The Great Recording Artist Draft, or, What Do I Have To Do To Hear A New Angela Winbush Album?

Maybe someone can explain to me why this is a dumb idea, but I'm wondering why we can't set up a mechanism where fans of a particular artist can bid money to "draft" the artist back into the studio to make a new record. Like Jill Sobule in reverse: if you haven't been following that story, she raised about $75,000 from fans and other well intentioned folk so she could record and press her 2009 release California Years (other artists, including Cris Williamson, have done similar self-fundraisers without getting the same media attention).

I'm not talking about recluses like Axl Rose and Sly Stone, who have issues unrelated to financing which keep them from releasing product. I'm thinking more about someone like Ernie Isley or, yes, Àngela Winbush - people who presumably wouldn't be averse to hitting the studio if they could be assured in advance that they would get back their costs and (ideally) a bit extra.

I'd picture it working somewhat like an eBay auction (remember eBay? It's where you used to go for rare LPs before they all starting turning up on Rapidshare). Anyone interested could sign up for a central clearinghouse where you could put down money toward a new album by a given artist, who might or might not be amenable - it would be up to the artist to indicate interest, specify a minimum bid, etc. Everyone going to the site could see how much money had been pledged toward each artist - you could track fastest movers, newest additions, largest budgets, and so on.

The money would be placed in revocable escrow, so that you'd really need to put up the dough but you could get it back if you got tired of waiting for that next Leo Sayer disc - this would address the hypothetical problem where an artist could have an incentive to wait indefinitely, letting the budget go up and up, rather than actually making the record. Once the artist said yes, got the cash and recorded the CD, everyone who fronted money would get some freebie, like an autographed copy. (Sobule made an elaborate system with various levels, so that if you contributed enough you could even sing a duet on the record, but I doubt many artists would be that flexible.)

To really build a system like that you'd need someone to hold the money, and I'm certainly not volunteering. Thanks to the financial crisis nobody's making any interest to speak of anyway, so the only thing you'd need to worry about would be someone running off with all the money. But we're all music fans, we can trust each other, right? Right? Did I just lose everybody? Anyway, assuming the practical part can be straightened out if there's enough interest, let me throw out my price list:

Alec R. Costandinos	$50
The Abdul Hassan Orchestra	$50
Carole King	$50
Lunachicks	$50
Biz Markie	$50
Pajama Party featuring Jennifer McQuilkin	$50
Brenda Russell	$50
The Shaggs	$50
Bill Withers	$50
Chuck Berry	$100
Ernie Isley	$100
Little Richard	$100
Patrice Rushen	$100
Sleater-Kinney	$100
Àngela Winbush	$200

Sharon Brown, "I Specialize In Love" (1982)

I spent almost twenty years looking for this dance record before finally finding it at The Thing in Greenpoint. Written by Golden/Sher and produced by Next Plateau founder Eddie O'Loughlin, the tune was sort of a cross between early disco and Hi-NRG, mixing Latin percussion and a midtempo groove with jumpy synth, diva belting, and a winning attitude. I heard it a lot in 1982, though it seems like I never heard it on the radio, only coming out of passing cars, which is one reason I had trouble figuring out who the singer was. The other reason is, Brown never had much of a career apart from this one song: she apparently fell out with her label after they released a follow-up ("Love Don't Hurt People") she wasn't happy with, they parted company, and she ended up never releasing an LP.

The song was covered by Exposé in the mid-90s, and their version isn't half-bad, but track down the original if you can. Alternatively, you can check it out on YouTube.

Growing Up Skipper, "Teenage Boyfriend" (1991)

Growing Up Skipper was an early 90s all-female punk trio, not affiliated as far as I know with the Riot Grrrl scene but sharing some characteristics. They released one 7" with three songs; the other two are decent but "Teenage Boyfriend" is the keeper. Sung - almost spat - by lyricist/bassist Jane Guskin (formerly with San Francisco punk rappers the Yeastie Girlz), it's a cathartic, vitriolic assessment on an inconsiderate youthful swain. Apparently the song was covered by God Is My Co-Pilot in 1995; I haven't heard their version.

With its simple, memorable melody and powerhouse delivery, GUS's single is well worth searching for on eBay... There are even liner notes, with a thought-provoking deconstruction of the song's theme. (DBW)

Bobby Murcer, "Skoal Dippin' Man" (1983)

Years before Bernie Williams first picked up a guitar, and decades before Gretchen Wilson extolled the virtues of self-inflicted mouth cancer, Yankee great Bobby Murcer beat them both to the punch with this charming ditty. With the passing of Yankee Stadium, what better time to appreciate this surprisingly catchy Urban Country tune? There have been lots of better songs written about ballplayers ("Mrs. Robinson"; several songs by Chuck Brodsky; maybe even "Go Go Joe Charboneau") but has there ever been a better song sung by a ballplayer?

I couldn't find the actual song online, but here's a YouTube fan tribute using the same melody:
"I'm A Bobby Ray Murcer Fan"

CosmicBen & Wilson Kick Around Jazz

After years of swapping long e-mails about music, fellow amateur critic CosmicBen and I finally got around to writing up a Point/Counterpoint discussion on the general topic of "Jazz: Worth The Trouble?" We plan to continue these conversations as a semi-regular feature; the first one is available now on
CosmicBen's blog.

Amy Winehouse, "Rehab" (2006)

I don't know why we've got all these blue-eyed soul British women all of a sudden, but Winehouse is the latest. She comes off like Joss Stone's unwed mother, a drunken, tattoo-covered hard luck woman singing in an Etta James-influenced croak over pseudo-Motown loops, desperate to show us what a bad girl she really is. Her second album Back To Black became a major hit behind this single, supposedly prompted by a management company's suggestion that she get treatment for alcoholism. If you think her response ("I said no, no, no") is clever, you probably also have a closet full of "I don't have a drinking problem: I drink, I get drunk, I fall down, no problem" T-shirts.

What bugs me about the song, though, isn't the banality of the sentiment or the execution (do we need anyone reviving Soul II Soul's schtick?): it's the missed opportunity. The substance abuse rehabilitation industry has mushroomed in recent years, with remarkable media support, and no one's holding it accountable. Judges routinely sentence offenders to attend rehab or AA meetings (or attach it as a condition to parole, which amounts to the same thing), celebrities vanish into rehab after any embarrassing public episode, and who knows how many regular people are following their example. But does rehab actually work?

It's difficult to get decent statistics on the success of rehab programs, because the nature of success is difficult to define - what period of time do you cover? do you count people who dropped out of the program? - and because the for-profit rehab centers have little incentive to participate in controlled studies. Certainly the anecdotal evidence from reality TV shows (Intervention is addictsploitation at its most gripping) and the aforementioned troubled celebrities is not promising. I'm sure they work for some people, and I'm sure they work better for people who actually want to give up the addictive behavior, but I'm also sure that, like prisons, rehab facilities often just teach you more about how to enjoy your addiction than how to give it up. I would love to hear a follow-up from Winehouse along the lines of "They tried to make me go to rehab, I said 'Heck yeah! Those dudes know how to party!!'"

Rick Dees and His Cast Of Idiots, "Barely White (That'll Get It Baby)" (1977)

I intend to use the blog mostly to discuss songs I like, but this time I wanted to call your attention to this forgotten flop single from the creator of "Disco Duck." Ostensibly a parody of a certain R&B singer, with the Caucasian-American Dees performing both the egotistical seducer and his reluctant female prey in mock "black" accents, it manages to be at once incredibly offensive and totally unfunny... a magic combination. It's definitely worth a spin just to hear how ill-conceived and clueless an attempt at humor can be: the concluding watermelon reference is jaw-dropping.

The thing that strikes me, though, is that Rick Dees, a working DJ at the time the song was released, emerged unscathed from the experience, and is working in radio to this day. (The song was banned, allegedly, though I can't believe it would have gotten significant airplay in any case.) Thirty years later, one-time Dees competitor Don Imus was tossed out on his ear for racist comments which were rather milder and unpremeditated: unlike Imus, Dees wrote, recorded, released and distributed his song with the knowledge and consent of his corporate masters. Now make no mistake, I'm glad Imus is no longer on the radio, and I hope he never comes back. But why do you think the reaction is so different today than it was thirty years ago? Because we've become overly sensitive and quick to take umbrage? Hardly: in 70s terms, the disc was offensive to anyone who wasn't a George Wallace voter. Because there are no more significant examples of racism left to confront? Guess again. Because the opportunists who've been annointed by the media as "spokesmen for the African-American community" are more interested in cheap stunts than any meaningful attempts to critique the prevailing power structures? You're getting warmer.