Surf Punks - My Beach

Back in the summer of 1980 when my Navy officer dad got transferred to the Naval Postgraduate School (NPGS) in Monterey, California and we moved into La Mesa Village, the local Navy housing complex there, my brother and I quickly fell in with the other teens who lived up in that area - folks like Mike C.; Jeff and his girlfriend Kathy; sisters Jane, Jill and Leslie; loud and brash Latina siblings Rosina and Gina; brothers Pete and John; Joel; Jenny... and so many others.  But foremost in the group were two middle schoolers, Mike F. and Martin.

We would all gather together on those warm evenings, usually up by the tennis courts on the grounds of La Mesa Elementary school, to talk, bust one another's balls, and goof off, away from the watchful eyes of our parents.  We would also occasionally mess with "Security", the men and vehicles sent over by NPGS during the night to patrol and keep an eye on the neighborhood.  Most of the time, our group and Security coexisted in a sort of sullen, "see no evil" detente - they would drive by the courts, while we would either ignore them or silently give them the 'hairy eyeball'.  But on other occasions, we would hide out in some leafy, secluded spot within La Mesa and wait for the truck to go by, so we could bombard the vehicle with pine cones and ice plants and wait for the satisfying sound of those projectiles striking metal before melting deeper into the woods when the officers stopped and attempted to give chase.  No, we weren't delinquents or troublemakers, per se - just bored kids looking to have some fun and gin up a little excitement in a fairly isolated corner of the city (years later, I learned that the Security officers, similarly bored with their duties, actually enjoyed and looked forward to the cat-and-mouse antics and chases from that time as much as we did).

Half of the La Mesa crew (including myself) would be attending Monterey High School in the fall; the other half would be going to Walter Colton Middle School, both schools located downtown.  My junior-high aged brother would get to be closer to and better friends with that latter group than I was... although everyone was pretty familiar with one another through our summertime hangout sessions.  We played football together on some weekends, made treks down the narrow (and in hindsight, extremely sketchy and secluded) forest path from La Mesa to Del Monte Mall to eat pizza and play video games at Round Table Pizza, and occasionally on weekends some of us hopped on the Monterey Peninsula Transit (MPT) bus (the region had a superb public transportation system, that stopped almost right at our front door) to places like Carmel and Cannery Row (both of which had yet to be befouled/spoiled by the tourist traps that now proliferate at those locations).  Suffice to say, we were a pretty tight-knit group.

I mentioned in a previous post long ago how UNimpressed I was with California early in our stay there; I was the proverbial 'fish out of water', East Coast guy living on the West Coast for the first time and initially not quite getting into the swing and flow of things there, especially in high school.  It was the presence of music that brought me around to this area, starting off with my encounter with a B-52's fan early in the school term.  As the year progressed, I was exposed to a ton of great 'new' bands there, that I doubtfully would have ever come across at my old Massachusetts high school, or if I had, would have been ostracized for, for being one of the 'weird' kids. In addition to my B-52's story (linked above), I also came across The Residents for the first time while there. The year I moved to Monterey was the year Australasian bands broke big in the States, led by Split Enz with their hits "I Got You" and "I Hope I Never" (the band played both songs on the ABC network late-night show Fridays that October) and followed by Men At Work ("Who Can It Be Now" was released in the spring of 1981, then their massive hit "Down Under" coming out later that year, finally topping the US charts almost a year later).

At Monterey High in 1980-81, there were two big bands that the kids there were buzzing about.  The first was The Medflys, a local Santa Cruz/Monterey ska/New Wave band   They were one of the most popular draws in the early and mid-”80s at clubs and festivals from Monterey and Santa Cruz to San Francisco, and were regularly named “Best Local Band” by area radio stations and news publications during its heyday.  The band”s sound was a combination of the New Wave rock that was popular at the time, mixed with fast-paced ska music, even a little ”80s pop. They were known for their theatrical, energized live shows, especially the acrobatic and charismatic front man Christ, who possessed surfer boy good looks and boundless energy.  Their early Eighties hits included "Compulsive", "Belfast" and "State Of Mind", and later in the decade, they scored notoriety with a novelty song commemorating Clint Eastwood's successful campaign for Mayor of Carmel, "Don't Mess With The Mayor":

In their time, the Medflys went on tour with some major headlining acts, including Joan Jett, fellow locals Huey Lewis & The News and Greg Kihn, but especially The Tubes, who they formed a lasting bond with.

The other band getting a lot of local attention in those years was one I first heard about from some girls who sat next to me in Mr. Clark's science class during my first weeks in school. I noticed early on that their class folders were covered with stickers for Mr. Zog's Sex Wax, a popular brand of surfwax used to aid traction and grip on surfboards.  Of course, I had no idea at the time what this product was; with the innuendo-laden line "The Best For Your Stick", it seemed to me to be a fairly risque image to display. One day, I finally worked up the nerve to ask them about it, and was rewarded with a crash course on local surf culture - the lifestyle, the equipment, the best spots up and down the Central Coast, and the music, especially that provided by their latest fave band, The Surf Punks, from Malibu.

Friends Drew Steele and Dennis Dragon formed The Surf Punks in 1976. While both of them were dedicated surfers and adopted a bohemian "surf'' attitude, their backgrounds were strictly upper class and grounded in big-time show business: Steele's stepfather was Gavin MacLeod of Mary Tyler Moore Show and Love Boat fame; Dragon was the son of popular symphony conductor Carmen Dragon and the younger brother of Daryl Dragon, the "Captain" in the hugely popular pop duo The Captain & Tennille.

The pair recruited a couple of friends and fellow surfers to join the band, including lead guitarist John Heussenstamm, Tony Creed on second guitar and harmonica, and bassist John Hunt, and began practicing in Dragon's garage studio across the street from Zuma Beach in Malibu, one of Southern California's most popular surf spots. The Surf Punks weren't really "punk", per se - most of their songs were various amalgamations of New Wave, surf rock, comedy rock and pop, with lyrics centered primarily on the in-group/out-group experiences of "locals" (surfers living on the beach in Malibu) and "valleys" (commuters from the San Fernando Valley to the private and public beaches of the exclusive Malibu Beach community).  The band has been described more than once as "The Beach Boys of the punk world", an assessment that wasn't totally inaccurate.

Their wild shows, at places like the legendary Starwood in Hollywood and a notorious show in Ventura, were a big draw in the area in the late 1970s, and generated enough attention in the group for a local producer to finance a single, "My Beach/Go Home" b/w "My Wave", released in Australia in late 1977. The Surf Punks' first self-titled album, an independent release on their own Day-Glo Records label, came out two years later, and cuts from this disc began receiving heavy play on L.A.'s influential alternative rock station KROQ-FM. This wider exposure led to the band booking more lucrative local gigs. And it also caught the interest of industry giant Epic Records, who picked up the group on a one-off contract; their debut album (renamed My Beach) was rereleased on the label in mid-1980.  The record was fairly popular in certain quarters (mainly coastal California, Hawaii, Australia and other semi-heavy surf communities), but wasn't a national breakout hit and did nothing chart-wise.  I used to hear it all over the Monterey Bay area during that time, though, and although I wasn't (and still am not) much of a beach bum, I enjoyed the music immensely.  It was stuff like The Surf Punks that really got me settled into life in California, and I began enjoying the area, the school and my neighborhood more and more.

 

Looking back, probably the nucleus of the La Mesa group, the center it all revolved around, were the two Mikes (Mike C. and Mike F.) along with Martin. The three of them lived only a couple of houses away from one another in the upper part of La Mesa Village, and as such they were the closest of buddies, with the same skewed senses of humor and penchants for mischief and danger. A once-legendary story that emerged from that time was the night in late 1980 the three took Martin's brother's car for a joy ride. His brother Carl really wasn't part of the overall group, although everyone liked him just the same; he was sort of quiet and kept to himself and his interests, which included the restoration of a vintage vehicle from the 1940s that he had acquired. This car was a thing of beauty - a huge retro body painted metallic blue with flecks of glitter in it, sporting chromium wheels and a sooped-up engine.  Carl would drive that thing around town and instantly stop traffic and draw stares wherever he was. Prospective purchasers were drooling for that auto to be put on the market... but Martin was to have first dibs on it, going 50/50 on the purchase with his father. The car wasn't in Martin's possession just yet, though - so I have no idea how he got hold of the keys...

Anyway, with Martin behind the wheel and the two Mikes riding shotgun, these guys decided to go for a spin down Aguajito Road and up the winding mountain road to nearby Jacks Peak Park. On the way back down, legend has it that Martin decided that would be a good time to open the car up and see what it could REALLY do... As they picked up speed, he reportedly crowed "I'M GOING TO BREAK THE LAND SPEED RECORD!!!" - just before he missed a turn and ran the vintage car into a ditch. Fortunately, none of the three were hurt, but the car was a total wreck.  When Martin's dad found out what happened, he rejoined "Well, I was going to go 'halfs' with you on this - but guess what? You just bought the WHOLE car!"

The NPGS authorities finally got tired of residents' complaints of "rowdy teens" and decided to address the issue by opening up a "Teen Center" in the middle of the neighborhood. I was one of those annoying "student leader" types back then, so I was asked to be on the planning and advisory board for the facility, in an unused building up there. In the bylaws I helped set up, it was decided that the kids themselves would run the place, with minimal adult supervision. So we elected officers (I was the first vice-president), stocked the place with vending machines, a pool table, pinball machines and video games, and threw the doors open that winter. The Teen Club was a resounding success from the get-go - every night, 40-50+ kids would pile into the place. We held parties and dances there as well (all the guys angling to dance the longest song (always "Stairway To Heaven") with Stephanie, the prettiest girl in La Mesa).

 

I graduated from high school and left Monterey after one year, but my family stayed on, as well as Martin, Freeman, and most of the old group. During my first few months away, I made an effort to acquire a copy of My Beach, to remind me of the place I had grown to be fond of.  The Teen Club still ran strong in my absence, and apparently continued long after all of us had left the area (Years later, I returned to Monterey as a Navy officer myself. On a whim, I drove up to La Mesa to look around, and was happily surprised to find the Teen Club still in operation. When I told the administrator there who I was and how the place came to be, she reached up on a back shelf and pulled down an ancient photo album, that included photos from that first year of existence!).

 

As it happens in military housing communities, the old, familiar groups tend to gradually dissipate, whittled down by graduations and family transfers. By 1984, everyone who had been part of that close-knit La Mesa circle had moved away.  However, I stayed in touch with many of the folks from that period, and watched as their lives progressed.  Pete ended up remaining in the Monterey area and became a paramedic; Jill became a French teacher; Martin moved down to San Diego and worked as a teacher and high school football coach; Joel also attended Annapolis and became a Navy officer; Mike F. - the wildest of us all - ended up joining the U.S. Border Patrol, and to his credit has advanced within it to high levels of responsibility. I haven't laid eyes on most of them in years, but we all still regard one another as friends - that's how it is when you're a "Navy brat".

 

Several decades have passed since those days... yet I still think back fondly on that time and the people that I knew.  While New Zealand will always be the best place I've ever lived, Monterey ranks a close second, and is the best place in the States I've resided, hands down.

In March of this year, Martin posted a message on his Facebook page, stating that he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  While it was concerning, those of us who knew him weren't overly worried, as he had worked through some other serious health issues in the past, and seemed ready to lick this thing as well.

 

Alas, it was not to be - Martin died last week, at the age of 55.

It seems odd and strange that someone who was an integral part of that period is now no longer with us. Because in some ways, those times in Monterey seem like yesterday, and therefore I'm still in my youth. I still listen to my old Surf Punks albums from time to time (after My Beach, they released (to steadily worsening reviews and sales) Locals Only on Day-Glo Records in 1982, and their final label release Oh No! Not Them Again! on Enigma Records in 1988 - and yes, I own them all), and they still conjure up that fine teenage period of life for me. But with Martin's passing, the first of the group that I know of to die, it brings home the fact that those times WERE long ago, that I'm not as young as I'd like to think, and the clock is ticking - ticking for us all.

 

Gonna miss you, Martin, man - you made it to the top of the mountain and back this time.

 

In honor and in memory of my time in La Mesa, and for my old friend Martin, here's The Surf Punks' My Beach, released on Epic Records in June 1980. Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think.

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The Clash - Clash On Broadway (The Interviews)

Here's a Leap Day quickie (and a way for me to keep up my monthly quota of posts as well . . .): a disc of interviews of various members of The Clash, put together as a promotion for the 1991 release of the Clash On Broadway compilation. These interviews, conducted by former band manager/associate Kosmo Vinyl in New York City and London in late 1991, provides info on the origins and operations, stresses and successes of the group from the 'horse's mouths' themselves. Mick Jones, Joe Strummer and Paul Simonon detail their thoughts and inspirations behind some of the most important and popular Clash songs. While there is mostly just talk on this disc, there IS some music on here as well.

Here's the track lineup:

1. Interview (Mick Jones on the beginnings of The Clash)
2. Interview (Joe Strummer on the beginnings of The Clash)
3. Interview (Mick Jones on the beginnings of The Clash)
4. Interview (Paul Simonon on the beginnings of The Clash)
5. Interview (Mick Jones on the beginnings of The Clash)
6. Interview (Paul Simonon on the beginnings of The Clash)
7. Interview (Joe Strummer on the beginnings of The Clash)
8. Interview (Mick Jones on the beginnings of The Clash)
9. Interview (Joe Strummer on the beginnings of The Clash)
10. Interview (Mick Jones on the beginnings of The Clash)
11. White Riot
12. Interview (Paul Simonon; Joe Strummer; Mick Jones; on the transition from Terry Chimes to Topper Headon as Clash Drummer, and the writing of the song Complete Control)
13. Complete Control
14. Interview (Mick Jones; Joe Strummer on writing (White Man) In Hammersmith Palais)
15. White Man In Hammersmith Palais
16. Interview (Joe Strummer on the inspiration for Julie's Working For The Drug Squad)
17. Julie's Been Working For The Drug Squad
18. Interview (Paul Simonon; Joe Strummer on writing One Emotion)
19. One Emotion
20. Interview (Joe Strummer; Mick Jones on covering the song I Fought The Law)
21. I Fought The Law (Live)
22. Interview (Mick Jones; Paul Simonon; Joe Strummer on writing the song and album London Calling)
23. London Calling
24. Interview (Joe Strummer; Mick Jones on writing Lost In The Supermarket)
25. Lost In The Supermarket
26. Interview (Paul Simonon on writing The Guns Of Brixton)
27. The Guns Of Brixton
28. Interview (Paul Simonon; Mick Jones on writing Train In Vain)
29. Train In Vain
30. Interview (Joe Strummer on writing Rock The Casbah)
31. Rock The Casbah
32. Interview (Mick Jones; Joe Strummer; Paul Simonon on writing Should I Stay Or Should I Go)
33. Should I Stay Or Should I Go
34. Interview (Paul Simonon, Mick Jones; Joe Strummer on recording Every Little Bit Hurts)
35. Every Little Bit Hurts
36. Interview (Mick Jones; Paul Simonon; Joe Strummer on the legacy of The Clash)

I ran this one down only a couple of years back, in my constant search for any and all noises related to The Clash. I had no idea it existed prior to then, else I would have acquired it at the same time I bought the compilation all those years ago. This mostly-interview disc may not be everyone's cup of tea, but I always find it interesting to know a band's roots, and how/why they came up with their hit songs. This album is a great complement to the original box set and the Clash On Broadway (The Outtakes, a.k.a. Disc 4) I posted earlier. If you have any interest in the history of The Clash, this is a must-have.

So here for your edification and listening pleasure, is Clash On Broadway (The Interviews), released by Epic Records in late 1991.  Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think.

Happy Leap Day!

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Joe Strummer - Earthquake Westher

The Clash posts this week were all lead-ups to today, the tenth anniversary of the death of Joe Strummer.

I remember exactly where I was when I first heard the news: I was in Rhode Island, driving into work two days before Christmas and listening to National Public Radio. The announcement of his death was one of the top news stories; it was brief, and provided no details other than the basic journalistic "five Ws". But it was still a huge jolt to me. The Clash were about to be inducted into the Rock Hall of Fame in just a few weeks, and I was eagerly looking forward to a reunion. While still on the road, I instantly called one of my buddies and fellow band mates, a big Clash fan like myself. He hadn't heard the news; when I broke it to him, he was just as shocked as I was.

I spent all day a work in a funk, listening to Clash tunes on my Creative MP3 player. Later that day as I drove home, I listened to the NPR afternoon show, which had a more in-depth report on Joe. It was a very well-done overview/tribute to Strummer's life, and at the end of it, they did something extraordinary - they played "White Man In Hammersmith Palais" in its entirety.

I remember being amazed and grateful that a news organization such as NPR devoted so much time and showed so much respect to Strummer's life and music - they didn't just treat him like some dirty punk rocker, but as a serious artist and visionary.

After the collapse of the final version of The Clash following the disastrous and widely-panned release of 1985's Cut The Crap, Strummer spent the next few years working on musical collaborations with other partners - I think that the reception of the last Clash album rattled him a bit, and he began working on projects to get back his confidence in his music-making abilities and skills. He first teamed with filmmaker Alex Cox and contributed two songs to the soundtrack of his 1986 film Sid & Nancy. Strummer then ended his feud with former Clash band mate Mick Jones, and collaborated with him on Big Audio Dynamite's second album, No. 10 Upping St., producing the album and co-writing most of the songs. He then went back to work with Cox, contributing another two songs to the film Straight To Hell. Cox was so pleased with Strummer's input that he asked him to score his next movie in its entirety. The film, Walker (released in 1987), was widely panned and flopped at the box office (Cox never worked for a major Hollywood studio again). But the film's soundtrack received much critical praise, with Strummer's mix of reggae, rock, calypso and South American music receiving high marks.

The positive reception of the Walker soundtrack gave Strummer back his 'mojo', and in 1988 he began working on his own material again, this time with no collaborator. He put together a backing band in Los Angeles (which included former Red Hot Chili Peppers drummer Jack Irons) and spent a year with them in the local studios, working on his new project and also cutting songs to contribute to another movie, Keanu Reeves' Permanent Record. The album Strummer and his band (now known as The Latino Rockabilly War) released, 1989's Earthquake Weather, was a return to form for him. I purchased the album the instant it came out, and played songs like "Shouting Street" and "Dizzy's Goatee" to death. It's not his finest work, in my opinion. But it was good to see Joe Strummer back out there, doing what he did best, and most critics seemed to agree with that sentiment. The album was well-reviewed, but sold relatively poorly.

Frankly, I don't think Strummer cared one way or another. Earthquake Weather is Joe dipping his toe back in the musical water, to check the temperature and to see if it was worth it for him to jump back in again. Apparently, he found that it was. Strummer gradually made his way back into actively performing, eventually putting together The Mescaleros and releasing three superb albums with them before his death.

So, in honor of and in tribute to the great Joe Strummer, here's Earthquake Weather, released by Epic Records on September 20th, 1989. Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think.

 Rest well, Joe.  

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Spin Doctors - Pocket Full Of Kryptonite

I hate Labor Day.

I'll just let everyone know that right up front - I can't STAND this holiday. Yeah, yeah - I'm all for the "working man's day of rest" (the reason this day was founded in the first place), Jerry Lewis and the Muscular Dystrophy Telethon (that used to be a big deal when I was a kid - tell me, when was the last time you remember watching it?), big parades and county fairs and all of that. And Lord knows, any day away from my job is most welcome.

The thing I hate about Labor Day is the seeming finality of it all, hammered into our heads for days in advance by local and national newscasters, endlessly prattling on about the upcoming "End of Summer". As such, Labor Day Weekend usually ends up as a frenzied whirlwind of disjointed activity, as people who are already dissatisfied with the amount and use of their leisure time since Memorial Day (aka "The Beginning of Summer") make one last dash to gainfully use the very last minutes of weekend pleasure available to them, to squeeze the last pitiful few drops of fun out of the bone-dry lemon of their summer months, apparently before the thermometer suddenly plunges 40 degrees during the first week of September.

The exploitation surrounding this weekend is incredible. Seaside hotels jack up the rates to astronomical levels. Gas companies suddenly report "shortages" and "refinery issues", in an excuse to nudge the unleaded prices up a couple more cents. Restaurants advertise "Labor Day Specials", charging big money for the same meal you could have had for 40% less the weekend before. Dance clubs increase the cover charge, but still play the same old music as before. Local cops leave the ticket books sitting in their cars where they can reach them and chuckle gleefully to themselves, knowing that their speeding ticket quota problems will all be solved during this three-day period (I understand that a couple of years ago in Virginia, they increased the penalty for speeding just before the holiday weekend to a MINIMUM of $1,000 - so long, budget deficit, eh, guys?).

It's all a bunch of crap. Last time I checked, summer ends on the vernal equinox, sometime around September 23rd. Yes, yes - I know that school starts this week, and you allegedly don't have as much free time to do stuff with the kids after they head back to school. But if you're working, how much free time did you have with them at all this summer? A week? Possibly two? I would wager that over the summer, just as during the other seasons, most of your leisure activities took place on Saturday and Sunday. So what's the rush with doing a bunch of stuff this particular weekend? Unless you live in northern Manitoba or Narvik, Norway, there are still going to be a few more gorgeous weekends available this year. Just relax, pace yourself, and enjoy.

The upcoming "end of this summer" puts me in mind of the end of another summer, twenty years back. Ah, the good ol' Summer of '92, at that point the best summer I ever had. In the spring of that year, I had left my ship, the USS Hayler, after three years aboard, and transferred from Norfolk, VA to Arlington, VA, where I was a finance officer in a department of the Navy Recruiting Command. I liked my new job and the Washington DC area, but I left a lot of friends down in Hampton Roads, mainly guys who I had served aboard the ship with. One guy, an officer and fellow shipmate, was still aboard the Hayler; he lived in Virginia Beach in a house he shared with two other officer friends of his who were stationed aboard other local ships.

Now this dude (nicknamed "Doogie", as in Doogie Howser M.D., since he looked much younger than he was) was a friggin' wild man, a hard-partying boy who was still running off of the pent-up energy of his fairly recent college days (he went to a very reputable Midwestern university, where his antics were legendary, and legendarily filthy - his nickname in college was "Dirtman"). His housemates were just as nutty as he was. So they were all a great bunch to hang out with. Although by the spring of 1992, many of the old Hayler gang had been transferred to other parts of the country, we all were loath to end the party.

So on Memorial Day Weekend that year, Doogie and his boys got on the phone and invited everyone down to Virginia Beach to crash and hang out. Most of the gang made it, many travelling from far and wide to make it to Chez Doogie - DC, Charleston, and as far away as Jacksonville and Boston. It was a great weekend. One of the housemates had a boat docked near Little Creek, so we spend the afternoons water-skiing or tubing (I was horrible, and kept falling off), and of course knocking back a few 'refreshments' onboard. Or we would head down to the beach for the day, chilling and chatting with the beach patrol, all of whom were friends with Doogie and his boys. Friday and Saturday nights were spent at various clubs in Virginia Beach - Peabody's and a couple of other frat-type beer joints downtown, TCC's in Lynnhaven, and a few others whose names I've long since forgotten. We'd usually grab a quick bite to eat at Taco Bell or the Jewish Mother before heading back to the house to fall asleep haphazardly wherever we could find a place to snooze. And the highlight of the weekend was on Sunday nights, when the beachside club at the nearby Fort Story army base would open up for anyone who wanted to come, military or civilian, and they'd pump great music (i.e,, Jesus Jones, EMF's "Unbelievable" and Nine Inch Nail's Pretty Hate Machine were HUGE that summer) and dispense cheap beer well into the night (those were the pre-9/11 days, of course, when they'd let anyone through the base gates for the party; needless to say, they stopped doing that long ago).

It was a lot of fun - so much so, that during that summer, the trek to Doogie's house in Virginia Beach became a nearly-every-weekend pilgrimage. It seemed like I was down there all the time, partying with the boys. And I wasn't the only one - everyone came there, practically every weekend (one guy made the trip from Boston multiple times that summer - I still don't know how he did it and managed to remain upright). And every time I was there, it was just as fun as that first weekend. It never got old, no one fought or made asses of themselves, and everyone just laughed and had a good time. I got a little better on the water skis, and I was always one of the first ones into the pit during the slam-dance songs at Fort Story (once, during a particularly high leap, some Air Force jerk tried to 'submarine' me, taking me legs out from under me - fortunately, I recovered before hitting the ground. That was the only unpleasant incident of that summer that I recall). By the time Labor Day rolled around, I was sure that the summer of 1992 was the best summer I ever had. And up to that point, it was.

You know how every summer seems to have a theme song? In a year full of great music played to death in every city and club I was in (including Kriss Kross's "Jump", Sir Mix-A-Lot's "Baby Got Back", "Jump Around" by House of Pain, Tom Cochrane's "Life Is A Highway", Right Said Fred's "I'm Too Sexy" . . . and of course "Smells Like Teen Spirit", among many, many others), for me, 1992 was the summer of The Spin Doctors, and their two huge hits "Little Miss Can't Be Wrong" and "Two Princes". It seemed that these songs and this band sprung up seemingly from out of nowhere, but The Spin Doctors' roots go back further than you might think.

The origins of The Spin Doctors can be traced to the mid-80s New York City club scene. The band evolved from an earlier group called Trucking Company, featuring guitarist Eric Schenkman and vocalist Chris Barron backing the then-front man, none other than Mr. John Popper. Popper never fully committed to Trucking Company, preferring to focus most of his musical efforts on his main band, the up-and-coming Blues Traveler. So when he quit Trucking Company in the spring of 1989, Schenkman and Barron recruited bassist Mark White and Dallas drumming legend Aaron Comess, and changed their band name to The Spin Doctors.

The band spent the next couple of years gigging in the NYC area and building an audience. Despite their split with Popper, they all remained friends, so much so that The Spin Doctors and Blues Traveler regularly appeared together on double bills in the city. Their growing buzz brought them to the attention of Epic Records, which signed them in the winter of 1991. The label quickly released the band's debut EP, Up For Grabs . . . Live, in January 1991, followed by their debut album, Pocket Full of Kryptonite, that following August.

Pocket Full of Kryptonite was initially greeted, both critically and commercially, with resounding . . . crickets. Basically, it was ignored by the record-buying public, and considered a failure by the label. In their efforts to build an nationwide audience, The Spin Doctors undertook an extensive national tour schedule during the fall/winter of 1991/92, travelling on the cheap and playing tons of small colleges and one-horse towns, trying to make themselves heard. From all indications, the gigs were generally well received, but didn't exactly make the band household names.

By the late spring of 1992, the band was exhausted from making the club circuit rounds; despite their herculean efforts, their national profile hadn't increased significantly. At this juncture, their old friend John Popper came to their rescue. He too was tired of the club scene, and wanted to avoid those small, dark, hot and sweaty clubs during the upcoming summer. Inspired by the successful Lollapalooza Festival from the year before, Popper figured he could do the same sort of thing - a nationwide outdoor amphitheater tour - with bands that shared a similar approach to music as Blues Traveler. He invited Widespread Panic, Phish, The Samples and The Spin Doctors to join him that summer on what became known as the H.O.R.D.E. ("Horizons of Rock Developing Everywhere") Festival.

The H.O.R.D.E. tour was a critical and financial success from the very beginning, and it made the Spin Doctors; due to it, the band's star immediately began rising. Due to popular demand generated from those shows, "Little Miss Can't Be Wrong" suddenly went into heavy rotation on radio stations across the country (eventually making it into the U.S. Top Twenty), and MTV began airing the song's video practically around the clock.

The second album single, "Two Princes", was released on the heels of the first song that summer, and did even better than its predecessor, entering the U.S. Top Ten by mid-August. And the album that no one noticed or wanted the year before began flying off the shelves. Pocket Full of Kryptonite was certified Gold by the end of the summer, and by the end of the year went multi-platinum, eventually selling over 5 million copies in the U.S. alone and peaking at #3 on the national charts.

These Spin Doctors songs were always guaranteed to fill up a dance floor the moment the DJ dropped the needle - everyone out there gyrating, laughing and singing along. I danced to these tunes at Fort Story, in Virginia Beach, at Lulu's in DC (damn, I miss that place), and a score of other clubs up and down the East Coast that summer. The band wasn't hugely innovative, but they had a sound that was accessible to a lot of people back then - sort of like a frat house band that made good. And that was all right with me at that time.

Sadly, The Spin Doctors couldn't sustain their momentum. The band put out its follow-up release, Turn It Upside Down, in 1994. While it sold over 2 million copies worldwide, it was considered a disappointment of sorts, by both the band and Epic. At that point, things began to fall apart very quickly. During their tour that summer, Schenkman quit the band in the worst possible way, walking offstage during a show in California. The group hired a replacement and recorded You've Got To Believe In Something in the spring of 1996, but the album was a huge bomb, selling less than 100,000 copies. Epic dropped The Spin Doctors like a hot potato shortly thereafter, and gradually the band fell apart, all but defunct by 1999.

Just like the band, my life and the lives of my summer friends were quickly changing as well as the summer of 1992 came to a close. Doogie got married a few months later, along with a couple of other guys from our group. Other guys transferred to far-away locations, or just drifted away - I have no idea where most of them are now. As for myself, I got transferred to Christchurch, New Zealand in the spring of 1993, so I wasn't going to be around for that upcoming summer anyway. I was sad about it for a little while . . . but I sort of knew that there would be no way to repeat the epic experiences and good times we all had from the year before; it would have been futile to even try. Life moves on, and you enjoy it as it comes. I never thought I would ever have as good a time in my life ever again . . . until I settled into my new home in New Zealand, and the days I would spend in that country were to become the best period of my life, even better than those storied three months in 1992.

But that's another story . . .

So, anyway, at the "end" of another summer, I raise my bottle of Sam Adams and salute a long-ago time and place, the friends I had back then and the fun we all shared. The Spin Doctors were an integral part of that great period in my life, and I salute them as well. To Doogie, guys, all the ladies we encountered and everyone else involved in my Summer of '92 (all of whom, for purposes here, shall remain nameless) - thank you, and all the best to you in your current lives.

Here's the album, released by Epic Records in 1991. Enjoy, let me know what you think, and if you have the chance, tell me about your best summers as well.

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The Clash - Return To Brixton EP [Extended Mixes]

It took me a long time to get into compact discs. I can remember when the Midshipmen's Store at Annapolis started stocking the things in 1985, a small area (basically, a little kiosk) within the store's already small music section. This was in the 'longbox' era, when CDs were packaged in 12" boxes so they would fit a music store's already in-place vinyl record racks. These long, thin things seemed strange and exotic back then, and there was a mystique about the technology behind those shiny little circles that mesmerized many people. However, the discs were also prohibitively expensive, as were CD players. And it's not like there was a huge selection of music, either new stuff or back catalogue items, available for sale in the early days (especially at the Mid Store, of all places . . . I'll be charitable, and just say that the CD albums they did have to offer at that time weren't exactly on the cutting edge). During my time at Annapolis I had managed to assemble an awesome collection of great tunes, the bulk of it (about 400-500 albums) on cassette tapes that I meticulously stored (alphabetically by artist and chronologically by release date - yes, I was (and am) that anal retentive . . .) in padded faux-leather cases. As much of a pain in the ass as it was to cart these bulky tape suitcases around with me hither and yon, I wasn't about to casually give up on my music treasures, compiled with much thought and at great expense over those years, and start over again.

So during the late '80s, while everyone else I knew forged ahead with their CD collections, I remained committed to cassettes, a musical Luddite clinging to a rapidly outdated format, the music industry equivalent of the buggy whip. In hindsight, I should have switched over sooner. But I guess in many ways, I was still intimidated by CD technology.

For example, I remember my first visit to England, in 1988. My ship docked in Portsmouth, and that first weekend there I caught British Rail and headed for London, Ground Zero for me as far as what was happening in the world musically. I arrived there coincidently on the same day as the historic Nelson Mandela 70th Birthday concert at Wembley Stadium. But I wasn't interested in any of that activity, I wanted to see things that resonated with me (like Kings Road, as seedy and awesome as I thought it would be, and Brixton, which was sort of scary and grim until I fell in with some locals). At one point during that trip, I HAD to go to the world-famous Virgin Records store near Piccadilly Circus. I bought tons of tapes while there, but the main thing I remember about the place was the "CD factory". There was a sublevel in the Virgin building that could be viewed through glass from the upper levels. On the sublevel floor was a compact disc production line, manned by workers wearing white hooded anti-static suits, smoked glasses and face masks. It was all very sterile, protected and futuristic, and it made quite an impression on me - the WRONG impression. I thought, "Shoot, CDs are so hard to make, no wonder they're so expensive!" If a tape broke on you, you could either go out and buy a replacement fairly cheaply, or else borrow a friend's cassette and make a new copy - with CDs so pricey and apparently fragile, what would happen if one of those discs broke? So I remained on the CD sidelines.

Finally, by the early 90's, the pressure to switch over to CDs was becoming unbearable. The final push over the line happened due to good old WHFS, the old alternative music station for Annapolis, Baltimore and Washington. I had just left the Norfolk area after three years and returned to the DC area to take a job in Arlington, and I was happy to be back in my old haunts and once again surrounded by 'good' music (the Tidewater area being a virtual backwater for that type of stuff, as I've mentioned in earlier posts). One of the first things that met my ears upon my return that spring was a very cool remix of The Clash's "The Guns Of Brixton", a song in semi-heavy rotation on 'HFS.

Now, not only is The Clash one of my all-time favorite bands, but "The Guns Of Brixton" (off of London Calling) is quite possibly my all-time favorite Clash song. So I went running to the old Tower Records at George Washington University to grab this remix . . . only to find that the EP wasn't available on tape, ONLY on CD.

I stood there in the record store with head bowed, pondering, holding that CD longbox in my hand for what seemed like several minutes. Finally I sighed, shrugged my shoulders, and walked to the counter to purchase it. They finally got me.

The next day, I bought a Sony portable CD player that came with a little doohickey that attached to the player and ran into the car's cassette tape slot, so I could listen to the CD while I drove (with skips and all - the anti-skip technology back then wasn't as advanced as it was now, necessitating careful driving and/or ingenious padding to enable you to hear an entire song without interruption). And the rest, as they say, is history . . .

So here's the one that started it all for me - the very first CD I ever bought, the Clash's Return To Brixton [Extended Mixes] EP, released by Epic Records back in 1990. Even after all of these years, I still enjoy these remixes, and I hope you all enjoy them too. Here you are - let me know what you think:

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(And sorry I've been away for so long - circumstances, you know . . .)

Slow Bongo Floyd - More Than Jesus EP

Speaking of more insane Madchester nonsense I acquired back in the day . . .

Here's another one from that era, Slow Bongo Floyd's More Than Jesus EP, released in 1991 on Epic Records.

Slow Bongo Floyd was a minor Manchester band, formed in the immediate wake of the Stone Roses' success (see previous posting). The band was essentially the brainchild/project of local musician Mick Jones (no, not the Clash's Mick Jones - this is another one), assisted by a rotating group of friends and fellow musicians. Slow Bongo Floyd went beyond what The Stone Roses started, and sowed that thumping house groove a little deeper into their music than some of the other Madchester bands (with the possible exception of The Happy Mondays). It's conceivable that this sound should have carried them at least as far as it did the Mondays, but alas, the band was destined to coexist on the fringes of the movement.

I can't remember where or when I first heard this song; it was probably at once of those old dance clubs in Washington DC on F Street. I know I did purchase it from the now-defunct GWU Tower Records the year it came out (too bad Tower went belly up, but it wasn't my doing. I estimated once that in my lifetime, I probably purchased at least 60% of the scores of tapes and hundreds of CDs I own from Tower, with the vast majority of those coming out of the place in Washington).

Slow Bongo Floyd was active for a fairly long period, from about 1989 to early 1992. But strangely, any detailed information on the band is VERY hard to find nowadays. It's weird that in this day and age, they remain somewhat of a mystery.

So, that's all I've got on these guys - not a lot. But I know you're here for music, and not information. So here you go:

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