Randy California “Kapt. Kopter and the (Fabulous) Twirly Birds”

For some odd reason I’m especially attracted to records by people named “Randy.” Maybe it’s because Randy is such a goofy name. It’s a name you should never give your kids, unless you want them to go into show business, fail, and suffer a broken heart. Anyway, this obsession has sometimes backfired, and I’ve bought some real clinkers over the years, but also some all-time gems, like Randy Lee’s Soakin’ with Tears. And there’s always Randy Newman. And I’ve always been fascinated with Randy California and the band, Spirit. I read on the unreliable internet that Randy California got his handle when he was in a band with Jimi Hendrix and another Randy, so Jimi named them Randy California and Randy Texas. (I’m glad I wasn’t in that band, or I’d be going around as Ray Indiana!) Anyway, I was thrilled to find this LP—the cover is great—it looks like it served for a time as a urinal splashguard—yet it still plays brilliantly. Before even touching needle to vinal, however, I started a review based on the gnarly cover photo and credits, which went something like this: “When you get this jambalaya of odors together—weed, whiskey, BO, menthol cigarettes, patchouli, and dirty hippie feet—which one dominates? That’s kind of a rhetorical quiz question, actually, but all I’ve got to say is, thank god for the patchouli! Is that a way for me to describe the absolutely filthy sound of this record? Well, all I’ve got to go on is the righteous sound, and the black and white photos on front and back—unfortunately (or, perhaps, fortunately)—no olfactory sensations.”

SO, I was wrong to be dismissive, but right about the filthy sound—you almost sense that you’re going to need to clean your stereo after playing it. Besides the gnarly rockstar photos, the song listings and credits are enough to scare away the most reckless bargain bin gambler. No less than two Lennon-McCartneys (one will sink most records) and a Paul Simon! And then… musicians named Henry Manchovitz, Cass Strange, and Clit McTorius! It’s “Danger Will Robinson.” But… I thought I should at least listen to it—and I’m glad I did, because it’s not only an awesome record, it’s become the soundtrack for my life. This is a record where I’ve got to go through song by song—because one gets the impression that they stumbled into the studio, pulled off side one, went out for a bucket of fried chicken and a few drinks, and then went back in for side two.

The first song is aptly called “Downer” and sounds like it never gets fully formed before it falls apart—which is, I mean, great—they sound like they have no respect for their instruments, and that’s cool. The record came out in 1972, which is when I had my first band, and we didn’t even have instruments. (We’d already broken my mom’s guitar, so we were stuck with an autoharp, piano, pots and pans.) We also had no helicopter, like, who I assume are the band members, seen approaching on the back cover—wait… that’s the same helicopter on the front, and they’re right under the blades—they should really be ducking down! And do they really not have cases for their guitars? Next song, “Devil,” is not doing it for me—not converting me to the Twirly Birds or Satan—way too much backwards guitar. Apparently, at some point, someone sang some Satanic messages and then played it backwards on a record to hide the message from all but the Satanists—and ever since, anything played backwards is like shorthand for “Satanic.” I get it. The next song, “I Don’t Want Nobody,” starts out sounding like the Edgar Winter Group, but then the singing starts (RC), sounding a lot like the James Brown song this has shortened the title from. It’s great—this is the one that hooked me—but weirdly, it sounds nothing like James Brown, and is now totally making me think of Fuzzhead—but it couldn’t be influenced by Fuzzhead—not without a time machine. At any rate, now I’m in. I’m into it. So much so, that by the time we get to the next song, “Day Tripper,” I’m open to the idea that it might not be a steaming turd. And it’s actually a lot of fun—it kind of sounds like a cover band at the grange hall who are actually really good—but perhaps helped and hindered by a variety of substances. Last, and the weirdest cover song choice, is Paul Simon’s reggae song from that year, “Mother and Child Reunion”—and sounds nothing like it—but apparently the song is about Chinese food, so maybe the band was ready for a lunch break.

Side Two kicks off with a cover of Sweathog’s excellent song, “Things Yet to Come,” along with some effects that sound like someone squirting some 409 spray cleaner all over the place—maybe it was, but why? Again, this one really reminds me of a Fuzzhead song—but still, no time machine. But then it occurs to me, maybe Fuzzhead was influenced by this very record—I mean literally the one I’m playing—it very well could have spent some time in a basement. After that epic, Alvin and the Chipmunks visit the studio (either that or someone’s having fun with helium). After which the band launches into some unlistenable audio-lame-joke-playing as an into to “Rain”—one of the more druggy Beatles songs (and one of my favorites)—and they kind of continue with the tradition here—drugs, drugs, more drugs, Satan, drugs, and so forth. Nice. After that epic, you figure it’s about time for another snack, but no, there’s another song, called “Rainbow”—the best original on the record—sounding a bit like Hendrix. I can’t make out the lyrics, but the chorus sounds like, “I need protection,” over and over. Think about it—he needs protection from a rainbow? What’s that all about?

Dr Pepper “A Slice of Lemon”

Times may be weird, with grifters and clowns runnin’ the show—but grifters and clowns always been runnin’ the show—and I like to argue that as weird as times are, they were even weirder in 1966. Unfortunately, I was only six years old at the time and didn’t have the perspective at that age to appreciate it. It just seemed normal to me. Likewise, for a kid growing up now, to see every single person staring at a small rectangular device at all times—simply seems normal. God help us.

Anyway, here’s a slice of 1966 weirdness, brought to you by Dr Pepper, “The soft drink Ray Speen would drink, if he drank that shit.” (Unpaid plug—as is, every seven years when I go down the Dr Pepper ingredients rabbit-hole.) Instead of “Various” or “Columba Special Products,” I’m calling Dr Pepper the artist here, since they put up good money for this time capsule, and it doesn’t even say “Dr Pepper” anywhere on the front, back, or side cover, or the label! You would never know, if it weren’t for the intro track, by Dick Clark. The cover just confused me, because it says the title in big black letters, but there’s a very-light-yellow sliced lemon instead of the “o” so it ends up looking like: A SLICE OF LEM (followed by an N). LEM, in the late-Sixties, meant “Lunar Excursion Module.” Also, someone wrote their name on the cover, and their name was “Pumpkin.” After all that, I barely noticed the photo of three, young, blonde people (2 gals, 1 dude) in ski resort casual wear, in front of a fire, all with lascivious grins, and drinking a brown beverage in glass mugs—I assumed it was Keoke Coffee. There are liner notes on the back cover but it looks like someone threw up on it and cleaned it too vigorously (not vigorously enough), so I can’t read most of it—but it appears to be inane ad copy about each of the ten artists and songs.

The first time I listened to this record (without looking to see who was on it) I thought it must be the case that someone had slipped the wrong record in the cover—that’s how jarringly bizarre the whole thing comes off. Quiz question for later: which one of the musical artists represented here did I, at one time, see live? Anyway, the track that makes the most sense is the intro, by Dick Clark, where he tells us it’s specially produced for Dr Pepper during ski season, and then tells us how to make HOT Dr Pepper: pour some in a saucepan and heat it, then pour it over a slice of lemon. It sounds good, actually, but I’ve never heard of anyone doing that. What we did do in 1966, though, was pour Vernors Ginger Ale in a glass over half & half—delicious!

Even though the local AM radio played a pretty bizarre selection of shit in 1966 (our station, in Sandusky, Ohio, was WLEC), I’m not sure it was ever this all-over-the-place. But maybe it was, and I just blocked out half of it. Anyway, this was in the air. What follows then are songs by The Dave Clark Five, then The Brothers Four (at this point, you’re wondering if they are trying to connect each track by some linguistic device)—and it’s got to be the worst of all the lame versions of “Mr. Tambourine Man” out there. Next, a Percy Faith orchestral version of “Yesterday”—which is the only Beatles song I ever played, and the only song I ever learned, as a teen, to play on the piano with both left and right hand parts (which now is simply a sad reminder of me failing at piano). The New Christy Minstrels sing “Downtown,” always a great song, and then Tony Bennett gives us “The Good Life.”

Side 2 delves into jazz—The Dave Brubeck Quartet with “Little Girl Blue,” not bad. Then we have Andre Previn doing “Bluesette”—another attempt at a connection? Doris Day belts out “Fly Me to the Moon”—and so the only logical song to follow that is Bob Dylan belting out “Maggie’s Farm.” Why not. Ha! Why not. You really have to wonder if Dylan has this record in his collection. He must. Now I’m curious if he talks about it in that new book of his. Simon and Garfunkel singing “Leaves That Are Green” is a bit of a letdown, but at least, then, you’re okay to drive. And so… I hope you enjoyed this fitting intro to Farraginous February 2023—hard to believe it’s only 57 years later! The answer to the quiz question is: Tony Bennett.

Vanilla Fudge “Renaissance” record in “Near the Beginning” cover

I’ve known about Vanilla Fudge my whole life, but I failed to score any of their records when I was at an impressionable age—so I really had no idea what they sounded like. I have no excuse, really. A tremendously influential group—if it wasn’t for Vanilla Fudge, you’d still find Hammond organs in thrift stores, for instance. If it wasn’t for Vanilla Fudge, there would be no Spinal Tap. But, I suppose I got them mixed up with some other psychedelic bands from the late Sixties or so. As far as the dessert goes, I’m all for it. I’m not one of those people so loyal to chocolate as to despise vanilla—I don’t get that. And, in fact, I generally prefer vanilla. Peanut butter fudge has them both beat, however, as it may be the best thing ever created in a kitchen.

At any rate, the problem here is that someone put the “Renaissance” (1968) record in the “Near the Beginning” (1969) cover, so what I have is a kind of hybrid. Even weirder, the former owner of this album meticulously placed red (to match the label) tape over the title, “Renaissance,” on both sides of the label. Why? So… possibly it would resemble the 1967 Vanilla Fudge debut LP? (containing their biggest hit, “You Keep Me Hanging On”). I can think of no other possible reason, but either way, it makes no sense. But this isn’t stopping me; I’m listening to my vinyl copy of “Renaissance” and also listening to “Near the Beginning” online—which also includes what sounds like live bonus tracks, which I have to say, I like better than either of the records. This is one of those bands that—when punk rock came along (with its rules about stripping down rock music)—served as an example of musical excess. Really long songs, lots of showing off, solos, and so forth, etc. I mean, the guys are great musicians, and they really go to town—so for people who like this kind of thing, this is your… thing. It didn’t take the punks long, anyway, to fall right into similar, if not more excessive, excess.

Anyway, since I’m going all out, I listened to an interview with drummer Carmine Appice—on Joe Wong’s The Trap Set podcast—and that was fun, and interesting. Somewhere along the line, in the Seventies, when I started playing drums, I guess, I somehow associated Appice with some douchebags (probably music store employees) who claimed he was the best drummer ever—and maybe he is, for the kind of style he has—but of course, I was more of a Keith Moon, Charlie Watts, Maureen Tucker, Nick Knox kind of guy. The douchbags also pronounced his name wrong, but you can’t blame them as there was no internet or podcasts yet. Anyway, it’s a fascinating interview—and I’ve found podcasts a great way to discover that people who you’ve held up as a god (or Satan) turn out to be a human beings, with feelings, after all—and there’s no place for our hatred (or worship, for that matter). Also, it turns out that Appice has a memoir out, which sounds like it could be a lot of fun—it’s called “Stick It!: My Life of Sex, Drums and Rock’n’Roll.” Maybe I’ll get to that right after I read Klaus Kinski “Uncircumcised.”

Anyway, one of the interesting things Appice said in this interview was that he had no regrets—except possibly that he wished they hadn’t released the second Vanilla Fudge album, which killed their career. I don’t know about that—since he’s had quite a career—but that got my attention. What is this record? I guess he’s talking about the one called “The Beat Goes On” (1968)—and I found some snippets of it on the internet. Yeah. It sounds like someone was smoking a little too much “White Album”—but you have to give them credit for being a little nuts. And seeing how (if my math is correct) it was released the same year, but before, the “White Album”—whom was smoking whom? History might find this to be their greatest work—probably not—but I might. Apparently they were big fans of the Beatles, seeing how many Beatles covers they did (unless they were like a lot of other recording artists of the era who—I suspect—recorded Beatles songs under orders from the guys with the checkbooks).

Well, this is about it for Vanilla Fudge, for this evening—and that’s a lotta Vanilla Fudge! I hope I don’t have to get my stomach pumped. Oh, and I forgot to say, I always thought it was a pretty good band name—since it can’t possibly be a double entendre, or represent anything untoward, right? And it’s not nearly as dumb as, say, The Strawberry Alarm Clock (or The Beatles, for that matter). And I’ve discovered something to keep my eye out for, on vinyl, to fill out my bizarro shelf—that “Beat Goes On” LP. AND—I’ve got an unsolved mystery: someone out there knows why they put red tape over the title, “Renaissance”—on the label—and then put the record in the “Near the Beginning” cover. There’s probably a story there.

The Beatles “The Beatles (White Album)”

Just as I vowed to write shorter articles, the magic 8-ball fell on this 1968 monster, which is practically a quadruple album, actually, and about which books could be written (and probably have). Everyone has a complicated relationship with this record, and its lyric sheet poster, and its name (it’s interesting how “white album” has come to have its own larger, and complex meaning). This has come to be my favorite and least favorite Beatles record—and I’m sure I’m not the first or only one to say that. (The LP cover alone—all white, that’s the best thing ever—but when you print that gray, off-center “The BEATLES” on the cover—that’s the wimpiest, dumbest, cop-out of all time.) What I’m going to do here is rank the 30 songs from least favorite to favorite, and limit myself to a word or two (trying not to go on too many tangents!) about each song. (I’m not even going to write the entire song titles, since some of these are the longest song titles ever!)

Dead last – “Helter Skelter” – could literally be used to torture someone, and it’s got multiple fake endings, just sadistic. 29 – “Ob-La-Di” – besides being annoying, they invented the expression “brah”—which makes me puke. 28 – “I Will” – even though I’ve listened to this record 1000 times, I can’t remember this song AT ALL. 27 – “Good Night” – maybe it’s supposed to be a lullaby, but a lullaby is supposed to be soothing, not bore you to sleep. 26 – “Yer Blues” – I used to like this song, but now it sounds like someone called Ded Lepriken—plus it’s WAY too long—about four minutes too long. 25 – “Wild Honey Pie” – one Honey Pie is one too many, so this really doesn’t help. 24 – “Don’t Pass Me By” – the drums are great on this song, but every other part (especially that fiddle) should be burned. 23 – “Blackbird” – is it arrive or arise? That annoys me, but not as much as cramming “into the light of the dark black night” into too small a space.

22 – “Birthday” – it’s kind of funny how you can have a really excellent song but after you hear it ONE MILLION TIMES it then sounds like hyenas being slaughtered. If my worst enemy really wants to get to me, hold a surprise birthday party for me with this playing when I come in, then follow that with karaoke. Or you could just slowly rip my skin off. 21 – “Mother Nature’s Son” – I’d like this song less, but it is pretty. That’s all it is, though, and the ending (song title button—like it’s a commercial for granola bars) ruins it. 20 – “Julia” – I’m not crazy about this song, but I like how subtly weird it is—I mean, if you were Julia would you want this to be the song named after you? It sounds more like a song about mental illness. 19 – “Long Long Long” – would be boring if it wasn’t so haunting—more so because the lyrics only make sense as the expression of a lost mind. 18 – “Honey Pie” – what if all the Beatles’ songs sounded just like this one? They’d be about half as great at The Rutles. 17 – “Rocky Raccoon” – would be the most annoying song the Beatles ever did IF IT WASN’T FOR THE LINE: “Her name was Magill, and she called herself Lil, but everyone knew her as Nancy.”

16 – “While My Guitar…” it’s bad enough to sing about your guitar, but to personify it is unforgivable. I do love how the tape speed is all fucked up. 15 – “Bungalow Bill” – this song sounds cool, and I like the sentiment, but the words themselves grate on me. 14 – “Piggies” – I like the lyrics—is this the meanest Beatles song? I’d like it better without the pig sound effects and the corny, English-humor harpsichord. 13 – “Cry Baby Cry” – it’s a very pretty song, and interesting that the verse lyrics and the chorus lyrics don’t really match—like totally schizo, lyric-wise! 12 – “Why don’t we do it in the road?” – totally dumb, but great, and the best thing is that you expect the second verse to say something like, “why don’t we do it in the car,” or in the yard, or sand, or at a fish & chips place. But no, it’s just still in the road. 11 – “Martha My Dear” – that is just a solid love song. Plus, I’ve never met a woman named Martha, and at this point, if I did, and thought about this song—instant crush.

10 – “Revolution 1” – I can’t tell you how much hearing this for the first time freaked me out, this slower version, after being familiar with the fast version (I had the 45 as a kid)—it was like my first experience “on drugs.” 9 – “Back in the USSR” – I love the opening with the airplane noise, and the first three songs on this album are why I loved it so much over the years. Still, it’s joke song—but it is funny. 8 – “Happiness is a Warm Gun” – kind of post-teen humor, but we forget, the Beatles were pretty much just post-teens by the time they broke up. Also, I love all the different parts; it’s like a mini “A Day in the Life”—though sadly could be called “A day in the guns=sex American news.” 7 – “Revolution 9” – I can’t understate the importance of a song like this (on a pop music album) to a kid in 1970 who has just scored his first tape recorder. 6 – “Savoy Truffle” – not quite as good a Alice Cooper’s dentistry song, but this one makes me more hungry.

5 – “Sexy Sadie” – I love how weird this song is when you listen closely, with that haunting piano, and it’s so bitter. 4 – “Dear Prudence” – I always thought this was the worst name to name a girl (you may as well just invite her to have un-safe sex at an early age)—and this beautiful song was created just to make the world better for all the Prudences out there! 3 – “I’m So Tired” – this is the perfect love song (which at the same time is using love purely metaphorically, and is about the fatigue of being human) and all in two minutes! 2 – “Me and My Monkey” – the song that gave the kids courage to leave the safe Beatlesphere and move on (often to darker pastures). Also, a sampling smorgasbord. 1 – “Glass Onion” – I hear the groans, but I can’t argue with never getting tired of this song—it’s pure pleasure—just the sound, those strings, all of it. Some Beatles fans hate it because it makes fun of them, but if you can’t laugh at yourself, you’re destined to be a very angry, old, white man.

The Beatles “Magical Mystery Tour”

This record sounded fresher to me than the other two, just now, maybe because I’ve always avoided this one. There’s this fantastic song called “Penny Lane” that I’ve never heard before. I’m kidding. I think what I like about this record is my lasting admiration for a few of the songs. Maybe two. When I was a single digit kid, I had the single of “Hello, Goodbye” which I thought was the perfect dumb pop single–it’s almost frightening–and I still think so, pretty much. But then on the other side of that record was “I Am the Walrus” which completely intrigued me, and maybe was frightening in a different way. I admit, I still haven’t gotten over that “yellow matter custard” business. I imagine there are entire support groups for people who were traumatized by that phrase. It should surprise no one that there is a band called Yellow Matter Custard. But really, right now, I wish I didn’t know that. Sometimes the internet makes the world seem really, really small. But of course, that’s all an illusion. Because with all that information at your fingertips, it’s still impossible to know another person, really. It’s pretty much impossible to know yourself. The internet is just a hall of mirrors. I’m really hating the world, and myself, a little bit right about now. I mean, how many hours did I spend on this glorious morning looking at designer pot and glass pipes on slowly loading, clumsy web pages? The answer is: TOO MANY.

The Beatles “Revolver”

When the question “Beatles or Rolling Stones” comes up, I say Rolling Stones without thinking, and I do admit to being an Anglophobe, though I happen to be smoking Samuel Gawith’s “Squadron Leader” RIGHT NOW. There is no way The Beatles could be anything but overrated, seeing how popular and critical opinion pretty much put them on top of every list of ALL MUSIC ever composed, played by human beings ever in recorded history. But still, I’m trying to be objective, listening to The Beatles with fresh, unbiased ears, hearing for the first time some songs that are among the most overplayed songs ever, ever, ever.

It’s impossible, of course. It’s impossible of course. I don’t even know why I’m trying. Without a doubt, “the white album” is my favorite Beatles record, and I’ll take it over everything else they recorded put together. I can still listen to it all the way through and get back that feeling I had when I first discovered it. I guess there is a nostalgia factor there, I’ll admit. There were drugs involved. But anyway, there is no white album in this collection. There is “Revolver,” which is a lot of people’s favorite, I am well aware. I can’t say I even come close to LIKING this record, though “She Said She Said” always sounds fresh to me when listening to it, though it quickly becomes stale in my mind. Pretty much all the rest of the songs sound stale even on my vintage 1970s equipment.