How Good It Is Claude Call

This is an episode I wrote in the Southern Studio, so I may  have been in a better mood than usual to write it than I ordinarily am, given  the subject matter.



When Blue Öyster Cult first got together, they were a college band from Stony Brook, New York. That's not far from where I grew up. Oddly, none of the band's original members are from Long Island. Two of them grew up in New  York City, one in upstate NY and the last was born in Alabama but moved to the Island as a child. Go figure.



They took on the name Soft White Underbelly first and used that from 1967-1969. Then they caught a bad review for a show and decided to change their name. After a few permutations they landed on Blue Öyster Cult, which they didn't really like. But the fact is, they didn't care enough at that point to come up with anything else.



I touched on this briefly in the episode itself, but it's pretty clear that the band members were still pretty fond of "Soft White Underbelly". Oftentimes when they played smaller clubs around the NY Metro area, that's the name they'd use in those clubs. So when fans of BOC saw an ad in the local newspapers touting that band in the 1970s and 80s, they knew they were actually in for a Blue Öyster Cult show.



"Don't Fear the Reaper" is notable for several different reasons. It was a new recording studio and they experimented with their sound in different ways. That would include having Buck Dharma sing the lead. (Dharma is the lead singer on "Godzilla" and "Burnin' For You", so they may have hit on something there.) You'll hear about some of the bells and whistles they use.



And yes, you'll hear a little bit about Saturday Night Live and how they feel about it.







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By 1968, Glen Campbell had moved from session musician to a star in his own right. His single "By the Time I Get to Phoenix," written by Jimmy Webb, was a huge hit for him. So when Campbell decided he needed another song, he turned back to Webb and asked him for another song.



For whatever reason, he asked Webb to make it a song about a specific location. Webb, at that time, was in the business of writing as many songs as possible about his ex, a woman named Susan Horton. (Coincidentally, Jim Holvay was also spending a lot of time writing songs about a woman named Susan, go figure.) Susan Horton was at the heart of "Phoenix" and "MacArthur Park, which had just been released when Campbell came calling again. So he cranked out yet another song ostensibly about Susan. That song was "Wichita Lineman."



Now, Webb wasn't as obvious about Susan as Holvay was, but in all of these songs you can hear some sense of loss and longing, so it's pretty clear that he had it bad for her. And between Webb's nearly-finished work and the production values that Campbell and producer/arranger Al De Lory, before long they had a genuine masterpiece on their hands. And honest to god, why haven't I covered this song back when the show was still in single digits?



What else haven't I covered that really needs some attention? Drop me an email  at howgoodpodcast@gmail.com!







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Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!



Today we're looking at three Christmas songs that are born from the anxieties of World War Two. Two of the songs aren't direct references to the war itself, but it clearly informed the subject. Themes of separation and loneliness emerge, and a sense of nostalgia is present throughout.



Interestingly, one of the songs was so dark that the lyricist was asked to change the words...twice. For the other two songs, there's a verse that usually goes unsung, though once in awhile we get to hear it. And one song was popular enough with the public that it still holds the Guinness record for most copies of a song sold—and it's not even the original recording!







And, as promised: here are the original lyrics to "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas."

Have yourself a merry little Christmas.

It may be your last.

Next year we may all be living in the past.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas.

Pop that champagne cork.

Next year we may all be living in New York.

No good times like the olden days.

Happy golden days of yore.

Faithful friends who were dear to us.

Will be near to us no more.

But at least we all will be together.

If the Lord allows.

From now on, we’ll have to muddle through somehow.

So have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

Happy holidays to ye!



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Sorry, no transcript this time.

...before we were so rudely interrupted...



This is a song that I'm long-overdue in covering, if only because of the backstory it has. It's simultaneously heart-warming and heart-breaking. It's a love letter from lyricist Doc Pomus to his wife. That's not unusual, of course. Many songwriters compose songs dedicated to a loved one. But this one has an extra special twist to it. I shan't spoil it here, though: you'll have to actually listen to the show.







So in this episode we'll learn about the genius of Doc Pomus, the genius of Dick Clark, and a little bit about children's television.



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How many times now have I gone into the backstory with a song and learned that the person who wrote it says something akin to, "Yeah, I knocked that one off in about fifteen minutes."



Oftentimes they also think that the song isn't going to amount to very much, which I find kind of funny. But it also supports a working theory I have that it's not always the song itself, but the way it's presented. The Crickets (sans Buddy Holly) and a few others approached it one way, but Bobby Fuller and The Clash looked at it differently, and it paid off for them.







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I don't often play favorites on this show; in fact there have been a couple of songs I genuinely disliked, but I covered them anyway because the story behind them was kind of interesting. And I think you'd be hard-pressed to identify those songs, because I do try to be even-handed.



However.



I am going to take the time to gush about "Tiny Dancer" just a little bit, because it's one of my favorite songs by Elton John, and it may even be somewhere in my all-time Top Ten, if I took the time to compose such a list. Actually, I've already taken that time, and here's the episode.



Before you listen, however, I will note that my wife doesn't really like this song, and I can't convince her to sing along with me on the chorus. Ever. Spoilsport.







And, as promised, here's the "Tiny Dancer" clip from the 2000 film Almost Famous:







Kate Hudson shoulda been a bigger star.



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