THE LAST TEN RECORDS I LISTENED TO (Summer 2020, Countdown)

Another all-vinyl edition….

10) The Miracles Greatest Hits From the Beginning (1965)

Even after the old three record Anthology from the 70’s and one of the greatest box sets ever from the 90’s, this is still part of every basic record library. Nowhere else can you experience the unadulterated joy and pain of the young Smokey Robinson quite so purely or all at once or so connected to his (and Motown’s) doo wop roots. When you’re listening, it’s impossible to believe that he actually got better.

9) Various Artists Atlantic Jazz: Kansas City (1986)

This was part of an extensive series the Atlantic label issued in the 1980’s to exploit their considerable Jazz catalog. It’s the only one I picked up along the way and this is probably only the second time I’ve listened to it. Put it this way: It has me considering tracking down the whole series.

8) Burning Spear Rocking Time (1974)

This is the album Winston Rodney released just before his monumental Marcus Garvey which, especially in its double-cd tandem Garvey’s Ghost (which Greil Marcus once called surf music with slave ships on the horizon, a description that will never be bettered) is one of the essential albums of all time. My copy’s on the original Studio One label and I can’t say whether the scratchy quality is from a primitive recording or just crappy vinyl. Somehow it adds to the music’s ghostly quality. I’m not sure I’ll ever have the nerve to listen close.

7) Jerry Butler The Best of Jerry Butler (1970)

A talisman of my life. If more people could say the same, the world would be a better place, because from this distance the Iceman sounds like a man trying to heal a world that pointedly and specifically refused the medicine and opted for nihilism instead. Wonder how that’s working out…

6) Jackie Wilson Jackie Sings the Blues (1960)

A recent discovery and a miracle. The only overlap with his various excellent comps is “Doggin’ Around.” I always wondered what a whole album of Jackie in “Doggin’ Around” mode would sound like. Now I know: Epochal.

5) Various Artists Less Than Zero Soundtrack (1987)

A trash metal soundtrack to a desultory movie about a desultory time, broken by occasional nods to nascent hip hop…And elevated to permanent relevance by two startling sides: LL Cool J’s sly, menacing “Going Back to Cali” and the Bangles complete re-imagining of Paul Simon’s “Hazy Shade of Winter” as a hard rock anthem to die for, both of which evoke the hellish landscape of 80’s America far better than the movie did.

4) Various Artists Beserkley Chartbusters Volume I (1975)

The most famous power pop compilation from the most famous power pop label. Not bad but I can never help remembering that Raspberries had already taken this concept as far as it could go so it mostly makes me want to listen to Raspberries.

3) Jefferson Airplane Volunteers (1969)

This has been in heavy rotation on my turntable of late. I can’t imagine why. What with the proof that 1969 never really ended because we never really resolved its contradictions all over the news yet again maybe I keep thinking that if this is never going to provide the answers it will at least lead me back to a clarification of the questions. Not bad for a bunch of Limo Libs. Still the first album I’d play for a youngster who wanted to begin understanding the Sixties.

2) Spirit The Best of Spirit (1973)

They made good albums, but this is still my go-to, maybe just because, in 1979, when I bought it, it was the only thing available in the malls of America. Or maybe just because it’s great on its own. They didn’t really need conceptual LPs. They were a conceptual band and they had that one quality that makes any artist prone to being under-appreciated: There was no one else like them. Get your ass to the animal zoo indeed.

1) Dusty Springfield Golden Hits (1966)

One of these days I’m going to start a category for Perfect Albums or maybe just Perfect Things. This might be Exhibit A. My copy survived the Great Jefferson Arms Apartments Flood of 1981. (Fair enough as the flood was technically started by me–personally I blame whoever reversed the threads on the hot water handle in the bathroom sink, which made it a dangerous proposition to leave for work when the water had been cut off in the middle of shaving. Probably because they were shutting down a flood somewhere else in the complex….And I thought the roaches were bad before! I did feel bad about inadvertently terrorizing the cocker spaniel next door. The cute girl who owned him was at work too.) I could afford an undamaged cover now I guess, but somehow it would feel like messing with karma to replace anything that has spent forty years making me smile.

‘Til next time….Hope this Popsicle stand hasn’t burned to the ground by then!

“OH WHAT TANGLED WEB WE WEAVE…(What We Should Expect From Critics: Nineteenth Maxim)

…When first we practice to deceive

(Walter Scott, 1808)

“Dolly Parton’s “My Blue Ridge Mountain Boy,” released as a single in 1969 and included on Parton’s The RCA Years 1967-1986 (RCA), is best heard on the hard-to-find A Real Live Dolly Parton, a 1970 RCA LP recorded at Sevier County High School, Parton’s alma mater, which also features “Bloody Bones,” a ditty about orphans who burn down their orphanage.”

(Greil Marcus, Mystery Train: Images of America in Rock ‘n’ Roll Music, “Notes and Discographies,” 2008 edition, p. 360, emphasis mine)

“But Warren Smith (1933-80) had no real affinity for the black rhythms rockabilly took off from (though Smith, in his heart an Appalachian balladeer, can be heard for the quirky delight he was on his Classic Recordings: 1956-59, Bear Family, an ideal Sun retrospective that includes the devastating “Red Cadillac and a Black Moustache,” “Ubangi Stomp”–one of the only rockabilly records with the word ‘nigger’ in it–“Black Jack David,” and “So Long I’m Gone.”)”

(Ibid, pp. 368, 369, emphasis mine)

I always wonder. Are they delusional or do they just lie?

I finally got hold of that “hard-to-find” Dolly Parton LP this week, based entirely on Marcus’s recommendation which had been floating around in my head since I read the 1984 edition of Mystery Train. It’s a good album (everything she did in that period was at least good). I didn’t worry too much that the LP’s version of “My Blue Ridge Mountain Boy” was no patch on the studio recording and cut in half to boot, that this clearly wasn’t the best place to hear it. Such things are a legitimate matter of opinion.

But imagine my surprise when, after all these years, “Bloody Bones” which I had never even listened to on YouTube because I wanted to hear it the first time in the full context of Dolly singing it live in front of her home town crowd, turned out to have nothing whatsoever to do with orphans or orphanages or burning anything down. By all means listen, because I could never convey with mere words just how far from the reality Marcus strayed.

While I was reconfirming his account of “Bloody Bones” I read around in the other “Notes” and came across the assertion that Warren Smith, recording for Sam Phillips’ Sun label in the 50’s had actually used the word “nigger” in “Ubangi Stomp” which was his followup to the regional hit “Rock and Roll Ruby” and an obvious attempt to break him nationally.

I’d heard “Ubangi Stomp” a dozen or so times over the years and two or three times very recently and this allegation had me scratching my head. So I listened to the song three more times last night and also looked up the lyrics on the internet.

No one who follows along here will be surprised to learn that Warren Smith did not say “nigger” on “Ubangi Stomp”–a song that is actually about being so caught up by the native music of Africa that the white boy decides to abandon ship and maybe, just maybe, take up with a local girl.

One thing this particular encounter with classic Crit-Illuminati tactics brought to light was a possible reason Marcus, among many others, have treated Bill Clinton like an untouchable hero instead of the snake oil scumbag he so obviously was and remains.

When the reality is too discomforting to confront…make things up.

Unfortunately, per Philip K. Dick, “reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.”

Hence the Nineteenth Maxim:

Pay attention and don’t lie. And if you fail to follow this, don’t be surprised to find yourself living in a world you despise.

RONSTADT WORKS HER WAY AROUND THE CRIT-ILLUMINATI….AGAIN (Segue of the Day: 12/4/19)

“Tumbling Dice”/”Old Paint”

Linda Ronstadt, Simple Dreams (1977)

What with a new, well-received, documentary circulating, a Kennedy Center honor and even a recent nice word from Greil Marcus, who I never imagined was a fan, Linda’s having a moment.

Given her age and infirmity (Parkinson’s Disease) and the unlikelihood she will be attending any ceremonies that might be left to her ( Country Music Hall of Fame, maybe, of which she would be richly deserving), this might be her last ride in the spotlight before the long, black curtain falls. I don’t really need an excuse to listen but the occasion of ordering the DVD of the documentary for my birthday seemed as good as any. I pulled Simple Dreams almost at random. For all the years I’ve had it, it’s not one I’ve listened to a lot. It’s four hits are on plenty of comps, the radio, YouTube (often in what I assumed were superior live versions), the way we listen now.

Not for the first, or, I’m sure, the last time, she surprised me. I realized yet again, having overcome the prejudices the old guard rock critics (Marsh, Christgau, etc.) on dozens of previous occasions, I’m still not through breaking through. Every cut on the album is fine, and the eclectic approach that would was often called visionary when Ray Charles or Elvis tried it (even when it didn’t all work) was more typically called confusion, or pure calculation, when she did the same. (Just as an example of what critics used to say about Ronstadt, how far she could put them off their stride, John Morthland, in his otherwise invaluable study The Best of Country Music wrote “she owes Roy Orbison an apology for her massacre of ‘Blue Bayou.'” That wasn’t even close to the meanest thing anybody said and the song’s co-writer, Joe Melson, later revealed that Roy loved Linda’s version and that “Linda found what Roy was looking for.”…But what does he know?)

She wasn’t deemed to be…in control.

Not sufficiently anyway (too femme I suppose, though I always assumed that meant a little too independent as well, which was why she had to be presented as Peter Asher’s puppet for some people to admit they liked some of it–the iIluminati always reserve the right to mean the opposite of what they say).

Even after the penultimate tune, the studio version of “Tumbling Dice,” got the house rockin’, I thought surely–surely!–the album closer, “Old Paint,” would let me down.

But, maybe for the first time ever, I actually listened….And I realized it was of a piece with “Tumbling Dice” which, in her voice (and with her key lyric changes–I’m still disappointed that the Damn straight I heard for years is really Get it straight, but changing the opening line to People try to rape me still makes up for everything even if it turns out some day to be People try to rate me) turned out to belong to the same sort of cantankerous soul who ends up wandering the west in “Old Paint.” She might have gone from roadhouse rocker to cowgirl folkie with one of her usual head-snaps–and I might have reversed the order if it had been up to me–but that just meant you always had to run fast to keep up.

Funny. The older I get….the faster I run:

NOTE: Linda did so many killer live versions of “Tumbling Dice,” including one that was featured on the million selling soundtrack of the movie FM, that most people probably remember it better that way. So….why not?

MYSTERY SONG…NO MORE (Found in the Connection: Rattling Loose End #151)

So I go up to the local diner several times a week. They have good food, but mostly I go to get out of the house. I live alone and work at home so a little human contact is a good thing. They play oldies from the fifties and early sixties. I don’t get stumped often. Well, really I never get stumped.

Except for one song that has been driving me crazy.

I tried looking it up online by whatever lyrics I could make out but no luck.

It’s in constant rotation, i hear it at least once a week.

One among hundreds and I couldn’t identify it!

Last year sometime, I had made up my mind to pull up Greil Marcus’s old “Treasure Island” list from his 1979 book Stranded and see if I could find the couple of dozen records I wasn’t familiar with on YouTube.

I finally got back to the project today.

It’s been fun and I’m about halfway through….but I didn’t get a thrill I came to this one.

MYSTERY SOLVED!

Funny thing: I’d heard the song. I know I had because it’s on a list I made of a Casey Kasem Top 40 special in the late 70’s that listed the forty biggest hits with girl’s names in the title. I used to write stuff down just so I would remember.

But memory is a funny thing. It comes and it goes.I didn’t make an impression forty years ago, but it’s burned in my memory now.

For however long it lasts!

(Even better, it’s pay day so I just ordered Robin’s Bear Family CD as my splurge of the month….perhaps more later.)

THE LAST TEN MOVIES I WATCHED…AND WHY I WATCHED THEM (July 2019)

Boy, almost six months since my last one…I had no idea.

June 15-The Break-Up (2006, d. Peyton Reed, Umpteenth Viewing)

Because it was marketed as a comedy when it’s really a drama with funny moments. I don’t know if it’s Jennifer Aniston’s best performance (there’s plenty of competition) and she’ll always be most iconic for Friends. But it’s her zeitgeist performance–the one I’d point to if somebody asked my why the culture has clung to her so tightly, even desperately, since the moment she walked through the door of the coffee shop as Rachel Green a quarter-century ago. I saw this in the theater the day it came out with two hundred black women. Nobody actually shouted “You go, girl!” but it’s the most engaged I’ve ever seen an audience. Every time I’ve seen it since, it’s boldness has grown on me. There are plenty of standard elements and they don’t all work, but there’s also an art film in there trying to get out. That it doesn’t quite might say more about the times than any of the many elements that do work, including Jon Favreau’s best friend from hell.

June 15-Detour (1945, Edgar G. Ulmer, 2nd Viewing)

Because I’m always hearing it’s the king of the B-noirs or something and my memories of catching it in FSU’s old, ratty Moore Auditorium were vague and unsatisfying. I thought more of it this time around, maybe because I now realize and accept that Ann Savage’s legendary performance was supposed to grate on me. I can grant it it’s place. But I still think Gloria Grahame would have done it better. You could always understand why some poor sap would get himself in a fix over her.

June 16-Tension (1949, d. John Berry, 2nd Viewing)

This was actually finishing up a project–I’d been watching the ten films from one of my noir box sets and this was the last (had to wait on a replacement because the original copy wouldn’t play). I didn’t have much memory of it one way or another from the first time I worked my way through the box a few years back but I probably should have. It’s B-noir queen Audrey Totter’s zeitgeist performance which is saying something because she was all presence in every B-noir she ever did. As the schmuck, Richard Basehart acts, as the good girl Cyd Charisse tries to. She comes off better. Talent wasn’t always a virtue when the budgets were small and redemptive genius (the kind an Edgar Ulmer might supply) was in short supply.

June 16-The Big Clock (1948, d. John Farrow,  4th Viewing)

For Charles Laughton, as the boss from Hades (and therefore everybody’s life!) and for Kenneth Fearing’s ingenious story of a man assigned to investigate himself for a murder he’s been framed for but didn’t commit. It’s tick-tock perfect and the only reason I haven’t seen it far more often is that, until now, I didn’t own it. And was anybody ever better at playing the Man Who Might Have Done it, But Didn’t than Ray Milland? Thought not.

June 17-No Way Out (1987, d. Roger Donaldson, 4th Viewing)

This is a remake of The Big Clock, so why not? It’s the first time I’ve watched them back to back. The move from Big Business to Big Government adds weight and, oddly, the Cold War setting hasn’t dated. The plot runs on paranoia and there’s never a shortage of that near power centers of any kind in any age. As for comparisons to the original? The cast here is even more uniformly excellent. Kevin Costner, Gene Hackman, Will Patton are all top notch. The runaway honors, though, go to Sean Young. She’s as far above the crowd here as the great Laughton was in the original. And whatever happened to her? Did she get Weinstein-ed? Is that a question we’re going to ask about every promising actress who burst too briefly across the sky for a generation?

June 18-Swing Time (1936) d. George Stevens, Umpteenth Viewing)

Well, I don’t need much excuse to watch Fred and Ginger but the impetus this time was pretty specific: Whit Stillman, as close as I have to a favorite among modern film-makers, dogged it on Twitter (as a response to it being recently re-released by Criterion). Watching it yet again, with his criticism in mind I could kind of see his point: It does meander a bit and the support isn’t quite up to that of Top Hat or a few of the others. The plot is more a contrivance than usual (and in Fred and Ginger pictures, that’s saying something).Every ten minutes or so, though, they dance. Never more divinely than the climactic sequence which required fifty takes and left Ginger’s feet in bloody shreds. When somebody noticed, they asked if she wanted to stop.

Not on your life.

June 18-Daddy Long Legs (1955, d. Jean Negulesco, Umpteenth Viewing)

I’m pretty sure nothing here took fifty takes–not even “The Slewfoot”. For one thing Astaire was twenty years older. Twenty years in the life of a hoofer is like twenty years in the life of an athlete. Things wear out. What had not worn out, what had, in fact, only grown with time, was Fred’s ineffable charm. Seeing this back to back with one of his classic thirties films, I was struck most by how much he had improved as an actor. Here and Funny Face (his next, with Audrey Hepburn), were the chances he had to work with actresses of sufficient skill to match him. There are two kinds of people in the world: Those who don’t like Leslie Caron and those who would sit through two hours of anything to hear her say “That’s okay. Let’s destroy my reputation.” I love this movie anyway, but you know to which category I belong.

The rest of ya’ll amuse me.

June 19-48 Hours (1982, d. Walter Hill, Umpteenth Viewing)

Because every time I watch it, I swear it’s the last. Then the day comes when I have to revisit it for old time’s sake and to see whether I’ll find the classic seen by others, including some people I respect. It’s hard to say whether Eddie Murphy’s or Nick Nolte’s shtick has worn smoother with time. But somehow, when they’re together, it works. I mean, if ever two characters deserved each other….And the opening sequence still makes me think something really great is about happen, no matter how many times I’ve been let down before.

June 24-Forever Mine (1999, d. Paul Schrader, First Viewing)

Because a reprint of Greil Marcus’s original review just appeared on his website and made me wonder if I might have missed something, either in the film itself or Gretchen Mol’s performance as a corrupt politician/businessman’s moll (Ray Liotta with what looks like a bad hair-piece but every time I say that it just turns out be bad hair). Turns out I hadn’t. Mol’s performance bears no resemblance to the still above. If it had, that would be a whole different story. I should have known. Has anyone ever huffed and puffed and promised more while delivering less than Paul Schrader? And, yes, I’m including Taxi Driver.

June 25-Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984, d. Steven Spielberg, Umpteenth Viewing)

Because it’s one of my favorite action movies and a long way the best of the Raiders series. Because it pays homage to Busby Berkeley, Buster Keaton, Chuck Jones, Saturday morning serials, Mr. Moto, Disney action and so much else that makes life worth living, without, for once, kowtowing to any of them. Because Kate Capshaw makes me laugh. (“A-a-and I cracked a nail!”). And because it’s one of about ten movies ever made that can live up to this picture, of which existence I was happily unaware until I started collecting images for this post. How it took Capshaw a whole seven years to become Mrs. Speilberg I will ever wonder and never know. But I ain’t surprised it took.

UPDATE FROM THE STORY THAT NEVER ENDS…December, 2018

I just wanted to alert our little Shangri-Las community, which seems to be growing, to Greil Marcus’s Real Life Top Ten of Dec. 26, 2018 .

For those who don’t care to give Rolling Stone (or its advertisers) a visit, here’s the entry in full:

6. “Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Class of 2019 Inductees.” The Zombies: two effectively Beatle-style Top 10 hits in 1965 (think of “She’s Not There” and “No Reply” — which one disappears in the face of the other?) and another one, boring even if the radio loves it, four years later. But when the Shangri-Las — “Remember (Walking in the Sand),” “Leader of the Pack,” “Give Him a Great Big Kiss,” “Out in the Streets” and “I Can Never Go Home Anymore” — three of them Top Ten in 1964 and 1965, one of them Number One, all of them not merely hits, but iconic — have never been nominated, let alone voted in, how can this mean anything at all? I don’t know if Janet Jackson or Def Leppard would agree, but I’d bet Stevie Nicks and Bryan Ferry would.

Marcus has pitched the Shangs’ for the Hall of Fame before….He’s still a big name so this is not a small thing. I’ve taken issue with him on this and other subjects before, but I hope he keeps it up because he is hitting on the thing that matters, which is how deep the records struck….and still strike.

For the reasons why? Well that’s why I’m here….

This is one of a dozen or so that could have been added to Marcus’ list as long as you replace “iconic” with “still grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go.” Even more than the epic vocal and arrangement, it’s the Oh my God, what have I done? in the fade that lifts it to the highest plane and makes it yet another unsolvable mystery. What has she done, exactly? Should I listen again, and see if I can figure it out this time?

It opens the song up into eternity just when it should be closing down.

Jay and the Americans never thought of that.

[NOTE: I’m not as down on the Zombies as Marcus is…as will be revealed shortly in another forum! And to be fair, they might agree with him. Mary Weiss has mentioned touring with them in interviews and is a big admirer. I wouldn’t be surprised if the feeling was mutual.]

THE PAST SLIPS FURTHER AWAY (Peggy Sue Gerron, R.I.P.)

The best part of the best story from later years was recounted by Greil Marcus, and I quoted it at length here.

Buddy said all the rest, right there at the beginning. Peggy Sue’s future husband J.I. Allison assisted with a roll across the drum kit. As miracles of ease and intensity go, it’s never been matched, before or since.

Who could add to that? Who would want to?

 

MAYBE IT’S TIME TO START THINKING ABOUT ELVIS AGAIN….

I know some of you follow Greil Marcus’s Mailbag (which I can’t link–it’s available under “Ask Greil” if you follow the Marcus link under my blogroll). For those who don’t, here’s the text of a question from one of his readers and his response, regarding the new Docu-flick The King.

I saw The King in NYC yesterday, really enjoyed it—you had the funniest line when you mentioned “crackpot religions” in LA in the late ’60s.
Only thing I got a little turned off to was criticism of Elvis for not marching with Martin Luther King like Brando and Heston did. Why no mention that by performing material on national TV in 1956 by black artists he opened doors for them like no one before? Plus that many people—James Brown, Ivory Joe Hunter, as well as Ali—truly loved him and made no secret of it.
I don’t know—what do you think—is it me?

I think it’s a hard question, less about the March on Washington than any number of civil rights protests in Memphis, and while Van Jones is a blowhard, with, here, none of Chuck D.’s dignity or thoughtfulness, he makes a serious argument. It hit home for me years before, when I looked at the Ernest Withers photo of King’s funeral procession in Memphis passing the State Theater, where the marquee has Elvis’s latest movie, Stay Away Joe—which in context, the context Withers built, means, “Elvis, stay away.” And he could have been there, in his home town, the same place where he sometimes recited the end of King’s March on Washington speech. “If I Can Dream” is about that speech and about the assassination—no, Elvis didn’t write it, but he sings it as if he’s tearing it out of his heart, unsure, tripping and stumbling, desperate to say what he means, to get it across, ignoring melody and rhythm, more like someone jumping on stage to give a speech than being paid to sing a song—but that doesn’t make up for anything. The kinship that James Brown, B. B. King, Eddie Murphy, Muhammad Ali, and Chuck Berry might have felt for Elvis, or his role as some kind of racial ambassador, doesn’t either. Sure, the Colonel would have kidnapped him and held him in Fort Knox to keep him from appearing in public in any kind of civil rights march, but hey, if you’ve seen an Elvis movie, you know he could find a way out.

This leads back to some themes I’ve hit on here before, but this feels like a good time to re-visit them.

I’ll take that attempt at pure musical criticism first:

“ignoring melody and rhythm.”

Here’s a question. If you’re relying on the counterfactual, which fact are you trying to hide?

That Elvis was using melody and rhythm in ways you don’t understand? Or merely in ways that would undermine the larger point you are about to make?

(To revisit my take on “If I Can Dream” you can go here.)

Second:

“But that doesn’t make up for anything.”

The examples Marcus gives of what Elvis did that didn’t “make up for anything” are designed to let us know that Elvis couldn’t have done anything that made up for not participating in at least one Civil Rights march, the way (as the questioner reminds us) even Marlon Brando and Charlton Heston did.

For Elvis, more than forty years after his death, the goalposts are still moving.

For everyone else, they remain the same.

Just a reminder on how this works:

Bob Dylan converted to Fundamentalist Christianity (and has never quite renounced it, preferring to dance around the question).

Forgiven.

Neil Young and Prince loudly and proudly endorsed Ronald Reagan (whom Marcus and many other Libs consider a fascist).

Forgiven.

John Lydon and David Lynch (two of Marcus’ great heroes) have said kind things about Donald Trump. (NOTE: Elvis is still called to account for who he might have voted for, had he lived to see the day.)

Forgiven.

Ray Charles (no Elvis fan) was a life-long rock-ribbed Republican who sang for Reagan and George W. Bush. And you should have seen the contortions the obituarists at all the Good Liberal periodicals put themselves through when Ray had the bad taste to force-multiply the association by dying the same week as the Gipper.

Forgiven.

Elvis Costello once got drunk and called Ray Charles a “blind, ignorant nigger.”

Totally forgiven…even by Ray Charles!

Dozens, if not hundreds, of liberal African-American icons never quite managed to march with or for MLK or the Civil Rights Movement. Too many to list, really.

All totally forgiven.

And, oh yeah, that photographer, Ernest Withers?

FBI informant.

Totally forgiven.

Elvis Presley, never marched with or for MLK.

Nothing could ever make up for that!

Got it?

Now who was it again that asked the real question in the year he already knew we would never walk away from?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iwqbuus8QPU

ALL IS FORGIVEN….

Anyone who has been around here for a while knows I go back and forth on Greil Marcus. I don’t always agree with anybody, but I’ve mostly called him out when I thought he stepped on his own tongue. And I’ve called him out more than anyone else because I always find him interesting even when my disagreement is vehement.

From his website’s mailbag of 5/8/18, though, (and in response to a question about early seventies’ soul groups no less) there’s this:

I don’t think any Hall of Fame argument has merit when Joan Jett, who is a small-time but effectively self-promoting mediocrity, is in and the Shangri-Las are not.  It’s a matter of how you judge it. Kiss and Joan Jett, not to mention Patti Smith, are in the HoF because of their overwhelming influence on other people. I consider that a false standard. I think people ought to be judged on their own work, and that to consider uninteresting and self-promoting people important because of their influence on people who are even less interesting than than they are is absurd. Patti Smith is genuinely a hero to countless people for many good reasons. I once was one of her opening acts, was essentially kicked off the stage because I was taking up too much time (what I had been asked to do), was as angry as I could be, and then she came on, and after a few minutes I was humbled that I had actually been on the same stage as she was. Did she define what rock ‘n’ roll is and what it could be, and even what it should be? Maybe. Perhaps definitely. But you can’t even begin to raise that question about the Shangri-Las—they did what all of the people I’ve mentioned did, did it with more depth, and it’s almost irrelevant that they did it first.

That’s much further than anyone of Marcus’ stature has ever gone on behalf of the Shangri-Las, regarding the Hall of Fame or anything else.

Seeing the Shangri-Las in the Hall is one of about four things that have to happen before I can die happy.

But I don’t need that to say this: Believe me, all is forgiven…until next time!

 

DIAMONDS IN THE SHADE (Wilbert Harrison Up)

“Let’s Work Together”
Wilbert Harrison (1969)
Billboard: #32
Recommended source: Let’s Work Together

As “Let’s Stick Together,” this number started life as an early sixties’ side by it’s composer, Wilbert Harrison, which paired the odd rhythm and Harrison’s characteristic dry vocal with a standard lover’s plea.

It was one of those records that sounded like it ought to be a big hit some time, for somebody, under some name or other.

In the UK, eight years later, it was. Canned Heat (who held off releasing their version in the States–where it made #26–while Harrison’s was still on the chart) took it to #2 across the pond and, a few years later, Bryan Ferry took it to #12.

Here at home, Harrison’s plaintive turn, by 1969 re-purposed as a call to brotherhood and released as “Let’s Work Together,” stalled outside the Top 30.

It’s probably more famous than most records that suffer a similar mid-charting fate. If so, that’s partly because its quality (rooted in duality–a celebration of the late sixties’ communal ethos by a black man who had more to gain from its acceptance and application than most of its more celebrated practitioners and, perhaps as a result, could not deliver the uplifting lyric with the expected bound-for-the-top smile in his throat) could not quite be denied and partly because, over the years, big name critics like Dave Marsh and Greil Marcus have harkened back to it in famous forums.

I’m glad they did, because that’s how I found it (I wrote about the fine album Harrison made around it here).

What specifically brought it back to mind this week (besides the times we live in, of course…the humor of it all) was running across Canned Heat’s version, also terrific, on YouTube. I post it here for comparison’s sake (it couldn’t qualify as a Diamond fully in the Shade itself because it made the Top Ten in the UK). I promise it’s a treat musically, from a too-often forgotten band. That it features a bunch of Top of the Pops young lovelies (a couple of whom can actually dance, not always a given in these scenarios, then or now) is, I assure you, entirely beside the point. My purpose here is purely educational.