Sunday, March 31, 2019

Sunday morning gospel: The Statesmen with Hovie Lister: Stop, Look and Listen for the Lord






For years, I've been seeing the words "with Hovie Lister" on LPs by the Statesmen Quartet, not knowing who Hovie Lister was.  Seriously.  What can I say?  Well, Hovie was simply the man who formed the Statesmen in 1948 and who played the extraordinary piano accompaniments we hear on this disc (Stop, Look and Listen for the Lord--RCA Camden CAL 663; 1962).  That's all.  Well, half of the extraordinary accompaniments, at least--the label lists him as present on six of the twelve tracks.  Not sure why he's not on all of them, but half is much better than none.  The singing is possibly the most virtuoso southern quartet singing to be heard anywhere--at times, it's as astonishing as the keyboard work.  Here's Wikipedia's entry on the group, and despite the usual "This article needs additional citations for verification" template at the top of the piece, I suspect the info is reliable.  Wikipedia is good on stuff like this.  In the realm who fought what battle, who played banjo in which group, who starred in what season of what show, birth and death dates for presidents, and stuff like that, the joint is as good as any other source.  Anything beyond that, consult an expert.  Experts are all over cyberspace.

And fabulous southern quartet singing is all over this 1962 RCA Camden LP, lovingly restored by me.  I could say "lovingly declicked," but "restored" sounds so much more official.  I featured what is very possibly the best of today's offerings--1959's Get Thee Behind Me, Satan--back in January, ripped from my 45 rpm copy, but I'm happy to say the sound is much better here.  Googling, I was able to find the release dates for all but two of today's twelve tracks, and I put the years after the titles in the track list.  (Update: Buster has supplied those two dates.  Thanks, Buster!)  The latest year I found was 1959, just three years before this budget LP.  Such a quick turnover, reissue-wise, says something about the less than unlimited spending power of the gospel audience.  As far as I know, gospel, unlike rock, never became big-money stuff.  And rock is treated with way more respect in the media. Gosh, you don't think that has anything to do with the dough it rakes in?






LINK: Stop, Look and Listen for the Lord






Stop, Look and Listen for the Lord (1957), with Hovie Lister
What a Happy Day (1958)
Get Thee Behind Me, Satan (1959), with Hovie Lister
He's Got the Whole World in His Hands (1958)
Until You Find the Lord (1959), with Hovie Lister
Love Never Fails, with Hovie Lister (1956)
This Ole House (1954)
At the Roll Call (1958)
Until Tomorrow (1958)
My God Won't Ever Let Me Down (1958)
God is God (1957), with Hovie Lister
God Bless You, Go with God (1959), with Hovie Lister


Lee

Friday, March 29, 2019

Less Common Burt, Part 4--Love Bank; Wendy, Wendy; Fool Killer; Ten Times Forever More








A bunch of Burt (maybe that's what I should have called this series)--24 more tracks, to be precise.  Among the least-heard Burts are the rocking Love Bank (1957), the charming waltz I Need You (1957); the torchy Close (always wanted to type that) from 1960; Lost Little Girl (1964); and, perhaps for good reason, the Dick Van Dyke double-dose from 1961, Three Wheels on My Wagon and One Part Dog, Nine Parts Cat.  The awfulness of those last two titles can't be blamed on anyone but Burt and his lyricist Bob Hilliard, since it's their production.  Yikes.  I always figured both numbers had been written for a Disney comedy, or something along that line, which would have given the numbers an excuse, but no such luck.  At least the New Christy Minstrels did a much better, mildly amusing version of Three Wheels (only Dick Van Dyke can make Barry McGuire sound restrained and subtle in his comic approach), but no one could possibly do anything with One Part Dog.  Dick gets through the latter by channeling one of those broadly played, half-crazed grizzled prospector characters from Gunsmoke, a show I love but which couldn't do comedy to save its life.  And wouldn't you know it--I just turned on Matlock, and who's being cross-examined (in one of those "bottle," flashback-dominated episodes)?  Dick Van Dyke.

Matlock: "Did you not, in fact, record two of the worst Burt Bacharach numbers ever?"  Dick: "Yes."  Matlock: "I didn't get that.  You'll have to speak up so the jury can hear you."  Dick: "Yes!!"

I wouldn't be having to start this Burt post with Dick Van Dyke and Gunsmoke, but Bacharach and Hilliard gave me no choice.  I'll bet they even picked Dick to record the sides.  I can't take it.

Infinitely better Burts are waiting for us here, luckily.  Best of the bunch: 1965's Fool Killer, whose lyrics I don't completely understand but which move me, anyway.  Maybe it's the lovely melody, or Burt's splendid arrangement, or Gene Pitney's magnificent performance. And there's 1960's Close, which is very, very good, with Keely Smith's vocal terrifically so, but there's a slight disconnect between the jazzy, torch-style arrangement and the Burt lightness. It's like two eras clashing.  1961's Gotta Get a Girl doesn't have that problem--it's the best kind of Burt-light, with a memorable, minimalist bridge and a very nice vocal by Frankie Avalon.  Yeah, I know--Frankie Avalon.  But.... And Another Tear Falls, which totally failed to click with Gene McDaniels (not Gene's fault), is a miracle of a Walkers Brothers single--a single that somehow went nowhere.  I honestly regarded the tune as a total Burt misfire until I heard this recording.  I Need You, while another Burt song a bit out of its era, like Close, is an effective waltz with a lovely bridge, while The Last Time I Saw My Heart is an even more effective exercise in 3/4, with a brilliant arrangement and Marty Robbins at his best, which is kind of redundant, since when was Marty ever not?  And the slight but instantly touching Ten Times Forever More is maybe the ultimate example of Burt chord progressions that pause, change their minds, and go back to the tonic.  An effective device when used in tunes about separation and loss.  Unfulfilled hopes.

Wendy, Wendy is more interesting than I thought it would be, and maybe because I have another Four Coins Bacharach single that's pretty bad.  This one is halfway good, and I don't know if there's a name for the simple syncopated pattern the tune features.  Here it is in print--I happen to have it in a period song folio, only under the title Oh, Wendy, Wendy:


Just as in Promises, Promises, there's an accent (not marked as such here) on the fourth eight note, except that Wendy is in 4/4 (actually 2/2), whereas Promises is in 3/4.  Still, same general pattern: syncopated measure followed by non-syncopated measure.  I don't give much mind to what specific "beats" Burt uses--I find the different Latin types hard to memorize--nor do I notice his time-signature shifts unless they have a jarring effect, but that's mainly because of my piano-student days going through the first five volumes of Bartok's Mikrokosmos.  Once Bartok sounds normal to you, things have to be radically off to sound off.  That's my story, but back to Burt....

Billy Vaughn's Promises, Promises is way better than I thought it would be--I associate Billy with bland--but his version has a lot of energy, and it really brings back the era.  To me, at least.  Me Japanese Boy, I Love You, by all logic, should be one of the all-time incorrect AM radio hits, and not just because of its lack of PC, but because it's sung by Bobby Goldsboro, who gave us (gag!) Honey.  Indeed, he did, but despite that crime, the man has talent, and this Bacharach-arranged single is not only good, it's a minor Burt-Hal classic.  If we can excuse the "Me Japanese boy" part, it has a charming and sophisticated melody and much subtle rhythmic playfulness.

Pat Boone singing Burt?  Yup.  Looks like Say Goodbye was written for Pat, and he does well with it.  Pleasant, middling Burt.  Deeply is surprisingly good, and I say "surprisingly," because any 1961 Burt number by a duo called the Shepherd Sisters has "Of curio interest only" written all over it (took me a whole bottle of Goo Gone to get it off), but it's quite catchy and well done, and it's very 1961--full of treble and danceable.  Old-time theater organist Jesse Crawford signs in (on?) with a delightful version of Magic Moments, one of two contemporary covers that I know of, Johnny Mathis does a Math-terful rendition of the A+ Burt number Make It Easy on Yourself, and Gene Pitney would have even the most ardent skeptic convinced that True Love Never Runs Smooth.  ("I was sure that true love ran smooth.  Now, I just don't know.  I just don't know.")

Love Was Here Before the Stars is one of my all-time favorite Burts, and I think Engelbert Humperdinck was one of the ideal Burt-Hal interpreters.  Yet another recording that should have been a hit.  The lovely Come Touch the Sun is from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and it's performed by the Charles Randolph Grean Sounde, a group best known for its big 1969 hit, Quentin's Theme (from the Gothic soap Dark Shadows).  Sun appeared on the group's second LP, and we recognize the melody as that of Where There's a Heartache, which the Sandpipers recorded in 1970 (featured in the last Burt post).   Charles Grean, of course, was Eddy Arnold's manager for a time, and, in addition to writing The Thing and Sweet Violets, he produced Jim Lowe's Green Door and Merv Griffin's I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts.  I mean, everyone knows that.

Tom Jones' version of I Wake up Crying misses the mark, somehow, which surprises me, since he usually did so well with Burt's stuff, but great artists are allowed their off days.  I don't know what I think of Lost Little Girl.  I might warm it up to at some point, though I doubt it.  1964 seems a bit late for whatever style this is, though it does have a common, if soft-pedaled, kind of rock beat.  But it's not rock.  It's not folk.  It's a whole lot of nots.  If anything is lost, it's the song.  It's Burt, failing to cohere.  The quick fade-out had to be the engineer saying, "I don't know if you guys are done, but I know I am."

What can I say about Love Bank?  Musically, it's not a bad rocker, though the lyrics make about as much sense as the title. 




DOWNLOADLess Common Burt, Part 4





All titles by Bacharach-David, except where indicated:


Ten Times Forever More--Johnny Mathis, Arr. and Cond. by Perry Botkin, Jr., 1971

Love Bank (Bacharach-Melamed-David)--Bob Manning w. Sid Bass and his Orch. and Chorus, 1957
Fool Killer--Gene Pitney, 1965
Close (Bacharach-Sydney Shaw)--Keely Smith, Arr. by George Greeley, 1960
Deeply (Bacharach-Gimbel)--The Shepherd Sisters, Prod. by Leiber-Stoller, 1961
Gotta Get a Girl--Frankie Avalon,. Cond. by Jerry Ragavoy, 1961
Lost Little Girl--The Light Brothers, 1964
Odds and Ends--Tony Sandler and Ralph Young, 1969
A House Is Not a Home--Perry Como, Arr. Don Costa, 1970
Come Touch the Sun (Bacharach)--The Charles Randolph Grean Sounde, 1970
Another Tear Falls--The Walker Brothers, 1965
Say Goodbye (Bacharach-David)--Pat Boone, 1965
I Wake Up Crying--Tom Jones, 1968
The Last Time I Saw My Heart--Mary Robbins w. Ray Conniff and his Orch., 1958
I Need You (Bacharach-Wilson Stone)--Priscilla Wright w. Don Wright and his Orch.; 1957
Love Was Here Before the Stars--Engelbert Humperdinck, 1969
Promises, Promises--Billy Vaughn; 1969
Three Wheels on My Wagon (Bacharach-Bob Hilliard)--Dick Van Dyke, Prod. Hilliard and Bacharach, 1961
One Part Dog, Nine Parts Cat (Bacahrach-Bob Hilliard)--Same
Me Japanese Boy, I Love You--Bobby Goldsboro, Arr. Burt Bacharach, 1964
Magic Moments--Jesse Crawford, 1958
Make It Easy on Yourself--Johnny Mathis, Arr. D'Arneill Pershing, 1972
Wendy, Wendy (Bacharach)--The Four Coins, Orch. Dir. by Marion Evans, 1958
True Love Never Runs Smooth--Gene Pitney, Arr. by Burt Bacharach, 1963

Lee


Wednesday, March 27, 2019

Current Hits, Volume No. 11--Dominique (The Singing Nun) (Hit Records HLP-411; 1964)






Today, a 1964 album of fake hits from producer William Beasley's Hit Records label of Nashville.  This find is kind of cool, because this outfit typically released its LPs on its Modern Sound label--this is only my second or third 12-incher with "Hit Records" on the label and jacket.  The same folks, and everything, but I wonder why they were inconsistent.  Carelessness?  A plot to confuse vinyl collectors of the future?

These were engineered by Billy Sherrill, who later became a hugely successful country music producer.  I'd say "the legendary Billy Sherrill," but I hate that use of that word.  I never use "legendary" to refer to people who actually exist or existed.  Ray Charles was not legendary, for example.  Paul Bunyan, King Arthur, Robin Hood--legendary.  Gary Cooper--not legendary.  Et cetera.

So, despite the cut-rate vinyl, the audio is gorgeous, and a number of the covers are very good, with Louie Louie uncannily so.  And I just now discovered that Popsicles and Icicles writer David Gates co-founded the single most nothing group in the history of popular music, Bread.  I could have lived without knowing that.  Bread's hits made such AM-radio barf as What Have They Done to My Song Ma and I Was Kaiser Bill's Batman sound like, well, music.  I was going to add Leave Me Alone (Ruby Red Dress), but I don't think even Bread could make that sound like music.

Sorry--jumped off topic.  So, I've tried to track down the 1963 hits being faked here.  (This LP came out in January, 1964.)  Dominique was by singing nun Jeanne-Paule Marie "Jeannine" Deckers, who was played by Debbie Reynolds in the 1966 movie (you'll never guess), The Singing Nun.  I very vaguely remember all of that.  Sort of.  The rest are easier.  The great Buddy Johnson ballad Since I Fell for You was a big 1963 hit for Lenny Welch, so he must be our man.  Robin Ward (Jacqueline McDonnell) gave us Wonderful Summer, which I kind of, sort of remember from the day.  Be True to Your School was of course the Beach Boys, and Hit Records proved, with each and every attempt to cover the group, that they couldn't get anything close to Brian Wilson's sound to save their lives.  They had better luck with the Beatles, doing halfway decent Fab Four copies, even a My Bonnie that rocks harder than the original.  Anyway, Popsicles covers the Murmaids, Louie Louie covers the Kingsmen's own inept and pared-down (but lovable) cover of the 1957 Richard Berry original, You Don't Have to Be a Baby to Cry mimics the Caravelles, There! I Said It Again manages to sound a lot like the Bobby Vinton hit, Loddy Lo is a decent copy of Chubby Checker's hit, Quicksand falls with a splat, Drip Drop is dreadful (this was the best Dion impression they could manage?), and Midnight Mary is a less than superb copy of an infinitely better produced single by Joey Powers.  (The Powers 45 rpm label names Artie Wayne as the producer--the excellent Freddy Martin crooner?)

I do love the Kingsmen's Louie Louie, though it simplifies the Richard Berry original outrageously, in addition to garbling the lyrics.  Yes, that's much of the fun, but it's worth noting that the Beach Boys' 1964 version of the song does it as originally performed, and quite beautifully.  I wish the Beach Boys would have released Louie Louie as a single, but it likely would have tanked, since by then everyone knew the song as a garage-band three-chord wonder.

Despite the fact they never hit the mark, the Hit Records Beach Boys covers always entertain me.  I'm not sure why.  Be True to Your School, for instance, has a lot of drive, and you can tell they're trying hard to get the feel of the original.  I guess this label's BB copies could be labeled entertaining failures.  If you're going to do it wrong, do it badly in a fun way.



LINK:  Current Hits, Vol. No. 11 (1964)





Dominique (The Singing Nun)
Since I Fell for You
Wonderful Summer
Be True to Your School
Popsicles and Icicles
Louie Louie
You Don't Have to Be a Baby to Cry
There!  I've Said It Again
Loddy Lo
Quicksand
Drip Drop
Midnight Mary

Current Hits, Volume No. 11 (Hit Record HLP-411; 1964)


Lee

Sunday, March 24, 2019

Sunday morning gospel: Sing Along with the Stamps Quartet (Stateswood SWLP-401)








Twenty-five cents, and not in great shape, but well worth the effort it took to restore the awesome jacket art (I'm a sucker for the TV-screen motif) and the terrific tracks.  A good number of clicks and pops (or "ticks," to use the elitist term), but VinylStudio cured most of those, and the rest I spliced out on MAGIX.  The result is quiet, first-rate mono sound from, I'm guessing, the early 1960s.  The Stamps Quartet goes back to the 1920s, and this LP features the group's theme song, Give the World a Smile, near the start of side two, though it doesn't include the writer-composer credits (which are, Otis Deaton-words; M.L. Yandell-music).  This seems to have been standard gospel-LP practice when it came to public domain material--here, we get arranger credit but no authors for the out-of-copyright titles--and I don't know if playing dumb on the p.d. titles was laziness on the part of the labels or an attempt to give the impression that the older material in question was somehow specially associated with the group.

Anyway, I've added the text-music credits for all of the P.D. tracks, save for Amazing Grace, whose tune has no known authorship, and Everybody Oughta (sic) Know, a version of The Lily of the Valley which mostly uses Charles C. Converse's tune for What a Friend We Have in Jesus.  I've never known quite what to make of that one.  I have it in at least one songbook--one which I can't locate at this moment.

With these issues out of the way, here's a lot of terrific, old-style quartet singing, with an especially superb bass, performing in a style not massively far removed from the group's 1920s sound.  Three J.D. Sumner compositions, and Sumner is always the guy associated with this group, though his association appears to have only begun in 1962, some time after the outfit started.  Don't ask me.  My quartet knowledge isn't all it should be--I'm mostly busy making the surviving flea market and thrift examples look and sound as good as possible.  Hope I did justice to this gem.  Oh, and the piano solo version of When They Ring the Golden Bells is a classic--with its tempo shifts and dramatic flourishes, it could have served as a silent movie background.  Weird in a good-weird sort of way.

To the good ol' gospel....




LINK:  Stamps Quartet--Sing Along with



Everybody Oughta Know
Amazing Grace (text: John Newton)
Hide Me Rock of Ages (Brantley C. George)
When I'm Alone (J.D. Sumner)
Leave It There (Charles Albert Tindley)
While Ages Roll (Joe Roper)
Must Jesus Bear the Cross Alone (Thomas Shepherd--George Nelson Allen)
Give the World a Smile (Deaton-Yandell)
If We Never Meet Again (Albert E. Brumley)
When They Ring the Golden Bells (Daniel de Marbelle)
Keep Me in Thy Fold (J.D. Sumner)
From Now On (J.D. Sumner)

Sing Along with the Stamps Quartet (Stateswood SWLP-401)


Lee

Friday, March 22, 2019

The Twin String Orchestras Play George Gershwin--Warren Edward Vincent, Conducting (1960)







This "low priced popular" release got a good review in the November 21, 1960 Billboard, and I agree with the reviewer that these "Gershwin evergreens make for nice restful background."  My copy showed up with a split cover, but luckily the vinyl was housed in a sleeve, so the disc was unharmed.  The stereo sound is very nice--sort of on the level of 101 Strings stereo, only less shrill, less doctored.  A surprising amount of stereo separation for a Pickwick label of this era, really.  Maybe Pickwick was trying for some respectability.  If so, this would be the way to go.

At the moment, I'm listening to the pizzicato beginning to Liza, and the mood switched even before I got done typing this sentence.  Now, that's mood.  The audio is not Columbia-level, to be sure, but it's way better than the dollar-bin norm.  I praise the Design label engineer for not jacking up the treble, which would have robbed the string sound of its body, even if it might have made the less expensive rigs of the day sound more "hi fi."  Such restraint is admirable on a budget label, and the same goes for the lack of added echo.  Never thought I'd hear myself praising Pickwick, but here I am.

Yes, fine stuff, but we really have to wonder--are we in fact hearing two orchestras, one in each channel, or just a single orchestra in stereo?  Ah-haaa.

And what was the "uni-groove system"?   It's mentioned in the "Compatible Fidelity" sticker on the front jacket.  And was Design's "'TWO WAY' STEREO long playing record" really a "revolution in recording," as claimed  on the back jacket by Danton (I Believe in Ghosts) Walker?  And I'm no audio expert, but don't the words "flat from 30 to 15,000 cycles" describe the RIAA curve only when, and if, your amplifier is set to that curve?  "Listen--be amazed!"  Well, I'm reading, and I'm amazed.

These budget jackets deserve their own branch of pop culture analysis.  Luckily, for all the hype that went into the packaging, the audio is gimmick-free, tasteful, and downright un-Pickwick.  Pickwick should have tried the quality route more often.




LINK:  The Twin Strings Orchestras Play George Gershwin




Fascinating Rhythm
Love Walked In
Liza
Love Is Here to Stay
I Got Rhythm
For You For Me For Evermore
A Foggy Day
They Can't Take That Away from Me
Nice Work if You Can Get It
Strike up the Band

The Twin String Orchestras Play George Gershwin--Warren Edward Vincent, Cond. (Design DCF-1033; 1960)

Lee