John Ernst Café

This is a promotional record from 1958 (according to the internet) for John Ernst Café—it says: “Milwaukee’s Oldest Restaurant… John Ernst Café – Offers Old World Charm” – and the music consists of, on the first side (introduced by John Ernst), Irv and Chet on violin and organ bringing you a “medley of favorite European and American numbers” requested nightly at the café. Then on side two, Doris and Ernie Wicki (who don’t seem to have a Wikipedia page) on accordion, vocals, and bass violin – “our Swiss entertainers” with “Alpine musical treats.” The sound recording is nice (by Dave Kennedy) and you can imagine that you’re in the room there with the performers and people dining. There’s a couple of small photos of the entertainers on the back cover, sharing the spotlight with photos of what might be Weiner Schnitzel, Kassler Rippen, Sauerbraten, Cornish Game Hen, and Lobster. It’s signed to “Joe and Kate” (formerly custodians of this LP) “regards + best wishes, violinistically yours, Irv Brykczynski (I think—he ran out of space!) and Chester Vincent. On the cover, John Ernst welcomes you to the door (also, signed by him) and says “Welkommen.” There’s a nice picture of the café, on Ogden Street, at Jackson, which you will recognize as still being there, but now taken over as a Chipotle, a Panera Bread, and something else. Sad, but at least they didn’t tear it all down to build another of those lifeless, four floor apartment buildings. I was living in Milwaukee while John Ernst Café was still operating and I failed to dine there—one of my many, many regrets. At the point that they closed, my friends and I checked the dumpster each day as they cleaned the place out. It had to be the most magical dumpster of all time. For years, I displayed things like the decorative crows I found there. I have an old menu, but I’ll be damned if I can find it, now. I do have a typed out “Luncheon” menu from September 16, 1965, hanging on my wall. My kind of lunch—liver and onions for $1.75—as is “Koenigsburger Klops with Caper Sauce.” But if you want to splurge, South African Lobster Tail is $5—and “Mocha Torte” is 40 cents. Coffee is 15 cents, and you can get a Stein of imported beer for 75 cents!

Sandy Posey “Single Girl”

Sandy Posey must have sold a lot of records in the late Sixties, because I’ve had no trouble finding inexpensive copies of them—the problem is, Sandy Posey fans listened to these records to death—they are always well-worn. I had a copy of this one, from 1966, earlier, but it was so warped as to be almost unplayable, so I eventually got rid of it. This copy plays okay but it’s so scratchy it sounds like someone used it as a soup tureen. I don’t mind the sound of scratchiness so much, but at this level of scratchiness it makes me feel like it’s doing my stylus grievous bodily harm. It’s such a good record, though, I’ll keep an eye out for yet another copy. I guess she had some big hits at around the time this came out—her first or second album—and so she had the good fortune of recording with some very good Nashville studio musicians and having the pick of some really great songs—sometimes a bit backwards lyrically—but all catchy and beautiful songs. That goes for the other Sandy Posey records I’ve heard as well. The songs, production, and performances fall into this area I like that’s, I guess, at the intersection of country, pop, and early rock’n’roll—kind of the area Skeeter Davis inhabited sometimes—and there is that record I have that’s SP on one side and SD or the other—and it’s a good one. I like all twelve songs on this record, but if I had to pick favorites they’d be: “Single Girl,” “Hey Mister,” “Patterns,” “The Last Day of Love,” “Shattered,” “Don’t Touch Me,” “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long (To Stop Now),” and “I’m Your Puppet” (when considered ironically). Also, the album cover is the best of hers I’ve seen—she’s got a pretty menacing expression and is wearing a cadet blue trench coat with the collar turned up. Her monumental hairdo gives her an extra eight inches, easily. The background is blurred out, but she’s definitely standing next to an iron gate and a stone wall—giving the impression that she’s either just outside of a prison—or a factory that’s one step down from a prison. I suppose the idea here might be illustrating Single Girl—and the primary reason she’s single is because her dude’s locked up without much chance of parole. Or, if you want a darker take, seeing how “Single Girl” could be interpreted as an ode to prostitution, maybe she’s the one on the wrong side of the law.

Leon Russell “Carney”

I would have bought this record even if I wasn’t a big fan of Leon Russell, just because he’s in clown makeup on the cover—and if you want me to buy your record—appear on the cover in clown makeup—I’m a sucker for it! Though—he actually looks more like a zombie than a clown—but it’s the context—the circus and carnival theme of this record (if it was called “Zombies in the Park” it’d be a different story). A more traditional spelling of Carney is “Carny”—but this record is from 1972—and seeing how that’s a half-century ago—who knows—plus, it could be a regional spelling. Either way, it refers to a worker in a traveling carnival (and works metaphorically, of course, for rock’n’roll performer). By the way—the 1980 movie, Carny, is worth finding—it’s kind of a lost masterpiece. What if someone told you there was movie with Jodie Foster, Gary Busey (at his best), and Robbie Roberson (also co-writer of the movie)—just hanging out, throughout—well, this is it. (Well, there is a story, there’s drama, but the scenes when they’re just hanging out are the best.) Plus, Elisha Cook, Jr., plays an old-time carny! If you haven’t seen it, you’ve got to check out this movie.

Anyway, this is a fine Leon Russell album, I believe it’s his third. I knew the excellent songs “Tight Rope” and “This Masquerade,” but I thought they were metaphorical (which they are) but didn’t realize they also conform to the circus theme, here. A bunch of good Leon Russell songs on this album, fine playing, and I love his singing. Side two starts off with some utter weirdness—a song called “Acid Annapolis” (which I’m sure is a band name, by now) which sounds like a bunch of ghosts in a cave—interesting song. Pretty much the rest of the songs are beautiful, melancholy songs about regret and being lost, an outsider, struggling along in the world—some of them quite dark. More than one song takes place on the road, sometimes literally, and sometimes on the side of the road. Broken down, weary. Really, a lot of lovely songs on this record.

I will read more and talk more about Leon Russell when I write about more of his records—I have a few, and I keep an eye out for them. If I find one as good as this one, though, I’ll freak out. I know I don’t like some of his later stuff as much, but there’s tons of recordings worth exploring. He’s an interesting guy. Also, here, of note, is the amazing back cover photo, which is L.R. (in his front cover makeup) sitting next to a makeup mirror, outside of a mini mobile trailer—the kind that tiny-home hipsters would totally drool over, now. In an ironic touch, the trailer is hitched to a vintage, very expensive, Rolls Royce. The funny thing is, given the ongoing love for both the car and the trailer, the irony all but disappears in a contemporary setting. The scene would, in fact, be quite easy to reprise, at least in, say LA, and the setup would actually work very well for nearly any current recording artist imaginable.

Vanilla Fudge “Renaissance” record in “Near the Beginning” cover

I’ve known about Vanilla Fudge my whole life, but I failed to score any of their records when I was at an impressionable age—so I really had no idea what they sounded like. I have no excuse, really. A tremendously influential group—if it wasn’t for Vanilla Fudge, you’d still find Hammond organs in thrift stores, for instance. If it wasn’t for Vanilla Fudge, there would be no Spinal Tap. But, I suppose I got them mixed up with some other psychedelic bands from the late Sixties or so. As far as the dessert goes, I’m all for it. I’m not one of those people so loyal to chocolate as to despise vanilla—I don’t get that. And, in fact, I generally prefer vanilla. Peanut butter fudge has them both beat, however, as it may be the best thing ever created in a kitchen.

At any rate, the problem here is that someone put the “Renaissance” (1968) record in the “Near the Beginning” (1969) cover, so what I have is a kind of hybrid. Even weirder, the former owner of this album meticulously placed red (to match the label) tape over the title, “Renaissance,” on both sides of the label. Why? So… possibly it would resemble the 1967 Vanilla Fudge debut LP? (containing their biggest hit, “You Keep Me Hanging On”). I can think of no other possible reason, but either way, it makes no sense. But this isn’t stopping me; I’m listening to my vinyl copy of “Renaissance” and also listening to “Near the Beginning” online—which also includes what sounds like live bonus tracks, which I have to say, I like better than either of the records. This is one of those bands that—when punk rock came along (with its rules about stripping down rock music)—served as an example of musical excess. Really long songs, lots of showing off, solos, and so forth, etc. I mean, the guys are great musicians, and they really go to town—so for people who like this kind of thing, this is your… thing. It didn’t take the punks long, anyway, to fall right into similar, if not more excessive, excess.

Anyway, since I’m going all out, I listened to an interview with drummer Carmine Appice—on Joe Wong’s The Trap Set podcast—and that was fun, and interesting. Somewhere along the line, in the Seventies, when I started playing drums, I guess, I somehow associated Appice with some douchebags (probably music store employees) who claimed he was the best drummer ever—and maybe he is, for the kind of style he has—but of course, I was more of a Keith Moon, Charlie Watts, Maureen Tucker, Nick Knox kind of guy. The douchbags also pronounced his name wrong, but you can’t blame them as there was no internet or podcasts yet. Anyway, it’s a fascinating interview—and I’ve found podcasts a great way to discover that people who you’ve held up as a god (or Satan) turn out to be a human beings, with feelings, after all—and there’s no place for our hatred (or worship, for that matter). Also, it turns out that Appice has a memoir out, which sounds like it could be a lot of fun—it’s called “Stick It!: My Life of Sex, Drums and Rock’n’Roll.” Maybe I’ll get to that right after I read Klaus Kinski “Uncircumcised.”

Anyway, one of the interesting things Appice said in this interview was that he had no regrets—except possibly that he wished they hadn’t released the second Vanilla Fudge album, which killed their career. I don’t know about that—since he’s had quite a career—but that got my attention. What is this record? I guess he’s talking about the one called “The Beat Goes On” (1968)—and I found some snippets of it on the internet. Yeah. It sounds like someone was smoking a little too much “White Album”—but you have to give them credit for being a little nuts. And seeing how (if my math is correct) it was released the same year, but before, the “White Album”—whom was smoking whom? History might find this to be their greatest work—probably not—but I might. Apparently they were big fans of the Beatles, seeing how many Beatles covers they did (unless they were like a lot of other recording artists of the era who—I suspect—recorded Beatles songs under orders from the guys with the checkbooks).

Well, this is about it for Vanilla Fudge, for this evening—and that’s a lotta Vanilla Fudge! I hope I don’t have to get my stomach pumped. Oh, and I forgot to say, I always thought it was a pretty good band name—since it can’t possibly be a double entendre, or represent anything untoward, right? And it’s not nearly as dumb as, say, The Strawberry Alarm Clock (or The Beatles, for that matter). And I’ve discovered something to keep my eye out for, on vinyl, to fill out my bizarro shelf—that “Beat Goes On” LP. AND—I’ve got an unsolved mystery: someone out there knows why they put red tape over the title, “Renaissance”—on the label—and then put the record in the “Near the Beginning” cover. There’s probably a story there.

The Mills Brothers “Cab Driver”

It’s not likely I’ll become The Mills Brothers’ biggest fan—though, if I got ahold of some of their older records and put some time in, who knows. This one, from 1974, is one of the later ones—they were putting out records since the Forties—and the internet lists at least 50 before this—and if you look at singles—it’s crazy. I can’t remember where I picked this up. They had a record a couple of years earlier with the great title: “A Donut and a Dream” (and there’s a diner on the cover). They were huge, sold millions of records, and they were in movies and on TV. I looked for a documentary about them—there is one from the Eighties—I’ll have to watch sometime (someone posted it on YouTube, in parts, so you can watch it right now). I know they originated in Piqua, Ohio—and since I spent some time down in Troy, near there, that area is close to my heart. Anyway, I like this record fine—there are a dozen pop vocal songs—all of them catchy and a most a little corny. A few of their classic hits, like, “You Always Hurt the One You Love.” The standouts, here, are “Cab Driver” (naturally) and “Truck Stop” (any song with greasy spoon and coffee shop in the lyrics). Various songwriters, hits over the years. I could listen to this stuff all day if this is what I had to listen to. This album is in perfect condition—it looks brand new. It’s funny, thinking of it as one of their “new” records—it being nearly half a century old.  The movie, “Taxi Driver,” came out a couple years later, and feels equally as timeless (not that the two are in any way related!) I like the yellow cab-yellow album cover—and there’s a picture of a “contemporary” cab on the cover—it looks like a Chevy Caprice or Impala—a “Yellow Cab”—even though those classic, old, Checker Cabs would have been still running at this time, of course, and for years after this. This is on Ranwood Records (from Nashville producer Randy Wood). Another funny, dated thing is the sleeve has a little form you can cut out and send your address and a quarter (25 cents) to the Ranwood Records HQ in Los Angeles (9034 Sunset Blvd.—I looked it up—current home of Sketchy, Inc.) Yes, people used to put a quarter in the mail and request catalogs. A stamp, at that time, would have cost ten cents. Sometimes, you’d tape the quarter to a postcard and send that. If you tried that now, it would probably jam the post office automatic system, and shut down the entire USPS for a day.