Posts Tagged ‘single

24
Feb
19

Kay Starr “Rockin’ Chair / Stroll Me”

Kay Starr (no relation to Ringo—he was a Starkey and she was a Starks) was, according to Internet, born in Oklahoma, part Native American, and used to serenade the family’s chickens in their coops, which led to recording some 200 plus records, mostly in the Fifties and Sixties, but spanning half a century. I was familiar with her, have a song here and there on cassette, but I never heard these two songs on this 1958 single, which was in my box of random 45s. It’s in that category of early rock’n’roll, I guess, when pop orchestras were trying to cash in—at least that’s my impression—with shrill horns (“Rockin’ Chair”) and kind of bizarre electric guitar (“Stroll Me”) and hip lyrics about the radio, dancing, the sock hop, etc. “Rockin’ Chair” is about “Gramps” not being a square, diggin’ the new music, and is hopelessly corny. Though there could be hidden meaning—I mean, there has to be right? But I can’t listen again. “Stroll Me” is more interesting because of the guitar, and the weird way it sounds like someone keeps manually slowing down the record. Also, it’s supposedly about a dance, but everyone knows it’s about fucking. In a way, I can’t figure out if I’d rather hear people use these really obvious metaphors or just come out and say it straight—I guess there’s good and bad either way, right? The other interesting thing is that the orchestra is Hugo Winterhalter’s, who was probably quite prominent, but who I’ve never made a note of until now. I love that name, Winterhalter—I’ve never heard that one before—and I bet it’s especially poignant to people on a day like this when the temperature is going to drop 30 degrees and the wind is going to make everyone act like they’re back in the days of hopelessly insufficient overcoats.

21
Feb
19

Nina Simone “I Loves You, Porgy / Love Me or Leave Me”

I was listening to the radio early this morning before work, WKCR, via the internet, and someone was playing a long set of Nina Simone songs. They don’t do a lot of talking that early. Then after work, half of a perfectly good ruined day later, back home, I turned on the same station (Thursday early evening is always good for jazz)—and in just one note—vocally, I mean—not even a syllable—I could tell it was Nina Simone again. She has such a recognizable, singular sound and style. So then I realized that today is her birthday, so they were playing pretty much all Nina Simone today. I don’t have any albums by her, at this time, unfortunately, but I remembered seeing this 45 in my random, found, 45 stack, so I used my random record selection system and willed it to fall on this one. “I Loves You, Porgy” is a Gershwin standard, and this is a really beautiful, quiet version, really nice. There were no doubt a lot of these 45s pressed, though it was very early in her recording career, I think, and I guess it was up there on the charts. It came out the year before I was born. Maybe I heard this on the radio, very young. This is my favorite music, stuff like this, and pretty much has been my whole life (besides brief forays, you know, into this and that). I wonder if music you hear before you were born, or your first year of life, sticks with you? “Love Me or Leave Me” is considerably more upbeat, and a good song, too—I know if from somewhere. Well, interesting Thursday night—I’m gonna go back to the radio for awhile, more Nina Simone. If the radio was always this good I’d never get around to listening to records.

17
Feb
19

Slim Dusty “The Answer to a Pub with No Beer / Winter Winds”

“The Answer to a Pub with No Beer” is a fairly simple song, minimal acoustic guitar, and this guy’s crystal clear, piercing voice that could cut through an iceberg like a laser knife, or iceberg lettuce like a Ginsu knife, or London fog like a wailing banshee or a fog cutter cocktail (gin, rum, cognac, orgeat, lemon juice, orange juice, amontillado), just verse after verse after verse until the story is over. I’m going to have to listen again and pay attention to the words, much to the pleasure of my neighbors, since his voice cuts through plaster and drywall like a Sawzall. I can’t place his voice, actually; he sounds a little hillbilly and a little Oxford educated. The other side, “Winter Winds,” is a celebration of winter, when, you know, out on the range, and in this one he does a little yodeling, which is not my favorite use of the vocal chords, but it is pretty impressive and otherworldly, sounding like some kind of banshee. I shouldn’t have used the word “banshee” earlier, now I feel like I can’t use it here. Oh well, I guess that’s why they invented editing. Back to the first song, a story song, about the pub with no beer—I’m trying to concentrate on the story, and it sounds like plain English, but I can’t figure out what in the hell he’s talking about. I could listen to it over and over, and try to write out the lyrics, and start the department of Slim Dusty studies, but I’m not going to, and instead will resort to the dreaded internet to see if I can find out anything about this singer.

So it turns out that Slim Dusty is Australian and was a huge star there and this was a number one record, so now I feel like a dumb-ass. I tried reading the lyrics, but still can’t figure it out—or just don’t want to take the time—maybe it’s just sour grapes that I can’t drink beer—though I was known to consume a few of those Australian oil cans of beer, whatever those were called, in my time. I’m reading the lyrics, and they are kind of insane—I mean, there’s a driver, and a drover, and a blitz wagon—really great stuff, actually. I like this song a lot—I was trying to think who it reminded me of, and Red Foley crossed my mind—not that I have a lot of Red Foley records—a couple on cassette, but they’re really good. I guess this particular 45 I have is a New Zealand pressing—it’s a green Columbia label—it looks really ancient, but it’s just 1958—though that is kind of ancient, I guess. My favorite thing of all is the full artist name on the record: Slim Dusty “The Dusty Trail Yodeler” And His Bushlanders. That’s just excellent.

05
Feb
19

Tony Bennett “No One Will Ever Know / I’m The King Of Broken Hearts”

An old 45 that must have been bouncing around in that Easter basket—I’m not sure if I have any Tony Bennett albums—there are so many!—I’ve never gotten a handle on which are the best—but I did see him live, once, years ago, in an old theater in Portland—and it was a great show. It feels like a big deal to have seen him live (never saw Sinatra live, or the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Mott the Hoople, or Elton John). This is a record that’s so scratchy, I’d highly recommend it for a scratchy record effect in a movie (you can fake those things, but faked things are never as good). “No One Will Ever Know” was, I guess, a country hit, recorded by everyone and his/her cousin, but here, with an orchestra and strings, it sounds like a Tony Bennett song. With that title, if it had been, say… a Dean Martin song, you might think the “no one” in question was her husband—but this isn’t that kind of song—and the sentiment is that he’s got a broken heart and and no one will know that he was in love with his true love (at least, of course, until this song comes out, and then it’ll be quite obvious—at least to those who know who the “you” in the song is).

The song on the other side, “I’m The King OF Broken Hearts,” is another proclamation of a broken heart, this time beating to death the whole royalty metaphor—even to the extent of beginning and ending the song with a corny horn fanfare, which is just annoying. A similar title could have a very different sentiment if it was by, say, a cad, a ladies’ man—running around, breaking hearts. But this song is about a guy whose heart has been broken, so technically it should be singular. I guess he’s so sad he doesn’t stop to think about that, or how dumb the royal theme is (“my castle’s a room where each night I’m alone.”) I guess once you establish that as the song’s game, there’s nowhere much else you can go with it, and you end up getting lines like: “the scarf that you left is now my royal cloak.” It’s pretty bad, but still, I like hearing Tony’s voice. I’d probably enjoy hearing him sing “Hotel California.” That was a joke, but he has sang so many songs, it could exist! I’m not going to look it up, though, because I don’t feel like revising these last few sentences.

09
Sep
17

Donnie Brooks “Mission Bell / Do It For Me”

I decided that I will write about 45s, as well, on this site (DJ Farraginous)—singles, seven inch records—as well as 7 inch 33 RPM records, 12 inch singles, EPs, 10 inch records—anything I can play, as long as it’s vinyl. I have a box of 45s that’s even more random than my LP records… I have no idea where half of them came from. Anyway, I made a random system to chose what I’d write about—and the first one up is this beat to hell, old Donnie Brooks single on Era Records (whose logo is a kind of cool atomic symbol). I’ve never heard this record before, and if you asked me if I had it, I’d have said “I don’t think so.” I really have no idea what’s in this box. It plays pretty well, though, sounds good. Both songs are pretty wimpy, but “Mission Bell” is the better of the two, and I guess it was a hit record in 1960. I can see how it might grow on you—there are backup singers, and bells ringing in the ether—a very poppy love song, with cornball lyrics—kind of Pat Boone sounding, I guess, or Bobby Darin? I don’t know. I have no knowledge or real interest in these 1960-era pop singers.

Anyway, Donnie’s real name was John Dee Abohosh, which is kind of a great name, but he went by several different performing names, including Dick Bush! “Donnybrook” is the name for a fight, or brawl—I’ve heard it most used for those baseball brawls—you know where they all get puffed up and red-faced and everyone comes pouring from the dugout, but no one thinks to use a baseball bat? Also, apparently, he played the role of Jesus in the rock opera, Truth of Truths, in 1971, which I’d love to get a recording of, if it exists. It strikes me as interesting that he was born the same year as my mom (1936—and they both passed away at almost the same time, too), and this record, which I now, somehow, find myself listening to for the first time, came out the same year I was born—when Donnie Brooks and my mom were like 24. Not that young or old to have a kid, or a hit single, I guess, but when I think about people I know having a baby at 24 it kind of freaks me out. I know a lot of people are emotionally equipped for it at that age, but I certainly would not have been, at 24—staying up for days at a time, drinking Night Train Express, waking up in “how did I get here?” vestibules of… was it looking-for-love desperation, or just the out of control sugar/alcohol regions of my brain?




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