Dream Boogieing with Sam Cooke
Music biographies (and to an extent, biographies in general) are kind of masturbatory if you know a bit about the subject. I know about Sam Cooke- gospel singer, switched to pop, huge star, “Bring It On Home to Me”, shot in a hotel room, the dominant force in soul music, and hero to Bobby Womack, Lou Rawls and Rod Stewart. But then I read Peter Guralnick’s excellent Dream Boogie: The Triumph of Sam Cooke and was completely blown away by the man.
I’ve loved Sam Cooke for a long time (specifically since I found out that he was the singer of “Wonderful World” and “Cupid”), but recently with the help of this book I was able to really get a grasp of what made him so special.
Musically the guy was gifted. He simultaneously took the black Gospel experience, melded it with a little Harry Belafonte-like calypso and some light rock and roll and created out of thin air a form of black music that was in an attractive enough package for white America to digest. To read about this happening and also to hear it in his music is grounds enough to count him as an all-time great, but to read about what Cooke did away from the spotlight is pretty damn Herculean.
Segregation was a horrible thing. But one of the things that happened as a result of segregation (to an extent) was a simultaneous black culture in America that existed independently of white America. Dream Boogie showcases this. There was a Afro-centric news wire (the ANP- Associated Negro Press), black operated newspapers in every major city, and the much vaunted black club scene across America and Sam was in the middle of all of these.
In fact, Sam seemed in the middle of most of black culture in America in the 1950s until his death in 1964. He bubbles up with Little Richard, meets the Beatles, tours with Aretha Franklin and a very young Gladys Knight, and even cuts a single with Cassius Clay (he wasn’t Muhammed Ali just yet). The guy was, as Reggie Jackson said about himself a decade later, the straw that stirred the drink.
So today I decided to share with everyone a Sam Cooke song. It’s not “Bring It On Home to Me”, or one of his bubblegum smashes. Instead, it’s “Nothing Can Ever Change This Love”, which might be as good a song as “Bring It On Home to Me”. Listen to Sam’s voice as he sings it- it’s barely tethered to Earth, and yet there is still a little dirt and grit around the edges. He belts out huge whoa-oh-ah-ohs that take your breath away and holds other words and phrases inside of his mouth, almost chewing on them until the right timbre is hit. I’ve never seen a Picasso, I’m not able to watch land being formed as lava reaches the sea, and I’ve never seen life created in front of me, but I have heard Sam Cooke’s voice, which is as close to the creator as an atheist like myself will ever get.
Sam Cooke- Nothing Can Ever Change This Love
Until tomorrow, be good.
Project Fridays: Elvis and Rock and Roll’s fleeting whatever
I love Elvis, I really do. I love Young Elvis and his innocent hick charm and “awww shucks” demeanor and the little grin that came over his face as the girls screamed for him on all of those old television shows. I love ’68 Comeback Elvis in his leather suit that tickled my grandma’s fancy. I even love Fat Elvis, with his tragic side, dependence on too much eyeliner and his big operatic voice. To put it mildly, Elvis is tops in my book. To say that there is someone more influential in rock and roll is absurd. Some may have done it better, some may have done it first, and some may have done it less than lily white but Elvis combined all of them into something revolutionary.
That’s what makes Movie Star Elvis such a strange figure to me.
Elvis’ post-Army/pre- ’68 Comeback years are riddled with bad movies, terrible soundtrack albums and all of the disdain that one artist can handle from critics while still being able to sell the man as the King of Rock n’ Roll. These years, spent churning out horrible teen comedy after teen comedy were never good, and with the exception of a few of them, largely forgotten today. The albums feature often lackluster performances by the King and throwaway songs.
So why do I love them so much?
I can see why this period of Elvis’ life might be even more tragic than his death to some- here’s a man denying what his honest-to-goodness gift in life was in order to chase fame and a large paycheck. Silly punk kids wondering about selling out- check out Movie Star Elvis. Gone is the vibrant young boy who shook his hips through scandal and straight into teenagers’ hearts and he has been replaced with the blank face and sad eyes of a doomed man. I can’t imagine that it was all sweetness and light around Graceland whiles this string of laughably bad films carpet bombed his once vibrant career.
Because this era is such an enigma to me (and because I love cheap CDs) I bought a copy of the soundtrack to Elvis’ 1965 film Girl Happy the other day. What I found upon popping the album into the player was a mixture of a little bit of “wow, this album is awesome” and an equal amount of “why the fuck would anyone in their right mind think that this was a good idea?”- a mixed bag to say the least. But I still can’t stop listening to it.
I know these songs don’t crackle the way that those Sun singles and that first album on RCA sounds, but this isn’t supposed to, because (wait for it) Elvis was done with rock and roll by 1965 (there’s a contentious statement for you, huh?).
Elvis (or at least his manager) saw rock and roll as a teenage fad, like we probably saw POGs or Dance Dance Revolution when they were the toast of the town. The real career for Elvis was as a film star. He was probably closer to Miley Cyrus than a lot of us would like to imagine. His films and soundtracks were rife with cheese and formula and the only reason that anyone cares about them today is because of the superhuman nature of Elvis’ talent and charm.
By 1965, the gig was up and Elvis’ movie career was fizzling out. Girl Happy! was among the last bits of Elvis in cinema, and while I can’t see it, I can say that the soundtrack is damn good. The title song is awesome and reminds me a bit of Help-era Beatles, but my favorite song is “The Ft. Lauderdale Chamber of Commerce”. It’ a slow, bossa nova-style tune that has great lyrics and a clunky (but awesome) melody. “The Girl from Ipanema” was the big song of 1965, and Stan Getz and Antonio Carlos Jobim’s fingerprints are all over this tune. Check it out here:
It may not be “Jailhouse Rock”, but it is a fun little song, and that’s about all one could ask for a supposedly retired rock and roller.
Later on, Elvis went back to rock and roll. Some material was great and other stuff showed that his time away had caused him to go from a wild corrupter of youth to a Neil Diamond clone. But he was still Elvis, even when crooning about a Florida business association over a Brazilian beat in a film made in California. Thus is the duality of the southern thing.
Until later, be good.
Project Fridays: Ladies’ Night.
In an effort to both drive up the commenting here at the Bugg Blog as well as to completely rip off two blogs that I love, The Driftwood Singers Present and I am Fuel-You are Friends, I will now be highlighting music that I love and that people should hear every Friday, weather and real life permitting. Songs that as my girlfriend says are “the undiscovered, the rediscovered, the recently uncovered and a few that should stay under the covers.” As a disclaimer for those with prying eyes, I am not a fan of illegally downloading music, so the songs I highlight will be songs from albums that I have bought and paid for and are to be downloaded for demonstration only. If any lawyer type wants me to take the song down, feel free to shoot me a line.
I realized the other day that I have (for over a year now) be woefully neglecting songs featuring women taking a prominent role as the lead. I feel horrible about this, and I’m going to make a conscious effort into appreciating the ladies a little more often.
I suppose the problem is that with a lot of female singers, and this is just my opinion, a lot of them don’t really grab me while listening. I appreciate them and can understand their talent, but some part of me never really is taken by their voice or attitude.
But then this week I heard Betty Davis. Before you start thinking of the actress, look up the singer. She had a pretty interesting career and some rather famous associates, Hendrix and Miles Davis (her ex husband) being two. But unlike Anne Heche (for example), who somehow earned respect as an actress because of who she was screwing, Davis has personality in her music and in her voice. Her music is bold, raw, playful, feminine, and pretty damn crazy.
Instead of a polished Diana Ross sheen, or the straight out of the pulpit sounds of Aretha Franklin, Davis’ music was crazier, funkier and pretty darn comparable to that patron saint of hipster music, Captain Beefheart.
Like the Captain, Davis’ music boiled itself down to it’s essentials; a drum break, a bass fill, a scream, a chant, and then proceeded to make an entire song out of it. Although Beefheart did this with bare bones blues music, Davis used slippery seventies funk to make this music happen. The results are pretty darn impressive. The music staggers, stutters, steps back and lurches forward alternately, all with her manic yelps goading the song along to some sort of nirvana. I’m not sure what it is that I’m hearing, but I love it. It’s vital, funky and makes me feel alive, which last time I checked was the criteria for great music.
But don’t take my word for it, instead here’s Betty Davis doing “He Was a Big Freak”
Betty Davis- He Was a Big Freak
But I’m not done, people. Just to give you a frame of reference on the Beefheart comparison, here’s the Captain doing “Run Paint Run Run”. While they don’t sound exactly alike, they are similar in approach.
Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band- Run Paint Run Run
Check back in tomorrow for a special Project Saturdays, but until then be good.
(also, leaving a few comments wouldn’t hurt)
Project Fridays: Pow Wows and Punk Rock
In an effort to both drive up the commenting here at the Bugg Blog as well as to completely rip off two blogs that I love, The Driftwood Singers Present and I am Fuel-You are Friends, I will now be highlighting music that I love and that people should hear every Friday, weather and real life permitting. Songs that as my girlfriend says are “the undiscovered, the rediscovered, the recently uncovered and a few that should stay under the covers.” As a disclaimer for those with prying eyes, I am not a fan of illegally downloading music, so the songs I highlight will be songs from albums that I have bought and paid for and are to be downloaded for demonstration only. If any lawyer type wants me to take the song down, feel free to shoot me a line.
It’s been long established around these parts that outside of my southern roots I have no heritage. I suppose that’s what draws me to heritage: the need explore something that I don’t have. That is also what makes me want to stick my penis inside of women, so why can’t it work on something lofty like culture?
I’m of the opinion that it can. Because of this, one of the most fascinating things in the world to me is the Indian Reservation that I live about 10 miles from. My girlfriend teaches fourth grade there, and I try to go over and catch any sort of cultural thing that’s happening. From what I gather, the culture is in danger of dying off (no thanks to us white dudes- but not me, I have no thirst for land), and so there is a huge push to teach these children about the language and history of their people. One of the things they do to get these children excited is to have a Pow Wow.
I’d never been to anything like this, and seeing it was pretty cool. It made me realize how cool it is that these children have a culture and a rich history. Sure there were hardships and atrocities along the way, but to be standing at the base of all that history is impressive. So impressive, that I really had to search my life to find something like that that was handed down to me.
Granted, nothing in my life is as important as a culture or history like the Cherokee have, but there have been a few things that sort of compare. Perhaps the biggest was this 90 minute Maxell cassette that I was given in eight grade when I feel into the skateboarding clique at my junior high school.
I don’t remember the track list verbatim, but I know that every kid that skated had a copy of this tape. It was punk rock, and it was what skaters listened to (or at least that’s what I was told). Side one featured songs by the Dead Kennedy’s and the Circle Jerks. I’d never heard of either band, and wasn’t ready for what I heard on those tapes. I remember there were songs about dropping atomic bombs on people and killing the poor. It was too much for my brain to handle. I know I would listen to small bits of it at a time. It was almost like it was poison that I had to get used to. My entire musical education prior to this was hearing hair metal, the top 40 music my uncle Tim (who happens to be Cherokee) listened to, the country music my grandpa loved so much and the Motown that seemed to be everywhere.
But that tape was so awesome because it was music that was mine. It made me part of an in crowd. It was music that not too many people had heard and when I listened to it I was instantly dangerous. They say that your first memory of money really informs how you look at your finances for the rest of your life, and I think the same thing goes with the first music you really absorb into your body. This punk rock made me feel part of a l
arger community, it made me realize the wonderful things that happen when music is passed around between people, and it made me realize that Axl Rose and Bret Michaels were both douche bags.
Later on, I learned as much as I could about this punk rock. Nirvana happend and I found other bands. I got heavy into indie rock, and then I went back and found all of the old rock n’ roll that I’d missed along the way. There’s a cliche about punk that says something like “punk rock changed my life”, and it’s true. Punk rock did change my life. You probably wouldn’t be reading this blog if not for punk rock.
But back to the Pow Wow. The thing about the Cherokee culture that I don’t “get” is that it seems hopeless. Not the people, but the education. They are so rooted in their past, that they don’t really concentrate on their future. If the only music that sounded like that casette tape was the music on that tape, I would have given up and worked in a bank for the rest of my life, but there was more out there. Sometimes I get the feeling that a big reason the culture in Cherokee seems to stop is that there really isn’t a representation of an Indian in popular culture that isn’t wearing feathers and chanting.
I could be way off base here but check out this theory I have, it’s called “The Sitcom Theory”. Chico and the Man was a pretty important show. It showed that Latinos could be funny and non threatening. But the George Lopez show is probably more important, because it showed that Latinos could be your neighbors. It’s the same thing with Good Times and The Cosby Show. Both important, but one showed the particular group succeeding in mainstream culture. That has to be powerful for all the people invovled. In fact, I doubt that Obama would be President without Theo Huxtable teaching us how to “Jam it on the One”.
Indians (or Native Americans, to those of you who don’t actually know any Indians) have very few things like this in popular culture. I’d love to see that change. I’d love for one of Jessica’s students to grow up to be the first Indian President (mainly because I’d love for them to ship our white asses back to Europe), but for that to happen that kid needs some sort of tangible proof that he can do anything he wants to. Right now, they don’t seem to have that.
So what does this have to do with Pow Wows and punk rock? I’m not sure. But I know that both are rights of passage. Both are moments when you see all of your cultures come together. Both inspire me to do something with whatever gifts I may have.
Maybe this entry is a little long winded and reeking of white guilt, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s my blog and I can write whatever I want to.
But here’s some punk rock for us all. In fact, it’s the first song off of that mixtape I was given all of those years ago.
Until later, be good.
Project Fridays: British- from Britian (or Do you want the New Wave or do you want the truth?).
In an effort to both drive up the commenting here at the Bugg Blog as well as to completely rip off two blogs that I love, The Driftwood Singers Present and I am Fuel-You are Friends, I will now be highlighting music that I love and that people should hear every Friday, weather and real life permitting. Songs that as my girlfriend says are “the undiscovered, the rediscovered, the recently uncovered and a few that should stay under the covers.” As a disclaimer for those with prying eyes, I am not a fan of illegally downloading music, so the songs I highlight will be songs from albums that I have bought and paid for and are to be downloaded for demonstration only. If any lawyer type wants me to take the song down, feel free to shoot me a line.
I’m writing about Haircut 100, so let the bald jokes begin. I don’t really know a lot about this band, but a viewing of VH-1′s “100 Greatest One Hit Wonders of the 80′s” with Jessica the other night piqued my interest.
Not only was it impressive to me that Jess knew all the words to Bertie Higgins’ “Key Largo”, but I forgot how many goofy little New Wave tunes there are out there to be enjoyed.
It’s probably strange that I dig New Wave. I mean, this is some white music. It’s always twitchy and the guitars are just a little too clean for my tastes, but most of the bands that bubbled up to the surface in that time had a strong sense of how to write a pop hook. I guess that’s why so many of them had hits.
I’m not sure, I’ve heard some people say how wonderful that New Wave was and how some people saw it as a death kneel for music. I’m somewhere in the middle. There was some good stuff out there, but at the same time, when the sound becomes such a fad that the likes of Peter Frampton and Billy Joel are recording New Wave sounding albums, I’m not sure if it’s a revolution (with that being said, Glass Houses by Billy Joel is a kick ass rock album).
But just listen to “Love Plus One” by Haircut 100. it sounds like Steely Dan filtered through some very British sensibilities. Gone are the sleezy lounge lizard aspects of Becker and Fagan’s sound and in its place is some bizarre Mark Knoffler and “Ray Davies” influenced cheekiness. It’s a pretty gorgeous song that never really overtly says what it’s about. Instead, the song is a blast of melody and rhythms, saxophones, xylophones and ska sounding guitar. Music should always be this fun.
That fun is what I dig about Haircut 100. In a parallel universe, they are writing hits still. Smart little British boys writing vague and simple songs about god knows what. I imagine most British guys are like what I hear on this song. Fuck Thome Yorke from Radiohead.
So, without further adieu, here’s Haircut 100 doing “Love Plus One”. Enjoy it. Download and be sure to leave a comment. I love you all.
Until later, be good.
Project Fridays: Imperialism!
In an effort to both drive up the commenting here at the Bugg Blog as well as to completely rip off two blogs that I love, The Driftwood Singers Present and I am Fuel-You are Friends, I will now be highlighting music that I love and that people should hear every Friday, weather and real life permitting. Songs that as my girlfriend says are “the undiscovered, the rediscovered, the recently uncovered and a few that should stay under the covers.” As a disclaimer for those with prying eyes, I am not a fan of illegally downloading music, so the songs I highlight will be songs from albums that I have bought and paid for and are to be downloaded for demonstration only. If any lawyer type wants me to take the song down, feel free to shoot me a line.
Here’s a random thought: American’s don’t make anything anymore. We simply manufacture ideas and ship them out all over the world. Some of these ideas are rather hip and I can get behind, like equality and brotherhood. Some of the ideas are pretty shitty, like capitalism. Either way, we may not make our own socks anymore, but we do make some pretty heady ideas.
Perhaps America’s biggest and best export of the last 50 years has been rock n’ roll. Since the mid 1950′s we’ve been pumping it out all over the world. Some of it is damn good and some of it is horrible. Because rock n’ roll is just an idea, people can take it, change it a little and then send it back to us to react to it. I wholeheartedly endorse this. Music should be there for us to hear and communicate through.
In a lot of ways, I’m starting to view rock n’ roll as America’s last piece of the empire. We have created this thing and shipped it all over the globe for the rest of the world, and we’re pretty cool about when the music comes back sounding a little different, unless the words sound funny.
Americans by and large tend to be rather hostile about something when it isn’t written in English. We dismiss it entirely as not relevant to our lives. But I’m here to say that I’m starting to break out of that shell. Sometimes the words don’t really matter.
Plastic Bertrand is a great example of this. I have no clue what the guy is saying, but boy does this song rock. His voice is another instrument adding to the sound. I keep forgetting that sometimes the words don’t matter to a song. Picking apart the lyrics to a song can be like shouting out the chords to a song as it’s being played- just distracting and taking away from the quality of the music you are hearing.
So this week, I’m letting you hear Plastic Bertrand sing “Ca Plane Pour Moi” with this guarantee: it’s the best punk rock from Belgium you’ll hear today.
Plastic Bertrand- Ca Plane Pour Moi
Until later, be good.
Project Fridays: Country Music
In an effort to both drive up the commenting here at the Bugg Blog as well as to completely rip off two blogs that I love, The Driftwood Singers Present and I am Fuel-You are Friends, I will now be highlighting music that I love and that people should hear every Friday, weather and real life permitting. Songs that as my girlfriend says are “the undiscovered, the rediscovered, the recently uncovered and a few that should stay under the covers.” As a disclaimer for those with prying eyes, I am not a fan of illegally downloading music, so the songs I highlight will be songs from albums that I have bought and paid for and are to be downloaded for demonstration only. If any lawyer type wants me to take the song down, feel free to shoot me a line. So here goes nothing.
Look at this guy, there’s something about him that screams “get back into the el Camino or I’ll fucking kill you”, but he’s no domestic incident at the local mini mart. Instead, he’s Eddie Rabbit, one of my favorite country singers.
I blame my grandpa. For my entire like country music has always been playing on the stereo. Not the hip stuff that people like to make a big deal about like Johnny Cash or Willie Nelson, I’m talking popular country music. The stuff they play on the radio. I could go for hours on end about what happened to country music, but I’d rather talk about the era that I remember from my childhood and how I’m rediscovering it.
I know I’ve gone on about Ronnie Milsap on this blog plenty of times, but his voice, along with Eddie Rabbitt’s are the kind of voice I love in country music: simple, unaffected, really honest voices. Milsap may have tried to channel Ray Charles through his Robbinsville NC drawl a bit too much at times, but it’s just so damn great that I can’t get over it.
Eddie Rabbitt had the same quality, but his voice had a James Taylor-like quality, only without the bland crappiness of Taylor. This guy was a late seventies heartthrob for the K-Mart sect, and I love him.
A lot of people know “I Love a Rainy Night”, Rabbitt’s biggest hit, but I contend that his first two albums are where the magic lies. Simple little country songs that just make sense. They tackle familiar themes and do them in a way that isn’t offensive. It isn’t exactly rewriting the book, but it’s a hell of a lot more engaging than the late period Johnny Cash drek that some hipsters go gaga over.
For me, this music is about sitting in my living room, hearing my grandpa in the kitchen playing the radio and messing around in the kitchen. It’s about sitting in the back of my grandparent’s old Nissan Maxima station wagon on the way to Myrtle Beach, listening to my grandpa and grandma argue about how fast he was driving while these songs crackled across the FM radio. To quote David Allan Coe, if that ain’t county, I’ll kiss your ass.
So here’s some Eddie Rabbitt. Download it and enjoy. It’s nice Sunday afternoon music.
Eddie Rabbitt- Do You Right Tonight
Eddie Rabbitt- Two Dollars in the Jukebox
Until later, be good.
Project Fridays: Let’s Dance.
In an effort to both drive up the commenting here at the Bugg Blog as well as to completely rip off two blogs that I love, The Driftwood Singers Present and I am Fuel-You are Friends, I will now be highlighting music that I love and that people should hear every Friday, weather and real life permitting. Songs that as my girlfriend says are “the undiscovered, the rediscovered, the recently uncovered and a few that should stay under the covers.” As a disclaimer for those with prying eyes, I am not a fan of illegally downloading music, so the songs I highlight will be songs from albums that I have bought and paid for and are to be downloaded for demonstration only. If any lawyer type wants me to take the song down, feel free to shoot me a line. So here goes nothing.
So I’ve been down recently. Who hasn’t? The economy is in the toilet, I have no freelance work on the horizon, I’m contemplating getting a job at a fast food establishment to have some dollars in my pockets and I’m starting to hate the town I live in.
But I’m here to tell you that all hope is not lost. Why, we can roll over and die, or we can embrace the little things, like the weekend. Like the people you love being off of work and ready to come home and relax for a day or two. Like having sex at 9 in the morning and maybe later on in the afternoon. There are things to look forward to. These can be good times, people.
Because of this, I want to provide a soundtrack to the weekend. But this time, instead of white dudes with beards getting all earnest with acoustic guitars or long dead black dudes singing about a time that has passed us all by, I thought I’d share with everyone a group called The Knux.
I’m not much of a hip hop guy. I hear it, appreciate it, but ultimately a lot of modern hip hop just leaves me cold. I never really appreciate it until it comes back as nostalgia. Dr. Dre’s “The Chronic”? Never really dug it until about 4 or 5 years ago. I’m just now learning what was cool about the Notorious B.I.G., but I heard The Knux a little while ago was duly impressed.
There’s just something about what these guys do that is pretty awesome. Their songs have big hooks, cool choruses and enough of a good beat to make my lady shake her ass, and you know how much I love that.
So, it’s Friday and the weather may not be perfect, but it’s good enough. Here are The Knux. Enjoy them. Buy their albums. Dance your ass off and have a little sex and a lot of love. It’s the fucking weekend, enjoy it.
And for fuck’s sake, be good
Project Fridays: Backing off of the Hate
In an effort to both drive up the commenting here at the Bugg Blog as well as to completely rip off two blogs that I love, The Driftwood Singers Present and I am Fuel-You are Friends, I will now be highlighting music that I love and that people should hear every Friday, weather and real life permitting. Songs that as my girlfriend says are “the undiscovered, the rediscovered, the recently uncovered and a few that should stay under the covers.” As a disclaimer for those with prying eyes, I am not a fan of illegally downloading music, so the songs I highlight will be songs from albums that I have bought and paid for and are to be downloaded for demonstration only. If any lawyer type wants me to take the song down, feel free to shoot me a line. So here goes nothing.
I hate. A lot. It’s not one of my favorite things about me, but it’s something to learn from. I can usually find something that I don’t like about most things and people. A band that I’ve historically reserved a bit of hatred for has always been The Grateful Dead.
I know that to some people it’s blasphemy to not like them, but I’ve never been into them. Their music has always seemed rather blah to me. I never dug their fans, or the bullshit drug scene that went with their live shows and yet their fans always seem to say that it’s not about the drugs at all. Whatever. It doesn’t matter.
And it’s not that I’ve tried to hide and live in a Dead free world. The Dead have always been a band whose music was on the periphery of my life. Friends revered them, and always tried to turn me on the what the band did well. I could appreciate them, but never truly like them.
Then a few weeks ago, I found a bootleg of The Dead and the Beach Boys playing the Filmore Auditorium in ’72 (I think). It’s pretty damn good. The Dead were in a more rock sounding mode rather than the 27 minute space jams to nowhere mode that I’ve heard from most of their live stuff.
I suppose this is the part where I talk about how they tapped into whatever it is that people think that the band tapped into. I don’t think I’m going to do it. Instead I’ll say that on this night, the Dead played with the Beach Boys on a few songs, and managed to sound good on their own songs. The playing is loose and fun, and it doesn’t suck. My tenuous alliance with The Grateful Dead has begun. Like a Black Supremest and a White Supremest bonding over their mutual hatred of the Jews, myself and The Dead are breaking bread over digging the early ’70s Beach Boys sound.*
Because of that, I’m letting you hear their version of “Searchin’”, a rad little R&B number that the Dead threw into this show. The playing is pretty darn good, and whoever is doing the rhythm guitar makes this song cook. Check it out.
Until later, be good.
*also, I’m not a supremest for any race or creed. The Dead however, were noted hobo supremacists and planned to overthrow the government constantly during the ’70s.
Project Fridays: Familiar Ground
In an effort to both drive up the commenting here at the Bugg Blog as well as to completely rip off two blogs that I love, The Driftwood Singers Present and I am Fuel-You are Friends, I will now be highlighting music that I love and that people should hear every Friday, weather and real life permitting. Songs that as my girlfriend says are “the undiscovered, the rediscovered, the recently uncovered and a few that should stay under the covers.” As a disclaimer for those with prying eyes, I am not a fan of illegally downloading music, so the songs I highlight will be songs from albums that I have bought and paid for and are to be downloaded for demonstration only. If any lawyer type wants me to take the song down, feel free to shoot me a line. So here goes nothing.
It’s been a while, huh? I suppose it has. I’m still getting my blogging feet back underneath me, but I wanted to do a Project Fridays just because I haven’t really done one in a while, and I’ve recently been listening to a lot of music that I wanted to share. Not all at once, but it’s happening eventually.
Longtime readers of this blog know about my love of soul music and the sound that black people’s voices make and what it does to me. But that’s not what I want to talk about tonight. We have a black President now, so I figure that black people automatically have it easy now. Now I have to champion whitey. We are the oppressed now.
Okay, maybe not.
But I sat here tonight and thought about what it is about some white people’s voices that I love. Daryl Hall and Barton Cummings have two awesome voices. The really pull a lot of that great black vocal grit into their voices. Another guy that does it, but in a completely different way is Elvis Presley. I’ve written about Elvis before on my blog, but I don’t think I ever spoke about what he did with his voice that was so impressive, maybe I did, but I’m not going to look.
Elvis somehow had one foot in the redneck world and one foot in the black world. I suppose poor people are just poor people, but even now, that’s still a pretty incredible thing. I grew up not a redneck (at least to me, someone from some far off part of the country would probably lump me in with a ball scratching shit kicker), but I still knew how segregated those two communities could be, but there’s Elvis, part homeboy part good ol’ boy. A little bit country and a little bit rock n’ roll.
So when you listen to the song I’m offering up, breathe in Elvis having his foot in both sounds, country and r&b, and begin to feel it. It sometimes helps if you are a little drunk on bourbon and really want a blow job. So if you need to do anything to get there, I’ll wait.
Ready? Okay, that didn’t take long.
Elvis Presley- Only the Strong Survive
By the way, thanks to everyone who left nice comments on my entry the other day. It’s nice to know that people are still reading. Keep ‘em up. Until tomorrow, be good.
