Unless I’ve stumbled upon something very, very sinister afoot. The question is, do I buy Tinkerbell, Snow White and The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, just to solidify the recommendation? Small price to pay, perhaps…
You never know what might turn up on a late-night stroll through YouTube. Like, say, for instance a commercial for Detroit-produced ginger ale brand Vernor’s starring Ted Nugent. Get ready to practice those Midwestern accents, kids!
He’s like the rock ‘n’ roll Nipsey Russell. (And as a footnote: “It’s What We Drink Around Here”? That’s the best they could come up with? I hope someone was asked to clean out their desk for that one.)
But if we’re going to laugh at him, it’s only fair we should also be silenced by his epic level of rockness. Dig a classic live version of “Stranglehold” from Germany’s Rockpalast television show. Be forewarned: Just when you think he’s noodling and going astray, he cradles himself in the middle of a curve of a stack of amps and starts the face-melting all over again.
I am loathe — and I mean loooooaaaathe — to give modern conservative punditry the time of day. And even though I haven’t seen it yet, I know I’m doomed to pass newsstands all week seeing the pig-like mug of Glenn Beck staring out at me from the cover of Time magazine. It’s gonna be a long one.
But the explosion of totally bananas TV “commentary” got me thinking back to its roots. When did people start doing this crazy shit on TV? Was it around even before the 24/7 news networks? And then I remembered the late ’80s, watching total nutjobs on late-night UHF stations, and laughing myself silly. I speak, of course, of Morton Downey, Jr. (and to a lesser exent, Tom Snyder’s wacko evil twin, Wally George).
Wally was really no fun. Sure, he had the Mentors and El Duce on at some point, and had a regular who went by Reverend Bud Green who — you guessed it — claimed everyone from Jesus to Nancy Reagan was secretly a recalcitrant stoner, but the whole point was to yell a bit, then theatrically throw the 
guest off the show. Groundhog Day, basically. (But he was also father to Rebecca DeMornay, who wouldn’t even recognize him as such. Trivia!)
Downey was another stripe. He taped in Secaucus, NJ, so you can only imagine the fabulous caliber of the studio audience. He did the entire show with a burning cig in hand, ashing into a giant bowl on a table while he snapped his giant cartoonish teeth at insubordinate guests. And the schtick was conservative I guess. But he was kidding. Or was he? Does anyone know? He was kidding, right? You know what, though? The audience wasn’t. Creeeeepy.
I guess I figured Downey was kidding because he laughed at himself when someone ripped him good. Or maybe because of that insane mouth logo. Or maybe because it was in Secaucus. But nevertheless, he was utterly ridiculous and entertaining as a result. Watch him out-raunch Gloria Allred (who was doing her thing even then), or check out a younger-but-still-old Ron Paul (who, to his credit, has not changed his tune one bit in 20 years), or a bunch of ’80s pro-wrestling also-rans (who were also more entertaining back then).
I’ll embed part one of a Morton Downey, Jr. classic, an episode on rock and metal featuring Ace Frehley and Joey Ramone, among others. The show’s theme song sequence alone belongs in the Smithsonian of ’80s hackery, but I mostly thought you’d enjoy watching a mob go dark on a hapless rock critic around two-and-a-half minutes:
If you were a ten-year-old boy in about 1959, you’d be appalled that I’m giving credit to the carpet-bagging Cracked over the latest from Mad Magazine but, well, the times have changed, I suppose. Enjoy the full slate of indie rock knee-slappers here, and be sure to appreciate the unlinked nature of “Do I enjoy their music?” below.
You can pick your rider, you can pick your shoe lifts, you can even pick your anabolic steroids. But sometimes, you just can’t pick the name of the festival you’re playing.