Where the Penguins Fly: Blindfold Test #6

Even Kevin Ayers’s scarves were whimsical.

Notable developments: (1) For the third blindfold test out of six, the song I like most is the one that’s been on earth the longest. That doesn’t necessarily mean I think older music is necessarily better, but….it might. (2) For the third Skyhooks song listened to out of three, I assumed a woman was singing even though no women are in the band. (3) The two songs below that I guessed might be Kevin Ayers intersect not at all with the two that actually are Kevin Ayers. Clearly this is owed partly to me having no clue what Kevin Ayers sounds like.

Three observations I feel it’s okay to be proud of, even if I didn’t guess the correct artists: (1) Thinking the singer for Frankfurt’s Supermax sounded like a German guy attempting soul music; (2) Thinking Cold Chisel sounded like Rose Tattoo when in fact they are both Australian bands beloved by sharpies and bogans; (3) Detecting an otherwise to my knowledge un-noted funk influence in the opening voice of a song by mostly Black early ’80s Chicago thrash-metal ensemble Znöwhite.

One observation I feel it’s much more proper to be highly embarrassed by, to the extent that next time I might keep my trap shut about such socially delicate issues: (1) Figuring the Black Bahamian singer for T-Connection was probably white person trying to sound Black. Oops.

Anyway, six blindfold tests in, taking into account acts for whom I’ve graded at least two songs total, the 10 artists with the highest average scores thus far (using greater # of songs considered as tie-breakers) are: First Place: Carambolage (7.375 average score, four songs); Tied for Second: Scatman Crothers, Lemmings, Men & Volts (7.250, two songs each); Fifth Place: 012 (7.167, three songs); Sixth Place: Skyhooks (7.000, three songs); Seventh: Bogshed (7.000, two songs); Eighth: Mofungo (6.833, three songs); Tied for Ninth: (Hammersmith) Gorillas, Nash the Slash (6.750, two songs each.)

To keep up-to-date with the strangest pennant race in the history of music, check back in next time. You never know what will happen!

A respectful rendering by a mild-mannered artist

Gus (Banjo Joe) Cannon, “Can You Blame the Colored Man” (10-inch 78-rpm single, 1927, collected on the 1984 Matchbox UK compilation  Songsters & Saints – Vocal Traditions On Race Records Vol. 2, Cannon’s Jug Stompers’ 1989 The Complete Works, the Hokum Boys and Banjo Joe’s 2005 Ain’t Going That Way, and other anthologies; Mississippi-born, later Memphis-based folk blues banjo player, singer, and jug-band popularizer): Old timey plucking, á la Dock Boggs, Charlie Poole or Uncle Dave Macon, and then we’re told a “White House Blues”-related tale about Booker T. (or “Old Bookah” — presumably Washington) visiting the White House, and “he almost change his color when Roosevelt says to come in.” Comical front-page racial commentary, most likely by a Black artist, with exceptional ease and bounce. Booker hires a horse and carriage, “takes in the whole town” of D.C., and when he sits down at the table to eat dinner with the president no doubt named Teddy, he begins to smile. Through it all, the banjo provides rhythm enough to carry the entire history lesson. 8.5

Kevin Ayers, “Oh My“ (from Whatevershebringswesing, 1972; Kent, UK singer-songwriter, “founding member of the psychedelic band Soft Machine” and “closely associated with the Canterbury scene” [Wikipedia]): First, a cork pops (which, whenever I re-read that phrase, I mistake for pork chops.) “Oh my, I really try, but I don’t get anywhere,” worries someone I assume is a hippie, trying to sound old timey and jug bandy. Reminds me of the Lovin’ Spoonful cooling out on a new-mowed lawn, though I suspect this happened later. Mentions wine, just like the previous song — I guess that’s where the cork came from. He wants to “take you up above, the places where the penguins fly-high-high,” which off course penguins don’t, unless flying in the water counts. How whimsical! Probably a pot smoker. Which would explain why some of the rhymes seem so forced and lazy. Turns into a New Orleans strut, with Dixieland horns, as it picks up steam. So I dunno, Leon Redbone or somebody? Dan Hicks and his Hot Licks? Commander Cody? Vaudeville finale: “you know you doooooo…” 6.5

Rudimentary Peni, “Flesh Crucifix“ from Death Church, 1985; London anarchist punk/hardcore/death-rock band): Dark powerchords and squealing noises. Imagery about cremating animal carcasses and carnivores (or maybe carving something?) on tombstones. Male voice extending his vibrato. Pretty short, but animal sounds put it over. 6.5

Lemming, “Fun With Me” (B-side of 1974 “Jacula” single and then on Lemming, 1975; Dutch glam rock band): Rumble beat under group shouts and Sweet-style high and fruity vocal squeals: “I love you sooooooooo.” “You! You! Youuuuuu!” Happy ’70s bubbleglam rock, simple hack guitar chords repeated all through, but so much energy, grins galore. After a trick fake ending, a kazoo (I think?) shifts it into a surprise free-lunch coda, namely a mini boogie woogie piano thingie. 7

Living in the Material world shouldn’t mean Laswell gets to horde all the cash.

Material, “Detached” (from American Songs EP, 1981, archived on Secret Life, 1986, Temporary Music (1979-1981), 1994, and other compilations; Manhattan-based “experimental punk-jazz-funk-noise-electro band, founded circa 1978/79 by bassist Bill Laswell and keyboard player Michael Beinhorn” [discogs]): Lo-fidelity techno rock, or maybe I just blew a speaker? Voice talking hoarsely about, um… killing and asphyxiation on a TV screen? Also something like “life is just a homeless gas,” whatever that means, which they say at least twice. Background guitars do treated Eno loopdeeloops, whatever they’re called. Feels like absolute amateurs having fun –teen punks who bought an analog synth at the thrift store? New wave by people who’d heard of it, but hadn’t actually heard it, so they just guessed. And they guessed well! When the voice drops out, the pulse sustains. More electronic loops, suggesting a garage band imitating Giorgio Moroder, climb up and down the scale. Maybe a tad too stretched out, doesn’t ultimately go much anywhere and just kind of dies down at the end. But it’s hard not to be charmed by its gleeful sense of invention. 7

Raincoats, “Ooh Ooh La La La“: (from Moving, 1984; “British experimental  post-punk band,” formed by Ana da Silva and Gina Birch “while they were students at Hornsey College of Art in London” [Wikipedia]): Woodblocky, sort of reggae-ish rhythm, then a girl talking — could be Raincoats on their widely neglected (including by me for decades) third album Moving, when they seemed to be making their “world music” move. Can’t make out many words except a recurring punctuation mark that seems to be “joy,” yet the singing is somehow lighter than air but with true gravity to it — at least compared to what I remember of later ethereal attempts like Cocteau Twins or Throwing Muses, who probably aren’ t the best examples of what I’m referring to. The woodblocky thing keeps on and the instrumentation thickens, if not so much into a tune, and eventually a sax (?) comes in. Neato. 7

Ella Mae Morse, 18 or 19 when she recorded this selection.

Ella Mae Morse, “No Love, No Nothin’“ (B-side of 10-inch, 78-rpm “Sho Sho Baby,” 1943, collected on her 1992 Capitol Collectors Series and elsewhere; Mansfield, Texas-born “singer of popular music whose 1940s and 1950s recordings mixing jazz, blues, and country styles influenced the development of rock and roll” [Wikipedia]): Back to the ballroom. “No love, no nothin’, until my baby comes home, no sir, no nothin’, as long as Baby must roam.” Promised him she’d wait for him but she’s lonesome heaven knows. Horns more “sweet” than “jazz.” Can’t be Boswell Sisters since there’s only one; more likely Ella Mae Morse than Anita O’Day or Rosemary Clooney or Keely Smith. Powerful voice, but whoever it is, no way is this her best material. 6

Inner City Unit, “Polly Ethylene” (from Pass Out, 1980; London band “encompassing psychedelia and punk rock…established by ex-Hawkwind saxophonist Nik Turner” [Wikipedia]):  Ominous guitar and drum roll, like ska tumbling over itself, or off a shelf, or down the stairs. Accent is clearly British, unless it’s clearly Australian. Early-ish new wave, likening a woman to a nuclear bomb(shell). Best part is either the horns or the percussion additives making Santa’s factory whirrs and clanks like the Fabulous Poodles in “Toytown People.” 6

Spiders from Mars, “White Man Black Man” (1975 single included on Spiders From Mars, 1976; David Bowie’s early ’70s backing band whose Bowie-less album also lacked Mick Ronson): They start with a soul groove but don’t keep it up. “White man and the Black man found a place to hide, and they both live together on the right side of the hill, brother to brother….The yes man and the no man, happy as can be, they don’t ever argue, sharing with each other” — I’m sure I missed something in my transcription, but you get the gist, right? Which is to say post-hippie ’70s brotherhood pop, well-intentioned I’m sure but corny as heck, the kind of music you expect they’d play at a New Games festival; you can’t say “tournament” because that would imply competition. More ’70s Vaudeville, too cut-rate for K-Tel even. 5.5

Some of Supermaxx’s best friends violated the apartheid boycott.

Supermax, “Be What You Are” (single and on World of Today, both 1977, then Supermax Collection, 1982; the Frankfurt-based “reggae-funk-disco-rock” band “toured as the first mixed-race band through South Africa” in 1981; “despite warnings and death threats, Supermax finished the tour, but this made some countries refuse permits for entry, and consequently the group was black-listed by some political organizations” [Wikipedia]) More vapid motivational speaking, if sonically a little darker than the previous one: “Beeee what you want, never be afraid of what you are.” A guy with a deep voice trying to come off soulful, lyrics in English but his overcompensation somehow suggests he’s German or Dutch. There’s a nothing break with little squiggles of pre-disco prog synth: early ’70s, I bet. Alternately, could be a more recent Australian indigenous band aiming for funk. 5.5

T-Connection, “A Little More Love” (1981 single and on Pure & Natural, 1982, and best-of sets; “funk and disco band from Nassau, the Bahamas” [Wikipedia]): Starts light and mellow, swaying and sparkling like the early ’70s, with not a care in the world. (Not that people had no cares in the early ’70s — There was Watergate, for starters, and still a war in Viet Nam. But pop music as often as not acted like they didn’t.) A high, soulful-ish “yeaaaah….It’s been a long while…so much peeeeeeace of mind, I owe it all to you….good lovin’ everyday.” More hippie dippiness, with a white guy trying to sound soulful again. “This time we’ll make it a wee bit stronger…..I’m gonna be your slaaaave.” Okay, not a good look, especially if it’s a white guy trying to sound Black. “Oh baby, give me just a little more love.” Honestly, he’s not a bad singer. I doubt this is catchy enough to be a hit though. Some blues in the guitar — early Steve Miller, conceivably? I mean, there have been some dopey (in probably more ways than one come to think of it) songs so far, but this is probably the dopiest. 5

Kak, “Disbelievin’” (from Kak, 1969; San Francisco psychedelic rock band): Teases you into thinking it’s gonna swing its boogie hard, but never gets there. More white soul/blues rock — reminds me a little of Free, though not as heavy. Dude looks around and sees his baby is gone, and he’s “disbelievin’.” She got up this morning and packed her bags and went, and he doesn’t believe it, and calls her little baby, and let me guess — she left because he’s such a dumbass! Well, at least he sounds like one. So good for her. And I bet this song was tossed together at the jam session that very (stoned) afternoon. Oh wait, he says he learned his lesson the hard way, it’s sad but it’s true, and the lesson is…something about thinking too much about other people, what?? I mean, the one saving grace is that it’s almost funny. Also, it didn’t keep going, which would have made the score sink even lower. Not a saving grace: wackoff blues-rock guitar bridges to nowhere. 4

Descendants of criminals Cold Chisel with latest member, a one-armed bandit.

Cold Chisel, “Goodbye (Astrid Goodbye)“ (1978 single and on Breakfast at Sweethearts, 1979 and The Best of Cold Chisel All for You, 2011; band “achieved massive success in Australia with their brand of working class themed pub rock” [discogs], “a combination of rockabilly, hard rock and rough-house soul’n’blues that was defiantly Australian in outlook” [Wikipedia]): Okay, this is the toughest rock so far today, with a hard lustful swing to it that reminds me of the Faces and Rose Tattoo. “I’m going down the stairs and I ain’t gonna listen to no more pissin’ around.” For a second there I thought it might be a marriage proposal, but I was mistaken. “Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, I won’t be coming back.” He calls her Astrid, and okay obviously in this one he’s the one who’s leaving, to the bawdy back-and-forth beat of boogie-woogie brothelhouse ivories. Kind of generic about it, but there’s no lack of burly male ale-quaffing vigor, all the way to the end, when the drummer knocks his hi-hat a few times and somebody exclaims “whoooooo!!” like they totally mean it man. 6.5

V.V.S.I., “Savage Kind of Girl“ ( previously unreleased track included on 2022 Numero Group compilation  Bound For Hell: On The Sunset Strip; ’80s L.A. glam-metal band): More fast hard rock, drums really pushing it in this one, but in a heavier weight class. High register vocal, about a girl working on the street and talking in her sleep, revealing secrets she’d rather not. Why so much sexist hard rock this time? She has no kin, and supposedly he came to her rescue — yeah right. Subject matter suggests this is ’80s metal, not ’70s butt rock. Slows down into blooze sleaze whenever he claims he knows her well, and…sorry, I don’t trust the dude. More convincingly slimy than the previous song but also meaner — this guy’s not having as much fun, and the fire keeps going out. Ultimately, I’d call it unwieldy. 5.5

Der Plan, “Anders Sein” (from Die Peitsche Des Lebens, 1991; electronic Dusseldorf Neue Deutsche Welle band): Twee, but not in the sense of a high fey voice; just kind of prissy and emaciated. Actually it’s in German, “du bist” something something. Much more polite than the last few songs, but also less to grab hold of. Those sad horns aren’t enough, or how it all slims down in the middle to some widdle electro-diddle. Might have worked better if the melody or vocals were more attractive. At least it’s not predictable; I’ll give it that. Just aimless. Honestly, I think this might sound more proto-indie-rock than anything on any of these blindfold tests so far. That is not a compliment. 4.5

Hollywood Brats, “Drowning Sorrows” (from Grown Up Wrong by Andrew Matheson and the Brats, Norway 1975, reissued multiple times since 1980 as Hollywood Brats and in expanded form as Sick on You; London glam-rock/proto-punk band): Guitar-strummed lament by a sadsack alone in the night and crying tears — quasi-country, feels like. Something tore him apart and the flame’s burning low and he’s got nowhere to go, anywhere would do, and she’s thousands of miles from his door. But he gives us not a single reason we should care, he’s just another embarrassing schmuck with woman troubles. Today’s random shuffle is in a weird mood. “My sorrows can never be drowned, so I drink to the heartbreak inside.” Oh you do, do you? Another empty solo, this time with no power to speak of, just moosh all around. 3.5

Little Scotty, “Going to a Disco To-Night” (1979 12-inch single, included on 21st Century Music/P&P’s 2012 The Very Best of Cloud One + Bonus Tracks; South Carolina soul singer who later moved on to Chicago to perform the blues and what Sir Shambling’s Deep Soul Heaven calls “philosophical musings”): Hard funk bassline and handclaps, deep male voice ascending higher as it sings about “going on a disco night” and not much more. By far the best groove of this bunch so far, and amusing by virtue of his nasal tone of voice alone. Band really dews it tooz it, but I kind of wish there was more to get down to; groove is all it is, and technically all it needs, but that’s not to say it couldn’t use more. Can’t imagine this was huge even at discos. Does kind of curdle into busy-ness, though, double-tracking or even triple-tracking the voices so one layer is just a smidgen off timewise, layering in toot-toot-beep-beep whistles and proto-house music piano over their own fleeting shadows to trippy and banging effect, stirring in ingredients to thicken the sauce and extend time. And that hard funk bassline, on the one all through, keeps propelling it forward. Good for whoever out there has the stamina to keep dancing through the whole thing, though I doubt I’d make it myself, at least not to this apparent 12-inch remix. Even great grooves can outwear their welcome. 6.5

Ironicially named thrashers Znöwhite.

Znöwhite, “Bringing the Hammer Down“(from All Hail to Thee, 1984; Chicago thrash/speed-metal band comprising, in early lineups, Black Tafoya brothers on guitar, bass and drums, and a white female singer): A high-pitched funk screeeeeech into Kill ’em All thrash-tempo metal, with a frontwoman — overdue in this batch of songs — telling us to listen closer. She’s doing the batshit banshee schtick, “screaming to heaven” as she says — I know people love Rob Halford doing that kind of thing but to me he might actually be too good at it; I’ve always preferred inspired amateurs like this. “Bring the hammer down,” she commands — What is it with metal and hammers? A gas pedal metaphor? Something to do with Thor? I know there are some Nazi connotations but of course I hope they don’t apply here. Actually got to the finish line sooner than expected — rare in a metal track. 6

Alley Cats, “When the World Was Old” (from Nightmare City, 1981; coed L.A. punk band): Post-punkish groove? Goth-ish? But from L.A. or maybe S.F. not UK, I’m sensing, which I guess might make it “death rock” rather than “goth” — game of inches out there folks. Honestly it may just be that Californians understood rock’n’roll more than most Limeys. Could be yet another Alley Cat cut (see previous blindfold tests). Not much in the way of production — It’s like he’s singing through the air vents in a haunted house. But some surf to the guitar, which certainly helps. Camp comic-book version of doom and dolor, which is to say people playing music like this on both sides the pond probably enjoy wearing Halloween costumes year round. I don’t, not even in October (they’re uncomfortable, and putting makeup goop on my face makes me want to throw up), but that’s my problem. 6.5

Kevin Ayers, “Eleanor’s Cake (Which Ate Her)” (from Joy of a Toy, 1969) Dainty strumming. “My oh my oh my do you really have to cry, cryin’ like a summer rain, lady can I ease your pain?” Asks if she lost a friend, if she spread her wings to fly. Has Nick Drake’s bedsit glumness to it, and there seems to be a flute — could easily be New Zealandish. Prettier than a wimpy pickup attempt or two above, you could play it on a lute, so hey that’s something. Another real shortie. Mercifully. 4.5

Glencoe — beautiful banana drawing not shown.

Glencoe, “Song No 22 (Om)” (from The Spirit of Glencoe, 1973; London “crossover prog” band ” inspired by American rock roots, soul, or rhythm & blues” [says Prog Archives]): Geez, another mellow one?? Voice kinda rough like Kevin Coyne’s, but he’s generally way less laid-back and high-pitched and way more eccentric, so I don’t think it’s him. Lyrics draw blank after blank until “Only the other day I managed to draw a beautiful banana,” so instead I’ll go with a different Kevin – namely Ayers, whose Yes We Have No Mañanas might be one of the best album titles ever. But I’m pretty sure he’s more eccentric than this music too, even if whoever made it is “telling the true-who-hooth.” 4

Blind Melon, “Galaxie/ Hello, Goodbye“ (from Soup, 1995; L.A. alternative rock band who hit big with 1992’s “No Rain” and whose singer Shannon Hoon died of a 1995 cocaine overdose): Slow music hall backing, stuff about corners and borders and the month of June. Then suddenly the song switches into an entirely different mode (which at first I assumed was an entirely different song by an entirely different artist), not exactly more lively, but at least slightly less frail. Hell, this could be Kevin Ayers too for all I know. A multi-part suite, sort of structured like a miniature opera. Nothing going on rhythmically but hey, at least it’s more interesting than the previous number. Singer grows more intense at the end: “It isn’t me it isn’t me it isn’t me.” 5

Rudimentary Peni, “The Cloud Song“ (from Death Church, 1985): More post-punk? Or metal goth? Vocals echoing from way back in the moor (or do I mean heath?) on a dark moonlit night (or do I mean a moonless night? I dunno, I’m no expert.) A pinch of Johnny Rotten snap and snarl to the voice. Comes to a full stop only to start back up with the same riff. Basically, a British version of the song a few songs ago that I thought might be the Alleycats. Gloomy but sort of cute. 6.5

Medium Medium, “Serbian Village” (from The Glitterhouse, 1981, compiled on the 2021 Cherry Red UK box set Shake The Foundations [Militant Funk & The Post-Punk Dancefloor 1978-1984];
“post-punk band from Nottingham, England” [Wikipedia]): Spare dub space echoing a slow saxophone, taking its time to get moving we know not where. Something “Pride (in the Name of Love)”-ish to the melody. “She was stranded in a Soviet…” something. Two reptilian voices, telling us over and over again about a woman tragically “lost. In the woods. In the dis-tunce!!” A horror story, about a ghost overheard in the rain, “thrown. In a corner. In a coe-muh!!” Sometimes the guy with the higher voice, who appears to be the sidekick, squeals on those final syllables. Sounds of breaking glass, trash rustling around. You get the idea the story will be continued at some later date. 6.5

Skyhooks, “Every Chase a Steeple“ (from Ego is Not a Dirty Word, 1975, collected on Hits N’ Riffs, 2015; all-male Melbourne, Australia glam-rock band): Kicks off like psychedelic San Francisco folk rock, then a staccato woman’s voice starts to chronicle a life of mundanity and inevitability: “Go to school, act a fool, learn to get up earrrrrrly.” “Get a job, shut your gob (so British presumably?), try to to earn some monnnney. ” Melody seems to move in and out of “Bad Sneakers” by Steely Dan. “9 to 5 , stay alive… bound to get you in the end”; reminds me of Dylan telling us to look out kid, you’re gonna get hit — but this is ’70s prog/art rock, with an idiosyncratic structure and delectably rattling cowbell. “Join a band, hit the man…at the door, hundred more… and when you’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead, no hope.” If it’s prog rock, it’s prog rock with a punk rock’s nihilistic outlook on life. 7.5

Little Scotty and his not so little Afro