ég er john seven

There is only a brief window of time in musical history that anything sounding like this could even happen. Sure enough, this album from the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, apparently the finest new wave Tennessee had to offer, landed smack dab in the middle of that range - 1980. Bonus - it comes with a poster! Many of the songs address the nightmare of nuclear disaster, as well as science fictiony other stuff, along with herky-jerkiness and long, guitar geek solos. I’ve owned the thing for 25 years and I’ve never been able to make it through the whole thing …

Somehow - luck? grace? cunning? - I avoided the whole Slim Goodbody thing when I was a kid. This record is from 1977 and claims that John Burstein started doing the Slim Goodbody thing in 1974, so I was the total target age, I think, but I never even heard of him till the 1980s, probably when I was college age. Thank goodness for small favors. If you are in the mood for a disco song about skin warbled by some guy with bad hair and an unusual body suit, then you are in luck. My only concern is whether I file this record under S or G.

I picked up this 1986 record in a place in Cape Breton - it was in a box of records in the corner of the store. It’s from Newfoundland, and part of it was, charmingly enough, recorded at the O Happy Sight Motel in St. John’s. August Majcan is the accordion player. This song is sung by Glenn Brown, who also wrote it. It’s a bit of a finger wag at people who think Christmas is just about partying and don’t look at it with any reverence. Brown also took the odd photo on the front. The Santa costume was provided by The In Thing.

This band either escaped my attention in the 80s, or I just ignored them. This album is actually from 1979. Yachts was apparently the band that couldn’t - they went out on tour supporting Elvis Costello, Joe Jackson, The Who, they originally signed with Stiff Records at the same time Costello, Nick Lowe, and Madness were there. An original incarnation of the band apparently opened steadily for the Sex Pistols. They had that corny, poppy New Wave thing with irreverent lyrics going. Nothing. They do have one thing they can brag about though - in the quick sale bins of 2012, they fetch $2 instead of $1, and that’s at least saying something, right?

Here’s a song from a GREAT lost 80s album by a great lost 80s band. I picked this up for 25 cents the exact year it came out, 1984. You can read their bio here, but in essence they seemed like a band always on the cusp of breaking through, but it never quite happened for them. Some form of the band seem to have tried to released an album a few years ago, but I can’t find any evidence that it is something you can actually purchase. Bowie sideman Mick Ronson was involved with them, and you can hear their love of the Ziggy-era sound on this album. Here’s their old MySpace page with a few other songs on it.

I’m fond of this imperfect and apparently rare 1984 album by Dr. Buzzard’s Savannah Band, who, in a prior life, were called Dr. Buzzard’s Original Savannah Band and had a disco hit with “Cherchez La Femme.” Most who happen to hear the album do not have my enthusiasm for it - critic Robert Christagau documented his dismay after first hearing an advance version of the album that he thought was brilliant, only to be confronted with this curious, Hooked On Classics drum machine release. Suffice it to say, the Savannah Band was the original vehicle for Kid Creole, who left after three albums with his sidekick Coati Mundi to form the music project he’s worked on for the last three decades. This album features front guy Stony Browder Jr - Kid Creole’s brother - and the luminous Cory Daye in a collection of songs that is much different from the big band/disco fusion that gave them their name. You can hear what might have been underneath the booming beat and strange mix, but it’s not without its delights. Cory Day has popped up on Kid Creole albums for years since, and still has a live singing career with Coati Mundi. I’ve notice Browder’s name on song credits over the years, as well. The song “Stony and Cory,” on Kid Creole’s latest album, is all about them.