The Keys of Heaven Ensemble - How Long Has It Been /Calling An Operator

Gospel 45s are almost always worn to the bone—grooves softened by decades of hands, turntables, and Sunday‑morning repetition—unless you’re lucky enough to unearth untouched store stock. The Keys of Heaven Ensemble (a name that already feels like a stained‑glass window glowing in late‑day sun) reaches straight into the chest.

This Richmond, Virginia 45 doesn’t just start; it awakens. First come the crackles—like rain tapping on an old tin roof—then the static thins out, peeling away until the voice rises through the haze. Suddenly the message is clear, warm, and close enough to feel on your skin: Oh Children, How Long Has It Been Since You’ve Been Home.

“Calling An Operator” made its way onto this blog back in 2023 as "Operator – Long Distance” , credited only to an unknown group under the simple name Gospel. I loved that mysterious version, but S. Robinson brings a different electricity—like someone tightening the focus on a lens until the whole scene snaps into clarity.

The Action - Winsom's Melody/ Hang On Sloopy

From the great white north drifts this charming little 45 from the Action—a name so gloriously generic it almost loops back around to being bold. But what is bold is their slow‑motion, hold‑your‑best‑girl‑tight take on “Hang On Sloopy,” a cover that feels like it was meant for dim lights and a dance floor that’s just starting to spin.

Flip to the A‑side and suddenly you’re hit with chiming guitars, a rolling bass line, and handclaps that sparkle like someone tapping out joy on the inside of your skull. It’s the kind of sound that turns an ordinary Saturday into a tiny celebration.

Chuck Jackson - Never Let Me Go/Baby I Want To Marry You

Catching up on the old blog feels a bit like sweeping the floor of a long‑abandoned record shop — clearing out the draft posts I’ve let pile up like bottle caps in a forgotten drawer. I’m compulsive about my records but easily lured away by whatever new sound drifts through the air. One fresh melody, and suddenly the things I meant to finish get pushed to the back of the crate.

That’s where Chuck ended up — filed under “later,” which, if we’re honest, was the story of his whole career. He never cracked the pop stratosphere; his biggest pop single stalled at #23 and he hovered in the middle of the proverbial chart pack, as evidenced by my only other Chuck post. He fared better on the R&B charts and other artists took his songs further than he ever did, while he kept circling the edges, steady but unsung.

When I’m crate‑digging, it’s almost a guarantee that a Wand‑label 45 that I see will have his name on it, like a quiet reminder I still haven’t given him his due. Maybe that’s my loss. The world certainly lost something when he left us in 2023 at 85 — a voice I’m only now realizing I should have listened to sooner.

 

Hollywood Jills- A Good Thing Baby/He Makes Me So Bad

The secret surprises lurking in my unorganized boxes never fail to amaze me. I keep telling myself I should pull out the interesting things and put them all in one respectable, grown‑up box to research later…but honestly, leaving them scattered feels like Christmas morning engineered by a slightly confused elf. Every time I open a box, I’m basically gifting myself something I forgot I owned.

This weekend’s surprise? Hollywood Jills, rising out of a random box like a phoenix who took a wrong turn and ended up in my hit or miss boxes. They started on a tiny New Orleans label before Capitol swooped in like, “We’ll take that!”—only for the whole thing to drift into obscurity. Or so I thought. When Rhino resurrected the “B” side for their 2005 girl‑group box set (still on my to‑pick‑up list, naturally), they treated it as a lost gem worth spotlighting. But I’m presenting it the way Capitol originally intended: A‑side / B‑side, no revisionist reshuffling.

And maybe that’s why it slipped into obscurity in the first place—filed away as a secondary track, never given the oxygen an A‑side gets, left to drift until someone decades later decided it deserved another chance. Capitol got it. Rhino got it. And now my ears finally get it too, fashionably late but enthusiastically.

Soul Asylum - Something Out Of Nothing/Freaks/To Sir With Love/Marionette

The last Soul Asylum 12” I’ll be sharing for a while sits in my hands like a relic from a forgotten kingdom. For a while, I say — though somewhere in the record archives lurks another Soul Asylum 12" I’ve misplaced, a fact that gnaws at me with a slow, maddening frustration.

Oh, Soul Asylum… the beautiful, sloppy, unappreciated misfits of their era. They should have been crowned royalty, but instead they were tossed into the dust bins while lesser bands strutted across the stage. Only when Columbia came calling did they finally ascend the throne — but those A&M years? Those should have made them legends, the undisputed bosses of the whole scene.

I’ve spent years obsessing over Cooper, and I realize I’ve neglected my quieter companions — my feline confidants. Today belongs to K.C. He’s not feeling well, and the vet visit today left him wary, wounded in pride more than body. He’s five years old, a distant observer by nature, the kind of cat who watches the world from the shadows as if judging its every move.

When I picked him up today, he looked at me with a betrayal so profound I’m convinced he won’t let me near him again until the end of days.

And beneath all of this sits a softer ache: his sister, Izabo, whom we lost last year. Her absence lingers like a quiet, persistent echo.

Superchunk Crossed Wires/Blinders

The video for this Superchunk song is such a tiny masterpiece of brilliance that I simply had to deliver it to you like a freshly baked treat from the Internet’s secret bakery of wonders. As a lifelong cat enthusiast, I’ve hosted more furry roommates than I can reasonably keep track of, and at the moment our household boasts five indoor kitties and one outdoor momma who supervises the property like a tiny, whiskered landlady.

Cooper, ever the diplomat, adores his feline companions — but only one has earned the coveted title of Best Buddy: Princess Rian, though around here she answers mostly to Princess Pussface. We brought her and her sister inside ages ago (their momma, the outdoor landlord, prefers the great outdoors; we got her fixed, tried to introduce her to indoor life, and she responded with the vibe of a cat who has drafted a formal complaint and signed it with one perfect pawprint.

Princess Pussface, at first, wanted nothing to do with any of us. She perfected the art of the aloof royal glare… until she noticed the other cats having a riotous time. That’s when she surrendered to the dark side — or, more accurately, the fun side — and immediately decided Cooper was her chosen one.

But back to the video. I’ve only ever had one cat who might’ve been capable of starring in it if he’d been allowed to roam the neighborhood like a tiny, chaotic troubadour. Julian was mine — a heart full of affection and a brain full of schemes that definitely weren’t approved by management. He crossed the rainbow bridge about five years ago, but oh, he was a devil. A glorious, mischievous devil. He climbed everything, treated gravity like a personal challenge, and had a particular fondness for stealing my plastic record sleeves so he could surf them down the stairs like a feline Evel Knievel.

I miss Julian. He was trouble wrapped in fur, and he made the world more interesting.

 

  

The Sandells - Scrambler/Out Front

This Memorial Day handed me a day off like a slightly crumpled coupon someone forgot in their pocket — still valid, still delightful. It is also granting me the noble quest of trading my unwanted 45s for someone else’s hopefully‑coveted 45s, a ritual that feels a bit like vinyl speed‑dating. And, of course, I am treating myself to some boss sounds from the Sandals (or their earlier name Sandells), because nothing says “holiday spirit” like surf‑soaked guitar lines and Hot Rod soundz trying to high‑five your eardrums.

Naturally, in true Noize fashion, I recorded the B‑side first. Why? Because I operate on a personal timeline known only to me, the moon, and possibly Cooper. — and also, because the B‑side is my favorite. Oh, but who am I kidding — the A‑side doesn’t just hold its own, it struts in with a grin, carrying enough voltage to light up the whole block. The revving engines rise behind it like a rowdy chorus, and Out-Front comes screaming through the mix, turning the whole moment into a wild parade of sound and swagger.

So I sit here with my coffee and let the Surf sound hit me with its usual Monday magic, blasting through my speakers like a caffeinated seagull with a mission, giving me the Monday boost I didn’t technically need, since Cooper — the wonder dog, part canine, part motivational speaker — had already taken me on a walk so invigorating it could’ve been marketed as a spiritual awakening. He strutted along as if he’d been personally appointed to raise the nation’s morale, and honestly, the nation could use a generous dose of whatever brand of positive moral fiber he’s handing out.