(After an inexplicable hiatus, Christopher Arnott is back sifting through his large collection of 7-inches)
First Class, Beach Baby/Both Sides of the Story. The ongoing debate about this 1974 summer hit is over how calculated it is in its appropriation of Beach Boys cliches: slavishly derivative/unoriginal or tongue-in-cheek tribute? Either way, it grates if you hear it too often.
Glen Campbell, Homeward Bound/(Sitting on) The Dock of the Bay/Mary in the Morning.
For two of the three tracks on this single, Campbell—who’s just announced his retirement due to Alzheimer problems—evokes the TV variety star he was in the 1960s rather than the country song stylist he became in the 1960s. Uninspired workmanlike covers of Homeward Bound (which makes you appreciate the clashing vocal styles of Simon & Garfunkel by landing square in the middle of them) and Dock of the Bay (Southern enough, but way white) don’t even try. But the the A-side, “Mary in the Morning,” is a beautifully produced ‘60s pop ballad, really where studio session guitarist Campbell’s heart was at this time.
Willie Loco Alexander, Gin/Close Enough.
My idol Mr. Alexander had already settled into local legend status when, in 1980, he turned out what’s one of the finest singles of his long and storied career. One’s slow and creepy, the other fast and goofy, and they complement each other perfectly. The band is Lord Manuel, Chuck Myra and Brad Hallen. One of the few singles I’ve ever worn out from overplay.
Howitzer, Fat Math/She Looks at Me/Amnesia/Walking Home.
With a “Side 2” and a “Side C,” this four-song 33rpm 7-inch, released in the mid-‘90s on the New Haven-based Elevator Music label, is bursting with self-deprecation and good humor. Makes the straightforward, predictable punkines of this Rye, New York act go down that much easier. From the liner notes: [Howitzer] would like to take this opportunity to reserve all the rights that things produced by Elevator Music (in association with Fawcett Street Productions) get. Those rights say that you can’t steal the songs or the lyrics that go withg them. So don’t, although only almighty God knows why you would want to. I guess, if you want, you can copy them onto blank tapes, but whatever you do, don’t sell ‘em.
Pearl Jam, Bush Leaguer/ Down. I was not even aware that I owned this single. Though I have recently found things to respect on Eddie Vedder’s solo ukulele album, I’ve never been a fan of Pearl Jam, which is high on my list of bands whose members’ own influences and interests far surpass anything they’ve done themselves. This protest song is overwrought all over the place, whether as civic exasperation or as extended baseball metaphor.