Songs Under 3 Minutes: Wouldn't It Be Nice

Beach Boys: Wouldn't It Be Nice
[purchase mp3]

When the current theme idea first popped up, it was originally proposed as “under 1 or 2 minutes”. Really tough. 3 minutes is a hard enough limit. Granted, the constraints of AM radio in the 1960s more often than not forced music groups to keep their songs short. Not having been in the business, I would assume the limit had to do with the programming format: my guess would be that the music moguls had a mandate for short songs with time for ads or promos and pertinent sales monologue in between.

That said, many of the top hits were in that range – and those that weren’t were “cropped” such that they did air for about 3 minutes: if the song went on too long, the DJ would cut in before the song was over: fade out with DJ voice-over. Occasionally brutally crimping the enjoyment of the music. But that was the standard.

So… it should be relatively easy to go back in time to most any top of the pops hit from the early/mid-60s, and make a choice for a < 3 song. Sure enough: BBC’s Top of the Pops list from 1965 shows that most hits are less than 3 minutes. “Hang on Sloopy” is near the max length at 3 minutes 53 seconds. The rest of the pack times in under 3.

Considering that there were folks like Bob Dylan, who most likely felt they had something to say and could most probably have rambled on beyond 3 minutes if given the chance, you have to assume there were external pressures along the lines I suggest above.

On the other hand, I also question how many minutes I would have been willing to listen to variations on lyrics such as “Wild thing, you make my heart sing ….” (’66) in a rather limited I-IV-V chord progression.

The short song format worked for a decade or more. It wasn’t until the ‘70s that radio play began to move beyond the 3 minute limit, and part of the credit there goes to “progressive” radio, more often than not in the FM bandwith. I realize this is an over-simplification of many of the influences and elements, but many of the facts remain.

So, here’s one from that era that fits the thematic limits of less than 3.  I can't help but think of what a huge job it must have been to (try to) sync the tape vocals to the final film output!

Royal -> Songs Under 3 Minutes: The Weight

Aretha Franklin (w/ Duane Allman): The Weight
[purchase]

When I heard about this theme, I thought that I might try to write about some of the shortest songs in my library, but none of these songlets inspired me. So I decided to look at songs that just made the cut—the songs that clocked in at 2:59. I had a surprising number of these, and decided to see if any of them jumped out at me as a potential topic. That’s one of the great things about writing for Star Maker Machine—our bi-weekly themes force me to reexamine my music library, and often I uncover songs that I haven’t listened to in a while, or other hidden gems. Today’s song is one of them, and it makes a nice transition from our Royal theme, too.

The original version of this great, but enigmatic, song was 4:34, and the fine cover by Diana Ross and the Supremes (and the Temptations) was exactly 3:00. The Staples Singers’ well-known version was also 4:34, so it doesn’t work. But there is another version, one that was performed by the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin, with Duane Allman on slide guitar, that is exactly 2:59. Bingo. It is a damn good version, which some believe is even better than the classic original, and that’s a tall order. I’m embarrassed to say that despite the fact that I have a copy of it, I was essentially unaware of it. By the way, “The Weight” has been covered many times, by many different artists (here’s an article from my other blogging home, but not by me, featuring five good ones).

Also, being a Band song, there is an ongoing dispute about who should have gotten credit for the song—it is officially credited only to Robbie Robertson. Levon Helm, who ended up disliking his bandmate just a bit (One quote from Helm on Robertson: “I hate the motherfucker. “I’d kick his ass if I can get to him. He’s a thieving, lying son of a bitch.”) has stated that the lyrics were 60% Robertson, Richard Manuel and Rick Danko about 20% each, and 5 or 10% for Helm (proving that Levon was a better musician than mathematician), and that Garth Hudson should have gotten some credit for the music. Whoever wrote the lyrics, their symbolism has been subject to a great deal of discussion over the years, and here are only a few examples of attempts to explain them.

Aretha’s 1970 album, This Girl’s In Love With You, from whence the featured song comes, was recorded at a difficult time for Franklin, both personally (her marriage had recently ended) and professionally. The album is filled with covers of pop songs, including two Beatles songs, in an apparent attempt at crossover success. Half of the album was recorded in Miami, where she often was late to sessions because she was in her suite at the Fontainebleau Hotel cooking soul food, and the other half was recorded in Muscle Shoals, Alabama’s legendary FAME Studio, where she had initially established her reputation. Many reviewers dismiss the disc as a mishmash and uninspired.

At the time that Franklin was recording part of the album in Alabama, Duane Allman, who had been playing with, among others, his brother Gregg, in the Allman Joys and Hour Glass, and who had cut some demos with Gregg and future Allman Brother Butch Trucks, as The 31st of February, was working as a studio musician at the FAME Studios. He either was invited by owner Rick Hall, or just showed up looking for work, but either way, he was put to work on a number of songs, including a great, Grammy Award winning instrumental cover of Joe South’s “Games People Play,” with King Curtis on sax. His unmistakable slide guitar part meshes well with Franklin’s vocals on “The Weight,” which, not surprisingly, skew toward a religious, gospel interpretation of the song, that may not actually be there (the Nazareth in the song, for example, is actually in Pennsylvania). Also backing Franklin on the track was the great Muscle Shoals rhythm section, Roger Hawkins, Jimmy Johnson, Barry Beckett, and David Hood, known as The Swampers (later memorialized by Lynyrd Skynrd in “Sweet Home Alabama”). For more background, check out this fine documentary about Muscle Shoals.

In reviewing This Girl’s In Love With You, critic Robert Christgau wrote: “I admit that when she sings "The Weight" it sounds as if she knows what it means. But I still don't.” On the other hand, album producer Jerry Wexler had second thoughts about the song, later stating that despite the fact that the song charted on both the R&B and Hot 100 charts, “I regret having submitted that song to her. . . . this is where commercial stupidity and greed got the upper hand in me.”

But the great thing about music, or art of any kind, for that matter, is that each audience member gets to decide whether you think something is great, trash, or something in between. I know what I think about this song, and I suspect that after listening to it, you will agree with me and Christgau, and not Wexler.

ROYAL: JAMES BROWN

Yup, I'm messing you about again, as you scuttle about around how a godfather can be regal. But I don't mean that one. O, I see, did you not realise there was another? I mean Jim Brown, the Ulster postie, Elvis impersonator royale. Except he only covers the songs Elvis didn't sing. Or at least didn't sing this side of his mortal coil. For all we know these may well make up his current repertoire, in a houseband including Hendrix, Entwistle and Moon. But I digress, as Jim King, aka The King, gave up his career as a postman when discovered singing in  Belfast pub, his benefactor being one Bap Kennedy, brother of Brian, onetime Van Morrison echo-man. Bap, himself no musical slouch, was the pivot in N'orn Irish punks, Energy Orchard, before launching a still active solo career, drifting into an Irish tinted Americana. He produced Gravelands, Brown's first LP, it's novelty being that it totally comprised songs made famous by the dead, or from bands wherein at least one member was so. Here's my favourite song

Buy Gravelands

It was a surprise cult hit, albeit selling few*, yet guaranteed Brown many a late night music show slot. I think I caught him on The Word, an 90s UK "yoof" arts show for mainly post-pub audiences. This would have been 1998, with a 2nd disc following, Return to Splendor, two years later, before parting ways with his band. Here's a cracker from it.

Buy Return to Splendor

Subsequently a set of false starts have ensued, including the inevitable attempt at original material. It bombed, recently resurfacing, with other odd cuts, as Return to Gravelands. He remains world famous in his home town and the home of all old rockers, Germany,but I suspect it's better that way, even if he never quite managed the uber-trump of an album of Jerry Garcia songs. Now what could that possibly be called?

*OK, half a mill, apparently........

ROYAL: King Missile, "Cheesecake Truck"

Click and listen: Cheesecake Truck

[Purchase King Missile's Mystical Shit]

I have no quantitative way of backing up this statement, of course, but I would have to venture a guess that of all the "royal" bands you could think of, none would sound less royal than King Missile. Well, there is Royal Trux, so maybe there's that. In any case, King Missile may very well have been the kings of dumb and funny philosophical playground avant-garde stoner rock -- and the fact that I don't even quite know what that means says something. But much like King Missile's songs, it's best just to take it at face value.

You may be most familiar with King Missile thanks to their fluke 1992 "hit," "Detachable Penis." I feel quite safe in making the assertion that it was the highest-charting song ever with the word "penis" in the title: it hit #25 on the Billboard Modern Rock chart. Now sure, that's a funny song and all, but for my money, the best thing King Missile ever did was "Cheesecake Truck," a brilliantly ridiculous 1 minute and 11 second "song" from their 1990 album, Mystical Shit. "Cheesecake Truck" makes Camper Van Beethoven's "Take the Skinheads Bowling" sound like "Stairway to Heaven."

But don't take my word for it -- I could say nothing more about the song that would make you appreciate it any more than simply listening to it. And here are the lyrics in full, in order to best appreciate the song's warped genius.

So then I got this idea about driving a cheesecake truck
Cause I figured at the end of the day I could take some of the leftover cheesecakes home.
And I love cheesecake.
So I went to the cheesecake company
And they asked me if I could drive a truck
And I said yes
And they said you're hired.
So the next day I got in the truck with all the cheesecakes
And I drove about a block and I just had to have a cheesecake.
So I pulled over and opened the truck and I got a cheesecake
And I also took one for later
And I took one for my friend Farm Boy
And I took one to bring home
And by that time I had eaten one of the cheesecakes
So I took another one.
So then I figured I might as well stop at my house to drop off all the cheesecakes
So I take five cakes to eat on the way
and I drive another block and a half to my house.
Now it's lunchtime so I eat 10 cheesecakes
And a cheesecake for dessert.
I should point out by the way that all of these cheesecakes were very delicious.
Anyway, I decided the only thing to do would be to eat all
the rest of the cheesecakes and hide the truck somewhere and leave town.
And I miss everybody a lot
But I'm not really sorry
Because they were very delicious cheesecakes.

Royal: Queens

As a native of the New York borough of Queens, I’ve been a bit miffed by the virtual (but not complete) absence of any references to Queens during this theme. I could have written about bands and artists who came from that borough, like the Ramones or Paul Simon, or even Run-DMC, or some of the famous jazz musicians who lived there, like Louis Armstrong. Or, I could have made it easy, and written about Queen, or the Queens of the Stone Age. Or picked a song like “Killer Queen,” “Queen Bee,” or, god forbid, “Dancing Queen.” But, no, I’m going to go in a different direction, and talk a bit about some of the great musicians who have been crowned Queen of some genre or another. Because there isn’t an official organization devoted to the creation of music royalty (as opposed to organizations that collect music royalties), in some cases there may be competing claimants for the crown. For the purposes of this post, I deem myself the final authority, and hope that my decisions don’t lead to, say, a War of the Roses. And, because these titles are not granted by the United States, none of these citizens are in violation of Article I, Section 9, Clause 8 of the United States Constitution, the Title of Nobility Clause (or, for that matter, the Sanity Clause).

Let’s get started with the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin:



From the next country over, we have the Queen of R&B, Ruth Brown:



The Queen of Gospel, Mahaila Jackson, occupies an older throne:



Nearby, the Queen of the Blues, Koko Taylor reigns:



Meanwhile, down in Louisiana, the Soul Queen of New Orleans, Irma Thomas, lets the good times roll:



We can't forget the Queen of Jazz, Ella Fitzgerald (who lived for a while in Queens):


Influenced by some of her fellow rulers, the Queen of Rock & Roll (who also held the crown as Queen of Psychedelic Soul, presumably subject to Aretha), Janis Joplin’s reign was too short:



In Opryland, Loretta Lynn, the Queen of Country, holds sway:



Meanwhile, hailing from Staten Island is the Queen of Folk, Joan Baez:



Cuban Celia Cruz’s status as Queen of Salsa was never threatened by the revolution (although she became a citizen of the United States):



And we end this discussion with the Queen of Reinvention, yes, Cher:

Royal: Ace, King, Queen, Jack

Herman's Hermits : Ace, King, Queen, Jack 

[Purchase]

  Let's admit we've all written off Herman's Hermits. At least those of us in the US who only know "Mrs Brown You've Got a Lovely Daughter" (#1/1965) and the beer hall singalong "I'm Henry the Eighth, I Am " ( #1/ 1965), which knocked the Rolling Stones's "Satisfaction" from the top of the US charts. Their appearances in forgettable MGM movies earned them the moniker "The British Monkees".

    But when you're big enough to rival the Beatles, you get your pick from the best songwriters and by 1967, the Hermits were recording hits written by Graham Gouldman ( the ultra-catchy ear bug "No Milk Today", "Upstairs Downstairs"), Ray Davies ( "Dandy") and Donovan ( "Museum").

  

  Both "Museum" and "Upstairs Downstairs" come from Blaze. The cover suggests yet another embarrassing beat band's attempts to respond to The Beatles's Sgt Pepper but, with the exception of "Museum" and the "Taxman" bass lines of "Moonshine Man" it's mostly British invasion-styled pop tunes.

   With Mickie Most producing (and providing the Donovan connection), The Hermits recorded their best set yet. "Ace, King, Queen, Jack", written by Peter Noone and new Hermit Peter Cowap, is just one of the highlights. Though critically acclaimed, Blaze was shockingly never released in the UK and the Hermits failed to turn the corner into the psychedelic era. Blaze is out of print but collectors can find it.

Royal: Duke Ellington and Count Basie

Duke Ellington and Count Basie : Battle Royal
[purchase]

In a way, I kind of wish that I had been able to do the transition post from “Offensive” to “Royal” because I find the concept of royalty to be offensive. As the great political thinker Dennis the Peasant pointed out, “Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.” On the other hand, YouTube explainer CGP Grey makes a good case that the British monarchy, at least, is a net benefit to Britain (although not everyone agrees).

But I have to say that the fawning over the British royals and their stupid hats is annoying. Even a constitutional monarch like (former) King Juan Carlos of Spain, who did much to help the country recover from the Franco dictatorship, abdicated a few months ago, after a corruption scandal relating to his daughter and son-in-law’s business dealings, and the reports that the King had been on a lavish elephant hunting safari during the country’s fiscal crisis.

So, as far as I’m concerned, the less attention paid to these generally undeserving winners of the genetic lottery, the better. As I see it, my country was built on a categorical rejection of hereditary nobility, yet maybe we have "highness envy," because so many people seem irrationally fascinated by them. (I make an exception, though, for former King Zog of Albania, because he sounds like a character from Star Trek).

But Royal it is, and I knew that I wasn’t going to write about someone who received their status because “some watery tart threw a sword” at one of their ancestors, or something similar. Instead, I thought of two men who received their exalted status by virtue of their musical genius, Edward Kennedy “Duke” Ellington, and William James “Count” Basie.

Now, I don’t know a hell of a lot about jazz, although I like to listen to it. I learned about rock music sort of organically, by buying records, listening to the radio and reading about it. Jazz, though, is something I really only started to dip a toe into during college and after, and never got the bug to learn much of the details. Because there are just too many details. But, of course, I knew about Duke Ellington and Count Basie. And, when I decided to write about them for this theme, I wondered whether they ever played together. Google is a beautiful thing, and when I put their names in to a search, I discovered in 0.46 seconds that, in fact, they actually did one album together, First Time! The Count Meets The Duke, and (a few minutes later) that it was a pretty well received album.

Apparently it took some serious planning to get Ellington, Basie and their entire orchestras together for a session, but it happened on July 6-7, 1961, at the 30th Street Studio in New York. As one article noted, the sessions included “requisite breaks for recreational liberties,” which is a phrase so delightful it is worth stealing. Under the English tradition, Dukes outrank Earls (the equivalent of Counts), and Ellington was one of Basie’s idols, but the album is nevertheless democratically split down the middle—an equal number of each band’s classics, Duke’s orchestra is in the right channel and Basie’s is on the left, and in most cases the leaders each took piano solos (although Basie refused to play on Ellington's signature song, “Take the A Train,” so instead the composer, Billy Strayhorn, was the second pianist). Where that leaves the “Duke of Earl,” is unresolved here.

Our featured song, “Battle Royal,” opens the album. It was originally written by Ellington for the movie Paris Blues, which featured Paul Newman, Sidney Poitier, Joanne Woodward and Diahann Carroll, who could be considered acting royalty. In the film, the song represents a “Battle Royal,” when the band led by Newman and Poitier is challenged by a band led by Louis Armstrong, uncrowned jazz nobility himself, playing a character named Wild Man Moore. The Ellington/Basie version featured above starts off somewhat more restrained than the exuberant film version, but rapidly turns into a battle between the two orchestras and their soloists that is both intense and thrilling.

ROYAL: KING

Much as I loathe Queen, sorry if that shocks, by the same token I 'king loved this lot, shortlived as their flame flickered. Early mid 80's British music was a variety of genres seeking a focus: punk (or should that be post-punk) rubbing shoulders with new-wave, the 2-tone ska boom, various waves of British heavy metal, the ever-present and evanescent dinosaurs re-emerging with hair-cuts, o, allsorts, with no clearly identifiable focus. For a moment I really thought the cockatoo haircuts and spray-painted docs may have cut that mustard. And for a while they did.

Coventry, UK, is/was the home of the Midlands car industry, long dormant now, a multi-racial enclave crammed into ugly post-war housing, most of anything older having been blitzed to smithereeens in the war. With little to trumpet beyond it's cathedral, it had been the hotbed of the above mentioned 2 Tone movement, that had brought together the disaffected afro-caribbean population with their white counterparts, in marked contrast to the "skinheads" of 2 decades earlier, which had plied the latter against the former, and that was similarly strong in cities like Coventry. For a moment Coventry was famous for the Specials, the Selecter and many more. (Here's a history lesson ) Paul King was a member of one such band, the Reluctant Stereotypes, their name a nod to an earlier song by the Specials. They were not particularly successful, but garnished a couple of hits.

That all changed with a new line-up and a couple of name changes, in no small part thanks to their colourful image and energetic dynamic. Paul King, and hence the name, was spectacularly photogenic and the combination of MTV and the adulation of teenage girls propelled them swiftly into the charts. Here's their 1984 break through moment, which I fondly recall, being shown on, of course, Top of the Pops. Now, not a teenage girl myself, either then or now, I found this poly-rhythmic melange sufficiently exciting to jump their bandwagon. (Funnily enough, in the intervening years, much as I still love the song, I can't understand how the video youth dance routine didn't put me off, being gallingly gauche.)

12 inches! Buy it! 2nd hand vinyl import only!

The 1st LP produced several singles, all with extended 12 inch  mixes to add to the overall sales, the ploy of many to enhance their exposures. Some of the other songs were, frustratingly, a little clumsy and clunky, so hopes were probably not high for their sophomore, following a year later, in 1985. I have to say I found this an infinitely preferable piece with way more melody, as demonstrated by this TV clip of my favourite song, still a staple on mixtape CDs I make. (And doesn't he, dontcha think, have a look of Boy George, wondering if George O'Dowd was too a fan?)

And that was that. One solo record and the music was over. A career as "veejay" beckoned, age taking a toll on his appearance between the earlier songs, here and here . Never mind, feet of clay etc etc. Wonder what he's up to now?

Royal: Prince

Prince et al: While My Guitar ...

I lived in a place where MTV did not shine for many of its early years. Of course, you can undoubtedly get it now even in Shabaab/Somalia. But,  as a result, we used to videotape hours’ worth on slow speed VHS and watch it over and over. We had the full Purple Rain film, and of course 1999. At about that time Prince seemed to me to be musical royalty personified.

Like many of you, I kind of lost track of Prince  over the years – probably about the time he changed his name to a symbol/the artist formerly known as Prince. I do guess I last bought Emancipation. And he appeared to be trying to defy the major labels by marketing his music online. For a while.

 

I still have a lot of respect for the man. While I wonder about his direction (not so sure about whether I really like this Charlotte live stuff, even if the stage show aint bad at all), I gotta admit that his rather flamboyant performance in the clip I am featuring re-establishes his credit in my books. You’ll have to wait till about minute 3.30 to see him do his thing, but you can look out for the man with the red fedora a bit earlier. If you ever wanted proof of his royalty, this has got to be it.

Royal: Court of the Crimson King

 

King Crimson: Court of the Crimson King
[purchase]

I am not going pretend that I was ever overboard about King Crimson just because the name fits our theme. Sure, I listened (heavily) to the “Court of the Crimson King” album back when it came out. Who didn’t? Geez: the cover itself was almost reason enough to give it a few listens.

Besides, the music genre was quite in line with many of the other popular styles of the day: Yes, (the original sound of) Genesis …, so, sure, I followed their psychedelic influenced music for a while.

I’ve noted before: one of the perks of blogging here is that more often than not it leads to further learning. I wonder if you would also be as astonished as I was to hear that King Crimson is still making music? All along – since the 1960s, Robert Fripp has kept the band alive – with various hiatuses. Uncut.co.uk even announces that Fripp and other previous KC band members are due to/were due to perform this week (Sept 1, 2014) in the 8^th incarnation of the band. Who would have believed they were still around?

And as to this choice of song: there is more to my selection than just the name (enough in itself perhaps): Like much of the other works I cite as related (Yes, Genesis), there is – IMHO – a rather regal air to the song. Is it the American perception of the British accent as being somehow “superior”? Is it the references to historical issues that the shortened timeline of US history cannot match?

 

OFFENSIVE(?) : KINKY FRIEDMAN

Uncertain if this is sorta timely, given the rash of recent trashings of Jewish businesses in the UK, and further afield too, no doubt, in the wake of the current Gaza debacle, about which I am going to deliberately stay shtoom about, believing that the problem is the argument between the state of Israel and the would-be state of Palestine, rather than which side of the kosher/halal counter you lie. This is more a reminder around the never too far away waft of anti-semitism that permeates, given half the chance. And in the same way as niggers and queers have reclaimed words they now may only use, ain't the best way to respond is by ridicule?

Richard Samet Friedman was born nearly 70 years ago and is the self-styled most famous jewish cowboy in the world, something Lorne Greene and Michael landon, joint stars of Bonanza, might take issue with, but he is certainly the one who has taken that coveted title most overtly to his 5-starred heart. I doubt his parents originally envisaged his place in the entertainment canon to turn out as it did, he being a bit of a childhood chesss prodigy, later graduating as a psychology major at the University of Texas in 1962. It was there college mates labelled him Kinky, on account of his "jewfro" hair. Before music grabbed him full time, he served time in the Peace Corps and as a teacher. In 1971 he first formed his seminal band, as Kinky Friedman and the Texas Jewboys, along with similarly ironically titled Little Jewford, Big Nig, Panama Red, Wichita Culpepper, Sky Cap Adams, Rainbow Colours, and Snakebite Jacobs, encouraged as much by the disgust of his father for this "negative, hostile, peculiar thing" he had formed. 

The early 70s were a good time for country-rockers, and it was the not unlike-minded Commander Cody, of his Lost Planet Airmen fame, who gave Kinky his first break, but it took a while before he became, by his own allegation, the first full-blooded Jew to appear at the Grand Ol' Opry. In itself this was no mean feat, his speciality being offence, or rather the lampooning of the political and received, often phobic, correctness of the day, whether it be around his race, social commentary or good old plain filth. Time for a song, and I clearly have to play his most famous song, the evocatively entitled "They ain't makin' Jews like Jesus anymore", for which YouTube is awash with live versions. I use that one to show off the poetry inherent within the sentiment. His next most famous song led to the National Organisation of Women calling awarding him the male Chauvinist Pig award of 1973, a prize taken with pride. I'm sure you're ready to hear Get Your Biscuits in the Oven and Buns in the Bed. (Sadly, it's not very good, aging particularly badly. Casual racism remains a far better target than does serious anti-feminism, unless it's just me.) 

When his hit dried up he moved into literature, in particular that of crime fiction, featuring a wise-cracking Jewish sleuth called....... Kinky Friedman. Then, following an earlier failed bid to become Justice of the Peace for his area (as a republican), in 2004 he launched a bid to become Governor of Texas, with such convincing slogans as, "My Governor is a Jewish Cowboy" and "He ain't Kinky, he's my Governor", genuinely surprised not to be taken seriously and to being trumped into 6th place with 13% of the vote, in retrospect quite a solid achievement. Amongst policies to pay more for teachers, greater border controls and a suspension of the death penalty, the full legalisation of marijuana was perhaps a step to far for the moral majority of the Lonestar state. As late as last year he was threatening to once more enter the fray, but it is also evident that he has simultaneously kick-started his musical career and persona. In my research(!?) for this piece I came across this fascinating interview, which encapsulates the man and his myriad mythologies very neatly. I have to say I'm not entirely sure how offensive he comes over as in 2014, probably little, but I well recall the sharp intakes of breath as I described the man and his songs at a dinner party some years ago, failing to appreciate that both the host and the main body of his guests were the cream of local west midlands Jewry. Hey ho. I wasn't invited back.  

The song! 

A book!

Donate to his animal rescue centre!

Offensive: GG Allin

[purchase a documentary]

Time to really go for it here.

I first heard about GG Allin from the early Drive-By Truckers song “The Night GG Allin Came to Town.” As Patterson Hood tells the story, he and Mike Cooley were living in Memphis in 1991 as their first band, Adam’s House Cat, was disintegrating. They were poor, miserable and hated Memphis. GG Allin played the Antenna Club on November 16, and Hood and Cooley didn’t go—they were broke and weren’t fans. But the next morning, they were at a local restaurant, filled with an older crowd, just after church, and they overheard a couple, described in one version of the story as Thurston Howell III and Lovey, reading an article about the show in the local free paper, and being generally horrified. The lyrics to the song are pretty graphic, but here’s a transcription of the actual article at issue, and it is even better. For example:

To put it bluntly, Allen [sic] grossed out the audience at The Antenna Club. He defecated on the stage, then appeared to eat it and spit at the patrons. Allen, who is the lead singer, also beat his forehead bloody with a beer bottle and put a microphone up his rectum. The drummer performed naked.

My favorite line from the article is, though:

G.G. Allen will not be invited back to the Antenna Club, [club owner] McGehee said, although "people would pay for them to come back. He's got everyone talking.”

An excerpt from this very performance is the video above—it is offensive, but doesn’t include any of the feces-related material. (It also cuts off part way through—but if you aren’t satisfied, just Google him, and you will find many more videos not suitable for, well, pretty much anything.)

Allin was a pretty disgusting character. Literally born Jesus Christ Allin, to a spectacularly delusional and dysfunctional set of parents, Allin probably could have used someone to set a few boundaries. Instead, Allin described his childhood as “very chaotic. Full of chances and dangers. We sold drugs, stole, broke into houses, cars. Did whatever we wanted to for the most part – including all the bands we played in. People even hated us back then."

A drug addict and violent criminal, Allin served time for "assault with intent to do great bodily harm less than murder" on a female companion, and his psychological evaluation diagnosed him as having a “mixed personality disorder with narcissistic, borderline and masochistic features.” Before accepting a plea bargain, Allin claimed that the conduct at issue was consensual, and admitted to cutting the woman, burning her, and drinking her blood, but argued, in mitigation, that she did the same thing to him. So, that made it O.K.

After getting released from prison in March, 1991, Allin went on tour, which was documented in a film directed by Todd Phillips, who later directed the slightly less offensive, but substantially more successful Hangover movies.

In June, 1993, Allin was playing The Gas Station on the Lower East Side of New York, and something happened during the second song that angered Allin (accounts vary as to what that was, but it probably didn’t take much). Of, course, he trashed the club, then walked out, naked and covered in blood and feces, followed by his fans. He ended up at a friend’s apartment, continued to use drugs and overdosed. Allin died wearing a silver Nazi helmet. Here’s a first hand account of Allin’s last night, written by the legendary Legs McNeil, which differs in many details from the Wikipedia account. McNeil’s version is more fun to read, though, and better written.

Allmusic calls Allin “arguably the most degenerate and outrageous figure in rock history.” And based on my research, it seems like a pretty good argument.

Offensive: Vomit Launch

Vomit Launch: Stillness
[purchase]

Choosing a band name should be a big deal. You would think that deciding how you are going to be known to the world makes a difference. Although I’ve never been in a band, lacking sufficient musical talent and all, I’ve always imagined deciding on a name is an important issue for the members to hash out and come to some sort of an agreement. Often, the name of the band sends a signal to what the music is going to sound like. I mean, Gentle Giant is going to be a prog rock band, Metallica, is, of course, metal and The Pure Prairie League will play country rock. For a while, in the 80s, you knew that if a band was called The [insert generic noun here], the likelihood of seeing a bunch of guys in skinny ties playing poppy new wave was pretty high.

Punk rock, though, by its very nature, wants to shock, and its emergence led to a bunch of bands that purposely chose names to offend. The Sex Pistols, of course, were not the first punk band, but they may have opened the door to a more widespread use of offensive names. I remember being told by the WPRB station manager that we couldn’t say the name of the Dickies, which to this day seems overly cautious, especially since he never seemed to have a problem with the Dead Kennedys. Bands that choose aggressively offensive names, mostly punk and metal acts that I won’t specifically mention because they might show up during this theme at some point (but here are a couple of good lists) did so to signal that they didn’t care about mainstream success and were thumbing their noses at major labels, big time radio and large venues. In some ways, it was a kind of reverse psychology—attracting people by being repulsive.

But, frankly, this strategy can backfire. If you make music that actually might be popular, is catchy and not at all offensive, choosing an off-putting name could essentially torpedo your career. And, it appears, that may have been what happened to Vomit Launch.

Vomit Launch was started in 1985 by a bunch of friends in Chico, California who decided to form a band. After a few rehearsals, they were offered a gig, and therefore needed a name. According to the band’s website, a couple of the band members “drank a bunch of wine and created a list of possible band names for future use. Unfortunately among these names were Truckload of Fuckers, Fuckload of Truckers and Vomit Launch. Needing a name with a ‘gig’ fast approaching, the band decided Vomit Launch would be a fantastic choice!”

I would suggest that they were wrong.

Although the band released a few albums, opened for some well-known acts, and even had a video that aired once—partially—on MTV, by the end of 1992, they were done. Like so many obscure bands, they still have their fans, who reminisce longingly about their short career, but I’d like to suggest that with a less offensive name, they might have been more successful.

I’m not exactly sure how I first heard of Vomit Launch. I’m pretty sure that it was as a result of my eMusic account. When I joined that service back in 2005, it was a quirky service focused on small, indie label acts and allowed an incredibly generous number of downloads a month for a low price. (Apparently, there was a period when it was essentially an all you could eat buffet, but I missed that). You overlooked the wonkiness of the website and its strange policies because it had lots of interesting music, cheap. And this allowed you to download stuff that you might not otherwise consider. Over time, eMusic has morphed into a service that has most, if not all, major label content. It is still somewhat valuable, but Its quirks are less charming now that it is competing directly with iTunes and Amazon. I think it is still worth it, especially at the low, grandfathered rate that I pay. But that’s another issue entirely.

My best recollection is that one of their songs was a free track, and admittedly amused by the name, I downloaded it and found that contrary to its name, it was a good, wholly inoffensive, new wave-ish song. I downloaded a second, similarly good song, and pretty much forgot about the band, until recently, when I got into a discussion somewhere (Facebook?) about bands with offensive names. Coincidentally, I wrote about a song by the Butthole Surfers on another site, and that all led to this theme.

I hope this didn’t offend anyone.

OFFENSIVE : SNUFF ROCK

Tough assignment, boss! OK, could have been easy to wade into Wayne/Jayne County territory with some uber-punk swearies, but, on stripping away the counter-cultural and taboo-breaking schlock tactics, let's agree the music was, well, a little thin........ But during this same time period, roughly 77-80, punk rock year zero onward, is a golden one for unearthing golden little rotten apples of impurity, all being required is something of even just a little merit to fit our bill. (Whaaat? And this from the man who posts Chris de Burgh?!?) And then I remembered this!

Snuff was a film that relied more on hype than hope for it's trajectory towards any legendary status, purporting to be "genuine" footage of a murder, whereas it was merely an earlier dismal and dismally made slasher pic called "Slaughter". When this bombed on release, it lingered awhile in the vaults until some unrelated footage could be tackily  tacked on to the end, so as to cash in on the popular urban legend of snuff films, i.e. the filming of an actual slaying. With a rough cut and abrupt "finish", it was palmed off as being for real, with fake protesters being hired by the distributors to picket any performance, to drum up custom. This worked, to a degree, with the NYPD having to look into it and dismissing it as no more than conventional trick photography. The public were also told that the "dead" actress had contacted the Police, wishing to assure her fanbase she was still alive and in many fewer pieces than the film might otherwise suggest. (But as wiki says so often, this reference needs corroborating..........)

Alberto Y Los Trios Paranoias were a comedy rock band from Manchester, UK, plugging away on the live circuit since 1972 and until a decade later. Actually very good musicians, they were a staple on the live circuit and at festivals between those years, with merciless lampooning of any number of their more earnest compatriots, from Lou Reed to Status Quo, accepting that you really had to be there, comedy and rock seldom cutting it away from the live experience.Come 1977, and arguably running out of targets, the idea of combining the punk ethos with snuff films came to them, whereby the band kill themselves on stage in the name of the ultimate anarchist expression. Every night. This actually began as a play, and was premiered at London's Royal Court Theatre, no less, with the Albertos playing all the parts and all the instruments, albeit with a more conventional "show" as their support act. And I was there, having been the recipient of a ticket as thanks for giving up my room to a pair of old chums, up in London for a week. As is the way, the original soundtrack recording became available as a record, albeit merely an EP (extended play, kiddos), 7 inches of vinyl with 2 tracks aside, something I still own with pride and play with pleasure. These were 3 parodies of the big 3 of the english punk movement, the Sex Pistols, the Damned and the Clash, along with the then, de rigeur, roots reggae association with punk. I heartily endorse you to seek this one out, this time my link being for real, rather than a sop to the digital download police as to my what me innocence around posting youtube links. See if you can guess which this one is:

Buy it! 

A footnote: C.P. Lee, one of the key lynchpin members of the group, is now Senior Lecturer in Film Studies and has written a brace of worthy tomes about Bob Dylan, actually well worth reading.                                      

Offensive: Camarillo Brillo

Frank Zappa: Camarillo Brillo
[purchase: Camarillo Brillo]

The Wiki informs us that Camarillo is the location of a mental institution and that there were housed therein patients whose hairstyle was "frizzed out" as a result of electro-shocks. I had come to my own conclusion that his use of "Brillo" certainly referenced certain other human "curlies". Quite likely that both are possible: Zappa had a way of pushing societal limits, almost to the point of being offensive.

SMM has numerous other Zappa posts [http://sixsongs.blogspot.com.tr/search/label/Frank%20Zappa], and most of them verge towards the offensive either in title or in content: Don't Eat the Yellow Snow, Stinkfoot, Dinah Moe Humm, I Am the Slime ...

Overnite Sensation is likely Zappa's most offensive oevre: the picture frame that surrounds the cover artwork is one step short of nasty. Kind of a modern Heironymus Bosch.

Camarillo Brillo is only one of several songs on the album that push the limits of the acceptable  - that is assuming that you are not among those who find rock 'n roll to be the devil's music to start with, of course. But this goes well beyond what the 1950's critics had in mind when they condemned rock. Just check it out:

She stripped away
Her rancid poncho
An' laid out naked by the door
We did it till we were un-concho
An' it was useless any more

For my part, back when this came out and I was in my impressionable 20s, I memorized every line of the lyrics. I can still more or less sing along the entirety of the album from memory - 40+ years later. It was/is Zappa's irreverence for societal norms that brought meaning to his music. Aside from his guitar chops: the YouTube live versions don't even approach the guitar skills of this, the studio version.

IMPECUNIOUS : MONEY'S TOO TIGHT TO MENTION

Buy the Valentines

Buy the Huck

Come on then, who remembers this, the original version from 1982. I thought probably not, but it isn't too bad at all. Indeed, given the current de rigeur derision applied to ol' Ginger Top and the Simplys, as we call them this side, you could possibly argue that it's better. But of course it isn't, as the revisionists have forgotten 2 salient points: 1. When Simply Red first appeared they were an astonishing breath of fresh soulful air in a tired chart, and 2. By cracky, the boy could sing. And I mean really sing. So, yes, it may be now witty to exude boredom and roll one's eyes at their/his mention, they really being, to all intents and purposes, one and the same, but surprise yourself, play that 1st elpee again.

So who were the Valentines? And did the song ease their plight? Well, it got to 41 in the Billboard chart in 1982, but I can't honestly say I can think of any other of their songs, over a 4 album career, 1979 - 87, whatever wiki says. Seeing as the 2 Valentine Brothers, John and Billy, wrote it, I'll even bet they weren't too sad to see it peak their own success, reaching 28, 4 years later than their own, and number 13 in the UK.

And Mr Hucknall? I'm sure you know the all the well known stuff, but let me celebrate some of his quieter sung moments. Pre- Simply Red, he had been inspired to form a band after watching the Sex Pistols play in Manchester, another one of those gigs claimed by 1000s yet probably attended by really very few. Known as the Frantic Elevators, fame largely evaded them, but they did do an earlier version of, I guess, the "other" SR big hit , which, frankly, needed the revision and polish later gifted it.

After the demise of Simply Red, just him and anonymous session men by then, in 2010, he issued a tribute to one of his own favourite singers, the estimable Bobby "Blue" Band, essentially trying to champion his corner. Too bland by far, said the critics, but I find that harsh, and I am sure the back catalogue of Bobby will have taken a fair old hit from it's existence. You lot may know this one , first by Mick and then, by Bobby.

I was a little shocked by his next move, depping for an absent Rod Stewart in 2010's Faces reunion. Given his earlier and open rubbishings of the rock idiom, it seemed an odd move. I also note no new material came out of it. Here's a clip. And, I have to say, it's great. Until he starts singing, when it all gets a bit, well, karaoke. No wonder he went running back to safety and sales with 2012's ghastly American Soul, almost aping the recent output of Stewart himself. Hey ho, where did it all go wrong, as his bank manager won't be saying.....

A last bouquet, tho', to follow my brickbats, and that is his founding and backing for Blood and Fire records, issuing a respectable stream of dub and reggae compilations, for which I have to forever hold him high. Here is an unashamed plug.

Oh, you want to hear his version! You should have said!

Impecunious : Rich Kind of Poverty

Sam and Dave : Rich Kind of Poverty

[Purchase]

I wasn't sure I would have time to post anything on the subject of  Income Inequality until I heard Tom Petty's NPR interview. Petty was explaining a song called "Power Drunk" off his new album, Hypnotic Eye,  when he veered onto our very topic:

   I just tried to kind of explore this gap between the poor and people that get so wealthy that making more money really wouldn't change an hour of the rest of their lives. And yet they're obsessed with making more money, regardless of how that affects other people. 

    Maybe it's a moral question of, "Do you want something so bad that you don't need, even though it will hurt others?" 'Cause we're looking at a very different time in America right now. We've rubbed out the middle class, which was really the whole point of the thing for a long time — meaning America.

 
   The Isaac Hayes/Paul Selph composition "Rick Kind of Poverty" comes from Sam and Dave's 1967 Soul Men, which of course featured their monster hit "Soul Man". Booker T and the MGs are the studio band.

Impecunious: No Woman, No Cry

Bob Marley & The Wailers: No Woman, No Cry
[purchase]

After I was chosen to become the program director of WPRB, my friend Eric Klein, the outgoing station manager, and I spent some time discussing my future tenure. I valued Eric’s advice, and generally considered him a smart guy with good musical taste. To this day, though, I remember one thing he said to me, which was, I have to say, profoundly wrong. He warned me against playing too much reggae.

It was extremely unlikely that as PD, I was going to change the sound of the station’s rock programming, which was filled with an interesting combination of new wave/punk music, prog rock and classic rock, with the occasional folk, blues and jazz interlude, into a full-on reggae station. And at the time, bands like the Clash and Police were experimenting with reggae influences in their music. So, I pretty much ignored Eric, and WPRB continued to flourish, in its own college radio way.

I can’t say that I was ever a huge reggae fan anyway. I mean, like most people of my generation, I was issued a copy of Legend, Bob Marley’s greatest hits collection, and I was aware of a few of his other songs, as well as a selection of Peter Tosh and Jimmy Cliff tunes. And as my musical education continued over time, I learned about other reggae artists, but I can’t say that I ever sat down and decided to listen to reggae. That all being said, I have always loved the live version of “No Woman, No Cry” that appears on Legend (originally from the Live! album). You can hear the way that Marley commands the stage and the confidence in his voice, and I suspect that it was no coincidence that the song was recorded not too long after Tosh and Bunny Wailer left the Wailers and Marley became the acknowledged star.

The song is a message from a man to the woman he is (temporarily) leaving, assuring her that even though they are poor, and live in the ghetto, things will still be fine. What is remarkable about the song is the singer’s fond memories of sitting in “a government yard in Trenchtown” (a poor housing project), around a fire, sharing cornmeal porridge. The sense of community triumphing over need is palpable, and you can understand why he can insist that she not cry, because their friends will make sure that “everything’s gonna be alright.” In retrospect, though, you wonder how good those old days really were, or if Marley was engaging in a little selective nostalgic amnesia. (And Marley did write the song, even if it was credited to Vincent Ford, a friend of Marley’s, so that the royalties would allow Ford to operate a soup kitchen in Trenchtown.)

Musically, the live version is slower and more languorous that the studio version from the Natty Dread album, which was a hit itself.  The slower tempo (and fewer electronic clicks, chirps and noises) makes the live version stronger and more powerful than the original. As did the stellar guitar work from Al Anderson, a New York native who grew up in New Jersey, attended the Berklee School at the same time as Pat Metheny and Al DiMeola, and reportedly was in early versions of Aerosmith, before turning his attentions to reggae.

There is, also, an even lesser known, older demo version of the song, featuring Marley on vocals, Tosh on piano, and some uncredited background singers. Usually referred to as the “gospel” version, this stripped down version is also powerful.

Impecunious: Beggars

So, I'm just back from the 50th Cambridge Folk Festival. (Why, thank you, yes, it was marvelous. I may have mentioned I was going.....)  Anyhow, refreshed with the delights of such devout folkies as Sinead O'Connor and Van Morrison (?), clearly my mind is still entrenched in that tradition, songs about beggars being a solid part thereof, curiously often jolly beggars, giving perhaps credence to the current urban myth that they drive in from the suburbs, change their clothes to panhandle all day, before a visit to the safe deposit box of their high interest account on their way back home. Which, on the whole, is purely that. Myth. There can be fewer more souless ways to spend a day, poor devils, however they find themselves there.

First, some essential reading , a remarkable article I found online, with an elegant expose of the various subgenres. I then searched my collection for songs with begging, beg or beggar in their title, finding surprisingly few, if one discounts the whole of Beggars Banquet, for beknighted tax exiles, Jagger at least, and the Temptations being "too proud to beg", as it wasn't money they were necessarily seeking. (Tho' in later years, as the drugs slunk in, I wonder?). However, I found these 3, each of which give off the unlikely fumes of the freedoms of the gutter.

Firstly I invite you into the Irish Tradition, now a given, on both sides of the Atlantic, but back even only 30 odd years ago the Dubliners and the Clancy brothers were all you got, decrying neither, but it took the trailblazing Planxty to fully explore and enhance the instrumental magic therein, giving a warmth and humanity to the sometimes more clinical offerings of the Chieftains, roving out themselves at much the same time. Whilst Planxty have long gone, give or take the occasional reunion gig, each of the 4 original members, Christy Moore, Donal Lunny, Andy Irvine and Liam O'Flynn, continue to imprint their identities on the tradition. Let alone later member, Paul Brady, and without them, despite their acousticity, I believe there would be no Pogues, Dropkick Murphys, whomsoever. Here is their Jolly Beggar.
Buy it!

Back across the Irish sea, at much the same time, the folk tradition was plugging in, with Fairport Convention, Steeleye Span and various Albion Bands subsequently each at the helm, often, in all of them, under the vigilant supervision of the "Godfather of Folk-Rock", Ashley Hutchings, who would spend all day in the archives of Cecil Sharp house, the repository of these islands' traditional song, before foisting them on his bandmates and a sometimes bemused public. Here is a relatively late, post Hutchings take on their paean to poverty, Beggar's Song.
(Not singly available on Amazon.com bar the full LP, Red and Gold)

Finally, a personal favourite, perhaps a better match of the acoustic purity and the sometimes leaden plod of electricity, it's Richard Thompson to whom I turn, himself also a Fairport alumnus. Incidentally, he played  at Cambridge, solo, just this weekend. (As an aside, his daughter Kami, later also appeared with her own group, the excellent Rails, featuring her nephew, Richard's grandson, on rhythm guitar and mandolin) this is from when he was a duo with Kami's mother, as Richard and Linda Thompson. This clip is their Little Beggar Girl, and I apologise for the appalling quality, making it sound as if sought from a wax cylinder field recording.
Buy it!

Impecunious: How Can a Poor Man Stand Such Times and Live

How Can a Poor Man Stand Such Times and Live
Purchase: [Ry Cooder 1970 version]


I tell folks that I could listen to Ry Cooder "all day and all night". Take my statement with a grain of salt, but the fact remains (see my many other posts here that speak to this) that he is one of my music idols. Be it rockin' and rollin', be it bringing back the roots of popular music (or jazz), be it mentoring others - there ain't noone else does what he do.

It was through Ry that I first heard this song about hard (financial) times. In fact, there was more than one Ry tune that came to mind related to this theme- I initially thought "Money Honey" - (I want money, honey), but then recalled several other of his songs that touched on the lack of "scratch".
Perhaps more fitting for a year or two back when the Great Recession was front page news, to me Blind Alfred Reed's 1929 song evokes images not only of the 1920s, the dust bowl and of California but also - of anyman's plight if he ain't got the "do-re-mi".


Bruce Springsteen is online at YouTube with several versions that doesn't do it right. (Comes to mind the line: Prohibition's good if it's conducted right)

Of the Youtube links that I sifted though, my favorite is this first link:

Second in line of the YT versions is this from the New Lost City Ramblers:

And finally, the YT link to a scratchy version by the original author: