The Afterword

Musings on the byways of popular culture

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Modern Day Motown Soundalikes

by 91 Comments

I need to put a playlist together for a house party. The invitees are predominately of a certain age. Previously, Motown has hid the spot perfectly. This time, I thought I’d drag them out of the Sixties and Seventies. However, I need Motownalike tunes to succeed.

Please help!

I’ll start with one that must sound like Motown because a court found the writers guilty of plagiarising Marvin Gaye. (Don’t worry, the video is the ‘clean’ version.)

I’m starting to hate things I actually like

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I’ve realised that no matter how much I like a piece of music, when my 10 year old insists on playing one track on repeat for hours (or at least feels and seems like it), I will eventually come to hate it.

It’s my own stupid fault I ‘spose. He loves Guardians of the Galaxy, I bought him the ‘Awesome mix’ soundtrack as a cheapie in a 2-for-3 at JB Hifi, ripped it to his iPod, and he started playing “Hooked on a Feeling” over and over and over….that was most of last week. I couldn’t shake HoaF as an earworm one day last week at work, it just kept going round inside my head. Not even my usual antidote to all things Billy Joel could shift it – singing Centrefold to myself.

Yesterday was the turn of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”. On repeat. Till I had to leave the house. I won’t be able to listen to either of them again.

Also means we’ll have to be very careful and selective about what he gets on his iPod.

Do you want another pint?

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Thank you for your kind words about my writing. I was re-reading this one today.

The girl was sitting alone at the bar. These days, not a common sight, but not unusual. In 1974? It was staggering. So much so that I did one of those cartoon double-takes when I walked into the Rat’s Castle. It was early evening, on a wet, Thursday night and the old pub was almost empty. Ted, the miserable old bloke, who was always there, was sitting in ‘his’ seat, hunched over the Evening Standard and a half of bitter, a pickled onion in his fingers, the dark vinegar dribbling down his fingers and dripping onto the stained wooden table. Terry, the barman, was drying dimpled pint pots with a dirty tea-towel and humming along to The Four Tops on the jukebox. Ah, the jukebox at The Rat’s Arsehole. It was old, clunky and the money-slot was slow. But it had the best sound in town. And Steve, the landlord, kept it stocked with a great selection of Motown, Glam and British Rock singles, as well as a few lesser known American songs. On a good night, when the pub was busy, I could » Continue Reading.

Honey, you do me wrong

by 5 Comments

The girl was sitting alone at the bar. These days, not a common sight, but not unusual. In 1974? It was staggering. So much so that I did one of those cartoon double-takes when I walked into the Rat’s Castle. It was early evening, on a wet, Thursday night and the old pub was almost empty. Ted, the miserable old bloke, who was always there, was sitting in ‘his’ seat, hunched over the Evening Standard and a half of bitter, a pickled onion in his fingers, the dark vinegar dribbling down his fingers and dripping onto the stained wooden table. Terry, the barman, was drying dimpled pint pots with a dirty tea-towel and humming along to The Four Tops on the jukebox. Ah, the jukebox at The Rat’s Arsehole. It was old, clunky and the money-slot was slow. But it had the best sound in town. And Steve, the landlord, kept it stocked with a great selection of Motown, Glam and British Rock singles, as well as a few lesser known American songs. On a good night, when the pub was busy, I could go ten, maybe twelve songs that I loved, before getting a duff one. Then “This Town » Continue Reading.