Do people actually enjoy the music of Todd Rundgren? Really, do people park their butts on the couch and say, "Phyllis, fetch my slippers--tonight, I'm gonna re-cline and bathe in the bittersweet melodies of the Todd." Is there some joke that I'm not getting?I've tried to listen to this clown for years, and every time I'm left to wonder, "What am I doing this for?" Honestly, I don't know. Perhaps it's because people (friends, writers, connoisseurs) whom I respect mention his name from time to time--and not as a punchline, either! (What do you get when you cut cocaine with hairspray, VD and the eyebrows of George Harrison? Todd Rundgren. Or: What's the difference between a bucket of poop and Todd Rundgren? Todd Rundgren plays keyboards. Not very funny, I know, but I'm not getting paid for this.)
Anyway, last night I gave this so-called pop music genius/studio whiz another shot, dropping the needle on his 1978 opus, The Hermit of Mink Hollow. Three songs into this slick-as-shit, pop-goes-the-fart crap fest, I yanked the LP off the turntable, returned it to its jacket, and tossed it in the box of castoffs about to make the final leg of their round-trip journey from the thrift store.
Maybe I'll have better luck with the Alan Parsons Project.
