Categories
Boppin'

Hold On! It’s NORMAN’S NORMANS!

It’s like The Rutles, except for Herman’s Hermits instead of The Beatles
Boppin’ (Like The Hip Folks Do) supporter Dave Murray

Ripped! is an independent flick from 2013, written and directed by Rod Bingaman, and you risk no loss of film-fan status if you admit you’ve never heard of it. Hardly anyone’s heard of it. I stumbled across a listing for it on Amazon some time back, thought the concept seemed cute (and certainly unique), and I finally got around to watching it a few weeks ago. Ripped! can rightly claim one all-time accolade as its very own:

It is the Citizen Kane of Herman’s Hermits pastiche movies.

Sure, it’s also the Plan 9 From Outer Space of Herman’s Hermits pastiche movies, the Ishtar of Herman’s Hermits pastiche movies, the Heaven’s Gate of Herman’s Hermits pastiche movies, the ZardozWest Side StoryShowgirls, and Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein of Herman’s Hermits pastiche movies. Not a really crowded field, those Herman’s Hermits pastiche movies. But Ripped! is indeed one enjoyable, unassuming little hoot of a Herman’s Hermits pastiche movie, and I enjoyed it a lot more than I enjoy any actual Herman’s Hermits movie.

A little bit o’ background here: I love Herman’s Hermits, and none of the seeming snark above should lead you to forget that fact. I love many of the Hermits’ records, especially “No Milk Today” and “A Must To Avoid,” but also including all of their big hits and many of their lesser-known tracks. I saw a bar-band line up of Herman’s Hermits (minus Peter Noone) at a nightclub in 1978 (right in the same time frame that I was seeing The Ramones and The RunawaysThe KinksElvis Costello & the Attractions, and The Flashcubes), and I thought they put on an impressive British Invasion rock ‘n’ roll show. I saw Peter Noone with his new wave band The Tremblers in 1981 or ’92, and saw Noone and his current collection o’ Hermits about two years ago, and those were both terrific concerts, too. I have nothing negative to say about ol’ Herm, Derek LeckenbyKarl GreenKeith Hopwood, and Barry Whitwam, nor about their records.

Their movies? Different story. Herman’s Hermits made awful movies.

My thoughts were different when I was a lad of six in 1967, and I went with my sister to see Herman and his Hermits in Hold On! I’m sure I loved it then, and I loved the soundtrack LP when I scored a used copy of it about a decade later. But when I tried to watch Hold On! again as an adult, I couldn’t bear to finish it. Same story when I tried to watch Mrs. Brown You’ve Got A Lovely Daughter, nor could I muster up much interest for Herman’s Hermits’ supporting role in the bland When The Boys Meet The Girls. I love jukebox musicals, from The Girl Can’t Help It through A Hard Day’s NightElvis Presley in Loving You through That Thing You Do! (The Greatest Movie Ever Made), The Ramones in Rock ‘n’ Roll High SchoolThe Monkees in Head, even much-maligned vehicles like The Dave Clark Five‘s Having A Wild Weekend and Sonny & Cher‘s Good Times, maybe Bloodstone‘s Train Ride To Hollywood. Hell, I’ll cop to a frequent fondness of Frankie & Annette beach flicks–ya can’t beat Harvey Lembeck, man–and I dig American Hot Wax enough that I forgive its approach of fantastical fiction masquerading as fact. I’ve even come up with fanciful li’l pipe dreams of my own jukebox musicals Jukebox ExpressLet’s Go Out Tonight, and The Bay City Rollers in Catch Us If You Can. But Herman’s Hermits movies? No. The Lord says love the singers, hate the singers’ films.

So the idea of a 2013 parody of 1967’s Hold On!, starring fictional Brits Norman’s Normans in place of Herm and the lads, was not a sure thing. The trailer and description seemed intriguing, but my expectations were very, very low. I figured it would be either condescending or dumb, possibly both, and inevitably a pointless waste of time.

But it was fun!

I mean, it was dumb, if willfully so; it’s difficult to make a movie about a fictional ’60s British pop group accidentally rocketed to a planet inhabited solely by women–a planet at war with the estranged men of their neighboring world–where the music of Norman’s Normans conquers all and makes everything gear and free, luv…well, it’s kinda hard to try to pull all that off without risking a few extraneous brain cells. “Dumb” would seem the smart path to take here. The ending is rushed and anticlimactic, the result of filmmakers rashly deciding Right, that’s enough! when the ready supply of time, money, motivation, and/or patience evaporates before the story’s been finished. Ripped!‘s virtues outweigh its shortcomings. I can’t explain how the makers of Ripped! were able to maintain just the right tone throughout. It’s not really camp, nor does it seem to be slumming. It believes in itself, in the moment. It’s not smug, and it embraces its own ludicrous identity with casual but undeniable pride. I was expecting parody. Instead, I was rewarded with a loving pastiche of a silly little pop movie I saw when I was seven years old. The pastiche, miraculously, feels more sincere and real than the borderline-cynical B-movie that inspired it.

The music’s cool, too. Going back to the Rutles comparison, the beauty of the music from that 1978 Beatles parody All You Need Is Cash is that The Rutles’ tracks sound like perfectly swell pop music, even apart from their corresponding on-screen hijinks. Norman’s Normans sound similarly fab, and Ripped!‘s opening number “9-9-9!” has already found a place on our weekly This Is Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio playlists. A band doesn’t have to actually exist to make decent pop records. I bought Norman’s Normans’ six-song Music From Ripped! as a download from normansnormans.bandcamp.com“9-9-9!” and “Down On My Knees” are the Fave Rave Top Gear Picks T’Click, but “(I’m In Love With) The Queen Mother” and–of course!–“Mr. Brown” are snappy like Mr. White’s boys The Wonders, and “Man In The Moon” and “Come With Me (Beam Trip)” add appropriate atmosphere. I realize that Norman’s Normans aren’t, y’know, real, but it wouldn’t break my heart to hear more from whoever crafted their peppy little tunes.

Ripped! will never be anyone’s favorite film. But it’s gentle, confident, and gawkily charming, at home in its own distinct skin. It’s the movie equivalent of the best Herman’s Hermits songs. At long last, there is a movie worthy of Herman’s Hermits. Even if Herman’s Hermits aren’t actually in it.

TIP THE BLOGGER: CC’s Tip Jar!

You can support this blog by becoming a patron on Patreon: Fund me, baby! 

Categories
Boppin'

THE GREATEST RECORD EVER MADE: Waterloo Sunset

THE KINKS: “Waterloo Sunset”

It’s one of the most beautiful depictions of burgeoning romance ever committed to song. And it’s told, not from the perspective of the young lovers themselves, but from the viewpoint of a benevolent onlooker, wishing them well as they cross over the river, where they feel safe and sound.I wonder what that onlooker would have thought of me when I was 18.


Dirty old river

Must you keep rolling

Flowing into the night

I was not exactly a schoolboy in disgrace. Not quite. But the school year could not end quickly enough to suit me.

It was May of 1978. My freshman year in college at Brockport was sputtering to its unremarkable conclusion. My roommate and I had been friends; now, we were barely speaking to each other. My grades weren’t terrible, but nor were they anything special. I was drinking and partying too much, while deriving little pleasure from the process. I was neither a dedicated follower of fashion nor a well-respected man. I was…well, I was nothing much. I wanted to be more than that.


People so busy

Make me feel dizzy

Taxi light shines so bright

Musically, at least, there was something to be said for 1978 up to that point. I had seen The Flashcubes–Syracuse’s own power pop powerhouse!–for the very first time that January, and that was special. I saw Elvis Costello & the Attractions on campus in February. Back home in Syracuse, I saw The Ramones and The Runaways (with The Flashcubes) over spring break. Before the year was done, I would see New Math, Herman’s Hermits, and Bob Dylan, plus a few more local acts, each of them as riveting in my mind as the internationally famous ones. Music provided me with something I may have otherwise lacked.

But I don’t feel afraid

As long as I gaze on Waterloo sunset

I am in paradise

And, in May of 1978, I was going to see The Kinks.

I had become a fan of The Kinks during my senior year in high school. A year later, my Kinks kollection was still inkomplete, perfunktory. I owned the Kinks-Size LP, Sleepwalker, probably Schoolboys In Disgrace, a Kinks compilation called The Pye History Of British Pop Music, the “Well Respected Man” 45, and “You Really Got Me” and “All Day And All Of The Night” on the first two volumes of Sire Records’ British Invasion anthology series The History Of British Rock.

The skimpy nature of my Kinks holdings up to this point would seem to contradict what is nonetheless true: I loved The Kinks. Wholeheartedly. I hadn’t yet acquired an understanding of The Kinks’ body of work, and I was still in the very early stages of building my own Kinks library. In the mean time, I sang along to “No More Looking Back,” “Juke Box Music,” and “Celluloid Heroes” on the radio, thrilled to see The Kinks on NBC’sSaturday Night in ’77, and mentally (if reluctantly) dedicated “Set Me Free” to my girlfriend Theresa at the end of ’77, recognizing that things were moving way, way too fast between us for immature and unprepared little me. When I auditioned to be the singer for a country rock band in the Fall of ’77, the band asked me what kind of music I liked to sing. The Kinks! was my immediate reply. This response was met with Ah, we don’t like The Kinks. They didn’t like me any better than they liked The Kinks. And the world kept going round.

Sha la la

Every day I look at the world from my window

Sha la la

Chilly chilly is the evening timeWaterloo sunset’s fine

I needed to see The Kinks.

Terry meets Julie at Waterloo Station

Every Friday night

But I am so lazy

Don’t want to wander

I stay at home at night

The venue was The Landmark Theater, a classic old movie house (originally Lowe’s State Theater, opened in 1928), then just recently saved from the wrecking ball that would have turned it into a parking lot. You can’t demolish a landmark. On May 28th of 1978, this Landmark played host to The Kinks.

But I don’t feel afraid

As long as I gaze on Waterloo sunset

I am in paradise

My life-long fixation on the music of the British Invasion remains undimmed. I was never going to see The Beatles in concert (though I would eventually see Paul McCartney, and attend a Ringo press conference). I wouldn’t see The Rolling Stones until 1989 (the same week I saw The Kinks for the third and final time). I never got around to seeing The Who. As noted above, I would see Herman’s Hermits (albeit without Peter Noone) in a bar that summer of 1978. In the ’80s, I would be fortunate enough to see The Searchers and The Animals on separate occasions in Buffalo. But my first British Invasion concert would be The Kinks.

The opening act was another British group, Charlie. Years later, my future This Is Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio co-host Dana Bonn would remember Charlie as a band that couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be Yes or Cheap Trick. Yeah, Dana also saw this Kinks show at The Landmark, though this was years before we actually met. My memory of Charlie jibes with Dana’s. Charlie did have a decent (if overly slick) pop tune called “She Loves To Be In Love,” and I liked their performance of that; I remember being turned off by the smug nature of a song called “Watching TV.” Charlie was not the band I was there to see.

Sha la la

In 1978, I did not yet know The Kinks’ repertoire well enough to identify each song in the group’s set. A new album called Misfits had just been released, and I doubt I’d heard much (if any) of that on the radio prior to the show. I didn’t know deep cuts. Hell, I didn’t know most of The Kinks’ classics beyond “You Really Got Me,” “All Day And All Of The Night,” “Tired Of Waiting For You,” “Well Respected Man,” and “Lola.” I may have known “I Need You” via a live cover by The Flashcubes. I knew “Sunny Afternoon,” “Till The End Of The Day,” “Where Have All The Good Times Gone,” and “Dedicated Follower Of Fashion” from my Pye History Of British Pop Music LP, and I knew “Dead End Street” from a Rock Of The ’60s video show I had seen at Syracuse University in 1977. As a result, I don’t have specific contemporaneous memories of much of what The Kinks played at The Landmark.

But there are some things I do remember.

If you’re a music fan with breath and a pulse, you know this: there are moments in our concert-going lives that stand out, moments that simply shimmer in our recollections, moments that seem to live eternally, above and beyond our cherished memories of the concert as a whole. Carl Wilson singing “God Only Knows” at a Beach Boys show. Micky Dolenz singing “As We Go Along” at a Monkees show. David Bowie singing “Life On Mars?” Paul McCartney singing…well, that would be the whole McCartney show, I guess.

One of those moments was at The Landmark in 1978, when The Kinks performed “Waterloo Sunset.”

Millions of people, swarming like flies ’round Waterloo underground

But Terry and Julie cross over the river

Where they feel safe and sound

I’m reasonably certain I’d never heard the song before. From that second forward, I would never forget it. A backdrop behind The Kinks displayed a projection simulating a sunset. The band played. Ray Davies sang. And we were in paradise.

The summer of ’78 beckoned. My friend Tom helped me get a part-time job as a janitor at Sears, so I had pocket money for movies, records, and rock ‘n’ roll shows. I saw The Flashcubes every chance I had. At Record Theatre up on the SU hill, I scored a double-LP set called The Kink Kronikles, which included “Lola” and “Waterloo Sunset,” and which filled me in on The Kinks’ essential mid-to-late ’60s output. Magic. More would follow in due time. God save The Kinks.

My parents were away in Missouri for part of the summer, so I had the house to myself. I was 18, but slightly more responsible than my history thus far would have implied. There were no wild parties. The occasional guests behaved themselves. I harbored an AWOL Marine. I sheltered a teenaged runaway girl. I did not date. A girl at work flirted lightly with me, and another girl tried to set me up on a blind date with a friend of hers. I played my records, my Bobby Fuller Four and my Generation X, my Sex Pistols, Jam, and Dave Clark Five, my Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers. My Kinks. I prepared to return to school. In the fall, I met a girl at school. Brenda. 

Something better beginning.

I saw The Kinks a total of three times, an impersonal arena show in Buffalo and an incongruous college gym show in Oswego both woefully unable to match the perfect memory of a perfect show at The Landmark in 1978. The Village Green Preservation Society became my favorite Kinks album, one of my favorite albums by anyone at any time. When my Dad died in 2012, I recited the lyrics to The Kinks’ “Days” as part of his eulogy. The Kinks are recognized as the de facto house band on This Is Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio with Dana & Carl. When I’m asked to name my favorite Kinks song, I can only narrow it down to two: “You Really Got Me” and “Waterloo Sunset.”

And they don’t need no friends

As long as they gaze on Waterloo sunset

They are in paradise

I have one more odd Kinks recollection to share. In 1983 or ’84, I was working at Mighty Taco in South Buffalo. Mighty Taco was open until 5 am to serve the bar crowd. This particular early morning, the store had been closed for the better part of an hour, and I was alone except for the overnight cleaning person. I had Buffalo’s 97 Rock on the store’s sound system to provide music as I finished my paperwork. I called the station and made a request. My request played.

The majestic sound of “Waterloo Sunset” boomed throughout the empty restaurant. But I don’t feel afraid. Here’s to all of you, my friends. I thank you for the days. And I hope you still gaze on the sunset. I hope you are in paradise.

Sha la la.

Waterloo sunset’s fine

Waterloo sunset’s fine

“Waterloo Sunset” by Ray Davies, Warner Chappell Music, Inc./Abkco Music, Inc.


TIP THE BLOGGER: CC’s Tip Jar!
You can support this blog by becoming a patron on Patreon: Fund me, baby! 
Fans of pop music will want to check out Waterloo Sunset–Benefit For This Is Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio, a new pop compilation benefiting SPARK! Syracuse, the home of This Is Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio with Dana & CarlTIR’N’RR Allstars–Steve StoeckelBruce GordonJoel TinnelStacy CarsonEytan MirskyTeresa CowlesDan PavelichIrene Peña, Keith Klingensmith, and Rich Firestone–offer a fantastic new version of The Kinks’ classic “Waterloo Sunset.” That’s supplemented by eleven more tracks (plus a hidden bonus track), including previously-unreleased gems from The Click BeetlesEytan MirskyPop Co-OpIrene PeñaMichael Slawter (covering The Posies), and The Anderson Council (covering XTC), a new remix of “Infinite Soul” by The Grip Weeds, and familiar TIRnRR Fave Raves by Vegas With RandolphGretchen’s WheelThe Armoires, and Pacific Soul Ltd. Oh, and that mystery bonus track? It’s exquisite. You need this. You’re buying it from Futureman.

Categories
Boppin'

THE BEST OF EVERYTHING: Best Of The Bobby Fuller Four

Sometimes only the best will do. The Best Of Everything looks back on specific greatest-hits and best-of LPs and what they meant to me.

THE BOBBY FULLER FOUR: Best Of The Bobby Fuller Four (Rhino, 1981)

In 1966, my brother Art had a red Alfa Romeo. I’m told it was kind of a crappy car, really, and I remember its ignominious final days in his possession: a scarlet husk parked, prone, lying in state beyond the shed at the end of our back yard. Collecting dust, collecting rust. A tow truck ultimately came to whisk this luckless red Alfa Romeo to the promised land.

But my prevailing principle memory of this doomed vehicle is a happy one. I believe the memory involves the consumption of Royal Crown Cola, or possibly a root beer and Teen Burger at the nearby A & W Drive-In. The memory absolutely involves the car’s one true immortal virtue: its radio.

That radio? When I was six years old, I may have thought that radio was magic.

I mean, it must have been magic. There were songs I heard on that car’s radio that I never seemed to hear anywhere else. I should ask Art if he listened to Syracuse’s 1260 WNDR in ’66, or if it was WOLF instead, or even the less-fabled WFBL. Whatever it was, it played “I Like It Like That” by The Dave Clark Five, a record that–to me–only existed on the AM dial of Art’s star-crossed Alfa Romeo. Even better, it played–often!–another irresistible exclusive: “I Fought The Law” by The Bobby Fuller Four. To this day, more than five decades later, my visceral memory of that terrific song is inextricably linked to those moments in my brother’s Alfa Romeo, of drums, guitars, and a singer bemoaning his fate of Breakin’ rocks in the hot sun, allpouring forth from the little car’s speakers as my big brother cruised suburban streets with his pesky kid brother on board. It’s indelible, and I embrace and cherish its vivid image.

A decade and change passed. In 1978, I was finishing my freshman year in college, and immersing myself in the rockin’ pop of the ’60s and the then-contemporary sounds of punk, new wave, and power pop. It was all one big ol’ ball of pop music to me, from The Monkees to The Sex PistolsThe Romantics to The Beau BrummelsThe Ramones  to Joey Ramone‘s fave raves The Who and Herman’s Hermits. Oh, and The Kinks to The Kinks, “You Really Got Me” to “Rock And Roll Fantasy.” In this joyous crucible of discovery and rediscovery, “I Fought The Law” was ripe to reclaim. I think I found an oldies 45 reissue, but I found something lacking in its sound–couldn’t match the magic of the Alfa Romeo, lemme tell ya! I bought a various-artists LP called 15 Original Rock N’ Roll Biggies Vol. 2, an oddball set that gave me “I Fought The Law,” familiar old gold from The Platters and Little Anthony & the Imperials (and, incongruously, “Day By Day” from Godspell), and some archival stuff that was brand-new to me, by names like The StandellsThe E-Types, and Chocolate Watchband. I played “I Fought The Law” and the two Standells tracks–“Why Pick On Me” and “Sometimes Good Guys Don’t Wear White”–a lot in that music-filled summer of ’78.

I don’t know if it occurred to me that The Bobby Fuller Four might have had more than just one great song. Hell, my “I Fought The Law” 45 had only contained one BF4 track, its flip occupied by The Seeds‘ “Pushin’ Too Hard.” Nor did I know that Bobby Fuller himself was dead, and I certainly didn’t know anything at all about the suspicious circumstances surrounding his demise. The opportunity to learn about all of this would not present itself until after I graduated from college in 1980.

The specific sequence of events is cluttered and imprecise in my recollection. In 1981, my girlfriend and I were living in an apartment in Brockport. She would graduate that spring, and I’d already leveraged my Bachelor of Arts degree into full-time employment at McDonald’s–success! And rent money, as well as cash for beer and food and beer, and to keep buying music at Main Street Records. At Main Street, my dovetailing interests in punk and pop led me to Pebbles, the essential Nuggets-inspired series of possibly-not-fully-authorized compilations of ’60s garage and psych. I started with Pebbles‘ second volume, which introduced me to The Choir‘s “It’s Cold Outside” and The Moving Sidewalks‘ “99th Floor,” and to The Electric Prunes‘ unforgettable commercial for Vox wah-wah pedals. It’s the NOW sound! It’s what’s happening!

Pebbles, Volume 2 also offered my first exposure to a Bobby Fuller song that was not about robbing people with a WHOMP-WHOMP-WHOMP six-gun: the relatively nondescript “Wine Wine Wine.” Fuller remained a one-hit wonder to me for just a little bit longer.

Within this same time frame, Phil Seymour (formerly of The Dwight Twilley Band, and a collaborator with ace combos like Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers and 20/20) released his first solo album. My favorite track on Phil Seymour was his version of “Let Her Dance,” an incredible pop confection first recorded by–you guessed it!–The Bobby Fuller Four. Something nagging at the edges of my memory insists that I did hear the original version before hearing Seymour’s cover, but I can’t imagine where I heard it. Either way, I loved the song. I was ready and eager to dive more deeply into Fuller’s c.v.

I probably snapped up Rhino Records‘ Best Of The Bobby Fuller Four the first time I saw it on the shelf at Main Street; if not, it wasn’t long thereafter. I knew, at best, two songs. It was high time to know more.

The album begins with the lone hit, Sonny Curtis‘ “I Fought The Law,” originally recorded by The Crickets, later covered successfully by The Clash. I’ve always considered The Bobby Fuller’s version to be definitive. I still do. By the early ’80s, I would have been more than skeptical of the idea that it could ever be demoted to something like my fourth or even fifth favorite BF4 track. But that revelation was mere grooves away.

Granted, nothing else on Side 1 of Best Of The Bobby Fuller Four really threatens to challenge the primacy of “I Fought The Law.” “King Of The Wheels,” the LP’s second track, is its weakest, an amiable but unremarkable car tune. The rest of the side is pretty damned good, with the pure pop likes of “The Magic Touch,” “It’s Love, Come What May, “Only When I Dream,” “Don’t Let Me Know,” and Buddy Holly‘s “Love’s Made A Fool Of You” combining to build the case that maybe these one-hit wonders deserved greater notoriety than the one hit that defined them. In particular, “Don’t Let Me Know” seems like it should have at least been a hit single, perhaps capable of cracking the lower end of the Top 20 while never quite matching the Top 10 status of “I Fought The Law.”

But Side Two…!

Side Two opens with “Let Her Dance,” a bona fide gem later covered by Marshall Crenshaw, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard a bad version of it. The BF4’s original is the equal of “I Fought The Law,” perhaps its superior. “Another Sad And Lonely Night” is even better, a lovelorn lament that all too few recognize as the essential classic it is. “My True Love,” “I’m A Lucky Guy,” and the Eddie Cochran ripof…er, tribute “Saturday Night” keep things moving at a mere-mortal (but terrific!) level. By this point, Best Of The Bobby Fuller Four has already proven the group to be worthy of repeated play beyond just its best-known song.

“Fool Of Love” is the icing on this cake, a cruel-love compatriot to “Another Sad And Lonely Night,” both of them simultaneously shiny and devastating in their resigned, boppin’ acceptance of the heart’s tear-stained pursuit of an elusive happiness. The two tracks politely take turns as my all-time top Bobby Fuller Four track. The haunting “Never To Be Forgotten” brings the program proper to a close, the heart’s quest yet unfulfilled, but its lonely plight comforted by the warmth of the stereo. An unlisted bonus track–the group’s radio spot for The Big Kahuna, a popular DJon L.A.’s KHJ-AM, sung to the tune of “I Fought The Law”–finally ends the LP on a gloriously exuberant note.

I was 21 years old in 1981. I lived inside my pop music. I was also living in the (overrated) real world for the first time, trying to reconcile the frequently conflicting promise of art and the demands of responsibility, adulthood. It can be a difficult line to tread, an ongoing balancing act between the dreams we dream and the clocks we punch. Doing what we have to keeps things going; doing what we want to keeps us going.

Bobby Fuller wasn’t much older than that when he died in the summer of ’66, a pop star three months shy of his twenty-fourth birthday, a West Texas kid who hit the big time, a rockin’ pop success story with a Billboard smash on his resumé and the world at his feet. The liner notes to Best Of The Bobby Fuller Four offered my first hint of his tragic story. Bobby had talent. Bobby had good looks. Bobby had a string of pretty young things on his arm. And on July 18th, 1966, Bobby’s body was found slumped in his car outside his apartment in Hollywood. He had been beaten. He had been doused with gasoline. The authorities ruled his death a suicide (later amended to “accidental”).

Right.

The record business is big and brutal. And wherever there’s money, there are criminals, and there is often the mob. Ask Tommy James. Or ask Miriam Linna, co-author (with Bobby’s brother Randell Fuller) of the book I Fought The Law: The Life And Strange Death Of Bobby Fuller. Linna and Fuller believe Bobby was murdered by the mob. Sound crazy? Really, crazier than suicide by beating oneself and bathing in gasoline? I’m not one for conspiracy theories. Elvis is dead. Paul is alive. Neil Armstrong did indeed walk on the moon. Oswald may well have acted alone. I find tinfoil hats unbecoming. And I also believe that the mob killed Bobby Fuller, whether over business (likely) or for revenge on Bobby for dallying with a pretty young thing whose dallying allegiance was presumed to already belong exclusively to an underworld boss. The latter scenario was, as I recall, favored in the liner notes of Best Of The Bobby Fuller Four. Whatever actually happened to Fuller, it’s a safe bet it wasn’t self-inflicted.

The sordid tale of Fuller’s end, as sad and frustrating as it remains, can’t dilute the prevailing appeal of his music. Listening to Best Of The Bobby Fuller Four was my first real evidence that there could be more–much more–to an act that show biz writes off as a one-hit wonder. I no longer own my copy of that LP; it was replaced many years ago by a CD that contained even more great Bobby Fuller tracks, and that CD was replaced by the five discs of Bobby Fuller material that now sit proudly on my shelf at home. Fool of love. Another sad and lonely night. Let her dance all night long.

My road to appreciating the bounty of The Bobby Fuller Four began in earnest with Best Of The Bobby Fuller Four in 1981. But the road truly began on the road, literally, back in ’66: when the magic radio in my brother’s unreliable but intrepid red Alfa Romeo played a song I could never hear anywhere else. The law didn’t win this one, I fear. But the music plays on. Never to be forgotten.

(And, for a fictional take inspired by Bobby Fuller’s murder, check out the blurb for my story idea The Beat And The Sting.)

TIP THE BLOGGER: CC’s Tip Jar!

You can support this blog by becoming a patron on Patreon: Fund me, baby! 

Categories
Got Any Singles? Quick Spins

Got Any Singles? Grey DeLisle, The Dupont Circles, Dolph Chaney & Joseph Williams

Grey Delisle’s latest single, Valentine, is a pretty, wistful ballad, guaranteed to tug at the heartstrings. Delisle’s emotional voice carries the melody as if it might be the last song she ever records (it isn’t). If you find the vocal on this a bit familiar-sounding, it might be because she’s also a voice actor, having played Daphne in Scooby Doo cartoons for years. Very nice.

https://www.amazon.com/Grey-DeLisle

***

The Dupont Circles produce a nifty brand of power pop, but they sure do take a looong time getting the stuff out. The tracks on their long player, In Search Of The Family Gredunza, took some 30 years to percolate and see the light of day. Our fave rave is Jokes On Zandra, a rough and ready rocker that recalls the best of The Replacements, with a dash of the Davies’ brothers thrown in for good measure.

https://thedupontcircles.bandcamp.com/

***

Until we review Dolph Chaney’s This Is Dolph Chaney, we recommend you check out his wink-and-a-nod track, My Good Twin. Chaney must be influenced more than a bit by Matthew Sweet, as this track made us want to give another spin to Sweet’s 100% Fun. Very well done, produced by the always-reliable Nick Bertling, who also takes a seat behind the kit.

https://bigstirrecords.bandcamp.com/album/this-is-dolph-chaney

***

Toto vocalist Joseph Williams’s latest solo outing features a collaboration with former bandmate David Paich on Black Dahlia. You’d be forgiven if you mistook its mid-tempo slickness for the new Toto single, as it’s got that band’s trademark vocal harmonies and rhythmic interest. Cool.

https://www.amazon.com/Denizen-Tenant-Explicit-Joseph-Williams/

By Staff

Categories
Boppin'

He Buys Every Rock ‘n’ Roll Book On The Magazine Stands, Part 2: Carl, Meet Punk. Punk, Carl.

My first issue of Phonograph Record Magazine. Tattered and torn, but still mine.

I don’t understand why no one ever talks about Phonograph Record Magazine, a rock tabloid that ran from 1970 to 1978. The magazine seems to be nearly forgotten, and you don’t see it mentioned alongside your Rolling Stone or your Creem, your Crawdaddy or Circus, or even your Trouser Press as one of the great rock rags of the ’70s. But it was. For me, in fact, it was more important than any those, even more than my beloved Creem. Because PRM was my first. Not my first rock magazine; I’d flirted with a couple before that. But Phonograph Record Magazine was the first to make me fall in love with rock ‘n’ roll journalism, both as a fan and as a potential practitioner. Maybe I would have wound up writin’ about the big beat even without PRM‘s influence. It’s possible, maybe probable. Either way, though, it was in fact Phonograph Record Magazine that provided that nudge. I remain grateful, and I remain a fan.

I was a senior in high school in the spring of 1977. Although I’d been a devoted AM Top 40 radio listener for all of my young life, the increasingly banal fare on former Syracuse airwave Fave Rave WOLF-AM had largely driven me to FM–specifically, to nearby Utica’s WOUR-FM, “The Rock Of Central New York.” OUR had some of the negative aspects of ’70s FM rock stations, the laid-back atmosphere, the consciousness of its own perceived hipness, the almost smug feeling of superiority over those frivolous, uncouth Top 40 outlets. BUT! The station compensated for all of that by simply being more adventurous than any other commercial station in the area. I betcha Syracuse University‘s WAER-FM was probably at least the equal of WOUR, but I never heard AER at the time. It was okay, though. WOUR rewarded my interest by playing The Kinks (I became a huge fan of The Kinks’ Schoolboys In Disgrace LP track “No More Looking Back” via airplay on WOUR), Graham ParkerGreg KihnMichael NesmithNick Lowe, and The Rubinoos. WOUR had a killer Friday night oldies show, but one could often also find essential ’60s gems by The AnimalsThe RascalsThe Dave Clark Five, and The Beatles airing alongside the station’s contemporary music choices. The following summer, I wasn’t surprised to hear vintage Elvis Presley on WOUR a few days before his scheduled Syracuse concert. Hearing a number of Presley tracks back-to-back, however, was my first clue that The King would not be keeping that Syracuse date. Elvis had left the building.

I digress. The point is that WOUR was a great radio station that helped to expose me to more and more music. Hell, I first heard The Yardbirds on OUR, and later on, it was OUR that allowed me my first dose of The Sex Pistols. Let AM radio have its disco and its swill and its “Undercover Angel;” WOUR-FM was playing the stuff I needed to hear.

And, in that spring of 1977, WOUR offered me a chance to read all about it, too.

I doubt that I had heard of Phonograph Record Magazine before that, though it’s certainly possible that an earlier issue crossed the periphery of my vision while I was divin’ through Hollies and Suzi Quatro LPs in the cutout bins at Gerber Music. But the April 1977 issue of PRM was different; it was free! The magazine had deals with radio stations in many markets (WMMS-FM in Cleveland, for example), with the stations presumably underwriting the cost to distribute PRM as promotional giveaways. WOUR instructed local rock ‘n’ roll fans to head on down to any Gerber Music location to pick up a free copy of the latest Phonograph Record Magazine. Well, I had my orders. Duty called! Rendezvous at Gerber Music! FALL IN, you battle-happy Joes!

Target acquired. And I was immediately rewarded with entry into a fresh vista of pure rock ‘n’ roll wonderPhonograph Record Magazine blew my freakin’ mind.

More than forty years later, in this ever-changing world in which we live in, it’s just impossible to properly convey the feeling of discovery, the liberating sense of possibility, that blanketed me with the turn of each pulpy tabloid page. What, transcendent revelation from a razzafrazzin’ rock magazine?! Oh yes. Emphatically yes. This was a whole new world. This was the Promised Land! And it had a good beat. If one could dance, one would surely dance to that beat.

There was something indescribably exciting about Phonograph Record Magazine, a palpable thrill I never got from previous perusals of Circus or Rolling StonePRM‘s writers seemed engaged. tapped into the music they were covering. You might presume it was legendary rock writer Lester Bangs who dazzled me here, but I don’t even remember his Nils Lofgren piece from this issue. No, I was enticed by Ken Barnes, by Greg Shaw (in the May issue), by Rodney Bingenheimer, by Flo & Eddie, and by the proud, delirious silliness of Mark Shipper. Furthermore, I was intrigued by all of these mysterious, elusive rock acts I’d never heard about before. I’d read news reports of the controversial punk group The Sex Pistols, but this was my real introduction to the concept of punk rock. I instantly wanted to know more, so much more. Punk? Hey, that’s for ME! Between this issue and its May 1977 follow-up (with Eric Carmen on the cover), I saw a truckload of rock ‘n’ roll names that were brand-new to me. Iggy PopBlondieThe DictatorsCheap TrickElvis CostelloThe New York DollsTom Petty and the HeartbreakersEddie and the Hot RodsChris Spedding and the VibratorsThe DamnedMilk ‘n CookiesThe Ramones.

The Ramones.
THE RAMONES!!!
Oh, the notion of The Ramones just transfixed me. What could they possibly sound like? Were they really that loud, that fast, that violent, that incredible, that irresistible? Were they really as dangerous and depraved as they seemed? Did it matter? I was a closet Ramones fan before I’d heard even one of their famous three chords, all thanks to Phonograph Record Magazine.

Alas, I saw but one more issue of PRM, with the familiar face of The Raspberries‘ former lead singer Eric Carmen as its poster boy. I don’t know if WOUR’s deal with PRM ended, but I presume that was so. And it left me hanging. The May issue’s edition of Flo & Eddie’s Blind Date column had featured our erstwhile Turtles wrestling uncomfortably with British punk, with a promise of an all-American punk Blind Date to follow in June. I never saw it. And Lord, I wanted to! But it was not to be, at least for me. I found an older, WMMS-sponsored issue of PRM while visiting my sister in Cleveland that summer. I never saw another issue anywhere.

By the time I was in Cleveland that August of 1977, I had heard The Sex Pistols explode my radio with “God Save The Queen,” courtesy of WOUR. And then I was off to college, where I would finally hear more of that punk rock Phonograph Record Magazine had made me crave. I would read more about it, thanks to a (frankly, dumb) one-shot ripoff called Punk Rock or somesuch, teasing, enticing bits in the hallowed pages of a new discovery called Rock Scene, as well as in the otherwise-stuffy Rolling Stone. I would get into Creem and Trouser Press before long, and into John Holmstrom‘s Punk magazine, all as I developed a near-insatiable need to read rock ‘n’ roll magazines. And I developed a need to write about rock ‘n’ roll, which manifested in My First Rock Journalism: “Groovin’ (Like The Hip Folks Do),” an emeritus contribution to my high school newspaper The NorthCaster. My piece was influenced by Phonograph Record Magazine in much the same way George Harrison‘s “My Sweet Lord” was “influenced” by The Chiffons. I had to start somewhere. PRM provided my template.

A rock magazine mention of The Monkees, and it wasn’t condescending? Another reason to love PRM!

No one talks about Phonograph Record Magazine. There’s no hardcover retrospective, no proposed behind-the-scenes documentary, no comprehensive, dedicated on-line archive. The magazine that meant so much to me is now a mirage, a memory that few recall. But I remember. If I ever write anything that can come close to connecting with a rock ‘n’ roll fan with even a fraction of the blissful, electric bond I felt with PRM, then my so-called writing career has succeeded. I am not exaggerating when I say that Phonograph Record Magazine was ultimately as important to me as any rock ‘n’ roll act this side of The Beatles. Seriously. Because I don’t get to The Ramones or The Flashcubes–and I don’t get to writing for Goldmine–without PRM pushing me in the right direction.That way, kid. Head to the light!

In the spring of ’78, about a year after communion with my first Phonograph Record Magazine, I was an eighteen-year-old punk of the world. I’d seen punk shows. I’d developed an occasional ability to seem pruriently interesting to gurls. In my mind, I was feverishly linking the punk of the Pistols and Ramones with the Beatles and Kinks records I loved, and with my favorite never-forgotten AM radio sounds of The Raspberries, Badfinger, and Sweet. I found a magazine that articulated that link, a magazine written in part by PRM‘s Greg Shaw, and in part by a visionary named Gary Sperrazza! They were writing about something called powerpop. Their magazine was called Bomp! It was pretty important to me, too.

TO BE CONTINUED!

This could be the start of something BIG!

You can support this blog by becoming a patron on Patreon: Fund me, baby! 

Our new compilation CD This Is Rock ‘n’ Roll Radio, Volume 4 is now available from Kool Kat Musik! 29 tracks of irresistible rockin’ pop, starring Pop Co-OpRay PaulCirce Link & Christian NesmithVegas With Randolph Featuring Lannie FlowersThe SlapbacksP. HuxIrene PeñaMichael Oliver & the Sacred Band Featuring Dave MerrittThe RubinoosStepford KnivesThe Grip WeedsPopdudesRonnie DarkThe Flashcubes,Chris von SneidernThe Bottle Kids1.4.5.The SmithereensPaul Collins’ BeatThe Hit SquadThe RulersThe Legal MattersMaura & the Bright LightsLisa Mychols, and Mr. Encrypto & the Cyphers. You gotta have it, so order it here.

Categories
Boppin'

He Buys Every Rock ‘n’ Roll Book On The Magazine Stands, Part 1: The Circus And The Stone

The first rock ‘n’ roll magazines I recall seeing were issues of Circus and Rolling Stone. I found them around the house, and I presume they belonged to one of my older siblings, probably my sister Denise. I am reasonably certain that neither of my parents would have been into either magazine. On the other hand, my Dad worked at the post office, so it’s equally plausible that these were dead-letter subscription copies that had been discarded, and that maybe Dad brought ’em home. Either way, these magazines made their way to our living room in North Syracuse.

Circus never meant much to me, and although I occasionally flipped through new issues on the magazine racks when looking for rock ‘n’ roll reading material in later years, it wasn’t something I cared about. Until a couple of days ago, I’d largely forgotten that Circus was my first, from 1973. I remembered that Carly Simon was on the cover, and a bit of Google sleuthing led me to the likely culprit pictured above.

I liked Simon at the time. I was an AM radio fanatic. I enjoyed her singles “Anticipation” and “You’re So Vain,” as well as “That’s The Way I’ve Always Heard It Should Be,” and I would continue to like a few more of her hits before I lost interest in the mid ’70s. I’m sure I read the Circus article about her, and I would imagine I at least glanced through the other cover-mentioned pieces about Deep PurpleYesBlack SabbathStevie WonderTommy, and Colombo‘s Peter Falk. But I remember virtually none of it. Not even the Uriah Heep calendar! Though it is fitting that my first rock magazine should presage my first live rock show: my first concert was KISS with opening act Uriah Heep on December 16th, 1976. A coincidence, sure, but a cool connection nonetheless.

My second rock magazine had a little more lasting impact: Suzi Quatro on the cover of the Rolling Stone, January 1975. Swoon! I was instantly smitten with Quatro, even though I’d never heard of her before seeing this magazine. I read the article about her, but didn’t get an opportunity to hear her music until much later. When I finally got to hear and see Suzi Q sing “I May Be Too Young” on the British TV show Supersonic in 1976, it verified the veracity of my smitten nature. Did I mention swoon? Thanks, Rolling Stone!

Most rock fans of my age or older had some affection for Rolling Stone at some point, and I was no exception to that. Other than a 1976 issue with The Beatles on its cover, I don’t think I read the magazine much (if at all) before starting college in 1977. But I devoured Charles M. Young‘s cover story about The Sex Pistols. My roommate Arthur had a subscription to Stone, despised punk, and eventually passed his copy of that Pistols issue to me (with the disdainful expression of one handing over a sack of poopy diapers). I bought Rolling Stone sporadically; I enjoyed “Bang The Head Slowly,” Timothy White‘s 1979 piece about The Ramones, but bemoaned the fact that The Ramones never rated an RS cover feature during their blitzkrieg-boppin’ lifetime.

I eventually subscribed to Rolling Stone, but I grew increasingly and frustratingly aware of the annoying polar opposites that characterized the magazine’s approach: one half rooted in a smug, condescending rote-hippie consciousness, the other not rooted at all, but embarrassingly eager to chase and embrace whatever shiny Next Big Thing mirage flits across pop culture’s short attention span. Come on–Rolling Stone‘s putz swine-in-chief Jann Wenner still insists on blocking The Monkees from The Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame, but he’s fine with cover-featuring Kardashians? Sorry, even introducing me to Suzi Quatro doesn’t earn sufficient gravitas to compensate for that. Rolling Stone and I parted company a long time ago.

But let’s get back to the ’70s. In spite of being initiated via Circus and Rolling Stone, I don’t really recall reading many rock mags during my high school years. I was certainly into the music. I mean, I listened to radio nearly all of the time, bought records when I could afford them, tried to catch rock ‘n’ roll on TV when the opportunity presented itself. But the meager spending cash I had for reading material went to comic books, pulp paperbacks, and the occasional Playboy or Penthouse. The latter resource did include a little bit of rock ‘n’ roll coverage amidst its more celebrated, y’know, uncoverage. I remember reading the lyrics to The Kinks‘ “Here Comes Yet Another Day” in a Penthouse article, at a time when I was just beginning to learn about The Kinks. Penthouse also published an extremely dismissive piece about The Bay City Rollers, and an interview with Patti Smith that was the first time I’d even heard of her.

The only other rock-related magazines I remember from my North Syracuse High School days were Welcome Back Beatles, a series of fanciful scenarios detailing fictional Beatles reunions, and a Bay City Rollers one-shot fan magazine. Oh, and Marvel‘s KISS comic book. And there was still one more bona fide rock ‘n’ roll publication that did matter to me, and it mattered a lot. I only saw two issues of this during my senior year, plus one more back issue the following summer. Even so, the impact of those tabloid pages was far greater than any other rock read I’d experienced to that point.

This was something new. This was something different. This was Phonograph Record Magazine.

TO BE CONTINUED!

TIP THE BLOGGER: CC’s Tip Jar!
You can support this blog by becoming a patron on Patreon: Fund me, baby! 

Categories
Pop Sunday

Joel Bachrach & Friends / Airport Dreaming

Joel Bachrach & Friends

Airport Dreaming (2021)

When he is not making music with the New Jersey band damfino, singer, songwriter and multiple-instrumentalist Joel Bachrach performs in a side project called Joel Bachrach & Friends. The band consists of a core of local musicians, including singer, songwriter  and multi-instrumentalist Joe Merklee, bassist Alex Bachrach and drummer Chris McKinley from damfino.

Here on their latest album – Airport Dreaming – Joel Bachrach & Friends follow the lead of artists ranging from the early Kinks to The Velvet Underground to Big Star to the dBs. Economical songs, possessing a shrewd lyrical bent are the order of the day. A loose and relaxed mood lights Airport Dreaming, fostering the impression Joel Bachrach & Friends had a barrel of fun recording the album.

 Dictated by jaunty piano fills and magical melodies blinking with life, the title track of the album is a real showstopper. Delivered in a folksy voice, Airport Dreaming contains vivid verse capturing the feeling of hanging out in an airport waiting for your flight to arrive and also describes the sights and environment.

Playing football and pizza for lunch are all but a few childhood memories revisited on the jagged jangle of I Was Nine, a cool Lou Reed styled rap is featured on the brisk and bobbing She Said and Oh Marie steps in as a cute and charming cut of fuzzy guitar pop. Devised of strummy riffs and a repetitious rhythm, Blew It is another catchy offering, along with the needling harmonious vibe of Put Some Weight On, which spills the story of what it was like growing up as a skinny bones.

Bubbling with wiggy hooks, choppy instrumentation and a carefree attitude, Airport Dreaming is alternative pop at its best.  Joel Bachrach & Friends are in it simply because they love creating music, and this album is a nifty memento of their mission. 

Categories
Birthdays

Dave Davies

Born on this day in 1947, in London, legendary guitarist Dave Davies of The Kinks.

Categories
Quick Spins

Suburban Urchins, Paul McCartney & Cliff Hillis

Suburban Urchins

Born In The Suburbs

http://suburbanurchins.bandcamp.com/

I should start this by saying that Suburban Urchins will appeal to fans of The Kinks. This rough-and-tumble outfit from Tasmania isn’t about smooth edges, but bringing the goods in the form of an iron-fisted right cross.

4000 Miles Away begins with a wind-up, propelled by big drums and power chords. With literally energy for miles, it leads way to I Don’t Wanna Go, an isolation song that’s a real fist-pumper. Scott Riley’s vocals and guitar are perfectly supplemented by the keys of Ernie Oppenheimer, who deftly sprinkles synth and Farfisa throughout.

My fave of the set is the anthemic No More Black Dogs, which feels right out of The Davies’ Brothers playbook, in all the right ways.

Paul McCartney

McCartney III

www.paulmccartney.com

Paul McCartney brings his own namesake trilogy to a close with McCartney III. With most of the world in lockdown mode in 2020, Macca split his time between days at his recording studio, and evenings with his daughter and grandkids.

I’m a big fan of the first two installments of the trilogy, the first producing Every Night and Maybe I’m Amazed, the latter, Coming Up and Waterfalls. Working by oneself can produce results far different that a full band effort, and I think McCartney flourishes in this setting.

The instrumentation, which relies predominantly on acoustic instruments, is the perfect stage for Sir Paul’s now-weathered vocals. Find My Way is a peppy number fuel by harpsichord and guitar riffs that mimmic horn stabs. Lavatory Lil and Slidin’ are a couple of top-notch rockers, and Winter Bird/When Winter Comes is a pretty acoustic musing, and one of McCartney’s best.

All around, this is a really pleasant listen. With vibes to spare and a lot of really strong songs, I can’t recommend McCartney III enough.

Cliff Hillis

Life Gets Strange 

cliffhillis.bandcamp.com

The undeniable sign of a great release? Repeat listens. I’ll bet that in the past two days, I’ve listened to this e.p. at least ten times. From the first verse of the opener, the rambling Let’s Pretend, to the fadeout of the pretty Alien Eyes, I was comfortably hooked.

Cliff Hillis sounds remarkably like Bill Lloyd, who you know I’m partial to. These six tracks are nestled somewhere between the feisty Americana of Cracker and the always-reliable Tom Petty, but without any Southern vocal affectation. Hillis’s friendly, warm voice is perfectly accompanied by the contrast of crisp acoustic guitars and rougher electrics. The production is absolutely on-point.

Life Gets Strange was released in 2020, and I sincerely regret not hearing it earlier. It certainly would have made my year-end-best list. Highly Recommended.

By Dan Pavelich

Categories
Pop Sunday

Ten Songs For Your Holiday Listening Pleasure

Chuck Berry “Run Rudolph Run” (1958) Stamped with the late great fretmaster’s characteristic cycling chord patterns, “Run Rudolph Run” urges the iconic reindeer with the shiny nose to hurry up and get those presents to the good little boys and girls. “All I want for Christmas is a rock and roll electric guitar,” sings Chuck, which sixty-odd years later remains a staple on many a wish list. 

Wizzard “I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day” (1973) Fronted by Roy Wood – whose previous claims to fame included posts with The Move and Electric Light Orchestra – Wizzard were key players on the British glam rock scene of the early seventies. Triggered by the ding of a cash register and clanking coins, “I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day” is bundled tight in a glossy package, booming with glistening melodies and the elated pitch of a children’s choir.

Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers “Christmas All Over Again” (1992) Gleaming and streaming with Tom’s signature southern drawl and jangling guitar motifs, “Christmas All Over Again” is so giddy that even Scrooge would enjoy the song. Perky piano passages and a quickie drum solo are icing on the sugar cookie. 

George Thorogood and The Destroyers “Rock And Roll Christmas” (1983) So festive is “Rock And Roll Christmas” that you can almost taste the eggnog and kisses under the mistletoe dripping from the grooves. Accented by the duel drive of George’s rehashed Chuck Berry riffs and the bellowing bray of a saxophone, here’s a song geared for cutting the rug with a goofy grin on your face.

The Kinks “Father Christmas” (1977) From the witty pen and fertile imagination of Kinks lead singer Ray Davies, “Father Christmas” is a darkly humorous narrative of a department store Santa Claus who is mugged by a gang of juvenile thugs. The kids don’t want “silly toys,” they want money. Contagiously hooky, “Father Christmas” is set to a lively cadence that belies the tragic storyline.

The Waitresses “Christmas Wrapping” (1981) The holidays are stressing her out and she is spending Christmas alone, yet that only skims the surface of “Christmas Wrapping,” which additionally shares the tale of meeting a fellow earlier in the year. Phone numbers were exchanged, but schedules didn’t match so they were unable to get together. She coincidentally bumps into the guy while grocery shopping for cranberry sauce, and you can guess what happens from there. A fusion of funk, disco and rap, compounded by a new wave quirkness stand as the exciting elements behind “Christmas Wrapping” that entail red hot horn arrangements, nimble six-string strumming and cool vocals tending to border on talking rather than singing. 

Stevie Wonder “Someday At Christmas” (1967) A teenage Stevie Wonder executes “Someday At Christmas” in an easygoing manner, rich with warmth and maturity that confutes his youth. Shaped of a spiritual nature, the gorgeous song contains prose visualizing a Utopian existence on earth, where peace, love, social and racial unity, and the absence of war are a reality. Illuminated by vibrant vocals, catchy harmonica fills and a spot of elegant orchestration, “Someday At Christmas” dispatches a positive message with honesty and integrity.

Bob Seger and The Last Heard “Sock It To Me Santa” (1966) Prior to obtaining worldwide recognition with the Silver Bullet Band, Bob Seger experienced an impressive amount of regional acclaim in and around the Michigan area, where he hailed from. Stealing the core lick of James Brown’s funk classic, “Papa’s Got A Brand New Bag” – not to mention its title but changing the lyrics to “Santa’s got a brand new bag” – Bob Seger and The Last Heard created a rousing ruckus of garage rocking blue-eyed soul in the mold of Mitch Ryder and The Detroit Wheels. Name checking reindeer, a reference to Santa’s tubby tummy and wanting a baseball bat and bike for Christmas are some of the things covered in the fast-paced sonic stocking stuffer. Ho ho ho! 

The Blues Magoos “Jingle Bells”/”Santa Claus Is Coming To Town” (1967) The psychedelic lollipopsters deliver a double  whammy on this smashing single featuring unusual versions of traditional Christmas songs. Thudding with power, “Jingle Bells” echoes the hard and heavy rock of Vanilla Fudge, where “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town” swings and swaggers to a jazzy bent.