Seduction Through Witchcraft (and your pet turtle)

Unrequited love is like being buried alive in a heart-shaped coffin.

YES I'm going through this AGAIN so I'm gonna bleed here for a bit and I just hope it's not too cringe-inducing for those happy souls entwined in the blissful embrace of some form of relationship that isn't sour yet that is more awesome than anything and certainly better than this chicken & capellini in homemade sauce made from the tears of the clearly unwanted and dined on alone in an empty apartment that mocks my existence with hollow echoes of utter, utter solitude.

Haha - just kidding. I have a cat, it's not that empty (the mocking continues, however).

Months of correspondence with someone who is an 80% match with my twisted soul and I was reading her all wrong so big deal, it's my fault for wishing too much and JESUS when that oxytocin starts pumping through your system like nitro in a dragster's fuel lines (see last entry) the mind goes completely batshit with infatuation-fantasies and damn I feel stupid now. But not really, because it's all very human and we all go through it and blah blah blah and honestly I've done this so many times in my life I actually have a planned schedule on how to survive the bombed-emotions process in a complicated chart that helps immeasurably. Okay, it's actually a big photo of a bottle of Jack Daniels. Same thing.

I'VE WRITTEN A POEM ABOUT IT ! READ IT NOW !

soliloquy into a dead phone

I want to experience life with you;

drink beer with you,

walk down terrible alleys in the rain with your hand in mine,

hear you sneeze from another room,

miss you when you're out,

wonder about a look you gave me the other day,

ride in a cab with you,

fall asleep with you in a booth in the Ovaltine Cafe
    only to be shaken awake by an aggravated waitress.

hold your hair back as you vomit in the toilet.

place a surprised smile of yours in the palm of eternity

and smell cigarette smoke in your hair.

I want to bring you tea when you're sick in bed (with a spike of whiskey obviously),

see you cry to know you're human and be shaken to the core by it,

and feel your heartbeat with my ear to your breast.

I want to taste something you've made, seen something you've created, be a part of your history

 and

crumble to dust in our old age together knowing this hasn't all

 been some sort of mistake.

Now was that so bad?

I haven't given up hope, though, and thankfully before passing out hideously drunk and naked halfway through my door into the hallway of the lobby last night I dug this thing out of my collection and prepared to woo her back through falsitudes and Satan, probably. Apparently I still need a special type of beetle and a live turtle though so maybe I'll do it next week.

And, yes, of course I'm kidding; if I can't win over the Morticia to my Gomez, the Connie to my Dee Dee Ramone, the Poison Ivy to my Lux Interior, the Mallory to my Mickey purely with my wit and charm then I'll just OH GOD I'M GOING TO DIE ALONE! 

So here we have something that has seen other music blogs before but so what it's awesome.

 

Keep in mind that the last of the sixties into the mid-seventies was rife with activities and such that you'd be arrested for (probably) today; morally, the USA was like Weimar Berlin in this 5-to-6 year period, but way tackier and culturally-benign in comparison. Butterfly-collared Sammy Davis Jr. and Jayne Mansfield partying down with Anton LaVey? C'mon.
Recorded in 1969 by the world's only "Officially Appointed Official Witch" (it's true), this gem of echoey weirdness will ensure you get some form of love from somebody somewhere - perhaps in an orgy - if you do the exact steps necessary for what it is you're looking for. If that sounds vague, take a look at the tracks on the album;

The Self Fascination Ritual for Increased Power
The Isis Full Moon Ring for Magical Protection
The Demon Spell for Energy
Orgies: A Tool of Witchcraft
Sun Sign Amulets for Spiritual Protection
The Coleopterous Charm for Romantic Adventure
The Turkish Bean Spell for Tender Love
Seduction Spells From Around the World
The Emotional Bondage Spell
The Earthquake Spell for Unwanted Lovers
Witches and Wizzards

Yeah and there's no way in hell you're not listening to this. And play on some windy half-drunk night preferably inside a pentagram (which historically is NOT 'satanic' so there) with wild animals scampering about and for christ's sake buy a cloak already.

Download here:
Seduction Through Witchcraft 

(There's click/hiss in the first few tracks, but removed thereafter)

And check out her site! (Looks like it hasn't been updated since '03)

I'm off to sob uncontrollably and/or watch American Horror Story.

Darwin is the way

I forget exactly where I first witnessed the painted nature scene cover with its sideways exclamation of "IT JUST IS!" and the little tiny duck, at first glance seemingly holding up a sign with its wing, but I'm certain it was on one of the then-few "bad album cover art" sites which introduced many of us to the wonderful world of weird listening pleasures.

And like everyone else, I was hopelessly baffled not only by WHAT just was, but what the hell was an "eck"? 

A first assumption based on the little sign and familiarity with belief-system terminology directs one to think it's a religious album (some spirit-guide is always "the way"), but wtf is "eck"?! Most would dismiss the connection since eck is more of a gutteral sound of disapproval than anything offering comfort from within.

But religious is exactly what it is, as I discovered one fine day in the local Value Village, already somewhat out of spirits from flapping past a few too many dusty Manilow, Roger Wittiker (sp?) and Baby Beluga jackets. 

Then I suddenly froze, eyes popping, iris' expanding, senses alerted immediately with my mind tallying up noises and peripheral movements so as to detect any human presence about me ready to leap over my shoulder, grab the disc and flee to the cashier before I could snap out of it and give chase.  
I should point out that my cratedigger-ninja skills have since been honed to the point where an intrusive hand would be disabled and broken in sixteen places before reaching my pick, so beware.

There it was. THAT cover. Like right in front of me. A 'famed obscurity'. 
Still in partial shrinkwrap and otherwise in mint condition - previous owners not sufficiently moved for repeat listenings I guess. 
I feverishly kept it clasped to my chest as I rummaged through the rest of the swill in hopes more manna was left by maybe the same donator. Nothing else, but I was happy enough anyways, giggling and skipping to the checkout, flippantly knocking over old ladies with armfuls of ceramic owls and officious-looking argyle-nerds and their Power Rangers retro-fetish accumulations. (no offense to either parties, but ceramic owls suck and there's this one local argyle-nerd who just...  I won't get started.)

As for what Eck is... well, it stands for Eckankar, and after that, please Google it. I did, and trying to give a synopsis here would be like giving a two-sentence overview of the Roman Empire. 

I recommend several of the links you'll find on the first page of searching, though: plenty of history from both the Eck believers as well as former members with their own anti-Eck pages with bizarre tales of cult behavior as well as news reports on recent rather large gatherings of Eckists in Nigeria, supposedly converting thousands of people as they move around. You'll also read of how this 'lost' religion was re-found and the conflicting tales about Darwin Gross' emergence as the Eck movement's leader, and how some of the more vocal ex-ecks have purportedly been harassed by group members who want things kept on the QT. 

So I guess it's like Scientology, but with fewer billions of dollars. And like Scientology, that paragraph above sounds like something I totally made up, but it's all so weirdly true.

And hey! Vancouver has or had its own eck-centre (albeit very tiny) on Kingsway in Burnaby: 

Abandoned for several years, it seems. About a block away from an abandoned taxidermy shop whose fluorescent lights still burn away behind locked doors. Very creepy. Is there a connection!? Perhaps not.

Okay, what does the record sound like?

The first side (or 1-4, here) is Darwin singing the sacred love songs of eck. Lush orchestra, female group-vocal back-up... like easy listening of the '50s, but with Darwin Gross' soft words of enlightenment wafting through the lilting melodies.

Darwin (972nd Living Master of Eck btw) has a not-unpleasant voice that is fine on the higher end but tends to flatten on the lower notes. Mebbe comparable to an Andy Williams who got strep-throat as a kid & the pipes got damaged, or Vince Neill crossed with a young Bing Crosby after one of those tours you take through a helium factory. 

So where was Gross' head during all of this? Was he just some guy who wanted to sing, a little spiritually towards the 'E' in the gas tank of the soul, just wanting a little assurance at the pump, maybe getting a little bag of those pink-colored 'Jolly Time' pistachios while he's there? Off-handedly mentioning to the grease-smeared attendant that he thinks he'd make an alright balladeer and the guy says to him he says, "Sure, why not? I always thought I could do it myself, but, y'know - who's gonna man the pumps all day 'way out here? Folks gotta have their gas, right? Hey - I say go for it!". Gross - one elbow leaning on the dirty Formica counter-top - slowly smiles, strokes his chin thoughtfully while throwing his tweed sports-jacket over his shoulder, shakes the attendant's hand with a "Thanks, brother!" as he makes ready to leave and they agree to meet up later for a few games of canasta, but you just know it never happens.

Eckists are s**t at canasta.

Track list:
A1     It Just Is    
A2     With Eckankar    
A3     At The Grass Roots    
A4     Oh, How I Love The Bless Sugmad    
B1     The Law Of The Self    
B2     Purity


Download here:

IT JUST IS!

And if you just want a sample track and not all of them, I would suggest "At the Grass Roots", mainly for the female chorus lyrics. 

(EDIT: Since posting this, the aforementioned taxidermy shop burnt nearly to the ground - possibly from the lights being turned on for ten years straight - and the Eck office has been leased! I think to a high-speed internet company)

Drop Dead!

Arch Oboler, born in 1907 (d.1987), was a nuclear blast of energy & ideas involving himself in movies, plays, television, directing, producing, screenwriting, writing novels, and had a long-running horror radio show by the name of "Lights Out" - one cut from the album being one of the episodes - and apparently made film history with his use of effects in two of his 3-D movies from the early fifties, and during the war years made anti-Nazi films that stars of the era (Joan Crawford one of them) lined up to be a part of, some taking pay-cuts for the chance.
Unfortunately, horror was to touch his life literally when his six year old son drowned in a ditch used for excavation that filled with rainwater on the site where Oboler's new house was being built in 1958.

Drop Dead!, with it's iconic cover, was released in 1962, and features in it's cast Mercedes McCambridge, a minor star of movies and TV of the era and who would later be cast as the wife in TV's long-running series The Coach in the 90's.


Track listing:
    A1 Introduction to Horror   
    A2 I'm Hungry (Movie-Type Horror)   
    A3 Taking Papa Home (Suspense-Type Horror)   
    A4 The Dark (Radio-Type Horror) 
    B1 A Day at the Dentist's (Comedy-Type Horror)   
    B2 The Posse (T.V.-Type Horror)   
    B3 Chicken Heart (Science Fiction-Type Horror)   
    B4 The Laughing Man (The Ultimate in Horror)

Download here:
 Obler

The Sounds of Love, A to Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

It's 1985. 

You and your date have hidden in the mall til they shut the lights & locked the doors. You've creeped over to the arcade, dodging the security guards. Making out in the Sinistar booth-console is pretty cool but uncomfortable and the constant "Run, human, run!" screamed from the screen is way too jarring, so you both roll to the low-pile carpeted floor that smells of sneakers and orange soda. 

Suddenly one of the games comes on. Scares the crap out of the both of you so you haul up the pants and get out as more and more games fire themselves up. 

Ducking around a corner, you watch as the machines seemingly jabber at each other, one of which has somehow recorded your prelude to lust and is playing it back as several arcade-game themes play; a fight breaks out between consoles, lasts about ten minutes, and eventually classical music pops out of nowhere as the playback continues.

That kind of sums up this very odd LP, a 1972 offering from Yorkshire Records out of Pennsylvania.

The first three cuts are originals, whereas the originality cut out after the first two. 

That's not me being snarky, that's you downloading these and agreeing with me. 

STILL, wow, who put this out? The insane genius on the cover with a synthesizer and a willing female accomplice? Were they one and the same? No information given anywhere, except that a Liza Condon took the photos - three more black & white pics much like the cover on the reverse - and Warp Productions took the project on. 

I have a feeling that if one scoured the '72-'73 issues of Playboy or Penthouse, one would find small advertisements for this hidden in the back.

I gave a slightly harsher approval of this LP some time ago in another forum, but after a second listen I found that there is some sense of musicality to the original tracks, so I'd have to guess that the first time out I was under the influence of maybe a chemical or two or something.

Both Scented Wind and Black and Blues are rather simple tunes, the 'love' part of the equation coming from the sounds emanating from we're led to believe the woman on the record jacket. Whether or not she's actually with someone with a tape recorder right beside the bed or she's alone in a studio giving crazy lip service to the back of her hand I'll let you guys try to figure out.

I could be a complete bastard and tell everyone to crank the volume for Midnight Waterfalls, but I just don't have the heart. Maybe do it later for your unruly neighbors after a cautious listen. Imagine Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music on 78 rpm using a swatch of sandpaper instead of a stylus cartridge and I'd say it's getting close. 

The rest of the album is classical music, taken from somewhere but not actually played by whomever released this flawed gem, three tracks fed through the synth for some extremely mild tampering (I guess nuanced would be the term, but I couldn't swallow using it here) and the oozin' ahs laid over top once more.
Enjoy, but please listen to in an altered state.

Track listing:

Fred Miller - Scented Wind 5:20

A2 Fred Miller - Black & Blues 4:36

A3 Fred Miller - Midnight Waterfalls 9:30

A4 Maurice Ravel - Pavane 5:30

B1 Maurice Ravel - Bolero 14:00

B2 Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Piano Concerto No. 21 7:30 

Download here:
Lovezzzzzz...

Erotica: The Rhythms of Love

Fax Records out of Hollywood had a short run from around '59 through the early sixties with a few releases dotted out up to about 1970 or so, and all of them were dedicated to raunchy adult humor, including a few tied in with Stag magazine.

Their Erotica series is easily identifiable with the simple concept of the title in large jumbled serif letters with the nature of the album in smaller type underneath. 

(And pay attention when purchasing these, as later re-issues will have a different color-scheme, leading some to think it's an album of different material)

I have another under the Erotica heading subtitled "Songs of Pain & Pleasure", which was a ridiculously awesome find, until I played it.

Quite awful. 18th-19th century ribald songs played by an indifferent elderly couple sounding like the recording was getting in the way of their canasta game over at the Kuntzes.

This Lp, however, is an entirely different matter, being, as it turns out, a composite of overlapping recordings for an overall effect of fascinating entertainment, even if it sounds rather base at the start. 

The whole thing begins with some snoring which is quickly interrupted by a bongo-hit. 

We hear the man suddenly wake with a stream of what sounds like Hispanic-tinged gibberish and grunts as the bongos snap out short riffs, then we have a mild interlude where you hear a sort of environmental change as a different recording gets mixed in, and this is where the loving starts!

After this, it's an insane 30 minutes of what sounds like a ride in a Mexican locomotive with an ADD-stricken bongo player in the berth below with a couple across the aisle cracking the amyl in an almost non-stop back-breaker bout of passion.

You can't hear the proper man too much, but the female seems to be into it, and I have to assume that it isn't faked. 

I say 'proper', because I'm guessing what's supposed to be the fella here is also jumping in with "Hey!, What!?, Okay?, HA ha!", and other unusual heat-driven gutteral barks that are either dubbed in or else the bongo-tapper in the room at the time was voicing his approval, and also asking them to repeat themselves. 

The locomotive-like noise comes from the nearly-unending mattress squeaks with occasional rhythmic banging that is either carpentry or the bed-frame smacking the wall. Woo! Is it getting hot in here?

The second side has less of the strange, possible-third-party enunciations and more pronounced bongos, and is just a tad more steamier.

Hilarious at times, then weirdly relaxing and occasionally arousing (I think it's just animal nature to hear the excitable progressions of a female and become affected, under any circumstances), all overlapping so often it's a weird, confusing experience and you just can't take the needle off.

Now, while trying to find info on the label and their recordings, I happened upon another blog hosting the album (knew I should've started this stuff like ten years ago) that made the claim that the bongos and tribal-like emissions are actually culled from a track off of Chaino's Jungle Echoes LP.

At first my brain lit up as it was clearly reminiscent of the big C's work, as I just happened to grab a copy of that same album a couple months back. 

However, comparing the two, I have to totally disagree and conclude they are different things altogether. Chaino's drums are rhythmic whereas the Erotica-player's are all over the place like ants on a map with sugar spilled on it, and the vocable eruptions littering the grooves are from a different set of pipes than Chaino's.

Now, hop into those satin leopard-print jammies and turn down the lights...

Erotica

Slurp

So why doesn't 7-11 do things like this anymore? Besides the fact that these days they'd just hand out a card with a download link...
It's a tradition, I'm just carrying it on.

Download here:

Dance the Slurp
The Strange Things That Happen...