*Not Ready For Prime Time Class Struggle - John Water's "Cry Baby"- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a "YouTube" film clip from the movie,"Cry Baby", of the sultry, sexy, saucy song "Please, Mr. Jailer". Whee!



Cry Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby

DVD Review

Cry Baby, starring Johnny Depp, directed by John Waters, 1990



I would argue that the work of director John Waters and his Baltimore teen mania, circa 1955, type works are an acquired taste. And I have acquired the taste, having first gotten interested in his work through “Hairspray” that was revived on screen a couple of years ago. Of course, part of the draw is that the demographic territory that Waters surveys, circa 1955 teens, is very familiar turf to me. So when dear John spoofs a certain fashion, or a certain crowd, or a certain way of looking at things that were alienating to the average teen back then he is giving off signals that I am attuned to. And that is the key; to know what is being spoofed, because the music is easy, very easy to figure out, the fight to get rock and roll to "youth nation".

Of course, as is inevitable in a teen-based film, spoof or not, there is the central theme of sex. Here that theme centers on the orphan bad boy, Cry Baby played by Johnny Depp, who deep down inside really has a heart of gold matched up with an upscale orphan good girl, Amy Locane, who deep down inside want to be bad. No, that last phrase won’t work here, deep down wants to redeem Johnny-bad boy. Along the way to this inevitable happy-ending everything not nailed down gets spooked from 1950s suburban cookie cutter lifestyles to seemingly odd-ball teen fetishes like- French kissing and, oh no, the love of rock and roll. For my money the best spoof though, and it must have been hard to do with a straight face, are the musical performances of the quartet of pre-roll and rock teen singers(one of them, good/bad girl’s beau, for a while) doing the cutesy songs made famous by male groups like The Letterman that were squeaky clean but upon hearing sounded like scratching on a chalk board. And, incidentally, drove me to blues, rock, and folk music in nothing flat.

Note: I haven’t mentioned much about the performances here but for a long time now anything Johnny Depp appears in will get a look see, although it does not always turn out to be worthwhile. He has had a string of great roles, like in "Ed Wood", and some that it is better left unspoken like, "Sweeney Todd", but in this early film role (1990)as Cry Baby he gives a glimpse of why I will take a chance on any of his efforts. He does a beautiful parody of the James Dean/Elvis/Marlon Brando "rebel without a cause" style that the Cry Baby role calls for. Well done, Johnny.

The Birth Of Rock 'n' Roll

The Birth Of Rock 'n' Roll


One For The Money: The History Of Rock And Roll, Bill Haley and various artists, Intrepid, 2005



Over the past several months I have spend some time reviewing recording artist from my youth, the 1950’s, the youth of the Generation of ’68 that is now taking a certain political beating once again from those who cringe at the notion that we could have fundamentally changed the way we do the collective business of running this society. But that is a story for another day. What I want to do here is recommend this very nice DVD that in capsule form addresses all the issues, or at least all that I think are important, about the genesis of rock 'n' roll, its meaning for my post-World War II generation growing up in the 1950’s and how the forces of social reaction put, or tried to put, a cap on the natural rebelliousness of the original rock 'n' roll sound.

This documentary addresses affirmatively the issue of the roots of rock and roll as deriving from the blues and later in the early 1950’s rhythm and blues from the likes of Louis Jourdan and Big Joe Turner. It further pays, as it must, tribute to the early efforts of the likes of Sam Phillips and his Sun Record operation in Memphis and that of the Press Brothers Chess Records in Chicago to create breakout music with a distinctive sound that was not Frank Sinatra or Doris Day, the music of our parents’ generation. It also pays tribute to the promoters of rock like Alan Freedman who was a key in popularizing rock for the wider white audience that was necessary to make it a national and international phenomenon. Most importantly, this film documents the very conscious attempt by parents, religious and governmental figures abetted by the record industry to bring rock under control with the creation of the “teen idols” like Ricky Nelson Fabian, Bobby Vee, etc. at the end of the 1950’s. As I have pointed out elsewhere we had to go through that experience to really appreciate the difference when groups like The Rolling Stones hit the scene in the 1960’s. We were waiting to exhale, and none too soon.

Probably the most important reason to view this DVD though is to get, under one roof, a look at all the various performers who made up the original rock ensemble. Big Joe, Bill Haley, Elvis, Jerry Lee, Buddy, Bo Diddley, Chuck Berry and on and on. Like I say if you want a quick one hour overview of an important cultural phenomenon of our collective history this is the one for you. Then branch out to review the individual performers. Fifty years later a lot of this stuff still sounds good. And that is not just me saying that but young kids, desperate for a sound that jumps at them, that I have run into lately as well. Kudos.

*A Fragment Of A Fragment Of A Teenage Dream-In Honor Of "The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flaked Streamline Baby” World

Click on the headline to link to a " YouTube" film clip of "American Grafitti" to set the mood for the piece below.

Markin comment:

This is a little break from the overtly political wars, for a minute.


A Fragment Of A Fragment Of A Teenage Dream-In Honor Of Tom Wolfe's “The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flaked Streamline Baby.”

There was a madness in this country in the 1950s. No, not the hoary Cold War the- atomic-bomb-is-going-to-get-us-and-we-are-all-going-to-be-dead-next-week or “better dead than red” kind of madness although there was plenty of that around. Some people, mostly older, whom I knew along the way in my life, while I was doing one thing or another, got caught up in that dragnet, that “red scare” dragnet, and took a beating over it, sometimes a physically beating but definitely a beating of their psyche, with or without the physical part. All for the simple proposition, when you think about it, that working people, and the people I am talking about to a person were working people not the high-flown intellectuals who abandoned ship when things got too hot, that those who make the goods of this sad old world, I mean really make the stuff, should make the rules. I’ll tell you more on that some other time but today I want to about cars, just about cars, about guys crazy about them and the girls crazy about the guys crazy about them, and about what they meant, no, what they really meant back then.

Like I say there was a madness for the automobile, the sleeker, the more aerodynamically-refined, more powerfully-engined, especially the powerfully-engined part but also with a classy chassis, the better. Some people who ought to know, like wannabe “gonzo” journalist Tom Wolfe who got me started on this screed from an old article that I have used as part of the title here that he wrote in “Esquire” magazine in 1963 or a real “gonzo” journalist like Hunter Thompson, except it was motorcycles too, or maybe James Dean himself who knows, say the madness started even before then, the fifties that is, back at the tail end of the Second World War. Their idea is that there was so much money around, war boom production government dough, especially so much dough around for Depression-raised “no dough” kids that the kids, if you can believe this, started going after cars and, as kids will, taking the old-fashioned ones like Hudsons, Studebakers and old time Fords and “souping” them up. That is once cars started being produced again, instead of tanks, lots of tanks, in Detroit.

Not only that, according to the stories, the kids started to get a little whacky about it. Like spending all their time hammering down heavy chrome fender and bopping to get it just right, eternally , oil-drenched, grease-monkeyed engine-tweaking, forever high-end rear axle-lifting, and, don’t forget, applying rainbow color-coded flash-painting (and, maybe, decaling). And trying to look cool while doing it and…well, and trying to impress the be-bop, short shorts wearing, slinky, saucy, sultry (did I leave anything out) tweeny-teeny girls who just happened to be walking by.

And once you start trying to impress girls, or once you actually did impress them, then the only thing left was how you were going to feed them. I mean the girls not the cars, although come to think of it maybe I am thinking of the cars. Nah. Well, sure what else is a guy to do but run down to the ubiquitous now slice-of-nostalgic- Americana, save it for “American Graffiti” drive-in food shack, complete with short-skirted bunny hoppers waiting on you and your cravings natch. And then you were up against how you were going to excite them with all that power, car power that is, natch again, on those barely asphalt ,one lane, lonesome road Saturday night “chicken” runs out on the edge of the universe, at least it seemed like that on star-studded nights. So, the long and short of it is that a little cult kind of thing got going, or maybe it was just teenagers being teenagers. I don’t know but it sounds real good, doesn’t it.

Still I don’t really know about that story, good as it sounds, because it was suppose to be kind of a West Coast kid thing. Figures, right? You know, all those guys who couldn’t get close enough, or want to get close enough, to the water to be surfer guys, or just didn’t know what the heck “hanging ten” was all about, or didn’t care. Or, maybe, from another angle, because I have heard these kinds of stories too, just Southern good old boys running white liquor through the hollows and back roads of some woe begotten mountain valley beating hell out of the revenue agents. The easy part is beating those revenue guys but you need serious wheels to beat through muddy-encrusted back roads and hollows down Appalachia way and you had better have that big old V-8 “souped-up”, I don’t think a Super 6 would do it, to beat the band if you did not want to spent your sweet roll, high-kicking young life in some old jail, state or federal, take your pick. I am closer to the nut on that story seeing as my father came from there, down in those hollows and those winding roads and those mountain mists and breezes, but still it just ain’t my madness story.


Really, I want to tell you about what I know about the madness and so I have to go from the 1950s. Like I say I don’t know, first hand anyway, about those other locales, their ethos, their humors or their quirks. I just don’t. See I think, for one thing, that those guys telling those earlier stories are just piecing us off by making it a cult thing or a small sub-set of a subset of a cult, or maybe just trying to tell colorful stories to make up for that “red scare” stuff that doesn’t sound right about America. You know democracy and all that stuff while you are running people out of town on a rail for just talking “red talk”, or trying to.

Besides, this story wasn’t just about, deafeningly mad as they were, those guys in the now almost sepia-faded photographic images of tight T-shirt wearing, rolled sleeve cigarette-packed, greased Pompadour-haired, long side-burned, dangling-combed , engineer-booted, chain-wielding, side of the mouth butt-puffing , didn’t care if school kept or not types bent over the hood of some souped-up ’57 Chevy working, no sweating pools of sweat, sweating to get even more power out of that ferocious V-8 engine for the Saturday night “ chicken" run. No way, it wasn’t.

And it wasn’t even just those mad faux James Dean-sneered, "rebel without a cause"-posed, cooled-out, maybe hop-headed guys either. And it was always guys, who you swore you would beat down if they ever even looked at your sister, if you had a sister, and if you liked her enough to beat a guy down to defend her honor, or whatever drove your sense of right. And, of course she, your sister no less, is looking for all she is worth at this “James Dean” soda jerk (hey, what else could he be) because this guy is “cute”. Go figure, right? , Aw, maybe I don’t like her all that much anyway, and we all have to fend for ourselves when the deal goes down. Jesus, a monosyllabic (uh) soda jerk. Come on, sis.


No, and, by the way, forget all those stereotypes that they, the writers and film guys, like to roll out when they want to bring a little “color”, or tap into “baby-boomer” nostalgia, to the desperately color-craving 1950s. With their monotonous line-up of blond, slick-haired, California sun-drenched, devil may care, second generation “Okie” car jockeys. This car madness really was driven, driven hard, driven white-knuckled hard right to the edge, by East Coast non-blond, non-slick, non-“Okie” guys like Stu who lived down the end of my growing up street. Down the car-wreck-filled, oil-slick splashed, gas-fume-smelling dead-end of my run down old working class, edge of the working class getting poorer not richer, neighborhood ready for the bulldozer anytime street.

And Stu was the “king” there. If such a place could have a king he was it, no question, and nobody, not us kids anyway, questioned his lordship. Stu, kind of non-descript, pimply-faced, deceptively Saturday afternoon television wrestler overweight although we swore, or we would swear, that he was just big. Hands so permanently oil-stained, so deeply gritted, that no Borax could ever penetrate. Wearing some kind of grease-ladened denims to accompany those hands too, when denim meant Farmer Brown more than fashionista. Mussed–up hair unfurled at odd angles like maybe he had just enough time for a “bowl cut” from some younger brother or maybe his mother before he got back under the hood or under the body where he “breathed’ the rarefied air that kept him going. And always, always a “what the hell” smirk like he knew, and knew for certain, about the nature of the universe, as the smoke from his ever-present cigarette wrapped around in rings his (and your) head, and seemed to tell of new techniques learned and just a little more power gotten out of that old ’57 Chevy primo boss wagon that had all us neighborhood kids on the prowl for a ride (that we never ever got, but that’s a different story and you can figure out why after what I tell you next).

Ya, but that is not all, no, not by a long shot. Here is where you got to figure something is awry in the universe, or at least you’ve got to think of that possibility. “Stew-ball” Stu (that’s what we called him, although not to his face, for there was always the faint smell, and sometimes not so faint, of liquor, hard liquor like whiskey or scotch or who knows, maybe, Southern Comfort, it was cheap enough then, coming out of that tobacco-infested mouth of his) always had “babes” around. Hell, there were always a ton of them fussing over him and I swear I am not exaggerating because I would have been happy, very happy, to have one of his cast-offs, if I had been just a little older, and a lot wiser. And these were not just some old mirror-image Stu babes. These girls were “hot”, 1950s “hot”, ya, but still hot. A more mysterious, secretive, selective, “I wonder what she really looks like underneath” hot than today when you know, and know for certain, who is hot without having to ask that question.

I can still picture those oceans of flowing hair, that sea of tight jeans and stretch pants and those cashmere sweaters and who knows what else underneath, and what do I know what else, or care, because all I know is that to a supposedly oblivious young buck that I still was back then they smelled nice and a boy/man can dream, can’t he? And high school dropout, couldn’t care if school kept or not, getting grease all over him, and maybe all over them Stu just kind of ignoring them. Ignoring them! Can you beat that?

Ya, but see here is what I didn’t know. I didn’t know about the late night beach Stu. The Stu watching the “submarine” races down by the now tepid ocean shore, with the waves apologizing to the beach sand for splashing it, with some quick choice girl. And they, the girls that is, were standing to line, just to get in line. And who is to say, and at least who am I too say, that they were wrong. It was a ’57 Chevy, after all. Did you hear me? I said it was a ’57 Chevy that had all the girls trembling like Stu was Elvis or something. But here is what burns me up even today. Those girls weren’t interested, weren’t interested in the least, in what old Stu had read lately, or whether he even read anything at all, like I tried to use as my calling card back then to wow the girls, unsuccessfully. Hell, and you wonder why I speak of madness. Let me out of this place.

* You Can’t Go Home Again- The Midlife Crisis Of One Duane Jackson- Larry McMurtry’s "Texasville"- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of the movie trailer for Texasville.

DVD Review

Texasville, Jeff Bridges, Cybil Sheppard, Timothy Bottoms, directed by Peter Bogdanovich, 1990

There is no question in my mind, at least, that Larry McMurtry’s The Last Picture Show is a great post-World War II (about 1952), boom/bust oil patch Texas, but could have been a lot of places, 1950s places, coming-of-age story. Director Peter Bogdanovitch 1971 production, (with McMurtry writing the screenplay) stayed fairly close to the story line of the book and produced a great film out of the tangled teen relationships of three dust-blown, one-horse (and one movie theater), small-town Texas youngsters, Duane, Sonny and Jacy. I have watched that film several times over the last forty years and have not changed my mind in that regard; if anything I like it better these days.

Fast forward thirty years (thirty story-line years that is, about 1984) and take the same characters, the same writer, the same producer and the same actors (mainly) and make it a film about mid-life crisis (or crises) and the premises fall somewhat flat. It is not the acting. Jeff Bridges is well, Jeff Bridges, born for these Texas-type roles (witness Oscar-winning Bad Blake- Duane Jackson at 57). Cybil Sheppard (Jacy), although showing her age a bit and not the "hot" femme fatale teen of Last Picture is still okay. Timothy Bottom (Sonny) has definitely wilted. But like I say it is not the acting. Nor is it the writing, this is still based on good McMurtry material (unlike the seemingly endlessly contrived later parts of the Duane saga). Nor is it Bogdanovich who evokes 1980s boom-bust (some things don’t change) Texas well enough. Let’s just chalk it up to a preference for the black-and-white, dust bowl grit film footage of small-town Texas over color; a preference for the bite of original stories over sequels; and, most importantly, for distant coming-of-age stories over nearer mid-life crisis. If you can believe this I would rather now watch distant teen trauma (although I would not want to relive it, most of it anyhow) over more recent and symptomatic mid-life crisis. That story is “old.”

*Why Must I Be A Teenager…- “Rebel Without A Cause”- A Film Review

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film of the movie trailer for Rebel Without A Cause.

DVD Review

Rebel Without A Cause, starring James Dean, Natalie Wood, Sal Mineo, directed by Nicholas Ray, 1955

One does not have to a consummate academic historian of the modern bourgeois family (since the 1700s), like the late Professor Lawrence Stone, to realize that being a teenager, of any class and in any period in the modern era, is fraught with terror, danger, loneliness, and maddening experiences (and those are the "good" teenage days) as one tries to cope with a world that one has not made, or been asked about making. While the locus of teen angst and alienation issues shift over time, and as a general proposition seems to me to have gotten more baffling in the modern hi-tech world, they tend to follow that above-mentioned pattern. Except that the rich and the middle class have more resources than the working class and poor to “cushion” the blows.

And that last statement kind of sums up the film under review, Rebel Without A Cause. The troubles of one deeply alienated, tongue-tied, slightly oedipal, middle class teen, Jim Stark (played by "live fast, die young and make a good corpse", short film-careered, hard-living, hard-driving, and I don’t mean just automobiles, but eternally worshipped “heartthrob”, James Dean), his wanna-be girl, Judy, nice, middle class, girl gone slightly wrong, ever so slightly incest-driven (played by Natalie Wood), and his wanna-be friend the slightly trigger-happy, family-abandoned forever “lost” boy, Plato, (played to a tee by Sal Mineo) seem minor compared to today’s mass assault on teen sensibility.

The film nevertheless disclosed in its own way the attempt to gather in the youth tribe (or, rather tribes, old Jim seems to have made a few "bad boy" enemies from another "tribe,"including one played by a very young Dennis Hopper) as our hero, Jim, tries to assert his manhood, his personhood, and his "style" in a post-World War II up- and-coming "little boxes" bourgeois community (California "little boxes", of course) that just wants to everybody, including said wayward teens to make “nice.” Making nice meaning, in those days, keeping your eyes straight forward with blinkers on, not stepping out of line, or else, and please, please don't say anything political that would offend anyone to the left of father "Ike". Actualy don't say anything political at all, as it turned out. Rumblefish, The Flatlanders or any of S.E. Hinton’s master works this is not, but as a slice, a thin slice, of dealing with the complexities of teen angst, and how adult writers and filmmakers think that it plays out as a reflection of their society at a particular period, it is worth a watch.

*The Last Waltz- The Never-Ending Review Tour-Coming Of Age, Period- Oldies But Goodies-And Good Night All

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of The Shangri-las performing The Leader Of The Pack. Wow!

CD Review

Oldies But Goodies, Volume Fifteen, Original Sound Record Co., 1990

Note: The term “last waltz” used in the headline is used here as a simple expression of the truth. Just when I thought I had completed this “Oldies But Goodies” series at Volume Ten I now find that this is a fifteen, fifteen count ‘em, volume series. Therefore I am whipping off these last five in one day and be done with it. After all how much can we rekindle, endlessly rekindle, memories from a relatively short, if important, part of our lives, even for those who lived and died by the songs (or some of the songs) in these compilations. How many times can one read about wallflowers, sighs, certain shes (or hes), the moonlight of high school dances (if there was any) and hanging around to the bitter end for that last dance of the night to prove... what. Bastante! Enough!

******
I have been doing a series of commentaries elsewhere on another site on my coming of political age in the early 1960s, but here when I am writing about musical influences I am just speaking of my coming of age, period, which was not necessarily the same thing. No question that those of us who came of age in the 1950s are truly children of rock and roll. We were there, whether we appreciated it or not at the time, when the first, sputtering, musical moves away from ballady Broadway show tunes and rhymey Tin Pan Alley pieces hit the radio airwaves. (If you do not know what a radio is then ask your parents or, ouch, grandparents, please.) And, most importantly, we were there when the music moved away from any and all music that your parents might have approved of, or maybe, even liked, or, hopefully, at least left you alone to play in peace up in your room when rock and roll hit post- World War II America teenagers like, well, like an atomic bomb.

Not all of the material put forth was good, nor was all of it destined to be playable fifty or sixty years later on some “greatest hits” compilation but some of songs had enough chordal energy, lyrical sense, and sheer danceability to make any Jack or Jill jump then, or now. And, here is the good part, especially for painfully shy guys like me, or those who, like me as well, had two left feet on the dance floor. You didn’t need to dance toe to toe, close to close, with that certain she (or he for shes). Just be alive…uh, hip to the music. Otherwise you might become the dreaded wallflower. But that fear, the fear of fears that haunted many a teenage dream then, is a story for another day. Let’s just leave it at this for now. Ah, to be very, very young then was very heaven.


But what about the now, seeming mandatory to ask, inevitable end of the night high school dance (or maybe even middle school) song that seems to be included in each CD compilation? The song that you, maybe, waited around all night for just to prove that you were not a wallflower, and more importantly, had the moxie to, mumbly-voiced, parched-throated, sweaty-handed, asked a girl to dance (women can relate their own experiences, probably similar). Here the Dionne Warwick’s Walk On By fills the bill. Hey, I did like this one, especially the soulful, snappy timing and voice intonation. And, yes, I know, this is one of the slow ones that you had to dance close on. And just hope, hope to high heaven, that you didn’t destroy your partner’s shoes and feet. Well, one learns a few social skills in this world if for no other reason that to “impress” that certain she (or he for shes, or nowadays, just mix and match your preferences) mentioned above. I did, didn’t you?

****************

Leader Of The Pack Lyrics

[Spoken:]
Is she really going out with him?
Well, there she is. Let's ask her.
Betty, is that Jimmy's ring you're wearing?
Mm-hmm
Gee, it must be great riding with him
Is he picking you up after school today?
Uh-uh
By the way, where'd you meet him?

I met him at the candy store
He turned around and smiled at me
You get the picture? (yes, we see)
That's when I fell for (the leader of the pack)

My folks were always putting him down (down, down)
They said he came from the wrong side of town
(whatcha mean when ya say that he came from the wrong side of town?)
They told me he was bad
But I knew he was sad
That's why I fell for (the leader of the pack)

One day my dad said, "Find someone new"
I had to tell my Jimmy we're through
(whatcha mean when ya say that ya better go find somebody new?)
He stood there and asked me why
But all I could do was cry
I'm sorry I hurt you (the leader of the pack)

[Spoken:]
He sort of smiled and kissed me goodbye
The tears were beginning to show
As he drove away on that rainy night
I begged him to go slow
But whether he heard, I'll never know

Look out! Look out! Look out! Look out!

I felt so helpless, what could I do?
Remembering all the things we'd been through
In school they all stop and stare
I can't hide the tears, but I don't care
I'll never forget him (the leader of the pack)

The leader of the pack - now he's gone
The leader of the pack - now he's gone
The leader of the pack - now he's gone
The leader of the pack - now he's gone
[Fade]

*The Last Waltz- The Never-Ending Review Tour-Coming Of Age, Period- Oldies But Goodies-Yet Again

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Bill Haley and the Comets performing their classic Rock Around The Clock.

CD Review

Oldies But Goodies, Volume Fourteen, Original Sound Record Co., 1990

Note: The term “last waltz” used in the headline is used here as a simple expression of the truth. Just when I thought I had completed this “Oldies But Goodies” series at Volume Ten I now find that this is a fifteen, fifteen count ‘em, volume series. Therefore I am whipping off these last five in one day and be done with it. After all how much can we rekindle, endlessly rekindle, memories from a relatively short, if important, part of our lives, even for those who lived and died by the songs (or some of the songs) in these compilations. How many times can one read about wallflowers, sighs, certain shes (or hes), the moonlight of high school dances (if there was any) and hanging around to the bitter end for that last dance of the night to prove... what. Bastante! Enough!

******
I have been doing a series of commentaries elsewhere on another site on my coming of political age in the early 1960s, but here when I am writing about musical influences I am just speaking of my coming of age, period, which was not necessarily the same thing. No question that those of us who came of age in the 1950s are truly children of rock and roll. We were there, whether we appreciated it or not at the time, when the first, sputtering, musical moves away from ballady Broadway show tunes and rhymey Tin Pan Alley pieces hit the radio airwaves. (If you do not know what a radio is then ask your parents or, ouch, grandparents, please.) And, most importantly, we were there when the music moved away from any and all music that your parents might have approved of, or maybe, even liked, or, hopefully, at least left you alone to play in peace up in your room when rock and roll hit post- World War II America teenagers like, well, like an atomic bomb.

Not all of the material put forth was good, nor was all of it destined to be playable fifty or sixty years later on some “greatest hits” compilation but some of songs had enough chordal energy, lyrical sense, and sheer danceability to make any Jack or Jill jump then, or now. And, here is the good part, especially for painfully shy guys like me, or those who, like me as well, had two left feet on the dance floor. You didn’t need to dance toe to toe, close to close, with that certain she (or he for shes). Just be alive…uh, hip to the music. Otherwise you might become the dreaded wallflower. But that fear, the fear of fears that haunted many a teenage dream then, is a story for another day. Let’s just leave it at this for now. Ah, to be very, very young then was very heaven.

But what about the now, seeming mandatory to ask, inevitable end of the night high school dance (or maybe even middle school) song that seems to be included in each CD compilation? The song that you, maybe, waited around all night for just to prove that you were not a wallflower, and more importantly, had the moxie to, mumbly-voiced, parched-throated, sweaty-handed, asked a girl to dance (women can relate their own experiences, probably similar). Here the classic Brenda Lee weepy tune I’m Sorry fills the bill. Hey, I did like this one, especially the soulful timing. And, yes, I know, this is one of the slow ones that you had to dance close on. And just hope, hope to high heaven, that you didn’t destroy your partner’s shoes and feet. Well, one learns a few social skills in this world if for no other reason that to “impress” that certain she (or he for shes, or nowadays, just mix and match your preferences) mentioned above. I did, didn’t you?

*******

Rock Around The Clock-Song Lyrics from Bill Haley

One, two, three o'clock, four o'clock, rock,
Five, six, seven o'clock, eight o'clock, rock,
Nine, ten, eleven o'clock, twelve o'clock, rock,
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight.

Put your glad rags on and join me, hon,
We'll have some fun when the clock strikes one,
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight,
We're gonna rock, rock, rock, 'til broad daylight.
We're gonna rock, gonna rock, around the clock tonight.

When the clock strikes two, three and four,
If the band slows down we'll yell for more,
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight,
We're gonna rock, rock, rock, 'til broad daylight.
We're gonna rock, gonna rock, around the clock tonight.

When the chimes ring five, six and seven,
We'll be right in seventh heaven.
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight,
We're gonna rock, rock, rock, 'til broad daylight.
We're gonna rock, gonna rock, around the clock tonight.

When it's eight, nine, ten, eleven too,
I'll be goin' strong and so will you.
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight,
We're gonna rock, rock, rock, 'til broad daylight.
We're gonna rock, gonna rock, around the clock tonight.

When the clock strikes twelve, we'll cool off then,
Start a rockin' round the clock again.
We're gonna rock around the clock tonight,
We're gonna rock, rock, rock, 'til broad daylight.
We're gonna rock, gonna rock, around the clock tonight.

*The Last Waltz- The Never-Ending Review Tour-Coming Of Age, Period- Oldies But Goodies- An Encore

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Aretha Franklin performing her classic Chain Of Fools.

CD Review

Oldies But Goodies, Volume Thirteen, Original Sound Record Co., 1993

Note: The term “last waltz” used in the headline is used here as a simple expression of the truth. Just when I thought I had completed this “Oldies But Goodies” series at Volume Ten I now find that this is a fifteen, fifteen count ‘em, volume series. Therefore I am whipping off these last five in one day and be done with it. After all how much can we rekindle, endlessly rekindle, memories from a relatively short, if important, part of our lives, even for those who lived and died by the songs (or some of the songs) in these compilations. How many times can one read about wallflowers, sighs, certain shes (or hes), the moonlight of high school dances (if there was any) and hanging around to the bitter end for that last dance of the night to prove... what. Bastante! Enough!

******
I have been doing a series of commentaries elsewhere on another site on my coming of political age in the early 1960s, but here when I am writing about musical influences I am just speaking of my coming of age, period, which was not necessarily the same thing. No question that those of us who came of age in the 1950s are truly children of rock and roll. We were there, whether we appreciated it or not at the time, when the first, sputtering, musical moves away from ballady Broadway show tunes and rhymey Tin Pan Alley pieces hit the radio airwaves. (If you do not know what a radio is then ask your parents or, ouch, grandparents, please.) And, most importantly, we were there when the music moved away from any and all music that your parents might have approved of, or maybe, even liked, or, hopefully, at least left you alone to play in peace up in your room when rock and roll hit post- World War II America teenagers like, well, like an atomic bomb.

Not all of the material put forth was good, nor was all of it destined to be playable fifty or sixty years later on some “greatest hits” compilation but some of songs had enough chordal energy, lyrical sense, and sheer danceability to make any Jack or Jill jump then, or now. And, here is the good part, especially for painfully shy guys like me, or those who, like me as well, had two left feet on the dance floor. You didn’t need to dance toe to toe, close to close, with that certain she (or he for shes). Just be alive…uh, hip to the music. Otherwise you might become the dreaded wallflower. But that fear, the fear of fears that haunted many a teenage dream then, is a story for another day. Let’s just leave it at this for now. Ah, to be very, very young then was very heaven.


But what about the now, seeming mandatory to ask, inevitable end of the night high school dance (or maybe even middle school) song that seems to be included in each CD compilation? The song that you, maybe, waited around all night for just to prove that you were not a wallflower, and more importantly, had the moxie to, mumbly-voiced, parched-throated, sweaty-handed, asked a girl to dance (women can relate their own experiences, probably similar). Here the classic There Goes My Baby fills the bill. Hey, I did like this one, especially the soulful timing. And, yes, I know, this is one of the slow ones that you had to dance close on. And just hope, hope to high heaven, that you didn’t destroy your partner’s shoes and feet. Well, one learns a few social skills in this world if for no other reason that to “impress” that certain she (or he for shes, or nowadays, just mix and match your preferences) mentioned above. I did, didn’t you?

**********

Aretha Franklin - Chain Of Fools lyrics

Chain, chain, chain, chain, chain, chain
Chain, chain, chain, chain of fools
Five long years I thought you were my man
But I found out I'm just a link in your chain
You got me where you want me
I ain't nothing but your fool
You treated me mean oh you treated me cruel
Chain, chain, chain, chain of fools

Every chain has got a weak link
I might be weak child, but I'll give you strength
You told me to leave you alone
My father said come on home
My doctor said take it easy
Whole bunch of lovin is much too strong
I'm added to your chain, chain, chain
Chain, chain, chain, chain,
Chain, chain of fools

One of these mornings the chain is gonna break
But up until then, yeah, I'm gonna take all I can take
Chain, chain, chain, chain, chain, chain
Chain, chain, chain, chain of fools

*The Last Waltz- The Never-Ending Review Tour-Coming Of Age, Period- Oldies But Goodies

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of the Dixie Cups performing the classic Chapel Of Love.

CD Review

Oldies But Goodies, Volume Eleven, Original Sound Record Co., 1986

Note: The term “last waltz” used in the headline is used here as a simple expression of the truth. Just when I thought I had completed this “Oldies But Goodies” series at Volume Ten I now find that this is a fifteen, fifteen count ‘em, volume series. Therefore I am whipping off these last five in one day and be done with it. After all how much can we rekindle, endlessly rekindle, memories from a relatively short, if important, part of our lives, even for those who lived and died by the songs (or some of the songs) in these compilations. How many times can one read about wallflowers, sighs, certain shes (or hes), the moonlight of high school dances (if there was any) and hanging around to the bitter end for that last dance of the night to prove... what. Bastante! Enough!

******
I have been doing a series of commentaries elsewhere on another site on my coming of political age in the early 1960s, but here when I am writing about musical influences I am just speaking of my coming of age, period, which was not necessarily the same thing. No question that those of us who came of age in the 1950s are truly children of rock and roll. We were there, whether we appreciated it or not at the time, when the first, sputtering, musical moves away from ballady Broadway show tunes and rhymey Tin Pan Alley pieces hit the radio airwaves. (If you do not know what a radio is then ask your parents or, ouch, grandparents, please.) And, most importantly, we were there when the music moved away from any and all music that your parents might have approved of, or maybe, even liked, or, hopefully, at least left you alone to play in peace up in your room when rock and roll hit post- World War II America teenagers like, well, like an atomic bomb.

Not all of the material put forth was good, nor was all of it destined to be playable fifty or sixty years later on some “greatest hits” compilation but some of songs had enough chordal energy, lyrical sense, and sheer danceability to make any Jack or Jill jump then, or now. And, here is the good part, especially for painfully shy guys like me, or those who, like me as well, had two left feet on the dance floor. You didn’t need to dance toe to toe, close to close, with that certain she (or he for shes). Just be alive…uh, hip to the music. Otherwise you might become the dreaded wallflower. But that fear, the fear of fears that haunted many a teenage dream then, is a story for another day. Let’s just leave it at this for now. Ah, to be very, very young then was very heaven.

So what still sounds good on this CD compilation to a current AARPer, and perhaps to some of his fellows who comprise the demographic that such a 1950s-oriented compilation “speaks” to. Of course, the Maurice Evans click-clack Little Darlin’. The Kingmen’s early rock anthem Louie, Louie. The knife-twisty My Boyfriend’s Back. Naturally, in a period of classic rock numbers, The Everly Brothers When Will I Be Loved? (and about half a dozen of their songs).

But what about the now, seeming mandatory to ask, inevitable end of the night high school dance (or maybe even middle school) song that seems to be included in each CD compilation? The song that you, maybe, waited around all night for just to prove that you were not a wallflower, and more importantly, had the moxie to, mumbly-voiced, parched-throated, sweaty-handed, asked a girl to dance (women can relate their own experiences, probably similar). Here the classic Dixie Cups tune, Chapel Of Love, fills the bill. Hey, I did like this one, especially the harmonies (by the way they stopped the show at the Newport Folk Festival about 15 years with that beauty). And, yes, I know, this is one of the slow ones that you had to dance close on. And just hope, hope to high heaven, that you didn’t destroy your partner’s shoes and feet. Well, one learns a few social skills in this world if for no other reason that to “impress” that certain she (or he for shes, or nowadays, just mix and match your preferences) mentioned above. I did, didn’t you?

**********

Chapel Of Love Lyrics

Goin' to the chapel
And we're gonna get ma-a-arried
Goin' to the chapel
And we're gonna get ma-a-arried
Gee, I really love you
And we're gonna get ma-a-arried
Goin' to the chapel of love

Spring is here, th-e-e sky is blue, whoa-oh-oh
Birds all sing as if they knew
Today's the day we'll say "I do"
And we'll never be lonely anymore because we're

Goin' to the chapel
And we're gonna get ma-a-arried
Goin' to the chapel
And we're gonna get ma-a-arried
Gee, I really love you
And we're gonna get ma-a-arried
Goin' to the chapel of love

Bells will ring, the-e-e sun will shine, whoa-oh-oh
I'll be his and he'll be mine
We'll love until the end of time
And we'll never be lonely anymore because we're

Goin' to the chapel
And we're gonna get ma-a-arried
Goin' to the chapel
And we're gonna get ma-a-arried
Gee, I really love you
And we're gonna get ma-a-arried
Goin' to the chapel of love

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Goin' to the chapel of love
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
FADE
Goin' to

*Not Ready For Prime Time Class Struggle-In The Time Of The 1960s Great Teenage Breakout- "Hairspray" - A Film Review

Click on the title to link to a "YouTube" of one of the songs from "Hairspray", "You Can't Stop The Beat".

DVD Review

Hairspray, starring John Travolta, Christopher Walkens, Michelle Pffeifer, directed by John Waters, 2007

If I were reviewing this off-beat musical comedy from a political perspective I would have to classify this film about the virtues of show tunes as a tool for racial harmony in early 1960s Baltimore, before the out-front racial polarization of the city was exposed to the world and Spiro Agnew hit the scene, as an integrationist’s daydream, and a segregationist’s nightmare. And at that political level the theme just doesn’t work, although the sub-theme about accepting differences (racial, ethnic, gender, size) has a certain appeal. But all of this is to take this sweet fluff of a film way beyond those rationale political parameters.

What does work? Well, a nice little odd-ball, not exactly cookie-cutter American family, circa 1960, with some big dreams and some big women get to play center stage in the quest for the American dream, or one of the early 1960s variant of it- stardom in the music and/or television world. The current “American Idol” is only the latest in a long line of such efforts. Here the plot revolves around becoming “top dog” on one of the old after school dance shows that were a staple of 1950s-early 1960s television to keep restless kids under control for a few hours until dad got home. To that extent the plot is just a ruse for some great songs about those above-mentioned social differences and how to deal with those differences in a quirky and dreamy interracial way.

The real kicker here though are the performances of John Travolta (yes, that John Travolta) as the over-sized mother, Edna, who can still dance up a storm, the usually bad guy-playing Christopher Walken as the supportive and skinny dad, Wilbur, and normally good girl, and always femme fatale Michelle Pffeifer, as the plotting television station manager makes this thing appealing to a non-teenager. And, of course Queen Latifah being, well…. Queen Latifah. The high school kids led by Wilbur and Edna's daughter Tracy (Nikki Blonsky), black and white, good or bad, sweet or vicious are just there to glue this thing together. Watch this couple of hours of an integrationist’s daydream.


Hairspray Cast - Come So Far (Got So Far To Go) Lyrics

QUEEN LATIFAH
Hey old friend, let's look back
On the crazy clothes we wore

Elijah Kelly
Ain't it fun to look back
And to see it's all been done before

ZAC EFRON
All those nights together
Are a special memory

NIKKI BLONSKY
And I can't wait for tomorrow
Just as long as you're
dancing next to me

EVERYONE
Cause it's so clear
Every year
We get stronger

ZAC EFRON
What's gone is gone

ELIJAH KELLEY
The past is the past

NIKKI BLONSKY
Turn the radio up

QUEEN LATIFAH
And then hit the gas
Cause . . .

EVERYONE
I know we've Come So Far
But we've Got So Far To Go
I know the road seems long
But it won't be long till it's time to go
So, most days we'll take it fast
And some nights lets we'll it slow
I know we've Come So Far
But baby, baby
We've Got So Far To Go

ZAC EFRON
Hey old friend, together
Side by side and year by year

NIKKI BLONSKY
The road was filled with twists
and turns
Oh but that's the road that
got us here

QUEEN LATIFAH
Let's move past the bad times
But before those memories fade

ELIJAH KELLEY
Let's forgive but not forget
And learn from all the mistakes we made

EVERYONE
Cause it's so clear
Every year
We get stronger
So don't give up
And don't say when
And just get back on the road again
Cause . . .
I know we've Come So Far
But we've Got So Far To Go
I know the road seems long
But it won't be long till it's
time to go
So, most days we'll take it fast
And some nights we'll take it slow
I know we've Come So Far
but baby, baby
We've Got So Far To Go
Hey old friend come along for the ride
There's plenty of room so jump inside
The highway's rocky every now and then
But it so much better than
where I've been
Just keep movin, at your own speed
Your heart is all the compass
you'll ever need
Let's keep cruisin the road we're on
Cause the rear view mirror only shows
what's gone, gone, gone
Got so far to go
Oh its so clear

ELIJAH KELLEY
Every year
We get stronger

EVERYONE
So shine that light
Take my hand
And let's dance into the promised land
Cause . . .
I know we've Come So Far
But we've Got So Far To Go
I know the road seems long
But it won't be long till it's
time to go
So, most days we'll take it fast
And some nights we'll take it slow
I know we've Come So Far
but baby, baby
We've Got So Far To Go

[Thanks to Lance Evans for lyrics]

[Thanks to Karina, Demetre Lindsey, Angelica for corrections

*A Mixed Bag Musical Potpourri-Jazz, Blues, Gospel, Rock And Rockabilly-Rock Around The Clock With Decca Records

Click On Title To Link To An Encore YouTube Film Clip Of The Shirelles Doing "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?". What Can I Say, This Is A Great Song Of Teen Longing And Love, Circa The 1950's.

Rock Around The Clock, Okay?

Rock Around The Clock; The Decca Rock ‘N’ Roll Collection, two disc set, various artists, MCA Records, 1994

Certain record labels are associated with various genres. Chess Records with that Chicago blues sound. Motown with "soul”. Vanguard with folk. Sun with early hard rock and rockabilly. And so on. From what I have been told and have read there is a thriving market in collecting specific record labels. Fine. What interests me here is the Decca label. In the fight to survive in the cutthroat and quirky music business various record production companies searched for talent that would sell. In the 1950’s in the early struggle to grab the rock ‘n’ roll market Decca was right up there with Sun and later RCA in the hunt to grab that market.

This collection, uneven as it is, represents the winners and losers from that fight. Not all compilations are born equal but at least classifying by record label let’s one discover what one company though was saleable at any given time. And some of the material here represents the classics of early rock as it came out of R&B, swing, country and western and the million other influences that swirled around at the time. So in one place you get Bill Halley, Louis Jordan, Patsy Cline, Buddy Holly, Jackie Wilson, the Shirelles and a host of other legitimate rock hall of famers, or at those who belong in some hall of fame. Then you get the likes of Red Foley, Bill Riley (doing “Is That All To The Ball”), Jimmy and Johnny (doing the entirely forgettable “Sweet Love On My Mind”). Give me a break, please! However, on balance this is a nice little slice of rock history for rock buffs and label collectors alike.


Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow Lyrics

Tonight you're mine completely,
You give your love so sweetly,
Tonight the light of love is in your eyes,
But will you love me tomorrow?

Is this a lasting treasure,
Or just a moment's pleasure,
Can I believe the magic of your sighs,
Will you still love me tomorrow?

Tonight with words unspoken,
You said that I'm the only one,
But will my heart be broken,
When the night (When the night)
Meets the morning sun.

I'd like to know that your love,
Is love I can be sure of,
So tell me now and I won't ask again,
Will you still love me tomorrow?
Will you still love me tomorrow?