YES albums are lousy. In fact, most progrock from that era is lousy, especially the synth stuff.

"Oooh, what a lucky man" you are…if you can still find a sucker to buy an Emerson Lake & Palmer off you!

At this point, now that the drugs have worn off, it's time to admit that the music was never very good. Mostly, it was obnoxious: some clown at the keyboard playing fast-fast-fast like a rabid chimp screaming for bananas…a lead guitar idiot savant choking the neck of the guitar and issuing one strangled high note at the wrong pitch for 30 seconds…the grubby drummer just waiting for his sweaty solo; sounding like a rhino being thrown downstairs.

Back then, most any simpleton set of lyrics would do. Dorm dimwits solemnly sat around mouthing the moronic words like they were giving a prayer for wine...not stuffing junk food down the munchie-hole. But check the words! So often, it was just an inane collection of Alice in Wonderland bullshit, all full of mushrooms and hogweed, or platitudes that thick-as-a-brick bozos were all supposed to live by.

"I've seen all good people turn their heads each day so satisfied I'm on my way!" Gad. And how many times did they REPEAT that damn line? "Take a straight and stronger course to the corner of your life. Make the white queen run so fast she hasn't got time to make you a wife. 'Cause it's time is time in time with your time and its news is captured...for the queen to use!"

Profound, huh, Mr. Natural?

You need more? Here's "All Good People," a cappella from the appropriately named VASSAR DEVILS. These babes made some sort of deal in Hell: no wayward synth. No dimwit drums. No loopy lead guitar…just the lyrics carefully chanted with almost enough magic force to "surround yourself with yourself….'Cause it's time is time in time with your time and its news is captured...for the queen to use! Diddit diddit diddit diddit diddit diddit diddit didda…""

A Capella ALL GOOD PEOPLE…by those bad, bad VASSAR DEVILS

A recent headline imagined the cloning of John Lennon's tooth, the only bit of matter that has survived of the cremated Beatle. The creepy publicity-mad dentist who owns it even has a website for it, with all kinds of nonsense about the cloning process (which, fortunately, is not yet perfected). The old fashioned way of replicating somebody works fairly well doesn't it? I mean, that first Julian Lennon album wasn't so bad, was it?

There's also more than a bit of 10cc in the selection below, "A Clone in Love," which isn't too surprising. Reggie's band opened for 10cc in support of the album that includes that track, which you'll find in the download link below, the standout on Reggie's eclectic, but sadly final album as a Columbia artist.

Despite the bulkiness of vinyl, and keeping promo copies and press releases, I've held on to Knighton's albums all these years, mostly because I liked the "Clone" song and Reggie's out-of-the-blue cover of the theme to the old TV show "Highway Patrol." And so it was a simple matter to convert "Clone" to mp3, and better to ponder it than the future of Lennon's tooth.

As for the future of Mr Knighton…well, he's one of many restless 60-somethings who'd like to get back into the game in some way or other. He was in The Grass Roots in the mid 70's, worked on John Sebastian's "Welcome Back" album in 1976, and finished out the 70's with his two albums on Columbia. When they dropped him, he began to consider a day job…and eventually disappeared into the burgeoning world of technology, if not cloning: "I was involved in the development of a graphical user interface for a checkbook size personal computer back in the mid 80's. and in the early 90's I helped design a traditional recording console's on screen graphical representation as part of a (at the time) state of the art automation system for a Neve console."

Knighton may yet return to what Record Review Magazine admiringly noted as more than just good rock music: "It's the lyrics and their ironic absurdity with underlying meaning that give real strength…" to his work. Meaning, he might be able to come up with something quite startling in a new song, and not have to just clone "A Clone in Love."

REGGIE KNIGHTON A CLONE IN LOVE

Born in Romford, Essex (January 19 1928-September 12 2013) her first hill and valley was her marriage to Dick Howell in 1946. She was only 18, and by the time she was 23, a divorcee. The single singer with two children to raise needed her luck to change. Fortunately she benefitted from an era when managers and agents actively sought out talent. Bernard Delfont felt she had star potential, and it seemed like the curtain was going to rise swiftly on the pretty blonde. But at her first big performance, the curtain came down prematurely, conking her on the head and knocking her out.

The violent start to her career was soon forgotten (and her memory for lyrics unimpaired). At 25, she scored her first Top Ten hit via "Ricochet," with The Squadronaires. Any version would have to be more tolerable than the original by Teresa Brewer. Doris Day was a more likely singer for Joan to cover, and her label sent her to the studio to turn Day's "If I Give You My Heart" and "Someone Else's Roses" into Top Ten hits as well.

In 1955 Joan sang before the Queen for a Royal Command Performance. In fact, everyone did. The Queen didn't sing at all that night. Joan played The Palladium, was featured in various Christmas pantomime shows, and was the star of her own cozy-named TV series "Be My Guest." She was getting offers for top venues in Europe, and also came to America, sharing the stage with Eddie Fisher, Perry Como and Johnnie Ray among others. But, as they say around the Old Folks Home, in America her discs "did not chart."

Joan's producers continued to eye American artists for a possible hit. She covered "This Old House" (Rosemary Clooney), "Cleo and Me-O" (Jill Corey) and "Till They've All Gone Home'" (Giselle McKenzie). But once again, her personal life interfered with her career. Her wholesome Doris Day-like image was hurt in 1957 by a Daily Herald article that insinuated she had to get married (to Palladium box office manager Harry Claff) because she was two months pregnant. What a difference the two months made…when the newspaper lost the court case! They'd predicted she'd drop her daughter in February, but Regan held out till April, proving that she was not marrying because of sexual indiscretion, but (sigh) because of love.

Joan signed with HMV in 1958, and her fourth and last Top 10 of the decade in the U.K. came in 1959 covering "May You Always." The saccharine anthem was popularized by The McGuire Sisters. It's easier to take with only one voice…and it's yours in the download below. Around that time, movie fans got a chance to see Joan in the movie "Hello London."

It was "Hello Courtroom," for Joan when she had to endure the trial of her husband Harry. The Palladium manager was convicted of fraud and sent off to the slammer. Regan ended up with a nervous breakdown. She managed to get out of this deepest of valleys…and out of England entirely. She married Dr. Martin Cowan in 1968 and settled in Florida. She didn't have to worry about her career, or being a knockout in the U.S.A., but she was; in 1984 she knocked herself out due to a fall in her shower. It was serious enough to cause a brain hemorrhage, and that led to paralysis. For a time she was in a wheelchair and unable to speak, but she through intense therapy, she was able to speak and even sing again. She came back to England with her husband, and encouraged by Russ Conway, performed at a variety of "oldies" shows backed by the Glenn Miller Orchestra. She even issued a new single, "You Needed Me." She's survived by the two sons from her first marriage, and the daughter from her second. Now take a few seconds for…"May You Always."

JOAN REGAN May You Always

Maybe a Moore-on, a fan of legendary Washington D.C. disk jockey Harv Moore.

In this case, the added allure might be that this was (eeh, ah, oh, ooooh!) a white label pressing. Yes, in the world of the true vinyl collector, it's not uncommon to spend big bucks on something you already have, because THIS is the foreign pressing, the promo copy, or the senile bidder forgot which storage box contained the one he already bought. But oh, the joy of having had enough disposable income to beat out some other disposable old bidder!

I keed, I keed. I know the feeling...triumphing (that's a pun, Smigel fans) over somebody on eBay. Why, sometimes I've triumphed over nobody but myself. NOBODY ELSE wanted that super rare 45 rpm? Hey, that doesn't make me an idiot, just a fucking connoisseur! And do I "share" with others? Indeed...that item might end up right here, for NOBODY ELSE to download!

No, I KEED again...and predict there will be plenty to download THIS rarity. Which is?

A "break in." This is one of the strangest categories in novelty singles; it's even more peculiar than a fondness for collecting vocals by The Chipmunks, Nutty Squirrels and other faux-fuzzy creatures, as well as speeded up vocalists pretending to be space aliens and bugs. Pioneered by Dickie Goodman back in 1956, the idea, never really changing, is for an interviewer to do a news report and ask questions of people...who turn out to be famous pop stars or vocal groups who answer via a snatch of their current hit song. When I was a kid, I found this very clever. The smiles came from "recognition humor." In the case of Dickie Goodman, he also had a moronic voice which added to the corny fun.

By the time the Beatles invaded, Goodman was STILL churning out successful break-ins, as were a few copycats.

Harv Moore was a disc jockey at WPGC (Washington, D.C. from 1963 to 1975). He witnessed first-hand the Liverpool invasion, and The Beatles doing a local concert. He recalled that doing a Beatles knock-off was the idea of Bobby Poe, the Sun Records rockabilly star ("Bobby Poe and The Poe Kats"). Poe had moved on to manage The Chartbusters and also concentrate on songwriting: "I met Bobby in the Spring of '64. He had a hit with The Chartbusters'"She's The One." Bobby and I wrote the script to 'Interview', and we recorded it at Edgewood Studios in DC…."

Leave it to Mr. Poe to finish the tale of woe: "We sold the master to the American Arts Recording Company, which at the time was the record label of British invasion superstars Chad & Jeremy. It was a Dickie Goodman-style track where Harv pretended to interview The Beatles and their responses would be little snippets from their songs….it was very funny, it took off like a rocket…" Within two weeks, the record company was prepared to press a half-million copies, judging that they were going to have a national hit. But, Bobby explains, "Brian Epstein immediately killed the single by threatening to sue. In a way, American Arts was fortunate that they did not have to pay for the 500,000 copies since they had not been pressed yet. In a rush to release the record, the label hadn't secured the rights to use any of the various bits of Beatles' songs that were included on the single. Another hit down the tubes!"

While there would be no more Moore break-in singles, Dickie Goodman kept going with them for another two decades. Unlike Harv's single, Dickie never issued one that featured only clips of one artist. Goodman, inventing new names for his self-pressed indie record companies (Luniverse, Rainy Wednesday, Goodname, Comic, Wacko, Mark X etc.) kept on dodging irked record labels and artists, trying for topical comedy hits.

Happily you don't HAVE to spend big for his singles. They've been collected on CD's and are even on Spotify. Not that they sell too well, mostly because the Demento-obsessed nerds who should support this generally small-press niche market are too unsightly to go to record stores. They tend to either be obese, or scrawny near-midgets. Many of these sexually forlorn childlike misfits have found their way on line...where they adopt "wild and crazy" names to use in forums. These usually involve farts or any word that they think sounds hilarious with "Doctor" or "Captain" in front of it...along with maybe an animated gif of the bouncing boobies they never see in real life. These people are so unemployable, therefore cheap, they have to swap copies with each other. But back in the days before the Internet killed comedy records and novelty singles, Goodman was still hoping to get a dollar for the Nixon yocker "Watergrate" (1973), and various movie parodies Mr. Jaws (1975), Star Warts (1977) and Hey, T.T. (1982). He issued "Safe Sex Report" in 1987, a year before he killed himself.

As for Harv Moore, when his radio station was bought by a new owner who wasn't a fan, he wisely studied other options. His ex-boss now owned WPHD in Buffalo, so Harv moved up to New York to do a morning show co-hosted with Robert W. Taylor, which lasted through 1989. As one might expect from a morning disc jockey with a prank sense of humor, he told jokes about "The Land of Fa," and the king who ruled it. Yep, the Fa King...a variation on the old joke-name the Fakawi Indians. Johnny Carson had used that one till the censors got wise. The name was sanitized into "Hekawi" for the sitcom "F-Troop" (the punchline as a rival tribe tries to locate them: "Where the Hekawi?") In 1989 the station changed its call letters to WUFX and made a lot of other changes…including the removal of Moore and Taylor. Moore freelanced in and out of the radio world and then from 1998 until his retirement in 2007 worked for Buffalo's WHTT station doing an oldies show. Wonder if he ever dusted off the grooves on the grammatically questionable "Interview of [not with?] the Fab Four." Maybe Epstein's cease from 1965 still had him desisting. OK, Brian, COME AND GET ME! Here's the download of a VG pressing (same grade as the one on eBay) of a banned near-hit.

HARV MOORE INTERVIEW OF THE FAB FOUR

The dynamite Brooklynite (February 25, 1919-September 7, 2013) started out in squaresville…but an impressive part of that town….playing cello in symphony orchestras. He had studied his craft with the great Pablo Casals his own self. Even so, Katz was more of a meow on the piano, and that's where he got his better paying gigs, tinkling for Lena Horne and pounding the elephant tusks for Frankie Laine. He was both a dry pianist and seminal cellist with the Chico Hamilton quintet. You can see the quintet in the movie "Sweet Smell of Success." Katz's expertise in classical music gave him an edge when it came to composing, conducting and arranging, and while his film score "Sweet Swell of Success" wasn't used in the film, he found a willing customer in director Roger Corman. Aside from "Little Shop of Horrors," Katz scored "Bucket of Blood,""Wasp Woman" and "Creature from the Haunted Sea." Matching wits with the frugal Corman, his soundtracks tended to sound alike. Fred's appraisal of Corman's films is that they were all alike: "“I hated every picture that Corman did."

Among Fred's other bend-your-head creds…is Carmen McRae's classic 1958 album "Carmen For Cool Ones." He supplied all the arrangements. The following year, he issued his own legendary album, "Folk Songs for Far Out Folk." Among his other albums, there's "Soul-o Cello," which includes a wide variety of oddness, ranging from jazzy versions of light classics ("English Garden") and folk ("Poor Wayfaring Stranger") to his own "The Vidiot." The latter, overlayed with a dialogue between a groovy interviewer and a square boob-tube lover, was on Ken Nordine's 'Word Jazz" album, but below, you get Fred's music sans words.

Fred was all music all his life…and more. As the concerned "don't quit your day job" conservatives would tell you, making it as a full-time player in a jazz band, or waiting for movie score work, or arranging charts for pop singers, is very, very hard. As is being a novelist, actor or painter. So…Fred put in 30 years teaching at Cal State (both Fullerton and Northridge campussies, cats) handling some unusual courses, including "Shamanic Magic and Religion." One of his students was John Densmore, or "Dinsdale" as he's sometimes known…who is best remembered as a member of Jim Morrison's back-up group. But if you really want to enter a door of perception, check out some of dead Fred. You know (now) he even performed his "Folk Songs for Far Out Folk" when he was far into his later years...yes, he was far from forgotten by real music devotees.

While some of Fred's albums are fairly common, including "Eastern Exposure," and a few are even on mp3 now at bargain prices ("Soul-o Cello" and "Fred Katz and his Jammers") old-school jazz fans and new-wave weirdos alike crave and pay high for the Pacific Jazz release with Paul Horn and Chico Hamilton, "Zen: The Music of Fred Katz," and of course the Warner Bros. classic "Folk Songs for Far Out Folk." Quite the tribute, Rhino even made an "original soundtrack album" out of a 35mm print of "The Little Shop of Horrors." Oh yes…the opening credits theme is also hear to sauce your cauliflowers....

Little Shop of Horrors

MY BABY

The Vidiot

Yesterday, Pavlos Fissas was murdered. He was a rapper, using the name Killah P.

Submitted for your disapproval, the news that not only are there rappers bellowing in Greek, they are being killed for it! By Nazis. There you are, rappers and Nazis in what was, so many centuries ago, the cradle of civilization.

The economic chaos in Greece is as beyond comprehension as, well, listening to Greek rap. Around here, you say that phrase and people think, "Oh, with Feta, Olives, some lettuce..." no, not a Greek Wrap...

But seriously...in America, rappers kill EACH OTHER. So things have to be worse in Greece. And they are.

And not helping matters much is the adorably named "Golden Dawn," who as you'd expect, gain their strength by bitching about the economy and blaming the Jews. Or the Egyptians. Or anyone else who isn't like them. They are a right-wing hate group and like the ones in the USA and UK, they have no shortage of willing members who are frightened, angry, and find scapegoating to be the "logical" way out. If ONLY there weren't so many foreigners...

Or...rappers. Guys like KILLAH P, who have a lot to talk about, including a rage against Fascist and neo-Nazi ideology.

Members of the neo-Nazi Golden Dawn were casting their murderous gaze toward the stage...waiting for the right time to strike at Pavlos Fissas. Meanwhile,they were busy prowling the streets performing thuggish acts on other people and groups they hate.

A week ago, they clashed with competing loonies, the KKE, the Greek Communist Party. Oh, when these two zany groups get together! Last week 30 KKK members attempted to put up posters for their cause...and 50 masked men with Golden Dawn insignia literally beat them back with nail-studded wooden clubs, creating bloody carnage.

And KILLAH P? This was an assassination.

In its way, it's violence against violence. Rap is a violent form of music. It mirrors our times. Rappers are so angry they can't even bother to sing. They have to growl, shout, go into agonized fits of almost psychotic monotony as they describe everything that is wrong with their world. They usually do it over primitive beats. Any normal person listening to it for more than a few minutes is bound to become violent...or violently irritated if it can't be turned off. Whatever KILLAH P was saying violently turned off members of Golden Dawn. They, along with the lunatics in Iran, Iraq and Putinland (where most of Pussy Riot remains in jail) don't like don't like anti-Fascist rap or rock and will go to their usual extremes to silence it.

Some of them DO like punk rock, though. The increasingly powerful Golden Dawn was able to get their man Artemis Matthaiopoulos elected as MP for the town of Serres. Artie likedto sing in his band "Pogrom," and in case you wondered who the group wanted mass-exterminated they sang a little ditty called "Auschwitz" with a line that translates as: "fuck Anne Frank." Still, Artie had plenty of fans, and so does Golden Dawn. Why? It's not just that they preach hate. They GIVE AWAY THINGS FOR FREEEEEEEE.

Yes, you can be a Fascist, a Nazi, someone who doesn't believe in equal rights (whether it's copyright or human life) and if you GIVE AWAY THINGS FOR FREEEEEEE, you can't be all bad. John Gotti knew it when he'd put on free fireworks shows in Little Italy. And Golden Dawn knows it when they distribute food to "the poor." As long as they are Greek. On May 2nd of this year, at Syntagma Square, Golden Dawn turned away immigrants in their "charity" event to give FREEEEEE food to the deserving poor. The mayor wasn't going to tolerate this, and eventually the police had to come in. They were the bad guys, them and their tear gas, ruining the fun. Later that day, thugs from Golden Dawn planned their revenge on the mayor. As he was handing out Easter candles to ALL deserving poor, a neo-Nazi came after him with fists flying. Only he missed the mayor and struck a 12 year-old girl. Which was a shame, because it was a Greek 12 year-old girl. Not a Jewish one of the "fuck Anne Frank" songbook of Artie Matthaiopoulos.

Punching a 12 year-old girl. Knifing a musician. That's Golden Dawn, who were cheering Rudolph Hess as a martyr 50 years ago and have only become more outrageous since.

Read the details on the death of KILLAH P:

Oh. Bad example. How about Victor Jara...murdered for singing folk songs in Chile? Hmmm...

It's the 21st Century. Or is it? Do we continue to up the ante with ugly music and mass murder, or is there some way of stopping the madness? Supposedly neutral and peaceful countries such as Norway suddenly have neo-Nazi maniacs performing mass-murder. And here's Plato's Greece with a goon squad of "Golden Dawn" madmen on the loose and too strong of a "political party" to be outright banned. America's got plenty of Nazi scum protected by "Freedom of Speech." And there's no shortage of fundamentalist Muslim psychos "hijacking a fine religion" and making people yearn for the good old days of the thugs of India, the cauliflowers (excuse me, the Kali followers) who just outright said,"kill for the love of killing."

If there's any good news coming out of the death of Pavlos Fissas, it's that it brought protests in the streets. Outraged citizens didn't just wear a "Free Pussy Riot" t-shirt on their way to the bar, they joined together and raised their voices and fists. And, naturally, this brought in the tear gas and the police.

Things are bad all over.

And now, to quench your curiosity, here's what Greek rap sounds like.

THE LATE PAVLOS FISSAS...KILLAH P To ανεγκιχτο βασιλειο‬

‪ ‪

The sophisticates who came to Julius Monk's "Upstairs at the Downstairs" revue expected to hear new wry and witty songs from the cast members, and like "Saturday Night Live," new talent would turn up every year as the older performers moved on to Broadway or films. Jane and her pianist husband Gordon reached their peak with one year's show, "Demi-Dozen." A highlight was Jane's solo on "The Race of the Lexington Express."

You can almost imagine, from her improbable whooping (a visual variation on Bea Lillie's wild hula-hooping of her pearl necklace) and expressive singing (this was the era of Mary Martin) how vividly this song went over live on stage. And a stage was all that was needed, as long as the talent was given good music and lyrics and a pianist doing more than playing chord changes.

The song still sounds pretty fresh. You don't need much background. The IRT was an older subway line running up and down Lexington Avenue, with much more rickety trains than the BMT (or the IND, which actually runs parallel to the Lexington Avenue line as it reaches its end in the Bronx).

There are some references to particular subway stops. The "race" begins at Union Square (14th Street, an arbitrary choice). The IRT express actually begins many stops further down, past Chinatown and closer to City Hall. As it hurtles uptown to the Bronx, there's 59th Street (the stop where chi-chi folk would get off to shop at Bloomingdale's), express stops at 86th and 125th and ultimately fresh air and sunlight at 161st in the Bronx where the IRT is now on elevated track. At one time, people waiting for the downtown train at the 161st Street elevated platform had an unobstructed view from center field on into Yankee Stadium. And so "from the Stadium for Yankees," the train hurtles "to the park called Moshulu." That's Moshulu Parkway, the stop where upper-class Bronx golfers could enjoy a full 18 course game at the nearby course. And yes, the last stop on the IRT is what she says it is.

The song was written by Tom Jones and Harvey Schmidt, alias Schmidt and Jones, who would go on to write "The Fantastiks," off-Broadway's biggest hit of all time, featuring that dreary classic, "Try to Remember." As Schmidt and Jones moved on to write shows, Jane Connell left Julius Monk with a prestigious credit, good reviews...and offers both here and in the U.K. In London she took the lead in "Once Upon a Mattress," which starred Carol Burnett in the original Broadway production. In 1966 she was Agnes Gooch in "Mame," and reprised her role in the movie version replacing Madeline Kahn, who was canned by star Lucille Ball. Jane also played Gooch in the Broadway revival of "Mame" starring Angela Lansbury in 1983. Another important role for Jane in the 80's was her Tony-nominated turn in "Me and My Girl," and in the 90's she co-starred with Carol Burnett in "Moon Over Buffalo."

Connell was simply one of those performers who loved the theater and had the good luck to keep getting stage work. It didn't seem to bother her that she didn't have the fame-name she might've gotten from more television or film work. It also didn't mean that she was free of ego. My father met her once, and told her how much he liked her performance of "Lexington Avenue." My parents had indeed seen it live, and had the original cast album at home. Mentioning this obscure song was quite a compliment, right? It was at least 20 years since she recorded it. But after 20 years, my father made a little memory mistake and called the train engineer "Merwyn." Madame Connell pointedly glared and corrected, "MERRRVIN! "

I nearly met Connell. After 9/11, when Mayor Giuliani was urging people to support the city and go shopping or see a Broadway show, I attended, among others, the musical version of "The Full Monty." There in the Playbill was Jane Connell. But only in the Playbill. She was already elderly at the time, and her understudy would usually handle a few of the shows each week. Better safe than sorry; Jane had replaced the great Kathleen Freeman, who died during the show's run! I would've liked to get an autograph on my Playbill and tell her how much I enjoyed her work in "The Full Morty." Just to hear her icily entone, "THE FULL MONNNNNTY!"

All is forgiven, Jane. And may you never be forgotten…as long as there's a Lexington Avenue Express…

JANE CONNNELL Race of the Lexington Avenue Express

Here's a column confirming that not only is music so devalued that it's hardly worth buying, most are content hearing it squirted through small computer speakers, or equalized through headphones. BUY a stereo system? That makes no sense, dude!

Oh ye generation of Miley Cyrus and Kanye West! Does the quality of the sound matter with today's music? It's thumping beats with either thuggish morons shouting or pitchy bitches mewling. It's for people who think Burger King and Applebees is good eating. For those who pour Coca Cola like it's vintage wine...and don't know Elvis Costello from Lou Costello. Us? We wanted to hear even "bad" voices like Elvis Costello, Bob Dylan and Neil Young with the best stereo sound possible. You sure as hell wanted the best headphones to get the nuances of classical, jazz or progressive rock.

Times change. Today's "Beliebers" care more about what they can see, not what they hear. They also don't have time to really listen. They've got Grand Theft Auto to play with. Facebook. 3D movies. All songs are, now, is background music for texting or twerking. Do mp3 files give you lyrics? Who cares? Cee-lo is saying "Fuck you!" And it's "Fuck you" to anyone who treasures their stereo system and shelves or records and CDs. Now, as CNN notes, a computer or a tablet is all that's needed.

"Big Bang Theory" boys and girls rule. Go find a VHS-DVD combo player, Fogey, and watch your "Dick Van Dyke Show" and "Monty Python" tapes and discs on a TV while you can! Maybe you'll try and keep up...but it'll be tough. "The Twilight Zone" turns up in a streaming version, and your grand kids show you how to save it via Internet storage? You'll probably have a heart attack shouting haplessly at the hackers, "Hey! You! Get offa my CLOUD!"

Yep, old-timers, them "big box" stores don't have much variety in mid-price receivers or turntables, and there are few "audiophile" stores for the rich and finnicky. Stereo equipment is becoming OBSOLETE. Like you. Listeners today aren't finnicky and don't notice auto-tune or fake drums or synthesized orchestration. Most don't buy compact discs, even if some artistes are stubborn enough to not only go into a real studio and take time for a recording, but issue their music via SACD [a shout out to Eleanor McEvoy!]. No, it's an mp3 world, and getting smaller by the nano second.

This is not a rant. It's just reality. Today's 18 to 40 demographic aren't that discerning about the quality of the music, and those over 40? Well, a lot of them don't have the time to listen to records, and many have hearing loss that make it hard to differentiate vinyl from CD or 320 bit-rate mp3.

The good news: all the broken receivers and turntables, added to the obsolete VHS players and the rest...will make for chunky landfill, which just might help keep the beaches from eroding during the next climate-change hurricane or monsoon. Or...no...all it'll mean is that some old fogey might be killed by a flying Zenith radio rather than drowned.

Now for happier notes. On the right, my signed copy of a Flanders & Swann record. Flanders was the one in the wheel chair, but it's Swann's signature that is less bold and forceful.

"A Song of Reproduction" by Flanders and Swann, chronicles the rise of recorded music from a simple curiosity you played on a hand-cranked turntable to something grand and artistic for that newly evolved homo sapien, the "audiophile." Some of the satire is on the type of person who is in love with the technology more than the music: "I've an opera here, which you shan't escape…on miles and miles of recording tape." Well, today you can't find 4 track stereo tape recorders. Anyone trying to collect reel-to-reel is probably on the verge of hanging himself with his obsolete mylar. Ironically enough the song isn't hurt very much by hearing it in mp3 version rather than the original vinyl or CD reissue.

The song is from the "At the Drop of a Hat" revue, which Flanders and Swann recorded twice. The first record was released in mono (1957). When it was such a smash hit that it was going to come to Broadway, the duo recorded their final London performance in stereo. That 1959 recording would end up being the "original cast album" when it was released in America via Capitol.

Flanders and Swann Song of Reproduction (Mono)

Flanders and Swann Song of Reproduction (Stereo)

The Top 20 Billboard charts had "crossover" stars such as Bobbie Gentry and Glen Campbell moving toward the middle of the road. The aging duo that once poked manic fun at The Beatles, and got some jeers for it, weren't sure how far to go in making fun of "hippies." The old standby of cackling parodies involving ugly women…well, with women's lib, that kind of cornography was OUT.

Just as George Jones moved from high-pitched twangy things like "Why Baby Why" to baritone ballads and "He Stopped Loving Her Today," Homer and Jethro eased up and began making albums that were more "songs that have some humor to them" rather than outright novelty tracks. They also chose material that was "age appropriate." In other words...they started singing about aging. And death.

Back when they were 30 or 40, they made fun of old people as they did ugly women. A frisky parody of Hank Williams'"Settin' the Woods on Fire" chortled at someone "too old to cut the mustard." The comedy version of George Jones'"The Race is On" is sung fast and lively, even the line: ""My mind was making appointments my body just couldn't keep!"

By the end of the 60's? The end was in sight. "Old Grand Dad" points up some sad truths, and the "boys" are singing like older men. "Sow Sow Sow Your Oats" and "Laugh and Scratch" are more philosophical and upbeat about what to do until the reaper comes. Bill Clinton, on Letterman's show last week, said "every day's a gift." He said it after Letterman mentioned that they both had recovered from bypass heart surgery. Homer and Jethro's view on the gift of being alive another day? Drink whiskey! And remember: "Who's to say what's right and what's wrong? Keep laughin' and scratchin' we're not here for long."

Homer Haynes died of a heart attack in 1971. He was 55 years old.

OLD GRAND DAD Homer and Jethro

SOW SOW SOW YOUR OATS / LAUGH AND SCRATCH Homer and Jethro

Louis (May 1, 1913 – October 9, 2005) made a name for himself on Steve Allen's old "Tonight Show," with the artificially bright, foolishly full of himself and somewhat minty "Gordon Hathaway" character. As Gordon, Nye coined the fey greeting, "Hi-ho, Steverino."

For the next 40 years, fans would call out to Steve that way, and many an article affectionately referred to him as "Steverino" as well. But if you can find kinescopes or DVDs of Steve's show, you'll see that Nye, along with regulars Don Knotts and Tom Poston, were much more than the "Men in the Street" segment. They played a wide range of characters and were very much adept at physical comedy, too. Aside from Gordon Hathaway, Nye's most famous role was "Sonny Drysdale," the pretentious and pampered son of a banker on "The Beverly Hillbillies."

As for "Teenage Beatnik," it's hard to figure who was supposed to buy this thing. It was insulting to teenagers and to beatniks, and it's faux-rock music couldn't possibly be that amusing to the middle-aged middle-of-the-road crowd. And where would they hear it, since the soft music stations of that era were playing nothing but Mantovani, and the Top 40 stations wouldn't dream of alienating the teen audience by tossing it on the turntable. Nye's also using his comic-effeminate voice, which is neither teenage nor beatnik. (I'm not sure if he ever performed this on TV...or dressed the way I've Photoshopped him!) No wonder it's hard to find anywhere but here.

LOUIS NYE as the... Teenage Beatnik

I was not familiar with the poem, or its author Patrick Galvin, until I heard Spillane, who added the music. Among the madwoman's dreams:

"I want to sail in a long boat, from here to Roche's Point. And t here I will anoint the sea with the oil of alabaster…" Which led me to Photoshop a Wm. Steig image (from his profoundly groundbreaking book of art-cartoons "The Lonely Ones") with a cork in a bottle.

Paddy Galvin (1927-2011) was, of course, more than an Irish poet, as the best of them always are. He was also a playwright prone to vehement works that promoted his particular political views and damned social traits that he found complacent. A colorful colleague to Brendan Behan, and showing the influences of Dylan Thomas (in his poetry readings), Galvin also was a singer and issued several albums in the late 50's. His colorful personality made him a favorite with the ladies, including some he would marry and divorce, and a few he'd borrow from friends. One of the more notorious examples was the affair he had with poet Ewart Milne's wife. Milne's book "Time Stopped" tried to turn the catastrophe into something poetic and literary. Milne, by the way, is somewhat immortal through his cat poem "Diamond Cut Diamond." The title reflects the way he arranged the words on the page to form, yes, a pair of diamonds.

Spillane is a well-traveled performer who is not only popular in the U.K., but as far from it as Australia, where he's also appeared at many a folk festival. That's the mark of an enduring professional, a road warrior who just brings along his guitar and a good memory for traditional and self-penned songs. The definition of a hack would be anyone who tours…via cruise ships, performing oldies in front of middle-aged drunks, accompanied by inept guitarists and some birdshit drummer who sounds like he's bouncing a pair of turkey legs off a dinner plate.

John's latest album is "Life in an Irish Town," and he's got a TV show in Ireland on TG4 called 'Spillane na Fánaí' . For tour dates and other information, visit his dotcom, which is JohnSpillane (dot com!)

MADWOMAN OF CORK! John Spillane

No capcha codes, delays to make you buy a premium account from some Kim Dotcom-type criminal worse and more ruthless to artist payment and rights than the RIAA, no pop-ups, links to dodgy porn sites, and tip jar Paypal requests from the uploader.

Jerry Samuels had a controversial hit with the song. As kids rushed to buy it, some adults protested that it should be banned for making fun of the mentally ill. It was really just a looney tune, but in the character of "Napoleon XIV," Samuels' creepy and possessed vocals did take comedy to the edge, and the unique drumming and speeded up vocal parts were ahead of their time. Quite a few retards dismissed the song as no big deal, because, after all, it was about a guy's lost dog, wasn't it? "I'll put you in the ASPCA you mangy mutt!" Uh, no.

This novelty hit spawned a wide variety of copycat and answer versions. Among the two DOZEN versions of the song, you'll find one done by comical effeminate gays (Teddy and Darryl), a pure copycat job (Duke of Waterloo), a Jewish-accented answer song from the crazy's girl ("I'm Happy They Took You Away" by Josephine XIII), and "Down on the Funny Farm Oy Vey" (Josephine XIII).

There was also a kind of answer song, "Don't Take Me Back" (Henry IX) in which our hero decides he likes his peaceful life in the nut hatch. Foreign versions? Sure, there's "Ze nemen me eindelijk mee ha-ha" from Hugo de Groot and "Ellos me quieren lievar" from Napoleon Puppy among others. And the song has continued to resonate in strange ways, having been covered by Tiny Tim (via Genya Ravan producing) and everyone's favorite musical tranny, Amanda Lear.

Below, the soul version from Rose Brooks, who was getting taken away to the funny farm years before Richard Pryor's overtly titled album "That Nigger's Crazy." It really didn't take all that long before the revolutions in pop music and in comedy, which were breaking down barriers in the late 60's, yielded a totally new field on which to play. The mutations in the 70's turned even the mild mannered Rupert Holmes into singing a love ballad called "Let's Get Crazy Tonight." Through the 80's and 90's, and now into the 21st Century, we are happily surrounded by the spawn of people who took way too many drugs while listening to their favorite crazy music. Halloween songs from the post 60's happily dabble in paranoia ("Somebody's Watching Me" by Rockwell") re-write old horror movies into much more psychotic rock ("Ballad of Dwight Fry" by Alice Cooper) or even offer light-hearted commentary on being put away ("Baldry's Out" by Long John Baldry).

"Lets get retarded!" the Black Eyed Peas chanted not too long ago. And here? An early pop tune that let's us know that blacks don't just get the blues. The caged bird can sing in the nut house, too.

COMING... To Take Me Away

But the dull adults who regress around Halloween into giddy, pants-wetting little monsters just never stop, and that includes Tweets about what stupid limited edition action figure they just won on eBay, proudly idiotic Facebook snaps of themselves arm and arm at a memorabilia show with Conrad Brooks, or sharing their "slaylists" all over the Net…when they really should be caught in a net and tossed into a padded cell.

A good friend of mine, dead of course, was a cult actor who appeared in a lot of peculiar films, often as a character that was basically him doing his own macabre (to the point of parody) lines. His stand-up act was an equally bizarre mix of lunacy and tragedy. But despite being the type of guy who'd be a pal of (the equally late) Forry Ackerman (editor of "Famous Monsters") he wasn't particularly a fan of the ooky-spooky.

Paraphrasing him, he told me once, "The real horror is not Poe, not monsters…but our very existence. What happens when we die? Why is there such madness in the world, and how heartbreaking is it to find every precious day governed by anxiety and fear because your mind is going against you? Your mind torments you as uncontrollably as the heart can attack you. Then it's all over. All over…to nothing. That is horror, not what you can see and destroy with a stake through its heart, but what you are truly helpless to control; madness and death. That is the nightmare that truly haunts some of us all through the "fever called living."

I think we get a kick out of Halloween stuff involving Frankenstein's monster or zombies…because they're cartoonish targets; kill them and it purges our fears for a while. This is why the giddy asshole who dresses up as Uncle Fester and serves pumpkin pie and pumpkin latte at a Halloween party with his geek friends is not going to tune in a movie like "Frances" once everyone's sleepy and burping. He'll choose "Ghostbusters." Because a movie about mental illness, about cruelty, about the way paranoia or schizophrenia can turn a person's world into a neverending horror show, is a little TOO real. The reality that people can lose reality, or be achingly and acutely aware of reality (such as the fact that we DIE) is just not…well…HALLOWEENIE.

Which is why it's here, on this blog. Go listen to "Monster Mash" somewhere else (although Bobby Pickett's ecological re-make "Monster Slash IS here on the blog).

The blog is offering three very different songs about madness this time. The first is very much in the spirit of "Frances." It's by April Smith, who has, fortunately for her, gone on to become a kind of rock Betty Boop, using her Lauper-like voice for tasty, sometimes campy rock songs that aren't nearly as dire as this. Her albums are well worth buying (and I have) and she gives a wonderful and varied show with her band (I'll go see her any time) but there's only one "Bright White Jackets," a song I don't think she performs on stage these days. Not when folks come for retro love ballads and escapist rock spiced with humor.

The song is about a woman who is going off to therapy…which will involve medication, or perhaps brain surgery. It may take away her stress, anxiety and irrational fears, or the side-effects might eradicate her entire personality and leave her the walking wounded...tranquilized to stress but barely living. April's music video for the song, which harkens back to the 40's when Frances Farmer was dragged away to asylum hell, is pretty good, but this is the kind of song where you'd rather imagine it all for yourself. It didn't exactly match images I had, personalized to my own specific fears and fatalistic despair. But you can find the video on YouTube and hey, Google's cyclops will pay April a few pennies for the hit.

Listen to it as strictly audio first. April's voice hits notes here that have raised the hairs on my neck. There are "one hit wonder" songs that are a wonder because they are unique...same way a film is unique. In movies about madness, you'll find, among other unique gems, "Dementia,""Frances" and "Carnival of Souls," each different and impossible to duplicate and get the same effect. In songs about madness, there's everything from an Alice Cooper concept album to "Shine on Brightly" from Procol Harum to this song. Each is unique in tackling a certain aspect of mental illness. It's no surprise really that April never attempted to top it with anything similar.

This is a unique ballad, and it's matched by a unique singer with an expressive range and distinctive, magnificent voice.

APRIL SMITH BRIGHT WHITE JACKETS

Yes, they went out with class, and without fanfare. The Smothers Brothers quietly turned down tour dates a year or so ago, and simply moved on to other things. They haven't staged a comeback tour, and there was no release of a multi-DVD set (sad to say). Actually, and this is unusual for comedy discs, a few of their albums should be re-issued on CD because the last vinyl pressing actually removed some tracks!

While almost no vinyl is really that collectible just because it's a 'first pressing,' in the case of Tom and Dick, you'l be missing some tracks if you happen to get a later pressing instead of the first.

"Map of the World," a nice addition to the canon of tattooed lady novelty songs, was dropped from the second pressing of "Two Sides of the Smothers Brothers." The first pressing of "Tour de Farce: American History" had three silly quickies, "Put-On Song,""Wagon Wheels" and "Military Lovers" and all were dropped from the second pressing. "Military Lovers" does turn up on the "Sibling Revelry" best-of CD, just to confuse matters further.

The later printings of "Mom Always Liked You Best" are without "The Last Great Waltz" (which was performed on their variety hour), along with the quick "My Favorite Holiday" and the serious "The World I Used to Know." Go figure. So, if you want ALL tracks, ye comedy record fan of elaborate obesity, try helping out a record store owner or eBay seller by buying some comedy albums for a dollar each. Most dealers don't know (or care) that the first pressing is more valuable than the second. It'll still be a dollar, cheap! Expecting to get everything free is just killing the economy and promoting Google and Nazi scum like Kim Doctom, and that ain't funny. (However, if you no longer own a turntable, as Emily Litella used to say..."nevermind..."an out of print comedy album at this point is not too likely to make a comeback on mp3. I'm just thinking the Smothers Brothers still have a good chance.)

So...only one tune below..."The Last Great Waltz," which might inspire you to dress up for Halloween as someone with three legs. Walking around with three legs would make you either the protagonist of this song, or the late John Holmes. This sample may remind you of how good these guys were. They were also restlessly inventive...they and their top writers, including Mason Williams. Why do just another novelty song, another folk song parody, when…you can experiment with tempo in an amusingly goofy way? Here's waltz time with a 3/4 beat for one dancer…but not the other. This is a deceptively hard song to sing and play

What a different time it was, when the brothers could get away with being this silly. Like The Beatles, the Smothers Brothers started the 60's as well-scrubbed and wholesome entertainers…and emerged with radical and political ideas, and a much more wicked sense of humor. But…going back to the early days, you just might still get a nostalgic kick out of this song about the three-legged woman. No Photoshop above, by the way…it's from the photographer Weegee, who worked pretty hard in a darkroom to create some of his oddities.

Last Great WALTZ Smothers Brothers

Sure did. When there's a murder, tornado or a bombing, what do the witnesses always say? "It was just like a movie!" So it wasn't all that real or shocking. It takes more and more to shock us all the time, although I think "Psycho" would still scare even the most jaded Rotten.com-loving tween ghoul. Too bad most wouldn't watch a Hitchcock film this time of year, just vampire love movies and zombie gunk.

Zombie stuff is just ooky-spooky. You can see the rubber on the mask and the creature is on the loose and easy to spot a mile away. Hitchcock's monsters were likely to be named "Uncle Charlie" or "Norman Bates," and seem normal most of the time. This is a little more unsettling, and you can't blame the violence on the supernatural. The inhuman killer is all too human.

Master Bates inspired the hard pounding "Bates Motel," a masterpiece from the two-album-and-gone group The Hitmen. Their first album "Aim for the Feet" didn't impress anyone, and despite issuing "Bates Motel" as a 12 inch and pushing it to disc jockeys and rock magazine editors (which is how I acquired it back in 1981), the excellent single from their album "Torn Together" did not do well enough to get them re-signed to Columbia.

The group's leader, Ben Watkins, would go on to various forms of musical infamy and success, but nothing he or The Hitmen did compares to this track, which has a menacing beat, strangled guitars, and even a touch of humor. It seems to be about a Hitchcock fan who is now a copycat killer in the real world, one who might even be filming his victim before and after (and maybe even during) the attack: "Lying in wait with my Super 8 [this was before VHS, folks], fame will be bait..." His bloody mission? "I'll turn my home into Bates Motel." He addresses Hitchcock's legacy: "The Master has gone, but you'll carry on…Biting your nails forever…"

The song rumbles along with an exaggerated heartbeat of bass and and even the jokey chorus can't really lighten the grim mood: "Check in, check out, check in, check out…I'll turn my home into Bates Motel!"

Some critics insist "Psycho" was a black comedy, and somehow even more delicious in that sense than Hitchcock's "The Trouble with Harry." So it is, that this number goes overboard at just the right times, so you're more likely to dance or doo-wop along than do someone in. That's an odd thing about classic horror movies...they do lend themselves to parody so well, and many of the best, including James Whale's "Bride of Frankenstein" and "Invisible Man" already have some humor to them and clear satiric intent. Which is why we love Karloff, Lugosi, Lorre and Price...all with a good sense of humor...their monster creations not pure evil like hockey-mask Jason or Freddie Krueger.

After The Hitmen went hitless, its two key members moved on to some actual success. Alan Wilder joined Depeche Mode. He was also in Recoil. Ben Watkins was on New Asia's album "Gates," and formed The Flowerpot Men. He was later part of Juno Reactor. In composer mode, he scored the Japanese film "Brave Story" and worked on the "Matrix" movie soundtracks. Another unusual credit: he contributed a key song to a Traci Lords album.

As the lovable Lolita Ms. Lords recalls, once she began putting together her cash-in album, she decided to do something more than predictable erotica with a "sexy ambient vibe. Now I wanted something with a harder edge to add another dimension. I was introduced to producer Ben Watkins, who was known for his aggressive jungle beats. He was a wild man and very passionate about his music. I told Ben I wanted to do a song that had elements of rock and roll but with a techno vibe and he ran with it, creating a slamming heavy metal guitar intro on an insanely hyper track…"

Well, maybe so, Traci, but the slamming, insanely hyper "Bates Motel" is still a haunting number, a deadly heart-pumper that lives on…at least for fans of grunge-grave rock and Hitchcock.

Can you MASTER... BATES MOTEL

For Derrick Ross, there was no place to go, and no comfort in the heavens. He was a lonely "Nowhere Man," thinking about his wife and singing partner Amy, "A Whiskey Girl."

Together, they had played plenty of clubs in Arizona, especially in Tucson and in their home town of Bisbee, where Connie Finck booked them at her Copper Queen Saloon on Howell Avenue. The couple had been married for 13 years, and had performed as "Nowhere Man and A Whiskey Girl" for the past ten.

They played small clubs, sold some self-pressed CDs at their gigs, and managed to get by. "Sell t-shirts, sell some CD's," is the advice given to people like Derrick and Amy Ross. "Give away your music because piracy is sharing and it can't be stopped. Oh, and just book yourself all over the country."

This wasn't too easy for them, as Amy had been battling lupus for the past six years, and had to be on dialysis. Still, the couple played the local clubs, did what they could, and as anyone who saw them would tell you...they brought a lot of joy with them, and shared it fully with the audience.

They tried not to think too much about what the doctors said, which was that Amy was not likely to have a very full life. If she had another five years, she'd be lucky.

She wasn't lucky She developed a blood infection that would require heart surgery. She went to the Tucson Medical Center, hopeful the complications could be remedied, but after a week, she was no better. "I am pretty freaked out," Derreck said, guesting on a podcast with his friend, comedian Doug Stanhope, indicating that several "Nowhere Man and A Whiskey Girl" gigs would have to be canceled. He wasn't thinking that she was close to death.

Amy died. She was 40 years old.

Amy's Facebook page had a strange posting on October 14th, at 6:49pm.

It was Derrick, writing as Amy:

"Hey Kids! Bad news! I died this orning and Derrick didn't know how to tell you. I love yhou all and hope you go out and be nice to someone. Funerals are a bore so hopefully I don't have one. Give Derrick some space...He stinks at this stuff so leave him be for now. Thanks for all the kindness...Please spread it around."

Derrick's friends tried to console him, and he told a few that he was coping. He did not tell anyone that he had bought a gun.

The following day, October 15th, at 12:16pm, this message appeared on Amy's Facebook page:

"Sorry to bring more bad news but Derrick decided to join me at some point in the night last night. I thought it best you heard it from me. Enjoy every sandwich. We love and will miss you all. Go be nice to someone for us."

You might recognize the line "Enjoy every sandwich," as what the dying Warren Zevon said to David Letterman, when Dave booked him for a farewell show.

You know Warren's stuff. Here, a song from Derrick and Amy Ross.

IF ONLY I Nowhere Man and A Whiskey Girl

He's better known for doo-wop and rap productions over many decades, but for a novelty cash-in, it's pretty good.

Back when "Famous Monsters of Filmland" was doing well on newsstands, and TV audiences were getting to know horror hosts such as Vampira and Zacherley, quite a few tombstone, cemetery, graveyard and monster songs were haunting disc jockeys. Many "failed to chart" (that's a senile zombie's catch-phrase).

"Rock Around the Tombstone" has a good beat, decent lyrics, and a pretty good vocal from "Jack Judge." You, the jukebox jury, can mourn it's obscure burial for such a long time...or if you don't dig it, dig it deeper into obscurity by deleting it from your computer.

Producer Paul Winley began his career as a songwriter. He wrote "Later For You Baby" for The Solitaires, "Smooth Operator" for Ruth Brown, and also wrote for The Clovers (his brother Harold was in that group). Speaking of relatives and nepotism, an early single on his Winley label was "Bow Legged Daddy" by Ann Winley. The indie musician remains best known for doo-wop, and for recording early faves The Jesters and The Paragons. Both groups came up with some good songs between 1957-1961 that fans still love to play. They had a longer life than some others Paul signed, such as Emanons, a Brooklyn quartet that didn't make it past one 1958 Winley Records single. When an act showed a lot of promise, Winley would arrange a deal with a label that had bigger distribution. The classic compilation "The Paragons Meet the Jesters" was released on Jubilee, which also handled "Rock Around the Tombstone."

Over the years, Winley expanded from doo-wop to other genres, and stayed in business into the 70's and 80's with everything from speeches by Malcolm X, to disco tracks and albums by the Harlem Underground Band. He also dabbled in electrofunk via Afrika Bambaataa. And, never forgetting his relatives, he produced some early rap singles, including the 1979 "Rhymin' and Rappin" and 1980 "Vicious Rap," both featuring his daughter Tanya.

Jack Judge lives! He's gonna...

Rock Around the Tombstone Jack Judge and the Jury

Straining and frantic R&B singers were not too popular on AM radio back in 1963. Louis Jones is so raspy, just listening you'll want to reach for some cough drops. Adding to the growling and howling....some actual bird noises in the mix! Pretty amazing for its time.

The song attempted to cash in on the latest Alfred Hitchcock movie, which had gotten a lot of advance publicity thanks to the master's own choice of slogan, the correctly grammatical (referring to the title of the film) "'The Birds' is Coming." There were no black people in Bodega Bay (location for the movie) and Tippie Hedren is about as white and waspy as a leading actress can get, so it's hard to figure why anyone thought an R&B rave-up would be a tie-in. With it's constant cry of "The Bird is Coming," the few R&B radio stations out there probably didn't play the song, suspicious that it sounded more like a long movie commercial.

Jones' soulful style had zero crossover chances back in 1963, when even raw and raucous James Brown wasn't getting on the same radio stations that favored the smooth pop harmonies of The Four Seasons, who were on the charts with "Walk Like a Man" (Not "Run from The Birds.").

Yes, Top 40 radio aimed at white teens did offer black artists, but they had to be smoothies: Ruby and the Romantics with "Our Day Will Come" or cute girl group The Chiffons (who at the time of this Louis Jones release, were riding high via "He's So Fine," aka "My Sweet Lord"). Teenage ears in 1963 were much more likely to accept "Blue Velvet" from Bobby Vinton and "Surf City" from Jan and Dean. The following year The Beatles discovered that fans preferred a whiter shade of cover version over the then-obscure originals by Little Richard or Chuck Berry.

Now, most everyone's ears are attuned to gospel, Delta blues, rap, righteous R&B, and all ethnic stylings. Well, even so...BE WARNED! You have not heard anything quite like Louis Jones. This ain't no funky chicken. This is serious! Deadly peckers! Cover your heads. Protect your ears....

THE BIRDS IS COMING! LOUIS JONES

Offensive? Perhaps 20% of ethnic humor then, and now, is intended to be. We make fun of people that annoy us, and that includes rich people, Valley girls, and ethnics. Strangely enough, in the ethnic category, a lot of times we laugh with and impersonate the race…few were offended by "The Beverly Hillbillies," Carroll O'Connor didn't normally talk like Queens native Archie Bunker, and Amos and Andy (both on radio portrayed by whites and on TV portrayed by blacks) were beloved. Dean Martin and Johnny Carson continued their winking impressions of Kingfish dialect on into the 70's. The Wayans Brothers were in white drag for "White Chicks."

Back at the turn of the 20th Century, in both American vaudeville and the British Music Hall, a lot of performers appeared in blackface to sing heartfelt songs of suffering, or giddy tunes of joy. Why in the world did they choose to impersonate another race? Because they had empathy, and in some way, a strange desire to become black in order to emote without seeming corny, or joke without inhibition. That hasn't changed. Lord Buckley, the stand-up hipster of the 50's used Amos and Andy dialect when he brought whites on stage for his "puppet" routines, and re-told Bible stories in "Negro dialect," a "hipsomatic" way of attaining comic purity. White artists from Genya Ravan to Bonnie Raitt to Eric Clapton, Jagger and Dylan adopt black phrasing and music styles to get their messages across.

The most famous singer in the minstrel era was Al Jolson. Here's a guy blacking up to sing about the misery of being "Old Black Joe," and of his heart-rending love for "My Mammy." Huh? He also sang "Kol Nidre," but buyers didn't find Jewish suffering nearly as much fun as sad songs sung in blackface. Eddie Cantor was another who corked up, but considered himself anything but racist for doing so. Cantor was a good friend of the legendary Bert Williams, a light skinned (born in the Bahamas) black man who performed with his skin darkened with cork. This was not unusual at all…decades later, Pigmeat Markham was still "blacking up" while working the black vaudeville circuit, and his audience didn't object. Williams was one of the most highly paid stars of his era, but was treated poorly off stage. He told Cantor, "“It wouldn't be so bad, Eddie, if I didn't still hear the applause ringing in my ears."

At this point, Jolson movies and the Larry Parks bio are available on DVD, and while somewhat cringeworthy, weird blackface and dialect scenes in major movies aren't cut when broadcast. Film historians are now praising Stepin Fetchit and Mantan Moreland and noting that Martin Lawrence or Tyler Perry play with black stereotypes in just as broad a way. And yes, rappers who use "Niggah" or "Nigger" continue to enrage some and liberate others.

In the era of Collins and Harlan, there were definitely some intentionally insulting songs and monologues released on the major labels…not only in black dialect, but in any ethnic dialect. There were tasteless songs about Jews, Irish, Italians and Germans, and some of the buyers were…yes, Jews, Irish, Italians and Germans who laughed too, as a way of distancing themselves from those who hadn't assimilated. Verrrrrry complicated, this world of ethnic songs and humor.

As for "Niggah Loves his Possum," it's sort of right down the middle. It's a catchy, jolly tune, humanizing the "spooks" that many feared as dangerous. They portray these people as pretty simple in their basic needs: possum, alcohol and watermelon. Then again, all Flip Wilson's Geraldine wanted was a good man and some Ray Charles records. If Tyler Perry or somebody else in a blaxploitation comedy was seen righteously digging into some fried chicken, and guzzling from a huge bottle of Colt 45, who is to say that an all black audience wouldn't be roaring with laughter and recognizing a relative or friend?

Speaking of politically incorrectness, Arthur Collins (February 7 1864 - August 3, 1933 and Byron Harlan (August 29, 1861 – September 11, 1936) were often known as "The Half Ton Duo," because they were so obese. Fat fucks singing niggah-nigger songs? Yes, but these were more popularly called "Coon songs," as if that word's any improvement. They recorded "Lazy Spells Lazy,""My Bambazoo" and "In Monkey Land" and were an equal opportunity in insulting women and other ethnic groups with: "My Wife's Gone to the Country, Hurrah Hurrah,""It was the Dutch,""Night Time in Little Italy," and "My Brudda Sylvest."

The duo also sang plenty of ordinary tunes, and were the first (1911) to record Irving Berlin's rousing "Alexander's Ragtime Band." They were among the first to record a "jazz" or, as it was also known "jas" tune, including "That Funny Jas Band from Dixieland," recorded November 8 of 1916, and "I Want a Jazzy Kiss."

When a song became a hit, it was covered by plenty of competing artists, and in those wild days of limited copyright protection, the duo often re-recorded for other labels. Often they had to re-record because the master would wear out after a certain number of pressings. Collins and Harlan freelanced for Victor, Edison, Columbia, Emerson, Okeh, Gennett, Operaphone, Pathe and many others.

Show biz was tough even back then. Collins was the baritone, the self-proclaimed "strong man of the team," with his deep and powerful voice. He considered Harlan (who used his tenor voice to play women in some of the novelty songs) as sometimes just a harmonist. So…Collins would sometimes negotiate to get more money or special perks for himself from the record labels.

The team fell out of favor in the 1920's, and plenty of other performers became stars in the new medium of radio, including the famous "Happiness Boys" Jones and Hare. Collins, of Hempstead, Long Island, and Harlan, out in West Orange, New Jersey, were finally outsiders, treated in their last years as perhaps John Lennon would put it; like niggers of the world.

NIGGAH LOVES HIS POSSUM Collins and Harlan