Blog Posts by Bill DeMain

In 1958, Frank Sinatra famously described rock'n'roll lyrics as "imbecilic reiteration... written for the most part by cretinous goons." He didn't name names, but you can bet that he was thinking about the rash of nonsensical hits that year, from "Yakety Yak" to "Splish Splash" to "Bimbombey."

Though nonsense songs had been around for centuries - from rum dum diddles in Renaissance ballads to scoodly-wops in the Swing Era - they really started sh-booming in the '50s and '60s (even Sinatra gave in with his Rat Pack hit "Ring-A-Ding-Ding". Sometimes the nonsense was code for sexual antics. Other times it described a new dance step. But more often it was just a way to convey the inarticulate yawp of "I'm alive, dammit!"

While there has been a steady decline in nonsense songs over the past forty years, the occasional "Izzo" or "Boom Boom Pow" pops up to remind us of their powerful charms.

For your listening and viewing pleasure, here are MOJO's ten favorites:

"Tutti Frutti" - Little

Like butterflies, young hearts and information, rock bands want to be free. Wilco's recent launch of their own dbPm label is a reminder of the legacy of acts who've established independent enclaves within the imperial sprawl of the recording industry. While everyone is familiar with The Beatles' Apple Records misadventure, here are six early pioneers who took their grooves into their own hands, with varying results.

Frank Sinatra — Reprise: In 1960, no artist dared to stand against a label. Which is why Sinatra loved the idea. He'd just renewed his deal with Capitol Records, then decided, "Screw it, I want my own label." After a foiled attempt to buy Verve, Frank, on advice from attorney Mickey Rudin, invested in his own company. To everyone else, the label was pronounced re-preez, but to Frank, it was re-prize. As in reprisal against Capitol, and all the "cretinous" rock'n'roll they were releasing. Frank signed Vegas pallies Dean and Sammy, as well as jazz greats like Duke Ellington.

Yu Quan are a popular male singing duo who have routinely topped the charts in China for the past ten years. They have model-ish good looks and perfectly coiffed hair. In their videos, they grimace a lot and strike dramatic poses designed to tweak teenage glands. Though they've had upbeat hits, the big favourites in their catalog are the earnest ballads.

What's remarkable about these ballads is how many of them sound like they were created from the DNA of Wham! The hushed verses. The soaring, emotive choruses. Even the occasional sax solo. This not only goes for Yu Quan, but for many contemporary Chinese boy bands such as Top Combine, Fahrenheit and Seventeen and singers like Jonathan Wong and Eason Chan as well. They're all the offspring of George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley.

Not literally, of course (though the timeline would support that whimsical thought). But in 1985, when Wham! broke ground as the first western pop act to play Communist China, they planted the seeds of a music

In the movie Amadeus, there's a scene where a young Mozart debuts a new opera for his patron, Emperor Joseph II. The Emperor, who's been financially supporting Mozart in return for the prestige of having his court associated with the composer, says, "Your work is ingenious! It's quality work!" And then, feeling that he's entitled to some criticism, Joseph continues, "But there are simply too many notes. That's all. Just cut a few and it will be perfect." Mozart, straining for a diplomatic tone, replies, "Which few did you have in mind, Majesty?"

Today's young pop bands may not be asking that question yet, but two centuries on from Mozart, many are being lured into similar patron-artist relationships, with corporations like Nike, Red Bull and Bacardi taking the place of royalty. It's no secret why. With downturns in sales of CD and digital downloads, as well as the steady decline of record labels, bands are seeking other ways to finance their projects and reach fans. What they get from

When I was a kid, the lives of pop stars were as remote and mysterious as the moons of Jupiter. While magazines like Rolling Stone and Melody Maker offered tantalizing glimpses into the worlds of Paul McCartney, Pete Townshend and Freddie Mercury, it remained impossible to imagine them doing everyday things. Surely, David Bowie never went to a coffee shop. Jimmy Page couldn't get stuck in rush hour traffic. And Stevie Nicks didn't watch The Tonight Show while eating Rocky Road ice cream from the carton.

With today's musicians and artists, it's impossible not to imagine them doing such mundane things, because they tell us they're doing them every few hours, via Twitter. The internet has been chiseling away at rock star mystique for years, but nothing has quite changed the dynamic between musician and fan like Twitter.

For those just waking up from a five-year coma, Twitter is a social networking and micro-blogging site where you can send links and brief bits of news (140 characters

Songwriters steal. It happens all the time.

Bob Dylan's "Blowin' In The Wind" lifted its tune from a traditional folk song called "No More Auction Block." Lennon and McCartney's "Here, There And Everywhere," was cut from similar cloth as the Beach Boys' "God Only Knows." David Bowie based "Fame" on a doo-wop tune called "Footstompin'."

Of course, most artistic endeavors have a touch of the magpie spirit. But because of its limitations--twelve notes, simple rhythms, and lyrics that deal primarily with matters of the heart--pop songwriting has more shared DNA than any other art form.

But what happens when creative borrowing crosses the line into outright theft? In the 18th century, composers often accused each other of swiping motifs. But then, most of them were freely looting melodies from peasant folk songs. It wasn't until copyright laws were firmly in place in the early 19th century that musical plagiarism landed in court. The first recorded case in the US was in 1831, over a song

As the Runaways movie hits cinemas, here's to our 10 favorite all-girl bands.

International Sweethearts Of Rhythm: Formed in the late 1930s, the Sweethearts were the first integrated all-female band in America. 16-pieces strong, their ranks included Latina, African-American, Asian and Native-American musicians. Defying sexism and racism, the girls toured from Harlem to Houston, swinging their jazzy arrangements with a jubilant fervour.

Goldie & The Gingerbreads: In the early '60s, girl vocal groups were everywhere. But this pioneering New York four-piece broke new ground by accompanying themselves on drums, bass, guitar and organ. With mod beehives and a sassy snap, they made pop with a Brill Building-meets-British Invasion fizz. Signed by Atlantic Records, they went on to cut eight singles, then tour with The Kinks, The Yardbirds and The Rolling Stones, before splitting in 1967.

The Shaggs: One day in 1968, four teenage sisters from Fremont, New Hampshire cut a bunch of

Marilyn Monroe did it. Jackie Kennedy did it. So did Norman Mailer, Greta Garbo and every secretary, shop clerk and teen couple across the country. Back in the winter of 1960, everyone--from the jet set to the hoi polloi--was swivelling and shimmying to a new dance called The Twist.

It was a simple step. Imagine stubbing out cigarettes with your feet while drying off your backside with a bath towel. By today's standards, that move may look a little chaste, but The Twist was almost single-handedly responsible for emancipating the American groin.

Just as "Hatless Jack" Kennedy made the men's fedora passé, The Twist dismantled the last remnants of old-fashioned ballroom dancing. Couples were no longer required to lead or follow, endure clammy hand-holding or step on each other's feet. It was every gal and guy for themselves, off in their own joyful, hip-shaking orbits.

The song that started the craze was written and recorded in 1959 by R&B singer Hank Ballard, then covered a few months