Month: March 2010

Gillian’s Found Photo #41

This week’s found photo was taken in Korea in the mid-60’s, and these young grunts are about to be deployed to Viet Nam, a place they probably didn’t know existed a few years before. Inner city cannon fodder for the military industrial complex, the guy on the right seems to know the score. I wonder how many of them made it back alive, and in what kind of shape?

I remember back in Florida in the late 70’s a group of crazed Viet Nam vets set up camp in a putrid piece of swamp under I-95 and took to robbing passing cars by posing as stranded motorists, and sometimes they’d knock over local drugs stores for their dope supply, keeping the cops at bay for over a year. No way the cops were gonna drudge through that gator invested muck to try and flush ’em out. Eventually they all escaped, I don’t think anyone was ever prosecuted. As for the above crowd, as later photos in the Fang’s collection show, they all would become Black Panthers while in Nam, more photos of them to follow.

Flamin’ Groovies #2

Cyril Jordan with 12 string, 1976.

I never saw this clip of Little Queenie before, from French TV, 1972.

Slow Death live at the Marquee, nice crotch point of view shots of James Ferrell.


Simply by being a great rock’n’roll band the Flamin’ Groovies always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. When the original line up was rockin’ out with albums like Supernazz , Flamingo, and Teenage Head, their hometown, San Francisco preferred bad acid rock jams (insert name of your least favorite Frisco band here). When the second, equally great line-up made their masterpiece Shake Some Action, which wasn’t released until 1976, it was the safety pin through the face crowd that ridiculed them, having bought the Clash’s line “no Elvis, Beatles and the Rolling Stones”, the Groovies were again deemed unfashionable. I’m amazed at how few good live tapes of the second line up have surfaced, but I stumbled upon a good one from L’Olympia, Paris, 1975 over at the Boogie Disease blog or use their direct link to the download (here). France was one of the few places that appreciated the Flamin’ Groovies. Although it sounds like it’s from an audience recorded cassette tape, the sound is better than the other two bootlegs from that era that I’ve heard (one from the Roxy in LA and another from the Roundhouse in London) and the performance and set list are fantastic, including tunes they didn’t play very often like Teenage Head, Sometimes (which Chris introduces as a Paul Revere & the Raiders tune, I guess he never heard Gene Thomas’ original), Shake Some Action (which they had to stop playing for awhile when Cyril injured his hand), as well as great renditions of the Pretty Things’ Big City, the Stones’ Miss Amanda Jones (one of five Stones covers here if you count Don’t Lie To Me and She Said Yeah, which the Groovies seemed to have learned from the Stones versions, Chris Wilson even introduces She Said Yeah as a Stones tune, again, perhaps unaware of the Larry Williams original). Anyway, the Groovies story has been told many times, and I won’t bother telling it again, but they will always be one of my favorite bands. If you can track down copies of Miriam Linna’s Flamin’ Groovies Monthly, a digest size fanzine she published when she took over their fan club from Greg Shaw in ’77, it’s one of the best fan mags of all time.
One funny story. When they played the Bottom Line in NYC after Shake Some Action came out, they stalled and stalled before going onstage, waiting for their coke dealer to show. When he didn’t turn up, they finally went on and halfway through the second song they spot the guy walking into the club. The promptly excused themselves from the stage, hit the dressing room, copped, got high, and returned to restart their set from the top, noticeably more energetic. I’ve never even seen Johnny Thunders’ do something that blatant, especially with their entire record company (all five Sire employees) in the audience. What a great band.

Hank Williams for Mother’s Best Flour

Hank in the Slammer, 1951.


 Hank in a good mood.



Hank Williams & the Drifting Cowboys

Hank Williams: The Ole Sorry Ass, Himself.
Hank on TV, except the camera doesn’t seem to be plugged in.
Hank Williams with the Drifting Cowboys in a peculiar pose.


Where the lost highway ended, Hank in his casket, 1953.


You’re not really dead unless you have the paperwork to prove it, Hank’s death certificate.

Dorks like Bruce Springsteen make a big deal about not taking advertising money, but that’s because they don’t need the money. I hate that holier than thou shit. Radio never played the Stooges, so if people hear ’em on TV commercials, good for the Stooges, who deserve a pay day.
Ray Charles (Pepsi), Jimmy Reed (Gypsy Rose Wine), Little Richard (Royal Crown hair dressing), Sonny Boy Williamson (King Biscuit Flour), the Rolling Stones (Rice Krispies), Dave Bartholomew (Jax beer) , and Howlin’ Wolf (C.V. Wine), all did commercials, and it didn’t hurt their music one bit. For several years Hank Williams did a morning radio show (this one, aimed at the rural farm crowd was 7:00-7:15 AM, ouch!) for various sponsors, the ones presented here were for Mother’s Best Flour. Here are five airchecks, they’re fifteen minutes each, and are presented exactly they way they were heard back in 1949-50 when they were aired. There are some songs he never recorded commercially as well as some of his hits. Even his wisecracks are sometimes pretty funny, and he’s singing his ass off on most of these tunes. Hell, even tin-eared wife Audrey doesn’t sound so bad. Enjoy: Hank Williams’ Mother’s Best Show: #1, #2, #3, #4 and #5.
Some fun facts about Hank Williams:
*His favorite song was Death Is A Dream, here’s the best version (by Rev. Edward Clayborn “the Guitar Evangelist”).
*His favorite saying was “Don’t worry, nuthin’s goin’ be alright anyhow”.
*He died from a combination of alcohol, morphine and chloral hydrate.
*Had he lived, he might have invented rockabilly, since in his final years he had chronic hiccups (the day before he died his doctor gave him two morphine shots for the hiccups).
*His real name was Hiriam, he named himself Hank as a kid.
* He charged admission to his second marriage (to Billy Jean Jones), and sold out four shows, so he married her four times (if they got divorced would he have had to pay four alimonies?).
* He’s playing the guitar solo on his version of My Bucket’s Got A Hole In It. He’s pretty good too.
* For a really great look at Hank’s final days, check out John Gilmore’s Laid Bare.

Doctor Ross

Doctor Ross holding his weapon at parade rest.


Waving goodbye, the last photo taken of Dr. Ross, 1993 (photo by Dan Rose)

 Playing left handed and upside down.

Some European TV Show, mid-60’s.


In his final months, still rockin’….



Charles Isaiah Ross was born in Tunica, Mississippi on October 21, 1925. That’s on Highway 61, about 40 miles south of Memphis, a few miles east of the Mississippi river. He wasn’t a real doctor, the title added to front of his name was a nickname said to come from his habit of carrying his harmonicas and a bottle of booze in a black, doctor’s bag. He was one of eleven children who grew up on a plantation, working the fields. His father Jake taught him to play harmonica. He did two stints in the army and by 1951 was back in Mississippi trying to make a living with his harmonica. Soon he was appearing on various radio stations including KFFA in Helena, Arkansas (where Sonny Boy Williamson hosted the King Biscuit Flour Hour), KLCN in Blyetheville, Arkansas, WROX in Clarksdale, Mississippi, and WDIA in Memphis where he was billed as “Medical Director of the Royal Amalgamated Association of Chitlin’ Eaters of America”. In 1951 he was one of the first musicians to be recorded by Sam Phillips at his newly christened Memphis Recording Service, and on November 21st of that year recorded several songs, two of which Phillips would send north to brothers Leonard and Phil Chess in Chicago who released them on their Chess label– Doctor Ross Boogie b/w Country Clown (Chess 1504), on which Ross was accompanied by only guitarist Wiley Galatin (although the label credited “his Jump and Jive Boys”, only Ross and Galatin can be heard on the record). It was a good a start in show biz, although not a hit, it was certainly a unique sounding record. Although quite rare today in its original Chess pressing, someone must have bought it because Phillips called Ross back for another session in early ’52, this time Ross was playing guitar himself, upside down since he was left handed, and brought along pianist Henry Hill and the clattering washboard playing of Reuben Martin. Five or more songs were recorded that day, none of which saw release until the 70’s when they’d show up on various Arhoolie and Charley albums, the best of which was a version of Polly Put The Kettle On, a song much older than the blues. A year later Phillips had Ross back in the studio again, this time without the piano player, and among the tunes he waxed were his first Sun release– Chicago Breakdown b/w Texas Hop (Sun 193), a clattering, rocking, boogie on both sides of the shellac. Another year passed, by now Ross was mastering his one man band approach to music, playing guitar, harmonica and drums simultaneously. But when Phillips recorded him in July of ’54 (only weeks before Elvis’ first session) he used Tom “Slam Hammer” Troy on second guitar and drummer Bobby Parker, although I can’t hear a second guitar, perhaps one of them was unplugged. The disc issued from that session– Boogie Disease b/w Jukebox Boogie (Sun 212) was an absolute classic, and perhaps the finest song ever written about the clap (the Flamin’ Groovies would re-arrange it and record it as Dr. Boogie on their 1971 classic Teenage Head, giving themselves writing credit). “I may get better, but I’ll never get well…gimme one of them penicillin shots”! shouts the good Doctor over a distorted blues shuffle. Phillips would record Ross only one more time in a solo session from which no discs would be issued until the titles showed up on an Arhoolie LP (and later extended CD) in the 70’s and the Charley Sun Blues Box in the 80’s.

Meanwhile, Ike Ross as his friends knew him packed up and headed north looking for work, landing in Flint, Michigan (later home to ? & the Mysterians, the greatest and longest running American rock’n’roll band ever, and Terry Knight & the Pack who would morph into Shea Stadium packing Grand Funk Railroad). Ross got a job on the G.M. assembly line, which he would hold down for the next thirty years, from here on music would be a sideline.
On the music front, in 1958, Doctor Ross tried his hand at the record biz, releasing his next disc on his own DIR (guess what that stand for?) label– Industrial Boogie b/w 32-20 (DIR 101). Although recorded with just an acoustic guitar, Industrial Boogie showed the change in his music working on the assembly line brought. His sound now had the churning, propulsive rhythm of an automobile plant. But running your own label after eight hours on the line is hard work, and he would release no more discs on DIR. In 1959 he was recording for Jack and Devora Brown’s Fortune label, and backed by a group called the Orbits, about which we know nothing other than their name, he cut his greatest masterpiece– Cat’s Squirrel b/w The Sunnyland (Fortune 857), it’s thundering beat takes the normal blues/boogie shuffle and turns it into a supercharged throb. The tune would be covered by U.K. rock bores Cream in ’68, I hope Ross got a big check out of that deal.
Doctor Ross was back in Fortune’s back room studio in 1961 where he recorded with Little Joe’s Band, a double sided winner– Cannonball b/w Number’s Blues issued on Fortune’s HiQ subsidiary (HiQ 5027), and again in ’63 recording as a one man band on Call The Doctor b/w New York Breakdown (HiQ 5033). His fourth session (date unknown) saw him backed by a group called the Disciples of Soul and the single issued as Fortune 538– Sugar Mama b/w I’d Rather Be An Old Woman’s Baby Than An Young Girl’s Slave was released. Fortune had amassed enough tunes to issue an LP, bearing the same unweildly title as his last b-side, it featured such classics as I Am Not Dead and My Black Name Ringing as well as the best of his Fortune 45’s.
By 1965 the white blues audience had “rediscovered” (as if he’d been lost) Doctor Ross, who was recorded solo at the University of Chicago and then again for the Testement label. He began doing package tours of Europe were he entertained other blues singers on the tour bus by dancing something called “The Flying Eagle”. He cut an LP on Blue Horizon called The Flying Eagle, so rare only a handful of copies have ever been seen. He also cut live LP’s in Germany, Switzerland and maybe a few others I missed out on. He even had a track on the Grammy winning LP Rare Blues in 1981. In Japan, P-Vine issued a now rare LP of his best Sun recordings. Despite all this activity he still worked at G.M. to pay the rent and it’s unlikely he ever saw any royalties other than some songwriting mechanicals for Cream’s version of Cat Squirrel. He finally retired from G.M. in 1992. A year later, a day before he was to begin filming his first film role, in Dan Rose’s Wayne County Ramblin’ (an indie feature starring Iggy Pop along with appearances by Jeff “Mono Man” Connelly, the late Bill Pietsch, the Dirtbombs’ Mick Collins, Nathaniel Mayer (the narrator), Tav Falco, Lorette Velvette, and Otha Turner amongst others), he died of a heart attack. I was supposed to have him on my radio show a few days later. Doctor Ross was as great and unique an artist as had ever been heard in American music, and one of only two to have cut sides for both Sun and Fortune Records, perhaps the two greatest and strangest labels ever (the other was Johnny Powers). An illustrated discography can be found here. Doctor Ross, they sure don’t make ’em like that anymore. Come to think of it, they only made one of ’em like that back then.

Gillian’s Found Photo #40

“A few lives were taken in defense of life, home or property but most occurred in what Kentucky law terms “sudden heat of passion”. Such cases arise in “sudden affray”, when the killer is aroused by such provocation on the part of the person slain as “is reasonably calculated to arouse the passions of an ordinarily prudent person beyond his control”. When such a killing occurs, Kentucky law permits the jury to reduce the homicide from murder to manslaughter and to impose a relatively lenient prison sentence. This is precisely what occurred in most cases.” –from Night Comes To The Cumberlands by Harry M. Caudill (Jesse Stuart Foundation, 2001)