The A-side recording, 'Resurrection Shuffle' is a cover version. Originally, the blues rock trio, Ashton, Gardner, & Dyke had scored a winner with this outing, and the song was later regurgitated by players running the gamut from Tom Jones to Lulu.
I literally have no back story to validate how or why this record hit the market, but it is a decent bubbleglam piece of stereo wax, albeit an unduly preposterous oddity for some. The vocalist, Misty, was a young girl whose voice seems akin to that of a prepubescent boy doped out on Ritalin. The lyrics, sung in a screeching surge of kinetic perk in conjunction with the frenetic scramble of instrumentation teeter each other out well. The cover almost serves as a logical conclusion to David Bowie's 'The Laughing Gnome.' Misty's 'Shuffle' is quite the breath of fresh air, especially when sandwiched between all of the carbon copied recitations of the original tune.
The reverse side is mildly unsettling at best, but is, in the grand scope of things, a comical backdrop to the robbing of preschool virginity. The lyrics are chanted as an exchange between Misty and an unidentified adult male who sounds like an escapee from the animation studio that produced 'Fat Albert.' The refrain, "baby I love you" is repeated incessantly, in Misty's established, squealing rasp.
Misty is no Suzi Quatro, but this early seventies garage glam hymn should fill volumes for collectors of eccentric British power pop and the few sprightly souls who held on to an old 'Milk 'N Cookies' LP from 1975. This saccharine shriek is a surefire antidote to a listless Monday evening.
Pantherman was the brainchild of Dutch rock impresario, Frank Klunhaar, and managed to chomp up the glam pop scene of the Netherlands with the release of three, hard-driving 45"s in a tradition that only Adam West's 'Miranda' may be capable of rivaling. As the story goes, Klunhaar had attended a Roxy Music concert in 1974, with Leo Sayer opening in clown-like attire. The outlandish extravagance of this show, along with the garish showmanship of other English-speaking, glam rock imports, galvanized Frank, and propelled him to forge his own, freewheeling alter ego of the stage.
Draped in a black, leather S&M Panther-suit that could have astounded even Julie Newmar, Klunhaar made an earnest stab for the attention of the Dutch pop circuit. Of the ten tracks originally cut, the eponymous title song and it's B-side were pressed and unleashed to an audience of largely confused record buyers and teeny boppers.
Nonetheless, the Pantherman gained a small, yet loyal fanbase of nederglam junkies. The self-acknowledging title tack is a fierce cavalcade of kooky rhyme and panther-partying pride. Klunhaar plays most of the instruments himself, and has us stomping and chanting along with primal fervor.
The flip side of the single, 'You Are My Friend' is memorable as well, incorporating a sense of futurism within it's musical textures. A very primitive synthesizer is laid down brilliantly, and weaves a flighty ambience, that sits comfortably between a Gerry Anderson television series and Ennio Morricone's score for 'Danger: Diabolik.'
Enjoy this deranged mastery of mutated, Bryan Ferry-esque crooning and fine-tuned pre-punk hysterics. If you have the cash, add this 45'' to your vinyl collection. Heck, if you know of anyone selling this single for an affordable price, help me keep tabs on Ebay if I ever have the money.
It isn't often that I come across the name, Lothar and the Hand People, in a list of highly influential musical forces, but their ripple effect is unavoidable, and they were truly ahead of their time, even among the transient moments of incense, peppermints, and peace and love. Although some of their music could easily carve them a niche in the craters of psychedelic rock, they transcended many of the boundaries in the genre of American acid music. Despite the dispersal of some quirky folk-ish riffing, a la the Grateful Dead or the Youngbloods, the Hand People were not led by a long-haired, guitar-strumming mop-head, but were in fact, fronted by a theremin synthesizer. Commonly associated with B-grade science fiction and horror films, the theremin was definitely an offbeat choice for the frontman of a late sixties, garage group from Denver.
Lothar's bold deviation from the formulaic pop norms of those days, went successfully, against the grain, and although the Hand People were never commercially accepted, their experiments with sound collages, refined to fit within the three minute pop hit, substantiated a tidal wave of impact on the development of the synth pop hit-makers of the 1980's and the subsequent electronica that has surfaced over the last quarter of a century. In 1997, British techno aces, the Chemical Brothers sampled this exercise in textural sprint, for their highly-rotated, grand slam, "It Doesn't Matter." Their debut album, 'Presenting--Lothar and the Hand People' is a mechanical promenade into the innards of the duotronic computer banks of the starship, Enterprise. If you are prepping your ears with spirit gum for a Star Trek convention, these are some catchy tunes to work by.
Sugar Baby Love/You Could Have Told Me (45)
4 of 5
The Rubettes emerged from the studio assemblage of Polydor's Wayne Bickerton and Tony Waddington as the featherweight end of the glam rock spectrum, more or less, began to lapse into half-hearted revivals of fifties doo-wop trappings. Outfitted in the standard mid-seventies bubblegum attire of solid leisure suits, popped collars, and cloth caps, the Rubettes took Europe by storm with a surge of hit singles, spear-headed by 'Sugar Baby Love.'
The absence of any meaningful lyrical substance, along with lead vocalist, Paul Da Vinci's garish falsetto will gorge the sweet tooth of many a Chinn-Chapman customer. Perhaps, closer in style to Mud than Sweet, the Rubettes hatched a pure gem that gushes with delectable, artificially-sweetened pop, that had more than a hand in molding the sound and style of the Ramones punk rock junk shop methodology.
The B-side 'You Could Have Told Me', is akin to slow, lukewarm molasses and pales in comparison to the former. Needless to say, the three minutes of glitter-spangled, orchestral fluff from the side A is required listening for all students of seventies trash culture. If your taste lies at the crossroads of Toho-tastic Bolan bumps and Abba-esque dancing queens, don't pass on this!
Originally published as a homepage review on RateYourMusic.com (September 19, 2013)
5 of 5
Scouring the music section in a local library I frequent, always manages to thrust an ever-expanding multitude of old and new acts into my music geek data registry. This past week, I came upon Wall of Voodoo's closest watermark to commercial success, 'Call of the West.' Prior to listening to this album, I had heard Mexican Radio a few times during car rides from my childhood, and I recalled enjoying that particular song. Usually I am not one to take risks when blindly choosing to listen to a full album based on the strength of just one single, but my instincts were immediately captivated by the David Lynch-esque album cover on the library CD. I may have only just discovered Stan Ridgway and Wall of Voodoo, but so far, my impression of Voodoo's Ridgway-led era is one of high regard.
If Clint Eastwood and the spaghetti western had come about during the early 1980's, this album would provide an excellent soundtrack with it's dark, paranoid synth-twang. There are instances where certain Morricone-indebted vignettes depicted in the songs would sound quite at home on an Adam Ant LP--if Adam had decided to cull a more somber tone during the peak of his career. I honestly can't say I've heard an album quite as fresh and subversive from the early 1980's. While it relies on new wave synthesizer flourishes and keeps pace with the genre's signature angular guitar riffs, the band is an anomaly when standing against the neon science fiction blasts of poster children such as Ultravox or Missing Persons. From what I can infer based on the robust coherence of this album, the band's closest kin folk are Oingo Boingo or Devo.
Stan presents a very offbeat, salt of the earth commentary of himself and his musical vision during those years.In certain lights he could be designated the Johnny Cash of American new wave music.
While the lead single, 'Mexican Radio' is a fun, quirky romp, it is deeply misleading to suggest that the rest of this album follows suit in a similar mood, save for the instrumental 'On Interstate 15,' which nearly passes for an energetic road trip soundtrack to the beach. This reviewer's recommended areas of interest on the album are the mechanized ennui portrayed in 'Factory', and the detached paranoia in songs, 'Look at Their Way' and 'They Don't Want Me.' As I had stated previously, the album is a very cohesive piece of work and is very much untouched in the realm of new wave weirdness. From the album opener, 'Tomorrow''s wayward tightness, the listener is apt to either love or hate this music. If you are on the scan for odd, disaffected songs to absorb, you will be abundantly captivated. The first three tracks on Side A were enough to cement this album into my hall-of-famers in the zombie stratosphere. Give it a spin and do it tomorrow--that seems like a pretty good idea to me!
A short, visual vignette from World of Wonder, that serves to introduce any foreigners on the topic of Jobriath, the would-be, Great American glitter rock superstar.
For any passers-by or for the rag tag group of Cheese Camp supporters on Facebook, I need not pose a preface to my fascination with Bruce Wayne Campbell (alias Jobriath Boone.) If I am alienating anyone with a hint of bewildered curiosity on my rabid, life-consuming fanboy entanglement, I might want to refer those confused readers to earlier entries concerning this fringe, glam demigod.
I have recently commenced a serious quest to use my human bar code scanner for the purpose of finding and securing any Jobriath-related journalism to my collected pipeline of rock articles.Since I am not an affiliated member of
any major academic institution, along with my inhibited means of
transportation, my knowledge quest is temporarily stunted. The frequency
in which I update this photo album may vary. I aspire to expand my studies across the nation. Roughly a year and a half ago I traveled by bus to the city of New York to unearth and soak up the shelved demos to Jobriath's thinly-veiled autobiographical stage play, 'Pop Star.' Once I procure enough money, I am taking my hobby back to New York for a more in-depth analysis. Other destinations on my agenda include Chicago, IL, Atlanta, GA, and the Library of Congress among other pit stops I may encounter.
A concert advertisement for the Berklee Performance Center in Harvard Square. Jobriath performed here on Wednesday July 23, and Tuesday July 24, in 1974. (Boston After Dark)
According
to an online concert roster, Jobriath performed in Boston, at the
Berklee Performance Center, following the shows held at the Bottom Line
night club in New York. Due to time constraints and a lack of primary
sources I was only able to uncover this advertisement in a July 1974
issue of the Boston Phoenix (After Dark.)
As you can see, Jobriath received top billing and shared the stage with
a parodic jazz rock musician by the name of Sweet Pie. I am yet to
perform any further journalistic excavations on Jobriath. I have found
several articles on the internet and have filed them in a singularly,
Jobriath-focused binder. As far as local periodicals go, I know of a
concert review that appeared in the Harvard Crimson on July 26, 1974.
The original text is available on the Harvard University Library's
website, but I would love to get my hands on the original publication,
as preserved by microfiche.
An empty search for Boston Globe coverage of Jobriath's shows at the Berklee Performance Center.
Yep, this is what I do for fun. Here is some Boston Globe microfilm from the mid-seventies. After doing a Proquest search, I found a Jobriath-less universe in these archives.
The Liberace-envied, old world-flavored courtyard at the Boston Public Library's Central Branch.
I
thought this was a scenic area, so I kicked back with the Kevin Cann
Bowie book I am re-borrowing from the Merrimack Valley Library
Consortium and wolfed down a mean egg salad sandwich. In addition to the
Jobriath ad, I also uncovered some Bowie and New York Dolls spots from
the Boston After Dark publication. I hope to upload these at some point, but
I still need to invest in a working photo scanner.
If you've read any of my posts from the months prior to my launch of the Cheese Camp sub-series, 'Gawking With The Glam Rock Geek,' I'm sure that you've heard the name "Jobriath" brought up a few dozen times. Earlier this year, I compiled an entry that summarized my deep fascination with the aforementioned, forgotten glam rock hero, and this past May I was able to attend a screening of the highly researched documentary, Jobriath A.D. at the Brattle Theater, located in Cambridge, MA. The film appeared to cap more than a handful of apocryphal bits of information regarding the story surrounding this singer, who was touted as the American David Bowie. I even had the chance to shake hands with the director of the film, Kieran Turner (I would've enjoyed chatting more with Mr. Turner as I had planned, but I had to catch the last train, as it was my only route of transportation back home.) It is my understanding that the film received mixed feedback from the New England-centric audience, but I have only positive things to reflect upon from my viewing experience.
Friday, May 11: The schedule card posted at the alley entrance to the Brattle Theater, with Jobriath out for blood and ready to transcend the negative hype during his initial marketing campaign in the early seventies.
I entered the theater in a cold sweat, aghast that I was finally about to gawk at this space circus show from rock 'n roll's first openly gay alien messiah. It's taken me quite a while to put my thoughts into words, as the whole experience was actually very overwhelming. As I said before, I am very set on tipping my hat to this documentary, but as I thrust myself intothis event that could either revive or bury any curiosity culminated for public interest in Jobriath, I retreated from my usual research on the topic (feeling as though everyone involved with the film was the final word on any remaining mystery.) As the months have meandered, my feverishly bookish anxiety has subsided, and I am finally looking forward to uncover more Jobriath-related history, wherever I may find it (more on these efforts later.)
Not by any accident or misstep, Ecubyan urges you, the viewer to seek the sun. You may catch a glimpse of his morning star ship descending, prepared to assimilate new members into the Jobriath Fan Collective!
Since Jobriath had passed away nearly three decades ago, the film unfolds with friends and aquintances recounting the deluge that was rock's true fairy. Born Bruce Wayne Campbell on December 14, 1946, the arch-angel of space age movie queens quickly developed into a child prodigy of sorts, with an unnerving talent for singing/songwriting. The best equivalent stylistic origins that I can trace to Bruce's talents are those of Frederic Chopin (both were classically-trained pianists.) Bruce seems to be a kindred, yet confused soul, as society largely over-looked his musical assets, in exchange for their harsh treatment of his homosexuality. Having gone AWOL within months of joining the military, he emerged from hiding, calling himself Jobriath (a contraction of Job and Goliath,) and adopting the surname, Salisbury. After moving from Pennsylvania to California, Jobriath was soon christened as the Jagger-obsessed (and ambiguously gay,) 'Woof' in the west coast production of the Hair musical.
I was unaware that this clip of Jobriath as he appeared with the West Coast 'Hair' cast on the Smother Brothers Comedy Hour, had been receiving Youtube playback for years. Unfortunately his performance of 'Sodomy' is not included in this footage, but you can still spot him in the background, with blond Yvette Mimieux-like locks.
In 1969, he left the production for work with his newly-assembled folk rock band, Pidgeon. They released a self-titled LP on Decca records, and cut the single 'Rubber Bricks/Prison Walls.' The group quickly dissolved into the backdrop of Woodstock era hippie music, although the music distinguished itself with its rock operatic layers, making Pidgeon a Roger Daltrey-like entity amongst every Buffalo Springfield carbon copy on the market. After the band broke up, Jobriath's absence from the military, caught the attention of the authorities,and led to his spending half a year in a mental asylum.
'The Dancer' from Side B of Pidgeon (1969)
In late 1972, Jobriath's meal ticket was gay prostitution, although he was still trying to make it in the recording industry as well. At Columbia Records, Jobriath's recent demo tape was just getting laughed out of the studio, with company president, Clive Davis writing it off as "mad, unstructured, and destructive to melody." Just as it seemed a new contract was unquestionably in the gutter, former Carly Simon manager Jerry Brandt, overheard the tape and quickly located Jobriath to negotiate a recording deal. Newly dubbed 'Jobriath Boone', Brandtwas eager to perk up the American Public's ears, and the two of them began work on cutting a debut album, along with agreat media blitzkrieg, financed by Elektra Records. Realizing the shock waves emitted from the burgeoning glam rock movement in Europe, Brandt pitted his new business partner's taste for elegant tunesmithery and embroidered it with designer space cantina attire.The combination of Jobriath's own otherworldly stage charisma, blended with the popular gimmickery of flamboyant make-up was seen as a potential vehicle to sell him as the American Bowie. At the time, Brandt further reported that their partnership was to be the biggest thing to hit the world since Colonel Parker and Elvis Presley.
The ad campaign progressed, and Jobriath's face was plastered in every major entertainment periodical, with Billboards cropping up, seemingly out of nowhere. The record finally made its debut in October 1973, and was met with mostly positive critical reception. Amidst the hype however, red-blooded Americana's reaction was in a different ballpark. Since there had been no singles preceding the first album, US record-buyers went on listening to their Allman Brothers LP's--not a note had been played to push the music, just an image of Jobriath's naked torso and an underlying gay intonation, that was too effeminate for the New York S&M cruisers to absorb. Those that did get an earful of the richQueen-like, rock orchestrations were puzzled by the ornate mixture of lyrical science fiction and over-the-top Liberace glamor. Bowie'sZiggy Stardust lost heat rapidly in its Trans-Atlantic journey, but it at least made a dent at number seventy-five on the Billboard Pop Charts. Jobriath's eponymous debut couldn't even crack the Top 100. America was proving itself to be too homophobic to crack.
A photo from the September 1974 performance at the University of Alabama.
The lackluster performance of the record didlittle to block more of the same verbal, one-upmanship from Brandt. Allegations of guaranteed platinum music marketing, continued to pummel stories in the recording industry. By March of the following year, Jobriath, along with his backing band, the Creatures, appeared on the musical variety program, The Midnight Special, where they performed two songs off of the first LP in front of a recorded live audience. Decked out in space slinky attire, stitched by a vulcan-eared Jobriath himself, audience members appeared moreconfused than shocked by the songs showcased for the television selection.
Still holding the promise of an extravagant rock spectacle, Jobriath and the Creatures played two sold out shows at New York's Bottom Line club that summer, but album sales remained financially unaccommodating. Just a mere six months after the debut album was put on record store shelves, the sophomore release, Creatures of the Street, was laced together from leftover material during the first LP sessions. Although the second album was composed mainly of outtakes to the first record, Creatures had a more fluid direction and, in my eyes, worked even better, conceptually. The songs used would not have been out of place if Jobriath's life were adapted into a Broadway show, done in the Rocky Horror vain. Personal feelings aside, this record was the death knell for Jobriath's career at Elektra. The LP was a commercial flop. During the summer of 1974 an American tour was organized, but Elektra Recordswas quick to dust off America's premiere pixie rock star. In spite of Brandt and Elektra's abandonment of Jobriath, and further complicationsfromrelentless gay bashers, the tour limped on, until a cord was struck during the final show at Tuscaloosa University in Alabama. Uproarious positivity was reciprocated from Jobriath's last audience. They loved him and his band, and even bantered for five encores, until a riot ensued and the bandwas run out by the fire brigade. Alas, Jobriath Boone was left mentally-scarred by the two year fiasco of hot air promotion and poor public reception.
Copingby indulging in a steady diet of drugs and booze, Jobriath announced his retirement from the music business in early 1975, retreating to a Pyramid-shaped apartment atop the Chelsea Hotel in New York City. The next eight years were a jumble of personal success and misfire. Adopting the new moniker of "Cole Berlin", the weathered space pierott found himself more at home reviving old cabaret tunes for restaurant crowds. His classical piano-playing abilities were finding much deserved recognition, albeit on a more scaled down level than his rock 'n roll career. His artistic victories were coinciding with his on/off again street prostitution.Still struggling with unearthing his true identity, regular clients knew him as 'Joby', the mustachioed macho man of Christopher Street. In his spare time, Cole Berlin was constantly at work on a string of piano-based projects, including a semi-autobiographical musical called 'Pop Star.' To my, and several other fans, dismay, virtually all of these musings never saw the light of day (a few bits have appeared on scarce pirated sources, but a complete product of any withstanding material is unlikely to surface.) The sands of time were also streaming invertedly down the hourglass, and in 1981, Mr. Berlin's flame was burning very low. Around this time, he contracted HIV, butdidn't budge from his piano, even managing to play at the Chelsea Hotel's 100th anniversary celebration 1982. But these fleeting moments of endurance quickly dwindled, for on August 3, 1983, Bruce Wayne Campbell became one of the first prominent figures in music to die from AIDS-related causes.
This photo was taken by Zack back in February, where at his college campus, he also contributed his part in promoting the rebirth of Jobriath!
The finished film is still touring its run in selected regions of the world. At this point, an immediate DVD release is uncertain, although Jobriath's legacy seems to definitely have extended its grasp, beyond its original niche demographic. Kieran Turner's documentary is a champion of its subject matter and it doesn't perseverate on any one topic, allowing itself to reach hold of nearly every layer in Jobriath's story. Running just over an hour and forty minutes, the flow of the film is succinct and defines its hero for the glorious person he really was. This film is a must see for anyone seeking to expand their familiarity with the 1970s glam rock or American gay scene, and its a real plus if you're a casual or obsessive fan of this unsung creature of the street. In the long scheme of things, there is still much to be discovered from the inner-world forged by Jobriath. At any point, I hope to share any information and/or photos on recent Jobriath-related finds. I still believe that there are a few odds and ends scattered about, that I'm yet to come across. Below, I have linked a film review from the controversial Jonathan Poletti, who has come under fire for his Jobriath research, but who seems to have a wealth of personal opinions (although contrary to most) and primary sources to work from. Hopefully Jobriath A.D. is a sounding beacon for the interest that Bruce Wayne Campbell has long-craved. Perhaps we may see a scrapbook or biography materialize in Barnes and Noble, sooner than we think!
Jobriath AD Review by Jonathan Poletti, Roctober Reviews
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