Happy Music Monday! Today Scott's lost his mind and gathered a bunch of people you've probably never heard of because they have names that don't sound like rock stars. Yeah, we know. He's just been under a lot of pressure lately, okay? Anyway, take a look, maybe you'll have a few ideas of your own...
The late '80s were sort of like rock's midlife crisis. All the new stuff was in electronic music and hip hop wasn't yet mainstream, but all the classic bands were either broken up or sucking. That context should explain why a guy who dressed like a Guardian Angel could stick two backup singers in suitcases and score a minor hit, all with a name like "Grayson." To be fair, he's not a bad singer, but the moment he was up against a guy named Ice T, poor Grayson had no chance.
See you after the jump for what might end up being our least-read Music Monday of all time. Wish us luck!
As always, remember our Spotify playlist will be featuring a great selection from last week's Music Monday comments. The theme of the mix this time is Phone Calls and you'll enjoy it, possibly more than this week's theme. But before you start reminiscing, brave our current Music Monday below.
How could anyone have survived the 1980s without making a video or having a crazy cover? Well, Jimmy Hamen found a way, and pushed this wuss-rock classic all the way to number 10 on the Billboard charts. To be fair to Mr. Hamen, the song was originally credited to just Synch, but it didn't become a "hit" until his perfectly normal, un-rock star name was added to the label. Spoiler warning: you old punks in the audience will probably find this unlistenable.
Charlie Dore - Pilot Of The Airwaves
There are many famous Charlies out there, sure, but Ms. Dore here… well, maybe it's just me, but the name "Charlie Dore" just seems so flat. Maybe that's why the songs she wrote for other people did better. Sort of like the Cathy Dennis of the 80's. Hey, if you don't get that reference, it's on you.
Martin Briley - Salt In My Tears NSFW if you've got a very strict boss
Martin, welcome to the stage, because you're the exception that proves the rule. A completely respectable series of licks, sexism, and tunesmithing that can stand proudly beside Foreigner and The Fixx, this song still gets airplay even today on some classic rock stations! And yet, when you picture a stadium chanting out a name, it's never going to be "MAR! TIN! BRI! LEY!" Not your fault, Martin, but if you'd gone with Marty Uranus you might have had more than, say, a few straight decades of work as a well-respected session man.
I'm gonna be honest with you, Bertie. I pretty much hate you. I hate your '70s beard, I hate your blue-collar yacht rock, and I hate how you were everywhere on my radio when I was a little kid no matter what I did. But, more than anything else, I hate that nickname. However I do have to add that I can't help but respect how you're apparently a direct descendant of Johann Wolfgang Goethe. So maybe we can make a deal. You stay on your side of the world, and I'll stay on mine, and we can both do our own things without ever having to meet again. Fair enough?
If, somehow, you've got a contribution this week, drop it in the comments below. If not, look at this insane idea with shock in your eyes, then take refuge in our Turntable.fm room for the regular Music Monday enjoyment. Also, let us just remind you: some images come from the corresponding Wikipedia page and are here under fair use.