For example -- if you asked me to lecture about problems with Pop these days -- and you do NOT want to invite me to lecture -- because I am an old person (over 40) and should therefore be ignored when I start talking about music -- one thing I might say is that the lack of REAL DRUMS in most music today represents a significant handicap -- a dying art form -- an important, dynamic, and exciting element to the all-important live show --
And yet, I HEART both Erasure and Depeche Mode and seemingly have no trouble with their choice of percussion.
I am, of course, a hypocrite.
It occurs to me that at Rewind -- I will probably not see any of the original members of Village People. I know that some of them have died. It might be that ALL of them are dead -- and I can't say that it really matters.
And -- on top of that -- I don't expect any of those bitches to play a real drum. Let's just face it.
I am going to now go to Wikipedia -- so you don't have to . . .
• Native American (once called "Indian" -- for shame!): Felipe Rose (Still alive!)
• Soldier: Alex Bailey (Still alive!)
• Construction Worker: David Hodo (Joined 1978 -- Still alive!)
• Cop: Ray Simpson (NOT original -- but replaced Victor Willis in 1980 -- and alive!)
• Cowboy: Jeff Olson (NOT original -- but replaced Dave Forrest in 1980 -- and alive!)
• Biker: Eric Anzalone (Not original -- Basically, the one new guy)
Holy shit -- WE ARE SEEING THE VILLAGE PEOPLE!!
I AM AT A LOSS AND NEED A MOMENT TO COLLECT MYSELF.
I am back. Now to switch gears . . . because I must . . . because the goddamn Village People are really touring . . .
A couple of summers ago, I went to see Frankie Vallie and the Four Seasons -- love his voice, his music -- and if there is nothing you take from this post -- it is that rock starts are dying.
But the Four Seasons were these choreographed, cheesy, 20-something show queens -- all smiles and jazz hands. It was like Frankie Vallie had spent 40 years on the road hard living, hard drinking, hard women -- and the Four Seasons had basically spent their evening drinking the blood of young virgins and sleeping on earth-lined coffins. And maybe doing some flower arranging on the side.
The only thing that was missing was the sound every two minutes of a roller coaster whizzing by -- because it was just like one of those amusement park shows that pops up when you are waiting in line two hours for your two minute ride. Swearing to God -- all smiles and choreography -- don't tell the angels . . . hey!