Archive for the ‘Music’ Category

Doo-Wop Shambhala

agharta.gif
Originally a B-side to “The Lonely One”, Sheriff and The Ravel’s “Shombalor” (1959, Vee-Jay Records, 306) is a massive slab of on-the-spot mic poetry, otherwise known as Doo-Wop. A different spelling of “Shombolar” was used on Songs The Cramps Taught Us, Volume One (2001). It’s possible that the song name printed on the original Vee-Jay record label was a mis-spelling of what the group called their tune: it certainly sounds like “shombolar” when they sing it. I’m sticking with The Cramps’ revisionist version of “Shombolar”.

I’m guessing that Sheriff and The Ravels were a black group, because that’s the Doo Wop demography if not its constituency, and I’d say they were from Chicago, because Vee-Jay was based there. But I don’t know for sure. They’ve a heavy, steady rockabilly sound — probably why The Cramps dug the disc — anchored on slap bass, rim-shot drums, treble guitar and, I think, a tinkle of piano in the background. Beyond the bass undertones, the vocals including the lead are mid-range and don’t venture into the outer space tones of, say, The Four Seasons’ Frankie Valli. The guitar intro, flamenco-ing octaves up and down in double-quick time, is worth the price of admission.

I first heard “Shombolar” on Songs The Cramps Taught Us, Volume One and it immediately jumped ahead of The Chips“Rubber Biscuit” (1956, Josie Records, Josie 803) in my mind’s ear. “Shombolar”, like “Rubber Biscuit”, has running through it echoes of reform school marching rhymes (see the Wikipedia entry for The Chips). It’s “Go left, right, left, right” refrain and the lines, “I love left foot stomp and-a right foot drag, ‘n-a / Hey it’s good to march!” add a layer of reflexive sharpness to the song’s expression of culture and make the cultural link between Doo Wop and the criminal justice system even more explicit than The Chips’ rhythmic-linguistic allusions do. “Shombolar” is as much a prison song as Sam Cooke’s later and more famous tune, “Chain Gang” (1960, RCA Victor, 47-7783).

Either way of spelling/pronouncing “Shombalor” is similar enough to Shambhala, the mythopoeical predecessor to the fictional Shangri-la, to merit mention. Maybe there was a girl with an ebonic phonetic moniker involved. This usage may even be a popular memory trace of the 1930s and 40s fictional comic book and radio crime fighter, The Shadow, who was trained in mystical Shamballah. Even though The Shadow radio programme went off air in 1954, there is evidence that his influence persisted in rockin’ n’ rollin’ minds. Link Wray used The Shadow’s sinister moralising catchphrase, “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!” at the start of his instrumental “The Shadow Knows” (1964, Swan Records, S-4171). Or perhaps members of the vocal group came across Shambhala in contemporaneous references to the Dalai Lama’s escape from Tibet and into India on 31 March 1959, which was all over the news, and incorporated it as a motif in their new tune.

Check The Hound’s archive for “Shombolar”: hear this howlin’ rave and die! Alternatively, Songs the Cramps Taught Us, Volume One is still available from all good record shops. You can even get “Shombalor” legitimately for the first time outside of the vintage record racks, since it was reissued on the Vee-Jay Definitive Collection LP in August 2007. I imagine that the sleeve notes on the latter would provide a much needed supplement to this speculative post.

In an attempt to enhance your listening experience, I’ve transcribed the words as I hear them. I’d be happy to accept plausible suggestions for alterations.

“Shombolar”

Go left, right, left right
Go left, right, left right
Go left, right, left right
Go left, right, left right

(Oh lady) Shombolar, (Oh lady) Shombolar, (Oh lady)
Chickenin’ out and then a-root for it, chicken ‘n-a, Shombolar

Baby, d’y'wanna move out, do it now?
Ya gettin’ on the countdown, please?
Baby, wha’ the fuck do you need, now?
Ya gettin’ on the catfish knees? ‘n-a
I love swing-ding,
Rickey-bing you’re a healthy one, hubba!
And it’s known to some that-a jigga-wah
I love pick-’em-up and lay-’em-down

(Oh lady) Shombolar, (Oh lady) Shombolar, (Oh lady)
Chickenin’ out and then a-root for it, chicken ‘n-a, Shombolar

And it’s gonna — Wine-o Buy-No
Frees Jackie Frankenstein-oh,
Maybe Jackie came to dine, ‘n-a
Forgettin’ on he stole my wine, ‘n-a
Asks George “You bing, you bong, you bong?”
Leaves Jimmy Jones, he skipped to one, a-hubba
And it’s known to some that-a jigga-wah
I love pick-’em-up and lay-’em-down

(Oh lady) Shombolar, (Oh lady) Shombolar, (Oh lady)
Chickenin’ out and then a-root for it, chicken ‘n-a, Shombolar

Of all the animals in the world,
I’d rather be a bear (Raar!)
Climb the highest mountain,
Double to the rear.

(Oh lady) Shombolar, (Oh lady) Shombolar, (Oh lady)
Chickenin’ out and then a-root for it, chicken in-a, Shombolar

I love fat man mambo,
Baby, do the king of the jungle,
You can only get it from the Congo
And you try to get it deftly

I love left foot stomp and-a right foot drag, ‘n-a
Hey it’s good to march!
And it’s known to some that-a jigga-wah
I love pick-’em-up and lay-’em-down

(Oh lady) Shombolar, (Oh lady) Shombolar, (Oh lady)
Chickenin’ out and then a-root for it, chicken ‘n-a, Shombolar

Of all the animals in the world,
I’d rather be a bear (Raar!)
Climb the highest mountain,
Double to the rear.

(Oh lady) Shombolar, (Oh lady) Shombolar, (Oh lady)
Chickenin’ out and then a-root for it, chicken ‘n-a, Shombolar

Go left, right, left right [to fade, in a call-response duet with the lead singer]


Posted by Neil on November 26, 2007 at 1:58 pm
Tags: Counterculture, Music, Proletarian Postmodernism, Sound, The Unexplained
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The Imagined Village: Update — Lost in England

The Imagined Village’s Myspace is a roaring success! They only signed up on 26 September and as of today they’ve already gathered 77 friends (including Tom)! That must be nearly all the villagers in England. Or all the participants. And I’m sure things will pick up during their November tour — concert dates to include question and answer sessions — by the end of which they’ll have raised a veritable duststorm of popular discussion among The People and have a workable popular definition of what “the English identity” is up and running in no time!


Posted by Neil on October 19, 2007 at 5:45 pm
Tags: Music, Regionalism, antiquarianism, ventriloquism
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Provincial Swimming

WMFU’s Beware of the Blog yesterday featured a video from Rustic Hinge and the Provincial Swimmers, whose joyful embracing of ruralism was coupled with its despoilation through generic counterculturalism plus cross-dressing (whether in tribute to the antient custom of molly dancing).

The session that Rustic Hinge did for John Peel hasn’t made it on to The Perfumed Garden yet.

I’d like to think that Roger Deakin (obtuaries here and here) was inspired by Rustic Hinge’s provincial swimming as he researched his swimmer’s journey in advance of writing Waterlog.


Posted by Neil on October 18, 2007 at 7:01 am
Tags: Counterculture, Individualism, Music, Sound, antiquarianism, hauntiquarianism
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Straining Towards A Dubjective Geophonics

Arvid Tomayko-Peters makes music, which he calls geophonic, from time series data, producing tonal pieces that can be manipulated by the listener and played any which way — faster, slower, backwards and forwards. His main work to date is an installation that plays geological data relating to climate changes over 5.3 million years. What’s more, he’s created sequencing software called Maestro Frankenstein that’s intended to enable others to produce similar results from other time series data. As he says: “Although designed with geologic data in mind, Maestro Frankenstein creates a score from any timeseries data and plays it back in realtime with any instrument (MIDI, VST or built-in synth) that you specify.”

goughmap1360.jpg
Gough map of East Anglia, c.1360, from Foxearth.org.uk

I’m trying to get my hands on time series data sets relating to regional socioeconomics in the UK, specifically the eastern counties, that I could work on and make music from. It’s early days yet, but I’ve got it in my mind to produce a tonal representation of retail, transport and certain geophysical data as part of my attempt to map in intrapersonal detail my journey out of the eastern counties. Any links to and hints about relevant material gratefully received.

Clearly, there are problems with using empirical socioeconomic data in versioning the people, not least of which is its pre-determined structuration of the archive. I’m with Doreen Massey and Benjamin Keith Belton in regarding the archive as simultaneous space/flow rather than a series of knowledge paths — no matter how local or how deeply trodden.


Posted by Neil on October 5, 2007 at 1:34 pm
Tags: Eastern counties, Ecology, Music, Proletarian Postmodernism, Regionalism, Sound, Spatiality, antiquarianism, hauntiquarianism, hauntology
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The Glass Harmonica: Liminal Instrumentation, Affective Harmonics and the Dubjective Absence of Hauntology

I was having a coffee in central Brighton yesterday when I stopped mid-conversation to try to hear more of what sounded like tiny bells, high-pitched organ notes or a soft but insistent soprano voice — but not quite any of those things — cutting through the industrial noise of a busy coffee shop. Having worked out that it was music playing, rather than the sound of my soul, I asked at the counter.

The woman operating the froth machine didn’t know what the tune was, saying they just played the CDs given to them by HQ. So I went to the Classical Longplayer in Duke Street, where I always go to ask about music I don’t know much about. I still prefer this method of finding out — drifting towards someone who’ll know — to searching the internet. The owner told me immediately what it was: I’d been hearing the sound of the glass harmonica. But he didn’t have anything to sell me.

Back in the dry indoors, a few minutes of searching hooked me up with loads of weird trilling and head-aching harmony. As you’ll see, the sound is much as you’d expect: it’s the high chime of fingers rubbing glass rims.

William Zeitler’s Hong Kong performance of “Venus” has got the lot: exoticism, Orientalism and even hauntiquarianism in the shape of re-enactment in sound, vision and language (he prefers to call his instrument it by its alternate olden name, the glass armonica).



His version of “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” melds weird camp and popular musical historicism. Adorno would have loved this.



“The Glass Harmonica” (1968), an allegorical short feature by Russian animator Andrei Khrjanovsky, silently ventriloquises the affectivity of the human will amplified through creative interventions (see part one and part two on Youtube). Khrjanovsky refigures the instrument as a glass lyre, virtually dematerialising the glass harmonica as constructed by Benjamin Franklin and replacing it with a portable cipher suitable for an itinerant bard. Its harmonics are reimagined in a score written by Alfred Schnittke, with the unique and unwieldy industrial instrument represented by more accessible and versatile instrumentation, including flute, violin, celesta, organ, piano, tubular bells, tape effects and, way down in the mix, a suspicion of glass harmonica.

Khrjanovsky_glass_harmonica_1

Vera Meyer’s folksy renditions of the glass harmonica “pops” keep her feet firmly on the street, from where she presents a pleasing mix of music and historical factoids.

Not affected by the keening of glass vibrations, Meyer tells her ever-changing audience that the weird harmonies of the glass harmonica might cause “convulsions in dogs and cats, marital disputes and wake people from the dead.” The pitch and harmony of Meyer’s performances are significantly different from Zeitler’s: Zeitler makes melifluous sounds, while Meyer produces tones that are hard to endure. I can believe that the dead would wake up if Meyer was playing outside their place.

Some 18th century critics suggested that exposure to the glass harmonica’s harmonics might be injurious to nervous people and could potentially induce morbid feelings and depression. The same could be said of any musical instrument. If you’ve a tendency towards depression or obsessions, you’ll find a focus for those feelings in your environment.

The weird sound of the glass harmonica produces an effect in the listener beyond the movement of air. As a recorded sound, it’s familiar due to its nearness to the noise made by a wet finger on a wine glass. But with such clarity of tone and available combinations of harmonics, it’s the sound of nothing you’ve ever heard before. It’s not the start-up sound of a difference engine. It’s a recalibrated machine from The Past that affects the weirdness of our immediate perception. It is being and becoming and was and is the sound of the thing that it is. Familiar, yet unknown, its sound lies a little further off in experiential space.

Playing the glass armonica

Now play the brittle armonica yourself, courtesy of The Franklin Institute Science Museum, Philadelphia, PA.


Posted by Neil on October 2, 2007 at 7:20 am
Tags: Music, Sound, hauntiquarianism, hauntology
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