“There have been tens of thousands (easy) more terrible rock songs than there have been good ones,” famed rock critic my grandmother once said, and in support of her theory she pushed the entire opus of REO Speedwagon my way. “‘Ridin’ the Storm Out’ is bong steady,” she said, “but you can flush everything else down the crapper.”
She was right, of course, and that’s what made it so hard to put this list together. Few of us are financially wealthy, but we’re all rich in rock and roll dreck. When the Jefferson Starship sing “We’re knee deep in the hoopla” in perpetual contender for worst song ever “We Built This City,” we know it’s not hoopla they’re singing about, is it?
But I’ve tried, Lord knows, to devise my own list of the Awful One Hundred. I’ve had to stomach the unstomachable, bear the unbearable, listen to the unlistenable, and in general audition more musical mortal sins than a talent scout in Hell, and these were the best I could come up with. I personally believe my efforts warrant the Congressional Medal of Horror.
Some of my selections you’ll agree with, others you’ll disagree with, and still others will make you wonder what dim creature from what low-IQ planet in what slow-witted galaxy spit me out like a watermelon seed with such force that I ended up here, solely to get the whole damn thing wrong. Some of my selections have let it be known just how unhappy they are. I’ve received hate mail. Threatening midnight phone calls. One song even took to standing outside my window at night screaming “Thank God I’m a country boy!”
A brief note on how I chose the songs on my list. There are gazillions of songs we can all agree are dog turds in burning paper bags, but to my way of thinking a truly appalling song is one I turn off the very second it comes on. If this means a sprained wrist, so be it. If, while behind the wheel of an automobile, this entails running head on into an 18-wheeler full of highly flammable nuclear waste, them’s the breaks.
Then again, there are countless Lovecraftian abominations out there I won’t turn off simply because they make me laugh. And even on some good days a hearty laugh can be as hard to find as D.B. Cooper. Who, if I understand correctly, leaped from a passenger jet at 10,000 feet into sub-zero temperatures on a stormy night in the environs of some of the most rugged wilderness in the country not to make off with $200,000 in ransom money, but to escape the Original Caste’s “One Tin Soldier.”
While Caitlin’s name will always be intertwined with that band’s history, she’s also got a history all her own. After the group disbanded, Caitlin decided it was time for her to share the songs that may not have gotten the attention they deserved in her previous group. So, after connecting with Chris Stamey and Yep Roc Records, in 2002 she released her first solo album titled, While You Weren’t Looking.
Odd, though, that “Age of Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In” was the product of a very square Black chorale group that would have been more at home in a Las Vegas nightclub than Woodstock (where they didn’t play) or Harlem’s Cultural Festival that same year (where they did). The vocal group’s repertory of styles—which included R&B, jazz, pop and soul—was labeled “champagne soul,” perhaps because their musical stylings were all bubbles and no kick.
The latter LP is nothing short of a miracle; Jerry Lee somehow managed knock off ten galvanizing performances even though he was, by all accounts, out of control even by his own berserk standards. When he wasn’t abusing legendary producer Huey “The Crazy Cajun” Meaux, the heavily medicated Lewis was threatening to kill a photographer and generally being a dyspeptic old cuss. “Do you wanna try one?” asks Meaux doing the proceedings. “If you got enough fuckin’ sense to cut it,” replies the orneriest cage-rattler to ever hail from the friendly state of Louisiana.
A great place to start for the novice is Sun Records’ 70th Anniversary Compilation, Vol. 1. The album is curated by Chris Isaak and includes his liner notes. This album gives a fine overview of groundbreaking, legendary, and popular Sun artists, including the aforementioned, along with Johnny Cash, Patti Page and others. Staples of the foundation of rock ‘n’ roll are here, such as “Mystery Train” from Little Junior’s Blue Flames and “Breathless” by Jerry Lee Lewis, along with country classics like “I Walk the Line” and “Folsom Prison Blues” from Johnny Cash. The album does not include any of the music Elvis recorded for Sun, which occurred before he signed with RCA.
Other than maybe Johnny Cash, the Sun artist whose career lasted the longest was Roy Orbison. Orbison’s voice and the accompanying production have made his recordings some of the most beloved in popular music history. His rebirth and eventually joining the Traveling Wilburys attest to his timeless music and the respect he commands among musicians. The Original Sound, released in 1969, is one of Orbison’s more obscure albums, but it includes such classics as “Ooby Dooby.” While the album came at a stage in his career when the hippie rock culture was ascending and his influence and popularity were waning, it’s still an excellent album and one worthy of such a well-conceived reissue. This reissue includes liner notes by Orbison’s son Alex.
Like Roy Orbison, Carl Perkins had a long career and his influence on other musicians is incalculable. George Harrison of The Beatles was heavily influenced by the way Perkins played guitar. Perkins is perhaps the most important rockabilly artist in popular music history. Perkins was also a member of the famed Million Dollar Quartet, with Elvis, Cash, and Lewis. The King of Rockabilly is a collection of his hits, including an alternate version of “Honey Don’t,” famously covered by The Beatles. “Matchbox” and “Blue Suede Shoes,” also covered by The Beatles, are included here as well. This reissue includes liner notes by Carl’s son Stan Perkins.
Often derided as a last ditch effort to resuscitate Cassidy’s moribund career, Wasp was produced by Utopian Todd “I’ll produce something/anything” Rundgren, who might have turned the album into a New Wave Bubble Freak masterpiece. Unfortunately, Sir Wizard and True Star stopped short at “Rebel Rebel” (more about which later), and filled the rest of the LP with what are largely workman-like covers of largely pedestrian material.
An eternally sharp dresser with an erudite croon, Bryan Ferry can be synopsized as the high priest of chic. However, the sheer brevity of this designation ignores the atypical and occasionally downright oddball aspects of his personality; the art-school (big on Duchamp, he was), the art-rock (bandmate of Eno, he was), the smoky late-night lounge (a persistent component in his image, it was), the jetsetter (ditto), the student of pop (as revealed in numerous interviews and journalistic portraits over the years). All are traits that have fortified his work both with Roxy Music and as a solitary operator.
