Bostworld

These days, the songwriting/production team of Chris Arnold, David Martin and Geoff Morrow is probably best known for giving us Barry Manilow’s “Can’t Smile Without You,” and for bubblegum singles like Edison Lighthouse’s “It’s Up To You Petula” and Domino’s “Have You Had A Little Happiness Lately” (featuring Tony Burrows). They also wrote for Elvis (”This Is The Story,” “A Little Bit Of Green,” “Change Of Habit”). The trio released a few singles under their own names, but their only full-length album was 1970’s “Don’t You Know Butterscotch.”

I’ve been looking for this record for over a decade. I actually held it in my hands once, but I didn’t know what I had, balked at the price (probably under ten dollars) and foolishly let it go. Since then, I’ve never seen it for sale for anything less than 40 bucks, and only from obscure overseas dealers. But my most recent online search finally hit pay dirt. And I’m happy to say, the wait was worth it.

“Don’t You Know Butterscotch” is a kind of bridge from Petula to Barry, coming off almost like an early Bread album. The kiddie pop tracks released as singles are all here (”Don’t You Know,” “Surprise Surprise,” “Things I Do For You”), but it’s the “adult contemporary” cuts (”Us,” “Bye For Now,” “Cows”) that really balance out the program and add a depth never found on your average bubblegum album.

I found this album via Demonoid, so you can get it that way if you want. The torrent file includes the full album in the FLAC format, all the sheet music included in the original release, and a generous selection of singles. Or, you can just grab all tracks as MP3s, plus the album art:


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I was all stoked last fall to write this epic post about personal responsibility, goals and leadership, all tied into Mission STS-125, the final repair of the Hubble telescope. I’m sure I would have worked in the presidential election too. But then the Shuttle launch got pushed back, the election passed, and the wreckage of the economy became so much more entertaining. So I shelved my notes.

The launch finally happened last week. We were there all right, and I even got some halfway decent pictures. (In that sense, the delay was a good thing — I got in a lot of shooting practice between September and May). But whatever enthusiasm I had for tying in the event with larger themes has dissipated. For one thing, blogging has been taken largely off the table. I decided it was more important to try to exercise more, sleep better and resist the urge to schedule every single minute of my week, for crying out loud. Those are honorable goals. Even doing nothing is better than stressing over self-imposed, meaningless deadlines.

For those of you who might be curious, the thrust of my argument was something along these lines:

Over the years, we’ve forgotten the true lesson of the Apollo missions. Nowadays, people would rather believe that the moon walks were faked. Or we miss the point altogether, second-guessing NASA’s share of our resources. But the true beauty of our space program lies not so much with its specifics, but with the idea that when given a clearly stated goal, and the passion to reach that goal, humans can whip up the will and the discipline to do just about anything.

It starts with leadership: “We choose to send a man to the moon by the end of the decade.” Simple, clear, concise. No room for misinterpretation. No points for wriggling out on a technicality. “Get it done — find a way.” If the public of the 1960s were awed by the technical mastery and gratified by our winning “the space race,” they were also inspired by the sight of a team making it happen, right before their very eyes.

Yep, that sounds like me, all right. But these days, I’m not feeling all that particularly sold on the “great man” theory. Reality is too complicated and time is too precious to waste it waiting around for the few strong willed people who come along to show us the way. We just end up following them anyway. Then they flame out, and we’re back to chasing our own tails again. Better reserve our energy for muddling through, and leave the “solutions” aside.

On the other hand, the launch was freaking awesome. And they did manage to fix the Hubble. And my pictures didn’t turn out half bad either:

Say what you will about the convenience of the cloud, there are still some people who prefer the greater perceived permanence of a piece of plastic that they can stick on their shelf, toss in the back seat of their car or stash in the back of their closet. Those folks will relish the following piece of news: the Love Workshop Box Set is finally a reality!

Yep, Andy Olsen at Radio Free Phoenix has finally put final touches on his six-disk compilation of KDKB’s legendary comedy program from 1976. And now, he’s offering this labor of love to the public for less than what you’d pay for a tank of gas these days. Andy and his shopping cart and standing by right now, waiting for your purchase:

http://radiofreephoenix.com/loveworkshopcd.html

Whether this makes the shows archived here, at WFMU’s Beware Of The Blog and at Archive Dot Org more or less of a valued public service depends, I suppose, on how you stand on this whole getting-your-entertainment-for free-from-the-Internet issue. It’s moot point to me, since I received my copy for free anyway (I was, after all, a contributor). But if I hadn’t, I’m sure I’d buy one just the same.

Be sure to visit the Bostworld “Love Workshop” tribute pages for more info on this great program, including audio from the show, articles from the period and a lengthy exclusive interview with one half of the “Love Workshop” creative team, Russ “Wonderful Russ” Shaw.

(Now, if someone would come forward with recordings of “Bunkhouse Capers…”)

Last year, the best “new year’s resolution” I could think of was “make better pictures.” I don’t know if I succeeded or not, but I had a new camera last year, so it seemed like the obvious choice. But this year, I’m back to my old tricks. The average person might announce, “I promise to lose ten pounds and keep it off at least until mid-November,” or ” I hereby resolve to finally begin and hopefully complete that tedious home improvement project that’s been haunting the bottom of my to-do list,” But I’m more inclined to redouble my efforts to shed attachments and cultivate acceptance of the inevitable. A lofty goal perhaps, but not exactly productive.

When I look at the world around me, I start to think this is less of a cop-out than it seems. More than ever, our entire physical, social, economical and political landscape seems ready to just fall away. What’s the point of announcing, “this year, I resolve to separate my recyclables more carefully and think twice before I use my car to drive up to the corner,” when it’s so clear that decades of distancing ourselves from responsibility has left this country all but circling the drain? Why try to delay the inevitable? And besides, it’s unlikely that when the boss up in Washington starts getting the itch to push that doomsday button of his, he probably won’t stop to remind himself that Derrick made a greater effort this year to print on both sides of the paper.

But these are all just excuses; better that I just say it and be done with it and get on with my life: “this year, I resolve to make a greater effort to do things that will make my life a better one to live.” Of course, what I really mean is “my best chance of making it out of this year in one piece is to lower expectations.” Either way, it’s all about sacrifice.

And now, we party:

“Love To Be Your Man” - The 13th Power
“Niagara Vizeses” - Tabanyi Mihaly Es Szolistai
“Young Girl” - The Raymonde Singers, Etcetera
“McCloud” - John Gregory Orchestra
“Yes I Understand” - The Flying Machine
“Rosemary’s Baby” - The Brass Ring
“If This Isn’t Love” - Dean Martin & The Hi Lo’s
“Tell Me What You Want” - Armada Orchestra
“The New Generation” - Sqibb Pharmaceuticals
“Glide Time” - High Llamas


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I made my first visits to New York City as a touring musician, but my experiences were of a no less hayseed variety: getting lost looking for a public restroom, getting lost trying to follow directions after dark (”go east after exiting the subway…”), and my greatest moment: waking up in the back of the van, thinking I was in Buffalo and getting lost.

Eventually, I graduated from the back of a van to an actual hotel bed, as my career elevated me from the notorious CBGBs men’s room to the posh washrooms of mid town. My bandmates and I would bounce from one office building to the next, discussing the poor quality of music with our record company, the poor quality of our finances with our accountant, and the poor quality of contracts with our lawyer. In between, we got to partake of some mighty fancy restaurants (all charged to the band, no doubt).

Now that I’ve returned to civilian life, my visits to The City are much less frequent. So I supplement my experiences vicariously, using visual aids. In addition to books and videos, I’ve also got the family postcard collection. And while I doubt there’s little I can add to the vast plethora of Manhattania already available on the web, here they are anyway:



Over the years, my brother Damon has left a long list of projects behind him — many completed, some not so much. Sometimes, the strain of trying to hold all the pieces together is just too great to sustain for any length of time. People lose focus of his quixotic vision, or he gets fed up with cajoling them into following his lead. Sometimes, there are feuds. It’s always gratifying, though, when you see people committed enough to see it through to the end, especially when you can’t pay them.

I don’t know if all the players in these clips remain in Damon’s good graces or not, but he managed to coax terrific performances from all of them. Michael Block’s droll commentary in “The American Eating Show,” is charming to the extreme, but I confess I have no idea what’s going on with the hallucinatory visual effects Damon has added. The two gentlemen in “About Five Minutes” do an acceptable job with Damon’s convoluted script, though they sound like they could have used more rehearsal time. Regardless, if nothing else, this piece succeeds in making my wife very nervous.

My brother has created a lot of music in his life. He started and disbanded more groups than I’ll ever be able to remember. He’s even produced music for the City of Tucson as well as a couple of churches. Just this last weekend, he joined the Unitarian Church Choir for a performance of a couple of his pieces at a service commemorating the installation of their new minister. And while everyone was very proud of him (especially his parents), in my heart, it will never supplant “About Five Minutes.”



Back the late sixties, any time you’d see the likes of a Fonda, Nicholson, Sutherland or Redford up on the screen, chances are you’d also be hearing such “exciting” new artists as the Association, the Sandpipers, Simon & Garfunkel or B.J. Thomas on the accompanying soundtrack. This no doubt helped fuel interest in other members of the “now generation,” such as Neil Diamond, Glen Campbell, Three Dog Night or Blood Sweat & Tears. In fact, it’s probably safe to say that a whole generation was first exposed to the “now sound” at the movies.

Albums like arranger Joe Scott’s “”Motion Pictures: The NOW Generation” also brought added grease to the wheels, helping to point Middle America down unfamiliar roads and smoothing the path at the same time. Appropriately lush and stately-of-pace, with just a touch of electric grit, Joe’s album offers listener a nice pat on the back for being so musically adventurous. Which is to say, the whole thing goes down like the average late-sixties nightly network news broadcast theme.

The album kicks off with a glossy reading of The Band’s “The Weight,” and includes driving, uptempo detective-show takes on “Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head” and “Mrs. Robinson. The rest of the album is filled with alternately shimmering and brooding big orchestra arrangements of such “now” filler as “Midnight Cowboy,” “Goodbye Columbus” and “Come Saturday Morning.” My personal favorite track is a version of “Born To Be Wild” that’s just dying to be carved up into dope samples.

I don’t know much about this album or Joe Scott. The internet has not been much help either, telling me only that the album can be purchased for collectors prices and that the name “Joe Scott” is quite common. Fair enough. I can’t do anything about the latter, but as to the former, I might be able to save you 35 bucks. That is, provided you don’t mind that my rip is from a non-shrink-wrapped copy.


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