The 500 - 123 - Run DMC - Raising Hell

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 #: 123
Album Title: Raising Hell
Artist: Run DMC
Genre: Hip Hop, Rock Rap
Recorded: Chung King Studio, New York, New York

Released: May, 1986
My age at release: 19
How familiar was I with it before this week: Quite
Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #209, Dropping 86 places
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Walk This Way

Album cover for Run-DMC's, Raising Hell.

Raising Hell was the third record from American Hip-Hop pioneers Run-DMC. It became their second of two records to make The 500 chart. Their self-titled debut at #242, and I wrote about it in October, 2023. In that post, I shared some information about their history and my earliest exposure to the hip-hop genre.

Album cover for Run DMC's self-titled first release.

Although Run-DMC had been recording since 1983 and began releasing albums the following year, my friends and I remained unaware of the trio until they swamped our radars with their genre-bending re-make of Aerosmith’s 1975 hard‑rock song Walk This Way. To say Run-DMC’s version took over the summer and early fall of 1986 would be an understatement. It was unavoidable. The track blasted from car radios and battered cassette decks slung over the shoulders of high-schoolers and pre-teens. It seemed to air on Canada’s MuchMusic television station almost hourly, becoming indelibly stamped on my memory. To this day, when I hear it I am transported back to 1986 when the song  became a significant piece of my mental soundtrack.

Album jacket for the single, Walk This Way, by Run DMC

With time and maturity, I can emphatically declare I now prefer the Run‑DMC version over the original by Aerosmith, although as teenagers my friends and I weren’t nearly so generous. We mistakenly believed the hip‑hop trio from Queens was “stealing” the earlier riff we loved.

As self‑styled rockers growing up in the predominantly white city of London, Ontario, we were generationally and geographically removed from hip‑hop. We didn’t recognize it as a rising art form, nor did we understand the concept, or legality, of borrowing and interpolating riffs and samples from the works of others.

As we edged toward our twenties, I think we felt a bit threatened, even left behind, by this new sound. To us, the song seemed as though Run‑DMC was trying to cash in on a great piece of someone else’s achievement. We considered it wrong and unfair. However, I would later learn that the “borrowing” is permissible and compensated.

A screen capture from the Walk This Way video. In the shadowy
background is Jason, "Jam Master Jay" Mizell. At front, from left
to right are Joseph "Run" Simmons, Steven Tyler, Darryl "DMC"
McDaniels and Joe Perry on guitar.

Truth be told, the picture does not reveal the whole story about the recording. Two members of Aerosmith – singer Steven Tyler and guitarist Joe Perry – actually needed a Walk This Way collaboration far more than Run-DMC. It would serve to revitalize their careers. In 1986, Aerosmith was struggling. Badly. By the mid‑’80s, the group were starting to be seen as washed-up, "has-beens". They were battling declining sales, internal instability, and addiction issues. Their recent albums were underperforming, they had lost cultural relevance, and the band was no longer a major commercial force.

Aerosmith's 1985 release, Done With Mirrors, was a commercial
failure for the once reliable group.

Conversely, Run‑DMC were entering 1986 on the verge of a historic breakthrough. They were already hip-hop’s hottest group, and culturally ascendant. They had strong sales from their first two albums – the aforementioned debut and King of Rock from1985 - had made them a global hip-hop phenomeno. Their third album, Raising Hell, was already shaping up to be a major success. Run‑DMC did not need rescuing and, rumour has it, they nearly declined the opportunity to record the Aerosmith cover.

Members of Run DMC and Aerosmith in the studio, on
March 9, 1986, when Walk This Way was recorded.

I've been trying to figure out why I now like the Run-DMC version of Walk This Way better, and I think it comes down to the guitar playing of Perry and the incendiary solo that finishes the five-minute song. Comparing the guitar solo in Aerosmith’s 1975 Walk This Way to Perry’s re-recording for Run‑DMC’s 1986 crossover smash is a bit like comparing two eras of music history.

Joe Perry (1986)

The original Perry guitar solo on Walk This Way, found on Aerosmith’s Toys in the Attic (#229 on The 500) is longer, looser, and unmistakably rooted in the band’s  blues‑rock swagger. It has a raw, improvisational grit typical of their mid‑’70s peak. By contrast, Raising Hell producer Rick Rubin has said  the Run‑DMC version needed a tighter, more streamlined solo. It had to be "one that could live inside a hip-hop arrangement without derailing its rhythmic momentum."

Album cover for Aerosmith's Toys In The Attic record. (#229 on The 500).

And that intentional refinement wasn’t accidental. Rubin pushed Perry hard during the 1986 session. As Rubin recalled, Perry’s first attempt didn’t cut it. Rubin told him directly that he didn't think it was great. Punctuating the criticism by saying; "I feel like you could do better!’’ It was only after that blunt assessment that Perry delivered the final take, one that was shorter, sharper, and engineered to serve Rubin's radically new context.

Rick Rubin (1986).

From Perry’s perspective, the collaboration was far more than a re‑recording session. He later described the remake with Run-DMC as “a high point” for Aerosmith and “an artistic spark” during a period when their career had stalled. Perry’s solo wasn’t just a performance; it was part of a cultural moment that helped relaunch Aerosmith and blasted hip-hop into the mainstream. Well, not the mainstream of my teenage circle of friends. It would be some time before we came around to accept...and now love...the collaborated version between two future Hall of Fame groups.

The 500 - #124 - Moby Grape - Moby Grape

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: #124
Album Title: Self-Titled Debut
Artist: Moby Grape
Genre: Psychedelic Rock, Power Pop, Country Rock
Recorded: CBC Studios, Hollywood, California

Released: June, 1967

My age at release: 1
How familiar was I with it before this week: Not at all
Is it on the 2020 list? No
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: 8:05

Moby Grape album cover for their debut release

Features the band and manager Matthew Katz

I had never heard of Moby Grape. Not a song, not a story, not even a passing reference. The name might as well have been a lesser known character from one of Hanna‑Barbera's many animated series. Moby Grape could have been a chum of the character Jabberjaw or a participant in the Wacky Races animated series, riding alongside Penelope Pitstop as they try to overtake Dick Dastardly.

Some of the Hanna Barbera characters.

When I mentioned the band's name to my wife, she logically assumed I was talking about a new record called Grape, by the electronica, trip-hop artist Moby. 

Album cover for Play, by Moby - at #341 on The 500.

Shortly after I posted on social media that Moby Grape’s 1967 debut was next up in my journey through 2012 ‘s Rolling Stone Magazine's 500 Greatest Albums, something surprising happened. A few friends, who know music well, let me know that they had only recently discovered the group, or were familiar with just a few songs by them. In all cases, they had become fans of the American rock band from San Francisco.

Back in the 1960s, the corner of Haight and Ashbury in San Francisco was the
epicenter for counter-culture, psychedelia and music.

And once you start digging, you realize how strange that Moby Grape slipped through the cracks for so many of us. Their debut record, released on June 6, 1967, by Columbia Records, was recorded in just six weeks and blended psychedelic rock, power pop, country rock, blues, and folk. The group was a rarity, featuring laser‑tight musicianship from five members, all of whom sang and contributed to the song writing.

Critics at the time recognized the band’s versatility. The record contains short, punchy rock songs, including Hey Grandma, Mr. Blues and Omaha. But also has contrasting gentle acoustic moments and harmonies that brushed up against country‑rock before the genre even had a name. The album peaked at #24 on the Billboard 200 in 1967. It was a respectable achievement, though far from capturing the heights of recognition that even artists in the music power hub of San Francisco felt they deserved.

Album jacket for the single release of Hey Grandma and
Come In The Morning.

The band was a kind of supergroup, assembled out of the rising mid‑'60s West Coast explosion. Formed in late 1966, the lineup brought together three gifted guitarists -- Jerry Miller, Peter Lewis, and Canadian‑born Skip Spence. Bassist Bob Mosley and drummer Don Stevenson rounded out the quintet. All five wrote, sang, and played, which gave them an almost over‑abundance of creative energy. Their early shows around San Francisco generated a buzz strong enough to spark a bidding war among labels, ultimately landing them at Columbia.

Moby Grape (l-r) Spence, Miller, Mosley, Lewis, Stevenson.

So, what went wrong, and how did we miss them? Given the talent and buzz, the band should’ve been unstoppable. Yet everything seemed to go wrong at once. Their manager, Matthew Katz, created years of legal and personal turmoil, including battles over the band’s own name, while Columbia Records sabotaged the album’s momentum by releasing five singles on the same day, confusing radio stations and diluting what should’ve been a breakthrough.

On top of that, Skip Spence’s mental health rapidly declined, and he was hospitalized. Add in the internal conflict among five songwriters pulling in different directions; their arrival in the chaotic San Francisco scene where psychedelic giants favored long jams over Moby Grape’s tight, punchy songs -- and their downfall starts to look tragically inevitable. They made one extraordinary record, filled with the sound of a band that could’ve shaped the era, and, then, through a mix of mismanagement, misfires, and sheer bad luck, the opportunity for greatness slipped away.

Canadian drummer Alexander "Skip" Spence was considered
a bright light of the psychedelic scene. He played on records with
Jefferson Airplane, Quicksilver Messager Service, as well as Moby Grape.

One friend told me that although he was aware Moby Grape existed, he did not follow them further because of the group’s name. He reasoned  that "because of the silly name, they would be a bunch of hippy posers trying to latch onto the San Francisco psychedelic scene". The name itself is a punch line to an equally silly joke that the band had bantered about one day: "What's big and purple and lives in the sea?" A: "Moby Grape."

This got me thinking: "Which bands sound nothing like their name?" Some groups choose monikers that telegraph their genre. Metallica, Slayer and Motorhead sound exactly like the thunderous metal you'd expect. Their names practically scream distortion pedals and black T‑shirts. But plenty of other bands picked names that give you zero clues about what they actually sound like.

A few that always come to mind for me are:

Hoobastank, who sound like hard rock or nu-metal, but actually wrote the emotional ballad The Reason, which has become a standard at weddings.

Vampire Weekend sound like a goth-emo collective or a metal band sporting fake blood and capes. They are actually write preppy, upper‑east‑side indie jams with Afro‑pop guitars and collegiate charm.

The Violent Femmes conjure images of a west coast all-female "Riot Grrrl" punk rock quartet who write songs with unapologetic feminist fury. Instead, they play a mix of acoustic, folk-inspired punk with lyrics that are more quirky and clever than violent or angry.

How about you?

Are you familiar with Moby Grape?

What bands do, or don't sound like their name?

Despite the talent, the praise, the songs, and the promise,  Moby Grape somehow remained a band many of us only discovered by accident, decades later. However, this entire musical journey by blog has been one of discovery, and Moby Grape is now part of my extensive listening catalogue.

The 500 - #125 - Pearl - Janis Joplin

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: #125
Album Title: Pearl
Artist: Janis Joplin
Genre: Blues Rock, Soul Blues
Recorded: Sunset Sound, Hollywood, California

Released: January, 1971

My age at release: 5
How familiar was I with it before this week: Several tracks
Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #259, dropping 134 spots
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Me and Bobby McGee

There are certain lyrics and fragments of poetry that have stayed with me from the moment I encountered them. They drift through my mind at unexpected times and, like familiar memories, return again and again. When they do I turn them over in my brain, pondering new layers of possible meaning. Somehow the words always offer more. Sometimes it is a nuance I missed, or an idea I hadn’t picked up on…perhaps because of my youth.

A handful have come from the lyrical mind of Neil Peart, whose lines were etched in my consciousness as a teen. Other examples have arrived courtesy of Bruce Springsteen, The Beatles, Leonard Cohen, and the sharp insights of poets T.S. Eliot and Robert Frost. Of course, Ol' Billy Shakespeare has a few nuggets cloggin' my noggin'. After all, who else writes words that can shadow you for a lifetime and still feel startlingly alive each time they surface?

One of several Peart quotes I have evaluated
differently over the past 38 years.

Another lyric that sporadically runs laps through my head comes from Kris Kristofferson's pen. I was first introduced to his writing through the scorching vocals of Janis Joplin on Pearl, her second and last solo record. Her 1971 hit, Me and Bobby McGee, is a compact narrative. It follows two drifters, the narrator and the free-spirited Bobby McGee, as they sing their way across the American South. Hitching a ride from a truck driver, they wind their way west to California. Somewhere near the Monterey County town of Salina, the pair part ways, and the narrator is left alone, with the aching melancholy and regret that only a powerful song can instill.

Record label for the single of Me and Bobby McGee by Janis Joplin.

Because the name “Bobby” sits comfortably in the gender‑neutral middle ground, the tune has been recorded by an impressive cast of artists over the years, including Gordon Lightfoot, Roger Miller, Jerry Lee Lewis, Charley Pride, Olivia Newton‑John, The Grateful Dead, Dolly Parton, Johnny Cash and Pink. Each performer shifts the emotional centre of gravity just a little, proof that a memorable story can find new interpretations with different tellings.

Gordon Lightfoot had a #1 hit in Canada in 1970 with
Me and Bobby McGee.

 Kristofferson’s penetrating refrain,  "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose" occurs at the end of the first verse and repeats throughout Me and Bobby McGee.

Typically associated with celebration and liberation, freedom can also result from the loss of everything -- possessions, relationships, obligations and expectations. It is a paradoxical form of liberation. It is a double-edged sword of liberty, cleaving you from all things, but leaving you alone.

Existentialist philosophers, such as Jean Paul Sartre and Albert Camus, wrote extensively about freedom, loss and what remains of self when all things are stripped away.

Kristofferson may have been cribbing from their works when he penned Me and Bobby McGee and wrote that powerful thought-provoking lyric that I still work to fully understand.

Sartre wrote; “Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does.” The narrator, like us, is responsible for every choice he makes. He can not blame gods, fate, society or circumstance for his life and his (and, by proxy, our) freedom is inescapable and terrifying.

By contrast, Camus reflected on freedom through the lens of absurd nihilism in his play Caligula. To him, a man becomes completely free when he recognizes that "life has no higher purpose, the universe is indifferent and any longing for meaning will not be resolved". The titular 'Bobby' is free because he/she carries nothing -- no money, no obligations and, most importantly, no expectations. The narrator, after losing Bobby, inherits that absurd freedom; however, it is a freedom soaked in grief – a "terrifying burden" of true liberation for the first time.

Like I said earlier, Me and Bobby McGee is one of many songs that contain a lyrical gem that has taken up residence in my brain...and refuses to pay rent. It'll probably be there until those synapses stop firing and, as Camus postulates, its meaning, like my many questions about life, will never be resolved.

On a cheerier note, my research into this incredible Joplin record revealed that the backing musicians who support her, The Full Tilt Boogie Band, hail from my neck of the woods. Five of the band's six members are from Stratford and Woodstock, Ontario -- both fewer than 60 kilometers (40 miles) from my hometown of London. The band comprises John Till (guitar); Richard Bell (piano); Brad Campbell (bass); Ken Pearson (organ); and Clark Pierson (drums). Only Pierson is not from Southern Ontario, being a Californian.

Back cover of Pearl, featuring The Full Tilt Boogie Band.

The 500 - #126 - Catch A Fire - The Wailers

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: #126
Album Title: Catch A Fire
Artist: The Wailers
Genre: Reggae, Reggae Rock, Roots Reggae
Recorded: Four Studios, Kingston, Jamaica

Released: April, 1973

My age at release: 7
How familiar was I with it before this week: A couple of songs
Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #140, dropping 14 spots
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Stir It Up

My wife and I have always loved sampling different cuisines. In fact, we recently joined friends at the Annual Taste Experience (formerly Food & Drink Show) in London, Ontario, where we eagerly tasted a variety of flavors, dishes and beverages from regional artisans. With our adventurous palates, we're ready for almost anything. Fortunately, neither of us has allergies or sensitivities, and we enjoy vegetables, seafood, and most meats. We’re also game when it comes to bold, spicy food...though, we’re not out to break any Scoville Scale records eating Carolina Reaper hot wings. We prefer spice with depth and flavor, crafted by someone who knows what they’re doing.

It took me a while to realize that not everyone possesses an adventurous approach to food. I’ve had friends who stick to a handful of simple, fairly flavorless dishes they eat over and over again. One friend even joked, "Hodgy, I’m Irish -- mayonnaise is spicy to my people."

Always the educator, I felt they were missing out. If only I could introduce them to some of the incredible dishes I’d discovered, surely they’d be won over. Sadly, in the process, I became a bit of a food bully, pushing my favorite discoveries on them, instead of respecting their cuisine comfort zone.

An AI image capturing my excitement as I push an exotic dish

on friends with more reserved tastes.

Sometimes, my pushy efforts actually worked. Case in point: Chicken Tikka Masala, a dish that delighted my wife and I while checking out East Indian cuisine in the late 1980s. At the time, the predominantly white, Anglo-Saxon city of London, Ontario, was hardly a culinary hotspot. There was just one Indian restaurant -- Curry’s on Wellington Road. Unfortunately, after 40 years it closed in 2025, a casualty of road widening. On our first visit, we tested Tikka Masala, a U.K. twist on the Delhi classic Murgh Makhani. I learned that in Britain, they simply call it Butter Chicken. And just like that, my campaign to convert the cautious began.

The front door to the recently shuttered
Curry's restaurant in London, Ontario,

Over time, we stocked up on spices and started experimenting with Indian dishes. Moving to Brampton in 1991 was a culinary jackpot. The city’s large South Asian population (15% then, 55% now) meant spices, paneer, mung beans, tamarind, ghee, naan and other Indo-Asian staples were everywhere. Now widely available, these were delicacies at the time, seemingly as rare as a snow-free January in Southwestern Ontario.

The 90s opened us up to a world of flavours. We felt tres- continental.

Slowly, we learned to tame the heat, while keeping the flavour, for more sensitive North American palates. Then came the fun part -- serving these unfamiliar dishes to dinner guests, some of whom would have bolted at the mere mention of words like spicy, Indian, or curry…let alone such mysterious names as Tikka, Masala, Murgh, or Makhani. We waited nervously as our guests took the first bite of our North American-branded “Butter Chicken on rice with a side of cheesy pita.” Just in case, a back-up pizza chilled in the fridge for quick baking.

There was no need. The foreign dish was a hit. Over and over again, our once food-reticent friends asked for seconds. We had unlocked the secret, or rather, two secrets. First. tone down the spice and, second, rebrand the name. Suddenly, ‘Butter Chicken on Rice” sounded far less intimidating than “Murgh Makhani.” Marketing works, even at the dinner table.  

The same strategy was applied when The Wailers released their fifth studio record, Catch A Fire, in 1973.

The Wailers - 1972 - (l-r) Bunny Wailer, Bob Marley, 
Carlton Barrett, Peter Tosh and Ashton Barrett.

The band found themselves financially strapped and stranded in the U.K. following a tour supporting American singer Johnny Nash, known best for his 1972 hit, I Can See Clearly Now. The Wailers’ road manager, Brent Clark, reached out to Chris Blackwell, head of Island Records, with a proposal. Blackwell agreed to pay for their fares back to Jamaica in exchange for a chance to market their next record. Five months later, Marley returned to London with the tapes from their recording sessions. Blackwell, in pure “butter chicken” fashion, reworked the tracks at Island Studios, adding rock guitar overdubs from famed Muscle Shoals session player Wayne Perkins.

Musicians Jimmy Johnson (left) and Ronnie Van Zandt of Lynyrd
Skynyrd pointing at Wayne Perkins in the Muscle Shoals Sound Studios.

The original album cover on the Tuff Gong label featured a picture of a Zippo lighter and was credited to "The Wailers". Blackwell changed the name for the International release of Island Records. The group was now credited as Bob Marley and The Wailers and featured a portrait of Marley smoking a "marijuana spliff", as seen at the toop of this post. There’s debate among historians and reggae scholars that skin tone may also have also been a factor in promoting Marley as the band’s leader. Marley was of mixed heritage, his father was white and his mother was black, and some argue that his lighter skin and "universal" image made him more appealing to Western markets. However, this ignores Marley’s natural leadership qualities as well as his talents as a singer, songwriter and musician.

Original album cover for Catch A Fire on Tuff Gong Records.

In 1973, The Wailers performed their first single, Stir It Up, on the popular U.K. television program The Old Grey Whistle Test, and international attention began to build. 

Bob Marley (centre) and The Wailers on The Old Grey Whistle Test.

A tour followed, and by the summer of 1974 the album had sold about 14,000 copies. Although not a blockbuster by any stretch, it was enough to establish The Wailers and Bob Marley as bona fide artists in a now palatable genre of reggae. The following year, Eric Clapton released his version of Marley’s I Shot the Sheriff, and reggae exploded into the mainstream. And, like our butter chicken, it was enjoyed by everyone, even those with a sensitive palate for spicy, exotic flavours. These days, it is tough to find a person who doesn't like both -- butter chicken and reggae. Mission accomplished!