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halleluwah
Total Rock Cumshot

Posts: 7312
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted July 12th, 2012 06:44 PM   IP              



Beat-Club Episode 53
3/28/1970
All performances live, except where noted 


1. Opening titles
2. Mott The Hoople - You Really Got Me 
(fragment)*
3. Film: Munich interviews: Erika, Hannes Heindl, and Dorte
4. Mott the Hoople – You Really Got Me (continued)
5. Film: Munich interviews: Dorte (continued)
6. Mott the Hoople – You Really Got Me (continued)
7. Film: Munich interviews: Dorte, Klaus Lemke, and Alexandra Bogojevic
8. Ashton, Gardner & Dyke - Rolling Home
9. Led Zeppelin - Whole Lotta Love 
(music video from assembled mimed Beat Club footage)*
10. Film: British protest arrest hotline
11. Edgar Broughton Band - American Boy Soldier* 

12. Mott The Hoople - At The Crossroads*
13. Film: Beat Club receives awards
14. Marsha Hunt - Keep The Customer Satisfied* 
(live vocal to backing track)
15. Film: Gottfried Mehlhorn talks to old German woman about The Beatles
16. Ashton, Gardner & Dyke - Billy And His Piano Without
17. Edgar Broughton Band - Love In The Rain******
18. Closing credits 




(The Beatles’ live-in-studio film of “Let It Be” was originally shown on this episode.)


FULL EPISODE: http://video.mail.ru/mail/vakula196.../1971/2513.html


How long had it been since the last truly great episode of Beat Club at this point? Sure, both of the first two color shows were good, with occasionally brilliant performances, but they were also inconsistent, saddled with multiple dead spots that detracted from the overall effect. Granted, Beat Club, like all music shows on television, was rarely able to fill a full hour with nothing but a-grade material, but in the ’67-’69 period, there were at least a good dozen episodes where as a viewer, you were left afterwards with a little chill in recognition of the greatness on display. In March 1970, it had been a while since that had happened. Apart from the Tommy episode, which almost doesn’t count due to its awkward structure and heavy Fat Mattress quotient, all of the shows from the last third of 1969 were to varying degrees messes. Things had been steadily improving since the switch to color, but I’d venture to say that the last time Beat Club had completely captured that elusive combination of consistency and transcendent performances was way back in the summer of ’69 (presumably while Bryan Adams was off somewhere buying his first real six-string). (Sorry.)

With episode 53, the chill is back. This is where for the first time, all of the potential of Beat Club’s live progressive format aligns with the quality of guests the show was able to get that month. There aren’t a lot of acts on the show; three different bands are allowed two songs apiece, and in two of those cases, that’s a really good thing. In addition, we have the last hurrah for one of the show’s most provocative repeat guests, as well as a unique custom-made proto-music video for the most important hard rock band of the decade. There’s only one particularly weak clip on the show, and even that is just harmless tomfoolery, rather than suckiness of the offensively shitty Hardin, Leapy, and York variety. And best of all: no drum solos this time. The films are, well, standard Beat Club films of the era, but on the whole, it adds up to probably the best episode of 1970.

The cold-open returns this month for a cute bit in which we’re shown a soccer club and a bowling club, before arriving at, you guessed it, the Beat Club. The opening titles have finally been updated to a new color version, featuring a high-energy montage of young people doing all the exciting, sporty things young people are supposed to do, which apparently includes playing bass in Atomic Rooster. With this episode, the program drops all pretense of having Uschi fill any traditional hosting roles, like introducing bands to a now non-existent studio audience. Instead, most of her screen time today finds her delivering quick one-liners naked in a bathtub beneath a Zappa-on-toilet poster. (Keep it in your pants, perverts; no matter how boob-happy Mike Leckenbusch was in this era, he wasn’t about to make Uschi show hers on camera.)


This cuts directly to the show’s first musical performance, Mott the Hoople’s ripping instrumental cover of The Kinks’ “You Really Got Me.” A group of journeyman musicians who had originally convened under the name Silence, Mott had recently changed their name just before recording their first album at the prodding of their producer, Guy Stevens. Such a unique moniker was appropriate for a one-of-a-kind band like this. They could rock as hard as anyone anywhere, but forced that tendency to share space with hyper-dramatic Sonny Bono covers and ten-minute Dylan-inspired elliptical piano ballads by frontman Ian Hunter. But in an odd way, it all seemed to make sense (except to the record-buying public, who all but ignored the band until 1972). Hunter had previously appeared on Beat Club as bassist for At Last the 1958 Rock and Roll Show back in mid-’68, and like that performance, he’s rarely glimpsed here; this song belongs to lead guitarist Mick Ralphs and flamboyant drummer Dale "Buffin" Griffin. The Kinks’ original version was a snotty adrenaline rush of punkish power chords, but Mott manages to crank the energy level even higher, threatening to derail at any moment. I’m not sure why the decision was made to arrange the song as an instrumental, since Hunter probably could have ripped the shit out of the vocals, but it works anyway, offering Ralphs an opportunity for some muscular leads. Unfortunately, the performance is cut up into three pieces, with films inserted in between in the manner of the Jackie Lomax song on the previous episode. That shit is just wrong.


http://youtu.be/WeRhZQekVRs
(This clip is essential viewing, as it is the full, unedited performance, featuring nearly a minute of extra footage cut out of the originally aired version. The intense outro jam here would have been one of the episode’s finest moments had it been left in.)


After a minute or so of “You Really Got Me,” we suddenly cut to the first part of a film chronicling the lives of young people in Munich, the “world city with a heart.” The first interview subject is a 17-year-old nursing student named Erika, set to a montage of Munich street scenes and footage of her striking modeling poses in the snow. We then move to a tavern, where Hannes Heindl, the balding, pinched-faced founder of the König-Ludwig-Club publishing house, is being interviewed over several steins of beer. The last interview of the segment features a 25-year-old script girl named Dorte. A little bit into her interview, she is interrupted by seventeen seconds of hot Mick Ralphs guitar action as we briefly return to Mott the Hoople. Equally swift is the cut back to Dorte, who seems perturbed by the very notion of “Swinging Munich.” After another half minute or so, Mott the Hoople takes the screen once more to finish “You Really Got Me.” Ralphs concludes his solo, leading the band back into the main verse melody, but just as they’re gearing up for the big finish, the show gives up on the song once and for all, cutting to a shot of Uschi powdering her nose and muttering to herself. Dammit, Beat Club. Just because you can edit doesn’t mean you should. Mott the Hoople got shafted on their first go-round today, but the presentation of their second performance of the episode would make up for it. In the meantime, there’s a bit of unfinished business with Dorte, and we return to her a third time. Apparently, she’s saying something pretty fucking outrageous, because a giant exclamation point flashes beside her head onscreen several times during this segment.

We then travel elsewhere in Munich with a black-and-white profile of television film director Klaus Lemke shooting on set. Or at least preparing to shoot, since most of the film just shows a bunch of hippies lounging around to the accompaniment of Fraternity of Man’s “Don’t Bogart Me.” Finally, they get around to shooting in the snow, and it looks fucking miserable. After a brief tribute to old men drinking beer, we conclude our Munich festivities with a profile of a lovely young actress named Alexandra Bogojevic. She dances around to acid rock in a snow-covered Western movie set and shows us a scrapbook of some of her modeling work. A clip from one of her films is shown, and it becomes obvious that Alexandra is a soft-core porn actress. This is confirmed by looking at her IMDb page, which offers an extensive list of credits for films whose translated titles include Secret Techniques of Sexuality, Erotic Center, Ninotchka Takes Off Her Panties, and my personal favorite, Has Anybody Seen My Pants? Alexandra seems like a nice enough girl, but don’t do a Google image search for her if you’re at work. Thus ends our journey into the wild and wonderful city of Munich.


The very first group to ever become regular guests on Beat Club, way back in the show’s earliest days in 1966, was the Liverpudlian club band The Remo Four. In that band, organist Tony Ashton and drummer Roy Dyke had been the clear standout instrumentalists, and after the Remos split up at the end of the ‘60s, the duo joined forces with ex-Creation bassist Kim Gardner to form the imaginatively named Ashton, Gardner, and Dyke. It had been three years since any of these men had set foot on the Beat Club stage, but the old favorites were welcomed back with open arms, and they’d be allowed two songs on this episode. The first of these is a jazzy bit of energetic blues-funk called “Rolling Home.” Now, I know I just gave organ/bass/drum rock combos a lot of shit in the previous installment, and have every intention of continuing to do so in the future, but I kind of like these guys. Unlike the majority of the groups of their ilk, Ashton, Gardner, and Dyke were unpretentious and fun, and even if they’re unlikely to change anybody’s life, there’s a palpable joy in their performances that keeps them entertaining most of the time. Ashton’s self-duet switching between piano and organ during the song’s middle section is a little hammy, but it doesn’t last long enough to become truly irksome, so I’ll give him a pass there. Within the band’s modest goals of creating a solid groove tune, “Rolling Home” is successful, which is unfortunately more than I can say for their second song of the show. For now, the worst you can say about them is that under no circumstances should Tony Ashton’s disturbing British-stereotype rack of teeth ever be given this much screen time again.


http://youtu.be/0Vy7i7pbktA


The following clip is a unique example of ingenuity arising from practical necessity. On March 27, 1969, Led Zeppelin had filmed a session for Beat Club, miming “You Shook Me” and “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You.” For some dumbassed reason, neither of the performances made it on air, while Mike Leckenbusch elected instead to feature such luminaries as Trifle, Simon Dupree and the Big Sound, and Les Reed on the episodes that immediately followed. Asshole. Granted, Zeppelin was a brand new band in March of ‘69, having released their debut album in the U.S. only two months earlier (it wouldn’t be released in England until the day after this footage was shot), and both of the songs they played were pretty long for the show’s standard at the time. With the perspective of hindsight, though, leaving that footage in the can seems ridiculous. A year later, with Zeppelin now entrenched as the hottest rock band in the world, Leckenbusch realized his mistake, and was understandably keen to get the group on his show. The only problem was that Led Zeppelin had stopped doing television appearances altogether by 1970, and so if Beat Club wanted to capitalize on the recent German #1 hit “Whole Lotta Love,” the show would have to improvise. Leckenbusch’s solution was to take the year-old mimed footage of the band, edit it together behind “Whole Lotta Love,” and layer enough effects on top to distract viewers from the fact that they were playing a completely different song onscreen. The tinted black-and-white footage is treated in a variety of ways, sometimes slowed-down, sometimes captured in still frames, and sometimes projected onto the torso of a topless female dancer. The result is a fast-paced music video that looks strikingly ahead of its time. Aside from the nudity, this looks very similar to the videos compiled from old footage that were released to promote Zeppelin’s archival releases in the 1990s. Even the rapid-fire editing style (check out the percussive flurries of still photos that accompany John Bonham’s drum fills) predicts the visual approach that would later become a video cliché in the MTV era. As for the song itself…surely you already know “Whole Lotta Love” by heart, right? The audio here is the heavily edited single version, which cuts out the psychedelic middle section, and the show shortens it even further by fading it out at the beginning of the “way down inside…you need LOOOOOVE” part. As presented in this clip, the whole thing runs barely over two minutes. This innovative clip would be the only time Led Zeppelin would ever (sort of) appear on Beat Club, which is kind of amusing when you consider that they’re invariably one of the first bands mentioned whenever somebody writes a thumbnail description of the show’s history.


http://video.mail.ru/mail/igor.kozy.../6616/6625.html


We cut away from Led Zeppelin into three minutes of film on a protest arrest hotline operating in London. A cute woman in red explains that although it’s impossible to prevent young people from getting arrested at demonstrations, it’s important to provide them with a 24-hour-a-day resource so that they’ll know their legal rights if it happens. It sounds like an unusually sensible idea for the counterculture of the time, although from the look of the film, it appears that the whole operation consists of a couple of hippies sitting at phones in a cramped apartment.


Less than two years before, The Edgar Broughton Band had been a straight-up blues group, cranking out a standard array of Chess Records covers to local club audiences. Then for some reason, things got weird in a hurry. Maybe Broughton paid the price for sniffing the wrong kind of glue, or maybe he snuck into a time machine and stole Lester Bangs’ record collection six years in the future, but whatever happened, he emerged fronting the finest purveyors of fuzzed-out mind-rot rock in England. These guys were tuned into the hippest, most cracked rock and roll America currently had to offer; they were already covering songs by Captain Beefheart and The Fugs as early as 1969. From The Stooges to The Velvets, if it was the work of brilliant minds intentionally exploring the crudest, most basal sonic territory, Broughton was immediately interested. As the flagship band on EMI’s recently created progressive Harvest label, the Broughtons clearly had the concept of rock-as-art on their minds, but they were determined to achieve it in the most anti-intellectual way possible. Having already been briefly glimpsed in a film recap of the 1969 Isle of Wight Festival back in October, the band makes its studio Beat Club debut here with “American Boy Soldier.” Although far quieter than their usual style at the time, it’s certainly no less retarded. Over a menacing static chord, the burly, mutton-chopped Broughton begins the song in the guise of a sinister authority figure, enacting a dialogue in which he convinces a dopey teenager played by bassist Arthur Grant that joining the army and going to Vietnam is a great idea. After about a minute of this, the song morphs into a Zappa-inspired 50s doo-wop parody chronicling the kid’s death in battle. During the choruses, Grant becomes a one-man vocal backing group, warbling all alone in a truly shitty wordless falsetto. Drummer Steve Broughton, Edgar’s younger brother, looks contemptuously bored throughout the song’s first half before cracking up and pulling goofy faces at the ridiculousness of Grant’s vocal part. Contrasted with Edgar’s stone-faced demeanor throughout, the overall effect is hysterically funny to me. Not that this is any damn good by any rational measurement of quality. When I’m listening to Edgar and Arthur cooing “baby love, baby love” back and forth at each other, I’m not sure this isn’t one of the worst things I’ve ever heard. But I can’t help it; I love this shit. If looked at as a piece of serious social commentary, or as any kind of worthwhile doo-wop tribute, “Soldier” is god-awful. If looked at as a satirical, absurdist twist on the concept of anti-war protest music, it’s hilarious. I tend to think of the song in the latter way, but I’m not sure Beat Club’s not taking it dead seriously. Throughout, bars of text appear across the screen translating the song’s lyrics into German, and at the end, a couple of toy army tanks creep across the screen, and the band vanishes in their wake. Heavy. Regardless of whether “American Boy Soldier” is one of the best or worst moments on this episode (probably a little of both, honestly), the Broughtons’ second song of the show would find the band exploding heads in a more characteristic fashion.


http://video.mail.ru/mail/j_julie/104/421.html


Mott the Hoople’s first performance of the show may have been destroyed by editing, but their cover of The Sir Douglas Quintet’s “At the Crossroads” offers an unfettered display of the band’s power. The original was a minor masterpiece of slow-burn Tex-Mex soul, but Mott recasts it as a sort of proto-power ballad, adorned with bluesy guitar lines and power rock drum fills. Ian Hunter is front and center this time, and although the chorus’s central line “you just can’t live in Texas if you don’t have a lot of soul” may have seemed more authentic coming out of Doug Sahm’s mouth, Hunter’s more acidic, Dylan-inspired approach is no less convincing. He may not live in Texas, but only a fool would accuse this performance of lacking soul. Meanwhile, the band cuts loose behind him, bringing the song to a cathartic crescendo, and there’s something majestic about the raggedness of their playing. Mott was never as tight or virtuosic as Led Zeppelin, but they always sounded like they deeply meant everything they played, even on songs they had no hand in composing. The band’s performance is matched by a lovely visual presentation, with the band members multiplied on several different color-filtered television monitors. On most Beat Club episodes, “At the Crossroads” would be the clear highlight, but as it stands on today’s installment, it’ll have to settle for second place. Despite continued brilliant work, it would be two years before Mott would finally achieve commercial success on the strength of the David Bowie-penned single “All the Young Dudes.” Unfortunately, the band would never return to Beat Club again after this performance.


http://youtu.be/sn6-uoE_7Lw


A brief linking film follows, with Beat Club patting itself on the back for winning gold, silver, and bronze medals from a Radio Luxembourg awards show back on March 7th. The show wasn’t allowed to film at the ceremony, so we just hear the audio from the event played over plain text screens explaining the situation.


Marsha Hunt had only made two previous Beat Club appearances, but she’d managed to make both of them among the most memorable of 1969 on the strength of her sexually explicit performing style, revealing outfits, and freaky personal appearance. None of this would have made a damn bit of difference if her records weren’t really good in the first place, of course, and she’d wrapped her husky, untrained voice around effective interpretations of songs by John’s Children and Dr. John. After covering those genuine weirdoes, Simon and Garfunkel seems like an uncharacteristically safe choice, but her version of “Keep the Customer Satisfied” is great, easily surpassing the original. She doesn’t really alter much in the arrangement; the shuffling groove, soul horn charts, and mildly suggestive hustler-on-the-run lyrics are unchanged. But in terms of performance, the horns are brasher, the choruses more anthemic, and Hunt’s vitriolic vocal far sassier than Paul and Art could ever muster. Despite the slight comparative tameness of the song choice (no knock on Paul Simon, but he’s following songs about voodoo curses and elfin Bolan fucking), Hunt’s trademark untamed dancing and immense afro wig are very much in evidence. The kaleidoscopic double-split-screen effect is a nice touch. Although the previous episode's Jethro Tull clip had been the show's final fully mimed clip, "Keep the Customer Satisfied," which is sung live to a backing track, is the definitive end of non-live music being shown on Beat Club. Barring a handful of readymade promo films, it's all live from here on out. It also marks (aside from a partial repeat of this clip on the following show) the last we'll see of Marsha Hunt on the show. Later in the year, she’d have to put her musical career on hold after becoming pregnant with Mick Jagger’s baby, and would subsequently become better known for her second career as a novelist than for her brief time spent as a singer.


http://youtu.be/ThyVxb9AVCM


Less than two weeks after this episode aired, Paul McCartney would issue his infamous press statement alerting the world that The Beatles had broken up. Although the band had in fact been effectively dissolved for some time, with John Lennon having secretly quit in September of the previous year, the general public was still for the most part blissfully unaware of this for the time being. As such, this episode features the final Beatles-specific segments ever shown on Beat Club. Actor Gottfried Mehlhorn, who had previously been filmed interminably waiting for The Beatles to show up at an airport in November, returns here interviewing an elderly fan of the group. This is actually kind of cute, as the old woman’s enthusiastic responses seem more akin to what you’d expect from a teenaged pop fan. It’s sweet. In addition, this is likely the spot in the episode where the promo film for the band’s current hit “Let It Be” was originally aired. Presumably the live-in-the-studio clip of the song from the upcoming feature film bearing its name, “Let It Be” would be the final Beatles film ever shown on Beat Club. Due to the subsequent removal of all the Beatles’ filmed appearances from the program’s history, the band has merited far less discussion in my recaps than they probably warranted. In the original broadcasts, the band had a much heavier influence on the show’s makeup than it seems toady; since 1966, fifteen Beatles promo films had aired over eleven separate episodes. Why, that’s nearly as many episodes as Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick, and Tich were on! By the time the next Beat Club episode aired, the band’s breakup would be public knowledge, and there would never be any reason to promote them again.


I guess nearly every Beat Club episode, no matter how strong, needs one obvious clunker somewhere along the way, and today that duty falls to Ashton, Gardner, and Dyke. The group’s second song of the show, the whimsical “Billy and His Piano Without,” seems designed chiefly for the amusement of the band members themselves; to anyone else, this is just sort of stupid. The band was filmed jamming on a decent upbeat piano-led blues shuffle; this is then projected on a green screen while Ashton stands in front with a microphone and declaratively recites the nonsensical tale of a young boy who “blew his mind” on the piano. Then the other two band members join him and spend the rest of the song horsing around with shit-eating grins on their faces. As jams with recitations on top go, this isn’t exactly The Velvet Underground’s “The Gift” we’re talking about here. “Billy and His Piano Without” sucks in comparison to everything else on this show, but it’s still not bad enough to make me want to punch out the TV or anything. It’s just a joke that isn’t that funny. This isn’t the first time Tony Ashton had pulled this stunt on Beat Club, by the way; all the way back on episode 4, he had provided the first unfunny joke performance ever on the show with The Remo Four’s “But I Was Cool.” There are some things that even a hippie mustache, dirty long hair, and a studded vest can’t change in a man. Ashton, Gardner, and Dyke would return for a couple more songs in 1971, but for now, they’re about to get their asses handed to them by the episode’s closing performance.


http://youtu.be/ioJaV0XHIso


If you put a gun to my head and demanded that I choose one single favorite clip from the entire seven-year run of Beat Club (and why would you even do that? I thought we were friends…), I’d probably give the nod to The Edgar Broughton Band’s “Love In the Rain.” Simply put, this is the most insane rock performance I have ever seen on television. All other applicants can pack up your fire axes and Mandrax pills and go home now. “Love In the Rain” barely even counts as a ‘song’ per se; it’s nothing but the same basic three-note riff repeated over and over again for minutes on end, over which Edgar alternately bellows out unhinged verses and loses his shit on guitar. Exposure to even a minute of this would probably make my high school music teacher spontaneously burst into flames out of sheer disgust. From the opening burst of hair-torching feedback to the deranged, abrupt climax seven and a half minutes later, these three guys never let the intensity level flag for even a millisecond. The rhythm section is surprisingly solid throughout; despite the visual disconnect between Arthur Grant’s stoic demeanor and Steve Broughton’s flailing mass of hair, they never stray from the mission statement, pummeling the song’s surging pulse further and further towards hypnosis. This leaves Edgar himself free to take off into sheer musical barbarism, both with his guitar and his own shredded voice box. Broughton’s vocal approach here, which channels some bizarre mixture of Captain Beefheart and the Cowardly Lion, is wigged-out enough on its own. He obsessively hollers “LOVE IN THE RAAAIN!” and “I’m coming I’m coming I’m coming I’m coming” in an attempt to make this the least sexy song about sex ever, but the real violence springs from his fingers. At no point during Broughton’s extended guitar excursions does he seem to be in control of his instrument; he’s not so much playing his Strat as he is wrestling it, and there’s a very real fear one of them might not survive until the end of the song. This is guitar work so unhinged as to make you question the sanity of the man responsible for it. If I invoked The Velvets’ White Light/White Heat in the last paragraph in order to ridicule the lameness of that song, the comparison is no joke this time; Broughton has clearly absorbed the ferocity of Lou Reed’s guitar meltdown on “I Heard Her Call My Name” and is making his own go at it. And the incredible thing is, he comes close to equaling it while playing in a fucking television studio, which is damn near unheard of. What’s just as implausible is that Beat Club obviously gets where this shit is coming from, and visually presents the band in a manner nearly as anarchic as their music. The group is largely shot from a distance, dwarfed by the 20-foot-high green screen behind them, which displays the savagely rippling sound waves caused by this obscene racket. All the while, a single light bulb in the foreground eerily flickers on and off. The final half minute of the performance, where it looks like the effects guys are scrambling around the back room, frantically turning every knob they can at once, is probably the most visually chaotic moment ever shown on the program. Beat Club can’t be given enough credit for airing a performance like this completely uncut. It’s difficult to imagine any other major music show on television, then or now, daring to alienate viewers by exposing them to something this raw and dangerous. It’s a beautiful thing. To put a fine point on the title of the thread you’re reading, THIS is why you should love Beat Club, ladies and gentlemen. If I had my way, The Edgar Broughton Band would have appeared on every damn episode of 1970, but as it played out in reality, it would be five months before they would return to the show again.


http://youtu.be/7ZWfnVUWmG8


There literally is only one thing impressive enough in Beat Club’s arsenal of tricks to adequately follow “Love In the Rain”: one more shot of Uschi in the bathtub before the credits roll. Thankfully, the show is happy to oblige. It’s been quite a while since I’ve felt this drained at the end of an episode of Beat Club, and it’s a good feeling. When the show was firing on all cylinders, as it was on this installment, there was no other program on television capable of touching it. With the end of miming and the last aired Beatles film, the final remaining tethers connecting Beat Club to its previous ‘60s incarnation were now severed, and now the show had its first truly definitive progressive-era episode under its belt. The high-water mark for 1970 already having been reached, the upcoming April episode couldn’t help but be a slight letdown, but it would for the most part be another strong one.




EPISODE 53 OUTTAKE PERFORMANCES:

Though not strictly speaking outtakes from this episode, Led Zeppelin’s unaired performances of “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You” and “You Shook Me” were raided for the “Whole Lotta Love” clip, and they’ve both been broadcast on German TV in recent years. Zeppelin never cared much for miming, one of the reasons they quit doing television altogether as soon as they no longer had to, and both of these performances come off a little lackluster. Jimmy Page is trying a little too hard to overcompensate with his best rock star moves, while John Bonham looks completely disinterested the whole time. Frankly, while the mimed green-screen approach worked extremely well for pop singles, it’s obviously the wrong medium for lengthy improvisational blues jams or heavily arranged acoustic/electric epics. Page miming all the acoustic bits in “Babe” on his Telecaster is especially laughable. It’s a bit puzzling why the band chose to perform these two tracks instead of something more appropriate and concise from their debut album like “Communication Breakdown,” their usual choice for TV appearances at the time. (It’s thought that “Dazed and Confused,” another bad miming choice, may have also been recorded at this session, although no footage has ever surfaced) Adding to the somewhat strange vibe of these clips is the fact that apparently nobody told Robert Plant and John Paul Jones to not wear green pants beforehand, and their legs disappear entirely during the heavy back-projection parts. Still, given the historical importance of this film—aside from the Danish TV special and the Supershow footage of “Dazed and Confused,” this is the earliest surviving television footage of Led Zeppelin—these songs are major finds. The fact that none of the band’s Beat Club material made it onto their official DVD set makes the existence of these clips especially valuable.

Led Zeppelin – Babe I’m Gonna Leave You
http://video.mail.ru/list/nastasija...8865/20128.html

Led Zeppelin – You Shook Me
http://youtu.be/-mMeglC-hcM



In addition, Yes returned to Beat Club for a second filming session on February 24th, probably the same day the Broughton footage was shot (the two bands were touring Europe together on the same bill at the time). The band performed their newly-recorded single, "Time and a Word," miming rather than playing live as a concession to the track's prominent orchestral overdubs. With the single's release date still a month away, the clip was presumably intended to be held back for broadcast in March or April. However, nothing from this session was ever aired on Beat Club at the time, probably owing to the show's disavowal of miming after February 1970, the single's lack of success, and the fact that guitarist Tony Banks was ousted from the band less than two months after it was filmed. Although "Time and a Word" is a nice enough over-the-top dramatic Yesballad, the group mimes it fairly unconvincingly, and both their 1969 and 1971 live performances for the show were superior to this quickly forgotten non-appearance.

Yes - Time and a Word
http://youtu.be/Ep5_HL9A_PA




(Edited by halleluwah)

I'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMING
   
IanWagner
The Rustic Bumfiddler

Posts: 47999
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted July 12th, 2012 07:24 PM   IP              
You got it, man!! You had the keys, you drove the motherfucker!
After reading the Broughton thing, I had to skip ahead and watch it before the rest of the episode. So fuckin' great. The ugly feedback squeal before the last two notes is the best thing I've ever heard.
"hair-torching" Now I'm gonna go watch the rest. I'm looking forward to the Hoople and...Love In The Rain...AGAIN.

   
Matinee Idyll (129)
Camp Counsellor

Posts: 8244
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted July 13th, 2012 12:51 PM   IP              
Much too much funny, that Broughton clip. Maybe your best writing yet Jase, awesome.

When words fail... LOVE IN THE RAIN!

"Nick is the Mode guy. Jon is the Duran guy."

   
andy rooney
The Indian Of The Group

Posts: 1831
Registered: Nov 2010
 Posted July 13th, 2012 01:54 PM   IP              
ah man, great great great.

Quote:
awkward structure and heavy Fat Mattress quotient


Quote:
way back in the summer of ’69 (presumably while Bryan Adams was off somewhere buying his first real six-string).


they were all imaginary prior to then?

Quote:
a high-energy montage of young people doing all the exciting, sporty things young people are supposed to do, which apparently includes playing bass in Atomic Rooster.


Quote:
my personal favorite, Has Anybody Seen My Pants?


Quote:
the imaginatively named Ashton, Gardner, and Dyke.


Quote:
no knock on Paul Simon, but he’s following songs about voodoo curses and elfin Bolan fucking


Quote:
since 1966, fifteen Beatles promo films had aired over eleven separate episodes. Why, that’s nearly as many episodes as Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick, and Tich were on!


and the whole paragraph on your fave clip was just totally awesome.

Quote:
I’m not sure this isn’t one of the worst things I’ve ever heard. But I can’t help it


checking out edgar broughton band and marsha hunt now.

and also alexandra bogojevic.

i think it's his lung.
   
halleluwah
Total Rock Cumshot

Posts: 7312
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted July 13th, 2012 06:34 PM   IP              
Haha! Yeah, I highly recommend Broughton's first album, Wasa Wasa. Apart from the long, Doors-aping semi-spoken word closing track that kind of sucks, it's one of the best idiot hooligan rock albums ever. Maybe it's not quite as good as Has Anybody Seen My Pants, but it's still great.

Thanks for reading, everybody! This is one of my alltime personal favorite BC episodes, so I was hoping people would dig it.

I'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMING
   
halleluwah
Total Rock Cumshot

Posts: 7312
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted July 13th, 2012 07:47 PM   IP              
Quote:
halleluwah wrote:
Apart from the long, Doors-aping semi-spoken word closing track that kind of sucks...



After just listening to it again, I half take that back. There are some really cool parts in that song; it just really doesn't need to be 14 minutes long. It could lose some of the spoken-word bits, for instance. The musical parts are cool, though.

I'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMING
   
andy rooney
The Indian Of The Group

Posts: 1831
Registered: Nov 2010
 Posted July 13th, 2012 09:00 PM   IP              
i found this thing online, this the right thing?

http://www.allmusic.com/album/keep-...ad-mw0000473211

Quote:
A legend in its own lifetime, Keep Them Freaks a Rollin' was, as its subtitle makes plain, recorded live at Abbey Road Studios in 1969, as a possible first album by the then newly signed Broughton Band. However, the tapes were shelved in favor of a more conventional studio recording, and only one excerpt ever made it out, a harshly edited 45 of the closing "Out Demons Out," already established as the band's live tour de force. The full-length version, however, remained unheard and, like the rest of the show, it eventually faded into mythology. The tapes were finally resuscitated in 2004, to herald EMI's CD remastering of the full Edgar Broughton Band catalog. And, though 35 years had now passed, the primal energy and majesty of the Broughtons in full flight still burns through. Egged on by a studio full of friends and fans, the band recounts its entire period live show, with a churning "Smokestack Lightning" and an evil "Dropout Boogie" pinpointing the two influences that collided to create the Broughtons' own unique brew. "American Boy Soldier," still one of the most potent protest songs of the entire Vietnam era (and an equally valid component in the modern-day outfit's live show) is spellbinding and, at almost 15 minutes, spotlights the band's improvisational powers to perfection. And then there's "Out Demons Out," restored to its full ten-minute glory once again, and still capable of swaying the stoniest heart. Would history have been different had this become the band's debut album? Probably not -- and besides, what would have become of Wasa Wasa if it had? But still, any survey of the British underground through the early '70s would be woefully incomplete without an evening spent with this album and, alongside Hawkwind's Doremi Fasol Latido, the first Pink Fairies album, and Mick Farren's Carnivorous Circus, it remains the key to what that entire movement was all about.

i think it's his lung.
   
andy rooney
The Indian Of The Group

Posts: 1831
Registered: Nov 2010
 Posted July 13th, 2012 09:04 PM   IP              
ah no, got it. wasa wasa. can't wait to hear this stuff. i wanna hear it before i watch it.
i think it's his lung.
   
halleluwah
Total Rock Cumshot

Posts: 7312
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted July 14th, 2012 02:36 AM   IP              
Quote:
andy rooney wrote:
i found this thing online, this the right thing?

http://www.allmusic.com/album/keep-...ad-mw0000473211




Aw man, I actually had no idea that album existed, but it looks fantastic. (FIFTEEN MINUTES of "American Boy Soldier," though? Jesus.) I'm gonna have to get that. Honestly, since I was determined to get all the Broughtons' stuff on vinyl rather than downloading it, and it turns out those records are pretty hard to find, I still haven't heard most of the band's albums. I guess I'll have to just bite the bullet and get them digitally, though, since affording those records is kind of out of the question for me presently.

I'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMING
   
halleluwah
Total Rock Cumshot

Posts: 7312
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted July 23rd, 2012 03:03 AM   IP              



Beat-Club Episode 54
4/18/1970
All performances live, except where noted

1. Film: Helga Novak interview
2. Opening titles
3. The Move – Brontosaurus*
4. Film: German film actors
5. Taj Mahal - Tomorrow May Not Be Your Day*
6. Marsha Hunt – Keep the Customer Satisfied (partial repeat with disclaimer)
7. Film: Billy Graham in Dortmund
8. Johnny Winter - Johnny B. Goode*
9. It's A Beautiful Day - Soapstone Mountain
10. Film: Renate Rasp interview
11. The Flock - Introduction
12. The Flock – Clown
13. Taj Mahal - Sweet Mama Janisse*
14. Film: Handstands in the street
15. The Who - The Seeker* 
(mimed promo film)
16. Johnny Winter - Mean Town Blues*
17. Closing credits




FULL EPISODE: http://video.mail.ru/mail/vakula196.../1971/2514.html


I’m gonna be honest: the April 1970 edition of Beat Club doesn’t give a writer a hell of a lot to work with. Episode 53 was easy: when you have Uschi Nerke naked in a bathtub, hairy, barrel-chested freaks turning their amplifiers into silly putty, and film featurettes on porn starlets, the shit just writes itself. Most of today’s show is relatively conventional; the films chiefly consist of sedate interviews, and even most of the best musical stuff just falls into the good/solid, rather than mindblowing, category. There’s no “Love In the Rain” madness to be found this time around; for the most part, we instead have a bunch of good blues-rock and a couple of lame hippie bands. This is an enjoyable hour of Beat Club for sure; it just never quite takes off into the stratosphere. Aside from one seriously ill-advised marathon of pomposity, there are no serious flaws in the show, and most of the performances tip the scales decisively on the side of good. But when you’re looking back later on 1970 trying to remember your favorite episodes, I’d be surprised if this one pops immediately to mind.

The show cold-opens with the first of two interviews today with esteemed German female authors. I imagine Helga Novak, whose citizenship in her native East Germany had been revoked a few years earlier for criticizing the communist government, probably has some interesting things to say, but once again I’m left pondering whether or not I’m a complete charlatan for writing this much about a show mostly delivered in a language I can’t speak. We then have a brief moment with Uschi before the opening titles roll. As with the last show, most of her screen time today is played for laughs; on this episode, all her appearances take the forms of flubbed lines, asides, and other moments that would normally be considered outtakes. For her first segment, she’s shown being lifted in a chair over the heads of a few members of the stage crew. It’s clear that Beat Club hadn’t quite figured out yet what Uschi’s function on the show was going to be now that they had no practical need for a host anymore. For a few of these 1970 episodes, she comes across almost more like an onscreen mascot for the show rather than a real host.

The episode proceeds to get its finest musical moment out of the way first, courtesy of the return of The Move. Much had changed within in the group since their last appearance back in September. Vocalist Carl Wayne had left the band, and his spot had been taken by future superstar guitarist/songwriter Jeff Lynne, recently of The Idle Race. With the pop-leaning Wayne now out of the picture, Roy Wood was now free to indulge his more outré musical tendencies to a greater degree than he had before, and the band’s first single with Lynne on board, “Brontosaurus,” was the heaviest track they had yet attempted. Built on a lurching guitar riff and nonsensical, venomously delivered lyrics, the song was a clean break with the band’s past, but it returned them to the British Top 10 anyway. Although the band had appeared on Beat Club four times already, “Brontosaurus” was their first live performance on the show, and they spit it out with a roguish confidence. Dressed in a garish full-length sequined robe, Wood is already starting to cultivate his bizarre Wizzard image, while a rare beardless Lynne looks comparatively clean-cut in a nice powder-blue suit. One of the darker Beat Club clips of the era, the band members are enveloped in a high-contrast wall of rainbow colors against a jet-black background. It’s the coolest clip on this episode hands-down, although the show makes the unfortunate decision to edit the song down to about two and a half minutes for broadcast. Having overhauled their own musical approach at roughly the same time as Beat Club did, The Move would continue to make return visits to the show through the end of 1971, in the process becoming the only band to be regular studio guests during both the pop and progressive eras of the program.


http://youtu.be/k-7D4n7csZk
(aired version)

http://youtu.be/RVaqMCUMkN8
(full-length version that restores the last minute and a half of the performance)


“Brontosaurus” is clipped off by the beginning of a nearly eight-minute film feature on the German film industry. Several young actors and actresses are interviewed, several of whom were apparently a pretty big deal in Germany at the time. The lovely Andrea Rau gets the most screen time, sitting in a stark white room, but we also have Gaby Fuchs, who specialized in horror movies like Mark of the Devil and The Werewolf vs. Vampire Woman, and Klaus Grünberg, the curly-haired star of the film More (better-known today for its soundtrack by Pink Floyd than for its own cinematic merits). For the second episode in a row, we interview a soft-core porn actress, Heidi Maien, along with her husband, former teen idol Michael, who would join her in skin flicks for a brief period around this time before he got his career back on track. A couple of older film producers are also interviewed, but Beat Club knows its audience, and the young, pretty people get most of the attention.


One of the more eclectic performers in blues music, Taj Mahal grew up as Henry Saint Clair Fredericks, Jr. in Springfield, Massachusetts, the son of parents deeply involved in the Harlem Renaissance music scene. Drawing inspiration from jazz, soul, and various African and Caribbean folk musics, Mahal fashioned a unique style miles removed from the traditionalist leanings of his mostly Southern-based peers. “Tomorrow May Not Be Your Day,” the first of Mahal’s two songs on the show, exemplifies his universalistic approach. Strictly speaking, it’s hard to classify the song simply as soul, rock, blues, or even pop, but instead, it’s a more or less evenly divided amalgamation of all of these genres. Mahal, wearing both a giant Speedy Gonzalez hat and an Aunt Jemimah kerchief, claps along with the song’s bright clip, offering up some Otis Redding-inspired testifying on top. The band, led by future John Lennon/George Harrison/Gene Clark accomplice Jesse Ed Davis on guitar, keeps the performance loose and lively, and it’s one of the show’s more spirited moments. Taj Mahal’s return in the show’s second half would provide more of the same.


http://youtu.be/O1S7lLE37l4


We cut to Uschi fucking up another line and muttering to herself before the show repeats the first verse of Marsha Hunt’s “Keep the Customer Satisfied” performance from the previous show. This is accompanied by a helpful on-screen admonishment that roughly translates to “Marsha Hunt has no boobs hanging out,” likely a response to viewers who sent in mail thinking they’d witnessed a wardrobe malfunction with Hunt’s revealing yellow dress back in March. Yeah…how dare any viewers think that Beat Club would possibly stoop to exposing the breasts of an attractive young woman on-air?

This leads into a film of evangelist Billy Graham speaking at a large gathering in Dortmund, Germany. Flanked by a translator who repeats everything he says in German, Graham talks about a Biblical prophesy that has a future generation taken over by the world’s young people. He speculates that the Baby Boomers might be that generation, and that if a famous Dutch professor’s suggestion that teenagers be segregated into their own cities ever came to pass, that’s where Graham would want to be. After Graham’s optimistic preaching on the state of the younger generation, we cut to a college professor likely discussing the same issue with a group of students and colleagues. I’m not sure what all he’s saying, but I do know I heard the word “hashish” uttered at least five or six times in less than a minute.


Most white blues scholar-type musicians of the late ‘60s (think John Mayall, for instance) tended to approach the genre with an awestruck respect that rendered their own music bloodless and sanitized. It sure sounded like blues, but without any of the grime or sweat that came second nature to the genre’s original practitioners. That was never a problem for Johnny Winter. Like his Irish counterpart Rory Gallagher, Winter was an absolute demon on the guitar, but in a decidedly raw, impolite manner that drew from the energy of rock and roll just as much as the authenticity of blues. And this was coming from the fingers of a REALLY white guy—as an albino, Winter was literally the whitest guy ever to appear on Beat Club. For the first of his two songs on today’s show, the Texan guitar smoker rips out Chuck Berry’s “Johnny B. Goode,” already one of the most revered/clichéd oldies in rock only twelve years after its initial release. Ignoring the song’s iconic stature, Winter tears into the intro with such abandon that he completely derails a few seconds in, halting the take. This false start was preserved on-air, followed by the fiery full performance. Winter’s singing voice can be an acquired taste, verging dangerously close to cartoonish caricature at times, but his guitar playing is no joke, spraying sinewy lead lines across the song’s breakneck tempo. Johnny’s younger brother Edgar, himself a future recording star, takes his own dexterous turn at piano, looking far more clean-cut than he would be in his “Frankenstein” days a couple of years later. “Johnny B. Goode” may be an unimaginative cover choice (surprisingly, this was the first time anybody had attempted a version on Beat Club, though), but Johnny and his band make it into a triumph of rough-hewn energy that stands as one of the high points of the episode. It might not be quite as blazing as the live cover Jimi Hendrix would record at Berkeley the next month, but it’s still damn good stuff. The underexposed, tinted solarization effects, making Johnny look even paler than usual, are similarly memorable. Johnny Winter would have the honor of closing this episode out with an equally vivacious second song.


http://youtu.be/_ufP0CARAKk


Somewhat less impressive is the following performance by San Franciscan psychedelic also-rans It’s a Beautiful Day. Led by the husband-wife team of David and Linda LaFlamme, the band had released their first album just a bit too late to fully cash in on the Bay Area mania surrounding Jefferson Airplane, The Grateful Dead, and Quicksilver Messenger Service, but they’d still managed a respectable hit with “White Bird” in 1969. Frankly, the band was never that good, mostly contenting themselves to spout hippie platitudes with far less imagination than any of the previously named groups. “Soapstone Mountain,” the band’s third single, is an upbeat ballad bathed in soggy clichés about growing up poor in a one-room cabin filled with nothing but love; as hard as it tries to achieve some kind of Carter Family resonance, it falls flat as a song. The square-jawed David LaFlamme, better known as a violinist than a singer, spends much of the choruses smugly staring at the camera, wearing a stringy blond hairstyle that makes him look disconcertingly like Kelly Lynch in Road House. Despite the limpness of the song itself (and of LaFlamme as a frontman), the organ/guitar jam halfway through takes a surprisingly potent turn, erupting into a fierce, feedback-heavy climax. I didn’t think this band had that kind of power in them, honestly. Of course, then it’s right back into the shitty song, so it’s kind of a lost cause in the end, but this could have been a lot worse. Their modest commercial peak already behind them, It’s a Beautiful Day would break up in 1974; they would never return to Beat Club after this.


http://video.mail.ru/mail/marillion.../2578/2583.html


A second interview with a female author follows. This time the subject is Renate Rasp, whose sexually provocative novels and verse had caused quite a stir in Germany at the time. This is a relatively lengthy interview, but as it completely consists of German speech done in a simple headshot, I don’t really have much to say about it. Listen…does anybody in the Record Room speak German? Seriously. If anybody wants to help me figure out what the people in Beat Club films are saying so that I can stop looking like a maroon when writing about these segments, I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll give you an Edgar Broughton record or something.


In the wake of the successes of Chicago and Blood, Sweat, and Tears, jazz-rock was briefly a big thing on Columbia Records around the turn of the ‘70s. The Flock, Columbia’s attempt to strike gold with the genre a third time, never quite panned out on that level. More pretentious than either of their big brother acts, The Flock added a hefty dose of classical music into the brew via the participation of violinist Jerry Goodman. Like Chicago before them, The Flock even opened their debut album with an introductory piece given the inventive title “Introduction.” Unlike Chicago, theirs is a tiresome bore. The seven-plus-minute piece is essentially a solo spot for Goodman, backed only by sparse electric guitar chords. And you can tell the violinist fully feels he deserves this much airtime to display his prowess; prior to his musical entrance, he stands with one hand resting haughtily on his hip, his air of attempted nobility somewhat undercut by his clownish multicolored shirt and pathetically sparse mustache. I’ve got to admit, though, the guy can really fucking play; later in the year, John McLaughlin would steal Goodman away for his new band, The Mahavishnu Orchestra, a virtuoso-only fusion boys’ club where the violinist would incredibly be able to hold his own as McLaughlin’s sparring partner. And from a purely musical perspective, there are a few lovely individual moments to be found scattered throughout the lengthy “Introduction.” It’s just that on the whole, this is fucking ridiculous. I’m not any kind of an intractable three-chords-only absolutist when it comes to rock and roll; I’m fully supportive of people attempting to find a place for classical instruments in rock bands, so long as it works. Hell, Roxy Music had a fucking full-time oboe player, and I love them. From Phil Spector to Scott Walker to Frank Zappa to Deep Purple, classical influences are smeared all over a lot of the popular music I love. But that approach only works if you allow it to cohabitate naturally alongside the rock elements in your sound. As we’re about to see, when they were playing actual songs, The Flock were a pretty standard-issue horn-and- guitar jazz-rock band; a showboaty diversion like this adds very little to the overall scope of the band, other than making them look like a bunch of dicks. This piece would almost be more palatable if it was attempted by a group like Emerson, Lake, and Palmer, who were at least consistent enough to be this pretentious all the time. With The Flock, it just comes off like, “you think we’re just another horn rock band? No, we’re fucking ARTISTS who demand your attention…before returning to our generic horn rock.” In the end, “Introduction” is little more than a testament to Jerry Goodman’s own ego; even within the heavy company of Mahavishnu, he was considered a cocky pain in the ass, instigating physical brawls with other band members that would contribute to the group’s early demise. Returning to the clip at hand, Beat Club attempts something new here, fading the performance footage out for a bit halfway through to list off show dates for The Flock, It’s a Beautiful Day, and Taj Mahal, all of whom were touring Germany in April of 1970.


http://youtu.be/fbUGeW8Ud-Q


Context makes a big difference in the case of The Flock’s second tune, “Clown.” Hearing it on its own, you probably wouldn’t think much about it one way or the other. Preceded by “Introduction,” though, it only succeeds in throwing the band’s pomposity into sharper relief. Here we have a decent Hendrix-derived riff wrapped around a faceless bit of horn-punctuated funk rock. Then, after the two brief verses, overemoted by hairy singer/guitarist Fred Glickstein, the band spends the rest of the time trading off solos, including plenty more wanking time for Goodman. This isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever heard, but it’s clear that, no matter how tight these guys may have been instrumentally, songwriting wasn’t any more their forte than humility was. The bridge, where a heavy guitar riff continually pauses so that the whole band can shout “yeaaaaaaaaah” together over and over again, is especially precious. This is at least the first place on the episode where Beat Club remembers that there is a green screen in the studio; apart from some color changes for The Move and Johnny Winter, the episode has been unusually naturalistic from a visual perspective up until this point. After losing Jerry Goodman to Mahavishnu later in the year, The Flock would soon disband, never having come close to achieving the place in the jazz-rock pantheon they aspired to.


http://youtu.be/yiRkjE3tkIE


After nearly eleven straight minutes with The Flock, Taj Mahal’s return with “Sweet Mama Janisse” seems like a paragon of tasteful restraint. Filtered through a red haze behind a pattern of tiny dots that takes up the entire screen, Taj begins the song with a down-home blues intro played on a metal resonator guitar. After about thirty seconds, the full band enters, transforming the song into an upbeat soul-flecked groover fairly similar to “Tomorrow May Not Be Your Day.” As with that previous song, this is a good, solid track, but nothing particularly amazing, and the clip’s unique appearance, looking like it’s being broadcast on the jumbotron at a sporting event, is the most memorable thing about it. Taj Mahal is still alive today, one of the few elder blues statesmen who still performs, but he never appeared on Beat Club again after this episode.


http://youtu.be/pkSEDGoHjRc


The final nonmusical film of the day is just 90 seconds of silliness. A budget-rate German version of John Belushi does a series of handstands in the street, declaratively reciting speeches all the while. At the end, he meets with Willi Daume, the chairman of the German National Olympic Committee, who had recently secured Munich as the setting for the 1972 Summer Olympics. I’m assuming the guy is angling to have Daume create an Olympic handstand team for him, but I think we all know how that’s going to pan out.


Daume is cut off mid-sentence by the promo film for The Who’s newest single, “The Seeker.” The first thing the band released following Tommy, the track found Townshend distilling that album’s theme of spiritual yearning into a more concise statement, while simultaneously looking forward to the more hard rock-based sound he’d lead the band into in the next few years. The film is comprised of close-ups of each of the band members miming the song in a studio, with the song’s lyrics overlaid across the screen. After taking part in more individual performances than any other band on Beat Club (their eight songs on the Tommy episode catapulting them past DDDBM&T in that regard), “The Seeker” would mark the end of the line for The Who on Beat Club. They’d continue on throughout the decade as one of the biggest rock bands in the world, and unlike Zeppelin, they weren’t averse to the occasional television spot, but they’d never appear on this show again.


http://youtu.be/XrO4_nyamZs


The closing slot of the episode is once again filled by a seven-minute guitar jam, and although Johnny Winter’s “Mean Town Blues” doesn’t quite live up to the standard set on the previous show, it’s a fine ending nonetheless. Winter’s group, pared down to a power trio with the subtraction of brother Edgar, confidently chugs their way through the speedfreak boogie shuffle, dropping down to a bare kick drum pulse after a couple of verses for Johnny to play a nearly unaccompanied solo. There is some great, abandoned slide playing in here I’m sure Jack White learned a thing or two from, and although I personally feel this section could do with a couple of minutes of pruning, Winter continues to impress. Tinted with aquatic blue and green filters, the band does the whole song in one unmoving camera shot, while close-ups are projected behind them. This core backing rhythm section, still considered by many to be Winter’s definitive group, would break up in the following months, with bassist Tommy Shannon eventually finding fame over a decade later as a member of Stevie Ray Vaughan’s Double Trouble. Winter himself would maintain a long and tumultuous musical career, but would never return to Beat Club again. Uschi returns to the bathtub with her mouth taped shut for a brief parting shot, and the credits roll the episode out.


http://youtu.be/VqJOsNMhIRo


Fine as this installment was for the most part, it couldn’t help but feel just a little flat in comparison to the previous episode. In the grand scheme of things, episode 54 would prove to be the eye in the center of the hurricane; Beat Club’s May edition would boast more impressive highs (as well as at least one low point on the level of The Flock), returning the show to manic inconsistency.


(Edited by halleluwah)

I'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMING
   
varitone
Frankie Avalon's hairpiece

Posts: 59
Registered: Jan 2012
 Posted July 23rd, 2012 06:19 AM   IP              
Quote:
nothing particularly amazing


Gonna have to disagree with you there halleluwah. Haven't had a chance to watch the full episode yet (only just got round to savouring the work of art that was Episode 53) but I know the two Taj clips from Episode 54 well. When I first saw them I was hooked by the supreme grooviness of this band (in the same class as Low Rider by War) even though Taj seems to run out of actual words well before the end of each song.

By the time Taj came to record Sweet Mama Janisse he had moved on to his brass band experiments, complete with tuba bass line. A novel arrangement, but for me it lost what he had here with this five piece lineup.

Anyway, I'll catch up with all this when I can. Thanks as always for keeping up the reviews.
   
halleluwah
Total Rock Cumshot

Posts: 7312
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted July 25th, 2012 07:03 PM   IP              
Thanks as always, Varitone.

Taj Mahal is one of those guys who I generally like well enough whenever I see him on TV somewhere, but have never been bitten by hard enough to bother investigating his actual records. Do you have any particular records you'd recommend I check out from him?

I'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMING
   
ts
auditioned for the part of "Cousin Eddie" in the "Vacation" movies

Posts: 1928
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted July 25th, 2012 08:09 PM   IP              
The Move – Brontosaurus...Roy Wood invents Glam Rock
I guess I'm just dumb cause I know I ain't smart but deep down inside I got a rock n roll heart
   
varitone
Frankie Avalon's hairpiece

Posts: 59
Registered: Jan 2012
 Posted July 28th, 2012 06:08 AM   IP              
Quote:
halleluwah wrote:
Thanks as always, Varitone.

Taj Mahal is one of those guys who I generally like well enough whenever I see him on TV somewhere, but have never been bitten by hard enough to bother investigating his actual records. Do you have any particular records you'd recommend I check out from him?



Actually, I'm much the same - just realised that my previous post could have given the impression I'm a Taj Mahal devotee but that's just down to how much I love those two Beat Club performances. I had a compilation on cassette once which I listened too quite a lot for a while and made me think that the best albums would be the early ones with Jesse Ed Davis - Taj Mahal, The Natch'l Blues, Giant Step.

I also picked up a couple of second hand LPs called Ooh So Good 'N' Blues which is mainly solo acoustic covers and Rounder which is a film soundtrack. (Pleasant, but I can't really recommend those.)

I think he may be one of those where if I happened to know his whole catalogue I could make my own compilation I would like a lot but I haven't yet been driven to making that a reality.
   
halleluwah
Total Rock Cumshot

Posts: 7312
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted August 7th, 2012 12:07 AM   IP              



Beat-Club Episode 55
5/30/1970
All performances live

1. Opening titles / Karin Storch cold open
2. Black Sabbath - Black Sabbath*
3. Film: New York Hells Angels*
4. Rare Bird – Sympathy
5. Rare Bird - Beautiful Scarlet
6. Film: Nashville - Carl Perkins interview w/Blue Suede Shoes*
7. Black Sabbath - Blue Suede Shoes (partial)*
8. Film: Nashville – WENO DJ interview
9. Film: Nashville – Johnny Cash interview*
10. Jody Grind - Paint It, Black (w/Cash interview cut in)
11. Blodwyn Pig - See My Way*
12. Film: California Hells Angels
13. Renaissance - Kings And Queens
14. Canned Heat - Future Blues*
15. Closing Credits


FULL EPISODE: http://video.mail.ru/mail/vakula196.../1971/2515.html


Beat Club 55 is no more consistent an episode than its predecessor, but it’s infinitely more entertaining. Much of this is due to the films, which are among the most interesting the show had aired in some time, but the sheer devil-may-care eclecticism of the musical acts plays a big part as well. While the April installment sometimes felt like a narrow parade of one blues-rock song after another, this one wildly careens from metal to prog to rockabilly to blues to pure noodly bullshit without warning. The largely ascetic look of the previous episode has also been supplanted by the most visually daring episode Beat Club had yet attempted in its color era. Almost all of the musical performances this month, even the shitty ones, are bathed in an imaginative layer of eye-popping effects that find the show gaining confidence in its new style of filming. There may be a few stretches of the episode that flat-out suck, but it’s a fun watch.


The episode cold opens with a monologue by journalist Karin Storch before launching into the opening titles, here amended to include images from January’s Sex Ist Mies film. Without even pausing for a word from Uschi, we plunge directly into the Beat Club debut of Black Sabbath. The first honest-to-Lucifer heavy metal group, Sabbath was slower, sludgier, and eerier than any riff-rock band had ever been before, and “Black Sabbath” (from their debut album…Black Sabbath; these guys were never much for subtlety) was the most perfect introduction into their dark and stormy world that they could have possibly concocted. So what if the lyrics are clunky and the first five minutes of the song are entirely built upon a repeated three-note guitar riff that any average toddler could probably play; for a sheer musical evocation of impending doom, Sabbath never bettered this, and I’m not sure anybody else has either. If anything, the band’s Beat Club performance of the song surpasses the classic studio take for atmosphere. They slow the already snail-paced track down even further, with Tony Iommi playing right at the threshold of uncontrolled feedback and Bill Ward pounding his tom-toms with the deliberate dread of a march to the gallows. Even Ozzy Osbourne’s famed “NOOOOOO! OH PLEASE, GOD!” cries are more intense than on the record. Given such a great performance of “Black Sabbath,” Beat Club rises to the challenge of upping the spookiness ante still further. If critics at the time almost universally reviled this band, their dark heaviness seemed to strike a chord with the German artistic mindset, and the show fully understands how to present them for maximum impact. The band members play the song mostly bathed in darkness, while a purple solarized representation of their album cover frames the screen. The strobe-flashing thunderstorm images are another brilliant touch. And if you’re really sick, take note that this is the best footage I’ve ever seen for giving a close-up view of the severed fingertips on Tony Iommi’s right hand. Black Sabbath would briefly return later in the episode, but they had already made their full statement of intent here. Just like last time, the show has started on the highest note it could have.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=akt3awj_Ah8


Unlike the previous episode, though, here most of the films are just as good as the music that surrounds them. After finally checking in with Uschi for the first time in the show, awkwardly playing a tune on a recorder, we head over to the first of a new breed of Beat Club films. Up until this point, the vast majority of the program’s film pieces had focused on European subjects, but starting here, the show would start concentrating more and more on America. The next three months worth of films would be dominated by features conducted across the pond by the show’s longtime sociological filmmaker (and future famous sociology professor) Abram de Swaan. The first of these American-centric films is an interview with a member of the New York Hells Angels known only as Groover, and it’s pure comedic gold. Groover shrugs out a terse critique of the Black Panthers (“They got their trip, we got ours, you know?”), a more committed dismissal of hippies (“There are a lot of things they got to wake up and get hip to. If the police are beating me over the head with a club, standing there saying ‘peace and love’ just don’t get it!”), and offers up this gem of wisdom: “we don’t bother anybody that doesn’t bother us, but if somebody bothers us, they better back off and get their shit together, ‘cause we’re gonna flat fuck ‘em up!” He then launches into a speech about his bike (“It took me three months working 18 hours a day to get it the way I wanted it”) and his former jobs (“I was an accountant making twelve thousand dollars a year”) that sounds just like one of Motorhead Sherwood’s monologues on Frank Zappa’s Lumpy Gravy album. Groover is my new hero.


After the Black Sabbath/Groover one-two punch, Rare Bird’s “Sympathy” can’t help but feel like a bit of a buzzkill. I’m a little torn on the merits of the song, the only hit ever achieved by this minor prog band. On one hand, it’s kind of a soggy dishrag of dirge-y social conscience, and the awkwardly written second verse seems to betray an inherent misunderstanding about the ability of the world to have more than two halves. Still, the song has a stately, haunting melody that I can’t help but find appealing, and the spectral keyboard tones work nicely. Rare Bird has an unusual band lineup (bass, drums, and two keyboards) that sounds reasonably full in the absence of any guitar, even if the guy on the organ gets a little too noodly. The camera roams languidly around the stage in one unbroken fish-eye lens shot, and the clip possesses a sort of glacial glide that fits well in tandem with the song. Covers of “Sympathy” would provide minor hits for our old nemeses The Family Dogg later in the year, as well as execrable ‘80s prog revivalists Marillion two decades later. In the meantime, it fades out a bit early here, abruptly cut off by Rare Bird’s second consecutive song.


http://youtu.be/XYqu_YmMT5U


“Beautiful Scarlet” is a much more rocking track, but again I’m undecided on whether I like it or not. The opening fanfare, with its dramatic chord progression and frantic battering ram drumming, is impressive, and I like the slowed-down Pink Floyd-ish middle section. But I’m not convinced by bassist/vocalist Steve Gould’s strained verses, which often stray painfully flat, and the song drags on far too long thanks to both keyboardists being afforded extended solos. By the way, the guy playing electric piano on stage right turns out to be none other than Dave Kaffinetti, who would go on to portray keyboardist Viv Savage (“Have a good time…ALL THE TIME”) in This is Spinal Tap fourteen years later. Amazingly, he’s only the first of two future Spinal Tap members who would appear on Beat Club in mid-1970 alone. The wonders never cease on this show. At any rate, both of Rare Bird’s performances here fall into the close-but-no-cigar pile, and the band would soon fade into obscurity, never to appear on Beat Club again.


http://youtu.be/w5zbv2-ZL_o


For the second slice of filmic Americana on the episode, De Swaan takes us farther south for a multipart look at the music and culture of Nashville. As Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash’s duet version of “Girl From the North Country” plays on the soundtrack, we’re taken on a journey through the city’s streets, while subtitles inform us of both the good (“birthplace of country music…home of Presidents and folk heroes”) and ugly (“home of the Ku Klux Klan”) attributes of the state of Tennessee. We then settle into a backstage interview with early rock ‘n’ roll pioneer Carl Perkins. The amiable Perkins sits cradling a green, mandolin-shaped hollowbody guitar and reflects upon his history as one of the first to record rock and roll at Sun Records. He proceeds to deliver an impromptu solo rendition of his signature song, “Blue Suede Shoes,” referring to it as a country song and broadly smiling as he narrates the “go cat go” shouts during the solo. Afterwards, De Swaan, a Dutchman, tells Perkins that “don’t step on my blue suede shoes” was just about the first English phrase he ever knew, which is kind of touching in a way, and a testament to the international impact of rock and roll. Later, when asked about his music contributing to the widening of the generation gap, Perkins provides the interview’s most memorable quote, saying, “well, we didn’t intend to; it was a way of getting the cotton sacks off of our backs.” Rock and roll, Perkins says, was just “a colored rhythm adapted to a white man’s country song,” offering up credible renditions of both Bill Monroe and Elvis Presley’s contrasting versions of “Blue Moon of Kentucky” as a demonstration. Considering the acclaim Perkins received for his guitar playing and influence upon The Beatles and other British rockers, the man’s fine, soulful singing is rarely commented upon. Although this segment offers up few insights that aren’t already familiar to anybody with a passing knowledge of rock and roll’s early history, it’s fascinating to see one of the originators engaged in this type of a serious, respectful interview at a time when it was still relatively fresh in everybody’s minds, years before the rock doc boom of the ‘80s and ‘90s. Perkins was not even yet forty years old at the time this was shot. More to the immediate point, it’s great to see the show devoting this much time to a musician profile again, since the practice had laid dormant since the cancellation of Beat Club News six months earlier.


In a brilliant transition, the show demonstrates the lasting influence of ‘50s rock and roll on the current crop or rock acts by cutting to Black Sabbath covering “Blue Suede Shoes” back in Bremen. As with Perkins’s Bill Monroe/Elvis comparison, the contrast here is striking. Completely abandoning the original’s country leanings, Sabbath assaults the song in the only way they know how: by turning it into a piledriving, breakneck wall of distortion. Ozzy may not be the most convincing vocalist for this type of song, and Iommi’s attempts at speedy rockabilly licks on the solo are nearly atonal in places, but it’s a riot, and it succeeds in getting the point across: no matter how far removed from the sounds of the American south they might have appeared, everybody in the current rock scene had been initially inspired by the ‘50s rockers, and all of them owed people like Carl Perkins a huge debt of gratitude. Regrettably, only about a minute of the song is shown here, but the full performance has found its way into a few official Black Sabbath DVD sets in recent years, and you can watch it in the link below. This is the end of Sabbath’s involvement in this episode, but they’d return to Beat Club four months later for two more brutal performances.


http://youtu.be/gHjsDdQndZ4
(Full performance of the song, about twice as long as the version aired on the show.)


Returning to Nashville, we’re greeted with a strange montage, incongruously merging scenes of neon-lit streets and Western apparel stores with dramatic, foreboding classical music. We then have a brief chat with a DJ in the studios of the city’s famed AM country radio station WENO (mislabeled onscreen as WANO, which is actually a talk radio station in Kentucky). Asked about the current trends of prominent rock musicians adapting country elements into their sound, the pompadoured DJ replies that he thinks young people are too immature to grasp country, which is largely based on more adult themes. He may have a kernel of a point there, although frankly, he looks pretty young himself.


Another prominent alumnus of the ‘50s Sun Records scene, Johnny Cash, is then interviewed on the set of his currently popular television show. Cash, considered by many to be country music’s resident philosopher, ruminates on country’s role as a folk music for the rural, Southern, Appalachian, and generally poor population of America. He compares his own music to other country singers, stating that he prefers to perform story songs and more contemporary material to romantic ballads. Most tellingly, he makes sure to point out that despite his current grueling schedule, he considers himself both physically and mentally healthy, a pointed statement given that he had only recently overcome his longtime drug addiction. The interview is intercut with footage from the taping of a number for Cash’s TV show, and it’s clear that even on a gospel song, his dark, force-of-nature magnetism is in full effect. Only a small portion of this performance is shown here, but two and a half years later, both Cash and Carl Perkins would return to Beat Club for one of the most remarkable episodes ever aired on the show.


Another jump cut attempts to connect Cash to British jazz-prog-rock group Jody Grind’s cover of “Paint It, Black,” but aside from the possible Man In Black connotations, I’m not sure what the show is getting at here. After a verse, we even go back to another bit of Cash interview, as he recounts the story of his trip to the Nixon White House, where he refused to play their requested songs “Okie From Muskogee” and “Welfare Cadillac,” before returning for the song’s ending. At any rate, regardless of any dubious relation to Johnny Cash, this is hardly the best version of “Paint It, Black” you’ll ever hear. The souped-up arrangement does boast a claustrophobic intensity, but it feels ill matched to the song itself, and lead singer/organist Tim Hinkley’s warbly voice can’t sing the damn thing at all. There’s a bit of an image problem going on here as well, as in an attempt to look highbrow, Hinkley and his large horn section of tuxedoed old men are all making a show of reading from sheet music, not normally a good sign for a rock band doing a Rolling Stones cover. Not for the first time, Beat Club manages to salvage a problematic musical performance by way of impressive visuals, saturating the band in a haze of flashing green and blue distorted static. The deliberately shitty, low-fi look of this clip makes for a perfect accompaniment to the audio, to the point that I initially thought this song was a lot better than it actually is. Jody Grind would never amount to much of anything, and after only two albums, they’d split up shortly after this, with Hinkley going on to minor notoriety as a session player and member of the equally unmemorable Vinegar Joe.


http://youtu.be/E2CWECDmfZ0
(Full performance, with Cash interview edited out)


Uschi appears for only the second time in the episode (even for the standards of this period, this is an unusually lean show for her), attempting to decipher a poorly handwritten announcement before displaying the title card for the return of Blodwyn Pig. The band’s first appearance on the show back in October had been completely botched, with frontman/guitarist Mick Abrahams not even present for the heavily pruned performance, but “See My Way” is a far more satisfying display. It’s hard to find anything particularly outstanding about this band; they were all competent musicians, but none of them was top-rank, and Abrahams was never much more than adequate as a singer or songwriter. But their scrappy, energized approach to jazz-flecked hard blues-rock is a lot of fun anyway, and I have a bit of a soft spot for them. Part of their charm is that, even when attempting a multi-part song with vaguely proggy changes like “See My Way,” they’re all such hooligans that they can’t help assaulting it with a level of freewheeling rowdiness more appropriate for an early Kinks record. And so even if the band pre-empts this mostly straightforward rock basher to make way for a lengthy jazzy guitar jam and a “Bolero”-esque soprano sax solo partway through (FOUR two-saxes-at-once! Ha ha ha!), they’re somehow able to escape looking too pretentious while doing it. You just don’t get the impression that these guys are going to go back to their dressing rooms for chin-stroking discussions of Herman Hesse; they’re more likely to drink a case of Natural Light and throw up on the Radio Bremen lawn. The band is shown strangely huddled together in the bottom left hand corner of the screen in a slight variation on the back-projection approach used on Johnny Winter last month. Blodwyn Pig wouldn’t last the year out before breaking up, but Mick Abrahams would return to Beat Club a couple more times as a solo performer.


http://youtu.be/Rq85HXxrYrc


The last film of the day is nothing but pure silliness. A biker gang exits a bar and shoves an innocent passerby down onto the street. Then they mount their bikes and take off down the road…except for the fact that there are no bikes shown in this clip at all. Everybody in the gang pantomimes riding motorcycles, and through the magic of stop-motion camerawork and blaring sound effects, they all appear to be zipping down the highway while sitting on air. This must have been ridiculously time-consuming to film. At any rate, they pick up a girl along the way, run a foppish scooter club called the Mild Ones off the road, and in the end are ticketed by a pair of motorcycle cops (who, like everybody else in this film, pursue them on imaginary bikes). It’s a mildly amusing bit of tomfoolery, but there may be a more pointed subtext. Although the patches on the evil bikers’ backs read “Vicious Cycles,” a caption at the film’s beginning refers to them as Californian Hells Angels. In the wake of the violent outbreak at Altamont six months earlier, the Californian chapters of the Angels were hardly in favor with much of the rock music community at the time. This film may have been intended to single them out for ridicule, especially when contrasted with the more balanced and positive portrayal of the New York Angels earlier in the episode. Or…it could just be five minutes of goofing around. I hope Groover never saw this; if he did, he’d have no choice but to flat fuck Mike Leckenbusch up for airing it.


The show concludes with a pair of leftovers from the first color show back in January. While Renaissance’s appearance on that episode had been at least half-good, their “Kings and Queens” is an aimless nine-minute mess of disconnected prog fragments. I hate to keep referencing Spinal Tap, but there’s really no other way to describe the noodly bullshit that makes up the first couple minutes here but to say that it’s as much of a prototype for their Jazz Odyssey as anything I’ve ever seen. This is our bass player, Louis Cennamo…he wrote this. The track finally settles into a decent Spanish-flavored rock song led by Keith Relf, which then builds to a solid, anthemic chorus, and for a while, you’re fooled into thinking this might end up being worthwhile after all. But soon the band rescues their song from the jaws of acceptability, first with a moody wordless vocal piece, then with a snatch of Bach, and finally with a semi-heavy 7/8 riff that goes nowhere in particular. A couple of these sections could have conceivably been developed into something passable in isolation, but tossed together like this, they just come off as pointless. The fact that the band relies on reprisals of the half-assed introductory noodling to link each section together doesn’t help matters. The closing return of the chorus could very well have been rousing if the band had taken any care to make the flow of this song even slightly coherent. Instead, you’re so sick of it by this time that you just want the damn thing to end. Fuck your kings, fuck your queens, and fuck you, Renaissance. At least the clip looks cool; the live footage plays out on three screens at the top of the frame, while a still photo of the group ripples with color in the foreground. At the song’s conclusion, a plug for the upcoming Hamburg Open Air Festival, featuring Renaissance, Rare Bird, and Black Sabbath (I wish I could be there just to see Sabbath wipe the other bands off the stage), is displayed, along with a title card that states, “We have no Go-Go Girls.” Dammit, Beat Club; I was totally hoping you’d bring back the Go-Gos someday to dance along with Atomic Rooster. Thanks for killing my dreams. At any rate, Renaissance would never return to Beat Club. Over the next year, each member would leave and be replaced one by one, until finally, no original members were left. Despite having no physical tethers to the original band, the new crop of musicians would retain the name, and the Annie Haslam-fronted edition of Renaissance would go on to become one of England’s most successful folk-rock bands of the decade.


http://youtu.be/Y0Kb7AAW8_8


Canned Heat’s “Future Blues” would become the title track to their fifth album a few months after this; the band’s performance of the then-unreleased song from January provides the episode with its parting shot. Like many Canned Heat songs, this is an upbeat slice of boogie blues, although the novel start-stop structure of the verses and the percussive fuzz guitar/drums duet in the middle differentiate it from the pack a bit. The clip, tinted a sickly yellow, is projected into a cube of mirrors, with reflections of the screen bouncing off in all directions. This would be the last appearance of this lineup of Canned Heat on Beat Club; in September, the group’s guitarist, harmonica player, and spiritual leader, Alan “Blind Owl” Wilson, would die from a drug overdose, and guitarist Harvey Mandel and bassist Larry Taylor would both leave the band shortly thereafter. By the time Canned Heat returned to the show in the fall of 1971, they’d be a far different group, but their music would somehow survive the turnover without changing much.


http://youtu.be/KxGMaQIooT4


A blindfolded Uschi pops in to say goodbye, and the credits roll through the same reflective mirrored cube that was just used on Canned Heat. Beat Club would roll into the summer of 1970 with an episode entirely stocked with new faces, including the debut of at least one classic rock mainstay band. Until then, back off and get your shit together.






EPISODE 55 OUTTAKES:

It didn’t often happen that Mike Leckenbusch would bring a band in for a large-scale filming session and then decide not to use anything at all for broadcast on Beat Club. There are a few isolated instances of this happening, most notably the 1968 Frank Zappa and the Mothers session, but for the most part, if you filmed a set in the Radio Bremen studios, chances are you’d get at least one song on the air. Black Widow were an unlucky exception. Along with Coven, they were one of the first rock bands to openly embrace Satanism, staging demonic rituals and nude human sacrifices at their concerts. While Black Sabbath may have evoked Lucifer from time to time in a horror movie sense, they never promoted bona fide worship, but Black Widow certainly did, as the band’s debut album Sacrifice made perfectly clear. In May 1970, the band performed the entire album for Beat Club, recreating their explicit stage show with the aid of a shadowy, blue-tinted veil of video effects. Five of the show’s seven songs have made their way onto YouTube. From a musical perspective, Black Widow surprisingly isn’t all that heavy; they’re more a jazzy blues-rock group with a bit of a prog fixation. They’re also not all that great, to be honest. If the lyrics to these songs lacked any satanic shock value, there wouldn’t be a whole lot to differentiate most of them from any number of minor flute-wielding hippie rock groups around at the time. Still, in context, this is some of the creepiest shit ever shot for Beat Club.

The show begins, appropriately enough, with the album’s opener “In Ancient Days.” The first five minutes take the form of an organ invocation that sounds a little (read: almost exactly) like the last part of Pink Floyd’s “Saucerful of Secrets.” The opening recitation by vocalist Kip Trevor, during which he lights a candle and does vaguely ritualistic-looking things with a sword, comes across halfway between the first half of Donovan’s “Atlantis” and the spoken bits of Spinal Tap’s “Stonehenge.” The song that eventually emerges is a decent minor-key rocker, interrupted by a long, jazzy sax solo, something you should all get used to. “Way To Power,” on the other hand, sounds more like a spry Yardbirds tune, complete with a rave-up section featuring some extraordinarily sloppy sub-Jimmy Page guitar, and it’s the most concise song here by far. “Come To the Sabbat,” the band’s best-known song, moves from an eerie flute/drum piece to an okay hippie rock song to a repeated chant of “come, come, come to the sabbat, come to the sabbat, SATAN’S THERE!” It’s something of a (oc)cult classic, but aside from the distinctive chant, I’m not sure it’s any better or worse than any of their other material. Only extracts of the final two songs have made it to YouTube, since much of the content of the original performances violates the site’s guidelines. In the section shown here, “Attack of the Demon” chiefly consists of a jam featuring lead guitarist Jim Gannon doing that annoying scat-singing-along-with-his-solo trick while a woman clad in a sheer white dress seductively dance-chases Kip Trevor across the stage. At the end of this, he cries, “Satan help me! SACRIFICE!” and the band segues into “Sacrifice,” the album’s climactic title track. Only two of this song’s fifteen minutes were deemed suitable for YouTube, so you’ll have to use your imaginations about the nature of the staged human sacrifice that occurred. All we get to see is Trevor casting a spell on the woman, who proceeds to writhe around on the floor to the accompaniment of a Ron Burgundy-approved jazz flute solo. The two other songs featured on the Sacrifice album, "Conjuration" and "Seduction," were also performed, but are unavailable online.

There’s something mildly compelling about the spookiness of this set (although a lot of it is flat-out ridiculous), and it’s intriguing to think of the possibilities of a portion of it being aired on a Beat Club episode. Perhaps Leckenbusch didn’t want to load an episode already heavily featuring Black Sabbath up with too much occult imagery, or maybe the executives at Radio Bremen felt this performance was too potentially offensive. But for whatever reason, the whole thing was relegated to the vault, where it stayed for most of the next four decades. For years, only three titles were known to have been taped at this session, until the whole show was remastered and issued on a DVD called Demons of the Night in 2008.


Black Widow – In Ancient Days
http://youtu.be/CExXz8zp7T0

Black Widow – Way To Power
http://youtu.be/QxKaRhHoL0c

Black Widow – Come to the Sabbat
http://youtu.be/lEmALYV72sc

Black Widow – Attack of the Demon (partial)
http://youtu.be/dZYLq7qg7v0

Black Widow – Sacrifice (partial)
http://youtu.be/nn53Jtq8K_g



(Edited by halleluwah)

I'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMING
   
IanWagner
The Rustic Bumfiddler

Posts: 47999
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted August 7th, 2012 12:32 AM   IP              
Quote:
halleluwah wrote: they’re more likely to drink a case of Natural Light and throw up on the Radio Bremen lawn.



YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

   
Matinee Idyll (129)
Camp Counsellor

Posts: 8244
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted August 7th, 2012 12:43 AM   IP              
I really quite liked the 'song' bits of that Renaissance toon.

Nice one Jase, will watch in full tonight!

"Nick is the Mode guy. Jon is the Duran guy."

   
halleluwah
Total Rock Cumshot

Posts: 7312
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted August 8th, 2012 04:03 PM   IP              
Quote:
Matinee Idyll (129) wrote:
I really quite liked the 'song' bits of that Renaissance toon.

Nice one Jase, will watch in full tonight!


Yeah, I like Relf's verse/chorus bits on that just fine. It's just that they take up maybe two and a half minutes out of a nine-minute song. I think that's what makes that band so frustrating to me; you can tell Keith hasn't completely lost his talent or anything, and his sister has a great voice as well. He's just surrounded by those wankers on piano and bass who do nothing but muddle things up. No wonder he only stuck it out for a year before splitting that band.

By the way, I don't know if you noticed, but that individual video of "Kings and Queens" I linked to was apparently uploaded to YouTube by Jim McCarty himself (or at least, his 'assistant'; he joins in the comments a few times there. It's kind of interesting.

Thanks as always for reading.

I'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMING
   
halleluwah
Total Rock Cumshot

Posts: 7312
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted August 16th, 2012 12:22 AM   IP              



Beat-Club Episode 56
6/27/1970
All performances live

1. Opening titles / Model photo shoot cold open
2. Van der Graaf Generator - Whatever Would Robert Have Said? *
3. Uschi reads letter
4. Brinsley Schwarz - Ebury Down
5. Film: New York City / David Peel interview
6. Santana – Jingo*
7. Film: New York City / David Peel (continued)
8. Film: German children’s choir
9. Mungo Jerry - In The Summertime
10. Family - The Weaver's Answer*
11. Santana - Incident At Neshabur*
12. Film: Beau the drag queen
13. Mungo Jerry - Mighty Man
14. Closing credits (Mighty Man continues)


FULL EPISODE: http://video.mail.ru/mail/vakula196.../1971/2523.html


Let’s get something out of the way here: at least 80% of all color Beat Club episodes could rightfully be described as inconsistent, so I’m not going to even bother using that word in introductions anymore. That’s in no way a knock on the overall quality of the show during the ‘70s – the really good stuff from this period is as good as rock music television has ever gotten – but there’s no doubting that if you’re looking for episodes packed with nothing but wall-to-wall brilliance, the ’67-’69 era is a safer bet. The more chances you take by skirting across the outer edges of commercial acceptability, the more likely you are to get burned, after all. Not that sticking to safer, more mainstream territory is necessarily a sure thing by any stretch either. Case in point: on the show we’re examining today, the group that was selling the most records at the time provides the two weakest moments by a longshot (and regardless of what you may be assuming due to modern-day name recognition, I’m not talking about Santana here). Aside from those two cuts, it’s a mostly very solid Beat Club episode of the era, with a handful of moments that are flat-out electrifying.


In the episode’s cold open, a photographer adjusts his lighting in preparation for a nude shoot; just as his model takes off her shirt, a smash cut into the opening titles prevents us from seeing yet another bit of Beat Club cheesecake. You teases. For whatever reason, the title sequence this time consists entirely of “A Touch of Velvet” playing over a military parade.


The show then immediately jumps to the first of today’s musical performers, all of whom are fresh faces in the Beat Club studio. The brainchild of singer-songwriter Peter Hammill, Van Der Graaf Generator seems at first blush to be merely another jazzy product of the early ‘70s prog boom. While the band certainly didn’t shy away from art-rock over-complication, their chaotic nature, as well as Hammill’s own skewed world view, would make them one of the very few progressive bands to escape the wrath of punk rock, with figures like John Lydon and Mark E. Smith speaking of them in glowing terms. “Whatever Would Robert Have Said,” the band’s sole Beat Club performance, opens the show on a high note, mutating a seemingly simple folk song into a moody stew somewhere between Traffic, Pink Floyd, and King Crimson. Hammill’s vocal approach and melodic sense here strongly recalls a sneering variation on Space Oddity-era David Bowie, while the band makes dramatic use of startling dynamic shifts. Gently strummed verses give way to odd-metered battering choruses, and eerie organ drones are transformed into frenzied jazz workouts. It’s a display of a lot of the potentially cool aspects of prog, but with the eggheaded elfin trip kept to a minimum. Longtime enthusiasts of back-projection techniques, the Beat Club effects guys try something new here, actually projecting the cover of the band’s most recent album, The Least We Can Do Is Wave to Each Other, onto the entire group, which gives the clip a strange, orange-hued glow.


http://youtu.be/jZ78c2ZvKHo


It had been obvious that since the departure of Dave Dee, Beat Club had no idea what the hell to do with Uschi Nerke. They’d be fools to get rid of her, but at the same time, with the current format of the show, they really didn’t need a host anymore either. And so they had basically just kept her on retainer for the sole purpose of being the butt of onscreen jokes. Starting with this episode, a temporary solution was reached: for the next three months, Uschi would read aloud a lengthy letter sent in by a viewer on each show. These would then be cut up into several sections and distributed throughout the episode. This month, she stands against a blue-tinted backdrop and delivers a report sent by a former prisoner of the Brazilian government. She’d return four more times in the episode to finish what she starts here.


Although named after their lead guitarist, Brinsley Schwarz is generally remembered today as the launching pad for singer-songwriter Nick Lowe, who was responsible for the vast majority of the band’s material. Usually classified as prime movers of the ‘70s British pub-rock scene, much of the group’s early work was decidedly pastoral, exemplified here by “Ebury Down.” Far from Lowe’s future smartassed persona, this earnest strum-along sounds at times like a straight cop of Van Morrison’s folk-soul style, right down to the lilting vocal mannerisms. It’s a perfectly pleasant song, although its overly subtle arrangement crosses the line into sheer dullness by the end. (Also…for fuck’s sake, please tune your guitars, guys.) Every songwriter, even one as accomplished as Nick Lowe, has to go through some imitative teething stages before finding his own style. The back-room guys have more fun with tinting and contrast effects, investing the visuals with an interest the song sometimes lacks. Like Van Der Graaf Generator, Brinsley Schwarz would never return to Beat Club after this lone appearance.


http://youtu.be/wgDbHIkmcH0


In May, filmmaker/sociologist Abram de Swaan’s tour of America took Beat Club to Nashville; this month, he turns his focus to New York City. After a brief prologue in which we speak to a group of Hare Krishna recruiters outside a movie theater showing Woodstock, the action moves to Central Park, where the meat of the film will take place. There’s some general footage of hippies blowing bubbles and dancing to a steel drum band, before we move on to a lengthy segment on counterculture street-singer David Peel. A genuine weirdo of outsider stoner music, Peel had recorded his first album, the infamous Have a Marijuana, live in a park setting much like the one shown here. Surrounded by his backing band, The Lower East Side, and a large group of onlookers, Peel sings a bit of a song about smoking weed (what else?), and De Swaan attempts to corner him for an interview. This proves to be a bit of an ordeal in and of itself, as Peel keeps getting sidetracked by shouting down some unseen irritant offscreen (“you’re a prick! Jack off again, friend! As a matter of fact, wear a scumbag over your head, and I’ll call you a big prick!”). When the interview finally gets underway, the Howard Stern-lookalike talks about recording in the streets and earning money through panhandling and dope dealing. Although De Swaan embarrasses himself a bit by not even being aware that Peel already had a second album out at the time, he does at least succeed in steering the conversation towards his favorite subject, the generation gap (Peel is in favor of closing it). The interview turns to rockers who leave their fans behind after finding fame, the power of music as a device for communication, and plans to tour around Europe with The Lower East Side. The segment ends with footage of a bunch of afro-ed gentlemen leapfrogging on top of each other in the park in an attempt to form what looks like a multi-tiered human centipede. Thus ends the first nine-and-a-half minutes of the New York City film, but we’ll return for the conclusion after these brief words from Santana.


Today, with Latin music an omnipresent feature in mainstream pop, it can be difficult to imagine just how bracing and unconventional Santana was when they first arrived on the scene in 1969. Here was a group that bristled with rock intensity, but achieved it through hypnotic jams, anchored by a percussion section that constituted a full half of the band and presided over by the serpentine guitar wizardry of Carlos Santana. Like Sly and the Family Stone, the group drew from the diverse ethnic backgrounds of its members, with Hispanic, black, and white musicians all operating on equal footing. No other band sounded anything like them at the time. “Jingo,” the first of four songs Santana would perform over the next year and a half on Beat Club, is a fine example of the group’s early sound. It’s less a song than a chant, with the repetitive bassline, maniacal percussion army, and screaming modal blues guitar all combining to an apocalyptic overall effect. It’s amazing that a nearly five-minute jam based on a single two-note riff can zip by this quickly, without flagging for even a second. As with Black Sabbath on the previous installment, the show unerringly chooses to single out “Jingo” as the dark heart of the episode, enveloping the group in throbbing blue lights that make them look like they’re performing in front of a violent electrical storm approaching over the horizon. Santana’s second song of the episode would have a more straightforward presentation, but it would be no less intense for it.


http://youtu.be/htXt_-4heeY


After a second segment of Uschi’s Brazilian prison tales, we rejoin the leap-froggers in Central Park for the conclusion of the New York film. The bodies keep piling onto the mass of people until it finally collapses under its own weight. Then there’s a bit more footage of David Peel singing his “Up Against the Wall,” which has the bonus effect of inserting ten repetitions of the word ‘motherfucker’ into a Beat Club episode. This ends our trip to New York for the show. The following month, De Swaan would expand upon the subject of politics in American music with a feature on the most notorious activist rock band in the country, alongside two of the most infamous radical provocateurs. In the meantime, “Up Against the Wall” amusingly segues into a bit of footage of a German children’s choir singing a folk song.


Of all of the fleeting bullshit fads to steamroll the British music scene over the years, one of the most inexplicable has to be ‘Mungomania,’ the frenzy that briefly made Mungo Jerry the most popular singles act in England. They sold six million copies of their debut record, “In the Summertime,” topped the Melody Maker polls for best new band later in the year, and gained a baffling reputation for stealing the show on bills stacked with far better bands than them. All of which would have been perfectly acceptable if they didn’t completely suck. To call these guys a novelty band is a compliment, because at least novelty bands are usually funny. Instead, Mungo Jerry was a sort of pop jug band featuring banjos, kazoos, upright bass, and copious foot-stompings and mouth noises, watering down all sorts of blues and folk styles into irritating good-timey wallpaper. “In the Summertime” is definitely a total earworm, though; I’ll give it that. After watching this episode, this is probably the song you’ll be unable to remove from your head, for which I apologize in advance, but I never realized before just how fucking endless the thing is. Halfway through, the group stops the song dead, re-starting it from the beginning, which seems like a dickish time-hogging move on their part until you listen to the original single and realize that was always part of the arrangement. Two minutes is a perfectly fine length for a song like this; four and a half is seriously pushing it. At any rate, this clip finds frontman Ray Dorset (or Mungo Jerry himself, for those of you who think Ian Anderson is really named Jethro Tull) duetting with himself through the magic of live overdubbing, with one Ray playing an electric guitar and the other an acoustic. The art direction, with the multi-tiered diamond-shaped layers of green screen backgrounds, is impressive, but I kind of wish they’d used it elsewhere. Still, I guess I’m in the minority on this one. Other than Scott McKenzie’s “San Francisco” (and The Beatles’ “Hey Jude,” if you’re counting film clips), “In the Summertime” sold more records worldwide than any other song ever featured on Beat Club, and this clip would go on to become one of the show’s most widely-rebroadcast a decade later with the advent of cable television. Mungo Jerry will be back in about twenty minutes to close the episode with an even more endless song, so go have a stiff drink in the meantime.


http://youtu.be/6BM3j9pKXJ8


After a third segment of Uschi’s letter, we come to the episode’s longest performance, Family’s “The Weaver’s Answer.” One of the earliest bands to start building the connective tissue from psych into prog, Family was a pretty big deal in England for a few years, garnering particular attention for their kinetic live performances. Watching “The Weaver’s Answer,” it’s easy to see why. The majority of the song’s seven-plus-minute duration is filled by a fierce jam, incorporating flute and guitar solos over a constantly intensifying rhythm section. The band teeters right at the edge of falling off the cliff into sheer unmusical cacophony, but they somehow manage to come out intact at the other end, and the result is a legitimately thrilling jam. That alone makes it worth watching. The song itself begins and ends a little too melodramatically, but picks up once the surprising proto-blaxploitation rhythm section kicks in; all in all, it’s at least a good jam springboard. The most polarizing aspect of this band, though, is frontman Roger Chapman, who is apparently under the mistaken impression that he is performing on a program called Bleat Club. I swear, that man has the most ridiculous billy-goat vibrato I’ve ever heard. That, matched with his uniquely convulsive performing style (he even unplugs the microphone at one point during the jam and has to sheepishly bend over to pick the cable up off the floor) and “whoa-oh-oh-oh” blooze screams, makes him something of an acquired taste, and don’t know that I’ve completely acquired it yet. Either he’s a complete showboating ham who does nothing but diminish the fine work being done by the musicians surrounding him, or he’s an intense and magnetic performer, and I’m not sure which. At any rate, the band is arranged inside an odd sort of geometrically shaped scaffolding of metal bars; we’ll be seeing this set on the next episode as well. Family would return to Beat Club the following year, with somewhat less impressive results.


http://youtu.be/0SPq9DCSv5k


In contrast to the mesmeric, unblinking pulse of “Jingo,” the instrumental “Incident at Neshabur” finds Santana exploring the structural complexities of prog, with shifting moods and time signatures being tossed around throughout. Of course, this band being what it is, they approach their progressive material far differently than most. The track opens with a short, aggressive teaser before quickly morphing into a sort of heavy Latin jazz waltz, over which both organist Gregg Rolie and Carlos himself are allowed ample solo space. In fact, Carlos’s solo here sounds like a direct prototype for Mick Taylor’s salutary aping on the Stones’ “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking” the following year. Finally, the song settles into a mellower, more pensive coda, with more excellent Santana guitar. For all the hype in the press at the time about Mungo Jerry blowing all other groups off the stage, Santana is clearly the band of the day as far as this episode is concerned, coming across as tighter, fresher, and more energetic than their competition. The studio version of “Incident at Neshabur” would see release on Santana’s landmark Abraxas album in September; the following spring, the band would return to Beat Club to capitalize on its success.


http://youtu.be/P-jDyX971WM


You could stop watching the show at this point, a good ten minutes early, and still catch everything really essential the episode has to offer. That said, the final film of the day is oddly interesting. Uschi reads a bit more of the prisoner’s letter, before we’re introduced to a fey British guy named Beau playing with his dog in the park. He sits on a bench and talks about going to work at his job in the evenings, and it’s all very vague until we see footage of him in action, wearing a dress, makeup, and fake bosoms as he dances on tables and mimes along with pop records. Apparently the drag queen scene was really starting to blossom in England at the time, paving the way for the emergence of glam rock as a cultural force over the next couple of years. Back on the bench, Beau talks about how natural he feels wearing women’s clothing and his burning desire to play Barbara Streisand’s role in Funny Girl. The film closes with more extended footage of him all dolled up and miming along with most of “The Happening” by The Supremes. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to hear that song again without picturing Beau preening around in that frilly green dress…thanks, Beat Club.


Seriously, just stop watching the show now. You don’t need to see Mungo Jerry’s closing number, “Mighty Man,” trust me. “In the Summertime” may have been a brainlessly catchy novelty tune that wore out its welcome in a big way, but this makes it look like a beacon of tasteful understatement in comparison. If the thought of six fucking minutes of kazoo-driven, banjo-strummin’, footstompin’ jolly blues with all the participants constantly yelling about how MIGHTY they are doesn’t turn your stomach a little bit, you probably have just suffered a massive head wound and should seek immediate medical attention. First off, if you’re in a rock band that doesn’t feature Frank Zappa, you should probably leave your damn kazoos at home. Secondly, if you’re going to try to sell your supreme mightiness as a representative of the male gender, it’s probably not a good idea to undermine this point by scatting in a faux-Muppet voice while wearing hot pink vests and fringed buckskin boots. I don’t care how comically large your mutton chops are, that shit’s just not going to work. The group’s Wolfman Jack-lookalike pianist, whose name I’m not going to even bother looking up, is the only man onstage with the good sense not to display his bare chest, and not coincidentally, is the only one there to even approach looking ‘mighty.’ Thirdly, fuck you, Mungo Jerry. And fuck you twice for making me swear in front of the kids. There’s a brief pause a couple of minutes into “Mighty Man” so that Uschi can finish up the last of her blue prison letter, and never has the prospect of being locked away in a South American jail cell sounded more appealing. Finally, the credits start rolling over the end of the song, and the episode comes to a merciful end. Unsurprisingly, Mungomania did not set the world alight for long, and within a couple of years, the group’s reign over the upper reaches of the British pop charts had ended. Look out for old gap-toothed Ray Dorset at your local county fair next year.


http://video.mail.ru/inbox/karliozi/168/45.html
(This video cuts off the end of the song, right before the credits start rolling, but who gives a shit?)


Well, that was a disappointing ending. Still, overall, things could have been far worse; at the very least, Van Der Graaf Generator, Family, and especially Santana all gave excellent performances, and you can take comfort in knowing that it’ll be a while before we have to see anything else as irritating as “Mighty Man” on Beat Club again. In the meantime, the show would take a seven-week break before airing its next installment, missing out on July of 1970 altogether, but it would be worth the wait.




EPISODE OUTTAKES:


Santana performed a third song, the laid-back, jazzy instrumental “Treat,” during their session for this episode. As the track least typical of their usual sound, it’s easy to see why it wasn’t chosen for inclusion in the show, but it’s a fine performance anyway. In fact, despite a prominent guitar solo in the middle, this song belongs to keyboardist Gregg Rolie far more than it does to Carlos Santana. Rolie, whose organ work at times comes across as a bit pedestrian in his second-fiddle soloist slot in this band, proves his worth here with some tasty jazz piano licks that dominate most of the performance. The percussionists are largely low-key during this performance, as is the camera work, which is unusually unimaginative for this show. Still, this is another damn good performance from Santana.

Santana – Treat
http://youtu.be/24MIc2jcfmE



An additional Van der Graaf Generator song, “Darkness,” is less hyperactive than “Whatever Would Robert Have Said,” but it’s arguably a stronger track, with a sense of menacing dread that gradually builds over its seven and a half minute duration. Peter Hammill delivers a powerful vocal performance, and the band is once again very effective at building drama through dynamics. It’s a bit of a shame this wasn’t aired on the show, particularly since it would have added to my ongoing Beat Club two-saxes-at-once tally, but hey, they needed that time for the extra Mungo Jerry song.

Van der Graaf Generator – Darkness
http://youtu.be/WDmhP6YiN6s



An eight-and-a-half minute Brinsley Schwarz jam on an early non-album song called “Indian Woman” has also surfaced, and it’s a bit of a head-scratcher for me. Not because of the track itself, which is essentially a straight-up ripoff of Neil Young’s “Down By the River,” sharing that song’s jammy two-chord plod. It’s a decent enough jam, worth hearing once, but like “Ebury Down,” it’s more an exercise in imitating influences than it is anything distinctive or unique. No, the weird thing about this is that it’s difficult to pinpoint where it comes from. The heavy solarization effects look similar to those on “Ebury Down,” and Beat Club outtake records do mention this song as having been taped at the same session. But the clip contains an onscreen list of band members, as well as a set of closing credits, that in typography and content (particularly the lack of a WDR logo at the end) are consistent with 1972 episodes. In fact, several online sources, including this YouTube video itself, credit it as being from 1972, rather than 1970. My guess is that sometime in ’72, Mike Leckenbusch pulled this clip out of the archives with the intention of closing an episode with it, going so far as to add the end credit scroll, before reconsidering and using something else instead. But I may be full of shit.

Brinsley Schwarz – Indian Woman
http://youtu.be/xWvrMoPpgMM






Also…I’ve been working on this thread for a full year now? What the hell is wrong with me?




(Edited by halleluwah)

I'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMING
   
Matinee Idyll (129)
Camp Counsellor

Posts: 8244
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted August 16th, 2012 12:52 AM   IP              
Awesome writing Jase.

Mungo Jerry are fuck awful. Santana are incredible. Chapman sounds stuck in a tumble-dryer with loose bearings.

Jim Conway of the Captain Matchbox Whoopee Band played the meanest, virtuosic kazoo you'll ever hear. Check this and have your ears blown:


"Nick is the Mode guy. Jon is the Duran guy."

   
kenny
Charles Nelson Reilly's SHORTS!

Posts: 956
Registered: Feb 2008
 Posted August 16th, 2012 04:15 AM   IP              
If you hate Mungo Jerry you won't want this anywhere near you

Dont' click it, honestly.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b4ohjesb3YY

A weird snippet from wiki

One song recorded by Mungo Jerry, "Feels Like I'm in Love", was originally written by Dorset for Elvis Presley, but he died before the recording of the song. Nevertheless, in 1979 it was recorded by disco singer Kelly Marie, and became a UK Number one in September 1980.

   
varitone
Frankie Avalon's hairpiece

Posts: 59
Registered: Jan 2012
 Posted August 21st, 2012 10:11 AM   IP              
Just my luck. I finally get back to watching some Beat Club only to find we've landed on a lesser episode. But I loved it anyway. The more arty style of editing and production seems well established here and perfectly suits the (contrasting) content. I didn't mind the interruption to Mighty Man at all.

Your musical analyses are particularly spot on in this review.
Quote:
Hammill’s vocal approach and melodic sense here strongly recalls a sneering variation on Space Oddity-era David Bowie

Indeed they do, which is fine be me. VDGG is a band I often thought I ought to get into but it hasn't happened (yet). Still, this is the best example I've yet heard and seen of just what an extraordinary and dynamic combo they were. Excellent start to the show.

Quote:
this earnest strum-along sounds at times like a straight cop of Van Morrison’s folk-soul style

Right again. After his psychedlic pop beginnings, this seems to have been a phase Nick Lowe went through en route to his mid-70s.rebirth. I think the rest of the band morphed into Graham Parker's backing band The Rumour, who had more energy and intensity and also owed a huge stylistic debt to Van.

Quote:
that man has the most ridiculous billy-goat vibrato I’ve ever heard

Yep, me too. And for that reason I didn't appreciate The Weaver's Answer at the time, but latterly I've come to love it mainly thanks to archive performance clips such as this. This is my highlight of the show, though I still can't take too much of that voice.

Quote:
fleeting bullshit fads

More perfect musical analysis. In The Summertime was one of those records that hooked very young children and their parents alike. I guess Ray Dorset deserves some sort of credit for concocting such a sound which was a one-off for the British charts - well it should have been a one-off but then ...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9WmhMKWt8DI


Happy anniversary to this most precious of threads and thank you as always.

   
Matinee Idyll (129)
Camp Counsellor

Posts: 8244
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted August 21st, 2012 10:20 AM   IP              
Didn't The Kinks do "In the Summertime" better with "Apeman"?

Wierd, came out in 1970 too. What the hell was up with that year?

"Nick is the Mode guy. Jon is the Duran guy."

   
halleluwah
Total Rock Cumshot

Posts: 7312
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted August 21st, 2012 01:44 PM   IP              
Thank you kindly for reading, all. Man...Mungo Jerry. What the hell was wrong with people?
I'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMING
   
halleluwah
Total Rock Cumshot

Posts: 7312
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted August 21st, 2012 02:06 PM   IP              
Also, I just found an additional outtake from the March show, Yes's "Time and a Word," yesterday. I just did a quick write-up for it and added it to the Episode 53 recap at the top of this page.
I'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMING
   
IanWagner
The Rustic Bumfiddler

Posts: 47999
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted August 21st, 2012 03:24 PM   IP              
Man, Santana KILL on that episode.
   
halleluwah
Total Rock Cumshot

Posts: 7312
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted August 21st, 2012 03:51 PM   IP              
Quote:
IanWagner wrote:
Man, Santana KILL on that episode.


Damn straight. They've almost become another one of those bands like Skynyrd these days, where people forget how great they were back in the day because of how embarrassing their career has been in recent memory. (God and Guns and NASCAR or Rob Thomas and Dave Matthews? Take your pick.) But I think that original version of the Santana band was staggeringly good.

I'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMING
   
halleluwah
Total Rock Cumshot

Posts: 7312
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted August 22nd, 2012 08:52 PM   IP              
Here's the deal: I've recently been sifting through a large, disorganized list of known Beat Club outtakes I found online. Now that I know what titles to search for, it's much easier to find outtakes on YouTube, and as a result, I'm finding a lot of things I didn't know were out there. So I'll be going back and adding these to the initial reviews over the next few days.



First up, I found three outtake performances from the most recent Episode 56. These have all been added to the episode's main entry above, but here they are for now:


EPISODE 56 OUTTAKES:


Santana performed a third song, the laid-back, jazzy instrumental “Treat,” during their session for this episode. As the track least typical of their usual sound, it’s easy to see why it wasn’t chosen for inclusion in the show, but it’s a fine performance anyway. In fact, despite a prominent guitar solo in the middle, this song belongs to keyboardist Gregg Rolie far more than it does to Carlos Santana. Rolie, whose organ work at times comes across as a bit pedestrian in his second-fiddle soloist slot in this band, proves his worth here with some tasty jazz piano licks that dominate most of the performance. The percussionists are largely low-key during this performance, as is the camera work, which is unusually unimaginative for this show. Still, this is another damn good performance from Santana.

Santana – Treat
http://youtu.be/24MIc2jcfmE



An additional Van der Graaf Generator song, “Darkness,” is less hyperactive than “Whatever Would Robert Have Said,” but it’s arguably a stronger track, with a sense of menacing dread that gradually builds over its seven and a half minute duration. Peter Hammill delivers a powerful vocal performance, and the band is once again very effective at building drama through dynamics. It’s a bit of a shame this wasn’t aired on the show, particularly since it would have added to my ongoing Beat Club two-saxes-at-once tally, but hey, they needed that time for the extra Mungo Jerry song.

Van der Graaf Generator – Darkness
http://youtu.be/WDmhP6YiN6s



An eight-and-a-half minute Brinsley Schwarz jam on an early non-album song called “Indian Woman” has also surfaced, and it’s a bit of a head-scratcher for me. Not because of the track itself, which is essentially a straight-up ripoff of Neil Young’s “Down By the River,” sharing that song’s jammy two-chord plod. It’s a decent enough jam, worth hearing once, but like “Ebury Down,” it’s more an exercise in imitating influences than it is anything distinctive or unique. No, the weird thing about this is that it’s difficult to pinpoint where it comes from. The heavy solarization effects look similar to those on “Ebury Down,” and Beat Club outtake records do mention this song as having been taped at the same session. But the clip contains an onscreen list of band members, as well as a set of closing credits, that in typography and content (particularly the lack of a WDR logo at the end) are consistent with 1972 episodes. In fact, several online sources, including this YouTube video itself, credit it as being from 1972, rather than 1970. My guess is that sometime in ’72, Mike Leckenbusch pulled this clip out of the archives with the intention of closing an episode with it, going so far as to add the end credit scroll, before reconsidering and using something else instead. But I may be full of shit.

Brinsley Schwarz – Indian Woman
http://youtu.be/xWvrMoPpgMM

I'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMING
   
varitone
Frankie Avalon's hairpiece

Posts: 59
Registered: Jan 2012
 Posted August 23rd, 2012 05:43 AM   IP              
Extra stuff - fantastic and much appreciated. The credits on the Brinsleys clip say Beat-Workshop. Was this some kind of spin-off show for Beat Club outtakes?
   
halleluwah
Total Rock Cumshot

Posts: 7312
Registered: Aug 2007
 Posted August 23rd, 2012 12:54 PM   IP              
Quote:
varitone wrote:
Extra stuff - fantastic and much appreciated. The credits on the Brinsleys clip say Beat-Workshop. Was this some kind of spin-off show for Beat Club outtakes?


Ah, you're right! It turns out that there was a series of half-hour specials aired concurrently with the show for the purpose of showing full "concerts" (complete taping sessions) of artists who did longer studio sessions. They continued this practice even after Beat Club proper ended at the end of '72, changing the name from Beat Workshop to Musikladen Extra. That is the source for a lot of the full-session footage that exists for several color BC acts (Procol Harum, The Morrison-less Doors, Stone the Crows, etc). Unfortunately, these aren't on the DVD set, and I haven't been able to find any kind of master list of episodes, so I don't know how many Beat Workshop specials were produced. I'll keep digging.

Adding to the confusion, some of the full taping sessions out there, like the MC5 set, don't come from Beat Workshop at all and have only surfaced in recent years. Adding even more confusion is that for the first few episodes of '72, the actual proper Beat Club program aired a recurring segment called Beat Club Workshop, which consisted of 15-20 minutes of songs/interviews with people like Curtis Mayfield, Chuck Berry, and Steve Miller. These segments are part of the regular episodes and are unrelated to the Beat Workshop specials.

I'm not sure whether Brinsley Schwarz got a full Beat Workshop episode, or if they shared it with another act. In the outtake list I've got there's only one other song of theirs listed, rather than a full set, and I can't find it on YouTube. I'll get to the bottom of all this.


My head hurts!


I'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMINGI'MCOMING
   



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