WNEW | Where Rock Lives

Random Thoughts: Where The Conductor Took Me

If you took a minute to look at and listen to Wednesday's post of the Mark V's song, Hey, Conductor, you might have noticed the video was tagged as "Sonny Flaharty and the Mark V".

Here's an early Flaharty tune that would've fit perfectly on the American Graffiti soundtrack:

Like any good music fan (read: information junkie), I was compelled to learn more about him/them.

Turns out the Mark V were a group out of Dayton, OH, and are known among collectors of '60s garage primarily as the progenitors of Hey, Conductor. As I mentioned previously, it was originally released on a local Cincinnati label called Counterpart, then picked up for national distribution by Philips.

Typical of the garage tunes of the time, this record was all fuzzy and punky, all full of organs and harmonies and doomsday lyrics. According to Hlahart, who was the Mark's lead vocalist, it was banned on many radio stations because people thought it was pro-drug, though the lyrics hardly veer near anything of the sort.

Along with Flaharty, who went on to record more with the band and on his own, the Mark V also once included drummer N.D. Smart (who went on to play with Gram Parsons) and keyboardist Mike Losecamp (aka Haywood Lovelace) who played in the Cyrkle.

Here's an early Flaharty tune that would've fit perfectly on the American Graffiti soundtrack:

Random Thoughts: Jack White ... Music's Last Great Hope?

Let me preface this by saying that by no means am I arguing that Jack White is the last great musical  genius of our time. Everyday, we are introduced to a new band which has come up with something greater than the last.

That being said, one could certainly make an argument -- like this particular writer -- that the 34-year-old Detroit rocker could very well me our last great "mainstream" musical genius ... and the "mainstream" part is what matters, kids.

As I've previously discussed on multiple occasions, the idea of today's generation of rock 'n' roll hall-of-famers is becoming increasingly bleak. In fact, the idea of rock 'n' roll superstars is even at a depressing state these days. Sure, the Thom Yorkes and Alex Turners of the world are just as talented as Mr. White, but when it comes to appeal, that "it" factor which transcends a musician beyond his/her diehards and into the mainstream, the White Stripes/Raconteurs/Dead Weather figurehead might very well be the last we see in some time.

Random Thoughts: The Father of Psychobilly

While meandering around YouTube looking for a video of adults eating animals crackers while trying to sing showtunes (please, don't ask), I came across a video by a guy named Hasil Adkins.

It seems that Hasil Adkins (first name pronounced: "Hassle") was born dirt-poor in Boone County, Virginia. With a total of 4 days schooling and a history of depression through the course of his 60-year-plus life, his professions were limited to repairing machines (for which he has great flair) and playing rock and roll.

Though his claim to have written over 7,000 songs was widely disputed, no rock and roll historian disputes that he was the originator of psychobilly. His music was a raw, pounding mix of guitar and drums (which he played simultaneously), punctuated by yelps and growls and barb-wire lyrics.

The Pluses of the Minus Five

One of our sister stations out west, the venerable KINK-FM played host last week to one of the best bands you've likely never heard of: the Minus 5.

One of two projects led by multi-instrumentalist/songwriter Scott McCaughey (the other being the Fresh Young Fellows), the Minus 5 have had a rotating cast of characters since McCaughey founded the band in 1993.

Random Thoughts: Cats and Dogs

For reasons I won’t go in to, I was once in St.Thomas’ hospital (if you’ve seen the third season of the re-imagined Doctor Who, it’s the building that gets dumped on the moon in episode 1) for a whole month, over Christmas.

It’s fair to say that the Doctor and Martha had a better time than I did. My stay sucked from start to finish. I got better – obviously (who’d have thought that kidneys can recover?) – but I couldn’t do much for four weeks besides lie on my back, being bored. That’s what dialysis does that to you. Anyhow, after about a week, the clinicians – who’d noticed that I wasn’t having the best time, although I did learn about the Alaskan Indoor Games festival, which was on TV – culture shock on an epic level, that one – and mentioned that I could always listen to music.

I chose not to observe that they could have said so straight away and saved me from becoming a connoisseur of the event where you grasp a stick in your toes, jump up and throw it behind you, and friends who loved me more than they should or I deserved brought in some CDs; there was obviously a glam thing going on at the time, so I became acquainted with Faster Pussycat and better so with the Dogs D’Amour. I already knew the Dogs – I’d seen them a couple of times, once supported by the Black Crowes, which was a flat-out fantastic gig, by the way, but Pussycat were new to me. Suffice it to say that I came to love them both, but slightly prefer the Dogs, and not just because they’re from London rather than Los Angeles.

Random Thoughts: Mixing It Up With Bowie

I was just shy of six years old when Neil Armstrong made his historic walk on the moon, forty years ago this coming July 20th. It was such a big event to my depression-era parents that they woke my four-year old brother and me from a sound sleep so we could watch it. I still remember being huddled beneath a blanket, curled against my Mom on the couch in our dark living room, nothing but the black and white of the TV set for light.

I consider most anniversary re-releases to be patently vulgar, transparent attempts for behemoth record companies to squeeze every last dime out of the same old master tapes. But in the case of David Bowie's upcoming 40th anniversary release of his single, Space Oddity, things are a little different.

The Next Generation of Hall-of-Famers Redux: It's Not Our Fault!

A few months back, a trip to New York's Rock and Roll Annex got me thinking -- and ultimately, led to what was a pretty extensive analysis of the current music industry. One of the issues I discussed, today's generation of Rock and Roll Hall-of-Famers, featured the following conclusion:

Regardless of the reasons, the fact is my generation - the twenty-somethings who devour music like it's chocolate, attend concerts like they are the second coming - lacks its version of Beatlemania, a Joe Strummer, or band of punk misfits who not only created a movement, but helped change a culture. Yet for whatever reason, we don't really seem to mind, or even realize it until such opportunities like a visit to the Rock and Roll Hall-of-Fame present themselves. Instead, we blast our ear drums with Animal Collective, and take to music festivals where Kings of Leon and the Killers, bands which wouldn't even have been given a second listen in the '60s and '70s, perform to hundreds of thousands. We've become immune to mediocrity, and it's primarily our own doing. Seriously, who ever thought snooty hipster cynicism was a good idea? In cases like these, the idea of "the good old days" couldn't be more appropriate.

Recently, I had a conversation with a friend in which we discussed whether the New York based outfit Animal Collective would go down as being considered one of this era's "defining band." He argued yes, citing their unique style, innovative musical elements and massive following in the indie community. I argued that it was too early to tell, noting that because of the band's short existence -- Animal Collective was founded only nine years ago - we yet to have concrete evidence as to both its influence and lasting impression amongst the music community, two factors I argued that are key to be considered a "defining band."

Random Thoughts: Review Haiku - JrvsCckrFrthrCmplctions

There have been some brilliant record reviews written in just a few words or a couple of lines ("This record sucks," notwithstanding) but what if you had to condense all your record reviews into just 140 characters (i.e., a Twitter post)?

Personally, I've read a few reviews that could've done with a little of that kind of discipline so, as an example, here's a new Twitter inspired feature from the research and development department at Fusion 45 Media Lab and Sushi Bar: The Review Haiku.

Rules? Complete words and exactly 140 characters.

man of pulp lays down thick guitars and stomping rhythms, evoking bowie with sarcastic drowsiness and biting wit. ain't your daddy's cocker.

Caucasian Blues - Jarvis Cocker

Random Thoughts: A Hip-Hop Message for All People

Hip Hop's not our scene but every now and then someone comes along with a message that's important enough to be share across party lines. J. Smooth is the host of the longest running hip hop show on the radio, Pacifica Radio's Underground Railroad, and the founder of Ill Doctrine, a hip-hop video blog. Here's a bit of what he has to say.

Random Thoughts: Fact and Fiction

There are funny bands – basically, serious musicians with a sense of humor and, in the case of Supercharge, a stage show to match, bands who make songs like Red Dress. Then there are satirical or comedy bands, such as the Bloodhound Gang, or the wonderful act so few people remember these days, Alberto y Lost Trios Paranoias. Finally, there are parodies, such as Bad News or Spinal Tap (which should have an umlaut over the n, as well as a dot-less “i”).

Confusingly, the parody acts often toy with being actual bands, blurring the distinction between themselves and the institutions they’ve been mocking. Bad News, for instance – partly to get footage for their second TV show – performed at the Donnington Monsters of Rock festival. It’s probably worth revisiting the British tradition of bottling off unwelcome acts (throwing bottles at them until they leave the stage) and observing that Monsters takes place at a Grand Prix race track. The inadequate plumbing is, naturally, nowhere near the stage. So, bearing in mind a profound reluctance to give up a good place in the crowd with lots of beer and remember that alcohol is a diuretic, take a guess what the bottles contained.

Random Thoughts: What's That You Say?

I took a new job last week, designed for the most part to support my continuing efforts to write myself into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Eating something more than Friskies and sleeping in a place a few steps above a refrigerator box also influenced my decision.

It's a pretty good gig, all in all, but the commute's a bit of a drag. A few weeks ago, I was hoping to set a new "working from a home office" record -- six straight years of making calls wearing pink fuzzy slippers and a Lester Bangs t-shirt -- but now I'm spending 45 minutes (each freakin' way) in the car.

But, I've learned a few new musical things this week. First, I've learned that Bjork is pronounced "Bee-YERK" not "Bah-JORK," as I once thought. I also learned that a Syrian singer named Omar Souleyman is one of her current favorites.

With all due respect to Mr. Souleyman, I was strangely fascinated by his music, much like one is fascinated by a car wreck (especially a loud, repetitive car wreck at 120 beats per minute).

Fascinated, too, that his lyricist apparently stands near him and whispers words into his ear, words that he subsequently performs on the spot. And fascinated that Souleyman has apparently recorded 500 (!) albums, though only 2 are available in the U.S.

Pretty crazy stuff, as you can see for yourself:

Random Thoughts: Hello, My Name Is ...

I met Shawn Colvin yesterday. I didn't know who she was when I first saw her but figured she must be somebody, the way she sat there with the guitar while the roadies told her to move closer to the microphone.

She said "hello" to me from about 20 feet away so I walked up to her and introduced myself. I used both my first and last name, figuring it might trick her into doing the same. (If she'd simply introduced herself as "Shawn," that wouldn't have gotten me too far.) It worked: she introduced herself as Shawn Colvin.

"Oh," I said, "I've heard your music. It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too," she said, following my lead, "but I'm not sure I've heard your music."

"Well, most of it's available only in Eastern Bloc countries," I vamped. She laughed. "I know how that is," she said. She played two quick tunes, including this one, which must be one of her more popular ones.