DIG THIS WITH BILL MESNIK AND RICH BUCKLAND- THE SPLENDID BOHEMIANS

Love comes in many forms - sometimes confrontational. Today’s episode is a paean to a couple of dominating dames that lit up the punk scene in the late 70s. Johnny Rotten once stated that the only person that actually frightened him was the gone too soon, Poly Styrene of X-Ray Spex. That product of a Somali father and a British mother railed against consumerist culture, and her band’s career might have been short lived, but their single, Oh Bondage, Up Yours! with it’s bleating saxophone cavalry charge, blown by band mate Lora Logic, was a battle cry to aspiring Riot Grrls everywhere.

The other indomitable mistress we wish to spotlight, Chrissie Hynde of the Pretenders, is still rocking 50 years later. This survivor from America’s Midwest by way of England, -  this vegetarian restauranteur/punk legend, who fronted one of the most thrilling acts of the era, scored multiple hits across the pop spectrum, including this classic, Middle of the Road.

X-RAY SPEX

Marianne Joan Elliot-Said died prematurely at age 53, but she lived abundantly, migrating through several personae. Early on, she was a hippie, sleeping in crash pads and nearly dying from sepsis, which she contracted from stepping on a rusty nail while bathing in a stream. Later, inspired by seeing the Sex Pistols, she had found her calling. Choosing her moniker from the Yellow Pages, wearing braces on her teeth and Day-Glo outfits, she became a sensation. 

Like a comet, she streaked across the pop firmament and burnt out quickly, being diagnosed with bipolar disorder in 1978. She pursued a gentler and jazzier sound for her subsequent solo recordings, and in ’83 became a Hare Krishna and a vegetarian. In February 2011 she revealed that she had been treated for breast cancer that had spread to her spine and lungs. She died later that year, yet in her short life she accomplished the nearly impossible: cultural immortality. 

THE PRETENDERS

The guitar signature, driven by Robbie McIntosh on 1983’s Middle of the Road by The Pretenders creates an irresistible force, defining a clear road map for singer, Chrissie Hynde. It feels like she’s behind the wheel, with the high beams on, going 120, roaring through the Ohio night, around the bend of a Rust Belt highway. She was already 33, and a single mother, as she tells us in the song. With one fist held high, she assures us that she’ll be a survivor, and there’s no shame in that. 

She’s listed by Rolling Stone as 114 on its list of the 200 Greatest Singers of all time, and at 74, she’s still going strong - still driving that muscle car of rock. This woman has ageless style and charisma. She is also a citizen of Great Britain, having moved there initially in ’73, and almost marrying Johnny Rotten, Sid vicious, and Ray Davies (she has a daughter by the Kink).  After several misfires trying to start a band, her solo demo tape made it’s way to Dave Hill, the owner of Real Records who helped her put the original Pretenders line up together, and the rest, as they say is “Herstory”.

We’re so glad you’re enjoying our meanderings down memory lane to rediscover these classic Stack o’ 45s episodes you might have missed. We’re having a ball reminiscing about some of The Splendid Bohemians finest moments, so grab a Sazerac and kick back with the boys as you dig on this pair of Delta Royals: Miss Irma Thomas, The Soul Queen of New Orleans, and the self-titled “Emperor of the Universe,” Ernie K. Doe. 

Edit Piaf once famously sang “Je Regrette Rien” (I Regret Nothing), and listening to the following heart wrenching live performances, I’m reminded that anyone claiming that spiritual stance must be in denial - or, crowing in battered defiance in order to buttress themselves against the memory of life’s cavalcade of pain and tortured conscience. For who can sincerely state that they have no regrets? No harsh word you wish you could have retracted?; No unsubstantiated suspicion that poisoned the well of a friendship or a faithful love?; Are you discounting the abuses large and small that have piled up so high that, somehow, you’ve become numb to them?; What about the road not taken…?

These songs tell tales about the burden of living under the crushing weight of regret. If you don’t shed a tear listening to them, your fluids need replenishing. The divine Spanish diva, Luz Casal singing Jackson Browne’s “These Days”, accompanied by the writer and his ride or die Sancho Panza, David Lindley on his keening fiddle is like hearing a penitent sinner’s weary confession; and, then there’s the  incomparable Rufus Wainwright, in a duet with Sara Bareilles, delivering her own anthem with a thrilling operatic intimacy. 

THESE DAYS / LUZ CASAL, JACKSON BROWNE, AND DAVID LINDLEY

The preternaturally wise Jackson Browne was sixteen when he wrote “These Days” for Nico, who intoned it with a teutonic world weariness that spoke volumes. What did he know then about regrets? Certainly, the intervening years have instructed the now 76 year old songsmith in all the permutations of tragedy, yet somehow, he has managed to valiantly soldier on, staying creative, performing, and advocating for humanity.  

There is something almost mystical about the voice of Luz Casal, and the delicacy with which she interprets Jackson’s lyrics that transcends her heavily accented pronunciations. The words are sometimes hard to follow - but not the meaning - that’s never lost. Time collapses as the message of this song, originally brought into being by the foreign born Christa Paffgen - and resurrected now, almost 60 years later, by this Goddess, comes full circle to enfold the aging songwriter in the arms of his own mortality. 

SHE USED TO BE MINE / SARA BAREILLES AND RUFUS WAINWRIGHT

Sara Bareilles wrote She Used to Be Mine as a show stopper for her Broadway musical, Waitress, and it’s a barn burner. Here, in combination with the musical magus, Rufus Wainwright it morphs into something entirely different from it’s template: it has become a religious act of forgiveness and redemption - an acknowledgment of life’s profound losses, and at the same time an appreciation for what was - a ritual of devotion that celebrates living in all its ecstasy and futility - the duality of darkness and light, love and death. 

First Rufus sings alone, then Sara… but, when they harmonize the full extent of the love that was lost, and yet remains, lifts us up to the realization of the eternal knowledge that love is never lost. It is a requiem.

As the holidays roll around, and daylight retracts, the thoughts also cloud over to infuse the mind with a grayish motif. We’re encouraged to gather our loved ones close and practice gratitude for life’s bounty. But, what if life’s gifts have been obscured by the overwhelming influence of a mortal depression, a reflection of the disconnect between what we see around us - (disease, deprivation, tyranny, man’s inhumanity to man, etc.) - and, the opposing commercial messages which exhort us to joyfully consume? 

Is this dark attitude the result of an imbalance of chemicals in the brain which can be easily adjusted by the ingestion of a pill? Or, is the undertow into hopelessness something more fundamental - an irreconcilable part of our genetic makeup - a part of life we just have to stoically accept and get on with? 

Great artists reckon with these impulses by creating profound music. Today we celebrate two of the most striking practitioners of this heroic enterprise: Will Oldham and Nick Drake.

WILL OLDHAM

I See a Darkness is a masterpiece of simple straight talk about the things most of us never say. It expresses an honest representation of the apprehension that a sensitive soul feels, yet mostly keeps to themself about the inevitability of the abyss. Death walks beside us at all times, and, it helps to staunch the bleeding of fear by keeping our blindfolds on. But, sometimes, there is an urgency to share these thoughts with a friend or a counselor, and the monologue of this song invites us into that private conversation. It packs an overwhelming punch. Johnny Cash also interpreted this song near the end of his life as everything in his being boiled down to the basics. 

Bonnie Prince Billy, aka Will Oldham is a DIY, Kentucky based actor-musician with a diverse resume, featuring projects with many collaborators. He’s a married man with a child, and perhaps all this inter-activity has grounded him and kept him productive. This makes sense - there is raw boned sense of the practical inherent in his style that complements the mystical. 

NICK DRAKE

The doomed, etherial Nick Drake was not so lucky. He stood apart, and was other-worldly from the beginning, always uncomfortable in his own skin. His recorded output was sparse, and number of his performances minimal, yet profound in their influence. Dead at 26 from an overdose of antidepressants, Nick didn’t live long enough to see the reach that resonates with his work today, 50 years after his passing. 

River Man, in 5/4 time plucked on a nylon string guitar, abetted by a serene string arrangement by Harry Robertson, is a mysterious descent into the deep waters of associative imagery. Nothing is overtly stated, but the character of Betty and the narrator going to see the River Man who has the answer to the meaning of life puts me in mind of the Millais’ painting of drowned Ophelia, floating in the river, surrounded by flowers. At peace at last.

You asked, and we answered. Since you enjoyed the Bobbie Gentry vs. Joey Heatherton marathon smackdown so much, we've resurrected two more tantalizing STACK O 45s archival episodes to enrich your day and fire your imaginations: You Don't Own Me by Leslie Gore, and Is That All There Is? by the one and only Peggy Lee. 

There is an interesting theme coursing through these are three dynamic pop hits of the Brill Building era, all by one hit wonders, sung by extraordinary, up and coming stylists, and crafted by some of the most influential music men of the time: 

Cathy Carroll’s 1962 hit, “Poor Little Puppet” (produced and arranged by Stan Applebaum, written by Howard Greenfield (Neil Sedaka’s partner, here collaborating with Jack Keller); 1963’s “Girls Grow Up Faster Than Boys Do,” by Earl-Jean McCrae (with the Cookies), produced by Gerry Goffin, written by Goffin and Carole King, also with Jack Keller; and Tracey Dey, singing “I Won’t Tell,” from 1964, produced by Bob Crewe, written by Crewe with The Four Season’s Bob Gaudio. 

The theme is irony. All three feature tough minded, independent young females, endeavoring for autonomy in a man’s world, delivering songs written by powerful men who controlled every aspect of their creation and production. These appeared in the time pre-Women’s Liberation, and demonstrate strength, heartbreak, and a tension that pulls against the undertoe of subservience.

Taken in chronological order:

1. “Poor Little Puppet” was originally recorded by Jan and Dean in 1961 as a sleepy, Everly Brothers clone, and it didn’t do much. But, here, as interpreted by Cathy Carroll, and helmed by Stan Applebaum, the tune takes flight in a punchier, more uptempo arrangement. It charted at 91 on the top 100 - Cathy’s only showing, and the surprise twist at the end is powerful, when the singer, looking in the mirror, admits that she herself is the puppet, whose strings are being controlled by the man whose love she craves.

2. In 1963, The Cookies were on top with “Chains,” the Goffin-King hit, later covered by The Beatles, and “Girls Grow Up Faster Than Boys Do,” (also by those chart-topping songwriters), was perfectly designed for them and their irresistible lead singer Earl-Jean McCrae. When they sing: “I’m everything a girl should be.. 36-21-35,” it feels quite cringe-worthy nowadays. Irresistible is right, because Gerry Goffin proceeded to make a baby with the vocalist, even though his marriage with King remained undissolved until 6 years later. They even continued to write for Earl-Jean, creating (I’m Into Something Good - which she recorded before Herman’s Hermits)

3. In “I Won’t Tell,” from 1964, the singer vows to keep her illicit romance a secret, so as not to hurt her sister. Tracey Dey, born Nora Ferrari in Yonkers, had made a name for herself as the “Teenage Cleopatra” capitalizing on the notoriety of  the Liz Taylor blockbuster. She caught the eye of The Four Season’s maestro, Bob Gaudio when she recorded “Jerry, I’m your Sherry” , playing off the title of the group’s hit ‘Sherry”. Together with the production genius Bob Crewe, they crafted this pop classic the teenage Cleo.  Tracey soon got out of the business, earned a Master’s degree from Columbia, and became a teacher and screenwriter. Clearly, this was a savvy entrepreneur from an early age. (Btw: the original masters of this recording were lost - so, this version was taken directly off a 45 disc). Enjoy!

Was it really a simpler time, way back when? 

As teenagers, Rich and I pined for those older women who seemed to embody the tidal pulse of desire. For me, it was the Delta song-spinner Bobbie Gentry, whose Ode to Billie Joe, a mystery delivered in honeyed, but troubling tones, captured the world's - and, my imagination; for Rich, it was the slinky seductress Joey Heatherton, who complicated his yearnings by aligning herself with Bob Hope on those USO tours during the Viet Nam war. 

The way podcast Stack of 45s would work was that Rich or I would nominate a song to be explored and celebrated, then the other would have a chance to bring forward their choice. In this case, my record, Ode to Billie Joe appeared first, and this inspired Rich to find and re-examine Gone by Joey. 

Enjoyed back to back these episodes bring back some good memories for me. And, hopefully, if you've been with us awhile, you'll enjoy hearing these again, too. And if you're new to the party, you've got a treat ahead of you.

In the mood for some baseball? 

Of course you are; it’s still our national pastime, after all, despite the threat of encroachment by football, soccer, basketball, Nascar and Monster Trucks. And now that the innovation of the pitch clock has trimmed down the times of games, it’s a little more dynamic than it used to be back in those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summers past. 

This World Series has been a humdinger, breaking several records, but it ain't over yet - The series is tied at 3 games each, with the final deciding game tonight. What had seemed like an inevitable win for L.A. after game three, now is in nail-biting doubt. Just goes to show you that, in the words of Yogi Berra - "it ain't over 'til it's over!"

Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere is one of the best depictions of the creative process that I’ve ever seen, exploring where an artist’s ideas come from: those sources, personal and environmental that are processed via one’s family history, dreams, desires - and are then delivered through said artist’s private relationship with their tools - (in this case the Tascam Portastudio, Echoplex reverb unit, and a water-damaged boombox). I was thrilled by that examination, and by Bruce’s steadfast protection of his lo-fi masterpiece when it was being threatened by corporate pressure to compromise. 

Jeremy Allen White is one of America’s finest exemplars of smoldering emotion, and the close ups on Springsteen’s anguished face were a tour de force of inner conflict. The protean Stephen Graham as Bruce’s complicated monster of a father found vivid expression with just a smattering of dialogue. And, Jeremy Strong - an actor capable of the deepest levels of immersion portrays Bruce’s guardian angel of a manager, Jon Landau with such grace, and generous restraint that it made me cry. Kudos to all.

The pace is pokey, and I personally could have done without the manufactured love story in which the actress, Odessa Young has the unenviable task of having to deliver clunky exposition, notably when she psychologizes Bruce for us. 

But, all in all, for a story that chronicles depression and child abuse, the darkness is mitigated by the knowledge that our hero emerges from this crucible to become a happily married family man and cultural hero, and create a timeless work of art. 

The Splendid Bohemians are honored to feature a couple of tributes to The Boss, which recognize his influence and influences: First, a duet with Bruce and Pete Seeger, the Patron Saint and Johnny Appleseed of folk music, singing Bruce’s still relevant- (sadly)- homage to John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath: The Ghost of Tom Joad.  And, we’ll close with Ryan Adams’ honorable rendition of Nebraska, the title song from those sources which are celebrated in Warren Zanes book and Scott Cooper’s film

IT IS TIME TO WALK WITH THE ZOMBIES! '
WELCOME TO THE PORTAL NO ONE LEAVES ALIVE.
HALLOWEEN IS UPON US, AND WHAT BETTER WAY TO CELEBRATE THIS TERRIFYING TRADITION THAN A "DIG THIS" JOURNEY INTO THE THE NIGHT OF THE VAMPIRE.
YOU WILL BE TRANSPORTED AND EDUCATED WITH DELIGHTFUL DREAD AS WE VISIT THE TALE OF ROCK AND REAPER ICON ROKY ERICKSON, A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE SPOOKY SPLENDOR OF HALLOWEEN AND THE MEMORY OF JOHN ZACHERLE, THE HEAD MASTER OF THE GHOUL SCHOOL OF OUR YOUTH.
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