Roy Wood - The Premium Bond Theme

Surf Monday has, quite unapologetically, packed its little surfboard and toddled off elsewhere this week. No crashing waves, no sun-bleached guitars—just a polite note left on the door: “Back soon (perhaps).”

Instead, we’re wandering down a different beach entirely—one where the sand sparkles a bit oddly, the tide hums in orchestral tones, and genres politely ignore the dress code. Surf Monday, it seems, has traded its flip-flops for velvet boots and a mischievous grin.

And honestly…who’s to say Monday can’t have an identity crisis now and then? So Roy Wood—ringmaster of The Move and early ELO—isn’t exactly riding the surf? Pish-posh! Who needs waves when you’ve got swagger this tidal? This cheeky little B-side struts in like it owns the saloon, and—oh!—the label whispers (with a conspiratorial wink) that every single instrument is Roy himself. One man, an entire orchestra. A musical octopus in platform boots. Honestly, rather dazzling.

And the title? Oh, it practically twirls its mustache and declares, “That everyday James Bond theme? How quaint. For the masses!” No, no—Roy is brewing up the deluxe edition, the velvet-rope version, the one served with a sparkling umbrella and a knowing smirk.

It conjures a most peculiar daydream: James Bond wandering into the Old West, spurs jangling, martini mysteriously intact…perhaps rubbing shoulders with Robert Conrad in The Wild Wild West. Honestly, I half expect Roy to leap from behind a cactus and take over that theme song too. Why stop at Bond when there are so many melodies begging for a proper Roy-ing?

Imagine it: Roy Wood and the Great Theme Songs (yes, yes, not the most original title—but heavens, who would complain?). Picture him gleefully dismantling The Good, The Bad and The Ugly—of which the movie- the gloriously long extended version—is one of the greatest films ever to tip its hat at the sun.

But alas, until I acquire Roy’s secret contact scroll and pitch this grand scheme, we must content ourselves with this particular interpretation…which, to be fair, is already twirling a baton in its own marvelous little universe.

The Gospel Cavaliers of New Orleans, La - Bye and Bye/Jesus My Shining Star

When Tech Support Costs More Than Therapy (and Gospel Saves the Day)

I’m convinced these technology companies have us exactly where they want us—confused, frustrated, and reaching for our wallets.

I’ve been wrestling with my ReadySHARE setup for longer than I care to admit, and yesterday I made the bold, dangerous, life-altering decision to “just reinstall everything.” You know—the kind of decision that feels productive in the moment and quickly turns into regret.

You already know how that went.

Somehow, I managed to get the downstairs router back online. Small victory. But the upstairs router—the one I bought just last September to make ReadySHARE dreams come true—refused to connect to anything. Not the internet, not my devices, not even reality- no hint of cooperation. It just sat there. Blinking. Judging me.

So I did what most of us end up doing: I called tech support. That’s when I got the line: “Technical support is only available for 90 days after purchase.”

Ninety days. What is that—a free trial for basic functionality?  After that? You pay. And pay I did—$99 and two hours of my life—working through the issue with a tech who I’m pretty sure I frustrated just as much as I was frustrated and I’m fairly certain the tech was reconsidering their career choices thanks to me.

To be fair, we eventually got the internet back up, which at that point felt like a miracle and I nearly stood up and clapped. But ReadySHARE? Oh no. That’s going to require another call… another day… and probably another exercise in patience.

But seriously— let’s talk about this 90-day nonsense for a second. You mean to tell me I can spend good money on a router—and not a cheap one—and after three months, I’m basically on my own? That’s not support. That’s a countdown.  

Ironically, now I do have a year of support—because I paid for it. And trust me, they are going to earn every cent of that $99. I might call just to say hello. “Hey, it’s me again—you remember, the ReadySHARE guy”. They’re going to hear from me until ReadySHARE is working the way it’s supposed to.   

At this point, I could keep going. I could spiral into a full rant about blinking lights, firmware updates, and the emotional damage caused by Wi-Fi issues. But instead… I’m going to let it go. Because today is Gospel Sunday. And honestly, that’s probably the only thing that kept me from throwing that upstairs router out the window.

I’ve been digging through some of my old boxes lately and came across a record that reminded me why I love music so much. I’ve always liked how gospel groups named themselves—The Gospel Cavaliers of [Somewhere, USA]— There’s something about it that feels proud, grounded, and real. No marketing team needed

The soul of the A side pulls you in and you are grooving, then you flip it over, and sometimes the B-side feels like it wandered in from a completely different universe. Maybe it’s just me, but the B-side on this one has a sound that reminds me a lot of the Manhattans’ “Shining Star.” That same smooth groove, same kind of soul—but with that gospel spirit running through it.

Whether that connection is real or just something I’m hearing, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that feeling—the shift from frustration to something grounding, something joyful, something bigger than a router that won’t cooperate. And just like that, I went from arguing with a router… to sitting back and smiling at a record.

No passwords. No updates. No support fees. And that’s the balance, I guess. Technology might test your patience… but music? Music soothes your soul.

  

Dalek/Engam: The Blackstones- She Tells Me With Her Eyes / You Don't Know Better

The computer arrived yesterday and I dove headfirst into configuration mode last night, continuing my heroic efforts today. I must have blocked out just how much of a marathon it is to get a computer set up with all my beloved links and programs—pretty sure I’ll have this thing just right by, say, the next presidential election. Still, I have to admit, a few parts of the process have been shockingly smooth—turns out technology has actually been paying attention while I wasn’t looking.

On a totally different note, I recently picked up this 45, and let’s be honest—any time I see a label screaming “Collectors Series,” my inner skeptic goes on high alert. But apparently, this one’s the real OG deal. I mean, with a name like Dalek Engram: The Blackstones, you can’t help but wonder—was this cooked up during a late-night sci-fi binge or an epic band name generator session? At least the motivation for the songs is clear: they deliver a delightful dose of 60’s jangle that’s impossible to resist. Beam me up, retro grooves!

The Contours- Shake Sherry/You Better Get In Line

I finally took the plunge on a new computer. Over the years I’ve owned just about every major brand, but the last two have been Samsung. The one I’m typing on right now has been my favorite computer of all time—steady, loyal, and only occasionally acting like it needs a nap. Lately, though, it’s been giving me little fits, so I’m retiring it to the noble realm of recording songs, where computers go to live out their golden years.

Naturally, you’d assume I bought another Samsung. Naturally, you’d be wrong.

I bought a newer Samsung about five years ago,when this machine needed some repairs on the plugin and I thought it was done for. The newer Samsung was so uninspiring it’s been demoted to backup duty—basically the bullpen pitcher who only comes in when the starter’s arm falls off.

But back to the new machine.  I’ve been impressed with my work ThinkPad and with its versatility. So for the last few months I spent alot of time browsing Lenovo’s site and a few other retailers like a man studying ancient scrolls, trying to find a machine that can keep up with my multitasking chaos. Best Buy had some tempting options, but then I learned many were third‑party “upgrades” that souped up those machines but they void the warranty- an exciting gamble I did not feel like taking. Hard pass.

I finally narrowed my choices, and on Sunday I decided to take the plunge — nothing dramatic, of course, just the kind of move that suggests I’ve quietly known what I was doing all along.  I tried to buy my chosen machine on the Lenovo site- Payment failed. WTF. I left it in the cart with all the smooth patience of someone giving it space to come to its senses, and it repaid me by acting like I was the problem. Monday I log in and—bam—Lenovo drops the price by almost $200. Apparently, they missed me.I called them and they sorted out the payment issue — graciously confirming it was their mess, not mine — and I ordered it immediately. It arrives today, and I’m fully prepared to ride this thing like a speed‑freaking‑machine, with the calm composure of someone who absolutely intends to cause a little stylish chaos.

As for today’s 45: The Contours - Criminally underrated group released a lot of quality sides, some covered by other groups, and this one was their second‑highest Billboard hit (#43 pop, #21 R&B), and it should’ve charted higher. It deserved more love. I always see Contours 45s out in the wild, but it’s always the same handful. So, enjoy Sherry Shake, a double‑sided soul groover while I wait for my new digital hot rod to show up.

Doug Sahm And The Tex Mex Trip - Groover's Paradise / Girls Today (Don't Like To Sleep Alone)

Doug Sahm previously wandered onto the blog three times with the Sir Douglas Quintet — a band I’ve quietly, then loudly, then permanently filed under “a favorite go‑to listen.” I recently picked up a stock copy of this 45 to keep my promo company. Being the completist I am, of course I gathered them all. It’s instinct at this point — like a cat batting at a dangling string, except the string is a discography. 

And the LP… well, that’s a whole archaeological dig. I bought an import copy from an antique store twenty years ago, and if memory serves, it’s Spanish — though I’ll admit I was far too lazy to excavate it from the shelves to confirm. Years later, during my stint in the VMP club, an orange‑vinyl reissue arrived like a little neon blessing.

Both sides of this 45 find Doug in fine form. Girls Today (Don’t Like To Sleep Alone) was one of the standout tracks for me on the LP — the moment where that Tex‑Mex and Country pulse really kicks the door open and lets the sunlight pour in. It’s got that groove, the border‑town sway, the feeling that somebody in the band is wearing sunglasses indoors for reasons no one questions.

Doug, meanwhile must’ve had a gravitational field for record contracts. The man collected labels the way the rest of us collect coffee mugs we swear we won’t break. Every time you turn around he’s on another imprint, another lineup, another “this time it’s gonna stick” moment. You don’t bounce around that much unless you’ve got a personality big enough to charm, confuse, and possibly overwhelm an entire A&R department before lunch.

His chart success with the Sir Douglas Quintet was before 1969 and afterwards he had one lonely top‑200 solo LP on the Billboard charts and one solo 45 chart hit — at #100 on the country charts, of all things. A man who should’ve been a household name but instead became a cult‑hero footnote.

Thankfully, YouTube has become a kind of digital shrine. There are full television concerts floating around — especially those Austin City Limits performances — and they’re absolutely worth sinking into. Sahm in his natural habitat: loose, joyful, and unmistakably himself.

Robert Forster - Baby Stones/The Land That Time Forgot

Robert Forster, the powerhouse co‑founder of the brilliant Go‑Betweens, blasts out pure independent magic with this obscure debut solo 45—and the fact that it’s a promo makes it even sweeter. My Go‑Betweens stash keeps growing: albums, 45s, the works, and they’ve even made appearances on this blog before. Somehow, Robert and his bandmates remain criminally overlooked here in the States, but they’re a huge part of why my love affair with Australian artists stays loud, proud, and very much alive.

Guided By Voices - Alex Bell/Focus On The Flox

Guided By Voices (GBV) making their first appearance on this blog feels like one of the greatest crimes of the blogs sixteen‑year existence— the kind of crime that would get you banned from Discogs forums and quietly judged at every record show within a 200‑mile radius.  Sure, there were the lean years — the stretches where the drive sputtered out of me, or when some malicious link (scamming bastages, every one of them- may their styluses forever mistrack) hijacked the blog and turned it into a digital haunted house. But still… GBV deserved better from me.

My love affair with them started back when I lived in Denver. My friend Craig was a Scat Mail Order zealot — the kind of guy who bought everything they touched, possibly including packing slips and air from the warehouse. When Scat signed GBV, they still had quantities of the early records lying around, and Craig scooped them all up like a man preparing for a future where vinyl becomes currency and only the righteous survive. Then he did the noble thing: he shared them with me.

I, meanwhile, was broke. Not “I’ll wait for payday” broke — I was “I’m choosing between ramen and gas money, and ramen is winning” broke. So, I didn’t buy my own copies. Craig had an original Propeller, and I could’ve had one too. If I’d known what that record would someday be worth, I would’ve sold plasma, furniture, and possibly a distant relative to get it.

From Vampires on Titus onward, though, I’ve been there — buying the albums, the 45s, the EPs, the releases that appear without warning like Pollard woke up from a dream and said, “Yes, the world needs another 7-inch with a photocopied sleeve and hooks that could catch a whale.” The catalog is staggering, a labyrinth of hooks, fragments, and melodies that sound like they were recorded in a basement, a garage, and a broom closet simultaneously. And Robert Pollard remains the King of Rock in a realm where the King is somehow still unknown to the masses — which honestly feels perfect. If he ever did become mainstream, half the collectors would immediately panic‑sell their entire GBV section out of sheer identity crisis.