In both settings, Johnson's trademark skepticism came in handy: he could be just as incisively nasty about the Next Big Thing as he could the fossilized remains of the Rolling Stones. (Writing about an utterly disposable Roger Daltry solo elpee, he notes that "No member of the Who has ever put out a listenable solo album, and they never will because they're too old and smart to be anything but boring.") But what elevates Johnson's writing above so many once-&-future snarkmeisters is the way that he always holds onto his down-&-dirty Ilini roots. Check out this pithy measure of an infectiously catchy slice of wimp rock: "It's a great tune to hum while squeezing the day-old Twinkies at the Sunbeam thrift shop." It's funny because it's apt.
Johnson's teevee tomes and the like are also a joy to read (particularly his Creem pubbed riff on junk food), but to my tastes the man was at his best pricking at the "bloato pomposity" of yer average rock ar-teeste. (Quoth Rick: "Imagination is about as relevant to rock as baton twirlers are to football.”) It's tempting to pad this review with even more of his great lines -- this is a guy who packed a Budgie review with nuthin' but parakeet jokes -- but why spoil the yuks? Let's just say that if you really wanna know when and how rock music lost a large chunk of its cultural relevance, check out Rick Johnson. He was there, leaping and whistling with his fingers in his mouth, trying to get us hype-addled mopes to pay attention to what was really going down. That we didn't is our own dumb-ass fault.
In fact, listening to a recent release by the Apples in Stereo, I couldn't help wondering what Ranger Rick might've written about this overstuffed collection of spiffy powerpop interspersed with snippets of unfathomable psychedelic rinky-tink. Tried to come up with a suitable Johnson-esque metaphor to describe the disc's sound, but I'm afraid my more mundane mind came up lamentably short. Pretty sure it would've somehow involved rubber doggy chew toys, though...
Article comments
1 - GL Hauptfleisch
I kind of wished you could've padded the review with other great lines, but it does sound like a book to seek out. Although I love the idea of a new readers uprising over the absence of a
dismissive review of the Runaways that
sparked a readers uprising. But that's just me.
Anyway, great review. It's funny because it's funny.
2 - Natalie Bennett
This article has been selected for syndication to Advance.net, which is affiliated with newspapers around the United States. Nice work!
3 - Sister Ray
Rick Johnson from Creem died? Damn. RIP. Thanks for letting us know about this book.
4 - Bill Sherman
Rick passed away last April - from what an autopsy later revealed to have been a series of uncaught heart attacks over the years. Definitely a drag . . .
5 - Wreckola
Good 'un Bill. I too plastered those yellered Sunrise and P. Sun pages w/ typos (always been one of my strong points), so I enjoyed this snarkiness almost as much as the book itself. Having survived the 'Macomb experience' (I actually attended the local 'high' school and WIU, and 'managed' the local music emporium), I can attest 1st hand that Reek was as playful in person as on the page. He dubbed me Lassie, 'cause when several sheets to the wind, I guess my unruly mop and dog-eyes reminded him of that canine hero of our distant TV past. One of my most vivid memories is getting totally blotto and spending hours trying to decipher the obtuse lyrics to the BOC's Secret Treaties lp. We musta listened to the damn thing dozens of times, and of course, in our wacked out condition, who knows what the fuck we were actually hearing. Ahhh, the good 'ole daze. I'll keep flinging out the Ranger Reek bloato hype in the hopes that some unsuspecting innocent will get the faith. Yers in squeemdom,
Wreckola