BOBBY COLE - BUS 22 TO BETHLEHEM

Below, “Bus 22 to Bethlehem,” for several reasons. First off, it’s seasonal. Second, it’s more accurate now than ever (“…the Christians and the Muslims exchanged frozen looks.”) OK, sometimes the exchange is gunfire, and usually one-sided by terrorists at unarmed people. I know a Coptic Christian who fled the Middle East to come to America and safety. If you check Wikipedia to find out more about Coptic Christians, you’ll find this line: “ The abduction and disappearance of Coptic Christian women and girls also remains a serious ongoing problem…” But I don't want to digress...

The THIRD reason for choosing this song is that it jump-started my long friendship with Bobby Cole. I may have mentioned this before. I’m not an “old fan,” who used to get loaded at Ali Baba and listen to the original trio. I didn't rush out and get "NEW NEW NEW" when it appeared on Columbia around 1960 or whenever it was. It was an era when the "American Songbook" was given a little extra "swing" by hip new musicians, but to modern ears, that stuff doesn't sound all that new. Having a member of the trio join Bobby in singing from time to time is quite a distraction. As for Bobby's solo on "Ebb Tide," which I thought was a highlight of the album, I got a typical Bobby Cole growling response: "I sound like I've got a sock in my mouth!"

You wanna see a publicity shot promoting the original trio, one you might not have seen before...ok....

I didn’t become enthralled seeing him on “The Judy Garland Show," either. I was a kid who was buying Beatles singles. My intro was the revelation of hearing “Mr. Bojangles” on the radio. Who had a voice like that? What was going on with that wistful electric violin? How did the calliope from “Mr. Kite” break down and end up in the shabby world of a “down and out” entertainer in jail? Who’s this BOBBY COLE guy? Where do I see him perform?? Jeez, how the hell do I get a copy of the record? As it turned out, some record stores only had the Jerry Jeff Walker ATCO version, which came out at the same time. I had to get Bobby’s via mail order!

That’s when I discovered the B-side, “Bus 22 to Bethlehem,” which Bobby told me was quickly done in a folk arrangement, maybe only a few takes, just a quick B-side thing for the rush-release of a song he had discovered by hearing Jerry sing it in a small club...before Jerry got a contract to record it. Cole had devoted all his energies to producing his vision of Jerry’s simplistic country strum. It was just an irony that Walker's buzz extended to ATCO and the ATCO version arrived almost simultaneously as Bobby's version on Columbia's DATE RECORDS division.

Many years later, I finally saw the ad I was searching for: Bobby Cole…The Bobby Cole Trio…playing at the Savoy Grill. Time to put on a suit, act cosmopolitan, and saunter in, dealing with the affected world of a maitre’ d and all the rest of the high class pretense. Lady and I entered this world mainly because of two songs that Bobby wasn’t even going to perform that night. His sets were loaded with the “American Songbook” material that were crowd favorites...music they knew from his jazz days at Ali Baba or Jilly's and other joints where Bobby's friend Frank Sinatra might be in the crowd. And yes, he played those vintage songs and sang them wonderfully with his ace new trio members, and was, to use one of his favorite words, “unique.”

As was expected of him, during a break in the sets, Bobby “worked” the crowd, going from table to table with a smile, and some “are you having a good time” quick comments, and getting nods and smiles and little compliments back. He got to our table, and we offered our compliments to him, and then I said, “Are you going to play BUS 22 TO BETHLEHEM?” Bobby gave a quick little comical mock-frown (ala Robert DeNiro) as if I was being a wiseguy, and said, “You hang around…I wanna talk to you later!”

After the next set, we talked for a little while, and I mentioned how much that single knocked me out, and he gave me his card. Yes, if he had a mailing list, put me on it. Let me know where and when he’d be playing, and I’d be there. It grew into a very close friendship…there was a period there when I was the “go to” friend when he was alone or in trouble. Part of it, I admit, is that I wasn’t miles away as some others over the years ended up, and I was new to his alcohol problems while others had, under the sound advice of AA, chosen to “let go and let God.” Anyway…

December of 1996. It had been an upbeat time for Bobby. For many months now, his lifestyle had changed. He had moved out of the apartment next door to the Dakota that he had shared platonically with a very strange actress-widow-religious nut. He and a cute blonde (he nick-named her “Little Mouse” affectionately, perhaps not to her face) and she had found a love nest where they could live together.

She was smart, enthusiastic, and…unfortunately heading into the last week or two of December, having some problems with Bobby’s inevitable little falterings. Going out to get two bottles of Heineken from a bodega, was sometimes not quite enough, and he sometimes missed a night or two at Campagnola, which was his steady booking for many years (and a a time when bar-restaurant piano players were more and more of a rarity).

The Wikipedia entry, re-written several times with the help of friends, relatives or both, has finally gotten December 19th right…adding what was written here many years ago. Bobby didn’t “slip on the ice and hit his head on the sidewalk,” a weird supposition that Ron Meyers placed on his defunct website where he sold CD-Rs of Bobby’s demos and outtakes. Bobby may have been under a bit of a strain, having to find other places to stay for a little while when “The Mouse” told him he couldn’t keep drinking while in the love nest. But he was still smoking, still weighing several pounds over fighting weight, and in his 60's. He had lived a rugged life and it caught up to him in just a few moments. He simply slowed down as he walked, a block uptown from Campagnola, seized by an apparent heart attack.

Back to the incidents of December 19th. Within a day or two of Bobby’s passing, “The Mouse” wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery of what happened and where he was found. She talked to Salvatore at Campagnola, and then traced Bobby’s movements that day, coming to the scene where the ambulance picked up Bobby and took him to the hospital. She spoke to the store owners on the block, to see if they came out to find out what was going on. As irony would have it, the incident happened in front of a bar. The bartender hadn’t yet opened the joint for the evening, and happened to look out the window and notice a white-haired gentleman in distress. He was leaning against a lamppost for support, and then slowly, slipped downward. The ambulance came quickly, but he was probably DOA by the time he got to Roosevelt Hospital (yes, same one that received John Lennon).

Patrons at Campagnola eventually got the bad news. There would be a replacement for Bobby...the somewhat grim looking guy who so often was called in when Bobby was having a wayward weekend...but The Man was not coming back. A little update on the joint for you:

Campagnola no longer has a pianist. Some entries on social media about the place mention how much “fun” the current pianist was, and how he would encourage everyone for sing-alongs. I'm not sure if this was the same guy who was Bobby's sub and steady replacement, or yet another replacement. The "jolly piano-man schtick" was, of course, the exact opposite of Bobby’s approach to entertainment. I suppose the sing-alongs may have delighted the peculiar crowd that would stand around at the bar in the middle of the night. I assume the songfests didn't start earlier, causing indigestion for the dour and affluent (and sometimes dangerous-looking) patrons who were paying high prices for their pasta, fish or steak. Oh yes, and the expensive Italian desserts. And drinks. And they knew to order the ITALIAN brand of bottled water, Pellegrino, NOT PERRIER!! (Mention Perrier and it was like you gave the wrong password from Gotti).

I walked by Campagnola one night a few weeks ago, and it was freezing cold and the place of course had NO indoor service because of the pandemic. They did erect an outdoor shack, which was long enough to seat about four tables. How any food could stay warm for more than five minutes I have no idea, but there was an elderly affluent couple in winter clothing, chowing down on some pasta. There were several uniformed waiters standing at attention waiting for the affluent diners to issue a command, or ready to “seat” new customers. You do NOT just go sit down, even under such ridiculous and shabby conditions…you signal for the waiter or the maitre’ d! I looked in the window…no piano. There was a framed photo of Bobby’s replacement on a little table that included some bottles and a vase of flowers…a table probably ready to be removed once indoor dining resumed.

Yes, there was a little memorial to Bobby, thanks to “The Church of the Healing Christ.” Bobby and I sometimes talked about religion, or poetry, or his favorite films (“I call him AWESOME Welles!” he declared). Bobby was not only extremely well schooled in classical music and theory and technique, he was well read, as you might tell from some of his lyric references, and the quote of a fairly obscure poet on the back of his Concentric solo album.

While the woman he’d lived with for so many years was most definitely a bit off the deep-end when it came to religion (she had a veiled bust of Christ in her bedroom), Bobby did accompany her to Sunday services quite a bit, and not just out of obligation. Though he was typically gruff about the name of the place (“The Healing Christ!”) he was a sincere seeker of meaning and of trying to piece together some of the deep, deep issues in his life, from deaths in his family to estrangements from ones he still loved, to his battle with the bottle.

I didn’t want to intrude on Bobby at the church, but I was certainly curious about the place, and I did attend a service there, knowing that for one reason or other, he wasn’t going to be there that Sunday morning. I also attended the service that included a memorial tribute to him in the program. I didn’t see any familiar faces at all from the world of Bobby Cole. I do remember speaking to a couple who apparently recognized me from Campagnola, and mentioned that they saw him there many times. And I did talk briefly to the Reverend Nielsen, the very unusual woman who was the heart and soul of “The Healing Christ.”

Here's a scan of the Playbill-sized modest booklet for the service held on January 12, 1997.

Long time ago. 1997... well before the days when I owned any “sneaky” little camera or device that could record video or take pictures surreptitiously. I wish I could show you a picture of Anna May Nielsen in all her splended glory! She presided over the services in a flowing gown, more ornate than what you might see being worn by a woman singing in a choir. The robe-gown seemed like some heavenly creation that Kitty Carlisle might have worn in a light opera. She looked very much like Kitty Carlisle, too, an older woman with flowing dark hair to her shoulders, her voice and manner confident, loving, and reassuring.

“The Church of the Healing Christ” was founded in 1906, and had only a few leaders over the past decades. I think the fortunes of the church took a hit over the years. I'm assuming that in the 30's and 40's and 50's (when leadership changed only once) they held services in an actual church. By the time Bobby Cole was attending, services were being held in a very large auditorium that was used primarily by a music school, as I recall. There were folding metal chairs that could seat maybe 50 people or less, and there was the bare stage, where Reverend Nielsen stood in front of a podium.

There were modest refreshments on a long table in the back, along with a donation box. She was an eloquent speaker, and as quaint as the surroundings were, she did have a presence that quickly made you feel like you were truly in a church, and in front of someone who was blessed with some kind of divine spirit, and might pass some knowledge, righteousness or comfort along to you.

Bobby died on December 19, 1996 and Rev. Anna May Nielsen died at the Specialty Care Granite Ridge facility in Canada on December 22, 2007. Her husband had died before her, and her relatives were mostly neices and nephews and two step-children. She attended the University of Manitoba graduating in 1939, and her “regular job” was with the United Nations, first at the Department of Economic and Social Affairs, and later at the editorial department of the United Nations Industrial Development department (whatever that is) for a total of 33 years. The remarkable woman could speak French, Spanish, Danish and Dutch.

She attended the Unity School of Christianity, became a licensed and ordained minister, and on Sundays presided over her devoted following, which included an avid student that those in attendance knew as Robert Cole.

BUS 22 TO BETHLEHEM

THE WRITINGS OF PHIL OCHS (and a December 25th song from Bonnie Koloc)

This has been a tough December (following many and many a tough month in this most immemorial year. Heading into the supposedly “cheerful” holiday season, which many find depressing even in the best of times, we had the 40th anniversary of an assassination.

“...distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor….”

For me, and so many others, it still is a bitter hurt.

Of course, the pandemic came back with a vengeance. The KILL rate may be somewhat low (in America, 3,000 die each day but the country has about 300 million, so what are the odds, the “so what” people snicker). Meanwhile, those sickened by Covid are clogging up the hospitals to full capacity, and anti-vax anti-mask assholes will prolong the suffering well past another few months, for sure.

TODAY? DECEMBER 19th?

It’s the anniversary of a death not particularly well remembered at this point (see: COLE, Bobby) and a birthday that unfortunately lets us know that Phil Ochs is not among the small circle of friends celebrating his 80th. He died at 35 by his own hand, at the end of his rope.

His friendly rival Bob Dylan has apparently retired, by the way. The “never ending tour” was no rehearsal for retirement, but perhaps he was feeling the strains, and the pandemic shut down was the final push. Rumor has it he instantly took his band off the payroll, and of course, soon after, sold the rights to all his songs. That does seem like he may simply spend time painting, sculpting, writing memoirs, and perhaps calling in some people for a new studio album if he feels like it.

A bright spot for me was, after being postponed by the pandemic because nobody was able to work at the publishing house or the printer etc. etc., “The Writings of Phil Ochs” scheduled for May, FINALLY made its appearance here in December. For those “50 fans” who can’t be wrong, and hopefully another 500 or 1000 at least, this is a handsomely done volume that saves us a grip to fucking Oklahoma to try and make an appointment to peruse the actual documents for a few hours at the “Woody Guthrie Museum” where they lay. (It’s nice, and often the only thing to do, when material is donated to a college library or a museum, but so many of these places are proprietary. They won’t stream online or allow scholars to get copies for a legit research project. They deny rights to documentary film makers. So big thanks THIS book appeared at all!)

The mild caveat here is that the book IS dated. Only Phil fans would be interested in his Free Press interview with failed mayoral candidate and current L.A. police chief Tom Reddin…and then, only because the interview exposes Phil’s honesty and vulnerability. He admits to having panic attacks while talking to the guy, and Reddin comes off as mature and sympathetic, telling Phil to take it easy, have a glass of water…rather than snicker at the hippie who has crumbled in confronting “The Man.” Phil’s interview questions, by the way, are much more journalist than Abbie Hoffman wiseass, another thing to his credit if you bother to read the piece.

As for “Will Elliot Richardson Be Our Next President?” that’s one of the bon bons I’ll save for last, or not at all, like the nougat piece in the Whitman sampler box. Likewise, “Brezhnev on TV’s Let’s Make a Deal” probably wasn’t all that hilarious to readers even at the time it was published. The provocatively titled “James Dean Lives in Indiana” is actually just a screed against Hubert Humphrey. Anyone remember “The Happy Warrior?”

For happiness…for a shot of Phil the wicked wiseguy, I’m glad to say that the book fearlessly (who knows who owns copyright, if anyone, for 60’s magazines and newspapers) reprints an article from Cavalier. Cavalier was a B-level men’s magazine competing with Playboy. It just happened to be a very worthy adversary, with a lot of the more radical writers and comedians contributing pieces, and the girls showing a little more, and a little more often than what you got in Hef’s mag. Along with Rogue (where Lenny Bruce had a column) and Swank (with Bruce Jay Friedman editing), Cavalier back issues are certainly worth reading.

Phil’s put-on contemplates a bunch of new releases with exciting photos on the cover. It was first published in DECEMBER of 1965, and includes these:

COVER: A color close-up of a large female breast.

TITLE: More of Judy Henske

COVER: A dungareed half-smling long-haired boy walking down a snow-covered street wth Susie Rotolo.

TITLE: The Free-Stealing Phli Ochs

COVER: A dungareed half-smiling long-haired boy leaning over the body of a dead Negro woman with a cane.

TITLE: Still Another Side of Bob Dylan.

There’s more to this still-amusing article. MUCH more interesting and often valuable writings in here, including a few diary entries from Phil’s trips overseas. If it’s any consolation, though Phil died at 35, he traveled the world more times than some seasoned 80 year-old, and left behind a prolific amount of songs and writings, too, AND his political activity from New York to Chicago to Los Angeles would have exhausted most anyone else. As Paul Simon sang it, “some folks’ lives roll easy…” and some people just meander through it, and Phil…for much of it, it was an amazing rollercoaster of a ride with a great amount of highs.

A discovered gem from Phil’s very early days (yes, they’ve got his writings from college newspapers and even earlier) is “The Fight,” a short short story he wrote while attending the Staunton Miltary Academy in 1958.

There’s a lot to enjoy in this book, and it’s always interesting to see who Phil was championing (Buffy Saint-Marie, Gordon Lightfoot) and true fans will even wonder, marvel, and be confused by the assortment of never-before-seen poems he wrote. If you were mildly baffled by some of Phil’s liner note-poems, here’s more of the same.

There are also never-before-seen photos, which show the artist at his best; revolutionary and challenging, cheeky and satiric, or just staring right through you with poetic poignance, seeming to know you and holding secrets he will reveal in song.

David Cohen’s previous tome was a valuable bio-bibliography published long before the Internet, which remarkably gave Phil fans a huge amount of stuff to try and find, from writings (now collected here) to bootleg concert recordings.

There will be celebrations for Phil’s birthday if you can find them, including “Phil Ochs Night” things, and I suppose some “helpful” people giving away Phil’s Elektra and A&M records along with the more forgivable passing around of the thirsty boots.

BIG thanks here to David Cohen for ALL his research work and editing, and to the “Phil Ochs Estate” (listed as copyright owners for this book ie, brother Michael Ochs and daughter Meegan Ochs).

This December, we can still give thanks for staying alive, and for most, being able to say the same for friends, relatives and those we admire. And, cliche though it is, the “archive’s alive” on Phil’s recordings, and now, at least, submitted for your approval…here is “THE WRITINGS OF PHIL OCHS.”

Your download?

Well, there are even more obscure folkies out there. And I’ve always liked Bonnie Koloc’s melancholy “25th of December.”

“My baby left me a little too soon….and it’s so hard to find just a little piece of mind when everything you’ve got’s been taken away…”

BONNIE KOLOC- THE 25th of DECEMBER

For Chanukah: "WHEN MESSIAH COMES" - Herschel Bernardi and Sheldon Harnick versions

Chanukah starts at sundown tomorrow. Or does it? Doesn't it? The Jewish people are indeed very smart, to keep track of their major holiday! The Christians know "December 25th" and shoot for it every time, but the Jews? Like the people themselves over 2,000 years, their major holiday keeps moving. "What date is it this time?" and "Who hit you in the head because you're Jewish, and won't be arrested for committing a hate crime? This neighborhood...maybe we need to move again..."

Fact is, more slavery and hate crimes have befallen the Jews than any other race, but since they don't blow up theaters or riot and break windows and steal sporting goods, nobody much gives a damn. That's a fact. But let's leaven the grimness with some typical humorous Jewish irony: the song "When Messiah Comes."

The song was cut from "Fiddler on the Roof." It seemed like the reason was that the song was just a tad too dark in acknowledging that the Messiah hasn't come despite all the misery (Jesus hasn't shown either). In Brooklyn, part of New York City, which has the largest Jewish population aside from Israel, many Orthodox Jews were convinced that Rabbi Schneerson was the Messiah, and after his death, he would somehow come back to life and prove it, and all would be well. No, it hasn't happened yet and he's been gone many years now.

So what happened to "When Messiah Comes?" In the show, the bedraggled, bewildered townspeople of Anatevka must flee for their lives due to a pogrom. Tevye acknowledges this misery, but muses that "When Messiah Comes..." things will finally improve. Only the song is loaded with bitterly humorous truths. Yes, "we're still here," but the Messiah's reason for the long delay? "How terrible I felt you'll never know!" Oy.

Audiences were not laughing. The song is, admittedly, not going to put a smile on the average religious person's face, but it came at a dramatic and sad moment in the show...the uprooted Jews having to trudge to hoped for safety in a foreign country, preferably America. Sheldon Harnick, who wrote the lyrics, is no stranger to irony. Some might remember the Kingston Trio's "Merry Minuet." In that one, Harnick wrote about the bloodthirsty world of countries warring with each other, but done with the joy of a grinning skull. I had the opportunity to meet Mr. Harnick, and I brought along the printed out "When Messiah Comes" for him to sign. I did admit I almost chose "Merry Minuet." Anyway....

"When Messiah Comes" is of course not on the original soundtrack (Zero Mostel) and not in the movie version (Topol), but when Herschel Bernardi took over for Mostel on Broadway, he was such a hit, Columbia put out a solo album in which he sang all the hit songs from the show AND added the missing song.

Here's a bit of levity to go with the unleavened bread that some might figure should be eaten around Chanukah time as well as Passover.

Sheldon Harnick is still with us, though he de-activated his Facebook page. Herschel Bernardi (October 30-1923-May 9, 1986) could still be alive and with us, except it either wasn't God's plan, or there is no God. Or God is selective about who gets to be 100 and how miserable it is to actually be that age. Is the pandemic just another test before the Earth is saved and pollution and over-population and war cease? Will people stop getting awful diseases or shoot each other, and live hundreds of years instead of popping off routinely at 70 or 80 or even at birth? We may not know for sure until Messiah comes.

HERSCHEL BERNARDI VERSION

SHELDON HARNICK VERSION

For Christmas: TURLEY RICHARDS - I HEARD THE VOICE OF JESUS

 

 

The fictional LOU GRANT once declared, to MARY RICHARDS, "You have spunk....I HATE SPUNK." 

One of the many things I hate...HYPE. There's no shortage of dopes who will tell you, perhaps with a finger jabbing your chest, "THIS is the BEST rock and roll record ever made..." (You also have to suffer people who will tell you about THE BEST in just about any category. Like, they insist you go to their favorite pizza joint because "THEY HAVE THE BEST PIZZA IN THE WORLD.")

So I hesitate in saying that Turley Richards has given the BEST performance ever on a single 45 rpm (which truncated the song from over 6 minutes on the album to about 4 minutes).  But using the Prof. Irwin Corey "HOWEVER," it would be difficult to find a more impressively versatile performance. From Elvis to Orbison to McCartney to Aretha and back, most great performances are touching, exciting, or memorable but remain in one genre. THIS song, if you stay with it, manages (Edwin Hawkins did the arrangement) make great use of Turley's multi-octave range AND his ability to sing folk, blues, soul, gospel and falsetto. (Stay with it...the song starts a bit slow, and gains amazing momentum).

That, along with the subject matter, is what makes it so impressive, if not a "BEST." Quite an achievement for a recording now 50 years old.

 

For the "holiday season," sober and muted as it is for most people, and when certain obnoxious stores INSIST on playing atrocities like "Feliz Navidad," "Frosty the Snowman," "Santa Claus is Coming to Town," "Wonderful Christmas Time" and "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus," here's a song with a lot more meaning. 

Turley Richards, who was on many major labels without major success, makes a living teaching people to sing, and helping people record themselves. You can check other entries on the blog to read his remarkable story (two blog entries are devoted to his book Blindsighted). The good news, in these troubled times where it would be difficult for him to teach except via phone or Zoom, is that Turley's just released a new 2 CD compilation of his best work. It's called "The Man in Me," and you can get it on his TurleyRichards dot com:

In the words of the great Eta James, “at last!” This has been a monster project to create-sifting through all of my unreleased recordings to choose what I wanted to present to you, would be a tough task for someone sighted. It’s made even more difficult for me as my “filing system” is to listen and listen and listen again. And then I started writing again a few months ago and decided to record three new songs to include. I think it will be worth the wait!

Some of these recordings were master demos and some were live performances. All have been re-mastered by Chris Greenwell at Louisville’s own Downtown Recording Studio to give you the best quality listening experience.

These songs cover 50 years of my career from 1970 to 2020

"I Heard the Voice of Jesus"

Download or listen online: I HEARD THE VOICE OF JESUS 

THE PLAGUE - Here Today Gone Tomorrow especially if you listen to Clapton or Van

 

One thing we've definitely learned from the pandemic: a lot of people are assholes. Some are ignorant assholes. Others are arrogant assholes. Still more are just plain stupid assholes. The ignorant ones don't understand the importance of masks, distancing or vaccines. The arrogant ones figure they're somehow immune, or it's a sign of weakness to be cautious. Then there are the stupid ones who think it's all a government conspiracy or some kind of attempt to "infringe" on "freedom." 

Of course its possible to be both ignorant, arrogant AND stupid. (Nobody like that reads THIS blog). Perhaps fitting into all three characters is a certain idiot savant "guitar hero" named Clapper, or something like that. He was influenced in his efforts to prove that drugs can continue to affect a person, by a guy who has developed the body of a suckling pig while singing like a rabid goose. Moving Van or something like that. That's what he fucking looks like. A moving van in a pork pie hat. 

Keeee-rist: 

What you see from the pictures, by the way, is that Clapper hasn't opened his eyes in 40 years. (Let's face it, "Layla" was a long time ago, and his mute, moody slow version of the song was pretty lame, as has been most of his later albums). Van? Blind completely to sanity. Now, this asshole also hasn't done anything too great in 40 years, and he sounded retarded when he was mildly worth listening to. "Moondance," yeah, some kind of jazz-rock fusion that wasn't bad. I'm not sure why he was babbling so much about a "Brown Eyed Girl." They are VERY common aren't they? How about wanting a girl with one brown eye and one green one? THAT would celebrate a much more unique female. (One blue eye and one brown one, or one blue eye and one green one, or a cyclops...all would've have made that garble-voiced song a lot more interesting).

Van Morrison somehow thinks that the government is being “FASCIST” by protecting assholes from themselves. What else, Van, no speed limits on the highways? Legalizing heroin? Allowing everyone in England to own an assault rifle?  

Wearing a mask is not wearing a muzzle because of government sadism. It’s to protect people for their down good. IT IS THAT SIMPLE. Making sure people stay the fuck away from each other via distancing is SIMPLE, too. Fact is, if this wasn't a rule in stores, arrogant assholes would get in your face all the time, instead of being shown the door.
 

Funny, Van Morrison doesn’t believe in “Freedom” when it comes to protecting his music. He is one of the most virulent anti-blog anti-piracy guys around. Try to put up Van Morrison’s shit and WHAM, it’s taken down. Is he being a FASCIST? He actually thinks some government laws are good?

 What Eric and Van are mostly grumbling about (and really, nobody under 60 gives a fuck about them) seems to be the government NOT doing ENOUGH for musicians. 

 There's been a bit of elitist shit from musicians and the Broadway crowd: "We need the arts! It's an outrage the venues have closed! Give money to all the simpering actors and the glowering musicians who are not being allowed to prance around on a stage! We NEED entertainment! Don't shut these venues down just because of the worst plague in 100 fucking years!"

To this I reply: VAN, ERIC, take a look down any fucking street in a city or town. How many theaters and rock venues do you see...compared to restaurants? Bars? Schools? ALL have suffered. So have business from barber shops to bowling alleys to gyms to recording studios. It's pretty arrogant to be spouting off about rock shows, when schools are closed and museums and libraries too. PRIORITIES. It's unfortunate that famous has-been rock stars can get publicity and attention for what THEY think is a priority, and the media wouldn't pay the same attention to a spokesman for teachers, the curator of a museum, or even the owner of a chain of failing restaurants...all of whom deserve the publicity too, if not moreso.

Here's Van whining "save live music," as if that's the priority, above saving lives, putting kids in school, having restaurants open, helping Mom and Pop stores stay around, keeping nursing homes safe, and taking care of so many people who have essential jobs that have been fucked over for the past six months!< P>

Who is speaking out for "save the restaurant owner and his staff, who don't have "take out food" and rely on people to come in for steaks or spaghetti or whatever, and have been starving for the past six months?

Shouldn't the government's priority be the average person who can't work? In the USA, the government sent out ONE "stimulus" check. That was it. Sadly, a lot of businesses have failed over these agonizing months. Many restaurants have gone out of business. It's not just ROCK venues that are suffering. If Eric and Van want to raise money, via a bad record anybody can bootleg on the Internet free, fine. But have some common fucking sense about it. It's not "FASCIST" to protect people from their own stupidity. Unfortunately, it isn't just STUPID people who die of Covid because they all crowded around on the beach or defiantly in a bar, they spread it to normal people.

Van supposedly will send his royalty checks to needy musicians who have lost work due to Covid. I do hope that includes guys like Turley Richards, or ladies like Sonja Christina of Curved Air, or Eleanor McEvoy, and others who play the smaller venues and rely on touring for several months because they don’t play the arenas like Van and Eric. I doubt anyone will see much money...let's remember the farces like the "Concert for Bangla Desh" where the profits got mis-managed. Rockers are notoriously stupid when it comes to trusting managers and accountants with funds!  

To quote an R.E.M. line, “Everybody hurts…”

Perhaps none hurt more than the front-line nurses and doctors, who are overwhelmed in some towns and cities by cases of Covid. Some have fallen victim, either physically or psychologically. That's a lot worse than somebody with a day job having to sit out "open mic" night in Bristol.

 Phil Ochs used to say that the liberal was “ten degrees to the left of center in good times, ten degrees to the right of center if it affects them personally.” And Van Morrison, because it affects his flatulent, inflated ego so much, has gone 70 degrees to the right, to the point of being a Trumper; a totally ignorant loudmouthed fool.  
    
 Governments have been trying, ever since this shit began, to get people back to work …. that way they can collect taxes and have a strong economy. Fer Chrissake, the last thing any country wants is tons of people sick and/or out of work. Get real, my drugged up rock "idols."

Hey Van, whatever became of "The Plague?" Just one of many rock groups who didn't quite have the luck in getting a song played by a disc jockey, and instead having to give up on being creative and getting paid for it. We're all "Here Today Gone Tomorrow" or at some other unspecified date in the future. Let's not making it "Here Today Gone Today" because somebody breathed Covid on us! 

Listen or download: THE PLAGUE -

TOM KENNEDY dies -- Joe Biden will not be hosting "NAME THAT TUNE"

He was affable. Damn affable. A nice guy. 

 

Being a quiz show host looks easy but it's not. The best of them have a tricky, quirky attitude...a simultaneous amusement and disgust at their greedy but fallible and silly contestants. Bob Barker had that, as did Monty Hall. Taking it up or down a notch, Bob Eubanks leered and provoked idiot newleyweds while Richard Dawson was the kissin' curmudgeon. 

Ron Ely, who has had a tragic last few years, was a handsome (best remembered as TV's "Tarzan") guy who moved to the daytime quiz "Face The Music" in 1980, after his acting career began to slow. He is noted for having invented the "double finger point," using the index fingers on BOTH hands to urge viewers to come back and enjoy more sadism. 

Better known is "Name that Tune," which probably had its biggest audience when it was hosted by Tom Kennedy (in the 70's). Tom's previous biggie was "You Don't Say" in the 60's, and he took over for Allen Ludden on "Password Plus" in 1980.  

We will not see the likes of Tom Kennedy again...nor "Name that Tune" or "Face the Music." At one time, music was our great joy. It brought families together, whether to awfully "Sing Along with Mitch" on anything from folk songs to pop hits, or to watch "The Ed Sullivan Show" and not turn away from the opera singer or country singer, teen rock star or beltin' Broadway crone. Now? Music does not bring us together. 

Joe Biden, with the help of a reported vaccine for Covid-19, might bring us together for a little while, but this is a changed world, and you can hardly count on your fingers the hit songs from 2019, 2018 or 2017 that you can sing the lyrics to. You can hardly name a single you BOUGHT. The Grammy awards is a travesty that now ignores classical and jazz and highlights C&W, crossover wimps like Sam Smith or Adele, and anyone of color who raps. None of these categories appeal to the young and old of all races. 

Maybe, like clean air, we ran out of MELODIES. How "catchy" has McCartney been in the past 20 years, or Elton? What greatness has come out of Broadway in 20 years? 

Another problem with MUSIC quiz shows is the lazy rights owner fat-cats from RIAA and the other organizations, who sit back and charge huge fees for the use of music that the composers barely make a penny on. 

It is much less expensive to do "Wheel of Fortune" or "Family Feud" than pay for every fresh 10 seconds of music on a half hour show....only to find that Gramps does not know who Jay-Z is, Mom never heard of K-Pop, and Mr. Cool Kid grins and says "Before my time, Dude" when he listens to 10 seconds of "Michelle" or "Yesterday." 

At one time, music did bring us together. Even songs sung in Italian or Japanese made the charts, and artists such as Connie Francis and Neil Sedaka put out albums of ethnic hits so the point where you didn't know what their race or religion might be. Now, you're lucky if a few people can sing along to some dopey Disney thing like "You've got a Friend In Me," because most people don't want or care about friends OR music outside their own race and religion now.  

You can find a few examples of Tom Kennedy's "Name that Tune" on GooTube, which I don't feel like linking to, since it slows down the page. Today the guy could never get work. A white guy. Nobody wants that anymore. Gotta be a professional actor if you're a white guy (Alec Baldwin badly hosting "Match Game") or an affable Steve Harvey pro comedian squeezing laughs on every "booty" reference. 

Kennedy was actually born James Narz, by the way. His older brother was already a successful quiz host (Jim Narz) so he called himself Tom Kennedy (February 26, 1927-October 7, 2020).

Sean Connery; The Man Who Would be ACTOR, First, and Comic-Con Nerd Fave last "IN MY LIFE" John Lennon

 

Sean Connery? Way too famous for THIS blog, but it's a MUSIC BLOG, and in reviving the old "he's the best James Bond" stuff,  how he started as a model, etc., news of his passing probably did NOT include a mention of his singing:

The odd timing here...the deaths of Sean Connery and Diana Rigg...probably didn't lead many to dwell on who they were. ACTORS. Just what they left behind for the obsessives: "Avengers" episodes (and whatever the fuck Diana did on "Game of Thrones") and the sad plaint that "they refused to stay spy characters forever.) 

All together now: SIGHHHHH...what of Diana married Sean in "Spy Who Loved Me" instead of having Lazenby.... 

Diana and Sean were wiser, and had long careers because they knew when to move on to other challenges. Neither were interested in making extra cash off stand next to gurning assholes at a ComicCon, or signing dumb memorabilia in a store loaded with way too much shit on "Star Trek" and "Star Wars."

As for Connery's Bond, yes, his was the best. Ian Fleming loved him in the role, and it's a travesty that today's PC thinking is to turn James Bond into a black tranny or whatever the fuck is the opposite of Connery and even his closest real rival, the well-respected lumpy-faced blond bad boy, Daniel Craig. 

Christ, is there a Bond film that couldn't be better CUT to 90 minutes? Aren't almost all of them incomprehensible and tedious? 

In his latter years, Connery looked great, even as the Daily Fail and others searched for unflattering images to prove otherwise. There was the odd "Sean as Lecherous Asshole for Old Ladies" impression Hammond did on "Saturday Night Live" and, toward the very end, pix where a clearly aging Connery had somebody helping him navigate NYC streets (and his "old guy" pants with the belt flopping loose). Oh, and I think the worst is over now -- those jokes about what happened when Sean Connery ordered his dog to "Sit!"

 

DIANA RIGG - "COULD I LEAVE YOU"

DIANA RIGG

It seems that so many of the greatest and most memorable plays could not be confined to two acts. They require three, and just when it seems that things can't get any more sublime, the "third act" arrives and then everyone leaves. excited, wanting more. But there's a limit. 

Diana Rigg, was long acknowledged one of the greats. She had an extended third act, an unusual "hat trick," in coming up with yet another "cult" character to bring her not just critical acclaim, but the amusing bustle and excitement of fan frenzy. 

Yes, she was Mrs. Peel on "The Avengers." And then became, wowie zowie, the only woman to marry James Bond, and ultimately, defying or embracing old age (your choice) she became a heroine to a new generation of ga-ga's thanks to "Game of Thrones." 

As far as Diana's fans were concerned, the real ones, Rigg had already stamped out an uncompromising career with a resume that included Shakespeare, experimental productions (for which she might get a surprisingly unkind review or two), those so-called "Masterpiece Theatre" TV shows involving cozy mysteries, and the occasional return to pop culture via "Theatre of Blood," for example. 

There didn't seem to be anything Diana Rigg couldn't do, and yes, that includes singing, "Could I Leave You" is from Sondheim's London production of "Follies," 1987, and is typical of Stephen's work; it seems like it was written for anyone to sing in a true and natural voice, something that mostly relies on drama more than pipes, but ultimately, a piece that does require a lot of talent. 

I've had the good fortune to have had brief but memorable moments with Sondheim and with Diana Rigg, though not revolving around "Follies" 1987. I think I met Diana around that time, though. We talked about her upcoming Broadway work, not, of course, THE TV SHOW. I don't think I even dared bring up "Theatre of Blood," even though it featured Vinnie Price, a man we both admired so much. 

For me, meeting Diana was a satisfying moment that seemed to answer the "what is she really like" question. What you saw is what you probably got, if you were polite and well-mannered. I think she'd have given a sigh and put up with a few moments of "Lucy" behavior from a fan who saw her by surprise and couldn't stop gasping and stuttering. I had a few little questions regarding a piece I was doing that she was in, and she had a few minutes to spare, so all went well.

I have a feeling she was generally that way -- certainly a commanding presence, a class act, and a person whose time wasn't to be wasted, but someone polite and often surprisingly reasonable. I friend went to see her at BOTH the matinee and evening performances of a show, and left a card at the box office for her, inquiring if it was possible to meet and get a copy of "No Turn Unstoned" autographed.  Surprise surprise, Diana's manager actually called up, and said it would be ok at such-and-such time (an hour or so before curtain on the second show). Diana was pleasant, offered up a bit of small talk, and it was a wonderful little five minutes.

Sondheim autographed by CD of "Sweeney Todd" a few years later. I mentioned that I had been a "follower" of Sweeney's dark humor ever since I heard Derek Lamb perform a Music Hall version of the demon barber's exploits on a Folkways album.

"Could I Leave You?" Yes. Forget you? Not. 

The COMBAT TV (with the JEWISH STARS Rick Jason and Vic Morrow) THEME SONG by Leonard Rosenman

 

"Hey, they don't LOOK Jewish!" 

"Neither did Nimoy and Shatner." 

Anyway...it's September, and there's some Jewish holiday or other, so consider this a celebration of it, whatever it is. Unless it's Yom Kippur, in which case, feel sad about something. Like the fact that no minority's lives matter anymore except ONE. 

Gritty war shows aren’t too popular anymore, but back in the 60’s, “Combat!” had a pretty long run: 1962-1967.  It would be the most memorable role for the two ill-fated stars, Rick Jason and Vic Morrow. Both had plenty of work before and after, but fans would remember them best in uniform, and they know the famous “Combat!” theme you hear below. 

The TV show starred two Jewish guys as war heroes. Is that a surprise? Lots of Jews were war heroes and there was certainly plenty of opportunity in WW2. Even if they didn't get a medal, at least some were definitely over there, face to face with the enemy in France (Mel Brooks!) or in the Marines (Don Adams!) or in the Navy (Don Rickles!) But let's not digress. We'll stick to JASON and MORROW.

Born Richard Jacobson (May 21, 1923-October 16, 2000) Rick Jason could play suave charmers (he got his mitts on classy blonde Joan Marshall in an episode of “The Millionaire.”) He got his first movie break replacing Fernando Lamas in “Sombrero,” a forgotten 1953 movie. He would play a Mexican bandit in the TV show “Stories of the Century” (1954) before moving on to more varied roles. ZIV (the company that produced Joan Marshall’s “Bold Venture” series) hired him for the 1960 “The Case of the Dangerous Robin” TV show, which lasted a year in 1960-61. He played insurance investigator Robin Scott. The following year, he as Gil Hanley, alternated with Vic Morrow as the stars of various episodes of “Combat!” Jason had been in the U.S. Army Air Corps, so he knew all about the life of a soldier. 

Vic Morrow (Victor Morozoff, February 14, 1929 – July 23, 1982) was born in the Bronx, a borough noted for tough guys. He dropped out of high school to join the Navy, and with his rugged looks, he played one of the more dangerous punks in “Blackboard Jungle” menacing Glenn Ford (1955). He landed the lead (Brando) role of Stanley Kowalski in a road company version of “Streetcar Named Desire,” and appeared in such gritty films as “Men In war( 9157) and Hell’s Five Hours (1958). In 1961 he had the lead in  “Portrait of a Mobster,” playing the famous Jewish gangster “Dutch” Schultz (whose real name was Arthur Flegenheimer — a German who got his nickname “Dutch” as a Bronx-y corruption of the word “Deutsch.” 

From there, it was “Combat!” and his role as Chip Saunders.  There was a fine balance on that show, in terms of who got more exposure each week, or the best scripts, so Morrow and Rick Jason got along just fine. As Rick recalled, a big difference was that Vic was quite a pacifist in real life, and was not a gun owner. He enjoyed taking some shots at Vic now and then:  I said to him, "I've got a couple of shotguns in the back of my station wagon. You want to shoot some skeet?" Without so much as a pause he responded, "No, thanks. I can't stand to kill clay." He knew he could always break me up and during our five years together he did it quite a bit. His sense of humor happened to tickle my funny bone.” The blonde Morrow and dark-haired Jason had a bit of the same vibe as another Jewish combo, William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy…two guys with a different look and appeal, each staked to his own territory (and female followers). 

Both Rick and Vic, who appeared in all 152 episodes of the show, found steady work after “Combat!” with chances in movies, and guest starring roles on TV shows. Morrow, who had directed seven episodes of the show, also worked as a director on other projects, too. Still, most fans knew the two actors as the soldiers of “Combat!” and were delighted when there was a chance to see them in person. In October of 2000, there was a reunion of “Combat!” stars in Las Vegas. Usually this type of thing makes a star feel good, knowing that so many remember and appreciate past work. Rick, 77 years old, may have been depressed to realize his best success was so far in the past, and that new assignments and the ability to put in long hours memorizing lines and performing them, were not likely. He was a suicide, just a week after attending that show. 

As for Morrow, everyone knows what happened to him: he was filming “Twilight Zone: The Movie” with John Landis directing. A sequence called for him to rescue two Vietnamese children as a helicopter followed them with bad intent. A malfunction caused the chopper to crash, with the pilot surviving but Morrow and one of the children sliced away by the rotor blades. The other child was crushed to death. He was only 53.  

The “Combat!” theme was the work of another Jewish talent, Leonard Rosenman.  Born in Brooklyn (September 7, 1924-March 4, 2008) he had a very long career writing theme songs and incidental music for TV shows and movies. His first major credits were composing music for two James Dean films, “East of Eden” and “Rebel Without a Cause.” (1955, 1956). There's Lenny and Jimmy: 

Lenny’s TV work stretched from “Combat” (1962) to “Garrison’s Gorillas” (1967)  “The Virginian” (1967) and “Marcus Welby” (1969) working of course on multiple episodes of those shows over the years. He created incidental music for a variety of episodes of other shows. 

Rosenman worked primarily in films in the 70’s through the 90’s, winning Oscars for “Barry Lyndon” (1976) and “Bound for Glory” (1977) and including “Cross Creek” (1984), Star Trek IV” (1986) and “Levitation” (1997). He’s probably one of the most prolific movie music writers to be unknown to the general public…unlike Henry Mancini, Elmer Bernstein, Hans Zimmer, Jerry Goldsmith or John Williams.  

Admittedly, the “Combat” theme is pretty derivative. It borrows a little from “When Johnny Comes Marching Home,” which was used a bit too much in “Stalag 17.” It also borrows some style from “The Great Escape” and the ridiculous Colonel Bogey March (from “Bridge Over the River Kwai”) where war is somehow as much fun as summer camp, and people either whistle a lot, or they march around like they have paper hats and cardboard swords, with Mitch Miller-type oom-pah marching bands around. The theme is almost at the same light-hearted level as “Hogan’s Heroes.” Still, it’s catchy, and it never goes out of style. Neither does war. 

THE COMBAT! THEME - no passwords, no creepy malware or spyware, listen or download

 

ILL-USTRATED SONGS #50 - YOUR RECORD LABEL SUCKS! It's FELLATIO and WAYNE KELLY

Back in 1966, there wasn't free porn on the Internet. There wasn't even an Internet (so you either had to buy records, or shoplift and then try to tell the judge "Music should be FREE!"). 

Pubic hair wasn't in men's magazines, unless men put it there while wanking in a public toilet stall. 

There was no Dr. David Reuben or Dr. Ruth, and Frank Zappa had yet to declare that rock music had contributed to oral sex, or vice versa. In fact, Lenny Bruce died in August of 1966, from, as Phil Spector said, "an overdose...of POLICE." He had been hounded for, among other things, using the word "cocksucker" on stage. He shocked a lot of people by declaring that this was not a perversion, but something he'd expect his lady to do for him.

Only, "if I'm being honest," in 1966 "nice girls" didn't do it, and not even sluts named Kardashian. John Lennon sang "Please please me...like I please you," meaning...if I lick pussy, why not suck my dick? (Yes, that IS what that song was about). 

 

If people wanted to read a "dirty book," 1966 was not a great year for it. Dirty stories about some dirty man, and his clinging wife who didn't understand...had to use euphemisms. Even the stuff in adult bookstores had to be careful, and four-letter-words were NOT generally allowed. (The Fugs, let's remember, got their name from what Norman Mailer had to use when he wrote "Naked and the Dead").  The kinky alternative was the "case history" books from various people with a PhD to their credit. People bought Kinsey. If they were daring, Kraft-Ebing and "Psychopathia Sexualis" (a tome referenced by Lenny Bruce). 

But how many knew what the hell the medical words were? Cunnilinguus? Fellatio? And so it was, that a small record label in Philadelphia managed to get away with calling itself FELLATIO RECORDS. This was a time when even "under the country" dirty records, including ones from Redd Foxx, Belle Barth and Pearl Williams couldn't even get away with using the clean words! (Pearl's choice of euphemism for vagina was "knish." She barely got away with singing "By the sea, by the sea, by the C-U-N-T.") But I digress.

Few people bought Wayne Kelly's less-than-inspired doo-wop song (the flip side of "Black Magic" but sorry, "Black Magic" doesn't matter here). Probably none of them thought they were getting a "sexy" song, and probably thought Fellatio and Acappella were the same sing. Actually, most people who sing acapella should try fellatio instead. 

To its credit, Fellatio, which probably didn't last long enough to release even a half-dozen singles, had a few artists with more suggestive names than Wayne Kelly and The El Caminos. They had The Infatuators and The Love Larks. But...like those bad lounge records with sexy album covers, if it's not in the groove, the vinyl ain't gonna move. It'll just sit until it gets remaindered at half price. Or as a loss leader for a buck. Or ten cents if it's a single. And that really sucks! 

Today? Hell, you can go online and see all the sucking you want. You can go to eBay and order a dildo. And on vacation, you can order sucking candy not merely in candy cane form, but shaped like a "willie." Come to Blackpool, and rock...

This isn't a particularly great copy of "Darling Can't We Talk" but, in the case of 99% of all the doo wop shit that some very aging morons hunt for online or in person, it might sound better with a few more scratches than less. It ends abruptly, but Fellatio often does. 

DARLING...on FELLATIO... download or listen online

ILL-USTRATED SONGS #49 "I Like Germany" Sapristi, Christie, Who Doesn't??

 

Sapristi! When you're a middle-aged middle-of-the-road singer trying to squeeze Euros from the EU, you do what you can. That includes pretty propaganda songs, even about a country that tried to conquer the world twice in the 20th Century, caused millions of dollars in damages, murdered millions upon millions of people (in their own country) as well as millions trying to save the world from their insane racism. 

But...LET'S NOT TALK ABOUT THE WAR(S). As Michael Flanders liked to say, you can say anything you want about the Germans, and who doesn't, but that was a fine song, (the National Anthem), "German German Overalls." 

Know Tony Christie? What last name does that represent? Never mind, he was born Anthony Fitzgerald, and he damn well wasn't going to make a career out of reprising Harry Lauder songs, or trying to make everyone cry with "Danny Boy." His career took off in the 70's when he sang about American cities: "Las Vegas" and "Is This the Way to Amarillo?" Well, it was the way to get people to care about just another guy no different from Al Martino, Paul Anka or Vic Damone. 

There was a limit to just how much USA patronizing his home country could stand, though. In 1976, his hits not coming too quickly, he offered "The Queen of the Mardi Gras" -- hoping to represent the United Kingdom in the annual horrible Eurovision show. He didn't quite make it. And, no, America didn't jump at the chance to have a Brit from Sheffield sing a Louisiana song for them. 

As no less an authority than Wikipedia will tell you, "Although his popularity waned in his native England through most of the 1980s and 1990s, he maintained a successful singing career in continental Europe during this period. This was especially so in Germany." That might be a grand reason to do for the Germans what Eric Idle did for the Chinese. 

Eric Idle's 'I Like Chinese" is really not as humorous as Tony's ridiculous ode, "Germany." As Randy Newman did with "I Love L.A.," but not taking it seriously, Tony recites some lists of great things about Germany. Somehow he left out antiSemitism, Merkel destroying her culture with greedy moronic thugs pouring over the border, and old fashioned Germany stupidity via Covidiots refusing to wear masks (and protesting en masse, which is something even Florida's vast army of assholes wouldn't have done). 

Oh well. Despite what they did (and the Italians the Japanese) we try to forgive if not forget. Yes, it's a bit strange that the Germans got behind Hitler the way they did, and loved him for scapegoating the Jews the way he did. But then again, we have Trump, who has millions and millions of jeering, violent, nasty followers who love how he scapegoated the Mexicans and is so obviously into White Supremacy.

"If I'm Being Honest," this wonderful tune "Germany" is hardly a new song. It was simply new to ME, having discovered it while pawing through Tony's albums, looking for the one that had a cover version of a song by a friend of mine. Frankly, "Germany" was the real prize. 

"Wonderful cities! Nice people! Good beer! Believe it not, I like it a lot -- when I'm here!

I like to be --- in GERMANY  --- being here means every time something very special to me! Whether Hamburg or Frankfurst, Cologne or Berlin, all the lovely places I've been! I always meet nice people...everywhere...AND THAT IS WHY I'M FLYING HIGH!"  

Good lord. That's not pandering. Panzering...subtle as a German tank.

To say something nice about Tony, he's a reasonable looking chap, sings well, and has admirable tenacity when it comes to trying to remain relevant. About ten years ago, he strayed from the middle of the road to work with Jarvis Cocker and Roisin Murphy, and record for the Acid Jazz label. He's also lent his time to high-profile charity causes, including things not related to Germany, like raising money for Barnsley Hospice and the Conisbrough Music Festival. A fine, fine fellow. 

And anyone who likes Germany should like Tony Christie!

GERMANY! (What's not to like) Download or Listen on Line

 

"THESE GHOULISH THINGS" remind me of FAY DEWITT

 

Fay Dewitt’s “THROUGH SICK AND SIN” album arrived in 1961, at a time when there was great interest in edgy comedy, black (meaning darkly satiric) humor and sick comedy. The cover's odd humor seems to involve Fay not believing an apple a day should keep the doctor away. Maybe you hadda be there.

At the time, Lenny Bruce, Shelley Berman, and Jonathan Winters were all accused of crude and weird joking. Time magazine sounded the alarm with an article on the "sick comedy" trend. Tasteless remarks was something Time could not tolerate... although they did refer to Shelley Berman's face as looking "like a hastily sculptured meatball."

Tom Lehrer was the star of poor taste songs, but alarmed critics were noticing that chi-chi clubs and revues were beginning to load up on questionable songs about cocaine, Lizzie Borden and double entendres below Cole Porter's belt. When you couldn't trust Hermoine Gingold or a Julius Monk revue to maintain a wholesome standard, something was wrong! But....selling.

Major record labels began to take interest. Berman and Winters were on Verve, and Columbia signed Paul Lynde to be their sick comedy star. Warners tested the sea-sick waters with a tepid album of risque songs performed by Joan Barton (who was not exactly competition for Ruth Wallis, Faye Richmonde or Rusty Warren). Epic likewise gave the genre a try with the provocatively titled "Sick and Sin" album, although few tracks were all that sick, and there was nothing "sinful" that would cause anyone to blush.

"These Ghoulish Things," not to be confused with the parody on "These Foolish Things" that appears on Sheldon Alllman's 'Sing Along with Drac" album, is by David Rogers and Mark Bucci, who wrote the score for "Cheaper By the Dozen." 

Fay is 85, still ready for work singing in cabaret or acting in sitcoms, and has a long, long resume that includes a variety of classic TV shows, including "Car 54," "McHale's Navy," "The Farmer's Daughter," "That Girl," "Gomer Pyle," "All in the Family," "The Jeffersons," "Mork and Mindy," "Crazy Ex-Girlfriend," and "Good Samaritans," all done after this album arrived. 

Fay's impressive stage and film credits go back to 1950 when she was in "Pardon Our French" with Olsen and Johnson, and 1951's infamous "Flahooley" with Irwin Corey. She recorded several "straight" singles on labels including GNP, Mood and Leeds. In the world of fanboy geeks and perverse trivia fans, she is known for being one of the few celebrities who killed somebody. In her case, it was her violent husband. They had divorced, but in a drunken rage he broke into her place and began beating her. She grabbed for a letter opener and fatally stabbed him in self-defense. This ghoulish thing seems to have endeared her to fame-fans who haven't heard her sing and perhaps haven't connected her to any of her vast variety of roles, which includes parts in Don Knotts movies, and in everything from "House" to "Murder She Wrote."

THESE GHOULISH THINGS - listen or download via Mega

Marais and Miranda - SIEMBAMBA - the South African Dead Baby Song

 

 

"Siembamba" is sort of the South African version of "Rockabye Baby." We don't mind crooning to our kids about a baby hauled into a tree, and then falling to the ground when a limb breaks. Guaranteed, baby breaks a few limbs, too.

And so in South Africa, there was an equally charming old folk song called "Siembamba."
The genteel, nearly forgotten husband and wife team of Marais and Miranda recorded it, both studio and live versions. 

Goodwill ambassadors for South Africa, and fluent in songs involving Dutch and African languages, Marais and Miranda popularized "We Are Marching To Pretoria," "The Zulu Warrior," and many other songs nobody knows anymore. 

You can find most in the dollar bin of any record store that is still in business, and in thrift shops all over the world. Unless the owners of the shops are fearful of having their windows broken and their stuff looted because somebody decided they were selling "racist" shit by Marias and Miranda! Watch out, the world is not safe anymore thanks to violent social justice warriors.

The situation in South Africa is...well, does anyone care? Not really. The important thing is that the United States is a shit country, the only one in the world that somehow still has slavery. Its certainly a rotten place where blacks can't become President and aren't allowed to hold jobs, while Latinos are treated well, gays don't fear being killed, Jews can walk down a street without being punched, where anyone with a turban on isn't going to be laughed at and jeered, or where somebody Egyptian will be mistaken for a member of ISIS and told to leave the country..

South Africa, last time anyone checked, was still rife with racial strife, although if it involves blacks beating, murdering, or just driving whites off the land, that's a GOOD thing. (Maybe the Native Americans in the USA should try it).

As Peter Gabriel or Patti Smith or of course, the Nazi leader himself, Roger Waters would tell you, South Africa is fine. It's not an apartheid nation. Neither is North Korea. Neither is Turkey or Libya or the UAR or Egypt or Russia or Red China. ONLY Israel. Even though anybody can visit Israel whereas in some of the aforementioned places, you'd end up in jail, or on a skewer to be eaten by the locals. (North Korea has decided its citizens are NOT allowed to own dogs -- dogs are being gathered up and eaten. But I digress.)

In a more naive age, Marais and Miranda seemed to be encouraging folks to visit South Africa in particular, and Africa in general, and they sang happy (if not sappy) adaptations of native songs. Maybe they never had a hit like "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" based very loosely on a really bad African song few would ever want to put on a juke box, but they tried their best. Didn't they? Look out, if there's a statue honoring them, it's probably been taken down by now. (That's called being reasonable. Today's Liberal was yesterday's Fascist).  Seriously, if they can pull down a statue of Kate Smith, they wouldn't hesitate to do that to Marias or Miranda. Hell, go find their relatives and demand reparations. That's fair. At least, it's fair in a world gone stark raving mad.

South African Josef Marais (Nov 17 1905 - Apr 27 1978) and Amsterdam native Miranda (Rosa Lily Odette Baruch de la Pardo, Jan 9 1912 - Apr 20 1986) were kindly people. They used to sing a folk song about "Johnny with the Wooden Leg," but after the war, and mindful of injuries suffered by soldiers, they updated the lyric to "Johnny with the bandy leg." They dressed like classical concert artists, and almost never performed anything that could be considered tasteless.

Almost never.

For any of you who are Dutch/South African, you'll recognize these lines: 

Siembamba - mamma se kindjie
Siembamba - mamma se kindjie
Draai sy nek om gooi hom in die sloot
Trap op sy kop dan is hy dood 

This is probably tasteless and offensive right there, because they are singing in "Afrikaan Dutch" which is an oppressive bastardization of whatever language the Africans spoke before the Dutch got there with their "my way or the highway" attitude, and those painful wooden shoes which can really put a dent in you with one swift kick. 

PS the Dutch are nice people. They never colonized a country, did they? Besides South Africa? Oh, hey hey, BLM, they DID come to America, pushed some Indians around, and created "NEW AMSTERDAM" which became New York. Surely, these fucks should be made to pay for something their ancestors did hundreds of years ago. May I suggest looting every fucking windmill in Holland? That seems fair. Although looting every store in Amsterdam would be much more fun. Except the cheese stores. Gouda. Christ, you DON'T WANT IT. (Dutch lives don't matter). But I digress again....

M&M do offer the English translation in the next verse of this live recording.  (Let's not SPOIL things by quoting it here!) 

And so, with over-population, global warming, the fabulous pandemic, and the absolutely insane amount of racial animosity being happily driven by people with nothing better to do (and in need of looted watches, sneakers and computers), the ILLFOLKS blog happily adds to the ever decreasing posts that are UN-PC and scared to be humorous, by offering....listen to it online or download....
The delightful dead baby lullaby SIEMBAMBA. 

SIEMBAMBA - listen online or download

Hey Bob Dylan, Spanish is a loving tongue, but wouldn't you rather be FRENCHED?

There are two things you should know about French girls. First, they love to fight (at least according to Reid-Brooker), and they are as into Bob Dylan as, oh, Joan Baez or Judy Collins.

Let's have a three-way with Bob. That's two girls and Dylan! He'd like that. And in these virtual times, girls on YouTube are about the best you can do. Distancing, ya know. It's hard keeping six inches away, but the times, they are deranging.

Our first Frenchie, who might be called the Barbara Steele of the pop music world, is exotic, dark-haired, wild-eyed Marie Laforêt. Sweet Marie, a Goddess of Gloom, She's been covered on this blog: MARIE

The nice thing about her version of 'I WANT YOU," is that the YouTube video has lots and lots of photos of Marie. You'll want her, too: 

Now our second Frenchie. This blog has not done nearly enough in promoting the slogan of the year, "Black Lives Matter." So, having a Black French singer on this page should help. Shouldn't it? Or should she have been placed ahead of Marie on the page? It's SO easy to OFFEND people this day, especially people who have nothing better to do than be OFFENDED.

As for other BLM activities, sorry, I just haven't gotten to Portland yet, to go pull a white trucker out onto the gutter and beat his head in for being white. I haven't gone to the Promenade in Santa Monica to liberate expensive sunglasses.  I haven't gone to Trump Tower in New York to scrawl righteous graffiti slogans on the sidewalk. I don't walk around with a BLM t-shirt to be ass-holier than thou, and hope to get a smiling "Right on" from some black street thug I wouldn't want to know and don't want to slip money to just because he says I should.  

"Black Lives Matter." Let's remind people that they should keep black people in their thoughts all day long and even if they are helpless to better their own fucking lives, and have enough trouble getting through the day.

I mean, you might as well be going around saying 'UFO's Matter" to the average person. Their response would be -- what the FUCK do you expect ME to do about it? 

PS, if you say "ALL lives matter" you a racist, because everything's just fine Mexicans, or the Pakistanis who drive a cab 18 hours a day, or the Asian girls working massage parlors. Life is peachy for them. Among others. And the Orthodox Jew clocked on the street in Brooklyn by somebody "of color," well, next time put "Black Lives Matter" on your black coat and black hat and hope it can be read by the black who doesn't think you knew all about slavery 2,000 years ago...and the act that all over the world, it's antiSemitism that is the favorite for haters....the hatred for Jews is far more prevalent than for any other minority group. But hey, Farrakhan, and Free Speech...nothing offensive about HIM.

At least this post has a black woman as well as a white woman! It's not much. Not compared to Mayor Wilhelm De Blasio, who married a black lesbian, and managed to squeeze to kids out of her twat. Oh...she's FUGLY, too. Extremely. That's part of her charm. It surely isn't the way she squanders millions of taxpayer dollars while grinning like a fucking ghoul. 

Yes, for every white woman in this post, there's a black one! There. And no, posting Dieu est nègre by Juliette Greco doesn't cut it. Not black, and not a Dylan song. Instead, here's a BLACK version of the BLACK-themed Dylan classic, "The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll." 

Some doubt the authenticity of the story, especially given other well-meaning faux pas by Bob, such as declaring Joey Gallo to be a really lovely guy, and warping the story of Hurricane Carter, who most believe was not only a genuine prick in real life, but also a murderer. Still, the villain of the song,  Zinhof Zinger or whatever his name is....did he actually strike and kill Hattie? And do it deliberately? He said no, that doesn't make for a good story. It's like answering 'Who Killed Davey Moore" with "what the fuck, that's boxing."

The point NOW is that Americns are rotten and their cities deserve to be looted, and "white privilege" is ridiculous just because white people had the nerve to try and make lives better in obscure third world countries that couldn't figure out how to create electricity or invent a flush toilet. But the key word is American. Don't get made at those lovely Danes who invaded the West Indies. Or the Dutch who did their share of Indian killing when they came to "New Amsterdam." And let's not mention current racists like North Korea where, according to Jeff Bezos' Washington Post, "North Korea has the highest prevalence of modern slavery in the world." 

There's oppression, murder and rape in hot spots all over this world and nobody gives much of a damn, do they? Fuck the Kurds. Fuck the Libyans. Fuck the Nigerians. Fuck anybody who is actually at risk just going outside their door.  Don't mention Trump's pal Putin, who is to ethnic cleansing what Snowy is to Bleach. (White reference). Don't talk about how an American woman crossed the border into Mexico this week and got every tooth knocked out of her head-- before or after she was beaten to death and left for the flies. Mexico's drug cartels? Why protest THOSE? No fun in looting Mexico, there's nothing there but burritos and bad beer.

Anyway....

One of the stereotypes of Blacks is that they are loud and loaded with soul, and they all roar like Tina Turner, or at least have tremendously fat asses like Icky Mirage, or whatever that monster's name is. Forget about Jessye Norman (most can't forget because they never heard of her). Well, below, is a surprisingly gentle version of "The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll," sung beautifully in French, and the black woman is playing a HARP. This might do more to show equality than shouting Muthafucka and Nigga while blasting rap or blasting a cap into some white cop's face, but why be reasonable? Bob Dylan once declared:

You're the queen of my flesh, girl, you're my woman, you're my delight
You're the lamb of my soul, girl, and you touch up the night
But there's violence in the eyes, girl, so let us not be enticed
On the way out of Egypt, through Ethiopia, to the judgement hall of Christ.

 

That covered a lot of territory didn't it? Some say he was referring to  Clydie King or Carolyn Dennis or some other black girlfriend. 

 

Well, Bob, THIS girl is very cute. Next time you pick up something in England, get across the channel and look for her. Here she is, precious angel, singin' and playin' that harp....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE BREAM OF THE CROP - $1,000+ Collection on the late great JULIAN BREAM

Somebody says, “RCA just put out a FORTY CD BOXED SET on him…”

You figure, Elvis Presley. You know, THE KING, who died on August 16th and a whole bunch of people still sob about it. Jerks as far away as Holland solemnly say it was "the day the music died." I know, it's hard to keep track of how many DAYS the fucking music died -- Freddie or Kurt or Elvis or...

So, a FORTY CD boxed set from RCA (plus DVDs). But wait...that's not ELVIS...

 Right, cat-gut breath, Julian Bream. Astonishing isn’t it? And that’s the reason somebody that successful turns up on this, the blog of less renown. He’s certainly not well known among the regulars who visit here. Most don’t care about classical music at all.  And yet, he’s left behind an incredible (and expensive) legacy: 

Another factor accounting for Julian's obscurity in the little minds of the average people,  is that when anyone mentions classical guitar and a famous guitarist, the first name people say is "Uhhhhhh." And then,"Oh! Segovia!” But there ain’t half been some clever bastards, and oh…Segovia was certainly one. But don’t overlook the man from Battersea, Julian Bream.

Another problem:  Battersea. For most people with a passing interest in classical solo guitar, what they like, over some paella and a quart bottle of Madeira,  is the famous pieces coming from Spain. “Yeah, maybe I should have ONE album of classical guitar, like I have ONE album of sitar music.” The go-to guy would be Segovia. Certainly my own favorites among guitar concertos are both from Latino composers: Rodrigo and Castuelnuevo-Tedesco. But, irony of ironies, I have them both on either side of a great record from the English guitarist John Williams. 

Back to Bream. His father was a jazz guitarist, but when young Julian was given a classical guitar, he was hooked on the classics, and became a prodigy before reaching puberty. He would go on to travel the world and win four Grammy awards playing both the guitar and the lute. He’s credited with popularizing the vast library of classical guitar music (especially British works) for the general public. Hey, Jude kept coming up with more albums, and in his native England, was the subject of several documentaries and a “This is Your Life” TV broadcast.

Since this IS an esoteric blog, your sample is not one of Julian’s guitar pieces, but one for lute, a most neglected instrument indeed.  From the looks of it, the lute is almost as difficult to master as the sitar. Ah, the lute. Ah, Mr. Bream.

As we honor his passing, let’s remember that tribute song from the Everly Brothers: “Whenever I want Lute all I have to do is Bream. Bream Bream Bream…”