My wife, Mrs. Clicks and Pops, is in The Bobs, a Grammy-nominated band.
Last month, they were on tour and (like any band on tour), they were lugging around merch (CDs, etc.) to sell at gigs. Towards the end of the tour, they flew halfway across the country and checked the merch bag for the flight.
Now, sometimes the TSA opens checked bags to inspect them... and when that happens, the TSA agent is supposed to leave a card in the bag explaining that the TSA inspected the bag.
When the Bobs opened the merch bag that night, they found the TSA card. Apparently, the TSA agent who opened the bag had a sense of humor: recognizing that the bag was merch for a band, the TSA agent scrawled a two-word note on the card he left in the bag.
In 1975, Monty Python's Eric Idle was doing a BBC sketch comedy show called Rutland Weekend Television and wrote a sketch about a Beatlesesque band called the Rutles. Idle hauled in Neil Innes (the former Bonzo Dog Band member who wrote and performed most of the songs for Monty Python) to write and sing a song parodying the Beatles' style (circa 1964). A year later, Idle played those BBC Rutles clips when he hosted Saturday Night Live.
SNL producer Lorne Michaels was already a huge Beatles fan; in April 1976 he offered the Beatles $3000 to reunite and perform on SNL (an offer raised to $3,200 -- an extra 50 bucks each! -- a few weeks later). (Ironically, Paul McCartney and John Lennon were watching that episode of SNL together in the Dakota and discussed getting a cab and going down to Rockefeller Center to collect the check. They ultimately decided against it.)
Idle then talked Michaels into producing All You Need is Cash, a full-length mock rocumentary on the Rutles, written by Idle and directed by Gary Weis (who made a series of short comedy films in the early years of SNL). Idle again turned to Neil Innes, who wrote 20 songs (parodying various musical styles associated with the Beatles) for the project.
All You Need is Cash is arguably the best rock 'n' roll comedy in history (its only serious rival is This is Spinal Tap). The movie, a history of the rise and fall of the Rutles that lovingly mocks the Beatles through different eras and moods, features Innes (as John Lennon-ish Rutle Ron Nasty), two Pythons (Idle and Michael Palin, both in multiple roles), two Rolling Stones (Mick Jagger and Ron Wood), one actual Beatle (George Harrison), as well as Paul Simon, David Frost, and six SNL'ers (John Belushi, Dan Aykroyd, Gilda Radner, Bill Murray, Lorne Michaels and new Minnesota Senator Al Franken). (Link for Gmail subscribers.)
If you've never seen it (or you haven't seen it lately), buy or rent it immediately. (I'll wait.)
But the best part of the Rutles is the music. Innes channels Beatles songs, then twists them through an alternate-universe prism that warps them into off-kilter creations that are simultaneously familiar and completely new and unique.
Ironically, the Beatles themselves loved the Rutles music, but their publishing company sued Innes, so he never made any money off the first Rutles album. In addition, Idle reportedly demanded payment for having "created" the idea (and name) of the Rutles. (Link for Gmail subscribers.)
I bought the vinyl soundtrack (which had 14 songs). I bought the soundtrack again when it came out on CD (I needed the 6 songs from the movie that were left off of the original vinyl). A few years ago, I saw Neil Innes perform at McCabe's. The packed house loved his Python songs, but there was something magical about 250 people singing along to all the Rutles songs (and even knowing all the backing vocal parts to "I Must Be in Love"). After the show, I got him to sign my vinyl copy of The Rutles (which was great) and got to thank him for all the amazing music he's made in his love (which was even better).
My friend Mark recently told me that Elvis Costello's Saturday Night Live performance from 1977 was online. The one that got him banned from the show for more than a decade (Costello, not my friend Mark).
In the Fall of 1977, SNL (then starting its third season) had become a phenomenon. Some considered it the comedic equivalent of punk rock -- a show for the young and hip that gave the finger to bloated mainstream television (and was years away from becoming bloated mainstream television itself).
For the third season, the producers announced an "Anyone Can Host" contest, with the winner hosting the last show before Christmas.
From the start, the entire contest was a sham. John Belushi had the idea of bringing the Sex Pistols to American TV and loved the idea of a little old lady introducing them. And while more than 100,000 people entered the contest, the only serious contenders were kindly grandmother types -- the older the better.
It's no surprise then that the winner was an 80-year old grandmother. Miskel Spillman lived in New Orleans and was more than willing to make fun of herself for being old. The stage was set for a little old lady to sic the Sex Pistols, widely considered the most dangerous punk rockers on the planet, on America.
Except the Sex Pistols were stuck in Toronto. The U.S. government refused to grant them visas or allow them into the country. So Elvis Costello was recruited as a last-minute replacement. Maybe not as good as the Sex Pistols, but hey, punk was punk.
The show opened with John Belushi sharing a joint with Miskel Spillman, who then acted stoned during her monologue (which included running jokes about how she had the munchies and craved fruit -- perhaps because older people aren't cool enough to want brownies or junk food). And just before midnight, the little old dutifully introduced Elvis Costello to America (and he sang "Watching the Detectives").
Costello's record company insisted that his second song would be "Less Than Zero" (which came from the album he was trying to promote, although the lyrics about unrepentant British fascist Oswald Mosley would make little sense to American audiences). Costello had performed the song in dress rehearsal and camera blocking was set up and finalized. But during the live show, Costello had a change of heart. After a few seconds of "Less Than Zero," he waved off the band and said "I'm sorry ladies and gentlemen, but there's no reason to sing this song here." He then launched into a blistering rendition of a new (and not yet released) song called "Radio Radio," a scathing indictment of the vapidity of radio programmers. (Link for email subscribers.)
Lorne Michaels went ballistic, screaming and vowing never to let Costello on SNL again. But SNL wanted a punk rocker (and punk is punk, right?), so maybe it shouldn't have been a complete surprise that Costello would do something punk.
But you live long enough, what was once considered dangerous becomes fodder for cocktail-party conversations. Elvis Costello mellowed, made up with Lorne Michaels, and was eventually invited back on SNL. He even made fun of his earlier appearance, interrupting a song by the Beastie Boys and then performing "Radio Radio" with them. It wasn't punk, it was slick, rehearsed, and self-congratulatory. (Youtube link for email subscribers)
(In a further nod to pop culture eating its own tail, Weird Al Yankovik has been known to sing "Radio Radio" at his concerts when technical problems arise.)
And now, more than 30 years later, radio is infinitely worse than it was in 1977. Elvis Costello's sincere, frantic, desparate warning that radio had fallen into the hands of "such a lot of fools trying to anesthetize the way that you feel" has become a punchline. But all you have to do is turn on your radio to realize the joke's really on us.
If the band is the 
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