return to Broadway, and presumably, a whole bunch of well-deserved Tony Award nominations.

John Ruberry regularly blogs at Marathon Pundit.

By John Ruberry

The Kinks are celebrating the 60th anniversary of their founding. In March, the legendary band released a two-CD compilation, The Journey – Part 1 (1964-1975), which is a great place to acquaint yourself with these wonderful performers. 

To further immerse yourself with the Kinks, I have determined what I believe are their ten-best albums. 

By the way, what is one test to ascertain if someone is intelligent? Well, if a person is a Kinks fan, then you found smart guy or gal.

The Kinks were founded in 1963 in Muswell Hill in North London. The heart of the band are the Davies (pronounced Davis) brothers, Ray, the principal songwriter, lead vocalist, and rhythm guitarist, and Dave, lead guitarist, and occasional songwriter, who sometimes sings lead. Mick Avory is the drummer.

The band broke up in the 1990s, Avory departed the band in 1984. Over the years the Kinks, first a quartet then a quintet, had a series of bassists and keyboardists. Although they haven’t toured or recorded since then, the Davies brothers reformed the Kinks in 2018, Avory is included as a member.

Last summer, at Skokie’s Backlot Bash, an annual event held near my home north of Chicago–the festival coincidentally honors another English phenomenon–Charlie Chaplin–local band Tribotosaurus put on a Kinks show. In his introductory remarks, the band’s lead singer remarked, “The Kinks are the forgotten band of the British Invasion.” Quite true.

Early Kinks tours were tumultuous affairs as they fought each other and anyone else in their way. “At the height of our success in the 1960s,” the narrator in Ray’s solo song ‘Invaders’ explained, “the Kinks were banned from touring the USA for four years, when we did return, we toured the USA relentlessly, tour after tour. Year after year. To win back what we’d lost.”

Who was behind that ban? The American Federation of Musicians. And those years spanned from 1965-1969, musically they were transformational years when rock was transformed from being pop music into an art form.

Here is one account about why the ban occurred, but there are many others.

While what became into the holy trilogy of British rock–the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, and the Who–looked outward musically, Ray and the Kinks turned introspective during their ban from America. For inspiration, they turned to the British music hall songs they learned from the parents. Music hall, the UK version of vaudeville, also describes a style of music. Famous music hall tunes that you probably have heard include, “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary,” “Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit-Bag,” and “I’m Henery the Eighth, I Am.” Hermans Hermits scored a hit with the last one in 1965. 

That sounds horrible for the Kinks, right? 

Wrong. The Kinks’ best work was recorded during their “lost period” in America. Only two Kinks singles charted in the United States from 1967-1969, and they peaked deep in the bottom half of Billboards’ Hot 100. But the hits kept coming in Britain and elsewhere. 

The Kinks have been cursed with bad luck– and some of those wounds were self-inflicted. In their last album with new material, the mostly-live album To The Bone, Ray looked back in his introduction to their song, “I’m Not Like Everyone Else.” Of that composition he said, “It kind of sums up what we’re all about, the Kinks, because everyone expects us to do wonderful things, and we mess it all up, usually.”

The Kinks’ bad luck even extended to that Tributosaurus gig in Skokie. The band pumped out four great classic Kinks songs, but then a Caddyshack-level thunderstorm struck, which forced the rest of the show, as well as the final night of the Backlot Bash, to be cancelled. 

Even if the Kinks’ career consisted of one song, “You Really Got Me,” their international hit from 1964, their place in rock and roll history would be secure. That power cord classic inspired four rock genres, heavy metal, hard rock, punk rock, and new wave.

But there is so much more to the Kinks.

Let the countdown begin. 

Not before, that is, a big shout out to the USA-only compilation The Kink Kronikles. That collection not only does a great job covering the Kinks’ “lost years” in America, but it contains such wondrous non-album singles such as “Wonderboy,” “Autumn Almanac,” and “Days.” Those singles, however, often appear on extended versions of some of these albums you’ll soon learn about.

But I’m reviewing the original releases.

10) Give the People What They Want (1981): There are some strong tracks here, particularly “Destroyer,” where Ray rips off himself with an homage to the Kinks’ earlier hit, “All Day and All of the Night.” The Kinks were firmly ensconced in the arena rock phrase of their career when this collection was released, and “Around the Dial” captures that era in just under five minutes. On the other hand, the best track here, “Better Things,” reaches back to that “lost period.” The Pretenders’ Chrissie Hynde, with whom Ray had a romantic relationship at the time, contributes background vocals on four songs.

9) Schoolboys in Disgrace (1975): Beginning in the early 1970s the Kinks recorded a series of concept albums. During supporting tours, these efforts were presented as low-budget stage shows. The last such Kinks “musical” offers a huge helping of 1950s-styles rock, along with a look back at the Kinks power-chord early days. But it betrays Kinks bad luck too. The “rock and roll revival,” rocks first nostalgia movement, which was partially inspired by the Beatles White Album, had run its course by 1975. Power chord music would bounce back in the late 1970s. Wrong place, wrong time. “The Hard Way” would have been a hit in 1979, the same year the Knack scored a number one smash with “My Sharona.” Ironically, the next year the Knack covered “The Hard Way.” Other strong tunes here include “Education,” “No More Looking Back,” and “Jack the Idiot Dunce.”

8) Sleepwalker (1977): The Kinks’ first non-thematic album in nearly a decade, Sleepwalker was a mainstream effort that proved that the band could still rock as well as anyone else. The title track, “Juke Box Music,” “Life on the Road,” and “Life Goes On” are the best tracks.

7) The Kink Kontroversy (1965): In the mid-1970s, Van Morrison recorded an album titled A Period of Transition. That would be fitting moniker for this collection, the Kinks’ third album. “Till the End of the Day” was their last power chord hit. Very early in their career the Kinks recorded many blues rock songs, and there are some on this offering, the best of which here is “Gotta Get the First Plane Home.” Another shining moment, “Where Have All the Good Times Gone,” is sung from the perspective of a middle-aged man, but written by Ray, who was 21 at the time. It foreshadows future greatness.

6) Muswell Hillbillies (1971): We’ll hear about the predecessor to this collection, Lola Versus Powerman and the Moneygoround, Part One soon, but that album brought the Kinks back to prominence and a well-deserved place, albeit briefly, at the head table of rock’s elite. You remember Ray’s remark about the Kinks–that “everyone expects us to do wonderful things, and we mess it all up, usually.” Not that Muswell Hillbillies is bad. Far from it. But the “Lola” album was mostly a hard rock effort, and the Kinks certainly confused its new American fan base with Muswell’s country rock and music hall flavor. Besides the title tune, “20th Centry Man,” “Oklahoma USA,” and “Have a Cuppa Tea” are standouts.

5) Face to Face (1966): Ray emerged as a first-rate storyteller here. While not a concept album, a minor narrative can be found on Face to Face with “A House in the Country,” “Most Exclusive Residence for Sale,” and “Sunny Afternoon,” the Kinks last American hit until 1970. “Holiday in Waikiki” was composed during the Kinks’ disastrous 1965 tour. And had Buddy Holly not taken that fateful airplane flight in 1959 in Iowa, he may have been writing songs like “I’ll Remember” in 1966.

4) Something Else by the Kinks (1967): This is the Kinks most-music hall album. “Harry Rag” might be the most typical of this collection, as “Harry Rag” is old British slang for a cigarette and it’s a sing-a-long tune, and many music hall tunes were written with audience participation in mind. Dave sings lead in a Ray/Dave composition, “Death of a Clown.” But “Waterloo Sunset,” a smash hit just about everywhere except in America, is the best song here, and arguably the Kinks’ greatest recording.

3) Lola Versus Powerman and the Moneygoround, Part One (1970): In the United States, other than “You Really Got Me,” the sorta-title track “Lola,”which is about a strange encounter with what we now call a transgendered woman, is the Kinks best-known song. It was an international hit–and a second single from this album, “Apeman,” also did well as a single. A Dave tune, “Strangers,” is an eerie song about friendship that is one of the Kinks most covered works. This album is yet another band “mess up,” because there was never Part Two. Oh, I nearly forgot, “Get Back in Line” tells the story of worker who a capricious union boss refuses to hire. Yes, it’s a musical punch at the American Federation of Musicians.

2) Arthur (Or the Decline and Fall of the British Empire) (1969): It wasn’t their fault, but here’s another Kinks “mess up,” albeit a brilliant one. Arthur is the soundtrack for a television movie, but that film was never made, although it’s not the fault of the Davies et al. This wondrous collection starts off with the rollicking “Victoria,” the band’s hardest rocker since 1965. “Shangri-La,” a sprawling epic, looks, not so fondly, at the British class system. “Some Mother’s Son” ranks with the best anti-war songs ever written.

And number 1 is:

The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society (1968): Released the same day as the Beatles White Album, VGPS, another music hall-inspired gem, has Ray telling stories about a sleepy English village. Like the central character of his “Autumn Almanac,” in regard to the title track, it’s difficult to fathom if Ray is celebrating, presumably at least, the little old ladies who are members of the Village Green Preservation Society, or mocking them, as he sings, “God save little shops, china cups and virginity.” Don’t forget, we’re in 1968 here. “Do You Remember Walter” looks at the inevitable disappointment when childhood dreams don’t match up with adult reality. The mellotron driven “Phenomenal Cat” is about a legendary, in the imagination of “idiot boys,” flying feline, who, after traveling the world, decides the best life him is to live in a tree and pursue obesity. While “Animal Farm,” which has nothing to do with the George Orwell novel, views rural life more fondly.

There is no rock album quite like VGPS. XTC’s masterpiece, “Skylarking,” thematically comes close.

If you don’t like my choices, well, that’s why we have a comments section here.

And finally, God save the Kinks.

John Ruberry has seen the Kinks twice in concert, both times in Champaign, Illinois. He usually blogs at Marathon Pundit.

By John Ruberry

A societal seismic shift, a black swan moment, occurred for the American elite, our “betters,” on April 1. Yep, April Fools Day, but the joke was on the elites. It was April 1 when on his–yes his–Instragram page, the transgendered influencer, Dylan Muvlaney, announced his sponsorhip deal with Bud Light, a beer brewed by Anheuser-Busch that is, or was, favored mainly by macho types.

The backlash was immediate. A boycott of the brew–with conservative celebrities leading the charge began–and Anheuser-Busch has since lost $5 billion in value.

Receiving the blame for this debacle is Alissa Heinerscheid, Bud Light’s vice president of marketing, who went on a leave of absence last week.

It’s likely that Bud Light triggered a tripwire, likely, to use Bill Maher’s words, Americans are angry because “they’ve had an agenda shoved down their throat.” Like the dimwitted sheep in George Orwell’s Animal Farm, many elites, particularly in the media, believe transgendered women are women. Most Americans disagree. 

And most Americans, unless they are woke, aren’t dopes. They know that males have an inherent physical advantage over women in most sports. If they decide to think about it–they know that the annual physical for Rachel Levine, the Biden administration’s assistant secretary for health who is transgendered, consists of a prostate exam. They are aware that after “gender-affirming” surgeries, some trans people want to switch back.

These same people are horrified of reports that some school officials, without knowledge of their parents, are encouraging minors to “transition.”

And these same folks are fed up with being called a bigot or some sort of “phobe” when they raise their objections to the transgender ideological movement.

And they are sick of transgendered women appearing in clothing ads wearing garments designed for females. 

Unlike Supreme Court Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson, most Americans are able define what a woman is. And they know that men cannot give birth to babies.

As for the elites, many of whom like Heinerscheid have an Ivy League education, they’re the types of folks who don’t interact with smelly people who drink Bud Light. These smug know-it-alls are stupefied that the Mulvaney sponsorship has damaged the brand. 

The elites live in their bubble, which makes them quite vulnerable to a black swan moment.

What has happened to Bud Light takes me back to 1979 and the Disco Demolition stunt that was part of a Chicago White Sox Teen Night promotion during a twi-night doubleheader with the Detroit Tigers. Oh, “Disco Sucks” wasn’t just a Chicago thing, I saw my first “Disco Sucks” T-shirt a year earlier on sale on the boardwalk at Ocean City, Maryland.

I was a 17-year-old when Steve Dahl, a morning disc jockey for rock station WLUP-FM, began humorously “blowing up” disco records during his show. He’d play some crappy–aren’t they all?–disco tune for thirty-seconds or so, and then blow them up, not for real, but with sound effects. Dahl also took his act on the road, including a mock “takeover” of a suburban disco club, and the same thing happened at each event. Crowd control was an issue–too many people in too small of a space.

Surely, Mike Veeck, the son of White Sox owner Bill Veeck, thought that Comiskey Park, the home of the White Sox, could comfortably host Dahl and his minions, known as the Insane Coho Lips. The ballpark had a capacity of 45,000. 

But the doubleheader sold out and there were an estimated thirty thousand others outside Comiskey Park clamoring to get in. Teens who deposited disco records at the turnstiles were admitted for 98 cents, which was dirt cheap even in 1979. 

Dahl, in faux military garb, as you’ll see in the YouTube clip, exploded the records in spectacular fashion as the Insane Coho Lips chanted “disco sucks” following the conclusion of the first game of the doubleheader, a White Sox defeat. Immediately afterwards, about 7,000 of the rockers stormed the field and a riot broke out, one that included destroying the batting cage and igniting the crate from where the records were exploded. It was rock and roll’s first saturnalia. Police in riot gear promptly ended Disco Demolition 90 minutes later, and because the field was deemed by the umpires as unsafe for play, the second game was forfeited to the Tigers.

I watched the game at home on television with my parents and my brother. I hated disco and loved rock and roll, so I looked on with mixed emotions because I was also a Sox fan. I didn’t object when my brother pointed at me and said, “Hey, mom and dad, there are thousands of them on the TV, who are just like your son, tearing up the field.” Hey, don’t forget, I was 17 at the time.

Retro historians, often people who were born years after Disco Demolition, have tried to turn that night into a racist or anti-gay thing. Wrong. The people I knew who listened to disco were shallow and vapid–just like the music. It was love at first sight for them.

Here’s the disco black swan moment. 

The Disco Demolition coverage from the media, particularly the national media, was one of shock. Even more so than now, the elite media was based in New York, and they were the people who hung out at disco’s hallowed temple, Studio 54 in Manhattan. They lived in their ’70s bubble, one that didn’t include people who loved rock music and wore “Disco Sucks” T-shirts.

Up until Steve Dahl blew up those records, disco was seemingly everywhere–on TV shows, in commercials, and in the movies, most notably, with John Travolta dancing in Saturday Night Fever. Rock acts, including the Rolling Stones, the Kinks (sadly, one of my favorite bands), and Rod Stewart, recorded songs with a disco beat.

But post-Disco Demolition Night, the media, as well as the advertising and marketing “experts,” realized, after the totality of the riot, that more people hated disco than liked it. Disco didn’t die that night–even a freight train experiencing engine problems can’t be stopped on a dime, but disco went into a fatal tailspin. A month after Disco Demolition, Michael Jackson’s Off the Wall, a disco album, was released. It enjoyed brisk sales and a lot of airplay. But Jacko’s next album, Thriller, was more of an R&B album, it even included the King of Pop’s only hard rock song, “Beat It,” which was graced by guitar work from Eddie Van Halen.

Rockers had stopped cutting disco tracks well before Thriller was released.

A couple of weeks before Off the Wall arrived in record stores, principal photography began on a movie starring the Village People, Discoland . . . Where the Music Never Stops. Sensing trouble because of the anti-disco backlash, the film’s producer, Allan Carr, changed the name of his project to Can’t Stop the Music. It’s remembered as a legendary Hollywood box office bomb.

As the saying goes, “History doesn’t repeat itself but it rhymes.” One of supporting actors in Can’t Stop the Music was Bruce Jenner, who now goes by Caitlyn. 

By the early 1980s, the expression “As dead as disco” was common. 

Transgenderism isn’t going away. Over my life I’ve known a few men who have gone thru procedures that allows them, sort of, to live as women. Fine, it’s their life. If, as an adult, men and women want to transform themselves into something different, well, no one should stop them. The same goes for people who want to obliterate their faces with tattoos.

On the other hand, don’t shove your choice down our throats and demand us to celebrate you.

In the advertising and marketing world, using transgendered spokespeople to promote mainstream products just might be as dead as disco.

No one wants to be the next Alissa Heinerscheid. Her job was to sell Bud Light, not to drive people to avoid it.

There was never a Can’t Stop the Music sequel.

Marketing people must not be good at math. One percent of the population identifies as transgendered. Which means of course means 99 percent doesn’t.

John Ruberry regularly blogs at Marathon Pundit.