Ned's Atomic Link Bin: From D. Boon to Raffi, British Christmas Music to Country Superproducers, Barry Manilow and More

Writer's note: Greetings! My name’s Ned Raggett, occasional music writer for a variety of spots. The Cream approached me to talk a bit about interesting music news, think pieces, longreads and more from the previous week. And some actual music too, strangely enough. You can thank a huge range of friends for suggesting things to their own circles as much as anyone else. Maybe I just like to be my own aggregator. Welcome to the column, and hope you enjoy!

The run up to the holidays understandably brought even more retrospection over the entire year, from general observations to poll results to considered studies — including on music writing itself. One of the year’s most shocking and saddening stories in music was revisited by its subject, while the tragedy of an American punk legend’s accidental passing was remembered by many 30 years on. An in-depth article explored the intersection of religion, politics and ‘the scene’ in Seattle in a way not often found. And, of course, there was just a little more to say about Christmas music.

‘I Woke Up in a Parallel Universe’

Jackie Fuchs, known as Jackie Fox when a member of the noted 70s rock band The Runaways, reemerged in the public eye this year by way of a harrowing article talking about the assault carried out on her by then-band manager Kim Fowley. This first-person follow-up for the Huffington Post delves into her life since.

Talking about my rape means I think about it more, and that has its own consequences. Sometimes I find myself clenching my fists. I forget to eat. Spontaneity is difficult, no matter how much I long to just let go. Subconsciously I’m always scanning for threats; sounds others would filter out as background noise register as potential sources of danger. I have moments of self-pity, followed by guilt. I think: Who am I to feel sorry for myself when so many others have experienced worse? I was “only” raped once. I was unconscious for most of it. I have to remind myself that it isn’t a competition and there’s no expiration date on trauma. We don’t expect Vietnam veterans not to have PTSD just because the war ended over 40 years ago. Why should victims of sexual assault be any different?

For Jezebel, Clover Hope wrote a wider-ranging piece regarding current print-based celebrity coverage and its history, but many of the specific examples were about music and singers, noting in particular The New York Times' Rihanna/Miranda July feature from October as a possible positive example within a particular dynamic.

There’s nothing wrong with a writer having natural chemistry with his subject, or a writer negotiating that chemistry in the piece. But this year, more than ever, celebrity profiles were visible as what they really are — business transactions between writers, editors and publishers who get paid to preserve the publication’s reputation and sales. Having written cover stories on celebs like Janet Jackson, Lil Wayne, Trey Songz and Fergie, I’ve caved to the pressure to be uncritical; as a magazine editor, I’ve allowed provocative quotes to be pulled, too. The fanboy profile threatens journalism’s credibility, but it’s not without merit: most notably, it avoids the tendency to disregard or dress up the absurdity of a situation or a subject instead of acknowledging it. The fanboy profile is—hopefully—radically honest, something that prototypical profile writing often lacks, for better or worse.

Kathleen Tarrant’s feature for The Stranger takes a deep look at a series of intertwining issues in Seattle, ranging from the grassroots impact of Christian alternative/underground bands and labels, the politics of teen-friendly and all-ages music venues, the rise and fall of the now disbanded Mars Hill Church and personal questions of faith and identity among musicians and listeners.

The way Seattle music culture typically deals with the question of religion is simply not to acknowledge it—this also applies to both sides. We walk out, we send the album back. We cannot bear to acknowledge each other's pain as real, and each other's art as influential. Christians feel they have to be secretive or unbending about it, and nonbelievers are hostile to the possibility that religious themes have a place in rock music. Jordan Butcher reflects, "If you write about faith, I think you damn well be ready to answer some questions. Especially when it's something as polarizing as Christianity that has caused so much pain, especially here [in Seattle]."

The Rise of the Country-Music Superproducer Scene contributor Jewly Hight’s overview of a changing Nashville recording model for Vulture starts by noting the inaccurate stereotype of country music’s conservatism, then builds on it further to observe that while the songwriter retains prominence on Music Row, a combination of factors, in part driven by an industry which simply has less money, means producers are gaining more of a place.

There’s a growing demand in country for writer-producers with recognizable sonic fingerprints and programming chops, people who can deliver a hot sound along with a hooky song on demand. Country publishers used to have little alternative to hiring studio pros to demo their writers’ most promising songs. Producers would borrow arrangement ideas from those demos, but ultimately rerecord the song entirely from scratch. More and more, the lines between demo and master recordings, production aesthetics and melodic/lyrical ideas, beats and songs are blurring. Singers are choosing songs for the way the track feels, and increasingly, those tracks are created during the writing, then further embellished in the studio before ending up on albums. In an era when recording budgets — even in music’s most sales-driven genre — aren’t what they used to be, it’s not only less expensive but quicker to work this way. “Artists and labels know if something sounds great [based on the demo],” says Chris DeStefano, a writer-producer in this vein who’s worked on Luke Bryan and Carrie Underwood hits, “so it’s become, ‘Well, let’s just use that. It’s ready. Why waste the time and redo it?’”

Sheila Heti wrote for Vulture about Raffi — “the one-man Beatles of my childhood and many childhoods" —  through the lens of her own fandom as well as that of others, drawing out reflective, rueful and generous answers on a variety of subjects from the singer-songwriter while studying her own reactions to his work and personality in turn.

During lunch, Raffi made me feel reassured and understood — and that somehow we were alike. I felt, If we are alike and Raffi is okay, then I am okay, too. When I asked him about his failures and regrets, he said, “You’re going to let yourself down at some point, you’re going to let somebody else down at some point. We’re not perfect creatures. Far from it. That’s what our humanity’s all about. I think failure — I mean, I don’t shun the word. Some things you’re just not going to succeed at, and if you’re okay with failure, you’ll say, ‘Ah, you know what? That just didn’t work. I wonder if I was going at it wrong. Let’s try it another way.’ To gloss over everything you did as glorious — no, maybe it wasn’t, you know? Just be real with it. We are these frail human beings doing the best that we can, and sometimes we’re tested, and sometimes we rise to the challenge, and sometimes we don’t rise so well.”

As part of Slate’s overall year-end round table, Julianne Escobedo Shepherd discussed overt drug references in pop famous and under the radar from the year, situated in larger contexts of hedonism, escape and despair playing out in wider culture, as well as suggesting a slew of work to investigate.

Yams was a visionary who sought to be the Puff to Rocky’s Mase (another rapper who described himself as “pretty,” in age-old uptown parlance), gifted with all the promise in Harlem World. As the man who formed and then steered the ASAP Mob, Yams seemed to comprehend rap’s future on a vibrational level. His tragic death was a loss for music, and as a gregarious, sweet, and exceptionally funny person, his passing reverberated across New York City and far beyond it, a bright light that everyone agreed should have shined for much longer. Yams’ voice closes out At. Long. Last. ASAP, and on his interlude you can hear his perspective, his fight, his humor. “Y’all just gon’ keep watching us, at the beach show, wit’ ya motherfuckin’ khakis rolled up, wit’ ya chancletas in your hand, and we gon’ keep surfin’ on this motha. Straight up.” His chuckle fans out like a fever dream in a sustained echo effect — wavy forever.

As an overview for an American audience, and often with tongue firmly in cheek, Carly Severn wrote for KQED Arts about a slew of 1970s and '80s Christmas singles that were hits in the UK but didn’t quite cross the pond.

Discovering that none of my U.S. friends (I have some) had even heard of “Stop the Cavalry” was my rude awakening to the dearth of British holiday music on these shores . Legend holds that singer Jona Lewie never intended this anti-war anthem to be a holiday song, but its fate was sealed by sleigh bells, brass band interlude, lyrics about being “home for Christmas” and the fact he, uh, released it in December. Whatever the truth, it’s a stone-cold classic with a cracking video of the kind they really don’t make any more (i.e. set in the trenches of WWI).

End-of-year poll winners should cherish the moment — it might not last Jude Rogers wrote for The Guardian about the implied problems of trying to name an album of the year in terms of essentially guessing the future — and that not all guesses were going to be right on the nose.

As end-of-year lists drift on to websites and feeds as December goes on, it’s easy to forget what they actually do. Yes, they’re memos for our iffy memories, catch-ups if we haven’t listened to as much as we’d like, and buyer’s guides for those of us with musically minded people to buy for. They’re also compilations of the tastes and thoughts of a peculiar breed, though — Ye Olde Pop Critic — for whom populism and chart placings don’t matter as much. They’re sometimes tethered to the specialist interests of that publication, as well, and based on short-term listening pleasures, rather than long-term effects. (And before you blame the critics on that latter point, commenters, how could they? They’ve only had 12 months or less with these records, like you.)

Kory Grow’s interview with Eagles of Death Metal for Rolling Stone caught up on recent events following the Paris tragedy, with Jesse Hughes and Josh Homme discussing charity project plans, future touring in the new year and the particular assistance Bono and U2 gave to them over the previous weeks.

"Then Bono called because I needed advice," Hughes continues. "I felt like the best person to ask for advice on how to deal with this is someone who's rubbed elbows with world leaders. And he just prayed with me on the phone. He kept my head off of things, and then U2 visited the memorial site and delivered lyrics of ours that he thought were appropriate. And that particularly was important to me because I really wanted to be out there. I didn't want to be in some safe house. I take personal pride in being really close to my fans. I knew a lot of the people personally that didn't make it, and that little detail, just on a personal note, is something that nobody else would ever know that it mattered, but it mattered to me. I didn't know how I was ever going to get back onstage again."

Cheap Trick's Bun E. Carlos on Possible Rock Hall Reunion Andy Greene’s Rolling Stone interview with Carlos, who was replaced as drummer in 2010 after having played with the band since its 1974 start and most of its members even before then, showed that feelings were still plenty raw, even as he also promised to ‘make nice’ for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ceremony itself.

“Me and the singer (Robin Zander) don't get along very good. A couple of days before Austin City Limits in 2010, we had a big argument on the phone about scheduling for the summer and all this kind of stuff. We'd argued before over 40 years; all of us had. In the middle of the night, he called the office and said, "[Whiny voice] I can't work with this guy. He hates me." He didn't want me at Austin City Limits. I said, "OK, if you don't want me there, we need to work out some kind of arrangement since I'm a quarter member of the band." They were like, "We don't want you there. Can we use your drums?" I was like, "Déjà vu all over again."

Introducing a series of short profiles of metal, punk and noise bands throughout the greater Empire State for a Noisey article, Alexander Jones provides a perfect summary of how overemphasis on stereotypes and skewed coverage, as much a problem throughout the world in any number of different examples, often traps away-from-the-center acts.

“A lot of people will say to me, ‘Oh, you have that Rochester kind of sound,’ but can never elaborate past that, leaving me to decide whether it’s a compliment or something else,” says Trevor Amesmith, drummer of Rochester-based punk trio Green Dreams. “It’s as if we feel we shouldn't be taken seriously because our city isn't big enough or legitimate enough or whatever excuses you can come up with, and we feed that attitude back to each other.” It’s a mindset that can really take a toll on a musician’s psyche. The history of bands raising a dejected middle finger to upstate New York and shoving off to find success and recognition elsewhere is disturbingly long and storied. It creates bad attitudes in those who leave for the cities they leave behind and even worse ones in those who choose to stick around.

Numerous remembrances of Boon, who passed 30 years ago last week in a tragic road accident, and his band the Minutemen appeared, many from those who had been fortunate enough, through time and place, to see him perform. Among the most moving was Gary Waleik’s essay for Observer, remembering a time when his first band the Volcano Suns opened for the Minutemen.

But he seemed to enjoy himself. He made eye contact. He smiled. A lot. I smiled back. He took note of what my left hand was doing, following it up and down the fretboard. My bitterness and frustration melted away as this cherubic man-child and angelic axe man from San Pedro single-handedly established a warm, dude-like vibe standing there amongst the angst-ridden punks of Providence. After the show, he told me that he really liked my guitar playing, and I think he meant it. I’d like to think so, anyway. That was the last time I ever saw him. He passed away in a van accident on December 22, 1985.

The Best Music Writing of 2015 Finally, why not a link to another list of good writing? There’s a number of examples out there, but Impose Magazine’s year-end review provides a wide range of reading and a good header talking a bit about the previous 12 months.

Music journalists in 2015 live a life of complexity uncommon in most other written fields. Not only are we asked to present opinions in a fact-like manner that eschews what most journalism preaches, we also hold the role of proverbial punching bag from the musicians and industry we’re employed to write about (forgive us Donald Trump beat-writers if we shed no tears for you). 2015 also proved to be a particularly strange year for music critics, as many have reported, it was the year the music blog died, meaning fewer outlets than the internet has been accustomed to in years past. Still, here we are, with a passion and a talent that will keep us rising above the horrible pay grade and waning respect, to give readers a personal perspective on the most important art form the world has known. For as long as there is music, there will be someone to write about it. Which is why we made this list: to look outside the pages of Impose and celebrate those whose words make us think and react on a daily basis.

And off to New Year’s we go!