Badfinger (Max)

Kolchak: The Night Stalker – The Spanish Moss Murders

December 6, 1974 Season 1 Episode 9

If you want to see where we are…HERE is a list of the episodes.

This one begins with Kolchak looking the worst I’ve seen him. He had just gone through something terrible, and we were about to find out. This episode blends Cajun folklore and good old-fashioned monster mayhem into one of the show’s best stories. This episode includes another actor whom I have always liked. Keenan Wynn starred in a lot of movies and television shows and was a wonderful character actor. In this episode, he plays Police Chief Joe ‘Mad Dog’ Siska, who is trying to stay calm…not easy around Kolchak. Chicago must have gone through many Chiefs of Police!

This time, Kolchak investigates a series of strange murders where the victims are covered in Spanish moss, crushed, and drowned far from any water. The culprit? The Père Malfait, a swamp monster from legend, a Cajun bayou boogeyman conjured up by an innocent street musician in a sleep study that takes away the ability to dream. People connected to the sleep subject (Don Mantooth) in unrelated ways are chosen as victims, so Kolchak will have to first discover who (or better, what) is killing them and figure out how to stop it.

The Père Malfait monster was played by Richard Kiel, who also played the Diablero the previous week in Bad Medicine. Producers liked him so much in both roles, they asked him to be available for a second season of the show. This one is highly thought of by The Night Stalker fans. I sound like a broken record, but again, this episode is smartly written and acted. Many times, McGavin would rewrite the scripts if he didn’t like them, and that happened a lot. He got no credit for that. That is probably the reason that no clunkers exist in this series. It also could have contributed to him asking out of his contract at the end of the season.

Kolchak starts digging, and, naturally, finds strange things. Kolchak’s journey in this episode takes him from sleep labs to recording studios, to morgues, to warehouses, snapping photos and ticking off cops the whole way. Watching Kolchak rant his way through bureaucracy and disbelief is golden. It’s folklore meets journalism, and in Kolchak’s world, that always makes for one hell of a story.

If you want to get ahead…here is NEXT WEEK’S Episode!

Charlie Rich – Midnight Blues

When I was growing up, I remember watching music shows from Nashville, and I saw this white haired man constantly. That white haired guy was Charlie Rich. I never knew much about his older music, but I am really getting into it.

After a stint in the Air Force, Rich started writing his own songs and playing around Memphis, the city that ended up shaping him more than anything else. Memphis in the 1950s was a blend of blues, country, gospel, and early rock and roll, and Rich fit right into the middle. He wasn’t a purist of any genre; he was a blender, and that would become his signature for the rest of his career.

His big break came when he walked into Sun Records, though it wasn’t exactly instant stardom. Sam Phillips didn’t quite know what to do with him because Rich didn’t fit the Sun mold. He wasn’t a raw rocker like Jerry Lee Lewis, and he wasn’t a rockabilly guy like Carl Perkins. He was smoother, jazzier, more complicated.

Before he became the “Silver Fox” singing Behind Closed Doors, he was a studio guy down in Memphis, searching for the sound that matched his style. Midnight Blues, recorded in 1960 for Sun, captures that in-between phase perfectly, smoky, late-night melancholy set to a subtle shuffle.

Some singers have a pain in their voice, such as Richard Manuel of the Band. Charlie Rich’s early Sun Records is like that as well. What always blows me away with Rich is that he could sound both heartbroken and confident at the same time. This song has a little bit of everything in it. He had one of those voices that could blend into anything, from country to soul, jazz, or blues.

He would go on to have nine country number ones in the 1970s. Lonely Weekends was his first US hit. It hit #27 on Cash Box in 1960.

Midnight Blues

Midnite, you know you’re doing me wrongMidnite, doing me wrongKeeping me up all night longAll night, all night longEverytime I feel a little bit freeI hear those blues, midnite bluesCommence to calling meMidnite, why don’t you leave me aloneLeave me, leave me aloneI’m trying my best to make a happy homeHappy, happy homeEverytime I feel a little bit freeI hear those blues, midnite bluesCommence to calling meI just can’t help to feel a little bit ashamedEverytime I hear you call my nameI’m blaming you for all the bad things I’ve doneBlame you for what I’ve doneStill I will admit that every once in a while it was fun

Yeah but midnite, don’t keep me running aroundDon’t keep running aroundI made up my mind, I’m gonna settle downAh ha, settle downEverytime I feel a little bit freeI hear those blues, midnite bluesBlues, midnite bluesI hear those blues, midnite bluesCommence to calling meThat blues is a calling meMidnite blues is a calling me

…

Duane Eddy – Peter Gunn

I’ve always liked this song. It was originally by Henry Mancini for the Peter Gunn television show in 1958. I love instrumentals, and this is one of the best. I think the heyday of instrumentals was the fifties and sixties.

This (and many of his songs) was recorded in a Phoenix studio, which had an echo chamber that was originally a large water tank. A single speaker was placed at one end of the tank, the microphone at the other, and the guitar was piped in there. It’s hard to mimic that with a reverb stomp box.

Duane Eddy, the man who made a single twangy note sound like thunder rolling across the land. In 1959, he took Henry Mancini’s already cool Peter Gunn TV theme and turned it into something leaner and meaner. Backing him up was producer Lee Hazlewood, who knew how to turn an amplifier and that echo chamber into sonic gold. Together, they recorded this song in Phoenix, with a rhythm section that was tight and lean.

I like how Eddy arranged his songs. No big flashy solos or seeing how fast he could play, just that sound he had, never letting up. Duane Eddy laid the groundwork for surf music, spy soundtracks, and even hard rock. Everyone from The Ventures to George Harrison took notes from that tone.

The song peaked at #27 on the Billboard 100, #30 in Canada, and #6 in the UK in 1959 and 1960.

Brian Setzer – (The Legend Of) Johnny Kool

If I was gonna get movin’, now was the timeSo I packed up my bags and my Gretsch ’59

When I heard the Stray Cats in the early eighties, I thought I had it on the wrong station. It didn’t exactly fit in with Sheena Easton, Andy Gibb, Barry Manilow, or Dan Fogelberg. What I heard sounded like it came out of 1956, and I loved it. The echo, upright bass, and big Gretsch guitar were there. A 1950s revival had happened in the 1970s, and it started in the 80s with the Stray Cats, but the other rockabilly bands would not reach such high chart positions as they did.

After the Stray Cats brought rockabilly back to radio, Setzer took a wild detour into big-band swing with the Brian Setzer Orchestra, proving that big pompadours and horn sections could coexist. This song is from his 1996 album Guitar Slinger. The song is about a rocker greaser who could out-race, out-play, and out-cool anyone in town.

Setzer has always been a guitarist storyteller, and here he channels every Gene Vincent, Eddie Cochran, and Link Wray riff he ever loved into one blast. The song kicks off with surfy reverb, blaring horns, and a beat that feels like a V8 engine coming to life (I just had to put a car reference there). Johnny Kool is the spirit of every hot-rod rebel who ever revved an engine down a road.

“The Legend Of Johnny Kool” might not have hit the charts, but it shows what makes Setzer special. He never plays rockabilly as a museum piece; he plays it like it’s still dangerous and fun…and it still is!

(The Legend of) Johnny Kool

I had one cup of coffee and a cigaretteThen I rolled out of bed with my shirt soaking wetIf I was gonna get movin’, now was the timeSo I packed up my bags and my Gretsch ’59

It’s a hard life, loveBut when push comes to shoveIt’s the only life for Johnny, Johnny, Johnny KoolPlays his guitar and he sang like a foolDon’t let the big boys grind you down

Johnny, Johnny, Johnny KoolHe was a rebel that broke all the rulesEveryone can’t stop talkin’ aboutThe legend of Johnny Kool

It was darker than black, not a star in the skySo I revved on the engine and let that Mercury flyWith the wind blowin’ by at a 105I was trying like hell just to keep it alive

It’s a hard life, loveBut when push comes to shoveIt’s the only life for Johnny, Johnny, Johnny KoolPlayed his guitar and he sang like a foolDon’t let the big boys grind you down

Johnny, Johnny, Johnny KoolHe was a rebel that broke all the rulesEveryone can’t stop talkin’ aboutThe legend of Johnny Kool

Rumor had it now, this cat had it allHe was loud, he was wild, and he sure rocked the hallSome guy grabbed my arm and I jumped on the stageAnd I was rockin’ with a guy who was twice my age

It’s a tough life, loveBut when push comes to shoveIt’s the only life for Johnny, Johnny, Johnny KoolPlayed his guitar and he sang like a foolDon’t let the big boys grind you down

Johnny, Johnny, Johnny KoolHe was a rebel that broke all the rulesEveryone can’t stop talkin’ aboutThe legend of Johnny Kool

Johnny, Johnny, Johnny KoolHe’s a rebel, Johnny KoolHe’s a legend, Johnny KoolEverybody can’t stop talkin’ aboutThe legend of Johnny Kool

…

Rising Sons – Candy Man

Just found this band. What a band, Ry Cooder and Taj Mahal in the same band. It doesn’t get much better than that. Some songs sound like they were born on the back porch, passed around from player to player, gathering different fingerprints and stories along the way. This is one of those songs. This is a traditional song arranged by the Rising Sons.

The band formed around 1964 in Los Angeles, built on the partnership between two then unknown but soon to be legendary musicians, Taj Mahal and Ry Cooder. Taj had moved west from Massachusetts after studying agriculture and getting into the folk revival. Cooder was a teenage slide guitar prodigy growing up in Santa Monica who already had a reputation as the kid who could play anything with strings. They met in the LA clubs, places like the Ash Grove and Troubadour.

They quickly became a standout act on the LA scene. They were signed to Columbia Records in 1965, which tells you how much buzz they had, but the label didn’t really understand what to do with a group that wasn’t rock, wasn’t folk, and wasn’t blues, but somehow all three. Their album was shelved for decades. This is the same problem the Goose Creek Symphony had; the label didn’t know what box to put them in.

The real joy of their Candy Man is how it captures a moment in time right before American roots music exploded. This was before the Byrds went country, and The Band were still the Hawks backing up Bob Dylan. This short-lived 1965 band was a great one, featuring a young Taj Mahal, an even younger Ry Cooder, and future Byrds drummer Kevin Kelley (later on), who replaced Ed Cassidy, Jesse Lee Kincaid on vocals and guitar, and Gary Marker on bass. The Rising Sons didn’t last long, but recordings like this show just how special that little window was.

They recorded an album, and it was produced by Terry Melcher. The album wasn’t released, but this single was. The album was finally released in 1992. It’s blues meeting folk with a bit of country rock in there. I was reminded in the comments that this version was based on the Reverend Gary Davis version. Thank you, halffastcyclingclub and purplegoatee2684b071ed.

I wanted to include these slang words and definitions that were given.

Salty Dog – In blues songs, a “salty dog” is a slang term for a man, often an experienced sailor, who seeks a casual, non-committal sexual relationship. The phrase can also refer to a libidinous man more generally, or someone who is “salty” in the sense of being experienced, spicy, or unpredictable.

Candy Man – In blues songs, a “Candy Man” is a term for a gigolo, ladies’ man, or dealer of drugs, often with a sexually suggestive connotation. While the literal interpretation is a seller of candy, the more common meaning in traditional blues songs refers to a charismatic and enticing man who sells a different kind of “sweet” product, like sexual favors or drugs.

Gary Marker: “We were the problem; we had difficulties distilling our multiple musical agendas down to a product that would sell. We had no actual leader, no clear musical vision…. I think [Melcher] went out of his way to make us happy – within the scope of his knowledge. He tried just about everything he could, including the live, acoustic session that produced ‘2:10 Train.'”

Candy Man

Candy man, Candy man
Been and gone been and gone
Candy man, Candy man
Been and gone been and gone
Candy man, Candy man
Been and gone been and gone

Well, I wish I was down in New Orleans
Sitting on the candy stand
Candy gal through the candy stand
Oh yea, got stuck on the candy man
Candy gal through the candy stand
Oh yea, got stuck on the candy man
Candy gal through the candy stand
Oh yea, got stuck on the candy man

I love my candy gal
God knows I do
Little red light, little red light
Little green light, little green light
Little red light, little red light
Little green light, blue green light
Little red light, little red light
Little green light, little green light
The light’s stuck on red but when it goes to green don’t you mess with Mr. Inbetween

Went on down to the candy stand
Found my gal with the candy man
I went on down to the candy stand
Found my gal with the candy man
Took her hand from the candy man
I said I’d be her candy man now

I love my candy gal
God knows I do

Candy man Candy man
Salty dog, Salty dog
Candy man Candy man
Salty dog, Salty dog
Candy man Candy man
Salty dog, Salty dog

Well, I wish I was down in New Orleans
Sitting on the candy stand

…

Be Bop Deluxe – Ships In The Night

I recently read about this band, and a term came up that fits them well. “Genre Hopping,” and that phrase tells it all. This song grabbed me first because it has a power pop sound. But they combine other styles with it. Plus, some of their other music goes from hard rock, pop, blues, art rock, to prog rock in a flash. I like it when bands cover a lot of ground, and this band most certainly does.

Be-Bop Deluxe began in Wakefield, West Yorkshire, by guitarist, singer, and songwriter Bill Nelson, a musician with one foot in rock and one foot in the avant-garde. Nelson had been playing in local bands throughout the late 60s, experimenting with everything from blues to psychedelia, but he wanted something more ambitious, something that combined sharp guitar work, futuristic imagery, and sophisticated songwriting.

By 1972, Nelson formed the first version of Be-Bop Deluxe, a lineup that changed several times before the classic version solidified. Early on, the band included Ian Parkin, a friend from Nelson’s earlier groups, along with various rotating bassists and drummers. This initial formation leaned heavily on blues rock, but Nelson quickly moved past that sound and reshaped the band into something sleeker.

Their breakthrough came when Nelson recorded the independently released debut album, Axe Victim (I love the title track…the guitar is amazing), in 1974. Though it featured a very different lineup than the one that would make them famous, it established the Be-Bop Deluxe identity, a mix of glam rock, blues guitar, art rock, and guitar gymnastics, all wrapped in Nelson’s sci-fi-themed lyrics and elegant pop melodies.

This song was released in 1976 on their Sunburst Finish album. It peaked at #23 on the UK charts. The album peaked at #17 on the UK Charts as well. You can hear some XTC and other bands in this that came after Be-Bop Deluxe. Jon Leckie produced this, and he would go on to produce XTC, The Stone Roses, and Radiohead in the future.

It’s a band worth checking out because they probably have something you will like since they are so versatile.

Ships in the Night

Like a square peg in a round holeLike a harp without it’s stringsLike a sailor who sails no oceansLike a bird that has no wings

I am a desert(Without love) my light is dim(Without love) I have no treasures(Without love) I cannot win

Without love we are like ships in the nightWithout love, selling our souls down the riverSailing away and forever our pleasure is blue

Like a dream that has no dreamerLike a cloud without a skyLike a truth with no believerLike a mother without a child

I am a desert(Without love) my light is dim(Without love) I have no treasures(Without love) I can’t sit still

Without love we are like ships in the nightWithout love, selling our souls down the riverSailing away and forever our pleasure is blue

…

Kolchak: The Night Stalker – Bad Medicine

November 29, 1974 Season 1 Episode 8

If you want to see where we are…HERE is a list of the episodes.

I am over halfway through this series, and I still haven’t run across a clunker. I see why IMDB has this series rated so high. This episode opens with a string of bizarre robberies where victims are found drained of life and valuables by what appears to be a high-society gentleman. The gentleman turns out to be something a lot less human and a lot more supernatural. The police think it’s a slick thief. Kolchak knows better; it’s a Manitou, a shape-shifting Native American spirit.

The newsroom scenes are pure entertainment, Kolchak clashing with Tony Vincenzo (Simon Oakland) as he tries to explain that an ancient spirit is behind the heists. This episode captures what made the show great: the contrast between Carl’s curiosity and everyone else’s refusal to believe anything beyond the police blotter. Kolchak is always two steps ahead of the next headline.

The evil spirit is played by Richard Kiel, yes, the same actor who would later be “Jaws” in the James Bond films, and the spirit is both eerie and tragic. He’s not your typical TV creature feature villain; there’s a sense of melancholy to his transformation, as he is trapped by his curse.

There is a chase through the hotel at the end, filled with dim lights and flickering shadows, that feels straight out of an old Universal horror flick. That’s not the first time I’ve said that about this series. Although it’s a seventies network series, they manage to keep an eerie feel to the show.

For those who want to get ahead to next week.…The Spanish Moss Murders… Click here!

Meters – Cissy Strut

I’ve been aware of this band for years, but I didn’t think I knew much about them. I started to listen, and yes, I’ve heard this and a couple of others. If you ever need to explain what “funk” feels like, you can skip any lyrics and just drop the needle on this song. These guys are New Orleans through and through. I’ve been posting songs with grooves lately. I don’t think you can beat this one.

It was recorded in 1969 for Josie Records. This song emerged from the Crescent City’s studio scene, which gave us Allen Toussaint, Lee Dorsey, and Dr. John. If you were a rock star in the seventies, you would be traveling to New Orleans to look up the Meters to get that New Orleans style. The Meters recorded with Paul McCartney, Robert Palmer, Dr John, LaBelle, Lee Dorsey, and Allen Toussaint, to name just a few.

In the mid-1960s, keyboardist Art Neville gathered three young musicians who shared his feel for rhythm: Guitarist Leo Nocentelli, bassist George Porter Jr., and drummer Joseph “Zigaboo” Modeliste. Together, they began backing artists like Lee Dorsey under the guidance of producer Allen Toussaint.

This song was their breakout song. They toured with The Rolling Stones in 1975, bringing funk to European stadiums. Their pure talent made them one of the most in-demand rhythm sections on the planet. This song has been used in many movies like Jackie Brown, Red, Legend, and many more. Their songs have been covered by The Grateful Dead, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Widespread Panic, to name a few.

This song peaked at #23 on the Billboard 100 and #4 on the Billboard R&B Charts in 1969. Turn it up and you can hear New Orleans itself pushing through your speakers.

…

Ronnie Lane – Kuschty Rye

I first started to get into Ronnie Lane when I watched a documentary about him called The Passing Show back in 2018. I could not get Lane out of my head, and I started to listen to more and more. I found bloggers who felt the same way about him. Lane was the bass player, songwriter, and sometimes vocalist for The Small Faces and Faces.

I’m not super knowledgeable about Ronnie Lane yet, but I’m learning every day. His music grounds me and makes me appreciate music, roots music firmly planted. Lane was never about running down hits, and I’m so thankful for that. You won’t hear a disco Ronnie Lane record. Although he had a big hit in the UK with the song How Come, but he didn’t compromise; he did it fully in his style.

After leaving the Faces, he traded the big stages and rock stardom for caravans, campfires, big tents, and the open English countryside. You can hear that freedom in this song. After he left the Faces, he toured around the countryside with a caravan and a big tent and did concerts. He would record outside sometimes, and on some recordings, you can hear chickens, kids, and the wind.

This song was released in 1979 on the album See Me. This would be his last album. He was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 1976 but continued to tour with Eric Clapton and others, and in the early 80s migrated to Houston, Texas, for medical treatments. He would pass away in 1997.

I came across an artist named Des Horsfall, who released a tribute album to Ronnie Lane in 2011. Artists like Pete Townshend loved the album and said it was killer. This is from this website: One of Horsfall’s primary reasons for the original CD release of ‘The Good Gentleman’s Tonic’ was to encourage a new audience of music listeners to seek out the three original Slim Chance LPs. At the time, these had been out of print for many years and could only be sought at expensive prices through online resellers and auction websites.

Now all three are available.

Here is a live concert, and I have it starting at Kuschty Rye…but I would recommend spending an hour or so listening to the concert that was performed in 1980 on Rockpalast.

Kuschty Rye

Oh, where I come from
There ain’t nobody
Nobody quite like you
Who blessed my soul, is cold on Sunday
And always evades the truth

Whose lingo comes from God knows where
And he surely knows more than I
Who also knows how mocked I am
When you call me your kuschty rye

And I say hey, honey
I hold you way up too high for me
Whoa, come on baby
I put you way up too high for me

She learned me life is sweet
And God is good
And he always will provide
She taught me all I never knew
And she taught me more besides

So I say hey, come on honey
I hold you way up too high for me
Whoa, now come on baby
I put you way up too high for me

Whose lingo comes from God knows where
And he surely knows more than I
Who also knows how mocked I am
When you call me your kuschty rye

So I say hey, hey honey
I hold you way up too high for me
Whoa, now come on baby
I put you way up too high for me

…

Goose Creek Symphony – Words Of Earnest

I wanted to throw something different at you today, and this is something different. As I was looking for some more roots music, I heard this and loved it. It took me a couple of listens…I haven’t stopped listening to it all week. It is roots music, no doubt, and heavy back porch bluegrass country with a tinge of rock. I love the melody, chord structure, and the dynamics they built in. It starts off as country as cornbread but switches gears with some horns, guitar breaks, and fiddle near the end. Although the country voice is there, the music is more rock structured. I’m not sure what to call it, but I’ll just call it good.

They were a very original band that blended country, rock, bluegrass, and psychedelic into something that didn’t fit anywhere. They were too twangy for the rock crowd, too trippy for Nashville, and too Kentucky-mountain raw for L.A.. When I listened to this song, I was won over.

This was the title track of their 1972 album. I’ve read reviews about this album, and some called it a masterpiece of cosmic Americana. The album should’ve been their big breakthrough, but Capitol didn’t know what to do with them since they didn’t fit neatly in a box.

Goose Creek Symphony was formed in the late 1960s by Charlie Gearheart, a Kentucky songwriter with country and rock ‘n’ roll influences. Gearheart, whose real name was Paul “Charlie” Gearheart, had played around in bluegrass and psychedelic rock bar bands before deciding to mix the two, to let fiddles, horns, banjos, and Telecasters mix together.

He gathered a very talented bunch of musicians from Kentucky and Arizona, naming the group after a small town near his old Kentucky home: Goose Creek. Early members included Michael “Ted” Reeder on drums, Alvin Bennett, and William “Charlie” Prichard on guitar and fiddle, all guys who could swap instruments mid-song without losing the groove.

They did have a hit in 1972 with the cover of Janis Joplin’s Mercedes Benz. That was on this album as well.

Words of Earnest

Lived in the city and I lived in the wood;
Lived through the fire and I lived through the flood,
Lived through the summer when the creek went dry;
Guess I’ll keep living til the day I die,
I think I’ve done everything, In my time;
Everything I didn’t do wasn’t worth doing when I had that time, OH no

Talked to the prophets and I talked to the fool;
Even tried work and I even tried school,
Fell in love I got pushed through hate;
Even drove my car through a big steel gate,
I think I’ve done everything, In my time
Everything I didn’t do wasn’t worth doing when I had that time,

Deep in the hills of old Kentucky, Once lived a man I used to know;
He got up every morning at the crack of dawn, Earnest was his name you know
He was full of love an understanding, Never had a nickle or a dime;
Happiness is free, is what he said to me, Earnest was a friend of mine,
Friend of mine,

To many people on the same old road;
Loaded down with the same old load,
To live a good life you can’t do it that way;
Cause every day is different an it’s different every day,
Gotta do everything, in your time;
Everything you wanna do, Really worth do when I had that time, OH Yeah it is

Nobody knows when I’m lonely, Nobody knows when I’m blue;
Nobody knows when I’m happy, Nobody knows that I’m blue,
Nobody knows that I love everyone, Nobody knows that I’m fine;
Nobody ever gets in my way, Cause nobody’s on my mind

Paladins – Good Lovin

I posted a song by these guys a few years ago, and I ran across this song with Dave Gonzalez wailing away on guitar. His guitar solo in this one is jaw-dropping to me. He flips the Chuck Berry style on its ear and then does some nice chording through the end of the solo. I’m also a sucker for a standup bass. I’ve played 4, 6, and 8-string electric bass, but I’ve never played an upright bass. You can’t get that sound out of an electric bass.

I love trios because I’ve played in a couple. They are hard; there is no room to hide. All of these musicians are great in this band. I key in on Gonzalez and the bassist Tomas Yearsley, but here Scott Campbell, the drummer, more than holds his own with almost a drum solo through the entire song. With this band, you can hear Sun Records and Chess Studios.

Back in the late ‘80s, when hair metal was MTV and polished pop dominated the radio, The Paladins were out there playing for the roots crowd. They were deep in the same rockabilly, blues, and roadhouse rock and roll that had been playing three decades earlier. This song was off their 1988 album Years Since Yesterday. They were mentioned in the same breath as The Blasters, Los Lobos, and The Fabulous Thunderbirds, bands who stubbornly stuck by roots music, forgetting trends.

The Paladins are from San Diego and were into rockabilly. They billed their music as Western Bop. They played a combination of rockabilly and vintage country together with a blues groove. They were founded in 1980 by guitarist Dave Gonzalez and bass player Thomas Yearsley.

Dave Gonzalez’s initial influences came from his mother, who listened to Carl Perkins, Elvis Presley, Roy Orbison, and the Rolling Stones. He mixed this with his father’s love of country singers Buck Owens and Merle Haggard, who also made a strong impression on him. As he got older, he got into blues artists like B.B. King, Muddy Waters, and Johnny Winter.

Dave Gonzalez and bass player Thomas Yearsley, along with current drummer Brian Fahey, are still a top attraction at clubs at the present time. They have recorded five singles, nine full-length studio records, and three live albums.

A side note for blues fans…they released a live album with Hollywood Fats in 1985. Here is a LINK to that album on YouTube…it’s great!

Good Lovin

Well I’m dining at the station standing on the railroad tracks
Yes I’m dining at the station standing on the railroad tracks
Well I just got the news my baby is coming back
She is a sweet fine thing she looks so good to me
She is a sweet fine thing she looks so good to me
She’s a high stepping momma saving all her love for me

Yea she is cute when she walks she wobble all over the street
My baby is cute when she walks she wobbles all over the street
Yea I’ll be so glad when that train bring her back to me
Soon the train will be here tonight around a quarter til three
That’s when my woman brings her love to me
Hugs and kisses make my head spin around
Make my love come tumbling down

I’ll be glad in morning when the train is coming down the tracks
I’m so pleased my baby is coming back

Well I’m dining at the station standing on the railroad tracks
Yes I’m dining at the station standing on the railroad tracks
Well I just got the news my baby is coming back
Good Lovin, Good Lovin, Good Lovin, Good Lovin, Good Lovin, Good Lovin
Good Lovin,Good Lovin,Good Lovin

…

Alice Cooper – No More Mr. Nice Guy

I grew up with this band as they were played on AM radio, and we had a few singles. What I just realized recently is how pop this all sounds. For all the guillotines, snakes, and fake blood of Cooper’s stage show, this song could have sat alongside power pop songs of the era. That is a compliment.

It took me a long time to figure out that Alice Cooper was a band, not the lead singer (well, until they broke up). The change from the band name to the singer’s name occurred in 1975 when the original band broke up, and the lead singer, Vincent Furnier, legally changed his name to Alice Cooper so he could continue with that name. The band, originally called The Earwigs and then The Spiders, decided to change their name to Alice Cooper in 1968. They wanted a name that was wholesome-sounding, a contrast to their horror-themed image. For publicity, the band said it came from an Ouija board and Alice was a witch from long ago.

By 1973, Alice Cooper wasn’t just a band; they were a phenomenon. The name Alice had gone from a person to a brand, from a weird underground theater act to global headlines. I would say Alice Cooper and Ziggy Stardust were the big theater kind of acts until KISS came along later.

Cooper wrote this song with Michael Bruce, who was a member of the original Alice Cooper. Bruce played guitar, keyboards, and contributed vocals as a band member. He was also the group’s chief songwriter and wrote or co-wrote many of their most-recognized songs, including School’s Out, Under My Wheels, I’m Eighteen, Ballad of Dwight Fry, Be My Lover, Desperado, and Billion Dollar Babies.

This song was an answer to nervous mothers and everyone else who was scared of his influence. He was basically saying he was going to keep doing what he was doing. Funny thing is, now Alice Cooper is one of the most grounded rock stars of them all. I saw him open up for the Rolling Stones in 2006, and he was great! With the little bit of makeup he was using, he looked like he walked out of 1973.

This was the third single from Billion Dollar Babies, the sixth studio album by Alice Cooper. This was the band’s most commercially successful album. It topped the album charts in both the United States and the UK, and also made the Top 10 in Australia, Austria, and Canada. Bob Ezrin was the producer who produced many of Alice Cooper’s albums. Alice called Ezrin our George Martin.

The song peaked at #15 on the Billboard 100 and #10 in the UK in 1973

No More Mr. Nice Guy

I used to be such a sweet, sweet thing
‘Til they got a hold of me.
I opened doors for little old ladies,
I helped the blind to see.
I got no friends ’cause they read the papers.
They can’t be seen with me and I’m gettin’ real shot down
And I’m feeling mean.

[Chorus]
No more Mister Nice Guy,
No more Mister Clean,
No more Mister Nice Guy,
They say he’s sick, he’s obscene.

I got no friends ’cause they read the papers.
They can’t be seen with me and I’m feelin’ real shot down
And I’m gettin’ mean.

No more Mister Nice Guy,
No more Mister Clean,
No more Mister Nice Guy,
They say he’s sick, he’s obscene.

My dog bit me on the leg today.
My cat clawed my eyes.
Ma’s been thrown out of the social circle,
And dad has to hide.
I went to church incognito.
When everybody rose, the Reverend Smith,
He recognized me,
And punched me in the nose, he said.

No more Mister Nice Guy,
No more Mister Clean,
No more Mister Nice Guy,
He said you’re sick, you’re obscene.

Kolchak: The Night Stalker – The Devil’s Platform

November 15, 1974 Season 1 Episode 7

If you want to see where we are…HERE is a list of the episodes.

This episode stands out as one of the most polished and eerie episodes of Kolchak: The Night Stalker. It blended political ambition with supernatural horror in a way that worked. The episode follows Carl Kolchak (Darren McGavin), the Chicago reporter who never backs down from a strange lead, as he investigates a string of mysterious deaths, all linked to a political figure, Robert Palmer (played by a favorite actor of mine, Tom Skerritt). Palmer’s charm and clean-cut image make him the perfect candidate for office, except for one detail: he’s literally made a deal with the Devil.

What makes this story memorable is how grounded it feels. The murders are bad enough, but the real horror comes from the suggestion that evil often hides behind respectability. Kolchak’s investigation takes him through a web of corruption and secrecy, from a reporter’s curiosity to outright disbelief that someone could strike a deal with the devil in modern Chicago. Yet as always, Kolchak’s sense for the bizarre proves right, and the evidence, mysterious paw prints, unexplained fires, and a black dog that appears and vanishes, points squarely toward the supernatural. The dog starts to follow Kolchack at the beginning. My guess is that this was influenced by The Exorcist, which was released a year earlier.

Skerritt plays Palmer as a man who seems almost too perfect, a slick politician whose every move is rehearsed. The scenes between McGavin and Skerritt are great, especially when Kolchak pushes too hard and Palmer’s mask slips just enough to reveal him. Tony Vincenzo (Kolchak’s boss) is more open in this one to Carl investigating this politician, although minus the he made a deal with the devil part. He is willing to go along with everything but that.

It remains one of Kolchak’s finest episodes so far, smartly written and unsettling. It captures everything that made the series unique. It’s a good commentary about power, ambition, and the price of selling one’s soul.

SPOILER

The climax, involving a showdown between Kolchak and Palmer, delivers both suspense and irony, as the Devil’s disciple realizes that even dark deals have expiration dates.

One line I loved, Kolchak’s boss, Tony Vincenzo, and Kolchak were arguing about Carl’s suit and hat. Kolchak asked him what bothered him so much about his hat? Vincenzo’s reply was classic: “What’s under it.”

The Complete Episode

Nashville Teens – Tobacco Road

I want to thank purplegoatee2684b071ed for bringing this song up in a comment.

I never knew much about this band. I read about them in a Who book. When the Who were having troubles in the mid-sixties, Keith Moon was thinking seriously about joining this band. I’m glad he didn’t do it, but I can see why he liked them. Very tough-sounding band in league with The Animals and Them, at least with this song. The Nashville Teens would later back Jerry Lee Lewis on his live album recorded at the Star-Club in Hamburg, which makes perfect sense; they were built for that kind of controlled chaos.

I think it would have been more powerful without as much harmonizing during the verses, but it’s good. When people talk about the British Invasion, the usual names jump out: The Beatles, The Stones, The Animals, but in there also were The Nashville Teens, a band whose name sounded American but whose sound was pure British R&B.

The Nashville Teens came out of Surrey, not Tennessee, but you wouldn’t know it from the way they attacked this song. The song itself was already a piece of southern gothic storytelling, written by John D. Loudermilk about a poor boy’s dream to rise above his dirt-poor roots. Loudermilk loved their version. He once said he’d “never imagined the song could rock that hard.” After the Nashville Teens’ success, Tobacco Road became a standard, covered by everyone from Jefferson Airplane and David Lee Roth to Rare Earth and Eric Burdon.

What really makes this jump off the record is its slow, building arrangement. It starts with a moody, almost dirge-like verse before exploding into that chorus. This is the sound of the mid-sixties British blues scene before it amped up and got stadium-sized with Cream and The Jimi Hendrix Experience.

This song peaked at #3 in Canada, #6 in the UK, #9 in New Zealand, and #14 on the Billboard 100 in 1964.

Another version of the song by Rare Earth.

Tobacco Road

I was born in a trunk.Mama died and my daddy got drunk.Left me here to die alonein the middle of Tobacco Road.

Grow up in rusty shackall I had was hangin’ on my back.Only you know how I loathethis place called Tobacco Road.

But it’s home, the only life I ever known.Only you know how I loathe Tobacco Road.

InterludeGonna leave, get a jobwith the help and the grace from above.Save some money, get rich and old

bring it back to Tobacco Road.Bring that dynamite and a crane

blow it up, start all over again.Build a town, be proud to show.Gives the name Tobacco Road.But it’s home, the only life I ever knownand it’s lost…But I lost it’s your home

…

Fabulous Thunderbirds – T-Bird Rhythm …album review

This album is like a bag of chips; you can’t stop at one song. Hence, the reason I dropped the one song and just went on to the complete album. These guys deserve some attention for more than their two hits.

When I heard these guys in the 1980s, I loved what I was hearing. Tuff Enough hit, but the one that got me was Wrap It Up. Now I’ve gone back and started to listen to some of their other music, and it’s just what I expected. It’s tough, tight, and with a blues edge. What surprised me (it shouldn’t really) was who the producer was on this album. Nick Lowe strikes again in the middle of this tough R&B band. He really shows his versatility with this album.

Instead of trying to reshape the Thunderbirds, Lowe just pointed the microphones in the right direction and let them go. The production is warm and lean, nothing fancy, just that gritty barroom sound. He kept that edge to the music that the Thunderbirds would give.

I was disappointed when I didn’t hear any more songs by them on the radio. I should have known that there would not be much more in the 1980s. Guitar-driven rock/blues just wasn’t in as much. This band didn’t just hit out of nowhere. They formed in 1974 with original members Jimmie Vaughan, Kim Wilson (singer), Keith Ferguson, and Mike Buck. Austin vocalist Lou Ann Barton also performed occasionally with the group during its early years.

I’ve heard the phrase it’s The Groove That Won’t Quit before…Well, I will apply that to this album. Tracks like My Babe and Diddy Wah Diddy sound like they came out of a 1956 jukebox, but there’s nothing nostalgic about it. They gave life to R&B music in their own style and as contemporary as you could be in an era that wasn’t screaming for it. Every single note on this album feels road-tested.

One of my favorites off the album is How Do You Spell Love. It’s built like a tank and comes straight at you. Another favorite is Can’t Tear It Up Enuff, Jimmie Vaughan’s Telecaster stings and swings, and Kim Wilson tears through the vocal. This is the album that put them on the map. A few years later, they would be headlining tours and having hits.

This album was released in 1982 and rock critics were paying attention. The grouchy Robert Christgau wrote: “both sides open with fetchingly offhand ravers, Kim Wilson works his shoo-fly drawl for gumbo lilt, and the mysterious J. Miller contributes the irresistible ‘You’re Humbuggin’ Me’, which had me tearing through my Jimmy Reed records in a fruitless search for the original.”

Can’t Tear It Up Enuff

I’m in the mood to tear it up
I’m in my prime for tearing it up
I dig tearing up that stuff
I just can’t tear it up enuff

Don’t want no full time love
Baby let me be
I need a whole lotta part time love
To satisfy me
Don’t want no hand-me-downs
Got the biz rags on my back
I don’t need no used car
I got a brand new Cadillac

I’m dying to tear it up
I ain’t lying, I’m gonna tear it up
I dig tearing up that stuff
I just can’t tear it up enuff

I’ve got the finest weather
Living in this town
I’m sitting on top of the world
Nobody gonna get me down
I’ve got a diamond ring with
A gold bracelet to match
Baby, I got everything
With no strings attached
When it comes to having a party
I can’t be beat
Baby, just stay out of my kitchen
If you can’t stand the heat
You got to move, let’s go
I ain’t gonna wait for you
Got lots of places to go
And a whole lotta things to do

I’m in the mood to tear it up
I’m in my prime for tearing it up
I dig tearing up that stuff
I just can’t tear it up enuff

…