The previous year, Polydor had rejected the fifth full-length Style Council studio album, the house-influenced Modernism: A New Decade, and John fought Paul’s corner, lifting head of Polydor David Munns out of his chair during a particularly fractious meeting and telling him: “You don’t talk about my son like that.”
One of rock’s coolest dads, John Weller, who supported and managed son Paul‘s career from his earliest rock aspirations as a teenager through The Jam, The Style Council, and his rebirth as a solo artist, has died. I don’t know a whole lot about the guy, but I’ve seen interviews with him and read some stuff and I’ve always thought that if either of my sons wants to be a rock musician, I’d like to be as willing as John Weller was to be in his son’s corner and help him achieve his rock dreams. Pere Weller had excellent hair to boot!
Greetings, seekers of the bizarre, the unusual, the extraordinary, and the incredibly cheap! I come to you after a long hiatus to share the results of a particularly fruitful scavenge undertaken this past weekend at the thrift stores around the nation’s grand capitol.
During this excursion, I was lucky to find a small stack of vinyl 45s from Jamaica, obviously from a fan of the early- to mid-period “deejay” era in the development of popular Jamaican music. They’re on extremely weird, poorly printed labels — and a few have no labels at all, substituting instead a hasty crayon scrawl simply saying “DJ,” or (in the case of the most entertaining of the singles I’ve ripped for you tonight) the word “PUSSY.”
Anyhow, the point is, these are some fairly ribald tunes. The density of the Jamaican (in one case, Trinidadian) patois is such that I feel you could safely play any of these at work without fear of prosecution — but they are spicy. So, as part of my ongoing effort to goose traffic statistics for my beloved Rock Town Hall (see easily porn-searchable headline above), I’m attaching them here for all to enjoy.
The first tune is, in my estimation, the best of the lot: a 1974 number by a young Max Romeo, entitled Pussy Watchman. 2000Man may get a particular kompletist kick out of this, as the InterWeb tells me that Romeo sang backup on some tune off of “It’s Only Rock and Roll.” But this is from very early in Romeo’s career, and it’s a good one. Check it out!
Next up, another ribald selection, this time from the extremely obscure 1970s DJ “Charley Ace.” There’s not even a track name listing on the label for this single (though it does sport a monochromatic label saying “SCORPION!”) — but I choose to believe the song is called Do It Same Way, based on the moans and groans of the female lead in the piece. The InterWeb tells me, by the way, that Ace was gunned down on the rough streets of Kingston some time in the 1980s. RIP, Charley.
Last but not least, Trinidadian godfather of “soca” music, Lord Shorty, gives us all explicit direction in The Art Of Making Love. Again, I call 2000Man’s attention to this tune, in which — towards the end there — Lord Shorty gives us some guidelines as to what we might expect from various races as far as their boudoir behaviors are concerned. I immediately smelled a “Some Girls” rat in the mix. But, whether or not Lord Shorty was ripped off by Jagger and company, I strongly urge all basement-dwelling, pasty-faced members of the Hall to heed Lord Shorty’s advice. Dude obviously knows what he’s talking about.
Anyhow, that’s what I got for you this time around. Mod, Backoffice: if nothing else, please let me know how much traffic this effort generates!
Have you ever put together a mix tape for that special someone only to have the intended message(s) be taken the wrong way or otherwise flop miserably? I have. Maybe 3 months into the dating period with my wife, by which time things were getting serious, I was off from work one day and I thought it would be a good time to put together a killer mix tape that would help her know just how I felt! When we got together that night I slyly inserted said tape and pushed PLAY. Within 2 or 3 songs Lou Reed’s “My House” came on and, taking no prisoners, my wife made a face reserved for a plate of liver or a fart cut in a small space and said, “What the fuck is this?!?!” It was the beginning of the end of my attempts at wooing my future wife through mix tapes is what it was. She was also a Lou Reed fan, but she would be no fan of The Blue Mask. Good thing I was able to muster up a personal reserve of love vibrations to seal the deal with a proposal and an engagement ring a few months later. Lou and whatever other artists I put on that tape would be of no help.
Please feel free to share your own mix tapes gone wrong.
Last night I attended one of those silent-auction-school-fundraiser things. You know, one of those things where you can bid on a basket of scented shit while eating a Costco cookie all the while bemoaning the fact that you’re missing Ramon Troncoso pitch four shutout innings in what is the first glimpse of light this season in the Dodger’s bullpen.
In the past we’ve come home with some decent deals on summer camps for the boys, baskets of scented shit and “principal for a day” certificates. But last night I hit the relative jackpot. I was the only bidder on a “digital library” called Rolling Stone: Cover to Cover. It comes with a proprietary browsing/reading program and three discs of content that feature every page of every issue of Rolling Stone magazine from launch thru May 2007. I picked this beauty up for $20.
We have done it. ONCE AND FOR ALL, Rock Town Hall identifies 50 song titles containing each of the 50 US states. And we accomplished this without resorting to gimmicks like John Linnell’s album on the 50 states. Bravo, Townspeople! Follow the hard work that went into this effort following the jump! Continue reading »
