The Electric Prunes “Mass in F Minor”

I felt like I had a handle on The Electric Prunes (unless I got them mixed up with the Chocolate Overcoat), but I never pegged them as Christian rockers—so what gives? So I had to resort to the ol’ ’ternet and got something like this: after the band’s first couple of records, their producer hired a classically trained composer to write this religious based concept record—but the guys in the band couldn’t play the crap—so they brought in studio musicians. That’s the crazy Sixties for you! (If they’d asked my opinion, I would have suggested, at that point, that they rename the band—The Eclectic Prunes.) I can only imagine some turmoil there, but the good thing—some version of the Prunes is still together to this day! Oh, wait, that first song, “Kyrie Eleison” is familiar—it’s in Easy Rider—I think the gross dinner scene in New Orleans, just before they get wasted at the cemetery. It’s a scene that always really creeped me out for some reason—it must have been this music! (It’s almost as creepy as the dinner at the commune, earlier, with the mean hippie.) I guess I have to credit that movie, anyway, for compelling me to give psychedelics a wide berth! (I had enough problems with the store-bought and all.) Anyway, I almost took this 1967 record off the player and flung it somewhere—within minutes—if I wanted to listen to chanting, I’d put on beads and an itchy brown robe. Which might be appropriate—after all, the name of the record kind of spells it out—and the cover shows a silver crucifix hanging from some multicolored beads, hovering over what I can only guess is an… itchy brown robe. The back cover, however, is a collage of b&w band photos, with instruments, including one with a dude playing an autoharp—and that one must have sold me. I mean, there is some fine guitar, bass, and drums here, but chanting in Latin—it makes me want to run in any other direction. And I took Latin in high school—wait… maybe that’s at the heart of my aversion. Though, I’ve gotta say, it’s kinda growing on me. (Don’t know what, exactly.) Could work as mood music—if your evening includes incense, bota bags, and shrooms.

Gino Vannelli “The Gist of the Gemini”

Astute (or slightly insane) readers of the DJ Farraginous “blog” may recall an interesting mention of Gino Vannelli. Back in school, my friend Scott Suter was my hero after he turned me on to Mott the Hoople (first I’d heard of that band), so when he recommended this record, I rushed out and bought it… and I was… disillusioned. Oh, well, maybe I wasn’t ready for it, as a 16-year-old—and ol’ SS was simply more sophisticated. It sounds much better to me now—though, perhaps, barely. I love songs about the year at hand—generally—the one here, however— “A New Fix For ’76”—is the low point of Side One. But the ballads—which I certainly would have dismissed as a rambunctious lad—appeal to me, now, in my mellow years. The internet helps—briefly, GV is originally from Montreal, is relatively young, and is still out their touring—that makes me happy. You could reach GV, back then, via a New Orleans P.O. box (listed below the credits)—maybe you still can. The album cover is kind of incredible—glossy black with glowing white piano keys, and backlit GV and his giant hair. The inside gets even more lycanthropic—bandmembers’ disembodied heads, each seeming to have been radiated with some kind of follicle fertilizer. You kinda gotta see it. Side Two consists of a composition called: “WAR SUITE: Prelude to The War, The Battle Cry, To The War, Carnal Question, After the Last Battle, To The War (Reflection), Summers of My Life.” And they fit it all in. The limitations (in length) of the vinyl era (as opposed to the CD era) were often an undeniable strength. That last number, “Summers…” is technically credited as part of WAR SUITE—but it’s definitely a departure—quite welcome—and it’s my mellow favorite of the record.

Philiac “This Appalling Ocean”

This record is quite a presentation—it’s clear vinyl, which I love, and the grooves are cut in such a way that when you look at it on the turntable it looks like it’s moving back and forth, rather than spinning. Pretty cool. The cover opens up to what’s mostly a fish and scale flavored abstract composition—though there’s a prominent clean, white skull of some kind. I’m not sure what. Someone who knows skulls would know right off. It almost looks like a cat—but I’m not going to think about that—for me, one of the great injustices of the world is that cats aren’t all immortal. Inside, the images are arranged in a loose collage on black: fish, a bird head, a hand, a snake, etc. It’s generally pretty creepy. You’ve gotta work to make out the credits and messages (aka song titles) rendered in barely legible liquid paper. As well as some scrawled credits. Some people want to see their name up in lights. But then some people would rather sneak in like with evidence of a crime. I definitely get that sentiment.

There’s some really heavy guitar and drums-based rock music (not heavy metal—though I don’t really know what heavy metal is, these days). The singer has a really low voice that sounds like it’s coming from the dungeon (but I don’t mean that death-metal kind of singing)—I can’t make out the lyrics (but then I’m never good a making out lyrics)—but then I don’t need the words for the mood—it’s definitely on the doomed side of the tracks—not a happy-go-lucky feeling, here. There are some other noises, too, synths maybe, that sound a little sci-fi and apocalyptic—which is nice. An extended instrumental part, now, is really reminding me of some of the prog-rock, I guess it was, I listened to as a lad—the early Genesis, and some German bands like Nektar. When the vocals return, though, it’s now bringing back Joy Division (must be somewhat of an influence) which also makes me happy (in an odd way)—I guess the most extreme versions of that stuff, back (was it really nearly half-a-century ago?) was like nothing else. There’s a repeated line I can make out, “I’m never going to see you again,” and I guess that gets right at a certain sentiment I’d rather not dwell on—but that’s followed by an instrumental part that recalls, for me, someone like Black Sabbath—I mean, just slightly, but that’s enough for me to escape into nostalgia.

Mott the Hoople “The Hoople”

There is no way in the world I can listen to this record with the least sense of objectivity—even after 50 years! Yes, it’s been 50 years since I bought this one, and it still plays great—I think it’s my original copy—and it was, indeed, when I was 14 years old, my favorite record for a while. I played it obsessively, obsessed over it, and never got over it. I suppose there is something kind of hopeful about the fact that when I put this record on it takes me right back to that time and place and the person I was then. That’s the power of music, but so much for objectivity. Though—of course I hear it somewhat differently—in that I’ve had half a century of listening to other music, and listening is always a learning experience. I’m sure I hear more, now, and I hear deeper and with a greater degree of understanding and sophistication. So… I’m happy to report that it actually sounds better now than it did back then.

I wrote a “review” back in 2008—when I was less wordy—two sentences—there was more of interest in the comments. Then, around 2018 I went to the Mott the Hoople ’74 show—I think that’s what they called it—great to see Ian Hunter live. I might have said before, this is the odd band in that their best two albums were their last two (this one, and “Mott,” the year before). I mean, that’s my opinion—but it’s like they evolved into this excellence—where most bands evolve to the point where they’re at their peak for the first few albums and then it’s all downhill from there. The album cover is somewhat of an iconic one—a life-size, high-contrast photo of a woman (I wonder who is this “Kari-Ann?”) In her large, large hair are images superimposed of the band members. Ian Hunter, naturally with sunglasses. Really excellent longtime rhythm section Dale Griffin and Overend Watts (both who had sadly passed away before that 2018 tour. But the “new guys,” Morgan Fisher and madman “Ariel Bender” (Luther Grosvenor) were playing. All of them—in the model’s hair, on the cover—had great hair. At the 2018 show—when I looked around the audience, I estimated that about 80% (including me) were balding.

I’ll put it on for the… what? Maybe 2000^th time… see what it sounds like. My first observation is really obvious—so much so, I guess, that I failed to ponder it over the years and listenings—there’s a funny intro at the beginning of “The Golden Age of Rock’n’Roll” (“Ladies and gentlemen…”) which kind of sets the whole album up as a kind of theatrical show—which it really is—kind of an album length hard rock opera. It’s not really hard rock—though it is, too—that would be the guitar element. The piano, strings, horns, backing vocals, and ridiculously complex song structures and over-the-top production is pure showtune. All of that can be heard in the in the second song, “Marionette,” which is kind of a mini-hard-rock-opera within the opera. (A theatrical production would feature, no doubt, full-on puppet show.) Third song already, “Alice,” is the best on the record (my opinion, but while I’m at it, I’ll say it’s the best ever Mott the Hoople and/or Ian Hunter song). At the risk of sounding like YouTube comments, I’d say this song is one of the most overlooked five minutes in the entire history of rock’n’roll. Rather than attempt to say why and fail, I’ll just leave it up to the reader who has forgotten it to give it another listen… and for those who’ve never heard it… well.

I just noticed that “Crash Street Kidds” has two “Ds” on Kidds—why? Usually that indicates a name (though, not “Billy the Kid”). By coincidence, right now, I’m reading (it’s a long book) Dhalgren, by Samuel R. Delany, which also came out in 1974. The main character is sometimes “Kid” and sometimes “Kidd”—could it be possible that the hyperliterate Ian Hunter was reading it? Who knows. The only song not written by Hunter, “Born Late ’58” is by Overend Watts (and sung by him). It was my favorite on the record for a long time—though always inextricably connected to a gin blackout—maybe a deprogramming would be in order by this point. Also, when I was 14, I didn’t care for “Trudi’s Song” or “Through the Looking Glass” (the ballads), but now I love those songs. That’s one change, over time. “Pearl ’n’ Roy (England)” is probably my second favorite on the record, and another rock showtune. As is “Roll Away the Stone,” which is the perfect bookend with “The Golden Age…” and closes out the show.

I never noticed, on the bottom of the lyrics inner sleeve, a “Write Mott” address: c/o Josephine Targo/114 7^th Avenue/New York 10011. I tried searching, but just got a ham & cheese croissant on TikTok—which just made me tired. Zillow shows a closet with a kitchenette for a million dollars. It’s hard to search Manhattan—even the ghosts have been priced out. Record company person? Fan club? Who knows. At one point, when I first heard about (and read some of) those 33 1/3 books—each one about a record—I loved the idea so much I thought I might submit a proposal. My idea was to write about this record. I never got any further than thinking a lot about it. Their requirements for book proposals are pretty rigorous (as it should be), and I didn’t think I was up to the deep dive this album (and Mott the Hoople) deserves. It would be a shame not to interview Ian Hunter and the other surviving band members, for one thing. Maybe someone’s written one of those books about this record, or another Mott LP, by now—I haven’t checked lately. I think it’s a deceptively difficult project—I mean that size and scope of a book. Not easy to write something that lengthy about a record (especially one you love) without fluff—and at the same time—if it’s your favorite record ever—that short. But hey, now that I’m thinking about it again, maybe I’ll give it another try.

Pink Floyd “Animals”

I was never a Pink Floyd guy, really—some of my friends had the early records—I thought they were cool—and like everyone else, I bought Dark Side of the Moon—but then missed Wish You Were Here (my favorite Pink Floyd record). By the time The Wall came out (1979), I was over them—but this one, when I was 17, was the Pink Floyd record for me. It still takes me back to my confused brain at that confused age. It’s almost painful to listen to. I took in the lyrics without really digesting them—I read George Orwell in high school, but never connected this record to Animal Farm—I didn’t really listen to the lyrics—just took it in as apolitical weirdness. I guess I’ve been bad about making connections my whole life—is there are learning disorder where your brain doesn’t make connections? Like say, you know the word, “Pig” and what it is, but you don’t connect that to the animal known as a pig? That would be me. Maybe it’s not a learning disorder at all—just dumbness. Is being a dummy a clinical condition? If it is, that’s me.

It’s almost painful to admit now how much this record was an influence on me—at a time when I was doing art (collages and drawing), writing songs and playing music (our “band,” the Chinese Electrical Band), and writing poetry. Wiser people than me would go back and round up that 17-year-old Pink Floyd inspired poetry and eradicate it with extreme prejudice—but that’s not me. I admit it, and I can live with it, and I can laugh at myself. When I first put this on, as a new record (1977) and listened to the 1:24 acoustic first song, “Pigs on the Wing (Part One)” I wondered for a minute and a half if the whole record would be acoustic guitar folk music—and then the second song, a 17-minute song called “Dogs,” answered that question. It’s depressive, wanky guitar rock, but kind of lovely, too—I think, now—because it’s relatively sparse and minimal. “Pigs (Three Different Ones)”—over 11 minutes—has a wonderfully dated sound—a steady cowbell from yonder barn. The 10-minute “Sheep” so much influenced music our band was playing at that time, it makes me want to go hide. But that’s funny. All these songs might be grim, serious, doom-laden, preachy, even a little scary—but underneath all that, pop-song hooks come first.

I loved the album cover—I assumed it was a factory in Middle Earth (I guess it’s an old power station). Could be a photo, could be a painting—beautiful and harsh, dramatic and mundane—how long did it take me to notice the pig floating between the smokestacks? When a band could refrain from putting any words on their record cover, I was always impressed. It opens and inside still no words, just a dozen black and white photos—could be a first-year photography class critique—I was impressed/not impressed. Anyone could airbrush a floating pig on a landscape, but when I went to the Pink Floyd concert (most likely that summer) at the old Cleveland Stadium, there were actual floating pig dirigibles (I’m thinking other animals, too, but I can’t remember—I was no doubt smoking something, but not anything that good). It was fun going to that concert—it was the largest group of scarily stoned people I’d ever been around—but also disappointing—since we were so far away from the band that they could have been anybody. The sound system (some kind of “quadrophonic” deal) was really impressive, but still, I more or less swore off stadium rock shows at that point. And one day, I didn’t put the record on anymore—and so it’s been, what, maybe 45 years? My Pink Floyd records didn’t survive all the moves, and they usually don’t show up in the cheap bins—but someone named “Judy” rendered her name so confidently in the clouds between two smokestacks—I had to look online to see if that name—about the same size as the floating pig—was part of the design. It isn’t—thus the discount price, in case Judy comes calling for her rightful heirloom.

Lambert, Hendricks and Ross “The Way-Out Voices of Lambert, Hendricks and Ross”

Apparently this is a 1968 re-release of the 1962 LP, “High Flying”—though, I like this album cover better than the original— by my favorite vocalese trio—Dave Lambert, Jon Hendricks, and Annie Ross. They’re backed up here by The Ike Isaacs Trio. It’s kind of a post-mortem record—in that they were no longer a band, and also, sadly, Dave Lambert had died in a tragic accident, in 1966.They only put out a handful of records—though maybe they printed a lot—as I come across their records regularly, for not much money. I wonder if they fell out of favor with audiences at some point since their style is a little bizarre, probably considered an acquired taste, and certainly “way-out.” I could imagine both jazz purists and jazz novices being scared off, and others finding the extreme nature of the style off-putting. I don’t know! To me, they are 100% delightful, all the time, and that includes the 11 tracks on this LP. Maybe I’m wrong, and they’re still a big deal with fans—I’m sure they are—that rarified group of Lambert, Hendricks and Ross superfans—my kind of crowd.

I was going to save this one for posting on my Halloween special—(and viola, no H. special)—anyway, the reason for that is because there’s a song called “Halloween Spooks”—which is one of the stranger Halloween-themed songs I’ve heard (written by Dave Lambert). The lyrics are odd enough—“can’t find the children”—that’s kind of alarming! And then there’s some truly otherworldly wailing—but not like you’d imagine—I mean some messed-up, out-there wailing—you have to hear it. Besides that, there’s one great song after another, including three by Horace Silver—two with the word “Cookin’” in the title, including my fav, “Home Cookin’”—which is about soul food. I am partial to songs about food—but of course, it’s about more than just food—there’s a lot to take in—candied yams, collard greens, etc.—but it’s really more about women. It’s kind of an epic, though not exactly a feminist anthem—though, who knows, maybe it is, in a backwards way.

The prettiest song on the record is “Blue” (by Gildo Mahones)—quiet and sad and subtle. (Little else on this record could be accused of being subtle!) My very favorite on the record is “Farmer’s Market”—written by Annie Ross and Art Farmer (get it?)—it reminds me somewhat of my favorite Annie Ross song, “Twisted.” It’s about a young woman going to a farmer’s market… and then a whole lot about beans! I can’t think of another song that’s so much about beans (even jellybeans). But what else is it about? Well, the guy selling beans isn’t the usual bean guy, but a cute hipster. My first inclination is, of course, sex—which is usually the case. But then it just goes right off into outer space—I can’t even begin to hope to paraphrase here! I can’t even begin to follow it—and I’m afraid that even if I could make out all the lyrics, it might be beyond my understanding. And that alone makes this my favorite song on the record! Blame it on the beans!

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.

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?

Alice Cooper “Muscle of Love”

This is an oddball record in my LP collection—in more ways than one. First of all, the strange packaging—the album cover is a corrugated cardboard shipping carton—the kind of box you might ship an LP in, to this day—but it is the cover—it has the title and band name and other info printed in red—so it really does look like a shipping box. I’m sure my 13-year-old self caught on, but it might have confused some people. Also, I seem to remember there was a water stain on my cover—and I think I spent half my life thinking it was water damaged, but now, on the internet, I see that there was an intentional “stain” as part of the design, which is kind of next level. Even weirder, on my copy, after all these years (50 years!) the stain has disappeared! Could that be possible? Did it just fade? And weirder still, the full-color inner sleeve (and supplementary materials, later on those) both seem to be water damaged. Were they intentionally fake water damaged as well, or did they actually get water damaged (but how could they without the corrugated cover getting damaged)? Or did they just get really worn over the years (50 years!) by being inside a corrugated cardboard album cover on record shelves? It’s a real head-scratcher—still a bit of a grand mystery!

The other odd thing about this album cover is that it’s been signed by Alice Cooper—the only one of my albums that I’ve ever had signed by the artist, or anyone. How this came about is pretty funny—a number of years back my brother was working at this very nice golf course in Ohio, and Alice Cooper, an avid golfer, was coming through and asked in advance for someone to play a round with, so my brother jumped at that opportunity. It sounded like they both had a good time. Not having his own AC record in his collection, he took along my copy of “Muscle of Love” (I had a lot of records stored at his house at the time) for the rock star to sign, with a Sharpie, on the brown cardboard cover. I admit, it gives me a bit of a thrill, since I’ve always been an Alice Cooper fan (though, never saw him live). I’ve never really been one for autographs (got a few from Cleveland Indian ballplayers when I was a kid), though, so this is rare for me. But this reminds me of something I’ve been trying to remember for years—the one time I went to one of those record store signings, where you stand in line, meet the musician. I went up to Cleveland—this was the early Eighties—and Lou Reed was doing a signing. He was my all-time hero, so why not (also, sadly, never saw him play live). Anyway, I took something ODD for him so sign—and I can’t remember what it was. Apparently, it was a little unusual, because I remember the funny look he gave me—the amused, unreadable smile—I felt like I surprised him a little. But for the life of me, I can’t remember what it was I had him sign—much less where it is now! (A side note: I just heard that Tony Bennett passed away. I did, actually, once, see him live.)

Back to the record. I was surprised to realize this LP actually came out the same year (1973), but after, Billion Dollar Babies—just later that year. Even though I feel like I’m a pretty big fan, the only three AC records I’ve owned were these two and School’s Out (1972) (previously reviewed here, November 2017). I was too young, maybe, for the four records before these—and after this one—I didn’t buy any more. So, I guess I’m not that big of a fan, really—but then, in general, I suck as a music fan. I pretty much move on from artists after a few records, pretty consistently—not all that different from my love life—ha! Anyway, they really went all out with the packaging on these three LPs. Besides the nutty cover of this one, the inner sleeve—one side—is a photo of the band wearing sailor suits in front of the “Institute of Nude Wrestling”—did such a thing exist? They’re paying lots of money to a “little person” and “lady of the night.” There’s also a guy in a suit walking out of frame—who is that guy?! (Leave a comment, please!) It was maybe the next year when the Rolling Stones did a video for “It’s Only Rock’n’Roll”—wearing sailor suits—so, around this time, I was wondering, what exactly did sailor suits mean? (It was several years, still, until The Village People’s “In the Navy.”) On the other side of the sleeve is the quite gruesome depiction of the bloody and mangled band members after their realization that the “live, nude, female” they were paying to wrestle was actually a gorilla. Funny bit. If that wasn’t enough, also included was a paper book cover. Back then, it was often a requirement to make book covers (usually with paper shopping bags) to protect your school textbooks. This one includes all credits for the record, more photos, including the band, as sailors again, peeling potatoes, and an official logo for the “Institute of Nude Wrestling.” I apparently didn’t use my book cover, since it’s intact—either I wanted to save it (for this day), or I was embarrassed to go through school with such a thing emblazoned on my social studies book!

As for the songs—a little uneven, but they’re all okay, and some are really good. At the time I bought this record (1973), I’m not sure that I knew that New York was “The Big Apple”—because I recall being confused why someone would have a song called “Big Apple Dreamin’ (Hippo)”—also confused by the reference to Ohio—and really had no idea about the “Hippo” part—still a few years before the internet, or me personally exploring the underbelly of “The City.” The whole record confused me, actually—it just didn’t quite have the vitality and insanity of  “Billion Dollar Babies”—though, now I’ve come around to it—just for what it is. “Never Been Sold Before” starts out sounding a lot like an early KISS song (I mean that in the best way), though KISS’s first LP was still a year off. But then horns come in, and a good chorus—and it sounds like Alice Cooper. The biggest confusion of all was the song “Man with the Golden Gun”—which sounded exactly like a James Bond opening number—but then, that movie opened, and there was an entirely different song, sung by Lulu—which always sounded like a soft-porn Bond parody to me—but very little about that movie makes any sense at all (except for Christopher Lee). Of course, from the first time I heard the name of the title, “Muscle of Love,” it was clearly a clever reference to the penis—but in the song itself, did he sing “my heart’s a muscle of love?” Was I wrong? Of course not. There are a lot of good songs on this record—my favorite is “Teenage Lament ’74”—which I didn’t really relate to at the time—the age of 15 seemed way far off, and I couldn’t really see myself quite in with the “cool kids” (the one singing this song) quite yet. They are good songwriters, and they could play rock’n’roll. Great background vocals on this record, too—credited are: Labelle (Nona and Sarah), Liza Minnelli, The Pointer Sisters, and Ronnie Spector! My inclination is to say that Alice Cooper of this era is vastly “underrated”—but then I’d sound like one of those geniuses in the YouTube comments—ha!

X media – Various Artists Flexi Disc (Rocco Loco / Serious / 12 Year Olds / D. Bush)

This is a multi-artist, 7-inch flexi disc with four tracks—it’s beat all to hell, yet still plays splendidly. I have no idea where I got it—I don’t have a clue. I feel like I may have owned it for several decades. How things don’t get lost is more of a mystery than when they do. I looked it up on Big Brain and 15 minutes of avid searching (my limit) un-earthed nothing. Okay, there is a listing on Discogs—very rare to find something not on Discogs (though, of course, that’s an ongoing goal!) There are even four for sale! All in the four dollar range, plus shipping. The links for the band names take me right back to flexi disc listing. The label and/or title of the disc is “X media”—which also gets me nowhere. No other info on the flexi itself. The printing is black on black. No date, no address, no secret message that I can see visually. I’m forced to proceed by sound alone!

One: Rocco Loco “Cigarettes” – Sounds like a field recording, you hear some cars, some rustling, and a guy who keeps saying something about cigarettes—but I can’t tell what he’s saying at all—it might be French (except for the word “cigarettes”). Two: Serious “Air It Out” – Sounds exactly like recordings I made in the Eighties with friends while we were drunk. Someone’s got an alto sax, someone else has a clarinet, and then there’s some improvised percussion, pots and pans and whatnot—and somehow, they fall into a barely discernable (but definite) groove—and that’s the song. Three: 12 Year Olds “Unbageled Jelly” – This one totally sounds like some recordings we did with my very first band (called the Chinese Electrical Band) formed, incidentally, when I was 12—so it might actually be us? Could be, but how’d they get the tape? (We did totally lose one.) No… that’d be too weird. We had some great song titles (like “Pumpkins Rule My World”) but nothing remotely as brilliant as “Unbageled Jelly”—that’s astounding. I want to figure out how to use the world “unbageled” in everyday life, now, but how? In what context? Of course, it’s probably a company name (like that stupid Untucked shirt co.)—and most certainly a band, somewhere. Four: D. Bush “Tax Break; Gas, Grass or As” – A recording on a very wavery tape recorder (gotta change those batteries!) pretty much just singing and electric guitar—though it wavers so much, the wavering is like an instrument itself. Two songs: the first, there are lyrics (which I can’t make out) and a melody—though it’s not a great melody. The second song, much the same, but I do understand the chorus: “You gotta have gas, grass, or ass, baby” (which, back in the day, motorists demanded of hitchhikers—and always struck me as pretty damn needy). It ends with the most minimal sound collage ever: “the root of the problem is” and “I want to be a criminal”—I kind of admire the restraint, and not going full on “Revolution 9.”