So Help Me at The Opal Gallery

October 31, 2008 Earworm

There are pages and pages of returns when you google Jack Kittel but very little information about the loose screw who recorded "Psycho" in 1974. Liner notes from Ace's "Dead! The Grim Reaper's Greatest Hits" says that he is/was from Michigan and that's about all that I can find.

"Psycho" was written by Leon Payne and originally recorded by Eddie Noack in 1968. It received no airplay and immediately became one of those titles prefaced with "Hey, did you ever a hear a song called...". Jack Kittel released his version six years later on Atlanta's own GRC label, home to Sammy John's blandly licentious "Chevy Van". From what I've read, everyone seems to be in agreement that Jack's straight-faced delivery makes it the choice of choice, besting a cover by Elvis Costello during his almost blue period. It also makes a perfect antidote to the equally ghastly "The Christmas Shoes"

"Psycho" is disturbing enough but its full creep credentials are found outside of the grooves and in the story of GRC label owner, Michael Thevis, known as "The Scarface of Porn", who started the label in an attempt to hide his more illicit gains. Read more about Michael Thevis and you'll see what I mean.

Have a devilish weekend.

October 30, 2008 Earworm

Two years after I left, a few haphazardly thrown punches were strong enough to create a wave of repercussions that sent me and mine out into the increasingly chilly air of fall and back to Charles Village, this time to the north west corner, where a pair of girls gave us shelter while we figured out the next step. It would prove to be an insular time as it was too cold to walk to our usual nightlife in Mt. Vernon and everything we needed could be found within walking distance of our block of Charles and 33rd. The corner WaWa provided soda and cigarettes, an independent grocery across the street lost inventory to an increasingly brazen "help ourselves" attitude, and second hand bookstores catering to the Hopkins crowd fed our heads. I know, and well remember, many excursions outside of the neighborhood yet the most vivid memories of that time take place in the few blocks that surrounded a one bedroom apartment housing five not quite kids, working elaborate schemes to amuse ourselves, planning world domination, and playing "Spades" by Lulu Kiss Me Dead.

One was never there and when she was, had to have recognized that she would forever be a peripheral - a fact sadly proven when we realized that the handwriting on all the correspondence from her boyfriend was strikingly similar to her own; two was going to be a teacher, the sort that kids remember for the rest of their lives; three was going to design clothes that, at that time inspired by two, would save the figures not found in fashion magazines from the cut rate look found on most racks; four, also taking temporary shelter, wanted to be the figure found in fashion magazines but would never admit it, and me, who sat and watched and wondered where I would fit in, grasping at the idea of being a photo stylist in an attempt to be needed and to keep the gang together.

We didn't have money to eat but we always had cigarettes and the latest issue of Vogue - the US, British, and Italian editions, and thanks to two's stint on the college radio, the newest import records were taped from the radio, her playlist becoming our group letter to Santa Claus. Looking back, some of us think that this is how "Spades" came in to our lives but I'm still not sure; in my memory it was there from the beginning, a theme for three and me, the words "all I feel is all too much" always in my head as a declaration of my romantic nature while its negative implications were left unexamined, the irony of its constant query of "who are you" not yet realized.

Pushed by the point of Sartre's "No Exit" and fueled by the absurdity of Kopit and Albee, we plotted telethons for the sartorially challenged, with "Jewels For Jews" and "Fashions For Fags" being our favorites as they were created for our own benefit. The floor of the furniture-less living room was where everything was started and nothing but packs of cigarettes was finished, perpetually littered with records and books and scraps of paper full of ideas no longer as great as they had been before the pencil hit the paper. We were so busy plotting the first step up the ladder of success that we never managed to get off the ground. We were so enthralled by the idea of our renaissance that we ignored the basic science of survival and reality would pull the plug on our enclave. On New Year's Eve we closed the door for the last time, the living room floor that was once littered with our ambition, now gleaming like all of our ideas and as equally unfulfilled. The girls all went their separate ways, leaving me and mine walking down Charles Street in the snow, assuring each other that the new year would be better, clueless as to how, not bothering to define the comparison.

October 29, 2008 Earworm

Delusions, myths, and flat out lies run rampant in Rilo Kiley's "Dreamworld" so it's no surprise to find it stuck in my head as the hyperbole grows louder, the frenzy intensifies, and the lines linger longer. Fortunately, there is a glimmer of hope in the subtext and a shimmer of Lindsey Buckingham in the production: without it, a guy could grow cynical...

October 28, 2008 Earworm

After watching the faces of fellow listeners for more than two decades, it's become obvious that "If being strong is what you want, than I need help here with this feather" is the arrow to the heart lyric for a majority of the fans of The Replacements' "Swinging Party". It's simple, it's painfully honest, and it's delivered without an ounce of self-pity or opportunity for useless arguing. The image it conjures is perfect in capturing the inertia felt by so many who came of age in the eighties.


However, it only describes the symptom and to find the cause, we move to the second verse: "Pound the prairie pavement, losin' proposition, quittin' school and goin' to work and never goin' fishin', water all around, never learnin' how to swim now." It's there that Paul Westerberg succinctly describes what was, what wasn't, and what seems unlikely to be: reminding everyone that even the simplest childhood dreams don't come true for everyone. Deftly using swimming as a childhood rite of passage, he reminds us that he is barely treading water in adolescence and that he will probably drown in the sea of expectations of adulthood. "Swinging Party", for better or for worse is the latch-key kids' anthem.

Early fans of The Replacements were quick to sell out when the band began to expand their sound but if "Swinging Party" is the product, the price was well worth it. I suspect that those same fans were the ones who drowned, who acknowledged only the symptom, who failed to explore the cause.

October 27, 2008 Earworm

The Satisfactions' ode to a biker boy, "Daddy You Just Gotta Let Him In", is revered by girl group fans around the world but for me, the flip-side, "Bring It All Down", is their shining moment. Written in 1966 by Bob "Elusive Butterfly" Lind for Cher - who turned it down - "Bring It All Down" is a wordy rebuke; a warning of the shelf-life of fame, and the danger in believing the words of one's sychophants. In the hands of Sonny Bono - and the mouth of Cher - it's highly doubtful that their version would have turned out as tender, thereby turning the words into a lecture that probably would have gone ignored. Jack gives his wife, Gracia, a comfortable cloud to sit upon as she addresses the head attached to the person bound to fall, an angelic choir to back up her words, a light string line waits to soften the landing, and a stunning yet simple ending that suggests that the mission was accomplished.

Listen up, Superman, and presidential candidates, too.