10cc “10cc”

I remember 10cc from the Seventies—though I don’t remember if I personally had any of their records. I recently found a copy of this, their first LP, from 1973, which I know I had not heard before, so I was curious. The cover is intriguing, and mildly disturbing, as “10cc” is spelled out with what looks like inflated, damaged and repaired, sausage casings—or possibly condoms—come alive like balloon animals. It’s pretty great. I also looked them up on the big computer, and it turns out their Wikipedia page is practically a full-length biography. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen such a long Wikipedia page. Weird. Check it out if you’re curious, and you’ve got an afternoon. I was also reminded of their song “Life is a Minestrone” —which is one thing I could have gone to my grave without thinking about ever again and been just as well. The song I have always associated with this band is their 1975 hit, “I’m Not in Love” —which I always had a fondness for. It gave me a somewhat intrigued, slightly adult, mysterious feeling. Listening to it now, it’s still pleasant, but really, it’s just a nice melody and a lot of air. And the “big boys don’t cry” part, in the middle, makes me cringe.

As far as this record, it’s just not for me. It’s jaunty, goofy, upbeat, clever, but too much of all of those for my enjoyment. People who like, say, the really goofy end of the Frank Zappa spectrum might like this record. They are funny guys, yet not clowns nor comedians, yet funnier than clown or comedians. Too funny. One of the band members goes by LOL CRÈME, which I always thought was one of the better rock star names. And this is back when LOL simply meant LOL. (My word processing added the little accent above Crème, I’m not sure why, but I’m going to leave it. It’s funny.) Oh, and one more thing, there has long been a controversy about what the name of their band means (it’s a very cool band name, 10cc). I’ll clear that up right now. 10cc, or 10 cubic centimeters—which is roughly equivalent to .33814 ounces—is the amount of hard liquor (80 proof) it takes for each member of the band, otherwise known as “lightweights,” to become silly, even goofy. I’d say in recording this record, they must have consumed nearly 1000cc, or one liter, each, of hard liquor (80 proof). Or the equivalent.

Frank Sinatra “A Man and His Music”

My random record review picking system happened to pick a Frank Sinatra record directly after a Nancy Sinatra record, so I considered vetoing it, but seeing how it’s too hot to write record reviews with a migraine anyway, I figured I’d give it a shot—and write only as much as I can while listening to this (double) record. This is a 1965 retrospective, so it has the feel of a biography—the cover is a collage of drawings of Frank over the years, and there are some not very satisfying photos inside (it opens up). The best thing—there is extensive liner notes by Stan Cornyn, the record exec who’s known for writing great liner notes—so here we have one of the most concise—but still thorough, and not lacking in flair—Sinatra bios out there. I like the part where he’s talking about how, throughout his career, Sinatra liked to go against the grain: “To do everything wrong, and hence much righter than the rule book allows.”

If you’re a Sinatra fan, you know it’s impossible to even scratch the surface of a retrospective in a two-record set, but here it is. Maybe the best audience for this is NON-fans, I don’t know. My parents had a lot of his records, so I heard them growing up and thought I had a pretty good overview—but his career is vast. When I lived in New York in 1985, over Thanksgiving weekend, Wednesday night through Sunday, an AM radio station played a Sinatra marathon, “from A to Z”—just a staggering amount of songs. They tended to play the earlier recordings of the songs in question, so what I then realized was that he recorded a lot of songs multiple times, with different bands, arrangements, and styles. So a maniacal Sinatra fan can go quite deep. His earliest stuff sometimes doesn’t even sound like the same singer as his later stuff—yet it does, too. You never confuse him with anyone else—he’s got the most distinctive and unique approach to popular vocal music of anyone who’s ever approached a microphone. I’m not sure if that’s totally true, but even if he’s not your favorite, you have to admit, if he came to your dinner party, you wouldn’t get him mixed up with Bob from over to State Farm. (Nothin’ against Bob!)

I’m not going to list the 30 or so songs on this record—which is a paltry number relative to even what he recorded during the acne years. One would like to think these were picked by the man himself as being most important to him over the years, but that certainly doesn’t mean they’re the best. And some of them—like the interminable “Soliloquy” and “The House I Live In”—I could very well do without. What’s funny, though, and somewhat unique, and definitely worthwhile, here, is that Frank recorded little intros and outros to many, actually most, of the songs. You can listen to the whole thing like a audio documentary or radio show. It’s all a bit corny, but he does it with his breezy but sincere hipster style, so it’s a lot of fun. By the way, I did a smart thing during that Thanksgiving A to Z marathon, and got out my cassette recorder and taped everything I could, on every blank tape space I could find. Some of the songs were obviously played from station’s scratchy old 7 and 10 inch discs, maybe even 78’s, I don’t know. Anyway, it all had a particular feeling—just the oldness, and the broadcast quality—that I’ve never heard duplicated. I sometimes still listen to those tapes.

Nancy Sinatra “Sugar Town” / “Summer Wine”

The single “Sugar Town,” from 1966, was Nancy Sinatra’s third or so big hit, after “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’” and “How Does That Grab You Darlin’?”—all of them written by Lee Hazlewood. They had quite an inspired collaboration, the two of them. Lee Hazlewood is one of my favorite singers and songwriters, and probably one of Nancy Sinatra’s, as well. They really had something going. If Lee hadn’t come along, Nancy might be best known for “Somethin’ Stupid”—which isn’t bad, and even kind of twisted, but nowhere as twisted as some Lee H. songs (like “Some Velvet Morning”). As far as I know, they never were a couple, either, which strikes me as kind of cool. Also, I don’t think there’s anything to that old rumor that Frank’s henchmen took Lee out in the desert and dropped him off a cliff. I imagine Frank rather liked Lee. Anyway, it’s a nice, poppy song, and has the distinction of rhyming Tennessee and Tallahassee, but it’s hard not to hear it as a drug allegory—most likely some kind of opiate—but then, it could just as easily be about being in love—or having a run of good luck.

The B-side, “Summer Wine,” is much better, though. It’s also written by Lee Hazlewood—and is a Nancy and Lee duet. It’s a great song— a three-and-a-half-minute epic, with strings, drama, mysterious imagery. It’s essentially them alternating half a dozen verses, but as Nancy’s verse is repeated, it serves as the chorus, while Lee’s verses tell the story—pretty much a tragic Western noir. At first, Nancy’s lines (“Strawberries, cherries and an angel’s kiss in spring…”) sound innocent, nostalgic—but as Lee’s lines (“My silver spurs were gone, my head felt twice its size…”) advance the story of a cowboy who’s come to town to be seduced, drugged, and robbed—Nancy’s lines, even though they don’t vary, take on a completely darker complexion. With each of her parts, even though the words are exactly the same, you might hear increasingly sinister subtext. Again, it could be an allegory for drugs, or crime, or just love gone wrong. Maybe all of those, but then again, maybe something else as well. Or… dare you imagine it… maybe it’s simply love. It’s a pretty incredible song, actually—one of my favorites from those two.

Michael Franks “One Bad Habit”

Initially, this one almost scared me away, as the record starts with the song, “Baseball”, which starts with a wailing, groaning guitar, and features a chorus that goes, “Love is just like baseball,” etc. Well… when I think about, I can’t really argue with that—and the rest of the song is pretty smooth and low-key, with some pretty funny lyrics. The album cover would have been enough to scare me away (thirty-something Michael Franks wearing an eggplant sweater and Levi’s in a locker room, in front of an open locker)—it’s a funny photo, but does a locker room ever look compelling? Also worrying, the year it came out, 1980, which is past the date I’m willing to take chances on. But I bought it with no hesitation because once I heard Michael Franks’ 1976 record The Art of Tea (which I bought on a whim, not expecting anything—I’d never heard of him) I set out to buy anything and everything I could find—and he’s got a few releases, about 18 original LPs, now—though I’m not sure how many are on vinyl—I’ve found seven, so far, and a few others via digital formats. One of my favorites, Time Together, is from 2011—as far as I can tell, he’s had a remarkably consistent half-century career. Every song of his—that I’ve heard—sounds like a Michael Franks song—he’s written a lot of amazing songs, and his singing is very distinctive.

Had I come across this record the year it came out, when I was 20, I don’t think I’d have been into it. It’s to some degree “smooth jazz”—and on the surface it’s certainly smooth, also fairly mellow, and even slick, as all the musicians are top rate. But when you listen closely, and particularly to the lyrics, it’s far from mellow, as the songs are mostly ultra-catchy, and the lyrics go from goofy to clever to wise. Great lyrics from Michael Franks. This record turns out to be a particularly good one—all nine songs are very good. I don’t even want to single any out (well, okay—“On My Way Home To You” is my favorite, at this listening). But I like them all. It’s funny, after that initial (somewhat) bad impression, it’s smooth sailing for the rest of the way. Did I mention that the back cover is even scarier than the front cover? I won’t mention it. I do hope my random record review picking device turns up some more Michael Franks, soon. I also hope I can find more on vinyl. I’m determined to find them all, one way or another. In the last two years—in which I’ve needed to hear music that both made me calm and stimulated me intellectually, Michael Franks and Donald Fagen have been my favorites. It’s not like I’m obsessed or anything—too old for that—but I’m very happy to have music to search out.