Whitneypedia: The Inaugural Entry

Driving to McDonald's one fine morning several weeks ago, I heard some nonsensical piece of trivia on the radio and realized I already knew that useless nugget. Not because it was important enough I ever learned it in my years of schooling, but rather that my immense amount of time spent drinking with Whitney and his trivia-clogged head (seriously, the man has a tremendous head) led to him spewing this particular nugget, amongst many others, in my general direction over several carbonated beverages.

In between ordering my McGriddle and paying the bitter youth at the window, I called Whit to inform him of this revelation. I suggested that he is a more powerful force than Wikipedia, and then, being the genius I am, I suggested he write a recurring G:TB segment entitled... wait for it... "Whitneypedia." Get it? Man, I am awesome. And so is this...
--TJ

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Okay, Teejay, here goes nothin'.

Whitneypedia... the first entry:

Most people over the age of 30 remember Band-Aid (the one-off superdupergroup to benefit starving Ethiopians, not the adhesive bandage). Their charitable contribution to the 1984 holiday season, “Do They Know It's Christmas?”, is still the most enjoyable “contemporary” (post-Burl) Christmas song going, featuring some of the best new wave and early 80's pop/rock musicians in the UK and beyond. Classic. Not too long ago SportGuy hoisted it into his Hall of Fame, then prattled on for a paragraph about Paul Young when everybody with a smidgen of music trivia in their heads knew that Young was a stand-in for Bowie, who couldn't make it. (Besides, Young did a fine job as understudy, and he's no slouch -- “Come Back & Stay” with the Fabulous Wealthy Tarts is vintage 80's blue-eyed soul.) But I digress.

You probably don't remember Band Aid II, a 1989 reprise of the concept to a tee, minus any musicians anyone cared about. Two-thirds of Bananarama (years after my infatuation with them had waned), Kylie Minogue (still Loco-Moting, years before she caught my eye), and a slew of easily forgettable British acts re-recorded the very same song. They gave Kylie Paul Young's intro spot, which was making the best of a bad situation, but the overall result simply lacked any creative spark whatsoever. And they all seemed to be having a really good time in the video, removing themselves that much more from the role of humanely concerned citizens. (Bob Geldof was nowhere to be found, which says a lot.) I believe the single topped the UK charts briefly, if only because nobody releases records that close to Christmas. It was for the same great cause, otherwise I'd slag it further. But I digress.

You might have heard about Band Aid 20 a few years back. This time Sir Bob did get back involved, and the artist list for the twentieth anniversary of Band Aid was suitably stronger. Bono and George Michael -- who'd experienced vastly different image changes since '84 -- re-appeared alongside some of today's best British talent. Folks from Coldplay, Radiohead, Travis, Snow Patrol, & Keane all joined in, as well as Dido and the new Kylie, Natasha Bedingfield. (Females were strangely eschewed from prominence on the original record, so this was a nice change.) The song was the same, of course -- except for a couple of hip-hoppy lines thrown in for kicks -- but some freshly recognizable voices made it the clear runner-up to the original. Worth a listen for fans of the first edition of the carol . . . and for those of you who don't think a song about starvation counts as a “Christmas Carol,” I routinely count “Fairytale of New York” in that category, so let's use the term loosely. But I digress.

You all know Live Aid. Duh. Too young for Woodstock, I'd call Live Aid the greatest concert of my lifetime, and I didn't even see it when it aired. I was playing baseball and camping out for six weeks in Goshen, VA; we tuned in that July day from the opening notes until the dramatic finale on that old relic called the FM radio. If you've forgotten how good the concerts were, look up the artist and track list on the Net. If you're a music aficionado, know that the DVD package delivers the goods. Dire Straits & Sting, Bowie (who made it this time), and The Who were just a few of the highlights; U2 was stirring, as you'd expect; Queen was riotous. The reunions of Sabbath, CSNY, and especially 3/4 of Zeppelin all seemed momentous, standing in direct contrast to the splintered Stones' performances. (At the time, we thought Mick & Keith were done. And in retrospect, maybe that would've been cooler.) Madonna was still dead sexy and pre-bleach -- or at least the large quantities of it. The Phil Collins thing was a cheesy ploy, but in 1985 it was about the coolest thing we could conjure. There were set list choices (Adam Ant's “Vive Le Rock,” The Cars' “Heartbeat City,” Rick Springfield's 3 songs yet no “Jessie's Girl”) and performances (disappointing Duran² and especially Dylan) that didn't measure up to expectations, and a few of the era's stars were missing (Bruce woulda been nice, and Prince coulda been fun), but by and large everything was even better than could be hoped for. One great day of music that seems impossible to best. But I digress.

You also might recall Live 8, the 20-year redux of Live Aid to coincide with a G8 political summit that the usual crew (Geldof, Midge Ure, Bono) thought needed some public spotlight. A different but similar message, and a little bit altered formula. Instead of just Wembley and JFK, there were 11 shows played and broadcast around the world. Some of the concerts were light on internationally known acts (not sure why they didn't consolidate to 8 for a marketing message), and once again, it was really all about London & Philly. I had just gotten my TiVo set up the week prior, and recorded much of it via MTV -- who proceeded to butcher the damn thing. Performances chosen seemingly at random and cutting away to commercial mid-song (in true MTV quick-cut montage style) nearly ruined everything. The misguided telecast, the fractured set-up, and the fact that it played like a sequel eliminated any chance of the resonance felt in the first and only Live Aid. There was controversy about the Live 8 cause, the ensuing results, and the ego of Sir Bob. And color me the cranky old man, but the music wasn't as consistently good. And yet . . . if you tuned in for the long-awaited reunion of Pink Floyd on the London stage at the end of the night, you know it was all worth it. That was somethin' special. But I digress.

You certainly, undoubtedly, indubitably know about USA for Africa. Yes, the Yanks couldn't leave well enough alone . . . and this time it was in a good way, raising money and awareness in big chunks with their follow-up to the Brits' “Do They Know It's Christmas?” called “We Are the World.” Typically American, our rendition was bigger (way more huge names, and a song twice as long), more blandly mainstream, and destined to draw tons more publicity. Oh, and not as good. I play Band Aid every holiday season as often as I can; if my iTunes shuffle happens to land on “We Are the World,” it's a mad dash to the keyboard before Michael's chorus hits. But it was okay, and there were moments that shined. Springsteen (who, as the story goes, drove a rented Corvette from the airport to the studio, while every other artist came in a limo with security) singing with Stevie was tops, and it's star-studded enough that you can recognize just about every solo singer. It's worthy for the donation, and for the extraordinary collection of talent in one room. (Michael Jackson, of course, was in another room, but no matter.) You can even get over the inclusion of Dionne Warwick, Dan Aykroyd, a few too many News, and every damn Jackson ever born. Except Janet. All of this is forgivable, given the moment. Except . . . the song really could've been a lot better. But I digress.

And now to my point.

What I am willing to bet you do not recall, what you most likely never ever knew, was that the mid-80's “famine jammin's” were not limited to the UK and USA. Yessirree, you betcha, our friendly, comfortably-dressed neighbors to the north chimed in to do their part to end Ethiopian hunger. That's right, there was a Canadian tribute song that same year entitled “Tears Are Not Enough” (you can see “tears" becoming “beers” in many a drunken Saskatchewan sing-along), and it was recorded by the Canuckleheaded amalgam Northern Lights. These days you have about the same chances of hearing this song as getting struck by lightning, and well, . . . to be blunt, the latter is preferable. I haven't spent enough years at this keyboard to appropriately convey the cringe factor that comes with each listen, so you'll either have to trust me or go dig it up. It's buried at Track 5 on the USA for Africa album between a live E Street version of Jimmy Cliff's “Trapped” (the only only only non-charitable reason there was to buy the CD, and even that ended when it appeared on his latest comp) and a rare Prince song. If you remember cassettes, you know that the tape often got flipped before the last song on Side 1, right where “Tears Are Not Enough” resided. Folks, all this is no accident.

The instrumentation begins with some cheesy keyboarding best described as “très faux,” and you'll soon see why that's appropriate; think 1980's Chicago -- with less edge. Gordon Lightfoot -- yeah -- opens up the singing, prompting you to think, “Oh yeah, he's Canadian.” (This phenomenon happens quite a bit in the song; it's a pleasant distraction from the music.) Second is Burton Cummings, one-half of duo behind The Guess Who. Randy Bachman was the other half, and when they split in the early 70's he went on to form the classic rock staple Bachman-Turner Overdrive, while Burton himself . . . uh, hung out in Canada for a decade and waited for Northern Lights to call. Anne Murray follows him up, taking us to soft rock depths that really require a warning label. (That's soft rock in the worst sense -- this from a self-professed lover of Yacht Rock's really smooth music.) Joni Mitchell, whom I do enjoy, joins in next; then comes another forgettable pansy-rock guy, followed by the estimable Neil Young. Now, my love of Neil's work is steep, but remember, this was mid-eighties Neil Young, the guy who'd just recorded back-to-back synth and rockabilly albums as part of a decade long middle finger (or insert Canadian equivalent) to his record company. Add to that that Mr. Young has never had the classically trained voice, and that it's suited for acoustic guitar, not karaoke Journey (with less edge), and his line “somehow our innocence is loooooost” sounds like an elementary school musical performance.

Bryan Adams, unsung Canadian rocker, turns in the best five seconds of the whole song -- predictably. But he's quickly undone by a duet that sounds an awful lot like “Almost Paradise,” so I'm thinkin' that's Loverboy Mike Reno in there. Fine, not terrible. And then the chorus hits like a punt in the gut. Ugh.

We can bridge the distance
Only we can make the difference
Don't you know that tears are not enough
If we can pull together
We can change the world forever
Heaven knows that tears are not enough

Lord. It's like New Kids on the Block. With less edge.

Well, you expect things to move predictably from there, and they do for a second. Another sub-par pair of hosers (alas, not the McKenzies) harmonize to open Verse 2, then the song actually rebounds with the always enjoyable Corey Hart. (I'm such a sucker for “Sunglasses at Night.”) And then . . . then . . . it hits like a neutron bomb. Even if you're tuning out the flannel-worn fluff at this point, you whip your head around: “Are they . . . singing . . . in French?” Yep. It's just a quick couplet, but it's a rabbit punch, and then you go, “Ah, yeah. Frickin' Montreal.” The only thing worse than Canadian light rock? French Canadian light rock. Cripes. Before you can form the xenophobic, anti-French epithet, however, Geddy Lee arises from the background with his unique nasal whine. Cue the Beavis: “Ohhh, God, it's Rush.”

From there it eventually fades into incessant repeats of the chorus in that drone that says, “We have 45 pop singers in one room and we defy you to discern any one of their prominent voices, mister.” A few folks fill the gaps with soul-sung wails in a “We Wish We Were the World” kind of way, and whoever permitted the song to go four-and-a-half minutes needs to be met at the border and Fargoed.

But really, what kind of jackass maliciously maligns the coming together of legendary musicians in the name of charitable giving? So what if “We Are the World” raised $63 million and the Canadian version resulted in this fact: “By 1990, the project had raised $3.2 million for famine relief projects in Africa, although 10 per cent of the money raised were kept to fund Canadian food assistance programs as well.” And why is that last part funny to this jackass? I couldn't carry Neil Young's tuque, much less a tune better than he. And if sappy sentiment and cheese-synth was not only the order of the day in 1985 but also the ideal way to reach the most people and have them in turn reach for their wallets, what the hell is my problem?

I'll tell you what my problem is. I've had “Tears Are Not Enough” on repeat the whole time I've been writing this diatribe. I swear, if someone so much as pronounces it organ-I-zation in my presence tomorrow, I'll have more than a five-minute major coming my way. And please don't get me started back on that mad quest to find out why it's Maple Leafs instead of Maple Leaves.

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This has been your first (and I hope not final) dose of Whitneypedia. Many thanks for the information and images I borrowed to pass along for your enjoyment. Remember, when it comes to knowledge and trivia . . . spread 'em.