A happy hour contingent sitting around the bar began wondering if Washington Post music critic and NPR contributor Tim Page was right. In an engaging radio report, Page tagged 1974 as the worst year in pop music, and for a while, I couldn't help but agree.
Page cited a slew of No. 1 songs from that year to make his case: Billy Don't Be A Hero, Seasons In the Sun, I Honestly Love You and (You're) Having My Baby.
I actually tried to defend two others Page lambasted - Steve Miller's The Joker and Paper Lace's The Night Chicago Died - but it was to no avail amid the impromptu group of analysts. Even more interesting was that Page declined to name a few other '74 clunkers: Billy Swan's I Can Help, Carl Douglas' Kung Fu Fighting (the only song to make "huh" a lyric) and Ray Stevens' The Streak, which spent three weeks at No. 1.
Don't look, Ethel.
But was '74 the worst? Hey, I've got a dear friend who adores Seasons In The Sun and Billy Don't Be A Hero, so I had to see if there was another year even more wretched.
My completely unscientific and quick approach was to set the parameters at No. 1 songs from each year. What I quickly discovered is that the greatness of some years could be supported using just a few songs.
Sure, 1973 was the dawn of some bad music - Helen Reddy's Delta Dawn and (Tony Orlando &) Dawn's Tie A Yellow Ribbon - but how could you pan a year that yielded Marvin Gaye's Let's Get It On, Gladys Knight's Midnight Train To Georgia and Charlie Rich's The Most Beautiful Girl?
Conversely, it's possible for two or three songs to sink an entire year. In 1976, we were gifted with Convoy, Afternoon Delight and Disco Duck. Quack-quack.
But for a complete lack of artistic genius and ethical value, nothing, not even 1974, can be considered as bad as 1989. This is a year in which Roxette, Paula Abdul and New Kids On the Block each had two No. 1 songs. I could stop there, but that would eliminate any mention of power ballads When I'm With You and When I See You Smile.
And I actually liked Martika's Toy Soldier and Debbie Gibson's Lost In Your Eyes (and that's Deborah Gibson).
But what puts 1989 over the top is not one, not two, but three No. 1 songs from Milli Vanilli, or the middle-aged guys who actually recorded the hits but didn't have dreads, a German accent or spandex shorts.
End of argument, but I will say this: On certain nights, The Rack is the best place in the city for such communal discussions.
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Art For Life, the '90s fundraiser that generated more than $1-million for those impacted by AIDS, is making a comeback. The event, which united the arts community, ended in 2000 due to a number of factors including funding changes in the Tampa Aids Network.
Project Return, an established nonprofit organization dedicated to improving the quality of life for adults with mental illness, is looking to bring back the event and had its first meeting Thursday night.
The majority of the past three Art For Life executive committees have pledged their support, and a portion of the proceeds will be donated to an HIV-focused organization.
For more information, call 990-8981.
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So, who have officials at the new Seminole Hard Rock Hotel & Casino tapped for its grand opening March 11? Remember, this is a place that will have KISS stage outfits, a Sammy Hagar custom guitar and the first custom bass played by the Who's John Entwistle on display.
Something tells me that list did not lead you to say Hootie & the Blowfish, but Darius Rucker and the boys will open after a "Fire and Ice" poolside dinner.
I can't wait to hear Rucker croon "Time, why do you punish me?"
