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Monthly Archives: April 2011

*Download  unavailable. YouTube embedding on WordPress disabled by copyright owners. Pick up a copy of this if you can get it for less than $12.

I picked this up a few weeks ago on Record Store Day at the very choice Explorist International, which is  a few blocks from my residence. Several other records made their way into my collection that day but this one is particularly fun. It caught my ear during a visit a few weeks earlier when the shopkeeper was playing it on the store’s soundsystem, and I wanted to buy it at that time. However, I was unemployed and couldn’t justify paying $17 for what I thought was the soundtrack to a French remake of the American Bonnie and Clyde film when I was worried that buying anything other than Safeway discount yogurt was a vulgar extravagance.

Luckily, a steady typing assignment came my way and now I’m hell bent on blowing my paychecks as soon as possible on LPs, EPs, BPs, 3CPOs, and a few rough DPs. This big daddy here is just a lot of fun. It’s goofy, it’s sexy, it’s corny, and above all it’s terribly catchy.

There’s no French version of the Bonnie & Clyde movie, this is just a song about the famously devious couple. In French. And while it doesn’t make much sense it really does work and twerk.

Here are three examples that display the clever little gimmicks which somehow pop completely and absolutely in every song on this album.



A1 Brigitte Bardot et Serge Gainsbourg – Bonnie And Clyde

Arranged By, Conductor [Orchestra] – Michel Colombier Et Son Orchestre
Written-By – Serge Gainsbourg

A2 Brigitte Bardot – Bubble Gum

Arranged By, Conductor [Orchestra] – Alain Goraguer Et Son Orchestre
Written-By – Serge Gainsbourg

A3 Serge Gainsbourg – Comic Strip

Arranged By, Directed By – David Whitaker
Written-By – Serge Gainsbourg

A4 Brigitte Bardot – Un Jour Comme Un Autre

Arranged By, Conductor [Orchestra] – Alain Goraguer Et Son Orchestre
Written-By – G. Bourgeois*, J.-M. Rivière*

A5 Serge Gainsbourg – Pauvre Lola

Arranged By, Conductor [Orchestra] – Alain Goraguer Et Son Orchestre
Written-By – Serge Gainsbourg

A6 Serge Gainsbourg – Du Film “L’eau À La Bouche”

Arranged By, Conductor [Orchestra] – Alain Goraguer Et Son Orchestre
Written-By – Alain Goraguer, Serge Gainsbourg

B1 Serge Gainsbourg – La Javanaise

Arranged By, Conductor [Orchestra] – Harry Robinson Et Son Orchestre*
Written-By – Serge Gainsbourg

B2 Brigitte Bardot – La Madrague

Arranged By, Conductor [Orchestra] – Claude Bolling Et Son Orchestre
Written-By – G. Bourgeois*, J.-M. Rivière*

B3 Serge Gainsbourg – Intoxicated Man

Arranged By, Conductor [Orchestra] – Alain Goraguer Et Son Orchestre

Written-By – Serge Gainsbourg

B4 Brigitte Bardot – Everybody Loves My Baby

Arranged By, Conductor [Orchestra] – Claude Bolling Et Son Orchestre
Written-By – Jack Palmer, Spencer Williams (2)

B5 Serge Gainsbourg – Baudelaire

Arranged By, Conductor [Orchestra] – Alain Goraguer Et Son Orchestre
Written-By – Serge Gainsbourg
Lyrics By [Sur Un Poème De] – Ch. Baudelaire*

B6 Serge Gainsbourg – Docteur Jekyll And Mister Hyde

Directed By – Arthur Greenslade
Written-By – Serge Gainsbourg

I wish more than anything that Slim Whitman was my grandpa. His mustache, while somewhat sinister to the untrained eye, would have been a constant source of comfort. The scent of sun-heated Brylcreem would evoke memories of neighborhood baseball games. The feel of rough nylon garnering flashbacks of sweet Slim hugs.

Imagine a visit to Grandpa Slim’s house, if you will. You’re 7-years-old and visiting Grandpa Slim’s plantation house during an early summer in rural northern Florida, just far enough from the swamps and their pesky mosquitos but still clear from the ruckus of the interstate. It’s been a while since you’ve seen Grandpa because he’s been on an extended tour in England. They love him in England, almost as much as you do. Your ma says that’s where the Queen lives in her castle.

The morning starts with Grandpa Slim gently waking you by softly yodeling the intro to “Indian Love Call”. Him and Gramawmaw Rose Marie always refer to you as their little Geronimo, their little blue-eyed chief. Your room at the plantation is set up with cowboy and indian wallpaper, leather-tinted shag carpet, and a bunk bed that’s built to look like a trail-tested Conestoga wagon. The closet if full of white jeans and heavily embroidered, pearl-buttoned shirts.

The day starts as any other day would with Grandpa and Gramawmaw. Honey-cured bacon, jumbo eggs sunnyside up, buttermilk biscuits, grits with salted butter n’ sugar, white toast with blackberry jam, and buckwheat pancakes with pecan maple syrup that’s all washed down with a big, cold glass of whole milk. A growing boy needs a hearty breakfast to see him through a big day and there aren’t many days bigger than Founder’s Day. You’re gonna need energy if you’re going to win the potato sack race this year.

Grandpa Slim opens the Founder’s Day celebration with the most heavenly rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner” the South’s ever heard. Even the town’s general store owner and self-proclaimed Jefferson Davis historian Jacob Pearson was seen wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. Yes, this year’s festivities are just going to be magical. You can just feel it.

As with every year the day starts out with the Daughters Of The Confederacy’s Annual Swamp Sunflower Pageant. There’s no prizes or ribbons given for the most beautiful Swamp Sunflower because competition is unbecoming of a southern belle.  However, Gramawmaw Rose Marie assures you that if there did happen to be a judge on hand her batch of swamp sunflowers would give Miss Annabelle Johnson’s wilted abominations a thorough shellacking.

Pageant is followed shortly by Troop 334′s Soapbox Derby Race down Cutler Hill. You watch on with cripping jealousy as the older kids race at breakneck speeds down the county’s biggest incline. A boy from Grant Intermediate wins first place and you watch with hungry eyes as he’s presented with a trophy that’s almost as tall as you. Grandpa Slim musses your hair and gives you a wink. “Don’t worry, Geronimo. That’ll be you before you know it, as sure as I’m standing here. Your grandpa’s got some old racing tricks up his sleeve. Yes sir, some real whoppers.”

The hole left in your gut from watching some punk kid take your rightful trophy is soon filled by lunchtime’s smorgasbord of Southern cuisine. Hot dogs, hamburgers, pulled pork, brisket, fried chicken, and bar-b-que ribs serve as the stage up on which corned pudding, oyster stuffing, green bean casserole, sweet potato souffle, and coleslaw dance into your quickly ballooning belly. Just as your intestines are about to bust a seam, Gramawmaw Rose Marie sets a heaping plate of banana fosters and apple pie in front of your widening eyes. These delicacies soon disappear down a baby-tooth lined hatch, followed shortly tidal wave of Royal Crown Cola.

After lunch you listen to a little guitar strumming, courtesy of Grandpa Slim. “It aids with the digestives,” he says. Grandpa Slim lays down a  hoppin’ little diddy, left-handed on his six-string acoustic. The missing fingers on his left hand, the fingers that  (according to your Uncle Billy) got cut off turning a steer into a cheeseburger, always freak you out a little bit, but in a good way way. He’s like Frankenstein a little bit and Frankenstein’s pretty cool.

A little digestion is just what you needed because, after all, who wants to run in the Founder’s Day potato sack race with a full tummy? Last year’s second place finish was truly heartbreaking because that cheater Jimmy Willard used a Yukon Gold potato sack. Rules state only Idaho potato bags are allowed in the competition, everyone knows that. But when you cried foul Jimmy had already switched out bags. You don’t know how he did it without the judges seeing but he did. The sly little grin he poured down on you from from his advantageous position on the podium will be forever burned in your memory.

This year, though, Jimmy won’t be a problem because Jimmy’s dead. He took an unfortunate fall off of the big slide down at Seminole Park at the end of last summer. Only thing is, nobody knows Jimmy took that spill, nobody except you and Grandpa Slim. After you pushed him as he summited the slide’s last step, something you did with that sly little grin blinding your better judgment, Grandpa Slim had been there to clean up the mess.

With the same shovel he used to dig the concrete foundation for your basketball hoop, Grandpa Slim to buried Jiimmy Willard beneath the big oak that supports your treehouse. It’s Grandpa Slim’s and your little secret. Now, every time you go out to play secret agent in the treehouse you say you’re “going out to play with Jimmy,” and you and Grandpa Slim always have a good laugh.

With Jimmy now feeding that big oak you’re sure to win the potato sack race. Cheaters never really win, Grandpa Slim always says.

He really is the best Grandpa in the whole wide world!

>>>Click here to download Grandpa Slim’s Very Best


A1 Indian Love Call
A2 Ramblin’ Rose
A3 My Happiness
A4 Room Full Of Roses
A5 Blue Eyes Cryin’ In The Rain
A6 When My Blue Moon Turns Gold Again
A7 Have I Told You Lately That I Love You
A8 There Goes My Everything
A9 My Heart Cries For You
A10 Let Me Call You Sweetheart
B1 Rose Marie
B2 Vaya Con Dios
B3 Roses Are Red
B4 Somewhere My Love
B5 I Love You Because
B6 Una Paloma Blanca
B7 I Can’t Stop Loving You
B8 Sail Along Silvery Moon
B9 You Belong To My Heart
B10 Red River Valley

Here’s the reasons why hardcore punk doesn’t make sense on vinyl.

1. Hardcore negates the need for vinyl’s superior sound quality.

People buy records because of their accurate sound reproduction. Vinyl brings out a richness of tone you won’t hear on CD. The sound is crisp, robust, and mellow all at the same time. It’s like a freshly-baked chocolate chip cookie for your ears.

Hardcore punk albums have nearly zero production quality. I understand that this is the point; it’s meant to be raucous and abrasive. The artists want to sound as raw as possible. Vinyl isn’t the way to go about achieving this sound.

I strongly believe that all hardcore punk should be recorded and played on a Talkboy. The microphone’s limited capabilities, paired with the Talkboy’s half-inch playback speaker, will give punk artists the terribly tinny sound they all so desperately crave. Plus, you can always speed up the sound to make tracks totally shred. Or you can slow it down to turn the album into a goth punk affair. So many possibilities.

2. Thirty-second songs make track selection a total bitch on a record.

Not only that but what’s the point of a 30-second track? I know it’s tough playing drums that fast for an extended spell but come on. By the time I can figure out what the hell the lead singer’s saying the song’s over. I want to know what you’re so angsty about, Mr. Man!

**Pig Destroyer is the exception to this rule.

3. The album artwork always looks like the inside of a junior high bathroom stall.

Back when I was in junior high I thought the album artwork  on punk albums was totally boss. Screeching Weasel’s simple covers were my shit. And this album, with all sorts of gnarly dudes missing eyes and chicks with huge head tumors, would have been especially edgy to my tween eyes. Almost as edgy as a wild boar and an alligator working as cooks at Waffle House. Uh oh, somebody call the health department!

Now it doesn’t appeal to me. Maybe I’m just too old. But then again, the guys making hardcore punk aren’t in junior high. They’re all around my age. Hell, one of the guys featured on the album liner of The South Will Rise Again is suffering hardcore from male pattern baldness.

Is there something I’m not seeing? Should I look at this like a Magic Eye?

4. It’s more expensive than other music genres. Seriously? Seriously.

When I visited the local punk vinyl shop I ended up buying this 7″ because it was $4. What I really wanted was a full-length LP from a band I listened to when I was younger. Unfortunately everything, from used discs to re-releases, was priced at $20 and up.

I thought the whole point of punk was that it’s made for the poor youth of America who are hell-bent on fighting the man and his capitalistic oppression of the masses. Now it seems that the tables have turned and only those making prodigious gains from that capitalistic monster can afford to rock out with their cock out. At least if they want to do it via big black discs.

5. You can’t make music for a genre that doesn’t exist. Punk is dead because Green Day killed it.

Capitalism in action.

>>>Go ahead, punk. Make my day.



A1 Ugly Law – SBBS
A2 High Life (3) – Four Dead, One Drunk
A3 High Life (3) – M.A.D.
A4 Logic Problem – Untitled
A5 Socialcide – Morning Disaster
B1 Bomber (10) – Go & Tell
B2 Reason Of Insanity – Job Nazi
B3 PMRC, The*  – Madonna Death Cult
B4 Archaic (3) – Black Hole
B5 Cult Ritual – Eat The Police
B6 HRT – Big City