The 500 - #112 - If You Can Believe Your Eyes And Ears - The Mama's And The Papa's

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.

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Album: #112
Album Title: If You Can Believe Your Eyes And Ears
Artist: The Mama's and The Papa's
Genre: Folk Rock, Pop Rock, Sunshine Pop
Recorded: Western Recording Studios, Los Angeles, California

Released: February, 1966
My age at release: 7 months
How familiar was I with it before this week: A couple of songs
Is it on the 2020 list? No

Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Spanish Harlem

Before we even get to the music, we need to talk about the apostrophe.

Not the fantastic Frank Zappa record from 1974 and not, as my students often protest, whether they can use “it’s” correctly.

"But, Mr. H., if a bone belongs to your dog... why don't you write 'It's bone'?"

Because  the dog prefers its bones without an apostrophe.

Seriously, I’m talking about decorative apostrophes; rogue apostrophes; apostrophes that seem to have been sprinkled on a page as if delivered by a pepper shaker. The ones that are just there, doing nothing, contributing nothing except, perhaps, silently daring English aficionados to notice. Such is the case with the album jacket for the debut record from "The Mama’s and the Papa’s"; If You Can Believe Your Eyes And Ears.

Alternative album cover for the group's debut record.
(l-r) Cass Elliot, Denny Doherty, John Phillips and Michelle Phillips.

Now, I want to be very clear: I know it is not wise, kind, or good etiquette to point out other people’s bad grammar. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I am reminded of the Quentin Crisp quote (and later Sting lyric), “It takes a man to suffer ignorance and smile.”

Fair enough, it takes a gentleman to smile politely in the face of ignorance, but it requires an English teacher to whisper: “You don’t need that apostrophe.”

Of course, that Crisp quote is a little pompous, too, isn’t it? The idea that noticing something, quietly judging it and then making sure people know that you could have commented, but chose not to because you are a gentleman is a tad arrogant.

Book cover for Crisp's autobiography.

Now, I am someone who deeply believes grammar matters, not just because it makes us smarter, but because it helps us understand each other. It is also my job to help students improve their writing, and that includes correcting their grammar in a slow, methodical way. One can not bombard a 12-year-old with every grammar rule. Instead, we work our way through rules throughout the year and add them to a growing checklist we use to proofread our work.

The checklist my students are currently using.

The Mamas and Papas album cover provides me with a wonderful teaching opportunity. I plan to show it to my students during an upcoming grammar lesson and ask them if they can spot the editing mistake. Showing students real‑world grammar errors is a powerful way to make learning feel tangible and relevant. However, it once (almost) backfired on me.

I was walking home from the YMCA in downtown London when I noticed that a new pizza shop had opened. The sign read “Pizza Round’s”...with a superfluous apostrophe. I snapped a photo with my phone, fully intending to use it in a future Grade 4 writing lesson.

Pizza Round's restaurant sign, with additional apostrophe.

A few days later, a lovely, sweet and kind student in my class asked if she could hand out coupons to the class from her parents’ new restaurant which was, as you've probably already guessed, the aforementioned “Pizza Round’s”. Needless to say, that "teachable moment" was shelved, permanently.

Which brings us to The Mamas & the Papas, a band whose debut album contains some of the most glorious vocal harmonies of the 1960s, and whose name would eventually be spelled without apostrophes. Interestingly, however, it wasn’t a grammar error that prompted the album’s reprinting in 1966.

It was the toilet.

That spring, records were quietly pulled from store shelves when the original cover, featuring the band posed in a bathtub, with a toilet clearly visible in the corner, was deemed indecent. As a result, original pressings of the album became instant collector’s items, with some copies later fetching as much as $300 at auction. Subsequent releases featured a strategically placed white rectangle listing the album’s hit singles -- Monday, Monday and California Dreamin’ -- carefully obliterating the offending facility.

Alternate cover, showing members  (l-r) Denny Doherty, Cass Elliot, 
John Phillips and Michelle Phillips. 

Once I got past the grammar error, I settled in to listen to a beautifully crafted record and one that is easy and pleasant to listen to. The quartet's harmonies are spectacular and I most enjoyed the track Spanish Harlem, which was originally recorded by soul legend Ben E. King.

Lyric from Spanish Harlem.

In the hands of The Mamas and the Papas, the melody, much like the rose in the song’s lyrics. unfolds slowly and patiently. Elliot’s voice enters not to dominate, but to deepen. It’s a song about noticing beauty where you least expect it, and that feels like a far better use of my attention than searching for grammatical missteps.

(Mama) Cass Elliot.

Speaking of which, I’ll finish this post here and send it off to my father, who edits my work weekly. I trust that if any rogue apostrophes have slipped through, he’ll find them and fix them, with a gentlemanly smile. Maybe I should put one in just for fun.

The 500 - #113 - Court and Spark - Joni Mitchell

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.

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Album #:113
Album Title: Court and Spark
Artist: Joni Mitchell
Genre: Soft Rock, Jazz, Jazz Rock
Recorded: A&M Studios, Los Angeles, California

Released: January, 1974
My age at release: 8
How familiar was I with it before this week: A couple of songs
Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #110, rising 3 places

Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Down To You

Recently, on March 29, 2026, the 55th Annual Juno Awards were broadcast from the TD Coliseum in Hamilton, Ontario. The night opened with a "surprise" appearance by my favourite band, Rush. I put the word surprise in quotations because their appearance had been rumoured for several days on many of the Rush message forums I visit. Still, I was delighted to hear the opening guitar riff to Finding My Way from the band's 1974 debut record blast through my home theatre system.

It was also the debut of the band’s new drummer, 42‑year‑old Anika Nilles, stepping into one of the most daunting roles in rock music. Nilles was not there to replace the inimitable Neil Peart, who died in January, 2020, after a battle with brain cancer. Rush has always been too honest for that kind of fiction. Instead, her presence behind the drums made something else possible. It allowed guitarist Alex Lifeson and bassist/singer Geddy Lee to continue making music together, a partnership that began when they met in junior high school in 1968. This June, that partnership will carry the septuagenarians, Nilles and keyboardist Loren Gold on a 48‑city tour spanning 16 countries. I have tickets to see them in Toronto in August, capping a lifetime of loyal fandom that began when I was 13.

The Juno Awards also chose their 2026 showcase to honour another Canadian music legend, singer/songwriter Joni Mitchell, who was recognized with the Lifetime Achievement Award.

Mitchell, born in Alberta and raised in Saskatchewan, had not appeared at the Junos since 1981, when she was inducted into the Canadian Music Hall of Fame. She was introduced at the 2026 Juno Awards in March by Prime Minister Mark Carney, who framed her not just as an artist but as a national treasure, saying her music “didn’t just provide the soundtrack to our lives... (it) shifted culture, inspired generations and redefined what songwriting could be."

Much of the coverage emphasized that the night’s event wasn’t about nostalgia or comeback mythology. Instead, Mitchell was likened to  an artist whose work has aged like fine wine because it was created to last,  rather than be trendy. Songs with a message that is just as prescient today as they were when they were written.

Mitchell in her younger years.

Court and Spark is one of two records by Mitchell that appear on The 500 list. The other, Blue, released three years earlier in 1971 appears at position #30. Critics at the time, including Robert Christgau of The Village Voice, described Court and Spark as a move away from radical self‑exposure toward clarity and functional songwriting, noting its “winning directness” and smoothness as deliberate maturity, not compromise. On Court and Spark, Joni no longer documents emotion as it happens, like she does on Blue. It is as if she is now inside relationships, careers, cities, expectations, writing like someone who understands how those systems actually function.

Album cover for Blue.

Mitchell has always been praised as an extraordinarily gifted musician. Her voice is transcendent and by the time we get to Court and Spark has lowered slightly to take on a warm, relaxed and almost conversational timbre. She is also an exceptional student of music who frequently used alternative guitar tunings to help her write. The distinct tunings were not just technical flourishes; they were compositional features, with each one providing a unique, emotional palette for her voice.

The 2026 Juno Awards closed with a musical tribute to the iconic songstress, with fellow Canadian  singers Sarah McLachlan and Allison Russell performing a brief medley of songs, including A Case Of You and Both Sides Now, before being joined by Mitchell in rendering Big Yellow Taxi.

Mitchell performs briefly at Juno Awards, 2026.

Mitchell, who suffered a nearly fatal brain aneurysm and stroke in 2015, had a tough time performing. She needed help onto the stage to join the younger singers.

It was tough to see this legendary entertainer seem so frail. However, it warmed my heart to see the joy she took in performing. It was the same spark I saw on the faces of Lifeson and Lee when they opened the event a few hours earlier. I find it gratifying they they are  touring one more time, doing what they love. They are a reminder to all of us to cherish the art that dwells inside us and keep it alive for as long as we can.

The 500 - #114 - Disraeli Gears - Cream

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.

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Album #:114
Album Title: Disraeli Gears
Artist: Cream
Genre: Psychedelic Rock, Blues Rock, Hard Rock
Recorded: Atlantic Recording Studios, New York, U.S.A.

Released: November, 1967
My age at release: 2
How familiar was I with it before this week: Quite
Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #170, dropping 56 places

Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Sunshine Of Your Love

At the risk of sounding like a cranky old-timer, I’d like to take you back to a time when buying concert tickets didn’t involve a glowing screen or a stable internet connection. Long before Ticketmaster.com, and even before phoning in an order became the norm, a ticket buyer had to show up...in person...to claim a spot in a line where you hoped to secure a seat at to upcoming show.

In London, Ontario, in the 1980s, that ritual almost always led to one place: Sam The Record Man, in the heart of downtown. It was there, amid the racks of vinyl, that music fandom required patience, persistence and, sometimes, a 5 a.m. arrival time, even in cold or rainy weather.

A ticket line-up outside Sam The Record Man in London. 
This location predates the one I visited, half a block away

It was a chilly spring morning, around 6 o’clock in 1986 when my longtime chum Jeff Ceaser and I arrived at the front doors of Sam’s, determined to be first in line. Our mission was clear -- get tickets to see the supergroup GTR at Toronto’s legendary Massey Hall that summer.

GTR promotional photo - the rest of the band
featured three talented, but lesser known, British
Musicians - Max Bacon, Phil Spalding and Jonathan Mover.

GTR were a short‑lived British rock outfit built around two guitar heroes from our favourite bands – Steve Howe, a founding member of Yes and Steve Hackett, lead guitarist for Genesis from 1970 to 1977, who hooked up with Bacon, Spalding and Mover. This was an irresistible proposition for teen-age prog-rock obsessives like us.

The five-man group’s debut, self-titled record had spawned an oddly pop‑leaning single, When the Heart Rules the Mind. This was a song clearly engineered for radio success and unbeknownst to us at the time, destined to become a one‑hit wonder, relegated to the dustbin of Gen X music memory.

We suspected our pre-dawn arrival would put us first in line, but as we approached the record store, we spotted two figures in the doorway alcove. Disappointed, we made our way to their location and then realized that we recognized them. I didn't know Scott (Lupasko) or Dave (Adamick) well, as they were a few years younger. But I had interacted with them casually at their various part-time high school jobs. They had worked at a burger place and a gas station in the mall beside our high school. They were also well regarded as talented musicians and music lovers, so it wasn't surprising to find them lining up for tickets to see the two guitar virtuoso

The Steves (Hackett and Howe) who's union
created the "supergroup" GTR - an abbreviation of Guitar.

As the four of us chatted, waiting for the record store and ticket booth to open four hours hence, I really began to connect with them. They were friendly, intelligent and knowledgeable, with terrific and varied tastes in music. "A couple of good blokes" as my British cousins would say. Somewhere in our conversations I revealed that I wrote poetry that could become song lyrics and they mentioned they had formed a band and were looking for a lyricist and singer. Perhaps I could bring my poetry, my voice and maybe even my saxophone to a music rehearsal space to jam with them.

Shot of Scott (left) and Dave in our high-school smoking pit with friends.

Some time later, I found myself making my way to a dilapidated part of the city, a largely abandoned pocket of industrial buildings and warehouses tucked beneath an overpass and hard up against the Canadian National (CN) railway tracks that cut through London. It was the kind of place that felt forgotten, vaguely forbidding, and perfectly suited to loud music and...dubious, if not criminal, choices. The buildings are still there, but the neighbourhood has been thoroughly transformed. What was once grit and rust has since been scrubbed clean and gentrified, now home to craft brewpubs and boutique fitness studios and rock-climbing gyms.

2025 Google Street View photo of the warehouse we used as a jam space.

I should have known I was out of my depth the moment I arrived. As I climbed the stairs to the rehearsal space, I could already hear Scott, Dave and their drummer, Chris Johnson. They were sensational. The three of them were effortlessly noodling their way through an improvised blues jam, locked in and clearly far more accomplished than I’d dared to imagine. I really should have feigned an illness and quietly retreated. But with youthful bravado fully deployed, I pressed on, stepping into the concrete bunker of a studio clutching my juvenile, but heartfelt, lyrics in one hand and my saxophone in the other.

Me (right) in 1986. Dave O'Leary (also a talented musician)
to the left.

It didn't take long for us to realize that my saxophone playing was not a fit. I am an okay player, but only if I have the sheet music and a few hours to practice. However, I was unable to transpose on the fly and my horn, tuned to E-flat, didn't work with the band’s instruments, effortlessly being jammed in a variety of keys. Since then, I have learned to carry a handy chart with me and use it as a cheat sheet during jams, but still prefer to know the music and have the score on a stand in front of me.

Transposition Chart.

"Why don't you sing a couple songs?" was the next suggestion. A Battle of the Bands was to be held at Mingles Tavern in a month and the trio was rehearsing two well known ‘60s songs. The first was Voodoo Chile, an acid rock classic from The Jimi Hendrix Experience, and the second came from this week's Cream record, Disraeli Gears, a psychedelic blues rock track dubbed Sunshine Of Your Love.

Cover jacket for the single, Sunshine Of Your Love.

Disraeli Gears was the second studio recording from British hard and psychedelic rock pioneers Cream. I wrote a brief account of the band in my July, 2024, post for their third record, Wheels of Fire, which appears at position #205 on The 500. I'll write again about the group in 13 weeks when we get to their debut record, Fresh Cream (#102).

Fresh Cream album jacket (1966).

The title, Disraeli Gears, has its origins in a misheard expression. When recording in 1967, guitarist Eric Clapton mentioned to a member of the band's crew that his bicycle had "derailleur gears" -- a term for the shifting mechanism on a multi-speed bike. The crew member, Mick Turner, either genuinely misheard Clapton or playfully riffed that they were "Disraeli Gears", named after Victorian British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli (1804-1881).

Back in that concrete and metal jam space, I tried my best to sing. In retrospect, I should have tackled Sunshine Of Your Love in my own voice, instead of trying to mimic Cream bassist and vocalist Jack Bruce. I think I could have pulled it off. That said, I was clearly not up to the level of talent that surrounded me. I was more than a weak link, I was a gear (Disraeli or derailleur) that needed to be replaced. Saving further embarrassment, I sacked myself before the Battle of the Bands event at Mingles. Dave, Scott and Chris soldiered on with Dave singing Cream and Hendrix songs that afternoon...far better than I’d managed. I was happy for their success, despite my bruised ego.

Entrance to Mingles and Talbot Inn, long since demolished to
make space for the city's Junior A Hockey rink and concert venue - 
now dubbed the Canada Life Centre.

The trio would go on to form their first band, Aura. They were all still high-school age In fact, they needed to wear special wrist bands when playing at Mingles to alert staff they were not of legal drinking age -- 19 in Ontario, Canada.

Poster for a performance by Aura, May 1988.

Not long after, the group expanded and rebranded as Poor Folk, now a five‑piece. Dave and Scott remained on guitar and bass, while Chris stepped out from behind the drum kit and into the spotlight as lead vocalist. The lineup was completed by Chris’s brother Mark on guitar and Tom Sanford on drums.

Poor Folk, Sanford is not with the band at this time, pictured
far left was temporary drummer Brent Blazieko.

For a time, Poor Folk became a weekly fixture at Hanover’s, a local pub in the Westmount Mall complex, which also housed the burger joint and gas station where Scott and Dave worked. Poor Folk developed a dedicated following, which was not surprising because each member of the band was impressively talented. They provided me with indisputable evidence that my most appropriate role in their musical ecosystem was that of an applauding audience member.

Westmount Mall in 1975, featuring the loveable, but tough, 
Cliff who was the security guard throughout my high-school years.

I've stayed in touch with Scott over the years and finally got a chance to reconnect with him last summer when he visited Canada. He and Dave went on an epic world travelling adventure after university and both landed in England to explore the music scene. It is there where they ultimately settled -- Scott in York and Dave in Essex, just outside London. I appreciate the help Scott gave me, through numerous text messages and shared pictures, as I wrote this post and tried to retrace a 40-year-old memory that began with a five-hour wait, and conversation outside Sam The Record Man in downtown London.

The 500 - #115 - The Who Sell Out - The Who

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.

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Album #:115
Album Title: The Who Sell Out 
Artist: The Who
Genre: Rock, Art Pop, Power Pop, Mod Pop
Recorded: Multiple Studios in London, Nashville, Los Angeles and New York

Released: December, 1967
My age at release: 2
How familiar was I with it before this week: Somewhat
Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #316, dropping 201 places

Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: I Can See For Miles

In the mid‑eighties, during a stretch when my Who obsession was in full bloom, I must have picked up The Who Sell Out a dozen times in local record shops, debating whether to add it to my growing collection. The cover alone made it hard to resist. Guitarist/singer Pete Townshend rolling an oversized deodorant stick under his arm beside lead vocalist Roger Daltrey, soaking in a bathtub of baked beans. Flip it over and the spoof ads continue. There is drummer Keith Moon smearing acne cream across his face, and bassist John Entwistle draped in cheetah print with a bikini‑clad model on his arm, pitching a Charles Atlas fitness program. It was all so wonderfully odd.

Back cover to The Who Sells Out.

Despite the lure of that wonderfully bizarre cover, I never actually bought the album. After spending time listening to it on Spotify recently, I wish I had. The whole record is a bright, mischievous collage of styles and sounds. It runs the gamut, from the satirical mini‑commercials (the brassy, almost Monty Pythonesque Heinz Baked Beans is my favourite) to explosive rockers such as I Can See For Miles. But then it surprises the listener with tender moments such as I Can’t Reach You or Sunrise. I played it for my wife on a drive from London to Niagara Falls and found myself pointing out how each track feels like a quick, clever burst of creativity. If one doesn’t grab you, just wait a minute. The Who will soon be chasing the next idea.

Album sleeve for single, I Can See For Miles.

There are several versions of this album floating around on Spotify. You can start with the original mono release, 13 tracks exactly as listeners heard them in 1967. There’s also the 1995 Deluxe Edition, which adds 10 bonus cuts, including a wonderfully unhinged psychedelic rock take on In the Hall of the Mountain King by Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg (1843–1907). And for the completists, the 2009 multi‑disc set offers both the stereo and original mono mixes, plus roughly thirty additional outtakes, ads, and curiosities that reveal just how much fun the band was having in the studio.

As I was scrolling through the various editions on Spotify, one cover stopped me cold. It featured a brunette woman standing in for Townshend and Daltrey, complete with deodorant roll‑on and a bathtub of baked beans. The album was titled Petra Haden Sings: The Who Sell Out. Intrigued, I pressed play and was instantly rewarded. What I’d stumbled upon was a fully a cappella re‑creation of the record. Every instrumental line and harmony was not simply sung, but magnificently layered, textured and performed entirely by the voice of the woman on that cover, the astonishingly talented Petra Haden.

Album cover to Petra Haden Sings: The Who Sells Out.

My research, which had begun with the four lads from West London, England, took a sharp turn and landed me across the Atlantic with a multi‑instrumentalist from New York City. Born in 1971, she is one of three triplet sisters, the daughters of the legendary jazz bassist Charlie Haden. Among his many accomplishments, Charlie spent years playing with Ornette Coleman. Their shared credits include the 1959 record The Shape of Jazz to Come, an album I wrote about in September, 2023, when it appeared at #248 on The 500.

Charlie Haden (1937-2014)

Musical brilliance clearly runs deep in the family. Her sister, Rachel Haden, plays bass for the Los Angeles rock band That Dog, while their other triplet, Tanya, is an accomplished artist, cellist, and singer, married to one of my all‑time favourite entertainers – actor, musician and comedian Jack Black. Imagine the creativity bursting out at their family reunions? I'd gladly man the barbeque just to be a "fly-on-the-wall" observer.

Jack Black and his wife, Tanya Haden.

As the story goes, it was musician and producer Mike Watt who suggested that Petra Haden record this all-vocal version of The Who’s third record, Sells Out. Watt recently toured with Iggy Pop and The Stooges (three records on The 500) and was also with the punk band Minutemen. My late friend Claudio Sossi wrote about the album Double Nickles on the Dime (#413) back in July, 2020. At Watt’s urging, Petra began this massive project.

Mike Watt.

She took the idea seriously, and ambitiously, with the goal of recreating the entire original album front-to-back -- not just the songs but the commercials, textures and instrumental lines, using only layered vocals. Every guitar riff, bass line, drum fill, horn blast, jingle, and harmony is sung by Petra herself, meticulously overdubbed track-by-track. It took her three years to complete and, when she decided to perform it live, she needed to assemble a 10-woman choir, which she dubbed The Sellouts.

Petra Haden (middle) and the Sellouts, perform the album live.

As it turns out, I saw Petra Haden perform long before I knew who she was. In 2006, my pal and frequent guest blogger, Steve “Lumpy” Sullivan, scored us box seats to see Bob Dylan at the then new John Labatt Centre in London, Ontario. The opening act was the Foo Fighters, who were performing their hard rock catalogue with acoustic arrangements. Providing violin and backing vocals on that tour was none other than the talented Ms. Haden.

My ticket stub for Bob Dylan, The Foo Fighters and Petra Haden.

I didn't end up buying The Who Sell Out in the ’80s, but after re-issues, re-discoveries, chance encounters, and one astonishing a cappella cover, it found me. If there’s a moral to this story, it’s this: trust your curiosity, follow the weird detours, and never underestimate where a baked‑bean bathtub might lead.