THE GREATEST RECORD EVER MADE! The Monkees, "(I'm Not Your) Steppin' Stone [live]"

Drawn in part from previous posts, this is not included in my book The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1).

An infinite number of tracks can each be THE greatest record ever made, as long as they take turns. Today, this is THE GREATEST RECORD EVER MADE!

THE MONKEES: (I'm Not Your) Steppin' Stone [live]

Written by Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart

Produced by Bert Schneider, Bob Rafelson, and Bill Inglot

Originally unreleased live performance recorded on August 25, 1967; first released on the album Live 1967, Rhino Records, 1987

Come and watch them sing and play.

The best-known version of the '60s garage punk stomper "(I'm Not Your) Steppin' Stone" was recorded by the (originally) made-for-TV combo the Monkees. Written by Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart, the Monkees' version appeared on the group's second album More Of The Monkees in 1967, and it was the B-side of their # 1 smash single "I'm A Believer," creating a two-sided 45 rpm winner that could rival the Beatles and the Beach Boys. Even as a mere B-side, the Monkees' "(I'm Not Your) Steppin' Stone" made it to # 20 on Billboard's Hot 100.

As "I'm Not Your Stepping Stone," the song was first recorded by the Liverpool Five, released on their 1966 album Arrive. I knew nothing about that version until, y'know, Wikipedia just told me about it. Beating the Liverpool Five to retail if not to the studio, Paul Revere and the Raiders cut the first released version of "Steppin' Stone," and there's ample rockin' reason why many consider the Raiders' take to be definitive. The Sex Pistols covered it in the '70s, certifying the song's enduring, surly cred.

Paul Revere and the Raiders were a terrific rock 'n' roll group masquerading as costume-party Revolutionaries, so of course their "Steppin' Stone" simmers with authority and swagger. They planned to release it as a single. When the Raiders were offered the Barry Mann-Cynthia Weil anti-drug anthem "Kicks," the Raiders thought (correctly) that was a sure-fire hit record, so they delayed "Stepping Stone" and released "Kicks" instead. Boyce and Hart, pissed off and convinced they were being yanked around, took the song to the Monkees. 

As great as the Raiders' "Steppin' Stone" is, I like the Monkees' version best. Although they were still just a prefab entity at the time, the Monkees' machine somehow created a rendition with even more punch than the invincible Raiders, more power, more precision; it can't match the seeming abandon of the Raiders, but it matches and even slightly surpasses their intensity, and Micky Dolenz delivers a vocal that cannot be topped. Puppets with a chip on their shoulders? The Monkees would not remain puppets for much longer.

After More Of The Monkees, our assembled MonkeeMen--Dolenz, Davy Jones, Peter Tork, and Michael Nesmith--staged an unprecedented show biz coup that allowed them to become the functioning rock 'n' roll band they played on television. They began to play on their studio sessions. They played live--Micky, Davy, Peter, and Mike--closing their 1967 concerts with a savage pummeling of "(I'm Not Your) Steppin' Stone."

For decades, the public had very little access to evidence of the live Monkees. There was nothing--nothing--on record. There were the live clips featured in "The Monkees On Tour," the final episode of the first season of their TV series. There was the in-concert performance of "Circle Sky" witnessed in their dark and brilliant 1968 film Head. The Head soundtrack LP used a comparatively tepid studio version of "Circle Sky" instead. 

With lack of even an Exhibit A to support the claim that the Monkees could play, much of the general public concluded that the Monkees could not play. I remember being at a 1979 gig by my favorite power pop group the Flashcubes, chatting with 'Cubes drummer Tommy Allen before their set. In the course of that discussion, Tommy and I expressed our mutual interest in the Monkees' records. Guitarist Paul Armstrong overheard and quipped, "Yeah, especially the Monkees' live album." Tommy and I immediately gushed in perfect harmony, "Is there a Monkees live album...?!" Paul rolled his eyes in dismissal of our inability to get his joke. The Monkees playing live? Sure. As if!

Paul Armstrong knows as much about rock 'n' roll music as anybody. But even he bought into the myth that the Monkees couldn't play, because there wasn't much of anything to prove, nor even just suggest, that they could.

I think the live "Circle Sky" made its waaaay-belated retail debut on a 1979 3-LP compilation called Monkeemania, issued only in Australia and using a master presumably dubbed from a bootleg video of the film itself. I loved it. I wanted to hear more evidence of the Monkees in live performance.

Resurgent Monkeemania granted that wish in 1987, with the release of Live 1967, which I adored in all its rough 'n' ragged glory. It's not that the Monkees were ever at the level of technical proficiency of the seasoned studio cats who played on The Monkees and More Of The Monkees, nor that they were even as tight in concert as producer Chip Douglas managed to nudge them into being in the studio for the making of their 1967 hey-hey-we're-a-real band triumph Headquarters (the album the Monkees were hyping at the time of these live recordings). On stage, before thousands of screaming fans, the Monkees were THE biggest garage band the world has ever seen. Bigger than the Ramones. Bigger than the Clash. As punk as anything ever, and as legitimately DIY as a mainstream show-biz project could ever dare to be. Yeah, come and watch 'em sing and play, ya bastards!

The tracks on Live 1967 were patched together from three different shows, trying to choose the best representation of each song on the Monkees' set list. Like the concerts themselves, Live 1967 concludes with"(I'm Not Your) Steppin' Stone," because let's face it, nothing they did could hope to follow that. The live "Steppin' Stone" is a grungy, full-throttle leap into the air: Loud, messy, barely (if at all) tethered to the mortal plane, a noise that revels in its ability to just freakin' rock. Micky's vocal remains in his control, Davy and Michael nearly scream, Peter does scream, and the former puppets wail away on guitar, bass, drums, and tambourine, culminating in an absolute musical freak-out, all of it accomplished with the sure-eyed determination of a local rock group down the street trying hard to learn their song.

And succeeding. The Monkees were on stage, in their Heaven, and if all wasn't quite right with the world, they made enough noise to drown out the world's tsuris with a ferocity that would have made the Sex Pistols jealous.

I've been a Monkees fan since 1966. As steel is forged in the crucible, so my belief in the Monkees was hardened the more people tried to convince me they were no good, plastic, lesser. Bullshit. I know what I hear, I know what I see, and I know what I like. The Monkees TV series helped to form my sense of comedy, right alongside the droll British humor--er, humour--of the Beatles' movies, the broad schtick of Jerry Lewis and The Three Stooges, and the brilliance of The Marx Brothers. The Monkees' records were outstanding. If they'd all been assembled in a laboratory by Dr. Frankenstein and Don Kirshner, they'd still be great records. The fact that Michael, Peter, Micky, and Davy also took some measure of control, and became a band rather than just playing one on TV, just enhances the richness of the Monkees story. The Monkees are one of my favorite groups, and they always will be.

And they could put on a show. Trying to make their mark in society. Using all the tricks they learned from everywhere, from rock to blues to country to pop to the three chords and a chip on their shoulder celebrated by vintage garage-punk Nuggets afficionados all over the world. Walkin' 'round like the front-page news they were. Steppin' stones no longer. Punk, meet the mainstream. Mainstream, meet the goddamn Monkees.

If you like what you see here on Boppin' (Like The Hip Folks Do), please consider a visit to CC's Tip Jar. You can also become a Boppin' booster on my Patreon page.

I compiled a various-artists tribute album called Make Something Happen! A Tribute To The Flashcubes, and it's pretty damned good; you can read about it here and order it here. My new book The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1) is now available, and you can order an autographed copy here. You can still get my previous book Gabba Gabba Hey! A Conversation With The Ramones from publisher Rare Bird Books, OR an autographed copy here. If you like the books, please consider leaving a rating and/or review at the usual online resources.

This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl airs Sunday nights from 9 to Midnight Eastern, on the air in Syracuse at SPARK! WSPJ 103.3 and 93.7 FM, streaming at SPARK stream and on the Radio Garden app as WESTCOTT RADIO. You can read about our history here.

THE GREATEST RECORD EVER MADE: You're Gonna Miss Me

For this Sunday's celebration of This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio # 1300, we needed a GREM! that tied into the number 13. This chapter from my book The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1) filled that bill very nicely.

An infinite number of tracks can each be THE greatest record ever made, as long as they take tuns. Today, this is THE GREATEST RECORD EVER MADE!

THE 13th FLOOR ELEVATORS: You're Gonna Miss Me

Written by Roky Erickson

Produced by Gordon Bynum

Single, Contact Records [reissued by International Artists], 1966

We are the weird.

We are damaged, disturbed, inadequate, unprepared. We don't fit in, couldn't if we tried, wouldn't if we could. We wake up wondering, find ourselves all alone. As the sun greets the dawn. We didn’t realize.

The late Roky Erickson is often remembered as a casualty, a fragile fallen angel, a flawed Icarus who flew too close to a merciless psychedelic sun. He sang of walking with zombies, of working in the Kremlin with a two-headed dog. Against type, he sang a beautiful ballad called "Starry Eyes," suddenly (if briefly) becoming a post-lysergic Buddy Holly. He warned ominously of the danger of slandering him. His mortal form was caged, in correctional facilities and sanitariums. His mind lived in a time of its own.

And with the 13th Floor Elevators, he gave us an incredible rock 'n' roll classic called "You're Gonna Miss Me." 

"You're Gonna Miss Me" is acid made punk, as hallucinatory as Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd, as badass as...well, you name it. It's the embodiment of the rock-critic concept of 1960s garage-built psychedelia, while sounding not quite like any of its peers. 

It could only have come from Texas. It profoundly influenced at least one son of the Lone Star State: Billy Gibbons, later to find fame slingin' his sharp-dressed six-string with ZZ Top. Contemporary to the Elevators, Gibbons played with a group called the Moving Sidewalks, whose own single "99th Floor" carries an undeniable Elevators influence. "You're Gonna Miss Me" has continued to glow in the dark for all subsequent generations seeking the sound of electric guitars crossed with electric sugar cubes. 

Like a lot of folks, my introduction to Roky and his Elevators came courtesy of a compilation album called Nuggets. Nuggets, originally released in 1972, was a two-record various-artists set that celebrated the mid-to-late-sixties explosion of young American guitar groups trying to be as surly as the Stones, as heavy as the Yardbirds, as fab as the Fab Four. I bought it because it had "Lies" by the Knickerbockers and “Liar, Liar” by the Castaways. Nuggets revealed further truths via tracks by the Electric Prunes, the Remains, the Strangeloves, the Nazz, Mouse, and the Cryan Shames, reiterated truths I already knew about the Standells and the Seeds, and unleashed unto me its greatest truth among great truths: "You're Gonna Miss Me." The 13th Floor Elevators.

Holy shit.

Immediate. Hypnotic. As tough as Detroit's MC5 or Stooges, a Don't tread on me! as potent as a sidewinder's rattle, and as intoxicating as drinkin' wine, spo-dee-o-dee, drinkin' wine, goddamn. 

Welcome to Texas, muthas and bruthas.

In the song, Erickson warns a faithless lover that she will wake up one morning to find that he’s gone. Like casting a spell, Roky chants “You didn’t realize” five times, sealing his former flame’s sentence of solitude. 

Realize what, already...?

OH, YOU'RE GONNA MISS ME, BABY!

Chills. Chills. Message delivered, at as high a volume as my poor little stereo could stand. Otherworldly, jagged, pissed-off guitar. Harmonica. A percolating hiccup sound that turned out to be an electrified jug, fercrynoutloud. And the wail of a tortured demon freed temporarily from the pit of perdition. Roky Erickson. Hell's newest hitmaker.

Over time, the presumed frailty of Roky Erickson's bruised psyche became the stuff of rock 'n' roll legend. Drug busts and mental issues were the headlines that obscured the music, all of it detailed in the 2005 Erickson documentary You're Gonna Miss Me. Erickson survived, gaining (one hopes) some level of stability before his death in 2019. 

And still we wake up wondering, find ourselves all alone. 

We are the weird. Damaged, disturbed, inadequate, unprepared. Don't shake me Lucifer. Roky Erickson sang on our behalf.

If you like what you see here on Boppin' (Like The Hip Folks Do), please consider a visit to CC's Tip Jar. You can also become a Boppin' booster on my Patreon page.

My new book The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1) is now available, and you can order an autographed copy here. You can still get my previous book Gabba Gabba Hey! A Conversation With The Ramones from publisher Rare Bird Books, OR an autographed copy here. If you like the books, please consider leaving a rating and/or review at the usual online resources.

This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl airs Sunday nights from 9 to Midnight Eastern, on the air in Syracuse at SPARK! WSPJ 103.3 and 93.7 FM, streaming at SPARK stream and on the Radio Garden app as WESTCOTT RADIO. You can read about our history here.

THE GREATEST RECORD EVER MADE: Paul Revere and the Raiders, "Just Like Me"

A slightly streamlined version of this chapter appears in my book The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1).

An infinite number of tracks can each be THE greatest record ever made, as long as they take turns. Today, this is THE GREATEST RECORD EVER MADE!

PAUL REVERE AND THE RAIDERS: Just Like Me

Written by Rick Dey and Rich Brown

Produced by Terry Melcher
Single, Columbia Records, 1965

Wilson Pickett meets the Kinks. Welcome to 1965.

The democracy of Top 40 radio in the '60s (and even into the '70s) meant that all the myriad styles that would eventually become rigidly segmented and segregated--rock, soul, country, pop, easy listening, dance music, R & B, bubblegum, folk, novelty tunes, some blues, even some jazz--were not only allowed to co-exist within a single format, it was expected that they would. It was all pop music, so pop radio played it all. We lost that somewhere along the way. And we are much poorer for that loss. 

Schisms developed, even within that time frame. The divisions may not have manifested much on the AM airwaves, but they were there. Beatles or Stones? Stax or Motown? British Invasion or made-in-America? Rock or soul or country or pop? 

And, as the '60s wore on: Heavy or bubblegum?

By decade's end, the image of a band like Paul Revere and the Raiders became difficult for some to take seriously. Visually gimmicky, decked out in outlandish stage garb that suggested a dinner theater production of 1776! or Hamilton years before the fact, their live and TV performances were punctuated by slapstick and schtick, with syncopated steps like Motown's answer to the Redcoats, and the men not knowing while the little girls understood (and how!) the dream appeal of lead singer Mark Lindsay. The cognoscenti would sniff and sneer. Worthless bubblegum!

Now, we're savvy enough to know that "bubblegum" shouldn't necessarily be a pejorative. But the music of Paul Revere and the Raiders transcends that discussion anyway. For all their good-time vibe, their Revolutionary War costumes, their synchronized stage moves, their snappy patter, their TV stardom, and Mark Lindsay as the face that launched a thousand 16 magazine pin-ups, the Raiders made rock 'n' roll records. In fact, they made great rock 'n' roll records, releasing a string of nonpareil singles and fab LP tracks that can stand and sway alongside some of the best rock 'n' roll music of the 1960s. In the wake of the British Invasion in 1964, there was no shortage of domestic acts seeking to become known as the American Beatles; Paul Revere and the Raiders, already veteran hands at rockin' instrumentals and nascent frat-rock, were the first high-profile US act to seek the title of American Stones.

If Paul Revere and the Raiders were bubblegum, then by God, so were the Rolling Stones. 

They'd started out as just another working band. Idaho boogie-woogie piano player Paul Revere Dick recruited saxophonist Lindsay to join his instrumental combo the Downbeats in 1958. By 1960, the piano-player had dropped his last name and his group had become Paul Revere and the Raiders. The line-up shifted and evolved, and scraped the bottom of the national Top 40 with the rockin' classical music workout "Like, Long Hair" in 1961.

Bossman Revere was drafted, and had to leave his own group because of Uncle Sam's deal. Lindsay and Revere reunited in '62, relocated to Portland, Oregon, midnight-riding through the Pacific Northwest. By now a singing and playing group, the Raiders' version of "Louie Louie"--recorded in April '63 around the same time and at the same Portland studio that the Kingsmen cut their gloriously sloppy hit rendition--was a regional success. Columbia Records noticed. Welcome to the big time, you Raiders.

Television personality Dick Clark also noticed; he knew a thing or two, and offered to put the Raiders on a TV show. Where The Action Is aired weekday afternoons, and Paul Revere and the Raiders were the de facto house band: Revere, Lindsay, bassist Phil "Fang" Volk, guitarist Drake Levin, and drummer Mike "Smitty" Smith. They cavorted and pranced in sparkling black-and-white, playing covers, playing stars, and living the part. It was 1965. Anything could happen in 1965.

"Steppin' Out," a cantankerous jolt of greasy, pissed-off orneriness written by Revere and Lindsay, was the Raiders' first single in the wake of Where The Action Is, and it couldn't quite breach the Top 40, stepping down after a peak at # 46. Their follow-up would be the Raiders' first Top 20 single.

"Just Like Me" was a cover, but virtually no one had heard the original version by a group called the Wilde Knights. In the hands of Paul Revere and the Raiders and their producer Terry Melcher, "Just Like Me" moved from the garage-punk Kinks feel of the Wilde Knights' take into something more intrinsically pop, something tailor-made for hit radio, yet still unmistakably, unerringly rock 'n' roll.

The differences are striking. Melcher and the Raiders tweak the song's intro, retaining the chunk-a-chunka rhythm inspired by Kinks guitarist Dave Davies, but grafting it with a soulful flourish nicked directly from Wilson Pickett's "In The Midnight Hour." Mark Lindsay, who had swaggered so effectively on "Steppin' Out," suddenly pouts like a teen idol oughta, a lonely pop heart longing for elusive fulfillment and, one presumes, action. The little girls for damned sure understood. With continued TV exposure and a # 11 hit, Paul Revere and the Raiders were well and truly on their way.

More hits followed, including four Top 10 smashes--"Kicks," "Hungry," "Good Thing," and "Him Or Me--What's It Gonna Be?"--in 1966 and '67. The classic Where The Action Is cast o' Raiders was temporary; Levin, like Revere before him, also had to leave town because of Uncle Sam's deal, though he continued to record with the group even as Jim "Harpo" Valley took his place on tour. But by the middle of 1967, only Revere and Lindsay remained as permanent Raiders. 

That may not have mattered all that much. As time went on, much (if not all) of the Raiders' studio work was managed by Lindsay and Melcher, with or without other Raiders present. Accomplished by whatever combination of Lindsay, Melcher, Raiders, and Raiders associates, the quality of the Raiders' collective body of work throughout the '60s is staggering, and well deserving of rediscovery. 

Paul Revere and the Raiders were disdained by the hipper-than-thou. Their image, their approach, their name itself proclaimed them as uncool, square, and (ironically) anti-Revolutionary. In 1969, wondering if perhaps a rockin' Raiders record could connect with the progressive crowd if unencumbered by the Raiders brand name, Lindsay sent a new Raiders song called "Let Me" to an influential FM DJ in L.A.; the song was credited to the Pink Puzz, and the DJ loved it and played it until he learned that the Pink Puzz was really those crass, commercial sellouts Paul Revere and the Raiders. Suddenly, he didn't like the track anymore, and he stopped playing it. He was, let's face it, a weasel. 

But the weasels were in control. That hasn't really changed since then.

In 1970, Paul Revere and the Raiders shortened their nom du bop to just the Raiders. Mark Lindsay finally left the group in 1975; Paul Revere restored the group's longer name, and the Raiders thrived on the oldies circuit until Revere's death in 2014. But before that, in 1971, the group had its sole # 1 hit with "Indian Reservation." "Indian Reservation" is not a bad record, but it is not--it is not--worthier of a Top of the Pops moment than most of the many great Raiders singles that preceded it.

This is particularly true of "Just Like Me," a magic meeting of Wilson Pickett and the Kinks, as seen on TV and on the covers of teen magazines across this great land of ours. Pop music. Democracy in action. One if by land. Two if by sea. The heaviest bubblegum you ever could love. 1965. Listen, my children, and you shall hear.

If you like what you see here on Boppin' (Like The Hip Folks Do), please consider a visit to CC's Tip Jar. You can also become a Boppin' booster on my Patreon page.

My new book The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1) is now available, and you can order an autographed copy here. You can still get my previous book Gabba Gabba Hey! A Conversation With The Ramones from publisher Rare Bird Books, OR an autographed copy here. If you like the books, please consider leaving a rating and/or review at the usual online resources.

This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl airs Sunday nights from 9 to Midnight Eastern, on the air in Syracuse at SPARK! WSPJ 103.3 and 93.7 FM, streaming at SPARK stream and on the Radio Garden app as WESTCOTT RADIO

THE GREATEST RECORD EVER MADE! The Standells, "Sometimes Good Guys Don't Wear White"

Adapted from previous posts, this is not part of my current book The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1).

An infinite numbers of tracks can each be THE greatest record ever made, as long as they take turns. Today, this is THE GREATEST RECORD EVER MADE!

THE STANDELLS: Sometimes Good Guys Don't Wear White

Written by Ed Cobb

Produced by Ed Cobb

Single from the album Dirty Water, Tower Records, 1966

A poor boy born in a rubble makes his first last stand.

It's tempting to say that the counterculture was born in the 1960s. Members of the Beat Generation would beg to differ--beg to differ, man--pointing instead to the '50s as the true Ground Zero for an active and high profile alternative to the mainstream. And I'm sure there were fringe elements predating Beatniks, Jack Kerouac, Allan Ginsberg, and William S. Burroughs, operating somewhere out there on the periphery of popular consciousness.

Nonetheless: It was in the '60s that counterculture became an active and at times dominant part of the greater pop culture. That creates a paradox--how can anything be part of something to which it claims to be a counter?--but you go into culture wars with the oxymoron you have, not the logical parameters you wish you had. The Rolling Stones. Bob Dylan. Youth revolution, across race and gender, resisting rules, protesting injustice, tuning in, turning on, dropping out of what had been mainstream before, redrawing the map of what could become mainstream thereafter.

Before the simplistic notion of My country, right or wrong would be challenged by chants of Hell no, we won't go!, there was already a push to embrace the antihero, to celebrate the bad boy. In rock 'n' roll, the Rolling Stones established that template, providing a scowling, earthier counterpart to the perceived cheer of the Beatles. It was a façade--I do think, if it came down to it, the Beatles coulda beat down on the Stones in a street fight, five against four odds be damned--but it was an effective affectation, and the Stones delivered the soundtrack to match it. That template was followed by garage bands everywhere. It was certainly followed by the Standells.

The Standells weren't quite a garage band. They were playing clubs in L.A. in the early to mid '60s, appearing in the film Get Yourself A College Girl, providing the theme song for the kids' matinee flick Zebra In The Kitchen, and even appearing on an episode of the wacky TV sitcom The Munsters. All of this occurred before most of the record-buying public had even heard of the Standells. As a mainstream rock combo, they did not establish a popular impression. When they applied dat ole Rolling Stones template, the mainstream came to the grungier, garagier Standells.

I became a fan of the Standells as part of my overall exploration and embrace of '60s rock 'n' roll when I was a teen in the '70s. I started with a used 45 of their only big hit, 1966's classic "Dirty Water," and a various-artists set called 15 Original Rock N' Roll Biggies Vol. 2, which included "Why Pick On Me" and "Sometimes Good Guys Don't Wear White." My interest in the Standells expanded even further as I fell hard for the notion of '60s punk/garage Nuggets, Pebbles, and dazzlin' debris of all description. "Sometimes Good Guys Don't Wear White" was my favorite.

I'm a poor boy born in a rubble/And some say my manners ain't the best. A chip on my shoulder and a song in my heart. When I played "Sometimes Good Guys Don't Wear White" at home in the '70s, my mom thought drummer and lead singer Dick Dodd sounded like Sonny Bono. She wasn't wrong. Coincidentally, Bono did work with the Standells earlier in their career; Sonny's own "Laugh At Me" shares some cantankerous DNA with "Sometimes Good Guys Don't Wear White." It's all part of that Stonesy bad boy template. 

Good guys, bad buys, which is which? Sometimes the bad boy is a good guy that's misunderstood; sometimes the bad boy's just plain bad. Who can say who's the better man? Surly and put upon, an outsider staking his claim, with a shrug that's somehow defiant. A poor boy born in a rubble. We stand with the Standells. 

If you like what you see here on Boppin' (Like The Hip Folks Do), please consider a visit to CC's Tip Jar. 

My new book The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1) is now available, and you can order an autographed copy here. You can still get my previous book Gabba Gabba Hey! A Conversation With The Ramones from publisher Rare Bird Books, OR an autographed copy here. If you like the books, please consider leaving a rating and/or review at the usual online resources.

This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl airs Sunday nights from 9 to Midnight Eastern, on the air in Syracuse at SPARK! WSPJ 103.3 and 93.7 FM, streaming at SPARK stream and on the Radio Garden app as WESTCOTT RADIO. Recent shows are archived at Westcott Radio. You can read about our history here.

SHINDIG! Lenny Kaye, NUGGETS, and Me

 

My good friend (and Radio Deer Camp host) Rich Firestone informed me that the latest issue of the ultra-fab British rockin' pop publication Shindig! quotes liberally (with proper credit) from my 1998 Nuggets interview with Lenny Kaye. I'm honored to be considered a worthy resource for this venerable magazine.

Although credited in Shindig! to a 2016 piece on this blog, my interview with Kaye was conducted in 1998. I was working on a piece for Goldmine, connected to Rhino Records' then-recent 4-CD Nuggets boxed set. The piece, "It Came From The Garage!," was intended to be a retrospective on '60s punk/garage rock and how Kaye's original 1972 Nuggets compilation led to a critical reappraisal of that period and its DIY approach. 

"It Came From The Garage!" was never finished. A Labor Day storm in Syracuse shut down power for several days, delaying work on the project. As time went on, changing visions at Goldmine made it apparent that my Nuggets piece was no longer a priority, and eventually no longer worth pursuing. I abandoned the project because there wasn't a project anymore.

In 2016, when my guano-crazy decision to maintain a daily blog created a voracious need for material, I posted my "It Came From The Garage!" interviews with Lenny Kaye, Mark Lindsay of Paul Revere and the Raiders, Sal Valentino of the Beau Brummels, Dick Dodd of the Standells, and Barry Tashian of the Remains. 

I also pulled out my notes from the abandoned project, and thought about trying to finally complete it. Some introductory paragraphs were as far as I got:

It was 1972, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Viewed in hindsight, the pop music scene of 1972 may not seem so bad, but it sure seemed devastatingly dull at the time. Rock 'n' roll, once a vital, effervescent explosion of vibrance and energy, had become boring, bloated; it had even shortened its name to something called "Rock," as if "rock 'n' roll" were too long a name and would distract its self-consciously progressive practitioners from their instrumental noodling if they dared take the time to say the name in full. Such verbal economy stood in stark contrast to rock stars' seeming inability to be succinct in any other regard: eight-minute songs, endless solos, double-albums, triple-albums...brevity had become a lost art by 1972. If you went to see, say, Yes in concert circa 1972, and you left early during a keyboard solo, you could probably be convinced that same interminable solo were still going on right now.

If rock had become dull and complacent, Top 40 pop was no better, embracing an increasingly mellow, whitebread vibe devoid of passion and excitement...and things were only gonna get worse. All of this over-simplifies matters considerably; there were certainly captivating rock 'n' roll records released in 1972, some of which were mere cult items (if that) and some of which were bona fide popular hits. Nonetheless, there was a palpable sense among some rock 'n' rollers that things just weren't as good as they used to be

For those folks, future salvation would come, paradoxically, from the past. Its manifesto would appear, incongruously, in the form of liner notes to a double-LP collection of 45s by one-hit--and no-hit--wonders from the '60s:

"This is the story of a transition period in American rock and roll, of a changeling era which dashed by so fast that nobody knew much of what to make of it while it was around, only noticeable in retrospect by the vast series of innovations it would eventually spawn, both in the way music would be listened to and the way it was constructed. When it began, the centrifugal force was AM radio; under three minute singles, imaginative/predictable packaging (depending on who, what and where), all carefully held within the easily-accepted confines of the music business. By the time the smoke was clear, some four years later, FM-oriented progressive rock would be in full sway of the pop vanguard, opening up new vistas in stylistic content, lyrics and even life-style. As rock and roll had been born, so it would be born again, by casually nudging the old off the side of the road, making way for a hemi-headed, decked and stroked, highly combustible juggernaut of the new."

With these words, writer, guitarist and rock historian Lenny Kaye quietly and unassumingly set the stage for a revolution. This was the opening paragraph for Kaye's liner notes to Nuggets, a two-record archival set released by Elektra in 1972, which collected 27 "original artyfacts from the the first psychedelic era,1965-1968." And while Kaye seemed to endorse the "new vistas in stylistic content, lyrics and even life-style" circa 1972, it was the spotlight he cast on an era a mere four years gone yet a million miles away from '72 that would shine like a beacon to those seeking its light. 

Released at a time when various-artists compilation LPs were mostly hawked by TV hucksters, and were generally either unimaginative oldies packages or unimaginative K-Tel gatherings of recent hits (or, worse, covers of recent hits, performed by The Sound Effects or some similar studio hack aggregation), Nuggets was perhaps the first rock 'n' roll archival work to possess a viewpoint, even a vision. "Nuggets worked as a kind of opposition to the dominant trends of the time," recalls Kaye, "by kind of re-focusing things on the short, sharp shock of the hit single. You know,the quick blast of energy, the guitar hook and the kind of in-your-face chorus. And basically--I know for me, at least--it kind of reminded me of why I started playing music in the first place."

I still think about finishing this off. Someday. It seems unlikely. But ya never know.

Meanwhile, my thanks to writer Andy Morten and the other good folks at Shindig! for keeping my Lenny Kaye interview alive. It's a nugget if you dug it. And I dig it the most. man.

Shindig! magazine is available from the publisher, from our friends at Kool Kat Musik, at Barnes & Noble, and at many independent outlets. It's the NOW sound, it's what's happening!

If you like what you see here on Boppin' (Like The Hip Folks Do), please consider supporting this blog by becoming a patron on Patreon, or by visiting CC's Tip Jar. Additional products and projects are listed here.

Carl's new book Gabba Gabba Hey! A Conversation With The Ramones is now available, courtesy of the good folks at Rare Bird Books. Gabba Gabba YAY!! https://rarebirdlit.com/gabba-gabba-hey-a-conversation-with-the-ramones-by-carl-cafarelli/

This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl airs Sunday nights from 9 to Midnight Eastern, on the air in Syracuse at SPARK! WSPJ 103.3 and 93.7 FM, and on the web at http://sparksyracuse.org/ You can read about our history here.

I'm on Twitter @CafarelliCarl

10 SONGS: 11/17/2022

10 Songs is a weekly list of ten songs that happen to be on my mind at the moment. The lists are usually dominated by songs played on the previous Sunday night's edition of This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl. The idea was inspired by Don Valentine of the essential blog I Don't Hear A Single.

This week's edition of 10 Songs draws exclusively from the playlist for This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio # 1155. The show is available as a podcast.

Much of this week's show was programmed as a salute to our friend and colleague Rich Firestone, the host of Radio Deer Camp right here on SPARK! Our Reechie has been facing significant health issues and associated expenses, and we want to draw attention to a campaign to help Rich and his comparably cool partner Kathy Firestone (aka Frodis) in their time of need:

SUPPORT RICH'S TRANSITION TO DISABLED LIVING!

We hope you'll reach deeeeeeeep into the ol' pockets and do whatever you can. We thanks ya!

Let's get to 10 SONGS!

THE SMITHEREENS: Drown In My Own Tears

So we wanted this week's shindig to include a number of performers near 'n' dear to Reechie's interests. Carteret, New Jersey's phenomenal pop combo the Smithereens would be near the top of that list, and "Drown In Your Own Tears" (from their 1988 album Green Thoughts) was Rich's gateway into the realm of 'Reen thoughts. Rich heard that song playing in a record store, and his life was changed. Reechie himself tells the story here, and I added my own spin on his Smithereens journey here.

THE MONKEES: The Door Into Summer

Reechie likes to say that the Monkees have been good to him. Hell, as a young MonkeeMan, he met, courted, and married a young MonkeeWoman nicknamed Frodis (a reference to "The Frodis Caper," the final episode of The Monkees TV series). If that ain't Monkeemania, there ain't no Monkeemania.

Monkeemania was also the name of a 2-LP Australian import collection that helped hook Reechie on all things Micky-Davy-Peter-Michael. Prior to stumbling across Monkeemania in (I guess) the early '80s, that Firestone boy was aware of the Monkees--their TV show and their biggest hits--but it was Monkeemania that started him down a more intrepid walkin'-down-the-street-gettin'-the-funniest-looks-from-everyone-we-meet worldview. Were the Monkees more than their hits and their televised romps? The Monkeemania compilation indicated an affirmative answer.

And that, in turn, led Reechie to the Monkees' 1967 album Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Jones. Ltd. That album was also my  Monkees tipping point (read here and here), serving to help elevate my own fascination with the Monkees into the stratosphere (and phantasmagoric splendor). We chose the Pisces track "The Door Into Summer" to represent that portion of Reechie's rockin' pop fandom.

If memory serves, I first came into contact with Reechie and Frodis via online Monkees fandom on Prodigy. We've been friends now for more than thirty years. I'm grateful for that opportunity. I guess the Monkees have been good to me, too.

P. P. ARNOLD: When I Was Part Of Your Picture

You don't have to tell Dana & Carl about the magnificence of singer P. P. Arnold. We love P. P. Arnold! Her dynamic original version of the all-time classic "The First Cut Is The Deepest" earns a chapter in my long-threatened book The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1). In those halcyon days when TIRnRR was done live in the studio, a P. P. Arnold best-of set owned a permanent berth in my CD carrying case, ever at the ready when it was time to program a little of Ms. Arnold's wonderful music.

But I first heard Arnold's lovely tune "When I Was Part Of Your Picture" when Reechie played it on Radio Deer Camp. The track comes from 2019's The New Adventures Of...P. P. Arnold, a latter-day work that found the soul legend working with the likes of Paul Weller, who also wrote this particular number. Any record you ain't heard is a new record. Thanks, Reechie!

THE COUNT FIVE: Psychotic Reaction

What? Did you think I was the only rockin' pop fan declaring The Greatest Record Ever Made! an infinite number of times? Pshaw. Here's Reechie's choice. Or one of 'em, anyway. From the Count Five--the American Yardbirds, because why not?--"Psychotic Reaction" serves as today's Greatest Nugget Ever Made.

ABBA: SOS

Y'know, we love Reechie like a distant cousin, but let's face it: he ain't perfect. His stubborn refusal to play a friggin' ABBA song awready is a source of endless tsuris around here...or it would be if we actually, y'know...cared. Reechie claims his beloved Corgi Harry (who is also, of course, the producer of Radio Deer Camp, and perhaps not the only producer in radio who literally barks at on-air talent) ate all of the ABBA records in the Firestone family library. The closest surviving exception was Frida's solo hit "There's Something Going On," which Harry spared because he likes Phil Collins. Obviously.

To which we say: Reechie! BUY ANOTHER ABBA RECORD!!!

Or don't. It's your show.

EYTAN MIRSKY: This Year's Gonna Be Our Year

From This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio, Volume 5, because even a tribute show has bills to pay. And so we have Eytan Mirsky with "This Year's Gonna Be Our Year."

Maybe optimism isn't the proper response in the face of adversity. But maybe defiance is. This year? It's hit us all, but its time is nearly done. Another year awaits. Perhaps that will be the year when we hit back. Sing it, Brother Eytan. Sing it.

MICKY DOLENZ: Daybreak

Reechie's also a big fan of Harry Nilsson. In recognition of this, we programmed a very nice (and obscure) '60s Nilsson track called "Sister Marie," and we also played a cover of Nilsson's big smash "Everybody's Talkin'," as performed by Rich and Steve, which is our Reechie teamed with Steve Stoeckel of the Spongetones and Pop Co-Op.

But we figured we needed one more Nilsson song. And we went with Harry's old friend Micky Dolenz, singin' a song that was a hit for Nilsson (at least as far as AM radio in Syracuse was concerned in 1974). 

THE MONKEES: Porpoise Song (Theme From Head)

The Greatest Record Ever Made!

LIBRARIANS WITH HICKEYS: I Better Get Home

"I Better Get Home" is a track from Handclaps & Tambourines, the current album by the ever-fab Librarians With Hickeys. HEY! I have this compulsion to yell out HEY! whenever I mention "I Better Get Home." HEY! Best to just give in to it.

This is also the latest single from the album. We've already been playing it for weeks now, and it's about damned time the world caught up to our visionary single-sniffing acumen. HEY! But we played it this week as a specific wish on behalf of Reechie and Frodis. Enough with the hospitals. HEY! Rich better get home...and he did. He listened to this week's mutant radio party from the relative comfort of his own Deer Camp digs. Challenges await. But he's home. And that's better.

THE SMITHEREENS: Face The World With Pride

A hit record. A BIG hit record. Radio Deer Camp says so. Don't argue with our Reechie.

And if you wanna face the world with pride, we direct you to do the right thing:

SUPPORT RICH'S TRANSITION TO DISABLED LIVING!

See, facing the world with pride is its own reward.

If you like what you see here on Boppin' (Like The Hip Folks Do), please consider supporting this blog by becoming a patron on Patreon, or by visiting CC's Tip Jar. Additional products and projects are listed here.

This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl airs Sunday nights from 9 to Midnight Eastern, on the air in Syracuse at SPARK! WSPJ 103.3 and 93.7 FM, and on the web at http://sparksyracuse.org/ You can read about our history here.

I'm on Twitter @CafarelliCarl