I found this 1979 K-Tel radio love songs hits collection somewhere, and kept it, and even listen to it occasionally—even though it plays like it’s been wedged in someone’s couch cushions for a few decades. Call me Krazy—I still enjoy it. Maybe it’s all the “K’s”—lately—watching that Blade Runner sequel, reading Kafka and Kurt Vonnegut. Also, I based a character on Calvin (K Records) for something I’m writing (it’s a secret), and I saw a box of GF Rice Krispies for $14 and said, “this marks the end.” I always thought K-Tel was affiliated with Kmart—kind of understandable to think that—but not so. I recently found the K-Tel children’s songs collection unlistenable, in spite of the best cover ever. For this one, I have no cover, but I oddly find it quite listenable. (I found the cover online—kind of creepy—single rose on white, silk sheets—no loss there.) I guess I have a soft spot for the odd collection records (especially ones advertised on TV in the Seventies). These songs are from the musically weaker, latter half of the Seventies—stuff I heard on the radio during the end of high school—and, for the most part, either ignored or actively despised. Now, believe it or else, on this well-worn vinyl, most of these songs sound really pretty good. If I had to match the songs to the bands, however, I would have scored a pathetically weak 1 out of 15 (I knew Commodore’s did “Three Times a Lady”). Since I don’t have an album cover to follow along with, it’s hard to comment on each song—so I’ll just say, some do sound as insipid as ever, but even so, I’m finding them as a whole… kind of nice. I’d say this was nostalgia talking, but I was never nostalgic for music I didn’t like—this is kind of reverse nostalgia, if that makes any sense (it doesn’t). Anyway, I’m just feeling a bit of warmth and luv for once, for the Little River Band, England Dan & John Ford Coley, Heatwave, Dr. Hook, Peaches & Herb, Bobby Caldwell (surprisingly good, but then I’ve gone smooth-jazz lately), Gene Cotton & Kim Carnes, Rita Coolidge, Ann Murray, Commodores, Melissa Manchester, Ambrosia (that “How Much I Feel” song—not bad), Eric Carmen, Firefall, and the real shocker, Gino Vannelli—in that I had one of his albums in high school and it was definitively not for me. But this “I Just Wanna Stop” song sounds kind of great to me right now.
Archive for April, 2022
Somehow this 45 is with my records, even though I don’t recall acquiring it—but that’s nothing new. It’s looks like it got tossed over the fence and back, but the bold red and yellow Verve label hasn’t faded, and it plays great (that’s 33 1/3 RPM for you) and it takes me right back to 1956, four years before I was born. I have little recollection of Jane Powell, though she was in a bunch of movies and shows, on the radio, and made a few records. Her singing is a showtune style—I guess it sounds like times past, now—and I like it very much. Orchestra conducted by Buddy Bregman, and these are a couple of Cole Porter songs. Very romantic—I would say outright sexual, except that we know “making love” doesn’t mean sex necessarily, but rather, “making love.” And “true love” is only in the mind. To put things in perspective, Jane Powell was born a year before my dad, she passed away just last year, and they put in her Hollywood sidewalk star the year I was born. There are some nice pictures of her on her Wikipedia page—one with a cat, and one with Liz Taylor, sharing an ice cream sundae, form the 1948 movie “A Date with Judy.” That got my attention because, on my “read soon” stack, there’s a book called “A Sundae with Judy” from 1949. I assumed that the two must be related, but the authors don’t match up. Perhaps there’s more to this connection—but then, I guess it’s not that important to get all investigative about. After all, my primary interest is the ice cream, ala vicariously, since I can’t eat ice cream anymore. Sad but true.
Bill Wyman “Monkey Grip”
I always thought Bill Wyman was the coolest of the Rolling Stones—and there’s plenty of old accessible, old, footage to watch if you want to debate—a good way to spend a rainy afternoon. I didn’t realize he quit the band so long ago—the same year I quit drinking—almost 30 years ago. Like yesterday. This is not a hard record to find, but I coveted my copy since I first heard it in 1987 (it came out in 1974). It’s one of those mildly bizarre rock’n’roll relics of the Seventies. A lot of “what were they thinking?” moments—I love it—with reservations, as it doesn’t take long to fall on unacceptable side of acceptable. For instance, on the standout opening number, “I Wanna Get Me a Gun,” he sings: “I’d like to get me a gun—and scare the shit out of everyone.” Uhh… you just did. “Pussy” features fiddle, banjo, and the good ole’ Jews harp, played by Bill (he plays bass, throughout, and there’s no shortage of excellent musicians on this record). I didn’t listen closely enough to discern the lyrics, but I assume it’s about a cat. The song, “Monkey Grip Glue”—there seems to be a story in there—lying somewhere between misogynistic and nonsensical—but I can’t figure it out. Apparently, Monkey Grip is an actual product, but good luck trying to find it online—when your search will bring up this album, a somewhat more fascinating product. The album cover belongs in the bizarre album cover museum, no doubt. While you’re searching, though, don’t pass up the chance to watch the “I Wanna Get Me a Gun” video—it’s a shortened version, but truly one of the ten best things on YouTube at any given time. This is a very American sounding record, which is interesting—honkytonk, country, R&B—which I guess makes sense, from a Rolling Stone. His singing voice is pretty innocuous, but what’s interesting, it doesn’t sound English at all. Maybe you sing like what you most listen to. My favorite song on the record is the last one, “It’s a Wonder”—because it’s the funkiest—it has a nice groove. Last is a good place to put a strong number, since it’ll lesson your inclination to take the vinyl off and mold it into a salad bowl or something. Not that I’d consider that—I love Bill Wyman!
I remember seeing Leslie Uggams all the time when I was a kid—I believe she was on TV a lot. She must have been young—according to the big computer, she’s only 78 now—and she’s still doing a lot of acting. She was in Roots, for one, that was big one. On the back of this 1969 record, there’s a notice that says to watch the “Leslie Uggams Show” on Sunday night on CBS. I don’t recall that show—but I’m sure it’s in there somewhere, the old memory—because back then, we all knew all the shows. Sunday night, of course—there was a lot of competition—with Columbo, Disney, and homework. I saw this record used somewhere—I’d not seen any of her records that I can remember, lately, anyway. It’s got a striking cover—a pretty-close-to life-size portrait of her—looking out at us—with no—or at least, an unreadable—expression. She is wearing a very cool dress—we only see the neck and shoulders, but it’s striking. The back cover is a nice photo of Leslie U. reclined in the grass, somewhere—no horizon. There are so many leaves oddly scattered that you have to wonder if the art department scattered them, or if the art department failed to remove the leaves on purpose. Or if there was no art department. I like that we’ll never know.
There are some good songs on this record. Nice version of “Fly Me to the Moon”—which I always thought was called “In Other Words” (its original title—but I guess I’m showing my age, since it’s been recorded under the latter name like a million times). When I first heard “Just to Satisfy You” it reminded me so much of Nancy Sinatra, I had to look at the song credits to see if it was a Lee Hazlewood number—but it’s not—it’s by Waylon Jennings & Don Bowman. Fascinating. She’s got an interesting voice, with a lot of dramatic vibrato, I guess it is, at times, and then little-kid-like at other times. “Someone is Standing Outside” is one that goes so big, has so much drama to it—I probably would have guessed it was a Jimmy Webb song (it is). You could imagine Richard Harris singing it. There’s a version by Thelma Houston, and a version by Patti Austin. (I had to quick check and see if Uggams might be a city in Texas.) You no doubt know “In the Ghetto,” the Elvis version—I did not realize that song was written by Mac Davis. “That Old Sweet Roll (Hi-de-ho)” is a fairly heavy-duty Goffin-King number. “Put a Little Love in Your Heart” is as familiar to me as my first girlfriend’s phone number—but who did that song? Oh, okay, Jackie DeShannon—I missed that on the pop quiz. It looks like there are a LOT—and some ODD—covers of that song. I’ll have to put on a “Put a Little Love in Your Heart” Marathon—sometime soon—and play them all. I’ll be sure to include Leslie Uggams and Leonard Nimoy.
The complete title adds “with Professor Peter Schickele.” I like a wurst pun as much as the next guy, so I guess I bought this record in a weak moment—I’m sure the price was right, so I didn’t look too closely—which would have clued me in that it was not for me. But seeing how it’s April Fools’ Day today (which seldom falls on a Friday), I thought I should listen to it and write something—and generally put the blame on me. Though I find it unlistenable, I got through all four sides. I grew up listening to comedy records, but haven’t put one on, on purpose, in the last four decades—I just don’t like comedy records—and then, especially not live ones—and then, especially not when the applause is the loudest thing on the record. It gets a little better as it goes on—reminds me, with a tiny bit of nostalgia, of something like “A Prairie Home Companion”—which I don’t like either—but if this was on the radio, say on a Saturday morning, and I was a little drunk, I might warm up to it. But no. It reminds me more of going over to the house of a difficult to tolerate relative of someone you’re dating—and they pull out this record while you all have to sit around the living room with frozen smiles, and time seems to stop, and you’re just hoping for the dog to pee on the floor or a tornado or something. I’m sure much of the humor goes over my head, and that’s my problem, but on the other hand, I get fart jokes, but don’t think they’re funny. And do I need to mention the kazoo? My late friend, Keith Busch, once made a kazoo funny—but I really don’t think it’s ever going to happen again—plus, I was probably drunk, and remembering through a haze of nostalgia.
DJ Farraginous 
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