L to R: Brie
Anderson, Patrick Whitehead, Bob Boilen, Yours Truly, Ted Zook, Jerry Busher, and Doug Kallmeyer. Photo by Mike
Zito.
On October 11, 2024 the
improvisational band known as Fanoplane found itself chilling in the green room
at the Black Cat, a storied music venue in Washington, D.C. The mini-fridge in
said enclave bore the stickers of the many bands who had waited there on other
nights in anticipation of their sets. We helped ourselves to a tidy assortment
of red grapes and green apples. We quipped that we had made “the big time.” It
felt quite nice to be there.
Perhaps owing to our
unconventional sound, the venue had chosen us to open for Xiu Xiu, an
experimental rock group with a national following. The foundation of “our
unconventional sound” revolves around two key details: we have no repertoire
and we frequently feature a large mixture of instruments. We rehearse, but we
have no songs. Fanoplane invents new pieces every time it takes the stage.
Co-led by Ted Zook and Bob Boilen, the personnel may vary from show to show. It
may present with two members, or, as with the Black Cat appearance, it may
perform as a septet, or still other combinations.
In addition to Ted (electric cello) and Bob (electronics),
the musicians on October 11th included Brie Anderson (guitar),
Patrick Whitehead (trumpet), Jerry Busher (drums), and Doug Kallmeyer (bass). For
my part, I did (I always do) words. My affiliation with these extraordinary
musicians dates back several years to previous incarnations of related improv
bands, including Lost Civilizations and Heterodyne. While these groups have
performed at several other iconic venues—including Baltimore’s An Die Musik and
DC’s Velvet Lounge—the Black Cat would have to be the “biggest” space with the
largest audience: as many as 300 people watched us take the stage.
This 360-degree video
produced by Bob Boilen (an excerpt from the show) can be rotated by dragging your
mouse or finger. I personally get a little crazy between 10:30 and 10:45.
Those in the audience impressed
me. They were young and open-minded; individuality abounded. They had not paid
to see us, no, they had come for Xiu Xiu, and yet, they pressed up to
the stage and wanted to groove, they wanted us to groove, they wanted the band
to discover them amid the groove and stay close, just like that, interlinked.
The audience spurred us forward. They gave the warmup act their full attention
and allowed themselves to be surprised by our mayhem.
Despite my frequent appearances
with Fanoplane and its ancestor bands, I can’t predict exactly know how a song will
begin. Perhaps our beloved co-leader Ted Zook will saw across his basscello, but
the budding moments may spring out of the entire collective sort of testing out
their instruments. We all make eye contact, nod our heads, and then we realize
that the new piece has commenced. None of the musicians seeks to dominate the
proceedings. Fanoplane bandmates know when to drop down a bit, and conversely,
when to step into a “lull.” Everybody plays—and everybody listens. It is a
cooperative, so we cooperate.
Oi.
Similarly, my role as “words” may
be to suggest a new idea or a thumping new beat but just as often I will adapt
my delivery (and my choice of material) to the established cadence and/or tone.
As much as I enjoy my contributions the group, I equally cherish listening to
the other bandmembers. Thus, we “shape” a performance.
On October 11th, I’d
say that Fanoplane discovered a few new things, none more heartening than our
connection with a vibrant young audience. We also found a foothold within a
certain system of vivid overlaps and speculative forays, or to put it another
way, our seven selves meshed musically, transformed into separate shapes altogether, before untethering entirely from our own expectations. As if we
were clouds, then people, then rain.
Behold “Bullfrog Hop.” A fellow
named Big Bob Dougherty recorded the song in Kansas City when the calendars
read 19 and 62 for 12 whole months. More than 50 years later, bullfrogs are still
hopping, we are still dancing, and Big Bob is perpetually playing that bass saxophone.
Big Bob knew a thing or two about bullfrogs. For starters: what they say, aloud, which he describes through that big horn. He also knows
that they (said bullfrogs) like to jump, shake, dance, and hop. This song should
be featured on a NatGeo bullfrog doc!
Our suggestions for listening: grab
your sweetie pie and crouch down low. When it makes sense, and / or when
practical, well, hop around, hop around, hop up hop up and get down. You may find
yourself quite amused by the life of a bullfrog. You may find yourself
emulating bullfrogs in other ways. We take no position on this. If you feel
like inhabiting The Ways of the Bullfrog, then by all means, go forward as you see
fit. However, beware of the potential outcomes:
Uh, egads! While this concept is
not new to the animal kingdom (I for one, have witnessed a torrid summer
romance among a fox and a corgi) still, the question begs to be asked: who,
pray tell, is next? A turtle? A heron? Shall the bullfrog be—uh, egads!—amorously
mounting one of us? Where does it end, this desire for accoupling? I decided to
confront a bullfrog with this query.
I went down to the riverside.
There, I found this rather stoic bullfrog basking in her glory. She refused to comment on my
salty, salty inquiry, but I could tell that, as an amphibian, she could type
with both hands. Clearly, she was thinking in the register of the bass
saxophone. And in French to boot: <<Mon ami, le crapaud Buber>> she thought
<<attend Buber Eats.>> In all seriousness though, we here at
Blood And Gutstein admire a hopper or jumper of another kind.
As many of you know, we do not “pshaw”
the feats (or the feets) of athletes, and at that, we greatly admire the
record-breaking effort of Ukrainian high jumper Yaroslava Mahuchikh. Nearly one
week ago, she vanquished a 37-year-old world record by completing a high jump
at 2.10 meters, or nearly 6 feet 10 inches. (You can watch the first 45 seconds of the video for the record-breaking hop.) For this, we think that Yaroslava is
the most compelling athlete in the world right now. Perhaps she will break her own
record at the Paris Olympics. We bet that, if she listened to Big Bob
Dougherty, she might find an extra 0.1 meters in lift!
discographical information for “Bullfrog Hop” Big Bob Dougherty. “Bullfrog Hop” A-side b/w
“Twistin Through the Rye” B-side. Kay D-12399. Kansas City (1962). Personnel: Big
Bob Dougherty (Robert Isaac Dougherty) bass saxophone; other musicians unknown.
[Note: the record reads “Featuring Bass Sax” and while it is almost certain
that Big Bob Dougherty is playing the bass sax, we cannot say for sure.] Compositional
credit: Dougherty.
Some people will recall Nirvana’s mesmerizing performance of “In the
Pines” at MTV Unplugged back in 1993. The band, led by Kurt Cobain,
labeled its rendition “Where Did You Sleep Last Night?” which represents a
common alternate title of the traditional folk tune. Whoa. Wait a
minute. Nirvana? Doing a folk song? Yes, and before the band launched into the
song, Cobain referenced the group’s inspiration for it: the country blues musician Lead
Belly. I imagine that many people in the MTV Unplugged audience had not
heard of “Where Did You Sleep Last Night?” and did not know much about Lead
Belly either. When I first encountered the name “Lead Belly” I imagined someone
plugged full of bullets, in the midriff. This stage name has a compelling
outlaw tinge even as it derives from the man’s actual last name, Ledbetter.
Huddie Ledbetter. There, in the air, wafted the royal name Lead Belly as
Nirvana built the song, bit by bit, towards the (inevitable) howling vocals.
Most folk songs live happily among the clatter of everyday life, curated
by the folk themselves, yet every so often a tune like “In the Pines” will
enjoy a large audience moment with performers like Nirvana, bolstered, in this
case, by a platinum-selling album that followed Cobain’s death. Tens of
millions have found themselves drawn to this performance, and invariably,
inquiring minds will want to know where did “In the Pines” come from, what does
it represent, and where does it stand today, more than 30 years after Nirvana
performed it and roughly 80 years after Lead Belly recorded his momentous rendition.
The song may date to the final years of the nineteenth century, give or take,
with ultimate roots perhaps in English folksong and English poetry.
The cover page of Judith McCulloh’s
detailed and enlightening
dissertation
A “Marriage of Songs” (as Opposed to a “Family of
Songs”)
Devoted readers know that I maintain more than a passing relationship
to the “Liza Jane” family of folk songs. These bright songs originated in the
antebellum South among enslaved people and eventually enjoyed large audience
moments such as Harry Belafonte’s energetic (and controversial) 1960
performance of “Little Liza Jane” on CBS television in front of thirty or forty
million households. As I describe in my 2023 book Poor Gal, the “Liza
Jane” family contains several sturdy branches that feature a range of lyrics
and melodies but these “family members” share several common threads—none
greater than the sassy, obstinate “everywoman” of Liza Jane herself. She never
quite says “yes” despite the suitor’s repeated, sometimes frustrated, sometimes
cynical efforts at winning her favor. While “Liza Jane” and “In the Pines” exhibit
considerable differences, they do possess enough similarities as traditional folk
songs such that some comparison will be helpful in exploring their beginnings,
travels, and enduring significance.
Anyone studying the evolution of “In the Pines” would have to begin with
the excellent work of Judith McCulloh, a decorated folklorist who eventually became
Executive Editor of the University of Illinois Press. McCulloh wrote her (unpublished)
PhD dissertation on “In the Pines,” completing it in 1970. She cites
similarities in tune that enabled a late nineteenth century merger between a
formative version of “In the Pines” and a second song commonly known as “The
Longest Train.” The combined song would often contain three basic ingredients:
(1) a couplet to the effect of “In the pines, in the pines, where the sun never
shines / And I shivered the whole night through”; (2) a couplet to the effect
of “The longest train I ever saw / Went down the Georgia Line”; and (3) one or
more verses describing the aftermath of a horrific accident in which a
character is decapitated. Notably, these
verses can have their own variations and there exist many more possible (but
secondary) lyrics. Most musicians would title their renditions “In the Pines”
but others might call the song “Black Girl” and still others “Where Did You
Sleep Last Night?” Lead Belly employed both latter titles; he recorded the song
more than once.
A precursor song (recorded by Barbara
Dane) mentions a train 100 coaches long
Before They Merged, How Did “The Longest Train” and “In
the Pines” Originate? Though the “Liza Jane” tunes formed as a group of one-verse songs among
enslaved people, they may have been influenced by popular songs and poetry of
the era. The same may be true with “In the Pines” and “The Longest Train.” To
begin, “The Longest Train” may share lyrics and tonic properties with a suite
of other railroad songs including “Nine Hundred Miles” (above) and “Reuben.” Most
notably, the decapitation couplets originate among “The Longest Train” songs
but these same tunes often simultaneously refer to “Joe Brown’s coal mine” as
the site of an impossibly long train. The person in question, Joseph Emerson
Brown, served as Georgia’s governor during the Confederacy and after the war
owned a coal mine (or perhaps several mines) that exploited the labor of
convicts. (Joe Brown may merit a variety of labels, the least of which would be
“S.O.B.”) Musicologist Alan Lomax expresses confidence that “The Longest Train”
spread into the mountains from African American traditions.
Meanwhile, the tune of “In the Pines” as well as certain lyrics may
resemble the ballad “George Collins,” an American interpretation of the English
ballads “Lady Alice” and “Clerk Colvill.” Many renditions of “George Collins”
describe a dove flying from “pine to pine” (cooing about its lost love) and we
might also recall some lines from Tennyson’s early nineteenth century poem
“Oenone” concerning a “swimming vapor” that “creeps from pine to pine.” These
precursor lyrics project sadness and eeriness that would seem to inform the nascent
version of “In the Pines.” Early performances involve the speaker interrogating
a love interest or a close relative: “My girl, my girl, don’t lie to me / Tell
me where did you sleep last night.” The typical response involves a flight (“in
the pines”) to a place of dark isolation (“where the sun never shines”) and where
the girl would experience bodily discomfort (“shiver the whole night through.”)
There are numerous potential contexts here—betrayal, shame, fear, and
punishment—but the precise connections never truly emerge. McCulloh names the
state of Georgia as the likely birthplace for one or both songs but also allows
nearby states as potential breeding grounds. She additionally speculates on the
1870s as the likely time of inception but neither song turns up in
musicological studies, newspaper articles, and other sources during that period
and therefore the songs may have formed ten, twenty, or thirty years later.
The regal Lead Belly
The Dominant Twentieth-Century Performances and What
They Represent “Liza Jane” songs frequently traded hands between Black and white
musicians and, in the process, became popular in virtually every genre of
American music. These songs invited improvisation and virtually every musician
obliged by attaching choice “snotches of folk material” (a.k.a. verses that
floated from song to song) as well as original lyrics and novel arrangements to
the catchy refrains. “Little Liza Jane” for instance rarely presents with a “point
A to point B” narrative arc.
Both “In the Pines” and “The Longest Train” demonstrate similar “snotchy”
properties, almost to the extent that the songs resist a cohesive story. This
may be especially true after the songs merged to form what we might call the
“classic contemporary version” of “In the Pines.” While many important
musicians recorded “In the Pines”—including an influential bluegrass rendition
by Bill Monroe—the two dominant twentieth century performances would have to be
those by Lead Belly and Nirvana. As noted, Lead Belly cut a few different
records of “In the Pines.” Collectively, these versions inspired generations of
folk musicians to come, but in particular, the 1944 recording “Where Did You
Sleep Last Night?” on the Musicraft label stirred Nirvana at the height of
their popularity and clearly informed their 1993 rendition on MTV Unplugged.
“Where Did You Sleep Last Night?” Lead Belly, 1944
My girl, my girl, don’t lie to me Tell me where did you sleep last night?
(Come on, tell me baby.)
In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don’t ever shine I will shiver the whole night through.
My girl, my girl, where will you go? I’m going where the cold wind blow.
(Where’s that at baby?)
In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don’t ever shine I will shiver the whole night through.
My girl, my girl, don’t you lie to me Tell me where did you sleep last night?
(Come on and tell me something ‘bout it.)
In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don’t ever shine I will shiver the whole night through.
(Shiver for me now.)
(Uh huh.)
(What happen down there?)
My husband was a hard-working man Killed a mile and a half from here.
(What happened to him?)
His head was found in a driver wheel And his body haven’t never been found.
My girl, my girl, don’t you lie to me Tell me where did you sleep last night?
(Come on and tell me something ‘bout it.)
In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don’t ever shine I will shiver the
whole night through.
The Nirvana lyrics, though rendered somewhat differently, do not stray
far from Lead Belly’s example. Both versions omit any trace of “the longest
train” language but continue the “interrogation” language, the decapitation
accident, and, of course, the description of the pines: a solitary, shivery,
dark destination for the girl addressed by the singer. We ought not to debate
which version may be better or more powerful. Lead Belly recorded the song
without a band in an era before television; Nirvana added two musicians to
their trio (including a cellist) and appeared in front of a live studio
audience; each of the two songs dominates in its own way.
Critics sometimes breathe scenarios into the lyrics that I find difficult
to support. The “sordid pines,” according to one critic writing in The
New York Times, “serve as a metaphor for everything from sex to loneliness
and death.” I cannot grasp how the pines (trees, cold air, cold wind, cones,
needles) serve as a metaphor for sordid sex. As for loneliness and death, both
the Nirvana and Lead Belly performances advance rather obvious (i.e., non-metaphorical)
content regarding both. Ultimately, the singers address a young woman,
demanding to know where she slept the night before and imploring her not to
lie. Of course, the word “sleep” could conjure a sexual situation but it could
also represent a short, meaningful disappearance.
In both songs, we
eventually come to understand that the girl’s husband (her husband) had
been killed, had not merely been killed—but decapitated.
Were she being challenged about an affair by a boyfriend or a parent, the song
would not seem to be about “sordid sex” as much as abject fetishist cruelty,
and in fact, might support a brief disappearance as opposed to sordid
intimacies. Either way, if the girl is a liar, then how do we know that she fled
to “the pines” at all? And if she is telling the truth, then all she says is
that she shivered the whole night through (seemingly alone). The text does not
mention or imply a tryst. In short, we have Tennyson’s “swimming vapor”
creeping from tree to tree.
The imagery of “In the Pines” may refer to a
vanishing (or imaginary) American
melancholy
Neither Lead Belly nor Nirvana invented “In the Pines.” Both inherited
a song that had been condensed, considerably, from more formative material.
While both took a folk song and added their unique performative gifts to their
performances, we might be brave enough to admit that the songs do not offer
much conventional “meaning” at all. (“Meaning” is highly overrated anyway.) The
genius of the “Liza Jane” songs centers around the bright engines of their
refrains. A musician can add virtually any lyrics to them without sacrificing
their essential nature. Folk music tends to operate in “composite” forms that
blend lyrics, characters, and variations. By now, a song like “In the Pines” especially
resembles a piece built from “snotches” of folk material since its predecessor
songs likely came together in precisely such a fashion. A clear, discernible
narrative will likely never apply.
Lead Belly created a
powerful, influential version of a folk song that he may have learned from (depending
upon who you believe) hearing an early recording, serving as chauffeur for John
Lomax when Lomax recorded prisoners at Bellwood Prison Camp, trading material
with folk musicians of his era including Woody Guthrie, or some combination of
these factors. Nirvana obviously intended their performance as a tribute to
Lead Belly. Some of the present-day “meaning” therefore would include a group
of white musicians trying to inhabit the performance of an African American
musician who, himself, likely inhabited both Black and white traditions dating
back a few decades into Appalachian railroading and/or coal mining areas—if not
the earlier balladry of England. The song presents with menacing properties—the
confrontation, the isolated forest, the deadly accident—but in the end, “In the
Pines” might succeed (as does “Liza Jane”) because people want to sing the
refrain. Yes, the song may appeal to our infatuation with the macabre, or even
some inarticulable sense of a vanishing (or imaginary) American melancholy, one
that is even more difficult to access in an era of shock journalism, divisive politics,
and indifference to mass-casualty events.
“In the Pines” lives on, quite
forcefully, in the wake of Nirvana
Coda The same New York Times reporter suggests that Cobain’s
performance “is so definitive that the stray ends of [the song’s] history come
together” and that “there is really no need for anyone to ever sing it again.”
Tell that to the musicians in St.Lô, whose thumping hip hop rendition from 2012
may rankle “purists” but belongs in the same conversation with Lead Belly and
Nirvana. Singer Hanifah Walidah also credits Lead Belly at the very beginning and then channels the song’s content more viscerally, in
my opinion, than does Cobain. Her performance (watch the entire video) reminds me, in its own way, of
how Nina Simone performed “Little Liza Jane”—at times exhibiting almost a
trancelike connection to the Liza Jane character. “In the Pines” (like “Liza
Jane”) will continue to evolve, with new genres, styles, and innovations
building the song’s legacy: almost like a massive unfinished quilt work. Clearly,
there is good reason for others to sing “In the Pines.”
There is also good reason to reinvestigate the history of “In the Pines.”
Digitization and other sources will likely enable an updating of Judith
McCulloh’s meticulous work with respect to the dates and geographical locales
of incipient versions as well as rounding out information on a scoundrel like
Joe Brown or a particularly relevant (I hate to say it but) “railroad
decapitation.” Like “Liza Jane” I imagine that “In the Pines” will resist “ultimate
statements of literal meaning” especially since the decapitation incident (from
“The Longest Train”) has been installed—either preposterously or stupendously—among the
“interrogation verses” (from “In the Pines”) when the two had nothing
originally to do with one another. Yet folk music operates in this way, with “bits
of folk material” drifting from version to version. In the end, “In the Pines”
is highly relevant today despite or perhaps due to the accidental
juxtapositions that make for an eerie listen. Perhaps we should not demand
anything more than to acknowledge the industrial brawn that a long train may
symbolize, or the urge to flee in the wake of a horrific loss, or the fluencies
of a lonely refuge that attract our individuality despite the twin forces of
darkness and accusation.
The song given a treatment by
a large jazz combo with vocals
Primary Sources of Information Judith McCulloh, unpublished dissertation: “In the Pines”: The
Melodic-Textual Identity of an American Lyric Folksong Cluster. Indiana
University, 1970.
[My own book, Poor Gal: The Cultural History of Little Liza Jane.
University Press of Mississippi, November 2023.]
Alan Lomax. The Folk Songs of
North America. Doubleday. New York, 1960.
Francis James Child. The English and Scottish Popular Ballads. [In
particular “Clerk Colvill” (Child 42) and “Lady Alice” (Child 85).]
Bertrand Harris Bronson. The Traditional Tunes of the Child Ballads.
Princeton University Press, 1962.
Lord Alfred Tennyson. “Oenone.” 1829.
Eric Weisbard. “Pop Music: A Simple Song That Lives Beyond Time.” New
York Times, November 13, 1994.
Norm Cohen. Long Steel Rail: The Railroad in American Folksong. University
of Illinois Press, 1981.
Nicholas Fournier, Todd Harvey, Bertram Lyons, and Nathan Salsburg. Lomax
Family Audio Recordings, 1908–1991: A Chronological Guide to Field Trips and
Recordings. Library of Congress, 2016.
—A variety of other
sources include Wikipedia, Georgia Encyclopedia, discography sites (45cat,
Discogs), and a variety of recordings on YouTube, Spotify, and elsewhere.
Discography of Recordings and Performances “Where Did You Sleep Last Night.” Nirvana: Kurt Cobain (vocals,
acoustic guitar), Krist Novoselic (acoustic guitar); and Dave Grohl (drums); with
Lori Goldston (cello) and Pat Smear (acoustic guitar). MTV Unplugged
(New York, 1993). Also released as part of an album and as a single.
“Nine Hundred Miles.” Barbara Dane (vocals, guitar). When I Was A
Young Girl, Side 1, track 3. Horizon Records SWP-1602. (Los Angeles, 1962).
“Where Did You Sleep Last Night?” Lead Belly (vocals, guitar). A-side
b/w “In New Orleans” B-side. Musicraft 312. (New York, 1944.) Compositional
credit given to Huddie Ledbetter; the song is a traditional folk tune.
“In the Pines.” St.Lô: Hanifah Walidah (vocals); iOta (beatmaker); Ton’s (synthesizer? Keyboards?); and DocMau (artistic director). TransMusicales festival (France, 2012). Based upon one of Lead Belly’s recordings.
“Black Girl.” Likely personnel: Clifford Jordan (tenor saxophone);
Sandra Douglas (vocals); Julian Priester (trombone); Roy Burrowes (trumpet);
Chuck Wayne (banjo); Cedar Walton (piano); Richard Davis (bass); and Albert
Heath (drums). These Are My Roots: Clifford Jordan Plays Leadbelly, Side
2, track 3. Atlantic Records 1444. (New York, 1965). Compositional credit is
given to Huddie Ledbetter (Lead Belly).
Sometimes we require a good solid round of musical ravaging,
do we not? As in, these five instrumentals from the Shakers Era will ravage you, Dear Reader. By “Shakers Era” we mean the largely
underappreciated early rock ‘n’ roll and R&B that prevailed, roughly speaking,
from the appearance of Elvis to the British Invasion. (Give or take: 1952 to
1954 to 1964 to 1966.) In those 10 to 12 to 14 years can be found some of the
rowdiest strains ever produced in American music, much of it driven by
shrieking saxophone or crunching guitar, or both. Most of the Shakers musicians
would never achieve stardom; a handful who “cut their teeth” in this era would “make
it big” but often enough “making it big” equated to soggy crooning as compared
to the teeth-rattling properties of these formidable records.
Collectively, these
five groups played surf, R&B, rockabilly, and hard rock from the earliest
recording (1958) to the latest (1966). Yes, you will recognize some of the
names. You may have a hard time reconciling a shaker such as “Buzz Saw” with
the mushier output-to-come by its musicians: among them Glen Campbell and Seals
and Crofts. Upon hearing “Hornet’s Nest,” you may remark that you had no idea
there was a Jimi Hendrix before the Jimi Hendrix Experience shocked the world, but
there was, and he played in a wild group known as Curtis Knight & The
Squires. From the Grammy-winning Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame inductee Duane Eddy
to the relatively unknown proto-punk group The Fender IV to the double trumpets
of Frank Motley right here in Washington, D.C., all these records will fulfill
the prophecy: namely, you will be shaken, throttled, ravaged, ravished, and picked
apart until your bare bones rattle together simply while you wear a huge smile
on your face.
Before you queue-up
the music, we suggest that you situate yourself in a semi-dark enclave with
appropriate libations at your fingertips. We doubly suggest that you invite
your Sweetie Pie to join you. You may jump up, you may get down, you
may be scared into each other’s arms. It is always more fun to be ravaged in
the presence of a loved one, is it not?
intro: Behold the rock ‘n’ roll
shaker “Peter Gunn” released by Duane Eddy in 1958 or 1959. 26-word song review:
Twangy guitar will surely rescue us (right?) but no, it’s a ruse, the guitar
crunches us instead, while saxophone drills gaping holes in the earth’s mantle. how to dress for
this song: In layers, that can be shed, as you flee. after hearing this
song you resolve to . . . . . build a funeral pyre for all the “with
strings” albums that you own. sub genre(s): Rockabilly. Hard rock. Tenor excess. notes. Henry Mancini wrote the original “Peter Gunn” and recorded it
with legendary shaker musician Plas Johnson on tenor sax. The Mancini version, of course, provided theme music
for the television show of the same name but the Duane Eddy rendition goes well
beyond Mancini, well beyond raunchy, to reach the upper levels of the registry
known to humankind. Eddy’s 1986 remake of the song won him a Grammy, which we
will not hold against him. discography: Duane Eddy. “Peter
Gunn” A-side b/w “Yep!” B-side. London Records, London American Recordings HLW
8879. United Kingdom, 1958 or 1959. (Also released on the Jamie label in the
USA, in 1959 and1960, under the heading of Duane Eddy “His Twangy Guitar” and
The Rebels). Likely personnel may have included all or some of the following: Duane
Eddy (guitar); Steve Douglas (saxophone); Corkey Casey (rhythm guitar); Buddy
Wheeler (electric bass); Jimmy Simmons (upright bass); Al Casey (piano); and
Mike Bermani (drums). Compositional credit: Henry Mancini. Sources of
information: Discogs;
45cat; Wikipedia pages for Duane Eddy and “Peter Gunn”; Only Solitaire Herald; Jazz Messengers.
intro:
Behold the R&B shaker “Space Age” released by Frank Motley in
1959. 26-word song review:
3 minutes of sheer rocket fuel. 2 trumpets shrieking in the same cat’s mouth. 1
drummer thumping away in the wake of his own echoes. Blastoff. how to dress for
this song: In a helmet! after hearing this
song you resolve to . . . . . jettison your ballast. sub genre(s): R&B. Washington, D.C. R&B. Extraterrestrial
exotica. notes: Part
of the vibrant R&B
scene in Washington, D.C., Frank Motley became one of the few American
musicians adept at playing more than one horn simultaneously, alongside Rahsaan
Roland Kirk and George Braith. Notably, Motley and his band backed transgender singer
Jackie Shane in the Toronto-area hit “Any Other Way” from 1963, a slower piece
that we highly recommend. discography:
Frank “Dual Trumpet” Motley and His Crew. “Space Age” A-side b/w “Everybody
Wants a Flattop” B-side. DC 45-0415. Washington, D.C., 1959. Likely personnel:
Frank Motley (dual trumpets); Curley Bridges or Jimmy Crawford (keyboards); and
Thomas ‘TNT’ Tribble (drums); remaining musicians unknown. Compositional
credit: Frank Motley and Lillian Claiborne. Sources of information: Discogs;
45cat; Wikipedia.
intro:
Behold the rock ‘n’ roll shaker “Buzz Saw” released by The Gee Cees
in 1961. 26-word song review:
As the needle cuts through the disc, as the disc cuts through the turntable, so
do the teeth of the music cut through us unrepentant scoundrels. how to dress for
this song: With safety goggles. after hearing this
song you resolve to . . . . . cut through brick with a butter knife. sub genre(s): Rockabilly. Hard rock. Powertool grind. notes: Apparently,
Glen Campbell, Jim Seals, and Dash Crofts had been bandmates in the widely
beloved shaker group The Champs, before leaving that group to cut this record. “Buzz
Saw” would hardly predict the slower-paced material that would follow from
Campbell and, separately, the duo Seals and Crofts. We wish this brief
intersection had continued. discography:
The Gee Cees. “Buzz Saw” A-side b/w “Annie Had a Party” B-side. Crest 45-1088.
Hollywood, California, 1961. [Also released by the same label as “Buzz Saw Twist.”]
Likely personnel: Glen Campbell (guitar); Jerry Kolbrak also known as Jerry
Cole (guitar); Jim Seals (Saxophone); and Dash Crofts (drums); other musicians may
have been drawn from another group, The Champs, but are unknown. Compositional credit:
Glen Campbell. Sources of information: Discogs;
45cat; Wikipedia pages for Glen Campbell and Jerry Cole.
intro: Behold
the rock ‘n’ roll shaker “Mar Gaya” released by The Fender IV in
1964. 26-word song review:
We consider this a punk record ahead of its time, we consider this a great punk
record, for the sheer locomotion and irreverence of the musicians. how to dress for
this song: With a fedora, pince-nez, smoking jacket, and pocket
watch. after hearing this
song you resolve to . . . . . weigh the benefits of the Atkins diet
versus the Keto diet. sub genre(s): Surf. Proto punk. Beach loco. notes: According
to “Google Translate” the phrase “mar gaya” means “died” or “petered (out)” in Hindi;
“strong sea” in Haitian Creole, and “mar gaya” in Esperanto. discography: The Fender IV. “Mar
Gaya” A-side b/w “You Better Tell Me Now” B-side. Imperial 66061. Los Angeles,
California, 1964. Likely personnel: Randy Holden (guitar); Joe Kooken (guitar);
Mike Port (bass); and Bruce Miller (drums). Compositional credit: Randy Holden.
Sources of information: Discogs;
45cat; Wikipedia.
intro:
Behold the R&B shaker “Hornet’s Nest” released by Curtis Knight
and The Squires in 1966. 26-word song review:
Okay, yes, the angry hornets, because their nest was poked, but who set them
off, okay, yes, it was Jimi Hendrix, that would explain a lot. how to dress for
this song: In a beekeeper’s suit. after hearing this
song you resolve to . . . . . swarm! sub genre(s): R&B. Hard rock. Apian blues. notes: There
are lots of disputes involving the Knight / Hendrix recordings that we choose
not to fathom. discography: Curtis Knight &
The Squires. “Hornet’s Nest” A-side b/w “Knock Yourself Out” B-side. RSVP 1124.
New York, 1966. Likely personnel: Curtis Knight (guitar); Jimi Hendrix
(guitar); Marion Booker Jr. (drums); Ace Hall or Napoleon Anderson (bass); and
Nate Edmonds (organ). Compositional credit: Jimi Hendrix and Jerry Simon. Sources
of information: Discogs;
45cat; Wikipedia;
Early Hendrix.
