Volume 29 - Spring-Summer 2020

Once again, welcome one and all (or maybe just two or three, depending on how many folks really make it to this end of the internet). Here we are with another installment of tunes to lift your spirits, purge the viruses of your soul, and to raise your head and ears up high.

This set seems to have come together not far behind volume 28. However, I think I'd been sitting on volume 28 for a while before I had published it. At this point, volume 30--a milestone of kitsch, coolness, darkness and swingingness is nearly complete. It should definitely be out before the end of the world—depending on how many of you think mask wearing is for sissies.

I'm proud to announce this set is available for streaming on mixcloud! Yes, dear listeners, while I'm not dispensing with the old school (using this loosely, of course) method of downloading mp3 files, for those into the whole spotification thing, you can simply press play below as the world ends. My eschatological goal is to eventually publish all of the 28 other volumes on mixcloud, but the way things are going, who the hell knows. Check the volume 1 post and go from there.

Haven't seen you in some time...

This volume includes only one ripped song from my collection, which I'll get to later. Nonetheless, I am pleased to add another matchbook cover from my personal stash to this series. I scored it at an estate sale in San Francisco. I seem to have a glacially slow-growing matchbook collection, made easier by the fact I quit smoking back in March. Moby Dick's is apparently from Santa Barbara's Stearn's Wharf (where it still stands). My first time in Santa Barbara was in graduate school, about two years after transplanting to the Left Coast. At the time I was certainly seeking my own white whale, attending a Jungian institute for psychology. I battled many demons and many a tsunami of the psyche but I'll save that for another blog altogether.

Some classic-rockers-to-be have a hand in a few of the tunes on this collection, starting with Aurora by The Squires. This was an early band of the Old Man from Canada himself, Neil Young. Not sure what the surf was like on the coast of our Northern neighbor, but the spirit of the surf gods ran deep. So deep, you can hear it in dude's voice making sure we know the title of the song at its conclusion.

Later in the set, The Squires give us another smooth instro with The Sultan. And speaking of the Middle East, let's hop onto the Camel Train! We have two—count ‘em, two--Camel Trains. The first, by Fargo Wells is clearly immersing us into the aural delights of a caravan. Or is that the sound of a train engine powered by two humps? The second, by The Fortune Tellers, reminds me of some tracks from the Ernie Kovacs show, not that I was alive when it aired, but I know my kitsch history, folks. Or shall I say kitschtory? The dainty camels are moving more slowly at first, pick up speed, and eventually get to the oasis, which thankfully is the end of the song. (Clearly, I’m more fond of the first train.)

 

Who needs love when you have a pool?

Curson Terrace is from Mike and Tony. That’s Mike Nesmith, in his pre-Monkees days. The crowd sure loved him back then. Curson Terrace is a swanky area/property in the Hollywood Hills so there's lots to be happy about for rich white people.

Patty McCarthy’s melancholic ode, The Death of Love, hits the spot in this set. It gets to just the right place in the small, tender fissures of our torn hearts for us to take a moment and recognize how fragile we are.

I’m going to pair the next two because they are the juicy center of this volume. By juicy, I mean dripping with steamy sax blowing. Had by Steve Douglas is music to get lost by. By getting lost I mean being down and out. Out in the middle of Nowheresville. A dead beatnik lying in the gutter. You’ve been had. The whole world has screwed you over. (I can keep going with this, you see. Just look around.) The second growling brass is High Noon from Pearl Reaves with the Paul Farano Trio. It’s the modern Western transplanted to the dirty urban jungle. 

Frank Zappa lends his subversive hand to the Inebriated Surfer by the Hollywood Tornadoes. The flip of this found its way to Volume 3, with Moon Dawg.

Walkin' to Mother’s by Ray Anthony comes from my own collection. It was a recent find at an estate sale. This is on Anthony’s Like Wild LP. The record execs were really pushing hard for the young kids to ignore the white dude with the gyrating hips and focus their ears on the hep cats. Lynn Oliver’s tune Tribal Waltz is a similar story. It’s LP title is even more blatant, as it’s called Teen-Age Jazz. "Like, sell out, daddy-o!"

Finally we get to our sidemen-band-name-of-the-month contest to close out this volume of tunes. We only have two contestants, both vocals, where the backup singer might even be heard here: The Lavenders (with Robin Lee) doing their stroll song Walk Away and The Dreamers (with Jean Luk) singing You Are My Love with so much ache I have to give them the prize. I guess it’s really just Jean Luk screamin’ his heart out, but with a name like the Dreamers, I had to hand it to ‘em.

The pandemic rages on--along with a lot of other people raging. Stay safe, speak up and keep dreaming.

Spear the white whale here or listen down there 👇.