Posts tagged story time

Claudine Longet - Jealous Guy / Don’t Let Me Down

Now, I’ve romanced one or two firecrackers in my time, but none of them hold a candle (yet) to Claudine Longet. French chanteuse, actress, and high-profile socialite, Longet charted many a Beatles cover, starred in the 60’s classic The Party, hobnobbed with Bobby Kennedy, and married Andy Williams, who she met by the side of the road after having car trouble. I saw a movie that started that way incidentally. It was a shocking, bare-all documentary about love called Runaway Tush 4.

This cover of John Lennon’s Jealous Guy becomes eerily ironic when you factor in that on March 21st, 1976, in Aspen, her boyfriend, skier Vladimir ‘Spider’ Sabich was fatally shot in his chalet. Being named ‘Spider’ is generally a good clue that you’re going to meet a bad end, but that’s neither here nor there. Longet’s story was that Spider was showing her the gun when it went off, which would make a lot more sense were he not half naked in the bathroom, having just returned from a ski. Beyond the fact that the physics of the gunshot didn’t make sense, Longet was found to have cocaine in her system, suspect entries in her diary, and a song in her heart ample motive for the murder. In the end, it appeared that  her relationship with Sabich was dissolving, and this final argument was likely fueled by his plans to leave her. I hate it when chicks wave a gun in my face just because things aren’t working out. You know I love you baby, but there’s a whole world out there.

Due to a few key police mistakes, she ultimately got off with 30 days in jail. She then married her defense attorney, never performed again, and to this day still lives in Aspen, the scene of the crime as it were. The moral of the story? Don’t cross French chicks / bitches be crazy.

Claudine Longet - French; pensive; slightly smug.

Jackie Lomax - Sour Milk Sea

One out of one anonymous commentors agree that surely it must be about time for a shout-out to Nicky Hopkins, and I must admit that I’m gleeful to comply to the request put forth in this pointed missive.

This will likely not be the last appearance of Nicky Hopkins on DD:LD, and for all we know may not be the first - his jangly 88-middle-fingers piano stylings were in absurdly high demand in 1960’s and Nicky played on countless seminal recordings during this period. Unfortunately for Nicky, what could have been a fruitful career of touring and panty moistening was hamstrung by his poor health - Nicky suffered from Crohn’s Disease, a pretty nasty affliction which; well - probably best to leave this to the professionals. Quoth perennial brain extension Wikipedia:

Crohn’s disease (also known as granulomatous colitis and regional enteritis) is an inflammatory disease of the intestines that may affect any part of the gastrointestinal tract from anus to mouth, causing a wide variety of symptoms. It primarily causes abdominal pain, diarrhea (which may be bloody), vomiting, or weight loss,^[1][2][3] but may also cause complications outside of the gastrointestinal tract such as skin rashes, arthritis and inflammation of the eye.^[1]

Yikes. Anyhow, this relegated Nicky to the life of a studio musician, but he sure made his dent in more than the porcelain. Nicky played on many a track, including The Beatles’ ‘Revolution’, which cemented a relationship that allowed the song you hopefully just hit play on to feature his delightful ivory tickling.

There’s an interesting story behind this song to boot - penned by George Harrison, ‘Sour Milk Sea’ was ostenibly an outtake from the White Album sessions, and ended up being released as a vehicle for singer Jackie Lomax on the Beatles’ own Apple label. Even more interesting is that 75% of The Beatles play on this very song - Paul on Bass, George (and some dude named Eric Clapton) on guitar and Ringo on lead ugly. Just kiddin. Drums. Hell of a gem that really never got the recognition it deserved - not unlike one Nicky Hopkins. As the first verse of ‘Sour Milk Sea’ puts it, neither Nicky Hopkins nor Jackie Lomax ‘[got] the breaks like some of us do’ - but they sure put together a pretty pleasant eargasm for your soundholes on this number.

Nicky Hopkins, brought to you courtesy of Jock McNevis.

Brian Eno - Here Come The Warm Jets

“Here Come The Warm Jets” serves as both the title of Eno’s first solo record post-Roxy Music, and the name of the title track which you can boom through the intertubes by clicking the little button above. Eno initially explain the title as a slang term for pissin’ (Piss-Regeln!), though that’s something he later retracted, stating that he actually meant the term to describe the smooth, polished metal timbres he was able to coax out of guitars on the record. I however suspect he changed his story in the foaming yellow wake of the R. Kelly scandal, or perhaps because he didn’t want to offend his mum.

Eno’s work with Roxy Music was notable for many of reasons - it was pioneering synthesizer work, but Eno was a self-described “non-musician”. Also, have you seen his fucking hair at this time? (See below). It’s amazing he was able to get it together to write music when he was clearly an effete warlock busily practicing the black arts of blush application.

Eno is perhaps best known for his later ambient work, though this album is a standalone piece in its own right. Not long after its release, Eno was struck by an automobile, either while riding his bike or while asking the driver if he “partied” while gesturing to his mouth (citation needed) and spent a long time convalescing. As legend has it, Eno asked to have music played in his room, and one of his visitors was happy to oblige, providing him with a record of some renaissance classical music, with only one problem - she didn’t turn it up loud enough before leaving. Largely immobilized, Eno was forced to listen to the music at a level almost inaudible above the simple sounds of the room and the weather outside, which apparently shook loose from within him the idea for his inimitable brand of ambient music. We’re lucky I suppose that he wasn’t forced to listen to polka at maximum volume, as you and I might be wearing lederhosen today and stuck porkin’ German chicks. Which is fun! Their armpits are like blankets.

Another amazing and notable Eno accomplishment (I won’t get into Oblique Strategies, but you should)  is his composition of the Windows Sound you heard every time you booted up Windows 95, a six second opus designed to be heard thousands of times, because fuck - if you remember Windows 95, you were rebooting that bitch with infuriating frequency. Eno’s soothing startup chime probably saved millions of CRT monitors from being tossed through a goddamn window. Ironic that his music for Windows saved windows - more ironic though is that he composed the piece on a Mac. Burn!

Deborah Harry Brian Eno, circa 1974.

Larry Ellis & The Black Hammer - Funky Thing (Part 1)

I’m going to level with you, internet. I hated yesterday’s post. I hate to throw anyone under the bus like this, but if I may adopt the parlance of our times, it ‘sucked shit’. There have been firings. So today, I’ve aimed to do a double good and send you denizens of this digital domain off into a Friday rich with promise, with a song in your heart and a shakin’ ass, but not so much that you spill your beer.

‘Funky Thing (Part 1)’ implies that this is but the first chapter in a saga of funky things, and I appreciate that they started from the beginning, unlike say, Bill Cosby’s ‘Leonard, Part 6’. But listen: enough chitchat. This song is fuckin’ tough, and the story behind it is pretty awesome as well. As legend has it, Larry and The Black Hammer (The Black Hammer, fyi, was his band - not his dick / a superhero) were driving to the studio in their van, which didn’t have a name as far as I know but I will refer to as Brown Thunder. Brown Thunder coughed, sputtered, gave a last death rattle forward, and bit the dust. Larry, Black Hammer in tow, hoofed it miles to the studio, and arrived in the dark, on foot, hours late. They set up, and began playing their standard warm up routine, ‘Do Your Funky Thing’, with the tapes rolling. After one take, the engineer begged off, stating it was too late to continue - and what you hear here is that one take, miraculously captured in its raw ruggedness, filled with the frenetic, sweaty urgency of a band who never said die and never quit. A-fuckin-merica!