In 1986, the film Highlander premiered, starring Christopher Lambert and Sean Connery, and featuring original songs by Queen.  The film performed rather poorly at the domestic box office, but was enough of an international hit and home video cult success to create a franchise that endures, for better or worse, to this day.

But the initial domestic failure of the film meant there would be no soundtrack album, so Queen took it upon themselves to release their songs from the film themselves.  Hence A Kind of Magic, which included most of their songs from the movie, save “Hammer to Fall” (which originally appeared on their album The Works) and a cover of “New York, New York” (which still has yet to see an official release, sadly).  The title track (written by drummer Roger Taylor) was used in the end credits, but it’s not the version that was later released on the album and subsequent compilations.

That’s a shame, because I really liked that version of the song.  Granted, I do love Freddie Mercury’s rearrangement with added lyrics, breaks, and bass line, but Roger’s version has a more ethereal sound.  It’s a better fit with the fantasy and mysticism of the film (although Freddie’s retooling fits with the whole theme of fucking dudes up and cutting off heads, and all that).

Anyway, here’s the original version of “A Kind of Magic.”

Heavy D reminded me of my dad.  No, really, he looked like a taller version of my dad.  But he could move like a smaller man, and he had a smooth flow tailored to his teddy-bear image.  

Heavy D passed away today; cause of death is yet unknown, and he was only 44, far too young. I’ll miss seeing him pop up on my favorite shows (remember his run on Roc?) and knowing my dad’s fake twin was out there making hip-hop safer for the ladies.

I love Queen.

I haven’t always loved Queen, though I never hated Queen.  Growing up, I knew a few of their songs without really knowing them.  One night, I watched Flash Gordon on TBS with my dad and came to know them, but I wasn’t really impressed with the film, so they didn’t exactly register then.  (I’ve since reversed my opinion on that film, dramatically so.)

But then I got to college and I met my friend Bekah, who loved Queen with a passion I had never before seen.  And more importantly, I saw Highlander one night on cable.  That isn’t the ideal way to see it, but holy shit, I loved that movie from the word go.  And Queen was an integral part of that.  With Bekah as my guide, I ventured further into that world, and came to respect, and ultimately love their flamboyant frontman, the fabulous Freddie Mercury.

The worst part of falling in love with Queen was accepting off the bat that Freddie Mercury had been dead eight years by that point, a most tragic casualty of AIDS.  Never would I get to hear that magnificent voice in person, or hear new songs from his pen.  It felt cruel to me, a particularly selfish feeling, I’ll admit.  But can you blame me?  After all, when Freddie Mercury was on, he was on.

Other bands may elicit more conversation when it comes to the all-time greatest crown (okay, mainly the Beatles and Stones), but in my opinion, there’s never been a band that’s rocked harder or entertained more than Queen, and a large part of that (which is sadly more evident in their relatively recent attempts to continue on without him) is Freddie Mercury’s considerable charm.  That isn’t to downplay the rest of the group—at its best, Queen was one of the tightest, greatest live bands to tear up a stage, and all four band members were accomplished songwriters, each of them penning songs that have ascended to rock canon.  Brian May and Roger Taylor weren’t bad singers either, and each of them have taken turns on lead vocals here and there.

But it was Freddie’s larger than life, magnetic persona that provided the spark, making them one of the most explosive acts ever.  You couldn’t take your eyes off Freddie, and with his mates ripping it up alongside him, the man was invincible. 

During periods of hiatus, Freddie, Brian and Roger all recorded solo material, and obviously, Freddie’s work shone brighter, but none of it could eclipse the music the band recorded together (along with the quietly diligent John Deacon) as Queen.  They were the greatest rock band EVER, and Freddie the greatest lead of all time.

Many point to 1975’s A Night at the Opera as the band’s crowning achievement, and it is one of the best rock albums ever, featuring the classic single “Bohemian Rhapsody.”  But it’s a versatile collection that also contains old-timey rags (“Seaside Rendezvous”), tender ballads (“Love of My Life”) and vicious anthems (“Death on Two Legs”), as well as this Brian May composition that Freddie absolutely tears into.  Showcasing their early prog-metal leanings, and heightening the drama and absurdity of it all, this is “The Prophet’s Song.”

Freddie Mercury would have been 65 today.  He’ll always be missed.

One thing I found strange about the Michael McDonald Pandora station is its absence of Kenny Loggins material.  Considering their musical similarities, and their close working relationship in the late ’70s/early ’80s, I was sure I’d hear “If It’s Not What You’re Looking For” on that one, and some Michael McDonald on Loggins’. 

But while I hear some of the same artists on both Pandora streams, both of them are conspicuously absent from the other’s stations.  Eh, what are you gonna do?  Anyway, here’s a song I haven’t heard in a while, the title track of Loggins’ 1979 album Keep the Fire.

And finally, we come to my favorite song from Michael McDonald, and how could it not be?  ”What a Fool Believes” is one of the best pop songs ever written, in my (admittedly less than humble) opinion.  Perhaps the crown jewel in his time writing with Kenny Loggins, “What a Fool Believes” was the biggest hit McDonald recorded as a Doobie Brother.  It reached #1 on the Billboard charts and won him and Loggins the Song of the Year Grammy in 1980.  Here’s the Doobies’ performance from that Grammy ceremony.

Hope you enjoyed this week!

Again, I fell behind on a theme week, but I’m making it up…first, the song I was going to post yesterday:

Michael McDonald, as mentioned earlier this week, was very much in demand as a guest vocalist, appearing on songs for artists from Kenny Loggins to Steely Dan (and memorably so).  This was lampooned most famously in an SCTV sketch set to this song, Christopher Cross’ “Ride Like the Wind” (which is a fun song, you must admit).

Running Scared is a sort of underrated (but not entirely) 1986 buddy cop flick that sort of bridges the gap between its rough-edged archetype 48 Hours and the warmer (if no less violent) Lethal Weapon.  In the movie, Gregory Hines and Billy Crystal play a pair of Chicago cops on the trail of drug dealers led by Jimmy Smits.  Hines and Crystal shine—their camaraderie is really the main reason to watch this.

One of my favorite twists in this film comes around the middle: the two cops, fed up with the apparent futility of their job and forced to take a vacation in Key West, decide they like it there so much, they’ll retire.  And this song feels right at home there.  Michael McDonald week continues with “Sweet Freedom.”

I mentioned yesterday that in addition to being one of the most wanted guest vocalists, Michael McDonald was also an in-demand songwriter.  In addition to his own solo work, he collaborated with some of his most popular contemporaries, most notably Kenny Loggins. 

One of his best known songs was written with Carly Simon.  Though he originally recorded it with the Doobie Brothers, ”You Belong To Me” later became a hit for Simon herself (McDonald, unsurprisingly, pitched in on backup vocals).

Here’s the original Doobie version.  You can find Simon’s rendition here.

Can I tell you just how much I love Pandora?  It is an absolute lifesaver during the dead hours at work, when I need some sort of musical background to get through some of the more hypnotically repetitive tasks.  It’s also helping me reconnect with old musical memories, and even teaching me a few things about myself.

I often tell people I was musically moribund until middle school, when I discovered alternative rock for the first time and broke away from my parents’ music.  But iPod and sampling-aided critical reappraisal has made our parents’ music cool again, so I’m going to admit right here: I love Michael McDonald.

Yep, that Michael McDonald, the silver-haired, blue-eyed soul man who made a name for himself as a Doobie Brother before taking his smooth California soft rock stylings solo.  Not just Michael McDonald, but every MOR hit I heard on the easy listening stations.  Granted, it was the hysterical internet comedy series “Yacht Rock” that brought it all back, but I don’t really think I ever stopped enjoying that music.  Between my abiding, unabashed adoration of Hall & Oates, my yen for Anita Baker’s smooth jazz hits, and my love of Al Jarreau’s pop-inflected ’80s work, I wonder how I managed to keep any friends back then.

I’ve been listening to my Michael McDonald station all morning, and I’ve enjoyed every song.  Haven’t skipped yet.  Key to this oxymoronic mix of smooth jazz, soft rock and R&B is McDonald himself and his husky, buttery croon.  His songwriting was impeccable, as was the always-assured production on his greatest hits.  So this week, I’m going to come back strong and devote the Song of the Day to Michael McDonald!  That’s right, a full week of Michael McDonald.

Despite my love of his own songcraft, one of my favorite McDonald songs isn’t written by him—in fact, it’s actually a Patti LaBelle track written by Burt Bacharach and Carole Bayer Sager.  McDonald, as it’s well known, was also one of the most prolific guest vocalists of the ’70s and ’80s, and the decision to use him as the counterpoint to one of R&B’s grandest of dames was simply genius.  LaBelle and McDonald duel each other on this ballad of broken hearts, working together to bring tortured life to this examination of separation. 

The best compliment I can give it is that it really feels like an honest portrait of a longtime relationship buckling without hope of repair.  At the time, Bacharach and Sager themselves were no longer married, but still collaborating.  The song was written for Dionne Warwick originally, but her version ended up cut from her Friends album.  Patti got a hold of it and decided to do it as a duet, with Michael McDonald her first choice as partner.  The rest, well, you know.

To this day, “On My Own” is one of my favorite songs.  Here it is for all of you, and happy Michael McDonald week!

Man, even after all these years, I still like the hell out of this song.  What’s wrong with me?

I get really nostalgic a lot.

This song popped into my head, and I instantly flashed back to days playing Bust-a-Groove on Playstation (there was already a Bust-a-Move in the US, so Enix changed the name to Bust-a-Groove).  Bust-a-Groove was a rhythm game, but using standard controllers—sort of like DDR before game developers realized they could actually make money getting people to get off the couch and play.  Nevertheless, it was fun, but a large part of the appeal came from the colorful cast and surprisingly catchy music.

“Natural Playboy” was arguably the best song in the game.  It was a “Staying Alive” knockoff, but with a lot more bounce.  Holy crap, we loved this song.  Every time I hear it, I flash back to a more enthusiastic time in my fandom.  I was huge into anime, and played a lot more games at the time.  Now I barely partake of either.

I think the tipping point was when I stopped going to Otakon in Baltimore.  Sure, I still hit New York Comic Con, but it isn’t the same.  I don’t even go downstairs to visit the New York Anime Festival area.  I’ve come to enjoy Western comics more in terms of quality, but the culture isn’t nearly as fun.  Now I’ve come to miss those days, my Otakon trips especially.  To me, those days really represent, to me, what it meant to be young.