Little Hits

Little Hits Radio - No. 2
Welcome to the second installment of Little Hits Radio. It’s been a while. How are you? The concept is a half hour of Little Hits plucked (by me so far) from the vast seas of the Internet during endless mind-numbing hours of trolling for heavenly pop non-hits. We would feel weird posting these tunes as individual sound files, seeing as some other enterprising soul has taken the trouble to locate the vinyl and digitize it for their own nefarious blogging purposes. And there are a lot of music blogs out there, bless their enthusiasm, boundless knowledge and generosity. But alarmingly little of it seems appropriate for Little Hits. You certainly have better things to do with your time than sift through mountains of crap and same old same old for the good stuff. Thank goodness for my Internet addiction. See? I have saved you from years of therapy. Let’s get started.

1. National Eye – Bird and Sword
2. The London Knights (aka the Foursights) – Go To Him
3. The Explorer’s Club – Don’t Forget the Sun
4. The Rolling Stones – Get Yourself Together
5. Bonobo (featuring Bajka) – Nightlife
6. Lowell George and the Factory – No Place I’d Rather Be
7. Gene Clark – Los Angeles
8. Shotgun and Jaybird – Secret
9. Glen Campbell – Guess I’m Dumb
10. Emily Sparks – Aquarius

1. National Eye – Bird and Sword
A bit of sweet, hazy afternoon indie pop from a current Philadelphia group, with a moody and unexpected electronica breakdown following a shimmering guitar break. On the most excellent Park the Van Records, a Philly label which releases pretty much the crème of mostly Philly-area bands, plus, go figure, R. Stevie Moore.

2. The London Knights (aka the Foursights) – Go To Him
Cherry picked from Iron Leg, a wonderful vintage pop/rock/garage resource from the creator of the premier soul and funk blog Funky Sixteen Corners. Rather than parrot back Iron Leg’s well-researched findings on the murky provenance of this tune, just read their post. What a haunted sound, a melancholy yet insistent sister of the Hollies “Bus Stop” or something by the Dovers, see sawing back and forth from major to minor key. Dig the vibrato effect on the 12-string, the near-constant harmonized “oohs”. There is a lot of strange chord layering going on, especially in the solo. Try to figure it all out on the guitar, fail, and in the process come up with your own really great original song.

3. The Explorer’s Club – Don’t Forget the Sun
A sartorially challenged Charleston, South Carolina band with a serious, possibly terminal Beach Boys fixation. They’re like a flawless coverband, but with original tunes. More often than not, this kind of dedication to homage produces music that is amusing to listen to the first time around, but the charms usually fade fast. However, these guys not only nail the Brian Wilson-esque instrumentation and arrangements, they somehow capture the mojo of classic ’65 to “Do It Again”-era Beach Boys . A remarkable feat, like building a life-sized replica of the Titanic out of toothpicks or something.

4. The Rolling Stones – Get Yourself Together
An outtake from the August ’66 LA sessions at which most of Between the Buttons was recorded. I had never heard this until a few months ago. I think it’s actually better than a bunch of tunes on that great, odd record. Between the Buttons is such a strange artifact, especially the original UK version which doesn’t include the timeless singles. The whole thing is like a stylistic step to the left into a temporary but pervasive infatuation with…what, Dylan? Get Yourself Together is more in keeping with the Stones wheelhouse of R ‘n’ B (and Soul, too, with the Otis Redding-esque Gotta Gotta’s Jagger throws in there). Jack Nitsche most likely on piano. I love the way the song starts on the minor key chorus. I have a half-baked theory that once the Stones got rid of the piano in their recordings, they lost a good deal of their recording juju. Discuss.

5. Bonobo (featuring Bajka) – Nightlife
If we might escape back to the present for the moment, here is a bit of nocturnal groove with samba touches and a wiff of lonely sweetness, courtesy of multi-instrumentalist and mixologist Simon Green, aka Bonobo. Somwhere around his third record in ‘06, he enlisted Bajka (pronounced ‘Biker’) a singer who has the Amy Winehouse smoky tones, but with a more intimate chilled out Weimar vibe that matches the music. Mental note: must buy more Bonobo records.

6. Lowell George and the Factory – No Place I’d Rather Be
Before his Little Feat years, smooth-singing Lowell George made a bunch of recordings in ‘66-67 with his band the Factory. For an L. A. band, they sound a lot like late 60’s British folk-rockers on some of these cuts, while other tracks have tinges of early garage-band era Zappa and Beefheart. Only one track saw the light of day as a single until a collection was released in the ‘90s. This particular song sounds to me like the Beau Brummels in the verses, and fades out with a hippy parade of cowbells.

7. Gene Clark – Los Angeles
An unreleased track from ‘68. Sounds like the Byrds, doesn’t it? As well it should, as this seems to come from a session for the Dillard and Clark record, featuring several Byrds and some soon-to-be Flying Burrito Brothers, among other Southern California notables. I love the giant reverb wash in the bridge. Clark was prone to panic attacks (one of the factors in his leaving the Byrds); it’s amazing that he managed to keep making records (and well-regarded ones) during these years before SSRI drugs. I’m sure it was easy enough around the Laurel Canyon scene to self-medicate in those days, but in the long run, there probably was a lot of bombing the psychic village in order to save it going on. I am woefully undereducated in regard to Clark’s solo output. I sense a news years resolution taking shape.

8. Shotgun and Jaybird – Secret
In their four-year existence from ’04 to ‘07, this New Brunswick, Canada duo managed to release several apparently pretty great records which very few people (including me) have ever heard or can now obtain. Some reviews cite Pavement as their musical touchstone, but I’m hearing a lot of Small Factory, a bit of Up On the Sun-era Meat Puppets, and a whole lot less ironic stance than that of old school Stephen Malkmus. The neat trick in this song is the juxtaposition of the casual, just-a-nice-indiepop-song music with the lyric’s subject matter: two people getting emotionally close one night, and then beyond, who “never crossed the line”, but nevertheless are acutely aware of the need to keep a significant other, the unmentioned third party, in the dark about this new secret love. It puts the listener in the complex position of empathizing with both sides of the coin. Subtle, touching, and very clever.

9. Glen Campbell – Guess I’m Dumb
More Beach Boys-related ephemera and another revelation of a song I’d never heard until recently, when Larry at Iron Leg posted it. This song was breathtaking sonic genius to me for at least 30 plays and three weeks after I first heard it. Now I’m not one of those fanboys who worships every musical fart emitted by Brian Wilson. I think Pet Sounds is a rather uneven record (would’ve made a great ep, as they say over at Rock Town Hall. But Guess I’m Dumb is of Pet Sounds quality. It really was the first thing Wilson did other than the intro to California Girls that truly resembles Pet Sounds material. It also continues Wilson’s obsession with the Be My Baby beat he used for Don’t Worry Baby. As a songwriter and arranger-in-progress (and Be My Baby beat addict), I’m envious of this kind of coloring and effortless compositional complexity. The Beach Boys first attempted this song (and discarded it) in 1964 (it would’ve been on the Beach Boys Today album). Campbell played the Brian Wilson parts on the 1965 Beach Boys tour while Wilson burned brightly and feverishly in the recording studio. Apparently as a thank you for doing the tour, Wilson gave Campbell this song, recording it in ’65, I assume with the backing of the Wrecking Crew. Lyrics by Russ Titelman, producer of Buffalo Springfield, Paul Simon and James Taylor. Factoids from the Internet, so they must be true. Spike over at Bedazzled, who is gaga over this tune, has a video up of this.

10. Emily Sparks – Aquarius
Actually a band (from Providence, RI), not a school teacher from the Spoon River Anthology. Or maybe the band is more of a delivery device for singer/writer Bridget “Jet” Mullen, as the interior moods and acoustic bedroom quality of their songs sound more like her solo thing. Either way, the result is indie campfire songs. They released an album in 2002. Which was a while ago. They seem to still be somewhat active. Someone please send me a hand-colored cassette of this stuff.

Andrew Chalfen

The SF Seals — Dock Ellis
(from the EP The Baseball Trilogy, Matador Records 1993)

Last Friday, December 19, baseball pitcher Dock Ellis died at age 63 of unspecified liver ailments. A better-than-average but not stellar pitcher with a habit of throwing deliberate beanballs, Ellis would today be forgotten by all but the Pittsburgh Pirates faithful but for one of the game’s all-time great stories: On June 12, 1970, Dock Ellis no-hit the San Diego Padres while tripping on acid.

In 1993, devoted baseball fan Barbara Manning launched a side project with ex-Cat Heads drummer Melanie Clarin called the SF Seals, named for their hometown’s late, lamented minor league franchise. The SF Seals’ first release was the 7″ EP The Baseball Trilogy, containing covers of two baseball-themed novelty tunes and Manning’s own “Dock Ellis.” A churning neo-psychedelic rocker with droning, distorted guitar lines under Manning’s affectless deadpan vocal, “Dock Ellis” recalls vintage freakbeat classics like the Who’s “I Can See For Miles” and Tomorrow’s “My White Bicycle” as refracted through a lo-fi indie rock prism. In a career filled with terrific songs, “Dock Ellis” could be Barbara Manning’s best.

– Stewart Mason

Wire Train — Chamber of Hellos
(From the LP In A Chamber, 415/Columbia Records 1984)

In my personal hierarchy of 415 Records bands, Romeo Void were always and forever at the top, and everyone else pretty much battled for second. The problem for me was that for some reason, the 415 bands always had trouble with second acts. Translator’s Heartbeats and Triggers was a minor masterpiece, and Red Rockers followed their promising, politically-minded debut Condition Red with 1983’s killer single “China” b/w “Voice of America,” probably the best record ever associated with the label, and Wire Train debuted with one of the better jangle-pop records to appear in R.E.M.’s first wake, In A Chamber, which had two outstanding singles in “Never” and “Chamber of Hellos.” But then all of those bands released over-slick, over-produced follow-ups that fell victim to most of the cliches of bad 80s production and blunted whatever charm the songs had. Personally, I blame David Kahne, but that’s another post for another time. Still, although I can’t fully recommend any of the several albums Wire Train released after their debut, In A Chamber remains a highly enjoyable listen.

–Stewart Mason

Youth Gone Mad — Oki Dogs
(Posh Boy Records 45, 1981)

Of the Big Three of iconic L.A. hot dog joints, I’ve eaten at the now-closed Tail o’ the Pup (which was just okay as a dog, but it’s hard to resist a building shaped like a loaded hot dog) and I’ve eaten at Pink’s, but I’ve never eaten at Oki Dogs, which means I’ve never tried their signature dish, which is a flour tortilla wrapped around a hot dog, chili, and rather inexplicably, pastrami. The original Oki Dogs was on Santa Monica Boulevard, a few blocks from Pink’s, and it was a well-known punk hangout back in the hardcore days: there’s a mildly famous photo by Ed Culver, the guy who shot most of the L.A. punk photos, called “Oki Dogs” that’s just a close-up of some punk kids’ boots in the parking lot. (For a long period in the mid-80s, IRS Records used to sell poster-size prints of this photo on their inner sleeves next to the t-shirts and things with their own logo.) The clientele and the attendant hassles of same eventually got that place shut down and reopened a ways away on Fairfax. There’s also supposedly a place on Pico called Oki’s Dog that’s an unrelated shameless rip-off, but I’ve never eaten there either.

So anyway, that’s what Oki Dogs is. “Oki Dogs” is the flipside of the first single by L.A. hardcore act Youth Gone Mad, who I think have been around off and on ever since 1980 or so. I have a surprisingly solid ’90s record by them called Dayjob, and they also released an EP a few years ago that apparently was the last record Dee Dee Ramone ever played on. Looking them up just now, I learned the mildly startling fact that Youth Gone Mad’s singer and guitarist, Paul “Ena” Kostabi, was also in the first lineup of White Zombie. (Also, his brother Mark is an artist, with the covers of Guns N Roses’ Use Your Illusion albums among his credits.) They’re a fine, underrated band, but this manic piece of L.A. hardcore, as funny and weird and rocking as anything ever done in the style, remains their high point. Personally, my favorite part is at the end, when drummer Tami Esquivel screams in frustration “I don’t even know how this place is still open!” Alongside the Descendants’ “Weinerschnitzel,” this is my favorite hot-dog-related L.A. punk song. Oh, and Lawndale’s “The Days of Pup ‘N’ Taco.” Except that was ruined for me slightly: the last two remaining Pup ‘n’ Tacos in the world were in Albuquerque (slightly renamed Pop ‘n’ Taco, as required when Taco Bell bought the rest of the chain in the 80s) when I lived there, one of them right across the street from the IT company I worked at. I’m pretty sure I got food poisoning off a taco burger there once.

–Stewart Mason

Pauline Murray and the Invisible Girls — Searching For Heaven
(Illusive Records 10″, 1981)

The third and I believe final single by Pauline Murray and the Invisible Girls, 1981’s “Searching For Heaven” is a rather lovely lost post-punk nugget that really should have become better known than it did. The Invisible Girls, as always, were Martin Hannett’s name for whoever he could goad into the sessions: this time out, that was guitarist Wayne Hussey (later of course of Sisters of Mercy and The Mission, neither of whom I ever liked), keyboardist Steve Hopkins, bassist Robert Blamire (like Murray, formerly of the short-lived Manchester punks Penetration, whose career highlight “Don’t Dictate” was a Little Hit some time back) and Buzzcocks drummer John Maher.

–Stewart Mason

Tommy Keene — My Mother Looked Like Marilyn Monroe
(from the LP Songs From The Film, Geffen Records 1986)

Tommy Keene’s Songs From The Film is one of those albums that makes me wonder why it was such a commercial flop, since it seems like everyone I know owns a copy, and I certainly recall the huzzahs and celebrations that accompanied its much delayed CD release around 1998. It suffers considerably less than many of its generational peers from the curse of Bad ’80s Major Label Production (the follow-up, Based On Happy Times, would not be nearly so lucky), and it’s overall Keene’s strongest set of tunes. The re-recorded version of “Places That Are Gone” is the one most folks remember most fondly, but this track from the middle of side two was always my favorite. Although personally, my mother looked more like Patsy Cline.

–Stewart Mason

Toto Coelo — I Eat Cannibals Part 1 (extended mix)
(Radial Choice Records 12″, 1982)

Is there a purer one hit wonder than Toto Coelo? Together barely a year, recording fewer than a dozen songs total, and forever known for one maddeningly catchy novelty tune, they are the epitome of the form. I mean, have you ever heard another song of theirs?

“I Eat Cannibals” was almost entirely the work of producer Barry Blue, a third-string mid-70s glam star who produced several of Bananarama’s early singles around this time as well. The handy captions on the flipside of this now-rare 12″ mix reveal that the members of the band were, from left to right, Ros, Lindsey, Lacey, Anita and Sheen. Wikipedia adds the surnames Holness, Danvers, Bond, Madhadervan and Doran, respectively, along with the trivia nuggets that Ros Holness was the daughter of veteran UK game show host Bob Holness and that Anita later was the lead singer of the Hanoi Rocks offshoot Cherry Bombz under the name Anita Chellamah.

–Stewart Mason

Redd Kross — Citadel
(from the EP Teen Babes From Monsanto, Gasatanka Records 1984)

There’s little to say about this one except that it’s friggin’ awesome, and couldn’t we all use a bit more friggin’ awesomeness in our lives? I’m sure I’ve probably gone on about my views on the Rolling Stones’ Their Satanic Majesties Request here before, but any album that has both this and “She’s A Rainbow” on it doesn’t deserve its poor reputation. I’m just sayin’.

Teen Babes From Monsanto is next to impossible to locate these days. My own first copy was a cassette missing its cover that I bought out of the $1 box at Ralph’s Records shortly after becoming obsessed with this EP’s follow-up Neurotica. My vinyl copy came via eBay many years later. I’ve heard there’s some kind of tour CD from the ’90s that has these songs on it, but that’s likely even harder to find. But if you can locate a copy, pick it up: it’s probably the purest expression of the McDonald brothers’ own peculiar trash aesthetic.

–Stewart Mason

The Lightning Seeds — Pure
(from the CD Cloudcuckooland, MCA Records 1990)

As I recall, it was sometime around the summer of 1992 that it was codified that everyone in my generation was a flannel-clad nihilist. Which struck me as weird at the time because am I the only one who remembers a weird burst of cockeyed optimism in popular music around 1990 or so? Specifically, I’m thinking of songs like World Party’s “Put the Message in the Box,” Jesus Jones’ “Right Here Right Now,” and several others that had this general vibe of earnestness and wide-eyed optimism. The Lightning Seeds’ “Pure” was definitely one of the biggies in this subgenre, and probably my favorite of the lot. I was listening to this album again recently (having bought a cheap copy from the remainder bins at Newbury Comics to replace the one lost in The Great CDs Or Housing Purge Of 1998), remembering how weird it seemed even back in 1990 that this album was released on a major label, much less the terminally unhip MCA Records. Other than Ian Broudie’s spangly production job — which, it must be said, sounds terribly dated now — there is little about “Pure” that wouldn’t have fit on a Sarah Records single around the same time, and yet this was an actual American Top 40 hit. Go figure.

–Stewart Mason

E — Nowheresville
(from the CD A Man Called E, Polydor Records 1992)

I have to admit, I never would have guessed back when this CD came out that E was going to end up being a prolific and much-admired figure on the alt-rock scene. Frankly, just about everything about A Man Called E is of its era, that post-Nevermind era where major labels went “Oh, holy crap. That worked. What do we try now?” and threw a pile of money at any artist who could conceivably be marketed as “alternative.” I just assumed this was the sort of album that was destined for cult status amongst a tiny cadre of people who found it in the used and remainder bins a few years later. But then, I don’t claim to be a good eye for future talent: a couple years after this came out, I figured Beck for a one-hit novelty artist. But I played “Nowheresville” quite a lot on my college radio show that year, and I still think it’s probably my favorite song Mark Everett’s yet done.

–Stewart Mason