Bobby Cole - Dream a Little Dream of Me

Once again, it’s the sad anniversary. 

It was a miserable Christmas for Bobby’s friends, fans and family. Well, most. Some may not have heard the news of his passing yet. One of his friends got something in a major New York paper, and an old acquaintance wrote something up in a freebie give-away paper that was circulated mostly in the East Village. I say old "acquaintance" because in his little tribute, he declared he could never forget Bobby's "sapphire blue eyes." Let's just say the man was color blind, or hadn't seen Bobby in twenty years.

For some, and there’s irony here, Bobby's passing was a sudden realization that despite his flaws, he was a very special guy. Yes, more than once his self-appraisal was a gruff, “ain’t I a pain in the ass?” He was well aware of what his drinking had cost him, and continued to cost him when he’d have his lapses. He knew there were some, including ones he loved most, who shunned him. They were following the A.A. advice of "Let go, and let God," perhaps.

His fretful roomie, the bizarre Karen Leslie Lyttle, once tried to resurrect her acting career (her only famous role was in a Richard Pryor flop, "The Toy") by going out to the coast for auditions. She gave someone else the daunting task of looking in on Bobby, making sure he was taking his pills and not hiding them and binging. There were always some people who never quite gave up on him, or hadn't been disappointed often enough to walk away. There was one very attractive older woman with a famous hubby, who seemed to maintain a discreet affair via brief encounters when she happened to be in town. But I won't digress.

Some, who broke his heart by the angry words they hurled at him, and their silences, are now anxious for any photo or any recording they can find. “Lighting that torch, watching it burn.” I don’t blame ‘em. They had their reasons. Even his nutty roomie would sometimes try and take that vow, and lock him out and call up people and tell them not to take him in; let him sleep in a 24 hour movie theater in Times Square...make pay phone calls...and then walk for miles to that one person who answered the phone and couldn't refuse him. Those who know the Phil Ochs story know how this works. With Phil, even his own brother urged everyone to NOT help Phil by giving him money, a place to stay, or booze. It’s just a tough situation all around. And now, those who turned their backs have re-opened their hearts to his memory. And that’s a good thing.


Now and then, people share their memories on social media, and sometimes a bit more. Sometimes there’s an email or a phone call, and a bit of a surprise: “I know you knew Bobby well...I have a cassette recording...I don’t have a player anymore. Is there some way to get this transferred? Can we get together and have dinner, and talk about him, and can I give you the tapes?” 


There’s a recording of Bobby talking about life, his drinking, and how he wanted to try and get some more things done. It was an impromptu set of remarks between songs and giving a singing lesson to some woman or other. A brief snippet: “….I’ve been drinkin’ for 40 years. I don’t think I had a sane day in 40 years. Because it was all alcoholic thinking. If I wasn’t drunk I was withdrawing. Oh, there was some good times, but there are things I want to do. I want to do things I wanted to do when I was a kid, but I got hung up on the bottle…there’s life goin’ on…”

Yes, he had his demons, ones that sometimes got in the way, both personally and professionally. Like too many creative artists, he had a final project (the “Hole in the Corner Man” album) that he just didn’t want to finish, perhaps for fear of it being rejected. Meanwhile, he earned his money the old-fashioned way, playing and singing in bar-restaurants...a dying profession. There weren't too many places that would pay for live entertainment, as opposed to tips. Bobby did NOT play for tips. He refused to put a tip jar on his piano. The venue had to pay him or he wouldn't be there.

One factor that he had to deal with in his creative work, was the fact that some of the places he played were very noisy.  He could see the expressions of admiration on the ringsiders who were around his piano, but he could also look into the smoke and see dozens more paying no attention, and worse, talking mindlessly and loudly. 

The recording below is, unfortunately, an accurate example of how it sometimes was.  In his private life and in his performing life, sometimes he was taken for granted, unappreciated, or worse, ignored.

Until the Real Thing Comes Along - Dream a Little Dream of Me

ANITA BRYANT - ALL ALONE AM I

    Steve Martin, hosting the Academy Awards, joked: “Stay tuned, at the end of the show, we vote somebody out of show business.” 

     He didn’t know that in only a few years, this would become the obsession of the bird-brains on Twitter. Almost every day, a trending topic is “BOYCOTT…” some store, “FIRE….” some actor,  and demand that somebody “NEVER…” make another film, get another record deal, or write another book.

    One of the pioneering victims of the “you’ll never work in this town again” brand of witch-hunt, was a good looking witch by the name of Anita Bryant. She wasn’t a “Communist,” which you might recall led all-American bully, Sen. Joe McCarthy, to terrorize Hollywood and blacklist (or RED list) a variety of actors, writers and directors. 

     She was just, oh, one of the vast Christian religious fanatics who thought being gay was a mental disorder (and the Catholic Decency people would’ve added Henry Miller books, the movie  “Baby Doll” among others, and being Jewish). You know this bunch? Despite Anita’s banishment, they are STILL active. How about them fine Westboro Baptists picketing cemeteries? PS, other religious groups are even more obnoxious, but since one such group, Muslims, tend to throw gays off buildings, and play with machine guns, bombs, and knives, people try and look the other way.  

       UPDATE, December 31: if you think the problem ended because Anita Bryant was never allowed to sing again, how about Margaret Court? Court, who still sits atop Serena Williams for most all-time Grand Slam wins, is now a Pentecostal pastor at a church in Western Australia. She voices traditional Biblical views of "Adam and Eve." And you know what, it's possible that some psychologists would agree with some of what she's recently said: 

       "Children are making the decision at 7 or 8 years of age to change their sex. No...it’s so wrong at that age because a lot of things are planted in this thought realm at that age, and they start to question ‘what am I’?”   

        "You have got young people taking hormones and having changes, by the time they are 17 they are thinking, 'Now I’m a boy and really I was a girl.” 

     While Preacher Court couches all this by pointing to the Bible,  there are many therapists who do believe that homosexual thoughts are a phase, a part of growing up, and some serious evaluation is needed on what course to take, be it carving into the body, or just saying "wait a while," as you would if your kid wanted to get a tattoo of Taylor Swift or Harry Styles.

     A problem with Court now, and with Bryant several generations ago, is that the message is couched with a dash of religious fanaticism, and this is especially odious when their religion also suggests "turn the other cheek" and have "tolerance." It crosses a line when you start claiming that somebody's behavior is "the devil's work." Or that somebody will "go to hell" or "needs to be saved" just because they have a sex quirk. 

    It’s a thorny, or Crown of Thorns problem: what do you do with somebody who is bigoted or just plain stupid? The fabulous Quakers would “Shun” such people. But not jail or starve them. Just not talk to them, I guess. They could still shop for food, but if the person said, “I’d like a bag of flour. Oh, and how are you today,” all that person would get would be a bag of flour and a dirty look.

    These days, the answer seems to be: fuck their creativity. They are DONE. Usually. Selectively. We still hear Richard Wagner’s music all over the place even if he was a Nazi. Nobody’s banning Morrissey’s music or Roger Water’s Nazi-esque music. Woody Allen? Don’t let him make another movie even if he was NEVER convicted of ANYTHING. Don’t hire touchy-feely Spacey, either. Somehow Jeffrey Tambor was kicked off one TV show, but allowed to act on another. Well, he made a play for a woman who was a tranny, so things DO get confusing. 

       Bryant was an easy target. First off, what's a woman gonna do? When that gay guy (now dead) hit her with a pie, and stood waiting for a cat fight with her, she didn't oblige. She only quipped, "It was a fruit pie." Think that guy would've pied Louis Farrakhan? Isn’t it a bit odd that Louis Farrakhan is still around and preaching? Despite his backward and bigoted views? Oh...he's got nasty looking guys around him who probably have weapons. Back off HIM. But go after the soft target. Anita Bryant. A bit fishy, huh? 

Farrahkan's a total maniac with a dangerous habit of talking violent rhetoric to gullible morons. He's hardly alone in that. The Ayatollah. The various Imams. The jerks on YouTube. The neo-Nazi forums. The various hate groups hiding on Facebook. Did taking down Anita Bryant really do much? Are the Westboro Baptists still picketing cemeteries? Are the Arabs tossing gays off rooftops? Are morons now sensitive and tolerant about ANYTHING, or are they WORSE THAN EVER? 

Bryant? A pie in the face wasn’t enough. Neither was losing her Florida Orange Juice commercial, which was really the only visibility she had, since her style of singing was no longer popular. She ended up divorced, she was hounded everywhere she went, and her “ministry” collapsed. I think it’s still technically around. There’s a website or something, but she’s an old lady now, and she might not even be preaching to a small circle of pews. And yes, peee-uww to her sad, sad notion of intolerance to others. How Christian is THAT? Even if you think gays ARE slightly nuts (or as pervy as people who like to whip each other, wear adult diapers, or sniff feet), live and let live. 

We know, for example, that the odds of a gay teacher molesting students, or encouraging them to be gay, is less than the odds that the local priest might be a pedophile, or the straight female teacher might start giving blowjobs to 14 year-olds.  

All I’m saying is that give Anita Bryant some credit as a singer. When given the right material, she was a good one. Oh, and I think Lenny Bruce would’ve agreed: she was one good-lookin’ shiksa! All-American looks, man. This is what the ideal was. Fuck Doris Day (if you wanted to), what guys really wanted, in Anita’s time, was Anita, and all the other Miss America types. So wholesome. Brunettes — not those slutty blondes like Monroe or Mansfield. You married a BRUNETTE. OK, she might NEVER go down on you, but you could fuck her, right? At least until you had two kids. After that, maybe you’d be in the bathroom with the Sears Catalog underwear pages. But jeez, Anita Bryant. Late 50’s early 60’s. A wholesome jerkoff fantasy like the quaint (at this point) brunettes who appeared topless (sometimes just in a gauzy negligee and NOT topless) in Rogue or The Dude or Gent or Swank. 

At one point, strangely enough, Anita was being aimed at the teen market. I guess Dick Clark had the hots for her.

I guess if Connie Francis could appeal to teens, somebody thought Anita could, too. But really, her hit "Paper Roses" was aimed at an older audience. Not a hipper one; she was not Julie London. Anita didn't sing jazz, she sang more mainstream and gentile…ah, GENTEEL numbers. Gogi Grant? She was Jewish, ya know. So was Dinah Shore. But Anita Bryant was SO Christian…ok, TOO Christian, as it turned out. She definitely lacked the Christian charity to show some tolerance in her jibes about how God didn't make "Adam and Bruce."

But Christian charity is never easy to find. Take the Christian bitch Christ-in Jellybrain. Or whatever her name is. This blond shiksa made it her business to call out the Jew, Al Franken, and force him out of the Senate. He was only one of the better Senators, certainly more articulate and effective than Senator Jellybrain. But she wanted to run for President and she saw witch-hunting Franken as her ticket to ride. Right, stir up a frenzy against Al, because…he TOUCHED the clothed tits of a sleeping bitch, and somebody took a gag photo of it? Ooooh. And this was when he was a comedian, not a senator.

 I’ve had friends who died of AIDS, and who hated Bryant, and I’m not minimizing the hurt she caused in voicing her dumb opinions, but people are still voicing those dumb opinions without her.  We’ve got crackers out there who own guns and have swastikas on their faces and on their homes, and confederate flags flying, and have the fucking arrogance to say “Learn yer history,” because such symbols are NICE and GOOD. They go into black churches and synagogues and kill, kill, kill…showing no mercy to unarmed and harmless old people. 

Freedom of Speech is always tricky. We stand up for it when we agree. SOME magnanimously show their pseudo-scholarship by saying, "I will defend to the death your right to say something I disagree with." But, not really. Because the primitive notion remains: bash the person who said something you didn't like. Judge Wapner said "words are just words," but people get violent over them. Sometimes, it's understandable. The more nasty or racist or stupid the words, the more you want to say "fire that person." Otherwise they get worse.

Who'd want smug Anita to do a whole album pushing not her religion but her anti-human agenda? Something like...

How about this: Cat Yusuf Stevens Salami Giorgio or whatever the fuck he’s calling himself — agreed that a writer should be KILLED because some bearded turd who declared himself God’s messenger said so. WHO? Did you hear it from GOD, Cat? No, you heard it from some phony fuck-o asshole claiming to be God’s messenger, which is no different than some jerk on a soap box in a London park, or Jim Jones or some sex maniac peddling “magic underpants” and the notion that guys should have as many wives as they want and breed as many MORONS as they want. Who the FUCK are you, to declare a man’s life should end, because some scabrous old lunatic who insists HE has a direct line to his INVISIBLE FRIEND, says so? 

And is anyone banning Cat’s irritating music anywhere? No. Anyone finding it a bit hypocritical that this gruff-voiced mucous-toned fuckup is singing “Peace Train” while calling for a writer’s death? Any no-longer-moist menopausal ex-hippie chicks out there NOT still wistfully listening to “Wild World” or “Lisa” and wishing she could give her dried pussy to the ex-Cat? 

Anyway, back to Anita. You know what? Anita was dumb, but she was religious-dumb. Today, we allow religious-dumb to knife people on London Bridge, blow people up in bars and nightclubs, and get let out of jail early and NOT get deported. The Christian nations, UK and USA, are SO understanding of CERTAIN forms of religious bigotry….ones that come from dangerous people who are allowed to spout hate and threaten the big Allah-kaboom. But Anita Bryant? A mere female magpie with a smug holier-than-thou brand of obnoxiousness? She had an opinion. Don't argue with her: destroy her, and keep her destroyed, even her art. Go ahead, sell Manson’s drawings and the Killer Clown’s paintings. But not Anita’s records.

Last week some Christian assholes were screaming “BOYCOTT THE HALLMARK CHANNEL” on Twitter. Why? Hallmark showed an image of a gay wedding, and two lesbians kissing. Christ, how many Christian men have dialed up lesbian porn and seen babes like that licking labes? What hypocrisy, but that’s another word for RELIGION, ain’t it?

“All Alone Am I” showcases just how good Anita Bryant could be. Give her a decent ballad, and don’t have Mitch Miller or some other asshole fuck up the arrangement, and she was fine. “Cold Winter” is also on this blog, and it’s another example of how she stacked up against Patti, Gogi or Doris. Bryant could sometimes sing a number as well as ache-voiced Connie Francis, or the more country-tinged Brenda Lee. At least give her that credit. Put an asterisk on her ass, and yes, point out that she was too sanctimonious and ignorant for her own good, but don’t be stupid. It’s like pretending that awful Harvey Weinstein didn’t produce a lot of sensitive and romantic movies, including films that no other studio would’ve touched. Nothing is black and white except a fucking Oreo. 

Jesus was pretty good about not casting the first stone. He wasn’t big on INTOLERANCE. He wasn’t fighting holy wars, and he wasn’t marrying child brides.  He wasn’t whining “BOYCOTT” every other day. And really, when he was on the cross, he could’ve at least said, “BAN NAILS!” But he was pretty much alone. Some were talking him up, but nobody was taking him down. He was alone.

“All Alone” is Anita Bryant, and over the past decades, she hasn’t shown her face too often. Her website hasn't been updated since 2006. 

All alone is she? Well, her notoriety is still very much with us.“The Loneliest Girl in the World” was staged as a musical in San Diego last year. The 2018 show is a fictionalized account of Tommy (based on Thom Higgins) who goes from being a Bryant fan to ultimately her worst nightmare via the pie attack. (The real Thom Higgins couldn’t make it to the show, having died in 1994). The story of Tommy runs alongside Bryant’s story of losing to Mary Ann Mobley in the Miss America Contest (this is somehow a running joke, with an actress playing Mobley) to becoming an All-American singing star and then a sell-out and a Bible zealot. A reviewer actually felt that the actress playing Bryant turned her into a “relatively sympathetic and definitely multi-dimensional character.” 

There you are, even NOW,  when she’s laying low in Oklahoma, and her “Ministry” website has no store, no current events, and really just a biography of her as reading material, Bryant remains a perfect target for gays looking back in anger, and a convenient symbol of Americana to jeer and throw stones at. Christ, we all know that nothing white is any good, nothing Christian is any good, and any music made by a middle-aged white woman in the 50’s or 60’s should be banned. Statue of Kate Smith? Take that DOWN! It’s all just that simple. 

Nobody’s playing Kate Smith anymore, and really, her version of “God Bless America” was not exactly the highlight of any baseball or hockey game.  But is that right, and is that really an AMERICAN thing to do or more an IRANIAN thing to do? Anita Bryant’s voice was actually much more expressive and pleasant, which includes her take on “Power and the Glory,” as well as the item below. If you actually think that an artist’s creative work might not deserve to be banned for some other belief, especially one that’s based on the same religious principles that are given a free ride most of the time, you too can sing along and mean it: “All Alone Am I.” 

ALL ALONE AM I

Greta Thunberg, TIME'S "Person of the Year" -- Living Voices: "EVE OF DESTRUCTION"

You heard how the impeached Donald Trump reacted to Greta Thurnberg getting the cover of TIME instead of him, or one of his idiot sons, or his buddy Putin or his buddy Kim? 

He took to Twitter, where he squats most of the day, like a brainless 12 year-old girl, babbling on and on, posting up to 100 lying, bitching, obnoxious, foolish tweets. He wrote:

"Greta must work on her Anger Management problem, then go to a good old fashioned movie with a friend! Chill Greta, Chill!"

Chill? Today's fucking news is that Australia is having it's WORST HEAT WAVE IN ITS HISTORY. Last summer, many major cities in Europe broke records for sweltering heat. But hey, if it actually happens to be snowy in December in America, Trumpty Dumpty is convinced he'll stay in one piece, and the massive heatwaves, tornadoes, tsunamis and other shit will just disappear. You know, like polar ice and endangered species. 

MAYBE the problem is that a little girl's voice is too shrill? That the gloom and doom news about climate change is too sour? And that singer Barry McGuire is too GRUFF for listeners who now prefer Boy Band crooners offering beats that sound like popped pimples? 

PERHAPS, what's needed is the lovely LIVING VOICES to sugar coat the message that with violent religious fanatics, rampant incurable diseases, psychos on the street, food resources dwindling, fish becoming harder to find unless farmed in unhealthy tanks, and summer lasting most of the year...we really ARE on the EVE OF DESTRUCTION. 


EVE OF DESTRUCTION sweetened by the LIVING STRINGS - instant download or listen online- no 10 day link bullshit, no Pay to Download crap, no Paypal donation whining

KIKI EBSEN - MISSING BUDDY and NEEDING KICKSTARTER

How bad…is it…in this world where assholes “share” music because they’re just too cheap and nasty to buy it, and piracy is so rampant that record labels and artists can’t literally AFFORD to hunt down and stop every blogger jerk that hides links and re-ups constantly? The ones who have entire discographies on their blogs, and come up with every nitwit excuse for relentlessly making sure nobody EVER has to buy anything but pizza and beer? "I'm having FUN!" "Screw the RIAA!" "I'm giving artists publicity!" Christ, even a hillbilly like Jethro Bodine would know better than THAT.

What it t means is that most singers have to work with indie labels, or sell at their gigs and hope people want a souvenir. They have to be humiliated by tiny checks from Spotify and they must compete with zillions of free music posts on YouTube. If the singer isn’t offering RAP or “boy band” tripe or the kind of rap-pop that Cardi B and Taylor Swift do, it’s time to…GO TO KICKSTARTER.

Even if you have a semi-famous name or connection ("I'm the daughter of JED CLAMPETT aka BARNABY JONES") it doesn't much. This is an era where even Joni Mitchell and Carly Simon have given up, and Steve Miller sighed that there was no point in putting out a new album if it meant pitiful sales figures. Oh, but who cares about THAT when some blogger asshole in Holland, Sweden, Turkey, or some little obscure town a thousand miles from anything that matters, can be a big shot? And get a NICE comment? For somebody else's creativity? Because the blogger can only post an album cover and a link. Or maybe a very stupid joke header about "Neil Old?" 

Over 60, and showing a love of melody, Kiki Ebsen began her career as part of father Buddy Ebsen’s summer “family tour” troupe. On breaks from “Barnaby Jones,” Buddy indulged in his first love, song and dance. With several daughters who could sing and dance, he amused audiences mostly in California with a charming variety show. Kiki (born Nancy) was serious about music and studied classical singing at Cal-Arts (California Institute of the Arts). She was named “Collegiate Entertainer of the Year,” but took an odd detour, playing keyboards with Chicago. After touring for a while with the rock big band, she joined Al Jarreau’s band. She ultimately made her solo debut in 1994, and put out new albums in 2000, 2002, 2005, and 2011. 

 By 2014, she was checking out KICKSTARTER. She had found a bunch of songs (including original tunes written by Buddy) and wanted to put them out, saluting such old time classics as “Tea for Two,” “Laura,” and “You Don’t Know What Love Is.” The album was dubbed the “Scarecrow Sessions,” as it included “If I Only Had a Brain,” which was in “The Wizard Of Oz.” And nearly, so was Buddy Ebsen. The affable song and dance man was originally cast as the Scarecrow. He was shifted to the part of the tin man, but had a terrible reaction to the make-up needed for the part. He was replaced by Jack Haley. (The make-up was also toxic for "Wicked Witch" Margaret Hamilton, who nearly had her face burned off when the green goo all over her reacted to heat.)

 Fortunately for Kiki Ebsen, she had five previous albums, over a decade of touring, and a famous last name to help her raise the $12,000 she felt was needed to get a truly polished, professional recording done. Some might shrug, “Eh, go use Pro Tools. Then we’ll complain about the fake drums after we download it free.” Or, “Why don’t you just give away the CD and make money selling t-shirts?” The truth is that even famous older rock bands have trouble booking a few lousy dates in a City Winery venue in the USA or a dump like Butlins in the UK. Touring and trying to get people to pay for admission and drinks has never been easy, and it’s worse than ever. 

Kiki is currently playing gigs in California with a show called “To Dad With Love: A Tribute to Buddy Ebsen.” Her other project is the aptly named “Kiki Ebsen’s Joni Mitchell Project.” Her latest album (2017) is “Cool Songs” from the Joni catalog. For more information on this great talent, go to her kikiebsen dotcom.  

Below, “Missing You,” which is a co-write from Buddy Ebsen and Zeke Manners. I've never seen Kiki perform live, but I'm sure she's great. As for Buddy Ebsen, let’s just say I have a few memories of him being very generous with his time, and being a kind gentleman. It was his good fortune to be one of the few (Jack Klugman and Dick Van Dyke also come to mind) who managed an enduring hit show late in life, one that was a contrast to previous sitcom fame. His career was an incredibly rich one, from his song and dance days, his work as a Disney co-star, “Beverly Hillbillies,” and “Barnaby Jones,” etc. He loved the sea, and some of his happiest times involved sailing. His words to me, now go back out to his family and his fans: “Fair winds!” (PS, uploading entire albums is not "Fair Use.")

Kiki Ebsen - listen online or download - no passwords, creepy websites with malware or porn ads, no Paypal donation whining, no link to a PAY website so the blogger can steal nickels from the artist

HEY NOW! Saluting KINGSLEY -- as Lame British Bints hop to POPCORN

The Man of the Moog has eclipsed; Gershon Kingsley is gone. Born Götz Gustav Ksinski (October 28, 1922 – December 10, 2019),  he wrote operas, Jewish music, and arranged music for Broadway shows and even wrote film scores. But...butter this: his greatest fame came with "Popcorn." It first appeared on one of his own moog albums (1969) and became truly an international sensation via a cover version in 1972. 

No download on this, because the YouTube video is a must-see. Yes, it's kicky, fashion-conscious "Top of the Pops" bints who're "dancing." You can call it dancing. They seem to have their shoes nailed to the floor, afraid if they actually hop up and down their tampons would slide out. Don't strain yourselves, zombitches:  

Isn't it nice how easy Google makes it for bloggers to access YouTube clips? Oh. That's right. Google OWNS Blogspot and OWNS YouTube. Thats Squid Pro Squat, or whatever. Another nice thing is that YouTube's reinvented all their rules to make sure that they make all the ad money, and almost anyone posting old clips is DEMONETIZED. Accent on the DEMON. But let's get back to Gershon Kingsley. 

He grew up in the tense times when Nazi Germany was fomenting even more deadly pogroms and anti-Semitism than the other neighboring countries from Poland to Russia and back. Though his mother was Catholic, there was no way he would be spared from persecution in Berlin. With increasing violence against Jews all around him, and only fifteen, he journeyed to Israel (then called Palestine) and lived on a kibbutz. He would not see the rest of his family for eight years…when they all ended up in America.

Kingsley’s first success came in California, after he was rejected by Juilliard. He attended the LA Conservatory of Music (now Cal Arts) and worked as a synagogue organist. He arranged and conducted summer stock productions in California, and in 1955 came to New York where there was more opportunities for theater work. He was soon arranging and directing music for Broadway and off-Broadway shows, from “The Entertainer” (1958) to Ernest In Love (1960).  He was musical director for Joffrey Ballet productions, and “The World of Kurt Weill” with Lotte Lenya. 1964 was a busy year, as he was musical director for two productions, “Josephine Baker” and “The Cradle will Rock.”  In 1966 he became a staff arranger at Vanguard Records. He soon had his own deal at Vanguard for his innovative pop-moog work with Jacques Perrey. He was switched on: 

Kingsley founded the First Moog Quartet, appearing on an Arthur Fielder “Evening at Pops” show. Unfortunately “Concerto Moogo” performed on that show, was never released on disc. I was fortunate to have a reel-to-reel copy of it, but I have no idea what happened to it. I contacted Gershon's website a year ago, asking if the item would ever be uploaded to soundcloud (the website has done this for a lot of his work) and of course, got no reply. Webmasters rarely respond to anything that involves forming a coherent sentence, and certainly nothing that won't bring them money. ("I'll build your website...answering or forwarding emails is extra!") Oh, some webmasters will offer a form reply "thanks for your interest. Your suggestion/question will be evaluated." Perhaps one day "Concerto Moogo" as performed by the quartet and Boston Pops will surface. It does exist.

There was only one First Moog Quartet album, and curiously, "Concerto Moogo" wasn't on it.  Vanguard released two Perrey-Kingsley items, “The In Sound from Way Out” (1966) and “Kaleidoscopic Vibrations” (1969).  In 1970 he released his own album,  “Music to Moog By.” More royalties turned up when Walt Disney theme parks adopted some of his compositions, and a catchy melody was adopted as the theme for the “Joker’s Wild” TV quiz show. Kingsley also wrote music for TV commercials, which was very lucrative and also won him a few industry Clio awards. He scored the film “Sam’s Song” in 1969 (along with “Silent Night, Bloody Night” in 1972 and “Sugar Cookies” in 1973).

He didn’t neglect “serious” music, composing religious music, “song cycles,” “new age” electronic music, and even opera, including “Tierra,” which had its premiere in Germany. Another opera, “Raoul,” told the story of Raoul Wallenberg and premiered in 2004. Of course, the world still loves its “Popcorn,” which Kingsley first recorded in 1969, and the group Hot Butter made a hit in 1972...and cover versions have been popping for decades since. Oh, one more thing...just in time for Chanukah, here's a download of THREE HEBREW PRAYERS. Shalom, Gershon.

THREE HEBREW PRAYERS by GERSHON KINGSLEY

DUMB BLONDES - DEAD OR ALIVE “SHELL AND THE CRUSH”

    Dumb blondes: sexy, alternately giddy and morose, seemingly incapable of pronouncing certain words of the English language, thoroughly capable of blowjobs IF they’ve had a nice dinner or good seats at a show…they are eternally fascinating. 

    Not to imply that Shell who once fronted “Shell and the Crush” was dumb. Perhaps she just played it that way, like Goldie Hawn. I've met Goldie, and she's genuinely cheerful, but far from dumb!

    Back around the time Cyndi Lauper’s anthem “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” arrived, record labels were scurrying to find equally trashy, flighty, idiotic and erotic punk chicks to promote. Warners had an e.p. on “Shell and the Crush,” featuring the babe wearing a typical easy trash-and-vaudeville outfit. The opening girls-just-wanna-have-fun song? “Popular Girl.”

    Why it didn’t become a hit, I have no idea. One dopey flash-in-the-pants cheap-twat song from Lauper was enough? Really? Who can EVER get enough?? 

    Shell (that’s short for Michelle) had the sultry-snotty delivery down perfectly, her dialect typical of what you’d hear in any East Village used clothing store where chicks spend hours and hours holding skirts up to themselves while their boyfriends try to refrain from saying, "You look best wearing nothing at all." 

    As shell sings it, “Girl” is pronounced “Gehl” (rhymes with smell.) Like any pogo punk who would hop up and down because she has no idea how to dance, when she sings “go crazy” she has to pitch that itchy last word higher than what you’d get if you kicked Joe Besser in the balls: “Cray-ZEE!” 

    Another adorable quirk: she somehow can’t rhyme “with the crowd.” and “On the town.” Town is pronounced tyeeOWn. Oh, she was ahead of her time. Now idiot Millennial bitches say "Thank you" by pronouncing it "think yow."  Gotta love it, that self-absorbed self-entitled girly-girl behavior.   

    Is it any wonder I kept this gem all these decades after Warners' publicity department mailed it to me? So what happened to SHELL after her rock dreams of stardom got CRUSHED?

    The attractive singer got work as an actress and made a fortune via lingerie sales. Then she died of kidney failure before she reached fifty. 

    Ohio-born Michelle Kepler (October 5, 1958-February 1, 2008) first broke into show business in Chattanooga, Tennessee, her teen beauty getting her roles in “The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie” (hey, did she play the part that required topless nudity?) and “The Sound of Music” (no topless nudity). 

    After her Warners ep, she apparently divided her time between marriage and divorce (first husband, 1985-1991, second husband, 1993-2000) and building up her clothing business, promoted via the Home Shopping Network.  She claimed that her “Lacy Afternoon” line of robes, shoes, blouses and jewelry and perfume netted her 20 million dollars. Or grossed. Well, I really don’t know how gross the perfume may have been. This was one of her mildly spiced items:

    Her fame as an entrepeneur was matched, at least for a while, by television fame. Shell played nurse Amy Vining on the long-running soap opera “General Hospital,” concluding her work there in 2002. She seemed to concentrate on her business career after that, living her last six years in Portland, Oregon. 

    Shell's gone (unless you believe in "The Ghost in the Shell) but there’s probably a lot of bedroom action still going on involving “Lacy Afternoon” bedwear. Hopefully, some of the foreplay includes a play of “POPULAR GIRL.” 

"POPULAR GIRL" - no premium account weaselry, no password, no Paypal donation request, no dodgy website full of malware and porn 

DUMB BLONDES DEAD OR ALIVE - Nina Gordon “NOW I CAN DIE”

Skipping a generation from Michelle Kepler, here’s Nina Rachel Gordon Shapiro (November 14, 1967)  who was toddling at the same time another Jewish blonde with an adorable dumb streak, Goldie Hawn, was becoming a star on “Laugh-In.” Nina got her first taste of fame in 1992, long after “Shell and the Crush” was (minor) history, and after Julie Brown’s parody song “‘Cause I’m a Blonde” and Ellen Foley’s cover of “Stupid Girl.” 

Nina and a friend put together Veruca Salt, an alt-rock band that got some buzz with Nina’s self-penned single “Seether.” Six years later, the band split up, and in 2000, Nina released her first solo album. 

Unlike Cyndi Lauper, who splashed with an effervescent novelty single before drowning in the soda-gone-flat ballad ’True Colors,” Nina did the reverse. Her first single was a ballad, the smoothly over-produced “"Tonight and the Rest of My Life.” Demonstrating a restraint Whitney Houston would never know, Nina tempered the car-alarm ah-ee-ah, and made some serious cash when the song turned up on soundtracks of femme-favorite films “The Notebook” and “Chocolat.” 

Everyone knows, if you don’t follow up your hit with another hit, you’re suddenly a has-been. Nina’s choice for her next single was the brilliantly stupid “Now I Can Die.” In the video, she starts out ON HER KNEES in front of our (unseen, male P.O.V. like porn) hero. She spends the rest of the vid grinning like an imbecile, pulling her pants back on, and wandering around caca-California like the ultimate girly-girl on a sugar high.  

Unlike brunettes or redheads, the allure of the blonde is almost always tied to her gullibility. If she isn’t a total idiot, she’s easily duped. Think about Marilyn Monroe not realizing Tony Curtis was a man in drag. Jayne Mansfield was even more of a boob. Following in the tradition, and singing this song as if she actually meant it and it’s not a parody, Nina raves about a rich crossdresser who is so cool he has his own ringtone on his phone. This is impressive? To a blonde, yes.

For being with this guy for probably no longer than a hamster's lifespan, she's raving about knowing the meaning of life...and being ready to DIE.  How…dumb…IS SHE?

Let’s just say that Elvis Costello probably was not talking about a blonde when he penned the immortal couplet: “"I said I'm so happy that I could die / She said drop dead and left with another guy.”  Here, not thinking this cad would probably be leaving her for next year's model, Nina confides:

He takes me everywhere
He goes and he goes everywhere
He likes to try on all my clothes
But not my underwear….
He gives me everything
He's got and he's got everything
He calls me on the phone a lot
He's got a special ring

As another stung man, Joe Jackson once sang, “Is she really going out with HIM? But that’s the dumb blonde for you. 

While misshapen fools like Elvis Costello and Joe Jackson are heartbroken, the dumb blonde goes out with some total asshole because he’s rich, because he’s one I.Q. point higher than the chick, or for other pointless and superficial reasons like having a cool car, enjoying travel, or showing a bogus “feminine side.” Whatever. Lah dee dah.  

Nina, who was as old as Jesus when this song came out (33) sings it like a moonstruck 17 year-old. (Oh, make it 18. We have to be PC here.) Burbling like she's totally gaga, she chirps:  

Yeah he really loves me
Sweethearts and turtledoves me

Turtledoves? In the 21st century? It gets sillier. Her ultimate epiphany: “I am the girl. And he is the guy.”  

That’s right, all you women of the 70’s and 80’s who fought for equality. At the start of the 21st century, chicks are proving Darwin was wrong. Our Nina ain’t a MS, and she’s not in misery; she’s happy to be the GIRL. That’s another aspect we love about dumb blondes (or any stupid girl); the willingness to NOT be a woman, but to remain a GIRL.

You might remember the dumb blonde in the musical version of “Little Shop of Horrors.” Unlike the charming brunette in the original film, the dumb blonde gets repeatedly slapped and abused by her sadistic dentist-boyfriend. “I’m sorry doctor, sorry doctor, sorry doctor- OWWWW!” Nina isn’t quite so dumb, but her idea of a catch is a guy who simply isn't overtly misogynistic toward her:

And he never hates me
Just wants to levitate me

Gosh, who wouldn't love a guy who doesn't openly hate you? Low self-esteem, anyone?

Just how this guy “levitates” Nina, we aren’t told, but who knows, he might like to take her on roller coaster rides. He might buy her platform shoes. He might allow her to get on top which she thinks is a sign of letting her have control but HE knows is just a ploy so he doesn’t have to do any work.

The kicker for this fantastic song (I know I'm giving it a LOT of space here!) is Nina’s naive notion that this asshole is the be-all and end-all. He’s shown her is special ring phone, he’s worn her clothes, he’s shown off his fancy car:

He opened up my eyes
I understand everything
And now I can die

Now it’s time for her to get serious and confidential. Seriously. S’riously. Rilly. She actually punctuates her nitwicity with a hooting owlet cry of “WOOOO." Um, like, she just said she's ready to die but, er, uh...

I'm not trying to say
That I don't want to live
'cause I do...
But if tomorrow my number should be called
I won't be sad
I won't feel bad at all
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
    
This song would not be nearly so entertaining if Nina wasn't being so gum-chewing chick-let sincere. There was a vague element of humor in Cyndi's idiot "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun," (especially when you know the song was written by a man), but THIS thing is intended to appeal to POV-loving porn-loving males fantasizing about a JAP that Frank Zappa would've liked to screw. It was also supposed to be a chatty Cathy confession to pillow-fighting bubble-headed school girls of every possible hair color. WOOOOOO!

This song never fails to make me smile when I play it. I even got a smile off the name of her publishing company: Celestial Snail.  Is that a chick or what? She names her publishing company after one of the lowliest forms of life, but one that somehow (with the right GUY snail) can be CELESTIAL. Ever know a hippie chick who couldn’t complete a sentence without the word “cosmic” being in it? Things haven’t changed. Not really. Only the slang. Ahhh, celestial! How awesome!

While “Tonight and the Rest of My Life” was a modest hit and got picked up for inclusion in sappy movies, Nina’s album didn’t reach the all-important Billboard Top 100. It ONLY sold about a quarter million copies, which had Warner Bros. feeling edgy about how edgy or how soft and squishy she was. She kept busy with club dates and songwriting, but the follow-up album got delayed for one reason or another, and the YEARS went by. A YEAR in the record business is more like a DECADE. You can imagine how many record producers were hired and fired, and how many radio stations and record stores closed up in the time between her 2000 album and her 2006 follow-up, “Bleeding Heart Graffiti.”

It’s possible some might rue the reverse-Lauper strategy of having a morose romantic hit song and THEN coming up with a teenage party tune, but in THIS ill world, we salute her for following her instincts, and essentially putting out a second tune, rolling the dice, and realizing, “and now my career can die.” PS, she’s still married to the same guy for quite a long time now, and surely, he gives her everything.

You know the websites where you can transform a YouTube video's soundtrack into an mp3 file, so I haven't done it for you. (Call me Grinch.)

Mistletoe Mustache and more from cute blonde PRISCILLA PARIS and the PARIS SISTERS

By December 1st, a lot of stores are IMPOSSIBLE to shop in, due to the OVERKILL of shitty CHRISTMAS MUSIC. I mean, SHITTY CHRISTMAS MUSIC. Isn't almost ALL of it shitty?

From Mariah Carey to Paul McCartney, singers seem to crawl up their sooty chimneys to haul out what they THINK is wonderfully cute. It's actually more like coal. More like SHIT.

You can forgive a dead fat moron like Burl Ives because "Holy Jolly Christmas" was sung at a time when the country was sappy. There were "families" back then, and everyone sat around singing rotten crap like "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." Things improved only slightly when "Jingle Bell Rock" arrived, but the tendency to be idiotic never left, and even the late (December 8th was the 39th anniversary) Mr. Lennon had to inflict "Happy Christmas" on it, with an all-too-familiar melody, dumb rhymes (year and fear) and Yoko trying everyone's patience.

Now that we're in the 20th Century, Christmas music is...FREE. We have idiots happily tossing entire Christmas discographies on their blogs, in forums, in secret little shoutboxes, and anywhere else. What says Christmas more than stealing holiday music? What would Jesus do? I doubt he'd say, "Thanks, Dude, you're a real SHARER, and I'm gonna LOVE playing this all Christmas day! God Bless the Internet!"

One of the dumbest excuses pinhead bloggers offer is "fair use" and "review purposes." Really? Have you noticed a film reviewer giving you a link so you can download the movie? Gosh, why is THAT? At best, you show a clip.

And here, at best, the idea is to give a few samples so you can discover an artist and then buy something. If the artist is dead, the record store owner isn't. 

Continuing our theme of blondes, here's the Paris Sisters and "The Man with the Mistletoe Mustache." You can bet that at this blog, in a concession to season's gratings, would only offer an interesting-but-annoying little Christmas obscurity.

The Paris Sisters, who had a Top Ten hit in 1961, don't deserve to be as forgotten as they are. Priscilla, and older siblings Albeth and Sherrell, literally followed in the Andrews Sisters footsteps back in 1954. Their aggressive stage mother arranged a backstage meeting when the trio came to town. Patty, Maxene and Laverne actually liked the young girls and gave 'em a break…an on-stage chance to sing along with them on their hit 'Rum and Coca Cola," a plagiarized tune that would eventually be the subject of legal action.

The Paris Sisters signed with Decca that year and issued "Ooh La La." They turned up on the Imperial label in 1957, still imitating the sassy close-harmony stylings of both the Andrews and the McGuire sisters as well as The Chordettes.

It was when they signed with Gregmark in 1961, label owner Lester Sill and one of his top producers (a fellow by the name of Phil Spector) transformed the trio. If you'll pardon the term, the "zeitgeist" at the time was sugar pop; soft and sweet groups such as The Fleetwoods and the Dixie Cups would be topping the charts. The Paris Sisters scored a Top Five with "I Love How You Love Me," (music by Barry Mann, lyrics not yet by Cynthia Weil), and also did well in 1962 with the singles "He Knows I Love Him Too Much" and "What Am I to Do," also produced by Spector…who soon got involved with several more girl groups, leaving the Paris Sisters behind. (Phil's birthday comes up December 26th…get him a cake with a file in it).

As pop underwent radical change in the mid-60's, smart producers were mixing messages into the mush…exemplified by the subversive "Along Comes Mary" from The Association and the overt "Give a Damn" from Spanky and Our Gang. There still seemed hope for the Paris Sisters, now on Reprise, and working with former Spector arranger Jack Nitzsche. Their 1966 album "Sing Everything Under the Sun" remains an unsung classic of the waning girl group era, featuring several original compositions by Priscilla that stand comfortably alongside contributions from Goffin and King (Some of Your Lovin') Bacharach and David ("Long After Tonight is All Over") and Mann and Weil ("See That Boy"). The album had their smart re-working of "It's My Party," transformed from Lesley Gore's squealing angst, to vulnerable, wide-eyed baby doll heartbreak. Your download below does have "It's My Party," but rather than the obvious early hits, also includes two rarities: both sides of a GNP Crescendo single "Stand Naked Clown," backed with "The Ugliest Girl in Town."

"Stand Naked Clown" is just bizarre for its time, and even for now. The latter was the theme song for a short-lived TV show starring Peter Kastner about a guy who invades the kicky British fashion scene in drag. It pre-dates Lady Gaga by a generation. Kastner couldn't live it down and faded into Canadian obscurity.

Call it Diana Ross syndrome, or just common sense; Priscilla went solo in 1967. The age of the singer-songwriter had arrived, and she had enough original material for the appropriately titled "Priscilla Sings Herself." Writing to what she perceived to be her true vocal talents, there was a marked shift away from breathy intimacy and the world of Claudine Longet or Astrud Gilberto. Instead of fluff and easy listening, there was the moody "Stone is Very Very Cold" and the bombastic "message" tune "He Owns the World," two tracks that seemed to be Priscilla's bid for entering the territory of Dusty Springfield and Shirley Bassey. Hey…Dusty and Shirley didn't write their own music and lyrics…these hold up, too. But…the album didn't get the attention it deserved.

Her next album switched styles again; the Pat Boone-ish concept album "Priscilla Sings Billy." Yes, they spelled Billie Holiday's name wrong and offered middle-of-the-road interpretations of Lady Day. It didn't thrill purists who loved the original's weary jazz lilt and boozy phrasing, and it had no appeal to pop fans who didn't want to hear Gershwin's "I Loves You Porgy." The middle aged white audience had no idea who she was, so would've only bought that kind of album if it was from Rosemary Clooney or Doris Day.

After her 1978 comeback attempt, "Love Is…" Priscilla suffered an accident resulting in partial facial paralysis, sidelining her music career for a number of years. By the 1990s Priscilla was again playing the occasional Parisian club date, and in the spring of 2002 she returned to the U.S. for a proposed Paris Sisters reunion concert. Sadly, nothing quite worked out for her and her sisters, and she died just two years later, on March 5, 2004, from injuries suffered in a fall at her home. She was 59. Last year, an excellent compilation album was released on the Paris Sisters featuring a lot of rarities, and "Under the Sun" has been given a Japanese CD pressing.

Your download file feature five tracks: It's My Party, Stand Naked Clown, Stone is Very Very Cold, The Man with the Mistletoe Mustache, The Ugliest Girl in Town. For those with bandwidth problems, or dodgy wi-fi, there's a one-off separate file for "He Owns the World," which you can own in less than a few minutes.

FIVE FROM PRISCILLA PARIS / PARIS SISTERS: Five Tracks including the rare GNP single
Priscilla Paris He Owns the World

JULIE LONDON - "WHAT THE FUCK KEY ARE WE IN?"

The queen of the record cover girls was and is Julie London, the former Nancy Peck.

A bombastic beauty, she was coaxed into becoming a singer,  fortunately finding, as Rudy Vallee and Bing Crosby did, that an intimate delivery could be a remedy to not having a powerful voice. She chose songs that effectively masked her shortcomings, and paved the way for Rebecca Paris, Astrud Gilberto and Claudine Longet.

Just about EVERY album Julie made had a cover that made the vinyl a bonus. In the days when men's magazines were pretty tame, and some didn't even have nudity, Julie's pictures were a delight. They still are. The first one even made it seem like she was totally nude:

Julie indeed appeared in magazines, with ESQUIRE offering a "wet t-shirt" variation...a soaking wet dress. She began making movies, too.

Following an amicable divorce from Jack Webb, Julie married Bobby Troup, and being a musician, he was able to guide her  musical career. For a while, Julie wasn't taken that seriously as a singer. She was a record cover girl. But gradually, with her film work helping, as well as the excellent arrangements Bobby supervised, some critics realized she was deceptively good at what she did. Still, her record label made sure that each album was eye-catching. One of the best is "Round Midnight," which you might try to find in a record store. If you can find a record store. The originally pressing used some kind of special process that made the gold of her tight pants and pillow actually shimmer. Move it back and forth in your trembling hands, and you might start moving something else back and forth.

In middle age, long after her record career and film work had simmered, Julie had an unexpected second career when Jack Webb cast her for his TV show "Emergency" (1972-1978). A few years later, and the fad for "lounge" and retro-music saw an increased interest in her out of print vinyl. While these are still preferable as eye candy (and some have been re-issued on expensive designer vinyl for the in crowd) her albums are also available on 2-for-1 CDs.

A long time smoker, Julie had a debilitating stroke in 1995, and spent her last days in a wheelchair, passing on October 18, 2000. Her husband Bobby Troup had died the previous year, leaving the stoic star to be cared for by her daughter and professional help. One thing people remarked on back then, was how tough she was, compared to her sex kitten image. Indeed, she was a "broad" in the best sense of the word...the way Lauren Bacall and Ava Gardner referred to themselves. She could curse like a sailor, and in this outtake from an early recording session, she amusingly does.

I Can't Stand It! SHIT! listen online or download. No password, Paypal request, or creepy malware-porn website involved.

Ouch: PUNCH AND JUDY LOVE from TONY BENNETT - or has it been banned?

For many, a beloved childhood memory is "Punch and Judy." Whether in book form, or a live show, this was an early example of hilarious comic violence. Mr. Punch was a kind of like Marty Feldman with W.C. Fields' mean streak. He took great delight in kicking dogs, being mean to babies, insulting his wife, and bashing policemen.

Judy: "Where's the child?"
Punch: "I tossed him out the window. I thought you'd catch him." 

Usually a "Punch and Judy Show" as seen at a British seaside resort, was no worse than a Three Stooges short. For kids, it was just a lot of silliness, with puppets hitting each other over the head and causing no real damage. Compare it with the traumas kids suffer today, when they go to a movie and it's prone to have bloody violence, and the TV news will have worse. And yet...you guessed it...the Punch and Judy puppeteers have lost work over the years. Typical of the hassle: 

“Punch and Judy Love” is a peculiar B-side Tony Bennett recorded well over 60 years ago (September 24, 1954). It's the work of Philadelphia's Bob Merrill who also wrote “How Much is That Doggie In the Window,” “Mambo Italiano” and “If I’d Known You Were Coming I’d Have Baked a Cake.” Oh yes, he also penned the irritating “Honeycomb,” a hit for Jimmie Rodgers. With a resume like that, you expect the worst. At best, he wrote the sweet and sappy "Love Makes the World Go Round" (the hit song in the now-obscure musical “Carnival,” originally sung by Anna Maria Alberghetti.)

Bob Merrill doesn't seem to know much about "Punch and Judy," as the lyrics that Tony Bennett brays in that naggy voice of his, are pretty mild:

It’s a Punch and Judy love you hand me

Kiss and run, touch and go.
Like a Punch and Judy show

And I do whatever you command me

For I must have your kiss or I’ll die
Though a Punch and Judy show is fun, dear

Pay a dime and you’ll learn

Every time the tables turn
Are you smart to break my heart and run, dear
?
You may cry when the curtain goes down
.
That’s the danger of 
Punch and Judy love

Punch and Judy shows may not outlive Tony Bennett! And yes, Tony is STILL performing. If you were over 90, would YOU go through the misery of flying out to obscure towns in Indiana for a few gigs? Tony Bennett would.  

Tony was at The Victory Theater in lovely Evansville, Indiana on November 1st, and the Embassy Theater in charming Fort Wayne, Indiana. It's one thing to visit Chicago, Vegas, Los Angeles, or other places where you might have old friends to see, and tourist attraction sights and museums to view. But...Evansvile, Indiana? Really, Tony? 

A little more sane is Tony's next stop: Florida for dates on November 30th and December 3, 5 and 8. Go ahead, shout out a request for "Punch and Judy Love."

PUNCH AND JUDY LOVE - listen online or download - No creepy Eurotrash website with porn pix, malware or spyware. No password. No whine about wanting a Paypal tip

HUNTERS KILL THEIR FRIENDS AND LOVERS - TOM LEHRER LIVES! NPR LIES!

Above, the elusive Tom Lehrer. He's the guy who never put a photo of himself on the cover of his albums. He rarely appeared on TV (due to the "sick" nature of his songs) so it's something of a miracle that a video performance in Denmark was recorded AND preserved. He retired soon after, choosing the security and pension of being a professor to the iffy world of singing the same songs over and over in smelly nightclubs. Not everybody enjoys "touring."

Just what people enjoy...is often pretty peculiar. Some would say that enjoying Tom Lehrer is peculiar, as some of his songs are grim with black humor. Or black with grim humor. This particular number, "The Hunting Song," merely takes a poke at the peculiar joy that hunters get from killing. Hunters are really killers. They're joy is NOT the hunt, it's the KILL. Once in a while, they kill one of their own. Awwwwww. Oh deer....

NPR recently broadcast Lehrer's Denmark show, declaring that this was something RARE, and you could ONLY get to see it thanks to Public Television. Sad to see NPR lie like that. You expect it from the other NPR : Nasty Prevaricating Republicans. The little white lie here is that Tom's show has been available on YouTube for over seven years. NPR chose to interrupt Tom's skimpy (well under an hour) program for their usual agonizing, tedious fund-drive whining. If you pledged $100 or whatever, you'd be given a copy of the show on DVD. A show most anyone knows how to copy (removing the pledge drives) for FREE. 

Of course the point is to support public television, so tossing in a "treat" for a donation is just human nature. Still, NPR didn't have to keep claiming (erroneously) that their DVD was rare, and the FIRST TIME the show was being made available to the public. Your honors, submitted as evidence, is the page on AMAZON for an item called...

It's a double-disc set. The first CD is audio. The second is, yes, a DVD with EVERYTHING that NPR claimed had never been available for sale before. Fer Chrissake, this thing came out in 2010. It's been available for NEARLY A DECADE.

NPR, why did you have to lie?

At least the lying was for a good cause. NPR is a fine, fine network. I know for a fact (as I got the tedious fucking phone calls from friends and relatives) that a lot of people had not seen Lehrer before. "Hey, are you watching PBS? They got Tom Lehrer on! A rare TV special that's never been aired before!"

If a few people actually decided to throw $100 or whatever to NPR, fine. It was just a white lie. (Or is that a "lie of no-color?") These days, it's a bit of a surprise that ANY station would offer Lehrer, as his material, even after 50 years, is STILL pretty sick and offensive. To some. 

The best thing about the broadcast is that they were able to get Tom to do a voice-over, a restrained little bit of a shill for public television. It was nice to hear Tom's voice. He didn't sound 91.He sounded like he could easily belt out "The Hunting Song." It's still a killer!  

Of course, hunters killing friends, relatives or other hunters is just a spit in the toilet compared to the other "hunters" who use their fabulous automatic weapons to mow down shoppers in Walmart, school kids in a school, dancers in a disco, or people watching a C&W concert in Las Vegas. Then we have the ever-present threat of bombs blowing shit up, and some suicidal hacker managing to activate the button on a Nuke supposedly in a fail-safe location. And so...here's a download of WE'LL ALL GO TOGETHER WHEN WE GO. 

WE'LL ALL GO TOGETHER WHEN WE GO -- Nuclear Humor from Tom Lehrer - listen online or download. No password. No dodgy foreign website full of spyware or malware. 

HUNTERS KILL THEIR FRIENDS AND LOVERS - “Molly Bond”

"She looked like a swan! So I killed her..." 
Think you could get off with that kind of defense? Wait till you hear "Molly Bond." 
It's a tragic traditional folk song resuscitated by the Irish group Oysterband.  

The story begins with a warning to hunters "that delight in a gun." Be careful, you trigger-happy dimwit of a fucking coward. You're so eager to kill ANYTHING that moves, you might just end up killing a friend or lover. Especially if you're reaching out in the dark twilight of the day. 

"Her apron flew around her. I took her as a swan. And I shot my own darling at the setting of the sun."
Yes:
"I shot my own darling, and where shall I run?" 

What else would he sing after killing a girl he mistook for a swan? "Swaneeeee, how I love ya, how I love ya...."
All seriousness aside, just run to court with your high-priced lawyer, say it was an accident, and you're fine.
What would prevent tragedies like this? How about if humans weren't so sadistic and stupid that they think killing animals is a "sport?"  
Are there any intelligent, sensitive, decent hunters? Doubtful. After all, look at who likes to kill animals: THESE two Trump assholes. Case closed.

The original version of MOLLY BOND, when the group was called "THE OYSTER BAND" not OYSTERBAND.

POOR MARIE : Marie Laforet is Dead at 80 - so "PAINT IT BLACK" in French

I saw this album in a record store some 20 years ago. What an incredible-looking woman. I could see this was a compilation album of her hits. So, how bad could this be? On the cover photo alone, I would've taken a chance. As I checked out the record labels, I found to my delight some familiar names, like JAGGER-RICHARD. Hey, hey! She has a few covers here, in FRENCH. Like a true Gomez Addams, my eyes lit up. SOLD. 

IF I'M BEING HONEST, Marie Laforet could perform excellent covers...and some not so good ones. Afflicted with a case of Piaf Syndrome, she could gurgle and trill an "R" once in a while, and go way too nasal. Her version of "El Condor Pasa" is one you'd take a pass on. "Sounds of Silence" is pretty good. She definitely captures the emotions in "Paint it Black," which I won't keep you waiting to hear: 

SINCE SHE WAS BEING HONEST, Marie Laforet knew that her beauty is what was selling her as a vocalist: “I don’t have a voice, I have a timbre. I’m ashamed of doing what I do: interpreting pop songs in a superficial way.”

She was being a little hard on herself, although yes, the hardons were coming from her album covers and her movie images, not her singing. She began her career as a film actress, and like Lauren Bacall in "To Have and Have Not," sometimes there was a moment that called for her to spice up the action with a pointless song. 

As the folk song boom was on in the early 60's, some of her stuff included cover versions of re-discovered old ballads like "Katy Cruel," "House of the Rising Sun" and "Go Tell it On the Mountain." She first gained film stardom in 1960 with “Purple Noon” (“Plein Soleil”) which was later re-made as Gwyneth Paltrow's "The Talented Mr. Ripley." Soon after, she was scoring hit records, and moving along like Dylan and Simon & Garfunkel from folk to rock. One of her hits was "Il a Neige sur Yesterday," about the break-up of The Beatles.

One of my favorite TV performances of Marie is her cover version of a German hit, now called VIENS VIENS. She's doing a lip sync job, but take a look at the intensity and passion in this performance. No wonder she was so successful as an actress.

Though she sold out concerts at the Olympia in France as late as 1970, in 1972 she turned down live performing, and soon was living in Switzerland, and concentrating solely on her acting. After all, she had now matured from being an exotic vixen to being a character actress who could handle a wide variety of roles. 

Laforet made a surprise return to the music world in 1993 with "Reconnaissances," an album of her own songs. In 2000 she played Maria Callas on stage in France, and was nominated for a Moliere Award. She was still taking occasional acting roles into her 70's. She actually returned to live music performance for a nostalgic tour in September of 2005. She attributed her need to emote and become a star to a sexual assault when she was three. 

Born Maïtena Doumenach in Soulac-sur-Mer, France (Oct. 5, 1939) she was raped by a neighbor. “For decades, it was impossible to talk about it. Had I not been raped, I would never have exposed myself in that way to the public. It went against my natural shyness. I chose a career that would provide an outlet for my feelings.” Her career actually began by accident, when the shy girl had to substitute for her sister, on short notice, in a local talent contest. 

The legendary singer-actress died November 2nd. Married five times, she summed up her music and film work this way: "“My career has been made up of odds and ends, but my life has been full from beginning to end.”

POOR MARIE - Nick Lowe and the ANNOTATED MARIE PROVOST (Prevost)

She wasn't "born yesterday." Well, actually she was: November 8, 1896. 

Popular enough, in her day, to be on a collector card, Marie Prevost is now better known as "MARIE PROVOST" via a Nick Lowe song based on a story in Kenneth Anger's book "Hollywood Babylon." 

Nick was intrigued by Anger's assertion that Marie, drunk and down-and-out, had a fatal collapse alone at home and became "the doggie's dinner," chunks of her missing down the throat of her pet. 

According to Nick's girlfriend at the time, Lowe spent hours and hours and hours working on his snickery bit of black humor, perfecting the lyrics. Since Nick was known to take a drink, is it a surprise that most of the lyrics are fiction, not fact? After all, the only facts he could go on (this was before the Internet) were the few in Anger's admittedly "gossip" loaded book. Much of what Anger wrote about had an arch, campy tone to it. "It was said..." "we all heard..." 

What was the karma here? Well, I hung out with Nick, just the two of us, for an hour, back when he was still on Columbia, and he was complaining about all the jerks coming up to him telling him disgusting anecdotes and offering gruesome song ideas...all because of "Marie Provost," and another song that mentioned a kid cutting off his right arm. 

Let's take a look at Nick's lyrics and the facts. 

Marie Provost did not look her best
The day the cops bust into her lonely nest

["Marie Prevost" is the right spelling. The cops did not “bust” into her lonely nest. A busboy named William Bogle let himself in, after getting the pass key from apartment manager Henrietta Jenks. Neighbors had complained about Marie’s dog barking. Bogle confirmed for the L.A. Times that he had seen Marie alive and well a few days before ]

In the cheap hotel up
On Hollywood West July 29

[Marie lived in an apartment called The Aftonian and it’s still standing. On Hollywood West? Fanboys and tourists sometimes wander by to see it: 6230 Afton Place, Hollywood, off Vine. The incident happened not in July but in January. The body was found January 25th.]

She'd been lyin' there
For two or three weeks


[Her body was found on a Monday (January 25th, 1937). She was last seen the previous Wednesday when William Bogle did his weekly apartment cleaning.  That means she had been dead a few days, not two or three weeks.]

The neighbors said
They never heard a squeak

[The neighbors heard her dog barking, and the coroner said she had died January 23rd, only two days earlier. Prevost was aware of her neighbors disliking her noisy dog, and posted a notice on her door: “Please do not knock on the door more than once. It makes my dog bark. If I am in I will hear you as I am not deaf.”]

For hungry eyes that could not speak
Said even little doggies have got to eat
She was winner
The became the doggie's dinner

[The L.A. Times reported: “Apparently dead two days, her body was found clothed and face down on a folding bed. Whining at the bedside was her pet dachshund, Maxie, and teeth marks on the actress’s body indicated the animal had tugged at his mistress in an attempt to arouse her.” 

Nick’s account is based on the gossip book “Hollywood Babylon” sentence: “…her half-eaten corpse was discovered in her seedy apartment on Cahuenga Boulevard. Her dachshund had survived by making mincemeat of his mistress.”]

She never meant that much to me
(But now I see) Oh poor Marie
Marie Provost was a movie queen
Mysterious angel of the silent screen

 
[There wasn’t anything very mysterious about Marie Prevost. An office worker, her good looks got her a surprise contract with Mack Sennett as one of his “bathing beauties.” She stood around in his film comedies looking cute and pretty, not mysterious. 

She eventually quit Sennett to work for Irving Thalberg at Universal, and in a publicity stunt, burned her bathing suit, vowing to star in worthwhile romantic comedies. Which she did. Sort of. “The Married Flapper” was one of those. She became a $1000 week star, and appeared in the non-mysterious “The Beautiful and the Damned” (1923) based on an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. She  then played a housewife in “The Marriage Circle” for directer Ernst Lubitsch. Unlike Theda Bara and some other vamps of the day, Prevost was not promoted as some mysterious creature to be found emoting in exotic movies]

She came out west from New York
But when the talkies came
Mary just couldn't cope
Her public said Mary take a walk
All the way back to New York

[Marie was born in Canada, and never lived in New York. She, her mother and step-father Frank Prevost settled in Los Angeles. The talkies had nothing to do with Marie’s decline. Misfortune dogged her before she "became the doggie's dinner." Insecurity began when she was traumatized by the accidental deaths of her father (1904, while working for the railroad), and in 1926, her mother (car crash). Having two failed marriages didn’t help. Still, she did attain fame and fortune with her film career and made some prestigious films. As her career continued to build, influential people noticed.

After the Lubitsch film she had an affair with Howard Hughes, who starred her in “The Racket” in 1928.  Her salary zoomed to $1500 a week. After The Depression hit and the stock market crashed, and she made “The Godless Girl” (1929) for Cecil B. DeMille, her weight ballooned and her fortunes ebbed. A 1930 fire destroyed her opulent home. With no big starring roles coming in, and no insurance, she had to move into a shabby apartment.  She was now 34 years old, which wasn't prime for a sexy leading lady. Consider that at that age, even a bombshell like Marilyn Monroe was considered past her prime.

Prevost simply suffered the fate of a lot of beautiful actresses who got older and heavier.  She couldn't get sexy roles anymore, and she wasn't quite old enough to play a mother or some businesswoman or society dame. She got a left-handed compliment in a 1930 issue of Motion Picture magazine. A reviewer already considering her a has-been trying to claw her way back into contention, wrote: “When Marie Prevost did that big climbing-the-stairs number in “Ladies of Leisure,” she hoisted about 138 pounds of the cutest ‘comeback’ Hollywood has witnessed in many a day.”

In “Party Girl,”  (1930, clip below) Marie is well suited to the part of a prostitute — uh, “party girl,” and as this type of whore isn’t necessarily Grade A, there’s a revealing moment where, in black lingerie, she tries to rub off a bit of her pudge on one of the dubious easy-exercise vibrating machines. A gossip column in Photoplay chortled, “And IS Marie Prevost piling on the pounds!” At least she was finding work, but she was stressed out, probably from having too little to do, and then suddenly a few assignments that may have hinged on her drying out and working herself back into shape. 

An article in Picture-Play lumped her in with other actresses who have “collapsed from overwork and spent at least a week in a sanitarium. Betty Compson, Marie Prevost and Laura la Plante are the latest to go to hospital for a rest.” 

Two years later in the 1932 Jean Harlow film “Three Wise Girls” she was just one of the wisecrackin’ broads, similar in type to Iris Adrian or Joan Blondell.  

To be fair to Nick Lowe, he got the idea that talkies did her in courtesy of Kenneth Anger's book: “Her romantic looks didn’t fit her Bronx honk.” And to be fair to Kenneth Anger, he wrote his book before Marie’s films were more widely available on VHS or DVD and people could hear her voice for themselves.]
 
Those Quaalude bombs didn't help her sleep
As her nights grew long
And her days grew bleak
It's all downhill
Once you've passed your peak
Mary got ready for that last big sleep
 
[Prevost had become a chronic alcoholic, but there's no evidence she "got ready" for self-destruction. She wasn’t using pills. Did they even have Quaaludes back then? She was still making films, and hoping to push from bit parts to more substantial roles. An ironic twist to her misery was that in 1935 she appeared in a Mack Sennett-type short called “Keystone Hotel.” She had left Sennett so many years earlier. The short is now revered by slapstick fans for having one of the best and biggest pie-fights this side of Laurel and Hardy and The Three Stooges. Yeah, one of those pies obliterated Prevost’s face. She was unbilled in her next film, “The Bengal Tiger,” as The New York Times duly noted.

The Times, in their 1936 piece, “Sometimes They Do Come Back,” reported Marie as one of the many still trying to stay in the business: “The siren of Mack Sennett days had been successful with a reducing course and had got herself a job as a contract player. She was put to work almost immediately, in a small part in The Bengal Tiger....Miss Prevost is unbilled in The Bengal Tiger: She has only three lines to say, and those short ones. But she is back at work, skipping arc-light cables and dodging camera dollies on the set once more. ...A few more parts of a few lines each and the studio may find bigger and better things for her to do." 

The implication was that 1937 might be a good year for Marie. But she didn't make it past January of 1937.]

The cops came in
And they looked around
Throwing up everywhere over
What they found

[No newspaper reports, and not even Kenneth Anger, suggested cops threw up because they found a corpse. Or a barking dog and some empty liquor bottles. They also found an IOU that Marie wrote to Joan Crawford. Crawford paid for Marie’s funeral. Though Marie had not made a talkie anyone could remember that well, she did earn a posthumous star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Her death was ultimately attributed to alcohol poisoning.] 

Ready for some horrors? 

Among the many amateurs who’ve taken a stab at Marie Prevost, here’s lispy “Timmybear,” who earns points for mentioning that Marie wasn’t from New York and so…he “corrected” Nick’s lyrics  -- into something that doesn’t rhyme: 

“They said Marie take a walk. All the way back to ONTARIO.” Good one, Mr. Bear. Oh, and let’s applaud the iconoclast YouTubers who refuse to use decent lighting when they do their one-shot Beaudine videos:  

Runners up are The King Prawns, who earn points for having somebody do a hand-held video, rather than just put it on a fucking tripod…and no compensation made for over-peaking vocals. You’ll love the chick on bass who provides the hilarious oohs and ahhs. Also check the clankmeister behind the drums, and some beer-drinker who just happens to position himself on camera behind the vocalist. Somebody actually left a comment: “Good choice of material.” But that may have been referring to the drummer’s white t-shirt; probably 100% cotton. 

Lastly, we have the Cliffdivers, led by an earnest Aussie who assures his live audience that this is the true story of a silent film actress who overdosed on quaaludes and got eaten by her dog. No mention made that this is a Nick Lowe song.  For some odd reason, these guys, who are the most proficient musicians of the three #meToobers you’re sampling, has the LEAST amount of hits: under 100 as of today's November 9th posting. You’ll note the lead singer sweats very well, while the hefty and older bass player seems unsure of why he’s here, and the drummer acts like took a few pills without being sure what they were.