Ludo Photograph by Jayme Thornton
Dwight Twilley is probably the most obscure of the few modern pop musicians who’ve come up with a sound of their own. His 1975 hit “I’m On Fire” reached number 16 in the Billboard Hot 100. Twilley introduced radio to a joyous pre-New Wave sound influenced by Elvis Presley, Roy Orbison, the Everly Brothers and the Beatles. Never content to be directly imitative, Twilley wove them all into a seamless pop hybrid keen on breathy vocals, jangly guitars and bad-boy Southern rhythms. With his talented drummer and co-vocalist Phil Seymour, Twilley made a pair of albums in the '70s, Sincerely and Twilley Don’t Mind, that were raw and rosy at the same time. Twilley split with Seymour in the late ’70s and embarked on a solo career, which found him in his element. Though he’s never attained the household-word fame enjoyed by his old friend Tom Petty, Twilley has held on to his loyal following for 30 years, and he’s a textbook (or should I say Facebook) example of an artist who uses social media to market directly to his fans. Twilley’s new album, Green Blimp, is the usual revolving blend of mid-tempo ballads and upbeat rockers. Highlights include “Me and Melanie,” which has a Kinks-“Sunny Afternoon”jauntiness, and “It’s Never Coming Back,” which puts the accent on Twilley’s love of Phil Spector. There’s not a bad song among the dozen, nor does he lapse into what one of my friends has brilliantly coined “the Twilley cliché.” This happens when Dwight repeats an idea he’s done better before, or, even worse, repeats somebody else’s idea, as on “Speed of Light,” which borrows the melody of the Who’s exultant “So Sad About Us.” And although Twilley owns the world that he’s created for himself—and us—that world has never left its comfort zone. Which isn’t a bad thing, necessarily; who doesn’t want to be comfortable?
Those lucky enough to be active pop-music fans in the early ’80s might remember The Bongos. They crystallized everything that was great about the second shift of the New York punk scene. Lesser-known and more poppy than the bands who formed before them—the Ramones, Television, Blondie and Talking Heads—The Bongos were revisionists like the Individuals (featuring Bar-None honcho Glenn Morrow), the Speedies, and Necessaries. For their part, the Bongos mixed and matched a Feelies neuro-folk approach with a strong influence from ’60s British Invasion pop and Marc Bolan’s T. Rex (minus the glam). As the lead singer and songwriter of The Bongos, Richard Barone was simultaneously energetic and spiritual. In his 25-year solo career, he’s taken his Bongos influences and made them personal, if not exactly confessional. There are no remnants of the Bongos’ crazed, depraved-but-only-kidding pop-rock—just a man and his chillingly pretty melodies. Produced by the great Tony Visconti, Glow compares to his iconic work in the studio with Bolan and David Bowie. Speaking of Bolan, Barone conjures up a faithful, sweetly baroque version of that artist’s beautiful “Girl”—but T. Rex is really the only influence Barone wears on his sleeve.
If Barone tends to understate, then Weezer, by contrast, are the great loudmouths of pop. On their new album Hurley, simply the fact that Weezer is recognizable as being Weezer is an accomplishment. Their nerdy punk-pop has gone viral in terms of being a major influence on sweater-wearing, prom-avoiding alternative-rock combos. My theory is that those who already like Weezer will always like Weezer, but that the band will pick up very few new converts as they continue to chug along. There seems to be an X factor with Weezer—perhaps a genetic predisposition—that allows some people to get them and others to put on their anti-smarminess headgear. There is, however, a kind of undeniable dejected charm about them. Weezer have a way of being the smartest band in the room while keeping their sound just dumb enough to be real rock’n’roll.
From The Painkillers to The Finns to Ludo, St. Louis has had a great, if sometimes closeted, power-pop tradition. Tight Pants Syndrome embrace that legacy in a ready-for-radio album called Fully Attractive, which is so bold and catchy that I’m shocked Tight Pants haven’t been on the cover of a magazine (didn’t they fit?). If anything, Fully Attractive sounds like a more adventurous New Pornographers album (I would be surprised if they’re not a major influence), but the ’60s pop jangle and nods to groups like the Association keep them deeper in genre specifics. And it keeps them on my CD player (no, I haven’t gone iPod yet).
Earlier I mentioned Ludo. On Prepare the Preparations, the St. Louis band displays a reservoir of influences. I hear Queen (especially on the pomp-nerdy “Battle Cry”), a little Coldplay; even Hotel California-era Eagles and a dash of melodic prog. Despite—or perhaps because of—their good-natured ransacking of rock history, Ludo have recorded an album that entertains from beginning to end. Unlike so many goof-pop bands (which they’re not, exactly), Ludo have some seriousness to back it all up. Too many post-Weezer groups want to charm you by having you pity them, or laugh at them. It’s the era of the celebrated geek. And as long as the music is catchy, there is cause for celebration.
