Beers I Have Known: Sierra Nevada Blindfold Black IPA

This series of posts is dedicated to the many, many six packs, pony kegs and pints that have sauntered into my life at one point or another.

sierra nev

I’m very pleased that I live in a place that has been dubbed Beer City, U.S.A. More than that, I’m excited that the community continues to live up to the title, years after the sponsor of the annual vote gave up on the process, presumably in part because they got tired of this little North Carolina mountain town winning every year. Among all of our other craft brewers, modest and ambitious, comes arguably the granddaddy of them all: Sierra Nevada. Their new east coast facility (technically in neaby Mills River) has been brewing for a little while and recently opened their huge, impressive taproom. Ever since Sierra Nevada announced they were on the way, they’ve been remarkably good citizens to their new home away from home, flying Asheville brewers out to their main facility in Chico, California and generally offering up the corporate equivalent of “we’re just happy to be here” at every turn. Happily, they seem to mean it. I saw the taproom the right way: with a bevy of friends, all of whom were excited to share the relatively rare beers they ordered through the night. A number of the beers were excellent, but I favored the rich, delectable Blindfold Black IPA. I did last night, anyway. My fickle taste buds could decide another brew to be the victor on any given excursion. It’ll be a competition I’ll be happy to preside over for many nights to come.

Previously…
Point Special
21st Amendment Bitter American
Abita Restoration Pale Ale
Rolling Rock
Skull Splitter
Foster’s
Highland Thunderstruck Coffee Porter
Red Stripe
Rhinelander Bock
Samuel Adams Boston Lager
New Glarus Brewing Company Wisconsin Belgian Red
ABA Hoppy Saison
Hamm’s
Abita Strawberry Harvest Lager
Three Floyds Apocalypse Cow
French Broad Brewing Gateway Kolsch
Big Boss Brewing “High Monkey”
Stevens Point Brewery Whole Hog Pumpkin Ale
The Native Brewing Company The Eleven Brown Ale
Labatt Blue
Smuttynose Winter Ale
Point Beyond the Pale IPA
Guinness
Capital Brewery Supper Club
Highland Brewing 20th Anniversary Scotch Ale
Mickey’s
Central Waters Brewing Company Sixteen
Blatz
Pisgah Pale Ale
New Glarus Brewing Company Pumpkin Pie Lust
Asheville Brewing Company Rocket Girl

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Top Fifty Films of the 40s — Number Forty-Four

44 lady

#44 — The Lady from Shanghai (Orson Welles, 1947)

After his debut feature accomplished nothing less than redefining the possibilities of cinema itself, Orson Welles never delivered another film that wasn’t compromised in one way or another. Even with his smaller, scrappier efforts, on which he came closest to the unquestioned creative authority of Citizen Kane, he was constrained by tight budgets and his own bad habits, which only grew the further away he got from Hollywood’s irritating controls. And when Welles was trying to work within the system, it often seemed as though he was thwarted at every turn, in part by the same strictures that bedeviled every filmmaker with ambitions towards more adult fare and further by the insular culture that never fully forgave him for his early hubris. One of the clearest measures of his uncommon talent is the level of artistry Welles still regularly reached under these conditions. He came to The Lady from Shanghai, for example, out of a certain level of desperation. Welles was deep in debt and in need of a commercial hit to maintain his ever-precarious career. Forget art. It was time to make a thriller.

I don’t mean to imply that Welles gave The Lady from Shanghai anything less than his all. If anything, he had an almost congenital inability to pander, which itself prevented his star from rising all that high. Besides, the source material, Sherwood King’s novel If I Should Die Before I Wake, was exactly the sort of pulpy potboiler Welles was susceptible to as a reader. But like Paul Thomas Anderson decades later, Welles came at every story with a inherent inclination to find every possible way to make it more complex and daunting. The basics of the plot remain roughly the same, with a poor sleepy schmo caught up in circumstances beyond his reckoning, in large part because of the allure of a beautiful woman. It is, in other words, the stuff of film noir. Welles twists it around to send the film careening to more exotic locales, further discombobulating his protagonist, sailor Michael O’Hara (played by Welles himself). The film has the necessary headlong momentum (with the occasional musical number, maybe the most obvious concession to perceived audience desire), but Welles is clearly more interested in testing the limits as he yanks on the levers of the narrative.

Nothing highlights the ambition of Welles more clearly and forcefully that the closing set piece, with the various characters stalking each other through a maze of mirrors, fracturing images repeating across the screen in kaleidoscopic wonderment. It’s more than a mere display of technical bravado, though. Within that dizzying scene, Welles manages to effectively contain then compress the snapping threads of the standard pulpy narrative into a apt visual metaphor for the trickery that exists within it. Further, it is another example of Welles’s lifelong compulsion to redefine cinematic language, like someone inventing words in a needful attempt to communicate the nearly indefinable ideas bounding around their brain. He may have run into problems with the censors (his first draft of the screenplay was rejected outright) and kept rejiggering the film to suit the mandates of the studio (not mention the undoubtedly significant challenge of working with his estranged wife, Rita Hayworth), but the impediments that would fell most filmmakers only serves as wispy clouds casting light shadows on the shimmering work of Welles. Sometimes creative brilliance prevails.

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College Countdown: 90FM’s Top 90 of 1995, 66 and 65

66 alice

66. Alice in Chains, Alice in Chains

In the early to middle part of the nineteen-nineties, a band was almost guaranteed some national attention as long as they were from Seattle and knew how to turn their amps up. Alice in Chains officially formed in 1987, when roommates Layne Staley and Jerry Cantrell joined one another’s new bands. The funk band Staley drew Cantrell into fading quickly, leaving the other group, defined by hard rock leanings, as the going concern. For the band’s name, they opted for a modified version of the group Staley was in previously, a glam metal outfit called Alice N’ Chains.

The band’s timing couldn’t have been much better. Between their debut, Facelift, and their sophomore effort, Dirt, Nirvana’s Nevermind arrived, not just opening the door for their fellow Seattle guitar-slingers but smashing the barrier into little pieces. Further aided by the soundtrack to Cameron Crowe’s Singles, which made the tacit argument that all bands from the city were equally fair game for hungry listeners, Alice in Chains became huge in a hurry. By now, Dirt has been certified quadruple-platinum. Success hardly guaranteed a smooth path forward, however. Besides the usual array of band squabbles, Staley had a heavy-duty drug problem with a particular proclivity for heroin. That led to canceled tours and enough general frustration among his bandmates that they were potentially prepared to start figuring out a path forward without him by 1995.

The album that became Alice in Chains began as Cantrell’s first noodling stab at a solo project. He eventually brought in Alice in Chains bassist Mike Inez and drummer Sean Kinney to help him work through the material. With three-quarters of the band already together, it felt only natural to invite Staley into the process. Staley implied it would have felt like a betrayal otherwise. The resulting album isn’t a remarkable achievement, but it does offer just enough evidence as to how Alice in Chains were different from their Seattle sound contemporaries. While “Brush Away” and a couple other tracks have the deliberate plod of grunge, most of Alice in Chains is infused with a more rattling and rattled brand of hard rock, with threads of pummeling heavy metal through it. That doesn’t uniformly translate to strong music (“Head Creeps” has a generic hard rock progression and dopily distorted vocals), but there are usually enough different dynamics to make sure there’s something at least a little interesting going on. If “God Am” has horribly trite lyrics — “Dear God, how have you been then?/ I’m not fine, fuck pretending” followed later by “This God of mine relaxes/ World dies, I still pay taxes” — it also has a underlying squeak and squall that almost distracts enough from the words.

Staley’s troubles built up his celebrity, making him the band member that drew the most focus (that goes with being the lead singer, too). Alice in Chains makes the argument that the band’s vital creative energy belongs to Cantrell. The record’s origins as a potential Cantrell solo effort show up all over the place, notably in the little detail that three of the four singles released from it feature the guitarist on lead vocals with Staley simply offering harmonies. There are deep textures to much of the music that suggest creative leadership from the guy whose main job is coaxing his guitar to make abrasive, majestic, enticing noises. “Sludge Factory” is fairly simple and direct until it gives way to an ending with a guitar line that seems to be dueling with itself.  Then there’s “Heaven Beside You,” built on bluesy, acoustic tones with electric guitar parts periodically insinuating themselves like a eddies of storm clouds.

This is the final Alice in Chains studio album featuring Staley. The drug abuse simply didn’t stop and the situation became untenable. Staley appeared on the band’s Unplugged album, released the following year, and then went into an extended spiral, occasionally committing himself, however briefly, to making more music. He died in April 2002. Eventually, Cantrell revived the band, recruiting William DuVall as new lead singer. They’ve released two albums under the lineup.

 

65 silverchair65. Silverchair, Frogstomp

The members of Silverchair were still teenagers when they entered a contest called Pick Me in their home country of Australia, sending in a demo of a song called “Tomorrow.” They won, getting the chance to rerecord the song and make a video, which eventually led to a record contract and their debut release, Frogstomp. “Tomorrow” became a major hit in the United States, topping both Billboard‘s Mainstream Rock and Modern Rock charts and even spending some time in the Hot 100, peaking at #28. They’re considered more of a one-hit wonder in the U.S., but they remained hugely successful back home in Australia, even holding the distinction of have the most nominations and wins at the ARIA Music Awards, the country’s rough equivalent of the Grammys. They’ve won twenty-one of those things. Silverchair announced an “indefinite hibernation” beginning in 2011.

Previously….

An Introduction
— 90-88: The Falling Wallendas, Parasite, and A.M.
— 87-85: North Avenue Wake Up Call, Live!, and Life Begins at 40 Million
— 84 and 83: Wholesale Meats and Fishes and Orange
— 82-80: (What’s the Story) Morning Glory, Fossil, and Electric Rock Music
— 79-77: Coast to Coast Motel, My Wild Life, and Life Model
— 76-74: Gag Me with a Spoon, Where I Wanna Be, and Ruby Vroom
— 73 and 72: Horsebreaker Star and Wild-Eyed and Ignorant
— 71 and 70: 500 Pounds and Jagged Little Pill
— 69-67: Whirligig, The Basketball Diaries, and On

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From the Archive: The Rookie

rookie

When we were doing the radio program The Reel Thing, we got press kits from a few studios and promotion house, but much of the time we had few supplemental resources (of course, there was also no internet to spill every piece of data we might need). So I distinctly remember sitting through the credits for The Rookie with an intense focus, trying to make certain I had Pepe Serna’s name correct for the review. I knew I’d made the right choice in singling the actor out when me colleague on the other side of the broadcast board laughed and nodded when I read that line. White Hunter, Black Heart was on my top ten list for 1990. The Rookie was my choice for worst film on the year. Like the cardboard badge above? It can be yours for twelve dollars!

Earlier this year, Clint Eastwood delivered one of his best films and one of his bravest performances with WHITE HUNTER, BLACK HEART. Perhaps then it is strangely fitting that this year he also deliver one of his worst performances in one of his worst films. That film is the brand new holiday season release THE ROOKIE.

THE ROOKIE pairs Eastwood with Charlie Sheen. Sheen plays a young police office with only two years on the force who gets Eastwood as a partner so that Eastwood can teach him the gritty ropes of working in the Auto Theft Division of the Los Angeles police force. Eastwood is a tough guy to the core, smoking cigars, and swearing up a storm. Sheen is a straight-laced, neat dressing, rule-following rookie, clean and nice and pure of heart. Of course they don’t like each other at first. Of course they grow to like each other.

The villain here is played by Raúl Juliá, an actor who has been growing more interesting and compelling with every performance, until now that is. Onscreen here, he’s bland and stiff. In fact, THE ROOKIE strives to take a talented cast and make them all look like fools. Lara Flynn Boyle of TV’s TWIN PEAKS shows up as Sheen’s girlfriend who’s worried about his welfare and also serves the purpose of being in danger when Sheen needs a major movie hero moment. Sônia Braga also makes the mistake of signing on to this picture, playing Raúl Juliá’s girlfriend who’s either being stupidly seductive or firing a machine gun while unleashing a banshee scream. In a film full of misguided and simply bad performances, one must naturally stick out as being exceptionally awful, and that dubious honor goes to Pepe Serna as the loudmouthed, simple-minded police lieutenant in charge of Eastwood and Sheen’s department.

This film asks us to be proud of Sheen because he’s grown tough enough to burn down a bar filled with people and ride a motorcycle without his helmet. It also asks us to believe that Sonia Braga would be very turned on because Eastwood spits water in her face. The blame for all the wasted celluloid should probably fall on the shoulders of Clint Eastwood. Not only does he take the starring role, he also sat in the director’s chair. It’s extremely hard to guess why a man whose instincts had previously led him to such quality cop pictures as TIGHTROPE, COOGAN’S BLUFF, and DIRTY HARRY series would sign on for THE ROOKIE, among the most vapid of the continuing flow of buddy-cop movies that Hollywood will apparently never tire of cranking out. To say that THE ROOKIE is bad is an insult to bad films. It’s reprehensible.

0 stars, out of 4.

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One for Friday: Gear Daddies, “Color of Her Eyes”

gear

I plied my college radio, at least initially, in the Upper Midwest, spinning records at a happy output smack dab in the middle of Wisconsin. Existing in the midst of that frozen landscape stirs a certain kinship with those musical artists toiling at roughly the same latitude. There were simply some bands that sounded right, like they were coming at the world from a vantage point that was recognizably a product of frosty nights and taverns with interiors cloaked in wood panelling. They were of a world we knew.

It’s not only the existence of a song all about aspirational Zamboni piloting that tagged Gear Daddies as one of our bands (admittedly, it helped). Martin Zellar’s songwriting clearly spoke to a certain way of scuffling through life that wasn’t necessarily exclusive to our part of the country but definitely seemed endemic to it. In particular, he perfectly captured the guilt of being an impulsive, needy male of a certain age, a version of existence to which I could relate to all too well during my college years. That’s when the band’s album Billy’s Live Bait arrived. Filled with plaintive ballads and countrified stompers, the album had relatable content aplenty. The song I wound up connecting with most deeply was “Color of Her Eyes,” about waking up the morning following a one-night stand. It’s not like I had an abundance of personal experience with such a happenstance, but I well understood the swelling regret over questionable decisions made in the throes of a night forestalling angst through any ready means.

As a bonus, the album came with a couple recipes, because if there’s one thing a group of Minnesota boys knows, it’s that there’s a broad-based utility in a hot dish using Spam. Come for the music, stay for the iffy food.

Listen or download –> Gear Daddies, “Color of Her Eyes”

(Disclaimer: It appears to me that Billy’s Live Bait is currently out of print, at least as a physical object that can be procured from your favorite local, independently-owned record store in a manner that compensates both the proprietor of said store and the original artist. I could be wrong about that. As I’ve been acknowledging lately, my research methodology has taken some serious hits. You can, however, head straight to the band’s website and buy their debut release, Let’s Go Scare Al, as well as the terrific odds and ends collection Can’t Have Nothin’ Nice. There are also some real boss t-shirts and other clothing items intended to help keep a torso covered. So I’m sharing the above song for free, but do go give the band a whole bunch of your money. I will gladly and promptly remove this track if asked to do so by any individual or entity with due authority to make such a request.)

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My Misspent Youth: Marvel Two-in-One Annual #7 by Tom DeFalco and Ron Wilson

I read a lot of comic books as a kid. This series of posts is about the comics I read, and, occasionally, the comics that I should have read.

I had a few particular weaknesses when I was a kid, and Marvel Two-in-One Annual #7 hit a bunch of them. I got a geeky thrill from team-up titles, I felt like I was getting something big and important when I bought one of Marvel’s Annuals (double-sized editions of regular titles that typically arrived in the summer months, presumably when young fans both had more spending money and more time to kill), and I had an unyielding affection for Benjamin J. Grimm, better known as the ever-lovin’ blue-eyed Thing. On top of it, the issue had an entirely ludicrous premise that drew together a bevy of terrifically strong superheroes. Years later, a friend of mine would jokingly complain about a stretch of Dave Sim’s Cerebus that there was “not enough fightin’.” I should have given him this juicy slab of comic.

The issue begins with Ben posing for his blind sculptress girlfriend, Alicia Masters. This task is interrupted by the sudden appearance of a previously-unseen extra-terrestrial, or as Ben puts is, “HOLY COW! SOME CRAZY ALIEN JUST POPPED UP OUTTA NOWHERE!” This spindly fellow gets right to the point, essentially introducing himself as the Don King of Marvel Universe.

2in1 ann 1

 

He’s the advance man for a muscle-bound alien known as the Champion, who apparently spans the universe looking for potential pugilists to face off against him in the ring. Naturally, the Manhattan of Marvel, well-stocked with gargantuan heroes who can lift city buses without breaking a sweat, is a prime recruiting ground. After snapping up the Thing, the purple promoters continues on his round, eventually bringing a mighty squad to an interstellar boxing gym.2in1 ann 2

For the uninitiated, here’s the roster, left to right: Alpha Flight’s Sasquatch, Thor, Doc Samson, Wonder Man, the X-Men’s Colossus, the Hulk, our pal the Thing, and Namor the Sub-Mariner. Anyone with a few well-worn issues of The Official Handbook of the Marvel Universe knows these bruisers are about a strong as they come in the house of ideas that Stan and Jack built.

Following the trajectory of countless boxing movies, writer Tom DeFalco and artist Ron Wilson devote the next batch of pages to the mountainous Marvel musclemen going through their paces with their runty, space alien trainers.

2in1 ann 3

Getting strong now. Won’t be long now.

The number of contenders gets somewhat pared down during this process, sometimes because they just don’t seem up to the challenge (poor Doc Samson gets knocked out by the first gym equipment he’s tested against) or because of attitude problems (Namor petulantly decrees he won’t stoop to participating in such a low endeavor).

Before long, fight day arrives, and the heroes are transported to Madison Square Garden, where they’ll put forth their pugilistic prowess before a sell-out crowd. They are decked out in the uniforms of the sport, but that doesn’t mean some other parts of their normal ensemble aren’t part of the overall look.

2in1 ann 4

One by one, the heroes are bested by the Champion, though many of them lose because they’re apparently incapable of following basic rules (Thor tries to use his hammer, Hulk punches his gloves off to go with the bare-knuckle method, Wonder Man tears up the canvas of the ring for some perplexing reason). It finally comes down to the Thing.

Ben is literally rocky, and like the fictional boxer of the same name, his bout against the champion is destined to end in defeat. Sort of. Though the Champion clearly bests the Thing, our hero drags himself across the canvas to deliver his version of the Raging Bull “You never got me down, Ray” boast.

2in1 ann 5

The Champion still claims his belt, but he acknowledges that Ben has a stout, unconquerable heart. After a few words of praise, he vanishes, leaving Ben and his cohorts to mill about the ring. There’s also the indication that the injuries sustained by the Thing won’t heal quickly, a circumstance that spills over into at least one issue of Marvel Two-in-One involving his fellow heroes trying to preserve a little peace and quiet as he recuperates in a hospital room.

Later, when I was more concerned with supposedly cool comics, this is one of those issues that I would roll my eyes over when I flipped past it in the collection. I was too busy convincing myself that I needed to only acknowledge those comics that had a veneer of higher artistry to them. The younger version of me understood that sometimes a big batch unlikely aliens and big-time fighting was what a comic really needed. That opinion seems more sensible with every ponderous, self-important superhero story I encounter.

Previously…

Fantastic Four by Stan Lee and John Buscema
Contest of Champions by Bill Mantlo and John Romita, Jr.
Daredevil by Frank Miller
Marvel Fanfare by Chris Claremont, Dave Cockrum and Paul Smith
Marvel Two-in-One by Tom DeFalco and Ron Wilson
Fantaco’s “Chronicles” series
Fantastic Four #200 by Marv Wolfman and Keith Pollard
The Incredible Hulk #142 by Roy Thomas and Herb Trimpe
Uncanny X-Men by Chris Claremont and Dave Cockrum
Godzilla by Doug Moench and Herb Trimpe
Giant-Size Avengers #3 by Steve Englehart, Roy Thomas and Dave Cockrum
Alpha Flight by John Byrne
Hawkeye by Mark Gruenwald
Avengers by David Michelinie and George Perez
Justice League by Keith Giffen, J.M. DeMatteis and Kevin Maguire
The Thing by Dan Slott and Andrea DiVito
Nexus by Mike Baron and Steve Rude
Marvel Premiere by David Kraft and George Perez
Marvel Super-Heroes Secret Wars by Jim Shooter and Mike Zeck
Micronauts by Bill Mantlo and Butch Guice
Batman: The Killing Joke by Alan Moore and Brian Bolland
What If? by Mike W. Barr, Herb Trimpe and Mike Esposito
Thor by Walt Simonson
Eightball by Dan Clowes
Cerebus: Jaka’s Story by Dave Sim and Gerhard
Iron Man #150 by by David Michelinie, John Romita, Jr. and Bob Layton
Bone by Jeff Smith
The Man of Steel by John Byrne
Fantastic Four by Doug Moench and Bill Sienkiewicz
“Allien and How to Watch It” by John Severin
Fantastic Four Roast by Fred Hembeck and friends
The Amazing Spider-Man #25 by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko
Marvel Two-in-One #7 by Steve Gerber and Sal Buscema
The New Mutants by Chris Claremont and Bob McLeod
Dark Horse Presents
Bizarre Adventures #27
Marvel Team-Up #48 by Bill Mantlo and Sal Buscema
Metal Men #20 by Robert Kanigher and Ross Andru
The Avengers by Roy Thomas and John Buscema
Fantastic Four by Marv Wolfman and John Byrne
Y: The Last Man by Brian K. Vaughan and Pia Guerra
American Flagg by Howard Chaykin
Marvel and DC Present by Chris Claremont and Walter Simonson
Batman by Frank Miller and David Mazzucchelli
Marvel Two-in-One Annual #5 by Alan Kupperberg and Pablo Marcos
Web of Spider-Man by Louise Simonson and Greg LaRocque
Super-Villain Team-Up #12 by Bill Mantlo and Bob Hall
What If? #31 by Rich Margopoulos and Bob Budiansky
Fantastic Four by Scott Lobdell and Alan Davis
Magik by Chris Claremont and John Buscema, Sal Buscema, and Ron Frenz

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Top 40 Smash Taps: “Clones (We’re All)”

These posts are about the songs that can accurately claim to crossed the key line of chart success, becoming Top 40 hits on Billboard, but just barely. Every song featured in this series peaked at number 40.

In the late nineteen-sixties, a high school student named Vincent Damon Furnier, a recent transplant from Detroit to Phoenix, started a band with a few friends. They called themselves the Spiders, a name they eventually jettisoned in favor of Nazz. That was problematic because there was already a group calling themselves Nazz, with a talented guy named Todd Rundgren in the lineup. By this point, the Arizona band had relocated to Los Angeles with hopes of making it big. They cast around for something new to call themselves, finally deciding that a fairly innocuous band name would make a nice contrast for the increasingly gruesome stage theatrics they were employing. They settled on Alice Cooper. By 1980, Alice Cooper was no longer a band name and was instead the onstage identity of Furnier. Both the group and Cooper himself had a flurry of hits through the nineteen-seventies, nine of which achieved Top 40 status, including two which made it into the Top 10. Cooper was going through a little bit of an identity crisis as the eighties dawned, though. The album Flush the Fashion, released in the spring, found the singer stripping away the stage makeup and releasing music with a heavy new wave influence. It certainly wasn’t what his fans were expecting. The lead single, “Clones (We’re All),” made it into the Top 40, although just barely. It was Cooper’s last significant chart action until towards the end of the decade, when the horrid proliferation of lousy hair metal unexpectedly made suddenly made his older style of music fashionable again. He released Trash in 1989, which was heralded as a comeback album and gave him one last Top 40 hit: “Poison.” That track actually climbed all the way up to #7, which amazingly ties it with “School’s Out” as Cooper’s highest charting single.

Previously…

“Just Like Heaven” by The Cure.
“I’m in Love” by Evelyn King
“Buy Me a Rose” by Kenny Rogers
“Who’s Your Baby” by The Archies
“Me and Bobby McGee” by Jerry Lee Lewis
“Angel in Blue” by J. Geils Band
“Crazy Downtown” by Allan Sherman
“I’ve Seen All Good People” and “Rhythm of Love” by Yes
“Naturally Stoned” by the Avant-Garde
“Come See” by Major Lance
“Your Old Standby” by Mary Wells
“See the Lights” by Simple Minds
“Watch Out For Lucy” by Eric Clapton
“The Alvin Twist” by Alvin and the Chipmunks
“Love Me Tender” by Percy Sledge
“Jennifer Eccles” by the Hollies
“Video Killed the Radio Star” by the Olympics
“The Bounce” by the Olympics
“Your One and Only Love” by Jackie Wilson
“Tell Her She’s Lovely” by El Chicano
“The Last Time I Made Love” by Joyce Kennedy and Jeffrey Osborne
“Limbo Rock” by The Champs
“Crazy Eyes For You” by Bobby Hamilton
“Who Do You Think You’re Foolin'” by Donna Summer
“Violet Hill” and “Lost+” by Coldplay
“Freight Train” by the Chas. McDevitt Skiffle Group
“Sweet William” by Little Millie Small
“Live My Life” by Boy George
“Lessons Learned” by Tracy Lawrence
“So Close” by Diana Ross
“Six Feet Deep” by the Geto Boys
“You Thrill Me” by Exile
“What Now” by Gene Chandler
“Put It in a Magazine” by Sonny Charles
“Got a Love for You” by Jomanda
“Stone Cold” by Rainbow
“People in Love” by 10cc
“Just Seven Numbers (Can Straighten Out My Life)” by the Four Tops
“Thinkin’ Problem” by David Ball
“You Got Yours and I’ll Get Mine” and “Trying to Make a Fool of Me” by the Delfonics
“The Riddle (You and I)” by Five for Fighting
“I Can’t Wait” by Sleepy Brown
“Nature Boy” by Bobby Darin
“Give It to Me Baby” and “Cold Blooded” by Rick James
“Who’s Sorry Now?” by Marie Osmond
“A Love So Fine” by the Chiffons
“Funky Y-2-C” by the Puppies
“Brand New Girlfriend” by Steve Holy
“I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie Honey Bunch)” by Bonnie Pointer
“Mr. Loverman” by Shabba Ranks
“I’ve Never Found a Girl” by Eddie Floyd
“Plastic Man” and “Happy People” by the Temptations
“Okay” by Nivea
“Go On” by George Strait
“Back When My Hair Was Short” by Gunhill Road
“Birthday Party” by the Pixies Three
“Livin’ in the Life” by the Isley Brothers
“Kissing You” by Keith Washington
“The End of Our Road” by Marvin Gaye
“Ticks” and “Letter to Me” by Brad Paisley
“Nobody But You Babe” by Clarence Reid
“Like a Sunday in Salem” by Gene Cotton
“I’m Going to Let My Heart Do the Walking” by the Supremes
“Call Me Lightning” by the Who
“Ain’t It True” by Andy Williams
“Lazy Elsie Molly” and “Let’s Do the Freddie” by Chubby Checker
“Second Fiddle” by Kay Starr
“1999” by Prince
“I’ll Try Anything” by Dusty Springfield
“Oh Happy Day” by Glen Campbell
“I’d Love to Change the World” by Ten Years After
“Friends” and “Married Men” by Bette Midler
“Spice of Life” by the Manhattan Transfer
“You Can’t Roller Skate in a Buffalo Herd” by Roger Miller
“Don’t Pity Me” by Dion and the Belmonts
“Ask Me No Questions” by B.B. King
“Can’t Leave ‘Em Alone” by Ciara
“All I Really Want to Do” by the Byrds
“Let It Be Me”

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