THUNDER & LIGHTNING: CALL ME LIGHTNING

I have always found the idea of the Flaming' Groovies decidedly enticing and enthralling. Even before they ever came into my personal earshot. Long before, in truth. For a while, in the early thru' mid '70s they seemed to have a permanent feature in the inky pages of the hipper than thou UK music press, peddling a mythology that so appealed to my teenage fantasies. My understanding was that they had hopped over the ocean for some such tour or other, thereafter becoming stranded, destined to eke a basic existence in the bars and clubs of London. The truth? A little more prosaic.

Let's start now, as the band have still a footprint, although that may have faded with the death, in 2019, of original member, Ray Loney. Although he had left the band in 1972, he was deemed integral enough to be granted special guest status on the 2019 tour, during which he sustained the fall that precipitated his demise and possibly that of the band. He had kickstarted the band, a gaggle of snotty nosed brats in 1965 San Francisco. With an initial foray into the A Mighty Wind type folk music of that day, the Rolling Stones seemed a far more potent influence, and he linked up with teenaged guitar poser, Cyril Jordan and George Alexander, a school friend told to learn how to play the bass guitar. With Tim Lynch on 3rd guitar, alongside Loney and Jordan, and, eventually, drummer Danny Mihm, image was as much their calling card as their scuzzy and scuffed r'n'b, all chelsea boots, shades and attitude, snarled vocals, spiky guitars and harmonica, propelling an ugly, organic rhythm. Their debut, a home-recorded and released EP, Sneakers, came out in 1968. That got them a deal with Epic records and a somewhat chaotic first long player dropped the following year. The label dropped them and they spent the next year or so on the road, honing their craft and toughing up. Kama Sutra then picked them up, with their second release for that label, Teenage Head, hitting the zeitgeist, if not the charts. No less than Mick Jagger rated it highly, comparisons being made to the Stones own Sticky Fingers. Loney, with his heart more in the rockabilly roots he had always been in thrall to, here jumped ship. Which is roughly where we came in.

I'm Drowning (1968)

Dropped again by their label, and struggling to find another, it was the unlikely haven of the UK that threw them a lifeline, via the British division of United Artists. (The US end of the organisation had not been so enamoured.) With Chris Wilson, another youthful wannabe guitarslinger, drafted in to replace Loney, and whose musical preferences aligned more with Jordan, and a new drummer, it was off to Rockfield studios in Wales they headed. This was 1972. Dave Edmunds, himself having made no small waves in an energetic amalgam of 50s style and 60s melodicism, each with a keen rock rhythmic core, was hired to produce. With hindsight, the product they there produced was probably their finest hour, including, as it did, their perhaps best known song, Shake Some Action, not then able to see the light of day.

Shake Some Action (Remastered 1976 version of 1972 original at Rockfield)

But that promise came to nought, UA not liking so much their direction as they had thought, the deal dissipating into a pair of singles. Flailing around somewhat, the band oscillated, seeking further deals and shedding drummers at a pace. Action was ultimately released, albeit in re-recorded form, on Capitol, itself not without delay, down to internal brouhahas within that company. Meanwhile, record executive Seymour Stein was setting up his new label, Sire. Without it being a major, he had the knack of hitting on zesty acts with counter-cultural and counter-intuitive appeal, garnering a roster of hip acts. Ideal for the Groovies, who found themselves back in Wales and back with Edmunds. No wonder I thought they had never been away, and their 1976 album, of the same name, finally allowed the original 1972 versions of it and a couple of other songs from those sessions, along with some new stuff, to reach the record racks. With Sire then taken over by Warner Brothers, they now had some muscle behind them.

Shake Some Action (later version)

Plain sailing ahead? Well, no, this is the Groovies, remember, never much in favour with Lady Luck.Memebers started coming and going, although the Jordan, Wilson, Alexander trio kept a grip on the baton. Sire too bounced them in 1990, and even the aggressive management style of Elvis Costello manager Jake Riviera couldn't stop them flailing between labels, their image never quite that of the team in charge of their promotion. History tells us their style was power pop, just that nobody quite ever twigged that point at the time. Eventually, in disarray in 1991, with their catalogue scattered across multiple rights holders, they split. Perhaps just as their songs, courtesy appearances on any number of samplers and collections, were becoming better known.

Teenage Head (1971)

Fast forward a further few years. Since 72, Loney had remained in the music business, on occasion with other erstwhile members of the band. When the film, Clueless (1995) included Shake Some Action on the soundtrack, that was impetus enough for him to put the band name back into use, despite having had nothing to do with that particular song or that version of the b(r)and. Coaxing Jordan back into the fold and they were off. Over the next decade there would be sporadic appearances, usually just Loney and whoever he could find, sometimes with Jordan too. With that duo, a UK tour, in 2009, led to a serendipitous hook up with Wilson, himself now a UK resident, and the founder of the not un-Grooviesesque Barracudas, self styled surf-punks. Wilson, relishing in the reconnect, put out a run of solo albums, each recouping as many of the old gang as he could, with core member Alexander and various other ex-Groovies also present, alongside he, Loney and Jordan. One of these was even entitled It's Flamin' Groovy. 

Gamblin' Man (2013) - Chris Wilson feat. Ray Loney

By 2012 it seemed logical to go the whole hog, and the band were once again an item, with Jordan, Wilson and Alexander, but Loney again on the bench. 2017 even saw a new album, Fantastic Plastic. To be fair, consistency of both material and line-up was hard to maintain, and it was often a case of whomsoever was available, willing or present, as first Alexander again dropped out and, then, Wilson took a break. This was where Loney again popped up and in, if in a nominal guest role. 

End of the World (2017)

Is that it? Uncertain has to be the answer, at leat while Jordan and Wilson survive, arguably equally so Alexander. Wilson is now back home in the States, and has supposedly semi-retired. Jordan? Who knows, but, as the co-writers of their most famous song, never say never. 

Here's a live version featuring both of them, from 2013:

(What about the song in the subject, I hear you say? And yes, you are entirely right, it is more a shoehorn to get the Groovies into a post. And, yes, you probably have heard it before, it being a cover of the Who's first 1968 US single release. I found this version on one of the legion of dodgy compilations out there, cobbled together by various offshoots of various record companies, all trying to make a belated buck on the back of the Groovies. It appears on Replays: Groovies Greatest, a double CD I picked up for a couple of quid in a supermarket, and that reawoke my dormant interest in this unluckiest of bands. Here's the original version.)

Buy some Groovies!

(TEENAGE) HEAD

Teenage Head (1971)

Simpler days, simpler days; back in the 1970s chart music was still largely the domain of youngsters, largely, give or take the odd svengali, music by and for youngsters. Had anyone told either the public or the performers that those self same performers would still, forty years later, be at it and flogging their wares at a stage near you, ridicule would be the result. No way, those in then know knew perfectly well that the the Rolling Stones, old men by then, in their 30s, were past it and ready to be put out to grass. And I dare say the Stones may even have thought that themselves, when Jagger said, of this 1971 album, by San Fran pre-punk post garage band hoodlums, the Flamin' Groovies, that they had done a better job (with it) than Sticky Fingers.

High Flyin' Baby (1971)

Back in 1971 there was still something desirable about teenagers. Ever since this transitional phase between being a kid and being a parent had been invented, roughly around 1956, the importance of snot-nosed braggarts and bum-fluff revolutionaries had become ever more elevated. Teenagers were for far more than just falling in love, they held the keys to the future, and many an anthem of the day recognised that, as band after band rallied their troops, a blind eye on their own disappearing youth. At least the Groovies, back then, were still in sight of their teens, the lynchpins, Cyril Jordan and Ray Loney being only part way and halfway into their 20s. The lyrics are a bizarre mix of bratty braggadoccio and pawnshop philosophy, all jammed into three short verses. I love it, even if it took me until now to actually decipher the words. Even if you take the Jagger comments as hype, by Teenage Head, their third release, they were certainly brewing up a potent mix, and it well deserves a listen for when cobwebs need blowing away. I hear more of the Pretty Things, mind, than the Stones.

Yesterdays Numbers (1971)

The Groovies were all over the UK rock press of the day, especially that most counter culture of the inkies, the NME, who embraced the fact that the band seemed stranded in the UK for reasons never quite revealed, the suggestion clear that they were just to bad to be allowed home. Bad as in bad, maan, and therefore to be revered. Their thrashy trashy three minute songs were the antithesis of the fading meritocracy of prog, whose concept album crowns were beginning to tarnish. Much of that was mythology, of course, the rather more prosaic truth being that they didn't have a deal in the US, and that the UK arm of United Artists had brought them over to make a record under the helm of Dave Edmunds, himself no stranger to retro stylings. But Ray Loney had already jumped ship, and the band were moving more into a power pop direction. If Loney was the Stones, Jordan was more the Beatles. 

Shake Some Action (1976)

The band hung together, sometimes barely, over the passing years, their flame never quite extinguishing, always available to become god-fathers of whatsoever movement was currently in vogue. If punks they weren't, certainly punky they were, and it is to that movement they became most closely aligned, if to the ever so slightly more cerebral US wing thereof. It should be no surprise that it was to the Groovies that the Ramones acted as support, on their maiden trip to the UK. Edmunds was still producing the band when their high water mark was reached, with the still vibrant Shake Some Action, the song the band are mainly known for. Not a hit at the time, regular later outings on film soundtracks, notably 1995's Clueless, have ensured its place in the pantheon, a go to song for evoking high energy good rockin' tonite. Various short-lived reunions of various band members ensued in that wake, it taking until 2009 before Loney and Jordan took to the stage together, if airbrushing out post 1972 content. Time repeated itself and he again left to be replaced, again, by Chris Wilson, who had taken his place first time around. Musical chairs continued to be the order of the day, 2017 seeing a new album and another new launch. 2019 had Chris Wilson being depped by Loney, now acting as special guest in the band. Entitled the Teenage Head tour, the now septuagenarian Loney was hospitalised after a fall and missed the European dates, dying a few months later. (Below has them shaking some action, sans Loney, on the Paris leg, Jordan still the dapper frontman.)

Head for it!

Leftovers: Cutlery (that Cuts) (and Alabama)/A Knife and Fork

Rockpile: A Knife and Fork
[purchase]

I took some time off from this blog over the summer, so for the Leftovers theme I’m trying to hit some of what I missed--and this post covers three in one!

I have to believe that more food is eaten from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day than any other similar period during the year. At least in my family, this period is filled with big family meals, parties, dinners out, and many, many cookies, thanks mostly to my wife, the master baker. As someone who struggles with weight and diet and the related health issues that this has caused, it seemed appropriate to write about this song, a cautionary tale about overeating.

My introduction to the song came from its inclusion on the only studio album released under the Rockpile name, Seconds of Pleasure, despite the fact that the musicians (Nick Lowe, Dave Edmunds, Billy Bremner, and Terry Williams) acted as the band for both Edmunds and Lowe on a number of solo releases. At the time of the album’s release, I remember being a little disappointed, despite the fact that there were a number of strong tracks, but as a fan of both Edmunds and Lowe, maybe I expected too much. I think that the critical opinion of the album has improved over the years, though.

What I didn’t realize until I started writing this was that “A Knife and Fork” is a cover—which is a little embarrassing for someone who sporadically contributes to a cover blog. It was originally written and performed by a mostly forgotten performer, Kip Anderson, back in 1967. The song was recorded at the legendary FAME Studios in Muscle Shoals, Alabama (hey—that’s another theme that I missed), and was produced by Rick Hall. Check out the original version:


Look, I’m a big Dave Edmunds/Rockpile fan—ask my college roommates—and their cover of the song is good—I liked it then, and I like it now, although I was never a huge fan of when Edmunds’ voice sounds processed. But if you compare it to the more soulful, horn-filled original, the Rockpile version feels restrained. So, I have to say, the original is better. Because, in part, everything is better with a horn section.

Edmunds, to his credit, often covered obscure songs, giving them a new life—on Seconds of Pleasure, for example, in addition to giving Kip Anderson some royalties, he covered a lesser known Chuck Berry song.

Although I do expect to indulge during this festive period (and I already have), I hope that the situation isn’t as dire as the song portends.

Jukebox: I Knew the Bride (When She Used to Rock 'n' Roll)

Nick Lowe: I Knew the Bride (When She Used to Rock 'n' Roll)
[purchase]

I’m pretty sure that Elvis Costello was my gateway drug to Nick Lowe, Dave Edmunds and Rockpile. I suspect that I started exploring Lowe’s music very early into my WPRB career as a result of seeing that he had produced Costello’s (and Graham Parker’s) early albums. Of course, Pure Pop for Now People was genius. I can’t recall exactly when I connected up Dave Edmunds, or where I found out that essentially all of the Lowe and Edmunds albums were really just releases by a band called Rockpile that couldn’t record under that name for some contractual reason. But I do remember playing their music over and over. Ask my roommates. At that time, it did seem a bit odd—Lowe was considered part of the new wave movement, although his records in those days were more power pop, and Edmunds sounded like a throwback to Sun Records and rockabilly. In retrospect, all of this was part of an attempt by musicians to get back to their roots, simplify things and strip down the sound, as a reaction to what was seen as the excesses of the Classic Rock Age of the Dinosaurs. At times in their careers, though, both Lowe and Edmunds fell prey to the apparent requirement that musicians who start simple, but record for a long time, have to experiment with adding layers of instruments, effects and sound.

“I Knew the Bride (When She Used to Rock 'n' Roll)” is a fun song, in which the singer, somewhat wistfully, discusses how he remembers when the bride at issue, who is now all posh and proper, and marrying a rich stuffed shirt, used to hang out in her jeans at the bar, drinking and flirting and dancing and having fun. And, because our theme is Jukebox, it is important that she was always “Pumping all her money in the record machine.”

The first version of the song was released in 1977 by Edmunds on his Get It album, and it is a typically rootsy rocker. (Edmunds’ next disc, Tracks on Wax 4 featured a song called “A.1. on the Jukebox,” by the way.)


But my favorite version is the one downloadable above which came out a year later, on the Live Stiffs album, from a Stiff Records European tour that also featured Elvis Costello, Ian Dury, Wreckless Eric, and Larry Wallis. Billed to “Nick Lowe's Last Chicken in the Shop” (although introduced at the show as “Nick Lowe’s Led Zeppelin”), which included Edmunds on guitar and Rockpile’s drummer Terry Williams, drummer Pete Thomas from the Attractions and others, they rip through the song in a messy, 70’s punk way.

It appears that when Rockpile appeared live, though, they kind of split the difference in versions—there’s both punk and twang in this version from 1980:



I remember reading once that Lowe said that he was going to keep releasing this song until it became a hit, and in 1985 he tried again, with very dated sounding production by Huey Lewis, who also plays the harmonica and sings background. (Lewis’ early band, Clover, was brought to England by Lowe, and achieved little success there, although its members, minus Lewis, but including future Doobie Brother John McFee, were the backup band on Elvis Costello’s Lowe-produced debut, My Aim is True).



I’ve kind of lost track of Edmunds’ career over the past few years, but Lowe had reinvented himself again as sort of a crooner. And yes, he still drags out this old tune to play, despite the fact that (or maybe because) it is hard to find a “record machine” anywhere. Although he now plays it with more of Edmunds’ rockabilly tinged sound than his Stiffs Live energy.



It’s still not a hit, but it was covered by The Knack.

Elvis Covers Part II: Girls Talk

 Dave Edmunds: Girls Talk

[Purchase]

Elvis Costello gave Dave Edmunds this song in "a moment of drunken bravado" as he put it in the liner notes of  Rhino's reissue of Get Happy!! In 1979 Edmunds scored a UK#4 hit with the hard charging song which he recorded with Nick Lowe ( whom you can hear chanting "girls talk" at the end) and Rockpile. (The same bunch of pub crawlers who recorded Lowe's Jesus Of Cool that year). The result is power pop perfection. Costello was at the very height of his snarky word-playing powers:

There are some things you can't cover up with lipstick and powder
I thought I heard you mention my name, can't you talk any louder?

It was far too late for EC to take back the song by the time he recorded his own version later that year with The Attractions. The two minute version is more herky jerky, sounds a bit like a throw-away, and got stuck to the B-side of the 1980 Get Happy!! single "I Can't Stand Up For Falling Down".

Even an alternate version Costello recorded can't match Edmunds's straight ahead approach.

Linda Ronstadt has always known a good song when she heard one. She covered "Girls Talk" and two other Elvis Costello tunes for her new wave album Mad Love. An almost instant million seller, that 1980 album is out of print.

And yet Billy Joel's new wave recording Glass Houses is not. I know I've run off topic but really!! Is this justice? Discuss below.

School Days: Back To School Days

Dave Edmunds: Back To School Days

[purchase]

A familiar nostalgia for the black and white worldview of younger days couched in the familiar fifties-style Rock 'n Roll nostalgia of seventies hitmaker and Welsh pub-rocker Dave Edmunds, who we heard earlier this week as lead vocalist and guitarman for Rockpile. Edmunds supposedly returned to touring just last year after a quarter century of semi-retirement. Back to school days, indeed.