The Shadows - Apache

Honestly, as cheeky as I can get, let’s talk about the Shadows and the absolute circus of them never cracking the U.S. charts, because at this point it feels like the universe misplaced a memo, spilled tea on it, and then blamed the dog. In Britain they were a proper big deal — striding about with that crisp, twangy instrumental sound that should have slid right into the American surf scene like a greased‑up beach ball (oops, it did, later courtesy of the Ventures, who basically said, “Move aside lads, we’ll handle the American bit”). And no, they weren’t some plucky little outfit recording in a shed behind a fish‑and‑chips shop; they were on proper labels with what should have been proper distribution, doing everything short of strapping the records to a flock of carrier pigeons and hoping for the best.

They did have to ditch their original name, the Drifters, after the other Drifters in the States said, “Absolutely not,” which is fair enough. But honestly, “the Shadows” sounds far more dangerous — like a band that might steal your girl, your amplifier, and possibly your lunch if you leave it unattended. Cliff Richard (born Harry Webb, because of course he was) started out with them, and together they racked up a deliciously naughty total of 69 charting singles — 35 with Cliff, 34 on their own. Yes, yes, nudge, nudge, wink, wink, you cheeky devil.

And then — oh, buckle up — there’s “Apache.” The Shadows crafted this moody, cinematic, desert‑mirage fever dream of a masterpiece… and who gets the U.S. hit? Jørgen Ingmann. Lovely chap, I’m sure, but let’s be honest: his version is the store‑brand cereal next to the Shadows’ full‑sugar, name‑brand original — the kind that comes with a free toy and a mild sense of superiority.

There is no comparison. There is only the Shadows, glowing like a radioactive jukebox in the night, and America, tragically wearing noise‑canceling headphones.

And just when you think the “Apache” drama couldn’t get any spicier, in march the Ventures — not tiptoeing, not politely knocking, but barging in like, “Hello, yes, we’ll be taking this now.” They didn’t just cover it on their highest charting album “Plays Telstar”; they covered it as masters, the musical equivalent of walking into a room wearing sunglasses indoors and announcing, “We’re professionals, darling.”

So now you’ve got the Shadows with the OG, Jørgen Ingmann politely collecting the U.S. hit like he’s picking up a parcel at the post office, and the Ventures strutting in with full “we own this surf‑rock kingdom” energy. It’s chaos. It’s drama. It’s a love triangle, but with guitars and questionable haircuts.

Meanwhile, the Shadows’ version is still sitting there, legs crossed, eyebrow raised, quietly judging everyone because it knows — it knows — it’s the superior one.

Sister Josephine James- Look Down Upon Me/Lord I Believe

Yesterday unraveled the way my cats unravel a ball of string — with enthusiasm, zero strategy, and a trail of chaos that somehow feels personal. I slipped out to the yard sales — a covert little treasure hunt — only to find that every driveway had transformed into a graveyard of forgotten objects. The old saying “my junk could be your junk” didn’t stand a chance. I’ve already got enough of my own junk auditioning for space in my house.

I did manage to mow the lawn, but the idea of digging through the shed to find the shears felt like an archaeological expedition I wasn’t emotionally prepared for. And the bush trimmer? The thought of plugging it in felt like too much commitment for a Saturday.

The real chaos started with the new router. I had this whole plan: install it, bask in the glow of improved Wi‑Fi, then hang new curtains like a domestic champion. Instead, the router decided to audition for the role of “Most Useless Piece of Technology.” The company swore their app would handle everything “effortlessly,” which was true only if “effortlessly” means “not at all.”

Meanwhile, Wifey was growing increasingly irritated because no internet meant no Roku, which meant no TV, which meant the household mood was deteriorating fast. After two hours of digital purgatory, I finally called the company. A technician swooped in — not through their precious app, but through an old‑fashioned browser window. She was fantastic. The app, however, remains a mystery wrapped in incompetence. Why direct customers to a tool that works about as well as a screen door on a submarine?

Anyway — back to the real heart of the day: another Peacock 45 arrived in the mail. Funny thing, I almost never stumble across the R&B Peacock 45s in the wild, and the spiritual Peacock 78s only surface once in a blue moon. I’ve got a battered copy of Big Mama Thornton’s Hound Dog on both 45 and 78, but I’ve never held an original Peacock sleeve in my hands.

I do have a few Sister Josephine James 45s, though. A little digging suggests she passed in 2019 — and she was the sister of Reverend Cleophus Robinson, whose voice I adore. Funny how a single record can open a door into a whole family’s history.

Chuck Berry - Too Much Monkey Business/Brown Eyed Handsome Man

This brown‑eyed, thoroughly average man has officially survived another work week — a true triumph worthy of a parade, or at least a chicken biscuit. Now I’m staring down a list of honey‑do tasks before I can officially declare today a “me day.”… except for a tiny bit of monkey business. I’m planning to sneak out to a few local yard sales — very hush‑hush, very undercover… sshhh, this mission is strictly classified from the wife.

Yesterday I even slipped out of work early under the noble banner of “running errands.” which, to be fair, I technically did. … But while I was out, a few thrift stores mysteriously appeared in my path — as they do — and I wandered in. Shockingly, I actually found some records worth grabbing — a rare event, since those bins usually look like a retirement home for unwanted polka albums.

Naturally, right as I’m feeling victorious, my phone rings. It’s my wife, casually asking if I’m at the grocery store yet? Meanwhile, I’m standing in the thrift store holding vinyl like a kid caught with both hands in the cookie jar. My “other mission” had not yet been disclosed.

Busted. Absolutely, undeniably busted.

The Entertainers - Too Much/I Tried To Tell You

I crashed into bed early last night, completely wrung out from the week — honestly, from the last two weeks. It feels like I’ve been sprinting a marathon, and the next stretch doesn’t look any slower. At this point, I’m convinced I need to schedule an official ME Day, complete with capital letters and zero responsibilities.

Today’s adventure brings us yet another group called “The Entertainers.” Not exactly a groundbreaking name, and it makes me wonder who the original Entertainers were — the first brave souls who said, “Yes, this is it, this is our identity.” I’ve numbered them according to the Discogs list, though that system is… generous, let’s say. The so‑called “first” Entertainers — the one without a number — turns out to be a beach group from 1980s South Carolina. Which means the one I’m dealing with today, #6, clearly predates them by a long shot. The whole thing feels like a mystery wrapped in a filing error.

Queen - Calling All Girls

What a groggy morning, but now I am back in my teenage bedroom with with what I felt was the standout track from Hot Space. I remember buying the LP new and spinning it on the turntable.  Hot Space really didn't do well for the band and this song stalled at #60. I always thought Roger Taylor brought forward solid songs and I guess you could guess that as the 2 Queen songs I have uploaded were written by Roger. 

The Teenage Moonbeems - Teen Age Baby/Cryin The Blues

I am so looking forward to the weekend based on how busy this work week has been. Of course my wife already has started coming up with a list of things I will need to take care of before I can play...oh the humanity!

Picked up this promo Checker 45 at the flea market in March. A little rough but played nicely. This is quite a departure from what has been on my turntable the last few days. I played some new mailorder arrivals. Let's see I played the new Son Volt LP, the new Social Distortion Lp, and 2 record store day Noctorum lp's (Marty Willson-Piper from the Church), then I went into the archives and pulled out a Graham Parker LP and a NAZZ lp. I have some microsoft teams meetings today so I am not sure I will have the space to put on any records but if I do it will be the RSD XTC LP, the RSD Bob Brady lp and I have a James Brown LP staring me in the face begging to be played

Greg Kihn Band - Roadrunner

It was a little chilly this morning but Cooper and I had a nice walk, except for the train. The train is so loud and hurts Coopers (and my) ears. Most mornings we miss it but not this morning. We had to hang out behind a builiding to wait for it to pass by.

This morning we have Greg Kihn channeling Jonathan Richman