Ivan and Iggy, 1979 (courtesy of Ivan Kral).

Sunday evening, I was saddened to learn that Ivan Kral had passed away earlier in the day. In 2015, I first made contact with Ivan, hoping he’d be willing to be interviewed about his time working with Iggy Pop. Thankfully, he was, and the result was the article we are re-posting today as a tribute. In 2016, after David Bowie’s death, Ivan got back in touch, wanting to share his memories of a 1979 evening spent hanging out with Bowie and Iggy, which we were, of course, willing to facilitate. Read that piece here.

*****

Ivan Kral sure has led an interesting life. The Prague-born songwriter and musician had his first brush with fame at the age of sixteen when a track by his band Saze broke the top ten in Czechoslovakia. But just as the song was breaking, his family relocated to New York City. In the early ‘70s, Ivan played in glam bands and, for a brief period, was part of Shaun Cassidy’s backing group. In 1974, he played guitar with an embryonic version of Blondie before joining the Patti Smith Group. As part of Smith’s unit, Ivan played guitar, bass and keyboards, appearing on all of her early records (including the seminal Horses), and was involved in writing a number of her songs (he co-wrote “Dancing Barefoot” one of Smith’s pivotal tunes). He’s also a documentarian, having had the foresight to capture Iggy and the Stooges on film, as well as the burgeoning punk scene happening at CBGB’s in the mid-‘70s, which became the documentary, The Blank Generation.
 

Ivan, center, with the Patti Smith Group, 1975.

The Patti Smith Group ended in 1979 when Smith began her self-imposed retirement, which left Ivan looking for a gig. He hooked up with Iggy Pop in time to play on the Ig’s 1980 album, Soldier, and subsequently became Iggy’s right-hand man, touring and writing a number of songs with the Godfather of Punk. Eight of those co-writes appeared on Party (1981), and while Ivan came up with some catchy and interesting tunes, Iggy’s lyrics often left much to be desired, and the production generally felt lifeless. If you’re in the mood for it, Party has its fair share of goofy charm, but it’s hard to imagine it appealing to fans, critics, or the general public at that time—and it ultimately didn’t. Party was a disappointment both critically and commercially, with Ivan quitting Iggy’s band before the year was out.
 

 
Ivan is a rock star in his native land (there’s even a mid-‘90s Czech TV documentary about him, with another in the works), and has released ten solo records in the Czech Republic; the most recent is called Always. For some time now he has resided in Ann Arbor, Michigan, which is somewhat ironic, as the college town is also the birthplace of the Stooges.

The following interview was conducted via email. A big THANKS to Ivan for letting us use some photos from his personal archive.

How did you meet Iggy?:

Ivan: There was an unknown blonde guy in a yoga pose—naked in my living room. He gets up, extends a hand and says, “I’m Iggy Pop and I’m producing your next album,” for Luger, my 1973 glam band. I was thinking, “Yeah sure, he’s just another nobody with big plans.” After I saw the Stooges I realized that I was the nobody with big plans.

So, I went to The Stooges show at the Academy of Music in New York City. He owned the crowd. Fans were begging to be humiliated by him. He’d spit and they’d thank him. Never saw anything like it. I was filming with my “movie camera” (no sound) anticipating his next move so I wouldn’t waste film. Every second counted. I’ve posted a few clips on YouTube.

What were the Party sessions like?:

Ivan: Fun! Torture! We were joking a lot, and I can still smell his pot from the Record Plant. At first, Jim [Iggy] didn’t want to be there. So I was in the studio recording the basics thinking, “Oh, this is going to be a great record”. Then he does his vocals and completely changes the lyrics. On one batch of lyrics he kept singing “I hear a sheep bleed.” English isn’t my first language so I asked him what it meant. He got very serious, into teacher mode, sits me down and starts explaining to me that it’s “sheep bleat” not “sheep bleed.” Then he quizzed me on it! I still haven’t heard anyone ever say it. The sessions were mostly a blast, but a few times I got put in my place.
 

 
“Eggs on Plate” is a really interesting track that is a lot different than the other material on Party. How did that song come to be?:

Ivan: I originally wrote it for Mick Ronson as a completely different kind of song. Just a simple riff, no melody. It wasn’t cool enough so Jim turned it into a launch-pad to get creative. We were singing vocal backgrounds and rolling on the studio floor, hysterical. The producer was mad as hell, yelling “This is enough!”
 

 
Iggy fans seem to have mixed feelings about Party. What do you think of the album, 30-plus years later?:

Ivan: Well, who else can say they wrote Iggy’s worst album? It became his joke album. I didn’t know he had a personal vendetta against the record company and intended on recording a lousy album. I wasted all that time trying to write great songs, but he wanted the opposite. So, I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not. However, “Pumpin’ for Jill” and “Bang Bang” get licensed often, so it can’t be too bad. Most recently “Bang Bang” was on a TV show called State of Affairs.
 

 
What was it like to get the news that David Bowie had covered “Bang Bang” on his 1987 album, Never Let Me Down?:

Ivan: Unbelievable. I saw Bowie’s Glass Spider gig at the Meadowlands and was blown away when he performed “Bang Bang.” Such a thrill to see choreography and production on some little song I just whipped up out of boredom one night. I needed the income then, so it was a blessing on many levels. Thank you, David.

Years ago, while reading the Iggy biography, The Wild One, I learned you wrote a lot of material with Pop. A couple of outtakes have been released over the years. Is there a chance we will hear more someday?:

Ivan: Oh, I think I remember that book because Jim was mad at me about something in it. Anyway, I have cassettes of some great unreleased stuff we wrote in my apartment between 1979 and 1981. One song is so sentimental. He has a sweet side and it shines through all that blood, guts and cocaine.
 

Iggy and unidentified in Chicago, 1980 (courtesy of Ivan Kral).
 
One of the unreleased tunes that has seen the light of a day is a punky number called “Puppet World”—such a fun song! It’s a shame it didn’t end up on Party.:

Ivan: Someone just recently told me that she plays “Puppet World” when she wants to get out of a bad mood. You can’t help but love that.
 

 
In 1983, Iggy stepped away from the music business for a couple of years, and the early ‘80s are now seen as a dark period for him. What was it like working with him during that time?:

Ivan: His system was conditioned to handle large amounts of drugs and alcohol. Then he’d sweat it out while performing. It’d just evaporate. That was okay, but then there were times when he got scary and mean. I worried about him and dragged him to the doctor when we returned to New York. I wanted him to clean up, but I think he resented my good intentions.
 

 
What are up to currently and what are your future plans?:

Ivan: My new European album has a few tunes that sound like old Stones. Some songs have that Detroit sound and were recorded with Tino Gross at his Funky D studio [in Royal Oak, Michigan]. I’ll be gigging in the fall. Until then, I continue writing with my lyricist for visual media, and even some classical stuff. I like it all.
 

 
A live video of Iggy playing one of the unreleased tunes you wrote with him, “Don’t Put the Brakes on Tonight” (which includes the “sheep bleat” lyric), recently appeared on YouTube. Have any memories associated with this song?:

Ivan: The record company “installed” us at the Iroquois Hotel for four weeks and basically said “don’t come out until you have an album of hits.” I think that was one of the first ones.

You can be seen playing guitar in the video of “Brakes,” which was filmed in Oakland on Halloween in 1980. Recall anything special about that night?:

Ivan: If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.
 

Previously on Dangerous Minds:
A night spent hanging out with David Bowie and Iggy Pop: Ivan Kral tells us what it was like

 
Behold the premiere of “Peace and Happiness,” a previously unreleased track from Churchical Chant Of The Iyabinghi, one of On-U Sound’s upcoming spate of releases by African Head Charge on vinyl. African Head Charge is the long-running collaboration between master Nyabinghi percussionist Bonjo Iyabinghi Noah and maverick UK dub producer Adrian Sherwood. Some of the trippiest dub you’ll ever encounter.

Comprised of music originally released between 1990 and 2011, Drumming Is A Language, a 5 CD box set including material from these same releases alongside Churchical Chant Of The Iyabinghi—an album of unreleased music and rarities dating from the early 90s that were rescued from decaying tapes—will be released on March 6.

This new series picks up the story in 1990 with the album that is widely regarded as their masterpiece, Songs Of Praise. It’s been expanded to a double album with a whole raft of bonus tracks, as has 1993’s In Pursuit Of Shashamane Land.

2005’s Vision Of A Psychedelic Africa and 2011’s Voodoo Of The Godsent are pressed to vinyl for the first time, both as double LP sets, and as a companion piece to the Return Of The Crocodile LP of early rarities, Churchical Chant Of The Iyabinghicompiles alternate mixes and dubs from 1990 -1993. Each vinyl LP comes with a double-sided 24” x 12” poster containing an exclusive new interview with Bonjo in 5 parts alongside rare photos.

In recent years African Head Charge have returned to the live stage with a line-up featuring original African Head Charge participants.
 

 
Over the course of the past year I stopped buying recently produced vinyl, or at least most of it. A lot of vinyl these days is sourced from digital files. Some records are made right from CDs. Who would want that? Unless there is a promise of “mastered from the original analog tapes in an all analog environment” then you can count me out. Digital anything anywhere in the mastering chain defeats the purpose of records in 2020.  Analog—or even more pointedly, avoiding any sort of digital contamination—is the entire point.

For a long time—decades—I thought digital was superior to vinyl. For several years I worked in a high end video post production house and there is a massive difference between analog video and digital video. So obvious as not to require any further discussion. The same seemed to be true of digital music, plus CDs had no crackles, pops or dust. I didn’t have a good stereo in the first place, so naturally CDs sounded better on my modest system. I sold off 98% of my home-invading record collection in the late 90s. Eventually I got into audiophile formats like SACDs, high resolution 24-bit files from HDTracks and 5.1 surround mixes on DVD and Blu-ray.

Cut to twenty years later and after I was gifted with a ridiculously beautiful turntable in 2016 (thank you kindly Alex Rosson!) I morphed very quickly from Digital Dan to Analog Andy. I immediately set about re-purchasing the creme of my former collection and more. Much, much more. (The night of the day that the turntable unexpectedly arrived on our porch, I spent so much money on Discogs that I realized I was going to be in big trouble when my wife—then sleeping beside me—got wind of it the next day, so I decided to spend twice as much to make my inevitable punishment worth it.)

Finally having a really good turntable totally changed my listening habits and I gained a great deal of sophistication as a listener that—unbeknownst to me, of course—I’d been sorely lacking. First, I find that I listen to vinyl for far, far longer than I ever listen to digital music. I will put on album after album after album late into the night. I seldom do that with CDs or streaming. I also listen to analog music a lot louder than I listen to digital music. In retrospect, I think that I’m fairly susceptible to “listener fatigue” with CDs. Albums sound better to my ears. CDs and streaming often have severely squashed range so they sound passable everywhere—in earbuds, in cars, on cheap desktop speakers, etc.—whereas vinyl mastering employs the antithesis of this approach and is often far more dynamic (except for the vinyl mastered from aggressively compressed CDs!) and “musical” sounding.

There’s just something inherently “better” about analog audio. Our ears seem to like it more, probably because it’s reproducing music as soundwaves, not snatches of zeros and ones. So this is why, as I was saying above, I stopped buying almost all newly minted vinyl. I got burned too many times on dead quiet—but lifeless—200 gram supposedly audiophile pressings that were sourced from digital files. HOWEVER when it’s done properly—the mindblowing all-analog mastered Jimi Hendrix reissues come readily to mind—then I’m all over it. Releases like that are few and far between, but easy to spot: When a label goes to the trouble and expense of AAA mastering, they will tell you all about it on a front cover sticker. I think it should be mandatory when possible. Which brings me to my intended topic, the recent-ish slate of Frank Zappa vinyl from the Zappa Family Trust via UMe. 
 

 
Oh man, you wanna talk about good-sounding vinyl? These reissues—of albums that in some cases have been unavailable on vinyl for the past 40+ years—are every bit as good as the Hendrix wax (a high standard indeed). Zappa has a well-deserved reputation as a studio wizard and these releases were mastered at Bernie Grundman’s. I knew they were gonna sound good. I just didn’t know they were gonna sound this good. They might even sound better than the original releases. I felt like I was listening to something much closer to the master tapes than the CD versions I’ve known for so long. Pressed at Pallas in Germany, they are pitch black quiet. The jackets are top quality.

I had no idea until recently that these albums were done with this level of quality control. I assumed—incorrectly—that they were sourced from the 2012 Zappa CD remasters and paid no mind until I was sent a review copy of Orchestral Favorites. It was a real knockout sonically and I soon picked up Weasels Ripped My Flesh and Absolutely Free at the record store. The next day I returned and bought Chunga’s Revenge and Burnt Weeny Sandwich. 

Here’s my guide to the Zappa vinyl wot I have heard so far, more or less in the order that I first played them in:

With the advent of compact discs, Frank Zappa set about mastering his catalog digitally in the 1980s. Despite the fact that his hearing was no doubt pretty shot from years of touring, and the liberal amounts of digital reverb he added, the 80s Zappa CDs actually didn’t sound too terrible. For the most part. The master tapes for We’re Only In It For The Money and Cruising with Ruben & The Jets had sustained irreparable damage so Zappa enlisted drummer Chad Wackerman and bassist Arthur Barrow to help him recreate the damaged tracks. This didn’t sound right to anyone who grew up with these albums. Nobody liked it. And again with the digital reverb all over everything. 

When the newly remastered Zappa Family Trust versions came out on CD in 2012 they righted several wrongs in the catalog. From the world-renowned audio engineering talent they hired, to the packaging, the 2012 CDs were uniformly excellent and they tended to sound much better than Frank’s own versions (some were his versions). The ZFT vinyl is done to a similarly high standard and everything—save for Freak Out!, WOIIFTM, CWR&TJ, and Uncle Meat—is sourced from the original two-track analog master tapes. 

Setting those four aside for a moment, Absolutely Free is the earliest analog-sourced album and it sounds fantastic for something that was probably recorded in a four-track studio. There is a third side of extra cuts including both sides of the “Big Leg Emma”/“Why Dontcha Do Me Right?” single and some zany Mothers of Invention radio spots. The fourth side has no music but has been laser-etched with Frank’s face. The libretto that originally came with the album has been faithfully reproduced. I’m not sure this is an album a Zappa neophyte should start with—the satirical themes are more than a bit dated—but I’ve always loved this one and I’m glad I own it even if it’s not exactly something I would pull out and play that often. It sounds GOOD, though. Crazy good, I thought. 
 

 
Next up was the album that many would recommend to someone new to Zappa, 1969’s Hot Rats. One of the first albums to feature A LOT of multitrack overdubs, Hot Rats in this late 2019 pink vinyl incarnation is nothing short of magnificent in the audiophile department. It’s a wow from start to finish and something begging to be played on a good hifi. But here’s where I will point out a distinction between this album and other Frank Zappa records: Hot Rats was recorded entirely in the studio. Burnt Weeny Sandwich and Weasels Ripped My Flesh, like Uncle Meat before them, are comprised of a mix of state-of-the-art studio tracks and live recordings. As everyone knows, Zappa was a studio wizard, but how much control could he realistically have had over his live stuff considering he was onstage himself? Even if he was relying on skilled audio technicians—and he was—live recordings have a certain sound about them. I won’t say it’s jarring when a carefully produced studio number is followed by a live track—and with Zappa this might happen in a single song as he would frequently edit things that way—but the studio created material just sparkles pressed in the grooves of such high quality black plastic. “Dwarf Nebula Processional March & Dwarf Nebula,” for instance, knocked my socks off after listening to the CD version for so many years. “My Guitar Wants to Kill Your Mama” has never sounded better.

Chunga’s Revenge is what I picked up next and it’s also a mixture of live and studio. I’ve never felt like this was a particularly strong album, but it ends with “Sharleena,” which is one of my all time favorite Zappa songs—and holy fuck does it sound great here—so I had to have this one. Your mileage may vary on Chunga’s Revenge, but for me it was worth buying for just that one song.

And now I want to backtrack a minute because the next analog Zappa that I heard was a near mint copy of Uncle Meat that I bought from a Russian Discogs dealer. The master tape for that album is no more, so the current ZFT vinyl is sourced from a digital transfer made in the 1980s. As Uncle Meat is easily my favorite Zappa album, the ZFT analog wax I’d heard thus far had convinced me (because it was so good) that I needed to hear the original pressing. It took forever to get here, but the wait was worth it. The studio material on Uncle Meat sounds positively mind-blowing. If you’re used to hearing the CD version läthered with digital reverb, it’s like it was wiped down with Windex. I played Uncle Meat to death when I was a kid and this is the way I remember it sounding. Like all Zappa recordings, the drums sound amazing. My entire body was grinning with pleasure on a molecular level as I played it and I resolved to track down archival copies of Freak Out!, We’re Only In It For the Money and Cruising with Ruben & the Jets. [I should note here that I have not heard the ZFT/UMe release of Uncle Meat. I’ve read several reviews that say it sounds fantastic and the golden ears of Michael Fremer rate the new version as superior to the 1969 LP, but I had to have an original.]

As luck would have it, I came across a pristine copy of Cruising with Ruben & The Jets just a few days later at a local record store for a fraction of what I’d have been willing to pay for it on Discogs. This album—which many people consider a lesser Zappa album, IT’S NOT—sounded as good as Uncle Meat. In fact being fully a studio creation, it sounded even better. I obsessed over how brilliantly layered the voices were. The Mothers’ mutant doo wop was positively holographic as heard in the original pressing. I re-doubled my resolve to grab an original Freak Out! and WOIIFTM, but there was still plenty of classic analog-sourced Zappa vinyl reissues that I had not heard. Fab Jason Reynolds at UMe filled in some of the gaps with a box o’ records that included the mono Lumpy Gravy Primordial, Finer Moments, One Size Fits All, and Apostrophe.
 

 
Lumpy Gravy Primordial, mastered at 45rpm, is not a long album, but it’s an interesting orchestral piece—essential for any Zappa freak to own—and it sounds fantastic. What you get here is the early, withdrawn version of Lumpy Gravy before the surreal conversations were added. Finer Moments is a two record set of studio and live odds-n-sods and there is the same disparity in sound quality as on some of the earlier collections. It’s actually something Zappa himself prepared for release but never did. Finer Moments has got some very good stuff on it—some released elsewhere—but it’s a set more for completists than casual fans or curious new listeners. 

Which brings me to the two final analog Zappa albums that I played during my several day Zappa vinyl listening marathon. By the mid-70s the sound quality on Zappa’s albums took a great leap forward as studio equipment caught up to what he wanted to do with it and he had more money to put into the creation of his music. Both Apostrophe and One Size Fits All represent still-to-this-day next-level audiophile recording and mixing techniques and the ZFT wax capture all of those albums’ cartoony underground comix nuances. Regardless of what one thinks about lyrics describing the necessity of not eating yellow snow or being blinded (temporarily) by the husky wee wee (I mean the doggie wee wee)—and I’m not going to stick up for it—the astonishing virtuosity and dexterity of the band (the so-called “Roxy group” and the final cast of musicians to be called the Mothers of Invention) is something unique to behold. Has there ever been another band this tightly rehearsed in all of the rock era?

In summation, I haven’t heard all of the ZFT vinyl yet, but I’m sure that will happen in short order. And I’ll still be looking for original pressings of Freak Out! and WOIIFTM. Does it sound like I’m recommending all of it? I suppose it does. This is top quality, best-in-class heritage rock vinyl done up to the highest degree. If that kind of thing is important to you, do look into the Zappa vinyl. You won’t be sorry.
 

“King Kong” with the original Mothers of Invention on the BBC’s ‘Colour Me Pop’ TV show in 1968.

 
A pre-fame live tape of a show by new wave heroes, the Cars, recently surfaced online. The 1977 recording documents the Boston band less than a year on from their concert debut, and just when they were starting to gain some notoriety. The tape contains songs that are now classics, as well as those that are only known to diehard fans, including a few that have never been released.

The gig took place at the Paradise Theater, a small Boston venue, on October 1st, 1977. At the time, the Cars hadn’t been together all that long, but they were a band on the move. Demos of “My Best Friend’s Girl” and “Just What I Needed” had started to receive prominent airplay on Boston radio, and following a major label bidding war, the Cars signed a multi-album deal with Elektra/Asylum Records in November.
 

 
In addition to playing six songs that would be included on their self-titled debut (1978), the Cars played a number of tunes that didn’t end up on the record, though many would turn up later. “You Can’t Hold On Too Long” was tapped for album #2, Candy-O (1979), and “Leave Or Stay” kicks off their final album before disbanding, Door to Door (1987). Demos of “Cool Fool,” “Take What You Want,” and “You Just Can’t Push Me” were released in the ‘90s. Three songs still haven’t officially seen the light of day: the Stonesy rocker, “When You Gonna Lay Me Down”; the T. Rex-inspired, “You Can Have ‘Em”; and the power pop nugget, “I Don’t Want To,” sung by guitarist Elliot Easton.
 

 
The Cars came out in mid ‘78, and excitement about the group was growing not just at the local level, but nationally now, too. “Just What I Needed” was the first single from the album released to radio, and it was getting lots of spins on both rock and top 40 stations. Around this time, the Cars played six sold out shows at the Paradise Theater.
 

 
The October 1st, 1977 show, taped by an audience member, was transferred from a first generation reel-to-reel dub; the recording hasn’t widely circulated until now.

The setlist:

1. Leave Or Stay
2. Cool Fool
3. Bye Bye Love
4. When You Gonna Lay Me Down
5. Take What You Want
6. You Can Have ‘Em
7. You Can’t Hold On Too Long
8. My Best Friend’s Girl
9. I Don’t Want To
10. All Mixed Up
11. Don’t Cha Stop
12. You Just Can’t Push Me
13. You’re All I’ve Got Tonight
14. Just What I Needed

Previously on Dangerous Minds:
Andy Warhol meets the Cars: The notorious NSFW ‘nude’ version of the ‘Hello Again’ video

 
Today marks the release of Ingrid Chavez’s new Light Rays EP and we’ve got the video premiere here. Chavez has a knack for attracting top shelf collaborators to make music for her voice and words. The lyrics to “Light Rays” saw four different producers working on different takes on the song.

Tracklist:
1. Light Rays (Album Version), Written by Ingrid Julia Chavez, Mads Nordheim; Produced by Mashti
2. Swim in the Deep, Written by Ingrid Julia Chavez, Chuck Zwicky; Produced by Chuck Zwicky
3. The Solitary Rays of the New Rising Sun, Written by Ingrid Julia Chavez, Chuck Zwicky; Produced by Chuck Zwicky 
4. Light Rays (Melody As Truth Mix), written by Ingrid Julia Chavez, Jonny Nash, Suzanne Kraft; Produced by Melody As Truth
5. Light Rays Live The Hewing Hotel
6. Blue Grey Light Rays (Demo), written by Ingrid Julia Chavez, Chris Bränn; Produced by Chris Bränn

Buy the Light Rays EP with limited edition artwork here.
 

 
The “Light Rays” video was directed by Jamy Abrorov.
 

Cover of the “Broken Toy” single on the Max’s Kansas City record label, 1981

The Fast were a glammy NYC-based punk/power pop band formed in NYC in the mid-70s by brothers Miki and Mandy Zone, with bassist Tommie Moonie and drummer Peter Hoffman. A third Zone brother, Paul, joined in 1975 and the group became a core part of the Max’s Kansas City/CBGB punk scene, with Blondie and the Ramones. They had two songs on the famous Max’s Kansas City 1976 album along with acts like Jayne County & The Backstreet Boys, Suicide, Pere Ubu and others. In 1978, Mandy Zone peeled off from The Fast and started his own band, Ozone. They released one single, but the trail goes pretty cold after that.

After becoming obsessed with Ozone’s music and thinking it deserved a wider audience, Weasel Walter has put out Mandy Zone & Ozone Live at Max’s Kansas City, 1981 on his ugEXPLODE label.

Weasel Walter writes:

“My discovery of Ozone’s devastatingly great music came in the most roundabout way possible. In the mid-2000s, when Netflix would send you DVDs in the mail, I checked out a seedy reissue of a 1976 Carter Stevens porn flick called Punk Rock, ostensibly a cheap quickie trying pathetically to capitalize on the then-nascent NYC punk club scene. Being a rock trivia geek, the main draw was the grimy footage of the obscure bands tacked on to the unwatchable sex and dopey “private detective” plotline. The main event turned out to be two songs performed quite raucously by the seminal power pop group The Fast, a combo featuring TWO sets of brothers, most notably the Zones - Paul, Miki and Armand. The maniacal low-budget genius of the group displayed in these film clips (shot at the legendary rock dive Max’s Kansas City, where they used to sit down at tables and watch the show!) blew my mind, particularly the weird, shrieking falsetto of the iron cross-laden, proto-goth keyboardist, Armand (or Mandy, for short). Inspired moments of genius like these, especially when they are excavated from obscurity out of the rubbish bin of the past, tend to etch themselves into my psyche permanently.

Forward to 2012: I am in Los Angeles, newly deputized as Lydia Lunch’s guitarist and bandleader in Retrovirus and, somehow, my predilection for these little clips of The Fast come up in discussion. Turns out that back in the day, the teenaged Lydia used to run in a pack with Paul Zone—the only remaining brother of the three, and bearer of the torch—so she introduces us. Paul is very happy to hear about my rabid enthusiasm, especially my ravings about his brother’s unique talents, and I am glad to make a connection with somebody I believe is an important historical figure. Paul and I kept in touch. Around 2015, Paul sent me a copy of a live set by his brothers’ band he had dug up, just for fun. I was immediately floored and played it on an endless loop. My life was pretty frickin’ complicated at that point, but after listening to it a few more million times over the following three years, I realized I should ask Paul if I could release it. Paul was happy to say yes, so the long process of editing and remastering began as well as sifting through the visual artifacts. So, here it is a labor of love and a tribute to Mandy Zone and his able cohorts.”

Buy Mandy Zone & Ozone Live at Max’s Kansas City, 1981 via ugEXPLODE
 

 

 
Poor Terry Jones, what a fucking dreadful way to go. Dementia—which sick fucker came up with that one? Death’s a right evil bastard. My old man had dementia and Alzheimer’s and a whole load of other shit, and I tell you it is not pleasant to watch anyone go through that disabling, destructive, and utterly horrendous disease. If that ever happens to me, well, I’ll be getting the shotgun out, so long as I can remember where I put it…

Terry Jones was an immensely talented, genuinely funny, intelligent, cuddly man, who along with his cohorts in Monty Python changed comedy as the Beatles changed music. With his long-term writing partner, Michael Palin, Jones produced some of the best comedy sketches and series and movies of the past sixty years. My word, that’s a helluva a long time.

One of the highlights that Jones and Palin devised, wrote and made was Ripping Yarns. Now, there were three series that came out of Monty Python that had an equal revolutionary effect on television comedy. Firstly, and only in order of broadcast not in order of success, there was John Cleese with Fawlty Towers (co-written with Connie Booth); then Eric Idle’s god-like series Rutland Weekend Television—from which came the Rutles; and thirdly, Palin and Jones’ Ripping Yarns, which planted its flag on the map first long before The Comic Strip Presents….
 

 
After the Pythons went their separate ways, there was an idea idly passed around the controllers at the BBC over lunch and in the club that maybe there should be a Light Entertainment show with that lovely Michael Palin. It seemed a winner. Palin was approached but no one had the right idea what The Michael Palin Show should be. Only Palin was certain it should be different, original, and breaking new ground. Though the BBC seemed to only want to work with Palin, he was determined to work with his writing partner Jones. The two writers came up with a new kind of comedy series called Ripping Yarns, with a different story, a different genre every week, and no repeating characters. It was a bold move. The BBC tested out the writers’ idea with pilot called Tomkinson’s Schooldays.

Loosely based on Palin’s own experiences at school, Tomkinson’s Schooldays was a tremendous hit with both the public and critics alike, and the BBC immediately commissioned a series. Each episode presented a mini-comedy drama in 30-minutes. Tales of derring-do from a bygone age, well, really from the Boy’s Own stories popular when Palin and Jones were lads. The first series contained six episodes. A second series was commissioned, but due to production costs the BBC lost its nerve and cancelled the show after three episodes. A great loss, which also had a detrimental effect on the writing partnership of Palin and Jones who drifted apart after the series.

Over ten years ago, I was fortunate enough to produce a documentary strand for the BBC called Comedy Connections, which examined the stories and connections behind classic British TV comedy shows—just like the title suggests. I had a shortlist of what I wanted to make for the series, but had to drop some favorites like Rutland Weekend Television and The League Gentlemen in favor of programs like Sorry! I know, you’ve never heard of it either. Anyway, thank fuck I didn’t have to do Duty Free or The Brittas Empire. However, I did squeeze in quite a few faves, including Michael Palin and Terry Jones’ brilliant Ripping Yarns. Now, run VT.
 

 
More from ‘Ripping Yarns,’ after the jump…
 

An ad in the 1930 DeMoulin Bros. & Co. catalog for a product called “Drinking the Goat’s Blood.”
 
Founded by three brothers in 1892, DeMoulin Bros. & Co. put out their final “side degree” (a term used to define other Masonic bodies or orders) catalog in 1930. The catalog offers a wide variety of sophisticated devices used to haze incoming Masonic candidates before the practice of hazing new initiations was banned some time in the 1930s. According to people familiar with Masonic history, there was a large influx of membership to the Masons following WWI. This influx drove an increase in the popularity of hazing, thus making the business of selling hazing contraptions quite profitable until the arrival of the Great Depression.

Among the hazing accessories sold by DeMoulin Bros. & Co were a trick guillotine and something called “Drinking the Goat’s Blood.” According to well-informed Masons, “Drinking the Goat’s Blood” is culled from the expression “Kiss the Goat,” and the established Masonic acronym, GAOTU, or “Grand Architect of the Universe.” The gag-me gag is basically an amped-up version of the game we all played as kids, daring someone to drink an undisclosed glass full of something, all of it gross, or never live down the fact you wimped out. In the case of DeMoulin Bros. & Co.‘s “Drinking the Goat’s Blood,” they suggest the bucket be filled with all kinds of detritus like old shoes, rags, leaves, sticks, cigar butts, already-chewed tobacco, and presumably anything else that would churn the candidate’s gut. The cost of this tricked out bucket to mindfuck prospective members? A mere $12.50. But don’t trust my endorsement (because it had me at “drinking the goat’s blood”), here’s an actual testimonial about DeMoulin Bros. & Co.‘s blood bucket from Thos. Goughler, of the Amurath Siesta Princes of Bagdad “77” (a side order of the Knights of Malta) operating in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania:

“The paraphernalia that we have received has been very satisfactory in all ways and has proved very successful to this organization. We always look forward to putting it in action, and we have also increased our membership with the articles that we have received from your Company.”

In addition to their proto-Jackass props, DeMoulin also outfitted churches with everything from pews to pulpits; circuses with circus equipment, and so much more, including high school marching band uniforms—and they are still in operation today. Just don’t try to place an order for DeMoulin’s 100-pound guillotine—nicely priced in 1930 at $37.00—which came with the option to add a “cloth spattered with blood” and/or decapitated head (realistic or paper mache) for a few bucks more.

Now DeMoulin Bros. & Co. outfits marching bands and color guards—BOO! If you happen to be in Illinois, you can see some of DeMoulin’s creations up close at the DeMoulin Museum. There is also a book, The Extraordinary Catalog of Peculiar Inventions: The Curious World of the DeMoulin Brothers and Their Fraternal Lodge Prank Machines which has cataloged the vast history of DeMoulin’s existence. Getting back to 1930, let’s take a look at some of the equipment from DeMoulin Bros. & Co. that made hazing FUN. Because nothing says fun like five different kinds of mechanical goats or the 1930’s version of “The Human Centipede.”
 

DeMoulin’s Devil, now fully electrified for your displeasure.
 

DeMoulin’s electrified human-sized bird cages.
 

DeMoulin’s Charleston Girls were life-size rag dolls that came in a range of sizes from “thin” to “fat.” A member from a lodge in Kansas noted in his testimonial (above) “we certainly have had a good time with them and all the members are anxious to use them.” Another lodge in Florida stated their membership had increased 200% since the arrival of the Charleston Girls.
 
Much more mechanical mayhem from DeMoulin Bros. & Co. after the jump…

 
Veteran singer/guitarist Sonny Vincent is best known as the leader of the Testors, the New York City punk outfit he founded in the mid 1970s. Later on, he was in bands with Bob Stinson (the Replacements) and Cheetah Chrome (the Dead Boys), and he’s also played with members of the Sex Pistols, the Stooges, the MC5, as well as others of note—too many to list here. Vincent’s punk rock roots run deep, going back to a period before the genre was even established. There’s a compilation of proto-punk Vincent material that’s about to be released, and Dangerous Minds has a preview.

In the mid 1960s, Sonny Vincent was a teenage runaway living on the streets of New York City, but after he was arrested multiple times for pot possession, he was sent to reform school, then enlisted in the military—all against his will. In 1969, while on leave from the Marines, he cut the intense acid-blues number “She’s Like Hiroshima” with his first band, the Distance. In the early 1970s, after Vincent was discharged, the group reconvened. Though they had a wealth of original songs that they wanted to play live, gigs were tough to come by, as most smaller venues were only interested in hiring cover bands, and the Distance didn’t do covers. They did manage to book one show with a then virtually unknown Suicide (the poster for the gig is above).
 

Sonny Vincent fronting the Distance in 1971.

The Distance broke up following a major dust up between Sonny Vincent and Anthony Vitino, the bassist of the group. By the way, Vitino is currently serving life in prison for murdering the lead guitarist in his next band…!

“She’s Like Hiroshima,” along with two Distance tunes from 1971, are on the new Sonny Vincent collection, Diamond Distance & Liquid Fury: 1969-76. The compilation contains additional proto-punk fierceness from Vincent’s subsequent bands, Fury (1972) and Liquid Diamonds (1973-74). There’s a Testors demo (1976) on the set, too. Diamond Distance & Liquid Fury: 1969-76 will be released in late January by HoZac Records. The first 100 orders come with a free reproduction of the Distance/Suicide poster. Pre-order yours through HoZac’s webstore or get it get on Bandcamp.
 

 
Five of the LP’s recordings haven’t been heard before, and that includes all three of the Distance tracks. We have the premiere of our favorite of the Distance songs, the fiery “Lament.”
 

Previously on Dangerous Minds:
Obscure gems from Cincinnati’s 1975-82 punk underground

 
Get them young and you’ll have them for life. That was the maxim when I worked in television. It was called “creating brand loyalty,” which probably explains why the bloke who was then Chief Executive of the broadcaster who occasionally employed me, was responsible for making “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter” a big success in the UK. I suppose, this maxim was a more cynical variation of the Jesuit saying, “Give me the child for the first seven years and I will give you the man.” Brand loyalty was a way of ensuring the audience stuck with the channel and watched the adverts. Programs were the wrapping paper for the advertisements. Advertisers in a way dictated the kinds of things that could or could not be seen on commercial TV.

In the seventies, creating early brand loyalty saw the publication of children’s magazine Look-In in January 1971. Look-In was the equivalent of kids’ TV Guide or as it was known “The Junior TVTimes.” The TVTimes was the rival listing publication to the BBC’s Radio Times. There were basically two broadcasters back then—the BBC which was financed by a compulsory license fee payable by anyone with a TV set; and ITV, or independent television, which was financed by advertising.

Look-In was ITV’s kids comic or teen magazine. It contained a mix of cartoon strips based on popular ITV broadcast shows like Benny Hill, Man About the House, Kung Fu, The Six Million Dollar Man, Sapphire and Steel, Freewheelers, and Catweazle. There was also sports, puzzles, crosswords and plenty of pictures and pullout posters of pop stars like Marc Bolan, Debbie Harry, David Cassidy, Donny Osmond, Slade, David Bowie, Suzi Quatro, Roy Wood and so on.

If memory serves, the very first issue of Look-In contained a free, cut-out and make your very own TV studio which featured the set, presenters and a camera from ITV’s hit kids show Magpie—rival to BBC’s more mild-mannered Blue Peter. Perhaps my interest in TV started then? Who knows. Look-In was a strangely appealing magazine, for it always contained something of interest—whether a pop star interview or favorite comic strip, or just the double-paged regional listings for the week. I lived in Scotland which meant watching local programming like Knot-Tying from Drumnadrochit or Haggis Farming from Pittenweem, while the rest of the country enjoyed Captain Scarlet or Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased).

Look-In also had fabulous cover artwork featuring portraits of pop stars, DJs, and actors as painted by Arnaldo Putzu. These covers made the magazine instantly recognizable and iconic. A bit like Richard Bernstein’s covers for Andy Warhol’s Interview which followed in 1972. Putzu had a career painting movie posters, most notably for the Carry On films and Get Carter. His paintings were featured on the cover of Look-In until the 1980s when they were sadly and unimaginatively replaced with photographs.

Look-In lasted from January 1971 until March 1994 and here’s a small selection of the cover artwork from the 1970s to early eighties.
 

 

 

 

 

 
More poptastic covers, after the jump…