Battered and hornpiped after a long journey back, eh? It’s good plums to see you back all tanned and haunted after that trek to the Eastern Orients for February’s Meatcutters Dance. Hope you did no damage while you were over there, no taps left running or whatnot.
Before you crack out the pressies and bore our clouts out with the silhouette slideshow of sightseen snaps, you’ll be wanting to learn all about the fine bucket of misc goods that was this month’s sloppy treats.
First up it’s street party time, just for your return, all banners and bunting and clanking and chanting, all courtesy of Wilmoth Houdini (“...the self-belmed King of Calypso, a title sought after by rivals with such imposing titles as The Lord Executor, The Lord Invader (Rum & Coca-Cola), The Senior Inventor, King Radio, Attila the Hun, The Growler and The Caresser. All of them are old hands at dashing off musical comments on world affairs and local scandals, in Latin-African rhythms as insistent as radio commercials, and in the oddly distorted British accent of the British West Indies.
This here is “Way Down Sobo” (1935), from the compilation of “History Of Carnival (Christmas, carnival, calenda and calypso from Trinidad, 1933 - 1939)”
Yep, lap it up, the cheering mobs and the fluttering tarts and the hip-hooray. We'll be right there in your ear, Roman slave style, ALWAYS, whispering sweet cock-rot just to keep you grounded.
Just keep waving limply, and try not to disperse children with that fixed thing you call a smile.
Least bestest thing about getting back from a long intercontinental trip of course, apart from the 16 months of quarantine we forgot to tell you about, is that long fateful trudge back to work for the first day back at the grind. Knowing how you feel is the HOT WAGON WHEEL Yma Sumac (swoon, swooooon) with “Dale Que Dale (The Workers Song)”. Fan us, because this is The Meatcutters Dance’s favourite song in all the world and it’s listened to here at the shack at least seven times a day and once more at sleepie peepies for good luck.
GOTTA CRAQUE ON. So, you know how we’re all piped up to have you back and all, but there’s one lairy lady who’s especially rapt to see you safe. The saucy Ethel Waters purrrrs down from a window, “Come Up And See Me Some Time”. What, are you a good tipper or some such?
You can have a go at resisting if you like. Though you’d be not near foolin’ no one.
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| ETHEL WANTS YOU |
Now some tune to soundtrack your heel-clicking dance down the alley after your despicable dalliance; ”Mona Lisa” by the slightly-too-popular-to-be-much-good Perez Prado, before you eject yourself back into the street to continue the party action, rounded off with Oor Wilmouth’s mate The Caresser spinning you a history lesson, “Edward the VIII”, and it’s all accurate.
Lord Caresser (Rufus Callender, 1910-1976) was part of an elite group of Trinidadian calypsonians who in the mid-1930s were selected (by A&R man Ralph Perez, along with Trinidadian retailer and entrepreneur Eduardo Sa Gomes) to make annual trips to the U.S. to wax sides for Decca Records. In 1937, singing at the fashionable Ruban Bleu in Manhattan, he had a breakout hit with “Edward VIII,” a dirge-like composition on the December 1936 abdication of the British monarch (“It was love, love alone / That caused King Edward to leave the throne”).
His recording of the tune went on to become an international sensation, the top-selling calypso of the year outside of Trinidad. (See “Calypso Boom,” Time August 29, 1938.)
"Although his success ensured that Caresser would be invited to record again for Decca over the next three years, his output on disc was not quite as prolific as that of some of his contemporaries. And the Virgin Islands Daily News was probably burnishing his resume a bit when it claimed in November 1945, on the occasion of his stopover there en route to New York to “fill engagements on stage and radio during the winter,” that Caresser had “been entertaining crowds in New York and California night clubs every winter since 1936.”
There’s no rest spite here, properly exotic Indian mistress Kesarbai Kerkar bandies in, tag-team style, to wallop your brow with "Jaat Kahan Ho", do you give in yet?
Here, some new words! >>>>
“She was the disciple of such eminent gurus as Ramkrishnabuva Vaze, Bhaskarbuva Bakhale and Ustad Alladiya Khan. She studied music under these masters for no less than 25 years, and became a proficient exponent of the gayaki of the Jaipur gharana. Her voice had a range of three saptakas, and she could move through the whole range with ease. Her presentations of khayals were models of graceful elaboration. She used to present all the facets of each raga in her deep, full throated voice. Her alap was always serene and dignified and it gave a fascinating outline of the raga which would follow in the bandish. The bandish was firmly rhythm-bound and one could also easily discern the salient features of the raga through it. The beauty of the long interwoven themes, taanspalatas held the audience spellbound. She became known through the length and breadth of India for her unique style of presentation.
“Kesarbai had a very dignified and regal personality. Perhaps that is why she was patronised by the royal houses of Kashmir, Baroda, Kolhapur, Jaipur and Jodhpur. She was fully aware of her talents and abilities and she always performed with self-confidence. This was why she was sometimes misunderstood to be conceited and proud. She was always very particular to ensure that she got the honour and homage due to her and which she fully deserved as an artist par excellence.”
http://www.indianmelody.com/kesarbai.htm
All right, dry your eyeballs, you’ve earned your half-time jollity; here’s Uncle Spike Jones putting up with spun yarns from his City Slickers. As if that’s not enough Hoot for your flute, Hoot Gibson’s flouncing by, doing some stupid horizontal wavy thing with his arms, like a girl’s blouse, pumping your mother full full of “Mai Givee (Don't Give It Away)”
"EDWARD "HOOT" GIBSON first came into the limelight of fame when a howling mob of westerners declared him the world's champion cowboy at the Pendleton, Oregon, roundup and presented him with a diamond studded belt.Gibson is a true out-and-out westerner, having been born in Tekamah, Nebraska, in 1892. He grew up on the ranges and his early years were spent as a cowboy. Then, after winning the world's championship, he took up the career of a showman. He toured Australia with Bud Atkin's circus.
"Coming to Universal City, Gibson entered pictures and made a number of shortreel dramas of the West. Within a year he starred in some of the most successful western stories ever released, among which were "Action," "Headin' West," "The Bearcat," "Trimmed," and a long series of others."
Your grass kecks flowing wildly, we shall continue the a hawa-hawa-hawawahaahoo time, and it’s a good run: Dolly Connolly (damn you, Percy Wenrich, getting in there first!) titting through “My Hula Hula Love” (1911) ; Joe Falcon & Cleoma Breaux running “Prenez Courage” through your hair like a fishbone comb; Tatyana Makharadze & G. Bugadze sifting “Lale” under your door crack with a muffled cackle; and then “song a minute girl” Winnie Lightner (OUR GODDESS) polishing you off with the happiest of finishes - “Isle Of Pingo Pongo” (1929).
Incidentally: Weird femme fresh fish fads, summat new, you caw? Not so - as ever, Winnie was there first!
“Anna Held rates credit for inventing the milk bath. Several actresses have taken credit for the champagne bath, designed for other purposes than beauty, and one famous movie star once advocated a buttermilk bath for the skin you love to touch – but take it from Winnie the fish bath tops them all!
You take this bath in a boat, entirely surrounded by fish of every sort and condition. I am just recovering from the effects of two days spent in taking such a bath. Clad only in a bathing suit and a pair of duck trousers, without even stockings to keep the fish off my legs, endured the rigors of deep sea fish bathing with only Olsen and Johnson, as companions in my misery.”
Well, what next, O companions in our misery? Time to wind it downwards: Possibly hiding out from mafia hoodlums, it’s 'Sister' Rosetta Tharpe nevertheless strutting it good, “Didn't It Rain”. If you’re ever at a loss how to best walk onto a railway platform with maximum effectiveness and sass, take a lesson. Rewind and watch again, just to be sure.
The street party street band were so full of jaunt and pap welcoming you home just 40 minutes ago… Look how it all turns so sour. Once the fug dies off and we slowly remember why were so glad to see the back of you in the first instance, this is what we’re left with – Dejan's Original Olympia Brass Band parping your sorry soundtracked ass all the way back to your shack, with a suitably re-morseful and treme-bling “Leave Me Savior Me”.
Club-footing it onto your avenue, one final piece to be purred through your letter-hole: Our boss man is back, Al Duvall with “On My Street”, from the majestic “Feathers and Tar” record. Sleep tight, Don’t let the bed bugs fight, it’s been a tough one. And we’re heading back towards the Eastern tropics later in the year for a follow-up rummage, so don’t bother stopping supping the medicines, the ‘laria gets no less lairier.
SEE YOU ALL TOO SOON. April might be a film music special, we’ll see, we’ll see.
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| Aw Maw! Aw, Paw ! You're shah-in' us up ya knar! |
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