I’ve cashed in my 401K’s, divorced my wife, abandoned the little league and left my kids for a hermitage in the Idaho panhandle. I’ve furnished it with a cot from an abandoned Benedictine monastery, a table from Goodwill, a single light bulb stolen from a gas station restroom and an wireless card from T-Mobile.
It’s still very cold here in Northern Idaho. I’m burning antique copies of Creem magazine for heat, eating peanut butter sandwiches and granola bars for sustenance. When spring comes, I’ll forage for edible plants and acorns left behind by the squirrels. I’m dressed like Cass Elliot, wearing a haircut like Devendra Banhart.
I’m on a mission. Before I die, I’ll catalog the entire 35,000 songs recorded by Hal Blaine. I drink gallons of green tea, sprinkle No-Doz on my sandwiches and write 17 hours a day. I’ll have no conjugal visits. I’ll be 62 years old when I finish this project; it’ll all be worth it.
In California, ’round about 1966, everyone was happy. The sun shone bright as a model’s smile. The landscape was dotted cozy new homes, with barbecues and lawn gnomes. The air smelled of jasmine and orange blossoms and new car interiors.
In California, ’round about 1966, Hal Blaine was happy, too. In his late 30’s, he was the superstar’s superstar. Brian Wilson’s first call drummer; John Phillips first call drummer; the back beat for everyone from Sinatra to Simon and Garfunkel. Hits rolled from his kit like paradiddles from a drum corps practice room.
He pounded out quarter notes for The Mama’s and The Papa’s as they Saw Her Again Last Night, the progeny of a Nelson Riddle soundstage and Phil Spector recording studio. He created the lilting march of Monday, Monday and built the four-on-the-floor swing of the ultimate West Coast sunshine song, California Dreamin’. The DOT built the highways, GM built the cars but The Wrecking Crew built the soundtrack.
Out with the brushes, all swish and sizzle, a world-renowned hit immediately. Funny. Sinatra called Strangers In The Night “the worst song I ever fucking heard”.
When it came to swish and sizzle, though, no one could come close to Nancy. The original sex pistol in plastic Boots, a fashion idol straight from Sugar Town. Her boots were made for walking; Hal’s sticks were made for playing.
But what those beautiful Beach Boys? Not the ones who were riding their sports cars and dating the Nancy Sinatra look-a-likes. The real Beach Boys, the ones who were creating California!
Well, some of the were dating the beach bunnies, which is why Blaine was called to the fore by Brian Wilson. We’ll presume he didn’t play the ashtrays on Barbara Ann but, otherwise, he owned Sloop John B and, arguably, the most beautiful pop song of all time, Good Vibrations.
There’s more, of course, but why tarry with words? The music defines itself.
The Association - Along Comes Mary
Bobby Darin - If I Were A Carpenter
Bob Lind - Elusive Butterfly
Simon and Garfunkel - Homeward Bound
Johnny Rivers - Poor Side of Town
Simon and Garfunkel - I Am A Rock
Beach Boys - Wouldn’t It Be Nice
Inspired by IB at Art Decade
From their near legendary If You Can Believe Your Eyes and Ears — the one that showed the ultra-sexy, bathtub bound Michelle Phillips draped across her band mates — this tune is a pretty refreshing bit of pop music yumminess. Thanks to every adult contemporary station from here to Tupelo and back, we’ve heard Monday, Monday and California Dreamin’ a hundred too many times. This one, the flipside to the later, has that swirling, “we’re gonna be on Laugh-In” groove that I’m surprised hasn’t been covered by at least one band since 1964. I think this is the song Ben and Jerry were listening to when they invented Wavy Gravy.
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