I first heard about this record through a good friend of mine, John Grecco, who was the associate producer for the "One Kiss Can Lead To Another" girl groups box set that Rhino put out a few years ago. While the box set itself was pretty good, having to WORK on the box set was a bad experience for me. I helped out on that box with publishing information and a few label scans (none of which made it to the booklet). I spent a LOT of time doing research, and what did I get for my efforts? NADA. Zilch. Zip. Zero. I didn't get an invite to the release party (well, actually, I did, but would have had to pay full price for the tickets like any schlub off the street). Hell, I also didn't even get a COPY OF THE BOX SET!! My girlfriend, bless her heart, bought me one a couple of Christmases ago, which is the ONLY reason I have a copy.
FUCK Rhino.
This was one of the tunes selected for the box set that didn't make the final cut (somewhere in my files I have the first draft of the track listing - I think it was about 115 - 120 songs). One of the big problems in putting the set together was that it had such a Euro-girls point of view (probably due to the fact that Rhino decided to hire Sheila Burgel to write the booklet notes for the track listing - she loves that Euro-crap), so a lot of good American girl-group records were passed over in favor of the inferior but oh-so-hip European imitations.
This one's actually pretty good, though. Beverly Jones was an English lass who hooked up with a beat group called The Prestons for this one 45, released in the UK in October, 1964, and in the USA in January, 1965. The A-side, a mod version of Martha and The Vandellas' "Heat Wave", was a waste of time; the band cooks, but Beverly was never gonna come close to Martha Reeves' vocal. The flip, though, has some balls. Written by Prestons' lead guitarist Roger James, "Hear You Talking" is an atypical girl group lament; instead of threatening to beat up a girl who is vying for her man's affections, she lays down the rules to her GUY - no talking about your ex, or I'll CUT YOU DEAD! (and the organist is playing like he knows she means it!) Sounding like a tougher version of Lulu, this one grows on me with each subsequent play.
Unfortunately, that was it for Beverly Jones and The Prestons. They parted ways after this one single (and, honestly, I don't think the record got an actual release here - I've only seen promo copies of this, but have never seen a stock copy) and Beverly joined a group called The Mad Classix, later marrying their lead singer, Johnny Wells, and semi-retired to raise a family.
Unfortunately, Beverly passed on last year, but left this one unforgettable 45 with us.
For a good interview (and story) on Beverly Jones, click here.
Beverly Jones - Hear You Talking (Swan 4202) - 1965
Doo-woppers are obsessed with pigeonholing their music. They have a myriad of categories; white groups, black groups, bird groups, car groups, proto-soul groups, roots groups, kid groups, male group with female lead (it rarely works the other way around), gang groups, Italo-doo-wop groups. They also like to categorize by label; Chance, Red Robin, Rama, Gee, Vee Jay, Blue Lake are very desirable names to doo-woppers. If that wasn't enough division, they also like to categorize the songs themselves; nonsense lyrics, jungle songs, songs about Latin women, songs about Oriental women, pop-doo-wop, neo-doo-wop, Tin Pan Alley doo-wop, classic doo-wop, distaff doo-wop, a wop bop a loo bop a whomp bam boo doo doo boppa loo boppa poppa stoppa hoody waddy woo......
Which is one reason why I enjoy this record so much. It doesn't really fit into the accepted categories. First of all, it's on Duke Records, an outfit well-known for blues records by the likes of Bobby Bland, Little Junior Parker, Rosco Gordon, Fenton Robinson and the late, great Johnny Ace (in fact, it was Bland and Parker who discovered the group). Duke released VERY little in the form of group harmony, so it's not one of the labels the rabid doo-wop label collectors drool over. Second, instead of singing about some angel who makes their crazy hearts skip a beat, the El Torros are singing about an Indian warrior named Yellow Hand, who apparently was a REALLY big guy (sample lyric: "he used a giant redwood tree to make his canoe / a buffalo's hide to make just one shoe"). There's no Indian princess to steal his heart, no mother to tell him to find love, no nothing. In fact, the only other person mentioned in the song is Geronimo, who says that he obeys NO MAN except for Yellow Hand.
So, I'm going to start a new sub-category for all the doo-woppers - American-Indian-doo-wop!!
By the way, for a really good article on the history of the El Torros, look no further than here.
The Beau Brummels. Possibly my favorite 60s group (depending on what day it is....sometimes it's The Who). SCREW The Byrds, THESE guys were the first "folk-rockers" and the first "America's answer to The Beatles".
Though they only released 5 studio LPs and a handful of singles in the 1960s, the Brummels managed to encapsulate ALL the great influences of the era - folk-rock, mild psychedelia, Dylan, teenbeat garage, country-rock - in an amazingly clear and consistent body of work. If they only had better management, they could have gone all the way, or at least be in the same pantheon as more "hallowed" groups such as the aforementioned Byrds or Van Morrison or the Stones and the Beatles (and we'd actually be able to enjoy Beau Brummels tunes on so-called "classic rock" radio).
The group's two main members, Sal Valentino (real name: Salvatore Spampinato) and Ron Elliott met in high school in San Francisco, and began singing together. After graduation, Elliott went off to San Francisco State to study music composition, while Sal sang in sleazy clubs in North Beach and cut an unsuccessful single ("I Wanna Twist") in 1962. By early 1964 Valentino and Elliott were playing in a band together with bassist Ron Meagher, drummer John Petersen and Irishman Declan Mulligan, who played rhythm guitar. Calling themselves The Beau Brummels, they soon were playing the same sleazy North Beach circuit that Sal had played a couple of years before. But while most bands were playing covers of the top hits of the day, the Brummels mostly played Ron Elliott's original songs, making them a standout from the very start.
At one gig, they were spotted by two DJ's, Bob Mitchell and Tom "Big Daddy" Donahue, who worked at KYA, at the time San Francisco's top radio station. The two DJ's had a brand-new record label called Autumn Records (so named because it was formed in the autumn of 1963) which, at that point, had one artist signed to it (Bobby Freeman) and a young record producer named Sylvester Stewart, later known to the world as Sly Stone. Autumn had just had a big hit with their second release, Bobby Freeman's "C'mon And Swim", so Donahue and Mitchell had the cash to snap up the Brummels before anyone else. Looking back, the Brummels should have waited for another company to sign them.
In December, 1964, Autumn released the Beau Brummels' first 45, "Laugh, Laugh", which showed that, even with their first single, the Brummels were a force to be reckoned with. The folk and country influence was highly apparent, and in a rock and roll song in 1964, that just didn't happen. Plus Elliott's lyrics were FAR ahead of anything other songwriters were doing, even Bob Dylan and The Beatles (what other song can you name besides "Laugh, Laugh" that uses the word "smug"?). As a result, The Beau Brummels became the FIRST rock group out of San Francisco to make it big.
Unfortunately, Autumn Records was not prepared for the magnitude of success that the Brummels were having. Despite "Laugh, Laugh" going Top Ten in many large cities (including New York and Los Angeles), Autumn couldn't keep up with the demand for the record, and even though the sales were huge, they could have been larger if Autumn wasn't such a shoe-string operation. As a result, the record only hit #15 nationally, when it should have been a national Top Five hit.
Over the next year, the Brummels had several more mid-charting hits (including their only Top Ten, "Just A Little"), two LPs, and made appearances in the films Village Of The Giants and Wild, Wild Winter (and also made an appearance as "The Beau Brummelstones" on an episode of The Flintstones). But as the year of 1965 ground on, Donahue and Mitchell were losing money (and interest) fast, and in early 1966 Autumn crashed and burned. Donahue and Mitchell sold the Brummels' contract (and the contracts of several other Autumn groups) to Warner Bros. Records.
This should have been a good thing for the group - after all, WB at that point was riding high with Petula Clark, and was becoming a major player in the industry. Unfortunately, the management team of Donahue and Mitchell screwed it all up.
The Brummels had recorded a third LP for Autumn, full of Ron Elliott songs, that was basically finished. But when Autumn folded, and Donahue and Mitchell sold out, they tried to play slick with Mo Ostin at Warners. They sold the Brummels to Warner Bros., but not their recordings, either in the can or released already. So Donahue and Mitchell, after getting x amount of dollars for the Brummels, tried to squeeze more money out of WB by offering to sell them the third, unreleased Autumn LP. Warners told Donahue and Mitchell to shove it up their collective asses, and whisked the group into Mira Sound in New York to record an LP of cover versions of current hits. Called "Beau Brummels '66", the LP completely destroyed the group's credibility, guaranteeing that whatever they put out next would be cruelly ignored.
Also, the group was having internal problems. The line-up wasn't stable. Declan Mulligan either left or was booted from the group just before the second LP was released (he later sued them). Ron Elliott, a diabetic, couldn't handle the rigors of the road, and so was replaced for live dates by Don Irving, who became an official Beau Brummel on the "Beau Brummels '66" LP. But after that disaster was released, both Don Irving and John Petersen left the group (Petersen joining Harpers Bizarre, Irving drafted into the Army). And then there were three - Sal Valentino, Ron Elliott, and Ron Meagher.
With Elliott's diabetes (and move to L. A. to work as a session guitarist) making touring impossible, The Beau Brummels became a studio-only group. Ironically, the decision to stop touring resulted in the group's best work. The trio of Valentino, Elliott and Meagher recorded "Triangle", one of the best LPs of 1967. Released in July, 1967, it combined mild psychedelia with Tolkeinesque fantasy with a little country thrown in. It was an absolute artistic triumph for the group. Unfortunately, the record barely sold, only hitting the #197 spot on the LP charts. But it truly is a beautiful piece of work, right up there with Love's "Forever Changes" in the artistic winners circle of 1967 ("Sgt. Pepper" doesn't even come close.)
A month later, the above 45 was released. Most discographies place "Lower Level" as the B-side of the record, but I think the Brummels meant for this to be the A-side. They were well-known for releasing singles independent of their current LPs (examples: "Good Time Music", "One Too Many Mornings", "Two Days 'Til Tomorrow", "Here We Are Again" - none of these were on their original LPs, and in some cases are still hard to find). Also, while the flip of this single - "Magic Hollow" - is one of the highlights of "Triangle", it's not exactly single material. "Lower Level" fits the bill a little better. Warners didn't help matters by not designating a "plug side" for the single, but ultimately it didn't matter anyway, because almost no one bought it. Other San Francisco groups like the Jefferson Airplane, The Grateful Dead and Sly and The Family Stone (the Brummels' old producer) became the darlings of the music press, while the original San Fran rockers, The Beau Brummels, were left in the dust.
A lotta people missed out. Starting with traffic noises, "Lower Level" plods along with Elliott's softly strummed acoustic. Then Sal's voice comes in, softly but firmly, singing about an elevator ride that's either an allegory for an LSD trip or life - "lower level now is clear / if you want to park it here / though we may seem cramped, we're not / you'll get your ticket stamped on top". Despite some nice guitar flourishes, the record really belongs to Sal Valentino's voice; expressive, soothing, soulful.
"Lower Level" went the way of "Triangle", destined for the cutout racks. Ron Meagher got drafted soon after the LP's release; Valentino and Elliott made one more LP for Warners, "Bradley's Barn" (another masterpiece which takes more of a country-rock stance) then called it quits. Valentino recorded solo for Warner Bros., later joined Stoneground, and hung around the San Francisco and New York rock scenes, highly respected by those in the know. Elliott stayed in L. A. as a session musician and songwriter, and worked with Van Dyke Parks on his legendary "Song Cycle" LP and with the Everly Brothers on their seminal 1968 country-rock LP "Roots". He also recorded a solo LP, "The Candlestickmaker", which is highly sought-after today. In 1975, the group reunited for a one-off LP and tour.
If it weren't for the mass stupidity of the record industry (and the Brummels' management), these guys would have been the superstars they deserved to be, instead of a nice little secret us cool kids know about. Still, I can't help but think Ron Elliott was watching the whole arc of their career with humor, with this line toward the end of "Lower Level":
"1, 2, 3, when we drop / it sure was nice to be on top".
Haven't had a lot of time to post lately - but since it was Otis Clay's 71st birthday on Monday, I just HAD to put this up!
Long before finding national success with Willie Mitchell and Hi Records, Otis made some KILLER 45s for George Leaner's One-derful label out of Chicago, and this was the very first one - a real stomper!
Too bad they didn't have a better sound engineer.....
Apparently there are two pressings of this 45 - one without the sound effects at the beginning, and this one, that has the (rather crude) sound effects.
Otis Clay - Three Is A Crowd (One-derful 4834) - 1965
Yep, that's how this record really starts, and it just gets wilder from there. This is one of the ALL-TIME get-your-ass-out-on-the-dance-floor-and-stomp 45s, the true missing link between Little Richard and The Sonics. Best part is, Bunker Hill never even TRIED to follow this up, keeping his rockin' rep completely intact.
Of course, Bunker Hill isn't the real name of the performer who did this. It's David Walker, born on May 5, 1941. Walker was raised in the Washington, D. C. area, and soon gravitated to singing gospel. He joined the Sensational Wonders in the late 1950s and the group changed their name to the more famous Mighty Clouds Of Joy.
But like a lot of other gospel performers of that era, there was another side to Walker. While singing the praises of God on the stage, off stage he was beating the holy hell out of some of His subjects as a heavyweight boxer (compiling an 18-7 record) and working part-time as Archie Moore's sparring partner.
Then David Walker, gospel singer, met the Devil.
Not literally, but close. Sometime in early 1962 Walker met writer/producer Vernon Wray, who had made several records under the name Ray Vernon in the 1950s. Vernon quickly introduced David Walker to his brother - Link Wray. Link had an idea - why not do a reverse Little Richard? Since Richard had given up rock and roll for the ministry, why not have David give up the ministry for rock and roll? So in mid-1962, David Walker, backed by Link Wray and his Raymen at Link's Three Track Shack recording studio in the hills of Maryland, recorded five of the wildest songs in rock and roll history - "Red Ridin' Hood And The Wolf", "Nobody Knows", "You Can't Make Me Doubt My Baby", "The Girl Can't Dance" and "Hide And Go Seek".
Vernon got the group a deal with Larry Uttal's Mala label, but when it came time to put the records out, David Walker balked. See, he didn't want his name on the records, lest he suffer the backlash in the gospel community that Sam Cooke had gone through when he went secular back in 1957. So ol' Vern came up with the name Bunker Hill (after the even more ridiculous name of Four H. Stamp was rejected) and Mala pressed up "Hide And Go Seek" (split into two parts) as a single.
The record started to get heavy airplay in Philadelphia, Baltimore, Chicago, Cincinnati, Seattle, Houston - pretty much everywhere except New York and Los Angeles (which is probably why it only hit #33 on the pop charts and #27 R&B, despite the fact that it hit Top Ten in many of the cities mentioned above). Bunker Hill was a national rage, and decided to take a break from the gospel world and tour with Link and his Raymen to promote "Hide And Go Seek".
But Bunker Hill soon learned a lesson of the capriciousness of the music business. In late 1962 Mala released "Red Ridin' Hood And The Wolf" as the follow-up 45, and it promptly flopped. Larry Uttal and Mala lost interest, and Bunker Hill decided to go back to the Mighty Clouds Of Joy.
Almost a year later, in August, 1963, Mala decided to take the two remaining Bunker Hill tracks they had and put them out as the 45 shown above. They literally threw it out on the market, with hardly any promotion (though it did get a review in Billboard in mid-September, with the mag giving the hit pick to the B-side, the gospelly "You Can't Make Me Doubt My Baby". Billboard was usually wrong about these things), and that's why it's so hard to find original copies of "The Girl Can't Dance" today. Last I checked with popsike.com, original copies on Mala go for between 200-300 bucks, and even the repros go for 30-50 smackers (which makes NO sense, since Norton reissued the track on 45 in 2009)! I got mine at the legendary Allentown record show for 10 bucks - screw you, eButt!
Out of the five songs recorded by Bunker and Link in that Maryland shack, "The Girl Can't Dance" was EASILY the wildest. Link's descending guitar riff (which runs through the whole song, and even serves as the guitar "solo"!!), Bunker's vocals which sound like the microphone was IN his mouth, and the killer drums of Link's other brother Doug Wray all make "The Girl Can't Dance" one of the GREATEST rock and roll records in history! Unfortunately for Bunker, 1963 radio wasn't touching it. Phil Spector, the Beach Boys, and cute novelties all dominated the airwaves that year (though the Trashmen's "Surfin' Bird" managed to get on the air, but that record truly exists in another dimension).
No one really knows what happened to David Walker/Bunker Hill. After bouncing in and out of the Mighty Clouds Of Joy for a few years, he left the gospel world for good in the late 1960s. Some sources say he died in the early 1980s, some say he's still around, living in Washington D. C.
Either way, he will never be forgotten by those who like their rock and roll RAW.
Bunker Hill - The Girl Can't Dance (Mala 464) - 1963
I had never heard of this record until I read about it in Dave Marsh's book "The Heart Of Rock And Soul: The 1001 Greatest Singles Ever Made" (buy it here) about 15 years ago. The cool thing was that a) it was the last record essayed in the book (as # 1001), and b) neither Dave nor any of his friends had any idea who Joyce Harris was, or where the record came from.
Marsh tells a fascinating story; here's the short version: Marsh's friend Michael Goodwin went off to Cornell University in 1959, and soon went to work at the college's radio station, WVBR, as a jazz and folk DJ. Every year, during finals week, WVBR would have the "rock and roll marathon", where the regular playlist would be suspended and the student DJ's would spin rock and roll 45s for a week. Well, the day after finals were over, Goodwin locked himself in a studio with some blank tape reels and began recording all the 45s that his fellow students brought in. "No Way Out" was one of them, but Goodwin forgot to list the record on the tape box!
When Goodwin decided to listen to the college tapes a few years later, he couldn't identify "No Way Out", and spent YEARS trying to figure out what it was. Goodwin later became a writer, and would drop references to the mystery record in his columns. Still nothing. Goodwin finally found a copy of the record in the mid-1970s, but still had no idea of its descent (Goodwin guessed New Orleans).
Of course this was all before the internet (something this guy doesn't seem to forgive Marsh for), when research meant RESEARCH, meaning you couldn't instantly access knowledge from a billion people in a mouse-click.
But now, since the internet exists, we can finish the story of Joyce Harris and "No Way Out" with ease.
Joyce Harris was born in 1939 in Bowling Green, Kentucky, and moved to New Orleans when she was a teenager (that Michael Goodwin had some ears on him!). She and her sister Judy would sing together often, and in 1958 Judy and Joyce cut their first single for the tiny Seville label (same label that had Ernie Maresca's "Shout! Shout! [Knock Yourself Out]"), recorded at Cosimo Matassa's famous studio. After two more 45s, for Decca and Dot, Judy got married, leaving Joyce to go out as a solo, recording one single ("The Boy In School") for the UT label in 1959. She left New Orleans and ended up in Mexico, performing in restaurants.
Lucky for Joyce Harris, a woman named Lora Richardson was on vacation in Mexico and heard Joyce sing in one of those restaurants. Lora was part-owner of a record label in Austin, Texas called Domino Records, which had already had some success with a group called The Slades, who had a minor hit with the original version of a song called "You Cheated" (this song was then covered by The Shields, who had the big hit with it in 1958). Richardson paired Joyce Harris with The Slades to record an "answer" record to their one hit (that Joyce wrote with Slades member Don Burch), calling it "I Cheated". The record flopped (mainly because "answer" records only worked when the first version was still on the charts, not two years later), but Richardson was unfazed.
She then paired Joyce with a black R&B group called The Daylighters, who were led by rhythm guitarist Clarence Smith (years later, Smith would change his name to Sonny Rhodes and have some success in the 1980s and 1990s in the blues field). Joyce had written another stormer of a song called "No Way Out". With Joyce's soulful delivery, Clarence Smith's interjections (including the famous "IIIIIII'VE GOTCHA"s at the beginning) and the Daylighters killer (and wonderfully off-kilter) backing, "No Way Out" became an unforgettable piece of wax. Released at the end of 1960 on Domino, the record began to sell quite a bit. So much, in fact, that by March of 1961 Domino leased the record to a Los Angeles label, Infinity Records (supposedly part-owned by Howard Hughes). Infinity released it in April, and secured an appearance for Joyce to make an appearance on "American Bandstand" on April 7, 1961 - IF ANYONE HAS A VIDEO OF THIS, LET ME KNOW!!!!
The record sold well in L. A., Texas and, oddly enough, in Massachusetts. Unfortunately, it never hit the national charts, but Joyce Harris was on her way - or so she thought. Domino Records folded shortly afterwards, and Joyce found herself without a label. "No Way Out" was still selling in L. A., so she moved there in early 1962. After a string of appearances in small clubs, Joyce hooked up with producer Ed Townsend and signed to his label, Serock Records. She cut one KILLER single, "Don't Knock It", but for some reason decided to change her name to "Sinner Strong" for this release. The record should have gotten some good airplay, but unfortunately it was released at the same time as "The Love Of My Man" by Theola Kilgore, also on Serock, and so Kilgore got all the promotion.
After that bit of bad luck, Joyce decided to go home to New Orleans. She cut one more 45 for the Fun label, owned by Eddie Bo, and started a residency at the Mask Lounge (in the Mardi Gras Lanes bowling alley), backed by the group who would later become garage-rock legends Dr. Spec's Optical Illusion.
Joyce is still around, living in Sun, Louisiana, playing mandolin and guitar for a bluegrass gospel group, living in semi-retirement. She did come out, however, for the 2010 Ponderosa Stomp in New Orleans, and from all accounts tore the house up.
I'd like to thank the following websites for a lot of the info for this blog post (and you can click on the links to see pics of Joyce Harris - va va voom!).
I figured I'd start 2013 with a really INSANE record. Plus, since it was Elvis Presley's birthday recently (happy birthday, Elvis, wherever you are), I thought I'd post the greatest remake of an Elvis song EVER.
In his original version of "Jailhouse Rock", Elvis comes on as the coolest narrator ever, talking about what happens when the inmates decide to have a party, and Elvis is obviously one of the hipper cats in the prison. Dean Carter's version sounds like what the crazy guy in solitary would be singing.
Dean Carter was the nom de disc of one Arlie Neaville, who started out in the late 50s making rockabilly discs for the Ping and Fraternity labels. In 1964, he and a member of his band, Arlie Miller (must've been a common name in Illinois) formed the Milky Way production studio and record label. Arlie had changed his professional name to Dean Carter for a single on Limelight in 1964, and decided to keep the name for his releases on Milky Way.
If you ever see any 45s by Dean on Milky Way, GRAB 'em. They are simply some of the best examples of deranged rockabilly/garage/psych you'll ever hear. None was better than this two-sided monster from 1967. The A-side, "Rebel Woman", sounds kind of like Paul Revere and The Raiders jamming with Dick Shawn after they got into the acid-spiked punch at Johnny Paycheck's house. But the flip - WOAH! I often wonder if anyone ever played this version for Elvis, and what he must have thought.
Arlie Neaville left the rock and roll world behind in 1972, discovering Jesus and becoming a gospel singer, which is what he does to this day.
Dean Carter - Jailhouse Rock (Milky Way 011) - 1967
