Our anthology
Lost in the Grooves has been getting terrific reviews, as befits a compilation in which 75 thoughtful, knowledgeable writers weigh in on their favorite albums that slipped through the cracks—not to mention the essay on the early rock zine scene (aka "The Greg Shaw Story"), and
Tom Neely’s delectable illustrations.
But among notices like
Magnet’s (“a stone gas… like a midnight bull session with your inner, ADD-afflicted rock geek”),
Fufkin’s (“inspired”),
Eye Weekly’s (“carefully written… recall[ing] Creem Magazine at its most prickly and acid”), the
Times of London’s (“exemplary pop writing”) and
Ear Candy’s (“the perfect book for the advanced record collector/music fan”), a
turd was just dropped into the punchbowl, in the form of a 2-star (of 5 possible) review in an e-zine called
Curled Up With a Good Book, by one Steven Rosen, Spirit Fan.
As is my custom with all reviews of LITG that I come across, I shared this with our contributors, and asked if they thought something like this should be included on the
page of compiled reviews. Most of them who replied thought not.
But there seems no reason not to reference the pan here, at least as an excuse to reprint a few of the contributors’ interesting responses to it.
Any of us who plays in the geeky record collector world runs into these narrow-minded souls, and knows how to tune ‘em out. It’s sad to think that of the nearly 300 albums celebrated in
Lost in the Grooves, one weighed so heavily in his psyche that he would devote 400+ words to rebutting Ron Garmon’s essay… thus missing the
point of the book itself, which is the joy of discovering great,
unknown sounds. As we say in the introduction, “somewhere in the cut-out bin of a record store in Tulsa is your favorite record and you’ve never even heard of it.” In Mr. Rosen’s case, he stuffed cotton in his ears and went “na-na-na-na-na” to make quite sure he missed its siren call.
My rock and roll love letter prescription for our rigid reader: another gorgeous circa 1970 LA album picked by Ron Garmon,
Sound Magazine by the Partridge Family. But you just know he’d never let himself enjoy it. (psst!
bubblegum isn't a dirty word anymore.)
A bad review should be an opportunity for reflection and improvement on the part of the reviewed, but this one fails in that aspect. I wish he had tried to prove his blanket statement that “Anyway, the writers here have a lot of this wrong. And most of this is so obscure, they could make up anything they wanted anyway.” That might have been fun to watch. I’ll just note that Mr. Garmon wrote the liner notes to the newest
Best of Spirit compilation, interviewed every surviving member and devoted an entire (now sold out) issue of his magazine
Worldly Remains to the band… which suggest some level of expertise, perhaps worthy of Mr. Rosen’s mentioning his
name in the course of trashing his critical appraisal.
As for the suggestion that as a semi-hit record,
Twelve Dreams of Dr. Sardonicus doesn’t belong in a book of this nature, as editrix, I take
full responsibility for its inclusion in
LITG--and it is hardly the only best-seller that we deemed worthy of reappraisal (
Whipped Cream and Other Delights, anyone?). I love psychedelic pop, and I'm especially interested in LA bands. Spirit blew me away when Ron Garmon played them for me. But I did not listen to FM radio in the '70s, and I doubt many under 40 did. I looked at those freaks in the vinyl bins for years and never thought about picking up an album. I know I'm not alone. Lost in the Grooves, absolutely.
Or as the writers said it…
Tosh Berman: It's a stupid review – but it doesn't matter because it still makes the book sound interesting. It is sort of the school of 'say what you want, but don't ignore me.' Your type of book is the type for people to argue about - it's the great nature of
Lost in the Grooves. For instance Jim (fellow Sparks fan) and me have an on-going argument about Sparks later records - where I think they never really
ever made a bad album. So your book is a lot of fun - and of course there are bands missing or not missing. I don't think that is the point. The point is for people to discuss and think about the music they like and hate. Very simple and very effective!
Ron Garmon: I've been misread before, but that little Nazi gimp takes the fuckin' cake. I can't even write a
rave review of an old album without some fanner-than-thou imbecile taking umbrage.
Jay Ferguson is characteristically modest about his "charisma" but has no reason to doubt the title "genius songwriter with a truly awesome voice." I've interviewed him twice and he would be the first to tell you he's no Tom Jones. Moreover, the band didn't
want one overpowering presence, since the act was about sound and nothing else. Spirit had more than one voice, as fans of the late Randy California (author and singer of "Nature's Way") would be delighted to remind this idiot once they got up off his face.
As far as the band breaking up, I've talked to all four surviving members and there are three different stories.
As one who referred to the band as "the American Pink Floyd," (liner notes to THE BEST OF SPIRIT reissue), I can be trusted to know their catalog and appreciate this unjustly neglected act at full value. Spirit fans don't like how obscure the band is. I'm one, so I know.
Domenic Priore: "Jay Ferguson was a beautiful, blonde canyon boy with the voice of an angel and a stage stance that pre-dated a lot of the ensuing Sunset Strip rockers."
Yeh, well, pretty stupid review, basing the whole thing on Spirit... This is just the problem with Classic Rock idiots... they can't handle more than several superstar entities and that's it. Obviously, the guy only wants to read about what he already knows, which is counter to the point of LOST IN THE GROOVES. That said, the above sentence, pulled from his review, is 100% off, because in reality, Spirit did not pre-date any Sunset Strip "rockers" unless he means hessians from the '80s... which Jay Ferguson does not resemble (and Jay certainly doesn't resemble anyone in the Screamers, X, Eyes, Germs, Weirdos etc... my personal era of the late '70s Sunset Strip).
No, the Doors, the Mothers of Invention, the Byrds, the Electric Prunes, the Merry Go Round, Buffalo Springfield, the Turtles, Love, the Leaves, the Music Machine, the Seeds, the Bobby Fuller 4, the West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band, Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band, Kaliedoscope, the Standells, Sonny & Cher, Jackie DeShannon, Brenton Wood, the Afro-Blues Quintet + 1, the Chambers Brothers, Dobie Gray, the Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band, Canned Heat, the Bees, the Humane Society... hell, EVERYBODY emerged before Spirit on the 1965/1966 Sunset Strip scene. I don't see them listed playing anywhere in Hollywood until early 1967 at Bido Lito's... Spirit weren't even around when it was all happening... by the time they came out, it was pretty much over for that scene. The way I like to put it is that after the Pandora's Box riot in November of 1966, that is the landmark moment when opportunity in L.A. really diminished tremendously... and in early 1967, Charles Manson was let out of Alcatraz and fed on the desperation in the air. Spirit, the Nazz (ne: Alice Cooper), the Stoned Ponies (as their first Troubadour ad read) and a few others actually emerged in 1967 for the first time, but for the most part the moment had truly passed... Spirit was so far from "before" any of this stuff, but then again, for Classic Rock idiots, nothing matters until 1967... and ROLLING STONE... turned the page into a new, less thrilling, less creative era.
Canned Heat also preceded Spirit in Topanga, specifically, recording with Johnny Otis in 1966, and coming in to Hollywood to play at places like Pandora's Box and the Ash Grove.
Kelly Kuvo: Oh, come on. YOU MUST INCLUDE ALL REVIEWS! There is no such thing as bad press, remember? Bad reviews are funny!
Besides, the bad reviewers of LITG make it SO obvious that they are aging imbittered lonely record dorks that can only reflect themselves in their own reviews. This guy who wrote the "2 stars" review is mad that he wasn't included in the book and obviously thinks he deserved to write about the band Spirit since he is so much more worthy since he thinks he knows so much more about the band.... I mean... what is he complaining about? What was he reviewing? It wasn't even about the MUSIC. If he really cared about music he would be happy that Spirit was included in the book. Period. I've never heard Spirit. Why should he assume that everyone has heard their music? Because his head is up his ass. HE's heard Spirit. Therefore HE's all that matters. He's didn't read the book to learn something new and get excited about trying to discover a cool hard to find record. He read it to find something to bitch about. He did and he bitched and I hope he's no longer constipated as a result. This review has nothing to do with the book and everything to do with the reviewer.
I just got in the mail my very own copy of the tawny 33 1/3 Autumn Sampler (Almanac, it oughtta be), including the two little sections I had a hard time letting go of from my then very-much-unfinished Neutral Milk Hotel book, plus pieces of the upcoming books on Music From Big Pink, Endtroducing, Low, Kick Out the Jams, Born in the USA, London Calling and Notorious Byrd Brothers.
One thing punk lost all too quickly was the goofy humor, but when you see Stiv Bators— menacing, insect thin, the veins in his throat throbbing—rip open his coat to reveal a t-shirt spangled with hanging circles of flopping, safety-pinned beef baloney, it’s just perfectly surreal and silly, inspired Futurist weirdness from before punk became a straightjacket. This three-camera, color, semi-pro document of the band between albums in front of their fans is fascinating, both for what’s off stage--early punk audiences included their share of beardie-weardies and thrilled teenage girls—and what’s on. The Dead Boys have always been underrated, but this film (with its attendant interviews with Cheetah, Hilly and the band) makes a convincing case that they might have been the best American punk group of their time. The strongest songs are these perfect Midwest anthems ala Alice Cooper or Grand Funk, the band just tight enough to ignite, while remaining appealingly trashy and always playful. The disc includes some bonus footage of art world darling Joe Coleman in the Steel Tips, doing his famous fireworks stunt. [and we still have a few free copies of this DVD for new subscribers, so if you want it, lemme know!]
Prank phone calls from the John Trubee school of mildly abusive surrealism, though Mr. Longmont P. Castle substitutes an obsession with squid for Trubee’s raccoons. A highlight is the brief one-sided conversation titled “Chimp Giraffe Loop,” in which an unflappable lady at the Denver Sears tries to suggest the best possible sheet for wrapping a chimp. If you’ve ever wondered what it takes to get an Orange Julius employee to threaten to beat you with a blender (ordering a “Chowder Julius”), this is the disc for you.
For a few years now, maniacal Judee Sill fans have known that there were lo-fi demos available online of about eight tracks from her unfinished final album Dreams Come True. But the songs were just nice, not stunning, and the mixes rough enough to render them merely an interesting oddity on the way back to spinning Heart Food for the hundredth time. Now Jim O’Rourke has polished those rough mixes (plus additional unheard tracks, among them home demos from a variety of sources) to create the sonic half of a rather lovely tribute to the lady. Also included is a fascinating little book of interviews and photos compiled by Patrick Roques, who tracked down many of Sill’s lovers, friends, fellow performers and partners in literal crime to produce an oral history of her unusual life and work. Add to this what seems to be Sill’s only extant live performance video (sadly deteriorated visually, though the audio isn’t bad), and it’s a respectful concordance to the official albums and their expando Rhino Handmade editions. The best most and revealing material is the home demos, among them the exquisite “Emerald River Dance.” While she’s laughing as the take falls apart, the perfectionist Sill would probably be horrified that “Sunny Side Up” has been put on disc, but it’s still one of the catchiest things she ever did, and suggests she might have been aiming for a hit single. If only…
Now here's a demographic that's been neglected! (see press release, below) I'd check this station out, only I don't want the kitties to start pestering me to buy all the great stuff they hear advertised. I've managed to keep Evel unaware of the existence of tri-level cat condos for 15 years now, and am trying to keep it that way.
This self-released reissue of a scarce 1972 Indian-infused British folk-rock recording is a treat, with meditative passages in the traditional Indian mode giving way to surprisingly aggressive Western ones. The band—Clem Alford on sitar, esraj and tamboura, Jim Moyes on electric guitar, Keshav Sathe on Tabla and percussion, and singer/guitarist/ cover artist Alisha—seem perfectly comfortable straddling two worlds, gleefully splitting pop DNA and reconstituting it into something that’s their own. Alisha’s strong, mannered vocals on metaphysical themes like “Father Time” ground the spacey sitar swirls in a particularly witchy fashion.
As a nifty coda to the 1947-themed interview that Nathan Marsak and I gave local city blog the LAist last week, fellow LITG contributor and all-around encyclopedia of local wisdom Domenic Priore gives his answers to their probing Q&A today. So check out the LAist Interview: Domenic Priore and tune back in tomorrow, when Dom puts on the hat of an actual 1966 city resident and answers from that POV.
As monkey-loving maniacs, we're thrilled and elated to announce the 4th recipient of the upcoming Bubblegum Achievement Awards: Mr. Steve Barri! Not only did Steve, with songwriting/musical partner PF Sloan, make beautiful music with the Fantastic Baggys, Grass Roots, Turtles and beyond, but he's also the genius who produced Lancelot Link & the Evolution Revolution, the first, best and only all-chimp bubblegum supergroup!
Thanks to the cool folks down at MVD, we've got a limited number of copies of the brand new Leni Sinclair/Cary Loren film compilation of vintage MC5 performances available FREE for new subscribers to Scram, a journal of unpopular culture. You can even subscribe retroactively and get a bunch of back issues with your DVD now. Visit Scram's back issues page for all the info.
In 1966, Don and Phil went to London to make an album mainly of Hollies songs, backed by the Manchester band who was so deeply influenced by the brothers’ harmonies. It’s an exercise that feels strangely academic on the rocking opener “Somebody Help Me”—and the rougher vocal style doesn’t suit the Everlys--but the album quickly slides over to the softer side, and numbers like “Signs That Will Never Change,” “So Lonely” and the weird “Fifi the Flea” are really gorgeous. This collaboration has been on my must-hear list for a long time, and while it’s not the revelation I’d hoped, it’s quite a charming disc, recommended to fans of either group.
Impressive live/studio garage revival reissue from the incestuous early eighties Swedish scene (the Back Door Men shared a singer with the Creeps). Strongly influenced by the Chocolate Watchband and the harder-edged west coast folk-rock sounds, the Back Door Men’s originals are fine additions to the genre, and there’s something ineffably charming about the slight Swedish lilt applied to American garage conventions. “Never Take A Chance” is an odd one—sounding like they were aiming for a surfier style, it’s closer to Echo and the Bunnymen. Hmm.
David Smay and I just received the following email, from a disappointed reader who shall remain nameless. You can't do anything about people who don't dig the tone of what you do, but he raises a reasonable complaint about the illustrations that I've heard from other readers, so thought it merited response here on the LITG blog. Here's the email, with my reply below:
If you’ve ever seen one of Ennio Morricone’s spaghetti Westerns, you’ve heard Edda sing. She’s the girl with the eerie tones suggestive of a Star Trek babe mated with a theremin, ululating nonsense syllable exotica over mad, Eurojazz arrangements. She is breezy and playful, hysterical, orgasmic, psychedelic, and strangely soulful. Taken out of their visual context, these compositions are perhaps even stranger than they were intended to be—which is saying something. Elevator music for zero-gravity environments.
Sesame Street Fever (1978): I’ll start with the cover, because it’s the best album cover ever. It looks just like the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, except that isn’t John Travolta disco-dancing in a white leisure suit — it’s Grover. And those aren’t the Bee Gees posed behind him — they’re Ernie, Bert and Cookie Monster.
Born To Add (1983): The second-best album cover ever: a Born To Run parody, with an earringed Bert as Bruce and Cookie Monster as Clarence Clemons. The title track is a knowing satire not just of “Born To Run” but of Springsteen’s entire oeuvre: It’s about a bunch of kids roaming the Jersey shore and . . . adding things. “One and two and three police persons spring out of the shadows/Down the corner comes one more/And we scream into that city night:/Three plus one makes four!” 
