It’s a good album, and I know it. Moreover, I like to pretend that they know it, too. By “they” I mean guitarist Jim, who wrote a majority of it, and singer Tom, who twists his vowels very effectively–like Van Morrison or John Fogerty. As a geek, this cuts to the core of Tutone’s appeal. They have the occasional jumpiness of new wave–and they were certainly marketed as such–but time and again they betray a bar-band heart, big as a pony keg and just as eager to please.
Maybe like the rest of the world, Jim and Tom just forgot for a while. Maybe the rushing and retreating tide that came with “867-5309″ left them gasping, then tired, then wondering where everyone went. A sideways look at all the vinyl evidence came with a bitter taste, so they shelved it like everyone else. The only difference between them and the people who pigeoned them into that three-minute hole was the direction of the volume knob whenever it came on the radio.
So when I drop the needle I pretend it’s synchronicity, me and Jim and Tom together after all these years, reacting in kind. I smile at the country touches of “No Way to Cry.” Jim remembers the soulful chord changes of “Bernadiah,” and Tom remembers channeling Petty for “Steal Away.” “Which Man Are You?” does, in fact, sound a bit Devo in the verses, but then it swings into sunshiney harmonies, with a tambourine and everything. Brilliant. And album-closer “Not Say Goodbye” is just plain gorgeous.
Something’s at work here. It’s nothing mind-blowing, but there’s a young-band energy that Toto would’ve never kicked up. Jim and Tom (hoisting bottles of Anchor Steam) remind me that whatever went to tape–what I’m hearing right now–got there way before anyone knew it would all get overshadowed anyway. In other words, they meant it, man, and decades later I can still hear it. I think of all those patronizing VH-1 countdown shows, cannibalizing these bands, calling them “guilty pleasures,” asking them “whatever happened to,” reducing them to “one-hit-wonders.” Well, they made this whole damn thing, all 40 minutes of it, and it’s great, and VH-1 can kiss their asses. Right, guys?
Well like I said, I’m pretending here. If you Google “Tommy Tutone,” a flash site will come up, ringing out those famous digits loud and clear. On the same site is proudly displayed their VH-1 “One Hit Wonders” clip–available in hi and lo-res versions. They’re based out of Portland now, without Jim, who’s all the way over in New York, doing something else. I don’t know why, but I wish I didn’t know any of that. I wish it really was just us three grooving in the attic, digging up their neglected treasure. But then that would mean the only context I can take is that which I make up in my mind. And that would be just crazy.
