La Vie En Robe

Friday 'Fro 29: Let A Man Come In And Grease You Up Like a Pork Chop

I know, I already gave James Brown's Afro its due a few months back. But as someone who remains utterly fascinated by the many facets of the Godfather, both brilliant and reprehensible, I thought I'd use this Friday 'Fro to not only show another fine shot of Soul Brother No. 1 in his short-lived Afro-wearing period, but also to call your attention to this rather troubling article about the fight over Mr. Brown's estate, which also reveals some interesting details about his, shall we say, sexual peccadilos. "He liked you all greased up  [with Vaseline]," remembers one girlfriend. "Like a pork chop." Mmm-mmm good.

Still, I will say that, while I will never sell as many records or influence as many people as James Brown, I'm somehow comforted by the fact that I learned what "doggy style" was decades before he did...

Friday 'Fro 28: Fancy

Had the distinct pleasure this week of interviewing Jesse Chaton, lead singer of French electro-glam combo Fancy. Not only was the cat funnier and more articulate in his second (or third) language than most American-born artists I've spoken to, but I got to observe his absolutely killer afro up close. "I am part African and Moroccan," he told me, "so I don't have to do anything special to get my hair this way. I just let it grow!"

Now, I'm all for flagrant 'fro display, under any circumstances; but as a rule, I don't feature folks in the Friday 'Fro unless they've made some kind of significant contribution to the worlds of music, sports, politics or pop culture. So despite his fantastic mane, I wouldn't be mentioning Monsieur Chaton here if he and his equally androgynous bandmates hadn't recently come out with Kings of the Worlds, one of the most addictive records I've heard in ages.

The album, which is already out in Europe (but has yet to find a US label or distributor) sounds like a giddy cross between 70s post-glam casualties The Quick and Nick Gilder, and contemporary French electro artists like Daft Punk and Justice. (Chaton actually co-wrote the latter's "D.A.N.C.E."). Kings of the Worlds is uplifting, funny and sleazy in just the right amounts, and it puts me in a fine mood every time I spin it — even during a brutal commute on the L.A. freeways. (It also lends a distinctly cartoonish tinge to everything that happens to be going on outside my windshield.) If Fancy makes it big, it just might restore my faith in humanity. Here's the video for their song, "Seventeen":

Have a great weekend, mon petits choux...

Friday 'Fro 26: Phil Lynott

Here we are at the official advent of Spring, which — combined with all the Thin Lizzy love I've been sharing this week, and Bob's earlier salient comment about the brilliance of Phil Lynott's 'fro — makes me think it's about time to give Mr. Lynott his tonsorial due.

Not only did Phil Lynott front the baddest band to ever come out of Ireland, but he surely sported the Emerald Isle's most bad-ass afro. The son of a black American sailor and a white Irish lass, Phil came by his curls naturally. Sometimes his 'fro was wild and nappy, sometimes it was as perfectly smooth and rounded as a microphone windscreen — either way, it looked absolutely killer on him.

The Spring thing comes into play because, for nearly twenty years now, I've had a personal tradition of playing the first Thin Lizzy album on the first day of Spring. Released in 1971, Thin Lizzy doesn't bear much sonic resemblance to later Lizzy classics like Jailbreak or Bad Reputation, but it's a really wonderful record in its own right. Pretty much splitting the difference between Van Morrison's Astral Weeks and Jimi Hendrix's Cry of Love — the obvious musical touchstones for a groovy black rocker with poetic tendencies who came of age in late-Sixties Ireland — Thin Lizzy is raw and rough in parts, but also incredibly tender, soulful and wise.

I was introduced to the album in 1990 by my dear friend and all-time soul brother Jason, on one of those early spring days in Chicago where the sun had come out for the first time in months, and the icicles outside the window were just starting to melt. Consequently, I've never been able to hear the opening acoustic strums and mellotrons of "Honesty Is No Excuse" without picturing melting ice glowing in the sunshine, and without feeling my heart melting right along with it. 

Now that I'm living in the semi-perpetual sunshine of Los Angeles, the coming of spring is neither as dramatic as it was in Chi-town, nor do I await it with the same utter desperation that I once did. (I also no longer sport the large silver hoop earrings I used to wear in loving emulation of Phil, which almost caused my lobes to come clean off from frostbite during a couple of bitter Chicago winters.) But "Honesty Is No Excuse" still sounds as great to me in the here and now as it did back then.

Honesty_is_no_excuse.mp3

R.I.P., Phil. Goddamn, you were good.

Friday 'Fro 25: Buddy Miles, R.I.P.

Legendary drummer Buddy Miles sadly passed away this week at the tender age of 60. The man experienced some serious ups and downs in his life, and his career literally veered from the sublime to the ridiculous — he played drums for Jimi Hendrix during the latter's short-lived but incredible Band of Gypsys period, but he also contributed lead vocals to the risible California Raisins "Heard It Through The Grapevine" ad, as well as their two subsequent LPs. I admit that I'm not the hugest fan of either the Electric Flag or the Buddy Miles Express, but there are a lot of folks out there who rate their records (and Buddy's multi-instrumental contributions to them) rather highly. And, of course, he was known in his day to sport a pretty hefty 'fro.

I only saw Buddy play live once, when he jumped onstage for a few numbers at a mid-90s P-Funk gig. He just played the cowbell that night, but he sure beat the living shit out of that cowbell. And he radiated a totally positive vibe, like a walking testimonial to the words of one of the Band of Gypsys songs he played on: "With the Power of Soul/Anything is possible."

power_of_soul.mp3

R.I.P., brother Buddy. Hope you and Jimi are having a wicked jam in the next world.

Friday 'Fro, Vol. 24: Jim Kelly

There's no question that Bruce Lee was the greatest martial arts film hero of the 1970s. But for sheer bad-ass, Afro-sporting chop-sockitude, give me Jim Kelly, Lee's Enter the Dragon co-star, who also starred in such immortal blaxploitation flicks as Three The Hard Way, The Tattoo Connection and, of course, Black Belt Jones. Here's a clip of Kelly in action from Enter the Dragon:

Kelly was no great shakes as an actor, but he had undeniable presence and cheekbones — and an Afro that simply refused to wilt, even under the most trying of hand-to-hand circumstances. Watching him rear back to throw a kick, it almost seemed like his 'do served as a gravity-defying bobber that kept him gyroscopically balanced — a secret weapon that "Mr. Han Man" surely would have respected.

Friday 'Fro, Vol. 23: Neil Diamond?!?

I've been too consumed with work and the move to realize that I missed Neil Diamond's birthday, which was yesterday. (Thanks for the reminder, Aunt Toni!) I was stumped at first on how I'd give the man a celebratory shout-out this morning without pre-empting the Friday 'Fro — and then I remembered the cringe-tastic scene in The Jazz Singer, where he actually dons blackface AND an afro wig in order to "pass" as black for a gig at a downtown nightclub. Unfortunately, try as I might, I could not find that clip anywhere on Youtube; and though I scoured several search engines at length for a photo, the best I could do was this tiny screen-grab:

Ah well, you get the gist. Let's just listen to Neil's "Pot Smoker's Song" instead, and wish him a happy belated birthday while enjoying the moving testimonials of people who used to shoot acid into their spines. (And if you haven't heard this particular entry in the extensive Diamond song catalog, you are in for quite a treat...)

The_Pot_Smokers_Song.mp3

(Now also seems like an appropriate time to re-run the my round-up of ten essential Neil Diamond choons, which I penned for Rolling Stone.com a few years back.)

Friday 'Fro, Vol. 22: Rasputin's Stash

This is the 1971 debut LP by obscure Chicago funkateers Rasputin's Stash. It currently changes hands on eBay for mucho dinero, ostensibly for the good-to-great Blaxploitation-era grooves within; but when I scored my copy for a few measly bucks back in the early 90s, it was strictly for the jaw-dropping cover juxtaposition of my favorite mad Russian monk and some prodigious 'fro action. Seriously, WTF?!?!

It wasn't until several years later that I actually got around to playing the album. And while it didn't quite live up to the cover (what could?), I was pleased to discover that it contained a number of funky gems, including "Mr. Cool," which was recently anthologized on Rhino's swell What It Is! Funky Soul and Rare Grooves (1967-1977) box set. From the dope-smoking intro, to the nasty fuzz guitar, to the specious claims about getting it on "with the President's old lady" (Pat Nixon could not be reached for comment), "Mr. Cool" packs some serious circa-''71 ghetto 'tude. You can really hear the hair!

Mr. Cool.mp3

Friday 'Fro, Vol. 21: Will It Go 'Round In Circles?

Last night, on our way back from hauling stuff out to Palm Springs, Carole and I were listening to the Who and debating the relative merits of Nicky Hopkins and Billy Preston. For the uninitiated, Hopkins was the session keyboardist whose madly tinkling sounds can be heard (and immediately identified) on such classic British Invasion blasts as the Kinks' "She's Got Everything," the Creation's "Biff Bang Pow," the Rolling Stones' "We Love You" and a hefty portion of the Who's My Generation LP. He was so ubiquitous on the London recording scene that Ray Davies wrote "Session Man" on Face to Face about him — which Hopkins then duly graced with a crazed harpsichord intro.

Preston, on the other hand, was a funky and soulful keyboardist from the Ray Charles school, who had several hits of his own during the 1970s — including "Will It Go 'Round In Circles" and "Outta-Space" — and also laid claim to being one of the many "Fifth Beatles" thanks to his involvement in the Get Back sessions. (His electric piano part on "Don't Let Me Down" is easily my all-time favorite musical contribution to a Beatles song by a non-Beatle. And yes, I'm well aware that Eric Clapton played lead guitar on "While My Guitar Gently Weeps." Fuck Eric Clapton.)

More importantly (at least in the context of this weekly feature), Billy Preston had big, big hair:

Man, when your 'do is sizeable enough for an art department to emblazon your entire name across it, you must be doin' something right. Oh, and just in case you think that's merely the work of some overactive Photoshopper, check out this photo of Billy and two other guys displaying three of the more popular 70s hairstyles:

Friday 'Fro, Vol. 20: Guest Edition

I thought I would be too wrapped up in work, moving and house maintenance stuff this week to bring you a new Friday 'Fro, but thankfully my pal Ante Wendel has stepped into the breach with an excellent nomination of his own...

"I think I mentioned to you one of my all time favorite 'fro's : Marsha Hunt," sez Ante. "After all, she was in Hair and did a killer version of 'Walk On Gilded Splinters (unfortunately some clown took the great psychedelic version from Musikladen off YouTube) AND had flings with both Marc Bolan and that guy from the Stones."

Right you are, Mr. Guest 'Fro Commentator! The mind positively reels at the thought of the sheer curl power that Ms. Hunt and the Warlock of Love must have generated together. But even flying solo, Marsha's 'fro was a force to be reckoned with:

And while that "Walk On Gilded Splinters" clip is indeed missing from YouTube, here's some pretty cool interview/performance footage of her from the 1969 Bilzen Festival in Germany.

Friday 'Fro, Vol. 19

This week's Friday 'Fro comes courtesy of Bob Mackay, dear friend and former Voodoo Sex Party bandmate, who reminds me that the first season of The Mod Squad has just come out on DVD. Even as a wee lad, I thought this show (about three troubled teens who work as undercover agents for The Man) was pretty jive — in retrospect, it was kinda like a 21 Jump Street for late-Sixties moppets — but there was nothing jive about the mighty mushroom cap 'fro sported by Linc, the character played by Clarence Williams III. (Williams, of course, would  make his pop-culture comeback in the mid-Eighties as Prince's wife-beating Daddy in Purple Rain.) As Bob points out, Linc's 'do truly constituted a "righteous hair stance"; we here at The Robe have no choice but to raise our right fists and say, "Solid!"