Perhaps the bloom is off the rose. The new and exciting is no longer fresh. Have I become a circle? Thoughts, feelings, ideas that sound suspiciously familiar? I feel I’m long past that point. At this point, I’d rather be The Cyrkle. They had two, (yes both jangly and upbeat) two megahits. I’m still looking for my first. (Blog post, not book. A published book would be an insane kick.) A megahit blog post. A triple platinum blog post. A Triple Crown blog post.
I’m just not that good. Perhaps if I had more disgusting yet fascinating leftover presents from touch and go bout with fin and tail rot. Uncontrollable drooling is always a good one. Fail safe, that one. Incontinence is not. (And I’m not.) My left ear is still leaking ear-wax colored water from where it was lanced and drained last Friday. That’s not bad and even better, it happens to be true. Aha! My hormones have been located. They are hovering around Mars as they make their way home. (Metaphorically, have no doubt about the latter’s veracity. I tell you no lies. At least none of which I am conscious.)
But these are nothing to write home about.
While I have nothing physically disgusting or otherwise to report, I am ecstatic that the LP of Sam Samudio’s Hard and Heavy (1971, Atlantic) has been transferred to disk (Emmy-winning liner notes to boot) and has finally arrived! Duane Allman appears on two tracks. One of which I already own on one of the two Duane Allman Anthologies I have. For one fucking song, I bought the only copy of Hard and Heavy I could find anywhere. Someone was selling one on Ebay.
Now people, I have a working turntable and bought the upgraded Yamaha receiver (when I was up grading) because it had a phono jack. So I have not given up on vinyl though I am ashamed to say that I don’t play my records often. The stereo components live in one room, and the records, another. I can’t easily remedy the problem being that this is a “grown-up” living room not a dorm room. (Except it really is more like a dorm room now, so I can have easy access to my beloved corner of the couch) But what sucks is that I can’t just pop between rooms grab a few, play’em, and then grab some more. Fin and tail rot makes moving difficult, as you all well know.
While Duane was the impetus for this purchase and transfer to disk (an all-Duane session work playlist- the tasty just got tastier)- I was really hot on checking out the record. Sam Samudio, my friends, is Sam the Sham. Sam the Sham! Of Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs. Is that not crazy or what? Of course I had to have it. The man behind Wooly Bully? Count me in.
The music is good. It had to be. The irony for poor Sam. Atlantic issued a single of Sam singing a cover of Kris Kristofferson’s Me and Bobby McGee. He sung a quiet, wistful song. It was out a couple of months before Janis released hers. Forget it. Who remembers anything but that stellar version? She made it her song. Like Harry Nilssen took Badfinger’s Without You and transformed it. Joe Cocker with Dave Mason’s Feelin’ Alright? Like Aretha with Otis Redding’s Respect.
When Janis single came out. Atlantic pulled Sam’s off the market.
I say, Sam baby, yours still lives. With me. And it moves me. As it was supposed to.
Oh yeah, I really like music. Fin and Tail Rot notwithstanding.