LOST KEATON: SIXTEEN COMEDY SHORTS 1934-37 2-DVD SET (Kino)

What's this "lost Keaton" jazz anyway? Really, the sixteen comedies he made for Educational back inna mid-thirties are anything but lost, not only having been issued by more than a few dealers handling this sorta booty during the eighties/nineties videotape boom but appearing on select television stations since at least the late-fifties. When I think of "lost" films various pre-BIRTH OF A NATION DW Griffith features such as THE ESCAPE where some then (still?) popular pro-eugenics opines are espoused come to mind. A few of the early early Warner Oland-period Charlie Chans that I'm sure have been reduced to dust by now also figure in as films that I would consider lost, as does the LITTLE IODINE feature from the forties with Irene Ryan which I'm sure nobody really would give two hoots about had it been saved in the first place. These relatively common Keaton shorts that true blue followers of the comedy short form have known and loved for ages are just about anything but lost, but I guess if you're one of those types who used to spend long hours watching arthouse documentaries on Paraguayan mating rituals to the point of pallor yeah, this stuff might be considered the rarest of the rare.

But I gotta hand it to Kino for releasing these comedies in the first place. Y'see, most "serious" Keaton fans (read "stuck ups" who look at film as being some kind of artistic expression not worthy of the pigpen class) really loathe the two-reel comedies that the guy did for Educational and later on Columbia, and they hate their mere being with a passion. You must remember, these are the kinda guys who drool poetic waxings o'er Keaton's silent-era swerve and style as if they were reviewing some ballet that just wasn't made for the lumpen doofuses like you and me, and in no way would any of these cultured and well-bred critics and fans ever consider giving the Keaton of the thirties and beyond any just dues! Why, the man was working with the same people who made THREE STOOGES comedies, and the less mentioned about Keaton's "declining" years the better they always say! (Don't believe me? Just scoot down to the library and pick up any three Keaton books at random and just see for yourself how they either breeze through his talkie career or degrade it with typical high class glee.)

So chalk one up for Kino for getting this package out in the first place, but who do we blame for the at-times gargly sound not to mention the occasional vertical lines which I know could have been mended easily enough (well, at least that's what some TCM special on film restoring stated). Still I guess I shouldn't complain since at least we're getting this classic slab of talking Keaton which, despite the guy's reputation for being second only to Chaplin and an artist and serious upper-echelon talent did appeal to the pizza and suds kinda people who usually tune into this blog.

Of course I'd be lying if I didn't mention that there are a few surprises in store for a guy who wasn't expecting any big 'uns to begin with. As you may know when you're buying a tape or DVD of some old flicker there may be scenes and bits of dialogue that somehow got cut out for whatever reason. This is also true of the Keatons that I've had on video for quite some time, so it's great viewing the first two or so minutes of "The Timid Young Man" which, while not adding anything crucial to the story at least gave a little more depth and background as to what would eventually transpire. Ditto for "Three on a Limb", which had been missing the entire drive in restaurant scene on the print I've been watching for almost twenty years! There are other bits that I don't recall seeing before and while this ain't exactly something that makes me wanna toss the corn chips all over the place in pure glee 'tis sure a li'l piece of happiness getting to view these small shards of filmage which do brighten up the runna da mill work-a-day sorta existence most of us peons are forced into.

But whatever, it's sure a good-old-home-timey-yet-pleasurable experience watching the Educational-era Keatons again for they remain interesting, entertaining and downright well-crafted, and not in that snobbish New York intellectual way that has unfortunately been tagged onto the entire comedy as aht ideal. Sheesh, what else could you say about these flickers that were well made despite the obvious poverty row budget, expertly directed by such respected monikers as Mack Sennett and Charles Lamont, and well executed without many if any of the gaffes and awkwardness often found in thirties comedies made by even the bigger names in the biz. And even though Kino certainly didn't do their best finding the best prints extant these still manage to come off swell. Like most of the Educationals of the day they have that Columbia look and feel, not only because most of the talent in front of and behind the camera eventually ended up at Columbia once Educational deep-sixed (and believe-you-me, when these films sport the likes of Vernon Dent and Bud Jamison in their casts sometimes it's hard to tell which studio they're from!) but because of the film stock feel (which used to look so swank on b&w televisions way back when) and of course the gags, which come to think of it had be used and re-used in future comedy shorts and eventually Golden Era sitcoms.

I can see it now..."Oh Windemere!" "Yes Cecil?" she replies whistfully placing the "Arts & Leisure" section of THE NEW YORK TIMES on the coffee table. "I've just purchased this wonderful looking DVD containing some dreadfully rare Buster Keaton short subjects today. Perhaps we can view them this evening after COUNTDOWN unless there's somebody of interest on RACHEL MADDOW." "Oh drat, there is this rather tantalizing documentary on the Spanish Civil War at nine on Sundance, but I think we can record that in order to analyze these undoubtedly delightful cinematic excursions...bringing them up will make us look rawther smart at Arianna's cocktail party tomorrow!"

Later.

"Shee-yit!, I dunno how anybody with half-a-braincell could watch this crap Winnie! Whatta buncha low budget drivel. Thought it wuz gonna be loaded with a lotta panache an' Chaplin-type stuff acting all highass dancing with forks and alla that junk but it's nothin' but lotsa slapstick. C'n ya imagine it, that same Hollywood that gave us alla them funny PHILADELPHIA STORY-type flicks tossin' this smeg-laden drivel at us! Gimme a beer willya?"

"Aw get yer own, I'm looking fer the new EASY RIDERS...gotta be here somewhere in this mess. Urrrgh!"

OUR MISS BROOKS: I've been holding a mini-Louise Brooks Film Festival here in the boudoir thanks to the fine folks at youtube. Spent a good portion of the past day viewing the woman of unspeakable beauty's infamous 1929 classic DIARY OF A LOST GIRL which I've wanted to see ever since I read about it in some film history book during my mid-teens, and for a guy who thought this was going to be a really dirty filmatic excursion because of the bastard kid and prostitution angles along with loads of you-know-what, a good eighty years later I find this feature to be almost quaint. Goes to show you just how jaded we all have become since those moralistic seventies!(Of course I'm pulling your collective 'nads here...I mean if any time in the history of earth was still embroiled in classic post-WW II/pre-hippie gunch existing alongside decadence galore it was the seventies!) But even the long span of time will not stop the staying power of the one called Louise. Overall DIARY comes off standard soapy melodramatic with some interesting visual scenes such as the one where the obviously dyke-o matron at the home for wayward gals rhythmically (masturbatorically?) bangs a gong as the teenage denizens do their calisthenics whacking away faster and faster while her face twists in orgiastic pleasure! Later on in the film when Louise entertains a prospective customer who looks like Uncle Sam with her Jack LaLanne treatment you'll get just as hot and bothered as the hick watching her with rapt attention! Of course it's all sandwiched in between typical twenties late-silent emote and even some moralistic heaviness but hey, frankly if Brooks were to entertain us with two hours of kick-ups in her skimpy exercise outfit I'd watch it over Angelina Jolie trying to pout feeling in her typically cringe-inducing manner anyday! If the words "hubba hubba" were invented for any sorta female, it would be Louise Brooks.

Even more interesting although not as sexy was an Educational Pictures comedy short called WINDY RILEY IN HOLLYWOOD. This 'un co-stars Brooks with Jack Shutta, a guy who spent the rest of his career at Educational playing supporting roles to the bigger names on their roster but here, in a Fatty Arbuckle-directed "Mermaid" comedy, he's a pompous jerk who after infuriating the head of a studio (played by LITTLE RASCALS foil Dell Henderson) is given the worst job the studio has to offer mucking things up even more than usually can be expected in these two-reel shorts. Brooks is of course vivacious just standing there even when Shutta is chewing up everything in sight, and after giving this 'un a gander I sure wish that Brooks wasn't the target of any H-wood blacklists because she had more "it" than Clara Bow ever did. And she used "it" to her fullest extent to the point where really, after her do leading ladies really matter? Anyway, for a dose of what femininity used to mean before women's lip bludgeoned us all into the ground get an eyefulla Louise Brooks and prepare to shivver all over!

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While we're on the subject of youtube I feel the strange compunction to tell you that I have also just finished watching the Firesign Theater's EVERYTHING YOU KNOW IS WRONG video. If this does come to a shock to the more jaded members of the audience let me wiggle out by saying that I did have a good excuse for doing so, mainly to get a glimpse of Lester Bangs who appeared in the Rebus Knebus crowd scene segment. Whether I was able to or not I do not know...although there is one chap with a remarkable resemblance who can be seen for a second or so amidst the camera sways and swivels as the gathered minions take violent action I must admit that I'm not exactly sure that this person espied is in fact Bangs (looks too thin), but as for the experience I must say that my previous conceptions about this troupe remain even sketchier than they had even after reading Bangs' own CREEM article where he pretty much busts on their concept of humor or the lack of it (mainly their trying to be funny without actually doing anything funny but fudging about doing things in a seemingly funny way while cracking up while they spewed non-sequiters regarding his nonbeliever status). Given that I never was a member of the same cadre that made the Firesign Theater stars of the countergulcheral crowd maybe that's to be expected.

But as far as the Firesign Theater and hippie humor in general goes all I can remember right now is an article I read a long while back (in the pages of THE PLAIN DEALER I believe) about the troupe and how they considered their humor to be hippie-oriented and perhaps gentler than the standard group comedy of the seventies. Anyway, there was a row between them and the SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE cast when the Theater was scheduled to host a 1976 show, with one of the members remarking as to how their humor was supposed to be friendly and harmonically convergent as opposed to SNL's which they thought was too cruel. (You must forgive me for referring from a thirty-plus-year memory which is all I have to go by.) Which makes me wonder...if the Firesign Theater considered themselves hippie and SNL anti-hippie and people such as myself and Russell Desmond thought SNL was hippie all along, was this rift evident of some great hippie chasm we never knew existed? And I'm not talking about the greaser hippies who were basically working class youth with long hair and hard-blues albums but perhaps something a lot more insidious. But after seeing the Firesigns lip synch through an entire albums worth of post-MAD spoofing of everything from CHARIOT OF THE GODS to American History (coming off like Stan Freberg on 'shrooms) I can understand Mark Jenkins' constant haranguing of fellow staff member Bruce Townley in the pages of HYPE for Townley's various pro-Firesign opines. After all, what can you say about a comedy troupe whose album covers are actually funnier than the material enclosed on the vinyl? I will say that the video LOOKED good and that the seventies vibrations really didn't date the overall effect but sheesh, where were the guffaws???

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WARNING! SOAP BOX RANT IMMEDIATELY BELOW!!!

You know, it really galls me when I traipse over to some of the comments being made on every site extant (with the exception of a few like say...CHRONICLES) and see first hand what people actually think of the culture and civilization that I hold near and dear to my heart...frightening to say the least. Whether it's some "educated" ninny complaining about THE HONEYMOONERS for the way it presents to all of us unwary consumers the evil sexist past (I do not jest!) or the wingnuts (in the truest sense) at THE HUFFINGTON POST deriding Maureen Tucker for being a rich rockstar who doesn't care about the little peons like themselves holding Master's Degrees I must say that I do exhibit quite a largesse of disgust at the fact that even after 5000+ years of civilization people still don't GET it! I often wonder if these perpetraitors and their lackeys are for real or just some strange aberration then I look out my window, see 'em in action then rush to the toidy for evacuation time. And yeah, the level of ignorance that permeates these politically pious snouts can really upset the digestive tract, like during the time when Jay Hinman was getting on his moral superiority high horse and attacking me for my fandom-based efforts some politically pious shit piped in with the oh-so-astute comment that I just LOVE "the fifties" because that's when women, blacks and gays were kept down, and by lower-class ethnic guys like myself who were getting burned outta their houses (and I kid you not, Italians used to get their houses set on fire in West Middlesex Pennsylvania just south of where I type this screed)! If this guy holds a doctorate in Sociology I wouldn't doubt it in a minute! Yeah, I hate women, and I am so glad that William F. Buckley's sister beat the living tar out of Ti-Grace Atkinson if ol' Ti's a representation of what "women" stands for in the modern age. Gays...well, I know that you're supposed to hate the sin but love the sinner but these gays now say that they are the sin so what choice do I have in relating to people who are trying to raise analingus to a protected art form?* And as for blacks well again, I wouldn't ask Al Sharpton the time of day but I might ask David Duke...at least he'd give me an answer! (I hope you see the frivolity of this statement...oh yeah, I forgot the general horseblindered mentalities of you people who forgot how to read between lines and take sarcasm directed against yourselves). Sometimes I think that the more rabid, emotional and off-kilter haters of me and my credo are the ones who actually believed what they were taught in college. And everything I needed to know I learned from reading NANCY.

Yeah, I know I should be used to it by now. After all. how many people out there have distorted and misrepresented what I have written and more often than not on purpose to suit their own nefarious reasons. But hey, what really gets my goat up is that after all these years and this far down the evolutionary tract there are still people who can't, or more likely are totally unwilling to COMPRENDE what I have to say probably because if they even tried to it would throw their precious beliefs in the cosmic man off kilter'n when the Flat Earthers finally hadda disband after Apollo 11. And yeah, a good X years later do I finally understand why all of those old timers who used to rant about the rottenness of hippies (and their spiritual punk progeny!) were right after all...I mean, look what happened when these higher rungs on the evolutionary scale grew up and started calling themselves Americans (and believe-you-me, if they're Americans I'm president of the Emma Goldman Fan Club!) while stifling freedom of speech for those best deserving of it as well as battered the ideals of free association and good times, all in the name of that frisbee-tossing world that you and I sure dread with a passion!

So maybe I should get angry and do a little vexing myself! Well, at least I have my books and my poetry to protect me like Paul Simon did. (Don Fellman, who admits to being a here-and-there fan of S&G, told me that Simon was being ironic on "I Am a Rock" but I beg to differ...after all how could someone who wrote such songs as "Mrs. Robinson" and "Silent Night/Seven O' Clock News" [well, he co-wrote that one!] not be so introspectively nauseating?) Well, I don't have any poesy to protect me but I sure have a load of records to go along with the books, and just a few of 'em can be read about in the following reviews which I know you've been more anxious to glom after all of the self-serving yet necessary quap written above.

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East of Eden-MASTERS OF ROCK VOL. 7 LP (EMI Electrola Harvest, West Germany)

From the same cut-rate budget series that gave us collections by Wizzard, ELO, Pink Floyd and others comes this sampling of tracks from East of Eden's two albums which I understand figure highly in the canon of Harvest Records fanaticism. That would figure since people get fanatical about just about everything these days, and for the life of me I can't figure out why anyone who reads this blog with a nearness and dearness to heart would care one whit about this group's progressive jazz rock which has little if any of the original Harvest credo. Stick with Kevin Ayers and leave the late-sixties toss up of half-digested fusion ideas to those who can really muck it up!

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Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band-UNCONDITIONALLY GUARANTEED cassette (Virgin England)

Y'know, I don't get it. For years I've been hearing about just how much the Good Captain hated this album as well as predecessor BLUEJEANS AND MOONBEAMS to the point where he was tellin' fans to take 'em back to the record store to be returned as defective 'r somethin' like that. Heck I even heard one apocryphal tale about how years later some notable who's a big kahuna on this thing we call the underground scene actually told Beefheart that he had a plan to kidnap him during this period in his career and force him to record as his old atonal self, with Beefheart actually responding that he sure wish something like that did happen!

But then, in Fred Kirby's review of a '74 vintage Captain Beefheart show at Max's Kansas City he mentioned how Beefheart himself was saying from the stage that the critics don't like his new material and all but he didn't care 'bout that one whit! So who can we believe, whose story shall we go by in this case and while I'm at it whose bright idea was it to get Three Dog Night producer Dave DiMartino to work on this 'un in the first place?!?

Naturally I had trepidations knowing whatta dog this 'un is and not having played it since 1979 because it made me cringe like nothing since Dave Lang. But hey, here in 2010 UNCONDITIONALLY GUARANTEED sounds mighty good, perhaps because no matter how you slice it rock & roll in general (as a long-buried music form that was destroyed by the same business and fans who professed to love it) sounds generally pallid next to these admittedly commercial rompers. Sure little if none of the old Beefheart spark is here but the songs move nicely enough amidst the laid back atmosphere and cornball sax solos and I really can't fault Beefheart for making this 'un like I can fault Lou Reed for a good portion of his solo career. Of course by the time side two was clocking out I was glad that it was gonna be at least another thirty years before I'd give it another spin but hey, 500 years from now this is gonna sound marvy next to the rock music they'll be making at that time!

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UPDATE ON MY RECENT COMIC STRIP BOOK COLLECTION ORDER: After a week or two of ponderous thought, I'm still not exactly sure what prompted me to pick up the newly-released collection of Gene Deitch's TERR'BLE THOMPSON strips which originally appeared during the mid-fifties. Probably was the mention in Alan Holtz's STRIPPER'S GUIDE blog which is kinda strange because I never did cozy up to much if any of the animated work that underground legend Kim's father did throughout the fifties and sixties. But hey, this strip, being a precursor to the infamous TOM TERRIFIC cartoons which added a little brightness to my toddler years, seemed to offer at least a smidgie bit of promise for a guy who still can't get over the fact that his pre-kindergarten/social engineering days were that long ago! No great shakes mind you, but the stories collected in this short-run comic are amusing enough to at least warrant a once per lifetime perusal. See Thompson help Christopher Columbus, George Washington and Cleopatra forge history while making it back in time to do the dishes! Elemental fun that I'm sure made for a nice diversion between the adventure strips and LI'L ABNER, though in many ways TERR'BLE THOMPSON foreshadows the switch in comics from hard-nosed, well-drawn works to quick slapdash warn 'n fuzziness w/o the big beef to back it up and for that maybe we shoud...awwww go ahead'n read it!

Also peeked at was a collection of early-fifties vintage CASEY RUGGLES strips that were once again collected into a fanzine-like publication with the expected occasional downgrade in quality. Oddly enough, for a guy like myself who never did like western strips I find these adventures (in the typical "star of the shebang meets up with just about every major Wild West personality extant" fashion) to be not only impeccably drawn but well resourced and executed. Sheesh, I thought only the Europeans took this much care and dedication when doing western comics researching the situations that transpired 100 years earlier with painstaking accuracy and detail to even the most obscure happenstance, but creator Warren Tufts did just that and sure pulled off a good effort that was bound to sit between BLONDIE and MARY WORTH in your local funny section. Read through 'em all in one sitting and must say I limped away a better man. While I'm at it, the CISCO KID collection available through Ken Pierce or ebay's also a worthwhile purchase, with exquisitely fine artwork and stories that actually had me slouching in rapt attention just like some kiddo in the early-fifties woulda! Compare this with anything on the funny page today and watch the competition melt like a chocolate bar on Joan Collins' rump!
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*And I really gotta hand it to a certain individual whom I have dissected in these "pages" who wrote me that some tongue-in-and-not-up-cheek(s) comments I made about gays were "vile", and this from a guy who undoubtedly remains an admirer of that fearless AIDS crusader David Wojnarowicz! You might remember Wojnarowicz not only as a member of the early-eighties New York avant rock group 3 Teens Kill 4 (whom I must admit sound interesting at least from a review I read in THE NEW YORK ROCKER) but as a guy who blamed everybody but himself for his contracting of the disease in a weird Marxist/Burroughian jumble and who fantacised about aiming AIDS-tainted darts at conservative politicians and Roman Catholic priests! All I gotta say is...where's your moral outrage now???

**Which reminds me of when I was a kid and I believed the world was flat and the further out you went all there would be is farmland and dusty roads leading out into nada and from there on infinity...or actually not since we were all living in a GIGANTIC BOX that was being held somewhere in the universe where DICK TRACY was taking place! Well. four-year-olds certainly do have active imagination, maybe even moreso than over-the-hill bloggers like myself.

Be-Bop Deluxe-AXE VICTIM CD (Harvest England)

Sometimes albums such as this one send me back to certain periods in my life that I perhaps don't want to remember oh-so-clearly, or maybe I just remember 'em in some weird twisted dream logical way that comes off like one of those semi-funny-yet-still-nightmares that I encounter usually under the spell of some over-the-counter cold remedy.

In this case I'm thrown back to the Christmas Holiday of 1975 which for reasons not so surprising was one of my fave-est times of my teenage years. EVERYTHING was aligning in the right kozmic harmonal patterns for this kid with general kultur mighty appealing (television, music, magazines to read onna stand...) and a general air that I was at last! entering into that world I shoulda entered into when I was twelve finally overcoming me. I felt that this baby boomer promise that had been so long denied me was finally coming to fruition and hey, I was one guy who wasn't going to lollygag around and not do any chip cashing in, if you know what I mean.

So needless to say this particular platter has a little bitta meaning with regard to that particular period in time. Y'see, I borrowed a copy of this for the Christmas recess and had felt it to be quite an interesting if in fact pleasing display of English fop-pop rock with some Harvest Records proggy elements thrown in. Kinda like Ziggy Stardust meets Pink Floyd in a way, and while not as engrossing as their second offering entitled FUTURAMA which I had purchased a good week or two earlier it was a mighty fine debut offering even if the group who play on this 'un had eventually been fired by lead Bopper Bill Nelson.

However while spinning this CD last night I encountered some rather strange images in my bean which, contrary to my usual remembrances of those happydaffy times between school drudgery, were rather dank and downright paranoid. The music didn't quite have that same glitter hanger-on approach that appealed to me upon contact but conjured up images of a confused, muddled, directionless youth where obsession was curbed and discipline the rule. Not that I don't mind discipline, but the music blasting forth from the box wasn't exactly charging my serotonin-barren brain with memories of a more easygoing period in life even if I did get sick after my first visit to a Red Lobster the day after Christmas!

And hey, after thirty-five smackin' years AXE VICTIM does prove to be more of a glam downer with proggy dressing than I would have given it credit for way back when. Even the more Bowie-derived moments tend to have this air of despair about 'em and for the life of me the only track with any semblance of spark and life was "Rocket Cathedrals" featuring soon-to-be-axed victim himself (pardon the bad Chuck Eddy-esque pun) Robert Bryan as composer and vocalist. Even the blatant Stardust cop "Jet Silver and the Dolls of Venus" (which was the inspiration for an actual eighties-vintage Eastern PA group!) is marinated in a typically English standoffish gloom that is drizzled over just about every aspect of the culture over there (and that includes the rest of Great Britain...and they think Americans are the wild barbarians!).

Naturally I ended up drinking the entire platter in. After all, as Mel Lyman said maybe we should see things as they really are, and come to think of it despite the plethora of aural and visual booty to keep me stimulated there was always the hostility of human interaction in school, society and home that certainly kept me well-squashed beneath thumb. So maybe this album was the "soundtrack to my dreams reality" and for once maybe I should stare my memories in the face and remember them for the utter degradation that I hadda endure and in many ways will continue to endure until I'm worm food.

EMI did smart by padding this 'un out with some live '78 tracks, outta kilter since this was Be-Bop mark II but still a nice touch. As you may know I really didn't cozy up to this band once SUNBURST FINISH hit the racks, but these tracks didn't offend me the way I find a lotta late-seventies post-prog acts tended to. Maybe I was still bogged down by the actual album to care? As the old saying goes YOU BE DA JUDGE!

It's a good thing that the latest package from Ken Pierce Books arrived to save me from comic strip withdrawal after my finishing the latest (and last, for a good while) COMPLETE DICK TRACY volume. Otherwise I'd have to focus my energies on other kultural trivialities to occupy my free time such as old television shows, nth-read fanzines and Dinky Toys. But man have those old TRACY books brought back the memories of when I was still in the single digits sprawled across the living room floor reading the comic section after grabbing the paper as soon as it hit the porch, blocking household traffic so-to-speak while glomming the latest installment of a LI'L ABNER adventure or chuckling to the wordless antics of FERD'NAND! It just goes to remind me as to how many little and long gone pleasures that I had while I was a child such as reading comic strips and naturally waiting for my favorite television programs to appear, seeming innocent enough regularities in my life that ended once the entire social pattern changed and suddenly I was too old for such things. Or so everybody told me...

Needless to say them days are gone forever...I mean could you imagine some modern-day 4th grader anxiously awaiting the arrival of the ever-shrinking daily paper so he could sprawl out and eyeball DOONESBURY let alone such unfunny (and witless) reflections of 2010 "tastefulness" as FOR BETTER OR WORSE? Then hop on over to the television to watch some OPRAH or DR. OZ which are running on the same stations that used to air GILLIGAN'S ISLAND and THE MUNSTERS during the same time slot? YOU may call it progress, I call it the revenge of DOCTOR WERTHAM!!!

One of the surprises in my latest parcel were the reprints of classic strips that, while not obscure, are not what you'd call profitable enough to warrant a legitimate publishing and thus have been reproduced in collections that could be more or less considered "bootleg" fanzines. I mentioned this quandary with regards to releasing comic collections earlier in my review of some recent OUR BOARDING HOUSE and OUT OUR WAY books which were published in Canada in order to circumvent having to pay exorbitant fees to newspaper syndicates...in this case the publishers in question (Comic Preserves) just decided to work under the radar and hope that the syndicate which ran strips now long gone just don't notice, and frankly I hope that they continue to do just that for quite a long while, or at least until they finally issue a FRECKLES volume of late-fifties/early-sixties ARCHIE-styled strips!

Mixed results ain't exactly the exception...true, seeing legendary titles that may have been top ten in their day but have fallen off the turnip truck is fine, but the reproduction is usually washed out, looking as if the material used for these comics was taken from third-generation xeroxes or even scratchy microfilms with loads of white out and retouching in store for some hapless compiler. Still if you wanna read 'em, and don't have the time to head on down to the local library to peruse those ancient microfilms these books do come in handy.

Some of the choices may be a little suspect to me. I still wondered why I picked up Comic Preserves' FREDDY collection since from what I've seen so far it seemed like the first of many PEANUTS knockoffs that appeared throughout the fifties and sixties. Of course that's nothing uncommon in the world of comic strips as any reader of DAN DUNN could tell you, but the fact that I dished out the seven or so bucks for a fanzine-styled book of reprints of a strip that seemed like a BAD imitation is something that continues to stymie me. Well, I will say that FREDDIE is not as blatant a swipe of Charles Schulz's strip as SHRIMPY (later examples being even more obvious down to mimicking PEANUTS' small oblong panels), but it's still too coyingly cute and lacking in true wit to compete with the real fanabla. Much better'n such other obvious PEANUTS popoffs as TIGER and WINTHROP, but as far as fifties/sixties-era adult-less maladjusted neurotic kid strips went FREDDY was just another low-fi pretender. It's amazing that it lasted as long as it did, which I could also say about many of today's comics which don't even attempt to arouse and inspire ya the way the best comics always did.

The ROOM AND BOARD reprints were way more satisfying despite the horrid reproduction which actually made my Ten PM eyeballs do a few counterclockwise spirals. Dunno what source they used for these classic Gene Ahern post-OUR BOARDING HOUSE panels but if these came from old yellowed newsprint that was used to wrap grandpappy's old suit I wouldn't be surprised. Still it's wonderful giving the various volumes of these panels, which do rank with Ahern's original Major Hoople creation, a go at it despite having to undergo macular degeneration in the process. The World War II-vintage travails of Judge Agustus Puffle and the denizens of his boarding house who for the most part resemble the same roomers who occupied the home of Hoople and his battle-axe wife Martha are worth the time and effort even if I have trouble seeing things for the next five or so hours!

One thing, some of these ROOM AND BOARD (at times entitled BOARD AND ROOM probably due to some dyslexic newspaper editor) collections also have a sampling of strips entitled THE OLD HOME TOWN, a panel which stole ideas (but not inspiration) from not only the various Ahern creations but J. R. Williams' OUT OUR WAY complete with the snide comment at the bottom of the panel and the depictions of a homespun existence that seems to have vanished quite a long time ago. Unfortunately THE OLD HOME TOWN had none of the good art, warmth, affection or whatever it was that made those other comics so enticing. If you are interested in reading a good Ahern swipe you should try COLONEL GILFEATHER which has the distinction of having been worked on by both Al Capp and Milton Caniff. Capp's artwork was fine-etched excellent in those early panels, and don't you think that Gilfeather looked a whole lot like the mid-aged Orson Welles about ten years before Welles looked like that in the first place?

In contrast the reprint of Ahern's SQUIRREL CAGE Sunday toppers is much to be desired, praised, coveted and a whole lot of playful hyperbole I can't think up right at this moment. I take that back...after all, hyperbole is exaggeration that is meant so by the deliverer of the message but this particular comic is one that continues to live up to the legend surrounding it. Most recall "the little hitchhiker" guy with the long white beard whom R. Crumb admits was the inspiration for Mr. Natural and that's all fine and good, but the great badgag jokes and classy artwork is what makes THE SQUIRREL CAGE so appealing a good ninety-five years after Ahern began his cartooning career. Certainly a refresher after being inundated with the usual half-baked slapdash seen more often than not these days, with strange twists and comedic surrealism permeating every panel and a storyline which gets even wilder as time goes on to the point where the unnamed guy with the blond hair who lives across from where the hitchhiker's standing is trying to MURDER him! And like I said, I really like the old screwball-styled comedy of them old days and one who holds the Three Stooges or Joe Cook to heart really can't deny that Ahern was gulping from the same font of nutcase funnybone jibing as those acts and many more! Great repro job on these strips as well, printed in full color straight from the clippings of some comic strip oldtimer who knows what's worthy of your orbs and what isn't!

Here's one that I wasn't planning on getting, but got anyway and boy am I glad about it! You wouldn't think that a guy such as myself would be a fan of ELLA CINDERS which for the most part has the reputation of being a slightly romantic girly comic strip which lasted a good thirtysome years before finally getting the guillotine, but standing-against-the-bulwark-of-time me actually enjoys these 1925 strips, and for what should be obvious to you reasons as well! ELLA CINDERS, for being a twenties flapper kulture re-telling of the ol' Cinderella tale, makes for fine late-night reading with its entertaining and even engrossing turns and twists which remind me of the better silent film melodrama/comedies of the day. (It would figure that the strip was made into a silent feature with the vivacious Colleen Moore in the starring role!) Ella's this cute young-ish woman/child type (seemingly pubescent yet old enough for marriage...you figure it out!) who along with her kid brother Blackie roam from adventure to adventure and often from riches to rags and back again. She's cute enough with her straight black hair and sports freckles which mysteriously disappear when life is treating her better or if all dolled up (however she could sure use the Mark Eden Course!). Maybe they're just blackheads, but anyway in these episodes we find her back from her failed moom pitcher career and being stood up at the altar (prospective hubby being a notorious crime figure!) forced to once again live with her wicked stepmother and vomitous stepsisters who make the ones in the fairy tale look like Sisters of Mercy! Naturally poor Ella's having a pretty rough time of it between the housework and cruel treatment being bestowed upon her, and if you tend to get really absorbed in these storylines like I do prepare for loads of pent-up anger to surge when you see just how outright EVIL mom and the sisses can be! The strip where the stepsisters taunt Ella by buying up her old fashionable garb to flaunt in front of her as well as the times Ma Cinders swindled Ella out of $500 and confiscated her piggy bank savings she was going to use to run away with are bound to get your blood boiling! Sheesh, and you thought LITTLE ORPHAN ANNIE had it bad, but like Annie Ella seems to take it all in stride though just once I'd like to see her belt all three of those grotesque harridans right inna labonza!

The later stories with a solid pen line akin to the strips of the forties as well as Ella sporting a Fritzi Ritz 'do don't exactly light my buttocks, but these early ones really do please the way the great comics of the pre-hippie era will continue to do for the rest of my life. If you're looking for a taste of the early strip just go here to be taken to a site where they can easily be espied, and for the cost of a click!

And finally comes a collection of strips that I must admit I wasn't that hot on gettin' in the first place (in fact I got it as part of a "grab bag" deal) but I'm sure glad I got it even if I really didn't care 'bout gettin' it in the first place! 's not that I hated ABBIE AN' SLATS...in fact I'm the proud owner of a vintage Sunday page delineated by artist Raeburn Van Buren (whose previous career as a magazine illustrator was cut short when Al Capp told him there was more gold in them thar comic pages) but it wasn't like I was especially surprised by what little I had read of the strip. However that all changed with Ken Pierce Books' second ABBIE AN' SLATS volume, these collecting Sunday strips featuring not the main characters at all ('cept for a quick cameo by Abbie) but Bathless Groggins, a retired sailor whose gruff but lovable charm'll worm its way into your heart, if not your nostrils. The fact that Capp himself scriped ABBIE AN' SLATS (eventually handing it over to brother Elliot Caplin) adds to the overall pleasure unless you're still harboring ill will towards Capp for his anti-student rantings of the late-sixties, and if you're one who loved the Capp satirical touch in LI'L ABNER these strips'll satiate your desire for the genius' talents. Believe you me, it's not only wonderful letting your eyes cascade over Van Buren's fine artwork but reading the well-crafted sagas where you'll find everything from Groggins pulling scams on friends and foes alike at times getting ripped off himself as well as continually running up against arch enemy Jasper Hagstone, the richest man in Crabtree Corners who has his own lovable charm about himself, that is if you think cold-hearted cunning can be something to cuddle up against.

There are a lot of Capp-styled characters and sittche-ATIONS in these strips from Groggins as a stench-riddled sea skunk everyman a la Abner himself, as well as with the O. Henryesque whacko endings that still surprise me even at this stage in my life when I should know better. Of course the frequent use of "good girl art" as they now call it, with some vivacious femme added into a panel whether needed or not, is evident to the point where even some rare shots of topless gals can be espied in one particularly humorous saga. (Not at vivid as that Captain Easy story that took place in South America where nubile and youthful topless Indian gals could be seen frontal-wise complete with nipples, but hubba hubba enough for you!) And the morality tales are something to behold especially these days when "morality" has a whole different meaning'n what it did when I was a kid. The saga about Groggins being tapped by the state department to get an old middle-eastern maharajah friend of his to join up with the Allies (with the maharajah deciding he wants to go Axis after being told the difference between a free world and a slave world!) is classic Capp and almost as good as that very heart-tugging tale about bigotry he did in the fifties when the denizens of Dogpatch were frothing mad at the new neighbors with square eyes with Mammy Yokum ultimately having to straighten 'em all out! Nowadays I could care less about the media-approved preachy and pious (while being pompous and prejudiced) messages seen to the point of pukedom since anti-bigotry has translated into being nice to one protected class no matter how disgusting they may be (I'm talking behavior, not DNA) while shrugging off the plight of others who just don't pass the VILLAGE VOICE/NEW YORK TIMES taste barrier! But hey, when you hear it from Capp you can't help but comply because despite his faults he wasn't a pithy panderer. At least back then people knew what was right and wrong, not fashionable and unfashionable, and though Capp might have had his own immoral streak which ultimately caught up with him he sure wasn't amoral which as you should know by now is a way huger chasm to try to climb out of. I mean, I can forgive Capp easily enough for his sexual misconduct (most of which was a set up created by his cultural enemies), but I could never think of forgiving the hippoid generation of cartoonists who eventually took his place!

Well, as I know you can tell I sure had a whole lotta fun tellin' you 'bout these books, and there'll be more reviews on the way once I get some some time to kick my feet up and settle down with somethin' tasty on the player. And as Predrag Whazizname one said yeah, this stuff might only appeal to the "gringos", but then again was there ever a law passed against being one? Awww, drop your preconceived notions of kulturally approved hipniz and read some old comic strips for once, WILLYA???

The Afrika Korps-MUSIC TO KILL BY CD (Gulcher)

Another oldie but moldie, this exhumation spurred on by the recent O. Rex release which I gotta say has brightened my evening hours a whole lot more than Erma Bombeck. And although I wouldn't actually consider the Korps a supergroup by any stretch of the imagination this combination of the best of the Slickee Boys, Gizmos and O. Rex into one mighty surge of power might have been the best example of a talent pull to end all talent pulls seen since the Fugs and the pre-Velvets Falling Spikes performed as the Transcendental Simulematic Orchestra, and that was back in 1965!

Hokay, you might have a problem indulging in an album which was championed by none other than Julie Burchill (God's gift to...what kind of a God would give a gift like that???), but ignore her blather and get into this magnif platter that seemed to get buried under the weight of way too many self-produced offal back in the wonder year of '77 but that don't mean it's TOO LATE to enjoy with gusto now that we all know better. MUSIC TO KILL BY contains some of the better Amerigan punk rock of the day with its hot mix of six-oh accomplishment re-made/re-modeled for a late-seventies clientele, and it's a platter that really satisfies not only those who still dip tootsies in the font of punk rock gnarliness but those like myself who maybe ain't as keen on punk as pUnk as punque as they once were!

Solid playing as you'd expect, with a nice mix of Slickee Boys-styled hard rock of a 1966 nature, O. Rex heavy metal thud and Gizmos scatological excess. All done right. nice and rolled up into a package that typifies the better portions of late-seventies Amerigan DIY-ness before that all fell into a pit of bad Velvet Underground imitation. Nothing that will make the rock-as-art people stand up and cheer nor will the progressive technocrats throw away their half-speed mastered Journey albums, but the deadpan speak-singing of Solomon Gruberger will have you tapping your footsies to the beat while Martha Hull steals your heart with her swinging rendition of "Heart Full of Soul" amongst other fundries. And like with the Deviants there's no "real" star here (well, you could choose between Gruberger, Kenne Highland and Hull if you so desire) and in fact if you count all of the musicians present they total like seventeen making for the biggest mix and match within one group that I've seen since the Human Arts Ensemble to be obscure about it!

Those of you who dished out $$$ for the original will be flabbergasted by the addition of a whole batch of outtakes plus some low-fi live tracks that capture that two AM inna club feeling when amidst the smoke and stale atmosphere you hafta hold it in because you don't wanna take a leak in the men's room next to some guy with a boa and I don't mean that thing around his neck! Excitement personified as they used to say, and probably going for a pittance on ebay as we speak so like what's keeping ya?

A REASONABLE (hah!) GUIDE TO CLEVELAND FIRST WAVE UNDERGROUND ROCK!

I must admit to you, after all these years, that at the time it was all happening I really wasn't up to snuff on the "first wave" of underground Cleveland rock groups as I shoulda been. Not that I didn't know they existed; after all names such as Rocket From The Tombs somehow stuck to the back of my beanie because I was a faithful follower of Jane Scott plus I do remember the surprising "Do You Remember Milk?" featurette that she wrote a good four years after their demise complete with an outtake from the photo session where the group posed amidst various advertising props and placards, but it ain't like I wasn't there soaking it up first hand like I sure wish I woulda. (Not that it was possible since well, at that time I hadda be home by dark and Cleveland is a good two hour drive away. And if one couldn't drive well then one was out of luck!)

What really got the first wave firmly embedded in my psyche was an article appearing in a Summer '79 issue of the old COVENTRY SHOPPING NEWS picked up at the just-as-old Drome in Cleveland which just happened to be penned by the former Stella Rayon herself Charlotte Pressler. It was an inspirational piece at that, all about one Serena WilliamS Burroughs where, as a pretext to a review of his then-unreleased EP for Mustard Records, Pressler detailed his own small but substantial part in context to the Cleveland first wave group Mirrors. In this page-long piece (which I sure wish I had in my possession now because that particular issue didn't survive the BIG BEDROOM CLEANING PURGE OF 1980!) Pressler mentioned how BurroughS used to sit in (age twelve) on Mirrors jams playing stylophone and echoplex as well as how he made his own guitar from the discards of the Japanese copy axes that Mirrors used (something which Craig Bell denied since he played a real-life Mosrite and the rest of the band's gear was supposed to be authentic) not forgetting his strumming on a toy Donnie and Marie plunker in yet another attempt to be further retro-garde. But what really grabbed my cajoobies about that particular piece was Pressler's dismay at the current "new wave" scene both in Cleveland and abroad which she felt was comparatively staid and lackluster compared with the first wave of groups which she dubbed "demonically intense"!

Wow...and I thought that the underground rock of that particular strata was pretty abstract and perpendicular in itself...after all this was a time when the Contortions were ruling the New York underground (and creating a legend for themselves even outside their own burgh) and clubs like Max's and CBGB were just brimming with underground acts of all stripes that seemed to have a certain streak of intensity that seemed unsurpassed, and if the rest of so-called civilization wasn't going to acknowledge that the spores of creativity and high energy that the Velvet Underground had splattered about hadn't finally come to fruition well I guess it was my duty to do so even if that meant having to drag my woeful generation to the banks of enlightenment by their permed 'dos if necessary! I used to be really rabid and missionary in my zeal regarding this low-fidelity fire music, and if you think I'm over the edge these days you shoulda seen me as a young upstart blabbermouth!

By the time the reality of the DEATH of late-seventies innovation began hittin' me somewhere in the early/mid-eighties (it seemed as if just about all of the fun and energy that was promised to us via rock & roll as that UNIVERSAL YOUTH LANGUAGE just vanished. Overnight in fact. Like there were still some new flashes like the hype (righteous or not...'s up to you) surrounding the Dream Syndicate and the Australian underground groups f'rexample, but the rest was more or less watered down substitutes for the real thing that might have been worth a attention only because there was nothing else there. That's where the Cleveland first wave comes in...these groups were working in a relative vacuum and at a time when the concept of original music groups was rather alien if not suicidal, but their fortitude and forthrightness made for something that I must admit was totally honorable! I know that might seem way too "gosh-it-all" Pollyannaish to you, but there was something about these groups playing sixties-derived rock for a seventies audience that really aspired to my sense of honor and propriety, and although you probably couldn't find less noble denizens in these groups their vision and guidance is something that helped pave the way for late-seventies atonal nihilism and for that maybe I should give 'em a salute, and not the New Jersey kind these bandmates have been given for nigh on thirty-five years already!

And maybe it is time somebody gave these groups their proper huzzah, and if nobody out there in the ultra-sophisticated and cliquish internet world is willing to do so then just leave it all to dear old me! But anyway to swipe a late-seventies cliche these were the only groups that mattered, at least in the Cleveland area and in the mid-seventies even if enemies of the rock like Anastasia Pantsios would want you to believe differently. They had the moves and sound down pat, and what's best distilled everything you and I like about rock & roll into one high energy throbfest that continues to have meaning long after the recent hoopla regarding spanking brand new flavor X has fallen out of fashion. And no, I think that nobody will be listening to recordings of these groups in whatever technological breakthrough arrives a hundred years from now, but then again do you think anyone will be champing at the bit regarding the latest Jay Hinman blather in a month let alone next year?

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ROCKET FROM THE TOMBS (photo by Helen Linna courtesy Miriam): The only Cleveland First Wave act that at least got the publicity they deserved thanks to the kind heart of Jane Scott, a woman who did her duty for the cause of First Wavedom (and a good portion of the Cle Underground Upheaval) at least until Anastasia Pantsios told her to cool it lest she corrupt a generation of up-and-coming rockers away from the sainted strains of the Balzer Brothers and Berlin. Well, it sure seemed as if that's what happened and besides I've heard talk saying it was pure unadulterated FACT but really, Rocket From The Tombs were a group that was perhaps too good for the Cleveland clientele given their unabashed Christmas Tree-fueled high energy rock which certainly seemed out of place not only locally but in just about every other foxhole as well. Really, who else was playing high energy Detroit rock with heaping helpings of early-Velvet fury and drone in the mid-seventies anyway unless you wanna could Umela Hmota 3, and let's just say what chances had you to sneak behind the Iron Curtain to give 'em a listen?

Seems as if everybody out there knows diddly about the original "comedy"-period of the group (roughly June-November 1974), and in fact this very link might give you more information on 'em than has ever been disseminated before. From what I'd guess the original Rocket From The Tombs weren't that funny or maybe even that interesting for that matter but I'd rather discover this for myself. (After all, how many times have these pundits been dead wrong?) But this version is notable for having future country singer/comedian Charlie Weiner in it (he quit when the group started getting serious) and eventually a three-guitar line up with Peter Laughner, Glenn Hach and Chris Cuda, the latter who made his living in a Moody Blues cover band called City Heat in the mid-eighties.

The second version with the future Dead Boys Gene O'Connor and Johnny Madansky not forgetting bassist Craig Bell is the one which really flibbens the jib, and it is rather distasteful that this group has yet to be adequately eulogized on record given how both the bootlegs and legit items pretty much hop-scotch all over the place. Recommended are the extant WMMS broadcasts which I'm sure survive in a few thousand collections hovering in a closet near you complete with Peter Laughner's pre-DIY scene comments and Darwin Layne's yelp of "that's right!" What's NEEDED is a thorough scouring of the Crocus Behemoth vaults for examples of both versions of Rocket presented chronologically with detailed notes and (most of all) NO REPEATS other'n different takes on already guaranteed classics. I think we've all waited long enough to hear the likes of "Gasoline", "Rich Bitch", "Remake/Remodel" and of course "Redline" for that matter, so what's keeping you Crocus?

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MIRRORS: Talk about dark and guttural urban sound scrank! Although denizens of the early-seventies these Cleveland aficionados of the form certainly helped set the stage for the under-the-underground shades and dark clothing hard-drive of the late-seventies that seemed to permeate the lower echelons of what was known as punk rock (in the best 1970 CREEM definition) before it all fluttered away into new wave silliness. The unfortunate thing about Mirrors is that what is known about them today's from their more structured sixties pop-influenced repertoire whilst their feeding from the font of the harder musics of that time, the Velvet Underground circa WHITE LIGHT/WHITE HEAT, Hawkwind, early Eno, avant garde Stooges etc. is mostly shoved to the back. You've heard the stuff that passed the censor, now it's time for the real deal.

The only really indicative piece to get released at this point which captures the aforementioned "demonically intense" descriptor would be "She Smiled Wild", the flip of the group's posthumous single for chief enemy Pere Ubu's Hearthan label which really drives the group's hard-edged message home in a hail of metal splinters and guitar effects. Remaining unreleased are the group's 1971 tape which has 'em rushing through three Velvets standbys ("Run Run Run", "Ferryboat Bill" [which Imants Krumins remarked sounded more like the Velvet Underground than the Velvet Underground's original which to him sounded like Van Der Graaf Generator), "Foggy Notion" and the original "Sideways". There's the October '72 take of "Sweet Sister Ray" which has been circulating for quite awhile not to mention some live and rehearsal scrunch that captures Mirrors the way we like 'em. Keep an ear out for their cover of Captain Lockheed and the Starfighters' "Ejection" as well as the particularly atonal "Van Der Walls" which has the same riff the Electric Eels (see below) would later cop for "Flapping Jets".Not that the "legitimately released" Mirrors catalog is to be ignored, it's just that it doesn't reveal the group's true intentions to their fullest. Still they are a fine distillation of late-sixties teen pop and hard rock mixed together in a unique for the times brew with an influx of not only the Velvets at their straightest but the Los Angeles Sound (Love, Byrds, maybe even a li'l Buffalo Springfield) before that all went to hippie heaven. Beautiful music, but hey, does anybody out there know the truth about their "Blue Cheer-inspired" cover of "Louie Louie" that sent me on a wild phone call goose chase back in 1984? Even various ex-Mirrors members were totally blank about that one leading me to think this was nothing but an aural mirage...or was it?

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THE ELECTRIC EELS: As far as the "proto-punk" group with the best foreshadowing as to what was going to happen re. the punk rock revival of the late-seventies goes, the Electric Eels had 'em all beat almost as much as Mirrors. Maybe even more. Not only were these guys a huge influence on everyone from the Dead Boys to Pagans but they retained a hefty nervegrate artistic punk outlook that would come into fashion with the arrival of NYC no wave and various other sundries that, oddly enough, were a reaction to the New York punk rock that was brewing around the same time the first wave groups were starting to play out. And although there were probably a dozen or so groups around the globe who had the same avant-punk snarl and approach as the Eels (Death come to mind) it was these Clevelanders who really put hard-edged snarl on the map, probably because they weren't anything one would want to mess around with given their penchant for...er, gross bodily harm!

Thankfully a good portion of the Eels canon has been released on a number of vinyl and compact medium and although more than an "idea" of the sonic barrage can be discerned a lot is waiting to be revealed. I hope the archivists are still looking for a copy of "Razor Blade" which mesmerized Peter Laughner so, and the 1976 Eclectic Eels rehearsal tapes (outside our time scope since the first wave officially ended 9/20/75 with the final Mirrors/Eels concert which coincidentally debuted the Polistyrene Jass Band), with covers of the Sonics' "Strychnine" amongst various Eels favorites and John Morton doing a TROUT MASK REPLICA-inspired "In a Pig's Eye" deserve to be made available to more'n just an idle few. And Ex-Blank-Ex of course need to be revisited other'n on a HOMEWORK volume. Perhaps as the years roll on and the desire for such high energy rock grows beyond proportions these and many more will eventually rise to the surface but for now well, we can always grit our teeth in frustration!

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MILK (photo by William Kinchey):Of course these guys never did get lumped in with the other three and for a good reason. In many ways Milk were part of another Cleveland scene, that of the power pop battalion which was getting some national press at the time thanks to the success of the Raspberries and a number of success-minded power pop people in the area. (It's no accident that Milk's first gig was at a high school opening for Circus of "Stop Wait and Listen" fame.) However, Milk-man Brian Kinchey soon to be Sands' musical vision was rather wide-ranging picking and snatching from everyone and everything from Tiny Tim to Frank Zappa to Marc Bolan to Bowie, which resulted in Milk's entire oeuvre being something that might have been a little too esoteric for a good portion of the kids who paid a good buck to go see 'em in a high school gym!

But what is important is that Milk, in their early incarnation as Moses ca. '69, were the first all-original music band to come outta Cleveland. Of course that would change when songs such as "Great Balls Of Fire" and "Instant Karma" were introduced into the setlist but it was Sands who had the vision and wherewithal to create such an act in the face of an ever-growing indifference in original sounds. And what is available re. their music from a low-fi cover of "Leopard Skin Pillbox Hat" to a medley of "Getting to Know You"/"Whistle a Happy Tune" (sung by bassist Dennis Carleton, the McCartney to Sands' Lennon or was it the other way around?) at least gives an idea of what else great was happening in the Cleveland rock underground in '73/'74 in case you need MORE.

One important function of Milk regarding the growth and development of a Cleveland underground scene was the fact that they were responsible for nurturing a couple of brothers who would make their mark on the scene within a few short years. Back when Milk had won a residency to play weekly at the Willoughby Ohio YMCA the Hudson Brothers, Brian and Michael, would come along and ask Brian and Dennis if their own group could use their instruments and perform during the Milk break, so to speak. This was all recounted in an interview with (I believe) Brian that was on-line a good five or six years ago but is now lost to the ether, but from what I can recall it was a hot story which ended with a gig where the brothers' group did something horrendous thus earning the ire of not only Milk but the folks at the YMCA...wish I could dial it up for you and while I'm at it wish I could remember what this group's name was because they too deserve a place on the first wave screech of approval and perhaps an archival album of their own!

An aside, one of the Milk shows at the YMCA survives in its entirety...Sands told me about its existence a good thirty years back and had been promising to "maybe" dub me a copy, something which had me palpitating from here to Parma and back to the point where I was acting especially eagle-eyed towards the mail box for a good portion of the year until I finally figured I was deluding myself! Oddly enough, the last time Brian and I were in touch in '97 he mentioned having finally found the tape and hinted around to him perhaps dubbing it for me, but I was kinda steamrollered over at that time to respond enthusiastically enough to prod him into dubbing this like maybe I should've. Hey Brian, I know you have a ton of your own records to sell before you can make any more, but howzbout doing something like making this tape available for download or pressing up a few CD-R's? I mean, I think the world has been more than anxious to hear the original version of the soon-to-be Pagans classic "Boy Can I Dance Good" for quite a long time already!

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ALSO RANS: Do Cinderella Backstreet or any of those early Peter Laughner groups count? Given Laughner's insecurity over performing his rock numbers these cover acts might not quite fit in to the theme of this article. Or at least I get that strange feeling that they don't, so you be the judge. Still, I only wish that group he had planned one evening with Paul Marotta that would drink from the font of the Velvets and Mozart would have materialized, at least to produce some recorded evidence! I'd be tempted to include Tin Huey with these groups just for the fact that they were squiggling around in the same underground strata as Mirrors and Rocket From The Tombs, only they were stationed in Akron and once opened a show for Caravan at Case Western Reserve University which might disqualify 'em off the bat. The Paris Dream Band with Sue and Debbie from Cinderella's Revenge, Cindy Black from Cinderella Backstreet and Scott Krauss would also qualify if they only played out, and while I'm at it has anybody out there heard of Sublime Heat? Saw them mentioned once in a brief article whose author and source remain unknown which bemoaned the "sad" state of local Cle rock and brought up how this group along with Mirrors, the Eels and Tin Huey were gonna be the ones to save the local music scene. The fact that this "piece" ended with a lyrical quote from "Raw Power" also helps its status amongst hook-hitching people such as myself and makes me ponder if in fact this was some group conjured in the mind of said writer or in fact an actual living and breathing aggregate. And while I'm at it, what's the deal with SARAH BLUE?????

The Stooges-HAVE SOME FUN: LIVE AT UNGANO'S CD (Electra/Rhino Handmade)

Well we sure hadda wait a long time didn't we, like why couldn't this've manifested itself in 1977 when it woulda had a bigger impact on the frazzled brains of suburban youth who were a little more'n ticked off at Robin Trower. Really, this recording of the Stooges at the beginning of their 1970 FUNHOUSE tour live at the infamous New York hanger-outery Ungano's woulda made a dandy bootleg back then pressed on cheap vinyl with a paper insert, or better yet Skydog coulda put it out in one of their low-fidelity covers like they did with METALLIC KO complete with that wondrous European-styled budget sleeve design. Some enterprising young fan coulda done wonders with this tape!

As it is, the packaging is about as good as a major operation could get. The Leeeee Black Childers snap of Iggy flipping the fingers seen in that old Richard Robinson/Andy Zwerling ROCK SCENE book makes for a fine cover, plus the flip box package with inserts (including an actual mimicked clipping outta THE VILLAGE VOICE and some postcards) remind me of those old promos of the early-seventies only not as elaborate but at least getting the goods out to da people 'stead of the industry wonks! The enclosed poster even reproduces the bird-flipping cover in case you want to pin it up on the bedroom wall to send your parents a message, and not only that but on the other side's an essay on the show written by none other than Lenny Kaye! Did I ever tell you that when I was in my late-teens the one person I really wanted to look like in this world was Kaye???

The disque begins with a snippet of recording from the party which would record the show on a standard cassette of the day, with high-larious talk about whether or not Iggy was a member of the MC5 as well as his persona with one girl expressing disgust at his stage diving since in no ways would she want his cooties to get on her! The funniest part of this segment is when some guy describes Iggy as being a "baby Jagger" which I'm sure conjured up a whole load of bizarre images in these teens' beanies as to what was gonna be in store for 'em this evening!

Throughout the standard bootleg-quality recording is a band that sounds as if they're trying to get a bearing on their new material. The familiar FUNHOUSE numbers just barrel on; some might think that's because it's "under-rehearsed" but I prefer to think of it as the Stooges were tackling their material the way General Sherman tackled Georgia in his march to the sea. No holds barred attack here, and it sure is a pleasure hearing the FUNHOUSE show live and sounding fresh in its own way considering that Iggy was supposed to be thrice as wild on stage as his was in the studio.

The lack of "LA Blues" sending the listener into mind-boggled loathe of life is bound to upset those of you in for the purer aspects of the quest but don't fear...the addition of a new track entitled "Have Some Fun"/"My Dream is Dead" is bound to reach the upper echelons of Stooge mythology with its equally atonal bleat (thanks to Steve Mackay's boundless sax playing) and utter scraping above and beyond the ken of human comprehension. I wonder if this track (which starts off as a bizarre swipe of the Stooges' own "1969" riff) is in fact the legendary "Way Down in Egypt" showstopper during gestation? Whatever, this truly is avant garde jazz-rock that had just as much of an importance within the realm of the really new thing as much as Archie Shepp or Pharoah Sanders did, only it's being made by a buncha looped-out guys who were playing free jazz filtered through the hard rock explorations of the late-sixties bound to upset more than a few cultured DOWN BEAT-bred critics out there!

I'm sure there's more in the poop-chute waiting for release. Really, one only wonder whether any of those really early Stooges rehearsals survive let alone more of the FUNHOUSE-era gigs which were rumored to have been taped nightly in anticipation of a Stooges double live set of Budokan dimensions. Personally I believe it's all extant and bound to make it to our abodes with much fanfare and self-backpatting and at the most opportune time, like as soon as the record labels have milked their previous platters for all they can! I only hope that Rhino or Easy Action or one of those grey area labels gets this stuff out immediate-like now that the Stooge star is shining bright and you know it's a lot more salable'n the same retreads heard repeatedly ever since the first big Iggy putsch of early '77 had us all wondering...isn't that the baby Jagger who jumps in the audience and spreads his cooties???

WEIRD DREAMS I REMEMBER HAVING WHEN I WAS A WEE CHILD!

I must have been about four or so...maybe even three...when I had this one. It takes place during the middle of the night, perhaps at the time I was dreaming this around four in the morning. There's a gathering of women in our parlor, mostly older women dressed as they did at the time, still kinda Mamie Eisenhowerish, as well as this one woman who looks suspiciously like an older cousin of mine who was then attending college (I remember her teasing me to no end like rubbing my balloons and sticking them on the ceiling so I couldn't get them back!). Only this woman looked more...cro-magnon-esque or something like that, with exaggerated facial features. Anyway, I'm in the room with these older women and perhaps my mother and this prehistoric woman (who otherwise had a typically sixties hairstyle and dress) sat down at the piano and played this very heathen-styled, feral music. Feeling very ominous already, a strange pallor of fear began to overcome me...

Another one I recall had to do with this photo at my grandmother's house hanging on the wall which featured my by-then deceased grandfather and some workers which was taken way back when. For some reason, the photo becomes animated with the skeleton falling out of my grandfather with his flesh just sagging down to the ground. Naturally this was one to have me wake up screaming like anything.

Not quite as weird but odd enough was another dream set at my grandmothers', this one also taking place early in the morning like around five or so. A strange old book is found in her attic which I thumb through in her kitchen, a book with seemingly mystical powers and illustrations that look as if from a bible but perhaps something more ominous.

How about the one where I'm the the back seat of a 1956 Ford that's speeding down some curvy highway and I discover that NOBODY'S DRIVING IT!!! I'm the only person in the car and I'm like six so what could I do other than panic??? I think this was one of those dreams where I woke up and hadda run to the bathroom with a brimming full bladder, something which has become a common occurence as of late.

Of course later on I remember having a dream where I formed a group similar to the late-sixties Mothers of Invention, me supposedly being the leader although the rest of the group (made up of high school classmates) take over and I'm relegated to playing FRENCH HORN in the act, an instrument I don't even know how to play!

I still have weird dreams usually while under the influence of a fever or cold medicine. Many of them are "time-warped", taking place in the here and now but the look, feel and situations are definitely of the past. One recurring theme in dreams that I had, frequently during the past though with less frequency these days, was that I'm back in grade or high school, either at my advanced age (which usually hits me in the middle of the dream, like I'm too old for this!) or once again young only I know everything that's gonna happen and with my more advanced mode of thinking I can handle myself in a way more professional manner. Or else people from the past will pop up into my dreams and feelings I had as a youth but not anymore will infest themselves into my psyche. (I really enjoyed the dream where I was cursing out a particularly irritating teach of mine, though I woke up before I could get expelled!)

Some dreams deal with television, like I turn it on and it's fun like it used to be when I was young with reruns of old shows and cartoons I haven't seen in ages, as well as commercials and graphics that reflect that old time easy goingness that was still intense even if subdued. Sometimes the syntax short circuits a bit, like in the dream where I'm watching an old episode of BONANZA only it's a real old episode from 1956 back when Shemp Howard played the oldest brother on the show! I remember one dream where I was jogging (which I haven't done for ages after finding out it was a sick yuppie way to exercise) and I went past a house where some girls I remember from school were now living and I really liked 'em and wanted to start up some sorta relationship with at least one of 'em but somehow or other wires got crossed and nothing happens leaving me feeling real empty even after waking up. Strangely enough, none of them aged a bit!!!

Another neighborhood dream had the family stopping in at a dive, a sorta bar and grill that's located a small block away from the house with a gravel parking lot and typical plastic table cloth decor. I had a slice of thick crust pizza which was really good too, showing that you can experience a whole lotta sensations in dreamland as well! (Naturally in reality a standard house sits where this bar and grill would have been!) Neighborhood dreams are common, like the area looks different or the house does or even stranger still is that a block or so away is a huge steel, or a railroad track with a small general store nearby.

Speaking of railroad tracks, another recurring dream has me driving around the area coming across railroad tracks with trains approaching, me beating the train only to find another track with another train coming on and on and on...

One of the more grotesque dreams of the past few years had me going to an old cemetary where some people, mimicking the actions of Spanish Communists during the civil war of the late-thirties, dug up the corpses though didn't affix them in sexual positions as was done in real life. It was rather disturbing seeing half-decayed bodies spread around like that. Come to think of it, for some reason there was large bound volumes of old newspapers like the kind you could thumb through at the very newspaper office for years scattered. Needless to say the dream was rather jarring.

But as far as really strange ones go none can top the one I had Monday night. In the dream, I was reminiscing about the time I saw VON LMO as the musical guest on an early 1979 episode of SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE! I guess he and band were promoting the FUTURE LANGUAGE album which didn't come out until '81, but it was the LP version of the group decked out in spacesuits that was performing. I remember Lmo doing "Ultra Violet Light" pretty much like the album version and him introducing the group afterwards. The response was rather muted, as if the audience was stunned by the entire affair.

And on that note...HAPPY THANKSGIVING DAY!!!

As most of you fervent readers already know, I'm not exactly a man of few words! In fact, I love to ramble on ad afanabla about whatever I feel like rambling on about to the utmost excess!!! But today I kinda feel like holding off on the long gab. That's the reason why all but one writeup (which I wrote earlier anyway) that you'll experience this go 'round're what-cha'd'say of the mini-review/CREEM "Rock-a-Rama" variety. I figure that if you can say something in one paragraphs what you'd usually say in ten then those other nine paragraphs are useless! Of course I'm lying (let's just say that it's fun to extrapolate and go off on diverse tangents while reviewing some items that might have meaning to me and me only---makes me feel like the rock scribe greats a la Bangs, Meltzer and Russell Desmond!), but right now I'm feeling a little compact (of an Isetta size even), so...

As for the arm I was complainin' to you about last week, it was a fracture of the radius requiring me to wear a sling. I know many of you (especially those of the San Francisco and Melbourne variety) were hoping and praying that it would be something way more serious, but maybe next time...

Oh, you still curious as to how I'm doing with the DICK TRACY books? Didn't think so, but anyway I'm doing pretty fine if you must know, just having finished with the classic Flattop, Brow and Shakey sagas (this being the height of the deformed villain era in TRACY) and smack dab in the middle of the Breathless Mahoney storyline right when the soon-to-be strip regular BO Plenty's strangling the beauty trying to get Shakey's $50,000 offa her! At this time Gould's art was just getting into that spacey expressionist look (which always added to the overall grotesque nature of the strip) and the stories, as you've probably already guessed from my buildup, are becoming even more twisted and gory...why in just this latest volume there have been two burnt corpses and ten bullets through heads/hands/torsos wiggling off while coming out the other end not to mention the eventual death by freezing of Shakey and the recovery of his skeleton! Sheesh, I feel like an agitated Fred Wertham counting all of the murders and other violent sundries in BRING ME THE HEAD OF ALFREDO GARCIA. only in no way do I wish us all holding hands and singing in perfect harmony like those kidz on that old Coke commercial like Wertham did! (I remember the controversy regarding this commercial as a kid...I think it had something to do with the blond in pigtails standing a little too close to the man from Kenya! Hmmm...wonder if they had a baby and they named it...naw, that couldn't be!)

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Jon King and the Cats-"Oh Oh Oh"/"Show Biz" 7-inch single type thingie (FBN)

This is one of those singles that I remember got a duffoid review in THE NEW YORK ROCKER with the Cats being held up as evidence of a rapidly decaying local rock scene onandonanism. And well YEAH, I myself do recall just how watered-down many of the early-eighties groups springing up from the audition nights at CBGB were compared with the mid-seventies variety, but I ain't gonna lump Jon King and the Cats in with the rest of the pasties despite their rather bland name and the fact that they had that early-eighties new wave look patterned on the early-sixties greasy dago teen idol one down pat. Both sides of this self-produced disc are pretty hotcha straightforward rompers with just a little bit of powerpop tossed into the rock & roll...nothing offensive here even though it was a great change in diet from the avant garde and cute/coy posturings that had overtaken gnu wave at the time. Of course with heavy production and studio trickery this stuff coulda easily been hashed into "Music of the Eighties" the kind now being replayed on radio stations that used to cater to the "easy listening" crowd in the sixties, but we'll worry about that gunch when we come to it!

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The Beach Boys-PET SOUNDS REHEARSALS CD (Yellow Dog bootleg)

You sat through the FUNHOUSE BOX SET? How about that complete LET IT BE session boot where you got to hear Paul talk about how the session was taking on an "oriental influence"??? Well sit tight for this li'l peek behind the scenes at the Beach Boys' PET SOUNDS sesh which'll give you added insight into what was really going on in front of and behind the boards during the height of sunny California pop artcraft. Get mesmerised by the repeated instrumental takes of "I Just Wasn't Made For Those Times" before being driven batty by the endless piano noodling on "You Still Believe in Me"! If you really love to go through your faverave recording artists' garbage heap this is the disque for you!!!

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Changing Modes-A PERFECT DAY CD (Changing Modes)

As most people know, I'm really not that hot on the reams of amerindie groups that have been coming outta the woodwork since the early eighties. In fact, I tend to hold an extremely dim view regarding them because frankly they shoulda known better'n to take snat visionary rock of the sixties and seventies and water it down for the spiritual successors of those introverted college gals who used iron their hair so it's be nice and straight and bangy. Sheesh, I thought Carole King woulda been enough for that type! But hey, this second album from the still-kicking En Why-area group Changing Modes is halfway decent, sounding more like hot late-period seventies underground rock with only a slight amount of twee added (state law y'know). You could still call it college fruit if you wanna, but it won't make my system go into sugar shock. In fact the seventies influences from Sparks (!) to the usual suspects is handled with taste and elan. It ain't enough to make me want to purchase this group's entire backlog but I ain't gonna lump 'em in with J. Neo Marvin either!

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PSYCHEDELIC SCHLEMIELS (more lost sounds from the Britpsych Scene 1966-1969) CD (Wooden Hill)

Haw! Prob'ly wond'rin why I'm still buying up these six-oh compilations which anyone with half a brain (or as Tom Howard used to say, "If you had another brain you'd only have one!") knows ain't exactly up my particular highway (Hershey or otherwise). Yes I'll admit that a few of these PEBBLES/RUBBLE knockoffs for the digital age have way too many repeats of trackage that I've already been inundated with for the past twentysome years, and most of the new upheavals coming out ain't exactly worth the effort to purchase (let's just say that all the good that was gettin' was gotten ages ago!). But, as usual, there's madness in my mission. Y'see, amongst the flotsam and jetsam of unreleased acetates and other sundries that appear on this particular volume of English psych almost-made-its are two tracks by a group called The Velvet Frogs who, thanks to their unabashed faithful following of the Velvet Underground credo, warrant my attention as well as that of those who are interested in the whole Velvet influence flow chart which began inciting more than a few punks in the late-sixties only to snap crackle and fizzle somewhere in the eighties when the message finally dribbled down to limpwrist suburban Doodyville and every trustfund crybaby decided to get in on the act!

But these Frogs had a good thing going for 'em, and that was their awareness of the entire VU attitude and drive back when it was happening as well as the application of this awareness with a music that was succinctly described by their vocalist/guitarist/violinist as being "delinquency set to music". Three acetate sides survive, the first entitled "Jehovah" (inspired by the Process Church...this ain't no Jesus Freak regurgitation!) being touted as a "pastiche" of various Velvets moves and appearing on Wooden Hill's THE STORY OF OAK RECORDS CD, a set which features English psych sides of varying degrees recorded at the supposed-to-be legendary Oak Studios in London:



The Velvet Frog numbers that appear on PSYCHEDELIC SCHLEMIELS 4 are in the same dark psych goth vein; "Archaeology" seems to straddle '66 UK garage/punk concerns and the better moments of the English lysergic scene when it was beginning to waft into progressive aerie faerie gnome bopping. No need to panic though, since the Frogs remain a total punk assault sounding like the Fleur de Lys meets the Pretty Things jamming to "Waiting For My Man". Yeah, I know these comparisons give very little insight into the whys, wherefores and making of the music but hey, they sure read swell!

Even crazier is the Frogs' '69 recording swan song "Wasted Ground" where the group tackles the MARBLE INDEX with rather peculiar consequences. I gotta give these guys credit for paying homage to Nico this way but the results sound like something you'd have heard kids recording on their toy chord organs had that eponymous album made it into more teenage bedrooms! I gotta love it just for the thought behind it and yeah, it is heartwarming to know that such a track even exists even in the still-uncharted archival digging up of these outta-nowhere late-sixties English artyfacts.

As for the rest of PSYCHEDELIC SCHLEMIELS 4, well it's good enough if mostly typical 1969 rock that really doesn't cut a stark path the way the Frogs do. Frankly I could do without rewrites of "The Weight" and Tomorrow did the psychedelic trip a whole lot better 'n these almost-theres. Still I would love to hear more Velvet Frogs if available, and gathering all of their material in one place for instant enjoyment would have been better 'n having to wade through some of the swamp to get to the necessities of life ifyaknowwaddamean...

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IN CLOSING let me present, as a PUBLIC SERVICE (which means that you must read it, of course!) that previously-mentioned in the past few comment sections article by and about Ivan Brunetti, the guy who could have gotten the opportunity to draw the NANCY comic strip back in the nineties but lost out to the Gilchrist Brothers. Really, this is a great slice of comic strip histoire that I know that all of you true blue NANCY fans will appreciate. I must admit that Brunetti, although lacking in many acceptable qualities, undoubtedly dileneated some rather adequate post-Bushmiller artwork (reminiscent of the standby who did the strip in between the death of Mark Lasky and the wretch-inducing Jerry Scott) as well as neat gags and rehashes of old plots...talk about "could have beens"! The fact that Brunetti lost out to the Gilchrists (who began doing a decent if uber-swiped strip before retreating back to their own modern stylings) is almost as tragic as the Bowery Boys' HIGH SOCIETY almost getting the Academy Award nomination meant for the Bing Crosby moom pitcher of the same name way back in the mid-fifties!