WTFF=What the !#@% factor

REVIEW: Wes Hollywood, dynamite and the Lipstick EP

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Tue, 01 Jan 2019 15:01:00 +0000

T he first music that I’m listening to in 2019 is the latest album from Wes Hollywood, dynamite (ironic that he titles it using the deliberately understated e e cummings style of lower-case letters where a capital letter would be used; as Di says, the album is DYNAMITE!!), and the 4-

song EP Lipstick, both released in the back-half of 2018. Wes and I hung out a lot back in the ‘90s; to this day, he’s a great like-minded guy with excellent taste in music, a killer record collection, and a wonderful sense of humor. Razor & Die have been playing his great new album almost weekly, and it’s been knocking me out with how great it is. In this transitional post-physical-media sometimes-digital-only music landscape that we find ourselves in, it’s both easier (if you are willing to buy only the digital version) and harder (if you NEED to have a certain album on a certain format, like CD or LP) to procure an artist’s new album. This long preamble is my lead-in to say I was gonna buy Wes’s new album, and was looking into how to do that, when Wes (the saint that he is) gifted me with a copy of his new LP and the new EP. And ladies and gentlemen, I must confess that Di Kulka was right when she told me that Wes’s new releases are AWESOME!! KILLER!! His music is so tuneful that you can’t swing a cat without whacking into a really affecting melody with insightful lyrics. Vocally, he reminds me of Frankie Safes O'Malley and the late Tommy Keene (two of my favorite singers). Musically I guess you can call it power-pop, but if that genre rubs you the wrong way (too limiting, too twee, whatever), then I recant it and say it’s just tuneful rock music made by a guy who loves music for people who love music and who love when music makes them happy, helps them take a load off. Wes and his band make awesome, accomplished music that reminds me of Marshall Crenshaw, Tommy Keene, Buddy Holly, but doesn’t flat-out steal from them. Really, I can say with full confidence that there is absolutely no downside if you were to buy the new Wes Hollywood album *and* EP for the brand new year. And tell him Tommy Durkin sent ya!! 😉

https://weshollywood.bandcamp.com/

https://m.soundcloud.com/weshollywoodmusic

CD Review: Back Alley Riot, Damned If You Do

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Thu, 15 Sep 2016 15:11:00 +0000

Right off the bat, you need to know that Back Alley Riot brings it. Their 2015 release Damned If You Do rocks, it cooks, it takes no prisoners. The danger in all music, but somehow a bit more in the musical zip code where Back Alley Riot lives, is repeating what's come before and merely going through the motions. That type of lazy genre re-tread two-step just isn't good enough for bandleader Mike Nakis and his band of scowling scallywags. Their punkabilly songs are full of energy, passion, and grit. They even dare to tackle bigger issues like the disappearing middle-class. Nakis sings with such passion that you can't help but believe that every word of "Lake Street Lockdown" is true, even if they embellished. "Piss and Pride" and "Blue Collar Army" are full of swagger and confidence, autobiographical without being pretentious. Live, they kill it as well. Do your music collection a favor, and pick up the latest Back Alley Riot CD. And get ready to let yer adrenaline flow.

Damned If You Do by Back Alley Riot

I've been thinking...

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Fri, 03 Apr 2015 02:27:00 +0000

I've been an ecstatic consumer of music for all my life, but for some weird reason, there's a little voice in my head pulling at me, telling me that it's time to contribute some of my own to the world. I have no idea if it's going to be any good, or if anyone will want to ever listen to it more than once out of curiosity. But maybe that isn't the only reason to make music anyway. There's always a very good chance the songs I write will really suck. Maybe those songs never make it out of the basement. But then again, what if some of the songs I write DON'T suck?

And if I'm going to do this, I don't want to play it safe. I look at Geddy Lee of Rush, and the singing that he did on 2112. There's absolutely no way that he can sing those songs easily today; his voice has changed. I'm sure a voice in his head realizes this and says, "what the hell was I thinking when I wrote that song?" I want to write songs like that. Songs that might be easy to perform at 42 might be difficult for me to perform at 72. I'll need to not take that into consideration when I write. I need to write today's songs today, future feasibility be damned.

So what am I waiting for?

For Scott Miller, a tribute.

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Wed, 01 May 2013 06:52:00 +0000

I honestly don’t know how to properly pay tribute to one of the musicians whose art really touches my soul, without getting too maudlin, too overtly complimentary, or any other excessive use of positive descriptor, or appear self-serving (I promise you that’s not my intent at all), so I’m just gonna go full-stream-of-consciousness ahead with what feels right. Maybe I will go back and edit accordingly; maybe I won’t.

Scott Miller was the brain behind two incredibly wonderful Northern California-based groups whose music (a wonderful, slightly psychedelic, sometimes experimental, highly intelligent, somewhat quirky, always wonderful brand of power pop) still holds me in thrall: Game Theory and The Loud Family. Those groups lasted between 1982 or so until 2000, and released a total of seventeen albums and EPs. After that, Scott released the occasional track online here and there, performed the occasional gigs only in the Bay Area, near his home, released an album with Anton Barbeau in 2006, wrote a book which came out in 2010, and lived a life as a father and database programmer / consultant. All of this came to a rather abrupt end on April 15, 2013 with his untimely passing. Scott was 53.

Those are the bald, passionless facts, but they don’t explain what Scott Miller and his music meant to me, so let me somewhat autobiographically attempt to make sense of that part. Game Theory first came to my attention by accident while I was still in college. I got to like the two CDs by Animal Logic, which was a supergroup trio composed of renowned jazz bassist Stanley Clarke, ex-drummer from the Police Stewart Copeland, and a newcomer singer/songwriter Deborah Holland. When I asked my friend Andy if he knew whether or not Deborah Holland had done anything prior to Animal Logic, he thought on it for a couple of weeks, then told me he thought she’d been in Game Theory. But after scanning the backs of the Game Theory CDs (this was when you could still somewhat easily find them in used CD stores, before their relative scarcity drove the prices up to sky-high levels), I discovered no mention of Deborah Holland’s name, and later determined that a) Deborah Holland had not indeed done anything professionally prior to Animal Logic, and b) that my friend Andy must have confused Deborah Holland with Game Theory’s Donnette Thayer, two women whose singing styles are only slightly similar to each other.

The next time that Scott Miller crossed my attention was in 1994, when I was working as an assistant manager at the Rogers Park Coconuts. By this point, I had become a massive Big Star fan, and had heard that both of Scott Miller’s groups had done Big Star cover versions (Game Theory had done “You Can’t Have Me” on Real Nighttime; The Loud Family had covered my favorite Big Star song “Back Of A Car” on their EP Slouching Towards Liverpool). An Alias Records retail publicist called the store and asked if we would be willing to play current Alias releases in-store. I said sure, and isn’t The Loud Family on your label? “Why yes, and the song you’re looking for is on this particular CD, do you want me to send it along too?” Why sure! So along with Knapsack and Tommy Keene CDs (I think we got an Archers Of Loaf CD, but I’m not sure), there was Slouching Towards Liverpool. The Big Star cover version was indeed great, but the songs on it that really got me hooked were “Aerodeleria” and “Slit My Wrists” (both presented on that EP as live-in-studio versions which had been recorded practically up the street from Rogers Park, at WNUR in Evanston). Both were really great, quirky, complex, and musically wonderful songs, and I had to have more. I special-ordered the debut Loud Family CD Plants and Birds and Rocks and Things, and fell for Scott Miller’s music HARD. Wow!!!! What an amazing album. It is still one of my top 5 albums of all time (don’t ask me what’s my #1; it’s a constantly changing thing depending on the day). For an extended review of this album, see my blog review of the album here. Next, I found a copy of the quintessential Game Theory LP Lolita Nation, and let’s just say I liberated it from its existing place and gave it a good home. I’m not always proud of that, but it is what it is, ahem. I will say it wasn’t shoplifting, and let me leave it at that. While working at that Coconuts, my boss realized he had a CD copy of Lolita Nation (which by that point HAD become rare, and highly sought after), and sold it to me very cheaply. The catch? It had a rather severely water-damaged cover, but played perfectly. (A few years later I had one of those moments where God truly must have been smiling down on me, and managed to score a perfect copy of the CD for $7.99 in a record store that obviously didn’t know the CD’s true market worth, thank God). I became a part of the online fan community Loud Fans, and little by little, I began accumulating the entire catalog of Game Theory and Loud Family CDs, and learned that in 1995, he would soon be releasing a new CD, Interbabe Concern. I special ordered that, and got it on the day it was released. Another winner. It wasn’t as accessible on first listen as Plants and Birds… was, but ultimately in the long term just as satisfying.

I also was able to catch the band live on that tour. Back during this time, I placed a personal premium on trying to get as many autographs of my favorite musicians as I could. But I also wanted to ask Scott to explain a lyric of his that had me stumped. In his song “Idiot Son”, Scott sings a line, “And I saw real estate that I would not call land”, which perplexed me. So before the concert started, I approached Scott, asked him for his autograph on both my Plants and Birds… CD and my Lolita Nation LP, and asked him if he could shed some light on that lyric. He told me that it had to do with land whose practical use had been exhausted, and the only purpose that it served was its financial value. He told me the song contained not only an environmental concern, but images he’d compiled from a dream. He’d used dream imagery for a few of his songs, he told me. Wow… Later on, we talked some more, and he’d enthusiastically told me that he’d been reading a book called I and Thou, written by a Jewish philosopher Martin Buber. He was really fascinated by what he was reading, and had me read a passage of the book. On first blush, the passage he had me read and also his interpretation of it were heady stuff, very intellectual, but at no point during his very intelligent explanation of the philosophy did he use his obvious intelligence in an arrogant way. Rather, you could see his very real enthusiasm for it, and his want to share that with me. I was really touched that he’d spent so much time speaking with a fanboy like me. I honestly think I got to know him somewhat well that night. And the concert was amazing too, of course. Scott and his band really gave it their all. Nina Gordon of Veruca Salt was at that show, standing a little behind me, and when Scott launched into “Like A Girl Jesus”, she sang along with the first two lines of the song. It was an unintentional duet, and while that wouldn’t mean much to most people, I thought it was cool that here are two musicians whose works mean a lot to me singing along together. And I was there to hear it.

The Loud Family’s next release in 1997 was Days For Days, and on that album, he gained a new keyboardist in Alison Faith-Levy, but also a new drummer who looked familiar to long-time fans… Gil Ray, who had been the long-time drummer in Game Theory!! We fans were ecstatic at this turn of events; Gil is a hell of a drummer. With both Gil and Alison on board, it not only allowed the band to put some Game Theory songs back into their live set which Donnette Thayer had originally sung background vocals, but retained some of that male/female dynamic interplay which frankly enhanced the Game Theory albums. This lineup (with longtime bassist Kenny Kessel) would remain the same until the group called it a day in 2000. The tour behind Days For Days was also great, and Scott signed more autographs for me and talked with me some more.

In 2000, The Loud Family’s contract with Alias Records was coming to a natural close, and it would not be renewed (Alias was not the record company it once had been, and Scott’s hipster cachet had faded somewhat, certainly not due to lack of quality music). Knowing this, not only did I buy the last Loud Family CD Attractive Nuisance at Tower Records’ midnight sale the day it was released, but I made a point to catch not only the Chicago show of that tour but the New York City show as well. At that time, my brother was a student at Pratt Art Institute, and gladly loaned me the couch in his dorm room. Airfare was inexpensive, since my father worked for the airline and got it virtually free. Both shows were great, and I think Scott still remembered me. I remember asking him before the NYC show started if he minded if I took photos; he smiled, and gave me a look that said, “Are you kidding? Go for it!” I never want to take that question for granted with any artist, let alone one who I really respected.

And for the Loud Family, that was it, sort of. The record company 125 Records put out two wonderful documents after the fact: the live CD From Ritual To Romance, compiled from recordings made on the Interbabe Concern and Days For Days tours, and the wonderful live DVD entitled Loud Family Live 2000. On the occasion of the release of the DVD, I asked Sue at 125 Records if Scott would mind if I did a long-form interview with him in Glorious Noise webzine to promote the DVD. Scott said yes, and I submitted a rather long list of what I thought were atypical questions to Scott via email, all of which he answered candidly, thoroughly, and with quite a bit of humor. The finished article was part history of Game Theory and Loud Family, and partly my review of his CDs. Scott wrote me a note complimenting my mini-history of his groups, saying that he felt that it was one of the most extensive articles written about his groups to that point. I was on cloud nine that he took the time and wrote that to me.

In 2006, Scott and Anton Barbeau released the collaborative CD What If It Works. Scott graciously submitted to another email interview for Glorious Noise with me, in which I tried to bring up to speed what had happened in the interim, as well as promote the CD. During the course of that interview, he made some joking reference to being happy that What If It Works was outselling the Grease 2 soundtrack on Amazon. To my horror, my editor sort of tacked on his own paragraph to the end of the article I submitted (without noting that it was from him, not me) what he thought was his own jokey rejoinder saying that it wasn’t so, that as of the publication of the article, Grease 2 was indeed still outselling What If It Works. I emailed Scott to apologize for it, especially since it was being passed off as something I had written when the opposite was true. Scott took it in stride, and said something to the effect that he had always had better success making his music than promoting it.

And that was that. I kept up reading his online Ask Scott column, the serialized Music: What Happened? columns as they came out, and watched enviously from Chicago as Scott would perform the occasional show in the San Francisco area where he lived, but not tour outside of California. I knew that his computer day job he’d held during his musical career was now something he could concentrate on more fully, as well as getting married and having two wonderful daughters.

I guess I always hoped that Scott might be coaxed back into recording, releasing another album and touring nationally behind it. But it wasn’t to be. Scott’s passing is still hurting me incredibly; not only is there now a musical void, knowing that such a great guy like Scott is no longer with us really hurts. I honestly have never been this affected by the passing of any other of my musical heroes; maybe because Scott was always so generous with his time, his thoughts, his humor with all of his fans, the fact that he never pulled a “star turn” and tried to distance himself from us, maybe that’s why not only I but so many of us who are fans of his music, maybe that’s why we’re still in such shock and heart sick. Scott’s passing doesn’t make sense; he was too young. I know his music, and the memories we have of him will live on forever (we fans will see that he achieves immortality in that sense), but like another fan's tribute to him alluded to, I think many of us would trade in every last LP / CD / mp3 we own if it meant he were still here. This one hurts, and for me, it probably will for a really long time. Thank you Scott for your generosity in so many areas both musically and personally; may you go gently to the other side, and please tell everyone there that you meet that we miss them, too.

More coming soon

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 21:47:00 +0000

I promise!!

signed, the management.

Joe Walsh - "Dreams"

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Thu, 11 Nov 2010 05:27:00 +0000

Just when you think you have one of your favorite artists more-or-less pegged, they throw you a wonderful curve. Joe Walsh is one of those artists I've declared a favorite of mine, based purely on the strength of his unique guitarin' skills, his fun-loving attitude which is infectious (and infused in his music), and the strength of his two Asylum-era albums: "But Seriously, Folks..." and There Goes The Neighborhood. I own a whole lot of his solo albums (my big gaps are the individual James Gang albums and the live album You Can't Argue With A Sick Mind; everything else I own in one format or another, sometimes multiple formats). Two recent additions are vinyl copies of both So What and The Smoker You Drink, The Player You Get, both on original ABC Dunhill. The former has some great tunes, but sort of let me down. The latter has found ways to quietly blow my mind...

This song in particular, "Dreams", is just such a wonderful departure from what one would expect of a "typical" Joe Walsh song. In this song, there are elements of Todd Rundgren circa Runt: Ballad Of Todd Rundgren, Carole King, and Leon Russell. Yet the results are also very much of Joe Walsh. It's fascinating that the lead instrument is piano; Joe's known primarily as a force to be reckoned with on guitar, yet songs like this one and "Pretty Maids In A Row" off of Hotel California remind the world that he's no slouch writing (and peforming) a song on piano.

I guess that I've sort of placed a lower priority on discovering the Smoker You Drink... album until recently, maybe because "Rocky Mountain Way" is such a cliche song. Yet I've always loved "Meadows", which you think would have encouraged me to want to find out more about the source LP. I'm sort of embarrassed to admit that it's taken me as long as it has to really get to know this album, and I heartily recommend that you pick up a copy of The Smoker You Drink, The Player You Get.

Off-topic:I'm sorry I'm sort of slacking on Blogvember; life is funny, and so are one's priorities. Don't count me out yet, I'm just nowhere near as prolific as I'd hoped.

My Stack 'O Tunes for 11/3

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Wed, 03 Nov 2010 17:02:00 +0000

Part of a high-volume blog month is the cliche filler post. At the very least, they call attention to tunes we didn't know existed, or merely serve to illuminate the headspace of the blogger. Here's a quick look at what today's tuneage consists of:

Gene Chandler, "Groovy Situation" / "Not The Marrying Kind": Gene Chandler is most famous for "Duke of Earl", which was recorded for Vee-Jay in Chicago. When that label crashed and burned in 1966, Chandler went up the street to Mercury Records (also, at that time, in Chicago), and recorded this big hit ("Groovy Situation", that is). The flip side is the one that always hooked me as a kid; I was given this record by my Aunt Margie, from whom a very large portion of my singles collection stems. She thought I might like it (keep in mind I was, like, nine years old). Listening back to "Marrying Kind", it's just as great as I remember it.

Jerry Butler and Betty Everett, "Let It Be Me": This chestnut comes to my attention via my recent acquisition of The Story of Vee-Jay, a budget-priced double CD of the late great Chicago record company. The song is bathed in symphonic string crescendos worthy of Mr. Spector; Butler and Everett make what could have been a bathetic paean of love instead be a soaring plea that if Heaven is your love, may it never end. Gorgeous.

Peter, Paul, and Mary, "Flora": The B-side to "Blowin' In The Wind" is a quickly-strummed tale of a faithless lover and of jealousy turned to murder. Great little song.

The Ventures, "Walk, Don't Run '64": The surf-guitar classic gets updated, though not necessarily improved or ruined. It's still a great song, regardless of the overlaid Farfisa organ and echoey arrangememts.

Apocalypse Hoboken, Daterape Nation EP: I've had this one in my collection since the '90s. I'd played one cut of the EP ("Pop Sensibilities") pretty regularly at the time of its release, but couldn't delve too much further (for on-air purposes, anyway) due to its punk-rock-but-not-FCC-friendly language. I finally revisited it, knowing that they might have hailed from my current hometown, and it's awesome pop-punk as sung by Johnny Rotten's cousin. Awesome; I wonder if this ever made it onto CD. My copy is a double 7", in a gatefold sleeve.

P.S.: MSWord 2010 really stinks as an ad-hoc HTML editor!!

You Know Your Daughter Is A Rocker...

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Tue, 02 Nov 2010 03:42:00 +0000

...when, at 3 years old, she can fall asleep in a moving car with The Clash's Give 'Em Enough Rope playing in the background. That's my girl. And he's a rocker because he can recognize Cheap Trick's At Budokan album before they even start singing. That's my boy!!

Welcome to Blogvember!

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Mon, 01 Nov 2010 18:41:00 +0000

OK, so I've been a bit of a Chinese Democratic blogger recently; this space has gone fallow for way too long. So just to prove to myself that I can do it, I am going to attempt to post at least once per day during this month of November. Now I will beg your pardon in advance during Thanksgiving week; I know I'm gonna be visiting family and friends in the fine states of Pennsylvania and New Jersey during that week. Needless to say, my access to the 'Web during those weeks may be spotty. Therefore, let me clarify: since there are 30 days in this month, I will attempt to have at least 30 posts before December rolls around. Fair enough?

Here's some of the stuff you can expect to see:

More Blues Brothers novelization pages
More explanations of cool stuff in my collection
Another visit to Tuffy The Cat's Museum Of Obsolete Entertainment Mediums
Reviews of classic albums you either know or don't know, and why I think their indispensible
And much, much more!!

So check in every once in a while; you might like what you see. And yes, I do take requests... so comment / flame / suggest all you want.

Two and a half!!

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Wed, 04 Aug 2010 03:39:00 +0000

I know it's normal for a father to be proud as punch of his kids, but I gotta share this with you all. As I've mentioned, my 6-year old son (and by association, my 2 1/2 year old daughter) have gotten into the Who first via the Super Bowl, then by the movie The Kids Are Alright. That, plus the requests for me to play their songs in the car (honestly, they do request the Who).

So yesterday, my daughter and I are at the pool with my son, listening to Jack-FM, when what should come on the radio but one of Pete Townshend's more well-known songs. Sure enough, my daughter, UNPROMPTED, says to me, "Daddy, Baba O'Riley!!" And she was right.

That's my girl.

More Blues Brothers coming soon, I promise.

The Blues Brothers: The Lost Tales, part 4

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Sat, 24 Jul 2010 05:18:00 +0000

(DJMurph's quick note: don't get too used to these chapters coming out at lightning-fast speed; this one seemed like it would be a quick knockout, and it was a brief vignette which deserved airing.)

Like I mentioned, so many characters in the novelization of the Blues Brothers get even the most minor bits of expansion from their portrayals in the movie, yet sometimes they're worth sharing here with you, the fellow fan. See if you recognize who they're speaking of here...

It was, finally, the day. The alarm went off shortly after dawn, jangling noisily less than a foot away from where the beautiful blonde's head lay on the pillow. Her eyes opened quickly as one hand silenced the alarm. Then, contrary to what might be expected, the lids did not close again to allow the sleeper another twenty winks. Shifting her feet out from beneath the covers, the young woman put them on the floor, rubbed her eyes one time, then dropped down on the pile carpet to do fifty pushups.

The two minutes of rapid exercise served as a tonic. The woman sprang to her feet and strode to the closet, where she drew out a pair of jeans, a sweat shirt, knee-high woolen stockings, and jogging shoes. A minute later she emerged from the bathroom, looking as if she had spent an hour with a Hollywood makeup expert. In the kitchen of her modest apartment, she drained a six-ounce glass of unsweetened grapefruit juice, downed a half-dozen vitamin C tablets, and was out the door.

A ten-minute drive brought her to an abandoned sanitary landfill between Marquette Park and Ogden Dunes, Indiana, a flat section of land broken only by irregular piles of unburned detritus missed by the bulldozers. Otherwise the area resembled the stunted remains of a bombed-out city that had been buried by its own former inhabitants out of sheer embarrassment. Because it was still quite early, long before the wind would blow in off the lake, a heavy fog clung to the ground, transforming the godforsaken territory into an eerie moor.

The woman parked her car near one of the mounds and went around to the trunk, from which she withdrew a long object wrapped in a blanket. Sticking the blanket and the object under one arm, she picked up a sheet of heavy cardboard lying on the floor of the trunk, leaned it against the fender, and closed the trunk. She then picked up the cardboard and walked several hundred feet to the nearest pile of unburned garbage, against which she leaned the cardboard, arranging several large stones so that it would not slide or fall down.

Satisfied that the cardboard was just right, she moved a hundred yards away, paused, frowned, then continued walking until she was perhaps three hundred yards from the pile against which the object rested.

After a lengthy examination of the stunted landscape to make certain no one was watching her, the blonde dropped the blanket onto the ground, baring a heavy metal-and-wood object that veterans of World War Two would have recognized immediately as a Browning Automatic Rifle. Jamming a clip of ammunition into the piece and slilding the bolt to pump a round into the chamber, she dropped to her stomach and allowed the weapon to rest on the bipod support at the end of the barrel. She then took a deep breath and fired two rounds singly, followed immediately by a rapid emptying of the entire clip. As soon as the piece was empty, she reached for a second clip,
inserted it, and squeezed the trigger until the sudden silence and array of shell casings to her right told her she had expended the ammunition.

With another glance around the landscape, she wraped the BAR in the blanket and retraced her steps to the garbage pile and the cardboard target. Surveying the results of her quick fusillade, she smiled, noting that no less than ten shots had struck the area roughly corresponding to the shape of a man.

Even better, four of the irregularly shaped holes were within the boundaries of the victim's head, which just happened to be a life-size glossy picture of Jake Blues.

Now those of us who have seen the movie more than twice recognize the above scene to relate to the woman Jake ditched at the altar. While for most of us that character has indelibly been linked to Carrie Fisher's excellent portrayal, it's cool to see how this character began life, before casting took the character (at least visually) in a different yet just-as-rewarding direction. Also, I really appreciate the way that Mitch Glazer (the author of the novelization) sets it up as if it were playing out on the screen, not revealing what the cardboard standup is for until there is a gun present, not revealing until the very end that it contains the glossy of Jake.

Incidentally, Bill Murray just gave an extensive interview, in which he spoke of currently being in the process of filming a movie of a script written by, you guessed it, Mitch Glazer. It will be a wonderful movie to watch, if we're to gauge its quality by what we're reading within this novelization; I'm looking forward to it!

The Blues Brothers: The Lost Tales, part 3

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Thu, 22 Jul 2010 04:27:00 +0000

At this point in the book, the narrative starts following the movie a bit more closely; actions captured on celluloid have been reproduced here pretty faithfully. However, there are a few distinct differences that have to be pointed out. The relationship between Sister Mary Stigmata and her two Blues Brothers "sons" is portrayed in the book a bit more warmly than it is in the movie. Whether that decision was intentional when going from script to screen or whether it was just not choosing to flesh out the characters in an effort to save time is unknown. But notice here, if you will, the slight deviations from the adversarial relationship portrayed in the movie:

"So, Jake," Sister Mary said. "Was it worth it?"

"What?"

"Was the money you stole worth the penalty you paid for threatening the life of a fellow man?"

"No, I guess not," Jake replied. "But I didn't really threaten anybody."

"Where were you when your brother was stealing?" Sister Mary asked, fixing Elwood with a baleful glare.

"I was in the car waiting for him."

"Therefore you are an accessory to the crime, as they say."

Elwood nodded.

"More than that, Jake said. "He was an absollute necessity."

"How come you were caught and he wasn't?"

"The cops couldn't catch him. He was in the Bluesmobile."

"Actually, it was pretty close," Elwood said, "until I got in the funeral procession. It took me out of my way, but it was worth it."

"Neither of you sounds contrite," Sister Mary said accusingly. "Not in the slightest."

"We didn't have any choice," Jake replied. "We needed the money fast. There wasn't any other way out."

"There's always another way out. A Christian way out. God doesn't encourage people to be thieves. You just didn't look hard enough."

"I did, I did," Jake protested. "Honest, Penguin... I mean, Sister Mary. We even used the Yellow Pages."

"Don't be a wiseacre. You know what I mean about looking. You didn't ask the Lord for a better way out. Chances are, if you'd done that, He would have shown you the light."

"It was getting awfully late to go around looking for the light. We didn't have time."

"There's always time. Sometimes you see the light in a split second. God works in strange ways. He'd have given you the answer if you'd given Him half a chance."

Jake shrugged, indicating resignation if not defeat.

"Anyway, you don't realize how lucky you've been," Sister Mary continued. "A lot worse things could have happebned to you than being raised here. Church money raised and fed you. You could at least have thought of the Church once during your timeof need. It makes me think you learned nothing during all you years here."

"That's not true," Jake objected, smiling. "We learned to duck."

"Ingrates," Sister Mary chided them, but her tone was no longer angry.

At this point, Sister Mary informs Jake and Elwood of the tax payment predicament that the orphanage finds itself in.

"How much is the payment?" Elwood asked.

"Five thousand dollars is the amount we'll have to pay to keep them from offering it for sale."

"Doesn't the church have that much?" Elwood responded. "Seems to me they could pay that easy."

"They could, if they were interested in keeping the place," Sister Mary murmured. "But they aren't. I don't guess you can blame them. It's dilapidated and not much to look at. but it serves a good purpose."

"Kind of like you," Jake said, the warmth in his eyes belying the flippancy of his remark.

Sister Mary looked darts at him, then laughed. "Well, that's exactly it, you know," she said. We take kinds here that can't go anyplace else, and do a pretty good job of raising them. If St. Helen goes, I don't know what might happen to some of these children."

The remaining tale follows the movie's events, including telling of the meeting with Curtis the maintenance man / blues zeitgeist. But what's touched on is that Elwood has a chance to visit the orphanage a few times while Jake is still incarcerated. During the last visit before bringing Jake, Elwood runs into the Illinois Nazis sizing up the orphanage's big cavernous rooms and expressing their intentions to purchase the orphanage if only to recreate the interior of the beer hall at which Hitler spoke to the masses. This, of course, fills Elwood with revulsion, and further stokes his hatred of the Illinois Nazis. The Nazis are portrayed as earnest but ultimately foolish and misguided. Elwood ends up giving them the silent treatment during their tour of the orphanage, as they size up the building as a cat would look at a rodent-filled mouse hole.

More on the way. Keep the comments coming!!

The Blues Brothers: The Lost Tales, part 2

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Wed, 07 Jul 2010 04:02:00 +0000

Response to the first entry has been sufficiently strong enough to warrant another chapter. The movie starts with Jake getting out of prison, but it only vaguely mentions how he got there in the first place. The novelization goes into stunning detail as to how the act went down. This section immediately follows the one that I posted last time. I was hoping to (and hope to in the future) be able to give this out in smaller, bite-sized morsels. However, this whole episode spans over several of the paperback's yellowing pages. I just didn't feel right denying any portion of this to you, my readers. Without further ado, more from the lost archives of Jake and Elwood:

The husky man fixed the thin black tie around his neck, tightening it with a grimace. He put on the baggy black suit jacket (matching his baggy black suit pants) and set the narrow-brimmed black porkpie on his head. He scowled into the dressing room mirror, smacking a fist into his opposite palm for effect. His eyes glinted even through his black Ray-Ban 50-22 G15 shades.

Suddenly Otis Redding's "I Can't Turn You Loose" rattled the dressing room door, mean brassy horns battling a thunderous rhythm section for soul supremacy. The big man smiled into the mirror. Sitting on a couch, a taller, thinner, but identically dressed man attached one loop of a pair of handcuffs to a black briefcase. There was a knock on the door.

"You're on, boys. Jesus, they're going nuts out there."

The thinner man slapped on the other end of the handcuffs around his wrist. "You ready?" he asked. His voice sounded like a cop's. The big man put a stick of Wrigley's into his mouth and picked up a long gold chain with a key on the end of it. He twirled it in a smooth, flashing circle.

From outside, the annouincer's excited baritone rose above the charging band. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen." The crowd screamed as one voice.

"Thank you. Thank you. Now please join me in a warm Rose Room welcome for the band of Joliet Jake and Elwood Blues -- The Blues Brothers."

The roar rattled a water glass in their dressing room. Jake Blues smiled his hustler's smile. "C'mon, Elwood." One eyebrow arched above his midnight shades as he hissed the strangely familiar words, "It's showtime."

A white spot hit the two bluesmen as they reached the raised parquet stage, Jake casually whipping his gold key chain, Elwood dead serious, the sinister briefcase locked to his wrist. Two thousand people rushed the stage. Jake calmly took the key and unfastened the cuff on his brother's wrist. Elwood, in turn, unlocked his case, reached in and pulled out a microphone and a gleaming Special 20 Blues Harp. He held it before the crowd like a splinter from the Cross as the band kicked into "Hey, Bartender."

The audience knows them by heart; grown women squeal and men bellow as each one's favorite band member takes a turn at a solo: Donald "Duck" Dunn, orange halo of hair and curved pipe glowing above his bass; Willie "Too Big" hall riding the back beat; Steve "The Colonel" Cropper, slick as a Saturday night, bending those Memphis riffs till his Strat smoked; Matt "Guitar" Murphy, angelilc smile and muscular blues; Murphy "Murph" Dunne, keyboard man of a thousand fingers; and Lou "Blue Lou" Marini, Tom "Bones" Malone, and Alan "Mr. Fabulous" Rubin, the blues horns, firing like a finely tuned soul engine.

This was a band to testify to, a band to pray for. In an age when music, raw and alive, had been eaten by machines, when computers duplicated any sound a engineer could conceive, these boys were the last hope. They had crawled out of their day jobs clutching their axes and following the dream Jake held beore them -- that the people still wanted real music.

The Blues Brothers Band wasn't just in it for the gold. Nobody drives all day, plays all night, and hits the highway again at dawn for thirty-seven dollars and change. They had chugged enough beef grease and bad fries to wear out new assholes. They'd slept under bridges, in the Bluesmobile, and ten in a single bed. And even though they would surely deny it, they did it for the music.

For two years now they had toured nonstop, crisscrossing the Steel Belt like funk evangelists, playing everything from pool halls to gay bars -- anyplace and anybody who would listen. Those boys stormed onstage until even the cold Midwestern skies thundered back. Joliet Jake, the true believer, and silent Elwood spoke through their music, and finally the people followed.

Tonight was the first taste of payoff. Even if it was only the Falls Hotel in Falls End, Wisconsin, it was still a big room with spotlights. The end zone was really in sight, and after the gig the band partied like winners.

"Hey, son, you gonna drink that shit or piss in it?" Duck yelled across the suite to Murph Dunne. Murph, unfortunately, couldn't answer. Slumped against the bathroom door, a bottle of Johnny Walker Red dangling dangerously from his hand, his beautiful paisley vest odorous and stained beyond reclaiming, he was lucky he could breathe. The bathroom door opened and abruptly hurled Murph face forward onto a sleeping blond room-service waitress. The Colonel looked at his handiwork and smiled. "Nine ball in the side pocket," he drawled. The Colonel grabbed the bottle of Johnny Walker and picked his way toward Duck. Even though dawn lit the room with its ugly gray light, he still stepped on fellow bluesmen, the floor being thickly carpeted with bodies and bottles.

"You are a true saint, Steve," Duck said as the friends sat down to breakfast.

"You seen Jake or Elwood?" Steve asked, taking a hit. "I wanna congratulate them on this weekend. It felt real nice."

Duck reached for the bottle, nodding. "Last I saw Elwood, he was riding up and down the elevator, singin' 'Got My Mojo Workin'.'"

Steve nodded along, unsurprised.

"An' ol' Jake, that boy was floatin' around the heated pool with his clothes on. He had these two fine cheerleaders from Falls End High holdin' 'im up. They was making bubbles with their mouths."

Steve smiled. "As long as they're okay."

The door suddenly swung open and Willie Hall, an enorous blonde Midwestern Viking woman under each arm, screamed into the alcohol haze, "Boys an' girls, now ain't 'Too Big' too much?"

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It had to be the Penguin. Only Sister Mary Stigmata could hit so hard, so fast. Elwood curled into a protective fetal ball, but still the kicks came, shuddering painfully through his whole hung-over body. He tried to open his eyes... really tried, but there was a faulty transistor blocking his brain's command. Elwood felt two hands shaking him violently. Thank God for that, because it shook open his eyes. His pupils recoiled from the harsh fluorescent light as he focused on the outraged, hulking shape of Bill Halvorsen, general manager of the Falls Hotel.

Elwood's right hand hurt lke hell. He looked up and noticed it dangling above him -- handcuffed to the railing. "Jesus," he marvelled aloud. "I'm handcuffed to the fucking elevator railing."

Halvorsen smiled like he had a mouthful of bile. "Nice guess, Mr. Wizard. Now where the hell's your big brother? Do you know that your band ran up a three-thousand-dollar room service bill this weekend? Shit, someone with a Southern accent drank five hundred dollars worth of my Napoleon brandy alone!"

Elwood drew himself up with all the dignity available to a man handcuffed to an elevator, and said, "Sir, we have several band members with Southern accents -- Bones, Duck -- "

"I'm not finished, El-wood," Halvorsen interrupted. "I haven't gotten to the two thousand dollars in fire and water damage. That's right, Mr. Blues, your boys wrote their names in various liquors and colognes in my third-floor hallway and then lit them. I'm sure it made a pretty fire -- " Halvorsen's face was dangerously red, the veins in his neck bulging like hydraullic cables -- "but it also destroyed my carpets and set off the sprinkler system, which flooded the entire floor."

"Sir," Elwood said, standing up shakily as the elevator hit the second floor. "Sir, my brother and I will be glad to pay -- "

"I'm not finished, Blues." Halvorsen took a menacing step closer, and Elwood felt like a monarch butterfly pinned to velvet. "My night man said he saw my... my daughters swimming nude with that pig brother of yours! They are sixteen years old... do you know what that means?"

"We've reached my floor," Elwood said as the door opened. He leapt for them, only to come flying back in a hancuffed heap.

Halvorsen put his swollen face inches from Elwood's and shrieked, "You are dead men!"

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Jake washed his face with his sunglasses on. "How did I know they were his daughters? They didn't look anything like the swine. And besides, they told me--"

"Sure, fine, Jake. I don't care. But what about the nine grand?" Elwood pleaded. "That's all the money we made this weekend. We promised the band we'd cover their expenses and pay them."

Jake took handfuls of paper towels from the dispenser and dried himself. "Jesus, those boys don't know the meaning of the word moderation. But hell, I promised, I gave my word, and this band is built on trust and loyalty." Jake threw the soggy towels into the sink. "Besides, if I don't pay 'em, they'll leave."

"Exactly." Elwood nodded, proud of his brother's moral compass.

"So, Mr. Dick Tracy Junior, where are we gonna find five thousand dollars?"

"How 'bout we enter the Colonel in a big-stakes pool game?"

"On what? Put up your year's supply of white bread as collateral?"

"Christ," Elwood spat, hurt. "I was just thinkin' out loud."

"I know, I'm sorry, pal," Jake consoled. "It's just I'm under a lotta pressure here."

A horn honked from outside.

"Shit. That'll be them," Jake said, quickly polishing his shades. "Just be cool an' dummy up. I'll think of somethin'."

The two brothers walked out into the gray Illinois sunset. The lights at the Clark gas station were just going on. The station, right off the highway, was jammed with cars; the pump jockeys scurried hysterically, sorcerer's apprentices trying to service the mob. Off to one side, a battered blue '58 Cadilac with manta-ray fins idled noisily.

"Well well, if it's not the two hottest bandleaders since Sonny and Cher," Alan "Mr. Fabulous" Rubin applauded from the Caddy's front seat. The rest of the band joined him. After the cheers died, Alan jumped out and opened the door. "So, my captain, where do we dine in Chicago? I believe a celebration is in order. Many cases of fine champagne... If you will allow me to suggest --"

"Sure, sure," Jake chuckled. "Soooo, you boys are pretty happy, huh?"

A shower of beer cans answered him.

Unfazed, he continued, "Thank you, thank you very much, gentlemen. Now, Elwood's gonna drop you off at the Stake Pit, a mother beautiful beef joint a few minutes away, and we'll both meet you there within the hour. Hey, all the brew you can drink!"

The band grew silent, wary. Willie Hall tilted up his visor and nailed Jake with a cold eye. "You fuckin' around wit' us again, Jake?"

Jake backed away, waves of shock and hurt crossing his face.

"Willie, I can't believe my ears... No, I don't want to ... We're brothers. How could I... Have I ever lied to you?" Quickly, he added, "Elwood and I have a meeting with a major promoter that I'd like to wrap up before we hit Chi town."

Elwood nodded in agreement, falling completely for Jake's line of bullshit.

"Now, off you go and don't drink too much before I get there, ha ha."

Elwood walked over to Jake as the band settled back in the car, properly chastised.

"So, Jake, when did you set up this meeting?"

"You frighten me, man. There's no fucking meeting," Jake whispered. "Be back here soon. I wanna hit this station before it closes at six."

"Hit the station? Jake, are you sure? That's armed robbery. You'll get a nickel, at least."

Jake stared deeply into his brother's Ray-Bans. "I promised the band, Elwood."

"Where you gonna get a gun at this hour?"

"We'll use that toll gun you got, the one that fires quarters into the toll booth. Shit, it looks like a real gun to me. That way no one'll get hurt. Don't worry, baby brother, I got it locked. You just hustle back."

Elwood walked to the Caddy, shaking his head and muttering unintelligibly. Jaek headed back to the bathroom to take a major tension dump.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Traffic was as heavy as ever. The station sat blazing with neon and headlights.

"Jake, it's almost seven. the band's been drinkin' beer for two hours," Elwood whispered from their hiding place behind the men's room. "Christ, we'll have to rob a bank to buy the Stake Pit."

"I don't know what's wrong. They should have closed by now," Jake cocked the toll gun and pulled his hat lower over his shades. "I'm goin' in. You wait in the Bluesmobile an' keep the fucker idling."

The two brothers looked at each other, hesitating, on the edge.

Jake slapped his brother on the shoulder.

"See ya in a few minutes. Be cool."

Elwood watched his brother's solid body swagger to the brightly lit, glass-walled Clark's station. "Jake can handle himself," he thought. "He always handled himself."

Elwood ran to the Cadillac and turned on the ignition. Sluped in the front seat, he watched the robbery as if it were a drive-in movie.

The bulky man in the black suit and shades pulled the strange-looking gun on the old man next to the cash register. The old man sat frozen. The robber waved the gun around violently. The old man opened the register, grabbing handfuls of cash and sliding it across the counter.

"Good, good. Jake, you're beautiful. Now go!"

But the big man pointed the gun to a case of Valvoline stacked in the corner.

Elwood screamed, "Nooooo! Jake, we don't use Valvoline!"

And then, as if in a dream, the Illinois state trooper cruised almost silently into the picture. Even Elwood didn't see him until it was too late. The trooper pulled his revolver, curiously watching the bizarre tableau as Jake, cash falling out of his pockets, balanced the heavy case of oil.

Suddenly, Elwood saw -- and leaned hard on the horn. Jake jerked a look over, catching the cop as he ducked behind his patrol car and assumed a two-handed firing position.

Jake dropped the oil. Thinking quickly, he handed the gun to the palsied station owner and threw up his arms as if he were being held up.

The trooper laughed out loud as a stream of quarters bounced off the big man's white shirt.

Elwood, tears streaming from beneath his sunglasses, hit the slab at sixty and headed for Chicago.

The dream was over.

This tale was hinted at both in the movie and in the liner notes on the back of the Briefcase Full Of Blues album, but in the novel, the episode is given full treatment.

Again, if you like these, please comment. While these are a bear to transcribe, it's worth it if I know people are clamoring for more.

Disclaimer: The copyright of the above quoted material is owned by MCA Publishing, a division of Universal. All rights reserved by the copyright holder. While I have not explicitly received permission to reproduce the contents, I will happily comply with any and all requests to take down this material. In the meantime, if you've enjoyed reading this, feel free to support Universal by buyingThe Blues Brothers on DVD, by buying any other DVD or Blu-Ray Disc bearing Universal's distinctive earth-and-cosmos logo, or by going to Universal Studios theme park (ask for Babs!).

The Blues Brothers: The Lost Tales, part 1

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 03:37:00 +0000

John Belushi and Dan Aykroyd made Chicago famous in 1980 with the release of what is still my favorite movie of all time, The Blues Brothers. Oh sure, Al Capone gave us a certain dangerous reputation; the presence of the lake and the fact that we were the birthplace of the sleeper train car also popped our town's reputation above the radar. And oh yeah, our hosting of the '68 Democratic National Convention raised eyebrows as to just how proficient our blue boys could be with their billy clubs. But The Blues Brothers let the world know just how cool of a city we really are. For that, we're eternally grateful.

The movie was fully realized in its theatrical release version, but got a lengthier release when it first came to DVD with the addition of lots of unseen footage which fleshed out the characters and rounded out the story even further. However, Dan Aykroyd relates that the original script that he wrote for the movie was enormous, three times longer than any movie (especially a comedy) could realistically be. To that end, director John Landis had to cut out a lot of character backstory and extended sequences. However, there was a simultaneous paperback novelization of the movie released, written by "Miami Mitch" Glaser. This novelization was derived from that original, extra long script (and not the eventual shooting script). Consequently, it provides tantalizing glimpses as to what was in that longer script. For as long as you the reader are interested, some of those "lost" episodes will be related here for your pleasure. Let's start from the top, as any good series should...

Artesia Papageorge tasted her own blood. It trickled into her mouth, salty and warm as tears. She ignored it, biting down even harder on the towel clamped between her jaws. Artesia lay back exhausted on her cot. Within seconds the next hit of pain arched her high in the air. A local nurse and Cissy, a trustee, shredded clothes and bound her to the metal frame. Now her struggles caused the entire cot to scrape across the concrete floor.

Artesia's pretty face was drained to a sickly paraffin color. Her brown eyes were locked open and unfocused -- a cave fish lost in the dark prison cell.

Shapes and faces drifted in the gray: the ancient judge who sentenced her for a murder she swore she couldn't remember (and didn't commit), a handsome man she might have loved. Some images were comforting, almost familiar, and some, strange and ugly, swooped at her from the blackness. Artesia kept silent through the fear, concentrating on the vision of a little boy-- all curly dark hair and brown eyes. Wide-eyed, she studied this unborn son floating innocently above her.

The odds in the Dwight Illinois Women's Correctional Institute ran ten to one that Artesia wouldn't live the night. They also ran nine to five that the baby would die inside her.

Cissy Wright lay a cool rag across Artesia's forehead. She gently brushed back the damp hair from Artesia's face. There wasn't much more to do. Cissy's wrinkled black hands caressed her friend's pale cheek.

"Don't worry, chile," she murmured. "It's almost over. Everything be okay by mornin'. You trust Cissy." The dying eyes knew better.

"How the hell did she get knocked up in here?" The gray nurse barked, washing her hands in the sink.

Cissy shook her head. "Nobody knows fo' sure. Maybe she came in that way. Maybe... you know... it just happened. This is one special lady. Some say magic-like." Cissy looked down at Artesia's face, shiny with sweat, almost glowing in the half-light. "There's somethin' kinda... holy about her."

The nurse threw a bloody towel into the trash and positioned herself between Artesia's legs. "Well, whatever, it sure as hell isn't helpin' her now. It'll be a miracle if we can even save her kid, weak as she is."

Suddenly Artesia gripped Cissy's hand, squeezing it tight. Her eyes seemed to focus, looking up at the black woman. Cissy took the towel from Artesia's mouth and leaned closer. In a whisper, almost a sigh, Artesia Papageorge spoke a name: "Jake."

Cissy's tears fell on the small white hand.

"Cissy. Please. You call him Jake."

"It's showtime," the nurse screamed. "Here comes the kid. Keep her awake, we almost got 'im."

Cissy desperately shook her friend. "Push, honey... help!"

Artesia's grip relaxed, and fo the first time that endless day, her eyes closed. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead a soft final moan rose from her. One long, sad note. At that very moment the baby cried to life, letting loose a fierce wail. Their two voices met in soulful harmony. On key -- and as sweet as Marvin and Tammi, Otis and Carla -- their voices sailed by the restless inmates, through the steel bars and out into the chilly Illinois night.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Sister Mary Stigmata cradled the silent baby close to her. Funny, the poor little thing hadn't cried all night. In fact, he hadn't made any noise at all since Officer Delaney brought him by after dinner. The sister shook her head sadly. Delaney said some salesmasn had pulled up to a newsstand and tossed a dime for the Gazette. Instead of the newspaper, somebody had dropped this sleeping baby through the open window of the car, into the salesman's lap. Sister Mary had named him Elwood because he was the fifth child left at the Saint Helen of the Blessed Shroud Orphanage that week, and E was the fifth letter of the alphabet. (It was a pet system of hers.)

Someone coughed at one end of the huge room, and Sister Mary gazed down the long row of sleeping boys. Bits of dreams and muttered nightmares escaped into the dorm. The place was deep with sleep. The orphans insisted that the room, with its high dim ceilings, hid scary shadows. But it was more a barracks than a haunted house; even fear was too romantic for this building. It was functional, and the sister and her fellow nuns were caring, if impersonal. Still, it was the only house and family these kids had. And right now the home was jammed; not a free bed in sight. Well, the sister couldn't stand there and hold Elwood forever. He'd just have to double up with somebody.

Suddenly sister Mary Knew she was being watched! She whirled around, and staring straight at her -- that amazing hustler's spark in his two-and-a-half-year-old face -- was little Jake Papageorge. Wide awake and calm as an undertaker, he checked out the nun and the child in her arms.

"All right, Mr. Papageorge," the sister said, somehow knowing he could understand her, "it looks as though you have a new friend." She placed Elwood in bed with Jake. "I'm sure you two will get along famously." Jake made room for the infant as if he'd slept there forever. As if they were brothers.

This stuff, because it is derived from a primary source and not just some outside author's imagination, can be accepted as canonical, as far as I'm concerned. The episodes within this novelization which never saw light of celluloid might as well have, in some perfect world where four hour movies about two wayward rhythm-and-blues singers would be an unqualified cinematic success. Since we don't live in that perfect world, and that four hour cut of The Blues Brothers never saw the light of day, I'd love to share with you some of these backstories. Please let me know if you find this stuff interesting; I'll continue the series if you all leave me enough comments.

Disclaimer: The copyright of the above quoted material is owned by MCA Publishing, a division of Universal. All rights reserved by the copyright holder. While I have not explicitly received permission to reproduce the contents, I will happily comply with any and all requests to take down this material. In the meantime, if you've enjoyed reading this, feel free to support Universal by buying The Blues Brothers on DVD, by buying any other DVD or Blu-Ray Disc bearing Universal's distinctive earth-and-cosmos logo, or by going to Universal Studios theme park (ask for Babs!).

Side WHAT?

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 05:57:00 +0000

One of the cool things that was lost in the transition from vinyl to CD was the concept of two separate halves. Most bands chose to refer to their albums' sides as A and B or 1 and 2, whichever nomenclature they chose. However, a few were more clever in designating the two halves of their records. Here are some of the more creative ones, the kings of this phenomenon being R.E.M., of course:

Cheap Trick, Cheap Trick (1977) (first side was Side 1; second side was Side A)
Original Soundtrack, She's Having A Baby (He and She sides)
Billy Joel, Piano Man (One Side / Another Side)
Billy Idol, Rebel Yell (his second full-length solo album) (sides 3 and 4)
Billy Idol, Whiplash Smile (his third full-length) (sides 5 and 6)
Guns 'N Roses, Appetite For Destruction (sides G and R)
R.E.M. , Chronic Town (side Chronic Town and side Poster Torn)
R.E.M. , Fables Of The Reconstruction (A Side / Another Side)
R.E.M. , Reckoning (sides L and R)
R.E.M. , Life's Rich Pageant (sides Dinner and Supper)
R.E.M. , Document (side Page and Leaf)
R.E.M. , Dead Letter Office (sides Post and Script)
R.E.M. , Eponymous (sides Early and Late)
R.E.M. , Green (sides Air and Metal)
R.E.M. , Out Of Time (sides Time and Memory)
R.E.M. , The Best of R.E.M. (a UK-only compilation) (sides Us and Them)
R.E.M. , Automatic For The People (sides Drive and Ride)
R.E.M. , Monster (sides C and D)
R.E.M. , New Adventures in Hi-Fi (sides Hi and Fi)
The Smashing Pumpkins, Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness (CD 1 was called From Dawn To Dusk; CD2 was called From Twilight To Starlight. However, in its 3LP configuration, each of the albums had the following side designations: Dawn, Tea Time, Dusk, Twilight, Midnight, Starlight)
Queen, Queen II (sides White and Black)
The Tubes, Outside / Inside (sides Outside One and Inside Two)
Joe Jackson, Night and Day (sides Night and Day)
Jon Astley, Everyone Loves The Pilot (Except The Crew) (sides Outbound and Inbound)
Wings, Back To The Egg (sides Sunny Side Up and Over Easy)
Roxy Music, Manifesto (East and West sides)
The Knack, Round Trip (sides Here and There)
Blue Oyster Cult, Tyranny and Mutation (Red and Black sides)
Fine Young Cannibals, The Raw and The Cooked (sides Raw and Cooked)
Heart, Dog and Butterfly (Dog and Butterfly sides)
Rod Stewart, Blondes Have More Fun (Side 1 and Side 1 Continued)

NP: Various, The Island Story (25th Anniversary compilation of Island Records)

It's Been Awhile...

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 14:41:00 +0000

I know I haven't blogged since St. Alex shuffled off this mortal coil; a lot of changes have occurred in my life (all of 'em good to neutral). The biggest one is that I am a stay-at-home-Dad. Circumstances triangulated in such a fashion that it made sense that a) we could do fine on my wife's earnings, and b) the ever-worsening Eisenhower expressway traffic condition, that this decision (which has been percolating for a while now) was made sooner than later. I don't regret it at all. I will admit that it comes with its own learning curve. My goal is to always a) make sure that the kids are taken care of, and b) that the house is kept in wonderful shape, in that priority order. Item A is a no-brainer; it's item B that is the "learning curve".

So often, I want to write these epic, long-form reviews of classic albums (I know a bit of you still revisit my Loud Family review, including some former members of the band itself!). But equally as often, I don't find myself with the amount of time that said record reviews call for. They will be back. Until then, I'm gonna post my impressions of raising your kids right: with an appreciation for the finer music. My kids regularly demand I play "Happy Jack"

and "Surrender" instead of the Wiggles and the Doodlebops; I see this as a positive trend.

More I promise; stay tuned...

NP: Joe Jackson, Rain.

Alex Chilton, 1950-2010

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 03:57:00 +0000

I don't really know where to start, so let me start easy and go from there.

Alex Chilton is, was, and will always be, one of my two favorite musicians of all time; the other one is Scott Miller, he of Game Theory and the Loud Family. Alex has been one of my favorites since I first heard Big Star, in 1992 to be precise. I came to Big Star via the Posies, oddly enough. On their "Suddenly Mary" EP, they included their cover of Big Star's "Feel". At the time, I thought, "Hmm, sounds a little like Boston," but didn't really question that it wasn't even a Posies original. Then, a month later, I heard the original in 2nd Hand Tunes in Evanston, and found out it was by Big Star. Around this time, Rolling Stone had just published their glowing reviews for the recently-reissued Rykodisc CDs. Then of course, Big Star decided to reunite in Missouri for Summerfest, of all things. My interest was piqued; I picked up the CD containing the entirety of their first two albums.

I was immediately smitten. It was just as cool as everyone said. There was no turning back.

Not long after, Big Star brought their reunion show to Chicago, a glorious concert I still remember to this day. Alex was under the weather, but he still put on one hell of a show. I'd seen Alex five more times since that show, including the second time that Big Star came to Chicago.

An Alex Chilton concert was always a fun time; we the fans had heard that Alex always seemed to cast a skeptical eye on that part of his legacy. For us, it wouldn't have surprised us if he had chosen NOT to include any Big Star within his solo shows. When he did invariably include one or two Big Star songs nestled within his sets of R&B chestnuts, we'd go apeshit for that sound. Speaking for myself, I even really enjoyed his R&B cover versions. It was obvious that he loved the music he played, and wanted to telegraph that to the audience. Even that first Big Star show (where he could have the best excuse in the world to coast, since he was ill), his passion shone through. In concert, he never phoned it in the times that I saw him.

For me, Big Star music is the closest sonic equivalent to joy; "Back Of A Car", "In The Street", and "September Gurls" are such incandescent power pop songs that the pure light that they put out can keep a depressed soul smiling for days. And when they went into full-tilt rock mode, only the most jaded could deny the driving crunch of "Don't Lie To Me" and "She's A Mover". I wrote a long piece on my favorite Loud Family album, but haven't paid Big Star the same favor simply due to a) a lot of critics have beat me to the punch, and b) when you listen to it, none of my words could add to the excellence which are those first two Big Star albums.

Alex's solo career is a checkered beast; while there are wonderful high points (and to be fair, a wonderful "low" point), there is also garbage, too. I personally love his last CD, Loose Shoes and Tight Pussy (titled Set in the US). He starts off with an Eddie Floyd cover, covers Gary Stewart, and keeps the mood loose and fun. He was a hell of a guitarist. At the same time, he also put out the wonderfully shambolic Like Flies On Sherbert. Depending on the mood you find yourself in, it is either a masterpiece or a mess; I like to think of it as a little bit of both. From all biographical accounts, Alex was at a bad time in his life. I always took out of it, here's a guy who sounds like life is really loose, and the recording captures not only the unhinged quality of a life lead that way, but of the potential for finding interesting material out of that kind of nuttiness. While I wouldn't recommend Sherbert for beginners, I definitely do recommend it. But then again, Alex also was the performer of the material on the loose compilation Bach's Bottom (instead of Box Tops, get it?). While I have not heard it myself, all accounts paint it as mostly pretty dire.

While the Replacements song has in it the line, "If he died in Memphis wouldn't that be cool", I actually think it's fitting that he didn't. While Alex may have been born in Memphis, and will forever be considered a Memphis musician, the reality is that for almost twenty years, he made New Orleans his home. It's almost like he went south down the Mississippi River at his lowest, kicked his addictions (again, so I've heard), and found peace for his restless soul. The few interviews he did led me to believe that he was very happy living in NOLA; for that, I think it's fitting that it was also the town where he passed. It's not necessarily that he forever turned his back on Memphis; it's almost like he could become a new person in New Orleans, that the weight of expectation might not have been as heavy as if he'd stayed in Memphis. He seized that opportunity. He certainly always appreciated the music of New Orleans; he has a cool cover of "Tip It In".

When I met Alex Chilton, my actions that night could have given him ample reason to have been rude or surly to me. He was the opposite; he put up with my weird-fan shenanigans in my request for an autograph. For that, I will always be grateful, and will always consider him a gentleman. His death is hitting me really hard; I still can't believe that the world has lost Alex Chilton. I can tell you that his music is woven into the fabric of my DNA, that his melodies will live on with me forever. I will always try to turn on the world to his music, except this time, with a lot of sadness. Please, if you haven't already, buy the Big Star CD containing #1 Record and Radio City. You're welcome, in advance.

The world has lost a great musician in Alex Chilton. Thank you Alex, for making my life so damn happy. Your music will last forever.

Alex Chilton Is Dead; Long Live Alex Chilton

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 19:06:00 +0000

I'm in shock. Alex Chilton is one of my top two musical heroes of all time (the other is Scott Miller). He has died of unspecified causes in New Orleans.

I promise to post a full tribute to him shortly, but right now, I'm still in shock. More info can be read here.

This is the worst musical news I've had in a long time. I feel I've been punched in the stomach.

Blame Pete Redux!! The Update

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 06:01:00 +0000

I know this blog is sort of turning into "All Who, All The Time", but I really have to share this with you all... it's a great story. More non-Who content soon, I promise.

A while ago, I wrote a long-ish piece about how the Who shaped who I am, my music tastes, and a whole lot of times where the Who factored into my past. I signed it off thusly:

Now that I’m a father myself, I’m introducing my kids early on to the classics; my son as an infant would fall asleep every night to a Beatles lullaby CD made by Jason Falkner. And one of the songs which routinely calmed him down was Big Star’s “The Ballad of El Goodo”. My daughter, though she is still sometimes shaky when she walks, tries to play the guitar with me whenever I am playing it. I created lullaby comp CDs for my kids, with Verbow, Tom Waits, and yes, The Who among the included songs. Unlike my own pre-Who diet of John Denver and Helen Reddy, I want to give my kids an appreciation for the finer tunes, or at the very least point them in the direction of good stuff. And who knows… if early signs are any indicator, the kids may take after the father and become music fanatics. Heaven help us if that happens; Pete Townshend will then be guilty of corrupting two generations of Murphys!!!!

Well, I have to tell you, that's now come true. My son and daughter are now bonafide Who fans, at ages 6 and 2 1/2 respectively. You know how a lot of people can identify John, Paul, George, and Ringo almost immediately? Well, my kids can identify John, Keith, and Pete, and I'm working on having them able to identify Roger. Do you want to know the perfect way to introduce young children to the Who? Watch and learn:

Yes, I always thought that "Happy Jack" was a song that kids might like, but I had no idea how addicted my kids would get to the video. It makes perfect sense, really: the Who, in full madcap keystone cops mode, have lots of fun throwing cake at each other.

I showed my kids my DVD of The Kids Are Alright to show them the video of "Who Are You", which they liked, but I really caught them when I showed them "Happy Jack". My son, when he first saw it, had a genuine look of concern; he didn't get it. Then I told him how John was eating a piece of cake, and how Pete and Keith were being silly and would need to take a bath after getting all that cake on themselves. Then I pointed out the poor policeman, who would also have to take a bath after those silly guys put cake all over him. Now that he gets it, he loves it. And my daughter loves it because he loves it. In her 2 year old way, she'll fix me with a serious look and try to narrate it what's going on in the video; it's priceless. The video is perfect for kids, really. Their fandom started with "Who Are You" at the SuperBowl, and has become the real thing with the video for "Happy Jack". I couldn't be prouder.

POSTSCRIPT: I was singing "Who Are You" for the kids while I was at my folks' house last week, and my father (in his mid-sixties), says, "Oh yeah, that's the song in CSI: Miami." I was STUNNED, I tell you. He never knew it was a Who song, even though I was such a huge Who fan growing up. Serves him right for being so deep in John Denver lala-land all those years he could have been getting into the Who, Led Zeppelin, Eric Clapton.... but NOOOO!! He had to dig Richard Harris, Ferrante and Teischer, and Rodgers and Hammerstein. Old before his time, at least musically so. For him to reference "Who Are You" as merely "that CSI: Miami song" floored me.

Who's Left Meet the Superbowl Part 2: First Impressions

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 03:41:00 +0000

Bottom Line? It didn't suck.

I was glad right off the bat to see that Zak Starkey was drumming with them. To me, Zak has always been the most Keith Moon-like drummer they've had since 1978. I think he drums world's better than his father, frankly. It was funny to see that he seemed to get the most screen time, more than the two main guys. Roger and Pete didn't look too geriatric (like Mick Jagger seems to these days; dude's a poster boy for nickel coffee for seniors at McDonalds, every Tuesday!). I have to admit the whole thing was a cool-ass spectacle. The red-white-and-blue cymbals were a bit hokey, but not fatally so. Pete still has fire, Roger can approximate just enough of the old scream to make it passable. The light show was cool.

And yet...

The Who still didn't belong there. I mean, what next? Johnny Rotten corrals the remaining Pistols together to play Superbowl 54? Maybe Paul Westerberg gets Tommy and maybe some nephew of Bob Stinson, along with Chris Mars' art supply salesman together, call 'em the Replacements (because at this point that band's name suits the current version of the Who). How low can ya go? And do we want to know the answer to that particular rhetorical question?

For me, the real highlight of the Who's halftime show was seeing my two kids go ape over the proceedings. My 6-year-old son had been prepped sort-of; we played him "Who Are You" in the car, and he sang along gamely when they played it there. (He even liked "Happy Jack" when I played it for him in the car.) For some reason, he decided (even though we were at someone else's house) that all the lights had to be turned off, so there we were listening to the Who in high def and 5.1 surround sound at full-crank with the lights off. The hosts (my high school buddy and his wife) were cool with what seemed to be a weird choice on my son's part, but in hindsight, it was a good touch. Kudos, my man! And my 2-year-old daughter is no slouch; she was dancing along and spinning, having a great time (she even sang, "Who who, Who who"). Maybe for that reason alone, it was worth having my own childhood heroes up there for America to see, and for my kids to get into them like I did at practically their age.

I have the game DVR'ed, so I will go back and re-watch it. I saw that Simon Townshend was on bass and John "Rabbit" Bundrick was on keyboards (appropriate choices both), but haven't identified the 6th man yet. The whole thing had no truly embarrassing moments like taking out a cameraman with your Johnson whilst trying to slide across stage (paging Mr. Springsteen). Ultimately, the Who have become what they railed against, what they seemed so often to fight against; they have become fully a part of the establishment they used to spit on. They have become safe. As a long-time Who fan, you'll have to forgive me if I still have trouble wrapping my brain around that.

Who's Left Meet the Superbowl Part 1: Some Thoughts Before the Match

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Sun, 07 Feb 2010 16:29:00 +0000

Longtime readers of mine know how big of a Who fan I remain even to this day. However, I have to tell you that knowing that they are going to be playing tonight in Miami as the featured entertainment at the NFL's yearly orgy of football and commercials fills me with truly mixed emotions. The good news is that they are being recognized as the great rock band they are*. The bad news is that by being selected, they are being recognized as... RESPECTABLE!! I know the Who have been angling for this for a while; it's part and parcel of their latest Big Money Grab (tm). I just don't have to like the process. I mean, this is the MotherTruckin' WHO, for God's sakes.

And the particulars of how they're going to show their stuff to middle America, Joe-Football Lover (and his just as football-lovin' wife, Jane) are really sort of stomach-churning: yes, the Who are proposing a Vegas-style medley of their best-known hits. Vegas?? C'mon, Pete, wasn't the Who Revue of '89 (complete with full horn section and THREE background singers) enough damage to try to come back from?

I hope they don't take another hit to their already-bruised credibility. To be continued...

NEWSFLASH: Facebook Causes Tear In Space-Time Continuum

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Sun, 17 Jan 2010 04:23:00 +0000

OK, here's one for the WTFF file (as in, not just the name of my blog, it's an honest-to-God WTF moment I had today). You'll have to forgive me for being a little coy about this next story I'm about to relate to you; a little discretion might be better. But I digress; this is about how Facebook changes one dude's life in a small but important way. Notably, mine. Let me clarify.

As some of you know, I'm a fan of a whole lot of under-appreciated musicians. I don't deliberately do this; I just have some off-the-beaten-track music tastes, I guess. So I'm something of a superfan of one of these aforementioned under-appreciated musical geniuses. When I first got onto Facebook, I started up a fan group of this musician. I didn't automatically "friend" this guy, as I respect his privacy, and he probably doesn't remember me from Adam. So after a month or two of no discovery of my little one-man fan club to this guy, I get a second member. Now, this group is 19 members strong, including what look to be family members of this musician. Not a whole lot of traffic in said group, but the little bit of comments seem to validate that this guy has some pretty fervent fans other than myself.

Today, I check my email. The musician himself sends me a friend request. Not the other way around; he sends ME a friend request.

Pardon me while I freak.

This guy is responsible (well, mostly responsible) for one of my top-5-favorite-albums-of-all-time, and he's asking ME to be one of his Facebook friends. Now I know it's ultimately just Facebook, and this request plus a coupla bucks will buy me a grande at Starbucks, but the point remains: in this case, the rockstar asked the superfan to be friends. HOW COOL IS THAT??? Our world just keeps getting stranger and stranger. My wife is like, "play it cool". I'm doing my best; I really am.

Cat image snarked without permission (but with gratitude) from thecount.com. Melting record image snarked again without permission but with gratitude from an artist known as Romibello.

God Rest Your Soul, Willie Mitchell

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 04:32:00 +0000

Today, Memphis soul music lost one of its giants. Willie Mitchell was not only a performer of wonderful r&b instrumentals, but the producer of some of soul music's finest tunes. In the mid-60s, Mitchell signed with Hi Records, where he recorded such top-10 r&b hit songs as "Soul Serenade" and "30-60-90". At Hi Records, he grew in power to not only A&R duties but more importantly, producing the artists he signed, including the massive Al Green. He eventually had ownership of Hi Records itself.

If the only thing that Willie Mitchell had done was produce Al Green's richest songs ("Let's StayTogether", "Can't Get Next To You", and "Tired Of Being Alone", to name but three), his place in history would have been forever cast. But that was only the tip of the iceberg; he also signed and produced Ann Peebles (the sublime "I Can't Stand The Rain"), Chicago's very own Syl Johnson (the original hit version of "Take Me To The River"), and Otis Clay ("Trying To Live My Life Without You"). Hallmarks of Mitchell's production style were very light jazz touches, tasteful and masterful arrangements, some of the fattest drum sounds you've ever heard, and gentle restraint followed by gradual surges of emotion, creating such lovely tension and relieving it all in the same masterpiece. It goes without saying that the artists and musicians that Willie Mitchell produced were wonderful in and of themselves, and probably could have made good music without Willie Mitchell. It should also go without saying that these same artists would not have created the wonderful soul masterpieces that they did under his guidance had he not been the master behind the board, pulling the strings, orchestrating the arrangements, and meshing them together into three-minute diamonds.

Al Green and Willie Mitchell

I would honestly say that the passing of Willie Mitchell (who lived to the age of 81 after passing today of cardiac arrest) has been the most significant soul music death since Isaac Hayes. Willie Mitchell was the man most responsible for the glorious music that came out of Hi Records, the genius behind that wonderful Al Green sound, and from all accounts (his musicians called him "Poppa"), a hell of a nice guy. His passing leaves a void in soul music, and his legacy of recordings will live on forever. God bless you, Willie Mitchell; thank you for all the happiness you've brought to all of us soul fans. Say hi to Otis, Isaac, and Al Jackson, Jr. for us when you get up there.

Pictured here is Willie Mitchell (seated) and the classic Hi Rhythm Section. From left to right: Leroy Hodges, Mabon "Teenie" Hodges, Archie Turner Mitchell, Rev. Charles Hodges and Howard Grimes (photo courtesy of Memphis Commercial Appeal)

Happy New Year... wish I was there

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 05:02:00 +0000

Bogus... I just missed the ball dropping in NYC because I was auditioning the video I've attached to the bottom of this post (something tells me the attached video will rock harder than the glass ball dropping). Ah well; happy new year all you Eastern-Standard-Timezone blogfans!! I'm praying that the next decade is better to all of us than this last decade. Don't get me wrong; in my life, a whole lot of good stuff happened on the personal front. I got married; I became a father to two great kids. I finally figured out a somewhat respectable rhythm to life. My thirties are definitely better than my twenties. On the other side, we had 9/11, eight years of retrogressive politics, a minority political party that has no interest in playing fair or even engaging in a worthwhile dialogue or meeting of the minds, and continued malaise and increased interest in all forms of religious extremism, whether it be Muslim, Christian, or otherwise. I hope that we can get it right in this next decade; I plan on doing my part, I promise you.

Here in Chicago, the Jesus Lizard are playing their last ever show tonight at the Metro (thus, the "wish I was there" part of the title)... and I'm not going to it. Not that I wouldn't want to; it's just that I'm not a huge enough JL fan to have gone to the expense of snaring a ticket, child care on NYEve, etc. But as this video of the 2009 tour shows, tonight's show is bound to be amazing...

Happy New Year, everyone!! See you in Twenty-Ten!!

Merry Christmas, Everybody!

noreply@blogger.com (DJMurphy) — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 16:09:00 +0000

I'm thrilled to share with you all that my son's hip brace came off on Tuesday. It was a great early Christmas present for all of us who had to lift him (that brace adds a good 10 pounds to an already-growing boy!) and had to schlep that &$#@ing wheelchair around from place to place. Walking is tough for him, he's in a bit of pain. But even he is glad to have it off, and only have to wear it at night. Thank God; now we just have to get him into physical therapy.

Here's the good stuff as far as Christmas music goes...

Also, this is still my favorite explicitly Christmas song...

And finally, the perfect cold-weather song...

Merry Christmas, Happy Boxing Day, and a Happy New Year to you and yours!!!