It's Ice Chopping Time here at the Shack du Meatcutter, if we're snowed in it's all the better for you, for we can pipe our godless wares out the chimney all the same. So, you've been enjoying our second show, have you. Well then here's a shiftless rundown run-down on that aural rub-down:
To thaw your pipes first of all, a heartwarming visit from Uncle Pecos, stopping by on his way to the big time. We're blessed! He's vocalled unpeckably by honeyed character actorrrrr Shug Fisher, whose other musical output, is a tricky lot to trace. But hold on, sugar! We’ve dug some up here, so fill your boots to brims.If only we were lucky enough to have plenty of nothing, it would be plenty for us, but instead we’ve plenty of the Edmundo Ros Orchestra, and we’re stuffed like blessed porkies. Here, if you need words to singa-long with it.
HOLD UP THERE PARTNERDER AND REACH FOR SKIES ETCETERA, our merry way across the prairie has been brought to a clattering halt, by a hateful hatful of unruly sod children playing at cow-bers and in-juns, like we all should at least once a day. In the 'Rad' Injun corner we have, first up, Yma Sumac, popping up from her Peruvian hilltop hut (like what they all live in) to lend support to her fellow indigenous indignants. This is ‘Amor Indio (Indian Love)’ (1950) and it will chill your bones from t’other side of a mountain. Fighting right back comes Sol K. Bright with his very much hit wonder of the singular, Hawaiian Cowboy. (If that’s far too exotic a version for you, here’s a PG version, with Chris Langham let loose on a children’s TV show.) Pow! Cap! Gallop! These rustlers didn't count on a frontal assault from Fanny Brice, firmly ensconced in the apache side of pow-wow as regaled in humorous old jewish lady popular comedy song standard I'm An Indian (Nov. 8, 1921). (Incidentally, it may be worth re-emphasising the Meatcutters Dance mantra at this Juncture: "It's Not Racialist, It's Just Auld.")
Oh all Right - in order to close off this tragic quarter and put demons to bed, lastly comes the diminutive twaddle-trumpet Tiny Tot Calvin with his firmly believed Cowboy For Jesus, just to haunt you good during your next few upcoming sleepie times. (Let’s hope his pal Lil Markie isn’t following close by.) This might be the worst song you'll hear for some time being horned out of our bellows, so don't worry, it'll perk up.
As promised, we say goodbye to such nonsense and get back to business. How about Henry Spaulding and, again, a single hit wonder, Cairo Blues (1929). No more info on this one. So, so-so, suck it up. But hey - If you’re one of the lucky ones not to have lost thumbs in some incident down a shaft implosion or in an ill-advised Spinning Gertie repair attempt (that’s what the kids and midgets are there for you dolt), well then, it is time to crack out your kalimba and get pianee-ing. First along, Kankolongo Alidor with “Kalenda wa muchombela”. Have a look at the Excavated Shellac blurb on this beef, it’s all you need to know about 1950s Belgian Congo field recordings. Let’s hang around in Zaire with a bit of seamless professional DJing (phwooar, thank ye, thank ye) drifting marvellously into a slice of Roots of Rumba Rock, it’s “Towuti Brazza Toye Kisasa” by De Malo.
Now you've turned your record over and ready for some more fun-time sing-along fun. That's going to mean a meanie slapdown from Singin' Sadie ('Let's Call 'er Lil'), followed by a 100% genuine far-eastern cultural dispatch from undercover field agent Shizuko Kasagi. Calling in backup from The Club Nisei Orchestra, 'Tokyo Boogie-Woogie" (1948) is the message we're getting. See, this is what happens when your un-kamikazied Japanese WW2 survivors hole up on a Hawaiian shore and start breeding off with disenfranchised left-behind GIs. It actually literally is. Steady now, a guiding hand rummaging round you from Al Duvall ('Dead Man's Shoes') – Just as a timely reminder of what awaits all of us. It’s a curiously comforting one for those of us that don’t get invited to parties during our be-cursed waking years.Now don’t feel bad and alone if you’re having a hard time giving up listening to The Meatcutters Dance. We may leave your eardrums as yellowed and hack-neyed as your clapped-out lung system, but you keep drifting back for one last puff. Maybe we put chemicals in it or something to make it addictive. Inspector Morse’s wifie Sheila Hancock knows this fuzzy feeling all too unwell, and can convey it expertly here by using dependence upon cigarillos as a clever analogy with “My Last Cigarette”. So you see, it can happen to the best of us.
What’s-a’-this, you really thought “My Baby Just Cares For Me” was a vaguely agreeable lounge-jazzy number writ-in by Nina Simone for Disc Twos of mid-market mothers day Here Come The Girls compilation albums on the eye-level supermart impulse shelf? Blimey, best keep that howler to yourself. Here’s one of the PROPER versions from 1931ish: step up, Ted Wallace and your Campus Boys Orchestra. Reeeeeverrrrbbbbyy, this is all making us feel a bit janitor-ish in a stranded mountaintop hotel here, so let’s have more snowy fun with Scandinavian horror-pedlars Eeva-Leena Sariola, Matti Kontio, and Martti Pokela, teaming and teeming to rasp out a hot toddy of Mörri-Möykyn action, this is “Peikkopiiri”. We shalln’t be held responsible, incidentally, for your children’s nightmares when you play them these kiddie tunes as nighty-time music. It’s the only way they’ll learn. Quickly, sir, after them with that axe!Job done, a good one, time to huddle up by an open roarer and get some feeling back in your ribs. Get this down you: some Ustad Sharafat Hussain Khan. Bit of info to sup on while this digests, yes? Open wide:
A disciple of Ustad Faiyaz Khan and Ustad Ata Hussain Khan – A great vocalist from Agra Gharana. His approach towards music was always to expand the Raga. Take any Raga-s and Ustad-ji would sing these Raga-s at length. For example Raga Malati Basant, Raga Raisa Kanada, Raga Maluha Kalyan to name a few – He could and would sing them for about an hour plus, on an average. He was always open to greater development of his music and so he was never shy to adopt something from other musicians or their respective styles. And almost always, he was successful in blending those so called foreign elements into the musical structure of Agra Gharana that he used to prefer and perform. And then the concept he would sing would be his own “Khayal”.
This is just a snatch of the full 52-minute version, so you can line up to thank us in an orderly line. We’ll be back though with more of that, soon enough, right enough. Fair enough? But cor crikey, as if The Caretaker's nefarious rear assault on Norsmki Wisdom last month wasn't enough, he's back again to give Mustardy Ustad some similar treatment, smothering and slathering and pinning. The death-blanket of choice here is “False Memory Syndrome” from album Persistent Repetition of Phrases.
Now clear a path, for here comes the parade. “The Zulu Parade” to be clinically precise. The trumping troubadours responsible for this rousing trouble? Of course, it’s Johnny Wiggs And His New Orleans Band; gloriously violating every public noise nuisance regulation those thin streaks of grey piss in your civic centre wish to try and impose. Take that, The Man!
Tips
- Try to get the "Golden Nugget," or Zulu coconut, that is thrown out during the parade. This "throw" has become one of the most sought-after items during Mardi Gras.
For a final flurry, Uncle Pecos is back for his send-off, with his special encore song. Sounds like he needs a cat's whisker to continue. If he'd needed cat's pyjamas, he COULD HAVE JUST ASKED US because that's what we are.
We might be back in a bit with a Meatcutters Christmas Special, if you want, you could always ask us nicely not to, up to you.
I any case; see you for #3 in January. That'll be a new year!
Purses out: This month’s hugely recommended fancies:
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