Jeff Chandler “Sincerely Yours”

I’ve always been aware of Jeff Chandler, the Hollywood actor, because my brother was named after him, or so the story goes. But my parents didn’t give him the middle name “Chandler,” thinking that would be too much, so they gave him the same middle name as me (Scott)… thus I grew up thinking all siblings (at least of similar gender) had the same middle, as well as last, names. Similar to how I grew up thinking everyone had sliding doors, jalousie windows, and were allowed to say “fuck” at the dinner table. It was a valuable lesson when I learned other people have different experiences than my own… too bad it took me to like the age of 38. Anyway, he was in a lot of movies, and he has a pretty great look—he really reminds me of the artist rendition of detective Shell Scott is the books by Richard Prather—I don’t think he ever played Shell Scott—but I haven’t sifted through his extensive filmography yet. One thing I just read on the Big Board that I’d never heard—Race Bannon, the Jonny Quest character, was modeled after Jeff Chandler. I also didn’t realize his real name was Ira Grossel, and he died at the young age of 42. He sure worked a lot by then, though—besides all the movies, he also sang in nightclubs and recorded a few records. Though this one, from 1966, came out after his death. It’s got a great cover, a nice picture of him in nature, with a hat. There’s a fine selection of standards, with an orchestra, and from the first note you realize he can’t sing, but he goes about it like a pro. I have a particular fondness for singers that can’t sing—you could even say I’m a connoisseur of the form, and I’m not alone. And when I say “can’t sing,” that’s a shorthand way of saying he can sing, but his singing is somewhat unusual, even kind of weird, some might say odd—but pure heaven for Chandler fans. I guess I turned that into a longhand way of saying somewhat less… but then, I’m an idiot. I love this record, and I won’t hesitate to pick up more Jeff Chandler vinyl if I have the fortune of coming across it in the Mitch Miller bins.

Melanie “Brand New Key” / “Some Say (I Got Devil)”

This song (“Brand New Key”) was one of those giant hits that you couldn’t avoid around when I was 11, I guess (1971), on the radio, on the TV. I always thought it was an annoying song, so I guess I didn’t pay much attention at the time (other than as I was forced to). I guess it never occurred to me until now that it’s not about roller skating at all, but sexual intercourse. That doesn’t make me like it any better. Then I heard it in a movie somewhere, maybe not so long ago, and I guess it struck a nostalgic note. Still, there’s nothing compelling about the song. How do some songs get to be giant hits like that? Who knows. How did I get this 45? Who knows. I did buy a Melanie album, fairly recently, just because it occurred to me that I was curious about her. When I get to that one, with the magic random number pick, I will look up more about her. I just read briefly that she’s only 75, now, and lives in Nashville. She had a lot of success at a really young age to deal with, I guess. This record label is interesting—“Neighborhood Records”—I never saw that before. I guess it’s a label started by Melanie, herself—and her manager, Peter Schekeryk, also the producer of this record. And also… they were married. I guess that’s a good example of putting that hit record to good use—your own label. The B-side—“Some Say (I Got Devil)”—I like a lot more—it’s a quiet, haunting song. Good lyrics, too: “I’m not in danger/but some have tried to sell me/all kinds of things to save me.”

Neil Diamond “Hot August Night II”

Starts out with “Song of the Whales (Fanfare)”—then some wanky synth stuff and “Headed for the Future”—in other words, Danger, Will Robinson. I wonder… what… year… he announces it, 1986, as part of the inane patter (it came out the next year). I was always pretty dismissive of Neil Diamond until I saw the movie, The Last Waltz (1978), which he’s in, and I thought he was awesome, so I figured I should revise my opinion. I didn’t really pursue it, though—I didn’t actively go back and listen to anything… so it was limited to what you’d hear on the radio and so forth. His 1972 record, “Hot August Night,” is a thrift store staple, but I’ve never listened to it. That’s the one with the cover photo that looks like he just discovered an invisible 14 inch erection that demanded his full attention. He has gigantic hair, too. On the cover of this one, way less hair, but still a lot, and now he has a guitar in his hands, but still sports full orgasm-face. Is all of this some intimate communication with his fans? Lot of concert pics here—and this double live record opens up for a huge photo of ND, arms outstretched to the hordes of fans. If you were there, you might be able to pick yourself out—good photo. I’ve often wondered how easy it would be to feel okay with standing on a stage in front of sea of human beings who are there for you—who might as easily make love to you as tear you to bits and eat your flesh. I suppose it’s as easy as anything previously unimaginable—good or bad. Also interesting, that “Future” song reminded me exactly of the terrible first song Kris Kristofferson is singing in A Star is Born (1976)—to the extent that you might think the film came after this record, but no… but as terrible as both songs are, maybe they exist in timeless vacuum. Neil Diamond wrote a lot of good songs, that’s for sure, and he also wrote a lot of bad songs. They’re all performed full-on here, with bland applause filling the cracks in between, erecting this towering, multilayered, sweltering sweet pastry from hell.

Lou Miami and the Kozmetix “Fascist Lover” / “To Sir with Love”

I’m happy I somehow held onto this 45 since 1982—it’s the kind of thing people steal from you. Plus, I’ve moved at least 30 times since then. It’s on Final Vinyl records and it came in a white plastic bag with pink print—meant to look like a cosmetics bag, I guess. It’s funny and clever—same as the songs. “Fascist Lover” is a fast, poppy punk song—possibly autobiographically about Lou Miami’s origins. Then one of my all-time favorite B-sides, a cover of “To Sir with Love”—which is one of my favorite songs, the Lulu version—and this is even better. I love this recording because it’s both making fun of the song while genuinely in love with it—that’s my take anyway—it’s both campy and heartbreaking. His singing is an irreverent style, but he’s fully committed, and the band is great. The reason I had a copy of this, and even heard of Lou Miami, is because they played in Kent in 1982. They were from the Boston area, and I guess played a lot there—and apparently went on tour. I was out of town, myself, on sabbatical, and I happened to hitchhike to Kent, went to a party after the show in Akron, I think, and passed out, and then my friend Keith told people that I was Lou Miami. I’m not sure if anyone bought it. I either picked up the record at that time, or we still had copies in our record store when I returned to Kent a year later. Lou Miami passed away in 1995, according to his way brief Wikipedia page—but some easy searching will reveal some music (including these songs), some live stuff, videos, and an interview—maybe more. It’s all worth checking out—he and his collaborators had a fun, trashy, weird aesthetic—I like all I’ve seen—and maybe I’ll find more.

James Last “Russland Zwischen Tag und Nacht”

Sometimes ignorance is a lot of fun—but I don’t mean in that proud and disdainful way that’s just kind of ignorant—I’m talking more about laughing at yourself for missing the boat completely and looking like the clown that you are. I bought this record (cheap, of course) thinking it’s someone no one’s ever heard of (even though it’s on the Polydor label). 1973 is a good year (maybe my favorite of all the years, for vinyl) so… good bet there. The title meant nothing to me, but it had a nice ring to it. Among the band photos on back there’s one taken behind the musicians in a large arena, and they all look fairly groovy (it is 1973). And the guy on the front cover, who one assumes is James Last, with his long hair, beard, and suede jacket, looks like he 5^th member of Led Zeppelin. My hope, and hopeful assumption, was that this would be some obscure, German, Seventies, prog rock. To my goofy surprise then, it turns out he’s a German big band leader, with 100’s of titles, and has sold more than 200 million records! And if this one is any indication, he should be honored with a portrait at the Corn Palace (in corn, of course), a butter sculpture at the state fair, and should rival your Herb Alperts and Mitch Millers at thrift stores everywhere. How could I never have heard of him? Well, not my cup of tea, or bowl of “acoustic porridge,” as I saw his music described on the Big Bulletin Board. I really can’t listen to the record more than once, but looking at James Last’s immense discography, I had the fleeting idea that I could do a performance piece by playing this album and then attempting to recite his massive list of titles over it (if you browse them, you’ll see what I mean). But that might seem like I was making fun of him, and even as an unsuccessful, old, white guy with more German blood than anything, I’d still feel bad about making fun of someone who is no longer with us, even if my performance was inevitably enjoyed by an audience in the single digits—and those only in attendance through a personal allegiance that only exists because I have the good sense to not actually go through with such a travesty.