Originally known as the Bagelman Sisters, Claire and Myrna Barry were the queens of the postwar Yiddish swing scene. Here they are covering Fiddler on the Roof from 1964.
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Originally known as the Bagelman Sisters, Claire and Myrna Barry were the queens of the postwar Yiddish swing scene. Here they are covering Fiddler on the Roof from 1964.
I have it on good authority that the title of this record is “Bremen Minstrels.” Apart from that, I can’t tell you much (shocker: I don’t speak Russian) except that this has to be the grooviest, funkiest kids record known to man. You will find yourself unconsciously humming these tunes tomorrow, perhaps over your morning cofee, while making that big presentation at the office, or indeed during the consummation of your martial vows. It’s that catchy. From Melodiya, the Soviet state-owned record monopoly.
These Boston boys gratuitously misuse images of Smurfs on their album cover. This album has absolutely nothing to with Smurfs, however– it’s a folksy rendering of some traditional Irish songs and tunes, and a couple of original pieces as well.
Basically, I spent 50 cents on this album because I like the copyright-infringing artwork. So sue me! The actual music is fairly ordinary céilí band stuff that gets pretty annoying when the dudes sing. They play some tunes that I’m told will get you run out of town if you play them at Irish sessions, they’re so common and boring.
When there’s singing, I have the opposite of empathy. When they sing “Skibbereen,” a nice depressing ballad about having to leave Ireland during the potato famine, I want to groan, since it means the off-key singer smurf probably ended up here in Boston to annoy us with his annoyingly wobbly voice and cheesy arrangements.
However, whoever did the art direction is awesome. Never mind the fact that the smurfs are sailing from a land off the coast of Delaware to Boston (Ireland is way further north), the musicians have SMURF COUNTERPARTS listed on the back cover. I never associated Smurfs with Ireland, but I forever shall.
For some reason, in the 1950s and 1960s the USA had a morbid fascination with the nations it conquered and exploited. Witness the number of Hawaiian-themed records, souvenirs, and decorations. Native Americans became a popular image to emulate as well, with Tonto and the stereotypical indian Brave. After World War II, Japan was likewise unspared. Or, as the album’s liner notes puts it, “After humiliating surrender, the Japanese people found they had a friend in their conquerer.”
This album (appropriately enough put out by Honolulu Records) boasts the best in rejecting Japanese music’s traditional past. Again, citing the liner notes, “no longer is music tightly compartmentalized, rejecting change and adulteration.” In honor of this, they got women with names like Aiko Bingo and Sparky Iwamoto to sing big band-style songs–in Japanese!
The music itself is super catchy. I have “Tokyo Boogie Woogie” stuck in my head, which to me sounds like “a tokyo boogie oogie a a ookie ookie a zookie zookie wahoo wahooooooo.” I’m not sure what this means, but I’m hoping maybe it’s scat-like nonsense so I don’t sound like a *complete* idiot walking around the house singing it!
So anyway, let this be a lesson to future conquered nations– not only can we colonize your country, but we will assimilate your music as well!
This trio of fine Finnish ladies’ talent is as big as their hair. Why, Maire Tammenlasko (accordionist) also wrote two of the songs on this record (including “Kapakkalaulajatar” or “Cabaret Singer”) and did most of the arrangements. Hannele Lehtonen is the Geddy Lee of the trio, playing bass guitar and singing. Amelita Tammela studied classical cello and piano, but now (or at least in 1974), bangs the drums slowly. These nordic chicks have played in the leading hotels and night clubs throughout Finland, according to the liner notes… and offer “this album to you for your listening and dancing pleasure.”
So put on your Finnish dancing shoes, because we now bring you:
Both of the above are Finnish Folk Songs; don’t ask me how to pronounce them or what they mean. However, they both have an insidious way of getting stuck in your head, even if you don’t know a word of Finnish.
There are no credits on the album whatsoever–nobody will own up to creating this masterpiece, except for Winston Jones, the “leader.” Which happy, be-ponchoed dude in a colorful silly had is he? Alas, we’ll never know. All we know is that this records contains 12 of our most beloved tunes rendered in none other than– steel drums! Each cut is a voyage of multiculturalism as we hear Caribbean rhythms and sounds bang out “Paris Mambo,” “Spanish Eyes,” “Guantanamera,” and of course, the staple of all records done in the ’60s, Offenbach’s “Barcarolle” from Tales of Hoffman. Crank up this album in the dead of winter when you yearn to be on a golden beach under palm trees with a bunch of guys with brightly-colored maracas emblazoned across their chests smiling at you.
As 1980s German country music goes, I suppose this is pretty catchy. It doesn’t have any of the sad themes of modern country music– nobody loses a truck, nobody’s dog dies, it’s just happy little ditties about cowboys with a lot of slide guitar. But, it’s in German. Can you picture Herman Goering riding the range? Helmut Kohl rustling cattle? Well, neither can I, which is why I love this album.
The best track on the record is undoubtedly “Jonny Galaxis,” which is a space anthem set far in the future. It is the tale of Jonny Galaxis, the the 3-eyed futuristic space cowboy and seasoned sheriff, who threatens the narrator with a parking violation.
Here is my crappy translation (you at least get the gist of it):
| Es war im Jahr 3010 In der weiten Ebene des Alls Die Seidler zogen zu tausenden gen Jupiter Auch ich war mit meinem 18düsigen Vierzigtonner Unterwegs nach Westen, als ich durch die wildeste Stadt Des Universums kam!Sechs Uhr Morgens Die Sonne geht auf. Er kommt mit schwerem Gang die Milchstrasse rauf. Sein Lasercolt hängt tief, Der Stetson lässig schief. Und ich weiss—es gibt kein zurück. Er ist der Sheriff dieser Gegend Und der schnellste im All. Sogar der Stern an der Brust ist aus Edelmetall. Er geht auf mich zu, Mir rutscht das Herz in den Schuh Und ich weiss—jetzt brauche ich Glück.JONNY GALAXIS Ist ein Sheriff der Praxis Alles was er macht, macht er gründlich und sofort. JONNY GALAXIS Ist ein Sheriff der Praxis. Er kennt kein Pardon Bei ihm kommt keiner davon.Drei stahlblaue Augen Blinzeln mich an Und seine Reibeisenstimme sagt: Hör’n sie junger Mann. Sie stehen im Haltverbot. Bei sowas sieht Jonny rot. Also schmeissen sie die Undertasse an, sonst sind sie dran! |
It was the year 3010 In the farthest reaches of the universe The (silky strings?) pulled thousands to Jupiter. But I was in my 18-jet 40-tonner On my way to the west, when I came to the wildest city in the universe!6:00 in the morning the sun rose. he walks with a heavy gait up the Milky Way. His laser-Colt hangs low, His Stetson perched at an angle And I knew there was no turning back. He’s the sheriff around here, and the fastest in the universe. Even the star on his chest is precious metal. He walked towards me My heart rushed into my shoes And I knew now I needed luck.JONNY GALAXIS Is an experienced sheriff. Everything he does is done thoroughly and imwp-content/uploads/unpleasanttely. JONNY GALAXIS Is an experienced sheriff He knows no pardons Nobody gets off lightly with him.Three steel-blue eyes blink at me. And the iron friction of his voice says: “Listen up, young man!” You’re standing in a “no stopping zone.” This makes Jonny see red. So throw yourself into the saucer, otherwise you are it (?)! |
“Truck Stop Mama” is an ode to a chick at a truck stop. I don’t really understand what they’re talking about, since I don’t know colloquial German trucker speak, but it sounds like they’re saying “truck stop mama is the best hammer. She’s our best piece, everyone she knows always comes back. Truck stop mama is an absolute hit, pampering truckers is for her the best luck.”
That sounds kinda dirty, which the rest of this album totally is not, as far as I can tell. But, who knows? Sit back, get yourself a bottle of Jack Daniels (or whatever the German equivalent is– Jagermeister?), chew on a stalk of hay and listen to the woes of the lonely (but not too lonely) German cowboy.
