my power pop addiction, no. 109 (181)

It’s pretty much impossible not to fall in love with There She Goes the first time you hear it. It’s one of the greatest pop songs of all time, even if it reminds me of my gloomy days living in England during the first Gulf War. Back then, the records I listened to most often, all on store-bought cassette tapes, were a German edition Best of the Byrds collection, Big Star’s first two albums (one on each side of the tape), and the one and only release from the LAs. I guess that puts the latter in pretty good company, eh? Dunno why they insisted on spelling their name with a possessive apostrophe. Just a pet peeve of mine. I was introduced to the LAs via a new music radio program on a local BBC station in Cambridge that came on every weeknight called Jive Alive, hosted by Mick and Sarah Jane, two cool cats, very English sounding, no Americanization whatsoever, which I appreciated. …It always fascinates me when a band has one shimmering, transcendent moment and then is never heard from again. Such is the case with the LAs. I’ve read various bits and pieces on the internet about Lee Mavers, the band’s front man and principal songwriter, and learned that his career was derailed both by his impossible perfectionism and hard drugs. Apparently he’s crawled out of it since then and lives a reclusive life in a suburb of Liverpool. Good for him. He brought a little cheer into my life during an especially difficult time for me...