Suzi Quatro was the first female bass player/vocalist to experience major success as a rocker. Originally from Detroit, she moved to Britain in 1971 at the urging of producer, Mickie Most. She put together a band of motley rockers, resembling the Stooges or MC5. On the road with Slade and Thin Lizzy, Quatro's group developed a rough and tumble, adrenalized rock and roll style that laid the groundwork for later female, rebel-rocker acts. The Runaways, Girlschool and eventually The Donnas were all touched by Quatro's persona and sound. Throughout the early 70s, Quatro was huge in the U.K. and Australia. Unfortunately, fame eluded her in the States. It wasn't until she landed a repeated cameo as the tough-talking Leather Tuscadero on Happy Days in 1977 that she became a household name.
"Can The Can" is the second single, from her 1973 debut, Suzi Quatro. This song is so rock & roll, it's ridiculous. The Brady Bunch clones around the stage are like, We better clap and stomp or she's gonna beat us up!
What does the song's title mean? Songwriter Nicky Chinn explained that "can the can" is "... something that is pretty impossible, you can't get one can inside another if they are the same size, so we're saying you can't put your man in the can if he is out there and not willing to commit."
Never underestimate the power of corporeal politics. Today, hundreds of thousands of people marched through the streets of American cities demanding political action on gun control. In downtown Portland, ME thousands streamed down Congress St. and gathered at City Hall. I was there. It was powerful. When you are united with others in your community, marching, there is an energy -- a sense of unstoppable momentum. It is also reassuring. We are not alone in standing up to the insanity. We are one. I am inspired by the Americans (especially the women and young people) who have once again discovered the power of peaceful, non-violent protest. If we continue to march in these numbers, politicians will hear us. The continuing volume of our chants and rhythm of our marching feet, knocking at their door, will remind them to legislate on behalf of us -- the people. All of the money in the world can't pay back the moral deficit and heal the wounded conscience of NRA-backed legislators...
Jules & The Polar Bears is one of those bands that you want to like, but continue to remain on the fence about even after a decade of failed listens. Recently, I've been sampling bands from the late 70s and early 80s who released fake new wave albums -- major label acts who played middle of the road rock, but disguised it in skinny ties, brightly colored sweaters and catchy, Cars-y keyboard riffs. Jules & The Polar Bears are a good example. Their first record, 1978's Got No Breeding, was compared to Dylan, The Kinks and Springsteen. Personally, I hear a quirky Jackson Browne in the songwriting. Everything sounds bearded and mid-tempo, except Jules Shear, the singer. He gives the band a distinct sound with his "singing at the top of my range" yelp. But even with Shears' interesting squelch, the songs never break out of 70s rock conformity. The guitarist's resemblance to a member of Orleans or Doobie Brothers is telling. Enter 1979's "Fenêt...
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