So Easy Even a Caveman Can Do It!

Well, how about them VRD posts huh? I just wanna take this opportunity to thank JB over at 'The Hits just Keep On Comin' for allotting me a little corner of internet sky to shop my wares. Looking forward to next years swarm.

Now. On to the filthy business at hand.

Several weeks back I began a string of posts who’s common thread had threatened to degenerate into a testosterone fueled orgy highlighting the indiscretions of the fouler of the sexes – namely me. While that was admittedly fine w/ the Devil (He is, after all, a ‘natural man’), I found it prudent to spare the ladies my boorish behavior - far be it from me to offend my female constituency (all two of em’). That said, despite my best efforts, I’m afraid this monster can no longer be contained as it is bursting out of the proverbial button fly as we speak.

In the spirit of scientific inquiry, I give you “I Was a Teenage Caveman”.

Not since Nervous Norvus first opined on the very nature of the Pterodactyl has a record so succinctly summed up the Darwinian plight of the caveman (Only ‘Be a Caveman’ by the Avengers comes close, and even that is way too accessible for consideration).

Most wet brains are familiar w/ this minimalistic masterstroke from the Monster Bop comp, brought to you by the fine people over at Buffalo Bop records (I can never remember if it is Horror Hop or Monster Bop. Sue Me!). Comps aside, I myself scoured for it’s like in the tar pits for what seemed like a Devonian age before finally striking flint several years ago w/ a dealer just this side of Connecticut; and then only to trip over a spare copy at a junk shop right outside of Winston-Salem North Carolina. First single at the top of the stack. Go Figure.

Anywhoo, it should come as no surprise that there is precious little ‘Know’ on Randy Luck, suffice to say that he was undoubtedly torn to peaces by a pack of cave-women w/ a bad case of Dormitory Syndrome upon first air-play. Seriously, you would figure a poet who’s immortal input includes the line “So I smacked her around and I laughed real loud!” would have left some kinda lingering trail, at least a Domestic Disturbance charge, but alas, not a trace remains of Ole’ Lucky save this here fossil.

I can say with some amount of certainty that this pre-historic Rockabilly offering originated in the swamps of Florida - as any throw-back rightly should - on the cusp of 58’. In addition, it is more than plausible to assume the title was a least partly inspired by American International Picture’s ‘Teenage Caveman’ – released the same year – but as for the songs low-key maliciousness, I can only sit back and ponder like I would the meaning of my own existence (i.e. A complete Fucking Mystery.)

The artists intent now lost to time – it sounds like it was recorded by a homeless person w/ a ukulele in the bottom of a mine shaft – I’m gonna have to defer to the record label for this one, the aptly named ‘Art’ being the only true arbiter by which one can hope to judge a song of such…quality?!?! At least its art as I understand the word.

I Was A Teenage Caveman – Randy Luck

Twelve O’clock – Randy Luck

The Blind (Willie) Leading the Blind: VRD 08/12/08

As a child I distinctly remember going to a local garage sale with my mother who, having acquired an obsession with antiques, managed to buy an original Edison Phonograph and a bushel full of wax cylinders under the auspice that she was getting a bargain (@ $20, who's to say she wasn't?). The deal done,that phonograph sat for a number of years before an elderly clockmaker of some repute managed to restore it’s delicate system of gears and springs to some semblance of order. Some might find the expense hardly worth the effort, but where those same people see junk, my mother saw potential; a potential I have seen realized, having had the pleasure of watching this ancient machine spin to life for the first time in ages, and having actually heard it’s tiny bandwidth issue out of the requisite trumpet. Perhaps it is this self-same concept of ambiguous ‘potential’ that makes the search for records worth all the while.

Living, as I do, in the town of Edison New Jersey (Menlo Park is less than 100 yards away), the exploits of one Thomas Alva Edison are close to my heart, as it is in the hearts of any NJ resident with a mind of history. He is our Orvil Wright (if forced to choose between the two brothers) or, if the Ruskies weren't so possessive, then our own Nicoli Tesla. Perhaps he is both those things, that and a dash of Dr. Theremin, a man whose impressive work owes a certain debt, as do those previously mentioned, to the Wizard of Menlo Park.

It is in the spirit of that aforementioned antiquated device, and it’s creator, that I have chosen to dip uncharacteristically deep into the digs to spin something that, while not as old as Mr. Edison's miracle cylinder, is none-the-less, a shinning example of the kind of 'Potential' once regularly lost to the world, now captured for the sake of history and posterity.

"Blind Willie Johnson was born in 1897 near Brenham, Texas (before the discovery of his death certificate, Temple, Texas had been suggested as his birthplace). When he was five, he told his father he wanted to be a preacher, and then made himself a cigar box guitar. His mother died when he was young and his father remarried soon after her death.

It is thought that Johnson was married twice, first to a woman with the same first name, Willie B Harris, and later to a young singer named Angeline, who was the sister of blues guitarist L.C. Robinson. No marriage certificates have yet been discovered. As Angeline Johnson often sang and performed with him, the first person to attempt to research his biography, Samuel Charters, made the mistake of assuming it was Angeline who had sung on several of Johnson's records. However, later research showed that it was Johnson's first wife.

Johnson was not born blind, and, although it is not known how he lost his sight, Angeline Johnson provided the following account to Samuel Charters. She said when Willie was seven his father beat his stepmother after catching her going out with another man. The stepmother then picked up a handful of lye and threw it, not at Willie's father, but into the face of young Willie.

His father would often leave him on street corners to sing for money, where his powerful voice left an indelible impression on passers-by. Legend has it that he was arrested for nearly starting a riot at a New Orleans courthouse with a powerful rendition of "If I Had My Way I'd Tear the Building Down", a song about Samson and Delilah. According to Samuel Charters, however, he was simply arrested while singing for tips in front of a Custom House, by a police officer who misconstrued the title lyric and mistook it for incitement.

Johnson remained poor until the end of his life, preaching and singing in the streets of Beaumont, Texas to anyone who would listen. A city directory shows that in 1944, a Rev W J Johnson, undoubtedly Blind Willie, operated the House of Prayer at 1440 Forrest Street, Beaumont, Texas. This is the same address listed on Blind Willie's death certificate. In 1945, his home burned to the ground. With nowhere else to go, Johnson lived in the burned ruins of his home, sleeping on a wet bed. He lived like this until he contracted pneumonia two weeks later, and died. (The death certificate reports the cause of death as malarial fever, with syphilis as a contributing factor.)In a later interview his wife said she tried to take him to a hospital but they refused to admit him because he was black, while other sources report that, according to Johnson's wife, his refusal was due to his blindness. Although there is some dispute as to where his grave is, members of the Beaumont community have committed to finding the site and preserving it."

Lord, I Just Can't Keep From Crying - Blind Willie Johnson

Keep Your Lamplight Trimmed and Burning - Blind Willie Johnson

In the end it is all about preservation. If you consider momentarily how much music has been lost over the centuries through no fault but the inadequacies of the day's technology, then Thomas Edison's contribution seems all the more poinient. I hope you dig today's sentimental, if not 'long winded' post. Below you will find a link to a number of excellent bloggers celebrating 'Vinyl Record Day 08'. Give em' a whirl.

A Starr is Born!

That 'Harlen County' cut below yonder has put me in a ole' hickory mood as of late, and what better reason to cut a corner piece of this-here Rockabilly classic!

The essence of rockabilly is so indicative of it's region, era and cultural factors, that it seems almost pointless to try and duplicate it's sneer and cock-sure posturing, not that plenty haven't tried. Seeing as how I never could get galvanized over a pale imitation when the genuine article is always ever just a spin away, marvel with me as Mr. Starr, a man who lived every cliche associated with being an Arkansas rube, beats the 'King' (God rest his soul) to the punch w/ this 1956 cut.

Born Franklin Delano Gulledge near Combs, Arkansas, in 1932, he grew up in dire poverty, and was never far from the edge of delinquency, going over the edge, according to scholar Wayne Russell, when he pulled a pistol on a teacher -- by 14, in 1947, he had left school and was riding the rails and living life as a hobo. According to those who knew him, Starr had one talent in those days beyond a knack for survival, and that was playing guitar, something he'd picked up in his abbreviated time at home and never forgotten. He was 17 when the Korean War exploded and he signed up; luckily for him, someone noticed his musical ability and he was assigned to special services rather than to a combat unit, where his fate might have been very different. He formed the Arkansas Plowboys from the ranks of fellow southerners and survived his two years in South Asia, coming out a little bit straighter in life than he'd gone in -- he still drank, sometimes to excess, but he tried regular work in a factory in Kansas before moving to California. There, he and his brothers Bob and Clark formed a new group, also christened the Arkansas Plowboys. Billing himself as Frank Starr, he played lead guitar in the band and soon so outstripped his siblings in skill and seriousness that he left them behind, musically and literally. He packed up for Texas, and in the early 1950's was scratching out a living around Denison for two dollars a night, working some of the worst roadhouses and shanty-town clubs in the state, catering to military personnel and anyone else brave enough to enter -- by some accounts, nights without barfights and flying beer bottles and chairs were rarer than those with. But he hung on and built a reputation for doing an exciting show and generating a hot rockabilly sound, and in 1955 he parlayed a spot on local radio into an audition for Joe M. Leonard Jr., of Lin and Kliff Records. Leonard was impressed enough to cut four sides with Starr, two of which, "Dig Them Squeaky Shoes" and "The Dirty Bird Song (You Can't Hardly Get Them No More)", become his debut single. Although neither his first nor his second singles were hits, Starr managed to get work on the same bills with the likes of Porter Wagoner and Grandpa Jones. He also occasionally wrote songs, including "Rockin' Reelin' Country Style." Then, in 1956, he was forced to change his name -- he and Leonard got word of a performer using the name Frank Starr working out of California, which led to the Arkansas-born singer changing his name to Andy Starr. Joe M. Leonard Jr. was unfazed by the momentary pause, and was prepared to continue recording his most promising rock & roll act. He got Andy Starr placed with MGM Records, which opened his national recording career with the best record of his whole life, "Rockin' Rollin' Stone", co-written by Starr, who also played lead guitar on top of singing -- in the former department, he was no Cliff Gallup, but he had a distinctive style and a very raw, visceral sound. The B-side was the almost equally fine "I Wanna Go South."

Rockin' Rollin' Stone - Andy Starr

I Wanna Go South - Andy Starr

Jimmy Lomax

Ok, I got nothin' on this 1971 soul two fer. The A-side is the money maker with its fine, uptempo self, where as the flip is a transistor-organ driven moody little cuss. Short of that...the trail done gone cold.

I'm Gonna Love You - Jimmy Lomax

Remember Me - Jimmy Lomax

"The Funkiest White Man I Know"

That might seem like a pretty tall order, but when that admonition comes from the likes of one Sly Stone, it can't be too far off the mark.

As far as 'Hard Times' sob stories go, this 69' carbon chunk of funk is more 'Coal Miner's Daughter' (Err..Son) than the typical Metropolitan jag - even if they do share a certain antecedent in the guise of 'Momma's Cornbread'.

"Jim Ford was an American singer-songwriter originally from Johnson County, Kentucky. After living in New Orleans, Ford moved to Los Angeles, and finally settled in Fort Bragg, CA. His music is a mixture of soul, country and folk. His songs have been recorded by numerous artists, including Aretha Franklin, P.J. Proby, Bobby Womack, and The Temptations. Nick Lowe has cited Jim Ford as his biggest musical influence. His most famous song is probably Niki Hoeky, recorded by Aretha Franklin on her album Lady Soul.

After beating a cocaine addiction in 2004, Ford found Jesus and started recording again. He was a recluse at that time, but L-P Anderson of Sweden's Sonic Magazine managed to track him down in his California trailer home in April 2006. Bear Family Records re-released his "Harlan County" album, originally recorded in 1969, with 15 previously unreleased songs and a 40 page booklet as The Sounds of Our Time in early 2007. The success of "The Sounds of Our Time" made the idea of recording new material possible. At times there was talk of using Jim Dickinson as producer and James Burton volunteered to play guitar. A charity gig for Jim was to take place in London , U.K. on May 18, 2008. Nick Lowe was supposed to perform together with Jim Ford in person.. However, Jim Ford was found dead early in the evening of Sunday, November 18, 2007 in his trailer home by the Fort Bragg Sheriff’s department".

Man oh man, from a Yankee perspective that mean ole' 'Mason Dixon Line' is one hard line to tow!

Harlan County - Jim Ford

Mashmakhan!!!

@ the tail end of a merciless weekend record bender comes this firebrand...

Like the succinctly named Boffalongo, the mouthful of Canadian mush known as Mashmakhan certainly doesn't paint itself into any corners. From buzzy psych to baroque poofery, influences abound in the 1970 debut of these enigmatic million-sellers.

Pierre Senecal, Brian Edwards, and Rayburn Blake formed their first band in 1960 as teens and played local Montreal dance halls and perform on the local scene under the band names like the Phantoms, Ray Blake's Combo, and the Dominoes. In 1965 they were still playing together but with the addition of another Montrealer, Gerry Mercer, who stepped in to replace Edwards (who left the band for a short while). When Edwards returned to the band, Mercer stayed on to make it a quartet, and by now they were calling themselves the Triangle and backing up Montreal R&B singer Trevor Payne. They continued in this vein until 1969, when producer Bob Hahn recognized their talent and took them to Toronto, then the music capitol of Canada, and helped them get signed with Columbia Records. The name of the band was changed to Mashmakhan, after a type of drug being peddled by a local dealer, to become more hip with the young people, and the journey began. Pierre Senecal's "As Years Go By" was released as a single in an edited form, and became the group's first hit. The single sold 100,000 copies in Canada, 500,000 copies in the U.S., and over 1,000,000 copies in Japan, which led to a Beatlemania-like tour for the band in the latter country; it received much publicity and made Mashmakhan an international success story. The band followed the hit with two singles, "Gladwyn" and "Days When We Are Free." In 1970 Mashmakhan released its debut self-titled album, containing the three singles in alternate form, to international critical acclaim. Mashmakhan was one of two contributors to the musical score of the 1971 NFB film Epilogue/Fieve and recorded the song "Couldn't Find the Sun" for the movie. Then, for some unknown reason, the bottom fell out. Mashmakhan's second album, The Family, was released in 1971, and bombed; fan support was lost, and despite a couple of good singles, they did not have the right formula to make it back to the top. Although the album did sell well in Japan, the band split up shortly thereafter. ~ Keith Pettipas

For space reason (Compounded by abject laziness) I have cherry-picked some of the heavier tracks off the LP, but with its thick key work and expressive guitar leads, the entire record richly deserves your patronage. Do yourself a favor and grab a copy before it suffers a similar fate as the Gospel According to Zeus - i.e. Gets gobbled up as prime break beat real-estate.

Warning: Don't let the fluffy quality of the tracks fool you. You're about to get punched in the kidneys.

Days When We Are Free - Mashmakhan

Afraid of Losing You - Mashmakhan

I'm a Goofball User & a Chick Abuser!

Heard this one in the company of a certain neighborhood Devil while enroute to Jose Tejas for a beef burrow. As a rule of thumb, anything on the Aladdin imprint is an ace, but this 1954 declaration of laciviousness - in particular - lays it all out on the line.

Courtesy of LouisJordan.com

"The Father of the Rhythm & Blues came out of the blues world of Brinkley, Arkansas, to play in Chick Webb's swing band from 1932 to 1938; he played alto sax and participated in comedy routines.

He began recording for Decca in 1938 with his own Tympany Five, remaining on the label until 1953. He had his first million-seller in 1944 with "Is You Is Or Is You Ain't Ma Baby?" -- having previously attracted attention with "Knock Me A Kiss" and "I'm Gonna Move To The Outskirts Of Town," the latter a classic Blues.

His second million-seller was "Caldonia (What Makes Your Big Head So Hard?)," followed in 1946 by two million-sellers, "Beware, Brother, Beware" and "Choo Choo Ch 'Boogie," the biggest seller of all.

In all these, he pursued a basic rhythm of Shuffle Boogie, later taken over by early Rock 'n' Roll. As he said, he "made the blues jump," and in so doing, influenced B. B. King, Chuck Berry, and Bill Haley."

Having gyratted off this mortal coil in 75', I like to think Mr. Jordan lived every lyric down to the smallest syllable.

"I can't live right from livin' wrong, but I'll die happy".

I'll Die Happy - Louis Jordan

Uhh Ohh...Get Outa the Car!

Gonna bounce this one off the blue Devil on account of his adoration of the R & B persuasion. This ticket is so greasy that you can fry an egg in it's wake, and it's a good thing too, cause your gonna be doing all the cookin' should the misses get a hold of the pure misogyny inherent within this Treiner's ballad.

"Featuring twin brothers Cliff and Claude Trenier, the Treniers helped link swing music to rock & roll with their brand of hot jump blues in the late '40s and early '50s. To the latter-day listener, their early-'50s singles sound closer to swing than rock; indeed, Cliff and Claude had once sung with the Jimmie Lunceford Orchestra. The group did anticipate some crucial elements of rock & roll, though, with their solid, thumping beats, their squealing saxophone solos, and their song titles, such as "Rocking on Sunday Night," "Rockin' Is Our Business," and "It Rocks! It Rolls! It Swings!." The Treniers' brand of swing-cum-R&B was undoubtedly an influence on Bill Haley, who saw them when both acts were playing summer shows in Wildwood, NJ. They had work recorded for OKeh in the early '50s; by the middle of the decade, their sound was more R&B-oriented. Like many early R&B pioneers, they were unable to find success in the rock & roll era, though they appeared in a few of the first rock & roll films".

From the Jump Blues pioneers who brought you 'Poon-Tang', I give you proof that chivalry is not dead, it just don't give a fuck. Don't kill the messenger ladies. Besides...the Devil made me do it!

Get Out of the Car - The Treiners

Mother's Loudermilk

As this album is not suitably quantifiable beyond it's basic folkyness (Certainly not a 'Psychedelic Country album as some would maintain), I shall default to the liner notes for illumination...

"This is an album I've wanted to make for years but have been holding off waiting for the right time. Included in this collection are songs that may be offensive to some, but the majority of people feel this album has been needed for quite a while. Some of these selections have been recorded for as long as three years but "kept in the can" as recording people put it. My close friends know, I have dedicated my life to reaching into the contemporary thinking of the man on the street, pulling out passing moods and opinions and preserving them within the framework of the home-made musical composition. I've tried to use instruments that reflect today. The only place I may have failed is in my vocal performances, but, as he has happened with songs in albums past, younger and more serious singers will pick them up and have hit after hit with them. God gives us these thoughts and the ability to make songs out of them. Like the fruit of the wilderness, he must mean for us to share them as well. My mind's open like the pear limb that hangs over the sidewalk... free for the picking... so help yourself."

- John D. Loudermilk

Now ask yourself, given this rather heady introduction, can you afford not to listen to this?

The first track is a topical little number about a kept woman / love triangle, while the follow-up is a Dylan-esque affirmation of a world "Goin' to Hell on a Sled". Now I don't know about you, but that Sounds like buckets o' fun! Last one down the hill is a rotten egg!!!

More Than He Will Have to Give - John D. Loudermilk

Goin to Hell on A Sled - John D. Loudermilk

July 4th 2008

In memory, and in gratitude for those ancestors of mine who fought in the war of the Revolution:

Joseph Going (Infantry Corporal - Virginia)

Sherwood Going (14th Virginia 1777-1781. Present at the battles of Germantown, Monmoth and the seige of Yorktown)

Moses Going (14th Virginia 1777 - 1781)

Daniel Going (5th Virginia . Present at the battles of Trenton, Germantown, Princeton)

John Goins (3rd Virginia, 5th Virginia, 7th Virginia)

Zephaniah Goins (1779 - 1781. Present at the seige of Yorktown)

William Goyen (3rd South Carolina 1776 - 1781)

Major John 'Buck' Gowen (3rd South Carolina)

James Goyen (1781)

Daniel Goyen (1780)

"If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have peace."

- Tom Paine, 1776

'Weird' in all the right ways.

All Politik aside, lets get down to brass tacks...

This record rules, not that you would know it from its modest label. Besides being cut in Arizona (all that heat must have warped their little minds), I know nothing about this fuzzy beast. I'd place it around 67' or 68', but even that is a wild stab in the vitals. The flip is a real cool textured psych love nod (thought I wish they had kicked the Wah peddle into the mix a little more). Certainly no sloucher, give 'Clease" a chance!

The Weird One - Clease

Naturally - Clease

I Kidd Because I Love...

Q: What do you get when you stomp sour grapes?

A: Bitter whine.

Invictus!!!

invict.us -a -um adj unconquered; undefeated; invincible.

Today the United States Supreme Court has ruled the following:

"The Second Amendment protects an individual right to possess a firearm unconnected with service in a militia, and to use that arm for traditionally lawful purposes, such as self-defense within the home."

That's right. No more arguing about syntax or comma use; no more ruminating on what the framers of the Bill of Rights "might have meant", or "seemed to insinuate". This, my friends, is a papal bull, and it says that the government has finally conceded to recognize what providence had written in the stars long ago.

I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of Circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of Chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

The One That Got Away...Almost.

Enclosed is a tale of hubris...

I've seen a lot of big ticket items fall under the gavel in the years (some would say 'misspent') that I've been actively pursuing records. For some, it's undeniably a status thing (You might as well admit it), and for others it is a strange need to hold a tangible link to a past so appealing when out of context from the present. And while all of us have been guilty at one time or another of paying exorbitant amounts of money just for a twin spin and a little tickle of the psyche, I think all of us have our limits. I know I have mine. It's funny now to think just how my own limits have changed over the years. Case in point...

Back when US1 flea market (R.I.P. 1995) still flew the stars and bars, one could bounce between it and the smaller, but equally seedy Route 18 flea market (still standing) and come off the trip w/ a noteworthy haul.

One particular outing found me face to face w/ the bane of the Flea market going experience, namely that one black dude w/ the handlebar mustache, seated between the ninja weapon stand and the eastern meat-patty kiosk, who thought everything he was selling was a Maltese Pigeon. I'll never forget, he had an uncharacteristic New England cadence that reminded me of Grady from 'Sanford and Son'. It was this deep seated animosity of previous dealings, and his general rudeness, which caused me to balk at the $5 price tag of this particular Lightnin' Hopkins side which sat in a pile of otherwise useless singles (Perhaps the one valuable thing in the entire poke).

I mean, I dig the blues and all, but $5 for a side that should only cost a quarter!!! Highway fuckin robbery!!!

Needless to say, I left that platter sitting there on the table with my dignity firmly intact. Dignity, however, can be a spiteful thing, so much so that I spent the next five days (Route 18 Flea market is only open on weekends) in nervous agitation, mulling over the one that got away...almost.

Surely a weeks passing would see that little slice of lightning plucked by one of those pushy, sweaty record creeps we all hate, only to be slammed in plastic and spun nary a once, but as this post suggests, that was not the case. I returned next Saturday to that single sitting there just as red and shinny as I had left it.

Five 'over inflated' bucks later (not to mention a prodigious helping of humble pie and crow stew), and I could finally afford myself some peace, hard won thought it may have been (You'd be surprised how well a good blues record takes the sting out of the day's milieu).

"Lawd, I was in bad shape the day that girl left and called me a ape"

Best five bucks I ever spent. I only wish five bucks would go so far nowadays. Thanks Grady. You're still a dick.

Down to the River - Lightnin' Hopkins

Gone Again - Lightnin' Hopkins

Simple Minded Harlequin

I have to admit, I'm kinda on the fence about this one.

On one hand, its has a certain charm in its willful irreverence and general whimsical tone. One the other hand, any intimacy and somber quality that might be expected from a folk / psych album is somewhat rudely disrupted by singer Elyse Weinberg, who sounds a lot like Gilda Radner doing her best weekend update

I understand that some people who marvel at ineptitude might take that as a ringing endorsement (Myself Included), but all quaintness aside, sometimes this chick is just downright unpalpable. She does have her moments though.

"Born and raised in Canada, Weinberg emerged from the same mid-'60s Toronto folk scene that launched the careers of Neil Young, Gordon Lightfoot and Joni Mitchell. And like some of her famous colleagues, she found herself in Los Angeles, although initially just to visit Young. Then she ended up staying a while with another acquaintance, Mama Cass Elliott of the Mamas & Papas. W

The recording of "Elyse" was, she {weinberg} says, "over the top," with "no one producing anything. It reflected the times." Indeed, a listen today reveals a certain inspired insanity that is partly accountable for such a superb, occasionally stunning LP, an attention-grabbing mixture of death-fixated medieval folk, imaginative pop arrangements and very 60's psychedelic rock. Weinberg and her session band, an L.A. group called Touch, sound as alluringly sloppy as Janis Joplin's Big Brother & the Holding Company on some tracks, then follow those up with meticulously arranged, affecting love songs. Lyrically, it's a timely record, as the gallows humor and mortality obsessions seem perfectly suited to the ugliness that pervaded American society as the Sixties drew to a close. You can practically smell the dreadful anticipation of Tate-LaBianca and Altamont in the song's less-than-rosy scenarios.

"Elyse" sold fairly well upon its release, reaching #31 on the Billboard album chart. Tetragrammaton performed its publicity duties, taking out full-page ads in Billboard and other publications. Harlan Ellison wrote about her in his column for the alternative paper the L.A. Weekly, and Newsweek featured her alongside Mitchell and Laura Nyro in a profile on the emergence of solo female songwriters, a rarity up until that point, Odetta and Joan Baez notwithstanding. She played big L.A. clubs such as the Troubadour and did her stints on the festival circuit. Weinberg even played Johnny Carson's "Tonight Show," which, considering her wild-haired appearance and intense music, must have been quite a trip for last-night TV America".

It’s hard to choose a track or two that is indicative of the album, as the record is all over the Middle-Earth map. I have attempted to approximate the Elyse experience with a trifecta of sounds, namely Psych, Country and Heavy.

Maybe this will finally satisfy my own Midieval mind about Mrs. Weinberg (I'm currently on the 'Yay' side of the 'Neigh').

If Death Don't Overtake Me - Elyse Weinberg

Iron Works for Rent She Cried - Elyse Weinberg

Mortuary Bound - Elyse Weinberg

Any Friend of Lucifer's is a Friend, Etc, Etc...

Grabbed this off the wall at a local record saloon on the strength of their first LP (self titled 1970). While just as heavy as it's predecessor, 1975's 'Blues' has a decidedly more prog vibe going on, especially an overindulgence of piano (Think Vladimir Horowitz) and strings (a seduction plaguing many a sophomore offering). While certainly a turn-off for most (myself included), 'Friend' uses such production to good effect, especially when coupled w/ an arsenal of minor discordant changes and the occasional falsetto vocal (a good five years before fashion dictated it, I might add)

"German group Lucifer’s Friend has its roots in one German and one English band. Peter Hecht (keyboards), Dieter Horns (bass and backing vocals), Peter Hesslein (guitar and backing vocals) and Joachim Reitenbach (drums) played until early 1970 together in a band called "German Bonds". In November 1970, the four of them started recording, it was after the recording of the backing tracks that John Lawton came in. He played with his own group "Stonewall" in the Top Ten Club in Hamburg. He recorded the lead vocals and in January 1971 they released their first album. John had previously released an album in 1970 on the German Decca label called Asterix with the members of German Bonds. It is also a fact that the members of "Lucifer’s Friend" recorded two other albums under the name of "Pink Mice" on the German budget label Europa. The band played classical themes on these albums in the style of the Dutch band "Ekseption". John Lawton was on these albums but was limited to backing vocals. It is also common knowledge that Hesslein and Hecht also worked for years with "The James Last Orchestra" and that John Lawton sang with "The Les Humphries Singers" when he was not recording with Lucifer’s Friend."

Here are two distinct offerings (one decidedly more theatrical than its Heavy counterpoint) from the hatchery that would one day loose 'Uriah Heep' on the head-cans of unsuspecting burn-outs.

Disclaimer: Those of you expecting to hear Glen Danzig on the enclosed track 'Mother' will be thoroughly disappointed, if not pleasantly surprised, but if you still need your fix, by all means...

Mother - Lucifer's Friend

Hobo - Lucifer's Friend

Ain't Much More Soul to Get Round' To

Let me start by stating the obvious, this cover is terrible. Seriously. Short of that, this post might seem somewhat uncharacteristic of one who splatter dashes his works w/ the brains of base and tuneless troubadours - but there is a lot to be said for meticulous musicianship, that, and sentimentality. And so I am a RedBoy for all seasons (Shhh. Don't tell a soul).

Much like Pete Best, I can't imagine being famous for little more than the sum of missed opportunities (Fuck the Beatles anywhoo). Terry Reid, having famously turned down Led Zeppelin’s overture to pursue his own solo career, tends to fall in the same general category, though unlike Mr. Best, who assuaged his 'Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda' by signing autographs at boat shows for 20 beans a flourish, Terry Reid actually made records - pretty fuckin' good records (Take that Mr. Robert "I wrote 'When the Levy Breaks" Plant).

1977's 'Seed of Memory' is a much more subdued affair than previous outings (Bang, Bang You're Terry Reid (1968), Terry Reid (1969), River (1973) and there is a decidedly modern (for it's time) country feel to an already AM friendly assortment of acoustic-based material. And while the title track, 'Seed of Memory' has made the rounds pretty mightily, receiving a much deserved shot in the arm by way of it's inclusion in the 'Devil's Rejects' soundtrack (Apparently 'Free Bird' didn't conjure enough pathos), I think my favorite cut would have to be 'Brave Awakening'.

It brings to mind Merle Travis' 'Dark as A Dungeon' - fashioned from the bones of some lazy Sunday, a vein of regret running just underneath.

It may not be 'Cashmere', but I never did have any use for such fine things.

Brave Awakening - Terry Reid

Note: I hope you Laddies appreciate this post, as I have inadvertently scratched the holy living shit outta this LP while burning it. Oh well. What's a little sacrifice among friends?

You Look Tense...

Here is another word-less wonder, this time from Heron, South Dakota. These kids got Mid West written all over them, even going so far as to hang this tune on the Bangar brand, a division of Garrett records and home of the illustrious Trashmen (undoubtedly an influence). As can be inferred from the title, Mr. Bee means business (They spell cats w/ a 'K' for Khrist's sake - animals!!!)

Straight outta 62', you can cut the Tension w/ a knife.

Tension - Jay Bee & the Kats

Look At Me Man...I'm Hangin' Five!!!

I've been in an instro state of mind for a fortnight, but alas, Mr. Devil has beat me to the punch (Kudos)

It's a shame that more people don't dig Surf (and instrumental music in general). I think it might be an attention-span thing (Like, no lyrics man?!?!). Either that, or the trappings are just too hoaky for the average fashion-bug. Most people forget that practically every progressive band of particular note cut their teeth on this shit. It is the bedrock upon which all guitar masturbation and heavy-metal dickery is founded.

Like a million bands of their ilk, I can one can only ever give you a time and a place - Newton Massachusetts, 1963. Under cut that with the fact that this is the Reveliers only release, and it may seem like the typical flash in the pan scenario. Be that as it may, I challenge you to spin these two tunes without seemingly smelling the salt air, and smiling at the thought of a boundless ocean...even if that ocean is on the East coast and indeed has garbage floating in it.

Hanging Five - the Reveliers

Patch - The Reveliers

Say It Ain't So Bo...

R.I.P. 1928 - 2008

Bo Meets the Monster - Bo Diddley