An update to our discussion below about The Diamonds and their white boy cover of "Little Darlin'.
I incorrectly attributed the original of the song to Maurice Williams and the Zodiacs (of "Stay" fame); in point of fact, "Little Darlin'" was issued under the nom de disque The Gladiolas, the group with whom Williams was toiling at the time.
Also, as you can hear, The Diamonds version is actually quite faithful to the The Gladiola's frankly over the top original; if anything, The Diamonds take on the tune seems to be quite subtly and perceptively tongue in cheek, rather than some kind of yahoo racist parody. In any case, it's a more exciting record.
From 1957, please enjoy -- if that is the precise word -- Canadian vocal group The Diamonds and a, shall we say, idiosyncratic take on Buddy Holly's sublime proto-power pop gem "Words of Love."
The Diamonds, of course, are the group best known for "Little Darlin'," a white-boy cover of the Maurice Williams and the Zodiacs original that is one of the most exciting of all the classic 50s rock hits.
What is perhaps less well known is that these guys were jazzbo snobs who really kind of looked down on rock and r-&-b, and that their cover of "Little Darlin'" was meant as a parody. As apparently was that version of "Words of Love," which I have subsequently learned was actually released before the Holly original (they acquired the song from Holly's publisher, or so I'm told).
In any event, here are The Beatles rendering a rather more idiomatic and affectionate tribute, from Beatles For Sale, perhaps my favorite of their early LPs.
As somebody said, in the context of Steve Allen's famous recital of the lyrics to Gene Vincent's "Be-Bop-a-Lula"...
So Don Draper asks his young, hip wife in last week's Mad Men.
If, like me, you were blown away by the brilliant use of "Tomorrow Never Knows" in the episode's closing minutes, you'll be interested in this article from the NYTimes ArtsBeat Blog:
In most cases, “Mad Men” is bound by the history of the era in which it takes place. But on Sunday night, a new episode of that 1960s period drama that concluded with the Beatles song “Tomorrow Never Knows” appears to have made some history of its own, marking a rare instance in which a song written and recorded by that band has been licensed for use on a television series.
“It was always my feeling that the show lacked a certain authenticity because we never could have an actual master recording of the Beatles performing,” Matthew Weiner, the creator and show runner of “Mad Men,” said in a telephone interview on Monday. “Not just someone singing their song or a version of their song, but them, doing a song in the show. It always felt to me like a flaw. Because they are the band, probably, of the 20th century.”
There's no question that you can't DO the 60s without doing the Beatles: they provided the soundtrack for the era. Not alone, and not always ahead of the curve, but the Beatles had saturation. If they were doing it--whatever it was at the moment--you knew it was the thing to do.
An interesting point about the use of the Beatles here: early in the episode, Don is looking around for a song that sounds like "A Hard Day's Night" to use in a commercial that looks like, well, A Hard Day's Night. Problem here: it's now fall 1966 (when yours truly was born!) so that movie was two years old at that point. Hardly cutting edge. But it does introduce the tantalizing idea that you can find things LIKE the Beatles, but it won't BE the Beatles. (Herman's Hermits are rejected by the staff of SCDP; the eventual winner, as this Times story tells us, was another song with an obscure Beatle connection: "'September in the Rain,' the Wedgewoods track that Draper and his colleagues contemplate as a substitute for an authentic Fab Four tune, is one of 15 songs the Beatles performed at a 1962 audition for Decca Records.")
And in a cringe-worthy moment: "Mr. Weiner pointed to another Mad Men episode from earlier this season, in which a Beach Boys song is played during a character’s LSD trip. “No one ever asked, ‘What does it cost to have that song?’ ” he said. “You think that that’s free?”" Ouch.
The real capper, though: Don listens to "Tomorrow Never Knows," doesn't quite "get" it, turns it off, and walks away. This does not bode well for his transition into the rest of the sixties.
From August of 1967, and the rehearsals for a Hawaiian tour, please enjoy The Beach Boys -- vocals by Brian and Carl Wilson with Bruce Johnston -- and a spine-tinglingly gorgeous version of the Pet Sounds classic "God Only Knows."
And from some time later (I'm not exactly sure when) and a recent MOJO Pet Sounds tribute CD, please enjoy latter-day psychedelic cult figures The Flaming Lips and their characteristically skewed take on the same song.
For what it's worth, I should stipulate here that I have never gotten The Flaming Lips on any level. I don't fault their musicianship, and their hearts are obviously in the right place, but I simply have never been able to figure out what the fuck they're on about. It must be a generation gap kind of thing.
I love it when threads converge. A friend of mine alerted me to this post today:
Redd Kross is back and delivering their signature brand of genuine rock ‘n’ roll with a vengeance. On August 7, Merge will release Researching the Blues, the first new album from Redd Kross in 15 years.
Researching the Blues features 10 new songs clocking in at just under 32 minutes. With songs written by Jeff and produced and mixed by Steven, the album is by far the band’s favorite record. Steve says, “It has the most singular artistic vision of any record we’ve done. It’s just 10 really fucking awesome songs that have the ability to move you in many different ways.”
I won't say it's the most exciting new record this year--you know where that honor falls, about which more in the coming days--but when Mac is putting out Redd Kross, that's pretty freaking exciting.
Gonna be a good summer.
And speaking as we were the other day of David Marks, a/k/a The Briefest Beach Boy, here he is in 1967 doing business as The Moon (not, if truth be told, the greatest band name in rock history) with the surprisingly aptly titled "Pleasure."
While, as you can hear, it obviously lacks that certain je ne sais quoi that truly says I don't know what (i.e., hit potential), it nonetheless is a very nice piece of period psychedelic pop in the vein (as pointed out by reader buzzbabyjesus, who turned me on to it) of The Monkees and The Zombies circa Odessey and Oracle.
Well, it's Friday and you know what that means. Yes, my Oriental Michelle Bachmann body double Fah Lo Suee and I are -- well, actually, we're not doing anything, so I have no joke. By way of making it up to you, please click on this link and download the "Doink! Doink!" sound effect from Law and Order for use as you see fit. Me, I'm putting it on my iPod Touch as the sound effect for incoming e-mail.
Okay, and with that out of the way, and because things will doubtless be a tad quiet around here for a couple of days, here's a fun little project to help us wile away the hours:
Funniest Post-Elvis Pop/Rock/Soul Song or Single Record!!!!
No arbitrary rules, you're welcome very much, except it has to be an actual song or record that's amusing without being an obvious novelty -- The Singing Dogs "Jingle Bells," for example -- or (I'm talking to you, Weird Al) a parody. Although I'll bend the rules if I damn well feel like it, so the hell with you guys.
No, seriously, I may bend the rules but I love each and every one of you more than food.
And my totally top of my head Top Five is/are:
5. The Who -- Boris the Spider
John Entwistle at his creepy-crawliest. Subject for future research: Smash Your Head Against the Wall.
4. The Beatles -- You Know My Name (Look Up the Number)
"Good evening, and welcome to Slaggers!" Heh. Brian Jones drops by to play the sax -- a part that, it is perhaps not unkind to note, lacks the lapidary beauty of his dulcimer work on "Lady Jane."
3. Harry Chapin -- Taxi
Anybody who can listen to the lyrics...
You see, she was gonna be an actress/
And I was gonna learn to fly/
She took off to find the footlights/
And I took off to find the sky/
Oh, I've got something inside me/
To drive a princess blind/
There's a wild man wizard/
He's hiding in me, illuminating my mind.
...not to mention "Harry, keep the change," without laughing should seek immediate medical attention.
2. Circle Jerks -- Golden Shower of Hits
Okay, okay, I know it's a novelty record, but it just cracks me up. Also, it was much beloved of an ex-girlfriend who, alas, has departed this sad vale of tears, and I'm including it in her memory.
And the Numero Uno stop-you-kill-me! ditty of all time clearly has to be...
1. Warren Zevon -- Werewolves of London
There's a live version of this one from somewhere where he changes the lyrics to "I'd like to meet James Taylor." Heh.
So a fascinating cultural artifact -- of particular interest to my fellow Red Sea Pedestrians -- recently crossed my desk. Here's Peter Rainer, who I'd guess is one of them, reviewing it over at Bloomberg News.
“I lived with my mother intimately for 22 years and never saw the furniture. On every piece of furniture was a sheet to keep the dust off.”
So says Mel Brooks on the How to Be a Jewish Son episode of The David Susskind Show, originally aired in the fall of 1970 and available for the first time in its entirety on DVD from S’more Entertainment.
It’s often regarded as the funniest impromptu 90 minutes in TV history. [Including by me -- S.S.]
Brooks, who began his career as a “tummler” (sort of a combo emcee and social director) in the Catskills, was not alone on the stage, although it often seems that way. Even when he’s sitting there behaving himself, your eyes are on him.
Besides Susskind, who keeps fairly mum on the evening’s subject despite prodding, the other Jewish sons included comedian David Steinberg, fashion designer Stan Herman, Goldberg Pizzeria founder Larry Goldberg, actor George Segal (whose Where’s Poppa is the ultimate Jewish son black comedy), and Dan Greenburg, who was married to Nora Ephron and had recently written the best-seller How to Be a Jewish Mother: A Very Lovely Training Manual. [And who seems to be having a contest with Herman to see who can wear the most absolutely heinous early 70s clothes -- S.S.]
Susskind, who once professed he wanted to become “the Cecil B. DeMille of television,” clearly was unprepared for Brooks’s antics. Clipboard in hand, scrolling agitatedly down the list of prepared questions, he’s continually interrupted by Brooks’s free-associative spritzes.
“I was in analysis for six years and couldn’t say a bad word about my mother,” Brooks says when asked if he sees a psychiatrist. “I love my mother. If I could I would go skinny- dipping with her.”
Possibly amusing postscript: My second ex-wife appeared on an episode of the Susskind show sometime in the early 80s. (Long story, but she was working as an editor at a well known woman's magazine at the time, and the show's theme was some Modern Relationships and Dating bullshit of the sort that all known woman's magazines have trafficked in since time immemorial.) In any case, while the show was being aired -- Susskind was on at 9pm Sunday nights on the pre-Fox channel 5 in the New York area -- our phone rang. My second ex-wife answered, and when the guy on the other end asked if it was in fact her -- i.e. the woman on the Susskind show at that moment -- she answered in the affirmative. At which point the guy on the other end launched into the mother of all obscene phone calls. Swear to god.
Moving right along, you can watch the whole thing for free over at Hulu -- Google it youself (what am I, your mother?) -- but don't be a shnorrer; just go to Amazon and order the DVD over here.
More to the point, as always, a coveted PowerPop No-Prize will be awarded to the first reader who gleans the significance of the Jewish Son DVD to the theme of tomorrow's Weekend Listomania.
Divshare's servers seem to be down, so my plan to post every single Beatles track in remastered hi-def some obscure piece of crap of some kind are being postponed until the braniacs over there get their act together.
From August 17th 1995, please enjoy Gerry Devine and the Hi-Beams -- and the sessions for a live radio broadcast on WDST in Woodstock emanating from the fabulous Tinker Street Cafe -- and a heartfelt and definitively jangly rendition of "Getting Back Into My Life," by genuine underground power pop legendMark Johnson.
Featuring some guy whose name rhymes with Sleeve Nimels on bass (apologies for the flubs).
I wrote about Mark in these precincts last year, but if you missed it, the short version is that he was a fixture in the Village in the late 70s and early 80s, and somebody who I thought at the time was (of all the folks who featured in the Bleecker Street revival of the day -- which included Shawn Colvin, The Smithereens, Chris Whitley, Willie Nile, The Roches and Suzanne Vega) by far the most abundantly talented.
A natural born songwriter -- Dave Edmunds and Robert Gordon recorded some of his tunes -- and a riveting singer and stage presence, he really should have been a contender; why he wasn't comes down to the usual demons and/or bad luck blah blah blah, but he's still active and, as I said up top, pretty much one of the genuine underground legends of power pop.
You can find out more about him over at his oficial website, as well as ordering some of his CDs.
Including this one, which features period demos of the stuff he was doing in clubs when I first encountered him in the late 70s...
...and which, if memory serves, was perhaps the greatest rock-and-roll you or anyone else who wasn't there at the time has never heard. Including lead guitar by the astounding Drew Zingg, which will completely blow your tiny mind.
I should add, however -- strictly in terms of consumer protection -- that I personally ordered a copy of this via PayPal a couple of weeks ago and so far have found nothing in my mailbox. I have also been dropping Mark messages over at the website about this but have heard nothing in reply.
An idiosyncratic blog dedicated to the precursors, the practioners, and the descendants of power pop.
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