Tag Archives: music

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An Impromptu Bermuda Calypso Party

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Talbot BrosLiven up your Friday evening festivities with an impromptu Calypso party by Bermuda’s finest, The Talbot Brothers. Volume 3, featured here, is fierce, hip-swaying lightning, neatly packed inside an LP shaped bottle of rum.

Ingest a swell of this Calypso cocktail in your ear’s mouth and watch the room come to life right before your eyes. Released in 1956 on Audio Fidelity (AFLP 1807), Bermuda Calypso Party Vol. 3 leaves little to be desired, except perhaps the first two volumes. This is an outstanding album from start to finish, and comes highly recommended. Transform any social scene into an impromptu Bermuda Calypso party, with the Talbot Brothers, and please remember to listen responsibly.

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“Guaranteed Every Time”

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GR_PromoFun promo letters inside promo EPs are fun! (Especially when they’re only $1.98!) Have a read. I personally recommend all five of these releases (including the Great Five Lakes 12” keeping this little sheet of paper safe for over 16 years). Many thanks to Stephanie for the late 90’s love.

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This is…

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TimQuite possibly the most favored album in my collection, Atco Records’ 1967 released, 1963-64 recorded genius of pop music’s most overlooked son, James Timothy Hardin, This is Tim Hardin redefines perfection with each and every longing, soul-squirming spin. I can’t even begin to explore the majestic landscape that this harrowing album presents, and I’m not g’wan try. At a later date, with a much more educated mind, I’ll tackle the dynamic and vigorous layers of brilliance that this album exerts, but until then, I’ll drink my rye, and simply… enjoy.

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Waylon Live

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WaylonOk, so I’ll admit, my bashful affection towards classic country is something I’d normally stutter to admit to, but its presence, recently, has weaseled its (normally) unwelcomed way into my carefree, pleasure-driving (to and from work) odyssey.

Waylon, Willie, Johnny, and Hank (and / or Hank III) will always remain as the synonymous black sheep of my collection, and sometimes, and this is usually accompanied by a period of severe exhaustion, the shepherd needs to stray away from the neatly aligned flock to comfortably align himself (or herself) with the fresh smelling nature of tainted familiarity.

Waylon Jennings, one of the Good ol’ Boys, never meant no harm, and like with all goodhearted thieves and murderers, may very will find themselves in a predicament where the law might get ‘em, then again, the law might not get ‘em too.

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Mr. Moe Dee

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KMDIt’s a Kool Moe Dee kind of Sunday night, and you’re all invited to enjoy the rhythmic spoils of New York’s most prominent master of ceremonies. Dusting off his Trecherous Three mates (Spoonie Gee, DJ Easy Lee, L.A. Sunshine, and Special K), 1986 finds Mr. Moe Dee’s first full-length solo effort on the appropriately titled, Kool Moe Dee.

Need a sleazy, PMRC conscious, mid-80s, old school influenced, mid-school executed hip-hop album without all the calories? Try a steady diet of Kool Moe Dee, and if your Sunday evenings don’t improve after a few weeks, Go See the Doctor.

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500 Days Ago…

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Prudent_Garfunkel500 days ago…

I said to myself, “why the hell not?”

I was creatively drained, and needed a 1.21 gigawatt jolt.

I looked into the future, blindly, and saw rose-colored albums spinning on vintage turntables.

I set out to rediscover my collection, one day at a time, and I returned with a wealth of personal treasures. Thank you to all who’ve stopped by. I am forever in your debt.

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I Don’t Want the World, I just Want Your Half

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Your HalfAna Ng and I are getting old, and we still haven’t walked in the glow of each other’s majestic presence

So goes the chorus to this luxurious alt rock staple from 1989. The behemoths of the quirky clever, They Might Be Giants solidified their firm stance in the conscious of modern day audio entrepreneurs with Ana Ng, the first single off their 2nd album, Lincoln.

Ana NgIt’s understandable that TMBG are an acquired taste, but respect must be given to the longevity of their determined, recorded output. With 16 studio albums under their belt, and absolutely no sign of slowing down, the two Johns will, in my opinion, and when the final dust has calmly settled, be revered as pioneers within the global scope of modern day recorded sound. AKA, I dig ’em.

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Love You More Funny Love in the Skyline Baby

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BarrettIf 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.

SydSleeve

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Comin’ O-F-F

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OFFDJ Hurricane… The Hurra… sportin’ a Shaq jersey… circa ’95… what’s NOT to love? The longtime disc jockey for the Beastie Boys… branching out, lingering past the point of comfortability, knifing the vocal chord of his (then) creative mainstay, in lucrative, amiable fashion. Wise men need not step to The Hurra.

Released on Grand Royal, surprise, surprise, the Comin’ Off single (encompassing a total of 9 tracks), allows the sheltered talents of this functionally entertaining DJ to step into the darkened spotlight of the ever-looming B-Boy sun, and allows for personal, creative, hip-hop repression to manifest itself into a advantageous 9-track single-EP, with NBA-minded art-a-plenty.

The Hurra, certainly not favored amongst the masses, as far as hip-hop history goes, needs to be recognized as a menacing stone that need not be overturned.

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The Clash, Now in Scented Form AKA London’s Burning

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LondonBurningLondon Calling, the rank, gutter-licking, crowd-taunting, effervescent onslaught of punk rock hierarchy is finally available in candle form… oh, the progress our race has made.

This perfect, mood setting ambience will choke out any foul stench you may find the need to cover up. Accidentally burn a fish fillet and now the first floor smells like pier 39? Pick up the phone… it’s London Calling. Sever your finger while cutting the Thanksgiving turkey and wake up sticking to a pool of your own blood surrounded by the painfully sharp aroma of iron? Answer the door… it’s London Calling.

Whatever your need for a more appealing odor may be, nothing beats the classic, lingering wafts of British thugs, The Clash, and their burning torch, London Calling.

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A (Fast-Flying) Future Frankie

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FrankieWhat was scheduled to be a more tongue than cheek analysis of Frankie and the Corvettes’ 19? offering (by the same name) has yielded the necessity for a much more in-depth rockabilly / (good-time) oldies tackle than was initially conceived. Respect need be given to Frankie and the Corvettes… that much is (now) clearly understood. (I thank you for bearing with me… this was the only record whose picture I took this morning… and, yes, the piano player DOES look an awful lot like Jemaine from Flight of the Conchords.)

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With Rewards Few and Far Between

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You’d think I’d have this blog thing licked by now… 1) take a picture of a recently purchased album, a recent obsession, or on lazy days, a less-than-exciting insert, 2) find 20 minutes throughout the day to weasel out some overtly obvious tidbits, then hit Publish, and 3) feel a sense of gilded accomplishment. Seems easy enough, except when weekend work plans interfere with album photo taking plans and you miss the natural daylight and you’re forced to play the “better-figure-out-a-post-idea-with-no-adaquate-photo-before-midnight” game where the stress levels are high, and the rewards few and far between.

Guest Star RecordsSo, in that vein, here is a logo for Guest Star Records that has absolutely nothing to do with anything. Enjoy your weekend, kids.

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Pretty, No?

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Judge2There is something about the abnormality of a non-traditional vinyl disc that is both alluring, and instantly gratifying… specifically what that is will (fortunately) have to wait for a future engagement, when and where I find myself with more time and adequate resources with which to report.

But in the meantime… here is a pretty record by Judge, and please enjoy your weekend responsibly… somebody should.

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Nine Tonight

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Nine TonightIf you don’t listen to Bob Seger, with his horn-blowing, rhythm curating Silver Bullet Band, you should. Nine Tonight, a live compilation album comprised of two live performances from 80 & 81, flawlessly captures the hopped-up energy and non-assuming down-home shtick of this legend in the height of his celebrated, classic rock pilgrimage. Straightforward, certainly does not equal mundane.

There is a certain circle of classic rock bands (which, when analyzed, highlights specific albums) that embody the bulk of my early, classic-rock-stratosphere-puncturing inauguration into a wealth of audible pleasure that reached passed the (familiar) heavy wave of Bon Jovi and Def Leppard. I have my father to thank for this, and not a Bob Seger reference goes by that doesn’t remind me of riding in my father’s pickup, and listening to, among a slew of other classic rock essentials, Nine Tonight.

… that kind of music just soothes the soul…

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$12 = 12 78s

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MuddyWatersI’ve rarely, if ever, searched for 78s at record shops. Up until a few weeks ago, 78s had been the illusive blind spot in my collection’s rearview mirror. Finding the occasional (Lawrence Welk) 78 at the corner thrift shop, I got a hunch and stopped by the local b&m to see if this rickety ol’ obsolete format was still being bartered enough to possess a specific nook on the floor. After scouring the relatively small shop, I asked the cashier (read: fellow record nut) if they had a section for 78s. They did, and they were neatly tucked away in the back of the $1 bin area, a section they call “the attic.” 10 minutes later, I unearthed this 1957 copy of Chicago Blues great, Muddy Waters. Along with a few Glenn Millers, a few Les Browns, a few Woody Hermans, and a Frank Sinatra, I walked out of my local brick & mortar with 12 78s, equalling 12, happily spent dollars I’d kept tucked inside my wallet. Moral of the story… formats may be lost, but they’re never forgotten.

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Walking Contradiction

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TravisShamefully, I tend to overlook Kris Kristofferson when casually picking a record with which to spin. Last night’s viewing of Taxi Driver lit a pop-country fire under my ass, which necessitated a spin of this album, The Silver Tongued Devil and I, featured in the above mentioned film. Much too much to absorb in one sitting, the craftwork of Mr. Kristofferson’s wordplay leaves little to be desired, and creates a picturesque landscape of trials and bitter tribulations, worthy of even the walking contradictions among us. Travis Bickle would certainly approve.

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Stop Your Dreaming and Your Idle Wishing

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The DeclineMy heart belongs to the Village Green, but as of late, I’ve been waking up with the rhythmic quips of Arthur dancing merrily throughout my head.

Yes sir, no Sir. Where do I go Sir? What do I do Sir? What do I say?

Not to sound like a blemished disc, but in my humble opinion, it really doesn’t get any better than the Kinks. 1968 gave us The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society, and the world was forever grateful. 1969 brought us Arthur (or the Decline and Fall of the British Empire), and we were once again reminded of how fortunate our helpless souls really are. GOD SAVE THE KINKS!

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If Only Life Were Easy it Would Be Such Fu-u-u-un!

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Arthur1969 was a colorful year… or so I’m gathering. Fat-assed, punchy kangaroos named Arthur (with an apparent case of the dribbles), baking, medium-rare against the British sun, make for a rather kinky inner gatefold design. Had the music for Arthur (or The Decline and Fall of the British Empire) not been so impeccably genius, such mundane overindulgences may have garnished more criticism, but as it stands (or squats), this objectifiable throwaway acts more as a condiment for chuckles than an in-depth revelation of the band.

The British sun sets over many lands… as well it should. God save the Kinks!

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Burl Ives Sings Little White Duck

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The IvesFrom the big, barren beyond to the boisterous, bellowings of Burl Ives. Burl Ives Sings Little White Duck, nonetheless… (manufactured by underpaid and sleep deprived enthusiasts in Southern California… The Prudent Groove), to a room scattered with eager young minds with nothing more than the hopeful wonderment of an undeveloped mind, an acoustic guitar, and the classic Burl Ives goatee.

Burl Ives Sings Little White Duck raises more questions than the amount of entertainment it provides, but I doubt my kind is the target demographic. I’ve got a lot of respect for the man, and not just because my father sported the same goatee one year for Christmas. For me, Burl’s warming tone is reserved for the winter months, but now with this new addition, the listening radius may be expanded to those rare times when I feel compelled to relive the first grade.