Bernie Sanders represents more individual donors than
any other candidate. (Photo: Rebecca Cook / Reuters)
You go about your day and you encounter some Democrats who insist,
“I’m for Biden, because he’s electable,” but when you convince these good souls
to cut that out, to forget the “electable routine” for just one minute, and instead,
credit the candidate closest to their value set, these good souls will
invariably say—about nine times out of ten—Bernie Sanders. We’ll get to Bernie’s
electability in a minute. Hold the line, please.
I don’t happen to dislike Joe Biden as vehemently as some hardcore
liberals do. On paper, he presents remarkable credentials: Vice President for
eight years, Senator forever, working class advocate, et cetera. He likes Amtrak.
I like the train, too. Apparently, Trump fears Biden the most, or so we’d imagine,
owing to the entire impeachment thing—maybe you’ve heard of this?— that’s been predictably
stubbed-out by Senate Republicans.
Yet Biden can be maddeningly error-prone. He seems to be
running—as Hillary Clinton twice did—because he wants to be president, rather than because he can communicate a
compelling vision for his presidency.
In any event, the mainstream media has been searching for a younger, less baffling
version of “Sleepy Joe.” They have tried to champion Pete Buttigieg and Amy “Comb-uchar”
but it’s hard to know what either of those two candidates really stands for, aside from the DNC talking points.
Noting that the Democratic electorate is of two minds—OMFG
if the party should actually nominate a genuine liberal—the mainstream media has
also been searching for an alternative to Bernie Sanders: left, but not left-wing.
Some outlets have championed Elizabeth Warren. Maybe it’s just me, but every
time I look at footage of Warren, I feel as if I’m about to get a C+ on my term
paper. It perpetually appears like she’s detecting a sour odor, which does
conjure the teaching corps in higher education (her former metier.) I know, I know, she has a plan for that sour odor.
Bernie’s in his upper seventies. He’s suffered a
well-publicized heart attack. He represents a state that will likely vote for
the Democrat no matter who leads the ticket. Some people call him “socialist”
and / or “communist.” All of these fabulous highlights might have disqualified
him during another election cycle, but we here at Blood And Gutstein note that
Bernie’s the only Democratic candidate who’s been broadening the tent, via the
trademark small donations, since 2016. In particular, young people hoot &
holler for him. And if you can say one thing about Donald Trump’s ascendancy,
it’s canceled any conventional wisdom about who might run and who can win.
AOC’s endorsement underscores the sentiments
of young
voters. (Photo: J Pat Carter / Getty)
It’s also clear to us that Bernie isn’t just spinning yarns
because they might “play well” among voters. He’s been advocating many of the
same policies now for decades, and his pledge to drive-out big money from
American politics is the single most identifiable policy among all candidates
for the Democratic nomination. His vision is clear and courageous. We also
admire his zeal in campaigning with Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, who is one of the
most dynamic politicians in the world.
The Republican presidential nominees often succeed in
positioning themselves as “tough guys” (even as many of the same “tough guys” deftly
evaded military duty when called upon to serve) and toughness does resonate
among voters in November. Should Bernie win the Democratic nomination, he’ll
have to project toughness, not only in standing up to the forthcoming negative
barrages from the right, but in leading during an era of unprecedented global challenges.
Before that, however, it’s voters like you and me who must demonstrate toughness, by
making the correct choice—Bernie—in 2020.
Top, left to right: Barbara Lynn, Ella Mae Morse Bottom, left to right: Big Maybelle, Jackie Shane
It’s hard to imagine the evolution of American music without
the contributions made by these singers, whose work brashly inhabits at least ten
genres: swing, jazz, blues, jump blues, rhythm & blues, electric blues, rock
‘n’ roll, gospel, soul, and pop. Some of the songs contributed formatively to
the nascent states of their genres. These ladies built a formidable idiom
during the Jump Blues and “Shakers” periods, which roughly accounted for the
twenty-five year stretch from World War II up until the British Invasion. Their
voices howl and holler, they croon and brood, they scat and bounce.
The singers didn’t bring their voices alone to the stage. Nellie
Lutcher, Martha Davis, Camille Howard, Cleo Brown, and Aretha Franklin played
the piano; surely you remember Aretha Franklin in The Blues Brothers. She wasn’t the only actress from this group.
Ruth Brown, LaVern Baker, Sylvia Sims, and Mabel King (What’s Happening!) were actresses, too. Marylyn
Scott and Sister Rosetta Tharpe played guitar. Little Sylvia played guitar; later,
as Sylvia Robinson, she went on to found Sugar Hill Records and played an
irreplaceable role in formation of hiphop music. Barbara Lynn appeared in the
2015 documentary I Am The Blues and
continues to play guitar. Irma Thomas is still active. Sugar Pie DeSanto was,
and still is, a dancer. Big Mama Thornton played drums and harmonica. Jackie
Shane identified as female; she passed away this year after her work,
long-neglected, came back into focus with a Grammy nomination. Shane first performed
her hit single, “Any Other Way,” in Toronto, backed by Frank Motley, who often
played two trumpets simultaneously.
To say that many of these tunes simply concern “love
relationships” would grossly underestimate their contents. When Nancy Adams
narrates all the activity in her “orchard,” she does so from a gangster
standpoint, threatening to take “[her] gun and rat-a-tat-tat” that cat who’s “picking
at [her] plum tree.” Irma Thomas and Sugar Pie DeSanto sing about the need (as
jilted lovers) to leave town altogether while Rose Mitchell and Jo Ann
Henderson both plead for a “baby” to stay, as they perform two different
versions of the same song. Dolly Cooper doesn’t mince lyrics in establishing a
certain ferocity of passion in “Wild Love,” and similarly, Nellie Lutcher urges
her partner to “Hurry on down” since there “ain’t nobody home but [the singer].”
Left: Dolly Cooper, right: LaVern Baker
Some songs describe earthy forms of celebration. Camille
Howard’s “Fiesta In Old Mexico,” Marylyn Scott’s “Beer Bottle Boogie,” LaVern
Baker’s “Dix-A-Billy,” and the voice of Helen Lancaster in “The Monkey Swing”
call to mind jumping juke joints and house rent parties. Big Maybelle and Ann
Cole recorded the first versions of iconic songs that later came to be
standards for Bill Haley and Muddy Waters, respectively. A dark horse candidate
for the best among these songs is the Martha Davis tune, “Sarah Sarah,” which
conjures the earnest life of a seamstress in a shoeshine shop. Of course, male
characters abound. From a “little boy” to a “baby” to a “hound dog” to “Henry”
to “Johnny Lee” to the singer Percy Mayfield (of “Mercy Mister Percy”), these
ladies sure do address the fellas. Cleo Brown predicted—“Here’s the news / And
it’s the newest”—that Jim Braddock would meet Joe Louis, two years after her
song appeared. And they did meet, and Louis knocked out Braddock in what would
become a comeuppance that reinforced the message in Brown’s song.
I hope that many of these musicians will be new to you, as
they were to me. Seek-out the songs. Play them loud. Jump about. Shake your
entire body, then shake individual body parts, one by one. Most importantly,
figure out some way to compensate me for bringing this music into your life. I’d
like you to know that I accept most—but not all—forms of stout, and
stout-porter, and porter. Inquire via modern inquiry techniques, if you will,
and you will. Oh yes. Amen. Also, please refer to our Jump
Blues post, our Shakers
post, and our Unassailable
Vocalists post, even as there may be some minor differences between the
opinions and lists published therein. Hoy hoy!
Irma Thomas “Break-A-Way” (1964)
Discography information appears below
Top 30 Records
Nellie Lutcher: “Hurry On Down” (1947) [Capitol, A-side b/w “The Lady’s In Love With You”]
Martha Davis: “Sarah
Sarah” (1948) [Jewel B-side b/w “When I Say Goodbye”]
Camille Howard: “Fiesta In Old Mexico” (1949) [Specialty
A-side b/w “Miraculous Boogie” ]
Ella Mae Morse with Freddie Slack And His Orchestra: “Get On
Board Little Chillun” (1942) [Capitol A-side b/w “Old Rob Roy”]
Helen Humes: “Be-Baba-Leba” (1945) [Philo Recordings B-side
b/w “Every Now And Then”]
Top, left to right: Annie Laurie, Dolly Lyon
Bottom, left to right: Wynona Carr, Inez Foxx
+ Also Considered:
Annisteen Allen: “Oo-Ee-Bab-A-Lee-Bob” (1945). Marion
Abernathy aka The Blues Woman: “Voo-it! Voo-it!” (1946). Blue Lu Barker: “A
Little Bird Told Me” (1948). Paula Watson: “Hidin’ In The Sticks” (1948). Albennie
Jones: “Hole In The Wall” (1949). Erline Harris: “Jump And Shout” (1950). Julia
Lee & Her Boyfriends: “Mama Don’t Allow It” (1951). Mabel Scott: “Catch ‘Em
Young, Treat ‘Em Rough, Never Tell ‘Em Nothing” (1951). Margie Day: “Snatchin’
It Back” (1953). Pearl Reaves: “You Can’t Stay Here (Step It Up And Go)” (1955).
Lula Reed: “Rock Love” (1955). Wynona Carr: “Jump, Jack, Jump” (1956). Annie
Laurie: “Rockin’ And Rollin’ Again” (1956). Anita Tucker: “Hop Skip And Jump”
(1956). Dolly Lyon: “Palm Of Your Hand” (1957). Lillian Offit: “Miss You So”
(1957). Fay Simmons: “Hangin’ Around” (1957). Carol Fran: “I Quit My Knockin’”
(1958). Sharon Smith: “I’m Waiting” (1958?). Baby Jean: “Oh Johnny” (1962). Jessie
Mae: “Don’t Freeze On Me” (1962). Inez and Charlie Foxx: “Mockingbird” (1963). Cookie
Jackson: “Do You Still Love Me” (1963). Patti LaBelle and the Blue Bells:
“Academy Award” (1963). Pearl Woods “Stickum Up Baby” (1963).
In addition to Irma Thomas
(vocals), personnel may have included: Jessie Willard Carr (guitar), Paul
Hornsby (keyboards), Pops Powell (bass), Squirm (drums), Swamp Dogg (piano), and the Blossoms (backup vocals).
All other instruments, if any, and additional vocals, if any, unknown. Recorded in 1964 as
a B-side b/w “Wish Someone Would Care” on Imperial Records No. 66013.
Joy on Fire will be releasing a limited-edition 180 gram LP
on black vinyl entitled Thunderdome
Extended Single. It will feature two songs (“Thunderdome” and “Uh
Huh”) from our forthcoming States of America album, plus three
remixes. These songs add lyrics and vocals to the band’s trademark punk-jazz
sound. If the test pressings are any indication, get ready to dance, jump, bang
your head, holler, run amok.
Personnel:
John Paul Carillo (bass, guitar)
Anna Meadors (bari sax, alto sax)
Chris Olsen (drums, percussion)
Dan Gutstein (lyrics, vocals)
Please contact the band if you are a deejay at a college radio station or an independent radio station, or if you would like to suggest a potential recipient for this record. We would be happy to send some vinyl your way in 2020. Hoy hoy! And otherwise, stay tuned, friends!
Alan Merrill
(guitar), Amy Madden (bass), and Mark Brotter (drums) perform an
inspired version
of “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” at The Brighton Bar, October 4, 2019.
Behold “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll,” the genre-busting anthem that
propelled Joan Jett toward international superstardom. Since 1981, loudspeakers
everywhere have been proclaiming Jett’s boisterous recording, which predicts—through
equal measures of playfulness and mischievousness—a role-reversal hookup between
a female speaker and a teenage guy who’s dancing in front of a jukebox. Yet the
ditty dates to 1975, when it was written by Alan Merrill and Jerry Mamberg,
also known as two-thirds of the Arrows, a trio that emphasized glam hairdos and
also recorded one of the catchiest records of its era.
Your humble blogger crossed paths with Mr. Merrill last week
at The Brighton Bar, a storied landmark in Long Branch, New Jersey that was
hosting six bands, including the punk-jazz combo, Joy on Fire, for whom I vocalize and pen
lyrics, as well as the headline act, billed as the Alan Merrill Extravaganza.
In fact, Joy on Fire played its set right before Merrill and his bandmates, bassist
Amy Madden and drummer Mark Brotter, took the stage. The organizers of the
event—David Tanner and Kipp Elbaum—had been touting Merrill’s connection to the
song throughout the evening, and the audience (myself included) was eager to
hear the tune straightaway.
I’ll resist the urge to parse the Extravaganza’s entire set, which was
very enjoyable. Since this review concerns itself with a single song that ended
up producing more fame for a musician (Jett) other than its writer (Merrill), I
will say that it was a bit loopy to consider Merrill’s relationship to hits
first recorded by different musicians, such as “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” by the Rolling
Stones or the 1958 Larry Williams song, “Slow Down,” a real humdinger, which benefitted
(in its day) from the gritty honking of under-celebrated saxophonist Plas
Johnson. As expected, the Alan Merrill Extravaganza saved “I Love Rock ‘n’
Roll” for last. They wanted to play the song. It wasn’t drudgery for them. It immediately
became the jewel of their set.
Joan Jett performing
(in a New York Jets Joe Namath shirt) in Norway.
The biggest beneficiary (and enhancer) of this tune, Joan
Jett, is bad-ass. We don’t need to demonstrate this claim, it just is. She
inhabits “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” with plenty of—Yeow!—jumpy, punky, metallic energy,
outstripping the somewhat mellower version recorded by the Arrows. She first
encountered the televised Arrows version on the ITV Network in 1976, while she
toured England as a member of the all-female band, the Runaways. In time, she
would record “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” twice: first with two members of the Sex Pistols
and second with her band The Blackhearts. The latter version rose to No. 1 on
the pop charts, and arguably, would come to define Jett’s career, even though
it’s not her edgiest song.
The lyrics as envisioned by Jett and Merrill can be
summarized easily enough. A teenager catches the eye of the singer / speaker as
the teenager is “dancing there by the record machine.” This unnamed dancer is “about
17” and we assume that the singer or the intended audience is roughly the same
age (or recalls being that age). Ultimately, the song’s narrative involves two
threads: a girl meets boy scenario and the chorus, which expands the budding
tryst to include the entire genre of rock ‘n’ roll.
In the first case, the singer seems to be intent upon securing
the partnership—dancing or otherwise—of the dancing teenager. The song insists
that “it wouldn’t be long ‘til (he / she) was with me” as well as “next we’re
moving on and (he / she) was with me / Yeah me” before the two would ostensibly
be at home so they could “be alone” (together). These words are mere highway,
though, to the infectious carnival of the refrain, or the second thread. (The
music—hard rock guitar riffs, boom-boom-chick percussion—transports the
listener efficiently.) And there we behold Jett & The Blackhearts, raucous
and disdainful: “Singin’ I love rock and roll / So put another dime in the
jukebox, baby / I love rock and roll / So come on take some time and dance with
me!”
The Arrows: Alan Merrill (left), Jerry
Mamberg (center), Paul Varley (right).
There aren’t a ton of versions out there, perhaps owing to
the iconic, somewhat perfect nature of the Joan Jett rendition. There’s a Britney
Spears rendition that I haven’t heard, and will never hear, unless somebody, physically,
compels me to listen. Jett’s version of “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” levitates as it hurtles
toward the exit; many popular songs wallow through a couple minutes of repetition.
Alan Merrill’s animated live performance (above) just as much concerns his
estimable legacy as a musician and songwriter as it narrates a teenage hookup
fantasy. The original Arrows version is a snappy, medium rocker, which deserves
a listen. Its video deserves a view; it’s frolicsome in the best ways.
Merrill and his bandmates were friendly. Maybe the bassist,
Amy Madden, was coolest of all. I can verify that I was humming the refrain the
next afternoon before Joy on Fire kicked off the Unruly Sounds festival in
Princeton, N.J. The song can be resisted, but that’s difficult! It packs eagerness,
it rewards itself for being tightly coiled; its simplicity invites
participation. Even though “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll” perpetuates a standard form
of teenage rebellion, its great advantage might be the durability of its refrain.
Just about anybody can sing the words without maiming them, and anybody can
love rock ‘n’ roll, although just what kind of rock ‘n’ roll is truly “love-worthy”—invites
a much different debate. We can only complain that a dime doesn’t get you
anywhere near a jukebox these days, never mind the fact that a modern “record
machine” plays digital files, not a 7-inch 45.
[Update, March 29, 2020: We were incredibly saddened to learn of Alan Merrill’s death from COVID-19. We wish his family and friends our deepest condolences during this difficult time. --B.A.G.]
When people ask me what I’m doing
with myself these days, the short answer is: making a record, States of America, with Anna Meadors, John Paul Carillo, and Chris Olsen of Joy on Fire, and making
a documentary film about the tune “Li’l Liza Jane” with Emily Cohen. (The
two activities will eventually intersect when Joy on Fire unfurl a punk-jazz
version of “Liza Jane” whilst the cameras roll.) Both music-making and movie-making require
a tremendous amount of exertion, as it turns out. One could speculate on the “ups and downs” of the creative cycle, but in reality, there are only up-sides, so long as I’m expending
the level of effort that my team-mates require of me. The term “team-mate” of
course wouldn’t have applied a few years ago, when I toiled singly as a
writer of poems and stories. That work continues, by the way, but unfortunately
I’ve grown apart from my long-term involvement with the DC Poetry gang, even as
friendships continue with many of its members. Perhaps my next great endeavor
will involve entry into another literary community, or founding a brand-new
one.
Joy on Fire just concluded an
intense period of recordings, as well as a mini-tour
that whirled us from the hot rooms of a classic music space in West Philly to a Jersey Shore
pool party (“lol”) to the fabulous Lou Costello Room in Baltimore’s Hampden
neighborhood. The mini-tour, three venues in three nights, required a fair
amount of howling, and by the end, I was a bit hoarse. Joy on Fire describe
themselves as “punk jazz,” which means that they’re not timid. To be heard
requires projection. It’s quite a different environment from the “funereal
quiet” of many literary readings. Even when I’ve given readings in bars, or at
outdoor beer festivals, or at flash mob events, I’ve been able to declaim
without howling, but now I howl, and truth be told, where has howling been all my
life? (I seem to recall a poetry book whose title involved a form of that word—either
in advocacy of said act or as testament to its arrival as an art form.) To howl
isn’t even half of it, of course. Music and words had to be joined together,
in a series of trials, with each member of the combo placing her or
his stamp on them. But the biggest adjustment, for me anyhow, has been doing
everything by memory. How many times as a writer (hundreds?) have I stood at a
lectern, holding the words to my eyes, for easy recital? Don’t do and you won’t
learn; don’t learn and you won’t grow. Become a vocalist in a punk-jazz orchestra!
The great Cajun musician, Iry
LeJeune, who died
in 1955 at age 26 after being struck by an automobile.
literary visitors Cathy Wagner and Susana Gardner.
It’s no accident that I chose a
song as subject matter for a documentary foray, since folk poetry informs part
of its lengthy history. The thought of poetry sometimes turns my mind toward writing community, and my association with the DC Poetry crowd, in particular. My relationship to that group involved hosting dozens of parties (many legendary); hosting the popular Beer Club Salon
of Ideas; and co-hosting several popular happy hours over the course of two decades (Drink & Walk and Public
Office Hours, to name two). I even started DJ’ing from my Shakers and Jump Blues
projects as the DC Poets took over the basement of the Black Squirrel on
Thursday nights for many seasons. I’m grateful for abiding friendships with many writers
and performers who hail from both generations of the DC Poetry scene (many now expatriates), including Rod
Smith, Heather Fuller, Mark Wallace, Terence Winch, Phyllis Rosenzweig, Tina
Darragh, Doug Lang, Casey Smith, Susana Gardner, Joe Ross, Cathy Eisenhower, Maureen
Thorson, and Tom Orange, among others. Things change, of course, and I wish the
DC Poetry scene good tidings even as I contemplate the next literary community
to join (or found).
Before we begin, let us first apologize for being such a quaint
orchestra. Actually, we could say “combo” as opposed to “orchestra,” and
decibel levels notwithstanding, we thank you very much for letting us howl,
honk, crank, and thump. We will not amplify our thought balloons, however, seeing
as this would emphasize griddlecakes and three-egg omelets. At this point in time, I, the vocalist, must take full ownership of the Frankfurters Incident: look not to our percussionist, our guitarist, our saxophonist (and glockenspielist!) Yes, a precocious youth detained us briefly on the whirlybird sidewalks
of West Philadelphia but we negotiated successfully with him and his
whiffle-ball bat. In the end, he permitted us to realize our full creative
vision before he whiffle-batted the crap outta some hardy weeds. Are you
hiring? Because we’re lowering. If a couple of sweethearts can’t achieve “Radar
Love” then perhaps they could settle for “Radar Like” or “Radar BFFs.” Behold
the weary idiom, it is low-sodium, and behold the soda, it is low-odium, and
behold the coda, it is low-podium. May your edifices crumble merrily after we
depart and may your finest peoples endorse our ruckuses. See you at the Joy on
Fire corner of the world, Tigresses and Tigers, and in fond, fond anticipation
of that, we offer you our selected photography, please see below.
