GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS! Week -- Episode Two: Hope I Die Before I Meet That Asshole Charles Bukowski

You know, to be honest, I was never particularly impressed with Suzi Quatro back in her early 70s glam-rock stardom period. Although in retrospect a lot of her records -- which were hits pretty much everywhere in the civilized world except the USA -- were actually pretty good, as our pal and colleague Kid Charlemagne has testified here over the years.

To me, though -- and I say this despite the fact that my early 70s girlfriend was a refugee from the Detroit rock scene and had lots of stories about Suzi and the rest of her Motor City colleagues -- the only reason I ever particularly took notice was because a) her name actually was Suzi Q (c'mon -- how cool is that?) b) she played Leather Tuscadero, the sister of Fonzie's girlfriend Pinky, on Happy Days and c) there was a credible rumor going around that she (Suzi) and Rick Derringer were in fact the same person.

Seriously -- did YOU ever see the two of them in the same room at the same time?

I think not.

In any case, I knew that Suzi -- and pretty much the rest of her immediate family -- had been in an all-girl 60s Detroit garage band called The Pleasure Seekers in those pre-stardom days...



...but what I am embarrassed to admit I didn't know until last week is that the Pleasure Seekers had released a 45 in 1966 that may in fact be the single most astounding piece of garage rock ever waxed.

Ladies and germs -- behold in breathless wonder "What a Way to Die."





In case you can't quite make out the lyrics through the low-fi mono murk, Suzi is sending the following tender blandishments toward a potential lover (and Iggy, eat your heart out).

Well I love you baby
I’m telling you right here
But please don’t make me decide baby
Between you and a bottle of beer.

Baby come on over,
Come on over to my side
Well I may not live past twenty-one
but WOO!
What a way to die!

Your lovin' fluctuates baby
And everybody knows
But the temperature always stays the same
On an ice cold bottle of Strohs

When I start my drinking
My baby throws a fit
So I just blitz him outta my mind
With seventeen bottles of Schlitz

You’ve got the kind of body
That makes me come alive
But I’d rather have my hands around
A bottle of Colt 45

Baby come on over,
Come on over to my side
Well I may not live past twenty-one
but WOO!
What a way to die

In a word -- wow.

Yes, obviously, the song and the record are kind of a joke. As anybody who ever went to a high school dance back then knows, the Pleasure Seekers probably didn't really want to die before they got old, i,e, before they got laid a lot.

But still...that kind of gonzo nihilism, even if it was a pose they barely understood, was not only unprecedented for a bunch of suburban adolescent gals, but also, clearly, a huge influence in all sorts of unexpected ways on the rest of rock history.

Speaking of which, I think we need to research whether the song's lyrical mention of Strohs, Schlitz and Colt 45 was some kind of innovative product placement or just alcoholic bravado.

GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS! Week -- Episode One: Mr. Tambourine Lady

But before we get to the gals in question, the following paragraphs -- from a review in the New York Times, of a book by a scientist researching creativity, specifically musical talent -- grabbed my attention on Thursday, for obvious reasons.

At 13, an age when most boys want to learn the guitar, Gary Marcus, decided he wanted to be a scientist. Twenty-five years later he had become one of the country’s best known cognitive psychologists, with major papers and three general-interest books on the workings of the human mind and a position running New York University’s Center for Language and Music.

And he wanted to play the guitar.

For any adult learning an instrument or a new language is terrifying. For a cognitive scientist, it can also be downright depressing. Humans have an early childhood window to acquire such skills easily, according to a long-held tenet in his profession, and it’s a window that closes quickly. Then there is the issue of innate ability. While no single gene can explain Beethoven, Yo-Yo Ma or “Waterloo Sunset,” Dr. Marcus does believe in natural talent, he said, or at least in the certainty he doesn’t have any.

Heh. It appears somebody at the Times may have read my earlier scribblings about the sublimity of a certain Kinks song.

Moving along, however, we're supposed to be talking about the ever popular subject of Dames in Rock. In that regard, today we consider -- Goldie and the Gingerbreads.

Who, if not as claimed (usually by them) history's very first all girl self-contained rock band (i.e., who played their own instruments), were unquestionably the first such outfit to score a hit single in England, hang out with the likes of The Rolling Stones, and tour with all sorts of other big deal Brit invasion types.

GATGs, of course, were fronted by Genya Ravan, who (as lead singer of a not completely horrible post Blood Sweat and Tears horn band called Ten Wheel Drive) was much beloved of legendary WNEW-FM disc jockey Allison Steele, and who later, in the CBGBs era, produced the classic first album by The Dead Boys and ran one of the first indie New Wave record labels.

Anyway, I had never actually heard any music by Goldie and the Gingerbreads, so recently, when somebody I know who had worked with Ravan back in the day happened to mention her to me in passing, I finally did a little Googling, and sure enough -- there was a live (lip-synched) clip of the band on YouTube. Turns out it was their UK top 40 hit "Can't You Hear My Heartbeat," a version of the same pleasant bubble-gum soul song that was later a much bigger record in the US for Herman's Hermits. That's Ravan on the right with the tambourine, obviously.



I also found this blurb, which sort of speaks for itself.

Goldie and the Gingerbreads' first engagement was at New York City's notorious Peppermint Lounge, During a stint at the Wagon Wheel on 45th Street, Eric Burdon, The Animals, and their manager, Mike Jeffries, dropped in after having been lured by the music they heard coming from the club, "There was so much feeling in Goldie's voice that I was stunned to find such a "black" sound could be produced by a group of white girls," said Eric Burdon. Alan Price, the Animals keyboard player who would go on to produce "Can't you Hear My Heartbeat?" for the girls in 1965, agreed: "When I heard Margo play the organ, I felt like going out and getting drunk."

Heh. It's a cute record, to be sure, and maybe GATGs sounded tougher in person than they did in the studio, but on the aural evidence I'd say producer Price might have been drunk BEFORE he heard them. In any case, there's a part of me that thinks he made the record as a way to, for want of a better phrase, get to know them better.

If so, I can only add (and boy, do I wish a could insert a smiley-face emoticon here) -- poor bastard.

I Resent That Remark!!!

Ed Kilgore, at the Washington Monthly, describing Newt Gingrich's performance at the Florida debate the other day:

“He sounded bad, he looked bad, and generally came across like a weasel who had finally been cornered by Animal Control.”

This is deeply offensive. For obvious reasons, if you were around on Friday.

Still -- Heh.

Your Sunday Moment of Words Fail Me

Seriously -- I cannot express just how absolutely great this is.

Venerable punk band Bad Religion's cover of Bobby D.'s "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue."



As I mentioned, I lack the words, so I'll let the estimable Sal Nunziato (from whom I learned about it) speak for me:

"You need to hear this one to believe it. The energy is insane. It's a thrasher and still, it doesn't disrespect Bob or The Byrds."

Oh, and in case you were wondering, it's from Chimes of Freedom, a brand new 4 CD set of mostly previously unreleased Dylan covers celebrating 50 years of Amnesty International.

You can -- and apparently should -- order it over here.

Great Minds Think Alike. What Explains the Following, However, Remains a Mystery.

Long-time or attentive readers are no doubt aware that I've been an on again/off again member (currently on again) of a recording/performance rock-and-roll collective/band called The Weasels since the early 70s.

Here, to refresh your memory, is the cover of our very first recorded project (circa '73 or '74), entitled The White Album, for reasons way to embarrassing to get into.



Anyway, like I said, we've been at it for quite some time now, so imagine our surprise a few weeks ago when we learned, accidentally via the intertubes, that there was another recording/performance rock-and-roll collective/band called The Weasels, who've been active around Albany, New York since the mid-'80s.

We reacted to this news, as you might expect, with the maturity and grace that has always been our hallmark, i.e. we looked at each other and said "Hey, we're gonna sue those bastards so fast their heads will spin."

Fortunately, when we took a moment to actually check out their work, we noticed that the theoretically faux Weasels were actually really smart and really funny. So we've -- or in this case, more accurately I've -- decided to forego the lawsuit and just give 'em a little free publicity and a tip of the Hatlo Hat instead.

Some history, from their Wiki article:

Inspired by the response to their Ear Jam performance, the expanded band polished their basement tapes and released Meat the Weasels: Volume 1, Fondue Cabaret in 1993. In addition to [members] Doctor Fun, Roy Weasell and Chris Graf, this record featured Jonathan Cohen (bass guitar and slide whistle, sometimes billed as Jonny Weasel), Rocky Petrocelli (drums) and David Maynard (guitar). Maynard had once been a member of the New York Rubber Rock Band, whose 1975 single "Disco Lucy" was named "Worst Single of the Year" by Billboard Magazine.

The Weasels continued to perform live in support of their early material, though with continued instability in the drummer’s seat, which was occupied at various times in their early years by Petrocelli, Jordan Cohen (later of Powerman 5000 and Blue Man Group), Dave King, Doug Klein, Dan Roberts, Steve Scoons, Dave Berger and Steve Candlen, with the latter two emerging as drummers of choice for their middle recording period. The album’s opening cut, “Let the Killing Begin,” is the first in a series of Weasels songs about notorious killers, in this case Henry Lee Lucas. It incorporates a tongue-in-cheek adaptation of the soliloquy from the Doors’ “The End”.

I should add that some of these guys' song titles are particularly droll. My favorites, at the moment, include "Klaus Barbie and Ken," "Paging Larry Storch" (a heartfelt tribute to the F-Troop star, and apparently part of a Larry Trilogy), "Officer Gerbils" and "Bitch is All Business," described at the official website as "an ode to feminism." I am also fond of an album of theirs entitled Uranus or Bust.

Here's the cover to their latest masterwork, the trenchantly monikered Axis of Weasel...



...which the band informs us "was released in the sense that the CDs were manufactured and we have several hundred copies out in the garage if anyone wants one."

And here's a video, for the recent "Do the Teabag." A title that has a certain relevance to last Tuesday's rant, for what it's worth.



So, in conclusion -- get over to The Weasels website and give 'em some love.

And tell 'em The Weasels sent you, obviously.

A Shouting Comes Across the Sky

As promised last week -- another previously unheard song from the 1981 CBS demo by genuine underground power pop legend/cult figure David Grahame.

This one's called "True Believers."




As before, David is playing all the guitars and singing all the vocals. Your humble scribe contributes bass and a very simple piano part intended to be all George Martin/Beatles VI-ish; the incomparable Glen "Bob" Allen is on drums.

As I'm fond of saying -- and speaking of gorgeous...

Wednesday Programming Note

Barring a last minute disaster of some sort, I've decided that next week -- for reasons that I won't get into at the moment -- is going to be GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS!-themed.



Heh.

I should also add -- in a typically shameless piece of self-promotion -- that you can listen to an mp3 of the latest noises I made on guitar with my now geriatric garage band high school buddies over here.

Pretty slick, I think, but YMMV.

If It's Tuesday, It's an Apology and a Rant!

In case you missed it, long time commenter Anonymous posted this the other day.

It's an election year, hard to ignore politics but have enjoyed your postings more without the weekly reference to your most-hated at the moment politician, er...Republican.

Just remember they're all phonies and crooks (you might even stumble upon Charlie Rangel's homage to Adam Clayton Powell when you're down there along with the Clinton's holdings....er...hidings in the DR).

To which I can only reply...actually, you've got a point.

Seriously -- I've said here on numerous occasions that I'm aware the name of this blog is PowerPop, not PissedOffLeftie. And for any number of reasons (including the courtesy I believe is owed to our valued readers who do not, perhaps, share our political perspective) I strive (to the best of my ability) to resist the urge to use the forum NY Mary has given me to wax all doctrinaire Dirty Fucking Hippie.

That said, it's not a secret that the traditional first paragraph Weekend Listomania joke has mostly always been (as they said at Warner Bros. in the '30s) ripped from the headlines, which is to say topical. To which I can only add, uh yeah, I'm lazy and lacking in a certain level of comic inspiration, so what do you expect?

That being the case, I think you'll agree that there's really not much interesting or appalling happening on the Democratic side of the spectrum of late. Certainly, nothing that compares to the on-going Carnival of Crazy we call the Republican primary race. And I think it's also fair to say that said televised train wreck has struck even a lot folks on the right, who would dearly love to retire President Obama in November, as troubling. In particular, the in your face homophobia, blood lust, and racism exhibited by the audiences at the debates.

All of which is a long-winded way of leading up to the following:

For at least the forseeable future, I'm gonna strive to be as bi-partisan in the snark department as I can. Unless I can't, of course.

Oh -- and no Listomania this week, due to a killer schedule.

Previously Unreleased Stereo Mixes of the Gods (An Occasional Series)

Uh, excuse me -- but did I somehow miss the memo on this one?

From the 2002 Abkco reissue of the Rolling Stones first greatest hits collection of the '60s, please enjoy "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" in glorious totally real stereo.




Seriously -- how did this get past me? Does everybody already know about it?

In any case, this is NOT a bootleg of an alternate take or weird mix featuring extra instruments; this is the same version as the single we've known in mono for all these years, only in very effective multi-channel.

For what it's worth, and as glad as I am to finally hear this, I think on balance the familiar mono version is just a tad punchier, but jeebus, this sounds great.

Of course, I'm still irked that none of you guys ever mentioned it to me before.

A Spy in the House of Love

As promised, that parody Bond poster from the February 1977 National Lampoon.

Incidentally, if you left-click on this two or three times, it enlarges significantly.



Hey -- I meant in case you wanted to print it out.

Jeebus, what's wrong with you people.