Eddie Holman scored a #2 hit on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1970 with the soul classic “Hey There Lonely Girl”, delivered in his trademark falsetto. That success, unfortunately, has landed him in the dubious category of a “one-hit wonder.” It’s a shame, because Holman recorded several other tracks that deserve far more attention.
One standout example is “I Surrender”, the B-side to a 1969 single “I Love You”.
“I Surrender” packs two minutes of upbeat, danceable rhythm, punctuated by bright horns, and lush, Philly-soul strings. It’s a bona fide floorshaker. Holman’s vocal gliding easily between his ringing falsetto and his rich tenor.
The song’s staying power is undeniable: over the years it has become a Northern Soul favorite in UK dance clubs, landing on numerous compilations devoted to the genre. Even the collectors’ market tells the story — original 45 RPM copies are currently available through Discogs for $60 – $271 – further proof of its enduring appeal.
This past week has been very difficult. A loved one was hospitalized, took a turn for the worse, entered hospice, and passed away last Monday.
Because I tend to live my life in song, my thoughts quickly went to R.E.M.’s “Try Not to Breathe” from Automatic for the People (1992).
Michael Stipe’s lyric is written from the perspective of someone on their deathbed, contemplating their final moments after choosing hospice rather than life-support machines. Unable to communicate, the dying person’s internal thoughts are revealed:
I will try not to breathe I can hold my head still with my hands at my knees These eyes are the eyes of the old, shiver and fold
I will try not to breathe This decision is mine I have lived a full life And these are the eyes that I want you to remember, oh
I need something to fly over my grave again I need something to breathe
I will try not to burden you I can hold these inside I will hold my breath Until all these shivers subside Just look in my eyes
I will try not to worry you I have seen things that you will never see Leave it to memory me I shudder to breathe
Stipe has said that the song was inspired by witnessing his grandmother’s death.
In addition to Stipe’s lyrics, the other band members contributed beautifully to the poignancy of the track. Guitarist Peter Buck plays the dulcimer, giving the song its distinctive, trembling texture. Bassist Mike Mills added a gorgeous countermelody, coming in at about 1:50. In an interview with Devon Ivie of New York magazine, Mills recalled:
“So the countermelody I sing on “Try Not to Breathe” is one of my favorites because everybody else left. I’m in the studio and looking in the control room — I know there’s something that’s going to be good in this spot of the song. I try all these different things and I’m not finding it. And then I hit the right thing and I locked eyes with Scott McCaughey from 40 feet away. We just both knew that was the direction. It was very thrilling to have that moment.”
The song captures, with startling empathy, the anxiety and clarity that might fill the mind of someone living through their final moments on earth. It is both tremendously sad and quietly comforting.
Formed in 1985, the Irish rockers—whose sound carried a heavy dose of gospel and soulful uplift — burst onto the scene after years spent busking on the streets of Dublin. Their rise was accelerated by the enthusiastic support of fellow countrymen U2, who championed the band early on.
Their first single, “Don’t Go,” became an instant favorite at home, climbing to #2 on the Irish Singles Chart in consecutive years (1987 and 1988). While it failed to make an impact on the Billboard Hot 100, the song found an American foothold on the Modern Rock Tracks chart, where it reached a respectable #7.
“Don’t Go” is a celebration of life’s simple joys — love, companionship, and the quiet beauty of everyday moments. Its lyrics evoke a serene, sun-dappled world filled with fresh-cut grass, blossoms in bloom, children playing on the beach, and drivers smiling as they pass by. At its heart is a plea to linger in these fleeting moments with the people who matter most, underscored by the recurring, gently urgent refrain: “Don’t go.”
Musically, the track rides a strong, infectious groove, propelled by earnest energy and lifted by a cool, melodic saxophone break that gives it its distinctive character.
The band’s short ‘80s popularity was so pervasive that they were featured on numerous charity compilation albums (Greenpeace Rainbow Warriors) and CD samplers (Details Music Matters series).
Earlier this year, Cherry Red Records released Hothouse Flowers – The Older We Get – The London Years, an expansive overview of the band’s seminal recordings. It’s a welcome opportunity to revisit a group whose early work remains vibrant, soulful, and unjustly overlooked.
In 1980, Any Trouble — a Manchester pub-rock quartet fronted by Clive Gregson — released their debut album, Where Are All the Nice Girls? on the iconoclastic Stiff Records. At the time, it failed to chart. Yet, like a vinyl buried in a dusty crate, it has since emerged as a power-pop classic.
One spin of the opening track, the standout “Second Choice,” makes it clear why.
On first listen, it’s hard not to hear echoes of Elvis Costello — the vocal inflection, the nervous energy, the incisive regret. Critics at the time weren’t shy about the comparison, and Gregson’s bespectacled appearance only reinforced it. The comparison is undeniable, but it hardly counts as a slight; after all, Costello was at the height of his powers during that era.
The production of the album, handled by John Wood (best known for his work with Nick Drake and Richard Thompson), gives the record a clarity and timelessness. According to Gregson, Wood helped shape the arrangements without chasing trends — recording the LP in roughly three weeks, they captured a rawness and freshness that still carries decades later.
One of the more unexpected inclusions on the album is a cover of Bruce Springsteen’s “Growing Up”, perhaps a nod to their origins as a covers band.
Gregson himself went on to provide backing vocals on Richard and Linda Thompson’s exceptional Shoot Out the Lights, which led to further collaborations with Richard Thompson on Across the Crowded Room.
Listening to Where Are All the Nice Girls? today, you feel both the earnestness of a band learning its wings and the weight of unfulfilled promise. Gregson may have sung about being “second choice,” but in the long arc of pop history, this album feels anything but.
Jeff Tweedy, of Wilco, is a remarkably prolific songwriter. Since 1995, he has released 14 studio albums with the band, along with four solo records — one each year from 2017 through 2020. He’s also penned material for the three albums he produced with Mavis Staples and contributed songs for Sukierae (2014), his collaboration with his son Spencer.
Even by those standards, Tweedy has outdone himself with the September release of his latest solo project, Twilight Override — asprawling triple album featuring 30 new songs.
One highlight, “Forever Never Ends,” revisits his high school prom night — though the tale may be at least partly fictional — and ends with him puking Peppermint Schnapps and calling his father for an embarrassing rescue.
On the side of the road In a tuxedo Three below zero In a red cummerbund
I had to call my Dad I knew he’d be mad I’d never seen him not mad Vomit in the frozen grass
Peppermint Schnapps Well, here come the cops They don’t even stop Oh, there they go
Musically, it’s a simple, catchy alt-country/Americana number — very much in the vein of Neil Young’s more country-leaning moments. But when the chorus arrives, the volume swells, and a jagged guitar solo cuts through the mix, giving the tune an unexpected edge.
As triple albums go, it’s too early to know whether Twilight Override will take its place alongside the giants — All Things Must Pass by George Harrison, the Grateful Dead’s Europe ’72, or the Clash’s Sandinista! — but it’s a bold statement that demands attention.
Gal Costa was part of Brazilian Tropicália royalty. In her youth, she befriended Sandra and Andréia Gadelha, whom she considered her “sisters.” These sisters in spirit would later marry two of Brazil’s most important musicians: Sandra wed Gilberto Gil, and Andréia (known as Dedé) married Caetano Veloso. Through these friendships, Gal was drawn into the same creative orbit as Veloso, Gil, and Maria Bethânia (Caetano’s sister), forging deep personal and artistic bonds.
In Bahia’s vibrant 1960s music scene, such childhood and teenage friendships often blossomed into lifelong collaborations. They created what could only be described as a musical family—shared ideals, movements, and artistic experiments that blurred the line between personal and creative connection.
By 1967, Costa had released her debut album, Domingo, a collaboration with Caetano Veloso. It was a beautiful, if conventional, collection of bossa nova songs that hinted at her vocal warmth and interpretive skill. But by 1969, she was ready to move beyond convention. That year’s Gal Costa album ventured into more experimental territory while keeping one foot in her bossa nova roots.
Later that same year came Gal, an audacious, full-on embrace of the psychedelic energy then sweeping Brazilian music. Listening to this record is an experience like no other — fuzz guitars, swirling arrangements, and Costa’s mercurial voice shifting from sweet harmonic blends to wild, unhinged improvisations.
One standout is “Cultura e Civilização” (Culture and Civilization), written by Gilberto Gil.
The song distills the Tropicália movement’s radical tension between high art and pop culture, between Brazil’s colonial inheritance and its modern identity. Costa’s performance is both intellectual and erotic. She treats the lyric with a knowing wink, simultaneously critiquing and embodying its opposites. Her phrasing veers from sarcastic grandeur to earthy inflection, reasserting her Bahian roots with every turn of phrase.
As Gregory McIntosh noted in his AllMusic review, “Gal is an indescribable, unpredictable, ambitious, and fun record preserving a slice of time when Brazil was at its most controversial state musically and politically, and is a must-have for any psychedelic collection.”
If you’re up for the “trip”, listen to the rest of this groundbreaking album.
Rock vocalist Robert Plant is best known for fronting Led Zeppelin, whose eight studio albums between 1969 and 1979 redefined rock music — excluding the hastily thrown-together compilation Coda (1982). But after drummer John “Bonzo” Bonham’s death in 1980, the band made the painful decision to disband. Their press release explained:
“We wish it to be known that the loss of our dear friend, and the deep sense of undivided harmony felt by ourselves and our manager, have led us to decide that we could not continue as we were.”
Since then, countless offers for a Zeppelin reunion have surfaced. Yet of the three surviving members, Plant has been by far the most reluctant. The band has reunited only three times: at Live Aid in July 1985, the Atlantic Records 40th Anniversary Concert in May 1988, and the Ahmet Ertegun Tribute Concert in December 2007 — an event honoring the Atlantic Records founder who signed them in 1969.
Instead of looking backward, Plant has consistently chosen new creative ventures. He’s fronted projects like The Honeydrippers, The Strange Sensation, The Sensational Space Shifters, Band of Joy (with Buddy Miller and his former partner Patty Griffin), and Saving Grace (featuring Suzi Dian). He’s also sustained a rich solo career and recorded two celebrated duet albums with Alison Krauss. Yet this restless spirit doesn’t mean Plant has turned his back on Zeppelin — he remains proud of their legacy, including overlooked deep cuts.
In an interview with MOJO magazine, Plant pointed to one such track:
“But you know, most people have missed some of the best Zeppelin stuff. “For Your Life”, on Presence, “Achilles Last Stand”! Fucking hell. Just extraordinary that three people and a singer can do that. Really, they were pulling so much stuff out of the unknown. Bonham and Jones on “For Your Life”. It’s just insane. And Jimmy, just…”
So, for today’s Song of the Week, let’s revisit “For Your Life”.
Written by Plant, the lyrics depict the corrosive effect of cocaine on the crumbling L.A. music scene of the 1970s. The music itself was largely ad-libbed in the studio — yet the result is one of Zeppelin’s most powerful, underappreciated performances. I’m grateful to Plant for pointing me back to this terrific track.
And don’t stop there. Keep pace with Plant by exploring the many albums he’s released since 1980 across all those diverse projects. His journey since Zeppelin has been every bit as adventurous as his time within it.
Last weekend, I caught a performance by Men at Work frontman and solo artist Colin Hay at The Guild in Menlo Park, CA. He delivered a wonderful set that blended highlights from his Men at Work days with standout songs from his solo catalog — and even surprised the crowd with a cover of Del Amitri’s “Driving With the Brakes On.”
Hay is a terrific raconteur, spinning stories between songs with a wit and warmth that had the audience laughing throughout the night. Each tune came with a personal anecdote — part reflection, part comedy routine.
One of his longer stories concerned the time he met Paul McCartney, a tale he’s clearly refined over the years. (A quick YouTube search shows he’s shared it in many performances before.)
I secretly hoped that this story might lead into the song McCartney once named among his “14 favorite songs of all time” — “Going Somewhere”, as revealed in Uncut magazine back in 2004. But unfortunately, it wasn’t on the setlist that night.
So, I’ll share it here instead:
“Going Somewhere” by Colin Hay — one of Paul McCartney’s favorite songs of all time.
Every great music scene has its creation myth. For Athens, Georgia — a sleepy Southern college town that improbably became one of America’s most creative hotbeds — it began in 1978 with the explosion of the B-52s. Their gleefully eccentric mix of sci-fi kitsch and mutant dance rhythms caught fire locally, then nationally, signaling that something extraordinary was happening below the Mason-Dixon Line.
Grace Elizabeth Hale’s Cool Town traces that moment and the bohemian swirl that followed. Part memoir, part cultural study, the book maps the intertwined worlds of art, poetry, and music that transformed Athens from a college town into a creative hub. Hale was there herself, an active participant in the scene, and her perspective feels both intimate and sharply observed. The prose is accessible, though laced with academic rigor — footnotes abound, giving it the air of a rock ’n’ roll dissertation that’s anything but dry.
Reading Cool Town sent me back to Athens, GA: Inside/Out, the 1986 documentary that captured the scene’s ragged charm (and whose soundtrack I still own). Watching it again is like stepping into a faded Polaroid — full of eccentric artists, thrift-store fashions, and jangling guitars.
After the B-52s came Pylon, a band born from the University of Georgia’s art department. Guitarist Randall Bewley, bassist Michael Lachowski, drummer Curtis Crowe, and vocalist Vanessa Briscoe Hay fused post-punk angularity with a minimalist, rhythmic drive that made them instant cult heroes.
Their first single, “Cool” backed with “Dub,” was pure Athens energy — raw, danceable, and defiantly independent. In fact, Village Voice critic Robert Christgau crowned it the “best independent single of the year” in 1980.
Another group of UGA students (Mark Cline, Mike Richmond, and Armistead Wellford) originally eschewed vocals altogether, crafting shimmering, melodic instrumentals that invited both introspection and movement.
Their tune “Spin Your Partner” remains a highlight of the Athens canon — sunny, hypnotic, and instantly recognizable to anyone who’s ever stumbled into a late-night art-school party.
What Cool Town captures so beautifully is the sense of possibility that hung in the air. This was a scene without music industry oversight or commercial ambition, driven instead by play, experimentation, and friendship. Before “indie” was a marketing term, it was a way of life — and Athens was its playground.
For anyone drawn to the jangly, offbeat spirit of early alternative rock — or the kind of art-meets-music cross-pollination that gave birth to so many American subcultures — Grace Elizabeth Hale’s Cool Town is essential reading.
Little Walter (Marion Walter Jacobs) was a blues musician best known for “inventing” the amplified harmonica sound that has since become a cornerstone of modern blues.
Born and raised in the South, Walter sharpened his harp skills early before moving to Chicago in 1946 during the Great Migration. There, he quickly immersed himself in the city’s thriving blues scene, which leaned heavily on electric instruments — quite different from the acoustic traditions of the rural South.
Frustrated that his harmonica was consistently drowned out by amplified guitars, Walter began experimenting. He cupped a small microphone with his harp and ran it through a guitar amp — or sometimes directly into the PA. While other players were dabbling with similar tricks, Walter’s approach was groundbreaking: he embraced distortion. By pushing his amps into the red, he crafted a raw, aggressive tone that became his unmistakable signature.
For years, Walter was a fixture on Chess Records sessions, adding fire to Muddy Waters’ recordings and countless others. But in 1952, he convinced Chess to let him record under his own name. His very first take yielded “Juke” – anelectrifying instrumental that shot straight to the top of the Billboard R&B chart, holding the No. 1 spot for eight weeks.
To this day, it remains the only harmonica instrumental ever to reach such heights.
Tragically, Walter’s life was cut short. He died in 1968 at just 37, following complications from minor injuries sustained in a bar fight. Yet his influence endures. The sound he forged became the template for generations of players. From Junior Wells to James Cotton. From Jerry Portnoy to Paul Butterfield. From Kim Wilson (the Fabulous Thunderbirds) to Rick Estrin (Little Charlie & the Nightcats). And many more.
