ok, there was that one dance track

.

even i had to admit the nubby orange case was cool--and probably the only reason i allowed him to seduce me into listening to anything by the pet shop boys, much less their dance music.

but noblesavage turned out to be right on that long-ago night in 1993:  their version of go west was--and still is--really great.





[for those who don't understand the context of this post: it's because you're not reading the comments of previous posts.

for those who don't understand why the communist armies of the world are prancing about with gay abandon to the pet shop boys in the above video:  eat me--it was the best copy i could find. ]

guttermorality blogpost #588, in which mkf tries to redeem himself for guttermorality blogpost #587

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[i.e., another blast from the past that's been on high rotation lately]

so the other night eric clapton's cocaine comes up on shuffle as it does from time to time, and at some point after i settle in to enjoy its well-worn but eternally-cool groove--but before i allow its seductive strains to completely lull me back to its place and time--i suddenly remember it's really not eric clapton's cocaine at all.

it's actually j.j. cale's cocaine [just like it was j.j. cale's after midnight, but who's counting--right, eric?].

which got me thinking about j.j. cale, and about that day back in 1971 when my young, impressionable 14-year-old ass first heard the song which is the subject of this post and thus became aware of the existence of this guy who made music that was utterly unlike anything else on the radio at that time.

like pretty much everything else he's written, crazy mama has been covered by pretty much everybody under the sun--but unlike all the others, it's his own version of this one that's stood the test of time.

seriously, if you know a cooler song than this, please lemme know.

guttermorality blogpost #587, in which mkf reconnects with his inner teenybopper

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it's no deep, dark secret to regular readers of this blog that i compose my deepest, darkest posts to (a) liberal amounts of vodka, and (b) more often than not, a single bouncy pop song from my misspent youth upon which i fixate and set to "repeat" when it comes up on shuffle at the optimal moment in that particular night's alcoholic cycle.


and while the booze is integral to the creative process, the song selection is probably equally if not more so.  because to me, these songs aren't just songs, they're little aural drug pushes that last precisely as long as the music does--i.e., little two-and-a-half minute endorphin-loaded packages of happiness that, in combination with the booze, hold off the darkness long enough for me to actually write something.


songs such as the one that's the subject of this post, for instance.

*     *     *     *     *

 
yeah, she's from way back in the day and her flippy hairdo was tragically wrong for her face, but lesley gore was the britney spears of her day--and even though her signature song never did much for me, this all-but-forgotten follow-up ranks, imho, among the best pop records ever made.

she was all of 18, her voice was sublime, her song selection shrewd, and the impeccable, multi-layered production was, believe it or not, quincy jones at his early best.  and if all that's not enough, it turns out that despite all her protestations of boy trouble to the contrary, she was One Of Our People all along--who the fuck knew?

and, half a century later, maybe when lady gaga manages to come up with something even half as hooky as maybe i know, then maybe i'll start to pay attention to her scrawny, desperately-theatrical ass.

unless and until that happens, i'll stay down here in the dinosaur pit, pour myself another one and keep lil' lesley on repeat, thank you very much.