Say the name “Carl Perkins,” and anyone (OK, anyone over a certain age) will say “Blue Suede Shoes.” Personally, if it were me, I’d rather be known for “Put Your Cat Clothes On.” I don’t even know what that means.
I guess the Byrds figured, “The Beatles became superstars using a misspelled animal as their name, why don’t we try it?” I guess they also figured, “We had a hit with a song called Mr. Tambourine Man, why don’t we write another one called Mr. … um … Spaceman!” Apparently, originality was not the Byrds’s strong suit.
Don McLean’s ridiculously long, atrociously awful hit “American Pie” was inspired by the plane crash that killed Buddy Holly (“the day the music died”). The good news for Buddy Holly: Being dead, he never had to listen to the song.
BROOOOOOOOOOOOCE!! Nope, I don’t get it. Maybe it would make more sense if I liked girls named Wendy—or girls at all, for that matter. Points for being dependably lefty, though.
This is basically all the dudes who weren’t the Beatles, Stones, Who, or Kinks. I’ll get to the ladies—who have their own special awesomeness—a little later.
I never understood the connection between white frat boys and reggae until a fried of mine said, “weed.” Then I understood the connection perfectly.
My favorite (only?) Bob Dylan memory is my mother and I watching him sing “Serve Somebody” on Saturday Night Live sometime around 1979. Which brings up the question, what was my conservative Catholic mother doing watching Saturday Night Live? And why did she let her 13-year-old son stay up to watch it with her?