Siempre La Luna

Summertime Blues

Tue, 6 Apr 2010 03:46:52 -0700

Greatest Rock & Roll song ever written. Hands down, no argument, universally accepted. Guitar, bass, drums, vocals and that's it. No bullshit. It's got the kick on the one and three, snare on the two and four; the foundation of rock music. It swings a little, but not enough to be distracting. The lyrics are about toil and rebellion, but not about real struggle and revolution. It's a perfect anthem for middle class teenage ennui. Or, at least, that's how I felt about it three months ago. Now I'm convinced it serves the roles of thoughtless filler, starting point for psychedelic epics, reminder of simpler times, point of irony, barometer of true talent, and occasional tool of sonic torture.

It all started with a trip into the origins of stoner metal. I'm a big doom/drone/stoner/etc metal fan and, being a bit obsessive when it comes to music (as noted here and here), I started getting acquainted with a couple of Blue Cheer records. I got hooked on the fact that the drums in their version of Summertime Blues features exactly zero hits on the hi-hat. It's all galloping floor toms, weird snare rolls, and big washy cymbals. Knowing I had a copy of The Best of Eddie Cochran laying around in an old CD book, I had a listen and was really surprised by how different the versions were. After that I decided to see how many different versions I had laying around. The Who's version from Live At Leeds, Guitar Wolf's version from Jet Generation, and The Muggers from the Motorhead: All The Aces / The Muggers Tapes album were all kicking around my house in physical or digital form. After hearing the variety of dissimilar details in all those versions I started digging in to youtube to listen to other versions. After that I was, as they say, completely cracked out.

I assumed (accurately) that there must be hundreds of recordings of the song by as many bands. I tried to collect 100 different versions from which to extract some meaningful inferences and statistical data. A couple of days later I had 100 versions. All the following MP3 files were found on music blogs, band websites, archive.org and myspace. I did not use Itunes, Amazon music, or any other subscription sites, pay services, or p2p sites due mostly to the fact that I wasn't sure how serious I would be about actually following through on the project. In the end I ditched a few of the versions due to very low recording quality. I still ended up with 97 versions. Summer is only 91 days long, so it's like you're getting an extra week. They all add up to just about five hours of music. I listened to each version at least twice and many of them five or six times. I used no scripting or advanced wizardry to carry out any of the work and everything was laid out in an Open Office spreadsheet.

The song was written by Eddie Cochran and Jerry Capeheart in 1958 and released as a single soon after. It has since been widely regarded as one the greatest rock and roll songs ever written. You can read more about it on the wikipedia page about the song. You'll notice that the wikipedia page features some very similar information and inferences as detailed in my research. None of this information was on the wiki page when I started this project and I only became aware of it when I was nearing completion. How's that for some Jungian weirdness? In addition to all the things we may be learning about summertime blues, we've also learned that some ideas enter the collective unconscious and are acted upon by unconnected individuals simultaneously... or not, it's probably just a coincidence.

The original lyrics to the song are as follows:
I'm gonna raise a fuss, I'm gonna raise a holler
About a workin' all summer just to try to earn a dollar
Every time I call my baby, and try to get a date
My boss says, "No dice son, you gotta work late"
Sometimes I wonder what I'm a gonna do
But there ain't no cure for the summertime blues

Well my mom and pop told me, "Son you gotta make some money,
If you want to use the car to go ridin' next Sunday"
Well I didn't go to work, told the boss I was sick
"Well you can't use the car 'cause you didn't work a lick"
Sometimes I wonder what I'm a gonna do
But there ain't no cure for the summertime blues

I'm gonna take two weeks, gonna have a fine vacation
I'm gonna take my problem to the United Nations
Well I called my congressman and he said Quote:
"I'd like to help you son but you're too young to vote"
Sometimes I wonder what I'm a gonna do
But there ain't no cure for the summertime blues

Upon first listen these lyrics serve as a quaint reminder of a time when a young man's biggest hassles were having a stickler for a boss, a strict set of parents, and not being old enough to vote. These days most kids would love to even have a job, or a set of parents that are still together, or access to a car, or a girl to take on a date, or the money to fund a two week vacation, or the ability to bend the ear of a congressman for a couple of minutes. While I'm sure this song was about rebellion 50 years ago, these days it's about an ungrateful spoiled kid with low hopes.

From this original song there arose four primary derivative veins. The Blue Cheer vein: characterized by an extended instrumental intro, a galloping 8th note; 16th note pattern on the drums, instrumental lines in place of the spoken authority figure , an instrumental break in the song, a repeated third verse, and an extended instrumental outro.
The Who vein: characterized by a whole step drop on the guitar and bass prior to each verse, spoken authority figures, and a modulation of a whole step up in pitch prior to the third verse.
The Owens: characterized by a deep tremolo dip or wandering guitar lead in the intro, a lilting or boogie rhythm, and spoken authority figures.
The Blue Cheer and The Who versions are also easily identifiable by the manner in which the bass lines are phrased. I don't really know the correct terminology to describe them so I put together a video of me playing each one. I'm not a bass player, it was late at night, I'm no good at playing with a click track, I had a large dinner, etc.

Also of interest are the frequency with which people mess up the lyrics, the use of the song as a jumping off point for pure psychedelia, and the infrequency with which artists mix characteristics from the separate veins. The most frequently misspoken word comes at the end of the Boss authority figure's line "Well you can't use the car 'cause you didn't work a lick". Frequently this line is sung as "... 'cause you didn't work late". Surprisingly it happens almost as frequently with native English speakers as it does non-native speakers. In the realm of epic or psychedelic music, Terry Reid and Dionysos both use the song as a starting point and loose framework for extended musical and technical workouts the end result of which bear little resemblance to the original. With the Exception of Rush's intentional combination of elements from Blue Cheer and the Who's versions of the song, there is almost no intermingling of those two veins.

So go ahead and have a look at all the info, listen to each version, and tell me where I got it all wrong. (pops)

If you've got additions or you'd like to have my raw data and make some nice charts and graphs with it, let me know. I'm sure there is quite a bit more information that can be extracted from all of this, but after three months of having this song stuck in my head every day I'm ready to let it go.

Bands and solo artists included are:
Eddie Cochran
Blue Cheer
The Who
Buck Owens
Jimmy Barnes & Joe Camilleri
Rockapella
Eddie Meduza
Dionysos
Deborah Harry
Hanson
The Radiators
Dream Syndicate
David Nelson Band
psychedelic breakfast
Ekoostik Hookah
Los Repetidores
Succubus
Surf Coasters
Gary Allan
Pfuri, Gorps, & Kniri
Terry Reid
Jussi & The Boys
Moe.
Little River Band
Virginia Tech Fighting Virginians
Browny & The Shubees
La Muerte
Marcel Cagnon
The Esquires
The Muggers
Ritchie Valens
Larry Foster
Pekamor
Sydney Devine
The Rockhouse Brothers
Little Tony
Sandy Nelson
The Reactors
Teacher's Pet
Brian Setzer
Chris Spedding
John Hardy
Dion
The Strangers
Orange County Choppers Band
The New Jordal Swingers
Levon Helm
The Mudgang
Joey Welz
Rush
Christos Dantis
Joan Jett & The Blackhearts
Duendes
Jerry Wilson
Ordinary Boys
Olivia Newton John
The Black Keys
G.O.D.
Bruce Springsteen
BAP
Alan Jackson
The Tomcats
Flaming Lips
Bobby Vee
The Gants
The Hep Stars
Big Frozen Cats
Rolling Stones
Clarke Barre
The Adels
Bon Jovi
Beach Boys
T-Rex
Bobby Fuller
Heinz
KISS
Lolita No.18
The Guess Who
Sweet Thunder Found Sound
Meatloaf
Flying Lizards
James Taylor
Villa Mad
Bob Walkenhorst
West 34
Mick Farren
Scott Chapin
The Resistors
Guitar Wolf
Warren Zevon
The Arcs
Robert Gordon & Link Wray
Dry Rot
Van Halen
Attitude (attitude adjustment)
CAPRiS
Bow Wow

Dusting Off A Dead One

Sat, 3 Apr 2010 21:46:49 -0700

I made this one for last easter. It's still pretty good.

I'm Not Dead Yet

Sun, 14 Mar 2010 05:12:23 -0700

I'm working on something big and nerdy as all hell. It might take a week or two before I can share it, but when I do, I'm pretty sure you'll be excited.

Prepare Yourself.

Sat, 20 Feb 2010 21:18:21 -0800

I'm headed back to Japan for a few weeks in June and I'm already getting excited about it. Here is a bit of video footage I shot last time I was there. It really shows what a magical place it is.

Feel It

Sun, 14 Feb 2010 16:05:21 -0800

Wishing you all a wonderful Valentine.

A Life Changing Prank

Thu, 11 Feb 2010 16:51:15 -0800

I hope you're ready for some serious heartache. The following story is true. I've changed a few names and locations to protect people's pride. It's such a weird tale that you'll be loathe to believe it at times, but I assure you it is recounted just as it was told to me by all the people involved. This story is called (in my best redneck accent) 'The Fart What Had Ruined A Man's Life'. This story tells the tale of a guy named Eric. He's from my home town, he grew up about a mile from me. The night I met him I watched him bone a fat ugly girl on the filthy carpet in his shitty apartment.
Cold Blows The Wind - Ween - 4:27

I used to date Eric's sister. The first night I hung out with either of them, she had drug him along to see my old band play at a crumby bar. While I put the mack on the sister, Eric downed a ton of booze and got cozy with an overweight professed lesbian. As the bar closed up it was suggested that we move the party back to his place. After we arrived, records were played, more booze was consumed, and people started pairing up. I went upstairs with the sister for some clumsy makeout. Eric, like a proud Inuit hunter, set to work at bagging the whale. Before long the sister was boozed beyond a virtuous man's comfort threshold. I tucked her in, said my goodbye, and descended the stairs to the kitchen. From the kitchen table in this run-down, split-level shit box of an apartment I had a perfect view of Eric and the pendulous professed lesbian going at it all sloppy drunk style, uncovered, with all the lights on, right there on the horrid brown carpet while a not very good Rolling Stones record skipped away a bit too loudly in the background.

With no back door nor a window large enough to accommodate me I'd have to walk right past them in order to leave. It probably took me ten seconds to make the decision, but it felt much longer. I mustered up my resolve and marched right past the two of them. They barely noticed. Boozey tunnel vision and primal animal humpin' horror show. As I hurried out the front door I managed to squeak out a tortured 'Goodnight'. Over the next few months I got pretty cozy with the sister and ended up spending quite a bit of time with Eric. Along the way I saw him fired from several jobs, kicked out of his apartment, and pissing himself in the middle of the afternoon. When he was sober he was a charming, intelligent, well mannered, and considerate guy... when he was sober. Which wasn't very often. He preferred to spend his time belligerently drunk and engaging in all sorts of regrettable behavior.

Having had my own issues with alcohol, drugs, and recovery some years earlier, I continued to harbor a fascination with the anthropology of addiction. This situation didn't strike me as an instance in which a drunkard simply found himself in many unfortunate situations as a result of having a bit too much booze, this was a classic case of a self destructive individual choosing booze(and its resultant anti-social behavior) as the tool of his own demise. I had seen the family photos at his mother's house. He appeared to have been a fine young man up until a few years prior. What happened? How did he go from smiling young lad to a grody drunk sloppy-humpin' a wasted manatee in front of house guests? A bit of questioning and some liquid bribery led me to the answer.

Eric used to live with a girl named Miranda. They were very much in love. They spent their time making short films, making music, writing, listening to records, and engaging in the sorts of clean cut fun that only folks that are truly off their asses in love can stand to be a part of. All reports state that they were on their way toward marriage. Eric has since claimed this was the happiest time of his life. I later met Miranda and I could see why they had been together. They shared an interesting love of combining portmanteau and spoonerisms into sentences laden with double and triple puns. They also shared an uncanny ability to appear to be reclining no matter what type of chair they might be seated in. They had lived together for a couple of years in a house a bit outside of town before the fateful night that changed their lives. One Evening, in their little house in the country, as Eric was getting out of the shower, he noticed that he had an exceptional amount of gas. Not being one to skip an opportunity for hilarity, he instantly hatched a clever plan for a little practical joke.

As he toweled off, Eric called Miranda to the bathroom and complained of having a zit or ingrown hair on his butt that he couldn't see. He acted concerned and asked Miranda to investigate. She knelt down, got in close, and reported that she saw nothing. He explained that it was square in his crack and as it was really painful, it would be very helpful if she could check it out. She spread his cheeks, leaned in closer, and took an intentional pre-meditated giant wet fart to the face. As Eric Shrieked with laughter, Miranda stormed out the bathroom. By the time He was dry, Miranda was gone entirely. She had grabbed her purse, hopped in the car, and split. she didn't come back that night. She didn't come back the next day. she didn't come back until a few days later while Eric was at work. She packed up most of her stuff and disappeared. She hid out around town for a few weeks, dodging Eric entirely, and soon moved to Southern California.

Eric was shattered. Without the love of a good woman, he soon turned to the booze and went on what appears to be a decade long bender. The people around him continued to start bands, go to school, make movies, and write. Miranda studied hard, got a real estate license, bought a nice house, and went on to be a responsible grown up. After a few years she started coming back to visit occasionally and the two were eventually able to establish a somewhat distant and faltering friendship but she never discussed anything that happened between The Fart and the move to California. I tried to get her side of the story one evening and she shut me down entirely. She knew the condition he was in and I doubt she felt any sort of responsibility for it. A bit of empathy, perhaps some compassion, definitely a touch of disgust.

So, by now you're thinking there must have been something going on before The Fart that primed the pump for her departure. Maybe there was. Eric says there were no problems between the two of them and, like I mentioned earlier, Miranda refused to discuss it. Even if there was a problem between the two of them prior to her departure, it was probably something that two people, in love and on level ground, could work out. Maybe she realized she couldn't spend her life with a malicious face farter. If put in the same situation, who knows how we might react.

So what's the moral of the tale here? Maybe it's the knowledge that for some people it takes the love of another person to make them whole. Maybe it's a lesson in the dangers of betraying a lover's trust. In either case, this Valentine's day, be super cool to your special person or persons. If at all possible, avoid blasting them in the face with a boggy fart. You might just lose them forever and live the rest of your life hungover, sick, weak, and pointlessly humping porkers whilst the world carries on around you.

It Gets Off To A Slow Start...

Sat, 6 Feb 2010 01:43:42 -0800

Jon Stewart on O'Reilly, Stewart gets it going near the end.

I Totally Built A Clock

Tue, 2 Feb 2010 14:17:43 -0800

You take an old Soviet vacuum tube, a few bits of laser cut acrylic, and a fresh Zappa tune, smoosh them all together, and you get this:

Adam in Outer Space

Sat, 30 Jan 2010 01:52:34 -0800

Here comes my friend Adam, drunk as shit, doing his best to make it all the way through Max Romeo's Classic; I Chase The Devil. He's a trooper.

Celebrating

Thu, 28 Jan 2010 04:14:52 -0800

Another successful trip all the way around the sun without electrocuting myself, burning the house down with an unattended soldering iron, or falling asleep while driving. My birthday is Sunday the 31st and I'll finally be old enough to run for president! Sadly, I'll be working all day. It's cool, I need the money. If you'd like to send an electronic high five, you can do it via email, twitter, text, phone, smoke signal, whatever. I'd love to hear from you. If you'd like to be the coolest person in the whole wide world, you can get me this:

I'll be picking out some new seat covers for it so we can look absolutely pimp driving around town together.