Rachel Sweet “Fool Around”

I don’t remember when we first heard of Rachel Sweet (by “we,” I mean my high school punk rock bandmate and music fan friends). It had to be either Rolling Stone (a review) or just buying this record, since it was on the Stiff label (“If it ain’t Stiff, it ain’t worth a f**k”)—for a while there, you couldn’t go wrong. Anyway, we loved the record. We did our best to find out about her. Was she still in high school?! And from Ohio, where we lived? There were a lot of good bands from the Akron area, of course, but how did a high school girl record a record for Stiff? And with the excellent musicians from Ian Dury’s band (AKA, The Blockheads)? Here, I got sidetracked for a while, as it occurred to me Ian Dury might have put out some records, later, that I never heard. Which led me to one from 1997 (that tragic, black hole of sound CD era) called Mr. Love Pants—fantastic title—and an excellent record, that I’d like to get ahold of.

Anyway, back to Rachel Sweet. The record isn’t exactly punk rock—but it is youthful and high energy, so it might have fallen under that imaginary, euphemistic umbrella, “new wave.” Power Pop was also a term being thrown around. Oddly, there are a few versions of this record, with different songs—I’m not going to attempt to compare the two, but the one I have is maybe later, 1979, the US version—and it’s got a better cover. The other cover is fine—both of them are photos outside, she’s wearing a leather jacket—but entirely different hair and makeup—in this one she looks younger, probably closer to her age. On the back, she looks ever younger, leaning against a pole—and it looks like, I’m not sure, she’s chewing on a piece of straw—who does that? Also, there’s a much younger girl passing behind her—was that set up, or did she just happen to be there, whoever it is—and does she have this record?

It’s a nice album—I still like the sound, the production, her singing, and the songs. Highlights include the Carla Thomas song “B-A-B-Y,” with horns and a lot of echo. A really good Elvis Costello country song. The Mark Middler (don’t remember him) number, “Sad Song.” The Peter and Gordon hit “I Go to Pieces.” And the Dusty Springfield hit “Stay Awhile.” The producer is an Akron musician, Liam Sternberg, who I never found out much about (all those years I lived in the area). He also wrote half the songs on the record, including my favorites, “Who Does Lisa Like?” and “Cuckoo Clock.” And then, my very favorite might be “Pin a Medal on Mary,” written by some guys who, I guess, were contemporary power pop Brits—in the band, The Records—though, I’ve never heard any other version of this song. It’s got a great opening line: “You said you were going to the bathroom, but you were gone for half an hour.” Anyway—fast ones, slow ones, “new wave” songs, retro songs, country, and R&B—no weak songs on this record.

The Clash “Gates of the West” / “Groovy Times”

I have absolutely no idea how this oddball Clash 45 came into my possession—it says: “Demonstration Not for Sale” on it—the date, 1979. I’m pretty sure both of these songs were on albums, though I’m not sure which ones. I was such a huge Clash fan—at the time of their first four LPs—that I would buy both the US and UK versions, since there were different songs on them. At some point, though, I just lost interest in The Clash, and for whatever reason, I still haven’t been able to go back to them, not even for nostalgia. I wrote about the first four LPs on the DJ Farraginous blog way back in 2006—so you can see what I said then—if you’re so inclined—probably amusing. (That’s the year that blog started, and for a while, I was going through my records alphabetically.) I feel kind of bad about not being a big fan, anymore, since I know they were a great band—and it is weird to me how I sometimes go against what I once loved with all my heart (like the M*A*S*H TV show, energetic rock music, the harmonica, some sports, driving, movies, and beer). I feel like I know these songs in my sleep—I know exactly how they go. But I’m going to play them, anyway, because you never know—fresh ears and all. “Gates of the West” is a super high energy Mick Jones vocals pop number—very catchy—he’s also, I’m guessing, singing the backup vocals and playing his signature lead guitar parts. The lyrics are no doubt political, but I’m not going to dwell on them at this point. “Groovy Times” is also high energy and poppy, this time with Joe Strummer singing—I liked both of those guys as singers, but particularly JS, because MJ backup vocals work well with JS’s raspy voice. I’m also not dwelling on the lyrics—though I’m sure they’re saying something. The worst thing about both of these songs is the drums sound crappy—they were recorded crappily, I suspect, because I know that guy was a great drummer—unless for this studio date they enlisted a hack with a cardboard box. Who knows. Anyway, both of these songs sound exactly like I remember them—but more so, actually. Is that even possible?

Pagans “Dead End America” / “Little Black Egg”

High energy, stripped-down, snarly punk songs from 1979 era Pagans on Drome Records. The B-side, a cover of The Nightcrawler’s “Little Black Egg,” doesn’t do much for me, but “Dead End America” is an approximately 2 minute definition of punk rock. I especially like the weird throbbing noise between vocal lines that sounds like water being agitated in a rubber bladder, but I suspect is something the bass might be doing. (The bass player, Tim Allee, was very good.) I saw the Pagans play a few times—it was at a club in Cleveland, or Lakewood, on Detroit, just west of W.117^th. I might have bought it at a show—or was there a record store next to the club?—I don’t remember. It’s a striking pink and black label, and there’s a heavy paper cover with a reproduction of a 1978 Cleveland Press newspaper clipping of the Jonestown Massacre. The other side is a photo of singer, Michael Hudson, and some credits. It was put out by Johnny Dromette, a kind of punk impresario back then—I heard lots about him but don’t think I ever met him. I also had the single with “What’s This Shit Called Love” (my fav), but I lost it somehow. My friends and I regularly drove to Cleveland from Sandusky for punk shows, and we saw the Pagans as much as anyone—they were a fun and menacing band—not real approachable—they were the cool kids. I remember when they returned after a tour, and now they all had long hair, and them not giving a fuck impressed me, at the time, as the most punk thing ever. I feel like the club had a different name, but I can’t remember it—but it was eventually The Phantasy NiteClub, with the pirate ship inside—saw a lot of shows there. Mike Hudson went on to do a lot of writing. He passed away a few years back. I read his book, Diary of a Punk—it’s excellent, worth reading—and seems to be hard to find now. I gave my copy to my niece—I hope she kept it!

K-Tel presents “Together – Today’s Love Hits”

I found this 1979 K-Tel radio love songs hits collection somewhere, and kept it, and even listen to it occasionally—even though it plays like it’s been wedged in someone’s couch cushions for a few decades. Call me Krazy—I still enjoy it. Maybe it’s all the “K’s”—lately—watching that Blade Runner sequel, reading Kafka and Kurt Vonnegut. Also, I based a character on Calvin (K Records) for something I’m writing (it’s a secret), and I saw a box of GF Rice Krispies for $14 and said, “this marks the end.” I always thought K-Tel was affiliated with Kmart—kind of understandable to think that—but not so. I recently found the K-Tel children’s songs collection unlistenable, in spite of the best cover ever. For this one, I have no cover, but I oddly find it quite listenable. (I found the cover online—kind of creepy—single rose on white, silk sheets—no loss there.) I guess I have a soft spot for the odd collection records (especially ones advertised on TV in the Seventies). These songs are from the musically weaker, latter half of the Seventies—stuff I heard on the radio during the end of high school—and, for the most part, either ignored or actively despised. Now, believe it or else, on this well-worn vinyl, most of these songs sound really pretty good. If I had to match the songs to the bands, however, I would have scored a pathetically weak 1 out of 15 (I knew Commodore’s did “Three Times a Lady”). Since I don’t have an album cover to follow along with, it’s hard to comment on each song—so I’ll just say, some do sound as insipid as ever, but even so, I’m finding them as a whole… kind of nice. I’d say this was nostalgia talking, but I was never nostalgic for music I didn’t like—this is kind of reverse nostalgia, if that makes any sense (it doesn’t). Anyway, I’m just feeling a bit of warmth and luv for once, for the Little River Band, England Dan & John Ford Coley, Heatwave, Dr. Hook, Peaches & Herb, Bobby Caldwell (surprisingly good, but then I’ve gone smooth-jazz lately), Gene Cotton & Kim Carnes, Rita Coolidge, Ann Murray, Commodores, Melissa Manchester, Ambrosia (that “How Much I Feel” song—not bad), Eric Carmen, Firefall, and the real shocker, Gino Vannelli—in that I had one of his albums in high school and it was definitively not for me. But this “I Just Wanna Stop” song sounds kind of great to me right now.

Mickey Newbury “The Sailor”

I probably mentioned this before—I heard a Mickey Newbury song on the radio, never had heard of him, so kind of got obsessed with him, then bought half a dozen records—none of which stood up to that song (or the memory of it). Still, he’s an interesting guy, a successful Nashville songwriter and recording artist, without being a big star. I suppose fans of his consider him a big star, but you know, not one of that handful everyone knows—and if you think about it, what’s this obsession we have (in this cultural time and place) with being known even by the people who don’t really care about your art? I guess it’s about money, then, right? This is a nice country record, low key, solid songs, straightforward, Nashville studio pros, I guess, the usual themes. Actually, I’m not listening all that close to the lyrics. “A Weed is a Weed”—yes it is. The cover cracks me up—kind of a half-assed nautical mishmash. It made me think of the one room in my parents’ house that was decked out in a kind nautical, “Polynesian” (influenced, no doubt, by a visit to Disney Polynesian Village), and Tiki bar (influenced by visits to the Kon-Tiki in Cleveland and the Kahiki in Columbus). The closest music they played to country was nothing; I had a Johnny Cash 45, “A Boy Named Sue”—but that was more of novelty record. I don’t remember when I started to really like country music—I believe it was with Merle Haggard. At a certain point I just became open to anything. I can listen to this record, but it doesn’t do much for me. It’s just not weird enough, on any level, to really comfort me in any way. And that subtle harmonica doesn’t help, it’s just so easy on the ears (in a bad way). It just occurred to me that the cover could be the background art for the menu of cheesy seafood restaurant—that made me laugh.

Bernie & The Invisibles “All Possibilities Are Open”

There was a time some years ago when if you asked me what my favorite band of all time was, I would have said Bernie & The Invisibles—mostly based on the memories I had of seeing them live in the late Seventies, I guess it was—though I seem to have failed to document, in writing, much of this time. Around when my friends and I started our first punk band, we used to drive to Cleveland kind of regularly to see the punk bands who were playing at, as I recall, the Phantasy, Hennessy’s, and Pirates Cove. The bands that stood out were were the Adults, the Pagans, the Kneecappers, and Bernie & The Invisibles. I don’t remember The Invisibles all that much (I guess the drummer, the late Peter Ball is responsible for preserving some of this stuff)—but Bernie (who is Bernie Joelson) is just ingrained in my memory—I was pretty entranced with him. More than the other bands, you got the sense that if it wasn’t for punk rock, Bernie wouldn’t be doing this—but he HAD to be doing this. He had songs that needed to be unleashed on the world. His songs and his personalty were coming from some unique, impossible to understand by anyone but him place—and we were just getting this glimpse into his world. I looked forward to seeing him at every opportunity, and I got to know some of the songs, like “Eventually” and “Chinese Church.”

I’ve had some of his music on cassettes over the years, from live shows, I guess, but this is the first I’ve heard on vinyl—put out by My Mind’s Eye Records from Cleveland. (And thanks to Jeff Curtis for sending this to me!) If you’ve never seen Bernie live, this record might not do much for you—the sound quality it rough—and his style is fairly primitive. But it’s a good reminder to me of that time when he was my favorite in the world. There is a zine style insert with some writing and art by Bernie, old fliers, and liner notes by Mike Hudson who was the lead singer of the Pagans, and later a journalist—sadly, he passed away in 2017. I read his book, Diary of a Punk, and I’d highly recommend it. There are some good Bernie & The Invisibles stories here, and he expresses his appreciation for Bernie better than I could. I’ll excerpt part of one paragraph: “(Bernie) would wind his own personal experiences in with the views of Wittgenstein, Nietzsche, Buddha or Jesus Christ to create brilliant lyrics that hinted at the cosmos and the meaning of life while, at the same time were filled with good humor and a genuine sweetness I’ve never forgotten.” You might have to be a real detective to make out all of the lyrics on the songs, but it’s worth trying. I’d love if there was a lyric sheet. There is, at least, a brief tape review by Jim Clinefelter, a good zine excerpted interview, and some writing by Bernie that’s well worth squinting to read.

Lowell George “Thanks I’ll Eat It Here”

I picked up this record recently, having never heard it, and curious. I have always been a kinda fan of Little Feat—I bought one of their records in high school, liked about half of it, but loved a couple of the songs a lot. I might have bought some more stuff by them, including a live record, not long before I lost all my records. I was kind of fascinated with the band, but most fascinated with Lowell George—it seemed like what I liked most about Little Feat was him, and then he died tragically young (at the age of 34, in 1979, the same year this record, his only solo album, came out).

This is an alarmingly short record—nine short songs—which makes you think, did he just not record a lot for the sessions for this record, or is he kind of a perfectionist about what goes on the record? I don’t know, but I’m sure someone does—all I have to go by is the music here. These are some nice songs—though I’m not getting a feeling of any kind of thematic line running through them at first listening—so I’m listening to this record a few times. I like it, so that’s no chore. This could be one of my regulars, at least in this place, at this time. My favorite, maybe, is “Two Trains” (one of his compositions), in spite of it being undeniably a dreaded “train song.” I also like, a lot, “20 Million Things,” and “Find a River,” and Alan Toussaint’s “What Do You Want The Girl To Do”—which is the first song on the record, and just fairly irresistible.

I only noticed later that there are liner notes on the inside sleeve—quite a lot of writing, actually, all in the no caps, no punctuation style that kind of says, hey, I’m a musician, not a writer, but I got something to say here. Okay, it’s not liner notes, but lots and lots of album credits—kind of a funny way to present them, though. Likely scrawled by LG with a pencil on the back of a paper bag and transcribed by someone. A lot of names there, and even though a lot of these people have lots of career credits, you have to wonder if this one might have been particularly special.

The cover is a painting by Neon Park, who did most of the Little Feat album covers, as well as a lot of others. A very clean looking Lowell George is in the foreground wearing a blue bathrobe (that looks just like mine), and behind him there’s a park or woods with a lot going on, some of it probably containing secret meanings—or not so secret—what looks like a picnic lunch containing some cheeseburgers and a City Lights copy of Allen Ginsberg’s Howl. And then some lounging people who look a lot like Fidel Castro, Bob Dylan with devil horns, and Marlene Dietrich (but a black and white version of her from The Blue Angel (though possibly wearing Dorothy’s ruby slippers). There’s a few b&w photos of LG on the back, one of which kind of portrays him as a rather moist drunk. But on the other side of the sleeve there’s a really nice photo of him fishing, after snagging some sea-weed. It’s a great photo—he’s really attractive, and it makes you think he probably had a good sense of humor—was likely a warm and genuine guy—one of those people you’d feel kind of elevated, just being in the same room with him. I always got that from his music, too, so I’m going to go on believing that.

Pink Floyd “The Wall”

I am on vacation in the “North Woods” once again, but this time staying at a place with the internet, so I can’t use ignorance as an excuse like last year, but I’m also only here for a few days—at this rustic cabin with a stereo system and some vinyl records—enough records, in fact, to overwhelm me a little; I just spent an hour trying to devise a random system for picking out a record, but seeing how my time is limited, I decided instead to just browse through until I see one I’m curious to hear, then write about that—but limiting my writing time to the time it takes to play. The first thing that caught my eye was Pink Floyd’s 1979 LP The Wall, which I’m sure many of my contemporaries know backwards, but I’ve never actually dropped a needle on, as it came out after the Pink Floyd had fallen out of my favor—for whatever reason. I loved this band a decade earlier—if I’d been asked to guess, I’d have guessed this record was from the Eighties, but not quite. The cover, which is a simple depiction of a brick wall, is more depressing than oppressive, and as it’s a double album, the inside reveals the wall being penetrated by some stoner art, which is little relief. Most of this I feel like I’ve never heard before, so that’s interesting, but it sounds, naturally, like Pink Floyd. The song, “Another Brick In The Wall,” however, I’m more than familiar with, and it’s a song, if I reached the end of my life without ever hearing it again, that’d be just fine.

It’s funny, I was thinking about this record earlier today while I was getting my tire fixed in a remote survivalist style outpost up here, while CNN played silently but closed-captioned and I happened to see the news of this Trump character’s “tweet” about “the wall” he wants to build—seemingly desperately, at the Mexico border. It was my impression that Trump apologists, wanting to alleviate his apparent insanity, keep scrambling to explain that he’s on one hand a “street fighter” who just can’t help his crude and offensive speech, while on the other he’s a sophisticated user of metaphor, and when he talks about “the wall” it merely means “security.” This explanation, however, seemed to enrage him, and he tweeted, “The Wall is the Wall”—emphasizing that no, he means an actual physical structure. This got me thinking about this record, and wondering what it all meant, since I didn’t get immersed in it back in the day. I don’t think this is the time for me to find out what it’s about though, because I’m just listening to it once through, without focusing on the lyrics—which are actually printed on the inner sleeves, though all but unreadable, in a font that might be called “Ralph Steadman.”

It’s weird—in a way, this doesn’t sound like Pink Floyd to me—in a way. Didn’t the band members start feuding with each other at some point?—could this be the beginning of that, or the result of it? Okay, here’s a beautiful song—it’s the first one that grabbed me—called “Comfortably Numb.” This band can put together a lovely pop ballad when they want to, that’s for sure. I realize I’m being kind of dismissive of this record, which I’m sure for some people, this was the record of their youth. It’s okay, call me an idiot. Anyway, thinking about the Trump Wall got me wondering about the similarities of the Reagan years (which this record butted into) with the times we’re now suffering through. I just mean—the support of Reagan—who was obviously brain dead for much of his presidency—if only because of the blanket of power he provided those bastards. I suppose one thing all presidents want is to build monuments to themselves, which maybe isn’t so different than rock stars. But Trump wanting to build this actual wall as a monument to him—that would almost be refreshing, in it’s simplicity and stupidity, if it wasn’t so depressing and frightening.

David Bowie “Lodger”

First of all there have been a few changes, since I moved AGAIN and this time I had to give away all but a handful of my records. So no longer am I going through my record collection alphabetically, since my record collection now, such as it is, could fit into a shopping bag. If this sounds sad, it is, but also it’s a new beginning, and thankfully– because of the continued appreciation of vinyl– you can still find records out there. At the rate I’ve been going, anyway, by the time I write about the records I DO have, I’ll have collected a new batch of records to write about.

I’ve been trying to figure out what I think about this record, “Lodger,” for literally a year now. Part of the reason it has taken me so long is that I am never compelled to put it on the turntable. I guess I just don’t like it very much… but the funny thing is really WANT to like it. I feel like there is something there that I’m not grasping, but I don’t know what it is. I think I like this record intellectually, I can appreciate it okay, but I just don’t feel it. I’ll start with the cover, one of those that opens up like a double album, and it’s supposed to look like a big post card, but of course it doesn’t, because it’s the wrong scale, shape, and imagery. This is also one of those covers that you never know if it’s upright or sideways, or how it’s supposed to be looked at. It’s deliberately disorienting… or annoying, depending on your point of view. When it folds out there is a full body image of Bowie with a bandaged hand and his nose crushed like his face is pushed against glass. He looks like he’s either just fallen off a building or has been sucked into the air lock of a spaceship, or maybe he’s been molecularly transferred into an Archies comic in which he’s playing Richard Hell at RIverdale High’s Punk-Themed prom. He’s not dead, he’s just dancing.

The inside cover looks like they realized about two hours before press time that the damn thing opened up and they had to provide some art. What’s laying around here? –some art books, a couple of magazines… There is no sleeve in this particular version, so I don’t know if lyrics accompanied the record. I guess I can look them up online… because I feel like what I’m hearing is kind of confusing. What is it all about? “Fantastic Voyage”– is it about the movie where Raquel Welch and crew are shrunk go inside of someone’s body? It’s a nice pop song, but “Learning to live with somebody’s depression” is not your usual pop chorus. “African Night Flight” has a LOT of words, and he’s saying them REALLY FAST and it is not pleasant. “Move On” sounds like someone galloping on a horse with lots of mentions of exotic places in the world. I guess in keeping with the traveling theme. “Yassassin” is another foreign sounding song with the title chanted before each line. I think it means “I’ll have two eggs over easy and dry toast,” but you can look it up yourself if you want to be sure. Now “Red Sails” is one I’m really curious about. It’s a catchy song, upbeat, with electronic bullshit, something about “The Ponderosa”– no, it’s Thunder Ocean, I’m glad I looked that up. It’s a great image, Red Sails… and I guess it’s based on an old song, “Red Sails in the Sunset.”

Side Two starts with “D.J,” and you have to look to see if you accidentally put on a bad Talking Heads album in all the confusion. This is an annoying song, I’m sorry. “Look Back In Anger” could refer to the movie, or the play, “Look Back In Anger,” but I don’t care enough to try to determine that, mostly because the chorus keeps going “Waiting so long I’ve been waiting so long” which makes me think of all the other terrible pop songs that say “Waiting so long.” “Boys Keep Swinging” has a baseline that could really get in your nightmares. You can’t help listen to this song without envisioning a bawdy gay sailor movie with a line of dancers, pants down to their knees, with choreographed swinging prosthetic elephant sized cocks. “Repetition” is then a relief, until its relentless dissonant droning about Johnny who can’t cook and other tales of domestic unpleasantry, “Red Money” sounds just like that other Bowie song, I can’t remember which one… or maybe it’s this one… there’s a line about Comedy Central, and really no connection, that I can tell, to “Red Sails.”

So, amazingly, I warmed up to this record in the process of actually getting around the writing about it. The sad thing, however, is now I’ve switched back to cold indifference. That’s the way it goes with me and Lodger. Oh, also, no discussion of this record would be complete without a mention of Brian Eno.