Boneyard Media

When we popped into the Lubbock High School administration office I was sure we’d be a tiresome sight - another batch of travellers who wanted to walk in the teenage Buddy Holly’s footsteps. My fears were knocked flat, though, when Assistant Prinicipal Woody, who graciously showed us around, informed us that they get at most “one or two visitors a year.” One of the strangest aspects, in fact, about visiting this old building is the realization that it’s still a fully functioning school for whom Buddy was just another chattering student. This hits you before you even enter the building, when you first walk up to the front door and you read the historical marker which concerns itself only with the school’s construction history (finished in 1931) and its architectural features, such as its “North Italian Romanesque” design and its stately bell tower. References to Buddy: 0.

Mr. Woody was nonetheless reassuringly well-versed in Buddyana to show us what we needed to see. First stop was the glass encased tribute in the main hall including photos, records, newspaper clippings, and a dusty letterman’s jacket. Next stop was his homeroom, which has a small plaque next to the door and a Buddy portrait above it, and just a few steps from this is the old choir room. The last stop, where we easily spent the most time, was the school auditorium, complete with the original wooden rock-hard seats and atmosphere to spare. This was not only where Buddy had performed a handful of times in talent shows he never won, but also where countless other historical notables passing through the Texas panhandle, such as Eleanor Roosevelt and Amelia Earhart, once stood.

Just a few days earlier I’d read a piece by writer Ron Carlson who had reminisced about his own ancient Junior High gym in the early sixties as having a unique smell - not stench - that was “for the ages.” I knew exactly what he meant as we walked back down the main hall and headed for the exit. Not only does this “for the ages” smell of so many old schools like Lubbock High have to do with years of polish and varnish in a material sense, but also in a perhaps more potent spiritual sense. And even though I’ll always be in awe of Buddy, I realized as we were leaving that most of this school’s aura had very little to do with celebrity.

posted by Kim Simpson

Norton Records serves a kind of religious purpose, a rock ‘n’ roll church that’s always there proclaiming the Truth and while some of us may flop around irresponsibly and experiment with our listening habits and heed the words of false prophets and would-be hipsters and make bad musical decisions that sometimes make us feel very guilty, we can always turn to Norton when it’s time to get back on track.

And speaking of the Shangri-Las a while back, Norton’s done us a great service by getting a true rock ‘n’ roll goddess, the Shangri-Las’ lead singer Mary Weiss, back in the studio. She’s singing about boys again, even one who still lives with his mom (“I Just Missed You”), and her trademark heartbroken-but-still-tough voice sounds even tougher now. My favorite songs are three in a row towards the end: “Tell Me What You Want Me to Do,” which features a cool growl at the end of the bridge; “Heaven Only Knows,” a wholly appropriate update of a Shangri-Las classic and which is, not surprisingly, the production that’s truest to the sixties Mary with its backup vocals and doubled up lead (some may say “leave well enough alone,” but I say “ahhhh”); and “I Don’t Care,” which is just an airtight, irresistible song. She’s teamed up with straight up rockers the Reigning Sound, whose Greg Cartwright wrote most of the songs. And to tell you the truth, I’m not sure if they’re ultimately a match made in my own musical heaven. On that well-intentioned bum note, here’s my eagerly anticipated wishlist for album #2: 1) More of Mary’s speaking voice (man oh man, what an overlooked asset); 2) More sis-boom-bah in the wall-of-sound department; 3) More melodrama in the word-writin’ department; 4) Less B-3 organ which sounds too gospel for her. Comments aside, the record’s easily in my ‘07 hall of fame so far.

Norton’s got a top-notch promo page set up for her and you can also buy the record while you’re there.

Mary Weiss - “Tell Me What You Want Me to Do”

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It peaked nationally at #43, but back home in Salt Lake, KCPX-AM used to play this track by Carole King and Gerry Goffin’s daughter - her only charting single - like it was a Top Ten smash. I never understood the appeal of this two-headed, minor chord melodrama and always groaned when it came on. Finally, by the end of the year, the single had run its course, but then along came Aerosmith in November with their own version of it, and my station promptly played it to death, much to my great discomfort (peaked at #67). Not until I checked out a mind-blowing Shangri-Las record from the library a few years later, when I heard “Remember” in its proper, brazenly melodramatic context, thereby making those two cover versions even more obsolete in my mind, would I ever understand where they were at least coming from. (Incidentally, I like both cover records now quite a bit more now than I did when I was ten.)

Louise, by the way, is still going great guns.

Louise Goffin - “Remember (Walking in the Sand)”

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As you listen to this ultra-rare acoustic guitar/vocal LP which has been making the rounds on record-freak websites lately, you’ll at first feel touched by the enigmatic Bixby’s childlike, confessional lyrics and guileless delivery. He was once enslaved by drugs, he sings in the opener, but now Jesus has set him free. He should have listened to his mother, Bixby later tells us. She had tried to teach him about Jesus while he laughed at her, but she died before she could see him turn his life around and at once thank her for her efforts. But halfway through the record, your feelings of fondness morph into a certain kind of pity as its childlike qualities start to ring like submissiveness. And after you’ve listened to the whole thing straight through, having been hopelessly hypnotized by it, you’ll feel mostly unsettled. Then you’ll google him and discover that the record was likely midwifed by an intense Jesus cult he was involved in and you’ll start feeling outright scared of (and for) the guy.

The record has no year on it and no one seems to know for certain what it is. I’m guessing 1971, the year after John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band, Neil Young’s After the Gold Rush, and James Taylor’s Sweet Baby James, among others, entrenched the earthy, nakedly confessional album presentation into the pop music vernacular. (By the time the record’s lonely reverb and tape delay sink into your system, in fact, the JL/POB comparison is inescapable, as are thoughts of early Elvis sides like “Blue Moon.”) ‘71 would also put it at the latter end of the all-pervasive Jesus-pop trend. Any other year would strike me as a surprise (albeit a welcome one), revealing in the album a sense of either foresightedness or time-bubble displacement. Whatever the year, it’s a treasure in my book. (Absolutely no clue what the title’s misleading reference to Quetzalcoatl, the Aztec god, is all about.)

Dave Bixby - “666″

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