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SUMMER MEANS NEW LOVE
WikiPedia and Amazon and All Music Guide almost make this unnecessary, but for the record, I want to argue that the combo package of The Beach Boys Today! with Summer Days (And Summer Nights!!) [love those exclamations points-although I don't think the Beach Boys ever released an album with three (!!!) exclamation points in the title] [I do think, however, that is because of the Beach Boys’ abuse of ! that I learned to do the same thing on my own writing-or maybe it was Mad). Anyway, the point being that this remarkable CD combo, with some editing, still sends shivers down my backbone even though I have gone way way past the age counting-up fadeout on “When I Grow Up (To Be a Man)”….(they end it when they get into their twenties, of course).
So, I’d get this thing if you don’t have it. And then create a new CD with these cuts, and you will own one of the greatest albums ever made!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
1. Do You Wanna Dance 2. Good To My Baby 3. Don’t Hurt My Little Sister 4. When I Grow Up 5. Help Me, Rhonda (use LP version only) 6. Dance, Dance, Dance 7. Please Let Me Wonder 8. I’m So Young 9. Kiss Me Baby 10. She Knows Me Too Well 11. The Girl From New York City 12 Then I Kissed Her 13. Salt Lake City 14. Girl Don’t Tell Me 15. California Girls 16. Let Him Run Wild 17. You’re So Good To Me 18. Summer Means New Love 19. The Little Girl I Once Knew 20. And Your Dreams Come True
No shit, pal. Create that and you have one helluva a summer album
This concept brought to you by the gang at POPKRAZY.
MICHAEL JACKSON ON THE ROOF OF WOOLCO IN MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE, 1977
When Michael Jackson appeared on the roof of Woolco in Southgate Shopping Center in Memphis, Tennessee, in 1977, he had no idea that one day he would be wed to the daughter of the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll and that he would even vye for the King’s throne.
Then, Michael was not yet the beknighted King of Pop. In fact, he was more one of the Five, and not yet the grand amalgamation of pop cultural touchstones that he would become.
As the story has been told, the Jackson 5 were appearing that evening in concer and had just visited the South’s great R&B radio station, WDIA. Michael and his brothers were eager to please their fans, and that would mean going into the community to sign autographs. So WDIA planned a remote broadcast at a Woolco in the Southgate Shopping Center on South Third.
Although Woolco was selling Jackson 5 recordings, the manager of the store had never even heard of the group. As a result, nobody at this particular Woolco had anticipated what would happen when they opened the doors of the store despite the fact that the store was actually selling tons of their records.
Of course, hundreds, then thousands, of fans rushed in to meet the young pop icons. One estimate is that at least 10,000 people had been waiting in the parking lot to see the group.
The WDIA handlers decided to put the Jackson 5 on the roof for everyone’s safety.
Up there, Michael and his fans waved and dropped autographs down to the crowds. People were screaming one name: MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL!
Many of the fans were angry because they had not gotten a chance to get close to the group. The enormous crowd gathered into a storm, and people began looting the Woolco store, completely cleaning it out. The store was torn apart.
Eventually the Jackson family paid for the damages.
One eyewitness who was present at the Great Michael Jackson Woolco Riot describes the event through a similar experience that occurred in Memphis in 1977:
“The best way to explain it is like when Elvis Presley died.
I was in Sessel’s Grocery Store as a sacker across the street from Graceland when people heard Elvis died. People stopped their cars in the middle of traffic in front of his mansion and got out and prayed.
People fell out in the aisles of the grocery store in tears. There were post cards with Elvis’ picture on them. People took them and walked out of the store with the post cards and put them on the store front glass. People took fruit, busted the glass out, never removing the photo from the glass, cutting themselves.
Traffic was backed up for five miles in 2 directions. You had to drive nearly 30-40 miles to get home when you would normally just drive 2 miles.
To say that people didn’t love Elvis those days was blasphemy.
Just today a young girl heard me playing Micheal’s music. She said didn’t I know he was dead and she thought he was a freak.
Someday as you grow older you will learn the very meaning of your words and how your very words can influence a world like his did. Because When Micheal died, I lost a friend, a friend that had lost his way.”
Woolco ceased operations in the United States in 1982. Michael died in 2009. Somewhere in between Michael Jackson became bigger than life.
Hey, he even married Dead Elvis’ daughter! Fucking amazing!!
[Be sure and get all your King of Pop goodies at Popkrazy.]
A JOURNEY TO THE HOME OF A COUNTRY MUSIC LEGEND
Harold Lloyd Jenkins–or Conway Twitty, the name WE knew him by–was one of the America’s most successful country music performers. Until 2000, Twitty held the record for the most Number One singles of any country act, with 45 Number Ones on all the trade charts!
Twitty lived for many years in Hendersonville, Tennessee, just north of Nashville, where he built a country music entertainment complex called Twitty City. It was famous for its lavish Christmas decorations and display of lights, and included the Conway Twitty Mansion and Memorial Garden. Conway and his wonderful tourist attraction were once even featured on the then-popular program “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.”
Sadly, Twitty City is no more and now called Trinity Music City, USA. Since the great country singer’s death, it has been converted into a Christian music venue owned by the Trinity Broadcasting Network. Perhaps you have seen their TV programs while channel-surfing.
Me, I went to Twitty City once on one of my many sojourns to Nashville (next to Memphis, the holiest of all cities). There the wind whipped through the cultural debris of the once mighty fortress of a country legend, and I stood in memory, waiting for the ghost of Conway.
Things happen. Heroes die and fade. But you can still get this tourist brochure at that popular repository of all things long gone–PopKrazy.
ROBOTS WILL BE FOREVER COOL!
Some of you will already be familiar with this fabulous creation because it has made many appearances on playlists and radio programs of the weird and wacky variety. It has been labeled as one of the world’s worst records, and of course, featured as a novelty hit on several Dr. Demento programs.
But, as the pic sleeve testifies, this recording is much more than that.
Bent Bolt was actually a pseudonym for Teddy Randazzo who died in 2003, but was a 50′s rock icon who probably co-wrote god-only-knows how many songs that were covered by such greats as Frank Sinatra and Dionne Warwick. In the early years of rock and roll, Randazzo played with a group called The Three Chuckles, and appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show numerous times.
With his composing partner, Bobby Weinstein, Randazzo wrote a string of major hits for other artists including “Pretty Blue Eyes”, a top ten hit for Steve Lawrence. He also penned a number of songs for Little Anthony and the Imperials, including “Goin’ Out of My Head” which was covered by numerous artists including the Letterman.
“I’ve lost count on how many versions of what I wrote there are,” Randazzo once said.
If you try to dance to this record, you’ll probably find it a bit clunky. The vocalist sounds like he’s using a vocoder, and could have hurt his throat trying to sing this weird tune–which has very, very weird lyrics.
I’m a mechanical man,
I was built in a factory,
my serial number is
084567123.
I’m designed in The U.S.A.,
and manufactured in Japan.
Does anybody here know a
robot girl who wants to meet
a mechanical man?
I was made out of stainless steel
to protect my brain from rust,
there’s a vacuum cleaner built
into my chest that automaticlly
picks up dust
I am 5 foot 8 inch tall
and as strong as a moving van
Does anybody here know a
robot girl who wants to meet
a mechanical man?
I can fix an automobile,
I can put up a Christmas tree,
I can milk a cow,
I can mow a lawn,
I can pour you a cup of tea,
but I’m looking for someone
who could help me to charge my coils,
and fill me up with bat-ter-ies
and feed me my daily oil
I would not care at all
if she looked like a garbage can,
does anybody here know a
robot girl who wants to meet a
mechanical….chanical….chanical….
chanical….chanical….chanical….
chanical….chanical….OH NO!!!!
This is crazy stuff now available on PopKrazy .
TURN ON, TUNE IN, DROP OUT: PART ONE
Psychedelic rock was a mind-expanding consciousness, the first vestige of free-form experimentation in rock ‘n’ roll history. Prior to the spirit of psychedelia, rock ‘n’ roll was restricted by a certain form and melodic structure–teenage or British bands hacked out hits and atonality was taboo. As rock began to establish consciousness and to perceive its tradition, the mental state became as important as the physical condition.
When you realize the full contribution established by this sonic movement (just check out the songs on this CD collection!), the psychedelic experience seem awesome!
Consider that this consciousness gave us the following:
rock as a revolutionary force (social, political, and sexual)
the concept album
LP covers as art
rock criticism and its sense of rock aesthetics
rock lyrics as poetry
the notion that rock was every bit as important as blues or jazz….
That’s quite a formidable contribution from a supposedly footloose and haphazard genre, and its major influences certainly negate its minor irritations such as body painting and the overabundance of hippies and incense.
Oddly enough, with the advent of psychedelia, rock began to be taken seriously, yet paradoxically, only as the style itself became increasingly comical (consider Iron Butterfly, the Vanilla Fudge, Peanut Butter Conspiracy).
For an immediate historical perspective, look for this collection at PopKrazy.
YOU THINK I’M PSYCHO DON’T YOU, MAMA?–ORIGINS OF A HIT
The country cult classic, “Psycho”, was composed by Leon Payne, a blind Texas country singer-song writer, after he’d read about fellow Texan Charles Whitman.
In 1966 Whitman had strangled his mother to death, stabbed his wife, and then headed to the top of the University of Texas Library tower and opened fire on an unsuspecting crowd, using his Marine corps sniper rifle, killing sixteen people. Whitman was gunned down by police.
During his autopsy, it was discovered that Whitman had a deadly brain tumor. But Whitman had been unaware of this–although he had complained about headaches and nausea weeks before his rampage. It has been suggested that this tumor drove Whitman to his killing spree.
Part of Whitman’s suicide note read:
“I do not really understand myself these days. I am supposed to be an average reasonable and intelligent young man. However, lately (I cannot recall when it started), I have been a victim of many unusual and irrational thoughts.”
On the day he purchased his rifle, Whitman also bought a can of Spam.
The version of “Psycho” that inspired Elvis Costello’s version was recorded by Jack Kittel (see above), although George Jones and Eddie Noack both recorded it first. In the re-make of Hitchcock’s “Psycho,” the song was recorded by Teddy Thompson.
Here, for your entertainment pleasure are the full lyrics to Leon Payne’s masterpiece (courtesy of those wonderful folks at PopKrazy )–
Can Mary fry some fish, Mama
I’m as hungry as can be
Oh lord, how I wish, Mama
You could stop the baby cryin’ ’cause my head is killing me
I saw my ex again last night, Mama
She was at the dance at Miller’s store
She was with that Jackie White, Mama
I killed them both, and they’re buried under Jacob’s sycamore
You think I’m psycho, don’t you, Mama
I didn’t mean to break your cup
You think I’m psycho, don’t you, Mama
You better let ‘em lock me up
Oh, don’t hand me Johnny’s pup, Mama
As I might squeeze him too tight
I’m havin’ crazy dreams again, Mama
So let me tell you ’bout last night
I woke up in Johnny’s room, Mama
Standing right there by his bed
With my hands around his throat, Mama
Wishing both of us were dead
You think I’m psycho don’t you, Mama
I just killed Johnny’s pup
You think I’m psycho don’t you, Mama
You’d better let ‘em lock me up
Oh, you recall that little girl, Mama
I believe her name was Betty Clark
Oh, don’t tell me that she’s dead, Mama
‘Cause I just saw her in the park
We were sitting on a bench, Mama
Thinking of a game to play
Seems I was holding a wrench, Mama
Then my mind just walked away
You think I’m psycho don’t you, Mama
I didn’t mean to break your cup
You think I’m psycho don’t you, Mama
Mama why don’t you get up?
AT HOME IN THE DEEP DEEP SOUTH
I grew up not far from the Mississippi line, just south of Memphis, and made many journeys to the delta.
Birney Imes has done a great job of revealing the truth about this area with just 58 brilliant photos. It’s rare to see this slice of Southern life handled with such respect and dignity and humor.
These photos reveal the interiors of several African-American drinking and dancing spots with all their ramshackle glory. As with Walker Evan’s photos in Agee’s book, everything seems so temporary and yet permanent. Homegrown signs contrast with the slickly produced commercial ads for beer, cigarettes, and snack foods.
From these photos, it is easy to imagine the various bars in Juke Joint coming alive with the sound of blues, friendship, intimacy, and good times. Image #38 shows a homemade sign in Juicy’s Place saying ‘BE NICE OR LEAVE’.
That’s the messsage here. It’s a southern thing, y’know: Be Nice or Leave.
And don’t forget to drop in at PopKrazy !
THE FATHER OF THE LAND OF 1000 DANCES
Chris Kenner is almost a lost figure in the world of R&B and rock ‘n’ roll, and yet, the song he wrote and orignally recorded, “Land of 1000 Dances,” was covered so much in the ’60s by garage groups and bar bands that it almost ranks with “Louie Louie.”
Kenner’s magic is that he’s hard to pin down. The worlds of soul, beach music, New Orleans, funk & dance grooves all claim him, but he has created his own force beyond categories. Kenner has stood the test of time because he is a true original.
Kenner’s only album, which is essentially a collection of all his singles several years after they were hits, was released in 1966 without his photo on the cover. The abstract art of the cover design replaces the image of the soul man that Kenner so wanted to become. Even though he wrote every song on this album (something few soul men could do), he got lost in the mix of mid-60s richness.
Here at Popkrazy, we are always listening to Land of 1000 Dances. It helps the workflow.
THE WAYOUT WORLD OF MOON MAN
In the late ’70s, disco video was all the rage. TV programs such as Kicks, Hot City, and Soap Factory Disco marred the broadcast airwaves. As long as folks had the desire to celebrate their beautiful brawn on the set of some sleazy soundstage, the ecstasy prevailed and became perfect visual wallpaper for the winking TV eye.
But for sheer spunk, no disco program ever approached Moon Man Connection which I first experienced on UHF Channel 20 in Washington DC. This low-cost program was visual wallpaper so extreme that its very insubstantiality became hypnotic.
Filmed in a rat-infested basement, Moon Man opened with a blast from an echo chamber. Ten years after Neil Armstrong strolled on the moon, Mr. Moon Man milked the scratched footage of the NASA moonwalk, splicing it in at random intervals. Moon Man was a true trash auteur from Scuzzville.
Moon Man’s backdrop scenery was a moonscape painted on cardboard sprinkled with glitter and Day-Glo. Compared to other disco programming of this era, Moon Man’s dance floor seemed nearly vacant; the dancers, puppets on Sleep-eze. Tipsy camera angles, cheap simulcasting, color filters, “psychedelic lighting”–all combined to create the best example of dope TV ever made.
After months of indulging in Moon Man Connection, I began to notice several similarities between supposedly different episodes:
–Moon Man always seemed to play the same ten records (he was the only cat who ever misspelled Rod Stewart as “Rot Stuart”)
–The regular dance sequence, where couples are paired according to their astrological signs (to the strains of Danny Pearson’s “What’s Your Sign?”), always featured the same couple.
–Every time the dancers did the “Moon Walk” (which could only be performed to a Bohannon record), it was the same bunch.
Finally, I realized that, not only did Moon Man Connection contain similar sequences merely rearranged for each show, but that it was actually the same show repeated endlessly! (Boy, Moon Man, what a card!)
Nothing could explain the Moon Man phenomenon at a time when disco video supplied an endless stream of visuals illustrating the physical dynamics of going tapioca with one’s limbs. I mean, Moon Man–and his whole stupid show–just sat there.
Hey, Moon Man! How bout that…he got away with something!! Give him a hand or a hand job or whatever you wanna do….the guy deserves it.
BUT HERE’S THE OTHER PERSPECTIVE FROM THE INNER DC CONNECTION:
What a trashy review from a true playa hater…
Moonman provided the ‘real connection’ that was missing from the hyped Soul Train broadcast. The so-called ‘endless repeat of shows’ was genius, and I laugh… LOL.
You misrepresent information of a genre of Go-Go Playas (not gender specific) who know the truth about Channel 20 and The Moonman Connection. They funked and rocked old school and new beats and rhymes without fail. Perhaps your town could only afford to pay for cut and pasted shows… In D.C., it was real and they dealt funk on a regular.
I watched the show comfortably in my B-More attic (The Playas Clubhouse), with no less than room fulla honeys and some Espirit. The dancers were a bit repetitive, but they danced like no other place, except for maybe a house party.
D.C. and B-More are cousins down south (south of the Big Apple)…we are not ashamed of our funk and you will never find us spinning on our heads or swimming out of water. We funk, we rock, we connect.
To all the playas back in the day, I gotchya back!
Moonman, thanks brother… Thank you for keepin’ it real.
(The music Moon Man played can always be found at the wayout world of POPKRAZY.)
NOT OF THIS EARTH: A LOST SUPER SLEAZEFEST
It was the invasion of the sleazoids in deadly dull black and white, and I have the flyer somewhere. If it ever shows up, I will scan the damn thing, and post it on this blog. I’ve looked all over the web, but can find neither hide nor hair evidence of this grand event that occurred in downtown Wilmington somewhere in 1975.
The filthiest bunch of skum ever descended upon the incredibly dead city of the Chemical Capital of the World to romp and barf in mindless abandonment under the banner of the First Annual World Sleaze Convention. (Not really the first, fact hounds: Tokyo had several before this one, usually with Ultraman look-alike contests and various Mothra color slide shows, and once, Johnny Sokko of Albany, NY, showed sleazee snapshots of his mom’s undies for 50 cents a peep, AND, if you want to stretch a point, every flea market worth its weight in garbage is a first-class sleaze con minus the pretensions of cult fondling), but like all conventions, whether it’s for babyfat Trekkies or Beatle mop tops, its spells CON, and the fix is for the hustlers. In Wilmington, the dada was squelched as the wares were foisted on every burned-out creep who flopped near each “bizarro bazaar.” Actual moolah was exchanged for stuff best left near Rover’s daily dump.
Apocalyptic Productions were the hoodlums responsible for this three-day gathering of sleaze. The gyp was so well-conceived that you could even purchase a two-dollar Convention Kit for not attending (although the kit did not include anything swell like an old tampon, chewed pizza, snot, or mangled Bazooka Joe).
The agenda was centered on what seemed like a 24-hour loop of and anything associated with this subversive crass moment in cinematic history. Of course, nothing as arty as the appearance of John Waters was ever promised, but Pink FlamingosEdith Massey did arrive to sit on her flabby butt. (Divine never made it to gobble her own poopoo as was rumored by certain bored spectators.)
Other phooey films were unmentionables such as House of Horrors, Not of This Earth, Little Shop of Horrors, The Dianne Linkletter Story, Zsa Zsa GaGa Bore as a Venusian Queen of Outer Space, and the forgivable Plan 9 from Outer Space. Lotsa good flicks were shown, yessirree!!
In fact, a tremendous list compiled from those 2-am horror/sci-fi jokes which were once beamed into the homes of insomniacs and offbeat scuzz puds everywhere just after the late-great Tom Snyder’s Doo Dah Theater snooze. Better to watch that slop in the privacy of your own bedroom, though, just you and the tube (before you and the You Tube), without all the crud who call themselves “human beings” picking their noses and bums, smelling like rotten tins of Sea Hunt.
Yes, those were the days….long before the freak show of reality TV. Of course you can do your own Virtual Sleaze Convention anytime with social networking to boot. But nothing beats face-to-face witnessing of the cultural debris, and I am proud to say I was there at the onslaught. It’s kinda like saying you first heard Bruce as a garage band on the Jersey Shore.
Well, ya missed it, what can I say? But lotsa great sleaze can still be found at the always reliable POPKRAZY.
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