OLD. NEW. BORROWED. BLUE.
commentary by Jamie Lee Rake
 
26 April 2004
 Volume 1 • Number 3
 
'Got friends and relatives getting married next month. 'Got the itch to get hitched, myself (single female readers, correspond accordingly1). In honor of the former—and very little to do with the latter—this belated installment2 of "Rake On Music" is dedicated to the four 'somethings'3 traditionally contained in a wedding ceremony: old, new, borrowed, and blue.
The oldie, here, isn't the oldest of what I'll cover but, certainly, the most perverse and unexpected find of the bunch. Not many weeks ago—at one of my favorite haunts for used 'rekkids' in Madison (Resale Records), where I was shopping specifically in hope of a couple of comedy items on which I'd had my eye still being available (a set of Bob & Ray radio transcriptions and the Pat Paulsen 1968 presidential campaign concept album—both still there, alleluia!)—a bin headed "Foreign" was just to the left of where the humor longplayers were stashed.
 
In front of that vertical pile of international vinyl was a cover of two big'n'frizzy-coiffed blondes with a monochromatic fashion sense of first album, circa Madonna. Somewhere in the midst of thinking "Hummina, hummina!", I noticed the duo's name (Dollie de Luxe) and the platter's appellation, Rock Contre Opera (Editions et Productions Georges Mary/Notabene/Carrere, 1985). On the back cover, the twosome—per the "contre" in the title—appeared more highfalutin' in velvet and satin get-ups more common to Victorian contessas.
 
Feeling less frugal than usual, and praying for the best, I nabbed this oddity along with my long-awaited yuks. I figured the newfound Dollies would either blow my socks off with utter wonderfulness or provide a helping of kitsch to be appreciated ironically, especially in circles of fellow collector scum. This Norwegian pair on a French label—later responsible for a musical/pop opera entitled Which Witch (anyone out there with a copy to spare?)—live up to their album title. Indeed, rockers from The Spencer Davis Group, Ian Dury & The Blockheads, The Rolling Stones, and The Beatles (a medley of 17 of theirs over the course of the second side) meet the narrative art tuneage of Bizet, Verdi, and Mozart (excerpts of whose "The Magic Flute" get matched to that Fab Four farrago).
 
What was in the water in Europe during the mid-1980s, anyway? Falco's hip-hop fabulosity dedicated to Wolfie M., "Rock Me Amadeus", was cheekily tasty. At this late date, seeped in Reagan Decade reverb-laden percussion cheese as 'tis, the Dollies' Rock Contre Opera fares not so well. The concept deserves to be revisited in either a campier and/or more self-consciously pretentious execution, perhaps even by the de Luxe dames Benedicte Adrian and Ingrid Bjornov, themselves. 'Didn't quite work out as fine as buying a best-of on obscure R&B crooner Swamp Dogg—sound unheard ('love that guy now!)—but, hey, such is the price of being a record (and blonde hottie; though, on the whole, am not all about golden tresses on estrogen bearers) nut.
 
In an instance that I hope shan't be a regular occurrence with my verbiage for pmDOTcom, I wound up buying something to write about for the "new" item by which to honor the newlyweds-to-be in my life. I took a trek up north to Appleton—locale of my favorite Wisconsin CD & stereo chain shop (The Exclusive Company), looked on the new releases rack for the the cheapest item that neither embarrassed nor repulsed me, and here we are.
 
As 'twould happen, one of my favorite bands of the 1990s, (at whose label the publicity people seem to have forgotten me), released its final album that week. With 33 tracks over two CDs, Five Iron Frenzy's The End Is Here (5 Minute Walk) is as generous in material as it is apt in title.
 
Click Here to browse over 50,000 rare vinyl titles
  
If your radar escaped the furor over FIF, the Colorado coed octet blossomed with the mid-1990s third wave ska explosion of which tribalistic youth culture seemed to pass from love to general loathing with some quickness. What kept Five Iron relevant beyond the fad was their willingness to go beyond punkifying their impression of the Two Tone Records back catalog. That penchant for musical evolution resulted in a quirky rock band with ska roots, as willing to examine their own foibles and the pits and peaks of cult stardom as they were spiritual and political themes, with equal parts hilarity and poignance. FIF was as likely to play on a Ska Against Racism tour as they were to join in on package gigs of Christian punk and neo-ska acts.
 
The End works as a kind of slightly disjointed operetta about aging in a band with loyal fans. Singer Reese Roper even sings melody lines as ready for musical theater as they are for throngs of fans at concerts and festivals (hear: "At Least I'm Not Like All Those Other Old Guys," "It Was Beautiful", and "So Far, So Bad.") The differences between dudes—especially ones prone to video game geekdom—and their wives get addressed on "Wizard Needs Food, Badly", but their most overt political statement, "Anchors Away" (as in: the people who helm TV newscasts), sounds a tad overbaked this time. The self-effacing "New Year's Eve" and peppy "The Cross Of St. Andrew" compensate sumptuously, even as a hidden track rife with, primarily, song intros for their final show—a complement to the second disc of music from that date—is mostly for those fans more hard-core about FIF than I (I only saw them 4 times from 1995-2003; but, certainly, they must have had their equivalents to roadwarrioring Deadheads, too).
 
That second disc clocks in at a luxuriant 20 tracks, but one of my favorites, "Fahrenheit"—about how Roper stopped liking Queen, for a while, after he learned Freddie Mercury died of AIDS (a righteously tearjerking anti-homophobia statement, even for those who think Queen to have been makers of blowhardy sub-prog twaddle)—didn't make the grade. Before you seek out that gem from an earlier album, The End Is Here should serve as that rare introduction to an under-recognized band that also serves as that band's conclusion.
 
Time for something borrowed now, isn't it? And what do remixers do but borrow the tracks from previously recorded numbers to make semi-new things out of them, right? Right! Hence, my borrowed pick is Jump5's Mix It Up:Jump5 Remixed (Sparrow), even with its senselessly manga-aping, unpleasantly generic cover art.
 
If you don't listen to Radio Disney, you may not know the joys of Jump5, who are practically the poster children (aged 16-18, last I knew) for the satellite-syndicated, kids&'rents-friendly station. In almost any European or Asian country, this (three-girl/two-boy) quintet would be vying for their place as a staple of a pop scene not hampered by demographic marketing niches and probably have as much merchandise marketed with their logo and likenesses on it as The Backstreet Boys at their peak of media saturation.
 
As 'tis, the Jumpsters find their greatest commercial contentment in being one of the most-played acts on the station that, per Variety-speak, The Mouse built. They've gotten some other Disney-related gigs in the bargain, such as spots on soundtracks. In a roundabout way, that relationship also led to their recording a version of Lee Greenwood's gloppy patriotic anthem that's been hauled back into multiformat high-rotation during every war of the past 15 years, "God Bless The U.S.A.", and bested Greenwood at his own signature ditty. (Some of that besting may be from irony and/or fresh-faced naïveté of geopolitical intricacies, but I'll take my besting of that pop-country crapmeister where I can get it, thanks.)
 
That soldierly ode didn't make the cut for Mix It Up—a hoot if it would've, yes?—but plenty of other goodies did. Impeccably trancey as the tweaking of "Pressure" is, or progressively tribal and ethno-kitsch as "All I Can Do" and "Start Jumpin'", respectively, are, giving Jump5 electronic/dance authenticity presents its own dilemma: It wouldn't be too weird to push the act to the domain of decadent dance clubs, but it could harm their kiddie credibility for some soccer moms to find out that their young'uns' fave vocal group's been getting spins on dance floors where nipple-pierced men fling their shirts about in propeller-like fashion. Apart from feeding product demand as Jump5's latest member—and their first brunette in a sea of toussled blondeness—Natasha records material with her new partners in song and dance, it's tough to fathom where Mix It Up is supposed to take the group. I'm one fan who's glad they went there, though.
 
 
The blue thing of the bunch comes from Chicago's always-reliable Delmark Records, the U.S. indie label to have the longest ever history with the same ownership. It seems they solicit writers in alternate volleys of jazz and blues. From their latest batch of the latter, I requested Roosevelt Sykes' Chicago Boogie, a collection of 1950s single sides and a couple of alternate takes from an undisputed progenitor of bluesy piano boogie.
 
My apologies for not being as versed in blues history and analysis as I am in 'tween pop, punky ska, and classical/rock aberrations, but it's easy to hear the deceptive ease with which Sykes (and if someone could hip me to the origin of Afrimerican folk saddling their children with presidents' last names, you'd be the source of deeply cherished insight) plied those 88 keys, and his slightly high, simmeringly horny voice. The titular track numbers both as the shortest, here, and one of the few instances among these 17 selections where Sykes upped his energy expenditure a few notches. Also sporting a jauntier gallop than Sykes' more frequent seductive stealthiness is a number to make a soul food fan drool—"Green Onion Top".
 
What's evident is Sykes' influence on player-singers who would take bluesy piano boogie in different directions—such as Fats Domino and Pinetop Perkins—but there's plenty to commend in his own pounding, trilling, arpeggiating playing with undercurrents of fractured ragtime. His articulate moaning vocals have their share of worth, as well. Only shames are that this isn't longer and that, unlike many of the other songs here, Sykes didn't pen the lyrics to the craziest of Boogie's cuts, the tripped-out biblical imperatives of "Complete This Order".
Heaven only knows what I'll bring next time to these kilobytes dear Patsy wants me to compose for you, but if you know of anyone who's willing to send me music you think I'd like (my tastes are ALL over the place, but I've been having hankerings, of late, for some mind-blowing rock en espanol and Spanish language dance-pop, reggaeton, klezmer [and if you know of any Jews for Jesus who make it, I've been itchin' for that for eons], indie rap, hard'n'non-dancey industrial [got the Throbbing Gristle and/or Merzbow CD box sets to spare, anyone?], rock/pop-based polka-ish stuff [and other coolness with accordion, concertina, etc.], Amerindian pow wow music and anything with which the shops with sponsoring links for this column want to bend my ears), by all means, urge 'em to share their sonic wealth. Do you REALLY want me to write up the latest American Idol disc I got in the mail today?!!?
 
In the meantime, if you insist on keeping your feet grounded while reaching for the stars, try not to throw your back out of whack, OK? 'Love, y'all!
 
 
1Nonsmokers between voting age and menopause ('cause I'd like some chil'lun) of any ethnic mix and hair color—though I'm kinda partial to red, brown, and black—are welcome. Prepare to discuss theology, Street Smarts (which you don't have to like in order for me to like you, but sometimes there's no accounting for taste), and goodness only knows what else.
2A virus just about wiped out my my computer's figurative arse. Thanks oodles, Mr. Norton (he said sarcastically).
3Only brides are supposed to have them, right? Oh well, never let it be said that I don't try to stay in touch with my feminine side.
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