Teacher’s Pets From The Black Lagoon

Like love, wimp rock is a wondrous, magical thing. It floats through the air like a nerf TV tray, leaving its fans preggy with saccharin dreams of little duckies, jelly jungles and lips of the pigeon. Over 72% nicer than shoving a bag of stuffed bunnies down Bernadette Peters’ throat and easily as personally satisfying as dropping an anvil on Benji, a good wimp rock session will leave you as numbly happy as a fresh carton of babysicles.

Pepsi Dates Of The Third Kind

“But just what is wimp rock?” asks the Hills Bros, coffee bean buyer. A better question might be who. I’ve checked my official list qf red flag words that, “used innocently or truthfully,” can touch off a libel suit or attempted hit job, but “wimp” is nowhere among them. Commie, skunk, deadhead, ambulance chaser, fawning sycophant—they’re all there, but no w-i-m-p. That means I can call absolutely anybody I want to a wimp and they can’t dp one single thing about it. You and I both know what that means: Jann Wenner, -come on down!

Of course, the well-known pudge artifice isn’t the only wimp around, just the most prominent. For a better idea of who is and who isn’t, simply consult the adjacent list;

IS

Kenny Loggins

Slim Whitman

Nancy &Winky (Heart)

Todd Rundgren

Robin Zander

The last few Presidents

Richie Petrie

Debby Boone

Jackson Browne

Manslaughter

ISNT

Keith Richards

Waylon Jennings

The Slits

Stiv Bators

R. Nielsen too (sorry, they’re all wimps)

Idi Amin

Mikey

Debbie Harry

James Brown

First Degree Murder

’Does everybody get that one about Todd and Stiv? Eh? Bebe, you wanna testify?

WHITE IS RIGHT

At its best, wimp rock is dentist’s office music without the drill, which is pretty fortunate. After all, what would people say if their eye doctor or gynecologist used a drill? :

The numero uno characteristic Of wimp is its whiteness. Wp’re not talking “clean” here, we’re talking hotiky. From its birth as a safe (read: Caucasian) alternative to early rock and R&B, right on.up to Bob Welch’s valentines of impotence, wimp laughs in the face of a soul.

Like the devil, wimp rock takes many forms, all of them lightweight. Heartfelt tweets and little APBs of harmony make up the vocal end, while trite, intentionally artificial-sounding arrangements bring up the rear. Yes, I’m afraid it’s the kind of thing where you have to ask yourself: if my bowl of Alphabits were to spell out “Tommy! Help us!” one morning, would I go?

Lyrically, the dipshit septiment of these tunes are enough to give anybody the urge to cram dead eels up Didi Conn’s nose. I still can see blue velvet through my tears. Who wants to buy this diamond ring? The look in your eyes when I prought you that puppy. From her dreamy eyes to her dainty shoe size. A daydream believer and a homecoming queen. Not to mention Lou Christie’s memorable philosophical equivocation of teenage passion and windshield wipers. \t

REVENGE OF JUNE CLEAVER

Historically speaking, wimp rock has been with us since about 45 minutes after rock ’n’ roll itself was invented. There sat Bill Haley or Chuck Berry or the Crew Guts or whoever, writing the first rock song. He gets bored, turns on the radio for some inspiration*, and here comes “How Much Is That Doggie In The Window?” or maybe the Mitch Miller Experience delivering “Yellow Rose Of Texas” like a barbershop quartet from Hell. Composer is terminally sickened, jumps up to turn off radio, slips on own vom slick. Wimp rock is born.

The first true wimpoids were the glassine crybabies that tried to rtiake rock respectable. The Beat was surrendered without a fight to moldy old producers in the same manner that newborn babies are dumped in garbage cans.

The result? Tab Hunter. Fabian. Bobby Rydell. Frankie Avalon. And, of course, that albino cockatoo from Dimension X himself, Pat Boone. Rock was so easily corrupted by these lowly chin-suckers that, by the early 60’s, megasimps like Bobby Vinton, Bobby Vee, Dodie “Dodier’ Stevens, Connie Francis, Paul Anka and Winkrjucking Martindale had the hottest ovaries in the henhouse.

‘Please note how boredom and thievery are already present in the first rock ’n’ roll tune.

This revolting trend spread like an epidemic of individually wrapped cheese slices until, come 1963, the leading hitmakers were such bridesmaids from the dark side of the moon as the Singing Nun, Trini Lopez, Little Peggy March and my own personal favorite, Kyu Sakamoto. All over America, kids cried out “Do something, Fruitpie the Magician!”

Special Career Achievement:

PAUL McCARTNEY

From his initial performance of “’Til There Was You” up to and including his recent solo LP (for which he sent in his vocals on a card that came postage due), Paulie has been the singsong ghost of wimp rock. His mugging and endlessly adorable eye-popping make the viewing of old Beatle performances painful. It was Paul himself that first brought up the fact that he has a pigeon chest. As for Linda, well, what would Holly Hobby say? My own feelings? Let it suffice to say that whenever anybody asks for McCartney II at the record store where I am “employed,” we clobber ’em with a dreadnought Dustbuster. The score so far: Justifiable Homicide 8, Paul ?.

BUFFY, JODY & CISSY

Then along came those kooky moptops, the Beatles. Their approach to rock ’n’ roll was, at the time, as important a technological innovation as invisible bridge abutements. “Real” rock was free of puppies, poopers and little pink shrimp parasols for over a year, as classics like “She Loves You,” “Satisfaction,” “I Get Around,” “Where Did Our Love. Go?” and “Leader Of The Pack” killed the charts to pieces.

It didn’t last long. Once again, the music was gang-pollinated by old line producers who tackled the new sounds as adroitly as if they were mowing the lawn in the dark. Touched off by Gary Lewis and the Playboys—the first and hopefully last rock band with an accordian hbnker—nellybelles like Tommy James, Harper’s Bizarre, Gerry and the Pacemakers, Liflu, the Association and Kee-rist!, the New Vaudeville Band swarmed the, charts' like glee clubs from the center of the Earth. Donovan and Bobbie Gentry planted the fiendish bad seed that would later grow into James Taylor, while babytalk commandoes like the Cowsills, Gary and the Hornets and the Monkees carved out a spot in the Jello for Bubblegum. As Christie Love used to say, the only thing these guys are guilty of is M.M.T. (Making Me Tired).

Since the Bubblegum Epoch nas already been chewed over in these pages and I just don’t have the stomach to chronicle the pop-top chain of events that stretch from Crosby, Stills and Nash (the Buffy, Jody and Cissy of rock) up to metermen from Venus—like Dan Fogelberg—let’s wrap up this creme-filled delight with a gander at • today’s crop of twits.

Barry Manilow: No, no—no, no, don't make me talk about Barry Manilow! Too late, sucker! The current representative of all that is woos, the Manilow influence is already raising its ugly doghead among the next generation of wimps. If you. ask me, there’s nothing wrong with Barry that hormones won’t cure.

Billy Joel: Joel Billy drinks from the same artistic toilet as Ol’ Copacabana-nuts and then has the nerve to call it rock ’n’ roll. When he finally chokes on some of his incredibly patronizing lyrics, it wll give me as much personal pleasure as slowly torturing to death both Neil Sedaka and his daughter.

Sylvain Sylvain: Bursting out of the New Wave like a camera bug from the Lost Continent, Syl’s soggy sleeve-jobs often compel listeners to go smell butter or Indian wrestle Q-tips. Obviously star material.

Cars: Ric and his pickwicks have done at least two good songs, one of which is "Just What I Needed" and the other of which I forgot. Their dinky keyboards and boring Roxy dragbeat already sound dated. Teardrop rebels without a cause?

Christopher Cross: One of the few new groups who didn’t put their best song side one/cut one, Chris Cute gamely mixed it in with the other dogs. Top moo on the dairy farm right now, if anybody’s swallowing it. Personally, I think Chrissy and his musicians should all be forced to change their names to Ned.

Dan Hill: C’mon, I like Canadians, really! In fact, I’d like to see them replace the automobile! Or in Dan , Hill’s case, the kleenex.

Talking Head*: 1 don’t know who David Byrne thinks he’s fooling with his psycho kitten act, but 01’ Bugeyes is about as chihuahua-peepee as they come. Or pretend to come.

GREAT MOMENTS IN WIMP HISTORY

2952—“I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” tops the charts. G’mon, give her a break. Maybe she was just wiping her lips.

1953—Les Paul and Mary Ford score big with “Vaya Con Dios,” which has since been directly linked with outbreaks of Slim Whitman.

2959—My sister brings home a copy of Frankie Avalon’s “Venus.” A thenyoung Rick is most impressed by the way the label colors blur together when the record spins.

1960—Brian Hyland’s “Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weenie Yellow Polka’Dot Bikini” eventually to set off Cuban Missile Crisis.

1961—This is the last year for many centuries that you could turn upside down and it still reads the same!

1963—Steve Lawrence begs little girl to go away before he asks her to stay. Mass nationwide exodus of little girls reported.

2 964—Beatles perform “Til There Was/ You” on The Ed Sullivan Show, creating several million Rolling Stones fans.

2 967—The Summer Of Love. Yuck.

2969—Rumors abound that Debby Boone has sprouted her first body hair.

2970-79—Nothing happens except Disco. Like I said, nothing.

1980—Jimmy Carter vs. Ronny “the one on the left is the chimp” Reagan. What the hell, why not just elect the Newbeats or Dick and Deedee?

Moon Martin: While we-’re on the subject of dog genitals, meet Moon. I love this guy—his voice is so nellie that it’s actually frightening. The big question is: what did he get it stuck in as a child to give him those pipes?

Records: Singer/writer John Wicks has a sly talent for coming up with tunes totally out of his vocal range. It’s clay duck time when he goes for the high notes, especially live. As an added plus, they score 'their second consecutive tin can production with Crashes, a feat unsurpassed since...well, who remembers?

B-52’s: The only true hepcats on the scene, these bombers use elements of wimp to further their own goals. They,have too good of a beat to puss-out musically, but songs like “Planet Claire” and “Party Out Of , Bounds” are better drippy fun than pulling wings off of ballerinas.

BeeGees: Nothing less than the godmothers of modern wimp, the Gibb brothers have a dinghy in every port, stylistically. Although they’ve had the same song on their breath for years, the Aussie weans are inarguable masters of tunes that become instantly sickening to even the most casual listener.

Fleetwood Mac: Called for traveling on Tusk, the Macs are currently considering a divorce. A nice thought but for the solo album turkey shoot that would ensue. This may be a slight overstatement, but their future commercial failure is as essential in its way as an immediate, preferably painful death for Paul Williams is to the genetic survival of the human race.

Aw damn, I left out the Archies adain!