WORKDOGS – “FUNNY $â€Â 45

I once remarked in the early 90s that if I ever had to rip off the record, film and pop culture ephemera collection of one single individual, I’d have chosen Larry Hardy’s – Larry of course being the wunderkind behind IN THE RED RECORDS, for many, many years one of the world’s finest rock and roll record labels (still is to this day). I said this not because Larry’s vast holdings were necessarily more valuable than anyone else’s (of course I’d truly go into Joe Bussard’s basement first), but because he seemed to have every cool record that I wanted that had just gone out of print, and because he always seemed to get that edition-of-100 7â€Â single that I always found out about one minute too late (from people like Larry).

Naturally it was Larry who turned me onto this 1986 scorcher from THE WORKDOGS on “King Dog Bisquetâ€Â records. This two-man, lo-fidelity, crazed blues/comedy band have played with many heavyweights over the years, but back in ’86 they were just starting to build their mythos and put their raw sounds out directly to the people. “Funny $â€Â has a riff that will claw its way into your cranial lobes and never leave, which I assure you will be crazy-making for most folks, but me, I’m happy to have it bouncing around in there. It’s a marathon workout by “garage punkâ€Â standards, too – at least six or seven minutes, right? For fun, here’s the phonus-balonus liner notes they included with the single way back then:

The Workdogs are the hot, new blues sensation that has all of New York on it’s ear. A two man rhythm unit employing the services of a third – replacable – instrumentalist, the Workdogs have cut a wide swathe across the contemporary music scene. Equally versed in rock, jazz, trash and noise as well as their acknowledged mastry of the blues idiom; the ‘dogs are in high demand – not only for their legendary live performances but also as New York’s premier rhythm section for hire.
In spite of the Workdogs’ phenominal popularity, little is actually known about Robert “HiRex” Kennedy. His name appears on the 1980 census three times – aged twenty seven – residing in Los Angeles, New York and Helena, Arkansas. Sources in these cities describe him variously and contradictorily.
It is thought that Kennedy spent his teen years following the fabled “Dumb” John Gomer (Cosmar) who apparently was his first and only teacher. Gomer would play the blues but he would (or could) not sing them; perhaps this accounts for “hiRex’s” idiosyncratic vocal techniques. Likewise his lyricism, in which verses have little logical sequence and may – as rumour has it – flow directly from his subconscious mind. Besides these many intangible nuances his work is spiked with vocal asides, topical references and other special effects that suggest the buffoonery of the Workdogs’ live performance.

Of Scott Jarvis we know considerably more. Jarvis’ North Carolina Piedmont background is well documented. He himself often speaks fondly of his maternal great grandfather who is still something of a Piedmont legend for his drumming at most major local sporting events – especially baseball games. This, apparently, is the inspiration for Jarvis’ sobriquet: “Blind Frothin’ Baseball.”

Sometime during his twenties, “Frothin” became acquainted with J.F. “Peck” Curtis and subsequently taught him everything he knew: the “controlled skid”, the “hesitation recovery”, the “stop immediately” and the “blues waltz” to name a few. Listening to his playing, one might think that he had set out deliberately to develop a style that could never be reproduced by machine – an all too common practice at the time. in fact, first person accounts confirm Frothin’ Baseball’s obsessive – some say superstitious – distrust of the newfangled technology.
Perhaps this explains the Workdogs’ shunning the recording studio in favor of live performance. It is said that the ‘dogs will set up anywhere, anytime and do virtually anything to hold an audience’s attention. Numerous stories and hundreds of “bootleg” tapes attest to this fact. Yet these two sides are currently the only Workdogs material available anywhere in print, a sorry situation that King Dog Bisquet hopes to soon rectify.

Even more depressing than….

….the continuing existence of Southern Culture on the Skids or The Reverend Horton Heat is the hard truth that there might be an audience for Kickin It Old Skool. At this point in the game, the only demographic that could possibly find this movie entertaining would be….what? I don’t even know. A frat boy after an eight-month, freon-induced coma? As the preview played on the tube (just now), I was hit with a sadly familiar â€Âwhy?â€Ââ€¦..the same â€Âwhy?â€Â that Coffee and Cigarettes, the Starsky and Hutch movie, and The Naked Trucker and T-Bone Show spurred. Creative Bankruptcy indeed.

Tiger – Crazy

Tiger –Crazy/Bloody Blue Monday –BASF 0515573-5 (1974 DK)

Not to be confused with the Tiger of I Am An Animal infamy (see entry February 16th ’07) this lot were an off shoot band formed by The Walkers drummer Poul Denhart. Tiger seem to have also released an album, as the back of the Pic sleeve says –Har du Tigers nye LP? (Well I don’t, but on the basis of this single I definitely need one!). Crazy is a superb meeting of T. Rex and Chicory Tip –You may dig the naff synth, but you will certainly swoon to the perfect Marc Bolan impersonation and shudder to the loud HEYs. It has a strange and heavily flanged production with a charm of its own, although it plays havoc with the stereo panning. The B side is also fine, a slower 50s number again very much in T. Rex mode.

Click on title for a full version of Crazy

The cars that I’ve driven.

1978 Pontiac Lemans (first car, 15,000 orig. miles, subtle and wonderful, bent the frame and front axle screwing around, totalled out)

1987 Buick Century (second car, the running dog, 2.8 L V-6, fast, loud A/C Delco stereo, I destroyed this car before it was ultimately taken away due to a DUI/other offenses)

1982 Honda Accord (four door automatic, classic blue, third car after long period without wheels, loved this one, too, paid $400 for it, never quit on me, self-installed Sparkomatic stereo and speakers, drunk woman totalled it from behind on a Sunday afternoon, in hospital overnight)

1985 Honda Civic (five speed, hatchback, drove all over the South to see good and bad bands, amazing stereo, eventually died from an odd engine moisture problem)

1988 Honda Accord (four door, gold, this was my father’s car, inherited after he passed, I totalled it making a u-turn)

1991 Ford Escort (Hatchback, high miles, emergency cheap-o after totalling the Accord, installed nice stereo, timing belt popped in the middle of traffic)

1991 Nissan Pick-Up Truck (lots of problems, bad memories)

1993 Ford Ranger (good memories, strong, great stereo, crazy family of assholes ran stop sign and briefly changed life for the worse)

TO BE CONTINUED…..

FLY ASHTRAY: “SOAP/BIP/FEATHERâ€Â EP

I wasn’t exactly looking for a nonsensical east coast heir to THE FUGS and the HOLY MODAL ROUNDERS who played sideways pop tunes in an absurdly playful, demented manner, but when this 7â€Â arrived in my mailbox in 1991 I immediately pronounced it one of my favorite records, and FLY ASHTRAY one of my favorite bands. I quickly interviewed them by mail for my fanzine; I struck up a “pen palâ€Â friendship with Glenn Luttman, the band’s drummer; and I pimped them to the pals and non-pals wherever I could. For a couple years there Fly Astray, on the strength of some excellent 45s and EPs (“Let’s Have Some Crateâ€Â from 1993 being a particularly good one), built up a nice foaming head of underground steam. Sure, you could quibble with the “sillyâ€Â aspects of the band – the meaningless song titles, for instance – or with the sometimes directionless timbre of the music itself, but when the band were hitting on all cylinders, they made a joyful, strange noise. Believe it or not, they soldier on in 2007. Check out both their web site and MySpace page for evidence. Me, I think this 45 is their “apotheosisâ€Â, and I’m pleased as punch to broadcast it to the World Wide Web this morning.

Play or Download FLY ASHTRAY – “Soapâ€Â (A-side of 1991 single)
Play or Download FLY ASHTRAY – “Bipâ€Â (B-side, Track 1 of 1991 single)
Play or Download FLY ASHTRAY – “Featherâ€Â (B-side, Track 2 of 1991 single)

Tone it down, Earles.

Here is a previously-published installment of my current (and only) metal column, which can be read in its corrected/edited (though I had some pretty amazing free-reign with this one….please note, so as not to scare off potential/future editors) form by picking up the last issue of……DIW Magazine…….the one before the issue that you just looked at (where there is a second installment). Ok, so who out there wants a big care package of metal promos (I’ll forget to mail it, so don’t bother)?

(complete with notes to the editor!!!)

 

Proposed names:
 “So You’re Not A Metalheadâ€Â
 

or….
 “Another Indie Rocker Writing About Metalâ€Â
 

or something really funny, like….
 “Faceplant: The DIW Metal Columnâ€Â
 

“Back Alley Beatdown: The DIW Metal Columnâ€Â
  “Pussy Eraser: The DIW Metal Columnâ€Â
 “Whisker Biscuit Repellent: The DIW Metal Columnâ€Â
 

An intro disguised as a disclaimer, or vise versa….

I pitched a no-thrills metal column to my editor hear at DIW and he went for it…obviously. I am perhaps a little too aware of the negative and positive attention hoisted upon “hipster metalâ€Â (as a round table discussion in Decibel and a piece in Guitar Player magazine refer to such things) and the simple act of non-metal people getting into metal, or saying they’re into metal, or dressing like they’re into metal. I don’t know where I fit in, and would rather not waste the energy trying to figure it out. I have never considered myself a metalhead, tried to look like a metalhead, or tried to pass myself off as a metalhead. Unsurprisingly, I come from an indie/college rock/post-hardcore upbringing (in terms of taste, not creation), but have been writing about metal, on and off, since 1998. The best I can give you, dear reader, is a fair knowledge of the word and its innumerable sub-genres…AND SOME LAUGHS.

The Column
 

There is a built in problem that unites the progress of the otherwise very different Mastodon and Lamb of God, and this problem has reached a head on their respective new albums. Both bands are gradually getting worse, moving away from the interesting places that they were once taking metal, and in the context of “extremeâ€Â metal, that means that the pressures of popularity (from labels, increasing size of fanbase that is now very meathead-heavy, etc) have changed the music itself, for about half of each record, into the LCD crap that wouldn’t be out of place entertaining semi-literate halfwits in the playlist of your local date rapist X-rock station. You have plenty of places to turn after giving up on those two superstars, and if you want to confuse the hell out of people, start espousing the wonderment of the Harvey Milk discography. Like Mastodon, they are from Atlanta, unlike Mastodon, they make little sense in terms of consistency, alternately perfecting the difficult and the great. Special Wishes, on Megablade (Troubleman’s “we’re into metal now, too!!â€Â imprint), is the latter. Isis are back with In The Absence Of Truth. I can help that problem by hereby declaring Isis the next Tool. There is your truth. Seriously, take out the ever-decreasing element of guttural vocals, and all of the pieces are now in place: The palatable, slower-moving prog parts, the not pretty/not ugly singing, jazzy-song construction. Mark my words, and if more proof is needed, head over to the latest In The Fishtank EP (#14, on Touch and Go/Konkurrent) – a pairing of Isis and Aerogramme that sounds exactly like a Mogwai mini-album with occasional screaming. With help from the two guys that make up Big Business, The Melvins clean house with (A) Senile Animal (Ipecac). Fans of Stonerwitch and Stag take note, or at least unstrap that Baby Bjorn and take note. Size 4XXL’s rejoice, Dream Theater mark their 25th anniversary with a 3-CD live set, complete with (big surprise) an orchestra. They were, at one time, a metal band. Load Records has once again taken a detour into structure and released the new one by The USA Is A Monster, titled Sunset At The End Of The Industrial Age. It’s like Dream Theater, or Fate’s Warning, or Meshuggah done by two crustcore holdovers that live in a refrigerator box. No matter the praise that Striborg accumulates, the colorfulness of its Tasmanian rain forest origin, or the popularity of one-man BM outfits, Embittered In Darkness (Southern Lord) sounds like Mortiis, late-period Christian Death, and any sociopath with a keyboard battling it out with 400 slot machines on Senior’s Day. What I meant to write is that it sounds really fucking silly. It immediately makes me thirst for this column’s token non-metal entries, Planes Mistaken For Stars’ Mercy (Abacus) and The Hope Conspiracy’s Death Knows Your Name (Deathwish). The former: Barely metallic, but very hard, Midwestern post-faux hawk rock and roll. The latter: Total 90’s hardcore without a Metalcore meathead in sight. No matter your current stance with Tom Araya and Co., everyone should be a little curious as to what a new Slayer album sounds like in 2006. I’m a Seasons in the Abyss man myself, choosing the 16-year-old underdog of their “seminalâ€Â period as a fave, and Christ Illusion (American) should have, and could have, been the follow-up. Across Tundras’ Dark Songs Of The Prairie (Crucial Blast), despite their frosty name, foreboding title, band member pedigrees, and original origin in a Midwest hellhole, is only metal in the way that Bitch Magnet was OG indie-metal in 1989. In duty to the temporarily unknown, Memphis’ Evil Army (s/t CD on Get Revenge! Records) make real-deal crossover magic (Accused, Hirax, Misfits, S.O.D., and early Metallica) and Clevelend’s Skeletonwitch follow-up their full-length with the Worship The Witch EP (self-released), one of the better Blackened melodic thrash attempts out there. To conclude, I was sent the new Mushroomhead CD, Savior Sorrow, but you have got to be fucking kidding. Really.

-Andrew Earles

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Ending (Pretty Much)

And so it came to pass that a consortium of Berlin bloggers purchased Jim’s Adlon gift-certificate for the full price. I took possession of the cash on Sunday.

And then I did an incredibly stupid thing: I put it, and some money I had in my pocket, in the bank.

Monday I got up, wrote a transfer-slip to the Obergerichtsvollsieher, and took it to the bank. On a whim, I checked my balance. The €220 I’d deposited twelve hours before had turned into €150 and change.

I hiked back home, picked up the receipt for the deposit, and went back to the bank. €74 and change had been taken out that morning, the woman told me. A few more clicks on her computer disclosed the culprit: Deutsche Telekom.

I have no idea how this happened. I have never authorized them to do this. I’m not completely sure how they got my account number, although it’s been the same since before I moved here (I got it when I did a short-lived “Letter From America” for the late Radio For You station here).

So I was still short.

Fortunately, this morning, a notoriously undependable magazine I write for deposited $300 in my American account, so in a few minutes, I’m removing more than enough to pay this guy when he shows up on Thursday. I’m not taking any more chances.

And today I picked up three hours’ proofreading work on a newsletter and brochure from a German sausage-seasoning company. Not what I want to be doing with my time, but it’s work.

Bourdain Fries Food Network

Now, here at Chez Krudman we love us some Food Network–especially Iron Chef and Alton Brown, but there is much to smack. And Rachel Ray gives me the willies.

We caught the first few minutes of some kind of Food Network Awards show the other night and changed the channel right quick, just after spotting the California Raisins–I kid you not.

Amazingly, Anthony Bourdain, he of the vicious right-hook sneer and left-uppercut of sarcasm, watched and blogged the whole thing.

With a deft back-hand he manages to destroy the star of a show we’ve watched a couple of times for the sheer guilty pleasure, Dinner: Impossible:

The overmuscled fuckwit from DINNER SLIGHTLY DIFFICULT delivered the best line: something like “This is the greatest night “ever!” If that was his greatest night ever, I suspect he would say the same thing while being publicly butt-slammed by the San Diego Chicken.

(If you’ve ever seen his show, by the way–it’s hilarious. It’s “Knight Rider Meets Leonard’s Of Great Neck “” Can four professional cooks make onion dip for 40– in time?!!!”

My Version Is Better Than Yours Part 5: Rock ‘N’ Roll Is Back Again –Little Sammy Gaha vs Harley Quinne



Little Sammy Gaha- Rock ‘N’ Roll Is Back Again/Come ’N’ On Strong –Pink Elephant 22.701-H (1973 Dutch issue)

(Little) Sammy Gaha was a wild hairy Australian who cut several singles and also did soundtrack work mostly in France. The song is a classic with a cool arrangement highlighted by driving cellos & strings very much in the style of Roy Wood and ELO.

Harley Quinne –Rock And Roll Is Back Again/My Lady –Bell 1282 (1973 UK)

Harley Quinne chose the song as a follow up to their hit version of New Orleans, but it sadly didn’t repeat its predecessor’s success. It’s a good rockin’ version very much following the same arrangement but with a more polished yet gritty production by Cook/Greenaway.

So here you have it two versions of this great song and I for one am not sure of the winner…

Click on title for edits of Little Sammy Gaha and Harley Quinne