Greetings from Laurel Canyon!

Night before last, I came home tired from a long week of shuffling from meetings to gigs, gigs to studios, and back to more meetings. Although I thought about “hitting the hay,” this week’s Idelic Hour weighed heavily on my mind.

The truth is I have my issues with the show. The obligation to continue week after week with a fresh and interesting take on “this here hour” certainly can take its toll. It’s not an obligation to the hip and laid back Jon Meyers and the TVD family that keeps me up late Thursday nights. No, in fact my commitment is weirder. Well, I should say deeper.

One thing I’ve learned over the past few years is to dig through the crates as early in the week as possible. Once I have an idea or “muse” for the show, I’m transported to a creative mode that is not only exhilarating, but quenches my thirst to be creative. Most of this expression here is my journey. In weird way, the Idelic Hour—the actual mix, mini column, song (aka, the Idelic Hit of the Week), and album cover—are a postcard from my week.

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Those with a serious jones for power pop might already be hip to the Numero Group label’s dandy 150-gm repressings of the early work from the killer Illinois group, Shoes. However, interested parties new to the band of John Murphy (vocals and bass), Jeff Murphy (vocals and guitar), Gary Klebe (vocals and guitar), and a whole lot of drummers should begin with their still massive 1977 album Black Vinyl Shoes. It’s quite a stunner, and the fact that it’s freshly available is a surefire antidote for many ills, including creeping cynicism.

Along with pub-rock, power pop gets very frequently lumped in with punk rock as one element in the big 1970s disdain with the overwrought staleness of the norm. And since punk rock, which at the time was largely a dismal commercial failure, has proven to be the most lingeringly influential and historically captivating part of the ‘70s back to basics impulse, that’s unfortunately resulted in pub-rock and power pop getting the short shrift far too often.

It’s probably true that cacophonous youthful anger will always be a more immediately attractive musical avenue than non-photogenic Stones/Yardbirds descended stuff (pub-rock, in an oversimplified nutshell) or the sound of a younger generation discovering the glories of unadulterated pop-rock gusto ala The Beatles, The Byrds, The Hollies, and the early Who (power pop, in a bargain basement distillation).

But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t champion the achievements of Dr. Feelgood or 20/20 if given half the opportunity. If their stuff lacks an air of loutish hooliganism, it instead basks in an atmosphere of non-telegraphed classicism that’s as rare these days as a natural born redhead. So it’s no surprise that when people hear the strains of undiluted power pop for the first time, they often react with an uncontrolled outpouring of euphoric emotion; my goodness, this stuff is so simple! And yet so perfect! Why can’t it always be like this?

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