Friday Night Fish Fry!

*

Because we haven't had one in so long! And because I get to choose which night the Fish Fry happens, versus the Prayer Meeting. So here:



I haven't played anything "horny" for Gurlitzer for a spell, so here's one she will remember fondly from the days of "Boom-Chuck-Chuck." (No, assholes, that's not at all what you might think it means. Thank you for your attention in this matter.)

To my teenage earbones, this studio single version of "The Letter" by Joe Cocker was much more exciting than the later recording captured on the Mad Dogs And Englishmen live album. It's fresher, not yet played to death on the road, and the horn solos are more lively. I was  not originally a fan of this song as recorded in 1967 by the Box Tops. Today I would call that one "overproduced," and Alex Chilton delivers the melody line straight up-and-down, rhythmwise, which doesn't interest me.

But the arrangement heard here---by Leon Russell, I presume---struck me as rhythmically off-kilter in a novel way. It begins with some hammering on the piano, sounding like a hungover warmup exercise, then joined by drums reminiscent of (but not exactly like) the stereotypical "Indian" tom-tom figure BOOM boom boom boom BOOM boom boom boom, which itself is very straight up-and-down. But I was and still am fascinated how Cocker joins this ape ensemble with his lummox vocals, threading his melody through that piledriving rhythm environment like a drunk driver who thinks he's going to escape the police cruisers by madly weaving through the bollards lining Wall Street. And he does! (This time.) You can somehow tell it's the same song the Box Tops recorded, but not very.

The Letter, Joe Cocker and the Shelter People (1970, monaural 45 rpm single A&M 1174), via YouTube, embedded for noncommercial critical discussion and educational purposes.

Editor's note: I hadn't heard the studio single for years because my highly unique local corporate oldies channel plays only the live version. But I just received it in the mail yesterday as a bonus track on the "deluxe" CD. Haven't even heard it in hi-fi yet, but will before the night is over.

Saturday Night (After Hours)

*

If you're like me---and who isn't?---you'll agree that this tune would be a good soundtrack for demolishing something or someone. First savagely, then with surgical deliberation. Then savagely again, and again. And again.



Not that I would ever do such a thing.

I think this track offers a very rare combination of rhythmic sophistication, meaningful dissonance, electric lyricism, and brute force. I think I'll categorize it as "Lummox Art Rock."

Please conform to the usual routine: earbuds jammed into the tympanum or cans epoxied to the side of your skull, turned up to 11 if your device supports that many megatons. Apologies to anyone who was expecting "Lollipops And Roses" by the Tijuana Brass tonight.

Lark's Tongues In Aspic, Part II, King Crimson (1973, from "Lark's Tongues in Aspic," Atlantic SD 7263), via YouTube, embedded for noncommercial critical discussion and educational purposes.

Saturday Night Fish Fry

*

I do not wish to lead our British Cousin, Marginalia, down another maudlin path with this evening's musical selection, like I did last time. So tonight I humbly put forth a more robust offering from the spoiled-romance department.



Now I, myself, never had a problem with my girlfriends' "mamas"---they always seemed to adore me...more than their fucking daughters did, actually! In fact, it's too bad that they didn't have "cougars" back then, because I might have made it once or twice! Anyway, I consider this jaunty tune to illustrate another case of a missed Frank Zappa opportunity for a hit radio single. True, the "kill your mama" meme would probably have sent 1970 broadcast sensors into a tizzy, but maybe he could have gotten airplay with it on FM "underground" stations. In my opinion, this track has it all: an aggressive beat, great lummox-rock riff, a zillion instruments on its jazz-rock chart, and humor in both lyrics and arrangement. In a more perfect world, this song---not the embarrassing and tiresome Dinah-Moe Humm---would have been his concert encore crowd-pleaser.

The cover art of the album from which this track is extracted, "Weasels Ripped My Flesh," is also worth remarking upon, and I'm delighted that the YouTuber who posted "Guitar" included it as the visual channel. I remember "freaking out" when I first saw this hilariously creepy cover during the summer of '70, on an excursion to an incense-fogged record store in Piper's Alley, Old Town, in Chicago. Sight unheard, so to speak, I eagerly dug out my $3.25, which was plucked from my hand by a greasy longhair with 8-inch dingy yellow fingernails that sickly curled toward the palms of his hand. (What a jagoff!) Fortuitously, 40-some-odd years later it came to my attention that this album jacket artwork was inspired by the cover of a postwar pulp men's magazine. Scroll down below the song credits to see it, and note the inconspicuous article title at bottom right of the cover.

My Guitar Wants To Kill Your Mama, Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention (1970, from"Weasels Ripped My Flesh," Warner Bros. - Reprise - Bizarre MS 2028), via YouTube, embedded for noncommercial critical discussion and educational purposes.

Saturday Night Fish Fry

*

As Hedley Lamarr once said, "My mind is a raging torrent, flooded with rivulets of thought cascading into a waterfall of creative alternatives."



Just cuz! An all-too-rare specimen of Lummox Rock from Frank Zappa leading (in my opinion) his best band ever, period. (Thank you for your attention to this matter.) As much as I love Zappa, I feel he spent way too much time expressing obscenity, disrespect for women, and pointless vulgarity. This performance, however, is not any of those: it's a straightforward and witty expression of an ultra-lewd sentiment that probably has overtaken every gentleman reading these words at a certain point. I'd be very interested to hear any version of this viewpoint as expressed musically from the female point of view, preferably in a Lummox Rock format. In fact, I may know of one from the '90s, but that will have to wait. Meanwhile, if you know of any, do tell.

And as with all Lummox Rock, plug in your headphones and turn it up louder than you can stand. Just fuckin' do it!

Dirty Love, The Mothers (1973, from "Over-Nite Sensation," DiscReet MS 2149), via YouTube, embedded for noncommercial critical discussion and educational purposes.

Saturday Night Fish Fry

*

I'm taking a moment to remember The Day That Zeppelin Died, which coincided with the premature demise of drummer John Henry Bonham, then 32, on 25 October 1980. Bonham is reported to have begun his last full day of life with about half a liter of vodka, "The Breakfast of Champions" (one might say if it wouldn't be overinterpreted as a trademark infringement), and then remained with that general refreshment protocol throughout that day 30 years ago until sinking into his final sleep after midnight.

"Achilles Last Stand" is my favorite Zeppelin track, and I do not believe it can be fully appreciated at much below ear-bleeding level. Try it cranked into some "earbuds" for a dim facsimile, but do listen. It's ambitious and mighty, with all the authority of the best Lummox Rock, but having too much compositional and production complexity to be confined to that category.



As you can hear, Bonzo Bonham put about half a career's worth of effort into this track. But to be fair, so did everyone else.

Achilles Last Stand, Led Zeppelin (1976, from "Presence," Swan Song LP SS 8416), via YouTube, embedded for noncommercial critical discussion and educational purposes.

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

*

Uno!
Dos!
One! two! tres! quatro!



This proto-lummox-rock speaks for itself. That said, I will briefly point to a few amusing features of this video, of which I do not know the provenance. First, the Pharaohs look more like Sheiks than what they purport to be. Second, Sam is costumed more like a Sikh than a Pharaoh, but maybe that was why he called himself a Sham. Third, the boys give us a fresh and clever application of go-go girl technology, namely being that the cuties are as motionless as mummies throughout the performance. And fourth, Sam didn't need no stinking lip syncing, as is especially evident during the last chorus as his voice tatters and he even cracks up at being busted with it on live TV. Probably either one run-through or tequila shot too many before rolling videotape. Everything about it looks fun.

RubberCrutch Bonus Trivia! In summer 2007, inspired by my memory of these antic lyric stylings of Domingo “Sam” Samudio whilst being browbeaten by my Chinese date and a small roomful of her equally Chinese students upstairs of a campus bar at a private karaoke party, I plucked this song from the tune menu they kept shoving up my grille. "I'll fix their wagon," I thought to myself. The crowd went wild, so I ended up doing two more by request. And significantly, there was no alcohol whatsoever involved! That's what Sam means by "let's not be L7"!

Wooly Bully, Sam The Sham and The Pharaohs (1966, unknown live TV performance), via YouTube. 

Saturday Night Fish Fry

*

You know she was a dancer / She moved better on wine



I don't have much to say about this lummox-rocker*, one of my favorites of all time, except that I heard it over and over again on an 8-track in Fred's hopped-up red GTO around 1970-way and permanently bonded with it. I consider it the original cowbell song, and the overdrive bass riff sounded like an entire orchestra to me (back 1970-way). The story behind the composing of Mississippi Queen was new to me as of tonight, though.

As an aside, the video accompanying this tune is almost A-OK with me, lummox-wise, except that the footage from Two Lane Blacktop is squashed left-to-right and the motorcycle stuff doesn't belong at all. I love the color of Steve McQueen's Mustang, too.

Oh yeah, and in terms of "this day in history," I just happened to learn on the FM robot oldies station that on this day in 1983 Mountain bassist Felix Pappalardi met his maker thanks to some "criminally negligent homicide" served up with a bullet by his wife, Gail. (Poor guy had to retire early due to partial hearing loss incurred by entertaining a generation of lowriding stoners. Peace, Felix.)
________________________
* To the best of my knowledge, the term "lummox rock" was invented by Larry K.