The Jags -Party Games /She's So Considerate

Why not kick off Wednesday with a little Power Pop and get this train rolling? I'm feeling surprisingly human today after actually getting a decent night's sleep. Of course, my brain has apparently decided to use all that extra rest to produce some truly bizarre dream programming over the last few days.

The party games started the other night when I dreamed I was back with a couple of my old grade-school schoolmates who bullied me. We were running in line somewhere and were way behind everybody else. When we caught up, we were directed to crawl under a building to do foundation work. As if this is something you do as an adult with childhood bullies. As if that wasn't weird enough, one of them and I were having a perfectly normal conversation about a supervisor whose primary management technique was yelling "Holy Balls!" at regular intervals.

I'm not much of a dream interpreter, but I did recently see a picture of one of those bullies. Back in school he was one of the popular kids who looked destined for greatness. Now, based on what I saw, his job seems pretty ordinary. Then again, who am I to critique anybody's career choices? I spend a non-zero percentage of my free time sorting old 45s and debating whether a pressing variation is worth an extra five bucks.

The foundation work part probably came from last year when I spent quality time crawling under our house pulling out debris before getting it encapsulated. And the "Holy Balls!" guy? That likely came from my old high school football coach, who treated that phrase as both punctuation and a management philosophy whenever things weren't going according to his carefully crafted plans.

Whether it's a profound message about life, a warning about unfinished business, or simply my brain cleaning out its junk drawer, I have no idea. My subconscious apparently operates like a late-night DJ, taking requests from old bullies, a house encapsulation project, and a football coach shouting "Holy Balls!" and decided those tracks belonged on the same compilation album. I can't explain it, but I'd probably buy the record.

Kasenetz-Katz Singing Orchestral Circus - Down In Tennessee / Mrs. Green

Today's trip into the wonderfully weird world of bubblegum takes us to the Kasenetz-Katz Singing Orchestral Circus, which sounds less like a band and more like something a promoter came up with after three cups of coffee and a deadline. The concept was simple enough: cram together eight Kasenetz-Katz-produced groups, including the 1910 Fruitgum Company, Ohio Express, and Music Explosion, then see what happens. In other words, the bubblegum equivalent of assembling the Avengers, if the Avengers were fueled by sugar, tambourines, and absolutely no concern for subtlety.

"Down in Tennessee" managed to bubble under the Hot 100 at a majestic #124. Frankly, one of its more charming qualities is that it kicks off by shamelessly borrowing the opening of "Judy in Disguise." And by "borrowing," I mean the musical equivalent of showing up at your neighbor's barbecue wearing his shirt and introducing yourself as him.

Truth be told, the real treasure here is the B-side. But of course I posted the A-side first. Why? Because sometimes character building is important. Maybe I wanted everyone to dutifully march through the recommended programming before discovering the good stuff. Maybe I wanted to recreate the authentic 1968 experience of actually flipping a record over.

Or maybe I'm just a rotten bastage.

Yeah... that's probably it. I'll take the charge and happily plead guilty.

Ripp Tide- Dynamite/The Rains Came

For some reason, I was expecting instrumental surf sounds when I dropped the needle on this one. Instead, "Dynamite" comes screaming out of the speakers with all the subtlety of its title. If TNT had a soundtrack, this might be it.

Things take an unexpected turn on the flip side when the singer slams on the brakes with a slow, deliberate cover of "The Rains Came," the classic associated with Sambo and the House Wreckers and later Sir Douglas Quintet. It's a long way from the explosive energy of "Dynamite," but that's what makes the record interesting.

A quick look at the credits reveals that the writer of the song also produced this version, so his vision is clearly on display. In other words, there was no middleman, no committee meeting, and no record executive suggesting they "make it sound more commercial." This is the songwriter saying, "No, this is how I meant it to sound all along." Whether you agree with him or not, it's hard to argue with that level of confidence.

Sister Rosetta Tharpe - Things That I Used To Do/It's Me/I Have Good news To Bring/Didn't It Rain/Bring Back Those Happy Days

It was a very exhausting week. I flew to Colorado, which meant very little sleep, and of course my return flight was delayed because apparently the travel gods felt I hadn't suffered enough. I didn't get into RDU until 1:30 a.m. and wasn't home until 3:30am. Three-and-a-half hours of sleep later, I was back up tackling other tasks. The body is simply not as resilient as it used to be. When I was younger, I could bounce back from this kind of abuse. Now I need a recovery plan for a good night's sleep.

The trip wasn't all bad, though. I found some pretty cool records and managed to do a healthy amount of crate digging. Another bonus was coming home to records waiting in the mailbox, including today's arrival. I managed to score this Sister Rosetta Tharpe record and, oh my, is it ever choice. I've pulled a few highlights to share.

I love Rosetta and never pass one of her records by when I'm digging through crates. The problem is, I almost never find them. She possessed incredible power, a truly unique voice, and an influence on the development of R&B and Rock and Roll that cannot be overstated. For once, the Rock and Roll Hall of F(Sh)ame actually got one right when they inducted her.

So enjoy a little Sister Rosetta today. Take a moment to reflect on how much modern music owes to her pioneering work. Without Rosetta Tharpe, Rock and Roll might have developed very differently, and some of the music we love today might never have existed at all.

Shados- M You Owe Me Nothing/She Loves Me

You know it's going to be good when the group is called Shados-M. Not Shadows. Not The Shadows. Shados-M. That alone tells you somebody was operating under a completely different set of rules.

This is another one of those 45s where I recorded the B-side first because, well, you know me. If there's a moody garage tune lurking in the shadows, that's where I'm heading. The cogs of Dis has a picture of the promo copy of this record, and the label actually marks the A-side, "She Loves Me," as the "suggested side."

To which I respectfully reply: bugger off.

Sure, it's good. But the B-side is where the magic happens. It starts with that swirling organ, slowly pulling you in, then the guitar kicks in just before the singer pleads, "Girl, you've been so good to me..." Then comes the killer line: "Asked what you can do for me..." followed by the response that seals the deal: "You owe me nothing."

At that moment, I'm hooked.

The singer spends the rest of the song lamenting his fate, and you genuinely feel bad for the poor guy. At the same time, the organ keeps churning, the fuzz guitar keeps building, and I'm sitting there grinning like an idiot because the music is so ridiculously good. The man's heart is being dragged behind a moving vehicle, and I'm over here thinking, "Wow, listen to that fuzz tone."

So while he's suffering a full-blown emotional collapse, I'm having the time of my life.

I hope you don't judge me and make an assumption that this admission says something troubling about my character.

On the other hand, I am sharing this glorious slab of garage misery with all of you fine people, so perhaps I possess at least a shred of decency. Not much of a shred, mind you, but enough to keep me from being a complete monster.

Bunny Sigler - Follow Your Heart /Can You Dig It

Friday soul finds us with a fantastic double-sided 45, tucked inside one of those glorious Cameo sleeves. For a record geek like me, those sleeves are pure eye candy, and when you pair one with a white label promo, it's basically vinyl cheesecake.

I run across Bunny Sigler records surprisingly often, which is odd when you consider he was never a massive crossover star. His biggest Billboard pop hit only reached #28, although he did crack the R&B Top 10 with a #8 hit. Most of his 45s, however, seemed to simply exist, quietly occupying record bins while the world chased the next big thing.

This one is the real mystery. I have a hard time understanding how it didn't even dent the R&B charts. It's got all the ingredients: a great groove, a strong vocal, hooks in the right places, and enough soul to fill a church basement on a Saturday night. Yet somehow it went absolutely nowhere. The music business has always been part talent, part timing, and part throwing darts while blindfolded.

Still, Bunny had what many musicians would gladly take over a brief moment of superstardom: a long, productive career. He kept working, creating, and contributing long after the spotlight moved on. Honestly, that's probably what I aspire to myself. Give me a productive work life, a few things I'm proud of, and enough good records to keep me occupied.

Of course, if the lottery wants to step in and dramatically accelerate that retirement plan, I can assure you my feelings would remain completely unhurt. In fact, I'd be willing to make that sacrifice for the greater good.

Lorraine Ellison - I Dig You Baby/Don't Let It Go To Your Head

Sweet girl-group sounds from Lorraine Ellison, riding those slick Lou Courtney production grooves. Somewhere on my shelf there's probably a red-label Mercury copy too. And yes, I can hear the chorus already: "Of course he has one." Did I bother to look for it before posting this? No. No, I did not.

This one bubbled under the Billboard Hot 100 at #103 the year I was born, which feels like one of those strange little cosmic footnotes record collectors live for. Lorraine's career was already fading into history as mine was just beginning. Even stranger, she passed away the year I graduated high school. The record sat quietly between those two milestones, waiting for me to find it decades later.

That's one of the things I love about old 45s. They're tiny time machines. A song misses the charts, disappears into cutout bins and forgotten jukeboxes, and fifty years later some guy is standing in a thrift store holding it up like he's discovered buried treasure.