August and the Spur of the Moment Band “Lost Horizons” / “The I-95 Asshole Song”

The A-side of this single is called “Lost Horizons”— a mellow pop song with nautical references, but not enough to fall into the “Yacht” category. It seems to be about dissatisfaction in a relationship—though it could be about being unhappy with your current job—ready to make a change—so it could be the song for our current times, this post-pandemic career migration epidemic. Even though it came out in 1983—which is a year that I would normally avoid like the plague, when it comes to records I know nothing about (pretty much anything later than 1974, I get nervous about). I have no idea where I got this record—I suspect it might have been within a group of 45s that were somehow in a basket on top of my refrigerator (that I may have mentioned previously)—I have no idea how they got there, but they collected dust for about a decade before I finally decided to see what was playable, what was amazing, and what was dumpster lining. Both songs are by Fred “August” Campbell, and I’m going to go out on a limb and suspect that he’s both the “August” of the “Spur of the Moment Band” and the singer, here. By rights, the B-side should be the A-side—a song called “The I-95 Asshole Song,” that’s about getting “cut off” on the Maine to Florida Interstate—which I’m sure, at any given time, has enough rude drivers operating to sink a space-alien invasion. The singer is referring to the driver, asking if “you” were “born an asshole, or did you work at it”—etc. And then variations on that theme, nothing too subtle about it.  It’s pretty much a novelty song, in the “outlaw” style—kind of a brazen gimmick to attract airplay, except I don’t think it can be played on the radio—though there’s nothing really that offensive, save the harmonica. Isn’t asshole one of the words you can’t say? I believe “ass” is okay, and “hole” is okay, but when you combine them, that’s where the problem lies—the image is undeniable—even though it’s not literal, here—you could replace asshole with “jerk” and no meaning would be lost—but certainly much of the song’s charm would be.

Skeeter Davis & Bobby Bare “Tunes for Two”

There are a few Skeeter Davis duet records—the ones I’ve heard are right up there with her solo records—and this one is, too. Bobby Bare is a big name in country music—but I know nothing about him—so I’ll look him up. The big computer says Bobby Bare is his real name, he’s 86, has a birthday coming up, and is from Ironton, Ohio, which is on the river. I’m from Ohio, and I consider everything south of Lake Erie “The South” and anything along the Ohio River “The Deep South.” This record, from 1965, is one of his early ones—and he did a second duet record with Skeeter Davis in 1970 called “Your Husband My Wife”—which is a great title, and a bit of a brain twister. I like that title so much, I looked up his discography, and he’s kind of king of great album titles. I’ll list some here: This is Bare Country, I Need Some Good News Bad, What Am I Gonna Do?, Singin’ in the Kitchen (which I think I have!), The Winner and Other Losers, Drunk & Crazy, As Is, Drinkin’ from the Bottle, Darker Than Light, and my favorite: (Margie’s At) The Lincoln Park Inn (And Other Controversial Country Songs).

This cover is really cute—Skeeter and Bobby leaning on each other—they almost look like brother and sister—they have the same blue eyes. They’re both kind of wedged against some mysterious something—it’s either part of a car or a jukebox—I’m going with the latter—but it’s an odd pose. Bobby Bare reminds me of someone I know. Skeeter Davis—who looks different in every photo you see her in—in this particular look, also reminds me of someone I know. On back, they each write some liner notes—about each other. It’s ever cuter than the cover, if that’s possible.

This is a great record—it’s produced by Chet Atkins. All twelve songs are very good. Here are some of the highlights. “A Dear John Letter” has Skeeter singing, and then Bobby Bare doing the spoken part—about getting such a letter while overseas—it’s quite effective. “Too Used to Being with You” is one of the crazier song titles on the album, and it’s also a good song. “In the Misty Moonlight,” written by Cindy Walker, is one of my favorites on this record. “We’ll Sing in the Sunshine,” another good one—a Gale Garnett song—a little bit bubblegum, a bit bouncy—and nice the way they mix vocal parts. “I Love You,” by Billy Barton, is another one with Bobby doing a spoken part—it’s pretty great. I can imagine a lot of people—maybe who are not fans of country music, or maybe just younger—might think this kind thing is hopelessly corny. It is a bit corny, but it’s too bad if you can’t appreciate it. “Out of Our Minds” is my favorite on the record—it’s a song by Melba Montgomery—I’ve heard it somewhere else—I think on that great John Prine album of duets—I don’t remember who sings it with him (I can look it up—Melba Montgomery, duh). Actually, my very favorite here, is their version of “Let It Be Me”—just because that’s one of my favorite songs, period—I suppose you can do a bad version of that song, but you’d have to work at it—this is a very good one—with them each doing a spoken part—it’s kind of the epic number of the record. I, of course, remember “Together Again” from my childhood—I suppose the Buck Owens version. It ends with “Invisible Tears,” which is catchy and upbeat crossed with some really weird and bleak lyrics. That’s country music!

Tony Bellus “Robbin’ the Cradle” / “Valentine Girl”

This song takes me back, wa-ay back to a time before I was born (only slightly). According to the internet this single is from 1959, and it was written and sung by Tony Bellus, from Chicago, who is now 85, if he’s still with us. At the time of this recording he would have been only 23, so that to be robbin’ the cradle he’d have to be dating someone, what—13? He sings, “They say I’m robbin’ the cradle—they think it’s strange for true love to be so young.” I guess “they” is society, who thinks he’s out of line. Or maybe at 23, people say you’re robbin’ the cradle if you go out with someone who’s 18—only five years younger. Of course, the older you get, the wider the “acceptable” gap gets. Who’s making these rules, anyway—the same “society” that came up with this weird expression, “robbin’ the cradle?” Which is, if you think about it, very disturbing in that it’s a euphemism, essentially—but taken literally, would mean “stealing a baby.” And there’s no good way to spin stealing a baby—I don’t need to elaborate. The B-Side, “Valentine Girl.” is a bit easier to swallow—about that time once a year when candy hearts appear, and then disappear (when you eat them, presumably). “Be my Valentine girl”—innocent enough, except for the phrase: “I give my heart once a year”—which means, what, that it grows back? Will it regenerate, if removed? I know I’m taking that too literally—but there’s a reason for that—3/4 way through this short song, there’s a totally odd key shift that has the effect of making you question everything you’ve just heard—it kind of takes it out of pop innocence and puts it in the realm of “twilight zone.” Nice record—my copy looks like arrived by high winds, with attendant debris—scratchy as hell—and it sounds great.

June Christy “Gone for the Day”

I have one other June Christy record (“Something Cool”) which has one of my favorite ever album covers. This one, from 1957, isn’t quite “polar opposite”—but it’s not quite Equatorial, either—and it’s definitely a spring or summer day. It almost like it’s trying so hard not to be cool, it’s cool in itself, if that makes any sense. It doesn’t, really—but I find this cover fascinating—I’ve always been curious about people having their picture taken with a tree. Sometimes they touch, or hold on to, a branch. I always wondered about that. In this photo, June Christy, hair pulled back, subtle (save her eyebrows) makeup, no earrings, no jewelry except for a pearl bracelet. She’s casually dressed in slacks and a striped, possibly men’s, dress shirt, and is sitting rather awkwardly against a slim, leaning tree—her elbow against the tree, supporting her head, and her other hand holding a small branch. The woods, behind, is out of focus, but the tree seems to be leaning toward what looks like a scum covered pond, with her name and the title, “Gone for the Day,” hovering over it in a stylish, simple font. There’s something about the whole look—from shirt to the tree selection, to the font to the pond, that I just really, really like. It’s as if she’s saying, I really don’t give all that much of a flying fuck. Relaxed! But even kind of annoyed. The only way the cover could be better is if there was a fly siting on her cheek, or visible sweat, or something—you name it—in her shirt pocket.

The orchestra is Pete Rugolo and is very fine, and I love June Christy’s singing—perfect for this mood, and these songs of relaxation and carefree between times. Of the twelve songs, the only one I know well is “When the Sun Comes Out”—one of my favorite standards—and this is a great version. “It’s So Peaceful in the Country” is kind of an epic essay on moving out of the city, quite a song. “Interlude” is a fascinating one, it’s slow and meandering, kind of literary—you can’t really call it a pop song. It’s like a short story, but in a five-minute song. “Love Turns Winter to Spring” is a particularly beautiful one, with subtle vibes—and it fits in one of my favorite song categories—songs about seasons. With a particularly beautiful melody, “When the World was Young” is another epic, played here with the intro—I know this one from somewhere. The breezy, jazzy “Gone for the Day” is the perfect song to name the record after—I like the sentiment. “(Love’s Got Me in a) Lazy Mood” is a lovely one to end with—great song. Really, they’re all excellent songs, and excellent versions—this is a substantial record—it’s one to put on any time—though I suppose hot weather would be the thing.