THE BEAT GOES ON

THE BEAT GOES ON

Raw Power Comes To The CBC

TORONTO—Maiy Hartman, Saturday Night and The Gong Show may be your idea of what progressive television is all about, but here in Toronto they’re still talking about the night Iggy Fop singlehhndedly took on the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation—and won.

90Minutes Liue is a Canadian rip-off of The Tonight Show, geared by the CBC to compete with the bigger markets across the border. Like all Canadian television programs, 90 Minutes is an hour and a ’half of bland, embarrassing self-indulgence by Canadians pretending to be Americans— with the sole exception that, unlike their American counterparts, the guests of 90 Minutes get to make fools

of themselves live, coast to coast, all across Canada.

90 Minutes’ host is a guy named Peter Gzowski (the G is silent, like the P in toilet) who, with his black hornrims and drooping moustache, is the most convincing argument alive for reinstating

the term ‘square’ into contemporary use. Sitting behind a desk so grotesquely huge that it effectively cuts him off from any kind of personal contact with his guests whatsoever, Gzowski comes across looking like the ultimate Canadian, as seert

through the eyes of the rest of the world.

It’s into this innocuous den of media ineptitude that some young, enterprising talent co-ordinator has unwittingly booked everybody’s favorite well-mannered boy, Iggy “Can I destroy something for you?” Pop and his band—live, across Canada —on the night of March 11th.

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Led Zeppelin Take CREEM Reader Poll AwarcU—By Force!

One of the first In a new wave of rock 'n' roll stars turned terrorists. Robert "Percy" Plant holed himself up In a Chicago hotel room after "finally" taking possession of Led Zeppelin's unbelievable number of Readers' Poll Awards for 1976 (Including his for "Best Male Sing* er"), and refused to give up any of the cans to his fellow band members. "Come here with that bedpost and say that, Bonzol" he snarled menacingly. “See If It gets you a can." Surprisingly enough. It was fragile lead guitarist Jimmy Page who managed to wrest his three awards from the poetry-spouting blond terror. He Is pictured (at right) holding his awards aloft victoriously; “Best Movie" for "The Song Remains The Same" in his left hand, "Best Guitarist" In his right and (ahem) “Most Valuable Player" in a most valuable spot.

Security is extra-tight because of Iggy’s manager-cum-backup musician, Bowie, who, along with the rest of the band, spent most of the afternoon in Studio Four for a combination rehearsal/sound check. Iggy is slated to perform three numbers from The Idiot in addition to joining Gzowski and Bowie for a little on-camera chitchat. The Iggy/Bowie segment is expected to take anywhere between twenty and thirty minutes.

But, in a surprise move— even as the studio audience is being informed by a warmup man of the great show Iggy has in store for them— A1 Wood, President of the Canadian Musicians Federation, refuses to allow Bowie on stage to perform with Iggy, claiming that he isn’t a member of the American Musicians Federation and therefore cannot participate in any broadcasts over the CBC.

Considering that Bowie has performed his music on all three of the major US networks and has had two 90-minute specials of his own, Wood’s ploy seems to be nothing more than a desperate , nationalistic move to keep foreign musicians off the air (thus making more room available for local—if you’ll pardon the expression —talent).

But, timing his announcement that late was a big mistake—especially with

rock fans all. across Canada tuning in to see Iggy’s first North American talk show appearance. With showtime literally minutes away, a decision is made. Without Bowie, the band refuses to appear. Zero hour arrives and suddenly the director of 90 Minutes Live has half an hour of dead air to fill.

“Unfortunately, Iggy Pop, who was to perform here tonight, will be unable to do so because of Union complications...” It’s 11:36 PM and Peter Gzowski, looking as if he’s functioning under a local anesthetic, has told several million people across

When The Unemployment Checks Stop...

"I don't have to do this for a living, ya know,” says famed producer Phil Spector, posing with rock group Blondie in front of the dressing room mural hanging in his living room. "I'd go into it further, but I have to da-doo-ron-ron to a Stars recording session.

Canada that the CBC has blown it again. A chorus of jeers from the fans in the studio audience greets. Gzowski’s announcement when, suddenly, the camera pans off Gzowski in midsentence and refocuses on a dimly lit figure dancing to the beat of his own drummer off stage. It’s Iggy! The audience breaks into applause as Iggy —unintroduced—waves to the crowd and dances onto the 90 Minutes Live set, throwing himself into one of the guest chairs. Putting his leather boots on an expensive coffee table, cigarette in mouth, he turns to Gzowski — who is in a mild state of shock.

Trying to grasp onto reality, Gzowski begins to apologize for the union screwup but Iggy will have none of it, preferring instead to strip things down to the Real O Mind.

“Y’got a light?”

Stunned, Gzowski actually begins to go through his pockets in search of a match but Iggy ignores him, turning off stage and yelling, “Hey, anybody got a light? You got a light?”

Somebody throws him a pack of matches. “Thanks,” mutters the Ig and lights up.

Then, Gzowski—who has never ever heard of The Stooges, never seen or heard a Stooges album, turns to Iggy and says, “Your music never really caught on...it just sort of died out, didn’t it?”

“No, man, that’s not true.”

Iggy looks bored. “That’s just not true.”

“Punk music—”

“Punk music. I mean, what does that mean, punk music? I don’t know what that means. I mean, punk music to me means something that’s really, y’know, unattractive and... I don’t know Johnny Rotten, but I’m sure that he puts as much work into what he does as I do.”

Losing ground rapidly,

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you’ve been wondering, Ella Fitzgerald’s voice doesn’t rea//y shatter that glass on the Memorex commerical. They just amped her up to 147 decibels, where any sound will break glass. It will also destroy eardrums, organs within the human body, and probably even Melissa Manchester’s crummy face.

Rick Johnson

Gzowski asks Iggy about the stories he’s heard of Ig sticking pencils in his arms and throwing up on stage.

Iggy makes his position clear: “No, I’ve never stuck pencils in my arms.”

The audience laughs. What about throwing up on stage?

Now it’s Iggy’s turn to laugh. He gets up, doing a little dance. “Yeah well, one night I wasn’t feeling so good so I—” Iggy doubles up at the waist and simulates some onstage retching, live across Canada.

Gzowski turns pale.

“I understand that David Bowie is here and that he would’ve been playing—”

“Yeah, he’s here tonight.” Iggy leans forward. “Listen, I just want to say that—”

Silence.

The words hang in space as, eyes glazed, Iggy stares off into some distant vacuum. Hollywood be damned, this is Network taken to the nth extreme with Iggy as The Mad Prophet Of The Airways for real.

Centuries later, Iggy turns slowly to Gzowski and whispers, “I take what I do very seriously.”

Then, arms outstretched, he gets up in front of the audience. “Do you people understand what I’m trying to say? YOU PEOPLE UNDERSTAND, DON’T YOU?”

Gzowski makes one final attempt to regain control of his show. “Iggy will be in town next Monday,” he begins. Then to his guest, “Where will you be playing?”

Iggy, slouched in his seat, sloughs the question off. “I don’t know. ” Then, again offstage: “DOES ANYBODY KNOW WHERE WE’RE PLAYING?”

Conceding defeat,

Gzowski calls for a commercial. To fill up the slack, a film on curling is run.

Three days later Iggy and Bowie return to play a tour date in a high school gymnasium (some things never change). Peter Gzowski, still shaken from his encounter with The World’s Most Forgotten Boy, moves his show to Montreal for the week. LATVERIA—Now that Island Records has established reggae as a viable commodity over here, Fania/CBS has got the Salsa scene cooking up nicely, and Ireland’s Chieftains begin to draw the same in-crowd adulation Little Feat used to pull in, I’m sure that at least some of you are beginning to wonder where this pop ecumenicism will finally end.

Jeffrey Morgan

Slav Rock

Of course krautrock’s already passe (D. Bowie used Kraftwerk’s Autobahn to warm up the audience on his Station to Station tour; if that don’t make something outre then Frampton shouldn’t worry about being snapped with Steven Ford) and the Scandinavian sound too much like our own unreconstructed flower chilluns (i.e. Transvall President) or are high hokum popsters (ala Abba) that make the Osmond brothers sound like a BOA spin-off. So what exactly is left? Koto-blues? Afrikaaner/Hawaiian jazz fusion? Well, how about some Iron Curtain booglary? Hey,

hey! If nuthin’ else the heavy metal meatheads’d give it a spin—“Iron Curtain”—oooo! Sounds like what BOC might have called themselves if’ji they’d read Gulag Archelwhosis ’stead of Naked Lunch.

But is there actually such an animal? you may query.

Or is this just some rock dilletante’s last frantic fling at the ultimate esoterica? Glad you asked.

In Czechoslovakia, most of the native Red rockers were purged along with Dubczek —cultural revolution and all that. Somehow, though, a few errant bands survived,

the most notable being the sister groups, Plastic People of the Universe, and DG 307. Then, early last year the Czech government busted both bands for cultural sedition: they carted the musicians off to the clinkski and impounded all their equipment and tapes. Now, almost a year later, the bulk of them are still awaiting trial—dnd not too hopefully. The Czech government does not plan to allow reporters into the trial chambers—at this point it’s still touch-andgo about defense counsel. So much for Czech rattle and roll.

Back in the U.S.S.R., where the orders come from, things seem a bit more genial. There is an official Party (that’s Communist ya schmerdy!) band, “Pesnyary” (the Balladeers) who not only go unpogromed, they are among the highest paid individuals in Mother Russia today. They get to “do” all the youth clubs and suchlike —they even have two albums out that have sold a combined 10 million copies (talk about “captive” audiences though!).

Their music, reportedly, is the usual Northern European classical /rock fusionism—heavy on the EL&P but with the odd Chicago riff tossed in for flavor, not to mention a dash of “Byelorussian folklore” according to composer/guitarist, Vladimir Mulyarin. Yummy. They list other prime influences as the Carpenters, Uriah Heep, and Rick Wakeman. Double yum!

But if you’re looking for something Red rather than Dead boobala this is your best bet extant. These guys are going to record an album, to be released here by Columbia, and in fact are touring the States this very moment as support act for the New Christy Minstrels.

There is one group who defected making ihe rounds too, “Yuri and Sasha,” but Pesnyary do not recommend them; they’re not “serious musicians” and are, after all, defectors while “Pesnyary is a group that wholeheartedly supports the program of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. There is no such

thing as an ‘underground’ rock group in the Soviet Union.” Which explains why the U.S. companies are backing them with promo bux, advance money, etc.

while their less orthodox brethren languish in impoverished obscurity or Communist prisons. Yes? No? Detente? Can ya dance to it?

Howard Wuelfing

Finally! A Kiss With Roots

With the amazing financial success of those white-face white boys. Kiss; the profit minded music biz could no longer resist making an attempt to tap the so called Black Market. The real name of the group is Morning, Noon and Night and no matter what their music sounds like, it looks like some pretty stiff competition is on the way for the Bat-Liz, the Spaceman, the Star-eyed-Ostrlch and the Kitty Kat. Pictured from left to right on: Willie 'the Skull-Eater' Maynard, Bernard 'the Shooting Star' Maynard, Dave 'the Sun God* Brown, James 'the Noble Savage' Worthy, Malcolm 'the Fire Prince' Raymond, and Lionel 'the Moon King' Germany. The band's management is conservatively awaiting the sales figures of their first album to Invest in costumes for the guys.