Boneyard Media

[See an updated entry about "Uranium Miner's Boogie" here.]

This is an extremely rare early Utah rock ’n’ roll treasure, and it comes to us courtesy of New Mexico record collector Jerry Richards. It was appropriately released on the Atomic label and recorded at Recording Arts, Inc. in Salt Lake City, the “Wall Street of Uranium Stocks” (RAI is no longer with us but until 1944 was run by future LDS church president Gordon B. Hinckley). It’s a great example of a record that spoke directly to its home region, which was Utah and the four corners area, and didn’t circulate much beyond that. It’s also high grade western swing-cum-early rockabilly featuring some of the sassiest of steel guitar riffage.

If you’re familiar with the Southeastern Utah area, you’ll catch the references to Grand and San Juan counties, which were true hotbeds of the post-WWII uranium mining industry, as well as Cottonwood, the southern canyon area near the Grand Staircase (not to be confused with Big or Little Cottonwood canyons, although they’d also work fine in a uranium mining context). And if you’re well-versed in atomic industry history, you’ll recognize acronymic nods to the Vanadium Corporation of America, the U.S. Vanadium Corporation, and the Atomic Energy Commission.

Richards found his own copies of the record in Helper, Utah, which makes perfect sense, as he puts it, “because Helper was, and still is, a mining town.” The record came out as a 78 and a 45, with the 45 version pressed in blue vinyl. Both came packaged in what Richards refers to as “brown paper bag sleeves.”

There’s still quite a bit of homework to be done regarding virtually everything else about this record and the folks who made it happen. The year, for example - I’ve seen it listed as anywhere between 1954 and 1957. The relaxed mastery of the musical idiom along with the casual appearance of “rockin” in the group’s name makes me assume it’s post-1956, but I’d absolutely love it if I were wrong. For now, though, strap on your rock ’n’ roll geiger counters and watch those needles fly.

Riley Walker and His Rockin-R-Rangers - “Uranium Miner’s Boogie”

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posted by Kim Simpson

Forgotten UK guitar tamer Dave Evans stuck around in the early seventies long enough to put out four records, including the non-overdubbed, well-chiseled instrumental masterpiece Sad Pig Dance (1974). And I’m very pleased to report that he also managed to squeeze in this cheeky Old Grey Whistle Test appearance. Not long after this thing was taped he’d call it good with the record scene, go off to Belgium, and focus on building guitars. Enjoy this rarity while it’s up.

posted by Kim Simpson

They came to our spoiled little capital again last night. Beerland was pretty much packed and the fellas did that layin’-down-the-law routine we all admire. The big news I found out is that they’ve got a Christmas album in the can, also produced by Ivan Julian - the ace who did their Take a Good Look. Happy news for folks like me who scoop up Fleshtones and Christmas records alike.

I was watching the qualifying rounds on TV this afternoon and saw it happen. Felt like a knife in the heart. The Beach Boys did this number for James Dean in ‘63, but I’m sending it out to Scott Kalitta here in ‘08.

Beach Boys - “A Young Man is Gone” (1963)

In this live radio recording of “Gypsy Dance,” you can hear Kendell giving a stylistic nod to Van Morrison in his vocal delivery. It turns out that shortly after he moved to San Francisco, he and Rig drummer Rick Shlosser were offered jobs by Morrison - Kendell as leader of his backup unit and Shlosser, of course, as drummer. Part of the deal would be that Kendell could have full access to the band for his own projects. For reasons Kendell in retrospect “can’t really figure,” he opted out (although Shlosser said yes).

It’s easy to hear about this now and to think “oops!”, but talking with Kendell, it’s clear that the gravity of the prospect was hardly lost on him then. Two big factors for him to consider were Morrison’s famously thorny demeanor, which he’d had many chances to observe up close, and his own percolating recording ambitions, which would have had to have been set aside to some extent. Nonetheless, Kendell’s closeness to so many in the entourage enabled him to catch Morrison live a few hundred times. So much so that his admiration for the Irishman, as he puts it, “resulted in an experimental change of style that wasn’t quite resolved and took a while to assimilate.” “Gypsy Dance” comes from this era and would have been included on the ‘72 Columbia LP. For now, though, we’ve got this live radio version which, thankfully, still survives.

Kendell Kardt - “Gypsy Dance”

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Here’s some prime early 70s hokum I actually wouldn’t mind hearing on the radio every day. The Canadian Taylor was signed to Motown’s Rare Earth subsidiary which had been created (in honor of the hairy cowbell-clankers who gave us “I Just Want to Celebrate”) specifically for white artists. He already had a Motown track record, having co-written the Supremes’ “Love Child” and the Temptations’ “All I Need,” among others. Each of Taylor’s best-known singles were hand-wringers: “Indiana Wants Me,” as you probably remember - his one all-out smash - was about a tragic head-basher on the run. “Gotta See Jane” is all romantic stomach-knots and remorse. “Taos New Mexico” is a dispatch from the clink, and “There’s a Ghost in My House” trades in the horror of infidelity for perhaps the lesser horror of paranormal experience. And “Ain’t it a Sad Thing” (which peaked at #66 on Billboard) bemoans the environment, taking its cues from company buddies Marvin Gaye (“Mercy Mercy Me”) and even Rare Earth (I’m serious - they released that LP called Ecology earlier that year, remember? They were nonetheless no more topical than Grand Funk). Troubling subject matter aside, this is a snappy little track with one of pop music’s finest whistle choruses.

R. Dean Taylor - “Ain’t It a Sad Thing”

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posted by Stanislav

Here’s more about Korni Grupa. Anyway, somebody probably told them that “corny” is not a good name for a band, so their official international name was The Kornellians. They had two distinct paths in their development ever since they started. Their 45s were strictly commercial, festival hits. Some of the b-sides and LPs were on the other hand convoluted prog-rock concepts. I imagine it was hard for their boss Kornelije Kovac to keep up with that dichotomy, especially having in mind that 45s were so easy to record, put out and play on the radio, while only a handful of people cared for the LPs. In any case, I stumbled upon this interesting video of their concept record called 1941, which was written and recorded to mark the 30th aniversary of March 27, when Yugoslav opposition organized anti-fascist demonstrations in Belgrade. 1941 was built around lyrics previously published by the Serbo-Bosnian(!) poet Branko Copic. At the time, Dado Topic (later in Time) was the singer of Korni Grupa. However, Jospia Lisac, a pop/rock singer from Zagreb, was a guest on one tune, called “Marija” - probably the best one on this record. The poem itself starts as if it’s about the Virgin Mary, but in fact, it’s about a young Partisan woman, a fighter in World War II who fearlessly died while storming the Nazi bunker. Kornelije Kovac decided to put a nice musical twist to this story worthy of the best Big Brother and the Holding Company moments. 1941 originally aired on TV in 1971, but the record was in the vaults for a couple of more years after that (reasons for this delay were definitely not political).

If you follow the annual cheese-fest known as the Eurovision Song Contest, you’ll know that it happened in Belgrade this year (Russia won). I couldn’t help but wonder how the entire event would pan out what with the riots and burning buildings of just a few months ago.

I checked in with my friend and occasional BYM contributor Stanislav, who grew up in the ill-fated Croatian/Serbian border town of Vukovar. He assured me that Serbs know how to throw a good party, “even with an enemy. All current enemies were apparently treated well” – the “Albanian and Dutch representatives got cheers,” and there were “no boos.” One Slovenian announcer was shown saying things like “Zdravo braco Srbi!” (Hello Serbian brothers!) Also, the Bosnian entry got the full 12 points from Serbian voters as did the Serb entry from the Bosnians.

My response: “Is there any hope at all for a successful Eurovision having an impact in healing the tenuous political situation?” His response: “Eurovision is a huge party … I don’t think people see it as a political statement.” And I’m sad to say he’s probably right, notwithstanding some people’s tendency (ahem) to wallow in entertainment-related subjects while harboring a notion that they have some more-profound-than-mere-entertainment function.

While talking, incidentally, Stanislav reminded me of some of the Yugoslav entries of the 70s and 80s, such as the Serbian progressive outfit Korni Grupa in 1975. “They had a pretty decent song about WW2 although it probably depressed most of Europe.” That’s Korni Grupa, those martyrs for meaning, doing the very performance (“Generacija 42”) in the video above.

Update: Don’t miss Stanislav’s comment below which illustrates just how thoroughly “Yugoslav” this band actually was.