Vol. 18 - Just Like Me Only Smaller: Barry, Harry, and Sir Rod Explore Childhood Rather than Child-Rearing

As a father, I know that raising children is serious stuff, and that when it comes to child-rearing, even good friends may not see eye to eye.  Perhaps the most interesting thing about this latest post is the lack of real response, and certainly none of the corroboration from Adolfo that we've grow to expect.  I will dig more to find what was troubling Adolfo at this time.  His brief response offers some clues, but I choose to withhold judgement.  Without definitive evidence, I don't care to mischaracterize one whom I've learned to hold in the highest esteem.  In the meantime, enjoy this unique (if mostly one-sided) post.


Halliday begins with a lyric from Barry Manilow's "I Am Your Child:"

I am your child

Whatever I am, you taught me to be

I am your hope,

I am your chance,

I am your child

Dolf, my friend,

My son is nearly four, as you know, and so I decided just the other day that he needs to learn to drive my Peugeot in the event of an emergency.  His mother is not having it, of course, but she is not with our boy 24 hours a day and so, like fencing, masonry, filleting fish, and Esperanto (just to name a few), we have embarked together on mastering a new necessary skill, this time the operation of the manual transmission of a sturdy European sedan.  I take to heart Mr. Manilow’s above words from "I Am Your Child."  If my own Dewey Bunnell Holiday is to be whatever I have taught him to be, then I take my work seriously—sadly, perhaps more seriously than our Soft Rock heroes, it seems.  My research suggest that words and actions, at least as they pertain child-rearing, are two separate things for these otherwise faultless (I hope) men.

So many expectations are put upon children, but you and I are certainly aware that the children of artists have a unique cross to bear, for the expectations placed upon them are as fraught with trouble as the messages they receive while growing up.  Imagine if your dad was Leo Sayer?  What messages is he sending? And would Daddy be able to share your size 6X Garanimals?  Wouldn't that be odd having a pops who could wear your Stride Rites?  Forgive the (over)extended metaphor, but isn't that alone a recipe for a life of missteps?

You Make Me Feel Like Dancing?  Maybe...

What do artists like Barry Manilow or Harry Chapin or Rod Stewart actually teach children to be or not to be?  That is the question, friend.  How did little Josh Chapin, now closing in on 30 years old and the "boy" in Harry's most-loved hit, turn out?   Was he ridiculed for wearing stretch Levi's and turquoise jewelry in kindergarten?  We know that Harry’s daughter became a musician, but will she ever be capable of the soft rock catalogue assembled by her dear old dad during his 38 short years on earth (Godspeed Harry!!)?  And, before he left this mortal coil, did he teach her anything about parenting or just about music and abandonment?  One cannot parent from the proverbial road.  Manilow's own father left him and his mother at a very young age, and (perhaps as a result) Barry has no children of his own, so while he can write, as he does above, from the POV of a child, can he speak for children the way you and I can?  Rod Stewart?  Well, I believe he has at least six kids with four different women.  We’ve seen young Kimberly in the spotlight, and she seems fine, but what about little Ruby or Aiden, what lay ahead for them?  More urban myths about canine semen?  What happens when they need to learn Esperanto or animal husbandry?  If soft rockers can’t be good parents, then who in music can???!!  This fear is what drives me to raise my son to be accomplished in all things.  Is five years too early to talk to him about women?  Or is it too late!???  What if he likes men?  Then when do I start down this road?  Rod seems to allude to this conundrum in his rendition of "Forever Young":

And when you finally fly away

I'll be hoping that I served you well

For all the wisdom of a lifetime

No one can ever tell

But whatever road you choose

I'm right behind you, win or lose

There is no greater love than the love one feels for a child, but there is an inherent narcissism in it all, no?  The laughter my own son elicits from me is never greater than when he reminds me of myself!  Even before his second birthday, he had a gift for the metaphor, the simile.  An accidental poop floating in the tub with him at bath time became a “pinecone,” and thusly all subsequent poops became pinecones or other terms, never just pedantic poops.  At nearly four years of age, in addition to knowing that poop is a palindrome (indeed it is!), he is prone to examining his poops and giving them names based on what they resemble to him.  To prove my point further, just last week he asserted that one of his poops looked like me!  And, you know, it actually did.  His poop was just like me.  The boy must have eaten a large serving of body hair and marshmallows!  Harry Chapin, at least the poet Harry who penned “Cats and the Cradle,” would be proud of me, I suppose:

...My son turned ten just the other day

He said, "Thanks for the ball, Dad, come on let's play

Can you teach me to throw", I said "Not today

I got a lot to do." He said, "That's ok"

And he walked away but his smile never dimmed

And said, "I'm gonna be like him, yeah

You know I'm gonna be like him..

...And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me

He'd grown up just like me

My boy was just like me

Well, what have they learned, what have these children learned by being literally derived from greatness, if not raised in its very presence (and simultaneous absence)?  There, but not there?  I don’t know, friend.   This is not a hypothetical question.  Have they learned that art and reality are separate and that the messages of their daddies’ songs trump their real world parenting skills?  Have we detected a chink in the overall armor?  Is it our legacy to correct this failing?  Are soft rockers not only bad daddies but also philandering, womanizing pigs hiding behind the right words?   Tell me it’s not so.  Let my own smile never dim...

Dolf provides this terse, somewhat cryptic reply:

Really!??  Is this passive agression, Kevin? 

You do know that I have been living at the Holgate trailer, right?  Really?!  This is what you want to write about this month?  Really?  Do me a solid and go back to rhinestones and spring-green fields for a piece, huh?  Really?  Really?

And that is all the reply that Dolf could muster, unfortunately.  I have found no other exchanges about this subject.  I will continue to look, however, for as I said above, I don't wish to misrepresent a man whom I hold in very high regard. I urge you, dear reader, to exercize similar restraint.  Speculation will get us nowhere.- ed.

Vol. 17 - Rot, Heit, und Blau: Cover Versions of the Optimus Prime and Lather & Rinse!

Your editor on the road to Bangor.

Forgive the delay between posts.  I have been on an interesting road trip, and I have come back with some goodies!  Since my last post, I received an intriguing email from a Pennsylvania woman who claimed to own a copy of a rare German recording titled Rot, Heit, und Blau, a benefit album which tried but failed to raise money and awareness about Osgood-Schlatter's disease in German-speaking countries.  She lived in Bangor, PA and asked me to visit, for the disc itself was not for sale (I tried).  She even sent me her cell phone number, which I promptly dialed.  I was greeted by a thickly accented voice.  My first question (and I sincerely apologize to you for this) was, "How quickly can I get to Bangor?"  The woman laughed at me and answered: "Slow down, stud.  It will take a few compliments, some drinks, maybe zee dinner..."  I realized that this was no ordinary woman, and I looked forward to my visit.

She lived in a mountainside chalet overlooking what I assumed was once a beautiful valley, now dotted by Starbucks, Wendy's, a few hotels.  Originally from Tyrol in Austria and claiming to have been married at one time to both Sigfried and Roy (who knew?!) she wished only to be known to my readers as Tiney Heine.  Contrary to her name, she was not short, thin yes, aging well, probably once beautiful.  And she had an incredible collection of imported records, tapes and CDs. An unremarkable packaging hid Rot, Heit, und Blau's bounty within.  Again, I remind you that I was not permitted to purchase the disc.  However, Ms. Heine did allow me to burn a copy to my laptop.  Since this blog is not about me but about Holiday, Dolf, and their soft rock heroes, I will refrain from sharing more of my visit to Bangor, at least for now.

Below you will find two tracks.  The first is a 2004 or 2005 cover of the Optimus Prime's "They Hate Use Because We Love the Freedom" performed by Heir Helmut, a band who recorded briefly on Holiday and Dolf's Taint records.  I think our heroes would have been proud to hear lines like, "Don't turn around/GW's in town," especially since George has been in the news again as the man who laid the foundation for the death of Bin Laden!!  I will refrain from further comment, but once again I am reminded how prescient Holiday and Dolf were (perhaps still are): 

 "Freedom 2005" - Heir Helmut

The second track is a cover of Lather and Rinse's "Paper," which is given a jazzy swing by the Casper Brautwurst Onetet.  I literally hear the sound of ripping paper serving as a primitive rhythm.  The soft rock-worthy subject matter remains intact: "I don't know what else to do, but wrap up my bleeding heart for you/And put it underneath your tree with a little tag 'to you, from me.'"  Very romantic:

"Paper" - Caspar Brautwurst Onetet

I will be back shortly with a new post, an email exchange between Holiday and Dolf about, of all things, children!  -ed.

Vol. 16 - Concert on the Mount: David Gates and The Beatitudes of Soft Rock

As you know, Halliday and Adolfo were immersed in a project not unlike my own.  In addition to their recorded work, they were always vigilant in their quest to uncover more information about their soft rock heroes.  A legendary concert by David Gates, founding member and creative catalyst of soft rock pillar Bread, is the subject of the following exchange.  Like Dolf, I too have heard stories about this renowned, if obscure, Concert on the Mount.  In separate mid-1990’s interviews for my Soul and Fire fanzine,  Lou Barlow of Sebadoh and Charles Douglas of Vegetarian Meat told me tales that were very similar to the Carlos Santana rendition.   Hopefully, this posting will inspire more to come forward and share what they know!  - ed.

Halliday begins-

Dolf:

I recently stumbled upon an interesting article in a now-defunct fanzine called Rose Petals, Incense and a Kitten, purportedly produced by the Association’s Jim Yester.   The Yester-scribed article chronicled a unique historic event that, in my estimation, rivals Woodstock or Altamont for its cultural significance.  The fact that it has been buried in history, that it was not and has not been the subject of mainstream media, of films and novels, speaks volumes about how undervalued Soft Rock was and continues to be.   Instead of sharing the article, for I hope to see you in a fortnight to conclude the mastering and sequencing of Little Flower, let me try to explain the content to you. 



...for they shall not sweat or chafe in Heaven.

It seems our friend David Gates, riding the success of his single from Neil Simon's Goodbye Girl, delivered an all-acoustic show on the shores of the Sea of Galilee near the Chapel of the Beatitudes.  Not blind to the symbolic setting, of course, he delivers (perhaps tongue in cheek, perhaps not) the Ten Beatitudes of Soft Rock.  His whole demeanor, as described in Yester’s eyewitness report, is Christ-like, perhaps filtered through Jesus Christ Superstar’s ubiquitous influence on Gate’s (and Yester’s) generation—at once godlike and a man of and among his people.  He wore simple robes sans undergarments, which afforded the audience enticing peeks at his impressive physique.   He allowed a beautiful, Israeli backing singer to wash his feet, as well as the feet of several impromptu (?) visitors to the stage who wore nothing but body paint and flowers.  He even passed around free, loose joints, which by all reports seemed to appear in a never-ending tap on the shoulder and two-finger pass from the left.  I am sure you can picture this desert tableau yourself, so I will no longer delay in sharing these blessings with you.

The Ten Beatitudes of Soft Rock:

Blessed are those who laugh to keep from crying, for they pose for compelling album cover photos.

Blessed are the hirsute, for body hair, even back hair, is beautifully human, a link to our shared past.

Blessed are the "blessed", and those who understand that a woman needs foreplay, for their members and patience are both gifts from God; and those who speak humbly but carry a big stick, and who act selflessly in love, are truly blessed in His eyes.

Blessed are the drummers, for they are not all easily replaced dumb ex-jocks.

Blessed are those who sing the names of “Baby” or “Lady” or “Girl” in reference to lovers, for they have extra syllables with which to preserve iambic pentameter.

Blessed are those who mourn lost loves, for they shall be comforted by newer, younger loves and thusly turn tragedy into gold records and easily treatable venereal diseases.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for a spiritual awakening through any and all chemical or natural means necessary, for they shall find and lose their bliss many times over.

Blessed are the clean of criminal record, for it is not easy to avoid the Man's talons, especially while seeking ones bliss.

Blessed are those who dress in suede or leather, who accessorize denim with more denim, for they shall not sweat or chafe in heaven.

Blessed are the peacemakers, those who embrace gentleness and rebuke aggression, for they have capitalized on a creative goldmine and may earn a primetime variety show or guest spot on The Love Boat.

Adolfo responds:

Dear Kevin:

Yes, I had heard of these lost works, but never had an opportunity to gaze upon them. I thank you, friend.  I look forward to our meeting and to the sharing of fine drink and uplifting tales of soft rock’s too brief moment in the desert sun.   

Woodstock or Lake Kineret?

I remember speaking to Carlos Santana sometime ago, and he relayed the story of Gates' odyssey to me. For this is a concert worthy of the lore it has inspired! Carlos recalled arriving to the event via camel with nothing but an satchel, acoustic guitar and several African women he met at a “market” of some sort. Carlos, deeply spiritual at this time, tells of the event with a grand reverence. Carlos gushed over how Gates primped and preened, how his coif was a-flow with golden locks. Robes white as the accompanying women’s teeth. The crowd was torn between those who truly believed and those who were there for said “free loose joints,” but all were converts by daybreak. If only a master recording was made or photos documenting this event surfaced! Oh joy!  The gospel according to Gates.

Halliday replies:

Dolf:



The Devil's Tower for Kevin Halliday?



I woke this morning from a dream and etched the attached image into my nightstand.  My wife was none too happy but, alas, she never stands in the way of art. 

Neighbors may point and laugh at my front porch, which I have turned into a life-sized diorama of Gates and company heating challah over an open fire, but I care not what they say.  Honestly, I feel like Dreyfuss in Close Encounters!  I am compelled to book a Holy Land tour to the shores of Lake Kineret!  Jim Yester’s journalism and your Santana story have bolstered my spirit, and I shall return to our work with renewed vigor. 

Until we meet and embrace, friend.

Vol. 15 - Members Only: Michael McDonald and Our Exclusive Clan

Back to my editing work, I am pleased to share this Email conversation between Adolpho and Halliday concerning Michael McDonald, surely one of the greatest living soft rockers. - ed.

Holiday begins with a quote from "What a Fool Believes":

“She had a place in his life
He never made her think twice”

And then addresses his friend:

Dolf:

Hurt AND confident?

Let us consider one Michael McDonald.  His work with the Doobie Brothers, Christopher Cross, James Ingram, and even Chaka Khan was seminal.  His background vocals found on more scrumptious tracks than I care to count.  His solo work, especially his first solo album from 1982, has cemented his place in Soft Rock history.  He IS blue-eyed soul for many, but I am fond of him for a different reason, a reason that makes him a vulnerable, lost soul, a loser in love. The proof is in the hair.

Even as a young man with the Doobie Brothers, his heart had already been broken many times.  I have heard that a broken heart can cause ones hair to lose all pigment, almost overnight, and I have witnessed this surreal event myself.  I have a good friend who was completely gray in our sophomore year of high school.  A skunk chunk sprouted from his cowlick as early as age 13!   I thought the phenomenon was genetic until he chose to reveal to me his tragic love story. 

It seems that in 7^th grade he fell hard for a redhead named Megan whose green eyes glistened like morning dew on a freshly cut lawn.  This Meg filled out a pair of Levi’s in all the right ways.  The stolen glances he enjoyed of her deep, freckled cleavage haunted him well into his twenties.  He spent many months as her lab partner, exchanging pleasantries but not much more.  Her eyes turned him to stone, so to speak, and he prayed every day that the Chemistry teacher would not make him rise from his seat and the concealment provided by his wooden desk top.  It wasn’t until we were teammates on our high school track and field team that I was able to share with him the wisdom of the “Fosberry Flip.”  For those not familiar with this invaluable technique, I will briefly explain:  When, at an inappropriate time, one finds ones member engorged, the best solution, besides reciting baseball statistics to oneself, is to pull forward the waistband of ones trousers, allowing the offending member to “flip” up where it can then be secured in the waistband of ones undergarments and trousers, hidden behind a large belt buckle if so inclined. 

Well, unaware of the Fosberry Flip at this younger age, my friend looked the fool, never able to walk fair Megan to her locker or her next class, where he might find a moment to ask her out.  When one evening, emboldened by hard drink (imported beer!), he did find the courage to reveal his feelings to her via a stolen moment on his parent’s home phone, she went on and on for an hour about her boyfriend who attended the local preparatory school.  She considered all her male classmates so immature, she said.  Not you, she assured my friend, but he knew better. 

Was it self-loathing that turned his bangs a whitish gray the very next morning?  He told me that, even as she let him down as gently as she could, her voice scraped through his belly like fine sandpaper, and a couch pillow’s employ was necessary to conceal his gym shorts from the eyes of his siblings should they spy his pre-Fosberry tumescence.  To make matters even worse, he was paired with this Megan for another complete semester and had to witness her ever-developing beauty from just a seat away.  He lit their shared Bunsen burner and noticed her experimentation with women’s perfume.  He feigned interest in covalently bonded homogeneous solutions while he admired her new haircuts and (oh, dear!) stylish new glasses.  He had to watch her become even more lovely, finding it harder every day to separate his rich fantasy life from the cruel reality.  She never even noticed that his hair looked like that of a 35 year old man.  She never even noticed the bulge in his trousers, for pity sake!!

I can’t help but think that Michael McDonald turned prematurely gray under similar circumstances.  His lyrics say so much about his personal failures in love:

I keep forgettin we're not in love anymore
I keep forgettin things will never be the same again
I keep forgettin how you made that so clear
I keep forgettin every time that you are near

Dolf replies:

The sign of a classic

 "Minute, by minute, by minute---I keep holding on." Enigmatic. Charismatic. Hairtastic. My fondness for MM harkens back to the days of my youth. Yes friend, I was fond of the salt & pepper well before my own manhood took root. I recall the time Father and I took that short ride to Korvettes (maybe a Two Guys store) and bought Minute by Minute on LP for the Nice Price.

I had already been indoctrinated into the raspy vocals of Mike via my Father’s appetite for the prior two Doobie albums. The tale of your school chum resonates with me. For we have all known the pain and horror of the schoolboy "call to arms" (like a baby’s arm, I say!). Yes, I too was afflicted by this malice of hormones and overactive imagination. Her name was Philene, skin light as mocha and hair as kinky as my schoolboy infatuation. Her father was Jamaican and her mother German. I fancied myself a lover of the exotic, and my young love for this half-Nubian princess stoked my young desires. I remember the day all too well.


Philene, I'm begging you..



We were set off to a party in honor of a common friend’s birthday. The party turned from innocent to precarious with the spin of a bottle. Yes, I spun, and the bottle chose for me the young octoroon queen of my dreams. As we slowly and nervously moved to the closet where many burgeoning explorations and nefarious deeds took place, my mind screamed. This, friend, was my moment---Philene!! “You Don’t Know Me but I’m YOUR BROTHER"! We moved close to embrace and touched lips---and it happened. Oh, how I wished I hadn't worn those loose-fitting gym shorts. She suddenly grew frightened and left in a flash—that uncomfortable and damp “poke” destroyed our night. After “composing” myself by citing the Declaration of Independence verbatim, I went back to the group in shame—and, like your friend, with a bit of self-loathing in tow, I suppose. I never forgot that night—and I swear, in the halls of school, Philene would give me a little knowing smirk and nervous smile. I was takin' it to the streets. And she knew it. She just wasn’t ready for it.  Or perhaps our moment had too quickly passed.

Holiday continues:

Young Dolf:

Perhaps your encounter with Philene caused your premature baldness?  I poke fun of course, friend, poke being the operative word.  I can't stop thinking of Dolly Parton's classic "Jolene".  Philene, I'm begging you.  Please don't take my man(hood).  But I digress too long.  Back to Mike's painful encounters with the women he loves. 
 

The proof is in the hair.

Why such a cruel fate for such a gentle, soulful man??  If we are lucky enough to find love, we are blessed.  If we lose our loves, it is much easier to never see them again, no?  I have never been one to remain friends with exes, but I suppose the prototypical Soft Rocker would aspire to such selfless love.  If I were in my aforementioned friend’s shoes, I most certainly would have requested a homely new lab partner.   Your life would certainly have been better had Philene transferred schools that week.  Perhaps this is something about me that I should work on.  I wonder if you and Philene remained friends, if you have channeled this experience into the tasty licks that emanate from your dulcet guitar, that sustain your downy voice??   Michael likely surrounded himself with ex-lovers, for how could such a man share his heart once and then just hide it away forever when the affair had ended?  The doleful gaze on the cover of his solo debut shows that hurt hidden in plain sight.  “The pain and ache a heart can take, No one really knows," he says on his “I Can Let Go Now” (more of this gem below).  But I think Mike knows a lot more than he believes.  "The wiseman has the power..."  More evidence:

“… Just when you think you know what love is about
Someone takes your place, and you find that
Love lies-right to your face..”

The lyrics to “Love Lies” from this same record help tell the tale.  It seems poor Mike must always confront his broken heart, face to face.  Or perhaps he is a masochist.   Perhaps he is driven to find answers, to search the faces of his past lovers for answers, however painful.  Perhaps that is what a true artist does?  My friend is now happily married (to a bottle-blonde) and never mentions the girl who turned him gray, but he seems happier, more content than me.  He has truly felt love and pain in equal measure.  He should learn to play keyboards and join our Lather and Rinse!

We can hope that, like Mike and my high school chum, we can all get to this place where we let love take its course, treacherous, destructive, graying, balding or not.  These incidents truly build character.  In Michael’s cover shots (in the look I am sure you volleyed back at Philene’s knowing glance) there is something else present; it is a confidence--more precisely, a “cockiness.”  Flipped ala Fosberry or not, members of the Soft Rock clan know that another love will come along who can appreciate the bounty hidden within.  And buoyed by this self-love, this self-confidence, this knowledge that they have been “blessed,”so to speak, they move on.  I will let Mike tell it:

It was so right, it was so wrong
Almost at the same time…

…But I was tossed high by love
I almost never came down
Only to land here
Where love's no longer found
Where I'm no longer bound

And I can let go now

Vol 14: A Small Package: Music from Lather and Rinse!!!!!

Below you will find a few interesting artifacts that were mailed to my parents’ home late last month.  I assume that an anonymous reader of this blog did some research on me!  All is fair, I suppose.  Since my father and I have the same name, I surmise that this anonymous reader, after finding out my real name, took a gamble and decided to mail the aforementioned package to my likely address.  My mother tells me that the arrival of the package was preceded by a few odd phones calls that she attributed to telemarketers but in retrospect seemed connected.  Thank you, thank you, thank you, whomever you are! However circuitous their arrival, I have found the contents of this package invaluable to my work.  Speaking of real names, I now have real names (maybe) for Holiday and Dolf.   I am not naïve, however.  I am willing to accept that these names are also dead-ends; but, needless to say, I have begun to dig.

For all intents and purposes, my wish has come true.  The package contains a cassette tape of some raw demos for tracks we have been reading about in the Trouser Trout Press this month.  It took some scavenging in my garage to find a tape deck, but I knew I had one around for just this sort of musical anthropology.  I was also able to use my USB-friendly turntable to convert these tapes to digital audio files—which I share with you below.  But first, please read the following clip, which I believe is the Lather and Rinse entry to the Trouser Trout Press (you may remember that I recently shared with you the Optimus Prime entry that referenced this important side-project).  – ed.

Lather and Rinse

Discography:

Sometimes Ts and Bs (Drive me Ns) (Taint) 1993

Little Flower (Taint/Universal) 1994

Lather and Rinse were a duo committed, at least in their final active years in music, to the short-lived soft rock revival of the mid-1990s.  The group made two full-length recordings, a handful of singles (mostly covers and remixes), and one unreleased EP, which is often seen as a transitional document. 

Dolf/Adolf (Alexander Adolfo) and Kevin Holiday (Kevin Halliday) began making noise and electro-acoustic experiments as early as 1984 as The Optimus Prime, The Ass Piston (Holiday’s solo vehicle), and Sawhorse (with Burton Fink), but by 1992 they had completely immersed themselves in the music of soft rock pioneers like The Association, Bread, and Curt Boettcher of the Millennium.   Unlike Halliday, who cut his musical teeth in decidedly unmusical ways, dabbling in pure noise and field recordings, Adolfo was a trained artist and musician, competent on the drums, guitar, piano, and various woodwinds.  It is likely that Adolfo’s influences won out by the end of the duo’s decade-long run in music.   Adolfo played most instruments on recordings, while Halliday served as producer and provocateur.  Ironically, it was Halliday who took on most vocal duties, with both a rich baritone croon and a surprisingly celestial falsetto.   His vocals showed knowledge of soft rock history, referencing Colin Blunstone, Neil Diamond, Morrissey, even Robert Lamm (Chicago).  Adolfo’s guitar playing, the anchor for the band’s music, had indie rock’s sloppy jangle and 60’s folk tastefulness.  Neither man was afraid to pick up an instrument and see how it worked (or didn’t work).

Leading up to Lather and Rinse’s first proper album, Sometimes Ts and Bs (Drive Me Ns), many of the duo’s singles were covers or remixes of 1970’s soft rock favorites, most famously the cover of Bread’s “If” and the re-working of Shuggie Otis’s “Strawberry Letter 23” called “Hello Jerk Off” or “Hello JO” on subsequent pressings [I have attached the demo below – ed.].  But the B-sides were often original recordings.  One particularly interesting B-side was dubbed, "The Duet".  The song’s rich orchestration and funky drum beat (played by someone only credited as Repeat on the single’s liner notes) [The attached demo unfortunately used a cheap drum machine track –ed.] spoke to the early Quiet Storm/Philly Soul sounds of the early to mid 70's.  The song finds Halliday crooning in a warm tenor, while Adolfo plays female (?) foil, singing in a lofty falsetto.  The song is controversial for perhaps exposing the two's confused sexual leanings and the accompanying tension.  It is also defiant in its politically incorrect celebration of “Mandingo” love.  Adolfo at this time was drinking heavily and had put on some weight he did not carry while with the Optimus Prime (due to a steady diet of Chinese food and Tic Tacs).  Halliday, also a bit heavier, had turned introspective, absorbed by his work as a translator and a taste for “kind bud.”  Lyrically, the song was about an abusive relationship turned even more sour by neglect and abandonment, which, like substance abuse and unrequited love, became themes for the duo both in and out of the studio.   The male persona “steps out” on his lady, much in the way that Dolf and Adolf would abandon their soft rock calling.

One telling incident in the duo’s short history occurred in Waretown, NJ at a party thrown by a mutual college friend.  Holiday, Dolf, and an entourage of plus-sized male models (yes, they exist) arrived late and already quite intoxicated.  By 11pm the dance floor was dominated by Lather and Rinse—alone.  Reportedly, as if in some bizarre trance, the two danced moves like nothing the weary crowd had ever seen before.  Finally, too much vodka, grass and cheese snacks assumed control.  Halliday began to vomit a yellow orange onto the dance floor, while Adolfo continued to dance.  Adolfo then slipped into the DJ booth, destroying the equipment and thus ending the evening’s music.  The two were asked to leave, but before complying, decided to have one last dance, sandwiching the wife of one Scott Shrew (of the all white hip-hop trio Powelton Five-O).  The uncomfortable mood worsened as the two bumped and grinded to the music in their own heads.  By all reports, said lady didn't seem to mind, as Halliday and Adolfo were both regarded as handsome, excessive weight and body hair notwithstanding, and self-proclaimed “cocksmiths,” a fact not denied by various girlfriends and wives.   At long last, smelling of vomit and glowing orange from regurgitated cheese product, the two walked out the back door of the Waretown home and into the vast New Jersey Pine Barrens, all the while loudly discussing the sundry atypical uses for Vaseline products. 

In a rented trailer not far from Waretown (specifically, on the shores of Holgate, NJ), Dolf and Holiday set to work for two years bringing their soft rock vision to life.  The results were two complete albums released in limited pressing only a year apart.  By the end of that LBI stay, however, more problems surfaced.  First, touring drummer Repeat left to join the crew of a lobster boat, and then Holiday became addicted to a mixture of NyQuil, Yoohoo, and Courvoisier.  Rumor has it that Dolf had had enough.  He changed his name and started working with other musicians who were part of the coffee house/university jazz circuit in central New Jersey.  Holiday may have changed his name to Paul and, between trips hunting the elusive striped bass on his boat The Chocolate Starfish, reportedly sang cover tunes for a time at summer happy hours in the resort towns along the central New Jersey shore.  [See the inconclusive photo below –ed].



Holiday in white pants doing his best Alvin Ayler?



After releasing Sometimes... and Little Flower on their own Taint imprint, Lather and Rinse allowed Universal Recordings to reissue the Little Flower album in 1994.   The title track paid tribute to Holiday's unemployed Latino girlfriend (who soon became his wife).  The lyrics “Little Flower… You came along and rescued me in my darkest hour…” say a lot about how Holiday was feeling towards the end of a decade-long struggle with music and addiction.  But while Little Flower herself was able to save Holiday, this period also marked the end for Lather and Rinse.  Adolfo himself remarried and settled into a domestic life.  Ironically, many artists are able to channel this domesticity into soft rock gems, but Holiday and Dolf were too embittered by years of obscurity.  After the Little Flower record failed to sell, or even garner a little critical attention, the duo turned its attention to championing soft rock as an art form.  Feeling unappreciated themselves, they didn’t want the same fate to befall heroes like Gilbert O’Sullivan or John Dever or Michael Bolton.   Like their recordings, these writings have also become increasingly difficult to find.

See also The Optimus Prime, Sawhorse, Helen Reddy.

The attached demo of “Little Flower,” which I am told is found in a much different form on the later album of the same name, is generally accepted as the first recordings that Dolf and Holiday made post-Optimus Prime as Lather and Rinse.  The tune is played on acoustic and electric guitars, but there are equal parts noise and random, improvisational moments, along with rudimentary drum machine programming and a commitment to a low fidelity aesthetic.  The lyrics, far from fully realized and seemingly off the cuff here, do retain the puerile nature of earlier OP recordings, but this version of the tune definitely shows a decided break, a marked changed, from the OP’s previous oeuvre.   The hook about this Little Flower changing Holiday’s life was already fully formed and alone worth a listen. – ed.

Little Flower Demo

Here is the “Hello Jerk Off” demo, based on a loop from Shuggie Otis’s “Strawberry Letter 23."  The lyrics are a cautionary tale for those husbands prone to late night "web surfing." –ed.

Hello JO demo

And finally the B-side called “Duet,” also in demo form.  Listen closely and you can hear Adolfo leaving the room to vomit due to uncontrollable laughter and overindulgence in cheap beer.

Duet (A Glass of Wine) demo

I don't know if I will ever get this lucky again, but please enjoy this windfall! Thank you once again, anonymous reader, for this little package that has done so much to assist my work! - ed.



Vol. 13 - A Little History: New Information on Dolf and Holiday

My nascent, parallel research into the histories of Holiday and Adolf has uncovered some new information about our subjects.  Thank you to my new (anonymous) friends in the Development and Alumni Relations Office at Temple University for the tip! I am getting closer every day!  What follows is an entry from the Trouser Trout Press, a now defunct fan-zine and web site that—like the current All Music Guide and Julian Cope’s Heritage Head, among others—once took on the daunting task of creating a living, growing encyclopedia of music history, with a special emphasis on the "other music," the lost oddities and obscure gems.  Honestly, I was initially shocked by descriptions of the puerile content of Dolf and Holiday's early recordings.  You may be, as well.  After some thought, however, I now speculate that Dolf and Holiday came to Soft Rock much in the way a philandering drug addicted criminal comes to Christianity, born again with evangelical fervor to spare.



"Born Again" Soft Rockers Lather and Rinse?



I extend my gratitude to another anonymous soul, this one at the Philadelphia City Paper, who is responsible for sharing her archived copy of the Trouser Trout article.  This same woman was able to provide a press photo of the duo of Dolf and Holiday as Lather and Rinse, their Soft Rock band, although the resemblance to two of their more prominent heroes is uncanny, and I smell a hoax(!)  Many thanks to all who helped the cause this month.  - ed.

From the Trouser Trout Press:

The Optimus Prime

Discography:

Good Golly, It’s… (Taint)  1988

Songs about Buttcheeks to Learn and Sing (Taint) 1990

Bleepy, Can You Hear Me? (Taint) 1991

They Hate Us Because We Love the Freedom! (Taint/Universal) 1993

as Lather and Rinse

Sometimes Ts and Bs (Drive Me Ns) (Taint) 1988

Little Flower (Taint/Universal) 1993

Good Golly, It’s The Optimus Prime announced the arrival of two rare, raw talents. Dolf (Alexander Adolfo) and Holiday (Kevin Halliday) met while both were finishing long undergraduate careers (8 and 6 years, respectively) at Philadelphia’s Temple University.  Both claimed “to be under the influence of a higher being” and felt they needed more time to “digest the knowledge of their higher learning”. Others attributed these lengthy stays at university to substance abuse and a fascination with seeing how much sleep an individual can possibly squeeze into a day.  


Dolf—a multi-instrumentalist, visual artist and writer—and Holiday, also a writer, plus a long time dabbler in musique concrete—began experimenting with music in the fall of 1984, recording nonsense on a Radio Shack cassette deck with a child’s Casio and an assortment of house fans, oscillators, pedals and toys.  Some of these one-off improvisations were self-released in limited number that year, most notably the Opus One cassette, which found its way into the hands of record store owner/producer Betty “B-Mac” McIntyre.  Unlike the fine wine of the same name, the unfortunate Opus One cassette has not fared well with age and reveals little more than a fascination with potty humor and bad imitations of Latin American immigrants (i.e. "Hello, Is This Working? Hello?”).  Nevertheless, B-Mac, who had launched the careers of artists like The Wilson B. Goode Move Implosion and Los Keebleros Pequenos, commissioned Adolf and Holiday to make a record to commemorate her 35th birthday.  The OP did nothing of the sort.  They took the money and made 1,000 t-shirts, more specifically, tour shirts to mark the second world tour of Jesus of Nazareth.  They then took the profits from the sale of these shirts and recorded what would become Good Golly… adding a cheap computer and a stolen 8-track Porta-studio to their growing arsenal of toys.  It was also during this time that the duo re-launched their doomed Taint Records label. 


In a 1983 interview Dolf claimed that the original Taint was created to promote artists that “taint commercial and taint accessible”.  The new Taint would have a similar mission.  Initial efforts to re-launch the label failed, however.  At the opening party held at the former Love Lounge in Philadelphia, the duo reportedly spent the evening standing in a corner, pointing at women and saying, “How you doin'?” "Wanna make out?” and "Thanks for coming out."  The "Come On Feel My Taint" bumper stickers were a big hit, however, and using the slim profits, OP re-released the Good Golly… record, along with some of Holiday’s solo work as the Ass Piston—most notably the Arse Musica tape that featured early versions of “The Early Bird Gets the Finger (the Middle)” and “Close the Window”, songs that the OP would later rework—and the Sometimes Ts and Bs album attributed to the band’s acoustic, soft rock side project Lather and Rinse. 

Adolf moved on to Baltimore and a failed marriage to Sandy Vasquez, who would later become Mrs. Bill Violent (of Violent Concerto).  Holiday stayed in Philly to pursue an MFA in poetry.  Both worked a series of blue-collar jobs, partly to pay B-Mac back for her birthday record and partly to recover from the financial losses incurred by Taint records and the numerous failed launching parties.  Only Lather and Rinse’s trip-hop remake of Bread’s “If”, appropriately called “If-Hop,” registered with listeners and became a minor club hit (a similar proto-drum n bass remake of the Beatles’ “Tomorrow Never Knows (in a Biblical Sense)” became a hit in German clubs).   Fueled by these minor triumphs, the dark days for the band were short-lived.  A rare live performance on an Austrian cable access show saw the Optimus Prime improvise a new song titled "Schnitzle in Mein Mouf" and the performance rekindled the creative spark between the two.

Falling very short of restoring the relationship with B-Mac (and her fledgling, Universal-backed British Shoes label) OP turned instead to a new patron, Jeremy “J-Love” Schaeffer.  The OP exploited J-Love’s infatuation with Holiday’s roommate and sometimes bed-mate K-Mac, the younger sister of B-Mac (K-Mac was also romantically linked to Tango of The Audacity and Phil Type of Mickey and the Tough Guys).  Love funded the OP’s Songs about Buttcheeks to Learn and Sing but, unlike B-Mac, saw some returns on his investment.  Songs About… received positive press and a bit of local radio play.  WPRB radio in Princeton, NJ hosted the band for a live in-studio performance of “Any Port in a Storm (if the Buttcheeks Are Warm and You’re Planning to Stay All Night)” and “Yo Quiero Taco Belle”  (a tribute to a very special fast food cashier in Dolf’s neighborhood).  DJ and local music devotee Juan Salamone did his best to champion the band.  URB magazine even listed the band as one to watch in its 1990 year-end review, particularly on the weight of the single “Hello, J.O.” produced by pre-United Church of What’s Happening Now’s Turk 182 that prominently featured a loop from Shuggie Otis’s “Strawberry Letter 23.” 


All seemed to be going well for the OP, and J-Love, when the patron decided to throw a party for the band to celebrate the successful year, as well as Dolf’s return to the Philadelphia area.  During the party at Love’s loft in suburban Philadelphia, where recent Taint enlistee Heir Helmut was scheduled to play, Holiday, Dolf and independent filmmaker D. Roegge (who had just completed work on a video for the OP’s “Let us Talk about the Buttcheeks (at Great Length and in Much Detail)”) all overdosed on acid-laced More 120 cigarettes.  The three destroyed the loft and most of their warehoused records, not to mention the already tenuous relationship with J-Love.  Despite causing their own debacle, the OP later blamed Love’s “nipple rings” and “healthy lifestyle” as reasons for the split and subsequent folding of Taint Records.  The caustic duo continued to attack Love through song and action.  The culmination of this was their documented run-in at the TLA in 1991 while catching a performance by the indie rock band Bastro.  According to shocked and confused reporters, Love and his then girlfriend were steadily ignored while trying to speak to Holiday and Dolf.  Later, the duo tried in vain to slip what they called their “members” into the back of said girlfriend’s elastic waistband while screaming “It's got me, for Christ's sake, it’s got me!”  Dolf suffered another of several consecutive overdoses shortly thereafter.

Setbacks and hospitalizations aside, a revived Taint made enough money to finance the lease of a new studio, the Rock, located in Philadelphia’s East Falls neighborhood, and some new instruments, including a Radio Shack/Realistic MG-1.  Bleepy, as the band would call the Moog-like instrument, became a member of the band and was present for all subsequent interviews (even on the phone) and photo shoots.  Bleepy, Can You Hear Me? actually warranted interviews and photos; it is universally regarded as the OP’s finest recording.  Combining the improvisation of Umma Gumma-era Pink Floyd with the studio trickery that predated the glitch of the mid- to late-90’s, Bleepy… deconstructed psychedelic and folk music—and without the use of drugs, it should be noted.  Since Dolf’s recovery, OP had become very vocal supporters of the “Plugs not Drugs” campaign funded in part by the Hair Club for Men.

It was at this time that another potential strife was introduced into the band.  Holiday had informed Dolf that he was romantically involved with an ex-girlfriend of his from their university days.  In some ways, however, this ultimately bought the two men closer together and sparked yet another creative renaissance.   The Been There, Done That EP was never released commercially, but holds a special place in the hearts of collectors.   The artists themselves we're especially fond of the cut "Smell My Finger - No, Smell Mine".   According to published reports, after deciding to split with the lady in question, Holiday would find red ribbons tied outside his Philadelphia home—a mystery that to this day has never been explained.

They Hate Us Because We Love the Freedom, released in late 1993, is an album with two distinct sides.  The rock songs take aim at conservative politicians, with Kraut and prog influences worn proudly.  Interestingly enough, President George W. Bush would later co-op the phrase to defend his position of pre-emptive strikes.   They Hate Us… also uses field recordings and pure noise to explore Holiday’s early fascination with musique concrete.  One piece in that vein, “A Chance to Fart is a Chance to Vent,” was later featured heavily on the crime drama CSI. 

Lather and Rinse released the Little Flower album in 1993 and saw the duo move further towards a softer, gentler sound that coincided with their fascination with the Soft Rock of the 1970’s.  Penned in honor of Holiday's unemployed Latino girlfriend, the title track is a love letter to a special lady.  True to form, however, Dolf later offered Holiday's “muchacha” $500.00 a month and no benefits to watch his soon to be born daughter, thinking it was “better than working at a car wash or cleaning toilets”—and caused yet another rift between the two artists.   After the Little Flower record failed to make a commercial or critical impact, the duo turned its attention for a brief time to championing Soft Rock as an art form, and then faded into obscurity as middle age overcame them both.

See also Lather and Rinse, The Ass Piston, Mack Davis


I have searched in vain thus far for more evidence of the existence of these Lather and Rinse recordings.  How wonderful would it be to find actual Soft Rock music played by Dolf and Holiday!!  Rest assured, I am not deterred from my goals.  If anything, my resolve has been strengthened by this extraordinary find.  I will discover more about these two characters, and I will continue to edit and share their written work with you.

Vol. 12 - Warm and Fuzzy: Herb Fame Seeks (and Finds?) His Lost Love



Reunited??

 

Holiday recorded in diary format many impressions he had from his numerous meetings with those in attendance at the first (only?) Soft Rock summit, held in Baltimore, MD in the summer of 1994 at a place called Paul’s Bar.  Many meetings were with those he considered to be among the genre’s finest.  He was particular fond of Herb Feemster (Fame) of Peaches and Herb, and he spent several pages singing his praises (in what Holiday calls "crouch-wrung falsetto," no doubt).  The feelings must have been mutual, as evidenced by the correspondence below.  Following the Soft Rock summit, in the fall of the same year, Mr. Feemster contacted Holiday with a heartfelt request.  Holiday, of course, first shared the epistle with his colleague Adolf, so below you have both Feemster’s letter and the electronic messages shared by Holiday and Dolf.  We know from history that things ended somewhat tragically, that, after working until at least 1981 as a police officer, Herb, while performing live for many years with many Peaches, settled for a stacked Spaniard by the name of Meritxell Negre and finally allowed another woman to record with him.  Herb now makes a living playing B-list gigs—retiring from the police force and rededicating himself to music in the process, however, which is surely a positive development for our hero(es)! You can read more in a 2009 story from The Washington Post.  A quote from that story speaks volumes:

"My love of all, the woman that's never disappointed me, is music. It gets inside of me and turns me upside down. It relaxes me and does all the things you would do normally if you had a woman. That's my woman. Besides my wife."  (Freedom du Lac, Washington Post, 5/29/09)

Besides my wife, he says, as if an afterthought.  The letter below helps to further illuminate or, perhaps, obscure this last comment.  Perhaps even then, Herb still longed for his Linda and his Francine?  One thing I know for sure: he did find his one true love again. Enjoy! - ed.

11/5

Dolf, my friend:

I know this is not the format to which we've grown accustomed, but I had to get this urgent message from a dear friend to our brotherhood in the event that one of our esteemed colleagues could lend a hand in this most serious love crisis.  Herb Fame [Feemster – ed.], as evidenced by the enclosed epistle, has surely lost his mojo, and his latest Peaches-of-the-month most certainly does not have it in her possession.  No, baby, Herb needs our help in mining the past, in reaching back to fan a flame that obviously still burns bright in his gentle, albeit funky, heart.  Perhaps there is something we can do?

Read on, man.

And Herb’s letter follows:

Washington D.C.
4 November 1994


Linda [Green - ed.], my peach:

You'll never know how much you have touched by life with your silky voice.  Pure sexuality.  I love you, woman.  That ain't no joke.  I love you.  Where you been, girl?  There was a time when I had the blues something fierce: To be so high and then get so low.  So low.  Solo.  You know what I’m saying?  Now I'm getting that feeling again.  Useless.  Museless.   Can you dig it? 

When I was a young buck coming up in DC, I sang for the Lord, my Savior.  Sang high and proud.  There was nothing false in my falsetto, girl.  But when that college boy Freddie [Perren - ed.] came poking his head around the store, I felt touched, like I had me another mission, dig?  Love with an extra ooomph and an extra owwwh.  I was too heavy to be some clerk in a record store.  Baby, remember my name?  Remember?  Remember?  Herb Fame, baby.  Fame!  I was gonna live forever, learn how to fly, all that shit. 



Can you dig it?



 Anyway, I cut a couple records with his people, but not much happened, you dig.  I still felt so low.  Know what I'm saying, girl?  Solo.  Then this shorty named Francine [Hurd Barker - ed.] came around. Look out!  I don't mean to get all Shakespearean on your ass, baby, but what's in a name?  Well, I'll tell you.  The Sweet Things was the name of her little group.  The Sweet Things.  Ain't that the truth, I said. Good God Almighty!! Anyways, that bitch Freddie had us sing a couple tracks together, and it was pure magic.  We made some shit happen, you know what I'm saying?  You've seen my gold records (you know, back when you used to actually speak to me).  But (and now I'm gonna drop some more poetry on you, baby, so hold on)things fell apart, dig?  The center could not hold.  She left me, straight up.  And this rough bitch Herb slouched back to Barry Farm to get his 9-to-5 on with the District of Columbia's finest, the boys in blue, girl. And blue was how I was feeling inside and out. 

Some time later, though, my boy Van [McCoy - ed.] (He still gets the ladies to this day!) he introduced me to this fine piece (Hahaha, it was you, baby girl!).  A model.  Damn!  Look out! I thought.  I’m in some shit now.  You became my new Peaches, my inspiration, my salvation.  We dropped some disco on them, you and I, but then we really showed them.  Platinum single, girl ["Reunited," #1 for four weeks in 1979 - ed.]!!  Take your gold bling, bling up out of here, boys!  My new Peaches and I scored platinum!  And it felt so GODDAMN good!  We made sweet love in the studio, on couches, tables, chairs, even Elton’s piano stool that one time.  Platinum selling duo gets a do-over, dig?  We did a lot of drugs, sure nuff, we loved a lot brothas and sistas, shook our groove things, so to speak.  Talk about brothers uplifting sisters and sisters uplifting brothers, baby.  But somewhere up in that fine body, I know you still feel those moments we had, I know you still remember those days, baby.  I wish I could climb up through this page and give you all my love, but you gotta want me, girl.  You gotta meet me half way.  Duo not solo, dig.  Let's do it!  Let's duet!  You gotta talk to me. Talk to your ever-devoted...

Herb

Adolf replies:
11/6

Kevin:

EGADS!  Dear friend, the story of poor, wretched Herb wracks my inner being with sorrow.  Ghastly dame!  Peaches, I (We!) [Me too! – ed.] implore you to right the wrongs you have so unfairly laid upon fair Herb.  Is there not a man or woman in this world that would not give his or her very fortunes to once again see Herb reunited with his fair Peaches?  Fondly, I remember the days of wine and roses (or better yet, silk robes [Herb - ed.] and beaded head dresses [Peaches - ed.]).  A big strong man, afro picked and poised smartly upon his dome, gazing longingly into the doe-like eyes of his ripest fruit.  



"That's my woman.  Besides my wife"



Oh, Herb, I do remember such happy times!  Francine, the original...the forbidden fruit that poor Herb was to taste once and then forever be denied.  Do you need to break his heart again, Linda?  Surely you must not have forgotten about the good times?  1970 – Cashbox Magazines R&B group of the year, the string of hits in the mid 70's culminating with the ballad to which Herb referred - "Reunited".  Please, find it in your heart, dear woman, to see your future for what it is.  Accept this destiny and find the strength and courage to find the magic once again.  For our dear Herb wasn't meant to enforce the laws of justice; he merely wants to enforce the laws of love...and it'll feel so good for all of us.         

Holiday also entreats:
11/7

I can only hope that this missive might fall under the gaze of la belle dame sans merci.  Peaches, we need you as much as Herb!  Hear our call, Linda!  Are we to survive on Bobby Brown and Whitney Houston?  Talk about black on black crime!  Britney Spears and Justin(e) Timberlake?  The horror!  Love should exist above the street, beyond the flesh.  Love should grow upon the fruited plain that is your beaded crown, not just any beaded crown.  If the chemistry you and Herb had was all in a headdress, in a vast quantity of hair relaxer, then you would have been replaced years ago, and Herb would still be on the charts.  I cry when I now see him in photos with his latest Peaches of the month.  Can an imported white peach taste as sweet?  What you had was real.  Come back, Peaches.  Reunite the forces of adult contemporary love, the yin and yang of funk!  Give us one small victory in this otherwise futile fight!