OK, I confess. Over the years I've become a music critic, a purist. I know what sounds are good to tap toes to, or which you pick them to. I've given myself the title of critic because I'm older and critical of everything. That would be yet another entitlement of having AARP membership.
I've gone from pre Bill Haley and the Comets Rock Around the Clock to now hearing the noises coming from the pie hole of Little Debbie or whatever his name is. I the critic, have a poetic license to pontificate from my blogging pulpit even if it's only scanned and deleted out of courtesy by my flock of four family faithfuls.
Personally, I like lots of different music -- most of the Oldies, but moldies going back into the '60s. As much as I hate to admit it, some of those suck though. Good Jazz, yes -- Miles Davis, Oscar Peterson, Ramsey Lewis. Classical works for me sometimes - Adagio for Strings by Samuel Barber and Fantasia for Strings are couple greats. I enjoy Bach and Handel, with the Messiah an all time favorite. Les Mis Soundtrack anytime.
Two exceptions: Redneck and Soul, and whatever they call the offspring today. I have my hang ups with Redneck and Soul stuff from time spent in the service in the late 60's. Really not sorry if I offend anyone. I still hear strange noises over and over in my head from that time -- Johnny Cash still stuck in Folsom Prison and Aretha Franklin demanding more R-E-S-P-E-C-T . Could be I suffered all these years from PDBMS -- Post Dramatic Bad Music Syndrome.
Anyway, last Tuesday, my first retirement goal for the day was to go to Home Depot down Hwy 41 about 3/4 miles to buy a package of wood screws and a finch feeder. My second goal was to return to my somewhat new address without getting lost. So as I'm coming back from the Depot the radio blared out sounds to one of the few REALLY, BAD BAD OLDIEs. Not Redneck, not Soul, but just a PLAIN BAD OLDIE. It was being further mutilated by a familiar sounding newer group who's lead singer's tone reminds me of a bullfrog in heat.
"Oh where oh where can my baby be, the Lord took her away from me", croaked my cheap GM stereo speakers. "she's gone to heaven so I've got to be good, so I can see my baby when I leave this world."! There was no way I could change the station. I tried to focus all my non hearing senses on my driving as my eyes teared up. I listened as Kermit droned on "I couldn't stop so I swerved to the right, I'll never forget the sound that night, The screaming -----". I was in the driveway now and my bladder was exploding so I never did find out who or what screaming for sure, but I had to go bad.
Wayne Cochran -- the first 'American Idol in 1960!!!!!!!!!!
The rock legend Wayne Cochran was the first to record the "Last Kiss" in '61. Others followed. Some famous people tried to duplicate his look, too-- Conan copied his hairstyle, Leno had a face lift.
Rushed to the bathroom, peed, and dashed out not even washing my paws. Hit the radio just in time to hear those painful final words --- "Oh, oh, oh" followed by more "ohs". Googled the song with the morbid title finding it was Pearl Jam's version of death warmed over I was hearing. I choked seeing that the song had hit the charts first in '61. My graduation year from Tosa East. The musical legend Wayne Cochran recorded it and I could swear they buried any trace of his music well before he got a haircut. But, others followed.
The song was resurrected in 1964 and reached #2 on Billboard when recorded by a group everyone can't remember, J. Frank Wilson and the Cavaliers. After them, I thought this song had been entombed never to be found. Yet a few years later a group called Wednesday removed the boulder in front of the tomb by accident, causing another release of the decaying sound. Thankfully, Wednesday disappeared without a trace right after releasing their dud taking all know copies of '45s and 8 track's and sheet music with them. Music lovers worldwide rejoiced and prayed this was the "Last Kiss"es last breath.
This is not foreplay! No, it's a live shot of the Lord taking baby away from her guy on the LP jacket cover from the 1964 J. Frank Wilson blockbuster version of the BAD, BAD OLDIE "Last Kiss"
Then along come you Pearl Jamming grave diggers trying to give mouth to mouth to your waning popularity by redoing this corpse. I can't think of any other reason you'd exhume this. Gez you guys, can't you see by the 33 RPM jacket cover that she has been comatose at least 45 years. Her boyfriend on the jacket cover was not using '60's foreplay to get her excited.
She's gone! Dead! Let her go! Please burn any possible DNA samples as soon as your hit disappears from the popularity charts. We don't want future generations to suffer another tragedy.