Her high point was the angry reality-check hurled at Don Quixote. The Don seems to be wearing rose-tinted glasses, deciding a whore named Aldonza is actually "Dulcinea," the chaste beauty who will inspire his chase for the impossible dream. Sophia's voice and her command of English are just about adequate (English as a second language is confirmed by her pronunciation of "whore"). It does take a trained Broadway star to both sing and act at the same time, but this is still a show-stopping number thanks to the strong lyrics and music...and look at the photo...she's worth every penny she charges...and more!

I'm not a big fan of "show tunes," and for years, thought "Man of La Mancha" was just some corny musical with a war horse hit song ("Impossible Dream") tearfully sung way too often on "Britain's Got Talent"-type shows. Persuaded to attend the Broadway revival, I was dazzled by Marin Mazzie as Aldonza, and moved by the dark drama of the show, which doesn't turn a blind eye to the delusions we all create for ourselves on the way to the grave. Put it this way, there was no rape scene in "Mame" or "Hello Dolly." PS, in the context of the show, "Impossible Dream" actually can bring a tear to your eye, and have you leaping to your feet to give the singer (Brian Stokes Mitchell) a standing ovation. PPS, that very nice lady Ms. Marin is now in the new Woody Allen musical "Bullets of Broadway," currently in previews, and I hope it's a huge hit.

The music was written by Mitch Leigh, with lyrics by Joe Darion.

Mr. Leigh died a few days ago. He was born Irwin Michnick in Brooklyn (January 30, 1928 – March 16, 2014). Probably the first time anyone took notice of him was in 1955 when he supplied the jazz for comedian and radio personality Jean Shepherd's "Into the Unknown with Jazz Music" lp. The late 50's was a time for "word jazz" of various types, including albums featuring Kenneth Rexroth and Ken Nordine. Leigh and Shepherd got some cult interest, but Mitch made his living as creative director of Music Makers, Inc. He composed commercial jingles including the music accompanying the catch-phrase for a frozen cake company, "Nobody Doesn't Like Sara Lee." Which was pretty damn accurate, come to think of it.

Fast forward ten years, and a made-for-TV play called "I Don Quixote" became Leigh and Darion's smash hit "Man of La Mancha,"making a huge star of Richard Kiley. It was the last hurrah for Joan Diener as Aldonza…who had captivated audiences in "Kismet" a decade earlier.

Unfortunately Mitch Leigh's subsequent shows, no matter who wrote the words, either closed before getting to Broadway, or shuttered within a few weeks of receiving poor reviews: "Chu Chem,""Cry For Us All,""Home Sweet Homer" and "Sarava." The latter managed to reach 101 performances mostly because of a relentless TV ad campaign that brainwashed some people, Latinos most likely, into buying tickets. I remember seeing those ads and not wanting to go even if the seats were free. Other disappointments were "Ain't Broadway Grand" with words by Lee Adams, and "Halloween" partnering with Sidney Michaels. Leigh's shows often had strong lead stars but not even Yul Brynner or Jose Ferrer could save a production after it got withering notices in the New York Times.

There probably are some great songs in those shows that never got an "original cast album" release. There's no question that "Impossible Dream" is immortal…and if you want to name a song that moves the plot and defines the character's emotions, "Aldonza" is a terrific example. Here's to the late great Mitch Leigh, and to one of the great ladies of the screen, Italy's premiere gift of cinematic beauty to the world, Sophia Loren.

SOPHIA LOREN gives a reality check: ALDONZA

Today, affluent little brats dictate who the huge stars are (like Justin Bieber and One Direction). Back then, little kids could, and did, push novelty songs into the Top 20. They insisted Mom and Dad buy "How Much is that Doggie in the Window" or "Witch Doctor" or "The Little Space Girl," which was even covered on the kiddie label Golden Records in 78rpm form. Yes, this IS a very silly song, with simple melody, goofy lyrics, and coy duetting between an exasperated high-voiced echo-chambered hillbilly and a too-cute female alien:

"You've got four arms.""The better to hold you!""Three lips!""The better to kiss you!""Three eyes""All the better to see! I can really rock and swing, 'cause I've got more of everything! Oh Mr. Earth Man, will you marry me?" Really, things couldn't have been any more stupid if this was a fantasy episode of "The Andy Griffith Show," and a space girl landed in Mayberry. The song, triviasts have noted, was credited to Turner, but actually written by his cousin Floyd Robinson.

I suspect, based on the B-sides and some of his other releases, that Turner's heart was in rockabilly. Fans of that genre will point to "Shake Baby Shake" among others, as evidence of his true talent. "Shotgun Boogie" should've been a hit with all those NRA fans in the red states but it didn't get the radio play it deserved. But…having had a good-sized hit for his minor record label, Jesse Lee quickly made a sequel ("I'm The Little Space Girl's Father)," tried another speed-up sci-fi item ("The Man in the Moon") and issued the topical "Ballad of Billy Sol Estes."

As somebody on his now-defunct website wrote, "'The Ballad' was on it's way to the top of the charts "with a bullet" ...that is until  TIME  Magazine  ran  an  article  about  it, printed  the lyrics, and upset some "very influential people" as they say, in Washington D.C. Virtually overnight the song disappeared from every radio station in the country! You see, Billie Sol Estes was a very important man in politics at that time and the truth, as they say, hurt. In fact, it hurt so much that the song, once destined to be another million seller,  might as well never have been written in the first place!"

And, no, this wasn't a cover of the Phil Ochs song "The Ballad of Billie Sol," this was a Turner original.

The website insists that around this time, "Jesse decided to try Hollywood. His boyish good looks helped him began [sic] an acting career and landed him starring rolls in several TV series and movies. Jesse definitely had an innate rockabilly ability that few had, but his novelty recordings sold better than his attempts at unadulterated rock 'n' roll." Just what TV shows and movies Turner made…IMDB doesn't seem to know.

Jesse did keep trying with novelty singles. A more overt Ray Stevens-type bit of corn is "The Elopers," about a hapless stooge and the idiot chick he wants to run away with. "The Voice Changing Song," with a chunk-a-chunk Johnny Cash type strum, has Jesse doing an imitation of a teenage boy who is embarrassed at how his voice keeps breaking when he tries to introduce himself to a girl.

One of Jesse's last stabs at the singles charts was "Just a Little Girl," a 1975 effort for MCA. The label lists the performers as "Jessie [sic] Lee Turner" and Floyd Robinson Floyd also wrote the song.

As they say at AA, meetings: "Let go, and let God," and so Turner eventually turned from musician to minister. Look, if it worked for George Foreman, why not Jesse Lee? Just what small church he was involved with, or whether his was a traveling road show, I have no idea. He made a soft rumble just under the radar of most people, by issuing an obscure item called "Jesus for President." Was he serious? How do you get a guy on the ballot who hasn't been seen in 2000 years? Registered as Democrat? Republican? Independent? Green Party? What would Jesus do to get on a ballot?

Some of us were amused if not amazed that a fave with a kiddie-hit in 1958, had emerged, some 40 years later, doing sort of a jokey if sincere album about the importance of Jesus…demoting him from Son of God to Presidential Candidate. Jesse's website said he was ready for a comeback: "Jesse began to write Christian lyrics for songs like "Whole Lotta Shaking Going On", "Great Balls Of Fire ", "House Of The Rising Sun "….and has now been singing (Jesus-themed) songs… in churches all over the nation for over 10 years and it's time for the next step. He is finally ready to offer his music to the world, through 6 separate CD's! It's… time to praise the Lord with some good old fashion Rock & Roll! Like Jesse screams..."Oh, I feel good"!!! Contact Jesse to Minister at Your Church or Event."

Sadly, "Jesus for President" didn't get much attention and and Jesse's modest website disappeared from the planet. Only the faithful will believe that it may return in time for Easter.

And so while a few of us ask, "Jesse Where Art Thou?" here are two tidbits that may make him immortal. No, not the rockabilly stuff, good as they might be for those who enjoy that kind of thing…here's…

Jesse Lee Turner... Jesus for President

And... Little Space Girl

In case you missed the news, a Dutch beer company's new TV ad steals the likenesses of American and British icons (Marilyn Monroe, Presley, etc), places them on a tropical island (so unlike Holland) drinking their horrible fruit-flavored product. Somehow, in this Dutch dream, Kurt Cobain and John Lennon are alive…happy to get loaded on alcohol to the soundtrack of Bobby Hebb's "Sunny." Sun, and good beaches, are unknown in Holland except in their dreams…and fortunately for the Dutch, dreaming is free.

Let's try to understand, that even if they make money, they fear spending it. They need to save up for dikes (no, not the ones half-naked in the windows). They know one day the Muslims in their country will overwhelm them and if they don't convert, they'll need every bit of cash to bribe 'em into letting them leave the country with their precious 1 terrabyte drives of Talking Heads bootlegs…which they can hardly hear over their "talking butts" full of gas. When you make cheese that stinky, you need to keep the air circulating.

The Dutch know…nobody is impressed with tulips, which hardly disguises the smell of a Dutchman. And you'd be embarrassed about the stupid footwear your country is known for, if you lived in Holland….wooden shoe?

Oh, let's lighten up and laugh a little, and forgive the Dutch douches their infantile thievery, and their whining and crying. Acknowledge their suicidal depression about paying for sex and drugs and still being miserable. Paying for anything makes them miserable. Justify their swiping of U.S. and U.K. artists as jealousy over having almost no home grown talent. Actresses? Sylvia Kristel is about it. Musicians? Few attained worldwide fame. Bernard Haitink, the conductor, might be it. Rockers of Dutch extraction aren't exactly prominent either….it's only Van Halen, and I don't fuckin' care about dumbass headbangin' Eddie or other jerky guitar heroes. Sax player Candy Dulfer is ok for a few minutes. Writers? Inventors? Nope. That leaves "Dutch creativity" to a few long-dead artists, Rembrandt, Van Gogh, and Bosch.

Feel sorry that Holland looks like a hemorrhoid sticking out of both Belgium and Germany, and those countries have far more hit-making singers and composers. Taking pity, I'll say something nice about Holland; it's not as dark and cold as Sweden. Also, the Dutch language isn't quite as gruesome as German, which is "a rather brutal language," as Max Prendergast admitted to Emma Peel.

Listen to"Why Can't The English Teach Their Children How to Speak" in Dutch! And…even more frightful, "I'm an Ordinary Man" (aka "Let A Woman In Your Life.") If you don't know what he's singing about, this Dutch Higgins, with his sudden outbursts, sounds like he's trying to recruit members for the Aryan Nation, hoping to get Germany to make Holland a suburb. This stuff IS bizarrely amusing. Listen to the tracks, and drink some of that Holland beer that is going to get you so high you'll think Cobain and Lennon are still alive. Or….imagine there's no Holland…

WHY CAN'T THE ENGLISH TEACH THEIR CHILDREN HOW TO SPEAK Is Hier Nu Niemand

I'M AN ORDINARY MAN (LET A WOMAN IN YOUR LIFE) Ik Ben Een Doodgewone Man

I assumed Kay was either fat and ugly, or some notoriously malodorous starlet that had somehow offended Johnny when she guested on his show. Though she did guest on his show, it 'twas the former. Fortunately for her, and Kate Smith, back then a lot of people simply listened to a lovely voice on the radio or on a record, and didn't care that much about physical charm. This was especially true of singers that specialized in ethnic numbers or "God Bless America."

It ain't over even after the fat lady stops singing. After enduring the song, you get Johnny Carson's Kay Armen joke from the Rickles roast. Remarkably, it got a solid 30 seconds of laughter…a tremendous amount for any joke. It's even more of an achievement considering Johnny was telling it in a room full of jaded comics more likely to mutter "That's funny" than to actually laugh. The dais that night included Flip Wilson, Jackie Vernon, and Jack E. Leonard, and you can hear some admiring mumbling from Fat Jack as everyone yocked the mocking of Fat Kay.

KAY ARMEN SINGS JOHNNY CARSON INSULTS

Wow, man. If this was 1968, you'd be staring at the above album cover a long time! Even now, it's so trippy and fascinating; four nude chicks in a plastic box on a strange planet or just (ooh) IN YOUR MIND. Back then these sci-femmes had record fans asking "where in the Southwest do we find them?" And does "F.O.B." mean "Fuck Our Bitches?"

As many an lp-cover-lover will bad-breathlessly howl at you, "There's something so COOL about naked chicks on a record album!" As opposed to a naked chick actually on a record collector…which rarely happens.

Back in the 60's, it wasn't that easy to find any chick's naked rack in a record store's racks. Even here, all we get is "side boob" which still can give you a side kick. Most of the full frontal titty pix were on "under the counter" lousy adult comedy albums from obscure guys such as Bub Thomas and Bert Henry. Weird, isn't it…guys could easily get entire magazines (Playboy, Rogue, Nugget, Dude, Gent, Knight, Cavalier, Cavalcade, etc.) for 50 cents or so, but would pay ten times that much to see ONE nudie on an album cover.

OK…it's time to at least make some sort of mention of the group and their semi-hit song. "Smell of Incense" was actually written by two guys (Bob Markley and Ron Morgan) who had come from the fartily-named band "The Laughing Wind" to form the ultra-pretentious "West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band," which, no surprise, somehow involved Van Dyke Parks for a while. Their version of their own song "did not chart," as muffin-eaters like to say, as if it justifies feeling smug about their own mediocrity and failures. What did chart, barely, just outside the Top 40, was the cover by the Dallas band called Southwest F.O.B.

That group included two guys who would go on to greater infamy: Dan Seals and John Colley. They later formed the duo England Dan and John Ford Coley, whose main achievement, let's not forget, is that they weren't Seals and Crofts. Yes, Coley got an L outta there, so people wouldn't pronounce his name like he was a breed of dog.

Via Hip Records, the Fobs ("Freight on Board" is the likely meaning of the initials), offered music very typical of the times. There's the Emenee-like toy keyboard, which was popularized by The Doors. Not exactly a rival to the keyboard on "Light My Fire," the organ riff here sounds more like a parrot knocking its beak against a few notes hoping to tap out the morse code for HELP. Or OVERDOSE

The meandering melody pauses for the chorus and its profoundly hymn-like harmony. It recalls "Spanky and Our Gang" and their pretentious demand: "Give a Damn." It all works, in an ooky-spooky icky-trippy kinda way. As for the lyrics, they reflect the naive era's notion that "enlightenment" is attainable by rollin' doobies. Just cover the smell with…incense. Oh, eat some peppermints afterward, and forget about time, which is only an illusion on a strawberry alarm clock affixed to a chocolate watchband.

As with so many late 60's (and early 70's) hippie dippy trippy songs, the lyrics stand alone about as well as anyone who's had some powerful weed:

"She stood as still as the shadows of stone. She stood on the edge of my mind. I tried to push her away. I shut and locked the door. Her eyes grew large and asking. AND THE SMELL OF INCENSE FILLS HER ROOM.

She stood in the ever present fullness of expectation. What happened to her childhood dreams? The sidewalk smothers us tomorrow."

What it needs is a real ending: "Do not tell me, I am source of your knock-up. The mud elephant wading through the sea leaves no tracks." Oh, sorry, that was The Fugs, who not only wrote better real "beat poetry," but knew how stupid most of it actually was. "Norwegian Wood" seems to have influenced a few lyricists into going into a triter shade of pale. But look, if you're really wasted on pot, you might think the sidewalk can smother you, you concretin. Your recipe for being a total asshole is easy enough; just add "mushrooms."

Download this, and if you actually were part of the late 60's or early 70's world of heavy lyrics and light-headed pot usage you'll find some nostalgia. If you weren't around back then, and are just some fucking goofus with a frog not prog face, who goes to thrift shops to buy what his parents' used to wear, and walks around saying "Oh wow" a lot, and were in the "It's Psych" forum…go find a hat with a human head underneath it, and consider a transplant.

The best thing about Southwest F.O.B. remains the cover, featuring a box of twats. I'd rather be in that box with 'em, smelling something that ain't incense.

SOUTHWEST FOB SMELL of incense

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The headline hints of two fairly obscure facts about Eddie Lawrence; he had a Top 40 single "The Old Philosopher," and he voiced the radio commercial for "Pussy Cats," the Harry Nilsson album produced by John Lennon. The radio spot had Eddie in his familiar persona as the wheedling and then bombastic pitchman:

“Hiya, Pussycat,. You say you opened up a bicycle wash and the first six customers drowned? And they picked you up in the wax museum for trying to score with Marie Antoinette? Is that what’s got you down, Pussycat? Well, RISE UP! Get yourself Harry Nilsson’s new album, ‘Pussy Cats,’ produced by John Lennon…."

I interviewed Eddie, and visited him informally several more times. He was a kindly, gentle man. But…as with most comedians, he wasn't exactly fond of the human race; he was a realist. His most famous character, "The Old Philosopher," is a cartoonish but cynical satire of life's miseries and the blind optimism in dealing with it all. Had he chosen to use an evangelist's voice…a Bishop Sheen or Norman Vincent Peale…Eddie could've been classed as another Lenny Bruce. But he would've also been banned from the airwaves! Instead, his Jeckyl and Hyde comedy had him morph from wan sad sack to a manic "motivational speaker" shouting insane pep talks ending with a platitude: "never give up…the ship!"

Born Lawrence Eisler, his first love was painting, and that was the name he used on his canvases, which showed the influence of his esteemed teacher, Fernand Leger. I remember a party at his studio that was a very strange mix of art-types and show biz bananas including veteran comic actors Jack Weston and Lou Jacobi. Wisely realizing that a painting career might have the "starving artist" affect, Eddie worked in vaudeville and on radio. He had a subtle, cerebral style, but also enjoyed offbeat and off-the-wall comedy…and recalled with fondness his days as part of the comedy team "Lawrence and Marley," who were compared to Bob and Ray. John Marley went on to a straight film career, often in menacing, gangster roles. You remember him in "The Godfather," sharing a bed with a horse's head).

It was in 1956 that Eddie's novelty recording "The Old Philosopher" hit the Top 40. It was such a hit, there was even a cover version by Peter Marshall, straight man in the comedy team of Noonan and Marshall. (OK, you know him better as "master of the Hollywood Squares.") Eddie recorded dozens of "Philosopher" routines, but his albums also included other types of audio sketches, using many voices, which were sort of audio versions of Mad Magazine or "Firesign Theater" before there was such a thing.

Eddie "The Old Philosopher" turned up on Steve Allen's show, Carson's "Tonight Show," and many other programs. The gimmick of a sad-sack with a Jolson-esque quaver, and sad strains of "Beautiful Dreamer" playing…seguing into insane march music and violently enthusiastic hyperbole…seemed to fascinate Madison Avenue types. Eddie had a very lucrative career using his Philosopher persona to sell all kinds of products, from huckstering folks into visiting the Claridge Hotel/Casino to promoting the Des Moines Rug Cleaning company. While all this was going on, the Renaissance Philosopher was also painting, writing, and acting on stage. His best known Broadway acting was in "Bells are Ringing." In 1965, he left local New York TV station WPIX (where he was hosting Three Stooges shorts) to write the lyrics for a Broadway show called "Kelly." The show was not, obviously, a hit, but one song from it, "I'll Never Go There Anymore," was covered by a lot of singers. Stephen Sondheim considered it so good, it was on his list of songs he wished he'd written.

The last time I saw Eddie, which was about two year ago, he was looking good (more like 73 than 93, and he even did one of his "Old Philosopher" bits for the gathered guests. He was of course in the company of his radiant wife, who has one of this wonderful Greer Garson-type British accents that you could listen to all day. Below, the original "The Old Philosopher." I'll save Peter Marshall's version for another day. Or month. As Eddie once told me, its origin was when he and another actor began griping about bad breaks…how everything went wrong…and both ended up laughing. It's the little things in life that can drive you to the brink…the broken shoelace, the cut while shaving…little exasperations that sap your will to live. Add to that, bizarre Eddie-twists of hip imagery and edgy oddness. All you can do when confronted by hum drum or utterly insane problems is fight back with equal insanity, like a raging cry of "never give up….THAT SHIP!"

Also, you'll be downloading a cut from "The Jazzy Old Philosopher" a CD he made in the late 80's. The cut is "Stay Away," and it's a list of "People to Avoid." It's an example of hipster misanthropy, with some lines wacko and others just angry, some of it you might find resembling Ken Nordine or George Carlin. It wobbles along (with a bass line behind it) listing irksome idiots. Avoid "anyone who'd powder his sideburns to get a senior citizen discount…anyone who'd order a fox sandwich…anyone who'd frame a Christmas card from a bank…guys from the midwest who say "Who's by you?" There were two "Stay Away" sequels on the CD, and there could've been a dozen more…but he had to include plenty of jazz variations on "The Old Philosopher." And other bizarre items.

It's not too difficult to find much in life that's dismal, or to find that one's fellow man is one irritating bastard…the trick, which Eddie knew, was how to make it funny. Eddie Lawrence (March 2, 1919-March 25, 2014).

EDDIE THE OLD PHILOSOPHER

THE OLD PHILOSOPHER A List of People... to STAY AWAY from

The opposite of bland was what I call "uneasy listening" albums…with corny music played on unusual instruments (Spike Jones, obviously, but also discs by Don Elliot and Jack Fascinato) and "off key" items from Morris Garner (not Errol; deliberately bad piano playing) or Edward and Darlene Edwards (not Paul Weston and Jo Stafford; deliberately bad singing).

In that genre was the minor fad for anti-mood music with titles including "How to Break a Lease." As if Spike Jones wasn't good enough? This novelty album was a surprise hit. The perps, Sid Feller and Don Costa, didn't even put their names on the thing…except way down in small print in the bottom corner of the back sleeve. You can imagine record store owners happily putting the album in the window, with its zany cover and promise of hi-fi hi-jinks. The sequel, "How to Break a Sub-Lease," had the credit "Don Costa's Free Loaders" proudly and prominently on the front and back cover.

Among the many competing albums: "Music to Break Any Mood," which LOOKS like it might be a clever satire of mood music albums in general (the same way Irving Taylor's albums satirized pop music of the day). But…no, not really. The point of most of this was to fool an idiot into paying $4.98 on cover alone. No chance to audition the record first, and no returns accepted.

"Music to Break Any Mood" had the potential to at least be a decent rival to some of those "persuasive percussion" albums…ones featuring a lot of vibraphones, woodblocks, timpani and a maraca or two (at least two). No such luck. As you'll hear, it's just your generic middle-of-the-road stuff. Why don't we do it in the middle-of-the-road? Because it stinks like a dead skunk.

The downloads are just to confirm what you already suspected…that when you buy an album based on the cover alone, you might as well put a hole in the middle of the cover and play the cardboard.

Hail Hail - Roll Out the Barrel Breaking a Lease

Margie - Who's Sorry Now Breaking a Sub Lease

Breaking Your Mood with South Rampart Street Parade/Walkin' My Baby Back Home Breaking Your Mood

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Legend has it that Johnny Russell's "Obscene Phone Call" single got stalled just inside the Top 100 because…a lot of radio station managers found it obscene. Sad…because while this IS a very creepy single, it does have a typical twist C&W ending. But how many disc jockeys would dare play it, with people turning off their radios and making angry phone calls after the first minute?

In a way, the fate of "The Obscene Phone Call" was typical of Johnny Russell's career...his best stuff either didn't chart, or became a hit for somebody else. Or...he was handed a song that he thought had hit potential...and somebody else's cover became the chartbuster.

Mississippi-born, California-bred John Russell (perhaps "Johnny" was a way to avoid any confusion with "The Lawman" actor John Russell) had his first taste of success in 1960. Only 20 years old (January 23, 1940 – July 3, 2001) his song "In a Mansion Stands My Love" was the B-side to Jim Reeves country smash, "He'll Have to Go." A few years later, and a Russell song did go to the top of the charts: "Act Naturally." Some know it via Ringo (1965) others via Buck (1963). Russell's song "Let's Fall to Pieces Together" was a hit for George Strait.

To some inane drones, "did not chart" means failure. Not so. The rotund Mr. Russell had loyal fans who bought his albums, and record labels that saw his potential and kept him on even if a single "did not chart." Aside from selling thousands and thousands of records, Russell was a great favorite in live concert, and was a regular at the Grand Ole Opry. He dabbled in comedy and teamed with Little David Wilkins in 1987 for the single "Butterbeans." The old-timer often worked as an MC at the Opry. One of his favorite gigs was an annual performance at the MS Delta Community College Coliseum, in Moorhead, Mississippi. He played there from 1987 to an unlucky 13th performance in 2000.

By that time, the hefty performer's health had deteriorated thanks to his diet of artery-clogging food, and a benefit concert had to be held for him, headlined by Garth Brooks and Vince Gill. The following year, Russell's legs were amputated due to diabetes. He died less than four months after the operation. As obscene as Southern cooking can be, and it's been lethal to many besides Johnny Russell…he lives on in his recorded legacy, and even in this "obscene" but memorable novelty tune…

Johnny Russell Obscene Phone Call

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You might need to get out your Smilin' Ed McConnell hymn book and pray...

OR...now you can just flip around on your handheld device, and draw some comfort in a pair of tunes from the old smiler, courtesy of the download below.

Religion, like a rifle, can be very useful. Too bad that religion, like a rifle, can be abused, specially by fanatics shooting their mouths off about who is a heathen and who should be blown up in a holy war. But...at this time of year, let's be optimistic and hope that soothing traditions and words of peace don't get as stale as your marshmallow peeps do within a week.

Yeah, brothers and sisters...I believe. I believe! "I Believe" the song as sung by Frankie Laine is damn - er, DARN good. I believe that Turley Richards'"I Heard the Voice of Jesus," is one of the greatest vocal performances of all time. I believe that there is great comfort to be found in hearing "Kol Nidre" or "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen." I believe that even a non-believer can find courage, strength or inspiration from religious music. Bob Dylan, Paul Simon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Johnny Cash, have written or sung some grand songs that reference God, the Bible, Mother Mary and churches as a place of sanctuary and good will.

Smilin' Ed McConnell…like sinner/singer Johnny Cash, was a guy with two very odd sides to his personality. He wrote and sang gospel music, but his enduring creation is "Froggy the Gremlin," a cheerful little devil. Froggy, precursor to Topo Gigio as a bizarrely manipulated puppet, mocked any figure in authority, and he specialized in hypnotic suggestion. He probably would've enjoyed waterboarding, he would he would. He was always influencing adults to do stupid things against their will, and end up throwing childish tantrums in front of him. This was a pretty bizarre concept for kids to follow on radio and TV. (When the Smiler passed on, Andy Devine took over the TV show as host).

Froggy grinned and destroyed all instructors and teachers, and literally drove them to tears. Guest: "To bake a cake, you first take the flour…" Froggy: "And dump it on your head." Guest: "And dump it on your head, like so…NO! NO! Look what you made me do!" A 30 second little sample on You Tube: Gremlin kinescope link . The Smiler and his weird rubber gremlin remain cult heroes to this day, and an entire graphic novel was written about them: "The Search for Smilin' Ed" by underground comics legend Kim Deitch. Kim discusses Ed and Froggy and his new book. YouTube link.

Smilin' Ed made a few 78's, some were novelties with Froggy the Gremlin, or pleasant kiddie fodder, and an early one had him in black dialect as a comical preacher. Some of his recordings were religious. McConnell hosted many religious programs on radio, some local some syndicated. One was called "Hymn Time." For a while he had a five minute series sponsored by Aladdin (a company that, yes, made lamps). The format was: a commercial, a non-sectarian song, and a closing hymn. That's what you get below, sans commercials. Ed sings "Wishing Will Make it So," and then his own composition loaded with Bible references, which may have been called "A Radio Station in Heaven" or "My Mother's Prayer." He doesn't seem to have recorded it for any label, and it's not in McConnell's "New Radio Hymn Book," (I don't have the original 1933 "Radio Hymn Book" - it might be in that one)

Call it an Easter offering. Or, pass over it….

SMILIN' ED ALADDIN GOSPEL SONGS

The inspiration? Lol Mason and Steve Broughton, the band's lead vocalists, were touring America and got stuck right in the middle of the country. Broughton:

"Lol and I spent time in a dry area of Kansas. There’s no bars, the only place you can get a drink is one of these ‘religious’ clubs, with topless waitresses with dollar bills stuffed in their G-strings, and out of the jukebox is blaring this ‘Jesus is the Saviour’-music. It was bizarre – I mean, that kind of thing just doesn’t happen in Birmingham."

Birmingham, England, not Alabama.

"Turn On to Jesus" was offed by the band's record label, over worries that the song could be interpreted as profane. New lyrics were written. The result was "5-7-0-5," the band's only hit single. God moves in mysterious ways.

In another twist, the lead vocal was not from Lol or Steve, but Roy Ward, who had been brought in by the band's producer Mutt Lange (yes, of later Shania Twain infamy) who wanted a better drummer and perhaps a new sound as well, since the band's harmonizing had been accused of sounding too much like 10CC or Queen.

In the spirit of Christian charity, you can also get an American Jesus song via the download links below.

It's a very strange number from the very strange Andy Pratt. This sensitive soul had a surprise hit with a falsetto sex-change on a Woody Guthrie melody about Pretty Boy Floyd. The song became "Avenging Annie," about a feminist who fucks with guys in apparently every way possible. In the original uncensored version (which was on one side of a Columbia promo featuring Springsteen and "Blinded by the Light" on the other):

"I spend my whole life telling lies, lead you on and fuck you over good. I'll take all you spoiled young hippies running around playing games...I'll blow your head. I'll put you through a change. What you've done to others — I'll do unto you!"

However...after finishing with her work: "I might go back to my Floyd, if I think it's the thing to do. He gave up murder and theft right after I left, and you know I still love him too. Just like your woman loves you. Just like your woman loves you."

That last line is repeated often enough to provoke some uncomfortable paranoia. Is your woman true to you? Or is she just fucking with you like Avenging Annie?

That element of the optimistic and the ominous is very strong in "Jesus is Coming." It's one of the few songs I can think of that is both inspiring and creepy; "Jesus is coming" is sung as both a comfort and a threat. At least, that's my take, and I'm sure I'm wrong. Pratt's catalog is loaded with Jesus references and I doubt any of them are intended as anything but pure tribute. Still, this is one odd minor-key tribute. Closer...and closer...JESUS IS COMING...

City Boy TURN ON TO JESUS

Andy Pratt JESUS IS COMING

The album cover is vivid (right up there with Merrill Womach), but if someone's born with a deformity or suffers a horrible accident, it's not so surprising that they'd make it a point of pride, rather than something to hide.

They cope by becoming "motivational" performers, believing that God "chose" them for a special mission in life.

This seems to include being the subject of "hipster" jokes on various record-collector blogs…you know, the whole gabba-gabba-hey mentality: "Man, doncha know, I gots me a good 'un here, cats and kitties. Look at THIS awesome cover! Cost me $80 I could've spent on a new pork pie hat, yo! Tell me, would ya rather have no hands, or no organ? Gotcha. Me too! Dig, this chick ain't gonna give ME a handjob…Peace out, brothers!" That kind of shit.

Why religious albums of this type are so amusing to "incredibly strange" record collectors, is just more proof that God works in mysterious ways...giving hard working record sellers some money siphoned from Mr. Outlaw Music Fan With No Job via his mum's purse.

So…the album cover is real kewl, but what about the music?

If you're wondering if the album is worth buying for the MUSIC and not just the cover...listen to the samples below. You've got 3 songs sung by Baker herself (she wrote two of them) and an instrumental. She's a limited but competent amateur vocalist. As to the organ, well, it seems to me that most songs in the Christian hymnal are pretty basic; they were written mindful that not every small church has somebody who can read music well or has educated fingers. Some of our greatest religious tunes ("Silent Night" among them) can be picked out by a 3rd grader on a toy piano, so someone with a bunch of knuckles could find a way of playing chords well enough.

You may recall my post (August 29, 2010) about Liu Wei, the armless pianist. He uses his remarkable feet. So the Rev. Alberta Baker's work here, on simple pieces, is not that surprising. It's still pretty inspirational, and she must have been a fascinating sight at the keyboard.

According to my research (I don't just re-write Wikipedia as most bloggers do), she also learned to play the guitar and marimba. She not only performed in her native Upstate New York, but toured the church circuit, drawing curious crowds. I'm a bit surprised she didn't parlay all this into an appearance on "You Asked For It" (which once showed a female swimmer who had no legs). I guess nobody asked.

Alberta was born in New York, December, 1927, and died May, 1998. She's buried in upstate New York (Cattaraugus County) along with her husband Meurice Baker (January, 1911-April, 1981). With some research help from some newspaper editors in that region, I was able to learn she had two sons (James and Timothy) and two daughters, as well as grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Also known as Alberta Baker-Barber, she married Floyd W. Barber in El Paso, Texas after Meurice died. He died before she did, but I don't know if they had divorced, or if she simply preferred her final resting spot to be with her first husband Meurice. Going easy on the "Floyd the Barber" jokes, the trail for that guy has gone cold. I don't know the exact date he died or where he's buried. I could probably find out, but one little problem with blogging…especially a blog that doesn't just throw every recent album and every Beach Boys discography out there with something stolen off "All Music," research not only takes time, but money. I'm not retired and this blog doesn't pay the bills. I do have a passion for researching the ill folks I post about...but I can't spend all my time on it. I wanted to get some kind of post on Reverend Baker up for Easter, so I made that the deadline. (Sorry, Floyd W. Barber...if I find out when he died and where he is, I'll revise this!)

I was able to find a 1965 ad from a Charleston, West Virginia newspaper for a 3-night appearance by the duo:

"Rev. Meurice Baker, Speaking on such subjects as "Rocketry" or "The Women Clothed With the Sun,""Flying Saucers,""Proof of the Soon Coming of the Lord,""Atomic Warfare,""Healing of the Soul." Added attraction? Yes, "Featuring Rev. Alberta Baker, "The Handless Organist." Sister Baker is living proof of GOd's Miracle working power." The 3 nights of lectures and music were held at the "House of Prayer," which was run by Rev. Joe West in South Charleston.

The album notes for Alberta's record are pretty vague and brief, but maybe she had more trouble typing than she did playing the organ:

“To begin this story of how God has blessed my life, may I say that God gets all the glory and all the credit, yes and all the praise for what He has done in my life. As I write this myself, none of this is intended as boasting or bragging, although certain facts may bear a resemblance….


  "I began my musical career at the age of five at an old fashioned pipe organ and I remember, I could reach the pumps with one foot. It wasn’t long however, when I discovered I could also play the piano. Even at an early age, I began to play special numbers at revival meetings throughout the area. Later on, when the 1930′s where changing into the 1940′s, I took a deep interest in the piano-accordian but it wasn’t until about 1953 that my interest took action and I really began to play this instrument to any extent. Finally I went to the electric organ. Also about 1954, an evangelist from Florida dubbed me “The Handless Pianist” which has since been changed to the “HANDLESS ORGANIST”!


  Again, may I say that God must be glorified in this, for it is he who has given me the ability that I have."


 REV. BAKER I'm Longing For Jesus/Turn Your Radio On

REV. BAKER Miracles Still Happen Today- What a Friend We Have in Jesus

One of the main problems with the song is to figure out what the hell to sing. It's in a sort of incomprehensible dialect. Pete and the boys get around this by simply walking to the middle of the road, and crooning the song's redundant two-word title. "Just pronounce it like it's written….Looey Looey."

Pete's clarinet, over a slinky beat, gives a few torpid "ahh ooooh" honks, while the muted choir lumbers along, not sure what other lines they're supposed to sing. Pete livens things up with some staccato squeaks…and this goes on just long enough (2:10).

At the time, Fountain was still aiming his licorice stick at the waning "easy listening" record-buying crowd. His albums were either pure pop-jazz Dixie corn, or a more muted mood music assortment. The cut below is from Pete's "I've Got You Under My Skin" album, along with old swing favorites "My Blue Heaven" and "The More I See You." The mix includes hideous Broadway junk (the title track to "Mame") and movie themes ("Born Free" anyone?). "Louie Louie" and everybody's favorite Beatles track ("Yesterday") were concessions to any listener hovering at age 30. His version of "Louie Louie" is not an attempt to pour syrup on The Kingsmen; it was inspired by a slow take from The Sandpipers. Really, what other option did Pete have except to get a bit Acker Bilky? The clarinet isn't exactly a feature of many rock or country bands...and he wasn't going to be in Benny Goodman's shadow with big band jazz, or squawk into be bop jazz territory and expect his followers to stay with him.

Fortunately for Fountain, he had an audience of contemporaries who never left him (a few may have wandered away after having trouble finding the men's room). His Dixie stuff and trad jazz still had some kind of audience even into his 80's. I think he was about 82 when, last year, he turned up to massive applause at a New Orleans jazz festival, and ran through some of his classics, including "Basin Street Blues" and, of course, "When the Saints Come Marchin' In."

Just for some added twistiness, the album was recorded mostly in Nashville (sans weepy violins) by Charles "Bud" Dant, who once produced a novelty music album for rustic comedian Charlie Weaver. On that one he was was billed as Charles "Puddin' Head" Dant.

LOUIE LOUIE Pete Fountain

Go-go boots, big hair, short skirts…the 60's look and sound had a lot of girls going "yeah, yeah" all over the world. Or, "yeh yeh" or "Yi Yi." While the bigger sellers were obviously from America, England, France and Italy, there were some tuneful chicks from other countries who had some success internationally.

The most endearing one coming from Asia was Rita Chao. That was the name she used on albums exported to oddball music fans around the globe. Back home in Singapore, where she performed in concert, she was better known as Ling Zhu Jun.

I discovered her, under her more famous Chinese name, when I found one of her albums in a Chinatown record store. I was delighted with her cute cover versions of American hits. A few samples were posted a few years ago on the blog. Revisiting lovely Rita, here's her take on the Tina Turner classic, "Proud Mary."

And yes, I've tried very hard to keep from adding corny ethnic jokes to this entry. So all you lacists will have to go elsewhere. Rita's singing career, as for most "yeh yeh" girls...ended when bouffants got deflated, kicky tight bell-bottoms got replaced by distressed blue jeans, and "Wooly Bully" was a nickname for a social disease.

The last I heard about her was that in the late 60's as Ling Zhu Jun, she worked in family-oriented variety shows on stage in Singapore. Like "The Ed Sullivan Show," she'd be on the bill with some dim comedy teams (or is that dim sum comedy teams?) and a few other singers. One of the favorite teams back then was Wang Sa and Yeh Fong, the Wayne & Shuster of the East. Rita/Ling didn't hang around to hit 40 and not have any Top 40 hits…she retired, whereabouts unknown.

RITA CHAO Proud Mary

In the early Paramount movies, it wasn't uncommon for Groucho to sing a novelty song (such as "Whatever It Is, I'm Against It"). He had his musical spot just as Harpo and Chico did. But apparently as Groucho began to dominate the group, and be the featured brother in the plot lines, it was felt that only Chico and Harpo needed a specialty number for their fans to enjoy. So at MGM, Groucho's numbers were sometimes not filmed, or left on the cutting room floor, including "I'm Dr. Hackenbush" which should've been in "A Day at the Races."

When Groucho and his brothers were rediscovered as anarchist geniuses in the late 60's and early 70's, only Groucho was still around to hear the applause. He was called back to perform one-man shows, and the Marx Brothers story was told in many books and, briefly, the ill-fated musical "Minnie's Boys." Groucho vehemently turned down the very Jewish and quite porcine Totie Fields as his mom Minnie, and ultimately approved the very busty Shelley Winters, who did look far more like Minnie than Totie did, and while Jewish, didn't "look it." It didn't matter if Winters could sing or not. At least, not to Groucho.

The script went through various changes, including a draft by David Steinberg, before Groucho's son, who had co-authored a Broadway hit called "The Impossible Years," came up with something nearly definitive. The show still needed some better jokes, but Groucho couldn't come up with anything great (he was listed in the Playbill as "Production Consultant"). Joseph Stein (of "Fiddler on the Roof") didn't seem to have a Marx Brothers rhythm to his jokes and nobody's sure if any were used. Two unknowns supplied the music and lyrics…Larry Grossman, and the unfortunately-named wordsmith Hal Hackady.

The show disappointed the critics. Clive Barnes in The New York Times wrote, "The idea of a musical on the Marx brothers before they really became the Marx brothers is splendid. What ever happened to it?" The only saving grace was the casting of Lewis J. Stadlen as Groucho. Stadlen was a natural mimic, being the son of cartoon-voice specialist and novelty singer Allen Swift (profiled elsewhere on this blog). Stadlen snagged the highlight comedy song, which helped him get the only good notices when the show premiered in March of 1970. And...14 years later...Tim Curry decided to revive it for his turn in a "Night of 100 Stars" stage event. Look out below for the link. And a note to purists, that IS Groucho's real nose, mustache, glasses and eyebrows Photoshopped onto Mr. Curry.

YOU REMIND ME OF YOU TIM CURRY

At this moment, somewhere in Connecticut, Paul Simon and Edie Brickell are wishing for the sound of silence. So below, they, and YOU, get a rare, bizarrely inept version of the song. It was done by a cheap-o label, featuring anonymous singers. But allow my digression into current events...

They've gotten a lot of static after a minor domestic event made headlines. Apparently, Edie "pushed" Paul and after a while, Paul pushed her back. This is remarkable because Edie hasn't had a hit in years. A push is the best she can get?

You remember Edie. She had that incredibly annoying "What I Am" song, where Miss Hippie Dippie minced around and mindlessly sneered, "I'm not aware of too many things. I know what I know, if you know what I mean." The chorus seemed to maddeningly continue for hours: "What I am is what I am. Are you what you are or what? What I am is what I am . Are you what you are or what?" There was a line, "Choke me in the shallow waters before I get too deep." It's remarkable it's taken so long before anyone's even pushed her.

In court, a puffy faced and pissed off Paul, wearing a kiddie jacket from Sears and an unmatching not-hipster fedora, told the judge that the twosome rarely fought at all. And to nobody's surprise, Edie announced she was not afraid of her husband. No kidding. Even the last surviving munchkin is not afraid of Paul Simon.

Meanwhile, bloggers and Tweeters and Farce-bookers had lots of fun quipping Paul Simon song titles: "There must be 50 Ways to Beat Your Lover," and "She loves me like a rock…in the head,""Where's the radical priest to get them released,""What a peculiar man," and, of course, "Still Crazy After All These Years." All the couple wanted to do was get back home to their kids, 16, 19 and 22 (which are pretty strange names for kids…not that Kanye's daughter North West has anything to be proud of.)

Trying to bridge the troubled water, the judge instantly released Edie on her own recognizance. He handed her a mirror, which helped her a great deal. "Oh…Edie Brickell," she said, staring into the mirror as she was led away. If you haven't kept up on her career, well, neither has she. She did write lyrics for Steve Martin's last album of banjo tunes…which is already a punchline without any need of a set-up.

Simon was making a new plan, Stan. To avoid being that mean individual stranded in a limousine, he went out the back, Jack. Still, one enterprising photographer was standing in front of him, aiming a camera. Paul deftly walked between the guys legs, and escaped, homeward bound.

How did all this start? Well, in Paul's little town, the cops seem to have to file a report any time a husband and wife breathe too heavily. It turns out Paul's mother-in-law called 911 after the shoving match, mostly on Edie's part, seemed to get out of hand. "I am leaving, I am leaving," Paul apparently said after pushing Edie out of the way. But the fighter remained. To be arrested. Along with Edie. Who knows, they may have to wear ankle monitors, and call in once a day to say they're "feeling groovy."

Listen, Paul's been through enough. Would YOU want to constantly be asked, "When are you going to see Garfunkel next?" No. You wouldn't. You wouldn't want solemn people asking, "What does "cross in the ballpark mean," and "How come "You Can Call Me Al" and "Julio in the Schoolyard" were big hits when they made no sense?" And you surely don't want to hear, "Why aren't your new songs anywhere near as good as the old ones?"

Worst of all, Paul has had to suffer some truly abominable cover versions of his songs. Check out the one below. It was on one of those budget "Song Hits" singles…where you'd get 6 "hit" songs sung by 6 "shit" singers. No surprise that most of the time these performers weren't close to "sounding like" the stars…but here, the two guys imitating Simon and Garfunkel seemed to scribble down the lyrics after one listening. So "cobblestone" is "cold as stone" and "fools said I" isn't even close…and is that "sign" or "siren" they're semi-singing?

Sorry for the dull scratches, but as you can imagine, after hearing a single like this, one IS prone to start throwing things. Usually the single. Fortunately, the Connecticut Police weren't around at the time….

Cheap "SONG HITS" lame cover of SOUND O' SILENCE

In June of 1976 Warren Zevon recorded this version of "Mohammed's Radio" in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania. Back then, you found about new exciting artists like Zevon through the thriving world of rock magazines. In a few years, I was editor of one of them, with a six-figure circulation (not salary) and sales all over the globe (if you only count Great Britain and Australia, as our distributor didn't deal with foreign language people).

And yes, in my day, I did feature a full page article on him.

The other way a guy like Zevon could get known...was radio. Yes. Radio. You had your favorite disc jockey...what that person played was stuff you already liked...and new stuff that had you thinking, "Hang on...I gotta pay attention and find out WHO THAT WAS..."

For several years, I had a radio show and it was a kick to play the kind of people I've featured on the blog...ones who were great but not all that well known. Not yet. OK, some of them, not ever.

There was something mystical about the radio, as you can hear in Warren's song. Those of us of a certain generation stayed up late at night, listening in the dark, our minds creating images from the fantastic sounds coming through the air.

Songwriter Paul Williams recently announced that he, and such contemporaries as Randy Newman and Jimmy Webb, were going to lobby for better royalties, now that radio stations have gone under, and Spotify and Pandora are preferred. Ever since the rise of these monsters, new and indie artists have suffered, and especially the songwriters who don't tour or sing and truly depend on royalties from radio play and purchases. How the hell do you FIND new artists you might like? You listen to Randy Newman and you get a prompt, "If you liked that, listen to this..."?? I've discovered one or two artists via Spotify, simply by typing in a word and looking to see if there were any songs on the topic. I found Jude Kastle that way, and maybe Anne McCue. That's a fraction of what I found through radio, magazine reviews, and record label "loss leader" sampler discs.

And guess what...hearing a tune on Spotify doesn't mean more than a few pennies for the artist.

Ever since SpottyPie and Pandildo appeared, an ignorant, uninformed segment of Internet music fans (ie, assholes in forums with goofy names like "Seniormole") declared these radio sites were perfect...the new "paradigm" by which artists would be able to make a living. They really believed that shit. Like they insisted it was "sharing" not stealing, and piracy's "a good thing."

So here comes the "Songwriter Equity Act," which at least, is telling the naive and nasty know-it-alls of the world that Pandora and Spotify are cheating artists worse than the radio era EVER did.

Here's Paul Williams talking about what he's planning:

"As we celebrate ASCAP’s 100th anniversary and look to the future, we recognize the rules and regulations that govern music licensing haven’t kept pace with the innovation that is transforming how people listen to music. And we’re committed to finding a solution.

That’s why ASCAP members will be coming to Washington this week. I’ll be joined by fellow award-winning songwriters Randy Newman, Carly Simon, Josh Kear, Valerie Simpson, Jimmy Webb, Alan and Marilyn Bergman, Jon Batiste and Narada Michael Walden, among others, as we seek to help policymakers understand why we must modernize our music licensing system.

The root of the challenge lies in the fact that the two organizations that represent most of the nation’s songwriters, ASCAP and BMI, are forced to operate within a regulatory structure governed by federal consent decrees created in 1941.

The last time these regulations were updated was in 2001, before the invention of the iPod.

Under this system, if ASCAP or BMI cannot agree with a licensee on the price of a license, then a federal “rate court” judge, rather than the free market, determines the amount we will be paid for our music from that licensee.

As a result of these outdated laws, record labels and recording artists routinely earn 12 to 14 times more than songwriters for the exact same stream of a song. And big music companies like Pandora rake in millions in revenue, while many music creators struggle to pay the bills.

In an effort to correct the imbalance within the current system, ASCAP has announced a new initiative, the “Music Advocacy Project” or MAP, for short. It centers around five guiding principles for music licensing reform:

Simplification: The licensing process must be simplified and reflect the way people listen to music today. A lot has changed in the last decade, and the rules should reflect that.

Market rates: Let the free market determine the value of music copyrights, the same way it works in other entertainment sectors.

Consumer choice: Let music listeners access a wide variety of music on a variety of platforms for a fair price, while compensating songwriters for the value of their work.

Creator control: Include the songwriters and composers themselves in the discussion and effort to reform.

Access: Collective licensing is the best way to facilitate the transaction between music listeners and creators.

Sounds interesting, Paul. It also sounds like a complicated mess. And there's no mention of enforcing piracy, and you don't need ME or fucking Reed Hadley (of "Racket Squad") to let you know that pirates take more money out of creative peoples' pockets than all of Pandora and Spotify with their bullshit. If you demand Pandora and Spotify pay decent royalties...they'll cook the books or they'll be like every crook in the music world and go hide in Croatia or Russia somewhere and scream "Avax, Me Hearty, Piracy Be Good, Ho Ho Ha Ha Hee Hee," with dimwits agreeing 100%.

In other words, Williams needs to address the massive problem of assholes with podcasts, with streaming music oozing out of every pore of the Internet, and the ease by which "freedom of speech" means throwing everybody's songs around in a conspiracy to "share" and never "pay," ie, support a Communistic idea rather than a Capitalistic one. "Capitalism," Lenny Bruce said, "the best system, man." Or have you noticed any decent music coming out of Putinville? Not since Rachmaninoff, who, along with all his contemporaries, fled Russia ASAP.

ZEVON IN 1976 Mohammed's Radio

Response was overwhelming. "Is there a version even worse?"

Below...a contender.

It's from a 101 Strings album called "Sounds of Love."

Rather than simply allow the overly ripe catgut twangers to do their thing, somebody thought it would be helpful to have a "romantic" narrator recite the lyrics.

Yes, narration with the 101 strings prodding from behind.

Yes, well before William Shatner began to make a name for himself with this type of thing, here's some guy affecting a kind of Ronald Colman cadence as he reads, and occasionally "improves upon" the words of Mr. Simon.

It does make one pray for silence.

"SILENCE" IN RECITATION THE SOUNDS OF LOVE

Think about barbershop quartets. Four assholes. Why are they assholes? Because they are oh-so-strenuously straining to produce a human chord, and oh-so-fucking-proud of the result. They're in love with their own voices, which is pretty damn sad when all they're singing is shit like "Sweet Adeline."

One of the oddest quirks in pop music was that after the vaudeville Barbershop Quartets, there was the Big Band and lounge era; the 40's and 50's, loaded with foursome and fivesome idiots in love with the sound of their own voices. They'd get behind Johnny Mercer or Doris Day and croon oohs, aahs, and repeats of certain words of the chorus. They were, in a word, PESTS.

They also had pesty names, like The Hi-Los, The Pied Pipers, The Merry Macs or The Skip-Jacks. Many a decent vocal by anyone from Frank Sinatra to Patti Page, has been ruined by the intrusive, chummy "harmonizing" by a bunch of drones who make a pleasant old recording sound horribly dated.

Below, two examples. This isn't one of those cruel, effeminate "listen to this, it's so bad it's good" blogs. The cuts below aren't gonna make you laugh. They're presented as historic examples of what is now, in hindsight, a strange phenomena of a bygone age. The Key Notes were professionals and they could sing, but the arrangements were mostly insane. Part of the reason: harmony for the sake of harmony (and ego).

The main thing that distinguishes a rotten "harmony" group is a total lack of interest and empathy for the lyrics. It's all about "DON'T WE SOUND GREAT? ISN'T IT WONDERFUL HOW OUR VOICES HARMONIZE?" So listen to The Key Notes wreck "I Ain't Got Nobody." This is supposed to be a sad, wistful song. Certainly The Mills Brothers and others could get that across, concerned more with emotion and phrasing than harmony. You can easily imagine these smiling as they sing. Whee: "I ain't got nobody…and nobody cares for me…yee-hee-hee!" Yes, they do add that "yee-hee-hee."

Harmony probably goes back to the days of wolf packs. Cavemen would hear a chorus of wolves going off all night long, and grunt, "Hmm, not bad." This led to such strange groups as the "Sons of the Pioneers." What are these guys doing, without women, sitting around a campfire with their arms around each other, crooning about tumbling tumbleweeds, the 69 of bushes?

More recently, there's the incredibly obnoxious King's Singers, who not only seem on the verge of wetting their pants over their own harmonic genius, but make the most ridiculous faces as they gather close together and ooze. I have less problem with mobs of singers who are just making a racket, like The New Christy Minstrels.

When you get down to three people, there's less of a chance that they'll be precocious and precious as they sing together. The Kingston Trio, Peter Paul and Mary and other folk groups were as busy with the message as with the harmonies. Even Crosby, Stills and Nash weren't pretentious (most of the time.) Get down to a harmonizing duo like the Everly Brothers or Simon & Garfunkel and you're pretty much ok.

The Key Notes getting a record deal represents the apex of wrong-headed harmony groups. Mostly back-up groups did their damage on a star's song, not on their own. Who wanted just The Modernaires? Or The Jordanaires? But in the late 50's, cheery and mindless groups, mindful not of lyric but of musical coloring, began to appear on record store shelves.

"I Aint Got Nobody" is followed by "Jada," mostly because you've heard this annoying tune hundreds of times, but probably only as an instrumental. Yes, there are words. And The Key Notes make every one of them excruciating. Again, they're just so full of their own cheery ability to sound like human harmonicas, they forget to be entertaining. Cliff Edwards was able to sing this crappy song without trying your patience. Not this bunch. Following a fey attempt at mimicking old 78's, they lose their minds and happily coo "AH HA HA HA…Ja da! JA DA! DING DING!"

The Key Notes I Ain't Got Nobody - Jada

"It's Such a Happy Day" was used quite a bit on Gleason's 60's variety show, usually over the silent antics of Jackie as "the Poor Soul." No reason to believe he didn't at least hum the melody for this thing, which was then orchestrated for him. That was the M.O. for quite a few celebs. A contemporary of Gleason's, with a sketch comedy show involving mime, Red Skelton, also wrote a lot of tunes that an arranger polished up. Two albums of Skelton music were issued by Liberty, and some cuts were pretty good. Both Jackie and Red were probably thinking they were in the same league as Chaplin…who not only wrote, starred and directed his comedies, but often created the music, too.

Gleason was one of the foremost sellers of lounge music. In his day, he competed successfully with Mantovani, Percy Faith and Melachrino, in coming up with sappy "music for lovers." Apparently he came in to "conduct" the orchestra, after others created the charts. The character Frank Lorenzo, on a memorable episode of "All in the Family," loved playing the romantic lounge albums for his swinging wife: "that Jackie Gleason…he knows more about love than anybody!" Leaning more toward brass than strings, maybe there was some subliminal "blow" message going on, but there aren't many serious music critics who find anything worth praise on the albums conducted by "The Great One." Today most of the interest is from album-cover-lover types, who like the kitschy poses of women turned horizontal, eyes closing in rapture.

It's kind of interesting that a guy best known for playing a childlike, brawling bus driver, and a few unattractive and peculiar characters in sketch comedy, would have such an impact on the field of romantic lounge music. However, comedians in general are very musical. In an interview I did with Phyllis Diller, she talked about timing, and pointed out that "most comics are also musicians." We tallied up the list…Woody Allen on clarinet, Jackie Vernon on trumpet, Morey Amsterdam on cello, Henny Youngman and Jack Benny on violin, Steve Allen on piano, Johnny Carson and Mel Brooks on drums, Harpo Marx on harp…you could end up with quite a band…one that could've been conducted by Jackie Gleason

JACKIE GLEASON wrote "It's SUCH a HAPPY Day…"

Wubbo Ockels also died on the 18th, but I'll save that tribute for another time, perhaps. Jerry was such a representative of Italian lounge singers that he turned up in the gangster films "Goodfellas" and "Casino." He had a nasal but velvety tenor voice, and pleasantly average looks…and was more in the league of Andy Williams and Mel Torme (friendly nice guys) than Robert Goulet or Sergio Franchi (overtly handsome and bombastic guys).

No wonder Ed Sullivan had Jerry on his show so often, even if he tended to make easy-listening albums full of songs that were hits for other people. And that…is all I have to say. I don't own a single song by Jerry Vale. Nothing by Goulet either, and only one single by Sergio, and maybe two Andy Williams and Mel Torme records. But for many, news of his passing will bring back nostalgia. If you're a real Vale fan and feeling alone…well, here's Eydie Gorme singing "All Alone." Which I intended to post this week anyway. Because…

Last week, I went to a thrift shop and dumped 75 CDs and a whole bunch of DVDs. And I found an Eydie Gorme album I didn't have (because I only have a few of them). I wasn't expecting to buy vinyl...can't remember the last time I did. Amazingly, I saw eight big plastic bins of records on their own table. Usually records aren't even sold in thrift shops anymore, and if they are, they're UNDER a table, where you rightly get kneed in the head and kicked in the ass by normal people passing by to get to CDs and bric-a-brac.

So I gave a flip, for old time's sake, and there was an Eydie album with "All Alone" on it. I thought, I'd kinda like to hear her take on it.

I grabbed it and stood behind two ninnies at the checkout line. I knew I was in for a long wait. The older ninny, buying blice (a pair of blouses), couldn't stop yapping to the clerk about how she'd been looking and looking for JUST THAT COLOR…She was fussing in her purse and her wallet and her change purse to give the EXACT change, burbling as if the bored cashier was her best friend.

Meanwhile the hawk-nosed nasal debutante also in front of me was busy whining (they don't talk, young girls, they WHINE) into her cell phone. I heard every word of her meaningless idiot conversation conducted in a mincing cadence and strident volume. She stayed on the phone when she made her purchase, barely listening to the cashier telling her the price. "Hold on," she said into the phone, "I can't hear you. Somebody's talking." Right, the somebody who wanted six bucks and tax.

I rolled my eyes and tried to point them elsewhere...but the store was crowded with unsightly idiots, and now somebody in the store had put on some Lady Gaga disco shit. As it thumped, the girl pulled out a bunch of credit cards, fussed about which one she'd use, and kept up her breathless conversation, yelling over the Gaga shit: "I'm buying a throw pillow! THROW PILLOW! It's pink and about ten inches…" Yeah, I was thinking of something else she could use. Long and deep to shut her mouth. She wasn't done yet. With great exasperation she paused her conversation. "What did you say? Oh. Paper or plastic…" Into the phone: "The clerk wants to know if I want a paper bag or a plastic one. I never know what to do. I know paper is good for the ecology and all that, but I need plastic bags for the garbage." To the clerk: "Do you have a paper bag with handles? No, that's too big. That's…too small…" Finally baby bear found one that was just right.

I placed the late great Eydie on the counter, slapped down a dollar and the fucking pennies for the tax, and was out the door, no bag, no conversation.

The way home? I heard loudmouth males bellowing and guffawing at each other over things even more stupid than what that simpering little slit was squealing about in the thrift shop. From behind I heard some bitch slapping the sidewalk with heeled boots (in 80 degree weather) following behind me for blocks. The sound was drowned for a while by some ethnic nutjob blasting disco from his car, and then from a howling ambulance siren set off by somebody who just wanted to speed down the street. Various little brats were crying and squalling over nothing. A dog, tied to a pole, was barking its guts up. And several nannies sashayed along blabbering to each other, their baby carriages forming a blockade that had me stumbling out into the gutter to get by them. I had to get back out of the gutter quickly, as there was construction work going on in the middle of the street, with a guy working a drill at top volume, his beer belly fluttering and shaking in time to the RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT.

That's when the irony of my purchase hit me. ALL ALONE. That's what I wanted. To be home, listening to Eydie Gorme singing ALL ALONE, and having NO noises interfering. I hope when you download this, your asshole neighbors don't disturb your enjoyment of this most poignant song…about solitude. Solitude can be a lonely thing, but more often, it's something you wish for, and almost never get. Until you're as dead as Eydie Gorme or Jerry Vale

EYDIE ALL ALONE