Archive for the '45 RPM' Category

13
Feb
19

Jimmie Rodgers “Because You’re Young / I’m Never Gonna Tell”

Just to get things straight, Mr. Rogers is Fred Rogers, without a “d.” Aaron Rodgers (with a “d”) is the quarterback for the Green Bay Packers. The “Father of Country Music” was Jimmie Rodgers, famous for his yodeling. He died in 1933. Born a little later that year, another famous country and popular singer, also named Jimmie Rodgers, is the artist who made this record. As of this research, he is still alive. I don’t know if he was named after the earlier Jimmie Rodgers, but if he was, why not. This record was released in 1958 on the Roulette label—“Because You’re Young” on one side, and “I’m Never Gonna Tell” on the other. The first is a nice, dramatic pop song with an orchestra—only 2:16 in length. After listening to all these hippie records where the songs go over seven minutes, it’s kind of nice to hear a short one, that does everything it’s supposed to do in a couple of minutes. Though I think people must have had a lot more tolerance back then for getting up and changing the records. The second side, though, is much more upbeat, and in fact I’d have to call it “jaunty.” I mean really jaunty. And it’s about half a minute shorter, because with all that jauntiness it doesn’t take long to do what it intends to do. Fans of jauntiness will love it, but for me, it’s just under two minutes too long.

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10
Feb
19

Dick Lee “All I Want Is A Chance / The Show Has Ended”

I don’t know who Dick Lee is, and I’m in no mood to check the Old Internet in order to find out—so I’m going to let the two song 45 RPM single do the talking. I think it’s from 1953, it’s on Essex Records from Philadelphia, and both of these songs are with an orchestra, with Dick Lee belting out syllables in a hyper-dramatic, old-fashioned style—as if it pre-dated microphones and needed to project from the stage. It’s the kind of singing that you might find some older people love with fondness and nostalgia—for me, it make my ears bleed. The somewhat sick thing about this record—and I don’t know if this is accidental, or if someone had a pretty good sense of humor—is how the A and B side songs work together. “All I Want Is A Chance” is a desperate plea to a possible lover—you can imagine it. He just wants a chance to hold him/her in the morning and then, naturally, at night—to make this person love him as much as he loves this person. The B side, then, is decidedly less optimistic. “The Show Has Ended” is, surprise, not about a show, but a relationship. “The show has ended, I know that we’re through—you just pretend that your love is true”—it’s pretty harsh, really—“the curtain is falling, and so are my tears.” The show has ended, and all he has left is the memory. So it goes from “faint hope” to “distant memory” in two songs—no aspect of the actual relationship is documented here. I’m kind of surprised, though—after listening to the record a couple of times—I kind of like it. I guess it’s not so weird after all that it was pressed on vinyl and preserved for eager listening 66 years later by some asshole with nothing better to do than write about what listening to scratchy old records makes him think about.

05
Feb
19

Tony Bennett “No One Will Ever Know / I’m The King Of Broken Hearts”

An old 45 that must have been bouncing around in that Easter basket—I’m not sure if I have any Tony Bennett albums—there are so many!—I’ve never gotten a handle on which are the best—but I did see him live, once, years ago, in an old theater in Portland—and it was a great show. It feels like a big deal to have seen him live (never saw Sinatra live, or the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Mott the Hoople, or Elton John). This is a record that’s so scratchy, I’d highly recommend it for a scratchy record effect in a movie (you can fake those things, but faked things are never as good). “No One Will Ever Know” was, I guess, a country hit, recorded by everyone and his/her cousin, but here, with an orchestra and strings, it sounds like a Tony Bennett song. With that title, if it had been, say… a Dean Martin song, you might think the “no one” in question was her husband—but this isn’t that kind of song—and the sentiment is that he’s got a broken heart and and no one will know that he was in love with his true love (at least, of course, until this song comes out, and then it’ll be quite obvious—at least to those who know who the “you” in the song is).

The song on the other side, “I’m The King OF Broken Hearts,” is another proclamation of a broken heart, this time beating to death the whole royalty metaphor—even to the extent of beginning and ending the song with a corny horn fanfare, which is just annoying. A similar title could have a very different sentiment if it was by, say, a cad, a ladies’ man—running around, breaking hearts. But this song is about a guy whose heart has been broken, so technically it should be singular. I guess he’s so sad he doesn’t stop to think about that, or how dumb the royal theme is (“my castle’s a room where each night I’m alone.”) I guess once you establish that as the song’s game, there’s nowhere much else you can go with it, and you end up getting lines like: “the scarf that you left is now my royal cloak.” It’s pretty bad, but still, I like hearing Tony’s voice. I’d probably enjoy hearing him sing “Hotel California.” That was a joke, but he has sang so many songs, it could exist! I’m not going to look it up, though, because I don’t feel like revising these last few sentences.

02
Feb
19

Muggsy Spanier “Tiger Rag / South”

This is an old Mercury 45 I got in an Easter basket of discarded sleeveless seven inch records which, for the most part, I’ve yet to listen to. Both songs are instrumentals, energetic, jaunty, dixieland jazz. This is music I admire, and I like it in a kind of intellectual way, trying to make out what the instruments are and how they play together, but it doesn’t really make me feel anything, except jaunty, which for me is like ketchup on waffles. I’d never heard of Muggsy Spanier, so I looked him up with Internet. He was from Chicago, and was a successful and prominent jazz cornetist. I guess it was after I tried taking piano lessons and failed, my second attempt at an instrument, in school band, was cornet. I’ve kind of had it in for that thing ever since. It’s a word that seems to be missing a syllable, or a trumpet that seems to be missing a few inches. I really should make a point of checking out the awesome cornetists through the years (Bix Beiderbecke comes to mind) in order to try to get over my grudge, which was no fault of the horn’s. I guess this is a good start. Anyone named Muggsy is okay with me. (It occurs to me that I’ve probably seen this name before, in passing, and thought it said “Muggsy Spaniel”—leading me to think he was a cartoon dog.) So, I’ve got that straightened out. Perhaps some other Muggsy Spanier records will come my way. In the meantime, I have this one in the record box.

22
Nov
18

Kayla Guthrie “Blue”

Okay, I just noticed among the records here there were three with really similar covers—that look like photos of dark forms that resemble shadowy, out of focus, silhouetted heads, or faces, from the shoulders up——so I decided I have to listen to all three of these in succession to see if there is any connection, or if this is a “thing”—or what. The first is someone named Kayla Guthrie, who I have never heard of, but that sounds like a woman’s name, and the head looks like it could be a woman. The record, called Blue, is on a really beautiful blue vinyl (make a note, if I ever press a record, to consider that color). It’s kind of plodding, kind of industrial sounding music with a really depressed, drugged out singing style—can’t make out the lyrics, or even tell if it’s English. The cardboard inside—the inner wall of the album cover is also blue. What’s the name of this record, again?

Oh—I went to turn it over and noticed that it’s actually 45 RPM—it was printed small, I didn’t see it. Okay, that makes sense, it sounds more normal now. I know this goes against my rule to not write about 45s or EPs—but this ship has already left the Earth’s orbit. Four songs, definitely a woman’s voice singing, not a zombie, like I first thought, and there are lyrics and notes. Some of this music might be described as “industrial”—it’s really good—and some reminds me of that later Tom Waits stuff. Other songs sound like I’d imagine Nine Inch Nails to sound, though I’ve never heard NIN, so I’m probably wrong—so I don’t even know why I said that. Anyway, there are only four songs, but I like them. Further inspection reveals credits, lyrics, and an extended inner sleeve with notes by Kayla Guthrie, kind of a bio/artist’s statement, and is a bit more than I want to know. It reminds me of why I hate the internet. But you love the internet. I go both ways.

21
Dec
17

Les Baxter and His Orchestra “April in Portugal” / “Suddenly”

Whenever I happen to have a random pile of 45s for whatever reason (I just always do) there always seems to be a Les Baxter record, and I never listen to it. This one, from 1953 (on that boring, purple Capital label) has been kicking around for awhile, and I think this is the first time I’ve put it on. So I asked Internet for a bit about Les Baxter, and I didn’t realize he was an Exotica guy. That makes me a little more interested. “April in Portugal” sounds like it has a zither in there, but I don’t know. It’s a bouncy instrumental that I could picture playing along with some robotic contraption at House On The Rock. “Suddenly” is a vocal number, with Bill Kennedy singing, and is an actually pretty nice song, kind of romantic and corny. “Suddenly the night was very still and your touch became a thrill and I knew I was part of you, but I told my heart to be still, until your lips kissed mine,” (like disembodied lips, kind of creepy). The idea here is that two people were not really on each other’s radar, and then suddenly they’re kissing, and rest is history. Or eternity, if you believe in that kind of stuff.

03
Dec
17

Bob McFadden and Dor “The Mummy” / “The Beat Generation”

Oh, no!—another novelty record. I suppose when you’re picking records up at thrift stores and yard sales, that’s what you’re going to get a lot of. These are two very different, but both goofy songs, by Bob McFadden (a singer and voice-actor—most significantly, to me—the voice of Franken Berry) and Dor (stage name for Rod McKuen, who wrote the songs, and was one of the few poets during my lifetime that I recall having household-name status). On “The Mummy” he uses an exaggerated silly monster voice, and the whole deal is not that interesting. I like “The Beat Generation” more, because the affected “hipster” delivery is a lot funnier to me. Also, I had no idea that this is the song that inspired Richard Hell’s “Blank Generation”—which is pretty inspired. This single is taken from the album “Songs Our Mummy Taught Us” which probably includes more of the same, though it does have a song called “Noisy Village.” Ha! Also of note: Bob McFadden shares a birthday with Randy Russell (as well as Edgar Allan Poe, Cindy Sherman, Larry Clark, Dolly Parton, Janis Joplin, one of the Everly Brothers, Frank Anderson, and Franke Martin)! He’s from East Liverpool, Ohio (which should not be confused with Liverpool, England) home of the Elite Diner!




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