Load, photos, load!

I command you to load!!!

(Let's see if that worked....)


















Ha! That did it. I guess you just have to be firm with Blogger. And wait until you've uploaded your pics before saving the post.

And here's Pickin' on the Wrong Chicken on the Barbara Vannoy label. (The Barbara Vannoy label??)














And its fine flip (on the Hunt label):


















And here's Sammy on the Reprise label. Drab in any lighting (though maybe not as drab as Hunt)....


















Blah labels, great sounds. Better than the other way around, Leethinks.

Lee

Half Baked Books haul--"Money," "Pickin' on the Wrong Chicken," more.

Or part of it, anyway. Several posts back, I described my fun visit to Half Price Books and Records on Brice Road in Columbus, Ohio. I can't remember much about the visit--my mind has erased the horror of it all. However, it looks like I got several nice 45s (and one LP) at the place, and for cheap. Let's hear some of them. Yes, let's.

Now, where did I put those? Let me see.... No, wait. I turned the records into mp3 files. That's right. I forgot.

Sorry--I must have had a Technology Moment. A "Technology Moment" is one in which we suddenly forget the last 30 or so years of technological development. For a second, I had lost any memory of mp3s. My stereo looked modern. My digital camera appeared to be some weird sort of electronic clock. And I wondered why I was sitting in front of a mini TV. Then I snapped back.

The worst part about snapping back from a Technology Moment is the accelerated Future Shock that happens. It's only 30 seconds or so of rapid data-updating, and it rarely involves hallucinations. Still, it's pretty draining. (Did you see that dog-sized cockroach tap-dance by just now? The thing didn't make a sound. Pretty amazing steps.)

O.K., two by the Five Stars on Hunt (a subsidiary of ABC) from 1958. Fifty cents is all I paid for this one. A little crackle, but what fabulous rock and roll vocal group fun:

Pickin' on the Wrong Chicken (Young, Bruhn), Five Stars, 1958. From Hunt label 45.

Dreaming (Russell-Clark), Five Stars, 1958. Same single.

And here's the original Money on the Anna label, along with its cool flip. From 1960, Barrett Strong and some singers and musicians who aren't identified.

Money (Bradford--Gordy Jr.), Barrett Strong, 1960. From Anna label 45.

Oh I Apologize (Robinson-Gordy Jr.), Barrett Strong, same.

Yes, "Gordy Jr." is Berry Gordy, Jr. of Motown-founding fame.

And we close with Sammy Davis, Jr. If you're expecting a big change of pace, don't be so sure. For this is Sammy doing his best Ray Charles impression:

One More Time (A Tribute to Ray Charles) (Davis), Sammy Davis, Jr., with orchestra conducted by Neal Hefti, 1961. From Reprise label 45.

Well, poop--Blogger won't let photos appear on this post. Maybe the moment we save a post in draft form (as I did with this one), the photo option is disabled. That's weird.

O.K., I'll stick them in another post. Yes, I'll do that, by cracky.


Lee

London Suite--Eric Coates conducting the London Symphony Orch., 1937.

This sounds pretty darned good for a 1937 recording, Leethinks. A little declicking was all it needed. My fussy ears are noticing mp3-style treble (from compression, I'm assuming) as I listen at Box.net. But it sounds good, regardless. The WAV version is superior, but you don't get to hear that--only I do. Buwa-ha-haaaa!!

Just kidding--I'd share the WAV version, if I could. But it would take up half my Box.net account, probably. I doubt I could even move the baby. Or that the thing would be downloadable. Dunno, but I doubt it.

A computer-expert friend of mine once explained that my dear old Macintosh 512K's hard drive would have supported about 30 seconds of a WAV file. So, I'm glad I have a Dell (dude). I did hang onto my Mac for years, until it finally pooped out, as if to say "Enough."

Anyhow, Eric Coates (1886-1957) was a brilliant light composer--"the greatest British composer of light music in the 20th century," the NAXOS label calls him. I'll buy that. His 1932 London Suite is a masterful and moving trio of movements that gets right to business with a fast 6/8 Tarantelle called Covent Garden. Here's Eric himself conducting the London Symphony Orchestra in 1937.

London Suite, Part 1: Covent Garden (Tarantelle); Westminster (Meditation). Eric Coates, conducting the London Symphony Orch., 1937. From Columbia Masterworks 78.

London Suite, Part 2: Knightsbridge (March). Same.

Rosie thought that was magnificent. I agree with Rose.














"What a wonderful tribute to London, Ohio."--Rosie

Er, Rosie.... Never mind.


Lee

78 sounds for Saturday morning!

Or whenever. No, not 78 individual files, of course, but (let's see) five files dubbed from 78 rpm records. That is, 78 records on the rpm label.

rpm was a great label. But sales slowed down, and they become 33 1/3.

(Tonight on Fox: When Word Play Goes South.)

O.K., I tried. Look, I'm all worded-out right now. Let's hear the 78s, beginning with what is possibly the worst "cover" of Come On-a My House ever put on crappy plastic. No singer identified, luckily for her. Cool piano, though:

Come On-a My House, Elliott Everett and His Orchestra, with vocal refrain. (Too bad she didn't refrain.) From Royale label 78.

God, that was terrible.

This next one is neat, though. Try to hear, in your mind, Beethoven's For Elise (sic) in big-band style. Got it? Can you hear it? Now compare your version to Al Donahue's:

Beethoven Bounce (Donahue-Mays), Al Donahue and His Orchestra, 1940. From Vocalion 78.

And... Beethoven, again. In collaboration with Frank Loesser, that is. Paul Whiteman's Matty Malneck arranged. Yet another Raymond-Scott-era recording in the Scott vein. (But... but we've been told that no one sounded like Scott, other than Scott. Of course, I never told you that):

Then I Wrote the Minuet in G (Loesser-Beethoven; Arr. by Matty Malneck), Matty Malneck and His Orchestra, 1939. From Columbia 78.

That was a terrific side. Did you notice the Bob Wills feel? Cool.

And here's Chopin's Prelude #7, as skillfully arranged by the amazing Jimmie Lunceford. Don't hate me for it, but I like Lunceford even more than I like Ellington:

Chopin's Prelude #7 (Arr. by Lunceford), Jimmie Lunceford and His Orchestra, 1940. From Columbia 78.

We close with The Man on the Flying Trapeze, as performed by Andre Kostelanetz Conducts. What an odd name. ("Hey, Mr. Conducts! Can I have your autograph?") It's from 1938, and you won't believe what all Kostelanetz' arranger did with this one. Part swing, part easy listening, part Warner Brothers soundtrack--plus a few bars from The Simpsons' closing title theme.

The Man on the Flying Trapeze (O'Keefe), Andre Kostelanetz Conducts, 1938. From Vocalion label 78.

I wonder who wrote that chart--Gordon Jenkins, maybe? Jenkins worked for Kosty at one point, so it's possible. Anyway, in spots we heard the massed-strings sound of Andre's Columbia period--so early. Wow. I keep telling everyone this stuff goes back and back.

(And I just made my third attempt to upload a photo. Looks like photos.blogger.com is back to not working. At least I got Rosie up.)

Lee

Rosie says "Hi!"; Lee in his element, circa 1983

Rosie sez... "HI!"














And here's Rosie's servant--er, owner--standing in a record store in Incheon, South Korea. In an "underground shopping mall," says the back of the photo. I vaguely remember the experience--there was a row of shops, all basement-level. Year: 1982 or 1983.














Don't ask me what I bought--can't remember. No, wait a minute. Perry Como? It had to be pop, because that's what I was into. Just like today.

Bad pressings, lousier covers.

Meanwhile, I've left some comments at a couple of "liberal" blogs. In one instance, the responses I got were pretty... astonishing. It seems as if every time I've ever left a comment someplace, I've ended up wishing I hadn't. This has been the case for, well, years. You'd think I'd start to detect a pattern.

Simple cause and effect. Let me have a talk with my brain.


Lee

"Would you clean up the field mouse in front of the thermostat?"

Just another day in a house o' cats.




(Luckily, no photos included in this post)



Lee

Half-Price Schnooks

So, I hauled six boxes of books to Half Price Books on Brice Road in Columbus, Ohio. Nothing great in the inventory, but all saleable. My foster mom, the retired English professor, was in charge of selection. She knows a thing or two about books.

So, I haul the first box in, set it down on the desk while two clerks skillfully ignore me, and I ask, "Is this where they go?" She said, no, they go in the adjoining room (a new addition). I see the sign that says "Sell Books in Here" and I make a light, self-effacing joke. Such as, "Oh, THAT sign." Laughter follows. Not laughing-WITH laughter, if you get my meaning. Very unprofessional, I'm thinking, as I walk in the "Sell Books in Here" room.

The girl at the desk acts all put out, but she IS thoughtful enough to offer the use of a dolly. I haul the remaining five boxes in the front door (by the books-not-sold-here desk), and a guy holds the door for me. "Looks like you've got a few books there!" he jokes, referring to the fact that I have a LOT of them. I joke back and thank him. Then I leave the books and wait for "Lee" to be called over the Half Price Book Store intercom.

Which leads me to my next point--should we trust a book store that can't hyphenate? "Half Price" functions as an adjective, so it should be "Half-Price Books," not "Half Price Books." This would not be an issue, except that we're talking about a book store.

Anyway, I look through the poorly-arranged vinyl records and 78s close to the floor, and I find a few nice things. Meanwhile, hilarious clerk-conversation is happening for my entertainment. "I put so-and-so in charge of organizing such-and-such, but she left, and so-and-so won't be here tomorrow, and...." Five minutes of that, followed by the person is charge of organizing records asking if Laura Nyro is a jazz artist. "I don't know," replied her superior.

Did I mention that these folks are Half Price Books and Records? I guess I forgot to.

So, I keep on looking through the records, sitting on the floor and shifting from my right to left leg, as cramps dictate. Suddenly: "Lee. Your books are ready."

I come to the front--I mean, back--desk. "Two-fifty," she says. Pause. "Two-fifty?" I ask. As in, $2.50. Most of the books are in poor shape, and they may all end up going to charity, she says. (No, they weren't in poor shape.) I wait a few seconds, decide I don't feel like hauling six boxes of books back to the country, and I say, "O.K." The clerk proceeds to get my name, phone number, and a look at a "picture I.D." Then I get a receipt that I can redeem for $2.50. I tell her I'll be looking at records and that I'll reclaim the boxes when I leave. Sure, she says, as if she could care less.

Care Less Books and Records. Hm. That's a thought.

So, I look through hundreds of LPs, 45s, and 78s, and I find a Huckleberry Hound/Yogi Bear E.P. on Golden, a couple R&B sides in worn shape, a Halloween Christmas LP, and Music To Their Ears ("The First Phonograph Record for Dogs and Cats"). After my $2.50 redemption, the pile costs me seventeen cents. At the front desk. I leave, never to forget my Half Price Books and Records experience.

At least no one quipped, "Don't spend it all in one place, haw! haw! haw!" Oh, and I didn't mention the guy who practically pushed his cart in my face while I was on the floor studying discs. It's possible he didn't see me, but ten minutes later (even after I moved his cart aside), he appeared to be just as unaware of my existence. I think I'll go back to Half Price Books and Records on Brice Road. After Hell turns to ice.



Lee

78s--ain't they greats?

That works slightly better than "78--Ain't they great?"

And I've been working on the dang things. Boy, have I been working on them. One problem child after another. A Matty Malneck disc with surface bumps--cracker crumbs in the shellac? And a Jimme Lunceford side that tracks worse than it looks. Plus, a badly-engineered Brunswick Andre Kostelanetz. And a slightly worn Al Donahue ditty.

Which is why my near-perfect 1937 recording of Eric Coates' London Suite was such a pleasure to restore. A little hiss to filter out, a couple of big pops to splice away, and that was it. Unreal.

Such stuff to come. My word.

However, now we're going to hear the rest of the last batch--a batch that consists of two 1906 Victor Dance Orchestra numbers, and one E.T.-Paull-published march title apiece by the Columbia Band and Prince's Orchestra. You can't wait? Me, neither.

Let's go. (Nah-ne-nah-ne-nah-ne-nah-ne, Nah--YINE YINE YINE!!!) Oops--thought this was a Suzuki ad, for a moment.

Devil's Dream Reel--Victor Dance Orchestra, 1906. From Victor (duh) 78.

Speed the Plow Reel--Victor Dance Orchestra, 1906. Same.

Not exactly old-time country fiddling, but you can't tell me the record-buying public was unaware of same. Why else would such sides sell (and stay in print for years?).

These last two are a lot of fun. In fact, The Burning of Rome is one of the happiest marches I've ever heard. Very strange. They should have had people in the background yelling "Yeee-haaaa!" E.T. Paull wrote the first title, and Harry J. Lincoln the second. I think I'll swipe the sheet music art from the Net for these. I have my own copies, but... I'm lazy.

The Burning of Rome (E.T. Paull), Columbia Band, 1920. From Columbia (duh) 78.

Midnight Fire Alarm (Harry J. Lincoln), Prince's Orchestra, 1920. Same.

Well, here's Midnight Fire Alarm. I found three images of the other title, but they ain't working.

And Blogger's photo upload ain't working, either. Wahhh! I want my Mommy!

Hm. Spell Check had issues with Nah-ne-nah-ne-nah-ne-nah-ne, Nah--YINE YINE YINE!!! Me, too. I hate those brainless ads.


Lee

Studies reveal that majority of terrorists are 59-year-old Vermont women who suffer from panic attacks

Pretty terrifying stuff. You've all heard about the London-to-Washington flight that required fighter-jet escort because a 59-year-old Vermont woman suffered a panic attack. Since 59-year-old Vermont women are extremely high on the list of persons likely to blow up an airplane, of course passengers were scared poopless.

From an Associated Press article: "(P)assengers said a woman in a jogging suit paced up and down the aisle, peppering her incoherent mutterings with the word 'Pakistan.'" Holy crap. If I were on a plane and I saw a 59-year-old woman in a jogging suit pacing up and down the aisle and peppering her incoherent mutterings with the word 'Pakistan,' I'd put 2 and 2 together and get 7. And I'd pat myself on the head for being so brilliant.

Marge, the plane's gonna blow up. Call the kids and tell 'em goodbye.

What is our national I.Q. these days? 15?

Every passenger's luggage was searched, of course. That's the thing to do after a 59-year-old Vermont woman has a panic attack and paces up and down the aisle in a jogging suit, peppering her incoherent mutterings with the word "Pakistan." You search everyone's luggage. For jogging suits, I guess.

"The woman was to remain in federal custody overnight and was expected to be charged in a federal criminal complaint early Thursday," says the same piece. Having a panic attack is a federal criminal offense? What planet is this? I forgot.

Apparently, the best defense against terrorism is to behave like fucking idiots.


Lee

"One small step for (a) man...."

NASA Searches for Missing Tapes of 1969 Moon Landing. Far out.

So, I've been reading up on "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind." Neil Armstrong claimed that he actually said "One small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind" which makes a lot more sense. A man vs. mankind, instead of man vs. mankind. With "man" meaning the same thing as "mankind." So, I certainly believe that Armstrong at least intended to say "for a man," whatever he did, in fact, utter.

And Snopes.com claims Armstrong indeed goofed up the words, that they were not swallowed by static or lost in space. Could be--snopes is careful about such things. I believe, however, that TV and newspaper reports could just as easily insert the "a" and give the statement the poetry and power it was intended to have. I've read numerous claims to the effect that people pick up the correct meaning even without the "a," but I wouldn't bet on it. Humans tend to accept what they hear unless it makes zero sense. Or unless it's provocative (such as, "Let's do away with sports and promote music and chess programs in our high schools"). I doubt people stood around the Pepsi cooler the next day asking "What the hell did Armstrong mean by that?" Or "Don't 'man' and 'mankind' mean the same thing, at least in this instance?"

If Armstrong indeed flubbed his lines, so what? We don't even know which of the surviving Gettysburg Address versions Lincoln read from, but that speech has been quoted a zillion times with no one stopping to think, "Did he actually say that?" Nor do we know for sure that David Glasgow Farragut said "Damn the torpedoes!" He might have said "Damn! The torpedoes! I forgot they had the damn things! Damn it!"

I hope you see my point, because I'm not sure I do.



Lee

Great arranging, 1924-style

We start with the Oriole Orchestra's recording of J. Russell Robinson's 1912 classic, Eccentric Rag. J. Russell Robinson is the pianist who replaced the Original Dixieland Jazz Band's Henry Ragas in 1919 after Ragas expired from influenza. An amazing character, and one of many jazz pioneers denied their due because they didn't happen to be African-American. To put it bluntly.

Similarly, Dan Russo and Ted FioRito's Oriole Orchestra would probably get a heck of a lot more attention had it not been a white outfit. Many years ago, my jazz-arranger/bassist dad heard The Oriole Orch.'s That Lullaby Strain (also 1924) and praised it as an exceptional example of early jazz. He marveled, in particular, over the "clean" playing. Little did he or I know that the orchestra is considered a mere "popular" recording act. However, in a way, I don't mind--I like scoring stuff this good for small change. So, it's a double-edged sword (mfd. by Proverbial, Inc.).

My copy is full of small warps likely caused by someone, way back when, stacking smaller items (books?) atop it. At five grams of tracking force, certain portions only half-tracked. I increased the weight to 8, and your ears would swear they're listening to a smooth surface:

Eccentric Rag (Robinson), The Oriole Orchestra, 1924. From Brunswick 78.

Wow. How far jazz arranging had evolved by 1924. Jazz History may tell us otherwise, but J.H. is full of it.

These next two sides, both superbly arranged by Ferde Grofe, are just as innovative as the Rag, albeit excessively "sweet." Which is fine with me--I love "sweet." (Interpret that as you wish.) The second number, in particular, sounds amazingly like sweet charts written much later--the bands of Freddy Martin and Jack Fina come to mind. Grofe was one of the inventors of the big band sound. Keep in mind that, for every In the Mood to come, there were thrice as many Tonight We Love's waiting to be waxed. Historians have recast the big band era as the Age of Swing, but remember what I said about Jazz History....

Dig the fabulous introduction to Minnetonka:

By the Waters of Minnetonka (Thurlow Lieurance, Ferde Grofe), Paul Whiteman and His Orch., 1924. From Victor 78.

Meditation from "Thais" (Massanet-Grofe), Paul Whiteman and His Orch., 1924. From Victor 78.

Can you say "vintage lounge"?

Those took some work, since the sound level is quite low in the pressing. I don't know if needle wear is the culprit, or what. Worn-out stamper, maybe?

Coming up--a joyous march about The Burning of Rome. Though something tells me it wasn't much fun at the time.


Lee

Earl Fuller, Prince's Band, Paul Whiteman

How about that line-up? Some great stuff here, even if six of the eight are making their second appearances in new and improved EQ's.

Hm. That took some of the excitement out of the proceedings.

Which need not be, since all eight 78s are true shellac formulations. I mean, true gems. We'll start with the two "new" titles from 1920:

Best Ever Medley (Dance of the Hours--Love in Idleness; Arranged by Paul Whiteman), Paul Whiteman and His Ambassador Orchestra, 1920. From 12" Victor 78.

Avalon--Just Like a Gypsy--Medley, Paul Whiteman and His Ambassador Orchestra, 1920. From 12" Victor 78.

We continue with two by Prince's Band, from 1917. Both files sound better than the versions originally posted, but I'm not sure the difference survived the WAV-to-mp3 conversion. Whatever I just typed....

Ching Chong (Roberts-Strickland), Prince's Band, 1917. From 12" Columbia 78.

Hello, My Dearie; Prince's Band, 1917. From 12" Columbia 78.

And here are four by Earl Fuller's great Rector Novelty Orchestra. Something happened to Fuller's music when he moved to the Victor label--it lost a certain amount of its warmth and charm. New arranger? A more "jazzy" sound demanded by Victor, possibly? Dunno, but these Fuller Columbia sides are to die for, ilo (in Lee's opinion):

Graveyard Blues (Woods and Caldwell), Earl Fuller's Rector Novelty Orchestra, 1918. From Columbia 78.

Sweet Emalina, My Gal (Creamer and Layton)--Same.

Singapore (Gilbert and Friedland)--Same.

Out of the East (Oriental) (Rosey)--Same.

Come to think of it, Out of the East is new to this blog, too. If my mental math is correct, it's waited 88 years for that honor.

Boy, that "Same" orchestra is every bit as good as Earl's.

Say goodbye, Lee. ("Goodbye, Lee.")


Lee

Mike, Tex, and the men in their little girls' lives

I think I got the grammar right, there....

So, here is where you can hear (here, hear!) Mike Douglas' big 1966 hit The Men in My Little Girl's Life: Armagideontime blog.

And here is where you can hear Tex Ritters' version of the same schmaltzy but fun ditty--same year, different label. Literally, here. At this blog. Or, rather, at box.net.

Oops--better run. The Technicality Police are coming for me.

While I'm getting out of Dodge, check out Mike Douglas with Kay Kyser (1946) at Brad's Shellac Shanty.


Lee

R.I.P., Mike Douglas

"There's a boy outside--his name is Lee. He wants to carry my books for me."

Couldn't have been me. I didn't have freckles as a kid--not so anyone would notice. A few on my forearms, is all. Different Lee.

Anyway, you've probably heard that Mike Douglas died at the age of 81--I'll always remember the man's fun and laid-back 90-minute show. Bitterandrew has posted a great-sounding file of Mike's big 1966 hit (recorded in 1965, I believe), The Men in My Little Girl's Life. Go to Bitterandrew's Armagideon Time to hear this sentimental (and then some) classic. Hokey as heck, and beautifully done. It helps considerably that Mike had a superior singing voice. And an ability to read lines without sounding, for even one moment, like he was reading them.

And I wish I had Mike's two big 1946 hits with the Kay Kyser Orchestra--The Old Lamplighter and Ole Buttermilk Sky. Used to have 'em, but not anymore. Otherwise, they'd be up and running.

I do have Tex Ritter's version of The Men in My Little Girl's Life, however, and I'll be featuring it soon. I like Tex, but he doesn't even come close to Mike on this one. Which is hardly his fault--it's not exactly a Ritter number. Any more than I Dreamed of a Hillbilly Heaven was a Douglas number, I suppose. Anyway, Tex's Men is a mere upload away.


Lee