Recently, some friends of mine and I were reflecting on the music of Bob Seger. (I know, it was a productive use of time.) The consensus was that Bob's soulful voice had been pretty much wasted. Seger has a mighty, whiskey-soured voice. If he only had a decent song, you know he would have brought it — and in turn brought us to our knees. Instead, he opened up his asshole and let things like “Rock ’n’ roll never forgets,” “I’m goin’ to Katmandu,” “Today’s music ain’t got the same soul” come roaring out. “Just take those old records off the shelf…,” he once insisted. I’d like to take those old records off the shelf... and chuck them by the box load at ol’ Silver Bullet Bob. Only then might the lessons of those “old records” actually penetrate his hairy skull. (And by “old records,” I assume Seger isn’t talking about Andy Williams, Mitch Miller or all those mildewy records you find mixed in with Bob’s old records at the thrift store). Yeah, bearded Bob has such a good voice. Why the hell did anyone let him sing such crap? Why did he prostitute it to sell a junky brand of American truck? (I guess that makes sense, though, as both Bob and Chevy are worthy representatives of the post-industrial wasteland that is Detroit.) “Like a rock.” Bullshit. I wish I had a rock for every time I heard that song selling crappy pickup trucks — I’d stone Seger... and fuck up his Chevy truck, too. Short of dying the only good thing Bob Seger did was disappear into retirement, which, had he had any decency he never would come out of. I can't blame him for returning to music, though. How can one resist the riches and glamor of the casino circuit?
As I was saying, my friends and I were talking about Bob Seger — and his crimes against humanity. Why? Because we had just seen this video for the first time. You hear that? Bob could sing. And his old band could rock. You didn't know that, did you? So much for Bob’s “Rock ’n’ Roll Never Forgets” theory.
After watching Bob Seger and the Last Heard uncork some blistering garage rock in black-and-white, my friend Steve remarked, “He should have died immediately after the taping of that video.”
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Joe, your post raised an interesting question for me. Greil Marcus had the famous quote "Rarely has a singer had as full and unique a talent as Rod Stewart; rarely has anyone betrayed his talent so completely." Where would you rate Bob in the betrayal of his talent vs. Rod. Who's the bigger Benedict? Regardless, they're careers are both crimes against humanity, we can agree on that. Or do we?
I think Rod's crimes are more hideous. What a douche he is. When I reviewed a concert of his in 1995, he came running on stage and booted soccer balls into the audience--as if it was soccer practice and not a fucking concert. Later, he serenade a video representation of his then wife (some super model) who was broadcast on the giant big screen. Yes, I just said giant big. Oh god, it was awful. He has no taste. I remember when he did that Tom Waits song, "Downtown Train" (forgive me if I got the title wrong). When an interviewer asked him if he was a fan of Tom Waits, ol' Dick Rod claimed to have never listened to him. I guess I should write a rant about Rod--but obviously Greil already has, and with an eloquence I could never hope to attain.
Soccer balls! Jesus. I remember being at the dentist a couple years ago, flipping through a Vanity Fair in the waiting room, and seeing an article on Rod and his family at their Palm Springs mansion. He's there with a smirk on his face, dressed like Mr. Rourke from Fantasy Island, talking about this island he bought off the coast of Dubai and how he could out-sing Elton John or someone. "Uh, can I can a spit bucket over here." No worries, Joe, our apartment is a Rodless zone.
I won't even allow the Faces in the house.
Rod was pretty proud of his feature spread in Model Railroader a couple years back.
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