TO THE DWINDLING PRECIOUS FEW, AKA “THE SURVIVORS OF THAT ENTITY TO BE NAMED HEREIN” (Late Night Dedication #5)

NOTE: I’ve spent the last year working on a detective novel which (unlike my previous fiction projects) actually fits the commercial norms of the modern publishing industry, such as it is. I’m pushing myself to finish it by the end of March which is the principal reason posts have been short and sweet of late. There’s only so much “writing time” in a day. That said, these dedications are fun for me and I hope they are for you as well. I’ll be back to longer pieces and deeper thoughts (hah!) in the near future, but, for now, the hits just keep on comin’. 

My erstwhile fellow blogger, Neal Umphred, also one of the world’s great authorities on record collecting, has a couple of very interesting Elvis-related posts up (Links below**). We’ve had some back and forth in his comments section which led down the circuitous trail that, via a reference to his experience wearing a Kinks’ button in the late sixties, inspired tonight’s dedication….which is not a record by Elvis or the Kinks.

Of course it’s not. That wouldn’t be circuitous at all!

Neal’s experience (in the late sixties) wearing a Kinks’ button as a kind of secret language understood by few reminded me of my experience with another band and another kind of secret language in junior college a decade or so later (circa the spring of 1980).

I was, by then, the editor of my ju-co newspaper on my way to a career in journalism. That was before my journalism professor, a Florida State grad, inadvertently talked me into becoming an English major (FSU does not have a journalism school) by convincing me I should attend her alma mater. This was happening at the same time my yearbook professor, a University of Florida grad (the only reason I wasn’t editor of the yearbook was because I had already accepted the position as editor of the newspaper), talked me out of going to UF, where I had previously been headed, by suggesting I’d be happier as an English major.

Got it?

Good.

Anyway, with all that roiling around me–I’d been spotted as a talent! Pressure, pressure!–one of the ways I insulated myself from the madness was by walking up to the chalkboard in the journalism room every week or two, taking a furtive look around to make sure no one else was present and writing the following:

Sebastian, Yanovsky, Butler, Boone.

There was a reason I thought somebody–somebody!–might get this.

John Sebastian had been a ubiquitous presence in our high school lives, via his #1 hit with the theme song to Welcome Back Kotter, which also played every week when that show aired. (It was, God help us, very popular with high school audiences of my day. Not everything that was wrong with us could be blamed on the hippies!)

I thought somebody–somebody!–might see the name Sebastian, and think “I wonder if that means the guy who sang ‘Welcome Back Kotter?'” And that after that somebody might have some vague memory that John Sebastian had been the lead singer of a certain rock and roll band from the long lost sixties of our elementary school years.

I waited a whole semester for this to happen. I waited through all the speculation about who might be writing this mysterious message on the journalism school’s chalkboard every week or two. I waited through the occasional dark murmurings that it might be somehow linked to the school’s occasional bomb threats (ubiquitous even on rural southern college campuses back then, lest we forget), which forced evacuations in one building or other (usually around test time) throughout my two years there (though never of the journalism school…which only made some people more suspicious that it might be one of us, utilizing the classic diversionary tactics of guerrilla movements everywhere!)

I waited through the occasional fellow saying that he didn’t know why, but those words continually appearing on, and disappearing from, the board, were driving him crazy!

I waited, hoping somebody–anybody!–would get it.

If it was a guy, I was going to shake his hand and buy him a Nehi Grape sody pop and a Heath ice cream bar (my college drugs of choice).

If it was a girl, I was going to marry her.

I had my priorities straight!

Only….

Nobody got it.

Ever.

I finally had to fess up it was me.

But I never did tell anybody what it meant.

Let the Philistines figure that out for themselves.

I was off to Florida State. To major in English and stay broke the rest of my life!

I’ve stuck to my guns. I got my English degree. I’ve stayed broke.

Many years later, permanently literate, permanently broke, wandering about in the new millenia, I chanced upon Little Steven’s Underground Garage one late night (probably coming home from watching an FSU football game at my friend MG’s house). Little Steven was expounding on the virtues of some sixties’ moment or other (The Big TNT Show?…the memory hazes), and, at the end of a long monologue on how there had been one shining moment when we were truly together he set up the next song by saying:

“before the Empire divided us.”

And he played this, which I now dedicate to whoever’s left in the Empire’s wake, still trying to muddle along, just outside of its Leviathan reach.

Courtesy of Sebastian, Yanovsky, Butler and Boone:

**Link to Neal’s very worthwhile pieces here and here!

HISTORY MOVES…(Found In the Connection: Rattling Loose End #42)

…not always in a straight line.

MUGWUMPS2

(The Mugwumps, circa 1964: Zal Yanovsky, Jim Hendricks, Cass Elliot, Denny Doherty)

“We had already played The Bitter End and around New York as ‘Cass Elliot and the Big Three.’ This was before the Beatles, before ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ came out, we had gone electric. And it wasn’t because of The Beatles, it was because of The Springfields and Dusty Springfield; we were lookin’ more like that. They were a studio group, and they used bass, drums and guitar. ‘Silver Threads and Golden Needles.’ We used to do that on stage, as a matter of fact. It was in our repertoire; Cass sang it.”

(Denny Doherty from Go Where You Wanna Go: The Oral History of the Mamas & the Papas, Matthew Greenwald, 2002)

The Beatles did not step into a cultural or musical vacuum. They raised the game–considerably–less because they had a radical new vision than because they were better at what a lot of folks were groping towards. Certainly way better than the Mugwumps or the Springfields. And, of course, whatever was bubbling underneath that they didn’t bring to the surface is lost to us. We couldn’t possibly listen to some other not-quite-there approach (of which there are surely many…most of which never saw the light of day because their former members didn’t go on to become Dusty Springfield, or join the Mamas and Papas or form the Lovin’ Spoonful) and imagine any jump similar to the one from this (lightly electrified folk)…

to this (lightly electrified rock and roll)…

or this (folkies doing Bo Diddley)…

to this (rockers doing Chuck Berry)…

or this (what Dusty got up to next, the first major British hit in America after the Beatles’ arrival)…

or, later on, this (with John Sebastian, some time Mugwump who did not record with them, sounding an awful lot like the lead singer of their cut above)…

and, ultimately, this (which, yeah, might have happened without the Springfields..or without Denny giving Cass those love bumps that rhymed with Mugwumps…but who really knows!)…

Scenes probably have this much talent now. Scenes always have talent.

The talent doesn’t always have somewhere to go. Somewhere the suits and machines aren’t fully in control. Without that, you’re stuck being a cult act. Or giving in.

But, hey, at least we’ve got the internet.

For now.

More later if they let me!

I promise.