THE WORKER - Fischer-Z For the late PETER WORKMAN

There's been a spate of famous people deaths lately, most not needing an extra mention on this blog of less renown. Among the diverse dead: Margaret Thatcher, Annette Funicello, Carl "The Truth" Williams, Roger Ebert, and cult film directors Bigas Luna and Jess Franco.

Peter Workman died on April 7th, at the age of 74. You never heard of him, but you probably bought some of his books, especially if you wanted to give a somewhat quirky gift to someone, like "Banana Grams" or "Origami on the Go" or "Cake Doctor." Workman Publishing specialized in "novelty" titles and had the good sense and marketing skills to turn B. Kliban, a quirky Playboy cartoonist, into a best-selling author via a book of whimsical and weird tabby cat drawings. Wisely, Workman did indeed market t-shirts…as well as sheets, mugs, desk calendars and even shower curtains based on Kliban's cartoons. But the merch was driven by a book first, and that's changing now.

Workman, married to the same woman for 50 years, a charitable man who worked with Human Rights Watch, the ACLU and the Anti-Defamation League, may have died at the right time -- if a man's worth is tied to his accomplishments in his work. Because his work empire has peaked. The book world is going the way of the music biz. Bookstores are dying the way record shops did, and there's a cheapening of the product and a contempt for anyone trying to make a living at it. Ebooks will empty book shelves the way mp3's cleared out cabinets of CDs, and with less to manufacture or ship, more people will be out of work.

Scott Turow, the lawyer and best-selling author, recently wrote about "The Slow Death" of authors (and publishing) in a New York Times editorial. He underlined the "horrifying" problems and "menace" of Google, Amazon, piracy and the anti-copyright "crisis" caused by greed, self-entitlement and ignorance.

Turow ended with a report on what's happening in Russia: "I visited Moscow and met with a group of authors who described the sad fate of writing as a livelihood in Russia. There is only a handful of publishers left, while e-publishing is savaged by instantaneous piracy that goes almost completely unpoliced. As a result, in the country of Tolstoy and Chekhov, few Russians, let alone Westerners, can name a contemporary Russian author whose work regularly affects the national conversation." Don't get me started on how Putin and Russia are crippling the USA and UK by being SO nice to pirates and SUCH defebders of "Internet Freedom" by giving away ebooks, avi files and mp3s via torrents, forums and blogs. Putin offers a safe-haven for criminals operating in Croatia and any place where copyright and human rights can be violated, and what's going on is just as sick as the Mexican cartels that murder women and children and intimidate politicians and law enforcement so that idiots in America can get high. The Capitalist system which IS about free enterprise within copyright and respect for workers, is being destroyed by cartels who give access to illegal merchandise and are perceived as being so fucking cool. (End of rant).

For Workman Publishing to survive at all, they'll have to be more of a toy and game company, selling more 365-jokes-a-day calendars, and hope a new quirky cartoonist can parlay books into merch. But where will this stuff sell? Barnes & Noble, even by changing their bookstores into Starbucks-selling cafes, and offering their Nook, has shut down branches…frantic in trying to compete with Amazon and their Kindle.

I remember sending Peter Workman a book proposal, and to get his attention, including a photo of my cat (a tabby similar but not as fat as a Kliban cat) on a Kliban cat pillow case. I never did get a book published by Workman, but he sent a nice personal rejection letter.

To justify saying anything at all about Peter Workman on this music blog, there has to be an obligatory music download, and it's…"The Worker." I choose it to honor the Workman name, his indie publishing empire, and workers who read as they ride into town for a day at the office.

Lyrics: "…he hated journey on the train. Always been the same. Looking out windows. Second class and second best What a waste of time…The worker, the worker The worker, the worker. Always kiss the wife goodbye .Often wonder why. At seven in the morning…What a waste of time…" It's by short-lived but well-loved Fischer-Z, which was a quirky group that had a lead vocalist (John Watts) who seemed intent on singing in the highest, most hapless voice possible. A psych major, he infused his particular brand of pop-psych with a madness-dash of reggae as you can hear on this, the band's 1979 hit.

PETER WORKMAN THE WORKER

VINCENT PRICE : THE EASTER BUNNY ALWAYS SLEEPS

Today is Good Friday, and on Sunday, it's Easter.

Religulous as these days are…Jesus Christ…it's just too easy to make fun of it all. "Easter," with the bonnets, and the chocolate bunnies, and the colored eggs…it's already a joke. What has any of this to do with the supposed death and resurrection of somebody that a billion or more people think is the "Son of God?"It makes as much sense as Santa Claus and "Christmas."

We're dealing with revisionist crap. That's what all religion is. It's hearsay. People literally get bent out of shape, go around killing other people, make their lives miserable as well…all because of some shit that was written hundreds and hundreds of years after the supposed "sacred" events took place.

The more ridiculous the religion, the more humorless and vicious the followers are…because they are so fragile, so insecure, and so stupid, they can't just accept the fact that not everyone believes what they do. Some religious fanatics are so humorless, they will kill you over cartoons depicting their "savior," whom they insist was (is?) a deity of peace and good will. Nyuk nyuk. Why the fuck shouldn't people make fun of religion? It's hilarious. It's full of inane rituals, stupid-looking clothing, mumbo-jumbo prayers, and all kinds of psychotic taboos (which are mostly broken by the pious assholes who profess to follow them).

Enjoy the download, which is from the soundtrack to "Here Comes Peter Cottontail," and contains a few amusing remarks on the Easter bunny courtesy of the lovable horror star Vincent Price who was born in Saint Louis, religulously enough.

I've met Bill Maher, and I've watched him morph from the mainstream witty stand-up that Steve Allen admired, to one of the best political and religious satirists around. His recent "Real Time" editorial on the election of the new Pope included a few choice paragraphs on the revisionist nature of religious fanatics. He laughs at those who foolishly believe in "rules" that were not even in The Bible (second-hand source that it is) but tacked on later by a variety of laughable loons who somehow got others to go along with their nunsense. Here's some of what Bill said:

You know, people think all the church's rules and traditions come right from Jesus.  But almost none of them do…For example, New Rule: confession.  Jesus never said anything about confession.  Never even thought of it.  They pulled that out of their ass in the 12th century.  Just like they did with, New Rule: women can't be priests.  That's also not in the Bible.  Neither is celibacy for priests.  We didn't have that until the 4th century.  And even then, priests could still get married.  They just couldn't have sex — like regular marriage.

Jesus also never said anything about a Pope, let alone that he should live in a palace and get carried around in a chair like Liz Taylor in Cleopatra.  Or papal infallibility, another rectum-derived edict that came in the year 1870.  It's an eternal truth that's 11 years younger than the escalator….

Or how about this whopper?  New Rule: not only does God have a Son — who's really Him — but there's also a "Holy Ghost" in there, and they're all one person called the Trinity.  A Catholic monk named Tertullian made up the Holy Ghost in the 3rd century.  And after that, "It is true."

I tell ya, religion?  It's like Wikipedia.  Anyone can write something in.

VINCENT PRICE The Easter Bunny Always Sleeps

VASSAR GRATEFUL DEAD, PENN STATE MARCHING BAND BEATLES

College! One can look back on the experience quite fondly…the sex, the drugs, and actually learning a few things that helped jump-start a career. But sometimes, a belief that a college campus is a place of "higher education" can be shattered by irresponsible behavior and doing things that are downright brainless.

Like…being part of a marching band.

Like…being part of an a cappella ensemble

As this is a music blog, we confine ourselves to these two types of activities, which involve people who should be confined in strait jackets.

Two CDs that will always be part of my collection are: "Roses for the Lions" from the Penn State Blue Band, and "Cause It's Time" by the Vassar Devils. And yes, that hellish name is very accurate.

Below, you get a HALF DOZEN examples of the Vassar Devils sticking their pitchfork tongues into deservedly wretched pop-rock songs.

"Africa" by Toto. The soggy whitebread pop group's wimpy and limp ode to a country that hates their music, had gratuitous homogenized harmonies now bettered, buttered and battered by the Vassar Devils. They scat and doo-wop "Africa" to a level that could cause race riots.

"Carey" by Joni Mitchell. Another Africa-themed number, for reasons unknown, whiter-shade-of-vanilla Joni sets the tale somewhere near Africa winds, or Butterfly McQueen farts. There's a calliope of doo-doo's in the background as a plucky soloist named Biz (wasn't there a detergent by this name?) does her best to mimic the precociousness of her Canadian heroine.

"Signed, Sealed and Delivered" by Stevie Wonder. Blind people do not know the difference between black and white. But they can HEAR the difference. The Persuasions, this ain't. Sometimes you also have to wonder what the fuck the point is of NOT singing with backing instruments. A bunch of assholes going "doo oooh oooh" is fatefully farty.

"Killer Queen" by Queen. Well, ok, anything goes when you're covering the fruitiest rock band in history, even a cappella. Just wait till you hear the Vassar Devils do some kind of cat noises along with their usually poopy doops.

"Changes" by David Bowie. By this time, I was waiting to hear "ch-ch-ch" instead of "doo-doo-doo," but the Vassar Devils, like most a cappella groups, are really into deep doo-doo. While lead vocalist "Jon" does ch-ch-cheese it up, there's still way too much doo!

"Uncle John's Band" by The Grateful Dead. Say, didn't those dead-heads actually have an a capella moment in the original? Trust the Vassar Devils to add plenty of doo-doo to this happy shitkicker tune.

Also below, in addition to the zip-file of six songs from the Vassar Devils, is the most vivid example of marching band mania from "Roses for the Lions."

Who doesn't love a marching band? Spectators.

But let's not be so pessimistic. It's possible that half the marchers in the band don't love what they're doing either. Some have no choice if they're music majors, others…well, any joy in being in the midst of all that blazing brass and percussion soon palls due to rehearsals, lousy weather, embarrassing uniforms, having to carry around an instrument and choreograph at the same time…and most of the musical choices you get are cheese.

If they aren't cheese, they become cheese as they whiz through your horn. That most certainly includes a medley of Beatles songs…"Magical Mystery Tour…Got To Get You Into My Life…Hard Day's Night."

"Roses for the Lions" is a souvenir CD from the PENN STATE BLUE BAND, from live recordings made at the Eisenhower Auditorium between 1992 and 1994. At least they didn't have to march around when they were recording…although that misses a great opportunity for "living stereo" and having the thrill of tubas, trumpets and trombones circling around inside your head.

Take five, guys. And take a shower…it's ok, Sandusky's gone.

VASSAR DEVILS! SIX A CAPPELLA ROCK COVERS including Joni Mitchell, Stevie Wonder and The Grateful Dead

PENN STATE MARCH TO A BEATLES MEDLEY!

RISE STEVENS -- MISSED A HUNDRED BY THREE MONTHS

She nearly made it to 100.

The greatest "Carmen" and "Delilah" of her generation, and beloved for her operetta and "American Songbook" recordings as well, Rise Stevens (first name pronounced Ree-seh) passed on, March 20th…less than three months shy of June 11th, what would've been her 100th birthday.

As you'd expect from an expert in femme fatale roles, Rise (born Rise Steenberg, father Norwegian, mother Jewish) had a tough beauty. On some album covers, she was so striking that even somebody flipping through the used records looking for pop or country might stop for a moment and think, "Gabba gabba hey…." Which is frankly part of the reason why mezzo-soprano Rise became one of my favorite opera singers. Nice that it turned out she could sing. In the opera world, there tended to be the homely ones with great voices, and the hotties who didn't record much but had packed houses as long as they performed mad scenes or topless scenes (Carol Neblett, everyone!). Probably the best balance between beauty and singing ability was achieved by my other favorite opera singer, soprano Victoria de los Angeles.

Like Beverly Sills a generation later, Rise Stevens (she was married to Mr. Stevens for over 50 years) was a popular opera star, the "go-to" performer when a variety show needed some culture. On both radio and TV, she not only performed classic arias, but show tunes, light opera, and in the samples below, "Ave Maria," the type of popular song often best rendered by a trained classical vocalist. Ms. Stevens lived in Manhattan and was very active in the worlds of culture and music almost to the end. You can even find an interview with her on YouTube, done only a year or two before she passed on.

Rise and Shine On, You Delightful Diamond…

RISE STEVENS AVE MARIA Television Soundtrack 1951

RISE STEVENS AVE MARIA Radio Performance 1954

WORST PIES IN LONDON - Jade Lomas-Anderson Killed By Dogs

Singing about "The Worst Pies in London," Mrs. Lovett admits that what she serves to her fellow Brits is "disgusting" and "revolting." Unlike a pie shop rival, her product doesn't contain pieces of cat, because "them pussy cats is quick." Fortunately she gets a new beau, Sweeney Todd, and together they make human meat pies. If the story took place today, they'd own a Subway sandwich franchise, selling Sub-Humans.

And, speaking of sub-humans, Beverley Concannon is in the running for "The Worst Bitch in England,"owning five vicious dogs…most of them joining in to kill a teenager who had made the mistake of being near them…and eating a meat pie. Who knows if, given British cooking, that meat pie contained cat, or more likely horse meat, but there's room for blame all around.

Nobody should be owning a bunch of big dogs, for a start. Big dogs are like guns. They are lethal. Only stupid people think otherwise…fools who have a pathetic need to own something dangerous, who snivel and cower in the world unless they have a dog or a gun (or both) for "protection." These weak-minded obnoxious scum also enjoy intimidating others with their dogs (and/or guns).

Sweeney Todd sang that there's a hole in the world that's a great big pit and the people who inhabit it are full of shit…and it goes by the name of….LONDON.

Silly man. Why single out London when there's also Scunthorpe, and Grimsby, and plenty more? Probably because a century ago, the big city was far more dangerous than the current craphouse towns full of chavs and yobs and other disgraces to the heritage of Great Britain. Sweeney also didn't live in an era where ungrateful immigrants, with no respect for Great Britain, turn against their hosts to create stinking violent and bloody chaos unless they get their way, which is to make their new neighborhoods into ethnic fortresses for their own kind

You know what should happen? New laws. Cameron and his yeah-nay bunch of assholes should stop babbling every week ("Does the right honorable Prime Minister AGREE that dogs eating children is wrong….") and pass "Jade's Law." Which declares: NO pit bulls allowed in Great Britain. NO similar species of brutal dog such as a Rottweiler or a German Shepherd unless the owner has passed tests and is licensed to take care of such a dangerous beast. And NO person can own more than one.

All big dogs currently in shelters should be euthanized. All dogs of any size for sale in pet shops must also be neutered. All dogs must be kept in humane condition and not simply be chained up to protect some asshole's property. Dogs that bark for more than two minutes in a row will be confiscated, owners paying a fine. A second offense, and the dog's vocal cords removed. It's time to understand that dogs are very stupid, that a sick need to play "God" over a leashed animal is wrong, and that the peace and comfort of human beings rates first…and that dogs shouldn't be protecting a junkyard, barking insanely because a leaf fell off a tree, or snapping at everybody as they get walked along by a megalomaniacal piece of shit who gets a kick out of making other people cringe...and who also thinks nothing of letting the animal shit all over the place and piss all over everything...sending dog urine molecules into the air for YOU to breathe in.

The psycho bitch who owned the five dogs is unfortunately, all too typical of the average dog owner: stupid. Irresponsible. Selfish. A dimwit. The exact opposite of an animal lover. A hideous cretin who should be sterilized or euthanized along with her dumbass mongrels.

Why do people own dogs in the first place? Unfortunately, most do it for the same reason they own guns. Because it intimidates others. It makes a weakling suddenly powerful and not to be messed with. And sadly, "Jade's Law" has about as much a chance of passing as gun control laws…because there are too many people in the world who are sick and selfish and dangerous, and who want dogs and guns in order to have power over others…a power that often ends up in tragedy that takes the lives of the innocent.

"Sweeney Todd" is one of the great musicals of the 20th Century because it doesn't turn a blind eye to human nature. Human nature often involves abusing the animal kingdom, which in turn, only leads to a wreckage of human quality-of-life, and in many tragic cases, a loss of life.

These are the times that try Tesco-shoppers' souls The Worst Pies in London

Ill-ustrated Songs #22 : "Tying Up is FUN To Do"

The world's just discovered bondage and domination? Seems that way, thanks to that ugly cow who wrote the "Shades of Grey" series, which is now the subject of tiresome "who will be in the movie" rumors. A quirk of publicity (some people wanting to censor her self-published junk) led idiot women to seek out the ineptly written mommy-porn. Moronic readers have made millionaires of moronic writers over the years…talentless word recyclers like formula fatales Barbara Cartland, Jackie Collins, Nora Roberts or Danielle Steel.

It's no surprise that the late Marquis De Sade's books remain shunned by most everyone. After all, the guy was the real thing. He lived what he wrote. The "Grey Lady" has been a snore on talk shows. Her worst sin is that she has no panache. You can find intelligence, wit, even a certain odd sense of adventurous "fun" in De Sade and so many others…but the "Grey Lady" turns out to be like the result of a bad S&M session…lame.

Which, sparing you any further ranting, leads to "Tying Up is Fun To Do," which is something Dr. Ruth Westheimer could tell you in two perky minutes, or two pages of one of her sex books. The song is on an obscure album by "Franken'Don," which was self-pressed years ago in Vermont. Frank Chase and (shades of) Don Grey took a bunch of familiar 50's and 60's tunes and dirtied up the lyrics a bit. Released on their own "Lox Records" label (produced by a guy named Shapiro), the cuts range from faux-Weird Al ("Another One Buys a Saab") to faux-Allan Sherman ("Thank God I'm a Jewish Boy") to the more universal subjects of sex and stupidity (combined here).

Rather than offer the actual cover of this dollar-bin diversion it's filed under the category of "Ill-ustrated" songs…as we take the actual author, Neil Sedaka, and pair him with his one-time girlfriend Carole Klein (King). You might remember that Neil wrote "Oh Carol" for her, and she, in an early effort to move from songwriter to star, knocked off a slow-selling answer single, "Oh Neil." "Oh…" just download this curiosity and waste two minutes of your life.

Shades of Idiocy! TYING UP IS FUN TO DO Instant download or listen on line. No "type my name as the password" crap, no faux-links to spyware sites, no requests for donations.

BIRTHDAY and DEATHDAY: FRAN WARREN on MARCH 4th

What are the stats? It seems to me that quite often, people who are nearing the end seem to hang on until they reach their next birthday. They shoot for that milestone, and then they're shot. Exhausted. A few drop dead right on the finish line, and Fran Warren was one of them, entering the world on March 4 (1926) and exiting on March 4 (2013).

While she wasn't the most famous of big band singers, she had a few hits on 78 rpm in the 40's and 50's. By the late 50's, she could only get a label deal with the era's budget companies. Her debut "Hey There! Here's Fran Warren" was issued by Tops in 1957, and "Something's Coming" was on the obscure Warwick label in 1960. When I started haunting dollar bins in record stores, I sure knew who Fran Warren was. She was the one getting in the way of the used Julie London albums and cut-out still-sealed movie soundtracks that hadn't listed for $1.99.

The former Frances Wolfe first gained attention with Claude Thornill's big band in the late 40's. Thornhill had both a girl singer and boy singer, and in about 4 years in the late 40's Fran recorded some 14 sides (which have now been collected on CD by Collectors Choice). In 1950 she joined another Jewish vocalist with a "straight" name, Tony Martin, for the Top 10 cutie-pie duet "I Said My Pajamas And Put On My Prayers."

The pleasant-looking performer had one chance in a feature film. In 1952 she was the brunette Lady Jane in "Abbott and Costello Meet Captain Kidd," playing second fiddle to blonde Hillary Brooke as beautiful Captain Bonney. Fran recorded singles for Columbia, RCA and ended her attempts to make the Top 10 with MGM around 1955. Not exactly competing as a pure vocalist she now found better luck as an actress-singer in stage musicals, and was hired for the touring version of "Pajama Game," which had starred Janis Paige on Broadway.

The big hit in "Pajama Game" was "Hey There," and at least she convinced Tops that fans seeing her in the touring show might prefer hearing her do the number rather than Janis Paige. Promoting the 1957 "Hey There" album, Fran managed to get booked for a week on Jack Paar's "Tonight Show." She didn't make a return visit until 1962 when Johnny Carson took over. She sang for Johnny in 1966 and 1967 and managed two appearances on Joey Bishop's talk show in 1968 and 1969. Her album output over those years was sparse as well.

Warren seemed to have achieved a balance in the 70's and 80's between a private life and work in nightclubs, and as you can see on this page, looked the part of a successful veteran performer when cameras snapped that 1981 shot of her and easy going Tony Martin.

Below, a four-song sampler from her prime decade of recordings, 1947-1957: "Just About This Time Last Night," a pleasant ballad with Claude Thornhill's band in 1947, "I Said My Pajamas" the mild novelty duet from 1950, the whitebread tango "Kiss Me and Kill Me With Love," which was a 1955 MGM single, and her sweet and dreamy cover of "Hey There."

In the 60's, for budget-minded music lovers who couldn't afford Eydie Gorme, June Christy, Peggy Lee, Julie London, Dinah Shore, Jeri Southern, Rosemary Clooney, Jo Stafford, Ella Fitzgerald, or some of the other major label warblers who were singing the standards and show tunes, Fran Warren gave you some audio bang for your literal buck.

FRAN WARREN Four Classic Songs

JOE E. ROSS "Are you Loathesome Tonight?"

If he was still alive, on March 15th Joe E. Ross would have turned 99. Some still fondly remember his sitcom days when he was basically Shemp Howard doing a bad impression of Joe Besser. What's not to like? The TV age needed new comic losers and slobs. Shemp was gone, along with Slapsie Maxie Rosenbloom, Rags Ragland and Eugene Pallette. For the late 50's a comic sitcom gorilla needed to be a lot more cartoonish, incompetent and simple minded than the current Runyonesques of the day such as Robert Strauss.

Ross had the kind of blunt features that no make-up man could've created out of mud and silly putty, and his lack of acting skills only added to the humor. An idiot savant who drifted into show business after Army service, he memorized old jokes, and moved slowly from announcing girlie shows and doing bits in burlesque. He and his clone Dave Starr provided comic relief in the 1955 burlesque movie"Teaserama" which headlined some mild dances from Bettie Page among others. The former Joe Roszawikz (March 15, 1914 – August 13, 1982) finally got a break when sitcom writer Nat Hiken saw him bumbling around with a solo nightclub act and brought him into the platoon of misfits run by Phil Silvers as"Sgt. Bilko."

An authentic slovenly illiterate, good-natured Joe was a realistic member of Bilko's hapless collection of foils and fools, and like Henny Youngman, it was hard to tell if he was in on the joke, or just grateful that what parroted got him a pay check. In private life, Ross amused, from a distance, the other actors. They chuckled at his embarrassing lack of hygiene, his messy eating, his dirty jokes, his lack of dressing room modesty and his inability to relate to a woman who didn't expect to get paid for the evening. Not quick with memorizing a line, he'd blurt "Ooh! Oooh!" and it turned into a lucky catch-phrase. He was also lucky when, after the top contenders fell out, Ross ended up cast as bulky Gunther Toody on "Car 54 Where Are You," the series Nat Hiken developed after Bilko left the air.

Joe's musical career centered on his "Ooh Ooh" single, and the album that tried to trade in on his "Car 54" fame, "Love Songs from a Cop," from which we hear his Elvis take, "Are You Lonesome Tonight." On "Ooh Ooh," Joe unveils a second catch-phrase, a bellowy but Besser-esque whine of "Do ya mind?" Steve Martin fans will recognize the tone of voice as quite similar to "Excuuuuse me." Which only goes to show that "stupid" never goes out of fashion, it just changes faces. Joe's well-worn face wasn't wearing so well as a "star" comic, especially since he had limited acting skills. "Car 54" didn't last very long, and "It's About Time," in which he played a caveman opposite Imogene Coca, made it through one season. Ross ran his Runyonesque personality through bit parts in films, engagements in small clubs, and very briefly, as half of a comedy team with Steve Rossi, late of "Allen and Rossi." They lasted four months, disbanding in January of 1969.

Haggard, aging, and trading in on "Ooh Ooh," Joe managed to issue a stand-up album on Laff, the same label that had recorded the even older and more obscure comic character actor Mantan Moreland. Joe went through his familiar dirty jokes, most going back to the long-lost era when his pals Dave Starr and B.S. Pully had put out "party" records. The album was titled "Should Lesbians Be Allowed to Play Pro Football," which was a crappy throw-away joke when Billy Gray told it on a Verve album about a decade earlier. Gray owned The Band Box, a club in a Jewish neighborhood in L.A., and yes, Ross sometimes performed there. Sometimes. Ross's old jokes didn't appeal to modern audiences and dismayed fans who remembered his family-oriented sitcoms. According to legend, Joe's last gig was $100 to perform for neighbors at his housing complex.

Ross was a lovable loser…someone even other down-and-outers could look at and feel better about themselves. Most any deli-denizen of that era could tell a story or two about his bumbling boorishness, his unabashed chasing after hookers, or cheerful low-class schmoozing and boozing. He was a walking cartoon, and "ooh ooh!" it's easy to see why he got some laughs as part of a group of flatfoot cops or genuine dogfaces that included characters named Schnauzer and Doberman.

OOH OOH JOE E. ROSS

ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT from LOVE SONGS FROM A COP

Instant download or listen on line. No "type my name as the password" crap, no faux-links to spyware sites, no requests for donations.

HEAVEN HAS A BALL - Kenny Ball dies at 82 (Your Mother Should Know)

The song choice to commemorate Kenny Ball is "Your Mother Should Know." She probably remembers Kenny's #1 hit, "Midnight in Moscow," and might even be able to name it, or hum along to it, if you found it among her old 45's.

In recalling Ball (May 22, 1930– March 7, 2013) we hark, if not bark, back to the long lost age of the instrumental. At one time it was not unusual for a song without lyrics to be on the charts along with "It's Not Unusual." Why, even foreign language pieces such as "Volare" and "Sukiyaki" were welcome, and without having to follow the bouncing ball to sing along, ballrooms played the singles of Kenny Ball, Acker Bilk, and even the dreaded Percy Faith.

What happened? Have we simply run out of melodies? Is that why instrumentals rarely get anywhere anymore? Might be. How many Top 10 singles from last year can you sing? Not many, huh? Because there's no melody. The lyrics are crap, too. At best, you might know the chorus which could be "Fuck You" from Cee-lo or "Umbrella-ella-ella" from Rihanna-anna-nanna or some shit or other about wanting or not wanting to be your girlfriend, coming from Avril or Taylor.

You'll also note that it's rare when there's a good instrumental movie or TV theme. Quick, hum the theme song for Jay Leno's "Tonight Show." Back in Kenny Ball's day, there was "Theme From a Summer Place," and in a less corny mode, a wide variety of rockin' twangin' instrumentals from The Ventures and Duane Eddy among others, plus evocative melodies such as "Telstar." Herb Alpert had a ton of hits. There was a market for oddball ethnic tunes including "Petite Fleur" from Chris Barber's Jazz Band, "African Waltz" from Johnny Dankworth, "Afrikaan Beat" by Bert Kaempfert, and…getting back to the subject at hand, or rather six feet under…"Midnight in Moscow" from Kenny Ball.

Although Kenny Ball could've told you, "I'm from ESSEX, in case you couldn't tell…" his heart was in Dixieland, and the trumpet player formed his own group in 1958 to modernize the stylings of Kid Ory, Jelly Roll Morton, and others. He caused a stir with his version of the Cole Porter tune "Samantha" in 1961, and the following year had his biggest hit with "Midnight in Moscow," which sounded like he was taking Kruschev to the nudie bars of New Orleans. It sure as hell could not have been the reverse…cold, nasty Moscow actually seeming jovial around Midnight! At that time, swingin' a slavic minor key melody could probably get you a year in a labor camp.

[Parenthetically noted: ironically, another "One Shot Wonder" who only had one #1 hit in America died the same day as Kenny Ball. His #1 hit was even in the the same year as Kenny's. The late, 90 year-old Claude King sang "Wolverton Mountain" which was popular in the summer of 1962…three months after "Midnight in Moscow" was a Spring success.]

Ball's next 1962 single was also Top 10 in the UK (but not in America), "March of the Siamese Children," and he had another Top 10 in 1963 for an instrumental version of "Sukiyaki." Fans got to see Kenny and his band in the 1963 film "Sing and Swing" (aka "Live it Up") which featured Joe Meek's music and performances by Gene Vincent, Jennifer Moss, Trisha Noble, Steve Marriott, Ritchie Blackmore (part of "The Outlaws") and others. Kenny would have sporadic hits through the 60's and 70's in the U.K. and even supplied music at the wedding reception for that loving couple, Prince Charles and Diana.

As is often the case with jazz musicians, Kenny Ball did not retire and his enthusiasm did not diminish. He was still touring with his Jazzmen when he took ill with pneumonia, leaving a rather petite list of surviving instrumental greats, including some guys he was often co-billed with, Chris Barber, and that "Stranger on the Shore," Mr. Acker Bilk. Kenny's classics…well, yes, your mother should know all about them. And in some cases…so should you.

KENNY BALL Your Mother Should Know

FAREWELL TO STOMPIN' TOM CONNORS

One of the legends of Canadian folk music, Tom Connors (February 9, 1936 – March 6, 2013) released over 20 albums of original material, and wrote over 250 songs. I know: "name one of them." Well, if you ask such a question, you're obviously not Canadian.

Otherwise, you'd instantly say "The Hockey Song," or "The Consumer" (the theme song for the CBC series "Marketplace). He had #1 hits with "The Ketchup Song," "Big Joe Mufferaw" and "Moon Man Newfie." He was also known for "Sudbury Saturday Night" and for his breakthrough tune, the Top 30 "Bud the Spud" in 1969. His last significant hit single was "Canada Day Up Canada Way" in 1989, his first one to crack the Top 30 since 1973.

He was a prolific bastard, this son of unwed teen Isabel Connors and her boyfriend Tom Sullivan. Isabel couldn't take care of the boy, and his adoptive parents didn't do much better, so the wild roaming lad took off at age 15 to become a traveling troubadour. He learned Canada's folk songs and performed them with rousing enthusiasm. His nickname came from the old folkie habit of keeping time with a powerful foot…which led him to say "It's just a stage I'm going through!" He eventually brought a "stompin' board" with him to protect the venue's flooring.

Connors was not well known outside Canada, and liked it that way. First off, his material was steeped in the country's jargon, and secondly, his brand of very ethnic folk was not too commercial beyond his country's borders. This will be obvious when you download "Bud the Spud," which is not only aggressively "folkie" in melody and performance, but requires an interpreter who can explain the slang. Slightly more accessible is the traditional "Farewell to Nova Scotia." Elsewhere on the blog you'll find an entire essay about that song.

One of the only times Tom appeared on American TV was in 2004, only because Conan O'Brien had brought his show to Canada for a week and was eager to book crowd-pleasers his live audience would enjoy. He was lucky Connors didn't find any reason to object, because the feisty folky often warred with any figures of authority. He feuded with the CBC, who ultimately turned down a TV special the beloved singer-songwriter had financed. He also had a running feud with the Juno Awards (Canada's version of the Grammy) and returned the six statues he won: "You can give them to the border jumpers…maybe you can have them presented by Charley Pride. I feel that the Junos should be for people who are living in Canada…." Connors deliberately went on a nearly decade-long hiatus from recording. He also snubbed the Canadian Country Music Hall of Fame when they attempted to honor him. He liked to control his work and release it his way…a reason why he ultimately recorded for the label he helped create, Boot (what you Stomp with, get it…) Among his albums through the years:

"The Northlands' Own Tom Connors" (1967), "Stompin' Tom Meets Big Joe Mufferaw" (1970), "Stompin' Tom and the Hockey Song" (1972), "Stompin' Tom Meets Muk Tuk Annie" (1974), "The Unpopular Tom Connors" (1976), "Stompin' Tom is Back to Assist Canadian Talent" (1986), "More of the Stompin' Tom Phenomenon" "(1991), "Dr. Stompin' Tom Eh?" (1993), "Stompin' Tom and the Hockey Mom" (2004), and "The Ballad of Stompin' Tom" (2008).

Connors' health was fading toward the end, a fact he noted on his website: "I want all my fans, past, present, or future, to know that without you, there would have not been any Stompin' Tom," he wrote in his farewell. "It was a long hard bumpy road, but this great country kept me inspired with its beauty, character, and spirit, driving me to keep marching on and devoted to sing about its people and places that make Canada the greatest country in the world….I must now pass the torch, to all of you, to help keep the Maple Leaf flying high, and be the Patriot Canada needs now and in the future.''

Stompin' Tom Farewell to Nova Scotia

Recorded live BUD the SPUD

VAN CLIBURN and THE CHORDS of FAME

Harvey Levan Cliburn…Van Cliburn to you…died last week (July 12, 1934-February 27, 2013). He achieved honors mostly given to sports heroes and rock stars…a ticker tape parade and a platinum album. He played the chords of fame —mostly Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto #1, and similar war-horses from Grieg and Rachmaninoff — and suffering from backlash and burnout, retreated into obscurity to pursue happiness and let the old-timers (Horowitz & Rubinestein) and newcomers (Brendel & Pollini) have the spotlight.

Any denizen of the dollar bin has seen Van Cliburn's first album for RCA. It was a million seller. a first for classical piano. Americans who never owned a classical album rushed to get it because the newspapers were full of Van Cliburn's story…how the 23 year-old kid invaded Russia and brought back a prize. It was as if he spat on their Sputnik, as the powerful Red Machine had taken the lead in the Space Race, batting a satellite into orbit. Van Cliburn brought them Ruskies back to Earth and gave America something to cheer about.

The thunderous ovations for the Texan (born in Louisiana) made it impossible for the Russians to rig the voting. The famous anecdote has the judges going to Nikita "We will BURY YOU" Kruschchev muttering that it would be impossible to deny Van Cliburn. "Is he the best?" Kruschchev allegedly asked. "Then give him the prize." Van Cliburn returned home to a ticker tape parade in New York City and a contract from RCA.

With his wavy hair and pleasant looks, the young man eased past Liberace as the dreamboat of ladies sans gadar, and his comfy set list of familiar concertos made him popular among anyone interested in experimenting with classical music. He turned out to be, along with Glenn Gould, one of the last superstar pianists, the kind of artist you'd ask for over the name of the composer. "Mr. Record Store Man, I'd like VAN CLIBURN's version of Debussy…")

Critics were quick to resent Van Cliburn's super stardom, especially since he played safe with showy romantic pieces. The high pressure of classical music, where most any mistake is magnified and any interpretation fuel for debate and complaint, is not for everyone. Victor Borge's nerves led him to jokes…and a new career in comedy over a promising but demanding start as a straight pianist. For Van Cliburn, some performances were erratic, while others were unjustly criticized. While the general public roared approval, and his tours and his albums made money, he was relieved when he could tell his mother (also his manager) that enough was enough. In 1978, only 43, he disappeared. He filled 15 rooms in Manhattan with antiques and enjoyed the night life of the city.

His sexuality was hardly an issue during the height of his fame. Celebrities were not being "outed" at that time, either because of pay-offs or an old-fashioned sense of propriety. Unless a star was being outrageous, the tabloids weren't likely to bother. The outre Liberace flounced about in effeminate sequined outfits but the tabloids even left him alone after he won a lawsuit against a magazine that couldn't back up their innuendo.It had to be tough for him, a pious Baptist, non-smoker and teetotlaler, to hold onto his secret, and to not speak out at a time when homosexuality was routinely described as an abomination in the eyes of The Lord. Ultimately, the public heard all about it in 1996, when sour ex-lover Thomas Zaremba, on the losing end of what had been a 17 year relationship, chose to file a Rock Hudson-type palimony suit. Zaremba lost, and with so many gays coming out of the closet, or being outed by radical gay activists, the news was a big yawn. Van Cliburn continued on, occasionally scheduling a few concerts just to keep up a certain level of fame. As for recording, no, the stores kept re-issuing his material from the late 50's and early 60's. Record labels simply didn't see any viability for him in an age when only die-hard connoisseurs were buying classical music and/or studying the differences between an artist's earlier and later interpretations of the same concerto. Van Cliburn sold mostly to those on a budget, and to less-than-serious listeners who simply wanted one album of "greatest hits," and could get it with"My Favorite Brahms," "My Favorite Debussy," "My Favorite Lizst," and "My Favorite Chopin."

A 1993 biography of him by Howard Reich had reminded readers, " “It’s important to remember that…were it not for the sweep and innate lyricism of his playing, as well as its technical brilliance, he wouldn’t have conquered the very demanding Russian public, and the rest wouldn’t have happened.”

Reminding people of what Van Cliburn once was, was easier than explaining his current limbo as basically a celebrity pianist. In 1997 he toured with the Moscow Philharmonic, but the stress was too much. He felt dizzy, and revised his program to scuttled his famous interpretation of Rachmaninoff's Third Piano Concerto in favor of some easy solo pieces. Some critics were happy to have him back, but others were disappointed and complained about erratic performances and the tedium of hearing old classics. As the old pianists died off and the newer ones failed to become superstars, Van Cliburn found himself the recipient of such prizes as the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2003, and the following year, the Order of Friendship of the Russian Federation. He remained a popular celebrity at galas and parties, and presided over his own charities that recognized emerging young classical artists. Last year, the music world learned of his struggle with bone cancer, and while still standing ramrod tall at public appearances, he looked thin and frail, despite retaining that full head of (now white) hair.

I have about 500 classical CDs in my collection, and at this point, still cling to about 100 classical albums on vinyl. I have to admit that I don't have many examples of Mr. Cliburn among them. I had the Grieg/Lizst album he did with Eugene Ormandy, but traded it away years ago. Oddly enough,I never grabbed that million-seller "Tchaikovsky Concerto No. 1/Rachmaninoff Concerto No. 2" RCA album even when it was a buck. I do have a CD featuring his Rachmaninoff #3 (or Rachmaninov, as RCA preferred to spell it), and that's what you'll find below. It's the final movement (15 minutes), recorded in concert at Carnegie Hall, May 19, 1958. At the podium is Russia's foremost conductor of that era, Kiril Kondrashin (March 6, 1914-March 7, 1981). I would've upped the entire concerto but that's over 35 minutes, and a lotta bandwidth. The snappy "finale" should do. Sviatoslav Richter and Guiomar Novaes were 82 when they died, Vladimir Horowitz was 85, Claudio Arrau was 88, and Arthur Rubinstein and Wilhelm Kempff were both 95. Cliburn was 78, but that's actually a long time to keep any Van running.

VAN CLIBURN Third Movement (Finale) Rachmaninov Piano Concerto #3

MINDY McCREADY - "There But for Fortune" Marianne Faithful

She was one of the best singers in the world of country music. She really, really had talent.

If you were looking for "nice comments" about Mindy McCready's suicide, and glanced down at what was posted on the website for any of the tabloid newspapers on February 17th, you got:

"So long Mindy! Don't let the door hit you on your way out! Crackhead!" "Never heard of her. Who cares?" "Roger Clemens is a pig for tapping a 15 year-old!"

Yeah, there were a few "So sorry for her kids!" and "R.I.P." and "She's an angel now…" But there were a lot of variations on this remark:

"Didn't we all see this coming a mile away?"

To be honest, yes, the woman had a serious disease, physical and mental, revolving around substance abuse (mostly prescription drugs). Name somebody you know who broke your heart with an alcohol or drug problem.

Who? Who had you walking away because you couldn't do anything more to help? Who left you shaking you head, still feeling the pain? Who is the one you feel sorry for as much as resent for not being in your life anymore?

Yeah. I thought you could name somebody. That's why you weren't one of the assholes who had to, for whatever reason, snap a comment and kick dirt on the woman's face not 24 hours after she put a bullet in her head.

What separated Mindy from your average alcoholic waitress or pill-happy office good-time girl, or an ignorant meth hillbilly with too many boyfriends is that the woman could sing. "Blessed with a golden voice," Leonard Cohen might say. If only Mindy had refuge in Leonard's "Tower of Song," gated against temptation and with no more harmful danger than a crooked manager taking away some profits (as one of Cohen's did). This is a woman who parlayed a simple karaoke tape into a record deal, and had a #1 on her first album. 1996 was her big year of success and a promising future.

The last year of Mindy's life? Though overweight, not a viable artist to be booked on tour, and several years from a download-only comeback album that few heard of, she had a relationship going with a guy named David Wilson and they had a young son. She even did some press interviews to try and present a new image of health and optimism. Home was now a humble house in Heber, Arkansas. Still, there were rumors…about how long she could go without pills, and what strains a baby in the house and limited career prospects were causing. Some whispered that the couple was fighting.

On January 13th, Wilson died of a gunshot wound. Mindy was the one to call 911, and watched the life ebb out of him on the front porch. The report was suicide, but some had doubts. He'd bought a new truck a few weeks earlier, and was only a few days away from getting a six figure inheritance from his mother's estate. So, surely, depression and anger couldn't triumph over a new car and money, right?

In yet another questionable decision, not long after the shocking death, Mindy allowed "The Today Show" to come calling. She gamely told her earnest interviewer that getting through a terrible trauma can only make you stronger. So can answering tactless questions? The interviewer asked Mindy if David was having an affair.

Mindy said no. She said David was her soul mate. Next: "Did YOU kill him?"

"Oh God no…no…"

The camera got what it wanted…a very shaken, tearful mourner now reduced to raw nerves. Another question: was it suicide or could it have been murder!

"I don't know…" said Mindy, totally decimated. Where could she go from here? A rehab center. But not for long. With no traces of drugs or alcohol in her system she was cleared for release.

Billy McKnight, father of her older son, did a television interview of his own: "Perhaps staying in there and grieving around people that could help her over the death of her fiancé could’ve calmed her down, but the demons that she hasn’t beaten were there, and until she was going to face them, something was going to happen and everyone who knows her personally knew that….as sad as it is, it didn't come as a major shock because she's just been battling demons for so long and, of course, I was around her when she attempted suicide twice and I knew it was in her." He also nearly beat her to death one time.

And so it was, that Mindy McCready, no longer in rehab, and with nobody to call and nothing to say to any friend or relative, sat alone on that same porch where her "soul mate" (her words) died from his gunshot wound. That's where they found her, and for the first time, the general public knew her name.

Well…a few of the tabloids headlined her as the woman who had an affair with Roger Clemens. A few opened with a tease about a #1 Hit Record C&W Star suicide, then revealed the name. The "delicious schadenfreude," as the Kenneth Anger-type gossip writers would call it, of a suicide mirroring one that happened less than a month earlier, also pushed the story as a lead on the TV news. There were sudden tributes from C&W stars who hadn't let Mindy open for them or shunned her (in a "let go, let God" way, which one does with people mired in problems that require professional help). The late Mindy McCready, 37, who hadn't had a hit in 15 years, and not one song that was known beyond the world of country music, was now a superstar. CDs that weren't selling on eBay for 99 cents were being snatched, and eBayers with access to a computer print-out, were cashing in with $10 reprint photos for sale, and some were making R.I.P. souvenirs with tin button-making kits.

The details of Mindy's decline after her 1996-1998 platinum and gold albums was duly noted. So was her last superstar relationship (Dean Cain in 1998), her sparse output of albums (one in 1999 and one in 2002) and the increasingly regular incidents of out-of-control behavior: 2004 prescription drug arrest, 2005 beat-down by McKnight, 2005 drug overdose, 2006 kidnap by Mindy of her son from the protective care of her own mother, 2007 in jail, 2008 suicide attempt, 2009 appearance on "Celebrity Rehab" (her death is the fifth among alumni of that show), and a leaked porn tape that she ended up signing a contract on so it could be officially released. The most cringeworthy part of that video isn't the energetic sex from the buxom blond, but the unhealthy pride she shows in the interview segment that pads it out to an hour on DVD. Fittingly enough, Mindy talks in a noisy diner, alternately amused and disdainful of the eager questions about what her celebrity lovers were like.

Since you probably never heard of McCready before (unless you are a faithful reader of this blog…this is the third time for her), the song you should try first is "The Fine Art of Holding a Woman." At her best, Mindy could not only sing with power and clarity, but with emotion. She could sing heartache with the skills of a traditional artist (Patsy Cline) or a commercial crossover queen (Gogi "Wayward Wind" Grant or Crystal Gayle). In her prime, she also had the look of a star. She sent out the mixed message of come hither and back off…of "I'm easy" and "I'm hard." She was another of the Frances Farmer or Barbara Payton variety…someone wild, rebellious, restless, wanting someone strong but always being stronger, and if you said she was heavenly her reply would probably be "what the hell…"

"I was your sunlight, but now I'm just shade. I was your blue sky, now I'm jut the rain. I was your favorite song, but now I'm overplayed. If tomorrow's gonna be the same, I'll see you yesterday."

Those were the lyrics on the last song Mindy recorded. She was working with David Wilson on it; aside from being the boyfriend and father to her child, he was also her music producer. According to a friend of hers, Danno Hanks, the "perfect storm" that led to Mindy's suicide probably started here. The guy who had produced a comeback song, one she believed in, didn't have the optimism to stay alive. After his death, she fretted about getting the song to radio stations and, in the ultimate humiliation, having it posted free to YouTube. Said Hanks: "This was her suicide video. She wanted it out there because she knew that the video would get more play after she committed her suicide. She wanted the world at the end to know how she had been treated and mistreated and all the stuff that she had gone through."

Wilson's suicide may not have been fatal to McCready except for the chain of events that happened in its wake. She got a report from children's services that Billy McKnight was once again seeking custody of their son, and that at best, the agency was going to take both boys away to Florida to once again be placed in the care of her mother. She was an unfit mother. Then there was the court-ordered drug and alcohol tests. And following "The Today Show" interview, even more intense speculation that she had killed Wilson. The police did nothing to combat the rumor, even though Mindy had been instantly tested for gunpowder residue and cleared of Wilson's death.

"Saturday was a very bad day for her," Hanks told CNN. Her call to him mentioned the situation with her kids being taken away, but he had no idea how close to the edge she actually was. In retrospect, he wondered why the authorities hadn't kept her under observation rather than clear her for release from the drug and alcohol treatment center: "What (were they) doing was sending home someone who is now made even more distraught by having her children taken away and sending her home to a house that just had lots of guns because David was a gun nut...If she had known how many fans that she had out there and how many supporters she truly did have, she might have had the courage to go on. But I think she just felt she was alone, that nobody cared about what was happening to her."

The fine art of holding on. Aside from "The Fine Art of Holding a Woman," also below is a track from her last album, and a musical reminder from the late great Phil Ochs, "There But for Fortune." No, it's not a case of "don't play the chords of fame." It wasn't really fame that doomed Phil or Mindy, which is something you understand, and internet trolls don't. Emotional problems and substance dependency happen with or without fame. The trolls, the obscure and mediocre who rant their venom on anyone famous, even in an obit, somehow survive. If Phil's suicide had come during this age of anonymous Internet freedom the trolls would've happily typed: "Ochs? Never heard of him!" or "Kurt Cobain is somebody you should care about instead!" The cover version of Phil's song is the audio soundtrack from a TV appearance by Marianne Faithful from the 60's. Mr. Troll would probably type: "Marianne WHO? Never heard of her! I'd tap Taylor Swift. That would be sweet! I got pix of her that make me fap."

Let's give the last word to Wynona Judd. Hearing about Mindy McCready, she said: "Addiction is a disease and not a character flaw."

MINDY MCREADY The Fine Art of Holding a Woman

From the last MINDY MCREADY album, 2010: I'm Still Here

MARIANNE FAITHFUL TV soundtrack recording…performing "THERE BUT FOR FORTUNE" by Phil Ochs

MAURICE CHEVALIER - "You Brought a New Kind of Love To Me"

If Zeppo Marx was still alive, he'd be 112.

He was born February 25, 1901.

Zep (mockingly nicknamed "Zippo" after a famous monkey, then re-spelled) didn't get much of a chance to be funny in any of the Marx Brothers movies, but he sang a song now and then.

He was probably the only one of the four who stood any chance of getting off a boat by impersonating Maurice Chevalier.

He needed a good voice and also…a paste board? Washboard? Oh…passport.

Just to lighten up the blog postings (quite a combo, Mindy McCready above and the story of Dick Kallman below) here's the song the Marx boys all tried to sing in "Monkey Business."

Sing along, and work on your karaoke skills. PS, you might also want to study self-defense and how long you can go without eating, if the boat you're on happens to be from Carnival Cruise.

The familiar original version is in the movie, so here's the jocular and sonically more appealing re-make. Chevalier recorded it for MGM in the 50's, long after he stopped fiddling with Jeanette MacDonald. At this point in his life, he was also prone to sing "I'm Glad I'm Not Young Anymore." You really believe he meant it? Chevalier, ehhhhhh?

Maurice Chevalier YOU BROUGHT A NEW KIND OF LOVE TO ME

HANK: DICK KALLMAN aka murder victim RICHARD KALLMAN

Dick Kallman?

A few non-senile baby boomers recognize the name and might even have something of his in a shelf or stored in a box in the attic: a few singles (John Barry worked with the budding singer), maybe a souvenir Playbill from a mediocre musical, or perhaps a blurry VHS copy of an episode from his cute one-season sitcom called "Hank." There was even a tie-in album where he sang rock, pop and show tunes.

Coming up on the 33rd anniversary of his death (July 7, 1933 – February 22, 1980), the Illfolks blog finally has finished the research and uploaded some his songs. Here's the story of a guy who realized his limits, retired from show biz after giving it a shot…and got shot anyway. No, his death was not due to a celebrity stalker, but due to his success as a businessman.

A silver-spoon child, Kallman's father owned the St. John Hotel in Havana, Cuba. His mother Zara Whitman had been an actress. When Castro took over, that included the St. John Hotel, so the Kallmans fled back to the states and set up a resort hotel in New Hampshire. Richard came to Manhattan to attend the High School of Performing Arts. A few years later, and he was recording for Decca and Liberty.

The ambitious lad tried for the soft pop stylings of a Pat Boone or Bobby Vinton with "Little Grain of Sand," while "Speak Softly" is sort of a creepy-haunting little middle-of-the-road tune that a better known Jerry Vale or a more energetic Jimmy Roselli might have driven into the Top 40. There was also an Elvis attempt on "I Cry to the Moon." While Dick's singles stalled, his rubbery good looks and modest charm got him into the touring company of "Come Blow Your Horn." His big break was replacing Robert Morse in the Broadway cast of "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying."

From there, he achieved what little fame in show business he had: "Hank."

At the time sitcoms often starred affable fellows bumbling around to a laugh track. What worked in Danny Kaye and Eddie Bracken movies was aped by Jerry Van Dyke ("My Mother the Car") Ronnie Schell ("Good Morning World") and Kallman in "Hank," to name three shows that didn't last too long. There was always the chance an actor playing a hapless dolt or a pleasant-looking lamebrain could lead a show to ratings glory: Dwayne "Dobie Gillis" Hickman or Bob "Gilligan" Denver.

"Hank," broadcast at 8:30 (after "Camp Runamuck") didn't have a chance opposite CBS's "Wild Wild West." It was about a guy who sold refreshments out of a truck on a college campus, and secretly dated the blustery school president's daughter. He couldn't afford to attend school, but as the themes song reminded us, he vowed to "get his degree, his Phi Beta Key, and get them both for free," by sitting on on classes. Funny, back then, people were concerned that "education should be free." Now it's "music should be free."

Kallman, who had the same wan smile and bland "nice guy" features as Steve Martin, wasn't much of a heart-throb for teen girls of the day. Still, the push was on, with Kallman marketed for both the NBC sitcom, and for the unusually optimistic RCA album released for this rather unknown newcomer at the same time. A single (written by David Gates) was released and promoted on NBC's "Hullabaloo," in an episode hosted by Peter "Herman" Noone.

Dick's "Lookin' Around" just wasn't too hip. With its kind of stunted, familiar "On Broadway" rhythm strut, and Dick's Darin-esque swing, it was a little too corny for a 1965 girl to care about. Clean-cut cuties were not too popular in that era of Beatles supremacy. The best that can be said for "Lookin' Around" is that it's not the unintentional parody of rock that "I Cry to the Moon" was, something that was more Conrad Birdie than Elvis Presley.

After "Hank" was canceled, Kallman made a few films, toured the straw hat circuit in "Half a Sixpence, and made a brief appearance in a pair of 1968 "Batman" shows as "Little Louie Groovy," (Eartha Kitt the guest villainess) for which he no doubt is revered among Bat-bilia buffs haunting eBay for an autographed photo to add to "the Bat-collection." Dick made his final TV appearance in an episode of "Medical Center" in 1974. Ultimately he started a company that made dresses. His mother, after all, had left acting behind to be an interior decorator. Kallman was a success with the Burton Constable company (offices in London and New York) and began to collect antiques, which turned from hobby, to a business, to a death sentence.

Selling antiques in Manhattan doesn't mean renting an expensive gallery. Many dealers prefer office space instead of a store, and some, like Kallman risk working out of their home. Kallman had a duplex at 17 East 77th (just off pricey Madison Avenue and its rows of boutiques and galleries) that that was both a private living space and showroom. He often decorated the place with items he was willing to sell at the right price.

Those wanting to visit his "Possessions of Prominence," could do so "by appointment" only. Some 15 years after the "Hank" series and album, the man's show biz career was a mere footnote oddity to his recent triumphs in fashion and art. That's how he was portrayed in New York magazine, in an issue that hit the stands on February 4th, 1980. A few weeks later, a bullet hit him in the head, entering from his right eye.

Thursday night, February 21st, Kallman hosted five men for a dinner party. In the wee hours of Friday morning, with his guests now gone, his killer arrived. The glass in the vestibule door downstairs was shattered, and part of a screen broken. There was no similar damage to Kallman's apartment door. Apparently Kallman opened it figuring it was one of his dinner guests returning to retrieve something. Besides, he wasn't alone. Steven Szladek was there. Steven, 20 years younger than Kallman, was discretely reported to simply be his "assistant." Today he'd be referred to as his "partner."

One newspaper account had Kallman "wearing nothing but a robe," while another quoted police as saying he was naked from the waist down. His assistant was found "lying nude in the fetal position in a pool of blood." What confused detectives was the motive for the double-murder. Obvious treasures, including a 2.3 million dollar Titian painting, remained undisturbed. Was this an intentional killing, with a few items stolen just to make it seem like a robbery? Was it a robbery but the work of a violent, ignorant thief who grabbed what could easily be thrown into a sack and didn't know quality at all? Or was it possible there was a gang at work…a trigger man and a few others to haul away select items that might be hidden in drawers and closets?

Eventually an inventory revealed that items were indeed missing, and the detective work began. There wasn't much pressure from the press to find out who killed Kallman. Despite the gruesome nature of the crime, the story wasn't front page news because the victim Kallman was not a movie star, just an affluent businessman known in the antiques world, and with enough connections to get a puff-piece in New York magazine.

Gossip columnist Earl Wilson was one of the few to remember Kallman, and even so, the result was just a few lines amid the usual goggle about which star was at which premiere. Wilson recalled that the flamboyant actor was a friend of another footnote in the entertainment world, 1940's cabaret singer Dolores Gray. Gray holds the dubious record for winning a Tony despite few people actually seeing her show. "Carnival in Flanders" closed after just six performances, but she won the award anyway. Ten years older than Kallman, the 56 year-old woman enjoyed the company of her antiques-dealing ex-show biz friend. Wilson wrote: "They were seen at parties, and attended the recent opening of "Harold and Maude"wearing His and Hers full-length mink coats."

Ultimately in July of 1981, 27 year-old Charles Lonnie Grosso of Queens, was convicted of second-degree murder. A brief report in the New York Times noted that "paintings, jewelry and antiques stolen from the apartment have not been recovered." The Times did not mention any accomplices. Grosso was sentenced to 25 years to life, and may be reading this via an Internet connection in an upstate New York prison. If so, a word of warning, Mr. Grosso. Downloading copyrighted music IS sometimes prosecuted, so if you grab the four songs from Dick Kalllman below, you just might be asking for trouble.

DICK KALLMAN If you've got a Hankering for FOUR SONGS

SACRILEGE SERIES #10 - Middle Aged Duo Tweak THE BEATLES

Here's the first new addition to the SACRILEGE series in 5 years. Last one, a look at some Dylan parodies, was back in 2008.

Coincidentally, today (February 19th) the long arm of the law bonked a download actually posted in 2008. Only the third time it's happened at Illfolks. Paul Simon's people just objected to the memorial use of "Night Game" in a May, 2008 article about ex-major league baseball pitcher Geremi Gonzalez, struck by lightning. It happened on a rainy pier in Venezuela (the lightning broke the gold chain around his neck) not on a pitcher's mound, but "Night Game" seemed an appropriate and eerie song to use for the story. Five years later, and having gotten less than 20 downloads...YER OUT!

Well, it's Simon's song and over here, one respects what Simon says. Forgive the bot, for it knows not a sincere usage from a craven one.(Oh...and thank you, Paul-bot, for NOT bonking the SACRILEGE post that was a Not Necessarily the News parody of Simon and Garfunkel. A Rolling Stones bot actually bonked a NON-Rolling Stones song here, a parody that didn't even use the original music!)

Now for something completely different. And totally out of print and obscure...

This time, we go back to the heyday of Beatlemania…and a concept album making fun of it all, by Fisher and Marks.

Yes, the Fab Four inspired a ton of cash-in singles, such as Donna Loren's "My Boyfriend Got a Beatle Haircut." And yes, there were a few comical sourballs hurled their way, including "Pop Hates the Beatles" on an Allan Sherman record. But a full length album? You ask, WHY?

And I'll tell you. Because back then, comedy records were big business. "The First Family," Vaughn Meader's novelty-sketch album on John F. Kennedy, became a million-seller for the tiny Cadence label. That, and huge sales for Shelley Berman, Bob Newhart and others, had record labels gambling on every topical news story and trend. When Elizabeth Taylor began fooling around with Richard Burton, there was "All About Cleopatra." When the "Man from UNCLE" was a huge hit, up came "The Man from TANTE." And yes, when Beatlemania hit, another failed album was rushed out: "Coo Coo Beatles World."

Ironically enough it was on Swan, the Philadelphia label that had miraculously acquired the actual Beatles single "She Loves You" for American distribution.

And who were Fisher and Marks? Just a pair of local Philly comics, no threat to Allen & Rossi (who were having hit albums for ABC-Paramount and owned the catch-phrase "Hello Dere") or even Gaylord and Holiday (who were not having hit albums, and owned the catch-phrase 'Hi, Simply Hi.")

Al Fisher was born Albert Fichera and Marks' last name was Franco (which would explain the duo's other album, Italian comedy parodies ala Allan Sherman titled "Rome on the Range). They began working together in 1948, with Al doing stand-up and pudgy little Lou heckling him from the audience and then coming up on stage for schtick a little less frantic than Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis. The team wowed 'em in Philly, and were regulars at a local club in town called Palumbo's. A decade later, the team even appeared in a few movies, 'Mister Rock and Roll" and "Country Music Holiday," both headed by country singer Ferlin Husky. The team became known around the country, opening for both comics (Joey Bishop) and song and dance acts (Jimmy Durante). While Steve Rossi ran through Marty Allen, Slappy White, Joe E. Ross, Bernie Allen, and then came back to Marty again…the durable Fisher & Marks combo continued in local venues until 1985, when Al suffered his third, and most damaging heart attack. He died a year later, July 16, 1986. Marks teamed with a few other comics after Al's passing, worked as a single, and died September 8, 2007 at the age of 83, no quite making it to his birthdate (September 27th).

Most fans agree that the team was a riot in live performance, and that the movies and record albums do not do them justice. Well, "Coo Coo" doesn't do The Beatles justice, either, and a good parody would have to wait many many years till The Rutles arrived. Much of the album is badly written schtick. Unable to fill it entirely with gags about long hair or Ed Sullivan, they padded things out with a sketch as Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi, and a track called "The Real Fisher and Marks."

Since this is a music blog anyway, you get the few musical numbers, including "We Love Rock and Roll" (lyrics stuck atop "Barcarolle" of all things…and what the point of the bad Cockney-accented riddles are, who knows) and "Paul George John and Ringo : All The Way to the Bank," (public domain music "On Top of Old Smokey"). Ladies and Gentlemen, the comedy stylings of Al Fisher and Lou Marks, back when it was a Coo-Coo Beatles World.

FISHER AND MARKS "Coo Coo" BEATLES SONGS

You say HOLLO. God says GOODBYE. "Lyricist" Anselm Hollo

My favorite living poet is no longer alive.

He was the author of dozens of acclaimed poetry books, and also a professor (you can't make a living off poems). The finish line for Finnish-born "beat poet" Anselm Hollo loomed this past summer when he underwent brain surgery. He died of pneumonia January 29, at 78.

Like Ginsberg, Ferlinghetti and Rexroth, Hollo's early work was spiked with varied amounts of hip and frank language and a sense of humor. With these American wiseguys leading the charge (inspired by such groundbreaking older crackpots as Vachel Lindsay and e.e. cummings), Hollo, migrating to England, joined a bunch of like-minded Brit "beats" in re-defining poetry. This included readings at the "International Poetry Incarnation at the Albert Hall" in June of 1965 (before Dylan outraged anyone there). I got to know Hollo's work via a college poetry course that required the purchase of the Penguin paperback "Children of Albion: Poetry of the Underground in Britain."

The book, first published in 1969, was dedicated to Allen Ginsberg, whom Hollo translated into German (Hollo translated a lot of writers into a lot of other languages, with a popular anthology "Red Cats" giving Russian poets some exposure in English). Anselm was greatly admired by his peers, including Ted Berrigan who named his son after him (no, not Hollo Berrigan…). Yes, I am very proud of my autographed copy of "Howl," with its drawing and personalization from Allen, but I equally treasure the autograph Mr. Hollo gave me on "Pomology," a poem I felt should be printed out on high quality paper and framed. Especially with the poet's signature at the bottom.

In the poem, Hollo says you can eat an apple a day, or write a poem a day. And…"Any doctor will tell you it is easier to eat an apple than to make a poem. It is also easier to eat a poem than to make an apple but only just…" You can hunt around on your own to find the beginning and end of that one. The "Albion" book has it, as well as "A warrant is out for the arrest of Henry Miller" which was originally published in 1962 when "smelling of garlic & good fucks" was NOT the kind of line that Poetry Magazine would publish. They eventually did publish some of Hollo's more sedate works. "Any News from Alpha Centauri," published in Poetry in January 1969 had no tired allusions to mythos. A few lines dropped culture references far more modern, including The Mothers (of Invention). Not that it's easy to decipher why:

"in the bar there was a photo of Albert Eintein, a photo of Franz Kafka in the rented room/Louisiana Man by Bobbie Gentry in the bar/Mozart and The Mothers in the rented room/eyes and voices screens of solitude/he remembered the touch of a pair of hands…"

Actually I was always more attracted to Hollo's humble and conversational pieces, curios that didn't require a Rubik's Cube brain to figure out, ones which could hit you more like an Edward Hopper painting and give you an emotion right away. Some of his best poems were about the disconnected individual. Hollo's short "hello" poem for example:

"The phone rings. I lift the receiver. I say Hello to some utter stranger. he says Hello I am I. he told me to phone you whenever I get here. & so I did I did get here I'm phoning you now. this is a phone & I'm talking."

In the poem "& i heard a man, telling the sky," a mild man begins to roil with rage: "I have spoken kindly without causing offense I have spoken kindly, politely to customs officials…to policemen lifting me out of the rain into the shelter of well-built cells to presidents, ministers, headwaiters & whores all wanting to sell me what I never asked for…." The man plots his revenge but in the guise of "a peaceful Chirico puppet receding into the calm perspectives of the city pushing a red wheelbarrow full of plastic explosives crossing borders unnoticed in the guise of a walking egg…" (Pardon for not breaking the lines up the way they originally are on the page).

Hollo eventually came to America, found his refuge in Academia, contributed to poetry magazines and anthologized his works, and along with his second wife lived in a damn nice big home near the University of Colorado at Boulder. He also taught at the colorfully named Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics, at Naropa University. Some of his lectures are over at the achive.org site for free download. In 2001 he was "elected" (by the POETICS bunch) as "anti-laureate," in response to the sappy, pretentious and dusty dopes who, thanks to politics and favoritism, would be appointed "Poet Laureate" to deliver some embarrassingly trite "official poem" for an inauguration or Library of Congress fete.

OK. This is a music blog…happily, Anselm Hollo joins it thanks to modern jazz composer Frank Carlberg (born in Finland). For his concept album "The Crazy Woman," Frank turned a set of modern poems into "lyrics," mated to the kind of music that, well, most "music loving" bloggers just can't deal with. "Dark Side of the Moon" or Zappa, yeah, but anything just a little wilder than Hendrix doing the fucking "Star Spangled Banner," uh, no, man. So you haven't found Carlberg's album in some forum, or stolen from a forum and posted to a blog with the password Fukhof. It has not been labeled "not to be missed" by some Swedish meatball stuck in the year 1968 and re-upping the Strawberry Alarm Clock. And it languishes at Amazon where you might get a 30 second sample, and Carlberg might get a nickel for every .99 cent download.

Not TOO far from the world of Zappa, or Yma Sumac, is "modern jazz" or "avant-garde jazz" or "annoying jazz" as most would call it, with vocals by Christine Correa. She has the task of keeping the words relevant under the smatters, smears and stutters of a jazz band clearly bent on doing something, anything, but Gershwin, Waller or even Miles or Brubeck.

The poems on the concept album include, among others, "Life is Sick" and "I Clearly Saw" from Jack Kerouac, "Veins" from Marina Tsvetayeva ("my veins slashed open…my life gushes forth….") "The Snow Man" by Wallace Stevens, "We Real Cool" by Gwendolyn Brooks, and "The Crazy Woman" by Anna Akhmatova. Anselm has 3 poems, most of any writer Carlberg chose. The CD opens ("Godlike") and closes ("No Way & Now) with Hollo (you get these below) and there's a third poem in the middle, "Frogman." All the "lyrics" are very short. "Godlike" is only a few lines, so they are repeated three different times: "When you suddenly/feel like talking/about the times/in your life when you were/a total idiot asshole you resist/the impulse/&just sit there/at the head of the table/beaming."

"No way & Now" is even briefer. There's a death rattle in it, especially listening now that Mr. Hollo is gone: "…still cold& worse & gone & colder tonight & no way no…"

Let's end this obit-with-music by quoting the first two lines of a poem by Frances Horovitz, who naturally was chosen to be included in the Michael Horovitz "Albion" anthology where I first encountered Hollo. The poem is called "love poem" and the opening lines are:

your total absence

rehearsal of my death.

Thus does an obit point a bony finger at the reader's own mortality.

Goodbye, Hollo. Your works are still on the page. Where are you?

Christine Correa Two Songs with Poem-Lyrics by Anselm Hollo

GOLLY…gayly…Jim Nabors Gets Married but "You Can't Roller Skate…"

In some of these United States, two homosexuals can now get married. BUT…even if you're gay…remember this: "You can't roller skate in a buffalo herd…"

And so Jim Nabors, gay bachelor no more, a groom (or was he the bride) at age 82, is honored here via some of the goofy songs he sang in his character of Gomer Pyle, USMC. (You were expecting his serious stuff?? Here????) And yes, it includes a Gomer-cover of a Roger Miller novelty.

While few in their right mind, over the age of 12, and living somewhere not teeming with perpetual chiggers, is still watching "Gomer Pyle," it's hard to forget that show, or the one that spawned it. There are still very somber and devoted fans of "The Andy Griffith Show" out there, who find mighty powerful lessons in life from not just Sheriff Taylor and Opie, but even in the day-to-day struggles of dim-witted but kindly Gomer.

Nabors not only became a star during the Great Rural Sitcom Scare of the 60's (which included "Beverly Hillbillies" and its spinoffs "Petticoat Junction" and "Green Acres,") he also won praise as a straight (pardon the expression) singer. Some folks even chose his albums before the latest Sandler & Young or Robert Goulet, and he surpassed the success of Frank Fontaine (who, as "Crazy Guggenheim" with Jackie Gleason a few years earlier, dazzled MOR music lovers by speaking in a cretinous voice for comedy and then singing in a sincerely gooey baritone to show his serious side).

In the late 60's and early 70's, Nabors was still welcome on TV thanks to his humility and down-home way with either a joke or a song. He had his own variety series for a while, and guested on other shows of the day. Then the day passed, and he wisely devoted more time to business pursuits (running a macademia nut farm in Hawaii) than trying to release a new album, or get more than a few months of concerts in places besides Branson, Missouri.

As to why he got married now? Probably business as well as pleasure. You want to make sure that when you're gone, your partner inherits. Jim told a local Hawaiian newspaper reporter, "I'm 82 and he's in his 60s and so we've been together for 38 years and I'm not ashamed of people knowing, it's just…I'm not an activist. I'm not a debater." He was just a guy who found himself attracted to other guys, and happened to have a show biz career. Not everybody is good at giving radical speeches and marching in parades, and really, if you're a militant homosexual wanting everyone out of the closet and protesting, you'd be calling on an Anderson Cooper before shoving the microphone at a shy guy famous for saying "Shazam" over 40 years ago.

Oh yes. The early "marriage" rumor about Nabors and Rock Hudson. After this silly story became too big to be ignored, Hudson spoke out. Rightly convinced that his career (and new series "McMillan and WIFE") could be jeopardized, he used his comic finesse to explain that he hardly knew Nabors, and that the whole thing started as a prank. He blamed a campy pair of "middle-aged homosexuals who live in Huntington Beach, which is just down the coast…every year (they) give a party, 500 people or so…To make it amusing they will say "You're cordially invited…" and come up with some ridiculous shock attraction. And one year it was "the wedding reception of Rock Hudson and Jim Nabors." Hudson suggested any unlikely combination of two males stars could've been chosen at random.

Congrats to Jim Nabors on the real marriage. Below, no, not the "serious" singing, weird as it is (well, maybe not if compared to Bob Dylan somehow emoting "Nashville Skyline" in his own gooey "new" voice). You get four cuts of Jim singing as Gomer Pyle, which probably was not as easy as it sounds. One number is actually a narration (a popular form of C&W sentimentality) titled "Old Blue," and about a beloved dog (a fucking country obsession right up there with alcohol and marrying an underage cousin). Two songs written by Dave Gates to exploit the Gomer character ("Shazam" and "Gomer Says Hey") are here, too. As for the cover of Roger Miller, Jim enunciates it so well, you almost can understand every word. On the original, Roger sounded like he was singing "you can't chase phlegm with a kid on your back." But it's "change film." A reference to a long forgotten TV commercial. Gomer Pyle long forgotten? No, once you've seen or heard Gomer Pyle, it's hard to forget.

JIM NABORS 4 Songs sung as GOMER PYLE

TROGGS' LATE REG PRESLEY - CROP CIRCLES ARE A "WILD THING"

When Reg Presley (born June 12, 1941) died on February 4th, three words had to be added: "of The Troggs." If you were telling this sad news to some vaguely curious 20-something or 30-whatever, you probably had to use a lot more words. Like: "Presley was lead singer for The Troggs, who recorded 'Wild Thing.' Not The Kingsmen. Although The Troggs covered 'Louie Louie.' No, they didn't also sing 'Gloria.' That was Them. Them. Lead singer Van Morrison. No, Reg wasn't one of them. That was The Troggs. Oh for fuck's sake….no, no, 'Dirty Water' was The Standells. Which was the first punk song? Nevermind….just go listen to your fucking Maroon5 and Fun illegal downloads..."

Naturally the download below is NOT "Wild Thing" which you can find anywhere, but a lucky seven other cuts that are more typical of The Troggs place in time and more reflecting of their influences, like the mildly Rolling Stone-ish "I Can Only Give You Everything" (as opposed to satisfaction), the Byrd-y jangle "Little Girl" (written by Reg) and the Kink-esque strum-and-halt "Your Love" (which seems to reference "All Day and All of the Night"). For one of the many groups saddled with the "godfathers of punk" tag, The Troggs actually did a lot more than garage rock.

Reg Presley (born Reginald Ball, but given his cheeky new name in the same managerial spirit that would later transform Declan MacManus into Elvis Costello) didn't just write or perform in a rock group in the late 60's…and keep the group around for touring through the years. He had many other interests, and in 2002 wrote "Wild Things They Don't Tell Us," about his interest in crop circles and UFO's and other believe-it-or-not phenomena. He researched such experts as "self-taught Egyptologist John West." Quoting from the obscure tome:

"If we find graffiti on a wall, we would not dream that the person who put it there actually built the wall. Yet when Egyptologists find Egyptian hieroglyphs on the walls of pyramids, they automatically assume the Egyptians built them. The Sphinx, according to Egyptologists, was built around the same time as the pyramids. Yet John West, a self taught Egyptologist, recently discovered that the weathering on the Sphinx is water weathering. The kind of rain needed for evidence is still coming in." So aliens built the pyramids. And here's something even more baffling.

If they did….uh, so? So maybe they'll come back and build affordable housing in Scunthorpe? Maybe the next UFOs to create crop circles will do it in Cleethorpes and boost the tourist industry there? We're supposed to be happy that maybe, someday, more aliens will turn up in England? Hey, they are already doing it and building mosques, or transforming chip shops into curry houses…if that's you're idea of improving civilization in the U.K. Waiting for space aliens to do something besides build triangles, odd heads at Stonehenge, or make crop circles...I don't know, I don't have faith in them. They came to Earth just to be goofy sculptors? Or toss a big lizard into Loch Ness? That's a long trip just to play a game and leave.

Reg Presley was still playin' the game and keeping The Troggs on the road until last year, when he posted to his fan website about his worsening health: ""As you all know I was taken ill whilst doing a gig in Germany in December. During my stay in hospital tests showed that in fact I have lung cancer.I am receiving chemotherapy treatment and at the moment not feeling too bad. However I've had to call time on The Troggs and retire. I would like to take this opportunity to thank you all for the cards and calls and for your love, loyalty and support over the years." And so it spiraled from there, for a regular guy who did have some unusual hobbies.

Crop circles. That's where it began for Reg. "It had been a long hot dry summer," he writes, "I entered the Pewsey Vale from the south-east, and used the road that runs along the southern side of east field where the crop formation was reported to be…I looked across the valley and there, as though a giant pastry cutter had been at work, I saw my first crop formation." OK, all you wild things and cosmic muffins, take it from there. I hope it makes your hearts sing.

Mr. Presley was optimistic in 2002: "After 12 years of intensive research…I have no alternative but to believe that humanity is on the brink of one of the greatest discoveries of all time….world governments have spent millions of pounds on investigations into the UFO phenomenon and have documented evidence of their existence. The lengths to which these governments will go to hide this information never cease to amaze me." Let's all believe in looking toward the heavens for some kind of answer. Maybe Reg Presley is now sitting on a cloud (mmm, one with free mp3 downloads) along with Elvis Presley, trying to find a way to rain down peanut butter banana chip butty sandwiches for us all! With just the right amount of Xanax in them!

Reg Presley on the Ball 7 from The Troggs

AND, ADDED BY SPECIAL REQUEST….

The Troggs give a good five minute thrashing to… MONA