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Not long after sending off the last Rake On Music installment to those who ready it for your enjoyment and enlightenment, I did something I've been meaning to do for a long while: sat in with the Dj at the monthly middle schoolers dance at the Christian youth center in my town.
I was told by Scott, the man with the stack of CDs (full of downloads he paid for himself) and director of said establishment, The Union, that he'd probably be playing strictly general market (i.e., non-Christian market) music in order to draw kids who might not know of the place. He told me the middle school dances draw better than high school dances. The Union's clientele's lack of drivers' licenses means fewer recreational opportunities in our town—population under 10,000—so...fine. The dances help pay the lighting bill of the renovated middle school that's become The Union, so even better for all concerned, I suppose.
Unsure of what to expect, I was nonetheless heartened that a Christian establishment in my town would be hosting dances for 6th-8th graders when probably most of the churches that support The Union wouldn't allow such festivites, no matter how chaste the soirées in question. Then it dawned on me that things haven't changed all that much since I was the age of the youngsters on the gymnasium floor.
It came as no surprise that kids would try to request songs too smutty to pass muster—such as Flo Rida's "Low" (I was surprised that Scott cued up Bowling For Soup's "1985"; only one or two couplets are really questionable, but look up the lyrics yourself to see why they would be). And it was a bit impressive to see the kids auomatically start doing the line dance described in DJ Casper's "Cha Cha Slide", when Scott threw that kitsch house music dusty onto his Numark unit. That one kid knew The Jackson Five's "ABC" from the first second of the song, when Scott played it to give away a prize from the concession stand, was a bit headturning.
As the night wore on, however, so did the number of times Scott drew from the Crazy Frog cannon (and you thought the act's longevity spanned only to the reworking of "Axel F Theme"?; alas, so did I). And the number of oldies that predated the birthdates of anyone to pay admission was a tad peculiar.
After I stuck around, on Scott's insistence, to see some attendees' spontaneous arm motions in accompaniment to The Village People's "YMCA", I bugged on out.
Perhaps—no matter the strides made by digital cable TV, the Internet and other technological advances that make finding fresh music much less work—intensive than it was in the days I was age of the dance-goers I saw that night, some towns just aren't going to cultivate a creative Dj/dancing culture that's not primarily reliant on pop radio. Whether this is by dint of my burg's head count, general pigmental homogeneity, or whatever else, I don't know.
Admittedly, there was a time I'd have been disappointed unto anger at the outcome I experienced that night. Now, however, I'm pretty OK with the fact that a place that wants to lead kids to Jesus by playing (mostly) clean music for their dancing and limbo-ing pleasure can cover its light bill by doing so. And that Scott can continue to find amusement and apparent inspiration in watching kids spell out "Y," "M," "C" and "A" with their appendages is fine by me, as well. I'm not the demographic being sought, and I'd be foolish to pretend to think I am.
But if Scott ever wants to broaden the playlist to include the diversity of my music collection (for which it, too, would be wise to hook up a turntable), he knows where to find me. (learn more)
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I don't know if I'd have played any LARRY NORMAN were I to go behind them decks for a night at The Union, but if any of those youngsters have any use for Christian-specific rock'n'roll, they should be missing him like I do.
Norman has been duly eulogized in trade and consumer music magazines of both Chrstian and general market varieties since his death, at 60, from a heart condition, this past February. And if you're guessing that I think he should be a classic rock radio staple (as I said of Love last issue), you're getting to know me better than some of my own kin.
'Better, however, that you get to know Norman's tunefully nasal voice, potent (but not preachy) songwriting and compositional skills. As a commemoration of his memory, and as my contribution to his estate, I purchased the quadruple-CD Rough Diamonds, Precious Jewels: The Belfast Bootlegs (1981-2000) (Romanian Relief/Solid Rock, Ireland). As a one-stop shop for live acoustic versions of much of his best work—with a few (oddly-recorded) electric band pieces and three studio tracks thrown in—this is a good deal. At least as engaging are the remakes he recorded for Sessions, the bonus disc Norman's people threw into my order for good measure. Herein assays a couple of Bob Dylan numbers, one each from Emmylou Harris and U2, along with one black spiritual and a public domain folk/country hymn. Though recorded just after another one of his heart episodes, Norman sounds unusually vital, here. The disc's other eight songs come from acts with whom he was associated in one way or another.
The YouTubers ('Tubists?) among you should be able to find, easily enough, a concept video of the pop hit Norman had by remaking The Zombies' "I Love You" with his band, predating his solo pioneering of Christcentic rock, People!. Clips of the man on his own shouldn't be difficult to find, either.
As would seem to figure, Norman-mania looks to peak after his death. Before his death, Arena Rock Records had already prepared a Norman CD anthology for May '08. His collaboration with his musician brother, Charlie, alongside Isaac Brock of Modest Mouse and Pixies/Catholics stalwart Frank Black should likewise hit shops later this year.
In the meanwhile, persue his official site to (re)discover the man's artistry, of which there was a voluminous amount.
•••
Funny Norman Story #1: I only started seriously snarfing up his music when an ex-radio Dj friend had mistakenly told me he was from Wisconsin at the time I was collecting music from my home state. In fact, Norman was born in Texas and raised in California. I didn't, however, feel cheated upon discovering that.
Funny Norman Story #2: At a festival where he played and I attended, he asked me for directions to a booth where his music may have been sold under dubious condition. I told him where he wanted to go, but only a second or so later did I realize who was speaking to me. I asked the nearby crowd whether that was, indeed, Norman who solicited me. They nodded in unison, and I slapped myself while heartily saying "Oh, crap!"
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Because I was in the position to have to spend money, but not enough to do other entrepreneurial things with it, what better way to unload it than on some boxed sets?
Most of these are old/er and/or out of print, so there'll be no full reviews but enough of an impression of each to get an idea of why I dropped some dinero on each, capische?
•••
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RICHIE VALENS The History of... (Rhino, 1981)
Teen Mexican-American rocker Valens died in the same airplane crash that took Buddy Holly and The Big Bopper. And he shared my birthday! (May 13, if you're wanting to send well wishes and presents) There's crummily recorded—if charmingly sincere and ebullient—stuff on this 3-LP set. Now, I could stand the triple-CD collection of the same material from the '90s on another label (which I believe's out of print, also). Anyway, not long before the crash, Valens was on the cusp of creating a Hispanic rockabilly hybrid that could have gone some imaginative places. A bit of it's here. A great deal more in a largely different fashion can be seen among the Latinos that populate today's neo-'billy scene. Valens might be proud. (learn more); (learn even more)
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ROXY MUSIC The Thrill Of It All (Virgin [UK], 1995)
The artiest of early '70s glam rockers or the hookiest of early '70s English prog rockers? Roxy were both over a thick layer of what might have been perceived as artifice. It made for some consistently thrilling tuneage, however, and one of the few bands that can be heard influencing acts divergent as Pere Ubu and Duran Duran. And regardless of their sincerity, isn't that kind of accomplishment enough in itself? Anyhoo, beautifully appointed—if woefully under-liner noted—book-style 4-CD set with a plentitude of pix (and identities of a majority of the foxy album cover models they were wont to employ). (learn more)
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SAMMY DAVIS JR. Yes I Can!: The Sammy Davis, Jr. Story (Rhino, 1999)
"The Candy Man", Sammy Davis Jr.'s biggest pop hit, is far more awful than I recalled it being upon first hearing it at my Milwaukee cousins', during the saccharine ditty's radio heyday. With that grand exception (Davis was no fan of it, himself), the Rat Packer was one consummately exciting singer, bringing a showmanly zing to most everything he laid to tape. Three discs of studio work are complemented by an additional CD of live recordings, a booklet rife with pics and commentaries, and not a whit of anything relating to his purported involvement with the Church of Satan (but some about his Judaism, including Eddie Cantor's introduction of Davis to that faith). The only thing that may have made this collection more complete is a video—though this set's release occurred during the pivotal narketing shift shift from VHS to DVD—showcasing Davis' acting, dancing and impersonation work. (On a trivially personal note, Davis and Muppets master Jim Henson both died on the day I returned to Wisconsin from graduate school in Michigan.) (learn more)
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NAKED CITY Eight Million Stories (Tzadik, 2005)
I'd long been meaning to put some John Zorn, Bill Frissell and Tzadik Records fare in my collection. Could a guy get any more blessed than to find a quintuple-CD trove by a band featuring both of the aforementioned avant-gardians on Zorn's label dedicated to modern music by folks of Jewish descent? Were the packaging not so preponderant of disturbing sexual imagery, that would have been more of a blessing, yes. But the skronky jazz/lounge/surf/metal/what-the-fuh with which to confound friends and neighbors? That's compensation enough and then some. Then again, even that's a mite disturbing. But not in the same (and probably a better) way than some of the accompanying graphics. And to have gotten it for about half of what I saw it going for on eBay? Lurvely. (learn more)
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LENNY BRUCE Let the Buyer Beware (Shout! Factory, 2004)
Apart from my love of funny/novelty music, I also collect comedy recordings. And I suppose Lenny Bruce qualifies, even if I didn't laugh much while listening to these six CDs of largely previously unreleased material. Just because I didn't laugh doesn't mean I didn't enjoy or appreciate. I'm no advocate of heroin addiction, nor several other things Bruce represented, but to hear him break taboos and rail against hypocrisy can be, at least, a sociological lesson worth occasionaly hearing. It provides a lesson in removal of distance between audience and performer, too, as Bruce would increasingly use his own predicaments with the law to feed his stand-up act. And perhaps it's my Christianity hearing this, but I detect some deep, underlying sadness in much of Bruce's schtick. That I can laugh at some of Bruce's act helps take the edge off that melancoly. The whole sordid, genius mess comes in stunning book packaging (though the discs are difficult to get out of their sleeves for someone with cerebral palsy, as I have). (learn more); (learn even more)
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THE COCTAILS Popcorn (Carrot Top, 2004)
I recall seeing this collegiate/boho-looking quartet on one of MTV's news segments in the mid-'90s, but never picked up on their records (and some of them were vinyl—only). I recall seeing their records advertised in some music magazines, as well. So, I'm in Madison with a friend to see a movie on Record Store Day, this past April; we head from the flick to my favorite record shop in the city, and there I find a used copy of this three-CD set for under $20. Done deal. What I did was get 56 songs (a majority of them instrumental) by transplanted Chicagoans who harnessed loungey jazz, Eastern European folk musics, post-rock, garagey punk, polka, and plenty else in a mostly appealing concoction. I pretty well like it, although some of the vocals on the first disc sound a bit uninspired. 'Seems like I missed a heckuva live band, though. (learn more)
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VARIOUS ARTISTS 25 Jaar PinkPop 1970-1994 (Magnum/Polygram [Netherlands], 1994)
Two CDs of live performances by 40 U.S., U.K. and Netherlands caught at the Dutch music festival from which this 2-CD set gets its name. Haven't listenned to it yet, and the only bands I've heard from the host country are Golden Earring and Urban Dance Squad, though Claw Boys Claw, Supersister and Fatal Flowers are names that intrigue me. Standard double-hinged jewelcase, but the spine's white. Cool enough. And cheap. (learn more)
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•••
In the same trip where I found the last of those boxes, I also nabbed for not much more a Japanese CD pressing of The Pussycat Dolls album that includes the remix they did with Snoop Dogg. I'll shut up about all those people, now (or at least until they release singles that grab me again).
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It's now time for...
Short reviews of recent releases, many of them received unsolicited!
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MOSTLY BEARS The Ed Mitchell Clinic (Funzalo)
These are shaggy, post-punkily experimental Tuscon denizens whose lead singer reminds me of Ian McCulloch of Echo & The Bunnymen. Musically, they're all over the current indie-esque map with copious instrumental and time signature shifting, cryptic subject matter, and melodies that take their sweet time to captivate—but captivate they do. Naming an album for an astronaut and your band for a dangerous circus animal scores points, too. (learn more); (learn even more) |
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KYLIE MINOGUE X (Astralwerks/Capitol)
I'm glad that my fave Australian club thrush recovered from breast cancer. I'd be happier were her latest more consistent. Not rapping or trying to vocally resemble Daft Punk would assist that cause. Ditto for sounding quite so desperate for some man action at her age. Copping Ne-Yo's penchant for plinked harp motifs works in her favor, even if the song wherein she employs that trick is joined by MIMS in a rent-a-rapper bid for another U.S. pop hit. When Minogue fires on all cylinders, however, finding more scrumptious pop bliss is rare. On a probably random note, I may have more Minogue longplayers than I do ones by Bruce Cockburn, though I've seen him twice in concert (and have more than a few of his sides in my collection). (learn more); (learn even more); (learn more yet)
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SIMON & GARFUNKEL Live 1969 (Columbia/Legacy; Starbuck's)
A decade or so ago, just when I thought S&G were folkie wimps, I'm given cause to reassess their work when I see a box set by them among the music owned by a Green Bay punk rocker whose taste I respect (if you're reading this...Hi, Norb!). I've yet to buy that box, but this album taken from the last tour before their '80s reunion offers ample evidence of how I was wrong for a while. Paul and Art tapped different veins of folk traditionalism than did their labelmate, Bob Dylan, but were less enigmatically articulate about the social matters on their hearts. And if they're not proto-emo, they can certainly be called a root of the stark storytelling songs of Pedro the Lion and Drive-By Truckers, among others. I'd have hoped they'd have included "Cecilia" to take the edge off some of their seriousness, but this makes for great folkie pop all the same. (learn more); (learn even more); (learn more yet)
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CROW TONGUE The Red Hand Mark (Hand/Eye)
This is Spartan freak-folk of a vaguely-Christian-but-certainly-eschatalogical bent, all doomy and minor key. Beautiful in its John the Baptist-meets-John of Patmos-meets-Apocalytic monk stentorian vibe. But because of confusion on my part and/or the packaging (which came wth a black blank disc along with the silvery one I play and enjoy), I'm unsure whether this is the dub version or the original. Either way, you'll like it if you're at all vibing to the above description. (learn more)
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AL MARGOLIS/IF, BWANA Rex Xhu Ping (Pogus)
I've had this in my possession awhile as I kept forgetting to give it some verbiage. Veteran electronic experimenter Margolis kinda goes under his own name and kinda under his prolific alias for a round of compelling drones, found vocals, throbs, bleeps and whatnot. And owning a CD with compositions entitled "Tattooed Love Muffins" and "Oy vey, Angie" should be worth the price of admission for some of y'all, I'm reckoning. (learn more)
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VARIOUS ARTISTS Lullabies: Songs for Quiet Moments (Discovery House)
Shouldn't lullabies be recorded a little more softly than the closely-mic'ed baby ditties recorded here? I got this free, so maybe you can find it that way, too. Were I typing this from my own computer and not been where I am for over three hours now, I'd tell you who's singing, but they're not credited on the jewelcase, anyway. "Sleep, Sleep, Sleep" is the classic of these 12 new naptime odes, and the guy who sounds like the lost brother shared by Kenny Rogers and Rupert Hine may have the most compelling voice among the two dudes and two lasses employed herein. The number that sounds like a baby singing to the Lord's a little odd and the number for parents, borderline appropriate. (learn more)
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THE GIBSON BROTHERS Iron & Diamonds (Sugar Hill)
This sixth (if I read correctly) set by the sibling-led bluegrass band may be about as complete an album as can be had to bridge the traditional and modern in their genre. The titular track recounts the love of baseball by coalminers in the brothers' upstate New York Adriondak home. Their taste in remaking runs from Tom Petty and Julie Miller to Steve Earle and Roger Miller (with Faron Young). Other originals tap into their place in the 'grassy history of brotherly harmonizing as they revel in gospel, heartbreak and anger(?). Were there not the split 'tween 'grass and commercial country that took place by the mid-'60s ("Dueling Banjos" not withstanding), the Gibsons and their band would have greater airplay than this accomplished genre excerscise will likely allow them. Shame, that. (learn more); (learn even more)
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LYNN MARIE The Polka Record [2002], Party Dress [2006] (Squeeze)
Apart from my initial exposure to Lynn Marie Rink in my viewing of the polka documentary It's Happiness, I forget what exactly inspired me to write the lady for some of her music. But I'm glad I did. In enveloping her Slovenian Ohioan roots in whatever takes her commercial and artistic fancy, she's created some killer pop music...about which I'll reveal more next time. Ta! (learn more)
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CDs, cassettes, vinyl—thanks but 'no' to any
downloads—to:
Mr.
Jamie Lee Rake
P.O. Box 29
Waupun, Wisconsin 53963-0029
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