Thursday, May 25, 2017

8 Essentials for Living the Original Star Wars Life


When Twentieth Century Fox took a major gamble on a goofy space fantasy imagined by that goofy kid who’d made American Graffiti, neither that company nor George Lucas could have imagined we’d still be so ensconced in Star Wars forty years later. In fact, fans are now able to ensconce themselves more completely in that wacky universe of wookiees, droids, banthas, and wampas than they could back in the late seventies even though it seemed that every conceivable object had some sort of Star Wars equivalent back then. However, compared to a time when anyone can snooze in a tauntaun sleeping bag, make waffles shaped like the Death Star, or dab on Lando-scented cologne, the late seventies was a comparable Tatooine-desert of Star Wars merchandise. You couldn’t even watch the movies on your TV set yet, so those who wished to never leave Lucas Land had to make do with the essential bits of Star Wars-ernalia available. So for you contemporary kids who don’t understand how good you have it, here are eight examples Star Wars essentials every fanatic worth his or her salt owned back when nobody knew what the hell A New Hope was.

1. Kenner Toys

Let’s get the obvious out of the way. The most effective way to melt into the Star Wars universe aside from watching the films has always been to get down on the floor surrounded by little bits of Star Wars-shaped plastic. The history of Kenner’s Star Wars figures has been regurgitated many, many, many times. I’m sure you already know about how unprofitable movie-tie-in toys had been, how Lucas made his fortune by retaining merchandising rights, how the toys weren’t ready for X-mas 1977 so Kenner sold cardboard “Early Bird” vouchers for Luke, Leia, Chewie, and R2-D2 figures instead. Blah, blah. Equally important is how nifty these little figures that could fit into scale Millennium Falcons and TIE-fighters were, how kooky the decisions to make figures of barely-on-screen characters like Prune Face and not-on-screen-at-all characters like Cloud Car Pilot was while neglecting more prominent characters like Tarkin and Uncle Owen because they didn’t look as cool, and how holding one of these tiny things in your hand today draws up childhood memories like biting into a Proustian Madeleine. And let’s not neglect all of those other variations of Star Wars playthings, like the too-big-to-fit-into-a-plastic-X-Wing “large size” figures that did such an effective job of capturing character likenesses and that plush Chewbacca toy that inspired so many of us to toss our teddy bears in the bin.

2. Listening Materials

A Selection of 'Star Wars' Sketches

In a Star Warsy mood because of the original film's 40th anniversary, I knocked off a few Star Wars-inspired pen and marker sketches. Here they are:



Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Review: Steelers Wheel Vinyl Reissues


Stealers Wheel are obviously best known for their wonderful one hit “Stuck in the Middle with You”, a breezy shuffle delivered in a Dylan whine that went top-ten in 1973, but their pedigree is stronger than that of your usual one-hit wonder. Core member Gerry Rafferty went on to a long career of his own, which kicked into gear with the lovely and sad “Baker Street” in 1977. Rock and Roll’s pioneering dynamic duo Leiber and Stoller produced Stealers Wheels’ first two albums. And most important of all, those two albums are very good beyond the hit on the first one.

The band’s eponymous debut finds them toying with soul (“Late Again”), Move-style metal (“I Get By”), calypso (“Another Meaning”), and even power balladry (“You Put Something Better Inside Me”) with consistent success and bubbly personality. Steelers Wheel is a collection of poppy, pleasant, well-crafted music with a sort of underlying “White Album” vibe, though without any of The Beatles’ exciting weirdness.

On Ferguslie Park, the songwriting and production are not quite as sharp. Even the heavier tracks sound airy due to Rafferty and cohort Joe Egan’s ethereal harmonies and Leiber and Stoller’s soft production. The album also lacks a major hit to anchor it, though the McCartney-esque “Star”, which did go top thirty, the glammy “What More Could You Want”, and the light metal “Back on My Feet Again” are all excellent tracks, as are the haunting “Who Cares” and “Everything Will Turn Out Fine”, which feels a bit like “Stuck in the Middle with You Again”. The Kinky social commentary the drives through a lot of these songs can be too blunt at times (see “Good Businessman” and even “Star”), but it contributes to the album’s unified feel.

The vinyl reissues of Stealers Wheel and Ferguslie Park Intervention Records issued last year were created in accordance with that label’s 100% analog philosophy and really shine as a result. The softness of Ferguslie Park could have turned into mush with improper mastering, by Intervention keeps it clear and textured.

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

New Collection to Highlight The Beach Boys in '67

Despite failing to complete their ambitious SMiLE project in the year of the Pepper, The Beach Boys still managed to be very productive in 1967. In the year's waning months they released two LPs: the sort of SMiLE-lite Smiley Smile and the spare yet soulful Wild Honey, which found them moving on after putting SMiLE to rest and signaling pop's move to a more organic post-psych sound a couple of weeks before Dylan got all the credit for that when he released John Wesley Harding

On June 30th, Universal Music will mark the 50th Anniversary of these two often-ignored oddities with 1967-Sunshine Tomorrow. For this double-disc set, Mark Linett and Alan Boyd have mixed Wild Honey in stereo for the first time, while session highlights from both Smiley Smile and Wild Honey, and an abundance of live-in-'67 tracks, including the entirety of the much bootlegged Lei'd in Hawaii, fill out the remainder of Sunshine Tomorrow. Most intriguing of all is a '67 version of "Surf's Up" recorded during the Wild Honey sessions.

Here's the full track listing:
The Beach Boys:  1967 – Sunshine Tomorrow [2CD, digital]


Disc 1


Wild Honey Album (Stereo)

Review: Vinyl Reissue of The Flying Burrito Brothers' 'Gilded Palace of Sin'


Gram Parsons’s stint in The Byrds was very brief but it really shook things up. His Country & Western influence was so profound on Sweetheart of the Rodeo that The Byrds’ seemed unsure how to continue without him, unable to fully commit to country rock without his guiding hand but unable to completely go back to their jangly roots either, and the band never released another great album. More positively, country rock was officially born, and once Chris Hillman resolved to bail on The Byrds too, so were The Flying Burrito Brothers.

This was the band The Byrds probably would have been had Parsons not had the moral fortitude to quit when they decided to tour Apartheid-torn South Africa. Pure country is more present on the band’s debut The Gilded Palace of Sin then it had even been on Sweetheart of the Rodeo, partially because Roger McGuinn often sounded like he wasn’t taking the material entirely sincerely, doing a Deputy Dawg drawl on things like “The Christian Life”. As Burrito Brothers, Parsons and Hillman harmonize with heartbreaking sincerity and have the serious material to match, the finest song being the ridiculously named but utterly heartfelt cry of betrayal “Hot Burrito #1”. There is also none of the harder boogying of Sweetheart of the Rodeo on The Gilded Palace of Sin, though Sneaky Pete’s creative use of lap steel guitar that pierces fuzz tones through tracks such as “Wheels” and “Hot Burrito #2” and a pair of soul covers certainly make Gilded Palace something other than a typical country disc. The ideology of songs such as the draft-dodging “My Uncle” and “Hippie Boy”, which tricks listeners into assuming it will be a goofy parody (much like the Stones’ “Far Away Eyes”, which it clearly influenced) but sucker punches us with tragedy and empathy, also helps distinguish this new approach to country from its conservative predecessor.

The Gilded Palace of Sin is essentially raw, rustic music that demands an organic presentation to convey its woody textures. Intervention Records’ new all-analog vinyl reissue does just that. Bass tones are incredibly deep yet clear. The acoustic guitars and upper-register harmonies never get lost in murk. The range of this mastering is beautiful, much like the music itself.

Monday, May 22, 2017

Review: Vinyl Reissues of Joe Jackson's First Two Albums


Joe Jackson started his career as a blatant Elvis Costello clone, doing everything but copping Declan’s trademark specs when cooking up cynical, punky power poppers like “Happy Loving Couples” and “Fools in Love” and aggro-Anglo reggae like “Sunday Papers”. So what? Elvis is great and Look Sharp! and I’m the Man are too, and along with Armed Forces, they helped make 1979 a year of riches for nerdy, jilted angry young(ish) men.

Look Sharp! is the favorite Jackson LP, and it is indeed a fierce set with such signature bitter pills as “Is She Really Going out with Him?”, “Sunday Papers”, “One More Time”,  and the title track. I’m the Man is not as cluttered with hits, but for my money, it’s the better album because it’s where Jackson starts finding his own voice with an absence of songs that could spark copyright suits and because phenomenal bassist Graham Maby is so front-and-center. The title track is a hilarious and ferocious crap-culture critique, “Geraldine and John” is Jackson’s most underrated reggae splash, “The Band Wore Blue Shirts” and “Amateur Hour” are masterfully executed mood pieces, and “It’s Different for Girls” is his most incisive piece of sexual politicking, taking the atypical-for-1979 position that some women actually just want to get laid without all the romantic goo men demand.

Last year Intervention Records reissued Joe Jackson’s first two records on vinyl (as well as his fifth, Night and Day, which I did not receive for review purposes). Using a completely analog process, Kevin Gray mastered each album from safety copies of the original master tapes. Played against my original copy of I’m the Man, I can guarantee that it sounds totally authentic and particularly forceful in the low end and whenever Dave Houghton gives his snare drum what for. I didn’t already have Look Sharp! on vinyl, so I could not make a similar comparison, but I can confirm that it sounds warm and wonderful on Intervention’s new vinyl nevertheless.

Since Intervention uses heavyweight plastic inner sleeves for all their releases, I’m the Man has been upgraded to a gatefold with the lyrics and photos (can’t live without that shot of Maby in his mesh tanktop) printed inside the gatefold. Look Sharp! comes in a the same kind of slightly textured sleeve as its first UK pressing. These are vinyl reissues made with love… and not a trace of the delicious cynicism found within their grooves.

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Review: 'Night Comes Down: 60s British Mod, R&B, Freakbeat, & Swinging London Nuggets'


Despite a very specific origin in London’s jazzy coffee houses of the early sixties, Mod has gone through so many changes that it basically just means “British” at this point. That elasticity didn’t have to wait until Paul Weller and Phil Daniels reinvigorated the cult in the late seventies; it was already happening ten years time ago in the mid-sixties.

RPM Record’s new triple-disc box Night Comes Down: 60s British Mod, R&B, Freakbeat, & Swinging London Nuggets draws all incarnations of homegrown Mod music in a manner that implies a sort of sound progression by playing with chronology.  Had these 87 tracks been arranged chronologically, they would have sounded like a senseless jumble of cool jazz and R&B, bulls-eye power pop, underground-scene psychedelia, and sprinklings of other styles, such as the more mainstream pop of Twinkle’s “What Am I Doing Here with You” and the eccentric genre-shuffling of the two instrumentals from the soundtrack of the Marianne Faithful vehicle (tee-hee) Girl on a Motorcycle. Instead, the songs are more-or-less arranged according to style, so the set strolls from the kind of hard R&B (Lita Roza’s “Mama”), Booker T.-style work outs (The Mike Cotton Sound’s throbbing “Like That”), and jazzy slow-drips (Laurel Aitken’s “Baby Don’t Do It”) the original Mods dug to the red-with-purple-flowers detonations championed by The Who and The Birds to the U.F.O Club sounds that really have nothing to do with the movement except for maybe giving ex-Mods a spot to drop acid now that they were done popping purple hearts.

Needless to say, the real theme here is “smashing music,” so who cares what’s “real Mod” and what isn’t. That distinction sure doesn’t matter when tracks such as The Moody Blues’ soulful “And My Baby’s Gone” is rubbing elbows with The Attraction’s amp-slashing “She’s a Girl”, Fat Mattress’ trippy “I Don’t Mind”, and Twiggy’s magnificent “When I Think of You”, which somehow draws those three disparate styles together without sounding like some sort of hack-and-glue job. There are other familiar names too, such as Arthur Brown, Spencer Davis Group (post-Stevie Winwood), Johns Children, Chad & Jeremy, Alexis Korner, Mark Wirtz, and Mike D’Abo (as well as tracks featuring such future stars as Jimmy Page and Lemmy, who gets in on the thievery of a “Kids Are Alright” rip so blatant that the track is credited to Townshend), but none of the artists are represented by their best-known numbers, so there’s a lot to discover on Night Comes Down.

Monday, May 15, 2017

Review: 'Sgt. Pepper at Fifty: The Mood, The Look, The Sound, The Legacy of The Beatles’ Great Masterpiece'


Like 1955, 1977, and 1991, 1967 was a pivotal year for Rock & Roll. There was now a permanent place for ART in the raw and raucous genre, and critics and older people started taking it seriously. The LP replaced the single as Rock’s main medium. Pop bands were no longer limited to guitars, bass, and drums. All of this is tightly tied to the release of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, and when you’re on the 50th Anniversary of such watershed events, a lot of retrospectives naturally follow.

So far we’ve seen a month-by-month examination of the year’s music and a run down of key psychedelic albums, most of which were released in that most psychedelic of years, and Pepper’s was a major player in both of these books. There’s also that big 50th Anniversary Pepper’s box set, which includes an excellent and thorough book examining the album’s creation and artistry, as well as the scene that helped germinate it.

Mike McInnerney, Bill DeMain, & Gillian G. Gaar’s Sgt. Pepper at Fifty: The Mood, The Look, The Sound, The Legacy of The Beatles’ Great Masterpiece can’t help but feel a bit like another book for the pile amidst all of this retrospecticizing. It contains a lot of the same information as the other books I’ve mentioned, as well as the innumerable other Beatles books published over the past four or five decades. The glut of recent information also reveals some flaws in this latest book, as when it assumes an erroneous reason for why the run-out groove gibberish was left off of Capitols pressing of Sgt. Pepper’s.

Sgt. Pepper’s at Fifty does manage to go off the usual track in fresh and interesting ways that distinguish it. The book is basically organized as four long essays on each of the topics in its lengthy title. These essays are where the expected details live. The two or three-page tangents scattered throughout the book are where the fun is. This is where we get spotlights on such less-discussed subtopics as the creation of the iconic bass drum skin on the album cover, mini-bios of every character who populates it, a run down of all the “Paul is Dead” clues on the cover, a discussion of the significance of mustaches in the Pepper’s legend, and most fascinating of all, a short history of the Million Volt Light and Sound Rave for which The Beatles created the ultra-rare avant garde epic “Carnival of Light”. The piece was written by Dudley Edwards, one of the producers of the event. These inserts are informative, quirky, and written with more humor than the textbook-like main-feature chapters. They made me wish that the whole book adopted that less reverent tone.

Another selling point is that unlike the other recent books, Sgt. Pepper at Fifty sees the story beyond the sixties to get into such lingering fumes as the rising opinion that Revolver is actually the best Beatles LP and the infamously dreadful Frampton/Bee Gees cinematic vehicle named after The Beatles album. And then theres the books rainbow design and plethora of pictures, including such artifacts as a scan of the article about a teen runaway that inspired Paul to write “She’s Leaving Home” (and isn’t the girl a dead ringer for Pattie Boyd?), a terrifying close up of the doll in the Rolling Stones T-shirt included on the album cover, and a cool shot of George Harrison chatting with Mike Nesmith at the “A Day in the Life” session that I’d never seen before. Sgt. Pepper’s at Fifty may not always be wildly fun reading but it most definitely looks fun.

Friday, May 12, 2017

Review: 'The Spectacular Sisterhood of Superwomen'


What do you have to do to be worthy of the title “superhero”? Must you be capable of flying around in your underwear or blasting cobwebs out of your wrists? Do you need the wealth and training to thwart evildoers with your creepy cowl, pricey toys, and great, big muscles? Or maybe a woman who simply manages to run the everyday patriarchal gauntlet and come out the other end with her humor, wits, self-respect, and strength intact is a sort of superhero too.

I’d guess that Hope Nicholson would answer “yes” to that last one, because her new book The Spectacular Sisterhood of Superwomen is not solely populated with the Amazonian princesses and cousins from Krypton you’d expect it to be. In Nicholson’s estimation, females devoid of super powers such as Maggie Chascarillo of Love & Rockets and Little Lulu deserve a spot in a volume with a title like that. So do women as grisly as E.C.’s Old Witch or as provocatively proportioned as Vampirella, as outrageous as the blaxploitation exaggeration Superbitch or the heightened feminist Bitchy Bitch, or as flesh-and-blood human as Frieda Phelps. If there’s a takeaway from The Spectacular Sisterhood of Superwomen, it’s that if a major female character managed to penetrate the penis-centric world of comics, then she’s pretty super, and you can’t really argue with that.

Nevertheless, Nicholson makes her selections in this character compendium carefully. Don’t expect every iconic female comics character to be represented. There’s no She Hulk no Brenda Starr no Catwoman or Red Sonja. Nicholson seems more intent on moving beyond the obvious, with a particular eye for underground comics. She still knows that she couldn’t get away with sidelining such major players as Bat Girl, Super Girl, and Wonder Woman, but I really love the fact that the author not only admits to not being a Wonder Woman expert but also admits to only having “read maybe five of her comics.” You usually don’t see honesty like that in the kind of book that tends to be intent on dazzling readers with obscure knowledge.

If there’s a controlling theme its that Nicholson seems to respect each of the characters she chooses on some level. If she chooses a T&A title character like Pussycat, it’s because Pussycat is not just a curvy figure but also a genuinely effective secret agent. Nicholson doesn’t give the creators behind these characters a pass because they managed to craft a fairly well-developed female character either. She acknowledges when they are exploitative, and in the case of Frank Miller’s Give Me Liberty, which happens to contain a worthy female character in Martha Washington, homophobic.

Yet Nicholson is generally more into celebrating than finger wagging, and there is a true spirit of love at work here. Her affection for these characters is heartfelt and palpable. Her pro-Wendy the Good Little Witch testimonial is particularly touching. Nicholson is very funny too, and reading her cases for and critiques of these characters is like listening to a good buddy tell you what makes her geek out over cocktails. Next drink’s on me, Hope. 

Thursday, May 11, 2017

Review: 50th Anniversary Edition of 'Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band'


They can call those blues-peddling Stones a bunch of middle-class poseurs. They can call The Beach Boys too square. They can accuse The Monkees of being phony or The Who of being pretentious, but even the most hostile critics can’t say “boo” about the unassailable Beatles. This has been the prevailing consensus for some fifty years now— and let’s be honest— as far as pop legacies go, The Beatles’ is as airtight as it gets.
That does not mean that it’s perfect or that there is no room for improvement. Even The Beatles’ most influential and definitive album, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, could use some gussying up, largely because of the obvious flaws of its original stereo mix which committed the same crimes as so many of The Beatles’ stereo mixes. As the now well-known story goes, The Beatles were mono purists who usually baled on George Martin’s hastily performed stereo mixing sessions. Those stereo mixes tended to be poorly balanced and lacked some of the carefully considered signature touches of the mono mixes. On Sgt. Pepper’s, songs that were treated with effects in the mono mix might lack them in stereo. Tracks that had their speed altered in mono might not receive the same colorations in stereo. Consequently, and perhaps ironically since stereo is made for hearing the full spectrum of trippy music through headphones, the mono mix of The Beatles’ psychedelic opus ended up more psychedelic than the stereo mix.

Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Review: 'Toybox Time Machine: A Catalog of the Coolest Toys Never Made'



Advertising is an eyesore and brainsore of bland compositions, slick computer graphics, and lazy irony. It wasn’t always this way. The mad men of the mid-twentieth century often created marvelous art pieces with striking graphics and gonzo promises (see: sea monkeys). These ads were at their most marvelously striking when hawking junk for kids. Marty Baumann, a multi-faceted artist who helped create the looks of Disney’s Toy Story 3 and Cars and played guitar with Bobby “Blue” Band and Jr. Walker & the All Stars, was steeped in that enchanting style, which bursts forth in his own retro creations collected in a new book called Toybox Time Machine: A Catalog of the Coolest Toys Never Made.

Each of the book’s pieces is presented as a faux mid-century ad for toys but and other kid-centric products like candy, Halloween costumes, and sugary breakfast cereals. Each piece is conceived in its own particular style, sometimes recalling the work of such period icons as Jack Davis, Ed Roth, Hanna-Barbera, and James Bama, while the faux products are often based on existing ones:  View Master, Aurora Model Kits, Ben Cooper costumes, Silly Putty, Barbi dolls,  Beatles guitars, etc. The bogus TV shows with which many of the products tie-in are sly twists on properties like The Groovie Goolies, Yogi Bear (reborn as a beatnik!), Batman, Dark Shadows, Honey West, The Man from U.N.C.L.E., George of the Jungle, and others that will get the nostalgia glands salivating. Spotting the references is part of the fun of soaking in all these dreamy mid-century- style graphics and fetishes (expect plenty of tikis, monsters, robots, rockets, and spies). And some groovy co. really needs to make Baumann’s battery-operated Creepy Clutching Hand crawler a toy-box reality.

Monday, May 8, 2017

Review: Edsel Records' Deluxe Turtles Reissues


Although they scooped up a bundle of smash 45s such as “Elenore,” “You Showed Me”, “It Ain’t Me Babe”, and the deathless “Happy Together”, The Turtles never quite garnered the reputation for being a great album group as peers such as The Byrds, Simon & Garfunkel, and The Monkees did. That’s too bad because The Turtles’ albums tended to be as effervescent, memorable, and weird as their singles. The LPs also really throw a spotlight on the odd ways a group most noted for their good-timey pop tunes evolved.

The 1965 debut, It Ain’t Me Babe, finds the L.A. sextet in total folk-rock mode, covering Dylan with almost as much enthusiasm as The Byrds did on their debut. The Turtles also shred through a couple of bitter treats by Dylan-aspirer P.F. Sloan and thoughtful originals by their own Howard Kaylan, such as “Wanderin’ Kind” and “Let the Cold Winds Blow”. While there are none of the gum drops that would soon come tumbling out of The Turtles’ shells, a jaunty version of “Your Maw Said You Cried” and the band’s decision to cover a tune by Tin Pan Alley team Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil is an early clue that times would soon be changin’ for the less politicized.

Nevertheless, 1966’s You Baby/Let Me Be is still dominated by “Let Me Be” brooding rather than “You Baby” sugariness, offering another slew of withering folk rock, such as Kaylan’s “House of the Rising Sun”-esque “House of Pain” and Highway 61-esque “Pall Bearing, Ball Bearing World”. Even the love songs are pretty moody, and the upbeat “Flyin’ High” and the Kinky “Almost There” bookend the album with a fanged snarl. A version of Bob Lind’s “Down in Suburbia”, however, matches cute social commentary with a fun and funky Latin clatter, hinting at the clever strangeness to come.

Then came The Turtles’ breakthrough year, 1967, and the hits that really defined their career. “Happy Together” and “Me About You” are too moody to really categorize as bubblegum, but “She’d Rather Be with Me”, “Guide for the Married Man”, “Makin’ My Mind Up”, and “Person without a Care” deliver the Bazooka Joe goods in the best way. Happy Together is also where The Turtles started exploring their inner zany for good (“The Walking Song”) and ill (the unlistenable “Rugs of Woods and Flowers”).

Produced by one-time Turtle Chip Douglas, 1968’s The Turtles Present the Battle of the Bands makes use of a concept that allows the band to indulge every idiosyncratic side of their personality with complete abandon. The album basically makes good on the supposed concept beneath Sgt. Pepper’s: The Turtles pretend to be a different band on each track, which allows them to show off how well they could mock soul combos (“The Battle of the Bands”), psych groups (“The Last Thing I Remember”), corny C&W pickers (“Too Much Heartsick Feeling”), surf bands (“Surfer Dan”), jazz fusionists (“Food”), Booker T. & The MG’s (“Buzz Saw”), errr…world music? (“I’m Chief Kamanawanalea”), and themselves (“Elenore”). A rare flash of sincerity called “Earth Anthem” reveals that the Turtles still cared about their world, could create work of tremendous beauty, and were rather prescient in their ability to foresee the coming environmental movement of the seventies. Anyone baffled by how the guys who sang “Happy Together” ended up working with Frank Zappa should listen to Battle of the Bands pronto.

Unlike The Turtles’ previous hit-packed albums, Turtle Soup failed to spawn a significant single. This is significant because it also marks The Turtles’ complete maturation as an album group. Blame Ray Davies, whom the band hired to produce in the vein of The Kinks’ raucous early singles. However, Davies had just completed his masterpiece, the textured and sensitive Village Green Preservation Society, and decided to continue with that approach while also taking advantage of resources available to a band that sold a lot more records in 1968 than The Kinks did. The results were such Wagnerian production feats as “Love in the City” and “How You Loved Me”, as well as the more elegantly orchestrated “John and Julie”. Relatively simple productions, such as the ’66-style jangle of “She Always Leaves Me Laughing”, the stripped down boogie of “Hot Little Hands”, and the Happy Together-revisited arrangement of “You Don’t Have to Walk in the Rain” were just as effective. As far as I’m concerned, Turtle Soup is not just the best Turtles album but also one of the very best of 1969, and I’d sooner spin it than such acknowledged classics of that year as Led Zeppelin’s debut, Let It Bleed, and The Kinks’ own Arthur.

If you’ve yet to discover the hidden wonders of Turtle Soup and the rest of The Turtles’ long-playing catalog, you’d do no better than starting with Edsel’s new reissue series. Utilizing Bill Inglot’s same warm and detailed remasters that graced Manifesto’s Complete Original Album Collection released in the U.S. last year, Edsel’s new individual releases split the mono and stereo mixes of the first three albums between two discs each (dont bother popping in the stereo It Ain’t Me Babe disc unless you have a high tolerance for vocals hard panned to the left and instruments hard panned to the right).  The second discs of Battle of the Bands, Turtle Soup, and the collection of 1966 outtakes Wooden Head load up on stereo mixes of non-album singles (the mono originals were collected on last year’s superb All the Singles), Turtle Soup demos, some fabulous psychedelic outtakes cut around the same time as Sound Asleep, and a fascinating and characteristically unsettling half-dozen Jerry Yester productions recorded for the band’s scrapped 1970 LP to be titled Shell Shock (judging from these tracks, it would have been a great record). The nice digipak packaging and Andrew Sandoval’s short but sweet liner notes help give these excellent albums the respect they should have been receiving for the past fifty years.

Thursday, May 4, 2017

Review: 'Star Wars: The Classic Newspaper Comics Volume One'



With their simple emotions and motivations, instantly recognizable appearances, and thrilling derring-do, Luke Skywalker, Chewbacca, and the rest of the Star Wars gang were just at home in the comics as they were on the screen. Founded by an unabashed comics junkie, Lucasfilm recognized this immediately and dispatched Charles Lippincott to sell the idea of Star Wars comics to Marvel, striking a deal that would see the books hitting shelves just as Lucas’s film was hitting screens. 

The Marvel books were a smash and allowed all the opportunities for new adventures and characters that the film series’ necessarily slow schedule couldn’t allow. Two years after the debut of the Star Wars comic books, more opportunities for intergalactic action arose when the franchise expanded to the L.A. Times Syndicate’s daily papers. The Star Wars black & white daily strips and color Sunday ones were more simplistic and less eccentric than their comic book cousins (nothing comparable to Marvel’s outlandish man-rabbit Jaxxon here). However, Russ Manning’s stark artwork offered the surprise revelation that George Lucas’s colorful universe could translate mighty well to moody black & white and his passion for the film resulted in a voice truer to the source material than Marvel’s freewheeling wackiness (the fact that one storyline references the wookiee Life Day celebration introduced in the infamous Star Wars Holiday Special is probably wacky enough for a lot of fans.). The newspaper stories were generic enough that several of them have Marvel equivalents (Princess Leia liberates slaves while posing as one; the Star Warriors encounter a race of telepaths; etc.) but there are unique elements that make the strip its own thing, such as the device of having C-3PO relay the adventures to a super computer named Mistress Mnemos and the appearance of other original creations, such as the ethereal villain Black Hole and his dark-clad cadre of stormtroopers and Grand Moff Tarkin’s blood-hungry widow who resembles one of those terrifying Disney villains.

These strips have been posthumously compiled before, but IDW’s new anthology Star Wars: The Classic Newspaper Comics Volume One does so with the publisher’s special touch, making these strips extra pleasurable to revisit. A hardcover volume that refuses to digitize the original inking, the book includes such bonus material as an introduction on the series, a biography of Manning, unpublished story ideas and panels, and a ribbon bookmark. This first volume covering March 1979 through October 1980 is a lovely presentation typical of IDW, and the promise that the next installment will feature an adaptation of Brian Daly’s novel Han Solo at Star’s End is quite an enticement to watch the skies for Volume Two. I’m glad the daily strips didn’t sideline the best Star Wars character in carbonite for three years like the Marvel books did.

Friday, April 28, 2017

Psychobabble’s 100 Favorite Guided by Voices Songs!


Thirty years ago, Robert Pollard’s Guided by Voices released their first album. This year, Pollard released his—brace yourself—100th album. Let that sink in for a second. That’s quite a discography for a schoolteacher from Dayton. Pollard recorded those 100 albums with and without GBV, but today, we’re just going to focus on his biggest claim to cult fame, because even I could not keep up with every single release by Go Back Snowball, Lifeguards, Boston Spaceships, Circus Devils, and whatever other Pollard side projects have slipped through my grasp. Hell, I can’t even keep up with Guided by Voices anymore, so you may notice that this list only extends to the end of Guided by Voices’ first official run in 2004. Plus, anything later than that violates Psychobabble’s unbreakable retro code. As you will see, there was still plenty to choose from amongst the countless albums, EPs, singles, and compilations released during their first two decades. As you will also see, I am no GBV snob. I love the fan-fave lo-fi stuff as much as I love the fan-loathed hi-fi stuff, so maybe you should brace yourself for that too. So here goes Psychobabble’s very personal and subjective 100 Favorite Guided by Voices Songs!


100. “Land of Danger” (from Forever Since Breakfast)

We begin our blatant doom trip with an appropriate number since “Land of Danger” is the very first track on Guided by Voice’s very first release. Or is it appropriate? After all, these masters of mixing their multitudinous influences are really just aping R.E.M. on “Land of Danger”. Don’t mistake that for bad news, though, because R.E.M. is awesome and Guided by Voices supply one of the catchiest, most powerful R.E.M. songs that R.E.M. never got to supply themselves.

99. “Perhaps We Were Swinging” (from Hardcore UFOs)

Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Review: 'The Supremes A' Go-Go' Expanded Edition'


In the sixties, the hits that Hitsville USA churned out were intended to be spun at 45 RPMs. Motown brass was a lot less interested in making high-quality long players, though that didn’t stop quite a few from slipping out anyway. The label’s biggest stars, The Supremes, had some of the best with rock-solid LPs such as Where Did Our Love Go, More Hits by The Supremes, The Supremes Sing Holland-Dozier-Holland, and Reflections. 1966s The Supremes A’ Go-Go was not one of these, as it leaned way too hard on remakes of past hits. Not only are The Supremes’ versions of “This Old Heart of Mine”, “Shake Me, Wake Me”, “Baby, I Need Your Loving”, and “Get Ready” redundant by their very nature, but Diana Ross’s reserved vocals also pale in comparison to The Isley Brothers, Four Tops, and Temptations’ blood-letting performances. Mary Wilson does a more convincing job of holding her own against performances past with her lead on “Come and Get These Memories”, but it still doesnt quite measure up to Martha Reeves.

Nevertheless, The Supremes A’ Go-Go was a milestone album because it has the distinction of being the first album by an all-female group to top the Billboard chart, and it did so on the strength of two of The Supremes’ very best hits: the joyful “You Can’t Hurry Love” and the grinding “Love Is Like an Itching in My Heart”. There are also a couple of interesting covers that don’t invite unflattering comparisons with past Motown hits. Ross still sounds like she’s checking her watch on a version of “These Boots Are Made for Walking”, but the arrangement is very cool with a sort of Twilight Zone guitar riff running underneath the whole thing, and she rouses herself sufficiently for a set-closing take on “Hang on Sloopy”. A chunky version of Barrett Strongs “Money”is the one Motown remake that gets sufficiently imaginative with the arrangement and on which Ross gets herself sufficiently worked up.

According to UMe’s new double-disc expanded edition, Motown was not holding back a ton of choice originals when compiling The Supremes A’ Go-Go (which is presented on this set in mono and stereo). There’s “Misery Makes Its Home in My Heart”, which would find a home on Reflections in 1968, and “Don’t Let True Love Die”, which definitely would have been a welcome addition to A’ Go-Go. For the most part there were a lot of other covers that both tossed the Motown closet (“Mickey’s Monkey”, “It’s the Same Old Song”, “Uptight”, “In My Lonely Room”, “What Becomes of the Broken Hearted”, “Can I Get a Witness”, and even a radically different remake of The Supremes’ own “Mother Dear”) and looked elsewhere through the current charts for material. For those who find Tom Jones’s crotch-powered crooning a bit too smarmy, The Supremes’ rendition of “It’s Not Unusual” might prove the preferred version. Needless to say, they do not best Jagger with their take on “Satisfaction”, but at least it is very much its own thing, combining Keef’s fuzzed out riffing with the brass the Stones really wanted on their signature hit. There are also fine versions of “What the World Needs Now Is Love” and “Blowin’ in the Wind”, which sports some choice contrapuntal vocal lines. Most of these tracks would eventually see release, but the new expanded set presents them with alternate vocals or mixes, many of which emphasize spine-tingling a cappella lines or reveal neat spoken asides caught on tape during the sessions.

A couple of all-new mixes are unexpectedly killer bonuses.
For those who miss Levi Stubbs on
“Shake Me, Wake Me”, the set offers a groovy new Supremes/Four Tops mash up of the track built on the original Tops backing track. A six-minute remix of “Love Is Like an Itching in My Heart” will stop your heart with its dramatic backing-track drop out and drop in. Its also nice to have all of these tracks finally collected in a  chronologically honest fashion, and the fact that UMe has resumed its expanded editions of The Supremes catalogue is a promising sign that we might be able to expect expanded editions of knock outs Where Did Our Love Go, The Supremes Sing Holland-Dozier-Holland, and Reflections before too long.

Monday, April 24, 2017

Review: 'Hero A-Go-Go: Campy Comic Books, Crimefighters & Culture of the Swinging Sixties'


Adam West took a lot of guff for turning the Dark Knight into the batusi-ing goof, but for a lot of us who grew up in the sixties and seventies, the camped-up Batman of Bill Dozier’s weekly live-action series was our Batman. And to be fair, Batman had been a pretty campy dude in the funny books since comics-critic Frederic Wertham brought the whip down in the early fifties. But while Batman’s on-page goofiness lost him a fair share of followers, his on-screen goofiness won him a new generation of fanatics weaned on Warhol soup cans, zany Mod fashions, and Beatle wigs. Thus began a new era of vibrant, winking irony former DC Comics editor Michael Eury champions as the Camp Age.

In his delirious new book Hero-A-Go-Go, Eury shows that this era was actually well underway before Batman powed TVs across the globe. The goofy/groovy Teen Titans with their out-of-touch beat-speak and Archie’s caped alter ego Pureheart both debuted in mid-’65. On TV, Underdog blasted off as early as 1964 and Bob Kane himself sent-up the thing he co-created with Courageous Cat and Minute Mouse four years earlier than that.

There was no stopping campy crime fighters after Dozier’s Batman became a sensation in ’66. Soon TV was hosting The Green Hornet, Ralph Bakshi’s inept Mighty Heroes, Mr. Terrific and Mr. Nice, and Monkee Men; comics were home to MAD’s Captain Klutz and DC’s Inferior Five; Jan and Dean were releasing a long playing Batman record; and perhaps more coincidentally, Superman was singing and dancing on Broadway in a show called It’s a Bird… It’s a Plane… It’s Superman! Of course, Batman, is the axle on which all this stuff swings, and Hero-A-Go-Go includes an extended look at how that classic came to be.

Eury covers the high-camp comics, cartoons, and other pop-cultural creations that preceded and followed Batman with jolly prose and eyeball-POW-ing images of comics and memorabilia, because you simply cannot wallow in nostalgia with words alone. He also supplements the story with boffo interviews with Bakshi, Lost in Space-star Billy Mumy, It’s a Bird… star Bob Holiday, Dean Torrence of Jan and Dean, and others who helped camp it up in the sixties.

Friday, April 21, 2017

Review: 'My British Invasion'


Amidst the pot-scented denim gravity of the early-seventies Rock press, journalist Harold Bronson must have been a refreshing rarity. While the scribes were oohing and aahing over lofty ideas and classical musicianship, Bronson apparently wanted nothing more than to groove to Paul Revere and the Raiders and chat with Peter Noone. That combination of seriousness about the music industry and completely unpretentious music tastes led Bronson to co-found Rhino Records, the ultra-cool reissue label responsible for helping The Monkees make their big eighties comeback and eventually achieve the critical approval they always deserved. In his new memoir, My British Invasion, Bronson admits without a trace of self-consciousness that he wished he could have done the same for Herman’s Hermits. I don’t care if you think “I’m Henry the VIII (I Am)” is twelve pounds of Velveeta—that’s pretty endearing.

Bronson is generally at his most endearing when discussing the British Invasion bands he loved and interviewed during the seventies, which he does in profile chapters devoted to the Hermits, Yardbirds, Kinks, Manfred Mann, Dave Clark Five, Hollies, Zombies, and others of their mop-toppy ilk. Interviews with key band members are the stock in most of these chapters, though unscrupulous ex-manager Larry Page is the only one extensively quoted in the Kinks one. Fortunately, Page also stars in the book’s funniest recollection when he attempts to fool Bronson into thinking he has in his possession a tape of the real Beatles recording dialogue for the delightfully cheesy Beatles cartoon TV series.

Bronson’s interviewees are interesting and the simplicity of his old-fashioned, pre-serious-rock press writing fits his band profiles fine. Marc Bolan provides enough zing for both himself and Bronson in a late 1971 rap session, and the infuriating nature of Bronson’s dealings with Dave Clark still booms through clearly despite the author’s refusal to get worked up about it. That neutral style does not suit his more personal, diary-like chapters as well, which read as flat and choppy and contain too many details about his own band and personal romances to interest the majority of readers who will likely buy their tickets to this show because of its big-name attractions. These readers will probably also be well familiar with the basic British Invasion history that Bronson spends too much time rehashing, but there are enough enlightening bits to make My British Invasion a fitfully interesting read for the mop tops of today.
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