I grew up listening to Oldies, and to this day I still enjoy a sugary doo-wop song or something that emerged from Motown at the height of its glory.   I love The Platters, The Fleetwoods, Martha & the Vandellas…pretty much anything from the American Graffiti Soundtrack.   There’s another song I’ve been thinking about today though.  Do any of you remember the song Raindrops by Dee Clark?  Dee tells us that since “a man ain’t supposed to cry, it must be raindrops…falling from my eyes.”

That about sums up my day.  I am, apparently, either a hormonal mess or suffering from early seasonal depression.  The littlest things have made me all choked up–barely able to complete sentences without betraying myself.  I may need help. Today I got teary-eyed from:

1.  Seeing a Lowe’s commercial in which mom and dad were working hard to prepare their home for the holidays.  Since their daughter couldn’t return home to be with them, the parents used a laptop web-cam to show her around the house, proudly displaying their remodeling efforts via Skype.  When mom says, “And just wait to see what we did outside!” she opens the door to find daughter secretly waiting to surprise them.  Aww! Sniff, sniff.

2.  Today we had to borrow my parents’ 1985 Chevy Suburban to haul some wood [that's a blog entry for another time].  This is the vehicle of my youth–of all the trips to Minnesota to see Grandma and Grandpa–my 5th grade venture to Washington DC before Grandpa died:  it all happened in that car. Now, with over 250,000 miles on it [!!] and still running strong, I hopped in and felt like I was in a time warp.  To top it off, my dad still had all his mixed tapes from those trips in the blue auto-organizer–the one that sits on the hump on the floor in between the driver and the passenger.  My oldest son was along and I thought I should do my family duty by indoctrinating him into the world of “Real Country.”  That’s right–”Real Country” capitalized and used as a proper noun.  Songs by the old masters.  People who have names like Hank and Lefty.  Tammy and Loretta. You know the type.  Tennessee twang from the 1950’s and 60’s. This was the soundtrack of every 12 hour trip I ever took, and it didn’t take me long to learn all about drinkin’ and cheatin’ and “layin’ you down.” Subtle education, really.

Anyway, I put the tape in so I could point out the fiddles and steel guitars to my son, and I started crying! Not sobbing, runny nose cry, but please-don’t-ask-me-to-talk-because-I’ll-blubber-and squeak-cry.   I’ll admit that I have so attached those songs to the person of my father that part of me was wondering how I’ll ever listen to them after he’s gone.  And that’s what I was thinking about.  Going to get a pile of wood for Bob Vila my husband, and thinking about how I’ll ever live without my dad.

3.  I had to stop at the grocery store for a bag of roma tomatoes this morning.  I’ve had a hankering for guacamole.   [I mean, how can you get through vacation without plopping on the couch next to your husband and plowing through a bowl of homemade guacamole with copious amounts of tortilla chips?]   As we were leaving the store we were met with the ubiquitous Salvation Army bell ringers.  I grabbed the loose change from my sweatshirt pocket and dumped it into the red can, feeling a bit sheepish that I wasn’t able to produce more.

On the way to the car, A asked me who the people were and why they were standing there ringing a bell.  True to form, I could barely formulate my answer about all the needy people that ache for help, especially at Christmas, without swallowing my tears.  By this time of the day I was fairly certain I may be going into menopause.

4.  In the same vein, Angel Tree commercials are now airing, reminding able givers to consider pulling an ornament off an Angel Tree and providing an unwrapped gift for a child this Christmas.  The announcer said that West Michigan alone has 30,000 wishes to fill this holiday season.  30,000 kids with nothing under the tree?  I’m crying again.

5.  Don’t call your shrink–this is the last one.  Tonight on NBC World News with Brian Williams, his “Making a Difference” segment highlighted the work of a non-profit organization called RAMP:  Rockin’ Appalachian Moms Project.  Seeing how one person can so powerfully change the trajectory of so many people’s lives amazes me.  It truly makes my heart beat a little faster.   So I sat and watched Amy, a mother of four from Connecticut, run a ministry that has delivered over a quarter of a million dollars of aid to one of the poorest places in our nation.  Heaters, clothes, food.  I sat and thought about how I never have to worry about those things.  How my needs are met and met and…exceeded.  And how the people of Appalachia don’t have heat.  And it moved me.

As we enjoy the quiet warmth of our own homes this Thanksgiving Eve, I invite you to send up your prayers of gratitude to the One who loved us so much that He Gave. And if you need a place to start, take 2.5 minutes and see what’s happening in Appalachia.

Good thing they’re predicting more rain tomorrow.  I might still be singing that song.

Smokey Robinson and the Miracles – “Baby, Baby Don’t Cry,” Pop # 8, R&B # 3

By Joel Francis

“Baby, Baby Don’t Cry” ended the Miracles streak of seven consecutive Top 10 R&B hits and was the group’s fourth and final hit of 1968.

At four minutes, the song was one of Motown’s longest singles to date, but Smokey Robinson and Motown staff writers Al Clevelend and Terry Johnson made the most of every second. As a singer and arranger in 1950s doo wop group the Flamingos, Johnson wrote the arrangement for “I Only Have Eyes for You” and other genre classic. Recruited to Motown by Robinson in 1964, the pair turned in some of their finest work on this number.

“Baby, Baby Don’t Cry” starts on the piano, but gives way to Miracle Marv Tarplin’s immortal guitar line. A full orchestra stealthily enters after the third stanza and explodes on the chorus. Again, Robinson and Johnson apply a deft touch to the score as the horns punch lightly and the string soar. For the spoken interlude, the song scales back to guitar, bass and drums, but never loses its warmth and fullness. On the last verse, the song shifts gears again, as the key changes and the bass and organ lean on the throttle.

Rare among Motown hits, the Funk Brothers are completely absent on this recording. Strings and horns aside, the Miracles play all the instruments on this album, with Robinson’s wife Claudette’s distinct voice sitting atop the vocal arrangement.

Robinson’s singing performance on “Baby” is one of the best in his career. His voice aches with pain and sympathy, but is strong and encouraging at the same time. This is a man who clearly knows the sting of lost love and the warmth of new romance. It’s impossible to deny Robinson and the Miracles evocation that “love is here, standing by.”

It’s hard to imagine anyone improving or adding anything new to these four minutes of perfection, and for once the rest of the industry agreed. “Baby, Baby Don’t Cry” is a rare Motown hit that hasn’t been covered.

Hello, all. Here’s the November 2009 Mix. This one’s a pretty schizophrenic mix, mostly due to all the free time that I’ve had to investigate new music recently (actually, old music that’s new to me). It’s starts off with the first track, “Military Madness”, Graham Nash’s first solo album. Thanks to my friend Kyle for talking me into giving that record a real listen. I’m generally allergic to anything slightly David Crosby-related, and, admittedly, rather prone to jumping to conclusions.

There’s some new discoveries on here that are really revelatory. Well, they are to me, at least. Hank Ballard’s “Sexy Ways” is a racy and fun doo-wop number that most people of my generation aren’t likely to recognize. Apparently, James Brown was a Ballard devotee, and credited him with many of the idiosyncratic vocal traits that Brown later made his name on. LaVern Baker and Johnny Ace are also new treats of pre-60’s soulful R&B for me. Ace having one of the more tragic, and interesting backstories in rock n’ roll. Really, Google it!

The Jawbox, Home, and Eric’s Trip tracks are old favorites of mine from my exclusively indie-rawk highschool years. Additionally, about once every year I go through a mini-John Cale phase, and “I Keep a Close Watch” is a powerful enough ballad to get you hooked as well. I’ve been arguing for a while that his post-Velvets records are far and away superior to Lou Reed’s output. Any opinions on that? I love to hear any comments, compliments, or even negative muckraking. Again, thanks for reading and listening. Enjoy! (Download Slow, Slow Music’s November 2009 Mix.)

1. Military Madness – Graham Nash
2. Stratosphere Boogie – Speedy West & Jimmy Bryant
3. Burden – Home
4. Voices Carry – ‘Til Tuesday
5. Pledging My Love – Johnny Ace
6. From Here to Eternity – The Only Ones
7. Dumb Blonde – Dolly Parton
8. Behind the Garage – Eric’s Trip
9. Road Without An End – Charles Wright & the 103rd Street Watts Band
10. She’s All I Got – Johnny Paycheck
11. Breezewood, PA – Jenny Toomey
12. All the Way From Memphis – Mott the Hoople
13. Sexy Ways – Hank Ballard & the Midnighters
14. Washing the Dishes – Willie Nelson
15. Poor Girl – X
16. Hey, Western Union Man! – Jerry Butler
17. Soul On Fire – LaVern Baker
18. Jamboree – Guadalcanal Diary
19. A Six Pack to Go – Hank Thompson
20. Iodine – Jawbox
21. I Keep a Close Watch – John Cale
22. Debbie Denise – Blue Oyster Cult
23. Walking Around – The Innocence Mission

Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow (Shirelles Cover) by Lykke Li

Doo Wop! Soul! Garage! Rock n’ Roll!

We love Drew and we know you do too! Come show your support, enjoy cheap drink specials and listen to great music TUESDAYS (1st & 3rd of every month) at BROOKLYN FIREPROOF!  If nothing else, you know you’re going to have a good time when the night is called Friskey Whiskey Tuesdays… Hope to see you there!

If you’re busy Tuesdays or if you absolutely can’t get enough of Drew, he’s at MACRI PARK Bar (462 Union Ave., Lorimer stop off the L line) every 2nd & 4th Monday each month spinning R&B, Garage, Punk and Soul.

The Crone finds herself in Bonita Springs, FL, on the Gulf of Mexico. She is staying in the very lap of luxury–a hotel where they insist on giving her a glass of champagne every time she passes reception. The hotel has 3 outdoor pools although so far the Crone has found only two of them, possibly because the third is nowhere near reception.  Last night the hotel hosted 3 weddings and a Bat Mitzvah and still managed to pay individual attention to every need of the Crone. A mojito. Some ceviche. The works of George Gershwin rendered by a singer and double bassist. (Check them out here) None of it was too much trouble.

This morning, the Crone ventured out into the environs of the Estero bay to discover that all around the luxury resorts are trailer parks.  The super-rich and the staff who serve them live hugger mugger–talk about a service economy.

The area is famous for mangroves and manatees.  The Crone saw neither but did bump into eccentrics at every turn.

Up bright and early to go to the Fleamarket (budgies, golf balls, shamwows, gold chains by the yard, knives, guns, fruit and vegetables,  vintage t-shirts, a Doo-Wop band–although this last was not for sale), the Crone stopped at Dolly’s for breakfast  and was quickly joined by an elderly gentleman: “You all by yourself honey? Mind if I sit down? These high seats are easier for me to get out of…”  In Crone world this passes for a pick-up line. Her breakfast companion, a man of at least 75, then proceeded to tell the Crone that he had been on active service in Iraq but had had to come back to get his knees replaced 6 months ago.  He went on to share that he was in the CIA (which surely they’re not supposed to mention?), that his son had worked for Tip O’Neill (ahhh, still sentient enough to work that old Irish connection…) and that his wife had died 8 years ago after winning $50,000 at a casino so she would leave him well off. “She spoke to God and he told her what machine to go to. She went straight to it and put in 4 quarters and won $50,000 dollars. ” His wife didn’t last long after that ”An angel came and got her. She said she’d seen this angel and she got me to get all the kids together and then she sat her in seat and put out her arms and the angel came and took her. Now what do you think of that?”  Truly the Crone didn’t know what to think. She told him to take care of himself when he went back to Iraq (“I’ll serve as long as they need me” ) and went on her way. And bumped right into Master Bait and Tackle, a fine emporium meeting all South West Florida’s fishing needs.

The owner came out to chat when he saw the Crone stop to take a photo. As you can see, he is very proud of his store. The Crone didn’t ask him what he says when he answers the phone…

A cold, harsh world. Hostility from nature. Hostility from one’s fellow species. Alienation. Scar tissue as a written history of life lived. So dark, Ishmael! So dark!

In “The Blanket,” Ishmael examines and discusses a whale’s skin. In noticing small lines “engraved upon the body itself,” Ishmael first compares the whale to Egyptian pyramids and cliffs etched with undecipherable hieroglyphics, thereby establishing the skin as text. Ishmael continues, noticing the scar tissue that accompanies these lines, and here things start to get gloomy. The scars remind Ishmael of the scrapes left behind on rocks after contact with an iceberg. However, he notes that the scars on the whales most likely come from fellow whales. Connecting the violent erosion between vast and indifferent forces of nature with the violence of contact between members of the same species is quite an image. Add to that a discussion of men and whales, both needing warmth as an essential condition of life, both living in a world so devoid of warmth that they must make it themselves, and I’m ready to retreat into a fetal ball for the next week.

But we know Ishmael has been in a mood since the day we met him. What I find interesting is the fact that this particular mood can be so compelling, even as a guilty pleasure. Why do we indulge it? What’s so sexy about a scar? What’s so macho about hardship?

Ishmael closes the chapter feeling hopeless about making any comparison between man and whale: “Of erections, how few are domed like St. Peter’s! of creatures, how few vast as the whale!” In “The Blanket,” he gives us lament for the mortal insignificance of mankind. Bleak, Ishmael. Bleak.

Chapter 68: The Blanket

The skin of a man does tell of his history.
The skin of a man is thin as the breeze.
The skin of the whale is written as mystery,
Scarred in the vast, unspoken sea.

Learn your lessons from his presence,
Lifeless, laid at your feet.
Thick skin, blessed warmth, and refuge
Need a man to survive.

Much as the whale, does man need an inner warmth,
Though banished to live out his days in the cold.
Much as the whale, is man but a stranger
On the Earth he calls his home.

Learn your lessons from his presence,
Lifeless, laid at your feet.
Thick skin, blessed warmth, and refuge
Need a man to survive.
Thick skin, blessed warmth, and refuge
Need a man to survive.

(c) and (p) 2008 Patrick Shea
Words and music written by Patrick Shea October 5, 2008
All parts performed, arranged, and recorded by Patrick Shea October 24, 2009

El domingo es día de asueto y nada mejor que un poco de música para amenizarlo. Por ejemplo, este “The lion sleeps tonight” en versión de The Tokens. Compuesto por Solomon Linda -un cantante zulú- en 1939 (puede escucharse aquí), no tardo en convertirse en un gran éxito primero en Sudáfrica (donde el nombre de Linda llegaría a inspirar todo un género musical) y luego en el resto del mundo gracias a innumerables versiones del mismo (una de las últimas la incluida en El Rey León de Walt Disney). La versión del vídeo adjunto corresponde a la que hicieron The Tokens en 1961, una de las mejores y que más popularidad le daría a la canción. !Que lo disfruten!

“Give me a bottle of moonshine and a slightly out of tune honky tonk piano and I'll make good.”

PREVIEW: STREAM “When Your Body Breaks” on Max Vernon’s MySpace

Max Vernon is a god. Well, not really, but damn his music is beautiful. Best known for his doo-wop cover of Katy Perry’s ”I Kissed a Girl,” his range extends far beyond a superficial Auto-Tune.

Powerful vocals blended with a command for the piano give Vernon something really special. And when I say special, I mean sexy.  “When Your Body Breaks” is not only spectacular in terms of composition, but filled with insightful, passionate and inspiring lyrics. So kiddies, next time you want to climb a mountain, quit binge drinking at frat houses or get caught ahead in all your classes — listen to this song, and you’ll know exactly what I mean.

– Caitlin O’Donnell, Art Director

Yeah, we all know Isaac Hayes original but here Joe Bataan, on of the fathers of Salsoul inject some extra latin funk into the tune.

Taken from the 1972 album “St Latin’s Day Massacre”, a genre defining mix of Boogaloo / Doo-Wop fusion. Shut yo’ mouth!

From Wikipedia
Joe Bataan (also spelled Bataán) (born 1942[citation needed] in Spanish Harlem, New York City) is a Filipino-American Latin R&B musician from New York. He was born Bataan Nitollano and grew up in the 103rd and Lexington part of East Harlem where he briefly lead the Dragons, a local Puerto Rican street gang before being sent to the Coxsackie Correctional Facility to serve time for a stolen car charge. pon his release in 1965, he turned his attention to music and formed his first band, Joe Bataan and the Latin Swingers. Bataan was influenced by two musical styles: the Latin boogaloo and African American doo-wop.

EPISODE 42

Carolyn, Joe and James, welcome you back to the Carolyn and Joe Show! So what do we talk about this week…(read above and read below) Enjoy!

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