TheHoundBlog

Rev. Utah Smith

2011-12-20T13:26:00.002-05:00

Rev. Utah Smith and wings...

Pre-flight warm up.

Wrecking the house in Houston.

Utah Smith brings eyesight to the blind.

Rare 45 pressing of his first disc, originally on Regis (78 only)

Utah Smith was born in 1906 in Cedar Grove, Louisiana, in the countryside outside of Shreveport. He was schooled to the third grade, then took a job as a water boy in the cotton fields before graduating to picking cotton. He later worked in a chicken plant plucking and cleaning chickens, a job he was fired from. In 1923, he took up the calling and became an evangelist in the Church of God In Christ, usually just called the Holiness or Sanctified Church. He was married in 1929, set up a home in Shreveport, but was on the road by 1925 where he'd spend most of the next forty years.
Smith had taken up harmonica as a teen, soon switching to a steel guitar, and finally an electric guitar. He also had noticed that he, as many were later to testify, had healing powers, and an ability to tell jokes. Early on he was billed as "God's Funny Boy" and was heard preaching the Devil's funeral and attempting to move trees which of course didn't budge as well as "laying on the hands" healing the sick and maimed. By 1938 he was using his electric guitar in his revival meetings, his daughter for one claiming he was the "first black man to own one", and if he was not the first, he was certainly among them. Folks would travel for miles just to see the thing.
On the gospel highway, Reverend or sometimes Elder Utah Smith proved to be a popular attraction and he criss crossed America for four decades, his photographs appeared in not only the major black publications but also Newsweek, the New York Times, in folk music publications and he was recorded and broadcast for the BBC in 1947 as part of a audio documentary called "The Story Of New Orleans Music".
He would make three commercial recordings, which would be issued on at least six different labels, three of which were versions of his theme song-- I Want Two Wings. First came a 78 RPM for Regis, recorded and first issued in 1944, then re-issued on Manor (1949), Arco (1950) and on 45 rpm on Kay-Ron (1958): I Want Two Wings b/w God's Mighty Hand. The second disc came in 1947 and was self issued on his own Two Winged Temple label out of New Orleans-- (I Got) Two Wings b/w Glory To Jesus I'm Free, this is the rarest of his commercial discs, it was pressed as a 78 and later on 45.
In 1953 he cut a session for Checker in Chicago, two songs were released-- the third rendition of Two Wings and on the flip side Take A Trip, which is a re-working of the old gospel standard Gospel Ship.
All these discs feature his crude, open tuned guitar prominently, and he is backed by a small female choir on all of them. There also exists at least two other versions of Two Wings he recorded that exist on single copy acetates.
Rev. Utah Smith ran his own Church in New Orleans, the aforementioned Two Winged Temple (the first location was torn down to build the Calliope projects, the second was on Octavia off Magazine), but was best known for holding revival meetings, many of which were covered in the pages of the Louisiana Weekly newspaper. He was fairly famous in and around New Orleans, but traveled from coast to coast, catching the attention of composer and New York Tribune music critic Virgil Thomson while appearing in Newark, N.J. in '41. Thomson approved of what he saw calling him "an interesting musical manifestation". Indeed. The same year he appeared at one of NYC's Museum Of Modern Art's "Coffee Concerts". In the 1950's he toured with gospel stars like Mahalia Jackson, the Bells Of Joy and Brother Joe May, the Thunderbolt Of The Mid-West (for a time May's pianist was Esquerita, could Esquerita and Utah Smith have met?), knocked 'em dead in Atlanta, Memphis and Dallas, and generally made a big impression on everyone who saw him, sometimes wearing gigantic white paper wings and always blasting away on a Gibson electric guitar.
The gospel highway is rough on the body though, and Smith suffered from diabetes (he was said to eat twenty biscuits in one sitting) and glaucoma, and in 1961 he retired to the Octavia Street Temple's basement where he died on January 24, 1965, blind and no longer able to play his guitar, it was said he'd taken to drink and fell down the stairs.
The life and times Of Rev. Utah Smith were fascinating, and for a more detailed look I refer you to Lynn Abbott's biography-- I Got Two Wings (Incidents and Anecdotes Of The To Winged Preacher and Electric Guitar Evangelist Elder Utah Smith) (Case Quarter, 2008) which also comes with a CD of his complete recordings. Amen.

It's Tuesday (again)...

2011-12-06T14:55:00.001-05:00

From Pretty Poison (1968)

Tuesday Weld, poolside, early 60's.

I guess I'm repeating myself but that's what happens in your old age. Anyway, I've blogged about my

love for the kittenish charms of Tuesday Weld before (here) but when the Fang unearthed the above snapshot I thought I'd post it.

Gillian's Found Photo #67

2011-11-28T14:54:00.001-05:00

Today's found photo from the Fang bears the date, printed on the right side of the border, of December '69, as if we couldn't have figured that out our self. Yes, this was taken at Altamont, the all time rock festival bummer and setting for still the greatest of all rock snuff flicks Gimme Shelter. Too bad it's not a picture of the Stones, but since they went on after dark they probably wouldn't have shown up on a snap shot. Onstage is Sam Cutler trying to restore order, and the Jefferson Airplane, whose Marty Balin (far left) would soon be knocked unconscious, a few Hells Angels, and a whole bunch of folks who just wandered onstage. Whose idea was it to make the stage two inches off the ground?
Well, I was never much of a Jefferson Airplane fan but I do remember working security at one of their concerts as a teen and being quite impressed that the band and crew called Paul Kanter "Das Fuhrer", a title he happily responded to. The best thing I ever read about Altamont was in the (now quite rare) Avon paperback original-- The Forgotten Festival- Altamont: Death Of Innocence In The Woodstock Nation, edited by Jonathan Eisen (Avon, 1970) which contains a first hand essay by one Lars Tush, aka Richard Meltzer titled "The Terror Beyond Death", from which I quote--"Some people are going to say it was just a matter of alcohol in the wrong hands. That's all well and good and true, but whose wrong hands do they mean? Can they mean the Angels? They might mean them and in so doing forget about incidents of violence that were going on all afternoon, all morning and the night before, even in spots where a Hells Angels never showed his face during the entire festival if you can call it that." He later proceeds to describe watching a bunch of college jocks pummel some poor kid into "a pile of his own blood and bones". As Keith Richards said "Altamont, it could only happen to the Stones man...."

Andy Shernoff

2011-10-30T15:02:00.003-04:00

Andy's latest: Are You Ready To Rapture.

1974: Rare inner sleeve for the Dictators Go Girl Crazy, Andy on right.

Andy Shernoff has had a longer recording career than Howlin' Wolf or Muddy Waters. That in itself is not so remarkable, there are plenty of pediatric rockstars out there who have been around longer. What is remarkable is that he's still great. When was the last time Ray Davies or Pete Townshend wrote a good song? (If you ask me, and you shouldn't cuz I ain't gonna argue about it, I'd say 1970 and '67 receptively).
Andy's last great song was released a couple of weeks ago (Are You Ready To Rapture, see video above, I assume you can order the 45 rpm from his website).
Shernoff, who's career began with might be the greatest (and definitely the funniest) ever fanzine-- Teenage Wasteland Gazette (a never published final issue of which has resided in Handsome Dick Manitoba's closet for forty something years), is best known as full time songwriter, bassist and sometimes lead singer for NYC rock'n'roll institution the Dictators, whose 1974 debut The Dictators Go Girl Crazy (Epic) remains one of the greatest and most perfect punk rock records ever released. He shepherded the Dictators through three more fine LP's-- Manifest Destiny (Asylum,1977), Blood Brothers (Asylum,1978) and D.F.F. D. (Dictators Multi-Media, 2002), and don't forget Norton Records' 2009 release Everyday's Saturday that features their original demo tape and many incredible studio outtakes including lost tunes like Fireman's Friend and Backseat Boogie (a project I think I instigated when I lent Billy Miller two CD's worth of un-issued Dictators stuff, still in the vault are tunes like Too Much Fun and Tits To You as well as a killer Interstellar Overdrive). Andy was also the guiding light behind Dictators spin-off Manitoba's Wild Kingdom, fronted the Bel-airs and the Master Plan (with the Fleshtones' Keith Streng), co-wrote tunes with Joey Ramone (for both the Ramones and Joey's solo album), produced a bunch of bands, and was involved in dozens of other projects that slip my mind at the moment (including a second career as a punk sommelier).
I bring this up to you because I happened to wander into my own bar (Lakeside Lounge, 162 Ave B., NYC) two Wednesdays in a row (a rare occurrence these days, I assure you) where Andy currently holds court at 7 PM with his acoustic review, and I have to say, it's the best hour of live entertainment I've seen in eons. The set changes weekly, and Shernoff has an incredibly deep catalog of great tunes to pick from, but I think last week's show which opened with an acoustic reading of Master Race Rock and included Dictators classics' Baby Let's Twist, and Hey Boys, and a beautiful version of Joey Ramone's Don't Think About It was as perfect a set as I've ever seen. In between tunes Shernoff talks about his life and times in rock'n'roll, some of these stories are hilarious (the first Dictators shows), some are touching (the final days of Joey Ramone), some are both (the David Roter story). With free admission and half priced drinks, you really can't possibly go wrong. Andy will also be appearing at the Norton Records 25th Anniversary shindig in November, I'm not sure which night but all four are sold out, so you're either all ready going or you ain't.
Andy Shernoff may actually outlive rock'n'roll (or did that already happen?), but he's one of the last of the breed, and there are too few left to ignore him.

Son House

2011-10-20T12:01:00.001-04:00

Son House: 1965.

Howlin'Wolf berates a drunken Son House, Newport, '66.

Son House greets his "discoverers", he hadn't known he that he was lost.

I told my old pal Pat that I'd review a book he sent me in the mail- Daniel Beaumont's Preachin' The Blues: The Life & Times Of Son House (Oxford, 2011). This was many months ago and I'm just getting around to it because to be perfectly honest I do not have much to say about Son House. Which does not mean it is not an excellent book, which it is. Although I must admit, I find the most interesting parts of the book are those that deal with Son House's relationship to his "discoverers" and the white blues audience of the 1960's that had expectations of him that he could barely fathom never mind live up to.
For those who are unfamiliar-- Eddie "Son" House Jr (born March 21, 1902, probably in Lyon, Mississippi), was a great Delta blues singer and guitarist who recorded one session for Paramount Records in 1930, and was recorded again in 1941 for the Library of Congress by traveling folklorist Alan Lomax.
He was not heard from again until 1964 when Dick Waterman (who became his manager), Nick Pearls ( a collector who would go on to found Yazoo Records) and Phil Spiro found him living in Rochester, N.Y., this "rediscovery" happening after they had searched the Delta looking for clues.
To backtrack, House grew up in the Delta and began his career as an entertainer preaching the gospel.
As a young man he fell under the spell of the great Charley Patton, got himself a guitar and began playing the blues. He soon struck up a partnership with Patton's sometime accompanist Willie Brown, and it was through Patton's patronage he recorded for Paramount in 1930. Paramount issued four 78 RPM records: My Black Mama pt 1 b/w pt 2, Dry Spell Blues pt 1 b/w pt 2, Preachin' The Blues pt 1 b/w pt 2 and Clarksdale Moan b/w Mississippi County Farm Blues. The latter two discs are so rare that only one known copy of each exist (and the latter didn't surface until the 21st Century), the other two are
considered more common with four known copies of each. A single copy of a test pressing of Walking Blues was found in someones garbage in the 1980's. In forty years of collecting I've never seen a Son House 78, have you? These are the discs that House's reputation is based on, and they are among the finest examples of the type of blues played in the Mississippi Delta in the late 20's and early 30's ever recorded. That said, they are a bit hard to listen to since the copies that survived are so worn out (and Paramounts never sound that great anyway) as there is more surface noise than music left in the discs and to listen to them is like hearing someone playing down the block while someone else holds a pan of frying bacon next to your ear. Although in recent years the sonic quality of the tranfers has improved dramatically. Personally I've always preferred the 1941 Library of Congress recordings because you can actually hear the music, not to mention the version of Walking Blues cut with a rocking little string band that remains the best example of what a Saturday night frolic might have sounded like full swing. Since House had a limited repertoire all the same tunes appear on the 41 sessions, albeit with different titles, I especially like the version of Levee Camp Blues.
House has been criticised, most notably by the late Stephen Calt in his biography of Charley Patton for playing out of tune, but I tend to agree with Jim Dickinson that tuning is a "European and decadent concept", out of tune didn't hurt Chuck Berry.
After leaving the Delta, House lived in Detroit and Rochester, worked outside of music, and eventually disappeared into the woodwork until he was found and coaxed back into playing in 1964, and here lies the meat of Beaumont's book. He digs up much new info, including a self defense killing in Long Island in the 50's, and a new source of House information in the guise of Mississippi born, Rochester blues singer Joe Beard who was close to House and who had a very different take on who House was than his new found white keepers. There's lots of interesting asides, including that House was in the audience when the Rolling Stones brought Howlin' Wolf out on an episode of the Shindig TV show in '65, and House's manager being told by fellow human archaeologist Tom Hoskins (who found Mississippi John Hurt)-"What you have on your hands is a nigger". That House would confound all their expectations by not giving a fuck, about the blues, or his white audience, may seem natural from our vantage point, but to his keepers he remained an enigma. And that's what makes this book such a fun read.
Son House is probably best remembered for being a key musical inspiration to Muddy Waters and Robert Johnson, (the latter connection even led to him being signed by Columbia). I wonder how many people who sight his name have even heard the Paramount and L.O.C. sides? Myself, I hadn't given him a listen in years, my own tastes in such things leaning more towards Leroy Carr, Geechie Wiley & Elvie Thomas (about whom nothing is known), and Charley Patton, but digging out his discs for this posting, I must say, they sure sound good. This music is nearly a century old, so it's quite amazing not just that it survived, but that it is more popular and accessible than it ever was. And that, Pat, is the best I can do for your book review.

Gillian's Found Photo #66

2011-09-08T18:49:00.000-04:00

The turban is the perfect sartorial touch for any man; Chuck Willis, Screamin' Jay Hawkins, Sam The Sham, The Great Gaylord and many others have made this fashion statement into any art form. And it hides the doo-rag if your head is all nappy. Gals like it too. I have no idea where or when this photo was taken, but it's nice to see there's alcohol involved, and our be-turbaned friend here seems to be patting down his diner. I for one think the turban should make a comeback. It's the perfect post 9/11 fashion statement. I can just see the headline on the New York Times Sunday Style Section-- The Turban--It's Not Just For SikH Cab Drivers Anymore!

Packy Axton

2011-09-03T10:54:00.001-04:00

The Royal Spades, l. to r.- Don Nix, Steve Cropper, Packy Axton, Duck Dunn, Terry Johnson, Ronnie Stoots and Wayne Jackson.

Packy (left) with Don Nix, Duck Dunn and Steve Cropper.

Packy Axton- final resting place.

Packy Axton (born Charles Axton, Febuary 17, 1941 in Memphis), was, as Jim Dickinson once put it-- "one of the most transracial individuals I've ever met". The son of Everett and Estelle Axton and nephew of Jim Stewart, his family owned and ran Stax (originally Satellite) Records. A white kid who loved R&B and rock'n'roll, Packy cut his teeth playing his tenor sax along with fellow Messick High School students Steve Cropper, Charlie Freeman, Duck Dunn, and Terry Johnson in a band called the Royal Spades (Axton trading in his guitar for a tenor saxophone to join because they already had two guitarists). The Royal Spades, who eventually configured into the group pictured above, where white kids in thrall of The "5" Royales (Cropper has just released a tribute to The "5" Royales album which I've not heard), the Midnighters, Jimmy Reed (Cropper with a harmonica on a rack for the Reed tunes), Ray Charles and other classic R&B acts of the era. When Packy Axton's mom and uncle started up a record label and store in Memphis, the Royal Spades became the right guys in the right place at the right time. Cropper, Axton and who knows what other members of the group along with some local black session players ended up playing on Last Night, credited to the Mar-Keys, one of the all time great R&B instrumentals, basically just a dumb but funky riff played over and over again with a bridge thrown in (the master was spliced together from two takes), when it rocketed to the top of the charts in the summer of '61, the Royal Spades (now with Smoochie Smith on piano and Wayne Jackson on trumpet, Freeman long gone) hit the road, becoming the Mar-Keys. The Mar-Keys hit the chitlin' circuit and worked it for awhile until the group's leader--Steve Cropper quit in a power struggle with Axton (to be replaced by Charlie Freeman), and returned to Memphis and work in the studio. He'd soon to form Booker T. & the M.G.'s whose Green Onions remains the high water mark for R&B instrumentals to this day. Axton carried on as leader of the Mar-Keys for a bit before handing the band over to Freeman.
All my way of introducing you to the best thing to come through the mail slot in ages-- Charles 'Packy' Axton-- Late Late Party 1965-67 (Light In The Attic), a collection of Packy's best post Mar-Keys sides, seventeen Memphis soul instrumentals in the solid Booker T & the MG's /Mar-Keys groove, and not a dud amongst them.
Post Mar-Keys, Packy was something of an outcast at Stax since he didn't get along with Cropper or his uncle Jim Stewart, and in 1965, along with guitarist Bongo Johnny Keyes hit the west coast, where (oddly enough) with the Stax team in support scored a hit with the Packers' Hole In The Wall (Pure Soul), then returned to Memphis to cuts sides as the Martinis', including the inebriation classic Hung Over (24 Karat) where he can be heard barfing, the The Pack-Keys, and L.H. & the Memphis Sounds. The best of these post Stax recordings are collected on said disc including such rarities as Greasy Pumpkin by the Pac-Keys, Late Late Party by the Martinis and Out Of Control by L.H. & the Memphis Sounds.
Packy was a libertine and a wild man. "Packy was a playboy. He was a mama's boy....Packy was allowed to do what Packy wanted to do" remembered Cropper. His inability to get along with Cropper, Jim Stewart and Chips Moman effectively made him persona non grata at Stax by the time the golden era arrived, and he never really got over it. Packy Axton drank himself into an early grave, he died in 1974. In Peter Guralnick's Sweet Soul Music (Harper & Row, 1986), still the best book on the subject, he comes off as sort of an evil hipster, the devilish alter ego to the ambitious and pragmatic Cropper. This, the first CD issued under his own name stands proudly next to the best of the early Mar-Keys and Booker T. & the M.G.'s. Packy may not have been what you would call a great musician (is there anything duller?), but he had something; a flair, a style, and an ability to keep it simple (some times moronically so, in the best possible way), that made for great R&B sides.

Nick Tosches

2011-08-26T13:28:00.001-04:00

Nitro Nick Tosches

His latest

Eau de Newark- Tosches perfume label.

Nick Tosches has long been a, make that, the, most perspicacious observer of what is left of, dare I say it? Popular culture.

His latest book Save The Last Dance For Satan, published by Brooklyn paperback powerhouse Kicks Books (and perfume company) is essential reading not just for anyone who wants to know something about the history of rock'n'roll when it was actually fun, but as to why it no longer exists in today's world. Both the rock'n'roll and the fun.

Expanded from a magazine article written for a publication so trite I refuse to type its name, Save The Last Dance For Satan examines the characters behind the scenes in the early days of rock'n'roll who were said to be "connected". Old Town's colorful Hy Weiss, motor mouth Philadelphia DJ Jerry "The Geator With The Heater" Blavant, one time promo man (and later Madonna and Jacko's manager) Freddie DeMann, Morris "Moishe" Levy, George Goldner, a guy named Wassel, a guy named Bruno, and the true story of the Jaynettes' ethereal classic Sally Go Round The Roses, are all present and accounted for. I shall not ruin what I promise is a quick and gainful reading experience by telling you what it actually says about them in its pages, but you will learn how made guys and degenerate gamblers, girls who spell their name Lezli and guys who wore Velour jump suits, and of course Wassel and Bruno, all colluded to perpetrate that music we remember as the real thing. The good shit. Rock'n'roll. And oh yeah, the pussy eating contest.

As our world falls apart around us (Says Nick-- "I give it two years...at most"), and we watch those both at the top and at the bottom, both too dumb to and figure out where it all went wrong, scratch their assholes and moan; I quote from Save The Last Dance For Satan:

The true gage of the freedom of any community is the measurement of the degree of equality by which the fruits of malfeasance are shared by the rulers and the ruled, the cop on the beat and the man or woman on the street. The essence of democracy, as of capitalism is corruption. Only when the criminal in blue and the criminal in mufti, the peddler and the priest and the alderman and the drunkard--only when they are neighbors of common root and conspiracy is any neighborhood safe for the old lady on the stoop on a hot summer night, only then is there true charity, only then is there a justice that is real, and only then is there life in the air. As the social clubs close, so the churches empty. This is fact, not metaphor".

Amen.

Nick Tosches will be reading from his latest work on Friday, September 9, at the Jefferson Market Library (425 Sixth Ave at 10th Street, New York City) at 8 PM, admission is free. Tosches perfume (I kid you not) will be for sale.

In other Nick news, an article in Variety reported that art oaf Julian Schnabel will be directing Johnny Depp in a feature film version of In The Hand Of Dante. When questioned on the subject, Nick inhaled from his cigarette and grimaced.

Gillian's Found Photo #65

2011-07-29T10:22:00.000-04:00

Here's another from the Fang that reminds me of Hubert Selby's classic Last Exit To Brooklyn. Date and place unknown.
The guy on the left is all about the eyebrows, the drag queen on the right, well it's hard to say. S/he certainly spend some time on her hair, or is that a wig?
Perhaps s/he's a friend of Esquerita (who towards the end of his days worked NYC in drag doing biz as Fabulash), or Bobby Marchan. Hell, until a few months ago I assumed Lady Ga Ga was man in drag.
All of which has nothing to do with our picture. I wish I could think of a caption.

Kongo (1932)/ West Of Zanzibar (1928)

2011-07-21T13:04:00.002-04:00

Top Three Clips from Todd Browning's West Of Zanzibar (1928).

William Cowen's 1932 soundie remake: Kongo.

Todd Browning, second from right.
If I had to pick an all time favorite movie, it might just be William Cowen's Kongo, a 1932 re-make of Todd Browning's 1928 West Of Zanzibar. In fact, both titles along with Cecil B. DeMille's Sign Of The Cross (making a rare big screen appearance this Sunday in NYC at the Film Forum), make up my top three.
Based on the play by Chester DeVonde and Kilbourn Gordon (which was titled Kongo and was a huge hit on Broadway), West Of Zanzibar/Kongo is one of the most gruesome, sensational and lascivious re-writings of Joseph Conrad's Heart Of Darkness ever unleashed, it makes Apocalypse Now look like a an episode of Rocky & Bullwinkle.
The convoluted story line (which starts in London in Browning's version, although Cowen's remake cuts straight to the non-chase in Africa), revolves around a stage magician Dead Legs (the character's given name changes in the two versions from Phroso to Rutledge) who in an altercation over his girl gets his spine crushed and ends up a dead legged cripple. In Browning's version Dead Legs is played by Lon Chaney (Browning's greatest leading man), in Cowan's by Walter Huston (who had played the role on Broadway). Dead Legs follows his rival, Crane (an ivory trader, played by Lionel Barrymore in the silent), to Africa where he sets himself up as a deity amongst the the natives, controlling them with sugar cubes, tongue twisting torture, and his old stage magic routine disguised as folk religion. When the rival shows up at Dead Legs' hut, the story then moves on to the long lost daughter of the now deceased woman they fought over. Thinking it was his rival's daughter, Dead Legs' takes possession of the girls upbringing, raising her in a sheltered convent only to degrade her in the jungle when she reaches her majority. I won't ruin the plot twist. But there's enough depravity for a dozen sideshows (Browning's specialty), my favorite being Lupe Velez as an alcoholic jungle nymph in Cowan's version of the story, although how a Mexican spitfire ended up in a shack in the Congo is never explained, I can't say I mind. I give Cowan's version a slight edge for it's incredible dialogue, much of which revolves around the words-- "He sneered". Browning's version looks a bit better, although both have an incredibly claustrophobic, sweltering, disturbing feel, much like Werner Herzog's wonderful soliloquy about the jungle heard in Les Blank's Burden On Dreams ("fornicating, writhing, strangulation,...the birds don't sing so much as scream in pain...."). It's hard to decide who was a better Dead Legs, Chaney has never been less than brilliant, or Huston who really brings something of his own to the role. Either, or. West Of Zanzibar and Kongo are two must see films for anyone who likes their movies twisted, depraved, and sensational. TCM shows them on occasion, or you can watch them in short segments on YouTube.

Brian Jones

2011-07-02T09:20:00.002-04:00

Montreal, 65. Brian speaks up.

Brian and Anita.

Meeting the fans.

Dressed To Kill.

Pulling A Nanker.

Ruby Tuesday, with recorder, '67.

Lady Jane, dulcimer, same show as above.

A better use of the recorder.

At The Mellotron.

With Gibson Firebird, Where Is That Guitar Today?

Brian Today.

If You Can Get Past The Commercial There's Some Great Early Color Footage Here.

Brian co-wrote this one, better than anything they'd done in decades.

I don't have much to add to what I had to say about Brian Jones (Lewis Brian Hopkins Jones, born February 28, 1942, died July 3, 1969) two years ago on the fortieth anniversary of his death. But I guess I still miss him. In his best selling auto-hagiography Life, Keith Richards' downplays Brian's contributions at every chance he gets, even crediting the formation of the Rolling Stones to Ian Stewart. Brian is still getting the shit end of the stick after all this time. Well, at least he never looked as goofy as Ron Wood, who could have taken at least a few fashion tips from Brian. It's forty two years since Brian's death and I'm still saying my goodbyes.

Gillian's Found Photo #64

2011-06-25T11:45:00.000-04:00

This week's found photo is dated Oct. '67. Place unknown, but it sure seems like California. The kind of girl Brian Wilson wrote songs about. I imagine her dancing to the Byrds at Ciro's on the Sunset Strip. A couple of years later she might have put in some time at the Spahn Ranch (as did Beach Boy Dennis Wilson), or with the Weather Underground or even at the Playboy Mansion. Today she would have half dozen facial piercing, or have her non-existant flaws rebuilt by a plastic surgeon for that ever popular "half melted Barbie" look that for some inexplicable reason some modern women feel makes them look better. Personally I like women just the way they are, flaws and all. Any one want to guess what she's staring off at?

All Fall Down (1962)

2011-06-14T10:36:00.001-04:00

All Fall Down- Beatty as his sleazy best.

Hoo-boy. Hot on the heels of Splendor In The Grass, in which he plays a good boy so gosh darn good he wouldn't even screw carpenter's dream Natalie Wood, Warren Beatty starred in this little remembered but highly entertaining flick playing a women abusing sleaze bag. I'd say it might be his best role ever. I caught John Frankenhiemer's All Fall Down for the first time recently on late night cable where it followed Splendor... in one of TCM's theme nights, and it made quite on impression. With a script by William Inge (Splendor, Bus Stop, Picnic), and a solid cast headed by On The Waterfront's lip quivering co-star Eva Marie Saint as the thirty something virgin Echo O'Brien (great name), Shane's Brandon De Wilde as Beatty's obnoxiously good little brother and Karl Malden and Angela Lansbury as the long suffering parents, this one really packs a punch. Beatty would go on to become a major scenery chomping star with Bonnie & Clyde (1966) and then a major embarrassment with Ishtar (1987) and the rapping politician Bullworth (1998) (those two seemed to have effectively ended his career), but left to someone else's devices he was actually an excellent actor. In this day and age of diminished cinematic expectations, All Fall Down stands out as a forgotten, if not classic, at least (low) class act.

Howlin Wolf at 101.

2011-06-10T07:57:00.003-04:00

With Hubert Sumlin and a cool guitar.

Early deodorant ad.

Well worth the $1.00.

He just swallowed his harmonica.

At Sylvio's, '64.

Early shot, another cool guitar.

At home in Chicago, a White Sox fan?

Back at Sylvios.

Yet another cool guitar.

Upsetting the folks at a Folk Festival.

European TV, '66.

Howlin' Wolf (born Chester Arthur Burnett outside of West Point, Mississippi, June 10, 1910, died January 10, 1976) would have been 101 today, had he lived. If they dug him up and stuck his bones onstage he'd still be better than 99.9% of what passes for blues or rock'n'roll these days. I've already blogged on him before (here and here), so I have little to add, except he remains my very favorite singer, and when ever I hear so and so (name your most overrated singer here) is a great "soul" singer, I want to stick a Howlin' Wolf 78 in their ear. If you are not familiar with Wolf's music, start with his early Chess and RPM sides, then the un-issued Sun Sessions, forget the psychedelic "birdshit" album, the London Sessions and SuperBlues jams unless you are a completist. For further reading I suggest James Segrest and Mark Hoffman's Moanin' At Midnight: The Life and Times Of Howlin' Wolf (Pantheon Books, 2004). Happy Birthday Wolf, where ever you are.

The Jesters

2011-05-31T11:13:00.000-04:00

The Jesters, l. to r. Jerry Phillips, Billy Wulfers, Eddie Robertson, Teddy Paige

The Jesters with Sam C. Phillips.

Jesters promo 45 with Jim Dickinson's scrawled autograph.

"The best performances never get recorded, the best recordings never get released and the best records don't sell", so proclaimed the late Memphis musician/producer/philosopher Jim Dickinson the last time I saw him alive. Never was that adage so true than in Memphis where Dickinson plied his trade for four decades.
Today's subject, a great Memphis garage band who called themselves The Jesters (not to be mistaken for the Jesters from Brooklyn who covered the Diablos' The Wind, or or the Jim Messina led surf group, or Charley Pickett's cousin Mark Markem & the Jesters who cut the all time classic Marlboro Country or any any of the other dozens of group who had previously used that name) are one of the greatest examples of said truism, even though they did release one of the greatest 45's of the era, and the last great Sun record.
The aforementioned Jim Dickinson is of course, part of the story, since the Jesters' only released platter was as much his record as theirs, although in fact the only time he ever played with the group on whose contribution to the pantheon of sides he sang and pounded piano, was the January 1966 day it was recorded at (the second) Sun Studio (639 Madison) in Memphis.
I, as they say, digress.
  The Jesters were formed in 1964, led by guitarist Edaward LaPaiglia aka Teddy Paige, who had previously led a teenage aggression called the Church Keys, and was heavily into the '5' Royales (then living in Memphis and recording for the Home Of The Blues label), Carl Perkins, Bo Diddley and Freddie King. Paige hooked up with singer Tommy Minga, previously of the Escapades, and added rhythm guitarist Jerry Phillips, son of Sun Records Sam C. (and fresh from a stint as a fake midget wrestler), bassist Bill Wulfers and drummer Eddie Robertson in short order. Their set list was heavy on old blues, R&B and rockabilly tunes as well as originals, some re-writes of classic R&B tunes, some quite unique, and short of British Invasion hits that were the staple on most local white groups at the time.
  At this time Jerry's older brother Knox Phillips was pretty much running the show at the much diminished Sun Records, Sam was disillusioned and bored with the record biz and preferred to concentrate on his radio stations, and Knox began recording the Jesters. Tapes from two sessions with eleven tracks from the original band have survived, as well as the two sides issue on 45, although these would not see release until the late 1980's when they were first issued on Charley's Sun: Into The 60's box set and later in 2009 on the Ace/Big Beat CD Cadillac Men:The Sun Masters which added four Escapades tracks to fill out the CD.
The sides with Tommy Minga singing are all first class, snot nosed, garage howlers-- What's The Matter Baby, Get Gone Baby, Strange As it Seems, the original, Minga fronted version of Cadillac Man, a version of Bill Doggett's Hold with added lyrics and retitled The Big Hurt, the '5' Royales Slummer The Slum barely re-written as Stompity Stomp, as well as versions of Boppin' The Blues, Night Train From Chicago, Heartbreak Hotel and the Bo Diddley cop-- Jim Dandy and Sweet Sixteen would all fit perfectly on any volume of Back From The Grave (Crypt). Certainly had it been released at the time What's The Matter Baby could have given the Standells, Shadows Of Night, Knickerbokers and other crude hitmakers of that year a run for their Beatle boots.
  How and why Tommy Minga's voice was deemed unsuitable for issued wax is unclear, but once it was decided to bring Jim Dickinson in on piano and lead vocals, Cadillac Man was transformed into another creature all together. Rather than a snarling, Them/Rolling Stones styled garage rocker, it became a throw back to an earlier era at Sun, that of full throated screamers like Sonny Burgess and Billy Lee Riley. Sam Phillips was said to be highly excited by the possibilities, and secured Jim Dickinson (who had previously cut two singles under the tutelage of Sun alumni Bill Justis) contract release and put the band back in the studio to cut a b-side, a version of Little Walter's My Babe (itself a version of Sister Rosette Tharpe's version of the old gospel standard This Train). Cadillac Man b/w My Babe was issued by Sun in 1966 and died a quick death. In a year ('66) that saw the Shadows of Night, 13th Floor Elevators and Standells hit the charts, the Dickinson led version of Cadillac Man had probably less commercial appeal than the material cut with Tommy Minga singing. It was also the beginning of the end for the Jesters. There would be no follow up. At some point they recorded a version of Smokey Robinson's What So Good About Goodbye with Jimmy Day singing, but it too sat on the shelf for decades.
The band, with Minga back in front, briefly resumed gigging, but soon fell apart. Lack of success had halted their forward motion, and when a rock'n'roll group is not moving forward, it is dying.
By late '66 it was over for the Jesters, Tommy Minga put together a new version of the Escapades. They released two singles I Tell No Lies (issued on both Arbert and XL) and Mad Mad Mad (Verve) both in late '66. Teddy Paige played some sessions, ending up on discs by David Allen Coe and Cliff Jackson, left music to work construction and eventually relocated to the U.K where he was said to have taken to wandering around in medieval minstrel garb, complete with saber. He was briefly institutionalized in the nineties after a run in between said sword and a neighbor. Jerry Phillips would find work at the family radio stations, the other two got real jobs.
  The Jesters were among the best and most unique garage bands in that peak year for garage band rock'n'roll. Paige's guitar playing is especially noteworthy, he works in quotes from Lowman Pauling, Freddie King, and Bo Diddley, yet still retained a unique and biting sound. Tommy Minga too had his own style, having perfected the requisite 'teenager with hard on who hates his parents' delivery. Jim Dickinson would of course go on to long and colorful career, recapped after his 2009 death here. Had What's The Matter Baby been issued on 45, it may have been a hit, or sold so few copies that it would got for $500 on Ebay today, either way, the best sounds the Jesters left behind are among the best garage punk I've ever heard.

Gillian's Found Photo #63

2011-05-27T14:22:00.001-04:00

And you thought that come hither look on the face of the gal in FP#62 was for you? No, it looks like the party was already underway. And yes, that is a Johnny Mathis album under this guy's armpit, a deck of cards on the bed, a pack of smokes and a beer on the nightstand. What'd ya think is on the rest of this role of pix?

Mr Ghetto: Wal Mart

2011-05-26T10:10:00.001-04:00

Who says New Orleans isn't the cultural capitol of the world?

I'm not much of a hip hop or bounce (as they call the local brew in New Orleans) fan, but this just kills me.
Shot in New Orleans at the Walmart on Tchoupitoulas, a couple of blocks from where I used to live.
This is the part of New Orleans (a hair and nails watching cornucopia, just check out the 'do and nails on anyone working the register at Pop-eyes) that doesn't make it on HBO's The Treme. I haven't been back to New Orleans in sometime (too many ghosts), this makes me really miss the place.

Gillian's Found Photo #62

2011-05-19T15:34:00.000-04:00

This little minx knows how to get a man....good records. There's the second Elvis album, Jackie Wilson,
Patti Page (how much is that doggie in the window....?), and a pile of unidentifiable 78's except the black, gold and white Specialty label at the top of the pile, my bet is that one is Little Richard, although it could be Willie Joe and his Unitar, or Don & Dewey singing Justine. Hell, that just may be Justine herself! Well before my mind runs away with me, I'll just say this week's Found Photo may be one of the Fang's finest moments.

Jack Scott

2011-05-16T07:58:00.004-04:00

Jack Scott as a balladeer.

With bowling trophy.

Jack Scott- attempting to match Elvis' sneer.

Jack Scott with backing singers the Chantones.

I've always loved the sound of Jack Scott (born Giovanni Dominico Scafone Jr., Jan. 24, 1936, in Windsor, Ontario). He had an loose, almost swinging rock'n'roll sound, he had an amazing voice and was an excellent tunesmith, writing nearly all his own best sides.

At age ten his family relocated across the border to Hazel Oak, Michigan, a suburb of Detroit, and it was hear he formed his first band-- the Southern Drifters, playing country and rockabilly. His first session came in early 1957 at Detroit's Universal Studio, it produced Greaseball (an early version of Leroy which remained unreleased until the 90's) and four sides that were picked up by the ABC/Paramount label and make up his first two singles--

Baby She's Gone b/w You Can Bet Your Bottom Dollar, his debut, followed later in the year by Two Timin' Woman b/w I Need Your Love, both singles are in the moody, Elvis mode. The primitive thumper Baby She's Gone is the best of the four sides with it's foreboding, nearly ominous throb, and killer guitar solo by Al Allen (which Robert Quine would steal part of and insert into punk anthem Blank Generation twenty years later). It was around this time he hooked up with bass player Stan Getz (not the jazz saxophonist) and his Tom Cats who would be his backing band for the next year or so (and later go on to even greater obscurity as Johnny Powers' band).

In the spring of '58 Scott, who had made some local waves was signed to Carlton Records and was back in the studio, recording his first real hit My True Love b/w Leroy (both sides making the Billboard charts with the a-side rising to #3), and the follow up-- With Your Love b/w Geraldine, a lesser hit, rising to #28 and kicking off a six single backwards chart run that would take him through the end of '58 with Goodbye Baby b/w Save My Soul (#8), The Way I Walk b/w Midgie (#38), I Never Felt Like This b/w Bella (#78) and There Comes A Time b/w Baby Marie (#71). Carlton also issued his first LP,

ten of its twelve titles being originals, including all his 45's, it was even issued in true stereo, vocals and guitars on one side, bass and drums on the other, it's a great record to practice guitar playing to because you can put the balance all the way to once side and play along with the rhythm section. The stereo pressing have the word Stereo written vertically down the left side of the jacket in press on felt block letters. It's probably the first stereo rock'n'roll LP ever released.

Jack Scott was drafted in 1959 and he'd spend most of the year in the U.S. Army, Carlton releasing lesser sides and a second LP to keep his name alive. Later that year upon his discharge he left Carlton and signed with another small company- Top Rank. By this late date, in order to survive rockers, following in Elvis' footsteps (whose first post-Army single was the re-write of Mario Lanza's version of O Sole Mia-- It's Now Or Never), had to become ballad singers (Roy Orbison, Conway Twitty,The Everly Brothers) or watch their careers wither (Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins).

Scott who always excelled at ballads had no problem adjusting and topped the charts with the ballado-profundo What In The World's Come Over You (#5 Pop), although the flip side was a rocker Baby Baby. He followed it with another weeper-- Burning Bridges which became his biggest ever hit, rising to #3. Carlton responded in the other direction by digging out the rocker Go Wild Little Sadie from his sophomore LP and issuing it on the Guaranteed imprint around the same time, it was a close to frantic as Scott ever sounded.

Jack Scott had a nice career going for him, but he was never able to turn it into major stardom. He left Top Rank shortly after Burning Bridges and spent the 60's label hopping, cutting sides, some truly excellent, for Capitol (Strange Desire, one of my favorites, a throw back to his Carlton discs, and the unissued Good Deal Lucille stand out), RCAs Groove subsidiary (including the excellent rockin Christmas two sider-- Jingle Bell Slide b/w There's Trouble Brewing, and the killer-- Wiggle On Out), Dot and progressively lesser labels. Despite, or probably because he never really changed his sound, he never made the transition to country stardom that revived the careers of Jerry Lee Lewis and Conway Twitty.

By the 70's "The Canadian Elvis" would be reduced to playing Teddy Boy revivals in the U.K. (he shared a live album in '77 with Charlie Feathers, Buddy Knox, and Warren Smith) and the occasional oldies show. His last chart showing was a revival of Burning Bridges done as a duet with Carrol "Baby Doll" Baker, a minor Canadian country hit in 1992. He eventually retired from live performing unable to find a suitable band (and the economics of touring makes hiring real musicians unfeasible). In recent years a bootleg emerged claiming to be a Jack Scott live recording circa 1961, it's actually from the mid-80's, but shows him still at the height of his powers, sounding pretty much like his old discs, as these versions of The Way I Walk and Goodbye Baby prove, time did not decay his easy going swagger.

If rockabilly, at it's best, was mostly about a guy with a hard on telling himself (and the world) how cool he is, then Jack Scott was it's prophet.

Apocalypto (2006)

2011-05-09T18:22:00.002-04:00

Apocalypto: Mayans party like it's 1999.

Am I the only person who thinks this is a great film? On the heels of the $370 million plus grossing, gay/S&M/Catholic soft core porno flick The Passion Of The Christ (2004), alcoholic mess Mel Gibson got to write his own ticket, and then went on to write, produce and direct this spectacular, career ending monstrosity of a movie. Apocalypto has some of the most amazing acting, sets, hair and make-up ever seen on the screen. It's like Cecil B. DeMille and John Waters were directing simultaneously. The scene where the hero, forest dwelling Jaguar Paw (Rudy Youngblood whose career may have also been killed by this film) is taken captive and is about to be sacrificed to the Mayan Sun God (Kinich Ahau, played by the Sun it's best on screen appearence since Antonioni's Red Desert) is one of the most compelling, and whacked out scenes ever to (dis)grace the silver screen. Since it's on cable nearly every day I've watched it dozens of times and it never fails to stun me. I especially love the little fat prince and the shaman's ability to roll his eyes back in his head. I'll not defend Mel Gibson's drunken rants (which I find highly entertaining and can listen to over and over), and I can't say I've liked his acting except the first two Mad Max flicks, but this one is a doozie. Worth setting your Tivo/DVR for.

Gillian's Found Photo #61

2011-05-05T12:05:00.002-04:00

Now here's couple of stylin' young thugs. Date and place unknown, but judging by the trousers I'd say early to mid-60's (or as scientists like to call it, the pre-flare era). Can anyone identify the arsenal? Don't you want to see what the rest of this roll of photos looks like?

Rosco Gordon

2011-05-01T09:58:00.005-04:00

Rosco Gordon

Me and Rosco Gordon, 1996.

Rosco Gordon from the film Rock Baby Rock It.

Rosco Gordon serenades Butch the alcoholic chicken.

Rosco Gordon, Butch and Sam Phillips.

Still the easiest 45 to find on this label.

Signed Duke 129.

Return to Sun, the one was written by rocker Hayden Thompson.

Notice writing credit and mis-spelled first name.

When A Buck And A Half Bought Something.
  Rosco Gordon Jr. was born in Memphis in 1934, the youngest of eight children, growing up on Florida Street. He taught himself piano by sitting next to his sister while she practiced her lessons and before the age of eighteen had won the Talent Show at Beale Street's famed Palace Theater (the M.C. was Rufus Thomas) and was appearing on WDIA, America's first all black radio station (where B.B. King got his start around the same time). Through WDIA's owner James Mattis he was sent to see Sam C. Phillips who recorded him, leasing his sides to the Bihari Brother' RPM label out of L.A., charting for the first time with Saddled The Cow (Milked The Horse) b/w Ouch! Pretty Baby which went to #9 R&B in September of '51. Then Phillips sent two versions of the same master-- Booted, one to RPM and a slightly different alternate take to Chess in Chicago. The Chess version hit #1 R&B in February of '52 kicking off a three way tug of war which ended up with RPM securing Gordon's contract (and the services of talent scout/band leader Ike Turner who had topped the charts for Chess with the Phillips produced master Rocket 88 under the guise of Jackie Breston & his Delta Cats, Chess would get Howlin' Wolf in the same deal). Since RPM was no longer dealing with Phillips, Gordon cut sessions in Memphis at Tuff Green's house in a makeshift studio, moonlighting for Phillips who then sold the masters to Mattis' Duke label. Soon Duke was sold to Peacock's owner, Don Robey, along with Gordon, Bobby Blue Bland (who was Rosco's chauffeur, he made his debut singing on a Rosco Gordon b-side), and Johnny Ace. Confused? Don't worry you will be.
Since Rosco had two top ten hits and had seen no royalties (and the Biharis had cut themselves in for a piece of his songwriting by putting their nome-de-disque Taub on all his discs), Rosco Gordon took the short money upfront, and hence would cut a disc for whom ever was willing to put his price (usually $3-400) in his pocket. Between the years of 1951-59 he cut eleven singles for RPM (including the #2 hit No More Doggin'), eight for Duke, five for Sun (the biggest seller The Chicken appearing on both Sun and its subsidiary Flip), one for Chess (the aforementioned Booted), and four more for Vee Jay, including his biggest hit-- Just A Little Bit, featuring Classie Ballou on guitar, which would go on to become an R&B standard.
  It would be a daunting and quite pointless task to attempt to put these twenty-nine discs in any sort of chronological order. In fact, much of the best material was left in Sam Phillips' vault which remained un-issued until the early 1980's when Charley Records (a rumored money laundering operation for the Corsican mob) began releasing un-issued Sun recordings in bulk. The basic Rosco Gordon sound was based around his piano pounding (known as Roscoe's rhythm), shuffling drums, guttural saxophone and often distorted guitars, over which Rosco usually delivered a wonderfully mush mouthed vocal. In addition to the above sides, some of his best were, and still are-- RPM 322- Rosco's Boogie b/w So Tired, Duke 129- Three Cent Love b/w You Figure It Out, the a-side sporting a beautiful solo from Pat Hare, the flip perhaps his most over the top vocal, RPM 358- New Orleans Wimmen b/w What You Got On Your Mind, Sun (and Flip) 227- Weeping Blues b/w Love For You Baby, Sun 257- Shoobie Oobie b/w Cheese and Crackers, Sun 305 Sally Joe b/w El Torro (the a-side an experiment in rockabilly, the flip an uncharacteristic Spanish guitar led instrumental that is rarely re-issued but I love), RPM 369- Dream On Baby b/w Trying RPM 384- Whiskey Made Me Drunk b/w Tomorrow May Be Too Late, Duke 173- Tummer Tee b/w I've Loved and I've Lost. Among the best of the un-issued sides you'll find T-Model Boogie, Decorate The Counter, Let's Get High, Bop With Me Baby, I'm Gonna Shake It, I Don't Like It and Nineteen Years Old. He was cutting excellent sides into the late 60's such as this 1964 duet with his wife Barbara which appeared on New York's Old Town label-- Gotta Keep Rollin', and this 1968 remake of Just A Little Bit which appeared on gangster Nate McCalla's Calla label.
  Rosco Gordon had a colorful career. In one run in with hoodlum label owner Don Robey, Robey threatened to kick Gordon (he'd previously crushed Little Richard's testicles in an argument over royalties). Gordon patted the revolver tucked into his belt and told Robey the foot he kicked him with was the foot he would put a bullet in. He escaped with his testes in tact. He toured the south on many package shows, relocated to Shreveport, La. in the late 50's where he met his second wife Barbara (his first marriage at age 15 lasted only weeks), and kept churning out discs. He also toured the Caribbean where he was wildly popular, No More Doggin' being one of the biggest R&B hits in Jamaican history and along with Fats Domino's Be My Guest and Wilbert Harrison's Kansas City, the blueprint for the coming ska sound. He also appeared in one of the greatest rock'n'roll movies of all time-- Rock Baby Rock It (1957) along with rocker Johnny Carroll, in it Gordon serenades his pet chicken Butch (he later told me Butch, whom he toured with, was an alcoholic).
In the late 60's he relocated to Queens, New York, where he founded his own Bab-Roc label issuing a handful of singles in the 70's and then, in the style of TV's George Jefferson, opened a dry cleaners. He kept performing till the end of his life and was in fine form as late as the millennium. He recorded an album for ska pioneer Clement "Sir Coxone" Dodd in the 90's, it wasn't particularly good, but I was thrilled to meet Dodd who was selling the discs from a cardboard box at the back of one of Gordon's gigs in Brooklyn. In his final days Rosco Gordon attempted to patch things up with Sam Phillips who took great offense to Rosco's disregard of exclusive contracts (even though Phillips had operated much the same way at the dawn of his career) and still harbored a grudge. In 2000 Rosco booked time at Sun Studio and asked Sam to produce a few sides. Rosco recorded an album at Sun but Phillips never showed. It was issued as Memphis, Tennessee later that year. In 2002 Rosco Gordon died of a heart attack in Rego Park, Queens, New York. Perhaps if life on earth continues for long enough, someone will compile a re-issue of his complete Duke sides.

Gillian's Found Photo #60

2011-04-22T09:02:00.002-04:00

Fang's contribution this week is pretty self explanatory, a mugshot from the Minneapolis PD circa 1969. I give this little zit-faced greaseball snaps for keeping his pre-Beatles hair do, and getting his gal Loretta's name tattooed on his arm in a decidedly amateurish font (in fact it looks kind of crooked). The mock turtle neck sleeveless makes me think he night be wearing one of Loretta's dresses. What do you think he did to get arrested, and where do you think he is today?

The Liverbirds

2011-04-18T08:43:00.003-04:00

The Liverbirds

The Liverbirds in the Star-Club

The Liverbirds in front of the Star-Club

     German pic sleeve.

  It seems the last posting where I sighted a soft spot Freddie and the Dreamers has instigated a furor over what exactly is good, bad and mediocre music. In my opinion, great rock'n'roll usually has elements of all three, often in the same song. However the first (good) is never needed to make great rock'n'roll.
If you want good music you can listen to jazz or classical, rock'n'roll is supposed to be crude, stupid
and unpalatable. That's why we, or at least I love it. Which brings us to today's subject, the Liverbirds,
a Liverpool Beat combo who distinguished themselves by not only sitting when the piss, and having the ability to bleed for days on end without dying, but by being as competent as at least the Remo Four if not the Beatles themselves, whose John Lennon once opined that "they'd never make it".
While not even rating a mention in the standard text on the subject-- Alan Clayson's Beat Merchants (Blandord, UK, 1995) and only a passing mention in the same author's Hamburg- The Cradle Of British Rock (Sanctuary, UK, 1997), they did lay down enough wax to verify that they were as good or better than 90% of the other groups out there, could stomp out the Uber Beat with the best of them,
and are due for a full revival complete with documentary, biopic, and posthumous praise by current stars not fit to lick their cuban heels.
Formed in Liverpool in 1962, originally as the Debutones, the Liverbirds-- guitarists Pamela Birch and Valerie Gell, bassist Mary McGlory and drummer Sylvia Saunders (they all sang), played the basic Mersey set list made up of mostly U.S. rock'n'roll of the time-- Chuck Berry, girl group, early Motown, and made their mark in Hamburg, where they were more accepted than at home. They were regulars at the Star*Club, recording for the Star Club label, they scored one German top ten hit with a version of Diddley Daddy, cut at least one LP (I've heard mention of a second by never heard it), toured with the Rolling Stones, the Yardbirds, and the Detours (who would become the Who), and eventually in 1968 packed it in, three of the four members marrying Germans and settling in the greater Hamburg area. Pam Birch passed away in 2009.
One thing that separated the Liverbirds from their Mersey compatriots, beside the obvious one, is that unlike the Liverpool competition, they had a distinct Bo Diddley influence, keep in mind Bo was probably the only early rocker who tunes were never covered by the Beatles (which I'd say accounted for their clanky sound), and most of the U.K. wouldn't hear Bo's tunes until the Rolling Stones, Pretty Things and Yardbirds began playing them. In fact they had more in common with the London R&B bands than with the Mersey Beat sound. I like them better than most of the Liverpool groups except maybe the Swinging Blue Jeans, and as much as London's Downliner's Sect for that matter. Some of their better recorded sides were their rendition of Sir Douglas Quinet's (S)He's About A Mover, Bo Diddley's Mona (gives the Stones a run for their money), Road Runner, Bo Diddley's A Lover, and Before You Accuse Me, the Coasters' Down Home Girl, the Everly's Love Hurts (which sounds like the Velvet Underground with Moe Tucker singing),   Chuck Berry's Too Much Monkey Business and Talkin' About You, as well as some originals like Why Don't You Hang Around Me, He's Something Else, Hands Off and Oh No Not My Baby. All excellent sides, and if the covers aren't as good as the American originals, they're better than anything you'll hear on the radio today. I won't insult the Liverbirds by saying their pioneering ways were responsible for some of the truly lousy female rock groups that came later, I'll just say they were a great band.

Two Guys Named Freddie

2011-04-09T11:53:00.001-04:00

Freddie & the Dreamers.

Freddie & the Hitch- Hikers.

The top clip, from the 1965 NME awards shows just what a maniac live performer Freddie Garrity (who died in 2006) was. I never liked I'm Telling You Now, their only U.S. hit, although I do love Do The Freddie, their attempt at a dance craze, but they could liven up a TV appearence like nobody's business.
Lester Bangs once called them-- "a triumph of rock as cretinious swill", as a lover of cretinious swill I concur.
The second clip was sent in by by reader Tom Lundin along with this article from the Denver Eye about Freddie & the Hitch-Hikers who cut the amazing Sinners b/w Mop Flop for Band Box in 1960. Great pix! Great record.

Papa Lightfoot

2011-04-04T09:14:00.007-04:00

Pardon the crappy scan....

Same tune, different version...

Today's subject was born Alexander Lightfoot in Natchez, Mississippi on March 2, 1924, he would go through life calling himself George and recorded as Papa Lightfoot, although he would also be known Little Papa Walter and Papa George just to confuse matters. He taught himself to play harmonica, kicked around little clubs in Natchez and New Orleans where he hooked up with Edgar Blanchard's Gondoliers, an important R&B band that featured Tommy Ridgley on piano. In 1949, with the Gondoliers he cut his first record, recorded in Houston for Don Robey's Peacock label, backing up a singing drummer named Silver Cooks. Mr Ticket Agent Man b/w Coming Back Home while wasn't a particularly great record, it does have its charm, but it did not sell. Probably recorded at the same session were two tracks with Lightfoot as leader-- Papa George Blues b/w Lightfoot Boogie, which were evidently released, but I know of no one who has ever seen or heard this disc. A third set of sides from the session with Edgar Blanchard as vocalist were issued under Blanchard's name-- Creole Gal Blues b/w She'll Be Mine After A While, this disc is also extremely rare and couldn't have sold more than a few hundred copies at most. It is of interest mostly because the players are so out of tune with each other they sound drunk. Maybe all for the best, Lightfoot and Blanchard weren't a great match, Blanchard's band was urbane, and Lightfoot's own sound primitive and distorted.

Returning home, his next disc was issued in 1950 on the tiny Sultan label out of Natchez--Winding Ball Mama b/w Snake Hipping Daddy is again so rare I have never seen nor heard it, although one must exist since there's a picture of it on his trail marker on the Mississippi blues trail.

I include this information not because I want to see these discs on your want lists, but because I live with the dim hope that some reader somewhere, will sell, trade or better yet, give me copies of both the missing Lightfoot discs, which I will then file away and pull out and stare at, and maybe even listen to, into my waning days.

Two years later, back in New Orleans, Papa Lightfoot cut another four sides with Blanchard's band, this time they played mostly in tune. Issued on Aladdin-- first came P.L. Blues b/w Afterwhile, followed a few months later by Jumpin' With Jarvis b/w Blue Lights which were were all instrumentals, a fast boogie on the a-side and a blues on the flip, both discs very much in the style of then chart topper Little Walter. Again these sides sold naught and it would be two more years before anyone let Papa Lightfoot near a recording studio again. It was on April 17, 1954 in New Orleans when Papa Lightfoot cut his best session, this time for Imperial, backed by unknown musicians, he waxed the double sided distorted masterpiece Mean Ole Train b/w Wine Women Whiskey, singing through his harmonica mike, and backed by a driving beat, Papa had found his sound. Two more tracks recorded that day-- Jump The Boogie and a whacked out rendition of When The Saints Go Marching In would later see the light of day on Liberty's (which bought Imperial in the early 60's) Legendary Masters: Rural Blues series that Canned Heat's Bear Hite compiled in 1970. These four sides represent not just the best of Papa Lightfoot, but are among the crudest, most distorted, driving, and therefore best blues records ever made. His harmonica playing and singing are totally original, and the band just about thunders along behind him.

From there, Lightfoot recorded behind Champion Jack Dupree for King, toured the south, appearing on package shows with Fats Domino and Dinah Washington, cut an un-issued session for the ultra obscure Jiffy label, before washing up in Atlanta in 1954 for one session for Savoy where backed by Edwin "Guitar Red"Marie's band, he recut Mean Ole Train and a rockin' instrumental called Wildfire.

No matter what Wikipedia says, Lightfoot never recorded for Excello. In '54 he won a talent contest in Atlanta sponsored by middle of the road band leader Horace Heidt (who orchestra Art Carney had started with as a singing comedian) and toured theaters with Heidt's orchestra until 1958. What this music sounded like is anyone's guess, but I can only imagine what Mean Ole Train sounded like with Papa Lightfoot bellowing into his harmonica mike and Heidt's goofy arrangements behind him. Later Papa Lightfoot would tour with Smiley Lewis, appear in an obscure fifties film called Spooky Loot (1956), then he returned to Natchez where he hosted a radio show, and eventually found some sort of real job. In 1969 he recorded a pretty good album for Steve LaVere's Vault label in an attempt to build an audience amongst white blues fans. He would appear at the Ann Arbor Blues Festival in 1970, and drop dead less than a year later from respiratory illness. The best of early Papa Lightfoot (minus the Peacock and Sultan sides) can be found on a CD bootleg called Papa Lightfoot/Sammy Meyers, the Vault material, titled Natchez Trace, has been re-issued with many extra tracks, both are fairly easy to find. A full discography can be found here.

Gillian's Found Photo #59

2011-04-01T11:58:00.000-04:00

It's been awhile since we've run a found photo from the Fang (and there's still a few copies of the book
of the first fifty left, click here for details, and also ask about the catalog for her Help Me show).
Today's photo shows two slicks in cool, Italian cut suits, circa January 1968. The white Christmas tree is a nice touch, as is the plastic covered chair that old uncle Willie is sitting on in the rear right of the frame.
The real question in my mind is who is that on the bass drum head? It looks a bit like the Isley Brothers, one the drum head that is? Also notice that there's an adult size snare drum as well as the aforementioned kiddie kit in back. No drummer jokes please.

Fritz Lang- Liliom (1934)

2011-03-30T13:21:00.005-04:00

Fritz Lang on the left rocks out.

Fritz Lang with pipe and mood lighting.

Fritz Lang with snazzy hat, snazzy monocle, and natty scarf.

Liliom, Boyer cops a feel from Madeleine Ozeray (1934).
Fritz Lang (b. Dec. 5, 1890 in Vienna, d. Aug. 2 1976 in Hollywood) is having a good year. His masterpiece Metropolis (1927) has grown by nearly 25 minutes with recently added missing footage that had turned up in Argentina. The new version of Metropolis was shown earlier this year in New York at the Film Forum and again on TCM (which is showing Lang's underrated Ministry of Fear tonight at 8 PM EST as part of a Graham Greene inspired double feature along with Carol Reed's Fallen Idol, look for Abbott & Cosetello's Hilary Brooke and all time great Dan Duryea in small but important roles). Having just returned from France, my mind keeps returning to a film I saw a year or so ago (and luckily saved on my cable company's version of Tivo which they call DVR), one of the strangest and rarest flicks in the Fritz Lang canon, Liliom, a French remake of a 1930 Hollywood film that Lang made in between fleeing the Nazis back in Germany and his Hollywood debut Fury two years later. Liliom is a film that is somewhat whimsical and evidently personal, two words you wouldn't normally associate with Lang. Lang's sense of humor, missing from nearly all his other films (except maybe Scarlet Street) is quite prominent in Liliom, especially in the scenes where Boyer finds out heaven has as many rules and regulations as earth. Liliom was a film Lang felt strongly about, and towards the end of his life often called it his favorite. A bit of background.

Paris was the first stopping place for the mighty German film industry which fled the Nazis en masse in the early 30's, but unlike fellow refugees like Robert Siodmak, Robert Wiene, Douglas Sirk, G.W. Pabst, Billy Wilder, Peter Lorre, and others who arrived in Paris penniless, Lang, who stayed in Germany long enough to field an offer from Goebbels to head the Nazi film biz, arrived in style, living in a luxury suite at the George V hotel off the Champ Elsees with a retinue of servants (but without his second wife and greatest collaborator Thea von Harbou who stayed behind). Such excess didn't exactly make him popular amongst his compatriots (nor did the review of Das Testament des Dr. Mabuse that ran in the New York Times on April 29, 1933 which claimed "Lang is a Nazi"). It's unlikely Lang cared what anyone thought of him at that point, he's already directed what are still some of the greatest movies ever made, and had a rather high opinion of his talents. Liliom was a big budget, first class production, produced by Erich Pommer, with contributions from Franz Waxman (his first score, he'd later win two Oscars) and Robert Liebman (who'd written The Blue Angel and would die in a Nazi death camp).

Based on Ferenc Molnar's 1909 play, Liliom was later remade as the musical Carousel, which I've never seen and could care less about, although Danny Fields, the final word on all things musical theater assures me is fabulous, Liliom is the story of a lowlife Paris carny barker, played by a young Charles Boyer, in his best roll, and his ill fated romance with the long suffering street urchin (and photographers assistant) as portrayed by Madeleine Ozeray. Boyer's charachter gets himself killed in a botched robbery and spends the rest of the film going back and forth between heaven and earth where he tries to make life better for his widow and child. It's a lot more light hearted than your usual Lang fare, while still visually stunning and totally unique. It's well worth searching out. In an amazing cameo Antonin Artaud appears as "le remouleur" (the grinder), a different role than he'd played in 1923 when he appeared in the stage production of Liliom as a cop. Lang's Liliom was a flop in France when released, having been denounced by the Catholic church, and was never released at all in the US, in fact it was nearly impossible to see for many years, now of course you can find the DVD, although the surviving print isn't great, Lang fans are used to scratchy negatives. Lang would never make another film in France, something of a shame since the one he made there is so interesting. Soon after its failure it was off to Hollywood for Lang where he'd make modest budget film noir for several decades including such classics as Fury, The Big Heat, Scarlet Street, etc. before returning to Germany for his final three films (1960-1). He made no films the last decade of his life, although he appears opposite Jack Palance and Brigitte Bardot in Godard's excellent and hateful Contempt (1963).
There are many excellent books on Fritz Lang, I'd recommend Lotte Eisner's Fritz Lang (Secker & Warburg, 1976, and if you haven't read her classic The Haunted Screen, get that too), Peter Bogdanovich's Fritz Lang In America (Praeger, 1969) and Patrick McGilligan's Fritz Lang: The Nature Of The Beast (St. Martin's Press, 1997) although I'm not sure if I believe McGilligan's case for Lang murdering his first wife.
Fritz Lang, we'll not see another like him, nor will we see another film anything like Liliom. Too bad about that.

Screamin' Lord Sutch II

2011-03-28T10:45:00.002-04:00

Screamin' Lord Sutch & his Savages- French TV courtesy of Bedazzled!

More Lord Sutch.

Not my caption.

I guess it was two years ago that I wrote about the late Screamin' Lord Sutch on this blog, but Spike

over at Bedazzled has just posted an amazing vintage clip from French TV (another one of my

obsessions, I love French TV, I spent the last week in Paris in utter astonishment watching a show called Viiip Carre) and with not much to say but way overdue for a blog entry, I refer you to the above clip and over to Spike at Bedazzled for more goodies.

Please Kill Me In Paris

2011-03-18T11:04:00.000-04:00

The Ig, Raw Power tour '73.

James Williamson, 1974.

At home with Ron Asheton, 1995.

The Velvet Underground & Nico.

The Primitives, Lou Reed 2nd from Left, John Cale far right. 1965.

Back from many weeks wandering the desert, I'll be posting some new entries in the next few weeks but tomorrow we're off to Paris to catch the last performances of the theatrical adaptation of Please Kill Me, adapted from the book by Legs McNeil and Gillian McCain, the latter oddly enough being my wife.

It was adapted by Mathiea Bauer and I hope to improve my non-existent French skills by sitting through it. If anyone's going to be in Paris next week let me know, I'm easy enough to find.

Back to blogging soon, thanks for your patience and sorry if I haven't returned any e-mails, phone calls and text messages.

Johnny Mad Dog

2011-01-24T20:45:00.000-05:00

For you New Yorkers, at the Anthology Film Archives until Thursday of this week:

This movie will never get a theatrical release in the U.S.

The Lion King it's not!

Johnny Mad Dog was made in 2008, shot in Liberia, starring mostly ex-kid soldiers. It doesn't get much grimmer than this. If you can't see the film, try the book by Emmanuel Dongala.
The DVD is available in the U.K., any unscrambled player or computer should be able to read it.

The next clip is a look at the real thing, this ran a few years back on the sadly defunct NY Times/Discovery Channel, great purveyors of snuff TV. It's called Liberia: An Uncivil War and the only way to see in nowadays is in ten minute clips via YouTube. About half way though if I remember it correctly is perhaps the most brutal scene ever filmed. Thankfully the war is over in Liberia, Charles Taylor is still on trial. Didn't Lars from the A-Bones date his daughter way back when? It's unlikely Taylor will ever experience even an iota of the suffering he has caused. but these things can happen anywhere in the world, at any time. How soon until it happens here?

Me, sorry, but I'm gone until spring. See you then.

Fifty Found Photos From The Fang

2011-01-22T17:15:00.002-05:00

The Fang has published a limited edition hard bound volume of the first fifty Found Photos from our Gillian's Found Photo installments. Comments by me and you all. I think they are $35 + postage (roughly what is cost to print 'em). For more info e-mail the Fang @ gmcfriesprojects@gmail.com. I think there's also copies of the book from the Help Me show still available.

The Byrds 1967

2011-01-18T05:11:00.003-05:00

The Byrds- Early '67, Crosby's Last Stand.

The Byrds Late '67 .

I loved the Byrds as a kid, so cool, mechanical and mysterious. At least until David Crosby started talking in public. Even if there whole sound came from two Beatles songs, maybe one (Rain, their best).
I'm pretty sure I've never seen the top clip before, if I did, it was as an eight year old and I drove it out of my mind.
The Byrds, post hair iron, Mike Clarke high enough to fall out of his drum chair (and sporting a precursor to his Firefall look), Chris Hillman with a natural 'fro, David Crosby, looking full of himself enough to smack, as I'm sure the other bands members would agree. Lip syncing, but not to the record, but an alternate version of their peak moment-- Eight Miles High.
Below we see 'em later the same year, the offensive David Crosby given the boot and replaced briefly by Gene Clark, who oddly enough had been booted out for making more money than the rest of the band due to his songwriting credits on the first two album, he'd be gone again within months.
Skip forward to around the six and half minute mark on this version out take of Universal Mind Decoder to hear a funny studio argument, the word fuck was removed at the Byrds requested 17 times, anyone have the uncut version out there?
Universal Mind Decoder.

Bobby Robinson

2011-01-12T21:40:00.005-05:00

The Original Bobby's Happy House, 301 West 125th St.

Bobby's In Th Early 90's.

They're going to bury Bobby Robinson (Morgan Clyde Robinson, born April 16, 1917, in Union, S.C.) tomorrow at the United House Of Prayer For All People on 8th Ave and 125th Street, the viewing is 3-6 PM with a service to follow. Obit can be found here.
Bobby's the last of the great New York record men, he died early this week at age 93, but he really died a few years ago when he could no longer afford the rent on his 125th St. record store Bobby's Happy House (his old store is now a KFC, he was relocated around the corner for a few years, that building was torn down and Bobby was out on his ass), Bobby's Happy House which had been on the block since 1946. Priced out nearly twenty years ago, the block is now home to Starbucks and Bill Clinton and the white gentrification of Harlem.
Christ, how many great R&B and rock'n'roll records did Bobby make? Kansas City by Wilbert Harrison, the #1 record the day I was born (May 23, '59), always made me feel like we had a personal bond. Lee Dorsey, Wild Jimmy Spruill, Lightnin' Hopkins, Elmore James, a couple of hundred great doo wop records, early hip hop, Jerry Wexler couldn't shine his belt buckle. I met him many times when Jimmy Spruill would take me by the record store, he always had a funny story to share, a smile, a joke, and some honest advice. Bye bye pal, the town won't be the same without you.
Bobby & Buddy- What's The Word, Thunderbird (Fury 1008)

Goodbye Naughts...

2010-12-08T07:37:00.001-05:00

The Rolling Stones Ready Steady Go Special, 1966. Best Live Stones Footage Ever (in three parts).

The Stooges around the time of the Uganos recording (photo by Peter Hujar).

Danny Fields' tape box for Stooges Uganos (w/Velvets rehearsal on the other side!).

There's nothing about Arthur Lee in today's post, I just like this photo.

When in doubt, run photos of Bebe.

As the end of the first decade of the 21st century closes in, it's time to make some sense of what happened in the last ten years. By the time I've done that, the roaring 20's should be here. One thing is for sure, the world I once knew, and inhabited, is long gone. For lack of a better word, "bohemian" life in NYC is a thing of the past. Priced out by high rents, the city that was once a playground for the cool and the crazy is now a mall for the entitled. I came here in 1977 with $200 in my pocket, and had a job and an apartment within a week. What would I do if was eighteen today? I have no idea. I guess life, or at least social life, has moved into cyber space, which leaves old timers like me more than a tad alienated. I think the outbreak of autism just may be the human race mutating into the type of creature it will have to be to survive in the future. The skills we don't need (human relations, face to face contact, etc.) have atrophied, welcome to product driven man. Each day is more and more like living in a Phillip K. Dick novel, except I'm not much of a Dick fan. I'm more of a Graham Greene type, and the subjects he addressed-- loyalty, duty, etc. seem almost quaint in the modern world.
Maybe it was bound to happen, you can only arrange three chords so many different ways, but Rock'n'Roll has become something akin to Dixieland, i.e. something old folks get together to do on weekends, a generation to dumb for rock'n'roll has grown up and taken the reins of pop culture, and most of the people I knew and associated with rock'n'roll are dead. Which is a long winded way of saying, I need a break. After 28 months of at least bi-weekly blogging, I'm taking a month off to let my mental battery recharge. I'll be back at the typer around the second or third week of January.
One thing never changes, and that is the Stooges are still the kings of rock'n'roll and the touchpoint for whatever is left of the stuff. Buy yourself a Christmas present and get Rhino Handmade's Stooges: Have Some Fun: Live At Uganos, despite the quality of Danny Field's hand held cassette recording, we get to hear the band at one of their peaks, coming off the heels of recording Funhouse, they're white hot, and this disc is a must. They've got shows booked for 2012, who would have thought the Stooges would be around after 45+ years, having buried all their contemporaries (and half their band) they're like the eternal torch for rock'n'roll. For a review of the Have Some Fun check Blog To Comm (scroll down a bit).
Those other mainstays of R&R mentality, for better or worse, The Rolling Stones may never play again, in light of Keith Richards wonderfully vitriolic Life, but then again, even they can't hold a candle to the modern day Stooges. They haven't sounded right since Bill Wyman left anyway. I assume Bob Dylan will tour until his vocal chords snap, good for him. I must admit, I like the matador get up he's been wearing.
It's that time of year when I start missing the people-- Bob Quine, Kelly Keller, Bill Pietsch, Dee Dee Ramone, Rockets Redglare, so many others, who were part of my day to day life. Luckily for them, none of them had to think about Facebook. See you in the new decade.

Billy Boy Arnold

2010-12-05T10:15:00.002-05:00

Original Version before Jimmy Reed and Yardbirds cover versions.

His First and Best Disc.

Sure Sounds Good At 78 RPM.

Billy Boy Arnold circa 1993.

In late 1954, when Bo Diddley showed up at Chess Records to record a demo of an x-rated tune called Uncle John (where is that demo today?), he didn't arrive alone. In tow where three friends, the mainstays on a loose musical aggregation that played on the streets of Chicago for loose change who called themselves The Langley Avenue Jive Cats. With Bo where Jerome Green whose maracas were an important ingredient in the group's unique sound, drummer Clifton James, and our subject today, harmonica player and singer William "Billy Boy" Arnold (b. September 17, 1935 in Chicago). Missing were guitarist Jody Williams, who'd soon join the group in the studio, Roosevelt Jackson who played washtub bass and another guitarist known only as Buttercup. Leonard Chess, who recorded the demo told Bo to clean his song up and bring his group back to record it for real, which they did on March 2, 1955. In addition to the cleaned up version of Uncle John which was re-written as Bo Diddley and recorded without Arnold, they also recorded Bo's originals I'm A Man, Little Girl, You Don't Love Me (You Don't Care) and three tunes with Billy Boy Arnold leading the group-- You Got To Love Me, I'm Sweet On You and the harmonica instrumental- Rhumba. Chess issued Bo Diddley b/w I'm A Man on his Checker label and the rest was history. A second session with the group was scheduled for May.

Billy Boy Arnold had already recorded back in '53 when he was just 17 years old-- I Ain't Got No Money b/w Hello Stranger, his recording debut, was issued on the Cool label, today it's so rare that he doesn't even have a copy and I've never seen nor heard it. In the intermittent months between Bo Diddley's first and second sessions, Arnold, convinced Leonard Chess, who already had Little Walter under contract, had little use for his talents, made his way across the street to Vee Jay Records. There he cut a session for Vee Jay with fifteen year old guitarist Jody Williams (who would re-join Bo's band, as well as doing session work for Howlin' Wolf, and recording under his own name for Argo and as Little Papa Joe for Blue Lake), and session men Henry Gray on piano, Earl Phillips on drums and Milton Rector on bass. From this session, in early May of '55 Vee Jay released under the nome du disque Billy Boy-- I Wish You Would b/w I Was Fooled (Vee Jay 146), a smoldering slice of vinyl and/or shellac depending on how many RPM's you prefer, as ever emanated from Chicago.

Meanwhile, a week later, at Bo's second recording session, Billy Boy Arnold played on She's Fine, She's Mine, but when they set about recording Diddley Daddy, Arnold explained to Chess he'd just recorded the song as I Wish You Would for Vee Jay. Billy Boy was promptly shown the door, to be replaced by Little Walter on Diddley Daddy. The songs were different enough that both men would take writer's credit on their respective discs, but Billy Boy Arnold was persona non grata with the brothers Chess. It didn't matter anyway, since that fall Billy was back in the studio for Vee Jay recording four more sides, this time with Fred Below on drums and Syl Johnson and Odell Cambell playing guitars. Two singles were released in 1956-- I Ain't Got You b/w Don't Stay Out (Vee Jay 171) and You've Got Me Wrong b/w Here's My Picture (Vee Jay 192). His third Vee Jay session came in November of '56 which produced the single Kissing At Midnight b/w My Heart Is Crying (Vee Jay 238) and two un-issued tunes. His final Vee Jay disc was recorded in September of '57-- Rockin'-itis b/w Prisoner's Plea (Vee Jay 260), as well as two more outtakes--No, No, No, No and Everyday and Every Night. I Wish You Would was a small, local hit, as was I Ain't Got You, the next three singles sold very few copies and Vee Jay let him go. Bo Diddley would set on a career as a rock'n'roll star, touring the world for over fifty years and leaving a recorded legacy on Checker that is second to none. Billy Boy Arnold would return to the streets, and later the clubs of Chicago's south and west sides, where his career as minor, second tiered (in terms of fame and popularity, not musical worth) bluesman lasts until this day. He wouldn't record again until 1963 when he cut his first LP for Prestige, More Blues From The South Side with Mighty Joe Young on guitar. A surprisingly good album, in my own opinion blues like rock'n'roll is a form best enjoyed on singles, whether 78 or 45, and would suffer from recording sessions where an artist would be expected to produce a whole album instead of two sides of a single. Starting in the early 60's, these blues albums were mostly aimed at white "folk blues" fans, and most of them are garbage.

But getting back to the five Vee Jay singles, which remain the high point in a long recording career.

All five singles have a rocker on one side and a slow blues or shuffle on the flip. I Wish You Would would become something of a standard after the Yardbirds version, a version even ending up on David Bowie's 1974 Pin Ups (an album of "mod" covers made while his manager negotiated a new publishing deal) and is still something of a blues standard today. But all five singles are great, as good as anything you'll ever hear. All use some variation of the Bo Diddley beat on one side, and all his songs are of superior quality. Arnold was an excellent lyricist, clever, never falling back on the cliches of the genre. They have a unique sound, and a touch of menace, making them quite unique.

Eventually, as the big names died off, Billy Boy Arnold would gain fame and respectability with blues fans, especially in Europe, touring often, playing festivals in the summer months, cutting at least a dozen albums, probably more. Having learned to play harmonica from Sonny Boy Williamson (John Lee Williamson, the original Sonny Boy), although he plays harp more like Rice Miller, the second Sonny Boy, he was even making good records into the 70's, his version of Dirty Mother Fucker, on Red Lightnin', backed by a charmingly inept white British boogie band called the Groundhogs, remains popular among fans of such things. Billy Boy was re-united with Jody Williams at the first Ponderosa Stomp in New Orleans back in 2003 and they sounded great together. Arnold's still alive today, although he no longer tours much. His best sides- the Vee Jay recordings, are sadly out of print (Charley in the UK had released an album of all his Vee Jay material called Cryin' and Pleadin' in the eighties, some of the tunes later showed up in the US on a series of Vee Jay blues compilations A Taste Of The Blues, all have gone out of print). That will hopefully be corrected some day soon. Whoever undertakes such an endeavour should add the Cool single and the three songs from the first Bo Diddley session to the twelve existing Vee Jay recordings, that would make a nice CD, an excellent testament to Billy Boy Arnold's greatness. That would be called "getting it right", a rare occurrence in the music biz, Maybe it will even appear before he dies. Stranger things have happened.

Gillian's Found Photo #58

2010-11-29T13:22:00.001-05:00

This week's found photo, exact place and date unknown, shows a bunch Children Of God cult members caught in their own version of religious rapture. The Children Of God, were (and still are) a creepy hippie-Christian cult, I touched on them briefly in my June, 2009 posting on Jeremy Spencer, the Fleetwood Mac front man who quit the group to join the C.O.G. mid-tour back in 1971. The Children Of God are still around, now doing biz as "Family International" (briefly they were Family of Love), and Spencer is still with them. Children Of God were founded by the late Moses David aka Dad (born-- David Brandt Berg) who croaked back in '94, just as the law was closing in on him. Over the years all sorts of disturbing reports have come from former members from accusations of child abuse and kiddie porn, to a sort of prostitution they call "flirty fishing"-- using young women to seduce men into the cult, or out of their money. They have been run out of the U.S. and Europe, and are mostly based out of communes in South America and South East Asia.
Still, I love this photo because I find photos of people involved in stupid behavior entertaining. I asked the Fang why she liked it and she simply replied-- "because it's sick".

Rev. Julius Cheeks

2010-11-23T14:55:00.005-05:00

The Sensational Nightingales- Charles Brown impersonating June Cheeks.

Sensational Nightingales, late 50's promo photo.

Mid-sixties solo album, sharkskin suits for Jesus.

June Cheeks with the Sensational Nightingales, at his peek.

Early solo single, Holy Wine Spo-Dee-O-Dee.

I just can't seem to stay off the subject of screaming. Why is it that I love to listen to folks screaming so much? Personally, I never scream. Nor does my wife. In fact she almost never even raises her voice, save for those times she falls down the stairs (the stairs in this house are very slippery, I fall down them myself quite regularly). Anyway, you may have to ask Sigmund Freud why I enjoy to hearing musical screams, but it doesn't a genius to tell you who the greatest musical screamers of them all were. The greatest screams came from those singers that came out of the Church Of God In Christ, and of those singers there are two who have gone down in history as the greatest of the screamers. One was Archie Brownlee of the Five Blind Boys Of Mississippi, who literally shouted himself to death, his lungs wracked by pneumonia, he passed away on tour with the Five Blind Boys in New Orleans back in 1960 at the tender age of thirty five. The other was Reverend Julius "June" Cheeks-- born August 7, 1929 in Spartanberg, South Carolina, (the same town that begat Ira Tucker of the Dixie Hummingbirds) who will always best remembered as the hard shouting frontman for the Sensational Nightingales at their peak.
Cheeks was born into poverty, one of thirteen children, his mother, a widow known to all as "Big Chick" Cheeks, picked cotton to raise her brood. Julius, known from childhood as June, dropped out of the second grade to join his mother in the fields, a tough way to get by-- "It was bad, man. We didn't have a clock, we told time by the sun. We didn't eat right, we lived off fatback and molasses", he told Anthony Heilbut for his classic volume The Gospel Sound: Good News and Bad Times (revised edition: Limelight Editions, 1985). He went through life illiterate, although he could sign his name. He would listen to the recorded Bible on massive stack of 78's and eventually be ordained in the Church Of Holiness Science out of Detroit. As a teenager he heard local bluesman Blind Boy Fuller, and on a neighbors' radio his favorite spiritual groups-- the Soul Stirrers, the Dixie Hummingbirds, and the Fairfield Four. In the mid-1940's June joined a local group called the Baronets and in 1946 they found themselves opening a bill for the Five Blind Boys Of Mississippi and the Sensational Nightingales. Cheeks was working in a filling station at the time. June Cheeks took the stage in his finest clothes-- overalls with patches sewn over the holes. When the Sensational Nightingales left town the next day they took June with them, he would become their new lead singer. To Archie Brownlee, who was also on the bill that night, up to that time, unquestionably king of the house wrecking shouters, a man who could cause an entire audience to "fall out" when he hit his blood curdling scream in the Five Blind Boys' version of The Lord's Prayer--, Cheeks was his only compitition--"Don't nobody ever give me any trouble but June Cheeks. That's the only trouble I have, that's the baddest nigger on the road". The Nightingales manager rehearsed the group from nine in the morning until late afternoon until Cheeks was ready to take the stage. It was an impressive group with hard shouting tenor singer Paul Owens, guitarist Jo Jo Wallace (who wore an Esquerita styled pompadour atop his dome, and was known for his wild stage antics, he said, when looking back on his career with the Nightingales-- "I was Chuck Berry and Little Richard and Jo Jo, rolled into one"), Carl Coates singing bass (husband to the great Dorothy Love Coates), were all in the group at the time. To this, Julius Cheeks added his thundering baritone lead, and his own wild stage antics. He'd run up and down the aisles, fall down on his knees, tell corny jokes--- "I cut the fool so bad". He was much criticised for his showmanship at the time, but the audience loved it. He was the hardest working man in the business. And along with the aforementioned Dorothy Love Coates, one of the few gospel singers to vocally back the Civil Rights movement at a time (late 40's/early 50's) when such expressions of free speech could be dangerous for one who toured the south constantly.
Life on the Gospel Highway was not an easy one. Once Cheeks found his group stranded in Miami with only fifty cents in his pocket. "I just went and threw mine (fifty cents) as far as it could go into the Atlantic". To support his family-- a wife, two kids, and Big Chick back in South Carolina, he joined the Soul Stirrers for two years in the early fifties ("I was the one caused Sam Cooke to sing hard. I gave him his first shout") before returning to the Sensational Nightingales in time to cut a string of classic records for Don Robey's Peacock label out of Houston. From 1952-1959 he led them through a string of spine tingling discs, including such classics as Blood Of Jesus, Morning Train, Savior Don't Pass Me, What Would You Give, I Want To Go which featured Jo Jo's rocking guitar riffs, To The End, Standing At The Judgement (which Hank Ballard and the Midnighters would re-write as the rocker What Is This I See), and his greatest recorded moment-- Burying Ground. As near as I can figure, Peacock released at least eighteen singles and five LP's on the Sensational Nightingales on which Julius Cheeks sang lead. Not long ago, attempting to engage me in conversation, a person volunteered the opinion that Graham Nash was the "greatest harmony singer of all time". Hey, I like the Hollies a little, and I like the Beach Boys and the Byrds a lot, but when people tell me that those groups are "great harmony singers", I just want to laugh. They're good singers, sure, and they made some great records, no doubt. But if you want to hear great harmony singing. I mean great, as in as good as it could possibly get-- listen to Carl Coates' bass parts on the above discs, then listen to the subtle, restrained introduction on Blood Of Jesus, and listen to the way they build the intensity to the screaming finale of Burying Ground.
Few "rock'n'roll" records have rocked this hard. Just listen. Then try and talk to me about Graham Nash being "great". You will know why I'm laughing. And why I don't like to talk about music with many people anymore. Opinions are like assholes, everyone has one, and they all stink of shit. I include myself in that summation, heck, I still listen to Mott The Hoople on occassion (to say nothing of Menster Phips and the Phipsters).
June Cheeks left the the Sensational Nightingales in late 1959, put in a year with the Mighty Clouds Of Joy (who later went on to record a tribute LP to Cheeks), then began a solo career, releasing at least nine singles on Peacock, a few of these billed his backing group as the Sensational Knights, I assume to purposefully confuse matters. Of these solo discs, my favorite is the bluesy Holy Wine, a Cheeks original which puts the anti-booze faction of church folk in their place, since, sighting two episodes in the New Testament where Christ himself made and served wine (first at the wedding and again at the Sermon On The Mount). Good enough for Jesus, good enough for June. Cheeks admits on the road he "had myself a time", and that he liked to drink. The flipside of Holy Wine-- Tomorrow's Sun, was a screaming rocker with a pounding boogie piano part that could have off of a Jerry Lee Lewis Sun record. Cheeks kept up his solo career, as well as preaching, until the end. Of all the 60's soul singers he inspired, only Wilson Pickett admitted publicly just how much he had taken from this man. Toward his final days his voice was a hoarse rasp, he had literally shredded his vocal chords screaming night after night. He had worn himself out, when he died in 1981 in Newark, N.J., he was only 51 years old. To this day, no one has ever sang harder, or left a greater legacy.
A video clip (its embedding disabled) from his solo career backed by the Sensational Nights can be found here.

Mickey Hawks & the Nightraiders

2010-11-18T19:54:00.003-05:00

Early shot of the Night Raiders, Mickey Hawks rear center.

The Night Raiders 1958- (left to right)- Mickey Hawks, Bill Ballard, Bob Matthews, John Owens, Moon Mullins.

Screaming third single.

The third issue of their first single.

Mickey Hawks (on the upper left) with the Nightraiders.

Fourth single, with Mullins singing lead.

Last week I decided to cover the one white gospel singer who could compete with his counterparts of color. This week's subject is one of the few white rockers who could match Little Richard's screaming delivery of a rock'n'roll song scream for scream. There has been only a few of such voices to emerge in rock'n'roll over the years. In the 50's Sun Records' star Sonny Burgess on his debut disc- We Wanna Boogie b/w Red Headed Woman would be at the forefront of this small pack. In the early 60's-- Paul McCartney on the Beatles version of Long Tall Sally and his own I'm Down

was one such set of pipes, in the same group, John Lennon, warbler of the definitive version of the Isley Brothers' Twist and Shout was another. Later, Gerry Rosalie of the Sonics, and Jim Dickinson who sides would be spread out of a series of labels small (Sun, Plantation, Quality, Southtown, Barbarian, New Rose) and large (Atlantic) would join the club. But one of the first, and to my ears, the greatest, of the Little Richard inspired ofay howlers, would be a young lad from North Carolina named Mickey Hawks (born David Michael Hawks, July 17, 1940 in Thomasville, N.C., a few miles south of Winston-Salem). In fact, although it's rather unlikely that either band ever heard of the other, in as many ways as one can count, Mickey Hawks and his Night Raiders were the precursors to the sound of the aforementioned Sonics, who from 1964-66, and then again since their 2003 re-union, the Sonics, pretty much sound like the Night Raiders with the Kinks guitar sound welded on top.

It is time once again to digress. Mickey Hawks' family relocated from Thomasville to High Point, N.C., hear the Virginia border in 1942. As a young teenager, Mickey began teaching himself piano on his mother's instrument, taking in all sorts of music on the radio, most especially the country sounds that dominated the southern airwaves. In 1956 he first heard Little Richard, and would soon learn to ape both the piano and singing style of the Georgia Peach. In High School he meet a drummer named Bob Matthews (a fascinating interview with Matthews can be heard here). Together the formed a duo called the Rhythm Rockers and began entertaining teens at school and local sock hops. Matthews was friends with a R&B styled tenor saxophone player named Moon Mullins who had a radio show on a small station in High Point. Mullins lead a four piece rock'n'roll band, said to be the only one in the immediate area. Soon the Rhythm Rockers-- Hawks and Matthews joined Mullins group, and now a quintet and The Night Raiders were born. In addition to Mickey Hawks on piano and lead vocal, Moon Mullins on tenor sax (and sometimes lead vocals), and Bob Mathews on drums were 14 year old guitarist Bill Ballard and bass guitarist John Owens. Mullins surmised that his group needed matching uniforms, and to raise money for a haberdasher , decided to release a record. Mullins approached his friend Eddie Robbins, and using a home made studio built on Robbins back porch, they recorded two Hawks originals-- Bip Bop Boom and Rock And Roll Rhythm. Robbins pressed up 500 copies of this record on his own Red Robbins label, which the band sold mostly at gigs. The entire press run was soon sold out, and today this first pressing (all of which were on clear red vinyl) is so rare I can't even find a photo of the label, and a copy sold at auction would easily fetch in the four figures. For reasons unknown, Eddie Robbins would not press any more discs, but Moon Mullins would soon approach a disc jockey friend based out of Martinsville, Virginia, who pressed an additional 500 copies which were issued on the Mart label. Again, the entire press run sold out in a matter of weeks. Sometime in 1958, at a dance in Sanford, N.C. where the Night Raiders were appearing, they were approached by a fellow (possibly a soldier stationed at a nearby base) named Ian Thomas who claimed to have contacts with a record company in Chicago. Thomas forwarded a copy of the disc to Mike Oury who worked for Mel London's Profile Records, the Chicago based indie (and sister label to London's Chief, Age, Mel and USA labels) that would issue Junior Wells first (and best) singles with Elmore James on guitar, as well as rockabilly by Hayden Thomspon (who had recorded for Sun), blues guitarist Lefty Bates, and the proto-garage band the Noblemen (who cut an amazing version of Dirty Robber). Soon Profile re-issued Bip Bop Boom b/w Rock And Roll Rhythm, and it began to garn airplay around Chicago, even reaching #1 on a couple of stations. Bip Bop Boom became something of a local hit in the mid-west and went on to sell some 50,000 copies, which is believable, since it is still fairly easy to find. Despite (or perhaps, because of) its primitive recordings conditions-- Bip Bop Boom remains one of the most astounding sonic displays to grace vinyl. "Bip bop boom/ it's like a sonic boom", so it said, so it was, so it shall always be. With two wailing, guttural sax solos, an over-distorted guitar break, pounding piano and thundering drums, it is everything rock'n'roll should be, but rarely is. I've used to to fill the dance floor while DJing for three decades and I've seen crowds literally go berserk when it kicks in after the stop time introduction. The flip side, one of those anthems to our music like Rock'n'Roll Is Here To Stay and It Will Stand, is only slightly less feral.

In 1959, exact date unknown, Oury took the Night Raiders into Chicago's Universal Sound studio (where Jimmy Reed, Little Walter, Bo Diddley, Howlin' Wolf, and so many others recorded their best work). Although Universal was a state of the art facility with genius engineers, the Night Raiders sounded pretty much exactly like they did on their home recorded debut-- primitive and out of control. Of the six sides cut that day, four of them would be issued on two singles-- Hidi Hidi Hidi (a re-write of Huey "Piano" Smith & the Clowns' Don't You Just Know It, the songwriting credits were shared by Oury and someone named D.Thomas) was backed with the blasting, Link Wray style guitar instrumental Cotton Pickin' , authored by the by now sixteen year old guitarist Bill Ballard. It was released in May of '59, timed to celebrate the massive world wide jubilation that accompanied my birth, while two more tunes from the session-- Screamin' Mimi Jeanie b/w I'm Lost would escape the vaults thirteen months later. The final two tracks from that session, an original entitled Late Date Tonight and the Merrill Moore/Amos Milburn/ Ella Mae Morse & Freddie Slack/Chuck Berry/Rolling Stones (choose your favorite version) classic Down The Road Apiece went un-issued, perhaps lost forever. All four issued sides are superlative rock'n'roll, the best tune being Screamin' Mimi Jeanie which opens with a cracking"machine gun"drum roll, the likes of which would not be heard on record again until the Sonics' debut four years later. It's also Mickey Hawks best vocal. He delivers the bellowing screams with musical blood lust. Again, there's a full toned, blasting sax solo and a blistering guitar workout in the middle. It's got everything you'd want in a rock'n'roll record, all played at full throttle!

Can I find any more appropriate cliches to describe these discs? Let's try-- savage, brutal, wild, frenzied, or just plain old fuckin' great. This is the sound of hard rock'n'roll, in all its excitment and glory, as oppossed to "heavy rock", which to my ears is lugaborious and painfully dull.

The Night Raiders played Chicago to promote their singles, drawing well in the clubs there. Back home in the South East, they performed around the Carolinas and Virgina area regularly for nearly seven years, building up a good size audience everywhere except their home town of High Point where for some reason they never caught on.

Profile closed up shop in late 1960, and the Night Raiders would not record another single until 1962, at which time Moon Mullins took over singing lead. That single -- Gonna Dance All Night pts 1 and 2 (part two was simply an instrumental version of the a-side) was released on the Richmond, Virgina based Lance label and it doesn' come close to matching their Profile output.

Meanwhile, Hidi Hidi Hidi b/w Cotton Pickin' was re-issued on the Hunch label out of Pittsburgh, with Hawks' name mis-spelled as Hanks. This was most likely a bootleg made to cash in on local airplay it got from Mad Mike and other Pittsburgh jocks that prided themselves on playing wild, obscure discs. After that, The Night Raiders wouldn't set foot in the studio again until 1968 when the Piedmont label released the country flavored Baby I Got You on which Hawks, his singing style now much toned down, dueted with a girl singer named Gynn Kellum. The b-side was sung again by Mullins, Ain't Gonna Cry wasn't much to write your Mom about. The original group had gone their separate ways by now, although both Hawks and Mullins kept their playing music. Micky Hawks returned to his original screaming rock'n'roll style in the eighties when he discovered that he had a sizable audience amongst Teddy Boys and record collectors in Europe. The Profile sides had been bootlegged and re-issued dozens of times, starting with their appearance on the Collector (later White Label) LP Rock'n'Roll Vol. 1 in 1971, they would appear on dozens of compilation LP's, bootlegs 45's and eventually CD's. They still show up on compilation discs, most recently on the U.K. JSP label's double CD Virgina Rocks and the Virgin (U.K.) double CD United Rockers, both from 2009. Mickey Hawks played quite a few festival dates around England and the continent in eighties and recorded LP's of new material for the Sunjay and C-Horse labels, while the German Star Club label put out a CD that mixed the classic six Profile sides with some later recordings and some '62 un-issued demos under the title Bip Bop Boom in 1999. Hawks later recordings were fairly corny nostalgia based tunes like Fifties Girls, Harley Davidson, The Good Old Days, etc. along with some cover tunes, but his voice was still in fine shape and the Teddy Boys loved his live act.

Mickey Hawks kept performing until his death in 1989. Of the original Night Raiders-- Moon Mullins opened a club called Danceland in Madison, N.C. and may still be alive, Bill Ballard died in 2005, John Owens and Bill Matthews were both still alive last time anyone checked. And those immortal words-- "Bip Bop Boom/it's like a sonic boom", they shall live forever. Amen.

Gillian's Found Photos #57

2010-11-17T07:22:00.000-05:00

Fang's back with another found photo. Fans of such things can still see the show of Found Photos-- Help Me that she curated along with Megan Cump at the Camera Cub Of New York at 336 W. 37th Street, Room #206 until December 18th. Thanks to everyone who showed for the opening party.
This weeks pic, date and place unknown, shows three gentlemen with drinks and cigarettes in hand.
Who are they and why are they here? I don't know the answer to the first, although the one on the left looks vaguely familiar (was he famous), and they're here simply because I love the photo. Most especially because it looks like there are bullet holes in the wall behind them (look over the head of the guy in the center). My guess is the photo was taken in the late 50's or early 60's. The white trench coat on the fellow on the far right is a nice sartorial touch, as is the slightly out of sync eyeballs of the guy in the middle.
Keep an eye on this spot for some exciting news from the found photo department here at Houndblog.

Brother Claude Ely

2010-11-13T15:20:00.004-05:00

Brother Claude Ely with a swell hat.

The Greatest White Gospel Record Ever.

It Was This Big.....Brother Claude Ely.

Brother Claude Ely (born July 21, 1922 in the Virginia hill country near Puckett's Creek in Lee County, a few miles outside of Pennington Gap) was the greatest white gospel singer there ever was, and the only one I've ever heard who could hold his own with the great black gospel shouters of the golden era of gospel quartets (1946-66)-- Julius Cheeks (Sensational Nightingales), Archie Brownlee (Five Blind Boys Of Mississippi), Ira Tucker (Dixie Hummingbirds), and Paul Foster (Soul Stirrers). Okay, maybe not that good, but pretty damn close.
He sang and shouted his little heart out not for fame and fortune, but for the love of God.
Claude Ely took to music at age twelve, laid up with a case of TB, he started on harmonica, soon he was given a mail order Sear guitar by an Uncle-- "He brought it to my bed and laid it across my chest and by the hand of God my fingers began to play the chords and a voice came in my mouth to sing. From that day on I have been playing guitar and singing".
In his late teens he went to work in the coal mines of Harlan County, the scene of many of bloody labor struggle (documented in Barbara Kopple's 1977 documentary Harlan County U.S.A.), fought in World War II, and after the war returned to mining. While shoveling coal one day in 1949 he received a calling to the ministry. Directly from above. He became a pastor of the traveling sort, bringing the word to churches in Sneedville, Tennessee, and all around Lee County and in Cumberland, Harlan County. He would spend the rest of his life as an evangelist, working tent show revivals and eventually founding his own Free Pentecostal Church, an off shoot of the Church Of God (Holiness), the white version of the Church Of God In Christ, the black church that produced more great gospel singers, make that great singers, period, than any other organization, religious or other.
In 1953-4, Syd Nathan's King Records of Cincinnati, Ohio, the rhythm and blues and country music indie powerhouse label that (along with it's Federal, Deluxe, and Queen subsidiaries) recorded such R&B pioneers as the Midnighters, the Dominoes, James Brown, Wynonie Harris, Freddie King, the 5 Royales, and country and rockabilly artists like the Delmore Brothers, Cowboy Copas, Charlie Feathers, Moon Mullican, T. Texas Tyler, as well as a stellar gospel roster, black and white, that at various times included the Spirits Of Memphis Quartet, the Swan Silvertones, The Wings Of Jordan Choir, and the Brown's Ferry Four (who were actually the Delmore Brothers), recorded Brother Claude Ely at a church revival via a wire that ran through the radio station WCTW out of Whitesburg, Kentucky. On these recordings Brother Claude and his guitar are backed by a rockin' mandolin player whose name has been lost to time, and a female vocal group called the Cumberland Four. The first disc issued under his name -- There Ain't No Grave Gonna Hold My Body Down (later covered by Johnny Cash) b/w Holy, Holy, Holy (That's All Right) (King 5616) was, is, and will always be, the greatest white gospel record ever recorded, and one of the pinnacle moments of recorded American music. That same year (1954), King issued several more singles from that same revival meeting recording-- There's A Leak In This Old Building b/w Farther On (King 5617, I'm using the catalog #'s from the 45's, the 78's were issued in the 1300 series), You Gotta Move (this was the version that inspired Elvis' cover version heard in his first film Love Me Tender) b/w Little David Play On Your Harp (King 5618), and Talk About Jesus b/w There's A Higher Power (King 5619). These records, if they had secular lyrics would have been considered among the very first white rock'n'roll records. They, however are not rock'n'roll records, nor are they the type of religious country music known to collectors as "sacred", which usually means hymns done country style. These discs are hard shouting, driving, gospel music, the type usually only heard by black artists. I know of no other white singer that could fall into this category.
As well as traveling the gospel highway, Ely spent time as a pastor in churches in Grundy, Virginia,
Florence, Kentucky, and finally settling into a job as pastor of the Charity Tabernacle Church in the wide open sin city of Newport, Kentucky, right across the river from Cincinnati. A town more known for after hours gambling joints and strip bars than churches.
Brother Claude would not record for King again until 1962, when he recorded a session at Rusty York's (of the rockabilly classic Sugaree fame) studio, backed by fiddle, electric guitar, steel guitar, bass and drums as well as a male vocal group, who were also dubbed the Cumberland Four. From that session, which was issued by King as the LP The Gospel Ranger (later re-issued on Ely's own Gold Star label) came some excellent sides, not quite as wild as the church revival recordings, but well worth owning, the best tracks-- Stop That Train, I Want To Go To Heaven, My Crucified One, Fare You Well, That Old Fireside, and Do You Want To Shout rock nearly as hard as the '53-4 sides. If the lyrics weren't concerned with Jesus, these sides would be considered high energy hillbilly boogie and rockabilly, at it's finest. The rest of this session along with some earlier material would be released by King on the album
At Home And At Church, again, Ely would re-issue this album on his own Gold Star label, mostly to sell at revival meetings. He traveled considerably, working all over the eastern and mid-western United States, even getting to Canada and Alaska. He sang for Jesus, and for the Holy Ghost, and he sang hard, and preached even harder.
In September of 1977, Claude Ely suffered a heart attack but soon recovered and was back on the pulpit by the end of that year. On May 7, 1978, at a revival at his home base Charity Tabernacle, Ely was playing organ behind an evangelist named Maynard Banks. Banks called on Brother Claude to sing Where Could I Go To But The Lord, which he tore into in his usual high energy manner. Halfway through the tune he suffered another heart attack, fell off his stool and died in front of the packed house. The Holy Ghost took him home. In 1979 Ely's daughter-- Claudette Bowling issued an LP of his home recorded demos along with some sermons on the Jordan label, it was titled Where Could I Go To But The Lord. I've never been able to track down a copy of this rare disc. In fact, I've never even seen a copy. Since his death, no one has bothered to check his coffin to see if the grave did indeed hold his body down, but if I had to wager on it, I'd bet that box is empty.
In 1993, the UK Ace label issued a twenty three track CD of the best of Brother Claude Ely's King recordings, titled Satan Get Back (Ace CDCHD 456), I would say this is as an essential purchase as they come, and it includes several un-issued tracks including Ely's female backing singers-- the Cumberland Four's amazing rendition of I'm Just A Stranger Here and Ely's s wailing Send Down That Rain, the latter recorded at the 1953 Kentucky revival that produced his first five singles.
Recently, Brother Claude's nephew, a private investigator named Macel Ely II has published a biography of Claude Ely titled Ain't No Grave: The Life & Legacy Of Brother Claude Ely. It can be found here. The fools who purport to tell the history of American music seemed to have relegated Brother Claude Ely to a footnote, the man who recorded the versions of Ain't No Grave and You Got To Move that inspired Johnny Cash and Elvis Presley's covers. This is monstrously unfair, for Brother Claude Ely was one of the greatest singers ever recorded, and his career deserves to be celebrated, and his music demands to be listened to.

Donald Cammell- White Of The Eye (1987)

2010-11-06T14:35:00.001-04:00

Donald Cammell on White Of The Eye- "Tradionally art is amoral".

From White Of The Eye- David Keith and Cathy Moriarity, "I was gonna talk to you about that..."

Trailer for White Of The Eye (1987) "Does she really know him"?

In my last posting discussing Keith Richards' autobiography Life, I mentioned that Richards, who is comes off as a fairly forgiving soul (even Tony Sanchez who wrote the fun but hateful Up and Down With The Rolling Stones is given a pass) only two people really stick in Keith's craw- one of course is Mick Jagger (see comments section of that posting for a few theories on that) and the other is film director Donald Cammell. Cammell is an interesting figure, the subject of a documentary (The Ultimate Performance) and director of only four films (and one unreadable novel, Fan Tan, co-written with Marlon Brando of all people).Two of his films are brilliant (the other two-- Wild Side and Demon Seed are fairly awful, but that may be because they were re-edited by the producers and make no sense at all) . Cammell first flick was Performance (1970), co-directed with Nicholas Roeg and starring Mick Jagger, James Fox and Anita Pallenberg has been much discussed over the years and is surely a rock'n'roll classic, badly received when it was first released, today it's considered a masterpiece and it even shows up on late night cable TV sometimes. Cammell's second great film, White Of The Eye which was also a box office flop and is almost never discussed these days but it is also an incredible film. It doesn't show up on TV, Netflix and rarely in revival houses (remember those?). Starring David Keith and Cathy Moriarty, this tale of a happily married serial killer (and high end stereo installer) may just be the creepiest (in a good way) flick I've ever seen. I'm at something of a loss for words here trying to describe it, but I do get a chill just thinking about David Keith's performance, for my money his best ever, although once when I saw him in my bar and tried to tell him so, he look appalled and made a hasty b-line for the door. His portayal of a seriel killer with a sense of mission is spot on perfect. But, something (perhaps his reaction to my attempted compliment) tells me he wasn't too crazy about Donald Cammell , and that White Of The Eye wasn't a great career move for him.
Donald Cammel, a debauched, fallen Scottish aristocrat (his father was a friend and biographer of Aliester Crowley) began life as painter and was doing fairly well in Paris painting portraits when he packed up his paints and headed for London in the mid-60's to make films. He wrote the script for a goofy swinging London picture called Duffy with James Coburn and James Mason (which was terrible) and another called The Touchables which I've never seen. He then began working on Performance which would take several years to complete and another two before it would be released. The suits at the studio (Warner Bros) back in Hollywood hated it.
After Performance, he headed to Hollywood where he wrote dozens of screenplays and treatments, none of which went beyond the meeting stage until he took a job directing Julie Christie in the rather lame Demon Seed, an unsuccessful attempt to cross Rosemary's Baby with 2001: A Space Odyssey. The film was taken out of Cammell's hands in the editing stage, so who knows if what it could have been. After White Of The Eye flopped he wouldn't direct again for eight years, finally getting the green light for a film called Wild Side , starring Christopher Walken, Anne Heche and Joan Chen, again the producers took the film away from Cammell in the editing room and the final results were such a mess he took his name off the credits. He supported himself by directing U2 videos and selling treatments around Hollywood, several to Marlon Brando. A short that I've never seen called The Argument came out in 1999, two years after his suicide, and another project that he wrote called Bones Of The Earth is said to be set for production in 2011.
In 1972, Kenneth Anger chose him to play the Egyptian God Osiris in Lucifer Rising ("I always type cast", Anger once stated). In the mythology of the ancients, Osiris ruled over the land of the dead. I assume that tells us something about Cammell, but one need not know anything of mythology to understand that White Of The Eye was the product of a very brilliant and very disturbed mind. I'm not sure where you can find it, but there's lots of oddball film sights that a Google search will turn up, many of them sell rare DVDs of commercially unavailable films. This one is worth the search.
One last comment, in The Ultimate Perfomance, it purports that after shooting himself in the head it took 45 minutes for Cammell to die, and that he was coherant the entire time, watching the hole in his head bleed through a mirror. Evidently, his biographers found evidence against this legend, although I never read the bio (Donald Cammell: A Life On The Wild Side by Sam and Rebecca Umland), it makes a good story, and his widow does swear its true. Stranger things have happened.

Help Me

2010-11-02T01:16:00.007-04:00

From Help Me

From this Thursday, Nov. 4 through Dec. 18, 2010, Help Me, Found Photos from the Collection of Gillian McCain, curated by Gillian McCain and Megan Cump will be on display at the Camera Club Of New York. The opening party if Thursday, Nov. 4 from 6- 8 PM.
According the press release--"Forgotten, discarded, orphaned, lost, stolen, bought, discovered or found; the vernacular images in Help Me are culled from Gillian McCain's extensive collection of photographs in formats including tin-types, cabinet cards, Polaroids and snapshots". Fans of our regular Gillian's Found Photos feature should be sure to check out this show. The Camera Club Of New York is in the Arts Building at 336 West 37t Street (between 8-9th Ave), suite #206, New York City. Phone info is at 212-260-9927, or click the above link for more info.
Speaking of found photos, we have a few surprises to announce on that front in the next few weeks, keep an eye on this spot.

Keith Richards

2010-10-30T08:53:00.011-04:00

Keith gets his ya ya out...

Brian, engineer Ron Malo, Loog and Keith, Chess Studio, 1964.

Sweden, 1965

Panic In Norway, hosing down the fans.

Little Red Rooster, 1965. "Brenda" Jagger takes a beating in Keith's autobiography Life.

"Shooting up the charts..." Little Red Rooster again, this time on Ready Steady Go.

Seven years later

At the risk of boring the readership of this blog to tears with yet another posting on the Rolling Stones, I can't help but throw my 2 pence in on Keith Richards' autobiography- Life (Little, Brown 2010, co-written with James Fox who only gets an editor's credit, which is I imagine why Nick Tosches and Stanley Booth both passed on the job) a subject you may already be sick of since Keith's been hitting the promotional highway rather hard, and many of you must already be suffering from Stones overload in the wake of the Exile On Main Street re-issue hype.
Me, I never seem to get sick of the Stones, and have been playing the Genuine Black Box bootleg constantly since it fell through my mail slot last summer. So what's the word on Life?
Had I never read a book on the Rolling Stones, Life would probably be one my favorite rock'n'roll books of all time. The problem then, is not so much the book, but the fact that I've probably read every book on the Rolling Stones ever published, and there's been some good ones (Tony Sanchez- Up and Down With The Stones, Stanley Booth's The True Adventures of The Rolling Stones, Bill Wyman's Stone Alone, Marianne Faithful and David Dalton's Faithful stand out off the top of my head as favorites). But like I said, I have a couple of shelves worth of these things, and that's not including photo books. What's left to say? Well, there's only a few untold stories here (an early romance with Ronnie Spector, which is not as much fun as Josh Alan Friedman's take on the same subject a decade later, see Tell The Truth Until They Bleed), a lot of wild and woolly party tales, and of course, just seeing it all from Keith's point of view. Oh, and the music itself, which normally I'd say is the most boring part of any rock'n'roll read, but in Keith's case, it's my favorite part of the book. He explains why his open G guitar tuning style only sounds right with five strings, and just how it works. He also explains Jimmy Reed's unique way of making his resolving d7 chord (which he learned from Bobby "Honey" Goldsboro)-- he simply played one note on the D string and left the A string ringing, instead of making the whole chord! A lazy man's road to genius. At this point I'd like to say, I disagree with Keith's deciphering of Reed's lyrics to Caress Me Baby. According to Keith, the line "Don't pull no subway/I'd rather see you pull a train" means "Don't go on dope, dont' go underground, I'd rather see you drunk or on cocaine", the way I read the line, it means -- don't leave ("don't pull no subway"), I'd rather see you get gangbanged ("I'd rather see you pull a train"). The term "pull a train" slang for a gangbang was still in use when I was in high school in Florida in the early 70's, and I think my translation is correct. Gangbang of course still meant group sex back then, not drive by shootings. For more on Keith and Jimmy Reed, (he has mastered the Jimmy Reed sound), I refer you back to my posting of his 1981 Jimmy Reed session.
The Stones' career is given Keith's once over in the sort of blurry way he saw it from the inside, the earliest years go by at 100 miles per hour, drug busts and screaming teenagers await everytime Keith attempts leave the recording studio or concert hall. The dope years are fun to read about, but don't sound like much fun. To be honest, there are better junkie memoirs out there (Art Pepper, Dr. John). The dope stories make up on a small part of the book, and he writes more about the tribulations of trying to score drugs more than he does about taking them.
Life covers nearly all of the most famous Stones stories which are of course the foundation of their legend -- living in squalor in Edith Grove, the riot in Blackpool kicked off by Keith kicking a punter who was spitting at him in the head, the Redlands bust ( finally putting the Mars bar rumour to rest), Swinging London and its fabulous characters-- Robert Fraser, Michael Cooper, et al, the fateful trip to Morocco that sealed Brian Jones' fate and won Anita Pallenberg's love, the making of Exile On Main Street, Charlie Watts changing into his best Saville Row suit to punch out Mick Jagger for referring to him as "my drummer", all great stories, and Keith's versions add a bit of inside detail, but seem to stick to the already written script. It's funny what Keith decides to add to the oft told stories, and also what new stories he adds to the legend-- bringing in Kate Moss to testify to his attempting to dismember with a sword a guest at his daughter's wedding who stole the onions for his Bangers and Mash (Keith includes his recipe for the same dish), his own holding up a show in Toronto until the culprits who ate his Shepard's Pie are brought to justice (admitting he never eats before a show anyway, just wants to have it there in case he gets hungry), breaking down the door to Truman Capote ("Truby")'s hotel room, and the like. These stories are all pretty funny, many new to print. He also dedicates two sections of the book to the story of the Wingless Angels-- a rasta-gospel vocal group whose Keith produced 1997 LP was one of his greatest musical triumphs (and his best album since Exile) and was criminally ignored. In fact today it's out of print, although soon to be re-issued in a package with Vol. 2, but since it's out of print, here's a few tracks-- Morning Train, Rivers Of Babylon, and Keyman A Capella to wet your appetite for the re-issue.
In Life, Keith's friends, band and family can be treated harshly or with incredible tenderness-- Stash Klossowski de Rola is "basically full of shit", while legendary bearer of sealed bottles of pharmaceutical Merc cocaine, the late Freddie Sessler is-- "Totally horrible, revolting. Absolutely over the top, stupid at times" but "totally solid" and someone Keith obviously still holds in high regard. Even Tony Sanchez, whose Up and Down With The Rolling Stones ended every paragraph with "you bastard, I thought", comes off looking okay. No hard feelings there. But forgiving doesn't pay back seven million dollar advances, and Keith knows what his audience wants. More than dope and celebrity stories, they (we, ....me) want to read about what a jerk Mick Jagger is. Jagger, who is referred to variously as "Brenda", "Disco boy, "Her majesty" or sometimes just "the bitch" takes a major beating in Life, one he probably deserves. For those keeping score, Brian Jones, Donald Cammell, Ron Wood and Anita Pallenberg also get spattered with various degrees of shrapnel. After Jagger, Cammell (director of Performance) gets it the worst--"the most destructive turd I've ever met...utterly predatory... ". Much of this I guess is just giving the audience what they paid for. We go see the Stones to hear our favorite songs, and to hear loud guitars playing Chuck Berry licks rather sloppily, and we buy books like this to read about what kind of assholes people can be. Rock'n'roll brings out the worst in some (most) people-- on one hand it keeps performers infantile, while on the other inflating their egos beyond comprehension. Keith sees this all with fairly clear, if sometimes pinned eyes, and in recalling what he's seen, and lived, he delivers the goods. I mean, not many writers get a seven million dollar advance (and Little, Brown and Co. obviously have high hopes for this book, the initial first printing is said to be three million copies). I used to think it was a put on, a way to get press in the years they weren't touring and that Keith and Mick were having drinks somewhere laughing at the whole thing ("Yeah mate, then I call you a "Prince imitator"). After reading Life, I don't think that's the case. I think Keith really does hate Jagger in a way you can only hate someone you once loved. This all may end up backfiring on Keith. Is it my imagination or were the audience booing Keith during his two numbers on the Stones HBO live broadcast a few years back? The show, coming hot on the heels of Keith's press attacks on Mick for accepting a knighthood (hey, Graham Greene turned one down just for the record, and so should any artist), I'm pretty sure the crowd were booing Keith for attacking Mick. Us old time Stones fans like to think the reason the Stones can't make good records anyore is that Jagger wants them to sound current and up to date, something the Stones never used to care about. The best new music the Stones have made since 1981 are a few good Keith tracks like 40 Licks Am I Losing My Touch. Live, they started sounding like a Vegas act around the early 90's, as Bob Dylan astutely noted, when Bill Wyman left they really stopped sounding like the Stones.
There are few surprises in life and in Life, one being that Keith likes Jackson Browne, another is Keith crediting Ian Stewart putting the Stones together, not Brian Jones, but like I said, had I never read a word about the Stones, I'm sure every word here would have held some sort of enlightenment.
Keith ends the book wondering-- "How come I could get a great drum sound in Denmark Street with one microphone, and now with fifteen microphones I get a drum sound like someone shitting on a tin roof?" I've been wondering that out loud for twenty five years now. While on the subject, the above images come from the newly published The Lost Rolling Stones Photographs: The Bob Bonis Archive 1964-1966 (!t/Haper Collins, 2010), a collection of amazing pix from their first American tours taken by their American road manager Bob Bonis. It makes a nice perfect companion piece to Keith's book.
Addendum- Bill Wyman imagines Mick's response to Keith's book here.

Gillian's Found Photo #56

2010-10-21T06:14:00.003-04:00

As the sign in this weeks' found photo says, here is the famous guitar player from Argentina, Alberto Lesama. What he's doing with that (rubber?) crustacean? Other than attempting to water his friend, it is beyond me. I'm at a complete loss for a comment. So I thought I'd make a contest out of this week's found photo posting. The best caption wins a copy of New York Review Books Classics new edition (restored from the original manuscript) of William Lindsay Gresham's classic 1947 novel Nightmare Alley (with an introduction by Nick Toshes), one of the greatest forgotten novels of the 20th Century. I ended up with an extra copy, so I will go to the post office and mail it off to the winner. Send your captions into the comments section, me and Fang will pick the winner, after we announce the winner you can mail your address to us care of this sight to claim your prize.
Addendum: A winner will be announced Sunday, Oct. 24, so you have a whole 24 hours to get those entries in.
Addendum #2: And the weiner, errr...winner is: Viva with her answer:
"Ed Ward is right:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bota_bag"

Please e-mail me c/o this site to have your prize (W.L. Gresham's Nightmare Alley) sent to where ever it is you want it sent.

General Johnson/The Showmen

2010-10-19T06:28:00.002-04:00

The Showman

General Norman Johnson (born in Norfolk,Virginia, 1943) died last Wednesday at his home outside of Atlanta. He was 67. An obit can be found here. He is best remembered for being the lead singer on the Chairman Of The Board's chart topper Give Me Just A Little More Time, and writing Patches for Clarence Carter, Want Ads for the Honey Come and Bring The Boys Home for Freda Payne, but to me he'll always be remembered as the lead voice on one of my all time favorite records-- It Will Stand b/w Country Fool by the Showman (Minit, 1961), produced by Allen Tousaint. The Showmen an R&B vocal quintet, originally from Norfolk, Virginia, relocated to New Orleans after signing to Minit. Although It Will Stand only reached #80 on the charts, it sold for years and the song was extremely popular around the beaches of North Carolina where it was considered a "shag" classic. The Showmen's sound was at the crossroads of the older 50's group harmony style and the coming Soul music. General Johnson's voice had a beautiful gravely quality to it, with a natural vibrato that made him an extremely distinctive singer. I know nothing about his background, but I'll bet my socks he started singing in church. The Showmen were, in addition to lead singer General Johnson-- Milton "Smokes" Wells- bass, Dorsey "Chops" Knight- second tenor, Gene "Cheater" Knight- first tenor, and Leslie "Fat Boy" Felton- baritone. They recorded for Minit and its subsidiary label Instant from 1961-6. After parting with Minit, where they made their best discs, they recorded for BB, Swan, Imperial and Lawn. Some of their other great discs include This Misery, The Wrong Girl, Swish Fish, I'm Coming Home, Strange Girl, True Fine Mama and an alternate take of It Will Stand. Jonathan Richman covered It Will Stand in 1976 on the Beserkley label.
After leaving the Showman, Johnson headed to Detroit where the songwriting team of Holland-Dozier-Holland put together the Chairmen of the Board around him, scoring a huge hit with Gimme Just A Little More Time. It Will Stand remains the ultimate rock'n'roll anthem, and it will be remembered as long as someone out there loves real rock'n'roll.

Elmore James

2010-10-16T13:24:00.005-04:00

Elmore James (center) with Homesick James (right) and Robert Plunkin (behind drums).

Elmore's death certificate

Elmore James, J.T. Brown on sax, on the bandstand, Chicago, '59.

Elmore with an admirer.

Just realized I got an extra one of these if anyone wants to trade.....

Elmore in color, late 50's.

Flair Records' promo shot, early 50's.

Near the end, early 60's.

Elmore's grave, with the wrong dates for both birth and death.

Barry Soltz' scan of an Elmore James 45, signed by Elmore to Hound Dog Taylor.

I need to explain who Elmore James is to anyone who reads this blog? I should hope not, but since I've been playing his records constantly for the last forty years I thought I should do a bit of a round up, critical review of his recorded catalog, since, although he never really made a bad record, and about 70% of what he recorded were variations on the same song and the same riff (Dust My Broom), I think a run down of what he left us is in order. Truth is, I have no other ideas today, and I love the photos (above) and the music (below), my comments hardly matter.
Elmore James was born Elmore Brooks on January 27, 1916 on a farm outside of Richland, Mississippi in Holmes County. His mother was a fifteen year old unwed farm hand named Leola. She eventually hooked up with a man named Joe Willie "Frost" James who may have been Elmore's father. Little Elmore was given Joe Willie's last name and grew up on a series of farms in and around Lexington and Durant, Mississippi, also in Holmes Country. He managed to graduate from the fourth grade before quitting school. Starting out on a self built three string guitar, and influenced by the recordings of master slide guitarists Tampa Red and Kokomo Arnold, he taught himself to play the blues and by the late 1930's was remembered playing around Holmes county under the name of Cleanhead James. He may or may not have played with Robert Johnson, and may or may not have picked up his signature tune Dust My Broom from Johnson (although Leroy Carr had recorded a very similar tune in 1933 called I Believe I'll Make A Change, the riff was adapted from a Kokomo Arnold tune). In his well researched biography of Elmore James-- The Amazing Secret History Of Elmore James (BlueSource Publications, 2003) Steve Franz makes a case that Johnson may have learned the tune from the younger musician.
By his late teens Elmore had fallen in with Sonny Boy Williamson #2 (Rice Miller) and can be heard playing guitar behind Sonny Boy on his early Trumpet sides (the master tapes of which have been lost on some of these, substituted by re-recorded versions without James). Trumpet's owner Lillian McMurray signed Elmore to a record contract in 1951 but for some reason he refused to record anything for her, she was only able to get one side out of him, and this was done by secretly taping a rehearsal. The original recording of Dust My Broom (with Sonny Boy on harmonica) was issued under the name Elmo James in November of '51 and became a sizable blues hit. Since she couldn't get a b-side out of Elmore, the flip, credited to Elmer James was a version of Catfish Blues done by one Bobo Thomas. These sides were later leased to Ace. Since the master tapes are long gone, and the price of a good condition Trumpet 78 has risen into the three figures in recent years, I'd recommend keeping an eye out for the Ace pressing which sounds better and will probably cost a lot less. The idea of an exclusive recording contract seemed to figure lightly in Elmore's mind, since while still under contract to Trumpet, to whom he refused to record (a funny taped phone conversation between McMurry and Elmore was published in some blues mag years ago, unfortunately I can't remember which one), Elmore signed a second contract with the Bihari Brothers' LA based Modern/R.P.M/Flair/Kent family of labels, instituting a lawsuit from McMurry who eventually took a cash settlement from the Biharis. Meanwhile, the Bihari Brothers gave Elmore's contract to their likable but hapless elder brother Lester who was attempting to launch the Meteor label in Memphis. His first release was a re-recording of Dust My Broom, retitled I Believe (My Time Ain't Long), and it would be the best selling record the legendary, but short lived, Meteor label produced. Elmore put together the first version of the Broomdusters with J.T. Brown on sax, Little Johnny Jones on piano, and later his cousin Homesick James Williamson on bass and/or second guitar and hit the chitlin' circuit where he was always a popular draw. He traveled around the south, and often north into Chicago steadily for the next ten years. At one point Elmore was so hard to pin down, the Biharis sent Ike Turner out with a portable recording rig to find him. Turner finally tracked Elmore down in Canton, Mississippi and cut a session one afternoon at the Club Bizarre, with Ike himself on piano, it produced some of his finest recorded moments including 1839 Blues, Sho' Nuff I Do, and Canton, Mississippi Breakdown. Elmore's discs were issued not only on Meteor, but Flair, Modern, and Kent in a rather bewildering discography which can be found in Les Fancourt and Bob McGrath's Blues Discography: 1943-1970 (Eyeball Productions, 2006) or the aforementioned bio by Steve Franz. While under contract to the Bihari's he cut sessions for the Chess Brothers in Chicago in '53 (issued on Checker), and Chief also in Chicago in '57 (these sides were later leased to Vee Jay and include the amazing 12 Year Old Boy). The Biharis cut Elmore where ever they could find him, sessions were held in Chicago, New Orleans and possibly L.A., sometimes they recorded Elmore solo and dubbed the rhythm section onto the masters later in L.A. Some of the highlights of his years with the Biharis include Dark and Dreary, Hand In Hand, Hawaiian Boogie, One More Drink, Long Tall Woman, and Can't Stop Lovin'. He really never cut a bad side, but I think the Modern/Flair/Meteor sides might be his best, every thing he ever recorded for the Biharis can be found on the Ace three CD box set-- The Classic Early Recordings 1951-56 (Ace ABOXCD-4).
Having fallen out with the musicians union at some point in the late 50's he was banned from playing Chicago for three years (1956-59) and returned to Mississippi where he played clubs and might have made moonshine to supplement his income. He can also be heard on Junior Wells' early States singles, Big Joe Turner's TV Mama on Atlantic, and discs by Little Johnny Jones (Atlantic and Flair), J.T. Brown (Meteor) and Willie Love (Trumpet).
Sometime in1959, Harlem record hustler and label and record store owner Bobby Robinson tracked Elmore down in Chicago and would record over fifty sides with him in the next three years, recording him in Chicago and New York. These final sides, originally released on Fire (and later re-issued on Enjoy, Sphere Sound, Fury, Bell, Trip, Sue, and other labels) are uniformly excellent and include Bobby's Rock, a version of Rollin' and Tumblin' with Wild Jimmy Spruill on second guitar, Tampa Red's It Hurts Me Too (a sizable hit), Eddie Kirkland's Done Somebody Wrong, Look On Yonder Wall, Pickin' The Blues, and Elmore Jumps One as well as re-recordings of virtually his entire repertoire, most of it in stereo. Robinson also had the wherewithal to record Elmore talking about his early life (here). A double CD box of the complete Bobby Robinson recordings was issued in the 90's by Capricorn as King Of The Slide Guitar. Elmore James also cut one last session for Chess in 1960 which produced the classics I Can't Hold Out, The Sun Is Shining, and Madison Blues, these along with the 1953 Checker discs would be packaged with some John Brim sides on the essential Chess LP Elmore James/John Brim-Whose Muddy Shoes (Chess 9114).
Virtually every bluesman interviewed on the subject had good memories of Elmore James. He was well liked and highly regarded by his peers. Howlin' Wolf kept Dust My Broom in his set until the end of his life because-- "That was Elmore's song". He was remembered as a nice guy, albeit one who loved to drink and had a preference for home made moonshine, which is rather hard on the body. In his forties he had a series of heart attacks which slowed him down considerably. My late pal Jimmy Spruill who recorded with Elmore in 1960 remembered him as having to stop and rest between takes, but when he got up to play he'd get so excited he'd nearly give himself another heart attack. That excitement translated into his guitar sound which has never really been matched although over the years other musicians including Hound Dog Taylor, Johnny Littlejohn, J.B. Hutto, and Lil' Ed Williams have managed to made a living attempting to imitate it.
On May 23, 1963 Elmore James suffered his final, fatal heart attack in Chicago at the home of his cousin Homesick James. He was only 47 years old. He died before anyone bothered to interview him or even film him. Had he lived, he would have been one of the biggest stars of the 60's blues revival. The year of his death, a young Keith Richard spotted a little blond guy sitting in with Alex Korner's band at a club in London's Soho. He was billed as Elmo Lewis and he was playing Dust My Broom. It was Brian Jones, and soon they'd join forces to form the Rolling Stones. In the years since Elmore James' death white musicians like Eric Clapton, the Yardbirds, Fleetwood Mac, George Thorogood, the Allman Brothers, and too many others to mention have taken Elmore's sound to the bank. While just about anyone with a guitar and a slide could learn the Dust My Broom riff in a half hour, nobody made it sound as good as Elmore James. That holds true to this day.

George Orwell: Politics and the English Language (1946)

2010-10-14T21:33:00.004-04:00

When in doubt run a photo of Bebe...

I've been traveling and haven't had any time to finish any posts, but if you're looking for something to read, try this, written by George Orwell back in 1946, and think of the coming elections-- JM

Gratuitus Jane Birkin photo which has nothing to do with today's post.

Most people who bother with the matter at all would admit that the English language is in a bad way, but it is generally assumed that we cannot by conscious action do anything about it. Our civilization is decadent and our language -- so the argument runs -- must inevitably share in the general collapse. It follows that any struggle against the abuse of language is a sentimental archaism, like preferring candles to electric light or hansom cabs to aeroplanes. Underneath this lies the half-conscious belief that language is a natural growth and not an instrument which we shape for our own purposes.
Now, it is clear that the decline of a language must ultimately have political and economic causes: it is not due simply to the bad influence of this or that individual writer. But an effect can become a cause, reinforcing the original cause and producing the same effect in an intensified form, and so on indefinitely. A man may take to drink because he feels himself to be a failure, and then fail all the more completely because he drinks. It is rather the same thing that is happening to the English language. It becomes ugly and inaccurate because our thoughts are foolish, but the slovenliness of our language makes it easier for us to have foolish thoughts. The point is that the process is reversible. Modern English, especially written English, is full of bad habits which spread by imitation and which can be avoided if one is willing to take the necessary trouble. If one gets rid of these habits one can think more clearly, and to think clearly is a necessary first step toward political regeneration: so that the fight against bad English is not frivolous and is not the exclusive concern of professional writers. I will come back to this presently, and I hope that by that time the meaning of what I have said here will have become clearer. Meanwhile, here are five specimens of the English language as it is now habitually written.
These five passages have not been picked out because they are especially bad -- I could have quoted far worse if I had chosen -- but because they illustrate various of the mental vices from which we now suffer. They are a little below the average, but are fairly representative examples. I number them so that i can refer back to them when necessary:

Essay in Freedom of Expression

put up with

tolerate

put at a loss

bewilder

Interglossa

on the other side

Politics

Communist pamphlet

Midsummer Night's Dream

Tribune

Each of these passages has faults of its own, but, quite apart from avoidable ugliness, two qualities are common to all of them. The first is staleness of imagery; the other is lack of precision. The writer either has a meaning and cannot express it, or he inadvertently says something else, or he is almost indifferent as to whether his words mean anything or not. This mixture of vagueness and sheer incompetence is the most marked characteristic of modern English prose, and especially of any kind of political writing. As soon as certain topics are raised, the concrete melts into the abstract and no one seems able to think of turns of speech that are not hackneyed: prose consists less and less of words chosen for the sake of their meaning, and more and more of phrases tacked together like the sections of a prefabricated henhouse. I list below, with notes and examples, various of the tricks by means of which the work of prose construction is habitually dodged:
Dying metaphors. A newly invented metaphor assists thought by evoking a visual image, while on the other hand a metaphor which is technically "dead" (e.g. iron resolution) has in effect reverted to being an ordinary word and can generally be used without loss of vividness. But in between these two classes there is a huge dump of worn-out metaphors which have lost all evocative power and are merely used because they save people the trouble of inventing phrases for themselves. Examples are: Ring the changes on, take up the cudgel for, toe the line, ride roughshod over, stand shoulder to shoulder with, play into the hands of, no axe to grind, grist to the mill, fishing in troubled waters, on the order of the day, Achilles' heel, swan song, hotbed. Many of these are used without knowledge of their meaning (what is a "rift," for instance?), and incompatible metaphors are frequently mixed, a sure sign that the writer is not interested in what he is saying. Some metaphors now current have been twisted out of their original meaning withouth those who use them even being aware of the fact. For example, toe the line is sometimes written as tow the line. Another example is the hammer and the anvil, now always used with the implication that the anvil gets the worst of it. In real life it is always the anvil that breaks the hammer, never the other way about: a writer who stopped to think what he was saying would avoid perverting the original phrase.
Operators or verbal false limbs. These save the trouble of picking out appropriate verbs and nouns, and at the same time pad each sentence with extra syllables which give it an appearance of symmetry. Characteristic phrases are render inoperative, militate against, make contact with, be subjected to, give rise to, give grounds for, have the effect of, play a leading part (role) in, make itself felt, take effect, exhibit a tendency to, serve the purpose of, etc., etc. The keynote is the elimination of simple verbs. Instead of being a single word, such asbreak, stop, spoil, mend, kill, a verb becomes a phrase, made up of a noun or adjective tacked on to some general-purpose verb such as prove, serve, form, play, render. In addition, the passive voice is wherever possible used in preference to the active, and noun constructions are used instead of gerunds (by examination of instead of by examining). The range of verbs is further cut down by means of the -ize and de- formations, and the banal statements are given an appearance of profundity by means of the not un- formation. Simple conjunctions and prepositions are replaced by such phrases as with respect to, having regard to, the fact that, by dint of, in view of, in the interests of, on the hypothesis that; and the ends of sentences are saved by anticlimax by such resounding commonplaces as greatly to be desired, cannot be left out of account, a development to be expected in the near future, deserving of serious consideration, brought to a satisfactory conclusion, and so on and so forth.
Pretentious diction. Words like phenomenon, element, individual (as noun), objective, categorical, effective, virtual, basic, primary, promote, constitute, exhibit, exploit, utilize, eliminate, liquidate, are used to dress up a simple statement and give an air of scientific impartiality to biased judgements. Adjectives like epoch-making, epic, historic, unforgettable, triumphant, age-old, inevitable, inexorable, veritable, are used to dignify the sordid process of international politics, while writing that aims at glorifying war usually takes on an archaic color, its characteristic words being: realm, throne, chariot, mailed fist, trident, sword, shield, buckler, banner, jackboot, clarion. Foreign words and expressions such as cul de sac, ancien regime, deus ex machina, mutatis mutandis, status quo, gleichschaltung, weltanschauung, are used to give an air of culture and elegance. Except for the useful abbreviations i.e., e.g., and etc., there is no real need for any of the hundreds of foreign phrases now current in the English language. Bad writers, and especially scientific, political, and sociological writers, are nearly always haunted by the notion that Latin or Greek words are grander than Saxon ones, and unnecessary words like expedite, ameliorate, predict, extraneous, deracinated, clandestine, subaqueous, and hundreds of others constantly gain ground from their Anglo-Saxon numbers.* The jargon peculiar to

*An interesting illustration of this is the way in which English flower names were in use till very recently are being ousted by Greek ones, Snapdragon becoming antirrhinum, forget-me-not becoming myosotis, etc. It is hard to see any practical reason for this change of fashion: it is probably due to an instinctive turning away from the more homely word and a vague feeling that the Greek word is scientific.

Marxist writing (hyena, hangman, cannibal, petty bourgeois, these gentry, lackey, flunkey, mad dog, White Guard, etc.) consists largely of words translated from Russian, German, or French; but the normal way of coining a new word is to use Latin or Greek root with the appropriate affix and, where necessary, the size formation. It is often easier to make up words of this kind (deregionalize, impermissible, extramarital, non-fragmentary and so forth) than to think up the English words that will cover one's meaning. The result, in general, is an increase in slovenliness and vagueness.
Meaningless words. In certain kinds of writing, particularly in art criticism and literary criticism, it is normal to come across long passages which are almost completely lacking in meaning.† Words like romantic, plastic, values, human, dead, sentimental, natural, vitality, as used in art criticism, are strictly meaningless, in

† Example: Comfort's catholicity of perception and image, strangely Whitmanesque in range, almost the exact opposite in aesthetic compulsion, continues to evoke that trembling atmospheric accumulative hinting at a cruel, an inexorably serene timelessness . . .Wrey Gardiner scores by aiming at simple bull's-eyes with precision. Only they are not so simple, and through this contented sadness runs more than the surface bittersweet of resignation." (Poetry Quarterly)

the sense that they not only do not point to any discoverable object, but are hardly ever expected to do so by the reader. When one critic writes, "The outstanding feature of Mr. X's work is its living quality," while another writes, "The immediately striking thing about Mr. X's work is its peculiar deadness," the reader accepts this as a simple difference opinion. If words like black and white were involved, instead of the jargon words dead and living, he would see at once that language was being used in an improper way. Many political words are similarly abused. The word Fascism has now no meaning except in so far as it signifies "something not desirable." The words democracy, socialism, freedom, patriotic, realistic, justice have each of them several different meanings which cannot be reconciled with one another. In the case of a word like democracy, not only is there no agreed definition, but the attempt to make one is resisted from all sides. It is almost universally felt that when we call a country democratic we are praising it: consequently the defenders of every kind of regime claim that it is a democracy, and fear that they might have to stop using that word if it were tied down to any one meaning. Words of this kind are often used in a consciously dishonest way. That is, the person who uses them has his own private definition, but allows his hearer to think he means something quite different. Statements like Marshal Pétain was a true patriot, The Soviet press is the freest in the world, The Catholic Church is opposed to persecution, are almost always made with intent to deceive. Other words used in variable meanings, in most cases more or less dishonestly, are: class, totalitarian, science, progressive, reactionary, bourgeois, equality.
Now that I have made this catalogue of swindles and perversions, let me give another example of the kind of writing that they lead to. This time it must of its nature be an imaginary one. I am going to translate a passage of good English into modern English of the worst sort. Here is a well-known verse from Ecclesiastes:

I returned and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all.

Here it is in modern English:

Objective considerations of contemporary phenomena compel the conclusion that success or failure in competitive activities exhibits no tendency to be commensurate with innate capacity, but that a considerable element of the unpredictable must invariably be taken into account.

This is a parody, but not a very gross one. Exhibit (3) above, for instance, contains several patches of the same kind of English. It will be seen that I have not made a full translation. The beginning and ending of the sentence follow the original meaning fairly closely, but in the middle the concrete illustrations -- race, battle, bread -- dissolve into the vague phrases "success or failure in competitive activities." This had to be so, because no modern writer of the kind I am discussing -- no one capable of using phrases like "objective considerations of contemporary phenomena" -- would ever tabulate his thoughts in that precise and detailed way. The whole tendency of modern prose is away from concreteness. Now analyze these two sentences a little more closely. The first contains forty-nine words but only sixty syllables, and all its words are those of everyday life. The second contains thirty-eight words of ninety syllables: eighteen of those words are from Latin roots, and one from Greek. The first sentence contains six vivid images, and only one phrase ("time and chance") that could be called vague. The second contains not a single fresh, arresting phrase, and in spite of its ninety syllables it gives only a shortened version of the meaning contained in the first. Yet without a doubt it is the second kind of sentence that is gaining ground in modern English. I do not want to exaggerate. This kind of writing is not yet universal, and outcrops of simplicity will occur here and there in the worst-written page. Still, if you or I were told to write a few lines on the uncertainty of human fortunes, we should probably come much nearer to my imaginary sentence than to the one from Ecclesiastes.
As I have tried to show, modern writing at its worst does not consist in picking out words for the sake of their meaning and inventing images in order to make the meaning clearer. It consists in gumming together long strips of words which have already been set in order by someone else, and making the results presentable by sheer humbug. The attraction of this way of writing is that it is easy. It is easier -- even quicker, once you have the habit -- to say In my opinion it is not an unjustifiable assumption that than to say I think. If you use ready-made phrases, you not only don't have to hunt about for the words; you also don't have to bother with the rhythms of your sentences since these phrases are generally so arranged as to be more or less euphonious. When you are composing in a hurry -- when you are dictating to a stenographer, for instance, or making a public speech -- it is natural to fall into a pretentious, Latinized style. Tags like a consideration which we should do well to bear in mind or a conclusion to which all of us would readily assent will save many a sentence from coming down with a bump. By using stale metaphors, similes, and idioms, you save much mental effort, at the cost of leaving your meaning vague, not only for your reader but for yourself. This is the significance of mixed metaphors. The sole aim of a metaphor is to call up a visual image. When these images clash -- as in The Fascist octopus has sung its swan song, the jackboot is thrown into the melting pot -- it can be taken as certain that the writer is not seeing a mental image of the objects he is naming; in other words he is not really thinking. Look again at the examples I gave at the beginning of this essay. Professor Laski (1) uses five negatives in fifty three words. One of these is superfluous, making nonsense of the whole passage, and in addition there is the slip -- alien for akin -- making further nonsense, and several avoidable pieces of clumsiness which increase the general vagueness. Professor Hogben (2) plays ducks and drakes with a battery which is able to write prescriptions, and, while disapproving of the everyday phrase put up with, is unwilling to look egregious up in the dictionary and see what it means; (3), if one takes an uncharitable attitude towards it, is simply meaningless: probably one could work out its intended meaning by reading the whole of the article in which it occurs. In (4), the writer knows more or less what he wants to say, but an accumulation of stale phrases chokes him like tea leaves blocking a sink. In (5), words and meaning have almost parted company. People who write in this manner usually have a general emotional meaning -- they dislike one thing and want to express solidarity with another -- but they are not interested in the detail of what they are saying. A scrupulous writer, in every sentence that he writes, will ask himself at least four questions, thus: 1. What am I trying to say? 2. What words will express it? 3. What image or idiom will make it clearer? 4. Is this image fresh enough to have an effect? And he will probably ask himself two more: 1. Could I put it more shortly? 2. Have I said anything that is avoidably ugly? But you are not obliged to go to all this trouble. You can shirk it by simply throwing your mind open and letting the ready-made phrases come crowding in. They will construct your sentences for you -- even think your thoughts for you, to a certain extent -- and at need they will perform the important service of partially concealing your meaning even from yourself. It is at this point that the special connection between politics and the debasement of language becomes clear.
In our time it is broadly true that political writing is bad writing. Where it is not true, it will generally be found that the writer is some kind of rebel, expressing his private opinions and not a "party line." Orthodoxy, of whatever color, seems to demand a lifeless, imitative style. The political dialects to be found in pamphlets, leading articles, manifestoes, White papers and the speeches of undersecretaries do, of course, vary from party to party, but they are all alike in that one almost never finds in them a fresh, vivid, homemade turn of speech. When one watches some tired hack on the platform mechanically repeating the familiar phrases -- bestial atrocities, iron heel, bloodstained tyranny, free peoples of the world, stand shoulder to shoulder -- one often has a curious feeling that one is not watching a live human being but some kind of dummy: a feeling which suddenly becomes stronger at moments when the light catches the speaker's spectacles and turns them into blank discs which seem to have no eyes behind them. And this is not altogether fanciful. A speaker who uses that kind of phraseology has gone some distance toward turning himself into a machine. The appropriate noises are coming out of his larynx, but his brain is not involved as it would be if he were choosing his words for himself. If the speech he is making is one that he is accustomed to make over and over again, he may be almost unconscious of what he is saying, as one is when one utters the responses in church. And this reduced state of consciousness, if not indispensable, is at any rate favorable to political conformity.
In our time, political speech and writing are largely the defense of the indefensible. Things like the continuance of British rule in India, the Russian purges and deportations, the dropping of the atom bombs on Japan, can indeed be defended, but only by arguments which are too brutal for most people to face, and which do not square with the professed aims of the political parties. Thus political language has to consist largely of euphemism., question-begging and sheer cloudy vagueness. Defenseless villages are bombarded from the air, the inhabitants driven out into the countryside, the cattle machine-gunned, the huts set on fire with incendiary bullets: this is called pacification. Millions of peasants are robbed of their farms and sent trudging along the roads with no more than they can carry: this is called transfer of population or rectification of frontiers. People are imprisoned for years without trial, or shot in the back of the neck or sent to die of scurvy in Arctic lumber camps: this is called elimination of unreliable elements. Such phraseology is needed if one wants to name things without calling up mental pictures of them. Consider for instance some comfortable English professor defending Russian totalitarianism. He cannot say outright, "I believe in killing off your opponents when you can get good results by doing so." Probably, therefore, he will say something like this:
"While freely conceding that the Soviet regime exhibits certain features which the humanitarian may be inclined to deplore, we must, I think, agree that a certain curtailment of the right to political opposition is an unavoidable concomitant of transitional periods, and that the rigors which the Russian people have been called upon to undergo have been amply justified in the sphere of concrete achievement."
The inflated style itself is a kind of euphemism. A mass of Latin words falls upon the facts like soft snow, blurring the outline and covering up all the details. The great enemy of clear language is insincerity. When there is a gap between one's real and one's declared aims, one turns as it were instinctively to long words and exhausted idioms, like a cuttlefish spurting out ink. In our age there is no such thing as "keeping out of politics." All issues are political issues, and politics itself is a mass of lies, evasions, folly, hatred, and schizophrenia. When the general atmosphere is bad, language must suffer. I should expect to find -- this is a guess which I have not sufficient knowledge to verify -- that the German, Russian and Italian languages have all deteriorated in the last ten or fifteen years, as a result of dictatorship.
But if thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought. A bad usage can spread by tradition and imitation even among people who should and do know better. The debased language that I have been discussing is in some ways very convenient. Phrases like a not unjustifiable assumption, leaves much to be desired, would serve no good purpose, a consideration which we should do well to bear in mind, are a continuous temptation, a packet of aspirins always at one's elbow. Look back through this essay, and for certain you will find that I have again and again committed the very faults I am protesting against. By this morning's post I have received a pamphlet dealing with conditions in Germany. The author tells me that he "felt impelled" to write it. I open it at random, and here is almost the first sentence I see: "[The Allies] have an opportunity not only of achieving a radical transformation of Germany's social and political structure in such a way as to avoid a nationalistic reaction in Germany itself, but at the same time of laying the foundations of a co-operative and unified Europe." You see, he "feels impelled" to write -- feels, presumably, that he has something new to say -- and yet his words, like cavalry horses answering the bugle, group themselves automatically into the familiar dreary pattern. This invasion of one's mind by ready-made phrases (lay the foundations, achieve a radical transformation) can only be prevented if one is constantly on guard against them, and every such phrase anaesthetizes a portion of one's brain.
I said earlier that the decadence of our language is probably curable. Those who deny this would argue, if they produced an argument at all, that language merely reflects existing social conditions, and that we cannot influence its development by any direct tinkering with words and constructions. So far as the general tone or spirit of a language goes, this may be true, but it is not true in detail. Silly words and expressions have often disappeared, not through any evolutionary process but owing to the conscious action of a minority. Two recent examples were explore every avenue and leave no stone unturned, which were killed by the jeers of a few journalists. There is a long list of flyblown metaphors which could similarly be got rid of if enough people would interest themselves in the job; and it should also be possible to laugh the not un- formation out of existence*, to reduce the amount of Latin and Greek in the average sentence, to drive out foreign phrases

*One can cure oneself of the not un- formation by memorizing this sentence: A not unblack dog was chasing a not unsmall rabbit across a not ungreen field.

and strayed scientific words, and, in general, to make pretentiousness unfashionable. But all these are minor points. The defense of the English language implies more than this, and perhaps it is best to start by saying what it does not imply.
To begin with it has nothing to do with archaism, with the salvaging of obsolete words and turns of speech, or with the setting up of a "standard English" which must never be departed from. On the contrary, it is especially concerned with the scrapping of every word or idiom which has outworn its usefulness. It has nothing to do with correct grammar and syntax, which are of no importance so long as one makes one's meaning clear, or with the avoidance of Americanisms, or with having what is called a "good prose style." On the other hand, it is not concerned with fake simplicity and the attempt to make written English colloquial. Nor does it even imply in every case preferring the Saxon word to the Latin one, though it does imply using the fewest and shortest words that will cover one's meaning. What is above all needed is to let the meaning choose the word, and not the other way around. In prose, the worst thing one can do with words is surrender to them. When you think of a concrete object, you think wordlessly, and then, if you want to describe the thing you have been visualizing you probably hunt about until you find the exact words that seem to fit it. When you think of something abstract you are more inclined to use words from the start, and unless you make a conscious effort to prevent it, the existing dialect will come rushing in and do the job for you, at the expense of blurring or even changing your meaning. Probably it is better to put off using words as long as possible and get one's meaning as clear as one can through pictures and sensations. Afterward one can choose -- not simply accept -- the phrases that will best cover the meaning, and then switch round and decide what impressions one's words are likely to make on another person. This last effort of the mind cuts out all stale or mixed images, all prefabricated phrases, needless repetitions, and humbug and vagueness generally. But one can often be in doubt about the effect of a word or a phrase, and one needs rules that one can rely on when instinct fails. I think the following rules will cover most cases:
(i) Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.
(ii) Never us a long word where a short one will do.
(iii) If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.
(iv) Never use the passive where you can use the active.
(v) Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.
(vi) Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.
These rules sound elementary, and so they are, but they demand a deep change of attitude in anyone who has grown used to writing in the style now fashionable. One could keep all of them and still write bad English, but one could not write the kind of stuff that I quoted in those five specimens at the beginning of this article.
I have not here been considering the literary use of language, but merely language as an instrument for expressing and not for concealing or preventing thought. Stuart Chase and others have come near to claiming that all abstract words are meaningless, and have used this as a pretext for advocating a kind of political quietism. Since you don't know what Fascism is, how can you struggle against Fascism? One need not swallow such absurdities as this, but one ought to recognize that the present political chaos is connected with the decay of language, and that one can probably bring about some improvement by starting at the verbal end. If you simplify your English, you are freed from the worst follies of orthodoxy. You cannot speak any of the necessary dialects, and when you make a stupid remark its stupidity will be obvious, even to yourself. Political language -- and with variations this is true of all political parties, from Conservatives to Anarchists -- is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind. One cannot change this all in a moment, but one can at least change one's own habits, and from time to time one can even, if one jeers loudly enough, send some worn-out and useless phrase -- some jackboot, Achilles' heel, hotbed, melting pot, acid test, veritable inferno, or other lump of verbal refuse -- into the dustbin, where it belongs.

The Birds

2010-10-08T21:03:00.002-04:00

The Birds, 1964. Guess which one is still famous.

From the film The Deadly Bees.

Leaving Here, their best original.

Forty six years ago, the 100 Club, Oxford Street, London. Which night would you go if you could only go one night?

So many of life's simple pleasures are gone. I really miss the thrill of going to the local record shop and checking out the new releases. My heart would pound at the sight of a new Stones, Yardbirds or Kinks LP. Sorry, flipping through jewel cases just isn't the same. Not that there's any good record stores left where I live. Or going the magazine stand and seeing a new issue of Creem or Rock Scene. Or even those rare occasions when Rolling Stone had somebody cool on the cover (yes, such things happened once a year or so: Little Richard, Mel Lyman, the MC5). There's so few readable music mags around nowadays, my expectations are so scaled back that I'll buy anything that looks even vaguely interesting (although I'm boycotting Mojo since they decided to make their freelance writers and photographers sign over the rights to their materials in perpetuity, see Mick Farren on the subject). So, yesterday, out of boredom, I buy the latest issue of a Brit 60's garage/psych oriented mag called Shindig  mainly because the The Birds are gracing the cover. For those who never heard them, the Birds (not to be confused with the American group the Byrds) were a British R&B/beat group, best remembered for launching the careers of Ron Wood and the late Kim Gardner (The Creation). Collectors of such garage and "freakbeat" (I hate that term, I don't know why, I just do), know of them for three great and quite rare 45's issued in 1964-5, which we shall discuss in a moment.
According to Shindig, the Birds "made The Kinks and The Pretty Things look tame", I don't agree with that, the Birds never made a record as wild as the Kinks' I Need You or the Pretty Things' Midnight To Six Man, and writing a tune as timeless and perfect as Waterloo Sunset or Days, was way beyond their capabilities. That's not to say the Birds didn't have their moments-- three of them (or six if each side of the disc counts as a seperate "moment").
  Of course, after reading the piece in Shindig, I decided to check YouTube and surprise, there it is, the only known footage of the Birds in their prime to surface (so far), taken from a low budget horror flick-- The Deadly Bees (1967), which I've never seen. Yes, I miss the simple pleasures of record stores and newsstands, but being able to call up obscure film footage at your fingertips is, I guess, at least some sort of compensation.
  The Birds were-- Ali McKenzie- lead vocals, Ron Wood- guitar/harmonica/vocals, Tony Munroe- guitar/vocals, Kim Gardner- bass, Pete Hocking- drums. Getting getting beaten to a name by other bands was something of a leitmotif throughout their career. They grew out of a group first called the Renegades, which they had to change when another group with the same name waxed a great version of Vince Taylor's Cadillac, so they then became the Thunderbirds, which was shortened to The Birds when Chris Farlowe's backing band took on the name the Thunderbirds. They would end life as The Birds Birds, possibly because of a mistake at the label printers.
In 1964 The Birds got their first break, a residency at the 100 Club in Oxford Street, London where the Pretty Things had Tuesday nights for much of that year, and were soon signed to Decca who issued their debut 45-- You're On My Mind (written by Ron Wood) b/w You Don't Love Me, a Bo Diddley tune on which Wood plays harmonica. Here's the demos to You're On My Mind and You Don't Love Me (not as good as the final versions but worth hearing). Their second single issued in '65 was a version of an obscure Motown tune-- Eddie Holland's Leaving Here b/w Next In Line, another Ron Wood original.
After a much publicized legal fight with the Byrds, which they lost, the issued No Good Without You Baby, a Mickey Stevenson tune they found on a Marvin Gaye LP b/w their third Ron Wood tune-- How Can It Be, which Wood sings lead on. A change in management (their new managers would be Charlie and Eddie Richardson, South End gangsters soon to go on trial for torturing their enemies by chopping off their toes, nailing them to the floor, etc.) and record companies saw them now on Robert Stigwood's Reaction label. Their third and final single was a mixed affair, the a-side being a rather dreary reading of the McCoys tune Say Those Magic Words, but the flip side of their final disc,-- Daddy Daddy is a classic mod rave-up, one of the best discs of the era. The label read: the Birds Birds, which may have been a typo or else have something to do with their lawsuit against the Byrds. Not that it mattered, like the previous two discs, it flopped and soon the group broke up. Of their unissued tunes left in the vault, in addition the above demos, is a cover of the Who's Run Run Run, which is pretty cool. Their entire recorded output, demos, outtakes and all can be found on the UK Deram CD- The Collector's Guide To Rare British Birds, issued in 1999.  Ron Wood did just fine for himself, although he never played guitar in the style he used with the Birds again, Kim Gardner went on to join the Creation, the others to other bands and eventually day jobs. Today, 45 years later lead singer Ali MacKenzie once again leads a group called the Birds. And they still play the 100 Club.

I Love TeeVee #2 : Garage Greats, Goods, and Unknowns...

2010-10-04T12:07:00.005-04:00

The Wanted

The Syndicate Of Sound

The Barbarians

The Wayds (Baby, that's rock'n'roll!)

Russel Morris (Who?)

Running Jumping Standing Still doing their best Captain Beefheart impersonation.

The Offbeats.

The Remains.

Them

Them Again.

und jetzt aus Deutschland! Das Lords!
More fun perusing Youbtube, this one looking at garage bands, some of them aren't even lip syncing!
Anyone know anything about the Wayds? That may be the best rock'n'roll clip of all time.
Addendum: The Wayds have reformed, I shit you not. Check out their website: http://pnwbands.com/wayds.html

Gillian's Found Photo #55

2010-10-03T13:25:00.001-04:00

Recent posting have covered murderers, drag queens, pimps, dope dealers, and guitar players who hung from the rafters by their feet. I don't think this guy was/did any of the above. The photo, was taken at a Teenage Hop, in Miami, Florida, 1963, and the gals seem to dig this Tom Hanks lookin' little greaseball. I wonder who he is? I know who he isn't. He is not Buck Trail, Tommy Spurlin, Ray Pate or Allen Page, all known rockers who worked South Florida in the late 50's and left great 45's behind to prove it.
Perhaps it's a local DJ who is presenting the Record Hop, that's how many dj's supplemented their meager salaries back then (along with payola which had been outlawed by a congressional addition to the Federal Communications Act back in 1960).
The photo is dated September, '63, so if he's not a dj, I think because of his rather straight appearance perhaps this guy (if he's a singer plugging his new disc, he is lip syncing, since there's no microphone to be seen), might have been more of a balladeer than a rocker. I bet he had a few "wop" songs in his repetoire. Maybe some Jimmy Roselli tunes? Can anyone out their identify this guy?

Webb Pierce-- Little Rosa

2010-09-30T12:20:00.005-04:00

Red Sovine who does the spoken part on the recording of Little Rosa prefers the little ones with the big holes.

Here, Koko the Clown takes the spoken word part that Red Sovine does on the record.

Webb Pierce and his Wondering Boys, wonder how they're all gonna fit in the Sputnik III.

Webb Pierce was the first country artist to tour Uranus, seen here in his tour bus Sputnik III

Webb Pierce (born Webb Pierce, Aug. 8, 1921, died Feb. 24, 1991) had a long and successful career as a country singer of the hard core honky tonk variety. He had thirteen #1 Billboard country hits (Hank Williams only had nine) between the years 1952-1957 and Lord knows how many top forty hits. This hot streak included such #1's as I Ain't Never, There Stands The Glass, Back Street Affair, and a cover of Jimmie Rodgers' In The Jailhouse Now, all great records. What was the last great record to go to #1 on Billboard's country chart? I honestly can't remember, it's been decades. Webb Pierce had a Buick customized by haberdasher to hillbilly royalty-- Nudie, it had silver dollar inlays all over it, saddles for seats and real guns for door handles. I once smoked a joint while sitting in it at the the Country Music Hall Of Fame Museum at a party I went to there. The mid-50's rise of rock'n'roll as a commercial entity sent a panic through the world of country music and some singers, like Webb Pierce, tried to respond in some fairly desperate ways. Pierce himself took a few stabs at rock'n'roll, all of them worth hearing. He added words to Bill Justis' instrumental classic Raunchy, released a pretty cool cover version of The Everly Brothers' Bye Bye Love and of course there was his rockabilly classic Teenage Boogie (here's the obligatory, for this blog, alternate take) which would be appropriated by T. Rex in 1974 who took it to the top of the U.K charts retitled I Love To Boogie, giving writing credits to little Marc Bolan. Not rock'n'roll but perhaps the strangest record Webb Pierce made in his attempt to regain chart dominance was this 1956 attempt to merge two trends, one the maudlin child snuff ballad, a musical genre that has thrived in country music since its earliest days, and that peculiar trend-- the "wop song", which are tunes done in a strange stereotyped Italian accent similar to that of Chico Marx and the character Mr. Bacciagalupe on the Abbott & Costello TV show. One record, Little Rosa, issued by Decca (of course, here is an alternate take), the spoken part is done by Red Sovine, king of both the trucker song and the kid snuff ballad, two trends he fused in his, well, not really classic, but
certainly fascinating hit-- Giddy Up Go, which you can still hear on juke boxes in truck stops in West Virginia around Christmas time. Off the track but worth mentioning is Sovine's follow up Getty Up Stop. Getting back to Little Rosa, in the above clip (sent in by Donna Lethal, thanks), Koko The Clown takes Sovine's role as the poor old Wop dad, Webb Pierce, of course, appears as himself. Before anyone writes in to complain about my use of the term wop, the surname on my original birth certificate was Antonicello and my grandparents on one side were born in a town in the heel of Italy's boot called Iricino, the other side of my family is from Palermo, in whose harbor sits a statue of Antonino Giammona, my great, great, grandfather. So I get to say wop. Also guiniea, greaseball and dago if I choose. Other artists to record "wop songs" include Big Walter Price (Hello Maria, the flip of his R&B classic Pack, Fair and Square), Norman Fox & the Rob-Roys (Pizza Pie) and of course Louis Prima (Bacciagalup Makes Love On The Stoop, Picco-Lena Lena, amongst others). As late as 1980 Wop songs were still a commercially viable genere as seen when Joe Dolce's Shaddup You Face
topped the Austrailian charts. Perhaps now is a good time to revive the ahead of its time attempt to fuse country music and the wop song. I bet David Allen Coe could come up with a doozie.

Pat Hare

2010-09-27T06:39:00.007-04:00

Blues Unlimited on the road: Little Jr. Parker, standing (far left), Bobby "Blue" Bland, kneeling (far left),

Pat Hare, standing (far right). South Carolina, 1952.

Clipping from St. Paul Dispatch, Dec. '63 concerning Hare's double murder.

Pat Hare (right) with James Cotton, 1959

Pat Hare: A mean little shit, Memphis, 1955.

Muddy Waters at Newport, 1960, Pat Hare on guitar (to Muddy's right).

Pat Hare was born Auburn Hare, December 20, 1930 in Cherry Valley, Arkansas where he was raised by his grandmother on a plantation owned by a Mrs. Fay Van, he had had a brother who died at the age of six.
In 1940, the family moved to a farm near Parkin, Arkansas, and around the same time young Auburn, whose grandmother nicknamed him Pat, started playing guitar. In his teens he took lessons from Joe Willie Wilkins, who played in Sonny Boy Williamson (Rice Miller)'s band, appearing on Sonny Boy's King Biscuit Flour radio show. He also fell in with Howlin' Wolf, and played in Wolf's band on weekends around the Forrest City/West Memphis area while still in his teens. He also played minor league baseball, and drove a "big John Deere tractor" on the farm. He was already developing into something of a bad drunk, a mean little shit who at one time climbed up on a chair to punch Howlin' Wolf who towered over him (and probably could have killed him bare handed had he retaliated).
Wolf took him back to his family and recommended they give him a whupping. There are other stories about young Pat Hare, it's hard to tell which ones are true and which are exaggerations, athough there's probably at least a kernel of truth to most of them-- that he took a few shots a Wolf with a pistol, that he attacked a man with a rake, breaking his own finger in the process (one of his little fingers was bent and would remain so for the rest of his life). Wolf kept him on, using him for his own radio show that broadcast from West Memphis' KWEM, and Hare also appeared on the radio with James Cotton, Willie Nix, Joe Hill Louis and later on Memphis' all black WDIA playing behind his cousin Walter Bradford.
Pat Hare made his recording debut backing up Bradford on a session held at Sam C. Phillips' Sun Studio in the spring of 1952. The record-- Walter Bradford's Dreary Nights b/w Nuthin' But The Blues (Sun 176) is so rare that no one has actually ever seen a copy. Hare claimed to have played on several of Howlin' Wolf's RPM sides cut around the same time (the ones produced by Ike Turner and recorded at KWEM's studio), but Wolf's guitarist of the time Willie Johnson claims that he played on the sides in question. To my ears it sounds like Johnson, although their playing had many similarities. Both musicians could play complicated jazzy leads which would be followed up by crude, violent fills and chord crashes. Both used an extremely distorted tone (in day and age well before the invention of foot pedals and distortion boxes which are standard fare for any guitarist for the last forty years). Pat Hare had left Howlin' Wolf's band (or more likely, was fired) in 1952, and it was then he joined up with Little Junior Parker's band, staying with them until April of '53. Parker shared his band with Bobby "Blue" Bland, and they toured together as "Blues Unlimited". When not touring, he would return to the family farm, and play around Memphis working with various musicians including Johnny Ace, Rosco Gordon, Ike Turner, and James Cotton whose band became his most regular gig of the time. He also became the favorite session guitarist of producer Sam Phillips who had just opened his studio on the corner of Union and Marshall in Memphis and was leasing tunes to RPM in Hollywood and Chess in Chicago, and then releasing them on his own Sun label. Hare appeared on sides by Rosco Gordon, Little Junior Parker (including this one which appeared on Duke-- Sittin' Drinkin and Thinkin'), Walter Horton, Big Memphis Ma Rainey, Kenneth Banks and others. One of the greatest thrills for young Pat Hare however was getting to play with one of his musical heroes-- Memphis Minnie who had retired to Memphis and whom Hare backed at a Memphis gig one weekend in 1953.
At Sun he appeared two early James Cotton singles, which in retrospect, would be the greatest recordings ever issued under Cotton's name-- My Baby b/w Straighten Up Baby (Sun 199) and Cotton Crop Blues b/w Hold Me In Your Arms (Sun 206). What made these discs so special was Hare's demonically, distorted guitar attack, it sounded as if his strings were made of barbed wire, most especially on Cotton Crop Blues.
Another excellent session for Sun was led by harmonica player Coy "Hot Shot" Love. It would produce another disc of singular greatness-- Wolf Call Boogie b/w Harmonica Jam (Sun 196). Here's an alternate take of Wolf Call Boogie for those who prefer to lead an alternative lifestyle.
In May of '54, Sam Phillips decided to record Pat Hare under his own name. James Cotton was scheduled to play harmonica on the session but the two got into a fist fight that day, and Cotton disappeared. Instead, Hare is backed up by Israel Franklin on bass and Billy Love on piano on the two tunes. The first is a monstrous reading of Dr. Clayton's Cheatin' & Lyin' Blues, re-titled on the tape box I'm Gonna Murder My Baby, it was and still is, one of the most foreboding and ominous recordings in the entire blues canon, along with Bonus Pay which is actually a cover of Eddie "Cleanhead" Vinson's Ain't Gonna Be That Way. Phillips chose not to release Hare's disc which would not be heard until it slipped out on a bootleg on the Redita label in 1976, and later appeared on Charley Records' Sun Blues Box in the eighties. I paraphrase the late, great, Memphis institution Jim Dickinson-- "the best performances don't get recorded, the best recordings don't get released, the best releases don't get heard". However, like, say Robert Johnson (whose first LP, issued twenty four years after his death sold only a few thousand copies in the first few years on the market, but by the late 80's would become a platinum, million selling, box set) the few who heard I'm Gonna Murder My Baby knew it was something special and they all told someone else who told someone else and eventually it would become something of an underground blues hit amongst hardcore fans and collectors. Perhaps helped along by the way history would play itself out.
Meanwhile, Pat Hare had become a full time musician, and he would appear on many other discs, most notably Bobby "Blue" Bland's hit Further Up The Road (Duke 170) where his guitar is featured prominently and Little Junior Parker's I Wanna Ramble (Duke 137), one of his best discs, Hare adds his own unique attack to a riff developed by Floyd Murphy on Parker's earlier Sun recordings Mystery Train and Love My Baby. Hare went back on the road with the Blues Unlimited tour until Bland fired him sometime in 1957. It was the same year that James Cotton, who had joined Muddy Waters' band brought Pat to Chicago to replace Jimmy Rogers in, what was known to their contemporaries as Muddy Waters' Drunk Assed Band. He would play with Waters for the next few years, appearing on the Muddy Waters Live At Newport and Muddy Waters' Sings Big Bill LP's.
Pat Hare did not get along with Leonard Chess and was not featured much on the Chess discs he plays on, although Hare has some nice moments on the Sings Big Bill album, the first Waters LP to be recorded in stereo. His trademark distorted sonic attack is replaced by a cleaner, low volume sound. Probably at Leonard Chess' insistence, trying to make him sound more like Jimmy Rogers who favored a more twangy sound. Hare shines brightest on Hey Hey and Moppers Blues from Muddy Waters Sings Big Bill.
Somtime between 1960-63 (the exact date is unclear) came the first "incident" to hint that Hare, who was fairly mild mannered when sober, was becoming an out of control drunk. Having left his wife in Cleveland, Hare had a girlfriend in Chicago named Louise Kennedy. They fought a lot, Hare often accused her of cheating. One night he couldn't get her on the phone so he went to her apartment with a loaded Winchester rifle and emptied it through her front window. She was home, but just too afraid of Hare's temper to answer the door. The police put out a warrant for Hare, who first hid with Muddy Waters then went back to Memphis to stay with Joe Willie Wilkins. Finally, in '63 he returned to the family farm in Parkin, it was there that former Muddy Waters sidemen Mojo Burford and Jojo Williams tracked him down. They were starting a new band in Minneapolis and brought Pat north to play with them. Soon they were gigging at Mattie's Bar-B-Q in South Minneapolis. Pat Hare was drinking heavily and often had to be sent home for passing out on the bandstand. Once, after being sent home for two nights running, Hare demanded that Burford pay him anyway. When Burford refused Hare threatened to shoot him. Things would get worse from here, much worse.
On Sunday afternoon, Dec. 15, 1963 Hare spent the afternoon drinking wine with well known blues drummer S. P. Leary (who was in town working in band with former Howlin' Wolf guitarist Willie Johnson and Elmore James' former sax player J.T. Brown). Pat Hare at the time was living with a married woman named Aggie Winje. Pat called a friend of Aggie's named Pat Morrow who drove him to a third friend's house where he drank a half pint of gin. There the two proceeded to the house of James McHie, who was Hare's boss at his day job as a window washer. James McHie wasn't home, so Hare told McHie's wife to bring him to his apartment when he got in, explaining he was having trouble with Aggie who wanted to return to her husband. When Hare got home he took a couple of potshots at Aggie who ran out to Morrow's car and asked if she'd take Hare with her, she was throwing him out. Morrow took off leaving Aggie with Pat, who had worked himself into a lather. Hare got a phone call at a neighbor named Charles Cook's apartment, and while he was on the phone Hare told Cook-- "That woman is going to make me kill her". The phone call was from Pat Marrow's husband who was looking for her-- "You got the wrong Pat", Hare told him. Hare returned to his and Aggie's apartment where they continued to fight, soon, more shots were heard. A woman named Florence Whipps called the police. Officers James E. Hendricks and Chester Langaard responded within minutes. Officer Hendricks, armed with a shotgun headed to Hare's apartment and was heard to say "Give me the gun", followed by three shots. When Office Langaard, a few steps behind his partner arrived to see Hendricks on the floor and Hare pointing a pistol at him. Aggie was on the couch with two bullet holes in her. Langaard shot Pat Hare twice and called for back up. Two ambulances arrived, the first took away office Hendricks who died en route to the hospital. Aggie and Pat were taken to General Hospital and both underwent surgery. Aggie would die on January 22, 1964. When questioned, Hare remembered only that he was drunk and claimed to have no recollection of shooting anyone.
At the trial Pat Hare waved his rights to a jury trial, and the judge was Tom Bergin, a former cop. The trial, held February 14, 1964 lasted all of one day and Pat Hare was found guilty of first degree murder of Officer Hendricks while at the same time pleading guilty to third degree murder in the case of Aggie Winje's shooting. He was sentenced to life in prison and was sent off to Stillwater State Prison, changing his stage name to 21961-E. In prison Hare joined AA and quit drinking, he played in the prison band-- Sounds Incarcerated, playing jazz, country, blues, and rock'n'roll to fellow inmates and later the band was allowed to travel outside the prison, appearing at public events, concerts, hospitals, and other venues. Hare was denied parole in 1974, and in 1975 he was diagnosed with lung cancer. He was operated on and had part of one lung removed. In 1977 the cancer returned and he was given chemotherapy for cancer of the throat and underwent a second surgery, this time having the muscles from the left side of his neck and under his tongue removed. He was transferred to a minimum security prison. He was often allowed to leave the prison to perform music, even appearing with Muddy Waters at a local concert where Muddy was opening for Eric Clapton.
He was filmed in 1980 for a local Minnesota tv show called PM Magazine, and was about to be given a medical pardon when he succumbed to cancer on September 26, 1980. By the time of his death, the ironic story of Pat Hare and I'm Gonna Murder My Baby had entered blue lore. There was an interview with him, done in prison, that appeared in Living Blues magazine, and later a long feature about him in Juke Blues (the later being the source for the names and dates in this posting).
His Sun material would be re-issued many times, including on a Japanese P-Vine LP called Memphis Aggressive Guitars Vol. 1. So goes the story of Pat Hare, killer blues guitar player.

Bobby Marchan

2010-09-24T12:34:00.011-04:00

Bobby Marchan before.

Bobby Marchan after.

Bobby Marchan answering the musical question, where ya goin' fat bitch?

Bobby Marchan, and a face full of make up early 50's.

Onstage at the Tijuana Club, New Orleans, early 50's.

Although forever equated with classic New Orleans rock'n'roll as lead singer for Huey "Piano" Smith & the Clowns, Bobby Marchan, (Oscar James Gibson, born April 30, 1930) was born and raised in Youngstown, Ohio (today, best known as the home of Truckworld, the world's largest truckstop).

As a teen he began hitting the local drag shows (Youngstown had drag shows in the 40's? Indeed it did), and soon young Bobby began "dressing up" and performing in full drag. Influenced by another highly effeminate, Ohio born, rhythm and blues star of the era-- Larry Darnell, now renamed Bobby Marchan, our hero, also started singing. By 1953 Marchan had formed a group of six female impersonators he dubbed the Powder Box Revue and hit the road. The drag tradition in blues and rhythm and blues is an old and grand one, which culminated in the rise of Little Richard, a subject I touched on partially in my posting on Billy Wright last year, if you care for more background on the subject. Marchan found his most receptive audience in New Orleans, a town where the best sepia room-- the Dew Drop Inn had a full time female impersonator Patsy Valdalia as its emcee, and was host to such drag performers as pre-Specialty Little Richard (who also balanced a chair on his chin while he sang), Esquerita, and many others. Dr. John in his wonderful autobiography Under The Hoodoo Moon (St. Martins Press, 1994) remembered meeting a drag queen named Loberta, a few days later he met Bobby Marchan, he had no idea they were one and the same. Although Marchan occasionally worked the Dew Drop, his main outlet was around the corner at the Club Tijuana, an important R&B venue where Guitar Slim, Earl King, and Marchan's soon to be partner in sound Huey "Piano" Smith all began their careers.

Bobby Marchan began his recording career in the fall of '53 when Aladdin Records recorded him in New Orleans, issuing a single-- Have Mercy b/w Just A Little Walk in early 1954.

The disc was a typical R&B disc of the time, very much in the ballad style of Larry Darnell and it did nothing. Two songs from the session remain unissued until this day. Later that same year, Marchan recorded his second single for Dot in Nashville-- You Made A Fool Of Me b/w Just A Little Wine, basically another Larry Darnell impersonation, it didn't sell, nor did it hint at what was soon to come as Marchan found his own voice and style in the coming years.

Performing in drag at the Tijuana, he fell in with Huey "Piano" Smith, who after an apprenticeship with Guitar Slim, and some touring with Earl King and Shirley & Lee, was working for Johnny Vincent who had been fired from his A&R post at Specialty Records and was just launching his own Ace label, based out of Jackson, Mississippi, but using mostly talent from New Orleans. Marchan's first record for Ace, with Smith on the piano with Lee Allen (tenor sax), Edgar Blanchard (guitar) and Charles "Hungry" Williams (drums) was issued under the name of Bobby Fields (probably because he was still under contract to Dot at the time)-- Helping Hand b/w Pity Poor Me. Again, this disc only hint at the glories to come. But he was getting closer.
Meanwhile in 1956, Huey "Piano" Smith, with the vocal group The Clowns had cut two excellent singles for Ace before Marchan joined as lead singer-- Everybody Whalin' b/w Little Liza Jane followed up in early 1957 with Rockin' Pneumonia and the Boogie Woogie Flu pts 1 and 2. In 1957 Marchan cut another solo disc for Ace, with Smith and his band in support-- Little Chickie Wah Wah b/w Don't Take Your Love From Me, the same year he joined the group full time.

As a member of Huey Smith & the Clowns , he re-organized the vocal group-- the Clowns, with himself as one of the lead singers, he added Geri Hall (an out of the closet bull dyke who often bragged that she was the most masculine member of the group), John "Scarface" Williams, bass singer Billy Roosevelt and Eugene Francis, who couldn't sing much but with his dyed green hair, added much stage presence. Bobby Marchan's first record as a member of Clowns was I'm Just A Lonely Clown b/w Free Single and Disengaged, a good harmony number, with Huey Smith's rolling piano, they were now closing in on their unique sound.
It would be their next disc-- High Blood Pressure b/w Don't You Just Know It that the sound of Huey Piano Smith & the Clowns would finally come together. It was and is one of the most unique and recognizable sounding discs in rockn'roll history, as well as being their best two sider, it would become their biggest hit. What can I say? Just listen to it. The a-side is more of a gang chant than a group harmony sound, on the flip, with it's nonsensical lyrics, The Clowns sound like the Little Rascals if they'd grown into teenagers and just huffed some glue-- "A Ha Ha Ha Ha/dooba dooba dooba dooba/hey-ayo"! It was all set over Huey Smith's rollicking, Professor Longhair influenced piano and Hungry Williams funky, second line drum beat, and sported a growling tenor sax solo from Lee Allen. It simply has never been topped. High Blood Pressure rose to #9 on the pop charts and the group hit the road. Huey Smith himself soon tired of touring and went back to New Orleans to work in the studio and eat beans and rice, a young James Booker was sent out as his replacement, the audience non the wiser. Meanwhile, Bobby Marchan had become the de facto leader of the group, on and off stage. Although Marchan didn't perform in drag with the Clowns, they were sharp dressers ("One night we went out in matching plaid suits with Bermuda shorts, the crowd went wild when they saw those outfits"), and Marchan rehearsed the group on the dances and comedy skits that accompanied the tunes.
Huey Smith and the Clowns attempted to follow up their hit with two excellent discs-- Havin' A Good Time b/w We Like Birdland in early '58 followed soon by Don't You Know Yokomo b/w Well I'll Be John Brown. Both fine records, and good sellers around New Orleans, but neither made the national charts. The first Clowns record to give Bobby Marchan top billing was You Can't Stop Her b/w Rockin' Behind The Iron Curtain, (these are alternate takes, as good as the issued versions). One of the groups toughest rockers-- You Can't Stop Her, graced the a-side, while the flip exploited the ridiculousness of cold war politics in typical Clown fashion. It was a decent size local hit, but again, it failed to chart nationally.
The record that should have sealed their fate as national stars however was hijacked out from under their noses by their own record company. Everyone who heard Sea Cruise knew it would be a smash, however, Ace's owner Johnny Vincent, in the wake of Elvis Presley's unprecedented success decided that if he gave the tune to a white boy, he simply couldn't miss.
He didn't. The original master take, with Marchan and the Clowns harmony lead vocal was shelved and a local white kid named Frankie Ford, who sounded a lot like Marchan, was brought in to overdub his voice on to the master. It was one of the biggest hits of 1958 and Ford, who I like a lot, has been able to make a comfortable living off of the tune ever since. The same trick was used on the flipside-- Loberta (Bobby's drag name) on which Ford's voice was also dubbed, with the name changed to Roberta. It was a decent size hit on it's own. It sported one of early rock'n'roll's best lines-- "I pawned my pistol/I pawned my watch and chain/I'd of pawned Roberta but Roberta can't sign her name". Huey Smith & the Clowns next disc was the below par Would You Believe I Have A Cold b/w Genevieve, they followed it up with the doo wop ballad Dearest Darling b/w Tub-Ur-Cu-Lucas and the Sinus Flu. Ace issued Huey Smith and the Clowns first LP-- Having A Good Time, which sported a photo of only Huey Smith on the cover, a move that stuck in Bobby Marchan's craw. After all, it was him onstage, touring his ass off, holding the group together, and singing lead on nearly all their tunes. Also, from here Huey Smith & the Clowns singles would take a noticeable dip in quality, as Smith spent more and more time working with Ford and other acts, novelty and dance craze tunes like Beatnik Blues and Pop-Eye became the order of the day, although their were two more shining moments, the first issued under Marchan's name was Hush Your Mouth b/w Quit My Job, issued in 1960 it would be the last disc issued on Ace under Bobby's own name. The other, issued in '61, but I'll bet was recorded much earlier was She Got Lowdown b/w Mean Mean Mean, the a-side being a tough, second line rocker of the highest caliber. For all his hard work leading and touring with Huey "Piano" Smith & The Clowns, Bobby Marchan felt that he was getting little name recognition out of the deal. Both LP's and the EP issued by Ace featured only photos of Huey, and when Marchan approached Johnny Vincent about recording his rendition of There Is Something On Your Mind, Vincent vetoed the idea, since Big Jay McNeeley's version with Little Sonny on vocals was already something of a hit on the Swingin' label. Marchan began recording for Bobby Robinson (who had been in and out of New Orleans recording hits with Lee Dorsey), first releasing Snoopin' and Accusin' b/w This Is The Life on Fire in early '59, a sort of cross between the Clowns and the Coasters styles, then the aforementioned There Is Something On Your Mind pts. 1 and pt 2, which he waxed in Chicago and leased to both Fire and Chess despite still being under contract to Johnny Vincent. When There Is Something On Your Mind hit the charts in 1960 the lawyers went to work. Chess never released their version, and Bobby Robinson bought off Johnny Vincent for a reported $12,500. The record stayed in the charts for eleven weeks, peaking at #1 R&B (#31 Pop) on Billboard's charts. With There Is Something On Your Mind, Bobby Marchan would leave the Clowns style behind, the disc is a throwback to his drag days, an over the top bluesy ballad with a campy, spoken word breakdown in the middle (on the 45, the spoken part starts off Pt. 2, which would be the hit side that was played on radio). Bobby Marchan would record for Robinson's Fire label for the next two years including, recording an excellent proto-soul dance number The Bootie Green b/w It Hurts Me To My Heart with Allen Tousaint in support, and finish up his relationship with Bobby Robinson with a version of Guitar Slim's The Things I Used To Do pt. 1 and pt. 2, done in the same histrionic style of There Is Something On Your Mind, it would be released on the Sphere Sound label, Fire having gone into receivership earlier that year. Excellent though it was, Robinson was in poor financial shape and had no money to promote the disc, and soon Marchan had moved on. He would record two for excellent singles for Stax in '64 -- What Can I Do and You Won't Do Right, one for Cameo (Shake Your Tambourine, a soul shaker and a minor hit in '66), and then Dial where he cut several singles including the stomping Get Down and Get With It which would be covered by Little Richard and later Slade (the writer's royalties he made off the Slade hit would be the most money he'd ever earned off one of his records). He toured heavily in the 60's, working with everyone from Otis Redding to James Brown, but by the early 70's demand had fallen off and he went back to working drag shows, becoming the regular emcee at Club Alhambra in New Orleans, then hosting a live, riotous version of the Gong Show at the Club 2400, appearing in a blond wig and tight, sequined cocktail dress. He kept his hand in the music biz, and in a way that has never been made quite clear was one of the original founders of the Cash Money label, the New Orleans hip hop (or as they call it down there, bounce) label that produced stars like Juvenile and Lil Wayne. He also performed at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, back when local New Orleans legends were more welcome than Phish and Bon Jovi who seem to have taken the event over (which is why Ira Pandos and his Mystical Knights of The Mau Mau began the Ponderosa Stomp, going on this weekend down in New Orleans). By the late 90's his health began failing. He had to have a kidney removed (why isn't that kidney on display at the rock'n'roll hall of fame?), and then was then struck down by cancer, dying on December 5, 1999. The drag tradition in R&B continues on to this day in performers like New Orleans rapper Katie Red, but the real history of these "freakish men" has yet to be fully explored, and has never really been acknowledged. Of the many untold secrets that still hide up the rumbled skirt of R&B and rock'n'roll history, one suprise you will find is a black cock, and I'm not talking about roosters.

Gillian's Found Photo #54

2010-09-20T06:31:00.000-04:00

Since I've covered musician/pimps Larry Williams and Johnny "Guitar" Watson in recent posts, this shot from Fang's archive's seemed like a natural for this weeks found photo. Slick here sure looks sharp in that natural 'fro and (rabbit?) coat. Peta types be damned (how come the Peta people only defend the rights of cute animals? Who will dare stand up for the cockroaches, mosquitoes, waterbugs, and rats, aren't they living creatures? Speaking of which, plants scream out in pain when you pick 'em, as any person of science can explain, so those soybeans you're eating have indeed been murdered just like those pork chops you decline, just because it tastes bad doesnt mean its good for you). Anyhoo, the coat in question seems to a customized job, check out the hem line just below the bottom set of buttons, looks like a completely different type of fur filling out the last foot and a half.

Getting back to our model de jour, the back of the photo reads Pillbury, Madison, Sutro, 225 Bush Street, Nov. 5-73, 5th Floor. Pillsbury (I assume who ever inscribed the back misspelled it), Madison and Surtro is a law firm that works out of 225 Bush Street in San Francisco (although these days they seem to have moved to the 6th floor), which I guess means Slick here was facing some sort of charges back in '73. Anyone from the law firm remember this fellow? If I was on the jury I'd find him innocent for purely sartorial reasons. Then again, maybe he was/is a lawyer....

Young John Watson (Johnny Guitar Watson) 1953-62

2010-09-17T06:04:00.009-04:00

Johnny "Guitar" Watson, onstage at the Twisted Wheel, Manchester, '65 (photo by Brian Smith).

Young John Watson, perpares to take his Stratocaster on a space trip.

John Ray Watson Jr. was born in Houston, Texas, February 3, 1935 , and learned to play piano from his father, a blues and boogie woogie man who played around Houston's Dowling Street on occassion. After witnessing Gatemouth Brown, John Jr. borrowed his grandfather's guitar (promising with his fingers crossed behind his back he would not play the blues on it, as Gramps was a man of god with no use for the devil's music), and soon he had mastered the instrument. Eventually Watson would play not only piano and guitar but sax, drums, and almost any other instrument that came into his hands.

In 1950, when his parents split up, Watson arrived in Los Angeles with his father (he'd bring his mother out west later and live with her for most of the rest of his life), and, spotted at a local talent show, soon found work pounding piano in Chuck Higgin's Mellotones, a highly popular tenor sax honkin' R&B outfit who where especially popular with Mexican teenagers in the area (hence their hit Pachuko Hop). In 1952, with Higgins' band, Watson made his recording debut, singing lead and pounding the 88's on the Combo label singles like Motorhead Baby (the flipside of Pachuko Hop), Love Me Baby b/w Ain't Gonna Leave Baby, Stormy b/w Blues Mambo, Just Won't Treat Me Right b/w Bug Jump, and appearing as pianist on many of Higgins' Combo instrumentals like Cotton Picker, Iron Pipe, Chuck's Wig, et al.

By 1953 Johnny Watson was leading his own band and was soon signed to Federal, a subsidiary of Cincinnati's King Records. Billed as Young John Watson, his first session was held in L.A. on February 20, 1953, and with Watson singing and playing piano he was backed by guitarist Wayne Bennett (long time star of Bobby Blue Bland's band and later with Ray Charles) and a local rhythm section, it produced two excellent blues rockin' singles-- No I Can't b/w a remake of Motorhead Baby, followed by Highway 60 b/w Sad Fool. A second session was held in May and two more singles were released-- I Got Eyes b/w What's Going One and Walkin' To My Baby b/w Thinking, Harold Grant replaced Bennett on guitar on these sides. These singles were all in a solid Fats Domino/Lloyd Price mold, with riffing saxophones and an emphasis on the beat. But they merely hinted at what would soon come.

It was Johnny Watson's third Federal session, on Febuary 1, 1954 that he first played guitar.

Man, did he play guitar. The first of the four tunes recorded that day, the echo laden instrumental Space Guitar is still one of the wildest, most unusual, and greatest guitar instrumentals ever waxed. It is still ahead of it's time. Space Guitar b/w Half Pint Of Whiskey remains, and will always remain, near the top of my own personal pantheon of sides. In 1991

this alternate take of Space Guitar found it's way onto a Charley Records CD that is long out of print. A second single from the session-- Gettin' Drunk b/w You Can't Take It With you, laid the ground work for the style of music Johnny Watson would make for the next eight years.

A stomping R&B beat over which Johnny shouted the blues in his high, slightly nasal tenor, what makes these discs so special is his highly unique style of guitar playing. Influenced by Gatemouth Brown and probably Guitar Slim, his style of using clipped, stuttering phrases, followed by violent, explosive outbursts of dissonant notes, changed the sound of the guitar forever. Frank Zappa would learn to mimic this style and use it to great effect on early singles like Baby Ray & the Ferns' How's Your Bird b/w The World's Greatest Sinner and

the Heartbreakers' Cradle Rock b/w Everytime I See You (both on Donna). Despite the greatness of these recordings, Young John Watson's six singles had not made the charts and failed to sell, and soon he parted ways with Federal, signing with the Bihari Brothers' Hollywood based RPM label in late 1954.

Now billing himself as Johnny "Guitar" Watson and working with Maxwell Davis' band, he cut six singles for RPM between 1954-56: Hot Little Mama b/w I Love To Love You, Too Tired b/w Don't Touch Me (I'm Gonna Hit The Highway), a cover a Earl King's Those Lonely Lonely Nights b/w Someone Cares For Me, Oh Baby b/w Give A Little, Three Hours Past Midnight b/w Ruben, She Moves Me b/w Love Me Baby, all good sellers in the L.A. area, making him something of a local star, although only Those Lonely Lonely Nights would chart nationally, peaking at #10 on Billboard's R&B charts in 1955. An interesting rarity was issued on the parent label Modern in 1955-- Cordella De Milo's Ain't Gonna Hush (an answer song to Joe Turner's Honey Hush) b/w Lonely Girl, both which prominently feature Watson's blaring guitar.

By 1954 Johnny "Guitar" Watson was a big draw live in the L.A. area, known for all manner of guitar acrobatics including playing with his teeth, hanging from the rafters, and the obligatory 50 foot chord to wander through the audience with on his roadie's shoulders. Nearly everything Jimi Hendrix would do, Watson had done more than a decade earlier.

In the early 90's, musician John Zorn brought me back a double CD from Japan on the P-Vine label called Gonna Hit The Highway: The Complete RPM Recordings. The only other copy I've ever seen is the one Zorn brought back for Bob Quine. Now that I think about it, I don't remember if I ever thanked him, so thanks John. Anyway, on this CD we hear Johnny in session, working with Maxwell Davis' band to get a master take, may I present for purely historical purposes these fascinating outtakes: Those Lonely Lonely Nights Takes 1-10, Hot Little Mama Takes 2-6, Hot Little Mama #2 Takes 2, 3,5, Too Tired takes 1-3, Ruben takes 1-4, She Moves Me takes 1-4, as well as additional alternate takes of Too Tired ,Don't Touch Me and this demo of Gangster Of Love with Johnny at the piano. It's obvious from the fly on the wall quality of these recordings that Watson was all busines in the studio, and it showed in the final product. His RPM singles sound as good today as they did when they were issued in the 50's.

After splitting with the Bihari's, he cut an unissued session for Johnny Otis' Dig label in 1956 (finally released on the U.K. Ace's label's Dig These Blues series, Telephone Boogie is one of his best instrumentals), and in late '56 producer Bumps Blackwell brought him to Keen Records where he cut two singles-- Gangster Of Love (actually a cover of the Cadets' Love Bandit)b/w One Room Country Shack, followed by Honey b/w Deana Baby in 1958. From there he would label hop for the next eight years cutting more rock'n'roll oriented sides like The Bear b/w One More Kiss for Class, Rat Now b/w Falling In Love for Goth, Untouchable b/w Johnny Guitar for Arvee, The Eagle Is Back b/w Looking Back for Escort, before ending up back at King for another seven singles between 1961-62, the best of which was the gorgeous pimp-blues ballad Cuttin' In which would rise to #6 R&B in March of '62. A fabulous dance floor grinder, it never fails to put chills up my spine. The rest of the early 60's King sides are a mixed bag, with fine remakes of Gangster Of Love and Those Lonely Lonely Nights mixed in with crap like Posin' and Embraceable You. King would issue an LP (his first) in late '63. He cut a forgettable single for Highland-- Wait A Minute Baby b/w Oh So Fine in '64 before striking up a musical partnership with Larry Williams later that year, touring Europe together and finally getting signed to Okeh where they made the Two For The Price Of One LP covered in last month's Larry Williams post, as well as an album of Fats Waller covers In A Fats Bag featuring Johnny at the organ.

Johnny "Guitar" Watson would go on to appear on several Frank Zappa/Mothers albums, and later recorded with David Axlerod, Herb Albert, and George Duke amongst others. But from here on out his style of music would change, he was no longer a blues shouting guitar slinger but a soul man who would eventually evolve into the super-player funk star scoring a string of funk hits for the DJM label between 1976-79 including A Real Mutha For Ya and Love Jones, then moving on to A&M in the early 80's for more of the same except the A&M records didn't sell. His last chart entry was 1984's Strike On Computers on Valley View which petered out at #77 R&B.

Johnny "Guitar" Watson's offstage life, like that of his partner Larry Williams, was colorful to put it mildly. He lived the life of a player, pimping and dealing on the side. He drove an Excalibur, and many customized pimp mobiles, dressed in outlandish hats, gold teeth, and fur coats, he looked like an extra in a Pam Grier film. But hey, it's tough to make money in the music business, and the R&B market is the most fickle of all (which is why so many R&B singers return to the gospel circuit when their run of hits records is over). Like all of us, he played the hand he was dealt. Watson kept making music, always trying to keep up with the times. He had a good following in Europe and Japan where he often toured. It was in Japan, on May 17, 1996, that he suffered a heart attack onstage at a club in Yokohama. He keeled over and died in the middle of a guitar solo. Somehow, I think that might have been the way he wanted to go out, living up to his legend to the end.

These days I look at (and try to listen to) guitar players, and there's a lot of technically good ones, with their racks and racks of foot pedals and effects and they all sound the same. Same tone, same phrasing, same everything. But when I pull out the old shit-- Johnny Guitar Watson, Lafyette Thomas, Wild Jimmy Spruill, Mickey Baker, Pete "Guitar" Lewis, (add your favorite name here), I'm amazed at how unique their sound was, how easily recognizable their style is.

I wonder why that is?

Shirley Clarke: Portrait Of Jason, The Cool World

2010-09-15T13:54:00.001-04:00

Detail from Lobby Card for The Cool World that's too big for my scanner.

From Portrait Of Jason (1967) The Cool World (1964)

Last night we went to an opening at the Steven Kasher Gallery of photographs (and some artwork) from Max's Kansas City. The show was to celebrate the book Max's Kansas City: Art, Glamour, Rock'n'Roll by Steven Kasher (with some excellent commentary by Danny Fields among others). One photo that caught my eye was of Jason Holiday standing in front of Max's.

That photo (not in the book) wass labeled as "unidentified" (oddly enough a photo of him in the backroom which made it into the book is correctly labeled), which is a shame, as he is the star of one of the most fascinating documents of the era and the Max's scene- Shirley Clarke's fascinating documentary-- Portrait Of Jason (1967). Jason was a hustler, junkie and a character, who also often worked for rich ladies (including a stint as Carmen McCrea's houseboy in San Fransisco) as an assistant/butler/maid/go-fer. Clarke simply sat him down in the Chelsea Hotel and in one twelve hour long night, fueled by an ample supply of reefer and booze and had him tell his life story, which he did. Boy did he. Born Aaron Paine in Newark, N.J., his father was a street slick nicknamed Brother Tough and his mother was from "a good Negro family". By the time he was twelve it was obvious to all around him that he was a flaming queen, and as such incurred much wrath from his macho father. "I knew every whore, pimp and bulldagger in the town. And they all said 'You're queer'!" he relates to the camera. Jason had many scams, in addition to hustling, and working for rich old ladies (one of whom he admits drugging every afternoon so he could go out and cop while she dozed), he spent time in many jails and mental institutions, and was receiving an SSI gold check (crazy money as we used to call it) from the government to supplement his hustles.

But Jason, who was known in the backroom at Max's for performing at "showtime" longed to put together a cabaret act, which I don't think even came to fruitation. But as he gets higher and drunker, and more revealing, Portrait Of Jason gives the viewer a glimpse into a world few have ever reported on (although for those interested John Rechy's City Of The Night (Grove Press, 1963) would be the place to start). I have no idea what became of Jason Holiday, but Clarke's cinema verite portrait opens a window on a world long gone, the pre-Midnight Cowboy black hustler underground. In my post on Billy Wright last year I touched on the tent show queen tradition in rhythm and blues and rock'n'roll and how it crystallized in the music of Little Richard, Portrait Of Jason is another side of the same coin, and a must see for freak loving people watchers everywhere.

While we're on the subject of filmmaker Shirley Clarke, she also made another one of my all time favorite movies The Cool World a look at youth gone wild in 1964 Harlem and Coney Island, this pre-Civil Rights riots look at inner city black America is priceless, like a Chester Himes novel come to life.

Both Portrait Of Jason and The Cool World are available on DVD, I got my copies at the Museum Of Modern Art giftshop, although I'm not sure where you can find them out of New York City. Netflix has neither, but a Google search should turn up copies for those interested.

Shirley Clarke who passed away in 1997 is a sadly overlooked film maker these days, and she would go on to make an excellent documentary about Ornette Coleman-- Made In America (1985) among other films. I wish someone would do a retrospective of her work, it's long overdue.