Great news comm-rats! I don't have to dig into my box of musty old paperbacks to come up with some midweek fodder this time, because thank goodness I finally got the latest issue of UGLY THINGS (see link on left, dizbuster!) and like, I'm in Heaven or Greenville whichever comes first!

Really, I don't have to spend my evenings staring at old ARCHIE comics featuring Betty and Veronica's ample bikini-clad bods for hours on end at least for a few good months because now I can educate, or resensify, or just plain enjoy myself reading about one of my favorite subjects (rock et roll) and dive deep into a realm of music I thought had been milked beyond recognition a good three or so decades back. Thank God or Prevost or something similar that there still is enough material out there to fill a thousand or so UGLY THINGS, and although things are takin' their good ol' time getting out to us peons at least it's there waiting to be discovered which is always a fun thing to do! So if you used to play in some Northwest group that mimicked the Sonics back in 1965 or puked on John Sinclair at the Grande or played a gig at CBGB in 1976 and got booed off the stage please...get in touch with someone NOW and get the story out before it's lost to all posterior!

Mike Stax's celebrating the thirtieth anniversary of UT with this issue, and as you'd expect he devoteed a few good pages to the mag ish by ish complete with his own personal comments and whatnots regarding the mag's evolution into what we know and love it as today. Funny enough, it sure does seem like thirty years ago when I first heard of UT via the then-most recent BOMP! catalog...I for some reason remember mowing the lawn during the summer of 1983 on a warm sunny day (this was during the time I was working a horrible midnight shift job that was sapping my energy and having me dream up strange thoughts of starting a fanzine myself...boy what sleep deprivation can do to a fellow!), thinking about plunking down the additional moolah going towards a BOMP! order for the second issue which had just been released and was eliciting rave reviews from all corners of six-oh fandom! Soon I did and was so impressed by not only the coverage of fave-rave sixties garage (or punk as we still called 'em) bands but the top-notch writing and Stax's personable attitude and being (no stuck up snob he!) that I sent Mike some cash for the debut one which I received post-haste, complete with a note from Mike saying that I managed to snatch up the last available copy which you know made me happier than Vanessa Del Rio at her proctologist's office!

Mike later on bragged about how a copy of the first ish I so luckily managed to latch onto fetched over $400 via ebay a few years back (not the exact copy I own, natch...that remains hidden in a box somewhere in my closet!) and although I get the feeling that the winning price was a result of a number of wealthy collectors entering outrageous bids trying to guarantee wins on their part and getting stuck with the high-priced result you could just see the pride Stax was beaming knowing that a creation of his was just about as moolah mounting as his favorite albums and other rock esoterica had remained for years on end!

The mag sure has changed over the years from a home-made staple inna bedroom affair to the glossy covers and phonebook-thick* dimensions, but it still packs more rock 'n roll and high energy into a single page than ROLLING STONE has been able to pack into one of its leather-bound volumes for ages. Space limitations won't permit me to give you a category by category intense rundown of who wrote what and how I feel about who writing what for that matter, but to make things go down smoothly here's what I liked---Neil Norman being interviewed on the Seeds as well as an upcoming Sky Saxon documentary that, although the subject matter sure sounds enticing, I'll be sure to miss out on (can't let my illusions be let down any more than they're bound to be!), Greg Prevost's interview with Stewkey from the Nazz where he elicits some choice comments about former "boss" Todd Rundgren, Cyril Jordan's continuing saga of San Francisco as it evolved from the Land o' Brummels to Slicksville, the Fifth Dimension club in late-sixties Detroit (sadly not mentioning anything at all about the Seventh Seal playing there!) and Prevost's New York Dolls collectibles corner for wont of a better descriptor.

Gotta say that the record, book and DVD review sections seemed rather skimpy in comparison with previous issues, but that's probably because there just ain't as much good hotcha reissue, archival or reading material coming out as there used to be back when things were really in gear fandom-wise. Frankly I sure wouldn't mind hearing some long-forgotten tapes made by some 1969 doofs who thought they were the Stooges, but I guess tasty gunch like that just ain't comin' out the way it should be. And what is coming out just doesn't seem to be the same kinda material that I for one would want to plunk down hard-begged moolah on...to be truthful about it all I only found like two singles reviewed by Mr. Stax that I wouldn't mind owning, and that's a pretty sad statement with regards to the under-the-counterkultur scene these days!

But still, in these cost-conscious times when maybe I shouldn't be spending so much $$$ on frivolities like music and stick to the basics (like food), not having a lotta hotcha items you "must have" might just be a good idea! But at least you can read about 'em in UGLY THINGS even if you don't particularly want to buy any of 'em, and dare I say it but this latest issue is the next best thing to being your teenage self thumbing through the record racks wishing you could own the entire shebang, only by the time you could afford to the record shops had long given way to "Cee-Dee Supermarkets"!

So here's to you Mike, and to UGLY THINGS as well. Hope the next thirty tears bring even more boffo issues and the uncovering of rock facts heretofore unknown or forgotten. But sheesh, once you sit down and grumble about it don't you think yer gonna look silly writing about this music thirty years on in the year 2043? I mean, by that time the vast majority of people will probably be nostalgic for "new country" and AVATAR and where's that gonna put blokes like us? In decrepit state run old fogies homes with Brompton Cocktail-filled drinking glasses, that's where!

***

Successful endeavors always bring out crafty imitations as any mid-sixties teenbo looking over racks of album covers with "FROM ENGLAND" and half-moon faces floating against a black backdrop could have told you. However, I don't know if you could consider FLASHBACK an imitation or emulation...there are many similarities between the two publications from their glossy covers to large dimensions as well as sharing a few contributors, but FLASHBACK is a different sorta mongoose than Mike Stax's congregation. It's more underground or perhaps even "progressive," though not symphonic or bombastic, and maybe more geared toward the psychedelic end of late-sixties music fandom than UGLY THINGS's punkitudinal push. Though like UT, FLASHBACK is a major effort of love 'n energy and if you go for one of these you'll probably go for the other just like I did.

It's got many of the same writers, same acts and same ads even, but FLASHBACK tends to take 1968 as its ground zero 'stead of UT's '66, and I kinda get the feeling that this mag's concentration on more bearded bunches would offend the pageboy proclivities that originally sprung to Mike Stax for teenage solace back in the dank dark days of 1984. Then again some of these boys used to get offended at the drop of a Beatle wig, but still I gotta admit that FLASHBACK might be a bit too joss stick for the UT target audience.

The rest of us will enjoy this third (I believe the most recent) issue even if there really ain't anything in here that pops the cranial cylinders the same way an old issue of BOMP! did. Highlights include an article on memoirs (all but one of which I haven't read!), the making of Syd Barrett;s THE MADCAP LAUGHS album, Tripsichord Music Box (interesting piece about a group that never did tripsichord my mind), a comparison between mono and stereo pressings of some of our fave (and even least fave) records and loads more. Of course I'm leaving a lot out...after all the likes of Mighty Baby never really did excite me and my punkitudinal concerns...but like UT this is one that'll have you starin' away during the dark evening hours transporting you to distant cosmic vistas that will swirl your mind to realms unknown. That is, if you take some tabs before reading. If not, it's still a swell read.

Like UT, you can pick up a copy of this via Forced Exposure if you so desire, or you can write to Flashbackmag@gmail.com and get the scoop from editor Richard Morton Jack directly!

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*hokay, I'm talking about the Champion Ohio telephone directory, but it is technically a phonebook!

Well, I gotta admit that things have livened up here since the last go 'round because (now get this!) I have just received my latest Forced Exposure order and boy am I glad! Yeah it had been getting a bit dullsville just listening to the same old over and over again*, so it's sure swell getting some new sounds my way even here in the jaded teens long after rock or jazz has had any truly impact on any of our o-minds and life-choice existences 'n all that rot. (To be truthful about it, me listening to John Coltrane and the Stooges here in the teens is akin to my uncle listening to some jazz band cranking out Bix Biederbecke on early morning PBS back inna eighties, but like that now long-gone dixieland fan I could care one whit what the neighbors, or even you think!)

I'll tell ya, getting this latest parcel is almost as exciting as it was back when I was in my twenties anxiously awaiting my next order from either Bomp! or Rough Trade, something which gave me a connection to the real life world of music, art and high energy that somehow evaded the tri-state area! However,I would be lying to you if I didn't admit that these FE orders really do take a pounding on the ol' wallet, making me long for the days when I could manage to scrape up a mail order (or trip to the local flea market) with mere pocket change and come away with some real moozikal treasures. But come to think of it, wasn't $2.99 a hefty price to pay for a self-produced single even then???, and remember how we really hadda talk some flea market hussy with a copy of the Five Americans' "Western Union" single down to a quarter from a whopping fifty cents? Maybe my memories of budget consciousness aren't as econimically stable as I thought they were!

Naturally I'm going to do my best to stretch this latest package out...no way am I gonna review the entire booty in one sitting and then moan and groan because of a lack of fresh wonders to blab about! Naw, I'm gonna take my time with this parcel, though between that and the above-mentioned peoples' burns I'm bound to have a good share of fresh material to write about for at least the next few weeks, if not months. Won't that be a relief to you...now you won't have to put up with yet another review of PARADIESWARTS DUUL I forgot I've aleady written up twenny times in my illustrious "career".

***

A DREAM I HAD THAT PERHAPS SHOULD HAVE BEEN LEFT IN THE SUBCONSCIOUS FOR ALL ETERNITY!: I ain't been having that many strange dreams of worth as of late that I'd particularly care to relate to you...most of 'em deal with everyday personal issues that have no meaning outside my close circle of enemies while others are so vague and rambling that they do resemble real life's miasma, but the one I had Tuesday night really topped 'em all as far as left-field bizzaroid knockouts go! In this dream I was, believe it or not, watching scenes from the infamous movie LAST TANGO IN PARIS only instead of Marlon Brando in the lead role it was Joey Bishop of all people playing the grumpy middle-aged curmudgeon who meets up with that ditzy French gal! The sole scene from the movie that I remember viewing was the one where Maria Schneider drove her fingernails into Bishop's hiney as he talked about her and a dying pig (although the exact dialogue was rather muddled), and thankfully I do not recall seeing any nudity or hearing foul language at all during my time in the arms of Morpheus. Then, as is usual in my dreams where logic gets warped worse'n that record I left on the heater, I discover that it wasn't Bishop in the lead role after all but Don Rickles (!!!!!!) which really woulda perked up the humor index in that flick, dontcha think??? I mean, can you imagine all the one-liners that moom woulda brought outta the famed insult comedian?!?!???!?!?

And now for something completely the same as the rest of these dog-tired posts I've been pumping at you the past eight-plus years...

Boris Sujdovic-DESPERATE GIRL LP (Bang! Records, Spain...FE may have some left)

I haven't been spinning much Australian music as of the past nine or so years, and with obvious reason. Therefore, I also haven't been paying attention to any of my old Scientists records or any spinoffs thereof that have been wallowing in the ol' collection since the late-eighties or so which is a surprise, since at one time the Scientists were like my favorite Flamin' Groovies superpop cum post-Velvets scronk band extant. Given all this hoo hah, you might be surprised to see this recent outing from former member Boris Sujdovic being reviewed in these er...pages, and I'm kinda surprised too because I haven't even spun those Kim Salmon albums I got ages ago (they're still inna shrink!) even though I have been tempted to during the few times they come across my path in my search for albums I haven't been spinning much as of late.

Well yeah, even though I wouldn't want to go to Australia these days unless I was packing heat I gotta say that I sure do have fond memories of what the combination continent/rectum of the earth once meant to us mid-eighties rock 'n roll maniacs. Even one with a short-term memory like I sure remember the life-reaffirming intensity and energy that the eighties Aussie scene blasted forth, only to be let down within a few years when that entire scene fizzled out into a mass of not-so-hot recordings and groups that seemed to be imitating, rather than emulating (or at least poorly emulating if not imitating, or something like that) the Detroit wild ride of the 1967-1973 seasons. And after me giving more'n my heart and soul to Australia only to be let down by some rather subpar sputum, boy did I feel dumber'n alla those guys who heard the Clash in 1977 and thought they were great only to be embarassed a good five years later when all of those dorks who badmouthed 'em just a few years before were all agog over "Rock The Casbah"!

Not quite bad...Boris plays and sings with a beat box that gives these recordings an air of Suicide-ish minimalism, and since he pretty much talk-sings like Alan Vega the whole thing works out better'n anyone would have suspected. The music is pretty driving too in that Velvets/Stooges under-the-counterculture sorta way which knew how to drive the drone, and thankfully the sound does not recall a myriad assortment of eighties "cassette culture" offerings that did nothing but reflect the artist's own vapidity and self-importance (as well as overwrought inhibitions) recorded in the sanctity of their fart-encrusted bedrooms.

What's really wild is that side one of this platter was recorded with Sujdovic playing his electric guitar and the flip with him playing solely a bass axe, and surprisingly enough I prefer the second side even thought I thought a lotta the bass worship of the eighties underground might have been way overrated. But hey, with the right overdubbing Sujdovic makes his basso profundo guitar sound like a standard one with a deep resonating sound to it, and somehow he was able to inject a nice WHITE LIGHT/WHITE HEAT feeling to the resultant spew. Sheesh is this a good one which I must say makes me feel like I'm twenty-five again...now if only someone could come up with a disc that can make me feel like an embryo! (other'n a James Taylor one, which makes me feel like an embryo encountering a rather sharp 'n painful d&c!).

***

Hawkwind-SPACE RITUAL SUNDOWN V. 2 two CD set (Abstract Sounds)

I mean like, what gives with the covers? I remember when the original SPACE RITUAL had just come out and those boobs of Stacia's were just like...starin' at me straight from the rack! Like I was what, thirteen years and thinking of the femme gender as something other'n a mass of gnarling nerve end blobs was something new to my own genital system...let's just say that the lurid day-glo cover with that lady in all of her curvitude was something that kinda "affected" me in many ways and perhaps planted the seed of my Hawkwind fandom a good five years before I actually got to hear any of their music!

But this new SPACE RITUAL, or to put it more succinctly SPACE RITUAL SUNDOWN V. 2...something is definitely quite amiss if you ask me. Now for one thing, that gal ain't Stacia and her tits just ain't as inviting as they were a good forty years back. She just doesn't have that interstellar pudendal overdrive which our stardancer so proudly exhibits on the original slabs, and although our new model sure looks better'n a nude of your wife would she just doesn't cut the mustard as far as deep space hotchas go. Even the belly button (which for me is about as important a component of the female torso as the bullseyes) is just too teeny-tiny to elicit any potent palpitations. I've presented both covers for your own personal comparisonsm the original on the top and the cheap imitation on the bottom:

Thank goodness that the music found within the aluminum reaches of the SPACE RITUAL SUNDOWN double set equal the mastery and majesty of the original SPACE RITUAL release. Of course I gotta say that it's pretty tough to put out a duff live Hawkwind set...I mean even those nth-level bootleg-quality releases at least had their share of redeeming rockism quality, but not only does this one sound pretty snat but it compliments the original. That is, if you were one who's spun SPACE RITUAL incessantly for the past four decades and want to hear more from that particular era in interstellar stasis, then this is the set to get and stash along with the wide array of seventies Hawkwind crank outs you obviously have cluttering up your collection.

Can't complain a bit whether it be the electronic screeches or even the "Sonic Attack" announcement (that tres upper-class English "do not panic" voice continues to affect me like a squeaking balloon or screeching chalk on a blackboard---like it's supposed to I gather), and the music is just as driving in that DOREMI-period fashion that sounded so pre-punk on one hand yet had all of my prog acquaintances hearing Yes and Emerson Lake and Palmer references on the other! The drone-on tracks like "I Do It" please me even more than they did a good three-some decades back and really, I couldn't think of spending a better evening listening to something like this unless I get hit with yet another one of my New York rock jags. An outta-nowhere surprise that should satiate the Ladbrook Grove in us all.

***

Tim Buckley-THE DREAM BELONGS TO ME CD (Manifesto)

It may seem heresey, but other'n LORCA and STARSAILOR I haven't been as familiar with the works of Tim Buckley as I "ought to" be, perhaps perceiving him to have been a male Joni Mitchell singer/songwriter shuck who maybe actually was a little bit too introspective enough to have been allowed to live. Well, I was kinda/SORTA right (after all, some of those mid/late-seventies Mitchell toonz do have more'n a few modern jazzbo moves and turns that seem lifted straight from the Buckley playbook and who's not to say vice/versa?), but in actuality Buckley was a completely different animal even if his songs did get into an inward-looking froth that usually wouldn't settle too well with someone as forward looking and on top of all gulcheral concerns like myself. At least it was a froth of a different chemical makeup than Joni's Canyon Girl gravestone-rubbing art class mewl, and even when he was treading similar waters it wasn't like Buckley was exactly roaming anywhere near the James Taylor/David Crosby sphere of sickening solace and commercially boffo inner "quick! pity ME!" turmoil.

THE DREAM BELONGS TO ME begins with some of that acoustic jazz-folk that Buckley became a cult figure with right around the time Elektra figured out what to do with him. On the first track "Song to the Siren" (yeah, the STARSAILOR number that Buckley not only sang on THE MONKEES but was covered by Pat Boone a few years later), Buckley's groove is rather laid back true, but still intense enough to separate this from all those whole wheat types who were cluttering up the teenage stratosphere in the post-Altamont back to the soil days. Can't complain one bit as Buckley and band sound jazzy enough (especially when the vibraphone comes into play) w/o having either a teenybopper attitude or one-dimensional protest kiddie aura to date the thing. Kinda makes me wish that I gobbled up all  those used Buckley platters I'd see going for 99 pennies back in the used bins of 1978, but considering how spend-thrifty I could get back then I'm lucky that I latched onto the albums and singles that I did!

I'd be lying to you if I didn't mention that I approached the '73 SEFRONIA session tracks with some trepidation...after all, just about everybody I've read, including the Lee Underwood article in DOWN BEAT that first got me interested in Buckley way back in '77, has dismissed this final period in his career as being commercially retch-inducing and forced upon him by the powers that be just so's he'd regain the listeners and maybe get a hit album outta the deal. Nothing sadder'n seeing a talent forced into playing music he just didn't have his heart into being trotted out on stage while he career slipped right before his eyes, but despite the bad reputation that get thrust upon Buckley's later spins I gotta say that I didn't find these tracks offensive one iota. In fact I thought they were way better singer/songwriter taffy'n the dross that was making the SoCal Laurel Canyon cocaine freaks types big bucks, and in fact I would rank Buckley's performance at this point almost up there with Elliot Murphy's suburban post-sixties decadent Dylan stylings, and eons ahead of Bruce Springsteen's, whose own singer/songwriterdom seemed to take more'n a few pages from Buckley's albeit with a blowhardiness that was custom made for the seething anti-rock 'n roll dolts who were to permeate the late-seventies onwards.

Sure the backing band's no help and the material might have benefited from some fine tuning or at least a few tweaks, but Buckley makes the standard commercial feh sound downright bare-wired with his flash singing and ability to take the negative aspects and manage to turn out something that was, glad to say, rather engrossing. Even when the esoteric might get in the way a tad (like on the title track) Buckley does a durn good job making you forget he's singing about cross eyed flamingos as he churns on and on with rather potent perfection that belies the fact that he was drugging himself into oblivion as his career was spiraling down way beyond hope of recovery.

A surprisingly good find that I gotta say I never thought I'd purchase let alone listen to especially back in the late-eighties when interest in Buckley's career was being revived by the same fanzine types I could care less about. An interesting change of pace from the usual hard-edge especially if you want to get rid of those split ends on your nerves, and somehow I get the feeling that you want to do that more than you're willing to admit.

***

The Index-BLACK ALBUM RED ALBUM YESTERDAY AND TODAY 2-CD set (Lion Productions LLC)

Yes, it's the classic album by these Grosse Point teenagers finally digitized, and not only that but a load of previously unreleased material has been packed in to double-disc the thing! It also comes with a booket that details the group's short but tangy history so if you're in the mood to read something hotcha while listening to these platters it ain't like you have to dig into your personal library to find that copy of FANNY HILL you've had in hiding in case your mom popped in for a surprise visit!

As for me, the original album remains a nice example of late-sixties suburban upper-middle-class music (y'know, the kinda band the richer kids at your school woulda had since the poor kids were all into Motown and the Four Seasons). but I found the new stuff to be a mixed blessing, sometimes snat and sometimes passable. It's like you've heard better many times before, but this still does have that sorta late-sixties local feel that reminds me of scarfing up Matchbox cars more'n anything.

Maybe if those rich snobs in your neck of the school put out an album it woulda sounded like this, but if not you can console yourself with the Index and reminisce about those days when all you hadda worry about was your mom catching you listening to stuff like this 'stead of the classical music she was cramming down your throat!

***

Canterbury Music Festival-RAIN & SHINE CD-r burn (originally on BT Puppy)

Pretty nice late-sixties fag pop that you'll be sure to go for, if you go for stuff like that. Actually I must admit that I had my doubts considering some of the commercial goo that came out of the late-sixties fop pop scene, but remarkably enough I found that a good hefty portion of this platter contained potentially powerful music that, had it only gotten out to the general populace, woulda made for some refreshing radio listening at a time when the AM dial was starting to mutate into something a little less pleasant than what it had once been. Naturally the sitar-laden cover of "Son of a Preacherman" is about as out of place here as Brad Kohler at an anti-smoking league meeting, but the rest ain't that bad a slab of late-sixties pop that doesn't sound teenybop or cerebral, but (if you can believe it) straightforward. Might be worth a download (I'm sure you can find it somewhere on the web if Bill Shute could!).

***

Various Artists-WATCHING LINDA TWIST ON MY SHOULDER CD-r burn (compiled by Bill Shute)

Typical Shutemix here with some interesting late-sixties pop (the Kaleidoscope), some countrytonk (Cotton Henry's "Devil on my Shoulder") and even some Wes Montgomery that they probably hadda shame him into recording! Of course right when you're ready to reach for the syrup of swill Bill sticks some hotcha Who and John Mayall on to keep your senses bound together. The Isley Brothers also make an appearance doing the original "Shaking (Twisting) with Linda" amid a whole buncha acts both good and gooder who somehow missed their fifteen seconds of fame, but one listen'll have you wishing that you'd heard this stuff next to the Ohio Alarm Clock back inna day. Also contains a song custom made for the majority of you readers: Steve and the Holidays' "Unemployment".

***

Blue Phantom-DISTORTIONS CD-r burn (originally on Kismet)

Just what I need...Eyetalian progressive rock! But don't worry, nothing here would have earned a mention in a Banco-oriented fanzine 'r anything like that since the session men who made up Blue Phantom were working in a fashion more akin to a film soundtrack to some rather cheap feature where the mouths move one way and the voices go another. Gotta admit that there was nothing which was really engaging here unless you're into wopadago western like Bill is but I was wondering...was it track three or four where the group gets into an "I Wanna Be Your Dog" riff towards the end???

***

THE BLACK JASPERS CD-r burn (originally on In The Red)

This un came from the mystery man mentioned last week, a somethingorother Gilmore I believer but I'm not quite sure. Anyway it's a beaut, one of those King Khan projects that has that typical eighties/nineties "garage" sound that owes about as much to the Ramones as it does the Sonics and it's pretty neat for what it is (no-fi sub-basement crank out!). I must admit that I haven't been going for music like this much lately since I find the original a lot more closer to my gulcheral roots, but there really ain't nothing wrong with these sounds a few generations down the line. Done up with a whole lotta snot appeal and basic no-chord knowhow and if you're one of those guys who still thumbs through old issues of FORCED EXPOSURE to catch up on all of those eighties rarities you somehow missed out on the first time 'round you know what to do w/o me sayin' a word!

***

Got a nice change o' pace planned next weekend. Let's just say it's another one of my "specials"...nothing that'll earn me a blog of the year award true, but who knows. You may like it or loathe it, but you'll undoubtedly ignore it.
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*though those "Care Packages" that Bill Shute and Tom "Somethingorother" Gilmore have sent really do help out, the material enclosed having introduced me to music that I otherwise wouldn't have thought about listening to in a millyun years!

BOOK REVIEW! SING ALONG WITH MAD, written by Frank Jacobs and illustrated by Al Jaffee (Signet, 1970)

Following on the heels of last week's MAD paperback atrocity comes this 'un from the same flea market batch (which at least yielded some better early-sixties magazine reprints), this time a collection of song spoofs 'n musical skits written by longtime MAD contributor Frank Jacobs and drawn by Al Jaffee, who did a much better job of it during his HUMBUG and TALL TALES days.

Again, I must admit that the show tune and pop spoofs that permeated MAD during the sixties and beyond never were my favorite part of the mag, and one reading of this book'll show you why. Sheesh, some of this is so contrived that even those cornball if dirty takeoffs you hear via "classic rock" drivetime radio and the Capitol Hill Pantcrappers come off illustrious in comparison.

Well it does starts off better'n either you or I woulda expected with a "hip" take on MY FAIR LADY (this time with a clean cut butch teenage auto mechanic being turned into a rabid antiwar rockstar), but that was lukewarm at best and it goes downhill pretty zip-like from there. You know, with the usual swipes from everything from THE SOUND OF MUSIC to WEST SIDE STORY (if those two Broadway productions didn't exist the writers at MAD would be in deep trouble trying to come up with musicals to spoof) that were already way overdone a good ten years earlier. Do I have to go on and tell you just what a drag this collection of page filler and outright rejects are to the point where you can just feel all of those letters to comic fanzines nationwide mentioning just how lame MAD had become since Harvey Kurtzman left???

Note to original owner Brian Davis (name marked inside front cover)...yeah I paid for this book along with many others of yours, but if you'd like it back you are most certainly welcome to it. To be honest about it I get the feeling that Davis, now a fairly successful day laborer who is looking forward to taking an early retirement next year, is chortling over the fact that it was """""I""""" who got stuck with this atrocity and will spend the rest of my life agonizing over its placement amid much better sixties/seventies satire and comic offerings in my ever-moldering collection. Kinda shows just how MAD influenced a generation to become snide, sarcastic, back-stabbing cutthroats now, don't it!

Guten Somethingorother friends...nothing much to start this rather diseased post off with, so I will cut the caga and let the following relay my general malaise to you and like pronto!

Gunslingers-MASSACRE-ROCK DEVIANT INQUISITORS (tracks 1 and 2); NO MORE INVENTION (tracks 3-11) CD-R burn (originally on Riot Season)

An outta nowhere surprise from the mystery package received last week (still working on deciphering the anonymous donor's handwriting...it might be from a Tom Somethingorother, I'm not sure) that really rocks the socks off. A group of French origin, these Gunslingers make a rather unholy racket with their gear sounding like a lost seventies underground aggro filtered through eighties jadedness. Reminds me of the infamous En Why fringe no wave group Jack Ruby with Dilton Doiley on lead vocals. A left-field effort that will probably only appeal to a fraction of you, but oh what a fraction of you'll be tearing the sheets to confetti once you hear this!

***

Lee Konitz-IN HARVARD SQUARE CD-R burn (originally on Storyville then Black Lion)

Bill Shute's the big Konitz fan, at first taping then burning some of his sides he thought I should be more familiar with ignorant stroon that I am. Given that my own interests in jazz begin with the roots of avant garde and sorta gush forth from there some of these sides really don't hit me between the ears like Bill hoped they would, and frankly this 'un doesn't do a dad-blamed thing for me especially after a hard day at the salt mines when all I wanna do is have my nerves hitched up to a car battery. I've heard better Konitz (via Shute natch!) before, but frankly this one lacks the hard drive, high energy, vision and raw power that I look for in jazz. Bill, howzbout some Roscoe Mitchell next time around???

Of course if you don't believe me and wanna call me a turd to my face (or via the comment box) why don't you listen to the thing yerself? Here's the entire album available via the miracle of youtube:

***

The Sensational Alex Harvey Band-NEXT... cassette (Vertigo England)

I keep fergetting...was it this 'un or TOMORROW BELONGS TO ME that broke SAHB in the United States? Or was it just Cleveland? Yeah, Clevelanders in general had the worst taste in rock music as the success of some rather simpy bar band flacks like Michael Stanley and Breathless would attest to, but when it came to Alex Harvey at least they were right this time! So right that I'm surprised Harvey booster Charles Shaar Murray never moved there just to get in on some of the aura himself.

I once stated (OK, I've stated it more than once!) that NEXT... was not one of my favorite SAHB albums, but as usual I am one to give things like mid-seventies English (OK, Scottish) albums another go 'round as long as they weren't released on Manticore Records. 'n hey, I gotta say that this 'un sounds a whole lot better'n I remembered. Of course it ain't no FRAMED (the one which started the whole ball rolling with import copies even popping up in department store record bins) but it's hotcha enough for me with more than a few solid rockers like "Swampsnake" and "Giddy Up a Ding Dong" perking my oft-jaded ears up a bit. Yeah some of this did drag on for me...I mean, Jacques Brel never did fire my imagination like he did Bowie's...but overall it has a whole lot more spark and verve'n the progressive shuck these guys often got lumped in with.

Still a good encapsulation of the just pre-underground overlap into everyday teenbo concerns music that has about as much mid-seventies cred as Roxy Music, Sparks (look out for a seventies overview on the Maels more later than sooner) and more of those import bin faves that got pushed to the back of the collection once Pere Ubu albums started coming out. Snat theatre rock with a snide attitude that also got swept under the rug within a few years, and oddly enough I heard more'n a little Orchestra Luna during the showstopping "Last of the Teenage Idols" finale which really goes to show you how Broadway strut this can get!

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The Crummy Fags-RILLY LOZ DINDA MIRE O' NARZIZISM cassette (Whitewall Tapes)

After years of searching through stacks of boxes in the darkest reaches of my closet I find this, a bonafeed tape of the infamous eighties Akron band the Crummy Fags that I've been on the lookout for fanabla knows how long. I mentioned these guys many a times both in the mag and on this blog, and given their love for the seventies underbelly of Cleveland rock (Electric Eels, Ex-Blank-Ex...) you know why I've been doing the rah-rah-ing about 'em for oh so long!

I mean, whatta group! Yeah alla 'em other punks could take their cues from the S-x Pistols and Clash all they wanted, but if you took 'em from the likes of Dave E then you REALLY knew where your punkisms lied! And they sure ooze punkitude on this tape, mostly culled from 1985 performances at JB's in Kent as well as in the rehearsal closet or wherever these guys conjugated. Of course you get the Fags' world famous version of the Eels' "Agitated" as well as a radically diff. "No Nonsense" too, but there's also a fantastic take on Jonny Richmond's "I'm Gonna Walk" as well as a pile of original material that just might become as famous as the aforementioned gunch...if only this woulda made it out to the public the way it shoulda back in 198X.

Some of the music does have a bit of an eighties "date" to it (meaning it sounds like too much if perhaps too late), but it all goes down rather pleasant in your own ranch house sorta way.  In many ways this is about as good as some of Dave E's eighties-era groups so you know you're gonna be in for a warpoid treat if you're ever able to wrangle a copy of this! Come on, why don't some of you under-the-rock labels who are so keep on digging up these rarities of the past take a chance on this and recoup some of the losses you incurred on alla those phony punk cash in platters you somehow thought were the real true blue item!

One thing, you may be disappointed to discover that "Open Up and Bleed" ain't the Stooges song, though "1969" is, even though it has about the same rush through and get it over with feeling as all of those other Stooges covers that cluttered up the eighties amerunderindie world, and boy were we sick to death about it!

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THE ROY WOOD STORY cassette (Harvest England)

I remember seeing this import bin fave all over the place back when it originally came out '77 way, though I wonder how many copies this obv. career cash in sold over here in the U.S. of Wha? After all, Roy Wood may have been one of those fanzine faves on the basis of his Move-ments alone, but Wizzard were never more'n a cut-out staple in Yankeeland or Dixie for that matter and frankly, if you could've sat through their Eddy and the Falcons-era appearance on MIDNIGHT SPECIAL w/o getting up for a late-night snack then you musta had the iron will of a G. Gordon Liddy roasting his hand on an open flame before downing it with mustard and onions!

I guess the rock world really coulda used an item like this at the time. Better yet, I'm sure that EMI coulda used the additional pence or two in their coffers capitalizing on an English rock legend who wasn't on their roster anymore. But it's something that I'm sure woulda gotten the typical NEW HAVEN ROCK PRESS and ROCK MARKETPLACE kinda guys all excited...a selection of Wood's various musical highlights from the beginning in the mid-sixties all the way up to the end of his contract when he probably got a much better deal elsewhere. But sometimes I wonder, who exactly was this double LP/play cassette aimed at anyway, Jeff Lynne?

Side/LP #1's the boss one though, showing off Wood during his early days in fact starting off with "Make Them Understand," Wood's first ever songwriting credit done up when he was with Mike Sheridan and the Nightriders. From there it's on through the Move at their best with all of the big faves that sure sound good in this company, especially when the obv. Beatles puff eventually mutates into a more early-seventies tough pop pounce that was due to make a comeback around this time.

Oddly enough side/LP #2 only has one Electric Light Orchestra track which is OK if you have the myriad assortment of budget LPs that came out in the seventies,  but even if you do they would've still fit snugly enough here. Naturally there's a whole slew of Wizzard and solo tracks that (like I said) might have met with success over there but remained bargain bin finds this way. Gotta admit that I actually enjoy Wizzard even if that fake Phil Spector sound is utilized in one of the chintziest ways since the mid-sixties, and even when the mass of violins and saxophones start to get to you you'll be reminding yourself this is a whole lot better'n "Lucky Man" getting spun and re-spun on the local "classic rock" station.

The solo material swings surprisingly as well, with tracks like "When Gran'ma Plays The Banjo" having almost as much downhome knee-slap as when George Clinton used to do those rural hoots on the early Parliament and Funkadelic albums. And I must say that I was even "touched" by Wood's solo single debut "Dear Elaine" which I thought had all of the panache and depth that the Orchestra had right before Wood picked up and took it all with him!

Not anything that would light a fire under the average (if there is one) BLOG TO COMM reader's honeycombed butt, though it sure is a better presentation of a rather major English pop figure's career (to date, and I mean like 1973!) than what could have transpired. Might be worth the snatch up at one of those flea markets where some old hag's selling off the record collection of her long od'd son, and if so don't try gypping her too much. Just try getting the thing for like a quarter, 'r maybe fifteen cents even. I'm sure she'll thank you anyway.

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BONE CLUB cassette

Didn't want this post to particularly become another "cassette caga" but it looks as if it's turning out that way. But hey, despite the occasional drop out I gotta say that I do love these things to the dickens, not only because they remind me of some of the better highlights of the seventies but because nowadays the cassette machines that are being made are so hotcha you don't have to worry about any tapes jamming and getting crinkly like you did back when you were a kid staring at the spools wind keeping an eye out for any irregular turns and warbles!

Got this 'un as a promo way back when I was writing for a certain magazine whose title I prefer not to mention, and for a freebie being sent my way all I gotta say is...howcum I didn't get more goodies like this? Bone Club was a name I was kinda familiar with at the time perhaps because of an appearance at CBGB on a bill with not only the Lubricated Goat but Buzzy Linhart (!), but for the life of me I can't remember if I ever reviewed this sucker in the first place. And since I've BURNT all of the issues of that mag I used to write for it ain't like I can go back 'n check that easily, so's giving this 'un a play is like totally all-new, virgin territory for me even if I know the proverbial cherry was busted long ago!.

Nice hard sound on these three tracks that have some connection to the "Minneapolis" sound but enough originality to set 'em apart from the usual needle abusers. Not quite hardcore yet not punk in the commercial sense...kinda like p-rock in an early-seventies CREEM vein with some heavy metal/hard rock if you will ideas tossed in to confuse everyone even more. But oh what a confusion this is, and at least Bone Club pulled it off sans acquiescing to the baser moments of a variety of musical forms that seemed to have milked their worth for all they had by the time these tracks were recorded (1989).

Bone Club actually got some legit booty out before heading who-knows-where, and maybe it's better if not as good as the three demos that pop up here. Maybe it's the same dang material but who knows. Find out for yourself if you're so interested, but as for me I think this tape'll keep me going for a few weeks until I once again lose interest.

However I wouldn't mind buying their sole EP if only for the whacked-out cover featuring a crazy re-do of the "Three Ball Charlie" guy who appeared on the STICKY FINGERS album cover (something which really "affects" me because when they album came out I tried replicating Charlie's feat and am still surprised I didn't swallow the one ball I managed to get in and choke to death!).

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Various Artists-LONG BLACK LEOTARDS, YOU ALL! CD-r burn (courtesy of Bill Shute)

Last but most certainly least as Bullwinkle once said comes this Bill Shute entry, a collection of more "thrift shop" rarities that I never saw in any thrift shops I've inhabited! Unfortunately this 'un didn't quite zoom me the way some of Bill's other compilations have...sure the pounding instrumental by the Raiders and Royal Teens' "Leotards" always help fill the bill when I'm looking for late-fifties jollies, but I just couldn't swing with some of that gospel and blues material Bill packed into this 'un like the fudge gets pounded San Francisco way. I gotta remark that Bill's comment regarding the Consolers' 1959 "It May Be The Last Time" which he says sounds suspiciously close to the Rolling Stones' '65 hit pf a similar title was right onna moolah, but for the most part I must admit I couldn't wait until the thing was over so's I could slip some Velvet-drone on to resensify my frizzed out nerves. Yeah, and a boo-hoo to you too!

***

"That's it, Fort Pitt" as some of us used to say.

BOOK REVIEW! MAD VERTISING, OR UP MADISON AVENUE by Dick DeBartolo and Bob Clarke (Signet Books, 1972)

I never was a humongous fan of many of the MAD paperbacks that contained all-new material of a thematic variety (unless you'd count the various Don Martin books like THE MAD ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN KLUTZ, the two MAD LOOKS AT OLD MOVIES or the various "all new" SPY VS. SPY titles as having underlying themes), and that's probably why I passed on this collection back when it first hit the racks in 1972. At that time I was more keen on the fact that the Ballantine collection of Harvey Kurtzman-manned MAD comic book material was finally making it out after being MIA for a few years, and plunking down a hard-begged 75 cents on a book featuring pieces on "deceptive" packaging and the ways businesses try to screw you outta your dough didn't seem quite the thing to do. After all, you could get the exact same rap from your father after he discovered you spending a buck on some item that seemed to boffo at first but turned out to be nothing but "cheap plastic junk" (my own dad's fave cliche), so why pay for it when you can get it free anyway???

Well, I happened to get this 'un in a stack of MAD p-backs recently, so it wasn't like I was waiting to read MAD VERTISING with anticipated breath the same way I would DON MARTIN COOKS UP MORE STEAMROLLER GAGS. And y'know, I really do pride myself on the fact that I was right about this book then and and still right about it a good four decades later, because MAD VERTISING ain't nothing but the same "Madison Avenue" rundown (literally) you saw inna mag since the early-sixties only compacted into a standard Signet paperback that takes on more of an air of a textbook than satire. Yeah, we've heard it all before whether it be from Ralph Nader or author Dick DeBartolo, and even before that HUMBUG was doing some funnier things about packaging with much better artwork to back the oft dry puns up! (Not that Bob Clarke wasn't a bad craftsman, but his art on this 'un was clearly a crankout compared to that earlier MAD airbrushed look they eventually jettisoned probably because it cost too much.)

Face it, this book seems to be as much of a ripoff as the products being satirized, and if it weren't for the fact that this 'un got stuck in with a batch of better MAD reads you know it'd still be rotting away in some aging overgrown adolescent's closet. What once seemed like up-to-date and relevant satire (or at least "fun with a purpose") now come off more like a nudge that wouldn't even have gotten a laugh on THE CAROL BURNETT SHOW. Dates worse than a Clash album. The fact that this book's now in THIS aging overgrown adolescent's closet does prove something...that as far as suburban slobs go I probably have it worse off'n even the most horn-rimmed golly ned kid you went to school with. After all, anyone who's hard up enough to picked this book up for a serious reading in the first place probably is living an existence that would make your average plastic pocket protector geek from school days' seem like an eternity at the Playboy Mansion!

Eh, another slow week around here. If you can sense me own personal desperation from my writing style and general lethargy you'd be right on target. I really should be presenting for you reg'lar (and irregular) readers something quite more sparkling and attuned to your high-energy rockist lifestyle than what follows, but with real life and general hassles (along with a lack of stimulating resensification) getting in the way yer lucky I could come up with something as stirring as this glue pot of a post!

But hey, you might find something worthwhile amid the flot/jetsam, and if I'm lucky enough to scrape together the dough that order to Forced Exposure I've had on hold since last May just might finally get processed meaning...MORE STIMULATING REVIEWS of items you might just be interested in yourself! Of course 90% of the records I want'll probably be sold out, but at least I'll live in an excited state of anticipation between submitting my order and getting the expected confirmation telling me that only one item I had selected is still available!

Until then, here's a selection of new and old to mine ears that I've had the pleasure of listening to these past seven or so dayze...

Dark Sunny Land-EMANATIONS FOR A RETURNING LP (One Hand Records)

Yupyupyup, it's the same thang that I reviewed late last year (click here for the original) but here's a freshly-pressed vinyl version for those of you who wouldn't even dream of buying one of these newfangled tea coasters in a millyun years! Frankly I wouldn't mind spinning and re-spinning this engaging melange of electro-acoustic sounds if they were pressed up on paper plates, but this particular issue sounds surprisingly warm and human like good vinyl always has and many Cee-Dees never will. Not only that but the guy who did this 'un up (Tom Gilmore) ought to be pretty proud releasing a platter like this which not only sounds great but looks fantastic in a silkscreened sleeve that stands as a work of art in itself. One of the highlights of the 12-inch season that should be on your must-have list, and if you must have it better hurry up because only 150 of these smackers were popped out!

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Various Artists-RECIPES FOR HOMEMADE PIE CD-R (compiled by Bill Shute)

Yet another mid bag o' "virtual thrift shop" favorites starting off with more of that cornballus gospel stuff Bill likes before heading off into some rather strange jazzbo territory via Teo Macero and Bob Prince's "Sounds of May" and "Avakianas Brasiliras," tracks from the pair's '56 WHAT'S NEW album. And if the rest of that el-pee is as Mingus-inspired as the weirdities that appear here I might even dish out $30 via ebay for an original vinyl copy!

The rest moves in and out of BLOG TO COMM boundaries, some of it being high-larious (Telly Savalas' "Rubber Bands and a Piece of String" and "I Love You" [not the Lou Reed song] being among 'em) while others having me scratch my head worse'n the time I had a case of snowflake-sized dandruff back in high school. The Gants help provide us with at least one garage band burner, while Ferlin Husky and Webb Pierce at least remind us of the sorta status Country Music as the white man's blooze held long before Mylie Cyrus began rubbing her butt up against some guy's crotch on live tee-vee. Good selection here Bill...with stuff like this I'll never have to enter a real life thrift shop again and search out interesting platters like these in between copies of Pat Robertson's GOD'S PLAN FOR ME MAKING A BIG HEAPING WAD O' DOUGH!

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The Glass Family-ELECTRIC BAND CD-R burn (originally on Kismet, UK)

A little too dippy on the hippy side for me. Some sparks of acid psychosis might seep through, but for the most part they come off more Strawberry Alarm Clock than Chocolate Watchband. If you caught me in a worse mood than I am now, I might say it sounds so hokey that you kinda think the guys in this group were police plants trying to entrap those hippie kids you used to see on DRAGNET. Even when your ears do perk up during an interesting pop move or engaging lyric you keep getting reminded of the three doofuses pictured on the cover thinking how could you like a group that looked like that in the first place! For hard up late-sixties psych-pop West Coast aficionados only.

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THE BEATLES VS. THE FOUR SEASONS CD-R burn (VJ)

Wanna know who won? Vee-Jay records did, if only for slapping that Beatles album they (temporarily) had the rights into a package along with GOLDEN HITS OF THE FOUR SEASONS (sheesh, why not LITTLE RICHARD IS BACK???) thus creating a two-record set that made for a pretty hefty listening experience that said as much about the spirit of 1964 as GILLIGAN'S ISLAND. Capturing both groups at the height of their teenybop mania, I gotta say that spinning this Cee-Dee-Are really did give me that mid-sixties adolescent feeling akin to slapping together a model car or reading a comic book, which would figure since I'm positive that most suburban slobs who had this set in their possession were enjoying it under the influence of the glue that came with that Fokker tri-plane kit of theirs they never did get around to finishing.

As for the tally I gotta admit that the Seasons beat the Beatles by a good few points...after all they had the sleek wopadago waiter look down pretty snat-like and Frankie Valli could hit those high tones with a nice screech that made up as much a part of my early grade school years as daily beatings. Listening to the Seasons kinda made me wish that I was cleaning out the interior of the family car for a mere quarter which undoubtedly would go towards a fresh new comic book, or a couple of used ones at the flea market that would pass my mother's usually stringent comic book hygiene regulations.

The Beatles were pretty good too this being their 1963 stuff before they became the Charlie Chaplins of rock and could get away with doing anything and people would think it was "art," but I just gotta dock 'em a few points just because they were too big at the time. At least when the Seasons put their pre-THICK AS A BRICK looking concept album out we knew it was a shuck, but the Beatles??? Well, they were such a popular act that they coulda recorded themselves farting for four sides of a double set and people would have considered it a valid statement. And frankly, if they did pass the dirtstar challenge they'd probably have made for a better listening session'n some of the stuff they eventually released later on in the career! And no way in hades would Frankie Valli flap his whizzer on an album cover, that's for sure!

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True Sons of Thunder-SPOONFUL OF SEEDY DUDES CD-R burn (originally on Jeth Row Records)

Just slipping in under the wire is this bizarrity (sent to me by some reader who would like to remain "anonymous" though I know who he is thanks to my Dick Tracy Crimestopper handwriting identification kit), a burn of an actual el-pee recorded by a mid-South supergroup of sorts who have been cranking out these releases faster'n high school girls are cranking out bastard kids these days. Heavy nod to the post-underground melange of varying styles with headcrush morphing into six-oh with all needles on red. Hearkens back to the mid-eighties post-hardcore crackup which gave us so many outta-the-way groups doing their darndest to devolve into an even lower form of life with a feral sound to match (the Sewer Zombies come to mind, though many more similarities are just out on the horizon)! Only wish Imants was around to hear this, though I get the feeling this would be the only thing he'd be talking about for the next umpteen years! Features a twistoid version of Peter Laughner's  "Life Stinks".

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THE "I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!" AND NEITHER WILL YOU DEPT.: heard via the ceiling speaker in the waiting room at the doctor's office this past Tuesday afternoon...Captain Lockheed and the Starfighters' "Aerospace Age Inferno"! Definitely the kind of tune one would want to listen to while anticipating a rectal probe, that's for sure! Must say there's gotta be some clandestine weirdos working at Sirius Radio if they could pull this stunt off w/o getting fired!!!

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BEFORE I LEAVE YEZ ALL, I thought I'd link up this interesting piece I found via the always indispensable CHRONICLES website, an item I linked not because of the subject matter at hand (that being the recent sentencing of Chelsea formerly Bradley Manning), but the comment thread which brings up a few things regarding the Velvet Underground! As you may know, CHRONICLES editor in chief Thomas Fleming considers himself somewhat of a Velvet Underground aficionado not only having seen them at the Family Dog in San Francisco but having discussed Shakespeare with Lou Reed backstage at the show which does put him in some sort of pantheon if you ask me! Not only that, but Fleming's various quotations from Velvet Underground songs and references throughout the years make me think that if he had chosen to write about rock 'n roll 'stead of politics he could have been the new Wayne McGuire, or at least one who didn't froth all over the legend of Mel Lyman. I must say that I find intelligent, stimulating Velvet Underground discussions this far down the line rather exhilarating, especially in light of all the utter dross that has been dumped into the rock toilet in their "memory" which has transpired throughout these past three decades (and I as usual am just as at fault as all of those windbags who contributed to Alban Zeck's atrocity of a book a good decade and a half back!).

BOOK REVIEW DOUBLE HEADER! THE TEXTS OF FESTIVAL (Avon, 1974) and THE TALE OF WILLY'S RATS (available as an e-book via Funtopia) by Mick Farren

The recent death of Mick Farren sorta nudged me (OK, gave me a cheap excuse) to latch onto a couple of his early novels which have eluded me for a longer time than my feeble mind could imagine. Well, not quite since it ain't like I can afford to dish out upwards of three digits for Farren's bril rock 'n roll novel THE TALE OF WILLY'S RATS (now available free an an e-book anyway---see link above), but given Farren's own rock 'n roll legend as one of England's premier hippoid-punk nutters I just knew I hadda read these efforts before it was too late, whenever that would be.

Gotta say that I'm glad that I did. Now I ain't exactly the SciFi/fantasy/fiction guy some of you reg'lar BLOG TO COMM readers may be, but given Farren's writing talent and rather encompassing tastes I was willing to take a chance on both of these reads and ya know what? They both proved to be fairly good, even if I do have the attention span of a six-year-old and there ain't any pretty pictures here to help me "understand" what the people in the book are doing like there were with Dick and Jane (not to forget Baby Judy). Reading Farren's vivid text conjures enough images in yr mind anyway, and both books can make your brain come up with some mighty bizarro visions if I do say so myself.

THE TEXTS OF FESTIVAL, besides being a name later lifted for a Hawkwind collection of early seventies live tuneage I'm gonna hafta dig outta the crate more sooner than later, was Farren's premier novel and for being an initial effort the guy did a rather good job of it if I do say so myself. So good that, despite the fact that the rock 'n roll presence in yet another post-apocalyptic sci-fi romp is rather subdued, I managed to make it through the at-times slow and dull bulk of this to get to the fiery conclusion, perhaps in hopes of finally getting to that rock 'n roll climax I was so hoping for. Yeah you've seen/heard it all before ad nauseum whether it be on TWILIGHT ZONE, MAD MAX and ZARDOZ not forgetting the "Yangs" and "Cooms" episode of STAR TREK,  but in this 'un has enough originality and spark to transcend all those Cold War ruminations and come off like a fevered post-hippie calculation of just how the decaying minds of a rock 'n roll-bred anti-civilization would live and breathe in the wake of the Great Disaster.

Festival's the city in an area not quite specified...methinks it's the London of the future yet the drawl-esque slang-filled language might even suggest an Ameriga reduced to its Wild West origins. A place where sacred rituals based on the gods of the past are re-enacted as ancient discs are spun and crackly, low fidelity music is blasted out while grotesquely-masked spiritual guides hold strange phallic-like objects as one mimes to the words being sung by Djeggar, "the figure of evil who would 'stick his knife right down your throat.'" Kinda like the Joujouka Festival carrying on ancient pagan practices under the guise of Islam, and perhaps just as distant from the original intent even if the style is remarkably similar.

Meanwhile the ever-growing band of outlaws whacked out of their minds on "crystal" and led by the evil Iggy are heading to Festival ready to take it for themselves, bringing death and destruction to all that stands in their way anticipating with drooling cakehole their imminent arrival and pillage. Sorta like THE WILD BUNCH a few hundred more years down the line. Frankly the plot can get confusing with all the characters from Harry Krishna, Jo Jo, Oltha and Elly-Mae to Joe Starkweather (the defeater of "the Christies") being introduced and offed before you know it (and in typical postmodern fashion there just ain't any discernible good or likable characters to be found) but I gotta admit that despite the plot twists and lack of an identifiable person to back like a sports team I kinda like it. Even when things get slow and Farren just has to inject his rather sad political points regarding Angela Davis and Chairman Mao (I think they used to matter back when I was a kid...I'm not sure) THE TEXTS OF FESTIVAL will keep even a marginal fiction fan like myself semi-captivated. Only wish there was more rock 'n roll in the thing other'n the occasional song quotes not to mention Farren lifting his own "Let's Loot the Supermarket" as a half-remembered number that the denizens of the future hazily murmer, giving us hope that, after the Big One is finally dropped a copy of DISPOSABLE thankfully will survive. Now that's what I would call a sacred text!

***

Like I said, I may be a foolhearty spendthrift when it comes to rock 'n roll artyfacts I so truly desire, but in no way am I gonna spend megabux for a paperback book I coulda snatched up for fifteen cents in some 1975 flea market! But thanks to the miracle of technology I can now read THE TALE OF WILLY'S RATS for free on the very computer I am now pecking this very review out on, and man is it a wild ride. Maybe it is a bit too heavy on the obligatory s-x scenes (that is, unless you actually get off on refs to sand sticking to some nekkid beach girl's bullseyes) but driving enough when Farren sticks to the rocking angle of it all. And really, that's why you all came here now, isn't it?

Willy's Rats are perhaps thee group any red-blooded BLOG TO COMM reader would want to spend his last shekels on. Imagine a cross between T. Rex, the Stones at their maddest, the Dictators and perhaps Farren's own Deviants and you'll get an pretty good idea of just who these Rats are. Told through the first person of guitarist Lou Francis, Willy's Rats are perhaps the quintessential concept of over-the-top early-seventies English rock taken to its logical conclusion, a high energy act for a world just begging for something a little harder than the pop pap of the days. A balm for the soothed nerves of too many James Taylor and Cat Stevens albums cluttering up the landscape. A shot of hard drugs for a granola fed clientele.

THE TALE OF WILLY'S RATS also serves as a good histoire of just how English rock evolved (undoubtedly echoing Farren's own musical epiphany), with Francis himself being the kid who discovered the early wild rockers of the late-fifties via radio before trudging off to a "public school" Shadows copycat band before the specter of Dylan had him buying an acoustic and going the disheveled route. From there it was the Stones and harder forms of sonic embellishment leading up to the Rats, a act with the anti-police politix of the MC5, the on-stage obscenity of the Doors and the teenage girl pant-wetting mania of T. Rex all rolled into one and boy is the world glad about it!

Yeah they may seem too good to be true considering how a real life Willy's Rats probably wouldn't have been able to muster up anything greater than an acetate demo that'd eventually appear on a BONEHEAD CRUNCHERS album, but we can always dream now, can't we? And as far as rock fantasies go WILLY'S RATS really gets down to the bare fanabla of it all capturing a whole load of that hard, driving feeling that made adolescent wretches like me thumb through aisles of record bins just dreaming about what the sounds they held inside would reveal, never even fathoming that in a good thirty year's time we'd be able to listen to whatever we wanted that came outta the fevered scenes of the sixties and seventies via free downloads and youtube videos.

And in typical Farren fashion the gritty underside of the biz is revealed not only with the gratuitous dirty stuff (which ain't as dirty as anything you can snatch up for free onna web these days, but still tsk-tsk!) but the behind-the-scenes movers and shakers including group manager Jimmy DiAngelo, a fellow whose tactics and connections undoubtedly stretch all the way to Sicily and back. After all, DiAngelo obtained the Rats from their previous manager by sending him a pair of plastic artificial kneecaps, just in case the guy were to need em!


I will fess up to the fact that I did find some parts unnecessarily yawn-inducing, but in all this was as exciting as reading any of Farren's pieces on a choice rock group we all could agree on. Only instead of Hawkwind we're glomming on a fictitional act that seems to have drawn all of the good and negative about our faves and rolled it into one large booger. And when it does get hot, like in the final chapter when Lou and another Rat are lured into the California wilds at the invitation of a satanic Mansonoid cult, your heart'll be beating as fast as a cornered rabbit once that scimitar comes swinging down to decapitate a hapless victim with our rock star heroes being next in line!

In a world where the sixties/seventies rock novel might have been a bit too heavy on the peace 'n love and lite on the natural barbarianism of it all THE TALE OF WILLY'S RATS pretty much sorts the flower power from the punk, and throws the former away. A fantastic read with loads of insight, energy, realism (I'll bet this book was at least partly autobiographical, though considering some of the things that did happen maybe Farren was holding back a bit!) and...best of all...more typos than an average BLOG TO COMM post!

Barely could crank this 'un out! Lemme tell you, my life really is stuck in neutral...no real outside stimulation of the ol' back brain t' be found 'round here, and I still gotta rely on ancient Bill Shute packages and deep digs into the record, tape and Cee-Dee archives to sustain any sort of sanity! What's worse, I ain't heard from Brad Kohler since July and that guy usually is as prompt as the landlady one minute before she starts tossing the furniture out onna street...c'mon man, where's that treatise on what was wrong with the first six months of this blog that you were supposed to send me!

Eh, it ain't that bad. At least the musical dry spell has helped me hold on a few bucks that I have planning to go toward my retirement, and the thought of saving six dollars in the here and now which will undoubtedly go towards a colostomy bag fifteen years down the line certainly does put a smile on my thrifty face. But until then it (unfortunately) is scrimp and save time, at least until I come into a li'l spending cash which you know will be thrown down a rat hole, as my father used to say! And a good place for it too I might add!!!

Here's what helped me make it through a rather work and stress-filled, tiring week. Just read it and think of just how better off all you stroonads have it next to my pitiful existence! Don't go sayin' I don't do anything good for you!

Various Artists-ROOKIES ON A PASTRAMI WEEKEND CD-R burn (courtesy Bill Shute)

Bill Shute does it again! And again and again but we won't go into that. However, we will go into this neato-sampler of various rarities and not-sos that really tickle my fancy among other body parts. Starting off with the Jimmy Piersall "Rookie of the Year" single (a song which was covered by none other than Milk!), this disque topsies and turvies into a wide array of styles and moods from the late-fifties instrumental "Honky Tonk Train" by Jack Melick to Cal Smith's country creeper "Lord Knows I'm Drinking" with loadsa points in between. Some interesting surprises abound like the Tymes' "Roscoe Jim McClain" (an outright steal of the Coasters' "Searchin'"), a post-fame Kingsmen side, and Gary US Bonds doing the future Dolls raver "Seven Day Weekend" among others. There's even a recording of the late-fifties ABC kid show UNCLE AL that pops up, and let me tell you that it was a turdbomb!

A few familiar things are present from "Hot Rod High" and "Hot Pastrami" to the Blues Magoos' version of "Jingle Bells," but you wouldn't care because it ain't like you've heard 'em yesterday. And it's all topped off by yet another batcraze cash-in, mainly Adam West's "Miranda" featuring a guest appearance by Burt Ward as "Boy Genius"! A top notch collection in all, but whatever you do don't play "Ring Dang Do" in front of momma. It's durty!

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Pink Fairies-CHINESE COWBOYS LIVE 1987 CD (Captain Trip, Japan)

Frankly if you have one of these late-eighties Pink Fairies gigs somewhere in the abode you have 'em all, but this 'un's good enough to buck the trend. Featuring a selection of Wallis-period Fairies faves with the new stuff tossed in (my fave being the Mick Farren/Andy Colquhoun composition "White Girls on Amphetamine"), the performance is high energy exemplary and the sound better'n you'd expect (either) recorded from the audience or a less-than-perfect soundboard. A pretty much non-stop drive through the early-seventies post-psychedelic English underground that doesn't let up, making me wonder what else there is available that I've been missing out on lo these many years...

***

Ohm-LIVE AT THE CROWN CD-R (Last Visible Dog)

Purchased from Eddie Flowers (who really knows his noise) a good decade-plus back, this forty-minute trek through the stratum is one piece of music that really should get out a lot more than it has. Basically an electronic (in the late-sixties fashion) extended jam, this one has possibilities. As transcendental as a 1966 Family Dog Tribal Stomp, an Exploding Plastic Inevitable, a Wayne McGuire "Universal Musical Form," or even a krautrock group from 1971 nobody's ever heard of. Starts off soft yet foreboding before enveloping you in a wall of feedback guitar and primal pounce. I wouldn't mind hearing more by this act, though I do get the sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't measure up to the driving drone they emit on this burnt offering.

***

John Fahey-WOMBLIFE CD (Table of the Elements)

I have been neglecting the Fahey/Basho/Bull side of sixties stringbending for quite awhile, so I thought I'd dig this obscuro out from the archives of forgotten compact disquewear that sorta got shuffled in between the hardcore punk and experimental hoo-hah. Even more avant garde than REQUIA, Fahey soars and clangs like something Harry Partch might have come up with on one of those home made instruments he was so fond of, creating a nice mass of tangled soundscapading that you kinda think woulda given bad vibes to those hippie college radio new agers who loved playing his "Skater's Waltz" repeatedly. The embryonic existence of your favorite sea life transformed into sound, all done so vividly that it makes it seem as if it were you who were about to be plopped into the murky depths after a good two years of gestation.

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Kahil El Zabar's Ritual Trio with Pharoah Sanders-AFRICA N'DA BLUES CD (Delmark)

After listening to a pack of Pharoah Sanders recordings from the late-seventies which bordered on the puke pail, I was a bit weary of latching onto this offering by him and Chicago free jazzers Ritual Trio back in the early oh-oh's. No need to fear though, AFRICA N'DA BLUES ain't a disco/gnu age extravaganza custom made for the peace-loving type of jazz-hole. Of course it ain't no TAUHID either, but it's pleasant enough despite the usual lapses into spiritual musings and Back to Africa kultural pride. If I were you I'd pass it up until either you're rich enough to buy everything you ever wanted to hear or just gotta have everything with Sanders on it, but if you do decide to snatch the thing up now it ain't like you're gonna get burned. Features longtime Art Ensemble of Chicago bassist Malachi Favors in the roster.

***

Eberhard Schoener-EVENTS cassette (Harvest, West Germany)

Don't have enough tapes to warrant any "cassette caga" feature just yet, but let me tell you, this one definitely is caga! Well, not caga en toto, but a good portion of it will have you rushing to the nearest toilet just so's you're impactus faeces will rush right out begging to be spared from the music to be found therein. At best a pale imitation of mid-seventies just pre-"Softs" Soft Machine, at worst some of the most gloppy jazz/classical pastiche to be heard outside the fetid realms of Jean-Michael Jarre. You can do worse, you have, but in all these sounds are rather pitiful musings that stand at the polar opposite of everything that was high energy, interesting, soul-stirring and affects you as a suburban slob that was coming out during the transitional year of 1980.

***

and in closing...A TREAT THAT CAN'T BE BEAT! Yes, for all of you old-time fanzine hunters who are looking for a little more than the umpteenth copy of BOMP! with Brian Wilson on the cover, here comes (now get this!) the next to last issue of HYPE available on-line and free to boot! Yes, the legendary fanzine edited by Mark Jenkins which featured a bevy of contributors from the likes of R. Meltzer and Lester Bangs to Gene Sculatti and Eddie Flowers can be had for the mere click of a mouse, and best of it the newsprint ain't gonna be crumblin' in your hands like it would with a real life flesh and pulp copy! If you like that CREEM-styled snot-nosed middle-fingered defiance at the (hippie) powers that be which made up a good portion of the seventies rock press at its best you'll definitely go for something like this! Now really, don't you all love your Unca Chris for pointing you in the right direction and making you aware of these gritty li'l reads you all need in your system? Now don't you???...........................aw, go 'n fellate your neighbor's tabby for all I care, ingrates!

DVD REVIEW! BIG BOY SHORTS (1925-1927) starring Malcolm Sebastian!

I haven't been buying many if any silent screen cinematic wares as of late, but the appearance of this li'l beaut on the Grapevine Video website had me palpatatin' great gobs 'o goo o'er the disque's mere existence. True, these OUR GANG/LITTLE RASCALS "imitations" weren't always pumpin' on all cylinders (witness the Educational Pictures BABY BURLESKS series with Shirley Temple and other potty trainers acting out adult dramas in the most paedophiliac ways imaginable), but these Big Boy comedies definitely went against the grain with their high production values, boffo plots and additional craft and value that equaled those of the Hal Roach Studios not to mention other comedy outlets of the day. And of course it helped that the lead character was a bouncy and cute li'l toddler who knew how to act even if he were a mere two 'n stuck right in fronna the action and told what to do or no num nums tonight!

Jules White thought up the Big Boy concept while at Educational, though as soon as everything was developed his own brother Jack gave the project to Charles Lamont who was a more than able comedy director as his work with the Three Stooges and W.C.Fields would attest. White was a bit bummed by this last-minute switcheroo, even to the point where a good fifteen or so years later he tried reviving his idea when working at Columbia, first using a new variant on the scamp in an Andy Clyde comedy then hiring longtime RASCALS director Robert McGowan to direct a kid comedy short featuring the revamped Boy. Unfortunately the projected series lasted only one film, probably due to McGowan already being shell-shocked from years of trying to make a passel o' unruly kids work in front of the cameras than anything else.

But at least this 'un ran from '25 until the dusk of silents in '29, not because production heads feared the advent of a squeaky-voiced Big Boy ruining their series but because the kid was now a hearty six-years-old and ready for the pasture. But before that dreadful day there were a total of twenty-eight BIG BOY comedies made, and a good choice six of 'em appear on this release that's bound to capture the fancy of us outta-the-whirlpool kinda people who were able to discern something special while watching old movies and cartoons as children plopped in front of the set!

The OUR GANG credo works well here because, although Big Boy a.k.a. Malcolm Sebastian a.k.a. Malcolm Sabiston was the official star of this series, these 1925-1927 shorts are jam-packed with kids both thin and fat, black and white, boy and girl and otherwise who scrap together in backyards and alleyways or make a wreck of some rich folks' home (like in RAISIN' CAIN, a classic kids get quarantined romp containing one big gag Lamont later lifted for one of his Junior Coughlan shorts inna thirties). In fact, in no way could I see a downhome suburban slob of a LITTLE RASCALS fan not liking these shorts which not only exude that great old time feeling that a squirt like me was fortunate enough to experience first hand (via relatives who decided to live in the twenties for the rest of their lives), but make for no-doubt-about-it fine entertainment in an era when all that's being presented to us in the name o' funny is some guy berating us every chance he gets and we're supposed to laugh at it for some occult reason or another!

Films are of a surprisingly good quality with close-enough-to-the-original scores by David Knudson that don't sound anything like that Boston Pops drek you've been hearing on PBS and TCM for years. Surprisingly enough the only ones that aren't quite up to snuff visual-wise are some over-used fifties-vintage tee-vee prints that, wonder of wonders, use the same canned music that was prevalent during the early years of LEAVE IT TO BEAVER! And if you don't think that makes quite an early-morning summertime vacation wake up and watch tee-vee impression on me you've been reading the wrong blog for the past eight years!