Five-Star Jamz

Hey folks,

I got off my lazy ass and bought the domain fivestarjamz.com to continue this project.

It’s a Wordpress site; so you can subscribe to posts. The entire archive of posts is over there also, and there’s easier navigation to catch up on posts you may have missed.

I also ended up getting rid of the four star songs wrap-up that would appear at the bottom of each post, and added some space at the bottom of a few posts to discuss songs that just missed the five star mark. Finally, I had second thoughts about 50 or so songs-that was bound to happen-and removed them from the site. 

In the mid ‘80s, it became commonplace for songs to get “freshened up” for single release, so that the version played on the radio was similar but not exactly the same as the version you’d hear on the album. “Don’t You Want Me”, the third single from Jody Watley’s Grammy-winning debut album, is one song that benefitted greatly from this treatment. In its Bernard Edwards-produced original version, it’s fine. It just doesn’t pop out of the speakers the way that the single mix does. The drums are more forceful, the keyboards are brighter, and Jody’s voice sounds fuller (and echo-ier, too). Give the credit for the post-op to Andre Cymone, who remixed the track and starred in the video as Jody’s love interest. What no one knew at the time is that the two were a real-life couple. On some Janet Jackson/Rene Elizondo type shit, the pair didn’t reveal their romantic attachment until they split up in the late ‘90s. Maybe Jody’s label thought that dudes wouldn’t be as attracted to her if they knew Andre put a ring  on it? I dunno. Anyway, Jody’s debut album is a high water mark in late ‘80s dance pop. “Don’t You Want Me” is stylish, funky, and self-referential (a key lyric: “are you looking for a new love?”. And the video is fierce. 

“Don’t You Want Me” is one of those songs that could be the plot of a movie...a movie that could potentially end in disturbing fashion. As I’ve grown older and understood relationships more, I’ve figured out how factual the story arc of “Don’t You Want Me” can be. By the time a relationship ends, usually the two principals see what has transpired in two completely different ways. The female vocalist is walking away from this union after five years with good memories. She still loves her boyfriend/husband/whatever. But she realizes that they are at different places in life and she wants to move in a different direction. The guy, on the other hand, can’t accept that the relationship has run its natural chorus and implores her to change her mind “or we will both be sorry”. Which would only cause me to run faster in the opposite direction. That simple drama, that probably plays out in some form or fashion thousands of times a day in the world, made for a fantastic single.

Four star songs between “Don’t You Know That?” and “Don’t You Want Me?”: “Don’t You Know What The Night Can Do?” (Steve Winwood, 1988) | “Don’t You Remember” (Adele, 2011) | “Don’t You Wait” (Solange, 2016)

Luther’s first official solo album, Never Too Much, is a great album. Luther was pretty well-formed for a debut artist; but of course he’d had ten years of experience behind some of the greats (Bowie, Midler, Chic) and released two albums as a member of the band Luther. So he wasn’t really a debut artist. That said, he was still figuring out the sound that would become his trademark. So “Don’t You Know That” doesn’t sounds so much like a Luther Vandross song as much as it sounds like Luther Vandross kinda trying to do a George Benson song.

It works, though! Although Luther worked with jazz cats for much of his life (like Marcus Miller), his music only occasionally had a jazz-inflected sound. He certainly didn’t need any help sounding smooth, but those luscious guitar chords offer up the perfect assist.

Interestingly, “Don’t You Know That” was not only Luther’s second solo single, but it was the B-side of his first single. Not quite sure how that worked, but it happened. And it hit the top 10, proving that even at the top of his career, Mr. Vandross had the goods.

Four star songs between “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” and “Don’t You Know That?”: “Don’t You Forget It” (Glenn Lewis, 2002) | “Don’t You Get So Mad” (Jeffrey Osborne, 1983) 

My high school experience was nothing like anything John Hughes ever captured in a film. For one thing, there were people of color in my high school. Actually, Brooklyn Tech was (and still is) predominantly Asian. And not one of them sounded or acted like Long Duk Dong. Also, I don’t think my high school had detention.

That isn’t to say that Sixteen Candles and The Breakfast Club didn’t speak to me. I enjoyed both those movies immensely. So much so that for a while, I might have said The Breakfast Club was my favorite movie of all time. What can I say? I was a pliable pre-teen the first time I saw the movie. That’s probably not the case now, but there’s no denying that Hughes, despite the retroactively problematic nature of some of his writing, captured the Zeitgeist of the middle-American ‘80s when folks were still pretending that there was something resembling a monoculture.

“Don’t You (Forget About Me)” is the theme song to that 1985 classic (for the zero of you who did not know that before). It topped the pop charts and established Simple Minds in the...er, minds of the American music listening public. It hits the sweet spot between synth-dance-pop and arena rock, probably because it was produced by Keith Forsey, whose previous credits included Irene Cara’s “Flashdance...What A Feeling” and Billy Idol’s Rebel Yell.  Idol was actually the first choice to record the song, but he passed and left the song to Jim Kerr and Simple Minds. It turned out to be the band’s biggest hit by far, topping the charts in the U.S. Kerr notoriously hated “Don’t You (Forget About Me)”, but he and his bandmates eventually changed their minds. I’m sure the notoriety and money helped.

The ear candy quotient is off the charts here: from the propulsive drumming to those irresistible “nah nah nah”s. There’ll never be a time when I don’t hear those opening notes and feel like...

Curtis Mayfield’s talent for writing plain-spoken songs that spoke reality was well-known by the time “Don’t Worry” came out. I was a few years away from entering this world when “Don’t Worry” was released, but I’d imagine that folks who were familiar with “Choice of Colors” and “Amen” freaked the fuck out when they heard the random chatting (about the Book of Revelations), African-derived drums and ominous shouting that kicked the song off (unfortunately excised from the single version). And to top it all off, “Don’t Worry” was Curtis’s first single release as a solo artist. What an entrance!

“Sisters! Niggers! Whiteys! Jews! Crackers!!!” Then a scream that could wake the dead. It’s still unsettling nearly half a century later.

“Don’t Worry” signaled a new Curtis Mayfield, responding to a new era in music and a new era in Black politics. People were tired of waiting for a change to come and began to demand change. The genteel, gospel-derived protest songs of old gave way for something more aggressive and angry as cities burned, college students got cut down and young people got sent to Vietnam. You can almost picture Curtis Mayfield standing atop all the rubble with his guitar, surveying the state of America as this song plays. It’s also shockingly still applicable in 2018. 

Four star songs between “Don’t Wanna Fall In Love” and “Don’t Worry...”: “Don’t Wanna Fight” (Alabama Shakes, 2015) | “Don’t Wanna Lose It” (Rahsaan Patterson, 1997) | “Don’t Wanna Lose You” (Gloria Estefan, 1989) | “Don’t Want To Be A Fool” (Luther Vandross, 1991) | “Don’t Watch Me Cry” (Jorja Smith, 2018) | “Don’t Wish Me Well” (Solange, 2016) | “Don’t Wonder Why” (Stevie Wonder, 1970) | “Don’t Worry About The Government” (Talking Heads, 1977)

After a one-song break to accommodate Rick Springfield’s finest moment, Teddy Riley returns to give another white singer some extra flavor.

Jane Child got more attention for her look than her music, which was fairly prototypical L.A. pop/soul. She rocked feathered hair on top with cornrows on the bottom. She also had a nose ring that was connected by a chain to one of her earrings, which was certainly a unique look for the time. Anytime I saw her, I wondered how much she worried about someone just yanking on that chain and fucking her whole face up. Not worth the risk, IMO.

Anyway, “Don’t Wanna Fall In Love” is a pretty solid jam in its original version. It has a very Nu Shooz vibe that was maybe two years behind the times when released in early ‘90s. Nevertheless, the song shot to the runner-up spot on the Billboard Hot 100. However, Warner Brothers wanted Jane to have some Black radio airplay, and Teddy Riley was enlisted to sprinkle his New Jack magic all over the track. He freshened the song up with some kicking drums and his signature synthesizer wizardry, and the result knocked “Don’t Wanna Fall In Love” into the top ten on the R&B list. When I watched Teddy’s Red Bull Academy session last year, he mentioned that he was dead broke and in the midst of separating from Gene Griffin when Warner called him for the remix, and that the label hit him off with some major ducats for his trouble. 

When your producer (or remixer, in this case) proves to be more valuable than you are as an artist, things probably aren’t going to go well for the rest of your career. Child didn’t bother the charts after “Don’t Wanna Fall In Love”, but for one brief moment at the dawn of the decade, she was new jack swing’s oddball princess. 

Four star songs between “Don’t Talk To Strangers” and “Don’t Wanna Fall In Love”: “Don’t Tell Me (What Love Can Do)” (Van Halen, 1994) | “Don’t Tell Me, Tell Her” (Odyssey, 1980 + Phyllis Hyman, 1981) | “Don’t Test Me” (Shabba Ranks, 1988) | “Don’t Throw It All Away” (Stacy Lattisaw, 1982 + Barrington Levy, 1991) | “Don’t Touch My Hair” (Solange feat. Sampha, 2016) | “Don’t Try To Take The Fifth” (The Pointer Sisters, 1971) |  “Don’t Turn Around” (Tina Turner, 1986 + Aswad, 1988 + no Ace of Base version because they’re Neo-Nazis.) |”Don’t U Know I Love U” (Chuckii Booker, 1989) | “Don’t Wait” (The Foreign Exchange feat. Darien Brockington, 2010) | “Don’t Wait Another Night” (Change, 1983) | “Don’t Walk Away” (Electric Light Orchestra, 1980) | “Don’t Walk Away” (Michael Jackson, 2001...this should’ve been a huge hit) | “Don’t Walk Away” (Jade, 1992) | “Don’t Wanna Be A Player” (JOE, 1997) | “Don’t Wanna Be Like That” (Joe Jackson, 1979) | “Don’t Wanna Change The World” (Phyllis Hyman, 1991...there is a real video for this but I can’t find it) | “Don’t Wanna Fall In Love” (original version) (Jane Child, 1990)

Have you folks checked out the Beyond Yacht Rock podcast? It’s awesome. Actually, before that, you might want to check out the Yacht Rock web series, and then jump over to the podcast. One of my favorite elements of the podcast is that there’s a recurring series of mini-sodes called “Yacht Or Nyacht”, in which the four people on the BYR panel try to decide whether a listener-submitted song is “yacht rock” or not...er, nyacht. I listened to a recent episode in which “Don’t Talk To Strangers” was featured. I think that they determined that it wasn’t yacht rock, which I’ll agree with. It rocks a little too hard. “Strangers” does, however, contain a smoothness that gave it a little more play on easy listening radio than its predecessors “Jessie’s Girl” and “I’ve Done Everything For You”. That smoothness is also one of the main reasons I like “Don’t Talk To Strangers” than most other Rick Springfield songs. 

I distinctly remember hearing it for the first time on an episode of America’s Top 10. It was the summer of 1982. I was a couple of months away from discovering the full-length AT40 radio show, and I also wasn’t listening to pop radio yet. I was definitely familiar with Rick Springfield, thanks to the ubiquity of “Jessie’s Girl” (which got play even in the hood) and the fact that my “cousin” Sharon (she was a boarder who very likely wasn’t related to us at all), was infatuated with him. “Don’t Talk To Strangers” has so much ear candy. I thought it then (I fell in love with the song right away) and I think it now. I love the fact that the music stops right before jumping into the pre-chorus. I love the singing in French just before the final chorus. I love that Rick thinks his lady has left him for some “slick Continental dude”. The top 40 was kinda shitty and old and white in those months right before MTV and Thriller revitalized the format, and “Don’t Talk To Strangers” was a shining light in those dark days. 

Also, I was six. “Don’t Talk To Strangers” (in a completely different context) had some resonance with me, yanno?

Four star songs between “Don’t Take My Mind On A Trip” and “Don’t Talk To Strangers”: “Don’t Talk” (Jon B, 2001) | “Don’t Talk 2 Strangers” (Prince, 1996 + Chaka Khan, 1998) | “Don’t Talk Dirty To Me” (Jermaine Stewart feat. Jody Watley, 1988)

Boy George is, was and always will be a soul singer (direct precedent: Smokey), so partnering him with Teddy Riley for a couple songs on 1989’s High Hat was a masterstroke on behalf of George’s American record company (although they had no motive in mind other than making a hit, which is kinda what record companies are known for so why am I even mentioning this?) Anyway, Riley and Gene Griffin (who was less a musical talent and more of a proto-Suge Knight) did two records for George: one of which I can’t recall (days later, I remember it; it was called “Whether They Like It Or Not”, and it was OK). The other was “Don’t Take My Mind On A Trip”, a jamming slice of new jack funk that didn’t return George to the top of the pops, but did hit the top 5 on Billboard’s R&B chart during the late spring of 1989.

There’s an interview from Spin in which George a) says he’d like to be reincarnated as Matt Dillon’s underwear (!) and b) notes that the collaboration with Riley was an experience he absolutely hated. Regardless of how Mr. O’Dowd felt about “Trip”, though, the man came to work and did his job. His vocal performance is full of sass and vinegar. The Boy even adds in a couple of James Brown “huh”s for emphasis. “Trip” was a cool feather in Riley’s cap, although it often gets forgotten when considering both their catalogs.

Four star songs between “Don’t Stop The Music” and “Don’t Take My Mind On A Trip”: “Don’t Stop Your Love” (Keith Sweat, 1987) | “Don’t Sweat The Technique” (Eric B & Rakim, 1992) | “Don’t Take It Personal” (Jermaine Jackson, 1989) | “Don’t Take It Personal (Just One Of Dem Days)” (Monica, 1995) | “Don’t Take It Personal (remix)” (Monica, 1995...it samples Jermaine’s “Don’t Take It Personal”) | “Don’t Take Me Alive” (Steely Dan, 1976) | “Don’t Take My Kindness For Weakness” (The Heads feat. Shaun Ryder, 1996) | “Don’t Take My Kindness For Weakness” (Me’shell NdegeOcello, 2011)

Two very different songs from two generations (although the latter song reaches back to the sounds of the generation that made the former song a hit) with one thing in common: if you play them loudly, your ass will start wiggling.

You may think Yarbrough & Peoples were a one-hit wonder, but they had a handful of top 10 R&B hits. Hell, they even had another Number One with ”Don’t Waste Your Time”, a song which was quite aptly titled.

“Don’t Stop The Music” is the only song from their catalog worth a damn (trust me, I listened to most of their best-of compilation recently), and the sheer jam-i-tude of it makes it absolutely puzzling that they were unable to successfully follow it up. I guess everyone catches lightning in a bottle once. Awesome build-up in the intro? Check. Sultry vocals? Check. Itchy synthesized groove? Check. Chipmunk-y sound effects? Well, no one asked for that, but it’s cool too. If I was roller-skating age at the beginning of 1981, I’d have been killing ‘em at the skating rink to this one. Hell, if I was more confident in my skating skills now, I’d seek a rink out and get down to those damn chipmunk vocals. 

Bonus note: I’m pretty sure “Don’t Stop The Music” was the first video I ever saw on BET. Video Soul was a brand new thing when I went to visit my mom and stepdad in Michigan in the summer of 1981, and this clip is the only one I can distinctly remember.

Bad Gyal RihRih is well-known for the Grace Jones-ian combo of sexuality and menace she brings to many of her songs, but “Don’t Stop The Music” is pure, innocent joy. Well, relatively innocent, anyway. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that “Don’t Stop The Music” employs the “ma ma se ma ma sa ma ma coo sa” chant from Michael Jackson’s “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’” (itself swiped from Manu Dibango’s “Soul Makossa”. Dibango pursued legal action for both songs; getting a settlement in the case of the former song). 

Four star songs between “Don’t Stop Believin’” and “Don’t Stop The Music”: “Don’t Stop Now” (Crowded House, 2007) | “Don’t Stop The Feeling” (Roy Ayers, 1979) | “Don’t Stop The Music” (Bits & Pieces, 1981...a Sly & Robbie-backed reggae re-working of the Yarbrough & Peoples tune) | “Don’t Stop The Music” (Jamie Cullum, 2009...a cocktail lounge cover of the Rihanna hit) | “Don’t Stop The Music” (Lionel Richie, 2001)

I gave a listen to the new Steve Perry album on Spotify earlier in the week, it’s really good. 

Speaking of Mr. Perry: this not-at-all white person has gotta give some love to the song that, in the last fifteen or so years, has become the Official Caucasoid National Anthem. “Don’t Stop Believin’” retains its five star rating despite its overuse on TV and in movies, being the last song at the end of every wedding, and being absolutely mauled by groups of drunkards at karaoke. I should hate it. But I don’t. Because it’s a glorious song, with a thrilling slow build into a powerful release. And Steve Perry is a fucking boss. The song was made for him and only him (although I suppose Arnel Pineda will suffice as a reasonable facsimile). 

Common knowledge dictates that when a song jumps into “overplay” territory, one would get sick of it. In “Don’t Stop Believin’”’s case, ubiquity has caused me to reassess a song that I initially liked but didn’t think a whole lot of (I liked “Open Arms” and “Who’s Crying Now” more back in the early ‘80s). It’s a worthy reassessment.

Four star songs between “Don’t Stop ‘til You Get Enough” and “Don’t Stop Believin’”: “Don’t Stop ‘til You Get Enough” (an awesome cover of the MJ song by Derrick Laro & Trinity, 1980) | “Don’t Stop” (Lionel Richie, 1986) | “Don’t Stop (Color On The Walls)” (Foster the People, 2011)

Dear Michael Jackson, welcome to the first day of the rest of your life.

“Don’t Stop ‘til You Get Enough” was where Michael stopped being the lead singer of the Jacksons and became Michael Fucking Jackson. “Don’t Stop ‘til You Get Enough” transcended boy bands, transcended disco, transcended those silly “Star Wars”-esque references about the force, transcended being quite dirty (Michael said “the song’s about forces and the power of love”; I think he’s full of shit. The song’s about fucking. Or at the very least has a double meaning that MJ was well aware of when he wrote/released it.)

I just finished watching the Quincy documentary last night. It was interesting for several reasons, and I won’t give anything away except to say it must be awful to have just about everyone you know pre-decease you, and also I believe most of what he said in that controversial Vulture interview from about six months ago. There is already a fair amount of proof that Richard Pryor, Marvin Gaye and Marlon Brando were at the very least hetero-flexible (that quote during the interview made me laugh, but didn’t surprise me), and there is some weirdness about the songwriting credit for “Don’t Stop ‘til You Get Enough”. My 45 copy lists MJ and Greg Phillinganes as the songwriters. Somewhere along the line, Phillinganes’ name dropped off. Greg himself went on Questlove Supreme and explained that Michael decided to omit his name from the song’s writing credit (after it had already been released). I guess they came to some sort of gentleman’s agreement-Phillinganes continued to work with MJ for decades. But still--it lends some credence to Q’s comments about Mike being a bit on the shady side.

But that mess has nothing to do with the gloriousness of “Don’t Stop ‘til You Get Enough”. It’s like Michael and Quincy took the brightness of the biggest J5 hits, added in a barely contained post-adolescent sexuality, Barry Gibb’s falsetto, and a dollop of dirty funk, put it all in a blender, and the blender couldn’t contain it all and exploded on the public. It made everyone feel like...WOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Amazingly, “Don’t Stop” was Michael’s first (of many) #1 R&B single. It was also his second #1 pop single as a solo artist. Interesting that it bucks against pop single convention by a) having a somewhat abnormally long title and b) not having had a single edit. Radio played all six minutes of “Don’t Stop” and played it happily.

Four star songs between “Don’t Shed A Tear” and “Don’t Stop ‘til You Get Enough”: “Don’t Sleep” (Chromeo feat. French Montana & Stefflon Don, 2018) | “Don’t Speak” (No Doubt, 1995) | “Don’t Stand Another Chance” (Janet Jackson, 1984) | “Don’t Stand So Close To Me” (The Police, 1980) | “Don’t Stand So Close To Me ‘86” (The Police, 1986) | “Don’t Stay Away” (Leon Ware, 1981) | “Don’t Stop” (Sylvester, 1982) | “Don’t Stop (Ever Loving Me)” (One Way, 1984)

Paul Carrack; you recognize the voice, may not recognize the name. Unless you’re a hardcore music nerd which is probably the only reason you’re reading this entry unless you randomly stumbled upon it.

Squeeze’s “Tempted”? That’s him. Ace’s “How Long”? That’s also him. Mike & The Mechanics’ “The Living Years”? Yep, it’s him. I believe the proper term to describe his musical efforts over the years would be “inspired journeyman”. “Don’t Shed A Tear” was by far the biggest hit Paul had under his own name, and it’s the type of song one might expect to be sung by an inspired journeyman. It’s super meat-and-potatoes, working man’s pop/rock with a simple lyrical conceit (a guy getting his tough-guy on to get over a failed relationship) and a chorus that sticks in your head for hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Years. You’re probably singing it to yourself right now. I know I am.

Four star songs between “Don’t Say Goodnight” and “Don’t Shed A Tear”: “Don’t Say Nuthin’” (The Roots, 2004) | “Don’t Send Me Away” (Dawes, 2015)

Ronald Isley and his brothers (and brother-in-law Chris Jasper) have a lengthy list of bedroom bangers, but none of them bangs as hard as 1980’s “Don’t Say Goodnight (It’s Time For Love)”, a song that spent a month as the #1 R&B record in the nation (and peaked in the lower reaches of the pop top 40 because racism.) Conceived as a response to Teddy Pendergrass’s steamy “Turn Off The Lights”,  “Don’t Say Goodnight”, it’s a must-have of any playlist created to set a romantic mood.

“Don’t Say Goodnight” finds Ron sorting through a grab bag of emotions in order to keep his lover awake and interested. He’s coy (“I want to see...see what you’re like in bed”), gruff (that “OOH!” after he sings “I want to caress you” will make the hair on your arms stand on end), and sensitive all at the same time. His versatile vocals are supported by a rock solid group that’s worked equally well as a quiet storm standard and a hip-hop sample (see: J Dilla’s masterful “So Far To Go”). Romantic, sensual perfection.

Four star songs between “Don’t Play Me” and “Don’t Say Goodnight”: “Don’t Play No Game That I Can’t Win” (Beastie Boys feat. Santigold, 2011) | “Don’t Play That Song” (Aretha Franklin, 1970) | “Don’t Pull Your Love (Out)” (Hamilton, Joe Frank & Reynolds, 1971) | “Don’t Push It, Don’t Force It” (Leon Haywood, 1980) | “Don’t Run” (Jordan Knight rocking over the “Shook Ones” beat, 1999) | “Don’t Run So Fast” (Rahsaan Patterson, 2004) | “Don’t Rush Me” (Taylor Dayne, 1987) | “Don’t Say” (Jon B, 1997) | “Don’t Say Goodbye Again” (The Jackson 5, 1973) | “Don’t Say Goodbye Girl” (Tevin Campbell, 1993)

Don’t you think Prince would’ve done a kick-ass MTV Unplugged special in the ‘90s? Well, apparently there were plans for one to be made during his Emancipation days, but those plans never came to fruition. At least we have The Truth, the acoustic album that accompanied the 3-CD Crystal Ball set in 1998. One of that album’s highlights is the record label kiss-off/cautionary tale to aspiring musicians “Don’t Play Me”.

The song is an aural backhand, with its lyrics making waste of the exploitative nature of lawyers, managers and businesspeople, particularly when it comes to their treatment of Black entertainers. There’s certainly been a long history of folks who come from impoverished backgrounds or are young and green, not understanding things like royalties and publishing, and getting royally fucked by not having people around them with their best interests at heart. Why can’t Prince be played? He’s over thirty and doesn’t smoke weed, he uses proper English and he’s straight, and he’s the wrong color for someone who plays guitar (sarcasm alert). You can extrapolate Prince’s lyrics outside of a music industry context and locate a familiar problem for Black and brown folks in any kind of business situation. People will look at you and make assumptions about your intelligence based on the color of your skin. Shout out to Prince for saying “not so”, and doing it with style.

The best line is “my only competition is...well, me in the past.” You’ve got to have an unholy ego to write a lyric like that. But Prince wasn’t wrong. When you’re the most influential and talented musician to emerge in the past fifty years, you can kind of say and sing whatever the hell you want.

Part of the reason I love “Don’t Panic” as much as I do is because the song features heavily in Garden State, a movie I love dearly. Zach Braff picked the music for his movies (and Scrubs) with the passion of a true music fan. “Don’t Panic” captures the mixture of melancholy and optimism that’s become a hallmark of Braff’s film and TV work. For his part, Chris Martin’s early work was a pretty decent mixture of melancholy and optimism in and of itself. The “we live in a beautiful world” refrain sticks with me whenever I hear this song, whether I’m believing those words or questioning them.

Four star songs between “Don’t Mess Up This Good Thing” and “Don’t Panic”: “Don’t Mind” (Mary J. Blige, 2011) | “Don’t Need Anything” (Glen Phillips, 2007) | “Don’t Need It” (Bad Brains, 1982) 

I’ve already discussed how Janet’s 1982 debut album is a low-key jam. “Don’t Mess Up This Good Thing” is probably the album cut that’s most suggestive of the itchy funk that she’d go on to perfect with the assistance of Jimmy Jam & Terry Lewis. It’s produced by Foster Sylvers, whose big brother Leon defined the L.A. funk/soul sound in the early ‘80s. 

Janet’s often been criticized for having a small voice, and I’ve read some stuff in the past that suggests she was encouraged to sing bigger and louder to vocally stand up to the arrangements. She comes through here, increasing in power verse by verse until you can tell she’s feeling herself. By the back third of the song, she’s done sounding girly and has a brassy edge to her singing that’s thrilling to listen to. It’s still one of her sassiest, most enjoyable performances.Weird fact: Glenn Scarpelli, who was a sitcom contemporary of Janet’s (he was playing the adopted kid on “One Day At A Time” around the same time Janet was playing Willis’s girlfriend on “Diff’rent Strokes”) also recorded a version of “Don’t Mess Up This Good Thing”. It registers high on the “WTF” scale, but doesn’t hold a candle to JJ’s original.