My TV lies to me, and therefore I reject it.
It makes me all pliant and dim-witted, it inserts horrible, vicious, toxic, nonsensical ideas into my vulnerable brain, and unless there's a dirty movie on Bravo, it's useless to me as entertainment. I just hate the damn thing.
Except at around 3 a.m., when the Time Life company invites me to re-purchase my childhood for the amazing low, low cost of only $149.95.
For that half hour, the Toshiba and I, we enjoy a small if delicate truce.
If you stay up way too late, then you're probably well acquainted with those late-nite, candy-coloured infomercials produced by the respectable Time Life corporation of America. Ten-disc collections of the kind of music that you wouldn't purchase for anything more than the price of an Internet connection unless you were born stupid -- that's what they're selling, always with a marginal (and I mean marginal) celebrity like Bowzer from Sha Na Na shitting his mind about how "you could never get all this great music in one place until now."
Tony Orlando (minus Dawn) is currently on the box every night shilling for the very latest in Time Life's ever-growing family of unnecessary plastic things, the Romancing the '70s collection.
True to the classic format, Orlando is there to introduce clips of bands like Bread, Paper Lace, and Pilot -- frustratingly brief clips -- with a double shot, naturally, of Orlando's own glory days as a particularly sleazy looking dinner-club act who got very lucky. Although it's interesting to note that Time Life chose not to include Dawn's chart-smashing tribute to vaginal blight in its advertising material.
In any event, Romancing the '70s remarkets bits of the previous collections, '70s Music Explosion (the definitive Time Life spot, for my money, thanks to the involvement of Greg Brady), and the more recent Classic Soft Rock (a morbidly fascinating turkey presented by two nincompoops from Air Supply).
And speaking of soft rock -- I love soft rock. Every wimpy note, every plush Rhodes piano chord, every vacant sentiment, every low-impact appeal to the vanilla side of my nature -- it's all groovy in my book, sitting there at 3 a.m. And the tackiness of the Time Life venue aside, I'm glad that anybody is out there still advocating for it (even Tony Orlando).
Which brings us to Odawas, and this preview from the Indiana-born duo's forthcoming album, The Blue Depths. THIS IS NOT SOFT ROCK. I know that -- okay? -- but I hear man's continuing urge to rock softly somewhere in the grooves. These guys were already fairly prostrate on their last record, and "Harmless Lovers Discourse" really goes for it with a lambent wash of synth, ambling pace and even some fretless bass lest my ears deceive me. The last time I heard a fretless bass was back when Pino Palladino was a household name.
By forsaking lyrics about little white doves, horses sans names, or being all out of love, and so lost without you etc., Odawas keeps things vinegary, singing instead about "our last day on earth." Because it is 2009, after all. And it's not that I'm suggesting any substantial connection between Odawas and the content-free MOR kings who (gently) dominated radio some three and a half decades ago.
If anything, at its heart "Harmless Lovers Discourse" is Brian Eno's "On Some Faraway Beach" with a hipster cred upgrade, but it isn't a million miles away from 10cc, either.
Related Tyee stories:
- Roll Over, Jack Johnson!
Reefer offers baked Polynesian warmth without inducing a coma. - The Return of the Music Video
Are viral videos turning bland songs into hits, just like in the '80s? - Music to Soothe Us in Troubled Times
Bush, sub-prime and Nancy Grace require good soft rock.
Read more: Music
Tyee Commenting Guidelines
Comments that violate guidelines risk being deleted, and violations may result in a temporary or permanent user ban. Maintain the spirit of good conversation to stay in the discussion.
*Please note The Tyee is not a forum for spreading misinformation about COVID-19, denying its existence or minimizing its risk to public health.
Do:
Do not: