Van Morrison’s 3rd solo album, 1970’s Moondance, is, pardon my French, a fuggin’ masterpiece! As evidence by the unforgettable tracklist (from a previous post) here, Moondance is wonderful for just about everyone, and for seemingly just about every occasion. Long live the Van!
Tag Archives: 1970
A Dance Under the Moon
Many the classic that emerges from Van the Man’s third album, 1970’s Moondance.:
Caravan
Into the Mystic
These Dreams of You
Moondance
Stoned Me
Never has there been a subpar Van Morrison album. Truly, that is all.
Between Vitaphone and Video
Time Life Records kept its swingin’ stride with 1970’s The Swing Era: The Music of 1936-1936, a three LP compilation of Jazz / Swing ensembles from the mid-1930’s. The label’s second of 14+ in The Swing Era series, this gem comes complete with a 72-page, fully historical and entertaining, photo-filled booklet. The Swing Era: The Music of 1936-1937 features a bunch of Benny Goodman, some Red Norvo, a bit of Bob Crosby, a dash of Chick Webb, and a healthy dose of Tommy Dorsey.
I doubt I’ll ever read all 936 pages (72x 13 box sets… I’m missing a few), but the music is choice far beyond passable comprehension.
Love You More Funny Love in the Skyline Baby
If you don’t feel like shelling out big bucks for original, 1970 versions of the two Syd Barrett albums (The Madcap Laughs going for $130+ while Barrett goes for $200+), might I frugally suggest this 1974, two LP comp, Syd Barrett. Containing all the tracks from his (only) two albums, in their original order, this poor man’s treasure can easily be yours without the need to pick up a part time job.
More of a suggestion than an overly-simplified examination of the material, my hope is that the money saved on acquiring this reissue will afford the opportunity to accumulate additional records, that previously may have been financially out of reach. Or, it very well may be that you’re not a fan of the mad-hatted ramblings of Mr. Pink Floyd, in which case this offer of goodwill would go vigilantly uncared for. Either way, Syd Barret remains quintessential ear candy for those funny, sunny mornings with your honey love.
Sunday Down South
Cataloged as SUN 119, Sunday Down South is a lot more than just a compilation of songs by the late 1950s masterminds of radio rock, Johnny Cash and Jerry Lee Lewis. Apart from being a great representation of these legendary artists as they both entered the 1970s (this album was released in 1970), Sunday Down South is good ol’, down south rockin’ gospel done right. Something can be said about each of these man’s darker, more controversial sides coupled with their resurrected approach to religious music, but unfortunately, I have no idea what those words might be.
Clocking in at just over 22 minutes, Sunday Down South is a painfully brief, yet enjoyable journey into the rock n’ roll souls of these mythical musicians, and is a perfect album to enjoy on this, or any Sunday, regardless of your geographical location.
Offer Expires December 31, 1970
Send for the newest Johnny Cash poster! So reads this adsert from the house copy of Hello, I’m Johnny Cash. I mean, come on (read, COME OWN), people! This is a 22” x 33” mother sucking poster that is as big and bold as life! BIG… and BOLD… AS LIFE! You’re wasting time! Drop whatever you’re doing right this God-given second! Feeding the baby? Well, maybe don’t drop the baby, but rather, set the baby down on the linoleum next to Thomas the Train and this month’s copy of Bon Appetite magazine, and ORDER! THIS!! MOTHER LOVING POSTER!!!
As an avid Tim Hardin fan, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that this collection of field-tending utterances (of creative genius) fashioned a JC version of the song (arguably, Tim Hardin’s most famous), If I Were A Carpenter. Death makes legends of mediocre men. Such is not the case with regards to both Hardin and/or Cash. 1969, the year of this album’s release, I imagine, was a tempting and paranoid time. I never saw 1969… I never breathed the tree-hugging stench of the summer of love, but I am, however ill fashioned, and comfortably basking in this year’s creative brilliance, for lack of a better term.
It’s currently 11:02 in the PM and the whiskey has already dressed itself in the warming linens of my fingers’ skin, so, just about anything read (written) from this point forward need not be taken without a grain (or two) of seasoned salt. Hardin vs. Cash… both are dead, yet, both remain amicably fruitful in the receptive throats of those thirsty for heartfelt tones.
All detours lead to Hardin… – The Prudent Groove
Take A Trip Across the World (and Back) with Alfred Hause & His Orchestra
Easy listening waltz romps manifesting themselves as interplanetary folk ditties. Solemnly executed by Alfred Hause & His Orchestra, this 1970 cultural roller coaster politely invites you, the listener on a destination vacation through the sunny shores of Mexico, over to the Mediterranean-basking banks of Italy, behind the looming German wall, down to the open, festive, ambience of Spain, all the way across the Atlantic and halfway across the Pacific to paradisiacal Hawaii, before making a pit stop (to flip the record) all the way back to the island of Ireland. If jet lag isn’t your thing, consider a shot and a nap before continuing on with the equally delightful side 2.
All rested up and ready for another go? Fantastic. After your three day nap, you find yourself amongst the natural wonders of Argentina (Argentine Republic), before hopping over to the densely populated, yet culturally explosive streets of Japan, up to the chilly, crisp air of Russia, back to Germany (to retrieve a pair of socks you accidentally left behind… you know the socks, the ones you got as a gift from Aunt Silvia that you simply can’t live without), then over to the ignorant-minded throes of Southern United States, before reaching your final, and justly deserved, destination of Scotland.
Closing out a multicultural trip that you’ll undoubtedly remember for the rest of your days with the classic, Auld Lang Syne, you look back at your wondrous journey with exhausted fervor, and a lifetime of memories and useless knowledge with which to entertain (or annoy) your friends and family.
The Best, Biggest Bargains on Record!
Warner/Reprise Records took a bit of a risk in late 1969/early 1970. Not only did they offer double LP comps for only $2 (at a time when single LPs went between $4 and $5), but also their “The best, biggest bargains on record!” campaign promoted exclusive albums at insanely discounted prices that were only available via this innersleeve. AND, as if that weren’t enough, their ingenious, cunning, and dear I say crackerjack copywriters presented this financially hazardous campaign with the youthful exuberance found only from the likes of Peggy Olson.
Here are a few examples of how fascinating “The best, biggest bargains on record!” campaign is, including, but not limited to, jokes and sarcastic dialogue (dialogue, from an insert?):
– Offering a coupon printed on the sleeve itself, Warner/Reprise suggests that the protective sleeve that was provided in a previously purchased Warner/Reprise album be destroyed and used to order more records.
– “To expedite your order, and to foil the fools in the mail room…”
– “Dear Fat Cats: Yes, please send…”
– “We can get away with that low price because these celebrated artists and this benevolent record company have all agreed not to make a profit on this venture.”
– “If our Accounting Department were running this company, they’d charge you $9.96 for each double album. But they’re not. Yet.”
– “If you want them (indeed, how can you resist?) you have to…”
– “If you’re as suspicious of big record companies as we feel you have every right to be…”
In closing, I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall when the idea for this campaign was introduced. I would have loved to have witnessed the look on the faces of Warner/Reprise Execs, and I would have loved to have shaken the hand of this campaign’s mastermind. (I would also love to pay only $2 for a double LP!)
Payin’ inna travelin’ bain
Creedence Clearwater Revival is known for their astonishing hooks, John Fogerty’s surmountable voice, and the focus of today’s post, their definitive, coherent lyrics. I present to you, in their entirety, the lyrics to CCR’s 1970 masterpiece, Travelin’ Band, or as I like to call it, Travelin’ Bain.
737 commin’ outta’ da sky
Oh’won’tcha take muh down’ta Memphis onna mid-night right-ah
I wown-moo
Hayin’ inna travelin’ bain, yeah
But I’m flyin’ ‘cause I lead, try to get a hair
Bayin’ inna travelin’ bain
Tag me to tha hotel
Baggage gone, oh well
Come own, come own, won’tcha get me to my roo
I wown-moo
Bayin’ inna travelin’ bain, yeah
Well I’m flyin’ ‘cause I lead, try to get a hair
Bayin’ inna travelin’ bain
Lizard to the radio
Tom and Bob the last show
Summon got excited had to call state Melissa
I wown-moo
Hayin’ inna travelin’ bain, yeah
But I’m flyin’ ‘cause I lead, try to get a hair
Bayin’ inna travelin’ bain, oh-wow
Hair we come a gain onna’ Saturday night
Oh well yo fussin’ and yo fightin’
Won’t you get meh to the rye
I wown-moo
Payin’ inna travelin’ bain, yeah
Well I’m flyin’ ‘cause I lead, try to get a hair
Bayin’ inna travelin’ bain, oh-wow
Oil payin’ inna travelin’ bain
Payin’ inna travelin’ bain
Wanda get me tell my hair
But I’m payin’ inna travelin’ bain
And I’m fine ‘cause I laugh, try to get a hair
Payin’ inna travelin’ bain, oh-wow
1970: Long As I Can See the Light/Lookin’ Out My Back Door
For the next 30 posts, or until I get bored, the post number will correspond with the year in which the post’s subject was released. It could be an album review, a song highlight, or an insert advert. The choices are by no means the best of any given year, nor are they my favorite. They are instead a representation of the digable grooves in my collection, broken down by year. With me? Ok, cool.
For 1970 (post #70), I’ve chosen CCR’s (Creedence Clearwater Revival) Long As I Can See the Light/Lookin’ Out My Back Door 45. CCR had some driving, Southern Rock-inspired jams in their heyday, and Long As I Can See the Light is NOT one of them. This is not to say it is inferior in any way. On the contrary. With its simple lyrics and low-key, slow-rollin’ drawl, Long As I Can See the Light reminds us that we can always go back to where we came from, so long as the offer is still extended. We all, at one point or another, feel the need to move on… to explore the vast unknown of uncertainty. But we’d like not to dismiss the comfort of returning home, when it becomes undeniably necessary.
I can’t hear Lookin’ Out My Back Door and not picture the Dude smokin’ a jay and banging the roof of his car to Doug Clifford’s beat. It was used perfectly in The Big Lebowski, but given the song’s brilliance, I’d imagine this song would fit perfectly in any film that featured it.
My favorite line is, without question, “A dinosaur Victrola listening to Buck Owens.” In a song bursting with visual abnormalities (“A statue wearing high heals” or “Tambourines and elephants are playing in the band” for example), the image of an old Victrola shouting Buck Owens ditties always makes me chuckle. It’s easy to picture John Fogerty mentally returning to a happy place during the drug-induced hallucination he sings about in this song, and it’s generous of him to take us along on that ride.
I could have easily focused on Zeppelin III, Lola Versus Powerman and the Moneygoround – Part One, Dylan’s Self Portrait, McCartney’s solo debut, Joni Mitchell’s Ladies of the Canyon, or even Bitches Brew, but for me, 1970 screams Creedence Clearwater Revival.
The Prudent Groove 