The Pointer Sisters, “I’m So Excited”

Null:

The Pointer Sisters had some great songs in the 1970s and early 80s: “Yes We Can Can,” “He’s So Shy,” and “Slow Hand,” just to name a few. I heard these songs a lot on the radio as a kid. I thought “Slow Hand” was a country song because I would often hear it on the radio next to Sylvia’s “Nobody.” When the hyper-80s arrived, The Pointer Sisters released the album Break Out in 1983. The record was a massive hit and helped secure the Top 40 stylings of the high-powered synthesizer pop of the times. Oddly enough, the first pressing of the record did not contain the song “I’m So Excited.” This is because “I’m So Excited” was on the previous album from 1982 entitled, So Excited. Who knew? But then, in 1984, a new pressing of Break Out was released that did contain “I’m So Excited.” Interesting.

I guess I consider it a guilty pleasure but always kinda liked the singles from the album when I heard them on the radio. Part of my tolerance for such overtly chipper synth tunes is simply nostalgia from hearing these songs on the radio day after day in the 80s. Usually, this over-exposure makes me hate songs, but for some reason I never really got sick of the hits from Break Out. This fact is even more astonishing when we consider that the song “I’m So Excited” has been in more movies than there are stars in the sky—in every girls-night-out romantic comedy montage and, of course, Beverly Hills Cop. Wait, maybe it was “Neutron Dance” that was in Beverly Hills Cop. Fuck, it doesn’t matter—all the songs from Break Out have a continuity—the big synths, the beats, the sisters singing. Break Out is the album where the sisters sound like they are in some neon 80s space ship heading for a dance party. The cover of the album includes totally “80s workout clothes” via Olivia Newton-John’s “Physical,” but less wet. I kinda always had a thing for June Pointer—R.I.P. Fuck it—I don’t care—just turn it up. This song is about sex, right?

Gusty Bellows:

It came out at a horrible point in my life. I think grass was just starting to grow on the field. I had more pimples than pride. The song was horrible. It was as bad as the wet dream I had.

Class Warrior:

The Pointer Sisters? “I’m So Excited?” Have we sunk to a new low? Maybe the most appropriate phrase would be that it’s a different kind of low. We have spent many words on terrible and/or cheesy albums—I have personally written an over-long essay on an Amy Grant compilation. On with it, then. I didn’t realize until I sat down to write this that I don’t need to listen to the song to refresh my memory. It’s all in the big gray tape recorder. Apparently I heard this song quite often in the mid eighties. I have no comment on the music or the lyrics other than to note that the song seems to be about wanting to have sex with someone. Despite the theme (to which we can all relate, I am sure), I would not wish to listen to it while between the sheets. It’s ahead of Death Metal, Grindcore, and New Country on the no-sex list, I’ll give it that. The strongest association I make with this song is playing Dungeons and Dragons. It must have gotten a lot of radio play in 1985 or so. My brother and I were just getting into D&D and we were listening to a lot of pop radio while we did it. There you go—while these days I would prefer to associate something like Visigoth or Eternal Champion with RPGs, back then I listened to straight-up dance pop while exploring dungeon corridors, slaying orcs, and looting the crypts of forgotten kings.

SoDak:

When “I’m So Excited” was released, I tried to avoid hearing it on the radio or seeing the horrible video. I did not like the music. At the same time, this song is an earworm. There is something that is catchy about it, which allows it to repeat constantly in my head, each time I hear a snippet of it. In fact, everytime someone mentions that they are “so excited,” without any reference to the song, the chorus is triggered in my memory, and I hum it over and over again. I wish it was not in the deep recess of my mind, but I must live with this unwelcomed guest.

I am not a fan of The Pointer Sisters music in the 1980s, but I do like some of their soul/funk songs from the 70s, such as “You Gotta Believe,” which they “sang” in the film Car Wash.

More Songs about Plants and Trees (Allied Recordings, 1990)

By SoDak

I loved Allied Recordings, run by John Yates. My Allied Recordings shirt, “Music for the Proletariat,” is threadbare. I wish I had another one. More Songs about Plants and Trees was the third release by this punk rock label, featuring Cringer, The Lookouts, Antischism, and Nausea. As suggested by the title of the compilation, each song addresses ecological degradation. I played this record a lot in 1990 and 1991. At the time, it was regularly featured on my radio show on KTEQ. As with so many things, these songs continue to be pertinent.

Side A:

The seven-inch record starts strong with Cringer, “Burn Down the Forest.” I was obsessed with this band in the late 1980s, given their ability to combine personal and political songs. I was thrilled to see them play in 1991, when they were on tour with Citizen Fish. Lance Hahn and Gardner Maxam were a great combination, writing catchy, melodic songs. This song has a nice hook. In the chorus, Lance sings, “Burn down the forest, poison all the land, now that we have made our beds, the world must lie in it.” Following the chorus the second time, he incorporates the IWW motto, “an injury to one is an injury to all,” into the song, indicating that the spoliation of the earth negatively affects the conditions of life. The song is short and to the point.

The second song is “Once Upon a Time” by The Lookouts, a band that included Lawrence Livermore who ran Lookout! Records and Tre Cool who later became famous as member of Green Day. For the most part I was indifferent to most records by The Lookouts, but I did enjoy an occasional tune. This song is okay. I appreciate it, even though it is my least favorite song on the record. It has a haunting tone, which is fitting for the subject. In the lyrics, Lawrence traces changes in the larger environment, depicting a past, in which animals thrived in an unpolluted landscape. He then notes that economic growth and technological development lead to the contamination of the land, air, and water, with all sorts of negative consequences.

Side B:

Flip the record. Shit gets real intense on this side with Antischism and Nausea. The opening bass lines of “Greedy Bastards” by Antischism still gives me chills. It is just a couple seconds, then the guitar, drums, and vocals create a powerful, frenetic force that carries through the rest of the song. Antischism were a brilliant band, with both female and male vocals. The back-and-forth between Liz and Scott singing was dynamic and created a wonderful energy. They clearly recognized that capitalism is a system predicated on constant expansion, which leads to wholesale environmental degradation, all for the accumulation of wealth by a handful of people. As they sing:

Let not another tree fall in the name of greed.
Not one more tribe “civilized” for the lust of money.
Not one more species forced extinct to fill the pockets of the scum
who would turn something so majestic into just another slum.
No, the greedy bastard will not be satisfied
until every tree has been cut down and every animal has died.

Let not another tree fall in the name of greed.
Not one more tribe “civilized” for the lust of money.
Not one more species forced extinct to fill the pockets of the scum
who would turn something so majestic into just another slum.
Before every inch of forest is covered with concrete
extreme measures must be taken so let’s fuck up their machines!
Greedy Bastards

In the middle of the song, Antischism “slows” things down to clearly articulate four lines that advocate direct action, as an important form of resistance. Here they present Earth First! tactics that increase the costs to capitalists, cutting into profit margins and preventing logging operations.

Every dozer that we get costs them thousands to replace.
Every truck that gets fucked up is another loss that they must take.
When the logging road is blockaded, the fuckers can’t get there
And when the trees have all been spiked the message sent is clear.

After these lines, the song returns to the mad rush, culminating in a line “yearning for the day when we rid the land of the scheme to lay nature to waste. Greedy Bastards!” Great song, wonderful people, incredible live shows, awesome band. Wish they were still playing music together. We need them.

The closing song, “Here Today…” by Nausea (the New York crust punk band), is the most intense. I liked Nausea’s Extinction record, but thought the production muffled the songs. In contrast, “Here Today…” is sharp, heavy, and powerful. The drums sound enormous. The guitar and bass are crushing. The opening twenty-seconds set up a brilliant, fast, driving song that makes me want to slam dance with friends, while singing along with Al and Amy, trading lines.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
once fertile land, now barren crust.
A “clear cut” path tred foolishly
into the grasp of industry.

They go on to highlight how capitalist forestry destroys “eon’s growth” for short-term profits. They also present the long-term consequences of this system:  

Cry of the seabirds, vanished with time,
waves no longer crash the shoreline.
The sea is now content to boil
weighted down with heavy oil.
Corpses cast out from the sea
rot on the shore, amidst debris.
Their skeletons slowly decompose
no longer sun to bleach the bones. 

Two-thirds of the way through the song, Nausea returns to the initial buildup at the start, then dives back into the foray, repeating the first four lines, before winding down the song.

Capitalism’s war on the earth is intensifying, especially with the new set of assholes in the White House. Not only do we need more songs about plants and trees, but we need mass, organized resistance to create an alternative to the current “grow-or-die” system. In the meantime, fuck you to Interior Secretary Ryan Zinke, who is working on behalf of Trump, the neofascist asshole, to destroy more plants and trees on public lands. Protect Bears Ears National Monument from despoliation by private interests.

Fucking Dead Artists and My Shitty Life

By Kloghole

My family has always been plagued with “good” luck in bad. Today is a picture-perfect example. I was awoken at 6:45 by the cheery news that the caliper I replaced belched its fucking brake fluid all over the goddam garage floor. The fucking “refurbished” caliper blew a seal. I would have tackled it the night before, but I didn’t because I felt too goddam shitty to do a fucking thing about the news that the brakes were a bit squishy. I did not want to try to work on something when I was not in the “right” mood.

So, I yank the fucking caliper off, and realize that I need to loosen some bolts to get the pads out. Like a groggy fucking asshole, I bang on the fucking wrench to loosen the bolt which promptly crashed downed into the wrench on the floor, shooting the fucking thing right into my eye. Yeah! (For the record, I have now: cum blood, shit blood, spit blood, and cried blood. If you piss blood, it probably means you have cancer, so I hope not to check that fucker off my list)

So, I took all that pretty well. Went to the parts store BEFORE Urgent Care. Mowed the fucking lawn, then did some weed eating in my weed garden out back. The weed eater died, so I went back in the house. All good.

After a Menards run, tried to start the weed eater, but no luck. Tried to patch the soaker hose spurting more water than my eye was leaking blood, and ran into a bit of a glitch. That was when my cool officially was lost. I ripped the fucking goddam soaker hose out of the fucking garden and brooded for the rest of the afternoon, too fucking pissed with a throbbing eye, shit-fucked weed eater, and a stupid fucking soaker hose that would not stop ripping.

I am getting to the fucking review you sons a bitches. So, I have to admit the good luck in the bad luck. I shot a fucking wrench in my eye at high velocity, but I still have my fucking vision. We seem to have that sort of luck. If you’ve read previous reviews, my brother’s house burned down, killing his cat, but he was unharmed. The Allman Brothers figures into one of these little scenarios.

After visiting University of Oregon to try to ply them into accepting me into their graduate program, I drove from Eugene to Fort Collins, Colorado, well almost. In the early hours of Thanksgiving, I was crossing the plains of Wyoming with a fucking insane crosswind. I was doing ok, but getting a bit groggy. I pulled over, and took a bit of nap. I got back on the highway, and nodded off a bit. I pulled off, but the offramps were full of semis, and I felt a bit more awake. I pulled back on the highway, and here it is, the Allman Brothers were in their fucking monstrous noodling session. Not a single fucking lyric in twenty goddam minutes. I swerved from one lane to another, as I nodded off. In my infinitely stupid groggy logic, I thought I would look drunk if I went back to the slow lane. One more nod, and I’m in the median. My sweet fucking Chevy Cavalier’s ass end dips into the median and shoots back across the highway, dragging me backwards across the freeway. The wheels catch in the dirt, flipping me 360 back on the wheels.

I was not hurt, but did get some scratches from broken glass from digging my cassettes out from under the seat. My partner picked me up at some greasy spoon, and I made it to Thanksgiving dinner with my mentor. Aside from the insane rollover bullshit, I remember that there was something hard clinking around in my vegetarian bean soup. I was able to snag it with my spoon to find a bone, dancing around in the bottom of my bowl. The other thing I remember is that my mentor said, “You are lucky you were not killed.” and I replied, “Perhaps, I was unlucky that I did not die.”

Days like today remind me of that experience. All the years of fucking torment and torture from people who are simply stick-stupid, and the frustration of life in general would have been avoided. I could have avoided all of that by sliding into darkness on that windy, fucking, Wyoming night. Instead, every fucking day is a goddam battle with the forces of evil. Simple fucking things like putting batteries in a clock becomes a fucking hour long saga of torture and every possible thing that can go wrong coming to fruition. Every time I open Microsoft Word, I have to summon all of my available fortitude not to suck on the business end of any available firearm.

Greg Allman’s and, in another way, Chris Cornell’s passing provide a time to reflect on life and death. When I was working in the garden this weekend with my partner, I put Allman Brothers on random, not because Greg was gone, but because it was one of the few artists on my phone that she and I could agree upon. We saw the Allman Brothers, but I think I was a bit stoned. I remember having a good time, and barely able to distinguish Dickey standing up front and a tiny little figure behind the keyboard that ascertained to be Greg.

When I first heard Soundgarden playing over the record store speakers, I was not impressed, but I later was drawn to Cornell’s voice. I dug the album Temple of the Dog (not Soundgarden, obviously), and especially Superunknown. I related to “Fell on Black Days” and “Black Hole Sun.” Ever since I was old enough to feel the darkness, I walked in the shadows of emotional void. Chris’s death is a reminder that anyone can have that day, or event, that triggers an action with profound effects on others, but is a welcome release for the actor. I have been on that precipice, many times. I cannot tell you what distinguishes those who commit and those, like myself, who walk away. All I can tell you is that it is not about you – about how much you care for the person, or how much you mean to them. It is about the moment, the culmination of a lifetime of tiny indignities, and life-altering scars from our past. You did not fail them. There was nothing different you could have done. It is a very personal decision, and sometimes results from a cascade of events no one can predict.

The death of artists reminds us both of the music that they made, but the way in which the music has played a role in our life. The Allman Brothers has been a pretty foundational musical influence for me. I find that their music fits me, and my life, in profound ways. Not only the album(s) Beginnings that almost killed me, but also songs like “Dreams” and the more recent, “Old Friend,” have a depth of feeling and meaning that provide the soundtrack to my life. Not all of us can write music or poetry, so we rely on these artists to give us the vehicle for our emotions. For that, I am thankful.

Okay, I fucking outright lied. I didn’t really do a review, but I give this day three fucking turd nuggets with a bit of shit stream down your leg. I am still alive, but that consolation has greater weight for others than myself.

Sweet Dreams Motherfuckers! 

Chris Cornell (1964-2017)

Vocalist for Soundgarden, Audioslave, and Temple of the Dog, died May 18, 2017. Below are a few reflections regarding Chris Cornell.

Travis:

I saw Soundgarden in 1990 in Cleveland, OH, when I was fifteen. They were touring on Louder Than Love and were the middle band between Corrosion of Conformity and Danzig. It was amazing. Chris Cornell was wearing his now famous duct tape shorts, and Soundgarden totally blew my mind. I remember thinking “Big Dumb Sex” was the best song they played, but now I think it was “Loud Love.” I saw them again at the second Lollapalooza in 1992 in Cleveland at an outdoor venue and it started pouring down rain during their set and a group of people next to us turned the lawn into an impromptu water slide heading down into the pavilion—it was a blast. After Soundgarden’s set, Chris Cornell walked out nonchalantly into the lawn and spent about fifteen minutes on the water slide with everyone. It was very cool at seventeen to see that kind of down-to-earth behavior from a rock star. Good memories.

Null:

Whether or not one likes the quality of Chris Cornell’s voice, one cannot deny that he was an incredibly powerful and gifted singer. More so because he made it look and sound so effortless.

I remember the day I first heard Soundgarden. I was in my friend’s bedroom and he handed me the Louder Than Love cassette tape and said I should borrow it and check it out. I thought the music was powerful, heavy, and dark. I figured they were in line with the punk rock, or progressive, ethics that stood in stark contrast to the hair metal bands that dominated the airwaves at the time. This was the underground. The lyrics to “Hands All Over” and “Loud Love” seemed to make this clear, as the former was an environmental anthem and the latter did not seem to be laced with irony. “Hands All Over” remains one of my favorite songs and it is the natural anthem for Earth First, the radical environmental movement. At least, in my mind. The song “Big Dumb Sex,” while initially shocking, was ironic and seemed to be in line with The Dead Kennedy’s “Too Drunk to Fuck.” The pictures inside the cassette looked like the band members were gnomes from some dark, deep forest. Come to find out they were. My friend told me that the guitarist had a PhD in Philosophy, which, let’s be honest, can only further insight excitement for a teenage boy, like myself. From that moment on, I was always aware of what Soundgarden and Chris Cornell were up to, even if I didn’t follow their every move.

It was only after moving to Olympia, Washington, that I discovered, like most things, that the music was at least, in part, inspired by the band’s environment—an organic sound birthed from the 9 months of grey clouds and lush forests that are the solace of earth loving individuals that live in the Northwest. Mud was caked on their guitar amps. All the early Soundgarden records still sound best when driving the backroads of the Northwest through think forests, under a blanket of grey clouds. When Chris Cornell wails through the sludgy onslaught of Fir tree-sized amps, one can tell that he is crying out for sanity in a world gone made, and having a good fucking time while doing it.  

Badmotorfinger was a powerhouse and a big hit. It is a great record. “Room a Thousand Years Wide” has never left my mind since the moment it entered it. I never really kept up on Soundgarden’s later records, but I would hear the singles on the radio. I was glad they were successful, but the newer, commercial sound wasn’t really what I wanted, even though I thought they were still good songwriters. Actually, they were probably better than they had ever been. I was just more partial to the older stuff.

If anyone would question Chris Cornell’s ability to exude emotion, look no farther than Temple of the Dog. I believe it to be Chris’s greatest moment. Pick that record up.

The song “Seasons” from the Singles Soundtrack is a great gem too. It evokes watching my friends struggle with the harsh reality of making it on their own in their early 20’s. Chris Cornell was like a neighborhood musician; he was always linked with my past and was connected in some way, or form, to a few of my favorite bands.

I don’t really know Audioslave or Chris’s solo work. And I am fine with that. However, anyone that is willing to hang out with a commie like Tom Morello has got to be a good guy. Chris always seemed like a reflective and nice guy in interviews. I know his friends loved him and he was a family man. Another good one gone. I don’t always want to listen to Chris’s stuff, but when I do, nothing else will do it for me. In this way, he was a unique artist, which is a trait of all great artists. You instantly know his voice.

When I first heard Chris Cornell had died, I pictured his body covered in thick, wet mud, entering the carbon cycle, while the last lines of “Hands All Over” played in my head; “Your gonna kill your mother, and I love her…and she loves me.”  

I write this on a beautiful, sunny day in Colorado while jamming “Louder than Love” in a dark basement after playing with the dogs outside and drinking beer. I think Chris would have liked that.

SoDak:

In 1988, I bought Soundgarden’s Ultramega OK primarily because it was released on SST records. I was quite taken by the dark tones of the guitar. The bass and drums laid a great foundation, as Chris Cornell’s vocals embodied the bastard child of Robert Plant, but with much more grit. My favorite songs on this record are “Flower” and “Mood for Trouble.” I bought Louder Than Love when it was released in 1989, and it remains the record that I have listened to the most. Soundgarden got even heavier. I loved the Black Sabbath influence that band embraced. I was pleased that the band sang about environmental degradation in the song “Hands All Over.” The song “Gun” gave me a sore neck, as I bobbed my head to the crushing riff.

In 1993, I saw Soundgarden open up for Neil Young. In many ways, this was a strange billing. Soundgarden took the stage, turned up the volume and killed it, even though the majority of the crowd seemed utterly confused by what they were witnessing. Soundgarden played a short set, but it was the highlight of the night, as Neil Young basically took a big shit on stage, with a lackluster performance with Booker T and the MG’s.

I am not sure why I did not continue to keep up with Soundgarden. It was in the early 2000s, when I finally bought Badmotorfinger, Superunknown, and Down on the Upside. Of course, I knew many of the songs on these records, given that the band had many hits over the years. While I do not listen to these records much, I do think that they are excellent records and show the brilliance of their songwriting. I also liked King Animal released in 2012 and was looking forward to the next record they were getting ready to record. Chris Cornell was a great vocalist. One of my favorite songs that he sang remains “Hunger Strike” by Temple of the Dog.