Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Leslie Gore performing her classic teen dream theme That’s The Way Boys Are.
CD Review
The ‘60s: Jukebox Memories, various artists, Time-Life Music, 1992
Scene: Brought to mind by one of the songs in this compilation, Leslie Gore’s 1960s classic teen dream theme (girl division) song, That’s The Way Boys Are.
I, Diana Nelson, am going to be a big singing star just watch out, watch out and don’t blink because then you will miss it. Hey, it is written in the stars, my stars. Proof? I have just this spring won the 1962 edition of the annual Adamsville Female Vocalist Contest. Hands down! There was no way that any of those other girls could match (and one guy who dressed up as a girl, weird right, although he did a good job on Mary Wells’ Two Lovers and I was a little worried until they found out he was a guy and gave him the boot.) Even Emma Johns and her smoky version of old hat Peggy Lee’s Fever got left behind when I went deep, deep down almost to my soul on Brenda Lee’s I’m Sorry. See that is what the judges were looking for, not smoldering sexy stuff but act of contrition stuff. And the girls who filled up the audience seats and gave their thumbs up and down only wanted to hear stuff that they can listen too when they cry on their pillows after their Johnny doesn’t call, goes cheap on some corny date, or cheats on them, cheats on them with their best friend, usually. I’ve got it all figured out.
Sure, like I was telling my good friend, Peter Paul Markin, the other day during class I was glad to get the one thousand scholarship money that was one of the prizes offered. I can use it if I decide to go to college after we graduate next year. But the big thing for me is to get to sing, sing featured, along with the guys from the Rockin’ Ramrods to back me up, at the Falling Leaves Dance held late in September. That dance is always sponsored by the senior class and it will give me a thrill to go out to please that crowd of fellow seniors, especially Peter Paul, who shares my love of music (although he is not a very good singer, sorry if you see this P.P.) and likes to talk about politics and stuff like I do. The big, big thing though, and I haven’t even told Peter Paul about this is that a recording agent, Jerry Rice, yes, that Jerry Rice, from Ducca Records, the one that signed Connie what’s-her name, has promised to be there and if he likes what he hears, well, like I say it in my stars. Don’t blink, okay.
By the way don’t get thrown off by that good friend Peter Paul thing, especially if you know my own true love boy friend Bobby Swann. There’s nothing to it (sorry again, Peter). Bobby couldn’t be at the contest because he was studying for his finals at State University. He is finishing up his freshman year and so he had to study hard. Peter Paul and I met in ninth grade and we have been good friends ever since. Oh, I suppose I can tell you now, now that I have my handsome blue-eyed Bobby, that if he wasn't such a “stup” P.P could have had his chances with me but all he ever did was stare at my ass in class, and in the corridors. If you don’t believe me ask Emma Johns, she’s the one that noticed him doing it first, although I had an idea. Better yet, ask P.P. he’ll tell you, maybe. The thing was that I couldn’t wait forever for him to get up the nerve to ask me out and then Bobby came along and swooped me up in tenth grade and then I didn’t care for younger guys anymore, except as good friends.
I guess I should tell you since I am telling you everything else that I had a dream when I was very young, maybe seven or eight, that I was going to be a singing star. Maybe it was my mother always playing women singers on the family record like that Peggy Lee when she was young and sprightly with Benny Goodman, Teresa Brewer, and Billie Holiday that got me going because I would sing along all day with the radio on. Later ma had me take singing lessons and I have been going strong ever since. Peter Paul said he went crazy when he first heard me do Brenda’s I Want To Be Wanted and Patsy Cline’s Crazy, although she, Patsy, seemed a little to ah, shucks, countrified when I first heard her. She has gotten less so since she has started turning to more a more popular style. I sure wish I could hit her high notes but Miss French, my vocals teacher, says I will get there soon enough and then I will have to, get this word, “husband” my valuable resource. See, I am a cinch.
Did I tell you that I told, no ordered (and I can do that to him, and he jumps like a puppy dog, sorry again P.P.) to be at the Falling Leaves Dance solo, so we can talk between sets. It looks like Bobby won’t be coming. According to him no big time State University sophomore would be caught dead at a high school dance and also his cross-country team is having a big meet in New York City that weekend. You know, and I hope you won’t tell Bobby, if you know him, because I do love him so, every once in a while I wish P. P. would have done more than just look at my ass in ninth grade.
Showing posts with label teen romance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teen romance. Show all posts
Monday, October 17, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Out In The Be-Bop Be-Bop 1960s Night- Save The Last Dance For Me-With The Drifters’ Song Of The Same Name In Mind.
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of The Drifters performing their classic Save The Last Dance For Me
CD Review
AM Gold: The Early ‘60s, various artists, Time-Life Music, 1992
Scene: Brought to mind by one of the songs in this compilation, The Drifters classic end of the night high school dance number, Save The Last Dance For Me.
Recently, when I was reviewing a companion CD in this Time-Life Music series, AM Gold: 1962, I mentioned, in detailing some of the events surrounding the North Adamsville Class of 1962-sponsored version of the traditional late September Falling Leaves Dance that one of the perks that year was getting to hear the vocals of local singer and classmate, Diana Nelson, backed up by local rock band favorite, The Rockin’ Ramrods. I also mentioned that her selection had been the result of a singing competition held by the town fathers and that I would relate some of the details of that competition at a later date. That time has come. Additionally, I related that I had had a “crush” on Miss (Ms.) Nelson since I started staring, permanently staring, at her ass when she sat a few seats in front of me in ninth grade. At the time of the above-mentioned dance she was “going steady” with some college joe, and had not given me the time of day, flirting or encouraging-wise, since about tenth grade, although we always talked about stuff, music and political stuff, two of my passions, and hers too. Here’s the “skinny.”
******
No question that about 1960, maybe into 1961, girl vocalists were the cat’s meow. (Okay, young women, but we didn’t call them that then, no way. Also no way as well is what we called them, called them among we corner boys at Salducci’s Pizza Parlor, especially when we got “no action.” I don’t have to draw you a diagram on what that meant, right?). You can, if you were around then, reel off the names just as well as I can, Connie Francis, Carla Thomas, Patsy Cline, and the sparkplug Brenda Lee. I won’t even mention wanna-bes like Connie Stevens and Sandra Dee, Christ. See, serious classic rock by guys like Elvis, Bo Diddley, Chuck Berry and Jerry Lee Lewis was, well, passé, in that musical counter-revolution night. But music, like lots of other things abhors a vacuum and while guys were still singing, I guess, the girl singers (read young women, okay, and we will leave it at that) “spoke” to us more. Especially to record- buying girls who wanted to hear about teen romance, teen alienation, lost love, unstoppable hurts, betrayal (usually by the girl’s best friend and her boyfriend, although not always), lonely Friday nights, and other stuff that teenagers, boys and girls equally, have been mulling over, well, since they invented teenagers a long time ago.
So it was natural for the musically-talented girls around North Adamsville, and maybe around the country for all I know, to test themselves against the big name talents and see what they had. See if they could make teen heaven- a record contract with all that entailed. In North Adamsville that was actually made easier by the town fathers (and they were all men, mostly old men in those days so fathers is right), if you can believe that. Why? Because for a couple of years in the early 1960s, maybe longer, they had been sponsoring a singing contest, a female vocalist, singing contest. I heard later, and maybe it was true, that what drove them was that, unlike those mid-1950s evil male rockers mentioned above, the women vocalist models had a “calming effect” on the hard-bitten be-bop teen night. And calm was what the town fathers cared about most of all. That, and making sure that everything was in preparedness for any Soviet missile strike, complete with periodic air raid drills, christ again.
In 1962 this contest, as it was in previous years, was held in the spring in the town hall auditorium. And among the contestants, obviously, was that already "spoken for" Diana Nelson who was by even the casual music listener the odds-on favorite. She had prepped a few of us with her unique rendition of Brenda Lee’s I’m Sorry so I knew she was a shoo-in. And she was. What was interesting about the competition was not her victory as much as the assorted talents, so-called, that entered this thing. If I recall there were perhaps fifteen vocalists in all. The way the thing got resolved was a kind of sing-off. A process of elimination sing-off.
Half a dozen, naturally, were some variation of off-key and dismissible out of hand. These girls fought the worst when they got the hook. Especially one girl, Elena G., if anyone remembers her who did one of the worst versions of Connie Francis’ Who’s Sorry Now I had (and have) ever heard. The more talented girls took their lost with more grace, probably realizing as Diana got into high gear that they were doomed. But here is the funny part. One of the final four girls was not a girl at all. Jimmy C. from right down the end of my street dressed himself up as girl (and not badly either although none of us knew much about “drag queen” culture then) and sang a great version of Mary Wells’ Two Lovers. Like I said we knew from nothing about different sexual preferences and thought he just did it as a goof. (I heard a couple of years later that he had finally settled in Provincetown and that fact alone “hipped” me to what he was about, sexually.)
I probably told you before that one part of winning was a one thousand dollar scholarship. That was important, but Diana, when she talked to me about it a couple of days later just before class, said she really wanted to win so she could be featured at the Falling Leaves Dance. Now, like I said, I had a big crush on her, no question, so I was amazed that she also said that she wanted me to be sure to be at the dance that next late September. Well, if you have been paying attention at all then you know I was there. I went alone, because just then I didn’t have a girlfriend, a girlfriend strong enough for me to want to go to the dance with anyway. But I was having a pretty good time. I even danced with Chrissie McNamara, a genuine fox, who every guy had the “hots” for since she, just the night before, had busted up with Johnny Callahan, the football player. And Diana sang great, especially on Brenda Lee’s I Want To Be Wanted. She reached somewhere deep for that one.
Toward the end of the evening, while the Rockin’ Ramrods were doing some heavy rock covers, Chuck Berry’s Sweet Little Sixteen I think, and she was taking a break, Diana came over to me and said, I swear she said it exactly like this- “save the last dance for me.” I asked her to repeat herself. She said Bobby (her college joe) was not here that evening for some reason I do not remember and that she wanted to dance the last dance with someone she liked. Well, what’s a guy to do when someone like Diana gives her imperial command? I checked my dance card and said “sure.” Now this last dance thing has been going on every since they have had dances and ever since they have had teenagers at such events so no big deal, really. Oh, except this, as we were dancing that last dance to the Ramrod’s cover of The Dubs Could This Be Magic Diana, out of the blue, said this. “You know if you had done more than just stared at my ass in class (and in the corridors too, she added) in ninth grade maybe I wouldn’t have latched onto Bobby when he came around in tenth grade.” No, a thousand times no, no, no, no…
CD Review
AM Gold: The Early ‘60s, various artists, Time-Life Music, 1992
Scene: Brought to mind by one of the songs in this compilation, The Drifters classic end of the night high school dance number, Save The Last Dance For Me.
Recently, when I was reviewing a companion CD in this Time-Life Music series, AM Gold: 1962, I mentioned, in detailing some of the events surrounding the North Adamsville Class of 1962-sponsored version of the traditional late September Falling Leaves Dance that one of the perks that year was getting to hear the vocals of local singer and classmate, Diana Nelson, backed up by local rock band favorite, The Rockin’ Ramrods. I also mentioned that her selection had been the result of a singing competition held by the town fathers and that I would relate some of the details of that competition at a later date. That time has come. Additionally, I related that I had had a “crush” on Miss (Ms.) Nelson since I started staring, permanently staring, at her ass when she sat a few seats in front of me in ninth grade. At the time of the above-mentioned dance she was “going steady” with some college joe, and had not given me the time of day, flirting or encouraging-wise, since about tenth grade, although we always talked about stuff, music and political stuff, two of my passions, and hers too. Here’s the “skinny.”
******
No question that about 1960, maybe into 1961, girl vocalists were the cat’s meow. (Okay, young women, but we didn’t call them that then, no way. Also no way as well is what we called them, called them among we corner boys at Salducci’s Pizza Parlor, especially when we got “no action.” I don’t have to draw you a diagram on what that meant, right?). You can, if you were around then, reel off the names just as well as I can, Connie Francis, Carla Thomas, Patsy Cline, and the sparkplug Brenda Lee. I won’t even mention wanna-bes like Connie Stevens and Sandra Dee, Christ. See, serious classic rock by guys like Elvis, Bo Diddley, Chuck Berry and Jerry Lee Lewis was, well, passé, in that musical counter-revolution night. But music, like lots of other things abhors a vacuum and while guys were still singing, I guess, the girl singers (read young women, okay, and we will leave it at that) “spoke” to us more. Especially to record- buying girls who wanted to hear about teen romance, teen alienation, lost love, unstoppable hurts, betrayal (usually by the girl’s best friend and her boyfriend, although not always), lonely Friday nights, and other stuff that teenagers, boys and girls equally, have been mulling over, well, since they invented teenagers a long time ago.
So it was natural for the musically-talented girls around North Adamsville, and maybe around the country for all I know, to test themselves against the big name talents and see what they had. See if they could make teen heaven- a record contract with all that entailed. In North Adamsville that was actually made easier by the town fathers (and they were all men, mostly old men in those days so fathers is right), if you can believe that. Why? Because for a couple of years in the early 1960s, maybe longer, they had been sponsoring a singing contest, a female vocalist, singing contest. I heard later, and maybe it was true, that what drove them was that, unlike those mid-1950s evil male rockers mentioned above, the women vocalist models had a “calming effect” on the hard-bitten be-bop teen night. And calm was what the town fathers cared about most of all. That, and making sure that everything was in preparedness for any Soviet missile strike, complete with periodic air raid drills, christ again.
In 1962 this contest, as it was in previous years, was held in the spring in the town hall auditorium. And among the contestants, obviously, was that already "spoken for" Diana Nelson who was by even the casual music listener the odds-on favorite. She had prepped a few of us with her unique rendition of Brenda Lee’s I’m Sorry so I knew she was a shoo-in. And she was. What was interesting about the competition was not her victory as much as the assorted talents, so-called, that entered this thing. If I recall there were perhaps fifteen vocalists in all. The way the thing got resolved was a kind of sing-off. A process of elimination sing-off.
Half a dozen, naturally, were some variation of off-key and dismissible out of hand. These girls fought the worst when they got the hook. Especially one girl, Elena G., if anyone remembers her who did one of the worst versions of Connie Francis’ Who’s Sorry Now I had (and have) ever heard. The more talented girls took their lost with more grace, probably realizing as Diana got into high gear that they were doomed. But here is the funny part. One of the final four girls was not a girl at all. Jimmy C. from right down the end of my street dressed himself up as girl (and not badly either although none of us knew much about “drag queen” culture then) and sang a great version of Mary Wells’ Two Lovers. Like I said we knew from nothing about different sexual preferences and thought he just did it as a goof. (I heard a couple of years later that he had finally settled in Provincetown and that fact alone “hipped” me to what he was about, sexually.)
I probably told you before that one part of winning was a one thousand dollar scholarship. That was important, but Diana, when she talked to me about it a couple of days later just before class, said she really wanted to win so she could be featured at the Falling Leaves Dance. Now, like I said, I had a big crush on her, no question, so I was amazed that she also said that she wanted me to be sure to be at the dance that next late September. Well, if you have been paying attention at all then you know I was there. I went alone, because just then I didn’t have a girlfriend, a girlfriend strong enough for me to want to go to the dance with anyway. But I was having a pretty good time. I even danced with Chrissie McNamara, a genuine fox, who every guy had the “hots” for since she, just the night before, had busted up with Johnny Callahan, the football player. And Diana sang great, especially on Brenda Lee’s I Want To Be Wanted. She reached somewhere deep for that one.
Toward the end of the evening, while the Rockin’ Ramrods were doing some heavy rock covers, Chuck Berry’s Sweet Little Sixteen I think, and she was taking a break, Diana came over to me and said, I swear she said it exactly like this- “save the last dance for me.” I asked her to repeat herself. She said Bobby (her college joe) was not here that evening for some reason I do not remember and that she wanted to dance the last dance with someone she liked. Well, what’s a guy to do when someone like Diana gives her imperial command? I checked my dance card and said “sure.” Now this last dance thing has been going on every since they have had dances and ever since they have had teenagers at such events so no big deal, really. Oh, except this, as we were dancing that last dance to the Ramrod’s cover of The Dubs Could This Be Magic Diana, out of the blue, said this. “You know if you had done more than just stared at my ass in class (and in the corridors too, she added) in ninth grade maybe I wouldn’t have latched onto Bobby when he came around in tenth grade.” No, a thousand times no, no, no, no…
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
I Fall To Pieces Each Time I Hear Her Sing-Pasty Cline: Live At The Opry-A CD Review
I Fall To Pieces Each Time I Hear Her Sing-Pasty Cline: Live At The Opry-A CD Review
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fs8xCTMnagU
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Patsy Cline performing I Love You Some Much It Hurts Me.
CD Review
Pasty Cline: Live At The Opry, Patsy Cline, MCA , 1988
For those of us of a certain age (growing up in the early 1960’s) the timeless voice of Patsy Cline, whether we were aware of it or not, formed the backdrop to many a school dance or other romantic endeavor. I was not a fan of Cline’s, at least not consciously, growing up but have come to appreciate her talent and her amazing voice since then. In another earlier review in this space I have called her the ‘country torch singer’ par excellence. And she does not fail here, although this work reflects a time when she was deep into a countrified sound reflecting her background and the kind of audience that her songs would appeal to starting out. Later she would smooth out that voice to reach a more popular audience. Patsy, like many another torch singer like Bessie Smith or Billie Holiday, needs to grow on you. The best way to do that is grab this album and sit back. You won’t want to turn the damn thing off (except to wish that you could delete the intros, unavoidable, on a live album based on a radio show.)
Stand out covers here devoted to the themes of love, lost love, found love, misplaced love, and perhaps, hate if things every got that far out of hand that were Patsy ‘s stock-in-trade are Crazy; She’s Got You; I Fall To Pieces (a personal favorite): and, Lovesick Blues. But listen to the whole thing when you are in the mood.
"Crazy"
Written by willie nelson
(as performed by willie nelson)
Also performed by patsy cline and ray price*
Crazy
Crazy for feeling so lonely
Im crazy
Crazy for feeling so blue
I knew
Youd love me as long as you wanted
And then someday
Youd leave me for somebody new
Worry
Why do I let myself worry
Wondrin
What in the world did I do
Crazy
For thinking that my love could hold you
Im crazy for tryin
Crazy for cryin
And Im crazy
For lovin you
(repeat last verse)
Patsy Cline, She's Got You Lyrics
Artist: Cline Patsy
Song: She's Got You
“She's Got You”
I've got your picture that you gave to me
And it's signed "with love," just like it used to be
The only thing different, the only thing new
I've got your picture, she's got you
I've got the records that we used to share
And they still sound the same as when you were here
The only thing different, the only thing new,
I've got the records, she's got you
I've got your memory, or has it got me?
I really don't know, but I know it won't let me be
I've got your class ring; that proved you cared
And it still looks the same as when you gave it dear
The only thing different, the only thing new
I've got these little things, she's got you
Patsy Cline, Why Can't He Be You Lyrics
Artist: Cline Patsy
Song: Why Can't He Be You
“Why Can't He Be You”
He takes me to the places you and I used to go
He tells me over and over that he loves me so
He gives me love that I never got from you
He loves me too, his love is true
Why can't he be you
He never fails to call and tell me I'm on his mind
And I'm lucky to have such a guy; I hear it all the time
And he does all the things that you would never do
He loves me, too, his love is true
Why can't he be you
He's not the one who dominates my mind and soul
And I should love him so, 'cause he loves me, I know
But his kisses leave me cold
He sends me flowers, calls on the hour, just to prove his love
And my friends say when he's around, I'm all he speaks of
And he does all the things that you would never do
He loves me too, his love is true
Why can't he be you
Patsy Cline, Sweet Dreams Lyrics
Artist: Cline Patsy
Song: Sweet Dreams
“Sweet Dreams”
Sweet dreams of you
Every night I go through
Why can't I forget you and start my life anew
Instead of having sweet dreams about you
You don't love me, it's plain
I should know I'll never wear your ring
I should hate you the whole night through
Instead of having sweet dreams about you
Sweet dreams of you
Things I know can't come true
Why can't I forget the past, start loving someone new
Instead of having sweet dreams about you
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fs8xCTMnagU
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Patsy Cline performing I Love You Some Much It Hurts Me.
CD Review
Pasty Cline: Live At The Opry, Patsy Cline, MCA , 1988
For those of us of a certain age (growing up in the early 1960’s) the timeless voice of Patsy Cline, whether we were aware of it or not, formed the backdrop to many a school dance or other romantic endeavor. I was not a fan of Cline’s, at least not consciously, growing up but have come to appreciate her talent and her amazing voice since then. In another earlier review in this space I have called her the ‘country torch singer’ par excellence. And she does not fail here, although this work reflects a time when she was deep into a countrified sound reflecting her background and the kind of audience that her songs would appeal to starting out. Later she would smooth out that voice to reach a more popular audience. Patsy, like many another torch singer like Bessie Smith or Billie Holiday, needs to grow on you. The best way to do that is grab this album and sit back. You won’t want to turn the damn thing off (except to wish that you could delete the intros, unavoidable, on a live album based on a radio show.)
Stand out covers here devoted to the themes of love, lost love, found love, misplaced love, and perhaps, hate if things every got that far out of hand that were Patsy ‘s stock-in-trade are Crazy; She’s Got You; I Fall To Pieces (a personal favorite): and, Lovesick Blues. But listen to the whole thing when you are in the mood.
"Crazy"
Written by willie nelson
(as performed by willie nelson)
Also performed by patsy cline and ray price*
Crazy
Crazy for feeling so lonely
Im crazy
Crazy for feeling so blue
I knew
Youd love me as long as you wanted
And then someday
Youd leave me for somebody new
Worry
Why do I let myself worry
Wondrin
What in the world did I do
Crazy
For thinking that my love could hold you
Im crazy for tryin
Crazy for cryin
And Im crazy
For lovin you
(repeat last verse)
Patsy Cline, She's Got You Lyrics
Artist: Cline Patsy
Song: She's Got You
“She's Got You”
I've got your picture that you gave to me
And it's signed "with love," just like it used to be
The only thing different, the only thing new
I've got your picture, she's got you
I've got the records that we used to share
And they still sound the same as when you were here
The only thing different, the only thing new,
I've got the records, she's got you
I've got your memory, or has it got me?
I really don't know, but I know it won't let me be
I've got your class ring; that proved you cared
And it still looks the same as when you gave it dear
The only thing different, the only thing new
I've got these little things, she's got you
Patsy Cline, Why Can't He Be You Lyrics
Artist: Cline Patsy
Song: Why Can't He Be You
“Why Can't He Be You”
He takes me to the places you and I used to go
He tells me over and over that he loves me so
He gives me love that I never got from you
He loves me too, his love is true
Why can't he be you
He never fails to call and tell me I'm on his mind
And I'm lucky to have such a guy; I hear it all the time
And he does all the things that you would never do
He loves me, too, his love is true
Why can't he be you
He's not the one who dominates my mind and soul
And I should love him so, 'cause he loves me, I know
But his kisses leave me cold
He sends me flowers, calls on the hour, just to prove his love
And my friends say when he's around, I'm all he speaks of
And he does all the things that you would never do
He loves me too, his love is true
Why can't he be you
Patsy Cline, Sweet Dreams Lyrics
Artist: Cline Patsy
Song: Sweet Dreams
“Sweet Dreams”
Sweet dreams of you
Every night I go through
Why can't I forget you and start my life anew
Instead of having sweet dreams about you
You don't love me, it's plain
I should know I'll never wear your ring
I should hate you the whole night through
Instead of having sweet dreams about you
Sweet dreams of you
Things I know can't come true
Why can't I forget the past, start loving someone new
Instead of having sweet dreams about you
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
I Fall To Pieces Each Time I Hear Her Sing- Pasty Cline Sings The 1950s Standards -A CD Review
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Patsy Cline performing I Love You Some Much It Hurts Me.
CD Review
Pasty Cline: True Love- A Standards Collection, Patsy Cline, MCA Nashville Records, 2000
For those of us of a certain age (growing up in the early 1960’s) the timeless voice of Patsy Cline, whether we were aware of it or not, formed the backdrop to many a school dance or other romantic endeavor. I was not a fan of Cline’s, at least not consciously, growing up but have come to appreciate her talent and her amazing voice since then. In another earlier review in this space I have called her the ‘country torch singer’ par excellence. And she does not fail here. I believe that this compilation does justice to her work, work cut short before her full maturity by a fatal accident, but that reflects her move away from a countrified sound to a pop star. Patsy, like many another torch singer, Bessie Smith or Billie Holiday come to mind, needs to grow on you. The best way to do that is grab this album and sit back. You won’t want to turn the damn thing off.
Stand out covers here devoted to the themes of love, lost love, found love, misplaced love, and perhaps, hate if things every got that far out of hand are Always; You Belong To Me; I Love You So Much It Hurts (a personal favorite): and, the title song, True Love. But listen to the whole thing when you are in the mood.
"Crazy"
Written by willie nelson
(as performed by willie nelson)
Also performed by patsy cline and ray price*
Crazy
Crazy for feeling so lonely
Im crazy
Crazy for feeling so blue
I knew
Youd love me as long as you wanted
And then someday
Youd leave me for somebody new
Worry
Why do I let myself worry
Wondrin
What in the world did I do
Crazy
For thinking that my love could hold you
Im crazy for tryin
Crazy for cryin
And Im crazy
For lovin you
(repeat last verse)
Patsy Cline, She's Got You Lyrics
Artist: Cline Patsy
Song: She's Got You
“She's Got You”
I've got your picture that you gave to me
And it's signed "with love," just like it used to be
The only thing different, the only thing new
I've got your picture, she's got you
I've got the records that we used to share
And they still sound the same as when you were here
The only thing different, the only thing new,
I've got the records, she's got you
I've got your memory, or has it got me?
I really don't know, but I know it won't let me be
I've got your class ring; that proved you cared
And it still looks the same as when you gave it dear
The only thing different, the only thing new
I've got these little things, she's got you
Patsy Cline, Why Can't He Be You Lyrics
Artist: Cline Patsy
Song: Why Can't He Be You
“Why Can't He Be You”
He takes me to the places you and I used to go
He tells me over and over that he loves me so
He gives me love that I never got from you
He loves me too, his love is true
Why can't he be you
He never fails to call and tell me I'm on his mind
And I'm lucky to have such a guy; I hear it all the time
And he does all the things that you would never do
He loves me, too, his love is true
Why can't he be you
He's not the one who dominates my mind and soul
And I should love him so, 'cause he loves me, I know
But his kisses leave me cold
He sends me flowers, calls on the hour, just to prove his love
And my friends say when he's around, I'm all he speaks of
And he does all the things that you would never do
He loves me too, his love is true
Why can't he be you
Patsy Cline, Sweet Dreams Lyrics
Artist: Cline Patsy
Song: Sweet Dreams
“Sweet Dreams”
Sweet dreams of you
Every night I go through
Why can't I forget you and start my life anew
Instead of having sweet dreams about you
You don't love me, it's plain
I should know I'll never wear your ring
I should hate you the whole night through
Instead of having sweet dreams about you
Sweet dreams of you
Things I know can't come true
Why can't I forget the past, start loving someone new
Instead of having sweet dreams about you
CD Review
Pasty Cline: True Love- A Standards Collection, Patsy Cline, MCA Nashville Records, 2000
For those of us of a certain age (growing up in the early 1960’s) the timeless voice of Patsy Cline, whether we were aware of it or not, formed the backdrop to many a school dance or other romantic endeavor. I was not a fan of Cline’s, at least not consciously, growing up but have come to appreciate her talent and her amazing voice since then. In another earlier review in this space I have called her the ‘country torch singer’ par excellence. And she does not fail here. I believe that this compilation does justice to her work, work cut short before her full maturity by a fatal accident, but that reflects her move away from a countrified sound to a pop star. Patsy, like many another torch singer, Bessie Smith or Billie Holiday come to mind, needs to grow on you. The best way to do that is grab this album and sit back. You won’t want to turn the damn thing off.
Stand out covers here devoted to the themes of love, lost love, found love, misplaced love, and perhaps, hate if things every got that far out of hand are Always; You Belong To Me; I Love You So Much It Hurts (a personal favorite): and, the title song, True Love. But listen to the whole thing when you are in the mood.
"Crazy"
Written by willie nelson
(as performed by willie nelson)
Also performed by patsy cline and ray price*
Crazy
Crazy for feeling so lonely
Im crazy
Crazy for feeling so blue
I knew
Youd love me as long as you wanted
And then someday
Youd leave me for somebody new
Worry
Why do I let myself worry
Wondrin
What in the world did I do
Crazy
For thinking that my love could hold you
Im crazy for tryin
Crazy for cryin
And Im crazy
For lovin you
(repeat last verse)
Patsy Cline, She's Got You Lyrics
Artist: Cline Patsy
Song: She's Got You
“She's Got You”
I've got your picture that you gave to me
And it's signed "with love," just like it used to be
The only thing different, the only thing new
I've got your picture, she's got you
I've got the records that we used to share
And they still sound the same as when you were here
The only thing different, the only thing new,
I've got the records, she's got you
I've got your memory, or has it got me?
I really don't know, but I know it won't let me be
I've got your class ring; that proved you cared
And it still looks the same as when you gave it dear
The only thing different, the only thing new
I've got these little things, she's got you
Patsy Cline, Why Can't He Be You Lyrics
Artist: Cline Patsy
Song: Why Can't He Be You
“Why Can't He Be You”
He takes me to the places you and I used to go
He tells me over and over that he loves me so
He gives me love that I never got from you
He loves me too, his love is true
Why can't he be you
He never fails to call and tell me I'm on his mind
And I'm lucky to have such a guy; I hear it all the time
And he does all the things that you would never do
He loves me, too, his love is true
Why can't he be you
He's not the one who dominates my mind and soul
And I should love him so, 'cause he loves me, I know
But his kisses leave me cold
He sends me flowers, calls on the hour, just to prove his love
And my friends say when he's around, I'm all he speaks of
And he does all the things that you would never do
He loves me too, his love is true
Why can't he be you
Patsy Cline, Sweet Dreams Lyrics
Artist: Cline Patsy
Song: Sweet Dreams
“Sweet Dreams”
Sweet dreams of you
Every night I go through
Why can't I forget you and start my life anew
Instead of having sweet dreams about you
You don't love me, it's plain
I should know I'll never wear your ring
I should hate you the whole night through
Instead of having sweet dreams about you
Sweet dreams of you
Things I know can't come true
Why can't I forget the past, start loving someone new
Instead of having sweet dreams about you
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Out In The Be-Bop Be-Bop 1960s Night- The Rock ‘n’ Rock Era: 1961-When Gary Ladd Danced The North Adamsville High School Dance Night Away- Not-With Chubby Checker In Mind
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of The Shirelles performing their 1960s teen angst classicMama Said
CD Review
The Rock ‘n’ Rock Era: 1961, various artists, Time-Life Music, 1989
Scene: Brought to mind by one of the pieces of teen life-driven artwork that graces each CD in this series.
Saturday night, any third Saturday of the month from September to May, when every red-blooded teen boy and girl in the 1961 North Adamsville High School be-bop,be-bop night could only be in one locale, or want to be. That was the night of the monthly seasonally-themed high school hop where anyone, even freshmen and sophomores, could ante up the dollar admission and dance the night away. Well, almost dance the night away. And that is the dilemma confronting one freshman, Gary Ladd (he is the “wallflower” way off to the side of the gym almost into the wall if you didn’t think you saw him on one of the nights in question).
Gary, well, we might as well have our moment of truth right up front, can’t dance. Can’t dance a damn, to hell, heaven or any place in between. Two- leftfeet. Two left-feet despite the best efforts of one Agnes Ladd, North Adamsville Class of 1961 Vice President, whose own feet have taken a terrible beating trying to teach little brother Gary the elements of the waltz, the fox trot, and hell, even the twist to no avail. But Gary, no twerp under his two left-footed exterior, has always, as he put it, exercised his democratic right to be at these universal dances, come hell or high water.
But this night, this warm April Springfest Dance night, things might just be a little different as Gary takes his place against the far wall (the wall farthest away from the girl “wallflowers” just in case you wanted an exact location. Mostly wallflowers, boy or girl, are keeping their respective distances on the odd chance that someone may actually come up and ask them to dance). First off this month the local craze rock band sensations, The Rockin’ Ramrods, are here live on the makeshift bandstand. And just this minute they are tuning up with the appropriately named Please Stay by the Drifters. Secondly, a new girl in town, Elsie Mae Horton, is here. Naturally the mere fact that she is here is added reason why Gary is here (and why he tortured his sister Agnes to try, try in vain, to teach him some dance steps). See Gary has the “bug” for Elsie Mae, ya, he is smitten.
Now this Elsie Mae is maybe, on a scale of one to ten, about a six so it is not looks that have Gary (and about six other guys), well, smitten. But what Elsie Mae has is nothing but smarts, book smarts, idea smarts, talk smarts you name it smarts and one of the sweetest smiles this side of heaven. And, as Gary found out early on in one of their shared classes, very easy to talk to about anything. Yes, he is smitten; the only unknown is whether she can dance good enough to stay out of his way. That is if he gets up the nerve to ask her. And as the Ramrods start their first set with Gary Bonds’ School Is Out (praise be) he notices her coming in the door. Heart pounding he starts sinking into the wall again. As they finish with Brother Bonds the Ramrods start in on The Impressions’ Gypsy Woman before Gary realizes that Elsie Mae has drawn a bee-line straight for him and is standing right in front of him, turning a little red. “Oh, my god,” Gary whispers under his breathe, “she is going to ask me to dance. No way.” The usually easy to talk to Elsie Mae though says nothing, nothing but turns a little redder as the Ramrods cover the Pips Every Beat Of My Heart (nicely done too). She is waiting for Gary to ask her, if you can believe that. Well, two-left feet or not, he does ask her. And she smiles a little smile as she “accepts.” Relief.
Needless to say when they did their dance, The Edsels’ Rama Lama Ding Dong, it was nothing but a disaster. A Gary disaster? Yes. But here is the funny part. Elsie Mae Horton, formerly of Gloversville and new to North Adamsville so of unknown dance quality, had two-left feet too. Get this though. When the dance was mercifully finished, and the two had actually survived, Elsie Mae thanked Gary and told him that he was a wonderful dancer and she wished that she could dance like him. Whee! Here is the real kicker though. Elsie Mae had also been taking dancing lessons, unsuccessfully. Dancing lessons so that two-left feet Elsie Mae Horton could dance with Gary Ladd. See, she was “smitten” too. And so if you did not see Gary or Elsie Mae at the Mayfair Dance you have now solved that mystery. They were sitting, sitting very close to each other, on the seawall down at Adamsville Beach laughing about starting a “Two-Left Feet” Club. With just two members.
CD Review
The Rock ‘n’ Rock Era: 1961, various artists, Time-Life Music, 1989
Scene: Brought to mind by one of the pieces of teen life-driven artwork that graces each CD in this series.
Saturday night, any third Saturday of the month from September to May, when every red-blooded teen boy and girl in the 1961 North Adamsville High School be-bop,be-bop night could only be in one locale, or want to be. That was the night of the monthly seasonally-themed high school hop where anyone, even freshmen and sophomores, could ante up the dollar admission and dance the night away. Well, almost dance the night away. And that is the dilemma confronting one freshman, Gary Ladd (he is the “wallflower” way off to the side of the gym almost into the wall if you didn’t think you saw him on one of the nights in question).
Gary, well, we might as well have our moment of truth right up front, can’t dance. Can’t dance a damn, to hell, heaven or any place in between. Two- leftfeet. Two left-feet despite the best efforts of one Agnes Ladd, North Adamsville Class of 1961 Vice President, whose own feet have taken a terrible beating trying to teach little brother Gary the elements of the waltz, the fox trot, and hell, even the twist to no avail. But Gary, no twerp under his two left-footed exterior, has always, as he put it, exercised his democratic right to be at these universal dances, come hell or high water.
But this night, this warm April Springfest Dance night, things might just be a little different as Gary takes his place against the far wall (the wall farthest away from the girl “wallflowers” just in case you wanted an exact location. Mostly wallflowers, boy or girl, are keeping their respective distances on the odd chance that someone may actually come up and ask them to dance). First off this month the local craze rock band sensations, The Rockin’ Ramrods, are here live on the makeshift bandstand. And just this minute they are tuning up with the appropriately named Please Stay by the Drifters. Secondly, a new girl in town, Elsie Mae Horton, is here. Naturally the mere fact that she is here is added reason why Gary is here (and why he tortured his sister Agnes to try, try in vain, to teach him some dance steps). See Gary has the “bug” for Elsie Mae, ya, he is smitten.
Now this Elsie Mae is maybe, on a scale of one to ten, about a six so it is not looks that have Gary (and about six other guys), well, smitten. But what Elsie Mae has is nothing but smarts, book smarts, idea smarts, talk smarts you name it smarts and one of the sweetest smiles this side of heaven. And, as Gary found out early on in one of their shared classes, very easy to talk to about anything. Yes, he is smitten; the only unknown is whether she can dance good enough to stay out of his way. That is if he gets up the nerve to ask her. And as the Ramrods start their first set with Gary Bonds’ School Is Out (praise be) he notices her coming in the door. Heart pounding he starts sinking into the wall again. As they finish with Brother Bonds the Ramrods start in on The Impressions’ Gypsy Woman before Gary realizes that Elsie Mae has drawn a bee-line straight for him and is standing right in front of him, turning a little red. “Oh, my god,” Gary whispers under his breathe, “she is going to ask me to dance. No way.” The usually easy to talk to Elsie Mae though says nothing, nothing but turns a little redder as the Ramrods cover the Pips Every Beat Of My Heart (nicely done too). She is waiting for Gary to ask her, if you can believe that. Well, two-left feet or not, he does ask her. And she smiles a little smile as she “accepts.” Relief.
Needless to say when they did their dance, The Edsels’ Rama Lama Ding Dong, it was nothing but a disaster. A Gary disaster? Yes. But here is the funny part. Elsie Mae Horton, formerly of Gloversville and new to North Adamsville so of unknown dance quality, had two-left feet too. Get this though. When the dance was mercifully finished, and the two had actually survived, Elsie Mae thanked Gary and told him that he was a wonderful dancer and she wished that she could dance like him. Whee! Here is the real kicker though. Elsie Mae had also been taking dancing lessons, unsuccessfully. Dancing lessons so that two-left feet Elsie Mae Horton could dance with Gary Ladd. See, she was “smitten” too. And so if you did not see Gary or Elsie Mae at the Mayfair Dance you have now solved that mystery. They were sitting, sitting very close to each other, on the seawall down at Adamsville Beach laughing about starting a “Two-Left Feet” Club. With just two members.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Out In The Be-Bop Be-Bop 1960s Night- The Heart Of Rock ‘n’ Rock: 1960-61- Take Three- When Sammy Russo Ran The Skee Ball Lanes- With Bo Diddley In Mind
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of The Shirelles performing their classic Tonight’s The Night
CD Review
The Heart Of Rock ‘n’ Roll: 1960-61, various artists, Time-Life Music, 1996
Scene: Brought to mind by one of the snapshot photos that grace each CD in this series. The then newly built Gloversville Amusement Park created out of farmland just west of the old home town, Clintondale. Of course it had all the latest rides, including two Ferris wheels, two different-sized roller coasters (one for the faint-hearted, the other for the brave, or fool-hearty) refreshment stands seemingly without end, and other refinements, including for our particular purposes not one by two game pavilions anchored by rows of skee lanes. Skee lanes that Sammy Russo ruled (that‘s the guy eating the proffered popcorn in the photo) claimed kingship over and over which Patty Smith (the popcorn profferee in said photo) sought to be his queen. If she could handle the gaffe.
***********
“Christ, Patty how many of these damn, god awful kewpie dolls do you need anyway?,” yelled Sammy Russo, the King Of The Skee Ball night at Gloversville Amusement Park and also a 1960s king hell king of a corner boy at Doc Sweeney’s Drugstore (complete with soda fountain, natch, and a juke box too else why be a corner boy there, or anything else) out in the Clintondale be-bop night to his wanna-be sweetie, Patty Smith. And it was a question that he expected an answer to, a prompt, no sass answer, newness wearing off or not, newness of their “steady” hood-ness, that is.
See, Patty got big eyes for Sammy right here at the FUNland game pavilion (no that is not a typo that is the way the name in front of the game pavilion read) at the beginning of summer, right after school let out. School, of course, being North Adamsville High in the year of our lord nineteen hundred and sixty if anybody asks you, and they might. And, for that matter, how else would I know of the Sammy-Patty love story, I ask you, if that wasn’t so. I am one of Sammy’s Doc’s corner boy, uh, associates. Gloversville proper, by the way, is too new and rural raw to have its own high school so kids from Gloversville come over to North Clintondale where there is some extra room just now. But Gloversville kids, farm boys and girls mainly, are strictly squaresville. No dispute. The only reason that anybody from North Clintonville High, any corner boy (or his girl) would even set foot in Gloversville for one minute, no one second, was to pass ever-loving Main Street (really Route 16) through to the edge of town seeking the newly built Gloversville Amusement Park. And that is the reason why Sammy and Patty are standing here in front of the FUNland skee ball lanes having their first “argument.” Well, kind of an argument.
Patty was either in some high funk, or did not hear Sammy the first time over the din of the Gene Daniel’s A Hundred Pounds Of Clay followed immediately by The Chieftains Heart And Soul, blaring over the loudspeaker. A loudspeaker that we finally figured out was used by the management to juice up the pinball/skee ball/games atmosphere so no one could think so he repeated himself. And Patty faux-demurely answered (as was her way when Sammy got this, well, this Sammy Doc’s corner boy way)-“Until I get the whole set of twelve, and not before.” [Markin: For those who are breathlessly on the edge of their seats waiting to know why there are twelve it is simple. There are twelve kewpies representing twelve different nations/major ethnic groups, natch, they had that part of the soft sell down easy] “Christ,” said Sammy under his breathe, “We will be here all night.”
All night skee-ing when Sammy, king of the skees or not, had other things, other wrestling in some secluded spot out back by the artificial lake that formed one of the edges of the park things, on his mind. With one Patty Smith, of course. And that would not be the first time, the first wrestling time. Funny, just then the newest Shirelles' hit came over the speaker, Tonight’s The Night. But just now he knew deep in his bones, knew as if he had been married to Miss Smith for fifty years, that tonight was not going to be the night if she did not go home with not ten, not eleven, but exactly twelve f—king kewpie dolls.
Now this skee thing, on an average night is nothing but a sure thing when Sammy has his motor running. When his mind is on skees, okay. But playing enough games to “win” twelve dolls, or for that matter twelve rabbits’ feet or twelve leis (lesser prizes in the skee universe) requires a certain perseverance and good aim. [Markin: For those who do not know skee it is like bowling, candle-pin bowling (small balls for those not from New England) in that you roll the bowl up a short lane and like darts or rifle target shooting in that you have a target. The idea is to get as many points (and hence coupons) with nine balls as possible. The points convert to coupons which are dispensed near where you place your money to start a game . Get enough coupons and you win prizes from those lame leis to kewpie dolls. Simple.] But, like I said, Sammy’s mind had been elsewhere, especially when Patty, yes, Patty brought up the subject of wrestling down by that lake if things worked out at skee. And as if to punctuate her sentence Brenda Lee’s You Can Depend On Me came on while these “negotiations” were in progress.
But this night Sammy, king hell corner boy is whipped, just plain whipped by the task before him. It is almost closing time (11:00 PM) and Sammy has won exactly five dolls. And Sammy, while he can be as smooth as any Doc’s Drugstore corner boy, except maybe Fritz Gentry, or as cold as any hard-boiled Hell’s Angel motorcycle corner boy from the Blarney Bar&Grille in the hard-night part of Clintondale is ready to explode at Patty. Not for her foolish girl desire for the damn dolls. That is how girls are and what makes them tick. No, Sammy is fed up that his prowess at skee had to be put in play by Patty’s silly notions. So come eleven o'clock and defeat Sammy, cold as ice, says to Patty, “Okay, we are finished, I’ll take you home now but I have had it.” So they walked, walked pretty far apart for two people on the same planet, back to Sammy’s father’s car and he did not even open Patty’s door for her. Bad news, no question. She got in and as the car radio heated up wouldn’t you know in a night filled with omens and portents that just then the local all-night rock ‘n’ roll station would be playing Connie Francis’ Breakin’ In A Brand New Broken Heart. And both Sammy and Patty were absolutely quiet while that song was being played.
CD Review
The Heart Of Rock ‘n’ Roll: 1960-61, various artists, Time-Life Music, 1996
Scene: Brought to mind by one of the snapshot photos that grace each CD in this series. The then newly built Gloversville Amusement Park created out of farmland just west of the old home town, Clintondale. Of course it had all the latest rides, including two Ferris wheels, two different-sized roller coasters (one for the faint-hearted, the other for the brave, or fool-hearty) refreshment stands seemingly without end, and other refinements, including for our particular purposes not one by two game pavilions anchored by rows of skee lanes. Skee lanes that Sammy Russo ruled (that‘s the guy eating the proffered popcorn in the photo) claimed kingship over and over which Patty Smith (the popcorn profferee in said photo) sought to be his queen. If she could handle the gaffe.
***********
“Christ, Patty how many of these damn, god awful kewpie dolls do you need anyway?,” yelled Sammy Russo, the King Of The Skee Ball night at Gloversville Amusement Park and also a 1960s king hell king of a corner boy at Doc Sweeney’s Drugstore (complete with soda fountain, natch, and a juke box too else why be a corner boy there, or anything else) out in the Clintondale be-bop night to his wanna-be sweetie, Patty Smith. And it was a question that he expected an answer to, a prompt, no sass answer, newness wearing off or not, newness of their “steady” hood-ness, that is.
See, Patty got big eyes for Sammy right here at the FUNland game pavilion (no that is not a typo that is the way the name in front of the game pavilion read) at the beginning of summer, right after school let out. School, of course, being North Adamsville High in the year of our lord nineteen hundred and sixty if anybody asks you, and they might. And, for that matter, how else would I know of the Sammy-Patty love story, I ask you, if that wasn’t so. I am one of Sammy’s Doc’s corner boy, uh, associates. Gloversville proper, by the way, is too new and rural raw to have its own high school so kids from Gloversville come over to North Clintondale where there is some extra room just now. But Gloversville kids, farm boys and girls mainly, are strictly squaresville. No dispute. The only reason that anybody from North Clintonville High, any corner boy (or his girl) would even set foot in Gloversville for one minute, no one second, was to pass ever-loving Main Street (really Route 16) through to the edge of town seeking the newly built Gloversville Amusement Park. And that is the reason why Sammy and Patty are standing here in front of the FUNland skee ball lanes having their first “argument.” Well, kind of an argument.
Patty was either in some high funk, or did not hear Sammy the first time over the din of the Gene Daniel’s A Hundred Pounds Of Clay followed immediately by The Chieftains Heart And Soul, blaring over the loudspeaker. A loudspeaker that we finally figured out was used by the management to juice up the pinball/skee ball/games atmosphere so no one could think so he repeated himself. And Patty faux-demurely answered (as was her way when Sammy got this, well, this Sammy Doc’s corner boy way)-“Until I get the whole set of twelve, and not before.” [Markin: For those who are breathlessly on the edge of their seats waiting to know why there are twelve it is simple. There are twelve kewpies representing twelve different nations/major ethnic groups, natch, they had that part of the soft sell down easy] “Christ,” said Sammy under his breathe, “We will be here all night.”
All night skee-ing when Sammy, king of the skees or not, had other things, other wrestling in some secluded spot out back by the artificial lake that formed one of the edges of the park things, on his mind. With one Patty Smith, of course. And that would not be the first time, the first wrestling time. Funny, just then the newest Shirelles' hit came over the speaker, Tonight’s The Night. But just now he knew deep in his bones, knew as if he had been married to Miss Smith for fifty years, that tonight was not going to be the night if she did not go home with not ten, not eleven, but exactly twelve f—king kewpie dolls.
Now this skee thing, on an average night is nothing but a sure thing when Sammy has his motor running. When his mind is on skees, okay. But playing enough games to “win” twelve dolls, or for that matter twelve rabbits’ feet or twelve leis (lesser prizes in the skee universe) requires a certain perseverance and good aim. [Markin: For those who do not know skee it is like bowling, candle-pin bowling (small balls for those not from New England) in that you roll the bowl up a short lane and like darts or rifle target shooting in that you have a target. The idea is to get as many points (and hence coupons) with nine balls as possible. The points convert to coupons which are dispensed near where you place your money to start a game . Get enough coupons and you win prizes from those lame leis to kewpie dolls. Simple.] But, like I said, Sammy’s mind had been elsewhere, especially when Patty, yes, Patty brought up the subject of wrestling down by that lake if things worked out at skee. And as if to punctuate her sentence Brenda Lee’s You Can Depend On Me came on while these “negotiations” were in progress.
But this night Sammy, king hell corner boy is whipped, just plain whipped by the task before him. It is almost closing time (11:00 PM) and Sammy has won exactly five dolls. And Sammy, while he can be as smooth as any Doc’s Drugstore corner boy, except maybe Fritz Gentry, or as cold as any hard-boiled Hell’s Angel motorcycle corner boy from the Blarney Bar&Grille in the hard-night part of Clintondale is ready to explode at Patty. Not for her foolish girl desire for the damn dolls. That is how girls are and what makes them tick. No, Sammy is fed up that his prowess at skee had to be put in play by Patty’s silly notions. So come eleven o'clock and defeat Sammy, cold as ice, says to Patty, “Okay, we are finished, I’ll take you home now but I have had it.” So they walked, walked pretty far apart for two people on the same planet, back to Sammy’s father’s car and he did not even open Patty’s door for her. Bad news, no question. She got in and as the car radio heated up wouldn’t you know in a night filled with omens and portents that just then the local all-night rock ‘n’ roll station would be playing Connie Francis’ Breakin’ In A Brand New Broken Heart. And both Sammy and Patty were absolutely quiet while that song was being played.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Out In The Be-Bop Be-Bop 1960s Night- The Heart Of Rock ‘n’ Rock: 1960-61- When Love Blossomed In The Clintondale Memorial Park Night
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of The Shirelles performing their classic Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow.
CD Review
The Heart Of Rock ‘n’ Roll: 1960-61, various artists, Time-Life Music, 1996
Scene: Brought to mind by the snapshot photos that grace each CD in this series. Clintondale Memorial Park, early 1960s, a traditional city-maintained park with the usual kiddies playgrounds, various sports fields, picnic and barbecue facilities, rest rooms and, most importantly, teenage most importantly, many off-the- beaten path secluded spots for teen night sports. Although by the 1960s it was suffering from some neglect since it has been at least a generation since it had been a “hot” spot for teenage love in the night. Those “hot” spots in this car-driven age are now down at Adamsville Beach a few towns over by the bay, and more recently the new rage at the Gloversville Amusement Park a few towns over going inland out toward farm country.
*******
Let me tell you about Clintondale Memorial park first, although that might seem funny for a guy who usually starts out describing all the gossip around town, or at least the North Clintondale part of town, about who at North Clintondale High is, or isn’t, trying to get some girl’s (or more rarely some guy’s) attention. Or about who broke up, or didn’t break up and I wish she would, with what overreaching guy after what he tried to do down at Adamsville Beach. Or about some other lovelorn bits of trivia that really, now with big issues like war and peace and black civil rights stuff down south staring us in the face, should take a back seat. But what are you going to do when you are stuck, stuck forever it seems, in the backwater of Squaresville, oops, Clintondale, the same thing.
I will get to the people part, the Jeannie Curran and Walter Pitts part, which fills out this saga as soon as I tell you about the park. See, for one thing, I actually had to go to the park in order to able to tell you about it. That may seem odd in a small town, a backwater square town like Clintondale, but I hadn’t personally been there since I was a kid, maybe seven or eight years ago. And ever since the Gloversville Amusement Park opened up around that same time there has been absolutely no reason to go there. Period. And when I got older, old enough to ride in a car cruising for girls and other stuff down at Adamsville Beach, which became even truer. This park, whatever it meant for my parents who kept going on and on about how much fun they had there as kids, was strictly nowhere. Or at least I thought so and my opinion didn’t change when I took the two mile walk across town to get over there.
Funny when I was a kid the place seemed like a huge primeval forest that a kid could get lost in pretty easily and we were reminded of that hard fact constantly when we played in the woods there. Now it seemed pretty small since I could walk around the whole thing in fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Sure the old swings, seesaws and slides from childhood were still there, although they seemed to have a little rust on them and didn’t look like they had been repaired in a while. And the picnic tables, now a little weather-beaten and standing in serious need of some paint, were still tableau-like in the same places they were back then as were the barbecue pits. The rest rooms had seen better days, could have used a very thorough fumigation, and appeared to have become the “property” of the town’s increasing population of winos. For that matter the whole layout could have used some serious landscaping or at least something more than a quick summer job student mow and permanent city worker grim reaper swathing. But back in some corners, near the old granite rocks, and a couple of other places off the bridle paths I could see where there might be some very cozy places to bring a date for some serious workouts in the old days. So what my parents, although they neglected to mention that part of the old time teenage “fun” night, and Benny Rosen’s older brother, David, told us about when the place was a “hot” spot might have been true after all. Still this place ain’t coming back anytime soon as a serious teenage scene. No way.
Like I say this Clintondale Memorial Park was strictly from hunger. Except, and here you will have to take my word for it, maybe, just maybe, as a meeting place for those who could not meet in public any other place. And that is where Jeanie Curran and Walter Pitts finally get to enter this story. No, hell, no they didn’t do any wrong. Anything legally, morally, politically, economically, culturally, or socially wrong. Well, maybe they did on the last one come to think of it. Clintondale, now that people have started moving here from Boston in droves, has gotten over the past several years too big to have just one high school. So now there are two. Jeanie’s Clintondale High (the old high school) in the older part of town and Walter (and my) North Clintondale High in the newer section where the housing developments have sprung up. And that is where Jeanie and Walter’s “problem” takes center stage. See in Clintondale it is taboo, wrong, evil, or whatever you want to call it, but just don’t do it, for a student from one high school to date, hell maybe even to talk to, a student from the other high school. Oh sure they can ride on the same buses and stuff like that. It’s not like down South with one school riding in the back of the bus or anything like that but no dating. Not done, okay.
But Jeannie and Walter, are dating, definitely dating, as I will tell you about later. Now the reason I know this is that Walter is none other than a corner boy with me over at Doc Sprague’s Drugstore and Soda Fountain. So he kind of confided his story to me. Now every one in town, well in North Adamsville, well, okay at the high school, knows that once I get a story it is going to be around in nothing flat. So I think Walter’s idea was to tell it to me and then I would spread it around and then people (read: fellow teenage high school students) might learn to accept his (and Jeanie’s) status. And if that was his idea he was right because I am holding you to no vow of silence. Not only that but I half agree that Walter and Jeanie, although they attend those two antagonistic high schools, should have the right to date if they want to and let the town be damned. But I only half agree so far because I can see where these “mixed” relationships are hard on everybody and then again, as well, where do you draw the line.
Now this Jeannie Curran, if you know Walter as I do and his tastes in girls, is nothing but a fox. A sandy blonde, nice shape in all the right places, nice face and, so Walter tells me, someone you would never tire of talking to (a big plus, for sure). In other words someone the gods created on one of their good days. Thanks, gods. And Walter is a good-looking guy although not too bright if he both confided in me seriously and was bold enough to go against convention. How they met though will give you an idea as to their problem.
Pete’s Platters record Shop is the only place in town where kids can go to get rock ‘n’ roll music, the latest stuff anyway. So it is kind of “neutral” territory in the high school wars since every kid recognizes, like some Geneva Convention Accords protocol, that teenagers NEED their 45s and LPs and quick, quick as they come out sometimes. So one day, after school Walter was downtown at Pete’s looking for Ben E. King’s boss sound Spanish Harlem and Roy Orbison’s great crescendo-wave Running Scared when he spotted Jeannie. Like some primordial force he was “driven” to go over and ask her what she was looking for in records and she answered Patsy Cline’s I Fall To Pieces and, almost like it was the power of suggestion, Elvis’ dreamy and sad Are You Lonesome Tonight? And that was that. Click. For one thing Walter has just recently broken up with Susie Riley and for another, well, like I said Jeannie was a fox. A fox who, by the way, was wearing front and center her Clintondale High School cheerleader sweater so Walter should have backed off immediately. But such is smitten-ness.
Well one thing led to another after Walter got Jeannie phone number at that first meeting. And as a symbol of friendship he bought her The Drifters’ Please Stay right there and then. But things for teenage romance, especially Clintondale never the twain shall meet teenage romance, are never easy. Part of the problem was that Walter did not then have a car and even if he used his father’s he couldn’t take Jeanie to the Adamsville Beach although she expressed extreme interest in “watching the submarine races.” With him. Nor could they go the Gloversville Amusement Park. Nobody from either high school would have stood for that. So Jeannie (like I said Walter is not too bright in the idea department) said why not meet at her house and walk over to the Clintondale Memorial Park and find some quiet spot to “make out.” Well, where there is a will there is a way. And so one fine early October night before it got too cold one Jeannie Curran of Clintondale High and one Walter Pitts of North Clintondale High found a nice spot near the old granite rocks and “did it.” Here is the funny thing; funny to Walter anyway, while they were “doing it” the ubiquitous WMEX rock ‘n’ roll station was playing The Shirelles Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow. They both laughed about that one.
Now that I think of it I could see where “cruising” old Adamsville Beach is finally played out. And how many kewpie dolls, rabbits' feet, and leis can you win for your favorite girl over at the amusement park? Those granite rocks over at the memorial park sure were a quiet spot. Now if I could only find a Clintondale High girl to go there with me. And maybe, just maybe WMEX will be playing Brenda Lee’s I Want To Be Wanted and we can laugh over that.
CD Review
The Heart Of Rock ‘n’ Roll: 1960-61, various artists, Time-Life Music, 1996
Scene: Brought to mind by the snapshot photos that grace each CD in this series. Clintondale Memorial Park, early 1960s, a traditional city-maintained park with the usual kiddies playgrounds, various sports fields, picnic and barbecue facilities, rest rooms and, most importantly, teenage most importantly, many off-the- beaten path secluded spots for teen night sports. Although by the 1960s it was suffering from some neglect since it has been at least a generation since it had been a “hot” spot for teenage love in the night. Those “hot” spots in this car-driven age are now down at Adamsville Beach a few towns over by the bay, and more recently the new rage at the Gloversville Amusement Park a few towns over going inland out toward farm country.
*******
Let me tell you about Clintondale Memorial park first, although that might seem funny for a guy who usually starts out describing all the gossip around town, or at least the North Clintondale part of town, about who at North Clintondale High is, or isn’t, trying to get some girl’s (or more rarely some guy’s) attention. Or about who broke up, or didn’t break up and I wish she would, with what overreaching guy after what he tried to do down at Adamsville Beach. Or about some other lovelorn bits of trivia that really, now with big issues like war and peace and black civil rights stuff down south staring us in the face, should take a back seat. But what are you going to do when you are stuck, stuck forever it seems, in the backwater of Squaresville, oops, Clintondale, the same thing.
I will get to the people part, the Jeannie Curran and Walter Pitts part, which fills out this saga as soon as I tell you about the park. See, for one thing, I actually had to go to the park in order to able to tell you about it. That may seem odd in a small town, a backwater square town like Clintondale, but I hadn’t personally been there since I was a kid, maybe seven or eight years ago. And ever since the Gloversville Amusement Park opened up around that same time there has been absolutely no reason to go there. Period. And when I got older, old enough to ride in a car cruising for girls and other stuff down at Adamsville Beach, which became even truer. This park, whatever it meant for my parents who kept going on and on about how much fun they had there as kids, was strictly nowhere. Or at least I thought so and my opinion didn’t change when I took the two mile walk across town to get over there.
Funny when I was a kid the place seemed like a huge primeval forest that a kid could get lost in pretty easily and we were reminded of that hard fact constantly when we played in the woods there. Now it seemed pretty small since I could walk around the whole thing in fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Sure the old swings, seesaws and slides from childhood were still there, although they seemed to have a little rust on them and didn’t look like they had been repaired in a while. And the picnic tables, now a little weather-beaten and standing in serious need of some paint, were still tableau-like in the same places they were back then as were the barbecue pits. The rest rooms had seen better days, could have used a very thorough fumigation, and appeared to have become the “property” of the town’s increasing population of winos. For that matter the whole layout could have used some serious landscaping or at least something more than a quick summer job student mow and permanent city worker grim reaper swathing. But back in some corners, near the old granite rocks, and a couple of other places off the bridle paths I could see where there might be some very cozy places to bring a date for some serious workouts in the old days. So what my parents, although they neglected to mention that part of the old time teenage “fun” night, and Benny Rosen’s older brother, David, told us about when the place was a “hot” spot might have been true after all. Still this place ain’t coming back anytime soon as a serious teenage scene. No way.
Like I say this Clintondale Memorial Park was strictly from hunger. Except, and here you will have to take my word for it, maybe, just maybe, as a meeting place for those who could not meet in public any other place. And that is where Jeanie Curran and Walter Pitts finally get to enter this story. No, hell, no they didn’t do any wrong. Anything legally, morally, politically, economically, culturally, or socially wrong. Well, maybe they did on the last one come to think of it. Clintondale, now that people have started moving here from Boston in droves, has gotten over the past several years too big to have just one high school. So now there are two. Jeanie’s Clintondale High (the old high school) in the older part of town and Walter (and my) North Clintondale High in the newer section where the housing developments have sprung up. And that is where Jeanie and Walter’s “problem” takes center stage. See in Clintondale it is taboo, wrong, evil, or whatever you want to call it, but just don’t do it, for a student from one high school to date, hell maybe even to talk to, a student from the other high school. Oh sure they can ride on the same buses and stuff like that. It’s not like down South with one school riding in the back of the bus or anything like that but no dating. Not done, okay.
But Jeannie and Walter, are dating, definitely dating, as I will tell you about later. Now the reason I know this is that Walter is none other than a corner boy with me over at Doc Sprague’s Drugstore and Soda Fountain. So he kind of confided his story to me. Now every one in town, well in North Adamsville, well, okay at the high school, knows that once I get a story it is going to be around in nothing flat. So I think Walter’s idea was to tell it to me and then I would spread it around and then people (read: fellow teenage high school students) might learn to accept his (and Jeanie’s) status. And if that was his idea he was right because I am holding you to no vow of silence. Not only that but I half agree that Walter and Jeanie, although they attend those two antagonistic high schools, should have the right to date if they want to and let the town be damned. But I only half agree so far because I can see where these “mixed” relationships are hard on everybody and then again, as well, where do you draw the line.
Now this Jeannie Curran, if you know Walter as I do and his tastes in girls, is nothing but a fox. A sandy blonde, nice shape in all the right places, nice face and, so Walter tells me, someone you would never tire of talking to (a big plus, for sure). In other words someone the gods created on one of their good days. Thanks, gods. And Walter is a good-looking guy although not too bright if he both confided in me seriously and was bold enough to go against convention. How they met though will give you an idea as to their problem.
Pete’s Platters record Shop is the only place in town where kids can go to get rock ‘n’ roll music, the latest stuff anyway. So it is kind of “neutral” territory in the high school wars since every kid recognizes, like some Geneva Convention Accords protocol, that teenagers NEED their 45s and LPs and quick, quick as they come out sometimes. So one day, after school Walter was downtown at Pete’s looking for Ben E. King’s boss sound Spanish Harlem and Roy Orbison’s great crescendo-wave Running Scared when he spotted Jeannie. Like some primordial force he was “driven” to go over and ask her what she was looking for in records and she answered Patsy Cline’s I Fall To Pieces and, almost like it was the power of suggestion, Elvis’ dreamy and sad Are You Lonesome Tonight? And that was that. Click. For one thing Walter has just recently broken up with Susie Riley and for another, well, like I said Jeannie was a fox. A fox who, by the way, was wearing front and center her Clintondale High School cheerleader sweater so Walter should have backed off immediately. But such is smitten-ness.
Well one thing led to another after Walter got Jeannie phone number at that first meeting. And as a symbol of friendship he bought her The Drifters’ Please Stay right there and then. But things for teenage romance, especially Clintondale never the twain shall meet teenage romance, are never easy. Part of the problem was that Walter did not then have a car and even if he used his father’s he couldn’t take Jeanie to the Adamsville Beach although she expressed extreme interest in “watching the submarine races.” With him. Nor could they go the Gloversville Amusement Park. Nobody from either high school would have stood for that. So Jeannie (like I said Walter is not too bright in the idea department) said why not meet at her house and walk over to the Clintondale Memorial Park and find some quiet spot to “make out.” Well, where there is a will there is a way. And so one fine early October night before it got too cold one Jeannie Curran of Clintondale High and one Walter Pitts of North Clintondale High found a nice spot near the old granite rocks and “did it.” Here is the funny thing; funny to Walter anyway, while they were “doing it” the ubiquitous WMEX rock ‘n’ roll station was playing The Shirelles Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow. They both laughed about that one.
Now that I think of it I could see where “cruising” old Adamsville Beach is finally played out. And how many kewpie dolls, rabbits' feet, and leis can you win for your favorite girl over at the amusement park? Those granite rocks over at the memorial park sure were a quiet spot. Now if I could only find a Clintondale High girl to go there with me. And maybe, just maybe WMEX will be playing Brenda Lee’s I Want To Be Wanted and we can laugh over that.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Growing Up Absurd In The 1950s- Be-Bop The Adventure Car Hop-The Golden Age Of Rock 'N' Roll- With Johnny Ace In Mind
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Johnny Ace performing his classic Pledging My Love.
CD Review
The Golden Age Of American Rock ‘n’ Roll; Volume 6, various artists, Ace Records, 1996
Scene: Prompted by the cover photograph, the memory cover photograph, which grace each CD in this The Golden Age Of American Rock ‘n’ Roll series. The golden age of the automobile meets the golden age of al fresco dining, okay, okay pre-Big Mac dining. Sorry, I got carried away. And once I have put automobile and teen dining out together all that needs to be added is that Eddie is out, out once again, with his ever lovin’ Ginny in the Clintondale 1950s be-bop teen night, having a little something to eat after a hard teen dance and a bout of down in the Adamsville beach “submarine race” watching night.
“Two hamburgers, all the trimmings, two fries, two Cokes, Sissy,” rasped half-whispering Eddie Connell to Adventure Car Hop primo car hop (and ex-Eddie girlfriend back in junior high days when he learned a thing or two about girls, about girl charms and girl bewilderments), Sissy Jordan. For those who know not of Adventure Car Hops or car hops in general here is a quick primer. Adventure Car Hop is nothing but a old time drive-in restaurant where the car hop takes your order from you while you are sitting in your “boss” car (hopefully boss car, although the lot this night is filled with dads’ borrowed cars, strictly not boss, not boss at all) with your “boss” girl ( you had better call her that or next week she will be somebody else’s boss honey) personally and returns after, well, depends on how busy it is, and right now this in Adventure Car Hop busy time, with your order.
Now Sissy, a little older than most Clintondale car hops at twenty-two, is really nothing but a career waitress, a foxy one still, but a career waitress which is all a car hop really is. Except most are "slumming” through senior-hood at Clintondale High or some local college and are just trying to make some extra money for this and that while being beautiful. Because, and there is no scientific proof for this, but none is needed in any case, at Adventure Car Hop in the year 1962 every car hop is a fox (that beautiful just mentioned), a double fox on some nights, in their short shorts, tight blouses, and funny-shaped box hats.
And in the 1962 teen be-bop night, the teen be-bop Friday or Saturday night those foxes are magnets for every guy with a car, fathers’ car or not, without girls hoping against hope for a moment with one said car hop, and guys with girls who are looking to show off their girls, foxier even than the car hops if that is possible and usually isn’t although do not under any conditions let them know that, and, more importantly, their boss cars. And playing, playing loudly for all to hear their souped-up car radio complexes, turned nightly in rock heaven’s WJDA, the radio station choice of every teen under the age of twenty-one. And right now on Eddie's super-duplex speaker combo The Dell-Vikings are singing their hit, Black Slacks and some walkers (yes, some guys and girls, some lame guys and girls, walk to Adventure to grab something to eat after the Clintondale Majestic Theater lets out. They, of course, eat at the thoughtfully provided picnic tables although their orders are still taken by Sissy’s brigade) are crooning along to the tune. Nicely, although they are still nothing but lamos in the teen night social order.
But, getting back to Eddie and Ginny, see Sissy knows something that you and I don’t know just by the way Eddie placed his order as The Falcon’s doo wop serenade, Your So Fine, blares away from his radio in the Clintondale teen night. Sissy knows because, being a fox she has had plenty of experience (including with Eddie in the days, the junior high days when she and Eddie were nothing but walkers) that Eddie and Ginny (who was nothing but a stick when Eddie and she were an item, a stick being a girl, a twelve or thirteen year old junior high school girl with no shape, unlike say Sissy who did have a shape, although no question, no question even to Sissy Ginny has a shape now, not as good as her’s but a shape good enough to keep Eddie snagged) have been "doing it” after the spending the early evening at the Surf, the lock rock dance hall for those over twenty-one (and where is liquor is served). The tip-off: Eddie’s request for all the trimmings on his hamburgers. All the trimmings in this case being mustard, ketchup, pickles, lettuce, and here is the clincher, onions. Yes, Eddie and Ginny are done with love’s chores for the evening and can now revert to primal culinary needs without rancor, or concern.
Sissy had to laugh at how ritualized (although she would never use such a word herself to describe what was going on) the teen night life was in Clintondale (and really just slightly older teens like the clients of the Surf rock club, Eddie and Ginny, who learned the ropes at Adventure Car Hop way back when). If a couple came early, say eight o’clock they never ordered onions, no way, the night still held too much promise. The walkers, well, the walkers you couldn’t tell, especially the young walkers like she and Eddie in the old days, but usually they didn’t have enough sense to say “no onions.” And then there were the Eddies and Ginnys floating in around two, or three in the morning, done (and you know what done is now), starving, maybe a little drunk and ready to devour Benny’s (the owner of Adventure) cardboard hamburgers, deep-fried, fat-saturated French fries, and diluted soda (known locally as tonic, go figure) as long as those burgers had onions, many onions on them. And as we turn off this scene to the strains of Johnny Ace crooning Pledging My Love on Eddie’s car radio competing just now with a car further over with The Elegants’ Little Star Sissy has just place the car tray on Eddie’s side of the car and brought the order and placed it on the tray, with all the trimmings.
CD Review
The Golden Age Of American Rock ‘n’ Roll; Volume 6, various artists, Ace Records, 1996
Scene: Prompted by the cover photograph, the memory cover photograph, which grace each CD in this The Golden Age Of American Rock ‘n’ Roll series. The golden age of the automobile meets the golden age of al fresco dining, okay, okay pre-Big Mac dining. Sorry, I got carried away. And once I have put automobile and teen dining out together all that needs to be added is that Eddie is out, out once again, with his ever lovin’ Ginny in the Clintondale 1950s be-bop teen night, having a little something to eat after a hard teen dance and a bout of down in the Adamsville beach “submarine race” watching night.
“Two hamburgers, all the trimmings, two fries, two Cokes, Sissy,” rasped half-whispering Eddie Connell to Adventure Car Hop primo car hop (and ex-Eddie girlfriend back in junior high days when he learned a thing or two about girls, about girl charms and girl bewilderments), Sissy Jordan. For those who know not of Adventure Car Hops or car hops in general here is a quick primer. Adventure Car Hop is nothing but a old time drive-in restaurant where the car hop takes your order from you while you are sitting in your “boss” car (hopefully boss car, although the lot this night is filled with dads’ borrowed cars, strictly not boss, not boss at all) with your “boss” girl ( you had better call her that or next week she will be somebody else’s boss honey) personally and returns after, well, depends on how busy it is, and right now this in Adventure Car Hop busy time, with your order.
Now Sissy, a little older than most Clintondale car hops at twenty-two, is really nothing but a career waitress, a foxy one still, but a career waitress which is all a car hop really is. Except most are "slumming” through senior-hood at Clintondale High or some local college and are just trying to make some extra money for this and that while being beautiful. Because, and there is no scientific proof for this, but none is needed in any case, at Adventure Car Hop in the year 1962 every car hop is a fox (that beautiful just mentioned), a double fox on some nights, in their short shorts, tight blouses, and funny-shaped box hats.
And in the 1962 teen be-bop night, the teen be-bop Friday or Saturday night those foxes are magnets for every guy with a car, fathers’ car or not, without girls hoping against hope for a moment with one said car hop, and guys with girls who are looking to show off their girls, foxier even than the car hops if that is possible and usually isn’t although do not under any conditions let them know that, and, more importantly, their boss cars. And playing, playing loudly for all to hear their souped-up car radio complexes, turned nightly in rock heaven’s WJDA, the radio station choice of every teen under the age of twenty-one. And right now on Eddie's super-duplex speaker combo The Dell-Vikings are singing their hit, Black Slacks and some walkers (yes, some guys and girls, some lame guys and girls, walk to Adventure to grab something to eat after the Clintondale Majestic Theater lets out. They, of course, eat at the thoughtfully provided picnic tables although their orders are still taken by Sissy’s brigade) are crooning along to the tune. Nicely, although they are still nothing but lamos in the teen night social order.
But, getting back to Eddie and Ginny, see Sissy knows something that you and I don’t know just by the way Eddie placed his order as The Falcon’s doo wop serenade, Your So Fine, blares away from his radio in the Clintondale teen night. Sissy knows because, being a fox she has had plenty of experience (including with Eddie in the days, the junior high days when she and Eddie were nothing but walkers) that Eddie and Ginny (who was nothing but a stick when Eddie and she were an item, a stick being a girl, a twelve or thirteen year old junior high school girl with no shape, unlike say Sissy who did have a shape, although no question, no question even to Sissy Ginny has a shape now, not as good as her’s but a shape good enough to keep Eddie snagged) have been "doing it” after the spending the early evening at the Surf, the lock rock dance hall for those over twenty-one (and where is liquor is served). The tip-off: Eddie’s request for all the trimmings on his hamburgers. All the trimmings in this case being mustard, ketchup, pickles, lettuce, and here is the clincher, onions. Yes, Eddie and Ginny are done with love’s chores for the evening and can now revert to primal culinary needs without rancor, or concern.
Sissy had to laugh at how ritualized (although she would never use such a word herself to describe what was going on) the teen night life was in Clintondale (and really just slightly older teens like the clients of the Surf rock club, Eddie and Ginny, who learned the ropes at Adventure Car Hop way back when). If a couple came early, say eight o’clock they never ordered onions, no way, the night still held too much promise. The walkers, well, the walkers you couldn’t tell, especially the young walkers like she and Eddie in the old days, but usually they didn’t have enough sense to say “no onions.” And then there were the Eddies and Ginnys floating in around two, or three in the morning, done (and you know what done is now), starving, maybe a little drunk and ready to devour Benny’s (the owner of Adventure) cardboard hamburgers, deep-fried, fat-saturated French fries, and diluted soda (known locally as tonic, go figure) as long as those burgers had onions, many onions on them. And as we turn off this scene to the strains of Johnny Ace crooning Pledging My Love on Eddie’s car radio competing just now with a car further over with The Elegants’ Little Star Sissy has just place the car tray on Eddie’s side of the car and brought the order and placed it on the tray, with all the trimmings.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Growing Up Absurd In The 1950s- Be-Bop-"My Baby Loves The Western Movies"-A CD Review
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of the Olympics performing their classic My Baby Loves The Western Movies.
The Golden Age Of American Rock ‘n’ Roll: Volume 11, various artists, Ace Records, 2007
Scene: Prompted by the cover photograph, the memory cover photograph, which grace each CD in this The Golden Age Of American Rock ‘n’ Roll series. This time the golden age of the automobile meets the golden age of al fresco movie watching meets teenage ingenuity. Here Fred Jackson, riding low in his father’s borrowed Plymouth is taking Betty Sue, his best friend, Zack Smith and his girl, Penny Parker, to the movies. Ya, right. In teen world this is just another name for “parking,” parking with a cardboard hamburger, stale popcorn, and ice-diluted soda intermission. But here is where the teen ingenuity part comes in. Not shown in this picture are Bud, Cindy, Lenny, and Laura who are just this minute uncomfortably lying low in the trunk of car as Freddie prepares to pay for the car-full five dollar price. Neat, right?
*******
“Hey, Zack come on over a little early and help me clean out the trunk of my father’s car, will you so we can fit everybody in there tonight,” Freddie yelled the into telephone on a sunny June 1960 Saturday afternoon over the blare of Lavern Baker’s be-bop Jim Dandy playing on the local rock station, the only station that matter in 1960 teen Clintondale. And as Carl Mann’s Pretend started up Zack yelled back just as loudly that he would be there, and Penny would be too. Now is this ritualistic telephone conversation the beginning of some big-time illegal criminal enterprise like using dad’s car, dad Jackson’s “boss” Plymouth to kidnap some kids for ransom and be on easy street. Well, not a bad idea but no not this night. This night is dedicated to a little party down at the Clintondale Drive-In outdoor theater. And the reason that the boss Plymouth needs to be cleaned out is that not only are Freddie and his best girl, Betty Sue, well, best girl this night, Zack and Penny going but so are Bud, Cindy, Lenny and Laura. Going courtesy of the Plymouth trunk.
As for Freddie and Betty Sue, they have been going through what Freddie calls a “rough patch” and Betty Sue only agreed to come because Freddie, promised, promised, promised on his word of honor not to try any stuff, you know boy grappling with girl stuff AND permit her when she came to his house to hear his copy of smooth Sammy Turner’s Lavender Blue which she is crazy for ever since she heard it last week on WJDA. He almost had to promise her a million listen peek at Jivin’ Gene’s Breaking Up Is Hard To Do but Freddie negotiated his way out of that one by reference to that rough patch and “let’s not stir that up again, okay?”
Now this four-in-a-trunk gag has been around since, well since teens have had access to cars, there have been outside drive-in theaters to go parking in, and most drive-ins have had a policy of charging admission by the car-full. Forever maybe, but if you ask anybody how they coped to the idea they probably could go back no farther than some older brother or sister getting them “hip.” And what of the morality, the corruption of morality, and the corruption of youth’s morality done irreparable harm to by gypping the theater owner of his due? Well, the argument back is that he makes plenty on the cardboard steamed hamburgers, the desiccated hot dogs, the stale, barely-buttered pop corn and the heavily-diluted soda (known in Clintondale as tonic, why is anybody’s guess).
But we will move alone right now because Freddie and Zack trunk cleared out, Penny and Betty Sue clipping their fingernails or something, watching, are ready to pick up the others down at Big Ben’s Pizza Parlor where they will have some real pizza and soda (tonic) to tide them over until movie time intermission. So as they drive off to Big Ben’s we see Betty Sue fidgeting with father Jackson’s radio dials trying to get that awful news hour stuff off and some real gone music, rock music on. Finally, although ready to punch the radio for not cooperating, Betty Sue finally gets ‘JDA as dreamy Matilda by Cookie and His Cupcakes comes on. Free, at last.
The details of the arrangements of the various stow-way couples need not detain us here, in any case that information is not for the prying eyes of the public, the parent public, the authorities public. Let them find there own way into the drive-in, hell they will probably pay full price. We will pick up Freddie, et. al as they are waiting in line to pay their admission, acting cool and listening to ‘JDA tunes. Just then Penny and Betty Sue, as if in some secret girl pact of their own design, beyond boy comprehension, start singing along with Mickey& Sylvia on their Love Is Strange coming over the airwaves. Freddie and Zack look at each other as if to say, this night was not made in heaven.
What was made in heaven though was the ease with which after paying the five bucks admission Freddie guided his car to the back of the drive-in, the unofficially designated “teen night area” (no parent, especially not parent with minor children would go within fifty yards of that place), unloaded his refugees, and made conversation with drivers unloading other trunks in the be-bop Clintondale teen night. Easy stuff, very easy. And the rating of the movies? What movies?
Note: For those who are barely unable to contain themselves about the fate of Freddie and Betty Sue. Well that Mickey& Sylvia sing-along must have had some therapeutic effect because at intermission, or just after consuming one of those desiccated hot dogs Betty Sue hearing Collay and the Satellites sing Last Chance on the car radio turned around to Zack and Penny in the back seats and said, defiantly, “let’s switch.” And that night the solemnly imposed and sworn to "no boy grappling girl" rule went out the window.
The Golden Age Of American Rock ‘n’ Roll: Volume 11, various artists, Ace Records, 2007
Scene: Prompted by the cover photograph, the memory cover photograph, which grace each CD in this The Golden Age Of American Rock ‘n’ Roll series. This time the golden age of the automobile meets the golden age of al fresco movie watching meets teenage ingenuity. Here Fred Jackson, riding low in his father’s borrowed Plymouth is taking Betty Sue, his best friend, Zack Smith and his girl, Penny Parker, to the movies. Ya, right. In teen world this is just another name for “parking,” parking with a cardboard hamburger, stale popcorn, and ice-diluted soda intermission. But here is where the teen ingenuity part comes in. Not shown in this picture are Bud, Cindy, Lenny, and Laura who are just this minute uncomfortably lying low in the trunk of car as Freddie prepares to pay for the car-full five dollar price. Neat, right?
*******
“Hey, Zack come on over a little early and help me clean out the trunk of my father’s car, will you so we can fit everybody in there tonight,” Freddie yelled the into telephone on a sunny June 1960 Saturday afternoon over the blare of Lavern Baker’s be-bop Jim Dandy playing on the local rock station, the only station that matter in 1960 teen Clintondale. And as Carl Mann’s Pretend started up Zack yelled back just as loudly that he would be there, and Penny would be too. Now is this ritualistic telephone conversation the beginning of some big-time illegal criminal enterprise like using dad’s car, dad Jackson’s “boss” Plymouth to kidnap some kids for ransom and be on easy street. Well, not a bad idea but no not this night. This night is dedicated to a little party down at the Clintondale Drive-In outdoor theater. And the reason that the boss Plymouth needs to be cleaned out is that not only are Freddie and his best girl, Betty Sue, well, best girl this night, Zack and Penny going but so are Bud, Cindy, Lenny and Laura. Going courtesy of the Plymouth trunk.
As for Freddie and Betty Sue, they have been going through what Freddie calls a “rough patch” and Betty Sue only agreed to come because Freddie, promised, promised, promised on his word of honor not to try any stuff, you know boy grappling with girl stuff AND permit her when she came to his house to hear his copy of smooth Sammy Turner’s Lavender Blue which she is crazy for ever since she heard it last week on WJDA. He almost had to promise her a million listen peek at Jivin’ Gene’s Breaking Up Is Hard To Do but Freddie negotiated his way out of that one by reference to that rough patch and “let’s not stir that up again, okay?”
Now this four-in-a-trunk gag has been around since, well since teens have had access to cars, there have been outside drive-in theaters to go parking in, and most drive-ins have had a policy of charging admission by the car-full. Forever maybe, but if you ask anybody how they coped to the idea they probably could go back no farther than some older brother or sister getting them “hip.” And what of the morality, the corruption of morality, and the corruption of youth’s morality done irreparable harm to by gypping the theater owner of his due? Well, the argument back is that he makes plenty on the cardboard steamed hamburgers, the desiccated hot dogs, the stale, barely-buttered pop corn and the heavily-diluted soda (known in Clintondale as tonic, why is anybody’s guess).
But we will move alone right now because Freddie and Zack trunk cleared out, Penny and Betty Sue clipping their fingernails or something, watching, are ready to pick up the others down at Big Ben’s Pizza Parlor where they will have some real pizza and soda (tonic) to tide them over until movie time intermission. So as they drive off to Big Ben’s we see Betty Sue fidgeting with father Jackson’s radio dials trying to get that awful news hour stuff off and some real gone music, rock music on. Finally, although ready to punch the radio for not cooperating, Betty Sue finally gets ‘JDA as dreamy Matilda by Cookie and His Cupcakes comes on. Free, at last.
The details of the arrangements of the various stow-way couples need not detain us here, in any case that information is not for the prying eyes of the public, the parent public, the authorities public. Let them find there own way into the drive-in, hell they will probably pay full price. We will pick up Freddie, et. al as they are waiting in line to pay their admission, acting cool and listening to ‘JDA tunes. Just then Penny and Betty Sue, as if in some secret girl pact of their own design, beyond boy comprehension, start singing along with Mickey& Sylvia on their Love Is Strange coming over the airwaves. Freddie and Zack look at each other as if to say, this night was not made in heaven.
What was made in heaven though was the ease with which after paying the five bucks admission Freddie guided his car to the back of the drive-in, the unofficially designated “teen night area” (no parent, especially not parent with minor children would go within fifty yards of that place), unloaded his refugees, and made conversation with drivers unloading other trunks in the be-bop Clintondale teen night. Easy stuff, very easy. And the rating of the movies? What movies?
Note: For those who are barely unable to contain themselves about the fate of Freddie and Betty Sue. Well that Mickey& Sylvia sing-along must have had some therapeutic effect because at intermission, or just after consuming one of those desiccated hot dogs Betty Sue hearing Collay and the Satellites sing Last Chance on the car radio turned around to Zack and Penny in the back seats and said, defiantly, “let’s switch.” And that night the solemnly imposed and sworn to "no boy grappling girl" rule went out the window.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Growing Up Absurd In The 1950s- Penny’s Brand New Phonograph
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of The Penguins performing their 50s classic, Earth Angel.
CD Review
The Golden Age Of American Rock ‘n’ Roll; Volume One, various artists, Ace Records,1994
Scene: Prompted by the cover photograph, the memory cover photograph, which grace each CD in this The Golden Age Of American Rock ‘n’ Roll series. The photo on this CD, as might be expected, shows the ubiquitous, highly coveted, then and today, old time LP (and 45’s convertible) record player and the family radio, probably RCA, both weapons in the 1950’s teenage wars to have our own music, and to be able to listen to said music 24/7 without parental interference, or knowledge. Of course, not everybody, teenage everybody, and that’s what counted, including rock dizzy Penny had one or the other and that is the struggle we are to presently witness.
“Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Dodd, the kids were no problem and thanks again for the money.” “Whee,” Penny Parker whispered under her breathe, as she went out the door. Those kids were nothing but monsters, refusing to go to bed unless, and until, they watched Maverick on television, Penny played checkers with Bobby and Billy Dodd (sister Laura was satisfied to be a spectator), and they each (all three on this one) got not one, but two scoops of ice cream before surrendering to Penny’s demands. And all for a lousy seventy-five cents an hour. Those were slave wages, slave wages even for a thirteen year old girl and Penny, Parker proud if not Parker bright, bright yet anyway thought for just a minute to give up this monster-sitting, well, baby-sitting really, up. “No,” she yelled into the Clintondale night, “No way after all I have put up with from those beasts am I giving up my dream record player now, no way.” And that was that.
Penny, Parker bright or proud notwithstanding, was a creature of her times, as we all are more or less. And the times called for every self-respecting teenager, and teenagers were all that counted in Penny’s universe, had his or her own private, up in his or her room, phonograph to play his or her favorite music, rock ‘n’ roll music, naturally. Not some lame Benny Goodman or Doris Day mumble that her parents listened to on the radio downstairs and drove Penny up a wall, maybe up more than one wall. And drove her right out of the Parker door down to Bop Benny’s Record Shop to play the jukebox there when the newest of the new records came out. See, Penny did not have her own record player like every other girl, every other teen-age girl that counted in her class at Clintondale Junior High School. Even Pammy Fuller had one, and Pam’s parents had them practically living on the county farm. But Peter Parker, father Parker, was adamant that he would not pay for anything that was connected with rock ‘n’ roll. Not out of religious principles, or anything like that, but he just hated the sound. Yes, I know, Peter Parker, square, square cubed.
So that left Penny down at Benny’s throwing nickels, dimes, and quarters in that old juke box. Many nickels when Kathy Young’s A Thousand Stars was hot, or when she had a crush, a big crush, on Zack Smith and she “broke the bank,” playing Earth Angel by the Penguins and When We Get Married by The Dreamlovers whenever Zack was in Benny’s and she wanted to draw his attention to her. Or the time when “Foul-Mouth” Phil Jackson dared her to play Eddie My Love by the Teen Queens when he was trying to date her up, or what passed for a date at twelve.
One day her brother, Paul, a year older than Penny but seemingly about a million years wiser saw that she had put at least fifty cents in the box when she was feeling all sentimental about Jimmy Kelly, her ex-beau, or as ex-beau as any thirteen year old girl is allowed to have, and was playing I Love How You Love Me by the Paris Sisters like crazy. He just flat-out told her after dinner that night that it would be a whole lot easier and less expensive to just get her own record player and play up in her room to her heart’s contend. Penny stood there in disbelief, not in disbelief about the idea but that dear old dad would go for it. Well, the long and short of it, was that dear old dad did go for it, with the usual provisos that there would be no loud or late playing. Sure daddy.
And that prospect, that record player of her very own, with her own platters to spin (records, grooved vinyl records to the squares), and no bother, except maybe to invite Jimmy or Zack over bother, is why this night as she walks home she is muttering about wage slavery, the injustices of the world, the teenage world, the only one that counted in case someone might have forgotten, and other communistic sentiments, if anybody had hear her. Penny figured after that night that another twelve hours of drudgery, another nine dollars and she could get that cool one that she saw in the Sears&Roebuck catalogue.
But then Penny, Parker bright just then, looked pensively down at the sidewalk when she realizes that she would have to buy records to feed that record player and that she would have to continue baby-sitting for slave wages forever with Dodd monsters to get all the 45s that she absolutely needed. And then, horror of horrors, what if Jimmy liked Sixteen Candles by the Crests and Zack didn’t but liked Rockin’ Robin by Bobby Day (and he probably would) and she had to buy both records. Well, what’s a girl to do but, Penny, Parker proud just then, thought she would be able to figure it out.
CD Review
The Golden Age Of American Rock ‘n’ Roll; Volume One, various artists, Ace Records,1994
Scene: Prompted by the cover photograph, the memory cover photograph, which grace each CD in this The Golden Age Of American Rock ‘n’ Roll series. The photo on this CD, as might be expected, shows the ubiquitous, highly coveted, then and today, old time LP (and 45’s convertible) record player and the family radio, probably RCA, both weapons in the 1950’s teenage wars to have our own music, and to be able to listen to said music 24/7 without parental interference, or knowledge. Of course, not everybody, teenage everybody, and that’s what counted, including rock dizzy Penny had one or the other and that is the struggle we are to presently witness.
“Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Dodd, the kids were no problem and thanks again for the money.” “Whee,” Penny Parker whispered under her breathe, as she went out the door. Those kids were nothing but monsters, refusing to go to bed unless, and until, they watched Maverick on television, Penny played checkers with Bobby and Billy Dodd (sister Laura was satisfied to be a spectator), and they each (all three on this one) got not one, but two scoops of ice cream before surrendering to Penny’s demands. And all for a lousy seventy-five cents an hour. Those were slave wages, slave wages even for a thirteen year old girl and Penny, Parker proud if not Parker bright, bright yet anyway thought for just a minute to give up this monster-sitting, well, baby-sitting really, up. “No,” she yelled into the Clintondale night, “No way after all I have put up with from those beasts am I giving up my dream record player now, no way.” And that was that.
Penny, Parker bright or proud notwithstanding, was a creature of her times, as we all are more or less. And the times called for every self-respecting teenager, and teenagers were all that counted in Penny’s universe, had his or her own private, up in his or her room, phonograph to play his or her favorite music, rock ‘n’ roll music, naturally. Not some lame Benny Goodman or Doris Day mumble that her parents listened to on the radio downstairs and drove Penny up a wall, maybe up more than one wall. And drove her right out of the Parker door down to Bop Benny’s Record Shop to play the jukebox there when the newest of the new records came out. See, Penny did not have her own record player like every other girl, every other teen-age girl that counted in her class at Clintondale Junior High School. Even Pammy Fuller had one, and Pam’s parents had them practically living on the county farm. But Peter Parker, father Parker, was adamant that he would not pay for anything that was connected with rock ‘n’ roll. Not out of religious principles, or anything like that, but he just hated the sound. Yes, I know, Peter Parker, square, square cubed.
So that left Penny down at Benny’s throwing nickels, dimes, and quarters in that old juke box. Many nickels when Kathy Young’s A Thousand Stars was hot, or when she had a crush, a big crush, on Zack Smith and she “broke the bank,” playing Earth Angel by the Penguins and When We Get Married by The Dreamlovers whenever Zack was in Benny’s and she wanted to draw his attention to her. Or the time when “Foul-Mouth” Phil Jackson dared her to play Eddie My Love by the Teen Queens when he was trying to date her up, or what passed for a date at twelve.
One day her brother, Paul, a year older than Penny but seemingly about a million years wiser saw that she had put at least fifty cents in the box when she was feeling all sentimental about Jimmy Kelly, her ex-beau, or as ex-beau as any thirteen year old girl is allowed to have, and was playing I Love How You Love Me by the Paris Sisters like crazy. He just flat-out told her after dinner that night that it would be a whole lot easier and less expensive to just get her own record player and play up in her room to her heart’s contend. Penny stood there in disbelief, not in disbelief about the idea but that dear old dad would go for it. Well, the long and short of it, was that dear old dad did go for it, with the usual provisos that there would be no loud or late playing. Sure daddy.
And that prospect, that record player of her very own, with her own platters to spin (records, grooved vinyl records to the squares), and no bother, except maybe to invite Jimmy or Zack over bother, is why this night as she walks home she is muttering about wage slavery, the injustices of the world, the teenage world, the only one that counted in case someone might have forgotten, and other communistic sentiments, if anybody had hear her. Penny figured after that night that another twelve hours of drudgery, another nine dollars and she could get that cool one that she saw in the Sears&Roebuck catalogue.
But then Penny, Parker bright just then, looked pensively down at the sidewalk when she realizes that she would have to buy records to feed that record player and that she would have to continue baby-sitting for slave wages forever with Dodd monsters to get all the 45s that she absolutely needed. And then, horror of horrors, what if Jimmy liked Sixteen Candles by the Crests and Zack didn’t but liked Rockin’ Robin by Bobby Day (and he probably would) and she had to buy both records. Well, what’s a girl to do but, Penny, Parker proud just then, thought she would be able to figure it out.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
He’s Got You- With Kudos to Miss (Ms.)Patsy Cline
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Patsy Cline performing ht every appropriate (for this entry, juts reverse it) She's Got You.
CD Review
Patsy Cline: The Definitive Collection, Patsy Cline, MCA, 1991
Rick Roberts wanted to cry, wanted to just go into a corner and cry. Of course, as a man of the 1950s, of the hard-hearted Cold War shoulder-to-the-wheel, no prisoners taken love wars of the 1950s that was impossible. Impossible as well because although he felt himself a man in many ways, large, strong, virile and smart enough to make it to sixteen without too many mishaps he was still a boy, a Clintondale High junior boy. And that was the crux of the matter. No self-respecting boy (and, maybe, no self-not respecting boy if it came to it) would dream of going to a corner, or anywhere else, and cry, or let it be known that he was about to cry, or that he had cried at all past the age of six, maybe earlier . But Rick still wanted to cry. And it took no deep thought, no deep insight, no nothing to know the reason- a woman, well really a girl. June Davis, his "June Bug" (his pet name for her, although he would be the first to tell you do not, under any circumstances, call her that, or else-the “or else” part related to his being large, strong, virile and sixteen).
And, of course, if it’s a woman driving you to tears then it is almost a certainty that there is some guy behind the scenes stealing your time. And the name of the thief in this case is one Freddie Jackson, June’s elementary school flame, or something like that, but back a while ago. For christ sakes. And the way that Freddie did it was not so sneaky, well not sneaky, backdoor sneaky, but right in front of Rick at the last school dance. Freddie, for old time’s sake he said, asked Rick if it was okay for him to dance with June Bug when they played Patsy Cline’s I Fall To Pieces. Rick didn’t think anything of it, he wasn’t much of a slow dancer and June liked the song and wanted dance.
What Rick didn’t know was the song was something like “their” song, their song for christ sake, along with Patsy’s Always and So Wrong. Rick thought Patsy was okay but not enough to make her songs “their” songs. Jerry Lee’s Breathless, for very private reasons, don’t ask or else, was their song (and for fun, as joke between them, since they met at the Wash-All Laundromat, Leader of the Laundromat). And now he is poring though every Patsy record he can find like Crazy, She’s Got You, Why Can’t He Be You, Back In Baby’s Arms, and Sweet Dreams Of You to figure out where he went wrong, and how to get his June Bug back. Back from that Freddie Jackson, for christ sakes.
CD Review
Patsy Cline: The Definitive Collection, Patsy Cline, MCA, 1991
Rick Roberts wanted to cry, wanted to just go into a corner and cry. Of course, as a man of the 1950s, of the hard-hearted Cold War shoulder-to-the-wheel, no prisoners taken love wars of the 1950s that was impossible. Impossible as well because although he felt himself a man in many ways, large, strong, virile and smart enough to make it to sixteen without too many mishaps he was still a boy, a Clintondale High junior boy. And that was the crux of the matter. No self-respecting boy (and, maybe, no self-not respecting boy if it came to it) would dream of going to a corner, or anywhere else, and cry, or let it be known that he was about to cry, or that he had cried at all past the age of six, maybe earlier . But Rick still wanted to cry. And it took no deep thought, no deep insight, no nothing to know the reason- a woman, well really a girl. June Davis, his "June Bug" (his pet name for her, although he would be the first to tell you do not, under any circumstances, call her that, or else-the “or else” part related to his being large, strong, virile and sixteen).
And, of course, if it’s a woman driving you to tears then it is almost a certainty that there is some guy behind the scenes stealing your time. And the name of the thief in this case is one Freddie Jackson, June’s elementary school flame, or something like that, but back a while ago. For christ sakes. And the way that Freddie did it was not so sneaky, well not sneaky, backdoor sneaky, but right in front of Rick at the last school dance. Freddie, for old time’s sake he said, asked Rick if it was okay for him to dance with June Bug when they played Patsy Cline’s I Fall To Pieces. Rick didn’t think anything of it, he wasn’t much of a slow dancer and June liked the song and wanted dance.
What Rick didn’t know was the song was something like “their” song, their song for christ sake, along with Patsy’s Always and So Wrong. Rick thought Patsy was okay but not enough to make her songs “their” songs. Jerry Lee’s Breathless, for very private reasons, don’t ask or else, was their song (and for fun, as joke between them, since they met at the Wash-All Laundromat, Leader of the Laundromat). And now he is poring though every Patsy record he can find like Crazy, She’s Got You, Why Can’t He Be You, Back In Baby’s Arms, and Sweet Dreams Of You to figure out where he went wrong, and how to get his June Bug back. Back from that Freddie Jackson, for christ sakes.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
The Times Are Out Of Joint- The Heart Of Rock ‘n’ Roll: 1965-1966
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Percy Sledge performing his classic When A Man Loves A Woman.
CD Review
The Heart Of Rock ‘n’ Roll: 1965-1966, various artist, Time-Life Music, 1997
Susie Roberts, Rick’s youngest sister was stuck. No, not stuck in some car stuck place on some desolate road looking for sir galahad to show up and rescue the fair damsel, pulling might and main to win her favors. And, decidedly, not stuck on some Clintondale High Math class Pythagorean Theorem math problem looking for the square root of some distance from point A to point B. She had Lenny Linsky for that, and for any other mathsciencehistoryenglish problem that she needed resolved. Yes, Lenny was that way about her. As were a few others, a few hopeless others, not willing however to join Lenny in the slave quarters. Everyone, hopeless or hopeful agreed, that while Susie was not up to speed in the mechanical or smarts departments she was cute (not knock-down drag-out beautiful but pretty enough, pretty enough not to have to worry about mechanics or math now, and probably ever), tall, blonde, real blonde if you can believe that in this day, this 1966 day in age, pert, and miss personality. And in the final analysis isn’t that what you want in a high school honey?
That though is exactly where Susie’s stuck problem comes in. See she is stuck on a soda jerk over at Doc’s Drugstore in North Adamsville. And not just any of Doc’s five jerks (yes, I know soda jerks, but let’s just shorthand this thing as jerks, no slander intended, okay) but Jeff Brigham. Yes, Jeff Brigham the big time politico, student body version, who had his picture taken with Robert Kennedy at some Northeast anti-war student conference where they were mapping out ways to end the war in Vietnam. And that is really where the problem comes in. Jeff, bright, agile, good-looking Jeff, these days has no time for Susie, well, Susie no brains, although not really no brains but more no political brains. And why should a sophomore, a good-looking sophomore girl in the year of our lord, 1966, have to care about war, about black civil rights, about whether Red China should be in the United Nations or not, or about which way America should be going just to keep up to speed with a jerk.
Something is out of whack and Susie can’t figure an angle to get to Jeff. Hey, any other time Jeff would be so much putty. Jerk proud, like the others at Doc’s, just to have Susie come in and talk to them. But, damn, Susie muttered under her breath they aren’t Jeff. And as many signals as she has given Jeff when she plays Doc’s juke box, plays it to perdition, and tries to interest him in talking about songs like The Temptations’ crooning My Girl; Otis Redding’s be-bopping I’ve Been Loving You Too Long; Barbara Lewis practically begging her man to get what he wants on Baby, I’m Yours; and when she turns the volume up for Percy Sledge’s When A Man Loves A Woman he just smiles his non-committal smile and starts talking about whether Robert Kennedy should, or should not, run for President in 1968, or some such thing. And then Susie fumes under her breath, the times are damn well out of joint.
CD Review
The Heart Of Rock ‘n’ Roll: 1965-1966, various artist, Time-Life Music, 1997
Susie Roberts, Rick’s youngest sister was stuck. No, not stuck in some car stuck place on some desolate road looking for sir galahad to show up and rescue the fair damsel, pulling might and main to win her favors. And, decidedly, not stuck on some Clintondale High Math class Pythagorean Theorem math problem looking for the square root of some distance from point A to point B. She had Lenny Linsky for that, and for any other mathsciencehistoryenglish problem that she needed resolved. Yes, Lenny was that way about her. As were a few others, a few hopeless others, not willing however to join Lenny in the slave quarters. Everyone, hopeless or hopeful agreed, that while Susie was not up to speed in the mechanical or smarts departments she was cute (not knock-down drag-out beautiful but pretty enough, pretty enough not to have to worry about mechanics or math now, and probably ever), tall, blonde, real blonde if you can believe that in this day, this 1966 day in age, pert, and miss personality. And in the final analysis isn’t that what you want in a high school honey?
That though is exactly where Susie’s stuck problem comes in. See she is stuck on a soda jerk over at Doc’s Drugstore in North Adamsville. And not just any of Doc’s five jerks (yes, I know soda jerks, but let’s just shorthand this thing as jerks, no slander intended, okay) but Jeff Brigham. Yes, Jeff Brigham the big time politico, student body version, who had his picture taken with Robert Kennedy at some Northeast anti-war student conference where they were mapping out ways to end the war in Vietnam. And that is really where the problem comes in. Jeff, bright, agile, good-looking Jeff, these days has no time for Susie, well, Susie no brains, although not really no brains but more no political brains. And why should a sophomore, a good-looking sophomore girl in the year of our lord, 1966, have to care about war, about black civil rights, about whether Red China should be in the United Nations or not, or about which way America should be going just to keep up to speed with a jerk.
Something is out of whack and Susie can’t figure an angle to get to Jeff. Hey, any other time Jeff would be so much putty. Jerk proud, like the others at Doc’s, just to have Susie come in and talk to them. But, damn, Susie muttered under her breath they aren’t Jeff. And as many signals as she has given Jeff when she plays Doc’s juke box, plays it to perdition, and tries to interest him in talking about songs like The Temptations’ crooning My Girl; Otis Redding’s be-bopping I’ve Been Loving You Too Long; Barbara Lewis practically begging her man to get what he wants on Baby, I’m Yours; and when she turns the volume up for Percy Sledge’s When A Man Loves A Woman he just smiles his non-committal smile and starts talking about whether Robert Kennedy should, or should not, run for President in 1968, or some such thing. And then Susie fumes under her breath, the times are damn well out of joint.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Growing Up Absurd In The 1950s-In The Time Of The Great 45 RPM Clip-The "Cradle Of Love" Indeed
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Johnny Preston performing his Cradle Of Love.
CD Review
21 Hard To Find 45s On CD; Volume One, various artists, Eric Records, 1996
“ Hey Jimmy have you heard the latest Sonny Knight 45, Confidential, its all slow, smooth, and girl close hold-able, and maybe even kissable, “ yelled Sammy Rizzo across the seventh period study hall classroom. “ Christ, Sammy Whammy, where do you come up with those words, 'close hold-able,’ what does that mean, you’re poking her,” yelled Jimmy, Jimmy Cullen, back at his old friend. Just then Miss Wilmot, that old bitch thought Sammy, came into the room signaling lock-down, prison lock-down and that there would be no more talking, no more talking, period, except of course for the flurry, the massive flurry of notes, between boys and girls, girls and girls, boys and their confederates, boy or girl. Confederates like Sammy Rizzo and Jimmy Cullen, who from appearances would seem like an unlikely pair, except they had been friends, well, since way back in old Clintonville Elementary School days.
Jimmy, long, long and slender, wiry, sneaky wiry if you decided that he was an easy target in a hard fistfight, although all bets were off if you decided on switchblades, knives that every boy, every smart boy, carried, carried concealed on his person somewhere, and let’s just leave it at that. Carrying just in case he caught trouble at school in some dark back hall, or more likely, found himself on some foreign corner, some corner boy corner without his boys, and some king hell corner boy king decided he didn’t like your looks, or just didn’t like the idea of you on his corner. And Jimmy also had a handsome face set off by deep-blue eyes, a cross between Paul Newman movie star glamour eyes and the steel-blue eyes of "Stacks McGee," a serial killer now waiting to fry up in the death row of the state pen, if the appeals process ever ended. And long eyelashes, girl-driving crazy long eye lashes, to go with those eyes. Ya, Jimmy would never, probably until he was old and grey and maybe not even then, lack for female company, if that is what he wanted.
And Sammy, "Sammy Whammy," Rizzo, the Whammy part given a few years back in junior high school when the rhyming simon craze swept through Clintonville Junior High School and all the girls spent all their time making up names, double names, for every boy, and some boys did it too although not Jimmy and Sammy. So the Whammy part stuck to Sammy, like it or not, which he did. Sammy, some Sancho Panza sad-sack dumpling, stocky, hell no, kind of fat, with a non-descript face, except that it seemed to always need a shave even at eight in the morning, and no description eyes. Except that Sammy never lacked for girls, at least one date girls, or maybe two. See Sammy was the max daddy be-bop 45 record king hell king of the town of Clintonville, maybe of all Dewar County if someone decided to count. And so Sammy could use that old gag on the girls, on the be-bop rock and roll record-starved girls, about coming up to see his etchings after a date, except he actually had the records. Had them so it seemed as soon as they came off the presses. So he could work his magic, let’s say, for example, on some Born Too Late-crazed girl, some girl who liked an older guy, a guy, who had no time for, well, jail bait, and be the soul of compassion about her woes while the 45 played in the background. See it worked for that one date, maybe two, until she got tired of the song, or found a new boyfriend or that older guy said the hell with it and took his chances.
But see Sammy did not have those hundreds, seemingly hundreds, of 45s just by accident, or just by his parents having deep pockets to allow him to buy whatever he wanted right off the presses. No way. Sammy Whammy was from hunger. What Sammy was also master of, king hell king master of, was the clip. The clip from Bugsy’s Big Tent Record Shop up in Clintonville Center (in the heart of downtown Clintonville, according to Bugsy’s ads on the local 24/7/365 rock and roll radio station, WJDA, where his ads ran about every six seconds, or so it seemed, alternating with Benny’s Car Hop, a drive-in restaurant that also was owned by Bugsy).
See, here is how it worked, and this is where friend Jimmy came in (and also why Jimmy didn’t care if he had three, or three hundred, records as background for one of his dates, his girl crazy eyelashes dates. He could just cop one from Sammy). Let’s say they wanted Jimmy Jones’ Handy Man (a favorite of Sammy’s, he had two copies of it because the first one got worn out from working his gag about his being a handy man- and Christ, everybody knew about it because it got all around school, all around Monday morning girls’ lav talk school to be exact, the girls went for it, strictly one date went for it). Jimmy and Sammy would make the couple of mile trek to Bugsy’s, usually on foot since car times were few and far between in the Cullen and Rizzo households, especially for no work, no want to work, clip artist kids. Most of the time Bugsy’s daughter , Cindy, would be working out front helping customers, showing people to the record booths to play the latest, or ring up the sales.
And here was the beauty of it, Cindy, fellow classmate of theirs, was nothing but head over heels crazy for Jimmy, or maybe it was those long eyelashes and would get a little confused, or something, when Jimmy stepped up and asked her a question about a record. Maybe a weepy one like Mark Dinning’s Teen Angel, about a dizzy teenage dame who, after being led to safety from a car stranded on a railroad by her boyfriend, got the bright idea of tempting the fates and going back for the boy’s high school ring. She was last seen in heaven, or somewhere like that. Just then Sammy was looking for Ricky Nelson’s A Teenager's Romance because his upcoming date was with a girl all hung up of that twerp. So while Jimmy and Cindy were talking Sammy went to the record bin, grabbed the 45, and slipped it under his shirt. Easy, almost like taking candy from a baby. No just like it.
But being the king of the 45 record night ain’t easy, or maybe better, is filled with all kind of funny things. One time Jimmy and Sammy were in Bugsy’s for the clip and they were going through their normal paces. Jimmy started talking animatedly to Cindy about Johnny Preston’s Cradle of Love, and really laying it on in a way that made Cindy think he was making a play for her, a big play. Now Sammy was in looking for Ray Peterson’s Corrina, Corrina for a hot date. He grabbed the 45 okay but as he signaled to Jimmy that the deal was done and went to leave the store Cindy called him over and directed him to follow her to a certain record bin. Jimmy, meanwhile, waited outside. At the bin she put a record under his shirt and said, “That’s for Jimmy.” Sammy rushed out the store, called to Jimmy to move quickly, and when they got around the corner Sammy pulled out the Cindy picked record. Ya, a pristine Cradle of Love.
CD Review
21 Hard To Find 45s On CD; Volume One, various artists, Eric Records, 1996
“ Hey Jimmy have you heard the latest Sonny Knight 45, Confidential, its all slow, smooth, and girl close hold-able, and maybe even kissable, “ yelled Sammy Rizzo across the seventh period study hall classroom. “ Christ, Sammy Whammy, where do you come up with those words, 'close hold-able,’ what does that mean, you’re poking her,” yelled Jimmy, Jimmy Cullen, back at his old friend. Just then Miss Wilmot, that old bitch thought Sammy, came into the room signaling lock-down, prison lock-down and that there would be no more talking, no more talking, period, except of course for the flurry, the massive flurry of notes, between boys and girls, girls and girls, boys and their confederates, boy or girl. Confederates like Sammy Rizzo and Jimmy Cullen, who from appearances would seem like an unlikely pair, except they had been friends, well, since way back in old Clintonville Elementary School days.
Jimmy, long, long and slender, wiry, sneaky wiry if you decided that he was an easy target in a hard fistfight, although all bets were off if you decided on switchblades, knives that every boy, every smart boy, carried, carried concealed on his person somewhere, and let’s just leave it at that. Carrying just in case he caught trouble at school in some dark back hall, or more likely, found himself on some foreign corner, some corner boy corner without his boys, and some king hell corner boy king decided he didn’t like your looks, or just didn’t like the idea of you on his corner. And Jimmy also had a handsome face set off by deep-blue eyes, a cross between Paul Newman movie star glamour eyes and the steel-blue eyes of "Stacks McGee," a serial killer now waiting to fry up in the death row of the state pen, if the appeals process ever ended. And long eyelashes, girl-driving crazy long eye lashes, to go with those eyes. Ya, Jimmy would never, probably until he was old and grey and maybe not even then, lack for female company, if that is what he wanted.
And Sammy, "Sammy Whammy," Rizzo, the Whammy part given a few years back in junior high school when the rhyming simon craze swept through Clintonville Junior High School and all the girls spent all their time making up names, double names, for every boy, and some boys did it too although not Jimmy and Sammy. So the Whammy part stuck to Sammy, like it or not, which he did. Sammy, some Sancho Panza sad-sack dumpling, stocky, hell no, kind of fat, with a non-descript face, except that it seemed to always need a shave even at eight in the morning, and no description eyes. Except that Sammy never lacked for girls, at least one date girls, or maybe two. See Sammy was the max daddy be-bop 45 record king hell king of the town of Clintonville, maybe of all Dewar County if someone decided to count. And so Sammy could use that old gag on the girls, on the be-bop rock and roll record-starved girls, about coming up to see his etchings after a date, except he actually had the records. Had them so it seemed as soon as they came off the presses. So he could work his magic, let’s say, for example, on some Born Too Late-crazed girl, some girl who liked an older guy, a guy, who had no time for, well, jail bait, and be the soul of compassion about her woes while the 45 played in the background. See it worked for that one date, maybe two, until she got tired of the song, or found a new boyfriend or that older guy said the hell with it and took his chances.
But see Sammy did not have those hundreds, seemingly hundreds, of 45s just by accident, or just by his parents having deep pockets to allow him to buy whatever he wanted right off the presses. No way. Sammy Whammy was from hunger. What Sammy was also master of, king hell king master of, was the clip. The clip from Bugsy’s Big Tent Record Shop up in Clintonville Center (in the heart of downtown Clintonville, according to Bugsy’s ads on the local 24/7/365 rock and roll radio station, WJDA, where his ads ran about every six seconds, or so it seemed, alternating with Benny’s Car Hop, a drive-in restaurant that also was owned by Bugsy).
See, here is how it worked, and this is where friend Jimmy came in (and also why Jimmy didn’t care if he had three, or three hundred, records as background for one of his dates, his girl crazy eyelashes dates. He could just cop one from Sammy). Let’s say they wanted Jimmy Jones’ Handy Man (a favorite of Sammy’s, he had two copies of it because the first one got worn out from working his gag about his being a handy man- and Christ, everybody knew about it because it got all around school, all around Monday morning girls’ lav talk school to be exact, the girls went for it, strictly one date went for it). Jimmy and Sammy would make the couple of mile trek to Bugsy’s, usually on foot since car times were few and far between in the Cullen and Rizzo households, especially for no work, no want to work, clip artist kids. Most of the time Bugsy’s daughter , Cindy, would be working out front helping customers, showing people to the record booths to play the latest, or ring up the sales.
And here was the beauty of it, Cindy, fellow classmate of theirs, was nothing but head over heels crazy for Jimmy, or maybe it was those long eyelashes and would get a little confused, or something, when Jimmy stepped up and asked her a question about a record. Maybe a weepy one like Mark Dinning’s Teen Angel, about a dizzy teenage dame who, after being led to safety from a car stranded on a railroad by her boyfriend, got the bright idea of tempting the fates and going back for the boy’s high school ring. She was last seen in heaven, or somewhere like that. Just then Sammy was looking for Ricky Nelson’s A Teenager's Romance because his upcoming date was with a girl all hung up of that twerp. So while Jimmy and Cindy were talking Sammy went to the record bin, grabbed the 45, and slipped it under his shirt. Easy, almost like taking candy from a baby. No just like it.
But being the king of the 45 record night ain’t easy, or maybe better, is filled with all kind of funny things. One time Jimmy and Sammy were in Bugsy’s for the clip and they were going through their normal paces. Jimmy started talking animatedly to Cindy about Johnny Preston’s Cradle of Love, and really laying it on in a way that made Cindy think he was making a play for her, a big play. Now Sammy was in looking for Ray Peterson’s Corrina, Corrina for a hot date. He grabbed the 45 okay but as he signaled to Jimmy that the deal was done and went to leave the store Cindy called him over and directed him to follow her to a certain record bin. Jimmy, meanwhile, waited outside. At the bin she put a record under his shirt and said, “That’s for Jimmy.” Sammy rushed out the store, called to Jimmy to move quickly, and when they got around the corner Sammy pulled out the Cindy picked record. Ya, a pristine Cradle of Love.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Growing Up Absurd In The 1950s- In The Heart Of The Last Kiss Night- A CD Review
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Elvis Presley performing his classic, Love Me.
CD Review
The Heart Of Rock ‘n’ Roll: 1956-1957, Time-Life Music, 1996
Scene: (Prompted by the cover photograph, the memory cover photograph, which graces each CD in this Heart of Rock ‘n’ Roll series. The photo on this CD, as might be expected, shows a he, Johnny Riley, and a she, Peggy McGuire, half-dancing, half-embracing, half-kissing (wait a minute that is too many halves, right?). Kissing that last dance kiss as if their lives depended on it, and maybe it does. Or it had better be so else this scene will turn to ashes)
Johnny Riley had been thinking, thinking hard about Peggy, Peggy McGuire, all day as he prepared himself in anticipation of his date with her for that night’s school dance over at the North Adamsville High gym. Although they had only gone out a few times, a few glorious down the day time beach, out to the movies, and after school bowling at Jake’s Bowling and pizza at Salducci’s times he was thinking hard about her just the same. Ya, it was getting to be like that. More pressing though was, if she liked him too, and he thought she might, what it would be like on their first kiss. She looked like a good kisser but kissing, although he didn’t have all that much experience at it truth to tell, wasn’t something you could tell about by looking; only doing. With that “wisdom” in mind he planned, planned hard, almost as hard as he was thinking about Peggy on how he would “work” around to that first kiss tonight. Ya, tonight was the night he thought to himself later as he made his final preparations, teeth brushed, check, mouth wash, check, deodorant, check, hair tonic-ed and combed, check. Ready.
And out the door with the keys to father’s, clueless father’s, automobile on loan, on special Johnny loan for this evening because Johnny’s father “liked” Peggy. Johnny wondered, wondered for just a second, whether his father and mother kissed. Nah, no way. And as he drove to pick Peggy up Johnny went through his plan in his head one more time. At the dance he was going to dance all the slow dances real close and real physical to get her worked up a little. Then after the dance suggest that they go to Salducci’s for some pizza and then down the beach to “watch the submarine races.” Although he wouldn’t say that but more like it was nice night and let’s go down to the beach and watch the moon or something like that. The key though was to get her “in the mood” with that slow dancing.
Well, Johnny picked Peggy up, they talked in the car on the way over, just chitchat stuff, Johnny parked the car, and they went into the dance. No problems so far, and things were going according to Johnny plan because no sooner had they got there than the DJ played Fever by Little Willie John and Johnny “worked” his closeness magic and a few songs later with Long Lonely Nights by Lee Andrews and The Hearts. After intermission the DJ played Ivory Joe Hunter’s Empty Arms, a song, no question, designed to bring lips together. And Johnny could sense that Peggy, every time he held her closer, didn’t try to back off but just followed his lead and stayed close. Yes, this was going to be the night. A couple of songs they sat out as both agreed they were drippy like old foggy Pat Boone’s April Love and Lloyd Price’s Just Because.
Then Elvis’ Love Me came on and they got up again to dance. About two seconds into the dance Peggy gave Johnny the biggest kiss he had ever received in his life, not a long kiss but big, big with meaning, kiss. Right on the dance floor. And then Peggy said she had enough of dancing and since it was such a nice night maybe they could go down to the beach to cool off and “watch the submarine races.” See, as hard as Johnny was thinking about Peggy that day, Peggy McGuire was thinking just a little harder about him, and about why he was taking so long to give her a first kiss like he didn’t want to. So a girl had to take things in hand sometimes. Of course old clueless Johnny only found this out, between kisses, as they were watching those submarine races on that nice night down at the beach. Thanks Elvis.
CD Review
The Heart Of Rock ‘n’ Roll: 1956-1957, Time-Life Music, 1996
Scene: (Prompted by the cover photograph, the memory cover photograph, which graces each CD in this Heart of Rock ‘n’ Roll series. The photo on this CD, as might be expected, shows a he, Johnny Riley, and a she, Peggy McGuire, half-dancing, half-embracing, half-kissing (wait a minute that is too many halves, right?). Kissing that last dance kiss as if their lives depended on it, and maybe it does. Or it had better be so else this scene will turn to ashes)
Johnny Riley had been thinking, thinking hard about Peggy, Peggy McGuire, all day as he prepared himself in anticipation of his date with her for that night’s school dance over at the North Adamsville High gym. Although they had only gone out a few times, a few glorious down the day time beach, out to the movies, and after school bowling at Jake’s Bowling and pizza at Salducci’s times he was thinking hard about her just the same. Ya, it was getting to be like that. More pressing though was, if she liked him too, and he thought she might, what it would be like on their first kiss. She looked like a good kisser but kissing, although he didn’t have all that much experience at it truth to tell, wasn’t something you could tell about by looking; only doing. With that “wisdom” in mind he planned, planned hard, almost as hard as he was thinking about Peggy on how he would “work” around to that first kiss tonight. Ya, tonight was the night he thought to himself later as he made his final preparations, teeth brushed, check, mouth wash, check, deodorant, check, hair tonic-ed and combed, check. Ready.
And out the door with the keys to father’s, clueless father’s, automobile on loan, on special Johnny loan for this evening because Johnny’s father “liked” Peggy. Johnny wondered, wondered for just a second, whether his father and mother kissed. Nah, no way. And as he drove to pick Peggy up Johnny went through his plan in his head one more time. At the dance he was going to dance all the slow dances real close and real physical to get her worked up a little. Then after the dance suggest that they go to Salducci’s for some pizza and then down the beach to “watch the submarine races.” Although he wouldn’t say that but more like it was nice night and let’s go down to the beach and watch the moon or something like that. The key though was to get her “in the mood” with that slow dancing.
Well, Johnny picked Peggy up, they talked in the car on the way over, just chitchat stuff, Johnny parked the car, and they went into the dance. No problems so far, and things were going according to Johnny plan because no sooner had they got there than the DJ played Fever by Little Willie John and Johnny “worked” his closeness magic and a few songs later with Long Lonely Nights by Lee Andrews and The Hearts. After intermission the DJ played Ivory Joe Hunter’s Empty Arms, a song, no question, designed to bring lips together. And Johnny could sense that Peggy, every time he held her closer, didn’t try to back off but just followed his lead and stayed close. Yes, this was going to be the night. A couple of songs they sat out as both agreed they were drippy like old foggy Pat Boone’s April Love and Lloyd Price’s Just Because.
Then Elvis’ Love Me came on and they got up again to dance. About two seconds into the dance Peggy gave Johnny the biggest kiss he had ever received in his life, not a long kiss but big, big with meaning, kiss. Right on the dance floor. And then Peggy said she had enough of dancing and since it was such a nice night maybe they could go down to the beach to cool off and “watch the submarine races.” See, as hard as Johnny was thinking about Peggy that day, Peggy McGuire was thinking just a little harder about him, and about why he was taking so long to give her a first kiss like he didn’t want to. So a girl had to take things in hand sometimes. Of course old clueless Johnny only found this out, between kisses, as they were watching those submarine races on that nice night down at the beach. Thanks Elvis.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
When Be-Bop Bopped In The Doo Wop Night- “Street Corner Serenade”- A CD Review
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film (From American Bandstand) of The Classics performing the old time classic ( I think originally from The Mills Brothers) , Till Then.
CD Review
The Rock ‘n’ Roll, Era: Street Corner Serenade, Time-Life Music, 1992
Sure I have plenty to say about early rock ‘n’ roll, now called the classic rock period in the musicology hall of fame. And within that say I have spent a little time, not enough, considering its effect on us on the doo-wop branch of the genre. Part of the reason, obviously, is that back in those mid-1950s jail-breakout days I did not (and I do not believe that any other eleven and twelve year olds did either), distinguish between let’s say rockabilly-back-beat drive rock, black-based rock centered on a heavy rhythm and blues backdrop, and the almost instrument-less (or maybe a soft piano or guitar backdrop) group harmonics that drove doo-wop. All I knew was that it was not my parents’ music, not close, and that they got nervous, very nervous, anytime it was played out loud in their presence. Fortunately, some sainted, sanctified, techno-guru developed the iPod of that primitive era, the battery-driven transistor radio. No big deal, technology-wise by today’s standard’s, but get this you could place it near your ear and have your own private out loud without parental scuffling in the background. Yes, sainted, sanctified techno-guru. No question.
What doo-wop did though down in our old-time working class housing projects neighborhood, and again it was not so much by revelation as by trial and error, is allow us to be in tune with the music of our generation without having to spend a lot of money on instruments or a studio or any such. Where the hell would we have gotten the dough for such things when papas were out of work, or were one step away, and there was trouble just keeping the wolves from the door. Sure, some kids, some kids like my home boy elementary school boyhood friend Billie, William James Bradley, were crazy to put together cover bands with electric guitars (rented occasionally), and dreams. Or maybe go wild with a school piano a la Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard, or Fats Domino but those were maniac aficionados. Even Billie though, when the deal went down, especially after hearing Frankie Lymon and The Teenagers was mad to do the doo-wop and make his fame and fortune.
The cover art on this compilation shows a group of young black kids, black guys, who look like they are doing their doo wop on some big city street corner. And that makes sense reflecting the New York City-derived birth of doo-wop and that the majority of doo-wop groups that we heard on the AM radio were black. But the city, the poor sections of the city, white or black, was not the only place where moneyless guys and gals were harmonizing, hoping, hoping maybe beyond hope, to be discovered and make more than just a 1950s musical jail-breakout of their lives. Moreover, this cover art also shows, and shows vividly, what a lot of us guys were trying to do-impress girls (and maybe viz-a-versa for girl doo-woppers but they can tell their own stories).
Yes, truth to tell, it was about impressing girls that drove many of us, Billie included, christ maybe Billie most of all, to mix and match harmonies. And you know you did too (except remember girls just switch around what I just said). Ya, four or five guys just hanging around the back door of the elementary school on hot summer nights, nothing better to do, no dough to do things, maybe a little feisty because of that, and start up a few tunes. Billie, who actually did have some vocal musical talent, usually sang lead, and the rest of us, well, doo-wopped. We knew nothing of keys and pauses, of time, notes, or reading music we just improvised. (And I kept my changing to teen-ager, slightly off-key voice on the low, on the very low.) Whether we did it well or poorly, guess what, as the hot sun day turned into humid night, and the old sun went down just over the hills, first a couple of girls, then a couple more, and then a whole bevy (nice word, right?) of them came and got kind of swoony and moony. And swoony and moony was just fine. And we all innocent, innocent dream, innocent when we dreamed, make our virginal moves. But, mainly, we doo-wopped in the be-bop mid-1950s night. And a few of the songs in this doo-wop compilation could be heard in that airless night. The stick outs here: Deserie, The Charts; Baby Blue, The Echoes; Till Then, The Classics; Tonight (Could Be The Night), The Velvets.
CD Review
The Rock ‘n’ Roll, Era: Street Corner Serenade, Time-Life Music, 1992
Sure I have plenty to say about early rock ‘n’ roll, now called the classic rock period in the musicology hall of fame. And within that say I have spent a little time, not enough, considering its effect on us on the doo-wop branch of the genre. Part of the reason, obviously, is that back in those mid-1950s jail-breakout days I did not (and I do not believe that any other eleven and twelve year olds did either), distinguish between let’s say rockabilly-back-beat drive rock, black-based rock centered on a heavy rhythm and blues backdrop, and the almost instrument-less (or maybe a soft piano or guitar backdrop) group harmonics that drove doo-wop. All I knew was that it was not my parents’ music, not close, and that they got nervous, very nervous, anytime it was played out loud in their presence. Fortunately, some sainted, sanctified, techno-guru developed the iPod of that primitive era, the battery-driven transistor radio. No big deal, technology-wise by today’s standard’s, but get this you could place it near your ear and have your own private out loud without parental scuffling in the background. Yes, sainted, sanctified techno-guru. No question.
What doo-wop did though down in our old-time working class housing projects neighborhood, and again it was not so much by revelation as by trial and error, is allow us to be in tune with the music of our generation without having to spend a lot of money on instruments or a studio or any such. Where the hell would we have gotten the dough for such things when papas were out of work, or were one step away, and there was trouble just keeping the wolves from the door. Sure, some kids, some kids like my home boy elementary school boyhood friend Billie, William James Bradley, were crazy to put together cover bands with electric guitars (rented occasionally), and dreams. Or maybe go wild with a school piano a la Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard, or Fats Domino but those were maniac aficionados. Even Billie though, when the deal went down, especially after hearing Frankie Lymon and The Teenagers was mad to do the doo-wop and make his fame and fortune.
The cover art on this compilation shows a group of young black kids, black guys, who look like they are doing their doo wop on some big city street corner. And that makes sense reflecting the New York City-derived birth of doo-wop and that the majority of doo-wop groups that we heard on the AM radio were black. But the city, the poor sections of the city, white or black, was not the only place where moneyless guys and gals were harmonizing, hoping, hoping maybe beyond hope, to be discovered and make more than just a 1950s musical jail-breakout of their lives. Moreover, this cover art also shows, and shows vividly, what a lot of us guys were trying to do-impress girls (and maybe viz-a-versa for girl doo-woppers but they can tell their own stories).
Yes, truth to tell, it was about impressing girls that drove many of us, Billie included, christ maybe Billie most of all, to mix and match harmonies. And you know you did too (except remember girls just switch around what I just said). Ya, four or five guys just hanging around the back door of the elementary school on hot summer nights, nothing better to do, no dough to do things, maybe a little feisty because of that, and start up a few tunes. Billie, who actually did have some vocal musical talent, usually sang lead, and the rest of us, well, doo-wopped. We knew nothing of keys and pauses, of time, notes, or reading music we just improvised. (And I kept my changing to teen-ager, slightly off-key voice on the low, on the very low.) Whether we did it well or poorly, guess what, as the hot sun day turned into humid night, and the old sun went down just over the hills, first a couple of girls, then a couple more, and then a whole bevy (nice word, right?) of them came and got kind of swoony and moony. And swoony and moony was just fine. And we all innocent, innocent dream, innocent when we dreamed, make our virginal moves. But, mainly, we doo-wopped in the be-bop mid-1950s night. And a few of the songs in this doo-wop compilation could be heard in that airless night. The stick outs here: Deserie, The Charts; Baby Blue, The Echoes; Till Then, The Classics; Tonight (Could Be The Night), The Velvets.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Those Oldies But Goodies…Out In The Be-Bop ‘50s Song Night- The Teen Queens’ “Eddie My Love” (1956) - A 55th Anniversary, Of Sorts-Billie's 1956 View
Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of the Teen Queens performing the classic Eddie My Love.
Markin comment:
This space is noted for politics mainly, and mainly the desperate political fight against various social, economic and moral injustices and wrongs in this wicked old world, although the place where politics and cultural expression, especially post-World War II be-bop cultural expression, has drawn some of my interest over the past several years. The most telling example of that interest is in the field of popular music, centrally the blues, city and country, good woman on your mind, hard working, hard drinking blues and folk music, mainly urban, mainly protest to high heaven against the world’s injustices smite the dragon down, folk music. Of late though the old time 1950s kid, primordial, big bang, jail-break rock and roll music that set us off from earlier generations has drawn my attention. Mostly by reviewing oldies CDs but here, and occasionally hereafter under this headline, specifically songs that some future archeologists might dig up as prime examples of how we primitives lived, and what we listened to back in the day.
EDDIE MY LOVE
(Aaron Collins / Maxwell Davis / Sam Ling)
The Teen Queens - 1956
The Fontane Sisters - 1956
The Chordettes - 1956
Dee Dee Sharp - 1962
Also recorded by:
Lillian Briggs; Jo Ann Campbell; The Sweethearts.
Eddie, my love, I love you so
How I wanted for you, you'll never know
Please, Eddie, don't make me wait to long
Eddie, please write me one line
Tell me your love is still only mine
Please, Eddie, don't make me wait too long
You left me last September
To return to me before long
But all I do is cry myself to sleep
Eddie, since you've been gone
Eddie, my love, I'm sinking fast
The very next day might be my last
Please, Eddie, don't make me wait too long
You left me last September
To return to me before long
But all I do is cry myself to sleep
Eddie, since you've been gone
Eddie, my love, I'm sinking fast
The very next day might be my last
Please, Eddie, don't make me wait too long
Please, Eddie, don't make me wait too long
(Transcribed from the Teen Queens
recording by Mel Priddle - May 2006)
**********
Billie here, William James Bradley, if you don’t know already. To “the projects” born but you don’t need, or at least you don’t absolutely need to know that is get the drift of what I have to say here. I am here to give my take on this latest song, Eddie My Love, that just came out and that the girls are going weepy over, and the guys are saying “that a boy, Eddie.” At least that’s what the wiser guys I hang around with say when they hear the record played on the radio. Except, of course, sappy Markin, Peter Paul Markin if you don’t know, my best friend at Adamsville Elementary School (or maybe best friend, he has never told me one way or the other what it was with us from his end, but sappy as he may be at times, he is my best friend from my end) who thinks Eddie should be righteous and return to his forlorn girl. What is he kidding? Eddie keep moving wherever you are, and keep moving fast. And please, please don’t go within a mile of a post office.
Why do I hold such an opinion and what gives me the “authority”, some authority like the pope of rock and roll, or something to speak this way? Well, first off, unlike Markin, I take my rock and roll, my rock and roll lyrics seriously, hell, I have written some myself. Also I have some talent in this field and have won vocal competitions (and dance ones too), although there have been a few more I should have won. Ya, should have won but the fix was in, the fix was in big time, against project kids getting a break, a chance to make something out of the jailbreak music we are hearing. I’ll tell you about those bad breaks some time but now I am hot to straighten everybody out, even Markin, on this one. Markin pays attention to, too much attention to, the “social” end of the question, looking for some kind of teenage justice in this wicked old world when there ain’t none. Get it, Peter Paul.
Look, I can read between the lines of this story just like anybody else, any pre-teenage or teenage anybody else. Parents, my parents, Markin’s parents, Ozzie and Harriet, whoever, couldn’t get it if you gave them that Rosetta Stone they discovered to help them with old time Egyptian writing and that we read about in Mr. Barry’s class. No way. But Billie, William James Bradley, who will not let any grass grow beneath his feet is wise, very wise to the scene. Hey, it’s not rocket stuff, it’s simply the age old summer fling thing. Eddie, handsome, money in his pocket, super-charged car under his feet, gas in the tank, and an attitude that he is king of the known world, the known teenage world, sees this cutie, makes his play, they have some fun, some teenage version of adult fun for any not wise kids, school days come and he is off to his next cutie. Ya, he said he would write and, personally, I think that was a mistake. A quick “I'll be in touch,” and kiss on the cheek would have been smarter.
See Eddie, love ‘em and leave ‘em Eddie, is really a hero. What did this teen queen think was going to happen when Eddie blew into town? Love, marriage and here comes the teen queen with a baby carriage. Please. Eddie, Eddie your love ain’t got no time for that. And that old threatening to do herself in or whatever she means by “my next day might be my last,” is the oldest trick in the book, the oldest snare a guy trick that is. Ya, maybe someday when things are better, and guys don’t have that itch, that itch to move on, and maybe can settle down in one place and have plenty of dough, plenty of ambition, and the old wicked world starts taking care of its own better. Whoa… wait a minute, I’m starting to sound like Markin. Jesus, no. Eddie just keep moving, okay. Billie’s pulling for you.
Markin comment:
This space is noted for politics mainly, and mainly the desperate political fight against various social, economic and moral injustices and wrongs in this wicked old world, although the place where politics and cultural expression, especially post-World War II be-bop cultural expression, has drawn some of my interest over the past several years. The most telling example of that interest is in the field of popular music, centrally the blues, city and country, good woman on your mind, hard working, hard drinking blues and folk music, mainly urban, mainly protest to high heaven against the world’s injustices smite the dragon down, folk music. Of late though the old time 1950s kid, primordial, big bang, jail-break rock and roll music that set us off from earlier generations has drawn my attention. Mostly by reviewing oldies CDs but here, and occasionally hereafter under this headline, specifically songs that some future archeologists might dig up as prime examples of how we primitives lived, and what we listened to back in the day.
EDDIE MY LOVE
(Aaron Collins / Maxwell Davis / Sam Ling)
The Teen Queens - 1956
The Fontane Sisters - 1956
The Chordettes - 1956
Dee Dee Sharp - 1962
Also recorded by:
Lillian Briggs; Jo Ann Campbell; The Sweethearts.
Eddie, my love, I love you so
How I wanted for you, you'll never know
Please, Eddie, don't make me wait to long
Eddie, please write me one line
Tell me your love is still only mine
Please, Eddie, don't make me wait too long
You left me last September
To return to me before long
But all I do is cry myself to sleep
Eddie, since you've been gone
Eddie, my love, I'm sinking fast
The very next day might be my last
Please, Eddie, don't make me wait too long
You left me last September
To return to me before long
But all I do is cry myself to sleep
Eddie, since you've been gone
Eddie, my love, I'm sinking fast
The very next day might be my last
Please, Eddie, don't make me wait too long
Please, Eddie, don't make me wait too long
(Transcribed from the Teen Queens
recording by Mel Priddle - May 2006)
**********
Billie here, William James Bradley, if you don’t know already. To “the projects” born but you don’t need, or at least you don’t absolutely need to know that is get the drift of what I have to say here. I am here to give my take on this latest song, Eddie My Love, that just came out and that the girls are going weepy over, and the guys are saying “that a boy, Eddie.” At least that’s what the wiser guys I hang around with say when they hear the record played on the radio. Except, of course, sappy Markin, Peter Paul Markin if you don’t know, my best friend at Adamsville Elementary School (or maybe best friend, he has never told me one way or the other what it was with us from his end, but sappy as he may be at times, he is my best friend from my end) who thinks Eddie should be righteous and return to his forlorn girl. What is he kidding? Eddie keep moving wherever you are, and keep moving fast. And please, please don’t go within a mile of a post office.
Why do I hold such an opinion and what gives me the “authority”, some authority like the pope of rock and roll, or something to speak this way? Well, first off, unlike Markin, I take my rock and roll, my rock and roll lyrics seriously, hell, I have written some myself. Also I have some talent in this field and have won vocal competitions (and dance ones too), although there have been a few more I should have won. Ya, should have won but the fix was in, the fix was in big time, against project kids getting a break, a chance to make something out of the jailbreak music we are hearing. I’ll tell you about those bad breaks some time but now I am hot to straighten everybody out, even Markin, on this one. Markin pays attention to, too much attention to, the “social” end of the question, looking for some kind of teenage justice in this wicked old world when there ain’t none. Get it, Peter Paul.
Look, I can read between the lines of this story just like anybody else, any pre-teenage or teenage anybody else. Parents, my parents, Markin’s parents, Ozzie and Harriet, whoever, couldn’t get it if you gave them that Rosetta Stone they discovered to help them with old time Egyptian writing and that we read about in Mr. Barry’s class. No way. But Billie, William James Bradley, who will not let any grass grow beneath his feet is wise, very wise to the scene. Hey, it’s not rocket stuff, it’s simply the age old summer fling thing. Eddie, handsome, money in his pocket, super-charged car under his feet, gas in the tank, and an attitude that he is king of the known world, the known teenage world, sees this cutie, makes his play, they have some fun, some teenage version of adult fun for any not wise kids, school days come and he is off to his next cutie. Ya, he said he would write and, personally, I think that was a mistake. A quick “I'll be in touch,” and kiss on the cheek would have been smarter.
See Eddie, love ‘em and leave ‘em Eddie, is really a hero. What did this teen queen think was going to happen when Eddie blew into town? Love, marriage and here comes the teen queen with a baby carriage. Please. Eddie, Eddie your love ain’t got no time for that. And that old threatening to do herself in or whatever she means by “my next day might be my last,” is the oldest trick in the book, the oldest snare a guy trick that is. Ya, maybe someday when things are better, and guys don’t have that itch, that itch to move on, and maybe can settle down in one place and have plenty of dough, plenty of ambition, and the old wicked world starts taking care of its own better. Whoa… wait a minute, I’m starting to sound like Markin. Jesus, no. Eddie just keep moving, okay. Billie’s pulling for you.
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