Believe it or not, actual squads of people — people much more qualified to rave about this album than I am — literally comb the country, hunting for records like this. They’ll buy up as many copies as they can find, and like a Johnny Appleseed of vanity pressings, they’ll redistribute them into the appropriate hands. Perhaps they’re more like a Robin Hood of vanity pressings, since anyone who pays thrift store prices for music this good is certainly getting it for a steal.

The Links put out four records that I know of, but this one is my favorite. It conforms to my perverse standards of pop cheesiness without even breaking a sweat. A cheerful trip though early 70s M.O.R, this album features two Tony Orlando and Dawn covers, a Carpenters cover, a Mac Davis cover and a Wayne Newton cover. And that’s just for starters. The trio’s chipper gospel style is irresistible. The backing band provides obtuse performances of organ dominated arrangements typical of the type that proponents of the vanity aesthetic have grown so comfortable with. And once you hear them bounce through “Vehicle” by Ides Of March, you’ll be hooked.

A record like this one will earn a place in my collection if it has only one good track. Two good tracks is a cause for celebration. But for an album this good, even I would be tempted to leave home in search of extra copies.

DOWNLOAD: Multiupload | Mediafire

Inside the Astrosphere a theater was designed to resemble the interior of an American Airlines 707 Astrojet. The seats, although set eight across as in airliners of the future, are duplicates of 707 seating. The visitors strap themselves into the seats, put on headsets, and watch a twelve-minute film about travel across America, including a pilot’s eye view of both the landing and take-off. Stewardesses assist visitors. and travel literature is provided in seat pockets located in front of the passengers. This on-ground pre-conditioning of prospective passengers cannot help but stimulate their desire for air travel. Conservative American estimates fore-cast two million actual visitors to the Astrosphere and ten million people who will have seen it.

The Astrosphere is the largest dual-walled, air-inflated unit ever built. It has aproximately 6000 square feet of usable space, over half of which is used for visitor traffic flow and exhibit areas. Carried in four forty-foot vans, it can be set up in three hours.

The interior view shows the 128-seat theater in the center of the Astrosphere.

The cutaway model shows the plan of the Astrosphere. In the area outside the theater are exhibits by American Express Company, Hertz Rent-a-Car, Holiday Inns of America, and Texaco. all showing the relationship of these companies to travel. Domestic travel is promoted in keeping with the Discover America program established by President Johnson. Flags surrounding the sphere are of the 50 states.

The American Airlines example of marketing at shopping centers to reach the consumer directly will inevitably be further developed by other companies. Shopping centers may soon become small world’s fairs as marketers continue to cut the distance, be it physical or conceptual, between their product and the consumer.

– “Point Of Purchase Design,” by Harvey Offenhartz (1968)

Similar examples of Mizerski’s work pop up in collectors catalogs, but I was unable to find out much about him. (Perhaps a better informed visitor can help fill in the gaps.) But just because extensive research is out of scope for this post doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate these images for what they are: beautiful work that any photographer would be rightly proud of. I’m afraid we can’t say the same for his subject.

More about Warsaw:

City Of Ruins

Postcards of pre-war Warsaw

We razed a city to ruins. I’m sorry. Would you like more tea?

Warszawa 19-24.10.1940

“Browbeat was, to my knowledge, the first xerox-punk fanzine in the United States. It was David and me and Greg. And Sharon Ehle too. Debbie Dub/Durham was gonna be a part of it, but I think she was out of town that spring and summer. We were totally ripping off Sniffin’ Glue from England. We had copies of those in hand, probably from even their first issue, maybe. Browbeat grew out of boredom. I don’t remember how many copies we printed but it was something like 200, 250, 300 — it wouldn’t have been anywhere near as many as 500, and I was paying the xerox bill, ’cause I had a job. I can’t imagine I had more than like $50 bucks in all of life to piss away.”

- Bart Bull (We Are The Consumers)

“Although Phoenix was a bit behind the curve when it came to exposing a fluid punk/underground culture, it is interesting to note Bart Bull’s claim that he and David Wiley from the Consumers created the world’s first xerox-copied punk fanzine called Browbeat in June 1977. It’s first and only issues predates L.A.’s Flipside #1 by a month or so. I am not quite sure who was featured or what was written. The Browbeat name lived on years later as the name of Wiley’s local music column that appeared in the Phoenix New Times.”

- Vil Vodka (Because I Wasn’t There)

“There’s no question that David and Greg and me created Browbeat in direct imitation/competition with Sniffin’ Glue… but first, way before us and, really, more important, if only because it was first and even less anchored to any apparent existing reality, was KDIL Blues Licks.“

- Bart Bull (We Are The Consumers)

Bonus:

BROWBEAT: A COLUMN
Gothic thrashmongers TSOL crashed into town last Saturday for a packed and rowdy summer’s eve show. It’s the best time of year, spring air in the bloodstream, young men anxious to lock horns, let off some steam. Aggressive music breeds aggressive behavior, yes, but why not fight the things that matter.Take on apathy, the power structure or the media for starters. Throughout the recent local past nobody — but nobody — has manipulated more attention than THE FEEDERZ. Just when their music, a cleverly crafted hodgepodge of infected styles, was reaching an international level of acceptance, commander-in-chief FRANK DISCUSSION has announced that neither the band nor the concept nor that upcoming EP exist. A final performance is being considered. Frank then plans on selling his history-laden equipment and exiling himself from music for the time being. Other members will continue with their own projects.

Last week’s debut of PARIS 1942 was every bit as interesting as it promised to be, with each member turning in virtuoso performances of their extraordinary brand of rock’n'roll. Yes, rock’n'roll of the droning, hypnotic variety, oozing with life. As tired a cliche as ‘rock’n'roll’ is, there are those determinedly dedicated to redefining the term, two examples here in this group and openers MEAT PUPPETS. Commenting afterwards, MO TUCKER was pleased with her first live performance in over a decade although she said no one could hear anything onstage. “It was like a swirl of music,” she laughed over the phone as young voices demanded her attention in the background. The group plans one or two more local shows before heading to the West Coast for a pair of dates.

Big news this week is that THE CLASH and THE ENGLISH BEAT suddenly decided to include Mesa Amphitheatre on their upcoming cross-country tour, Sunday, June 13. Stay tuned . . . Two days later another English outfit, THE ANGELIC UPSTARTS, will be paying a visit for a special Tuesday show at the Dog. These guys were one of the original skinhead hands. . . In the meantime there’s still much to choose from. This Friday JFA, SOYLENT GREENE and FATAL ALLEGIANCE do the Dog and Saturday CONFLICT and MEAT PUPPETS at the same place. Sunday a holiday Merlin’s appearance by VITAL SIGNS.

ALSO COMING UP: From Texas, THE BIG BOYS and THE BUTTHOLE SURFERS . . . BATTALION OF SAINTS, San Diegans of the thrash variety, June 5 at the Dog. . . DREAM SYNDICATE and pholksinger PHRANC . . . instrumental rock lunacy from AFRICA CORPS with performance artist DEVIATION SOCIAL. . . THE MINUTEMEN and THE DESCENDANTS, two of the most unusual uptempo bands . . . a definite July date for controversial SF rockers DEAD KENNEDYS.

BRIEFLY: The KILLER PUSSY record party was a stunning success complete with a tiered pink poodle cake, freshly cut bouquets and copies of the EP that is available around the Valley and selling well. Over in L.A. it’s slipped into influential station KROQ-FM’s regular daytime playlist. The band is currently planning some followup live dates there . . . Circus Circus in Las Vegas (where else?) set the scene for guitarist PAUL B. CUTLER and effervescent vocalist DINAH CANCER performing the proverbial marriage vows (the bride wore black?) . . .45 GRAVE begin working on a debut album this week. . . Another month for the MEAT PUPPETS LP; the work is complete, now rabid fans will just have to wait. Meanwhile, one selection will be appearing on an SST Italian compilation . . . Songbird BONNIE SOLDER has flown to California, opting sand, surf and Big City Life for up-and-coming primate rockers THE VERY IDEA OF FUCKING HITLER, who plan to continue as a trio. . . New faces: CAUSTIC WEAPONS, CONSTANT COMMENT, THE SECRET IDOLS with PIK RORTER and someone named VANYA from Finland. . . The Tucson cassette compilation “Valley Fever” is out and about, along with new tapes by JACKET WEATHER and a former member of SERFERS, whose name escapes me at the moment, all on Iconoclast Intl . . Local electronic strategist DAVID OLIPHANT has released a cassette, with some unique packaging, of various works including a sampling of DESTRUCTION. Seek it out. . . Lastly, linear avantjazzrock comrades KNEBNEGAUGE have moved to the Bay Area. Greener pastures some would say, but when was the last time they looked in their backyards?

-David Wiley (New Times Weekly, 1982)

The day after Christmas, my wife and I attended a hockey game at the Jobing.com Arena. This state-of-the-art facility stands adjacent to something called the “Westgate City Center.” On what was once a quiet corner in Glendale is now erected this new mall “concept:” a pre-fab fake “town,” surrounded by lots of freshly bulldozed, freeway-accessible real estate: “Shop Here – Dine Here – Live Here – ONLY HERE!” “LIVE WHERE YOU LIVE!” I’m sure there are several of these sorts of places in your town as well.

This “multi-use destination” is mostly comprised of restaurants as big as city blocks. The “food,” served up in different shapes and “flavors,” is your typical modern corn and soybean based cuisine. What these places offer is not so much “nutrition,” as a Disney-fied, sports-bar kind of “atmosphere” designed to simultaneously stimulate and dull the senses.

As we stood huddled beneath five-story-high images of Carlos Santana and Mel Gibson, we watched a teenage fake-rock band supply the soundtrack to house-sized video displays broadcasting ads for local casinos and upcoming “tribute “concerts. At one point, an ugly long-haired dude in a shiny shirt came on the screen. He sat on a brand new leather couch, moving his lips inaudibly. Above his luminous head appeared this grave message: “$998.”

Spaces like the Westgate City Center make Phoenix’s older box malls look like palaces of subtlety and restraint. But the kids that milled around the grounds that night seemed just as enthusiastic about their current shopping arrangements as our grandparents’ generation must have been. And as these old photos from “Arizona Highways” clearly show, nothing evokes “civic pride” like a new retail innovation. These photos leave little room for debate on the matter, taken as they are from an article entitled “Phoenix – City Of Shopping Centers.”

Most of the businesses in these pictures are long gone, but if you look closely, you might recognize something of what remains.


When I was growing up, nobody could explain my grandfather’s job to me. Even when I was an adult, my mom couldn’t really tell me what he did for a living. I knew he was a Shriner, because I saw his hats. I knew he liked to collect restaurant menus, because I saw the blog posts. Beyond that, all I ever knew was he had an office downtown. Last month, I finally learned the truth.

My grandmother was a regular fangirl when it came to her husband. From the 1930s right up through the mid-sixties, she kept a huge scrapbook about my grandfather, tirelessly collecting hundreds of photos and newspaper clippings documenting the ups and downs of his career. And while my grandfather was no Frank Sinatra or Mikey Mantle, he was quite a superstar in his own right.

The story begins shortly after my grandparents’ marriage and finds my grandfather working for a liberal newspaper in Syracuse, Nebraska. In 1936, the Otoe County Democrats elected him the youngest party chairman in the nation.

In short order, he was formally swept into the local bureaucracy, first as Assistant County Clerk, then as a trucking inspector for the Nebraska Railway Commission. Thanks to his ties to the newspaper business, or maybe just due to his basic inherent interestingness, my grandfather collected boatloads of ink throughout his career. He gathered tribute every time he climbed the ladder, garnering praise and support from peers and politicians. Along the way, he signed off on major issues of the day, and contributed “humorous” human-interest filler that would be considered inappropriate today.

Alas, despite Nebraska’s deep roots of progressive populism (or maybe because of it), the state couldn’t sustain a consistent majority for FDR. In the spring of 1940, my grandfather managed the Democratic candidate in a special election to fill the vacancy left by the death of a sitting senator. The Republicans campaigned against the New Deal and won by a landslide. Later that year, after Nebraska awarded its electoral votes to Wendell Wilkie, my grandfather found himself out of power and planning his return to the private sector. He soon relocated to Minneapolis, reinvented himself as a successful businessman, immersed himself in the Chamber of Commerce, and continued to generate column inches in the local newspapers.

Around this time, his media visibility expanded and took an unexpected turn. During the war, my grandfather began appearing as a model for print advertisements. (An earlier accident kept him out of the service.) Significantly, the roles he adopted charted both his own trajectory and the country’s — out of the Depression and the war, and into the boom of the late Forties and early Fifties. The earliest of these ads portray him as an overall-clad working class hero putting his back into the war effort. Later, he’s an upwardly mobile everyman in a hurry to claim his slice of postwar prosperity. Finally, he’s a successful self-made man, living the model suburban dream.

After the war, my grandfather owned several successful businesses before he finally moved out west and joined CIT Corporation (yes, the very same CIT that’s been struggling for its life lately). As the vice president in charge of the Phoenix office, he doled out financing for many of the construction companies that built the modern Arizona. Here, he finally becomes recognizable to me as the man who became my grandfather — the guy with the carving utensils, serving up the holiday meals with a gruff efficiency and a policy of zero tolerance for tom-foolery at the dinner table. While these later years tend to strike me as anticlimactic, this period certainly brought him his greatest rewards. Like so many of the men of his generation who saw his country through the crises of the day, he was glad to take his place in line when it was time to reap the rewards he deserved.

And yet, my grandfather lived long enough to watch his country become unrecognizable to him. He saw the Democratic party fall apart during the Sixties, prey to both its own hubris and events beyond its control. Unable to corral its own disparate elements, the party splintered. (Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?) Eventually my grandfather switched sympathies. But if he found any real satisfaction in the party of Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan, he never said anything to me about it.

In the end, extreme age and deteriorating health telescoped his life into a series of restless nights and passing days. I got to know him a little better once I got older, and he always impressed me as a serious, savvy son-of-a-gun. To hear him tell it, he never knew a fool that he suffered gladly. As his photos clearly show, he was a good-old-boy to the core, even as a young man — a true big fish in a small pond. And though I might not have believed it when I was younger, nowadays I can’t help but see a little bit of him staring back at me in the mirror. I’m glad I finally found out what he did for a living.

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.


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Like so many guys my age, I made my first connection with male sexual identity in the back of mass-market magazines like “True Detective” and “Man’s Adventure.” Naturally, I was drawn to the so-called “adult” content in these tiny sidebar ads, but what strikes me now is how juvenile they are, and how devoid of any actual females. They almost seem to suggest that pictures, films or stories about women are much better than the real thing.

When I got older, I began to experience the “skin trade” up close. I remember visiting my first downtown adult theater when I was eighteen or nineteen. This place was different from the “peep show” places that offered curtained smut loops for a quarter. This was an real “theater” that showed full-length films. It shared a strip of commercial property with a pawn shop, a liquor store and an anonymous storage facility. It had no lobby or backstage — just a screen and a low platform at one end of a small room and a 16mm film projector at the other end.

I have no memory of the films I saw that day. What I do remember was how after the first movie, a woman came out on the stage. To a soundtrack of the current disco hits, she removed her clothing, lay down on her back and and spread her legs. She lay there for a few minutes, then got up and left.

This was a surprise. The theater had not advertised live entertainment. A few minutes into the next film, I noticed someone coming towards me down the aisle. Before I could make out the figure clearly, I heard a woman’s voice. “Can you give me some money for my dance?”

I quickly fished out whatever was in my pocket and gave her what she wanted. She rubbed the bills against her chest, moaned a little, and slid the money into a pocket. Then she moved on to the next patron. I watched the movie for a little while longer, but I knew I’d have to leave soon. I didn’t have enough cash left for any more tips.

Up until that day, I had always assumed the “adult entertainment” business to be entirely one-sided and exploitative. It now occurred to me that the woman had actually derived some pleasure from the transaction, albeit second-hand, and not of a perverse nor prurient nature. It was the pleasure she got from keeping a roof over her head and providing food for her family. As I drove home, my guilt feelings in no way assuaged by the insight, I wondered which one of us had gotten the better end of the deal.