The Mamas & the Papas “Farewell to the First Golden Era”

It’s kind of crazy, release three records in three years, and then come out with one like this, a goodbye career retrospective. Of course, they had the songs to do it—if you’re a fan of The Mamas & the Papas, like I am, this is a thoroughly enjoyable, every-song-is-good record (1967) to keep on your turntable, especially when it’s time to break of the incense, weed, new friends, wine, what have you, on Friday at 4:45pm. I guess things were moving fast back then (late-Sixties) and kids would go from detasseling Kansas corn to “generational voice” to rehab to kneeling with gurus in the East—in the course of a few years. But I kind of think that most mortals (and even some immortals)—when it comes to songwriting—have supernova-like flares of inspiration, often followed by spectacular burnout. How else you can you explain all the beautiful, visionary songs arm-in-arm with tortured dogshit coming from the same individuals throughout the history of pop music? This record, of course, contains “Monday, Monday,” which I believe was their biggest hit, and happens to be one of my least favorite of their songs—for some reason it always turned me off—maybe it reminded me of fuckin’ Mondays! I see “California Dreamin’”—a song I inexplicably never get tired of—as the polar opposite of that other California song (the hotel one, that even pains me to mention). One of my very favorite of their numbers, “Twelve-Thirty,” is here—maybe I love it so much because I, as in the song, look out on a church steeple clock (until very recently, as it was obscured by a yuppie-condo. Also, it told perfect time—and there’s no canyon—and no young girls…) Still, love the song. And also, rather unfortunately, they have omitted, here, my favorite of all their songs, “Somebody Groovy.” And finally, I have to mention, my very favorite Mamas & Papas LP is their last one, People Like Us (1971)—which emerged after they were pretty much history. It’s not a very popular opinion, but maybe if there’s anyone who agrees with me about this, maybe we should start our own little club, and call it, I don’t know, how about: “People Like Us.”

James Gang “Live in Concert”

The first song is what I wanted to hear, with some of that excessive hard-rock guitar I still like—though I’m guessing a lot of my friends don’t—since they’ve moved on from 1971. But after that, the boys turn the wank-o-later up to eleven. I believe this is just about the last James Gang LP before Joe Walsh left—and the band continued on without him. I might take a wild guess and say “Live in Concert” is not the title the band wanted for the record—it sounds exactly like a title a record company would apply after overruling the band’s choice—something like: “James Gang Cleans Up,” or “…and the Horse You Rode in On,” or “James Gang Shovels Shit and Give Zero Fucks.” Though there are virtually no credits on the record, it’s implied that the concert was recorded at the prestigious Carnegie Hall, and the story the album cover tells is that either they rode up on horses or wrangled some for an album cover pic—leading to the even better back cover photo—four guys shoveling horse poop. (I believe the band was a three-piece at this point, so maybe the other guy is the only other credited name on the cover, Bill Szymczyk, but I don’t know.) At least they’re not using leaf blowers. I can’t say I enjoy this record, except that it perfectly paints an aural flashback so vivid I can smell it. Hippie sandals, subtle weed, good cigarette tobacco, stale beer, bota bag crap wine, overheated amp tubes, and the coke-fueled sweat of hardworking musician excess. It’s something. Way too many instruments for three guys and way too many notes and effects. It’s kind of perfect. I love Joe Walsh, especially because he seems like he has a good sense of humor. Plus, I can listen to “Funk #49” all day. (I’m sure they played it in this concert, but it’s not on the record.) It’s been said that genius and shit are two sides of the same coin, and to finish a single disk live record with with an 18 minute version of The Yardbirds’ “Lost Woman” that manages to be even wankier than the original—and without a harmonica, even—is a feat that can best be expressed by a picture of four guys shoveling shit outside of Carnegie Hall. Bravo!

The Woody Herman Band “Chick, Donald, Walter & Woodrow”

Big band leader Woody Herman made records from the Thirties to the Eighties, and though he’s as household of a name as Frigidaire, I’ve heard very few of them on my record player. This is one of many, but to me an exciting oddity because Side 2 consists of five Steely Dan songs: “Green Earrings,” “Kid Charlemagne,” “I Got the News,” “Aja,” and “FM.” But first—Side 1 is called “Suite for a Hot Band” and is composed and arranged by Chick Corea. It’s a long piece with “movements”—it’s hot, though I haven’t listened to it endlessly or anything. In the “Second Movement” there is even an odd vocal part, which sounds like either a guy who can’t sing, or some kind of rarified jazz singing I’m not hip to. (It’s Woody Herman.) I like it. Side 2, then, is all Steely Dan (Donald Fagen and Walter Becker being the other first names in the album title). Kind of a subtle tip-off—but much nicer than a record called, say, Woody Herman Plays the Sizzling Hits of Chick Corea & Steely Dan. The cover offers no real clue to the vinyl inside, either; in fact I might have seen this for years and never picked it up since it’s frankly kind of hideous. It’s an airbrush composition of some kind of car—a convertible, with a Fifties winged look—floating on an endless, global “Waterworld” sea (the curve of the horizon is prominent). Or it could be in the clouds, I don’t know. Anyway, the barely visible passengers are four penguins. I suppose meant to represent out heroes—but penguins?

I was only aware of this record because my friend Doug, knowing I’m a huge Steely Dan fan, gave it to me. It’s the first record I have with any cover versions of SD songs—and though I know there must be tons out there—I’ve heard very few. These five hot tunes do them justice. Oddly my favorite, here—since it’s a SD song I’m not crazy about—is “FM.” There’s a flute part that really works. You can find most of these on YouTube if you want to hear them, I’d recommend it—and there is a bonus—you can also find the version of “Deacon Blues” that was left off this record—for no reason I can tell—it’s very good. Full musician credits on the back of the album cover, which is cool—and Steely Dan regular Victor Feldman is heavily involved. Also, there are liner notes: Chick Corea’s jotted seemingly at gunpoint, but Woody Herman’s is nice, informational, and heartfelt. But then Becker and Fagen go and write what seems like a “short story”—ha! (I always say, if someone gives you a chance to write something that’s going to undergo some kind of printing-press treatment, be it a cereal box, doctor’s office magazine, or album liner notes—go for it.) The story is an extended and bizarre anecdote involving “Dick LaPalm”—who I assumed was a made-up character (that name!) until I looked on the internet (which wasn’t available to me in 1978 when this record came out). He was a real guy—Woody Herman’s publicist—and known as the “The Jazz Lobbyist.” Also evident is the address of the record company, “Century Records,” on Sunset Blvd in LA, so I looked that up, and I was not totally surprised, but happy, to see there’s a Mexican restaurant there, now. Rather see tacos than chain drugstores.

Willie Nelson “Half Nelson”

The intersection of artists who are immensely popular and artists I like is astoundingly small, but that’s where Willie Nelson lies, along with a few filmmakers and few other country singers. I’m not trying to be difficult, I’m just being halfway honest. Ever since I first heard Willie Nelson sing I’ve been trying to figure out what makes his voice sound like it does. The only answer I’ve come up with is: because it’s Willie Nelson’s voice. Even though some of this stuff is previously released, you figure duets with 10 of popular music’s biggest stars should be an automatic home-run—but alas, it’s merely a “half nelson” (a wrestling move that, if you use it in a baseball game, you’ll be ejected from the game and heavily fined). That’s because, besides 10 duet-ists, there’s also a wide variety of arrangements and producers—some aren’t half bad, but some are half-assed. And this came out in 1985, a dismal year for the “hot sounds.” Willie would have been around 20 when Hank Williams died, so technically their duet here could have been recorded in the early-Fifties, but I suspect another method was used: séance. It sounds like Hank, even from the grave. What’s kind of funny is how Ray Charles sounds so much like Ray Charles, and Willie and Leon Russell doing a Rolling Stones song sounds just like a Leon Russell song. My favorite is “Half a Man,” with George Jones (sounds like George Jones, and Willie!) in keeping with the theme—and a nice song. One of my favorite product names is “half & half”—incidentally, and my brother and I started a conceptual band called “Half”—not because we’re each in a different city, but because there’s music, alright, but no real band. The hideous album cover looks like it took a half-hour from conception to print-ready—ugly, too—it would cause me psychic harm to even describe it. I’ve got to get some better Willie Nelson records—I really do like him, and he’s put out maybe thousands, I don’t know. I wonder if there are other funny play-on-words titles—no doubt. Though I believe “Full Nelson” is a Willie Nelson tribute band—you have to wonder if they “antiqued” their guitars, and just how much the singer sounds like Willie—kind of doesn’t seem possible.

Lee Porter “Jesus Christ… Lee Porter Made An Album”

This album is a grand mystery, and I’m not willing to spend as much time, at this point, going as deep into the internet as it would require to find out more. Maybe on a rainy day I’ll look further. It came up, to review, using my random system, on Good Friday—nice, so I’m doing my best. The cover is a big fake-out—it looks like classic thrift-store religious art—a handsome, blue-eyed, bearded man—no doubt Jesus—sitting on a rock, overlooking a seashore. And the album title in script letters. On back is a severe looking, we’ll presume, Lee Porter, sitting in a big, wicker chair. I was trying to think of the name of these chairs, and “peacock chair” came to mind, so I was looking that up, and at that moment—I was watching Klute (1971) on TV—and a woman in the movie (not Jane Fonda) was sitting in the exact same chair! I don’t make this stuff up.

Back to the music—the voice on the record matches her look—she sounds like a whiskey-voiced lounge singer—I mean that in the best way. I really like her singing. Yesterday I was not a Lee Porter fan. Today I am. Though if she knocks on my door right now, an elderly resident of this haunted hotel I make my home, I might need a drink. Twelve pop songs with a piano, drums, bass, etc. combo. I’m not going to list the tracks—you’ll know most, or all, of them. There’s no date on the record—I’m guessing the second half the Sixties, but I might be off. No other info, except that it was recorded at Dave Kennedy Recording Studios, Universal Building, Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and the musicians are: Dave Kennedy, Bob Couey, Bill Otten, Gary Miller, and Merv Pyles. No record company. No other info. Maybe someone will read this and fill me in.

The first song, “A Good Man is Hard to Find,” is presented as a live recording, with an MC introducing it, but I suspect it’s another fake-out, because the sound quality sounds exactly the same as the rest of the record, and very little other audience noise is in evidence—though it’s possible the first side is live and the second is studio—as it’s a bit more subdued. At any rate, it’s quite bawdy, so people who bought this expecting Christian music might have put it right on the devil-rock bonfire. The last song on the record is a perfect, slightly tipsy, lounge-band version of “Misty,” which makes me want to go out and find Lee Porter and this band, like tonight—at the classic cocktail lounge, somewhere like Bryant’s or At Random, and just sit there with a Lucky Strike and a Manhattan and maybe hope for a word with Lee during her break—maybe I can ask her to do an interview for this very website. “What the hell is a website?”she asks, wondering if I’m some kind of goddamn spider-man. I hope when I get back in the time machine I won’t take the blood-alcohol level with me, because it was rough giving that stuff up. Or maybe I’ll just stay back there, whenever that was.