Disco Jesus

Today’s tracks come from Tammy Faye Bakker, the late, over made-up kabuki doll wife (well, for more than three decades, anyway) of the disgraced televangelist Jim Bakker (pronounced Baker, apparently, not Backer).

We’re lucky here in Great Britain; we’ve never had to suffer (well, unless you’re a fan of the 50 or so religious channels available on Sky) the evil, pseudo-religious diatribe that spews across America’s cable television network day after day: poisonous preachers demanding money with menaces from gullible idiots who believe that they can pay their way to salvation. In the Bakker’s case it was the Praise the Lord (PTL) network and their ridiculous Christian theme park – Heritage USA - that systematically emptied the pockets of its parishioners and landed a tearful (and now, surprise, surprise, wholly repentant) Jim in jail. No wonder that many people insisted that PTL actually stood for Pass the Loot.

Jim and Tammy met when they were students at North Central Bible College in Minneapolis. The couple married on April Fool’s Day 1961 and, the following year, moved to South Carolina, where they began their ministry before heading off to Portsmouth, Virginia, where they became the hosts of Jim and Tammy, a children's Christian puppet show. Their success led to the pair joining Pat Robertson's Christian Broadcasting Network (CBN) in 1964, bringing their puppets with them. which they left in 1973 to form the PTL Club, an hour long Christian chat and variety show, which made its on-air debut in 1974.

During the PTL shows (later renamed the Jim and Tammy Show) Tammy Faye would often lead the obligatory evangelistic singalong – and this section proved so popular that Tammy Faye would go on to release more than a dozen albums (Jim and Tammy Faye also issued ‘joint’ recordings) of her dreadful caterwauling. Tammy Faye became known for her schmaltzy stories, hideous makeup (her eyes were often caked in mascara which would run as she turned on the tears) and her histrionic vocals style. Unusually, for someone on her chosen career path, she was an early advocate amongst Christian broadcasters of gay rights.

The Bakkers' control of PTL collapsed in 1987 when it was revealed that reverend Jim had been a bit naughty with the company secretary, Jessica Hahn, and reportedly used $287,000 of the church’s funds to buy her silence (that was a waste of money!). Further investigations into the Bakker’s extravagant lifestyle questioned their dodgy, and vastly oversubscribed, Christian hotel time-share scheme and the funds they had poured into their Christian theme park, Heritage USA.

With the couple in disgrace and Jim facing a stretch in jail, fellow televangelist and friend Jerry Falwell offered a lifeline, but under his stewardship PTL soon went bankrupt. In 1989 Bakker was sentenced to 45 years in prison on 24 fraud and conspiracy counts. Falwell and the (by now divorced) Bakker’s fell out, primarily it seems because Falwell was only interested in using PTL to boost his own television career, but also no doubt because the equally self-absorbed Falwell had the temerity to call our Jim a liar, an embezzler, a sexual deviant, and “the greatest scab and cancer on the face of Christianity in 2,000 years of church history”. Phew!

Jim and Tammy Taye divorced in 1992; a year later she married former PTL bigwig Roe Messner – the man who provided Jim with the cash to pay of Jessica Hahn and who claimed, during the bankruptcy hearing for PTL, to be owed $14 million by the church. Messner filed for bankruptcy himself in 1990 and, just like his former friend Jim, wound up being convicted of fraud.

Today’s first cut Jesus Keeps Takin’ me Higher and Higher is from the awful (and hideously-titled) Tammy Faye: Tammy Bakker sings PTL Club Favorites. Tammy Faye had an okay voice when it came to singing the country-inspired gospel she usually stuck to, but ramping it up on this track (fondly known to fans as Disco Jesus) she’s beyond awful. The second track – The Ballad of Jim and Tammy – is Tammy’s own countrified take on the whole Jerry Falwell/PTL/Heritage USA saga. Tammy Faye may have hated Falwell at this point (the song was released in both 7” and 12" formats in 1987) but, despite their very public falling out, she managed to find enough Christian charity to forgive him before his death in 2007, two months before Tammy Faye herself passed away after an 11-year battle with cancer.

And just because I’m feeling generous today, I’m giving you a third track from Tammy Faye – the ridiculous Run Toward the Roar from her 1980 album of the same name. Hideous.

Enjoy!

Not So Groovy Baby

One of the few star DJs of the 70s not to be implicated in the Jimmy Savile sex scandal (so far), Dave Cash was born in Chelsea in 1942, although his family moved to Canada by the time he was seven.

While working as a copywriter for a Vancouver-based Men’s Wear Shop, Dave was offered the chance to record a radio voice-over when the original actor assigned to the job became ill. Cash was an instant smash and he was quickly signed up for more commercial work and the occasional presenting stint.

The burgeoning pirate radio scene brought Dave back to Blighty in the early 1960s, and he soon came to the attention of Radio London, where he teamed up with the late, great Kenny Everett for the Kenny & Cash Show, which became enormously popular and influential.

Dave left Radio London to join the even more influential Radio Luxembourg before, in 1967 becoming one of the first DJs heard on the fledgling Radio One. And it was here that Cash perpetrated the audio crime I present for you today.

Radio DJs in those days had an endless stream of regular jingles and fictional characters which they used to fill airtime or simply to give them space to think whilst reaching for the next piece of vinyl to whack on the deck. Who can forget Tony Blackburn’s Arnold, Jimmy Young’s Raymondo and the endless cast of crazies which spewed out of Kenny Everett’s fertile mind? Amongst Cash’s repertoire was a winsome toddler known as Microbe.

The voice of Microbe was performed by Ian Doody, who was son of Radio 1 newsreader Pat Doody. A huge hit on the show, his catch phrases (the ‘Knock Knock’ joke about Doctor Who and his signature ‘Groovy Baby’) are still known today by a generation (people of my age) who grew up next to the radio.

But Cash and Doody weren’t satisfied with radio stardom for Microbe – they wanted something bigger so, in 1969, the three year old Ian Doody was dragged off into a recording studio – along with backing singers Madeline Bell, Leslie Duncan and (allegedly) Dusty Springfield (although this seems highly unlikely as her career had recently been revitalised and she was making it big in the States at the time) to record Groovy Baby. Issued by CBS in the UK, by May of that year the single had reached the heady heights of number 29 in the charts. The song’s B-side Your Turn Now was credited to the Microbop Ensemble and featured Cash himself offering listeners the chance to imitate Microbe for their own amusement.

Cash left the BBC for Independent Local radio (ILR) in 1973, first at Capital where, with Everett, he relaunched the Kenny & Cash Show, before resigning in 1994 to spend more time writing and to develop his other interests. After six years he rejoined the BBC, presenting programmes for Radio Kent, Radio Cambridgeshire, and Radio Essex.

Enjoy!

Mummy, You're A Wreck

Released on Brunswick in 1959 – therefore predating Bobby “Boris” Pickett’s ubiquitous Monster Mash by three years – The Mummy by Bob McFadden and Dor was an early attempt to cash in on American obsession with horror movies, particularly the screen classics of the 1930s which padded out the late night line up of most TV channels. A silly little comedy song, The Mummy scraped into the Top 40 in September that year, but proved so popular that it spawned several cover versions and a note-for-note copy by Florida-based outfit Bob and Bobbi. It’s popularity also led to the song becoming attached to the Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee Hammer remake of the 1932 Boris Karloff classic The Mummy, with starlet Norma Marla touring the States with a sarcophagus, giving away copies to radio DJs, even though the track did not (and does not) appear on the film’s soundtrack.

The single’s popularity also led to Brunswick releasing a full-length album, Songs Our Mummy Taught Us, which appeared in the shops in February 1960.

Mcfadden, who would later provide the voice for cartoon characters Milton the Monster, Cool McCool and Snarf from Thundercats, was a well-known voice-over artist, famous for appearing on TV commercials for Wisk detergent and Frankenberry cereal. Dor would find fame under his real name; Rod McKuen (Dor is Rod backwards. Oh, how clever!) went on to earn a brace of Oscar nominations and a Pulitzer nomination for his compositions. McKuen's adaptations of Jacques Brel’s songs were instrumental in making the Belgian songwriter popular in the English-speaking world, whilst his own books of poetry sold millions of copies.

But there’s no way that Songs Our Mummy Taught Us would have ever earned the nascent poet and songwriter a major award. It’s just terrible. The haste in which this collection was thrown together is apparent throughout. The Mummy is ‘adapted’ (or, if you prefer, dicked around with) liberally; then-current dance crazes are sent up (poorly) and the rest of the album is made up of bad parodies – including two of the tracks I present for you today: The Children Cross the Bridge, a piss-poor piss-take of the Ingrid Bergman film Inn of the Sixth Happiness and the peculiar I Dig You Baby, which to me sounds like it was written by the bastard child of Jimmy Cross and Alan Titchmarsh.

Apparently McKuen later claimed that the uncredited backing musicians on the album were none other than Bill Haley and His Comets. Although the group were also signed to Brunswick this has never been confirmed. In 1961 McFadden and McKuen would regroup to record the single Dracula Cha Cha backed with Transylvania Polka – which, unsurprisingly, sank without a trace…an example of lightening resolutely refusing to strike twice.

Enjoy!

Love Rush

You’ll probably know her best for her scenery-chewing star turn in Ken Russell’s film version of the Who’s Tommy, where she tries her best to look seductive whilst rolling about in a pool of champagne and baked beans, but the Swedish-born actress Ann-Margret has also released a number of albums during her long career. She may have gained cult status as an actress with appearances in movies such as Kitten With a Whip and Carnal Knowledge, but it’s her short-lived stab at being a disco diva that we’re interested in here – specifically her self-titled 1980 album, a couple of tracks from which I present for you today.

Ann-Margret began her recording career, with RCA, in 1961 – the same year she made her screen debut (in the Frank Capra comedy Pocketful of Miracles). Her first album - And Here She Is: Ann-Margret – was produced in Nashville and featured Chet Atkins, the Jordanaires (Elvis Presley's backing singers) and the Anita Kerr Singers – who featured among their number one Gene Merlino. An attempt to market her as 'female Elvis' led to her scoring her first minor hit (I Just Don't Understand, taken from her second album) and to co-starring with The Burger King in his 1964 movie Viva Las Vegas.

She went on to release eight albums during the 1960s and appear on a number of soundtracks, but then nothing until 1980, when this mess – simply titled Ann-Margret - appeared in the stores. Short  - just five tracks in total – it’s a simpering, unsophisticated disco mess: poor lyrics, insipid production and a vocal performance which could just as easily have been phoned in. A-M’s career was built on her sexual appeal, but this collection is about as impotent as her one-time co-star would have been before he choked down his last fried peanut butter and banana sandwich. Badly dated Euro-disco, it’s Barbara Markay without the smut. Luckily her comeback album would not only be her first album for over ten years, it would also prove to be her last for more than two decades.

It took her more than 20 years to get over this diabolical rubbish, during which time she concentrated on looking after her family (she’s been married to actor Roger Smith since 1967), playing Vegas and appearing in the occasional made-for-TV movie. In 2001 she returned to the recording studio, issuing a gospel album God Is Love: The Gospel Sessions, which earned her a Grammy Nomination, and three years later released Ann-Margret's Christmas Carol Collection. Now well into her 70s, it’s doubtful she’ll never again reach the heights (or plumb the depths) touched by this rotten disco mess though.

Enjoy!

Expressway to Hell

Happy Friday everyone. And what better way to celebrate the start of a lovely, sunny weekend than with a brace of recordings from one of my very favourite song-poem companies, Columbine?

Columbine produced an almost endless series of albums in the 70s and early 80s, as well as hundreds of singles and EPs. If their catalogue is to be believed there could be as many as 300 or more albums in their Now Sounds of Today series alone. Each of their albums contained anything up to 20 different tracks, all from aspiring hit makers who really should have known better, and all packaged in generic sleeves - often with different catalogue numbers used for the sleeve and disc.

Because song poem outfits rely entirely on the material submitted, and because so many of their customers are obsessed with the big man in the sky, there are an inordinate number of song-poems about God. However, for some odd reason – it could be simply because of the publications Columbine chose to advertise in - Columbine seem to have produced more religious dreck than the rest of them put together. They certainly knew their audience: several of their singers (including Kay Weaver and John Fluker) have gone on to carve out careers in Christian music.

The two songs presented here barely scratch the surface, but give a good indication of the type of material the company pumped out.

There’s not a lot to say about Kay Weaver’s Hell Express, from the 281^st volume in the Now Sounds of Today series. This is Columbine’s contribution to the war on drugs. At least I think that’s the idea; it could just as easily be an advert for a local pusher. Kay’s voice is totally unsuited to the material and the arrangement; she sounds to me as if she’s doing a voice-over for a Film Board of Canada public information film. It’s ridiculous, as is the 'name' of the composer - Cracked Eyes.

Next up is John-Boy Perkins (maybe Columbine were trying to attract fans of The Waltons) with the stupid He First Loved Me from one of the company’s many, many EPs (HV 168, fact fans). This is much more typical of Columbine’s religious output: dull, insipid arrangements, flat vocals and about as engaging as cold sick. Just the thing for a sunny Friday morning.

Enjoy!

How Long Can Disco On?

The disco craze was responsible for many, many heinous hits and easily some of the worst (and often most tenuous) novelties imaginable. But if you thought Disco Duck by Rick Dees and his Cast of Idiots was about as stupid as it could get, you obviously haven't met Freddy, the Disco Frog.

I first discovered this terrible record at the essential Music for Maniacs blog, courtesy of occasional WWR contributor Windbag. Its utter appallingness aside, what’s really fascinating about this release is the man behind it: Major Bill Smith.

Even if you don’t recognise the name, I’ll guarantee you’ve rubbed musical shoulders with Major Bill Smith. The Fort Worth-based Major enjoyed a fair bit of success as a record producer early in his career, with huge international hits for Bruce Channel and Paul And Paula as well as the early teenage car-crash biggie Last Kiss. He also had dealings with the Legendary Stardust Cowboy, grabbing a producer and publisher credit on Paralyzed and reportedly absconding with the tapes for Ledge’s first full-length album. In the 1980's the cut-price Colonel Parker was also claiming to be the manager of Elvis Presley, releasing records (and even a telephone interview) which, he claimed, were recorded long after the King had apparently left this world for the big burger bar in the sky. He also issued, under his own name, Cry Of An Unborn Child, a sub-Lil’ Markie slice of in utero schmaltz which may well appear here at a later date.

But back to today’s record. Written and performed by Major Bill Smith with Zane and Hogan, the terrible Freddy, the Disco Frog was issued on Smith’s own Le Cam label around 1978, as the B-Side to Elvis tribute Requiem to the King. After a long and colourful career in music Smith passed away, at the age of 72, on September 12, 1994.

Enjoy!

A Rose by Any Other Name

The son of a famous music hall (vaudeville) comedian, Fred Emney is probably best known to people of my generation not for his countless appearances in British film comedies or for his long-running TV show but for being one of the staples of many a TV impressionist’s act in the 1970s.

 

Born in Lancashire in 1900, Fred grew up in London and began his career on the stage there: his sisters Doris and Joan also trod the boards. He made his (uncredited) film debut in 1931, in the musical comedy A Man of Mayfair,  and went on to appear in dozens of British and International movies, including Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines, the original and far superior version of the Italian Job and the Magic Christian. Fred also appeared in Fun at St Fanny’s, described by one critic as having the worst comedy script in the history of the cinema.  

Starting in 1955, Fred had his own television show, Emney Enterprises which, typically of the day, featured guest stars, comedic sketches and usually a spot where Fred would sit at the piano and play a popular melody or, often, a piece he had composed himself. Apparently he also had a short spell as straight man to piggy puppets Pinky and Perky. He was perpetually cast in the role of ‘posh fat bloke’ (he weighed in at over 22 stone), invariably wearing a monocle and puffing on a fat cigar; when he appeared on the popular radio show Desert Island Discs in 1952 his one luxury item was a box of cigars.

His prowess as a pianist persuaded Decca to drag Fred into the studio in 1958 to record the tracks for this EP release. Three of the songs, If I Should Cry Over You, Whispering and The One I Love are pretty typical examples of Fred’s piano style: accompanied by an over-eager cinema organist he plinks his way perfectly acceptably through the songs. But the final track, Roses of Picardy, is the pip. We’re almost half way through the song when Fred, unwisely, decides to let his vocal chords loose: although Fred recites the lyrics rather than sings them his delivery is about as warm and sincere as Criswell’s. He really should have stuck to tickling the ivories.

 

Fred Emney died in Bognor Regis, on Christmas Day 1980.

You can hear the whole EP at the rather wonderful Lord of the Boot Sale - where the cover image (above) came from. 

Enjoy!