The 500 - #89 - Dusty In Memphis - Dusty Springfield

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 #: 89

Album Title: Dusty In Memphis

Artist: Dusty Springfield

Genre:  Pop, R&B,  Blue Eyed Soul

Recorded: American Sound, Memphis, Tennessee

Released: March, 1969

My age at release: 3

How familiar was I with it before this week: One Song

Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #83 - rising 6 spots

Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Son of a Preacher Man

Like some people of from my generation (perhaps many), my introduction to Dusty Springfield came in 1994 when I saw Quentin Tarantino’s modern masterpiece, Pulp Fiction. Springfield’s Son of a Preacher Man plays as a very stoned Vincent Vega, John Travolta’s effortlessly cool hitman. Vega is assigned by his boss, Marsellus Wallace, to take Mrs. Wallace, out for dinner while he is away. But this is Pulp Fiction, and Vega, and the audience, know there is nothing simple about spending an evening alone with the boss’s wife, Mia.

A heroin-buzzed Vega (Travolta) arrives at the home of his
boss, Marsellus Wallace, in Pulp Fiction.

The movie is classic Tarantino who has always expertly woven perfectly matching songs into his films. From Dick Dale’s frantic surf guitar Misirlou blasting over the opening credits of Pulp Fiction to David Bowie’s haunting Cat People that accompanies one of the many suspenseful sequences in Inglourious Basterds, Tarantino doesn’t only use songs as background music. He uses them almost like characters, forever attaching them to the scenes in which we hear them. I will certainly never hear Stealers Wheel’s Stuck in the Middle with You the same way after seeing Reservoir Dogs in 1992. What had been an impossibly catchy piece of early ’70s pop suddenly became the soundtrack to one of the most disturbing scenes in cinema.

Mr. Blonde (Michael Madsen) menaces a bound police
officer (Freddie Newandyke) in Reservoir Dogs.

Tarantino is famously obsessive about music, but Martin Scorsese has been doing something similar for even longer -- loading movies with songs that forever become identified with particular scenes. I started thinking about all the music I had discovered, or rediscovered, through the two movie giants and remembered a hypothetical question I once saw posted on social media.

Imagine you’ve been given the chance to inherit one of two record collections. There’s just one catch: you have to choose. Do you take Quentin Tarantino’s collection or Martin Scorsese’s?

Tarantino’s collection would be the more unpredictable of the two. I imagine crates filled with ’60s and ’70s soul and R&B, surf rock, garage rock, funk, psychedelia, country, rockabilly and forgotten pop singles, alongside shelves of old movie soundtracks and strange curiosities picked up in record stores over the years. There would be plenty of recognizable names, but the real fun would be digging through the records with unfamiliar titles. Tarantino is clearly drawn to songs that have slipped out of the cultural conversation, only to give them a remarkable second life by dropping them into exactly the right scene. His collection wouldn’t simply be a history of popular music. It would be a history of the weird corners and forgotten side roads of music history.

Scorsese’s collection, on the other hand, would be enormous and deeply rooted in the history of American music. I also imagine it meticulously sorted and on display on well-built shelving units in a large, dust-free room. There would be shelves of blues, early rock and roll, doo-wop, R&B, soul, jazz, folk and country, followed by seemingly endless stretches of the rock music that has populated his films.

Certainly, he would have most of the records on The 500 list, including those by The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, The Band, Van Morrison, Cream and Frank Sinatra. He would even have some Kanye, having used the song Black Skinhead in The Wolf Of Wall Street. But I suspect his collection would extend well beyond rock and roll into classical music, opera, traditional Italian music and old standards. Where Tarantino’s shelves might reward you with some forgotten 45 you never knew existed, digging through Scorsese’s would feel like opening a musical history book, one in which blues leads to rock and roll, rock leads to Dylan and The Stones.

A quick check with artificial intelligence gives Scorsese a convincing lead. Across his 26-film directorial catalogue, he has used music by 32 artists who have at least one album on The 500. Several, including Dylan, The Stones, Beatles and Cream, appear on the list multiple times. Tarantino’s movies feature only 17 such artists, although that comparison demands an asterisk. Scorsese has simply made more movies and filled them with far more music. Put together a playlist of songs from Scorsese films and you would sail past 300 tracks; do the same for Tarantino and you would land somewhere around 127. This isn't counting Scorsese's documentaries or The Last Temptation of Christ, which includes an additional 21 tracks by 500 alumni Peter Gabriel.

My friend Jeff was visiting us at the cottage this weekend and, during a post-dinner walk, he and I arrived at the same conclusion. We would much prefer Tarantino's collection. As Jeff put it:

"Quentin's collection would be so eclectic and filled with obscure records I have never heard of. Sure, Scorsese's would have all the classics, and because he knows the artists he would have some cool rarities and live albums. But, other than those, I have most classic records in my collection already. I would love to dig through Tarantino's crates."

Among them would certainly be Dusty in Memphis. It is exactly the kind of record Jeff and I were talking about, one I probably would never have thought to seek out had Tarantino not introduced me to Dusty Springfield through Pulp Fiction more than 30 years ago. Son of a Preacher Man is a gem, but Dusty in Memphis delivered far more than that signature song.

Dusty in Memphis was the result of Ms. Springfield crossing the Atlantic in search of the music she loved. Already one of Britain’s most successful singers, Springfield travelled to Memphis in September, 1968, to work with legendary Atlantic Records producer Jerry Wexler and the musicians at American Sound Studio. Memphis was one of the beating hearts of American soul, and Springfield wanted to step inside that world rather than simply imitate it from England. What emerged was a remarkable collision of British pop sophistication and Southern soul.

International cover for Dusty In Memphis.

The record was not a big hit when it was released but over time, its popularity grew. This was especially true in the early ‘90s when Tarantino put Son of a Preacher Man on the Pulp Fiction soundtrack. It was a delightful listen while preparing for this blog. How much more frequently I would have played it had I actually inherited Tarantino's record collection? Probably not much more often. After all, QT would have gifted me so much to explore, I would likely be overwhelmed (and delighted) for months.

How about you?

Whose collection would you want, and why?

The 500 - #96 - Tommy - 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: #96

Album Title: Tommy

Artist: The Who

Genre: Rock, Hard Rock, Acoustic Rock, Acoustic Folk, Psychedelic, Art Rock

Recorded: IBC and Morgan Studios, London, England

Released: May, 1969

My age at release: Three

How familiar was I with it before this week: Very

Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #190 - dropping 94 spots

Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Overture/It's A Boy

There is so much I could write about this amazing record. It is, without a doubt, my favourite from The Who's catalogue. It accompanied me for much of the drive on my first road trip from London to Calgary in 1988. It was also one of the first three CD's I purchased in 1985 when, as an early adopter of this technology, I spent an outrageous sum ($500 ...$1500 adjusted for inflation) on my first CD player. However, if you will indulge me, I'd like to share a lengthy tale. I think the juice is worth the squeeze on this one and I promise to be brief next week.  

The Technics SL-XP7.

In the late 1990s, I became friends with a group of local musicians who also shared a love of hockey. Every Wednesday night, we  would gather at a local rink for an hour of shinny. Post game, we'd head back downtown where some of the players, or a group of our musician friends, would be performing at a local club or bar. It was a unique blend of hockey and music that became one of the highlights of my week.

Farquharson Arena - home of Wednesday night shinny in the '90s.

Late one December, the group's organizer, a talented singer, songwriter and musician named Dave Merritt (well known from the musical projects Adam West and The Golden Seals), arranged a road trip to Toronto. Our mission was to play an exhibition game against a team of hockey-playing musicians from Toronto's Parkdale neighbourhood. Among their ranks was musician and author Dave Bidini of the Rheostatics, at the time one of Canada's most respected alternative rock bands. I had seen the Rheostatics open for The Tragically Hip a few years earlier and had been a fan for several years, so the opportunity to share the ice with Bidini and his teammates was especially exciting.

Four releases from The Golden Seals - Check them out at their website.

Unfortunately, the timing worked against us. The game took place just days after Christmas, and holiday commitments left us scrambling to assemble a full roster. In the end, we managed to bring only nine skaters, including our goaltender, Oscar "Porchee" Macedo. By comparison, our opponents, the Morningstars, rolled onto the ice with a full bench and a noticeably higher skill level.

(Fun Fact: The Morningstars take their name from Dale Morningstar, founding member of The Dinner Is Ruined, an avant-garde rock band active in the ‘90s. Dale also co-founded The Gas Station Recording Studio, which has been called "the hub of the Canadian Indie Rock sound". Morningstar has produced records from well known Canadian artists that include Gord Downie (The Tragically Hip), The Barenaked Ladies, hHead, Thrush Hermits and The Cowboy Junkies.)

Dale Morningstar at the 2025 Toronto Folk Festival.

Despite the odds, we held our own. Much of that was thanks to the aforementioned Oscar Macedo who turned in a remarkable performance between the pipes. When the final buzzer sounded, we had lost just 5-2, a result that felt far more honourable than the circumstances suggested, and we gladly accepted an invitation to join them for beers and burgers, post-skate. I even have a short, grainy video I pieced together shortly after the event. (I used to think it was good footage on my small, '90s computer monitor -- alas, technology proves otherwise).

Team photos, post game, December 1999. Morningstars
at top, our ragtag squad at the bottom.

More importantly, that game served as my introduction to the Hockey Association of the Arts (HAA). The organization brought together musicians, artists, actors, writers, road crew members, and other creative professionals who happened to love hockey as much as their chosen craft. Supported in part by the monthly music and arts magazine Exclaim!, the HAA fostered a community in which creativity and competition coexisted in equal measure.

What began as a post-Christmas road trip eventually opened the door to an annual sojourn, every Easter weekend, to participate in the three-day Exclaim! Hockey Summit of the Arts. My team, The London Fog, even won the B-Division trophy in our first tournament in 2000, defeating the Ottawa Songbird Millionaires 4-3.

The London Fog at our third Summit (2003). I am front row, far right.

Each evening of the tournament, after the hockey playing was done, the teams (numbering more than 20 and from coast-to-coast by 2004) gathered at a Toronto drinking establishment for the Hootennany. Every team was  required to put together a half-hour set of music for the crowd. At first, it was just a big jam. The professional musicians with whom I played let me bring my sax on stage to toot along with them, typically just following the bass line with the four or five notes that I knew worked in key. We performed old rock standards, including Little Richard's Good Golly Ms. Molly, a rockabilly version of Creep by Radiohead, as well as Brand New Cadillac and, of course, London Calling from The Clash.

Some footage from our 2002 tournament we hosted in London is here.

Pucks promoting the 2026 Hockey Summit of the Arts event.

However, as is often the case with creative types, the performances at the Hootenanny became increasingly elaborate with each passing year. What started as a handful of musicians sharing a few songs after hockey gradually evolved into a full-blown spectacle. Teams arrived in costume, complete with entrance music, props and choreographed routines. The bar was being raised every Easter weekend, and we knew it was time for the London Fog to up the ante -- and in 2007, we took our first shot.

Tournament favourites Chart Attack Hack recapture 80s hair metal at the Hootenany.

The good news was that talent was never our problem. Our roster was absolutely stacked with gifted musicians and singers. What we needed was the right idea, something memorable that would entertain the crowd and reflect our team's personality. Several ideas were pitched, and I was thrilled when the group embraced my suggestion to rewrite a selection of songs from Tommy, The Who's legendary rock opera, and transform them into a hockey-themed tribute to our team and the tournament.

The concept gave us another opportunity as well. We wanted to recognize Tom Goodwin, a member of the Morningstars and one of the tireless volunteers who helped organize and coordinate the Hockey Summit of the Arts year after year. Tom was one of those behind-the-scenes people whose efforts made the entire event possible, and weaving him into the performance felt like a fitting thank you. It also helped me craft our closing number. He became the titular "Tommy" in our mini-rock-opera.

Our goalie, and bass player Oscar (r) with Tom Goodwin.

I could hardly believe my good fortune. They had always supported my enthusiastic, though, decidedly average saxophone playing.  By entrusting me to rewrite lyrics to songs from one of rock's most celebrated albums, plus letting me play a little backup guitar, and even sing the final number, I felt like I was attending a rock and roll summer camp.

Performing with The Fog at a 2010 Hootennany. I look
much cooler in stills than I sound live.

Prior to our performance, we took to the ice on Saturday afternoon for a game against the Ottawa team we had defeated six years earlier. Since both teams had already been eliminated from playoff contention, the game was little more than a friendly exhibition.

Ottawa Songbird Millionaires (early 2000s).

Somehow, over a 'few' beers the previous night, my pal, and coach, Steve "Lumpy" Sullivan concocted a scheme to entertain the unsuspecting referees and tournament crowd at the start of the following day’s game. The moment the puck was dropped, every player on both starting lineups would collapse to the ice...as though having been shot. Then, our keeper, Oscar, would skate out of his crease for a breakaway. I think we enjoyed the charade more than the bemused crowd...but we did get some laughs and some cheers.

Wisely, I asked a friend to film the stunt, the video can be seen here.

That night, for our "mini-opera," we performed four songs from the album. We opened exactly as Tommy does, with the Overture and It's a Boy. 

We followed with Drinking Wizards, a parody of one of The Who's biggest hits, Pinball Wizard, featuring Vince Braca on lead vocals.  Oscar then took over singing duties for a comedic version of Uncle Ernie, which we cheekily retitled Stumble About.  We did tend to lean into our tendency to enjoy our share of cocktails on those weekends.

Oscar performing Stumble About at the Hootenanny, the 
"multi-media" presentation behind him.

Finally, we closed with Tommy, Can You Hear Me? and We're Not Gonna Take It, the album's powerful concluding tracks. For the finale, however, we put our own spin on the song's famous refrain, replacing it with the heartfelt message, "We just want to thank you." As the small audience sang along (we were booked early and few people were in attendance), dozens of photos of Tom Goodwin filled the screen, creating a touching tribute made possible by the secret and gracious contributions of his family. I have footage of these performances somewhere, but couldn't track them down for this blog. When I do, I'll post them.

Label from the single, We're Not Gonna Take It.

The Fog played its "last" game in April, 2011. By that point, most of us were  in our late-40s with a few members in their 50s. We still played pick-up hockey in non-competitive beer leagues (much the way the team began), but our days of late-night carousing coupled with multiple competitive hockey games are behind us.

Fittingly, for The Fog’s final game in 2011 we organized a shinny match against friends of the team and played on a Saturday afternoon in London. It didn't feel like "the last game" at the time and, maybe, it won't be. But if it was our swan song, I will take a boatload of memories into hockey retirement. 

A photo from our "last" game. April 23, 2011

Thanks for indulging me with this extra long, nostalgic post. Next week, we'll leave dressing rooms, power chords and rock-operas behind, but dive into a little psychedelia with Miles Davis, as he charts the unknown edges of jazz with his 1970 record, Bitches Brew.

The 500 - #121 - Stand! - Sly and The Family Stone

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 #: 121
Album Title: Stand!
Artist: Sly and The Family Stone
Genre: Psychedelic-Soul, Funk Rock, Progressive Soul
Recorded: Pacific High Studios, San Francisco, California

Released: May, 1969
My age at release: 3
How familiar was I with it before this week: A couple songs
Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #119, rising 3 places
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Everyday People

This week’s choice for my Spotify Playlist, is Everyday People from American band Sly and The Family Stone. It is one of  those catchy, earwormy-tracks that never fails to make me feel better about life. Released in 1968, months before the group's fourth studio record Stand! hit the shelves, the song is a catchy two-minute and 21-second ditty that delivers a simple message: All people are fundamentally the same, despite their differences. It promotes equality, unity and empathy by calling out the ways humans divide themselves by race, class, appearance and ideology, and then dismantles those divisions with messages of shared humanity.

It was an important message in 1968 when the United States was reeling from the assassinations of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Senator Robert F. Kennedy, Those tragedies and the deepening societal upheaval over the Vietnam War sparked riots in cities across the country. In that climate of grief, division, and uncertainty, Everyday People offered solace, and a reminder that equality, empathy and shared humanity was possible.

A photo snapped moments after Martin Luther King was
shot in Memphis, Tennessee. April 4, 1968.

Unfortunately, the lesson of Everyday People is no less urgent today. As Russia continues its brutal assault on Ukraine, as violence and polarization persist across the United States, and as Gaza struggles to recover from devastating bombing campaigns, the need for compassion and unity remains as pressing as ever. The world continues to fracture along lines of ideology, nationality, and fear.  But, the song’s core truth endures -- we must find ways to live together, or tear each other apart.

ICE agents deployed in Minneapolis gunned down protester
Alex Pretti in January, 2026.

This week, I found myself in a strange emotional juxtaposition, needing Everyday People more than I could ever have imagined. On one hand, the Winter Olympics filled my screens with images of nations coming together in shared celebration. In contrast,  my country of Canada was left reeling from a horrific mass shooting in Tumbler Ridge, British Columbia, where eight people, most of them children, were killed and more than 25 were injured. Trying to process the contrast between the two events -- unity on the world stage and heartbreak at home -- left me a little unmoored.

Police tape outside the Tumbler Ridge School, one of two sites
for the shootings.

Talking to my students about the random shootings was designed to help them feel safe and ensure they understood that their emotions were valid. However, they also had to be made aware of  the harmful narratives that quickly began circulating, especially the cruel backlash directed at the trans community after the shooter was identified. In that difficult space, Everyday People served as my personal ballast. The lyrics and music were a gentle reminder that compassion, acceptance and shared humanity are not relics of the past but values that require repeating over and over again. I didn't play them the song, but I might do so in the days ahead to affirm what I want them to understand -- that we, as Canadians...as humans...as everyday people, are capable of something better than fear and division.

The 500 - #149 - Self Titled Debut - Santana

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: #149

Album Title: Self-Titled Debut

Artist: Santana

Genre: Latin Rock, Jazz Fusion, Psychedelic Rock

Recorded: Pacific and San Mateo Studios, California

Released: August, 1969

My age at release: 4

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: Soul Sacrifice

Finnish composer Jean Sibelius (1865 - 1957) attracted both praise and criticism for his approach to form, tonality and architecture in his seven symphonies. His response to the criticisms was dismissive when he famously said: “Pay no attention to what critics say. No statue has ever been put up to a critic.”

Perhaps the six members of the San Francisco-based Latin rock band, Santana, reflected on the wisdom of Sibelius when they saw the early reviews of their 1969, self-titled debut record.

Santana (1969).

Rolling Stone magazine writer Langdon Winner called the record “a masterpiece of hollow techniques” and “a speed freak’s delight – fast, pounding, frantic music with no real content”. He further compared the music’s effect to the drug methedrine (a powerful stimulant popular in the drug culture of the late ‘60s) saying, (the music) “gives a high with no meaning…featuring repetitively, unimaginative playing amidst a monotony of incompetent rhythms and inconsequential lyrics”.

Robert Cristgau - Village Voice Magazine.

Meanwhile, on the other coast, New York Village Voice writer Robert Christgau echoed Winner’s sentiments calling the record “a lot of noise… (from) the methedrine school of American music.”


Ouch!


Initially formed in 1966 as The Santana Blues Band, the group evolved into a free-form jam band, experimenting with a fusion of blues, rock, and Latin rhythms—drawing inspiration from the Mexican and Nicaraguan heritage of two of its members. By the time they recorded their debut album, their name was shortened to Santana and the lineup included Carlos Santana (lead guitar), David Brown (bass), Gregg Rolie (keyboards and lead vocals), Michael Shrieve (drums), Michael Carabello (congas and percussion), and José "Chepito" Areas (timbales and percussion).

Santana (1969).

The group performed at the now legendary Woodstock Music Festival on Saturday, August 16, 1969, a week before the release of their debut title. The group performed six songs from their upcoming album including two cover songs – Jin-Go-Lo-Ba by Nigerian percussionist Babatundi Olatunji and the Willie Bobo song Fried Neck Bones and Some Home Fries. I’ll admit, I enjoyed a phonetic preoccupation when I discovered the name “Ba-ba-tundi Ola-tun-ji” and the pleasing syllables that comprise it. I caught myself repeating it as a mini-mantra.

“Ba-ba-tundi Ola-tun-ji” (give it a try).

Thirty-one years after its release, Santana’s debut album received a far warmer reception from Rolling Stone. In 2000, critic Chris Heath described the record as “thrilling ... with ambition, soul and absolute conviction – every moment played straight from the heart.” This marked a dramatic shift from the magazine’s original 1969 review, which had dismissed the album as hollow and frantic. By 2003, Rolling Stone included it at #150 on its original list of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time, nudging it up to #149 in the 2012 revision. However, it was dropped from the most recent update in 2020. The album’s fluctuating status lends weight to Jean Sibelius’s famous observation: “No statue has ever been put up to a critic.”

Santana on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine 1n 1999.

Sibelius himself, of course, has a monument in his honor -- an elegant sculpture nestled in a Helsinki park that also bears his name. His legacy extends further: an academy, a high school, a museum, several streets across Europe, and even a widely used music notation software all carry his name.

Sibelius Monument in Sibelius Park, Finland.

Carlos Santana, who recently celebrated his 78th birthday, has built a legacy just as enduring. He’s been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, earned a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and ranks #20 on Rolling Stone’s list of The 100 Greatest Guitarists of All Time. With over 100 million records sold worldwide, his influence spans generations.

One imagines Santana has long since recovered from the early barbs hurled by critics like Langdon Winner and Robert Christgau. And if not, he can surely take comfort in nearly six decades of musical achievement – or, at the very least, in the towering pile of money he’s earned. Big enough to fund a statue of his own.