BOOK REVIEW! THE INEVITABLE WORLD OF THE VELVET UNDERGROUND COMPILED BY ALFREDO GARCIA (inevitablevu@gmail.com)


Buying a book on the Velvet Underground can not only be a pretty pricey, but a pretty chance-y affair as well. Lord knows just how many duff reads devoted to the group have been published o'er the past twenty years, books filled with modern day rheumy reminiscences and intellectual kukky-poo scribed by a whole truckload of latterday clinger ons who (at least judging from the generally milksoppish musings they've been dishing out) took the softer moments of the band's latterday recordings to heart while totally ignoring the rage (both underlying and in-your-face) that infected the act throughout their five year being. We're talking HORRIBLE crap here, essays that make Dave Marsh look like Richard Meltzer in comparison and you KNOW that's bad! Material that is of such a superficial quality that I'm sure Ellen Willis woulda loved 'em all to pieces, albeit if a ton of cheapshot refs. re. the backwards goyim she knew and loathed were crammed into 'em if only to assuage her far left credo. But hey, I guess that if the cult of the Velvet Underground has degenerated to the point where it's even reached the core being of backwardsville USA to the point where Brad Kohler could walk into some modern day coffeehouse setup and be treated to an acoustic rendition of "Sweet Jane," the writing surrounding the group would take that obvious nosedive into meaningless amerindie fluffitude that's infested many a fanzine and blog for a longer time'n I can imagine.

That's the reason I love ALL YESTERDAY'S PARTIES and loathe that collection of writings mostly from the politically pious eighties onwards that some Alban Zeck guy unleashed on us a good decade back. That's also the reason why I think that Can and the Modern Lovers at their prime were the heart and soul of the Velvet Underground extrapolated on and why X-tal and REM are the lamest excuse for in the Velvets continuum which was doing pretty fine until the likes of these jokers arrived on the scene with their mawkish musings. And that's why I really like this book which, like the best of the Velvet tomes of the past, captures the energy, spirit and drive that made the group THE voice of the sixties and seventies and influenced just about everything good that had come out of that sainted era before the dank curtain of eighties self-consciousness pretty much ruined everything (seemingly) overnight.

INEVITABLE WORLD is a "catalog" more'n anything, and really not that dissimilar to the Johan Kugelberg effort from a few years back which also came in coffee-table book dimensions. It's a pretty costly affair too so it you're existing on food stamps 'n boogers you probably won't have enough scratch to afford this in the first place. But being the Velvet maniac that I am (to the point where I continue to seek out any shard of info regarding the group written [even in passing!] until the eighties made that a nauseating experience) this book still comes in handy. At least it does to give us an idea of just where the band stood in late-sixties music terms at a time when they were in the vanguard of sixties high energy only most people were too bored or frightened to realize it.

Interesting collection, mostly from surviving newspaper clippings, microfilms and even personal items unseen since those (as they used to say in CREEM) halcyon days. Don't expect any major revelations here, but for a Velvet fan like myself this is akin to pouring through old magazines and whatnot on a Saturday afternoon at the library only it's all here in front of me and I don't have to bug some old maid librarian to find out where section "c" may be!

Gotta say that it's quite a jazz reading the constant referrals to the Velvets as being an "electronic" rock group based solely on their playing of the amplifiers as if they were instruments themselves, while the wide array of negative comments just goes to show you how far from the ken of rockist comprehension they most truly were. Most of the putdowns are what I would call "expected" given the group's entire reason for existence (as if I would expect NEW YORK TIMES movie critic Bowlsley Crowther to understand 'em in the first place), while others seem to predate the whole flower child clinging to a sixties idealism that one would see in the likes of not only the aforementioned Willis, but Anastasia Pantsios' writings in the late-seventies and early-eighties which continue to rankle the nerves of true rock 'n rollers everywhere. (Speaking of Pantsios, an example of her work can be found on page 445, not a "bad" review per se, though irritating enough to add to the charges being piled against her at the Rock Crimes Tribunal! This is evident especially when she makes the assumption that the Velvets' riffage was adapted from the Stones' "Sympathy For The Devil" 'stead of the other way around and compares Maureen Tuckers' vocalizing to that of Hayley Mills in the Walt Disney feature POLLYANNA!)

But the display of ads, clippings, photos and whatnot is everything that a longtime fan like myself could dream of, and although there's always room for more I ain't complainin'! But if there is a bone to pick well...I was hoping to find some references regarding  acts from the late-sixties who admitted that the Velvets influenced their own sounds especially considering how the VU were considered influential even while they were still with us. Since in many ways this book "is" a "work in progress," I'm sure there will be more pieces, references and brief mentions regarding my own personal obsession discovered within the next fifty years, and frankly the thought of these new discoveries is perhaps the only thing that's keeping me goin' here in the modern age long after rock'n roll has more or less fizzed from the overall consciousness.

But overall this effort kept me captivated for a good long time and although many of you readers are either too dense or too cultured to admit to liking the Velvets you might find something here that might just snap that synapse in your brain and make you realize just how far and reaching this band was, at least until the dorkoids and modernists took the sound and rammed it into the amerindie ground!

(Oh yeah, this book comes with a Cee-Dee consisting of rare radio spots, the Tom Wilson interview radio show where John Cale talks about the dilruba and changing the weather with music, not forgetting some '69 radio interviews which even I haven't heard in their entirety [like the one from WBCN in Boston hosted by Mississippi Hal Wilson where Lou comes off sounding rather giddy about the third Velvets album]. Good listening, but not recommended for play while reading the book considerin' how you'll have to strain yourself to pay attention to what's being said to the utmost. For proper background music I suggest the earliest Velvet Underground recordings you can find, from the 1965 demos to THE CHELSEA GIRLS soundtrack off of the SCREEN TEST CD bootleg. Perhaps some heavily-Velvets-influenced trackage from the late-sixties and seventies such as PARADIESWARTS DUUL and EGE BAMYASI would fit the situation nicely. Whatever's handy yet certainly not of an overtly tonal realm. I also found that roughly-running motors of all sorts and your refrigerator, the older the better, are conduit to a pleasurable reading experience. Experiment with your own sound sources, and if you come up with something that suits the purpose so fine please get in touch with me c/o this blog and TELL THE WORLD!!!!!)

ANOTHER EASTER UP THE KEESTER!

I dunno if it's me or if it's you for that matter, but ain't this Easter Season one of the dullest and most listless to have graced our existences for as long as any of us can remember? Who knows if it is because of the ever secularization of the world where even the slightest reference to a Christian holiday is verboten lest we offend some Zoroasterian (or even X-Tal aficionado) out there, but for the life of me I can't remember an Easter that has been so feh, unexciting, boring or perhaps even fearful as the one we're currently making our way through. Keeping with the current spirit of glum that's permeated every aspect of once-vital living here's yet another post that, for better or worse, is the perfect summation of just about everything that's graced my hammer 'n stirrups since the last weekend biggie. Nothing to shriek about true, but at least if you're suffering from the same sense of ugh and want to share it with a kindred spirit, maybe you can osmose this particular rundown and we can feel lousy together just like alla them hippie teachers we had in the seventies wanted us to!

Well, at least there's one thing that has brightened up the holiday spirit, and that's the fact that "noted" "artist" Thomas Kinkade just croaked which is something that should bring a smile to any rabid art lover out there. Just think of it...now we won't have to look at any more of his gloppy and saccharine sweet art which hadda've been some of the worst pigment put to canvas since the cover of my last Christmas Card from Aunt Mabel! True the guy was painting for "the people" (yawn!) 'n all that, but his sickening artwork only reflected the banality of moderne-day hokum and an Ameriga that went soft and flabboid a good forty years back. At least Norman Rockwell got the cool suburban slob feeling down pat in his work...Kinkade only rallied the lumpen idiots the same way a good Nazi artist in 1938 brought out the nationalistic goo in a whole lotta aryans the likes we haven't seen at least until Johnny Mann's STAND UP AND JEER a good thirtysome years later. As they say, Rest in Piss.

Now for the funzies!

Shrapnel-LIVE CBGB's 10-10-82 CD-R


I loved that Shrapnel disque that I reviewed a week 'r two back so much that I decided to get yet another show of theirs (this 'un recorded a good five months later), and as you probably coulda guessed in your sleep it sure is a real doozie! Longer'n the other 'un, this also has some more familiar Shrapnel tuneage along with some ne'er before heard by me numbers that really fit into the groups's post-Dictators sense of En Why seventies punkdom. The fact that Schrapnel could start this set with their own take on "Out Of Limits" before careening into the familiar "Theme from UNDERDOG" and even crank out their own version of  "The MUNSTERS Theme" that didn't reek of gnu wave smarm only proves that, as far as paying  homage to boss sixties television went, Shrapnel (along with the Electric Eels) were the real deal'n not a bunch of sissy superficialists who only tacked classoid television themes as a hook to sink into some dying culture that was loathed by the same New York City snoots who would go slummin' by seeing these kinds of groups. If these guys are still playin' war in between watching old COMBAT reruns either via some low wattage station or rusty ol' VCR tapes I wouldn't doubt it one bit!

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George Russell and his Orchestra-JAZZ IN THE SPACE AGE CD (Chessmates)


Had this 'un for a long time but'm only now gettin' 'round to giving it one of those "serious" kinda spins that these early avant garde jazz endeavors deserve. From 1960, Russell and orchestra are doing their best to keep the spirit of the original classical-bent (perhaps "Third Stream" if you will) avant flow alive kinda sounding like Sun Ra during his early Chicago days, though for those of you who drool at the thought of total atonal scree that'll hafta wait until at least the latter portion of the decade. A nice offering albeit featuring the talents of pianist Bill Evans, a guy who used to irritate me for the mere fact that he was continually being placed upon those jazz pedestals that were usually reserved for the more nerky amongst whatever new 'n upcoming players there were popping outta jazzland. And you know that these said pedestals were being reserved for the likes of Chick Corea and Wynton Marsalis and not Cecil Taylor or Roscoe Mitchell which only goes to prove to you that Eddie Flowers was right in 1977 when he said jazz had no future, unless you consider cocktail schmoozy fusion and laid back tingalings a "future" that is!

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ELEPHANT'S MEMORY LP (Apple)


This is the album that longtime New York radical rock group and backing band for everyone from John 'n Yoko to Bo Diddley released on the Beatles' Apple label, probably because John was milking 'em for all they were worth and thought maybe he should do 'em right by releasing this platter even though most people out there'd just pass it on by. Surprisingly enough this self-titled longplayer's a pretty hotcha affair, perhaps a li'l too boogie in spots but still energetic enough to get you up on your feet, thrusting your fist into the air and kicking out the jams.

"Liberation Special" was the single that the wise folks at EMI picked, and too bad it didn't make any noise because it's a real rabble rousing knockout that keeps on going. Sure woulda sounded good on the AM dial being played in between the Stylistics and Spinners, but even during that Golden Age of the Top Forty Renaissance (circa '71-'73) that might have been asking for too much. I also liked the tribute to "Chuck 'n Bo" (or was it the other way around?) which only goes to show you that paying homage to your fifties idols doesn't hafta be immersed in sickening nostalgic emote. The rest of the platter's pretty good as well, though like I said kinda boogie-ish in that J. Geils way that never did clamp its electrodes to my potatoes but hey, I'll take this over Franz Ferdinand any day.

I'm surprised this one didn't get a load more attention back then given their connection with the radical Beatle, but then again worse things have happened in the once wild 'n woolly world of rock et roll and it ain't like these Beatle types were known for sticking by their friends at a time when said friend certainly needed a career boost! Another one that's sure to bring back hearty memories of record shop strolls and flea market digs during your more youthful years.

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MORE FROM McGARRY!: Why does Paul send these pressed up plastic slabs my way inna first place? What have I done to deserve these outta nowhere slabs of rock et roll reduction anyway? Only Paul knows for sure, and I have the feeling that it has nothing to do with my current financial straits or my impending root canal either. And given how I cut about as much a sympathetic pose as Josef Mengele it can't be that he feels sorry for me! Why do you think Paul McGarry is sending me these Cee-Dee-Ares anyway? Please submit your own theories in the comment section found at the end of this particular post, and no funny stuff either!

The Feelies-HERE BEFORE CD-R (Bar None)

Cain't believe it! I never did like these purposefully nerdoid rockers then (circa "Fa Ce La" and CRAZY RHYTHMS) and I hated 'em and their spawn throughout the whole stinkin' amer-alterna-indie eighties to boot! I especially loathed the way they sullied the names 'n reputations of real life suburban ranch house Saturday Afternoon Barbershop Kid types like myself with their pale takes on that classic garage riffage that kept me goin' all these years. But sheesh, this here recent recording is rather listenable, not to mention pleasant! Nothing I would want to listen to again let alone buy, but the way these guys do the aforementioned L-7 rock bit with some testosterone and interest added to it really is surprising given that I've written these doofs off  good quarter-century back. I guess it took 'em a good thirty-six years to finally get a handle on it all, eh?

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The Laughing Soup Dish-WE ARE THE DISH CD (Voxx)


Agin, this is like nothing that I'd stampede over a  field of crippled nuns 'n orphans to buy, but at least these guys do a halfway-palatable imitation of classic Syd Barrett moves that don't quite irk me like they should. Or at least it doesn't come off as shallow as many of the various eighties and nineties psychedelic practitioners that I've had the misfortune of listening to o'er the past twennysome years. Yeah, I know that way back in the eighties I was really ranting about these kinda groups to the max, but that's only because it sure was the dickens to latch onto the real meal deal (talking the original recordings, or at least the seventies reissues that were about as rare as Joe Strummer's teeth) and I hadda subside on somethin'. Now that I've pretty much stacked up on all of the classic Floyd/Creation/John's Children trax available this new stuff doesn't quite have the same muscle it did during my early career as a gorified rock fan, but that don't mean it's ready for the trash heap yet!

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Wire-THE BLACK SESSION (Fab Distribution)

Coulda reviewed this 'un w/o even givin' it a listen just like Richard Meltzer usedta do, but then again considering how this rockspeak pioneer is persona-non-gratis in the same "rock criticism" world he helped create mebbee it wouldn't be the smart thing t' do. (Actually it would considering what a buncha pious doofuses the dorks who create and read what "the rock press" has had to offer have become...I mean, if you had the choice would YOU want to be identified in any way with the miserable promo sheet hacks of today, or the wildass punk sputers of the sixties and seventies like Meltzer and Bangs???) But yes, I did listen to it and even thought I coulda written this off the top of my beanie so I am glad I stuck through the entire thing. A rawther current (May 10 2011) live show from these ever-aging avant gardesters who sure do a pretty good job of displaying interesting rock watermarks while at the same time saying that they can't stand the genre...gotta say their loathing for various r/r forms sure holds up a lot better'n Donald Fagan's! Hokay, parts to tend to drag in that eighties snobbish post-rock kinda way, but overall this holds up as a seventies rock/roll survivor testimonial a whole lot more'n I woulda thunk!

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The Nerves-ONE WAY TICKET (Alive)

OK, kick me outta the Greg Shaw Memorial Pageboy Haircut Fan Club and throw away all of my Bomp! badges, but really ain't this what the Angry Samoans were talkin' 'bout when they once asked if you were a "Power Pop turd"??? As you already know I really have no qualms against the pp genre and there's an autumn '11 post of mine out there to prove it, but sometimes this stuff can wear mighty thin as this particular album definitely proves! I could say something really cutting and oh-so oneupmanshippish 'bout this act that had more'n a few people thinkin' that it really was comin' back, but I don't want this to read like some especially snippy TROUSER PRESS review so I won't.

and MORE (not from McGarry!)

NOWHERE MEN TOO; RARE BRITISH BEAT 64-67 CD-R

A Shute burn which is why I have no clue as to who exactly put this 'un out. And, after doing some internet research, it seems that I'm not the only one. All I can tell you is that the country of origin is France and that this is some sort of extrapolation on the old PEBBLES VOL. 6 freakbeat rarities collections that you used to see advertised in those overpriced Midnight Records catalogs. Quality ebbs and flows as usual with a few high points of brilliance and the usual thin stabs at Who/Kinks glory, though at least cover boys the Fairies (with Twink pre-"Pink" Fairies on drums) chalk up six numbers that range from Pretty Things primal to coulda been there but didn't quite make it. Nice, but at least PEBBLES 6 had a sorta budget bin quality about it that made having a record collection so enthralling back in the early eighties when we were just being able to AFFORD the kinda jam-packed and totall encompassing collections that we all dreamed about for years on end!

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And with that have a happy Easter and may your life be filled with happiness and joy. Now get the hell outta here!

BOOK REVIEW! THIS AIN'T NO DISCO, THE STORY OF CBGB BY ROMAN KOZAK (Faber and Faber, 1988)

I figure hey, already got two outta three books on Max's Kansas City rotting away in various cubbyholes throughout the abode so why not one on their main competitor in the realm of seventies hangouts, mainly CBGB? The perusal of this 'un would make for a good time-passer during them lonely evening hours, especially considerin' how much info not only on the club but on the half-million or so acts booked there twixt 1973 and 2006 remains unknown by even an anal retentive lout like myself. And after having assigned a review of this to a stringer for my own crudzine back when it originally came out inna late-eighties, perhaps it is time for me to check it out 'n see if there're any li'l scraps of heretofore unknown info that only I could care about! Y'know, it just might brighten my life if only a tad, and given how killer time is catching up with me I better do it now'n a good ten years later when I have the sneaking suspicion that I won't be able to do any in-depth, pertinent reading from a pine box six feet underground.

There is at least another CBGB book of coffee table dimension which I skimmed at one of those chi chi megabook coffee shops a few years back. I didn't care for the thing since it was jam packed with the same old candid snaps we've seen for years on end with a few newies taken of up and coming amerindie types that weren't setting off any alarms in my issue-specified brain. Only the photo of Screamin' Jay Hawkins really caught my attention, though frankly if I was operating under the delusion that such an endeavor would have contained nothing but ne'er before seen photos of Kongress, Master Radio Canaries and their ilk I would have been fooling myself even more'n I usually tend to.

At least THIS AIN'T NO DISCO ain't chock fulla the usual candids of then-recent flash inna alternative music pans, and surprisingly enough it is a solid read with interesting sagas regarding the club and the detailed behind-the-scene goings on that most of us are probably still unaware of. However, if the entire thing just doesn't come off as if it were one long magazine article (kinda like each 'n every piece on the place that's been written o'er the past thirtysome years all scrunched together) I don't know what does!

I do like Roman Kozak's abilities and style considering that English is definitely his second language, and what little that I have read of his various articles for BILLBOARD and the like regarding the underground were good enough to satisfy my usually jaded self. It ain't like he's another industry whore (or at least he did not have the airs of being one), and his encapsulations of just what was going on re. the New York rock scene (above and under) sure reads a lot better'n Anastasia Pantsios' rather pithy and dry reminiscences regarding the Cleveland groups of the past and present. But I do detect a slight industry-ish feel to this tome which does make THIS AIN'T NO DISCO come off more like stodgy history 'stead of a celebration of the last great moment in Amerigan garage band rock, and that ain't exactly something I'm looking for in any sorta read to pass mine eyes. Perhaps this coupled with the lack of highly-charged photographs does tend to dampen things a little more'n a maniac such as I would have hoped.

Still, I highly recommended THIS AIN'T NO DISCO  if only for those wild anecdotes and recollections regarding the general mayhem that was coming outta not only New York, but the world at a time when it seems as if the powers that be had temporarily lost control of something that was within their iron grip for a longer time'n any of us could imagine. And hey, hardly anything's been left out in this 'un, from the early days of bitter struggle through the Patti Smith residency and Summer Festival to even the infamous Wayne County-Handsome Dick Manitoba kerfuffle which got the club covered in such magazines as THE WEEKLY WORLD NEWS! It only goes to show you that Kozik was smart enough to cover most of the bases which even suits a guy like myself who wants to know every pertinent anecdote and group sound that came outta the place like yesterday!


I never thought it would happen, but thanks to this book some mysteries that have been plaguing me o'er the years happened to get solved which does make me quite the happy camper. Well, at least I think they did, such as the identity of Metteyya's Voice, the group with the esoteric name who graced the stage of CB's during the spring of '76 ne'er to be heard from again. Not 1000% positive that the description none other's Shirts lead singer Annie Golden gave of this act from a "Long Island commune" dressed in white who lit incense and played a "spiritual" psychedelic rock was in fact the act in question, but since the Shirts were opening for the Voice I have the feeling that this mystery act 'n MV're undoubtedly one 'n the same! Not that this cold case file is exactly closed, but at least it gives an idea of what was going on in the En Why See underground clubs back in the mid-seventies and from what I can tell it wasn't all Dead Boys 'n Ramones!

And if you don't think this book covers a good portion of the obscure, even the time Geofrey Crozier went wild and started throwing spears and pyrotechnics into the audience before knocking his cauldron over gets mention so you know this wasn't one of those piecemeal affairs! Of course a stickler like myself woulda loved to've read about the time Lou Rone got his group Cross banned from the club 'round Thanksgiving '75 after setting his guitar on fire and pissing on it to put the fire out (and this after CBGB owner Hilly Kristal beamed proud approval at Lou's guitar prowess!) but like, we can't have EVERYTHING!  But we got this, and until the next book on the heyday of seventies underground rock hits my boudoir I guess it will more'n hafta do. And for that I'm at least a slight tickled pink about it!

So yer wonderin' just what kinda nefarious and evil trick I'm gonna pull on ya readers this April first, eh? Like maybe type out some scabrous and potentially libelous screed with the name of some decidedly anti-BLOG TO COMM peen attached in order to rub him and maybe more'n a few of his patented cronies the wrong way? Well, guess again buster, for this April Fools Day I thought I'd do something a bit more beneficial and perhaps even public service-like, such as reprint this rare and long-forgotten Jay Ward Productions TV GUIDE spoof which appeared in the back pages of the March 29-April 5 1963 edition of that very same magazine! Yes, if you can actually believe it, here's a particularly potent 49-year-old Blast From The Past take off on Ameriga's favorite rag written by the fine folks who also did ROCKY AND HIS FRIENDS, and if I didn't say that it tackled the tee-vee situation as it stood with surprising aplomb back in those glorious days I'd surely be lying to you! Even keeping your own pro-Jay Ward prejudices outta the picture it's easy to see that this one is a particularly high-larious and well-deserved ribbing of the early-sixties broadcast idiom that continues to vibrate at least in my own cavernous beanie, and if you can't get at least a few chuckles outta it then you must be one of those sickos I've heard about who gets their jollies looking at World War II atrocity photos!

This satire is so good that I must admit that it's even funnier'n that "TV Guise" spoof that popped up as a freebee enclosure in a late-'63 edition of MORE TRASH FROM MAD (note the date...making me wonder if the folks at MAD didn't read this 'un before doing their own swipe on the same subject). Unfortunately that 'un was lacking in the kind of humor I thought it'd excel in (though the '72 revisiting of the same idea remains one of my more smile-inducing adolescent  memories extant, so go figure). You're also in store for a surprise or two as well, since at least one joke that pops up (the schedule listing for "Unfair Exchange") was later recycled into a FRACTURED FLICKERS  gag which in my humble opinion naturally raises the pixel value of these pages plentifold.

Hope you too can eke out a smile and perhaps osmose some deep-set joy outta this 'un, though remember we're talking early-sixties humor here so if you happen to think the current brand of preachy and foul mouthed comedians are the toppest of the top you might get way more laffs reading the restroom walls or something else which is more up your ever-expansive alley!

(And remember...if the print is too tiny for thine eyes just "click" the image or at least "right mouse" on it and be taken to an enlarged version that won't cause you to have to break out the Clark Kents!)

Ah yes, this 'un just goes to remind you about just what a fun, uninhibited, wild place the post-World War II/pre-hippoid world was...that is, if you were a fun-loving, Saturday Afternoon barbershop kid who dug comic books and transistor radios and junk like that. And if you weren't, then why the hell are you reading this blog in the first place???

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Now that we've gotten the frivolities out of the way, onto the meaty potatoes. Here are just a few of the crusties that were able to make their way past the earwax this week, most if not ALL of 'em from the Bill Shute collection as you could probably guess if only because, being the cost-conscious nebbish that I am, I wouldn't have actually purchased any of these platters in a millyun years. Still sweating out the current dry spell, so these gifts of his really do come in handy. Only I wonder...what is it that makes Bill send me these things? It couldn't be them baby blue eyes of mine, cuz mine are bloodshot green! Maybe Bill is making "amends" for some past indiscretion, something of which I certainly do NOT want to know about, unless it has something to do with that blonde in Philly (grrrrr!).

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Van Dyke Parks-SONG CYCLE CE-R (Warner Brothers)

Gee Bill, I hate to say this but you have a lousy memory! Remember that phone call we had back on May 25, 1987? It lasted from seven thirty-one in the evening until nine-oh-four and it really was a doozy! Naturally you wouldn't have remembered it because during the course of that call (somewhere around eight-thirty-five but don't quote me) I told you that I really thought Van Dyke Parks was an overrated pretentious twat who was so dull that only "rock critics" could like him given their minds were fried even worse'n this self-proclaimed genius's! I remember, because you chortled at my dark fantasy about booby-trapped copies of this very album blowing off the arms of everybody from Dave Marsh to Anastasia Pantsios the same way those cute li'l Soviet toys turned an entire generation of Afghan kids into retroactive Thalidomide Babies. I mean, how could you not remember something as vivid as that 'n send me a dub of this loser after all these years? Unless you got your packages mixed up and were gonna send this 'un to Brad Kohler as some sort of April Fool's joke!

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Tatsuya Nakatani-PRIMAL COMMUNICATION CD-R (H and H)

With a name like Tatsuya Nakatani I was thinkin' it was a made up one the kind you would have heard on SGT. BILKO or GILLIGAN'S ISLAND. But hey it's for real, and it's about as real as the hour-long number that makes up this solo percussion platter that reminds me of a whole load of similar-minded excursions from everybody from Andrew Cyrille to Max Neuhaus. Nakatani sure can get more'n the usual rat-a-tat outta his set using everything from mallets to bows, conjuring a sound that's akin to listening to a cyborg having a bowel movement or the tide rolling in and out on Deneb 4. At times this comes off like he's doing a duo on a bowed guitar and percussion, or perhaps just tossing all of his gear down the stairs in search of a new sound that's bound to become the basis for our everyday way of living. Whatever, this is one of those interesting recordings that, like the usual Kendra Steiner Editions things I mention here and there, goes to show you that there still is an "avant garde" brewing about, and something tells me it's gonna be a least a good two millenniums before this kinda blare makes its way into the general populace.

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Various Artists-INSANE TIMES; 25 BRITISH PSYCHEDELIC ARTYFACTS FROM THE EMI VAULTS CD-R (Zonophone)

The English record companies've been dishing out collections like this 'un for quite a long time, and anybody who's cruised the import section of his local record shop throughout the seventies could tell you just how much these usually budget-priced (over there) platters were cluttering up the same bins that were also housing Electric Light Orchestra albums on the Harvest label or Alex Harvey platters which for some reason had strikingly different covers than their Amerigan counterparts. INSANE TIMES reminds me of those compilations right down to the Swinging Londonesque artwork and song selection which contains everything from juicy album tracks to rare sides by faded favorites. Mixing the familiar with the obscure, a good hunk of this appeared on earlier EMI collections not to mention a wide variety of "greatest hits" tossouts. Much of it just might be the object of desire that you've been looking for for ages and given their rare nature I'm sure more'n a few of you could benefit from owning your own copy.

Gotta say that the entire effect is uneven, though just when you're about to rip the disque outta the player something of worth such as the Bonzo Dog Bands "Equestrian Statue" or future Gentle Giant Simon Dupree's "Castle in the Sky" pops up making you glad you stuck it out this long. If you still cherish that English psychedelic roundup issue of GORILLA BEAT with Arthur Brown on the cover this might make for a good soundtrack for an introverted late-night reading session.

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THE DYNAMIC GUITAR SOUNDS OF THE CLEE-SHAYS CD-R (Sundazed)


Can't say that I've been keeping up with these various Sundazed reissues, but then again it ain't like I'm one of those white-collar snobbish upped nose types who can afford all of these wonderful sixties-bred knotty pine teenage favorites while hating the audience for which these records were made. But this 'un does fit in rather snatly at that...masterminded by Richard Delvy, the Clee-Shays come off like the Mar-Ketts without the strings and horns yet with the same mid-sixties sense of adolescent slot cars 'n glue  feeling that was implanted into just about every kiddo worth his weight in Marvel Comics. With wild variations on familiar moom pitcher and tee-vee themes as well as a few in-tune originals and one interesting surprise (such as "Manha De Carnaval"...was Delvy dipping into the Sandy Bull discography for inspiration?) these boss numbers really do have that whole pre-hippoid teenage beat number down pat! Add a lil'l metallic thrust to this affair 'n maybe we woulda gotten around to MX-80 Sound a good five years earlier!

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JAMME CD-R (Now Sounds)

These late-sixties pop-schock tossouts tend to work their sloppy wonders at times, and whenever I come across some old flower power teenybopper platter in my collection I tend to spin it if only to give myself a refresher course as to the finer aspects of late-sixties pop craftsmanship. I will say that a steady diet of Harpers Bizarre or the Yellow Balloon can become quite diabetes-inducing for my delicate system, but I certainly ain't one of those progressive rock snobs who tends to think that the entire genre was just one embarrassing chapter in the "hip" history of rock. That's undoubtedly why I like them old bubblegum singles, and making an admission along those lines used to really get the classic rock snobs I knew in the seventies/eighties madder'n Tawana Brawley being lectured about cleaning up after her dog! Which is why I made statements like that, of course!!!

I must admit that I never knew about this El Lay pop group called Jamme until Bill sent me this burn of a recent reissue of what the internet calls a downright rarity. I guess these guys were being produced by none other'n John Phillips of Mamas and... fame, and one of the guys just happened to get a li'l too friendly with Michelle which was wont a whole lotta guys at the time. Well, one thing led to another and... I think you get the drift as to why JAMME staggered into the shops and outta the picture like shazam, but at least this slab of late-sixties teenpop survives to give us an idea of what coulda happened had things gone smoother between producer and group. Don't think any real hits woulda come outta it, but at least this woulda made a wonderful 1971 cut out classic!

Take some Beatlepop and insert a little late-sixties post-surf era Beach Boys and a tad of the Cleveland moptop musings that had critics calling the area "The New Liverpool" before Pere Ubu turned it into the "New Dresden" and I think you get the idea of what this sounds like. Nothing here that really reached out and grabbed ya like the Choir or Left Banke did, but ya gotta admit this sure was a nice attempt at it that sure stands proud next to some of the turds that were being pooped out in the late-sixties!

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Heather Leigh-EMPIRE CD-R (Kendra Steiner Editions, available from link on left)

Today's final trip ain't an old classic, but a new release courtesy of the fine folk (namely, Bill Shute) at Kendra Steiner Editions. This one's quite different from the spell of releases the label excels in...the lone track kinda starts off like "Cambridge 1969" with a careening slide guitar sound giving off a whole lotta feedback only the femme vocals are soft and almost operatic, content to stay in the background. Then it becomes extremely quiet and dream-like with the vocals down to a quiet coo, all in the span of around a half hour. Kinda reminds me of the music these uppity wonks always say that their six-year-old brother could play, to which I always retort "then why doesn't he? It'd sure sound better'n that goody-two-shoes  Bon Jovi crap you really excel in!" And I wonder why I have no friends!

For all of you Henry Rollins haters, here's a high-larious one for youse to peruse!

BOOK REVIEW! NANCY IS HAPPY BY ERNIE BUSHMILLER (Fantagraphics, 2012)

Where have you gone Ernie Bushmiller, a nation turns its lonely eyes to you.

All kidding aside, you sure as shootin' can bet Nancy is happy, and so am I that the crucial years of this strip (or at least the dailies) are FINALLY being reprinted, and in chronological order to boot, by the fine folk at Fantagraphics. Thankfully my evening hours and Sundays no longer have to be filled with the constant re-perusing of old NANCY collections, for this book's the first of hopefully many volumes in which one of my all time favorite comic strips is being given the royal carpet treatment after years of not only utter neglect but downright abuse at the hands of a lotta snobs who think they're so hot for liking CALVIN AND HOBBES! And not only that, but NANCY continues to deliver on the fun puns 'n great art for us real-life comic strip fans while all of that extraneous junk that's been hitting the comic pages o'er the past few decades does little but mirror the rest of the contents of yer modern day newspaper industry that deserves to die a quick and inglorious death!

Yeah, I know that I've received more'n my fair share of flack for admitting to loving this totally "uncool" (yawn!) strip, but as I've said many a time I am more'n willing to be ridiculed for something I deeply believe in than something I most certainly don't. And if there's anything that I will stand up for here in these beyond-jaded and loathing teens it is NANCY. I'm not the only one either...in fact I still come across many an older folk who will admit that they remember reading NANCY with the same pride that they had working on the WPA, and as for the younger generation (in this case people who are in now in their mid-to-late-forties!) I can still vividly recall how my two cousins would always hit the funny pages of THE YOUNGSTOWN VINDICATOR to read NANCY before they'd look at anything else! They also freely admitted that they really enjoyed it with its simple art and surprising gags that, as Bill Griffith once said, caught you off guard like no other comic strip could either before or since the Golden Age of NANCY got wooshed away by killer time.

But most of all these kiddoes went for the strip mainly because NANCY reflected that growing up inna sixties/seventies/even eighties nice 'n relaxing feeling that brings back alla them cool memories that any true blue would remember with joy! For them, NANCY gave 'em the same sense of suburban security and relevance to their everyday living the same way that OZZIE AND HARRIET, LEAVE IT TO BEAVER and GILLIGAN'S ISLAND reruns made 'em feel all nice and gooey inside. Reading NANCY, like watching the aforementioned television programs and eating Hostess Twinkies, was the funny paper equivalent of going over to their aunt 'n uncle's for a backyard barbeque or hitting the toy department to buy a cheap Matchbox car to play with. At least that's something that hits the ranch house home in a real meaningful way that I'm sure still resonates with the two of 'em!

I should know, because NANCY has the same effect on me, being part of some of my earliest memories back when I'd sit on my dad's lap on the living room couch 'n he'd read me the funnies even if I could barely understand what was goin' on in 'em. But for a toddler just discovering things like comic pages NANCY was something that I sure could relate to even with my underdeveloped brain running on half-strength.  And throughout my childhood the daily reading of NANCY was just as much a part of my routine as watching television or fighting with my sister...speaking of my sister I can still clearly recall the day when I heard her laughing uproariously over a strip where the friz-haired one was bawling her brains out because her mashed potato dam holding the gravy burst! Since we were having meat loaf with mashed potatoes and gravy that very night Jillery and I made it a point to wreck our own mashed potato dams in hilarious homage to that particular day's strip. Who sez comic strips aren't an interactional and stimularing influence on youth?

But as for these particulars...as you'd've surmised by now they're great. Beginning this series with the 1943 strips was an intelligent choice considering how the mid-forties were the years when NANCY more/less became the kinda comic that fans recognize it as, with the artwork becoming simpler (and to the point) and the gags evolving into that one-beat joke that really was brainier'n most wags gave Ernie Bushmiller credit for. These more or less "transitional" comics are not only fun, but give you a before-your-eyes example of comic strip evolution as you can see with some of the elements we've grown up reading just starting to bud, reaching fruition within a few years when NANCY eventually settled into the groove that most of us post-WW II/pre-hippie kids grew up with. It's also interesting glomming various characters who either were one-shots (like Sluggo's lookalike yet full grown sailor uncle Spike) or soon-to-be-axed familiars like the Sputters, the couple next door who used to let Nancy stay with 'em while Aunt Fritzi was away. Not only that but interesting early takes on longtime NANCY standbys such as Marmaduke for Rollo the Rich Kid and Janie for Irma, Nancy's rival can be espied with ease. Yeah, I know nothing as esoteric as this will make it to trivia night at your favorite local bar, but just settling back with this book is not only a fun way to pass the time, but comic history mutating right before your very orbs!

This is the very same strip mentioned in the accompanying
paragraph that really excited me at age ten to the point where
I wanted to lop the thing outta the WW II-vintage paper
it appeared in. Sorry that the repro is slightly cockeyed
and the left end curved a bit, but you wouldn't want me
to break the binding on my book now,  would you?

And this one does bring back memories for me, not only of my once-ritualistic daily living room floor plop where I would sprawl out like a bear skin rug to read the funnies, but of my prowling through the newspapers that an uncle kept when he came back from World War II. Papers which I read not for their historical information but for the comic strips which would be the only thing in 'em to interest a ten-year-old blob like myself. Well, anyway among the stash of papers that my uncle saved over the years there was this April 30, 1945 edition of one of the now defunct Pittsburgh dailies and lo and behold, they carried NANCY which pleased me to no end! Even at age ten I was a studious stickler for eyeballing various comic artwork evolutionary developments and such, so osmosing this particular entry which looked pretty much the same as the then-current strip yet just unique enough in execution and artwork was such an eye-opening epiphany that I wanted to clip the comic out and keep it with the load of soon-to-be-thrown-out NANCYs cluttering up the basement in the hopes of collecting them in a gigantic scrapbook. Unfortunately I was not allowed to do such a thing, though as luck would have it I eventually inherited all of those papers anyway and can sneak about'n take a look at 'em whenever I feel like it!

But hey, the thought that this book even exists does wonders for me. Can't really complain other'n about some of the anti-Japanese sentiment strips that were par for the course (frankly I've become very pro-Japan after reading more and more about the subject to the point where if I were around back then I certainly woulda taken a traitorous turn if only to stick it to the progressive types whose racist attitudes made the conservatives look mild in comparison!).  But that's just me...otherwise I can't say that there was anything particular to bellow against here other'n the lack of Sunday pages and maybe something a li'l more'n Dan Clowes' opening remarks which were good, but after years of similar praise what more really can be said?

I can only hope this series continues on until the rather bitter end. In fact, I even pray they reprint those primitive enough early-eighties strips that showed Bushmiller in the final throes of an ever-decaying approach which one commentator stated showed a real loss of viscosity on the part of a man whose style seemed to be ridiculed even when he was up and goin'. After all, there are plenty of strips both seen and unseen I would love to enjoy either as a memory-stimulator or fresh in my mind no matter how much they did look like the efforts of an elderly man who was suffering from Parkinson's. There are also plenty of obscurities I'd like to investigate like the series of December 1962 comics featuring a strange Nancy lookalike with a bulbous nose that seem to be about as obscure as the various Charlotte Braun appearances in the mid-fifties PEANUTS which also had been forgotten for years. Whatever, a project like this is but one that really brings out that never-suppressed slobbo suburban kid feeling in me, and with more books to look forward to all I can say is...what the hell do we need Gary Trudeau for anyway?

Yes, I am burnt out. In fact, I feel more frazzled'n an afro subjugated to a short circuit, and although everything that I have written below reflects my current state of nervous agitation I'm still gonna present it to you as inspired and perhaps even thought-provoking critique. After all, you goons'll eat up anything I put to pixel these days, and if THE VILLAGE VOICE could get away with some of the quap they've been presenting as rock criticism back in the eighties (haven't read a word of it since...really!) they you KNOW even me at my worst tops the whole buncha "them" at their most pretentious twaddle try to tie something that outta-the-way alternative group wrote with the current repressive sodomy laws way best! Enough of that...on with the program.

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Shrapnel-LIVE CBGB's 5/1/82 CD-R burn

Given that I've been starved not only for some previously-unheard punk rock (of a more seventies pre-spikehaired Amerigan bent) but never spun anything by this long-gone group featuring future Manitoba's Wild Kingdom and Monster Magnet members it was like hey...why not snatch it up? Sure glad I did, because not only were these guys performing punk as an early-seventies neo-metallic endeavor with a healthy mid-Amerigan attitude a good ten years after the fact (think the Sidewinders morphing into the Dictators with just the right touch of speedmetal slowed down a few paces custom-made for the favorite cut out bin of your choice), but the music was so straightforward and energetic to the point where your mind keeps thinking that sounds like this were not allowed to have existed this late in the game what with all of that New Romantic and hardcore and electrowhatsis replacing that "old" seventies-styled straightforward sounds that seemed so out of touch with the current trendy movements in full gear. I'm sure there were plenty of groups also playing CBGB at this time who were affected little if any by the previous decade of underground upheaval, and if this was so then I wouldn't mind hearing each and every one of 'em and as soon as possible because rilly, after a good three decades of some of the worst abominations being passed off as new and innovative this old drive continues to keep me pumping on all gears!

Shrapnel cook even better'n you would've expected from anything even remotely associated with the original surge of En Why See underground rock (given how it was all over no later'n '79), starting off with an appropriately jacked up take of the theme from UNDERDOG all the way through a rather romping twentysome-minute set that certainly left me breathless. Dunno the song titles, but whatever it is they're doing Shrapnel sure did it swell with parts echoing then-current Motorhead riffage with various punk points tossed in coupled with an approach that reminds me of just what Jeff Dahl was up to back in the eighties/nineties only without the El Lay smarm that eventually sunk into his overall sound. Given their choice of influences both musical and not (Lester Bangs himself brought up the entire JETSONS/COMBAT aura of early/mid-sixties television greatness embedded in the Shrapnel psyche) these guys coulda been the ultimate UHF/suburban ranch house group that shoulda been playin' down the street, only by the time Shrapnel was on the ascent everything was so watered down to the point where most jerks thought that drek like Styx and Journey were the ultimate in high energy thrills! Wrong place, wrong time, but the RIGHT style, sound and tackle!

And one of the best things about 'em is that Robert Christgau thought they were a bunch of fascists because they used to prowl the stage in army gear and sing songs with titles like "Hey Little Gook"! Personally, I couldn't think of a higher recommendation for picking up a recording such as this, could you?????

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The Kiosk-I SHALL BE RERELEASED CD

Another one of those mighty surprises that kinda sneak up behind you and goes WHOMP! when you least expect it. David Keay may not be a household name even in my household, but this verifiable BLOG TO COMM reader has, along with the assistance of Laura Feathers, come up w/one of the best self-created/produced/delivered home made offerings I've had the pleasure of hearing since the Golden Age of Home Recordings back when cassette tapes were flyin' off the shelves at Zayres nationwide. This duo definitely remembers exactly why a sizable number of those home recordings were so powerful to begin with...with only the barest essentials (acoustic and cheap electric guitar and percussion) Keay and Feathers have created a release that brings back the best memories of the sixties and seventies, recording it with an eighties DIY ideal before pressing the whole thing to aluminum like was wont in the nineties thus making for a modern-day release that's just brimming with everything you've loved about the idea of bedroom bands but were too inhibited to admit to anybody you knew!

With a deep down inside flicker that reminds me of a primitive Shangs, the Kiosk take those boss references to past accomplishment and recreate their more powerful moments with the aid of their strictly beginners gear. Song titles do give hint as to the content..."Ralf and Florian," "Roky and Stacey," "Jan and Dean" and "Billy J. Kramer" give you at least a little hint of what's gonna be in store on these rather consuming numbuhs. And what you will eventually lend ear to might just surprise you, especially if you've never experienced the "motorik" sounds of Kraftwerk or La Dusseldorf created with clanky acoustic guitars, cheap chord organ, tambourine and bongos! Not to mention a rather keen strip down of what made the 13th Floor Elevators so inspirational in the first place with their basic chordage reduced to a sound that reminds me of those early Messiah/Magic Tramps track back when Eric Emerson wasn't singing with 'em! And I gotta admit that I thought the tribute to "Mr. Chomsky" with the extreme psycho-guitar interplay was one of the more boffo things I've heard from this decade even though I would have preferred Keay was singing about somebody closer to a Karl Hess or Murray Rothbard for my own personal tastes.

Hokay, I thought maybe some numbers toddled about a spell, but overall the Kiosk are a pretty nice example of that whole DIY "ethos" which didn't quite churn out the kinda quality music that Peter Laughner sure hoped it would but overall did a pretty good amateurish job of it! Only problem is I don't know where you can get a copy (no address on the case and I threw the envelope away) so David, if you read this can you fill the readers in???

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Various Artists-TRASH! THE ROOTS OF PUNK CD (free giveaway courtesy of MOJO magazine o'er there in England)


I gotta admit that I really love all of these nuevo-NUGGETS "history of punk" collections that have been cluttering up the ebay auctions these past ten or so years if only for their mere being, and this 2006 release courtesy MOJO ain't no different. True it coulda used the ol' Kris Needs' hefty DIRTY WATER liner notes treatment plus the array of tracks is nothing that's out of the ordinary, but along with the aforementioned Needs offerings, IT CAME FROM THE GARAGE, CBGB AND THE ROOTS OF PUNK ROCK and various other history lessons this works as a tossout that was fortunately programmed snatly enough for my tastes. Artists include (but are not limited to) the Stooges, New York Dolls (and their English doppelganger the Berlin Brats), Dr. Feelgood, Kilburn and the High Roads, Mott the Hoople, Can, Hawkwind, Be Bop Deluxe (???) and even the Jook, who I once said were kinda dullsville but maybe time can soften this ol' turd up more'n a bottle of Kaopectate ever could!

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Sachiko-ANKO CD (Utech)

Ain't been paying much attention to the new Japanese underground as of late, and not only because my terminal lack of moolah has limited me from doing so. Must admit that many of the newer practitioners of the form, even if such practitioners had been in one of the many lineups of Les Rallizes Denudes, just haven't been dishing out the bared-wire intensity thrills that I'm always looking for in this music. Frankly, I've been burned by way too many of these platters that have been promising early-Velvets thrills and hefty warm drones to help me through the coldest winters and loneliest summers, and ya gotta admit that almost all of these recordings sound more like half-baked theorizing rather than the hard-edged fire music that had been coming out of the rock underground throughout the seventies. Hey, if I wanted to hear milksoppish pale-dry appreciations of already overworked ideas copped from the Velvets, there are plenty of cheaper domestic examples for me to choose from!

Former Overhang Party member Sachiko more or less fits into this unfortunate pattern, and although her most recent is one that I will admit has its good points I doubt that I'll be giving this another spin as long as you live. On overdubbed viola, recorder, percussion and voice Sachiko creates a massive La Monte Young-inspired wall of angst that varies only a few notes. Meanwhile the lass had added some clanky percussion and her own Yoko-ish gurgles and cacks which remind me of the time the neighbor's cat decided to, at three in the morning no less, serenade me from the bottom of my bedroom window during a particularly hot and muggy August night. Engaging perhaps, avant garde definitely, but nothing that really reaches into the core of my inner being and all of that intellectual garble that teachers used to push on you with a vengeance. Not that I have anything against Sachiko, but like a good portion of the new experimentalism that's being created I felt a major component has been lost somewhere between the spark of idea and completion of same.

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WELL, WADDAYA KNOW, no sooner had I reviewed the Paul McGarry burns received last week that yet another package from my biggest fan should wing its way to my door! And, as the old saying goes, will wonders (n)ever cease??? Even though it ain't as big as the previous parcel thus ain't as good (as Johnny Wadd used to say, size does count), Paul did send a nicey-nice enough selection of platters this time that I will admit did brighten up my pre-beddy bye time a whole lot more'n watching Rachel Maddow pretend she could talk to anybody with more than a third grade education. However, of the four that were jetted off this go 'round I am only gonna review three if only because Paul wasn't astute enough to remember that I have already reviewed one of the burns, the Stepson elpee, which as you all remember didn't exactly get the five-star treatment 'round here! Shame on yew!!! Well, that's one on him, but for the rest of us here's the stuff that did make it through customs.


The Styrenes-IT'S STILL ARTASTIC (ROIR)

Next to Mirrors' primal thrust the Styrene Money Band might as well've been Steely Dan, but that doesn't mean they didn't spend their Clevo years 'n beyond making some of the better ('n even Pere Ubu!) music to come out of the area (Pagans included!) at least until it all came down 'round 1980. Most of the early single/EP sides are here (though for some reason the original "Radial Arm Saws" and "I Saw You" continue to be MIA) as are the 1981 album trax along with a variety of new and old rarites that tingle the nerve endings to varying degrees. Personally I could have used a whole lot more of the all-out rocking material and less of the ballad-y saxophone-laden numbers, but this does serve to remind me about a whole lotta things that Cleveland in the late-seventies stood for which unfortunately was repressed and scorned by a whole load of people who I'll bet nowadays just love to say they were in on the entire schpiel from the beginning and how great it was blab blab slobber slobber, and you know who I'm talking about don't you Anastasia!

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Johnny Dowd-WIRE FLOWERS (Munich)

Ya gotta be kiddin' me, right Paul? Hokay, I will be the first (or at least third) to admit that I never did cozy up to the new alt. country sounds, and this 'un by longtime cult fig Dowd really does fit into that entire genre complete with the heavy twang vocals and def  backwoods approach. So if you like that relatively new "alternative" to the slick drek that passes for c 'n w these days then you'll probably snuggle up to this more than I did. As for me, the only consolation I could get from it was that, considering Dowd is a tried and true Southerner albeit now living in Ithica New York, odds are that he is not making fun of the downhome cornpone types in typical Upper Crust patronizing urban terms which gets my goat just as much as these same El Lay/New England types laughing their heads off over ethnic blue collar workers for keeping their pants up 'stead of sprayin' it all over. Of course if Dowd is poking fun at his own that would make him one of the biggest traitors to the Southern cause since Mary Kay Place, and we all know what happened to her (mainly, her career fizzled out faster'n you can say Debralee Scott!).

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The Fred Bison Five-BEAT ROOTS (Woznorov)


Basically the old Bevis Frond group doin' some off the cuff sixties rock as a free magazine giveaway. Too bad somebody didn't convince the Rolling Stones to do the same thing with JAMMING WITH EDWARD 'stead of charging $1.97 for those off-time blooze run throughs. Gotta admit that it wasn't too bad a spin for the "throwaway" that it was, but if I didn't tell you that I couldn't wait until some of the psychedelic swirling would just stop (esp. when it seemed to be more self-indulgent than satisfying) I'd most certainly be lying to you. And you wouldn't want me to do that now, would you???

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AND HERE'S ONE LAST ITEM FROM BILL SHUTE, WHO SENT ME YET ANOTHER CARE PACKAGE EVEN THOUGH I WASN'T FINISHED WITH THE ONE HE SENT ME A FEW WEEKS BACK!!!

The Yardbirds-CUMULAR LIMIT Cee-Dee-Are

It's kinda funny how the Yardbirds, who during their final months were a quite potent quartet that could have equaled the underground roar of the Deviants or Pink Fairies, hadda evolve into the "New" Yardbirds and ultimately Led Zeppelin who are best known for being the soundtrack to a whole load of bad seventies jive that sucks about as much as the stoner generation that took their music at face value. Oh yeah, even I will admit that ol' Zep were purty good on occasion even to the point of metallic breakthrough, but that's only when I'm trying to listen to 'em analytically and objectively, thus leaving a whole load of my personal trash aesthetics outta the mix. At that point I can find many relevant and pertinent things to say about the group, but when I just wanna listen to something that tears at my soul and rips through my inner being it ain't gonna be Zep or any of those seventies bigtime washouts that does it. Leave that to the Stooges and Velvets and Five and all of those acts that didn't fit in with the entire seventies game plan yet cut a swath that most Pantsiosites out there still pretend never did exist (or if it did it was but a mere aberration the less spoken about the better).

Yeah, the Yardbirds just might have reached the same heights as the Stooges and Pink Fairies (who were to have shared the stage at the Roundhouse in '71 with a reformed Yardbirds that never did materialize) but on these '67/'68 recordings they sure come close. Taken from various sources live, studio and television, CUMULAR LIMIT presents the group during their transition from mid-sixties English bloozemeisters to an underground proto-metallic force that undoubtedly had the energy and power that most of you reg'lar readers crave. If you're game for the LITTLE GAMES album and were one of the many who snatched up the Anderson Theater album when it went cutout in '76 you'll really appreciate this 'un. As for me, it sure is making me think twice about seriously considering buying the new BBC sessions box set now that my Della Quercia BROKEN WINGS bootleg is kinda valuable these days...

BOOK REVIEW! THE HISTORY OF THE NME by Pat Long (Portico Books, 2012)


OK, I am positive that by now each 'n every one of you know the entire story by heart. In fact, if you know the schpiel to the point where you can recite it in your sleep you're BOUND to win an extra no-prize. New English weekly music paper gets up and runnin' in the early-fifties. Said paper successfully (more or less) covers the trends and fashions of the day before falling by the wayside thanks to their tired old writers not being able to keep up with the zeitgeist. Fresh blood injected during the early-seventies helps the paper's popularity to fly through the roof while ruining more'n a few lives in the process. Despite the burnouts and fatalities the publication reaches its creative peak before evolving into an organ for the Labour Party's failed campaigns of the eighties, eventually settling into just kinda "being there" for whatever new idea might be happening these days, not that I've noticed...

'n yeah, you can say the same thing about every other fifties brainstorm (with more'n a few variations here and there) from MAD to PLAYBOY I reckon, or even a late-sixties up 'n comer like CREEM whose best years coincided with THE NEW MUSICAL EXPRESS's yet flamed out much earlier after the departure of key ingredient Lester Bangs and the mag's growing penchant for covering the mainstream when it should have been boosting the underground. But like those other periodicals NME was a product of its time and perhaps was at its best when the music was at its as well. After all, it's sure grand reading one of the paper's young upstarts like Nick Kent or Charles Shaar Murray goin' at it regarding some glam superstar or punk flash in 1972 'stead of dribbling all over Adam and the Ants, just like it was fun when MAD was taking on old movies and comic strips in 1956 or PLAYBOY was mixing in articles on hotcha sleek sportscars, intellectual interviews and Jean Shepard along with the juggins. And, as we've known for about the past twenty years but were too frightened to admit, the post-World War II period of gulcheral creativity is long over, perhaps wiped out by the same kids who feasted on it for the previous twenty years yet thought they could do a much better job (obviously they didn't).

Pat Long's tome on the paper is pretty much on schedule, on target and on cue in its development throughout the years and (best of all) doesn't mince any meat with regards to the gritty underbelly of it all. The ultimate conclusion being that the NME was a driving force in English rock screeding coverage at a time when the world really needed the likes of Murray, Kent and of course Mick Farren writing about the new decadence, and long after all of them had left the paper it continued on in various capacities which might not have suited the fans of the old standbys but I guess still translated into mucho notoriety given just how many laurels there were for the up-and-comers to rest on.

Obviously I prefer the seventies portion of the program* where those aforementioned writers and of course Ian MacDonald were brought in to help compete against main rival MELODY MAKER with a more snot punk approach to counteract MM's rather arse-licking pop/progressive reason for being. As you probably would have guessed considering how each and every one of you seem to know my inner being, soul and true motives behind my outward actions more than I do, I really enjoyed this part of the book because it details the introduction of underground, gonzo journalism to the paper which really made it stand out as a seventies punk gryphon, and since for the most part I was part of said audience let's just say that it all hit home rather hard even though I was getting my NME third hand, and on very scant occasion at that! Being one of those suburban creeps who lives vicariously through all of those sixties/seventies decadent auteurs even this late in the game, it's such a joy not only to read about the ever-budding appearance of various punkisms that the likes of Murray and Kent were so anxious to disseminate to a wider audience, but each act of senseless violence and abject drug-addled misbehavior almost makes it seems like it's your gore that's getting splattered all over the walls at the 100 Club!

And not only that, but reading about the behind-the-scenes goings on mentioned in loving detail also add an oft-unprobed dimension to the overall saga, giving you a good background as to where these writers were "coming from" to the point where I'm sure that even the most scabrous of BLOG TO COMM  followers will feel "normal" after reading about the rather debauched lifestyles of the various NME contributors we've vicariously worshiped from afar. Whether it be Kent's eventually debilitating drug addiction or the time Tony Parsons (from the comedy team of Tony Parsons and Julie Burchill) beat up Farren in the NME offices after finding out about the former Deviants singer initiating the offal-smelling Burchill into the ins and outs of bondage and discipline (a hotcha punk subject over in England considering how they like to get their asses whipped...reminds 'em of school 'r somethin'), these intimate details are sure INVIGORATING even if you've already read about these goings on's ages back. Your favorite anecdotes may differ, but then again I've always been partial to that particular era of rock writer as rock performer as everyday bloke which is why I've (hate to say it but) long "idolized" everybody from Eddie Flowers to Lenny Kaye to the stars of the NME who seemed to not only make it look all too easy, but so natural as if any jerk could do it! At least they as musicians, scribes or even as general messups seemed so ABOVE everything you've hated about rock as a hippie credo as these writers spewed their definitely non-schlub opines while gettin' to look cool gettin' snapped at parties and whatnot unlike you in your suburban ranch bedroom lookin' at yerself inna mirror while air guitarring to Stooges platters!

This book compliments Nick Kent's own extremely informative autobio hand-in-glove, (one interesting fact recounted here which was left out of  Kent's particular creation was that it was none other'n Can's keyboardist Irmin Schmidt who introduced him to the dread heroin!) even if the guy comes off looking more like a prick if only because Long is writing from a particularly non-sympathetic, jaded third person eye-view. Not only that but there are a few interesting snaps (though far from enough) which you might like such as the one with Kent and then-galpal Chrissie Hynde taken when the couple were not ripping each other's entrails out! The snap with Charles Shaar Murray goin' at it with John Lydon was engaging enough, but that's only because I thought that the former looked retro-hip enough in that 'fro of his which he at least was smart enough not to trim all the way off even when such hairstyles seemed so "uncool." And whether you're a longtime NME reader or casual peruser you'll love the way this brings back memories of rock scribing at its height before that great fall into whoredom blah blah you know the score by now so what's like keeping you???

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*Not that the fifties/sixties were exactly dry years for the paper or to read about for that matter. I for one thought that the sagas behind the various NME awards were funnier'n the six o'clock news, what with Ray Davies storming off the stage when the Kinks didn't win the "Best New Group of 1964" award and John Lennon chewing out NME publisher Maurice Kinn backstage right before Kinn and (get this!) CHEYENNE star Clint Walker presented the Beatles with some prestigious trophies! However, the post Farren/Kent/Murray portion of the book was a comparative snoozer for obvious reasons of course but really,  I've read enough about Morrissey a good thirty years back to want to absorb any more about him into my already crowded cranium this late in the game, and I believe you can understand why!