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 - #120 - Sweetheart Of The Rodeo - The Byrds

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 #: 120
Album Title: Sweetheart of the Rodeo
Artist: The Byrds
Genre: Country-Rock, Roots-Rock, Americana, Progressive Country
Recorded: Columbia Studios in Nashville and Los Angeles

Released: August, 1968
My age at release: 3
How familiar was I with it before this week: One song
Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #274, dropping154 places
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: One Hundred Years From Now

I am delighted to welcome back, for his third visit as a guest blogger, podcaster and writer of the My Life In Concerts media page, Various Artists. Enjoy.

The Byrds were never one of those bands that I “discovered”: they already existed fully-formed as a contemporary, thriving entity as my awareness of the world around me began to take shape in my later-1960s, childhood brain.

I loved how they sounded, with McGuinn’s chiming, jangling guitar, the gorgeous choirboy harmonies, the brilliant songwriting and interpretations, their musical adventurousness, the trippy folk rock sound, and also their supercool look via McGuinn’s fringe and granny glasses, David Crosby’s capes, and drummer Michael Clarke out-Brian-Jonesing Brian Jones with his barnet.

Michael Clarke with his "barnet" aka: hair. Barnet is cockney
rhyming slang, taken from the annual horse fair, held in Barnet, England.
Barnet fair = hair.

I was also very aware of them as my 12-year-old sister went along with her friends to scream at them when they played here at the London Arena in 1966. She loved the show. (I also only just now realized: my sister and I saw our first concert at the same age).

Concert poster for The Byrds show at the 
London Arena.

While I loved the band, I didn’t actually own a Byrds album until the early 80s. At that time, that 12-string Rickenbacker jangle sound had returned as a massive influence to indie and alternative rock in a big way. So many of my favourite bands of the time -- R.E.M., The Smiths, Orange Juice, Echo and the Bunnymen, and a bit later, The Grapes of Wrath -- were clearly indebted to The Byrds (and Big Star for most of them too) in their music. Most also actively championed California’s Five Mop Tops as an influence and sonic inspiration.

A 12-string, Model 360 guitar from the Rickenbaker manufacturer.

They first hit hard in the summer of 1965 with their innovative folk rock take on Bob Dylan’s Mr. Tambourine Man. As it turns out, that sense of innovation was a quality that the band never stopped embracing, leading to musical tangents and line-up fluctuations in the years ahead. The next few years saw them release a series of adventurous and increasingly psychedelic albums.

Album cover for Mr. Tambourine Man by The Byrds.

In the mid-80s, after purchasing Greatest Hits, a friend of mine who was already a Byrds nut taped most of their albums for me. It was then that I went deep into my own Byrdsmania, particularly loving the journey through their first six.

For those rare bands or artists who literally change the course of music, it is usually one of their greatest honours. Well, The Byrds changed the face of music THREE TIMES.

The Byrds' 1968 line-up, (l-r) McGuinn, Kevin Kelley, Gram
Parsons and Chris Hillman.

First, with their original folk rock hits which launched that genre and movement. The second time around, they became one of the premier California rock acts to go early and deep into psychedelic experimentation, with 1966’ Eight Miles High as one of the very first psychedelic hits.

Album cover for The Byrds' Eight Miles High.

And then there’s change number three which brings us to this week’s album: 1968’s Sweetheart of the Rodeo. Album number six was a sharp left turn into country music, but modern and infused with young people’s values and vibes.

They’d birthed folk-rock. Now they were birthing its cousin, country-rock.

By this time, three of the five original Byrds were gone (Gene Clark, David Crosby, and Michael Clarke) replaced by Kevin Kelly on drums and, much more importantly, Gram Parsons on guitars and keyboards.

The Byrds original line-up, (l-r) Crosby, Clark, Clarke, Hillman
and McGuinn.

At the time, Parsons was largely unknown. He himself had started exploring the country-rock synthesis with his own small-time group, the International Submarine Band. And indeed, a variety of artists had contemporaneously been exploring this genre merge with specific tracks: Buffalo Springfield, Mike Nesmith of The Monkees, even The Beatles and The Stones.

Gram Parsons, who appears three times on The 500 list, with
two bands (The Byrds and The Flying Burrito Brothers) and solo.

But Sweetheart of the Rodeo was a complete leap into the deep end. Initially, McGuinn’s vision for the album was going to be a survey of 20th Century American music, starting with bluegrass and country through jazz, R&B, etc. But it was the newly-installed Parsons who eventually swayed Roger and bassist Chris Hillman into making the record an all-country affair, blended with aspects of rock music and attitude.

Essentially, Parsons wanted to blend a variety of roots genres into what he named as Cosmic American Music.

Image from Robert Rubsum's 2017 article, Cosmic American Music.

The LP’s material ranged from traditional-to-recent country classics (I Am a Pilgrim, The Christian Life, Blue Canadian Rockies, Life in Prison, etc.) as well as countryfied folk (Pretty Boy Floyd) and R&B (You Don’t Miss Your Water). And since this is a Byrds' album, there is the requisite, and excellent, Dylan covers (You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere and Nothing Was Delivered) although here they were making their public debut as McGuinn sourced both of these songs from the then-unreleased Basement Tapes. (#292 on The 500 list).

The Basement Tapes album cover - a 1975 release from Bob Dylan
backed with members of The Band.

Then there were the two Parsons originals: One Hundred Years from Now and the classic Hickory Wind which he later re-recorded for his seminal and final album, Grievous Angel (#425 on The 500)

When I got that glut of Byrds cassettes in the ‘80s, Sweetheart was one of the first I played as I had read so much about it. I couldn’t have been introduced to it at a more perfect time. In that era, I was listening first to some country-inflected bands, particularly R.E.M., as well as some of the great country legends such as Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline, and Hank Williams along with some of the new, more left-field country artists such as Steve Earle, k.d. lang, Emmylou Harris, and Dwight Yoakam.

In hearing Sweetheart, I experienced the seed that flowered into a variety of more alternative country sounds and movements over the next several decades. I also rediscovered Gram Parsons. I knew who he was as my brother had some Flying Burrito Brothers albums in the early 70s, but had largely forgotten about him and them.

Album cover for The Flying Burrito Brothers, The Gilded Palace
of Sin, #192 on The 500.

I absolutely loved this album from first listen: the songs, the vocals, all the pedal steel and great playing, the whole feel and aesthetic. I went on to play it obsessively in the years ahead, buying the CD upon its ‘80s release and a deluxe version from this century. I still love it today.

A pedal steel guitar being played.

In and around this time, Pamela Des Barres released her landmark book, I’m With the Band: Confessions of a Groupie, of which Parsons is one of the key players. It all just seemed to be in the air at that time.

I'm With The Band: Confessions of a 
Groupie book by Pamela Des Barres.

As with most innovators and innovations, the wider audience is usually not prepared or open-minded enough to initially welcome such a deviation. Indeed, during the recording of this album, the band played a show at the Grand Ole Opry where they received a hostile reaction from the mainstream country audience.

Furthermore, when the album dropped in August 1968, it absolutely tanked (just like the two other very different albums from 1968 that Marc has had me write about: The Velvet Underground’s White Light/White Heat and The Kinks’ Village Green Preservation Society). 

Album cover for The Kinks' Village Green Preservation
Society (1968).

The band and album were essentially shot by both sides upon its release. Anything to do with country music couldn’t have been more toxic or undesirable to the hippie cognoscenti while the typical country audience saw them as long-haired hippie freak weirdo interlopers.

It resulted in SOTR being their lowest-charting and lowest-selling album to date. Initially.

Meanwhile, Parsons had already jumped ship two months before its release as the album vanished.

As it turns out, it was just slightly ahead of the curve. 1968 also saw a roots music revival countering psychedelia with the arrival of The Band’s debut, Music From Big Pink, as well as Bob Dylan’s John Wesley Harding and 1969’s Nashville Skyline, and back-to-roots albums by the Beatles and Stones.

Sweetheart’s influence began making an impact as the country rock genre surged in the ‘70s, with this album -- and Parsons’ post-Byrds career with the Burritos -- being its progenitors.

By that time, SOTR was retrospectively hailed as an influential classic, with its impact now spanning the decades, especially on the Outlaw and then Alt-Country movements.

What started as a commercial failure has become a consistent seller over the decades.

I put it on to relisten to it a few times before writing this piece and it still sounds so fresh, vibrant, and sparkling. Here’s a rodeo always worth attending.

The 500 - #143 - The Night Tripper Gris-gris - Dr. John

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: #143
Album Title: The Night Tripper - Gris gris

Artist: Dr. John

Genre: New Orleans R&B, Swamp Blues, Swamp Rock, Psychedelic Funk

Recorded: Gold Star Studios, Los Angeles

Released: January, 1968

My age at release: 2
How familiar was I with it before this week: Not at all

Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at 356, dropping 212 places
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: I Walk On Guilded Splinters

The music scene in 1968 was one of the most explosive, diverse and transformative in modern history. Amidst global cultural upheaval, music became a mirror and a megaphone as it blended rebellion, experimentation, and a deepening sense of political urgency and spiritual searching. In fact, 22 albums from 1968 appear on Rolling Stone Magazine’s 500 Greatest Albums of All Time (2012 edition), including eight in the Top 100.

• Rock music got heavier, more psychedelic, and more politically charged. The Beatles released The White Album, Jimi Hendrix unleashed Electric Ladyland and The Rolling Stones returned to raw blues with Beggars Banquet.

• Folk rock, Americana, and protest music evolved in bold directions. The Band’s Music From Big Pink redefined roots rock, The Byrds’ Notorious Byrd Brothers fused country and psychedelia, Simon & Garfunkel’s Bookends offered poetic introspection, and Johnny Cash’s At Folsom Prison brought outlaw country into the mainstream.

• Soul, funk and R&B deepened their emotional and political resonance. Aretha Franklin released Lady Soul, Sly and the Family Stone began work on Stand!, and James Brown declared Black pride with his landmark single Say It Loud -- I’m Black and I’m Proud.

• Even jazz and avant-garde music were breaking boundaries. Miles Davis edged toward fusion with Filles de Kilimanjaro, while John Coltrane’s posthumous Cosmic Music pushed jazz into spiritual terrain.

• Meanwhile, art rock flourished: The Doors (Waiting for the Sun), Pink Floyd (A Saucerful of Secrets), and Frank Zappa (We’re Only in It for the Money) released albums that blended dark poetry, whimsical psychedelia and biting satire.

And in the midst of this vibrant musical kaleidoscope, a New Orleans-born songwriter and performer named Malcolm John Rebennack, better known by his stage persona Dr. John, was conjuring something entirely different in a Los Angeles studio -- a voodoo-soaked debut called Gris-Gris.

Gris-gris (pronounced gree-gree) is a type of talisman or charm traditionally used for protection, healing or good luck. Rooted in West African spiritual practices, it was carried to the Americas through the transatlantic slave trade and became a central element in Haitian and Louisiana Voodoo.

A gris-gris from the West African Tuareg People.

Typically, a gris-gris is a small cloth bag filled with a symbolic mix of items -- herbs, stones, bones, hair, written prayers, or other spiritually charged objects. It can be worn on the body, placed in a home, or buried in a meaningful location. While often used with positive intentions (to attract love, ward off illness, or invite success) it can also serve more protective or retaliatory purposes, such as hexing or shielding against enemies.

Years ago, I played pick-up hockey with a chum who swore by his leather gris-gris. He wore it, a small satchel tied to a suede cord, around his neck, resting near his sternum. Inside were a handful of inexpensive but, to him, spiritually potent gemstones. Ironically, during one particularly aggressive scrimmage, he was checked hard into the boards…face first. The impact drove the satchel into his chest, leaving him with a bruised chest plate. So much for good luck that day.

When Dr. John titled his debut album Gris-Gris, he wasn’t just naming a record, he was casting a spell. Drawing from the mystical traditions of New Orleans voodoo, he blended psychedelic soundscapes, ritualistic rhythms, and swampy incantations to create something that felt less like an album and more like a sonic talisman. Gris-Gris is hypnotic, mysterious, and steeped in spiritual symbolism.

Released in the chaotic creative storm of 1968, the album absorbed the influences swirling around it, but never conformed to them. It’s psychedelic, but not in the flower-power San Francisco sense. It’s bluesy, but not Chicago slick. It’s funky, but not James Brown tight. Instead, it’s a strange and simmering gumbo of voodoo chants, jazz improvisation, R&B grooves, and psychedelic haze. It is an album that sits at the crossroads of genres and defies easy categorization even today.

Its inclusion on The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time, especially at a lofty #144 ranking, might seem surprising at first glance. Gris-Gris had no hit singles, modest sales, and is rarely cited as a direct influence by mainstream artists. And yet, its eerie, genre-defying atmosphere has quietly echoed through decades of music. The album’s final track, I Walk on Gilded Splinters, has proven especially enduring. It has been covered, sampled and reimagined by a wide range of musicians. Most notably, Beck built the rhythm track for his 1993 breakout hit Loser around a drum loop from Johnny Jenkins’ version of Gilded Splinters.

In many ways, Gris-Gris, like the voodoo traditions that inspired it, endures as a fascinating artifact from a world I don’t fully understand, but can’t help being captivated by. I’ve always been a sucker for a little superstitious lore woven into my media diet, and this album fits right in. Back in the late ’80s, my wife-to-be and I bonded over films such as Angel Heart and The Serpent and the Rainbow…moody, mystical, mysterious and steeped in shadowy voodoo vibes. Listening to this record stirred up those same feelings, my own gumbo of curiosity, unease and sonic appreciation.

So maybe I don’t need to understand Gris-Gris or its placement on this list. Like any good spell, it works best when you just let it take hold. Regardless, when I attempt to return to hockey again following a two-year, hip-replacement hiatus I’ll certainly leave my gris-gris in the locker room.

The 500 - #161 - The Dock Of The Bay - Otis Redding

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: #161
Album Title: The Dock Of The Bay

Artist: Otis Redding

Genre: Memphis Soul, Southern Soul

Recorded: Between July 11, 1965 - December 8, 1967

Released: February, 1968

My age at release: 2
How familiar was I with it before this week: A couple songs

Is it on the 2020 list? No
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Tramp

Recently, I participated in a task force organized by my school's oversight body (Thames Valley District School Board) and my Local Association (Elementary Teachers Federation of Ontario) to discuss the safe and effective use of generative Artificial Intelligence (AI) in the classroom. In "Initialism-Speak", The TVDSB & ETFO invited me to “talk AI. No wonder teachers befuddle parents when rambling on about education -- we sure love our acronyms and initialisms.

AI generated representation of our task force meeting about A.I.

The invitation was flattering. At nearly 60, it is nice to be considered among the "tech-savvy" educators. I was also chuffed to be assisting with the policy making that will guide the instruction of AI by my colleagues for the next few years. The applications for this technology are growing exponentially and, with students aged 3-18 in our charge, we can't ignore its ubiquity.

AI generated representation of a tech-savvy teacher in an elementary
school classroom.

Unlike my high school math teachers, who incorrectly predicted that we "wouldn't have a calculator in our pockets when shopping at the supermarket", it is gratifying to be part of an organization that recognizes the eventual omnipresence of AI and who is embracing the technology while recognizing the need for safety and transparency in its use.

AI generated representation as a teacher from the 80s warning
a student about the limitations of a calculator in the real world.

Encouraged by the school board’s deliberations, I introduced my Grade 7 students to the subsequently approved AI platform, Microsoft Copilot. I began by discussing plagiarism and used some of their favourite music as my attention grabber. Collectively, my class has curated an extensive playlist of music and, although my charges don't realize it, some of the songs they enjoy feature musical hooks, or samples, of other  artists’ work.

For example, many are fans of the song Lucid Dreams by Juice WRLD (born Jared Anthony Higgins). The hit song, which plays in the classroom several times a week, features a guitar riff that was sampled  from Shape Of My Heart -- a 1993 single by English musician Sting (born Gordon Sumner). Lucid Dreams was a massive hit for the fledgling emo-rapper, WRLD, with 2.8 billion streams on Spotify. However, 85 percent of the Lucid Dreams royalties are funneled directly to the bank account of Sting, who brazenly quipped that the money would "put my grandkids through college". Copyright royalties are a tricky business and Sting's team of lawyers easily leveraged the system to ensure he profited handsomely from a naive WRLD’s decision to allow the use of this sample without a pre-negotiated contract.

The students were incensed. Why would this massively wealthy old musician feel entitled to take so much from a fledgling artist, especially when the guitar part in question comprises only part of the entire song Lucid Dream? Most of it was original material; however, it was built around that initial melody. This proved a good lesson in the rules of intellectual property and ownership. It was also an engaging way for me to introduce the importance of crediting one's sources when borrowing the words or ideas of others.

AI generated representation of Sting taking a bag of
money from a sad Juice Wrld.

To my surprise, while listening to this week's record, The Dock Of The Bay by Otis Redding, I stumbled on another example. The album's fifth track, Don't Mess With Cupid, features a guitar lick at the start which is replicated on Party In The U.S.A., a massive hit in 2009 for contemporary pop star Miley Cyrus.

However, on closer examination, I realized that the Cyrus song features an interpolation, not a sample, from Don't Mess With Cupid. It is clearly inspired by the Redding track, but is not a note-for- note copy. The two can be heard side-by-side at this website.

Interestingly, Party In The U.S.A. does not give credit to Don't Mess With Cupid for this clear inspiration. So, I suppose you can sometimes get away with some plagiarism, but I'll leave that out of my future lesson.

Cartoon by Fritz Pirillo.

The Dock Of The Bay was the seventh studio record, and the first  posthumous release, by Otis Redding following his death in a December, 1967, plane crash -- an event I covered in my July, 2023, blog about Redding's record, Complete & Unbelievable Dictionary Of Soul.  The lead single, (Sittin' on) The Dock Of The Bay, was a monster hit which Redding completed recording just two days before his death. The rest of the album contains a number of singles, B-sides and previously released tracks.

Tragically, but saliently to this post, Redding earned no money from this legendary soul song and record. His untimely passing ensured his co-writer, Steve Cropper, and Redding’s estate would be the benefactors from this intellectual property. They would also benefit when it was recorded by more than 100 artists and sampled 23 times by contemporary hip-hop artists. (Source: Who Sampled Website)

ADDENDUM

As a side note, my students have won me over with many tracks and, I'll admit, Party In The U.S.A. gets stuck in my head pretty easily now. I have also become a fan of Juice WRLD, who struggled with mental health issues and died of a prescription overdose in 2019 at the age of 21.

Much like my students, I am aggrieved that the massively wealthy Sting would take so much from a young, naive artist who created something beautiful, unaware of  how recording rights and publishing work. Juice WRLD was a talent that, like Otis Redding, was lost far too soon.