“Do you have a portable radio?”

Although Bill Murray was featured on SNL, he truly became part of the public consciousness as Carl Spackler, obsessed with killing gophers in “Caddyshack.”

We didn’t have gophers in Connecticut. We’ve got mosquitoes and the occasional deer, no real bears, but we don’t have varmints. If they ever existed on the eastern seaboard, they were rooted out eons ago, by civilization. So I just didn’t understand Spackler’s mania. I thought the gophers were an artistic device.

Then they invaded Felice’s backyard.

I used to think man could triumph over wildlife. That real property and grass would last forever.

Boy was I dreaming.

You see the occasional deer in the hills. And coyote in the street. And just recently, a mountain lion crossed the freeway and is now loose in Griffith Park. But the real enemy is the gophers. Don’t mess with the gophers, you cannot win. You think you’ve got a pristine backyard and then you wake up one day to find a slew of holes, as if tiny children got out with their plastic shovels and pails and started to dig. So you fill up these hollows, lament the brown space, and then you wake up the next day and you find out they’re digging somewhere else. And then you realize the holes are literally the tip of the iceberg. That under your lawn is a whole city, a network of tunnels, wherein these varmints are playing, mating and working. And there’s nothing you can do about it!

Until we went to Sonoma and saw this acre of lush land in the backyard of Brodey’s buddies. What about the gophers?

GOPHER WIRE!

Yes, if you’re willing to rip up your entire lawn, and lay down an ocean of rebar, you can plant once again and have a pristine yard. It works. The gophers cannot break through the iron. They go somewhere else. The fringe of your property, your next door neighbor’s lawn, and you feel a bit guilty but you’ve solved the problem, you have peace of mind.

So this is what Felice did. Rip up her entire backyard, lay down a net of metal and then plant once again. And it worked!

Until the raccoon.

The obsession returned.

Right before my very eyes, Felice was turning into Carl Spackler. I humored her with the gophers. I could handle the holes, I grew up where a nice lawn was nigh near impossible. But when Rocky appeared and pissed on the porch, Felice started to steam.

Oh, he made an appearance on the patio first. The squeal was so intense, I thought the Manson family had returned to the hills. And following the sound to the window I caught a glimpse of this animal and thanked god I was on the other side of the glass. Raccoons are big and spiky and scary. If I were outside, I’d run in the other direction.

And only in the movies are gophers cute.

But raccoons are on a whole ‘nother level.

So Felice hit Google. She poured cayenne pepper all over the walkway. Bleach too. Coming into the front door was like navigating a war zone. The raccoon went to topic number one of discussion. What could be done?

I didn’t have a portable radio. Which switched to a news station Felice read would scare away the raccoon. My dad must have owned twenty. That was one of his hobbies, buying transistors. But that was decades ago and today everybody listens on headphones, does Apple make earbuds that fit a raccoon?

I couldn’t help her.

So every night she prepares for battle. It’s Google versus nature. She’s collecting tips. Trying new strategies. I expect Norman Schwarzkopf to make an appearance any minute.

It’s us versus them.

And they’re winning!

Taylor Swift is dating Conor Kennedy.

And I don’t give a shit, but he’s eighteen. Wasn’t she the one complaining that John Mayer was taking advantage of her? Yes, Mayer was much older, and Conor’s a Kennedy, but would you like your barely eighteen year old college freshman daughter dating an almost twenty three year old college graduate? Oh, that’s right, it’s different for boys…

When Joni Mitchell was twenty three she’d already given up her child for adoption and married Chuck Mitchell. And none of us knew who she was.

It was different back then. Children were not musical stars. You could only reach national consciousness by being on “Ed Sullivan.” There were no YouTube stars, hell, we didn’t even know there was that much money in music. Joni Anderson now Mitchell would not break through for years. She got lucky when Judy Collins had a hit cover of “Both Sides Now,” but at that point nobody had a clue who the writer was. Most people had no idea who Joni Mitchell was until 1974, when “Court and Spark” went unexpectedly nuclear. Her sixth album.

But I barely play that album.

I resonated first with “Ladies Of The Canyon.” I know every lick of “Blue,” to the point where I can sing it in my head.

But the album I play most today is “For The Roses.” Because it’s everything today’s music is not. Honest. Reflective. Personal. It’s like a phone call from someone you wish was your best friend.

I read in the Middlebury magazine about a site some alumni had constructed wherein they interviewed stars, asking them how they really made it. Because you read in the press someone was a waiter and the next day they were the star of “Die Hard.” It doesn’t happen that way. Which is why some of your favorite movie stars are so old. Dustin Hoffman was thirty when he broke through in “The Graduate,” he’s seventy five today. Robert DeNiro was thirty five when most people discovered him in “The Deer Hunter,” he’s now sixty nine. These actors were not plucked from obscurity, they were paying their dues, waiting their turn.

And so was Joni Mitchell.

Would you do it if you weren’t instantly famous?

Not that Dustin, DeNiro and Mitchell had no indication they were on the right road. Oh, you get signs, but they’re small. And what you think is important ends up not being. And not everybody who hangs in there long enough makes it, but the best do.

And if you don’t mention Joni Mitchell’s name in the same breath as Dylan and the Beatles, you’re a misogynist.

And you can’t say that Joni never sang about her paramours. But there was no element of revenge, just truth-telling honesty. She was verbalizing what the rest of us felt, but did not know how to articulate. Like in “Lesson In Survival.”

Friends and kin
Campers in the kitchen
That’s fine sometimes
But I know my needs
My sweet tumbleweed
I need more quiet times
By a river flowing
You and me
Deep kisses
And the sun going down

Put other people in the equation and everything changes. You’re great alone, but do the friends and family approve of you? Does your relationship work in that dynamic?

Maybe it’s paranoia
Maybe it’s sensitivity
Your friends protect you
Scrutinize me
I get so damn timid
Not at all the spirit
That’s inside of me
Oh baby I can’t seem to make it
With you socially

Whew! I used to overparticipate, to compensate for my anxiety. That didn’t work so now I go silent, and numb. How can I be a member of a group…that really wants nothing to do with me, that really wants it just the way it used to be, before I came upon the scene. I want to be my best self, and I’m anything but. And I’m alternately steaming and depressed.

I went to see a friend tonight
Was very late when I walked in
My talking as it rambled
Revealed suspicious reasoning
The visit seemed to darken him
I came in as bright
As a neon light
And I burned out
Right there before him

We want support from our friends. We want them to understand. But the more we pour it out, the less sense it makes, we realize logic has escaped us. We just can’t convey what we feel, which is all emotion and nuance. This is assuming your friend is even listening. Which usually they are not. Or are busy saying you’re right and they’re wrong. But it’s not usually like that. The world is not black and white, despite the way Taylor Swift draws it. It’s gray. And we’re all culpable.

But this is about “Woman Of Heart And Mind.”

I am a woman of heart and mind
With time on her hands
No child to raise
You come to me like a little boy
And I give you my scorn and my praise

Are you worthwhile? Do you have depth? We now live in a money culture, if you’re rich you’re beyond analysis. But so many wealthy people feel empty inside. Can you imagine being a banker, doing that soulless work all day? Once upon a time we all wanted to be an artist. Expressing our truth. It was a privilege. Which almost none could earn.

And today people are too busy doing what they’re doing to ask questions. It’s a choice not to have children. To pursue your dream. It’s not for everybody, but that does not make it illegitimate.

You think I’m like your mother
Or another lover or your sister
Or the queen of your dreams
Or just another silly girl
When love makes a fool of me

Who do we want our women to be? Who can we allow them to be? In the media spouses are two-dimensional, cardboard, to be seen, but not heard. Standing on stilettos with blown-out hair and perfect makeup. Can you imagine being married to that? You want to go to dinner but she’s got to prep for an hour just to leave the house.

After the rush when you come back down
You’re always disappointed
Nothing seems to keep you high

I don’t know how women put up with us. We’ve got such expectations. We want you to adore us, never question us, and if you let us down…we move on.

Oh, there are wimpy men. Who stand by like slaves, pussy-whipped men whose only use for their penis is procreation, but I’m telling you that most men are conflicted. We want to play our male games, win at business and sports, but deep inside we just want to be taken care of, soothed and groomed by…a woman.

Drive your bargains
Push your papers
Win your medals
Fuck your strangers
Don’t it leave you on the empty side

It does. Which is why the men buy Ferraris, are seen in all the right places, to cover up the giant hole inside. We’re notching our belt, climbing the totem pole, trying to impress other men who never appreciate us. Only women can provide this.

I’m looking for affection and respect
A little passion
And you want stimulation-nothing more
That’s what I think
But you know I’ll try to be there for you
When your spirits start to sink

Respect. People sing about it, but it’s so rarely given. Especially behind closed doors. But this is what we’re all looking for, respect, affection, passion…but it takes time, it’s not a one night stand, it’s something you build. And Joni says despite all that, she’ll be there for you. That’s exactly what we’re looking for, someone we can count on at the end of the day, who we’re not related to, who isn’t required to show up.

You criticize and you flatter
You imitate the best
And the rest you memorize
You know the times you impress me most
Are the times when you don’t try
When you don’t even try

We’re never happy. We’re always looking for something better. Maybe if you were a bit thinner, or taller, or had a different nose. And almost none of this can you change. But we have a hard time loving you as you are, because we’ve been trained to keep foraging for perfection. But unfortunately, we’ve been sold a bill of goods, it doesn’t exist.

Who are you when no one’s paying attention? When the camera’s off and the mic’s been disconnected?

Men fall in love with movie stars. Thinking if they could only wed one, their life would work. Never stopping for a moment to contemplate that these women are playing a role.

Everybody’s so busy acting, everybody wants to put forth their best self.

That’s a lot of pressure.

You’re you, that’s all you’ve got. Hopefully someone will see your essence and pin the tail on your donkey.

“For The Roses” is why music was more profitable than movies and television. Why the life of the rock star was lionized. It was the freedom, the honesty, the ability to write your own rules. And the bankers can imitate this all they want, but it’s not a lifestyle, but something innate. You’re either a rock star or you’re not.

But now the whole world has gone topsy-turvy. It’s not about art, but money. If you’ve got no mazuma, you don’t count. Then there are people without money who feel superior. Singers who can’t sing. Who’ve got nothing to say. But have a chip on their shoulder anyway.

I haven’t heard Taylor Swift’s new album. Could be good for all I know. But I realize after John Mayer went on record that he felt humiliated by her song about him that I felt the same way about her song about me. What did I do wrong? Speak the truth? Reveal that she couldn’t sing, something that everybody saw on international television?

But modern life is first and foremost about loyalty. You say nothing negative about your friends, no matter their choices. If they rob a bank or steal a husband or wife, you’re not entitled to judge, you’re forced to stand by in solidarity. Huh?

And you’ve got to hold your tongue for fear of hurting anybody’s feelings. It’s not only politicians who can’t speak the truth. We’re all living in Lake Wobegon, where not only are all the kids above average, they make no mistakes, everything they do is trophy-worthy.

I’ve hung with Joni Mitchell a few times. If I reminded her, she might remember. But I’m not that important, certainly not to her. But what stunned me in these interactions was she was difficult. Questioning. The opposite of the mealy-mouthed celebrities of today. Hell, make her an “American Idol” judge. Nobody would win, nobody would be good enough in her eyes.

Joni’s three-dimensional. She’s got warts. She’s imperfect. And she’s not always right.

And she used to sing about this. Not only her hopes and dreams, but her experiences and flaws. She wasn’t keeping score, she was trying to figure it out.

We’ve lost sight of this. What an artist used to be and still is.

An artist is not someone with a song that tops the chart, but someone constantly developing his or her skills on an adventure, an exploration in search of truth.

And we pay attention to the best. Not because some magazine or TV show tells us to, but because we need the insight.

I was in college when I bought “For The Roses.” I can honestly say I learned more listening to this album than anything I learned my junior year. I can’t remember what classes I took, never mind what was taught, but I still quote “Woman Of Heart And Mind,” I still listen to this album. Because it’s life.

College was preparing someone else for a world I wanted no part of.

And I’m first and foremost proud I made it this far. That I didn’t commit suicide along the way. I could blame my ex-wife who left me, my mother who judged me, but I chose this path. It was the only one I could take.

And it was not lucrative. Hell, I don’t even qualify for the maximum social security, assuming I live that long. But I’ve got no regrets. Oh, I’ve given up a lot, but this is the life I wanted to live. One in search of excellence.

I hate your record because it’s not good enough.

I won’t go to the movies because they’re exercises in money, not art.

And I’m a constant warning to take the other direction.

Take that Taylor Swift.

Spotify link

“Almost Famous” (Middlebury Magazine article)

“The Days Of Yore interviews artists about the years before they had money, fame or road maps to success, and inspires you to find your own”

I have a friend who killed himself. And not long before he did the deed, he told me he “married well.”

I know, I know, that seems like a non sequitur. Kind of like turning on your computer and finding out Tony Scott jumped off a bridge. What did Joni Mitchell sing, “We all live so close to that line and so far from satisfaction”?

But Joni was on a search for truth. Taylor Swift is on a search for fame.

I don’t know if she called her new album “Red” because I told her in a phone call to listen to Joni’s “Blue.” And I really don’t need to piss Ms. Swift off more than I already have, but what I find so fascinating is Taylor Swift blinked. Fearful of losing her fame, her power, her place on the hit parade, she collaborated with the hitmakers du jour. And so what we’ve got is a bouncy, idiotic song cowritten by Max Martin and Shellback that will go up the charts but not make a bit of difference. Yes, “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” is a hit. A certified one. But it’s completely meaningless.

Hell, watch this video:

Taylor Swift – Never Ever Getting Back Together Official Parody (Cover) from the guy’s side

Instead, we’ve got the mainstream media trying to figure out who she wrote the song about, as if it’ll solve global warming, end the war in Afghanistan and give free health care to all. Ain’t that America. Where it’s only about the diversion.

I live for “Newsroom.”

We all need something to live for. Something to look forward to, that keeps us going. Once life becomes meaningless, we end it. And that’s unthinkable. Maybe Tony Scott had inoperable brain cancer, in retrospect my friend had undiagnosed bipolar disorder and was in the throes of a bummer of a depression, but for the rest of us, what are we living for?

Are we living to follow Snooki?

Are we living to accumulate so many toys we’ll be the envy of our block?

I’m here to tell you one thing… Nobody else cares. You’re so alone you’ve got no idea. See if they’re talking about Tony Scott next week. People haven’t got time for the past, only for the future.

And I thought about what my friend had to say because I was reading this book “Mr. Peanut,” and the main character was married to someone from a bad background. who had no friends, and I asked myself…is this what love’s about? Does life have to be this hard? Do you have to endure the mental illness of another?

We all want someone we can count on. Someone who can dot the i’s and cross the t’s and won’t abandon us.

But on “Newsroom,” Mac abandoned Will. Well, not exactly. She rushed into the arms of Brian, because Brian had rejected her and now he wanted her back.

That’s an irresistible pull.

Have you been dumped?

To say it doesn’t feel good is a gross understatement. You never get over it. Not if you were married, not if you stood up in front of friends and family and swore in front of clergy that it was forever. All you’ve got is unanswered questions. You review every detail of your behavior…did you cause it to happen?

Usually it’s got nothing to do with you. It’s all about the other person. But as much as you hear that, it doesn’t penetrate, it doesn’t sink in.

So I’m reading the Middlebury alumni magazine and they’re hyping a book. Entitled “Leaving Sophie Dean.” And it’s my kind of tome, it’s all about relationships. But when I go on Amazon, despite an almost five star average, it’s only got sixteen reviews. Mmm… Were those written by the author, by friends and family?

We’re all suspicious now.

When I told this story to my shrink today he asked me if I’d read that article in the “New Yorker,” about the marathoning dentist who pulled a Rosie Ruiz…

Marathon Man

You see none of us want to feel left out. We all want to feel important.

Not everybody can be important.

So I started reading “Sophie Dean,” the sample chapter, but I was reluctant to buy it, not because I was afraid of losing ten bucks, but because I didn’t want to lose that much time, it was all about plot and there was very little meaning.

So I went through my sample list and settled on “Mr. Peanut,” recommended by an author friend of mine and a subscriber.

It’s two years old.

That’s what people don’t realize about music. New is irrelevant. It’s what lasts. And today everything’s available. When will it be discovered?

I could not put “Mr. Peanut” down. If I tell you anything, I’ll ruin it. Then again, I’ve never heard environmental threats described so well. Getting caught in the undertow. Hiking a trail so narrow you’re too scared to go forwards or backwards.

And I’d recommend it.

But it’s not easy.

Everybody wants everything easy and dumb. They want the trophy without any work. And if you don’t give it to them, they cry like a baby. They want to be rich and famous, they want all the accoutrements, when the real story is they wouldn’t make them happy anyway.

Happiness is about experiences. Reading “Mr. Peanut.” Watching “Newsroom.”

And “Newsroom” has been trashed by the critics. Because it’s not what they want it to be. Fair and balanced, safe, pabulum. “Newsroom” is about truth. Can you handle the truth?

The truth is this is your one and only life. Don’t screw it up.

If you’re feeling safe in your twenties, the ditch is right around the corner.

If you’ve got no answers at that age, don’t worry, things will become clear.

Health is everything. You live long enough and you know this.

As are relationships, both love and friendship. Without others, you’ve got nothing.

And we live for art, for story and feeling. And when we find something great, something exquisite, we tell everybody about it.

I’m telling you about “Newsroom” because there are some truths in politics. There aren’t two sides to every story.

And I’m telling you about “Mr. Peanut” because a book should be more than the story, it should be about life, and “Mr. Peanut” is.

And life is complicated. Full of choices.

Don’t be afraid to admit you were wrong. Don’t be afraid to retrace your steps and chart a new course. Don’t be afraid to change direction, just because you’ve invested in the path you’re on.

We’re human beings. We’re complicated. One day we’re up, the next we’re down, and we don’t always know why. If your life is smooth, you’re doing it wrong, if you never feel uncomfortable, you’re not taking any risk.

I’m trying to figure it all out. And it gets harder as you get older. Because you lose your optimism and you see how hard it is to accomplish anything. When you’re sixteen you want to be a professional athlete, a movie director and an author. Get old enough and you find it’s almost impossible to do one thing.

Sweat the small stuff. Don’t let the little things slide. Life is only about the little things. Whether it be the design of the iPhone or the way that girl in Biology catches your eye and lets it linger, doesn’t turn away immediately. Pay attention to the details. They’ll help you crack the code.

Not everything is good. Not everything is worthwhile. Not everyone makes it.

And if you want none of the above, that’s cool.

But if you want to accomplish something, anything, know that it’s damn difficult and you’re on a solo trip and even though you’re going for the grand prize the reward is the journey. Because it can end any minute. And although the solution is satisfying, it’s the puzzle that’s thrilling.

” Newsroom ”

” Mr. Peanut ”

Joni Mitchell ” Song For Sharon ”

Taylor Swift ” We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together ”

I was working for a crook movie producer and we’d started a record label and through the attorney du jour, they kept on changing, abandoning ship once they realized they were never going to be paid, we got a connection to Eric Burdon, and we sauntered down to the Country Club in Reseda to make a deal.

It was one of the most disheartening nights of my life. You see Eric was burned out and all about the money. It was fifteen years since his last big hit. He was jaded, he’d seen it all. And he wasn’t going to get excited about two little pishers come to rescue his career.

We never made that deal.

But I learned a lesson.

It’s all about the money. If you’re working for free, you’re being taken advantage of.

Now this is not a rant against free music. You’ve got to make it available in today’s world. And when you start out, you always have to play for free. But once you get traction, there are tons of scoundrels who’ll lavish you with praise, kiss your butt and try to get you to work for nothing or close to it.

Don’t.

Then again, if you’ve ever made it, you know this. There’s no one more business-savvy than an old, wizened rock star. He’s been ripped off and abused so many times he knows the score, even though you don’t. You want him to appear for free at your charity show, it’s a good cause, but without him there is no show and it might burn out the market for a future tour. But you can’t see this. But an old rock star can.

I haven’t seen Eric Burdon in decades. Although I’ve mellowed as to his response, as evidenced above. I don’t know if he was truly burned out or just suspicious, deservedly so.

And I thought about this when I heard “We Gotta Get Out Of This Place” on the satellite last night. You see it sounded so GOOD!

I’m talking the production here, Mickie Most’s work. Like it was cut in a cavernous basement where illicit things take place. Somewhere you’re dying to go yet afraid to enter. That was the Animals’ magic. They were dark. Without resorting to outfits and outrageous statements in the press. It was all embodied in the music.

“The House Of The Rising Sun”

This was the breakthrough. My mother bought the 45 and brought it to summer camp on visiting day. She’d purchased three records, this, the Shirelles’ “Foolish Little Girl” and something I can’t remember, all on the recommendation of Carl Goldfield, who she had run into at the discount store.

You see Carl was cool. What he said counted. Even though he was only fourteen.

And I was disappointed… The Shirelles? I can now see “Foolish Little Girl”‘s value, and I always liked “The House Of The Rising Sun,” but I felt my mother should have bought me…something different.

But isn’t that how kids are, despite your mom’s best effort, you’re still a bit disappointed.

The Animals’ rendition of this song was not the first, but it became the standard, the classic.

“Don’t Bring Me Down”

This is my favorite.

Yes, the organ pumps and the guitar stings, but it’s Eric’s vocal that puts it over the top, that truly endears, the way he goes from intimate, friendly, to ANGER! He’s been giving his best effort and you’re gonna bring him down?

Today’s hit music is mindless.

This is not.

“We Gotta Get Out Of This Place”

That dirty old part of the city…of Newcastle upon Tyne. An industrial cesspool. That the Animals emanated from. This was not the squeaky-clean Beatles from Liverpool. Eric Burdon had a bad complexion, he looked like he’d fight you in the alley, the band was a bit more dangerous than the rest of the British Invasion, you couldn’t bring them home to mother, but you wanted to hang with them.

And the melodic chorus was the singalong anthem of the fall of ’65.

“Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood”

How dark can you get?

In the sunny world we live in today, you can’t express emotions like this. Everybody shines up their personality to get on the reality show, you’ve got no problems unless they’re warm and fuzzy or telegenic.

But that’s not real life. Real life is more complicated. Riddled with angst and disappointment.

This doesn’t sound like someone famous complaining about love, just YOU!

(Meanwhile, the original recording was done by Nina Simone, I’ve included it here.)

“It’s My Life”

The concept has been eclipsed in song by Billy Joel’s monster hit with a bouncy vibe but almost none of the emotion of this classic.

It’s a hard world to get a break in

Ain’t that the truth!

Hear what I say
I’m gonna ride the serpent
No more time spent sweatin’ rent
Hear my command
I’m breakin’ loose
It ain’t no use
Holdin’ me down
Stick around

Whew! This is the determination it takes to lift yourself up by the bootstraps and into a better life…do you want to come along? Do you believe in him, that all his frustration and lack of complacency will lead you to a better life?

“Bring It On Home To Me”

You wonder where Robert Plant got it from? Listen to that vocal!

Yeah! YEAH! Yeah! YEAH! Yeah! YEAH!

(And, of course, Sam Cooke wrote it and performed it originally.)

“Help Me Girl”

It’s got that feel of the basement club in “Quadrophenia.”

Technically this is after the band broke up and Eric went solo, but it was still billed as Eric Burdon & the Animals.

“When I Was Young”

It was originally a French hit by Charles Aznavour and Georges Garvarentz…but to say Eric makes it his own is an understatement. He adds an element of frustration…

Listen to the Aznavour original, I’ve added it to the playlist, it’s entitled “Hier Encore”…it’s almost a completely different song, you can hear the regret, but Burdon expands it into something unforeseen. That’s the mark of a great A&R man, someone who can find a diamond in the rough, someone who can envision what a song can be.

“San Franciscan Nights”

The intro sounded cheesy even back then! Then again, what do Englishmen, never mind from Newcastle upon Tyne, know about California?

Only that they were intrigued and ultimately enraptured.

Listen past the intro…it sounds like flower power, and I mean that in a good way! Scott McKenzie’s “San Francisco (Be Sure To Wear Some Flowers In Your Hair)” became the anthem, but “San Franciscan Nights” ran shotgun, it too got airplay, it too made the point.

“Monterey”

This was written by the new band, after it appeared at the festival. And it sounds just like that experience, all about improvisation, with an edge, it radiates possibility, it made you want to go. It’s still Eric, but it’s a far cry from the original British Invasion hits.

“Sky Pilot”

This was the last hurrah. Although it reached number 14 on the pop chart, it was a staple on the nascent FM band, in its seven and a half minute iteration. The flanging endears itself to you. Back in ’68, everything was up for grabs. And this was the music we listened to.

And then Eric Burdon was done. He was suddenly an oldies act. He’d transitioned through so much, different backup musicians, from British Invasion to California consciousness, but even though “Sky Pilot” was perfect FM fodder, Eric was ultimately seen as what came before, in an era where most were only interested in the trendsetting new, like Jimi Hendrix, who was produced and brought to fame by the Animals’ old bassist, Chas Chandler.

And on one hand, these Animals tracks are in the rearview mirror, you know ’em if you lived through them, otherwise they’ve been forgotten, even oldies radio has moved on. But they are not curios, they are not purely moments in time, at their best, they’re transcendent concoctions that will last forever. Just like the Brits discovered American blues and were inspired to create these great records, there’s an entire generation just waiting to be exposed to the Animals. They could make a comeback. Because of the pure unadulterated sound, it hits you in a physical way. The records are an assault, and at other times they creep up on you, inject you with their venom. They are undeniable. And unlike so much of the music of the sixties, they still sound fresh today.

Spotify link

Previous Rhinofy playlists