Archive for The Doors

What’cha Gonna Do About It?

Posted in Fur Reals, punk rock, Rock & Roll with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 11, 2010 by alphabetfiend

Small faces, secret mohawks…

The song “What’cha Gonna Do About It” by The Small Faces is so punk rock! Especially considering that it dates back to the incense & peppermints of 1965. (The original BBC recording rocks much harder than the more radio-friendly American version.)

The song is the size of a fist and packs a big emotional punch.

I want you to know that I love you, baby
want you to know that I care
I’m so happy when you’re ’round me
but I’m sad when you’re not there

what’cha gonna do about it?

I want you to give me your sweet sweet kisses
want you to hold me tight
I want you to come whenever I call you
and let me walk you home at night

what’cha gonna do about it?

Such a sweet little co-dependent love song…

You hafta wonder if maybe the singer oughtta just get a dog. Canines come when called and they’re always up for walks!

I love those old-school rock & roll challenges. McCartney howling on the Beatles’ White Album, “Why don’t we do it in the road?” Or Union Carbide’s Ebbot Lundberg daring us to ring his bell.  

If you want me all you hafta do is try ta ring my bell! Ring my bell ring my bell ring my bell ring my bell! Ding dong ding ding dong ding dong ding ding dong.

Makes me wanna get naked in the dark and go down on my lover beneath a glowing street lamp. Makes me wanna ring that fucker’s bell like I’m banging Marc Bolan’s gong. Hell yea! Get it on! Bang a gong! Get it on!

Speaking of my loverly Ebbot, I dug up this awesome footage of Union Carbide performing  “Ring My Bell” in 1988.

Ebbot’s just a kid in the video: all shirtless, thuggish, writhing and sexy as shit. Damn!  TSOOL fans will be surprised to see Lundberg looking so very different from his current Soundtrack of Our Lives incarnation: tunic clad, Buddha belly, guru delivery. Hey, I’m not dismayed, no way. A few extra pounds is just more to love when it comes to geniuses like Jim, Elvis, or Ebbot. My rockstars are welcome to get as fat and as furry as they fucking like.

I love Ebbott as is but it’s still pretty cool seeing him — in motion — as a young punk. Those pounds, those years, they’ve been kind. He still dances with that same snaky gleam.

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