Kinderslice Music

Gimmie a Slice with Everything...

2010-07-05T00:10:00.001-04:00

Got the final word from Ira at the top of the week. The new slice will have five songs, none of them suggested via this blog:

Vi Lang
Lomir Undzer Shul Bagrisn
The Loco-motion
It's My Party
You Won't See Me

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little disappointed, both because we got blanked, and also by what the inclusion of these particular songs represents. (But not the songs themselves. For what it's worth, I think they're all quality tunes.) I should mention that Ira and I have been emailing back and forth for the past couple of months, and he gave me a few early notices that this was probably what the slice was going to look like. I would also ask people to remember that teaching the music involves a whole other set of criteria that doesn't necessarily jive with how you and I select our faves.

Having said that, it's hard not to look at these tunes and wonder if this particular playlist isn't already on file somewhere in the back of Maddy's House. Loco-motion is the fifth Goffin/King song in the slices; You Won't See Me is the twelfth Beatles song (eleven Lennon/McCartney's, one Harrison, in case you're keeping track). And while I'm hardly qualified to challenge the inclusion of the two Yiddish songs (and Vi Lang is a particular favorite), without a solid cultural context propping them up, I'm a little skeptical as to how much play they'll actually get.

There's a much larger debate in play here, one that's been going on (albeit quietly and civilly) for some time now. Given the limited resources camp has to work with, what's the best way to keep the cultural program from drifting towards irrelevance? It's a very difficult issue to grapple with; even more so where music is concerned. There are so many questions for which there are simply no good answers. Case in point: over the last 20 years, many of the artists whose lyrics advocate the kind of radicalism championed at Kinderland (i.e.: Public Enemy, Ani DiFranco, Rage Against the Machine) perform in ways that are not at all conducive to a group sing-along model. If at some point contemporary music is added to the slices, then how to address the absence of so many relevant voices? And if those artists are being excluded for the sake of practicality (no small consideration in a setting like camp), then what does make the cut? Would anybody really be satisfied if the last 30 years of protest music were represented with songs like Billy Joel's Allentown or U2's Pride (In the Name of Love)?

Anyway, this is a much heavier discussion than I'm willing to have right now. We here at Kinderslice Music do not see our mission as standing athwart the Tolland canon, yelling STOP. Especially not when there're awesome tunes to be spun. I don't particularly care what Ira thinks; you guys came up with some truly awesome selections, and I want to use this final pre-camp post to showcase some of the ones I thought were especially aces. A week from now, in some undiscovered parallel universe, the Inters will have their first music period of the summer, and no song will be impossible... that's the KassaNostra's dream, anyway: a slice with everything, as it were.

So first of all, let's talk about the Indigo Girls. I've never really been a fan. In fact, my formative camp years coincided with their biggest releases, and the memories of overzealous rendition after overzealous rendition of Closer to Fine still haunt me. (Rule of thumb, people: the more you like a band, the more the person sitting next to you probably doesn't.) But I will gladly prostrate myself to the higher mind for the right of any folk artist to ditch the psychobabble and write a kick-ass rocker, and with that in mind, I really, really like Dane's suggestion of Shame on You, the lead single off of 1997's Shaming of the Sun. Of all the proposed new tunes, I think this one would be the most fun to actually sing (or even better, walk past a group of eleven-year-olds tearing through it). The social relevance factor is off the charts, even as this country's attitudes towards undocumented aliens get stupider by the minute. And for those of you unfamiliar with Chicano Park, check it out – it gives the Paul Robeson Playhouse a run for its money. Really, sixty-something years after the fact, this song would be the perfect bookend for Woody Guthrie's Deportee. Nice choice, Dane. And I say that as someone who would just as soon avoid a Nomads Indians Saints revival. Be worth it, 'tho, if it got this number into the canon.

Indigo Girls: Shame on You

Next up, a private request by little Nicky Jahr for Billy Bragg's personal anthem, Waiting for the Great Leap Forwards (from 1988's Workers Playtime). Much like the Indigo Girls, comrade Bragg is one of those artists who'd be a natural for Kinderland icon status, if only his timing were a little better. A quick perusal at an actual copy of the slices reveals that the earliest entries (pgs. 1-26) are mostly pulled from Rise Up Singing, which also came out in 1988. Consequently, anyone who started hitting their stride in the late 80s gets the shaft. (Far as I can tell, the most recently released song in the slices is Gerry Tenney's New Underground Railroad: self-released in 1985, with a wider release on Holly Near & Ronnie Gilbert's 1987 LP Singing with You.) I only point this out because Bragg is the rare artist who effortlessly mixes sarcasm, incurable romanticism, unabashedly progressive politics, and an amiable outlook on everything. "You can be active with the activists/Or sleep in with the sleepers." It's more than just a lyric; it's an ethos. Sometimes I still can't believe we let this dude slip through the cracks.

Billy Bragg: Waiting for the Great Leap Forwards

And for those of you stymied by the cold war-heavy lyrics, here's Bragg in 2007, with an updated version. Note that we're still waiting for that great leap. Note also that the waiting is still the best part.

And now, your indulgence, please, while I take care of some mea culpa business.

To the anonymous wag who asked me in back January about the Maddy Simon/Tomoyuki Tanaka connection: sir... madam... I sincerely beg your forgiveness. The KassaNostra has few rules, but one of the biggies is, "don't take the readers for granted." And yet that's exactly what I did in your case, writing off your legitimate query as a facetious attempt for a quick laugh. It shames me that I took this long to attempt to make things right, but here goes: I'm Bruce utilizes the melody of what Kinderlanders recognize as the qua-qua-qua-qua-quarter song that Maddy has been teaching for decades. I can't locate a source for that specific version of that song. Gershwin includes the melody as a brief part of An American in Paris in 1928. Different versions of it – all substituting bubblegum for the class warfare angle – have turned up. Ella Fitzgerald cut a version with Chick Webb in 1939 (on the Decca label). Dean Martin (Capitol), Teresa Brewer (London) and the Andrews Sisters (Decca) all released it in 1950. That there are different versions (with different writers) suggests it really was a traditional song in the public domain long before any of these artists ever got to it. But that melody has been ubiquitous throughout, so there are a number of sources for it that FPM could've tapped. Again, profuse apologies, and a request for your patience: I'm gonna need a little time to dig into this Ugly Casanova mishegas.

Meanwhile, the Brother of KassaNostra (who also shall remain anonymous) (and who, this one time only, shall be dubbed the KassaBROstra), sent me a whole list of suggestions, many of which were of the old-timey variety. You read through the slices long enough, you sometimes forget that people just singing about getting through their troubles with a smile can be a stronger act of insurgency than singing about revolution in the streets (hell, that could practically be Woody Guthrie's epitaph). But those old-timey-ers knew it. They laughed at the Titanic going down, reveled in train derailments, and sang wistfully of their weariness. You do that with enough feeling, and you don't even have to tack on a join-the-union chorus. There's a reason that songs like Midnight Special, Do-Re-Mi and Dark as a Dungeon are camp standards. Hank Williams might very well turn in his grave if we ever put him in the slices, but I'll Never Get Out of This World Alive is, plain and simple, one of the best songs ever written. And Gillian Welch has a catalog full of tunes about the ravaging effects of poverty –Tear My Stillhouse Down, One More Dollar, Red Clay Halo, etc. etc. However, I Want to Sing That Rock and Roll, off of 2001's Time (The Revelator), is more fun to sing, and hits on a Kinderland maxim if ever there was one: sometimes you gotta want to shout to be heard. Thanks, Butch. Keep lookin' out for them pumas.

Hank Williams: I'll Never Get Out of This World Alive

Gillian Welch: I Want to Sing That Rock and Roll [live]

San Jose Sam gets to be president of my West Coast fan club for life for sending me this suggestion: Tom Robinson's Glad to Be Gay (a lost classic off his Rising Free... EP from 1978). In post-Sex Pistols England, the Tom Robinson Band bridged the gap between punk and new wave, challenging the ennui of the former and the apathy of the latter with songs about politics and social justice as their rallying cry. Robinson – who was open about his orientation for the entirety of his career (although he now classifies himself as bisexual) – wrote the song for a London pride parade. The EP reached #18 in the UK, despite the song being banned by the BBC. This is a great song, and a great choice for the slices, as it attacks both anti-gay bigotry and the complacency of those who allow it to happen. It's amazing (and a little depressing) how many of the lyrics are still relevant today.

Tom Robinson Band: Glad to Be Gay [live]

I'm going to end with a suggestion of my own, although a couple of different people have also mentioned it to me since I started this blog. In a growing field of old-timey Americana bands, Old Crow Medicine Show is just plain weird. Every time I read an interview with lead singer Ketch Secor I feel like I'm listening to the kid of the banjo guy from Deliverance. But they've covered Union Maid and Deportee, and played the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. And they wrote I Hear Them All, which might be the best protest anthem of the last decade. Much like Bragg's Great Leap Forwards, this isn't about a specific issue or event, but rather encapsulates the worth of progressive values, and does it beautifully. And I cannot possibly say enough about that last verse, which connects the song to imagery – biblical prophets and the welcome table – that was a staple of spirituals, and eventually spread into c&w by way of groups like the Carter Family. It's a ringing reminder that social justice as a concept and a practice has been a regular part of American culture for decades.

Old Crow Medicine Show: I Hear Them All

Enjoy your summer, people. You guys are the best... all both of you. And remember: the KassaNostra loves you, even when you are singing It's My Party.

Peace & Vinyl,
The KassaNostra

CODA: Kinderland opens on July 4th this summer, which I always remember as having been a little awkward when I was a camper. Not a lot of overly-patriotic music in the canon, at least not the way the rest of America might cotton. I do remember a lot of Wasn't That a Time being sung, but on a couple of occasions, Maddy threw us a curveball and hit us with Riflemen of Bennington, a Revolutionary War era number about killin' redcoats. I'm guessing she picked it up from Pete Seeger, but I prefer this 1975 version by a trio calling themselves The Committee of Correspondence, who specialized in period songs (this appeared on a Folkways LP, The American Revolution in Song and Ballad). Never mind for a second that it's a great tune. At a time when the Tea Party movement acts like it has a monopoly on patriotism, this serves as a gut-check to the contrary. The three members of the Committee grace the album's back cover in revolutionary-era costume, and go on to thank Irwin Silber in the liner notes. Glen Beck would have an aneurysm!

The Committee of Correspondence:

Riflemen of Bennington

Mash Notes

2010-06-10T01:05:00.001-04:00

Two more posts – this one, and a very special fan appreciation post wrapping up the new slice voting later this month – and then the KassaNostra goes on his now-traditional summer hiatus. What's that, I hear you ask? Do I dare call it a hiatus after taking off the entire month of May? And February? And all of last autumn? To which I say... suck it, haters! The obscenely cushy life of an obscure music blogger (as of this writing, up to 6,323 on the IceRocket BlogTracker charts... with a bullet!) is why I got into this gig in the first place. For those of you well-versed in the Tolland vernacular, this blog is my solid gold rock-block, for which my leisurely ways are more than well-suited. Besides which, it would hardly be fair for me to continue posting through the summer, unavailable to the thousands of Kinderland campers and staff who rely on me as their primary guru of Tolland-centric pop-culture stylings.

You kids are still hip to that swingin' Ronnie Gilbert chick, right? Molly Picon, maybe?

Anyway, here's a non-musical fact to get us started: the KassaNostra digs nothing more than a good you-got-your-chocolate-in-my-peanut-butter moment. I respect any creative genius with the imagination, resolve, and sheer intestinal fortitude to challenge the status quo by making greatness out of unlikely couplings. People with this inherent talent should all be marriage counselors. Or Middle East peace negotiators. But I'm glad they're not, because then we wouldn't have mashups.

Mashed culture of one kind or another has been around at least eighty years, but only in the last ten has technology aided the proletarian masses by deigning them the means and access necessary to create new pop tapestries from existing material. In retrospect, it's hardly surprising that the first generation raised on sampling grew up to realize that the Beatles could be exquisitely remixed with Jay-Z. It also comes as no great shock that a medium grounded in reshaping other people's creations was birthed by the same culture that idolizes pop icons well into their 60s and 70s. (For context, imagine if, at the original Woodstock festival in 1969, that Rudy Vallée and Maurice Chevalier were held up as iconoclastic godfathers of all modern pop.)

Now, as with all transformative culture, there are those naysayers who deride mashups as a novelty – as something substandard in artistic relevance to the original works being bastardized. Two things to say to that. One, fine. It's all just baubles and gimcracks. It bears no greater relevance to the overall cultural matrix than does American Idol. Or Glee. Or comic book superheroes. Or all of Hollywood that relies on pre-existing source material, which is all of Hollywood. Cultural inspiration is diverse – sometimes it scavenges recyclables for shantytown metropolises, sometimes it builds cities on rock 'n' roll. Either way, it's the same basic concept of four-walls-and-a-roof to go home to at night.

Two, music used to be an activity before Thomas Edison conspired to make it a spectator sport. A song was a basic template: sheet music and lyrics, that individuals were entrusted to perform on their own. It was inevitable that music would eventually become a commodity, but there's an irony to how far we've strayed from the oral tradition that once was (we like to think of rock 'n' roll as revolutionary, but whereas most of rock's antecedents – R&B, C&W, gospel – are grassroots in origin, rock music itself has never not been commodified). I won't pretend that mashup culture is heralding some kind of peasant insurgency, but walls are definitely being broken down. In the last decade, music has gone from something performed by a rarefied few to a medium thrown open to amateur creativity and participation. And if you can't get behind that, then maybe you're going to the wrong summer camp.

Besides which, mashups sound totally awesome. But are they compatible with the Tolland canon, you ask? Think about that for a second. Are they appropriate for a place that effortlessly grafts cultural significance onto routine experiences? Oh baby, hide yer bulbes, 'cause K-Land is down with the mash.

We get this party started with DJ Copycat's 2007 creation, The Tide Is Pata Pata High. Alas, in selecting an appropriate match for Blondie's reggae-cum-pop-via-punk ode to romantic tenacity, the 'cat opted to use Osibisa's cover of Pata Pata over the Miriam Makiba original (although he swears that Makiba's voice is mixed into the background). This tune is a perfect example of two songs blending seamlessly. Note how effortlessly the four-bar intro to Pata Pata flows into Tide's opening horn sequence. That's partly the commonalities in the source material – Osibisa is a British Afro-pop band with strong Caribbean roots, which pairs up nicely with Tide's reggae beat (the original version was a 1967 release by the Paragons, staples of the Kingston rocksteady scene). It's also partly the result of digital manipulation. To get two different songs to synch up usually requires some playing with the tempo. The Tide Is Pata Pata High clocks in at 116 beats per minute (BPM), the mean average between Blondie's Tide (97 BPM) and Osibisa's Pata Pata (133 BPM). The result: literally the cat's pajamas. Check out more of DJ Copycat's work here.

DJ Copycat: The Tide Is Pata Pata High
(Blondie vs. Osibisa)

Next up is ToToM's Blowin' in My Mind, which mashes Bob Dylan's poetry with the sonic surrealism of the Pixies. It's an inspired marriage, even for two artists who both cited Woody Guthrie as an influence. I really love how Dylan's chorus is bracketed here by two distinct Pixies moments: the drop-off in Joey Santiago's lead guitar at the beginning of the chorus, and the fade-in of Black Francis' vocals at the end. Obviously, you don't need me to tell you how poignant Dylan's writing is. But his older folk output is generally lacking in theatricality (intentionally so, I'd imagine); the way ToToM reframes the original words here really underscores the power of an already unforgettable line. Those of you who already associate Where Is My Mind? with the final scene in Fight Club can groove on the parallel responses to a desensitized society. From ToToM's 2009 Dylan Mashed compilation, which can be found here, along with the rest of his excellent body of work.

ToToM: Blowin' in My Mind [2009 version]
(Bob Dylan vs. the Pixies)

Now, I realize that mashups are a very subjective thing, and the KassaNostra is nothing if not accommodating, so here are two separate tunes built around Fever. (Albeit not Little Willie John's version – anybody out there want to set up a lobby to push the Tolland canon on the internet?) For the staunch traditionalists among you, we have Revelation Fever, a mashup by RIAA that sticks a Son House vocal onto a Fever rhythm section. This is from a 2007 compilation album, Foolklegs: Folkloric MashUps, and the liner notes attribute the Fever half of this to Peggy Lee. That's possible, but it's definitely not taken from her 1958 single. Could be a live release maybe? Good thing folk music and apocryphal background info are no strangers to each other. But for our more bohemian faithful, that's definitely Lee's voice, capably anchored by Iggy Pop's brooding solfeggio on Go Home Productions' Passenger Fever, also from 2007. Not much to say about either of these, except that you could probably run anything under either a Peggy Lee or Son House vocal and it would still bust up mountains. RIAA's stuff here, Go Home Productions' here.

RIAA: Revelation Fever
(Son House vs. fake Peggy Lee)

Go Home Productions: Passenger Fever
(real Peggy Lee vs. Iggy Pop)

Lastly, there's this. It's by a dude named FAROFF. He's from Brazil. It's not camp-specific, other than the tangential Klezmer connection. It does more to bridge Jewish-Irish relations than anyone since Denis Leary. It's the mashup I was waiting for my entire life, but didn't know until I heard it.

FAROFF: House of Klezmer

(House of Pain vs. Amsterdam Klezmer Band)

Peace & Vinyl,
The KassaNostra

Musical Interlude

2010-04-25T17:14:00.000-04:00

Gonna go all WFMU on the blog this week and hit you with some tunes that can only be termed: instrumental exotica.

But first, some of you want to know what's going on with the Ira/new slice contest. The man himself assures me that there's still time to get yer choices in – just click on ol' Feter Shmuel on the right, there, and then scroll down to leave your musical selection in the comments. No idea what he thinks about your groovy selections, but the KassaNostra is very pleased with the options. Regardless of how the slice turns out, I think a fan appreciation post is in order. Maybe before we take our annual summer hiatus.

On to the music! First up, we got us Elmer Snowden's banjo-licious take on the Twelfth Street Rag. Even you anti-folk dance heathens out there dig this tune. When Kinderland gets down with the rag, it gets down with Pee Wee Hunt's 1948 version on Capitol Records – that disc was Billboard's number-one single for that year, selling over three million copies. (Oddly enough, from a sheer numbers perspective, that may make it the single most popular song in the Tolland canon. Crazy, man.) Someday I'll post the Hunt version, along with a few others since there's thousands of covers out there. But for today, I'm sticking with Snowden, a jazz-era banjoist and bandleader. Don't know why this particular version tickles the KassaNostra's fancy so, but it does. One caveat: Snowden leaves out the throw-your-hands-in-the-air bridge, so if you're gonna try dancing to this, be careful not to get tripped up.

Elmer Snowden: Twelfth Street Rag

Never underestimate the power of a good instrumental. In 1962, the Ventures – surf-rockers of Run Don't Walk fame – brought rock 'n' roll to Japan. Seriously! With no language barrier to overcome, their tour of the Far East touched off the eleki buumu – the "electric boom" that had local manufacturers scrambling to meet the needs of guitar-hungry youth. When the Ventures returned in 1965 (unaware of the mayhem they had wrought), they were greeted with Beatlemania-level pandemonium. One of the first local guitar heroes to emerge in their shadow was Takeshi Terauchi, a fuzztone master on par with Dick Dale or Link Wray.

Now, surf-rock is one of those genres wherein literally any song can be covered in the vernacular of frenetic guitar chords, and Terauchi's impressive oeuvre does not disappoint in this regard. And yet, I was shocked – nay, gobsmacked – to find a copy of Dona Dona on one of his albums from 1966. I mean, I've seen Dona Dona covers before, but always on albums like this. Or this. How the hell did a Yiddishkeit folksong find its way to Japan? (As with most things, I find it easy to blame the hippies.)

I have to admit, before I heard Terauchi's take, I got inappropriately excited that he was gonna positively shred this sucker. Sad to say, it's pretty much a straight cover, as respectfully mournful as a surf-guitar cover of anything can be. I get the feeling, though, that Terauchi wasn't entirely sure how to tackle this, because he throws the kitchen sink at it: flamenco guitar riffs, circus organ, every bell and (literally) whistle imaginable. It's no masterpiece, but a fine cut nonetheless.

Takeshi Terauchi & His Blue Jeans: Dona Dona

Irving Fields was a nice Jewish boy. Then he fell in love with Latin Music. Then he started combining Latin rhythms with Jewish music, starting in 1946, when his Miami Beach Rhumba was recorded by Xavier Cugat. Fields helped drive an all-things-Latin craze among post-war middle class Jews, as unlikely as that sounds (Cugat was shocked to learn he couldn't speak Spanish). The success of 1959's Bagels and Bongos spawned first a sequel, then a string of ________ and Bongos albums, milking the Latin sound waaaay past any reasonable sense of tolerability. Or maybe not, since he's been rediscovered by the Esquivel-worshiping hipster set. Anyway, two things: one, anybody who names a song Havannah Negila is okay in my book. And two, his take on Die Grine Kuzine – recast as The Green Cousin-Merengue on Fields' 1960 LP More Bagels and Bongos – transitions so smoothly, it makes you wonder if some shyster didn't rip off a nice Cuban boychik back in the day.

Irving Fields Trio: The Green Cousin-Merengue

Finally, here's Moses Dillard & The Tex-Town Display, with their rendition of Matchmaker. Dillard was a session guitarist, working at various points with Otis Redding, James & Bobby Purify, and Mighty Sam McClain. None of the projects he led ever really took off, including the Tex-Town Display, which only lasted three or four years. It's most notable accomplishment was to feature a young Peabo Bryson on backing vocals (which, since this is an instrumental number, means I'm gonna hear from the legions of ex-Kinderland Bryson fans). It's a not a bad tune at all – starts off with some Coletrane-esque noodling, and shifts into a guitar that veers dangerously close to elevator music, before righting itself about halfway through. Jerry Bock would no doubt be pleased.

Moses Dillard & The Tex-Town Displays: Matchmaker

Next time: lyrics! (Maybe.) Meanwhile, keep those slice suggestions coming.

Peace & Vinyl,
The KassaNostra

The 10 Days of Pesach: Day 10

2010-04-06T22:12:00.000-04:00

EXODUS 12:1 And the LORD spoke unto Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt, saying: 2 'This month shall be unto you the beginning of months; it shall be the first month of the year to you. 3 Speak ye unto all the congregation of Israel, saying: In the tenth day of this month they shall take to them every man a lamb, according to their fathers' houses, a lamb for a household; 4 and if the household be too little for a lamb, then shall he and his neighbour next unto his house take one according to the number of the souls; according to every man's eating ye shall make your count for the lamb. 5 Your lamb shall be without blemish, a male of the first year; ye shall take it from the sheep, or from the goats; 6 and ye shall keep it unto the fourteenth day of the same month; and the whole assembly of the congregation of Israel shall kill it at dusk. 7 And they shall take of the blood, and put it on the two side-posts and on the lintel, upon the houses wherein they shall eat it. 8 And they shall eat the flesh in that night, roast with fire, and unleavened bread; with bitter herbs they shall eat it. 9 Eat not of it raw, nor sodden at all with water, but roast with fire; its head with its legs and with the inwards thereof. 10 And ye shall let nothing of it remain until the morning; but that which remaineth of it until the morning ye shall burn with fire. 11 And thus shall ye eat it: with your loins girded, your shoes on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and ye shall eat it in haste--it is the LORD'S passover. 12 For I will go through the land of Egypt in that night, and will smite all the first-born in the land of Egypt, both man and beast; and against all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgments: I am the LORD. 13 And the blood shall be to you for a token upon the houses where ye are; and when I see the blood, I will pass over you, and there shall no plague be upon you to destroy you, when I smite the land of Egypt. 14 And this day shall be unto you for a memorial, and ye shall keep it a feast to the LORD; throughout your generations ye shall keep it a feast by an ordinance for ever.

The Pharcyde: Passing Me By

Happy Passover '10 everyone... now go enjoy your freedom from oppression, and also leavened stuff.

The 10 Days of Pesach: Day 9

2010-04-05T23:44:00.001-04:00

EXODUS 10:21 And the LORD said unto Moses: 'Stretch out thy hand toward heaven, that there may be darkness over the land of Egypt, even darkness which may be felt.' 22 And Moses stretched forth his hand toward heaven; and there was a thick darkness in all the land of Egypt three days; 23 they saw not one another, neither rose any from his place for three days; but all the children of Israel had light in their dwellings. 24 And Pharaoh called unto Moses, and said: 'Go ye, serve the LORD; only let your flocks and your herds be stayed; let your little ones also go with you.' 25 And Moses said: 'Thou must also give into our hand sacrifices and burnt-offerings, that we may sacrifice unto the LORD our God. 26 Our cattle also shall go with us; there shall not a hoof be left behind; for thereof must we take to serve the LORD our God; and we know not with what we must serve the LORD, until we come thither.' 27 But the LORD hardened Pharaoh's heart, and he would not let them go. 28 And Pharaoh said unto him: 'Get thee from me, take heed to thyself, see my face no more; for in the day thou seest my face thou shalt die.' 29 And Moses said: 'Thou hast spoken well; I will see thy face again no more.'

The Darkness: I Believe in a Thing Called Love

The 10 Days of Pesach: Day 8

2010-04-04T17:06:00.000-04:00

EXODUS 10:12 And the LORD said unto Moses: 'Stretch out thy hand over the land of Egypt for the locusts, that they may come up upon the land of Egypt, and eat every herb of the land, even all that the hail hath left.' 13 And Moses stretched forth his rod over the land of Egypt, and the LORD brought an east wind upon the land all that day, and all the night; and when it was morning, the east wind brought the locusts. 14 And the locusts went up over all the land of Egypt, and rested in all the borders of Egypt; very grievous were they; before them there were no such locusts as they, neither after them shall be such. 15 For they covered the face of the whole earth, so that the land was darkened; and they did eat every herb of the land, and all the fruit of the trees which the hail had left; and there remained not any green thing, either tree or herb of the field, through all the land of Egypt.

The Bugs: Slide

The 10 Days of Pesach: Day 7

2010-04-03T22:12:00.001-04:00

EXODUS 9:22 And the LORD said unto Moses: 'Stretch forth thy hand toward heaven, that there may be hail in all the land of Egypt, upon man, and upon beast, and upon every herb of the field, throughout the land of Egypt.' 23 And Moses stretched forth his rod toward heaven; and the LORD sent thunder and hail, and fire ran down unto the earth; and the LORD caused to hail upon the land of Egypt. 24 So there was hail, and fire flashing up amidst the hail, very grievous, such as had not been in all the land of Egypt since it became a nation. 25 And the hail smote throughout all the land of Egypt all that was in the field, both man and beast; and the hail smote every herb of the field, and broke every tree of the field. 26 Only in the land of Goshen, where the children of Israel were, was there no hail.

Etta James: Stormy Weather

The 10 Days of Pesach: Day 6

2010-04-02T23:34:00.001-04:00

EXODUS 9:8 And the LORD said unto Moses and unto Aaron: 'Take to you handfuls of soot of the furnace, and let Moses throw it heavenward in the sight of Pharaoh. 9 And it shall become small dust over all the land of Egypt, and shall be a boil breaking forth with blains upon man and upon beast, throughout all the land of Egypt.' 10 And they took soot of the furnace, and stood before Pharaoh; and Moses threw it up heavenward; and it became a boil breaking forth with blains upon man and upon beast. 11 And the magicians could not stand before Moses because of the boils; for the boils were upon the magicians, and upon all the Egyptians. 12 And the LORD hardened the heart of Pharaoh, and he hearkened not unto them; as the LORD had spoken unto Moses.

Violent Femmes: Blister in the Sun

The 10 Days of Pesach: Day 5

2010-04-02T00:46:00.001-04:00

EXODUS 9:1 Then the LORD said unto Moses: 'Go in unto Pharaoh, and tell him: Thus saith the LORD, the God of the Hebrews: Let My people go, that they may serve Me. 2 For if thou refuse to let them go, and wilt hold them still, 3 behold, the hand of the LORD is upon thy cattle which are in the field, upon the horses, upon the asses, upon the camels, upon the herds, and upon the flocks; there shall be a very grievous murrain. 4 And the LORD shall make a division between the cattle of Israel and the cattle of Egypt; and there shall nothing die of all that belongeth to the children of Israel.' 5 And the LORD appointed a set time, saying: 'Tomorrow the LORD shall do this thing in the land.' 6 And the LORD did that thing on the morrow, and all the cattle of Egypt died; but of the cattle of the children of Israel died not one. 7 And Pharaoh sent, and, behold, there was not so much as one of the cattle of the Israelites dead. But the heart of Pharaoh was stubborn, and he did not let the people go.

Gang of Four: Love Like Anthrax

The 10 Days of Pesach: Day 4

2010-03-31T23:53:00.001-04:00

EXODUS 8:16 And the LORD said unto Moses: 'Rise up early in the morning, and stand before Pharaoh; lo, he cometh forth to the water; and say unto him: Thus saith the LORD: Let My people go, that they may serve Me. 17 Else, if thou wilt not let My people go, behold, I will send swarms of flies upon thee, and upon thy servants, and upon thy people, and into thy houses; and the houses of the Egyptians shall be full of swarms of flies, and also the ground whereon they are. 18 And I will set apart in that day the land of Goshen, in which My people dwell, that no swarm of flies shall be there; to the end that thou mayest know that I am the LORD in the midst of the earth. 19 And I will put a division between My people and thy people--by to-morrow shall this sign be.' 20 And the LORD did so; and there came grievous swarms of flies into the house of Pharaoh, and into his servants' houses; and in all the land of Egypt the land was ruined by reason of the swarms of flies.

Alex Chilton: Like Flies on Sherbert

bona nochy, poor boy...

The 10 Days of Pesach: Day 3

2010-03-30T17:32:00.001-04:00

EXODUS 8:12 And the LORD said unto Moses: 'Say unto Aaron: Stretch out thy rod, and smite the dust of the earth, that it may become gnats throughout all the land of Egypt.' 13 And they did so; and Aaron stretched out his hand with his rod, and smote the dust of the earth, and there were gnats upon man, and upon beast; all the dust of the earth became gnats throughout all the land of Egypt. 14 And the magicians did so with their secret arts to bring forth gnats, but they could not; and there were gnats upon man, and upon beast. 15 Then the magicians said unto Pharaoh: 'This is the finger of God'; and Pharaoh's heart was hardened, and he hearkened not unto them; as the LORD had spoken.

Freddie Terrell & The Soul Expedition: Itching

The 10 Days of Pesach: Day 2

2010-03-30T00:50:00.001-04:00

EXODUS 8:1 And the LORD said unto Moses: 'Say unto Aaron: Stretch forth thy hand with thy rod over the rivers, over the canals, and over the pools, and cause frogs to come up upon the land of Egypt.' 2 And Aaron stretched out his hand over the waters of Egypt; and the frogs came up, and covered the land of Egypt. 3 And the magicians did in like manner with their secret arts, and brought up frogs upon the land of Egypt. 4 Then Pharaoh called for Moses and Aaron, and said: 'Entreat the LORD, that He take away the frogs from me, and from my people; and I will let the people go, that they may sacrifice unto the LORD.' 5 And Moses said unto Pharaoh: 'Have thou this glory over me; against what time shall I entreat for thee, and for thy servants, and for thy people, that the frogs be destroyed from thee and thy houses, and remain in the river only?' 6 And he said: 'Against to-morrow.' And he said: 'Be it according to thy word; that thou mayest know that there is none like unto the LORD our God. 7 And the frogs shall depart from thee, and from thy houses, and from thy servants, and from thy people; they shall remain in the river only.' 8 And Moses and Aaron went out from Pharaoh; and Moses cried unto the LORD concerning the frogs, which He had brought upon Pharaoh. 9 And the LORD did according to the word of Moses; and the frogs died out of the houses, out of the courts, and out of the fields. 10 And they gathered them together in heaps; and the land stank. 11 But when Pharaoh saw that there was respite, he hardened his heart, and hearkened not unto them; as the LORD had spoken.

Clarence "Frogman" Henry: Ain't Got No Home

The 10 Days of Pesach: Day 1

2010-03-30T00:41:00.000-04:00

EXODUS 7:19 And the LORD said unto Moses: 'Say unto Aaron: Take thy rod, and stretch out thy hand over the waters of Egypt, over their rivers, over their streams, and over their pools, and over all their ponds of water, that they may become blood; and there shall be blood throughout all the land of Egypt, both in vessels of wood and in vessels of stone.' 20 And Moses and Aaron did so, as the LORD commanded; and he lifted up the rod, and smote the waters that were in the river, in the sight of Pharaoh, and in the sight of his servants; and all the waters that were in the river were turned to blood. 21 And the fish that were in the river died; and the river became foul, and the Egyptians could not drink water from the river; and the blood was throughout all the land of Egypt. 22 And the magicians of Egypt did in like manner with their secret arts; and Pharaoh's heart was hardened, and he hearkened not unto them; as the LORD had spoken. 23 And Pharaoh turned and went into his house, neither did he lay even this to heart. 24 And all the Egyptians digged round about the river for water to drink; for they could not drink of the water of the river. 25 And seven days were fulfilled, after that the LORD had smitten the river.

James Blood Ulmer: Are You Glad to Be in America

Call of Duty

2010-01-20T13:09:00.001-05:00

So... how often do your heroes email you?

Hi KassaNostra,

A note that you might want to get out there - I'm in the process of selecting songs to add to a new slice for my songbook (one slice = two sides). My inspiration came recently when I was reminded of a song that I had wanted to have in there for a while, but had forgotten to include on my recent additions, namely It's My Party. (Lesley Gore's hit, produced by Quincy Jones back in the early 60s. ['63, actually - KN] It's a very singable-in-a-group tune with some unusual chord changes for its day.) Anyway, I'd be happy to solicit suggestions from your readers for other songs to add (selections at my discretion, of course). The main criterion is that it be a good song (subjective to a degree, I know). Other main criterion is reasonable group singability. (A negative RGS example would be Bridge Over Troubled Water - nice song, but not good for group singing.) (By the way - Paul Simon ripped off Rev. Claude Jeter with that phrase.) Let me know if you have any personal suggestions, or if you'd like to open it up.

Enjoy,

Ira

Alright, my loyal following, here's the deal. Recently I've made a couple of less-than transparent pleas for more audience participation in these posts, and yet the "comments" sections remain painfully bare. (Buncha' nebecheleh, you guys are... you're YENTAS! I know - I've talked with most of you - act like it!) But now you have no excuses. If you read this blog at all, then you know that Ira's challenge is a chance at immortality. IMMORTALITY, people. And you all should be chomping at the bit to get yer personal top-ten spins into the rotation.

Here's how this is going to work:

1. Click HERE for a comprehensive list of songs already in the slices.

2. Wrack your brains for appropriate material. If it helps, sing stuff out loud. Get your copy of Rise Up Singing down off the shelf. Have slice parties in lieu of Superbowl parties. (You really want to watch four hours of Jim Nantz?)

3. Post your suggestions in the comments section. If you want to do it anonymously, that's okay, just no whining when everybody in camp is singing Untouchable Face but no one credits you for the suggestion. (If you want to email me your choices, that's okay too. But I'm going to repost them in the comments.)

And just so everyone's clear about Ira's criterion...

Okay:

Lesley Gore: It's My Party

Not okay:

Simon & Garfunkel: Bridge Over Troubled Waters

Unjustly victimized:

The Swan Silvertones: Oh Mary, Don't You Weep

Got it?

Yeah, me neither... not exactly, anyway. To get the ball rolling, I suggested City of New Orleans, the Steve Goodman-penned country/western standard about the lamentable plight of America's railroads and their declining legacy. But it's an uplifting song, and positive RGS, right? Plus it's got a hint of social consciousness, which makes it ideal for inclusion in the Tolland canon. Plus it was first released in 1972 by Arlo Guthrie on Reprise Records, which also handled Miriam Makeba's Pata Pata, so there's some reliable label heritage there. Plus you can never have too many train songs. So I figured I picked a sure thing.

Steve Goodman: City of New Orleans [live]

Submitted it, and got this response:

I'll give it some consideration - it is the prototypical slices-oriented song, and would be a fairly well received addition; I do find the tune a bit on the slow side, however. One category that has been very limited in recent slice additions is that of more political folk songs - if I'm missing any key classics in that mode I'd be happy to consider them. Most recent additions, though not all, have been from pop categories.

Okay. Clearly, the key to everlasting slice glory: post-millennium protest standards! Unless it's really anything from Ronnie Spector's catalog. Unless it's actually a killer by some obscure gospel combo on the old Nashboro label. Unless it's a groovy Terry Cashman ballad. Unless, unless, unless!

Bottom line is this, people: like most selection processes, this one's a popularity contest. Which is to say, if your tune is popular with Ira, you're in. So start thinking like the man himself thinks. Make chicken your top three dietary staples. Take off those rose-colored glasses you're wearing and try seeing the world through a pair of purple&orange specs. To get in the slices, you gotta know Ira's vices. Now get cracking.

Peace & Vinyl,

The KassaNostra

Dance Dance Revolution, pt. 3

2009-12-30T13:16:00.001-05:00

You all know me. I’m the KassaNostra. I groove hard on all the things that make Kinderland a unique experience. A seamless dance floor transition from Tzadik Katamar to Snoopy to Sestorka? Check. Kids rabidly championing ’20’s Labor Movements or Third World insurrections like it was March Madness? Check. The awesome game-changing power of a Kinderland Tie? Check. But sometimes, it’s nice to know we're just like everybody else out there.

Saguquga sathi bega nantsi Pata Pata

Saguquga sathi bega nantsi Pata Pata...

Hiyo mama hiyo ma nantsi Pata Pata

Hiyo mama hiyo ma nantsi Pata Pata...

Pata Pata is the name of a dance

we do down Johannesburg way...

And everybody starts to move

as soon as Pata Pata starts to play! Hoo!

Saguquga sathi bega nantsi Pata Pata

Saguquga sathi bega nantsi Pata Pata...

Miriam Makeba: Pata Pata

Peace & Vinyl,

The KassaNostra

Doin' Some Hard Travelin'

2009-12-07T16:59:00.000-05:00

Here is (some of) what folk music is: it is the music of the people; it is music for the people, often without said people's input; it's whatever your local subway busker decides it to be on a moment-by-moment basis; it is the mealticket of griots, shamens and soothsayers worldwide; it's a label exec in a Manhattan office creating a classification that somehow includes John Denver, Kate Bush, Burl Ives, The Moldy Peaches, Ani DiFranco, Fairport Convention, Lee Hayes, and the Holy Modal Rounders; it's the last three songs (but not the first three) that Vin Scelsa played on the air; it is the spirit of Mother Jones crossed with the perseverance of Studs Terkel mated with the veracity of Pecos Bill; it's the song you spontaneously break into in public. But mostly, folk music is a story, and we all tell it our own way.

There's a new four-disc box set of Woody Guthrie music out from Rounder Records. My Dusty Road originated as a series of recordings made during Woody's 1944 sessions for Moe Asch's eponymous label, that ultimately comprised the bulk of his catalog over the next fifteen years. Those sessions were already expertly catalogued, remastered and released by the Smithsonian/Folkways label over a decade back. But a few years ago, a partial set of pristine-condition masters was unearthed from a Brooklyn basement, and it is this discovery that the Rounder discs collect.

    Although not new - many of the Rounder tracks have had multiple releases over the last 60 years - the value of this new set is immeasurable. Woody's recorded legacy has heretofore been relegated to the past, the way one appreciates archeological ruins for their former greatness, with only scarce remnants of exotic artistry surviving over time. My Dusty Road plops the Colossus of Rhodes down on our collective front lawn. The music is clean and unspoiled, as if the man himself was standing right next to you, rank like a dog from riding the rails and spilling dust of twelve states on your living room carpet, but with a voice as sharp and clear as a hungry blue jay. Don't take my word for it. Here are two versions of the same recording of This Land Is Your Land, the first from the Folkways collection (released in 1997), and the second from the Rounder set:

Woody Guthrie: This Land Is Your Land [Folkways]

Woody Guthrie: This Land Is Your Land [Rounder]

            I'd be crying with joy, except that I'm hung-up on a few things in the accompanying booklet. Like erroneous master track info, or contradictory recording dates cited on different pages, or the fact that one of the set's "previously unreleased" tracks was in fact released under a different title by Folkways, or that Bess Lomax gets screwed out of a credit for some fine harmony work, or that no one bothers to mention whether or not the included version of Hard Travelin' is the song's first-known recording (it most likely is). The booklet's credits exclude any of the Smithsonian archivists who previously catalogued the Asch recordings; its passages contort themselves to avoid any mention of the Folkways releases, of which they are now both historical records and competitors for market share.
 
Woody Guthrie & Cisco Houston:
I'm Gonna Join That One Big Union

Now, I myself, have no problem picking a fight like this. I like my music with a big hunk of CONTEXT on the side. And so yeah - it bothers me not a little when me plus a couple of hours on the internet and a trip to the library can out-think the system. In this particular instance, the system includes a record label that defines itself by its respect for historical documentation, and an organization whose sole mission is to preserve Woody's legacy for future generations, not to mention countless writers and critics who are professionally obligated to keep the record straight, and it's a shonda that none of them made any discernable effort to be accurate and professional about something they all claim to adore. So yes, I intend to throw a tantrum about it, and none of you need feel obligated to follow behind. No offense, but if you were as perversely overzealous about all this as I am, I'd have already made you out in the comments. But feel free to cheer from the sidelines: this fascist kills machines, so you don't have to.

Woody Guthrie, Cisco Houston & Sonny Terry:
Gonna Roll the Union On

However. . . you should still get your hands on a copy of the damn thing. Why? Two reasons. First, there's no need for us to all be douchebags about this. My opting for raving lunacy is not even close to a rational defense for your missing out on hearing these tunes. If you're any kind of a Woody fan, then this is manna from heaven. And I hope I never write anything that causes anyone to avoid something simply because I feel cranky about it. When I have solid evidence that something royally sucks, believe me, you'll hear about it.

Woody Guthrie, Cisco Houston & Sonny Terry:
Hard Travelin'

The second reason is that folk music doesn't give a crap. Folk music in its most all-encompassing manifestation almost never begins and/or ends with the music itself. Rather, the music is merely one part of a vast oral tradition, forever engorging itself on myth and fact alike, on back-alley innuendo and networked heresies. Often as not the music and lyrics are two independent treasuries of folklore, whose intersection creates a new crossroads which in turn creates a new Robert Johnson legend every time. Every gap in the story is an opportunity for a half-dozen new interpretations, and every verifiable detail is a heated debate waiting to erupt. It is an American manifestation, to be sure, and it is unique in American music genres. Chuck Berry is every bit Americana as Woody Guthrie is, but Berry's story is solid oak. We know Maybellene was recorded on May 21, 1955, that Ebby Hardy played drums, and that it took nearly thirty takes to get right. Its history is as tangible and sharp as the silver-on-blue lettering of the Chess label it bears. But Guthrie - the real Woody Guthrie, who happily played up his Midwestern yokel persona to sell more records to the east coast elites - is as unknowable as a zephyr, and Pete Seeger willed himself out of thin air and Brahmin fortitude, and even Bob Dylan's enigmas have enigmas.

Within that sweeping tradition lies ample space for the contradictions and hypocrisies to lie down next to the benign fables - hell, it's practically a given that they must. Opposites attract, and mate, and sire new urchins, and repeat ad nauseam until each inbred hive of elemental particles congeals in knowable form as a song. And the process is unending - a dustbowl ouroboros swirling furiously around in the caked earth. I have no real beef with Rounder Records, or Nora Guthrie, or the aforementioned critics, or for that matter, with Woody himself. They have their reasons, and they have their place in the story, and I acknowledge that. Just so long as they remember to make room for the KassaNostra, and the cinders I damn sure plan on kickin' up.

(Oh, and apologies to John Dos Passos for that first paragraph.)

Peace & Vinyl,
The KassaNotra

BONUS BEATLES CORRECTION: Yeah, yeah, two months is way too long to go without a new post, and believe me, it was never my intention to leave y'all with only Dennis Hopper for company. Sorry 'bout that. But I have a complaint of my own: my overwrought bravado in the above post notwithstanding, I do NOT consider myself infallible when it comes to the music I write about. When I started this blog, I was hoping to get into at least a few heated dialogues in the comments, but so far things have been pretty tame. What's that they say about two Jews having three opinions?

Case in point: in my last Beatles post way back in September(!), I ragged on the majority of Let It Be covers out there, 'cause they're mostly lame. I finally settled on a Bill Withers take as a decent offering.
Now. . . I would've expected all y'all to have written in to remind me that in 1972, the Verona (NJ) High School Jazz Ensemble scored an invite to the prestigious Montreux Jazz Festival in Switzerland, where they absolutely killed, with a set that included a nigh-perfect version of that vexing tune. Just so we're clear, that's high school ensemble, and Montreux Jazz Festival. Luckily for us all, my man Larry at the Funky16Corners blog (he's sort of like our music blog godfather) didn't forget, and so here're the goods, for your listening pleasure. C'mon people - it's no fun if you don't holler back.

Verona HS Jazz Ensemble: Let It Be [live]

Pablo Neruda Was Never Called an A**hole

2009-09-23T04:26:00.000-04:00

. . .not in New York.

Just a quickie post, for those of you who got hooked on the weekly updates. Today marks the 36th anniversary of Pablo Neruda's death, which itself coincided with the Pinochet coup that overthrew the democratically elected Allende government in Chile in 1973. The following year, Phil Ochs organized the Friends of Chile benefit concert at Madison Square Garden, which also included Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger, the Beach Boys, and a couple of readings by Dennis Hopper, including the following Neruda poem.

Dennis Hopper: Pablo Neruda Poem [live]

Philistine that I am, I can't tell you which Neruda poem this is. And since this occurred during his lost decade, neither can Hopper. If anyone knows, that's what the comments section is for. A recording of the concert - An Evening with Salvador Allende - was later released, and can be downloaded in its entirety here if you're interested.

Peace & Vinyl,

The KassaNostra

The FABulous Return of. . . pt. 3

2009-09-17T22:09:00.001-04:00

Was thinking about suspending the Beatles finale for a Mary Travers post, but I'm not enough of a PP&M fan to throw something ad hoc together that's also properly respectful. Something we'll get to later, maybe. Right now, let me tell you how it will be. . .

If you were born anytime after 1968, chances are that Bob Dorough was one of your favorite performers before you were ten years old, without your ever knowing his name. That's because Dorough (pronounced like The Explorer) was the artistic director behind ABC's Schoolhouse Rock! cartoon shorts that've been running on Saturday morning TV since the early 70s – think Three Is a Magic Number, among other classics. When not edu-taining millions of children, Dorough is better known as one of the most eclectic jazz singers of the last fifty years, having released close to two dozen albums, and holding the distinction of being the only vocalist to ever record with Miles Davis (on Davis' 1962 Sorcerer LP). Among his many accomplishments is a quickie collaboration with jazz bassist Steve Swallow: The 44th Street Portable Flower Factory was one of two EPs recorded as promotional giveaways for Scholastic Books. It's unbelievable where great music turns up sometimes. There very well may be better versions of Blackbird floating around, but there is only one Bob Dorough, and getting him into this blog gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling. Also, there aren't any better versions of Blackbird floating around, 'cause Dorough's that amazing.

The Portable Flower Factory: Blackbird

Gabor Szabo is Hungary's all-time greatest jazz guitarist, bar none. (Which lends a little something extra to the "he's world famous in Poland" gag.)

It'd be great if the global universality of Beatle-powered love and good will is what led him to a seemingly unlikely collaboration with Lena Horne, but in actuality, Szabo played on-and-off in her backup band for a few years, and they ended up cutting an album together in 1969; Rocky Raccoon was the b-side of the album's only hit, Watch What Happens. Look, this is just a flat-out brilliant cover – way bluesier and seedier than the original. Which may be for the best, given that the subject material covered here includes infidelity, fisticuffs, hard living, frontier-style vengeance, the cheap moralizing of a remorseless god, and quite possibly a large anthropomorphized nocturnal varmint cavorting undetected amongst humans. (Sorry – after years of completely misunderstanding the song, I can't not think of the protagonist that way. My version is just as poignant, dammit!)

Lena Horne & Gabor Szabo: Rocky Raccoon

How the hell did Come Together ever become a song to rock out to? A few power chords in the chorus notwithstanding, it's one of the Beatles' smoothest numbers. (There's no way that's really the Paul/Ringo rhythm section driving this tune. Don't care what George Martin says. I'm gonna need to see the birth certificate.) I'd really like to blame this on Aerosmith, whose crappy 1978 version turned it into a hard rock anthem. But that doesn't explain swagger-happy pre-'78 versions by Gladys Knight & The Pips, Ike & Tina Turner, and. . . Count Basie?!? (Yeah. . . the less said about that last one, the better.) So I really appreciate The Brothers Johnson for going against the grain on this one with a cover that taps into the original's inherent grooviness. The dual lead vocal effect is an especially nice touch.

The Brothers Johnson: Come Together

There's something about Annie Clark – better known onstage as St. Vincent – that scares the crap out of me. Seriously people, check out her video for Actor Out of Work. Every time she opens her mouth wide I think a murder of crows is gonna fly out and peck everyone bloody.

But. . . she's got a voice like frostbite, and her acute, gossamer vocals balance nicely with the porcelain-and-razor wire creepiness of her visual effect. I know she covered Dig a Pony for her Black Cab Session; here's a better audio take, from a 2007 show at the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth. This song should be pushing all of your eerie-childlike-gibberish buttons anyway, even before you knew she did a take of it. Dig a pony, indeed! Don't the Children of the Corn sing this one in unison? (Not harmony, unison.) Well. . . they should.

St. Vincent: Dig a Pony [live]

If there's a more predictable way to wrap things up than with Let It Be, I can't think of it. Every recording artist in the history of the world may very well have covered this song at one time or another. Thing is, most of 'em play up the gospel angle of the song, which is a mistake. While the Beatles' version obviously draws cues from religious music, it really isn't anything more than an anthemic rock ballad with a little stained glass window dressing. Even John was put off by its generic quality, remarking that it could've just as easily been done by Wings. Artists who try to drag this song closer to its original roots quickly discover there's nowhere to go after those opening chords; they're thinking old-time gospel, but what they end up with is often overwrought, and sometimes even schmaltzy. With that in mind, I'm going with Bill Withers, who manages to pull off a rendition that's spiritual but also vibrant and uplifting. It turns out to be exactly the right way to handle the song, and it makes you wonder if he kept the arrangement in mind a year later when he wrote Lean on Me.

Bill Withers: Let It Be

BONUS NON-TOLLAND ALL-TIME KASSANOSTRA GREATEST BEATLES COVER EVER: Eleanor Rigby is a song we pretty much never sing in camp – we may be the only ones. Much like Let It Be, there are hundreds of recorded versions of this song. (A little Liverpudlian poverty and degradation are the perfect way to class up anyone's album, don'tcha know!) Unlike Let It Be, there are a lot of very good covers out there. Some of them – Aretha Franklin's come to mind – are transcendent. But! If the KassaNostra's learned one unimaginably vital thing in all his years scouring the world for musical sublimity, it's this: never underestimate the raw lounge jazz power of five Filipino-American sisters (plus backing combo) and guiding ex-Zappa collaborator to lay bare the innate depravity in a hit song about the death of a forlorn spinster, and to do it with unquestionable style. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you The Third Wave (from their 1969 Here and Now LP).

The Third Wave: Eleanor Rigby

And that's it! Next week: The Rolling Stones Kinderland tribute extravaganza!!! Hmmmm. . . may need six posts to cover that one.

Peace & Vinyl,

The KassaNostra

The FABulous Return of. . . pt. 2

2009-09-09T20:06:00.000-04:00

Before we get back to the Beatles, Gerry Tenney asked me to mention that Khane Yachness is the translator without whom Schvereh Togedike Nakht would not have been. Gerry says, "She was a Kinderland person herself, and her father Zalmen Yachness was the Lakeland social director for many years, and her mother sang in the chorus and was an actress." Gerry and Khane: a dank.

And now. . .

There are at least a few artists you could accuse of injecting death into a cover version, but James Taylor would probably not top your list. And yet here he is, referencing his own demise at the end of With a Little Help from My Friends. Nu? Not sure what he's up to. Maybe it's the ultimate extension of the sensitive folksinger persona? This song - revised last line and all - was his standard opening number for early 70s live gigs (this particular recording is a 1970 concert at Harvard's Sanders Theatre). Whatever his reasons, kudos to Taylor for steering clear of the clichéd suicide/drug OD approach, in favor of a scenario where his friends bear the responsibility for having done him in. Maybe they finally got sick of the sensitive folksinger persona.

Actually, the Beatles/James Taylor connection is surprisingly conspicuous. Taylor's self-titled debut was released in 1969 on Apple Records, having been recorded the previous year at London's Trident Studios, where the Beatles were next door putting The White Album together. The "holy host of others standing around me" in Carolina on My Mind is a reference to the lads, a couple of whom did uncredited work on the song (the initial release, not the more familiar version from 1976). It's a matter of record that when Bob Dylan first met the Beatles, he introduced them to marijuana. You are free to let your mind wander in imagining what momentous development transpired as a result of Taylor hooking up with the Fab Four. The KassaNostra knows enough to steer clear of such debauchery.

James Taylor: With a Little Help from My Friends [live]

I wanted to include this version of Hello Goodbye by the Soulful Strings specifically as a bulwark against the innumerable classical/easy listening Beatles tribute albums in existence, just waiting around to be snatched up by the gullible, the ignorant, and the obsessive Beatles fan. (Not going to take a shot here at the redundancy of all three. . . oh wait, I just did.) Richard Evans was the in-house svengali at Cadet Records in the 1960s and 70s: an accomplished musician (played bass for Sun Ra and Ahmad Jamal), producer and arranger (Marlena Shaw, Dorothy Ashby, Ramsey Lewis, Richard "Groove" Holmes, Brother Jack McDuff, to name a few) - he formed the Strings in 1966, a time when whitebread cover LPs of hit pop tunes were ubiquitous. "Strings" is a bit of a misnomer, since they operated with an electric rhythm section and incorporated a variety of other instruments into their sound. But the group, bolstered by Evans' magnetic arrangements, flies high above the sea of easy listening pap, with a soul/funk dynamic that paints a musical picture that's both easily recognizable and intriguingly different. Listen here in the second verse/chorus, how the rhythm guitar, bass, flute, strings and vibes all dance around each other, seamlessly passing off the lead and then coming back to undergird the melody, and how all that suddenly gives way in the bridge to the groove of the lead guitar solo, which in turn gets reigned in by the strings when they come in with the familiar coda. It's all rather wonderful.

Soulful Strings: Hello Goodbye

We acknowledge the Lennon/McCartney songwriting team as something more than just a pop act - it's a template for the loftiest possibilities of pop music, and that's how it should be. But then we also should acknowledge that a really great Beatles rendition requires a performance that's up to the task of respecting the source material. Nobody ever expects magic from a high school Gilbert and Sullivan production; subsequently, while the ethos of rock dictates that any combo can and should muscle their way through any song, the fact remains that the Beatles are great in part because they transcended the limits of rock music to incorporate a pop sensibility that opened the door on countless sonic innovations. That's not to say that every attempt to cover the Beatles should realize a certain level of sophistication. But many, many such attempts - in every genre - fail because they willfully ignore the complexity of the music. And it's a rare and transcendent thing when someone like Evans comes along and completely gets it right.

Anyway. . .

You say you want a Revolution? You gonna call on a buncha snotty puss-puss basement-dwelling mushy pea and turnip fawningly polite sons of the motherland fugazi Howlin' Wolf parody dirty collar-wearin' tea-sippin' empire-lovin' nancy boys? Or are you gonna call on Nina Simone? There's the Beatles version of the song, and there's Simone's "cover" version, and only one of them is about getting your hands dirty. (And right now, you should all be thinking the same thing: it's about damn time the KassaNostra put some Nina freakin' Simone up on this site! I hear ya.)

Nina Simone: Revolution

Chubby Checker had a career-defining hit with The Twist back in 1960, and then spent the next fifteen years spiraling towards irrelevance. Luckily, when a guy hits it that big, somebody'll always pay him to make records. Also luckily, the further away Checker got from his moment in the sun, the more he seemed keen on pushing the musical envelope. His 1971 Chequered! LP is, if not an outright masterpiece, than one of the finest cultural oddities you'll ever listen to. He wasn't exactly there yet in 1969, but his cover of Back in the U.S.S.R. is still a fine effort. The decision to approach this song in complete over-the-top Vegas lounge act fashion was undeniably the correct choice. There are Superbowl halftime shows less choreographed than this production, but Checker's heart is clearly driving the performance, and the unabashed excess behind him is glorious. If the Beatles were less image-conscious, they would've cut this live, with a 30-piece band and two-hundred showgirls in the buff save for tastefully arranged babushkas; Chubby's version is the next best thing.

Chubby Checker: Back in the U.S.S.R.

To wrap this post up, I give you a 1969 BBC recording of Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, by Desmond Dekker (plus a brief segue into his own tune, Wise Man). As far as I know, this wasn't formally released until it appeared on a 2005 compilation CD. I'm guessing he's being backed by his longtime group The Aces - no info to confirm that, but the timing's right. There's nothing particularly special about this recording, but I think we can all agree that the coolness factor goes through the roof when you're able to cover the pop song the Beatles wrote specifically about you. No word on what his actual wife, Margaret, thought about this Molly floozy they set him up with. By the way, I know a lot of people hate this song, but it's the KassaNostra's favorite McCartney-penned tune.

Desmond Dekker: Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da/Wise Man

Okay - part 2 is in the books. Part 3 in a week. Until then, stop yer minds from wandering. . .

Peace & Vinyl,

The KassaNostra

The FABulous Return of. . . pt. 1

2009-08-31T20:31:00.000-04:00

Sholem Aleichem, my rockin’ kinderlachen! It’s the KassaNostra, comin’ back atcha with the cream of the Tolland scene – the music that makes your head swim, your booty shake, and your conscience do a boom-chicka-boom! I trust everyone had a groovy summer – yours truly spent his nights spinning harmonious soul sounds as the in-house DJ at Junior's Restaurant in beautiful downtown Brooklyn!

What?

Oh. PSYCHE! Yeah, that totally didn't happen, the rumors to the contrary. But it sounded sooooooo good, I just had to see what it looked like in print. Actually, your KassaNostra was hard at work laying the groundwork for some very excellent forthcoming posts. Got lots to share with you guys, so let's get right into it.

In my last post before I closed down for the summer, I took a swipe at the Beatles and those who love their music.

(Hmmmm. . . the KassaNostra vs. the rest of the world. I like those odds!) But why make waves when you can make beautiful harmony? And so, what with numbers by the Fab Four permeating the slices, I thought about giving you guys some camp-related Beatles music to celebrate my grand re-opening. Beatles music being the greatest universal equalizer there is, it only stands to reason that we sing our fair share of it in Tolland. Think about it – go to a peace vigil, start singing Put My Name Down, and everyone else gives you some serious distance and the hairy eyeball. Anarchists? Separatist vegans? Father rapers? But break into All You Need Is Love, and everyone starts joining in like we was all on the same sing-down team. See? They really are more popular than Jesus.

Here's the thing: I could tell you that we sing Let It Be in camp, but would you really need me to follow-up with the actual tune? Wherever you are, reading this post right now, aren't there now at least 500 ways of immediately getting a copy of that song? Assuming that you somehow haven't already committed every cadence and tonal identifier of it to memory? You're thinking about it right now, aren't you? You're up to the part where Billy Preston comes in on the organ, right? Greatest universal equalizer. No joke.

Anyway, since what we do every time we sing Lennon/McCartney is perform a cover of the original, I thought it would be right and proper (and vastly more interesting) if I gave you some cover versions of the Beatles songs that have entered the Tolland canon over the years. So I made a list, pared it down to fifteen or so contenders, and then decided that not only did I not want to have to pick and choose between dynamite music, but that it would be way more cool if I gave you a Kinderland/Beatles tribute/extravaganza in three parts! Fifteen (maybe sixteen) tunes comin' atcha, all in the next three weeks.

But before we dive in, I should note that I'm using an extremely loose definition of what constitutes "Kinderland approved" in this case. Obviously, there are some songs that don't make for good singalong material, and so they're not widely performed in the Greater Tolland Area (though I'd kill to see Maddy tackle Tomorrow Never Knows). And while some of these are fairly obvious choices, I'll admit that some of them I'm a little sketchy on the whens and wheres. Feel free to register complaints in the comments section, for which my standard reply remains: start your own damn blog. The rest of you just rattle your jewelry.

First thing I got for ya'll is gonna make the purists howl. But the way I see it, this is way more than just a cover. Back in the day, DJ Jazzy Jeff was definitely Ringo to the johnpaulgeorge supernova that was his partner, Will Smith. I mean, you didn't even know he had a solo career, right? And yet years after the fact, he's still laying down beats (and frankly, proving just who had the superior musical chops in his old duo). His guest MC on this particular piece of sublimity is the indefatigable Biz Markie. That's right. . . it's an old school throwdown, and the Biz is most definitely up to the challenge. Which should come as no surprise – the Biz has that same manic energy that the Beatles did back when they were so cool they only wore black. If he showed up as a mad scientist in Help! or a train conductor in A Hard Day's Night, it wouldn't surprise you for a second.

DJ Jazzy Jeff feat. Biz Markie: $ Can't Buy Me Love

Speaking of Ringo's best-known malapropism, any Kinderland/Beatles tribute/extravaganza has got to include Gerry Tenney's homage to Liverpool's finest: Schvereh Togedike Nakht. During his stint as camp's music specialist, I remember Gerry explaining that in order to secure permission to record the song, he had to go through the reps of the guy who owned the rights to the Beatles' catalog at that time. My friends, let me go on record right here and now and declare that any song with a backstory that includes Gerry, the Beatles and Michael Jackson is an automatic fave of the KassaNostra. Performed with his then-band The Lost Tribe, with Gerry singing the lead himself (which I guess makes him the smart one). Definitely check out his blogsite to see which song gets the yiddisher treatment next.

Gerry Tenney & The Lost Tribe: Schvereh Togedike Nakht

One thing I find when listening to non-Beatles play Beatles songs is that it never pays to try and sound like the Beatles. Everybody in the world already knows what every Beatles song sounds like. There are Yanamamo tribesmen in the Amazon that mimic John's Scouser twang when they sing Eight Days a Week. It sounds painfully obvious, but the trick, I think, is to make the sound your own – to feel comfortable working in the material (this goes doubly when considering the iconic nature of the Beatles' catalog). I think that's what I like so much about David Porter's take on Help! Porter was Isaac Hayes' longtime writing partner at Stax Records before he tried his hand at a solo recording career in the early 70s. With Help!, he strips the song clean of the urgency that runs through the original. When John Lennon sings it, it's a young man crying out for support; when Porter sings it, it's with the self-assurance that comes with maturity. He's not asking for help, he's celebrating the fact that he already knows and trusts them that got his back.

David Porter: Help!

Next up. . . I say "Dionne Warwick," you say "Psychic Friends." It's a sad, sad thing that Warwick's gonna be remembered for everything but her best work. Screw yer Beatles, man – the single best moment in 60s music might just be the breakdown in Walk On By. Her talent notwithstanding, Warwick benefited from an early relationship with the songwriting team of Hal David and Burt Bacharach. That in turn created a lot of access to top arrangers and sessions men. Plus her label, Scepter Records, recognized her as their showcase artist and completely feted her. It's the factory approach to hitmaking, but hey. . . when it works, it surely does deliver. There's so much to like about her cover of We Can Work It Out, starting with the maudlin intro that quickly surges into an effortless groove. I always thought the Beatles got this one wrong. It reads like a statement or an affirmation, but they run through it so tepidly – if dude ever actually sang it to you like that, you'd be giggling inside of a minute. Fortunately, Warwick gets it for what it is, and completely blows the doors off of it. For me, this take tops both the original and the better-known Stevie Wonder version.

Dionne Warwick: We Can Work It Out

Finally. . . it's Otis Redding. And he's singing Day Tripper. Do you really need to know anything else? Man, this is so unbelievably good, I can't believe the Stax/Volt guys didn't release this as a single.

Otis Redding: Day Tripper

Thus endeth part 1 – part 2 to follow next week. Welcome home, boys and girls. Insert your own "long and winding road" comment here.

Peace & Vinyl,
The KassaNostra

A Gute Nakht!

2009-06-27T00:17:00.000-04:00

Assuming you've actually spent time in Kinderland, you don't need me to tell you that the Tolland scene is rife with incongruities (look no further than the fact that we refer to eleven-year-olds as "seniors"). Quirkiness in camp is a given, but the quirks themselves have become so institutionalized that it usually takes a moment to spot them. Or in some cases, hear them. Which brings me to my burning question of the moment: why do we have a standard in the canon for saying "goodnight," but not a single tune for saying "goodbye?" Allow me to expound a few thoughts. . .

1. We say goodnight to each other a lot more than we say goodbye.

Makes sense, no? Over a seven-week summer, we regularly have cause to wish each other goodnight. It's both a pleasant way to close the evening and a formality, given that we'll almost certainly reconvene mere hours from having made the gesture. That makes a round of Goodnight Irene perfect for the occasion: modest, topical, and can be hammed up just enough without descending into abject schmaltz. By contrast, there are really only two formal occasions for saying goodbye to each other with any sense of finality. (It really wouldn't pay to sing off a group leaving on an overnight, or even a quick run to Scoops.) (Although if someone found a way to make that happen, it would be undeniably awesome.) (Bonus points for writing an original song to be sung exclusively for Scoops runs.)

All that may be true, but it still rings a bit hollow given that the end of a Kinderland session is a rather momentous occasion. It's the kind of experience that's all things to all people, but since camp is so decidedly personal, I think we generally expend the last of our energy seeing to our more intimate friendships, which subsequently causes any campwide sayonara to feel lacking, or at the very least, a scattershot affair. Hey. . . I love standing on ceremony. I was there when the seven-weekers first started ritually tossing the four-weekers as they pulled out on the bus. I still can't eat a Tootsie Pop without getting a warm fuzzy feeling. But that final campwide share – with everyone distracted with crying and hugs and crying and signing pillowcases and crying – just doesn't cut it. Something more definitively ceremonial would go a long way towards generating a coalescing moment, and a "Goodbye Irene" song might just be the best way to make that happen.

2. It gets the job done.

One of my all-time fave bands – the early-90s pop-punk outfit Too Much Joy – wrote themselves a theme song (appropriately titled Theme Song) to close out their third album. It's an immensely catchy tune with a sing-along chorus that even the most inebriated fan couldn't possibly forget, and it quickly became their standard for closing out all their shows. The brilliance of this was twofold: it guaranteed that every show wrapped with wildly spirited mass audience participation, and it conclusively marked the end of the show. No lingering around for a possible second encore, no idiot fans calling out requests even after the lights came up, no ambiguity whatsoever.

That kind of rock-steady certainty isn't required for saying goodbye (the implied threat of missing the bus takes care of that). But try getting a group of kids up from a campfire or out of Robeson to face the prospect of lights out. It's like herding sheep, if the sheep were mules. Or G8 Summit protesters. So. . . cue up Goodnight Irene. No one can argue with the unequivocal power of a universally recognized finale. I guarantee that if you've ever heard Ira play this, it was the last song on his set list that evening.

Too Much Joy: Theme Song [live]

3. It's how The Weavers did it.

I won’t claim to be an expert on this, but I'm willing to bet that of all the pre-1960 songs in the slices, over half were Weavers standards (three-quarters, if you don't count the Yiddishkeit songs). Especially the more obscure stuff, where authorship is unclear or not well known: Miner's Lifeguard, Drinking Gourd, Midnight Special, Eddystone Light, Banks of Marble, etc., etc. Goodnight Irene, released on Decca in 1950, was their debut single.

Look, I get it. They were the vanguard of the folk-revival movement, and almost everybody took cues from them. It's not an uncommon thing in music – think about how Bob Marley dominates people's understanding of reggae, or how Dylan has become the gold standard against which all other 60s folk acts get measured. Besides, what else was the Hopewell Junction crowd supposed to sing 'round the campfire? Louis Jordan? Gene Pitney? The Andrews Sisters? And above all else, Pete, Fred, Ronnie and Lee made some great music. Really. Still, a pretty justifiable knock on the old left is that they routinely let political-minded groupthink determine their artistic preferences, and fealty to The Weavers as the alpha and omega of recorded music is no exception. (Before anyone commences to tear me a new one in the comments, answer me this: how many Ralph Fasanella prints do you own? I rest my case.)

4. There's a dearth of iconic goodbye songs.

At least not that many that fit our criteria. Remember that it's got to be a song that can be played on acoustic guitar and sung (the chorus, anyway) by a large crowd. It'd help if an artist about whom Ira retains some archaic trivial knowledge had performed it (trust me – it just would). It also needs some general relevance. Most goodbye songs are written from a personal perspective, with the singer's farewells going out to a particular somebody with a particular backstory. A song like Every Time We Say Goodbye is a true classic, but it completely fails on every count. (Although it'd be pretty damn cool if Ira turned out to be a closet Cole Porter fan.)

(While I'm on the subject, something needs to be said about the miscasting of In My Life as an appropriate goodbye song. I'll admit to having some very mixed feelings about The Beatles, and I apologize to anyone whose sacred cows I'm about to grind to hamburger, but c’mon. . . It’s a song that's specifically about not getting bogged down in sentiment at the expense of real present-tense emotional attachment. Singing it as a Kinderland sendoff is as fitting as performing Draft Dodger Rag at a USO benefit. Plus it's maudlin, in the way that all pop songs with harpsichords are maudlin. Maybe it's actually only sung sporadically in camp, but it's got the staying power of a recurring abscess. I suspect that someone's taken a stab at this every year since it's release in 1965, and I suspect that there are still people for whom no summer is complete without another mawkish rendition. Further proof that The Beatles will never leave us alone. Ever.)

Anyway, lucky for y'all, you can count on the KassaNostra to come through for you once again: I Don't Want to Go Home, by Southside Johnny & The Asbury Jukes (title track from their 1976 debut album). I don't like to brag, and I don't believe in making definitive statements (at least ones that aren't intended to stir up trouble), but really, this song is ideal. Listen to it, and then close your eyes and imagine all of camp singing it together. . . maybe at a slightly slower tempo, maybe with even more gusto on that recurring maxim than even poor Johnny himself can muster. Perfect, is it not?

Southside Johnny & The Asbury Jukes:

I Don't Want to Go Home

Toldja so.

And yet somewhere between my caustic harping and my unrealized musical utopian fantasies, there's a warm place in my heart for all you purists out there. So to you, I offer a summer's worth of forlorn lullaby melancholia: ten takes on what truly is one of the sweetest and saddest songs ever written. Use them wisely.

The KassaNostra Presents:

GOODNIGHT/GOODBYE

(click HERE to download the zipped file)

Have a wonderful summer – your assignment is to fall in love with at least one new song by the end of August and tell me about it.

Peace & Vinyl,

The KassaNostra

CODA: Just when I thought I was out. . . I was all set to put a wrap on this post and send it out over the intertubes. And then Michael Jackson died (maybe you heard something about that). I was never a big MJ fan – grew up without MTV but with two (count 'em) classic rock radio stations, so I never had a fighting chance to be mesmerized by that famous Jackson charm. But I got no problem with the "troubled genius" epitaph that everyone else seems to have settled on. Frankly, one mark of a true genius is when their body of work is adaptable to any given situation. As it turns out, Jackson and his brothers recorded an excellent goodbye song of their very own: 1971's Never Can Say Goodbye. So long, Mike. And remember kids. . . We are here to change the world!

Jackson 5: Never Can Say Goodbye

Dance Dance Revolution, pt. 2

2009-05-31T16:33:00.000-04:00

Anyone else out there feel like I've been falling down on the job lately? I'm averaging about two posts a month right now, which is probably what I'd have said my goal was when I started out. But two weeks go by, and I start feeling like a slug. It ain't that I'm a sloth (not when it comes to all things music, anyway). It's that I keep starting these epic-sized treatises that spiral out of control faster than a Van Halen guitar lick. I promise: someday, you'll all read my 13,000-word disquisition, Paul Robeson, Hirsh Glick, Lucy Kaplansky, Gerry Tenny and M.I.A. vs. Nazi Frogmen in the Sonic Temple of Our Souls. While you're waiting, though, we might as well talk about Draggin' the Line.

Or "Snoopy," as we're fond of calling it 'round Colebrook River Road. And only us, apparently. Marathon research jags into the annals of recorded ethnomusicological history have produced nary a reference connecting the ubiquitous beagle to Tommy James. (Other potential correlations also didn't pan out.) (Although if one of my readers can make a plausible link between Love and Draggin' the Line, I'll dance the damn thing in my skivvies at share this summer, that's how blown away I'll be.) Suffice to say, I got bubkis on the secret origins of this rechristening. What I can tell you about the tune itself is that it was released twice on the Roulette label (as a b-side in 1970, then as it's own single the following year), so there's a decent chance that the Hopewell Junction crowd has no idea what I'm talking about. (Any old-time kinderlachen care to weigh in?) It was James' first solo hit after breaking with longtime backing combo The Shondells, climbing to #4 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart in August of '71.

And like most camp-related things going down in August, this one is a little peculiar. For example:

• First of all, any time a top-40 anything enters the Tolland canon, it's a little surprising.

• It's a weird song for the camp scene, given that it may be an overt paean to illicit drug use, or it may be an "I ❤ Jesus" anthem. (It was released on James' second solo LP, a religious-themed album called Christian of the World.) Possibly it's both.

• I totally get the significance of the Snoopy connection. Whatever the song's meaning, it's all about laid-back gratification with life's simple pleasures – a fitting epigram if ever there was one. But it leads to a glaring conundrum when you take into account the opening line of the second verse: "My dog Sam eats purple flowers." As Draggin' the Line, there's no problem. As Snoopy, it calls into question the heated deliberations over the anthropomorphization of fictional animals, with a case at least as contentious as the whole Goofy/Pluto debate.

As a tune, it's almost impossible not to like. It's exactly the right blend of low-key psychedelia with a lazy-but-unswerving rhythmic beat. Dig that killer bass-riff opening, and the inspired trombone/trumpet call-and-response in the chorus. As a dance, it's also hard not to like: easy to learn, easy to remember, and maybe the only folkdance that improves the less energy you expend on it – perfect for those 90-degree afternoon dance sessions right before an hour of swim. And for the record, whoever came up with the opening count-off is a genius.

~~Tommy James: Draggin' the Line~~

Oh yeah. . . R.E.M. did a passable cover of Draggin' the Line for one of the Austin Powers soundtracks. Am I the only one who remembers that R.E.M. once promised if they were still together in the year 2000 they'd break up on principle? C'mon guys, show a little integrity. Bill Berry, thou art truly our hero. (This came out in 1999, so once again the KassaNostra narrowly avoids glaring hypocrisy! Michael Stipe can bite me.)

~~R.E.M.: Draggin' the Line~~

Just a quick heads-up before I go. It seems a little weird to keep posting about camp songs while camp's actually in session, so I'm planning to put the blog on hiatus for July and August. I'll post at least once, maybe more, before the end of this month. But those of you who rely on this site for your Kinderland music fix, you're gonna have to go without, or get yourself to Tolland this summer. Should my legions of fans choose to stage a Beatlemania-esque rally outside the camp office in an attempt to get me to change my mind, I may reconsider.

Peace & Vinyl,

The KassaNostra

Just the Tsvey of Us

2009-05-15T20:06:00.001-04:00

I had a whole different post ready for you guys, but then I read something neat, and wanted to share.

A couple of weeks ago I posted a video clip of Sister Rosetta Tharpe performing Down By the Riverside. That wasn't exactly spontaneous – I've been reading an excellent (and long overdue) biography about Tharpe, Gayle Wald's Shout, Sister, Shout! I didn't know a whole lot about Tharpe's life before, but enough that I didn't expect anything in the book to completely knock me on my ass. Then I read that Tharpe recorded a duet with Red Foley in 1952, and BANG! (KassaNostra's ass, the floor. The floor, KassaNostra's ass.)

Longtime fans of the Tolland scene will recognize Foley as the mellow baritone behind the folkdance craze Salty Dog Rag. In addition to his c&w bona fides, he was apparently a longtime admirer of gospel music, and the rare white performer who didn't shy away from the prospect of crossing over to black audiences. (Their duet – Have a Little Talk with Jesus – was released on the Decca label in 1955 as a b-side to Foley's cover of Tharpe's biggest hit, Strange Things Happening Every Day.) But the camp connection – the "Kinderland tie," if you will – is only part of this package. . . there's pertinent social significance to boot! Wald speculates that the Foley/Tharpe pairing is the first ever release of an interracial male/female duo:

"In the course of commercial popular recording, had two well-known stars of different races – people who, in Tennessee, were legally prohibited from marrying – ever appeared as a duo? When Foley and Kitty Wells, country music's two biggest stars the time, paired up in 1953 for the duet 'One By One,' listeners could imagine the two as a couple. Unlike Foley and Wells, Roy Rogers and Dale Evans (married in real life), or later, the African American rhythm-and-blues duo Mickey and Sylvia, Red and Rosetta could not claim the intimacy of lovers, although their voices would intertwine in song."

Now, granted, the song itself is as chaste as an Inter sleep-out. And Decca wasn't exactly looking to make music-recording history (Wald suggests they buried the release in their catalog, albeit in deference to financial motives above all else). But still, it's nice when the people you associate with for purely aesthetic reasons surprise you by doing the right thing. Besides which, it lends credence to the KassaNostra's longstanding campaign for an Olympic team commemorating the Plato's Stepchildren episode of Star Trek.

By the way, Wald thinks this is a sub-par effort, but I like it just fine (and I hope no one's turned off by the song's less-than-Yiddishkeit nature). Foley and Tharpe balance each other in lively fashion, and it's an excellent example of the homogeneity in American roots music that the music industry has historically taken great pains to suppress. At one point in her book, Wald quotes black c&w singer/songwriter O.B. McClinton:

"You can take a black guy to Nashville from right out of the cotton fields with bib overalls and two watermelons in his back pockets, and they will call him r&b. You can take a white guy in a pinstripe suit who has never seen a cotton field, take him to Nashville right out of a subway in Manhattan, and they will call him country."

Red Foley & Sister Rosetta Tharpe:
Have a Little Talk with Jesus

Anyway, I dig both the song and the backstory – hope y'all do as well. And since we've started down the male/female duet path, I thought another couple of tunes in that genre would round out this post in appropriate fashion. So next up, I give you Bob Dylan and Joan Baez performing Deportee, as part of the Rolling Thunder Revue tour. For you Dylan completists out there (or the even rarer Joan Baez freak), this is from the second leg of touring in 1976, and was recorded live on May 23rd at Hughes Stadium at Colorado State University. Just for the record, this track does not appear on the official Rolling Thunder bootleg release that came out a few years ago. Also just for the record, re: the completists, I am not one of you – the KassaNostra firmly believes that the human brain can only absorb so much Dylan music in one lifetime, and with respect to his own sanity, has made the conscious decision to draw the line at the first sixteen studio albums, unless, of course, the new stuff totally kills, including the Basement Tapes, a few dozen random bootlegs, the complete Johnny Cash sessions, about two-thirds of the Wilburys stuff, his 2003 gospel album, and his absolute brilliant effort on the Band of the Hand soundtrack.

~~Bob Dylan & Joan Baez: Deportee [live]~~

Finally, to close, here's the married duo of Kim and Reggie Harris, with a very soulful version of If You Miss Me (ably assisted by Peter Yarrow, Bethany Yarrow and Rufus Cappadocia). I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I hadn't heard of the Harrises until friend-of-the-blog Howard Glass clued me in last month. It always feels a little weird to learn about underground folk artists. There's a bunch of internet outlets that I use to track the next big thing in a few different genres, but traditional folk music in the 1950s/60s model that we generally adhere to in camp is not one of them, even though it's such a natural vehicle for independent music. I'm sure that's an extension of the word-of-mouth traditions I grew up on, wherein you learned about a new act because you saw them play the latest anti-intervention rally, or open for Pete Seeger, before Pete ascended to national treasure status. All of which only serves to prove that either me or traditional folk music needs to be dragged kicking/screaming into the new millennia, and since it's almost assuredly me, I hereby vow to voluntarily walk that plank. While you're waiting for the inevitable splashing noises, be sure to check out the Harris website for additional tunes and CD ordering info.

~~Kim & Reggie Harris: If You Miss Me [live]~~

Speaking of Seeger, I'm a complete ass for missing out on his 90th birthday concert at Madison Square Garden. If anyone scored an unauthorized bootleg, definitely send me a copy c/o the camp office (mark it "educational supplies"). Everyone else should make sure to check out Katie Halper's very Tolland-centric review.

Peace & Vinyl,
The KassaNostra

Mishmash

2009-05-01T13:56:00.000-04:00

Since today is May Day, I should probably think about spinning a few rounds of The Internationale. But the KassaNostra's in spring cleaning mode, and so instead you're gonna get a few random things that I can't readily pigeonhole into themed posts. No need to thank me. By the way, anyone know if mishmash is a Yiddish word? I got two sources that say yes, another that says it's Middle English. Don't mind if one's a cover version. . . just wondering about the original pressing.

First up: a strange and mournful take on Dark as a Dungeon, by Gnonnas Pedro. Pedro was a giant of the West African music scene for forty years, and especially renowned -- as this track demonstrates -- for cross-breeding different styles, including salsa, highlife, and the traditional agbadja music of his native Benin. This is copied from an old 45 on the French Discafric label, probably recorded in the late 1970s. Sorry about the crappy sound quality. But if you can endure the static, it's worth a listen.

~~Gnonnas Pedro: Dark as a Dungeon~~

Just so we're clear, I have absolutely no idea what's going on in this song. I don't know why he drops the second/third verses but repeats the first verse (in a different version he cut in 1980, he sings it three times). I don't know if he's singing about an actual place: DED-doo-wee Mine -- ring a bell for anyone? And while it's certainly possible that he's using some kind of pidgin dialect, I really think he actually substitutes "rabbit" for "habit" in the third line, which kind of makes sense if you think about it. To be sure, the whole thing's a little odd. But Sacre Bleu! Is there any doubt that Gnonnas and his Panchos fully comprehend the despondency that Merle Travis' lyrics were shooting for? You could play this at any UMWA meeting, and you just know everyone there would be nodding their heads and going, "yup." [Obligatory May Day comment: Further proof that the exploitation of the working masses is an injustice on a global scale.]

Next, we got us a cover of Woody Guthrie's Hard Traveling, by Philly-based antifolksinger Adam Brodsky. That's right -- I said antifolk. It's a real thing, and you can all look it up for yourselves, because I'm not wasting precious blog space delving into the minutiae of subgenre classifications. Look, it's not that I disapprove of narrow subgenres. On the contrary -- I love them. I mean, I L❤VE them. You walk up to me and say, "Hey KassaNostra. . . Nerdcore vs. Cowpunk?" And I will literally swoon. But my aural fetishes are fodder for a much different blog than this, whereas I'd much rather use this space for talking about our (yours and mine) collective Kinderland music experience. So come together, you Mods and Teds and Greebos! Solidarity for Lilliputians and Zooks, Anathematicians and Star-Bellied Sneetches and Judean Peoples Fronters! (And if anyone's got a problem with that, take it up with the guy who does the KinderRing music blog.)

Anyway. . . Brodsky. Dude's righteous. Given that he's of the same lefty Jewish intellectual self-deprecating performer stock that usually gets rave reviews at campwide share, and given that his performance medium of choice happens to be folk music, it seems a little incomprehensible that we've never had him up to Tolland (let alone named the rec hall after him already). His take on Woody manages to do justice by the original whilst simultaneously dragging it headfirst into Mike Judge's Office Space reality. Off his 2002 CD Hookers, Hicks & Heebs, which is the album you always wished you'd cut, if you had the guts to write folk/bluegrass tunes about rejected love, suicide, and the Patriot Act. Not to mention a talkin' blues Holocaust number. Go here and buy the damn thing already. [Obligatory May Day comment: Every dollar spent by a worker in support of proletarian artists is a revolutionary act.]

~~Adam Brodsky: Hard Traveling~~

Finally, I've been thinking about this clip since my last post -- the one that included the Million Dollar Quartet's rendition of Down By the Riverside.

That's Sister Rosetta Tharpe, and she was a huge influence not just on all the Quartet boys, but also on your Little Richards, your Etta Jamses, your Ruth Browns. . . basically, anyone and everyone involved in early rockabilly, r&b and/or rock 'n' roll. In the clip? That abbreviated duck walk she's doing around the 2:00 mark? Yeah, she was prototyping that move for Chuck Berry a solid decade before Maybellene hit.

Tharpe began her career as a child prodigy in the gospel music scene of the 1920s. Over time, she pushed the boundaries of "acceptable" spiritual music, infusing her performances with the unbridled energy typical of the Pentecostal services she was reared in. She never actually crossed-over to secular music per se, but she played with jazz greats like Duke Ellington and Lucky Millinder, and routinely mixed her stage performances to deliver gospel and secular music to both religious and non-religious audiences. To her, there was little distinction between singing about angels or devils, as long as she regularly got to blow people away with her god-given talent. It cost her -- the gospel crowd eventually abandoned her flamboyant stylings for more dignified alternatives, and it's only in recent years that she's been recognized as the pioneering force she was. This clip is from an early 1960s broadcast, so keep in mind that that's a fifty-year-old woman wailing away on that guitar. For this post, about artists and music that defy easy categorization, take it from the KassaNostra: there ain't nothin' better / then going out with Sister Rosetta. [Obligatory May Day comment: If I can't dance, then screw your revolution.]

Peace & Vinyl,

The KassaNostra

Doves with Claws

2009-04-21T00:53:00.000-04:00

Geez Louise! I can't turn on my TV these days without somebody haranguing me about "populism." President Obama's a populist. So's Hilary Clinton. So's Sarah Palin, Joe the Plummer, and now these teabag protesters from last week. I'd happily offer myself up to FOX News right now as the sacrificial lamb of smarmy east-coast liberal elitism if I thought for a second it would get all the talking heads out there to SHUT THE HELL UP.

Populism is a funny thing - it's not good or bad, it just is. I could argue that both Eugene Debs and George Wallace were populists, but it wouldn't tell you anything substantial about either man. (Since this is a music blog, let's amend that: I could argue that both Bruce Springsteen and Ted Nugent are populists. . . don't know that I'd ever put them on the same mixtape, though.) Look, I will spare all of you the excruciating rant that I'm obviously itching to spew. Suffice to say, populism is a label oft misused when attached to people. Or movements. But it's excellent for talking about art, especially when the art in question is music.

I bring this up because the slices runneth over with populist tunes of one stripe or another. What constitutes a populist song is open for interpretation, but we can reach a broad definition by comparing them to the non-populist stuff, of which there's tons. I myself have stood up in Robeson and belted out hard-core party ballads that no one this side of Khrushchev's politburo would ever deem populist. I've already touched on the relative obscurity of certain songs that emerge and disappear with each passing Olympic cycle. And there's a long list of issue-specific folk songs whose topics are so dated that they can't be sung without a solid ten-minute prologue to explain their significance. Let's be clear: populist/non-populist in this case is not code for good/bad. On the contrary, I think it's fantastic when an obscure song becomes part of the Tolland canon and achieves a certain immortality as a result (Two Good Arms is a perfect example). But populist music is an extension of something at the heart of what makes Kinderland so great: context.

Walk onto any college campus and you'll surely trip over young people engaging in some form of progressive activism. To wit: camp does not own a monopoly on iconoclasm. What camp does do is teach young people that by engaging in that activism they are the latest incarnation of an ongoing struggle much larger than themselves. And that the long tradition of fighting for progressive values in this country, while often initiating on the fringes, is ultimately as inherently mainstream as baseball, apple pie, and Born in the U.S.A.

Hold that thought for a minute, and let me hit y'all with the Million Dollar Quartet in 1956 singing Down By the Riverside. The boys in the Quartet never cut so much as a 45 under that particular sobriquet, but that don't mean you ain't never heard of 'em. The short version: Elvis Presley pays a visit to the Sun Records studios (his old stomping grounds) and walks in on a Carl Perkins session, which includes a then-unknown (outside of Memphis, anyway) Jerry Lee Lewis on piano. Johnny Cash shows up later, although some say just to be in the photo (he's definitely not present on this tune). Sam Phillips is genius enough to tape the whole thing, and we're all the better for it.

What's interesting for our purposes here is the set list of that particular jam session: it includes a pretty eclectic mix of pop tunes, traditional arrangements, gospel, and Christmas carols. The point is, these guys recognize a number like Riverside as a standard - a well-known song that everyone can get in on. Maybe when we sing it in camp we imbue it with a different political significance, but bottom line is that it's our standard too, and for the same reasons. I don't want to get all mushy here like Alice and go off on a we're-all-brothers-and-sisters tearjerker. . . that ain't the KassaNostra style. But there's a shared appreciation here that spans any number of cultural and generational divides. This song is traditional, and mainstream, and can be sung with the same passion in Tolland or Memphis or wherever. That, boys and girls, is honest-to-god populism.

~~Million Dollar Quartet: Down By the Riverside~~

Here's another for you: Johnny Cash, performing at Madison Square Garden in 1969. Cash was never someone easily pigeonholed, and at the time of this concert he had already begun cultivating his "Man in Black" persona, which would confound everyone's preconceived notions about him. But one moment in particular stands out here. He sings Remember the Alamo, a song that practically gushes patriotic fervor. The song ends, the audience cheers wildly, and then something strange happens. He begins to talk about his experiences in Vietnam, playing for the troops as part of a USO tour. In a mere ninety seconds, Cash stakes out a position on the war more perceptive and nuanced than many on either side of the issue could ever hope to do. Then, as if to underscore the point that a broader consensus is possible, he sings Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream. And the audience, god bless 'em, cheers as loudly as they did for Alamo.

~~Johnny Cash: Strangest Dream [live]~~

The recently departed John Updike once wrote, "Being naked approaches being revolutionary; going barefoot is mere populism." And he was right. He was also an uptight prig who wouldn't know a hora from a hootenanny. Somewhere in the middle of all that lies the truth. But I'll trust you to know it when you hear it for yourselves.

FINAL BONUS FEVER: Don't know if I'd ever call Peggy Lee a populist, and I still prefer the Little Willie John original, but there's no way I could ever leave her off this list of classic Fevers. Lee's cover, released on Capitol in 1958, is iconic - far and away the best-known version of the song, and amazingly, even more minimalist than John's take. She wrote all the additional lyrics herself, by the way. This one's for you, Gerol (and for Walter Reuther, of course).

~~Peggy Lee: Fever~~

Peace & Vinyl,

The KassaNostra

Pesachtime Is Here...

2009-04-08T18:48:00.001-04:00

Just a quickie post to help everybody celebrate the holiday. This tune, by Slim Gaillard (and his Flat Foot Floogie Boys) is not your typical camp song, and definitely not something you'd normally sing around the seder table. But by god, it should be! It's said that Irving Berlin's White Christmas is Jewish revenge on the goyim. If that's true, then this has gotta be them upping the ante on us. Happy Passover everyone. And remember. . . don't lick your finger! It's covered with plagues!

~~Slim Gaillard: Matzoh Balls~~

Peace & Vinyl,
The KassaNostra

One-Hit Wonders

2009-03-31T13:07:00.000-04:00

Sounds weird, I know. But camp’s got ’em too, just not the kind that VH1 specials are made of. Thank goodness! Truth be told, the KassaNostra really doesn’t like the whole “one-hit wonder” concept very much: it’s unfair to the artists, it’s unfair to the fans of the artists, it elevates sales as the determining factor in the making of a great song, and most of all, it’s just lazy. Hella-lazy. Show me a one-hit wonder, and I’ll show you the Rhino Records corporate marketing strategy.

The way I figure it though, an OHW K-Land style is a song that doesn’t turn up in the slices. It’s a song that maybe somebody sang once, and it caught on like gangbusters before eventually falling out of rotation. But that means that every one of our one-hit wonders has a story behind it, and that’s something the KassaNostra can get behind! So get comfy, kinderlachen, ’cause to tell this tale, we're going back a couple of decades.

In 1986, one of the teams representing at the Kinderland Olympics was New Zealand. Now, keep in mind that this was way before anybody knew how cool New Zealand actually was, what with the elves and orcs and the oscar-nominated girl-on-whale action (ahem. . . speaking of one-hit wonders), but what made the Tolland culture vultures sit up and take notice was a series of incidents involving nuclear weapons. Seems the Kiwi’s didn’t care for ’em, and weren’t afraid to say so. In 1984, New Zealand banned all nuclear vessels from entering its waters, as a protest against French nuclear testing in the South Pacific. Greenpeace ships had already been running interference out of Auckland, and this policy change had them poised to step up their efforts. In the summer of ’85, a group of French agents sabotaged the Greenpeace flagship Rainbow Warrior while it was moored in Auckland’s Waitemata Harbour. The resulting explosions sank the ship and killed one crewman. Long story short: an international scandal ensued, Greenpeace got a ton of favorable press, so did the test-ban issue, so did New Zealand, and Kinderland had itself a no-brainer of an Olympic team.

So. . . summer of ’86. Opening-night ceremonies. The New Zealand team (wearing green, natch), blows everyone else (you’ll pardon the pun) out of the water. Can’t really say why: partly because the immediacy of their cause made them compelling; partly because eco-issues weren’t so much in vogue at the time, and it was something relatively new to camp; partly because their cheers and costumes included a lot of sheep, which are always cool. They also closed with an absolute killer of a song, You Can’t Sink the Rainbow, that everybody immediately fell in love with. Trust me, my friends, this one easily makes the KassaNostra’s list of top-ten all-time Olympic presentations.

And yet, something happened between the first and last nights of those Olympic games. Because in that time, the Zealanders came to the startling conclusion that the anti-nukes stuff notwithstanding, their namesake wasn’t really all that team-worthy after all. To hear them tell it, the average Kiwi was nominally uninteresting at best (and criminal at worst, if one considers 300 years suppressing the indigenous Māori peoples). I don’t understand it myself, and lord knows I’ve been on teams with far less to recommend. Maybe they were just really overzealous. Maybe they just weren’t prepared for the inevitable comedown from their opening high. Or maybe they were just a bunch of wise-asses who saw this predicament as the perfect opportunity to sing Phil Ochs’ Love Me, I’m a Liberal. ’Cause that’s exactly what the clever bastards did. And they sang a rousing rendition of it, and everybody immediately fell in love with that too, and it quickly became a top request during music sessions, at least through the rest of the ’80s.

Here’s two takes on the song, the first being Phil’s original live version, off of the 1966 Elektra album Phil Ochs in Concert. And no, not even I can explain exactly how tears can run down someone’s spine. The KassaNostra loves Phil dearly, but freely admits that it’s kind of a stupid line. What I do know is that even my friends who don’t like folk music in general, or Phil Ochs music in particular, and who insist on comparing him (unfairly) to Dylan, and who generally make me want to smack them upside the head. . . even they think this is a righteous song. And they’re right about that, at least.

~~Phil Ochs: Love Me, I'm a Liberal [live]~~

The second version is an “updated” cover by Jello Biafra and Mojo Nixon (backed ably by the Toadliquors!), off their 1994 collaborative effort, Prairie Home Invasion. I say quote-updated-unquote because fifteen years later, references to grunge music, the LAPD, and Arsenio Hall make this almost as dated as the original. But it’s a rollicking version, and well worth a listen, and frankly, everyone should own this CD. Seriously, people. . . this is the album that Jello Biafra got his legs broken over. Do the guy a mitzvah and pick up a copy already.

~~Jello Biafra & Mojo Nixon: Love Me, I'm a Liberal~~

BONUS FEVER: Not many people release their debut album when they hit sixty, but I sure am glad Precious Bryant did. I know very little about this Georgia singer, but I do know that this is an excellent folksy/bluesy version of Fever, off her 2002 album Fool Me Good. I defy anyone to dance to it, but I also defy anyone to not totally groove on it. And really, you just know that anything by anyone with a name as fab as Precious has simply got to kick ass.

~~Precious Bryant: Fever~~

Two quick things, then I’m out. First, if you receivd an email update about this post, then you probably already know it’s the last unsolicited email you’ll be getting. The KassaNostra fancies himself both a lover and a fighter, but he is definitely no spammer. Of course, you’re all welcome to check out this blog at your leisure, whenever and however often makes you happy. But for my biggest fans who want to keep getting updates, send me a blank email with the word SUBSCRIBE in the subject line. That way the KassaNostra can stay in you dreams and in your in-box, boy howdy!

Second, earlier in this post, where I alluded to the song You Can’t Sink the Rainbow, perhaps some of you thought that was going to be the one-hit wonder the KassaNostra was talking about. Yeah, well, so did the KassaNostra. But I’ve been totally stymied in my attempts to locate it, and now I really, really want a copy of it. If anyone out there in alumni-land has any info, no matter how seemingly insignificant, definitely email me or drop a line in the comments. Whosoever leads me to the song shall be handsomely rewarded. My kingdom for the rainbow!

Peace & Vinyl,
The KassaNostra

CODA: My crack research staff has admonished me for not including more info about the Rainbow Warrior. Bad KassaNostra! Bad!

Stapled

2009-03-18T16:29:00.001-04:00

Hey gang. I know you're all itching to get to the tunes (and I've got a killer set coming up for y'all), but we gotta take care of some business first.

A lot of you have been writing in asking me to reveal my secret identity. Respectfully, that's not gonna happen. Not right now, anyway. I could give you a bunch of reasons, but what it boils down to is this: when I'm writing about music on this blog, I like being the KassaNostra.

One of the absolutely greatest things about music -- singing it, performing it, listening to it, talking about

it -- is how easily it lets anybody redefine themselves. When you wear your favorite band's t-shirt, or break into paroxysmal air-guitar gyrations, or purchase a CD, or give yourself a cool-sounding punk name (whether you're in a band or not), or get excited about an upcoming show, or spontaneously start singing to your boyfriend, or girlfriend, or spouse, or child, or pet. . . when you do any of that, plus a million other music-related actions, you become something bigger than yourself that lots of other people can suddenly relate to. In every instance, how far anyone chooses to run with that transcendent version of themselves is a pretty personal decision. For me, in this particular moment, with this particular project, this is what clicked.

I'm sure at some point, as this blog evolves, that perspective will change and I'll see fit to come out from behind the curtain. Meanwhile, if you want to learn more about me, asking me who I really am is definitely the wrong question. What you should be asking is, "Hey KassaNostra, who has better cover versions, Bob Dylan or the Beatles?" Or, "By the way KassaNostra, what's your position on disco?" Or, "KassaNostra, what are your top-five songs named for celebrities?" Or, "Hey KassaNostra -- how can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat?"

Everyone got it? Alright. . . let's get down to it.

I know we're probably never going to name a camp building after a gospel group, but just in case the bigwigs at 16 Court Street ever take the idea under consideration, I'm getting my campaign started right now to have that group be the Staple Singers. I defy anyone to name me another band with the versatility -- let alone the work ethic -- to move so smoothly between chart-topping hits (I'll Take You There, Respect Yourself, Let's Do It Again), civil rights burners (Freedom Highway, Long Walk to D.C.), and the occasional killer cover (For What It's Worth, Slippery People), all while staying true to their spiritual roots (Deliver Me, City in the Sky)? Oh yeah, and they sound un-freakin'-believable on just about everything they sing.

But Mavis Staples is clearly not ready to start resting on her laurels. (Maybe she's pushing for the dining room?) In the past two years she's released two fantastic albums, with more than a few K-Land classics spread throughout. 2007's "We'll Never Turn Back" is a collection of civil rights anthems, sung by a woman whose first-hand experiences on the movement's front lines inform every note. (BTW, that's Ry Cooder on guitar, and behind the boards.) Lots to choose from here, so I'm going with We Shall Not Be Moved and the title track. We'll Never Turn Back (a.k.a. We've Been 'Buked) is not a song in heavy rotation in Tolland, but seems to get performed every few years via a cultural event, in all its harmonic glory. I like that -- it's already a singularly beautiful song, and keeping it under wraps for special occasions seems to add to its aura.

The other album is "Live: Hope at The Hideout," recorded last June at that renowned Chicago club. This is a more stripped-down approach, but Mavis is in top form, and the contrasting sound makes this a perfect companion to "We'll Never Turn Back." From this disc, I chose This Little Light, which apparently has a lot more words than we've been singing all these years.

Mavis Staples: We Shall Not Be Moved

Mavis Staples: We'll Never Turn Back

Mavis Staples: This Little Light [live]

BONUS FEVER: I haven't forgotten my promise from the last post for more Fever covers, so here's Dean Carter, from 1965, on his own Milky Way label. Carter eventually gave up the rock 'n' roll lifestyle to sing gospel, so I figured this was a good pick to follow Mavis Staples in a full-circle, karmic closure kind of way. It's sort-of a rockabilly-meets-garage hybrid sound. The two or three Mojo Nixon fans out there will surely recognize the influence. I could go on at length about this version, but truthfully, words can't do justice in describing the sheer weirdness of this track. So quit yer readin' already and start listening!

~~Dean Carter: Fever~~

Peace & Vinyl,

The KassaNostra

Dance Dance Revolution, pt. 1

2009-03-10T20:08:00.000-04:00

Guess what, boytshiks and girltshiks. . . the KassaNostra's got the FEVER!!!

As all my adoring fans know, I'm wild for the folk dance. I may not know all the steps to Shostoyka, and, uh. . . I probably can't spell it correctly either. Oh yeah -- and I always confuse it with that other dance. The other really hard one. Nonetheless! When that crazy music comes on, I'm doing a boogie-woogie in my head that'd knock yer socks off. (No doubt to be later recovered by the Camp Mom.)

Let's talk for a sec about the dances we do at Kinderland that aren't traditional folk dances. Not counting stuff like the Alley Cat and Popcorn, I hear six killer tunes on the K-Land countdown that fit the bill: Snoopy, Pata Pata, Salty Dog Rag, Montego Bay, Sweet Gypsy Rose and Fever. Now some of these are well known dances outside of camp. Salty Dog Rag, first released in 1952, became a national square dance hit when it was re-released in 1964 to promote Red Foley's return to the Grand Ole Opry. And as everybody knows, Pata Pata is the name of a dance we do down Johannesburg way. Others. . . well, you gotta wonder if a couple of counselors didn't just make them up to fill an open evening activity slot. (Y'know -- to placate the rioting masses of dissatisfied folk dance enthusiasts clamoring for new material.) Tommy James cut Draggin' the Line in 1971, but I've never seen it referred to as Snoopy anywhere outside of Tolland.

Regardless of where they come from, what I want to know is this: why those six songs? I mean, I love 'em all, and rest assured, this isn't a call to swap them out of rotation. But there are hundreds of other pop and r&b songs out there that have corresponding dance moves. So who decided that those six had crossover potential on the folk dance charts? And if some of those steps did originate on a slow night in the Paul Robeson playhouse, then I really want to know more, 'cause those are some seriously trippy choices. Anyone out there have answers, or related questions, or speculations about what they're dancing to in some parallel universe Kinderland, send them on in. Meanwhile, let's talk about Fever.

First of all, the genius who decided we should sway-sway-step-behind-step to Little Willie John's original 1956 single, rather than one of the 400+ cover versions that followed, gets my vote for sainthood. John didn't write Fever, but he sings it like he owns it, and his backup band does their damn best to stay out of his way. Literally. This song personifies the "empty space" theory of r&b -- instead of a steady barrage of music, the band lays down a bare-bones track that gives the vocals plenty of room to pivot and glide wherever John decides to take them. Add to that a few key idiosyncrasies that keep popping up: the on the beat/off the beat/on the beat piano chords in the opening bars; the backup vocals restricted to abrupt bursts on the third line of every chorus; the absence of a guitar until the last verse, when it subtly picks up the rhythm, then disappears again until that final, resonating chord that just hangs in the air.

~~Little Willie John: Fever~~

Pure. Heaven.

And yes, the man said 400+ cover versions. A few of those I really dig and want to play for you, but if I gave you five or six versions of any song in one shot, you'd grow irrevocably bored of it pretty quickly. And if there's one thing the KassaNostra can't abide by, it's turning anyone off to any music, for any reason. So instead, I'll try to include some bonus Fevers over the next few posts. Here's one to hold you for now: Patti Drew, off her 1969 album "I've Been Here All the Time." Everything I said above, about empty space and quirky moments? Well, I like Drew's take for all the opposite reasons. This is a full-on soul extravaganza with all the trimmings. Hyperactive bass line? Check. Funky organ? Check. Dynamite horn section? Check. It sounds like they just threw in as much as they thought they could get away with. You can almost imagine the producer stopping the session in the middle of everything and racing out on an inspired whim to find someone to play vibes. If they only had a string section coming in on that third verse, it'd be perfect. But I'll take it as is, no worries.

~~Patti Drew: Fever~~

Now. . . anybody else missing their socks?

Peace & Vinyl,

The KassaNostra

Can't Always Get What You Want

2009-02-24T10:19:00.001-05:00

The first camp song I ever learned was Eddie Koochie-Kachie-Kama. The second camp song I learned was The Cat Came Back. (I know, I know. . . and yet somehow, years later, I don't detest music at all.) The third camp song I learned was Bread & Roses, except by "learned," I mean "had jack-hammered into my brain." It was our group's contribution to a camp-wide cultural event -- we were pretty young, and most of us were hearing the song for the first time, and I guess our staff wanted to make sure we had it solid. So they drilled it into us. We rehearsed it a bunch of times. We got the standard apocryphal history lesson on the Lawrence strike. We even went over some of the vocabulary (I definitely remember having trouble visualizing the "sudden sun" disclosing). Anyway, we learned it proper. And to this day, it's still one of my all-time K-Land faves.

What I liked about it as a camper was how, compared to other camp songs, it resonated as poetry (the Sisyphean tragedy of the cat coming back notwithstanding). What I've come to like about it as an adult is how exquisite the song itself is. How its call for creative and emotional sustenance is perfectly encapsulated when sung as a gentle ballad. Look. . . tunes like Hold the Fort and Solidarity Forever are great. They're loud and boisterous and really fun to sing. Meanwhile, Bread & Roses is practically a lullaby, yet it's no less powerful than any other song found in the slices. It reminds us not only that strength and determination are far more than just shock and awe, but that fighting the good fight requires a plurality of ideas and experiences and tactics. In this way, it's the perfect yang to Union Maid's yin.

So no problem, right? I loves me some bread and I loves me some roses and I seem to have a pretty good handle on why I dig it so much. Except that repeated camp music sessions over the years have left me predisposed to only like that version of the song. Any deviation from that perfect "gentle ballad" model unnerves the hell out of me. Even worse, that version isn't based on a standard (folksinger Mimi Fariña wrote the melody in the mid 1970s but never recorded a studio version herself) as much as it is a reflection of my own imbalanced mania. Judy Collins and John Denver have each recorded it; both artists swap out its understated elegance with a blaring triumphalism that makes it sound tacky. Ani DiFranco and Utah Phillips do an unfortunate version that includes a backbeat? Really? And don't even get me started on all the choral arrangements floating around out there.

The point here (besides that I can be a total ass about stuff like this) is that it would be great to have a studio recording of Bread & Roses that hews a little closer to the spirit of how we sing it in Tolland. I would absolutely love a cover version by Marla Hansen or Gillian Welch or Thao Nguyen, all of who employ a very restrained performance style without sacrificing an iota of character or potency. Or a new interpretation by a veteran singer who can bring her own history to the song without overwhelming it -- maybe Bettye LaVette, or Sally Timms of the Mekons.

Until then, I give you an a cappella duet by Mimi Fariña and older sister Joan Baez. Not sure if this is exactly what I'm looking for, but I definitely prefer the stripped-down approach. And it goes without saying that their voices are amazing. As far as I know, this is the only recorded version of Fariña singing Bread & Roses. From a compilation album in support of her Bread & Roses charity, which sponsors musical performances in hospitals, nursing homes and prisons.

~~Joan Baez and Mimi Fariña: Bread & Roses~~

Next week -- bring your dancing shoes.

Peace & Vinyl,

The KassaNostra

Sholem Aleichem!

2009-02-18T10:27:00.000-05:00

Hey all you swingin' kinderlach. . . welcome to Kinderslice Music -- the blog dedicated to spreading the sounds of the Tolland campground underground. I am your humble host, the KassaNostra, and you can expect weekly posts from me with the latest and greatest tunes from the Kinderland glory days, which, I'm happy to report, are still going strong! (And are still going Strong!)

Now, you may ask, "Mr. KassaNostra, why only now are you so generously gracing us with these groovy tunes?" Or perhaps you may ask, "Damn, KassaNostra, what the hell took you so long?" Well my friends, I'll tell you. Recently there was a bunch of chatter on these intertubes about how we might go about sharing camp music amongst ourselves. And there were a lot of good ideas bandied about: a CD of a camp chorus performing Kinderland's greatest hits, a massive (albeit potentially illegal) online database of mp3 files, some sort of top-secret UNCOR project. . . like I said, all solid stuff. But you'll notice that, since said chatter commenced a few months ago, your own personal collection of camp songs has not been fattened.

Well, I was sitting at home one evening, with my butt on my living-room sofa, but my heart and soul cruising the backroads of the greater Berkshires community. And just as I start musing on all these possibilities, what should come wafting over my radio than Sixteen Tons by the legendary Tennessee Ernie Ford. And I says to myself, "KassaNostra, it's gotta be a sign! The best way to get the music to the masses is through painstaking labor with no discernible reward in sight!" If I was Ira, I'd put us all on the schedule for a giant music circle sing-along. If I was Alice, I'd pick me a doozy of a song, and painstakingly teach it to you an eighth of a stanza at a time. If I was Maddy, you'd hear me belting out the chorus right now (doesn't matter where you live). But I am the KassaNostra, and this is what I do.

So without further adieu, let's get to the music! I figure in honor of my little epiphany, let's start off with a miner's trifecta. Legend has it that Merle Travis wrote both Sixteen Tons and Dark as a Dungeon in a single night, drawing on the experiences of his father, a coal miner in Muhlenberg County, Kentucky. The songs were released in 1947 as part of "Folk Songs of the Hills," a sort-of prototype boxed set (four 78 rpm discs packaged together) issued by Capitol Records.

~~Merle Travis: Dark as a Dungeon~~

For his efforts, Travis was immediately branded as a communist sympathizer. Maybe that's not all that surprising for a bunch of pro-labor songs (no matter how benign) in the late 1940s. But then how do you explain the unbelievably phenomenal success of Sixteen Tons when Ernie Ford cut it as a 45 for Capitol in 1955? The song sold a million copies in its first month, becoming the fastest-selling single in the label's history. Must've been that cah-raaaaazy clarinet arrangement, man!

~~Tennessee Ernie Ford: Sixteen Tons~~

Dark as a Dungeon and Sixteen Tons are standards in Ira's repertoire, but a lesser-known tune -- and the perfect number to end this post on -- is John Prine's Paradise, off his self-titled 1971 debut album (a song that I can personally attest has been sung in camp before). Whereas Travis wrote about the toll that coal mining took on the average miner, Prine's focus was on the ecological costs. Much like Travis, Prine's inspiration came in part from his father, also a Kentucky miner:

"I wrote it for my father, mainly so he would know I was a songwriter. Paradise was a real place in Kentucky, and while I was away in the army in Germany, my father sent me a newspaper article telling how the coal company had bought the place out. It was a real Disney-looking town. It sat on a river, had two stores, and there was one black man in town, Bubba Short, who looked like Uncle Remus and hung out with my Granddaddy Hamm, my mom's dad, all day, fishing for catfish. Then the bulldozers came and wiped it all off the map."

~~John Prine: Paradise~~

That's enough rambling for one post. Be sure to check back weekly for new updates. Please pass this URL around to camp friends and non-camp friends alike. Definitely leave comments and email me requests. And if anybody's got a copy of the Kindertones performing the Hymn at Share circa the mid-1980s. . .

Ah, well. . . dare to dream.

Peace & Vinyl,

The KassaNostra