REBEL, 'MONKEY (GET OFF MY BACK)' b/w 'IT'S BEEN) A LONG TIME)' (Show Girl, 198?)
After losing out on the greatest record ever to come out of the booming metropolis of Laurel, MS. recently (AND costing a friend a hundred or so bucks in the process), I decided I would console myself within the arms of another pack of local losers from the Magnolia State.
I originally bought this record for the name alone thinking it might be a Johnny Rebel-style ummm, 'novelty' single (the A-side's song-title doing much to increase my hopes). Turns out, there's not a hint of racial prejudice to be found. Little to no competency either.
What is this record even supposed to be? Are they intentionally trying to be funky? Why are they singing like that? What year is this from? Is this a song about drugs or girls? Typically, the Rebel Band's lone (?) effort ask many more questions than it could ever hope to answer (a drum solo too???). To confound things even further, the b-side is some velvet moaning about a lost antebellum past or some shit that is way too close to the Marshall Tucker Band for my liking. All that is sure is these Rebs recorded at Malaco in Jackson and hailed from the hometown of fictional show-girl Blanche DuBois.
At the end of the day, the truth may never be known, which allows The Rebel Band to pass seamlessly into the speculative beer-belly ranks of accidental bar-band loser-geniuses alongside the likes of Fat Bruce and Smokehouse. Enjoy?
DESPERATE ANGEL, ‘SHAKE YOU DOWN’ b/w ‘THAT IS ALL’ (December Records, 1978)
This one’s dedicated to my favorite Tucson Tostito; for not only turning me on to this record’s existence, but also for still speaking to me after I made a spectacle of myself at his wedding*. …and who is now (I’m told) a full-time, graduated so-and-so, so let’s hear it from the tree-tops for my main tofurkey T-top! Love ya, Muff Rocker!
Doing their best to look like Mick ‘n’ Keef on the cover, whilst doing their utmost to sound like Starz or Artful Dodger in the grooves, the ATL’s Desperate Angel, minus the inseminating influence of the nascent new wave, would likely have been just another bunch of opening act AOR satin dolls; appetizing after-thoughts before the inevitable BTO/REO denim buffet. However, if the DA’s weren’t exactly hep to Seditionaries high chic or the dress code at La Mere Vipere, they certainly were on-time and up to date (enough) for Greg Shaw’s prophesied late 70s pop revival.
And yes, before you soil your signed, stamped Exploding Hearts bed-spread (number 1 of 50!), I realize that most people don’t think of mainstream melodic 70s hard rock as conforming to the skinny-tie strictures of what today we know as power pop. …which is unfortunate, as schlock groups like Starz, Piper, Rex or even The Babys have a helluva lot more to do with a workable post-Raspberries aesthetic than dross like the Fast Cars or the Pointed Sticks. Only one of dozens of examples of the draw-backs of a punk education (others being Crass and the entire recorded output of the city of Portland, Oregon).
But enough of my usual screed…
The sound of Desperate Angel, like fellow peach-state poseurs XYZ, represents the new wave or new direction taken by handfuls of mainstream rock groups from 1975 until the end of the decade (when the synths get too heavy for my taste). Following in the boot-steps pioneered by KISS, Cheap Trick, and, yeah, probably Boston and Aerosmith too, groups like Desperate Angel – to quote The Shaw – naively flirt with the power pop style in such casual, shamelessly commercial fashion that – despite utterly stiffing upon release – sound fresh and dynamic today in ways that groups like the Merton Parkas or Modernettes simply cannot; flash-frozen as they are forever in the polka dot/striped shirt freezer-section of a failed hype-market. It should also be recalled that despite the perms and big collars, one of the most common tags initially affixed to groups like Desperate Angel by writers of the time was Punk Rock (and some – like the Babys and KISS – even had the bubblegum trading cards to prove it). Also, just to needlessly muddy the waters further for those un-read-up-on-their-power-pop-read-ups, who checks in at #10 on BOMP!’s All-Time Top Power Pop Records list ahead of Generation X: none other than Scandinavian freakbeat giants, ABBA! But that’s a tale for another time.
So enjoy the shake und shred unt Desperate Angel as I speculate upon whether or not the weight of my digital imprimatur will now cause this single to trade for $250 or up. Here’s hoping!
‘SHAKE YOU DOWN’
‘THAT IS ALL’
*If you see a pattern developing here with me and weddings, move ahead three spaces.
TERRY HUGHES & THE BACKYARD PARTY, ‘HEY LEO’ b/w ‘YOUR FOOL’ (Mountain Records, 1984)
For my last blog post of the year I figured I would cave to mounting pressure and give the people – all three of them who commented – what they wanted: MORE FROM NEW JERSEY’S OWN TERRY HUGHES!
As of this writing, more of the mystery surrounding Mr. Hughes continues to be deciphered and filled-in. At WFMU this year, Justin Collectorscum – in between my marathon of downing beers – clued me into to the fact that Terry was once the guitarist in lo-fi/art/punk/whatever-the-fuck-cause-I-haven’t-heard-it-yet supa-group Jigs & the Pigs. So I guess that’s worth something to someone; maybe even me if someone can hook up some mp3s.
Now how one goes from that – whatever that is – to earnestly worshipping at the altar of Jagger & Johnny one minute to Atlantic City house-rocking the next is anyone’s guess, but Terry does it here with great power pop aplomb backed by The Backyard Party who apparently were all ex Jigs as well as whoever else was in the bar or studio that night; Terry takes great pains to thank everyone who showed up for dollar beer night on the back sleeve including ‘what’s her name,’ ‘that girl from Atlantic City’ and the dog (now likely deceased R.I.P.).
Of the two cuts, ‘Hey Leo’ is unfuckwittable with its power chords and brevity. I also am assuming that that must be Leo that Terry (in the shades, striped shirt and Richard Hell-ish frown) is pointing to on the cover. The b-side is good too, if a bit more vulnerable and endearing and, for whatever reason, that doesn’t work as well for me. …especially given Terry’s third single where he throws love and affection straight out the window in favor of full-on Jabbers-style date-baiting.
If Bruce Springsteen’s Cadillac motors on melted-down Crystals’ records then Terry Hughes’ El Camino runs on jello-shots and your girlfriend’s bar-tab. Have at it T.H. and may I echo your feelings as to the origins of Leo’s haberdashery. HEY LEO WHERE’D YOU GET THE HAT!
If the verdict was ever in doubt as to the nature of this blog being akin to a Midwestern kangaroo Court Of Star Chamber, then hopefully this post can be the one that finally sends the peacekeepers packing.
Routinely dismissed as hick fly-over pastureland by its detractors or – perhaps nauseatingly worse – lauded as beer city maaaaaaan, Wisconsin in general and Milwaukee in particular is one of my favorite places on Earth. Being Southern by birth and Southern Baptist by the sense of humor of God, I fully understand what it’s like to be regarded as backwards, benighted and perhaps even more than a little barbaric. The same way Faulkner took all the awfulness of Mississippi and didn’t shy from it, instead making it a center-piece or point of pride with his writing, is the same style of thing I saw go-on with the gob of mutants I ran with in my few years spent in the good land. And I loved it even though my living situation was personally very miserable.
And I’ve said all that merely to say this:
MITTELWESTEN UBER ALLES - THE MIDWEST OVER THE REST!
And now I can finally stop talking in hyperbole and start talkin’ bout LUST!
LUST!
METAL!
MAN!
METAL FROM WISCONSIN!
MAN!
METAL FROM STEVEN’S POINT , WISCONSIN!
MAN!
…which, as a city, is about as metal as Oshkosh (the clothing line or the town).
Who Lust were – if they were natives or just recorded there – is a mystery best left unto the younger scion of the Haupt clan. What we do know about Lust is that both sides of their lone single S M O K E with likely accidental NWOBHM speed und froth. ‘Blitzkrieg’ gets my vote likely due to my own preoccupying occupation, but the punk-y lyrics of ‘M.I.A.’ also have much to recommend themselves.
Enjoy now a deep double-draught of Lust: the band that made Steven’s Point famous!
THE LAST OF THE UNKNOWNS, 'SHE'S GONE' b/w '1,2 Many X'S' (Thundermen Records, 1989)
Having seen this single go for a fair amount of cheddar a couple of times in the last few months, I thought time would now be opportune to post up both sides of it as well as to reveal the startlingly non-biker psych hard rock lineage of some of its players (the clue is in the label name and the proof lies in the cheese fries).
The Last Of The Unknowns from Eau Claire, Wisconsin, bafflingly trace their roots all the way back to a mid-60s instro outfit known as the Thundermen (name likely inspired by cross-state neighbors, the Fendermen, who hit pay-dirt with their tuff rendition of ‘Mule Skinner Blues’) with a clutch of singles to their credit. If The Last Of The Unknowns constituted some last-gasp incarnation of the group or merely came out on their label imprint is unclear, however, the internet copyright database does list the songwriting credits with surnames shared by some of the thunderous T-men. Oh, and a year.
NINETEEN EIGHTY-NINE!
So…go ahead and divorce yourself from the notion that this record had anything to do with the likes of Raven, Circuit Rider or Strychnine, as the band’s ambitions likely lied much closer to the fret-wanking formations of Joe Satriani or Yngwie Malsteem. That said, both sides remain remarkable – especially given the locale and year of release – with fuzz thick enough to rival Terry Brooks and Strange and budget production moves that give the impression of a garage band flash-frozen in 1968 thawing out thirty years later under the gated-reverb lights.
Also, attention must be lent to the bizarre field-hand/lover-man vocal breakdown in ‘She’s Gone’ that sounds like a bowling alley bar band of balding divorcees pouring their fifty-cent-pitcher hearts out(the harmonized refrain to the chorus’ question – ‘we don’t know where’ – is beyond boned-out). While ‘1,2 Many X’s’ lite croonerisms don’t exactly stand up to its top layer (what could?), the song’s title and lyrics do lend credence to the theory that a prerequisite for membership within The Last Of The Unknowns might be female trouble instead of exact musical aptitude.
The Last Of The Unknowns: self-help book psych for weekend hog riders. Enjoy their pain and pass the cheese curds.
In keeping with my sub-McRib frequency of posting and joint-custodial attempts at purchasing viewer affection, instead of the usual single serve, today I am going to post up for your perusal an entire SIXTEEN TRACK PRIVATE PSYCH SCHOOL BAND BREAKS L@@K LP and promise you that daddy is never ever gone leave you again lil bloggy. Now just tell the nice case worker that you wanna live with me, baby.
Copied straight from the Acid Archives and purchased straight from the local library for .25 cents, ‘A Celebration Of The Individual’ is study hall psych for public speaking real people (and before you ask, my copy didn’t come with either of the inserts or lyric book so don’t bother asking me who these clowns were). My individual picks to click are the sub-O.Rex giz-rockin’ ‘Musclemania’ and the no-child-left-behind fuzz electives of ‘Proclamation I.’ 'Drive Your Own Bus' is also an excellent foray into the seldom documented public transit D.I.Y. busker psych genre. There’s some stank bad shit on here too, but the majority is good. And don’t come at me complaining about the pops and skips either – IT’S A GHETTO PRESSIN, B!
THINK ABOUT THE CHILDREN!
PEACE!
DAYBREAK, ‘A Celebration Of The Individual’ (Dome, 1974)
‘A high school project LP with the typical amateurish mix of fuzz rock and folk moves. This one is cruder than most and does hit a certain atmosphere, in addition to the strange effect created by the vastly differing skills of the participants. A folky track with crude female vocals has showoffy John McLaughlin guitar runs for no particular reason and the exaggerated ambitions and liberal band membership policy make for a few numbers that are bordering on chaos. The contrast between the simplistic folk and jazz-rock backing is a rather unusual experience, I must say. There’s also some piano-led singer-songwriter tracks for that special school auditorium feel, while the second half of the albums brings in a more commercial 1970s folk and folkrock sound. There are some pretty songs in there, such as the introspective “Antonia” with dual female vocals, while “The Soulful Fighter” is an entertaining disaster of genre confusion and musical incompetence. One of the singers sounds too old for a high school kid. I wonder if the music teacher is responsible for the terrible piano ballad “I Strive To Make You Happy?” Despite the incongruous nature, this LP works pretty well and covers the 70s school project LPs’ bases so well that it could be used as a yardstick for the style. The only thing missing is the lame poetry recitations, but there’s a dopey scat-song that almost qualifies. Lots of tracks and long playtime, because everyone wanted in! [PL]
Yes! My favorite drive-in calculus: Camaros and chest hair with a six pack to go (and maybe a one-hitter smuggled into the visitor’s side bathroom). Infectious, retard pop-metal out of Shreveport, LA boasting future author of rip-off Harry Potter children’s literature on lyrics and (I’m guessing) singing. ’Crazy Lady’ is stutter-step swag probably swinging for Van Halen, but failing the field sobriety check and landing (in a heap) just south of Starz. ’Harmony’ on the other hand starts off sounding - dangerously - not unlike Three Dog Night before pushing on into the forbidden zone of big thought lyrics and some truly nimble pinky flexes on them old frets. I’m not sure which side is finer. Both, However, are prime exemplars of the regional sub-genus of Louisiana butt rock.
And yeah Yeah YEAH, more pops and crackles than a reunion of the ’74 Vikings defensive line - BOO HOO! You wanna buy me a better copy - be my guest!
In my opinion, TOASTED/HAMMERED & HEAVILY PARTIED is the only way discs like these should ever be enjoyed. If you don’t have to crank up the tone-arm weight, YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG!
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