Paul Horn “Dream Machine”

One nice thing about checking out a new (well, 1978) record is the excuse to go back and listen to others by that artist—in this case, the excellent “Visions” from 1974—and seeing if that short span of years is as catastrophic here as for many recording artists. Certainly, you wouldn’t connect the two album covers—from hippie drawing (that one) to this one’s larger-than-life, full headshot, which looks like the promotional poster for a motivational speaker. Nice. Recorded a week after my 18^th birthday—not a record I would have bought my first year of college (when I budgeted one LP per week)—so it’s just had to wait for me somewhere for 46 years—ha! The next thing that catches your eye (back cover credits) (besides a list of excellent musicians) is Lalo Schifrin (“Composed, Arranged & Conducted by”)-—so this is kind of also a Lalo Schifrin record. But it’s first of all a Paul Horn record—it’s a flute record—flute from start to finish. I like it. All the musicians are good—what stands out to me most (besides flute) is some of the bass playing. Credited is Abraham Laboriel. As with flute, I’m no great judge of bass playing, but I know what I like, and some of these lines make me stop and wonder if I’ve left something burning on the stove.

As for the songs, I most associate Lalo Schifrin with some great movie scores—so will this be one of those records I’m best able to relate to by envisioning movie scenes? Why not. Six instrumentals that may as well be named anything, so maybe. The first one, though excellent, doesn’t take me anywhere, specifically, so I’m going to engage my imagination more. Next one, I’m seeing a slightly futuristic world and we’re following some kind of cop (naturally) through his daily rituals. This is the future where the cars got much cooler (as opposed to the one we’re living in) and 1970’s fashions (including moustaches) stuck around. Next song is a deal going down. Side Two starts with a kind of split-personality song that alternates from “too cool to even be bothered” to TV show about a well-adjusted high school teacher who only helps kids get the highest SAT scores possible and has no dark side. And then… a song called, “Quite Early One Morning,” which is, as you’d expect, quiet, meditative—one of those mornings more focused on beauty, mortality, and the meaning of life than, say, coffee. But, as coffee is as inevitable as death, we progress into the day with a sad coolness. Finally, then, “The Juggler” is a bit clownish—and since I find a happy clown unbearable, I’m imposing my own sense of irony on the proceedings and choosing to imagine a protagonist who juggles love affairs, bank accounts, and wellbeing—with disaster. The End.

Vern Gosdin “Never My Love”

Since I’m obsessed with the Addrisi Brothers song, “Never My Love,” I’ll pick up any record with that song, including by the Addrisi Brothers (twice)—and including this one—the album is even named after it. So, I guess you could say the song sold me this record (I mean, not a lot of cabbage changed hands)—rather than the star—that’s often the way it works, with me, with older records. I look at the songs, and songwriters, and then maybe I discover some singer I never knew about. It turns out that Vern Gosdin is a big name in Nashville—he was known as country music’s “The Voice” (I’m trusting the close-internet, here) which would kind of make him like a parallel of Sinatra, at least nickname-wise. (His eyes, on the cover photo, do appear blue, but who knows.) It’s often said that Sinatra has no peer, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have a parallel. Well, Vern Gosdin does have an excellent, deep, country music singing voice. Lots and lots of singles, including some Country Number Ones—mostly in the Seventies and Eighties. This LP is from 1978, the year I graduated from high school—definitely before I because a country music fan. It’s a fine version of “Never My Love”—and there’s some other very good songs, like “When I Need You,” and, “I Sure Can Love You” (all of Side One is excellent). Also, “Forget Yesterday,” and “Something’s Wrong in California” (it’s hard to go wrong with a title like that).

A subtly weird album cover. You might not even notice it (as being weird, or at all)—it’s dark, earth-tone, brown—Vern Gosdin looks like he’s lit by a yellowing streetlamp. It looks like he’s peeking out of a doorway, wearing a dark suit and a loud shirt with an enormous collar—or maybe two jackets, one with a massive lapel. The weird thing is, the “doorway” (if that’s what it is) is slanted, like on a 70-degree (estimate, I don’t have a protractor) angle. So, it’s like he’s in an Indiana Jones set, or a Batman villain’s hideout. The back cover—same photo, but he’s looking off to the left, as if at someone making a comment. (Like, “…or are you just happy to see me?”) Or else, meant to show off his profile—highlighting his sideburn and schnoz. And the subtly oddest thing—barely in the shadows, below, it looks like his hand’s in his pocket (you can make out some loud sleeve)… but a thumb is protruding—which looks an awful lot like he’s doing that old gag where you put your hand down your pants and stick a finger out the open zipper in order to resemble… you know. I’m not saying he’s doing this—and it would be very weird (though kind of brilliant) if he was—but other record buyers, other than myself, over the years, must have made this same observation, over the years. This oddity alone (and a nice, listening record) makes me a new fan of Vern Gosdin.

Mickey Newbury “His Eye Is on the Sparrow”

If you’re wondering how many Mickey Newbury records I have, the answer is eight. This one is from 1978—wasn’t the Eighties yet—still the decade of the bleak and hopeless. It’s got a very weird cover photo—it’s super grainy, color washed out except for the reds that pop out. It’s a low angle shot of a young, barefoot girl in a white dress, carrying a large, red flower. I don’t know if she is a young girl, actually, or a small, young woman. She appears to have brown skin, fairly dark, though the photo is low-light so it’s hard to tell. You also can’t tell her nationality, for sure. Even though the photo is somewhat blurry and abstracted, you definitely get a sense that she’s overwhelmed—maybe frightened. In the foreground are painted street lines—she’s in a city street, maybe very early in the morning. In the background, the bottoms of enormous skyscrapers. Also, some older buildings and a “Jesus Saves” sign. I find it a little disturbing—and what does it mean? Will the clues be in the lyrics to one of the songs? All I can do is listen and speculate.

It’s a quiet, melancholy record, really pretty songs, with forlorn lyrics. Everything is very quiet and understated. There’s only one jaunty hillbilly song (“Gone to Alabama”) and even that takes a soulful turn. There are plenty of Jesus references (the title song, in particular, which is a traditional Christian song), but it’s all about needing the strength to go on. That is, it’s not about glory, but about survival. My favorite on the record is “It Don’t Matter Anymore”—a particularly pretty song—it’s short and sweet, and bleak. Mickey Newbury can write a beautiful song, that’s for sure. They are pretty much all beautiful on this record—it may be my favorite of his yet. I think I’ll leave this one out for a while and treat it like I just bought it at the 1978 store and see what it does to me. I guess I’m thinking that the cover might have something to do with the first song—“Juble Lee’s Revival,” because it’s also the last song, “Juble Lee’s Revival Shout”—I’m not really sure what it’s about, but it’s certainly peering, somewhat, into the abyss, by the end. As is the whole record, to some degree.

Elvis Costello and The Attractions “Live at Hollywood High”

Where did this record come from? It’s a three-song promo 33 1/3 seven-inch that came as a bonus with the “Armed Forces” LP—in 1979. Much later, a full-length recording of the show was released. This one, dated 1978 (the date of the show), consists of the songs: “Accidents Will Happen,” “Alison,” and “Watching the Detectives.” There isn’t much to recommend this little record (except that it’s little)—unless you like live recordings (I don’t, generally). It’s got a paper cover with a bold, primary-color, paint-spatter design—that all these years haven’t managed to foment, for me, anything in the nostalgia bin. Speaking of which—I’m still tired of two of these songs—heard them too much—and probably always will be. And they’re fine songs—just heard them too much. The exception is “Alison,” which has always been my favorite Elvis Costello song. The loud, fast, aggressive, and angry stuff doesn’t age well—at least not to me—but a lovely sounding pop love song does—and this is a particularly good one. Well, it’s angry, too, but also sad, and there’s some ambiguity among the lyrics. And there’s definitely some sadness and regret—which goes really well with just how totally pretty the song is.

John Wesley Ryles “Shine On Me”

I’ve heard the title track, “Shine On Me (The Sun Still Shines When It Rains)”—it must have been a hit. A terrible song. No, it’s okay, very poppy, very light—I suppose one of the catchiest on the album. I have absolutely no idea why I have this record—I never heard of John Wesley Ryles—and it’s from 1978—everything after 1974 is pretty much a red flag, unless you know better. It’s a country record, but you wouldn’t know it from the cover—maybe goin’ for crossover. It’s got an absolutely hideous cover—front and back, airbrushed blue sky with clouds. And then a 7 by 5 ½ inch photo of J.W. Ryles with an airbrushed sun in the corner—and either he’s got space alien level complexion or his face is airbrushed as well. Airbrush artist workin’ overtime! He’s got a cool looking jacket, and you can barely make out the edge of a guitar—so it looks like (if you’re not thinkin’ guitar) like there’s a random piece of wood there. The credits make out that he’s a Nashville guy, I guess. Should I look him up? He’s still a young man—been in the business for decades. He had a hit song, “Kay,” when he was 17, so he’s been dealing’ with that for a lifetime. It’s interesting, normally you’d think this would be a songwriter’s record, but he only wrote one, here—“Next Time”—which happens to be the best song on the album (or second best—see below). Seventy percent of the songs were written or co-written by Terry Skinner, who is also recording engineer (but not a credited musician). Funny place, Nashville. Most of his songs are too peppy for me—though “Cry No More My Lady” is quite nice. He does have a theme going—I mean, besides love gone wrong—there’s a lot of sun and rain references—including storm sound effects on “All Day Rain”—a pretty good song. “Kay” ends the record—I presume a newer version of it—it’s a story song, with enough key changes to get you down the Ohio River high and dry. A bit of a “star is born” story. My favorite song on the record is a cover of the Gerry and the Pacemakers song, “Don’t Let the Sun Catch You Crying”—that’s just an excellent song—and Ryles is a fine singer—does it a good turn.

Donna Summer “MacArthur Park” / “Once Upon a Time”

This live version of “Once Upon a Time” is a fast-paced popsong narrative, a mini-movie, contemporary noir told in hyper disco nightclub style—it’s over before I can type this sentence. Maybe it’s supposed to be 33 1/3 RPM, not 45 (doesn’t actually say on the record). There’s 1978 live audience noise at the beginning, but now it sounds quite ominous. It sounds really cool and weird, actually, the only thing is that now Donna Summer sounds like a slightly off, male crooner. It’s weird that it’s a B-Side, since the studio version of this was the title song of a double album from the year before. I only know that because I happened to be looking at a list of those “33 1/3” books, and there’s one about that album. It’s weird how once you open yourself up to something, the connections start to happen. I was never a disco fan, so this is my sole record by the Queen of Disco. Donna Summer was, to some degree, the just-offscreen soundtrack to the crucial years of my life. No doubt I picked up this one because the A-Side is “MacArthur Park,” one of my favorite songs—and I always love to hear what various artists have done with it. Here, she starts out with a few quiet dramatic lines, and then there’s that annoying disco sound effect (I never did know what that was, it sounds like a clown prop noise) and then it launches into a full disco version of the rest of the song. I’m not crazy about it—still haven’t come around to disco. Give me a few more years. It’s still the song, though, very catchy. No matter what presentation you go with, the line, “someone left the cake out in the rain” is no less weird. It’s a perfect expression of something, though no one knows what it means. (Still haven’t read that Jimmy Webb memoir.) Anyway, it’s a pleasure to hear Donna Summer sing that line, and that song—it just adds to the meaning and the mystique.

MAD Magazine presents (featuring “SMYLE”) – “Makin’ Out”

There are several writer and vocal credits right on the disc, but I’m not out to embarrass people. “SMYLE” is good enough, and if that alternative spelling makes you smile, you might like this song, a MAD Magazine flexi disc from 1978 that no doubt came with the magazine—I have no idea how I ended up with it. I have no recollection of ever hearing it until the 8-Ball picked it, just now. It’s a novelty, upbeat, musical comedy, disco number with the entire dinner theater cast taking turns at the mic—to tell us who is, or has been, “makin’ out,” c. 1978—with the final exasperation: “everyone’s been makin’ out… but me.” Had I heard this at that time, it would have hit too close to home… would have been too depressing… besides being annoying and unfunny. The first part about trying to “make out” in the confines of a Ford Maverick is funny—too bad the song wasn’t over at the two-minute mark. Unfortunately, it drags out for six and a half minutes, with a list people who are makin’ out, including: the Oakland Raiders, Ralph Nader, Darth Vader, Jack Sprat, the Wolfman, The Muppets, space aliens, Archie Bunker, Superman, King Kong, Frankenstein, Mr. Spock, a pet rock, Santa Claus, The Fonz, Charlie Brown, Count Dracula, and on and on… There’s even a bit about Scorpios who won’t make out with Capricorns. Good lord. Even if I could convince everyone to burn all existing copies of this artifact, I’m never going to get that six and a half minutes back.

Felipe “La Voz” Rodriguez “Insaciable”

I bought this record because of its amazing cover, an incredibly suave looking man with a white bowtie and a tiny moustache looking up at the ghostly image of a nude woman—either she’s marble, or a ghost, or in our imagination. Or maybe it’s all artful cutting and pasting. The background is a shade of red that is as close in nature as I’ve ever seen to French Fuchsia (or maybe I just like saying that). This record looks like it could be from the 30s, or 40s, or really any era… but the internet says it’s from 1978—which surprises me. It’s on the Marvela label, from Puerto Rico. The man is no doubt Felipe Rodriguez, whose honorary title, “La Voz,” is at least as well-earned as Sinatra’s “The Voice.” I knew nothing about him, but now I’ve read that he was popular Puerto Rican singer since the Fifties, and he died in 1999. What kind of music is this, I wondered, so I had to look that up, too—apparently it’s a style of Spanish language pop music called bolero, originating in Cuba—songs often dealing with love. (And not to be confused with the Spanish dance with the same name, Ravel’s Bolero, or the embarrassingly bad 1984 film starring Bo Derek—kind of time capsule of the worst of that cringeworthy decade.) But how effortless this fine music sounds—these nostalgic, male vocal songs—it could be the soundtrack to your (or anyone’s) reimagined love-life. The percussion is consistent, nice, and the guitar subtle and tasteful, and there is accordion on some songs. I like it a lot. I don’t understand a word of the lyrics, all in Spanish—but the title song, “Insaciable,” means insatiable—and I don’t think we’re talking about a guy still being hungry after supper, if you know what I’m sayin’. Nearly half the songs are written by Esteban Taronji, if that tells you anything… I know nothing about him—he was a Puerto Rican composer—the internet tells me less than this record. Those are all great songs.  

Pere Ubu “Dub Housing”

This is one of those records that—when I’m forced, at gunpoint, to make a list of my TEN favorite records—I don’t have to think twice about. If I had any hesitation at all, it would be to maybe include Pere Ubu’s first LP, The Modern Dance, instead—it’s almost a tossup between these two—this being their second LP. Both came out in 1978. But this was the first one I heard—maybe the first time I heard Pere Ubu at all. I probably bought it not long after it came out, and it warped my mind forever. I saw them live, then, in Cleveland, around 1980 or so—with this lineup. They are still an active band—though only David Thomas, from this record, remains in the band. It’s funny—this was the brief period they were on a major label—Chrysalis—and when you look at the other artists advertised on the inner sleeve (from The Babys to Trevor Rabin to UFO) (the hairstyles!) you realize just how NOT dated this record is. Listening to this now brings back the feeling of hearing it for the first time—and it always has—and the record never gets old, never sounds dated—and it’ll keep giving you some surprises if you listen closely enough.

I have not heard all the recorded Pere Ubu over the years (though, really, as much as I love this band, I should have) but I know they veered to quite a bit more experimental, out there, harder-to-take for-the-average-listener. This record is in a lot of ways fairly conventional—guitar, bass, drums, synthesizer—at least on some of the songs—yet it sounds nothing like a conventional rock record from this or any other time. For one thing, as a rock record, it’s more punk rock than most punk rock (as most punk rock is sadly not punk rock). But also, some of the songs are great, catchy pop songs. And even if you add up all the insane singers out there, no one is quite like David Thomas—his wailing, high-pitched voice and bizarre lyrics. You can’t separate the lyrics from the singing, here—but I’m resisting the temptation to paraphrase—you have to hear it sung. And then, Allen Ravenstine’s synthesizer—it’s like nothing you’ve ever heard—but also, never dominates—it always fits in with the songs. As a “rock” band, they’re a just a great rock band—and it’s worth mentioning, for this record, they have the essentials of the best bands: an excellent rhythm section—Tony Maimone, bass and Scott Krauss, drums. Also a fine guitarist, Tom Herman, who masters the most herculean of rock guitar feats—to not overplay. And on the more experimental-like, noise-like songs—whoever’s playing what—they do it with subtlety and color. They are also always fun—but at the same time also always sound dangerous—on the edge, or verge of destruction, or leaving the Earth.

I don’t like isolating any of the songs—it works best as an album—you play side one, and play side two (recover, and do it again)—but if you, say, have never heard Pere Ubu, and feel like listening to one of the more accessible songs on the internet, try: “(Pa) Ubu Dance Party”—it’s catchy and fun, and still plenty weird. It IS a dance party, in a single song, or maybe a TV show about Cleveland in the Seventies. Both the front and back cover are Cleveland cityscapes—the back a particularly nostalgic and lonely feeling sunset (or even lonelier sunrise). I’ve read that the front is a building in downtown Cleveland where band members lived. I remember driving down Prospect Ave, late at night, in the Seventies, maybe after some music show, and there would be prostitutes leaning out of opened windows, soliciting passing traffic—which is what the cover always makes me think of. But the music doesn’t really evoke a hardcore urban feeling, or anything, really of the time. It’s something else—I guess I’ve always considered it some kind of fiction—an interior landscape—maybe part insanity, part reality, part detective novel or film noir, part science fiction—but really only its own thing—and intricately connected with Cleveland. I guess when people think of Cleveland and rock’n’roll, maybe they think of Alan Freed, or WMMS “Home of the Buzzard”—and, now, the R’n’R Hall of Fame. So in that sense, I guess you could say Pere Ubu are the anti-Cleveland band—which makes them (in the spirit of Ghoulardi and Harvey Pekar and the cursed sports teams and the burning river) the most Cleveland of all Cleveland bands.

The Best of Sandy Posey & Skeeter Davis

You can probably listen to this record several times in the time it takes you to read the extensive biographical notes on the back cover, which include a short bio of each woman (in which we find out they were born Martha Sharp and Mary Frances Penick) and a couple of glowing testimonials about each singer. Each one gets a side, only four songs each, and these are short songs (from back when no one needed more than three minutes to get the point across), the longest being 2:37. I suppose this was a budget record, and whatever it cost new, it was less than a normal LP. Plus, you get two artists for the price of one, or less! It’s on Gusto Records, and after all, “Gusto” means: light on your bankroll. The only drawback is you have to turn the record over every ten minutes—if you’re listening to it “on repeat,” that is, like the kids do today. The other possible drawback is if you alphabetize your records, by artist, where do you put it? For me, that’s easy, since I’m a bigger fan of Skeeter Davis—so it goes with the Davis. But I’m a fan of Sandy Posey, too, and the songs here are all good, including her hit, “Single Girl.” The Skeeter Davis side includes the country classic, “My Last Date With You.” Great songs—the rest of them too—nothing to complain about—eight fine songs, no filler. And almost like a bonus, the final song on the record is Skeeter singing “I Can’t Stay Mad At You,” an incredibly catchy pop number by Carole King and Gerry Goffin. This record (also available on 8-Track and cassette) came out in 1978, the year I graduated from high school (I would not have appreciated it then) and even though vinyl records are more popular than ever, I can’t imagine being able to buy something this good in 2021 with your lunch money. I’m not saying things were better back then… but different? Yes.