Saying Goodbye to Rick Davies of Supertramp

I wrote about Supertramp’s Breakfast in America eleven years ago and later included it in my list of all-time favorites, along with the band’s album, Crisis? What Crisis?  In my summary of those two inclusions, I wrote:

I can’t overstate how important this band was to the young version of me, insecure and creative, the youngest child of separated parents. Hodgson’s lyrics were the empathetic voice I craved, though I can’t say for sure that I understood them all at the time. Listening to Supertramp nearly forty years on, the band’s output still holds up. I’ve always loved the juxtaposition of Davies’s and Hodgson’s respective oeuvres, one cynical and cranky, one spiritual and nurturing, and together they were greater than the sum of their parts. 

Rick Davies died a few days ago, and as important as some of Hodgson’s lyrics were to me as a youth, it was Davies’s piano skills that attracted much of my attention, as I moved beyond the Michael Aaron piano books I’d been trudging through for years and started to explore playing songs that I loved. When I was twelve, I purchased the manuscript book of Crime of the Century, and I studied those songs with curiosity, amazement and confusion, unable to play some of the licks to my satisfaction. Easiest among the lot was the title track, and for a brief period I played the song in the living room of classmates Jon and Scott Wittkopf, who added drums and guitar to the mix. It was my first foray into playing with a group, and it jumpstarted my excitement to be in a band as I dreamed of music stardom.  

My brother soon encouraged me to learn “Another Man’s Woman,” a piano tour-de-force that begins with a terrific percussive groove and culminates with an equally terrific solo, and I managed to do a fair job of replicating it by ear rather than a manuscript. Soon to follow were songs like “Asylum,” “Just Another Nervous Wreck,” and “From Now On.” This band was inspiring!

But for any pianist, it was “Bloody Well Right” that set the standard, with Davies’s extended blues-based Wurlizer solo instantly recognizable. I must say that I fumbled through it as a child, only kinda-sorta achieving the spirit of the solo if not the actual notes. It wasn’t until I was in my 30s that I finally sat down and transcribed the solo note for note, slowing the tune down to identify some of the faster runs, and even today it’s an intro that break out from time to time.

Beyond the obvious piano chops of Rick Davies, his sonically-edged compositions helped to compensate for Hodgson’s sweeter side. Davies basically played Lennon to Hodgson’s McCartney, or Amy Ray to Emily Saliers of Indigo Girls, offering a bit of cynicism and realism to the philosophical Hodgson. I thought that Davies really hit his stride on Breakfast in America and Famous Last Words…, the final Supertramp albums before Hodgson left the band. I loved songs like “Gone Hollywood,” “Oh Darling,” “Just Another Nervous Wreck,” “Put on Your Old Brown Shoes,” and “Waiting So Long.” They may not have been hits, but they helped elevate the Supertramp releases into satisfying listening experiences, making them “complete” albums, and not just some filler songs amongst a few of Hodgson’s hits.

I got to see Rick Davies twice: once at Alpine Valley in 1983, and then two years later at MECCA in Milwaukee. For the latter show, I was excited that Davies would have more of a chance to shine as the only songwriter left in the band. Unfortunately, the setlist was lacking, as was Davies’ ability to hold an audience. It was decent, but it was clear that Supertramp missed Hodgson. Unfortunately, they would never play together again.

It was just two weeks ago that Hodgson lost a publishing royalty appeal between him and the rest of the band. A sad way to end the legacy of a great band.

Billy Joel and "Code of Silence"

HBO’s excellent new documentary, Billy Joel: And So It Goes, praises Joel’s chameleon-like ability to compose in multiple genres, something that few music critics did during his time dominating the charts. Instead, they accused him of uninventiveness and trend-hopping, constantly shifting styles to match modern fads. But what crtics missed, most songwriters understood: a lot of artists adjust their songwriting styles, but not many of them do it well. By contrast, Joel’s prowess as a songwriter might rightly be compared to mid-century masters like Cole Porter or Irving Berlin.

One of Joel’s attributes that the documentary spends less time on is his expertise at wordsmithing. At his best, his ability to perfectly capture a character, a feeling, or a situation, is second-to-none. Listen again to songs like “Always a Woman,” “I’ve Loved These Days,” “Goodnight Saigon” and “Innocent Man,” and you might conclude that he’s achieving something far beyond composing catchy hooks.

For me, I can’t think of Billy Joel without recalling a lesser-known tune that he co-wrote with Cyndi Lauper, “Code of Silence,” from 1986’s The Bridge, one of the last vinyl records I purchased before switching over to CDs. It was a letter from a friend of mine that prompted me to examine the lyrics of this song with more attention than I was accustomed to, a letter I still have today. In it, my friend alludes to a past event in her life and how it impacted her, and then goes on to write out the entire lyric of “Code of Silence,” adding that the song describes her “to a ‘T’.”

This revelation hit me hard then, and it’s clearly continued to hit my hard over time, because it led to my composition, “The Diary You Keep,” from my album Trainsongs, and it also inspired an important character in my unpublished novel, Things I Hate About My Mother. I can’t hear “Code of Silence” without thinking of her. She had clearly experienced some sort of trauma, and I don’t need to work too hard to imagine what it might have been.

The lyrics of “Code of Silence” are effective because they express the victim’s point of view so well:

You’ve been through it once
You know how it ends
You don’t see the point of going through it again

And you can’t talk about it
Because you’re following a code of silence
You’re never gonna lose the anger
You just deal with it a different way
And you can’t talk about it
And isn’t that a kind of madness
To be living by a code of silence
When you’ve really got a lot to say?

And later in the tune:

And it’s hard to believe after all these years
That it still gives you pain and it still brings tears
And you feel like a fool, ‘cause in spite all your rules
You’ve got a memory

Joel gives most of the credit to Lauper, who happened to be recording her True Colors album next door to Joel, resulting in the collaboration. In an interview, Joel said “She did all the work.” Regardless of who contributed the lion’s share of the tune, as far as I’m concerned, the Joel-Lauper pairing was a match made in heaven, and I wonder what might have transpired had they committed to composing more songs together.

I’m a melody guy, first and foremost, with lyrics often falling a distant second. But man, when melody and lyrics are coupled together perfectly, it packs a punch. Give it a listen and see if it hits you the same way.

And to my old friend, wherever you might be, I hope you’re well, and I hope you’ve been able to crack the code.

S.W. Lauden on 1000 Greatest Misses

Last week, my podcast partner Chris and I recorded a terrific episode of our podcast, 1000 Greatest Misses, as we featured special guest author S.W. Lauden, also known as Steve Coulter, a great drummer formerly of the band Tsar, who we happened to feature on our podcast a while back. Steve has authored numerous book - both fiction and non-fiction - and is also the author of the Substack Remember the Lightning. Steve was nice enough to speak with Chris and me on our podcast episode 111, and then he interviewed us for an entry on his Substack. I encourage you to check out his writings in general, but below is the interview he had with Chris and me, as we discuss our podcast after over two years under our belts.

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I don’t usually rely on podcasts to (re)discover great guitar pop artists and songs from the past, but 1,000 Greatest Misses is definitely an exception.

This is largely due to the unique format that co-hosts Christopher Grey and Paul Heinz set up in 2023. Most episodes start with banter between the two music obsessives who then play samples from five different tracks that “hit all the marks but failed to chart” while discussing their personal perspectives and opinions.

“I will take credit for the idea, 8 years before I found the right person to partner with to bring it to fruition. My partner Paul Heinz and associate producer Bob Blum get credit for everything else,” Grey told me for the interview below.

“I do love turning people on to songs that have had an impact on me. I’m always texting Spotify or Youtube links to friends, saying, ‘Have you heard this yet?’ The podcast just allows me to reach thousands (okay, not exactly thousands) of people all at once, every week.”

“Chris has so much knowledge about the minutia of obscure bands, producers, record labels, and the like,” Heinz agreed.

“I’m definitely the novice on this journey, but I was able to tackle some of the legwork necessary to take his idea to the finish line. Then Bob came in and helped with some of the more grueling aspects of preparing for a weekly podcast. When you’re just starting out, you kind of underestimate the number of hours it takes to record a good half an hour episode.”

I caught up with Grey and Heinz by email to thank them for having me on as a guest (please don’t hold that against them), talk about how the show has evolved from their original vision, and what their plans are once they hit 1,000 songs.

I'm a big fan of your podcast, so it was an honor to be a guest. I think the format is really interesting. How did you land on that formula?

Christopher Grey: I was a guest on a couple of episodes of the Rock and/or Roll podcast with BJ Kramp. We had a ball, and he indulged my desire to talk about all these killer obscure tracks pulled from early ‘80s radio station compilation records. My initial premise was to keep the podcast short—5 songs per episode and put an expiration date on it. Hence the 1000 greatest misses, 200 episodes and out.

The better question is what kind of blackmail evidence did I have on Paul and Bob to get them to agree to work with me?

Paul Heinz: It certainly wasn’t the cash!

What have you learned over the course of 100+ episodes?

Christopher Grey: That it’s really hard to grow an audience when your subject matter is as specific as ours. For the amount of time I’ve spent adding links to Facebook posts, setting up guests and generally spreading the 1KGM gospel, we should have tens of thousands of listeners. Spoiler alert: We don't. But I will say that the folks that listen understand us and have proven to be as big or bigger fans than we are! They are so knowledgeable and hearing from them makes my day every time.

Paul Heinz: And we’ve also heard from quite a few of the artists we’ve featured, which isn’t something we expected. As for as listenership goes, when you consider the number of options for people to spend their time on these days, the fact that we have a crew of loyal listeners is really gratifying.

You occasionally have guests on (I loved the Peter Jesperson and Ted Ansani episodes). Any temptation to turn this into an interview podcast?

Christopher Grey: In my head, it’s certainly a lot more work to coordinate a show with guests. Of course, I understand that fans want to hear from artists and music industry figures, but there are so many podcasts that are better funded, researched, and that do such a great job in that space. The highest compliment I’ve gotten is that listeners feel like they are having a conversation with us. I think that was the original vibe we were going for.

Paul Heinz: I’ve had listeners tell me that they’re more interested in the banter between Chris and me than the songs themselves. Go figure.

Who is somebody that both of you agree would be the ultimate 1000 Greatest Misses guest (and why is it Paul Westerberg)?

Christopher Grey: I think Paul Westerberg represents a common ground for Paul and me. As our listeners know, Paul doesn’t always care for the songs that I bring to the table. In fact, his quote, "I wish it was better," is bandied around like a line from Caddyshack in our small community.

Paul Heinz: We even thought about putting that quote on the back of our t-shirts!

Christopher Grey: I would love to talk to Roger Manning or Jason Falkner as a fan, but I could see us featuring some hardcore record collectors that specialize in our favorite genres as well. Listeners of the show have proven to be extremely entertaining. Maybe we could get a power pop version of the Wack Pack of our most devoted listeners: Sharon, Jared, Andy, Pete, and Kevin!

Paul Heinz: I’ve never even heard of 80% of the bands we feature, so when we have guests on, I really have to do my homework. I know a bit about The Replacements, but having Paul Westerberg as a guest would be terrifying.

What are a few favorite artists or tracks that you specifically discovered through the podcast?

Christopher Grey: The list is long and varied. The High Back Chairs, Softjaw, Company of Thieves, The Argyles, Comsat Angels, SVT, Death Cab for Cutie (yep, I have blind spots), Graduate, The Shake Shakes.

Paul Heinz: Mine includes The Keys, The Planets, Falcon Eddy, Billy Bremner, The Cretones, The Toms, Enuff Z’nuff, Bash and Pop, Glen Burtnick and Paul Warren.

What's next for you two and 1,000 Greatest Misses?

Christopher Grey: We just recorded episode 111, (special thanks to Steve Coulter…aka S.W. Lauden!) and that leaves us with 89 more to go to satisfy the original intent of 200 episodes. We took a hiatus a few months back and retooled the show a little, and since then I’m enjoying it more than ever. Maybe there will be 1000 More Greatest Misses, maybe we will come up with a new concept, or maybe Paul will realize that I am dead weight and kick me to the curb and replace me with someone younger and better looking. Oh wait, that might be my wife's plan.

Paul Heinz: Nope. That’s my plan, too.

The Dreaded Resealable Vinyl Sleeves

If you’ve done any record shopping at all, you’ve surely noticed that most used records are protected by a transparent record sleeve. Perhaps not the dozens of ring-worn copies of B.J. Thomas, Barbara Streisand and Barry Manilow, but any record worth more than $10 is likely covered in some fashion (and please note that I’m not knocking any of those artists – it’s just that their records are, well…plentiful).

In most stores, records are stored in a certain way:

1)      The records themselves are front-facing for ease of flipping.

2)      They are housed in plastic outer sleeves whose open ends are pointed towards the album cover openings (apparently called a “cover mouth.” I just learned something!).

3)      The inner sleeves that house the record itself are also pointed toward the cover mouth, allowing would-be buyers to extract the vinyl record without any unnecessary steps.

Some albums don’t play nice with this storage – Elton John’s Honky Chateau comes to mind – but for most part, this type of format works well, and as a guy who buys a fair number of records each year, I’ve grown accustomed to this protocol.

But more and more lately, I’ve had the misfortune of perusing used records that are housed in resealable sleeves, the kind that fold over and adhere like a Post-It note, leaving the album cover completely encased – even the opening that houses the inner sleeve and record. This obviously makes checking the record quality tedious, because I have to peel back the sticky fold of the outer sleeve to extract the record, and if I’m thumbing through a couple hundred items, it makes for a cumbersome visit and an unhappy camper.

Some stores go to even greater lengths to spoil my record-buying outing, turning a potential customer into a sworn enemy. Outside of Phoenix, one particular establishment (who shall remain nameless) turns a record quality check into about a minute-long ordeal on the front end, and then another minute-long ordeal on the back end. To wit:

1)      The records are stored in resealable sleeves. My happy disposition is already marred.

2)      These resealable sleeves are pointed north so that the “cover mouth” isn’t exposed even after opening the outer sleeve. Because of this, the album cover has to be completely extracted from the outer sleeve.  Now I’m starting to mutter a few obscenities.

3)      This store takes things a step further: the inner sleeve is also pointing north, meaning I can’t take out the vinyl without first slipping the entire inner sleeve out of the record cover. By this point I’m giving the stink eye to the poor clerk at the cash register, and she probably has nothing to do with this madness!

4)      Once the record is freed from this insanity, I hold it between my hands and tilt it from side to side. And wouldn’t you know it? This particular copy of Working Class Dog by Rick Springfield is marked up beyond any reasonable collector’s threshold, and by this point I’m fuming, because…

5)      I now have to reverse the process to put the album back the way I found it!

I certainly wasn’t going to go through this procedure again and again. I walked out empty-handed and spent my money elsewhere.

I’ve been told by my friend and podcast partner Chris that if a store is going to use resealable sleeves, an accurate grade of the record should be marked on a sticker so that the buyer knows what he or she is getting. But even then I’m skeptical, because I want to see what I’m buying, and not every grading system is consistent.

Sure, if you own a record store and have a mint copy of Prince’s Black Album, go ahead – put it inside a resealable sleeve. In fact, put it in a safe and just display a photo of the record for interested parties! But for most merchandise in the $10 to $250 range, please do us all a favor and stick to the protocols that make record-buying a joyful experience.

A New Song: Happy Ending

Rather than embark on another huge project this year, I’ve decided to record two new songs, fine-tune two old songs, and put them out as two releases – a single and a 3-song EP. First up is the single, Happy Ending, a blistering four-minute tirade that was written last year and primarily recorded from December 2024 through February of this year.

Unlike my several last recordings, I decided to use a drum softsynth rather than the real thing, just as I did with my earliest recordings. More and more I’ve been finding that mixing songs with live drums – especially when engineers set up twelve or more mics to capture the sound – to be a frustrating, mind-numbing process, forcing me to use samples to avoid the inevitable bleeding that occurs when dealing with so many tracks. Great mixing engineers may be able to manage all of this just fine, but I can not. My best experience mixing live drums was with my 2021 album, The Human Form Divine, when I insisted that the engineer set up as few mics as possible, mimicking the Glyn Johns technique that he used on so many great-sounding albums. This method worked great for me, and to date, Human Form is one of my best-sounding efforts.

To purchase a drum softsynth, I called up good old Ben from Sweetwater last summer and asked him to recommend one that was easy to use. He suggested EZ Drummer 3, and while there were certainly a few quirks to be overcome, ultimately I was satisfied with how the process went. As always, I eschewed any prerecorded MIDI performances and instead recorded my own part, spending hours on velocity adjustments, fills, flams and ghost notes. My son Sam offered some great feedback in this regard, directing me to the most human-sounding performance.

So, is the drum part I came up with better than a really good drummer playing live? Nope! But the mixing process was so effortless in comparison with my last project that it was worth the modest drop-off, particularly for a song that was really all about the energy rather than virtuosic performances.

Once I laid down the bass, vocal and scratch piano tracks, I asked local guitarist Brandon Schreiner if he’d be willing to help out. Brandon and I have played a few dozen times together over the years, mostly in a friend’s basement, but he has chops and musical instincts that I'd rate with the best of them (he also played on three tracks from last year’s release, Pop and Circumstance). I was elated when he agreed to play some tracks for the tune. For the guitar solo, I hummed for him an idea of how I wanted it to go, and he patiently laid down a few dozen takes before finding just the right combination. Wonderful!

I then added a bit of guitar myself, recorded piano, Wurlitzer and double vocals, and began mixing. I loved having only one tune to focus on this time around instead of a full-length album. To help with the mix, I asked a few friends to give a listen, including Sam, Brandon, Anthony Calderisi and Phil Sumida. Phil in particular offered a few hints that took the song from sounding okay to sounding really good. As always, I employed Collin Jordan of Chicago’s Boiler Room to master the project, and the results are terrific.

So step one of my 2025 recordings is complete! I hope to have my three-song EP, Esteemed Progeny, completed by the end of the summer, and I’ll then embark on a huge project that will take a couple of years to complete. At least that’s the plan for now.