Robert Palmer: An Appreciation (Coming Attractions)

It begins with a simple 4/4 beat and a sinewy bass line, followed by some piano and organ chords. But the first real hook is the top-line melody played on steel drums -- not exactly the most commercial thing to do in 1978 -- and while I can't remember the first time I heard "Every Kinda People" by Robert Palmer, I do know that the younger me (a) wanted to hear that song again, and (b) wanted to hear more from this Robert Palmer guy. And in time, boy, did I ever.

There was never a point in time when it was cool to be a Robert Palmer fan; often, when people asked what I was listening to, an admission of Clues or Pride would elicit at best a guttural "huh?" and at worst a dismissive "ugh." Even during his commercial peak in the mid-to-late '80s, his ubiquity never quite translated to critical accolades. But when you dug below the lacquered black-clad models in his most famous videos, when you saw past the smart suits and swirled smoke smirk, there was artistry to be found. And after his passing over a decade ago, in 2003 at the age of 54 of a heart attack, that artistry has all but vanished, ground down to a footnote on "Totally Eighties" playlists.

Over the next few months -- maybe longer -- I'd like to rescue Robert Palmer from the ignominy of lip-synched videos and one-hit-wonder status for the slim handful of readers I've accumulated at this blog. One song at a time, I'll try to convey my respect and joy for the work of an almost-forgotten musical hedonist and synthesist. My hope is to make at least one person feel how I felt, way back when, making my introduction into a world of sonic possibility, with Robert Palmer as my personal guide and bon vivant. Join me, won't you?

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NBC -- Never Believe Contracts

Whatever side you're falling on in the recent NBC late-night "deck chairs on the Titanic " shuffle, you have to admit it's been good comedy for all parties involved. While Letterman and Craig Ferguson have been sharp (especially Letterman, who has been gleeful in his "I told you so" vitriol), the best bits have come from Leno and O'Brien. Evidence: It's hard to follow all the angles here, but two things are clear: NBC violated Leno's contract (guaranteeing the 10pm slot), and NBC didn't violate O'Brien's contract (which made no time slot guarantees). So it's not hard to see who the loser here will be. O'Brien won't get the show he wants, Leno will step into a hollow echo of his past success, and tens of millions of dollars will be up in the air. Only Jimmy Fallon will continue to gestate his talent relatively unmolested, and his security is merely a function of the low expectations of his time slot. Meanwhile, CBS (a

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I mean...Urdu? Seriously, Urdu . On an already eclectic and worldly album -- Pride , from 1983 -- "The Silver Gun" closes a chapter in Robert Palmer's career by singing a song about a horse in a language spoken daily by over 100 million people. The liquid bass line and propulsive electronics set out a bedrock for Palmer to ping phrasings rather out of place in Western music, askew astride even the peripatetic minimalism of the rest of the record. Somehow, in the middle of Michigan's Appalachia, I had this on vinyl a few years before the CD era officially commenced. It was an album of effort -- even the cover, a pointillism-and-bronze work, had Palmer's head barely above the water -- but the stitches didn't show to my pre-adolescent eyes and ears. In a career marked by zigs and zags, Pride and "The Silver Gun" were most certainly Other, and for a kid that felt like he didn't belong much of anywhere, it was nice to have those discrete feeling

"I'll Drive You Home"

Upon reflection, I’ve had a fortunate life in the area of work. As a freshly minted teenager, I would visit Evergreen Park Grocery and dream of someday working there like my father did, and at the age of 14, I got $2/hour to live out that dream, such as it was. From there, I yearned to try other occupations, from record stores to teaching, and I’d be chuffed to tell Young Erick that both of those things happened in due course. ( Oh, and Young Erick, one of them got you to meet David Bowie, and one of them got you to own houses and cars, so I’ll let you ponder on which one was better. ) I even got to DJ a bit here and there, and while it never hit the heights of a professional radio gig, it was certainly better than the summer I played preset cassettes on my boom box for a nerd camp dance while my unrequited crush stayed in her room. What I never crossed off my professional life list was acting, either regular or voice, but while I still yearn for that big breakthrough -- seriously, ask

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