At song #87 is Wall of Voodoo’s hit “Mexican radio”, easily the most accessible track in the band’s early catalogue.
Wall of Voodoo was an American New Wave band whose beginnings in film scores informed the band’s early spaghetti western-infused sound, along with original frontman, Stan Ridgway’s dark lyrics and easily recognizable droll vocals. “Mexican radio” took the band’s normal dark and unique sound further, almost to an oddball or kitschy place, and produced for Wall of Voodoo their only radio hit, boosting record sales of their second album, 1982’s “Call of the west,” to their highest charting. Ridgway left the band shortly afterwards for a solo career, was replaced by Andy Prieboy, and the band’s unique sound was lost to a more conventional New Wave sound. The group would release two more albums before disbanding for good in 1988.
I discovered/rediscovered “Mexican radio” on a retro compilation I purchased in 1999 called “Retro 80s volume 2: Rare and brilliant” and it quickly became a favourite of mine. It’s quirky and vibrant, and has inflecting lyrics that drum up images of picking up foreign language radio signals, a repeating chorus line that you really can’t help but digest and join in. I distinctly remember drunkenly dancing-slash-stumbling and shouting along to this song one Sunday retro night at Studio 69, a long-defunct downtown Toronto bar with my old housemate, Ryan. This one’s for you, buddy, wherever you might be.
Sing it with me: “I’m on a Mexican whoa-oh radio”
Original Eighties best 100 position: #95
Favourite lyric: I wish I was in Tijuana / Eating barbequed iguana” That’s some serious rhyming…
Where are they now?: The last we heard from Wall of Voodoo was in 2006 when Stan Ridgway resurrected the name, put together a band that included none of the other original members, and toured in support of Cyndi Lauper. No other real reunions have been serious discussed, especially since Marc Moreland, the other founding member died in 2002.
For the rest of the Eighties’ best 100 redux list, click here.
In Oshawa, Ontario, Canada*, there used to be an infamous record shop called Star Records. It was started by Mike Shulga, the child of Ukrainian immigrants, who rebranded himself as Mike Star and became a big player in punk and underground music. His record store sprouted a record label (the first home of The Forgotten Rebels) and a renowned music venue, but it was the shop that would see the longevity. It opened its doors in 1974 and didn’t close until the year after its founder’s untimely death in 2015. It was temporarily replaced by a Kops Records chain location but I don’t know what’s there now.
I mention Star Records today as a nod because it will forever be connected with today’s song of focus, given that the one time I ever purposely went to the store was in the summer of 1993 and it was that very day that I first heard “My name is mud”.
I didn’t actually collect a lot vinyl when I was younger. I had a bunch of Disneyland 45s, as well as the “Pete’s Dragon soundtrack” and “Mickey Mouse Disco” LPs. On the cooler side of things, I had an early 7″ of Human League’s “Don’t you want me”. I also had a copy Bangles’ “Different light” that I won in a contest and a really warped copy of The Cure’s “Mixed up” that I bought because I couldn’t find it on CD. But that was it. In 1993, I was moving from cassette tapes into compact discs and vinyl for me was already in the past. So I didn’t find much cause to wander into the famous shop that often drew members of The Ramones whenever they passed through the ’shwa, especially given that I lived in a town 15km away and didn’t often have access to my own wheels.
But on that day, I jumped on the GO bus into Oshawa on the hunt for a specific CD that I couldn’t find anywhere, a CD which I will not name today because one of its songs will surely appear a little later in this list. Of course, I found what I was looking for immediately, picked it up, and then, went back to the A section and perused the rest of the store’s compact disc wares. I found plenty else that I wanted to buy in the hour and a half that I tarried but the other CD I left the store with was Primus’s “Pork soda”.
It was a purchase that I made without having heard any of the songs from it beforehand. I had fallen hard for “Jerry was a race car driver” and “Tommy the cat” off their previous album, “Sailing the seas of cheese”** and I loved the claymation pig head on the album’s cover***. I actually chose to slip this CD into my discman rather than my other purchase for the GO bus ride home later that afternoon and after a brief ditty of an introduction, was met soundly by “My name is mud.”
“My name is Mud
Not to be confused with Bill or Jack or Pete or Dennis
My name is Mud and it’s always been”
A loud twang on a bass string serves as the wake up call. This is Les Claypool’s show after all. Then, he jumps right in with a punishing bass line that’ll have you jumping up and banging your head right along, no matter how much hair you have on your head. The first couple of riffs almost feel like a drum beat themselves but then, Herb Alexander jumps in to destroy his kit with a rhythm that merely shadows Claypool’s bass. Finally, Ler Lalonde adds some dirty guitar flourishes that augment the noise and serves as a dichotomy to claustrophobic white space. Dark and light, noisy and quiet, sharp and soft, it’s all waves, hypnotic and nauseating, a sea of flying bodies – hands, arms, heads, legs – all a sweaty mass of moshing.
I don’t know if Mike Shulga ever heard of Les Claypool and his band, but I can’t help but think he would’ve approved of their originality.
*Oshawa is the city where I was born and grew up for the first ten years of my life.
**I’ve already told the story on these pages about how I purchased a copy of “Sailing the seas of cheese” used in a store in Toronto before going to see New Model Army at Lee’s Palace and then, promptly misplacing the album, along with Buffalo Tom’s “Let me come over”, at Bathurst subway station after the show.
***Who else remembers the days of buying albums based the awesomeness of the album covers?
For the rest of the Best tunes of 1993 list, click here.
(I got the idea for this series while sifting through the ‘piles’ of digital photos on my laptop. It occurred to me to share some of these great pics from some of my favourite concert sets from time to time. Until I get around to the next one, I invite you to peruse my ever-growing list of concerts page.)
Blonde Redhead live at Glowfair 2015
Artist: Blonde Redhead When: June 19th, 2015 Where: Glowfair Festival, Bank Street, Ottawa Context: The Glowfair festival in Ottawa was launched by the Bank Street BIA in 2013, as means to bring some post-business hour life to the one of the city’s downtown strips. Admission to the festival was free and boasted ten city blocks of entertainment, including DJs, yoga, buskers, games and of course, live music. I didn’t attend any of the festivities until its third year and I finally did so mostly because I saw an unexpected name listed among the performers. New York City’s art rock trio, Blonde Redhead performing a live set for free in my hometown? How could I refuse? The deal was sweetened further when I was able to combine taking in the show with my annual visit to the city’s beloved Sparks Street Rib festival. So with a tummy full of pork and a good measure of craft beer imbibed, I wandered to the main stage to be blown away frontwoman Kazu Makino and the wizardry of Pace twins, Simone and Amedeo. I had gotten into the group eight years earlier with their shoegaze influenced masterpiece “23” and was neck deep into the two albums that had been released since. It was monster show, all droning noise and feedback on a Friday night under the stars. It was lovely. Point of reference song: “Dripping”
Amedeo Pace of Blonde RedheadKazu Makino of Blonde RedheadSimone Pace of Blonde RedheadThe Pace twinsKazu Makino rocking out
My (life in) music lists 