"COLD PITTSBURGH MORNING" - Sammy Walker

There have been some cold mornings in America. It's Fall, after all. There's frost on the pumpkins some nights, and some days, the dawning gray is persistent and clouds keep the warming sun away. 

It seems that most every day, the cold is accompanied by the chilling reminders of the new age of intolerance, self-entitlement, selfishness and stupidity. A few days ago, in Pittsburgh, it was another machine-gun slaughter of innocent people by a paranoid gun-nut.

This morning, a defiant jerk named TORBA is spinning why his website of hate is a GOOD thing, and how "Freedom of Speech" won't be defeated. 

Torba thinks his site hasn't inspired maniacs to do everything from trolling online to murder. Maybe it's just an inconvenient truth that he can ignore. It doesn't prevent him from smirking at his bank account, or considering himself famous. Like Assange hiding in self-righteous exile to avoid rape and theft charges, this guy wraps himself up in "Freedom of Speech" and fights hard...so he can continue to MAKE MONEY.

This forum-father's definition of "Freedom of Speech" would say it's ok to yell "Fire!" in a crowded movie theater, to shout insults at the handicapped (it would do them good to get some reality), or to declare anyone who thinks the Holocaust never happened is "entitled" to their opinion of fake-news fact. No gray areas. Like, it was ok when YOUR immigrant grandparents came to America, NOT ok for anyone else's now. Come on, let's go to a cemetery and scream "God Hates Fags" while a patriotic hetero soldier is being buried. Makes sense. Freedom of Speech. FUN, too.

Hell, this guy is just a more lethal version of the assholes who think "Freedom of Speech" means giving away entire discographies and filmographies and bibliographies and TV shows on torrents and blogs because, er, uh, people in show biz are all millionaires including owners of book shops and record stores, and copyright is copy WRONG. You name the shit, somebody's gonna say it doesn't stink. But it does. 

Morons should be shunned, and called MORONS, and not given places online where they get sympathy and encouragement from even DUMBER MORONS.

Get real. These morons do it for fame. Give away enough shit in a shoutbox or in a forum and you can pretend you're a star. You get some stranger to shout "awesome!" or "we're not worthy" when you post discographies on everybody EXCEPT the artists YOU want people to buy. PS, if you dropped dead tomorrow, you MIGHT get a "R.I.P." followed by "here's somebody ELSE giving shit away. Been to THIS blog yet?"

Some morons do it for Paypal tips. Like: "Give me money so I can buy shit. My record store guy loves me. So do YOU. You don't have to buy from YOUR record guy and 50, 100 copies that could be sold aren't sold thanks to ME. So love me, love me, love me, I'm a music fan. Your hero."

Back to the more lethal versions of self-entitled sociopath. Assange did it for the money and fame. The jerks like Mark David Chapman mistake being infamous for being famous. The vainglorious bastard who killed eleven unarmed old Jews in a synagogue announced to his redneck retards on social media, "I'm going in!" Like this gun nut with his automatic weapon and his collection of glocks was a hero. Like Dylann Roof, his target was not a bunch of well-armed religious fanatics (like ISIS) but unarmed people quietly engaged in humble worship. 

It was a cold Pittsburgh morning recently, and things haven't really warmed up, unless you mean the wispy flames on the candles held by concerned citizens of all races and colors who gathered at the synagogue to pay their respects. Their number is dwarfed by the madding crowd of bigots who have a President who openly supports them and declares the mob includes plenty of "nice" people. 

Sammy Walker's song bleakly sketches the contrast between an old woman dying alone in poverty, and not far away, a crowd screaming in hysteria for the Steelers to win a game. Oh, and not take a knee because they're playing the REDSKINS, a team that refuses to change a blatantly racist name because the minority they abuse is not likely to set off bombs or riot. The Native Americans were pushed off their land. The Jews? Pushed off every bit of land in the world, and now, with the help of Peter Gabriel, Roger Waters and Patti Smith, told the tiny sandbox they call a homeland should be taken away from them, too. Holocaust denial is still popular, so who knows, maybe social media maniacs will declare the synagogue murders never happened. 

A bit of GOOD news here is that the Pittsburgh Steelers actually acknowledged the great tragedy in their town. It's not just the worst attack on Jews in America, it's another ugly and permanent scar on a country that once believed a Jewish woman's poem that graces the Statue of Liberty.

Sammy Walker hasn't made an album in a long, long time, and hasn't gigged in a long, long time. Part of the reason is piracy. The record business collapsed thanks to music assassins happily playing Santa, hipster, blogfather and basement anarchist in giving all the music away. Self righteous, all of them. Lots of excuses for their stealing and their sociopathic brattiness. The bottom line is they are as clueless as bigots, and just as lonely, too. People who do this are pathetic outsiders who will settle for a "nice" comment from a stranger, maybe a Paypal donations, or just the twisted notion of being "famous."

Sammy Walker, in an interview with Kasper Nijsen, tried to find some kind of silver lining in the dark cloud: "Without the internet and the new technologies, no one would be listening to my songs at all..." Which is the attitude of the pirates, and morons like Dave Marsh. Piracy is GOOD because people get free music and the artists get...er, uh, fame. They might even be famous enough to have a few hundred Facebook friends or Twitter followers who'll go to GoFundMe to pay the hospital bills Medicare doesn't pay. Oops, not enough to pay the bills. Oh well. Sell t-shirts.

The Pittsburgh morning that had the news about the synagogue murders? Already it's fading from memory. Anyone remember the killings in San Bernardino? Anyone still think about Charlie Hebdo? We all know the drill. Hear the news. Turn the perp into a star ("Why did he do it, let's hear ALL about him...."). Take a glance at the faces of the victims. Write "RIP" on social media somewhere. Wash your hands and rinse and repeat. And don't listen TOO closely to song lyrics that say "imagine...NO RELIGION...a brotherhood of man..."

Sammy Walker: "Sometimes it seems a lot of people have forgotten to listen to the words to songs. I mean, the general listening public. I don’t know how many people today can still sit and listen to the words and contemplate what they’re hearing. But there’s always the exceptions, of course, who are influenced by that kind of music and do listen to music where the words are a big part of the song." 

Listen to "Cold Pittsburgh Morning," and "IMAGINE" that the dead lady here is named Bernice Simon. She's one of the elderly women murdered by a 40-something nobody who probably has jerked off to Natalie Portman, Winona Ryder, Mila Kunis, Gal Gadot and Scarlet Johannson, without thinking Jewish genocide against them.

Sammy Walker's written songs that many critics consider right up there with the best of  Bob Dylan,  Phil Ochs and Leonard Cohen. All three, Jewish.

Sammy Walker your download of "Cold Pittsburgh Morning " 

Phil Ochs CHORDS OF FAME and the Rock and Roll HALL OF SHAME

Well, well, today's nominations came out. Guess who was NOT nominated for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in that fabulous city of musical greatness, CLEVELAND.

Phil Ochs. Warren Zevon. A whole bunch of people who should be in there. You can make up your own list.

It's still such a farce to even realize the Hall of Fame IS in Cleveland. Not New York City home of the Brill Building and dozens upon dozens of great people, from Paul Simon and Carole King and others born in NYC, to John Lennon who adopted the town as his own. Chicago would've been a good choice. Los Angeles. Motown. Nah. Fuckin' CLEVELAND. 

Today, John Lennon's birthday, you'll find below Phil playing "Chords of Fame" for him. John was very interested in the American folk tradition, and how melodies were adapted and freshened with new lyrics. Phil was talking about "Joe Hill," and how the melody was ased on "John Hardy" and "Tom Joad."

Phil, you may recall, was on the bill at Lennon's "John Sinclair Rally," performing "Here's to the State of Richard Nixon." In a hotel room, an eager Mr. Lennon  tried to calm an awed, and stuttery Phil Ochs, who became relaxed enough to launch into that enduring gem, "Chords of Fame." 

Today, the nominees for the idiotic "Rock and Roll Hall of Shame" were announced. While not as embarrassing as last year's bunch, it did include some people who are NOT "Rock and Roll" at all. Of course, one of them was chosen by several newspapers as the headline choice: 

That asshole, with his hat on backwards, and no guitar in his hand, yapping and yapping and rapping and rapping, is a "ROCK AND ROLL HALL OF FAME" nominee? In the immortal words of Pontius Pilate, "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!"

The nominees: Def Leppard, Devo, Janet Jackson, John Prine, Kraftwerk, LL Cool J, MC5, Radiohead, Rage Against the Machine, Roxy Music, Stevie Nicks, The Cure, Todd Rundgren, Rufus & Chaka Kahn, and The Zombies

Who do you think will make the cut? As we have several generations with short memories, you can bet that the most classic rock group, The Zombies, will NOT get in. They failed last time, after all. All they're known for is "Time of the Season," and if Boko Haram hasn't made it, the unsightly bunch who had a hit with a "Whiter Shade" of something or other, forget THIS group. Even though both are still touring.

It's interesting to see John Prine in there. Singer/songwriter. Folkie. Hasn't remotely the number of famous songs of either Ochs or Zevon. He should be proud to have been nominated, but that's likely as far as it goes. 

Some of the more ridiculous nominees: L.L. Asshole, Janet Jerkson, and Chunka Con, NONE of whom are really "Rock and Roll." Just how a mediocre headbanger bunch of unoriginals as Def Leppard were even CONSIDERED is beyond belief. 

"Don't. Don't. Don't...don't play the Hall of Shame sham." Meaning, don't spend too much time predicting who the winners will be. Are YOU ever going to go to Cleveland to see some uninhabited costume and mute guitars behind glass?

 John Lennon listens to Phil Ochs sing Chords of Fame

October 9th - John Lennon's birthday and...an Eleanor McEvoy song

There's been a flurry of activity this year, for John Lennon fans.


A museum in Liverpool has staged a vivid exhibit of memorabilia, and there's been a re-issue of the movie "Imagine," and also a huge box-set version of the album complete with a book and a ton of out-takes.


October 9th is John's birthday. It's also the title of a song by Eleanor McEvoy:"Last Seen October 9th." The song isn't usually in her set list. It's pretty grim. In fact, she usually performs it only on October 9th. 

Over a decade ago, I was in the audience, on October 9th, at her show.  By way of preface, expecting her song title for an answer, she asked the audience, "Anyone know what day this is?" 

From my ringside seat, I answered, "Yes...John Lennon's birthday." 

"Is it? Really. I didn't know that..." 

The song is about a person gone missing, not someone assassinated, but the effect is the same. The song, in its quiet, sober, somber simplicity, says a lot about life's fragility and the emptiness that goes with loss.  

 OCTOBER 9th Listen on line, no pop-ups, porn ads or wait time.

October 9th - Rufus Griswold defames Edgar Poe

You can trace literary assassination in America, to the Rev. Rufus Griswold, and a piece he published anonymously in the New York Daily Tribune on October 9th, 1849. 

Griswold was a rival of Edgar A. Poe (as Poe's byline usually read). Poe was known as much for his fiery, influential magazine editing as anything else. He recklessly made enemies with his severe and witty comments on matters of the day, much of it directed at rival writers. Griswold published compilations of those he considered the best American poets, and resented it when Poe disparaged some of the choices. Griswold had included Poe, probably as much to stay on Poe's good side as to acknowledge that Poe was indeed one of the country's finest talents. 

Griswold probably burned with malice when a poetess Poe praised in a magazine, was more taken with that and the handsome poet, than with the compliment of being in a Griswold anthology.

It was all a secret hatred. Griswold was a true weasel, and didn't publicly feud with Poe and risk being ripped to pieces by someone known to be cutting and witty. Griswold, after all, was better known for compiling collections, not for his writing.

Poe was so sure that Griswold was a friend and admirer, he named him his literary executor. Griswold executed Poe in the anonymous obit, but dared not expose that it was the work of the very man Poe had entrusted with his life's work. Griswold's black portrait of Poe as a nasty drunk would be taken as fact, even as several biographers over the years pointedly refuted much of Griswold's charges. As executor, Griswold tightened the purse strings on any money coming in from Poe's published work. Poe's starving mother-in-law, Maria Clemm, had to beg Griswold over and over for a few coins, or a few copies of Poe's books that she could sell.

Here's how Griswold opened his obituary on Poe, who at age 40, was found in a Baltimore street after several days of exposure and delirium, and was too far gone to linger more than a few days in hospital:

"EDGAR ALLAN POE is dead. He died in Baltimore the day before yesterday. This announcement will startle many, but few will be grieved by it. The poet was well known, personally or by reputation, in all this country; he had readers in England, and in several of the states of Continental Europe; but he had few or no friends..."

Griswold then threw in a plug for himself, noting that any biographical material in the obit was from "Griswold’s “Poets and Poetry of America,” from which a considerable portion of the facts in this notice are derived." Yes, the weasel had made sure to include Poe in the anthology, so as not to get Edgar angry with him, but now was his revenge.

Like Poe, Griswold was a major flirt with the poetesses of his day, but the results were more erratic than erotic. He was married three times, which was quite unusual for that era. The last divorce was very messy, and somehow involved technical issues that affected his latest marriage. This was circa 1853, four years after he defamed Poe. His bride was so disgusted by the charges brought up when the divorce was re-affirmed, she left Griswold. His hellfire wasn't over. A gas leak burned him and his home, but he recovered. This was followed by his 15 year-old daughter Emily nearly left for dead when she was trapped on a train that careened into a river. She was pulled from the waters and placed with dozens of dead bodies. Ultimately, someone noticed she was still breathing.  The following year, Griswold died of tuberculosis. He was only 42.

Thus, the pendulum swings wildly, and for some, Griswold's long history of creepy activity, culminating in the Poe obituary, led to his ultimate horrors in the last few years of his life. 

The last gasp from The Ivy League Trio, a concept lp called "Folk Songs from the World of Edgar Allan Poe," included their colorful version of "The Pit and the Pendulum." It arrived not long after Vincent Price and Roger Corman began their series of Poe-inspired films, including "House of Usher" and, yes, "The Pit and the Pendulum."

The trio had been signed to Decca's Coral label, and given a chance with two albums that included vivid cover versions of recent folk songs ("The Ballad of Tim Evans" and "The Ballad of Springhill (Springhill Mining Disaster)." For Reprise, Ronn Langford replaced Bev Galloway as the bass voice, and they re-wrote and re-arranged the material they were given, to create a critically praised, if low-selling release.

Two of the three singers on the album survive: Langford's had a lucrative career in the world of car racing, and Bob Hider is known for his skilled photography. "Pit and the Pendulum" combines lusty folk balladry with over-the-top guignol as one might expect (and even demand).

IVY LEAGUE TRIO PIT AND THE THE PENDULUM

Jerry Yester - Admits to the Pedo Material

Pretty weird to see the reaction to Jerry Yester admitting that he did have child porn on his computer, and that he'd been dabbling in such imagery for several years.

Since his main claim to fame is being in the post-successful Lovin' Spoonful, some people have left comments on social media about how they "can't listen to that music again."

Is that such a bad thing? Outside of "Summer in the City" they were a pretty dippie bunch of hippies. And if you can't separate music from the people who make it, you might not be much of an adult.

Jerry was in several groups when he was young and not, uh, nostalgic for childhood. These included The New Christy Minstrels and the Modern Folk Quartet. Arguably either group produced music a little more challenging than the Poon Full. Er, Spoonful. PS, how many straight, upright and decent people did NOT find something lurid in the term "Lovin' Spoonful?" The same bunch that don't know how the band 10CC got its name?

While Jerry did play piano on "Do You Believe in Magic," he didn't actually join the Spoonful until Zal Yanovsky was replaced. The band limped along for another year and broke up in 1969. It was then, that Yester reached his artistic height with "Farewell Aldebaran," produced written and performed with his wife, the legendary Judy Henske. Buoyed by the critical (but not commercial) success of the album, Jerry and Judy formed a band called Rosebud, and issued another album.

Also in Rosebud was arguably one of the most brilliant of session keyboard players, Craig Doerge. Eventually, Jerry and Judy were divorced. Judy married Craig, and they've been together ever since. Yester worked as a producer, saw The Modern Folk Quartet briefly come back together, and eventually joined the reformed Lovin' Spoonful in 1991. Just about a year ago (October 7, 1917) he was arrested. Pedo porn was found on his computer. He was kicked out of the Spoonful, which was still touring at the time. Now, a year later, he awaits sentencing. He's 75, out of work, and the question is whether a few years in jail is really needed as a warning to him or a warning to others.

Meanwhile, below, a pensive track from "Farewell Aldebaran" with Jerry on lead vocal. It's a moody look at old age and death, a subject that might've had something to do with Jerry's sudden interest in the absolute reverse.

HENSKE YESTER
One More Time    Instant download or listen on line. No Zinfart passwords, links for bogus out-of-date Flash downloads, malware or spyware anywhere.

UPDATE, FEBRUARY 10th, 2019. Apparently Jerry was able to get a deal...and/or perhaps what was on his computer wasn't THAT bad. He turned up in November of 2018 at the Grand Tavern Restaurant (Grand Central Hotel, Eureka Springs, Arkansas) playing piano behind guitarist singer Catherine Reed (who was doing Paul Simon covers). Catherine and Jerry ended with a duet on the Everly Brothers tune "Bye Bye Love" that Simon and Garfunkel often played. "Bye bye love...bye bye happiness, hello loneliness, I feel like I could die...my lovin' baby is through with me..." February 7th, 2019 he was in Nyx in Eureka Springs, Arkansas for a set (photo below). Nice to know he's not in hell. Maybe purgatory or limbo...because yes, on the far right is the TIP jar and the $15 CDs are laid out, hoping somebody will buy.

THE EVE OF DESTRUCTION soothed by THE LIVING VOICES (of Ethel Gabriel)

Amazing: a gloomy climate change headline bounced Kardashian's butt off the vital front page of a news site:

Not to worry. 

The "terrifying climate change warning" scare headline isn't the top story. Who believes it, anyway? 

President Orange Man once declared that when he uses his hair spray, it "disappears into the air," and doesn't seem to do any damage to that precious (if not fictitious) ozone layer in the sky. Republicans in general don't believe in climate change, evolution, or disqualifying a Supreme Court candidate who gets as emotional as a six year-old with alternating sniffles and tantrums. The most quotable thing Kavanaugh has ever said in his life: "I like BEER." 

Shrug off the gloom and doom and be soothed by some "EASY LISTENING" music. 

    “Back in the day” the “silent majority” had an answer to Hiroshima,  fallout shelters and music interrupted by emergency broadcasting system “tests” on the radio. They turned it all off, slapped some EASY LISTENING on the phonograph set with the teakwood needle, and sipped Jack Daniels (country) or Dewar's or J&B (city). In fact, EASY LISTENING could sweeten anything sour, even "Eve of Destruction," which you'll hear below covered by some middle-aged denture-wearing ninnies. 

    What, an entire soothing album of protest songs gone toothless? Sure. The album was just another in an endless series of budget RCA Camden albums intent on making “living” a little “easier.” Most any genre of music could be rendered into aural oatmeal and easily digested by the “Living Strings” and “Living Voices” in the living room. While most of these albums concentrated on Christmas music, standards, show tunes and watered down classical music, nothing was safe, not even Bob Dylan and P.F. Sloan. As an “easy listening” choice, it lends a macabre reality to Tom Lehrer’s line, “we will all fry together when we fry.”

    Would it surprise you to learn that the idyllic life of Ethel Gabriel, inventor of “The Living Voices” and “The Living Strings” ended badly? She lost her husband, her affluent lifestyle, her gold records, her savings, and has ended up in a small room in an upstate New York home. It’s a sad fate for a woman that isn’t even known to feminists, despite being credited as the first female record producer. After starting her musical career with an unlikely instrument choice (the trombone) and fronting a dance band, she worked for RCA. She was one of the executives who went out to Tennessee to scout a refugee from Sun Records with the unlikely name of Elvis Presley. 

     Ethel reached a pinnacle in the 60’s when she helmed RCA’s budget Camden label (named after a mediocre town in New Jersey). She not only re-issued everything from Perry Como to Homer & Jethro, but became the label’s combo of Mantovani and Mitch Miller, signing or supervising all kinds of lame releases by the Boston Pops, pianist Peter Nero, and a vast array of flaccid bandleaders including Hugo Winterhalter, George Melachrino and Henri Rene. Her big singing stars were gooey voiced Roger Whitaker and the Ames Brothers. She also was in charge of the never-ending and constantly expanding “Living” albums (was that title inspired by the Playtex “Living Bra?” that would soon include “The Living Brass,” “The Living Guitars,” and so many others.  RCA was delighted that some albums Ethel produced actually won Grammy awards and were certified Gold. 

    Ethel prospered through the 60’s and even the 70’s. She made a fortune from selling Muzak to middle-aged zombies, cloth-eared wimps and crying Dutchmen, who all sighed over how EASY the listening was. But…interest in the inane world of musical tranquilizers waned. Instrumentals such as “Stranger on the Shore” and “Alley Cat” from Acker Bilk and Bent Fabric gave way to The Beatles, and   Henry Mancini’s “Moon River” and Paul Mauriat’s “Love is Blue” were eclipsed by grunge rockers such as Mick Jagger and Eric Burdon. Past the 70’s, melodic Broadway shows began, in all candor, to ebb. Sondheim offered “Send in the Clowns” but was soon exploring discord with “Sweeney Todd” and “Assassins.”  Few hit songs were coming from movies (the “Godfather Waltz” was a rare exception). The people who wrote hit songs for Sinatra were dead, and Frank wasn’t feeling so good himself.  A last gasp in the late 70’s and early 80’s was when big bands (Les Elgart in particular) and unlikely geezers like Ethel Merman and Cab Calloway, rode their old hits into the discos of the world. 

    By 1984, Ethel Gabriel had pretty much done the “Living Strings” to death. What next? She was persuaded to invest her life savings, a quarter of a million dollars, in starting up “Global Entertainment.” Her advisor was a guy named Robert Anderson, who had been Secretary of the U.S. Treasure under Eisenhower. Either he was senile, or a crafty old bastard. Probably the latter, since he eventually did time for bank fraud. Either way, the company failed, and the 60-something Ethel faced an uncertain future. A lot of her possessions, including her framed Gold Record awards, were sold at auction. She became a widow and had no children to help her. In 2013, at the age of 91, she briefly made the news when a fan discovered her living at the Rochester Presbyterian Home, and gave her a grand gift by spending some money to make a Gold Record replica of one of her long-sold triumphs:

     Thus, a happy ending, of sorts. She no doubt can also take comfort in knowing there are hundreds of blogs that give away "Living Strings" music and Elvis and everything else on RCA. What would she do with the royalty money anyway? Eat less spam and government cheese? 

      Born in 1921, she’s lived to see 9/11 and ISIS and climate change, and predictions that we are, indeed on the “Eve of Destruction.” What do you do about it? Growl like Barry McGuire? Nah, you just croon the tune like the “Living Voices” do, until you stop living.

LIVING VOICES "Eve of Destruction" - no weird foreign download site, no pop-ups, no "update your Flash" spyware games, no dopey PASSWORD, no whine for Paypal donations