Twangin’ and Bangin’

Tell it like it is

Posted on March 14, 2026March 14, 2026 by Mike

At last. At long, fucking last.

KISS Legend Gene Simmons: Celebrities Shouldn’t Lecture Americans About Politics
Legendary KISS bassist Gene Simmons continues to serve as a voice of common sense and reason in an entertainment industry currently experiencing an epidemic of Trump Derangement Syndrome. I already count myself as a huge fan of the band, and I got the opportunity to see them on their last tour, which ended up becoming my son’s first concert experience. Imagine your first show being a KISS concert. What a time to be alive.

Actually, it just so happens that MY first show was a KISS concert as well: in 1976, that was, the CLT date on the band’s Destroyer tour. Somewhere around here, I should still have my advanced-ticket stub from that show, resplendent with the world-famous KISS logo and the price clearly visible underneath: a whopping six (6) bucks. Back over to Gene for more of this incredible story.

The KISS co-founder launched into his rebuke after TMZ asked how he felt about actor and director Ben Stiller calling out President Donald Trump’s White House for allegedly using a clip from one of his movies in a “propaganda machine.” The interviewers then asked the bassist with the world’s longest tongue what he thought about Hollywood stars criticizing Trump. In true rock star fashion, he didn’t hold back.

“Yeah, because everybody in the world should listen to what actors and comedians say — because they’re so qualified,” Simmons said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He then offered some pretty solid advice for stars in the entertainment field that they would do well to heed. “Basically, shut the f**k up. Do your art and shut up.”

Amen, brother! Look, celebrities can have their opinions on issues of the day. But when you work for the public — and they do — you should keep those thoughts to yourself and the people in your inner circle. Otherwise, you alienate your fanbase and hurt the work you’re trying to produce. We don’t need to hear your opinion on everything. Shocking, right?

Simmons then doubled down on his take, saying, “Nobody’s interested in your opinions — that includes me. Who the f**k do you think you are?”

The rocker added, “People in America work hard for their living and they don’t want to be lectured to by people who live in mansions and drive Rolls Royces.” This. So much this. The vast majority of celebrities are filthy rich and want for nothing. The rest of us “normal” people—the ones who form the spine of the country—have to work ourselves to death just to get by. We don’t want, nor do we need, out-of-touch celebrities telling us who to vote for or which issues matter. We already understand that.

“It’s time for everybody in the entertainment industry to shut their piehole and just do your art,” Simmons said. “Nobody cares what you think — I don’t.” Before the interview wrapped up, Simmons again mentioned Kylie Jenner and actor Mark Ruffalo with dripping sarcasm, highlighting how irrelevant their worldviews are to the public.

Well said, Mr Simmons, sir. The very last word, in accordance with Gene’s stated wishes.

I well remember that frabjous Thanksgiving day: the East Gaston High School band froze its collective keister off marching in the Carolinas Carrousel Parade, a seriously big deal for us in its own right, then everybody made a mad dash to get back on the buses, change back into street duds before we even got rolling, and scrambled on back to the dear old alma mater so we could race to our personal cars and zip back over to the big KISS concert at the old CLT Coliseum, for which the doors opened at 8PM.

Yes, you could fairly say KISS blew me away that night, why do you ask? 😉

Meow mix

Posted on March 9, 2026March 9, 2026 by Mike

This Rock & Roar dude is a bona fide all-caps GENIUS.

That one’s gotta be my fave, but R&R has a crapton of these, including Judas Purrst, Slipkcat, Catallica, and this next one.

At last, something AI can do really, really well.

Update! ZOMG, just found this one. My new favorite.

Heh. Go, Angus!

Love song

Posted on March 6, 2026March 6, 2026 by Mike

One of the truly great ones, performed by one of the truly great singers.

Ahh, Nat King Cole. People aways go on and on about Sinatra’s marvelous gift for phrasing, and they’re right to. But for my money, Nat King Cole could go blow-for-blow with Sinatra—hell, with anybody, actually—on any stage you’d care to name and walk out of the venue with his head held high and his self-esteem intact.

Every serious singer knows about phrasing, even those that haven’t been formally schooled in the art and just came by the ability honest, so to speak. In fact, after many long years of paying close attention to this stuff my own bad self it eventually dawned on me that the better at phrasing a singer is, the more likely it is that non-musicians will THINK he’s a good singer. In fact, even if the poor schmuck can’t carry a tune in a bucket, provided he just works a little on his breathing, his pronunciation, how the words come out of his mouth, how to best fit each word together, and I guar-on-tee you he’ll have every paying customer in the joint eating out of the palm of his hand by tthe end of the set.

Especially the hot chicks, natch.

Speaking as a trained vocalist myself, I assure you Cole’s phrasing is nothing short of doggone miraculous. In fact, listening to the man sing just about anything, really, amounts to a PhD-level course in phrasing: why it matters; the vital importance of phrasing when it comes to putting the song across; how to keep your cool and do it properly without going off the rails, etc.

Peculiar

Posted on February 21, 2026 by Mike

Last week’s Smokey Robinson re-post calls for another wonderful tune penned by Robinson, this one sung by the incomparable Marvin Gaye.

And that in turn calls for another of my all-time Marvin Gaye favorites.

They just ain’t writing songs like these anymore, people, and that is just a doggone shame.

Serendipitous find

Posted on February 7, 2026February 8, 2026 by Mike

Just digging on some good old Ramones on YewToob when what to my wondering my eyes should appear but the vid for “Pet Cemetery,” which includes…oh hell, see for yourselves.

See that T-shirt Joey has on? That’s the logo, name, and address of the dear old Pterodactyl Club on Freedom Drive in CLT, an excellent small-to-mid-sized venue the BPs played many times back in the Aulden Thymes. How Joey came up with the shirt or why he decided to wear it in the vid I have no clue, but there you have it.

Update! More on the Pterodactyl from the obit of one of its co-owners, Jeff Lowery.

Charlotte lost a leading member of its musical community this week when Jeff Lowery died.

Lowery, 55, who operated Jeff’s Bucket Shop on Montford Road, was essential to Charlotte’s musical growth during the late 1980s and early `90s. He co-owned and operated the Pterodactyl Club and 13-13, The Milestone Club for a time and Milestone Records on Central Avenue.In recent years he published the Amps 11 local and regional music ’zine.

During their run at The Milestone between 1986 and 1989 he and business partner Tim Blong brought bands like Bad Brains, Southern Culture on the Skids, Flaming Lips, Alex Chilton, and Melissa Etheridge to town and Charlotteans still talk about the shows they booked at the Pterodactyl and 13-13.

“Jeff really was a visionary and ahead of his time, particularly with the 13-13, which hosted a slew of top-notch alternative rock bands well before the genre exploded and those bands graduated to the arenas and amphitheaters,” says writer Kathleen Johnson, who covered the scene for The Observer in the 1990s.

Blong’s records show Jane’s Addiction and Iggy Pop, the Ramones, Alice in Chains, Danzig, Sonic Youth, the Replacements, Dave Matthews Band, Phish, and Widespread Panic – punk legends, alternative rock bands who were peaking early on, and others that would go on to headline arenas.

“Jeff also booked local and regional bands as openers for big shows and gave them their own gigs, which also really helped nurture the city’s original music scene. Those two clubs had a big cultural impact on the town,” adds Johnson.

Did I say “excellent venue” a few minutes ago? Make that effing legendary, please.

Success story

Posted on January 29, 2026January 29, 2026 by Mike

tThe fantastic bluegrass/country music outfit yclept the Dillards, who were astute enough to hitch their wagon to Andy Griffith’s fast-rising star way back in 19 and 63, thereby cementing their fortune and gaining fame under their new name “the Darlings” (lyrics to the embed below here). Taken altogether, the song amounts to an exemplary demonstration of the eternal bluegrass dichotomy: thoroughly depressing lyrics, all about death and grief and sorrow and loss, but set to music so bouncy and joyful it’s simply impossible to feel bad while listening to it.

The Dillards are an American bluegrass and country rock band from Salem, Missouri. They are notable for being among the first bluegrass groups to have electrified their instruments, and they are considered to be pioneers of country rock and progressive bluegrass. In 2022, the band was inducted into the Bill Monroe Bluegrass Hall of Fame.

The band was originally brothers Doug Dillard and Rodney Dillard, plus Mitch Jayne and Dean Webb. They had had some successful singles in Missouri and moved to Los Angeles in 1962. Within weeks of their arrival, they were signed by both Elektra Records and the William Morris Agency, who soon had them booked on The Andy Griffith Show, playing a family of mountain musicians called “The Darlings”. This was a recurring role, running from 1963 to 1966. In 1986, the Dillards reprised the role in the reunion show Return to Mayberry. On the October 1963 episode “Briscoe Declares for Aunt Bee”, the Dillards performed the first wide-scale airing of the 1955 Arthur “Guitar Boogie” Smith composition Feudin’ Banjos (Dueling Banjos). Several albums have since featured songs performed on the show.

The Dillards released four albums in quick succession but, in 1967, Doug wrote and performed the banjo music for the soundtrack of the movie Bonnie and Clyde. That led to an invitation to tour with The Byrds, and he left the band; later, he would release solo albums and form the band Dillard and Clark.

Plenty more yet to this gripping tale, which I encourage y’all to read in full. Meanwhile, I’ll content myself with an embed of my personal favorite Dillards tune: “Dooley.”

I remember very well the day ol’ Dooley died/The women-folks was sorry and the men broke down and cried*. Deep, heady stuff, that, full of rich buttery goodness and all the nutrition a growing boy needs.

* PROGRAMMING NOTE: Yes, I know that my off-the-cuff transcription above differs somewhat from the version I linked to. Having listened to the song for nigh on half a cendtury now, though, I just decided to write ‘em as I’ve always heard ‘em, and straight to Hell with any pedantic eggheads who might be inclined to point and laugh at me over it. I could be bass-ackwards and wrong, probably am in fact. But I don’t care, I like the lyrics that way.

Belated birthday wishes

Posted on January 29, 2026 by Mike

Yesterday was the 270th anniversary of the birth of the greatest composer of orchestral music to ever draw breath: the incomparable Joannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I can hear you Beethovenn snobs sniffing and pouting and harrumphing from all the way over here. Just pipe down awready; you ain’t ever gonna get me to diss Ludwig Van, I wholeheartedly love his stuff. Bit considering that A) his output is simply not in Mozart’s league just in terms of sheer numbers; let’s see now, Beethoven’s Nine (9) symphonies against Mozart’s forty-one? One (1) Beethoven opera versus twenty-two for Mozart? Granted, Beethoven’s work is all top-notch (except for that one opera, which kinda sucks if you ask me), and Mozart had more active working years than Beethoven did. Mozart began composing seriously as a child, completing his Symphony No 1-—among his best creations, still performed to this day, a mature, fully realized, exquisitely put-togeher work, in no sense the slapdash, hit-and-miss, half-baked product from the mind of a child—at the tender age of eight (8) years!

Somewhat more telling, there’s also B) Beethoven himself was profoundly influenced by Mozart, an influence which is easily discerned in several Beethoven compositions. Ludwig Van maintained deepest respect for his gifted peer, even going so far as to lift sections from Mozart pieces and insert them, whole and intact, into his own work, even giving official, written credit to Mozart on one of them. Beethoven also wrote some of the all-time best cadenzas for Mozart compositions. Extra-secil fine are the cadenzas for several Mozart piano concertos.

Taken all together, these gestures are indicative of Beethoven’s high regard for Mozart’s creative ability, ingenuity, impeccable taste and sense of style,, and positively uncanny talent. Whenever somebody tried to cop something from one of my songs to use himself, I considered it a tremendous complimen: sincere. honest, and stright from th heart, mo way of faking it. To me, that’s high praise indeed.

Anyhoo, yes, sinçe I was a young kid taking piano lessons I have considered Mozart the absolute best ever, although there quite a few other greats I revere as well: Beethoven, Haydn, Schubert, Tchaikovsky, Dvorak, Chopin, to name but a few. At ay rate, here’s the third movement of the wee tyke’s First Symphony, one of my personal faves since I was about nine (9) my own self. Never tried to write up an arrangement of it for solo piano but I never did, it just never occurred to me until recently and now, with my hands crippled into near-uselessness, it’s too late.

Happy birthday, Wolfgang. We will never forget you.

Der Bingle

Posted on December 31, 2025 by Mike

A Christmas story for the ages, one that exemplifies courage, character, and unswerving commitment to the non-negotiable demands of personal honor, patriotic duty, and obligation.

Late in Bing Crosby’s life, his nephew Howard asked him a casual question while they were out playing golf together.

“What was the single most difficult thing you ever had to do in your career?”
Howard expected Hollywood stories. Maybe gossip about a demanding director. Perhaps… pic.twitter.com/KGKfTgAVmu

— Farm Girl Carrie 👩‍🌾 (@FarmGirlCarrie)

December 30, 2025

“Show more,” my saggy, baggy ass.

Late in Bing Crosby’s life, his nephew Howard asked him a casual question while they were out playing golf together.

“What was the single most difficult thing you ever had to do in your career?”
Howard expected Hollywood stories. Maybe gossip about a demanding director. Perhaps the pressure of a high-stakes film production or a struggle with studio executives.

Bing didn’t have to think about it at all.
December 1944. Northern France. The war in Europe was grinding toward its bloody conclusion.

Bing Crosby was on a USO tour, performing for American GIs and British soldiers far from home during the coldest, darkest days of winter.
That night, they set up an open-air stage in a field.

Fifteen thousand soldiers gathered to watch. Bing was joined by Dinah Shore and the Andrews Sisters.
They sang, they joked, they made the men laugh and holler—a brief moment of joy in the middle of a war zone.
Then came the closing number.
“White Christmas.”

The song had already become an anthem for homesick soldiers since its release in 1942. It played constantly on Armed Forces Radio. Men who hadn’t seen their families in years, who didn’t know if they ever would again, heard those opening notes and thought of snow-covered streets and Christmas trees and the homes they’d left behind.

As Bing began to sing, he looked out at the audience. Fifteen thousand men were crying. He had to finish the song. He had to maintain his composure and his vocal control while 15,000 soldiers wept in front of him. He told his nephew it was the toughest thing he ever had to do in his entire career.

What made Bing Crosby’s USO performances different from his Hollywood appearances were the small choices he made. He refused to wear his toupee. He hated the thing—called it a “scalp doily”-and wore it only when absolutely necessary for films.

But entertaining troops was different. “If I’m entertaining troops,” he said, “I’m not going to wear anything phony like a toupee. Forget it.”

He also insisted that officers and brass could not sit in the front rows. Those seats were reserved for enlisted men. The soldiers who would be on the front lines. The men who faced the greatest danger.

A few days after that performance in the field, those same soldiers were sent into combat. The Battle of the Bulge began on December 16, 1944. It was the largest and bloodiest battle fought by the United States in World War II.

The Germans launched a surprise offensive through the Ardennes Forest in a desperate attempt to split the Allied lines. Many of the men who had wept listening to “White Christmas” in that field in France never came home.

Bing Crosby tried to enlist when the war began. He was told he was too old. General George C. Marshall, the Army’s chief of staff, told him directly:

“Look, Bing, we don’t need you in the front lines. We need you raising money for the war effort.” He wasn’t just an entertainer to them. He was a piece of home. Bing never forgot it. 🙏♥️

Leftists who viscerally hate anything that reminds them of what America once was have smeared Bing Crosby as a nasty, hateful racist, bully, and two-bit tyrant who viciously ran roughshod over others and used his wife and children as punching bags—a distorted, unidimensional portrait which disgracefully omits the man’s finer qualities.

Notable anniversary

Posted on December 17, 2025December 17, 2025 by Mike

Nobody seems to know exactly on which date Ludwig Van Beethoven’s birthday falls, but what is known is that today, Decembef 17th, is the anniversary of his baptism. Which is all the excuse I need to run this.

Assuming I did that right, which I freely admit I may not have, the above vid should begin with the opening of the 2nd movement of my personal favorite of the Beethoven symphonies (ie, the oft-overlooked number 7), and carry on from there.

Just the 2nd and 3rd movements are my faves, I should say; the first movement is alright, I have no real gripe with it, but the 4th just leaves me altogether cold; for whatever reason, I just can’t get with it AT. ALL. Probably on account of I’m an idjit, I suppose.

Really, when it comes to the finales of Beethoven symphonies it’s pretty dang tough to top the triumphant, rousing finale of the famous 5th, sometimes spuriously referred to as the “Fate” Symphony*.

Yeeee-OOOWWWW! Man, music just does not GET any better than that, if you disagree, please keep it under your hat or I cannot be your friend anymore.

* It has been claimed that Beethoven said of the stirring “ dit-dit-dit-DAAAH” riff which opens the Fifth, “Thus Fate knocks at the door.” Hence, the “Fate” Symphony. This tale is almost certainly apocryphal, however; the most credible explanation of it I ever read was that the “Fate” moniker was actually coined by his secretary/publicist, who put it about to generate some extra buzz for his boss’s latest masterwork.

Laissez les bon temps roulez!

Posted on October 27, 2025October 29, 2025 by Mike

Allons danser de zydeco, churrens.

CJ makes that beautiful Stradella-Musette squeezebox all but talk, don’t he? Good, good stuff. If this next selection doesn’t bring a tear to your eye, better check yourself for a pulse immediately—because you probably aint’ got one.

Time for a little backstory on CJ and the Red Hots, I believe: CJ Chenier is the rebel son of legendary zydeco musician Clifton Chenier, whose Red Hot Louisiana Band CJ kept alive upon the old man’s demise, after casting off his own deep uncertainty regarding whether he could, or even should, assume his father’s role. In fact, the above video is taken from a show commemorating Papa Clifton ’s 100th birthday, featuring several extraordinary accordionists in addition to Chenier fils.

As Fate would have it, I have a little history with CJ and the Red Hots my own self. Back in my glorious NYC days, the Red Hots were scheduled to play the long-gone Tramps concert hall one night. The venue’s owner (Terry Dunne), knowing what a big fan of CJ Chenier I was, telephoned to inform me that I needed to haul some serious ass down to his joint for sound check, so’s he could introduce me to dem Ragin’ Cajuns.

So of course I did that thing. The band’s lineup was more or less the same as in the Austin City Limits vid up top, excepting the drummer. Offsetting this somewhat disappointing absence, Red Hots rhythm guitar/triangle virtuoso Harry Hippolite was present and accounted for, which saved the day from being a near-wipeout pour moi.

In the end, Harry, CJ, lead guitarist Rodney Bartholomew—hell, the whole lot—turned oout to be some of the nicest, friendliest, most easygoing folks you could ever hope to meet, and I consider myself blessed indeed to have made their acquaintance on that frabjous day. No oversize egos; no pretention; no falsity; no attempt to deride, belittle, or antagonize; no throwing around of (nonexistent) weight—just genuine, regular down-home folks who are glad and grateful to be wherever they are, and likewise glad to have you are there with ’em.

After kicking back with the fellas and chit-chatting about the kind of things salty old road dogs tend to talk sbout when they get together—dive bars, loose women, incompetent sound men, the chronic diarrhea brought on by a succession of greasy, grab-it-n-gobble-it meals day after day after day—Harry sidled up quietly to ask a question of me: as a resident of NYC, perhaps I might know where a guy could score himself a little weed?

Now it just so happened that at that time I was co-bartending every Friday night with this babe-a-iicious half-Thai chick who just so happened to be slinging some of the most ass-kicking skunk EVAR. So I went upstairs, made a quick phone call, and a deal was made. I semi-speed-walked sixteen blocks downtown and a cpl-three east of Tramps’ West 21st Street location, picked up the goods, walked back to Tramps, and voila! Just that quick and easy, the deed was done.

Back inside the quiet, near-deserted main room of Tramps, I nabbed a complimentary Tanqueray and tonic and lingered at the bar for a pleasant interlude confabbing with the fresh-off-the-boat fair Colleen behind the stick, Katherine by name, with whom I’d gotten very chummy in the course of my own many Tramps gigs.

Katherine closed our too-brief tête à tête with a lively but demure kiss (a seeming impossibillity I’ve never before or since known any woman to do) and merrily shooed me off to someplace else, saying she had a whole lot of work to do and not a whole lot of time in which to do it, so I headed back down to the Green Room to deliver my precious cargo. Harry nabbed the bag from my hand, twisted a tight, slender pin-joint, and sparked up. Everyone huddled up in a shoulder-to-shoulder circle and passed Harry’s handiwork around.

I mean, we fumigated the space with a sweet-smelling cloud of ganja smoke in short order! As the happy-stick made its appointed rounds, CJ gratefully assured me that henceforth I would have a guar-on-teed spot on the guest list, including a plus-one of my choosing, for any Red Hots performance I cared to attend, anywhere. Also, the promised guest-list spot had no expirstion date, would be a forever kind of thing. Taken aback by such unexpected generosity, I clasped CJ’s big hand and shook it heartily, which heartfelt yet insufficient gesture he double-trumped when he threw an arm around my shoulders and pulled me into a powerful bear-hug.

Good music; good friends; a righteous buzz; an impromptu private bash thrown in a large, well-kept dressing room; a comely young Irish lass who’d long since made it abundantly clear to me that she could be had mere steps away—I ask you, what more could a guy ask for?

Now if that ain’t a happy ending, I don’t know what would be.

PS: I felt it necessary to do this post because of BCE’s account of his recent N’Awliins adventure, for the edification (hopefully) of one of the commenters over there.

* No-Tell Motel, this would be; my smoking-hot fellow barkeep would on occasion bake a big batch of loco weed-spiked brownies to plate up and set out on the bar for Those Who Know to avail themselves of—which is how it came to pass that I got famed teetotaler Glenn Danzig stoned out of his gourd one fine Friday night, a hy-larious true-life tale I’m pretty sure I told here some years back

Politics ain’t beanbag

Posted on October 23, 2025 by Mike

Coomo gets down and dirty.

This is the wildest attack ad I’ve ever seen in politics. Andrew Cuomo pulling out all the stops. pic.twitter.com/rPQ77Z3bE7

— Stephen Taylor (@stephen_taylor)

October 23, 2025

OOOF! That’s gonna leave a mark for sure.

(Via Stephen)

The greatest pop-rock song yet written

Posted on October 20, 2025October 21, 2025 by Mike

That would be this one, of course.

Don’t insult my intelligence by trying to claim you never heard this one before, you liar. Part of what makes this a veritably flawless pop song is that 1) EVERYBODY has heard it before; 2) everybody likes it; and 3) everybody remembers it well.

There ya go, those three fulfill pretty much all the requirements.

The melody is so catchy and infectious it never really leaves your head, provided you aren’t a complete music-hater…which almost nobody actuallly is. The central guitar riff and fills are ditto, same-same with the vocal harmonizing and the call-and-response-style backing vocal in the turnaround. The rhythm is bouncy and eminently danceable, checking the last remaining box in confirmation of the song’s GOAT status.

Helping to advance the case still further is that all the performances are spot on, both instrumental and vocal, as are the mix, the editing, and the mastering. The lone questionable aspect here is the subject matter, which even so makes the whole enchilada stand out in the average person’s mind as unusual, even unique, thereby turning what might have been a minus into a plus. More proof, as if any were needed, is this YT commenter’s assessment:

@warpig4942
5 years ago (edited)

Almost 40 years…. still the most famous phone number on Earth.

Yep, no argument from me.

Lightning sure struck in a big way this time, not just for Tommy Heath and his band but for all of us.

Fare thee well

Posted on October 16, 2025October 17, 2025 by Mike

To Ace Frehley. founding member and for many years lead guitarist of KISS.

KISS founding member Ace Frehley dead at 74
KISS founding member reportedly suffered from a brain bleed last month

Jeezum H CROW, 74?!? Can that POSSIBLY be right? He’s actually, like, 35 or so, isn’t he?

KISS founding member Ace Frehley has died after suffering injuries from a fall last month. He was 74.

Frehley’s family confirmed his death to Fox News Digital.

“We are completely devastated and heartbroken. In his last moments, we were fortunate enough to have been able to surround him with loving, caring, peaceful words, thoughts, prayers and intentions as he left this earth,” the statement from his family said.

“We cherish all of his finest memories, his laughter, and celebrate his strengths and kindness that he bestowed upon others. The magnitude of his passing is of epic proportions, and beyond comprehension. Reflecting on all of his incredible life achievements, Ace’s memory will continue to live on forever!”

Well, if I have anything to say about it it damned sure will. Nothing personal here, but you can keep your Bruce Kulicks and your Vinny Vincents for all me—there’ll never be any other KISS lead guitarist but ACE as far as I’m concerned.

Inline update! Notice, if you will, at several points in the above solo Ace goes to the low-E string and it’s gotten so badly out of tune (flat, I mean) that he has to start pulling it hard sharp to make it sound right. Only a seriously good player would even think of such a stratagem in the heat of a high-pressure onstage moment. Which, Ace really WAS a much better guitarist than he ever got credit for being; there are quite a few clues to this home truth for those of us who know how to spot ‘em. In fact, only a seriously good player would be irritated enough by that one out-of-tune string to even think it needed addressing by anyone other than his guitar tech, after the solo and the song were over.

Farewell, Paul “Ace” Frehley, and thanks for everything.

Update! Annnnnd straight down a KISS rabbit hole I go.

Rabbit hole update! Yep, it’s a rabbit hole awright. A fun one, at least.

It’s always annoyed the hell out of me, how, whenever Ace goes into the solo, these cameramen cut to Paul Stanley and just sit there like knots on a friggin’ log. Never have understood that one, but they do it all the time, with just about every good band.

Which reminds me: a cpl-three days ago I ran across an interview with Bon Scott, wherein the interviewer asked him about AC/DC’s upcoming tour with KISS. Bon obliged, although he forgot the hell out of Gene Simmons’ name, calling him “Clint” or “Cliff” or some such. It was funny as all hell, I’ll have to see if I can’t dig that one up and attach it to this post.

Better days update! CARL Neiher Cliff nor Clint; it was Carl, dammit.

Pretty rarified circles the Bonny boy traveled in before dying too young, I must say.

Icky update! So I switch back over to the classical stream, click on “Play,” and what do I hear firsr thing but an ad for an upcoming show extolling the unbearable cacophonist Philip Glass and his amazing infuence on orchestral music. UGH! No sale, pally, it’s back to the KISS vids for me, thanks.

Musical notes

Posted on October 2, 2025October 2, 2025 by Mike

Had a few most excellent old tunes that I’d jdamned near forgotten about altogether pop into my empty head the other day, and I been a-movin’ and a-groovin’ to ‘em ever since. First up, Jack Rabbit Slim’s slashing, energetic “Rock-A-Cha.”

Next up, Travis and Bob’s cool old chestnut, “Tell Him No,” which I used to play with Mook in the Parodis.

Then, we have the legendary Sister Rosetta Tharpe and her great, great rendition of “Didn’t It Rain.”

I dunno, seeing Tharpe wailing on that SG Custom always felt sorta incongruous to me, perhaps because I never could stand an SG myself. Doesn’t seem to bother her any, though.

Lastly but by no means leastly, my own personal favorite of the whole bunch: Larry Finnegan’s strange but haunting 1962 earwig, “Dear One.”

What, you didn’t think I WASN’T gonna delve a little further into this one, did ya? COME ON, MAN! I DID say it was one of my all-timers, ya know.

Finnegan’s wavery falsetto on the intro immediately gives way to a deeper, more chesty man-voice for the rest of the song. It’s just one of several odd, quirky little aspects of this quirky little tune. Others include the spoken lines from the girl who done him wrong, echoing the B-part lyrics sung by Finnegan.

The sudden 180-degree shift in narrative point of view from Finnegan in the victim role to the cheating hussy in this section is almost jarring, but not quite. As the song moves along through, then gets back to the regular chorus-verse-chorus choogle of most pop/rock music, the uninflected, zombie-like recitation of the lame explanation for her faithless betrayal begins to sound funny, really.

Especially the final part, to wit: “But I lost my head/And I lost my heart/And I lost your love to him.” Whuuu….? Lost HIS love, you mean, not YOURS. Right? i mean, how the fug you gonna lose HIS love to etc, ya silly bint?!? Like I said: weird.

Leaving all the departures from standard pop-song form aside, the thing you really want to pay close attention to here is the drummer’s shuffle-beat paradiddling around on the snare. The jangly, tinkly piano is nice, as is the bass line, the guitars, the basic melody, all of it. But it’s the snare drum that drives this thing, that propels the song from run-of-the-mill teenybopper fluff right up into the hightest heights of truly unforgettable music. Once you home in on that snare, that’s it: you’re gone.

As you will no doubt realize straightaway, as inventive and unusual as the entire tune is, it’s that rolling, rollicking snare drum that really makes the whole thing git up and snort. I gots no idea who that drummer is/was, but he’s a bona fide genius—even doing them paradiddles the whole entire song, pretty much, he still never plays ‘em the same way twice.

Reminds me of BP’s drummer Mark, who played similar-type rolls and shuffle-beats on the snare himself, except he pounded them skins so durn viciously you coud almost hear the heads scream in agony. If I’m lyin’, I’m flyin’.

Update! Y’all prolly knew I’d just HAVE to do some poking around on this drummer business, din’tcha?

When it came to music, Larry counted Johnny Cash and Don Gibson as his two favorite artists. While at the university he and his older brother Vincent, then a senior at Boston College, wrote Dear One. They started knocking on the doors of record companies all over New York, but had no takers until they met Hy Weiss, the owner of the small but successful Old Town Records. Weiss had already produced such hits as So Fine by the Fiestas from 1959, and Let The Little Girl Dance by Billy Bland the following year, as well as Life Is But A Dream by the Harptones. Hy Weiss recognized Larry’s talent and saw the potential in Dear One. He also changed Larry’s last name from Finneran to Finnegan, figuring that dee-jays stood a better chance of remembering a common name like Finnegan.

Dear One was recorded at Mira Sound Studios, West 54th St., New York. According to Vincent Finneran, “There was no demo version of ‘Dear One’, just one recording with two takes. And the thing that made the song successful was the engineer Bill McMeekan. He put five microphones in and around the piano and three microphones on the drums which gave the song a unique sound. Dick Pitassy played piano. Two different girls sang on ‘Dear One’; one did the opening female lines and another did the later ones.”

One of the girls, Bambi LaMorte (today Mignon Lawless), remembers, “Larry dated one of my roommates (Sandy Bryant). I attended St.Mary’s College which is directly across the street from Notre Dame. I met Larry through Sandy. We would sometimes all hang out together. I was a music major and since I lived in Pelham, New York (about 20 minutes from Manhattan), Larry asked me if I would sing a female part on his recording. I said ‘Sure.’ We went to a recording studio somewhere in Manhattan over Thanksgiving vacation 1961 and recorded ‘Dear One’. The only professional musician was Gary Chester, the drummer. Larry felt it was important to have an experienced drummer. I believe there were two guitar players, both from Notre Dame. The only things I remember about that night were that the guitar players were not taking the recording seriously enough and kept making mistakes. Larry finally yelled at them and they shaped up. I don’t remember how many tries it took to get the original, but they did a lot of starting and stopping. I do remember that I had to do my part cold turkey, without any practice. I only sang the introduction to ‘Dear One’. They didn’t like the way I spoke the part, and overdubbed it later. I have no idea who the other woman singer is. Larry’s agent hired someone to do it. Larry and I went back to the studio one night and recorded a song we wrote together. I played guitar, he sang, and then we dubbed different instruments onto the recording. It was fascinating to experience his creativity at work.”

Jeez: two takes, no isolation, baffles, or sound damping, just ambient mics and roll tape boys! Sometimes it seems as if there’s a really cool story behind every hit song, out-of-nowhere artist, or recording-studio session, don’t it?

Happy birthday

Posted on October 1, 2025October 2, 2025 by Mike

Or birthday anniversary, at any rate, to one of the greatest pianists of the 20th century, Vladimir Samoylovich Horowitz.

The above vid is just random excerpts from a Teewee show I liked enough to tape on VHS years ago, called Horowitz Plays Mozart, wherein the recording studio session of the maestro playing Mozart’s wonderful Piano Concerto No 23 (K488) is captured—all three movements, plus a hilarious Q&A section with Horowitz as well.

The full version of the show is availabe for perusal on Da Toob also, and well worth chasing down.

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