Resurrection Shuffle/Baby, I Love You (45) - Misty

                                                      3 of 5

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/You Are My Friend (45'', 1974)

4.5 of 5 

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.

Lothar's Lasting Luminescence

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.

v

The Rubettes--the sequined dumpster demi-gods of glam pop.

Originally Published on RateYourMusic.com

(September 21, 2013)

                   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!

'Call of the West' by Wall of Voodoo

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!