Bob Ross Takes Th' Foam© Challenge!

Bob poses with his portrait of Wayne Newton

In what promises to be a regular Foam Feature©, we'll be challenging A-list celebrities to present albums so obscure that not even Farquhar Throckmorton III has heard of them!


Now our first guest needs no introduction, so you can skip this bit, for fuck's sake. Bob Ross is perhaps America's Greatest Living Dead Artist. But did you know he was also an avid collector of obscure pop n' rock albums? He dropped by Th' House O' Foam© when in Vegas for the Wayne Newton show. We relaxed in Th' Conversation Pit O' Sound© while Cody served Hostess Cheez n' Sour Prune Twinkies©.

FMF© So, how was Wayne? Big fan of his work!
BR I'm painting his portrait!
[takes canvas from bag, poses for photograph] [above left - Ed.]
FMF© Wow. Has he seen it?
BR Uh-uh. Gonna be a big surprise!
FMF© Ri-ight. Did you bring the albums? The challenge is, show me an album I never heard of! Are you ready to play?
BR You bet! I'm quite the collector, you know! This was a happy find - The Nova Local. Isn't that a great cover? You heard of this band? I wager not!

FMF© The Nova Local was a psychedelic pop band formed in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, in 1964, initially under the name The Shadows. It was composed of singer Randy Winburn, guitarists Joe Mendyk and Phil Lambeth, bassist Jim Opton, keyboardist Cam Schinhan and drummer Bill Levasseur. Their single "If You Only Had the Time", released in 1967, was a minor hit in North Carolina.^[1] They recorded one album, Nova 1 (released on Decca Records in 1968 in the United States), shortly before disbanding.^[2] The album was also released in Canada and in the United Kingdom. According to Opton, the album was the first ever recorded using the Dolby NR system [citation needed]. 
BR Wow! You beat me!
FMF© [shrugs modestly] What else you got for us, Bob?

BR Well, there's sort of a theme here, because this one's called Hypnotic 1. That one's called Nova 1. This one-
FMF© [testily] Yes, yes.
BR Sorry. The group's called Bit 'A-Sweet, and it's dollars to donuts the Bobster has you stumped this time!
FMF© [clears throat] Bit 'A Sweet promises to be a chart regular with the bright and creative spark branded into 2086, If 1 Needed Someone and How Can 1 Make You See? They blend all the pop ingredients - strong vocals, rich production and instrumentation, and a special trick with a tune. This LP may well serve as the group's musical calling card, and with their fresh originality and breezy psychedelics, Bit 'A Sweet will top the charts. Billboard, 29/6/68.

BR  Gee. I was sure I'd-

FMF© [cutting in] Formerly known as The Satisfactions, this hard-hitting Long Island club act were veterans of the local scene when producer-arranger Steve Duboff (who also worked with The Cowsills, The Monkees, The Insect Trust and others) signed to MGM, the band debuted with the 1967 single 'Out of Sight Out of Mind' b/w 'Is It On - Is It Off?' (MGM catalog number K-13695). Their sole album was released that May. A likeable blend of psychedelic pop and early synthesizer sounds, it’s presented complete with both sides of their rare 1967 debut 45 (as performed in the movie Blonde On A Bum Trip).

BR  Wow. I ... I ... how do you know this stuff?

FMF© It's my job, Bob. Listen - will you ask Wayne to drop by and take Th' Foam© Challenge? But ask him before you show him your ... painting, okay?

Abbey Roadworks

When the best songs on a Beatles album are by George Harrison, it's time for Lennon and McCartney to worry. He dominates Abbey Road with two of his best songs, and nothing else on the album comes close. Maxwell's Silver Hammer is not only McCartney's worst song - and he gives himself some strong competition - it is very probably the worst song ever written. Unremittingly trite, silly, irritating, precious, and strangely unpleasant, it should never have appeared anywhere, least of all on Abbey Road. Octopus's Garden is the other song for the dumpster fire, a placeholder tune like Yellow Submarine, only nothing like as good. But Ringo had to have a song, so in it went. And out it comes. I do not have the time to listen to this shit "just because it's the Beatles".

And the endless white noise at the end of I Want You? Thank you oh so very much, John. Maybe it's a gruelingly accurate reflection of your 3 a.m. smack boner or whatever, but - it's just noise. Revolution #9 was sound, this is noise, and fuck you very much. The new anniversary edition of Abbey Road shows us what this joyless shit-storm senselessly obliterates - a stunning extended jam, with Billy Preston's wild keys running the voodoo down. So that now forms the coda here, as it should have. Not for the first time during this album I have to ask myself what the fuck were these guys thinking?

The calm after the storm is Paul's lovely Goodbye, from the anniversary set. Why was this sidelined for Maxwell's? Why is Trump president? Descartes - it may have been Trini Lopez - in his Critique Of Pure Reason, posited that shit gets fucked up, and that's as close as we're going to get to an answer.

Both sides of Abbey Roadworks open with a Harrison song, and Old Brown Shoe makes the cut, as it would have had not L&McC been shitting themselves that it was starting to look like a Harrison solo album. I've mixed down the teeth-grating nuisance-guitar fouling up Oh! Darling, and Her Majesty is back in its original place, so the real majesty of The End isn't deflated by Paul's whimsy. What's that you say? You really enjoy waiting for Her Majesty at the end? Octopus's Garden is a fun tune? They made that album awready.

Sunday Snow Job - Win A Hundred Bucks!!!

A Grand Prize Quiz for Sunday! Who were these guys? All I know is they were out of - and back into - Cleveland, Ohio before anyone noticed. Almost impossible to find anywhere on the internet - even the discogs page takes some finding - their lone '68 album on Epic is the stuff of pop-psych dreams. It kicks off harmlessly enough, with a few playbook harmony pop numbers, which by themselves are swell enough to recommend it, but then turns interesting, with a surprising rock edge sharpening things up nicely. The discogs reviewer notes a Peanut Butter Conspiracy/Aorta feel (I'd add Chrysalis) and says "the tour de force Caterpillar pulls out all the stops and ushers the listener through more effects and key changes in three minutes than seems possible - as boldly experimental as anything from this period," which saves me some work [But not me - Ed.]

There's a grand cash prize of ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS* to the commenter who can tell us about the band! Hoo boy! One hunder-ed dollarinis! Some fun, huh, kids?!

* Papua New Guinea dollars. Offer void where state law prohibits. Subject to ratification. Taxes and fees applicable. Anyone just mentioning the songwriting credits will be summarily and harshly dealt with.

"I Love You, I Hate You, Drop Dead!"

Artie Shaw was by some way the hippest, talented, and most interesting white bandleader dude of his era. I have to say white because, well, Count Basie. Shaw was far from the then generic grinning stick-wavers getting up on their hind legs to play that Big Hit one more time for the dancefloor. He was the Tortured Artist, the real deal. Biographically, you need to know that he left home at sixteen to play clarinet in a band.

Sixteen.

Everything (and there's a shitload of everything) follows from that. He was a fine actor, with matinee idol looks, and a real writer (the title of this piece is one of his books). At the height of success, the Brinks truck backed up to his house daily to shovel cash through the door. But. "I thought that because I was Artie Shaw I could do what I wanted, but all they wanted was Begin the Beguine". His own chosen theme tune was Nightmare, which still has the dark power to chill. To avoid getting pigeonholed, he formed and disbanded lineups frequently, often creating bands-within-a-band. A very difficult man, he married eight times.

Eight.

Including Lana Turner and Ava Gardner (who broke Sinatra's heart, th' poor slob). Oh - and Shaw could play the clarinet - a notoriously demanding instrument - better than anyone, before or since. He died at ninety-four years old, having lived the life that died with him. There were giants in those days; today's pop culture is a shadow of the glittering world that produced artists like Shaw. His difficult nature would be too problematic for Millennials, and his music still - right now - has more life and urgency and beauty in it than anything they can hope to achieve.

Here's the Complete Grammercy Five recordings for youse. Scarf 'em up.

Little Boots VIII

This crispy biscuit saw a gray-area release and was available on Jeff Bezos' blog for a while. Hah! Fooled him! I kept the name, but gave it a swell new cover (little feet - geddit? huh? hoo-hah?). It may have appeared elsewhere under a different title. I may have made the whole thing up. Things ain't as clear in my noggin as they once was. Ebbet's Field 1973, it says here. We'll go with that.