So, apparently (“actually”), Silver Apples’ debut LP was reissued earlier this year on sky blue speckled vinyl (pictured here). Happy to FINALLY own this prominent piece of 1968 nostalgia. Dear casual reader… carry on.
I was all excited to post about my favorite Beatles album on an obscure and improbable medium… until I test them out. Part 1 works like a champ, but Part 2 done do shit! I contacted the seller and he suggested that the tape may have flipped over… not at all sure what this means. Anyway, White Album party will have to wait for the damn Part 2 to get its shit together.
I’ve been in a bit of a pure, uncomplicated mood lately. Yesterday, Simon & Garfunkel got some play, along with Metronomy, and today we’ll celebrate Glenn Miller with this six LP box set titled, The Unforgettable Glenn Miller 70 of His Greatest Original Recordings. Little to nothing is left out on this massive collection, which was released by Reader’s Digest in 1968. All the obvious classics are here, but what I find most interesting is the various collaborators found within. Glenn Miller and The Modernaires, Glenn Miller and the Army Air Force Band, Glenn Miller and Ray Eberle, Glenn Miller and Tex Beneke, Glenn Miller and Marion Hutton, and Glenn Miller and Kay Starr to name a few. Six LPs will most definitely take some time to finish… I just hope I’m not out of my melon collie mood before then.
Feeling a bit on the homesick side of things lately, and it doesn’t get more “home-y” than J.R. Cash. This 1968 copy of the 2-LP set, The Heart of Johnny Cash was owned by my Grandfather, and was one of the great, many Cash albums I acquired after his inevitable, yet unfortunate death. What I wouldn’t give to share a whiskey and a spin with him now.
Johnny Cash, the perfect remedy for the homesick blues.
Everybody can use a little Dino Martino on a random Tuesday evening, am I right? I remember, more like I can’t forget, a rumor about Dino drinking nonalcoholic, or watered-down cocktails during The Dean Martin Show and other public appearances where we was seen “drinking cocktails.” Descent shtick, I suppose. Anyway, I can’t, for the life of me, think of any current day Dean Martins! I can see Michael Bublé as a modern day Sinatra, although I’ve never heard any accounts of Bublé beating women, but he’s young. (The Prudent Groove does not advocate the beating of women, and has a zero tolerance policy towards arrogance in general.)
Big Brother & the Holding Company’s 2nd studio album, 1968’s Cheap Thrills, featured not only the groundbreaking single, Piece of My Heart, but also a vibrantly illustrated cover by Robert Crumb. Rolling Stone created a list of the 100 greatest album covers of all time. Cheap Thrills ranks no. 9. Interesting fact is that this was originally intended to be the album’s BACK cover, but apparently Ms. Joplin preferred Crumb’s art to a picture of herself and Columbia Records swapped covers. Smart move if you ask me, and you didn’t.
Side note: All this time I thought Southern Comfort took Janis. Thanks for that one, Bruce! Heroin, eh. Moderation, kids! Oh, and happy Friday!
I’ve been quietly waiting something close to 13 years to obtain this album. I’d held it in my hands a few times in the $40 – $50 range, but tended to fall back on the pieced together mp3 version instead of pulling the high number trigger. I now know why I’ve not been able to find the Slayer records at brick and mortars for like, ever (Reign in Blood, South of Heaven). It is, obviously, because I needed to have already been a lucrative owner of the first “heavy metal” album, as a means of respect and homage to the genre.
This album about jumped out at me today while at the Santa Monica BnM (you can figure it out), and I paid it nearly no mind other than to include it into my stack of Dead Man’s Bones and Bauhaus LPs (Bela Lugosi’s Dead and Mask), outside the obvious, “yes, this one is a no-brainer” type spiel. Long, heartfelt story short, I’d held out for a reason, for you see, this is a first mono, US pressing of 1968’s Vincebus Eruptum, and I squared it for only $11. Checkout the current market rate for this historical goldmine. Heavy metal was, in the minds of many, born with this album, and I just brought her home. Today was a good day.
Well, when you find a masterpiece such as this legendary, holiday hootenanny, The Perry Como Christmas Album, at Goodwill for a cool 100 pennies, and need to listen to EVERY record before it gets filed away into the fold, Christmas just may happen to appear on a random Tuesday evening. I mean, why the hell not?! If you don’t feel the need to question Perry Como’s majestic smile disturbingly placed in the center of a frosted Christmas wreath, then chances are you’ve already purchased your ticket and are strategically eyeing your window seat on the crazy bus. Yes I listened to this album in its entirety, and yes, I’m okay with admitting that.
Sundays are for resting, so get off your computer and enjoy what’s left of your weekend. (On the left, the 1968 US Reprise Records pressing, and on the right, the 2011 UK Sanctuary Records double “orange splattered green” mono / stereo release.) God save the Village Green (and what’s left of your weekend)!
Famous covers are not unlike priceless pieces of contemporary art (be that yesterday’s contemporary, or today’s). Very seldom, however, does an album’s backside (album ass?) get its proper notoriety. Subtle yet compelling posterior album art often goes unnoticed, as is the case with the poem featured on the back of Van Morrison’s 1968 classic Astral Weeks. Displayed here is a composition by the man, with no title, and no indication of its inspiration. I dig its almost throwaway inclusion on Astral Weeks, taking up such invaluable real estate, and it has inspired me to look much more closely to the array of hidden treasures just an album flip away.
Sex sells, and so do lottery tickets. Hendrix was. His legacy is. Fervent toils remain unraveled over the greatness of this 6-stringed beast. Let them toil and snare, grieving for future’s ears. The future was last week, as well as tomorrow. Let time prematurely leak its incessant novelties, and let the cautious remain cautious.
RIP Johnny Allen Hendrix.
The road to 3000 has been a long and winding one, and the choice of the mighty 3000, being the featured white vinyl version of the Beatles 1968 self titled album, is nothing short of exaccurate (exactly accurate).
I’d been hunting this monster down for more than a few years. The hefty price tag ($100+ complete w/ all four headshots and poster) always deterred me from pulling the trigger. That is, until I found this beaut off ebay last week. Knowing the inevitable 3000 was rapidly approaching, my once torrid, vinyl-hording obsession turned into a frugal-minded halt, as I forwent the “casual” purchasing phase until the mighty 3000 came home. I certainly hope #4000 isn’t for quite some time, as space is really starting to become an issue… one that every collector knows all too well.
Crimson and Clover was probably the first “perfect” song I’d ever heard. I was 13, at a Jr. High dance and, well, you know how things are in Jr. High… Crimson and Clover, like the tail of some whoever I was chasing that week, managed to elude me for several years, but her lingering, abundant impact was always just below the surface of everyday stagnation.
Monetarily it may be nothing of collector-head-turning significance, but this 45 of Crimson and Clover is easily one of my most cherished records.
(On a side note… I’d become aware of Tommy James by means of an often-told story, offered, to whimsical delight, by my parents. Apparently ol’ Mr. James, well past his prime, was making a “to-do” of himself at some back-water club in rural Wisconsin in the late 70s, all the while wearing tight, revealing, white trousers. Some stars dimmer, but never really fade away… so long as a fresh pair of tighty whitey trousers are at the ready.)
– Donald Duck
– Strawberry jam, and all the different varieties
– Mrs. Mopp
– Good Old Mother Riley
– George Cross, and all those who were awarded them
– Little shops
– China cups
– Tudor houses
– Antique tables
– The Village Green
– The Village Green Preservation Society
– The Desperate Dan Appreciation Society
– The Draught Beer Preservation Society
– The Custard Pie Appreciation Consortium
– The Sherlock Holmes English Speaking Vernacular
– The Office Block Persecution Affinity
– The Skyscraper Condemnation Affiliate
What you do with this information is squarely up to you, just so long as you have a nice day. 🙂
Since we haven’t done one of these in a while, in fact we’ve only done it one other time, Simply Samples is back with a Super Session of Bizarre proportions. Fan of hip hop? How about Pharcyde’s 1992 debut, Bizarre Ride II? Okay, then what about the 1968 super classic, Super Session by Bloomfield, Kooper and Stills? Notice any striking similarities between BKS’s cover of Donovan’s Season of the Witch and the Pharcyde’s Ya Mama? No?! Well, then have a listen.
Here is the opening to Season. Take particular notice to Al Kooper’s organic organ.
Now, here is that same bit sampled by the Pharcyde in their hilariously crass, Ya Mama. This is the instrumental version for clearer, albeit not near as funny, comparison.
And there you have it. A match made in music heaven spanning two completely different genres over the course of 24 years. Below are the full versions of both songs for your Sunday listening pleasure. If you don’t own either Super Session or Bizarre Ride II, I strongly urge you to seek them out immediately. Once you get that burnin’ yearnin’, there’s not turnin’ back, jack!
Season of the Witch by Mike Bloomfield, Al Kooper and Steve Stills:
Ya Mama by The Pharcyde:
Herb Alpert and his talented band of merry elves deliver a stellar collection of wistful Christmas classics neatly wrapped in a “south of the border” sized box, with just the right amount of contemporary wrapping and an unforgettable horn-shaped bow. The standards, you ask? They’re here… Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Jingle Bell Rock, Winter Wonderland, Jingle Bells etc., as well the desperately playful Burt Bacharach number, The Bell that Couldn’t Jingle.
Released in 1968 on A&M Records, a label Mr. Alpert helped form (the A in A&M stands for Alpert… true story), this set of holiday hymns suffers from only one discriminating flaw… it is entirely too short. This album could easily be three times the length and still not cross that lingering line of awkward and incessant “is this album EVER gonna’ end” vibe. This album, like most everything Herb Alpert was involved with, is extravagant and considerably timeless. One thing is clear after listening to this album; I don’t listen to NEAR enough Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass. My list of New Year’s resolutions is growing exponentially. I blame Obama.
Christmas in California does not look like the cover of this album for about 99.9% of its lackadaisical residents, I can assure you. With seductive lies aside, what this album does appropriately present is plenty of sunshine fa-la-las and hometown holiday melodies because, let’s face it… only Peter Nero can wistfully combine Jingle Bells with Winter Wonderland in that seamless Peter Nero kind of way.
This 12 track compilation is more your parents’ speed, provided your parents are that pipe smoking, holiday cookie-baking, smoking jacket-wearing, red cabbage-prepping dynamic duo of yesteryear… and, let’s face it… don’t all of our parents secretly wish to engulf that 1968 middle aged persona? I know mine do, although they’re reluctant to admit it.
Released in 1968 by RCA Records, although not necessarily my immediate go-to, classics by the classics (Arthur Fiedler, Al Hirt, Henry Mancini, Robert Shaw, Harry Belafonte, The Norman Luboff Choir, etc.) do deserve at least one spin a year, and today, apparently, is that day.
Let’s not beat around the bush here. Antique malls are time sucks. The alluring glow of buried treasure seems to boil the blood like a white-hot phoenix, and those of us who seek this 2nd hand treasure know exactly what I’m jivin’ at. These ominous voids (usually located next to a Subway or a Peet’s Coffee for some bygone reason) demand the archeological skills of a handsome, fedora-wearing ladies man named after the family dog, and the patience of a turtle-loving, detail-fixed hoarder of historic rubbish. Be it books, vintage clothing, old Look Magazines from the 1940s, or in this case, a banned UK copy of The Jimi Hendrix Experience’s 1968 master work, Electric Ladyland, the junk drawers of yesteryear are spilled out for all to peruse and purchase at these, the greatest time-wasting five and dimes the world has ever seen.
Anyway, short story short, I was on one of my weekly trips to Times Remembered in Ventura, CA (a place my SO and I jokingly call Time Suck, but not too jokingly, you dig?), where I stumbled upon a tiny booth filled with doll clothing, baby spoons with crude pictures of horses on them, overpriced “I Like Ike” campaign buttons, and 2 records: The Rolling Stones’ Their Satanic Majesties Request, and this copy of Electric Ladyland. What struck me as odd was how no other records could be found within this seller’s little corner. I wondered, “Why these 2 specific records?” (Resting against a basket of thimbles and a child’s rocking chair.) Anyway, both records were marked $20, but that day, this particular booth offered a ½ off sale. I distinctly remember thinking to myself, “Well, do I really NEED a copy of Electric Ladyland?” Asinine to even consider, I know. I bought it, obviously, and now this hot little number fetches upwards of $450 on discogs.com.
Their Satanic Majesties Request had 4 pinholes in each corner, obviously punched to proudly display on the smoke-stained walls rented by the now levelheaded antique seller’s younger self. Had it been in better shape, I would have nabbed that guy as well. I’m still on the search for that little musical chalice.
300 days, 7200 hours, or roughly 432,000 minutes ago, I gave birth to The Prudent Groove. I sincerely appreciate all who have visited, and for the friends I otherwise wouldn’t have made. Now, I’ve got to go return some videotapes.
If you’re in the mood for sweet-low, (<— comma… please notice the comma…) quality instrumental guitar music with a hint of blues and a touch of country twang, look no further than Wisconsin native Les Paul.
The Now part is a bit arbitrary, but the Les Paul part is pure, unmistakable 6-string joy. Two things I learned from (very, very briefly) researching this album are 1) Les Paul came out of retirement to record this album for London Records and 2) by this time, Les and Mary Ford had officially split.
Released in 1968, Les Paul Now!, with its voluptuous purity, must have seemed somewhat out of step with the majority of pop music being produced in the closing years of the waning, hip-tastic 60s. Lucky for appreciators of prudent ear candy everywhere, virtue knows not how to tell time.