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I was kept overnight in the jail. They wanted to keep me long enough to cancel the dance -- just like in a really bad s teenage movie. It didn't work. Elsie and my folks got me out. We played the dance. It was a lot of fun. We had an enormous turnout of black students from Sun Village. When he 'got it off,' he threw it at girls in the audience, hoping that they would flop around on the floor too. A few of them did. After the dance, as we were packing our stuff into the trunk of Johnny Franklin's wasted blue Studebaker, we found ourselves surrounded by a large contingent of lettermen The White Horroreager to cause physical harm to our disgusting little 'integrated band.

They remained hostile to me and the other guys in the band all the way through to graduation. In order for her to fulfill her mission, Ms. She collapsed, sobbing, and had to be helped out the door by the other pom-pom rustlers. It was the worst white female impersonation of the James Brown cape-over-the- shoulder routine ever performed in the Western Hemisphere. The final wrap-up in the case of Ms. Name Omitted took place right around sunrise, after the senior allnight party.

I made her laugh while she was eating breakfast at the nicest coffee shop in town, surrounded by her friends, and iced tea came out of her nose. We're not going to take it apart line by line, but a few references are worth following up on.

It'll take the paint off your car And wreck your windshield, too I don't know how the people stand it, But I guess they all do. You could always tell if a guy was a 'desert rat' by the windshield on his car. The wind was a constant factor, and so were the microscopic particles of sand it carried, capable of pitting a windshield till you couldn't see out of it anymore, simultaneously reducing the finest custom paint job to garbage in an amazingly short period of time.

I heard it ain't there -- I hope it ain't true Where the stumblers gonna go to watch the lights turn blue? I heard that the Village Inn was destroyed by fire in a 'racial incident' in the early s, and that the people in the neighborhood had acquired the habit of shooting each other.

However, while I was working there, it was a great little place. Eventually, he'd be joined by a couple of 'assistant stumblers,' and they'd all bob and weave and grovel in front of it. I watched this for a few weeks and finally, one night, decided to talk to him. I thought he'd be some kind of space-wino.

He wasn't -- he was an okay guy. He was drunk, to be sure, but not out of his mind -- just happy. He invited me to go to his house. I couldn't turn this offer down -- like it says on the Freak Out! Stumbler lived in? I had to find out. After the gig, I followed him out into the desert a few miles, to a small turkey ranch.

There was a handmade sort of house with cinder-block steps. The light was on in the front window. I followed him in. In spite of the shabby exterior, the living room was pleasant, with new furniture and a very large, very new Magnavox stereo. Apparently he'd been listening to some records before his evening romp in front of the jukebox -- maybe a pregame warmup.

The album on the turntable was Stravinsky's Firebird Suite. I made some recordings with him then which. The group was called the Soots. In those days certain record companies would lease the master recordings of independent producers.

A producer would bring in a finished piece of product and be given a cash advance against royalties. The producer still owned the master. The releasing company would have the use of it for a few years, after which control of the master would revert to the producer. He was in contractual bondage all over the place.

Companies weren't paying him, but the contracts were written in such a way that he was precluded from recording -- they had him tied up for years. When he did the Bongo Fury tour with us inhe was just about destitute.

Life on the road with Captain Beefheart was definitely not easy. He carried the bulk of his worldly possessions around in a shopping bag.

It held his art and poetry books and a soprano sax. He used to forget it in different places -- just walk away and leave it, driving the road manager crazy. Onstage, no matter how loud the monitor system was, he complained that he couldn't hear his voice.

I think that was because he sings so hard he tenses up the muscles in his neck, causing his ears to implode. The high point of our relationship according to Rolling Stone -- and aren't they some kind of authority on these matters? Don is not technically oriented, so, first I had to help him figure out what he wanted to do, and then, from a practical standpoint, how to execute his demands. I wanted to do the album as if it were an anthropological field recording -- in his house. The whole band was living in a small house in the San Fernando Valley we could use the word cult in here.

To make remote recordings in those days, Dick had a Shure eight-channel mixer remounted in a briefcase. He could sit in a corner at a live gig with earphones on and adjust the levels, and have the outputs of the briefcase mixer feeding a Uher portable tape recorder. I had been using that technique with the M. I thought it would be great to go to Don's house with this portable rig and put the drums in the bedroom, the bass clarinet in the kitchen and the vocals in the bathroom: complete isolation, just like in a studio -- except that the band members probably would feel more at home, since they were at home.

We taped a few selections that way, and I thought they sounded terrific, but Don got paranoid, accused me of trying to do the album on the cheap, and demanded to go into a real recording studio. So we moved the whole operation to Glendale, into a place called Whitney, the studio I was using at that time -- owned by the Mormon church. The basic tracks were cut -- now it was time for Don's vocals. Ordinarily a singer goes in the studio, puts earphones on, listens to the track, tries to sing in time with it and away you go.

Don couldn't tolerate the earphones. He wanted to stand in the studio and sing as loud as he could -- singing along with the audio leakage coming through the three panes of glass which comprised the control-room window. The chances of him staying in sync were nil -- but that's the way the vocals were done.

Usually, when you record a drum set, the cymbals provide part of the 'air' at the top end of the mix. Without a certain amount of this frequency information, mixes tend to sound claustrophobic. I finished at approximately A. They listened to the record and said they loved it. The last time I saw Don was or ' He stopped by one of our rehearsals. He looked pretty beat. He had gone back and forth with some contracts at Warner Bros. I suppose he is still living in Northern California, but not recording anymore.

He bought some property up there -someplace where he could see whales swim by. Going backwards again. Rockett Studios in Hollywood. They were going out of business and dumping some scenery. For fifty dollars I bought more scenery than I could fit in the studio, including a two-sided cyclorama -- purple on one side for night, blue on the other side for day -- a kitchen, a library interior, a building exterior -everything I needed to make a cheap movie. Every piece that would fit through the doors was dragged in, set up and repainted.

I ended up sleeping in the set for Billy Sweeney's Laboratory. In the back of the studio, next to the toilet, I built a totally implausible, two-dimensional, cardboard rocket ship. I painted all the sets myself and wrote a script based on the people and facilities available at the time: Captain Beefheart vs. Then came the hard part -- trying to raise money to make the movie.

The Ontario Daily Report ran a feature story on me and my project in its Sunday centerfold -- about how a weird guy in Cucamonga was trying to make a science fiction movie called Captain Beefheart vs. It was probably that story which caused the San Bernardino County vice squad to take an interest in me. This was in -- my hair was short then, but the local folks thought I had long hair.

The unspoken dress code for a Cucamongan male of that period, for all occasions, was a white, short-sleeved sport shirt with a bow tie Pee-Wee Herman would have been a fashion plate. T-shirts were considered avant-garde.

I put out a casting call for local people to play in the movie. A man came to audition for the role of the asshole: Senator Gurney. I later found out that he was a member of the San Bernardino County vice squad, sent to entrap me.

The vice squad had bored a hole through the studio wall and was spying on me for several weeks. The local political subtext to all this had something to do with an impending real estate development which required the removal of the tenants before Archibald Avenue was widened.

The other part of the subtext had to do with a girl I met in a restaurant in Hollywood. She had a friend -- a white girl with a black baby. They needed a place to stay. Next stop, Cucamonga. She and her girlfriend used to play with the baby on the sidewalk in front of the studio, in plain view of the Holy Rollers lurking in the church across the street. Apparently this caused some psychological stress on the congregation and, shortly thereafter, I was visited by the man who had auditioned.

He didn't get the part, but he did turn out to be quite an actor. A few weeks later he returned, disguised as don't laugh a used-car salesman. He told me that some of his friends were having a party the following week. Eager to help as opportunities to entertain the gentlemen in this fascinating profession do not occur every dayI explained that films cost a lot of money and suggested instead an audio tape.

He gave me a verbal list of all the different sex acts he wished to have included on the tape. I didn't know at the time, but he was broadcasting our conversation to a truck parked outside the studio through his don't laugh wristwatch. I told him I could make a tape like that for one hundred dollars, and have it for him the next day. That evening, I manufactured the tape with the help of one of the girls -- about half an hour's worth of bogus grunts and squeaky bedsprings.

There was no actual sex involved. I stayed up all night to edit out the laughs and then added some background music -- a complete production. The next day the auditionee, whose name was Detective Willis, showed up and handed me fifty dollars.

I said the deal was for one hundred dollars and refused to hand over the tape -- it never changed Funny Feelin - Deshay Featuring Curly (7) - R&B Style (Cassette. In spite of that, the door flew open, flashbulbs popped, reporters ran all over the place and handcuffs were slapped on my wrists. The vice squad arrested me and the girl, and confiscated every tape and every piece of film in the studio.

They even took my 8mm projector as 'evidence. I phoned my Dad, who had recently had a heart attack -- he couldn't afford a lawyer either. He had to take out a bank loan in order to bail me out. Once I got out, I went to see Art Laboe. I tried to get the ACLU to take an interest in the case but they wouldn't touch it.

They said it wasn't important enough and that, yes, there had been quite a few cases of illegal entrapment in that area. I thought everybody knew Detective Willis. He's the kind of guy who earns his living waiting around in public restrooms to catch queers.

My fault that I never dreamed that scum like Willis existed, or that somebody in the government set aside tax dollars to provide guys like him with a salary and a 'research budget'? I was going to have to crank Funny Feelin - Deshay Featuring Curly (7) - R&B Style (Cassette my imagination a little to compensate for this dreadful revelation. The conspiracy charge, on the other hand, was a felony -- requiring impressive amounts of penal servitude.

It was presumed that I had discussed the making of the tape with the girl and, therefore, was eligible for ten to twenty years' hard time. Still want to move to California, folks? At one point in the trial, the judge took me and the girl into his private chambers, along with all the lawyers, listened to the tape and started laughing. It was funny -- and nowhere near as bizarre as the vocal noises eventually released on side four of the Freak Out! The laughter infuriated the twenty-six-year-old assistant DA who prosecuted the case.

He demanded, in the name of justice, that I be forced to serve time for this heinous offense. The final verdict: guilty of a misdemeanor. The sentence: six months in jail, with all but ten days suspended, and three years' probation -- during which I could not violate any traffic laws or be in the company of any woman under twenty-one without the presence of a competent adult.

The sentence also provided for the expungement of my 'criminal record' -- after one year there would be nothing on the books saying that I ever went to jail. After the sentence had been pronounced, I was placed in the holding tank in the back of the courthouse, to wait for the sheriff's bus to take me to the county jail. Unless you've been to jail, you can't imagine what it's actually like. This wasn't like the jail in Lancaster where they gave you pancakes in the morning.

This was ugly jail. He was in for stealing copper. Vagrants used to go to the San Bernardino rail yards and pry the copper brake shoes off boxcars and sell them as scrap metal at a junkyard down the street. Slicks figured that if the junk dealers would pay pretty good for little lumps of copper, they'd pay real good for a really big hunk.

So he planned to break into the local telephone company compound, where huge rolls of telephone cable were stored. The place had a chain-link fence around it. Slicks planned to climb over the fence, put a pole through one of the rolls -- like an axle -- throw a rope over the fence, hook it up to the 'axle,' pull on the rope and let the giant roll crush down the fence.

Then, he was going to take it out into the desert, burn the insulation off the wire and sell the copper. He got as far as climbing over the fence and into the compound before the dogs got him.

There was a Mexican kid in there, about nineteen years old, who had been locked up for three weeks, awaiting extradition to Beverly Hills on a jaywalking ticket. The guards left the lights on all night to keep us from sleeping.

It was about degrees in there during the day. We were supplied with one razor blade per day, and one small shower stall at the end of the cell block for forty-four men. The scum on the shower basin was about four inches thick. I didn't shave or take a shower the whole time I was there. The food was not terrific. One morning I found a giant cockroach in the bottom of my cream o' wheat. I put it in an envelope with a letter to Motorhead's mother. The jail censor found it, and the warden threatened me with solitary if I ever tried anything like that again.

There were two guys they called the Chow Hounds who would literally eat anything. They would wait until everybody took the first bite of food and found it repulsive, then they would hold their trays out while the other inmates dumped their 'chop suey' onto them, forming miniature haystacks of We were given one half hour to eat before the trays were recollected.

The Chow Hounds's trays were always clean. This gave me a real good whiff of California law, California lawyers, and an inside look at the California penal industry in action. I haven't seen anything since then to change my opinion of how poorly the. After I got out of jail I realized that they were going to tear down the studio and widen the street, and there was nothing I could do about it.

It was so sad. I had to get the wire cutters and yank all my equipment out of there and evacuate 'Studio Z. I worked as a salesman in the singles department. I Album) just enough money to make bus fare back and forth for the first week, but no money for food. So with my first paycheck I went to a little Filipino market at the bottom of the hill and bought a bag of rice, a bag of red beans, a quart of Miller High Life and some condiments to flavor the rice and beans.

I went back to the house and made a big pot of stuff that I planned to live on for the next week. I ate a big dish of it and drank some beer. My stomach swelled up as if the Alien was going to pop out. I fell off the chair, writhing in agony -- cursing the Miller High Life company. While I was working at the store, a black guy named Welton Featherstone came in, shopping for singles.

We got to talking and he asked me if I'd ever been to church. He told me about a place called the World Church, which happened to be right around the corner from where I lived. It was run by O. Tonight's 'Baptism Night' -- you gotta go down there and check it out.

Jaggers on TV once -- he had a local 'religious' program that ran for a short time. During the show I saw, he stood by a blackboard and drew diagrams as part of the 'answer' to a letter he claimed to have received from a deeply troubled viewer.

The letter requested a theological explanation of UFOs, and the reverend obliged with this answer:. Because of the great speed at which they travel, their tiny bodies begin to glow when they come in contact with our atmosphere.

So, I went to the World Church. It was a large Quonset hut near Temple and Alvarado. Instead of an altar it had a stage with flowers and fake gold knickknacks, displayed between an all-white piano and an allwhite organ. Over the stage was an enormous cardboard cutout of Jesus, posed like Superman in the takeoff position, projecting out, over the audience.

It was illuminated on either side by small clusters of red and blue lights -- like the ones they use in the driveways of apartment houses called 'Kon-Tiki. They were subjected to three collections during the hour I was there.

The 'baptism tank' stretched across the rear of the stage. It was a waist-high sort of aquarium-thing, filled with green water. The baptismal contestants wore white robes. Jaggers dunked each victim into the tank, dragging him sort of by the scruff of the neckwith his head under water, the length of it. One guy couldn't hold his breath and came up gagging. It was pretty disgusting. The organist played scary music and the red and blue lights flashed on the cardboard Jesus. Inhe was supporting himself by working as a carpenter, and on weekends he sang with a group called the Soul Giants at a bar in Pomona called the Broadside.

Apparently he got into a fight with their guitar player, Ray Hunt, punched him out, and the guitar player quit. They needed a substitute, so I filled in for the weekend. The Soul Giants were a pretty decent bar band. I especially liked Jimmy Carl Black, the drummer, a Cherokee Indian from Texas with an almost unnatural interest in beer.

His style reminded me of the guy with the great backbeat on the old Jimmy Reed records. Davy Coronado was the leader and saxophone player of the band. I played the gig for a while, and one night I suggested that we start doing original material so we could get a record contract. Davy didn't like the idea. He was worried that if we played original material we would get fired from all the nice bars we were working in.

The other guys in the band liked my idea about a record contract and wanted to try the original stuff. Davy departed.

It turned out that Davy was absolutely right -- we couldn't keep a job anyplace. One of the places we got fired from was the Tomcat-a-Go-Go in Torrance. During this period in. All you were required to do, if you were a musician desiring steady work, was to grind your way through five sets per night of loud rhythm tracks, while girls with fringed costumes did the twist, as if that particular body movement summed up the aesthetic of the serious beer drinker.

The groups that got the most work were the ones who pretended to be English. Often they were surf bands who wore wigs so that they looked like they had long hair, or added the word Beatles somewhere in their band name -- you get the drift. Beatle clone groups were all over the place.

We didn't have long hair, we didn't have band uniforms and we were ugly as fuck. A converted shoe store in Norwalk with a beer license also fired us. Of course the gig didn't pay that well: fifteen dollars per night divided by four guys. While I was living in the bungalow where my stomach almost explodedI ran into Don Cerveris again. Mark was about fifty and wore a beret.

He was living in West Hollywood with a waitress from the Ash Grove named Stephanie, who was also sort of beatnik-looking. The main focus of his work was a group of large paintings that looked like police department pistol targets, designed to be viewed under flashing lights, which gave the illusion that the silhouettes were jumping around. I found this a little baffling -- but what the fuck do I know from art?

We hung out and had some laughs, in spite of the targets. I had come to the conclusion that the band needed a manager, and had thought Ow! Was I going to regret this one! So, I convinced Mark to take the mysterious voyage out to Pomona fifty miles eastwhere he might listen to the Mothers, live, at the Broadside. What did I know from managing? I told him that if he wanted to manage the group and could get us some gigs to go ahead. He didn't really know how to do that. What did he know from managing?

He brought in a guy named Herb Cohen, who was managing some folk and folk-rock groups and was looking for another act to pick up. Eventually they became joint managers of our band, with a contract negotiated 'on behalf of the group' by Herb's brother, an attorney named Martin Mutt Cohen.

Suddenly we had a Real Hollywood Manager -- an industrial professional who had actually been booking groups into Real Hollywood Nightclubs for years, and would presumably do the same for us. After being forced at great expense into the Musicians' Union local 47we started to pick up slightly better paychecks; however, our new, highly skilled management team was taking fifteen percent off the.

On Mother's Day,the name of the band was officially changed to the Mothers. We had begun to build a little constituency on the psychedelic dungeon circuit. There was a 'scene' evolving in L. San Francisco in the mid-sixties was very chauvinistic, and ethnocentric. Rolling Stone magazine helped to promote this fiction, nationwide. The scene in Los Angeles was far more bizarre. No matter how 'peace-love' the San Francisco bands might try to make themselves, they eventually had come south to evil ol' Hollywood to get a record deal.

My recollection is that the highest cash advance paid for signing any group during that time was for the Jefferson Airplane -- an astounding, staggering, twenty-five thousand dollars, an unheard-of sum of money. The Byrds were the be-all and end-all of Los Angeles rock then.

They were 'It' -- and then a group called Love was 'It. When we first went to San Francisco, in the early days of the Family Dog, it seemed that everybody was wearing the same costume, a mixture of Barbary Coast and Old West -- guys with handlebar mustaches, girls in big bustle dresses with feathers in their hair, etc. By contrast, the L. Label : Tabu Records. Price : EUR 6. Add to Shopping bag. Add to your favorites.

Email to a friend. Add to your gifts list. Ask him a question. Check his feedbacks. Average time to : - confirm availability : 17 h - ship : 2 day. Browse all his catalogue. Soul 80s Acid jazz 7. Groove Revival Others Jazz Be-Bop 2. Overseas parcels are sent by cheapest rate. Advise if you want higher cost with compensation. Alternatively, I can send this as an e- mail attachment. Just ask. All customers should be notified via email when the site is updated, provided I have your e- mail address.

Vinyl LP min. Lee Vinyl LP min. Will suit a nice sleeve! CALE Naturally White label; bootleg? Hope Vinyl LP min. Bo Jangles Vinyl LP min.

George Mitchell Choir. UK pressing. Carol; Little by little Vinyl LP min. Louis blues SVLP. Lovely copy Vinyl LP min. She looks pretty worrying! Norman Vinyl LP min. Under the Tree Vinyl LP compilation min. Walker WL Simon Smith Vinyl LP compilation min. Holly Tashian contributes backing vocals to the album, the group also augmented by Daniel Tashian on vocals, percussion, and B-3 as well as Angelo on backing vocals, percussion, and a co-write on "Don't Tell Me the Truth.

The six-page CD insert has notations on each of the 12 selections as well as an interesting essay on how the music was "recorded live with no 'fixes in the mixes.

Holly only co-writes two of the five originals with her husband, who has a different collaborator on each of his compositions. Holly Tashian calls their "These Little Things" the first shuffle they've written, though the couple has played them for years. Her "One More Me The Cloning Song " is an interesting take on "Dolly the cloned sheep," about a housewife who could use some extra help around the house. And who better but a carbon copy of herself? Holly sings a version of "My Window Faces the South," which she's performed for 25 years but not recorded until now.

When the guitarist was performing with Emmylou Harris in the '80s, Merle Haggard sang to them for about two hours at an Indianapolis Holiday Inn.

That's how this Harlan Howard song made it to this CD. At Home is a wonderful document of two important artists being themselves and putting their storytelling on record in a very comfortable setting. A dramatic rendition of 's "Best Song" from the pen of Jimmy Webb starts off the LP, adding sound colors as the 5th Dimension production did, only without the vocals and different instrumentation, of course.

Producer Peter Dellheim gives six paragraphs of insight in his liner notes, identifying that he picked up on the Minuet from J. Up, Up and Away is the perfection one expects from the Boston Pops, capturing some of the highlights with which 's easy listening community was in tune. The amusing cover photo features an airplane on a runway with Fiedler surrounded by eight beautiful women.

Out of the four albums released by the Pousette-Dart Band on Capitol, 3 may be the most satisfying. King hit "Stand By Me. But it is side two that really is extraordinary.

Saturday Night" work almost as a trilogy. The beautiful, acoustic "Where Are You Going," which ends this half of the program, sets up the second side nicely, and lends for a seamless flow if listening on compact disc. Pousette-Dart 's voice is flawless, as is his playing on "Where Are You Going," which ends suspended in mid-air. As with that tune, all the songs on the second side are written by Jon Pousette-Dartand along with the sterling performance, this is his best songwriting of these releases on Capitol.

That power continues in the semi-funk of "Mr. Saturday Night," three powerful statements by this important artist that somehow got lost in the shuffle of the music industry. That performance magnified what one of those performers put in these grooves. An album that truly deserves a better fate than obscurity. This song was also the title track of her Warner Bros. Pousette-Dart Band's version reunites them with Norbert Putnamwho oversaw their first two Capitol discs. It is an extraordinary glimpse at how a great melody failed to make the Top 40, recorded differently by two important artists, who themselves failed to make the national Top 40 with any of their discs.

Like their contemporary Andy Prattthese performers contributed much to music and got little in return. The second track, "Silver Stars," is a wonderful instrumental by guitarist John Curtisbut the album's highlight is "For Love," a tune by David Finnertyleader of Atlantic's the Joneseswho actually did hit the Top 40 in with a band called the Road Apples and their tune "Let's Live Together.

It is as substantial as Orleans or Firefallmore creative and dynamic than what the Eagles were doing in the same format. The first and only Jon Pousette-Dart title on side one is "Cold Outside," which brings horns into the mix; it, and bassist John Troy 's arrangement of the traditional "Hallelujah I'm A Bum," are country funkish numbers — adequate, but not as strong as the first three tracks. Pousette-Dart's co-write "Long Legs" opens side two, but that honor should have gone to "The Loving One," a lilting pop tune by Pousette-Dart, with his gifted voice gliding over the keys and percussion.

The band has a knack for adding polish to these strong hooks, more evidence that this fourth album was a real contender. The performance highlighted how important the music on this album is, and that Jon Pousette-Dart is viable a couple of decades after creating this and the three other releases on Capitol. Originally calling the group Orphans, they dropped the plural during the first wave of musicians who worked with Lilljequist on his music.

There were always famous names coming through Mottau 's house in Avon, and Eric Lilljequist got to meet them. The group spent an autumn recording nine singles for Epic Records; the CBS building in New York providing a great atmosphere and learning environment for the young artists. During this time, they were performing on record and sometimes live with Jonathan Edwardsand he often with Orphan, the two acts actually living in a big house in the Boston area for awhile.

It's a fine document of Orphan live working with their folk star friend. The Beatle arrived at his party while Orphan was performing on-stage. The entire summer ofthe band performed at the Atlantic House in Provincetown, the group performing in one room while the likes of OdettaJohn Lee Hookerand Nina Simone appeared on the larger stage. Somehow lost in the shuffle of Boston music are the albums by Orphan. While bandmate Jonathan Edwards was topping the local and national charts in December of with "Sunshine" on Capricorn Records, he showed up here with a vocal on "Look at Her," interpreting a Lilliequist original with a hint of Aztec Two-Step.

Especially on the title track, and a very Jonathan Edwards -ish "Fisherman," Lilliequist and Orphan created an intriguing blend of light pop which, in retrospect, should've been as big as OrleansFirefalland the bands that had tunes and lyrics but not the bevy of hits America garnered. These tunes released in are the best picture of the work of Eric Lilliequist.

If Jonathan Edwards gets a much deserved boxed set, perhaps the world will have a chance to discover Orphan and the important work they did in the early '70s. Caught in that netherworld after the Bosstown sound was forced upon everyone, and two years before the new wave would usher Willie Alexanderthe Foolsthe RingsRobin Lane and the Chartbustersand other Boston groups to national attention, only a handful of bands kept Boston on the map.

Recorded at Intermedia Sound a studio that would be purchased by the Cars and renamed Syncro Sound, and where Aerosmith tracked their first albumthe album has the distinction of being taped where Jonathan Edwards created his Top Five hit "Sunshine.

Sadly, there is only one original from Jonathan E. Edwardsthe tune "Train of Glory. Perhaps it is the multidimensional focus which kept the band from the success that Edwards enjoyed with "Sunshine. They have released one song on Roundera cover of War 's "Why Can't We Be Friends," which sounds like a very commercial extension of what was going on with Orphan 16 years prior. Seven of the 11 songs were written by Lilljequistwith "Overtime" the sole contribution by guitarist Dean Adrien.

The record was produced by Peter Casperson and Eric LilljequistCasperson being one of the men behind Castle Music, a management company that made some noise in the area. Orphan is a chillingly prophetic name for a band who delivered solid music but never achieved the recognition they deserved. This classic recording by the sibling of Livingston and James Taylor offers valuable insight for fans of Carole King 's landmark album, Tapestrybut Sister Kate is also a great work in its own right.

Lou Adler 's perspective on these tunes was what helped reshape music in the '70s, and to have another successful producer issuing the same music at the exact moment in time is essential study for Musicology It's interesting that she would do Funny Feelin - Deshay Featuring Curly (7) - R&B Style (Cassette of two songs Rod Stewart covered. The addition of "Jesus Is Just All Right" somewhat mars "Lo and Behold"; the two form a medley, with "Lo and Behold's chorus pressing up against the "Jesus Is Just All Right" melody, but once again, the choice of what would become a '70s standard for the Doobie Brothers two years later shows the intuitive nature of this project.

This is the album that got away, and all serious fans of pop, '70s rock, and good music in general owe it to themselves to seek Sister Kate out. It's a very impressive work of art. Alex Taylor's With Friends And Neighbors is a very good album, enjoying the glow of his sibling's excellent work, and emulating them on the first side. It's more pop than one would think, which all changes when you flip the disc over to hear the bluesy jams like on Greg Allman 's "Southbound" on side two.

Acoustic guitarist's Scott Boyer 's "Southern Kids" is up there with some of James Taylor 's finest work and with a plethora of guests from King Curtis to Sweet Baby James himself on "Night Owl," With Friends and Neighbors stands on its own as a very listenable and entertaining project. There's not one original by Alex, but he does allow his musicians to contribute, lead guitarist Tommy Talton penning "All In Line" while Boyer gets to include a second composition, "C Song" which ends side one.

What the world needs is a Taylor Family Boxed set with all the work from LivSister KateWith Friends And Neighbors and any other material from the sessions that gave birth to this trio of exquisite recordings.

It doesn't have the highs of a "Get Out Of Bed" which Livingston Taylor gave us, but it is consistent and highly enjoyable nevertheless. It would be difficult not to compare Livingston Taylor's self-titled debut to his brother's second solo release, Sweet Baby Jamesas the latter certainly brought attention to the former, but the Jon Landau -produced disc crafted in Macon, GA, is a world unto itself. Because much of this album feels like the producer and the artists were getting their bearings, "Six Days on the Road" becomes one of the more accessible tracks.

Versions by Hank SnowBloodwyn Pigthe Flying Burrito BrothersTaj Mahaland others proliferated, and this is not as ethereal as the artist's cover of "On Broadway" from the Liv album, but in its simplicity the point still gets across.

The LP cover photo is pretty out there, with Taylor looking down from a metal structure of some sort, his hair all frazzled, while the back cover has a darkened room which looks like a recording studio. It's on Livthe second album, that things really come together. Sure, these songs are well constructed, but they still seem somewhat raw and no doubt influenced the way things would be tackled the second time around.

Sister Kate and James are referenced in "Carolina Day," a song with more parallels. The obvious yin yang would change on the next album, which should have been a huge breakthrough for this sensitive and special artist. The seeds of future work are here, and Livingston Taylor is a nice start to the singer's interesting career.

It is one of those songs that you want to play 50 or 60 times in a row, perfectly written and recorded. Liv 's original songs are uplifting and give brother James Taylor a good run for his money. Most of the tunes are around the three-minute mark, except for "Easy Prey," which gets over four-and-a-half; "Gentleman shows where the artist's contemporary one year younger than this Taylor Dan Fogelberg found part of his sound, though the performance is not as pronounced as "Easy Prey," the band kicking in early on that tune, Bill Stewart on drums, Paul Hornsby on electric piano, Tommy Talton on lead guitar, performing breathy, moving stuff.

A low-key Quicksilver Messenger Service from the East Coast is what this album is, a musical journey full of delight and surprise. Liv is the real thing by a troubadour who never really got the acclaim he deserved. Perhaps he was overshadowed by older brother James Tayloror maybe Jonathan Edwards ' "Sunshine" going Top Five nationally the year this album was released edged out other music from Boston instead of putting a focus on the region.

Politcal reasons for this not making him a huge star aside, what remains is a very strong album which cries out to get played again and again. Though "First Time Love" broke the Top 40 for a couple of weeks in September ofthis album, much like his work on Atco a decade earlier, is superlative and deserved more chart activity.

Baxter takes to the keyboards on this cover of the Motown hit, giving Cropper space, but who wouldn't have loved to hear a guitar duel here?

Taylor has a sweet, down-home folksy voice perfect for pop radio, and his delivery is magical, from the calypso-style "Face Like a Dog" to the beautiful rendition of Jon Hall 's hit, "Dance With Me. Where brother James Taylor is the icon, deservedly so, it is too bad room wasn't made in the pantheon for this bright and talented artist. Livingston Taylor's albums are refreshingly strong, and enhance radio when they get their chance to entertain. This one's a contender for lost classic status.

The amazing thing about this artist is that he continually crafts top-notch albums that are highly entertaining, but has not connected with an audience on the same level as his brother, JamesAlbum) Kingor other mainstream soft rock artists. The tribute to Louis Armstrong is an essential element of Taylor's ability to put together albums that are extraordinary in their perfection. Robbie Dupree and James Taylor add some vocals to this beautiful Artie Traum production, and though there are no hits, there is also not a bad track here.

On "Mary Ann" he does dip into his brother's domain, but it is just briefly and worthwhile. When they do a boxed set on the work of AlexKateJamesand Livingston Taylor, a few tracks from this release would be most welcome. Jonathan Edwards is not considered a "country" artist per se, probably due to the success of "Sunshine" from his self-titled debut, but on his follow-up to the Jonathan Edwards album, Honky-Tonk Stardust Cowboyand some of his discs on Reprise, most notably Sailboat and Rockin' Chairhe is indeed that.

Have a Good Time for Me is a departure from Honky-Tonk Stardust Cowboy in that the artist is covering music by three of the songwriters from the Castle Hill Publishing group, a company owned by co-producer Peter Caspersonwho also managed Edwards. Without the original compositions that were the bulk of the previous release, Edwards has an opportunity to put his stamp on outside material, which he does so well.

On that album, Edwards was pretty much a bandmember, his photo on the cover with the other musicians. Here, "Have a Good Time" is lighter and more introspective, a forlorn statement to a significant other who can't stay true, a perfect sentiment for country radio.

David Bromberg shows up on electric guitar, and the tune reappeared on Edwards' next album, the live Lucky Daywhich actually has Orphan backing him up nine months after the recording of this LP.

But it is in this context on Have a Good Time for Me where Edwards excels as an interpreter: "Something borrowed from the friends of gold" the singer writes in his poem inside the gatefold of an album. If you've had it in your collection for years, you may find strange white blotches appearing on the front and back cover; the singer explained that he demanded and got it released on recycled materials.

Along with the poem, it is his calligraphy lettering inside and out, making for a very personal collection of material that didn't come from his pen, but does! McKinney contributes two titles here; Joe Dolce is represented with three; and Eric Lilljequist has four, including the title song. Dolce 's "King of Hearts" has more of the pop flavor Edwards' fans from radio expect, the album working because the musicianship from Al AndersonBrombergStuart SchulmanBill KeithLilljequistBill Elliotand others blends in perfectly behind the singer.

With the success of the Eagles at this point in time, one wonders why this album didn't do much much more. Perhaps it was too pure in its approach. It remains a very listenable and courageous work by an artist not content to clone past success but willing to follow his instincts.

Lucky Day is an important song live document of Jonathan Edwards' music, recorded at what was a wonderfully intimate little venue in Harvard Square, Cambridge, MA, the late, lamented Performance Center. Though some of the material would naturally show up on other live discs by Edwards — "Shanty" appearing on 's Live and "Lucky Day" on 's Cruising America's Waterways — these takes have staying power, making this one of Edwards' most satisfying releases.

The title track, "Lucky Day," works so much better with Orphan backing him, and the violins on M. McKinney's "Sometimes" flow beautifully next to Edwards' soulful voice.

It's interesting to note that Orphan labelmates the Poppy Family covered this same Merle Haggard tune on Poppy Seedsalong with an Al Anderson number a couple of years before this release.


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