Spiritualights - He'll Make A Way/The World's Getting Farther Away From The Lord

I didn't think Super Cooper the Wonder Dog and I would get a walk today. Last night's forecast was calling for nearly a 100% chance of rain this morning, so I figured we'd be spending our Sunday staring out the window instead of wandering the neighborhood.

Then I woke up at 4:00 a.m., wide awake for no good reason other than apparently my internal clock had clocked in early. I checked the weather and suddenly the forecast had backed off to only a small chance of rain. I've learned over the years that sometimes you've got to seize the blessings when they appear, especially the unexpected ones.

So I started the coffee pot ahead of schedule, and by 4:30 a.m. Super Cooper and I were out the door. It was a little windy, but otherwise it was one of those perfect, quiet walks that remind you how much peace exists before most of the world wakes up.

Now I'm sitting here enjoying a fresh cup of New Mexico Piñon Coffee and watching the Sunday morning gospel lineup that helps get my soul pointed in the right direction: Dr. Merritt, Dr. Jeremiah, Amazing Facts, and Father Cedric Pisegna. There is something comforting about beginning the day with good coffee, good teaching, and a reminder that God is still on the throne despite what the headlines might suggest.

This morning's soundtrack is a gospel 45 that I don't even remember buying. That's one of the hazards of being a record collector. Sometimes I can tell you the exact place, date, and price of a record I purchased twenty years ago. Other times I'm digging through one of my many undocumented boxes and find something that makes me stop and ask, "How long have I had this?"

I always pick up gospel 45s when I find them. Sometimes, just based on the artist's name or label, it's about a 50-50 chance whether it turns out to be a Black Gospel record. In the case of this one, I had a good feeling about it because it was recorded at Mark Five Studios in Greenville, South Carolina. I've come across a few great records from that studio over the years to know that when I see that name, it's worth paying attention.

That's part of the joy of collecting. Every record is a little mystery waiting to be solved. Some are valuable. Some are rare. Some are neither. But every now and then one surprises you and becomes the perfect soundtrack for a Sunday morning.

These early Sunday mornings are becoming some of my favorite moments in life. Good coffee. A good spiritual word. A faithful dog by my side. And wonderful, obscure gospel 45s that have somehow waited decades to be heard again.

The older I get, the more I realize that happiness isn't usually hiding in the big moments. It's tucked away in these quiet hours before sunrise, when gratitude arrives unannounced and God's blessings sound remarkably like a scratchy gospel record spinning at 45 RPM.

The Tikis - Lost My Love Today/Bye Bye Bye

No fantastic stories today. It did get me wondering, though, how many of us have these little tales that are fascinating to us but land somewhere between "mildly amusing" and "please stop talking" for everyone else. I shared yesterday's adventure with my staff, and I'm pretty sure their collective takeaway was, "Well, that certainly explains a lot."

In fairness, the line between "great story to tell later" and "featured prominently in next year's Darwin Awards" is probably about the thickness of a human hair. Some people collect accomplishments. I apparently collect cautionary tales- and I have more than my fair share.

As for today's useless-but-vital music trivia: The Tikis first recorded this gem around the time of their debut Autumn 45 and for for reasons known only to record executives and possibly extraterrestrials named themselves as The Other Tikis. When it was finally released on Warner Brothers, they were back to being The Tikis. It promptly achieved absolutely no chart action whatsoever.

If you notice, the Warner Brothers stock copy has both songs listed as A-sides, while Autumn actually had the courage to pick a favorite and designate an A and B side. Apparently Warner Brothers subscribed to the "let the people decide" school of marketing, whereas Autumn preferred the more traditional "we'll decide for you" approach.

In a fascinating demonstration of record industry strategy, neither method produced even the slightest hint of chart success. So the verdict is in: whether the public chooses, or the record company chooses, absolutely nobody chooses if nobody's buying the record. Still, it's a fun little label variation. Warner Brothers basically looked at these tracks and said, "We're not taking sides here." The listening public responded, "That's okay, we're not taking either side."

Undaunted by a complete lack of commercial success, they changed their name yet again and eventually found sunshine-pop fame as Harpers Bizarre. So in the end, persistence paid off. Or maybe they just finally stopped changing their name every fifteen minutes.

Anyway, thank you for attending today's completely useless TED Talk. So say thank you for allowing me to replace whatever useful information was occupying a small corner of your brain. The information you've just absorbed has now displaced something far more important from your memory. If you suddenly can't remember where you left your car keys, wallet, reading glasses, or why you walked into the kitchen, I'm sorry, I can only apologize on behalf of The Tikis, The Other Tikis, and The Tikis again. But on the bright side, you now know the complicated naming history of a moderately obscure 1960s vocal group, which is obviously the more practical life skill. 

Ray Pollard - The Drifter / Let Him Go

When I was in college—the first time, when I was about 21 and apparently renting m, y judgment by the hour—a friend and I cooked up the brilliant idea of hopping a freight train over summer break. The tracks ran past Colorado State and headed south, which was all the itinerary two young geniuses needed. We figured we’d wind up in Texas, New Mexico, or Arizona. Details, such as which train went where, how we’d get home, and whether freight trains accepted passengers with no tickets and even less sense, were left to fate.

 Fortunately, the train never came. So we activated Plan B: get in the car and drive to Utah, visiting Goblin Valley, Moab, Archesand Glen Canyon like slightly more responsible idiots. 

Looking back, that missed train was less a disappointment and more divine intervention with a timetable. The trains that roar through town here in the mornings are moving so fast that, had we tried to jump aboard one, our adventure might have lasted four seconds and ended very badly. Even if we had made it on, we could have been arrested, stranded in a town we’d never heard of, or introduced ourselves to a serial killer who appreciated door-to-door service. 

And somehow we assumed we’d simply catch another perfectly convenient freight train back to Fort Collins, as if the railroad operated a special round-trip package for clueless college students. Being a drifter sounded romantic for a week. Actually drifting would probably have delivered a world of pain, hunger, and deeply regrettable footwear. Ah, youth: when confidence is unlimited, planning is optional, and survival is partly dumb luck.

Twiggy - Over And Over/When I think Of You

Girl Group Thursday continues with a U.S. promotional 45 on Capitol complete with picture sleeve from Twiggy.

I'm not entirely convinced these were the most flattering photos they could have chosen for the sleeve, but then again, I'm neither a photojournalist nor a marketing guru. Still, considering the record wasn't exactly a hit, perhaps they could have jazzed things up a bit. Buyers can be a fickle bunch. Sometimes they hate the song but think, "Oooh la la, look at that sleeve," and suddenly they're heading to the checkout.

Twiggy was undeniably a cultural icon and one of the defining faces of the 1960s. Her music career, however, never quite made the same impact. She managed three minor hits in the UK, but the charts were ultimately far less interested in hearing her sing than they were in seeing her on magazine covers.

In other exciting middle-aged homeowner news, roof work is scheduled to begin later this month. I have absolutely no idea what the wood underneath the metal on my upper roof looks like, which is either a very good thing or a very expensive thing. There appears to be no middle ground.

I'm also thinking I may need to drape some plastic sheeting over the home office, which doubles as the record room. As much as I enjoy rare vinyl, I don't think "roofing debris variant" is a collectible category I want to start pursuing. One flying splinter landing on a stack of records and suddenly I'm crate digging through my own floor.

Until then, enjoy a little Twiggy and be grateful your hobbies probably don't require simultaneously worrying about obscure records and structural integrity.

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.

The Boomtown Rats - She's So Modern/Lying Again

I was never a huge Boomtown Rats fan back in the day, but I've noticed that as my hair gets grayer, my appreciation for them gets a little stronger. Funny how that works. Those early Rats records are packed with hooks, the kind that sneak into your brain and refuse to leave.

About five years ago, I was crate digging at a guy's warehouse. Records aren't even his main business. He sells them on the side and occasionally throws open the warehouse doors for brave souls willing to dig. The place is absurd. Mountains of records. Boxes stacked on shelves, piled on floors, tucked into corners that probably haven't seen daylight since the Reagan administration.

Near his desk sat a bunch of album boxes marked "$3 Each." I usually ignore them because they're a complete free-for-all. No organization, no logic, no mercy. For reasons I still can't explain, I started flipping through them. Suddenly I was staring at a run of modern alternative-rock promo LPs in beautiful condition. Then I spotted A Tonic for the Troops by the Boomtown Rats. At that point, the casual flipping stopped and the emergency extraction operation began. Those records were tucked under my arm so fast they probably experienced time dilation.

I've got a handful of Boomtown Rats 45s that will eventually make their way onto this blog. But that's a story for another day.

For now, it's time for more coffee.

 

The Danes - To Make Me A Man/Lost Love

It may have a little crackle left even after a deep cleaning, but honestly, I knew that before I ever dropped it in the bath. Still, it’s a Tower promo 45, and when a Tower promo shows up, self-control quietly leaves the room and I have to take the gamble.

The Danes didn’t turn out to be the raging soul stomper or fuzzed-out garage burner I was secretly hoping for, but there’s a vibe here that makes it an essential keeper. The A-side, To Make Me a Man, rides a breezy mid-60s folk-pop feel, while the B-side, Lost Love, drifts into a surprisingly doo-wopish flavored heartbreak vibe. Not the wild Tower monster I was hunting, but sometimes the records you keep aren’t the ones that knock you over, they’re the ones that sneak into the room and refuse to leave.

The Animals - The Night

Clean-Up Monday. Yep, this week will probably be a haphazard collection of songs I've recorded recently. As amusing as it is (at least to me), I seem to have mastered a very inefficient system: sometimes I record a song and forget to photograph the 45, and other times I take the photo but never get around to recording the song. You'd think I would learn eventually, but apparently not. When I'm busy trying to multitask, I usually end up proving once again that multitasking is often just an efficient way to do several things incompletely at the same time.

When I discovered rock and roll at about nine or ten years old, there was no turning back. I spent countless hours with a little transistor radio pressed against my ear, listening to an oldies station late into the evening. Every song seemed to open a door to another world. I loved hearing the British Invasion bands, garage rock, and all those records that sounded exciting, rebellious, and larger than life to a kid growing up in the 1970s. When Eric Burdon and the Animals came on, I paid attention. There was something about Burdon's voice that sounded tougher and more authentic than most of what I was hearing elsewhere on the dial.

Once rock music got its hooks into me, it never let go. While other kids were probably paying closer attention to more practical pursuits, I was already becoming a record geek without realizing it. Those hours spent listening to the radio eventually led to buying records, collecting records, and many years later spending way too much time hunting for obscure 45s. Looking back, that little transistor radio may have been one of the most important purchases my family ever made.

Fast-forward to 1983, the year I graduated from high school, and I remember seeing the video for "The Night" and hearing it on the radio. The song reached #48 on the Billboard charts and became the Animals' final hit. Listening to it today, I can hear just how slick and polished the production is. Compared to their raw, bluesy roots, it feels like a band making a deliberate play for a modern rock audience. 

Whether that was the right move is open to debate, but it's an interesting snapshot of a legendary group adapting to a very different musical landscape. Even if it lacks some of the grit that made me fall in love with the Animals in the first place, it's still a record I enjoy revisiting. Maybe that's because every time I hear it, I'm reminded of that kid sitting beside a transistor radio, discovering rock and roll one song at a time

The Templearies- He Spoke/What Will Heaven Have In Store For Me

Yep, back to familiar Sunday territory thanks to the Peacock label and this wonderful one-off 45. It sounds like the Templeaires strutted into the studio carrying fire, cut a record possessed by conviction, and then walked out wrapped in the Holy Spirit, the gospel equivalent of a garage-band 45. A group appears from nowhere, cuts a transcendent record, and then vanishes so completely it's as if the session itself was the entire mission never to be heard from again.

That mystery is one of the things that keeps drawing me back to gospel 45s. Why did some groups manage to survive for decades while others left behind a single glorious flash before disappearing into the fog of history? Some built careers, some built legacies, and some only left a witness.

Maybe that's part of the lesson. In gospel music, success isn't always measured by longevity. Sometimes a group is called to sing one song, press one record, touch a few hearts, and move on. Decades later, collectors like us stumble across that testimony in a dusty crate and wonder what became of them.

The Templeaires may have vanished from the scene, but the spirit they captured in those grooves is still very much alive. Not a bad epitaph for a one-off 45.