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.

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

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

George Shearing “New Look!”

I’ll pretty much pick up any Shearing record I don’t have, and since they’re abundant and inexpensive, I do have a lot. I’m not sure if I remember even hearing this one—it’s pretty striking in the approach—along with the unmistakable “Shearing Sound” there is an orchestra—strings, as well as brass and woodwinds, and occasionally Latin percussion—he’s throwing it all at us—for renditions of popular music of the time—the time being 1967. There are five paragraphs of liner notes on back with some nuts-and-bolts description of what’s going on here, as well as sounding both like a travel agency brochure and an automobile add. The “orchestrations” are credited to Julian Lee, who I know nothing about, but the Big Board says he’s from New Zealand, which may or may not explain anything. He’s got tons of credits, including lots more Shearing, of this era. If this record is any indication, I’ll look forward to getting those records, too—I love the sound of this record. Modern (I mean, 1967 version of modern), but also dated (in a good way), breezy, cool, but also nostalgic.

The front cover kind of says it all—a young, blond woman in a miniskirt, barefoot—either dancing, or demonstrating how to pitch out of a sand trap with an imaginary golf club. Her dress is pretty amazing—dark blue with bold yellow circles (actually, they could a semi-abstract renditions of 45 RPM records). Plus, a wide, bright yellow vinyl belt. She is standing in front of the lineup of songs in a minimalist font, gold on a white background—and she’s managing to not obscure any. Above her, below the title, it says: “George Shearing with the Quintet and the new sounds of his multi-colored orchestra plays the great new songs.” You’d think he’d reinvented the pizza.

Quite often a misplaced Lennon-McCartney can render an otherwise fine side unlistenable. Sorry to say it—they’re great songs—when performed by the Beatles. I don’t know if people just get them wrong, or there’s magic missing. So, I had reason to be concerned with Side One—boasting TWO, including the dreaded “Michelle”—and “Yesterday,” which is a problem for me, since it was the first and only song I ever learned how to play on piano with both left and right hand parts—and I remember that toil like it’s… yesterday. I think the song will forever remind me of my failure at that instrument. The weird thing here, though, is both songs are great. I’m not going to sit around and try to figure out how they did it—I think it’s just that there’s a fresh and creative approach to every song on this record, and they include some seriously over-recorded and overplayed childhood (mine) AM radio gems, like “On a Clear Day You Can See Forever,” “Strangers in the Night,” “Call Me,” “The Shadow of Your Smile,” and “What the World Needs Now Is Love.” It’s a rare album where there are no bummers, and also, nothing really stands out—except for the somewhat audacious approach. I can listen to this repeatedly and now that I have it out, I may. Of course, as I said before, George Shearing is the sound of my childhood and I’d have to encounter an LP where he really runs afoul before you’re going to hear a dissenting word from (the critical side of) me.

Royce Hall Lucky 4 “One More Glass of Wine” / “That’s My Life”

Royce Hall Lucky 4 is apparently the name of the artist and/or band? But what does it mean? “Lucky 4 could be a band with four people (or even three), or it might be gambling-oriented. On the Raynard label, which the big voice tells me was Dave Kennedy’s label—so one might assume this was recorded at Dave Kennedy Recording Studio in Milwaukee, though I’m not sure. The record is from 1967. I can’t find anything about Royce Hall Lucky 4, or Royce Hall (I’m assuming Royce Hall is the guy, as the songs are credited to “R. Hall”). But no photos or bio. I’m sure the info is out there—but deeper than I want to dig late on a Friday in early May. There’s a PLACE called Royce Hall, so there’s a billion photos of that—and every Dick, Tom, and Harry who set foot in it. Anyway, the record: It’s some old-time for real country sounding stuff. “That’s My Life” is almost two minutes, and states the title, plus “since you been gone.” (Every time he goes out and tries to forget “you”—people keep asking where “you” are.) “One More Glass of Wine” is the three-minute epic—and goes: “The more I drink the less I think about her,” and so forth—he’s asking for one more glass of wine to help him drive her from his mind. My only question is, who drinks wine at a bar in misery? You drink bourbon, or maybe beer in those circumstances—if you’re drinking wine to reach oblivion, you drink cheap, sweet wine from a bottle, likely in an alley or under a tarpaulin in the back of a truck. But I’ll let it go—this was 1967—things were nuts back around then. Plus, George Jones sang about drinking wine (“Just One More”), and for a country singer, there’s no better role model.

Wilson Pickett “The Sound of Wilson Pickett”

I’ve heard a lot of Wilson Pickett music over the years for not having any of his records—well, maybe I did when I was younger—I know I had some compilations with him on them. Anyway, I know his distinctive voice, his singing style, of course—everyone does. I was listening to some of his stuff online awhile back, and I was finding it pretty unsatisfying—so I was trying to figure out why. I concluded that it was too energetic (for me, at this moment in time, I guess) and too chaotic—really busy arrangements—and too loud, too dense—the horn arrangements dominated—well, almost—his singing still dominated, of course—but it was like he and the horns were fighting for domination. Am I wrong about this? It occurred to me that the difference might be the musical format—I mean digital/streaming vs vinyl. Or maybe it was just me having a bad day. Anyway, today is a good day, because this record sounds great.

But it’s not a good day, it’s just another day—in fact, I feel like shit—at least I did until I started listening to this record—and now I feel good—so I’m trying to figure out what I like about this record better than some other Wilson Pickett I’ve listened to recently. This one’s called The Sound of Wilson Pickett, and it’s from 1967. I think it starts with the lack of (prevalence of) horns—how busy the horns are or aren’t—how upfront in the recording, or how jaunty the horn playing, generally. There are horns here, of course, but they’re not as much in your face. Wilson Pickett’s signing is always in your face, of course, there’s no other way. But on this record, it’s all him.

Then, maybe, it’s the songs. The record starts off perfectly with “Soul Dance Number Three”—which I particularly like because it’s really minimal—mostly guitar, bass, drums—the organ and horns are subtle and minimal—it’s a slow and really deep, repetitious groove. It’s my favorite on the record. Then there’s “Funky Broadway,” which is a little more up-tempo, but the same things apply. This side also has “I Found a Love”—one of my favorite WP songs—here there’s Part I and Part II, A and B side of the single, I guess, two and half and three minutes long. And then the last song on the side is “You Can’t Stand Alone” which is a pretty energetic love song, up-tempo and happy—but the best part is the brief organ solo which sounds just pretty crazy—it jumps right off the record. You could hear a lot more of that, but it’s kind of cool that it’s so brief.

The second side could go ahead and not exist—since the first was fully satisfying—but it’s all really good too. “Mojo Mamma” is my favorite—a killer song (written by Jerry Wexler and the great songwriter, Bert Berns).  Then there’s three Bobby Womack songs in a row, and they’re all excellent. The album cover is that weird shade of orange that I can never see without thinking of the Richard Hell record that looks similar to this one. Wilson Pickett is in front, from the waist up, wearing a sharp blue suit—he’s got an emotional expression on his face like he’s pleading with someone, and his right hand is raised in a way that matches the expression. I suppose what it is—he’s singing, expressing the emotions of the songs from the bottom of his heart—though there’s no microphone in sight—so you don’t immediately think “singing.” But who needs a microphone. And on back, some pretty extensive liner notes by someone named Paul Ackerman—actually very interesting—kind of making the points I did, above, though with more knowledge of the situation. He says the production on this record is particularly good, in part because the musicians are from the deep South—and what is avoided is “excessive instrumentation and chaotic sound.” And then the song selection is varied and good, and the WP written tunes (“Soul Dance,” “I Found a Love”) are very strong. So… I’m agreeing with this dude, partly because he’s agreeing with me—that’s often how it works.

The Esquires “Get on Up” / “Listen to Me”

Two songs from The Esquires, each 2:25! On Bunky Records—first Bunky label I’ve seen—I looked it up, out of Chicago. “Get On Up” is an upbeat, R&B song, a dance number, with the singing in falsetto, and then a lower voice answering, “Get on up”—it’s effective. It was a hit song in 1967. I don’t remember it, but it’s possible I heard it. The Esquires were a soul band from Milwaukee—they started playing in the Fifties, even, played throughout the Sixties, into the Seventies, moved to Chicago at some point and put out some records. The B-side, “Listen to Me,” is also very good—a different sound, different vocal style, very emotional. I looked to see if both these songs were on YouTube—they are—and I don’t usually read the “comments” (I usually avoid them), but one under this song caught my eye—someone said they played the song in their band, the Perfections, in Sandusky, Ohio, in the Sixties. That got my attention because I grew up there, and I’m always interested in any bit of history about my hometown. I knew nothing about the music scene there, of course, at that time (not yet 10 years old)—I don’t remember any local bands from that time. Plus, I lived kind of out in the country. But it’s fascinating to think about.

I love the band name, The Esquires—it’s such a classic name, and also very cool, and not ridiculous, like so many band names. There must have been a few “Esquires” over time. I wonder what people did back before there was the internet, if they wanted to find out if their prospective band name had been taken? I guess, just went for it. It’s a word with a funny history (I’m not going into it), and not too long ago, I think, attorneys used it as part of their title, but now I get the feeling that’s seen as pretentious. I used to write “Esq.” after my name, when I was a goofball kid. It’s the name of Fender electric guitar (one not unlike the Telecaster), and of course there’s that men’s magazine which used to be pretty prominent in the magazine days. These Esquires wore very cool matching suits when they performed (judging by internet photos). This is another record that I have no idea how I got it—though I do live in Milwaukee, and likely picked it up here. Maybe one of my record collector friends gave it to me—it’s in pristine condition—definitely not one of the 45’s that were sitting on top of my refrigerator in a basket. I’ll play it whenever I want to dance—though I rarely dance at home—and it’s a bit labor-intensive changing the record every 2:25. That’s 45’s for you.

Skeeter Davis “What Does It Take (To Keep a Man Like You Satisfied)”

I have enough records by my favorite all-time singer to occasionally take her for granted and not even think twice about a particular album—like this one—as just another Skeeter Davis record I haven’t written about. At first glance the album cover looks like a product from back in the days before the arty rock record covers changed the way we looked at album covers. The RCA Victor Dynagroove logo is nearly as prominent as the that long, long title, and the songs are all listed directly below our recording artist’s name, in a much smaller font, of course. No less than four of the twelve song titles include parenthetical phrases—including the one that gives the album its title—you’d almost think it was a Will Travis tape. And seeing how the longest song here is 2:40, I would hazard that this album might hold the world record for song title wordiness vs. total recording time. I’ll elaborate more on the songs, below.

But first, the cover. There are so many great Skeeter Davis album covers, her biggest competition in that area is against herself, thus I kind of overlooked this one before now. It’s a full cover photograph, uncredited, but so beautiful, I hope someone out there has the original photo (and reads this and sends it to me). The right side of the photo is in deep shadows, from which Skeeter Davis is emerging as she looks out a window on the left—large glass panes, framed in old, white-painted wood. We see nothing out the sliver of window—just the stark light of daytime—but what is she seeing? One can only presume it’s her man with another woman. She’s wearing a dark blue dress with bold, white polka dots, which contrasts nicely with the burgundy curtain and red-brown sash and tassels holding the curtain open—I don’t even know what to call it, but it’s incredible—the kind of things you’d see in your grandparents’ or great aunt’s house. And then a somewhat rare portrait of Skeeter in profile, which is an entirely different dimension of her multifaceted album cover image collection. Her hair is pinned up in the back—some hairdo I don’t know the name of, I suppose, with curls the size of drain culverts—I guess that’s what they use those pink, plastic curlers and Aqua Net for. Oh, and her expression—it’s sad, indeed.

As is usual with her records, six songs per side, and all of them shorter than three minutes. I wish everyone did that. The kind of nutso “Set Him Free” (with spoken parts, including a “judge” in court) is one I’ve heard before. The melancholy and beautiful “Fuel to the Flame,” written by Dolly Parton and Bill Owens, is another one I’ve heard her sing before, somewhere, and it’s one I like a lot. “Something Comes Over Me,” by Sandra Rhodes, is another slow, pretty one. One of the loveliest songs on the record is written by Skeeter Davis— “You Taught Me Everything That I Know.” This is one of Skeeter Davis’ more pop-oriented records, even though there’s still a country feel to it. The producer, Felton Jarvis (great name) provides some liner notes on back in which he refers to Skeeter as “versatile” in the first paragraph, and the song selection as “diversified” in the second. He also credits the arranger (Bill Walker) as “greatest,” and the Nashville Sound musicians as “best”—and they are.

I don’t know if this means anything, but the word “world” is in no less than three of the song titles, including, “It’s a Crazy World” (Bill Dees). Then there’s “Sad Sad World” which is one of my favorites—it’s a rock’n’roll number I feel like I’ve heard somewhere else—I can’t find it—anyway, it’s another one written by Sandra Rhodes. My favorite song on the record is “I’m Looking (For a World)”—which is by John D. Loudermilk. What’s interesting is that his version comes off as quirky, homegrown, a little corny, but Skeeter’s rendition really highlights the strangeness of the song—it’s one that David Lynch missed. Or maybe he didn’t… maybe I missed it in Lynch-ville. You get a bit of the picture from some of the lyrics: “Shiny plastic flowers (shiny plastic flowers), electronic steeple chimes (electronic steeple chimes), seem to be becoming… the symbols of our times.” It’s a fairly standard, slow pop song, but the production is unusual, with effective use of background vocals, and an oddball spoken part, which no one does as well as Skeeter: “I’m looking for—a simple sandy suntan world—not a handy sunlamp world—but one that is true.” But like I said, it’s better if you hear it—which you can, on the YouTube. So few “views”—and so few of you here. I guess we could all be having an intimate little Skeeter Davis party.

Del & Sue Smart “Singing Country Favorites”

I admit to buying this 1967 record because the cover is so awesome—I had never heard of Del & Sue Smart. It’s a posed photo of Del & Sue Smart out in the woods—trees in the foreground and background—and they’re wearing exceptionally smart, matching, western-wear—suit and dress, with diamond-shaped embellishments and some sequins, it looks like. Some shade of yellow—I would probably call it “mustard”—but maybe I’ll try to figure it out.  Maybe darker than mustard, perhaps goldenrod, or even gold, but non-metallic. Del (I assume) is holding some kind of resonator guitar—I don’t know what company—double cutaway—but I can’t see the headstock. I looked at the whole internet, and I couldn’t match it up to anything. They both have great hair—but I’m trying to keep these reviews under 1000 words. They look like real people, too, and the important thing is, for some reason, they strike me good people—maybe I’m fooled by those smiles, but I’d like to believe. The label—Somerset—I’m guessing they didn’t have deep pockets, but they did a nice job with this cover. I like how the color of the “Del & Sue Smart” letters are matched up with their suits—very effective—the art department was working overtime.

Because I was focused on the cover, it almost seemed like a bonus that the record is not only listenable—it’s quite good. A fine song selection with some serious country playing, and nice duet singing. I love duets, actually, but then, who doesn’t? Good pickin’, strummin’, and whatnot, piano, steel guitar, and the rest. But no musician credits. Ten songs, with no songwriting credits either. I’ll see if I know any of them. The first, one of the best on the record, “Just Between You and Me,” is a song by Jack Clement and was recorded by Charley Pride. I know that because I looked it up on the big computer. I suppose I could do that for all the songs, but I’m not going to—I’m only being paid pennies per word here, after all! I like “Memory Street” a lot—good song! I tend to like the slow and melancholy country songs, rather than the jaunty ones. It’s interesting listening to their solo singing parts, too—both of them have killer voices, on their own—Sue’s is full and polished, like vinegar and fine olive oil, and Del’s is a bit more quirky, not unlike mustard—and then together, voila! They blend really well, like when you make salad dressing and that mustard works as an emulsifier. “Let Me Say I Love You” is another very big favorite here. But they’re all good.

Keith “Daylight Savin’ Time” / “Happy Walking Around”

I have no idea where I got this 45—I guess there was a basket of them (45’s) on the top of my refrigerator years ago that someone had given me (just remembering this)—it could have been there. Anyway, “Daylight Savin’ Time” is a pleasant soul-influenced pop song. He’s all for the time change—or the songwriters are—as inane as the idea is that it will afford you “more time” with your baby, or whomever. The B-side, “Happy Walking Around,” was written by Keith, I believe (B. Keefer), and is a similarly nice pop number—this one with mild sitar-flavored overtones—and celebrates the happiness available from the little things like walking around, and loving ‘you.’ It looks like, according to the internet, it’s from 1967. Keith is still with us, and was born in Philadelphia as James Barry Keefer. I suppose the name makes sense, though he could have called himself “James” or “Jim” or “Barry” or “Keefer” or “Kiefer Sutherland” or “Strawberry Kefir” or “Keith Partridge”—the possibilities are endless! I suppose Keith was a good choice. If the police had had those onboard computers back in the Sixties, if Keith was touring with the album these songs are on, called “Out of Crank,” he might have been in for a lot of hassle from clever cops who realized his real name was Keefer (drug slang for fine marijuana) or his album advertised being out of “Crank” (drug slang for methamphetamine), or suspected that he might actually be Keith Richards traveling undercover in order to subvert the law (though if Keith Richards had been doing that, he probably wouldn’t have called himself “Keith”—more likely something like “Jim Barry.”)

Lulu “To Sir with Love” / “The Boat That I Row”

It’s been fun listening to some old 45’s—don’t have a lot, maybe 100—but a few were my very first records (as a kid, in the Sixties, my parents bought me some singles before they finally let me have an album). As luck would have it, my random pick fell on this one, Lulu’s 1967 hit song from the movie, To Sir, with Love (1967)—somewhat poignant in that Sidney Poitier recently passed away. And which compelled me to look up Lulu (maybe the best single name singer name ever)—and I was happy to see she is relatively young and still out there, preforming. What’s funny is I don’t recall falling in love (when I was seven) with this song—nor it annoying me at the breakfast table—yet I must have been aware of it. It must have made an impression on me—because at some point—and continuing to the present—this became one of my favorite songs. Even now, I can’t listen to it without turning into a plate of cornmeal mush with butter and maple syrup. Maybe I saw the movie at some point and was compelled to suppress my tears, only to have them fill that inner well of sentimentality. I do distinctly remember falling in love with the song right around 1983—a couple of years in which I spent more time playing music than sleeping. The song, written by Don Black and Mark London, is certainly overblown, as is the production—but both are perfect for the emotional pop song that it is—and Lulu’s singing just gets to me every single time I hear it. A funny side note: among my meager 7 inch collection, my very favorite of all (one I haven’t gotten around to writing about yet) is a cover of “To Sir with Love”—by Lou Miami and the Kozmetix (as a B-Side). The B-Side here is a song called “The Boat That I Row,” by Neil Diamond—it’s got a nice organ part, but I find the rowboat to be an awkward and strained metaphor on every level. (A thought which leads me to think it might be a challenge to write a “good” rowboat song—that’s how these crazy things get started!)