I’ve started a new series for Phantom Billstickers – my 9th! – you can read them weekly over at their Facebook page; a great place to drop in on for poetry, posters, music and arts clips and competitions as well as event information. And they have a small handful of guest columnists/contributors.
In 1979, after Negative Theatre played at the big Nambassa , Louise and I were invited to play at the Nile River festival on the West Coast of the South Island. We hitchhiked down from Hamilton with our guitars. It was a wonderful down home sort of hippy affair and it rained a lot of the time. Our gig went down well and we met some Wellington musicians that would become friends over the next few years.
There was one guy I remember clearly from that weekend – he was flipping burgers with a spade on a huge old saw blade over a fire. He had long hair and a beard and these piercing blue eyes and he fed Louise and me for free because he’d enjoyed our show. There always seemed to be a big group of women around him.
Ten years later I’m living in Holloway Road and Sva moves in with a friend just up the street and we strike up a pretty strong friendship. He worked in theatre in those days – building sets and he played a mean piano.
When Bodega first started up Sva did a lot of the refurbishing. He was part of the woodwork of that place from day one – always there for everybody. At that time I wasn’t really a drinker but I’d go there to play gigs or just to see Sva and to talk to him. He had a perfectly broad vision and appreciation of all the arts and was canny and very well read.
Early this century, when I was trying to write up the final draft of my novel Manslaughter and living in Wigan Street, I would take finished chapters in to Sva at the bar to proof read and critique. He loved the characters and was part of the process of getting me through writing it. I know he was proud of that book.
Then, around the same time, we both had to drop everything and be there for our children – in my case Ang’s broken neck in Dunedin and Sva’s daughter was in a coma in Scotland.
When the time came to march the old bar down to its new lodgings, I was right next to him.
Sva was a great bloke and you could talk to him on any level – about a tricky chord sequence or turn of phrase, about your love life or your dire circumstances, about a little moment in life that he had the wit to pick up on.
We both had Capricorn birthdays and one year I gave him Little White Paul, one of the Strange Angels – he put it on top of his piano.
Everyone will have their own stories about him – he meant so much to so many people. He was part of the fabric of an iconic part of Wellington’s music culture, even though he didn’t care for a lot of the music.
The other night we held a wake for him at Bodega and it was just as if he was still there.
With three shows (see below) Kitty, Daisy & Lewis return to New Zealand in July of 2015. They have a new album out – but the thrill with this band is the live show, a sweaty, happy series of blasts from the past as jump blues and rockabilly mix in a crowd-engaging
Tickets to all shows on sale from April 21. Dates and links below:
28 Christchurch – Allen Street
29 Wellington – Bodega (www.undertheradar.co.nz)
30 Auckland – Powerstation (www.powerstation.net.nz)
My congratulations to Jakob, winners of this year’s Taite Music Prize.
Named after the idiosyncratic and respected music journalist Dylan Taite, this prize is one of the few that means anything in New Zealand music. It’s awarded on/for merit – it’s not about sales, or videos, or catchy singles. It’s about music. It’s judged on the success of the music as music – as the art.
This was the first time Jakob was nominated. The Napier trio took eight years to follow-up its previous record. You can read about the frustrations, injuries and label setbacks that contributed to the band’s internal doubt in my interview with guitarist Jeff Boyle.
The album they would eventually release late last year, Sines, is a masterpiece.
I’m a loyal fan and champion of this band – like anyway who has seen them more than once I consider them the best band in New Zealand.
The news of this award arrives as the band prepares to head off to stun the rest of the world with shows in support of Sines.
A full summary of this year’s Taite Music Prize award evening can be found here at Stuff.co.nz.
I thought it was called Monkey Magic – on account of Godiego’s theme tune, “Monkey Magic”. Turns out – and I would only find this out many years later – that it was called Monkey. It was a fantasy/martial arts show – English voices dubbed over Japanese actors filmed in China. I think I’ve got those details right…And when I say fantasy/martial arts. It was also a comedy. And a horror.
But it was funny. Very funny. Hypnotic too. A magic show. We’d tune in to watch it – me and my cousins. We were probably too young to watch it, though I don’t remember it being challenging in a gore/horror/violent/scary way. It just seemed funny to us. Funny, mad, surreal – wonderful.
I’d learn – later – that Monkey was a cult show. I guess I’d learn this, first, through finding out, via half-conversations, the other people that had stumbled onto this show (we probably thought, as young kids, that it was playing only and ever for us). It was a hot topic in university hostel bedrooms and the nearly-cartoon lounges of our Young Ones-derived flats.
There was Monkey (“born from an egg on a mountain top”) and Pigsy, Sandy, “Horse” and Tripitaka. Tripitaka was the coolest character, or at least the most fun name to say. We’d take turns being Tripitaka, after, in between bounces on the trampoline. We’d try to do our own aerial stunts, half-flips at best, or simple knock-downs falling onto our backs and springing back up. We’d make the sounds – dramatic attempts at comedy-overdubs as we bounced back into life. And if you were lucky you got to be Monkey or Tripitaka.
The show was bright and loud and your brain burst trying to keep up. It was mad, nearly maddening but beautiful. Wondrous, absurd, bafflingly brilliant. The shapes and colours were always moving, the music was always clanging and it sped by, all of it – the action – dizzyingly so. We’d catch it, when we could, on Sunday afternoons. And the parents all thought we were bonkers for watching it. But it gave them some time to finish their quart bottles of beer, and to round off a hand of cards.
Just lately I’ve been returned to the world of Jackie Chan – via a box-set of his “Classics”. It doesn’t include some of my favourite Chan films but there is one or two in the set I haven’t previously seen. And the others (the likes of Police Story, Armour of God) are pretty wonderful; worth revisiting. I’ve got a Bruce Lee set to dive into next. Same deal, one or two I haven’t seen but re-watching the likes of Way of the Dragon will be no chore. Glad to have been presented the opportunity.
I realised – in watching these films, even in recently catching up with The Raid 2 – that my introduction to martial arts on screen was Monkey.
Before there was movies like Bloodsport (a staple at birthday parties, you’d watch it in the lead up to the pro-wrestling, and then again after if you were still awake) and the early Chan films, before I would get hooked on anything by Raymond Chow or Gordon Liu or the Shaw Brothers, and then – part-hooked for life, I’d return via Jet Li or Stephen Chow or Tony Jaa – there was Monkey.
Monkey was innocent – mindless – fun. But it would lead to watching Born To Defence. And to following Chuck Norris. It would lead me to the local video store…
A place I still love. As hopeful and hopelessly outdated as that sounds.
In my mind Monkey blurs with the very earliest experience seeing part of the original Planet of The Apes.
In my mind Monkey got me started – and hooked – on martial arts, the very serious stuff and the super-silly, over the top weird and wonderful.
To my mind it is the only pure cult show I’ve been hooked on. I’ve watched – and adored – plenty of cult films, Monkey being a partial catalyst. But TV shows? Not really. I mean, sure, there are loads of TV shows that get cut short – and/or buried in late night slots. You’re told after they’re cult shows. Freaks & Geeks, Herman’s Head, The Critic. All great shows. But they were still made for a mainstream audience – and played out, for the most part, in a conventional way.
But what the actual fuck was Monkey?
Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.
I dare not watch it again: revoltingly slow, botched, broken and still baffling but now not in a good way…no thanks. I’d like to hang on to the idea that it’s still wonderful. By never watching it ever again I can cradle that truth.
TV Shows That Meant The World To Me started life as a weekly series on the Phantom Billstickers Facebook page
Percy Sledge has died. He was 74. He died of natural causes. Sledge was something of a journeyman soul singer, or would have been were it not for that remarkable, signature song, When A Man Loves A Woman.
Sledge had a few other hits, but nothing quite matched When A Man Loves A Woman.
Well, how could it.
Almost everything was perfect about this heartbreak ballad – that mournful intro, the drums – wow, that little trot across the snare! – but it’s all sold, all told due to Sledge’s impassioned vocal.
You hear the stories of so many in that song. Sledge created a ballad that is still used today, at weddings, in funerals, as part of a dance or a DJ set, in movies…
And he did the work – never turned his back on that hit. He plugged away, plugging that song as he kept playing shows long after that initial burst of fame.
Percy Sledge and his song When A Man Loves A Woman helped to lay out the schematic for a type of southern soul that was acceptable on the radio, that would make a dent. He was part of the early success of the Muscle Shoals studio and sound.
And that, ultimately, is what he will be remembered for. A phenomenal vocal performance across a song that continues to last, to inspire, to baffle in how whole worlds are caught up, swept up, in its three minutes.
I got this message one day at work – someone had called up The Dominion Post looking for me (I have never worked “at” The Dominion Post, I write some reviews for them, so people assume I work there). They said they wanted to talk to me about being a music reviewer for the Good Morning TV show.
I figured I’d call them right back.
A day or so later I was driving out to Avalon – I was off to have a screen-test. I had three CDs with me (can’t remember what they were now). After a bit of waiting around I was given a quick rundown that I’d be talking to one of the hosts – I’d just have to adlib a bit of banter around the CDs, make like I knew what I was doing. Etc.
It was a fairly straightforward procedure but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. I wanted to do a decent job. And I figured that if I got the call-back, got the tick, got the job, there’d be some money attached. Money is good. I don’t see a lot of it doing what I do…
Anyway, after a few days I did get a call. They did want me. I was to be the Good Morning TV show’s new music reviewer. I was to chat about music, live on air, every Monday morning.
Suddenly – without ever thinking it would even be something I wanted to do, much less ever thinking about trying to get an ‘in’ – I was on TV.
It was a bit of a laugh.
I talked about lots of New Zealand music and international music too – I reviewed albums. And I found that it was very different reviewing albums live on air, just talking. A lot different to writing down some thoughts. I guess I preferred the writing – but talking about music, on TV, was a fun new challenge.
Some weeks I reckon I did okay. Other times I dreaded to think. I never saw the first few weeks – and it’s probably just as well. A friend – who works in TV, behind the camera, told me when he saw it that I was a bit “wooden”. To be expected I guess. It made me glad I never saw those early appearances.
At the end of the first year on the box my dad sent me a DVD of all of my appearances on the show. Well, not quite all of them. But most of them. Some family member had remembered to set the DVD-R each week and had then made up a single disc.
I have that still. I haven’t ever watched it.
But I did set my own DVD-R some weeks. And I watched a few of the appearances – mostly it was so my wife could see it – she’d watch through a gap in her hands most weeks. Also a few friends that lived overseas, when they’d come back for a visit they were keen for a bit of a laugh.
I did okay – and was asked back for another year. And somewhere, sometime before the end of that first year I was in a park in Wellington. And a woman came up to me and said, “can I ask you a question?” I said sure. I figured she wanted to know where you could get a taxi from in that neck of the woods, or maybe she had a street name she was gonna run by me. But no, she suddenly got very nervous, and straight into it she launched, “I want to get my husband a CD for Christmas…” No other context. Just into it. Suggestions, please. I was the guy from the TV. Recognised in the street. A very odd feeling.
Then I went home for the Christmas holidays. Old ladies in the Farmers stores said hello to me.
No one I knew watched the show. They all had, well, ya know, jobs. They were out working – never watching morning TV. But back where my parents live it was a different story. It was a mild case of celebrity. Apparently. (Well, not really) Laughable of course. People I hadn’t talked to since high school were suddenly interested in what I was doing – they musta thought that I was getting a lot of money.
People love to rag on things like the Good Morning show. And hey, fair enough I guess. But the crew there were all great people, the ones I got to know. And they were good at their jobs, loved it. Worked hard. Had it nailed. Knew what they were doing. Made it all so easy.
I’d waltz in for the weekly chat and everything was under control – or if it wasn’t I never knew.
Being on TV was never a big deal for me – I simply saw it as a challenge, a new way to approach reviewing, a different way to have a voice as a reviewer. And it was light. A bit of fun. Infotainment.
I can’t remember how long I was on the Good Morning show but I racked up half a dozen years or so. I wasn’t fired as such – the show just moved from Wellington to Auckland. So they got a whole new team.
Some pretty cool things happened though, you know. You could meet a few famous people in the make-up room or the Green Room. There were plenty of great conversations you could have if you wanted them. And the chance to – now and then – meet someone that might really have been a big deal; or was touched by greatness, closer to greatness than you would ever be.
There was also the odd, awkward moment where someone would be glaring at me from the make-up chair next to where I was sitting. Mu from Fat Freddy’s Drop say. Or someone like that. Someone I might have just ragged on in the paper – or on my blog. Or on the show one week previous. They were there to do a live performance. I was there to do my review segment. And we would have the small-talk directed around us for a few minutes. I found this pretty funny. I hold no grudges. I just write stuff. The next day it’s gone – in the bin, or long ago page-refreshed. If it sticks around that’s not my fault. That’s your fault.
I never really went out of my way to meet people – I usually just left them to their stale biscuit and paper cup of tea. I’d skim-read the paper and eavesdrop a wee bit on some conversation.
But sometimes you’d have the chance to have a chat. You’d take it upon yourself. Or someone else would be facilitating a conversation and next thing you’re in there.
I got to say a few words to Ben Elton.
I met Muhammad Ali’s daughter.
One time I knew, ahead of schedule, that Ian Gillan of Deep Purple was going to be on the show. I rushed down to the second-hand record store to get a copy of Machine Head (I only had it on CD at the time). I don’t usually take albums with me to get them signed, I probably should do it more often. But I was definitely keen to have an Ian Gillan signature.
When I got to the set that day the show’s host asked me if I wouldn’t mind sitting in on the interview. Could I sit down next to her and throw in a question or two to keep things moving along.
That was pretty cool.
A lot cooler though was the informal interview off camera. Gillan chatted to me for ages – and he was so nice. And it was my very great pleasure to feel, in some sense, like I was actually meeting him. Not just the stiff phoner or the live-to-air meek-and-mild chit-chat, the stock answers, the predictable questions. I gave him the record to sign and he was impressed that it was a record – an LP. He’d signed a few CDs for a competition and for one or two of the crew. Then he started to examine the record and I was hoping he wouldn’t look inside. Because inside the sleeve there was a message from one family member to another – and it gave the game away, proved that this hadn’t been my record. That I’d only just acquired it recently. And “To Joe from Glenda” or whatever it said didn’t really line up with my “Machine Head is my favourite Deep Purple record” story, or whatever it was I would have said to him. I think that was the single most nervous I had ever been on/around the set of Good Morning.
Keith Quinn was a regular on the show too – talking sports of course. But we had a roving conversation, one that went across many years, about music. It was often centred around The Beatles. Keith is a fanatic. He was always so great to speak with – I got a real kick out of talking to him.
Nothing stands out to me as remarkable about the work I did. I just turned up and talked a bit of shit for five minutes. Sometimes it was longer than that; sometimes it wasn’t even five minutes. It was usually a bit of a hoot and I guess I got better at it – more confident or whatever – as the years ticked over.
I don’t really have any desire to do it again.
But I realise now that it was actually a really fun thing to be involved in – a great learning experience in so many ways, for so many reasons.
I get the call up quite often to speak on radio these days (probably it’s because I have the face for it, rather than for TV). Sometimes, a couple of times, now and then, I’ve been back on TV, interviewed for segments on the news or Breakfast or Good Morning (I was interviewed on the Auckland version of the show, the current version, when my book was released a couple of years back). I never have an issue fronting up to have a chat. And it all comes from that experience of having to do it, of fronting up for those review-segments. Of learning a new skill. Live. In front of whoever was watching.
I never planned to be on TV talking about music. But it was almost always fun. And it’s only now that I realise I was pretty lucky. Oh, and the money was appreciated. Of course. But it wasn’t really that great. But then, it never really is. And you never really do it for (just) that.
TV Shows That Meant The World To Me started life as a weekly series on the Phantom Billstickers Facebook page
This week and next Midge Ure will perform for the first time in New Zealand since Ultravox was here in 1982. His solo shows in Wellington, Christchurch, Auckland and Nelson will see him playing the great range of hits he’s had a hand in.
Simply leave a comment below mentioning your favourite Midge Ure song and the gig you wish to attend.
Superstars of Wrestling (back when the WWE was known as the WWF) started in 1986. It ran through until the early 1990s when a name-change to RAW (still the name) saw the turn to a new kind of product. Yes, yes, we’re talking pro-wrestling. I was a fan. Er, am a fan. Well, I’m not really…not now, not currently, but I dipped my toe back in the water. More than that, I went for the full belly flop, a splash from the top rope. I dived on back into wrestling in my mid-20s. Met a couple of the big names, talked to a few more on the phone. Did a weekly wrap-up, wrote reviews of the pay-per-view events, took in a live event – watched thousands of hours of the TV shows, got right back into it.
I first saw pro-wrestling on a family holiday to Australia. I remember seeing The Junkyard
Dog. I was hooked. A year or so later it’s on TV here – and we were watching sneaky bootlegged video tapes of the earliest Wrestlemania shows between times; trading cassette tapes in exchange (Motley Crue, Gunners) all for the chance to catch up on these events where Andre The Giant would win a body slam contest or battle royal, where Hulk Hogan would then pick up the giant and slam him.
Superstars of Wrestling was on late at night – it started off mid-week, then moved to Fridays, and then back to Thursdays (even Wednesdays at one point I think) and it was about an hour long. It was a reason to live. You collected the posters in The Truth and TV Guide, bought the bubble gum trading cards, and practiced the moves in the school yard at lunchtime. We had a couple of full school assemblies warning us against performing wrestling moves. No child ended up brain damaged or paralyzed – but given the warnings against lunch time battles only intensified the practice, it’s one of life’s mysteries how no one ever lost the use of a limb or retained their full faculties.
And the days that made up the rest of the week were fucking miserable. Okay, it wasn’t quite that bad, there was music and sport – weekend cricket and hockey. There were bike-rides and you could go to the arcade to play the WWF Superstars video game. But it was a long wait each week. And if you hadn’t set the VCR timer properly you could miss half the show, meaning the repeated watches across the week didn’t gather the same steam.
The brilliant thing about Superstars – compared with Smackdown and RAW and the modern shows – was that it was the classic good-buy/bad-guy thing. The face (good guy) vs. the heel (bad guy). More than that though it was full blown cartoon character stuff – and you always knew who was going to win because it was the big name player against some weekly jobber. So Jake “The Snake” Roberts would take on Paul Roma. Or it would be Greg “The Hammer” Valentine against Billy Kidman. Guys with names like Paul and Glen had to fight against people with names like Bad News Brown and The Ultimate Warrior. There was The One Man Gang – he was, as you might guess from that name, enormous. And there was my favorite, George “The Animal” Steele. He had a green tongue and made Robin Williams look like someone with Alopecia. He grunted and said only the word “mine”. But in The Truth and TV Guide you’d read, via the weekly updates, that he was actually a university lecturer.
Superstars of Wrestling consisted of the aforementioned “Squash Matches” where the big name would defeat the nobody-guy in 90 seconds or so. But the real action was often the other big-name player coming to the ring to start a fight or to needle away in an ongoing feud. You would have to wait for these to be resolved in the quarterly pay-per-view events. Even longer when you lived in New Zealand – you might wait an extra couple of months for the video store to track it. Until the local TV station started playing the PPV events at midnight and you’d have sleeping-bag parties with a handful of friends, maybe watch A Nightmare on Elm Street or Hellraiser first, a few bounces on the trampoline and some sort of takeaway dinner. Then popcorn and the main event! You might even fall asleep before the actual Main Event so you’d rewind it the next morning.
The other brilliant thing about all of this was the commentators. I could never get that excited about seeing the live event because I loved the commentary. Jesse “The Body” Ventura was a former wrestler. He would go on to be a governor and crackpot conspiracy theorist. But he was so cool. He popped up in a couple of movies too. And his straight-man was Vince McMahon. We didn’t know then but we’d find out that he actually owned the company. He would go on to think he owned the world and is a different kind of crackpot theorist. But they were such a great team when they did the weekly show.
When I got back into watching wrestling, and writing about it – and catching up on the nearly decade and a half I had happily missed (I rented so many VHS tapes and DVDs in such a short space of time) – it was mostly some strange nostalgia buzz. I saw the DVD cover of Wrestlemania 19 – and I wanted to see it. A pang. An instant hit. I hadn’t watched one since Wrestlemania 5.
I did all of the catching up – because I was offered a few chances to interview a few of the big names. And because I found it all rather fascinating. With time I even got to talk to Ric Flair and also Bret “The Hitman” Hart. These were two of my favourite interviews. As good as any of the chats with authors or film directors or musicians. Talking to Bret Hart for two hours and hearing him softly crying as he talked down the line from his home let me know that any “that stuff is fake” comment isn’t really the right way to look at it. It’s totally valid if you’re not a fan, but it’s still not quite right. And it never will be. Just as watching pro-wrestling isn’t really right.
That was always part of the fun of it.
Still, there wasn’t anything quite like Superstars of Wrestling. So over the top, so stupid and wonderful. Such a thrill.
Wrestling has always been at its best when celebrating its stupidity, its absurdity, its circus origins, its carnival nature, its utterly surreal and baffling brand of nearly-magic.
WWF Superstars of Wrestling was the greatest TV show I ever saw. At least for a while there. Way back then.
TV Shows That Meant The World To Me started life as a weekly series on the Phantom Billstickers Facebook page
We arrived for the festival early on Good Friday and as we drove in there were already far more people and tents than in the previous years. We put together Spines camp in our usual northeast corner then went down to the stage to set up and sound check – we were first on.
I’d been working on a new guitar sound using delay like in the old days coupled with the newer feedback tones and it was key to all the newer songs in the set – so the eight, size “c” batteries decided to run out. After a straight but weird sounding sound check, Mike Gibson sorted me out an adaptor and a great vocal sound onstage so I was pretty happy and raring to go.
We had missed out on the last Tora and I felt I had something to prove. We were opening the thing in broad daylight with all the kids and couldn’t really do the big night monster thing and so we’d sorted out the set list accordingly – it worked really well.
The vocal sound on stage was so clear that I could get across those more lyrical numbers like Lily and I, Your Body Stays, You Seem To Be Happy and I got both of my guitars sounding hot. Les and Malky played well and we turned in a really good set – our work here is done… with three days left to go…
Far be it from me to review every band or act that followed but the quality and running order was impeccable.
I should mention I had a toothache through this whole festival and was ill prepared in terms of pain relief. Luckily in our camp area I had a lot of old friends like Zoe and Crunch and Michael Appleby and The Garage Project crew. I soldiered on and talked guitars and lyrics with all these younger generation musos and was blown away by some of the playing.
John Grenell played a wonderful set that day.
I must have nodded off with my head out of the tent watching for the red moon – I remember it all starting then waking up to a crescent on the other side.
It just seemed to build and build and I’d paced myself quite well.
Caroline Easther arrived to play and sing with Barry Saunders – she had been the original Spines drummer back in 1981 and we didn’t get to catch up that often so it was pretty special to see her.
Then, on that last night, two of my favourite drummers – Riki Gooch and Chris O’Conner. I was right up the front for the last couple of bands and an older woman came up and tried to molest me – I retreated back stage.
I was invited up at the very end onstage to close out the festival with some big guitar and a couple of raucous songs with Riki and it was like a full circle from when the whole thing started all those years ago – that big full moon there still after the eclipse.
It all got a bit hazy after that but I remember trading songs with Conrad with what remained of my voice and getting hugged by some beautiful women.
Neil and the Bramley family and the crew did an excellent job once again.
Tora Tora Tora just seems to go from strength to strength.
The Ghost of Electricity – War Stories by Jon McLeary is a new initiative at Off The Tracks, a series of stories and reflections from painter, writer and musician Jon McLeary
After the Nathan Haines show at the San Fran I played a few records. Was a good night out – and I had a lot of fun playing. Had a nice chat with Mr. Haines after his gig too. Was great to talk music with him. He knows a lot, has met so many great players and worked with some of the absolute best.
His set was pretty great. Amazing band.
And then I got to play a few favourites.
1. Stevie Wonder, Don’t You Worry ‘Bout A Thing
2. Paul Simon, Late In The Evening
3. The Temptations, Ain’t Too Proud To Beg
4. Sam & Dave, Hold On! I’m Comin’
5. Jessie Hill, Ooh Poo Pah Doo
6. Sam Butera & The Wildest, Medley: Just A Gigolo/I Ain’t Got Nobody (And Nobody Cares For Me)
7. Jimmy Norman, I Don’t Care About You
8. Maurice Williams & The Zodiacs, Stay
9. Little Eva Harris, Get Ready/Uptight
10. The Ikettes, Don’t Feel Sorry For Me
11. The Buddy Rich Big Band, Mercy, Mercy, Mercy
12. Buddy Miles, Them Changes
13. Oscar Brown Jr., Chicken Heads
14. Lee Dorsey, Soul Mine
15. Curtis Mayfield, Pusherman
16. Donny Hathaway, Jealous Guy
17. The Rolling Stones, Melody
18. Dr. John, I Been Hoodood
19. Beastie Boys, Pow
20. Steely Dan, Hey Nineteen
21. Wings, Arrow Through Me
22. Prince, Erotic City
23. Lindsey Buckingham, Trouble
24. Joe Jackson, Steppin’ Out
25. Average White Band, You Got It
26. Commodores, Sail On
27. Stephen Bishop, It Might Be You
28. Gil Scott-Heron, Did You Hear What They Said?
29. Sebastien Tellier, Adieu