Not exactly glam, but interesting in its own right to 70's NYC trainspotters like myself. Lance Loud, of course, we all know from the wonderful Mumps of 'I Like To Be Clean' and 'Crocodile Tears' infamy. However, before Lance got the Mumps, he was the most famous seventeen year old gay man in America, having had his sexuality revealed through PBS' ground-breaking proto-reality series, 'An American Family.' The series, filmed in 1971, but not broadcast until 1973, originally set out to document the changes taking place in the post-60's nuclear family, the Loud's of Santa Barbara, California. However, Lance quickly became the star and focus of the filming with his catty and brattish behaviour, as well as his extremely hip connections to the decaying Andy Warhol groupie-superstar scene (Lance had been pen-pals with Andy at the tender age of thirteen) and John Vaccaro's Playhouse of the Ridiculous in New York ('Heaven Grand In Amber Orbit,' 'Andy Warhol's Pork,' et al). Not only are you treated to the hilarious, extreme feyness of Lance, you also get - to my knowledge - hitherto unscene-anywhere-else glimpses into the New York scene and scene-makers, immediately pre-punk. The clip of John Vaccaro's 'Vain Vanity' with pre-opt Wayne County is especially fun. Below is my favourite scene thus far, Lance on the roof of the Chelsea Hotel reflecting on his spoilt and insolent nature (Lance calling his folks for money is purty great too). There are many many scenes from 'An American Family' available on YouTube, as well as the tragic follow-up, 'Death In An American Family,' which documents Lance's final days in the early 2000's. Not for everyone, but for those that care: enjoy!
Definitive proof that you should indeed feel most foolish if you ever thought of glitter rock as underground, anti-commercial or precursor to anything punk or otherwise musically avant. This is big-grin-city and pant-suits aimed squarely at your pocket-book. Just as it should be too. Seriously, would you rather listen to Stevenson's Rocket or the Mekons? The answer, I think, is obvious unless, of course, you're a lame duck queer.
Anybody out there wearing glitter mascara right now that can let me know if the new BABYS "Official Unofficial Album" or the RATS "First Long Play Record" on RPM Records are any good? Yeah I already got the Alastair Riddell CD, it's great, totally hair-tearingly torrid popnonsense . . . but man: fucking John Waite and the BABYS? Donno if I'm ready to take the plunge. Help?!?
Of all the people to have a fairly comprehensive and readily-available Greatest Hits CD out, Bonnie St. Claire would not have been my first guess.
...but I'm happy to be wrong (and happy not to have to break the bank chasing after any more of her singles)!
The album's entitled 'Clap Your Hands and Stamp Your Feet' and is available here, with the track-listing as follows:
(Like a) Locomotion Catch me driver Clap your hands and stamp your feet Do you feel alright Do you know what love means I won`t stand between them Is everybody happy Knock on my door Let me come back home mama Manana Manana Marly Purt drive Rocco (dont go) Tallahaaee lassie Telephone baby Thats my music The rock goes on Voulez vous Waikiki Man* Will it help me You make me feel so good
*And in case you're not already hip to the sound of Ms. St. Claire, click over the link in 'Waikiki Man.' Great Who/Rasbperries-style guitar intro followed by nice euro-Slade verse and chorus. And, as always, if you crave more info about the Dutch 70's scene, Alex Gitlin's siteis an indispensable resource.
And just for the hell of it (and because David keeps bugging me), here's a Shakane track - probably their best (if me and the Swedish charts are to be believed anyway) Shakane - Big Step
All you late-come-download-scum-never-buy-nothing-but-beards-named-david-armstrong can STILL get your hector-stompf on - even if you don't really deserve it - at thee following address:
From the always timely BOMP mailorder update, some cheap warehouse pick-ups that NO ONE should be without:
"MANKEY, EARL- Mau Mau /Crazy. PIC SLV (Orig pressing of BOMP spinoff label, Exhibit J) rare by legendary producer " In this one short song, there is enough pure-pop majesty to fill your week's quota of such grand music. Earle Mankey
was a founding member of the odd new-wave 80's band, Sparks. Mankey has some serious production credits to his name too, including Concrete Blonde's first album (and 20/20, the Quick, the Pop!, et al). "Mau Mau" begins with a jungle drum beat and a chorus of low voiced fellows singing "Ugachukka, ugachukka" over and over again. The song makes an abrupt left turn when Mankey begins singing about an African "...who can take his love any way he can, by the point of spear, by the point of knife" in his distant pop voice over a tinkley synth sound. Mankey builds layer upon layer in the chorus, with guitars ultimately building to a "Baba O'Rielly" guitar riff. You don't find sublime pop-rock like this everyday, but when you do, it's quite a treat. -- Doug Cornell, 45 RPM $3
BOMP MAGAZINE - #20 -LAST COPIES Next-to-last issue from 1979, with features on Nick Lowe, Detroit punk, Stiff Records, Sire Records, and reviews ofeverything else that was happening in music all over the world at that moment in time Books/Mags $5
FLAMIN GROOVIES (HOT KNIVES ) - rare nearly out of print 7", going for over $50 on some sites! HEY GRANDMA (ex-Groovies) with nice pic sleeve Punchy West Coast Power Pop W.Good Guitar Sound & Vocal Harmonies. 1976 Ko Records. Jordan/Loney Assoc. 45 RPM $3"
So there ya go - good price on that Bomp mag and the Earle Mankey 45 is really one of my favourites. Pretty much unbeatable. To grab 'em up before the Joneses do, simply assemble your wants and email them to MAILORDER@BOMPRECORDS.COM. They will get back to you with a total, lickety-split.
I guess I should go ahead and admit to it, so as to expedite and expiate as much residual guilt/shame as possible.
Deep breath...Okay, fine,YES, I occasionally read Terminal Boredom. Yes, I know...I am aware of how puuuuuuuuunk rock and totally ass-tongue-ingly mediocre and genre-fixated it oftentimes is (and with the most numb-skull of all genres at that). That said, I am the one who reads it, right? I'm also the one who can't stop listening to the new Time Flys cuts off their soon-to-be-released second record so I should probably just let the issue lie and cut right to the chase:
L.A., L.A. - pre-punk, Hollywood still high on glitter and especially in love with Sparks' Mael brothers (see the Quick, all you young doubters), as well as other tacky homegrown Anglo-fried imitations (Tubes, Runaways, Max Lazer, Daddy Maxfield, et al). Now then...given that the Quick and their later, poor-man-progeny, the Dickies, only constitute two bands, it seems logical to assume that, in the sprawling heart of the Beast that was and is L.A., that there must have been other eccentrically-inclined acts, plying a similar trade. Such a position makes sense - it's good science, even if none of the canon sources on the pre-punk L.A. scene seem much to care. And now we have proof, in a lovely dual-sided 45 format to boot!
Yet further proof that punk's direct progenitor was not the Stones, Stooges or the Who,but Sweet and Sparks, here we have Mssr. Philo Cramer (later of the gospel harmony group Fear) leading a gaggle of L.A. misfits through the motions of extreme Mael intution and, yes, out-right exhibition. Don't know why or who thought this would be a good idea to reissue, but S.S. Records has, so it's them you can thank (or alternately demand an explanation or written apology). Philo's appearance in the Decline Of Western Civilization film - tou-toued and fey - makes all the more sense after hearing his previous band. Oh yeah, the name of 'em is the Cigarettes and I'm glad to know that now there's at least one decent band by that name (the UK Cigs suck a jumpy sweatered mean one). So yeah...four bucks gets you in, sound samples of the two tracks are available on the S.S. site, both pretty groovy I think - laugh, cry, play it at your sister.
...I personally don't care what you do really. Too much Terminal Boredom has transformed me, rendering my once pro-active, pro-positive form into a slouching wreck of inertia and caffeine-deficient ennui.
You'll notice the band's sound becoming heavier in places (foreshadowing the direction Ian North's solo material would take), especially 'Girls In Gangs' which, unfortunately, is incomplete here and which, unfortunately, sounds a lot like Ultravox! ! The Fast covered it sometime I think, but who cares about the Fast? Certainly not me!
And while we're kicking open empty New York wardrobes, has anyone heard this:
Much as I hate to doft anything in the direction of Rocky Horror that isn’t explosive or otherwise harmful, I do have to give the ‘brains’ behind that sad drag credit for producing one of the catchiest and, indeed, rarest glitter two-siders in the history of this whole thang we call junk.
Writ and sung by Dick O’Brien and Laura Campbell (names beloved of many a midnight movie-mime, I’m sure) and issued on RAK in ’74 under the name Truth & Beauty (RAK 181), ‘Tuff Little Surfer Boy’ is a joyously dumb and infectious glitter-surf-death-ballad pastiche. Think ‘Leader Of The Pack’ or ‘Terry’ with Tiki masks and a few too many Mai Tai’s (and probably a John Waters’ mustache and some lube). One of the most giddy and sarcastic records I’ve ever loved. And here it ‘tis, - NOW - all for you, because I’m just that kind and giving, it’s true. And, as hot as that A-side is, the b-side, ‘Touch-a Touch-a Me’ wears a limp-cravat and is one-hundred-percent cold-turkey Rocky Horror crap. Now it’s your turn to cry.
Apparently, I missed a TV special on a singer from one of my favourite 70s bands. It's not a pretty story, but it just goes to show that (in the words of one of his own songs) 'Nothing Stays The Same Forever'.
In 1987, Keith Lamb was admitted to a psychiatric hospital after being found unfit to face a $4 million fraud charge. He was later diagnosed as suffering from schizophrenia.
This is the amazing riches to rags story of Keith Lamb, whose hugely successful glam rock band, ‘Hush’, was a household name in the seventies. With their outrageous platform shoes, satin flares and flowing scarves, ‘Hush’ were TV and radio sensations with hits like ‘Boney Moronie’ and ‘Glad All Over’. But when Hush broke up in the late 70s, Keith’s career went into a decline. He eventually ended up destitute and alone, wandering the streets.
At that point, in a remarkable coincidence, a woman called Louise Howland re-entered his life. As a teenage rock fan, she met Keith Lamb and ‘Hush’ at the height of their success. She was given tickets to one of their concerts and was struck by Lamb’s charisma on stage.
Eight years later she was working as a psychiatric nurse. A neglected, hungry and dazed man was admitted to the hospital. Louise was shocked to realise that this wreck of a man was in fact Keith Lamb. He had been diagnosed with schizophrenia. Louise befriended Keith and got him out of hospital and back into the community. He has made a substantial recovery and is hoping to get back into the recording studio.
In one of many strange twists in a story that is both bizarre and sad, Louise describes how a police psychiatrist first made the decision to commit Lamb to a mental hospital.
“Keith thought that Status Quo owed him royalties for songs he’d written which in fact they did, only they didn’t know how to contact him. So he wrote out a cheque for four million dollars and deposited it in a bank account. Sometime later he tried to withdraw two hundred dollars and the police were called.
“The strange thing was that the police psychiatrist thought Keith was deluded because he claimed to have thirteen gold and platimum records. And of course that wasn’t a delusion, it was perfectly true!”
The story includes classic archival footage from ABC’s A Big Country which, during the seventies, captured the fan frenzy surrounding ‘Hush’ as part of a story about their roadies. The guest presenter for the story is Alan Lancaster, founding member of the rock group, Status Quo. As Lancaster says in his introduction “the life of a rock star is pretty crazy. You live in a vacuum, cut off from the rest of the world. You learn to deal with success, to enjoy it, to need it... but you’re never prepared for failure”.
All the Bilbo stuff available for download here, including 'You Wanna Be Your Lover' as well as all the other glitter and Lightning sides (up to and including a completely unnecessary disco remix).
Enjoy.
And furthemore, enjoy not shelling out for the original 45s like certain suckers we know!
Since Zac got the ball rolling yesterday with Simon Turner, I thought I'd keep it moving today with a track by a teen glitter group I've been digging on mightily as of late:
Bilbo Baggins!
Firstly, yes, they look like the Rollers (with the noted exception of the skinhead or cancer patient or whoever that baldie is!). And they should - the Baggins' clan shared management with the Rollers in the form of homo-lech-supreme Tam Paton (also the balls behind Pilot), whose imagination in band attire appeared severely limited (see also: Slik). The Baggins-es dealt in a more rough-and-tumble version of the Rollers' revival pop - much more raunchy and raucous. They also received a fair amount of exposure in the afternoon variety arena if Philp Cato's teenage glam exposeCrash Course For The Ravers is to be believed (sadly, our narrator was not a fan). And contrary to available info, Bilbo's 'Saturday Night' is a completely separate song from the Rollers' undying good-time anthem.
And in an unusual post-script to the story, the members of Bilbo were somehow able to salvage themselves from the wreck of glitter and put out some punchy and lyrically-great new wave singles on London's Lightning Records; their 'You Wanna Be Your Lover,' sadly not included on the Lightning Records Story disc, must be the ultimate put-down of vacuous style followers ever recorded! It quite simply has to be heard to be believed. Get it!
Simon turner. Much, Much, Much overlooked junkshop figure. Jonathon King of UK records produced him in an attempt to encompass the early 70s teen glam scene all into one figure. I'm not quite sure what the entire discography looks like but there are two albums. The S/T is a must-have in my opinion. The other is entitled The King of Luxembourg. It's good but not anything like the S/T. Both records can be purchased together as "Sex Appeal" under the name "Simon Fisher Turner."
Here's my favorite cut off of that S/T record. It's entitled 17. 17 by simon turner
Simon Turner's take on the album: " I was signed up by UK records, and in 1973 had an LP released. It was all cover versions, and my weak voice was dreadful. I was marketed as Britain's answer to David Cassidy. A late nighter at the Lyceum made me realise that London had all these bands playing: Free, Deep Purple, any band at the Marquee. I went religiously. In the summer the roof of the Lyceum opened to the sky. For a few years UK put out a stream of lightweight pop songs. Richards Thompson played guitar. This was all a fine time, as I kept on acting in things like,"Tom Brown's School Days", "Wings", "Lillie Langtrey", etc. Produced under the guidance/vision of Jonathan King."
These days he's doing soundtracks and still doing his own music. Never heard any of it though!
I don’t know who fell down on the job, but someone’s getting fired (or should be anyway). Following a horse-drawn, Polish blitz of all major media outlets and a promotional campaign not seen since the last time Eugene Debs ran for office, the first ever legitimate collection of New York Dolls performance and raw backstage footage plopped down on the counter with all the sound/fury/etc. of a sopping-wet fire-cracker. Instead of sitting atop rock snob end-of-year lists the world over, hardly anyone I’ve spoken to even knows of this disc’s existence – which is absurd given the clout and titular-cachet attached to the name of the man who shot it (Bob Gruen - Lennon enabler and shutter-bug to the stars)! Like I say, I don’t know what happened, but when you’re trailing in behind a re-release of Heavy Metal Parking Lot and a completely separate documentary about a recently deceased member of your own band, you know somewhere there’s a spanner in the works. The Dolls’ luck continues – it’s nothing if not consistent.
Not so the contents of this disc.
The very first performance clip you see, the Dolls look/sound/are terrible: out of tune, out of time, tired – not even the crowd is buying it. Davey Johansen drags the final song and show to an end, quipping – almost to himself - ‘to err is human.’ …and I’d like to say something real cool and facile here about how the true divinity of the Dolls lied, and indeed still lies, in the ease in which you can forgive them their mortal faults and failings in light of the demi-angelic (‘good-bad, not evil’), jet-engine swath they carved through much of the treacle of the polite, upstanding American rock mainstream…and I guess I just did. But be that as it may/may not, what you get here with All Dolled Up is the Dolls good, bad and all points in-between; scorching hot and frost-bite cold. Raving up all the old classics and occasionally murdering them. But even at their weakest-stinking-suckiest, the Dolls are more revelatory and captivating here than any Broken Social Scene Sufjan Stevens Animal Collective bullshit fag-rock combined! A noted rock performer in the early 80’s once said that for a band to be truly great, they must possess the ability, at a moment’s notice, to be the best band on earth as well as the worst. The Dolls had that. That’s what you come away with most after watching this disc – that the Dolls truly HAD IT and are one of the greatest, if not the greatest, rock ‘n’ roll band of the 1970’s. Punk schmunk!
Though there have been, and will no doubt continue to be, grainy collections of Dolls live footage tumbling out the back of the bootlegger’s wagon, this is the first, truly high-quality film I’ve ever seen of the group. Bob Gruen isn’t likely to win any awards for cinematography with the rudimentary shooting here, but then that’s not the point – the subjects of the camera are so riveting that anything would seem practically snooze-inducing by comparison, so who cares! - fuck-art-let’s-dance. With All Dolled Up as well, you finally get a sense of the band as more than simply the sum of their individual addictions – booze and heroin moppets for those of you just tuning in – and that’s an elusive achievement not even the able prose of Dolls’ biographer Nina Antonia could ever adequately convey. David is Truman-Capote-whip-snide, Syl, a camp stage-manager, Arthur, resigned and taciturn, Jerry and Johnny, already eager to strike out on their own (take this sample aside from Thunders: ‘David Johansen is the most obnoxious motherfucker I’ve ever met…if you see him, kick his teeth in.’).
All Dolled Up also thankfully puts to rest the idea that the Dolls were ever willing members of any scene, save their own. On a visit to west coast glam haven, Rodney’s English Disco, David goons around on the dance floor and claims to be an opera aficionado – only brightening somewhat at the opportunity to play Pong on a big-screen TV. There is similar dismissive, bad-boy behaviour back-stage as the Dolls all laugh and put on the sincere young glitter-lings and generally reduce anyone who steps into their path to psychological rubble (there’s a particularly hilarious episode of the Dolls being evicted from an organic food cafeteria for not being sufficiently mellow). And for those of you nostalgia vamps desperate enough to actually buy into the Max’s/Rodney’s bo-ho, boo-hoo decadence death-trip, there are plenty of Sabel Starr’s, Fowley’s and Bingenheimer’s waftly languidly in the background breeze too.
All Dolled Up comes fully-loaded and tricked-out with all the nifty bonus features you’d expect from a high-end DVD release: interviews with the surviving Dolls, chats with Bob Gruen (one conducted by ‘Handsome’ Dick Manitoba of the Dictators), full performance footage of every song on the DVD, even the legendary Lipstick Killers promo video for the Dolls’ St. Valentine’s Day concert. Sadly, none of the 100-plus minutes of documentary, or any of the bonus features, includes any studio recording footage which is a bit of a disappointment (I need that dynamic Rundgren tension!). Nor is there any footage from the ’74 L.A. Trash Dance/Death of Glitter concert (with over 40 hours of footage to draw on, you know these recordings exist). The conclusion is also somewhat rushed as well. Nevertheless, despite any criticism you can hurl at it, All Dolled Upremains a very worthy and vital document of a band poorly served by their own misconstrued legacy. It’s high-time young, know-nothing punks should be able to compliment their NY Dolls t-shirts and Johnny Thunders hair-do’s with a proper DVD of their addled, downtown heroes. And that time is now! Though perhaps not definitive as the bold type on the back of the box proclaims, All Dolled Up is probably as definitive a portrait of the Dolls as we’re ever likely to see.
And at the very least, this disc doesn’t make you want to crawl out of your skin and kill yourself or join an opium-eradication task-force, like Born To Lose. All Dolled Up paints the Dolls as they were - warts and all – neither tragic-contender-coulda-been’s or shimmering, slimy Baudelairian wet-dreams. To paraphrase an old, dead junkie, this DVD tells the true story; it is the very first film to do so.
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