Weekend Listomania: Special "The Red Sea Pedestrians of Xmas" Edition

[I posted the original version of this back in 2008(!) and oy gevalt, just kill me now. It struck me as still relevant, however, so I've done a little rewriting, changed the critical parameters and swapped a couple of new entries in. Enjoy, and Happy Holidays. -- S.S.]

Okay, it's the second day of Christmanukkah, and you know what that means.

Well, actually, no. At least, I don't know what that means.

So, that being the case -- we probably should get immediately to the business at hand. To wit:

BEST OR WORST POST-ELVIS CHRISTMAS SONG OR RECORD WRITTEN OR PERFORMED BY A LADY OR GENTLEMAN OF THE HEBRAIC PERSUASION!!!

No arbitrary rules, although -- obviously -- if you nominate the Velvet Frog and that song of his whose name I won't mention, I will come to your house and pummel you with a large gingerbread pastry.

Okay, and my Totally Top of My Head Top Seven (not quite enough for a Minyan) is/are:

7. Randy Newman -- Christmas in Cape Town

A song about exactly what its title suggests, and for once Newman isn't being ironic or snarky.

6. Neil Diamond -- Happy Christmas (War Is Over)

Obviously, a Diamond and peace is a twofer.

5. Carly Simon -- God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

Hey -- if I had found Carly under my Hanukkah bush, I could have died a happy guy.

4. Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme -- Santa Claus is Coming to Town

Another twofer -- to my surprise, I just discovered that Eydie, who I had always assumed was Greek, was actually a nice Jewish girl.

3. Neil Sedaka -- What Child Is This?

Any other song on his Christmas album would work as well. Or not. If you know what I mean. 😎

2. Barbra Streisand -- Jingle Bells

How do you say "words fail me" in Yiddish?

And the number one Jews of Christmas ditty, like you thought it was something else, obviously is --

1. Lou Reed -- Xmas in February

One of the darkest songs from the great New York album, but hey -- consider it this Listomania's equivalent of a lump of musical coal in your stocking.

Alrighty then -- what would YOUR choices be?

And have a great weekend, everybody!!!

Closed for (Early Hanukkah) Monkey Business

Recovering from old-guy holiday stress.

The good news is -- a coveted PowerPop No-Prize© will be awarded to the first reader who guesses today's title's relevance to the musical theme of tomorrow's Weekend Listomania. 😎

It’s Christmas Day — How Do You Say “Bah, Humbug!” In Yiddish?

Seriously, I don't know about you guys, but I'm finding it very hard to get into the holiday spirit given that we now live in a country whose Moron-Elect is (among other promised horrors) seriously threatening to invade Mexico and annex Greenland.

That said, the other day a youngster friend/music fan asked me what my favorite Christmas record of all time was was, and my immediate response was "The Little Saint Nick" by The Beach Boys.

Which I dearly love, as I'm sure so do many of you guys as well.

But then it dawned on me -- actually no, that's not my fave. In reality, it's this one, which of course has a far more appropriately Dickensian outlook.

I should add that somehow I had missed that video until yesterday. No fooling. Never saw it, and I owned the 45 back in the day (which was 1977, BTW. Oy gevalt.)

It also occurred to me that I've never posted about the song here before. How weird is that?

Oh well. In any event -- Merry Grimble, everybody! And may all of you get through the day without encountering seasonal "music" by either Mariah Carey or George Michael.

Today's Moment of Words Absolutely Freaking Fail Me

Ever wonder what The Velvet Underground would have sounded like if they'd been around in 1940 and fronted by Billie Holiday...

...or Frank Sinatra?

In any case, the question that needs to be answered ASAP is -- who the fuck is responsible for this stuff?

I can't believe it's AI generated, but if it isn't -- i.e., if it's recorded/produced/performed by actual living musicians -- why the hell can't I find any credits for it?

Also -- if it really is AI, then please just kill me now.

Seriously, when I first chanced upon that "Waiting for the Man" clip over the weekend, I played it for a youngster music fan/friend of mine who immediately said "gotta be AI." To which I responded -- "Nah. It's too good."

But now, having heard a bunch more of these things, and -- as I said, without being able to find any living musicians willing to put their names on it -- I am reaching the depressing conclusion that, yeah, it is machine-generated.

And I can't tell you how terrifying that strikes me.

I mean, that's straight out of some Isaac Asimov sci-fi story about computers replacing mankind that does not end well. 😎

Michael Brewer 1944 - 2024

You know him as one half of hippie duo Brewer and Shipley, i.e. as the "One Toke Over the Line" guy...

...hey, I bet he absolutely loved the Welk version!!!

But, more to the point of this blog's mission statement, to me, he will always be the ultra-cool pop/garage punk/psych dude who co-wrote (t's credited to his partner, but both he and Shipley were actually responsible) one of the truly great lost singles of the Sixities.

So please enjoy LA hepsters The Poor and their Brewer-and-Shipley penned 1967 regional hit "She's Got the Time (She's Got the Changes)."

The Poor -- whose bass player was Randy Meisner. who later found fame and fortune in both Poco and The Eagles -- had seemingly everything going for them, including being managed by the same Greene/Stone team who handled the Buffalo Springfield, but alas it was not to be. I can, however, verify that the above received significant airplay; in fact, I actually bought the 45 version at Sam Goody's (at the Garden State Plaza mall in Paramus New Jersey) after hearing it several times on Top 40 powerhouse WMCA-AM in New York City.

Speaking of which, along with the news of Brewer's passing, I also learned last week that the next to last Sam Goody store in the nation is about to close. Talk about the end of an era.

I should also add that the above Poor single featured prominently on a fabulous mix-tape playlist I compiled back in the 'aughts, appropriately entitled Great Lost Singles of the '60s. Which I have burned to CD and gifted to various friends over the years.

Hmm...I should probably post more of those songs. Maybe next week.

In the meantime, farewell Mike Brewer; here's hoping you're now residing happily in the great train station in the sky. With a heaping bag of free cannabis gummies from the smoke shop nearby.

La Fin de la Semaine Essay Question: Special "Sweet Baby Me" Edition

From his brand new and quite splendid 2024 album Common Sense, please enjoy veteran/Grammy-winning Nashville guy Gary Nicholson and my two randomly determined favorite tracks.

First -- the drolly amusing product endorsement that is "Bob Dylan Whiskey"...

...and then the obviously-and-frighteningly relevant to our current historical moment "Follow the Money."

As you can probably intuit, the album can justifiably be interpreted as a commentary on life under the incoming Vic Hitler Jr. administration. But even forgetting that, it's a splendid piece of acoustic-ish Americana songwriting, and it also just sounds great, thanks to the instrumental contributions of such worthies as guitarists Rick Vito and Anson Fundergurgh. I should add that it has now become an entry in my surprisingly short list of Albums of the Year.

Seriously -- it's that good.

In the meantime, you can find out more about Nicholson, and hear (and order) more of his music, OVER HERE.

Which brings us, however obliquely, to the other subject at hand. To wit:

...and your favorite or least favorite largely (or somewhat) acoustic-instrument based album that might be (or has been) characterized by the less than reputable genre name "Soft Rock" is...???

No arbitrary rules whatsoever, but as you no doubt have realized, we're mostly talking about post-Beatles singer/songwriter stuff here.

And in case you guys are wondering, here's my favorite song from my favorite album of the genre.

I should add that I include it largely because Carole King's piano work on it is so goddamned brilliant it hurts. As it is on the album as a whole; as far as I'm concerned, she's the record's secret weapon.

Man, what I wouldn't give to be able to play stuff like that.

In any event, discuss.

And have a great weekend, everybody!!!

Wails From the Crypt (An Occasional Series): Poodle Rock Lives!!!

From the December 1979 issue of Stereo Review, please enjoy...

NIGHT OF THE LIVING POODLES

One of the interesting things about pub crawling, especially in a major metropolitan area, is that sometimes you chance upon the birthing of a whole new sociological phenomenon. Usually, of course, you don't realize it untill a few months, even years, later, after you've read about it in some-trend-sensitive, circulation-under-forty-thousand tabloid, but that's the risk you take. For example, seasoned observer that I am, I had no idea, on a long-ago summer night in 1973 when I stumbled into a stygian Bowery dive and noticed the bass player of the band rending his T-shirt on a tiny stage between solos, that this was the soon-to-be-legendary Richard Hell in the process of inventing punk rock fashion. In the immortal words of the 2000 Year Old man -- who knew?

Be that as it may, I have noticed that an entire new subgenre of rock-and-roll -- utterly without redeeming social value, shamelessly anachronistic, and bereft of any media attention whatsoever, has been festering of late, like some some hideous herpes, right under our collective nose. Cogniscenti (there are a few of us) refer to it as Poodle Rock, though not because it has anything to do with the antics of the group affectionately known as the Fab Poos. Briefly stated, Poodle Rock is the music purveyed by any group of musicians sporting long shag haircuts, flashy eye make-up, platform shoes and immense stacks of Marshall amplifiers. It is invariably loud and heavy on the macho posturing (even when performed by women) and it invariably sounds like a variant of what Bad Company plays on an off night, although there are some exceptions.

Its antecedents are obvious: the 1969 Rolling Stones (many of these bands have all but memorized the dialogue in Gimme Shelter), the 1971 Rod Stewart and Faces, the snake-period Alice Cooper, and the latter-day KISS (especially in New York, where Ace and Gene and the rest are viewed as local boys who made good). Among its distinguishing characteristics is that all the bands put ads in the Village Voice giving height requirements. It used to be called Glitter Rock, Heavy Metal and Big Rock, and most critics have long since written it off as fatally passé and even irrelevant, which of course explains why so many groups, signed and unsigned, are attracting large crowds by playing it.

In New York City, Poodle Central is a place called Great Gildersleeves, located on the Bowery just down the street from the shrine known as CBGBs (and easily sighted because of the expensively garish neon sign out front). Gilderseeeves started out as a sort of less-uptight alternative to CBs; they booked blues bands, mainstream rockers and three-chord weirdos without a thought about what was hip and what wasn't. Unforunately, the major labels began using it as a showcase room for aging heavy-metal veterans, attendance picked up and the owners realized they had a potentially good thing going. The result? An endless succession of the most boring, obnoxious (and proud of it) bands in Christendom, complete with tired old theatrics (smoke bombs in this day and age?) vacuous groupies, and an audience dressed exactly like the performers.

On an average night at Gildersleeves you might see...the Richie Scarlett Band. Scarlett is a guy capitalizing on a physical resemblance to Keith Richards in such an obsessive manner tht it verges on the pathological. He gets this year's "Jeff Beck Erect Left Nipple" award for performing in a leather jacket without a shirt. His music sounds like what a Sherman tank looks like, and it has been known to reduce more than one listener to whimpering "I'll talk, I'll talk..." Then there are The Brats, who've been playing drivel in white-satin gangster outfits since the days of the Mercer Arts Center, apparently without wising up. At a recent performance they attracted nonmusical media attention when one of their flash-pots exploded prematurely, sending several patrons to the hospital, Any press is good press...Or you might take The Bonnie Parker Band -- please! Ms. Parker is a bass-playing young woman with a voice like Gabby Hayes and a stage demeanor that suggests Rod Stewart on angel dust and testosterone. And there's Falcon Edy, a power trio with a lead singer really bugged that he's not as good looking as Roger Daltry...Moonbeam, with a lead guitarist who will answer much in heaven to Jimi Hendrix...and Face Dancer, of whom I will say nothing except that their name is not the worst thing about them. There's more, but I'm, uh, pooched out.

When I reread this recently for the first time in years, I actually laughed out loud.

Anyway, the reason I bring it up to begin with is that over at a rock critic's forum I frequent on Facebook, there was a mini-brouhaha the other day over a so-called genre that's been dubbed Yacht Rock. (The fight, among other things, was over whether Steely Dan and Christopher Cross both belong in it. I found the whole thing pretty stupid, actually.)

In any event, it reminded me that I had invented a much more apt genre/and title back in the day, and I figured it needed to be re-introduced to a waiting world.

Hence the above.

I should add that out of curiosity, I looked up a couple of the bands/artists name-checked in the column and to my, er, delighted surprise I discovered that some of them -- Richie Scarlett, Bonnie Parker and a couple of the others -- are still plying their trade in public here in the 21st century (although their home club Gildersleeves, which was my actual subject, has been gone for ages).

To which I can only say, in all sincerity -- Rock-and-roll Lifers of the World, I salute you!!!

Closed for Monkey Business (Part Deux)

Had to help a certain Shady Dame with some medical problems in Manhattan today.

Actual delightful new music will appear on the morrow. Cross my heart and hope etc.

Closed for Monkey Business

Had a rotten day -- chased (unsuccessfully) our pussycat around the house without being able to grab him and take him to the vet (he was supposed have dental surgery) and then had to shlep into Manhattan in the rain for a doctor's appointment of my own. (Nothing to worry about, but a pain in the tush, not meant literally.)

Delightful new music resumes on the morrow, scout's honor.

À la Recherche du Cassettes Perdu

You know, some days it really pays to get out of bed.

More specifically, I got this e-mail the other day, out of the blue, and was frankly gob-smacked.

Steve:
I was finally (finally) cleaning up the garage and going through some old boxes of tapes and such and I found this…

We (then girlfriend, now wife) listened to it a lot back in the day. She always said The Floor Models were her 2nd favorite band in the Village. That’s because she liked mine better, but you would expect that, right?
Thought you might get a kick out of seeing it.
All the best,
Tom Scarpino

I frankly (to my shame) did not remember Tom off the top of my head, so I asked him about his band.

We were called The Silent Types. (Name was meant to be ironic, ended up being literal — no one heard of us).
I do remember you saw us once at Kenny’s and were generous in your appraisal. All a long time ago. Good times nonetheless.

Alas, I still didn't remember those guys -- and I ran it by my Floor Models compadre Gerry Devine, who didn't remember them either -- but it was still a complete gas to be reminded of that part of our life. Those Kennys' days in the Village really were good times. So thanks, Tom.

I should add that I'd love to hear a transfer of that cassette, which was -- if memory serves -- the first demo we were naive enough to be providing to the music biz types we thought might make us stars. I'm not sure I even still have the particular versions of those songs. Wow.