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.

Norrie Paramor’s Orchestra “Amor, Amor!”

The full title of this 1961 thrift store classic includes: “Great Latin Standards” by Norrie Paramor’s Orchestra—which is effective in telling you what this record contains (great Latin standards), and you might know some of the song titles—I didn’t, but some of the tunes sound familiar. But who is Norrie Paramor—certainly that couldn’t be a real name? The liner notes on back might tell me. He’s a “unique” arranger, favored by the “international set”—and he has a “special British touch.” Not much else needs to be said. The instrumentation includes a Latin rhythm section, a solitary French horn, piano and celeste and the occasional voice of soprano, Patricia Clark. She is from Scotland (I’m resorting to the internet now) and is definitely not the woman on the album cover, who frankly looks a little demented. I mean, in a good way, and I think that’s what they had in mind—you know, “Amor, Amor!” Norrie is a nickname for Norman (I’ll have to remember that), AKA “B-Side Norrie.” I’m laughing because that’s what it says on the Wikipedia—not sure what that means. This is hot record, and would be just right for, you know, “dancing the beguine, merengue, or cha-cha.” It creates an atmosphere, and is also somewhat cinematic, so I’m not surprised to see that Norrie Paramor also did film music—and I’ve got to list a few of the films here, because it’s been a while since I’ve seen such a lineup of demented sounding titles (and no, I’m not making these up). “Serious Charge,” “A Pair of Briefs,” “The Fast Lady,” “The Wild and the Willing,” “Two and Two Make Six,” “My Lover, My Son,” “No My Darling Daughter,” and “Father Came Too!”

The Champs “Too Much Tequila” / “Twenty Thousand Leagues”

I admit that I didn’t know it was The Champs who wrote and recorded the song “Tequila” (released in 1958)—the only song you’ve heard more than “Happy Birthday” and “Hotel California” combined. It’s a fun song, but I’m sorry, it’s not as fun as drinking Tequila. If there was ever a song that had been covered and used in TV, movies, and during happy hour TOO MUCH, it would be “Tequila”—but I doubt if The Champs foresaw this in 1959 when they put out “Too Much Tequila.” Well, maybe they did—they’re pop/tequila geniuses, after all. I’m sure you’ve heard this one, too, I’ll bet, as well, as I sure have—I just didn’t know the name. I admit that when I found this record in the “last chance” bin, I was hoping this would be a twisted hillbilly saga of excess and woe—but no dice. I mean, it’s a great song—I like it better than “Tequila”—and there isn’t much I like better than Tequila.  The B-Side, “Twenty Thousand Leagues,” however, takes it to another level—it’s a weird one. It starts out with some burbling, gurgling, bubbling water, then a repetitive groove with a ridiculously extreme reverb-heavy guitar playing a psychedelic surf riff—nice. But the best part, there’s a barely recognizable sax, punctuating, blowing more air than notes—so it sounds like oxygen escaping a deep-sea diving suit. It borders on creepy—but is ultimately just pretty funny. I’m sure this song must have been used to great effect in some Lynch/Tarantino/whoever movie somewhere, but I’m not going to impinge upon my evening digging up that info—let me know in the comments.

The George Shearing Quintet “Mood Latino”

It starts out with “Blue Moon,” a song I wish you’d only hear once in a blue moon—rather than all the time—I don’t hate the song, I just wish I didn’t hear it so often. But here, it’s a totally delightful way to start the record, because this particular incarnation of the “Shearing sound”—with congas and flute—is the perfect expression of this song. Percussionist Armando Peraza is all through this record, playing conga and bongos—as well as other percussionists. And there’s flute. I’m going by the liner notes on back of the record—there isn’t a musician lineup—and I’m not looking online. This is a very percussion-heavy record, actually—I really like it. There’s a mixture of standards—some that I’m not that familiar with—and Latin numbers—mambos, cha-chas, boleros. I guess you could say it’s Latin versions of Shearing, and Shearing treatment of Latin songs. The liner notes go more into depth, but I’m not going to retype/paraphrase any. You can find this record for little or no money, on vinyl, like a lot of these Fifties and Sixties Shearing records. Consider yourself lucky. It’s a great record. Also—typical Shearing album cover—a beautiful, darkhaired woman, album cover model, sitting on a tablecloth thrown over an egg crate—with no shirt. She has her back to us, looking over her shoulder. It’s funny, back in 1961, would this have been scandalous? I guess not, it’s here. If she would have been facing forward, however, it would have been considered provocative, maybe even obscene, by some. It would not have been “acceptable.” Her back was okay, front, not okay. It’s nice that we are so much more sophisticated now than those silly prudes back in 1961!

The George Shearing Quintet “Latin Affair”

This is another good one, from 1959, by the George Shearing Quintet, plus, or including the conga playing of Armando Peraza. As usual, a mixture of Latin numbers and standards, all falling together well. What’s amazing is that it manages to be both laidback and uptempo at the same time. I have to say, George Shearing music is one of the only places I can not only tolerate, but enjoy, music that might be considered “jaunty.” An exceptionally nice album cover, too—a woman with a rose in a nearly abstract composition. Could I call this one of my favorites? Probably, but only because it starts with one of my favorite versions of “All or Nothing at All” and then just gets better. But it’s hard to compare to the other Shearing records I have; I’d have to hear them all back-to-back… which isn’t a bad idea. What I want to do, as soon as I make some money, is have a big place, apartment or house, with a lot of space. Maybe a sunken living room—which is where I’ll have my Hi-Fi and records. Plenty of room for the records, of course, so eventually I’ll buy every George Shearing album—nearly 100 of them—and that’s all I’ll play for a while—until I’m intimate with them, and able to tell you what songs are where, etc. Then I’ll do a ranking of all of them, from best to not quite as good—and I’ll publish that somewhere. I suspect they’ll be hard to rank—there might be some ties, even—and I also suspect I’d be tempted to set up a bar in one corner of the sunken living room—maybe even designate a separate cocktail for each of the over 100 or so records. I don’t think I’ll actually start drinking again, though—it sounds too tiring—even though this might be the ultimate cocktail music. It’s a lot of dreaming, but still, I might be able to find and buy all the records, eventually, and I might even pull off the sunken living room.

The George Shearing Quintet “Latin Escapade”

Some day I will count the number of George Shearing records with “Latin” in the title—I have several, myself, and they are all excellent. I’ve never really heard a bad George Shearing record, though there must be one out there, right? He’s human, after all. Though I don’t think that’s what Kerouac labeled him. I may have mentioned a hundred times that the music I grew up hearing more than any other was George Shearing—whatever of his records my parents had—and they had a bunch. I heard more Shearing than Sinatra, even, more than Burt Bacharach, more than The Archies and Tommy Roe (those last two were mine). My earliest memory—if it’s not being intoxicated by one of my aunts’ perfumes, or a James Bond movie, or the neighbor’s dog running off with my stuffed animal chipmunk—would be my mother vacuuming while playing a Shearing record from the late Fifties.

I haven’t heard a lot of his later stuff, but the records I have sound much like this one, with the “Shearing Sound,” incorporating vibes and and guitar—and this one, of course, with Latin rhythms, a lot of percussion—“maracas, timbale, claves, conga drums,” says the liner notes. It opens with the familiar “Perfidia,” then Mambo with Me”—twelve songs, all of them great. There’s even a Shearing composition called “Poodle Mambo”—one wonders. This record sounds so familiar and hits me with such sweet nostalgia, I’m thinking it might have been one in my parents’ collection. Actually, this could be the very record, who knows—I haven’t exactly kept track of where my records come from. As usual, there’s a great album cover with a beautiful woman—she’s grabbing her hair, which doesn’t seem weird until you think about it—then in the background, through a haze of red-violet, there’s a couple embracing in an exotic nightclub. The liner notes suggest “the darkest corner of a smoky bar,” and promise the music will “lure even the shyest dancer to the floor.” And, also “thoroughly delight the listener who does not choose to dance.” I guess that would be me.