A look at some of the more remarkable items found during 40 years of collecting all manner of recordings. For information on saving these files, see the top box on the right.
Showing posts with label Perfect Records. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Perfect Records. Show all posts
Okay, let me say right off the bat that I know it's possible, even likely, that many of you who read this site already have sound files of both sides of today's record. They were part of the song-poem website's downloads, and later were (and probably still are) in a WFMU blog post.
But this is easily the best record I bought this year, and if I'm going to have a site largely dedicated to song-poems, I don't know how I can overlook having acquired this one.
Both of those previous postings were also from a cassette copy provided to AS/PMA, and perhaps you'll find the song quality of the first song better here than in the previous recording (the flip side of my copy, alas, is beat to hell). The acetate also apparently left off the word "The" from the first song's title.
If this is old news to you, well then, maybe consider me to have perhaps taken a week off for the holidays...
Quite simply, this record, "The Beatle Boys", is my choice for the best Rodd Keith record I've ever heard, or ever expect to hear. This is, to my ears, a perfect record. Certainly not technically perfect, but I've always found technical perfection boring. But this record and song are just "right" in just about every way that a song or record can be "right".
Regular readers of this site know that I'm quite partial to the Chamberlin sound, and it's never been used more effectively than here. Right off the bat, the transition from the chord at the nine second mark into it's 7th chord, with that gorgeous little (organ setting) treble figure played over... well, it's only four seconds, but from the first time I heard this record over a decade ago, that just gives me chills. Masterful. The use in this section of what I think are sax settings is just as excellent.
And then, in the chorus he uses the ethereal, otherworldly "ooohs", to equally great effect, before returning to the earlier settings, continuing to add little keyboard fill ins in a most excellent fashion.
The lyrics are funny and sad at the same time, and aside from the weird decision to use the word "mandolins" (perhaps it flowed better than "guitars"), I can absolutely hear this as the real lament of guy whose girl has gone Beatle-crazy. The last line, while I'm sure not original in the mid-'60's, is still really funny. The melody is as indelible as any I can think of - it runs through my mind all the time. The melody in the verse in particular resonates with me about as much as a tune is capable of doing.
And then there's the vocal. Rodd was clearly able to perform lyrics which sounded like he meant every word; to become the voice of the person who wrote the song. There are countless examples. I don't believe any of those other records match the ache, longing and frustration I hear in his voice here (and on a sadly comic song, yet!). The inflection on such lines as "I don't get a chance", "I would shine my shoes, buy a shirt and a cane", "They will sing of love", and several other spots is enough to give me more chills. A vocal performance for the ages.
While perhaps not my favorite song-poem record of all (today, that is perhaps "Darling, Don't Put Your Hands On Me"), it is easily my favorite Rodd Keith record , and even on a day when I am the least interested in it, it would still rank in my top five song-poems. Every moment of it works perfectly on every level. In my imaginary version of the land of media, this would be a record that was well known and treasured by the millions who listen to oldies radio.
The flip side, "It's Shindig", is certainly no slouch, either. The lyrics are a lot of fun, and there are again a lot of cool things happening in the instrumental track. On the other hand, Rodd seems to have had fairly consistent trouble - on multiple records - staying with this particular backing beat, a go-go beat drum pattern which for some reason hits the turnaround every FIVE measures.
Sometimes that disconnect between that beat and the rest of the song adds to the otherworldliness of an already weird record - that's the case with my second favorite Rodd Keith performance, "The Watusi Whing-Ding Girl" - but here, on a straightforward song with some good, but normal lyrics, I find it a real distraction.
On the other hand, there are some lovely and cool moments here. I enjoy the minimalist solo (especially if I can ignore that the drumming by that point is in another song). But my favorite by far is the little melodic turn (and the vocal that contains it) from 0:27 to 0:32 - five seconds of vocal and tuneful bliss.
For my money, the best singer ever recorded, and that I've ever heard anywhere. No one comes close. His voice was the purest expression of joy, or sadness, or anger, or righteous indignation, or whatever else was called for. In addition, his singing was a natural extension of his speaking voice, unadorned by any embellishment, misguided training or showboating, and that's exactly the sort of singing we don't have enough of today. His voice is pure emotion, expressed directly. His voice is the sound of America. His voice is the sound of life being lived well.
And not only that, Pete was without question in my mind, the most important American musician of the 20th century. I'm not saying that based solely on his songwriting or performances - I wouldn't try to support that statement. What I mean is: looking at any prominent musician of the century, and the totality of what each of them did, in all areas, musical or otherwise, again, no one comes close. He was one of the most important Americans of the century, period.
My main intent here is to share some of my favorite Pete Seeger tracks, and I'm going to start that right here, with a sidebar a few songs down. For the most part, I'm not going to focus on the most famous songs Pete is associated with - those can be found in myriad places - but instead will feature the lesser-known songs that he recorded that resonate the most with me, with a few exceptions in chronological order. I suspect I own close to, if not more than 95% of the recordings that Pete released, either in their original formats or re-releases. These are my favorites.
Before starting that chronological ride, I want to start with the recording I consider not only Pete Seeger's finest moment, but one of the two or three greatest single tracks ever recorded. This is one of those perfect records that I could listen to multiple times a day without getting tired of it. It's found on an album recorded at the Weavers' reunion concerts at Carnegie Hall in 1963, but aside from some key instrumental backing from other members of the group (the double bass in particular is essential here), this is all Pete's show, or rather, Pete Seeger with an choir-by-audience numbering in the thousands.
Listen to how simply Pete suggests they sing with him, going into the second chorus, and how, by the end of the song, it's a towering massed vocal singing with him. It helps that Tom Paxton's "Ramblin' Boy" is an incomparable song, but the magic here is what Pete does with it, with his singularly wonderful voice and with the audience.
Now it's time to step back a further 17 years or so from 1963. Next up is a song recorded for a tiny label in the mid-1940's, at around age 25, along with several of his lefty compatriots. "Listen, Mr. Bilbo" is, most directly, an indictment of a truly awful human being, Theodore Bilbo, who was concurrently a member of the U.S. Senate and of the Ku Klux Klan. But if you overlook the specific reference in the title, and adjust the lyrics to include what some today's consider to be "scary foreigners", this song could just as well be used as an indictment of xenophobia in general, and of any number of today's politicians. The energy and emotion on this record are just unbeatable.
The history of the Weavers, which Pete formed with three like-minded musicians, is well known to many, and easy to find for those who aren't aware of them. Suffice it to say that they became hugely popular in 1950, but by 1953 had broken up after becoming pariahs thanks to the witch-hunts of the McCarthy era. At the end of 1955, they regrouped and appeared in concert at Carnegie Hall. From that concert come the three incomparable performances below.
First, this musical trip "Around the World". I love the energy of this performance, the good spirits, and of course, the Weavers' magic vocals:
Then, one of the most gorgeous melodies I've ever heard, that of an Indonesian lullaby, "Suliram", made even more lovely by the Weavers trademark and unique harmonic blend. When Pete takes the lead vocal part way through, his voice is tender, sweet and intoxicatingly beautiful. If you have a chance, look up the translation to these words into English - they make me tear up every time.
And perhaps the most popular melody that Pete ever brought to the US, that of "Wimoweh", heard here in a fairly accurate (vocally, anyway) recreation of the original 1939 South African 78. The vocal blend in the section from 1:04 to 1:19 is just stop-me-in-my-tracks gorgeous.
The Weavers returned to recording after that concert, with Pete remaining a part of the group for about two years, until he quit in disgust after the other three voted to sign on to sing a cigarette commercial (which ended up never being used, anyway). During that time, they made some wonderful studio and concert recordings. This is a favorite, a duet between Pete and Ronnie Gilbert on "The Wild Goose Grasses", with more of those amazing harmonies on the choruses:
While making periodic recordings and concert appearances with the Weavers, Pete recorded extensively on his own, both in the studio and in live performance. Folkways Records released dozens of Seeger albums during the '50's and early '60's, sometimes more than a half-dozen a year. From one of those albums, here's one of my favorite of Pete's overtly political records, a union shouter, recorded with a chorus of friends, including a young Mary Travers, "We Shall Not Be Moved":
Many of the remaining live tracks, below, display the thing about about seeing Pete Seeger in concert that many fans loved the most - his ability to get a crowd of people singing together, often in three part harmony, and his near insistence that those in attendance give it a try. At best, this resulted in soul-affirming moments of beauty, and even breathtakingly gorgeous choral sounds. The track I posted at the top, "Ramblin' Boy" is a wonderful example of Pete's voice with a audience full of singers, but there are many other great recordings of this type, as well.
The following track, "Deep Blue Sea", is the first track on the first Pete Seeger solo album I bought. The recording quality is relatively poor, but the performance shines through, including a great and unusual exhortation from the singer, a dejected "I hardly hear ya", which works wonders at getting the reluctant to start singing:
At some point in the 1950's, Folkways Records released a multi-artist boxed set of "Songs of the Civil War". From that set come two songs which each contain one of my favorite Seeger vocals. First, this rousing version of "John Brown's Body":
And this gorgeous, achingly touching rendition of "Tenting Tonight":
A sidebar here.
It is worth noting - no, it is required to note here - that, while almost all of what I've shared so far was being recorded - indeed, while Pete made at least five albums with the Weavers, and perhaps three dozen albums for Folkways, including hundreds of tracks, he was, the entire time, facing the wrath of the U.S. Government, including what seemed likely to be a likely prison term, essentially for refusing to reveal his private thoughts.
Indeed, the most significant moment of his life I can revisit is what happened when he appeared before the House Un-American Activities Committee, to answer charges that he was a communist, among other things.
Many others had cowardly turned over names of friends and former friends to the committee, while even more had reasonably taken the fifth, which had imperiled if not ended their careers. Pete took a riskier, and flat out ballsier step, one I don't believe anyone else took - he essentially pleaded the First Amendment, telling the panel that, as an American, he had the right to believe whatever he wanted to, and in addition, was entitled to be free from the need to be compelled to reveal those thoughts in such a situation as he was then in. Basically, he told the committee that, under the constitution, his beliefs were none of their business. In 1950's America, those were daring things to say. Read his entire testimony here - it is bracing.
And for this, facing the charges brought, he could have faced a decade in prison - he was actually found guilty and sentenced, although the ten counts of one year each were to be served concurrently - and was under the threat of this sentence for nearly half a decade. It's a good thing he didn't have to serve this term in prison, but a shame that the case was thrown out on a technicality, as it might have been (had it been decided correctly) a nice precedent to prevent or halt similar Congressional abuses in the future.
But all of that was going on while Pete toured the country, spreading the word that through music can come peace and brotherhood, and, not coincidentally, being the key figure in the flowering of the folk revival of that era in the process.
And now, back to the countdown.
In the early 1960's, Pete Seeger was signed to Columbia Records, and he remained there for a decade. Buried in the middle of an otherwise typically vocal album from early in that tenure, was one of the loveliest pieces of guitar music I've ever heard. I spent years trying to learn to play even a fumbling version of this twelve-string masterpiece, "Living in the Country":
Pete's most famous non-Weavers album is undoubtedly the one recorded at Carnegie Hall in 1963. The entire album could be highlighted here, but this is one of my favorite moments, a song sung with a group of young "Freedom Singers", and capturing various political issues of the moment, "If You Miss Me At the Back of the Bus":
Around the same time as that recording, a performance at the Newport Folk Festival was captured, and this song from the concert was released. To me, it is among the prime examples of Pete's ability to lead a crowd in group harmony - as he first encourages them to sing, then goes over each part, then, realizing it should be in a higher key, moves his capo before launching into an inspired rendition of "Oh, Mary, Don't You Weep". The spoken opening is a great demonstration of how Pete's singing voice was just an extension of his way of speaking, and the moments here in which he sings a single high note over the harmonizing audience... well, that's something he often did, and it was always an amazing sound, rarely better than it is here.
As the battles of the '60's were fading into history, and the Vietnam War was winding down, Pete released his final album for Columbia. This track was little noticed at the time (indeed, as was the entire album), and it's very telling to realize how much stronger the reaction might have been if Pete had released his bouncy little tribute to the wisdom of Ho Chi Minh in 1968, rather than in 1973. As it is, "Uncle Ho" still contains a lesson which the US (as well as other governments) still refuses to learn, "If a Man Will Stand for His Own Land, He's Got the Strength of Ten".
In 1980, Pete released a full concert on a three record set, a concert and album package meant to demonstrate the art of leading the singalong. This is Pete's greatest album by a wide margin, and it reaches its zenith on the following song, where Pete turns an auditorium full of strangers into a full throated choir, singing in many-part harmony, until Pete is simply accompanying them on his guitar. The last few moments of "Run Come See the Sun" are perhaps the most sublime in Pete's entire catalog, despite barely even featuring his wonderful voice. If the sound of this track doesn't move you, then I'm not sure you and I have the same definition of "music".
Around 1984, Pete joined forces with Ronnie Gilbert, Arlo Guthrie and Holly Near, formed their first initials into the group name HARP, and played a few shows under that name. From the ensuing album comes another sweet singalong. The key moment here comes near the end - and I won't spoil the surprise - after Pete observes that once you've really learned the song, the song's almost over, he makes a more touching comment. Here's "Somos El Barco":
To my mind, no collection of Pete Seeger tracks would be complete without one of his performances of "Abiyoyo". Taking a traditional African song as its start, Pete built around this tune a story of how a boy who only wanted to sing was banished from his land, until that far off land was threatened by an ogre, at which point the boy and his father triumphed over the ogre with music and a little magic. Replace the boy with Pete himself, and the ogre with the witch-hunting McCarthyites and HUAC, and what you have in essence is Pete's own story. This is the version of the story that my kids always preferred, from a performance in the early 1990's, when Pete had perfected the story and told it with just the right amounts of scariness, tenseness and, later, joy:
And finally, moving back to 1974, here's my second favorite Seeger track, a performance with his great friend Fred Hellerman on the folk standard "Banks of Marble". The track here, with banjo, guitar and piano, goes into a rolling rhythm, as their voices harmonize as in the old days, and they sing a song which is, sadly, yet to lose its meaning - it is as relevant today as when it was written, about 65 years ago. To quote a well known Seeger song: "when will we ever learn?".
Well, not quite finally. I'd like to pay my own vocal tribute to Pete. Of all the songs I learned from Pete, this is the one I have sung the most often. It's not one of his own songs - it's called "Way Out There", and it was written by Bob Nolan of the Sons of the Pioneers, and I learned it from an album Pete did with Arlo Guthrie. This spur of the moment performance is from 1990, and features my great pal Stu and me. After some initial silly comments heard at the start, we get right into the song, and aside from a few lyrical flubs, I think it's a rather nice performance.
And here's my prized possession - a photographic memento of one of the two times I got to have a conversation with Pete, in this case in the late 1990's, following a folk festival fundraiser which had gone on about four hours (hence the glazed look in my eyes...).
Thanks, Pete, for the myriad ways that you colored our lives, made it a more beautiful, musical world, help open our eyes to so many things, and worked to make America and the world a better place. And in a more personal note, I simply can't imagine how my life would have been different, although I know it would have been for the much worse, had I not come to find you, your music, and your life story. Thanks.
Well, as you may have seen on other blogs, or learned for yourself, Divshare is back up and running. Thanks to everyone who chimed in, either with confirmations that it wasn't "just me" or ideas for other sites. By the time I had an opportunity to look more in depth at some of those other sites, the divshare folks (who were remarkably responsive, this time around) had let me know they were back in business.
I've also included a bonus at the bottom for those who love the late '50's and early '60's as much as I do, and I will post again a few times in the next week in order to get caught up.
And so....
Today's feature comes from a guy I've been happily corresponding with for over four months now. His name is Andy, and he first contacted me regarding my posts about Merigail Moreland. This led to a sharing of a lot of late '50's and early '60's singles through e-mail (mostly - and with great appreciation) from him to me, as we discovered where our tastes overlap, and what we have that might be of interest to each other.
His interest is not really in song-poems, but as he owns some, he was nice enough to send a few my way, and so far, this is my favorite among those he's sent. It's on Tin Pan Alley, and features Gus Colletti, whose stylings would seem to be spectacularly mismatched for a song titled "At the Rock and Roll Party". He has a choked, strained quality which seems more in tune with ballad singers, or at least dramatic readings of more serious material (not that I'd like him in that material, but at least it would seem a better match).
At the same time, though, this seems to show the influence of Paul Anka, one of my least favorite singers of the era. The band is giving it their best, but the whole enterprise seems doomed to failure, due to the choice of vocalists. Still, it's fun failure!
I cannot even pretend to drum up any enthusiasm for the flip side, the appropriately sad and dreary song "Life is Sad and Dreary". Tin Pan Alley at least tried to capture the sounds of the day, and this sounds like any number of hit songs of the era, without sounding like it would ever have been a hit, itself. And this does seem like a slightly better match for Gus Colletti's supposed skills than the rave up on the flip side.
By the way, in sending me all of these treasures, along the way, Andy sent me a record that has become easily my favorite "new-to-me" record, one that I've heard for the first time and can't get enough of, in at least the last five or six years. It's called "Love in Return" by the Nightingales.
This is close to a perfect record. I love the wild drumming, the struggle the girls have to stay on pitch and in unison several times during the song, and the bridges are particularly magical to me. Only the presence of a dumb-guy vocal at the end of each of those bridges keeps me from thinking this to be among the best things ever released.
This was a cover of a release on a larger label. I've heard that one, too, and it has absolutely none of the charm and magic of this record. The really captured lightning in a bottle here.
I'm repeating myself a bit today, but I hope readers will indulge me, as I've just become the proud owner of a copy of one of my favorite records ever. I have posted the A-side of this 45 before, 18 months before I began this "song poem of the week" project, but the MP3 shared at that time was cribbed from an eBay auction, and I never actually owned the record before this week. This means I can now share a higher quality MP3, can offer up the B-side, and can share scans of the record itself.
The record is "What's She Got (That I Ain't Got)", and I wrote about it at length in July of 2007, in a posting you can find here. Without repeating much of that post, I will say that my love and admiration for this record continues to grow, and in particular I adore the lead vocal, and the masterful bridge, one of the best I've ever heard, made all that much better by a guitarist who had clearly been listening to "Love is Strange", but whose work here is superior even to that great guitar performance.
There is some question in my mind as to if this is actually a song-poem. Carellen Records was a hybrid of sorts, releasing song-poems, vanity records and maybe even some records which were legitimate bids for hit status. And Edith Hopkins, the author of this song, and my all-time favorite song-poet, also commissioned both song-poems and more legit releases.
I'll say this: If this is a song-poem, it's the best one I've ever heard, by a significant margin. If it's a legitimate late '50's release, it's among my favorite records of that era (and that's saying something, as that is my favorite era for pop music). This is, in my opinion, a perfect record.
The flip side, "Cry Baby Heart", is more of a standard late '50's rock-a-ballad, brought to above-average quality by another singularly great vocal by Betty Jayne, who clearly deserved to be a big star (I say this based on this and other records by her in my collection). My view of the likelihood of this being a song-poem record goes way up, when I hear that another take was not attempted, after the bass singer sang a a truly horrible note, right at the end of this performance.
For quite some time now, I've been wondering when it was going to be that I would hear the next record that made me stop and say "I need to hear that three more times right now". It's been an unusually long wait, probably since around May, when my friend Stu sent me a link to the incomprehensibly wonderful "I Like God's Style" by Isabel Baker (which everyone should seek out, by the way). But the joys of listening to that one had faded into the background some time ago.
As usual, this wait for the next big thing ended with no warning, in this case, late last week. That's when I went to play a stack of 45's I'd had sitting around for months, waiting for the chance to dig in to them. Right on top was a 45 on the Blue Hen label. I probably bought it based solely on the look of the label, which screamed out "this might not be good, but it's bound to be unique and probably interesting".
Well, it's better than I could have imagined. There is not a second of this record that I don't adore. In gorgeous, and appropriately ragged and imperfect three part harmonies, The Allison Sisters sing some of the best lyrics about new, overpowering love that I've ever heard.
Then comes the solo section, featuring a rollicking piano which ends it's featured turn with a neat little climbing riff, made all the more indelible in that it's not quite played right, followed by a neat little trebly country guitar thing.
The chorus, sung twice, is what really sealed the deal, with words that cut right through me:
"Icy cold water can't put out the fire
The rain and the storm only add to the flame"
Well that's nice, and a great way with lyrics, but then there's this:
"Being together the one desire
There's magic in speaking your name"
What a great chorus. The last line just did me in - "there's magic in speaking your name" - like most other people, I'm sure, I've felt just that way a few times in my life, in both shared and unrequited situations, and I was just stopped short by the words of those last two lines.
Of course, they only worked because the tune, arrangement and vocals are just as magical as those lyrics.
I saw with amazement that this was intended as the B-Side. Not to take away from the A-side, which is quite good enough in it's own right, but the underside is clearly the better of the two.
Here's the A-side, with the Allison Sisters seemingly taking some of the same biblical lyrics that Pete Seeger would later mine (okay, probably not), and going into a different, more secular direction with the ensuing lyrics. Again, there are some great three part harmonies here, and a neat solo turn from that trebly guitar.
There is a lovely, unbeatable homemade feeling to this whole record. I can picture the sisters, who seem to be smiling broadly while singing, and I feel the affection between them, and likely between everyone who is heard on this record. This is music making at its most sublime.
I don't really have a lot of heroes. I suppose there are a few people who had profound effects on the world, politically and socially, nearly all of them from the past, who I find to have been heroic. And there were a few sports stars when I was younger.
But most of my few heroes have been musicians. And rarely just musicians, but people who also made an effort to change and improve things. John Lennon, Pete Seeger and sadly little-known Dr. Louis Gottlieb come to mind.
While those three sought to change things socially, Les Paul - who I would put on almost an equal tier with those mentioned above - was a hero for not only his incomparably superb records, but even more so because of the ways that he improved - really revolutionized - recording.
I'm hardly the only one to say it, but simply put, many recordings and performances from the last sixty years (at least the non classical ones) would have been impossible without the developments and improvements explored and perfected by Les Paul.
Among other things, he either created or improved the electric guitar, echo on recordings, multi-speed recording and the fade-out. And of course, he invented overdubbing. For that alone, he deserves to be on Mt. Rushmore or something. When I put together a collection of my own material - a collection of one-man band recordings, all featuring multiple overdubs - it was dedicated to Les.
While most of these offerings today are not obscure, they are all certainly wonderful, and a few of them have rarely been heard outside of a box set. But I'll start with the top of the heap - my favorite Les Paul record, "Tiger Rag". I would term this a perfect record, if there ever was one - with tension and drive and a million things going on at once, and that pristine guitar sound, plus Mary Ford doing what she did best:
On to a few rarer pieces. This one, "Song in Blue", apparently takes a slow, waltzy thing (which I'm not familiar with, outside of this performance) and turns it into one of the hottest things Les ever created:
Next, here's one that I just love, "Honolulu Rock-a-Rolla" which was done for Les and Mary's TV show, and never released on vinyl. Les pointed out that - aside from doing some very soft backing vocals on "Tiger Rag", his grunts here constitute his most noticeable vocal on a Les and Mary record:
And finally, no tribute to Les Paul would be complete without the best tribute he ever received, a parody by Stan Freberg. To me, this is just genuis, with direct references to a couple of the records heard above, and just generally a good send up of Les' sound. Here's Stan's version of "The World is Waiting for the Sunrise", which ends with perhaps the best explosion ever created for records:
Moving away from the song-poem thing for a moment, here's a record that landed in my collection along with hundreds of others, when a friend of mine bought the remains of what was called the "Dime Bin" from a store in Evanston, Illinois. The store had a plastic garbage can filled to the top with records that the owner felt wouldn't sell for more than a dime. After the current set of dime bin records had been picked over for five or six months, the store owner would sell us the remaining thousand or so records - the ones which didn't even sell for a dime - for perhaps $40 or $50.
The number of gems that I found in my collection via this method is hard to calculate. Of course, most of the stuff was either dull as dirt or in such poor condition as to make it worthless, but there were always a few dozen records that made the purchase more than worthwhile.
Such was the case with today's selection. George Wright was an extremely popular organist in the 1950's, although when we were sorting through dime-bin records in 1985 or so, I'd certainly never heard of him. And I've since found out that the song offered today was one which was recorded many times, by various bands. I've heard some of them, and they don't come close to approaching this version.
From the insanity of the opening bars (and no, it's not at the wrong speed) to the variety of tones and settings Mr. Wright used on his pipe organ, to the perfectly arranged final moments, I consider this to be a perfect record - everything in place, and weird than a pipe organ instrumental has any right to be. And for those of us who don't mind a good pre-rock era pop melody, this is great from that standpoint, too. I adore the record label, too.
There also exists an improvised video, shot by your humble blogger back around 1986 or so, and featuring my two best friends dancing in a way that suggests seizure activity, to the haunting strains of this 45.
After I posted a 78 of "The Three Little Pigs" both to this site and to WFMU's blog, asking who knew the name of the singer, I was quicly able to learn that it was Toby Deane, a specialist in the fields of both children's records and unique vocal performances. I will do an entire multi-song post about her, soon, as she is my 2008 chioce for the greatest singer I'd never heard of before.
Many thanks to Irwin Chusid, who sent me what appears to be Toby Deane's greatest moment, a Voco records 78 from the late '40's, which is quite unlikely anything else I've ever heard. It's called "Alice in Christmas Wonderland", and it's been in nonstop rotation here in my world, since I first heard it, in late August of this year.
There is so much I love here, I don't know where to start. The whole arrangement is so beautifully odd, what with the multiple female backing singers, who sound at one moment like they are in a halloween cartoon, and another moment like they belong in the "You're Out of the Woods" scene from "The Wizard of Oz". Then there's the one singer who swoops in with descending broken chords (then echoed by the clarinets) at the 1:30 point.
Speaking of those clarinets, the sheer business of this track is a wonder to behold. The various sections played by the piano, in particular, just takes my breath away at times. And the double bass adds a lovely feel, too. All that work, for a children's record. I would LOVE to have been at this session.
Then there's the song. Most songs of this type would wear out their welcome with me by the end of the first minute, but somehow, this one is a joy in that area, too.
And all of that leaves out the main show, which is the lead vocal. I've not grown the least bit tired of listening to this, over the past four months, primarily because of Toby Deane's stunning and wonderous singing. There are moment, such the second time she sings "Alice", about 25 seconds in, that just give me chills.
The ability of a singer, who was apparently in her 20's or 30's at this time, to fully and convincingly sing as if she was, oh, about 12, astonishes me. And the little laugh on her voice, as heard at about 1:16, and again at 1:43 - well, I don't think that's something that can be taught.
I suspect I like this more than anyone who may hear it here on my site, but that's okay. Hopefully, you'll like enough to make my lengthy post worth reading.
(Addendum, 11/30/21 - having just fixed this post, I thought I'd add that, in the ensuing 12 years, this has become my second favorite Christmas record ever - one of my top 50 favorite tracks ever - and I've obtained a copy, complete with a wonderful picture sleeve (see below). And it still gives me chills.)
I guess this song is well known to a lot of people, and I've even seen it listed in a few places as one of the Worst Christmas Songs. Happily, I've not heard the versions of this song that are typically referred to. They are described in terms of this being a novelty song, or a redneck Christmas tribute, or something like that.
Again, luckily, I never read any of that until I had grown to love this song to death, without any irony needed. This version grabbed me from the first moment, and from that time on, I've loved it as a real slice of life look at one (fairly bemused) woman's Christmas memory. I live fairly far from redneck central, and yet (apart from the parents getting drunk in the first line) I've always been able to picture the video of this recording, in my head, as taking place at my own home.
The song is "Merry Christmas From the Family", and it's sung here by Jill Sobule, from a long out of print Various Artists Christmas album. She reminds me here of Melanie, a singer whose best work I adore, and she has the same passionate, if slightly overwhelmed and confused tone about her, which fits this wobbly Christmas story well. I am in awe of someone who can sing the verse about the lights blowing out, with the same emotional conviction as Melanie employed on "Candles in the Rain".
And the arrangement, with accordion, a lead clarinet, and all sorts of acoustic strings and drums, resonates with me and rings in my head throughout the year, not just for the last three weeks. I'm often a fan of music that sounds like it's about to fly off the rails, and at times, that's the case here, especially in terms of the electric guitar which enters the song here and there after a minute or so. Going into the second bridge there is an especially nice moment.
I guess I have to accept that this was written as silly satire, but it works better as a more nuanced, Randy Newman style number (and comparing someone's work to Randy Newman is about the highest praise I can give - he's the greatest American songwriter of the last 50 years).
(Addendum, 11/29/21: This has, in the ensuing years, become my all-time favorite Christmas record, one of my all time top 40 tracks. The singer's bemused, and achingly pleading voice resonates with me more every time I've heard it. The sheer perfection of this track can bring me to tears.
And I have since heard the "comic" country versions of this - they are uniformly stupid and genuinely awful. It's amazing how different settings can serve to make something either unlistenable or perfect.)
I first heard this song about four months ago, and since then, it's sometimes seemed like it's the only thing I've been listening to ever since. It's called "What's She Got (That I Ain't Got?) and it's by Betty Jayne.
This is a song-poem record, as far as I can tell (NOTE: See addendum below), but it's unlike just about any I've ever heard. The amount of arrangement and planning that must have gone into this record amazes me, as do a lot of other features of the recording.
Where to begin? The insane amount of echo? The sparse instrumentation, featuring a guitarist who clearly has spend hours on end listening to "Love is Strange"? The key change in the middle? The complex (for a song-poem) backing vocals, sometimes singing oohs and aahs, in three part harmony in spots, sometimes singing the lyrics to the song in harmony with the lead? The violin (!!) that pops out of nowhere to lead into the first bridge?
Those are all great. In fact, there's not a moment of this record that I don't adore, even after dozens of listens. But a few things stand out. First are the lyrics. I expected a song with this title to be a whine, or at least something of a pouty complaint. But instead, they contain an indignant challenge, not just about the singer's qualities in comparison with the current girl, but also the good points of countless other girls, too:
"Her hair is blonde, with natural curls, but so is mine, and a lot of other girls'"
In other words, 'this girl you're with, she's okay and all, but there are PLENTY of other girls you'd like better, not just me'.
(I know it's not a good thing that all of the comparisons made are with regard to looks and kissing ability, but such was the era...)
The writer was Edith Hopkins, who went on to establish her own song-poem label, using many of those who are today the best known names in the field from that era, and I have yet to hear one of her songs that hasn't been far above average for this genre. In fact, my guess is she wrote the words and music to her songs, and used the song-poem teams as hired help for her demos.
In this case, she got a perfect singer for the job, and that's perhaps the biggest reason I can't do without this record. Betty Jayne, whoever she was, sells this song like every word of it rings true to her. She's got me sold! If I was around, back then, and she was singing this to me, I'd probably think twice about her challenge, and then another six or eight times. Her inflection for the line "Sugar Sweet and Pepper Hot" is unbelievably sexy.
Saving the best for last, there is a moment in this song that transcends just about everything else, where all of the above adds up to 15 seconds of music I never want to be without again. It's the first bridge, starting at about the 33 second point, with that violin mentioned above. The backing vocals kick in, just short of sounding out of control, Betty ups the challenge with an irresistible vocal, and the guitarist goes to town. I find this segment of music as intoxicating as anything I've ever heard.
Hope you enjoy it at least half as much as I do, and perhaps quite a bit more!
ADDENDUM, 2021: After living with this record for 14 years, hearing from Edith Hopkins' family, and learning more about her career, it's now clear to me that this record was not a song-poem effort, and was at the worst a vanity release, and more likely an actual attempt at producing a hit record. I won't go into all the details here, but although Edith Hopkins did later engage song-poem companies, her releases, especially the early ones such as this one, are not song-poems in the traditional sense, and in this case, not at all.
Also, I have never for a moment fallen out of love with this record. I think it's one of the half dozen greatest singles ever released. The b-side is great, too.
Just in time for summer, I'm sharing a little known, ridiculous novelty song from the early 1960's (one which came out on a major label, no less - Warner Brothers!), called "Beer Beer Bottla Beer" by A.C. Ducey.
I first heard this song on the Dr. Demento show around 1980, it immediately went into heavy rotation on my home playlist; I spent the next 20 years looking for a copy, finally securing one on eBay a few years ago.
I don't actually drink beer, finding it quite vile, thank you, but that doesn't stop this record from being one of my all time favorite records. That's not Thurl Ravenscroft singing, but for more than a moment one might think it is, even though I now suspect that the vocal has been slowed down for effect. And as one might have gathered, I'm a sucker for an eccentric bass vocal performance.
There is so much to love here, from the double tracked vocals, which start and stop more or less at random, to the understated arrangement, to the minimilist lyrics ("whattaya mean, wait'll next year" being my favorite moment), to the clinking of beer bottles as the instrumental sections begin.
I can't imagine a way this record could be improved!
I hope this will become one of your favorite songs, too, whether you enjoy beer or not.
ADDENDUM, 1/22/23: My best pal Stu has demonstrated, by speeding up this record a few keys, that you can then tell quite well that you're hearing the singer's natural voice in that higher key. This confirms that the recording was slowed down for effect and that it's also clearly not Thurl Ravenscroft.
I don't really have any clue how many or how few of you are out there reading this little site, but if you've been here from the start, or read the archives, you may have come across my post about "The Moreland Tapes", connected to the posting of the song "Head Cheese". You can read it here:
http://bobpurse.blogspot.com/2005/07/cheesy.html
Well, since the last time I posted, I've learned a lot about the singer of that song (and of the other song referenced in that post, "Reputation"). Another piece of writing I did about these tapes came to the attention of a relative of the Moreland family, and I eventually heard from two of Merigail (correct spelling) Moreland's relatives.
This quite quickly became the most bittersweet of meetings: I was, on the one hand, able to learn that Merigail, whose voice I'd adored on these tapes for so many years, actually made a handful of records, copies of which I was sent. I even learned that she was(perhaps briefly) a Chicago area celebrity, co-hosting her own "American Bandstand" style show, locally, while still in High School in the late 1950's. On the other hand, I was deeply saddened to learn that her life was cut short by Lupus, at around age 48, in 1991.
She apparently worked as a singer for much of that short life, and I may yet get to here more of her recordings. But for the time being, I have spent the last six or seven months, listening, obsessively at times, to a single she released on a small Chicago label, in 1960. There were actually at least three singles, under then name "Merri Gail", one in 1955, and two in 1960, but this one is the "shoulda been" hit, and the quality of her singing just gives me chills at times. And she was all of 16 or 17 at the time.
Today, I'm sharing both sides of this 45. The version of "Unchained Melody" is first rate, with a great arrangement (love that accordian), and a sexy, longing vocal that seems more knowing than I'd expect from someone so young. Also, the growth in ability and technique from "Reputation", just three years earlier, is astonishing. Here's Merri Gail's "Unchained Melody":
But as great as I think "Unchained" is, it was only the B-Side to the completely wonderful (if oddly named) "Oo-Lee, Oo-Lee, Papa, Oo-Lee". There is not a thing about this record that I don't adore right down to my bones, and it's flown right to the top of my favorite records of 1960, along with "Cathy's Clown", "It's Now or Never" and the Olympics' "Dance By the Light of the Moon".
For "Oo-Lee", before even considering the lead vocal, there is the goofy way the song starts in the middle of a musical phrase, that great bass voice, more coloring from accordian, and a swinging late '50's take on doo-wop. The lyrics are a bit ridiculous in places, but Merigial just sings the hell out of it, suggesting a depth of emotion behind the words that makes me believe she meant every word of it. And the dichotomy between the softly longing vocal of the choruses and the demanding, pleading vocal in the bridges is great, too.
It pales next to the tragedy of her short life, of course, but I was truly hoping to someday find Merigail Moreland, meet her, and tell her how much I've loved her recordings, and I've been very saddened to learn that this can never happen. Is it possible to have a crush on a singer who was grown before I was born, and who has been gone for 15 years, based on nothing more than her recordings?
At the risk of making it appear that my idea of a "perfect record" has to involve what one might call "rural instruments" playing instrumental dance music (which is not the case), I'm here to write about and offer up for auditory perusal another of my choices for the "perfect record" record prize, another one which involves rural instruments playing instrumental dance music.
For me, this one dates back to the great Nordic Acoustic Dance Music craze of the late 1980's, which took place solely in my head and on my turntable, around that time - I had a bunch of favorites of this type 'round about then, and this was my favorite of all. The record in question is "The Norway Reinlander" by "Harmony Orchestra USA (a group so named, one surmises, apparently to distinguish its august members from those in the similarly named "Harmony Orchestra Sierra Leone" and "Harmony Orchestra Tasmania").
As you can see, above, the record is dated 1948, around the dawn of time for 45's, but perhaps it came out on 78 first. The leader of the group is named Alfred Almestad, perhaps the least surprising thing about a record that sounds like this.
Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean.....
What a glorious noise it is. A bit like a polka, a bit like something I'd expect to hear in Germany or Switzerland (or perhaps I'm just showing off my ignorance of those countries' folks music), and played with much more gusto than a lot of albums managed over the course of 45 minutes!
I love the interplay of the various instruments here, and the way they variously complement each other - at one moment, the piano has the melody, at another run through of the same section, the violins or the accordion may be the primary instrument. There is a point near the end (about the 2:40 point) where the piano cuts through all the other instruments and can be heard playing the most basic of parts, far less of a part than it had been playing earlier, yet for that moment it is the key sound on the record. Guess I'm just strange, but I live for moments like that.
The vibrato on the violins, in particular, when they play the sustained harmonies, gives them a wonderful, emotional feeling, and the interplay of the accordion and the piano throughout reminds me of the wonderful sound of the organ/piano duets heard on the earliest Bob and Ray shows, from around the same time as this record.
But pulling this record apart doesn't do it any favors. This is celebratory, passionate music, surely reminiscent of the homeland in the title, one which causes me to think of the rural lands of northern Wisconsin that so many Nordic folks found similar to their homeland, and the home to a favorite town of mine, similarly named to part of the title of the song.
It's got a melody I can whistle or hum to myself for days on end, with not a dead moment. Although the record seems like it's going to keep going and going, with yet another performance of one of its themes, when it's over, I wish it was still going and going.
Just about the last place in the USA which I'd expect this record to be from is Oakland.
So it was sometime in 1988, and my wife and I went to stay at her parent's house while they were out of town. While looking for something, I came across a rusty 78 holder/carrier. I would have been intrigued by a box full of records under any circumstances, but given that my in-laws had never given me the slightest impression that they had any particular strong musical tastes, I was particularly interested.
My interest both grew and diminished when my wife mentioned that her parents had been into square dancing in their younger years, and that her father had been a caller. More interested, because this image in no way fit what I knew of them, but less interested because I'd heard a LOT of square dance records over the years, and had yet to be interested in any of them.
What I wasn't counting on was the quality of the square dance records made in the late 1940's. First, there was no "version with calls" on one side, and "version without calls" on the other. And second, there were real, greatly talented musicians on several of these records, playing a whole bunch of emotion-filled numbers, without a pedal steel guitar or picked fender bass in earshot.
NO - these folks were playing their hearts out, on fiddle, double bass, acoustic guitar and piano, just as if they were backing up some backwoods country and western star on the next hit record.
There were half a dozen records in that box which might eventually make an appearance here, but the standout, not only of that batch of records, but among my favorites among all the records I heard for the first time that year, was "Spanish Cavalier" by an outfit called "Harley Luse and the Blue Ridge Mountain Boys.
I suppose someone could listen to this record and say "well, they're just playing the same durn thing over and over again", and in a way, they are. But it's so much more than that. For one thing, there are subtle differences between the choruses, like the way the pianist plays a descending figure to lead into the first chord change of the chorus at the 1:24 mark, the fact that the second chord (as played on the piano) is usually A minor but sometimes is C major, and the way the bass player suddenly starts playing more of a walking bassline near the end of the piece.
I also love the very presence of the pianist, sort of unusual in this style of music, doubling the melody, and I particularly like the varying styles with which the violinist plays during the song, leading to a different feel for each verse. Even the pianist's little stumbles at a couple of points (such as at the 0:58 mark) endear this record to me (as certain friends of mine are aware, this sort of little imperfection often endears records to me....).
So who was Harley Luse? I'd have to assume, based on his records, that he was the violinist on these records. A websearch turns up a couple of references to someone by that name, reporting him variously to be a drummer, an accordianist and an actor, as well as a few mentions of this group, with no specification beyond what I already know. I've managed to find a handful more records by Mr. Luse, including a killer find of five of his records all at once in a box of square dance records. That particular batch of records were promptly broken, before I had a chance to hear them, when one of my then-toddlers put down something large, knocking something else into those five records. I've yet to find any more Harley Luse records.
There is no one "perfect" record. My life is, among other things, a search for the next in a series of "perfect" records. Clearly this is one of them. "How about those piano mistakes?", I hear someone asking. Well, perfection in performance has little, if anything to do with the perfect record, otherwise my search would end with such things as Mariah Carey and Yes albums, none of which reside in my house.
A perfect record, to me, expresses a mood, captures an emotion, and maybe even tells the listener something about the performers, even when it has no words. I can listen to "Spanish Cavalier" by Harley and the boys a dozen times in a row without stopping, and have a pretty clear idea what it must have felt like to be in that room, playing or listening to this music, the sort of place where the people who invented this music lived and maybe even the sort of lives people in that area lived.
Surely, I recognize that I could be wrong, but the beauty of this record is partly in that it convinces me so completely that I do know all those things, and when a record has that effect on me, it might be around that moment that I start thinking that I've found another "perfect" record.
ADDENDUM, MARCH, 2022: I did feature far more Harley Luse records, and a few others of a similar style, at WFMU, mostly in this post. Additionally, based on some photos now available at IMDB, it would appear that Harley Luse was primarily an accordionist, so presumably he is my much beloved pianist heard here. See his picture here and here. He looks much like I had imagined.
I'm the father of two amazing young adults, married to the most wonderful woman in the world, and I work in the mental health field. I play several instruments and record my own music. I'm a long time record collector, hoarder of unusual, rare or unique recorded sound, musical, spoken word or other, and am glad to have found this outlet to share some of my favorite parts of it with others.
