Billy Joel , Billy Schmoel. New Jersey legend Dean Friedman is where it’s at, kids. Too funky to be a crooner, too silly to be MOR, he occupied a strange position in the rock music galaxy in the seventies. Some of his music was confessional singer -songwriter, a la Elton John; some was like a stoner trying to get to Broadway, showcasing real chutzpah in the lyrics and big arrangements. I love, love, love the third album, as it’s like a parodic concept album, full of different genres: cod-funk, jazz, rock, show tune, ballad.
There are some howlingly bad lyrics: “I said, ‘hi’, she said, ‘I am’ ” being but one of many. A personal favourite, the saucy jazz of ‘S & M’ has the zinger, “we’ll play Perquackey, I’ll let you… Beat me”, which is gold. Someone lead that man to a sex dungeon.
Sure, his conversational,high camp style of singing isn’t for everyone, but there’s genuinely good musicianship here- he’s a multi-instrumentalist and the production is tight. Pass me the corned beef on rye sandwich please (actually don’t, I am not a big meat eater).
He reinvented himself as a children’s songs entertainer and also played alongside Half Man Half Biscuit and wrote a response song (diss track?!) to their classic ‘The Bastard Son of Dean Friedman’. And if he’s good enough for Half Man Half Biscuit, then hellzapoppin’ and by jiminy, he’s good enough for me.
Hit The North 