Rudi Protrudi "Unfuzzed Live"

GUEST REVIEW: GENTLEMAN JOHN BATTLES

(Hound Gawd, Germany , 2014) I, half-jokingly, told the label that founding Fuzztone, Rudi Protrudi, should play at next year's Bluesfest in Chicago. But, then again, why shouldn't he? Just because he doesn't do 1930's work songs like "Mustang Sally" or primitive Urban Blues, like "Red House?” As Blues Historians agree, if you don't have a ten-minute version of "Sweet Home Chicago" in your set list, you can't be a proper Bluesman. Please. These are the same people who complained after Screamin' Jay Hawkins gave the performance of a lifetime, closing, and setting fire to, the Blues Fest  So, yeah, if you thought John Lee Hooker couldn’t cut it without Bonnie Raitt or Carlos Santana riding shotgun, or that Hound Dog Taylor is the guy who makes those adorable outfits people humiliate their dogs with, then, this probably isn’t for you. Rudi makes no pretension of trying to steal the pure Blues thunder from those who own it, Eric Clapton, Buddy Guy, Robert Cray...Rudi's offers this side project for the same reason he recorded Murder Country classics as Tujunga County's answer to T. Tex Edwards and Iggy Yoakum: because he loves the music, and can bring something new to the table. Keeping it stripped down and to the point probably won't get Rudi booked on too many Blues cruises, but, I think that's a chance he's willing to take...This is neither a Garage Band that made the jump to The Blues (Dirty Wurds , e.g.), nor a cash-in on "The Punk-Blues Explosion" that left Msr. Jeffrey Evans holding the bag. I'm reminded more of the underrated Sky Saxon Blues Band album, right down to the "Seedy" keyboard sound. You will hear a more than credible "Hoochie Coochi Man,” but not the savage, knife-wielding, kicking and gouging, roadhouse staple, "Stormy Monday.".You won't hear John Lee Hooker's "I'm Bad Like Jesse James" sounding any more sinister than you will, here, either, but, then again, if John Lee had attempted to perform the song, himself, at the Blues Fest, they probably would have docked his pay...The sinister, overtly sexual nature of the Blues is a dish best served with a hint of subtlety. Rudi doesn’t have to get his nut on the first number. He can take his time if you can. It's not overly rocked up, nor overtly camped out.  In the noble tradition of White Guys Who Can Work a Good Blues Without Trying to Sound Black (Mose Allison, Keith Relf, Peter Green, Rockin' Johnny, et al.), Protrudi knows the mojo and the hoodoo and the voolah are all subliminal...Because it is in your mind. Check out your mind, or, leave it at home.

Gonn "Gonn 45-Fully Loaded"

 
GUEST REVIEW BY GENTLEMAN JOHN BATTLES

(YTY Records, 2012) Gonn is revered, rightfully so, for recording one of the all-time 6s Punk screamers, "Blackout of Gretely,” now one of THEE most coveted garage rarities The logical follow-up single, ''Doin' Me in,” is an even bigger rarity, because it wasn’t even released at the time. CRIME!  But, "Doin' Me In,” "Blackout,” and Gonn's entire back catalogue, have been available, via reissues, for years.  In The 90s, the band reformed, all guns blazing, and put out a great reunion LP, plus some singles . They've toured Germany, Switzerland and select dates in the Midwest, as well as co-headlining with ? and The Mysterians at The Fuzz Fest in Atlanta. Those who've seen them, know. Gonn is the yardstick by which other reformed Garage bands must judge themselves.  Alas, I've never seen them. But, I can still safely say, they've raised the bar, here's your proof...This album contains some of the dirtiest, nastiest, all middle fingers out, mid-60s driven raunch available without a prescription.  With nods to Psych, Frat Rock, and key British Invasion influences, the three chord, shredding vocals, savage guitars, hair-singeing keyboards, pummeling beats and mind-numbing bass attack, are all intact, and that's a fact. They pay homage to The Animals ("Newcastle Blues" and a strong workout on "We Gotta Get Out of This Place"), The Yardbirds, Paul Revere and The Raiders (sometimes sounding like The Raiders having a Rave-Up with The Yardbirds), "Louie, Louie" ("Baby, Please Be Good", which celebrates the song itself, and it's indelible mark on our culture. Yes, it's a culture, now. Everything gets to respectable at some point), and the latter day Garage Rock resurgence ("New Again,” celebrating the joys of being a teen, and not texting or tweaking out to Gameboy long enough to play Rock’n’Roll with your friends. A+ for working Big Daddy Roth into the lyrics). A guy at a record show once exclaimed, "THERE'S A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HIPPIE PSYCHEDELIA AND PUNK PSYCHEDELIA!!”  "Magic Carpet,” drenched in tremolo and sorta Doorsy keys (not at the cost of sounding "Moody"), provides a good case in point, while "Whatcha Gonna Do" is a classic gurl-putdown, worthy of The Seeds, and "Long Gone" combines Byrds jangle with tasteful fuzztone embellishments (Gonn was heavily influenced by The L.A. and San Francisco sounds, as well as The Stones/Kinks/ Yardbirds axis.).  "Roll On" evokes "Ogden's Gone Nut Flakes" Small Faces, though, perhaps, not by design. Above all, Gonn has produced an album that utilizes their many influences, while becoming a slave to none of them.  A better definition of "Garage Rock ” I couldn't offer you.

The Masked Singer

 

(FOX) When Roctober published our History of Masked Rocked’n’Roll issue last Century it was a decent effort for the pre-internet research age and a fun read, and mildly influential, as several (very good) masked acts sprung up, directly citing the zine’s enlightening nature. However, we cannot take any credit for the most popular show in the world. While a show about celebrities singing in elaborate costumes while lesser celebrities guess their identities is seemingly unrelated to the manifesto we set forth about why an artist might choose to performed masked, the underlying elements are not really that different. The liberating nature of performing without the constraints of your everyday identity holding you back is actually more pertinent when the performers actually are recognizable and get to alter audience and self perceptions by having anonymity. The mask as a primordial vessel of transformation and spirit channeling has to have even more power when the costumes are elaborate works of design genius. And the value of a good gimmick --- the show is #1, baby! What I like best about the show is that it is fucking terrible and is still great! The hosts are charmless; the scripted ad libs are comedy graveyards; the audience reactions and shots are coached and edited to be so over the top and idiotic that the most important part of a filmed performance (the TV audience mirroring our spectatorship and infusing the show with a kind of authenticity associated with live performance) is meaningless. Yet watching the actually famous people (the only skateboarder you can name; the most famous white non-QB in the NFL; Chong) wearing the most innovative, beautiful costumes ever (this season there is one that requires puppeteering and one with two singers in a pod), and singing decently (or brilliantly; unless it had had turned out to be the best Patti LaBelle impersonator ever, it was really dumb when they had the greatest living vocalist, Patti LaBelle on singing like Patti LaBelle while the panel pretended to be befuddled) is awesome! Also, in COVID I am so distracted and unfocussed that I can never guess who they are, so the reveal is fun. There have been some mistakes (assigning a hideous blowjob face angel costume to someone who was going to win and be on every week; acting like Sarah Palin is redeemable), but this is generally a fun show, and in the Big Picture it is a testament to the power of masked performances. I predict that as soon as face tattoo acts fade out a new wave of toilet paper mummies, Kabuki makeup gals and guys, and rubber Trump masked troubadours will take over the underground and the pop charts.

Pat Suzuki "s/t"

 (Vik, 1958) I do not know as much as I would like to about Pat Suzuki, and I certainly cannot call her underrated, as I do not know how to gauge her rated-ness, but I can say without hesitation that this is a great album by a great singer and everyone should hear it. Miss Pony Tail's recording career mostly happens in a short window between 1958 and 1960, with her jazz albums leading to her role in Flower Drum Song (with future Miss Livingston Miyoshi Umeki). I have most of her LPs, in part because her smiles (she sports different ones on different albums) always grab me, and listening to this today I can see why she was a Downbeat award winner when she debuted. Singing with a sly attitude very akin to Eartha Kitt's approach, there are moments, particularly a magically lengthy pause during, "Lady Is A Tramp," that are clinics in jazz singing. There's a late 60s pop album I need to find, and according to five minutes on the Internet she has occasionally performed over the years (I found something from 2002), and I watched an episode of her 1976 sitcom Mr. T. and Tina, in which Pat Morita leads TV's first mostly Asian cast (offensive stereotypes, fake Japanese fonts, and L's replaced with R's abound). She is currently 90 and a photo of her backstage visiting the cast of a play from last year shows the same smile from 1958, so I hope she has had a lot to smile about over this half century. What  a talent! Unrelated: Does the gradation in the 1958 Vik logo seem too futuristic/disco to y'all?

Frantix "My Dad's A Fuckin' Alcoholic"

 

(Alternative Tentacles, 2013) This well-named 1980s Colorado sloppy hardcore band, was (as demonstrated on the live tracks included in this full length retrospective of a band that did not record a full length) successfully frantic. Best known for cover versions of the title track here, the demos, concert tracks and reissued 7" tracks here prove that the original was better, as this is a glorious mess!

Bunny Sigler Bag Set

(Bunzmusicandrecords.com) A few years back when I was lucky enough to tape an episode of Chic-A-Go-Go at the amazing, currently restructuring/fundraising art space Philadelphia Mausoleum of Contemporary Arts (apologies if I've called it the Philadelphia Museum of Cemetery Arts in the past, that's incorrect and less accurate). I told the director my dream guest was Philly soul legend Bunny Sigler, and it turned out I made a very good choice when the vocalist arrived in a dazzling outfit and a challenging hairpiece, bursting with musical joy for the kids of all ages in attendance. His performance was magnificent. But just as important to me was his gift, which I suppose was a kind of EPK, but I see more as a collectible "Bag Set," in an edition of Lord knows how many, as I kind of assume he was handing these out freely and generously. Inside the Bag Set was a CD-R of Mr. Sigler's classic 1974 breakthrough LP (he was a powerhouse songwriter before becoming a solo artist on Philadelphia International), "That's How Long I'll Be Loving You," which featured Gospel-style vocals and arrangements on some killer soul songs, and famously has a slow, gorgeous version of "Love Train." The low res, Wite-Out pocked,  faded Xerox cover and Bunny's  handwriting all over the disc it makes it better than an autographed LP. Also included is his kind of weird 2015 CD, "Bundino," which is not a CD-R, but not exactly a professional release, as despite the slick production and vocal arrangements and professionalism of the recording, it features bizarre, amateur-bordering-on-outsider artist packaging (the back cover has no tracks listed, features a grinning Bunny in buckskins awkwardly photoshopped in front of teepees, and has a UPC code that's almost as big as the picture of Bunny). His singing is good, though there are a lot of tracks where it seems like the backup singers are propping up an older singer's weaker vocals, except the backup singers are frequently also Bunny.  The strongest singing is not on one of the soulful ballads, but on a blues number called, "Buttermilk and Cornbread," and the winner for the Why Didn't Anyone Talk To Him Award goes to "Red or Yellow - Black or White," a plea for unity by getting your loving on with woman from many "nationalities." Also in the baggie was a DVD of an iMovie photo montage lyric video of "Laveda," a romantic soul jam; dozens of business cards (a few different designs) that list Youtube clips to look for, and several Websites (all now defunct, sadly); and a program for a memorial service for Lee Andrews, Questlove's dad, a vocalist who was a contemporary of Bunny. Sadly, Bunny joined Lee in the heavenly choir a year and a half after his amazing performance on our show. But I thank the Philly Soul Gods that I bagged this bag, which I subsequently have reached for more often than I have his classic LPs.

Ratos de Porao "Seculo Sinestro"

 

(Alternative Tentacles, 2014) Thank god (and/or the alternative/opposite) that music this fucking bonecrushingly brutal exists. We are going to need it more and more in these coming dark, dark days.

Jonathan Richman "No Me Quejo De Mi Estrella"

 

(Vapor/Munster, 2014) Jonathan loves singing in Spanish. He does not love cell phones, but it's Ok if you have one. He loves to love. What's not to love here?

Baja Bug "The Surf Will Ride Again"

 

(Double Crown, 2020) There's that totally bogus chestnut about sex and pizza, that even when it's bad it's good (which dismisses Dominos and date rape), but that logic seems kind if true-er with instrumental surf rock. To be more specific, there is definitely a bottom ten percent of quality that is unlistenable, and a top ten percent that is genius, but if you are not a true aficionado, it seems like the middle 80% of the bands are in a virtual tie. As long as they stay traditional and don't get too experimental or break rules (which few do), you are dealing with pretty similar stock. But then again, what's not to love? Back in the surf revival era from whence this great die-hard surf music label boarded there was the option of dressing up in halloween costumes, which I support 112%, but musically as a fan (but not superfan, or guitar gearhead, or surf music historian) I only hear a few small differences, so what makes me like a record a lot is a matter of inches. This record I like a lot. These Norwegian hodads crank up the reverb/echo effects to give an almost underwater vibe, and there's Farfisa, and there's just enough distant-cousin-to-Morricone cinematic X-factor here. But if you need me to get more specific, unfortunately, I'm back in bogus sex pizza territory: surf music is good!

Lydia Lunch and Marc Hurtado "My Lover The Killer"

 

(Munster, 2016) "Most of the men I've lived with have attempted suicide at least once," Lydia Lunch eerily intones over too-scary-for-Halloween haunted piano tinklings and walls of ghost sounds. That is the theme and bad dream of this concept spoken word album specifically inspired by/about an ex who exacted a murder-suicide shortly before/possibly motivated by a planned reconnection with the former Teenage Jesus herself. Intensely dread-ish, but mostly not regretful or mournful or even sad, this is a journey too dark for most Goth teens, but somehow so nihilistic that it's immune to tragedy. I will never play this record at a child's birthday party. Again.