Minnie Riperton “Perfect Angel”

Besides being one of the classic album covers of the Seventies (Minnie Riperton holding a melting ice-cream cone like it’s a… microphone. Or, an ice cream cone). It’s an image that makes me feel the melting ice cream running over my fingers—I’d say that anyone who’s eaten an ice cream cone has had that experience. Despite her warm weather ware (bib overalls with no shirt) the image doesn’t have to be sexual, okay? I mean, if someone gave me the choice between sex and ice cream—well… I don’t know. That has never happened. This is a great sounding record—it sounds like 1974 to me. I mean that in the best way. Probably no more charged year in my life (I was 14, a crazy year for anyone, but also… I won’t go into personal details. Both sadness and that transition between child and adult). Great songs on this record, and they’re all very different. There’s even a little bit of country, there’s ballads, rock, funk, soul, pop. They’re all by Minnie Riperton and Richard Rudolph—except for two, which are by Stevie Wonder. Among my favorites are “The Edge of a Dream,” “Every Time He Comes Around,” and “It’s So Nice (To See Old Friends).”

I guess Minnie Riperton is famous for being able to hit those otherworldly high notes—which is impressive—but there’s some other quality to her voice that I particularly like—it’s too easy to say “soulful,” which it is—maybe there is something weirdly familiar about it. I don’t know why I think that… I only have a few of her records. I don’t know. The playing on this record is particularly good, throughout, too. Who’s that bass player? Reggie McBride, on every song. A young guy, from Detroit—he’s played on a million records. Also, a lot of piano and some other instruments credited to the mysterious (*). (That’s an asterisk inside of parentheses.) Which you, of course, follow down the bottom to learn is: “El Toro Negro.” Good luck figuring out who that is, in 1974, but the internet of today tells me it is Stevie Wonder—performing under this alias because of a conflicting label affiliation (something like, he was with Motown, and this is CBS?—but don’t quote me). The most well-known song is “Lovin’ You”—that’s the one with the bird sounds—credits say: Mocking Bird—credited to God. And I’ll take that mocking bird over harmonica any day. The title song is one of the Stevie Wonder compositions, which is nice and breezy, cool and jazzy—and his other song, “Take a Little Trip,” is my favorite here—it’s the weirdest—very odd, kind of off-kilter, also a bit jazzy, and very quite cosmic.

Hap Palmer “Movin’”

I bought this record because the cover said something to me (construction paper cutouts of coastal sunrise/set broken/reflected on the water). Also, the cover opens up—with some odd “movement” instruction inside (including what I mistakenly took as sexual innuendo). And because the price was right, no doubt, and it turned out to be another record from 1973 (my favorite year for records). But still, I didn’t expect much—I finally listened to it (dictated by the spectral planchette) and… the first song—whoa! That’s what I said, “Whoa.” It’s some kind of early fraggle-synth that hadn’t been invented yet! Who is this Hap Palmer? The internet says he’s an old dude with an acoustic guitar—digging deeper, he’s a composer who put out about 50 educational records, and this one is about “movement.” There’s a lot of musicians on it, including Jim Gordon, which the Big I tells me is not drummer Jim Gordon who played with everyone, but the other Jim Gordon who played everything. The world is unforgiving! The world is forgiving! Anyway, I was thinking—what else is about movement? Dance parties! Which gave me the idea to try to get a DJ gig where I’d only play this record (along with a few other tasty tidbits, of course). There are a lot of DJ gigs available, lately, because people need to listen to something while sampling the thousands of craft beers, and radio has crossed the line—over 50% really annoying ads. So, to give you an idea of the mood at my DJ nite, I’ll describe the mood you’ll be “movin’” to—song by song:

“Funky Penguin”—it’s the theme song for the marshmallow-heads, the mailman, the queen, the drunken cop, and our hero, Hairless Pal, and they’re all doin’ the Funky Penguin! “Midnight Moon”—(see, album cover) our heroes drive off at the end of movie after having stomped out evil, still alive, but very, very tired. “Tipsy”—they arrive at the saloon to see a show, but they end up condemning the exploitation of the dancers and eating their straw hats. “Far East Blues”—motorcycle trip around the world with nothing but a bedroll, cumulative wisdom, and a squeezed-out tube of Desitin. “Gentle Sea”—after a long journey our reformed antiheroes believe they are arriving at the sea, the end of the land… but it turns out to merely be the end of Side A. “Jamaican Holiday”—Veronica demands to know why they’re called “The Archies” and not The Veronicas? “Enter Sunlight”—How did everyone suddenly get to be middle-aged and no longer really enjoying their cocktails? “Haunted House”—it’s not really haunted, but the biker gang who lives there is faking a haunted house (surprise!) to keep away the renovators. “Movin’”—“It’s a beautiful night for a daydream, and it’s a beautiful day for a nightmare” is the name of the dance where your feet can’t leave the floor. “Twilight”—we finally know where we’re going… and… there’s a signpost up ahead! “Pause”—it’s a beautiful… uh. It’s a beautiful… uh. It’s a beautiful… oh, shit. It’s a beautiful dream for… uh. It’s a beautiful… uh… oh, shit…

Spirit “Clear”

I’ve been intrigued with Spirit enough to buy a few of their early records—it also helped that I could find inexpensive copies—though they’re all beat to shit—but they still sound good! I haven’t written about any before now—though I did recently freak out over a Randy California solo record—and he’s in this band, as you know. I’m not going to read about them—just yet—I mean how the individual dudes melded to make a whole—who might be the leaders, and who might be jilted—too many guys—too many names—not enough time! This is pure sound I’m going on. I did glance at their discography—this is their third LP—I like that they’re on Ode Records, with the yellow school bus cheapo looking label. One thing fun about them is you don’t know what’s coming next—they mash together hippie blues, psychedelic pop, progressive rock, ballads, instrumentals, jams—lots of percussion, lots of guitar, various singers—though… the lyrics elude me at this point—the few I’ve made out sound like they were hard-earned. In pictures I’ve seen of them, including this album cover and back cover—the five of them look like a band—all quite hairy—except for one guy, excellent jazz drummer Ed Cassidy—who was actually Randy California’s stepfather—the “old guy” in the band. (Much older than Jack Casady (not related, different band), and even older than Jack Cassidy (father of David, Shaun—the musical Cassidys just keep coming), and even older than Neal Cassady, who probably died during the making of this record (also not related).) Ed Cassidy is as bald as a cue ball. Remember, back in 1969 bald guys weren’t a dime a dozen like they are now—virtually no one was bald but Yul Brynner, and the cast of Kung Fu (and even that was 1972).

Well… I really like this record, so I’m going to describe it the best I can while listening and being free with my observations. I’m not going to list songs (there are six to a side) because I feel like they are conforming to song structure somewhat against their most natural instincts (I may be, and am probably, wrong about this, but it’s what I’m hearing). So I’m going to pretend it’s a single musical piece, only restricted by the two sides of an LP. Why there are “bombs falling” sound effects (like Flipper’s “Sex Bomb”) during a song about a “dark eyed woman” I have no idea—maybe there are metaphors working in both directions—of course there are. Already, a percussion break—nice—tempo change in the next “song”—solid—but at this point we think we’re in for a whole record of hippie guitar blues, so I’m happy to report we’re now selling something—not sure what—happiness? And now… one of those sex songs disguised as a fairytale. And next… they’re moving off down the tunnel of death, until… someone had a little too much zappa with lunch. After running some errands, maybe a siesta… hitman from south of the border… movie score. What’s this, a harmony-rich psych-pop ballad? —you can fall either on the side of beautiful… or cornball. While I’m deciding, it’s back to drug-rock (songs with “Truckin’” in the title are 100% about drugs, 0% about the conveyance of goods). Less than brief interlude. Sleaze. Sly cartoon cat is up to something. Best for last… a compact (4:24) fervent mini-opera about futility.

Barbara Christian “Not Like You Boy” / “I Worry”

Finally, I came across a record in my very miscellaneous 45 box that I never heard before and it’s really good. Both sides sound like soul classics—they sound enough like other songs that they’re on the tip of your tongue—but I don’t recall ever hearing them. I must have played the record when I found it (I play everything once)—then filed it with the rest, waiting for its magic number to come up. It’s a simple white label with black, basic letters, Brownie Records—and the artist, Barbara Christian. I’d never heard of either, so the way my brain works, I’m thinking religious music, and that dessert that’s about half as good as fudge. But no, the A-side is a hot soul number with a repetitive organ riff, horns, wild drums, and catchy, echoey backup vocals—an overall kind of over-blown, hard, funky sound. You can dance to it. Her singing is strong and emotional. I like “I Worry” even more—a slower one, even more emotional—the man in question here isn’t being dismissed, this time—more worth being sad over. You can dance to this one too, but it would be a slow dance. Again, organ, horns, and drums recorded loud, so when they break out, they distort—I really like the sound. I imagine this is the same recording session. Both songs are credited to “G. Brown”—and it’s “A Gary Brown Production”—so I’m guessing he wrote them. I can’t find a lot of info, but there’s some on Discogs, and in comments on a YouTube of the record someone was kind enough to post. If the info is correct—Brownie was Gary Brown’s label, out of Milwaukee, and Barbara Christian was born in Newark and passed away in Milwaukee in 2018. The record is from 1967. I know I always say (when writing about a 45) that I don’t have any idea where it came from (I’m a broken record) but in most cases that’s true. You come across them a lot in thrift stores, and they’re almost always either super big hits, a billion pressed, and/or lame novelty records. But once in a while you find something good, like this, so it’s worth looking!