How to Outlive a Cycle

Opinions expressed here are solely those of the author

About 10 years ago a friend introduced me to a now-defunct CD trading service called LaLa and I quickly became hooked. The service enabled me to trade CDs with fellow members throughout the country, only paying the price of postage. I used this service to obtain CDs I'd always wanted but never owned, such as AC/DC's Back and Black, as well as those I possessed quite a long time ago but somehow misplaced, like Billy Squier's 1991 release, Creatures of Habit.

I actually remember buying Creatures of Habit at the Tower Records located off Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, DC. It's worth noting that a pre-Nirvana Dave Grohl worked at this location. I purchased the CD back in the summer of 1991 and listened to it repeatedly on my Sony boom box.

Back then, in a pre-Internet age, I'm not exactly sure how I came to purchase that particular Squier release because I'd already viewed him as somewhat of a has-been. I remember hearing his hits like "The Stroke" and "My Kinda Lover" at the roller rink growing up and watching the ridiculous video for "Rock Me Tonite" on Friday Night Video but for the most part Billy Squier had largely faded from my consciousness. I only knew that he rocked. And a part of me wished more people recognized it.

Fast forward to earlier this week, when I stumbled upon a two-part podcast where rock journalist Eddie Trunk conducts an interview with Billy Squier that offers an album-by-album retrospective of his career. It offers a fascinating look at the cruel reality of the music industry as well as a skilled craftsman with a keen business acumen.

For a few years in the early 1980's, Billy Squier was unstoppable. He released the back-to-back hit albums Don't Say No (1981) and Emotions In Motion (1982) and toured the United States as a headliner, eventually having Def Leppard serve as an opening act. He released Signs of Life in 1984 and MTV planned a premiere for the aforementioned "Rock Me Tonite" video. And then everything fell apart.

The story behind the video could be the subject of post in itself and for more insight, besides the Eddie Trunk podcast, I highly recommend the book I Want My MTV: the Uncensored Story of the Music Video Revolution. The short version is that Squier had serious reservations about the video concept, which had him literally prancing around a pastel-themed apartment whose centerpiece was a bed with satin sheets, but ultimately caved into pressure from his record label, Capitol. The video premiered and Squier soon went from being a major star to a laughingstock.

As his live audiences and popularity dwindled, Billy Squier would continue to release albums throughout the early 1990's, including Creatures of Habit, none of which his label supported. Things eventually came to a head with Capitol and Squier acrimoniously parting ways. Recognizing the label was eager to rid itself of him and focus on what they perceived as more profitable acts, Squier negotiated primary control of his catalog. The label likely assumed it wouldn't amount to much.

But then, from seemingly out of nowhere, Billy Squier became an unlikely Hip Hop star. Run-D.M.C. started the ball rolling by sampling Squier's 1980 song "The Big Beat," which also is featured in Jay-Z's signature "99 Problems," and, by 2017, according to Wikipedia, more than 260 recordings. Oh, and Billy Squier gets paid every time it's used.

From listening to the Eddie Trunk podcast, it's clear that Billy Squier leads something of a charmed life. Apparently secure financially, he plays music when he wants and seems to avoid the club/casino/rib fest circuit that I'd imagine many of his contemporaries view as a means of survival. Billy Squier went from laughing-stock to having the last laugh.

Billy Squier earned my appreciation as a musician long ago. He'll also have my enduring respect as an artist and businessperson.