Music – Page 16 – Maverick Philosopher

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Memorable ’60s Instrumentals

Phil Upchurch Combo, You Can't Sit Down, 1961

Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, The Lonely Bull, 1962

Booker T. and the M. G. s, Green Onions

The Tornados, Telstar, 1962. About the first telecommunications satellite.

Mason Williams, Classical Gas, 1968

Michael Bloomfield, Carmelita's Skiffle, 1969

Dick Dale. Let's Go Trippin,' 1961. Not about drugs; pre-psychedelic.

Dave Brubeck, Take Five

The Shadows, Apache, 1960

Lonnie Mack, Memphis, 1963

Ventures, Penetration, 1963. Cheesy version. Much better 1981 version. Still boring.

Ventures, Walk Don't Run, 1960.

Jorma Kaukonen's Embryonic Journey from The Jefferson Airplane's Surrealistic Pillow LP, 1967.

Bent Fabric, Alley Cat, 1962.

The Village Stompers, Washington Square, 1963.

Kenny Ball, Midnight in Moscow, 1962.

David Rose, The Stripper, 1962.

Acker Bilk, Stranger on the Shore, 1962.

Dick Dale and the Deltones, Misirlou, 1963. If surf music had a father, Dick Dale was the man.

The Chantays, Pipeline, 1963. A nice college boy effort, but the definitive version is the Dick Dale and Stevie Ray Vaughan cover.

Floyd Cramer, Last Date, 1960. She was the world to you, but your love went unrequited. You've just seen her for the last time. But she'll haunt your dreams for the rest of your life. You stumble back to your apartment, fighting back the tears, pour yourself a stiff one, and cue up Floyd Cramer. But time passes, and soon with Floyd's help, you are

On the Rebound, 1961.

Al Kooper and Michael Bloomfield, Albert's Shuffle, 1968. Two Jews play the blues. A fine example of cultural appropriation. We need more cultural appropriation.

Duane Eddy, Raunchy, 1963

The Champs, Tequila, pre-'60s, 1958, to be exact. And not entirely instrumental. The lyrics consist of one word-type 'Tequila' tokened three times. Tequila is what I am drinking right now and what my 1966 self is playing below at a high school talent show. I'm wearing a Bob Dylan-type cap.

From a long-time reader:

Your 'Sat nite oldies' this evening was a great head-trip for me; you hit a lot of buttons, reminded me of a few girls, and some easy days of summer with Booker T. and Bent Fabric; also at that time,

"Midnight in Moscow" just flat ruined me for other music for a year or so – it produced in me a heady mix of scandal, sin, sex, high excitement, I was ready to go to any place that resembled that music. I'd never seen a strip show, but 'The Stripper' – just the music – at that time made me think I'd maybe been missing a good time. I missed too many, as an aside.

Yeah, once wept in my beer to good ol' Floyd too: some dame? (I was going to say 'some girl' but 'dame' seems to fit better with beer and weeping. Hmmm….'broad' even better? Must think deeply on this.)

I would toast 'Tequila' with you but there's none of the noble drop about. I hope you are enjoying yours, and thinking fondly about that talent show – great pic!

To avoid a longish ramble, upon which I am on the verge (intentionally mangled verbiage there :-)) – I'll say goodnight. Goodnight, Mate! Thanks for a good 'Oldies.'

Sunday Night at the Oldies: “We Didn’t Start the Fire” Cultural Literacy Test

Karl White recommends Billy Joel, We Didn't Start the Fire.

The lyrics make for a good cultural literacy test. Can you identify all of the people, places, things, events, etc.?

Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnnie Ray
South Pacific, Walter Winchell, Joe DiMaggio
Joe McCarthy, Richard Nixon, Studebaker, Television
North Korea, South Korea, Marilyn Monroe

Rosenbergs, H-Bomb, Sugar Ray, Panmunjom
Brando, The King And I, and The Catcher In The Rye
Eisenhower, Vaccine, England's got a new queen
Marciano, Liberace, Santayana goodbye

We didn't start the fire
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
No, we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it

Joseph Stalin, Malenkov, Nasser and Prokofiev
Rockefeller, Campanella, Communist Bloc
Roy Cohn, Juan Peron, Toscanini, Dacron
Dien Bien Phu Falls, Rock Around the Clock
Einstein, James Dean, Brooklyn's got a winning team
Davy Crockett, Peter Pan, Elvis Presley, Disneyland
Bardot, Budapest, Alabama, Khrushchev
Princess Grace, Peyton Place, Trouble in the Suez

We didn't start the fire
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
No, we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it

Little Rock, Pasternak, Mickey Mantle, Kerouac
Sputnik, Chou En-Lai, Bridge On The River Kwai
Lebanon, Charles de Gaulle, California baseball
Starkweather Homicide, Children of Thalidomide…

Buddy Holly, Ben-Hur, Space Monkey, Mafia
Hula Hoops, Castro, Edsel is a no-go
U-2, Syngman Rhee, payola and Kennedy
Chubby Checker, Psycho, Belgians in the Congo

We didn't start the fire
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
No, we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it

Hemingway, Eichmann, Stranger in a Strange Land
Dylan, Berlin, Bay of Pigs invasion
Lawrence of Arabia, British Beatlemania
Ole Miss, John Glenn, Liston beats Patterson

Pope Paul, Malcolm X, British Politician Sex
J.F.K. blown away, what else do I have to say?

We didn't start the fire
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
No, we didn't light it
But we tried to fight it

Birth control, Ho Chi Minh, Richard Nixon back again
Moonshot, Woodstock, Watergate, punk rock
Begin, Reagan, Palestine, Terror on the airline
Ayatollah's in Iran, Russians in Afghanistan
Wheel of Fortune, Sally Ride, heavy metal, suicide
Foreign debts, homeless Vets, AIDS, Crack, Bernie Goetz
Hypodermics on the shores, China's under martial law
Rock and Roller Cola wars, I can't take it anymore

We didn't start the fire
It was always burning
Since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
But when we are gone
It will still burn on and on and on and on
And on and on and on and on…

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Dylan on Rick Nelson and James Burton

Bob Dylan, Chronicles, Volume One (Simon and Shuster, 2004), p. 13:

He was different from the rest of the teen idols, had a great guitarist who played like a cross between a honky-tonk hero and a barn-dance fiddler. Nelson had never been a bold innovator like the early singers who sang like they were navigating burning ships. He didn't sing desperately, do a lot of damage, and you'd never mistake him for a shaman.

Nosiree, Bob, no shaman was he. There is more interesting material on Nelson in the vicinity of this excerpt. Dylan discusses Ricky Nelson in connection with his 1961 hit, Travelin' Man. But the great guitar work of James Burton to which Dylan alludes was much more in evidence in Hello Mary Lou. The Dylan Chronicles look like they will hold the interest of this old 60's Dylan fanatic.

Here is a better taste of James Burton and his Fender Telecaster with E. P. And here he is with the Big O dueling with Springsteen. Here he jams with Nelson's sons. Orbison on Nelson.

It has been over thirty years now since Nelson died in a plane crash while touring. The plane, purchased from Jerry Lee Lewis, went down on New Year's Eve 1985. That travelin' man died with his boots on — as I suspect he would have wanted to. In an interview in 1977 he said that he could not see himself growing old.

Be careful what you wish for.

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Varia

I post what I like and I like what I post.

Barrett Strong, Money. Flying Lizards' parody.

Buckwheat Zydeco, Jackpot

Dolly Parton, Silver Dagger. Great version, but then so is Joan Baez's.

Elmore James, Dust My Broom

Since 1992, the most beat-to-crap broom on my premises was always given the name, 'Hillary's Broom.' "Wifey, hand me Hillary's Broom. I got me a dirty job to do."

Canned Heat, Dust My Broom

Ella Mae Morse (1945), The House of Blue Lights. Shows that 'square' and 'daddy-o' and 'dig' were already in use in the '40s. I had been laboring under the misapprehension that this patois first surfaced in Beat/Beatnik circles in the '50s.

Bonnie Owens, Philadelphia Lawyer

Curtis Lee, Pretty Little Angel Eyes (the original!) This one goes out to wifey with love.

Curtis Edwin Lee, one-hit wonder, hailed from Yuma, Arizona. He died at 75 years of age on 8 January 2015. Obituary here. His signature number became a hit in 1961, reaching the #7 slot on the Billboard Hot 100. The record was produced by the legendary Phil Spector, No wonder it is so good. After the limelight, Lee returned to Yuma for a normal life.

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Varia

Joe Satriani, May This be Love (Waterfall). The Hendrix tune, masterfully done on acoustic guitars.

Doc Watson, Moody River

Dick Dale and the Deltones, Misirlou. Before Clapton, before Bloomfield, my first guitar hero. "King of the Surf Guitar." Pipeline (with Stevie Ray Vaughan). Nitro (with So Cal scenes). Let's Go Trippin', 1961. Not a drug reference. Pre-LSD. The first surf instrumental?

Cowboy Jack Clement, A Girl I Used to Know

Freddy Fender, Cielito Lindo. Tex-Mex version of a very old song.

Marty Robbins, La Paloma. Another old song dating back to 1861.

Barbara Lewis, Hello Stranger, 1963. 1963 was arguably the best of the '60s years for pop compositions.

Emmylou Harris, Hello Stranger. Same title, different song. This one goes out to Mary Kay F-D. Remember the Fall of 1980, Mary Kay?

Get up, rounder/Let a working girl lie down/ You are rounder/And you are all out and down.

Carter Family version from 1939.

Joan Baez, Daddy, You've Been on My Mind. The voice of an angel, the words of a poet, and Bruce Langhorne's guitar.

Joan Baez, It's All Over Now, Baby Blue. The voice of an angel, the words of a poet, and Langhorne's guitar.

Joan Baez, A Hard Rain's A Gonna Fall. The voice of an angel, the words of a poet, and Langhorne's guitar. The incredible mood of this version, especially the intro, is made by Langhorne and the bass of Russ Savakus, another well-known session player from those days. I've been listening to this song since '65 and it gives me chills every time.

Carolyn Hester, I'll Fly Away. Dylan on harp, a little rough and ragged. Langhorne on guitar? Not sure.

Joan Baez and her sister, Mimi Farina, Catch the Wind. Fabulous.

Joan Baez, Boots of Spanish Leather. Nanci Griffith also does a good job with this Dylan classic.

Betty Everett, You're No Good, 1963. More soulful than the 1975 Linda Ronstadt version.

The Ikettes, I'm Blue, 1962.

Lee Dorsey, Ya Ya, 1961. Simplicity itself. Three chords. I-IV-V progression. No bridge.

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Kerouac Goes Home in October

Jack Kerouac quit the mortal coil 49 years ago tomorrow, securing his release from the samsaric wheel of the quivering meat conception, and the granting of his wish:

The wheel of the quivering meat conception . . . . . . I wish I was free of that slaving meat wheel and safe in heaven dead. (Mexico City Blues, 1959, 211th Chorus).

The Last Interview, 12 October 1969. "I'm not a beatnik. I'm a Catholic." "I just sneak into church now, at dusk, at vespers. But yeah, as you get older you get more . . . genealogical."

As much of a screw-up and sinner as he was, as irresponsible, self-indulgent, and self-destructive, Kerouac was a deeply religious man. He went through a Buddhist phase, but at the end he came home to Catholicism.

"Everybody goes home in October." (On the Road, Part I, Ch. 14, Para 1) Here's the whole paragraph:

At dawn my bus was zooming across the Arizona desert — Indio, Blythe, Salome (where she danced); the great dry stretches leading to Mexican mountains in the south. Then we swung north to the Arizona mountains, Flagstaff, clifftowns. I had a book with me I stole from a Hollywood stall, "Le Grand Meaulnes" by Alain-Fournier, but I preferred reading the American landscape as we went along. Every bump, rise, and stretch in it mystified my longing. In inky night we crossed New Mexico; at gray dawn it was Dalhart, Texas; in the bleak Sunday afternoon we rode through one Oklahoma flat-town after another; at nightfall it was Kansas. The bus roared on. I was going home in October. Everybody goes home in October.

"Pretty girls make graves." (Dharma Bums)

Jack Kerouac, Desolation Angels (G. P. Putnam 1965), p. 48:

Outside it's October night in Manhattan and on the waterfront wholesale markets there are barrels with fires left burning in them by the longshoremen where I stop and warm my hands and take a nip two nips from the bottle and hear the bvoom of ships in the channel and I look up and there, the same stars as over Lowell, October, old melancholy October, tender and loving and sad, and it will all tie up eventually into a perfect posy of love I think and I shall present it to Tathagata, my Lord, to God, saying "Lord Thou didst exult — and praise be You for showing me how You did it — Lord now I'm ready for more — And this time I won't whine — This time I'll keep my mind clear on the fact that it is Thy Empty Forms."

. . . This world, the palpable thought of God . . . [ellipsis in original]

Alela Diane, We Are Nothing

Jack Kerouac, Tristessa (written 1955-56, first published in 1960), p. 59:

Since beginningless time and into the never-ending future, men have loved women without telling them, and the Lord has loved them without telling, and the void is not the void because there's nothing to be empty of.

Henry Mancini, Moon River. Video with shots of Rita Hayworth. YouTuber comment: indimenticabile Rita, stupenda Rita, vivi nei nostri ricordi, vivi nei nostri cuori. This was Jack Kerouac's favorite song. Ellis Amburn, Subterranean Kerouac (St. Martin's 1998), p. 324:

One night he [Kerouac, during a 1962 visit to Lowell, Mass.] left a bar called Chuck's with Huck Finneral, a reedy, behatted eccentric who carried a business card that read: "Professional killer . . . virgins fixed . . . orgies organized, dinosaurs neutered, contracts & leases broken." Huck's philosophy of life was: "Better a wise madness than a foolish sanity." They drove to a friend's house in Merrimack, New Hampshire, and on the way, Jack sang "Moon River," calling it his favorite song. Composed by Henry Mancini and Johnny Mercer, "Moon River" was the theme song of the popular Audrey Hepburn movie Breakfast at Tiffany's. Sobbed by a harmonica, later swelling with strings and chorus, the plaintive tune's gentle but epic-like lyrics describe a dreamer and roamer not unlike Kerouac.

Indeed they do. A restless dreamer, a lonesome traveller, a dharma seeker, a desolation angel passing through this vale of mist, a drifter on the river of samsara hoping one day to cross to the Far Shore.

Jay Farrar and Ben Gibbard, California Zephyr

10,000 Maniacs, Hey Jack Kerouac

Tom Waits, Jack Kerouac on the Road!!

Aztec Two-Step, The Persecution and Restoration of Dean Moriarty

Some readings:

Jack Kerouac, Mexico City Blues, 228th Chorus

Jack Kerouac, Safe in Heaven, Dead. Good sound quality. "I wish I was free of that slaving meat wheel, safe in heaven, dead."

Jack Kerouac, Charlie Parker. "Charlie, Parker, lay the bane off me, and everybody."

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Tom Merton, Baez, Dylan, and Ry Cooder

Thomas Merton, though 51 years old in 1966, was wide open to the '60s Zeitgeist – all of it. The Journals of Thomas Merton, Volume Six, p. 93, entry of 10 July 1966:

Borrowed a record player and played Joan Baez over again — and now really know "Silver Dagger" (before I had the melody confused with "East Virginia"). One record I like more and more is Bob Dylan's Highway 61 [Revisited].

On p. 324, Merton references Dylan's Ballad of a Thin Man.

In the same volume we find "A Midsummer Diary for M" and on p. 305:

All the love and death in me are at the moment wound up in Joan Baez's song, "Silver Dagger." I can't get it out of my head, day or night. I am obsessed with it. My whole being is saturated with it. The song is myself — and yourself for me, in a way.

Ry Cooder, He'll Have to Go. The old 1960 Jim Reeves country crossover hit.

Ry Cooder, Good Night Irene. Leadbelly. Eric Clapton's rendition at a 1982 English Christmas party.

Ry Cooder, Yellow Roses. The old Hank Snow tune.

Ry Cooder, Maria Elena. An old standard from circa 1932.

Ry Cooder, Paris, Texas. Excellent evocative video. Great YouTuber comment:

Man I have been gone way too long. I miss America, the open road, the wild west. I remember staying in hotels with just a dozen rooms or so, and only maybe four of them in operation. Twenty seven bucks and bed springs so squeaky we had to make love on the floor. Walking out to the pay phone, a billion stars in the sky, I need to try and find my way back again.

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Ramblin’ Elliot Charles Adnopoz

David Dalton, Who is That Man? In Search of the Real Bob Dylan, Hyperion, 2012, p. 65:

As Dave van Ronk pointed out in his autobiography, many of the people involved in the first folk revival of the 1930s and '40s were Jewish — as were the folkies of the '60s. Van Ronk reasoned that for Jews, belonging to a movement centered on American traditional music was a form of belonging and assimilation.

[. . .]

"The revelation that Jack [Elliot] was Jewish was vouchsafed unto Bobby one afternoon at the Figaro," Van Ronk recalled. "We were sitting around shooting the bull with Barry Kornfeld and maybe a couple of other people and somehow it came out that Jack had grown up in Ocean Parkway and was named Elliot Adnopoz. Bobby literally fell off his chair; he was rolling around on the floor, and it took him a couple of minutes to pull himself together and get up again. Then Barry, who can be diabolical in things like this, leaned over to him and just whispered the word 'Adnopoz' and back he went under the table."

Lacking as it does the proper American cowboy resonance, 'Elliot Charles Adnopoz' was ditched by its bearer who came to call himself 'Ramblin' Jack Elliot.' Born in 1931 in Brooklyn to Jewish parents who wanted him to become a doctor, young Adnopoz rebelled, ran away, and became a protege of Woody Guthrie. If it weren't for Ramblin' Jack, Guthrie would be nowhere near as well-known as he is today.

Pretty Boy Floyd. "As through this life you ramble, as through this life you roam/You'll never see an outlaw drive a family from their home." No? An example of the tendency of lefties invariably to take the side of the underdog regardless of whether right or wrong.

Ramblin' Jack does a haunting version of Dylan's Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues. It grows on you. Give it a chance. Cigarettes and Whisky and Wild Woman. Soul of a Man. Dylan's unforgettable, Don't Think Twice. Here he is with Joan Baez, Leonard Cohen, Buffy Sainte Marie singing the beautiful, Passing Through.

Lyrics below the fold.

Continue reading “Saturday Night at the Oldies: Ramblin’ Elliot Charles Adnopoz”

Saturday Night at the Oldies: September Songs

But first the absolute best version of Dylan's From a Buick Six just to get your blood up. But now that Gary U. S. Bond is in the house, here is Twist, Twist, Senora with a trio of 1940s dancing girls. New Orleans, live, with Jeff Beck.

…………………..

September ends. A transitional month leading from hot August to glorious October, Kerouac month in the MavPhil 'liturgy.'

Dinah Washington, September in the Rain

Rod Stewart, Maggie May. "Wake up Maggie, I think I got something to say to you/It's late September and I really should be back at school."

Carole King, It Might as Well Rain Until September

Frank Sinatra, September of My Years

George Shearing, September in the Rain

Walter Huston, September Song

This from a London reader:

Thanks for linking to the George Shearing ‘September’. I had forgotten he grew up in London (in Battersea, just down the road from me). I love the Bird-like flights on the piano. Indeed I think he wrote ‘Lullaby of Birdland’. Another Londoner is Helen Shapiro who does a great version of ‘It might as well rain until September’ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=De0_zZ7qQDA. Great alto voice, never made it in the US as far as I know.

I was first hipped to Shearing by Kerouac who referred to him in On the Road. I too love the 'Bird'-like flights on the piano. The allusion is to Charley 'Bird' Parker, also beloved of Kerouac. (Kerouac month hereabouts starts Monday.) Helen Shapiro is new to me, thanks. She does a great job with the Carole King composition. Believe it or not, King's version is a demo. That's one hell of a demo. A YouTuber points out that Shapiro was not part of the 1964 'British Invasion.' I wonder why.

UPDATE (9/30).

Jim Soriano recommends Try to Remember — which I had forgotten.

UPDATE (10/2)

Mark Anderson introduces me to Big Star, September Gurls. Nice clangy, jangling guitar work reminiscent of the Byrds and some Beatle cuts. Wikipedia article. Which Beatle cuts?

Well, Rain is one, And Your Bird Can Sing is another. Wow! I forgot how good these songs are.

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Dion DiMucci

The guy has amazing staying power, and in his 70s he still looks and sounds damn good in live performances. Here he is in 2004 singing I Wonder Why.

How can an old man still sing a heart-felt Teenager in Love? Because some of us old men still have young yearning hearts.

In an interview he said something like, "You need to marry a girl who will take you to heaven." Good advice; men need no assistance moving in the opposite direction.

Every red-blooded American male of a certain age can relate to his signature number, The Wanderer, which rose to the number #2 slot in 1961. Wikipedia:

Dion said of "The Wanderer":^[2]

At its roots, it's more than meets the eye. "The Wanderer" is black music filtered through an Italian neighborhood that comes out with an attitude. It's my perception of a lot of songs like "I'm A Man" by Bo Diddley or "Hoochie Coochie Man" by Muddy Waters. But you know, "The Wanderer" is really a sad song. A lot of guys don't understand that. Bruce Springsteen was the only guy who accurately expressed what that song was about. It's "I roam from town to town and go through life without a care, I'm as happy as a clown with my two fists of iron, but I'm going nowhere." In the Fifties, you didn't get that dark. It sounds like a lot of fun but it's about going nowhere.

The song may be superficial in its nonchalant machismo, but the man is not. He managed to negotiate the snares of stardom and wander back to the faith of his childhood via a Protestant detour thanks mainly to his religious experiences:

I was the first rock and roll artist signed to Columbia Records and naturally, expectations ran high. No expense was spared and no excuses accepted. This was the big time. I was getting $100,000 a year guaranteed — whether I sold a record or not. “Ruby Baby” and “Donna the Primadonna” were a great down payment: they went Top 5.

Still, even with that success, I was at an all time mental and spiritual bottom. Out of depression, we moved to Miami, looking for a fresh start. There, I would have the surprise of my life: I got to see God work through my father-in-law, Jack. Jack helped fan into flames the gift of God that was in me through the laying on of hands at my confirmation. I said a prayer one night there in Jack’s home: “God I need your help.” I was delivered from the obsession to drink and drug; it was just lifted off me like a weight. On that day, April 1, 1968, I became aware of God’s power, even before I became aware of His reality.

I entered a spiritual-based 12-step program and grew in these disciplines. Six months later, at the age of 28, I released one of the biggest records of my career — “Abraham, Martin and John.” It became an anthem.

But my biggest moment was to come. On December 14, 1979, I went out jogging, like I did every morning. It was a time when I could be alone with my thoughts — thinking about the past, thinking about the future. There was a lot going on in me then, a mid-life crisis, or something. My emotions were everywhere. In the middle of that confusion, all I could pray was “God, it would be nice to be closer to you.” That’s all it took.

I was flooded with white light. It was everywhere, inside me, outside me — everywhere. At that moment, things were different between me and God. He’d broken down the wall. Ahead of me, I saw a man with His arms outstretched. “I love you,” He said. “Don’t you know that? I’m your friend. I laid down My life for you. I’m here for you now.” I looked behind me, because I knew I’d left something behind on that road. Some part of me that I no longer wanted. Let the road have it; I didn’t need it anymore.

God changed my life that morning, and things have never been the same.

Rest of the story here. Here he is not with the Belmonts but with some female back-up singers in a tune from 1960 that is ignored by the oldies stations. I heard it from the radio of a '56 Ford when I was ten and I loved it. My mother hated it.

Recently, Dion has been digging back into the roots of rock and roll.

If I had Possession over Judgment Day. Robert Johnson did it first in 1936. A Clapton version.

Who Do You Love

Nadine

UPDATE 9/22. Vito Caiati writes,

I loved your post on Dion, who grew up in the same neighborhood, the Belmont Avenue section of the Bronx, and parish, Our Lady of Mount Carmel (I was born next door to the church), as me. When I was entering my teens, he was already a success, and my girl cousins were crazy about him. He was sometimes spotted driving some sporty car, which was enough to send them into ecstasy. Many of my male cousins shared his early views on religion: "Catholicism seemed suited for old women and sissies. Real men didn’t need it." I was an oddity, since I took it so seriously. His story of finding faith is moving. He ended up in a good place.

And now we know why the Belmonts we so-called.

As for religion, I am always surprised at how readily and uncritically people accept the superficially plausible view that religion continues to exist only because of old ladies, children, sissies, and the crafty priests who get hold of gullible children and stuff their heads with superstitious lore in order to keep afloat their organizational hustle.

I am reminded of Jesse Ventura who some years ago offered that "Religion is for the weak." Many took umbrage and contradicted him.

But of course he was right. Religion is for the weak. Ventura merely failed to note the obvious: we are all weak and need help that we cannot provide for ourselves.

I develop the thought in Is Religion for the Weak?

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Cats

Before we get on to tonight's feature presentation, a little tribute to John McCain. Here he is in Bomb Iran. But the old neocon needs a history lesson. The Regents did it first, in 1961, before the Beach Boys covered it in '65. The Regents in their dotage, live. "I tried Peggy Sue, but I knew she wouldn't do."

……………………….

Loving Spoonful, Nashville Cats, 1966. They's playin' since they's babies.

Harry Chapin, Cat's in the Cradle. For you fathers out there. Bond with your son when he's five. Wait till he's 50 and he won't give you the time of day. Harry Chapin was a major talent who died young. Here is his great Taxi. We Boomers are damned lucky to have the greatest popular music soundtrack.

What Happened to Harry Chapin?

Tokens, The Lion Sleeps Tonight, 1961

Bent Fabric, Alley Cat, 1962. Bent fabric can be said to have a kink in it. Therefore,

Kinks, Phenomenal Cat

Tom Jones, What's New Pussycat? 1965.

Norma Tanega, Walkin' My Cat Named 'Dog.' The queen of the one-hit wonders?

Mongo Santamaria, El Pussycat. If you remember this one, I'll buy you a pussyhat and a watermelon. While we have Mongo Santamaria cued up, here is his rather better-known Watermelon Man, muchachos.

Buck Owens, Tiger by the tail. This one goes out to Kathy P.

Stray Cats, Stray Cat Strut

Sue Thompson, Paper Tiger, 1965. This one's for Barack "Red Line" Obama.

Elton John, Honky Cat, 1972

Robert Petway, Catfish Blues, 1941. An influential song in the history of the blues.

Rooftop Singers, Tom Cat. From those far-off and fabulous hootenanny days.

UPDATE (9/16).

Mendocino Joe wisely recommends Ring-Tail Tom.

UPDATE (9/17),

Monterey Tom, displaying good taste, as usual, reminds me of Laura Nyro's Tom Cat Goodbye.

Saturday Night at the Oldies: The Brown-Eyed Girls

Summer subsides once again into the sweetness of September.

Judy Collins, Cravings: How I Conquered Food, Doubleday 2017, pp. 112-113:

. . . and writing Albert Grossmann that no, I did not want to join a trio of women he was bent on calling the Brown-Eyed Girls. He had put Peter, Paul and Mary together, telling me that I was the fallback choice if Mary hadn't worked out. Albert saw how I was struggling and didn't think I could make it on my own, hence the trio idea. It was to be me, Judy Henske and Jo Mapes. He told me he would get me brown contacts, his idea of a joke — Henske had brown eyes and Mapes and I would have to get brown contacts. I had agreed hastily — after all, he had made Peter, Paul and Mary into an international franchise. Now I changed my yes to a no. I would go it on my own, no matter what. I was going to do it my way or die trying.

Way to go, Judy. You pulled it off and beat your addictions as well.

Judy Collins, Both Sides Now. Wonderful. My favorite version, however, is that of Dave van Ronk and the Hudson Dusters.

Judy Collins, Someday Soon

Judy Collins, Amazing Grace

Judy Henske, High Flying Bird

Judy Henske, Any Day Now

Judy Henske, Till the Real Thing Comes Along

Jo Mapes, You Were on My Mind. Beautiful, but takes a little getting used to if you are coming at it from the We Five hit version. Ian and Sylvia have a great version.

Jo Mapes, No One to Talk My Troubles To

Bonus cut: Iris Dement and friends, Will the Circle be Unbroken. Wow.

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Destinations and How to Get There

I got 'em all. How about you?

Graphic credit. HT: Ingvarius Maximus of Alhambra

Gladys Knight and the Pips, Night Train to Georgia

Monkees, Last Train to Clarksville

Led Zeppelin, Stairway to Heaven

AC/DC, Highway to Hell

Eagles, Hotel California

Wilbert Harrison, Kansas City

The Bonny Banks O' Loch Lomond

James Taylor, Carolina in my Mind

Eddie Money, Two Tickets to Paradise

Steve Miller Band, Fly Like an Eagle

Grateful Dead, Casey Jones

Johnny Horton, The Battle of New Orleans

Brewer and Shipley, One Toke Over the Line

Dave Dudley, Six Days on the Road

Beatles, Yellow Submarine

Ramblin' Tommy Scott, She'll Be Coming Around the Mountain When She Comes

Peter, Paul and Mary, Puff the Magic Dragon

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Help

Canned Heat, Help Me.

"Help me consolate my weary mind." I love that 'consolate.' Alan 'Blind Owl' Wilson at his best. I saw him and the boys at the Kaleidoscope in Hollywood in 1968. Wilson was a tortured soul and ended up a member of the 27 Club. He quit the sublunary sphere on 3 September 1970.

Aficionados of that time and place will want to read Canned Heat: The Twisted Tale of Blind Owl and the Bear.

Johnny Cash, Help Me.

Beach Boys, Help Me, Rhonda

Hank Williams, I Can't Help it If I'm Still in Love with You

Ringo Starr, With a Little Help from My Friends

Elvis Presley, Can't Help Falling in Love

Highwaymen, Help Me Make it Through the Night

Joni Mitchell, Help Me

Hank Locklin, Please Help Me, I'm Falling

Here is Skeeter Davis' answer to Hank.

Saturday Night at the Oldies: The Worst Song and Singer Ever?

Yoko Ono. The only thing good about it is that it lasts only 44 seconds. YouTuber comment: "Sounds like a cat, with its nuts trapped in a vice."

Warzone is less awful, but still crap.

Paul McCartney's comment: Get back, Jojo (Yoko), get back to where you once belonged. Go home. Wikipedia:

In an interview in Playboy magazine in 1980, Lennon described "Get Back" as "… a better version of 'Lady Madonna'. You know, a potboiler rewrite." Lennon also said that "there's some underlying thing about Yoko in there", saying that McCartney looked at Yoko Ono in the studio every time he sang "Get back to where you once belonged."^[7]