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  • Commercialisms: Swiffer vs. Player

    Player\'s 1977 Self-Titled Debut Album
    Player’s 1977 Self-Titled Debut Album
    Who knew that a shaggy mop or an old fashioned feather duster could inspire such an emotional response, but in the new ads for Swiffer, I actually feel for them – no matter how much the folks at Proctor & Gamble want me not to. Of course, my reaction has everything to do with the ads’ use of Player‘s disco-era soft-rock chestnut “Baby Come Back”, and the urgent harmonies with which the band beg forgiveness – you can blame it all! on! me! I was wrong – on behalf of obsolescent cleaning supplies everywhere. The best spot features an unsuspecting Swiffer-iffic housewife peaking out the window to find a sombrero-sporting trio serenading her with a mariachi style version of the song, and a feather duster peaks out sheepishly from behind one of their legs. The poor thing reminds me of the look on my dachsund’s face after we’ve scolded him for doing a #2 on the livingroom carpet. With the anthropomorphizing power of classic 70s pop/rock songcraft on the feather duster’s side, who wouldn’t give up the sleak, stylish green now-ness of the Swiffer – the cleaning supply equivalent of a Pharrell hook, perhaps – for the scruffily sincere feather duster?

    The irony is that there’s really nothing at all scruffy about “Baby Come Back”, except perhaps for certain band members’ faces, circa 1977. The song opens with a cool, syncopated bassline and a tidy, just shy of uptempo, beat – the L.A. quartet had certainly absorbed some production lessons from their labelmates at RSO, the Bee Gees. The guitar harmonies on the song have an instantly identifiable, warbly tremelo effect that I don’t think I’ve ever heard on any other song, and if I had, it would almost certainly make me think of Player; and the verses have a soulfully aimless drift to them which makes the desperate pleas of the chorus that much more monumental. Unfortunately, for Player, the song proved an impossible act to follow, and while they recorded four studio albums and scored a couple of minor hit singles – their 1980 single “Givin’ It All” was a transparent rewrite of “Baby Come Back” – before they called it quits in the early 80s, Player were never able to replicate the success of their debut. Thank God for licensing.

    The quartet reunited in the mid-90s and even put out a new album called Lost in Reality in 1996 for the River North label. In 1998, they released an excellent best-of set which collected a handful of songs from each of their albums (including the reunion record), and, at this point, you can probably pick that up for less than the price of a Swiffer Duster.

  • Jesse And The Rippers Present: Forever

    I was at work yesterday passing old videos with my co-worker via YouTube. Let’s just call him EFreezy. He lobbed me one that just sent me into all kinds of hysterics.

    On the great show Full House, John Stamos played Uncle Jesse, who was always singing old Elvis tunes. He was in a fictitious band called Jesse And The Rippers and used to sing a Beach Boys song on the show called Forever. That isn’t all that noteworthy.

    Did you know that the Beach Boys re-released this song one of their albums in the 90s with none other than John Stamos on the lead vocals? Did you know that there was an actual music video for this song, featuring Stamos and the Beach Boys? But that’s not even the best part. It’s by Jesse And The Rippers. When I saw this, I lost it.

    Featured in the video, are Jesse’s twin sons. I’m surprised Joey didn’t make an appearance doing Mr. Woodchuck. What about Miss Donna Joe Tanner? And wouldn’t it have been great if Kimmie Gibbler made a cameo. Ok, maybe not.

    I learned all of this information on John Stamos’ actual 45th birthday. It was just meant to be. Enjoy some Jesse And The Rippers. Foreverrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

  • Props: Duncan Sheik

    Most of you reading this, if you remember the name Duncan Sheik at all,it’s because you couldn’t duck into a supermarket without hearing “Barely Breathing” in 1996. It was Sheik’s only legitimate hit, but it’s incredibly unfair to relegate him to one-hit wonder status.

    Part of that can be attributed to the fact that the male singer-songwriter had fallen out of favor in the Nineties. The only dudes hitting the charts were R&B vocalists, rappers or frontmen for grunge or jangle-rock bands. Had Sheik arrived five or six years later, it’s possible that his initial success would have paved the way for a more commercially fruitful career.

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