Graham Nash seems like such a nice, level-headed man. And this is such a nice, level-headed album. I didn’t work out last night as I had company, but as I waited for my guests to arrive I decided to preview this album since it was waiting its turn on the turntable anyway. It was as I thought it would be – slow. Not as slow as the Cowboy Junkies, which if you remember I said if that album had been any slower it would be playing backwards, but this was just a really soft record. It’s called Songs for Beginners, a title that suits it for its simplicity. It contains nothing memorable except for maybe “Sleep Song” because it’s so sweet. However the album does include songs with messages like “Chicago.” It was, after all, a time when people were beaten, even killed in this country simply for protesting on the orders of mayors and governors who resented the disruption of the status quo. I do applaud Graham Nash and other songwriters for using their art to broaden the social awareness. I am feeling that much stronger today, after learning of the death of Pete Seeger yesterday, a man we should all appreciate.
And, I again appreciate Bette Midler without whom this workout session would have had little aerobic value. Even Max, who I thought might be sick, he was so disinterested, perked up when I started dancing to Bette. Truthfully, I had wanted to buy a Neil Young album at that record store I have mentioned before, but it skipped and I returned it for a new copy. When I had to bring that one back for the same reason, and there were no Neil Young albums left, one of the guys there, a friend you could say, told me to take Graham Nash and I didn’t argue. Sorry Graham. I otherwise really like you.
I’m sorry, yes it’s another kids’ album, but to tell the truth this was a gift to me when I was in my early 20s. The Muppets bring back such memories. I had my first real job and it was just before I moved out of my mother’s house at just shy of 22. On Monday nights I would walk home from the train station, the only one walking in car-ruled suburbia. I knew at 7:30 the Muppet Show would come on, and that made me happy. I’d walk home, with cars whizzing by, whistling, humming and singing the Muppet Show theme song.
I had fun with this album. Who doesn’t love the classic “Mahna Mahna?” And that Kermit. When introducing Gonzo, he said, “Here’s the most unusual act you will ever see, especially on a record album.” What a card. He also sang Groucho Marx’s “Lydia the Tattooed Lady.” My Muppet crush? Rowlf the piano playing dog who is featured on the album singing “Cottleston Pie” and a duet with Sam the American Eagle on “Tit Willow,” and in the skit Veterinarian’s Hospital. Oh, and when I was talking about drummers being overlooked in a previous post, I should have mentioned Animal from Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem. He is one powerful drummer.
Additionally, I was going to discuss last night’s Grammy show, which I watched just to see Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr perform together, because this year I never heard of the majority of nominees. I so enjoyed the show in the past couple of years, however because of that and the fact that Paul and Ringo didn’t do an old Beatle song, last night’s show was pretty disappointing for me.
But, I started the workout a little late tonight. I was treated to probably the most magnificent fireworks display I have ever seen. Of course, whenever it begins I am immediately startled and then realize what it is I hear. Tonight, there was something different. My apartment was shaking. Sure ‘nuff, when I opened the blinds it was different. It was closer than it has been in the time I’ve lived here. Two boats I could see, and probably a third obscured from my sight, were right outside my window on the Hudson, bursts of color shooting at me in pairs, and exploding at what seemed like a mere arms-length away. Big booms and cascading colors, it was spectacular. My insides are still vibrating from it. I think I have the Super Bowl to thank for that.
This was particularly weird, made especially so by the fact that I liked it and had a pretty good workout, largely due to the seemingly never-ending rendition the “The Schnitzelbank Song” and the oh-so inspirational “Rolling Stone,” as I’ve been getting kind of mossy lately. This is not to be confused with the Brittney Spears era Mickey Mouse Club. That would make it even weirder. This is the original cast back in the late 1950s, and I only have vague memories of the show, but I do remember watching it.
The first side consisted of some bouncy little numbers like the ones mentioned. The second side was theme songs and singing cartoon characters like Donald Duck and a screeching chicken, but I made do. The record itself is by far in the worst condition in the collection, but it sounds better than it looks considering I had to wash it before putting it on the turntable. As it was, I needed to skip the last song on each side or would forever be trying to knock the needle into the next groove.
I think I may have been a Mouseketeer. I recall wearing the cap with the ears. But I was much more a Shari Lewis and Lambchop, Winchell Mahoney Time, and Kukla, Fran and Ollie kind of tot, which may explain the next album.
Leslie West was a big boy and a hell of a guitarist. These days he’s a shadow of himself weight-wise, but I haven’t heard him play in decades, though he’s still active musically and just put out an album this past year. Unfortunately, Felix Pappalardi died long ago, shot by his wife who claimed it was one of those accidental shootings. Shame. This is a mighty fine album that starts with “Mississippi Queen,” a definite crank it up song belted out by West, and goes into Jack Bruce’s gentle “Theme For an Imaginary Western,” sung by Pappalardi.
West’s first solo album was titled Mountain, thus the name of the group, and this would be their first album. It’s an interesting combination of voices. Pappalardi’s sweet, almost Jack Bruce-like vocals and West’s from the gut, and he had a big one, raw sound.
Good record, and good, though short workout.
Not as good as All the Young Dudes, but even though everything didn’t ring a bell, it started with “All the Way From Memphis” and kept me going – moving and reminiscing to the end. This one is not a Ram contender, but I just like the Mott sound and enjoyed hearing it again.
In fact, I think I saw them in concert in my senior year of high school – or tried to – but I cannot remember. Funny, I remember exactly what I was wearing down to the shoes, and that I was with the Dean’s son and another couple. I remember going to my first (and I think only) after hours club, where we went after we did whatever we did. I just don’t remember seeing the group perform. Perhaps they cancelled?
Mott consisted of Ian Hunter, lead singer, writer and arranger; Mick Ralphs, lead guitar and writer on these two and prior albums; and bassist Overend Watts, who was my crush in the band because he had insane hair. Oh and the drummer whose name is Buffin.
Drummers are often overlooked unless they’re Keith Moon, Ginger Baker, Gene Krupa, Dave Clark or Ringo Starr. Oh and Don Henley or Max Weinberg. Then there’s Mick Fleetwood…
Oh, I did love Mott the Hoople, and the song “All the Young Dudes,” written by David Bowie is still one of my favorites. They started with a nice rendition of Lou Reed’s “Sweet Jane” and led me into a good workout.
And to think, I wasn’t looking forward to working out tonight. I actually wasn’t going to, not even to Ram, until I made myself put the old sweatpants on. As if transformed by clothing I started to feel like moving, just as when you’re lethargic and lounging in your sweats until you force yourself to get dressed, and then are all psyched to go out. I wasn’t looking forward to Mott the Hoople either. I thought they’d be draggy. But no – this is some good rock ‘n roll. And it’s mine. I’m exercising and daydreaming and thought of course I wasn’t feeling The Mothers. Mott, David Bowie, Alice Cooper, they were my choice, my music in high school. The Mothers, though I appreciate them, and A Clockwork Orange, which I don’t, were things that were waved in front of us as avant garde and progressive. I wasn’t innately drawn to them. I didn’t really like writing about The Mothers, and was afraid I wouldn’t like writing about Mott, or whatever else I was musing about tonight. Thankfully, we have gotten over yet another hump.
I also thought I wouldn’t recall more than “All the Young Dudes” on the album, but I recognized the whole record like another old friend, and found myself howling along to “Ready for Love.” I do believe I will add this to the end of the Ram alternate list.
More Mott next time.
Another live album from the summer of 1971, but from the west coast this time. I would discuss the nearly 25 minute “Billy the Mountain,” the tale of a mountain named Billy and his wife Ethel, a tree growing off of his shoulder, who got his royalty check from all the postcards he posed for, and took a trek cross-country. I would, but you would have to remember Johnny Carson, his show, and his show back when it was broadcast from New York.
This album might have been a Ram 2 contender. The liveliness of the songs on side two played first for their aerobic benefit, followed by the epic Billy the Mountain that went well with the floor exercises, made for a good workout. It might have been in the running but for the one song, Magdalena, a bouncy little ditty that I liked a lot when I was in high school. I soon came to my senses, and now find the song disturbing. I am additionally disturbed at the fact that I liked it at all. Equally disturbing was that I also liked A Clockwork Orange when I was in high school, which I saw at 16 with my brother, even though it was rated X. I went so far as to read the book and buy false eyelashes, tops and bottoms to share with a friend, as the characters each only wore one set. Fortunately, we never got around to wearing them out in public. I also soon realized just how vile the movie was, and no matter what anyone says, I don’t think it has any merit whatsoever.
But I digress. “Magdalena” comes nowhere near the horribleness of A Clockwork Orange, and I still enjoyed hearing the majority of the album. However, it seems the Mothers have put me in not so happy frame of mind, and I think I may have to bring Ram back into the picture very shortly.
Needless to say, this was a weird workout.
Once known as the Mothers of Invention, and led by the precocious Frank Zappa, this incarnation of the group included singers Howard Kaylan and Mark Volman of Turtles fame (remember “Happy Together”), who then became The Florescent Leech and Eddie, or Flo and Eddie. This is the white album with the writing in pencil.
Frank Zappa and the Mothers had a musically innovative sound and a need to shock that was right for the times. To me now, it’s more like a 4-year-old getting a kick out of saying doody – which isn’t always unfunny. To give you an idea – side one contains the song “What Kind of Girl Do You Think We Are?” a crude ballad about groupies, which goes right into, if you’ll pardon the phrase, “Bwana Dik.” Side two includes a continuation of “What Kind of Girl…” – the even cruder “Do You Like My New Car?” which goes into more graphic detail about the subject matter. However, that nicely leads into the Turtles’ hit “Happy Together.”
Wednesday was movie with the ex day. We saw American Hustle and give it two whole-hearted thumbs up. We had lunch before and were thinking of maybe ordering breakfast, “the usual,” but we were good, or at least I was, and went for something different and more green. I can be particular about my food, especially when it comes to breakfast. I want two eggs over easy, well-done home fries (or hash browns, whichever it comes with), crispy bacon and buttered rye toast. The ex would just order the two eggs over easy and take whatever comes however it comes, until one time after I ordered he said he’d have the same. Upon realizing how much better it was the way I order, I now place my order, with the waitperson writing furiously, and he says he’ll have the same, which thankfully always gets a chuckle. That made me think of the Gold Star Diner I left behind in Bayside, Queens, which I learned recently, is no longer there. I lived there for so many years and would go into the diner so often that the waitresses would just say “the usual?” And usually I’d say sure. “Coffee?” “Of course.” Before long, they stopped asking about the coffee and just brought it. The bus boy, who was the bus man and more by the time I left, was a quiet, shy guy. I would say good morning to him, or afternoon, but never got a response. But I was not deterred, and eventually got him to acknowledge me and even make a little conversation. It got so that if he saw me coming, he would try to have a cup of coffee on my table before my butt hit the seat. I got so much writing done in that noisy little diner, and I don’t have any place like that here.
I was thinking about just that this morning as I walked to work, and how much I missed it, when I heard someone say my name. It took me a few seconds to realize it, but when I turned around, a woman was standing a few feet away smiling at me. I knew the face but couldn’t place it. She said her name, which didn’t click until she said, “I was your neighbor in Bayside.” We exchanged pleasantries, as it was indeed pleasant, and went on our ways. Funny how things just happen like that.
So, I should be writing about Frank Zappa and the Mothers instead of eggs and Bayside, but not to worry, we’ll have another chance next time.
Van Morrison’s song “Moondance” is by far one of the all-around best songs ever! It’s fantabulous. But, it’s not on this album.
Over the years, the decades, I’ve appreciated Van Morrison in bits and pieces, and guess I still do. His music, not the top 10 stuff, is really cool, a rock/jazz mix. As for this record, other than the title song, which was why I bought this particular album, I don’t recognize another note on it. Still, I had not a bad workout, considering. It’s a longer album than most of the others with longer songs, but I seem to be lacking a little energy tonight, so didn’t get the full benefits. I’ll be taking a break tomorrow, but when we return, we will be taking another odd turn.
Fitness update: I am having a tough time getting the rest of the holiday weight off, but only have three pounds to go. I feel as fat as I did three months ago, but I know I’m not only getting a bit more toned, I must also be losing a some belly as my head is coming closer and closer to my knees when I do sit-ups. There’s not as much stomach in the way. Max however, looks like he might have put on a few extra ounces, even though he likes exercise time.
At the concert we went to at the Fillmore to see Lee Michaels, the main act was the Moody Blues, and the opening act was Argent, a new group led by Rod Argent formerly of the Zombies, who wrote their hit songs. So we got to hear “She’s Not There,” “Time of the Season,” and “Tell Her No.” And of course, there was that drum solo I loved so much, especially when the drummer stopped for a nano-second to pull off his shirt. I was 14 and impressionable. But it obviously stuck with me.
We were excited beforehand. Our first real concert. The Fillmore. We were on the phone, my friend and I, discussing just this. “I can’t wait to hear ‘Never Going Back to Georgia,” I said. My brother came into the room and bluntly informed me that I wouldn’t be hearing that song at all because we were going to see the Moody Blues and NOT the Blues Magoos, who were the ones that did that particular song. Life was so confusing.
I didn’t expect this to be a good workout album, but surprisingly, and pleasantly so, it was. It is actually now on the Ram alternative contender list. I’ve got to start writing that down. In any case, it’s an interesting themed album, each song representing a time of day, in order. It starts with an overture and combines wonderfully orchestrated music, English 60s rock ‘n roll, poetry and flute. Nothing mundane about it. This was the record that the concert promoted. It was post Denny Laine, who had left the Moody Blues to join Paul McCartney’s Wings, making room for Justin Hayward, a lovely looking lad who was responsible for probably their biggest hit songs “Tuesday Afternoon” and the beautiful and haunting “Nights in White Satin.” I would say that both songs are now classics, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I hear “Tuesday Afternoon” tomorrow. “Nights in White Satin” will last forever. I don’t recall if we got to hear it in concert before Mrs. R. came to get us. I wonder if my friend does.
The Walrus Was Paul 