Saturday, May 19, 2018


A salute to Peggy Lee, born Norma Egstrom on May 26, 1920. (She swooped the planet on January 21, 2002). 

Also being saluted, Elizabeth Montgomery, who died of colorectal cancer on May 18th, 1995. It's possible that if she'd had a colonoscopy or other check-up, her problem could have been caught and corrected, and she'd still be with us. She was born April 15, 1933.

Many vintage TV themes had lyrics so that idiots could instantly figure out what the show was about.  The "premise" TV theme was used to explain the Clampetts becoming "The Beverly Hillbillies," Mr. and Mrs. Douglas moving to "Green Acres," and how the castaways got to "Gilligan's Island." The "introductory" TV theme simply explained "Bat Masterson," "Wyatt Earp," "Maverick" and "Paladin." Some shows didn't require much in the way of lyrics. One theme song merely had a sexy gal saying..."It's Burke's Law." 

Fans have discovered that there ARE lyrics to some TV shows with well known instrumental themes, including "Bonanza," "Hawaii 5-0," and yes..."Bewitched." But you'll find out about the latter with just a finger twitch...

Twitch and hear or via download. No greedhead Paypal donation request, no egocentric Password, no buy-a-premium-account weasel shit from Rapidgator  


    Rose Marie became a Twitter sensation in the last year of her life.

    The reason she went on Twitter was to promote a documentary on her life — which was more than some vanity piece on an actress most people vaguely know was a child star on radio, and a brassy co-star on “The Dick Van Dyke Show.” The film, “Wait For Your Laugh,”  is an excellently done, often fascinating and moving piece of work. In a rare example of networking actually working, she built up a huge following and saw sell-out crowds at her film screenings. Though in a wheelchair, the self-described “old broad” was her lively, raucous self, fielding audience questions along with the famous friends on stage with her, Dick Van Dyke and Carl Reiner. 

    After her death, Rose’s daughter kept up the Twittering, and pushed the DVD release to #1 in the documentary category.  Since the torrent monkeys tend to be Eurotrash who want to give away the latest Marvel super-hero shit, none of the “freedom of speech is giving away movies” bunch carved into the profits via bootleg downloads. Then again, Rose Marie’s audience is mostly made up of older people who’d say “torrent? You mean my adult diaper is leaking? How am I supposed to notice?”  Cleverly, the DVD includes a lot of bonus material so that those who saw the movie in its brief selected theater run have plenty of reason to buy the package. What, color footage on the set of the Van Dyke series…and on the set when she made her dramatic TV debut on “Gunsmoke?” Great! 

    The documentary underlines that “Baby Rose Marie” was not just a child star.  She was a BIG child star, in the Shirley Temple category, only her dominance was on radio and on stage, not in films. People flocked to see this pint-sized girl belt songs like Durante, and some thought she was a midget in disguise. Although her creepy father took ALL the money, Rose didn’t care because she simply loved to perform and enjoyed the attention…which included doting Al Capone. 

    “The mob” was always very good to Rose Marie, and she admitted it. Bugsy Siegel began building up Las Vegas from nothing…and yes, chose Rose Marie to be a major attraction. Since she was more of a talent than a looker, the gangsters didn’t demand she sleep her way to top billing. She would’ve probably smacked ‘em if they tried. She only had eyes for a trumpet player who, despite threats from her father, married her, gave her a memorable honeymoon, and become the love…and heartbreak of her life. He died of a rare blood disease when she was at the height of her fame on “The Dick Van Dyke Show.” 

     From “Baby Rose Marie” to a bombastic Las Vegas entertainer, to the co-star of the Phil Silvers “Top Banana” musical, Rose Marie already had an incredible ride before she played the Selma Diamond-inspired female comedy writer Sally Rogers. Nobody could’ve sparked the show better, not even laid-back Selma. Rose Marie later co-starred on “The Doris Day Show” and  teamed with Rosemary Clooney, Helen O’Connell and Margaret Whiting for sold out tours when so many others from that era couldn’t get a booking at all. 

    One thing Rose Marie didn’t have was a recording career like her friend Jimmy Durante. She guested on a few tracks of Morey Amsterdam’s indie album, “Funny You Should Ask,” and put out an album of comedy and songs when the Van Dyke show was topping the ratings....

      Rose Marie Mazzetta (August 15, 1923-December 28, 2017). Below is the audio from a film performance done in 1952. “My Mama Says No No” may have been inspired by “Yes My Darling Daughter,” which had been a hit for Dinah Shore among others. Only instead of mama weirdly saying “yes” to an anxious daughter’s first forays into dating and sex, THIS mama is saying NO! Well, didn’t Rose save herself for her wedding night? YES. 

MAMA SAYS NO NO... to dopey links from spyware sites, to jerk-ass PASSWORDS or Paypal tip jar requests. Listen online or download free. 

Wednesday, May 09, 2018


    Here’s to Pat Boone, who, today, departed on what will probably be his last pilgrimage to The Holy Land. He will be arm and arm with his friend Rabbi Eckstein, leading fans through the sites of Israel treasured by both Christians and Jews. 

    While anti-Semites think that Israel is only of interest to the Jews, and that the Middle East would be better off if Israel was “blown off the map,” many supporters of Israel are Christian. They want to be able to walk in Christ’s footsteps in Israel…and bathe in the River Jordan afterward.  

    Although not known for writing songs, it was Pat Boone who wrote the lyrics to “Exodus.” After the movie came out, he was listening to the soundtrack theme and thought…there should be words to this. His divine inspiration for the opening chords: “This land is mine. God gave this land to me.”  He wrote down the rest within a half an hour. Yes, the Jewish composer Ernest Gold wrote the music, but the Christian Pat Boone wrote the words (Boone wears both a cross and a Star of David). Years later, a Jewish museum requested that when the time was right for him, Pat would donate the original manuscript of his words. Pat was more than glad to comply, but he let the museum know: “I wrote the lyrics on the back of a Christmas card.”  

    You’d assume that this blog would happily ridicule Pat Boone as a limp fish in a barrel of milk. Thing is, Pat Boone never pretended to be anything but a whitebread middle-American who liked to sing pleasant melodies. If the song was a little hot (oh, say, Little Richard’s “Tutti Frutti”) Pat poured milk on it. That’s what his fans wanted, and that’s what most of America wanted at the time. His version of the song and Richard’s version were both in the Top 20 at the same time, but were played on different radio stations. It wasn’t segregation; it was the simple fact that there were few “crossover” singers or songs back then. Morons who say Boone was “racist” should listen to Rev. Jesse Jackson, who said Boone’s covers helped the cause.

    Frankie Laine and Louis Prima were whites who could sound black, and Johnny Mathis and Nat “King” Cole were blacks who sounded easy-going, if not white. Of all the media, including movies and TV, music was the most progressive in allowing blacks to participate. Everyone bought records by Cab Calloway or Louis Armstrong or Billie Holiday. Was Pat Boone covering them all, or other white artists? 

    Is anyone puking because Nat “King” Cole sang something as white and sappy as “Mona Lisa?” Should revisionist Black Panthers be protesting him as an Uncle Tom because he happened to like and thrive on “middle of the road” white-style music? On music Pat Boone could’ve performed? Then why the reverse racism bullshit. The race card is too easy to play on Pat Boone. To his credit Boone never lost his cool despite the slams about him “stealing” from the blacks. Let’s also remember that Boone was actually a rival to Elvis Presley…and that his “lame” style of music attracted as many bobby soxers to his singles as to Presley’s. 

    Once The Beatles arrived, Boone and his milk pack (including Paul Anka, Bobby Rydell, Bobby Darin, Fabian, etc.) disappeared. He became a young guy on the oldies circuit, and sang the same repertoire as Andy Williams and other pleasant fellows.  The white bread style that sold millions of albums for Mantovani and Melachrino went moldy. The conservative views of Pat Boone and Anita Bryant became increasingly out of touch with a majority of Americans, although “easy listening” music still had a home in Las Vegas and in Branson, Missouri. 

    Boone finally returned to the charts when he put together a jokey lounge album of heavy metal songs. This time, it was his fans, not his enemies, who were appalled. They hated the album, hated him wearing leather and fake tattoos, and thought he was nuts. Actually it was just Pat Boone being Pat Boone. 

      A few years later he put out an album of R&B duets with top soul and R&B contemporaries. Yes, despite the reverse racists screaming “he bad,” and “he stole da black music,” Boone had just about every famous name black performer singing with him. They got it. Differ with his views on abortion, Trump, whatever, and like or dislike his music (I don’t play his “Greatest Hits” — anymore than I listen to Kostelanetz or James Last) but don’t diss da Boone! Sis Boone? Bah! 

    Do you know what Netanyahu calls him? “Speedy.” That’s because the leader of Israel is a fan of Pat’s dopey “Speedy Gonzalez” novelty hit. Who knows, Netanyahu might also, like so many white people, sing a Four Tops or Supremes song while driving along, or in the shower. He’s allowed. Boone’s allowed. “It’s all permitted.” Whites know they aren’t sounding like Levi Stubbs or Stevie Wonder or Smokey Robinson, but they enjoy it anyway. That’s a GOOD thing. There are also blacks who enjoy singing opera and country songs. Whites shouldn’t tell them they can’t, and neither should blacks. Sing along to whatever you want, and enjoy your fantasies.

    “This song is mine. God didn’t give this song to me…I bought the sheet music in a store. Nothing on the sheet music mentions that I can’t sing it unless I’m of the same race as the composer….” 

EXODUS -- via a download that won't take 10 days.


    As soon as rock and roll became popular, exploitation movies were grinded out with every finger-snapper from Bill Haley to Jimmy Clanton singing their hits. To be current, even movie soundtracks exploded with the dangerous, delinquent sound of roaring saxes and pounding drums. 

    Just as the leather-clad creeps in “Blackboard Jungle” broke a teacher’s prize jazz 78’s, microphones were broken in sound studios as middle-of-the-road composers tried to hep up their scores. Soon, craven movie moguls were using rock songs as movie themes, to get publicity, airplay, and kids into the theaters. "Town Without Pity," for example, was almost a ridiculous parody of teen tragedy songs, but it worked thanks to Gene Pitney, and had people coming in to see a pretty depressing film about a teen gang rape.

     A few years earlier, the melodic Alex North offered the raunchy “Hey Eula” for the Tennessee Williams drama “The Long Hot Summer” in 1958. Perhaps "Town Without Pity" owes a slight debt to this early version of hormonal bop. The object of the attention in his film: Lee Remick, who was almost as much of a “baby doll” as another Tennessee Williams favorite, Carroll Baker.

    Rushing to get their platters to the disc jockeys and the juke boxes, Sil Austin and Marty Wilson (and the Strat-o-Lites) each offered bombastic versions of "Hey! Eula," loaded with bump and grind. You get both of those below, as well as the Alex North original soundtrack take. 

     Not too many people cared that there were words (by old-timer Sammy Cahn). One who did, was the legendary British writer-comedian Barry Cryer. It's on the flip-side of his notorious cover version of “Purple People Eater.” And guess what, Cryer’s a good wailer! Just why he didn’t end up recording more rave-ups, silly or straight, well, “I’m sorry, I haven’t a clue.” 

    There have not been too many songs immortalizing the name “Eula,” which seems to nestle between the extremes of “Beulah” and “Ulalume.” Beulah is a well known Southern name most often associated with black women, notably the big fat maid played by Louise Beavers on her own early sitcom. Yes, before Diahann Carroll’s “Julia,” here was a TV show starring a black woman. But the PC brigade doesn’t want anyone to remember it because she played a domestic. 

      On the other side, there’s “Ulalume,” which is best known as the name of dead woman immortalized in a grim poem by Edgar A. Poe. He also wrote "Eulalie," another variation on the cognomen. Ah, yes, I know, I digress. And so I end this "Eula" eulogy. So just dig the download, as the hepsters say. You know, “Dig!” “Enjoy! “DL!” “Cheers!” Only here, those dopey phrases are despised, and so is the phrase “and please donate via my Paypal Tip Jar, so I can get paid while the artists don't." Nah, that's really criminal and "without pity."

"Barry, you start. Give us EULA with Lyrics." BARRY CRYER

Alex North Soundtrack Version



MAURANE - starts her comeback and dies at 57

There’s more rain…tears in the eyes of all fans of the great Maurane.  She performed over the weekend for the FIRST TIME in two years…and then was found dead. 

Maurane, qui avait interrompu sa carrière en 2016 à cause de problèmes aux cordes vocales….oh, pardon MOI. Sapristi! Maurane, the Belgian singing star whose career came to a halt in 2016 due to vocal cord issues, only recently returned to the stage. She told her Facebook faithful that she was planning a new album covering the music of Jacque Brel (another Belgie) and planned on a tour in 2019. Over the weekend, she performed her first concert, posting to her fans, “Today, I officially set foot on a stage after more than two years of absence. I will not tell you in what state I am …” 

She was found dead on Monday evening, May 7th, at her home in Schaerbeek, which is outside of Brussels. There was nothing to suggest anything but natural causes, but an autopsy will be performed.

Born Claudine Luypaerts, she appeared in “Starmania” and had her first hit single, ‘Danser’ in 1986. She sang in French, rather than brutal German or repulsive Dutch, which had many thinking she was actually from France.

She did share the stage with many of the great French singers of the era, including Michel Berger and France Gall, and sang a duet with Canada's beautiful Lara Fabian in 2003. Lara wrote: "I'm sitting here in my little white office in Montreal, I do not want to realize you're gone, I can not. I tell myself that you are going to call and shout at me, because we do not see enough…” 

Maurane made about a dozen albums, and was part of the jury of the television show "Nouvelle Star"  in 2012 and 2013. In 2014 she released (the current word would be “dropped”) the album “Overture.” Some time after that, the vocal cord problem kicked in. And after she solved it, she kicked off. As Ringo would tell you, “tomorrow never knows.”

Below is one of Maurane’s most beloved hits, which translates as “On a Bach Prelude.” You’ll instantly recognize the opening notes, which have echoed in so many concert halls, and bounced off the walls of so many elevators when converted into “easy listening” pap. The notes were even copped by Mr. Fisher, for a glittering surprise appearance on “Repent Walpurgis,” an instrumental on the first album by Boko Harum, the rock group that has turned rogue. 

We can see Maurane on YouTube, and we can enjoy her albums. But there could have been so much more, and she could have been thrilling audiences for another dozen years. This star who began in the 80’s, could have lived into her 80’s enjoying life and the benefits befitting someone who shared her talent with the world. Instead, we can only say the recordings are immortal. Maurane: November 12, 1960-May 7, 2018.

Tish, that's FRENCH! "Sur un prélude de Bach" - no Zinfart password, no wheedling parasitic request for a "tip" via Paypal

Eileen - These Boots Are Made for Walkin' IN FRENCH, How does that GRAB YOU?

Happy Birthday to EILEEN, the lady in the sunglasses.

    We turn from the sad death of Maurane…to look ahead in celebrating the birthday of Eileen Goldsen-Chamussy. Simply called EILEEN in France, she had hits well before the simply named MAURANE did. Ms. Goldsen is probably best remembered as “the French Nancy Sinatra,” which is a bit hard to do when you’re actually born in America. 

     As previously mentioned on the blog, Eileen was born in New York, the daughter of a music publisher. She taught French in Los Angeles and came to Paris in the early 60's. She seemed to specialize in doing French cover versions of American folk tunes and pop hits. While some vocalists routinely did their own phonetic versions for the French, Italian and German markets (notably Lesley Gore and Petula Clark) others didn't bother. 

      When Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots are Made for Walkin'" stomped all over the charts, it was blonde Eileen who offered up the French take. And very well, merci. In fact, record companies being what they are (greedy), it was thought: why not have Eileen actually cover Nancy Sinatra in English, too? Why not siphon off some of the bucks by having Eileen's version of a Nancy hit, in English, available in the stores? "How Does that Grab You, Darlin'?" 

       Back in the day, it was very common in England and in Europe for a quick cover version to battle the original, and since the cover version was from homegrown talent, available for in-store promotions and TV appearances, it often worked out very well. It also helped if the cover-singer could compete. Eileen technically was a better singer than Nancy Sinatra, but you still have to give the edge to Nancy when it comes to attitude. Nancy's slightly flat and desultory style made her put-downs even more sexy. (Or to quote a Jim Carroll song line, "The more she denies 'em, the more they demand her.") 

        Eileen still runs her "French Fried" music company in France, and is clearly enjoying the good life. Born May 16th, 1941...Joyeux Anniversaire.

BOOTS in FRENCH - listen or download - no egocentric Passwords, no sleazy requests for Paypal donations

HOW DOES THAT GRAB YOU DARLIN' - you listen or download without being sent to a click here and get spyware trick-link

A Farty Frog in the Wind - Une Grenouille Dans Le Vent from EILEEN

What do we have here? Sort of a French variation on Old MacDonald? Only here it would be "Old MacDonald had some a fart, here a quack.." 

As a banjo starts to pick out what the French figured was a classic American folk song (and who knows, maybe it is), Eileen and her silly French backup singers sing while froggy fart noises and ducky quacks pop up in the background.

Did American Eileen figure to become an authentic "frog" in France by doing this GRENOUILLE song? Possible! Some years later, Veronique Sanson, the French pop-rock legend, tried to crack the American market by singing about being a "Full Tilt Frog." (No, Americans didn't care, nor were they impressed she was married to Stephen Stills at the time.) 

“Une Grenouille Dans Le Vent” is an ill oddity you should have in your collection. As Humphrey Lyttleton might explain if he was alive, it has Eileen's vocals which have the smooth charm of a swanny whistle, while the frog noises create a startling counterpoint like a raspy kazoo. "Une Grenouille" of course means "A Frog." “Dans Le Vent” is “without a Dutch asshole.” No, no, I could be wrong about that....

Listen online or download - NO Zippy "update your spyware" links or obnoxious Paypal Tip Jar requests

Thursday, April 19, 2018

Eileen: "The M.T.A. Song" Boston novelty sung in French

    Here’s something peculiar for you: a folk song about the Boston underground…sung in French. Why would the French care? And what could they make of a schmuck named Charlie who can’t simply get off a train? And what about his even more ridiculous wife, who throws him sandwiches when she could easily toss one with a few coins in it so he can pay the fare? 

    One of the lousy things about travel is that you generally have no idea how to get around. Unless you take a cab and don’t mind being stiffed all the time and driven the longest way possible, you’re stuck with mass transit. Most every city has its own infuriating rules. Coins allowed? NOT allowed? Do you have to wait on a line and get a TICKET? I haven't been in France in a while, but the last time, I recall some odd business about getting a pass with a photo ID on it. I don't remember if I used the pass itself or had to buy individual  tickets for every subway (metro) or bus ride.

    The gimmick with the Boston system at the time (and maybe even now) is fare zones. I haven't been in Boston in a long time. I do recall their "underground" as being pretty dinky. I think at least you could actually take an easy commute from Logan Airport into mid-town or even Cambridge.

      Still, a tourist is going to be wondering, "is that ticket good for getting on and off anywhere? Must I pay more the further along I go? If you’re just queer for trains, can you ride it all day back and forth, looking out the window or up the skirts of passengers? Should someone tell you not to look up the skirts of passengers if you’re in Scotland?

       In the song, poor Charlie didn’t anticipate a fare increase and was short a nickel. Har har. Did he ever return? No, he never returned, and his fate is still unlearned! 

    Will Holt was a nice man, and I enjoyed talking to him about some aspects of his career. I think he considered “The MTA Song” one of his lesser achievements. It was amusing that it became such a hit, but he put lyrics to better music (coming up with “Lemon Tree” for example) and this was just a novelty. He figured his enduring achievements were in the musicals he wrote for the stage. (Most of YOU know this thing and "Lemon Tree" most of all). The inspiration for this was a jingle blaring from a truck, being played in the streets to promote a local politician. Holt re-wrote it, recorded it…and it didn’t exactly reach the Top 10. The Kingston Trio covered it, and changed the name of the local politician to the fictional “George O’Brien.” The exuberant trio had a hit. 

    So why not see if it could roll in other countries, too? The singer here is EILEEN. She’s better known as a Nancy Sinatra impersonator (in France, at least) but she took on a variety of American tunes to Frenchify. An interesting thing about her is that she is proof that it’s who you know…but also if you know other languages. Eileen’s father Michael Goldsen founded Criterion Music. (Yeah, yeah, you wonder who losted it. Ha ha.) Born in New York, a language teacher in Los Angeles, she taught French, and was asked to translate some of the popular folk songs of the day into that language. 

    In 1963 the teacher journeyed to Paris, married over there, and managed to get a record deal offering her specialty of being able to sing perfectly in two languages, and knowing the cultures of both. She did both an English cover version of Nancy Sinatra songs and foreign language variations. Since she learned a bit about the music biz from her father, it’s not much of a surprise that after her brief days as a singing idol ended, she started her own music publishing firm, French Fried Music. She still lives in France. 

Hop aboard: Le Métro De Boston (M.T.A. The Boston Subway Song) download or listen online

DICKIE GOODMAN Boris Karloff Monster Mash into A HARD DAY’S NIGHT

    Dickie Goodman’s birthday is today (April 19, 1934) but he’s not around to make jokes about it. Let’s not dwell on his self-inflicted ending (November 6, 1989) . For many decades, he did his best to cheer up people with ridiculous “break-in” novelty singles and, now and then, peculiar “concept” albums that involved his own singing skills.

    One of the first artists to challenge copyright rules on “sampling,” Goodman and his then-partner Bill Buchanan offered up an indie single called “The Flying Saucer” in 1956, which, love it or detest it, involved using fragments of popular songs as punchlines. Goodman’s main schtick was the fake news interview, his voice a kind of Jewish version of Walter Winchell. 

    Billboard charged “The Flying Saucer” at #3 and while he would never get to #1, Goodman kept on going and going, with, eventually an entire set of Walter Winchell singles…all keyed to Winchell’s role as narrator of TV’s “The Untouchables.” These were: “The Touchables,” “The Touchables in Brooklyn” and “Santa and the Touchables,” which all landed in the Top 100. 

    Goodman did try to break away from sampling now and then.  “Russian Bandstand” was a “what if American Bandstand was broadcast in Communist Russia” notion, and issued as “Spencer and Spencer” with new partner Mickey Shorr). 

    One of his early non-break-in albums was “My Son the Joke.” Along with Stan Ross, who put out a similar album of Jewish novelty tunes, the idea was to grab off some of the sales Allan Sherman was enjoying. Figuring that sex sells, and that doity Jewish comedy (ala Belle Barth and Pearl Williams) would not be something Sherman would ever try, Dickie offered up songs on everything from menstruation (“Red River Sally”) to “Harry’s Jockstrap,” an overt twist on Sherman’s “Sarah Jackman.” 

    Below is “Balling my Zelda,” typical of that album. Dickie didn’t grab all the same public domain folk songs that Allan used. “Balling my Zelda” is of course based on “Waltzing Matilda,” which Sherman never quite got around to messing with. Allan’s “My Zelda” is based on the Harry Belafonte calypso hit “Matilda.” 

    Through the 60’s and 70’s, almost any hot news subject or movie got a cash-in tweak from Dickie Goodman. This included the Nixon slam “Watergrate,” a novelty single on the “Energy Crisis” and when the movie “Jaws” was a hit, there he was, doing “Mr. Jaws.” A few years later, out came “Kong,” keyed to a remake of “King Kong.” All of this stuff got into the Billboard Top 100 in the 70’s, and “Mr. Jaws” actually hit #4, his best showing in nearly 20 years.  

    Apparently in 1980 Dickie recorded “The Monster Album,” which was obviously ill-timed to any current trend. I would’ve thought he recorded it back in 1964, when it would’ve been a fairly fresh and commercial idea. That’s when the craze for monster comedy peaked. It grew with “Monster Rally” on RCA and “Spike Jones in Stereo” on Warners, led to Bobby “Boris" Pickett's huge hit “Monster Mash” for Garpax. Below, “A Hard Days Night” done with the Karloff narration style that made Bobby “Boris” Pickett a star. 

    Thanks to Rhino, which specialized in promoting a lot of offbeat novelty stuff, Goodman was finally off his indie labels (such as Wacko), and hoping for a return to glory. No, “Return of the Jedi Returns” in 1983 did not do it for him, and by 1987, he was back to financing his own singles and releasing “Safe Sex Report” via Goodname, which he thought was a good name. Debts and depression overcame him, age 55, and it just wasn’t very funny. 

    A few years later, and nostalgic Demento-types were hunting up every 45 rpm single on all his bizarre indie labels from Luniverse to Rainy Wednesday, with some 78's fetching big eBay bucks. CDs, authorized or not, began to offer cleaned up, good quality versions of those manic old break-in numbers. His son Jon was instrumental in pushing for Dickie’s fair share of fame and honors as a pioneer of novelty singles.  While much of what Dickie did is now dated, and most people don’t get all the break-in recognition humor references, there are still a lot of people out there who are in his groove. And they wish he was around to hear a heartfelt “Happy Birthday, you wacko.”

Hard Days Night - Karloff Style - download or listen online - no Zinfart passwords no misdrection links no Russian yaddiyadda

Allan Sherman going dirty? BALLING MY ZELDA


Here's a little tribute the the lady with the big, big voice, born April 19, 1940. The great GENYA RAVAN. 

Ravan (pronounced "Raven") sounded like a "black bird," and her version of "Bird" starts softly, with a beautiful gospel touch, before rising into a crescendo of emotion. I told her I thought she was the real deal, and that Janis Joplin was just a "high wind." Genya did not choose to agree or disagree. She was, to paraphrase Dylan being a "diplomat." She kept mum and stroked her siamese cat. No, really. She had it on her shoulder for a while. Another was wandering around her apartment. 

If you want to know more about Genya's amazing life and times (and see pix from her men's magazine days) get her autobiography.
I've always believed Genya to be one of the greatest female vocalists of all time. Just listen to what she does with that BIRD ON THE WIRE. 

Bird on the Wire - listen on line or download

No capcha codes, no pop up ads, no moronic egocentric Zinfart passwords.

I Do The ROCK - get no Pulitzer Prize - birthday man TIM CURRY

    Here’s a live version of “I Do De Rock” from Tim Curry, born April 19, 1940. Back when he was touring in support of this song and others on his solo albums, he told me that he was very serious about having a career in rock. He wasn’t just trying to make a buck off his rock star cult status from “Rocky Horror.” He liked, appreciated and wanted to be a part of ROCK, more than movies. (PS, in person the mild-mannered fellow was nothing like Frank-N-Furter.) 

    Maybe he loved the rock too much; for many listeners his first album's tracks were a bewildering mix of rock and pop genres, including a strut (“Birds of a Feather”), a stomp (“Wake Nicodemus”), cabaret balladry (“Alan”), oldies bombast (“Anyone Who had a Heart”) and the obligatory Beatles cover (“I Will”). When he had the chance to trade on “Rocky Horror” he didn’t. His cover of “All I Want” (by Joni Mitchell) has a line, “bop till I drop in some jukebox dive.” That was his substitution for Joni’s original “rip my stockings in some jukebox dive.” That’s how much he did NOT want to carry over his crossdressing image...which probably disappointed the "Rocky" cult. 

    The next album, still hoping for a big rock audience, had some punchier rock, with Dick Wagner one of the co-producers. Alice Cooper could’ve sung some of the rock-angst-roll numbers (“Hide This Face” “Right on the Money”).  Tim had another Joni cover, rocking up “Cold Blue Steel,” and even a campy bit of comedy in “Charge It” (about trendy shopping).  As for “I Do The Rock,” it was reggae rock…with a dash of parody (one would assume...he co-wrote it). And he brought all this, and more, to his tours, but like everyone from Jim Carroll to Warren Zevon, he was a critics’ darling, seemed to have manic fans, but the cult was actually small. Small clubs, small sales. And soon he was back to making movies.  

    You do de rock…and you don’t always get de respect. Have you noticed that rockers get real stupid when talking about their art form? Maybe that's why classical and jazz have always been taken more seriously as an art form. Classical and jazz tend to appeal to people with expensive tastes, and you wear a suit to a concert and buy state-of-the-art stereo equipment. Rock? Not so much. Consider the truly moronic anthem “I Love Rock and Roll.” How about the dimwitted and jeering “I Know It’s ONLY Rock and Roll (But I Like It).” You can throw in witless song titles like “Rock and Roll Never Forgets.” Maybe this is why doing de rock NEVER got anyone a Pulitzer. Not The Beatles. Not Dylan. Not Paul Simon. Not Joni Mitchell. Not Leonard Cohen. NOBODY. 

    The Pultizer Prize for music, for the past 70 years, has ONLY been awarded to  CLASSICAL and JAZZ. Until a weird exception last week. 

    The irony is this: can any reasonable music lover name a worthwhile piece of classical music composed later than World War II? No. Prokofiev was the last gasp. Can anyone name a challenging piece of modern jazz that isn’t a discordant shit-mess? Miles was the last gasp, and nothing past the Vietnam War. So who was winning the Pulitzer Prize classical music honors from 1945 onward, with the spice of some jazz victories now and then? Go ahead and Google and you’ll find hideous classical from Roger Sessions and numbing jazz from Wynton Marsalis. You won’t find experimental works that you can stand for more than five minutes. 

    What about experimental works such as “Revolution #9” by The Beatles? What about those Frank Zappa albums which he orchestrated with fanatical care? You can be experimental…even unlistenable…in other categories besides CLASSICAL and JAZZ, can’t you? Not according to the Pulitzer Prize committee. But last week Kendrick Lamar could’ve sung, “I DO DE PULITZER.”

    Why this happened, who knows. Nobody dares to complain, either, the way they did when Bob Dylan got the Nobel Prize after 50 solid years of great, challenging, artistic music in many genres, and classic songs everyone knows and loves. “Damn” is the name of his album, and my reaction to his fucking Pulitzer. His brand of rap is being taken way too seriously, which certainly has to piss off Jay-Z and Kanye and even Cardi B. Sapristi, Roger Waters’ brown-shirts must be wondering, “What about THE WALL?” I mean, how obnoxious do you have to be before the Pulitzer people take notice? And let’s not ask why “Sgt. Pepper” or “Tommy” or various “classical rock” concoctions and hybrids 

(“Preservation Act I and 2” by The Kinks) never made it. I could add Jethro Tull’s discs but that would be living in the past. The fact is, the present belongs to some pretty bad music, and we can add Ed Sheeran, Sam Smith, Adele, Taylor Swift, Coldplay, and almost all of today’s “faves” to the stinking stew. But let’s return to our spicy bit of Curry. 

    “I Do The Rock” didn’t get nominated for a Grammy for “Best Comedy Performance,” and Curry’s stuff, when vinyl died and CD took over, barely made it to one “Best of” that was quickly remaindered. Do the ROCK, and you do not get de respect or de Pulitzer Prize. Funny, Lamar’s album might also be the FIRST Pulitzer Prize winning music you can actually find via piracy downloads for free. In this case, it’s worth every penny you spent. 

I Do the ROCK from the Bottom Line in NYC - no dopey passwords or "your Adobe is out of date download spyware" game

Monday, April 09, 2018

April 9, 2018 - TOM LEHRER is 90

What a surprise. TOM LEHRER was trending on TWITTER today...not because he died, but because it's his 90th birthday. 

Lehrer was a pioneer of "sick" comedy back in the early 50's, and his work is, happily, as disturbing now as it was then. And just as funny. A bit more disturbing is that there will not be another like him, and the odds of independent singers of ANY type having fame and success continues to shrink like the polar ice cap. 

Tom Lehrer had some places to play. He didn't pay to play. He was good, so he got some bookings. The audience was response was good. He decided to pay somebody to record his songs. He decided to pay somebody to press some albums. He sold his albums at his gigs and by mail. He got reviewed not by blogs, but by REAL columnists who mattered. When his albums sold out, he printed more, and then got a deal with Reprise. 

What's the alternative now? A budding Tom Lehrer tosses his files on Spotify and YouTube? He "networks" on Facebook with a million others? If he's "lucky" he makes a few pennies in royalties before self-entitled hipsters start giving away his work? When Tom Lehrer started, he didn't have self-entitled egotists and parasites copying his songs and either demanding "tip jar" payments or "nice comments" to give it away. ("Copyright remains with the artist. And, by the way, copyright IS copy WRONG. Har har. Pirates, if you LIKE it, buy it. Maybe. Nah.") Yeah, some gas bags, losers and senile fools like to pretend they're in show biz by giving shit away. They will never meet Lehrer, or any other performer, so they won't be in a position to say, "Hey, I am a real fan, I gave away all your music via Fuckheadshare! I got some nice comments, too! Owwww....."

An irony with Tom Lehrer is that he always had a day job, and he preferred teaching to performing. Not everybody is a natural ham, and Tom didn't even bother to put his picture on his album covers. He told me that after he got his laughs in nightclubs, and on a few TV shows, that was enough. Another factor was that his main interest was in parodying music genres. Eventually, he ran out of them. He destroyed folk, waltz, lullabye, tango, march, country, ragtime, etc. As The Beatles and rock became popular, he slipped into Academia and stayed there.

He had modest tastes and a professor's salary was fine. Besides, a professor gets a pension. How fortunate he wasn't like hundreds of others who thought, "I'll just keep singing and touring, and I'll always have my health, and always have royalties coming in for my music..."

Lured out of retirement once in a while, he recorded some whimsical stuff for Public Television (including "LY" and "Silent E" for the kiddies). He also recorded "Chanukah in Santa Monica" for his people, most of whom unaware of his Jewish heritage. He left the field to Weird Al who switched words on rock songs. Rock didn't interest Tom. In fact, he told me that folk rock wasn't interesting to him either. His parody "Folk Song Army" was, he said, aimed squarely at a certain folkie popular in 1965, named Phil Ochs. You might recall Tom's realist final line to that song: "Ready, Aim, Sing!" Maybe Phil would've been amused and even complimented, knowing it was he, not Dylan, that pissed Tom off the most!

Tom, like most everyone who has recorded, and actually been IN the business, is aware that just as songs don't really change the world, nobody can change the attitude of the dopey Dutch, the sleazy Swedes, the creepy Communists in Croatia and Russia, the jerks in Germany, the tiny-dicks in South America or the ladyboy fuckers in Asia who regularly throw entire discographies around by the torrent, offer goody bags on their blogs, and are happy Santas who want a "nice" comment or a "Paypal tip" for giving away music. Irony that it's not really the Americans or the Brits who give away the American and British music as much as the world's least hip people in the world's shittiest lamest countries. What can be said when "We like FREE" says it all. Fuck the record companies, record stores, music studios, artists and the dwindling venues, too. Stay home and download it ALL.

No, there's no discography of Lehrer here, no "sure, buddy, you got it" response to any "please upload every Tom Lehrer song, best regards." The question: what should be a sample for the uninitiated, or those who need a reminder? From the reminder, hopefully there will be the desire to actually buy the boxed set, or a few of the CDs that eBay sellers are now desperately pricing at only a few bucks. Tom was beyond having a good "batting average" on his records. He was more like an MMA fighter. Find his first 30 songs, and you can say he's maybe 24-4-2, with 24 ko's 4 ordinary draws, and maybe two clinkers. That's impressive.

 Unlike Weird Al, Tom Lehrer had a brilliant ability to mimic genres. His "Masochism Tango" is a great tango. His "Vatican Rag" is great ragtime. The lyrics were almost always delightedly evil. The best way to make fun of sentimental waltzes, love songs, college drinking songs etc. was to make the lyrics as sick as possible. And this was before Lenny Bruce. This was when sick humor was confined to some fringe magazines that often had girlie pix in them, and cartoons with captions like, "Drink your soup before it clots." Tom sang about boy scouts pimping their sisters, pigeons being poisoned in the park, and the comforts of "powdered happiness" courtesy of a dope peddler. His march song was for his cause: "Smut...and nothing but!" Equal to Cole Porter, Lehrer's rhymes were witty and unexpected ("try and hide" with "cyanide") and he'd drop classical and pop in-jokes into the melodies, too. So, which song...hmm....

Since it’s his 90th Birthday, he’d probably not say “HAPPY” birthday, and instead hope that when he goes, everyone else goes, too. Nuclear disaster is STILL on the table, after all. So down below, the choice is “We Will All Go Together When We Go,” which is an example of just about everything Tom Lehrer did so brilliantly. You'll hear an original melody AND clever rhymes (including some internals -- wait for "funeral" sneaking into "sooner or later..."). A true musician, he changes tempo (and works in a fine pun on "Down By the Old Mill Stream.") Most of all he's on target with his chosen weapon for the kill: brutal satire. 

Tom Lehrer

Well, Who Knows what "Diddy Wah Diddy" means? Peg Leg Sam?

Now that's the face of the blues, huh? Scarred up "Peg Leg Sam" also had one leg, which made him quite an authentic and colorful sight for the white musicologists who haunted small Southern towns trying to document the origins of rhythm and blues. 

Not quite as unlikely as Andrew McCrew, hobo Arthur Jackson (December 18, 1911 – October 27, 1977) survived his hobo railroad accident, and hobbled along, with humor and style, singing all kinds of tunes. Below is his take on "MR. DITTY WA DITTY." 

If you want to spend your time studying word origins, you'll find that "Diddy" in most slang dictionaries, is a variation on "Titty." You'll also find a cousin in "Diddly," which generally means nothing. Literally. "You don't mean diddly" is a popular term in the South where most people not only don't mean diddly, they don't mean diddly squat. Unless they're singing a ditty. 

If you feel like it, you can go way past Bo Diddley and his "Diddy Wa Diddy" (which he recorded in 1956 and credited to himself (as Elias Daniel) and co-writer Willie Dixon) to the old days of Fats Waller and his pal Andy Razaf. It was Razaf who wrote "That's What I Like About the South," which mentions a certain town:

“Did I tell you about the place called Doo Wah Ditty? It ain’t no town and it ain’t no city. It’s awful small, but awful pretty, that Doo Wah Ditty.”  Among those mystified by the lyrics was Jack Benny. When Phil Harris had a hit with “That’s What I Like About the South,” Jack got into a comic argument with Phil: “What is a Doo Wah Ditty? That’s all I ask!” Replied Phil: “Doo Wah Ditty is a town located in the southern part of the state at the foot of the Wah Doo Ditty Mountains and on the bank of the Ditty Wah Doo River…famous because it runs backwards.” 

Oh. But you can go backward even further. Arthur Blake (aka Blind Blake) recorded "Diddie Wah Diddie" in 1929: 

"There's a great big mystery
, and it sure is worrying me: 
this diddie wah diddie,
 this diddie wah diddie. 
I wish somebody would tell me what "diddie wah diddie" means.

Some little girl about four feet four:
"Go in, papa, and get me some more
...of your diddie wah diddie,
 your diddie wah diddie." 
I wish somebody would tell me what "diddie wah diddie" means...." 

It's likely most white people, especially the clueless Dutch and the Swedes, first heard the question sung by Leon Redbone. Leon is Dickran Gobalian, born in Cypress back on August 26, 1949.  Critics loved his cool way of wearing all white, quietly sitting with his legs crossed, and using a black singing voice. Especially if the alternative was listening to "Do Wah Diddy Diddy" (written by Jeff Barry and Ellie Greenwich, and turned into a white hot hit by Manfred Mann, after it was first recorded by The Exciters.) 

Whatever you think a Diddy might be (and Sean Combs switched to Puff Daddy and then to P. Diddy because he thought it was cool to P with his Diddy), you'll enjoy Peg Leg's authentic take. So take it: 

Mr. Ditty Wa Ditty listen online or download - no egocentric passwords, tip jar requests or jerky "Enjoy!" exhortations 


Cats, one of the most popular topics for raunchy blues numbers is a raunchy twat. 

The rather delicately phrased "What kind of scent is that" is sung here with a slow strum by Bo Carter. Poor Bo, he's home alone, and his lady comes home around midnight. His ears prick up, but not his prick:

"Now baby, what kind of scent is that? Baby, what kind of scent is that??" He can't sleep. He can only ask that question again and again. As Brother Greg (Dick Gregory) used to say, "You see, we all have problems." Or to put it mathematically, sometimes cooze=blooze. 

Bo Carter, aka Armenter Chatmon (June 30, 1893 – September 21, 1964), originally worked out of Mississippi, but later sang in Memphis. As is typical with "dirty R&B" cats, he usually sang about the cock, not the twat, using the usual euphemisms: "Banana in Your Fruit Basket" and"Please Warm My Wiener" and, on a sadder note, "My Pencil Won't Write No More."

There was a time when 78rpm "dirt" was confined to either "race" records found on obscure labels in the South, or some very "sophisticated" jazz numbers sold under the counter in urban record shops and in some nightclubs. Since some people don't even get what tuxedo-wearing fellows like Dwight Fiske were singing about, it's no surprise that you'll find many more CD compilations of THIS kind of thing...them raunchy R&B tunes that put it right in your lap.

SCENT by download...or you can just listen on line. No stupid passwords or Russian spyware/link service


Walter Davis (March 1, 1911-October 22, 1963) is singing this sad ol' blues tune: 

"You come in here walkin' just like a goose, look like somebody just turned you loose. Doin' something wrong. Doin' something wrong...(I can) tell by the way you smell." 

Do you suppose if a fan turns at 78rpm, it makes SOME women a bit mo' tol'able? 

Born in Mississippi, Walter Davis learned early on, Missouri loves company. It was in St. Louis that his career took off, and unlike some blues guys, he did work for a major label, cutting dozens and dozens of tracks of RCA Victor's Bluebird division. He recorded sad songs like "Tears Came Rollin' Down" and dirty songs where the tears came rollin' down for a very different reason. 

78's began to go out of fashion by the time Davis suffered a debilitating stroke in 1952. He found less strenuous work sitting behind a desk at a local hotel, checking out the people as they checked in. And if some guy turned up with a ho' well, he could probably tell by the way she smelled.  

Dat Twat Smell Like a Rat - listen online or download on the down low 

Thursday, March 29, 2018


    You remember Yvonne Elliman. She sang “I Don’t Know How to Love Him” in “Jesus Christ Superstar” about 45 years ago. On April Fool’s Day (appropriately enough) the Black Jesus himself, JOHN LEGEND, will take the title role in a live broadcast of Andrew Lloyd Dwarf’s fabulous musical. White girl Sara Bareilles will be Mary Magdalene. Somehow, it's considered PC and a fantastic kick in the balls of Diversity to have a BLACK JESUS, but not a BLACK Mary Magdalene. Why dat, yo? If Jesus was really BLACK (and not Jewish…two very different noses), why do we think Mary Magdalene was a white whore? Oh well. Sara is happy re-writing history by declaring how great it is that a sex worker can be celebrated.  

    You probably were wondering whatever became of Yvonne. The answer is that she actually does a lot of touring and a lot of very nice charity work, since it's not that easy for somebody in her age bracket to get paying gigs. Maybe that's why she just couldn’t go flying out to a charity concert without flying on some drugs. She and her hubby were apparently so potted they  didn’t think there was a POSSIBILITY of getting busted. 

      Airport police found pot AND “crystal-like rocks and a glass pipe” in their belongings. Fortunately, this didn't happen in some totally insane country that might put somebody like her in the slammer for the rest of her life. It happened in Guam, and frankly, she could pass for being a Guaman. Guamish? Guacamole? Whatever...the happy news is she only got two weeks, which she can spend in a Hawaii detention center. Why, that’s almost a vacation. It probably also helped that the reason she was in Guam was to perform at a Catholic school benefit. 

    Since Andrew Lewd Weasel’s music is pretty awful, below is NOT anything from Jeez da Soopa Stah. Instead, you get something a little more rare and credible. It’s Yvonne singing the Blind Faith classic “Can’t Find My Way Home,” with backing from Eric Clapton’s band. At first, you’re hearing Yvonne on guitar and then you’re hearing, well, somebody or other in the band, but not E.C. Mr. Clapton just introduced her (he somehow couldn’t pronounce her name) and then wandered off...probably because HE knew how to get through an airport WITH his drugs.  The performance is from 1977. 

Can't Find My Way Home - listen online, download, no bullshit password, no Tip Jar, no Russians/Croatians etc with malware or desires to rip off the USA/UK

Buskers Blues - By God How the Money Does NOT Roll In

    Exactly ten years ago, somebody in the U.K. put out a 2 CD set of upcoming singers, wanna-be’s, MySpace hopefuls, buskers and denizens of the “pay to play” scene.  “37 Original Local Acts” were being “supported,” with a pressing apparently paid for by sponsors listed on the bottom of the booklet, including Courier, Certus and The Chapel. 

    Obviously, nothing happened. I was tempted to check all 37 to see how many still had the website they bought, or moved on to have an active Facebook or Twitter account. I did notice that the websites listed for the producer and for the project are long gone. Have you heard OF or heard any tunes by these 37, who were professional enough, and far enough in their pay-to-play gig and self-pressed albums to get the attention of this producer? 

    You know me. I have always been one to flip through the bargain bins, buy the samplers, and look for something to play beyond AC/DC or Celine Dion. Out of somewhat morbid curiosity, I grabbed this obscurity and actually began playing the Yeah, most of them didn’t last 10 or 20 seconds, but it was a lot more fun and exciting than listening to "Marrakesh Express." Decent singers, competent guitarists, the newcomers mostly were still imitating Cobain, Patti Smith, Waits, Sarah McLachlan or whoever got them into music. Like thousands of others, they gave up. A few, too soon.  

    Among the artists who chose the “write what you know about” route, is the guy below, Leeves. Unlike some of the others who chose to write about being sensitive, hurt, alienated or worth pity, he offered a kind of punky, realistic take on busking. In 2007 it was not helpful to be another Dury or Johnny Rotten or whoever he was trying to be, but you might be momentarily taken with “Buskers Blues.” Right; people don’t stop and listen. Even, to paraphrase Joni,  you’re "playin’ real good for free." Freeeeeee. And don't we think the music should beeee freeeee!

    TEN years ago, a bargain 2 CD sampler set of music was considered a possible “new paradigm” in getting young talent heard. Nah. Now the idea is to somehow pay a company to stick your stuff on Spotify for you, or to put your D.I.Y. shit on YouTube and hope that somebody finds you amid the Taylor Swift covers and the zillions of catchy-title tunes that people reject in favor of "Top Ten UFC KO's."  

    Once in a while a surviving record label pushes a new artist and pushes and pushes. You're told this idiot with a strange wig on, this sound-alike rapper, this bullshitting pretentious singer-songwriter, is the real deal. “Saturday Night Live” interrupts the comedy for this crap and you think, “Oh, this is somebody I’m supposed to like,” and then mute the sound. 

      It’s human nature to a) want something for nothing and b) resist anything new. This means people don't buy, and are more inclined to go to a forum and cry, "Anyone got EVERY Dan Fogelberg in FLAC? My 4 TB drive isn't quite full yet. Best regards. We love music!" Hey, Dan's a millionaire, record companies suck, and there are plenty more rationalizations where that came from. Meanwhile the 20-somethings don't bring us new and interesting things like Dylan once did, and the 60-somethings who followed Bob don't get record deals either, and are lucky to get an invitation to an oldies cruise or a few outdoor concerts in the summer. They consider it a Strawb of luck — er, a stroke of luck — if they can send out music on some Curved Air to a crowd of a few hundred sitting on their Pratts. 

    Michael Moore said recently that the best way to break through is to be totally originally. If there are 300 MILLION people in America, and only 1 in 300 like your stuff, you still can become a millionaire if they buy. IF they buy. IF they know what you did. "I Know What You Did Last Summer" is the title of a film, not followed by, "...and I'm so glad it just got released and I've bought it." 

    And so it is, that 37 artists thought, “Well, I gave ‘em my best song, and it's on this compilation, and I'll get somewhere." Ten years ago. And now? One of 'em does get his song on this blog! I did check to see what this guy might be up to. A quick Google indicated he may have put out some self-pressed albums to sell while busking, and he may have had a band that played somewhere once in a while before breaking up, and who knows, he may still be around, but more likely he's on Linked-In hoping to get a day job far removed from the music world. 

    People will still buy guitars. They will still try to master Garage Band. They will still try and write and record a song and try to get it to Spotify or iTunes with a hope and a prayer. Yes, where they are allowed, there are still buskers, competing with motorcycle noises and passing trucks and screaming brats and barking dogs and prattling twats on cell phones. They will sing the blues. Here's Buskers Blues...

Buskers Blues - no stupid egocentric passwords, no malware, no Russian websites

Monday, March 19, 2018

Happy Birthday, Phyllis Newman

Lift up your hearts, and wish a Happy Birthday to PHYLLIS NEWMAN, born on this date in 1933.

You know Phyllis Newman? Then you probably saw her on Broadway in "The Apple Tree," "On the Town," or "Prisoner of Second Avenue."

Maybe you remember her ebullient presence on otherwise slow-moving TV quiz shows such as "To Tell the Truth" and "What's My Line."

Did you know Phyllis Newman beat Barbra Streisand for a Tony Award? Do you care? Well, it's true. Newman's star turn in "I Can Get it For You Wholesale" was hot stuff way back when...back when the radio played songs your mother (or grandmother) would know.

The woman who was married to Adolph Green *Betty Comden was his writing partner, not his wife) sang satiric songs on "That Was the Week That Was," played a Russian spy on "Amos Burke Secret Agent," and capped the 70's with a one-woman show, "Madwoman of Central Park West," In the 80's she did appear on some soap operas and in films, though her main interest was and is theater charity work, notably "The Phyllis Newman Women's Health Initiative." Talk about women's health...Newman's autobiography mainly chronicles the harrowing physical and emotional problems that came with cancer treatment and a double mastectomy. Unlike some "uplifting" tomes, this one's frank, factual, and pretty depressing, even if the "happy ending" is that she did come back and return to performing.

Like many actresses in Broadway musicals of her era, including Chita Rivera, Georgia Brown and Angela Lansbury, Phyllis Newman was on original cast album vinyl but rarely given a real shot at solo recordings. That field was dominated by the likes of Peggy Lee, Rosemary Clooney and the rest of the nightclub professionals. Still, when she did get a chance in front of a studio microphone to make an album or single, she didn't disappoint. Songs such as "Clouds" or "Those Were the Days" or "Your Mother Should Know" were easily within her range of both key and credibility.  

"Your Mother Should Know." Like "I'm Henry the 8th" the second verse is same as the first...

PHYLLIS NEWMAN Your Mother Should Know


    Mainstream music fans might only know of Buck Owens through The Beatles and “Act Naturally.” The song was a big country chart hit for Buck, but brought in mammoth bucks when Ringo Starr covered it.  Ringo’s early solo album “Beaucoups of Blues” surprised many fans by focusing mostly on his love of country. Meanwhile, country artists tried to find ways to cross over and make some money without alienating their hardcore fans.

    Buck probably didn’t make many bucks when he decided to do an album featuring a variety of contemporary rock hits. (Only Glen Campbell seemed to find the right formula, covering Jimmy Webb). Even if it had his fans scratching their heads and the back of their overalls, Owens put his unique Bakersfield country spin on “I am a Rock,” "Homeward Bound," and the title S&G track, “Bridge Over Troubled Water.”

     On the "Bridge Over Troubled Water" album Buck also covered one of Dylan’s best ballads, even if it had a lot of typical Bob wordplay and confusing images ("My love laughs like the flowers, valentines can't buy her.")  

      When people do cover versions, especially back then, sometimes the lyric sheet gets something wrong, or the artist does. A classic example is Richard Harris who kept singing "MacArthur's Park" when it was "MacArthur Park." Here, Buck seems to veer now and then. 

       Is that “without ideals of violence” instead of “without ideals or violence?”
Is that “my love laughs like a flower” not “my love she laughs like the flowers?”
Is he “in a cell” with other horsemen and not “in ceremonies of the horsemen?”
Owens could have really altered a few lines, which may have made his good ol’ boys happier. How about: “My love she’s like a raven at my window with a broken wing…sorry I accidentally shot her when I was hunting.”

No it again and again. Listen on line. No passwords, wait time or Paypal tip jar greed


    Most folks only know that Glen Campbell sang a lot of Jimmy Webb songs. He began his career as one of the most versatile of session men, and when he began making records, a lot of his stuff was instrumental. 

     You might want to check out some of those early (1965) albums he made, and discover some challenging or at least unusual twanging. (Just go into a forum or shoutbox and say "Anybody got...I want...I want...I am saving my money for beer and chips. Best regards.") Glen covered everything from the “Dr No” James Bond theme to “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” which turns into a pretty homesick country tune that’s akin (and kin) to the talkin' blues tradition, but minus the vocals that made it early urban rap. 

Subterranean Homesick Guitar Picking - instant downloads, no stupid passwords, no waiting or spyware links

Friday, March 09, 2018


    “Mein liebling mein rose…you’re right. It is a rather brutal language…”

    The greatest villain in an episode of “The Avengers” was Max Prendergast, he of the hard lumpy face and insinuating leer. He was played by Peter Jeffrey, a remarkably versatile actor who, in a previous episode, played the exact opposite of Max…an ineffectual mild-mannered Brit.  

    The episode, “The Joker,” is a masterpiece, easily as good as any Hammer horror film of that era, and in fact, most any suspense film. In another age, it would’ve been a B-movie playing on the double bill with another hour-long effort. Great care went into this one, to the point of actually recording a creepy German-language tune to be played “over and over…over and over…”  

    The song was so compelling, people began asking for it in record stores (you remember them…where people bought music). “What do you MEAN you don’t have it? Can’t you import it? What do you MEAN there’s no such record label? Next thing you’ll be telling me is that there’s no Carl Schmidt! 

    No. "Deutsche Phon" is not the same as "Deutsche Grammophon" and there actually is no Carl Schmidt. 

    Demand for the song was so great that a single was released (in July of 1967 on the Columbia label in the UK. The flip side was "Blue Danube.")

      Carl Schmidt was Mike Sammes, who fronted a fleet of singers (similar to the American groups such as the Anita Kerr Singers and Ray Conniff Singers).  They made many albums and backed many recording artists. The music was by Laurie Johnson (who wrote “The Avengers” theme song). The lyric was by scriptwriter-genius Brian Clemens, and it was translated into German by Leo Birnbaum. Those who are fluent in German sadly insist that the song title should be “Mein Liebling Meine Rose,” but that’s a minor morose. 

Mein Liebling Mein Rose - the melody has not lost its sweetness


    The somewhat fruity vocal by Luigi (real first name Ludwig) Bernauer might suggest his “leibling” is a man. After all, the label is HOMOCORD. But…

    …who knows. The man is long dead (October 1, 1899-January 11, 1945), and so is his record label. “Homo” after all, originally meant “Man” as in “Homo Erectus” (man with a hardon) and “Homo Sapien” (man spurting semen). Hermann Eisner’s new label Homophon arrived in 1904. Apparently it was deemed too close to the famous Zonophon label, and ultimately all shellac was issued under the new Homocord name. This fox trot has a very nice arrangement with contributions from a tinkling pianist and an oboesexual.

    Bernauer was a popular singer in cabaret shows, and also made several films that are beloved to this day: “Der Konig von Paris” (1930: aka “The French Cunt”),  “Leibling der Gotter” (1930: aka “Slut of the Street”) and “”Kopfuber ins Gluck” (1931: aka “The Headfucker who Drowned”). “Shlaf’ Mein Leibling” loosely translates as “Goodnight, My Love,” although Leibling can be translated as sweetheart or darling as well, depending on how many German marks you give her. German marks, of course, mean whip welts.

LUIGI BERNAUER burns 3 Minutes - instant download or listen on line no Rancidgator $$ demands, no Paypal "Tip Jar" hypocrite shit


    Back in the day, many artists tried to get some extra royalties by going into the studio with the backing track of a hit song, and recording a translation in French, Italian or German. Phonetic talent was required, and Petula Clark, Gene Pitney and Roy Orbison were very good at it. And so was Lesley Gore. 

    Nobody is quite sure why “Little” was not translated when she sang “Little Little Liebling.” She could easily have sung “Wenig Wenig Leibling.” This was in the 60’s, well before the CEO of eBay became Devin Wenig, aka “Little Devil.” You know Wenig? He’s one of the Internet Fascists who actively try prevent anyone from protesting against illegal activity on a thriving website that just happens to break copyright or....make money via theft, fraud, child pornography, hacking, huckstering, and hatred. To Wenig and fiends, it's all “freedom of speech.” 

    Use your imagination and think Lesley is singing “Wenig Wenig Liebling.”  Also ignore that the Germans wrote her first name “Leslie.” If you enjoy this song, check your local record store or eBay seller for others…and then go to a shoutbox or forum and say, “Please, I am poor, I'd rather spend my money on beer and chips, BUT I absolutely MUST have Leslie Gore in German. Best regards. Thanks in advance. Thanks to the original uploader. God Bless Russian servers and Vladimir Putin. Cheers!” The songs to look for include: “Nur gu Ganz Allein” (I don’t Want a Gangbang), “Hab’ ich das Verdient” (“My Face is Green”), “Sieben Girls” (“Groupies for a Kansas City Athletics First Baseman”) and “Musikant” (“Pussyfart.”) 

Leslie (Lesley) Gore - Instant Download or Listen on Line - no egocentric Zinfart password, no Russian spyware, no wait time

Monday, February 19, 2018

Black Eyed Peas FERGIE - shell shocks crowd with awful NATIONAL ANTHEM

Fergie? She's still around? 

That's probably the reaction when the Black Eyed Peas singer, glammed up in a black cocktail dress, wiggled forward to sing the National Anthem at the NBA All-Star Game.

She might as well have offered "Let's Get Retarded In Here." 

To the delight of bad-music fans everywhere, Fergie offered a typically disrespectful version intended to show off her voice and not her patriotism. 

She managed to do it in an extra-shrill way (think Judy Garland with a live rat up her cunt) and with a novel twist on fuckifying the lyrics ("Bah-ah-ner-er yeh-yeh-twave"). It's that moment pictured above, which led one of the players to switch from aghast to a giggle.

The staid Associated Press allowed that her song "wasn't particularly well received...her tempo, musical accompaniment and sexy delivery were not exactly typical for a sporting event or a patriotic song."

Others were a bit more colorful. George H.W. Bush, sitting in his wheelchair, grumped that it was "disgraceful." Roseanne Barr, who screamed a version of the anthem far outside her vocal range, and added insult by mimicking the way ballplayers spit, tweeted, "I think mine was better lowkey." Charles Barkley said, “Damn right it was different! I needed a cigarette after that.” Comedian Bob Saget explained: "Fergie’s rendition of the National Anthem was originally written by Francis Scott Out of Key."

To give you an idea of how bewilderingly bad it was, a Kardashian (Khloe, who is currently taking it up the ass and sucking the cock of a Cleveland Cavaliers basketball player named Tristan Thompson) tweeted: “This All Star opening is confusing me. WTF is going on? Anyone?”

You'd think some players would've taken a knee, just out of the pain of listening to Fergie, but they heroically stayed on their feet. 

Hear it for yourself. 

Fergie Fucks up the Star Spangled Banner


    No, the sorrowful, haunted and lispy moan that was Tom Rapp’s singing was not going to make him a star. Titling his group “Pearls Before Swine,” with the implication that they were singing great music for an audience of pigs, probably didn’t help either. Still, he held a niche for listeners who wanted their "transcendental rock" a little dark than George Harrison and sensitive ballads a little grimmer than Paul Simon. 

    On the title track to “These Things Too,” Rapp offered up his version of a phrase George couched with some degree of optimism as “All Things Must Pass.” Here, a Persian king gathers his wise men to find something “he could say on every occasion that always would be so.” Acknowledging “illusions, circles and changes,” the wise men come up with “these things too shall pass away.” 

    If Paul Simon was Mr. Alienation, what was Tom Rapp? On the same album, he sang, “When I was a child I lived all alone,  all my trials I bore them alone. Sometimes I would smile but often I’d grieve; growing up was learning to disbelieve.” Paul couldn't match such collegiate phrases as: “a saint in the evening, a leper at dawn,” or describe the Escher angst pf being “lost on mobius street,” a line on “If You Don’t Want To I Don’t Mind.” 

    My favorite Pearls Before Swine song, which I played on my radio show late at night, was “The Jeweler.” Well suited to Rapp’s damaged vocal powers, this is a sympathetic look at an old man who tries to find a place in this world polishing old coins. (“He knows the use of ashes. He worships God with ashes.”) Unlike Paul Simon’s boxer, the old jeweler has different scars. Working late into the night “both his hands will blister badly. They will often open painfully and the blood flows from his hands…he sometimes cries…” 

    Undergrads and intellectuals probably stowed their Pearls Before Swine albums on that same shelf as W.H. Auden books (Rapp set one Auden poem to music), or art books filled with the agonies of Bosch (yes, Pearls Before Swine used Bosch artwork on “One Nation Underground,” their 1967 debut album on the indie E.S.P. label, which never paid Tom a royalty or advance.

    Thomas Dale Rapp (March 8, 1947-February 11, 2018) was born in North Dakota, but also spent some early years in Minnesota, and then Florida. Just another folkie in New York, he submitted a demo tape to E.S.P. and he got a two-record deal. And just as E.S.P.’s star group The Fugs signed to Warner/Reprise, so did Pearls Before Swine, eventually. 

      What was "acceptable" in music had begun to change in the late 60's and early 70's, especially thanks to the imperfect vocals of Bob Dylan, Neil Young and Leonard Cohen. Still, reviewers could be hostile. A 1971 Stereo Review critic:

    “At first I thought this junk must be somebody’s idea of a sick joke…unfortunately the mournful wailing contained on this disc is really the way Tom Rapp sounds. He is also the composer-lyricist of eight of the easily forgettable songs I suffered through here…Although Rapp swallows most of his words like lumps, I was occasionally able to hear such scintillating lines as “What does a raindrop know?” or “My talking was only words, my smile was only teeth.” Third-grade doodling…Tom Rapp is a horrendously vulgar no-talent whose very presence on records gives me pause about the rock-bottom tastes and motives of the talent scouts at Reprise Records.”

    Worse than a lack of sympathy for his work was a lack of money. Even in what some consider the “golden era” of music, when hundreds of albums were being issued and FM radio was booming, not every act was making millions, or even breaking even on the road. How many records could anyone afford to buy? Around the same time, even Genesis, fronted by Peter Gabriel, came home broke. After a few solo albums, Rapp found a day job, working behind the popcorn counter at a movie theater. “I knew at the end of the week, every single week, I would get $85,” Rapp recalled. “I was insane with joy.”

    The insane world of acid folk and sensitive rock was left behind for twenty years. Tom went back to college and earned a degree, eventually working on discrimination cases for a Philadelphia law firm. He later moved to Florida. He was married three times. Around 1996, he was persuaded to make some appearances in local clubs. At a gig at NYC’s Knitting Factory in 1997, he explained his long absence: “I got into a 12-step program for reclusivity.”

    To the surprise and delight of his small circle of friends, a new Tom Rapp album appeared in 1999, titled “A Journal of the Plague Year,” which in style wasn’t very different from what he’d done for E.S.P. a generation earlier. It was on an obscure label and Rapp kept his day job.

The Jeweler (The Use of Ashes) - Pearls Before Swine

Sweet Home Alabama - doo-too ba doo-doo Princeton Roaring 20 a capella

When you think of Lynyrd Skynyrd, you don't get an image of fresh-faced Princeton students in L.L. Bean clothing making gay carousel noises: boop boop dooba doobee boop. But that's a capella conceit for you. As they say, it's so outrageous and obnoxious, it's almost amusing. 

Followers of the blog know that periodically I post examples of college twits, poofs and whiffens who think their dulcet voices require no drums, brass or strings. The glory of the human voice is enough. They think. 

A cappella is a tradition that goes back to a mother crooning a lullaby to her baby, or monks performing Gregorian chants on each other. One of the few successful hit songs in the genre was "The Tiger Rag" by The Mills Brothers, who mimicked musical instruments while harmonizing. Mostly a cappella is a scary exercise in egotism and pretention.

    Your example below is, yes, “Sweet Home Alabama” dampened by rich Princeton wet noodles wet-nursing the rhythm with “dooba doo” noises, and vocals that exchange Cracker Barrell cheese drawling for Brie breathing. Bandwidth being what it is, you don’t get their lame takes on Seal, Wham, 3 Doors Down, Fountains of Wayne etc. You don’t get their less egregious sins, such as buttering songs by creampuffs such as Dido, Eric Carmen or Sarah MacLachlan.  

    If you want to look for the CD, it’s called “Beginning to see the Light” (a metaphor that doesn’t really apply to hearing a capella), produced by The Princeton Roaring 20 circa 2005. “Special thanks to our families and our friends, our amazing alumni for all their support.” Their audiences probably consisted entirely of their families, friends, and indulgent alumni. Strange things come out of the orifaces of humans. Yabba dabaa do.

SWEET HOME ALABAMA as you have NEVER heard it before - Listen online or download. No ego passwords, no Russian spyware server


Nancy Sinatra, who sings the theme song and appears in "Last of the Secret Agents," says it's "My favorite of my movies because it's zany and silly and goofy. Mary Allen and Steve Rossi were really one of the funniest comedy teams of the time." 

    Marty Allen, who died a few days ago at 95, wasn’t “The Last of the Secret Agents,” (maybe Mike Myers as "Austin Powers" will be), but he was probably the last of the corny, harmless, family-oriented comedians. It was rooted in a childlike sense of fun; he'd say "the darndest things" for a quick laugh. Filling the nightclub gap left by Martin and Lewis, the goofy comic and his Italian singer/partner Steve Rossi had a simple gimmick: interview Marty and let him say just about anything. 

     "Hello Dere" (his happy catch-phrase) was a gold album in 1962, and loaded with "lay it in their laps" gags. "Hello dere, my name is Christopher Columbus." "Where were you born?" "On Columbus Day!" "What are you famous for?" "I'm a great lover!" "What do you mean by that?" "Ever hear of the nights of Columbus?" "Who did you make love to?" "Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria." "Those are ships." "It wasn't easy."

    As dopey as it may seem, adults were paying to drink and smoke and listen to that stuff. It seemed like kid-oriented comedy albums to me. I had all the albums by this new generation of comedy teams which included Rowan and Martin,  The Smothers Brothers, and with various straight men, Bill Dana as Jose Jimenez. 

      Comedy mirrors its times, and audiences no longer wanted sharp, bitter “sick” humor ala Mort Sahl, Shelley Berman and Lenny Bruce. Marty and Steve were welcomed (along with Stiller and Meara) on “The Ed Sullivan Show,” and right into his 90's Marty never lacked for people asking him what was it like to be on the show that introduced The Beatles to America. It was a big selling point for his self-published book. 

    One thing nightclub comedy teams couldn’t seem to do was transfer to film. It didn’t work for Noonan and Marshall (who made “The Rookie” co-starring Julie Newmar) or Rowan and Martin (who made “The Maltese Bippy” co-starring Julie Newmar.) Allen & Rossi tried to cash in on the secret agent craze (without co-starring Julie Newmar, but with Nancy Sinatra). It was a little too silly and a little too late. (“Get Smart” had been running on TV for several years. Why pay for more?) Still, there are those who remember it with fondness (like Nancy Sinatra). 

    When the team split, Marty found plenty of work as an actor and as a wiseguy on the quiz show “The Hollywood Squares.” When Steve Rossi couldn’t do much with other partners (black Slappy White, aging Joe E. Ross, and even a Marty look-alike, Bernie Allen), the team reunited. They played Vegas-friendly venues, with Marty’s wife doing some singing as well. When Steve slowed down, Marty and his wife Karon kept right on going. Last Christmas, he told his fans on Facebook that his broken hip was nothing serious and that rehab was not going to take too long. But to borrow a line from the cynical comedian Brother Theodore, the bad hospitals let you die and the good hospitals kill you. Marty passed away at 95, from pneumonia. He was the last of the comedians from a golden age of silly. 

Nancy Sinatra - Last of the Secret Agents - listen online or download. No egocentric password, no Bulgarian/Croatian spyware