Australia was still buzzin' when this Rob Younger-produced single hit the consciousnesses of more'n just a few rock-starved OCD's back in the dark days of '84. Side one sounds more like It's All Meat when they were doing their early Pink Floyd moves than it does the Doors but still has its feet firmly planted in psycho terra firma. The flip not-so-oddly enough reminds me more of the Chocolate Watchband with that opening which sounds as if it came straight outta "Baby Blue". A few years later it all came off watered down when compared with what had transpired but when it was fresh boy, did I think that the next Golden Age was upon us and like now!
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I don't think I should review this 'un considering how these guys have consorted with the enemy, but random pulls outta the collection being random pulls and all I got stuck with it. Low fidelity '76 vintage Ohio local rock with the same sorta suburban slob approach as the Real Kids or perhaps even the Screamin' Mee Mees, something which should not come as a surprise considering all of the raw scrapes of sound that were being laid down not only in that state but in the entire world just about the same time. For those of you about to reduce rock 'n roll to a compost heap of sound, we salute you!
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Another random pull out, and an inherited one at that (as if I'd ever buy such a thing)! The hit side proves once and for all that Paul Simon was swiping from the indigenous ones long before "Mother and Child Reunion" let alone GRACELAND, but if anything this 'un reminds me of the adolescent fun and jamz I used to have changing the lyrics to such absurdities as "I'd rather eat a booger than a turd" ... (another one was "I'd rather be a penis than a cunt --- you silly runt --- go on a beaver hunt" which is something you would expect from a twelve-year-old only I was 35!). The flip snoozes on though I will praise it for being at least tepid. Can you really run it through your brain that there were millions of 14-year-old girls out there who took this record (and this duo) to their flatter'n a pancake bosoms?
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And speaking of flat bosoms...twelve-thousand girl scouts??? Them gals sure hadda sell a whole lotta cookies to make it to this jamboree where I'm sure they not only had quite a good time skinny-dipping (hopefully without their Troop Leader lecherously spying on them) but got to record this EP of hoary chestnuts both familiar and not. It must've been utter heck to get 'em all singing in tune and all together for that matter, but they do and the results kind of remind me of either an avgarde musical experiment I'm sure John Cage would have loved to have conducted, or something that would have transpired in Mao-era China where one out of place squeal would send said singer to the re-education camp definitely not of his choice. Audio proof that 12,000 girl scouts can't be wrong, or better not be wrong to be more precise about it!
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Gotta love Tiny Tim for trying to keep abreast of all the latest trends 'n gimmix in order to rev up that BIG COMEBACK he always thought was just around the corner. On this '81 release Tim attempted to cash in on the then-recent superhero revival complete with cheesy to the limit gal back up singers and Southern California session men who I'll bet'd rather be reading HUSTLER that working with this once-living legend. You know what it sounds like already, and I love every second of it. Other side's one of those trips back to the kind of twenties/thirties music that Tim gnarled his teeth with, or better yet the late-sixties nostalgia trip that Tim rose to the charts on. Thus you could call this an early-eighties nostalgic yearning for the nostalgic yearnings of 1968! Kinda like people whose only fond memories of the fifties are via HAPPY DAYS 'r somethin'.
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Lotsa local rock groups that shoulda put out records back in the late-seventies/early-eighties didn't, while a lot who shouldn't have most certainly did. However, we can be thankful that NYC's 4-Skins were of the former persuasion what with this rather boff spinner that delivers the goods straight-ahead rather than being hung up on the varying early eighties trends which practically laid waste to the entire genre. "Mad" is an onslaught of straight ahead pre-punque heavy duty sounds which roars on though ends after a mere one minute and forty-eight seconds. "Gone" actually enters into some funky territory and dredges up memories of a music I sure wish proliferated 'stead of then flavors of the week that unfortunately took up way too much space in the pages of THE NEW YORK ROCKER and TROUSER PRESS. More of this kind of raucousness was needed by groups like the Skins (and a ton of unknown/unreleased acts) back then and maybe even now in a world where rock has been dead and buried for a good four decades already.
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It was quite some time since Nico's last record so this EP did come in quite handy. Four songs recorded straight to cassette in what sounds like a quite intimate setting, one where you can ever hear the muffled chatter at the tables. Lutz Ulbrich strums guitar on "All Tomorrow's Parties" and Nico howls her harmonium on the rest. When this one does pop up for sale it's usually at an affordable price so you don't have to worry about any bank breaking on your part.
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It's too bad that Vincent's '62 re-do didn't do anywhere near as well as the Ventures' "Walk Don't Run '64" because the thing really does have that sorta/coulda been feeling. "'62"'s a jauntier take on the original with an overall feeling and production that might have been more suitable for the whole Rydell/Vee crowd than the greaser jaunt of the late-fifties, but as the old cliche goes "it works!" Well, somewhat. Yeah, it was a comedown of sorts but then again Vincent could have sung Brad Kohler's report card and it would have sounded great. There's more of the same on the flip, this time complete with backup vocalists who sound as if they escaped from a SING ALONG WITH MITCH taping not to mention an overall direction that's as MOR as can be. It is better'n anything you've heard on the radio or tee-vee for the last fiftysome years so shut your trap and open your mind.
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You, me and even Helen Keller have heard the a-side overnovernover to the point of gagdom, but the instro flip really does satisfy those of us who still have somewhat of an appreciation for what they used to call California Sunshine Pop. A melding of moods and shifts that only a troubled mind could have come up with. "Let's Go" is the strange missing link between the original instrumental surf era and the new poppier sounds that were just on the horizon, and if original owner Michele Hodge is out there you can always stop in to take a gander at your long-gone record as long as I'm home during a day in the week with the letter "z" in it during a total eclipse.
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I loved the dickens outta this 'un when I first heard it way way back, but how does the thing hold up now that I'm older and much stupider if I am to believe some of you readers? The Zep cover still manages to tingle, sounding like something that I'm sure a few thou groups from the seventies and beyond coulda whipped up and maybe even performed at a Saturday night prance. "Slow Diver"'s the kicker, with moody late-sixties Pink Floyd organ intermingling with RADIO ETHIOPIA-era Patti Smith mystico mumbo jumbo that sure brings back warn 'n toasty memories of how I thought these late-eighties punk groups were gonna resurrect the mid-seventies teenage lament after years of squeaky clean whitewash. Unfortunately their debut album wasn't as good as far as I can remember, and I have the feeling that their subsequent ones weren't as well.
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Even the Downliners Sect couldn't resist the lure of psychedelia as these released only in Sweden tracks so plain as the nose on Nanette Fabray's face reveal. With titles like "White Caterpillar" you can tell that the Sect were about as far into the psychedelic groove as the Troggs which I gotta admit says a whole lot more positive about the Sect and Troggs' contributions to the form than it does about the Jefferson Airplane's. Pretty hard rockin' for the Sect as well, and I wonder if any of those Sect haters who wanted to piss in Don Craine's deerstalker cap way back when woulda had different thoughts had this record made its way to their ears? Prob'ly not but what else is new?
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Mighty fine lo-fi wail on this 33 rpm spinner where the Apartments "borrow" heavily from everything from "Waiting For My Man" and "Gloria" to re-invent the concept of garage band rock the way most of you lunks probably first heard it via BACK FROM THE GRAVE. Trash enough (read: PERFECT) for my own personal tastes and perhaps yours too unless you're some sorta troll who likes to get his kicks writing stoopid comments on this blog. Notched many points for mentioning the excretable fanzine upper-echelon snob Tom Lax on the sleeve...wotta twat!
Y'know, if I only realized that Ron House was being sarcastic when he was whining the ikky "Letter to a Fanzine" on that Homostead sampler I wouldn't've given him and his Great Plains the razzing that I did. (Well, I gotta say that for the past fiftysome years it has been hard for me to separate put on from reality as most of my readers have surely found out, and vice-versa for that matter.) Boy did that start a feud to rival the Al Capp/Ham Fisher hatespew, the one that ended with the latter's suicide (no self-inflicted demises in our case as of yet). This 'un should forever redeem House in my eyes, but since I get the feeling that the guy continues to loathe me just like most of you sophisticado types out there most certainly do (he once described me as looking like an "insect" and if it were to be a butterfly I'd punch him in the mouth!) forget I said anything nice about him. Like anyone ever said anything nice about me (as if I should care anymore, but at times I do) so screw 'em all!
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This won't make any of those one-dimensional self-appointed hip kinda people change their minds about the "Surfin' Bird" creators but it will bolster our own faith in the entire Trashmen oeuvre. High quality sound too unlike the roller rink acoustics I thought would have been associated with a recording by a group on the low rung of mid-sixties snootiness. It's sure nice to know that there actually were people who remembered Link Wray in the mop topped year of 1965.
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I recall being somewhat interested in that whole funk/dance music thingamabob that groups like Pigbag and these guys were cranking out during the v. early eighties, and these sides (which I assume are the same song) do have somewhat of a neo NYC decadent take on various James Brown moves that were so big at the time. But overall this is really tiring music that sounds as if it were made especially for some white New Yorker who wore a beret and light tan sports jacket and hung out at chi-chi parties where everyone was blasted outta their skulls on a variety of "stimulants" talking about who was on THE COCA CRYSTAL SHOW the previous night. You can bet that in these days each and every one of these people are about as humorous as a Sartre novel. You may call it punk funk (it really ain't --- check out Ronald Shannon Jackson or the Human Arts Ensemble's FUNKY DONKEY for that) but I'll call it the beginning of the end.
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It's no surprise that the older generation types were going whole hog for Kaempfert back during them days of teenbo rebellion 'n hair touching the collar/upper ear lobes (a big nada for the folks and relatives!). Well, Kaempfert's pseudo big band pop sure was a nice change of pace for some mid-aged office schlump having to endure "Quick Joey Small" over and over while carpooling the kids, and who out there would doubt that the Longines Symphonette people really knew which demographics to focus their energies on!
This promo flexi presents a nice enough medley of Kaempfert trackage neatly strung together sorta like those "Stars on 45" singles that were all the rage 40 + years ago. At first I played it at 45 and thought it had a nice kinetic bounce to it. At the proper 33 speed it had that slow glop feel that was bound to appeal to alla them cube types out there who wanted to do some oozing out after a long day's work. I can imagine some fifty-plus guy in 1972 playing the music presented here on his cheap Zayre's-bought stereo system, the kind that most all of us hadda endure whilst spinning our own then-piddling collections.
This flopper sure brings back memories of alla them free flexis that companies like Longines would fling out to them silent majority types as well of as the fun otherwise bored outta our skulls suburban slob types like myself had spinning 'em...sheesh, the first time a ten-year-old me ever heard any, or for that matter even heard about Buddy Holly was via one of these things!
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Two sides that really make me feel wonderful inside like I'm some teenbo kid and so happy about that life I have to look forward to with all the fun, adventure and cooze that's gonna be in store (hah!). "Romeo" might have some elements of eighties-vintage all gal group commercial cutesie poo to it, but even with the sweet melody this outfit still manages to inject some bright flash that kept it from sounding like the latest gnu wave toss into the trough. Real kicker's the flip, a middle eastern romp with castanets and couscous moves that kinda makes me wonder if Boston really was the last gasp of local rock innovation and a mecca for new and exciting talent. This'll help keep my spirits somewhat spry at least until the next time reality kicks in.
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Rumor has it that some rather well-known rock critic released this on the sly at the same time he did a similar Alex Chilton effort. Well, whatever the case may be this EP did help us out by presenting some rare early Beefheart tracks long before they eventually ended up on a whole slew of illicit longplayers. Definitely SAFE AS MILK-period Beef here, and its all nattily done up at a time when he and the Magic Ones were still heavily into Howlin' Wolf and yet to traipse into their late-sixties cataclysmic mode. As usual the low-fi flatness adds more tension to an already high-powered effort than many people can stand. You've heard this 'un a long time ago, or so I assume...
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And now onto Captain Beefheart's high stool friend and sometimes nemesis Frank Zappa, here seen jumping onto the latest bandwagon that most definitely did have commercial potential. The trax with Burt Ward have been heard o'er and o'er again ever since the Mother People found out about Zappa's involvement with the Boy Wonder (I guess MGM could get away with avoiding the use of the name "Robin" in this fashion --- whoever was responsible sure learned their lesson from Jan and Dean). The other side contained one of those olde tymey hammed-up "nostalgia" efforts my mother hated because she thought the younger generation was making fun of her's! Of course they were, and I gotta credit mom for her astuteness. Naturally both of these songs are custom made for those who still cherish mid/late-sixties camp which I gotta admit sure beats modern comedy attempts at fun and jamz all hollow.
Flip's some single that a Studio Z-era Zappa did with El Lay horror host Jeepers Creepers during the Golden Age of Local Television (1963), and this fanabla exudes more of an early-sixties teenbo hipster appeal that was perfect for the MAD magazine/Steve Allen/PLAYBOY kinda Joe College type who eventually went whole grain marshmallow. Pretty fun stuff especially for you old-timers who remember just how downright cool low-budget television programming with their eccentric personalities was.
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And the third in a string of tangentially Zappa-related 7-inch bootleg booty. Here are two of the three pre-Alice Cooper singles from back when these guys were seemingly just as human and as every day suburban slobbish as you or (maybe even) I were. The Spiders got the mid-sixties teenbo sound (complete with a riff stolen from "Tobacco Road" on the a-side) down swell enough while the Nazz come off West Coast psychedelic what with their "Wonder Who's Loving Her Now" sounding closer to the Chocolate Watchband's take on "I Ain't No Miracle Worker" than anything I've heard before or since. For a funtime task compare "Don't Blow Your Mind" and "Lay Down and Die, Goodbye" with the versions that Alice and group were preforming a good three/four years later.
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And to top things off this effort from one of the few hardcore or thereabouts groups that were still worth their weight in salt after the rest proved themselves to be nothing but hippies in sawed off denim jackets. Can't complain about the a-side which is a surprisingly driving numbuh with interweaving guitar shards all backing up Steve Wilson's beauteous growl. Foghat gets the treatment on the flipster only proving just how much the Vat could take rather snoozeville boogie and rough it up beyond recognition. One of the few who hold up long after the rest floundered horribly, and if you want to know more about 'em just read the eighteenth issue of my not-so-infamous crudzine only you won't be able to cuz that issue's long out of print and just try findin' one!
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