Category: Music

Happy New Year, everybody. Not that there is much to be happy about. As as our great republic approaches its end, whether with a whimper or a bang remaining to be seen, Irving Berlin's "The Song is Ended" seems an appropriate way to convey the thought that happiness in the coming year is more likely to be found by an inner path.  "Take your happiness while you may." Here's a hipster version, my favorite.

Last Night, 1961, The Mar-Keys.

Last Date, 1960, Floyd Cramer. It was bliss while it lasted. You were so in love with her you couldn't see straight. But she didn't feel the same. You shuffle home, enter your lonely apartment, pour yourself a stiff one and put Floyd Cramer on the box. You were young. Custodia cordis was not in your vocabulary, let alone in your life. Years had to pass before it entered both, and serenitas cordis supervened. 

Save the Last Dance for Me, 1960, The Drifters.

At Last, Etta James.

Last Thing on My Mind, Doc Watson sings the Tom Paxton tune. A very fine version.

Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream, Simon and Garfunkel. 

Last Call, Dave van Ronk.  "If I'd been drunk when I was born, I'd be ignorant of sorrow."

(Last night I had) A Wonderful Dream, The Majors. The trick is to find in the flesh one of those dream girls. Some of us got lucky.

This night in 1985 was Rick Nelson's last: the Travelin' Man died in a plane crash. 

It's Up to You.

The Nelson sons here jam with Nelson's legendary sideman, James Burton, master of the Telecaster.

Burton with Orbison and Co. Burton cuts loose at 2:42. There ensues a duel with Bruce Springsteen.

Burton with Elvis.

Bonus: Last Chance Harvey.

Last but not least: Auld Lang Syne.

Not enough nostalgia? Try this.

Merry Christmas everybody.  Pour yourself a drink, and enjoy.  Me, I'm nursing a Boulevardier.  It's a Negroni with cojones: swap out the gin for bourbon.  One ounce bourbon, one ounce sweet vermouth, one ounce Campari, straight up or on the rocks, with a twist of orange.  A serious libation.  It'll melt a snowflake for sure. The vermouth rosso contests the harshness of the bourbon, but then the Campari joins the fight on the side of the bourbon. 

Or you  can think of it as a Manhattan wherein the Campari substitutes for the angostura bitters.  That there are people who don't like Campari shows that there is no hope for humanity. An irrational prejudice against artichokes? Razzismo vegetale!

Buffy Sainte-Marie, I'm Gonna be a Country Girl Again

Buffy seems to have got herself into a heap o' trouble making like Elizabeth 'Fauxcahontas' Warren. No time to weigh in on this tonight, but the combox is open. She had me fooled, high cheek bones and all, but I've loved her music since the far-off and fabulous '60s, and always will.

Hoyt Axton, Greenback Dollar

Nanci Griffith, Boots of Spanish Leather

16 Horsepower, Wayfaring Stranger

Stanley Bros., Rank Strangers

Bob Dylan, I am a Lonesome Hobo. Have you heard this version?

Bob Dylan, As I Went Out One Morning

Highwaymen, The City of New Orleans

Kenny Rogers, The Gambler

Buffy Sainte-Marie, Cod'ine

Bob Dylan, Only a Hobo, 1963

Highwaymen, Ghost Riders in the Sky

As the riders loped on by him
He heard one call his name
'If you wanna save your soul
From hell a-riding on our range
Then, cowboy change your ways today
Or with us you will ride
Trying to catch the devil's herd
Across these endless skies.'

We appear to be back on the Eve of Destruction.  We have Biden and his supporters to thank. Barry Maguire from 1965. 

Gene Pitney, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance. A Burt Bacharach and Hal David composition. You cannot reason with evildoers. Nor can you appeal to their (nonexistent or ill-formed) consciences. You have to outshoot them. 

Nashville Teens, Tobacco Road, 1964.  Original performed and written by J. D. Loudermilk, 1960.

Ry Cooder, My Girl Josephine

Ry Cooder, Yellow Roses. Give it a chance. The old Hank Snow tune.

Elvis, A Fool Such as I. Another Hank Snow tune.

The 14th already! October's a bird that flies too fast. Time herself's such a bird. I would freeze her flight, but not that of

Charley 'Bird' Parker, Ornithology

It's a sad October for me: my main man from college days, Thomas C. Coleman, Jr. died in September, too young, a mere 74 years of age. I left the following memorial note on his obituary page:

The news that Tom had passed hit me hard. He and I go back a long way, having met circa 1970 at LMU. Books and ideas drew us together and common interests in Nietzsche and Wagner, jazz and Kerouac. I played Sal Paradise to his Dean Moriarty except that I was the driver while he rode shotgun. I have forgotten how many trips we made up California 1 to Big Sur, Frisco, Arcata and where all else in my '63 Karmann Ghia convertible. We stayed in touch over the years with meetings in such improbable places as Fort Huachuca, Arizona where Tom was stationed for a time. We enriched each other's lives. He and I and Kerouac were 'Octoberites' to use a word Tom coined. I'll honor his memory this October by re-reading our correspondence and recalling our adventures. My condolences to his family, friends, Army buddies, and all who knew him.

Jack Kerouac and Steve Allen, Charlie Parker

Kerouac and Allen, October in the Railroad Earth

Jack Kerouac, San Francisco

Mose Allison, Parchman Farm.

This one goes out to Tom Gastineau, keyboard man in our band Dudley Nightshade, who introduced me to Mose Allison in the late '60s. Tom went on to make it, more or less, in the music business. I caught Allison at The Lighthouse in Hermosa Beach, California, a couple or three times before I headed East in August of '73.  Heard him on the East Coast as well at a joint in Marblehead, Mass. with a girlfriend  I dubbed 'Springtime Mary'  which was Kerouac's name for his girlfriend Mary Carney.

Mose Allison, Young Man's Blues

Mose Allison, I Ain't Got Nothing but the Blues

Dave Brubeck, Blue Rondo al a Turk

Herbie Hancock, Watermelon Man

Chiffons, One Fine Day

Ruby and the Romantics, Our Day Will Come

Derek and Dominos, It's Too Late She's Gone. Studio version.

Chuck Willis original, 1956

Robert Johnson, 1937, Four Until Late. Cream version.

Hoyt Axton, Greenback Dollar

Austin James, Last Silver Dollar

Randy Newman, Short People

Dionne Warwick, Take the Short Way Home

Some of them, just a few, in keeping with my Summer Slowdown of '23. More later.

Lovin' Spoonful, Summer in the City, 1966, with period-appropriate video.

Joe Cocker cover.

Johnny Rivers, Summer Rain

Bob Dylan, Summer Days

Eddie Cochran, Summertime Blues, 1959

From great music, music that appeals to the highest in us (Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, Mozart and a few others) to the people's music. My German neighbor when I lived in Freiburg im Breisgau, Frau Schmidt, upon hearing the strains of Beethoven, let loose with the expletive, Scheissmusik! There is no disputing (lack of) taste.

Hank Williams, You Win Again, 1952.  Jerry Lee Lewis' 1979 interpretation. Flashy, but lacks the authenticity of the original.

Emmy Lou Harris, If I Could Only Win Your Love

Allman Bros., Win, Lose or Draw

Beatles, You're Gonna Lose that Girl

Beatles, I'm a Loser

Hank Williams, Lost Highway

So boys don't you start your ramblin' around/ On this road of sin are you sorrow bound/ Take my  advice or you'll curse the day/ You started rollin' down that lost highway.

Tom Petty pays tribute to Hank.

Marty Robbins, Born to Lose

Steely Dan, Rikki Don't Lose that Number.   Great guitar solo.  It starts at 2:56.

New Lost City Ramblers, If I Lose, I Don't Care

Brenda Lee, Losing You

It transpired 56 summers ago, this June, the granddaddy of rock festivals, two years before Woodstock, in what is known as the Summer of Love. Your humble correspondent was on the scene. Some high school friends and I drove up from Los Angeles along Pacific Coast Highway. I can still call up olfactory memories of patchouli, sandalwood incense, not to mention the aroma of what was variously known as cannabis sativa, marijuana, reefer, tea, Miss Green, mary jane, pot, weed, grass, pacalolo (Hawaiian term), loco weed, and just plain dope. But my friends and I, students at an all-boys Catholic high school that enforced a strict dress code, were fairly straight: we partook of no orgies, smoked no dope, and slept in a motel. The wild stuff came later in our lives, when we were better able to handle it.

I have in my hand the program book of the Festival, in mint condition. Do I hear $1,000? On the first page there is a quotation from Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice:

I'm a serious man, as serious as cancer some would say. But it's Saturday night, a night on which I allow myself a drink or two and some nostalgic indulgence.  Tonight, the unseriousness of nonsense titles and lyrics.

The Rivingtons, Papa Oom Mow Mow

The Trashmen, The Bird is the Word. It is not about Bird's Opening. A partial rip-off of the Rivingtons. Cultural appropriation?

Shirley Ellis, The Nitty Gritty 

Shirley Ellis, The Name Game, long version. You didn't know there was a long version? Another reason you need my blog.

The Crystals, Da Doo Ron Ron 

Captain Beefheart, Abba Zaba. I'd like to see a transcription of these lyrics. California's Mojave desert can do some strange things to your head.

Manfred Mann, Doo Wah Diddy Diddy

Arthur "Blind" Blake, Diddy Wah Diddy, 1929.  Very nice guitar work. "I wish someone would tell me what 'Diddy Wah Diddy' means."

Little Richard, Tutti Frutti

The Chips, Rubber Biscuit, 1956

Beatles, Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da

Eric Clapton, Hootchie Kootchie Man. This one goes out to Ed Buckner.  Solo starts at 2:45. Cultural appropriation at its finest.