Celebrating Joan Jett on her 67th birthday. —Ed.

Joan Jett’s 1979 debut LP is one of rock music’s most joyful readymades–an utterly endearing romp through rock history from hoary old standards (“Wooly Bully”) to bubblegum pop to Gary Glitter to the buzzsaw sound of the Ramones, Bad Reputation is a veritable vinyl jukebox you’ll never get tired of tossing dimes into.

On Bad Reputation–original title Joan Jett--the runaway Runaway dares to wear her heart on her sleeve by pledging allegiance to the songs that made her who she is; this is Joan Jett’s Self Portrait, and with the exception of her too-stiff-by-half take on the Isley Brothers’ “Shout,” she does her personal canon proud. Not only does she prove she’s the true successor to Gary Glitter (and by association her glam role model Suzi Quatro), she demonstrates conclusively that she’s her own gurl by contributing a couple of songs that (with the exception of the punk-tinged title track) blend seamlessly in with their esteemed company.

Jett (the Blackhearts were still in the future) chose her producers wisely. Top guys Kenny Laguna and Ritchie Cordell (Sex Pistols Steve Jones and Paul Cook also lent a hand) were both proud Super K Productions alumni working under immortal bubblegum producers Jerry Kasenetz and Jeffrey Katz, and they brought their many years of throwaway pop songcraft to the table. Remember that version of Led Zep’s “Stairway to Heaven” set to the lyrics of the theme song from Gilligan’s Island? You can thank Laguna for it. And Cordell is the guy who bequeathed us both “I Think We’re Alone Now” and “Mony Mony.”

I could go into all kinds of philosophical digressions about Jett’s reactionary backwards-looking worldview but I’m too busy bashing my head to her positively infectious takes on Glitter classics “Do You Wanna Touch Me (Oh Yeah)” and “Doing Alright with the Boys.” Jett hangs on to that big, bad Glitter sound (dig that tribal thump thump thump!) but takes both songs to Glamtastic new heights by making Glitter (no wallflower for sure) sound positively enervated; she doesn’t sing ‘em, she shouts ‘em, bringing an unprecedented amount of bad attitude to the table. Message to Glam Rock: You’re not dead until Joan Jett says you are!

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VIA PRESS RELEASE | High Moon Records has announced the long overdue vinyl reissue of two landmark LPs by sunshine pop legends, Eternity’s Children. Originally released in 1968 and never before reissued on vinyl, Eternity’s Children and Timeless—the latter album’s first-ever US release—will be available on Friday, October 31. Both LPs include detailed historical notes and exclusive interviews with the band by noted producer, musician, and archivist Steve Stanley. Pre-orders are available now.

With a distinctive sound that successfully combined the band’s southern roots with sophisticated vocal harmonies, soft psych, bossa nova, and even gospel, Eternity’s Children managed to create their own exciting hybrid sound, and in doing so, became one of the most extraordinary and unusual pop bands ever to emerge from the Deep South.

Comprised of lead vocalist and songwriter Linda Lawley, bassist and co-lead vocalist Charlie Ross, drummer Roy Whittaker, guitarist Johnny Walker, and keyboardists Bruce Blackman (who would later found yacht rock favorites Starbuck with whom he composed their classic “Moonlight Feels Right”) and Mike “Kid” McClain, Eternity’s Children achieved impressive chart successes in several major markets, toured alongside legends such as the Temptations, The Doors, and Spirit, only to find their own great potential eclipsed by bad management and label woes.

“Possessed of two exceptional lead vocalists and a self-penned hit single, immensely talented, college-educated, and great-looking to boot, they toured with some of the biggest names in music, and worked with the finest producers and musicians,” writes Steve Stanley. “They transformed the songs they covered—many composed by the industry’s top songwriters—and made them their own. Eternity’s Children clearly had all the ingredients necessary to conquer the pop world, yet their career path was littered with more pitfalls and landmines than most artists could ever fear to endure. Why did this band, whose talent far surpassed that of many of their more renowned contemporaries, fail to achieve the measure of acclaim and financial success they deserved?”

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Robert Christgau was cruel and unjust when he dismissed Love Unlimited Orchestra as Barry White’s “Jackie Gleason Tribute Band.” As a musical extension of the rotund soul sex-peddler with the positively lubricious bass voice, Love Unlimited Orchestra shared most of Barry’s strengths and shortcomings, and at their best they served up some great proto-disco and pretty steamy soul.

At their worst they were Barry’s Jackie Gleason Tribute Band.

But first, a word on Barry White himself. Barry was not just another R&B soul man. He was the Grand Dragon of the Golden Order of the Beast with Two Backs and the undisputed King of Music to Fuck By, and his records probably hold some kind of world record for the sheer number of human beings who have orgasmed while they were playing. Statistics like that are hard to come by.

Smell a Barry White record sometime. It will smell like sex. Seriously. That is the hot and funky musk of sexual congress in session you are smelling. I am not kidding. Try it. You’ll want to wash your hands afterwards.

As I said above, the Love Unlimited Orchestra was a musical extension of Barry’s positively colonial empire of fornication, and quite the extension it was–a 40-piece, heavy-on-the-strings musical conglomerate that over the course of its existence counted amongst it members, in addition to guitarists Wah Wah Watson, David T. Walker, and Lee Ritenour, the likes of Ray “Ghostbusters” Parker, Jr., Kenny G, Ernie Watts, Wilton Felder and god knows how many nameless strings musicians. Conducted and arranged by the rotund Emperor or the Erotic himself, the Love Unlimited Orchestra was the strings-plushy cushion in the pushin’ of Barry’s panties-free paeans to let’s get it on.

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VIA PRESS RELEASE | If there is one thing Real Gone has learned during their rollicking ride of reissuing The Donnas’ catalog, it’s that they never did anything halfway. And we’ve tried to do the same in bringing their music back to their devout fanbase.

Now, by popular demand, and after years of pursuing the rights, Real Gone is thrilled to announce that we are releasing their last studio album, Bitchin’, in an expanded, newly annotated, and newly remastered edition!

This 2007 release was put out by The Donnas’ own Purple Feather label, and marks a return to the girls’ glam metal and punk roots after the classic rock leanings of Gold Medal—they’ve escaped the major label machine, and are ready to have a good time! Singalong songs like “What Do I Have to Do” and “Don’t Wait Up for Me” have definitely entered The Donnas’ canon, and tunes like “Save Me” confirm that this band’s ability to set a hook in a chorus remains unabated.

For this first-ever reissue, we’ve rounded up an entire side of bonus tracks, including the two songs (“Randi” and a cover of “Safety Dance”) that were only available on the vinyl release, a track (“New Kid in School”) that was previously available only as a download, two outtakes (“We Own the Night” and “She’s Out of Control”) that showed up on the Greatest Hits Vol.16 comp, and a track that only came out in Japan (“Can’t Keep It a Secret”).

The whole thing’s been remastered for vinyl by Mike Milchner at Sonic Vision, and the gatefold-plus-insert once again includes fresh commentary by Brett Anderson aka Donna A. Bitchin’ comes in a double scoop of strawberry with black swirl vinyl—we’re here for the party!

Remembering Cass Elliot, born on this day in 1941. —Ed.

A few random observations about The Mama’s and the Papa’s’ 1966 debut LP and folk-pop classic If You Can Believe Your Eyes and Ears.

1. This album has everything, including a toilet on the cover! Which puts it in some elite crapper company, including the Rolling Stones’ Beggars Banquet, Sebadoh’s Bakesale, Millie Jackson’s Back to the S__T!, and Humble Pie’s Thunderbox. (The Circle Jerks’ Golden Shower of Hits doesn’t count, because it features a urinal.) As for the toilet on If You Can Believe Your Eyes and Ears, it faded from view and was living in filth and poverty until 1988, when it sued the Mamas and the Papas for royalties and won. It currently resides in Costa del Sol and is married to a supermodel.

2. There’s a great story about how Mama Cass Elliot came to join the Mamas and the Papas. Seems John Phillips didn’t want her in the band because of her limited vocal range. THEN, but let’s let Elliott tell it:

“They were tearing this club apart in the islands, revamping it, putting in a dance floor. Workmen dropped a thin metal plumbing pipe and it hit me on the head… I had a concussion and went to the hospital. I had a bad headache for about two weeks and all of a sudden I was singing higher. It’s true. Honest to God.”

It’s a great story. Unfortunately it’s not true. Seems Phillips didn’t want Elliot in the band because she was too fat. Me, I prefer her story. It gives me hope that one day I’ll get conked on the head by a length of pipe, and suddenly discover I can sing like Geddy Lee.

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I remember the first time I saw W.A.S.P. They weren’t just another Sunset Strip band. They were darker, heavier, more dangerous. The sound was definitive. Blackie Lawless owned the stage like a ringmaster from hell and Chris Holmes carried his madness offstage as far as the tabloids would take it. But the bottom line has always been the songs. The fucking songs are there.

Forty years on, holding this reissue in my hands takes me straight back to being ten years old, looking for something heavier than Twisted Sister and nastier than anything else in my collection. This was the answer. This is the W.A.S.P. fan’s W.A.S.P. album. It’s stacked with anthems that defined the band and lit up MTV: “L.O.V.E. Machine,” “On Your Knees,” “I Wanna Be Somebody.” Pure power, pure hooks, pure attitude.

The casual fan might wonder where the insanely controversial “Animal (Fuck Like a Beast)” is. It wasn’t on the original. Capitol Records folded under Tipper Gore and the PMRC’s “Filthy Fifteen” and pulled it. That infamous list was meant to highlight the most offensive music of the era.

The funny part? It wasn’t just metal bands. Sheena Easton was on there too. As a kid, the Filthy Fifteen was basically my entire playlist, proof that the PMRC didn’t really understand what they were fighting against. “Animal” eventually surfaced on an independent release and cemented itself as an all-time W.A.S.P. anthem. Ridiculous title aside, the chorus is pure earworm.

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Baxter Dury is the son of Ian Dury, and the tough-looking little tyke in elephant flares standing next to his pops on the cover of the latter’s 1977 LP New Boots and Panties!! He’s also a stellar musician in his own right, and over the course of nine critically lauded albums has amazed with his spoken word wit while moving steadily towards the dance floor.

And in 2025 Dury took to the disco riddims in a big way with a flurry of Paul Epworth-produced singles that mated his wry, pessimistic, and sometimes flat-out crude lyrics with sleek and slinky grooves and the bonus vocals of up-and-comer JGrrey. They culminated in the recent release of the exceptional post-disco LP Allbarone, on which Dury comes across as one cool customer, a combination Boz Scaggs/Jarvis Cocker with a bad attitude, a deadpan delivery, and a sardonic way of looking at love, jets setters, omelets, the Hapsburgs—all sorts of things.

To quote a dead certain dead pop star, Allbarone is simply irresistible.

Dury isn’t a happy camper or an inspirational speaker—he trucks largely in romantic disappointment and other forms of human unhappiness, and he does so with drily funny lyrics that can be startlingly direct but often tend towards the oblique, which is to say I have no idea what he’s talking about half the time. But he makes it sound good on a nonstop parade of dance tracks and slower funk breakdowns, only a few of which leave me underwhelmed. The best of them are anchored by killer hooks, and Paul Epworth’s electronic backdrops provide the perfect settings for Dury’s often black sense of humor.

“Return of the Sharp Heads” is the album highlight, thanks in equal measures to the bass-driven groove and the smooth vocal stylings of JGrrey, whose constant refrain (it opens the song) is:

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VIA PRESS RELEASE | Regal rock icons Queen are celebrating the 50th anniversary of their monumental multi-platinum 1975 album A Night At The Opera and legendary Diamond-certified single “Bohemian Rhapsody” with opulent vinyl reissues.

Originally released in November 1975 and featuring the classic line-up of Freddie Mercury, Brian May, Roger Taylor and John Deacon, A Night At The Opera was Queen’s grandest artistic statement and most successful album to that point, reaching Number 1 in five countries, including the UK. Marking 50 years since its original release, A Night At The Opera will be reissued on lavish crystal clear vinyl with gold labels on October 18 in the UK (on National Album Day) and October 17 in the rest of the world.

“Bohemian Rhapsody,” which spent a record-breaking nine weeks at Number 1 in the UK singles chart on its original release, is also being reissued on October 31 as a transparent blue heavyweight 12” vinyl. It will also be available as a direct-to-consumer exclusive 12” picture disc and blue cassette single. Both reissues will be released on Universal worldwide excluding US, where they will be released via Hollywood Records.

“A Night At The Opera was a hugely important album for us,” says Queen guitarist Sir Brian May. “It opened up the world for us.” “We were at the peak of our confidence,” adds drummer Roger Taylor, “It felt like there wasn’t anything we couldn’t do, and it shows on that album.”

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Celebrating Frankie Avalon on his 85th birthday. —Ed.

It’s easy to say snide things about Frankie Avalon. I myself have called the teen idol who first made his name as a trumpet player, then as a singer, and finally as the star of such immortal motion pictures as 1963’s Beach Party (with Annette Funicello, natch) and 1965’s Dr. Goldfoot and the Bikini Machine (with Vincent Price) the worst thing to happen to rock ’n’ roll this side of the extended drum solo.

I’m being unfair of course. Avalon was just a good Italian kid from Philly who specialized in froth, didn’t have a rebellious bone in his body, and never pretended otherwise. An earnest and wholesome boy who never got hooked on heroin or attempted to reinvent himself as a pinwheel-eyed avatar of the hallucinogenic sixties, was our Frankie. But say what you will about his escapist product, Avalon has always been and will always be true to himself.

As anybody who has ever listened to “Venus” or “Why,” Avalon was a crooner whose saccharine songs sound inconceivable as teen product to anyone reared in the rock ’n’ roll era. Lush orchestral arrangements, choirs, you name it—Frankie’s producers liked to lard it on, and on, and on. Ah, but once, just once—and it is as glorious a moment as any in the annals of rock—Avalon said to hell with it and got down with his bad self, garage rock style.

I have no idea why. Perhaps he ate an extra-large helping of some rich Italian dessert with a touch too much sweet liqueur, say amaretto, in it. Or drank one too many (as in two) glasses of red wine. Whatever the reason, on one lost day in 1963 a real, real gone Avalon swaggered into the studio, flicked a half-smoked cigarette at some studio hack, and snapped, “Fuck the strings, Johnny, and ditch the backing singers. This is Jungleland.” And proceeded to throw his everything behind as mean as guitar as he could get his goomba (no offense meant) mitts on.

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