By way of a postscript to yesterday's little tribute to pioneering rock critic and indy label maven Greg Shaw (1949-2004), here's part of an editiorial he wrote for the January 1979 issue of his BOMP Magazine. In it Greg proposes the creation of a "society for the preservation of pop culture." But you'll notice that, almost as an afterthought, he also predicts a computer/musical future that looks almost exactly like the one we're actually living.
"...The primary goal would be the collection, on tape and microfilm, of a definitive library of music, film, video, and printed history of pop music, starting with today and working backwards into the early years of the century, eventually linking up with other organizations dedicated to preserving the history of jazz, folk music, etc. But first taking care of rock & roll. At the rate the cybernetic revolution is progressing, by the time this could be done every school, library and maybe even home, in America would probably be able to have direct access to all this material. Imagine 20 years from now, if every teenager could sit in his bedroom with a computer screen and terminal (with stereo speakers attached) and call up anything he wanted from Billy Ward & the Dominoes to Ed Banger & the Nosebleeds - see what they looked like, read extracts from fanzines and historians who wrote about them, cross-referenced to other artists and sources, and above all hear the music, and maybe even see film footage if any exists. All of this is feasible with the technology of today and the next couple of years. It's effect would be to create a lasting rampart against the danger of gigantic industry brainwashing the public and eliminating all roots, all variety from our culture. Even disregarding that, it would be a worthwhile effort from the standpoint of preserving a huge chunk of American culture..."
I actually read that one back in the day and thought, yeah, right -- like that'll happen.
In any case, I still want to know why the stuff Greg predicted has come true and yet we still don't have fricking jet packs.
Okay, this is a really long story, so please indulge me.
First, the set-up.
One of the greatest (and most obscure) lost singles of the 70s -- indeed, in rock history -- is a little number called "Natural Man" by The Marcus Hook Roll Band. The MHRB were actually Harry Vanda and George Young of The Easybeats, then toiling under various aliases in the period before they roared back as the production team behind the first couple of AC/DC albums (AC/DC's Malcolm and Angus, of course, are George's younger brothers).
In any case, the record itself is one of the landmarks of the Glam Era -- a perfect three chord "Sweet Jane" derivative with hilarious topical lyrics, gorgeous layered electric and accoustic guitars, and absolutely brilliant production, including a bass guitar and cowbell breakdown (a la the bit in Free's "Alright Now," but hookier) that sets up a massive series of final choruses that once heard are etched into your auditory canal forever. An absolute masterpiece, is what I'm saying. Unfortunately, it was not a hit when released in 1973 (I had a promo copy on Capitol at the time, but I lost it later in the decade) and it has never been on LP or CD. An inferior demo version was on a MHRB compilation in the 90s, but it lacked the gorgeousness of the original.
You can read a contemporary account of the single -- from the now defunct house organ of United Artists Records -- over here. Incidentally, the author of said piece, Martin Cerf, was one of the hipper record company guys at the time, and a friend to numerous rock journalists of the period including the late great Greg Shaw; he may, in fact, have been a partner in Greg's BOMP Records, although I'm hazy on that.
Anyway, take a minute to listen to it, and then we'll resume our convoluted narrative.
Great song, no?
The bottom line is I'd been searching, in vain, for a copy of the thing for close to thirty years; in fact, I had more or less convinced myself that the damn record existed only in some sort of fever dream I'd had once. Imagine my surprise, then, when I finally, last week, got an mp3 of "Natural Man" (exactly as I remembered it) from the estimable Robin Wills, who does business over at the wonderful purepop blog. Apart from running said site, Robin is/was guitarist and songwriter with The Barracudas, a terrific Brit-based band from the legendary class of 1978 (you might recall their 1980 hit "Summer Fun"). Before we go any further, please click the purepop link and check out the place -- it'll be worth your time, and I'm not saying that just because the design has a certain air of familiarity.
Seriously -- get over there now.
Thank you.
Anyway, Robin and I started swapping other rare tracks ("I am always looking for obscure US bubblegum and stuff" he told me) and finally, just to be a wiseguy, I sent him an mp3 of "On the Road" by The Hounds, i.e. the B-side of my 70s band's DIY single, of which a total of 1000 copies were ever pressed and only 800 or so, to my knowledge, were ever actually sold. (In another amusing irony, some of those were distributed overseas by the aforementioned Greg Shaw).
At which point he e-mailed me back the following...
Hi Steve: Believe it or not I have The Hounds single!!!!...I thought that the B side was a good Roy Loney era Groovies type number. I got it in a swap with a guy from NY
...and I damn near fainted. Talk about the smallest world in the world.
Anyway, here's the B-side in question, transferred from the original vinyl at great personal expense by moi as part of the 2009 Hounds CD Reissue Project. Actually I think it sounds more like Dave Edmunds than the Groovies; in fact, those Chuck Berry leads are my poor attempt at recreating Dave's work on the live version of "Let It Rock" (with Brinsley Schwarz) on the great Subtle as a Flying Mallet album. But you tell me.
Look, I told you it was a long story. I made no claims that it was an interesting one...
Well, it's Friday and you know what that means. Yes, my Oriental Me Love You Long Time! girl computer consultant Fah Lo Suee and I are off to a Ford dealership in South Jersey where we'll be trading in my gas guzzling '23 Alfa Romeo for a brand new 2009 Taurus and getting a Cash for Clunkers rebate in the bargain. Hey -- am I sticking it to The Man, or what?
So posting by moi will necessarily be sporadic for a little while.
But in the meantime, here's another little project for you all:
Band or Song (or Both) You've Taken the Most Snark For Liking From Folks Over the Years!!!
Self-explanatory, obviously, and no arbitrary rules whatsoever, you're welcome very much. Basically, if anybody's ever looked at you with an alarmed raised eyebrow when you noted that, oh, The Swans' Filth was the record you'd most like to have played at a memorial service, then this category is for you.
And my totally top of my Top Three is:
3. The Guess Who
Seriously, back in the 70s, I can't tell you how often I would mention my fondness for these guys, only to notice that the people I was talking to were moving away, ever so slowly but firmly, from where I sat.
The clip above -- a medley called "Hi, Rockers!" -- is my favorite of several true gems from the band's masterpiece album. The transition from the hilarious beer-soaked barroom meeting of the minds that opens it into the seraphically lovely clavinet-driven "Heaven Only Moved Once" and finally the witty mutant rockabilly revenge number "Don't You Want Me" -- complete with faux Jordanaires harmony vocals -- is, frankly, a marvel to behold, and from where I sit one of the very greatest moments in 70s rock. I'm not kidding about this!!!
2. Procol Harum
These guys, although there's still a perception out there that they were one-hit wonders (hah!), actually get a fair amount of respect -- it's amazing how often I run into people who turn out to be closet fans. So I'm mostly including them here because the luminous NYMary, annotating a piece I'd written about the band in the early 70s for reprint in these precincts, couldn't resist taking a shot at "A Whiter Shade of Pale" (bless her heart). I think the phrase she used was "Dodgiest lyrics ever..."
Naturally enough, then, the clip above is "Repent Walpurgis," an instrumental that remains one of my all-time fave Procol numbers. It's a live version, featuring the classic five piece original lineup with Robin Trower and Matthew Fischer (the latter four decades away from settling his authorship suit over AWSOP last week) at the Fillmore West on April 11, 1969. I've been looking for a high quality boot of that incarnation of the band for years, actually, so it's a genuine pleasure for me to share this.
And the numero uno band or song whose Name I Most Dared Not Speak over the years, is obviously --
1. The Four Seasons -- Marlena
The Four Seasons, despite (or perhaps because of) their recent metamorphosis into the inspiration for a world-wide hit musical, remain somewhat less than hep in certain rock critic circles. I, of course, have said on numerous occasions (including here, if memory serves) that their great run of hits -- spanning the period between "Sherry" in 1962 through, say, "I've Got You Under My Skin" five years later -- comprise the purest pop confections in the history of the genre (the grittier class conscious romanticism of "Dawn" and "Rag Doll," and those songs' influence on Bruce Springsteen, is, of course, a subject for another day).
In any case, my advocacy of "Marlena" (which I think is their most profoundly silly accomplishment, and that's meant as a compliment) has gotten me into trouble on a couple of occasions, most notably sometime in the late 70s, when I -- along with twenty or thirty other folks, mostly writers and musicians -- was asked to make a list of our Five All-Time Favorite Songs by New York City rock colossus WNEW-FM (the station then played everybody's lists over the course of an entire day). I don't remember all five songs I picked -- one was The Who's "Glow Girl" -- but I did nominate "Marlena," and I recall that after the deejay ID'd it as one of my choices, I got at least three frantic phone calls from erstwhile friends questioning my sanity. Okay, I exaggerate just a tad, but you get the idea.
In any case, I think history has vindicated my assessment.
Incidentally, the audio clip of "Marlena" above is the original mono single mix, which I was able to find only after great personal effort and considerable financial expense. This is important because most currently available Four Seasons comps have the song in stereo, and as Pete Townshend famously said about The Who's "I Can See For Miles," the mono mix of "Marlena" makes the stereo sound like The Carpenters.
Alrighty then -- what would your choices be?
[Shameless Blogwhore: My parallel Cinema Listomania -- theme: Best or Worst Screen Performance By a Teen Idol of Any Age!!! -- is now up over at Box Office. As always, I would take it as a personal favor if you could take the time to go over there and leave as snarky a comment as you like. Thanks!]
From 1970, please enjoy bubblegum legends The Ohio Express and their infernally addictive (and more substantial than the genre usually gets) "Sausalito." Written by the great Graham Gouldman. Yes, the same guy who wrote "Bus Stop."
Okay, the interesting (I know, you'll be the judge of that) thing is that the guys in the clip were NOT the guys who played and sang the record. The clip guys, who admittedly have the then contemporary rock star look down pretty good, were a Mansfield, Ohio band called Sir Timothy & The Royals, who were renamed the Ohio Express and hired by the Kasenetz/Katz bubblegum factory to represent, as the kids say.
So who played on the record? Well, given Gouldman's fingerprints on the thing, you might guess it was his future band 10cc, and you'd be right; "Sausalito" is, in fact, the work of the same pop geniuses behind records like "Rubber Bullets" and "I'm Not in Love." Gouldman and company spent a year basically toiling as Brill Building hacks for Kasenetz and Katz; they had their own recording studio which they were trying to turn into a viable commercial enterprise at the time, and grinding out bubblegum tracks for K&K paid the bills. For more on the whole history of the Ohio Express, you should probably go over here.
And just to show you what a nice guy I am, here's a link so you can download a nice clean copy of the record itself. Love that twangy sitar!!!
In any case, a coveted PowerPop No-Prize will be awarded the first reader who gleans the clip's relevance to the theme of tomorrow's Weekend Listomania.
As promised yesterday, here's the 1974 Tim Moore original.
Seems I erred on the availability of this one as well; the album it derives from, Behind the Eyes, is indeed available as an import over at Amazon, and unless you're a total schween, you'll get over there and order it ASAP.
Those who know me are aware that I am possibly the least athletic person on the planet. This is partly because of physical limitations: I was born with double vision (no Foreigner songs, please), since corrected by surgery, which impeded my ability to catch or throw a ball, frequently a large component of athletic endeavors. Similarly, I was, uh, gifted? cursed? with a relatively, well, stacked bod, and thus running is also more trouble than it's worth for me. And my generation of girls was not expected to be athletic, so there was no pressure on that end, either.
But I appreciate the athleticism of others, though I admit, I would not have thought there would be an entire band based around it. Ladies and Gentlemen: The Baseball Project.
Wynn — an immortal in L.A. rock annals for his years helming the Dream Syndicate — loves baseball almost as much as music, and when I caught up with him a few days ago it was to talk about The Baseball Project, a concept-focused teaming with his friend Scott McCaughey, R.E.M. sideman and member of the Young Fresh Fellows and the Minus 5.
On their new album, "Volume 1: Frozen Ropes and Dying Quails," which comes out today on Yep Rock, they’re joined by Linda Pitmon, the drummer from Wynn’s band the Miracle 3, and R.E.M.’s Peter Buck, stirring up a storm of rootsy, thick guitar rock as they range through the baseball lore of the 20th century.
But the songs aren’t sweetly nostalgic valentines to the sport. In "Fernando," Wynn juxtaposes the Dodgers' Mexican pitching star's early '80s popularity with two contrasting episodes: the eviction of Mexican American residents from Chavez Ravine to make way for the stadium, and the anti-immigrant sentiment that has swelled in recent years.
How can anyone not love a record with a song on it called "Ted Fucking Williams"? I mean, I axe ya?
From 1979, please enjoy powerpop gods The Records and their quite lovely version (apparently not on CD anywhere) of "Rock and Roll Love Letter."
This was something of a powerpop standard at the time, and it was often covered, most famously (if not most felicitously) by the Bay City Rollers. The Records' version, obviously, is vastly superior, but to my surprise the 1975 Tim Moore original -- which if memory serves is still the gold standard -- is not available on CD either.
In any case, this is a great track which has been brightening my iPod for a couple of weeks now, so I thought I'd share.
From 1970, please enjoy the country rock stylings of the appallingly monikered Carp and their ode to overindulgence, "Drink to the Queen of the May."
I bring this up only because Carp's pseudonymous drummer was pursuing a simultaneous acting career under his real name at the same time, and a few years hence he actually got an Academy Award nomination for his trouble. A coveted PowerPop No-Prize will be awarded the first reader who twigs his identity without recourse to the Google.
Incidentally, I should add that there were lots of bands that sounded like Carp around the time this was recorded, and that those guys, while a tad cloying, were hardly the worst of the lot. At least this lacks the infuriating moronic grinning optimism of Poco, for example.
From 1990, please enjoy the amusingly monikered Hindu Love Gods and their garage rock take on Prince's "Raspberry Beret."
That's Warren Zevon, obviously, with 3/4 of R.E.M. Recorded strictly for fun in 1988 during the sessions for Zevon's underrated Sentimental Hygiene album, but not released until two years later.
Incidentally, I'm aware that this one isn't particularly obscure, but fact is I just downloaded it for free and I'm feeling insufferably pleased with myself. So I thought I'd share.
In any case, if truth be told, I thought as covers go it was kind of lame, or at the very least disappointing, when it first came out. Now, it strikes me as thoroughly charming...
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By way of a postscript to yesterday's little tribute to pioneering rock critic and indy label maven Greg Shaw (1949-2004), here's part of an editiorial he wrote for the January 1979 issue of his BOMP Magazine. In it Greg proposes the creation of a "society for the preservation of pop culture." But you'll notice that, almost as an afterthought, he also predicts a computer/musical future that looks almost exactly like the one we're actually living.
