FFanzeen: Rock'n'Roll Attitude With Integrity

Club Flyers and Invites from 1970s and 1980s: Part 5

2012-01-25T00:01:00.000-05:00

Text (c) Robert Barry Francos, 2012
Images are owned by the artists
Also, images can be enlarged by clicking on them.

As stated in an earlier blog, throughout the years I have collected flyers, especially from the 1970s and '80s. Many were sent to me directly by the bands while I was publishing FFanzeen. Below are some scans I made from my personal collection, in no particular order. I did see many of them, but not all, and I will comment on them from time to time. Note that I do not financially profit off of publishing them, but only do so to honor the work that was involved, and for archival purposes.

While it’s questionable whether Marianne Faithfull’s music of this period is punk, her life sure was hardscrabble at the time of this show. As her amazing book (Faithfull: An Autobiography) explained, a later life of substance dependence and the jealousy of others had a negative effect on her career. Yet, with the emergence of her album Broken English, she quickly captured the New York punk audience… well, the First Wave, anyway. I doubt British punk, hardcore, or neo-garage fans cared one way or another, though the latter may have some converts due to Faithfull’s association with the Stones.

Post-Ramones, Joey (RIP) became a scene maker, especially through his yearly birthday bashes. As you can see, this one had an amazing line-up. After Joey’s passing, his brother Mickey Leigh continued the momentum and has maintained the yearly series. It’s an amazing show, year after year, as it always has been.

Robert Gordon has had multiple lives in the business. Starting out as the voice of the fashionista punk band Tuff Darts (his vocals on “Slash” and “All For the Love of Rock’n’Roll” on the Live at CBGB’s LP are the highlights of an otherwise mediocre release). Quitting the band just as they were about to be signed, he denied his past and went the rockabilly route, in my opinion besting out some of the better known bands, such as the overrated Stray Cats. His solo albums and those with the late Link Wray are classic. They helped keep the fire alive and inspiring others. Once, he was married to Manic Panic’s Snooky Bellomo. Meanwhile, he is still touring.

When this later version of the Hoosier seminal bar rock band the Gizmos played at Max’s Kansas City, there were very few in the audience on the Tuesday night. Well, as I remember it, it was a bloated drunk woman who tried to dance with the band onstage, a guy passed out at the bar, their manager, and me (not counting staff). It was actually a very fun show, and was recorded and pressed to an EP titled Never Mind the Sex Pistols, Here’s the Gizmos (still available on Gulcher Records in CD form with nearly an hour of extras). When you hear someone clapping on the 7-incher, c’est moi.

If I remember correctly, I was invited to this show by Doll House (hence the crossed off names). Unfortunately, I never did get to see the show, nor Doll House. And the only time I’ve seen Cheetah Chrome other than numerous Dead Boys shows and one with the Skels, was playing with Spacely (RIP) and Jerry Nolan (RIP) at the Johnny Thunders Memorial show during the early 1990s.

I did not see the Mad Orphans play, though I met the two leads (then a couple), Cynthia Sley and Ivan Julian, at a taping of Videowave, a cable access television show. Previously, both had been in seminal New York bands: Cynthia with the Bush Tetras and Ivan with Richard Hell’s Void Oids.

SST was one of the leaders in SoCal hardcore, and I’m grateful to have been on their mailing list to get all those great groundbreaking albums at the time. Because of that, when all these bands and artists came to New York, I was well aware of who they were, and their possibilities. I’m not sure why I didn’t attend these shows (probably was away visiting my then-girlfriend), but it was a loss.

With tongue firmly in cheek, the Undead rose from the body of the Misfits, with Bobby Steele (now an ultra-conservative Tea Party follower, fer chrizzake) at its head. No, I didn’t see the Undead, but Bobby’s then-girlfriend, Lori Wedding, posed for the front cover of FFanzeen mag wearing one of our tee-shirts.

Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, my native turf, was nuts about either disco or the Rat Pack, depending on the age of the listener. For me, it was the Ramones, of course, but I never did fit in there. Anyway, somewhere in the area, usually at the Walker Theater on 18th Avenue and 69th Street, or at the Rex Manor in neighboring Bay Ridge, there were often shows catered to the audience of my parent’s generation. Sometimes it would be Jerry Vale or Pat Cooper, and for this particular show, a Rat Pack tribute. Okay, this isn’t a punk flyer, but it’s odd enough, don’t you think? Oh, if I have it correctly, Liza’s impersonator is a drag queen (I wonder if the audience was aware of that?).

Ah, the Elgin. You hadda be there (and, unfortunately, I was). This is a part of New York’s punk history that is almost never discussed, for some reason (not even mentioned on the Elgin’s Wikipedia page). Barbara MacKay, of the gawdawful band the Hot Nuts, tried to make the revival film showcase Elgin Theater into a punk rock palace in 1977. Posting flyers around town lying that Blondie was going to play at the opening (probably hoping they would come anyway), she attracted a modest crowd (including me) to the multi-band opening night. It was awful. The sound was terrible, the bands ranged from hippie to prog, hard rock to pop (including Sweet Star, John Collins, the boring Harry Toledo, Brute Force [not the British “King of Fuh” singer], Kongress, Grand Slam, and White Gold). Heck, there was even some flame swallowing. There was no consistency, and I’m sure the bands felt as ripped off as the audience. The Elgin was gone within the month, and the Chelsea digs is now a dance repertory space.

DVD Review: The Scarlet Worm

2012-01-22T00:01:00.000-05:00

Text © Robert Barry Francos/FFanzeen, 2012
Images from the Internet

The Scarlet Worm
Directed by Michael Fredianelli
Unearthed Films, 2011
93 minutes, USD $14.95
Unearthedfilms.com
MVDvisual.com

When I think of no-to-low-budget, independent films, the genres that tend to crop up are either low-ball horror or lower-ball (pun intended) comedy (or a mixture of both). It’s certainly not a western, and especially not one as well made as this.

In addition, when one is viewing indie films on this level, there is a bit of an expectation that the acting will be more along the line of John Lithgow sit-com scenery chewing, rather than John Lithgow dramatic film acting. While there are a couple of somewhat stiff performances here and there from minor roles, generally the performances are top-notch and equal to many of the majors.

The story takes place in 1909, and revolves around Print (Aaron Stielstra), a hired gunslinger for Mr. Paul (Montgomery Ford, aka Brett Halsey), a corrupt cattle baron. Apparently this is a serial position, as Print was trained by previous gunhand Hank (Kevin Giffin), who was in turn instructed by Mr. Paul. Now it’s Print’s turn to pass on his knowledge to Lee (Derek Hertig) a youngn’ assigned by Mr. Paul.

See, while Print ain’t the sharpest stick in the stack, he believes he is, and that is just part of his (literally) saving grace, because what he lacks in thought he gains in instinct. Along with an artistic flair that is way out of place in the Wild West, he turns his many, many, many killings in his “paintings” by posing the bodies, or by the style and grace in which he kills. Death is his poetry (though he claims to write some, which we never actually hear, probably for the better good).

Stielstra, looking like a cross between a shorter Sasha Baron Cohen, Frank Zappa and Tony Shaloub – and I could also add in Daniel Day Lewis in his There Will Be Blood role – is ideal as Print. Having worked with director Michael Fredianelli a few times, he smartly underplays the character, as is mentioned in one of the commentaries, because Print is such a weird and anachronistic dude that it could easily have been done over the top, but by reigning it in and using his eyes and mouth twitches to emote a lot, he brings more of a reality to the character. Even when some of his dialog is neo-Dirty Harry or Pulp Fictionesqe, he finds a way to pull it off without sounding hokey, such as when he describes his Smith & Wesson pistol (though mostly he uses a rifle): “It’s about as pretty as a Sunday morning…I got a feelin’ it’s the kind of gun that God might carry.”

As with most indie films with almost no budget, the crew hold multiple jobs. In this case, Stielstra also wrote much of the original music, including singing up front with the Road Apples (lyrics by the film’s writer, David Lambert), and also handled all the exploding squibs (i.e., “blood” filled condoms).

Hertig, who plays his protégé Lee, has a Rick Schroeder vibe going, especially with the deep blue eyes. At times he acts like a deer-in-headlights, which actually contradicts his wilder “young” days shown in B&W flashbacks. Still, he portrays the character well, starting as someone who’s never killed a person to one who makes up for lost time. Gratefully, the makers did not go the cliché protégé vs. mentor route, but rather an entirely different path.

The role of Hank essentially mirrors the Gene Wilder character from Blazing Saddles in many ways. Written for an older person (Wilder’s was written for John Wayne, who turned down the role), Giffin takes the role and makes it work even as one not much older than his trainee (Print). Like “the Kid,” Hank got tired of killing and crawled into a bottle when not a barber, but comes back as a rescuing hero (without getting shot in the ass by a prepubescent). While being hard, Giffin also shows some of a humanistic side that makes the character likeable.

Before I discuss the next main characters, I need to make something clear. On one of the commentary tracks, Producer Mike Molloy adamantly insists that this film is not based on the style of the Spaghetti Western, but rather later revisionist westerns, and I wholeheartedly agree. A better comparison would be, say, McCabe and Mrs. Miller or those by Peckinpaw than anything by director Leone. I mean, nearly everyone is just filthy, with dust and dirt smeared on their bodies, faces, and clothes. Okay, that needed to be said before I went forward, because the plot of the story is Print being hired by Mr. Paul to kill a brothel owner who performs abortions when necessary (which is apparently often) on his prostitutes (I counted five of the ladies). It is for this reason that the film is broken up into five chapters, each with an antiquated term for the prenatal development of a child (e.g., A Quickening, Ensoulment, and Curettage).

As a side note: practically the only women in the cast are those who work in the cat house, and are severely underwritten compared to most of the men. This is definitely a weak spot, as at least one of them could have been a much better character. Rita Rey plays Annabelle, to whom we are introduced mid-abortion. Her actions change the course of the film, yet she gets very little dialog, and what screen time she does get she is naked more often than not.

Getting back to the matter, as with Leone’s A Fist Full of Dollars, Print is caught between two powerful men, both with heavily armed hired men behind them, and who hate each other for reasons that seem obvious at first, but there is something underlying that we learn a bit later. Along the way is a huge body count that makes most horror films pale in comparison. And yes, there will be blood.

As the first of the two butting heads, Mr. Paul is played by Ford (née Halsey), a veteran actor of high caliber (pun intended) dating back a large number of years, but his specialty was – yep, you guessed it – westerns, and especially of the spaghetti subgenre. You’ll probably recognize him, as he’s also been in hundreds of television shows, usually as a guest star rather than a series regular. His acting is nonchalant and natural, more like he’s talking than playing a character. He makes it look very easy to be both evil and likeable.

On the other side of the equation is the brothel proprietor, Heinrich Kley, played by veteran German actor, Dan van Husen. Husen has a long history of playing Nazis in some A-level films, and in – yes, again – spaghetti westerns (many with Lee van Cleef). Kley is initially also likeable, even though he forces his “girls” to abort their babies, which he considers necessary evils. A religious man, he backs his actions as getting rid of the children of demons (e.g., drunks, violent men). Having Print go after him on the proposal of his being an abortionist has a pro-life feel that made me uncomfortable (the film’s writer, Lambert, claims this was not the case, though), but even Print is somewhat persuaded by Kley’s reasoning. Kley actually comes across as a level-headed guy until he feels betrayed, and then shows some of his true nasty stripes.

Print, through setting up a situation with rival cowhands that he’s angered, works his way into Kley’s trust, and starts working for him as his enforcer. Lee tags along as his son, who falls for Annabelle (apparently his first).

Duplicity and lust leads to a couple of stupendous shoot-outs with dozens lying dead, and even some of the anti-heroes in rough shape. No, I’m not going to give away too much of the well-written and multi-layered story.

The look of the film, under the eye of cinematographer Michael Martinez, is quite outstanding. He uses a bit of a washed-out look to the film, and with an almost sped up look like it’s shot at 20 frame’s per second, especially during the action sequences. The lighting is glaring sometimes in an appropriate way (such as the red shades across Print’s face when he’s talking to Kley). There are a couple of scenes where the light looks a bit different from different angles, but what the heck, the end product looks great.

There are two commentary tracks, but none with the director, sadly. The better is the first one, with writer David Lambert and some of the actors of secondary characters, but worked as crew as well. While about 20 percent of this is whatever, there are a lot of really good nuggets in the rest, including how the film got made, anecdotal stories about the cast, opinions on specific scenes and shots, and other little detail tidbits we love. Apparently, Lambert is a Wild West buff, and he used a lot of his research in the film, which shows. One fact he points out that got my interest is that Print’s character is based on two actual people from the period, one of whom was named Killin’ Jim Miller. I would have, however, loved to have heard a bit more about what the title means, which is explained in the film, but I just didn’t get it.

The second voiceover track is with producers Mike Molloy and Eric Zaldivar, the latter who also does well playing Kley’s weakest-link son, Gus (he was also second unit director). While there is quite a bit of additional information about the making of the film and its crew, they seem a bit less confident in this off-the-cuff role, and tend to step on each other. Zaldivar (who is not as well mic’d) commonly asks, “Should we talk about (so-and-so)?” Molloy keeps second guessing himself with statements like, “Well, I don’t know if I’m supposed to mention (so-and-so), but…” However, I would like to add that I have heard so much worse tracks than this, and there is quite a bit of data, making it worth the listen. Though, I have to say, for a low budget film, two commentary tracks, really? That’s 3 hours above the time of the film itself. It may have been better, in hindsight, having Lambert and Molloy do it together.

Anyway, another bonus is subtitles, but only in Spanish. There are also about a half-dozen trailers, including some by the various crew of this film. There is also a brief seven-minute featurette with the long title, “Of Worms and Dogs: How Wild Dogs Productions Made The Scarlet Worm.” Directed by Molloy, it’s a light piece of fluff that doesn’t really have much point, looking like it was directed by someone in a college film class, but it also obviously was quite work intensive with many edits. Am I sorry I watched it? No, it was enjoyable, just not essential. Best part was getting to see the cast/crew be themselves.

This is a low-budget film, and in case one forgets that, there are a couple of reminders here and there. For example, a couple of times someone who is wearing a hat is shot in the head, and after a spray of blood, of course they die. However, as they fall, their hats come off and the head is unwounded. I found this amusing. As for the story, there is one big potential opportunity missed at the end: a certain character is killed off who is a bit of a milquetoast, which I think is a mistake. Having him come back as a killer bound for revenge in a sequel would have been the right move. And from the commentaries, it sounds like a sequel is in the works, though no mention of it is made on any Websites, and the director has made half a dozen films since this one. I hope it gets made, and I look forward to more of Michael Fredianelli output. This one really shines.

Meet the MONKEES – Part 2

2012-01-18T00:01:00.000-05:00

Text by Joe Tortelli, intro by Robert Barry Francos
Article © 1985; RBF intro © 2011 by FFanzeen
Images from the Internet

The following Monkees retrospective was originally published in FFanzeen magazine, issue #13, in 1985. It was researched and written by Boston-based rock’n’roll historian Joe Tortelli. For more info on Joe, please see the first part of this article.

A year after this second part of the article came out, I saw a version of the Monkees (sans Mike) play at the Jones Beach Playhouse in 1986. It was a fun, and high-scripted show, where even the ad-libs were pre-prepared. It was a good show and a solid crowd; the group had a bit of a revival, in part due to a new album, song, and MTV video, all titled That Was Then, This is Now” (the song was written by a member of the Long Island post-garage group, The Mosquitoes).
However, I had seen Peter Tork play his first New York solo show after his breakup from the band in 1977, where he played two sets at CBGBs, including a classical piece on piano (John Cale would later claim to be the first to play classical at the club, but Tork beat him to it).

In 1998, I saw Davy Jones perform as part of a Teen Idol Tour at the Westbury Music Fair, sharing a bill with Bobby Sherman and Peter Noone. While Sherman and Noone were gracious, Jones was vile and bitter, including graphic homophobic comments made towards his gig-mates. The woman next to me, who told me she was so excited to see her teen pin-up after all these years, started crying at one point and said to me, “Why is he being so mean?

The same year this second part came out, I even had the opportunity to briefly meet Tommy Boyce at the apartment of Nancy Foster, who was interviewing him for FFanzeen – RBF, 2012.

Monkeesmania lingered into early 1968. The quartet’s initial release of the year, “Valleri” b/w “Tapioca Tundra,” rested at the third position on the surveys. It was destined to be the group’s last million selling Top Ten single.

A steady rock’n’roll beat drives the smash “Valleri.” Davy’s solid vocal, upbeat horn lines and session man Louie Shelton’s flamingo guitar decorate this Boyce-Hart tune. “Tapioca Tundra” reveals Mike’s versatility as a singer and songwriter. Hi vocal suggests Rudy Vallee and the Roaring ‘Twenties, but the tempo is pure ‘sixties rock. “Tapioca Tundra” received a tad of airplay and went to No. 34 on the charts.

The Monkees’ final gold album surfaced in April 1968. Mike, Peter, Micky and Davy produced The Birds, the Bees and the Monkees (excluding “Daydream Believer,” a Chip Douglas production). Reflecting the band’s declining popularity, this Monkees album attracted little AM radio exposure and failed to reach the top of the LP charts.

The album includes five David Jones (as the maturing Britisher now billed himself) vocals. David handles the pop numbers, “We Were Made For Each Other,” “Dream World,” and his own composition, “The Poster.” He also sings “Valleri” and “Daydream Believer.”
Micky is heard on a couple of typical, mid-temp Monkees ditties, “I’ll Be Back Upon My Feet,” and Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart’s take-off on personal ads, “PO Box 9847.” The drummer also performs credibly on “Zor and Zam,” a clever anti-war ballad, and Mike Nesmith’s mildly psychedelic “Auntie’s Municipal Court.”
With a vocal style reminiscent of “Tapioca Tundra,” Nesmith simulates the old gramophone sound on “Magnolia Sims.” Nesmith’s most progressive composition, “Writing Wrongs,” consists of five minutes of avant-garde meanderings on voice and keyboards.

The Birds, the Bees and the Monkees effectively ended a year and a half of Monkee-inspired hysteria. The television series was given its pink slip by NBC in the Spring of ’68. Denied this constant exposure, the group lost its access to mass audiences. The Monkees’ final gold record had already been awarded: their last Top-Tenner had already charted.

In slightly over a year and a half, the Monkees achieved a level of popularity matched only by Elvis and the Beatles over a similar period of time. Like their two predecessors, the Monkees popularity was global. The series was televised in 39 nations around the world. The foursome attracted screaming fans to concerts in Britain, Japan and Australia, as well as the United States. Their international record sales are said to have exceeded 35 million units.

On the negative side, the Monkees were the first act to generate antipathy – not from parents, but from some rock fans. They were unmercifully criticized for their musical shortcomings and their dependence on outside songwriters. Kids into acid rock, psychedelia and progressive music complained that the Monkees were empty pop stars singing worthless bubblegum tunes. These young critics dug the Doors, Cream, the Jefferson Airplane and most of all, Jimi Hendrix.

Ironically, Micky and Peter spotted Hendrix at the 1967 Monterey Pop Festival, before he became a sensation. They insisted that the Jimi Hendrix Experience fill the second spot on a Monkees tour that year. Hendrix’s big break turned into an embarrassing bust for his world-be mentors. The black guitarist’s onstage activities outraged the parents of young Monkees enthusiasts. The Jimi Hendrix Experience was quickly forced off the Monkees tour. The episode reinforced Jimi’s hip image, but left the Monkees looking squarer than ever.

Meanwhile, Mike Nesmith’s often overlooked songwriting talent was attracting the attention of other recording acts. A band called the Stone Poneys nearly cracked the Top 10 in early 1968 with Nesmith’s “Different Drum.” The group, which at times was billed as a supporting act at Monkees concerts, also recorded Nesmith’s “Some of Shelley’s Blues.”

The young, attractive lead vocalist of the Stone Poneys gained a foothold in the recording industry with “Different Drum.” Superstardom awaited her in the mid-‘70s, but Linda Ronstadt’s signature song through the early, lean years of her career was this Mike Nesmith composition.
While Nesmith was placing songs with other artists, writing for the Monkees continued to be something of a cottage industry for professional composers. Turning Nesmith’s journey from pop star to songwriter inside out, the composing team of Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart tried their luck as a vocal duo.

Tommy Boyce actually placed “I Remember Carol” in the lower third of the Hot 100 in 1962. Prior to the Monkees, Boyce and Hart composed for other acts. Jay and the Americans took “Come a Little Bit Closer” all the way to No. 3 on the charts in 1964.

As a result of their unparalleled success with the Monkees, record labels vied for the talents of these two reflex hitmakers. Boyce and Hart signed with Herb Alberts’ A&M Records label and scraped the Top-40 during the summer of ’67 with “Out and About.” The duo struck their biggest seller, “I Wonder What She’s Doing Tonight” in the first quarter of ’68. With its bright melody and good-natured lyrics, “I Wonder…” bounced up the charts and into the Top-10. “Alice Long,” a similar sounding upbeat follow-up, skirted the Top-Thirty a few months later. [They would also make an appearance on Bewitched as themselves singing “Blow Me a Kiss in the Wind,” and provide the excellent and bouncy title song for the film Where Angels Go, Trouble Follows - RBF / 2012.]

A May 1968 release inaugurated the Monkees’ post-mania period. Davy Jones’ “It’s Nice to Be with You” backed the pleasant, but insignificant “D.W. Washburn.” The feeble sales of this record indicated that the era of automatic million sellers and Top-10 hits was over. The Monkees’ first non-gold record peaked at No. 19.

[The Monkees concluded a disappointing 1968 with a Gerry Goffin-Carole King composition, “Porpoise Song,” delivered a wonderful glimpse into psychedelic pop. Micky and Davy fronted the dirge-like tune with its musical and lyrical Beatle influences (Porpoise = Walrus – get it?).

Unfortunately, the youngsters wanted more yummy pop songs, while the skeptics refused to even listen. “Porpoise Song” didn’t crack the Top-40.

If the Monkees no longer appealed to small screen audiences, perhaps they could find a new life on the big screen. So Bob Rafelson hoped, when he brought the boys to the movies. (Rafelson would go on to acclaim for his work on Five Easy Pieces, but he made his directorial debut in this Monkees film.)

The surrealistic film featuring those fading pop idols was titled Head. The eclectic cast included movie star Victor Mature, beach queen Annette Funicello, and footballer Ray Ninschke. The reigning king of the underground, Frank Zappa, also had a bit part.

Neither Zappa’s appearance nor the druggish connotations of the movie’s title attracted hip viewers to this underrated slice of psychedelica. And teeny-boppers, who no longer purchased Monkees records, did not suddenly materialize at the box offices.

Like the movie, the soundtrack album bombed commercially. Head was an interesting step for the band musically, but the teen audience ignored it.

Peter Tork made his greatest contribution to a Monkees LP on Head. He wrote and produced two cuts, “Can You Dig It” and “Do I Have to Do This All Over Again.” The soundtrack also contained the semi-hit “Porpoise Song.” Mike Nesmith’s “Circle Sky” appeared as a studio track on vinyl, though it was recorded “live” for the film.

Though the Monkees now controlled their own music, Peter Tork announced his decision to leave the band. Tork was always irritated by the yoke which management placed on the group. He realized that his contribution to the Monkees’ first two albums was virtually nil. Ironically, he asserted himself most on Head, his final vinyl venture with the band. His overall unhappiness with what the Monkees seemed to represent simply grew too great.

Before he left the group, Peter taped one last television extravaganza with his mates. 33-1/3 Revolutions Per Monkee starred the boys, along with rock veterans Jerry Lee Lewis, Fats Domino, and Little Richard. Brian Augur and the Trinity were added to lure the progressive audience [as was Julie Driscoll, who had a few hits at the time in England – RBF / 2012]. Though an interesting send-off to their video career, this 1969 program did nothing to revitalize the Monkees’ sagging popularity.

The three remaining Monkees pulled their first Torkless release from a one-year-old Boyce and Hart album. “Tear Drop City” recaptured the infectious “Last Train to Clarksville” formula – Micky’s confident vocal, familiar guitar riffs, and reliable songwriting a la Boyce and Hart. It failed to recreate “Clarksville’s” chart luster. “Tear Drop City” climbed only half way up the Hot-100 in February 1969.

The album which followed continued the downward trend. Instant Replay was comprised of the usual Boyce-Hart and Goffin-King tunes in addition to a few Monkees originals. Radio airplay was practically non-existent. Record sales slipped even more.

Realizing that the group was becoming a commercial basket case, Colgems Records issued the Monkees’ Greatest Hits the biggest hit singles and a few choice LP cuts were squeezed on this fourteen-song compilation.

The threesome nearly tasted success one last time in the last spring of ’69. The hit song was expected to be “Someday Man,” a syrupy Paul Williams tune sung by Davy.

Mike Nesmith’s “Listen to the Band” filled the record’s flip side. Driving, orchestrated music accompanied Mike’s sterling vocal performance. “Listen” muscled its way onto many AM stations’ playlists, and even confirmed Monkees haters nodded approvingly. The song earned the Monkees not another gold record award, but respect.

Finally, the Monkees had redeemed themselves artistically. Mike and ex-Monkee Peter always yearned for acceptance on musical terms. They disliked the hype and hysteria as much as their severest critics. Freed of the mania and freed from managerial constraints, the Monkees produced a gem of a song nearly three years after their first smash. They triumphed in a small way with a minor hit that was a pop masterpiece.

Mike Nesmith’s concluding Monkees album, Present, attracted little notice and fewer sales in the fall of ’69. The banjo picking on Mike’s “Good Clean Fun” unmistakably indicated the countrified direction of his coming solo career.

That neglected album coincided with the Monkees’ last live appearances. Concerts no longer attracted screaming, sell-out crowds. Television still occasionally welcomed the lads back home. On one evening the threesome guest stared on The Johnny Cash Show. Mike, Micky and Davy sang something called “Everybody Loves a Nut” with The Man in Black.

When the Monkees found themselves cutting television commercials for Kool-Aid, it could hardly have been the proudest moment of their career. They must have felt a tad more irritated when they checked out the latest music surveys. While their records were lucky to sneak into the charts, their former “music supervisor” was once again riding high: Don Kirshner’s cartoon character studio group, the Archies, nestled at Number One in September ’69 with “Sugar Sugar.” The contrast between Kirshner’s renewed gold-plated success and the Monkees dismal commercial failures could not have been greater.

The two actors, Micky Dolenz and Davy Jones, limped along after as the Monkees after Mike Nesmith departed. With producer Jeff Barry at the helm, they recorded the album Changes. The single from this inoffensive pop record, “Oh My, My,” crawled to No. 98 on the Top-100.

That final, totally ignored Monkees album was released in May 1970. Another band issued its last LP that same month and year. Only three years earlier, the Monkees had been favorably compared to this British act. In a cruel but appropriate twist of fate, these two bands concluded their public careers simultaneously.

The Beatles ended as they had begun – with a Number One album (Let It Be), artistic integrity, and immeasurable popular appeal. The revelation of the Beatles’ breakup was a major international news story.

The Monkees (or, what was left of the Monkees) disintegrated in the face of mass indifference.

* * *

Mike Nesmith pursed outside project before leaving the Monkees. Besides writing for other artists, he recorded an instrumental album, The Wichita Train Whistle Sings. Recorded in 1968 for Dot Records, Wichita featured country interpretations of Nesmith’s Monkees compositions.

Mike signed with RCA Records after leaving the Monkees. The RCA financial empire actually controlled the NBC network (which broadcast The Monkees series) and the Colgems label (the Monkees’ record company).

The former Monkee produced a string of respectable country rock albums during the early ‘70s. Critics finally accorded this multi-talented artist proper recognition.

Nesmith’s initial post-Monkees congregation, the First National Band, scored a couple of popular successes, “Joanne” nudged the Top-20 in the summer of 1970. A few months later, “Silver Moon” touched the Top-40.

Mike’s abortive attempt to form his own record label ended in disappointment. His deal with Elektra Records to record West Coast country acts collapsed after two releases. Unimpressed with the sales potential of the Countryside subsidiary, David Geffen dropped it when he assumed the presidency of Elektra.

After forming and then disbanding the Second National Band, the ex-pop idol went under the name (surprise!) Michael Nesmith. Following his departure from RCA, Nesmith helped develop the Pacific Arts Corporation. The 1975 album and books set, The Prison, was his earliest effort for this new label.

His second Pacific Arts LP, From a Radio Engine to the Photon Wing, included “Rio,” a Top-Ten single in Australia on Island Records. The 1977 release also received attention in Britain, though it failed to attract American interest.

The guitarist’s most recent album, Infinite Rider on the Big Dogma, was issued in June 1979. Billboard magazine called the record, “Nesmith’s return to mainstream rock’n’roll.” Despite a major publicity push from Pacific Arts, neither the LP nor its single, “Magic (The Night is Magic),” reaped meaningful sales.

During the late ‘70s, Nesmith displayed a revitalized interest in the use of video as a musical medium. He was among the first in the rock world to appreciate this link. [His hour-long video, Elephant Parts, was the first video ever to win an Emmy – ed/1985.]

Nesmith has also involved himself in filmmaking. His name appears as producer in the 1982 futuristic western, Timerider .

* * *

Micky Dolenz dabbled in both television and music, following the Monkees’ breakup. His TV appearances included guest roles on Adam-12 and Owen Marshall. He also worked on children’s programs and television commercials. He traveled to England at the close of the ‘70s to develop an animated series. During an interview at that time, Micky said that he viewed his years with the Monkees as another step in his long career as a professional entertainer.

As to prove his own point, Micky’s solo musical output has been singularly unimpressive. The man who sang lead on so many exhilarating Monkees tunes has been unable or unwilling to channel that talent on his own. A handful of Dolenz singles have reached the market” “Daybreak,” a 1973 release on the Romar label, caused a minor stir because it was composed and produced by Harry Nilsson.

* * *

While the individual Monkees pursed inconsistent solo careers, their televisions series was syndicated to many American and international broadcast outlets. Repeats of the program resuscitated the memory of the band and earned the foursome new fans. In Japan, this resulted in the rebirth of Monkeemania towards the end of the ‘70s.

Colgems Records had waved goodbye to their Golden Boys in 1970 with the release of a two-disc greatest hits set, A Barrel Full of Monkees. Bell Records secured the rights to the Monkees catalogue after Colgems folded. Hoping to tap into the syndicated television audience, Bell pressed yet another compilation, Re-Focus, in 1972. Record sales were sparse.

Outside of the band itself, songwriters Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart were probably hurt most by the demise of the Monkees. Their ability to pen Monkees million sellers earned them hefty royalty checks. When the record sales and radio spins faded, Boyce and Hart must have felt the pinch.

It was not a total shock when the songwriting team turned up a half of a touring act dubbed “The Great Golden Hits of the Monkees.” Onlookers easily identified the other two performers – Davy Jones and Micky Dolenz.

The repeated showings of the television series achieved concrete results by the mid-‘70s. Young and old fans numbering up to ten or fifteen thousand crowded Midwest fairgrounds to hear their favorite songs. If audiences were disconcerted by the absence of half the original band, they did not show it. Nor did they mind when ‘60s semi-star Keith Allison stepped forward from his perch as guitarist to sing the ‘60s TV theme song, Action.

Dolenz, Jones, Boyce and Hart toured together in 1975 and 1976. At one memorable July 1976 concert in Disneyland, a fair-haired, bearded fellow appeared with the group. For the firs time since 1969, three members of the Monkees were playing together. On that day, Peter Tork performed with his former comrades, Davy and Micky.

The reception accorded their live performance encouraged the four neo-Monkees to land a recording contract. A major record company, Capitol, signed the act. Because of legal impediments (not unlike the Lone Ranger mask hassle), the name “Monkees” could not be used. Instead, they recorded as Dolenz, Jones, Boyce and Hart. One self-title LP was produced.

That album neither recaptured the magical Monkees sound nor rekindled interest in that dormant pop phenomenon.

It was May 1976. Nearly a decade had passed since the Monkees’ first hit. Rock’n’roll had changed. Memories of the fast paced Monkees era had dimmed.

The Monkees phenomenon was a product of its time. It was an essential part of the ‘60s. It could not be re-created or relived. It was over.

For more recent (since 1985, anyway) developments with the band and it’s members, check Wikipedia, as they are more thorough as I could ever be without just repeating the information. – RBF / 2012.

Meet the MONKEES – Part 1

2012-01-14T00:01:00.000-05:00

Text by Joe Tortelli, intro by Robert Barry Francos
Article © 1984; RBF intro © 2012 by FFanzeen
Images from the Internet, and can be made larger by clicking on them

The following Monkees retrospective was originally published in FFanzeen magazine, issue #12, in 1984. It was researched and written by Boston-based rock’n’roll historian Joe Tortelli. He had his own fantastic fanzine at the time called Oh Yeah!, and is currently involved in a book project that will hopefully see the light of day.

It took until the 1970s for me to appreciate the Monkees. Sure, I had a friend or two who were gaga over them, but even in my youth, I had an aversion to “the popular.” Nascent punk in me, I guess. There were a couple of tunes that I liked, though, like “Valleri” and “You Just May Be the One,” but it was actually after hearing Monkeeshines 2 that I really began to appreciate them, for some reason. I do have to admit thought that I’ve been a fan of songs like “Joanne” and “The Crippled Lion” for a long time (though I thought “Rio” was overrated).

However, the Monkees are a lesson that many need to learn. For example, I read recently that Justin Bieber expects to be around for a very long time. Uh-hunh, yeah, okay. Whatever I think of the Bieb is beside the point. Expecting a career, no matter how big, to last forever doesn’t always happen. Ask David Cassidy, or the Bay City Rollers, or Tiffany, or any of the others who had massive crowds lining up, only to have them fade into dust. If you read any of those names and said, “who?”, well you’ve proven my point. Even when the Beatles were in New York, I believe it was, Ringo commented that he hoped the group lasted long enough that he’d make enough to by a hairdresser shop.

But the Monkees had more than their moment, they actually achieved something that lasted, if not their careers. And, yes, I did wear a blue, double-breasted shirt for a while in the ‘60s. – RBF, 2012

The advertisement in the September 8, 1965 issue of the Hollywood Reporter asked for four “insane 17 to 21 year old boys” to act in a television series about a rock’n’roll band.

Over 400 hopefuls did apply. A sandy-haired young fellow named Stephen Stills was among them. Though passed over himself, Stills told his near look-alike acquaintance, Peter Tork, about the audition. Tork and three other young men, David Jones, Micky Dolenz and Mike Nesmith, were selected for the parts.

And so was born the rock group known as … the Monkees!

The Monkees became one of the three genuine phenomena in rock’n’roll history. The first two, Elvis and the Beatles, have long since taken their positions at the peak of rock music’s pantheon. The Monkees’ legacy has fared far less well. Indeed, there was a long period of time during which the Monkees were relegated to the musical garbage heap.

Today, it is difficult to realize exactly how popular the Monkees were at one time. For 18 months after Labor Day 1966, the Monkees came closer than any other acts in rock history to matching Elvis’ popularity in 1956, and the Beatles’ magic of 1964. Like their forerunners, the Monkees generated the hysterical crowds, the gold singles, the Number One albums, the radio airplay, and the widespread public attention. The Monkees had all this in addition to a weekly television series.

The Beatles and Elvis each received a limited amount of video exposure during their heydays. There is no doubting the fact that their televised appearances, especially on The Ed Sullivan Show, increased their popularity immensely. Television made them real, identifiable pop stars.

Another hitmaker, Ricky Nelson, benefitted immeasurably from weekly appearances on this parent’s television program, The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet. The youngster was able to parlay his TV exposure into rock stardom. Other teen dreams who gained fleeting pop success due to their regular television roles included Johnny Crawford (The Rifleman), Edd “Kookie” Byrnes (77 Sunset Strip), and Patty Duke (The Patty Duke Show). Few in the music industry questioned television’s ability to make instant pop sensations. [I would add Shelley Fabares of The Donna Reed Show – RBF/2012.]

The concept of a television band took this idea one step further. The TV series would provide a means of spreading the band’s music to millions of weekly viewers.

The formula achieved immediate results. The Monkees became the most popular pop group in America. The band members possessed the four most recognizable new faces since the Beatles burst onto the scene. Because of television’s power, every kid in the country knew the Monkees both as a smashing pop unit and individual stars.

* * *

Robert Michael Nesmith was born in Dallas, Texas, in 1942. His mother, a commercial artist, invented the typist’s best friend, Liquid Paper. Nesmith enlisted in the Air Force in 1960, and picked up the guitar two years later. After performing in the San Antonio area, Nesmith traveled to California. There, he played the café circuit and recorded some folk rock songs as Michael Blessings for Colpix Records.

An anonymous publicity genius dubbed him “Wool Hat” Nesmith (a nickname which mercifully did not widely catch on) because of the head gear he often wore. Tall, slim and witty, Nesmith was quickly recognized as the band’s leader. The singer-guitarist emerged as the most gifted songwriter in the group.

Peter Thorkelson was a few months older than Nesmith. The son of a University of Connecticut economics professor, he studied teaching before joining the Greenwich Village folk scene. After landing the Monkees gig on a tip from Steve Stills [Buffalo Springfield; Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young – RBF/2012], Tork switched from guitar to bass to satisfy the demands of the series. Though a sensitive and intelligent individual, Tork was cast in the role of the naïve or dumb Monkee. He displayed a natural comic talent, though he lacks previous screen experience.

The Monkees helped popularize several sixties pop fashions, including the two-inch-wide belt with heavy duty public. Peter added some extra zip to this by always wearing his belt buckle on his left hip. Moe than a few fashion-conscious teens began to copy him.

Born in Los Angeles in 1945, George Michael Dolenz was the son of actor George Dolenz. The younger Dolenz starred in the TV series Circus Boy from 1956 to 1958. With the stage name Micky Braddock, he played Corky, a young orphan traveling with a turn-of-the-century circus. In the ensuring years, he occasionally appeared on television programs, including Route 66 and Peyton Place. Dolenz also recorded some musical tracks and was singer-guitarist for a pop outfit called the Missing Links (under the name Mike Swan).

Dolenz appeared to be filled with non-stop energy. The frenetic, crazy Monkee, he was equally adept at making facial expressions and attempting the entertainment world’s worst James Cagney imitation. He had to learn how to play the drums for the Monkees.

The youngest Monkee, David Thomas Jones, haired from Manchester, England. At 5’3” tall (or small), Jones worked as a teenage jockey in his native land. He pursued an Anglo-American acting career playing the Artful Dodger in the play Oliver and Sam Weller in Pickwick. His television credits included Ben Casey and The Farmer’s Daughter. The well-rounded entertainer even recorded a “teen idol” pop album for Colpix Records in 1965. Though loaded with schmaltzy tunes, the LP, David Jones, did contain Bob Dylan’s “It Ain’t Me Babe.”

With his short stature, good looks and British accent, Davy Jones inherited his role as the cute Monkee. Young girls found him irresistible under his trend-setting Dutch boy cap. Though he did not play an instrument, Jones was cast as a guitarist [though he would soon switch to mostly percussion, like maracas and tambourine – RBF / 2012].

The Monkees television series was conceived by Bob Rafelson and Bert Schneider, of RayBert Productions. Rafelson and Schneider originally considered using an existing pop act in the program. The Lovin’ Spoonful and Jan & Dean (prior to Jan’s near-fatal car accident) were thought of before the producers decided to create a new band.

While Rafelson and Schneider were developing the TV series, Don Kirshner was summoned to supervise the music. Kirshner and his partner, Al Nevins, had been powers in the music publishing business for years. In 1963, their company, Screen Gems, had affiliated with Columbia Music to form one of the world’s giant publishing houses.

With his most stunning business achievement within grasp, Kirshner used Screen Gems-Columbia as the repository of all Monkees material. He formed a new record label, Colgems, especially for Monkees products. Predictably, Don Kirshner served as President of Colgem Records.

Kirshner molded the Monkees sound into a pleasing mix of pop and rock. The music found its influences in the British Invasion, particularly in the pre-Revolver Beatles. He commissioned his stable of songwriters to compose catchy, hook-filled tunes. Veteran studio musicians were hired to record most of the instrumental tracks. The four Monkees were the stars fronting this Kirshner-concocted combination.

The Monkees premiered Monday, September 12, 1966, at 7:30 PM [EST], on the NBC network. Clearly inspired by the Beatles films A Hard Day’s Night and Help! (both directly by Richard Lester), the fast-paced 30-minute comedy followed the misadventures of a young rock band. The camera work and editing techniques (quick cuts, distorted focus, fast and slow motion, freeze frames, bizarre inserts) evoked memories of the critically acclaimed Beatles movies. The thin plots suggested that he program’s main purpose was to popularize the band’s music.

The first Monkees record was issued shortly before the series began. A sterling, upbeat pop song, “The Last Train to Clarksville,” featured Micky’s tuneful singing and an unforgettable guitar riff. The song was the first of string of Monkees smashes composed by the team of Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart.

With a mighty boost from its television connection, “Last Train” soared to the Number One spot on the national charts and earned a gold record. If the Monkees were groomed to be the “American Beatles,” then the initial record sales seemed to indicate that history was repeating itself. Indeed, the hit song captured that familiar Beatles sound better than any smash since… well, since the Fab Four’s own “Paperback Writer.”

The Monkees’ eponymous debut album followed their single to the top of the record surveys. Each of that LP’s 12 cuts found an outlet on both radio and television.

Up to this point, only one act’s albums were treated by radio programmers as if they contained a dozen fresh hit singles. As a result, the Beatles sold an unprecedented number of long players, and the teen audience knew nearly all their songs. The Monkees joined the Beatles as the only ‘60s artists who received saturation album airplay on AM radio. Each LP track became an individual smash.

This unique radio and television attention generated massive record sales. The Monkees LP sold more than four million copies, a figure almost identical to the sales of the Beatles’ first LP, Meet the Beatles. Moreover, it held onto the Number One spot for 15 weeks, the most ever for a debut album by a rock act.

“(Theme from) The Monkees” kicked off the album, just as it accompanied the opening and closing credit of the TV series. This bouncy Boyce-Hart composition would have topped the charts on its own, had it been released separately as a single.

Other Boyce-Hart numbers got heavy airplay, too. A generation of school girls yearned for Davy’s affection as he crooned “I Wanna Be Free.” The rocking “Let’s Dance On” pinched its guitarist riff directly from the Beatles’ version of “Twist and Shout.” “This Just Doesn’t Seem to Be My Day” and “Tomorrow’s Gonna Be Another Day” (a Tommy Boyce-Nick Venet collaboration) reflected contrasting sides of the mid-tempo coin. “Gonna Buy Me a Dog” closed the album in a friendly, light-hearted way.

With its insistent rock’n’roll guitar, “Saturday’s Child” proved to be one of the LP’s heavier tracks. The surprisingly driving number was penned by David Gates, future leader of the soft pop outfit, Bread.
Gerry Goffin and Carole King wrote “Take a Giant Step.” Its lyrics (“Come with me / Leave yesterday behind / And take a giant step / Outside your mind”) left traces of psychedelia, which was mind-sweeping the music world. Goffin teamed with Russ Titleman on “I’ll Be True to You (Yes I Will),” a ballad custom-tailored to fit Davy Jones.

Music critics did not overlook the fact that Mike Nesmith was the only Monkee who played original material on the album. “Papa Gene’s Blues” reflected the Texan’s enduring love of country music. He co-wrote “Sweet Young Thing” with veterans Gerry Goffin and Carole King. With its steady beat, guitar frills and serious lyrics, “Sweet Young Thing” was the record’s least accessible cut.

The Monkees proved to be an album filled with unbeatable, seamless pop tunes. Micky Dolenz established himself as the group’s foremost vocalist, singing seven songs. By performing credibly on the LP’s two ballads, Davy Jones cemented his role as the music world’s latest heartthrob. Mike Nesmith demonstrated his commitment to developing as a musician and artist. Peter Tork did nothing to avoid being tagged “the quiet Monkee.”

Though not members of the band, Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart deserved special credit for the spectacular success of the first Monkees long player. They wrote over half of the album’s songs, including its three most requested numbers (“Clarksville,” “I Wanna Be Free” and “Theme”). The twosome additionally produced ten of the LP’s twelve tracks (Mike Nesmith produced the remaining pair – his own compositions).

As 1966 approached its inevitable end, the Monkees starred in the country’s most popular teen-oriented television series, topped the album charts, and dominated the radio airwaves. Davy’s Dutch boy cap and the group’s matching double-breasted shirts ignited new fashion trends in the pop world. Monkees bubblegum cards, lunch boxes, magazines and other items hit the market as part of an unprecedented merchandising campaign. The businessmen behind the project decided it was the time for a new product.

With advance sales of over one million, the single “I’m a Believer” / “(I’m Not Your) Steppin’ Stone” was released November 26, 1966. The overwhelming response of radio programmers and the rock audience resulting in the fastest selling single since the other quartet’s “I Want to Hold Your Hand” was issued nearly three years earlier. “I’m a Believer” owned the Number One position for seven incredible weeks during December and January, and ultimately sold nearly 10 million copies worldwide.

Composed by the fast-rising New York songwriter and solo artist Neil Diamond, “I’m a Believer” was one of the truly classic pop rockers of the ‘60s. Micky’s vocals combined with Jeff Barry’s sure-handed production gave the Monkees their biggest selling and best remembered song.

While “I’m a Believer” nestled at the top of the charts, “Steppin’ Stone” peaked at a respectable No. 20. Though the Boyce-Hart tune has been recoded by numerous rock acts, the Monkees unleashed the definitive version of this seminal four-chord punk rocker. The uncompromising rock’n’roll attack of guitars, bass organ and drums underscored Micky’s sarcastic interpretation of the biting lyrics: “You’re’ trying to make your mark on society / You’re usin’ all the tricks that you used on me / You’re readin’ all the high fashion magazines / The clothes you’re wearin’, girl / Are causing public scenes.”

The largest advance order ever for a rock album – 1.5 million units – greeted the Monkees’ second album.

More of the Monkees arrived with the new year. And it was just that – more of the great pop sounds to which listeners had been introduced on the first LP. But it was even more successful.

Only two weeks after its release, More nudged The Monkees out of the top spot of the charts. It proceeded to hold down the Number One position for four entire months. Together, the first two Monkees albums remained at the top of the LP charts for more consecutive weeks than Elvis, the Beatles or any other act of the ‘50s or ‘60s. The Monkees owned that top spot for 31 incredible weeks.

Nor do the comparisons among the rock’n’roll sensations end there. Only two acts during the ‘60s sold over four million copies with each of their first and second albums. The Beatles were one of those groups. The Monkees were the other.

The Monkees’ hold on Top-40 radio was equally impressive during the early months of 1967. While songs from The Monkees still saturated the airways, More of the Monkees reigned supreme. Radio capitulated fully and willingly to the star-making power of its young offspring. Stations competed with each other to play “the most Monkees,” but conceded the teen audience to television each Monday night at 7:30.

More of the Monkees brims with top-notch pop rock. In addition to the monster hits, “I’m a Believer” and “Steppin’ Stone,” Micky sings Boyce and Hart’s tough-sounding “She,” and Mike Nesmith’s most successful composition for the Monkees, “Mary, Mary.” The drummer’s performance on the Goffin-King ballad, “Sometime in the Morning” proves conclusively that his voice was best suited for up-tempo numbers.

Davy Jones handles five album tracks: Neil Diamond’s “Look Out (Here Comes Tomorrow)” captivates the listener with hits hook-filled simplicity, “When Love Comes Knockin’ (At Your Door),” a Neil Sedaka-Carol Bayer collaboration, and “Hold On Girl” offer pleasing examples of mid-tempo pop. “Laugh” doesn’t quote make it as light comedy or social commentary. “The Day We Fall in Love” is the record's only outright disappointment. This deadly boring ballad does not pick up where “I Wanna Be Free” left off.

Mike Nesmith’s only vocal comes on “The Kind of Girl I Could Love.” Mike wrote the tune with Roger Atkins, a lyricist whose other credits include the Animals’ “It’s My Life.”

Peter Tork makes his singing debut on the oddball ditty, “Your Auntie Grizelda.” The voice is flat, but friendly. The lyrics apparently refer to the generation gap. And the absurd vocal noise-making during the interlude is entirely appropriate. Peter’s voice possesses the same offbeat charm that Ringo’s always showed in Beatles records.

The demand for new Monkee sounds seemed to be nearly limitless in early 1967. Hoping to mine some of that Monkee gold, Challenge Records exhumed an old Micky Dolenz recording. “Don’t Do It” gave Monkees-hungry fans a raving rocker which pre-dated Micky’s tenure with the band. Though it barely dented the charts, the song did let listeners hear Micky scream, “You do it with everybody you see / Why don’t you do it with me?!”

After the amazing sales totals of “I’m a Believer,” advance orders for the Monkees’ third single topped 1.5 million. Colgems released “A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You” b/w “The Girl I Knew Somewhere” in March to satisfy this pent-up demand.

“A Little Bit Me” opens with a guitar rhythm reminiscent of several solo hits by the song’s composer, Neil Diamond. Unfortunately, Davy’s voice lacks the punch which the Dolenz treatment might have provided. “A Little Bit Me” did not drive to the top of the surveys like its predecessors. It crested at the runner-up position instead.

The B-side of the seven-incher, Mike Nesmith’s “The Girl I Knew Somewhere,” was accorded frequent radio spins. This marvelous song featured Micky’s estimable singing and Peter’s harpsichord playing. This was the first instrumental track on which Peter actually played.

Avid fans found another source of new Monkees music. Sometimes, songs were aired on the TV program long before they were committed to vinyl. A handful of “television” tunes never showed up on record. And “alternative takes” (i.e., songs which differed from the final recorded version) of Monkees hits occasionally accorded viewers with an unexpected surprise.

Although the Monkees were selling more records in 1967 than any other act, they were also faced with growing criticism. “They are not real musicians. They don’t even play on their own record,” the rumor mill buzzed. “They can’t write songs and probably don’t even really sing. These boys are actors, not rockers,” complained others.

This put enormous pressure on the four Monkees. Michael and Peter, especially, considered themselves musicians. They resented the perception that they were manipulated by agents, managers and businessmen. They intended to prove that the band was real.

The Monkees hit the concert trail during the year. Monkees performances generated the same kind of frenzied response which had greeted the Beatles before they quit the road. The screams and crowd noise covered the music, making it impossible for skeptics to assess the band’s skills. Creative lighting and visuals enhanced the excitement of live appearances, while revealing little about the group’s musicianship. One memorable Monkees television program documented a knockout concert, but even this did not silence the critics.

The Monkees’ predicament was not at all relived when the Beatles reclaimed their rock’n’roll kingdom in June of 1967. During the months of late ’66 and early ’67, the Monkees had reined supreme, unchallenged by their role models. The Fab Four issued only one single, “Penny Lane” b/w “Strawberry Fields Forever,” during these nine months of unremitting Monkeemania. Had the Beadles abdicated their throne to this new foursome?

Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band not only demolished the young pretender’s claim, it unalterably changed the face of rock music. Just as they had done in 1964, the Beatles rolled over the vestiges of the past and recreated the future.

Suddenly, rock music achieved a new level of significance. It was no longer simply “pop.” It was “pop-art” or just “art.”

The music became complex and varied. The choice of instrumentation expanded wildly. The lyrics grew profound and meaningful. The music wasn’t for kids anymore. It was for college students and some of their hip professors. It was for political activists who could interpret the revolutionary designs of the most abstruse lyrics. It was for those who understood and appreciated music. And, of course, it was for drug experimenters.

This was 1967. The Summer of Love. Tune In, Turn On, Drop Out. Timothy Leary. San Francisco. Peace. LSD. Grateful Dead. Love. Love In. Luv. Sitars. The Airplane. Haight-Asbury. Avalon. Raga. Doors. Fillmore. Marijuana. Mary Jane.

The mid-1967 Monkees were thrust into this apparently alien and hostile environment. But there was another side, too. The rock scene still embodied a fairly unified generation of fans at this time. The same AM radio stations which played the Doors, the Jefferson Airplane and Sgt. Pepper’s, were inundated with Monkees music Nineteen-sixty-seven was also a big year for the Turtles, the Cowsills, Herman’s Hermits, and Tommy James and the Shonells. And the Monkees were still at least the second hottest band in the world.

No one was more responsible for the remarkable popularity of the Monkees than song publisher and Colgems Records president Don Kirshner. He was credited rather immodestly in hand print as “Music Supervisor” of the first and second Monkees albums. The record company executive embarrassed his four young stars by mentioning a litany of songwriters and producers on his liner notes for More of the Monkees. The band faced enough criticism for depending on outside musical support. Their own “musical supervisor” seemed to be magnifying the problem.

Kirshner did not endear himself to the individual Monkees when he insisted that studio musicians play most of the group’s instrumental tracks. His iron-handed control extended to assigning vocal parts to band members. He displayed his insensitivity by flatly refusing to let Mike Nesmith sing “I’m a Believer.”

This arbitrariness properly helped the Monkees commercially, since Kirshner’s ear for pop hits was apparently nearly infallible. But it also irreparably soured personal and professional relations between the “music supervisor” and his band.

Rumors circulated about the four Monkees’ dissatisfaction with the musical direction and public image of their band. Mike Nesmith felt particularly frustrated. A married man and father, he was settled with an unwanted teenybopper personal. A songwriter, producer and guitarist, he was prevented from developing or experimenting musically. The 6’1” Texan actually walked away from the filming of three television episode when his difference with management cut too deeply.

After a bitter confrontation with Don Kirshner in the lobby of a Beverly Hills hotel, Nesmith exposed the festering sore to the press. “We’re being passed off as something we aren’t,” he told the pop world. “The music on our records has nothing to do with us. It’s totally dishonest.” With the full support of his three comrades, Mike fought for control of the Monkees’ future.

A series of bushiness moves within Colgems’ parent corporate structure removed Don Kirshner from his position of power. This breakdown of authority gave Mike, Peter, Micky and Davy the opening which they needed. They became the masters of their own music. And their initial vinyl effort in June 1967 foreshadowed a promising future.

The Monkees’ third LP, Headquarters, was the first full album over which they had significant artistic control. Though it lacked the spar of pure pop which ignited the earlier records, Headquarters possessed a new sense of depth and sincerity. It still stands as the Monkees’ most endearing LP, and their most personal statement.

Mike Nesmith shows his maturing skills as a performer and songwriter. He sings the countryish “Sunny Girlfriend” with unabashed enthusiasm. His understated country guitar licks add an extra dimension to the solid pop rocker, “You Told Me.” With its sensitive lyrics and revealing melody, “You Just May Be the One” remains Nesmith’s finest composition.

Micky’s first original Monkee song, “Randy Scouse Git,” sounds like a quaint, nostalgic ditty until its mood depends and the music hardens. The song’s threatening lyrics and arrangement probably surprised detractors and fans alike.

Radio stations across America accorded “Randy Scouse Git” saturation airplay. In Britain, the tune reached No. 2 as the single, “Alternate Title.”

Peter Tork also contributed his first composition to Headquarters. “For Pete’s Sake” features a great guitar intro and Micky’s dynamic voice. One of the LP’s hottest cuts, “For Pete’s Sake” replaced the Monkees’ “Theme” by playing over the closing credits of the weekly television series during its second season.

Three Boyce-Hart songs are included on Headquarters. Micky handles the vocals and Mike plays pedal steel guitar on “I’ll Spend My Life With You.” The drummer also sings “Mr. Webster,” a Paul Simon-influenced folk rocker. “I Can’t Get Her Off My Mind” weighs in as the album’s lightweight piece. And Davy’s cute voice hardly invigorates the tune.

The young Britisher offers atonement on the superb folk rock number, “Early Morning Blues and Greens.”He additionally sings, “Forget That Girl,” a Beatles-esque song composed by the album’s producer, Douglas Farthing Hatelid (actually Chip Douglas using an aristocratic pseudonym).

Not to be outdone, engineer Hank Cicalo landed “No Time” on the album. Micky does his best Little Richard imitation on this non-stop rocker.

The record’s centerpiece, “Shades of Grey,” explores the complexities and ambiguities of modern life. Davy and Peter share the lead vocal on this, the most enduring recording of the Monkees’ career. Their style meld perfectly on the Barry Mann-Cynthia Weil opus. The lyrics are the most sophisticated the group ever attempted: “I remember when the answers were so clear / We had never lived with doubt or tasted fear / It was easy then to tell truth from lies / Sell out from compromise… / Today the is no black or white / Only shades of grey.”

Headquarters represents the Monkees struggle for self-justification. The boys strove to prove that they were a legitimate rock’n’roll act. The liner notes indicate that they understood the criticism confronting them. The words on the back of the album read: “We aren’t the only musicians on this album, but the occasional extra bass or horn player played under our direction, so that this album is ours.”

If the record’s musicianship is hardly earth shaking, it requires no apology either. Most importantly, the album works. The Monkees labored to create an album, instead of a collection of pop songs. They succeeded.

Appropriately enough, no American single was ever pulled from Headquarters.

The album was commercially successful on its own. It hit Number One on the charts but did not sell nearly as many units as its predecessors. Headquarters faced the unenviable task of competing for record sales and recognition with Sgt. Pepper’s, the masterpiece which overshadowed the entire pop world during the summer of ’67.

As the Monkees’ latest lyrics reflect the uncertainties of the world, one of those uncontrollable forces threatened the band’s very existence. A bloody war ranging half a world away underscored the other side of the American Dream. The military draft stole young Americans from the comfort and prosperity of home and tested them in the rice paddies of Vietnam.

Military service had already shot down the promising career of Gary Lewis. With his band, the Playboys, the son of veteran comedian Jerry Lewis had produced six Top-Ten smashes before the military killed his momentum. [I once heard Gary commenting that his father refused to intervene on his behalf to get him out of the military, as did Dean Martin with Dino; Gary was bitter and never forgave his father for that, to me seeming to suffer from PTSD – RBF / 2012]

Another rock star, Beach Boy Carl Wilson, decided to fight induction into the service. The youngest Wilson brother embarked upon a long, costly and frustrating legal battle to avoid compensatory enrollment in the armed forces.

Now it was the Monkees’ turn.

The army informed Davy Jones that he must report for a medical examination in the spring or summer of 1967. Though a British citizen, he was eligible for the draft because he lived and worked in the United States.

When asked how they would respond, spokesmen for the NBC network revealed how inadequately they understood the dynamics of the Monkees phenomenon. NBC’s representative suggested that Davy could be “replaced.”

Several million teenage girls breathed a collective sigh of relief when the youngest Monkee was not drafted. NBC executives were spared the embarrassment of search for a “replacement” for the best-loved Monkee.

The television establishment surrendered to the Monkees onslaught on June 4, 1967. The National Academy of Television Arts and Sciences awarded producers Bern Schneider and Bob Rafelson the Emmy for Outstanding Comedy Series: The Monkees. James Frawley earned the Emmy for Outstanding Directorial Achievement in Comedy for The Monkees’ episode entitled “Royal Flush.”

The adults joined teenagers in honoring youth. The pop world conquered the real world. The velocity of the whirlwind which trapped Mike, Peter, Micky and Davy turned up another notch. The generation gap twisted inside out.

The band’s third consecutive gold single burned up the charts in July and August. “Pleasant Valley Sunday,” another can’t-miss Goffin-King tune, lyrically exposes the banality of suburban middle class life. Micky sings lead on both “Pleasant Valley Sunday” and its very successful flipside, “Words.” Peter echoes the drummer’s vocals until the Boyce-Hart smash explores into its rocking chorus. Each song packs a devastating pop punk making this the second best single of the Monkees’ career (“I’m a Believer” b/w “Steppin’ Stone” is, of course, the best).

After a sizzling summer tour of America and Britain, the television series entered its second season and another LP was released. Like its three forerunners, Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Jones, Ltd., shot to the top of the charts and secured a gold record award.

The record was the most developed Monkees album to date. With Chip Douglas producing again, the boys experimented with unorthodox studio techniques. The Monkees aspired to be a little less pleasing and bit more meaningful.

The first cut warns listeners that this is a very different kind of Monkees LP. Mike Nesmith sings “Salesman,” without disguising his Texas twang. The background vocals boarder on the bizarre.

“She Hangs Out” opens on a Jan & Dean-Beach Boys style “Da-Do-Ron-Ron.” Davy’s voice cuts through the cuteness with an extremely uncharacteristic harsh edge. A very punky organ sound underscores the song’s toughness.

Mike returns as vocalist on a pleasant, mid-tempo number, “The Door Into Summer.” The guitarist also singes the strangely worded “Love is Only Sleeping,” the countryish “What Am I Doing Hangin’ ‘Round,” and the sophisticated ballad, “Don’t Call On Me.” The last named is perhaps the most atypical piece the band has ever recorded.

This is Mike Nesmith’s album more than any other. His restrained but effective guitar playing distinguishes itself throughout. For the first time, his voice dominates a Monkees album. This explains the record’s depth, as well as its commercial limitations

Nesmith composed “Daily Nightly,” an amazing psychedelic number which Micky sings Lyrics like “Lost in the scenes of smoke filled dreams / Find question but no answers” conjure hazy visions not readily associated with the Monkees.

Micky is the lead vocalist on only two other album tracks, “Words” and “Pleasant Valley Sunday.” If there is one obvious difference between Pisces and previous Monkees LPs, it is the drummer’s relatively subdued role as lead singer. Dolenz introduces a new hair style on the album cover. His “Beatle” cut is replaced by a teased and curly Afro-influenced coiffure.

Davy sings three numbers in addition to “She Hangs Out.” Harry Nilsson’s “Cuddly Toy” does not rise above teenybopper predictability despite its Beatles affectations and bikey jargon. The middle-of-the-road sounding “Hard to Believe” just isn’t Davy’s song.

The lad’s voice is at its bets on the record’s closer, “Star Collector.” The Moog synthesizer instrumental jam ending this Goffin-King collaboration probably jolted listeners even more than Davy’s spunky vocal.

Though “Star Collector” is timed at three minutes and a half according to the LP jacket, it actually lasts over four minutes. This intentional discrepancy was surely designed to trick AM radio programmers who looked askance at “long” songs.

Piscesis the first album on which musicians other than the Monkees are credited individually. Mike, Peter and Micky play all guitar parts, but producer Chip Douglas plays the bass notes. Two session percussionists complement drummer Dolenz. Noted country picker Doug Dillard sits in with his banjo.

Pisces soared to Number One, but its sales lagged far behind the groups three previous long players. Now that the four Monkees directed their own musical careers, their recordings reflected greater maturity and less accessibility. Young fans were turned off and AM radio aired fewer album tracks.

The Monkees faced a no-win situation. As they began to assert themselves musically, they alienated teenyboppers and Top-40 radio. Yet, nothing they did could entice acid rockers and hipsters to listen. Despite the Monkees’ expanding sound their audience was shrinking.

Something similar was happening to the television program. The hit situation comedy of the ’66-’67 season developed into a sometimes surreal and oftentimes plotless 30-minute video escapade, the inclusion of cult acts like Frank Zappa and Tim Buckley as guest performers hardly widened audience appeal. Casual viewers, the life blood of any primetime network series, began slipping away. The falling ratings disturbed the NBC executives, a group never known to sympathize with low ratings or rock music.

The Monkees entered the year with a smash which reinforced the band’s pop image. Peter Tork’s piano introduces John Stewart’s mid-tempo classic, “Daydream Believer.” Davy’s outstanding vocal coaxes the melody line to its surging sing-along chorus.

Following three consecutive double-sided hit singles, the Monkees gambled on the B-side of “Daydream Believer.” Micky propels the blazing rave up, “Goin’ Down,” through its frenetic pacing.

The two sides of this seven-inch record demonstrate the tension between pop and rock which plagued the Monkees at this time. Of course, the pop side found the commercial success. “Daydream Believer” rested at Number One for the month of December 1967, until it was replaced by the Beatles’ “Hello Goodbye.” “Goin’ Down” did not even crack the charts.

Part Two: to be continued

Photo Essay: An Early 2012 Wanuskewin Heritage Park Walk

2012-01-10T00:01:00.000-05:00

Text and Photos © Robert Barry Francos
Photos can be enlarged by clicking on them

It was a crisp, but relatively warm January 2012 day, hovering near the freezing mark, when the three of us went for a walk at Wanuskewin Heritage Park. It’s publicity description reads: “A gathering place for First Nations People for over 6,000 years…a place synonymous with hunting, spiritual fulfillment and celebrations.” Wanuskewin is Cree for "seeking peace of mind."

Located about just a few minutes north of Saskatoon, the park is 740 acres of walking trails along the South Saskatchewan River, and an Interpretive Centre where a couple of years before we saw some native hoop dancing. But now, it was a new year, and the sun would set in about an hour, so we needed to be on our way.

Between the front gate and the Interpretive Centre, there are ten sets of poles along the way, each with its own flag reflecting seven First Nations tribes (Blackfoot, Cree, Dakota, Dene, Lakota, Nakota, and Saulteaux), Canada, the Province, and the last represented the United Nations. The Interpretive/Visitor Centre is a beautiful building that reflects the tipi beside it.

We decided – well, we just went without discussion – to take the trails to the east of the Centre, where we passed some tipis than one can stay in overnight during the summer. As I took the pictures, directly behind me I heard this wonderful melodic sound, made by this sparrow-sized bird that had a bright yellow beak (does anyone know what it is?). Along the interpretive trail were signs and artwork, such as an eagle carved out of a single piece of log.

As the narrow, frozen Se Pe River wound its way around the trails, we walked towards the much larger South Saskatchewan River, past bluffs that are more common that one would expect from the Canadian prairies, which are incorrectly infamous for merely being flat (my brother-in-law warned me that “if you stand on a cigarette box, you can see a dog run away for three days”). They looked stark in the cold, leafless day, but still retained their splendor, especially against the hills with the moon already out and above them.

The Centre was visible for the entire walk, looking different from various angles. We walked across some wooden bridges, and the frozen river looked textured, caused by a season of alternating cold and above-freezing temps.

Above, on the cliff, we could see a bench for resting. We were curious to see the view, so we climbed up the trail to get to the top, where the view was spectacular.

From the ridge, we had a clear view of the mighty South Saskatchewan River. It was mostly frozen, but like other large bodies of moving water, it had a rough texture that gave it amazing geometric shapes that changed from section to section.

We decided to keep on walking along the edge of the bluff that ran along the river, but it wasn’t long before we reached as far as we could, before we realized we had to wind our way back. The view was wonderful all the way.

As we headed back, we could see the Interpretive Centre in the distance, but it impossible to tell that the Se Pe River dug deep between it and where we were standing..

As we walked along the bluff the light was getting lower, and the golden hour had started. Everything took on a yellowish glow, including the grasses and trees that lined the path.

We headed down the bluff face trail, with the sun setting just behind the Interpretive Centre. This picture doesn’t actually do justice to how much reflection refracted of the glass of its pointed towers.

On our way towards where our car was parked, we crossed one of the many bridges over the Se Pe River, as the path and river formed a wheel, with the bridge as its hub.

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9535
9536

As Saskatoon continues to grow at a historically high rate, I can only hope that this park stays unaffected and remains a place for those of us “seeking peace of mind.”

DVD Review: X: The Unheard Music (The Silver Edition)

2012-01-06T00:01:00.000-05:00

Text © Robert Barry Francos/FFanzeen, 2012
Images from the Internet

X: The Unheard Music (The Silver Edition)
Written and directed by W.T. Morgan
Angel City Media, 1986 / 2011
84 minutes, USD $16.95
MVDvisual.com

The band X (aka X The Band), formed in 1977, was one of the greats to come out of the early SoCal hardcore punk scene for many reasons; for me, the most impressive was that while they their music was on the cutting edge in both sound and style, with biting, sarcastic and ironic lyrics, they were not hardcore. I would describe it more as rockabilly-punk, leaning more towards, say, the Blasters and early Cramps sounds than the Circle Jerks or Black Flag.

Like the Who, all performed their parts as lead: elder member Billy Zoom, a master at the six- and twelve-string (among other instruments), played like a house on fire, all the while a big smile was usually plastered on his face (some would say smugly, but I say even if so, why not?). Bassist and co-vocalist (and key songwriter, not to mention film actor, much like Henry Rollins) John Doe handled his ax with a strong hand; while not as fluent on it as Entwhistle (then again, who else is?), he had a solid command of it. His vocals are classic rock and roll, and yet unique enough to pick out of a crowd. No one would ever call Excene Cervenka a great singer, but of course, that’s what makes her such a great singer. Her slurred and whiney vocals are a key to the distinctive sound that is X. Her tortured artist / poet soul is a key component of the band. DJ Bonebrake is one of the better drummers (and avid xylophonist, as is demonstrated in this documentary), with his schoolboy charm looks and devil glint in his eyes. One amazing section of this film is when he taps three different rhythms at the same time with his hands and foot while standing in a kitchen. I’m happy enough just to tap my head and rub my stomach.

My first experience of X was the single “White Girl,” which ironically I heard just about the same time as the Vktms’ “100% White Girl.” It was a couple of years later that I got their albums Los Angeles and Wild Gift. I was intrigued, but not bowled over. I did, however, enjoy the band’s appearances in the ’80s on American Bandstand (including doing an abbreviated “True Love Pt II”). And yet, though not appearing on this DVD, my fave cut of theirs remains “Burning House of Love.” As time has gone on, I’ve appreciated them more.

The documentary X: The Unheard Music came out 25 years ago, and yes, it is a good view of the history of the band, but it also is a record of the punk scene of the time; or at least the frame of it. For example, we get to see Brendan Mullen, owner of the infamous Masque Club, revisiting the club after years of it being shuttered. We also get to visit the studios of KROQ and meet DJ and ex-Black Flag vocalist Jello Biafra and the Mayor of the Sunset Strip, Rodney Bingenheimer, who discuss the band. A chilling moment is when we se Excene backstage at the closing Whiskey-A-Go-Go touchingly explain the famous night the band played right after they learned about her sister, who died on the way to the gig.

The documentary proper starts off, though, with a focus on all the members of the band individually, including home shots and pictures from childhood. Thrown in is audio clips and a (public access?) television interview with the band who conveys the story of the band’s formation.

Through live shots of the band playing on stage, then-MTV-style music videos, and studio recordings over b-roll, we follow the group as they are about to break. This leads to some interesting moments, such as a blending of one interview with an MCA Records A&R person who dismisses the band, and another of Slash fanzine’s Bob Briggs, who brought the band to him. The director shows a keen sense of humor as he interchanges the executives professing for the band Point Blank as the next-big-thing with a commercial for the Edsel (which was, coincidentally, the final Jeopardy question/answer the night I watched the DVD), which made me laugh.

This is just part of the undercurrent of social culture that is thrown into the mix throughout the entire film. For example, Tommy Hadges, program director for KLOX-FM, discusses how FM radio was to open up airwaves for indie music, but instead became swallowed up by corporate interests. Luckily, X signed with Elektra, and we see the beginning of the rise, such as it was, as they do in-store signings and performing on stage; the rest became history after the end of the documentary.

One of the other much-discussed scenes is the filming in the studio of the recording of “White Girl,” with their producer (and ex-Doors) Ray Manzarek. In a brief interview piece, he comments that after seeing the band at the Whiskey-A-Go-Go, he wanted to take them into the studio. It’s definitely a goofy moment, which is explained in the extras as Doe admits that the scene was faked / lip sync’d. Doesn’t matter, it’s still a wonderful moment as Doe drops his cigarette to sing and JD is wearing sunglasses in the studio, among other fine shots.

Director Morgan does quite the duty of telling the story of X, a nearly post-punk history of the SoCal clubs, and mixes them all with appropriate file footage from yore days of television and film. There is also many quick edits that are similar to the band’s “Wild Thing” video (did he direct that?).

Even in the early parts of this film, some of the future shows itself when Excene and John sit in their apartment singing the roots songs “Ramblin’ Man” and “Honky Tonk Blues.” This is prescient of them later forming country/rock/blues/roots band the Knitters, with members of X and the Blasters.

Besides being released in both stereo and 5.1 Surround HD, there are a few nice extras included. First up is an 18.5-minute current interview with John and Excene, who posit their experiences with X in general, and with their memories of the actual filming of this documentary, which was quite fascinating. This is followed by an interview with the Angel City crew who filmed the doc, including its director, around the time of the shoot. Next is a live outtake of the band on stage playing “Some Other Time.” The last two are the original trailer for the film (below) and still photos of the self-decorated song and poetry books of Excene.

While X did not last, due in part of impatience of band members and infidelity of others, it’s great to have this film as a testament of what it was all about at an important time in the band’s career. Meanwhile, they have reformed both X and the Knitters, so there’s still much to watch for coming ahead.

Song list:
Los Angeles
Year One
We're Desperate
Because I Do
Beyond & Back
Come Back to Me
Soul Kitchen
White Girl
The Once Over Twice
Motel Room in My Bed
The Unheard Music
Real Child of Hell
Johny Hit & Run Paulene
I Must Not Think Bad Thoughts
The World's a Mess; It's in My Kiss
The Have Nots

DVD Reviews: Composing Outside the Beatles: Lennon and McCartney 1973-1980

2012-01-03T00:01:00.000-05:00

Text © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2011
Images from the Internet

Composing Outside the Beatles: Lennon and McCartney 1973-1980
Executive Produced by Rob Johnstone
Narrated by Thomas Arnold
Pride DVD, 2005 / 2010
139 minutes, USD $19.95
Chromedreams.co.uk
MVDvisual.com

Perhaps this is a stretch, but if the two ex-Beatles bandmates were Silver Era comic books, arguably McCartney would be DC, and Lennon, Marvel. Whereas Paul is more pop, with straight lines and relatively uncomplicated art and stories, while John was more complex, full of multi-level story arcs and artily crafted jags of lines that push the envelope. One may say that whereas McCartney has had more financial success with hit records, it was Lennon who’s music had more depth in experimentation and true emotion (e.g., “Cold Turkey” or “”Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)” compared with “Silly Love Songs” or “Magneto and Titanium Man”).

It is telling, however, that the name of this British documentary series from Chrome Dreams with the usual suspects of music critics and writers, is called “Lennon and McCartney” on the box, and “Lennon versus McCartney” on the film proper.

I remember in 1986, stand-up comic Dennis Blair mentioned how when Paul was in the Beatles, his songs were meaningful, like “Yesterday / All my troubles seem so far away” and later it was more “Someone’s knocking at the door / Open the door and let ‘em in…”

Okay, I realize I’ve just been talking about the subject matter as opposed to reviewing the DVD up to now, so let’s get at it.

This British music-focused Chrome Dreams covering classic bands and musicians – both Brit and American – is pretty solid, and this one is no exception. Yes, I still stand by the fact that they rarely feature any women as either subjects or “experts,” but they do have some interesting talking heads discussing the careers of the these two artists, both in opinions about their lives and even more subjectively, the success or failures of their vinyl output.

Some of the commentators include Robert “D-“ Christgau (as he was known to my crowd), Johnny Rogan (John Lennon: The Albums), Chris Inham (Rough Guide to the Beatles), and Peter Ames Carlin (Paul McCartney: A Life). For me, however, the key interest for the McCartney segments aren’t them but rather Denny Siewell, the Wings’ original Yank drummer (1971-73), Beatles associate Klaus Voorman, and especially the large amount of time given to McCartney's main collaborator, rhythm guitarist Denny Laine, who goes into detail what it was like being in Wings. One of my favorite lines by Denny, and it is quite accurate, is that even though Paul wanted some democracy in the band and even though Denny had some leads here and there, Laine plainly states that if you have an ex-Beatle in the band, you naturally defer to him, which he found as no problem.

The post-Beatle rollercoaster ride of careers of the two exes often seemed heading in opposite directions from each other. For example, right after the disbanding, John’s was hot and Paul’s was limp, and then by the late ‘70s, it was reversed with Paul being at the top of the charts for just about anything. By the very late ‘70s, Paul’s Wings had run out of steam, and Lennon was just on the rise when someone asked him for his autograph, ending the possibility of a discussion of comparison beyond 1980.

There is more on this DVD about Paul than John, but in hindsight that doesn’t surprise me because in the period this covers, McCartney released way more vinyl than Lennon, though one can (again) argue about quantity vs. quality. While Paul was often in the studio or on tour, Lennon was having his excursions with May Pang (a year-and-a-half that Lennon referred to as his “lost weekend”) and fighting off the Republican witch-hunt against him.

One of the great things about this DVD is the sheer number of clips from songs throughout the period, both live and promotional videos, is staggering, even though no clip lasts longer than a minute. Still, there are enough to give one a zeitgeist of their yield. There are also period interviews with the artists.

Smartly, rather than jumping around from musician to musician, the DVD follows chunks of time with one and then the other, and back.

One interesting thing I found about the difference between the two is that Paul was focused on having a band (i.e., Wings), replacing members who left – usually in twos, apparently – to keep it going (though two Wings albums are actually just the trio of McCartney, McCartney, and Laine (e.g., Band on the Run). Lennon, on the other hand, was more a roving spirit. Yes, he’d play with either a who’s who of top talent (which McC also did with “Rockestra Theme”) or with local New York never-going-anywhere burnout musicians like David Peel (the East Coast version of Wildman Fischer?) or the band Elephant’s Memory (who I saw once in Central Park with the much better Brownsville Station; rumor was John would make an appearance, which he didn’t). And I’m betting that Lennon let his co-musicians eat meat.

They also both worked with legendary producers on at least one major project, to varying success, with Lennon flopping with Phil Spector’s hand on Rock ‘n’ Roll, and McCartney booming with George Martin’s help with the smash theme to the James Bond film, Live and Let Die (and ironically, though not stated here, the production on the latter was the bigger wall-of-sound).

For me, much of McCartney’s post-Beatles output has been pretty non-essential. I do own At the Speed of Sound as it was given to me when a friend decided to replace all her LPs with CDs; I believe I played it once. Still, his music was everywhere, even after pothead Paul was busted in Japan, giving his annoying self-righteous, open-mouthed gum-chewing interview to the press (how come no one ever mentions this gum thing?). And yet, on this DVD, I see there was a whole lot of music I never heard before that were somewhat hits, even after the break-up of Wings (in part because of the Japan debacle) such as the awful electronica “Temporary Secretary,” and the actually beautiful “Waterfalls,” the first song I can remember in a long time from him that actually feels like it has some real emotion.

As for Lennon, I do have a number of his solo LPs, even the leaden Rock ‘n’ Roll, though my favorite one is actually Lennon Legend: The Very Best of John Lennon. That being said, one thing I learned from this DVD was that when Double Fantasy was released, it actually received mixed reviews until after Lennon’s death shortly after. The album (which I do possess, but not until a couple of years after its release in 1980) didn’t really reach my consciousness until after the Dakota death. Of course, then everyone was simply drowned in “Imagine” for weeks. I firmly believe that Lennon would have been disgusted by the morbid sentimental reaction. On this documentary, I’m relieved to say that Lennon’s assassination is stated for fact rather than made into a monumental OMG, and that the cultural result is the huge success of the final LP.

Though brief, there is a segment on post-1980, which describes how McCartney became more a touring force rather than a recording one, in part, as is posited here, in that he covers some Beatles tunes more than that he also does Wings songs. As for Lennon, it’s pointed out that Yoko had released two albums of outtakes from the Double Fantasy sessions that were rejects and would probably never have seen the light of day if Lennon hadn’t died (not to say that these documents are unimportant).

The documentary feels pretty even-handed in the long run, both looking at McCartney and Lennon with both a critical eye and a strong subjective hindsight view by the contributors, some having very different opinions that the others. There is, however, no real mention of Ringo, or that George, who would flip back and forth about Paul, often referred to Paul as either “Fauxll” or merely “our bass player” (McCartney infamously did not give George the credit he deserved for his work in the Beatles), nor his praise for John.

The extras include bios of the contributors in text that is finally large enough to read on my television, unlike some previous DVDs in this series. But the important one is an 8-minute interview with Denny Laine called “Winging It: Life in Wings,” where he discusses the Moody Blues’ rivalry with the Beatles (which includes a great clip of him doing “Go Now”), writing with Paul, and about the break-up of the band after Japan, both real and rumor.

Even if one is a Beatles fan, there is more than two hours of info here, so odds are you may learn something new. Heck, the music clips alone are worth the view, especially the live ones.

Also, for those interested, there is another documentary, Composing Outside the Beatles: Lennon and McCartney 1967-1972, available from the same company (which I have not yet seen).

This review dedicated to the memory of JoJo Laine (RIP).

Bonus videos

DVD Review: Al Di Meola: Morocco Fantasia

2011-12-27T00:01:00.000-05:00

Text © Robert Barry Francos/FFanzeen, 2012
Images from the Internet

Al Di Meola: Morocco Fantasia
Cinematography by Francesco Cabras and Alberto Molinari
Produced by Claus Altvater and Al Di Meola
In-akustik, 2011
123 minutes, USD $19.95
In-akustik.de
MVDvisual.com

Al Di Meola (nee Al Dimeola) certainly has come along way from his native New Jersey to the stage of the Mawazine Festival in Rabat, Morocco, where this DVD was filmed on May 20, 2009. But there’s no need to question why.

In modern jazz circles, Di Meola is among the most respected guitarists in the world, with lightening speed fingers playing in scale style. Within the first minute, the awe of the viewer is bound to be apparent, as he races around his Conde Hermanos, all the more impressive considering the broad neck and wide space between each string. The thin-body acoustic guitar has a solid flamenco flair.

Di Meola is backed by his band, the World Sinfonia, consisting of accordion (Fausto Beccalossi), second guitar (Peo Alfonsi), bass (Victor Miranda), percussion (Gumbi Oritz), and drum (Peter Kaszas), who dazzle as they sound like sparkles reflecting on the water, dancing around the sounds they produce.

Because of the length of the songs, ranging from 8 to over 21 minutes, they get a chance to all play in ways that each musician is highlighted at different moments. The sound is incredibly crisp and the cinematography is phenomenal, as we see all the musicians intercut with scenes of the immediate surroundings, local nature (e.g., birds, fauna), and all around Rabat. The listener can also just close your eyes and escape in the sounds. Fortunately, there is no interference as musically the concert plays through with no sound interruptions other than rounds of applause between each cut.

If I was to categorize the sound by the style of music they play, I could say adult contemporary jazz. Definitely something you’d hear a lot on the lite jazz station; incredibly well executed, yet light on the ear. All but one of the songs are originals, and all have both intense and soothing variations of rhythms, tempos, and melodies. It seems appropriate that much of the feel is heavily Arabic influenced, and with the thanks to an almost upfront accordion, there is also a French flavor.

For the two encore songs, guest musicians come onstage, including Said Chraibi (oud), Abdellah Meri (violin) and Tarik Ben Ali (Percussion). They give an even more Arabic seasoning to the mix.

In the extras, there are two more pieces with just Di Meola, Chraibi, Meri and Ali, totaling 21 minutes. For one of these, Di Meloa plays his multi-colored electric guitar, something he rarely does these days due to a bout with tinnitus.

In all these songs, everyone seems to be mostly having a good time. Mostly?

Here’s the thing: I don’t know Al Di Meola personally, but my impression here is that he is a demanding and perfectionist taskmaster with an incredibly large ego. Looking a bit like Russell Crowe with his beard, every so often you can see him snatch a look at someone in the Sinfonia as if they did something wrong. I admit I could be misreading this, but that’s what is left with me. It’s during the extras, though, that I started to get just a little creeped out.

They show some of the rehearsals, and he is snapping at some of the members of his band, and even comments at guest violinist Meri, “Tap your feet! Don’t stop! In your life!” Brrrr. It makes me wonder if there is any room for improvisation during the performance from the rest of the World Sinfonia. After all, what makes jazz great are the jams, not just the orchestration. In another couple of bonus clips, Di Meola plays in a local street bazaar with a couple of street musicians, and he while starts off backing, then seems to take over as if he had to have the last word or take the gathering’s applause for himself.

That all being said, part of the soundcheck is another extra included, of which the best part is the pieces backstage. At one point a staff member makes a jokingly disparaging remark about Mr. Al, not knowing he’s right behind her. Pointed out, she jumps, and he stares at her for a moment and points a finger in a “watch it” tone, but it seems more light than threatening. I liked him at that moment, and wonder if I was wrong...

As with other Inakustik DVDs I’ve seen, the cinematography is stunning beautiful (both the stage work and the extraneous shots around the venue), the sound is incredibly crisp for a live show, and the packaging is lovely with booklet and photos.

Song Listing:
Misterio
Siberiana
Double Concerto
Michelangelo’s 7th Child
Gumbiero
Turquoise
Encore
Egyptian Danza

DVD Review: Elvis Found Alive

2011-12-24T00:01:00.000-05:00

Text © Robert Barry Francos/FFanzeen, 2012
Images from the Internet

Elvis Found Alive
Directed and Produced by Joel Gilbert
Highway 61 Entertainment, 2012
128 minutes, USD $14.95
Highway61ent.com
Elvisfoundalive.com
MVDvisual.com

Taking an opposite tack this time, Joel Gilbert, who brought you the amusing yet well researched Paul McCartney Is Really Dead is back with Elvis Found Alive.

The premise is set up after Gilbert visits Graceland on a vacation, Joel and his audio/video crew (who we meet and act pretty stiffly, obviously not professional actors) send off for Elvis’ file from the US government via the Freedom of Information Act. But when the package arrives in 2012 (I received this DVD in 2011, FYI), the ink on the redacted parts are still wet (!) enough for them to clean off some of it, and find out that Elvis is not only alive, but living in the Simi Valley of California, just a few miles away from Gilbert’s studio, under witness protection, using his infamous “hotel registry name” of Jon Burrows! (Actually, just about every sentence in this review probably deserves an exclamation point, so just add it wherever you think it’s needed.)

Grabbing Elvis co-star Celeste Yarnall (from his 1968 film, Live a Little, Love a Little), they go out to pay him a visit. In front of the suspected house is a 1957 Caddy with numerous Republican presidential bumper stickers, including Nixon (is the one), Reagan, Bush (both), and Dole. The back seat has a stack of Elvis 8-Tracks (hahaha). It just gets better and better (not meant sarcastically in any way).

Gilbert talks to someone at the house’s front door while mic’d – his crew starts to freak out because they recognize the voice – and ask if it’s okay to interview him. Let me say right here and now that whomever mimicked the voice did a truly splendid job, even though “Elvis” (I’m leaving out the quote marks on the name and the pronoun “his” after this) sounds just like he did in the ‘70s. Elvis agrees, and the crew comes inside, including Yarnall, who is wearing a cap and stands in the background. Elvis is lit so we cannot see his face at all, which is more likely due to adding the vocal in a studio later. He sits and plays with his rings, as Elvis was – er – is known to do.

As with the Paul-is-Dead documentary, what follows is actually a very meticulously detailed history of Elvis, through his own words in 2012. The chapters are broken down into sections by dates and events (listed below). Except for some biting comments about the Colonel, most of the first half of the story is mostly researched knowledge, such as his deep devotion to his mom, his rise to fame, and his career. But there are also some interesting speculations to keep the viewer on her or his toes, such as Elvis being forced into the Army because the government was afraid that Jailhouse Rock promoted homosexuality (e.g., “No. 47 said to No. 3 / You’re the cutest jailbird I ever did see” – Ed.). Another is after the army, Elvis is introduced to the Vegas mob by Sinatra, and Sammy Davis Jr. privately tells him to am-scray for his own good; apparently the only reason Presley would ever play the town is to pay back huge gambling debts owed by the Colonel.

Further, the reason he married Priscilla is because Ann-Margret (“the female me,” 2012 Elvis states) turned him down. A fun comment though is “The only thing worse than watching a bad movie is being in one.” And Elvis definitely had his share of them, thank is large part to the Colonel’s misguided direction (though I remember hearing a quote at some time that Elvis wanted to be like Dean Martin).

As the lame – and yes, they were – films drag down his career (though Jailhouse Rock and Viva Las Vegas - especially for the “female me” - are still watchable for me), he tried to resurrect his career with “The Ghetto” and “Suspicious Mind.” However, there was trouble brewing in America that concerned Elvis to the core: the Weathermen Underground and the Mafia were controlling the kids through drugs, and Elvis wanted to put a stop to it, so he famously contacted Prez Nixon and asked to be a officer in the Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA). Rather, Nixon sent him a badge (Elvis collected police badges, which are on display in Graceland) naming him an honorary agent for the “Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs.” And here is where this film starts to interestingly invent history (supposedly…). For the purposes of this story, he actually was made an undercover Marshall, and with the help of the Memphis Mafia (his ironically named posse), he helped bring down the Weathermen Underground and subsequently the Mafia by using hidden and elaborate stings so that they didn’t connect it to him.

Gilbert asks Elvis, “Are you saying the man who invented cool wanted to be a narc?” Elvis calmly answers, “I felt God wanted to use me in a much more important way.”

Another interesting turn of events has Elvis using Bob Dylan (see, I really should be using a lot more exclamation points) to introduce him to mobster Joey Gallo, leading to the latter’s hit. With wiretaps overhearing of Elvis’ Memphis Mafia being suspect, he fires them all (with their blessing) to protect them; but of course, Presley is also suspect.

Here comes the plan to protect his own life by faking his death, and then going into the witness protection program where he worked as a hotel clerk in Kalamazoo, Michigan (one of the famous “Elvis sightings”).

An amusing side-story is the Mafia telling Dylan he better “find Jesus” after Gallo’s assassination, meaning keeping his nose clean, as it were, Dylan misunderstands and pretends to become a born-again Christian. When he learns what was really meant, he goes back to Judaism. Hahaha, that is such a nice touch!

Gilbert researches this tale well, and includes bits about Gail Brewer-Giorgio’s book Is Elvis Alive? and a Bill Bixby-hosted speculative television special on the subject.

Being that 2012 Elvis is a big Reagan fan (“He had strong American principles”), there is a great PhotoShop’d picture of a graying Elvis with Big Ronnie, and also completely gray with Bill Clinton (it is posited here that Chinese spies tapped Bill’s phone and learned about Monica, which is why Clinton gave them Most Favored Nations status; oh, and Elvis also states that “everyone killed JFK”). But it stops there, because Elvis apparently is not an Obama fan because of his connection to ex-Weather Underground leader Bill Ayres (“Both hate American values”; Little Georgie W. Bush did? But I digress…)

One of the more imaginative aspects to this pseudo-documentary (again, meant kindly) is director Gilbert’s use of the Capt. Marvel Jr. comic books as a thread throughout the entire film. He uses panels that so closely represents Presley’s life, it really is almost like it was based on Presley. It’s known Elvis was a fan of the comic (there are photos of him reading it, and there are stacks in Graceland today that were Elvis’ property; shame they couldn’t work Stan Lee into this…). This theme also used as expressing throughout how much Elvis thought he resembled Marvel Jr., how both Priscilla and Ann-Margret looked like the Marvel’s sister, Ann Marvel (kinda creepy), and how Elvis’ arch-enemy Bill Ayres resembles the villain of the comic, Capt. Nazi.

There is a touching moment as Elvis and Yarnall, someone refers to as “the one that got away,” are reunited. Wonder what her husband thinks about that, I ask bemusedly.

So not only is Elvis Presley alive, but he’s back. There is a new CD by “Jon Burrows” available with some of his old songs redone and rearranged, and some new tunes as well, such as “Lisa Marie” (which also has a music video on the DVD).

Believe me, I’m only skimming the surface on what is presented here. The stories are incredibly imaginative, and as one who is not engulfed in Elvismania I’m sure there’s some stuff I’m missing. And yet, this was a fun ride from beginning to end. Sure, it could have been trimmed probably by about 20 minutes rather than its over two-hour running time, but this is definitely for not just Elvis fans, but anyone who is into rock’n’roll history or just the mysteries of the 1960s counterculture.

I sure do look forward to see what’s next for Joel Gilbert and his crew.

Chapters:
Part 1: 1935-1955 – Captain Marvel Jr. Origins
Part 2: 1956-1958 – Elvis the Pelvis
Part 3: 1959-1960 – US Army Intervention
Part 4: 1961-1967 – Hollywood Shlock Formula
Part 5: 1968-1969 – America Under Siege
Part 6: 1970 – Federal Drug Enforcement Agent
Part 7: 1971-1974 – Fighting the Weather Underground
Part 8: 1975-1976 – Battling the Mafia
Part 9: 1977 – Fake Death Plot
Part 10: 1978-1979 – Witness Protection Program
Part 11: 1980-2004 – The Struggle to Return
Part 12: 2005-2001 – The Obama-Weathermen Nexus
Part 12: 2012 – Elvis is Back

Anime DVD Review: ICE

2011-12-22T16:54:00.000-05:00

Text © Robert Barry Francos/FFanzeen, 2011
Images from the Internet

ICE: Yesterday, Today, and No Future
Created by Yasushi Akimoto
Directed by Makoto Kobayashi
Eleven Arts / Seminal Films, 2007 / 2012
103 minutes, USD $14.95
Seminalfilms.com
Elevenarts.net
Projectice.com
MVDvisual.com

ICE - also known as Project ICE - started out as three-episode anime series in 2007 that has been combined into a full-length feature. I understand there is also a dubbed-in-English version, but I’m happy this is the Japanese one with English subtitles, instead.

As with most of the anime I have seen, this is full of lush visual images with spectacular effects, imaginative events, and a tad of WTF?

Here’s what I can make out about the basic premise: In 1988, a young woman is in a car accident, and becomes lodged inside the mind of a warrior woman in the future of 2012 (apparently, this is a somewhat common occurrence to the soldier; perhaps it’s why she hasn’t slept in three years? I’m just askin’).

In this dystopic future, all the men have died out due to their violent nature and fiddling with genetics, leaving a world of women who have no way to reproduce, and naturally resent it. This leads the women to abhor the men’s way of violence by staging a world war (I said WTF, didn’t I?) that leaves central Japan with a population of just 20,000 survivors.

They are broken down into two clans, one a stoic-based group who accept death as inevitability, led by Kisaragi, who is a human-squid mutation (damn, those men!). They display their stoicism by killing and riding around in fast motorcycles. The three main characters among them are said squid-woman and her two pre-pubescent two daughters (not by blood, she notes): Yuki is a symbol of love and hope (despite her whatever attitude about dying), and her sister Satsuki is a miscreant who can’t decide whether she loves Yuki or wants to kill her (she varies to both).

The second and foremost clan in the story is lead by the evil and deeeeeep voiced Julia, who wants to control all of Japan no matter what the cost, showing that power corrupts whatever the gender. Leading her guard is Hitomi Landsknecht (no, I don’t know why she has a German name), who is the hero protagonist of the story. She is the one who has not slept in three years.

Through all the goings on, including the killing and slaughtering while defaming the men who had done the same (still don’t get that), they are searching for a dangerous experiment that will help them reproduce by some volatile means (aka ICE).

The main thrust of the story is the rivalry between the two clans, and the Romea and Juliet story of Hitomi and Yuki. It’s well known that many anime (and especially hentai) stories concern older men and young girls, but this is the first I’ve heard about an older woman and pre-teen. No, there’s no fooling around, it’s all emotional, but there is talk of an exchange of vows. Just creepy or, if you will, yuki.

Other standard anime fare that goes on here is ginormous creatures, monsters with many eyes, beheadings, people exploding, voices that are high pitched and highly emotional (some supplied by the Japanese all-girl group AKB 48), and others that are deep, monotonal, and sound exhausted (usually the leaders and head soldiers).

As I said, the effects and art are just stunning and a joy to watch. There is a mixture of hand-drawn and computer graphics (such as flying machines / weapons). The story does seem a bit dense at times, but I truly don’t know if that is a cultural aspect that is lost of me, or anime doesn’t really care about the details as much as the visuals that it produces. Either way, I accept it for what it is, and even went back and slo-mo’d some parts to see it clearer when the action was too quick for me to pick out details.

There are also many interesting side visuals and touches, such as birds that turn into bushes, and swords that turn into guns (or vice verse, I’m not sure).

As confusing as some of the story is, it’s the conclusion that is the real head scratcher for me. In researching this film a bit, I find a lot of people – especially younger females – are big fans of the series; I’m guessing due to the destruction of all men and the strong women who replace them, replicating both their strengths and weaknesses for power and how to achieve it.

There is a lot of music by pop group AKB 48 (another draw for the young-girl audience), especially around the bookend credits (check the trailer, below). For me, other than Shonen Knife and the 5.6.7.8’s, I’m not really familiar with Japanese pop, so that factor is not part of what makes this an interesting viewing, but rather the imaginative take on gender, war, greed, and heroism.

DVD Reviews: Robert Plant’s Blue Note

2011-12-18T00:01:00.000-05:00

Text © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2011
Images from the Internet

Robert Plant’s Blue Note
Executive Producer Rob Johnstone
Narrated by Thomas Arnold
Sexy Intellectual, 2010AM
155 minutes, USD $19.95
Chromedreams.co.uk
MVDvisual.com

Is it possible for you to respect a musician, and yet not care much for his output? I’ve felt this way for some about the likes of Bowie, Brian Ferry, and Robert Plant. The one time I saw Led Zeppelin in concert at Madison Square Garden was the late 1970s (Bonham’s last tour), and it was one of the more boring shows I have ever seen, with tepid music and a thunderously lackluster performance (I’m guessing they were as stoned as those in the audience around me).

Yet, I still remember the very first time I heard possibly the most overplayed song in the classic rock era, “Stairway to Heaven,” on the jukebox at the Kingsborough Community College Annex. I also recall thinking, that’s it? I do still enjoy, however, Little Roger and the Goosebumps’ “Stairway to Gilligan’s Island”…

But for some reason, Plant has intrigued me, even though I actually know very little about him, in a similar way that Jimmy “whip-in-my-suitcase” Page did in his pre-Zep days, when he was a studio musician (England’s Glen Campbell?) and while in the Yardbirds.

Yet another part of the continuing British series on classic rock by the amazing Chrome Dreams, this documentary doesn’t just focus on Robert Plant, but also on the major influences on his musical life. While overly long at nearly 3 hours, this study actually gets it right: the people who are interviewed discuss their particular specialties, such as British writers Nigel Williamson (The Rough Guide to Led Zeppelin) and Barney Hoskyns (Trampled Under Foot: The power and excess of Led Zeppelin) focus on the general role of the band, Americans Richie Unterberger discusses the ‘60s San Francisco scene (bet Jeff Tamarkin would have been a good add, too) and Brooklyn-based author and journalist Amanda Petrusich and music historian John Lomax III (The Country Music Book) describe the Nashville period.

Even further, and this is what really excited me, is the part that tends to be weakest in this series, and that is musicians who are contemporaries. For this study, there are the likes of Tom McGuiness (Manfred Mann), Dave Kelly (The Blues Band), Chris Dreja (Yardbirds), Hossam Ramzy (Egyptian percussionist and composer), Robbie Blunt (guitarist and songwriter who worked with Plant during his early solo career) and songwriter/producer Phil Johnstone (of the Dangerous Brothers; any relation to the DVD’s executive producer, I wonder?). Usually these collections are shy on collaborators of the artist in focus, but here they’re thick as, well, musicians.

There are also a plethora of clips, most pretty short, highlighting many points of Plant’s musical life, including live and music videos, as well as various interviews. In fact, the opening segment is part of Plant’s acceptance speech at the Rock’n’Roll Hall of Fame and Museum in 1995, discussing American music, especially the Blues. However, there are nearly as many by the artist that influenced his encyclopedic and broad range of styles as there is of him. A good example is right near the beginning, when a young Plant first discovered rock’n’roll, and we see snippets of Elvis (“That’s Alright Mama” and “Hound Dog”). As he then discovers the blues, there are live bits of Big Bill Broonzy (“Worried Man Blues”), Muddy Waters (“Got My Mojo Working”), Son House (one of my faves, “Dead Letter Blues”), Howlin’ Wolf (“Smokestack Lightning”; “Don’t Laugh at Me”), Sonny Boy Williams (Getting Out of Town”; “Keep It To Yourself”) and of course Robert Johnson (“Preachin’ Blues,” “Crossroad Blues”), among many others. There are even some Stones (“Not Fade Away”; “Little Red Rooster”) and Yardbirds (“I’m a Man”).

Plant discusses this early period, and further onto other segments of his career throughout the disk, on the Canadian Q radio program in 2010 (probably interviewed by an unseen Jian Ghomeshi). Most of this pre-musical period of Plant’s life is taken up in discussion and description of rock and earlier Blues, so Plant barely shows up in the first 30 minutes of the disk.

Following the Blues history, we catch up on the folk rock movement and San Francisco scene with Buffalo Springfield (“For What It’s Worth”) and Love (“Love is More Than Words”). As Plant forms Band of Joy with John Bonham (among others; there is a rare sound-bite of their cover of “Hey, Joe”), psychedelic rock also makes an impression with Moby Grape (“8:05”), Jimi Hendrix (“Purple Haze”), Cream (“Sunshine of Your Love”) and the Yardbirds’ experimentations (“For Your Love,” “Happenings 10 Years Ago,” “Dazed and Confused”).

After Band of Joy dissipate, and the Yardbirds fall apart, Plant – not the first choice of lead singer – joins Jimmy Page and the others to form the New Yardbirds, which, of course, would become Zeppelin. Surprisingly, LZ only constitutes about 10 minutes of the whole story here, though there are a number of quick clips (“Babe I’m Gonna Leave You”; “Whole Lotta Love,” “I Can’t Quit You Baby,” “When the Levee Breaks” and the song that introduced Plant’s interest in Eastern music, “Kashmir.”)

No, I’m not going to relate, in detail, the whole DVD, you’ll have to purchase it on your own, though my guess if you’re reading this you know the story, anyway. But to quickly give an overview, Plant goes solo in the 1980s, focusing at first on Arabian music, focused around Egypt, in part thanks to the influence of singer Oum Kalthoum.

When he formed his next couple of new groups (just known by his name), he released a bunch of LPs with the full electronic nonsense that made the 1980s somewhat unbearable (think drum machine and synths). I remember seeing some of the videos on MTV and just feeling squeamish, thinking “Jeez, this is just horrible” (e.g., “Little By Little”). Of course, he wasn’t alone as many other British musicians went the same route, such as Phil Collins, Peter Gabriel and Robert Palmer. I blame this, in Plant’s case, on his production team of the Dangerous Brothers. This would be followed by a period of melding the awful ‘80s style with a more rock-oriented feel (e.g., “Tall Cool One”), as his Led Zeppelin past began to catch up to him. He started doing occasional Zep material in his live shows. Funny, there is no mention about later LZ tours with Bonham’s son filling in on the kit; or is my mind making that up?

Of course, once LZ songs come into the mix again, so would his partner, Jimmy Page, and together they’d form, what else? Jimmy Page and Robert Plant (no resurgence of John Paul Jones though, as the doc mentions in passing; would have loved both Page and Jones to have been interviewed on this doc). Together they would, for a couple of LPs worth at least, delves deep into the Eastern sounds, even covering their own LZ material rearranged to their new focus.

By 2006, after some uninspired string of original songs, Page and Plant were kaput. Forming yet another band, the Strange Sensations, the material Plant focused on was wide ranging, from Blues to SoCal-based. In an interview, he calls it a “quasi-psychedelic North African mish mosh.” This was followed by Mali-inspired material, as this DVD posits that Africa is the actual home of the Blues, so it’s logical that Plant would find solace there. The viewer gets some background of this music, and why it is thought to be wellspring of the American-based style.

This is all very well and good, but it’s the next phase that piqued my interest, as he headed for Nashville, hooking up with Americana singer supreme Alison Krauss, who in turn introduced him to her muse, T. Bone Burnett. At this point, we’re given yet another history lesson about C&W. Explaining the connection, Lomax quotes Hank Williams Jr. as once stated that “Country music is nothing but white man’s blues.” Okay, so we’re on the same page as the to the Plant link.

For the last phase we see Plant is his formation of another Band of Joy which, as far as I know, is his current situation.

The reason for the length of this DVD is not just that it covers Robert Plant’s career, but it also informs the watcher on the history of each of his influences. While each one of these topics actually deserves its own documentary, it’s nice to get an encapsulated overview.

One aspect of Plant’s life that is completely untouched here is his personal one, outside of the music. But that’s okay, because I’m actually happy to learn more about what makes him an artist. Am I any more of a Robert Plant fan having watched this? No, I guess not. However, I feel like I understand a lot more about what drives him, and my respect for him has definitely increased. There was so much I didn’t know about they guy, and I’m grateful to be caught up a bit. Plus, learning about the Mali-Blues connection, and Plants forays into Eastern sounds did pique my interest, so I may go back and check out some of the artists that influenced him. It’s all good.

The extra is a few minute piece connecting Plant, Lomax, and Leadbelly (including some clips of the latter performing, alone making bonus worth a watch).

This review is dedicated to the lovely Miss Pamela, who should have been interviewed as well.

Photo Essay: Hafford, Saskatchewan

2011-12-15T00:01:00.000-05:00

Text and images © Robert Barry Francos, 2011
Images can be enlarged by clicking on them

The last weekend of November, 2011, a friend asked if I wanted to join him for a drive to Hafford, Saskatchewan to visit some of his old work-mates who now live in that area. Sure, why not?

Hafford is northwest of Saskatoon, just about 100 kilometers/62 miles away, taking about an hour and a half driving during this time of year, especially as nearly a third of the way is by a rural road.

I’m a big fan of visiting small towns, and Hafford is just the kind I like. Established nearly 100 years ago, the downtown (Main Street) is wide, and just three blocks long, with no building on the strip higher than two stories, the largest being the hotel at the far (south) end of the street.

But I’m jumping ahead. Here is a representation of the visit.

As one approaches the upward climb towards Main Street, approaching from the north, one of the first things they may notice is that all the street signs in the town are both in English and…French? Nope, it’s Ukrainian, representing the large population that settled the town at the turn of the last century.

Starting from the far southern end of town is the hotel and bar (the K-Bar Inn, est. 1914), which is the tallest building in the business district, as stated above. We entered the premises at some point, and the inside is pretty nice, with a huge pool table and (muted, thankfully) sports on the tele. While my pal was asking a question of the very friendly barkeep, I sauntered over to the jukebox and noticed there was a free play on it. Checking the list, I noticed it had “I Wanna Be Sedated” under the Ramones (only selection of theirs), so I played that. That brought a smile, to have a bit of New York playing in rural Saskatchewan. I gave a small salute to the bros in their memory.

Across the street are these two buildings. The one on the right is the town’s grocer, though one would not know from looking at the front. It’s the only store of its type I’ve seen where there are no adverts plastered on it telling of food sales. Perhaps there’s no need when you’re the only game in town.

We arrived in town right then to try and find someone, so we took a chance and went into the Seven Star Restaurant (the faded sign says “Chinese and Western Food.” I’m guessing that because of the high Ukrainian population, rather than there being a typical Chinese Buffet, instead there is a “Sunday Smorg”; a true blending of cultures), next door to a store that looked to be empty. As we entered the restaurant, there were about a dozen townies there, all sitting facing the same direction (towards us). We asked if the person we were seeking was there, and we received multiple dazed head-shakings. I looked up behind my friend, and saw an electronic Keno betting board on the wall. Ah, I thought, that’s what’s going on: legal gambling. The sign outside did clearly say it was a Lotto center. Uh, I mean “centre.”

So, we decided to go to eat, but not there. Directly across the street is the Silver Sword and Chalice Steak House and Knights Inn. It’s a long name, but it is also suiting (pun intended) because it is the home of big food. People literally travel from afar to come to this unassuming and clutter-filled diner for their portions. The various styles of hamburgers on the menu, for example, are all half-pound, but the prices are exceptionally reasonable. I had the chicken parma sangwich (that’s Staten Island-talk for sandwich), and it was quite yummy. When we entered, the place was full of hunters (obvious from their bright orange clothes) just finishing up. As we ate, looking around, there was plenty to see, from various types of swords on the wall, framed pictures of castles made from jigsaw puzzles, goblets lined up along the counters, used comic books and LPs in a corner (I could have happily spent the whole morning going through them, alone) and a photo of one of their infamous larger burgers that are made to order (10lb, 20lb, or even upwards).

A plot called the Hafford Millennium Park, which is bookended by two buildings with murals, one on the Innovation Credit Union is calming, the other on the Redberry Pharmacy with what may be called a time-binding (in General Semantic-speak) testament to a 2000 town logo contest. The park has a small beacon to represent the Conservation Core of the UNESCO Biosphere Reserve.

Across the street is an even smaller area which contains a war memorial and the town bulletin board. On the south side is a non-descript wood building that may be empty, and on the north, the brick town library. In front of the hall were two kids playing on the front steps. Sweet childhood memories are made of these.

Further along the street is Happy Ron’s Cozy Corner Café, where one can hear live music; it also doubles as the bus station. The length of the side of the building is a long mural of music, and along the tops on both the side and front are messages written in white. The one on the front is the infamous introduction to The Twilight Zone. I wonder if that refers to the music they present, or the wait time for the bus?

Across from that are a few buildings, including the Senior Citizen’s Center, established in 1973 (interesting that they use the American spelling), the Hafford Administrative Building (aka City Hall), and what was once obviously a garage.

Towards the edge of the downtown is this house that is a bit worse for the wear, with boards holding up the awning that supports the balcony. In the upper window (bedroom? attic? bedroom attic?) is what looks like a stained glass window, though I thought perhaps it’s a shower curtain, with no actual glass in the frame. In this condition, I wonder if anyone actually lives there.

Jumping back across the street to the west side, is J&P Agencies, which handles insurance, mortgages and drivers’ licenses with the Saskatchewan Governmental Insurance (SGI), liquor licenses (though other than the bar in the hotel and the Silver Sword and Chalice Steak House, I’m not certain to whom else it applies), Saskatchewan Mutual Insurance (SMI), etc. Next door is Hafford Plumbing and Heating. Theirs is not the only sign that needs repainting, as can be seen throughout the town.

This house on the east side seems almost anachronistic with its Bob Marley and Judah Lion flag hanging in the window. Perhaps it’s my own big city bias, and this is more the norm than I think? Either way, I and I thought it was cool, mon.

Zigzagging a bit, continuing on the east side is an old wooden hardware store with the solid Ukrainian name of Rybryna, across from the west side’s more modern looking and sprawling Kuzyk & Son’s Lumber Yard. While the building is solid, the rusted sign on the second half tells of its age. On the far end of town, across from the lumber yard, is the boxy and unadorned Hafford Gospel Fellowship church, which looks like it was crafted from a trailer (not meant as disrespectful, it just does).

Just as you’re leaving town was this brilliant contraption in someone’s front yard. Rather than stringing a cord for the car’s block heater across the sidewalk from the house to a tree to the ground, this sculpture keeps the cord high, protected, and dry. Oh, and for those that don’t know, a block heater is something put in the car motor that you plug in so your engine stays warm enough to start when it’s -40C/F.

Turning the corner and going down an avenue block you reach one of the two Orthodox cathedrals, the Holy Ghost Ukrainian Greek Orthodox Church. It is a beautiful building and the later-day light was just stunning.

We continued our walk around the town, going up and down streets. One thing I found peculiar is that there are a number of houses with no front steps. While they obviously must go around the back or sides to get in (or perhaps from the garage), having the hanging door seems odd, especially since there seems to be at least one per block. In the one I use for the example below, there was also a curious lamp in the window.

Up another street we saw this pensive looking dog that watched us but did not move off the stoop, even though was unchained. Perhaps it was the sign on the lawn directly across the street that kept him still?

We finally came across the second big church, the Holy Eucharist Ukrainian Greek Catholic Parish. A sign clearly states 1917-1980, though perhaps that is the time in which it was built. Unfortunately, this is also when my camera’s battery decided to give up the ghost, as it were, so these photos were the requiem.

The Hafford area is also known for its twisted trees, but we didn’t have the time to check them out. Hopefully, I’ll get to go back and see for myself at some point.

DVD Reviews: Nazi Hunters

2011-12-12T00:01:00.000-05:00

Text © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2011
Images from the Internet

Nazi Hunters
Various directors
Narrated by Fred Napoli
Double DVD set
Cineflix / MVD Visual DVD, 2010
352 minutes, USD $19.95
MVDvisual.com

As a child of the ‘60s, there was always talk of World War II Nazi’s being “out there,” usually somewhere in South America. Even when it wasn’t verbally stated, there was a presence, be it through the grocer and his wife’s arm tattoos, or from seeing those gruesome films of concentration camps - including bodies in mass graves, toothpick thin prisoners, and executions into ditches - while in Hebrew School, which I attended before my bar mitzvah in 1968. It was there I saw the footage of Eichmann, the banality of evil architect of the Final Solution, though I don’t remember the actual event in the early1960s.

In 1998, I went to Auschwitz and Auschwitz-Buchenwald, and have been to a few of the Holocaust museums, such as the ones in Amsterdam and Washington, DC.

For my generation, World War II-era Nazis (as opposed to neo-Nazis or skinheads) have always been a part of the culture, even if it was the cute and cuddly ones of Hogan’s Heroes and those from the mind of Mel Brooks. Sure, they would get scary again with the likes of Eye of the Needle, Marathon Man, The Boys from Brazil , or the more contemporary Apt Pupil.

But those cinematic villains were equal to others molded out of the propagandist cold war with Russia, or its modern equivalent of Muslim terrorists; scary and evil, but you knew they weren’t real. Sure there was a fear based somewhat on historical reality, but none of them could come close to what the bona fide escaped Nazis meant, and especially for those of my parents’ age. These were not fictional creatures of reimagining, but humans who had done horrific things to fellow humans because of ideology. Six million was an unimaginable number, though later we would find out that it was well over 10 million, when one counts in the infirmed, gays, gypsies, politicos, freedom fighters, etc.

That’s just part of why this Canadian-Brazilian documentary series is so fascinating… and chilling. Through the eight 45-minute episodes, we watch as European activists and Israeli secret agents track down those power-mad cowards who escaped from Europe rather than face their own deeds/demons.

Apparently, South America was a haven for these ilk, thanks in large part to Juan Peron (husband of Evita), who was a business partner to the Nazi regime (is that mentioned in the musical?), and consequently welcomed them under his protection. And how did they get there? Many of these criminals were fostered by a right wing branch of the Catholic Church who supported the Nazis (who set out to rid the world of those Christ killers, right?), and then helped pay their way across the Atlantic into the safety of the Andes.

This is a stunningly well done series, with most of the key players giving testimony to the events, including married Nazi Hunters Beate and Serge Klarsfeld, Sam Donaldson of ABC News in New York, and the actual members of the most respected and feared intelligence agency in the world, Israel’s Mossad, who carried out the capture of the likes of Adolf Eichmann and the assassination of others, such as Herbert Cukurs.

This is an important time for stories such as these. As time passes, and both the perpetrators and the persecuted of the Final Solution are passing into whatever waits them, the recording of events that led up to the discrimination, the enforcement, and the after-effects are documents that must be initialized more fervorently. This is especially true in a modern world of denial and reinterpretations (e.g., Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Mamoud Abbass, James Keegstra and Mel’s dad, Hutton Gibson).

One side aspect of this collection is the humanization of the Mossad. Always pictured as cold killing machines, a cinematic-type presumption, here we see them as fallible, with leaders taking missteps and causing the non-capture of Mengele, and the nervousness of some of its agents when dealing with Cukurs, for example. All of the Mossad members who are interviewed are “retired” agents, who are quite brave to admit their deeds, even after all these years.

The formulas for the episode are similar, but almost never redundant. We are introduced to the plan of the specific Nazi hunter(s) in the year they began on their crusade (be it 1964, 1971, or 1988, for example), and those who are planning or participating in it. Then there is a flashback segment to explain why, for example, Barbie is known as “The Butcher of Lyon,” Mengele “The Death Angel,” or Cukus “The Hangman of Riga.” The men in this series were each responsible for the death of between 335 and 900,000 (both Jews and Gentiles), some by their design and others by direct action. Sometimes the footage is a bit graphic, such as mass shootings or dead bodies; the Nazis were infamous for keeping filmed records of their actions. Around this point in the story, we meet some Holocaust survivors with direct links to the action, such as one who lived through Mengele’s twins experiment.

To help with the historical aspects are a number of authors whose books are focused on the period, such as Peter Hellman, Gerald Posner, Richard Rashke (Escape From Sobibór), and Guy Walters (Hunting Evil), the latter being the only one who appears in all eight episodes.

The next section is the actions that lead up to capture following into the feat of those steps taken, whether positive or negative. While much of this part is played out by actors in flashback mode, within this portion what I found particularly fascinating is the inclusion of the actual documents, photos and films that were taken at the time, including Sam Donaldson’s pointed questioning of Erich Priebke on the street, or of Kurt Lischka (Gestapo Chief of Paris) as he leaves his house in Germany in 1971. Some of it is quite hard to watch, such as the photo of one of the subjects a couple of weeks after he had been executed by the Mossad.

The Hunters seem to be broken down into three types, and sometimes they overlap in their attempts. First there is the aforementioned Mossad, who seek justice, sometimes in the form of vengeance. Compelling to me are the Paris-based married hunter team of Serge Klarsfeld (Romanian/French Jew) and especially the incredibly brave Beate Klarsfield (Protestant German; Farrah Fawcett played her in a 1986 television movie). Their dedication is admirable to the point of you wanting to say, “They did what?” Gotta love these people; I wish I could be that brave about the Tea Party, but I digress… The final group tends to be mixed bag of journalists, such as Donaldson, and a French police investigator.

A surprising element is the minimal amount of time given to the most famous Nazi hunter, Simon Wiesenthal, at one episode, even if it was two of the biggest escaped Nazis as far as sheer numbers of deaths on their hands as the masters of Polish death camps Bełżec, Sobibór, and Treblinka. Wiesenthal is – and rightfully so – the name that comes to mind first in the topic of Nazi hunters.

One of the surprising villains that come up again and again as collaborators is the Catholic Church, specifically a fanatical right wing branch called the Knights of Notre Dame (especially under the orders of Archbishop Lefebvre), who, as I said, aided and abetted the fugitives (and probably more during the war). That being said, I so admired the Mother Superior of a Monastery that was involved of hiding Paul Trouvier, a French collaborator who was brutal to both Jews and resistance fighters, as she compels matters into her own hands by taking the monastery’s Bishop to task. I should point out that it is not the whole Church that is put under suspicion here, but this particular branch of right-wingers.

Also culpable through the whole series are governments, such as Germany and a number of South American countries, who are hesitant to take any real action (as in that was the past). John Stewart Mill once famously stated that, “A person may cause evil to others not only by his actions but by his inaction, and in either case he is justly accountable to them for the injury.” This is true of ruling bodies, as well (e.g., British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain’s bowing to Nazi Germany’s demands, or some present countries’ reaction to Iran’s nuclear capabilities).

While nearly 6 hours long, my attention was never taken away, nor did I feel it dragged in any way. The pace is fast, the people interesting, and it’s even jaw-dropping, fingernail-biting exciting at times. One of the more fascinating documentary series I’ve seen in a very long time. It should come as no surprise that it’s a multiple Gemini Awards (television in Canada) winner including Best History Documentary Program. I’m hoping there will be a second season.

Episodes:
1. Herbert Cukurs (Latvia: “The Hangman of Riga”)
2. Adolf Eichmann (Germany: “The Architect of the Final Solution”)
3. Klaus Barbie (France: “The Butcher of Lyon”)
4. Erich Priebke (Italy)
5. Josef Mengele (Germany [Auschwitz]: “The Angel of Death”)
6. Kurt Lischka (France)
7. Paul Touvier (France; only non-German)
8. Gustav Wagner (Poland: “The Beast”) and Franz Stangl (Poland: “The White Death”)

Book Review: Dirty Deeds: My Life Inside/Outside of AC/DC, by Mark Evans

2011-12-05T00:01:00.000-05:00

Text © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2011
Book cover image and videos from the Internet

Dirty Deeds: My Life Inside/Outside of AC/DC
By Mark Evans
Bazillion Points Books (Brooklyn), 2011
288 pages, trade paperback; USD $19.95
ISBN: 978-1-935950-04-2
Dirtydeedsbook.com
bazillionpoints.com

By the time I saw AC/DC play CBGB in ’77, Evans had already completed his two-year tenure with the band as their bass player earlier that year. He was famously given the boot just before the band left to tour the States.

In the past few months, I’ve read three (enjoyable) autobios about musicians, and there definitely seems to be a thread that almost sounds like a blueprint: born into the poorer areas of Cleveland (Cheetah Chrome), Helsinki (Andy McCoy of Hanoi Rocks), or in this case Melbourne, Australia, with a missing or violent father figure, and then discovering the guitar/bass through blues-based rock’n’roll which becomes obsessive. Following years of substance abuse, there is some redemption with later wives and kids.

Mark Evans recorded three albums with AC/DC; well, according to what he claims, it was actually Angus and Malcolm’s older brother, George Young (used to be guitarist in the Easybeats; they had a hit with “Friday On My Mind”) who played the bass on the records, while Evans was part of the live crew (though present during the studio tapings). That may be part of why he was not included when the band was inducted into the (Corporate) Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum, as they are so focused on the financial-pull of a band as far as recordings go (i.e., record sales), rather than the performance end, historically speaking (have you ever seen the place?). Anyway, on page 86, Mark states:

In the early days I was a spectator, taking it all in, because much of this would be done with George on the bass. I had no issue with this: it was how the first album was recorded, and from my vantage point, it worked beautifully with Mal and Angus on guitar and George on bass. It wasn’t discussed; it was just the way it was. And what an armchair ride for me… I would be in there kibitzing while the guys were ‘brewing up a tune.’ … George [is] an absolute legend of a bass player. George pretty much showed me the bass-playing ropes. He had a great knack for picking the perfect line… The bass line in the song ‘High Voltage’ is pretty busy for an AC/DC track but still perfect. George on bass? Very cool. As far as I’m concerned he is one of the greats.

Let’s face it, AC/DC is essentially Angus and Malcolm Young, and in the period this book covers, Bon Scott. The drummer (Phil Rudd, who was also eventually canned) and bass player are secondary in this band’s hierarchy. Can you name them, even though the replacement bass player has been with them for 30 years now? See? That being said, Mark claims on page 102:

Quickly, AC/DC came to dominate my whole being; it became my life. We were together because we were a band but AC/DC was an entity on its own that commanded all my time and attention. I had no option but to follow it with blind faith. It became my career, livelihood, social life and hopefully my future. The cliché would be ‘it was my family,’ but it was never that; it was something else again. If you were in AC/DC you lived it; it wasn’t an act. I wasn’t just part of the band; I became part of a lifestyle. It was the reason we were all together; the only way it made sense was that we were only AC/DC when we were together in the same room.

As with the other books mentioned above, this one falls into three acts: growing up, being in the band for which they are known (in this case, of course, AC/DC), and then after the ball, as Ian Whitcomb’s granddad may have put it.

Even if the route to the band is a similar one, I still find the path the books describe interesting, even with those I’m not enthralled in (e.g., Slash, Mötley Crüe; yes, I read those, too), but it’s best when the story is well written, as is this one. Sure, there’s the occasional Aussie slang thrown in, but nothing the reader has to really ponder (i.e., it’s no A Clockwork Orange),, just be amused by.

Of course, the meat of the matter is his deuce years with the band that pretty much put Australia on the rock map (the bands before either never made it out of the British Empire, or had hits without many aware at the time that they were from Down Under, such as the Easybeats). Others like Midnight Oil or Divinyls would follow; although the Saints were thisclose). Wisely, a large part of Evan’s book focuses on this era much more (about three-quarters of the text) than the others.

Throughout the book, Evans keeps hinting at the firing from the band yet to come, in either an I-shoulda-seen-it-coming or walking-on-eggshells-during commentary. But from what he states throughout, it’s pretty obvious why he got the can: he was a drunken sod who was obnoxious as get out (relative to the Youngs). Sure, Bon was also a major substance abuser as well, but (a) he was the front band, and arguably a great one at that, and (b) he did not interfere with the goings on of the group, taunting Angus or starting fights, or (and Evans admits this more than once in this book), leaving right after the gig to get plastered or laid, especially if the show tanked. The quote above explains that AC/DC were not just a band 24/7, and the Youngs’ closeness of their family belies this. Even on the front cover, there’s Evans trying to antagonize Angus (check out Bon’s expression of the shits gonna hit the fan now), who, according to this book, doesn’t really have much of a playful side. Evans writes how Angus would sit in his room for hours just noodling on the guitar, rather than socialize.

While being an obviously raging alcoholic (though he never admits to it in the book) makes him a bad band mate, especially for the live shows which is the main purpose of his being there,“ it does however tell a fun story. That, in part, is what makes this book enjoyable. It’s a fast and easy read (except for a tragic point later on), and for anyone interested in life on the highway (to hell?) of a heavy rock band, this does not disappoint.

My only quibble with the book, really, is that if one is not up on Australian rock history, some of the names may not spark. For example, Evans was in a few bands that had some major hits in Australia, but were nowheresville in the States, such as Contraband (one of many bands with that name, apparently), for example. But this should not, however, deter the readers because, as I stated, this is 70-to-80 percent AC/DC content.

Actually, there is one more nitpick, but it’s no fault of Evans. After he left the band, there was a protracted legal battle between him and the group, but due to signing a non-disclosure agreement for the settlement, he is legally obligated not to say anything about that, which makes it all the more interesting to me, of course.

Evans seems to flip-flop a bit about members of the band…well, about Malcolm and Angus, anyway (nothing but praise for Bon). They come across as combative to him one minute, cold the next, and occasionally friendly. For example, the way Evans describes Angus jumping off the tour bus and playing in the snow like a kid one minute and then being silent and sullen again after is chilling (see how I did that there).

Whether a fan of the band or not, Mark Evans has a lot to say that is interested in anyone who loves stories of being in bands and the excitement of being on the road. So, my recommendation is be a punter, mate, and join the gang, yeah. This book may not change your life, but it will be a fun ride for the duration of the read.

DVD Review: New York Dolls: Lookin’ Fine on Television

2011-12-01T00:01:00.005-05:00

New York Dolls: Lookin’ Fine on Television
Directed by Nadya and Bob Gruen
MVD Visual, 2011
70 minutes, USD $14.95
MVDvisual.com
The opening shot of this documentary / concert mash-up is of the whole band (early drummer Jerry Nolan era) sitting on a hill in a park (Central? Flushing Meadow?), and lead guitarist Johnny Thunders – long hair aflowin’ with that wisp on top – starts talking about how the band got together by his first meeting bassist Arthur “Killer” Kane, to which vocalist David Johansen gives a snide “That’s not how we started…” As Thunders flicks a ciggy-butt at him, rhythm guitarist Sylvain Sylvain starts in with his own interpretation to the story. Through their thick outer borough accents (Queens, Staten Island, etc.), this complete practice in ridiculousness is the perfect way to start this documentary about arguably (pun intended) one of the most important bands to come out of the New York area in the first half of the ‘70s.

The New York Dolls were tempestuous at best, wasted at worst, and brought something new to the rock and roll table. A mixture of glam, rock, and their own personalities in both style and playing, they are (rightfully) considered influential to nearly every band that came after them, whether directly or indirectly (i.e., influencing bands that influenced others).

As with the ill-fated Sex Pistols tour of the States, noted scene photographer Bob Gruen was along for the New York Dolls’ career ride as they started hitting their stride (just after the passing of drummer Billy Murcia, who is mentioned often in talking head moments, but never seen), as was Nadya Beck, the two directors and cinematographers of this release.

Over the period of a few short years, Gruen and Beck filmed (remember, this is pre-video) the band in performance a number of times on either (or both) 16mm or 8mm. Because of this, we now have a historical document of not only their two official albums of the period (New York Dolls; Too Much, Too Soon), but what they were like in performance as well.

Rather than just showing one version of a set or another, Gruen and Beck took a single live track, and overplays it with footage from a number of shows all cut up together, doing a masterful job of lining up the music with the action, including Johansen’s vocals. By doing this, we have a new soundtrack to our lives (i.e., NYD fans, who are now legion). Plus, we get to see the boys in action with both the consistency of their moves (e.g., clapping above their heads during “Jet Boy”), as well as the originality of others (e.g., standing in different spots). It’s also interesting to compare them then to the newer, reconstituted version of the band of the twenty-first century. Johansen still has the chops, but he’s physically not as limber (and yet is still a joy to watch).

Even for their infamous appearance on the Old Grey Whistle Test programme in the UK, rather than the usual footage that can be seen elsewhere, we get to see it from the side stage through Gruen’s eye.

Between each of the songs (see the list below), there is an interview segment; well, actually it is a few segments that are cut up and put between numbers. Some are of the group, such as the opening salvo, and others include a solo with Johansen (interviewed by Lisa Robinson) in what looks like possibly south Florida or sunny California, where he talks about things like how he makes up the lyrics to “Who Are the Mystery Girls?” each time, riots at shows, and dealing with connected club owners.

Also spiced into the songs are backstage shots of the band, including the girlfriends (Cyrinda! Michelle!), them doing their infamous gangster dress-up, and traveling to California. Also, there’s a clip of Johansen and Dorothy inviting the viewing audience to their Halloween show, followed by both shots of them preparing, and the NBC news report by Tony Hernandez!

In one show, Arthur Kane is shown standing beside the drums, sometimes with Nolan’s girlfriend Michelle, singing along to the songs, but not playing. According to producer/Dictator extraordinaire Andy Shernoff and Austin musician Thom Tex Edwards, it was roadie Peter Jordan, filling in while Arthur’s arm was in a cast.

So, lots of music, some fun stuff mixed in-between, and a document of an amazing band in their prime.

For the extra, there’s an 8-minute clip from 1976 of David Johansen standing outside CBGBs interviewing Lisa Robinson (not the other way around, as it says on the box), completely dissing the club. Then along comes ex-Dolls (by then) member Johnny Thunders who crashes in, giving Lisa an out, and JT and David Jo have a fun time sparing with each other, raising topics like the Heartbreakers, Tom Petty’s appropriation of the name (I had the argument with Petty directly in 1976), and discussing the ‘Breakers upcoming tour in the UK with the Sex Pistols and the Damned (where Nancy Spungeon would show up and…).

Get this. You know Morrissey will…

Tracks:
Lookin’ For a Kiss
Babylon
Trash
Bad Detective
Vietnamese Baby
Bad Girl
Chatterbox
Human Being
Private World
Subway Train
Personality Crisis
Frankenstein
Who Are the Mystery Girls?
Jet Boy

Book Review: Aerosmith: The Ultimate Illustrated History of the Boston Bad Boys

2011-11-28T18:38:00.000-05:00

Aerosmith: The Ultimate Illustrated History of the Boston Bad Boys
By Richard Bienstock
Voyageur Press (Minneapolis), 2011
224 pages; USD $35.00 / CAN $39.00
ISBN: 978-0-7603-4106-3
Voyageurpress.com

The only time I’ve ever seen Aerosmith live was May 31, 1974, at the Felt Forum (now blandly known as the Theater at Madison Square Garden), opening for the band we actually went to see, Slade. I was musically unformed then, and all I really remember is the ear-piercing volume, which was louder than the headliner. And we were sitting pretty far toward the back. This was especially true during the harmonica solos. Now, however, I would like to see that concert again, and rejudge it. Oh, I did once see Tyler’s house on Lake Sunapee, NH (from the water), but I digress…

Part of a series of illustrated history books of bands and musicians from Voyageur Press (such as AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, Neil Young, and Eric Clapton), Aerosmith takes front and center stage this time. As with the others in the series, the tomes are oversized hardcover, the size and heft of a coffeetable book, but along with the images is a nicely comprehensive history of the band and its members. In Leon Uris fashion, Bienstock introduces us to one of the musicians (vocalist Tyler is naturally the first, as he also is the one who had any real career previous to Aerosmith) and we learn about his life up to the point of meeting the next future ‘Smither, then we read their story, and so on until all five are caught up to the point of being the band.

Aerosmith is a band whose early output was released faster than they gained fame, so it’s not until about the third or fourth album that they started to really get known beyond their own Bostonian back yard.

The basic history of the band is legend: from fame to overindulgences (alcohol, sex, drugs…) to practical paralysis and stagnation, leading to Run DMC covering “Walk This Way,” followed by an even larger resurgence for the band (also thanks to smart marketing, musical hooks that can bite into your brain for days, and especially well-made videos on the then music channel, MTV – and having Alicia Silverstone and Tyler’s daughter Liv star in them didn’t hurt, either) and a good forced cleaning out (aka rehab) led to years of the band at the top of their game, only to fall (possibly) fall apart again in just the past couple of years.

Certainly, I am not giving away anything in their history there, nor am I stepping on Bienstock’s shoes because this book kept this particular non-fan interested throughout. Without using this as a personal muck-raking excuse, he tell the story of the band and its members, relying more on their musical history than marriages, relationships, affairs, etc.; in fact, the only photo of any family member is of Bebe Buell, Liv’s mom (who has a new album out, FYI). There isn’t even any mention of how Perry won the heart of Willie Alexander’s wife, Billie Montgomery (who appears with Willie in his “Bass Rocks” video), who became Perry’s second spouse. Rather, we learn about where they recorded what, on what instruments, produced by whom and the relationship of the band with their producers, engineers and management (the last is occasionally tricky). Yes, the egos shine through as the band is much quoted, mostly taken from period interviews.

Along with all the text are the photos, of course; after all this is an ultimate illustrated history. There are a multitude of reproductions of the band as they go through the many, many, many years, including instruments played, show posters, buttons, tee-shirts, and especially tons of backstage passes and entry stubs; 400 images in all, each crisp and clear. There are even pages of the Revolutionary Comics history of the band. [As yet another sidebar, one thing I would have liked to have seen included was the Max’s Kansas City Comics cartoon drawn by Shari Saffioti (she worked there) where she has Steven Tyler, David Johansen and Mick Jagger all come to Max’s on the same night (sharisaffiotiart.com/comix.html)!]

As with the other books in this series, many of the subject’s albums are sectioned out and dissected and reviewed into what went into them and their influence on culture. Similarly to the AC/DC book, the breakouts are mostly written by numerous other well known critics, such as Chuck Eddy, Martin Popoff, Ramones’ ex-manager (etc.) Danny Fields, and even Phil Sutcliffe (who wrote the AC/DC Ultimate Illustrated History).

While these breakouts are interesting, per se, a lot of them hold redundant information from the rest of the book, which occasionally gets tiring. Similarly, many of the captions for the images are just quotes (or paraphrasing) of the text in the book proper, so again, it gets monotonous at times, but that’s just tributaries. The main text retains its level of high quality throughout.

There is a lot of info here that I didn’t know about the band that really raised an eye. For example, at some point when Joe Perry leaves to form his Project, he is temporarily replaced by Jimmy Crespo. At first I was wondering, “I know that name, but from where?” Then Beinstock explains how he was the guitarist of Brooklyn’s own almost-and-should-have-been-famous rockers Flame (saw them at Zappz on their home turf in 1977 or ‘78, and were a blast; they are worth checking out. Okay, okay, back to Aerosmith…), and in fact, when Tyler’s addiction starts to really get the better of him, there is talk of him being replaced by Flame’s vocalist, the excellent Marge Raymond. Now that woulda been something! There are lots of juicy tidbits like that throughout that don’t even need to be salacious.

The book is very up-to-date, not only mentioning Tyler’s role on American Idol, but the reaction of the audience throughout the season, as Tyler grabs the reins of the show and becomes de facto judge leader, with the most on the ball (as he did early on with Aerosmith). And even though the Slade show I attended at MSG is unmentioned, their performance on the “Wayne’s World” segment of Saturday Night Live is in the telling (it was a brilliant moment).

There is certainly enough information here to keep any of the blue army happy, and even some of us who are just curious about the band that captured the ear of so many.

Bonus Videos:
[Note that from this point on, I will avoid Vevo as much as possible]

And, of course:

Extra Bonus Video:

Are these The Worst Rock n’ Roll Records of All Time?

2011-11-25T00:01:00.001-05:00

Text by Robert Barry Francos
Images from internet: note that this blog is Vevo-free

The Worst Rock n’ Roll Records of All Time: A fan’s guide to the stuff you love to hate!
By Jimmy Guterman and Owen O’Donnell
A Citadel Press Book (US) / Musson Book Company (CAN), 1991
252 pages, $14.95 (purchased as used for $6.99)

While, yeah, books of lists like this are considered fluff by many, it still takes a lot of work and research to get these puppies out. This particular one is now 20 years old, and has been in my collection for at least half that long. It was fun reading the first time around, and again as I write the following.

Having aged a bit with white around the trimmings, I have become acquainted with theories like General Semantics, coming to realize that the use of “worst” and “best” are what Neil Postman describes as Crazy Talk, Stupid Talk due to the high level of subjectivity. According to Sturgeon's Law, “90 percent of anything is crap.” Taking it a step further (my own theory), which 10 percent is not crap will vary from person to person, so by adding those 10 percents together, you still end up with it all (100 percent).

So, lists like this are fun to go through, and give a reader the chance to cherry-pick, disagree, and perhaps add others. This is what this blog is actually about: I will comment on some of what Guterman and O’Donnell posit (but not all, as there are 50 singles and 50 albums listed, 100 in total), and run a commentary on specific listings.

The Fifty Worst Rock-and-Roll Singles of All Time

No. 50: John Cougar, “Jack and Diane”
No argument there. The only record of Cougar (Melloncamp) I have ever liked was a four-song EP called Kicks, which he did for indie label Gulcher Records (who also released all the Gizmos tracks: gulcher.gemm.com), just after he left MainMan. A poor man’s Springsteen, Melloncamp sounded a bit watered down, much as the Boss himself did at times during his own “Dancing in the Dark” period.
Cougar's "Jack and Diane"
Brooooose

No. 48: The Everly Brothers, “Ebony Eyes”
While I adore much of the EB cannon, this is certainly not one of my faves. It’s clearly a bandwagon jumper to other “she’s dead, so O whoa is me” songs that were popular at the time (e.g., Ray Peterson’s “Tell Laura I Love Her”). The authors explain why a duo who was known for such quality songs (I can still listen to “I’m On My Way Home Again” and get perked up) released something so blatantly boring in four words: “They changed record companies.”
"Ebony Eyes"
"I'm On My Way Home Again"

No. 45: Bryan Adams, “Summer of ‘69”
I probably shouldn’t confess this, living in Canada and all, but I don’t know if this is a “worst” or not because Adams has never meant anything to me at all. Wouldn’t know one of his songs if I fell over it. His material all sounds like the same level of whatever to me.
"Summer of '69"

No. 40: Mick Jagger and David Bowie, “Dancing in the Street”
I still have a very vivid memory of the first time I saw this jaw-droppingly bad song and video during the seemingly endless “Live Aid” broadcast, where under-rehearsed acts like CSNY were held up to pander to an audience. Guterman and O’Donnell explain that the song and video were both recorded and shot in the same day. Could have been within the same hour, it’s so pathetically weak in both sound and image. Wish Mick and Dave would have forgotten the Motor City; they should have both been put in the penalty box for this (jeez, I guess I really am living in Canada, eh?)
Jagger and Bowie "Dancing in the Street"

No. 39: Simon and Garfunkel, “Dangling Conversation”
Here is the first of the choices of which I firmly disagree. I am totally willing to confess that while others were listening to rock in its variable forms during the ‘60s, I was up in my garret (okay, my bedroom) listening to the likes of S&G. Certainly I understand what the authors are trying to say, that the song is trying overly hard to sound deep and sincere, but in its timeframe, it’s quite fitting, as the folk movement was morphing into the singer-songwriter genre. However, there are some S&G songs that I would willingly replace this with as being, well, not great material, such as “Cecilia,” “El Condor Pasa,” or the Dylanesque “A Simple Desultory Philippic (or How I Was Robert McNamara’d Into Submission)”, which I’m still not sure if its an homage or slam.
"Dangling Conversation"
"A Simple Desultory Philippic"

No. 35: Rod Stewart, “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy”
From the first time I heard “Maggie Mae,” I knew I was not a Stewart fan. But when this song came out, it was like going from bad to worse. The only version of this ditty I’ve heard that I’ve liked was Tiny Tim’s, which was done as broadly as the song actually needs to be. Rod tries to be sexy, and comes out as a macho egoist. Besides rocker + disco = cash-grab.
Rod Stewart's version
Tiny Tim's cover

No. 34: Grand Funk Railroad, “The Loco-Motion”
Yes, I agree that this is not a great version of the Little Eva song (written by Goffin & King – or, as I like to think of it, King & Goffin), but it is far from the worst. Kylie Minogue? No, that honor would probably have to go to the band Christopher Milk. That being said, the CM version is also among my warped favorites, perhaps because it is so bad, right up there with the exquisite Gloria Balsam’s “Fluffy” and the Residents’ atonal “Satisfaction.”
Grand Funk Railroad
Kylie Minogue

Nos. 32-33: Melanie, “Ruby Tuesday"; ”Brand New Key”
My first concert was Melanie (Safka) at Carnegie Hall (which was released as an album). I loved her vibrato voice, which Guterman and O’Donnell refer to it as gargling. As for her Rolling Stone cover of “Ruby Tuesday,” which they call a “baroque melodrama,” I’m fine with it. Yes, it’s bombastic, but she had the vocal power to take it up. If it were me, I would replace “Ruby Tuesday” with the overly long “Look What They’ve Done to My Song, Ma.” On the other hand, I’m in total agreement with “Brand New Key,” a gawdawful song right up there with “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy.” She was so much better than that in general, as songs like “Leftover Wine” prove.
"Ruby Tuesday"
"Brand New Key"
"Look What They've Done To My Song, Ma"
"Leftover Wine"

No. 24: Barry McGuire, “Eve of Destruction”
While yes, this is a Debbie Downer of a song, it’s a powerful statement of its time. It is the yin to the yang of Barry Sadler’s “The Ballad of the Green Beret” (also referenced in this book). But the authors have it backwards: it is McGuire’s gravel voice that actually makes this work because it is a harsh song. The Turtles were an amazing group, but their rendition of this song was way too soft (and edited). If you ever saw the clip of Barry singing this on Shin-Dig, he gives an incredibly emotionally raw and earnest go at it, reminiscent to me of Buffy Ste.-Marie’s powerful turn at her “University Soldier” on David Steinberg’s show, Music Scene.
Barry McGuire
The Turtles
Barry Sadler
Buffy Ste-Marie

No. 22: Huey Lewis and the News, “Hip to Be Square”
Actually, they could have just stopped at the name of the band, and just left the song title to be filled in by any of their releases.
“Hip to Be Square”

No. 21: Eric Carmen, “All By Myself”
While I really didn’t like this song, I would have no problem replacing it with the much worse yet similarly themed Gilbert O’Sullivan song, “Alone Again Naturally” (I just with the song’s protagonist would have offed himself before the song and spared us all), which for some reason did not make this list. I had tickets to see Eric Carmen twice in the ‘70s, once when he was in the Raspberries and once solo, and both fell through (he was replaced in the latter by the far superior Deadly Nightshade).
Eric Carmen
Gilbert OSullivan
Deadly Nightshade

No. 19: Herman’s Hermits, “I’m Henry VIII, I Am”
Really? I mean, yes, it’s a ridiculous song that has no point really except to exist as far as content goes, but really? Worst? It was good enough to inspire a Ramones classic. It also changed the face of U.K. music in America, being the first to actually sound British, opening up the possibilities to the likes of Small Faces’ “Lazy Sunday Afternoon.” Now, instead, I would have put the HH’s too-bouncy and flippant cover of “Silhouettes.”.
"Hen-er-ey"
"Silhouettes"
Small Faces

Nos. 12 -13: Harry Chapin, “Taxi”; “Cat’s In the Cradle”
Being a huge Harry Chapin fan, I naturally disagree with “Taxi,” a touching story which is, at points, overly orchestrated (though Harry used the same group for all his songs) at points, but it has a catchy melody and a sad-yet-sweetness to it. How about replacing the silly “30,000 Pounds of Bananas” in its stead? As for “Cat’s In the Cradle,” I have to concede this one. Much like the above mentioned “Brand New Key” by Melanie and Paul Simon’s “Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover,” “Cats…” was a huge hit but always felt pandering to me and unfairly misrepresentative of the artist’s body of work.
"Taxi"
"Cats In the Cradle"
"30,000 Pounds of Bananas"

No. 10: Richard Harris, “MacArthur Park”
Everything Guterman and O’Donnell say about this song is true, including the use of the word “pretentious,” but I like it. Perhaps it is because it has such a thick Spector-esque wall of sound? I even like that last, high pitched blast of “Oooooh, nooooooooo,” that has been mocked so many times. The Donna Summers cover shows how bad the song could actually be (I actually don’t mind Summers’ voice, just her usual material and how she was produced).
Richard Harris
Donna Summers

No. 9: Don McLean, “American Pie”
Again, this is a pretty damn ostentatious song sung by a pretty petty singer (For many years McLean refused to tell what anything meant, as if he were being insulted). However, it’s also catchy as all hell, and inspired a spoof version that is possibly equally brilliant: Weird Al Yankovic’s “The Saga Begins.” What the original song actually means? Well, I really don’t care, and enjoy singing along with it anyway! So there.
Don McLean
Weird Al Yankovic

No. 8: Jimmy Gilmer and the Fireballs, “Sugar Shack”
Just an awful, saccharine mess. The vocals are bad, sung in a cutesy way that makes you dream of grabbing a 2x4; the guitar’s wip-wip-wip sound is chalkboard scratching, and well, you get the idea. Actually, when I think about it, everything I don’t like about this song is present in most of the dreck on the radio nowadays: pretend emoting for the sake of sales.
"Sugar Shack"

No. 6: Zager and Evans, “In the Year 2525 (Exordium and Terminus)”
I think the authors don’t get what is so special about this one-hit wonder (nearly universally used as the example for the single-hit phenomenon) is not its doomsaying, not it’s switching from XX25s to XX10s, nor facility; rather it is the driving beat, the up-change in scale after each set of years, and especially the level of campiness in what they’re saying. What ya have here is a fun song about the end of days.
"In the Year 2525" (or 6 to 4?)

No. 5: Peter, Paul and Mary, “I Dig Rock and Roll Music”
I agree that PPM were way out of touch by the time this slam on rock and folk rock came out. At first, I wasn’t sure if the lyrics were meant as complementary or not, but as the years have winged along, I’m pretty sure that it’s supposed to be an insult to what was on the radio at the time. It’s ironic that it became a radio hit for the trio. As a kid, I was amused by their impersonations of Donovan and the Mamas and the Papas (with Mary Travers [RIP] filling in excellently as Mama Cass). While I like PPM, their music always seems kind of innocuous to me, and so I wouldn’t put their stuff in a “worst of” any more than a “best of.” I just like ‘em, and still play their stuff on occasions.
"I Dig Rock and Roll Music"

No. 1: Chuck Berry, “My Ding-a-Ling”
An example of how far the true king of rock and roll had fallen. It’s not the raunch that bothers me about the song. I mean, I heard a great live extended version of his “Reelin’ and Rockin’” and there was a lot of the extracurricular stuff Berry was known for in it, but “My Ding-a-Ling” was just wrong. As much as I think Chuck deserves the bucks, I kinda wish this one had not been a hit and disappeared quickly.
Chuck Chuck Bo-Buck...
"Reelin' and Rockin'" Live

The Fifty Worst Rock-and-Roll Albums of All Time

No. 50: U2, “The Unforgettable Fire”
I could never understand the appeal of whine and screech master Bono. And, if I may digress, don’t get me started on Sting, who for some reason doesn’t appear in this volume…

No. 43: Various Performers, “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”: The Original Soundtrack to the Motion Picture
This is kind of a no-brainer, innit? As the authors rightfully state: “It was doomed from the start.”
Hitch a ride on the film's trailer

No. 39: America, History: America’s Greatest Hits
No. 34: Emerson, Lake and Palmer, Turkus
No. 10: Yes, Tales from Topographic Oceans
I don’t necessarily think this music is bad, as much as boring. When the sounds was taken out of the hands of musicians and placed into those of technicians. No thank you; it’s gotta be rock and roll music if you wanna dance with me.

No. 31: Blood, Sweat, and Tears, Blood, Sweat, and Tears
No. 7: Chicago, Chicago Live at Carnegie Hall
I lumped these two together for one reason: misuse of a horn section. Both try to meld rock and roll to brass, and come out the poorer for it. With BS&T, sure vocalist David Clayton-Thomas has the rock-requisite gravel voice that sounded more lounge-like live, but the material itself was overwrought tended to sound like a game show theme. Yes, “Spinning Wheel” was one of the most covered songs of the year (even Frank Sinatra did it: “Those cats got to go round”), but it’s a pretty awful song. Okay, I concede I like “You’ve Made Me So Very Happy,” and likewise for a very short minute “And When I Die,” but the band really went over the top with each number. As for Chicago, even with different singers at various stages, they were always just bland, again, even though they were immensely popular. For me the question isn’t “Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is,” but the follow-up line: “Does anybody really care?” By anybody, of course, I mean me.
Blood Sweat and Tears
A Jeannie cover
Chicago

No. 39: Starship, Knee Deep in the Hoopla
No. 18: John Travolta, Travolta Fever
Too easy.

Nos. 16-17: The Shaggs, Philosophy of the World; Shaggs' Own Thing
The Shaggs are the kind of experience that you have to be cool to realize just how cool they are. Yes, they were off-key (both vocally and instrumentally), and their songs were include titles like “My Pal Foot-Foot,” but there was something magical about their sound; perhaps it was the DIY thing, or just being willing to be out there, but what was released was beyond bad, enough to reach into a realm of greatness. I would rather listen to “My Pal Foot-Foot” than “Bohemian Rhapsody.”
"My Pal Foot Foot"

No. 11: Jethro Tull, Aqualung
Back in high school, this guy I knew really tried hard to get me into liking Tull, through both Aqualung and their equally boring Thick as a Brick. He laid back, joint in hand, grooving to the rambling sounds of the guitars and ice-pick-to-the-ears of the flute, and I also lay back and dreamed to taking that flute and jamming it into the strings of the same guitar. “Snot running down his nose” is the only line I ever walked away with from those two sets of disks.
Jethro Tull prove that you call it mucos, but it's snot

No. 8: The Doors, Alive, She Cried
I know Jimmy Guterman has a particular distaste for the Doors, but he is totally accurate in the first line of the review: “Jim Morrison is the most overrated performer in the history of rock and roll.” I’ve been saying that since, well, the ‘60s. Sure, I like some of the Doors material, most of which can fit on a greatest hits compilation so I don’t have to listen to “a potential icon [with] overwrought, overreaching lyrics and tormented, ‘I’m-such-a-rebel’ posturings.” Right on, Jimmy, right on.

No. 6: Milli Vanilli, The Remix Album
Wait, when did Milli Vanilli become rock and roll?

No. 2: Lou Reed, Metal Machine Music
Again, the section starts off with a flip but true statement: “Ladies and gentlemen, we present: The Most Unlistenable Album in the History of Pop Music (including by Kenny Rogers)!” And yet, if this is so, why is this noise collection that would actually help spawn the whole post-industrial genre (e.g., Einstürzende Neubauten) only No. 2? Anyone familiar with Reed’s infamous “fuck you” to his record label, ending his two-album obligation with one fell swoop, knows that this release is something special, and even if one doesn’t listen to it all the way, there is some kind of pleasure in just owning the set.
The first side of "Metal Machine Music"
Einstürzende Neubauten

There is much more out there that could have been added to the book, for want of more space.. For example, under the singles area, there’s the New Vaudeville Band’s “Winchester Cathedral,” Mongo Jerry’s hyped-up “In the Summertime,” the Beach Boys’ “Louie, Louie” (based more on the original Richard Berry arrangement than the Kingsmen), Gary Lewis and the Playboys’ cover of “See You In September,” Nigel Harrison’s “The Windmills of Your Mind,” Terry Jacks’ “Seasons In the Sun,” or Dovovan’s “Mellow Yellow,” to name just a few. As for albums, there’s always Brian Eno’s Portsmouth Sinphonia, anything by “Wildman” Fischer (again, music I like, but still in this category), the KISS members’ four solo LPs, and sooooo many others. Shame they didn’t do a volume II. They did, however, release a follow-up of sorts with The Best Rock n’ Roll Records of All Time just a couple of years later.

There’s much more to enjoy in this book, meanwhile, including sections like “The Worst Rock and Rollers of All Time,” “The 33-1/3 Rules of Rock and Roll,” a section of bad Dylan covers, and songs about Elvis, etc.

And what could be added since this book was released? Well, when I have to compile a yearly Best of / Worst of list, usually for the latter I just say “Open up Billboard to the Top Ten list from any time during the year, and there you are.”

Feel free to leave a comment on what you consider to be the worst rock and roll record – single or album – of all time…

* Sturgeon's Law

DVD Reviews: House of the Damned and Lust for Vengeance

2011-11-22T12:15:00.000-05:00

The reason these two reviews by Richard Gary are grouped together is that they are both made by African-American auteur Sean Weathers, who is based in Brooklyn, New York. He started making films in the genres he liked at a young age, usually with the assistance of producer Aswad Issa and cinematographer George Lopez.

Text © Richard Gary / FFanzeen, 2011
Images from the Internet

House of the Damned: 15th Anniversary Edition
Written and directed by Sean Weathers
Full Circle Filmworks, 1996 / 2011
72 minutes, USD $9.95
Fullcirclefilmworks.com
MVDvisual.com

This is the 15-year rerelease of indie filmmaker Sean Weather’s first film. Shot in glorious black and white, and mostly in Brooklyn, it doesn’t get very deep, but it’s built on an imaginative foundation.

Here’s the basic diggity (and I’m not giving away anything that’s not on either the box or common literature about the film): Liz (Valerie Alexander) comes home after her dad’s murder (in his own house). Living there is her youthful-looking mother, Emily (Monica Williams) and grandfather. They both have a secret that Liz is about to find out before the end of the night, which happens to be her 21st birthday. Four friends (aka the fodder help her celebrate, and while they all meet their fate in sometimes ghastly, other times questionable ways, Liz is actually the target of the whole affair, and so naturally is the only one that delays that doom.

There is a lot packed into the film, including witchcraft, slasher elements, zombies (the voodoo-forced-to-obey kind, not the braaaaaains ones), all with a haunted house feel. In many ways, this is a very successful film, especially considering it’s a first one by this collective, though one may say it arguably tries to cover too much. I don’t have a complaint with that, though, since Weathers doesn’t attempt to overlap genre types often enough to make it confusing. Heck, there is even a bit of nudity and a hint of lesbianism, as well as a moment of bad rapping (purposeful, I believe, considering a comment by Liz at one point).

I’m not sure what element he was using, be it VHS or s-VHS (I’m guessing one of those by the age of the film), but the black-and-white is highly grainy, and the handheld camera looks it. Still, there is a consistent tone throughout which holds up even after all this time and changes in technology (e.g., if this was some form of videotape, then odds are it was cut on editing bay equipment, rather than on a computer, which is much more time consuming and laborious).

There are a few holes here and there that are common with both indie and especially first-time writer/directors which are kind of blatant. For example, when one of the friends is done in while in the basement, we see the reaction of Liz and her erstwhile rapper boyfriend as they stand in the doorway, but we never see what they saw (the moment in is the trailer, below).

But the biggest flaw for me is the lighting, or lack thereof. The scenes on the roof and in the basement, for example, are creepy for certain, and in that they’re effective, but sometimes the shots are so dark that we’re left not being certain at what we’re seeing.

It is important to remember that writer / director Sean Weathers was 16 when he made this film, not actually something that is well-publicized, but his IMDB bio states he was born in 1980. For someone that young age, this is a pretty complex feature with lots of elements. I’m guessing many of the actors are among the same age group, and good on them for that.

It’s obvious what some of the roots of this film are, such as the Evil Dead and The Return of the Living Dead series. Weathers is evidently a fan of the genre, and that he wants to create his own and give back is a beautiful thing.

As far as I know, none of Weathers’ films, including this one, went the theater route, but rather direct to home market. This was actually quite smart maneuvering on his part, especially if he hit the horror convention circuit. Bet they did really well locally at the neighborhood video stores that were prevalent at the time.

The extras include some of his subsequent trailers, such as this one and the film below, and others like Hookers in Revolt (2006). There are also outtakes and clips from his The Unfinished Works of Sean Weathers (2004).

There are two interesting featurettes also included. One is a present-day interview with the lead actress, Valerie Alexander, who discusses what the shooting experience was like, filmed by an unseen interviewer (a self-deprecating Weathers). Some of the questions are just plain worthless, such as querying which male cast members would she “marry, fuck, or kill” The more interesting bits were actual anecdotes about the filming. The second short takes the viewer back to the house in the present, and starting from top to bottom, Weathers discusses the shooting with the camera person. The basement part is as creepy as the film, so that’s effective.

Lust for Vengeance: 10th Anniversary Explicit Edition
Written and directed by Sean Weathers
Full Circle Filmworks, 2001 / 2011
85 minutes, USD $9.95
Fullcirclefilmworks.com
MVDvisual.com

The director, Sean Weathers, watched over 100 Giallo films before he made this picture. What’s a Giallo? He explains in a title card at the beginning: Giallo is the name for a distinct set of Italian thrillers from the 60’s [sic] that combined crime, murder, eroticism, nudity, mystery and whodunits, with stylish visuals.

Weathers had come a long way in the five years from his first release, above. He seems more assured about his direction, and the narrative is complex, yet cleaner. Ah, yes, the storyline.

Five women who have been friends since childhood are being picked off, one by one, possibly by a male acquaintance from their junior high days named Michael Richards (I am assuming that he was named for the “Kramer” actor, ironically half a decade before his racist rant) who had, after some false accusations, accosted one of them and was sent away to the sanitarium. The story of the events that surround these women meeting their fate is told to us, as described in another early title card, in five separate chapters (averaging about 13 minutes), in non-linear order. Helpfully, though, we are told the order by each chapter’s title card, such as “Anna (4).” If this sounds confusing, it’s actually not while watching the film, which is kudos to Weathers. There is very little suspense on who is the killer, though he is dressed in black leather with a motorcycle helmet with dark visor (what confused me is the person in disguise who kills Stephanie (2) looks to be female…).

Each of these women has a vice, be it drugs, bulimia, or sexual addiction, and we get to see it all in detail. While not stated, I am assuming that their relationship with this guy from their past who was seen leaving the first killing (victim’s name is Jennifer Lopez!), according to a police detective who questions the women a few times, has affected them to the point where they do these self-abusive behaviors as an escape from the memory.

Using grainy video to emulate 16mm, I am again assuming (let me know, Sean), the camera often floats around the actors (who are fully nude at some point or another, including women and most of the men), in a very Mario Bava way. While there are few sharp zooms and super close-ups of eyes, as is common in Giallo (especially Dario Argento), Weathers does an interesting thing with the film’s hue: whether the film is in black and white or color, there are extreme tints used so the image is either red, yellow, blue, green, orange, or others, varying from scene to scene. This was a really nice touch.

As with the previous film, there is a dark sense of humor, such as a character here named being Putney Swope (if you haven’t seen the film by that name, you really need to do so; not only is it smart and hilarious, it has a similar feel to Weathers’ and was directed by Robert Downey Sr.). Another is when a character is being held by the killer with his hand over her mouth, and a roommate walks right by shielding her eyes because she thinks the noise she’s hearing is her pal having sex.

Many of the actors in this film are non-pro, with this or other Weathers’ films as their only credits, but they all do relatively well for their experience at the time, and the nature of the film (i.e., a low budget indie). However, they all bravely are willing to simulate (I’m assuming, once again) sex or at least be naked as they wind their way through their first cinematic endeavor in most cases.

Weathers makes few missteps, which is common in the genre. A key one is that we never see Lisa (5), the last on the murderer’s list, done in. Does she survive? This is unclear. And why is someone who is smitten with Stephanie killed, other than being a clingy creep? I believe perhaps he was in her apartment (as he’s smelling a female’s underwear at the time), but if so, how did the killer get him out? Another is a gratuitous lesbian scene on a beach between two characters in the Jennifer section that have nothing I can tell to do with the actual storyline. One minute they’re complaining about their boyfriends, and the next they’re nude and, well… The biggest bug in my bonnet, though, is that I would have liked to have had more detail about Richards and his motivations.

The extras are similar to the first film above, with trailers for Weathers’ films, and clips of outtakes of various projects. In one section are more title cards, this time with trivia about the making of the film. There is also an interview with Weathers on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, one of the few location shots in the film outside of apartments. Here he discusses the film’s progress, but I would have liked to have had a more thorough commentary track, as well. Weathers is a remarkable guy with interesting ideas, and his work process seems to be something worth hearing.

While I figured out the final shot of the film about 20 minutes in, this was still a fun ride to see where it was going, and how it got there. As a low budget indie goes, sure there is more that ‘Weathers and crew can do to improve, but all things considered – especially comparison to some other films of this nature in the genres he’s hooked into – it shows so much promise. With all sincerity, I would love to see what Weathers could do with some real mentor guidance and bigger bucks backing him up. That could prove his real mettle or his downfall. It would be nice if someone gave him the chance to find out. Meanwhile, I will pay respects to Weather’s Full Circle Filmworks, whose slogan is “Stickin’ it to the man 24/7.”

DVD Review: Andy Warhol’s Bad

2011-11-19T00:01:00.006-05:00

Andy Warhol’s Bad
Directed by Jed Johnson
Cheezy Flicks, 1977
105 minutes, USD $7.95
cheezyflicks.com
MVDvisual.com

Even though he probably didn’t really have anything to with the films other than being willing to publicize it by having his moniker attached, Andy Warhol apparently loved titles with one word following his name, such as Andy Warhol’s Dracula, Andy Warhol’s Frankenstein, Andy Warhol’s Trash, Andy Warhol’s Flesh, and Andy Warhol’s Heat.

Most of the films had a strong amateur quality to them, which actually made them feel all the more gritty and real, rather than taking away from it. Thus is the case with the film at hand, Andy Warhol’s Bad.

The basic plot revolves around Hazel Akins, played in middle age by Carroll Baker (who sizzled up the screen with the likes of Baby Doll), a Queens, NY, cosmetologist (i.e., does electrolysis from her home) is a crime pimp. She takes orders from regular customers on transgressions upon request (e.g., the opening scene of Cyrinda Foxe trashing a lunch counter’s bathroom). She only deals with women criminals who get paid and then give her a large cut that she calls “rent.” That is until…

Enter Perry King as L.T., a grifter drifter who manages to sweet talk Hazel into letting him stay at her house until he hears from the person hiring him; the only reason she agrees is because of the large share of her cut. Y’see, Hazel is greedy. Even though a cop is hanging around (Charles McGregor, of blaxploitation and Blazing Saddles fame) asking for a name to arrest so he can look good, she won’t turn anyone in simply because of she doesn’t want to lose the commission, not because of good will.

I knew I was going to like this film from the first piece of dialog said by King. He walks into a lunch counter (yes, the same one as mentioned above) and he says, “Coffee. Light and sweet.” I haven’t heard those words since moving to Canada. For those up here who don’t now, it’s the original “double-double.”

In fact, one of the great joys of this film is the harsh Brooklyn and Queens accents, which come naturally, unlike most of what you hear in the media (e.g., CSI: NY). It’s just brutal happiness. Rosie O’Donnell, when she was much younger and doing stand-up, posited that no one would have listened to Einstein if he had a New York accent. But I digress….

Morals are a bit hard to come by with this crowd, as the range goes from casually reading other peoples mail and snipping off fingers for personal pleasure (and then putting it in someone’s mustard jar), to assaults on pets, autistic kids and infants. Oh, John Waters is not the only one holding up a Filthiest Family (albeit no one here eats dog crap). As Mary, the screechy daughter-in-law, played by the wonderful and underrated Susan Tyrrell states, “People are so sick; the more you see ‘em, the sicker they look.” Sing it, sister.

Among the strangest inhabitants of this world are real life Brooklynite siblings, Geraldine and Marie Smith, who also play sisters in the film. It’s a joy to hear them talk, whatever they’re saying. One’s a pyro who sets fire to a movie theater and the very car they just robbed as they tool around.

While Warhol isn’t in the film, his presence is still subtly felt by some of his Factory crowd appearing in the film, such as Brigid Polk (as an insaniac who orders the doggie do-in) and Kitty Bruce (Lenny’s little girl).

Considering how shrill the film is, and how vile the storyline, the picture actually holds together better over time than early Waters’ has, becoming camp in a different way: AW’s Bad is more urban gritty in a Serpico or Taxi Driver kind of way, whereas Waters’ – whose films I truly enjoy – are more suburban mythical. And, may I add as a note rather than an insult, the people here are much better actors than those who appear in the early Baltimore auteur’s work (apologies to Divine, RIP).

AW’s Bad reminded me of other low-budget films of an earlier time, such as Lady in a Cage, Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? and even Arch Hall Jr.’s The Sadist. It’s certainly more shocking in a humanist way, than some of the other Andy Warhol-related releases, such as Frankenstein or Dracula, and the film is certainly better directed by Jed Johnson than, say, Heat or Trash (mind you, I haven’t seen those latter two films since the ‘70s, so I’m relying on a 30-year-old memory…jeez, I’m old…).

This is not a feel good movie in any kind of way, but it is sharp, in part by the sheer will and emotion of its actors, even when they’re being cool and suave like King, or cold and calculating like Baker. But it’s the others who have a scene or two that really make the picture into the true horror show that it is. Not for the squeamish at heart, but a wondrous slice of life of the truly bad.

DVD Reviews: ThanksKilling and The Night Shift

2011-11-15T00:01:00.000-05:00

Text © Richard Gary / FFanzeen, 2011
Images from the Internet

I reviewed these two independent films together because they both set out to achieve some comedy along with the horror. Plus, I get to mention the Fonz, either directly or indirectly, in both. Peter Griffin must be smiling somewhere…

ThanksKilling
Directed by Jordan Downey
MVD Visual, 2009 / 2011
66 minutes, USD $16.95
Thankskillingmovie.com
MVDvisual.com

According to the commentary track with director Downey and co-writer Kevin Stewart, the purpose of this $3,500 film, shot in 11 days back while they were both in college, was not to make a horror film per se, but by aiming towards the “so bad it’s good” (SBIG) category, rather make it a comedy with horror elements. It is true that when one goes for SBIG, usually horror is the genre on which to point.

From the box alone, you know the territory is going to be no-prisoners: make the viewer laugh at any expense, no matter how low, no matter how silly, no matter how forced. And have they achieved their goal of making a comedy and the worst horror film ever made? Well, yes and no. Let’s discuss…

As promised on the box, the first shot in the film is of a naked breast, apparently that of a healthy and hefty pilgrim running topless through the woods, played in cameo by older adult star Wanda Lust (nee Shelia Hansen). She is fleeing something raised by the Indians (this film is intentionally not PC, so I won’t bother with the terms Native Americans or First Nations) to kill the Pilgrims on the first Thanksgiving. Let’s stop there a moment and ponder. Totally realizing that there is an abnormally large need for suspension of disbelief, let me say that if this had happened, we certainly wouldn’t be celebrating the holiday, would we? But as far as stretching credulity goes, this is one of the minor ones, relatively speaking. Again, though, that’s part of the point. It’s important to keep remembering that, going forward.

After the pilgrim prologue, we meet five high school students (okay, there goes that credulity thing again in my head…easy now, brain, this is just the beginning of the ride) who are going to be both heroes and victims of… well, it’s pretty obvious from the box, so I don’t think I’m revealing anything by saying it’s the killer turkey, imaginatively named Turkie (if they really wanted it to be scary, it could have been named Tofuerkie). I must say right now that for a killer puppet turkey, Turkie looks pretty good. Kudos guys. Perhaps they could pair up with the makers of The Puppet Monster Massacre, as both these films are sequel bound? Or perhaps even Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead? But I digress…

So, the teens are totally (and purposefully, according to the commentary track, which I highly recommend if you’re going to watch this… ha, bet you thought I was going to say “turkey”!) cinematic clichés, including Johnny, the jock with a heart of gold (Lance Predmore), his goofy hick pal, Billy (Aaron-Ringhiser-Carlson, doing his best Tyler Labine impression), Billy’s nerd hanger-on Darren (Ryan Francis, who in “real life” is the drummer of the female-fronted Ohio punk band Overated , as Huge Euge), good girl Kristen (Lindsey Anderson, whose only previous notation was in Troma’s Terror Firmer, 10 years before this), and bad girl Ali (Natasha Cordova, in full John-Lithgow-sitcom-overacting style, coming closest to what the commentary states they wanted).

The five set off on Thanksgiving break (yeah, I know and the writers acknowledge in the commentary) to go camping. Of course, they run into said Turkie in the woods, who was resurrected by the pee of the dog owned by a hermit named Oscar (as in “the Grouch,” played well by General Bastard, who is the singer of his own punk-garage band).

Of course, this meeting of late-twenty-year-old teens and Turkie turns into a battle that takes it back to town, where Turkie does away with a bunch of townsfolk, including relatives as well as some of the main cast. While Kristen’s dad, the town sheriff (Chuck Lamb, who has made a mini-career out of playing dead bodies in films and television), may have the fakest looking moustache in recent cinema memory (though it works for his character, and I’d like to say Lamb did well in his rare speaking role), probably the goofiest moment is when Turkie disguises himself as the sheriff by putting on a hat and a plastic Groucho glasses / nose / moustache, so not even his daughter can tell them apart. It is one of the few moments that I actually laughed out loud, in sheer audacity. Well played, Jordan Downey.

One of the two most infamous scenes, though, is Turkie disguised as a woman, and then getting picked up as a hitchhiker who is obviously aroused, thinking he’s a (human) girl. Let’s just say it doesn’t end well, especially for the audience. The other is when Turkie has his way with someone (“You’ve been stuffed,” he states after), though it should be noted that it was done safely (at the scene is found an extra small condom, gravy flavored).

As with Freddie Kruger, Turkie gets a whole bunch of groaner puns to state at specific times that, yes, I have to admit, are memorable and I’m sure repeatable at some time or another in life (though, I can’t think of anything needing a “Gobble-Gobble Motherfucker,” except for it’s own sake; hey, it’s even on the box).

So, is this the worst movie ever made? No, of course not, because it doesn’t take itself seriously, and tries too hard. For a film to be truly bad, it has to be done straight, such as Plan Nine From Outer Space, Cape Canaveral Monsters, or Lara Croft: Tomb Raider. But again, even as an acknowledged bad film, such as Bill Zebub’s The Worst Horror Film Ever Made, there is more a sense of either general goofiness or laziness than planned direction. That’s what is wrong with films like Epic Movie or Date Movie, in that they try too hard in a way that Fonzie kept trying so to keep his cool that he actually wasn’t.
The viewer has to be careful how to approach a film that intentionally tries to be bad. For example, I watched this the first time with a group of people who are a bit older (i.e., around my age), and even though they knew they were in for something bizarre (they did read the box, after all), they found it kind of silly more than anything else. I must admit, I appreciated it more after listening to the commentary by the director and writer (shame there were no captions because it would have been great to do both). Obviously, the demographic the film is aiming for is high school to college kids who either like inanity for inanity’s sake (hey, I’ve been there), or the alcohol and weed stoners who will laugh at a fart joke.

For me, the film definitely had its moments, and I was glad to watch it a second time by myself and actually see it (as opposed to in a talk-back crowd), and then, dare I say it, a third with the commentary. Waste of time? Sure. Sorry I saw it? No. While it may not have been the worst movie (I’m with Elaine about the film The English Patient, a book I thoroughly enjoyed, though), nor even a great comedy, it was a fun way to waste an afternoon.

Meanwhile, I’ve got my bag of popcorn ready for the nuker when the sequel (with a budget of $100,000) comes around.
Trailer below

The Night Shift
Written, produced and directed by Thomas Smith
Fighting Owl Films / Distributed R-Squared Films, 2010
126 minutes, USD $19.95
fightingowlfilms.com
rsquaredfilms.com
MVDvisual.com

No, this is not the Ron Howard-directed film starring Michael Keaton and Henry Winkler (1982), nor any of the other recent productions with similar names, but rather a new horror comedy. At first, from reading the treatment on the box, I was wondering if it had anything to do with the wonderful 1994 Italian film, Dellamorte Dellamore, but I was mistaken (though there are some similarities).

In a lovely landscaped cemetery, where all of the action takes place (filmed in Mobile, ‘Bama), there are two shifts (12 hrs each?) of caretakers. The first, during the day, is unconventional beauty Claire Rennfield (played by Erin Lilley, who is also producer, and did sound, art, make-up, has a history in opera and dance – and did I mention she’s also married to the director?; her character is named after Renfield, in Dracula), who works during the days, and is the intermediary between the residents of the cemetery and the mysterious people who run it. The night shift is run by custodian Rue Morgan (as in Poe’s “Murders in the Rue Morgue,” portrayed by Khristian Fulmer), who died in 1929, a week before the Great Depression. As official custodian, he does not rot along with the rest of the residents. Oh, yes, the other residents… well, I’ll get to them.

Because Rue is mort and Claire is vive, there is sexual tension betwixt ‘em, but she won’t have anything to do with him because, well, he’s dead, and will never age. What to do, what to do… Rue talks it over with his best friend, a limbless and dressed up skeleton named Herbie West (voiced by Soren Odom, who is also the assistant director, cinematographer, and wrote the music; any horror fan will recognize the character’s name as coming from Re-Animator). Herbie, played by a skeleton puppet, is a smart ass and adds further comic relief.

While they all try to figure out this complicated relationship, there’s shenanigans afoot. Apparently, the cemetery is connected to another, rival one, and by connecting the two, it will cause a rift that will cause the apocalypse (nah, didn’t make sense to me either, but I’ll go with it). Who is the enemy here? Is it the teen werewolf (modeled, of course, after Michael Landon’s I Was a Teenage Werewolf, including pompadour)? The Rebel officer from the Civil War who is Rue’s biggest nemesis? The demon who shows up unexpectedly that Rue must distinguish? Perhaps the higher-ups themselves are behind it all? Honestly, 20 minutes in, if you can’t figure it out, hang your head.

Along with the questionable characters, there are some nice guys, too, such as the preppy guy who’s entire make-up is a pastel blue on his face who acts mentally slow, or a teen who was obviously killed when hit in the head with a baseball (it’s still lodged there), among others.

Apparently, it’s no big whoop to have the dead roaming around all night from either Claire or any of the others who sneak in. Rue’s job is to keep the residents in at night, and visitors out. Rue is dressed in suspenders and loose cap, looking and talking like a Bowery Boy (sans New York accent), but gee, that’s swell. Claire is a bit of a hard-ass, but one might even consider her harassed by this dead compadre who keeps hitting on her (though I doubt that came across the thoughts of the writers).

There’s no great special effects that happen, and just about no blood, with any violence shown (other than an intentionally humorous sword fight), this is actually less scary than, say, The Pirates of the Caribbean.

While some of the acting is stiff (pun intended), such as Jonathan Pruitt’s Reb captain Roderick, whose line reading is, well, awful (though he’s not the only one), there is still a positive feel to the production. Shot for an estimated $10,000, the film has a good look to it.

For a first (and so far only) full feature by director Thomas Smith, it really is a encouraging starting point. Hey, it even won Best Fantasy Feature at the Shockerfest International Film Festival 2011.

If you are squeamish and have problems with some of the blood, gore, and sexuality of most of the (especially) indie films out these days, this is a safe place to start.

DVD Review: A Serbian Film (Srpski Film)

2011-11-12T00:01:00.036-05:00

A Serbian Film: Unrated Version
Produced and directed by Srdjan Spasojevic
Invincible Pictures, 2010
103 minutes, USD $19.95
Invinciblepictures.com
Serbianfilmmovie.com
MVDvisual.com

”It’s dangerous, Max…it’s more – how can I say – more political than that… It has something you don’t have, Max. It has a philosophy, and that’s what makes it dangerous.”

– Marsha, in Videodrome

David Cronenberg’s Videodrome should almost be a prerequisite for watching this film from the former Yugoslavia. They both deal with the issue of violence through media with a political bent. But Videodrome only brushes where Srpski Film takes off.

We are introduced to retired porn star Milos (Srdjan Todorovic), whose specialties were having a bit of a violent streak and being fatigueless. But now he has a (understanding) wife, Marija (Jelena Gavrilovic) and a six-year-old son. He is struggling to not only survive financially, but part of him misses the action, though he won’t admit it to himself.

Asked to come back for just one film by an ex-co-star, Lejla (Katarina Zutic), he is hesitant, but the promise of a big paycheck and “the itch” calls him. With Marija’s blessing, he meets with the director, Vulkmir (Sergei Trifunovic), who states that he wants Milos to just be himself, and so refuses to let him know what the film is about. Reluctantly, Milos agrees. And you just know it’s not going to end well.

Now, the North American audience has spent years watching graphically violent and disturbing films like Wolf Creek, and the Hostel and Saw franchises. This genre has come to been labeled by the term “torture porn.” Well, A Serbian Film pushes the scale ever further toward the latter. The most graphically and disturbing scene that comes to mind in previous films I have seen is the fire extinguisher incident from Irreversible, but parts of this one if not beat it, come thisclose.

Slowly but surely, through his own dark nature and a bit of an injected “sex drug” (a comment on Viagra or Calais?), Milos doesn’t just lose whatever is left of his moral compass, he becomes the pawn in a game that is completely out of his control as he suffers blackouts, only to find out later through videos and flashbacks just what kind of sick actions he’s been in the middle of performing.

No, I won’t go into detail, but there is a point to it all. Truthfully, I’m not aware of much Serbian history or politics, so a great deal of the context is stripped away leaving mostly the violence and sex (sometimes graphic, landing somewhere between softcore and hardcore in various degrees, including an erect penis, though I’m assuming it is a prosthetic, considering the length), without the point of a good deal of it.

I do get some of it, though, such as when Milos is wandering around Belgrade in a sex-drug-induced fog, and seeing all different forms of acceptable sexually suggestiveness, such as lingerie billboards, and magazines at a deli.

But it is pretty obvious that the film has, as posited at the beginning, a philosophy. It’s not simply violence for violence sake, especially when viewed in the Serbian historical perspective, but as I said, the message is hazy to one (e.g., me) unfamiliar with the background.

On YouTube, you can find lots of videos of people watchg the film, the most I've seen since the infamous two women and the cup reactions.

How far can one man go into the depths of his own depravity? And who is there to push him over that line? And to what purpose? The answer lay at the end of the film, but it’s not a pretty picture, both figuratively and literally, and as I said and which is pretty obvious, it does not end well for many. Does art imitate life/politics?

Does politics/life imitate art? Where does art begin and politics end, and vice versa? These are chicken-and-egg questions that the film addresses. Whether they answer it or not seems unimportant since, as one philosophy states, the question is as – if not more – important than the question.

I’m On the List

2011-11-09T14:57:00.000-05:00

That’s an old joke from the ‘70s. While I’ve paid for more shows over the years than have been on the guest list, I have also had the honor of having my name at the door quite a few times.

I don’t really remember the first time I made the list for my work on my fanzine (1977-88), but most likely it was either at CBGB (RIP) or Max’s Kansas City (RIP). However, making the list itself could have come earlier, in 1976, while I was Arts Editor of my college paper and had the opportunity to see a number of shows for free, such as Sparks and Mott at Avery Fischer Hall, or Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers at both CBGB and the Bottom Line (RIP).

Actually, there are different levels to the list. The primo is considered the backstage pass at a bigger show, which usually results in a laminated card that is either hung around the neck or clipped to your clothes. As I mostly review independent artists (I’m still proud to say I turned down a chance to interview Duran Duran during their heyday because, well, who cares), the odds of the pass being that sophisticated is unlikely. In fact, the only laminated pass I have ever received, as far as I can remember, was to see the revived New York Dolls play a private concert at the now defunct Tower Records on lower Broadway, in 2006. Admittedly, I had nothing to do with it really: my pal’s son, Ben Kugel, used his influence to wrangle a pass for himself plus one, which ended up being a very fortunate “Uncle Robert.” We even got to hang out a bit with the band after the show.

When going for a guest list at the level to which I am used to, there is no fancy memento, even for some of the relatively bigger names. The end result is usually my name handwritten on a sheet of paper at the front door, hopefully with a “+1” following it. Now, it is always a gamble that you’ll get down there, and either you were forgotten, the band isn’t there yet with the list, the management suppresses the list because it’s that much less money for them if you get in free, or you were lied to because it’s easier to say yes and then ignore it after than confront a requester. If this occurs (and it has happened to me a number of times) you’re standing there saying “I’m on [band name]’s list,” only to find them responding, “No, nothing here.” In fact, this is so common that when I went to see D.O.A. at Amigos in Saskatoon, I brought along a printout of the email from the record company, Sudden Death, saying that if there was any problems at the door, to have them “find Joey” [Keithley], the band’s frontman. Occasionally, the door person will believe you anyway and let you in, but that is exceptionally rare, even for the smaller venues.

And just what does one do in that situation? Do you say screw it and pay anyway, or do you say screw it and walk away? Well, for me, it depends on a formula based on the factors of who is playing, how much is the cover charge, and how much cash do I have in my pocket. Since I’ve been to Saskatoon, I’ve been pretty lucky, and every time I’ve been on the list, my name was there. But more on that in a sec.

Back in Brooklyn, when I learned about a club called the Punk Temple (RIP) in my own Bensonhurst neighborhood (held in a Synagogue basement) in 2002, I contacted the guys who ran the place via email and asked them to put me on the list in exchange for photos that I would give to them and the bands. The answer was solidly no, because there were people already taking pictures. Yeah, I thought, teenagers with little to no experience on cheap digi cameras (I still used film then). So, I went anyway, gave my $8, and handed in the pix in anyway. That was the last time I paid at the Temple.

I got there early for the Temple shows (something I still like to do) and started hanging out with the guys who ran the place, making myself known to them and the bands, many of whom invited me to other gigs elsewhere. And when the fans formed bands, they in turn asked me to come. Honestly, I don’t think I paid for a single show from 2002 until 2009. Somewhere towards the end of the Punk Temple heyday, around 2004, I was in the space waiting for the show to start. While the mean age was probably 19-20, I was in my mid-40s. Some pimple-faced smartass approached me and asked, “What are you doing here, you fuckin’ old man?” Unperturbed, I responded by asking to see his wrist. After some “Wha?” from him, he showed me his stamp. “See that stamp?” He affirmed in a “What about it?” I continued, “See the stamp on the hands of everyone here? See the stamps on the band setting up?” He was getting angry(ier) and wanted to know my point (though he stated it in different words). I held up my clean hand: “Do you see any stamp on mine? No? That’s because I can walk in and out of this place any time I want. Can you?” At that moment, members of two different bands came over to me. “Robert! So glad you could make it,” giving me that man hug/back pat. I looked over at the kid, and he could only shrug his shoulders and walk away.

Yes, I like being on the list. The show could be for $50 or 50¢, it doesn’t matter. It’s sort of like the old First Nations’ “coup” (a bloodless game of war where you won by touching the opponent). But for me, no matter how I joke about this, it’s not something to be taken lightly, ever. When I’m on the list, for whatever the price of the ticket, for me it’s a contract that I intend to honor. I have never thought, “I’m not in the mood for the show; I’ll just blow it off because I didn’t pay for the ticket.” No, it’s a sacred bond; a promise on my part.

I’m not a musician, though I’ve tried both the guitar and bass. I’m untalented musically since I cannot remember chord streams and I have absolutely no sense of rhythm when it comes to actually playing. However, I still want to give to the scene, so what I do is a write and I photograph, making the photos accessible to the bands. This is how I contribute. Whenever I have been put on a list, I have reciprocated through documenting the show through reviews and/or photographs (lately, mostly on this blog). The bands can then use my thoughts and images for their own publicity. See, when I don’t pay cash to see a show, I still give my time, my mind, and my art in exchange, so it remains two-sided.

Since being in Saskatoon, I’ve had the pleasure of seeing Johnny Winter, D.O.A., the Saskatoon Reggae and World Music Festival (including Jah Cutta), the Oral Fuentes Band, and Absofunkenlutely [AFL], while being on the entrance list. For the last three, it was pretty easy because I’m friendly with Oral, who is my neighbor, and through him met Randy Woods, leader of AFL; Oral also runs the Reggae Fest. Even with the personal connection, I have contributed solidly through photo and review.

With Winter and D.O.A., well, I asked their management or record company through emails. I had reviewed a bunch of Winter’s material previously, such as one DVD collection of his performances from the 1980s, and another of his shows in Germany from 1979. The management was uncertain about letting me in, I could tell, but after I published the review, they were quite happy and informed me they would let me know when any of their other artists hit town. For D.O.A., well, I’m sure Joey knows about my fanzine from the ‘70s-‘80s, which may have given me some extra credibility, and I’m hoping they liked the review and photos that are two blogs back from this one (see the list on the right).

Most of the time when I ask, especially with larger touring acts such Simon & Garfunkel or Roger Daltry who were to play in town (both cancelled), odds are I won’t hear anything back but the tumbleweeds, but it never hurts to ask. As S&G may have said, this is my blog for the asking, if you will.

That being said, do I consider myself a freebie whore? No, because part of the deal on my part is that I will be honest. If there is some act I see and don’t like, I was say so. I don’t whitewash just for a name at the door. When I agree to see a show, my end of the bargain includes my true opinion. I have had bands mad at me for saying they sounded out of tune, or were boring. Without honesty, there is no credibility. I am not merely a human press release, so it is a gamble for the band because of my sense to truthfulness, but it’s also one for me because the show may be, well, crap. Fortunately, most of the time, I have not been disappointed, and have had a blast.

So, you acts out there who are either in town or on tour coming this way, let me know, and if I say yes, I will be there, with camera and notepad in hand. But please, don’t forget to put me on the list (plus one).

Book Review: Clapton: The Ultimate Illustrated History

2011-11-05T00:01:00.001-04:00

Clapton: The Ultimate Illustrated History
By Chris Welch
Voyageur Press (Minneapolis), 2011
256 pages; USD $40.00 / CAN $44.00
ISBN: 978-0-7603-4046-2
Voyageurpress.com

My awareness of Clapton first came indirectly, with Cream’s “Sunshine of Your Love.” In 1968, I was in sleepaway camp H.E.S. for three weeks that summer. Being co-ed, there was a weekly dance for us all to mingle. As I was 13 that year, it was a good thing. However, the only record anyone thought to bring along was the “Sunshine” 45. Though I don’t remember what the flip, “SWLABR,” sounds like, I do remember we all voted that we preferred the A-side. “Sunshine,” by itself, was played over and over at the gatherings, for hours. When we wanted to slow dance, we played it at 33-1/3. When we wanted to “freak out,” we played it at 78. I’m still comfortable hearing it in all speeds.

While “Sunshine” was in my consciousness, I wasn’t aware of who Cream was, as far as members go. At the time, I was more of a fan of girl groups, nascent garage, Simon and Garfunkel, and Allan Sherman. I don’t even remember hearing “Strange Brew” or “White Room” until well into the ‘70s.

What I do remember from my middle school days in the very late ‘60s and onward, though, was the graffiti. In the stalls of the Rock’n’Roll High School-style smoke-clogged Bensonhurst bathrooms, those few times I dared venture into there, were the common pen-scratched “Frodo Lives,” “I Grok Spock,” and “Clapton is God.”

Chris Welch has been writing about rock music since Clapton originally showed up on the scene, which is when they first met and struck up an acquaintance. It seems fitting for a man who has followed Clapton’s career - from humble beginnings to the present – to write a book about his music-making life. Clapton comes across as a restless artist, rarely being satisfied and eventually running away in one manner or another, caught between his self-doubt and explosive ego. You know… a musician.

The luscious oversized hardcover, filled with over 400 illustrations, is subtly broken into sidebars beyond the chapters, with descriptions, histories and photos of his guitars, dissection of certain key albums, and replication of artifacts such as posters, band images, and even concert stubs.

There’s no skimping on ink here, as most of the reproductions are excellent, in vibrant color or black-and-white. Then again, they are not overly doctored, either, so if the record has a ring on the cover, or a discoloration from time, that’s present as well.

The research that went into these images is staggering, from extremely rare releases, such as 45 cover sleeves, small concert ads and tour programs, promotions, and even personalized guitar picks.

But this is hardly a mere coffee-table photo book. It is also a full textual history of the artist, and includes quotes from many of the major musicians that connected with Clapton in the course of his life, and especially career. Even without all the reproduced figures, this is a full biographical book on Clapton’s craft. Welsh also does not hold back any punches, stating how some of Clapton’s recordings during the ‘80s are lackluster and not up to his potential.

White much of the detail is keen, and for that I can assuredly recommend this release, there are still a couple of holes and quibbles. For example, there is very little personal information that is included, with short shrift on Clapton’s drug and subsequent alcohol abuse, and very little mention about the turmoil brought about through the relationship of Pattie Boyd (whose own autobiography I found abysmal, but I digress…), with just a couple of references and one photo of them together. There is no citation in the text of Clapton’s involvement in the Who’s film version of Tommy (though there is a photo of him as the Preacher, and the disappointing film’s poster are shown), nor anything about his reaction to his best friend/rival George Harrison’s passing. Perhaps this is a conscious choice, wanting to rely more on the output of the artist rather than be bogged down in personal minutia?

The quibbling, nit-picking part is the use of the word “Ultimate” in the title, because the last time I checked Clapton was still alive, so there will be more to come, I hope….

This is just part of a series of “Illustrated History” releases for Voyageur, such as AC/DC and Aerosmith, and it’s a worthwhile project for certain. Each one is certainly a gem of images and information, and this one is absolutely essential to the Eric Clapton is God contingent, if not all the fans of his music and those interested in some solid rock history.

Bonus Videos:

Concert Review: DOA, October 29, 2011, at Amigos, in Saskatoon

2011-11-02T00:01:00.003-04:00

Text and live photos © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2011
Photos can be enlarged by clicking on them
Suddendeath.com

A version of this article appears at: www.jerseybeat.com

I have been a fan of Vancouver – well, Barnaby, anyway – punkers since I first listened to their War on 45 12” EP in 1981. Since then, I’ve heard much of their output, and read both of lead singer Joe(y) “Shithead” Keithley’s books (I, Shithead and the recent Talk-Action=0). And on Saturday night, October 29, 2011, D.O.A. came to Saskatoon for the second time this year, this time playing Amigos: family Mexican restaurant by day, excellent showcase by night; think of it as Zorro of the local music world.

Speaking of D.O.A., it should be noted that while the band is essentially Joe and whomever he is playing with, he is a serial musician, so while his group does shuffle personnel, they usually play with him for a long time. As D.O.A. has been around since ‘78, it is more likely to have people change than not. But to be clear, this is not a back-up band playing with Joe but a solid unit. The band now consists of Joe on vox and masterful guitar, Dirty Dan Sedan (nee Yaremko, who has now been with D.O.A. for a number of years) on bass, and the newest member, Jessie “The Kid” Pinner on drums.

But, as usual I get ahead of myself. Let’s go back… back to those thrilling days of earlier this week…

Audience pirate

I was dropped off at Amigos at just about 10 o’clock, with the first band scheduled to come on in a half-hour. The place had been open two hours already, as they are a restaurant, and Joe gave a talk about politics and his latest book previous to that (which I first learned after the night’s show). The place was not packed when first got there, but it was a nice crowd. Amigos has a bunch of side rooms, so it’s deceptive on how many people could actually be in the place.

When I first walked in, I had an “oh!” moment as, for some reason, I hadn’t thought about it being the Saturday before Halloween, so many were in costume. I saw a great one of Bender (Futurama), a burlesque dancer, a (male) pirate with a bare midriff, and some blond guy in a full First Nations outfit. I decided that if anyone asked, I was disguised as a webzine writer from New York.

[Rod Rooker]

Not wanting to spend any money (damn unemployment!), I stood by the side of the stage rather than sitting at a table and annoying the very pleasant wait staff. By the back door is a wall full of old set lists of unidentified bands. Impressive.

After a bit, the opening band came on stage who called themselves Kroovy Rookers, out of Edmonton (about 300 miles away). They’ve been together for seven years, and refer to themselves as “street rock with an oi/punk edge to it; out for beers and good times.” The bassist (Remi Desautels, aka Remi Rooker) came on wearing a gorilla mask and the drummer (Mike Martin, aka Rowdy Rooker) with a spandex Mexican style wrestling mask (both that I knew from past experience wouldn’t last long under the stage lights). The lead singer (Rod Gillis, aka Rod Rooker) had the bald head and Noddy Holder sideburns (told me later he’s a huge Slade fan), and you just know in warmer weather we’d be wearing cargo shorts.

[Remi Rooker]

Song topics include drinkin’, lovin’ and drinkin’. Oh, and lovin’. Yes, and drinkin’. Good-time music. They’re a fun power trio who sounded tight. I truly took pleasure in the song introductions: “This is about [A]; it’s called ‘[B]’.” Just plain, simple, and to the point. Refreshing.

[Rowdy Rooker]

While they played, there was a group slamdancing. You know the type: jocks who like the excuse to bash into everyone, and the music is really secondary. I’m finding it a bit passé, myself. Circle jerking, great, everyone can get involved, but bash-crash-pow is so 1983. Funny how the jocks who used to beat people up for being punk, now use the punk genre to continuing hitting everyone and proving how big their muscles are, and small their dicks. Anyway, I was taking pictures of the band and got a solid elbow to the face, dead square between my nose and teeth; a half inch up or down would have been a lot more consequential. Hurt for a second, and then my sinuses just cleared away, though I knew I would pay for it in the morning (and I was right). But, as my pal Tony (SQNS) Petrossa said with a shrug after his nose got bloodied one night at Brooklyn’s Punk Temple, “Hey, it’s punk rock.” What bothered me, though, was that it sent me back a couple of feet, and I knocked into said pirate and burlesquer’s table, spilling some of their pints. My first apology of the night.

When the Kroovy Rookers ended their set, I gave Rowdy my contact information, and then I sat down at an emptied table. Rod Rooker coincidentally sat down next to me, and we started chatting. Fun band = nice guy. It was an enjoyable ‘twix-sets spending some time talking to him. I forgot to ask him what the hell the band’s name means, though.

Soon, Joe Keithley came to the main room from where he was holding court and in true punk rock fashion, moved and carried amps to their right positions, as the rest of the trio helped. Honestly, he looked tired. This was toward the end of the tour, and he looked stiff. Also, it appeared his knees were of some issue (hey, try sitting in the van/car/whatever between shows for long tours and then carrying 50+ lb amps around, buddy!). They set up fairly quickly, and were ready to go.

I found a seat facing the front of the stage, with the mosh pit in front of me. I shoulda known better. After the third person fell across me, I said fuck this, and moved to the right side of the room. There were tables along the wall, and one spot where it looked like I could stand protected. Except, this jock stood purposefully in my way, beer in hand, looking at me like, “Whatca gonna do about it, eh?” So I leaned into him and pushed myself into the spot. Then when I raised the camera, he put his hand about three feet in front of the lens and so all I could see was his “finger.” Sigh. Macho knows no borders. Of course, I laughed like “yah, you got me” (while thinking other choice descriptive words), and fortunately he smiled back and ignored me after that. I leaned against the brick wall, behind the chair of some late teen girl (drinking limit is 18 in Saskatoon), who ignored me, thankfully. Eventually, though, I think the flash got to her, and she said to me, “Why don’t you go take pictures from the other side of the room.” Don’t blame her, actually, which leads me to the second apology.

The D.O.A. set started off with a roar of sound that brought joy to my ears. Been a while since I’ve seen a punk band this good. Starting off with “Nazi Training Camp,” they slammed into “That’s Why I Am an Atheist.” The crowd was instantly buzzing and in motion. The pit was larger as more people joined in, which also ironically made it a bit more less – er – dangerous. Still, when I moved to the left side of the stage after about six songs, I stayed there.

D.O.A. did many tunes from their new CD, also named Talk-Action=0, such as “I Live in a Car,” “Rebel Kind,” and “They Hate Punk Rock.” While Joe may have looked tired before the set, once the songs started, he, well, just use any positive sports metaphor here (e.g., hit it out of the park, scored a goal, touchdown, got a three-pointer).

There were themes to the between song banter by Joe, and of course they were political. He told the audience to support the Occupy movement and to vote against Brad Wall (Conservative incumbent Premier – that’s governor to the below the border crowd – who is trying to privatize everything at the expense of the “99%”; the election is on Monday, Nov. 7, and he is predicted to win). In fact, during the multi-song encore, he changed the D.O.A. classic from “Fucked up Ronnie” (Reagan) to “Fucked Up Brad,” much to the joy of the audience. Well, I don’t know if they cared or not, but I enjoyed it.

Speaking of the audience, while I was on the side of the stage, a very drunk guy dressed in a wicked cool zombie priest costume (Coffin Joe? Someone from a Fulchi film?) started insisting he knew who I was (supposedly some famous photographer), and he wanted to make sure that I knew that he knew. It was all very amusing. He asked me to take his picture, which I did, but it did not turn out as the flash didn’t go off, so I just wanted to apologize, guy.

D.O.A.’s songs are short and to the point. While the polish of some of the recordings was scraped away, the growl in Joe’s voice and the sting of the trio makes this equal fare, just stripped bare and bloody. Also, a great thing about short songs is that you get to hear a lot more of them in an allotted time. Why listen to one long drawn out prog opus for 20 minutes when you can hear about 10 punk songs in the same amount of time? And besides, they’re usually more fun anyway.

Lots of songs from the D.O.A. cannon were blasted out, such as “Disco Sucks,” “World War 3,” and their classic cover of “War.”.

I’d also like to add that as exhausted as they obviously were, and knowing this was the last stop on the tour before they head home (to celebrate Guy Fawkes day apparently, on Nov. 5), they gave all that they had, which was lots. If this was curling, one may say they hurry hard (okay, enough with the sports metaphors, Francos!).

[D.O.A. set list]
By the time they were done, including the encore, it was well over an hour. The band was soaked. The moshers were soaked. I had a sore elbowed mouth, but was happy.

Actually, I wanted to talk to Joe, say hi for myself and pass along good wishes from Jersey Beat publisher Jim Testa, but it seemed to be never the right time. He was either setting up, surrounded by drunks trying to tell him how great he was as he was trying to leave the stage (he actually had to ask someone not to block the stairs as he descended), or later counting the receipts at the merch table.

Speaking of later: So, after the show, which ended at 12:45 A.M. or so, I asked the bartender if he knew the number for a taxi, and he happily dialed a number and gave me the phone, going back to customers. No answer, so I redialed a couple of times and got put on hold for 10 minutes until the operator answered. “Thirty to 40 minutes,” she said. I went outside and waited while many wobbly drunk people got into their cars and trucks, and drove away with other people equally inebriated in the other seats. Shudder. After an hour, I went back into the bar, and the bartender gave me another shot at the taxi service. No one even picked up. Guy doing shots at the bar said, “This is Halloween Saturday. It’s 2 O’clock when all the bars let out. You’re fucked, dude” (yes, I swear, he called me dude). With no other option, I walked the two or more miles home, getting in at 2:40. Luckily, it was about 40F (while the tri-state area was getting blasted by snow), so it wasn’t so bad, just creepy watching cars meander all over the road. And in the end, it was all worth it.

Bonus Videos: some songs played that night

DVD Reviews: Unexplained Explained and Haunted Changi

2011-10-31T00:01:00.003-04:00

Text © Richard Gary / FFanzeen, 2011
Images from the Internet
The reason for these two films to be reviewed in this blog together is that they both purport to be about the making of a documentary regarding ghosts.

Unexplained Explained: Ghostly Paranormal Actvity
Directed by Nick Padley and Nigel Albermaniche
World Wide Multi Media, 2011
75 minutes, USD $19.95
MVDvisual.com
Presented as a British television shot-on-video documentary, producer Paul Wookey (of the Brit program[me] Quizworld) teems up with professional psychic Diane Howe (who has appeared on some shows like Psychic Interactive. She’s there as the ghost “attractor,” as you well, like the main characters from Medium or Ghost Whisperer.

They set off into the bucolic U.K. countryside to the town of Pendle, in Yorkshire Dales. There they reach their destination, an old pub called The Anchor, which is supposedly haunted by multiple spirits.

I’m not sure if the owners of the pub are looking to this as a serious documentary about the spirit world or as a chance to get some free publicity (or both), but they appear to be in earnest as the camera follows everyone as they walk through the darker places in the place, such as a cellar that’s partially filled with water, or another room filled with tipped-over casks of booze (that seem to be quite old). “Oh, I have an odd feeling about this room!” someone says once in a while. As with most psychic readings, which drives me crazy (this includes you, Sylvia Brown – who is not on this DVD), there is no way to prove what they are saying, and no indication of research to verify readings. When she (or any psychic) describes a spirit, it could be an albino dwarf with three heads, but there is no way to substantiate it. I’m not saying people do not have the gift, but I’d like to see some confirmation before I go “wow! S/he nailed it!”

A centerpiece of the DVD is a sort of Ouija board set-up with a group sitting around an upside down glass which they all touch with a finger, and the glass goes round and round and round. I’d have been more impressed if the glass shattered (but not to the point where anyone is hurt, of course) or moved on its own, rather than just when touched. Too easily faked.

Usually, by this time I’d be getting the willies (yes, I have a touch of phasmaaphobia in real life, since I have had at least one pretty-sure experience), but not even a hair on the scruff of me neck raised. The pace is glacial, and the events are minimal. The camera is always in tight so you can’t see much of the surroundings, which also raises suspicions to me of being contrived through ocular claustrophobia, but that doesn’t ring true either.

Truthfully, part of the issue for me is everyone has somewhat thick accents (especially Howe, who mumbles often), and there is a throbbing dissonant musical tone that is played over the readings, making it even harder to understand what Howe is saying about whatever it is she is “reading” of the psychic world. A choice of turning on captions would have been a nice addition.

The revelations about one or more of the spirits during the séance is creepy to say the least, and at the end of the program, there are written updates title cards that don’t really say anything substantial (asking around if someone knows something about the events that allegedly happened between a 50 year period over a hundred years before. Good luck with that. One of the cards even goes to state, “Opinions are divided regarding the plausibility of their findings.” Well, if even the show can’t stand by their own work, why should the viewer?

Usually, I like stuff like this, but this particular exercise left me kinda cold, and not the fun, unexplained-icy-spot-in-the-corner kind. Lastly, note that this is a DVR, with no extras whatsoever. In all, I found it a bit disappointing. The DVD box images are scarier than this film, quite honestly.

Haunted Changi
Directed by Tony Kern
Mythopolis Pictures / Seminal Films, 2010
81 minutes, USD $14.95
Seminalfilms.com
Hauntedchangi.com
MVDvisual.com
The premise of this film is clearly stated on the box: In January 2010, a group of filmmakers began exploring old Changi Hospital in Singapore…with terrifying and tragic results. The film contains the crew’s original footage.

Apparently, The Blair Witch Project did more than scare most people, it created a whole new industry of the “found footage” films industry, spurring the likes of Cloverfield and [Rec] (though, to be fair, this style did exist before, with films like the classic 1980 Cannibal Holocaust).

So, supposedly, This group of four (well, actually five, but one of the women is not listed in any credits) decides to go check out Old Changi (pronounced Chang-ee) Hospital, a real place that is now abandoned and graffiti-riddled, but after the fall of Singapore to the Japanese, was locally known as a location for numerous Japanese beheadings (hence the DVD cover image) of prisoners and intellectuals that was said to be in the five figures. This led OCH being rumored to be highly haunted.

We watch as they prepare to set out to the hospital on an official permission of two days (one daylight, one evening), though they apparently are there more often than that. We watch early on as they prepare the credits to their “film,” which sets up the expository story about the Japanese invasion at the beginning of Dubya-Dubya Deuce, using film footage from an early U.S. television documentary. We also see what is probably real person-on-the-street footage of people discussing their own opinions and experiences dealing with hauntings at Old Changi. Nice mix-up of real and…maybe…

The film is obviously filmed in Singapore, but is mostly filmed in English, with some occasional Chinese thrown in; however, thanks to the heavy accents and colloquialisms, as you can hear in the trailer below, I found it easier with the captions turned on.

I will admit that this is one creepy film for the most part. I kept expecting, as one might, that at any second something was going to jump out into the camera range, like those ferstunkiner videos that get RE’d and FWD’d around on emails where they show some peaceful, idyllic scene, and at the end, something jumps out and screams (gets me every time, dammit!). But, of course, the real joy is of anticipation, much like never actually seeing the Blair Witch. There is an occasional glimpse of something that if you turn away for a second you can miss. I know I slo-mo’d the rewind more than once to make sure I saw that I thought I saw. That’s a good sign.

Yeah, as you’re walking along the real hallways of OCH seeing only what the camera is seeing in “real time” (and the occasional look back in an editing bay), this film is very effective in the creepy mode. I know I was squirming more than once thinking, “Okay, when are they gonna go boo?!?!” The two-thirds are especially creepy in that way, though a run through the sub-basement corridors of the hospital in the dark toward the end was claustrophobic at best, expectant at its worst (meaning most scary). Yes, there are a couple of really good shocks and a creepy playback that are especially effective. The viewer definitely wants to be paying attention, despite the use of more anticipation than actual scare. Plus, the use of night-vision green is very effectively used here.

Amusingly, on the IMDB, there are two versions listed of the same film, the first as a fiction, and the second as a documentary with the names of the cast changed ever-so-slightly from their real ones to their characters..

There are five people who are the focus of the film, though one woman is not mentioned in either listing. Curious. Perhaps she’s the real ghost? Anyway, the film is listed on one as being directed by Andrew Lau (played by Andrew Lua; see how that works?). He’s the hardest to understand among the filmmakers, and has the most dialog. Go figure. The sound guy is Farid Azlam (Faridino Assalam), who is seen more in the first half. The photographer is Audi Khalis (Audi Khalid), and the producer (and most convincing actor) is Sheena Chung (Sheena Chan). It feels like much of the dialog is spontaneous which either means it’s better acted than I realize, or they are good at improv.

There are a couple of tweaking points that make me ponder… First and foremost, although they don’t show much of the supernatural world, it still felt like a bit much. I won’t go into detail and ruin it, but note that this question may be a spoiler, so skip ahead: why is one of the ghosts a Japanese soldier. I thought the whole point was that the Japanese killed locals, Chinese, and British (who were defending the island), so shouldn’t the ghosts be primarily them?

There are some inspired extras here. First, there is the full 20 minute or so documentary about the fall of Singapore from which the clips at the beginning of the film are taken. There is also a BlogSpot page for the “crew” which is hard to read (it’s also available on the film’s website), and three chapters of a book by one of the crew (not well written).

Anyway, this is a pretty effective film and can get real creepy at times. Don’t watch it before bedtime.