A Donkey that Brays a Sweet Vermouth

As interesting as the Swing Revival of the 90's seemed (and relatively long-lived for fads, lasting the whole decade and dripping into the 21st century), it's had little long-term impact on pop culture at large, aside from fastening fedoras to the heads of awful young men the nation over.  Oh, sure, a tiny handful of bands gained impressive fan bases and piles of cash, the two big ones being the Cherry Poppin' Daddies (of "Zoot Suit Riot" fame) and Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, but even mentioning Royal Crown Revue will bring most music fans to a screeching "Huh?".  That being said, for somebody like me who isn't an expert on Swing Revival bands, encountering a band like Donkey, who were most likely tangential to the movement  but could have only seen widespread success within its confines (not that they did), is an interesting moment.  Formed in Athens, GA, Donkey was the house band for The Point, a nightclub in Atlanta that is now a clothing store, and they released two albums in the mid-90's (or three if you believe Amazon lumping in the '97 album Stroke My Wings Gently by an unrelated indie rock band).  They crafted a unique mixture of Swing Revival, the Fine Young Cannibals, and Steely Dan-esque lounge rock in their brief time in the sun, and came to my attention primarily as a dollar CD at In Your Ear in Boston.  The value of their album Slick Night Out is inversely proportional to the amount of information about them online, and considering their Allmusic entry is only two sentences long you can take my word for it that it's a dang good time.

Donkey was never really meant to be seen on a national stage, and in that spirit Slick Night Out is a live album, capturing a typical, yet gleaming, night at The Point with everybody's favorite music boys.  As much as we all adore Thad Jones's big band from the 70's it's easy to forget that they were the Monday night house band at the Village Vanguard, and their songs could be heard any given Monday simply by walking there.  What gives Donkey their beauty is that they seem free to explore many different avenues, maintaining a healthy allergy to pigeonholing.  "Phantasmo del Gato" seems almost Tom Waitsian in its bar-music synthesis, with the guitar solo at 1:00 ripped from whatever glorious universe Progressive Rockabilly exists in.  This quality is kind of hard to detect on a song-by-song basis, but maybe a song from their second album, Ten Cent Freaks, will help:

Many of their songs possess a rock intensity and focused songwriting that jazz is so very good at eschewing.  Jazz's most individual quality is improvisation, and Donkey never much bothered with extended solos, instead finding its drive from the vocals of founder T. B. Ferster, a voice more akin to Barenaked Ladies frontman Steven Page than a stereotypical crooner, the latter of which was a prized possession among Swing Revival bands.  As is the case with obscure groups the most interesting songs of theirs never make it to YouTube, so I can't play you one of their rockiest and most musically interesting songs, "Sweet Vermouth".  The one that immediately follows it, "Baby Mae", is of course fully available-

-and Ferster has slipped so much into Steven Page's singing voice I thought I was hearing "Brian Wilson" all over again.  The song also illuminates how well a horn section fits into a rock context, a lesson you'd think we already learned from Blood Sweat & Tears but we apparently forgot.  While every member of the band does click Donkey never really raised their voice, perhaps because of their nightclub gig but also due to a wisely laid-back persona reminiscent of the Grand Saturday Night.  This is probably the biggest factor that kept them from the big time - as well as the fact Slick Night Out was released on Georgia-based Steam Records, though I have no evidence they released anything other than this album.  The live recording lacks the booming presence and polish of a bells-and-whistles studio recording, and "Zoot Suit Riot" will always sound better on your car stereo because of equalized, overcranked levels.  Donkey seemed masters of the club stage, and while I'm glad their stuff was captured on disc ripping them from their small pond may have done more damage than good.  I also like that they weren't going for an artificial gloss like the other Swing Revival groups, rather stretching out into their own little groove - and that freedom ensures its relative timelessness, while Swing Revival may seem more and more embarrassing in the future.  Slick Night Out won't become your favorite album or change the way you look at rock, but it's a great CD for your next party and is a welcome alternative to the more dated 90's music that gained more fame in its time.  Take Donkey in slow and deep, like a fine single malt, and you'll do just fine.  And hey, what bar band do you know that got their own music video (before YouTube, of course)?

~PNK

Drop in the Bucket - Inflatable Boy Clams

While many rock groups remain obscure that doesn't mean info on them is difficult to find, and nearly any group you've never heard of has a fanbase waiting in the wings to tell you all about them.  Inflatable Boy Clams isn't one of those groups.  Their sole EP is a bizarre anomaly in rock music, akin to the Shaggs covering Siouxsie and the Banshee's "There's a Planet in My Kitchen", then playing it reverse.  I was considering swapping the "Post-Punk" tag for "Post-Music", and I haven't even played a single track for you yet.  Just listen to this:

I know what you're thinking, and the answer is yes*.  Writing about these guys is a unique challenge, and the only suggestion I have is to keep an open mind.  I can only assume the name is nonsense, and that trying to decode it will result in a nice long stay in a padded room with a Chinese finger trap for sleeves.  The best information I've been able to find is on this helpful site dedicated to the group's EP and unraveling their mystery.  It's actually a little shocking to see that people made this - I would have assumed it materialized from the Mongo Dimension.  The four women went on to play with other obscure San Francisco Post-Punk/New Wave groups like Voice Farm, The Pink Section and Longshoremen, but I have no idea how they formed, except to speculate upon back-room plots conducted in their private loonspeak.  I have a theory about what they're going for, but I'd like to play another track just to be sure:

The fansite includes a section called "Stories", and at the top Jojo Planteen, one of the members, wrote a poem about the group that includes the line "sounding like 10-year-olds."  The songs are all purposefully sloppy and seemingly improvised, and the singing and instrumental skills all point to a massive dose of "cute".  After I thought their Post-Punk credentials were dubious, it hit me that the album works best as the tape a bunch of 10-year-olds would make in imitation of their favorite Post-Punk band.  "I'm Sorry" infers a demented sense of humor akin to the bantering inside the piano in between bouts of music on Frank Zappa's album Lumpy Gravy.  This can't be seen as unintentional, Shaggs-style, because everybody involved is an adult, and from what I've gathered from stories about the band they considered it a goofball art project.  While "Skeletons" may have been borne out of Halloween memories, "I'm Sorry" seems to refer to the complaints and stories that fly around female friend circles, so analyzing the group as an airtight conceptual project is a lost cause.

The EP is one of those odd cases where I can't explain what it is or whether or not I like it, but now that I've experienced it I can't imagine a world without it.  It's a credit to democracy that something like this can exist, and I can imagine most listeners getting annoyed after 30 seconds (like I did with Cibo Matto**).  The fansite wasn't created by a hardcore fan, but rather by somebody like me - a curious listener who stumbled across the album not knowing what it was but in the mood to find out.  I'm glad they got in contact with some people involved with the group, as that can be a rare experience.  Inflatable Boy Clams shouldn't be viewed as anything more than an object unto itself, making a home outside of trends and fashions.  I'd be tempted to call it a brilliant piece of outsider art if I didn't know the members' pedigree.  If you don't like any of it I certainly can't stop you, and maybe that's what they wanted.  This whole article may have been a waste of time, but I certainly had fun speculating and any chance I can get to link to their songs is a good chance to me.

The only way to end the article is with the last song on the EP, "Snoteleks".  I'll let you guess what it sounds like before you listen.

~PNK

*Yes!

**PSST!  Don't tell anybody that I don't like Cibo Matto, they'll revoke my Music Critic license!  I'm not kidding!

Seks Bomba and the Art of Retro-Respect

Today’s band was one I first encountered about 10 years ago but hadn’t thought much of in some time. That is until I rediscovered their stuff on YouTube and eventually wandered over to their site. I then learned they originated in Allston, MA. Allston. The tiny sub-town in which I currently reside. The blogging was on.

A self-described “surf-spy-cocktail rock” group, Seks Bomba formed in 1996 as a quintet consisting of vocals/guitar, organ/flute, drums, guitar, and bass, their name coming from the only recognizable phrase in a Czech magazine frontman Chris Cote was leafing through. Their musical language can best be summed up by looking at the cover of their first album, Operation B.O.M.B.A.; all of the kinds of music you could expect to hear on the soundtrack to a post-Goldfinger 60’s spy movie. No decade has been more eulogized than the 60’s, from Mad Men to the hundreds of hippie throwback genres and here as what has usually been seen as the most disposable genres of their era. The genius of Bomba is their ability to take music meant to be ignored (lounge exotica, cartoon jazz, cheap spy suspense) and bring out all the best qualities of each one, causing the listener to wonder how they could have forgotten them in the first place. “Rum Holiday” is a great example of their craft; their musicianship is super tight, their songwriting is lovely and inventive, and they have a great deal of passion about each note. Some of these hooks I have a hard time getting out of my mind, especially the bridge section in Cmaj7 (at 1:52). And as much as I like their second album, Somewhere in this Town, is even better, featuring stuff like a great cover of “Charade” and the inescapable “5-0-5!!!”

Now I know what you’re thinking: isn’t this the same thing as what Pink Martini does, but with less singing? Well, yes, but firstly I don’t think there can only be one famous band for a possible niche, and Pink Martini didn’t get famous until Seks Bomba had already effectively quit. Both groups occupy an interesting subgenre that probably only could have arisen after the success of the Swing Revival of the 90’s with groups like Cherry Poppin’ Daddies, Royal Crown Revue and Big Bad Voodoo Daddy. And I’ll admit that Pink Martini have a bit more variety than Seks Bomba, but Bomba is special to me for nostalgia reasons (I listened to Somewhere to death in both Middle and High Schools), and I think they get a lot of memorability for a mostly instrumental group. They Bomba’d for the last time in 2005 with the release of their third album Thanks and Good Night, but all three albums are available for download on amazon.com and other DRM-ridden channels (and possibly under-the-table ways which I won’t link here). Their albums stand as a testament to respecting and glorifying the past rather than mocking it, the latter of which is all too prevalent these days. You can tell that they deeply love their supposed “disposable” music, and their high level of musicianship and songwriting prove their case. Pass the martinis and watch out for knife-shoes.

~PNK

"Alexander" and the Guttural Cough of Psychedelia

(I understand that this isn't the most factually accurate piece of writing I've done.  However, it was part of my initial burst of blogginating and I think it's pretty funny, errors notwithstanding.  There aren't too many of the older posts left anyways, so just hang tight and new material will be on its way :))

It had been dragged in the patchouli ditch, overstuffed by an uninvited foreign exchange war, and came up from the drink in a rented hangover costume two weeks behind in payments. It was 1969 and, though the American Industrial Music Conglomeriana wouldn’t admit it for the better part of a decade, the Psychedelic movement was pretty much over. As with all outgrowths of 60′s drug culture the original point had been lost and accessible and well-known headliner groups (such as the Doors) had catapulted what started as subterranean and murkily understood by its inventors into that ever-so-dangerous “clean-cut” realm. And at the peak of the buzz two groups attempted to take things up a level: Vanilla Fudge (now considered a seminal cross-genre band and very much worth investigating) and Alexander’s Timeless Bloozband.

I don’t know who Alexander is, or the contents of the Bloozband. I don’t want to know. It would diminish the magic. Careening wildly between a genuinely vervy psychedelic jazz blend (such as in the above Horn Song) and a Bouncing Betty in the form of back-of-the-basement blues revivalism, I’ve never heard a record capture a genre’s collective direction quite like this one. I can’t be sure if most of you will like every track you hear. That may be part of my point. Actually, this first track is probably the best, with a neat grove and harmony, and less boozy than most late psychedelia. However, many other tracks (all available for download on Amazon) smack of a different beast. And all are defined, alpha and omega, by Alexander.

I can’t imagine a better descriptor than “big floppy lawnflamethrower.”. His voice is a hairball expo on karaoke night, almost too lovely to behold. From what little information I was able to gather on the group they played venues all around SoCal in the late sixties. I’ve never heard of any of them (Greasy Slew Duck Club?!), so I can only assume they were flattened by Alexander’s visionary warble.

In a way this record is a testament to just how much the psychedelic movement owed to the blues. Perhaps if this record had sold better people would have latched onto this notion. I think a big part of why nobody did is a central conceit to the genre, in that most psychedelia is about as bluesy as the Beatles. One thing is for certain, though: Alexander was at least channelling the spirit of Screamin’ Jay Hawkins and every whiskey he ever played footsy with. He understood the Bloozband for what it was: a vehicle to let his wobbly soul dance. Perfection is out of the question.

I apologize for rambling, but maybe I was trying to skirt the real reason this record exists, and has to exist. It is the last genuine psychedelic blues statement of its time, and between the maybe-once-rehearsed ensemble effort, a recording quality that suggests a garage at the bottom of the Hudson, and the incomparable Alexander, we realized that it couldn’t go any other way. It’s both glorious and disarming. The glory is obvious, but the disarmament comes when the weight of the thing comes crashing to our shoulders. Did the gods bless this as a living funeral, or was Alexander really as clairvoyant as I hope he was? Was it planned from the start to mark the death of the psychedelic music in LP form? Is this what a death rattle plays on the guitar?

I see now why the Bloozband is Timeless. The gutteral cry of humanity’s search for answers in the face of oblivion can never be silenced. Alexander’s unique art merely made it timely.

~PNK