Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Ok, so perhaps my last babysitting gig did not go according to plan (I can't even remeber the last time I had to give someone an emergengy tracheotomy w/ a piece of broken mirror and a tin kazoo). Still, several months and two mistrials later and somehow, Aunt John and Unkle Lancifer over @ Kindertrauma have once again found themselves en-route to the ELK's convention w/o a babysitter. Seeing as how my days are free (FBI survalience) and I am in desperate need of money (Nigerian Pyramid Scheme), I will take this opportunity to regale the youngin's with tales of that dashing folkhero, Vincent Price, and the sage-like wisdom his conservative morality plays entone. Either way it should be a memorable night. Better leave your emergency contact numbers...just in case.
Roland S. Howard has passed away from Liver cancer. He was 50 years young. Howard is perhaps best known as the guitarist for Austrailian Punk band 'The Boys Next Door', and its later incarnation "The Birthday Party', both fronted by the carismatic, if not not sanctimoniously self-involved Nick Cave. If you have not indulged, I suggest you do so. The Boys next Door, and especially the Birthday Party have cut some of the most blisteringly intense music of the Post-Punk error (Note: for a sampling, see BFTRB Welcome to 1987 mix). Howards guitar work is both innovative and, at once, completely discordant. A winning combination if ever there was one.
R.I.P. Roland Howard.
Monday, December 28, 2009
The Green Pastures (1936)
"The Green Pastures began life as a group of "revisionist" Biblical stories titled Ol' Man Adam and His Chillun, written in exaggerated Negro dialect by white humorist Roark Bradford. These Old Testament stories were purportedly told from the point of view of an elderly black Sunday School teacher, who translated the Biblical prose into words that his congregation ("untutored black Christians" was Bradford's description) could readily understand. Thus, "De Lawd" behaves very much like a Southern black Baptist preacher; Heaven is a wondrous bayou-like land of big cigars and eternal fish fries; "Cap'n" Noah is a languid ferryboat skipper who argues with De Lawd over the advisability of bringing along a couple of kegs of liquor on the Ark; and the court of the Pharoah is redefined as a "Mystic Knights of the Sea" type lodge hall, with Moses introduced as a "conjure man". It is, of course, a white man's perspective on black life, but both the original "Ol' Man Adam", and the subsequent Pulitzer Prize-winning stage version written by Marc Connelly and retitled Green Pastures, have a lot more clarity, profundity and spiritual reverence than most "serious" Biblical adaptations. In this 1936 film version of the Connelly play, Rex Ingram is nothing less than brilliant as De Lawd, speaking the most ludicrous of lines with dignity and quiet authority. Others in the all-black cast include Eddie "Rochester" Anderson as Noah, Frank Wilson as Moses, George Reed as Rev. Deshee, and Oscar Polk as Gabriel, who has the film's single most stirring line: "Gangway! Gangway for de Lawd God Jehovah!" Unlike many other so-called racist films of decades past, The Green Pastures nearly always charms and captivates its modern-day audiences; even the most adamant of "P.C" advocates will probably thoroughly enjoy the experience. Playwright Marc Connelly is credited as director of Green Pastures, as he was for the original stage version, but co-director William Keighley and director of photography Hal Mohr deserve most of the credit for the film's strong cinematic sense."
~ Hal Erickson, All Movie Guide
Thursday, December 24, 2009
It doesn't take a person with a necklace made of human ears to hear the sounds of the season rising like heat off the fronds of a primordial jungle. This evening, when you are gathered around a cozy ash-can fire, cooking M.R.E's in an empty steel ammo case and sharpening your traditional pungy sticks with an M1 mounted Bayonette, please consider, momentarily, those people less fortunate than you; those without even an ounce of Napalm to their person. Tis the season...
Merry Christmas/Non-denominational seasonal celebration (of which I make no faith-based implication in the interests of spiritual equality) to all you God-less heathens out there!
Christmas In Vietnam - Charles Bowen (& The Gentlemen From Tigerland)
Christmas In Vietnam (Instrumental) - Charles Bowen (& The Gentlemen From Tigerland)
Monday, December 21, 2009
Short of sniper fire and trench warfare, I think the most practical application for fingerless gloves would have to digging through 45rpms in a garage in 20 degree weather. I mean, at the very least it will buy you some choice diggin’ time before the blood fully runs out of your extremities. They said I was mad for wearing a wool-lined duck-hunter’s jacket. Well, who’s mad now (Mwwahhaahaahaa)?
Anywhoo…This next record is the kind of happy surprise that makes such selfish endeavors seem totally worth it. There is precious little info about G. L Crockett (besides this bitchin’ photo – dig the hair, man!) sufficed to say that he cut a couple of hen’s Teeth, most notably Chief records (Leather Jacket Cowboy, anyone?) in 57’ and a couple of 65’ late comers on the 4 Brothers records.
What we have here is a specimen of the latter, and lucky for us that both sides shell out some serious primitive-ass shekels you can take straight to the bank. The guitar work here is very sparse, treble-laden and loose, bringing to mind everything that is right about late 50’s R&B comported to a slightly later soul market. Both sides deserve the attention, so be attentive, will ya?
It's a Man Down There – G.L. Crockett
Every Hour, Every Day – G.L. Crockett
Friday, December 18, 2009
"Leak? Hell no. These babies are made by the U.S. Army Corp. of Engineers..."
Director / Screenwriter Dan O'Bannon recently passed away from an unknown ailment. He was 63. O'Bannon's credits include the screenplay for Aliens and Total Recall among others. In addition to his screenwriting credit, O'Bannon also directed genere favorites 'Dead and Buried', H.P. Lovecraft's 'The Resurected' and last, but not least, he wrote and directed what is in my humble opinion one of the most entertaining and enjoyable modern horror films of the 1980's, 'Return of the Living Dead'
I must say, it is rather difficult to respectfully memorialize one who's calling card happens to be a black-humored Zombie comedy, but just the same, on the off chance he's not dismembered, and subsequently cremated, it might be wise to keep him away from the Trioxin. Just a thought.
R.I.P. Dan O'Bannon
Friday, December 11, 2009
Be it Ever So Humble…
70,000 hits!? Seriously, who’d a thunk that I, of all people, would have the attention span to keep at it this long? I mean, I drift between projects like an Alzheimer’s patient so it is some kind of small wonder that I am able to focus enough to even hang this measly pap out to dry, not that I manage to do it in any semblance of a timely manner mind you (Case in point, this post) nor any semblance of decorum. Anyway, I had started piece-mealing what I thought was to be a completely random mix for the occasion only to realize upon closer scrutiny that these songs inadvertently shared the same vague antecedent, namely, each song just so happens to be late-sixties psychedelia buried at the ass end of a long-play. Yup, I’m talkin’ filler-diller, but with one small exception – these song kick ass!
No fancy arrangements; no lofty musical aspirations; just short, sweet and dirty like a Tai schoolgirl. Now, let’s open this fancy-ass can of soup-dejour w/ one of music’s more primal inspirations – misogyny! Yup, ‘Don’t Lie to Me Baby’ by Toby Ben got it in spades, as well as some of the worst harmonica since Bob Dylan strapped a tin Honer feed-bag to the hole in his face (Sorry Sister). Seriously, dig the harp at the end; it sounds like J.B. Lenore hackin’ the solo apart on ‘Mama Talk to Your Daughter’, except that it ain’t very good. Amazing!
Next up is ‘Blow My Mind’, a song so upbeat and confidant in it’s swagger that you’ll wanna smash your 8oz off on the edge of the bar and go hog-wild w/ the bottleneck. Who’d a thunk those little black eggs w/ the little white specks known the world over as the Critters could unleash such havoc? Hands off the twelve-string fellers. Stick to the Wurlitzer.
Your mind being sufficiently blown by now, we continue on w/ Syndicate of Sound’s extremely strange cover of ‘the Witch’ by the world-famous Sonics. Doesn’t quite live up to the original, but it sure is an odd choice, even for the B-side of a major label release.
Back in the Dylan camp we got we got Billy Blue and his weird-ass organ-fueled psych nonsense ‘Arcade Love Machine’, replete w/ nasally vocals and off-time delivery. Truth be told, I have no idea what the hell this guy is singin’ about, but that has never stopped me from enjoyin’ someone’s thread.
Continuing along the emerging downward spiral of pop depression we find the Paul Revere patterned ‘American Revolution’ and their moody, mid-tempo, ‘Show Me How to Cry’. Can’t say I’m a strange to such lessons, but I think I’ll keep my stoicism in check, just the same.
Funny story w/ this disc: I picked it up at a town wide garage sale (The self same one that produced a twenty-five cent copy of Dracula’s Deuce) from some crazy Cuban lady and her pack of vicious Chihuahua-dogs. When all was said and done I managed to walk out w/ a bunch of crazy regional Cuban psych, but that is a post of a different color.
I LUV this next track! Frenzy (Unrelated to Screamin’ Jay) off the Fugs second album sounds like a jug-band rhythm section headlinin’ a punk matinee @ the local VFW (Veterans of a Fucked-up World), only, last time I went to one of those some kid got his hip dislocated. Hopefully you, dear reader, fair better.
Winding this thing down is the Sir Douglas Quintet who, once famously photographed in silhouette to diminish the racial implications of their high-ass Mexican cheekbones, have taken up the smoke-wagon and bandolier against the Southwest themed Son of Bill Baety, proving once again how versatile the riff from ‘She’s About a Mover’ ultimately is. And finally we round this thing out with Them (or, Van Morrison, if his legal team is watching) and his incredibly moody, if not shamelessly copied (Animals, Anyone?) ‘I’m Gonna Dress in Black’. That’s right kids. You’ll get over that faze eventually, and then it’s Madras and Mustangs all the way!
That about does it for this installment of Filler Theatre. Hope you dig, and thanks to everyone for the patronage. Until next time...
Blues for the RedBoy presents: Filler Theatre Vol # 1
Behold, the ellusive Sasquatch in it's native habitat: The Brighton Bar.
AKA: Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia (1974)
"the greatest film of the thirteenth century."
"Sam Peckinpah knew he couldn't call a movie Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia and get away with it. That's why he did it. When he undertook this nakedly personal project, in self-exile in Mexico, the director was a deeply bitter man out of favor with critics, the media, and the Hollywood establishment, which had just released his Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid in a mutilated version. "Bring Me the Head..." sounded like the parody title of an ultraviolent Sam Peckinpah movie, and he flung it in our faces just as his onscreen surrogate tosses the titular object at the camera.
Thing is, the movie is a masterpiece--raw, shocking, beautiful, and brave--in which Peckinpah confronts his enemies and his own demons. Warren Oates plays a gringo piano-player stuck in Mexico who hears that some powerful men are willing to pay a bounty on a guy he knows. They don't know the guy is already dead, killed in a car accident. It'll be easy to exhume the trophy and collect the money--except that it will cost our seedy hero everything he has and ever wanted.
John Huston's Treasure of the Sierra Madre had always been a key legend for Peckinpah; this film is a subterranean re-imagining of it, with Oates as both the son of Fred C. Dobbs and the carnival-mirror reflection of Peckinpah himself. And Isela Vega's performance as the sainted whore Elita--bruised and worldly one minute, radiant and clear-skinned as a child the next--is an act of grace."
--Richard T. Jameson
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Here's two helpins o' dark meat to hold you over until the main event. It's like my Slovak grandma always said, "You're adopted..." no, wait, I mean "The marrow is where all the flavor is." Kinda creepy in a desperate, eastern-bloc sort of way, no?
Turkey Hop Pt. 1 - Johnny Otis
Turkey Hop Pt. 2 - Johnny Otis
So, I was driving my asbestos-lined diesel pickup truck full of clubbed baby seals to work when I happened to catch the headline that the oft-parroted Global Warming Yuppie Hysteria is, in fact, a methane-producing pile of bio-degradable, Eco-friendly crap. Look kids, it's plain good form to not shit where you eat (this coming from a guy who lives in the Aquanet capital of the world), but as for Bono lecturing me about my carbon footprint, I'll pass. If you need me, I'll be belly flopping into a pile of Styrofoam Mcdonald's hotcake containers. Mmmmmm...remember those?
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Even though Halloween is Kaputsville (And Thanksgiving is apparently only a week off!?), that’s no reason that ole’ RB can’t drop a monster squarely on your head…
Is it Funk? Is it Psych? Is it soup yet? Who knows? A better question would be can you spin this 71’ offering from Trinidad’s fortunate sons and not bump & grind yer tail feathers into pillow stuffin? Seriously, this record is enormous!
From what I gather the proper British press on Polydor goes for pounds of, uh… pounds on the other side of the pond (Don’t even ask about the LP), hence why I went with a French picture sleeve, but don’t let it’s nationality fool you, this shit shows no sign of surrendering. You might as well just repurpose that white flag into a diaper, cause you are gonna shit yourself. Seriously, suck on this witches wand and you’ll dig my meanin’.
P.S. Thanks to Tommy Brimstone for turnin’ me on to this junk.
Witches Wand – Luv Machine
Happy Children – Luv Machine
...to Roger Corman on his lifetime achievement award from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Surely an award has never been more richly deserved by a man who turned the exploitation film industry into a well-oiled machine responsible for minting some of the great film talents of the past fifty years.
Oh, and Riff Randell for President!!!
Friday, November 13, 2009
Happy Friday the Umpteenth, everybody! Check out some date-specific tunes here and here. RB will be back shortly w/ some new tunes, but first I'm gonna smoke a joint and go skinny-dipping @ this old abandon summer camp in Blairstown...I'm sure I'll be fine.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Get your asses out and vote, and don't give me a mouthful of greek salad about how you don't like any of the candidates and that it doesn't really matter, etc, etc. Those are the same old tired excuses you used last time. Isn't it time you exercised some loftier goals besides getting fucked up and styling your hair? Good. Glad we are on the same page. Have a nice day.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Note: I'm kinda hung over so pictures and write-up shall be forthcoming. In the meantime, please enjoy this fine, handrolled, pre-embargo mix.
Blues for the RedBoy Presents: Cha Cha Challoween!
Be sure to check out all the previous BRTRB Halloween posts, as well as the insidiusly evil imput of my fellow bloggers.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Ok, so…you are walking home in the small hours of the evening through a neighborhood whose byways you have traversed your entire misspent adolescence. You could always make a right on Old Post Road (Substitute your own thoroughfare) with its street lamps and relative safety, but it would just be quicker to take that small wooded lane that traverses the industrial park. Quarter mile in and the footpath you’ve tread has disappeared in the blackness under foot, the only light to be had coming from the final full blush of a waning moon overhead. Amidst the din of crickets and cicadas a rustle can be heard which stops you cold, mid-step. Chances are it is a possum, or, if you live in Tasmania, a Wombat, but maybe, just maybe…it might be a Werewolf. Either that or a drunken transient. Seriously though, can you really afford to take your chances with either?
Werewolf – the Frantics
Yeah, so what? You find a better song to start a werewolf mix if with (and one featuring future members of ‘Moby grape, at that!). Cut in 59’ on Seattle’s Dolton label, ‘Werewolf’ comes in many label and track combinations, but none of em’ touch this classic tune and it’s equally inventive flip
Weerdo the Wolf – Frankie Stein & his Ghouls
The first and only single culled for the debut album of this legendary 1960’s studio band. I highly recommend seeking out their complete discography on wax before the tragically hip drive the prices through the roof.
Big Bad Wolf – Bart Lewis
I realize that the inclusion of this tune is a stretch, but Perrault’s original interpretation of Le Petite Chaperone Rouge has always been understood as an allegorical werewolf story, that, and it ain’t like I got werewolf records comin’ out the wazoo, so I guess I got no choice but to think on my paws. Look for the flip, Bart Lewis’ ‘Frankenstein’ in a future BFTRB installment.
Mr. Were-Wolf – Kacties
For those people who have always wondered who would win in a balls-out fight between Tarzan and a werewolf, the wait is over. Brooklyn’s Kacties were busy whoopin’ the shit out of the local vocal competition when they cut this b-side scant hours before Ben E. King would highjack their session for his magnum opus ‘Stand By Me’. Man, just think of how cool ‘Stand By Me’ would have been had it had featured a werewolf. (Sigh) The mind reels.
Werewolf – Gary Warren
Cut in 58’ on Nashville’s Nasco label, werewolf has seen many a comp and cover, but that scarcely diminishes the strange, otherworldly quality of this romantic ode to werewolf fidelity. I also love the fact that not only does Warren’s close proximity to the female sex excite his more lycanthropic tendencies, but this-here werewolf is “King-Size”. Doggy style it is.
Weird Wolf – Ghouls
Here’s another studio band, this time w/ famed producer Gary Usher @ the helm. Say what you will about the frivolity of this album’s monstrous trappings, but this record stands on it’s own as an awesome example of the highest aspirations of sixties surf music. I managed to scam my mono copy years ago, only to find a clean stereo copy @ a garage sale for a quarter. God bless N.J.
Wolfman – Muleskinners
If it is not already evident by the title and label of this 64’ cut, this band ain’t foolin nobody if they think we can’t suss-out Fendermen when we see/hear them. Seeing as how this record found its way onto a later Soma re-issue w/ the Fendermen brand soundly attached to the label, I’d say their demographic is made of some of the sharpest knives in the drawer. Goooood Mornin’ Captain!
So in closing, I’d like to take this opportunity to set you straight on this-here werewolf business. In the words of my old pal Svengoolie:
"You don’t tug on Dracula’s cape.
You don’t let werewolves run loose
You don’t monkey around with Tarzan
And don’t mess around w/‘Bruce’"
Words to live by. Until next time, beware the moors and stay to the road -RB
Blues for the Redboy presents: Even a Mix Who is Pure of Heart and Say It’s Prayers @ Night Can Change to a Wolf when the Wolfbane Blooms & the Autumn Moon is Bright.
"PERKINS, William (1555-1602)
Discourse of the damned art of witchcraft In
The Workes of that famous and worthy minister of Christ in the Universitie of Cambridge, Mr William Perkins.
London : Printed at London by John Leggatt, printer to the
University of Cambridge, 1616-1618.
Perkins was a prominent English demonologist and widely regarded Puritan preacher, who's Discourse was published posthumously in 1608. Like several other witch believers such as Henry More and Henry Hallywell, he was a fellow of Christ's College, Cambridge. A primary English authority on witchcraft, Perkins ignored the work of the European demonologists, basing his work almost exclusively on the Bible.
The book is divided into seven chapters covering true and false miracles, the league between Satan and a witch, divination, good witches, and the discovery and punishment of witches. It was influential throughout the 17th century because of its distinctions between false and uncertain signs of witchcraft, presumptions of guilt, and just and sufficient proofs."
OK, so I think I might finally be over the technological hump that is the home computer. Hopefully, baring sudden and malicious acts of a technically-minded god, I should be back to something approaching a normal posting schedule. And as for Mr. Eurasian Spam merchant who keeps choking the shit out of my comments section w/ his peculiar brand of feel-good “Engrish”, well…seeing as how I can’t rightly shanghais a skiff to, uh, Shanghais and break a butterfly sword off in his/her ass, then I guess I have no choice but to moderate my comments from now on. Don’t worry though, in the interests of commerce I will continue to post the vitriolic comments of crackpot hippies who, in the spirit of brotherhood, wish me dead. In the meantime, I got two special Halloween mixes commin’ your way. Enjoy
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
First off, given American International Picture's (See: previous post) illustrious legacy of jamming two sub-par movies together as a package deal, these two features just really don’t fit. Headless Ghost is more of a ‘Ghost of Dragstrip Hollow’- like comedy and Horrors of the Black Museum is the greatest giallo film that neither Argento nor Fulchi made. Add to the fact that both films hail from 59’, a social period remembered more for space-age terror and giant bugs then subtlety, and you can begin to see why a promotional record featuring a vocal group jam (passe’ even by 1959’s standards) perhaps wasn’t the best advertising move. I mean, have you ever heard of either of these movies? I didn’t think so.
That not to say the record is a lemon. On the contrary, I think it plays particularly loose with it’s accaplella nuttiness. Pair this w/ a copy of ‘Attack of the Giant Leeches’ on AIP records (or AIR) and you got yerself the cream of the Samuel Z. Arkoff's corny crop.
As far as Halloween is concerned, there sure ain’t a more haunted notion then a Ghost who can’t get no head….wait, I think I may have misunderstood the assignment.
Headless Ghost - Nightmares
(Oooh I'm Scared) of the Horrors of the Black Museum - Nightmares
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
For those of you familiar w/ American International Pictures and the (misunderstood) genius of effects artist Paul Blaisdell, here is a great documentary about the legendary Halloween exploits of super-fan / sometimes swingin' ape Mr. Bob Burns. Burns threw the biggest most elaborate haunted attractions in his quiet California suburb in the 70's, so much so that the police were forced to shut him down at the behest of concerned citizen who shall henceforth known as joy-killing ass-clowns. Check out his story in installments all through October, and for Christ's sake, take some notes will ya?
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Made this mix with my own two hands for a certain Sister who, at the time, was as blue as a robin’s egg. Hopefully it did the trick and lifted her outta her doldrums. With a little bit of re-purposing, I’m sending this out to all those peculiar chicks and the men who go gooey for their ghoulish antics. See, behind every man is a good woman (or, if you are a smooth operator, several), though one cannot necessarily guarantee that that woman is not holding a carving knife or a spool of piano wire. Face it fellas, these witches keep you on your toes, if not by virtue of the rope they got slung around your neck, then by that weird whammy they got workin’ day in/day out. There isn’t much we as hot-blooded beasts wouldn’t do for a shot at that cauldron they got bubblin' between their knees, but don’t be fooled fellas…you are not in control. You may think you got the upper hand, but you are just one muttered hex away form frog-city. Give a spin and celebrate these weird sisters, warts and all, but do it with a rosary on your lips and your back to the wall, lest you wind up in the soup (literally)
You Are My Girl – Three Stooges
I can only assume this is not thee Three Stooges, however, there may just be at least one self-styled ‘fake Shemp’ involved in the production and execution. Cool tune about the endearing qualities of a monstrously ugly fiend who moonlights as a card-carrying member of the fairer sex.
Miss Frankenstein – George Jackson
In keeping w/ a general theme of skin-deep scarification, here is a mystery tune from 62’ about a butta faced Philly who requires a pork chop be tied around her spindly neck to facilitated some doggy love. Featuring ex-members of Baltimore Maryland’s vocal sensation the Plants. It’ll grow on you (Get it!?)
Vampira - Bobby Bare
This 1958’ cut by Ohio C&W legend Bobby Bare (aka. All American Boy Billy Parsons) has made the rounds for awhile now, but as anybody from Jersey knows, there is somethin’ to be said for “Two inch nails, micro waist, w/ a pale white feline face...” Any self-deprecating ghoul w/ “Inclination eyebrows” is free to suck my…neck, any time. Released on Challenge records subsidiary ‘Jackpot Records’, today might just be your lucky day (Get it!?)
Tombstone # 9 – Murray Schaff
Wanna hear something’ weird? While scheduling this post I realized that this test pressing was cut 53 years ago today (Don't beleive me? Check the fine print). Coincidence…I think not! Perhaps it is an ill omen? The lesson at hand: don’t give in, fellas! Even though these womens got the hard sell and are willing to give out free samples, you may just wind up at the business end of a post hole digger. According to particulars this tune was slated for release on King records, though I have never come across a copy proper. Anyone?
Queen of Halloween – Bily Snel
Here’s an obscure two-sider (see later posting for the flip) outta NY state which has eluded most comp-cobblers for awhile. Most of the copies that turn up are new-old stock, so chances are these beauties have been living out their existence in a tradesman’s closet. Good thing I am not above accepting anonymous charity.
Draculena – Aaron McNeil
This 1964 soul styling is in the same sanguinary vein (pun intended) as the above mentioned Bobby Bare disc. Though of a decidedly later comportment, ‘Draculena’ throws a littler Voodoo into the mash w/ some Marie Laveau inspired femme fatality. Hell, I'd follow Draculena to her grave.
Headless Nightmare - Villagers
A weird folksy number from 63’ concerning an ex-girlfriend who earned her ‘post’ status by getting her noggin’ clipped off by a speeding train. As can be expected, such a death rarely results in eternal rest, and more often than not insures a white-clad specter swinging its missing extremity down the tracks for all eternity. Get some new shoes, Daddy. Step on it!
Witch Girl – Ron Walden
One of my current favorites, Witch Girl has been piloting her broom under my radar for some time now, though how that’s possible w/ such a trashy solo is beyond me. Say what you will, but the devil knows how to pick them, I just wish Ole' Slue-foot could furnish me with some more info on this killer track.
Vampires Ghost – Jimmy Bowers
Never trust the ghost of a vampire who “Plays Cards Like a Man” not only will you loose your shirt, but you are bound to loose your white-bread soul in the process, and there aint nothin’ a self-respecting vamp likes more that white bread soul w/ a little dab of mayo and a barrel pick - no garlic, please.
So there you have it folks. If’un you wanna get down to brass tacks w/ yer baby, just slide this mix in, get down on one hoof, take her by the tentacle and tell her you’d marry/murder her all over again. Remember, you can always buy cemetery plots by the pair, and there ain’t nothin’ deeper than his and her graves, dig?
Blues for the RedBoy Presents: She’s a Haunted Betty Boop!
P.S. Stay wood kid, stay wood!