THE LAST TEN ALBUMS I LISTENED TO (Winter 2019, Countdown–Another All Vinyl Edition)

10) Various Artists  Nuggets: Original Artyfacts From the First Psychedelic Era 1965-1968 (1972)

Ain’t it beautiful? The (reissue) cover, the concept, the overkill, the noise. Although some of these records were big hits, by the time Lenny Kaye got the idea to gather them all together in one place, there was at least some danger of them being forgotten. A bazillion spin-offs later (including three box sets put out by Rhino which, yes, yes, I have) and there are probably a thousand or so records that deserve to be forgotten but can’t be as long as somebody, anybody, is consumed by the desire to prove they can dive deeper into obscurity than you in search of a lost aesthetic that really should be ruling the world. This is still the best of the lot. I used to think I would change a cut or two, but time has only elevated it. It’s all emblazoned in my brain now. I wouldn’t change a thing.

9) Various Artists Super Girls (1986)

Okay, this I would change….a little. One last gasp at putting out a definitive girl group set, sans Phil Spector, in the vinyl era. There is plenty of great music, but the set is schizophrenic: girlish pop mixed with some hard-core R&B numbers that happened to be sung by females, with the unclassifiable Jaynetts and Shangri-Las thrown in for good measure, not to mention Brenda Lee. The schizoid problem, incidentally, would not have been solved by more Spector (the Paris Sisters are here and they only point up the set’s split personality.)

I’m glad to have it and all…but, pulling it out for the holidays, I was reminded why it never went into heavy rotation back in the days when vinyl was still king at my house. It surges….then it flags….then it surges..and you think, less might be more?

8) Various Artists 18 King Size Rhythm & Blues Hits (1967)

This doesn’t flag. I’m not sure it was the set it might have been (a couple of re-recordings…the Platters’ side is early, pre-fame) but it’s stellar just the same. I mean, that early Platters on “Only You” isn’t just a valid take, it’s a killer.

And don’t covers sometimes make a difference? Somehow that beautiful combination of colors that Columbia Records put together to promote their recently acquired King Records catalog always creates the right mood for me. I feel like I’m in a smoky corner waiting for the floor show on the wrong side of town in 1954 from the minute I see it on the shelf.

7) Graham Parker Howlin’ Wind (1976)

I’m always surprised to rediscover, yet again, that this isn’t a punk record. England, 1976, scenester, cultish following. How can it not be punk or at least “punkish”?

It’s always better for the distinction. Really , if you aren’t the Clash, I’d rather you not be punk, or, God forbid, punkish. Just my personal prejudice. And, every time I put this on–once or twice a decade–I swear I’m gonna get to know it better.

Maybe this will be the decade it really happens.

6) Paul McCartney and Wings Band on the Run (1973)

Okay, this one….I’m really going to devote myself to knowing this one better. Because I really want to know if “Let Me Roll It” constitutes an act of arrogance or subversion. I mean, one day, Paul McCartney woke up and said You know, John’s been a bit mean about me of late, so I think what I’ll do is, I’ll make a record in John’s signature style but, instead of just making it a parody or something, I’ll actually do John better than John can do John. I’ll not only do the singing and writing part of it better, I’ll even do the angry bit better. And I’ll leave it there as a reminder that John can only be John, but I can be anybody. 

And I’ll let the world sort out whether any of that makes it worth a single hit of “Jet,” delivered straight to the veins without any jingling intervention by the radio.

Yep, I definitely need to listen more.

5) Toots & the Maytals Funky Kingston (1975)

I’m starting a little project of finishing off collecting the LPs listed on Greil Marcus’s Treasure Island recommendations from his 1979 illuminati standard Stranded: Rock and Roll for a Desert Island. One way to keep myself (and my pocket book) interested is by listening to a lot of the ones I already have. This one–which I’ve had forever but somehow never acquired an intimate knowledge of–was a revelation. It’s been released in various forms on both vinyl and CD, but I can’t imagine any lineup beating the one I have. Toots Hibbert was/is frequently compared to Otis Redding (for whom I’ve been developing a whole new appreciation I’ll probably need  to write about in the future) but I hear more Ray Charles myself. That’s hardly a bad thing, especially since reggae puts even more structural limits on a singer than southern soul. I don’t count it a coincidence that Toots joined Ray in bringing whole new worlds to John Denver’s “Country Roads.” Call it the vision thing.

This one’s going into heavy rotation.

4) The Maytals Do the Reggae 1966-70 (1988)

In vinyl days (which I’m happy to say are coming ’round again), this was always more my speed. Maybe it still is, even if I’m never convinced I’ve comprehended a single word.

Roots reggae at it’s Leslie Kong-produced peak, then, and, of course, I don’t mean I failed to understand it. It always sounded like a soundtrack for the horror stories my missionary parents used to bring home from reform schools (or, in my dad’s case, prisons) filled with the wretched of the modern earth.

3) Dave Mason Alone Together (1970)

Weird album. Loved by some, dismissed by others, the crit-illuminati couldn’t get a reliable read on it and, despite my innate desire to confound the confounders at every possible turn, neither can I.

It fits the tenor of its times: Bloozy, Anglo, Laid Back Cali, uncredited Eric Clapton sideman-ship floating around in there somewhere. I can’t really make sense of it. But what do I know? The Dave Mason I loved was the one who had a big pop hit with “We Just Disagree,” which still makes me smile and remember–I like the rest but in thee end it just makes me shrug, no matter how much I want the worlds to collide.

2) Warren Zevon Stand in the Fire (1980)

One of the greatest live albums ever recorded. Performance freed up something in Zevon that rarely got loose in the studio. His vocals were better, his bands were tighter, even his lyric improvs were better. (Has there ever been a leap of faith into a dark zone that landed more beautifully on point than changing the line after There’s a .38 Special up on on the shelf from If I start feeling stupid I’ll shoot myself to And I don’t intend to use it on myself?) No, of course there hasn’t.

Bonus tracks later added to the CD only subtracted from the overall effect. It’s perfect as it stands, from the opening title track (written for the tour) all the way down to a “Bo Diddley’s a Gunslinger” that links the album to the history of the world and, unimaginably, tops the original.

1) War Greatest Hits (1976)

Was it really possible to sum up the entire decade, and all the decades to come, in 1976?

It was, but you would never have known it without these guys. Without them, it all just felt incoherent.

In a generous mood, I try to believe “Why Can’t We Be Friends?” was/is the record that best defined my beloved 70’s. But in my heart I know it is/was “Slippin’ Into Darkness,” even if my only cavil with this mind-bending album is that it substitutes the powerful hit single version for the long version that’s too harrowing for words.

Til next time then!

AND THEN I HEARD THIS ABSOLUTELY CRAZY RECORD THAT SOUNDED LIKE IT HAD BEEN PHONED IN FROM ANOTHER WORLD (Found in the Connection: Rattling Loose End # 149)

I think I’ve mentioned that, after many years, my local radio market once more has an oldies’ station. Today, driving home from a friend’s birthday party, I heard this in the middle of a run of great records (“What a Wonderful World,” “Mr. Big Stuff,” “The Little Old Lady from Pasadena,” “Dancing Queen,” Barry White, like that) and it was as shocking as the very first time I heard it, coming out of the tiny, tinny speakers attached to my old budget-level Sears Roebuck turntable. I mean, if “punk” meant what its principle acolytes would have you believe–the complete rejection and transcendence of business as usual–it would be the punkest record ever.

And it occurred to me that it might be the first time I’ve actually heard it on the radio:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OzOIYZNtlm8

DIAMONDS IN THE SHADE (The Honey Cone Up)

“While You’re Out Looking for Sugar”
The Honey Cone (1969)
Billboard Pop: #62
Billboard R&B: #26
Recommended source: Greatest Hits

The Honey Cone, Edna Wright in the center

I came across an item on Facebook today which claimed it’s Edna Wright’s 75th birthday.  I wasn’t able to confirm the date anywhere else  (though she is listed as being born in 1944) but I’ll take any real or imagined occasion to celebrate her and her great group the Honey Cone’s not-so-little and all-too-forgotten place in the history of Rock and Roll America.

When the titanic writing/producing team of Holland-Dozier-Holland split with Motown in 1968, they set out looking for artists to fill the rosters at their new labels Hot Wax and Invictus. The first act they signed was a trio of girl group veterans consisting of Wright (Darlene Love’s sister–the vocal and visual similarities were striking), Carolyn Willis and Shelly Clark.

The group’s history soon became an old, familiar one. Like the Chantels, Dixie Cups and Shangri-Las (among others) before them, they were the soul and success of their new label, made fabulous records, had a modest but indelible run of hits and were abandoned to their fate when the record company went out of business. Like those other groups, their identity remained largely obscure, except when they opened their mouths to sing. For the Honey Cone, that musical identity consisted of a nudge forward in what their label mate Laura Lee would soon term “Women’s Love Rights.”

Their biggest hit, “Want Ads,” was, even more than Lee’s hit, the culmination of the process–a new style of assertiveness that married the old girl talk timbres (vulnerable, yearning) to soul and blues themes that had mostly been left to males. The ethos could be summed up in a simple phrase: You better watch yourself!

But the road to “Want Ads” and similarly themed records like Betty Wright’s “Clean Up Woman” (out of Miami, where she, too, would be the foundation stone for yet another process of somebody else making a lot more money than she did), began with the Honey Cone’s first Hot Wax release, “While You’re Out Looking for Sugar” (1969) a fine soul side that did just well enough on the charts to confirm H-D-H’s faith in bigger and better things to come.

It was a bold leap. There were scant role models at the time for the kind of sly but forceful pushback Edna and her group were insisting upon. No more pleading, no more begging, no more daydreaming and no more prizing the church over the street.

Once they got going, the new woman was here to stay, and not just on the Pop and Soul charts. Like all the great girl groups before them, including those H-D-H had guided at Motown (even the mighty Supremes), they were often dismissed as puppets.

Like all the great girl groups before them, it was never that simple. Put it this way: Except for “Want Ads,” Honey Cone’s entire catalog could qualify as its own subcategory of Diamonds in the Shade. There was a reason why, when Brian Holland, Lamont Dozier, and Eddie Holland went looking for the foundation of their own vision, they signed Edna Wright first.

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 LAST TEN ALBUMS I LISTENED TO (Winter 2018, Countdown)

10) Poison: Greatest Hits 1986 – 1996 (1996)

Merry Christmas everybody! i like my hair metal straight with no arty pretensions. In the wake of punk, especially, hair metal bands had one refreshing quality. They made no bones about being in it for the groupies. About half of this soars and the rest doesn’t sink so low that it amounts to more than a minor distraction.

9) David Bowie: Hunky Dory (1971)

I don’t really have a go-to David Bowie album but, if I did, this early entry might fit the bill. The man could write hooks and, over the course of a mere album (especially a good one from when he was giving everything he had to put himself over), his voice doesn’t wear thin. Plus, with “Changes” he was already signalling how far he could take fake naivete, which was only as far as it could go.

8) Gary Lewis & the Playboys: The Complete Liberty Singles (2009)

What an aesthetic! A plastic concept were Gary and the boys to be sure…but they made some fine pop records from their earliest days. And, as I had not noticed on a previous listen to two, Gary kept getting better as the sixties and his popularity waned in unison. This lays out the whole story so, along with stalwarts like “Just My Style” and “Little Miss Go-Go” you get an extra disc’s worth of lost sixties’ pop that reminds you just how good you had to be in those days to not get lost . Then there’s genuinely weird-but-catchy stuff like “I Saw Elvis Presley Last Night” which Lewis apparently wrote after seeing Elvis the night before.

7) Bob Dylan: Live 1964 Concert at Philharmonic Hall, The Bootleg Series Vol. 6 (2004)

This has musical value. It’s a good, typical concert from Dylan’s folkie phase. The big difference is that it’s near the end–the moment just before the Voice of His Generation stabbed his original audience in the eye by going Rock and Roll.

Here, Dylan the master showman has his New York audience eating out of his hand, hanging on every sung or spoken word. You can still hear and feel the spell he cast. The highlight comes at the top of the second disc, right after he’s returned from the intermission to do his nine hundredth great version of “Talkin’ World War III Blues.”

This is the one where he mocks the Shangri-Las and Martha and the Vandellas and his audience laughs right along.

Or is it the about-to-be-left-behind audience he’s mocking?

People argue about this, but it’s worth remembering that when the Voice of His Generation wanted to name-check “inauthentic” pop stars he had previously tended to use Fabian, the son of a Philly beat cop, who, like Martha Reeves and Mary Weiss, had fought his way out of tougher circumstances–and tougher neighborhoods–than Robert Zimmerman’s.

Right after that Joan Baez comes on and kills the buzz.

There’s no album that better explains the anger some of Dylan’s audience felt when he “betrayed” them a few months later (first at Newport, then all over the world). Listening to this, there is no reason to believe the voice of their generation would ever be anything but completely at one with them.

6) Mary Wells: Looking Back 1961 – 1964 (1993)

Invaluable set from Motown’s first big solo star. “My Guy” wasn’t all that typical of her style, but it shows just how many directions she might have taken had she not made the fateful decision to become the first Motown star to walk away. I don’t know if she needs a two-disc set, but she certainly needs more than one. One of history’s great “what-ifs” sure, but there’s more than enough here to justify a bigger place in the pantheon, at Motown and elsewhere.

5) War: Outlaw (1982)

The greatest band of the 70s was mostly a spent force by the time this came out. But the two strongest tracks, “Outlaw” and “Cinco de Mayo” were on a par with their best, and you can hear bits and pieces elsewhere of what might have been a new vision, had they still been young and hungry.

4) Jr. Walker and the All Stars: Nothin’ But Soul, The Singles 1962-1983 (1994)

A great journey through the party funk of the mid-sixties, backed up with Junior’s plaintive vocals once somebody figured out his ragged-but-right timbre could work on ballads. Twenty years worth of never losing what he had, with the highlight being perhaps Motown’s great lost single. Tell me again why he’s not in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?

3) Lynyrd Skynyrd: Nuthin’ Fancy (1975)

There are people who still think this–the second greatest band of the 70s third LP–is their weakest. If that’s true, it’s a measure of just how great they were. There weren’t ten bands in the decade who made one as good. And not one where the lead singer would start off an album by writing a fierce ode to gun control and, without taking a breath, dream of shooting down his “Cheatin’ Woman” exactly one track later.

2) Fats Domino: The Fats Domino Jukebox (2002)

I finally broke down and bought a single disc of Fats’ best on CD. The old two record set from Imperial is still the best “short” compilation but this does a nice job of getting to the highlights, beginning with the true dawn of rock ‘n’ roll. Perhaps because I’ve been doing some side projects (more word soon!) that turn a strong spotlight on rock and roll’s first decade, the most intriguing track this time around was “The Valley of Tears” a straight country record from 1957 which went top twenty pop and #2 R&B and represented everything Nashville feared might be riding over the hill if they didn’t get the white rock and rollers under control. They shut down crossover within a year, even if it meant telling country stations not to play Elvis and the Everly Brothers. And that’s exactly what it meant. These days, and not coincidentally, country, pop and r&b are all dead things. Except when you reach back.

1)  Various Artists: A Very Special Christmas (1987)

One of the great rock and roll Christmas albums. At what is probably the low point, Bon Jovi pulls off a credible “Back Door Santa.” Elsewhere, everyone from RUN-DMC to Bono to Alison Moyet to (gasp) Sting go to the limit. And there are tracks that go beyond the limit: Bruce Springsteen (live, where’s he’s always best) managing a version of “Merry Christmas Baby” that escapes the long shadows of Charles Brown’s original melancholy and Elvis Presley’s cataclysmic transformation to inject an improbably merry vibe that’s just as valid; John Mellencamp’s re-orienting “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” to an Indiana farmhouse; Bryan Adams’ blasting through “Run, Run Rudolph”; and, to close things down, Stevie Nicks, who believes in witchcraft if she believes in anything, giving a definitive reading of “Silent Night,” the stateliest devotional hymn on earth, proving yet again that God will always move in a mysterious way.

Merry Christmas to all my readers!

…Til next time.

THE ABC’s OF DOO WOP (Segue of the Day: 8/22/18)

I don’t remember how long it took me to get hold of Rhino’s original Doo Wop Box (released in 1994). Not long as I recall. When the great CD selloff of 2002 became necessary, it was one of the items I was most reluctant to let go of.

My reluctance wasn’t ill-considered. It took me until four months go to reacquire it. It’s taken me until this week to get around to listening (I wanted it to have my full attention–something that’s harder to achieve as I get older).

Today, in the car, on the third disc, I ran into a forgotten pairing, which were this….

followed by this….

I first heard these songs in later versions by the Shangri-Las and Beach Boys respectively. And to be honest those versions waste these. No shame in that: Mary Weiss and Brian Wilson were two of the finest singers of the entire rock and roll era, their groups stood at the pinnacle of harmony vocals. Almost everything good about these lovely records was enhanced by a factor of ten on the versions I heard first.

But what came home today, hearing the originals for the first time in years, was that nothing which came later, however great, could capture the pure weirdness of early rock and roll quite like the style that came to be called doo wop.

In its original version, absolutely nothing about “You Cheated, You Lied” makes any kind of formal musical (as opposed to emotional) sense. Even here, in the company of a hundred other doo wop songs, the lyrics, arrangements, lead and backing vocals don’t go anywhere they, properly speaking, “should” go. And while “So Young” isn’t quite as dissonant, it’s still a reminder of how much we now take for granted–how many assumptions about taste–actually came from people who have been all but forgotten.

I don’t doubt Mary Weiss and Brian Wilson loved what they were covering–that they were, in part, paying homage. And it wasn’t their fault they were better singers, working in far more professional environments. The world isn’t best served by turning backward (no matter how often the barbarians–always in the name of progress–tell you otherwise).

But knowing there was a quality in those records they loved that even they, masters of their own kinds of weirdness, couldn’t catch makes me smile…and shake my head in wonder.

Just like rock and roll should do.

ONCE THERE WERE GIANTS (Aretha Franklin, R.I.P.)

They grow fewer by the day…and have no heirs.

Others will say their piece and, where the terms of her importance to the world are addressed, I can’t imagine anything will be left unsaid.

I’ll stick to the personal.

The first album of hers that I owned is still my go-to.

She did other fine things before and after, but that decade (1967–1976) was really everything that mattered. Almost anything she did inside it was greater than almost anything she (or anyone) did outside it. Which is by way of saying I’m glad I got to it first–in  a bargain bin somewhere, I don’t remember where, circa 1978.

The impact of those recordings was profound, as it has been for millions before and since, however and wherever they find them.

I had a habit in those days of sticking my head next to the turntable (the speakers were built in, cheap as they come, and, in these halcyon days of Bose and digital, I still kind of miss them) and singing along with everything. I had only been buying records for a couple of years and was still in the process of discovering that, while I was nothing special singing on my own, I was an inspired mimic.

I took it very seriously, tried to get everything just right in my own head (what you heard in your head, was your business–I knew what I sounded like!), because I saw (or heard) it as a means of linking into other souls–souls I imagined were bigger and bolder than mine, who had faced things I had yet to face, or perhaps never would face, trying to reach the world through me and me through the world, who could carry me to higher ground.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, you can get carried away….and carried a long way up the mountain in a very short time.

When I got hold of Ten Years of Gold, I already knew I could do Frankie Valli, Diana Ross, Donny Osmond, all five Beach Boys (no matter how fast they traded off) not to mention the easy stuff like Elton John and the Beatles.

We needn’t speak of Buddy Holly. I was note perfect from the beginning, but since I was his reincarnation (as I’ve stated before, I’m sure I’m not the only one), that hardly counted.

One thing I was queasy about was singing “girl” lyrics. I loved female voices–anyone who has followed along here knows how much I still do. And I sang with them.

But I had trouble making a particular leap.

Not timbre (heck, if you can do Diana Ross, that’s never going to be an issue–and, no, I don’t have a high speaking voice–quite the opposite–life’s full of mysteries).

The trouble was lyrics.

If one just skipped by–say Come on boy see about me, that was maybe okay.

And, of course, plenty of lyrics are gender (or was it sex?…I never can remember which is supposed to be which) neutral.

Aretha Franklin was the first singer I loved and listened to close who forced a choice.

She wasn’t a girl…and nothing (by which I mean nothing) just skipped by.

I fought it for a while. A month probably. Maybe a little longer.

Not forever.

Sooner or later, I was going to have to decide–do I keep changing the gender pronouns while I’m singing?

You know, the way I had been.

I might imitate some girl…But was I going to make the soul-shift take her perspective?

Then one day, I was singing along with Aretha (who I could do like nobody’s business–Sweet Inspirations too–go figure….I once knew all the words to a song I’d never heard before and have never been able to remember them since…life’s full of mysteries) and I realized something,

If I’m worrying about changing the lyrics, I’m not being carried away.

And if I wasn’t being carried away….what was the point?

So I did it.

I pretended, for a few minutes, to be a girl. Better yet, a woman.

And never thought about it again.

It didn’t turn me effeminate or gay or queer or whatever the word was supposed to be then, when I tried to keep up, or is supposed to be now when I hardly bother.

It didn’t threaten my sense of myself.

It didn’t make me stop liking girls.

It did what great music always did.

Made me bigger.

Better.

Helped me see further.

Took me to the Higher Ground.

After Aretha (who came right after Elvis and right before the Shangri-Las, all of whom came after Jesus), I never had to get a whole lot bigger, because there wasn’t that much bigger to get.

She forced me to change to a new self…and to start at the top.

For me, it was part of a Christian journey (which, unless you have taken it, is not remotely what you think it is, peace be upon you), to a place where we not only see ourselves as others see us, but we see others as they see themselves, with all the beauty and terror that implies.

I like to think the preacher’s daughter understood.

And in case you are wondering if the song that opened the world was the one you think it was, you can stop wondering.

It was the song you think it was.

Like I said, she made me start at the top.

it was many a long year before I discovered the lyrics had been written by a man. (And mea culpa and R.I.P. to Gerry Goffin, who somehow passed away in 2014 without my hearing about it. Time does both fly and march.)

What was it the poet said…Memory believes before knowing remembers?*

Yeah, that was it.

I think I might want to crank up the Bose tonight.

Might even have to get the turntable out.

*William Faulkner, for those wondering.

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!

 

SAY IT AIN’T SO JOE….(Memory Lane…1979, 1964, 1972, 1976)

Well ain’t this a kick. I’m on a little bit of a Joe Jackson binge and I decide to look up one of my favorite singles from the black hole that was engulfing the Pop Charts from 1977–1980 or so, which was this one…from 1979:

Which, even at the time, I knew had nicked something or other from this (let me know if you miss the connection and I’ll be happy to point it out)…

Now, I never thought too much about this. Quoting/covering Shangs records was de rigueur for punk/new wave types (among others). I doubt any pre-punk act contributed more language, attitude or zeitgeist to every form of alternative music from the late sixties to yesterday morning.

And mostly that’s been acknowledged. Not by the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame or anything, but by the influenced acts themselves (The Dolls, Ramones, Blondie, Pink Floyd, Any Winehouse to name only the more obvious).

All these years I just assumed Joe had done the same.

Then I read this (from Songfacts):

Now, that is just one of those songs that started with the title. I heard that phrase somewhere and I thought that could be a kind of funny song about gorgeous girls going out with monsters. 

Hmmmm. He heard that phrase…somewhere. And couldn’t quite pin down where it might have come from.

Surely not from growing up in England.

You know. The country where the song that starts “Is she really going out with him?” hit #11 in 1964.

When Joe was ten.

And didn’t go higher because it was banned.

And hit #3 in 1972.

When Joe was 18….wonder if he was listening to the radio by then?

And hit #7 in 1976.

When Joe was 22…by then, maybe?

Come on, Joe.

Nothing could make me love “Is She Really Going Out With Him?” less…but you’re better than that.

Aren’t you?

I mean, dude. I still got the 45…

…and it’s one of those they’ll have to pry from my cold, dead fingers.

Because it’s one more little sliver of proof that, unlike me and probably you, the Shangri-Las will never die!

TOO MUCH FUN TO PASS UP….

I’ve finally gotten around to adding Sixties Music Secrets to my blogroll. Should have done it a while ago. Anyway, Rick came up with a category I should have thought of…best Rock and Roll Scream. I encourage you to click on the link (or the blogroll) and head over there to see his pick and give your two cents….and give them here as well.

For the record, my picks:

(buried in the mix, and all the more powerful for that)

(I like that he cuts off the first scream, half cuts the second scream and finally lets all the way loose at the very end!)

(Go to Rick’s site for what had to say about this one…if you haven’t already…you know, the way you should have!)