Spitball Records (1977)

I haven't done any double postings this rodeo, but for this record I couldn't decide which sideburn shot was better. Side one gives you get a profile glimpse of just how enormous that caterpillar is, as well as that teethy oh-yeah-I'm-burning-this-solo expression. On side two it's all about how feathery those wings are. I wonder how hard it is to be a guitar player without any ears. All joking aside, the musician in question is Joe Diorio, who is one of those guys from the '60s that, as Jazz Times puts it, "has flown under the radar of the vast majority of jazz fans." The album is called Peaceful Journey and while I can't say I get down with these tunes, I am with the labels and the design work. Check the front cover for a look at that late '70s style.

Presspop Music (2010)

One of the nice things about contributing to this blog is that it is forcing me to cull through my collection and find some nice labels -- but a side effect of all this is that I'm rediscovering some records I hadn't listened to in a while. This one, which features recordings of two collabos between Arthur Russell and Allen Ginsberg from the 1970s, stood out primarily because the packaging is really tight. It's a 10-inch and both sides of the cover have been letter-pressed for a textured but super clean feel. Looks like Archer Prewitt of the Sea and Cake did all the artwork, including the drawings of Russell and Ginsberg that ended up on the labels.

I choose the Arthur a-side because I thought it was a bit unusual to get such a close-up on his face. A couple years ago I attended the Arthur Russell Symposium, a pretty amazing event just based on the attendees and speakers (Russell's family, former bandmates, producers and engineers he worked with, writer Tim Lawrence). While we were treated with a number of entertaining stories and performances, one of the details I remember now is that Russell wasn't all that comfortable with his face as he had a lot of residual scarring from acne. I thought the treatment on this label was tasteful -- and it captures a sort of haunted, or maybe concerned, look. I also choose the Russell side because frankly his music does a lot more for me than Ginsberg's yowling. Although I have been known to rock the Kaddish joint on occasion. For those who don't know much about Russell, well, it's about time you got familiar. I'd start with Calling Out of Context and World of Echo. For now, "Let's Go Swimming."

Western Electric Company, Inc. (1970)

So this one seems to be pretty complicated, or at least more than I'll have space to do justice to in a single post. The basics are as such: "The Dialect of the Black American" is an LP that ultimately argues for "the speech of black Americans" to be granted the same consideration as is "automatically" given to "the languages of other lands." The description on the back cover mentions how "the black man" was "wrenched" from "his African soil" and brought to America as a slave and goes on to to characterize the black experience in America as one that has been "slighted." The language here is all pretty laughable (to keep from crying that is). I guess one could argue that it was written in 1970, but that doesn't make it go down any easier. The lines that really had me cringing: "America accepts the preservation of her settlers' pasts. From Williamsburg to Chinatown, from Saint Patrick's Day to the Jewish New Year, she recognizes the wellsprings of her subcultures. This the blacks now require."

The kicker in all this weirdness is that the record was released by the community relations arm of Western Electric. Baffling, huh? You can listen to the record here, although as evidenced by everything above, I'm not quite as optimistic as the writer there about what this LP might represent. From the get-go the listener is presented with audio of "authentic" black talk, mainly angry women hollering at "Leroy" who is too lazy to get out of bed and yelling at their kids to "shut-up" and "don't slam that door." Check out the cover at the very least. I'm not going to say it's "fantastic." Regardless of any well-meaning intentions with the design, there's definitely something off-putting about a graphic of a black boy's head with a photograph of "the ghetto" superimposed over where the mouth should be.

I prefer the take from Detroit's Theo Parrish on all this with his house track "Ebonics." He samples some bits and pieces of dialogue, then lets the question of "How little have we gained and how much have we lost?" become a refrain. Now this is genius stuff, and Parrish does a mean ODB to boot.

Sonet (1977)

This is the second Sonet that I've put up on the blog, but as I sat down to do this write-up it dawned on me that I didn't know a daggone thing at all about this record company. So I hopped on over to the Discogs wiki and turns out it's one of those entities that's been bought and sold a number of times. Hence, releases ranging from jazz guitarist Tiny Grimes to Depeche Mode to George Thorogood to Bomb the Bass to Wilson Pickett. Curious.

As for the label, for comparison's sake you can peep a 1976 iteration I put up last year. Quite a difference eh? I do enjoy that they stuck with some sort of large pointed shape as the centerpiece. I dig the pseudo-surrealish plane and shapes and brick label name. Anyone for a game of Simon? I've really lost my taste for straight-ahead jazz these days, but damn, these song titles take the cake. "Romance Without Finance"? That's my kind of dating. Sorry love.

Utah Phillips, "El Capitan" (Philo Records, 1975)

Besides love for Utah himself, really digging how the designers of this center label incorporated the center spindle cut-out as a part of the rainbow as well as part of the "o" in Philo.

Bob Welch - "French Kiss" (Capitol, 1977)

Barf.

This was Bob Welch's first solo album after leaving Fleetwood Mac. Actually he was briefly in a band called Paris, but Fleetwood Mac is a better reference because no one has ever heard of Paris. This album opens with a re-recording of 'Sentimental Lady,' a Fleetwood Mac song originally released on 'Bare Trees.' This version is okay, but doesn't really add anything to the song.

After 'Sentimental Lady,' we get into what this record is really about--scuzzy disco. There are some pretty great hooks on this album, but it seems like Bob brought a bunch of songs into the studio, and some dude named Carter (who has the production credit) told Bob the songs weren't 'now' enough. The label image fits really well with the production of the album, but it's not clear why Bob Welch was the chosen medium for this type of music. His singing on this album is painfully torpid, where his singing with mid-period Mac seemed perfectly laid-back. When he flatly chants 'Hot love, cold world--gonna make ya cry' with the mysterious Carter trying to have a party on the backing tracks, it kind of makes me feel bad about myself. Especially if I happen to glance at the album cover at the time, which has the full image of the picture on the label. Just supremely icky.

Emerson, Lake, and Palmer - Brain Salad Surgery (Atlantic, 1973)

This label reminds me of that movie Alien vs. Predator. I think this album art, along with Predator, Predator 2, Alien, Aliens, Alien [cubed], and Alien Resurrection may have been an inspiration for that film. I have just decided that I will have a party where we will watch Alien vs. Predator with the sound off and listen to Brain Salad Surgery. All are welcome.

Stories - About Us (Kama Sutra, 1973)

I noticed Alexander has posted a couple of Kama Sutra labels, one from 1967 and the other from 1970, so I posted this one from 1973. The two earlier labels had imagery similar to each other--a logo of a statue with several arms, I guess consistent with the Indian theme, likely related to the association with Buddah records. By 1973, Kama Sutra had apparently converted from Buddhism to Christianity. Here we've got a modest Eve sharing evil with Adam, representing Kama Sutra Records' new, more fearful view of sexuality.

This was the first of two records from Stories, a band started by one of the songwriters from the group The Left Banke, who were best known for their single "Walk Away Renee." The record is overall pretty great--the harmonies are still there, and many of the songs are more dynamic, possibly just by virtue of being a product of 1973 rather than the mid-60s. Low points of the album are when the band resorts to boogie-woogie. That, of course, can be said of any record relying on a boogie-woogie element, e.g., 98% of the rock albums recorded between 1971 and 1977.

Nektar - Down to Earth (Passport, 1974)

Happy New Year's from NEKTAR. Of the posts I've done so far, this is the first label I chose primarily because I think it looks cool. This is a proggy concept circus funk album with some pretty great song titles, which otherwise might warrant more discussion. However, today is New Year's and my ability to contribute is limited. Enjoy the pretty picture. Happy New Year's from NEKTAR.

Michael Nesmith - The Prison (Pacific Arts Corporation, 1974)

Here's something. Michael Nesmith, formerly known for songs like 'I'm a Believer' and 'Pleasant Valley Sunday' shows a bit of his dark, edgy side with this release, 'The Prison.' The music on the album is actually intended to be secondary--it was released as 'a book with a soundtrack,' meant to be played while reading the story. The book is written in both English and French, and tells of a prisoner who ultimately realizes that he is confined not by the physical prison walls, but by the prison of his OWN MIND. Here's a little sample of Michael's prose:

"Jason was transferred into the prison one day when it rained. Ponderous and moody, he was nonetheless possessed of a keen spirit and wit which made him likable to some. It wasn't long before Jason discovered the hole in the wall. He noticed it one afternoon when he strayed from the rest of the inmates and their eternal games. It seemed unguarded. Jason stood startled. That such a break in the otherwise secure prison should exist with so much apparent unconcern from anyone struck him as strange. He peered through the hole but could only see a few yards. His vision was obscured by a mist which hung patiently outside."

I'm no literary critic, but this sucks. It reads like it was written in French by a teenager and translated into English by his little brother. Or Mickey Dolenz.

The label is pretty cool-looking. That's a dove on there carrying an olive branch, I guess to represent Michael's Peaceful Music Company. The album cover is black and white, so the green of the branch is the only color on the record art. And please, look at the words printed over that dove! 'Life, the Unsuspecting Captive.' 'Elusive Ragings.' 'Waking Mystery.' Who knew this kind of profundity hid beneath that green beanie?

Aside from the fiction element, this record is pretty awesome. It's not really like anything else I've heard. It's spacey, repetitive country with electric piano and rare percussion--occasionally some bongos turn up. The music is pretty subdued throughout, so it's a good record to put on while you make breakfast, relax on a Sunday evening, or sit alone in the dark, stupefied, as you realize that you, too, are living in the prison of your OWN MIND.

Bill Wyman - Monkey Grip (Rolling Stones Records, 1974)

Bill Wyman is the worst Rolling Stone. This is Bill Wyman's first solo album, and the label features a comic representation of a monkey grip, which in the actual world can be a sad display of cognitive limitation--it's when a monkey continues to hold onto an object even though the object is causing some adverse effect. I think a monkey at the Lincoln Park Zoo lost an arm due to some monkey grip-related event, maybe a zoo-goer giving him a burger or something that just wouldn't squeeze through the bars. This is the concept/image Bill Wyman's first solo album boils down to. There may be some mildly clever conclusion to draw here, but it's really just another detail leading to the ultimate incontrovertible conclusion: Bill Wyman is the worst Rolling Stone.

I would also like to mention that sounds on this album are SO MUCH WORSE than you could possibly imagine. I mean, you could look at the song titles: (1) I Wanna Get Me A Gun, (2) Crazy Woman, (3) Pussy, (4) Mighty Fine Time, and (5) Monkey Grip Glue, and say 'Man, those are lousy song titles," then assume the record sounds like a bunch of Stones B-sides. That's not the case. The music is lame, boring, and repetitive, the lyrics are awful, and anytime a melody turns up, it sounds like more like an intro to a goofy sitcom than something you would listen to on purpose. 'Pussy' is a standout on the album, a bluegrass ditty with a bunch of humming and Bill singing something about how you should not put your pussy down. It looks like I paid $2.00 for this record in the first place, but knowing what I know now I would say it's worth at least $2.50 to hear music so uniquely stupid. I chose to feature this label because I doubt many people are aware of Bill Wyman's career as a solo artist. It is now part of your consciousness.

Mountain - Nantucket Sleighride (Windfall, 1971)

I think this is a good place to pick up form Chris Royalty's posts, because I bet a LOT of dudes who owned that Grand Funk 45 also owned this Mountain album. I say 'dudes' because it is impossible that the music on either of these records could have appealed to any 'lady.'

This label is interesting for a bunch of reasons. First, it looks super cool. Second, there seems to be some inconsistency between the words and the image on this label. The record is called 'Nantucket Sleighride,' which is when a harpooned whale drags a whaling ship in its wake until the whale tires out and dies. This concept is perfectly inconsistent* with the tiny-pupiled druggie bird whose image droops into song titles like 'The Animal Trainer and the Toad.' If these ideas cohere in any way it's totally lost on me.

Third, it's really weird that a band like Mountain got to design the label of their album. If you look through your record collection, most records from the early and mid-seventies have standard labels. But somehow Mountain convinced their label that this funky bird needed representation not only several times on the album's cover, but also on the label. I don't know how many records Mountain sold with this effort, but I know 'Who's Next' has the standard MCA rainbow label, and it sold at least a gazillion copies. Windfall Records folded shortly after making this executive decision.

*The woman who designed this album cover, Gail Collins, was the wife of Felix Pappalardi, a Mountain member who had produced several Cream albums. Ten or twelve years later, Ms. Collins shot Mr. Pappalardi in the neck and killed him. My impression is that Ms. Collins and Mr. Pappalardi didn't really 'get' each other, and this album artwork appears to be early evidence of that. If Mr. Pappalardi had recognized this schism in '71 or so, he might be alive today. Just sayin.

Grand Funk - Shinin' On b/w Mr. Pretty Boy (Capitol, 1974)

Both the frustration and the promise of record collecting is that there are sooooo many records in the world - rare records to discover, classics to make your own, favorites to keep coming back to. And its that same inexhaustible nature that thwarts any attempt to truly be a completist.

It's in that spirit that I post my last record - one that I don't remember how I got and one that I'm sure I've never even listened to. But damn, that is a hell of a cool label.

Thanks Alexander - this has been fun!