Rachel Sweet “Fool Around”

I don’t remember when we first heard of Rachel Sweet (by “we,” I mean my high school punk rock bandmate and music fan friends). It had to be either Rolling Stone (a review) or just buying this record, since it was on the Stiff label (“If it ain’t Stiff, it ain’t worth a f**k”)—for a while there, you couldn’t go wrong. Anyway, we loved the record. We did our best to find out about her. Was she still in high school?! And from Ohio, where we lived? There were a lot of good bands from the Akron area, of course, but how did a high school girl record a record for Stiff? And with the excellent musicians from Ian Dury’s band (AKA, The Blockheads)? Here, I got sidetracked for a while, as it occurred to me Ian Dury might have put out some records, later, that I never heard. Which led me to one from 1997 (that tragic, black hole of sound CD era) called Mr. Love Pants—fantastic title—and an excellent record, that I’d like to get ahold of.

Anyway, back to Rachel Sweet. The record isn’t exactly punk rock—but it is youthful and high energy, so it might have fallen under that imaginary, euphemistic umbrella, “new wave.” Power Pop was also a term being thrown around. Oddly, there are a few versions of this record, with different songs—I’m not going to attempt to compare the two, but the one I have is maybe later, 1979, the US version—and it’s got a better cover. The other cover is fine—both of them are photos outside, she’s wearing a leather jacket—but entirely different hair and makeup—in this one she looks younger, probably closer to her age. On the back, she looks ever younger, leaning against a pole—and it looks like, I’m not sure, she’s chewing on a piece of straw—who does that? Also, there’s a much younger girl passing behind her—was that set up, or did she just happen to be there, whoever it is—and does she have this record?

It’s a nice album—I still like the sound, the production, her singing, and the songs. Highlights include the Carla Thomas song “B-A-B-Y,” with horns and a lot of echo. A really good Elvis Costello country song. The Mark Middler (don’t remember him) number, “Sad Song.” The Peter and Gordon hit “I Go to Pieces.” And the Dusty Springfield hit “Stay Awhile.” The producer is an Akron musician, Liam Sternberg, who I never found out much about (all those years I lived in the area). He also wrote half the songs on the record, including my favorites, “Who Does Lisa Like?” and “Cuckoo Clock.” And then, my very favorite might be “Pin a Medal on Mary,” written by some guys who, I guess, were contemporary power pop Brits—in the band, The Records—though, I’ve never heard any other version of this song. It’s got a great opening line: “You said you were going to the bathroom, but you were gone for half an hour.” Anyway—fast ones, slow ones, “new wave” songs, retro songs, country, and R&B—no weak songs on this record.

The Clash “Gates of the West” / “Groovy Times”

I have absolutely no idea how this oddball Clash 45 came into my possession—it says: “Demonstration Not for Sale” on it—the date, 1979. I’m pretty sure both of these songs were on albums, though I’m not sure which ones. I was such a huge Clash fan—at the time of their first four LPs—that I would buy both the US and UK versions, since there were different songs on them. At some point, though, I just lost interest in The Clash, and for whatever reason, I still haven’t been able to go back to them, not even for nostalgia. I wrote about the first four LPs on the DJ Farraginous blog way back in 2006—so you can see what I said then—if you’re so inclined—probably amusing. (That’s the year that blog started, and for a while, I was going through my records alphabetically.) I feel kind of bad about not being a big fan, anymore, since I know they were a great band—and it is weird to me how I sometimes go against what I once loved with all my heart (like the M*A*S*H TV show, energetic rock music, the harmonica, some sports, driving, movies, and beer). I feel like I know these songs in my sleep—I know exactly how they go. But I’m going to play them, anyway, because you never know—fresh ears and all. “Gates of the West” is a super high energy Mick Jones vocals pop number—very catchy—he’s also, I’m guessing, singing the backup vocals and playing his signature lead guitar parts. The lyrics are no doubt political, but I’m not going to dwell on them at this point. “Groovy Times” is also high energy and poppy, this time with Joe Strummer singing—I liked both of those guys as singers, but particularly JS, because MJ backup vocals work well with JS’s raspy voice. I’m also not dwelling on the lyrics—though I’m sure they’re saying something. The worst thing about both of these songs is the drums sound crappy—they were recorded crappily, I suspect, because I know that guy was a great drummer—unless for this studio date they enlisted a hack with a cardboard box. Who knows. Anyway, both of these songs sound exactly like I remember them—but more so, actually. Is that even possible?

Randy California “Kapt. Kopter and the (Fabulous) Twirly Birds”

For some odd reason I’m especially attracted to records by people named “Randy.” Maybe it’s because Randy is such a goofy name. It’s a name you should never give your kids, unless you want them to go into show business, fail, and suffer a broken heart. Anyway, this obsession has sometimes backfired, and I’ve bought some real clinkers over the years, but also some all-time gems, like Randy Lee’s Soakin’ with Tears. And there’s always Randy Newman. And I’ve always been fascinated with Randy California and the band, Spirit. I read on the unreliable internet that Randy California got his handle when he was in a band with Jimi Hendrix and another Randy, so Jimi named them Randy California and Randy Texas. (I’m glad I wasn’t in that band, or I’d be going around as Ray Indiana!) Anyway, I was thrilled to find this LP—the cover is great—it looks like it served for a time as a urinal splashguard—yet it still plays brilliantly. Before even touching needle to vinal, however, I started a review based on the gnarly cover photo and credits, which went something like this: “When you get this jambalaya of odors together—weed, whiskey, BO, menthol cigarettes, patchouli, and dirty hippie feet—which one dominates? That’s kind of a rhetorical quiz question, actually, but all I’ve got to say is, thank god for the patchouli! Is that a way for me to describe the absolutely filthy sound of this record? Well, all I’ve got to go on is the righteous sound, and the black and white photos on front and back—unfortunately (or, perhaps, fortunately)—no olfactory sensations.”

SO, I was wrong to be dismissive, but right about the filthy sound—you almost sense that you’re going to need to clean your stereo after playing it. Besides the gnarly rockstar photos, the song listings and credits are enough to scare away the most reckless bargain bin gambler. No less than two Lennon-McCartneys (one will sink most records) and a Paul Simon! And then… musicians named Henry Manchovitz, Cass Strange, and Clit McTorius! It’s “Danger Will Robinson.” But… I thought I should at least listen to it—and I’m glad I did, because it’s not only an awesome record, it’s become the soundtrack for my life. This is a record where I’ve got to go through song by song—because one gets the impression that they stumbled into the studio, pulled off side one, went out for a bucket of fried chicken and a few drinks, and then went back in for side two.

The first song is aptly called “Downer” and sounds like it never gets fully formed before it falls apart—which is, I mean, great—they sound like they have no respect for their instruments, and that’s cool. The record came out in 1972, which is when I had my first band, and we didn’t even have instruments. (We’d already broken my mom’s guitar, so we were stuck with an autoharp, piano, pots and pans.) We also had no helicopter, like, who I assume are the band members, seen approaching on the back cover—wait… that’s the same helicopter on the front, and they’re right under the blades—they should really be ducking down! And do they really not have cases for their guitars? Next song, “Devil,” is not doing it for me—not converting me to the Twirly Birds or Satan—way too much backwards guitar. Apparently, at some point, someone sang some Satanic messages and then played it backwards on a record to hide the message from all but the Satanists—and ever since, anything played backwards is like shorthand for “Satanic.” I get it. The next song, “I Don’t Want Nobody,” starts out sounding like the Edgar Winter Group, but then the singing starts (RC), sounding a lot like the James Brown song this has shortened the title from. It’s great—this is the one that hooked me—but weirdly, it sounds nothing like James Brown, and is now totally making me think of Fuzzhead—but it couldn’t be influenced by Fuzzhead—not without a time machine. At any rate, now I’m in. I’m into it. So much so, that by the time we get to the next song, “Day Tripper,” I’m open to the idea that it might not be a steaming turd. And it’s actually a lot of fun—it kind of sounds like a cover band at the grange hall who are actually really good—but perhaps helped and hindered by a variety of substances. Last, and the weirdest cover song choice, is Paul Simon’s reggae song from that year, “Mother and Child Reunion”—and sounds nothing like it—but apparently the song is about Chinese food, so maybe the band was ready for a lunch break.

Side Two kicks off with a cover of Sweathog’s excellent song, “Things Yet to Come,” along with some effects that sound like someone squirting some 409 spray cleaner all over the place—maybe it was, but why? Again, this one really reminds me of a Fuzzhead song—but still, no time machine. But then it occurs to me, maybe Fuzzhead was influenced by this very record—I mean literally the one I’m playing—it very well could have spent some time in a basement. After that epic, Alvin and the Chipmunks visit the studio (either that or someone’s having fun with helium). After which the band launches into some unlistenable audio-lame-joke-playing as an into to “Rain”—one of the more druggy Beatles songs (and one of my favorites)—and they kind of continue with the tradition here—drugs, drugs, more drugs, Satan, drugs, and so forth. Nice. After that epic, you figure it’s about time for another snack, but no, there’s another song, called “Rainbow”—the best original on the record—sounding a bit like Hendrix. I can’t make out the lyrics, but the chorus sounds like, “I need protection,” over and over. Think about it—he needs protection from a rainbow? What’s that all about?

Patsy Cline “The Patsy Cline Story”

It’s hard for me to write anything about Patsy Cline because I was such a huge fan of her at one time and now, I barely listen to her anymore. Not that I mind listening to her, as I am right now, writing this—it’s just that I don’t normally put on a Patsy Cline record when I’m in the mood for country music, or love songs, or sad songs, or introspection. At one time, I suppose, my love for her had to do with being in the vicinity of “discovering” her—around the time this 1980 LP came out, when I was around 20 years old. It’s a two-record retrospective—one of about a million Patsy Cline compilation releases since her tragic death, at the age of 30, in 1963. I had not been a fan of country and western, in my youth, but my appreciation for it more or less coincided with me becoming a punk rocker (if that makes sense), and also learning about jazz, and also discovering a lot of older music I didn’t know existed.

Quite fascinating to me (and probably no one else) is that at this time (a little hard to believe it was 40-some years ago), I was an enormous fan of The Clash, James Brown, and Patsy Cline—and now I barely listen to those three. It’s not that I don’t have an appreciation of them, on paper so to speak, even love for them—but I’m just not feeling it. Well, The Clash is most confusing to me. It’s almost like I’ve turned against them. (I know, it’s silly.) If someone put on a good James Brown record right now, I’d probably be into it—it’s just that I never choose, these days, to put on James Brown. And I’m listening to Patsy Cline right now, enjoying the music thoroughly, but I don’t feel it the way I once did—so I guess that’s the point. Sad but true.

It’s interesting—when a song comes on that I don’t know that well, such as, “Imagine That,” I appreciate that one a lot more than all the usuals—the big ones that everyone knows—which I don’t need to mention. I suppose that I’ve just heard some of them way too many times—and just wore out the parts of my brain where they reside. Partly to blame, I guess, are movies and TV shows—who will, on occasion, allow one of these songs to do way too much work. “Back in Baby’s Arms” is a good example. I wouldn’t mind never hearing that song again. “She’s Got You,” however, I still feel a fondness for—I liked that one so much I learned to play it, and did (for myself, only) quite often. I can still remember the revelation of “Leavin’ on Your Mind”—my first hearing that—even if I can’t feel it in the same way. “Crazy” is undeniable, but I’ve just heard it too many times. “Sweet Dreams” was always my favorite, and I guess I can’t forget that. It’s still got a little furnished cottage in the nostalgia region of my brain. And… to end on a positive note, there’s the song, “Why Can’t He Be You”—that one’s a killer, lyric-wise, and the way she sings it sure is fine. That might be my favorite at this point. And maybe, if I’m lucky, and some years pass, brain cells under the bridge, just maybe I can come around to all of them again.

Gerd Zacher – Mauricio Kagel / Juan Allende-Blin / György Ligeti – “Phantasie Für Orgel Mit Obbligati” / “Sonorités” / “Volumina” and “Étude Nr.1 (‘Harmonies’)”

It’s vacation time and once again I’m staying in a remote cabin in the “North Woods,” far from the heat of the city and the oppression of the internet. No sports scores, no race results. There’s a deck of cards, which can function as a prayer book, or a deck of cards, and there’s a bottle opener screwed into the wood above the sink. There’s an old record player which is probably the most newfangled thing there, and there are a few LPs. First, I get hung up on Patsy Cline and my memories (of Patsy Cline), but then I see this old, odd album I know nothing about stuck in with the all-too-familiar Mitch Millers and Herb Alperts. Its cover has seen better days and the liner notes are entirely in German! Yet it plays great—it seems to be some really sturdy German pressed vinyl—or maybe it was only played once—that’s what it looks like, and it’s been protected in a high quality, Deutsche Grammophon Gesellschaft (that’s the label) paper and plastic sleeve.

The glossy orange cover is topped by four bands of increasingly lighter, yellow orange. It’s nice. There’s a blue dot that I, at first, think is part of the design (it’s quite pleasing, compositionally), but then I see it’s a hand-marked price sticker (1.50—not sure if that’s dollars, euros, or Deutschemarks). There’s what looks like a “coffee cup ring,” also nice compositionally, clever—yet, I think it’s “real”—someone used this cover as a coaster. Under the label logo, upper righthand corner, in heavy black letters it says: avant garde—its placement leads me to think it’s a series. Though… there’s no indication of that on the label, itself—where it does say GEMA—which should be a word, in English, but is not. Then, as a “title,” there are six lines of text, all lower case, some of it names, and some in German, and what seems to me far more punctuation than could possibly be necessary. The only real clue to what’s here comes from the label itself. Side A is: Mauricio Kagel performing “Phantasie für Orgel mit obbligati,” and Juan Allende-Blin doin’ “Sonorités.” It also says, “Gerd Zacher, Orgel,” but in smaller letters, like it’s an afterthought. Side B, then, has György Ligeti “Volumina,” and “Étude Nr. 1 (‘Harmonies’).” Once again, Gerd Zacher, Orgel, so maybe it is important. Mulling this over… for some reason I remember to take one of my prescription antacids (one a day). Isn’t Zacher a kind of pastry? Now I’m hungry.

So, now, for the record. It’s primarily organ, but scary organ, horror movie stuff, though more scary than that—like the scariest movie ever? Could “Orgel” be a mashup of organ and ogre? And might Gerd Zacher be the German Zacherley? There are other sounds, too, like sound effects, occasionally, somewhat disturbing. A lot of silence, too—really quiet parts, along with some stretches of near silence, which I find quite effective. I make the mistake of checking out the back cover again and to my dismay, I notice that the liner notes have been translated! Could this have happened since I looked at it last, or did I just think it was German, at first? I haven’t been drinking. Oh, maybe it’s both—the problem is, the font is so miniscule, in the low light in this cabin (drafty oil lamp, and so forth) it’s really hard to read. It’s a smaller font than some of my early zines, which everyone complained about. But I have to do my duty and try to make sense of this. The text is by Dieter Schnebel, and the first thing I see mentioned is musique concrète, so now it’s beginning to make more sense, as there are some tape-recorded things—it sounds like some voices (can’t make out what they’re saying), and now it sounds like we’re on a transit system. Then back to the organ. One organ note, held for a really, really, really long time. The second side, then, more of the same. Some really loud organ, like one chord held until it hurts. I don’t want to say something dumb like, “I could play that,” well, because I couldn’t. I have neighbors. I mean, they’re like a mile down the road, but I’m going to take a wild guess that they have guns. Now dude’s rockin’ out (I’m assuming it’s a dude). I’m thinking about those rock stars in the Seventies who would pretend to “fuck” their organ, which got old. Or, like Keith Emerson—I remember him pulling that big, old Hammond organ over on himself, like it was crushing him. Am I misremembering that?—because that would crush you. Now we’re to the point where it sounds like nothing so much as that part in 2001: A Space Odyssey when it gets all psychedelic—deep space, I guess. I miss the recorded sounds from the first side. I want to listen to that over again—Schnebel mentioned a toilet flushing (I probably thought it was mine, except there isn’t one here) and an egg timer—which is what, exactly?