Author: Kim Simpson

An active double-bass sideman in the New York City jazz scene, Ahmed Abdul-Malik also specialized in the oud. The six albums he released under his own name between 1958 and 1964 drifted, often mid-song, from middle eastern meditations to the jazz conventions you’d otherwise expect from that era. The drifts sometimes sounded obligatory, as if to make the exotic sounds more palatable to standard jazz audiences. His East Meets West album on RCA  Victor circulated widest, being his only one shouldered by a major label.  On its “Mahawara (The Fugue),” you can hear him doing an “East never meets West” approach, with no jazz departures. His bass, a violin, qanun (middle eastern dulcimer) and dumbek (hand drum) all stay in the forefront. The music scholar Robin D.G. Kelly, in his Africa Speaks, America Answers (2012), reveals that Abdul-Malik, who claimed Sudanese heritage throughout his lifetime, was actually born Jonathan Tim, Jr., the son of immigrants who had come to New York City from the island of St. Vincent.

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Iron Butterfly encouraged you to expect ultra-heaviness. Their signature track “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” clocked in at 17:05, an honorable tally during the free form radio years. The instrumental hook is sludgy and emblematic enough of the era, though, to immunize even the shortened version on 45 of any potential dishonor, especially when backed on the flipside by the haunted house anthem “Iron Butterfly Theme” (from their debut album titled Heavy). Doug Ingle’s Vox Continental organ asserted itself early on as the band’s key component, although they managed to sound holistically sprightlier than organ-centric contemporaries such as Deep Purple and (especially) Vanilla Fudge. Listen to the cheerful vibe on album opener “Most Anything You Want” for a clearer illustration of this premise. Also listen, at the bridge (around 1:48), to how Ingle teases on Ray Manzarek’s key riff for “Light My Fire.”

Nashville’s William Tyler specializes in sync-ready acoustic guitar instrumentals with full band arrangements, reminding us of how solo guitarists like Leo Kottke also made records that would startle us when the first bass drum got kicked. The neo-Fahey pedigree (Tyler’s first album appeared on the Tompkins Square label) and the album art dare you to even consider considering it library music. The opening track’s central hook is the same one used by the (Bay City) Rollers’ “Elevator,” the title track from an album released the same year Tyler was born. This is likely a coincidence.

“Elevator” (1979) – The Rollers * Written by Eric Faulkner, Duncan Faure, and Stewart Wood * Produced by Peter Ker * LP: Elevator * Label: Arista

The Bay City Rollers reconstruction project started with the Elevator album. It was their first post-Krofft Superstar Hour event and included a number of loud hints that they were interested in ditching the preteen audience. They put a barbituate on the cover. (A downer going up.) They put a moustache on guitarist Eric Faulkner and abolished the words “bay” and “city.” They banished former frontman Les McKeown and included the words “erection” and “shit” on their lyric sheet. But in spite of such try-hard invitations for ongoing ridicule was the secret reality that they had released their finest album, a power-pop pleasure piece. Producer Peter Ker had been in the midst of working with the Motors, and new Roller frontman Duncan Faure, from South Africa, was showing a clear penchant for—and investment in—songcraft that carried on throughout their next two (and final) albums, each of them highly listenable yet awkwardly marketed affairs.

“Yal Bahja Yalbahya” (1974) – Dahmane El Harrachi * LP: 74 * Label: Les Artistes Arabes Associés

An album like Dahmane El Harrachi’s 74 is a godsend in that it verifies, more or less, the year of release. The balmy sea of Middle Eastern music is notoriously undocumented, even in regard to titans like Algeria’s king of chaabi (whose birth name is Amrani Abderrahmane). A greater portion of El Harrachi’s most well-known recorded output, such as the immigration anthem “Yah Rayah,” appears to come from the ’70s, when festival appearances gave him a career resurgence at home after spending several decades in France. The title of this track refers to “joy,” but after listening, you wouldn’t need a dictionary to know that.

“Daddy Loves Baby” (1966) – The Toreros * Written by Don Covay * 45: “Come” / “Daddy Loves Baby” * Label: Decca

The Toreros, from the Netherlands, materialized in the early sixties under the spell of the Shadows’ Iberian motifs and echoing guitars. A 1966 single found them at a longhaired crossroads. Hollies or Stones? Side A proposed the former, while side B argued for the latter. That B side, “Daddy Loves Baby,” stands as the band’s best record, turning Don Covay’s suave, soft-shoe original into prime garage band stomp fodder. When you add Frank Sinatra’s 1957 “Baby Won’t You Please Come Home” to the timeline, a song that ends with Sinatra’s own “Daddy loves baby” statement, the Toreros find themselves at the two-levels-of-deevolution mark. To their credit.

Hurriganes were the rockabilly figureheads of Finland, that permanently ’50s-crazed nation, but they’re also linguistically fascinating in that they shone the spotlight on — and celebrated — their shaky grasp of English. During the tankeros ’70s, such a quirk had marketing magic. Their band name spelling replaced what Finns heard as a weak K sound in the English word “hurricanes” with a G, and drummer/vocalist Remu Aaltonen barked confidently on every song, using any word combo, regardless of sequitur status, that raced through his mind. The song “Kenny on the Corner” from their 1976 Hot Wheels album is a worthy example, among many.

“Ode to Billie Joe” (1967) – King Curtis and King Pins * Written by Bobbie Gentry * Produced by Tom Cogbill and Tom Dowd * 45: “Ode to Billie Joe” / “In the Pocket” * Label: Atco * Charts: Billboard Hot 100 #28; R&B #6

Bobbie Gentry’s breakthrough single, in the summer of ’67, made for one of those pop music moments where every ear seemed bent toward a specific song. Gentry sang gently about an apparent suicide and some undisclosed item being thrown over the Tallahatchie Bridge. She gave more info about events surrounding the telling of the tale (multiple servings of apple pie and biscuits) than she did about the tale itself. More notably, the music churned irresolutely–a lone nylon string guitar went back and forth between 9th and 7th chords while four violins and two cellos swirled into the ether and then back around.

The record made an impression on country music, proposing a Gothic approach that, on one hand, went against its audience’s culture of certainty, but on the other, paid tribute to the abiding darkness in Appalachian folk song. Soon Dolly Parton was singing about jumping from “The Bridge” with an unwanted child and Charlie Rich was reporting on the mysterious events of “July 12, 1939,” and all of Tanya Tucker’s first singles bumped Gentry on the shoulder while reaching for William Faulkner.

The best responses came from (runner up) Bob Dylan, whose “Clothesine Saga” on the Basement Tapes is his funniest song, carrying on about laundry en route to the primary revelation that the “Vice President’s gone mad,” and (winner) sax legend King Curtis, who rounded up all the spookiness, scrapped the lyrics altogether, and left us with an even more enticing mystery.