TuneIn

Saturday, December 31, 2011

The Girl That Radiates That Charm



The Girl That Radiates That Charm - Arthur Alexander

Bon Scott Sings Arthur Alexander



Every Day I Have To Cry - The Valentines

Fool's Paradise



Tune in today from 1-3 PM on WFMU to get yourself in the mood for Amateur Night.  Rex will be playing some of the Fool's Paradise Favorite drinking songs of all time to coax the pink pussy cats out of the closet.


Tiny Tim's Crutch (via Grade "A" Fancy)


1 1/2 ounce Gordon's Gin
1/2 ounce Harvey's Bristol Creme Sherry
1/2 ounce brewed and cooled Lapsang Souchong tea

Put some sugar on a plate.  Moisten the rim of a cocktail glass with a citrus wedge and dip glass into the sugar. 
Stir all liquids over ice until very cold and strain into the cocktail glass.

Happy New Year from the Ichiban crew!  Kancho!!

Rufus Thomas - Pink Pussy Cat Wine Spot

Friday, December 30, 2011

Ladies & Gentlemen

Making The Monkees



Full Episode

New Year's Eve with Nay Dog



On New Year's Eve 2004 Fortune recording artist Nathaniel Mayer dropped by Spazz HQ for the craziest party of all time; one that the neighbors are still probably pissed about. Nathaniel (for those that didn't know him) cut some incredible records in Detroit in the early sixties including the regional hit Village of Love. By the end of the sixties Nathaniel hit upon some tough times and for decades nobody could figure out if he was alive or dead. Unexpectedly, in 2003 Nathaniel (or "Nay Dog" as he liked being known) popped back on the scene and reignited his performing career. His voice was a little raspier but he still had the pipes. With charisma to spare, no one could work a crowd like Nathaniel and when he sang falsetto it was nothing less than spine chilling. Most of all he was sweet and funny and an all around great guy. What else could you possibly ask for in a soul legend? Nathaniel was cut down by a series of strokes in 2006 and his passing a couple of years later left a hole in many hearts.

Nay Dog was in town for the big Norton Soul Revue at Southpaw and he was in stellar form that night. When I asked him what he wanted to hear he requested Nathaniel Mayer songs. After singing along to every one of his records (with The Diablos' "Ali Coochi" thrown in), Nay Dog requested some Sex Machine-era James Brown, organized the room into two Soul Train dance lines and pretty soon things went from nuts to crazy. He also regaled us with a "dozens" rap that was so smutty it would have made Dolemite blush. Thanks to Billy Miller, Miriam Linna, Michael Hurtt and Dan Rose. I don't remember which one of you brought him to the party (as well as escorting him to the radio show the following night) but I do know one or more of you guys were responsible for this.

Happy Birthday, Bo!!!


Thursday, December 29, 2011

Arthur Alexander Month: The King James Version

Let's open up the Book of Alexander t0 KING JAMES & MEL's little known but magnificent New Orleansed-up take on "You Better Move On". Very snazzy early Gamble-Huff production.


New Year's Resolution



Otis Redding & Carla Thomas (mp3)

Radio Alert!

Think Link!

Tune in to Music To Spazz By with Dave the Spazz tonight from 9-12 when Christopher Kennedy stops by to discuss the Lost Photographs Of Deejay Tommy Edwards.

Listen Now!

Monday, December 26, 2011

Bad TV Beat: 'Blue Bloods'-- Once Riotous Cop Show Misses a Beat

By Gene Sculatti

As the Everly Brothers said, it’s “So Sad to Watch Good Love Go Bad.” Almost as sad, if you’re a fan of bad TV, is watching one of the species’ strongest contemporary contenders just roll over and play good. Unfortunately, that seems to be what’s happened in the second season of Blue Bloods, CBS’s Tom Selleck starrer about a tri-generational family of NYC cops. It’s a shame too, since the show started out as a shining example of one of the richest but least-traversed goofspaces in all of popular culture: Sentimental Fascism.

The SF genre’s best exponents were, of course, oak-solid, cedar-hewn Chuck Norris’ Walker, Texas Ranger (1993-2001) and the criminally undervalued The District, with Craig T. Nelson as Washington, D.C’s chief cop (2000-2004). Norris’ Walker walked a fine line between heart-tug subplots (to the distraught Latina slapping masa in a tortilla factory: “I’ll see that Jose doesn’t join the gang, Mrs. Garcia”) and Miranda-busting fuzz-play (warrantless door-kicks a specialty). Nelson’s Chief Jack Mannion grew misty around his dog or his single-mom assistant, but played hardball with softie judges, drug lords and his arch-nemesis, a Russky agent named Putin.

What made Blue Bloods such a comer was just what makes the best classic bad TV great: the commitment to craft—the creators’ on-time delivery of piping hot clichés of story and dialogue designed to satisfy loopy, often dated assumptions about the desires of the target demo. CBS’ 2010 decision to launch a series about a tough, conservative commissioner (“Frank Reagan”!), his dad (an ex-commish who rues the day when bulls had to stop using concealed “sappers” [blackjacks] to crack heads) , two cop sons and assistant-D.A. daughter surely reflects the network’s interpretation of the midterm elections as a huge cultural right turn. Clearly, the reasoning must’ve gone, the lumpenprole now crave a liberal-bashing law-and-order show, just as they did when Walker debuted—during the cultural dustup that presaged the Republicans’ 1995 Congressional putsch.

Selleck himself is a laff riot. His toolbox, once overflowing with enough affability and beefcake-lite appeal to power eight seasons of Magnum P.I., now holds just one item: gravitas. The duties of gig, moral grounds-keeping and paterfamilias weigh so heavily on his I-beam shoulders that deep sighs, solemn head-hangs and marathon silences are all he can manage. Those and snippy retorts to his mayor boss—in Season 1 a craven pol (aren’t they all?), in 2 a smug black manager who tells Frank that the city’s “old, white, Irish-Catholic days are over” and gets smacked with Frank’s reply that he, the noble mick, missed out on the benefits of affirmative action and a “community organizer” background. Hoo-boy! Plus, Selleck comes off about as ‘New York’ as you’d expect a 1962 graduate of Grant High, Sherman Oaks, California, to come off.


The kicks came fast when Blue Bloods debuted. How did we know the Reagans were blue-collar anti-elites? At Frank’s pad, kibitzing or enjoying communal Sunday dinners (with offspring a party of 10: those Irish-Catholics!), they drank nothing but beer—out of the bottle. Anti-intellectualism roamed the show like a python, crushing the slightest hint of world knowledge or book-learnin.’ College-educated rookie-cop son Jamie was relentlessly tagged “Harvard” by his dese-dem-and-dose sergeant , “Anthony Renzulli” (those kooky dagos!) and by his own older brother, Danny (ex-NKOTBer Donnie Wahlberg, sporting a Howard Devoto liver-slice haircut), who often reminded Jamie “Remember, you’re not in Cambridge anymore.”

Prosecutor daughter Erin Regan, who at least understood suspects’ rights, was routinely pilloried by Danny and daddy Frank (“Why do we bother catching the criminals if you’re just gonna let them go?”) and her grandfather. Frank’s pappy, ex-commissioner Henry Reagan, once berated Erin for pushing her pre-teen daughter onto an “arts” track in school, potentially ruining the Reagans’ sprint to a four-generation dynasty.

I tell you, it was rich. But now Blue Bloods has had its edges trimmed and usually resembles a run-of-the-mill procedural, its pro-active mildness besting the bad but unfunny Castle only by degrees. There may yet be hope, though. In a recent episode Sergeant Renzulli , at the apartment of a crime victim, asks her what’s playing on her stereo. “Shostakovich,” she answers. “Oh,” says Renzulli. “Sounds like the guy who makes my vodka!”

Sunday, December 25, 2011

Christmas Fun...or Christmas Misery. Choose Wisely!

(This post was supposed to go up around lunchtime, but I didn't press "post".)






WARNING: If you're having a bad Christmas, or are alone right now, I strongly urge you not to click on this one. Seriously. Proceed at your own risk!





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