Gosh, how we love Huey Lewis. Not only here in my sensationally average town of Garden City, Michigan, but all over these United States. This is really true: Huey Lewis & The News are probably one of the most all-around accessible bands ever invented.

Take my youngest clone, j., for example. Here’s one three-year-old with a parentpleasing penchant for “Mexican Radio” and Michael Whatsizname—but a three-year-old who will get down and break-dance at the merest sound of Hooey. (This being the pragmatic way to pronounce “Huey” when your mouth’s only three.) And I’ll tell you, I don’t care if Lester Bangs comes back from the dead tomorrow to paper-shred Hooey: three-year-old kids have a weird, innate knowledge of what’s good. Huey Lewis is good, and good is good.

Even if you’re puerile enough to reject that barometer of taste, you can scarcely deny the mass-appeal of Sports—an understated album that sold faster than live bait during 1984, producing hit singles practically on request. As far as sales go, which is pretty far, the thing’s been a monster. Given all this, you might figure every reasonable person would concede that Huey Lewis & The News are eminently talented musicians and let it go at that. And you’d be wrong. It is, I’ll admit, bad form to criticize the critics, but I can’t see any way around it at this point...and one must draw the line somewhere. I’ll draw the line around Rolling Stone, which featured Huey on their cover not so long ago. Keep in mind that we’re talking about the most circulation-rich rock-mag around—I mean, this pulp’s available at the front counter of our local 7-11, along with Time, the National Enquirer and Marvel Comics’s Secret Wars series. Big-time stuff. The story on Lewis was generally dull. That’s not exactly Spot bites Dick, but—since Lewis himself is far from dull—it kind of makes you wonder. (The substance of the article was biographical info on Huey, which I’d cheerfully recommend to fans interested in that sort of thing.) More intriguing was the way it put the subtle knock on Huey. According to Christopher Connelly, who wrote the story: “...Lewis doesn’t have Bruce Springsteen’s philosophical depth or John Cougar Mellencamp’s bad-boy edge.” Well, no wonder they put him on the cover, then—people like that are hard to locate. Connelly also mentioned—early on—that Lewis’s music was “mildly derivative.” He was right about that, but if that’s an insult, I wrote the liner notes on John Wesley Harding.

Maybe Connelly doesn’t like Lewis’s music any more than I like Jack Kemp in ’88. He’s certainly enamored with reiteration, though—towards the end of the story he reminded the reader that “Lewis is a synthesist rather than a true original.” That means he’s mildly derivative. Then—just in case your grasp of originality is only so-so— he added this game plan: “...if he, like Springsteen and Mellencamp, can branch out creatively and etc... ” OK, is that clear to everybody?

I don’t know about you, but I find this rather interesting. A guy works his can off to become a successful musician and— when he becomes a very successful musician—he’s in sudden need of becoming more like Springsteen and Mellencamp. And, really, if you can’t make a case for Springsteen and Mellencamp being mildly derivative, then you’re mildly slow. No doubt Springsteen can sell you land in Florida, shares of Beefsteak Mines and stuff like that...no doubt Mellencamp’s also got his fair share of musical wits. But to elevate these fellows to standards of excellence isn’t merely a rhetorical faux pas. It’s flatout stupid. Why not compare everybody to Chuck Berry and write 3,000 words about mildly derivative? For bonus fun, let’s carefully scrutinize how every American singer/songwriter stacks up to Bob Dylan, starting with Woody Guthrie. Then, let’s get serious.

In the case of Huey Lewis & The News, getting serious might revolve around something he told me: “I hope there’s a certain honesty that comes from us being a real music band.” It’s a freaky idea, Huey, but it seems to be playing.

☆ ☆ ☆

Outside of looking like a mature Teen-Age Republican, Huey Lewis has other outstanding bad points. He’s into sports, being— by all reports—a decent softball player. He thinks Randy Newman and Don Fagen are America’s premier songwriters, which is true, but an uncommon belief. Worst of all, he actually likes music. He even cares about music. A sorry tally, to be sure.

This would all be OK if he could keep his mouth shut. Fortunately (for us), he can’t— in consequence being one of pop music’s more thoughtful and literate voices. (I say this even though Huey gave me an incisive half-hour of rambling indictments he wanted to keep off the record. As everyone knows, writers love to hear brilliant conversations off the record, because it makes them feel important.)

But what’s on the record isn’t so bad either. Like every artist in heavy rotation on MTV, Huey’s paid dem inevitable dues...unlike most, he doesn’t seem to mind naming names, particularly as regards the sorry state of American music. If it seems odd for a guy selling millions of records to criticize his milieu, just remember that (1) somebody has to do it, (2) Lewis has the experience to do it, and (3) it’s ail true.

“I’m more in touch with the people of America than the record companies and the radio stations are.”

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I noticed that Huey wasn’t quite wearing blinders when I mentioned I’d taken my daughter to see the Jacksons’ Victory show. (Lewis himself has a baby daughter.)

“Yeah, I can see taking her to a Michael Jackson show,” he said. “Even at 30 bucks a seat. But would you ever take her to see Motley Crue?”

Hmm, that’s 3 pretty good question. As an adult, I know the Crue are essentially harmless bozos, but it’s uncertain what effect they’d have on an impressionable kid.

“No, I don’t think so,” I said.

“I don’t think I’d take my daughter to see them either,” he replied. About time we shed some light on this troublesome Jackson/Crue issue, huh? What’s more, it gives me happy speculation over the hundreds of inventive letters I hope to see from outraged Motley Crue fans, denouncing Huey as a reactionary did pud. Before you take Crayola in hand, though, consider this: Motley Crue have never, not once, done a thing to advance the enjoyment of music. Imagining a more cynical band, a more opportunistic attitude, is a tough one. They’re nowhere near old mildly derivative chitchat—these guys are about as original as less calories. What the hell, they’re not even funny. They are symptomatic of a certain problem, though, which at least gives them some worth. I’ll let Huey tell you.

“I’ll go into a recording studio and I’ll see a sign saying: ‘Wanted guitar player. Must have own gear, professional attitude, geared for success.’ This thing looks like an IBM resume. And on top is a picture of some kids that look like Motley Crue and they’re called Rock Dog or something. Now, there’s something crazy there, you know what I mean?”

Yeah, and it’s not a pleasant thing. It’s bands looking like a bunch of chumps because they’ve been led to believe bands should look like a bunch of chumps. It’s kids who would die to talk to the lowest A&R rep in sight. It’s musicians of potential worth trying to understand radio programming or, worse, MTV. It’s a wall, and Lewis has been up against it. He has some advice for people trying to make a living playing music.

“The thing you have to do—believe it or not—is to realize that there are people out there who are being underestimated by the radio stations and the record companies. It’s a harder route to go. But I feel that I’m more in touch with the people of America than the record companies and the radio stations are.

“And I don’t blame this (situation) on the bands. I blame it on the industry and the factionalization of radio. Radio today is so factionalized—you have hard rock over here, pop there, soul music somewhere else. Which means that all the bands all over the country spend their time marketing themselves. Trying to sound unoriginal. Trying to sound like what’s on the radio at the moment and that is just not the way to go about it.”

Which naturally leads us to the right way to go about it. Lewis—now 34—has spent the better part of his adult life being an unsuccessful musician. If he doesn’t have some ideas on the right way to go about it, he’s one hell of a lucky guy. Come to think of it, he probably is lucky, but, of course, he’s got ideas, too.

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“My advice to young people growing up, young musicians in bands and stuff: number one, never give up. In this business you don’t do better and better and better for quite awhile. You don’t come out of nowhere and make it. You’re underpaid for years. So never give up.

“Number two, keep writing good tunes. But, generally, don’t worry about what you hear on the radio and what the record companies tell you is hot. Take that all with a grain of salt and say, ‘Yes, sir, yes sir’—but take that all with a grain of salt, because I don’t think they have a fucking clue. I think your own particular impression of what people in your town and clubs want to hear is probably better. Just trust your own feelings and strive to be original as opposed to unoriginal.”

Easier said than done? Probably. And—like Lewis said—a harder route to go. On the other hand, musical success is such a longshot that you might as well keep your integrity in the process. Records are business. Music is nothing more— and nothing less—than music. It might be about time it was left up to the musicians.

☆ ☆ ☆

Analyzing the seemingly effortless appeal of Huey Lewis & The News is trickier than it might look. Huey calls it “rock ’n’ roll for adults,” and that’s obviously one facet. (Lewis sounds very pleased—and rightfully so—when he tells you about his fan mail from people in their early-tomid-30s. “These are people who’d given up on rock ’n’ roll,” he says.)

What’s more, Huey obviously believes in “The Heart Of Rock ’n’ Roll” ethos. “There’s tons of talent out there,” he said, in specific reference to America. “You ever been to Austin, Texas? As a music town, it’s unbelievable—any night you can hear three or four bands that sound great. It’s just a great music town and there are lots of great music towns. Tulsa is one. Cleveland. But the industry—I don’t want to blame just the record companies—the industry is Hollywood, and they don’t want to go to Tulsa.” Jeez, you can almost hear Johnny Colla coming in on sax to back up those sentiments. Unnh, heart of rock ’n’ roll.

Possibly another aspect of their appeal is a cheerful steadfastness in refusing to take themselves seriously. “Don’t get me wrong, we take our music seriously,” Huey cautioned. “We take our music as seriously as anyone else. It kind of bothers me when we’re compared to other bands who are supposed to be more creative or something.” Not that we’re going to mention anyone’s name, like Bruce Springsteen or John Cougar, because he might be talking about Rolf Harris of “Tie Me Kangaroo Down” fame. But he’s got a point. Huey Lewis & The News have a mystique somewhere around nil. Watching Sports churn out great 45s while the industry progressively leaned on brainstorms like Freakism (Crue, Twisted Sister, et. al.) and Mystique (Prince, The Boss, The Little Bastard and other mysterious names) was perhaps the most fascinating musical event of the summer. Really, you’d have to go a far piece—maybe a lyric writing battle between Neil Peart and John Fogerty—to get more laughs and insight into pop music.

The eminently casual Huey(^“my voice is rough, so I have a low standard to begin with”— put it this way: “We’re a democracy, that’s always the way it is with me. Music is a team sport, which is one of the reasons for the album’s title. You can’t sing without back-ups or a band. The whole thing is like different positions on a team and each one is equally important. The keyboard player is as important as the singer. That’s the way it always goes.”

Now, we all know that’s not the way it always goes. A lot of times everybody’s looking at the singer or Angus Young, right? “YeahSwell, we’re different. We didn’t answer any ads to join this band. And we’ve always felt that if we had anything to offer, it’s not our great personality, it’s our music.”

Huey cheerfully admits that he likes the music of both Bruce Springsteen and John Cougar. But, for historical purposes, I’ll add that Bruce’s drummer, Max Weinberg, joined the E Street Band after answering an ad The Boss placed in The Village Voice. A neat coincidence.

☆ ☆ ☆

Well, where is this all leading? Huey Lewis has very obvious skewed feelings about the music industry, like many. Unlike many, he’s on top of the music industry. When he says “I don’t want to bite the hand that feeds me,” I think we can all get behind him. Nor is he alone in his feelings. He mentioned a conversation he had with Van Morrison, when Morrison was having trouble getting a record deal recently. Keep in mind that not giving Van Morrison a record deal is the musical equivalent of putting the entire Detroit Tigers baseball team on waivers, at least aesthetically.

“He was so disenchanted with music that hetold me he would never even play a venue that was a rock ’n’ roll venue. He wanted to get away from the whole thing. And—this was during the last Rolling Stones tour—he said to me: ‘Y’know, they say the Stones are the greatest rock ’n’ roll band in the world, right? Well, as far as I’m concerned, they’re the worst band in the world.’ ”

That’s a sanguine bit of hyperbole, of course, but well-taken hyperbole nonetheless. Anyone who’s bothered to follow the Rolling Stones lately will agree they’re superb accountants, undoubtedly. That they can rake it in while an artist of Morrison’s stature rouses faint interest is symptomatic of something. According to Lewis, much of this is because “We went to sleep. You know why? It got to be real easy. The music business got real good and the A&R guys don’t have to do shit. The smartest thing they can do is not sign a band and take their paycheck and use their expense account for as long as possible. And license the next English band.”

Pretty scary, if you ask me, but not completely innacurate. It’s hard to argue with Huey Lewis when he says: “A guy like Elvis Costello could have never happened in America,” because a guy like Elvis Costello hasn’t happened in America. It’s hard to argue with him when he starts singing “I Want Candy” and interchanges the lyrics with “Hey, Bo Diddley.” Or when he claims that—if he hadn’t become a rock star, he’d probably be a musician, laughing at the distinction. This is not the attitude of a guy in need of a bad-boy edge.

Looking ahead, he admits he’s working on his next album (“in my mind”), but that “songs come from the air...when the muse comes, she comes.” In other words, if he’s feeling pressured to follow up Sports he’s not exactly wearing it on his sleeve. He vaguely mentions that the band’s been offered “some film stuff,” which is something he’d like to do, but far in the future. For the time being, he seems happy to speak his piece about the music business: “It’s going to be people like me who are going to be their conscience. I’m going to keep barking at them till they get better.” And, from what I’ve seen, I believe him.