Archive for the ‘1975’ Category

Saturday Single No. 694

Saturday, June 27th, 2020

So what do I think of when I see No. 694? Well, I think of the Twin Cities’ Interstate Highway 694, the half-loop that crosses the Twin Cities’ northern and eastern suburbs, providing a way for drivers to avoid I-94’s route through the downtowns of both St. Paul and Minneapolis.

I’ve driven portions of 694 probably hundreds of times, and I lived near it twice, first during the winter of 1975-76, when I was a sports intern for an independent television station in the suburb of Golden Valley, and then during the autumn and winter of 1991-92, when I was beginning my work at the Eden Prairie News, a paper – as I noted not long ago – that no longer exists.

Musically, the earlier time period is more interesting, but of course, it’s not winter right now. We are in the early days of summer, the early days of one of most confounding, confusing and worrisome summers I can ever remember. It’s quite a contrast to the summer of ’75, my last undergraduate summer, when I was twenty-one, knew what I was doing, knew where I was going, and thought I knew what I would find there when I arrived.

Hah!

So let’s twist this up and take a look at the top ten in the Billboard Hot 100 for the fourth week of June 1975, when – except for having a steady girl – absolute certainty ruled my life:

“Love Will Keep Us Together” by the Captain & Tennille
“When Will I Be Loved/It Doesn’t Matter Anymore” by Linda Ronstadt
“Wildfire” by Michael (Martin) Murphey
“I’m Not Lisa” by Jessi Colter
“Love Won’t Let Me Wait” by Major Harris
“The Hustle” by Van McCoy & The Soul City Symphony
“Listen To What The Man Said” by Paul McCartney & Wings
“Get Down, Get Down (Get On The Floor)” by Joe Simon
“Magic” by Pilot
“Cut The Cake” by the Average White Band

Boy, those first eight singles are imprinted musically and with memories, the Ronstadt double-sided single a little less than the other six. They remind me of working with my pal Murl and the rest of the inventory crew, cruising through my four physical education courses and my last general eds, hanging around The Table with a slightly changed cast (summer sessions were different), sipping coffee at the Country Kitchen with a variety of young women . . .

It was one of the great summers of my life, now forty-five years in the past.

As to the last three of that Top Ten, I remember the records by Pilot (currently adapted to sell a pharmaceutical) and the Average White Band, but they never meant much to me. And I had to go to YouTube this morning to verify that I don’t recall the Joe Simon single. My listening those days was mostly WJON and WCCO-FM on the radio, and the jukebox at the student union, and I don’t think those three gave the Simon a lot of play.

So, how many of those seven records are on my day-to-day playlist forty-five years later? Let’s look at the iPod (still a work in progress after firing up the new computer). Turns out that only the Jessi Colter single got into the device during the early sessions. But by the end of the morning, five more of those in that Top Ten – the rest of the top seven except the Ronstadts – will be in the device.

Our final business this morning, as long as we’re here, will be to look at the bottom rung of that long-ago Hot 100 and see what we find. And I’m reminded that no matter how long I’ve dug into music, there will always be something new to find. The No. 100 record forty-five years ago this week was “What Time Of Day” by Billy Thunderkloud & The Chieftones.

Thunderkloud and his band were a country group made up of First Nations musicians from British Columbia, and they were backed on the single – obviously – by a children’s chorus. It’s a pleasant little tune but no more than that, and it peaked at only No. 92 on the Hot 100. It did better than that on the other charts, getting to No. 32 on the magazine’s Easy Listening chart and to No. 16 on the country chart. (Later in the year, the group hit No. 37 on the country chart with “Pledging My Love,” a cover of the 1955 hit for both Johnny Ace and Theresa Brewer.)

Here’s “What Time Of Day.”

No. 45, Forty-Five Years Ago

Friday, February 28th, 2020

Dropping into 1975 for a game of Symmetry this morning, I have absolutely no idea what we’ll find, but I’ll likely know it well. (I think so, at least. It would be fun, though, for our excavation to find something utterly new. I’ll settle, though, for not lame.)

Here were the top ten records in the Billboard Hot 100 during the week that February turned into March in 1975:

“Best Of My Love” by the Eagles
“Have You Never Been Mellow” by Olivia Newton-John
“Black Water” by the Doobie Brothers
“My Eyes Adored You” by Frankie Valli
“Some Kind Of Wonderful” by Grand Funk
“Lonely People” by America
“Pick Up The Pieces” by the Average White Band
“Lady Marmalade (Voulez-Vous Coucher Avec Moi)” by LaBelle
“Nightingale” by Carole King
“Lady” by Styx

Eight of those rated on the plus side in 1975; I never cared much for the Grand Funk or Styx singles. In fact, nothing I ever heard from Styx ever clicked with me although I never dug too deeply into the band’s work. Grand Funk? Well, I liked “Closer To Home” and “Bad Time” – the latter of which takes me back viscerally to New Year’s Eve 1974 – and liked “We’re An American Band” when I finally heard it long after its release. But “Some Kind Of Wonderful” left me cold.

As to the other eight in that mix, the best is the LaBelle single; it was the only one of those ten to make it into my long-age Ultimate Jukebox, and, of course, it’s one of the 3,900-some tracks currently in the iPod, which is how I measure current relevance.

Which of the other nine in that aged top ten are still in my current listening? Well, five of them. Missing are the records by Grand Funk, the Average White Band, America, and Styx. (And the absence of “Lonely People” surprises me just a hair, but I don’t think I’ll bother to add it.)

Our other business, of course, lies lower down in that chart, and at No. 45 we find an up-tempo piece of funk that I must have heard before: “Once You Get Started” by Rufus (featuring Chaka Kahn) is actually on the digital shelves here, having arrived as part of the album Rufusized. And the record reminds me of the question once posed here: When was the first usage of the phrase “party hearty”? I dabbled with that question in a post in 2012, but “Once You Get Started” was not one of the records I considered. (I think “Do It, Fluid” by the Blackbyrds was likely recorded earlier than “Once You Get Started,” but I do not know, and I will leave the question for others to research in more depth.”)

Anyway, “Once You Get Started” kicks and might itself be elevated to the iPod. Back in 1975, it went to No. 10 on the Hot 100 and to No. 4 in the Billboard R&B chart.

Saturday Single No. 674

Saturday, January 25th, 2020

Some songs haunt.

As I read the paper this morning, the RealPlayer wandered through 1975: Bachman-Turner Overdrive, Albert Hammond, Seals & Crofts, Barry Manilow, and then Janis Ian:

The days are okay
I watch the TV in the afternoons
If I get lonely,
The sound of other voices,
Other rooms are near to me
I’m not afraid . . .

And in the winter,
Extra blankets for the cold
Fix the heater, getting old
I am wiser now, you know
And still as big a fool concerning you . . .

And I was pulled back twenty years, into the winter after I was overexposed to toxic chemicals and was left unable to work, unsure of where I could go safely for more than a few minutes, and uncertain of the future. I was isolated in a new apartment in the southern reaches of Minneapolis, and I was lonely.

Ian’s song “In The Winter” has left me feeling desolate from the first time I heard it during the late summer of 1988. It’s from her 1975 album Between The Lines, the album that contains the remarkable “At Seventeen,” which itself is no joyful romp in the meadow. But the angst in “At Seventeen,” is a look back to youth, and when it came out of speakers everywhere during the late summer and early autumn of 1975, it was a tale of memory. And those of us at The Table at St. Cloud State – all attuned for years to Thoreau’s distant drummer – could listen and agree that our younger days had been confusing and sometimes far less than happy.

But “In The Winter” has no insulation of time gone, being written in the present instead of as a look back. I first heard it, I imagine, in September 1988, when Between The Lines was among a batch of records I brought home from a Saturday excursion to either the flea market or some garage sales. It had been a difficult summer, and in Ian’s dirge of solitude after the end of a relationship, I heard echoes of my life at the time.

And this morning, as it came up, I was back for a moment in another desolate time, January 2000, when I wondering how where my life would go (not knowing, of course, that by mid-February, during my first full week online, my life would take another astounding turn, this one fulfilling). I must have heard it during that winter, but whether I sought it out to underline my depression or forgot it was on the album as I cued it up, I do not know. (I’d like to think it was the latter.)

It’s still a bleak song, but beyond that first twinge, its tale is now memory, like the tale of “At Seventeen” was forty-five years ago. And its appearance this morning during random play is a reminder – one we all sometimes need, I think – that bleakness doesn’t always last. And all of that means that Janis Ian’s “In The Winter” is today’s Saturday Single.

Back Business, One Year Later

Friday, January 10th, 2020

It was a year ago today that I had my back surgery, with Dr. McIver doing some clean-up and installing various pieces of hardware to stabilize things in my lumbar spine and to rid me of the horrendous pain I’d been feeling in my hamstrings for about two years.

Well, it all worked. The pain was gone as soon as I woke from surgery, and the pain from the surgery is greatly diminished, Still, there is some pain in my lower back. Two reasons for that:

First of all, I’m sixty-six. As Dr. McIver said during one of my post-op visits, “We can’t make you twenty again.”

And then, I don’t always get to the exercise room at the Senior Center as often as I should. And when I don’t, things stiffen up back there.

That’s what’s been happening during the past ten days, as the Texas Gal and I have been dealing with some kind of cold/body-ache bug. One day I feel fine and she’s down, the next day, she’s better and I’m not. I can tell early this morning that this is one of my “not” days, so I’m going to have to take it easy. I’ll read, practice some piano in preparation for church this coming Sunday, and putter with some mp3s I need to catalog.

As I started this, I told the RealPlayer to sort the 79,000-some mp3s on the organized shelves for files that have the word “back” in them, whether showing up in the title, the performer, the album title or maybe some appended notes. That brought us 1,442 files. And I’m going to sort those for running time and then click on random as many times as needed to land on something from my 1967-75 sweet spot with “back” in its title

And we find a track from Allen Toussaint’s 1975 album Southern Nights, “Back In Baby’s Arms.” I don’t see a single release listed at my normal reference spots, but the album bubbled under the Billboard 200 at No. 204.

And it’s a sweet bit of mellow New Orleans R&B with a couple of nice sax solos.

No. 44, Forty-Four Years Ago

Thursday, August 22nd, 2019

We’re in the mood for some Symmetry again, this time heading back to the summer of 1975, one of the great seasons of my life: I spent it clearing my general ed requirements in preparation for graduation from St. Cloud State in February 1976, casting a wide social net, working half-time on a campus-wide audio-visual equipment inventory with my pal Murl and some other good folks, and generally enjoying life in a way I hadn’t for some months.

So how good was the music I heard in the car, sometimes at home, and a lot of time at Atwood Center as I whiled away free time with other summer members of the The Table? Here’s the Billboard Top Ten from August 23, 1975, forty-four years ago tomorrow:

“Fallin’ In Love” by Hamilton, Joe Frank & Reynolds
“One Of These Nights” by the Eagles
“Get Down Tonight” by K.C. & The Sunshine Band
“Jive Talkin’” by the Bee Gees
“Rhinestone Cowboy” by Glen Campbell
“Why Can’t We Be Friends” by War
“How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)” by James Taylor
“Someone Saved My Life Tonight” by Elton John
“At Seventeen” by Janis Ian
“Please Mister Please” by Olivia Newton-John

That’s a decent set, with only one record that I did not – and still do not – care for. “Why Can’t We Be Friends” sounded kind of stupid to me then, and forty-four years of hearing it on occasion have not changed that opinion. I wasn’t crazy about “Rhinestone Cowboy,” but I like it a lot more now. And the James Taylor record is not nearly my favorite of his, but when it pops up on the radio I don’t reach for the buttons.

The rest are all fine listening, some of them favorites. And nine of the ten – even “Why Can’t We Be Friends” – are on the digital shelves. (The only one that wasn’t, surprisingly, was the Elton John single, an oversight that’s being corrected as I write.)

As to the stricter measure I use – checking to see if tracks show up in the iPod – well, six of those records show up at the moment. Those missing are the records by War, James Taylor, Olivia Newton-John and Elton John (and “Someone Saved My Life Tonight” will be in the iPod by the end of the day).

So that’s seven out of ten that I like hearing yet today, and yet, only one of those records actually says “1975” to me when it comes out of the boom box in the kitchen: “At Seventeen” hung around into the autumn and got a lot of play on the juke box across the room from The Table, so that’s often where my mind goes when I hear it.

But what about our other focus for today? What do we find when we drop down that chart from August 23, 1975, to No. 44? What do we find?

Well, we run into a single from Paul McCartney & Wings that was on its way down the chart after having fallen a few spots short of the Top Ten: “Listen To What The Man Said.”

The record, with Tom Scott on saxophone, peaked at No. 1. (Not No. 13; thanks, Yah Shure.) It’s an immediate earworm and a good listen for a Thursday (and it, too, needs to be added to the iPod).

Saturday Single No. 645

Saturday, June 15th, 2019

It’s time for Games With Numbers!

We’re going to take the numerals from today’s date – 6/15/19 – and add them together to get 40. Then we’re going to look at four Billboard Hot 100s from the mid-point of June and see what we find at No. 40. We’ll use the chart in each year closest to June 15, and along the way, we’ll note the No. 1 and No. 2 records of those weeks. I think we’ll start in 1966 and jump three years at a time, hitting 1969, 1972 and 1975 along the way.

And we start with a country crossover lament: “The Last Word In Lonesome Is Me” by Eddy Arnold. He was, of course, one of the giants of post-World War II country, putting 128 records into the Billboard country chart between 1945 and 1982, with twenty-eight of them reaching No. 1. He had twenty-nine records chart on the Hot 100; his highest ranking record there was 1965’s “Make The World Go Away,” which got to No. 6. As to “The Last Word In Lonesome Is Me,” it would go no higher than the No. 40 spot where we found it on the June 18, 1966, chart. On the country chart, it got to No. 2, and it went to No. 9 on the magazine’s easy listening chart. It’s a pretty record, but it doesn’t scratch any itches for me.

Parked at No. 1 during mid-June 1966 was “Paint It, Black” by the Rolling Stones, while the Lovin’ Spoonful’s “Did You Ever Have To Make Up Your Mind” was at No. 2.

Off we go to mid-June in 1969, and we find ourselves a chewy piece of bubblegum: The No. 40 record on June 14, 1969, was “Special Delivery” by the 1910 Fruitgum Company. The Fruitgum Company wasn’t really a band, of course; it was a revolving group of players brought together by producers Jerry Kasenetz and Jeff Katz to back lead singer Joey Levine, who also sang lead on records for Ohio Express, Crazy Elephant and Reunion (and maybe more, I suppose). By the time June 1969 rolled around, the Fruitgum Company had put three singles into the Top Ten: “Simon Says,” “1, 2, 3, Red Light,” and “Indian Giver.” But the group’s brand of bubblegum had lost it flavor, it seems, as “Special Delivery” would stall at No. 38. The group had only two more singles reach the Hot 100, one reaching No. 57 and the other bubbling under at No. 118. “Special Delivery” is catchy, of course, but nothing much, except I do love the saxophone intros.

The No. 1 record as the middle of June 1969 approached was “Get Back” by the Beatles with Billy Preston; sitting at No. 2 was “Love Theme From ‘Romeo & Juliet’” by Henry Mancini and his orchestra.

Next up is 1972, and the record that sat at No. 40 in the Hot 100 released on June 17 was the mournful plaint (with a few power moments mixed in) of “All The King’s Horses” by Aretha Franklin. There’s no point in digging too deeply into the astounding numbers; it’s enough to say that “All The King’s Horses” was the fifty-fourth single Franklin had put in or near the Hot 100, with another thirty-four to come. The record was on its way to No. 26; it went to No. 7 (along with its B-side, “April Fools”) on the magazine’s R&B chart. I like it, but the shift from plaintive to powerful along the way disorients me; maybe it’s supposed to, but I find it distracting.

Sitting atop the Hot 100 at mid-June 1972 was “The Candy Man” by Sammy Davis, Jr., and “I’ll Take You There” by the Staple Singers was at No. 2.

And as we reach our final stop of 1975, we find ourselves a sweet ballad, Melissa Manchester’s “Midnight Blue.” It was the first of an eventual eleven Hot 100 hits for Manchester, with two more bubbling under. It was on its way to No. 6, and it spent two weeks at the top of the magazine’s easy listening chart. And it’s a potent earworm: Just reading the title off the chart this morning, I hear in my head, “Whatever it is, it’ll keep ’til the morning . . .” And it brings back in full the summer of ’75, a great season in the middle of one of the most potent years of my life.

The No. 1 record in the Hot 100 released June 14, 1975, was America’s “Sister Golden Hair.” Parked at No. 2 was “Love Will Keep Us Together” by the Captain & Tenille.

So, as we look for a single for this mid-June Saturday, I have to admit I was a little disappointed in the first three candidates we found. I was on the verge of offering up “Special Delivery” by the 1910 Fruitgum Company simply because it was bubblegum, which doesn’t get a lot of play here. But the instant the first words of “Midnight Blue” sailed into my head, I was lost. And a quick check of the archives tells me that I’ve mentioned the record only twice in twelve-and-a-half years (has it truly been that long?) and have never posted it here.

So here, from the summer of 1975, is Melissa Manchester’s “Midnight Blue,” today’s Saturday Single.

A Stop In 1975

Thursday, May 16th, 2019

We’re going to scan the digital shelves here today and play around in 1975, checking out five tracks from that long-gone but fondly remembered year. We’ve got a little more than 1,800 tracks to play with, so we’ll sort them by time, put the cursor in the middle of the column, and go.

Our first stop is a track titled “Thirty-Piece Band” by guitarist and singer Ellen McIlwaine from her third album, The Real Ellen McIlwaine. Recorded in Montreal and released on the Canadian Kot’ai label – after her first two albums came out on Polydor – the album is generally a decent mix of covers and originals. She’s not well-known – never having hit any chart that I’ve ever seen – but her records from the 1960s and 1970s were nice additions to a collection. According to Wikipedia, she released a couple albums in Japan in the early 2000s. “Thirty-Piece Band” is two-and-a-half minutes of churning solo guitar work topped off in the middle by some vamping and less than coherent lyrics. It’s not one of McIlwaine’s best moments.

On we go, landing on Linda Ronstadt’s “Hey Mister, That’s Me Up On The Jukebox” from Prisoner In Disguise, an album that went to No. 4 in the Billboard 200 after being released in September 1975. Ronstadt’s cover of James Taylor’s 1971 album track has always been my favorite track from Prisoner; her restrained vocal and the light steel guitar are far more effective than anything else on the album, including the hits (“Love Is A Rose,” “The Tracks Of My Tears” and “Heat Wave”). From this point on (with just a few exceptions), Ronstadt seemed a lot more vehement and got a lot less interesting.

The late Larry Jon Wilson pops up here from time to time with his southern wit. This time, it’s “The Truth Ain’t In You” from his debut album New Beginnings. A mostly spoken tale of an early 1960s college-age pursuit of a young woman, the track rambles on nicely, winding around three times to the chorus: “You don’t love Jesus and the truth ain’t in you.” Fun, like much of Wilson’s work was.

In 1975, Gordon Lightfoot followed up the mega-success of 1974’s Sundown – buoyed by two Top Ten singles (“Sundown” and “Carefree Highway”), the album was No. 1 for two weeks during the summer of 1974 – with Cold On The Shoulder, an album similar in approach but, to my ears, less distinctive. Part of that judgment, certainly might be that I know Sundown better, having listened to it more frequently. The tune we fall on today is “Now & Then” from Cold On The Shoulder. It’s your basic softer Lightfoot song, a tuneful reverie of love now gone that slips on occasion into cliché, backed with chiming guitars and perhaps a few too many strings. Pleasant listening, but not as satisfying as his best work.

Albert Hammond has popped up here from time to time, at least once for his hit “It Never Rains In Southern California” and one other time for his “99 Miles From L.A.” Today, we get “Lay The Music Down” from the 99 Miles From L.A. album. A song of lost love told in the context of musicians and their songs, “Lay The Music Down” is backed, says Stephen Thomas Erlewine of AllMusic, by “mild disco rhythms.” I don’t get that, but okay. It’s a decent track but no more than that.

Saturday Single No. 635

Saturday, March 30th, 2019

I didn’t sleep well, unaided by cats who demanded breakfast at 7 a.m., and my back hurts this morning, more than it has for some time.

I’m in a cranky mood. None of the 77,000-some tracks in the RealPlayer have the word “cranky” either in their titles, their album titles or their notes. This increases the cranky quotient.

The word “back,” however, brings up more than 1,400 results. Some of them – as is usual with a RealPlayer search – must be discarded, as they contain the word “backing” in their listing or they link to an album, like the Bible’s Walking The Ghost Back Home (1986). Stuff like that.

In addition, many of the titles in the search results refer to “go back” or “come back” or similar usages, not to “back” as a body part. But there are a few tracks I can pull to offer something back-related to listen to this morning.

And we find a track from an album I discovered in 1998, during my last year on Pleasant Avenue in South Minneapolis. “Get Off My Back” is on the self-titled 1975 album by a group called High Cotton. The information at discogs.com categorizes the band as Southern Rock and seems to indicate that the band never released another album. (A single, “Going Up To Get Down,” was pulled from the album; it was the group’s only released single.)

I recall having high hopes for the album and being vaguely disappointed with it, but twenty-plus years later, “Get Off My Back” sounds pretty good. Not world-beating, but good enough for a Saturday morning.

That’s why “Get Off My Back” from High Cotton’s 1975 self-titled album is today’s Saturday Single.

‘Kisses And A Tootsie Roll . . .’

Thursday, March 28th, 2019

The Beach Boys’ “Disney Girls (1957)” was the topic Saturday, and after talking about versions by the Beach Boys, Art Garfunkel and Cass Elliot, I noted that there were fifteen versions listed at Second Hand Songs. I actually meant to throw the word “additional” in there, as SHS lists eighteen takes of the Bruce Johnston tune. That’s been corrected now, and it’s a good time, I guess, to look at some of the covers of that purposefully nostalgic tune.

The first to take a stab at the tune after the Beach Boys (1971) and Cass Elliot (1972) were the Captain & Tennille, still a few years away from the huge success of “Love Will Keep Us Together.” They released “Disney Girls (1957)” as a B-Side to “The Way I Want To Touch You” three times, first on Butterscotch Castle 001, then on Joyce 101, then on A&M 1624. The latter two were released in 1974, based on what I see at discogs.com; I think the Butterscotch Castle release was in 1974, as well.

“The Way I Want To Touch You” was finally a hit on its fourth release, but by then its B-side was “Boddy Bounce,” and “Disney Girls” ended up as an album track on the duo’s first album Love Will Keep Us Together in 1975. Even for an exercise in nostalgia, it’s a little syrupy.

After that, Garfunkel covered the song, and covers came in the next few years from: Papa Doo Run Run, an L.A.-based band that specialized in covers of tunes by the Beach Boys and Jan & Dean; English singer Michael Crawford; the song’s writer himself, Bruce Johnston; MOR singer Jack Jones; and a number of artists whose names I do not recognize through the rest of the century and beyond, with Doris Day’s 2011 release and Mari Wilson’s cover a year later ending the train.

Day’s take is okay, a little breathy, and was recorded some years before the death of Day’s son (and producer) Terry Melcher in 2004. I don’t care for Wilson’s voice, at least not for “Disney Girls.” There’s a husky undertone that doesn’t seem to fit the song.

Johnston’s 1977 solo take is a stripped-down piano-backed version that doesn’t seem to go anywhere, and Jones’ version brings nothing special either.

So for something to listen to this morning, we’ll go back to the first version I heard: Garfunkel’s cover of the song on his 1975 album Breakaway, the version that started this minor exploration when it came out of the player here in the kitchen last week.

What’s At No. 100? (March 1975)

Thursday, March 14th, 2019

We’re going to look today at the record that sat at No. 100 in the Billboard Hot 100 as the Ides of March fell in 1975. But first, here’s the magazine’s Top Ten as of March 15, 1975, forty-four years ago tomorrow:

“Black Water” by the Doobie Brothers
“My Eyes Adored You” by Frankie Valli
“Lady Marmalade (Voulez-Vous Coucher Avec Moi)” by Lady Marmalade
“Have You Never Been Mellow” by Olivia Newton-John
“Lovin’ You” by Minnie Riperton
“Lady” by Styx
“Lonely People” by America
“Express” by B.T. Express
“I Can’t Get It Out Of My Head” by the Electric Light Orchestra
“Don’t Call Us, We’ll Call You” by Sugarloaf/Jerry Corbetta

Well, that’s a jumble. I mentioned my affection the other day for the Frankie Valli record, and the Lady Marmalade record was in my long-ago Ultimate Jukebox. I liked “Black Water,” probably giving it a few spins on the juke box at St. Cloud State’s Atwood Center. The same is true for the Riperton single.

I found the Newton-John record pleasant and unoffensive, as was “Lonely People.” “I Can’t Get It Out Of My Head” was – and remains – an earworm of great magnitude; I don’t dislike it, but once I hear it, I hear it for the next twelve hours or so.

“Don’t Call Us . . .” was a gimmick I did not like, and I have never, ever liked anything by Styx. I just don’t like the sound of the band. Finally, I do not recall “Express” at all, and having listened to it this morning, all I can do is shrug and say, “Yeah, that sounds like a slice of 1975.”

So how many of those are in my current listening (based on the 3,900-some tracks in the iPod)? Five of them: The top three and the entries by America, because of a later association, not my 1975 reaction to the tune, and, surprisingly, ELO. (It’s still an earworm.) I might add “Have You Never Been Mellow” to the mix.

And now, let’s answer the question at the top of the post. Heading to the bottom of the Hot 100, we find a Joe Walsh single that I doubt that I have heard until this morning: “Turn To Stone.” It’s certainly not familiar.

(I have to admit that when I saw the title, I wondered about the ELO record of the same title. Whoever transcribed the many years’ worth of Hot 100s to Notepad made a few errors along the way. But, as many out there knew already, this is an entirely different record.)

And it’s one I wish I’d heard (or heard more frequently than I did) forty-four years ago. It’s got power, it’s serious (as opposed to a lot of Walsh’s winking solo work), and – according to Joel Whitburn’s Top Pop Singles – it’s got Eagles Don Henley, Glen Frey and Randy Meisner on backing vocals.

I like it a lot, and as it ran this morning, I had a vague thought that might seem weird, but the sound of Walsh’s “Turn To Stone” reminded me a lot of some of the tracks on Wishbone Ash’s 1972 album Argus.

“Turn To Stone” didn’t do so well on the charts. By the time we catch up to it at No. 100, it was in its third week in the Hot 100 and had peaked at No. 93. It was re-released in 1979 and bubbled under the Hot 100 for one week at No. 109.