Bob Koch
Your dedicated crate digger is back with another report on what music can still be found in the bargain bin. Although the prices for used albums by well-known artists just keep going up, there remains a lot of interesting music to be found for a buck or two. And as long as sellers keep chucking lesser-known LPs in the bargain bin — in stores or online — it will keep this perpetually curious writer occupied.
Bob Koch
The well of obscure rock band albums issued by Mercury Records from the 1960s on sometimes seems inexhaustible. (An LP by a band called Dry Dock County is one I'm on the hunt for currently, after finding a 45 from their lone Mercury LP a few months back.) Streetwalkers is more familiar than some, judging from seeing a couple of the band's mid-1970s albums in the bins at various times over the years. A self-titled effort from 1975 recently hit markdown status at MadCity, so here we go. In this case, it turns out I do recognize many of the folks who perform on Streetwalkers, which was instantly evident on hearing the singer: Roger Chapman, late of British rock-folk-prog outfit Family. Chapman's frequent songwriting partner, guitarist Charlie Whitney, is along for the ride here as well. Also in the group is Bob Tench, former vocalist for the Jeff Beck Group. And in researching the record I learned the drummer, credited only as Nicko, is Nicko McBrain, behind the kit for Iron Maiden since 1982.
Much of this album takes a more straightforward rock direction than the Family albums I've heard, albeit with Chapman's inimitable vocal style giving the proceedings some edge. At times it reminds me of Nazareth, at others it almost takes on the radio-friendly blues-rock sheen of Bad Company. But there are a couple folkier moments, as well as a heavy reinvention of "Crawfish," from the Elvis film King Creole. So...as with Family's albums, Streetwalkers refuses to be pigeonholed. In typical Mercury fashion, there is a slight bit of shenanigans in how the album is titled. Though this is self-titled in the U.S., it's known as Downtown Flyers elsewhere, because it was the project's second album following one that was officially issued as a Chapman-Whitney duo release (called Streetwalkers). Their other '70s studio albums also came out in the U.S., but none hit the Billboard charts. (Mercury SRM-1-1060, 1975)
Jazz may not be the first thing that comes to mind for music fans who are familiar with Homer & Jethro. The long-running duo came to fame playing countrified versions of both pop and country hits, and they recorded prolifically from the mid-1940s until the early 1970s when guitarist Henry "Homer" Haynes died suddenly of a heart attack. Anyone who likes country and has a sense of humor probably already has a soft spot for the duo's records. More likely forgotten today is that both Haynes and Kenneth "Jethro" Burns were musical virtuosos. During their early years with King Records, they were go-to studio musicians across genres, while also making their own records. Their musicality also comes through during 20-plus years of recordings for RCA, but as the years went on the music often took a backseat to the humor.
Following the death of his musical partner Haynes, mandolinist Burns resurfaced in the mid-1970s as a performer on several albums that defy easy classification. Live, a 1980 Flying Fish release, is a perfect example. If I had to give this an overall genre tag, it's pretty much jazz. (It's perhaps telling that the incorrect insert inside the cover of my copy is a catalog for the German-based ECM label, an outfit legendarily unconcerned with sticking to one genre.) Or, more accurately, the music on Live is swing; there are two Django Reinhardt numbers, a Duke Ellington/Count Basie mashup, and jazz-pop standards such as "Avalon" and "Autumn Leaves." I'm not familiar with the members of his band for this album, but maybe I should be. They provide able backing, both acoustic and electric, for wherever Burns' fleet-fingered mandolin shredding takes them, from the swinging numbers to a nearly rock-ish version of the 1950s Bill Monroe song "Scotland." The album is all instrumental, but for Burns' emceeing and a couple comedy segments. And as with his other work of the era I've heard, it's seriously joyful music to listen to, no matter what you call it. (Flying Fish 072, 1980)
Bob Koch
Next up, a record I did not have high hopes for...but the concept and cover were different enough that I couldn't leave it. Blowin' a New Mind by Phil Driscoll is on the Word label, of all places — "the finest name in Sacred Music," as self-described on the back cover. The album package, subtitled "A trumpet trip" on the labels, is some hippie-era pandering of the highest order, from the colorful front cover to the even more colorful liner notes on back. "Every so often you run across an album that rocks you back in your chair, starts your pulse racing...blows your mind. This is one of those albums. It's easy to see that music today has diverged into many branches of expression, and perhaps one of the most limitless of those is 'heavy.'" Umm...OK. This music is heavy not in the way I define that word, at least. It sounds most like Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass if the TJB had a harpsichord player. That's not at all to say this is bad music; it's very well produced and played, and there are inventive, jazzed-up arrangements of standards such as "Peace in the Valley" and "Down by the Riverside." As an instrumental easy listening trumpet album it's certainly a change of pace for the Word label, but anyone sucked in by the cover and notes will not find trippy numbers or heavy moments. Picking up this sort of album is a good way to learn a bit of music history, when you bother to dig a bit. In this case, I learned Phil Driscoll is a Grammy-winning composer and performer. According to Wikipedia he crossed between the sacred and secular worlds in the 1970s, writing for Blood, Sweat and Tears and playing with Joe Cocker before focusing exclusively on Christian music and ministry later in the decade. He's still very active in that field to this day. (Word WST-8497, 1970)
Bob Koch
OK, back to the rock. Call of the Wild by Max Demian is a record I had not seen previously, and somewhat unsurprisingly this is a promo copy. Max Demian is not a guy, it's a five-piece band, presumably named after the titular character and/or imaginary friend in the Herman Hesse novel Demian. This record does something capably that I have not heard too many bands pull off: Replicating the twitchy-glossy rock sound of The Cars, but still sounding original. I didn't find too much about this group online. There is an earlier RCA album with the unwieldy band name AKA the Max Demian Band. They must have been from Florida. And it's possible main songwriter-singer Paul Rose is still playing in the Santa Fe, New Mexico, area. (There is another Paul Rose who is a fairly well-known British guitarist, which makes searching a bit more difficult.) In any case, I like this record a lot, and will keep an eye out for the other one. (RCA AFL1-3525, 1980)
