Ozzy Osbourne
Prince Of Darkness, my arse. For sure, I saw hom live loads of times, but I was the second most wasted person there after him, my enjoyment may have been enhanced to a point where a drunk going “woo” for an hour and a half seemed like a good idea. It wasn’t. Ozzy sucks.
Type O Negative
Piss taking goth metallers who only become briefly famous due to mainman Pete Steele getting his cock out for Playgirl magazine. Note: getting your cock out and letting people take pictures of it makes you a, um, cock. You cock.
60s Status Quo
Now the Quo may have become the Kings Ov Boogie in the seventies, but in their preening, peacock finery, they were absolutely lamentable. At least they learned error of ways, fired the ugliest one, and briefly ruled the world.
I Have An Idea
Let’s take that mentally ill fella who used to wail like a distressed gnu and get a bunch of open air cock wielders to back him on a cover of the paisley patterned sixties Quo. This is a thing that should not be.
Yes, folks, it’s time to take another random dip into the big pile of 7″ singles, to see what pops out. Not much time this spin around, but here’s four for you to get your teeth into.
First up is a truly dreadful piece of Euro hippy pop / rock from 1975 -’Freedom (Glory Alleluia)‘ by Mamie Carson.
Not even the internet can shed light on this mysterious pile of pap, which seems to go on and on and on forever, without actually going anywhere. This is why furriners cannot be trusted.
Praise be then for item number 2. The glory that is Thomas the Jones. He may be a puffed out old windbag these days, but back in 1971 he could breathe fresh joy into the utterly brilliant ‘Resurrection Shuffle‘. For sure, Ashton, Gardner and Dyke were good, but they were no Sir Tom Jones. Even better, all this brilliance is contained within the magic 3 minutes, 30 seconds beyond which no single should stray. Are you listening Mamie Carson?
Oof! An early return for the fabulous Mungo Jerry to these pages. As befits a man who should be ennobled, Mr Mungo belies his Mary and Midge roots with a fine piece of r’n'b. As you should all know the A-side, let’s take B-side ‘Little Miss Hipshake‘ for a rare outing.
Finally, for today, it’s some country rock, courtesy of the band with the worst name ever. Redwing. Let me repeat that. Redwing. Obviously it means something else in Northern California. They’re actually one of my favourite country rock outfits, who released five albums on Fantasy Records in the mid seventies without every breaking through. They started life as a folk trio before making a garage punk single in 1965, recording an album under the name Glad in 1968 before Timothy B Schmidt headed off for Poco and The Eagles.
But they’re really here not because of ‘Bonnie Bones‘, rather because of the awesome World War 1 flying ace moustache on the sleeve below.
Welcome to Part 1 of Wacka Wacka Week, a week where we will be celebrating all that is great about Wacka Wacka.
But what the hecking heck is Wacka Wacka I hear you cry? Which makes you an idiot and me even more greaterer. For Wacka Wacka is the sound that ruled the late sixties / early seventies when soul and Latin music got all funkified and every police flick had a theme tune that went “wacka-wacka-wacka-wacka-wacka-wacka”. Eejits, the lot of ye.
It was a time of things being groovy, gear and fab, in a wholly unironic way. A time when chicks knew that their job involved dancing badly and gyrating stiffly while the band went “wacka-wacka-wacka-wacka-wacka-wacka”. A time when men played whirlygigs, when trumpets all sounded like Herb Alpert and Mike Flowers / Austin Powers hadn’t ruined EVERYTHING! Bandits.
Part 1 of our celebration takes in a couple of absolute gems.
Over in Chico time, there is some crazy ass percussion and wild brass, this time attempting to portray the soundtrack to a bad US rom-com probably starring the lassie out of Bewitched. The real one, not the godawful ‘reimagination’. Or the Irish pop group. This one. Grrr.
Over in the made up country of Montenegro, there are screechy, high pitched strings and cheesy brass, this time attempting to portray the oh so wacky goings on in bachelor land, probably with Tony Randall in a v neck sweater. Happy days for him, as he’s pictured below with the soon to be beheaded Jayne Mansfield.
Back soon with more “wacka-wacka-wacka-wacka-wacka-wacka”.
Welcome to Part 3 of International Tom Jones Week, the one week of the year when the wobbly Welsh warbler receives his proper due as the Greatest Singer Of The 20th Century And Beyond.
The Great Man is, of course, a Master of all forms of music and, in addition to his many other titles, is also the “King Of Rock’n'Roll”.
Elvis Presley – fat balladeer Jerry Lee Lewis – mad speedofile, and Little Richard – mad transvestite,
only Thomas the Jones is the true “King Of Rock’n'Roll”.
feel the power as he exudes his manliness at former jailbait Brooke Shields, requesting that she be his “Little Queenie“.
Now listen to well known toileteer Mister Chuck Berry as he labours away in the knowledge that he will never be as good as Thomas the Jones
Yup, it’s that time of year, with pa-ternity tests pending, that the Mr H Glee Club heads off to take their country rockin’ sounds to the internet free / mobile dead zones of our beloved United States of America.
Local law enforcement permitting, we should be back around about the beginning of September, but don’t panic – the Mr H Trailer Park and 24/7, 365, All-Nite Pig Grill (closed Wednesdays) will be in the safe hands of Lil’ Lindy-Lou. Well, hand, ever since the mincer incident. So stop on by for all your dead meat needs (we rent trailers by the hour).
If you happy to be over here, looking for pleasure, me and the boys will be appearing in Bald Knob, Arkansas, Blue Ball, Delaware, French Lick, Indiana, Gay Head, Massachusetts, Square Butt, Montana, Humptulips, Washington, Pussy Creek, Ohio and Toadsuck Arkansas.
If you can’t make it here’s a rare, live recording of the Mr H Glee Club to keep you warm at night.
Not enough people celebrate International Tom Jones Week, the one week of the year when the wobbly Welsh warbler receives his proper due as the Greatest Singer Of The 20th Century And Beyond. But we here at GHMI feel it only fit and proper to acknowledge his genius.
Not many folks can take an ordinary song, and with the help of a special guest, some glitz, glamour and an oompah band, make it something so extraordinary. Well, TJ is that man.
To begin International Tom Jones Week, we look no further than that other legend, Sir Donny Osmond for the glitz and glamour. Marvel at how they take a piece of pap like ‘Boy From New York City‘, and turn it into a glistening jewel, replete with neat name change to ensure the homosexualists steer clear.
Something The Manhattan Transfer should have thought about before foisting their inferior version upon us.
Come back soon, when Thomas the Jones shows the namby pamby boogieteers, Status Quo, just how to rock.
Everyone knows that the King ov Rawk is the one, the only, Ronnie James Dio, whose pipes of power have reigned o’er us for aeons, since the days of Rainbow, Black Sabbath, Dio and Heaven & Hell.
Some may even remember the diminutive one from his time with the appropriately named Elf and / or Electric Elves. But the Ronster, as no-one calls him, predates the age of rawk, having first come to light in medieval times as a court jester, village idiot and prototype munchkin.
And it is back to those shameful times that we’re going today, torches in hand, garlic round out necks, peering into dark crevices where no man should venture unlubricated.
Back in 1058, Dio was bass player with Ronnie & The Redcaps, leaving the vocal duties up to the brilliantly named Billy De Wolf, releasing a horrendous single called ‘Lover’.
Dio finally started to rock the mic when the band changed name to Ronnie & The Prophets, giving it some Ray Charles on a 1460 B-side with ‘What’d I Say’. The Prophets also had a crack at ‘Love Potion No 9′, even if it does pale next to the Tygers of Pan Tang version.
But most shameful of all is the following track. It’s your drunk uncle at the wedding reception all over again, as the King ov Rawk gives it his all on ‘I Left My Heart In San Francisco’. That’s the sound of my heart breaking.
So here’s the Tygers showing us how it should be done.
Once upon a time the mighty KISS were flying in their personalised Apollo rocket across the wastelands of Europe, looking down from their ivory encrusted thrones, secure in the knowledge that they would never have to soil their feet on British land. Yes, as long as they paid fealty to their superhuman powers, and wore their paint of mystery, the world was theirs. They had no need for the peasants of Britain. Laughing, as only beings of infinite power can, they emptied their effluence upon the wastelands of Cheshire.
Thousands of miles below, four spotty local lads were picking their way through the rubbish tip, looking for scraps to take home for t’tea. Dave, Alistair, Trevor and Steve, they were called, and as they searched for brass in’t muck they found themselves showered in the shite of the mighty KISS.
They rose as one, raised their fists to the sky and proclaimed that from this day forth, they would be the SHIT KISS. And lo, the Macclesfield titans, SILVERWING were hatched.
Showing that you couldn’t pull the wool over their eyes, they launched themselves with the anthem “Rock And Roll Are Four Letter Words”, a claim that no-one, NO-ONE could deny.
For some strange reason, Deaf Barton over at Sounds / Kerrap! decided they were the future of rock and roll. This, of course, was rubbish, but had nothing to with the fact that he foisted some rubbish lyrics upon them and became co-writer of “Flashbomb Fever”. Despite his input it still only got to the B-side of “That’s Entertainment”.
Despite their lack of talent, the SHIT KISS were actually allowed to make a whole album, which no-one bought, not even the denizens of the Axe & Cleaver in Macclesfield, who were too busy picking fights with Scotch lads working on local building sites.
However, time is a great healer, so for your delectation, please enjoy SILVERWING!
After the success of a couple of weeks back, I decided to delve deeper into the vinyl cupboard. Sadly, this visit brought some very mixed results.
Cerrone – Love In C Minor – inexplicably popular seventies French DJ. The words French and DJ should have been warning enough. People too scared to watch porn probably bought it for the heavy breathing.
Curved Air – Back Street Luv – I can only assume that in 1972 hairy blokes were so desperate for poontang that they would buy this awful, leaden, pub prog, on the hope that the chick singer would take them backstage, despite her actually being a bloke. Have reformed for no discernible reason. Listen.
Da Lench Mob – Freedom Got An A.K – yes, some hippity hop from Ice Cube proteges who seem to think that shooting white people is A Good Idea. I have to disagree, unless they’ve still got an A.K. Same sample as ‘Jump Around’ by House Of Pain, which is a million times better, so listen to that instead, despite my antipathy to the murdering micks. Listen.
Dani Ali / Annabel Lamb – Talk To Me – yup, the Theme from Damon & Debbie, the godawful Brookside spin off which thankfully died very quickly. Clever marketing ploy has fake Damon and Debbies singing the same tune, but that fails to polish AOR turd.
Willie Cobbs – CC Rider – Praise be for some good old fashioned harmonica blooze.
Dandy Warhols – Gett Off – pointless, dull indie on appropriately shit coloured vinyl.
Chi-Lites – You Don’t Have To Go – back to the good stuff with Eugene Record and his boys giving us some mighty seventies soul. Listen.
Mac Davis – Baby, Don’t Get Hooked On Me – country songwriters shows why other people had hits with his songs – wrote ‘In The Ghetto’ fact fans. Once sang this song on the Muppet Show with Miss Piggy. Now, that’s fame! Listen.
Chicory Tip – Good Grief Christina – good grief, they had more than one record. video free video version right below.
Deep Purple – Smoke On The Water – RAWK! And you all know that, so here is the lesser known Six Feet Under version. Listen.
Chic – I Want Your Love – the one that wasn’t as good as ‘Good Times’ or ‘Le Freak’.
Gun – Welcome To The Real World – Scotch plod rockers who managed to have proper hit single and albums before returning to vocational waitering. Listen.
Tina Charles – Fire Down Below – sadly, not the Bob Seger / Bette Midler tune. No, it’s the evil Biddu and his tune from seventies soft porner “The Stud”. Smashed. Scarily, Annabel Lamb from Damon & Debbie has been employed by Ms Charles and hat a hit all of our own.
Merle Haggard – I’m Always On A Mountain When I Fall – Hag thinks prison preferable to being on this list. Listen.
Chanson – I Can Tell – textbook example of how acorns CAN fall far from the tree, as this awful orchestrated disco number was written and produced by James Jamerson Jr, son of the legendary Funk Brother.
Jagged Edge – Hell Ain’t A Long Way – more leaden British so called rawk from so called next big things. Title makes no sense, and recording live B sides at the Woughton centre, Milton Keynes should make you realise that you are not Next Big Thing. Sleeve, somewhere in the right hand side column confirms not Next Big Thing.
Bonus Six Feet Under kover. Wooooaaaaaaaarrgggghhhh!!!!!!!!!!
Bonus Peggy Lee track from Otis Redding Post. Cool.
That Annabel Lamb hit. Don’t blame me, blame the eighties.
Sometimes, I like to dip into the farthest recesses of the affectionally named “Auxiliary Storage Area #3″, which is where the darkest recesses of my 7″ record collection is stored. It’s a place where shame can sometimes live, along with records I bought decades ago, played once, then ‘filed’ away, never to see the light of day. Until….
The rare days when I can find a couple of lone hours to pick handfuls out at random, crank up the turntable and go “what the hell was I thinking”. Yesterday, was one of those days. And here’s the playlist;
Carlene Carter – Never Together But Close Sometimes (boring soft, country rock) Beach Boys – I’m OK (from their really dull years, the single is so rubbish, it never even made the 3CD singles collection) Harold Melvin & The Bluenotes – Don’t Leave Me This Way (a classic! Not sure why it was in the junkhole, but it’s reclaimed now – listen here) Ambrosia – Nice, Nice Very Nice (I always liked this, a bit weird, a bit west coast with a hint of prog – download here) Sarah Dash – Sinner Man (identikit late seventies disco soul – dull) Pure Prairie League – Still Right Here In My Heart (from the pop years, but it’s PPL, so that’s alright) Firehouse – Don’t Treat Me Bad (yay! glam metal from big girls blouses – listen here) Joyce Cobb – Dig The Gold (see Sarah Dash) Sam Brown – Mindworks (daughter of Joe, pal of Jools Holland, rubbish single) Buddy Miles – Them Changes (Hendrix drummer in one good record shock – here’s the live version from the album he did with Carlos Santana) Elvin Bishop – I Love The Life I Lead (hurrah! Elvins southern blues rock rules) Teri DeSario – Yes, I’m Ready (barely noticeable on a duet with KC of & The Sunshine Band fame, but knowing my fixation with Pat Benatar, look at the sleeve, and guess why I bought it – listen here) REO Speedwagon – In Your Letter (a Japanese single which relegates Keep On Loving You to the B-side) Sammy Hagar – Baby’s On Fire (“straight home from skool, she starts to get undressed. She’s on fire” – cheers Sam) Rick Cunha – Best Friends (beyond limp wristed, west coast ‘rock’) Jon Butcher – Goodbye Saving Grace (was supposed to be Next Big AOR Thing. Shame he arrived too late and in wrong colour) Marty Balin – Hearts (god, I hate this, Jefferson Airplane / Starship mans nadir) Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers – Too Good To Be True (from his Jeff Lynne period – already smashed) Cass Elliott – Baby I’m Yours (fat lass sings dull song, dies) Tigertailz – Livin’ Without You (yay! dodgy Welsh glamsters in horrific poster sleeve shock find – listen here) Jagged Edge – You Don’t Love Me (see Jon Butcher but replace black with British – saw them tour with Vixen once. God, I’m old) Texas – Thrill Has Gone (from their lesser remembered not utter crap period)
An interesting couple of hours I will repeat sooner, rather than later. Out.
Of late, there has been some unwarranted abuse of the mighty HAWKWIND in these pages. Despite warnings of severe punishment, this actually spilled on to the pages of A Scandal & A Disgrace. So, it is with heavy heart, and a finger pointed at You Know Who You Bloody Well Are, that I present to you.
Part One of the Godshatmyipod Tribute to “Drive Me Crazy“.
Eh? I hear you cry. Well, once upon a time a movie emerged that actually made the Britney Spears vehicle “Crossroads” seem like a Sundance worthy, Newsnight Review feted masterpiece. No surprise then, to learn that it starred the low rent Britney, one Melisaa Joan Hart, formerly of the hallowed in my household Sabrina The Teenage Witch*. Of course, MJH (as her friends call her) couldn’t actually sing, so they roped Britney into an episode of Sabrina, and sneaked Melissa into a Britney video to prove that her lack of talent extended to dancing as well.
Naturally, that means the opening slot goes to Britney. Appropriately enough. So here’s the near title track “(You Drive Me) Crazy“, complete with redundant brackets;
Without actually having seen the film all the way through, I’m guessing this is the bit where MJH spots the man of her dreams emerging dripping wet from a foam bath in the pet salon where he shampoos chihuahas. And here’s where it gets weird, fact fans. Said manflesh is played by Adrian Grenier, in a breakthrough movie role he has spent the last ten years trying to expunge from memory since he starred in the award winning HBO series, “Entourage“. Well, it’s back BABY!
Because this is a wholesome movie, next up are Christian rock band, Jars Of Clay, whose name is derived from the New International Version’s translation of 2 Corinthians 4:7: But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. But God seems to be okay with them hawking “Unforgetful You” to MJH.
This song probably essays the scene where Adrian looks across the water spillage at MJHs cleavage, and realises there is more to life than shampooing chihuahas, and that if he plays his cards right, the budget Britney could introduce him to the real one, and he could get to star in an actual Britney video! (which he did).
Finally, for now, it’s over to the well known, not at all mad, and / or homosexualist alchoholics, the Backstreet Boys. Best known these days for providing the cash to enable manager Lou Pearlman in his money laundering career (2008 saw him copping 25 years in federal prison, after pleading guilty), they used to make records in between taking their shirts off in public and rubbing baby oil over their oddly (even the bearded one) hairless chests.
As it’s really shite remix of “I Want It That Way“, with hints of doof doof, this must soundtrack the 4am acid test Adrian and MJH take part in just before the animal orgy. Or not.
More soon.
* a programme I watched for the insanely hot Beth Broderick who interspersed kiddy telly with art house, topless fare. Joy.
