A Brit of All Right

If you date a Brit-pop fan, and have zero idea what to get them for the holidays, here ya go, the gift that keeps on giving. A bloody brill 4CD box set from those cheeky blokes at Rhino Records. Retails for around $52. The evolution of the Brit-pop movement (at least from '84 to '99), well worth the cash.

Box set: The Brit Box (Rhino)
In stores: Now
Why we care: We here at Pop Life have a strong desire to be British. And this 4CD set, subtitled UK Indie, Shoegaze and Brit-Pop Gems of the Last Millennium, only enhances our Anglophilic daydreams. Spanning from the early '80s to the late '90s, from the Cure, the Primitives and Primal Scream to Suede, Supergrass (click for a video) and Super Furry Animals, it's a must for anyone who craves jangly, gauzy, randy heart-sleevers.
Why we like it: We've always liked such '90s acts as James, Blur and Pulp (and Oasis, the Verve and Placebo) -- all of whom appear on this box set -- so it’s a thrill to discover such early '80s Brit-pop progenitors as the Primitives, the Pale Saints and the Charlatans UK (click here for video). Cool points go to Rhino for the blinky red-phone-booth design. (There's an on/off switch on the back of the box.)
Reminds us of: "There she goes, there she goes again, racing through my brain..."
Download these: April Skies (The Jesus and Mary Chain), Sight of You (Pale Saints), There She Goes (the La's), Here's Where the Story End (the Sundays)
Grade: A

LIVE NUDE DALY!

Think I suck in the newspaper? Just wait 'til you see me on TV!

I was on Tampa Bay's Fox 13 yesterday, pimping my Christmas CDs roundup. Thankfully, that blue shirt is so slimming. Wow. I'm fat.

Click here for the LINK.

Squirrels on crack are LESS hyper than I am. Enjoy!

BLOG BATTLE! The Boss vs. Bon Jovi!

The Turnpike Takedown!

The Meadowlands Massacre!

The Garden State Grudge Match!

So the other day, my Arby's-scarfing '80s associate Steve Spears bellies up to my desk, points a hairy-knuckle in my maw and says: "Bon Jovi could kick Springsteen's faux-populist, saggy-Levis, prez-bashing butt! Bon Jovi is the true Garden State icon!" If I weren't in horrifically bloated shape, I would have vaulted gymnastically from my swirly seat, grabbed that sweaty blowhard by the lapels of his painfully snug Journey shirt and rebutted with fervor, froth and ferocity.

But alas, Steve and I get winded easily. So we've decided to settle Bruce vs. Bon Jovi in an old-fashioned Blog Battle. (Both acts are hitting Tampa Bay next spring. I'll be at both shows. Spears, on the other hand, will be home watching Meatballs 4 and crying himself to sleep.) Spears hates Springsteen, thinks he's a pinko phony with more money than sense. Me? I don't mind Bon Jovi at all. But I can't just sit here and take this crap about Bruce. After all, playin' blindman's bluff is a little baby's game. So if I must, I'm gonna go out and make that baby run. Or, um, something like that.

FOUR REASONS WHY SPRINGSTEEN IS THE ULTIMATE BLUE-COLLAR BARD
1. I could pull out the big guns, and talk about how I witnessed Bruce Springsteen buoy the spirits of 40,000 post-Katrina New Orleanians. And I could add that I've never seen a crowd of people -- tears streaming down their faces, hands in the air in swaying communal prayer -- respond to a performer with such a hungry, visceral voice. And I could conclude by mentioning the Crescent City woman who saw me and my reporter's notebook and grabbed my shoulders and sobbed, "Do you know what this means to us? Do you know what this means to our city?" But that would be unfair. Especially since I saw Bon Jovi in concert once, and the most memorable moment was the girl barfing in front of me.

2. So I'm walking around the neighborhood, cranking my iPod, which is on SHUFFLE mode. I'm pissed off about everything in my life being broken, when all of a sudden, I get two Bruce songs in a row. Weird, right? How often does that happen on shuffle? The songs are -- get this -- I'm Goin' Down and Pay Me My Money Down. That second number, which turns into a rowdy Basin Street stomp, manages to put a darkly comic spin on my financial woes. And for that, I was thankful. But still kinda pissed.

3. Jon Bon Jovi is a good-looking dude. There, I said it. It's out there. A great deal of Jon's appeal is that he could bed any man or woman in the Tri-State area. Sure, he can write a hook and growl a chorus and pretend to play a guitar. But it all starts with his looks -- which makes sense seeing as how he started in the '80s. Right hair, right time. As for Springsteen, well, he ain't exactly Clooney. In fact, he's starting to morph into Dylan, the rock version of growing hair in your ears. Bruce has had to conquer the world on sheer talent and mystique alone. Give him the awesome power of feathered locks and a cute face, and Springsteen would have knocked GW off the $1 bill.

So there, that oughta do it. Spears is no doubt slobbering about Bon Jovi over on his site. You can read all that claptrap right here. Not that it's gonna matter. Springsteen vs. Bon Jovi. I think we all know how this is gonna end.

Chuck's Still Fighting

You gotta love Chuck D, a true original and a genuine badass. Even when he's wrong, you nod your head and throw up a fist. Chuck took part in a hip-hop summit at the University of South Florida last night: "Perspectives of Hip Hop in Today's Society," a rather wonky title for a decidedly hot-button event. I'm not that crazy about the story I filed on deadline -- it's pretty stiff -- but I've provided it below nonetheless. There's definitely more to be said about hip-hop perpetuating the very stereotypes it claims it hates.

Anyway, at the very least, I can clarify here what Chuck D said about Viacom media mogul Sumner Redstone, puppetmaster of MTV and BET: "I wanna whup that cracker's ass!" Again, god bless Chuck D.

TAMPA — Listening to rapper Chuck D's persuasive state of the union smackdown at the University of South Florida on Tuesday, you could envision the incendiary mouthpiece of Public Enemy debating head to head with our presidential hopefuls.

Forget about YouTube. The sucker would be better suited as a boxing match on ESPN.

Taking part in a passionate panel discussion called "Perspectives of Hip Hop in Today’s Society," sponsored by the school’s University Lecture Series, the musician took aim not just at the consumers who gobble up misogynistic, racially demeaning rap music, but also the executives and powers-that-be who sell the party-centric songs with little care for the negative message.

Chuck's pull-no-punches hit list included octogenarian media mogul Sumner Redstone — chairman of Viacom, owner of MTV and BET — whom D offered to, ahem, teach a few things in a most unpleasant manner. Speak loudly and threaten to beat someone's a-- — that's the Chuck D way.

“Young people have been tricked by older people,” said the famously in-your-face musician, whose body of work in the ’80s stressed pro-unity in the African-American community rather than pro-booty, pro-bling, pro-I gotta get mine, who cares about yours.
The money men driving the hip-hop machine are "not family." They don’t care about anything but the bottom line. And if we keep buying harmful music, why would executives stop selling it?

“You have to be accountable,” D urged in his booming voice. “When you don’t stand up for something, you don’t stand for anything.”

Questions for Dee Snider?

WHERE ARE MY TWISTED SISTER FANS AT?

I'm working on a story about the curious business of Christmas CDs -- 65 years after Bing daydreamed himself a White Christmas, 2007 could be a booming banner year for holiday CD sales.

Last year, Dee Snider and his hair-metal mates made a stir when they released A Twisted Christmas, which I appreciated for its sheer perversity. That sucker rocks Frosty's face off. The metal-Christmas movement is booming.

Anyway, I managed to score an interview with Dee. (It took more wrangling than you'd think.) I have some Christmas questions, but I thought a few fans might like to hit him up with other queries.

Lemme know if you're dying to ask Dee a question...

A Very Angus Christmas

Looking for a reason to throw a Christmas shindig? But can't figure out how to entertain both Grandma with the blue hair and Cousin Greg with the nipple clamps and cellblock 'tude? Have I got a solution for you...

Courtesy of Santa Claws and the Naughty but Nice Orchestra, here's the new and devilishly inspired Hell’s Bells of Christmas: The Holiday Tribute to AC/DC (on the Christmas Rock label).

A Lawrence Welkian ensemble better suited for elevator output puts jingle-jangle spin on such wicked hits as Back in Black, Thunderstruck and that tender yuletide fave, Whole Lotta Rosie. (And yes, they provide a Mistress for Christmas.) Chimes, flutes, xylophones and bells, bells, bells turn the wild 'n' whiskey-eyed Aussie icons into cheeky family fare.

Fun for a few laughs...and a few shots of eggnog. CLICK HERE to sample some clips. (There's also a Green Day version if that's more your bag.)

I'm a close personal friend of Brian Johnson, and I bet the Sarasota resident gets a kick out of this.

Get Your Bruce Tix This Saturday

I'm mainly posting this to mess with all the rabid Springsteen fans in the office who asked me not to make too big of a deal that...

SPRINGSTEEN TICKETS GO ON SALE THIS SATURDAY (12/1) FOR HIS APRIL 21 SHOW AT THE ST. PETE TIMES FORUM!!!!

Prices are $67.75 and $97.75, service charges not included. (That's high, but not Police or Rolling Stones high. And lord knows Bruce could get more, especially if this is his last go-round with the E Street Band.)

Tickets go on sale at 10 a.m. at the St. Pete Times Forum Box Office and through Ticketmaster outlets, ticketmaster.com and phone (813) 287-8844 and (727) 898-2100.

I'm setting the over/under for total sellout at 5 minutes.

My advice? If you REEEAALLY want those tickets, go to the St. Pete Times Forum Box Office in person. That's your best bet. I doubt they'll turn anybody away.

WANTED: Songs About Girls

Good Golly, Miss Molly.

Mary Mary. Sweet Jane.

I'm desperately seeking the greatest rock 'n' roll girl names.

Suite: Judy Blue Eyes.

Black Betty. Beth.

These songs have to be name specific -- although all sorts of women are invited to the party: good ones, bad ones, ones that will break your heart and steal your wallet (my personal faves).

Maggie's Farm. Angie. Darling Nikki.

So now, if you will, please unload all the lovely ladies from your iPods. I'm setting our number at 100 names. (Tonianne, you should be good for at least 30.)

All I Want for Christmas

I wrote this gadget guide for today's Business section. You might want to talk to Santa about these...

Apple iPod Touch
I have an iPod. In fact, I have two iPods. But alas, Apple is my opiate, so I crave the new iPod Touch, which touts the same multitouch screen technology as the iPhone. On that 3.5-inch widescreen display (much bigger than normal iPods), I'll finally be able to appreciate the subtle complexities of a Rihanna video. Although the memory space for songs, movies and photos is smaller than regular iPods, the iPod Touch ups the ooh factor with Wi-Fi capabilities. Memory ranges from eight to 16 gigabytes. Prices start at $299.

Hammacher Schlemmer LP-to-MP3 Converter
$189.95 This belt-driven turntable doesn't just spin your vinyl albums -- it plugs into your computer and converts that gloriously warm sound of all your old faves to MP3s. I'm a total vinyl junkie, and the thought of connecting the testosterone-jacked classic rock of my past to the player of the my present (preferably an iPod Touch) is pure heaven. And heaven, my friends, will only cost you $189.95.

Bose QuietComfort 3 Acoustic Noise Canceling Headphones
$349 Why do I have the best job? Because when I sit in my cubicle and rock out with my headphones on, I'm actually working. Suckers! When it comes to headphones, Bose is tough to beat. I tried an earlier version of the QuietComfort 'phones on a roaring jet, and the only thing I could hear was the sweet sound of David Lee Roth howling Hot for Teacher. Engines, flight attendants, that guy in the middle seat -- all were blocked out. If you're looking to shut out the world (or at least your coworkers), they're worth every penny.

NEW MUSIC: Nicole Atkins

Nicole Atkins
Album: Neptune City (Columbia)
In stores: Now

Why we care: This 28-year-old NYC act has described her sound as "a girl group in a David Lynch movie." Weird, but true. There’s a heartache darkness to her songs, as well as a Spectorian grandeur and swooping string parts. The song Maybe Tonight is a marvel of shimmering pop kookiness.

(CLICK HERE to LISTEN to Maybe Tonight. You won't be sorry.)

Why we like it: David Lynch never cared about making hits, but Atkins is a showboat at heart. With a voice not unlike Stevie Nicks’ Wiccan come-on, she builds her songs from the handclaps up. And although she likes to play it cool, she can’t resist the occasional disco beat and vocal flurry.
Reminds us of: If Fleetwood Mac and ABBA started dating.
Download these: Maybe Tonight and Together We’re Both Alone
Grade: B+

I Can't Handle the Tooth

Here's a response to my Hannah Montana review...from an angry dentist! (The picture to the left is not the letter writer, but merely a dental technician with a sense of humor.)

In response to Sean Daly's November 20th review of the recent Hannah Montana concert, I was appalled at his description of the thousands of shrieking girls. In his column, he uses the analogy of "1,000-dental-drills-excavating-your-brain sort of noise" to describe the noise emanating from the crowd. As a practicing general dentist for 11 years, I have spent countless hours with apprehensive patients trying to alleviate fears they have with treatment, and to have Mr. Daly use this analogy doesn't help my cause. How would this description affect a teenager and their perception of dental treatment? By reading his column, the negative imagery towards our dental profession is reinforced, which is the complete opposite of what I try to do on a daily basis.

Dentistry is an honorable profession and with the technological advances in recent years, we can only hope that public opinion will shift, which I think is has. But when I read ridiculous dental references like Mr. Daly wrote, it makes our job of promoting a positive image that much more difficult.

I Call 'Em the Scorps

IT'S PODCAST TIME, BOYS AND GIRLS! This one is a Steve Spears spectacular, as my girthy Stuck in the '80s compadre interviews Klaus Meine, lead singer of towering Teutonic talents the Scorpions. I show up every now and then and provide even less content than usual. In fact, I recall being a bit of a wanker. Oh well. As usual, you can find the podcast link on the right side of this page. You don't need an iPod to hear it; you can simply fire it up on the old Tandy 2000. HOWEVER, I can think of nothing more romantic than strapping on your headphones and taking a brisk Thanksgiving walk with me in your ear. I'm swell company, and I'll totally let you get to second base. Oh, who am I kidding? Slide on home, slugger.

Hannah Mail

Not a ton of next-day bashing over my Hannah Montana review, which ran in Tuesday's St. Petersburg Times. (Read the story here. Snapshot courtesy of Ross Mantle.)

There were the usual you-suck callers ("Well, well, well, Sean Daly, finally a concert that fits your musical tastes") and some Mommies bemoaning the inescapable merch tent.

But really, the only memorable response was this unedited missive regarding my fondness for buttocks. Enjoy.

I paid $125 for my tickets on ebay for my 6 year old grandaughter and I. My ears were not stuffed with tissue, and I had the best time I have ever experienced at a concert. My grandaughter was thrilled and so happy to see Hanna and Miley. Your reveiw showed cash cow more then the importance of how this is a nice clean venue for the children. Disney has created something nice wholesome and clean for our children. Maybe you enjoy the harsh vulger language of rap for the children which is an obsene cash cow. Or perhaps you like the pants around the knees with the butt cheeks showing.

Disney has created a wonderful opportunity for our children to enjoy there childhood and not be taught about gang bangers.

I hope you write another reveiw with a different perspective.

Springsteen Announces Tampa Date

April 21 -- St. Pete Times Forum -- The Boss Is Back

Just got word from Shore Fire Media, Springsteen's PR reps. This is the next leg of his tour supporting new album Magic. (You can read my review of that here.)

Tickets go on sale Dec. 1. No other specifics were released.

Other "local" dates include:

April 18 Ft Lauderdale -- Bank Atlantic Center
April 19 Orlando -- Amway Arena
April 21 Tampa -- St. Pete Times Forum
April 25 Atlanta -- Philips Arena
April 27 Charlotte -- Charlotte Bobcat Arena
April 28 Greensboro -- Greensboro Coliseum

The Turkey Is Hell Playlist

We're going to get through this Thanksgiving together, okay?

With the right combination of humor, music and box wine, we can conquer Thursday's assault of nitpicking moms, braggart cousins and an Aunt Minnie who won’t stop belching.

Maybe you’re still seated at the kids' table? Maybe you’ve put on a few extra pounds since the last time you leg-wrestled Uncle Frank? Maybe you’re a materfamilias who hates her familias? Don’t sweat it. I’ve got you covered. With all lineal trauma in mind, I've whipped together 25 key songs (plus crucial annotations) to keep you charging through the giblet gantlet.

So load your iPods, steel your nerves and let’s commence with The Turkey Is Hell Playlist:

1.) Take the Long Way Home, Supertramp
2.) We’re a Happy Family, the Ramones
3.) Everything’s Just Wonderful, Lily Allen

Okay, you’ve walked through the front door and successfully pretended that you’re happy to see everyone. Nice work. So far, so good. It’s a deceptive calm before the storm, but calm nonetheless.

But alas, right around the time the hors d'oeuvres are served, the gin is cracked and mommy pops herself a pill — 4.) Mother’s Little Helper, the Rolling Stones — that’s when it starts, a cross-generational brouhaha about Bush, religion and that time at the Grand Canyon when your brother accidentally “dropped” your Barbie off the North Rim:

5.) Bring the Noise, Public Enemy
6.) You Talk Too Much, Run-DMC
7.) Shout, Tears for Fears
8.) Somebody’s Crying, Chris Isaak
9.) I Hate Myself for Loving You, Joan Jett

Compounding the tension is that, after a day in the oven, the 37-pound Butterball still looks raw but the smoke detector has gone off eight times already:

10.) Cold Turkey, John Lennon
11.) Burning Down the House, Talking Heads

By the time you finally sit down to eat — 12.) Amen, Kid Rock — your passive-aggressive sister has said you drink too much, your fiancee is thinking of dumping you and Grandpa’s rambling blessing has turned into an awkward speech about his prostate:

13.) I Drink Alone, George Thorogood
14.) Breaking Up Is Hard to Do, Neil Sedaka
15.) Too Much Information, Duran Duran

Before the sweet potatoes even make their way around, half the table is sobbing . . .

16.) November Rain, Guns N’ Roses

. . . the other half is gorging . . .

17.) Don’t Stop ’Til You Get Enough, Michael Jackson

. . . all except for Grandpa, who wandered off and is now snoring in front of the Cowboys game

18.) Sleeping With the Television On, Billy Joel

The next hour is going to be brutal. But rest assured that dessert has fantastic healing powers. (Well, except for Crazy Aunt Pat’s ambrosia, which contains more cat hair than marshmallows.) So chomp a gooey piece of pecan pie and start patching up the wounds.

19.) Stop Your Sobbing, the Pretenders
20.) No More Drama, Mary J. Blige
21.) We Can Work It Out, the Beatles

See? A happy ending! Okay, maybe that’s a stretch. But hey, at the least no one was stabbed this time. So now it’s time to escape, to return to the safety of your relatively normal existence.

22.) I Made It Through the Rain, Barry Manilow

So you get in the car, the train, the straitjacket. You close your eyes and try to let it all slip away.

23.) Goodbye to You, Scandal
24.) Don’t Go Away Mad (Just Go Away), Motley Crue

And yet, lurking in the back of your tired brain is the looming threat of future familial distress. And that’s when it hits you. Yep, better get started on the next playlist, boys and girls, ’cause . . .

25.) I’ll Be Home for Christmas, Bing Crosby

The scene outside: Hannahmania

Mariette Narvaez, 8, poses for a picture next to Hannah Montana as her dad Flavio takes her picture.  They are both from Orlando. (James Borchuck | Times)

6:30 p.m., OUTSIDE THE ST. PETE TIMES FORUM

It's mayhem, mayhem.

Driving here took twice as long. Tampa is choked with cars.

There are about 17,000 girls and their moms here, all in Hannah Montana outfits.

It's ear-bleedingly loud. It's Beatlemania. I'm expecting full-on tinnitus later tonight.

There are tons of media helicopters in the sky. Gotta be more than for the O.J. Bronco chase.

They're giving away front-row seats.

All that said, with such a young crowd, I've never seen the Bacardi tent so empty.

A Few Warnings for Tonight's Big Show

I know the majority of you don't care about Hannah Montana or Miley Cyrus or Billy Ray Cyrus or anyone with a mullet. HOWEVER, I feel it's necessary to issue a warning to those parents and young people who are attending tonight's sold-out Hannah Extravaganza at the St. Pete Times Forum in Tampa.

Because here's the deal: I really don't feel like coming to work tomorrow morning and answering myriad phone calls and emails from angry parents because...

(1) You paid $3,000 for the hottest concert ticket of the year and couldn't hear anything. This should not surprise anyone. Eight-year-old girls spend their entire day shrieking. Why would they stop when cheering for their patron saint? Expect the sonic equivalent of 1000 dental drills. Don't expect the aural clarity of a Steely Dan show.

(2) You paid $1,000 for tickets but the kids in front of you wouldn't sit down, thus blocking the view of your crying child, who is only 3-foot-8. Don't expect anyone to sit on their hands and watch politely. All hell is going to break loose. Prepare for it. Bring a phonebook for your kid to sit on.

(3) You paid $2,000 for upper-deck tickets and could barely see anything. It's the upper-deck. It stinks. Just be happy your kid got in the building. Two million fans would gladly change places with you.

(4) I'm a music critic. I get paid to be snarky. I'll be reviewing the show tonight. When I joke about Miley sounding like a drag queen in tomorrow's paper, I'm just having a little fun. I like Miley. Really.

(5) I'm guessing T-shirts are going to cost approximately $578. I could be wrong...but probably not. Either take out a loan for merch or warn the tykes early that they ain't getting bupkus.

(6) The show is scheduled to end at 9:20. Parking and traffic will be a nightmare. You probably won't get home until 11:00. Consider yourself warned.

Other than that, HAVE FUN!

American Music Awards

The only reason I knew the American Music Awards were on Sunday night is because I got bored with the Patriots-Bills blowout. And the only reason I'm blogging about this JOKE of an awards shows now is because someone will inevitably ask me about the Dick Clark-produced ridiculousness and wonder why I didn't write a story about it.

The AMAs are first and foremost a shameless plug for ABC shows -- seriously, where else is Blair Underwood going to get any semblance of love? No one wants to be there, including host Jimmy Kimmel. The "fan-based" voting is suspect. And the phoned-in performances suck, especially that duet between Beyonce and Sugarland on "Irreplaceable." Wow, what a mess.

From what I could tell, the best things about the show were Rihanna's form-fitting dress and the gratuitous shots of the incandescent (and totally legal!) Ashley Tisdale.

As for the big winners, well, Daughtry hasn't seen this much love since Paula Abdul drooled on his wallet chain. And the producers tried to make a plotline out of Beyonce vs. Fergie vs. Carrie Underwood, all of whom won something or other. But really now, who cares? (BTW, Pats won 56-10!)

NEW MUSIC: Alice Smith

I'm predicting great things for Alice Smith. And while my predictions usually aren't worth a crap, this time it's money in the bank.

Still in her 20s, Alice Smith is a soul singer...and a rock star...and a jazz fan. Raised in Georgia and Washington, D.C., her musical education included James Brown, Wham! and Tchaikovsky. Sounds crazy? Well, she also sounds sublime.

On her rookie album For Lovers, Dreamers & Me, a title that's far more benign than she is, Smith unleashes a four-octave voice that can croon pop or blues or art-rock (or a blue streak, so cover your ears, kids). She’ll mix ’70s funk horns, acoustic strums and bellowing organs -- and make it sound as natural as her talent. Think Sly Stone fronting Queen -- or maybe Norah Jones on peyote buttons.

To hear Alice Smith, CLICK HERE. On iTunes, listen to Woodstock and Gary's Song.

The BROKEN Playlist

Ever have one of those weeks when all your stuff breaks down at the same time? It might be a watch, then a hip, then a relationship.

I'm having a helluva stretch lately. I went to make a call the other day, and my cellphone was missing its antenna. One of my TVs, a 32-incher, just blew a speaker. My car, the babe-magnet MAZD (the "A" is somewhere in Maryland), is making a death-rattle noise. My headphones just broke. My ATM card might as well be cracked, 'cause there ain't nothin' coming out of my bank account anyway.

Oh, and my daughter's sleepytime light-up turtle just broke, too. Maybe that's why she's sleeping so poorly. This morning she woke up so early, there were still dirty movies on cable. Instead of Spongebob, my kid got a peek of Bikini Girls From the Lost Planet.

Anyway, I figured some of you could relate. As Bob Dylan once said, "Everything is broken." So let's do this: THE BROKEN PLAYLIST. We're not gonna stop until we have 100 solid songs to get us through these no-good, cash-strapped, get-the-glue-gun brokedown days.


Breakdown -- Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers
Flat Broke and Busted -- Keb' Mo'
Wrecking Ball -- King Wilkie
All Hell Breaks Loose -- the Misfits
Crashing Down -- Mat Kearney
Fall to Pieces -- Velvet Revolver
Breaking Hearts (Ain't What It Used to Be) -- Elton John
Fix You -- Coldplay
Breakin' Dishes -- Rihanna
Break Me Gently -- Doves
Disorder in the House -- Warren Zevon

My New Celebrity Crush

Anybody else watching the new show Pushing Daisies (Wed nights, ABC)?  It's a hyperstylized, purple-prosey comedy about a piemaker who can raise the dead. It's part whodunit, part romance, part Coen Brothers. In fact, director Barry Sonnenfeld, executive producer of the quirkcentric show, was once the Coen Bros. cinematographer.

But enough about that. The best thing about Pushing Daisies is this little lady (and I do mean little) to the left, Kristin Chenoweth. She's my new celebrity obsession. You're off the hook Ashley Tisdale! (The Forever Fiancee is totally cool with my new crush -- she's fairly certain I don't have a shot.) Chenoweth plays Olive Snook, the piemaker's "tenacious sprite" assistant who's known to break into Hopelessly Devoted to You at a moment's notice.

The theater geeks around here say Chenoweth previously starred in Broadway smash Wicked. She's also a raging conservative who once dated Aaron Sorkin, which kinda kills my buzz a bit. But she's also fond of displaying her cleavage, which usually restores my buzz. (Here's her official site.)

Anyway, she totally does it for me. I'm wicked smitten. Now that Curb Your Enthusiasm is done for another season, Pushing Daisies is my only "appointment" television, mainly because of my gal. So I thought I dedicate a few songs to this incandescent blond pixie with the naughty streak.

Blondes (Have More Fun) -- Rod Stewart
Little Sister -- Elvis Presley
Cause I'm a Blonde -- Information Society
Short People -- Randy Newman
Suicide Blonde -- INXS
Daisy Jane -- America
Cherry Pie -- Warrant

Lovin' the Hives

Finally, a great, grooving, below-the-belt rock album.

With all apologies to the White Stripes and BRMC, I’ve been waiting all year for a straight-up, chest-out, pound-the-wheel disc like this. Something fun for fun's sake. Man, have Sweden’s Hives delivered with The Black and White Album.

Over 14 whiplash garage-rocking tracks, the nattily matched rowdies swing like the Stones on speed and name-check themselves more than Bo Diddley. All they wanna do is rock your a-- off. They've been around for a few years, but this is by far their best.

His Royal Highness Howlin’ Pelle Almqvist is frontman-as-con man, an arrogant persona with a hellbent howl and a Lothario grin.

If the Hives hammed up their "royal highness" schtick any more, they’d be a novelty band. But everything is written by the group's mysterious sixth member, “Randy Fitzsimmons,” and whoever he is (wink wink), the dude can pen one helluva rock tune.

TO LISTEN TO THE MOST EXCELLENT TICK TICK BOOM, CLICK HERE.

PODCAST TIME! Genesis "Invisible Touch"

Ah yes, that glorious sausage-hang known as the Stuck in the '80s podcast has produced another masterpiece. This week we're giving up the love for 1986 Genesis album Invisible Touch. We gush aplenty about Phil Collins, Mike Rutherford and Tony Banks -- but also debate whether this was the last time the Brit boys were any good. There'll be plenty of music: Anything She Does, Throwing It All Away, Land of Confusion. Plus as a bonus, Steve Spears will tell a devastating story about the love of his life leaving him for another dude. Or something like that. I wasn't really listening. But make sure you do.

As always, you'll find the link to the Genesis podcast (and dozens more) on the right side of this page. You can simply push a button and listen on your work computer -- or you can go to iTunes and download it that way. Either way, have fun and drink responsibly!

Alicia Keys' "As I Am"

Alicia Keys, As I Am (J Records) GRADE: A-

Prodigious R&B star Alicia Keys opens her new album with a baroque piano flurry, a fastest-fingers contest blending classical pomp with funky stomp. The album and the instrumental are both called As I Am, which turns out to be both a mission statement and a stubborn promise. Although she’s pretty enough to be a pinup and clever enough to chart with easy-bake hits, the only game she’s playing is her own.

So what we have here is another solid, safe, at times spectacular Alicia Keys album, one she describes rather boastfully as "Janis Joplin meets Aretha Franklin." The ballads (both the breakups and the back-togethers) burn with that seamless soul-kissed voice, the upbeat tracks get a good grind going and the go-girl messages are in all the right places. It’s a fine album, one of the year’s most pleasing, and it’s going bag Grammys and sell in bunches.

So why am I still a little disappointed with As I Am, her first studio disc since 2003’s The Diary of Alicia Keys?

Unfair expectations, no doubt. The 26-year-old is the rare modern pop star who’s better in concert than she is on album. She’s capable of playing anything, singing anything, a consummate go-go-go showwoman in a curvy 5-foot-5 frame. In a live setting, everything is given extra oomph, piano-playing as a contact sport. Ask anyone who’s been lucky enough to get a ticket to her show, and they’ll rave in agreement. In this day and age of one-and-done pop stars, Keys is someone will be cheering for 20 years down the road.

Ever since I saw her on a double-bill with John Legend— and then met Keys face-to-face at the MTV VMAs in Miami, where I was rendered mute and drooly — I’ve been a major Keys fan. Album after album, show after show, she keeps getting better. So I honestly expected As I Am to be her masterpiece, her Songs in the Key of Life, her Dusty in Memphis. It was the one album I had circled on my calendar at the beginning of the year. Is that fair? Maybe not. But it’s the truth.

Celine Is Coming...Uh, Eventually

Celine Dion is coming to Tampa!!!

In 2009.

Well, at least she gave us time to plan.

The umpteen-octave, chest-pounding belter released her "Taking Chances World Tour" itinerary today. And Tampa's St. Pete Times Forum is the second-to-last stop: Jan. 28, 2009.

Say what you will about her. But after that epic run in Vegas, she could have retired. Instead, she's displaying the work ethic of Wayne Newton. I'm impressed. (But I still don't like her much.)

Tickets go on sale Monday, Nov. 19 at 10a.m. at the MCDONALD’S BOX OFFICE at the St. Pete Times Forum and all Ticketmaster Outlets. To order tickets by phone, call Ticketmaster at 813.287.8844 or 727.898.2100.

Tickets are priced at $46.75, $77.75, $112.75 and $152.75.

Those are high, but not as crazy as I expected.

In celebration of this momentous event, here are The Only Celine Dion Songs That Don't Make Me Queasy:

3. It's All Coming Back to Me Now
2. If You Asked Me To
1. If I Can Dream (duet with Elvis)

Duran Duran's "Red Carpet Massacre"

Duran Duran, Red Carpet Massacre (Epic) GRADE: B-

Duran Duran's Red Carpet Massacre is a dirty, sexy party album about the evils of dirty, sexy parties. It's a concept disc about vanity, greed and shilling souls recorded by Brit dandies whose oeuvre is built on how rich and pretty they are.

Simon, Nick, Roger and John thumb their noses at the shallow allure of modern celebrity — and then hire Justin Timberlake and producer Timbaland to make sure it’ll burn up the vainglorious neon of the Sunset Strip.

D-Squared want to have their cake and eat it with those girls on film, too. They’re all proud, preaching fathers now; they’re also devastatingly studly rock stars who crave one last taste of MTV. Talk about a tough tightrope walk. Sometimes, when Timbaland or Timberlake or newcomer Nate “Danja” Hills is hammering out the hard hip-hop grooves — as on the grating monotony of Nite-Runner or the awkward title track— the band sounds removed, lost, as if it wandered into the wrong studio. Guitarist Andy Taylor, the band’s resident rocker, reportedly left his mates due to the new direction. What with all the programmed beats, you wonder why drummer Roger Taylor didn’t split, too.

But if Red Carpet Massacre isn't DD's best album, it’s still one of their most interesting. A big reason for that is singer Simon LeBon. His rich, slightly nasally New Romantic pleading has never sounded better — or as comfy. It’s not just the range of his voice but its time-travel ability to link where we are with where we’ve been. On such a schizophrenic album, LeBon knows exactly who he wants to be, and bless him for that.

Better Dry-Clean My Dr. Seuss Hat

You may think you know zip, nada, zilch about hipster DJs and Ibizan sex parties and throbbing trance music, but you’re actually cooler than you think. Take, for instance, British turntablist-producer Paul Oakenfold, who's bringing his beats to St. Pete this Friday. Turns out you know his music well. Remember that strangely addictive Diet Coke commercial with the blond roller-skating hottie? The song playing was Oakenfold’s Starry Eyed Surprise: "Oh my, starry eyed surprise, sundown to sunrise / I dance all night / We’re gonna dance all night, dance all night to this DJ." You can watch the commercial HERE.

I'm thinking of going to the Oakenfold show -- not to write, just to stand in the corner, nod my head and gawk creepily onto the dance floor. Maybe I'll bring Steve Spears with me. That oughta be a sight. Touring behind his new Greatest Hits & Remixes, Oakenfold -- who prefers booming psych-job remixes to Mark Ronson's vintage horns or Moby's soul samples -- will be reworking hits by such pals as Justin Timberlake, Madonna and U2. Showtime says 10 p.m., but you can safely assume that sucker isn’t going to heat up until beyond the witching hour.

By the way, Q magazine lists Oakenfold as one of the "50 Bands to See Before You Die."

Paul Oakenfold performs after 10 p.m. Friday at State Theatre, 687 Central Ave., St. Petersburg. $33-$38. (727) 895-3045; www.statetheatreconcerts.com.

Pete Doherty: Dumb but Talented

Turns out that Brit dumbass Pete Doherty is more than just Kate Moss's tragic enabler. With his shaggy band Babyshambles, whose new album is the rollicking riot Shotter's Nation (Astralwerks), the junkie extraordinaire (and former Libertine) is a reasonably agreeable rocker when he’s not making homemade vids of he and his gal pal hoovering mountains of blow.

Borrowing from the Clash, the Arctic Monkeys and whatever he finds down in the gutter, Doherty makes like an amiable barfly poet trying to get through his next fistfight or romance. The guitars and drums fumble and rumble with a pugilistic grace as a snarly Doherty rages and relents. Not revolutionary, but fun all the same.

The emaciated ghost of Moss (anybody think she's hot?) is a genuine presence, giving the disc a Romeo-and-Juliet-in-rehab vibe. If you're curious, you can listen to new song You Talk right here.

Who Needs Hannah Montana Tix?

Calling all desperate parents...

On Monday (11/12) at noon, the St. Pete Times Forum will release a limited number of additional tickets for the 11/19 "Best of Both Worlds Tour" with Hannah Montana and Miley Cyrus.

You can charge by phone (813-287-8844 or 727-898-2100) or online at ticketmaster.com. Tickets ARE NOT available at the box office, perhaps so mommies and daddies can't beat the snot out of each other trying to please their children.

There is a 4-ticket limit per person. No word on ticket prices, however, original prices were $28.75 to $68.75, not including service charges.

The Tampa show initially sold out in mere minutes. Ticket brokers have been receiving as much as $4,000-plus for front-row seats. I never thought I'd say this, but it's good to be Billy Ray Cyrus.

Assemble This! The I Hate Ikea Playlist

The nicest thing I can say about Ikea, the Swedish labyrinth of DIY bookshelves, dizzying umlauts and inessential suburban foofaraw, is this: For a furniture store, they make darn good meatballs.

Seriously, folks. Thousands of Floridians are anticipating Ikea’s Nov. 14 arrival in Orlando as if it were some sort of particle-board rapture, a religious crusade involving self-assembly home goods that sound like they were named after Scandinavian porn movies. (Yeah, sure Beddinge Resmo is only a sofa bed.)

Extra security is being called in to handle the anticipated brouhaha. People are camping out, delirious with the dreams of being the first one to fly through the blue-and-yellow monolith and buy a rickety office chair. I’m honestly, legitimately baffled. The last time there was such unsettling consumer madness, Willy Wonka was handing out golden tickets.

I spent thousands of dollars at an Ikea in College Park, Md. I also spent thousands of hours on the phone with Ikea’s calm, utterly confounding help line, pleading with them on a daily basis to please, in the name of Gerda Lundequist, find the final piece of my Billy bookshelves. ("Birch veneer and beech veneer? What happened to the black-brown? Discontinued? They just went on sale!")

Frankly, the idea of borrowing my neighbor’s truck, lugging an unwieldy box of insta-dent sorta-wood back to my house, scarring my fingers with those ridiculous allen wrenches and then watching my wobbly Svalov coffee table totter into splinters under the perilous weight of a glossy wildlife book is not my idea of a good time.

And yet, the ecstasy remains. The people have spoken. Oh well. Maybe it’s a meatball thing.

Anyway, if the name Ikea gives you the shakes, please take solace in this playlist saluting the darker side of the Swedish furniture phenomenon:

THE ASSEMBLE THIS! PLAYLIST

1.) And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going, Jennifer Hudson
2.) Gigantic, the Pixies
3.) Lost in the Supermarket, the Clash
4.) Fake Plastic Trees, Radiohead
5.) (If You Want It) Do It Yourself, Gloria Gaynor
6.) Building the Perfect Beast, Don Henley
7.) Not Fade Away, Buddy Holly
8.) Crumblin’ Down, John Mellencamp
9.) Everything Is Broken, Bob Dylan
10.) I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For, U2

Take the Rolling Stone QUIZ!!!

Here's a link to Rolling Stone's "Almost-Impossible Rock & Roll Quiz."

I got a 39.

Blow off 20 minutes of work.

Beat my score.

It's worth it.

Ho Ho Huh? New Christmas CDs

On the new Monster Ballads Xmas, Skid Row does one helluva Jingle Bells. Of course, it's not technically a "ballad." But hey, why should anything on something called Monster Ballads Xmas make any sense? Case in point: Twisted Sister and Lita Ford doing a tender I'll Be Home for Christmas. It's raunchy, guitar-grinded and, lo and behold, totally sincere. Same goes for Queensryche's White Christmas and Cinderella's Blue Christmas.

Here we go: It's that time again, when my desk is overrun with the newest Santa season CDs, from the pleasantly obvious (Martina McBride's White Christmas) to the incredibly cool (Raul Malo's Marshmallow World & Other Holiday Favorites) to the aural equivalent of curdled eggnogg (Captain & Tennille's The Secret of Christmas).

In our Nov. 29 Weekend mag (and on Fox 13 that morning), I'll review the best and worst Christmas albums of 2007. Make sure to tune in. For now, here's the epic list of all the new holiday stuff I have to slog thru, including Hannah Montana's ear-bleedingly bad Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree. (Seriously, it'll make your cat explode)

Josh Groban -- Noel
Toby Keith -- Classic Christmas
Daryl Hall & John Oates -- Home for Christmas
Rufus Wainwright, Aimee Mann -- Stockings by the Fire (Starbucks comp)
KT Tunstall -- Holiday Collection
Darlene Love -- It's Christmas, Of Course
Carrie Underwood -- Hear Something Country: Christmas 2007
Olivia Newton-John -- Christmas Wish
Raul Malo -- Marshmallow World & Other Favorites
Jani Lane, Dokken -- Monster Ballads Xmas
Captain & Tennille -- The Secret of Christmas
Ashley Tisdale, Corbin Bleu -- Disney Channel Holiday
Patti LaBelle -- Miss Patti's Christmas
Martina McBride -- White Christmas
The Isley Brothers -- I'll Be Home for Christmas
Rockabye Baby! -- Lullabye Renditions of Christmas Rock Classics
Kidz Bop -- The Coolest Christmas Ever
Michael Bolton -- A Swingin' Christmas
Carnie Wilson -- Christmas With Carnie
Keith Sweat -- A Christmas of Love
Keal'i Reichel -- Mahluhia
Dionne Warwick -- My Favorite Time of the Year
Jon Secada -- A Christmas Fiesta ("with infectious latin flair"!)
Robin Gibb -- My Favourite Carols
Barry Manilow -- In the Swing of Christmas

Eagles Beat Britney, Henley Hugs Satan

Despite having an exclusive album-release deal with Wal-Mart and Sam's Club, the Eagles' new Long Road Out of Eden, the band's first full studio disc in almost 30 years, still sold a whopping 711,000 copies in its first week, making it No. 1 in all the land. This spanked Britney Spears' Blackout, which sold 290,000 its first week. Billboard, the music-biz referee, tweaked earlier sales rules, allowing single-retailer artists to compete for top album honors.

What I find most interesting is that the Eagles' Don Henley is full of caca. This is a dude who supposedly despises big box stores chewing up the land, not to mention related evils of consumer homogenization (his dad was a small-business owner). But now, after inking a deal with Wal-Mart, he's double-talking faster than those politicians he despises. If you want to sort through his blather, go here.

This Will Make EVERYONE Happy

Look! Fresh indie kids covering Bob Dylan songs. Karen O! Cat Power! The Hold Steady! Can we all get along now? Excellent. Here's one of the best albums of the year...

Album: I'm Not There: Original Soundtrack (Columbia)

In stores: Now

Why we care: Todd Haynes' interpretive Dylan flick, in which variations of Bob are portrayed by Cate Blanchett, Heath Ledger and more, doesn't open 'til late November. But here's hoping the movie is as brilliant as this 34-track soundtrack. Los Lobos and Mark Lanegan, Eddie Vedder and Stephen Malkmus: A who's-who of coolios tackle Dylan with passion and smarts.

Why we like it: The ace performances, recorded with a crunchy, sepia-toned warmth, are too many to mention, but here are a few: Craig Finn captures the casual snideness of Dylan's delivery on the Hold Steady's Can You Please Crawl Out Your Window? Sufjan Stevens explodes the cautious grandeur of Ring Them Bells. And the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' Karen O gives Highway 61 Revisited a razor-blade makeover.

Reminds us of: One of the best albums of 1967 -- and 2007. 

Download these: All Along the Watchtower (Eddie Vedder), Stuck Inside of Mobile With the Memphis Blues Again (Cat Power) and One More Cup of Coffee (Roger McGuinn & Calexico)

Grade: A

Dylan's New Cadillac Commercial

Even as a car salesman, His Bobness is a badass. Check it out.

You LOVE Michael McDonald

That's right: love. Don't give me any of your hipster BS. There have been pivotal moments in your life when the music of Michael McDonald -- whether as a Doobie Brother or a blue-eyed solo act -- has enhanced the emotional peril of your predicament. Yes, you CRAVE the real Eminem, and the sooner you admit that, the sooner we can go about tackling world peace.

Anyway, we have two (2) major pieces of of Michael McDonald news on today's docket...

First of all, QUESTIONS FOR MICHAEL McDONALD? The Stuck in the '80s podcast crew will be interviewing the man in anticipation of his 11/29 show at Clearwater's Ruth Eckerd Hall. Perhaps you've always been curious about his soundtrack work for underrated buddy movie Running Scared, starring the incomparable Gregory Hines and Billy Crystal?

And then there's this: This week's Stuck in the '80s podcast -- which can be accessed on the righthand side of this page or free on iTunes -- tackles the most depressing songs of that magical decade. And you better believe MM's I Keep Forgettin' (Every Time You're Near) ranks mighty high.

Hair's the Deal

So there's this popular restaurant in downtown St. Pete. It's mobbed every day, a swingin' lunch hotspot. But every single time I go there, I find something in my food. The tally right now is: hair, hair, Estelle Getty's showercap. Seriously, a giant piece of plastic in my taco salad. Truth be told, it was better than finding hair.

My food has been remarkably hirsute these days. Yesterday, at a different restaurant, there was a curly black nasty wrapped around the tail end of a Cuban sandwich. Now, I know what you're thinking, but none of this hair is mine. Really. I have thick, luxurious locks, every fiber in its right place. No bald creams for me.

I'm pretty sure I'm supernaturally willing the hair to appear on my plate. That's my superpower apparently. I think really hard and -- ta-da! -- an oily tendril of coif appears in my pea soup. Even when there's no hard evidence, there are related signs of my powers. For instance, this weekend at Bob Evans. We sat down at a table. We ordered our food. And then, for some reason, I decided to read the comment cards. There it was, the newest complaint, maybe even the diners who sat here before us: "Found hair in salad + milk." Salad and milk? The daily double? It was impossible to eat my eggs and hash browns after that. The hair was lurking. I know it was.

Anyway, today's playlist will honor some of the hairiest people in music history...

Crystal Gayle -- Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue
Don Henley (w/the Eagles) -- Hotel California
Lita Ford -- Kiss Me Deadly
Lionel Richie (w/the Commodores) -- Brick House
Art Garfunkel -- Bridge Over Troubled Water
Jon Bon Jovi -- Blaze of Glory
Earth Wind & Fire -- September
Dolly Parton -- Here You Come Again
Bee Gees -- Night Fever
A Flock of Seagulls -- Space Age Love Song
Amy Winehouse -- Rehab
Bob Marley -- You Can't Blame the Youth

LIVE REVIEW: Rascal Flatts

TAMPA -- I swear the dudes in Rascal Flatts just sold me tires at Wal-Mart.

Seriously, country's current kings look like reality-show winners, regular Joes who walked through the wrong door and somehow schlepped into stardom. Singer Gary LeVox, bassist Jay DeMarcus, guitarist Joe Don Rooney ought to come with name tags and time cards.

But hoo boy, this Nashville trio is H-U-G-E. They sell music like Velveeta moves cheese, in great gooey torrents for a swoony, swelling fanbase that has made the pedestrian-looking group one of the best-selling acts, of any genre, of the last decade.

In front of 14,119 appreciative fans Sunday at Ford Amphitheatre, Rascal Flatts, on the last night of their tour, proved why they're a punch line for some but heroes to millions. And really, who cares if naysayers call you a twangy boy band when everyone else is singing, screaming and making you millionaires?

Wow, This Song Really Sucks

So I just received a top-secret package, delivered via high-powered overnight service. The new Alicia Keys, perhaps? My heart leaps at the thought (and maybe at the spicy pad thai I had for lunch).

But alas, when I open said mystery, it is but a promo slip-sleeve with a bejeweled CD announcing: SPICE GIRLS "Headlines (Friendship Never Ends)." My heart sinks at the revelation (and maybe at the Snickers I had after the pad thai).

I put said CD in the player. What comes out is slow and tinkly and phenomenally frickin' stupid, the kind of nonsong a gaggle of 12-year-old sleepover girls might make on their Wal-Mart-bought Hannah Montana keyboard. "Let's make the headlines loud and clear / The best things suddenly happen when you are here." Seriously, this might be the worst song of the year. (You can listen here -- it says "Holler" but trust me, it's "Headlines.")

I can't imagine that the SG world tour is going to do very well. Oh well, at the very least, here's a picture of Ginger Spice on a wave runner.

Shot of Love

I just received my flu shot down in the newspaper's auditorium. It was administered by one of two smart, competent, extremely hot nurses. Seriously. Like Cinemax smart and competent. Their badges said they were from Maxim. I couldn't resist. When I said I'd "renew my subscription" if they did a good job, they didn't laugh. They also failed to chortle at my request for penicillin. Note to self: Your nurse jokes suck.

Certainly just to screw with me, my nurse kept tapping at the needle. Flick, flick, flick.

"Why do you keep doing that?" I inquired.

She looked frustrated. "I'm trying to get that bubble out!"

Anyway, in honor of Florence Nightingales everywhere, here's today's playlist...

Shot Shot -- Gomez
The Needle and the Damage Done -- Neil Young
Hurting Kind (I've Got My Eyes on You) -- Robert Plant
One Hit to the Body -- the Rolling Stones
Dude Ranch Nurse -- Sonic Youth
Sick of Myself -- Mathew Sweet
Shot of Love -- Bob Dylan

You Had a Friend in Me