Saturday Night Fish Fry

*

Flamingo --- Earl Bostic. Listen to him go:



About everything I knew about Bostic until tonight I learned from Carolina Beach Music mix tapes given to me in the early '80s by my personal music archivist, Larry K, and miscellaneous articles now lost in the canyons of my minds. I recognized him as a swinging tenor man with a gravelly tone who worked the higher registers of his instrument. Wrong... or maybe 25% correct. Tonight I find that Earl actually played an alto, but he used a hard rubber alto mouthpiece tricked out with a tenor reed! Nifty hack --- I don't remember ever hearing an alto sound like this. (Still an embarrassing error by someone who played a fair amount of alto and tenor for about 10 years... and considering that Bostic is shown holding his Martin Alto on the jacket of For You. Geez.)

Anyway, this is what I consider to be Earl's classic performance of "Flamingo." Unfortunately, because he seems to have recorded half a zillion versions of his biggest hits later for the teen dance market, I don't know the date of this recording. A different YouTube video purports to be the original 1951 release, so I'm a confused guy. And evidently I'm not the only guy who is confused: the first album cover displayed in the YouTube slide show after you click the play button is a Bostic reissue on the Living Era label that in fact depicts Bull Moose Jackson blowing a tenor. Um, erf?!?

Between Bostic's tone and the predominant role of the vibes accompaniment, the sound of his combo is unmistakable. The later '50s reissues of "Flamingo," "Night and Day," and others, sound "whiter" to my ears. I think that's because he was making a good living selling dance records to teenagers in the early rock era, and so like so many other R&B tunes that were co-opted into the rock repertoire, these latter-day versions emphasized flash and novelty --- lots of shakes, falls, schmaltzy vibrato, tonguing tricks, and so forth. Somewhere I read that they typically released later Bostic recordings with pictures of sexy ladies on the sleeve to conceal the fact that Earl was an African American; suburban parents were jumpy enough about plain old rock and roll during the Eisenhower years without needing to be alarmed by the horrors of race music and the rampant miscegenation that would inevitably follow repeated listenings. The earlier versions of Earl's combo work sound "smokier" to me, and they have a more authentic swing to them, and this is one of them.

Doing my Fish Fry homework tonight I discovered that Bostic had a much richer jazz career than I was aware of during the 1940s, and he had the deep respect of giants (reed players and otherwise) like Coltrane, James Moody, Benny Golson, Stanley Turrentine, and Art Blakey. The Wiki article reports that Earl once cut Charlie Parker in an alto battle, and who am I to argue with Sweet Papa Lou Donaldson about this seemingly improbable scenario? Anyway, I love a number of Bostic recordings from the early '50s and am now inspired to dig deeper into his jazz career.

Flamingo, Earl Bostic (not dated, King Records), via YouTube.

PS: if the 59er knows about Bostic and/or the Carolina Beach Music scene I'd be grateful to hear about it.

Friday Evening Prayer Meeting

*

Apropos of something, here are The Hawk and Bird from a 1950 studio session. This is part 1 of 2 of the session available on YouTube. Part 2 doesn't feature Hawkins or Parker, though.



Apropos of what, one might wonder? The juvenile Cooper's hawk perched on my woodpecker feeder Wednesday morning, that's what. With the exception of a few stray birds --- I guess you could call them Yardbirds --- the avians have been very scarce around the homestead for several days. Likewise, the squirrels have been less visible.

Anyway, this is a rare look at some giants. It's a shame we can't see what Bird's fingers are doing --- just hard to comprehend how they can move so fast and clean in sync with the tonguing. You will hear some "clams" by Bird in this set. He's past his prime here, but there are certainly lots of reedmen out there who might give their right thumb to duplicate what he's doing on this clip. But, then, it would be difficult to do that without a right thumb.

Incidentally, as a bonus, take note that our hero Buddy Rich is the guy banging the tubs in this set. Presumably he didn't lecture Parker about the "clams" after the film stopped rolling.

Finally, apropos of nothing, Parker's nickname originated not with this definition, but is most popularly thought to be linked with this one (first on the page). Myself, I favor the last two that are discussed in this short informative essay on the topic.

Ballad and Celebrity, Coleman Hawkins [ts], Charlie Parker [as], Hank Jones [p], Ray Brown [b], and Buddy Rich [d] (1950, film of studio session, provenance unknown to RubberCrutch), via YouTube.

Friday evening editor's note

*

Hello. RubberCrutch has been away from his blogging equipment for a few weeks owing to various mundane causes including a busy, exciting lifestyle; a case of poison ivy; and a bout of fever that may have been caused by a German medical bulb thermometer that registers exactly 4 degrees Fahrenheit higher than ones' actual temperature. He will return to his post at his earliest possible convenience.

Incidentally, it makes lots of sense to learn how to recognize poisonous flora in your yard. Although RubberCrutch was nearly driven insane by a case of poison ivy (or oak or sumac) contracted in California almost 35 years ago to this very day, he still forgets what the stuff looks like. Don't be like RubberCrutch --- be sure to use your noodle every day. Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Games Joe McCarthy played

*

There are so many disgusting aspects of this story (more here) that I must struggle to avoid tangents. I'm sure most people have heard some incomplete version of it: a right-wing provocateur posted to his website a videotape that was deliberately edited to create a defamatory context for remarks made by a USDA appointee in a March 2010 speech she gave to a Georgia chapter of the NAACP. The deceptively edited video was rapidly propagated by FOX as "news," with all the dignity that usually accompanies baseless accusations of black racism by white racists. And then, before you could say "Tom Vilsack is a craven asshole," the minor official, Shirley Sherrod, was bullied out of her job by her chain of command. Only the impression given by the video, as I say, has been demonstrated to be false and defamatory.


Vilsack: way to create a possible tort for wrongful dismissal, dicknose. Washington Post: learn how to check facts, especially when your errors reflect poorly on the wrongly accused person... motherfuckers. NAACP: yes, you sure were "snookered," but I'll spare you an obscenity since you've sort of done penance and claim to have learned something from it... but your fuck-up shows how weak your organization really is these days. And Barack Hussein Obama? Waiting....

Irony, presumably unintended

*

Herein please find a special educational supplement concerning proper use of the term "irony," intended for Big Rock Head specifically and the greater Fifty50 community generally, courtesy of the Iowa "Tea Party" via TPM. You see, BRH, the irony of the scene depicted below is that President Obama is in fact a moderate, centrist U.S. President while mainstream Republican Senate "leaders" such as John Kyl, Mitch McConnell, Judd Gregg, John Cornyn, and Tom Coburn are right-wing radicals who thrive on the bitterness of fearful, naive "Real Americans" who they trick into believing that the unemployed and chronically impoverished people just have it too darned easy in life while our wealthy elites need even more tax relief than George Bush gave them 9 years ago.

A casual reading of any impartial 20th century history text will reveal that both Hitler and Stalin derived unheard-of totalitarian powers in part by aligning corporate management and strategic objectives (and financial interests) with those of their respective party apparatus. The differences in tactics of Hitler and Stalin were essentially irrelevant considering the enormity of the results they achieved, such as continual wars of aggression and industrial-scale mass murder. Can any of my shorties out there in Fifty50Land think of any examples from our modern times that resemble the Nazi and Communist merger of corporate, political, and military interests to prey on the fearful and naive? Do tell.

Editor's note: the photo above is by Deb Nicklay and copyrighted by the Associated Press and the Globe Gazette (http://gazetteonline.com/) in Iowa, U.S.A. Fair use is claimed for purposes of social commentary and community education. Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Stan Freberg Modestly Presents

*

"Surly to bed and surly to rise."



Unfortunately the needle skips a few times near the beginning of the musical number for the Declaration of Independence. The voice characterizations are a thing of beauty that awed a coupla shorties who overheard their dad playing this album in the early 1960s. Rocky and Bullwinkle fans will recognize the voices of June Foray (the voice of Rocky) doing all the female parts here, and Stan Freberg, who did umpty-nine wiseguy voices pretty much everywhere in Jay Ward cartoons in the early and mid-'60s in addition to his own hugely fruitful and influential output. Paul "Boris Badenov" Frees, is hard to recognize as the narrator. Freberg and partners did very hip and smart parody, and other tracks from this LP, The United States of America, display some pretty biting satire about the white man's relations with Indians (as we used to call Native Americans). I hope to revisit Freberg sometime in the future because he was a giant in 1950s and '60s pop culture, catering both to hipper adults and legions of kids.

Declaration of Independence and Betsy Ross and the Flag, Stan Freberg (1961, from "The United States of America: The Early Years," Capitol W/SW-1573), via YouTube.

Fifty50 After Hours

*

In order to preserve the temporal integrity of this blog, I present a new name for an established feature.  You will see it on the Saturday evenings when circumstances force me to click the "Publish Post" button after midnight.

So here, After Hours, I present to you a rock performance that in my opinion represents the precise origin lummox rock, and possibly even its apex.



At a neighborhood garage sale this morning I heard from inside the house this dirt simple, highly familiar guitar power chord vamp. But something about it seemed out of the ordinary to me --- way too mellow --- and I couldn't place it. The neighbor manning the cash box, an incorrigible "Deadhead," told me it was a Jerry Garcia composition called "Standing On The Moon." I suppose that it was, but not in my universe it wasn't. The vamp was supposed to be encrusted with thick distortion and reverb tomfoolery.

And then, while contemplating this disconnect, I immediately had a fleeting impression of an early '70s Chicago TV host, Svengoolie, who screened delectable monster movies late Friday nights on channel 32. Chicagoland natives of a certain age will remember the AM disc jockey Jerry G. Bishop, caked in white foundation makeup, raccoon eyes, ratty longhair wig and hippie headband, performing shtick in a Transylvania accent during the interstices between commercial and movie. And those individuals, like me, will likely remember the theme song for Svengoolie's Screaming Yellow Theater: "Rumble," by Link Wray. "Composed by Jerry Garcia," my foot. If George Harrison could be successfully sued for "subconsciously" plagiarizing the Chiffons hit "He's So Fine" when composing "My Sweet Lord," (a horseshit lawsuit, incidentally, in my highly learned opinion), then Garcia should have been thrown in a penitentiary for trying to disguise the heartbeat and pulse of  "Rumble" with insignificant variations, noodling accompaniments, and lyrics that should have been used somewhere else if at all.

Few rock historians doubt that "Rumble" is a seminal rock performance that inspired the next generation of garage musicians, etc. etc. But in my opinion that doesn't mean Wray was a musical visionary, as many contend. I don't mean that as a criticism of Wray and the Ray Men. It's just that I think "Rumble" was probably less a work of genius and more the product of some guys hypnotizing themselves with heavy guitar tones, primitive beats, studio effects, and about three quarts of Schlitz apiece.

Rumble, Link Wray (1958, Cadence single 1347, b/w The Swag), via YouTube.

Saturday Night Fish Fry

*

Went out of doors for the Fish Fry tonight; The Iron Post in Urbana, Ill., specifically. I think they call it The Iron Post because wherever you park your fundament in the room you're likely to be sitting behind an iron post.

Below is photographic documentation of a pickup band called Donald's Sons, which includes three guys named Donaldson and one guy named Big Rock Head. For most of the set BRH plucked his sweet hybrid Fender P-bass with the Jazz neck (picked it out myself when he was a tot, don't ya know), but on two tunes he and old Champaign Central HS Jazz Ensemble buddy Robert A., trumpet, played horns. In the photo, BRH (foreground) blows a tenor solo while acolyte Joel H. (right) assumes bass duties. I don't remember this second song he was blowing on when I snapped the photo because I was concentrating on getting a usable phone-cam pic. The first horn number was a version of Hendrix's "Red House." Both the vocals (by father Tim D., blurred with dorky hat) and the horn arrangement sounded reminiscent of Ray Charles, but with some Western Swing flavor. A marvelous concoction!

"It's elementary, my dear Watson," sez Gallup

*

As seen on Hullabaloo, The Gallup Organization has applied state-of-the-art polling and statistical analysis methods to reveal that Tea Partiers are pretty much nothing more than core right-wing Republicans, if ones who like to act out and pretend they're the heirs to the philosophy of America's founders. If Fifty50 had a "No Shit, Sherlock" department, this revelation would headline it today.

However, I won't disdain Gallup for doing the survey or publicizing the results, because I think it's good that this fact be consecrated as "official" by an organization that establishment types consider to be legitimate. I will, however, disdain any reporting that Gallup's findings are surprising to any politically sentient American.

The asparagus ranch revivified

*

I never informed you about the fate of my asparagus experiment station, which first inserted itself in our shared folklore about here and here. The short version --- short for me, at least, is this:

On April 17 I gave it up, mourned for the asparagus crowns that I had abused the life out of, and backfilled the trench with its 3 tons of Illinois clay loam. It was my intention that after a respectful period of grieving for the little fellers I'd plant the ground with some native wildflowers or grasses. The next weekend, as I glowered over the plot trying to figure out what to do with it, I spotted a stiff purple shoot breaking through the ground at the northwest corner. "Crap," I thought. "Since this one plant is here I'm now obligated to let it grow and reserve the rest of this dirt for another try next spring." I don't like waiting for things to happen, but that's the way it would be.

Meanwhile, Rudy's long-suffering wife had, for reasons not relevant to this post, given me a St. Francis plaque to display near my garden. She had not told me that she'd blessed it with Holy Water before wrapping and delivering the gift. So I chainsawed a groove at the north pole of a walnut log and displayed the placque sort of like a Franklin Mint plate, facing the moribund asparagus patch from the east. Starting the next day, more purple shoots broke the soil. I was bemused, and started marking them with stakes. Well, by cracky, every last one of those hapless asparagus "crowns" eventually made their way to the surface, and as of yesterday I was still seeing new growth. So, as illustrated by the photograph below, which was taken late afternoon on Thursday with a phone camera, this for me truly is the dawning of The Age of Asparagus.* Thank you.

______________________
* I'm afraid I can't take credit for this pun. To the best of my knowledge it was coined by Robert Crumb in 1969. Also, apropos of nothing, the ornamental rectangular prism near bottom left is a genuine 1901 Culver Block brand embossed street paver.