Posts Tagged ‘rock beat’

Capsule Reviews: January 2013, Part 5

Wednesday, January 23rd, 2013

Here’s yet another installment in my occasional series of capsule reviews; today it’s Latin psych, comedy, rock’n'roll and country, and pop. I had a huge stack of CDs deserving of review, but time doesn’t allow for full-length reviews of everything, and these were beginning to gather dust. They deserve better. My self-imposed limit for this particular exercise is 150 words on each album.

Alfonso Lovo – La Gigantona
Count on the Numero Group for fascinating, outside-the-box releases of previously-ignored music. Their Buttons powerop compilation, their reissues of rare material by soul/r&b artist Lou Ragland, and The Boddie Recording Company, and funksters Father’s Children all brought obscurities out of undeserved shadows. And those are just a few. One of the latest is La Gigantona. Originally slated for release in the mid 1970s, this album by Nicaraguan Alfonso Lovo was a victim of that country’s political unrest. Will it sound to untrained ears like Santana? Sure, it will. The presence of percussionist José “Chepito” Areas will only reinforce that sonic connection. But there’s a psychedelic weirdness here – treated vocals, out-there guitar – that moves well beyond Santana’s bag of tricks. Rescued from the sole surviving acetate of the finished album sessions, La Gigantona is a funky, Latin psych-flavored disc that may conjure “what ifs” in your mind.

Joan Rivers – Presents Mr. Phyllis & Other Funny Stories
It’s the rare comedy record – The Button Down Mind of Bob Newhart, for example — that sounds as fresh today as in 1962. Joan Rivers started her stand-up career (these days, when she’s known more as a “personality,” we forget she ever had one) back in the mid 60s, and her debut LP has been reissued by the eclectic sorts at Rock Beat. While a lot of her humor here is built around the subject of her hairdreser (the Mr Phyllis of the title) her approach is surprisingly non-homophobic. Remember, this was 1965. The material is delivered in a well-timed, manic style, and Rivers deftly riffs off the audience’s reaction to her jokes. The absurdity of the gags – bits about wig farms and such – is pretty goofy, but there’s a sly and subtle wit to her material that might pass you by on the first listen.

Jerry Lee Lewis – The Killer Live! 1964-1970
Fleshtones biographer Joe Bonomo authored a rhapsodic book-length mash note to one of music’s all-time great albums, Jerry Lee Lewis‘ landmark 1964 LP Live! At the Star Club. Jerry Lee Lewis: Lost and Found is required reading, irrespective of how you feel about Lewis. Recently Hip-O Select collected that album with two other live Lewis documents: The Greatest Live Show on Earth (1964) and Live at the International Las Vegas (1970). While the second ’64 LP certainly suffers in comparison to the German concert, it has its moments, and a bunch of outtakes rise to a similar standard. By the time of the Vegas gig, Lewis had figured out where the money was (hint: country and western), but even it is worthwhile. Sixty live tracks is a Whole Lotta Lewis, but at least a full third of it (and possibly half) is some of the wildest stuff you’ll ever hear.

Dion – The Complete Laurie Singles
Real Gone Music continues a tradition its founders began at their old label (Collectors’ Choice Music) of putting together career-spanning singles collection of pop artists. For completists, these can’t be beat: nearly always sourced from the master tapes, there’s excellent mastering, transfer and fidelity to be found. And since we’re talking about singles, any number of non-LP sides appear, sometimes making their first appearance in digital format. Dion DiMucci – known in those teen idol days simply by his first name – enjoyed some well-deserved hits through his time on Laurie (a period that nearly extended to both ends of the 1960s), but nearly all of the hits came in the pre-Beatles era. Of course “Runaround Sue” and “The Wanderer” are here, but too are some interesting late-period pieces including a bizarre reinvention of Jimi Hendrix‘s “Purple Haze” (#63 pop) that sounds more like Arthur Lee‘s Love.

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Album Review: Dickie Goodman – Long Live the King

Tuesday, January 15th, 2013


File this one under Guilty Pleasures. Back in the early 70s when I was a kid, the novelty records that Dickie Goodman put together were a cultural touchstone. A trash-culture one, perhaps, but significant nonetheless, especially in the life of a ten-year old pop culture omnivore such as young Billy.

Goodman was certainly ahead of his time on many levels: his ideas about reprocessing the work of others aren’t really, when you get right down to it, all that far removed from the art of Andy Warhol, or the work of any number of rap/hip-hop acts. Of course Goodman was never aiming for High Art; far from it. These admittedly goofy pieces combine silly “interview” questions with snippets of then-popular songs. And the popularity of Goodman’s little vignettes was pretty long-lasting: his first hit was “The Flying Saucer,” way back in 1956, and like any effective trash culture act, he milked that one as long and as far as he could. But the hits continued well into the 1970s, with “Mr. Jaws” in ’74.

Sadly, my personal favorite, “Energy Crisis ’74” isn’t among the 27 cuts included on Long Live the King. Its format deviated little from what came before (the hits) and after (the somewhat tired, flogging-a-dead-horse non-hits, which fill the second half of this disc), but it was fun, and appealing enough that this then-ten-year-old spent nearly a dollar of his hard-earned allowance on the 45rpm single. (I still have it.)

Goodman’s son Jon pens an informative (if perhaps a bit more reverent than one might like) set of liner notes for this highly unusual Rock Beat release. His “Election 2012” – included here – attempts to revive Dad’s old format, and while all of the elements seem to be in place, it’s just not quite the same. Of course I’m not ten anymore, either. Still, Long Live the King will bring smiles (at least briefly) to the lips of those of a certain age who subsisted on AM radio in their formative years.

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Album Review: Various Artists – Surf Age Nuggets

Friday, December 14th, 2012

Across many traditions, December is the height of the gift-giving season. I’m here to tell you that for the music lover in your life – at least one who appreciates off-the-beaten-path music of days gone by – the perfect gift is now available. It’s called Surf Age Nuggets: Trash & Twang Instrumentals 1959-1966, and title tells you nearly everything you need to know. More than hundred instro-rockers are collected on four CDs, and unless you’re the hardest of hardcore surf-rock aficionados, you won’t know more than a very small handful of these tracks.

Seemingly the choice of what to include on Surf Age Nuggets gave equal weight to two factors: performance/arrangement (though not sonic) quality and relative obscurity. How else to explain that these tracks – most of which were from 45rpm singles and never appeared on any long-player of any sort – are so incredibly obscure. Think of Surf Age Nuggets as the Pebbles of surf-rock. All manner of goofily clichéd band names are here: The Tradewinds, The Sting Rays, The Newport Nomads, The Elite UFO – and the relatively lo-fi production aesthetic (no Phil Spector vibe here) is generally a bit harsh on the ears.

But as a document of stuff-you’ve-never-heard, Surf Age Nuggets is a real gem. While modern-day exponents of the genre (most notably Los Straitjackets, and, briefly The Sadies) do an admirable and invaluable job of keeping the style alive, these kids (and they were most often just that: kids:) twang their Fenders without a trace of irony. Riff-rockers awash in reverb are the order of the day across some five hours of instro-rock on Surf Age Nuggets. If you like this kind of thing, you’ll love this. If you don’t like surf-rock, you’ll have a headache fifteen minutes into the first CD.

If the music were all there was on Surf Age Nuggets, it would be enough. But no: the packaging is amazing. While Rhino pretty well set the standard for lovely compilation packages with its Love is the Song We Sing: San Francisco Nuggets 1965-1970 and Where the Action Is! Los Angeles Nuggets: 1965-1968, they have since surrendered to what they see as the handwriting on the wall, largely abandoning the lavish packaging format. But Rock Beat has picked up the baton with Surf Age Nuggets. The heavy hardcover book format houses the discs in a user-friendly manner, and the splashy pages inside are a treasure, filled with vintage photography, ads of the era, and liner notes that make the most out of what undoubtedly was generally very spotty historical/discographical information about this delightfully motley collection of no-hit wonders.

Come to think of it, go buy this set for yourself, and tell your friends to get their own.

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Album Review: The Moving Sidewalks – The Complete Collection

Monday, December 10th, 2012

When The Moving Sidewalks are mentioned at all, it’s general in the context of them being a forerunner of ZZ Top (guitarist Billy Gibbons fronted The Moving Sidewalks). But the Texas quartet deserves more than a footnote in some ZZ Top essay; the group’s music is of a piece with other sixties Texas bands of note (Bubble Puppy, 13th Floor Elevators and – I would even argue – Green Fuz.

The Moving Sidewalks folded in many of the familiar trippy/hippie influences of the day: swirling sitars, a bit of studio effects here and there. But at their core they were a hard-charging rock’n'roll band. Though they only released one record (1967′s Flash), and though by the time that LP hit the streets, the group had already folded (or begun its metamorphosis into the very different ZZ Top), their music remains noteworthy.

The group’s bluesy, riffy garage-punk style was showcased on Flash as well as on a clutch of non-LP singles and unreleased alternate takes. The latter – along with five previously-unreleased tracks by The Coachmen (an embryonic version of The Moving Sidewalks) form a second disc in a new package from Rock Beat titled The Complete Collection.

The biggest difference between The Moving Sidewalks and ZZ Top is the former’s reliance on keyboards. There are plenty of gospel-flavored Hammond textures in the group’s slim catalog. “You Don’t Know the Life” is a downtempo number not miles removed from Boz Scaggs‘ cover of Fenton Robinson‘s “Loan Me a Dime.” But that number is contrasted with “Pluto – Sept 31st,” a tracks that mines a vibe very similar to Jimi Hendrix Experience‘s “Fire,” a clear influence. “No Good to Cry” sounds a good bit like early Procol Harum; Gibbons’ guitar tone and finger style is reminiscent of Robin Trower’s approach. This may be pure coincidence; Procol Harum recorded their debut LP in June ’67, so it’s unlikely – though not inconceivable — that Gibbons and his bandmates heard the British band’s music.

The Hendrix influence pops up again on “Eclipse,” a snaky number that bears traces of Axis: Bold as Love‘s “EXP.” The tune gets weirder and further out the more it unfolds; it’s exceedingly unlikely this cut was ever part of the band’s live repertoire. “Reclipse” is even stranger, and in places suggests Frank Zappa‘s Lumpy Gravy.

The Moving Sidewalks seem to have been a relatively democratic outfit: though Gibbons had a hand in the composition of six of Flash‘s ten tracks, keyboardist Tom Moore wrote two of the songs, and an extended blues is credited to all four members. (Producer Steve Ames gets partial credit on nearly half of the cuts as well).

As it turns out, Hendrix himself does crop up in the Moving Sidewalks’ relatively brief story; the Texans opened for the Experience on some gigs, and – according to the delightfully detailed liner note essay by Bill Bentley – the two groups got on quite well.

The tracks on the bonus disc often sound like the work of a wholly different band, even when they’re not. Whiny combo organ is the highlight of the non-LP single “99th Floor,” a legendary garage nugget/classic. Some tasty guitar dialogue enlivens this treasure, which sounds much more like Roky Erickson‘s 13th Floor Elevators than anything on Flash. (Two demo versions of the song from 1966 by The Coachmen are included as well; they’re interesting, but pale in comparison to the released version.) The other non-LP tracks sport a harder, punkier edge as well; those tracks would sound right at home on a Pebbles compilation. Three takes of The Beatles‘ “I Want to Hold Your Hand” pretty much reinvent the tune as a heavy rocker; think of what Vanilla Fudge might’ve done with the song, remove all the pretentious trappings they’d apply, and what you’re left with is something like The Moving Sidewalks’ version.

In addition to putting together a sonically brilliant package – no small feat for relatively obscure music from more than 45 years ago – Rock Beat has applied great attention to detail to the box set. A pair of LP sleeve replicas hold the discs, and a fifty-plus page, CD-sized booklet is chock-full of photos, memorabilia and the essential essay. (Be sure to check out the photos of Sidewalks bassist Don Summers for proof that he invented Robert Smith‘s hairdo.) The whole thing comes in a sturdy pink box. With the release of Moving Sidewalks: The Complete Collection and the various-artists Surf Age Nuggets: Trash & Twang Instrumentals 1959-1966 (reviewed separately), Rock Beat is staking a claim as the rightful successor to Rhino when it comes to thoughtful box sets.

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