
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
5 comments | Permalink
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.”

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
2 comments | Permalink

Following hard on the trail of my previous post about Edward Summerton, on Friday evening I encountered another artist working in the long gouache shadow of Ladybird book images.
Christopher Noulton’s recent paintings begin in the viewer’s mind with the commercial style of 1960s Ladybird book illustrations, although he starts the ball rolling with with careful research and 3D models and works on to produce pictures comprising intertextual images that reappear in multiple canvases. Taken individually and/or collectively, Noulton’s narratives revision the mundaneity of image-nostalgia by making realistic representations of his ideal originals that underscore their great affectivity. He creates dioramic narratives that figure in minute detail the decal-perfect imaginary of a historicist enthusiast.
Noulton figures the comings and goings of an extended ideal community acting out an ideal past of utopian possibilities long after its historical moment has departed. His characters are lit from within by his manipulation of pigment, his understanding of their historical image provenance and by his technically brilliant refiguring of the commercial art techniques used to animate their Ladybird forebears.
But Noulton is not reproducing idealised versions of childhood or attempting to recreate intact moribund representations of ideal rural or suburban locations. He prefers to isolate his characters and images and pull focus. Pulling back, he reveals the precise location of Davey the milkman’s milk float on a Y-juntion, for example. And, focusing further in, he lights on a unhappy-looking child from the 1950s stands uncomfortably outside a 1930s deco detached house. Doing so, Noulton calls to mind and questions the strangeness in conjunctions of images — of childhood, ideal landscapes, utopian architecture, etc. — that are often subject to nostalgia. We should question why TV prgrammes about the 1970s, for example, tend not to feature images/products/landscape interventions from previous eras.
In other paintings, Noulton’s weird landscaping — placing a 1960s Commer milk float in front of a 1930s white deco house or block of flats, or locating the aforementioned deco building on a lonley green heath or moor — queers the pitch of those who may want to bandy accusations that he’s appealing to people’s cultural homesickness. His conscious confusion of image subjects and subject positions — placing familiar types in unusual locations or using The [generic, recent] Past ironically as the context for specific interventions — directs the viewer to the intent and affectivity of his own works and those he’s working from. He paints signposts to and memorials for nostalgia.

Noulton’s previous work has included paintings of his findings during road trips up and down and side to side throughout the British Isles in search of rural ritual happenings, including one of the Whittlesea straw bear. He’s also made a graphical website called Rite Peculiar, which is a fictionalised version of this series of investigative journeys.
For nostalgic context and comparison, if you doubt my antiquarian way of seeing and doing things, you might like to see how others choose to ride The Past without the benefit of hauntology or psychogeography — or, indeed, anything — in which case, go to Yesterday’s World. I’ve a lot more to say about The Past and I’ll do so in future posts.
Honk for hauntiquarianism!
Posted by Neil
on September 30, 2007 at 3:14 pm
Tags: Anthrogenic nature, Art, Ecology, Ladybird books, Proletarian Postmodernism, hauntiquarianism, hauntology
2 comments | Permalink
I’d wasted more than half my life listening out for the ultimate monster earthquake history-killing punk-blues teenage feedback riff-fuck. And I’d wasted more than the other half trying to make music from unitary sounds I’d collected in my conscious fear of their presence. At some point in the past decade I stopped collecting songs and listening out for patterns and started describing the imaginary music that had left its constantly replaying imprint on me. All of a sudden, over a period of three or four years, I became dizzy with the truth: the finest tunes exist in the imagination.
I and I (and, indeed, I) am thee Rockhaunter. Keen hauntiquaries, or hauntiquarians, we poke into and recreate antiquarian sounds in our imaginings and in uttering thoughts about them. I’m no specialist, so I can’t get with “hauntology” — although I grok it and groove on its skittering blueprint surface. Also, I don’t simply regard the sublime and then cast theory with genuflections: I swim and cavort in it. I don’t consider the shadow tracks of unknown sounds as the memories of things that have never been present: in my dubjective sensing, these are unheeded frequencies. I don’t categorise the Unexplained or the Reimagined as monolithic footnotes to ‘the weird’ or ‘the uncanny’: I let the voices talk through my ventriloquising.
Is hauntology in music and visual culture a reinvention of historicism with weird contingencies replacing science? Why do hauntologists seek place-specificity? What makes hauntology different from psychogeography, deep topography or general critical theory? How is hauntology different from other re-educationalist projects in popular culture (like psychogeography and record collecting) that tackle both nostalgia and entrenched academicism head on with purposeful revisionism?
My hauntiquarian nose smells an attempt by radical minds to create an imaginary national epic of collective possibilities. I wonder what such an epic would sound like.
Watch me now. I’m thee Rockhaunter. The ghostly harmony killer. Versioning the people. With a sheet over my head.
Coming soon:— Rockhaunter, No. 1, Halloween Hauntology Special
Posted by Neil
on September 21, 2007 at 7:56 pm
Tags: Film, Music, Proletarian Postmodernism, Spatiality, antiquarianism, hauntiquarianism, hauntology, ventriloquism
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It is written. The last of the lost issues have been typed up. Finally. And here they are. For your brief amusement.
Rockhunter, Issue 15, October 2004 and Rockhunter, Issue 17, February 2005 were both distributed in the Heart and Hand pub and in Borderline Records, Brighton.
That only leaves the first four issues to sort out. But I’ve decided to leave them for the time being. The originals were actually fairly weighty tomes, tipping the scales at about 40 pages per issue on average. That’s too much typing when there’s other things to be done and better things to see than a screen.
All the best
Neil
Posted by Neil
on September 20, 2007 at 12:55 pm
Tags: Proletarian Postmodernism, Sound, The Troggs, hauntiquarianism
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