Archive for the '1960s' Category

18
Aug
17

Blood, Sweat and Tears “Child Is Father To The Man”

Blood, Sweat & Tears is one of those bands whose name is as familiar as my own, yet I know absolutely nothing about them. I picked up this record somewhere, perhaps with an idea I might remedy that situation, despite the gnarly cover with the band sitting on hard chairs in a dark room, holding on their laps, child size adult versions of themselves. It must have been a good day in 1967 at Columbia Records’ art department. It looks kind of like a nightmare you’d have after watching a good episode of “Wild, Wild West.” This band has a long history I’m not going into (or even read about) but this was their first record and Al Kooper was a major part of this venture, along with some other familiar names, and horns. Apparently they re-formed and re-formed over the years, and a version is still out there; the list of “past members” on Wikipedia looks like some kind of joke (I mean, maybe it is—there are far too many names for me to count—it’s insane), and one wonders if BS&T holds the record for most “past members.”

The music is good, I’m surprised at how much I like it. Maybe the truly frightening album cover is a difficult blow to recover from. Good playing throughout, and solid songs, most of them by Al Kooper, one by Steve Katz, and also songs by Tim Buckley, Harry Nillsonn, Randy Newman, Carole King and Gerry Goffin. My favorite, as of 10:21 this Friday night in August, is “So Much Love”—which I just listened to over three times, like I’m 12 years old or something.

 

 

07
Aug
17

The Association “Goodbye, Columbus”

This is a soundtrack record for the 1969 movie, Goodbye, Columbus which features some Association songs, much of it corny and dated sounding, and kind of great if you’re in the mood. “Dartmouth? Dartmouth!” is a groovy number if you’re looking for something for your dance party. The movie, which I’ve seen parts of on TV (worth watching, for me, because I love Richard Benjamin) is based on the book by the same name, Philip Roth’s first. I’m kind of unclear, and not patient enough to figure out, the references in the book, movie, and on one track of this record to Columbus, Ohio, and Ohio State University, but it’s kind of annoying. I’ve read a couple books by Philip Roth, which were great, and I plan on reading more, but not this one. I’ve got a complex relationship with Columbus, Ohio, where I first went to college. I used to be a big fan of Ohio State football, but when I went to school there, I became disillusioned by the football players (who were now (then) the same age as me). I kind of knew this one guy, Art Schlichter, who has kind of an amazing and tragic story (well, you can read about it, if you’re interested). The Buckeye’s beloved coach, Woody Hayes, was fired that year after he punched a player on another team. The whole sports thing kind of crumbled before my eyes. Though now, almost 40 years later, despite rejecting sports on almost every level, I’m once again a huge Ohio State football fan, and anticipate the coming season more than seems healthy. I dropped out of school after two years and attempted to walk across the country. That didn’t go well. But anyway, that was my first “Goodbye, Columbus”—though later I returned to that town, following there the first woman I was in love with. At one point we were engaged to be married, but that didn’t work out, and I’ve yet to be married. So that was kind of my “Goodbye, Columbus” the second time. Though—you guessed it—I returned once again, and tried to go back to school—which didn’t go well at all, and I then swore off college. So, yeah, number 3. If I wanted to get ridiculous, I could subtitle yet another chapter of my life “Goodbye, Columbus”—about my short but intense liaison with a woman who happened to share a name with that city, movie, and this record. She was the love of my life, at least at that time—until she crushed me like a grape with wine written all over it. I guess I’ve digressed a little bit here, and kind of didn’t pay attention to side two, but I suppose it was okay, not bad music to inspire wistful reveries.

07
Aug
17

The Association “Insight Out”

I never paid much attention to The Association but I heard the song “Never My Love” in a movie sometime fairly recently (can’t remember what movie) and it struck me as a great song, as familiar as it is, it was kind of discovering a new song. People must have went nuts for it when it was new and on the radio; it’s an undeniable pop classic—what does it take to write a song like that?—how much of it is just luck? The rest of this record can’t come close to that song, and most of it strikes me as annoying happy hippie bullshit. “Windy” was a hit when I was a kid (this record came out in 1967)—on the radio a lot, and I might have had the single—but I don’t really like it much. If I tried really hard I might find more to like about this record, but life is short (and LPs are long). The album cover is uninspiring (and way too familiar if you ever look for used records) but there is the address of The Association Fan Club: 24 N. Mentor, in Pasadena, which is now The Ice House, a comedy club.

15
Jul
17

Mose Allison “Mose Allison Sings”

I first heard Mose Allison in 1981 when Dave Wilner brought a cassette he’d made from his dad’s records, I believe, to Kent, Ohio where I met him. It’s kind of hard to believe that more years have passed since that time than had passed since this record was released (1963). That makes no sense, but then nothing about time and perspective does. I saw Mose Allison live in Cleveland sometime in the 1980s, and he sounded much like he does here. There are extensive liner notes by Ira Gitler that I’ll get to some day. The label is Prestige and there is an impossibly suave picture of him on the cover. 13 songs and every one of them is great, Mose Allison singing, playing piano, and a few different people on bass and drums. On any given Monday this could be my favorite LP of all time. My favorite songs are “Lost Mind” and “Eyesight to the Blind” and “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore”—but like I said, they’re all great.

18
Jun
16

Lee Hazlewood “The LHI Years: Singles, Nudes & Backsides (1968-71)

I don’t want to get into an entire bio of Lee Hazlewood but I do have to include this legal disclaimer that he’s like my all-time hero, at least based on his style, singing, songwriting, and legend, and also the fact that he did the tile song (sung by Dusty Springfield) for my all time favorite movie (The Sweet Ride) as well as having a cameo part in that movie. If there are stains on his reputation or tales of bizarre behavior, there are other forums for that, but here I’m discovering this odd double LP with a much too specific title and questionable album art. Not because there are naked women or they are kneeling, looking up at him (you can only think about this humorously, right?) but because the women are all sporting fake LH-esque moustaches, and I’m sorry, but that’s where I draw the line.

This album is dated 2012, about 5 years after he died, and LHI stands for Lee Hazlewood Industries (his own record label in the late 60s) and it’s got a booklet with extensive notes which I unfortunately don’t have time to read, and it’s on this super heavy vinyl that someday is going to be cursed by the aching back survivors of record collectors (at least until they start selling the stuff off). Two records, 11 of the 17 songs written by LH, but they all sound like his songs. He sure knows how to pick songs to cover. He is joined singing, on a few songs, by Suzi Jane Hokom, Ann-Margret, and Nina Lizell. All the songs are good, most are weird, and several have those crazy kind of spoken introductions. Because of this modern packaging, it’s hard to remember that these were records that came out at about the time when I first started buying 45s. It would be cool to find the old versions. Pretty much, if you ever see a Lee Hazlewood record, no matter how dusty and scratchy it is, it’s worth picking up because it’s like a an artifact from a parallel pop music universe.

 

19
May
13

Traffic “Mr. Fantasy”

I’ve been aware of the band Traffic without knowing a thing about them for my entire adult life, so when I let the needle hit the vinyl and the room filled with aural imagery, I thought, wow, there’s probably a few experiences for me left in this fully lived life if I bother to open my mind and somehow come up with the money to pay for it all. Nowhere on this record is a date, but my sources tell me it was released in 1967 and was indeed the band’s first album. This is one of those album covers that open up, and inside there are a lot of pictures – what looks like a misconceived photo session with a jester, and then portraits of the band members. Dave Mason’s is the most pretentious of the four, sitting in a stark room, back to the camera, playing some instrument (he’s credited with sitar, tambura, shakkai, and “meletron” – as well as guitar, vocals, and “bass guitar.” The photos of Jim Capaldi and Chris Wood are classic “hey girls!” dude-in-band pics. The fourth photo is uncredited, but process of elimination tells me it must be Steve Winwood; he’s in a meadow, an axe held high above his head, about to take a vicious swing at something just off camera – one might assume the art director, or jester, or perhaps Dave Mason.

The songwriting credit is spread around and the songs are all over the place, exercising show-off virtuosity while maintaining a whimsicality that pushes the message: “We don’t take ourselves all that seriously, we’re just having a good time! Though actually, you should take us seriously.” False starts, Cheech and Chong joint lighting sounds, wacky lyrics (“My bed is made of candy floss, the house is made of cheese”). Each song is a new adventure. “Dear Mr. Fantasy” steals that riff from the Jimi Hendrix version of “Hey Joe” – though, who knows where these things originated. Maybe Hendrix is Mr. Fantasy! We needn’t assume “Mr. Fantasy” means “drugs.” Though side two does start out with a song called “Dealer” –  a bit of a corny “south of the border” thing. The song “Coloured Rain” starts out sounding just like “Pinball Wizard” (which didn’t come out until a couple years later), but then it goes into a really nice, heavy saxophone, organ, and percussion dominated jam that’s my favorite thing on the album.

You’ve got to wonder about the name of the band, as I generally don’t think of “traffic” as something in any way good or unique. It would be kind of like naming your band “Headache.” Which I’m sure someone has done. I wonder if back in 1967 they thought of traffic differently, like how they would always have the photo of the huge highway “cloverleaf” in the grade school social studies books, like those were the coolest things ever, and not the ecological and aesthetic nightmares they are. Then again, there is drug “trafficking” – not to keep on about the drug references here. Oh, and the final thing – the album cover is a pretty remarkable photograph – and it’s one of those that opens up, so it’s like 24″ x 12″ – with a fire blazing in a brazier on the left side (or back) and the band members on the right, with candles in Chianti bottles. The band members are all looking at – seemingly in awe – in the middle of the photo – a guy sitting cross-legged with an acoustic guitar – and if I’m not mistaken, it’s “Papa” John Phillips! Now why would these guys, Traffic, put John Phillips on their album cover? Hey, this was The Sixties.

 




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