Welcome to The Deep Dive. Today we're opening
the book on an artist who really embodies musical
integrity, Marshall Crenshaw. He's a musician
whose name, you know, it should be synonymous
with just perfect melodic songwriting. Absolutely.
Pitch perfect is the word. Yeah, exactly. Yet
maybe he's best known for two things he didn't
strictly do himself, playing someone else's part
and co -writing this huge hit for another band.
And that tension right there, that's what makes
his whole career so fascinating to unpack. We're
talking about Marshall Howard Crenshaw, born
53 in Detroit. Right. For a lot of people, he's
basically the architect of power pop. Yeah. Even
though, well, that's a title he actually pushes
back against quite a bit. Definitely get into
that. Our sources, they show this, what, four
decade plus career. It's just a master class
in staying creatively relevant. It really is.
We're going to trace his journey from the stage
of Beatlemania. all the way to co -writing that
massive 90s radio hit you mentioned. And we've
got a pretty rich biographical file here, details
on his early life, the discography, which is
complex. It has its twists and turns. His surprising
success in Hollywood, too, and just his lasting
legacy. So our mission today is really to unpack
this whole story. Yeah, this isn't just, you
know, a list of dates and albums. It's a narrative
about a true craftsman trying to navigate that
really tricky, sometimes frustrating space between
getting rave reviews like universal critical
acclaim. And then the sort of relentless demands
of mainstream commercial success, the charts,
the radio play. Exactly. And the key thing for
you, the learner listening in, is that Marshall
Crenshaw was, well, fundamentally too original.
too skilled to just be boxed in by those early
comparisons or, you know, whatever genre label
was trendy at the moment. His story really shows
that when the industry maybe doesn't quite get
the artist or fails them in some way, the artist
has to get strategic. They have to redefine what
success even looks like. And often, like you
said, they find their biggest impact, their biggest
footprint through these kind of indirect ways.
OK, let's start right at the beginning. The foundation,
Detroit and Michigan, born 53. Grew up in Berkeley.
That's a northern suburb of Detroit. Graduated
high school 71. And that location. Well, Berkeley,
really, that's pretty important, right? Yeah.
Because Detroit obviously means rock. It means
soul. Yeah, Motown, MC5. Right. But those suburban
roots, they kind of point towards a maybe more
refined absorption of classic American pop culture.
Yeah. Not just the raw energy. That makes sense.
And he started guitar young, age 10. Smack dab
in the middle of the 60s, pop explosion. Think
about that timing. Perfect timing. But the most
telling detail, I think, about his whole musical
philosophy, it comes from his high school band.
Okay. They were called Astigfa. A -S -T -I -G
-F -A. Astigfa. What does that even mean? It
wasn't just some, you know, cool sounding garage
band name. It was an acronym. It stood for A
Splendid Time is Guaranteed for All. Oh, of course.
That's a Beatles lyric. Being for the benefit
of Mr. Kite from Steak Tet Pepper. Exactly. Right
there. Before he'd even recorded anything original
professionally. That's a crystal clear declaration
of his core musical DNA. You can't get much clearer
than that. It really speaks volumes, doesn't
it? It signals that he was maybe less interested
in just like the raw aggression of rock and more
focused on that sophisticated, meticulously constructed,
almost theatrical pop sensibility of the mid
to late 60s Beatles. Yeah, he internalized that
blueprint. Melody, structure, arrangement. That
was his focus. And that kind of deep study, that
apprenticeship in structured pop perfection,
it led almost directly to his first major professional
break. Right. A role that, well, it did two things
at once, didn't it? It honed his craft, but it
also set up those enduring and maybe slightly
annoying for him comparisons he'd spend his career
kind of dealing with. That would be the Beatlemania
story. Yeah. 1978, he lands the part playing
John Lennon. Wow. Started as an understudy in
New York, then he was in the West Coast Company,
the national touring company. So he was really
doing it. Oh, yeah. For two solid years, he finally
left the show in February 1980, ready to make
the jump into writing and performing his own
music. We should probably pause on that for a
second. Think about the kind of training that
provides. It's not just performing songs. It's
like reverse engineering brilliance, eight shows
a week. He had to inhabit the vocal style, the
guitar voicings, the arrangement choices of,
well, John Lennon. One of the greatest ever.
It's an unparalleled masterclass. Yeah. Two years
deep diving into not just the songs, but the
mechanics behind the songs, how they worked.
Right. And our sources, they confirm that this
immersion, it just solidified his early influences.
His music is just steeped in classic soul, the
whole 50s and 60s top 40 sound. Which he loved.
Which he holds in, quote, high regard. He said
those records are just part of his DNA. They
really won't go away. And because he leaned into
that, you know, clean, classic, melodically rich
structure, the comparison that popped up immediately
and constantly wasn't even the Beatles, was it?
Nope. It was Buddy Holly. Buddy Holly. Right
away. All the time. Which, as you mentioned,
leads to this wonderful bit of career irony later
on that we'll definitely get to. Okay. But Crenshaw
himself, he explained why Holly resonated so
much with him. He said Holly's music had this
sense of intimacy. Intimacy. Yeah, that quality
that, in his words, really stands apart from
a lot of 50s rock. What do you think he meant
by intimacy there? Is it the production, the
lyrics? I think it's about the directness, the
clarity maybe. Holly's songs, they seem simple
on the surface, right? But they feel really personal.
Yeah. They weren't relying on like heavy reverb
or big showy performances. Yeah. They were just
simple truths. Delivered beautifully, almost
conversationally. Okay. And when Marshall Crenshaw
came along, his songs had that same immediate,
warm, relatable thing. Like a great song being
played right there in the room with you. No fuss,
no unnecessary gloss. And that very quality,
that pursuit of simple, intimate song craft,
that became the thing that later put him at odds
with the major labels, right? When they wanted
a bigger sound. Exactly. the seeds of that future
conflict were sown right there in his core influences.
Okay, so that focus on intimate song craft, that's
what he brings to New York when he's ready to
launch his own recording career. Yep, forms that
trio. His brother Robert on drums. Cristinano
on bass. That lineup. That's the one. And the
initial buzz, the momentum, it was actually pretty
incredible. Started small, though, right? Independent
label first. Yeah, really effective, though.
Baby, you single in 81, something's going to
happen on Alan Batrock's Shake Records. Just
a great indie release. And that got noticed.
Oh, yeah. Led directly to the Warner Bros. deal.
And it's interesting, he later said Warner Bros.
felt... you know, welcoming at first, had a good
vibe. Which makes what happened later even more
frustrating, doesn't it? Like a real missed opportunity.
Totally. A tragic waste of potential, really.
Then comes the big moment, the one that really
put him on the map. The self -titled debut album
in 1982. Marshall Crenshaw, yeah. Reached number
50 on the U .S. charts, which for a new artist
in that kind of crowded new wave landscape, that's
solid. It's a really good start. And it was anchored
by his big signature U .S. commercial moment,
his only solo top 40 hit, Someday, Someway. Now,
there's a bit of history with that song, too,
isn't there? Someone else recorded it first.
Yeah, a bit of context needed there. The Neo
-Rockabilly guy, Robert Corden, he actually recorded
it back in 1981. Oh, okay. And his version hit
number 76. But Crenshaw's version, that's the
definitive one. That's the one people know. Peaked
at number 36 on the Billboard Top 40. His only
solo single to crack that main chart. That's
the high watermark for his solo singles on the
Hot 100, yeah. But it did well on other charts,
too. It did. Showed real strength on rock radio.
Hit number 31 on the Cashbox chart, which was
a big deal then. And number 25 on Billboard's
mainstream rock chart. So it was getting played.
Okay, so here's the thing, though. Peak commercial
visibility with that single. But the album itself
was a massive critical success, too. Huge. That's
the dichotomy right there. Rolling Stone named
it one of the top 100 albums of the entire 1980s.
Think about that decade. Incredible praise. So
he's got the hit single. He's got the Critical
Darling album. Yeah. Everything seems lined up
for stardom. You'd think so. And yet, this is
where Crenshaw himself starts expressing some
reservations. It's the first real sign of that
tension we talked about. Even with all that success.
He later said he really disliked the album's
production. Really? Wow. He felt it was too clean,
maybe too polished up for radio. Moving away
from that sort of garage pop, direct intimacy
that he valued so much. Wow. So even as it's
succeeding, he's already kind of fighting with
the way it's being presented. Exactly. Already
at war with the finished product, despite the
validation, despite the praise. Fascinating.
But even with his production quibbles, I mean,
that album is just packed with classics. Beyond
Someday, Someway, you've got fan favorites like
Cynical Girl. Oh, yeah. For listeners who maybe
don't know that track, what makes Cynical Girl
or, you know, Marianne, there she goes again.
What makes them such perfect examples of that
sound, that moment? Well, Cynical Girl is often
held up as like the perfect power pop song, right?
Because it has that driving energy of late 70s
new wave. marries it with the smarts, the harmonic
sophistication of 60s pop. The guitar sound is
crunchy, yeah, but the melody is just incredibly
catchy and tight. Buddy Holly and a skinny tie,
maybe. Huh. That's a great way to put it. Yeah.
And that precision, that emotional directness,
that's what made the debut such a classic. And
you mentioned, there she goes again. That one
actually did pretty well, too. Hit number 10
on the bubbling under charts. Okay, explain bubbling
under for folks. What does that actually signify
on the charts? Right, good question. It's a cool
piece of chart history. The bubbling under chart
basically tracked songs that were just outside
the main Hot 100. Like... positions 101 to maybe
125 or 135, depending on the era. So Song's getting
significant airplay, maybe decent sales, but
just hadn't quite broken through into the big
time. Exactly. They were knocking on the door.
And what it means for Crenshaw is that he was
consistently right there within striking distance
of the Hot 100 on multiple occasions. But the
label couldn't quite push him over the top again
after some day, some way. Never quite got him
back into that top 40. Which leads us, unfortunately,
to 1983 and what feels like just a textbook case
of, well, artist -label miscommunication. Maybe
misinterpretation. The field day dilemma? Right.
The difficult second album. The label saw the
debut's success, saw the critical acclaim, and
they wanted to capitalize. Of course they did.
But they maybe misread why it was successful.
I think so. They didn't seem to want more intimate
pop perfection. They seemed to want, like, arena
-ready new wave. Something bigger, shinier. So
they bring in a big -name producer known for
a specific sound. Steve Lillywhite, yeah. I mean,
Lillywhite was huge then. Famous for that massive,
booming, reverb -heavy, gated drum sound. I think
U2, Peter Gator. Gabriel XTC. Okay, so a very
distinct, very 80s sound. Very distinct. The
goal was clearly to give Crenshaw a quote -unquote
bigger production. Make him sound, well, bigger.
But the reaction was immediate division, wasn't
it? The critics, the fans who loved that first
album's charm. They were baffled. Yeah. Bewildered
by this dense, often echoing sound on field day.
It just felt off for him. A stylistic mismatch.
Totally. And the commercial results? Pretty sobering.
The album actually charted lower than the debut.
only peaked at number 52. And the lead single,
Whenever You're On My Mind, which is a fantastic
song. Crenshaw clearly loved it, pushed for it.
Yeah, great track. But commercially, dead on
arrival on the Hot 100, it only managed number
three on the bubbling under chart. Couldn't even
crack the main chart. What's really interesting
about this whole field day episode, though, is
the debate that came after. Crenshaw, despite
the commercial disappointment, He actually defended
the album's sound later on, didn't he? He did,
to an extent. He defended the initial Lily White
production, the main album's sound. But he drew
a really sharp line when it came to the label
messing with it afterwards. Ah, okay. What happened
there? He saved his real fire for this UK -released
EP called US Remix. US Remix? That sounds ominous.
Right. He openly called the mixes on it. watered
down alternate mixes, specifically mentioning
tracks like Our Town and For Her Love. So he
saw it as compromising the songs. Absolutely.
It shows this internal battle, right? Right.
He might have been willing to take the artistic
risk with Lily White's big sound, but he absolutely
resisted any further meddling that he felt stripped
away the core strength of his songwriting just
to chase some fleeting radio trend. He was fighting
for the sonic integrity right up to the end of
that album cycle. And the commercial decline
after Field Day, it was pretty quick, wasn't
it? It really seemed to signal that the relationship
with Warner Bros. was just... deteriorating fast.
Oh, yeah. He went from being this critical darling,
the next big thing in 82, to basically commercial
liability by 84 in their eyes. The momentum stalled.
That pressure, that tension, it forced another
shift for his third album, right? 1985's Downtown.
Exactly. A stylistic pivot. He moved away from
that glossy field day sound, went for something
much rootsier, more organic. Bringing in different
producers again. Yeah. Mostly T -Bone Burnett,
who was already known for his work in Americana,
Roots Rock. Kind of the anti -Lily White in a
way. Though Mitch Easter, famous for producing
early R .E .M., that whole jangle pop sound he
produced one track, blues is king. So this feels
like a deliberate attempt to get back to that
more raw, intimate sound he loved. It seems like
it, artistically. Yeah. But commercially, it
felt like the label had kind of already checked
out. Downtown stalled way down at number 110
on the charts. Ouch. Yeah. the momentum is just
gone the narrative around him had shifted from
you know pop genius on the rise to more like
respected cult artist which brings us to the
uh the final chapter of that warner bros relationship
1989's good evening and the sources point to
something really telling about his mindset then
his creative exhaustion maybe his lack of faith
in the whole system it's a very revealing moment
the album included quite a few cover songs which
isn't necessarily weird but his reason his reason
was key he attributed directly quite openly to
his, quote, lack of faith in the album and his
label. It really speaks volumes. It's like an
artist saying, look, if you're not going to really
get behind my original stuff, I'll just record
some songs I love, fulfill the contract, and
we can call it a day. Feels almost like self
-sabotage, but maybe also just strategic exhaustion,
a way out. Could be both. A strategic retreat,
perhaps. But here's the kicker. Even in that
retreat, even when he's seemingly phoning it
in with covers, his incredible ear for a great
song still shines through. How so? Good Evening
featured the very first released version anywhere
of a song called Some Hearts, written by Diane
Warren. Diane Warren, the legendary songwriter.
The one and only. And of course, we know that
song, Some Hearts, would later become this massive,
career -defining country pop hit for Carrie Underwood
years down the line. No way. He recorded it first?
He did. It just underscored the point, right?
Even when Marshall Crenshaw was feeling creatively
burnt out, totally disillusioned with the major
label machine, ready to walk away, his fundamental
instincts for spotting a killer pop song were
still absolutely impeccable. He knew a great
tune when he heard one. He was just ready to
move on from that system. Okay, so the major
label system, Warner Bros., anyway, had kind
of failed him. Or they'd failed each other, perhaps.
Yeah, the relationship was done. But this is
where the story takes a really interesting turn,
doesn't it? Instead of just fading away, which
happens to a lot of artists in that situation,
Crenshaw diversifies. He starts leveraging his
talent, his whole aesthetic across different
media. And this is where he finds, ironically,
some of his biggest, most long -lasting commercial
success. Just not through his own solo albums.
Exactly. His foray into film. That's a perfect
example of this strategic diversification. really
major moment there was just the ultimate career
irony. Which was? 1987. He gets cast to formally
portray Buddy Holly in the Richie Valens biopic,
La Bamba. He literally becomes the guy everyone
compared him to from day one. Right. He fulfilled
the prophecy. Yeah. And he wasn't just like a
lookalike standing in the background. No. No.
He performed. He did his own really strong cover
of Holly's crying, waiting, hoping right there
on screen. Wow. And that performance, his version,
was included on the official soundtrack album.
And the La Bamba soundtrack was huge, wasn't
it? Massive. It went to number one on the Billboard
album charts. Certified double platinum. So wait,
Marshall Crenshaw's biggest chart success, Platinum
Records, came from playing Buddy Holly in a movie
about Richie Valens. Pretty much. Isn't that
incredible? His largest commercial validation
up to that point came from embodying his greatest,
most persistent comparison. It's just perfect
circularity. And that wasn't even his first movie
appearance, was it? He dipped his toe in before
that. Correct. The year before, 1986, he and
his whole band actually appeared in Francis Ford
Coppola's film Peggy Sue Got Married. Oh, yeah.
Kathleen Turner, Nicolas Cage. That's the one.
They played the band at the high school reunion
scene. Right. I remember that now. And he also
contributed a song to that soundtrack, a cover
of You Belong to Me. So yeah, he pretty quickly
went from being this sort of cult musician figure
to suddenly having this recognizable presence
in these high -profile 80s movies. Quite a pivot.
So while he's busy becoming this unexpected movie
presence, one of his oldest songs suddenly becomes
this monster international hit. Without him even
singing it. Right. proving the sheer strength
of his songwriting completely separate from his
own performance. This is that amazing story of
the accidental UK hit. It's pure chance, almost.
Yeah. He wrote this song, You're My Favorite
Waste of Time, way back in 1979. Before his first
album, even. Yeah, while he was still doing Beatlemania,
he apparently wrote it backstage at the Stanley
Theatre in Pittsburgh during the tour. Okay.
Just sits on it for years. Then, seven years
later, 1986, this Scottish musician, Owen Paul.
records it and owen paul's version style wise
it was pretty different from crenshaw's usual
vibe wasn't it more 80s synth pop oh yeah much
more polished definitely tapped into that slick
mid -80s production sound synths echoey drums
the whole nine yards and crucially it was huge
at least in the uk it went all the way to number
three on the uk singles chart number three yeah
got awarded a silver disc over there became a
big international hit in several countries wow
so the song itself was just strong enough to
completely transcend genre across the atlantic
but it needed someone else's interpretation in
that specific 80s style to really blow up commercially
Seems that way. And that pattern, him writing
or co -writing these smash hits for other people,
that continued right into the 90s. Right, the
90s. The radio landscape then was totally different.
Dominated by grunge, alternative rock. Yeah,
flannel shirts and angst. But there was that
specific subset, right? The more melodic alternative
bands, the sort of jangle pop descendants. And
they owed a huge debt to Crenshaw's sound. Absolutely.
His influence was baked into a lot of that stuff.
And he actually formalized that connection, that
debt. In 1995. He did. With the Gin Blossoms
collaboration. Right. Tell us about that. He
co -wrote the song Till I Hear It From You with
two of the Gin Blossoms members, Jesse Valenzuela
and Robin Wilson. And that song was everywhere
for a while. It was in a movie, wasn't it? Yep.
Featured very prominently in the movie Empire
Records. Plays right over the closing credits.
Ah, Empire Records. The definition of a cult
classic now. Totally. And the song itself was
a massive single. Peaked at number nine on the
U .S. Hot 100. Huge radio hit. So the Empire
Records soundtrack sells millions. Crenshaw gets
a gold record for his contribution as a songwriter.
But what's really telling there, beyond the success,
is the artistic respect that was clearly involved
in that collaboration. Oh, definitely. The Jim
Blossoms themselves, especially the singer Robin
Wilson, they were very open about Crenshaw's
influence. Wilson specifically said that when
they were working on it, he dug up one of Marshall's
old records for inspiration. No kidding. Yeah,
he said something like, I thought this is how
I sing, this is what I'm shooting for. Basically
saying Crenshaw was the model, the blueprint
for that kind of melodic rock. vocal. That's
incredible. So Crenshaw himself didn't have that
massive 90s radio success as a solo artist, but
he literally helped craft one of the biggest
melodic rock hits of that era for a band that
basically said, we learned how to do this from
you. That's the definition of the architect working
behind the scenes, isn't it? Shaping the sound
even without being the face of it. And his creative
focus during this whole decade, the late 80s
into the mid 90s, it was just incredibly broad.
It wasn't just the movies and the co -writing.
He was also curating music history, commenting
on it. Yeah, he was really asserting himself
as more than just a performer, as a deep student
of music, someone with real authority on pop
culture history. Like compiling that country
music collection. Exactly. Hillbilly Music, Thank
God, Volume 1, that came out in 89. Just a fantastic
collection showing his deep knowledge and love
for roots music. And then the book about rock
and roll and movies. Right. Hollywood Rock. A
guide to rock and roll in the movies. He edited
that and contributed to it in 1994. These aren't
just side gigs. They show a real intellectual
engagement with the music and culture he loves.
And we absolutely cannot forget the most, like...
perfectly low -key, perfectly Crenshaw cameo
of the entire decade. Huh. I know where you're
going with this. 1993. The legendary, beloved
Nickelodeon show The Adventures of Pete and Pete.
As the guitar -playing meter reader. Jasper.
Yes. It was just perfect. It completely encapsulated
his status at that point, right? This unexpected,
incredibly talented figure just popping up in
this beloved, slightly weird, perfectly niche
context. That really sums up the 90s for him
in a lot of ways. Finding success, finding creative
freedom, but doing it very much on his own terms,
outside the usual pressures. And his own recording
career found new life in this period, too, right?
After the Warner Bros. stress was over. Yeah,
he moved over to MCA Records for his next album,
Life's Too Short, which came out in 1991. And
that album actually gave him a little bit of
a chart victory, but in a different arena. Small
one, yeah. The track Better Back Off actually
reached number 17 on Billboard's Alternative
Songs chart. Okay, so alt -rock radio was playing
him. For a moment, yeah. It showed he could still
connect, still had that versatility. But the
real freedom, I think, came later in the decade
when he went fully independent. Right, with Razor
and Tie records? Exactly. He put out Miracle
of Science in 1996 on Razor and Tie. And that
album was largely self -produced, mostly self
-performed, too. Just him doing his thing. And
that followed his live album, right? Live, My
Truck Is My Home. Yep, 1994. And that title,
My Truck Is My Home, it just humorously, perfectly
captures that independent, working musician,
touring life that he fully embraced after the
major label years. Hashtag Shaq Fortify, the
later career in defining the legacy. 1997 present.
So with that intense industry pressure kind of
lifted, Marshall Crenshaw really settles into
this more stable, sustainable rhythm, doesn't
he? Recording, touring. Demonstrating that kind
of longevity that you only really see from artists
whose work is built on, well, timeless quality,
not just chasing trends. Absolutely. He kept
up a steady output of new music, just on his
own terms, on his own schedule. Three more solid
studio albums followed. Hashtag 447 in 99. What's
in the Bag in 2003. And then Jagged Land in 2009.
So still actively recording. Well into the 2000s.
Oh, yeah. And then in 2015, he kind of summarized
his more recent independent activity by gathering
up these EPs he'd been releasing digitally between
2013 and 2015. Right. He was doing subscription
EPs for a while. Exactly. He compiled those into
a physical release called Hashtag 392, the EP
collection. It's really the work of an artist
who's just focused on putting out new material
when he feels like it, completely bypassing that
old school album cycle grind. And his reputation,
just as this foundational figure in rock, rock
music, especially coming out of Detroit, earned
him some serious respect from his peers, right?
Even unexpected ones. Oh, definitely. There's
a great example in 2004. He actually played guitar
as a special guest with the reunited members
of the MC5. Wow. The MC5. I mean, their raw proto
-punk sound feels philosophically miles away
from Crenshaw's polished pop, doesn't it? Totally
different ends of the Detroit spectrum. But that
invitation, him playing with them, it signifies
that he's recognized by those guys not just as,
you know, the power pop guy, but as a genuinely
talented, respected, authentic Detroit musician.
Full stop. That's huge respect. And just when
you thought maybe his Hollywood adventures were
done, he pops up again and gets his biggest critical
nod from the film world. And once again. It was
for writing a song for someone else to sing.
You got it. The pattern continues. This time
it was the 2007 Golden Globe nomination. For
the movie Walk Hard, the Dewey Cox story. Yes.
That brilliant musical parody, the spoof of all
those serious rock biopics starring John C. Reilly
as Dewey Cox. Such a funny movie. And Crenshaw
wrote the main theme, the title track. And the
title track, yeah, which Reilly sang in the film.
And why was Crenshaw the absolute perfect choice
to write a song for a musical parody like that?
Because he knows the source material inside out.
He can perfectly replicate those classic sounds.
Exactly. The whole joke, the success of that
song, hinges on it sounding completely, utterly
authentic to the era it's spoofing. Like a pitch
-perfect 60s country pop pastiche. And Crenshaw
could just nail that. Effortlessly. Because he'd
spend his entire life studying, absorbing, and
embodying that exact 50s and 60s pop sound. The
song wasn't just funny. It was musically spot
on. And it got nominated for a Golden Globe for
Best Original Song. And a Grammy nomination,
too. Just another hilarious, unexpected, but
somehow totally fitting chapter in a career that's
just full of these kinds of ironies. Beyond the
performing and the writing, he also spent a good
chunk of time sharing that deep musical knowledge
base directly with an audience, didn't he? Through
radio. He did. From 2011 to 2017, he hosted a
show called The Bottomless Pit on WFUV, the great
public radio station in New York. The Bottomless
Pit. Great name. Isn't it? And the title says
it all. He drew heavily from what he called his
vast collection of recorded music, just playing
deep cuts, obscurities, personal favorites. Sharing
that musical DNA we talked about earlier, the
stuff that influenced him. Precisely. sharing
the very 50s and 60s pop soul rockabilly, records
the foundations of his own sound directly with
listeners. It's a really key part of his legacy,
I think, as a curator, an educator, not just
a creator. Do you say why he stopped doing it?
He put the show on hiatus in 2017, apparently
to focus his energy on producing a documentary
film about the... legendary and maybe slightly
overlooked record producer Tom Wilson. Tom Wilson
produced early Dylan, Simon Garfunkel, Zappa,
Velvet Underground. Huge figure. Exactly. So
another project showing his dedication to music
history. And his own performance career, how
has that looked in recent years? He found a sustainable
way to keep doing it. Yeah, he seems to have
found a model that works for him, one that respects
his desire for creative control but also family
life. He calls his touring schedule wonderfully
the NPR singer -songwriter circle. Yeah, that's
perfect. Right, he performs maybe 40 to 50 concerts
a year, mostly keeping it within driving distance
of his family home. No more endless bus tours.
Which implies a certain kind of audience, right?
Devoted, maybe a bit older, sophisticated. people
who prioritize the quality of the music and the
history over like a blockbuster spectacle. Totally.
It's a career built on mutual respect between
artist and audience, not on that relentless commercial
grind he escaped from. And that sense of community,
that respect within the scene, it led to another
really interesting touring role for him recently.
Kind of brought things full circle within that
whole power pop world. It really did. Since 2017,
sadly following the death of their lead singer
Pat Tenizio. Oh, right. The Smithereens. Exactly.
Crenshaw has been performing as a guest vocalist
for the Smithereens. He alternates touring duties
with Robin Wilson. Robin Wilson from the Gin
Blossoms. The very same. the guy who cited Crenshaw
as his vocal inspiration back in the 90s. Wow,
that's amazing. Isn't it? So now Crenshaw is
literally part of the support structure, keeping
the legacy of the Smithereens going, another
key power pop band, performing alongside the
musician who looked up to him decades earlier.
Full circle. That dedication to the craft, the
respect he commands. It led to official recognition
back home, too, didn't it? Yeah, rightly so.
He was voted into the Michigan Rock and Roll
Legends Hall of Fame in 2014. And critically,
the praise is just unanimous. He's seen as an
essential musician of the new wave era, the power
pop genre. Which brings us right back around
to the central contradiction, the thing we keep
bumping up against in this whole deep dive, the
power pop tension. Critics everywhere placed
him right at the heart of that genre. You know,
the sound defined by crunchy guitars, big melodic
hooks, reverence for the 60s. It sounds like
him. It absolutely describes a lot of his most
famous work, especially early on. Yet Crenshaw
himself actively disliked being associated with
that label, Power Pop. He really did. Pushed
back against it consistently. Why? Why reject
the label that seems to fit so well, at least
for part of his career? Well, he stated pretty
explicitly that he felt the term Power Pop had
a, quote, dodgy connotation. Dodgy. Meaning what,
do you think? Trivial. I suspect he felt it suggested
something maybe a bit lightweight or maybe derivative,
like just a pastiche of older styles rather than
genuine timeless songcraft. Oh, OK. His loyalty,
his artistic soul seems firmly rooted in that
pure original 1950s and 60s top 40 tradition.
Buddy Holly, the Brill Building, Motown, the
Beatles. He probably felt his music was just.
pop music, really good pop music. And the industry
needed to stick a new, maybe slightly reductive
label on it in 1982 to market it. So in his mind,
he never stopped being a Buddy Holly or Motown
devotee. The guitars just got a bit louder for
the era. That feels like a fair way to put it.
Yeah. He didn't change his core. The packaging
changed around him. But his influence, regardless
of the label, it clearly transcends any single
genre tag. And the ultimate proof of that is
just looking at the sheer range of artists who've
covered his songs over the years. It's an incredible
list. Super diverse, crosses all sorts of genre
lines, from rockabilly artists like Luann Barton
to icons like Ronnie Spector, respected contemporaries
like Marty Jones, even mainstream superstars
like Bette Midler. Bette Midler covered a Marshall
Crenshaw song. She did. And even, randomly, the
UK bubblegum pop group S Club recorded one of
his tunes. S Club? Okay, that's eclectic. Right.
I mean, when you've got Ronnie Spector and S
Club covering your work, you've... achieved a
pretty universal songwriting status, wouldn't
you say? Absolutely. His ultimate success maybe
lies in the fact that he just consistently wrote
songs that were, as Trouser Press Magazine once
put it, too talented and original to be anyone
but himself. Even if he didn't always achieve
that huge sustained commercial success singing
them himself. The songs endure. Hashtag tag outro.
So let's try and synthesize this. What does this
whole journey mean for you, the learner, listening
today? Marshall Crenshaw hits his commercial
peak really early in 1982, some day, some way.
Right out of the gate. And then faces almost
immediate commercial disappointment with the
follow -up, Field Day, the classic sophomore
slump amplified by label issues. Yeah, the trajectory
seemed to stall right there. And yet, he managed
to sustain this incredibly vital, influential
career that's now spanned, what, over four decades?
Still going strong. And he did it by strategically
looking beyond that traditional album tour album
cycle. He found success, real tangible success,
by becoming, you know, a double platinum actor
playing Buddy Holly. A gold -certified co -writer
penning hits for bands like the Gin Blossoms.
A respected radio host and music curator. And
finally, a sustainable, respected touring artist
on his own terms. He basically proved that an
artist's longevity isn't always determined by
major label backing or chasing chart positions.
Right. But by this unwavering loyalty to the
integrity of the craft itself. The songwriting.
His career is just this phenomenal case study
in creative resilience, really. Sticking to your
guns, finding different avenues. And thinking
about that core craft, Crenshaw's music, as we've
said, it's fundamentally built on that classic
architecture of 50s and 60s pop. That's his bedrock.
Good question. Yet his initial launch, his biggest
solo moment, it was packaged and sold under the
banner of the new sounds of new wave and power
pop. The trendy labels of the day. Which raises,
I think, a really powerful final question for
you, the listener, to mull over after this deep
dive. Is the real longevity of a true musical
craftsman found in chasing those new genre trends,
in embracing whatever the newest label is? Or
is the true staying power actually found in sticking...
faithfully, stubbornly maybe, to those core classic
musical influences. The ones that, as Marshall
Crenshaw himself put it, Really won't go away.
Exactly. Regardless of the commercial climate,
regardless of whatever term the critics or the
labels invent for them this year or next year.
That's a great question. Where does authenticity
truly lie and does it ultimately win out? Something
to definitely ponder as you maybe go back and
revisit those fantastic early albums or even
seek out his later work. Thanks for diving deep
with us today.