Oldsters on this list already know the principle behind this ongoing series here at RTH: long story short — I head out to a local thrift store, spend a dollar or two on music I know nothing about, take it home and give it a spin. If it’s good, I share it.
This one is different. The other day, a stack of classic rock 45s turned up at my local Goodwill. Most of it was boring, heard-it-all-before stuff, but buried in the middle of the pile were three Rolling Stones singles I’d never seen before — and they each featured non-album B-sides. Hearing three Stones tracks that were unknown to me seemed worth the 75-cent investment, so I scooped ’em up.
Now, normally, here’s where I opine about how great my finds were. I’m not going to do that this time. Instead, I’m going to summon our resident Stones-o-phile 2000 Man to weigh in on what I found. I really want to know where he sees these numbers landing on the scale of Glimmer Twins Greatness. Of course, I’m interested in everybody else’s thoughts, too — and I further ask each of you the following probing question: What’s your all-time favorite non-LP B-side — from any band?
I look forward to your responses, and I hope these presumably unknown Stones “trackssss” are enlightening.
Greetings, fellow seekers of the weird, the wonderful and the purportedly worthless! As RTH slogs its way through the merits of various over-produced girl groups from the ’80s, ’90s, and beyond, I thought I’d take a moment to showcase a couple of singles I found while scouring the bins at a local flea market.
First up: The Goodees, a girl group signed to Stax’s “Hip” sub-label as a result of winning a local talent contest in Memphis. Some of you might be familiar with their extremely modest hit “Condition Red” — but it was the B-side, “Didn’t Know Love Was So Good”, that really got me. That Isaac Hayes piano stab after the start of every verse — dang! Just goes to show you how one simple part can really make or break a tune.
Here’s my second thrifty find of the girlie variety: “Chu Sen Ling”, by oriental girl group The Bermudas. Or… wait. Not an oriental girl group. Turns out, the “Bermudas” — as well as The Majorettes, The Georgettes, Joanne & The Triangles, and Beverly & The Motorscooters — were all fake “bands” created by Los Angeles musical entrepreneur Rickie Page to showcase the talents of her immediate family. I’ll let Spectropop continue the story; it is a fascinating one:
This particular outfit comprised Rebecca (Becky) Page, her older sister Joanna, their mother Rickie and Susie Kuykendoll, Rickie’s sister. Rebecca shared lead vocals with Rickie, whose oldest daughter Sheilah sometimes took her place in photos of the group. In 1957 Rickie Page had begun a stream of recordings using her own name for every label under the California sun, not to mention some in Nashville. She also waxed as a member of the Jordanaires, the Spectors Three and Bobby ‘Boris’ Pickett’s Crypt-Kickers; factors which make her one of the unsung heroines of the early-1960s Los Angeles scene. Rickie is still active in the music business, composing songs from her base in Fresno, California.
Anyhow, for me, the point is: I love this song!
Folks, I’m busy these days, so it’s hard for me to wax philosophic on this kind of thing, but I do have one far-ranging, and hopefully revealing, question for all of you: in one sentence, what purpose do “girl groups” serve?
Townsman General Slocum has sent along the following thoughts for contemplation and discussion.
Today I was at one of my favorite places to pick up meat and potatoes music from the era of my youth, if not music I actually knew back then, the local CVS. It is staggering to me that some of the things I have found there made it through whatever wasteland of needless production and acquisition industrial mechanisms, to be passed by or to get the blinking, blank stare of the Emmaus polyesterati. I have found some great early ’70 Rod Stewart (yes, relatively great – sit down and be nice), some country from the same era, and today’s paydirt: Three Dog Night‘s Seven Separate Fools and Rare Earth‘s Ma. Fine records, both. But especially the Rare Earth.
For the cover alone in the incongruously bland setting of a CVS, I thank them. The 17-minute title track is the least engaging, but good background grooves. The rest of the album is a lot of fun. You have to dag on one of the only white bands on a Motown label (an imprint, possibly called Rare Earth, actually, so no fear of fat-ass bass here) putting out a record written and produced by Norman Whitfield, the black, funk, spirit of the record. At least it seems so.
Lately I have been finding a lot of this era and broad genre in such places. Uriah Heep, Mott, Cactus (!), all manner of forgotten records turning up in the sub-basement of America’s most out-of-touch outlets for anything cultural. My question is, What have you found? Not in thrift stores, though feel free to share – I mean, the kind of find that just startles you to see it, and you maybe buy it just to reward the serendipity of the encounter. Gives you faith sometimes, in small doses.
I just got back from 10 days in a pretty cool little country called Uruguay. In addition to Uruguay being the land of my birth, this nation of farmer-aesthetes is also the land of The Mother Of All Flea Markets, held every Sunday over about 10 square blocks of the city. Needless to say, there are lots of dudes out there flogging vinyl, and I went to see what I could see.
At the end of the day, I walked out with about four or five choice-looking albums, about which I knew next-to or absolutely nothing. Finally, this morning, after a grueling 24-hour return trip home, I was able to cue things up and have a listen. Doing so yielded a couple of gems, and one disappointment.
To begin with, let’s get the disappointment out of the way. By far, the LP that held the most promise in terms of Look was the following:
A disappointment
I mean, come ON! These dudes are a) high-steppin’ and soul-clappin’ their way into your hearts; b) wearing matching uniforms of the coolest sort; c) playin’ some seriously twangy-lookin’ guitars, and… well, you get the idea. Sadly — very sadly — the music contained on the el-pee most certainly does not match the Look. Talk about mediocre! I suppose I should cut the Angels some slack — they were one of the earliest “beat groups” in Brazil, and they were learning by poorly copying what they heard, same as everybody else.
A lousy photo, perhaps — but this is all I got on Los Blue Caps, people
On a more positive note, I found a copy of the album Dejame Mirarte, by Los Blue Caps (no relation to any Gene Vincent act of any kind, I assure you). For the most part, the music produced by these Paraguay-by-way-of-Argentinians is standard pop treacle of the day. In fact, it’s even treaclier than *I* can handle, and I’ve been known to tap my toes to some pretty White music, indeed. I was about to write the album off, when — whoah! — buried on the last track of side 2, I found “Don’t Leave Me Alone”. The only song on the album sung in English, it is also very much the only tune that sounds anything like, well, this. I’m actually shocked it hasn’t found its way onto one of those obscure freakbeat comps that seem to be popping up like psychedelic mushrooms in cowflop these days. I hope you enjoy it; I doubt you’ll find it anywhere else.
Spot the unhappy bassist
Lastly, an anomaly from the band that brought you “Little Green Bag”, of Reservoir Dogs fame, The George Baker Selection. I picked up this album based on my hazy recollections of the “Little Green Bag” song and was deeply disappointed by everything I heard, until I got to this, the only song on the album not written by “George Baker” (actually Dutchman Jan Bouwens). The song, called “Suicide Daisy”, was instead penned by the co-author of “Little Green Bag”, band bassist Jan Visser. In my opinion, it’s a stone winner — especially compared to all the other totally shitty sngs the GBS foisted on a cheese-hungry world. I mean, George Baker was the guy who wrote this:
Imagine being Jan Visser in this band. I sure hope the drugs and groupies were good, ’cause he couldn’t have been happy in that band… could he?
Greetings, fellow seekers of the occasionally rare, the frequently unusual, and the always cheap! I have returned from my peregrinations with a noteworthy artefact that I thought you and the rest of the world might enjoy — Browning Bryant‘s eponymous 1974 release on Reprise Records. Why is this record worth listening to, you ask? Because it was almost entirely written, arranged and produced by Allen Toussaint at the arguable height of his powers — and because a large portion of it was performed by funky Crescent City residents The Meters!
Portrait of the writer/producer/arranger as THE MAN
As you know, the purpose of the Thrifty Music series is not to delve into the rockeological minutiae of session detail — there are other, fine, even geekier sources for that information out there. I will tell you that this album was crafted by Toussaint while in the employ of Reprise Records as a staff producer, and was evidently the first record to be recorded at his own Sea-Saint studios. Why Reprise chose Toussaint to deliver a hit record for former child TV/country music B-lister Browning Bryant is anybody’s guess, but there you go.
Will the real Browning Bryant please stand up?
As one might imagine, the comparatively weak link on the album is Browning Bryant. For the most part, his voice is a bit thin and precious for the material. And I’ve spared you the real needle-lifters on the LP, which essentially get worse the further you drift from Allen’s strong guiding hand. (Note that I didn’t upload the other strong track from the album, “Blinded By Love”, as it’s floating around the Internet already.) My thoughts on the tracks I’m sharing follow:
Liverpool Fool — fans of the Thrifty Music series may remember this track from the old list, where I posted it after finding an incredibly beat-up promo 45 in a junk store in rural Virginia. After falling in love with the 45, I began an intensive eBay search for the album, and managed to find it for one measly dollar, unopened! Thanks to the Internet, this album has since been discovered by hordes of Toussaint fans, and those days of cheap discovery are over. I believe the least expensive version of this album you can find now is a Japanese CD pressing that’ll cost you $39 and up. Anyhow, here’s my rip from my LP — literally the first time this (or any of these other tracks) was ever played on a record player!
I’ve said it before, but I just love this song — I have a hard time understanding why it wasn’t a hit, for crying out loud! It’s funky, swinging, pleasant, melodious… it’s got it all!
Next up: This Is My Day — what a winner, and a huge triumph of pop music arrangement. Notice how the outchorus takes the track from dreamy, quasi-swamp psychedelia into foot-stompin’, field-hollerin’, biscuit-eatin’ goodness. Brilliant!
You Might Say — once you get past Browning’s inept soul ululations, this track really blossoms. Is it pop? Sure! Is it soul? Yeah! Is it funk? Yup. How about ska? Ska?! Well, yeah, that, too!
Leave the Rest to Molly — how many of you agree with me that this should’ve ended up on a Levon Helm album? Man, he would’ve knocked this one out of the park! In Browning’s hands, it’s a ground-rule double at best.
Anyhow, folks, there may be one or two other tracks worth listening to on the album, but these are the best of the bunch. As always, I’d be curious to get your thoughts here.
Hey, guys and gals! I’ve got a super swell idea for a Thrifty Music edition — let’s put up some of the keenest, niftiest songs I’ve ever found in thrift stores and flea markets… so long as they’re songs that were obviously targeted exclusively at an extremely white listening audience! Then, after RTH members have had a chance to really swing to some of these neat-o numbers, we can all talk about our fave songs that are also, you know, very White and everything! Wouldn’t that be the coolest? Sure it would!
Yet another band reputation besmirched by a “tribute” from REM
To start with, here’s a ginchie number by a groovy combo called The Clique. You may know the tune as popularized and largely ruined by REM, but here’s the extremely white original. I’m talking of course about “Superman”.
Let me know if you want to hear the wonderfully-titled A-side
Next up, “It Just Won’t Be That Way”, by super-pale band The Critters, who enjoyed a modest hit back in, oh, 1967 or something with “Mr. Dieingly Sad” — one of my fave rave song titles ever. “IJWBTW” is the less-often heard B-side, about which I want impressions from Townsmen Mockcarr, Velv, Trolleyvox, Mod, and anybody else out there with an ear for nifty white pop hooks. I want reports!
Ow — my extremely white teeth hurt!
Third in line, a sickly sweet bubblegum confection by White Plains, entitled “My Baby Loves Lovin'” — yet another song title to die for. As much as I love and appreciate music from all kinds of people of all sorts of ethno-cultural backgrounds, every now and again, a steaming pile of whiteness is shoved under my nose, and I must admit I thrill to its mac-and-cheese, bologna sandwich pungency. This is one of the artefacts that does it to me. It’s simple. It’s silly. It’s catchy. It’s draped in 100% Rayon from head to toe, and I love it. I hope you will too.
The reason I like this song
NOT the reason I like this song
Lastly, the track that will get my posting privileges revoked for sure: “Where the Action Is”, by John Paul Young. This was actually originally the A-side to JPY’s one global super-mega-smash, “Love Is In the Air,” but it was eventually relegated to the flip when its authors/producers realized they’d miscalculated. Most of you already know that I am a total ass-lick fan-boy for the svengalis behind John Paul Young on all of his musical offerings — Harry Vanda and George Young. I had to include this silly, extremely white number because, even in 1978 or whenever this song was released, the Vanda/Young songwriting team just couldn’t help but offer up some choice, extremely white, Easybeats-like production and arrangement touches — especially those background vox in the chorus! (In fact, I coud swear that’s actually Harry and George singing back there.)
Anyhow, as always, I look forward to your comments.
Yours, etc.,
HVB
p.s.: I also get a big kick out of how John Paul Young says “alright, alright, ALRIGHT!” after every chorus. Just wanted to toss that into the whiteness equation.
Hail and well met, fellow seekers of the weird, the unusual and the dirt-cheap. Today’s post is a quick one, as it restates a case we discussed in the form of “Walkin’ the Dog” many months ago. This time, we’re going to take a closer look at a song from the Stones’ 12×5 album — “It’s All Over Now”. I’ve got this song in my crosshairs as a result of finding a copy of the original, done by The Valentinos, at a flea market this weekend. One spin of the original caused me to take a small sip of brandy, stroke my chin thoughtfully, and wonder: Didn’t anybody back in 1965 or whenever the Stones released this turd point out that the original was a damn sight better than the Stones’ cover?!
Seriously, are there any Townspeople who wouldn’t prefer this:
(Yes, yes, I know; that Stones “video” is a helluva way to present my case in an unbiased fashion. It was actually the only studio version of the song I could find online — and if anything, it serves to help illustrate the central point of my case!)
