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.

The Wildcats “What Are We Gonna Do in ’64?” / “3625 Groovy Street”

File under “songs with numbers in the titles.” Weirdly, the A-side sounds too fast, and the B-side too slow—but at least “3625” has a nice groove to it—and a great title (“3625 Groovy Street”)—which is also the chorus—sung in a goofy, singsong by what sounds like three teenage girls. Who are The Wildcats? I’m not spending all day on the internet to (attempt to) find out—so it remains a mystery. Apparently the “Hazlewood” noted as songwriter (both songs) is indeed Lee Hazlewood—one of my favorite songwriters ever. Makes sense, this is on Reprise, and “3625 Groovy Street” sounds like something he’d come up with. “’64” has its moments—a really hot guitar solo, in that old rock’n’roll guitar style—really nice one. The gist of that song is, we’ve learned The Twist, etc., and so forth, but that’s old hat—so what are we gonna do in ’64? “Will it be something strange and new or will it be something old and blue?” That’s the (sung) question. What were the fads in 1964? There was that Troll Doll. Dumb, but much better than Internet Trolls. I don’t know what else. I know there was this record, with some groovy organ and hot guitar and enthusiastic singing teen-sounding girls. For me, personally, I’m sure there was a lot new—being four years old—but I can’t really remember it! Heavy drinking and smoking weed were, for me, still a decade off.

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.

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?

Fuzzhead “El Saturn”

Some electronic noise, and people (women and men, not sure how many) are chanting: “It’s not the end of the world. Don’t you know that yet?” Which is an odd sentiment—it sounds like a perfectly natural thing to say, but when you think about it, it’s a little off because of the word “yet”—but maybe I’m reading too much into it. But then I see the name of the song is: “It’s after the end of the world,” and now it makes perfect sense—if that’s what they were chanting. I always was lost without a lyric sheet. The full title of the record is “El Saturn (an entirely subjective visit to the SUN RA musical omniverse)”—and never has an album title been so straightforward. The next song is “We Travel the Spaceways”—which sounds exactly like one might expect. Then “I Am the Brother of the Wind”—and again, I can see it. And those are all Sun Ra songs, though how close they are to Sun Ra versions, I don’t know. I am guessing: “Identical” and: “Light years away.”

The other side, then, is a “suite” titled “El Saturn.” I’m assuming anyone reading this is aware of the jazz legend Sun Ra—though “jazz” doesn’t come close to encompassing his music—anyway, I’m not going to write any background about Sun Ra (there’s the internet) except to say, he claimed to be from Saturn. Personally, I believed him, especially after seeing him and a version of his “Arkestra” perform in a bar in Columbus, Ohio around the mid-Eighties. I might have been transported to Saturn myself, at that time, and I’m not sure if I exactly returned.

As far as Fuzzhead goes, once again there’s the internet, and a review of another Fuzzhead LP (“LSD”) on this website. A year after I saw Sun Ra, I lived in a house in Kent, Ohio with the main instigator of Fuzzhead, Bill Weita, who didn’t claim to be from Saturn, but rather, if I remember correctly, Warren. Closer, but maybe stranger. We brewed homebrew in our basement—I believe I instigated that. Bill spent hours and hours down there next to the vats of fermenting suds, and from upstairs all you could hear was banging, and clanking, and repetitive noises that sounded like he was making a 1/24 scale model of the Death Star out of found materials. But no Death Star emerged, just cassette tapes of engaging, impressive, inspiring music. It was not yet Fuzzhead, I don’t think, but a precursor, but from the half-dozen Fuzzhead records I’ve heard over the years, I would assess that he kept exploring—not necessarily going were no man has gone before, but certainly caves and ocean floors and asteroids and whatnot.

The track information, above, as well as band lineup, is on a barely legible photocopied sheet that came in the record. The front of the album cover, itself, contains a cryptic illustration and the words “ASS RUN”—as well as the word “actuel” and on a sticker, the number “7.” I’m led to believe this is a series of records, though I’m not sure who the other artists are. On the spine it says: “Ecstatic Yod Presents Another Actuel Ass Run Around the Known End Of Sound-As-Thought.” That explains it! The cover opens up and inside is a glossy collage of b&w photos of, I assume, the Sun Ra world and his “Arkestra” and so forth. The back, then, is an enlarged photo of either a closeup of part of Sun Ra’s costume (or space suit) or maybe a dinosaur or… it’s your guess. I say, Sun Ra. And, there’s a sticker with the band and album name, and: “recorded aug-nov 1994, heliocentric worlds of sound, kent, ohio. So there you have it.

Grace Slick “Manhole”

Side A (or, “Right Side Up”—yes, it’s one of those) starts out with what sounds like some backwards stuff, you know, tape running backwards. I don’t think sung backwards, though—though maybe Grace Slick could do it. Some of this record is sung in Spanish, but I don’t think I confuse Spanish with backwards English, come on. Though, it could be Spanish backwards, it’s hard to tell. Anyway, kinda weird that two records in a row (randomly selected for review) have backwards stuff. I would have thought that the first time someone did that (whether or not they were chanting “Satan”) would have been quite enough—like putting a PowerPoint chapter in a novel—it’s clever exactly one time—but after that—no.

This strange record from 1973 is all over the place, to say the least, and there’s certainly enough here that I could imagine someone getting quite obsessed with it, while others might dismiss it as too weird—and that alone would get my attention (though I’ve read or heard exactly nothing about this record in the last half-century). Actually, the cover alone was enough to get my attention—a painting or drawing of Grace Slick as Medusa, perhaps—I’m not sure how much it resembles either (might just be split ends) but it looks great—as does the back cover painting or drawing of people (perhaps those involved in this record) in the recording studio. I was looking for the art credits, and then noticed, right on the front: “Child type odd art by Grace.” Also, just the name of the record, “Manhole,” got my attention because, when I thought about it, that word, which describes a “utility hole” is not really used that often (unless you’re a utility worker) and it is possibly used more often as a pun, for either a man’s anus (good), or “deep pit of the grim and pathetic downside of the male segment of the species” (bad). Also, it’s the name of one of my all-time-favorite songs, by Men’s Recovery Project (2005).

This masterpiece is on Grunt Records, which I did have to look up, being curious. I guess it was Jefferson Airplane’s label, at least after 1971. Interesting name for a record label, as it might possibly mean “workers in the trenches” (admirable), or “the sound one makes while pooping” (gross). If this record is any indication, “Grunt” could also have meant “artistic freedom,” or “like pulling teeth.” I’ll go with artistic freedom, or at least freedom from trying to satisfy a certain percentage of expectations in order to sell a certain number of units. Most of the first side is: “Theme from the Movie ‘Manhole’”—and I’m not going to make the assumption that no such movie exists, at least as a movie—but I will make the assumption that such a movie, if it indeed did exist, would be enhanced if you were high—at least a little bit. I was lucky enough, with my used copy of the record, to have a full-size 8-page insert intact. It’s mostly lyrics and credits, but there’s some whimsical foolery as well. Also, a newspaper clipping about a Madrid gas leak explosion that sent manhole covers airborne like breakfast cereal. Side B (or, “Upside Down”) sounds like another adventure entirely—it’s like the cornucopia of pills that are Side A were isolated one at a time (or in limited, manageable cocktails) to make up each of the four songs on Side B. It’s all a lot of fun, actually, and very 1973—and it puts me in mind of the spirit of my first band—despite our limitations—though this isn’t about me.

David Crosby “If I Could Only Remember My Name”

As I’ve said before, it’s a lot more fun to write about stuff you don’t like than stuff you love. It’s a lot easier to write about stuff you’re making fun of. It’s hardest to write about things you love—that reverence mode kind of freezes you up, and there are only so many ways to say “awesome” and “awesome” isn’t one of them. Plus, when you sound like a cheerleader, a blurb writer, a publicist, or an advertising copywriter, no one listens, and why should they? So, I was thinking it was going to be fun to write about this David Crosby record—based on the title, which is funny already, and giant photos of his head on the front and back cover—you know, that 1971 maximum hair volume, and admittedly great moustache. The songs are all more or less his (plus some credits to some guests on this record). The cover opens up to faux-photo album of two dozen familiar names—most of the Dead and the Airplane, Joni, Nash, Young, etc. Also, David Geffen looking like he’s just fallen into a swimming pool. Also, interesting to me, a young woman with the name “Laura Allen”—who looks a lot like Laura Allan—I have a solo record of hers, with Paul Horn, where she plays zither—which I haven’t written about yet. I’m guessing someone in this crowd brought along something stronger than Diet Sprite. And that album cover—no words, text, whatsoever—just a grainy double exposure of what I presume is a sunset (West Coast) over water, and face (presumedly Crosby) blown up so big it looks like you could live in his right nostril and your ex-wife could life in his left and everything would be more or less cool.

But as soon as I put the record on, I was mesmerized to such an extent that I had to lie down to listen to it. For some reason, the impression you get is that all of the musicians were performing while lying down—and while that might be impossible with some (piano, for instance) I wonder if there isn’t something to that. This is one of the more mellow, laid back, trance-inducing things I’ve heard in a while. I don’t think I was sleeping, but when it got to the end of Side One, I was unable to take the needle off, and somehow it played the other side without me turning it over! After a little dinner, and a palate cleanser (Skeeter Davis, Richard Harris, and more sleep), I put it on again, and it’s like an entirely different record! So it’s clear to me that I’m enjoying this album much like one would, buying it new in 1971, as a fan. You go through this phase where you don’t want to do anything but put it on once again. You come home from school and put it on. It’s a relationship. Together, your brain and the vinyl transform, blah blah, all of that. Of course, when I was eleven, I think this might have been too subtle for me, my favorites being Alice Cooper, Sweet, Mott the Hoople, and so forth. There’s a song that sounds like it could be Crazy Horse, and one that could be an obscure CSN or CSNY track. And then one… who’s playing that steel guitar?—nice. Then one that sounds like it would be at home at a Renaissance faire. And then a song that sounds like nothing else on the record and is quite beautiful—is that autoharp? (my first instrument—so I’m partial to it). Another beautiful one with some serious piano—Gregg Rolie, perhaps? And then a couple that sound a little too much like blind monks living underground after the nuclear holocaust, but that’s okay, it rounds out what I’d have to say is a seriously awesome record.

Vanilla Fudge “Renaissance” record in “Near the Beginning” cover

I’ve known about Vanilla Fudge my whole life, but I failed to score any of their records when I was at an impressionable age—so I really had no idea what they sounded like. I have no excuse, really. A tremendously influential group—if it wasn’t for Vanilla Fudge, you’d still find Hammond organs in thrift stores, for instance. If it wasn’t for Vanilla Fudge, there would be no Spinal Tap. But, I suppose I got them mixed up with some other psychedelic bands from the late Sixties or so. As far as the dessert goes, I’m all for it. I’m not one of those people so loyal to chocolate as to despise vanilla—I don’t get that. And, in fact, I generally prefer vanilla. Peanut butter fudge has them both beat, however, as it may be the best thing ever created in a kitchen.

At any rate, the problem here is that someone put the “Renaissance” (1968) record in the “Near the Beginning” (1969) cover, so what I have is a kind of hybrid. Even weirder, the former owner of this album meticulously placed red (to match the label) tape over the title, “Renaissance,” on both sides of the label. Why? So… possibly it would resemble the 1967 Vanilla Fudge debut LP? (containing their biggest hit, “You Keep Me Hanging On”). I can think of no other possible reason, but either way, it makes no sense. But this isn’t stopping me; I’m listening to my vinyl copy of “Renaissance” and also listening to “Near the Beginning” online—which also includes what sounds like live bonus tracks, which I have to say, I like better than either of the records. This is one of those bands that—when punk rock came along (with its rules about stripping down rock music)—served as an example of musical excess. Really long songs, lots of showing off, solos, and so forth, etc. I mean, the guys are great musicians, and they really go to town—so for people who like this kind of thing, this is your… thing. It didn’t take the punks long, anyway, to fall right into similar, if not more excessive, excess.

Anyway, since I’m going all out, I listened to an interview with drummer Carmine Appice—on Joe Wong’s The Trap Set podcast—and that was fun, and interesting. Somewhere along the line, in the Seventies, when I started playing drums, I guess, I somehow associated Appice with some douchebags (probably music store employees) who claimed he was the best drummer ever—and maybe he is, for the kind of style he has—but of course, I was more of a Keith Moon, Charlie Watts, Maureen Tucker, Nick Knox kind of guy. The douchbags also pronounced his name wrong, but you can’t blame them as there was no internet or podcasts yet. Anyway, it’s a fascinating interview—and I’ve found podcasts a great way to discover that people who you’ve held up as a god (or Satan) turn out to be a human beings, with feelings, after all—and there’s no place for our hatred (or worship, for that matter). Also, it turns out that Appice has a memoir out, which sounds like it could be a lot of fun—it’s called “Stick It!: My Life of Sex, Drums and Rock’n’Roll.” Maybe I’ll get to that right after I read Klaus Kinski “Uncircumcised.”

Anyway, one of the interesting things Appice said in this interview was that he had no regrets—except possibly that he wished they hadn’t released the second Vanilla Fudge album, which killed their career. I don’t know about that—since he’s had quite a career—but that got my attention. What is this record? I guess he’s talking about the one called “The Beat Goes On” (1968)—and I found some snippets of it on the internet. Yeah. It sounds like someone was smoking a little too much “White Album”—but you have to give them credit for being a little nuts. And seeing how (if my math is correct) it was released the same year, but before, the “White Album”—whom was smoking whom? History might find this to be their greatest work—probably not—but I might. Apparently they were big fans of the Beatles, seeing how many Beatles covers they did (unless they were like a lot of other recording artists of the era who—I suspect—recorded Beatles songs under orders from the guys with the checkbooks).

Well, this is about it for Vanilla Fudge, for this evening—and that’s a lotta Vanilla Fudge! I hope I don’t have to get my stomach pumped. Oh, and I forgot to say, I always thought it was a pretty good band name—since it can’t possibly be a double entendre, or represent anything untoward, right? And it’s not nearly as dumb as, say, The Strawberry Alarm Clock (or The Beatles, for that matter). And I’ve discovered something to keep my eye out for, on vinyl, to fill out my bizarro shelf—that “Beat Goes On” LP. AND—I’ve got an unsolved mystery: someone out there knows why they put red tape over the title, “Renaissance”—on the label—and then put the record in the “Near the Beginning” cover. There’s probably a story there.

Blue Oyster Cult “Cultosaurus Erectus”

I never heard this record (before I listened to it, just recently) since by 1980 I was fully immersed in punk rock, and these guys seemed like “dinosaurs.” And based on this record (a play on scientific names and porn, I guess?) they also liked dinosaurs. The cover art seems to illustrate a kind of speculative text that the Earth’s former inhabitants were weirder and ever more savage than previously imagined—prompted somewhat, I’m guessing, by the original Alien movie, which came out a year earlier. And just imagining the sequel where the cat explodes and the aliens conquer the world—that’s the Alien sequel we were all expecting back then! A pretty good rendering of that distinctive alien mouth, on the cover—which was fresh back then (before it got ripped off by every movie with a monster, and counting). I guess the idea that we’re in for a new age of the dinosaurs makes a lot of sense, and might even be supported by the lyrics—but I can’t quite make them out, and there’s no lyric sheet, and I’m not willing to do more research—I’m not writing a thesis here! It’s good enough that the songs are actually quite catchy, and even fun. I have to admit, hard rock isn’t my thing—but a good song is a good song. What I recall from my BOC records from the Seventies is they wrote some catchy tunes. It seems like they kept the band together for a while, too—and I’m not sure what became of them—but it seems like I saw some version of the band on a recent festival lineup. If a feature-length, streaming, Blue Oyster Cult documentary hasn’t already been made, you can count on it soon.