Are we done carping about Liz Phair's new self-titled album? Not as long as we can keep monitoring the sales chart, with Liz Phair debuting at #27, selling 4000 fewer copies than the launch of her supposedly respectful last effort. But some of us always felt that Phair was a marketing scheme. Exile in Guyville, for example, certainly sounded like a collegiate bid to mimic several popular underground styles.
So who cares if Phair's working with Avril Lavigne's producers now? To be honest, some acts needed to sell out long ago. A proper sell-out can be a great thing for an artist, even if it can't salvage a career. Any good record collection has some really stellar examples, which might include these 10 fine albums:
Ted Nugent, Little Miss Dangerous (Atlantic, 1986)
To serious Satanists and glam fans, Mötley Crüe's Girls, Girls, Girls was a bow to evil corporate rock. In reality, though, the Crüe always had dollar signs in their eyes. It was left to good capitalist Ted Nugent to conduct the true heavy-metal sellout of the mid-80s. Nugent handed over his latest batch of songs to new-wave producer Pete Solley, and the result was great pop production that finally sheared Nugent's excesses. He didn't get a haircut, though.
Miles Davis, Bitches Brew (Columbia, 1969)
It had been a cool decade since Sketches of Spain, and Miles Davis still hadn't branched out like Coltrane or Monk. Davis' response was to embrace rock and funk to create a sterling brand of jazz-fusion. Older fans dismissed Bitches Brew as a blatant bid for pop stardom. The record moved units, though, which, sadly, inspired Miles to waste precious time pursuing many of the worst aspects of rock. This record can also be blamed for people like Gary Burton going on to pass themselves off as psychedelic acts.
Mel Torme, Right Now! (Columbia, 1966)
As an entertainer, it made sense for Sammy Davis Jr. to cover the "Theme from Shaft." Mel Torme, however, should never have felt obliged to take a stab at the sounds of today. To his eternal credit, he still got it right on his first try. Nobody could just tell Mel to go record "Secret Agent Man" and "Homeward Bound." The legend overhauled the melodies and took over the phrasing. He even made bongos sound cool on "If I Had a Hammer," while Mel's deranged take on "My Little Red Book" was worthy of the psycho lounge singer he played on an episode of Run for Your Life. Unfortunately, this all only gave him the bravado to later record a misguided "Sunshine Superman."
Shaun Cassidy, Wasp (Warner/Curb, 1980)
While Leif Garrett was hanging out with the Plasmatics, young pop idol Shaun Cassidy knew it would take more than photo ops to maintain a measure of cool. Besides, there had to be some investment in career longevity. So the folks at Warner brought in Todd Rundgren to essentially make a Utopia album with Cassidy on lead vocals. There were a few good original Todd tunes, but the real novelty was a former Hardy Boy rocking out on Talking Heads ("Book I Read"), Pete Townshend ("So Sad About Us") and Mott the Hoople ("Once Bitten, Twice Shy"). Shaun also did his best to look unshaven for the album cover. The album bombed, but that isn't keeping Mandy Moore from covering XTC and Joan Armatrading on her next album.
John Mellencamp, Trouble No More (Columbia, 2003)
"I never thought they'd let me do it," says John Mellencamp of his new collection of early blues and country tunes-and who is he trying to kid? After the sales on his last few albums, Columbia must have loved the idea of grabbing whatever audience is left to ride the O Brother bandwagon. Mellencamp does a great job on these old standards, but let's not pretend it isn't a smart commercial move. In fact, Mellencamp's supposedly brave posing is reminiscent of?
Barbra Streisand, The Broadway Album (Columbia, 1985)
The record begins with frantic music executives pleading with Barbra to please not do anything as crazy as recording an album of show tunes. After all, what kind of Streisand fan would want to hear that? In truth, though, Streisand's latest pathetic bid at maintaining a pop career-Emotion, where she tried to be John Mellencamp and Earth, Wind & Fire-had just stiffed big time. Record executives were really pleading for her to start catering to her established audience. The record went to number one, but somebody else should have pleaded with Streisand not to use so many synthesizers.
Kiss, Rock and Roll Over (Casablanca, 1977)
Things had peaked creatively for Kiss with 1976's Destroyer, and the success of "Beth" even poised the band to cultivate an adult market. Kiss followed this up by playing to the kiddies with Rock and Roll Over, a supremely simple record that sounds like it was written over the last weekend of AM radio. Yet they were still years away from finally going disco with "I Was Made for Loving You."
Kenickie, Get In (EMI, 1998)
Things looked briefly promising for Kenickie with At the Club in 1997. They were a fun bunch of UK gals with powerful songs, and major-label punk was still selling at a good pace. That is, to 13-year-old boys. Kenickie was busy getting their ass kicked by Spice Girls. So the bold girls brought in strings and did a brilliant job reinventing themselves as charmingly bitter pop lasses on Get In. Their old fans were appalled, the young girls still liked the Spice Girls, and the U.S. label declined to release it. Nobody cares where they are now.
Rick Nelson, Another Side of Rick (Decca, 1969)
It wasn't easy being Ozzie and Harriet's kid in 1969. Rick Nelson didn't know he'd someday be a rockabilly icon, and was simply looking for some way to maintain his showbiz career. At least psychedelica had some country overtones, so Rick went into the studio to muse over "Marshmallow Skies." He also gamely sang along with a bizarre arrangement of "Georgia on My Mind." It was one of the best things that ever happened to an overrated act. The next album-featuring some misguided Randy Newman covers-got a lot uglier. However, it wouldn't be long before Rick would make a comeback after being booed off an oldies bill at Madison Square Garden.
Linda Ronstadt, Mad Love (Asylum, 1980)
Everyone would like for the Ramones' End of the Century to be the definitive sell-out of the punk/new wave years. In truth, that honor can't even go to Wasp. Instead, Mad Love reigns as an impossibly laughable move from a desperate 70s act who'd only recently been posing on roller skates. Linda Ronstadt was dolled up in a black leather jacket and handed some Elvis Costello songs, plus a ragged Neil Young tune and some songs from an El Lay dress-up band called the Cretones. The record felt like a Robert Stigwood production, but it was simply too fun to offend anybody-except, of course, cranky young Elvis Costello, who felt obliged to complain about what Ronstadt did to his songs. Years later, Costello would inform us that he was always a big Grateful Dead fan.