A Christmas Vinyl Destination: Chipmunk Punk

I don't know where the songs on Chipmunk Punk caught my 9 year old ears, but the record ended up on my Christmas list in 1980.  Somehow, gift-giving channels got crossed and I ended up with two copies, but to rest the heart of the cousin that was feeling bad about that, I told her: "It's always good to have a back up!"

When you had the fumblefingers I did with vinyl, that was the truth, yo.

Now, on Chipmunk Punk there's no God Save the Queen, I Don't Care About You, or Johnny Hit and Run Paulene, this shit's meant for kids after all. Though many cult record enthusiasts through the 40 years since its release have apparently complained about the lack of true punk on its track listing, I rather dug it. It really was my introduction to New Wave and Power Pop, and that's no joke.  Blondie,  The Cars, three from The Knack, and Glass Houses-era Billy Joel were all dropped on me here.  All artists and albums that frequent my personal rotation to this day.

It may have been the pre-empt to my true punk turn seven years later in Wausau, WI.

Besides, it is very difficult for me to visualize Alvin, Simon, and Theodore thrashing about on stage with safety pins grafted to their fur.  Yes, please try to picture Alvin with the A on his shirt adjusted to the "Anarchy" icon, Simon slam dancing with Wendy O Williams, and Theodore attempting to stage dive during a solo for California Uber Alles.  Wait.  There's no solo in that song. 

It also caused a resurgence for the Chipmunks as they bounced back into the public eye like they hadn't been since the late 60's.  I can remember their Saturday Morning cartoon igniting just a year or so after this record went gold.  

 YES.   Chipmunk Punk sold over 500,000 copies, and that's pretty amazing for a novelty record.  One that doesn't include this on it:

 

I still have my copy, and no you can't have it.  A wonderful Christmas gift from 40 years gone by is still resting comfortably in my album stacks.

Aliens: So Whatchoo Want?

 I was watching Signs this morning and I noticed that during the alien invasion that takes place in the second half of the film, a television expert testifies about how during the 70's, UFOs and crop circles were water cooler talk for a long period of time. 

 I know this as truth as my dad's paperback collection verified it to a degree:

I loved the blurry photos contained in these books, with "proof" of flying saucers.  Plate-like objects caught in black and white frozen moments, raising eyebrows of folks from the late 50's to the late 70s.  The Loch Ness squads built numbers across the world, demanding answers.  On television, Leonard Nimoy narrated the creepy-ass In Search Of:, making me realize that not only did Sasquatch and vampires prowl the Earth, UFOs were patrolling the skies, planning who-knows-what?

In the 90's Science Fiction and conspiracy shows (The X-Files, Alien Autopsy) were bee-boppin' and scattin' across screens, screaming the words "Area 51" into our faces as movies like Fire in the Sky, Contact, and Men In Black sold tickets and a few chills in the theatres.  Side note:  It wasn't until I read John Keel's Mothman Prophecies that the "Men In Black" concept really got under my skin. 

It's worth a read, kids.  As good as the underrated Mothman movie is, it really works more as a fictional conceptualization of what happened in Virginia in the late 60's as depicted in the book.  Disappointingly, the movie Men in Black makes them seem like some sort of interstellar protection unit, where the real life encounters were allegedly far more sinister.  But I'm digressing again.

Tom Hanks' character in Apollo 13 is touring some American riff-raff through NASA and throwin' out quips like "Someday a computer may be able to fit in a single room".  Now we're walking around with devices in our pockets that have the circuitry power hundreds of times over the machinery that powered the space missions.  Only now they're tik-tokking and snap-chatting people engaging in stupid behavior, broadcasting sporting events, and storing our music.  Thanks to the fact that these things have top flight cameras on them, interstellar sky occurrences are captured almost constantly, and there aren't enough dudes in suits to send to doorsteps in order to quiet the witnesses.

Now the government is admitting that all that hub-bub over the decades that they shushed and poo-poo'd is not only real, but everywhere.  Take a click and a read:

So where do we go from here?  Now that it's pretty much confirmed, the Gubmint is acting like it ain't no thing, and if it were they wouldn't have time for it.  The conspiracy end is pretty much wiped clean and those interested are free to dig.  

Somehow, it just doesn't feel the same does it?

Movies I Stayed Up Late For: Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978)

Long before Spectrum, the Saturday Night Movie, (or Friday, or Monday, depending on which one of the 3 networks were rolling a flick) was pretty much the sole source of movie consumption for me as a young budding cinephile. I can remember a specific Friday Night, at about the age of 9, when being babysat by my sister Laurie, (who spent most of the shift on the wall phone) watching the 1978 Philip Kaufman version of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. I curled up in a giant multi-shade green afghan my Mom had constructed for protection.  

Fam?  You all know the one.

I watched the whole thing mesmerized.  Once again, the concept of being "taken over" by "the other" was one that really had me creeped out as a kid.  I stayed up pretty late for this one, as with commercial interruption, it was pretty lengthy.

Hoping Donald Sutherland (and his afro), Brooke Adams, Jeff Goldblum, and Veronica Cartwright would have an answer for the "pod people's" replication and replacement of the human race was all I had on my mind that evening.  I knew it was fiction, trust me, but the way my mind worked I still required the positive resolution.  Even in the cinematic arena.

    

To this day when discussing truly upsetting or disturbing faire cinematically, my wife likes to remind me:

"It's not real, Rob."  And I do know this.

But I still can fall prey to the darkest of content, and that's why I research the depths of modern horror films and avoid what I believe will stain my heart and soul to the best of my ability.  I just can't go to some corners of others' imaginations.

Anyway, that happy ending in Invasion? It wasn't there for me.  As evidenced by one of the most shocking and derailing moments of 70's cinema, and cinema in general that I had been subjected to at that point.  

And still have been really.

Donald Sutherland's point and screech, and Ms. Cartwrights defeated and agonized wailing. 

To soften that blow, I used the comedy I've written about in Looking For Laughs.  And the magic of Mad Magazine. 

Thanks, usual gang of idiots!

Santa Project Tidbits: Hardrock, Coco, and Joe

I have a memory, though fleeting, it is clear as day.  Somers, WI and I'm sitting on my mom's lap as she sings me the chorus to the song Hardrock, Coco, & Joe. 

The song comes from a short Christmas film that aired on Chicago TV for decades.  I never forgot it, and I never will.  I can remember giggling when my Mom tried to duplicate the super-deep tone of the part sung by Joe in the chorus. 

 I eventually saw it myself as part of The Bozo the Clown show.   It's a very old part of TV history, particularly in the midwest and I need to add it here.  Enjoy.

Below the video, enjoy a little history of the clip.

Movies I Stayed up Late For: Damnation Alley

 I remember reading an article at one point that in 1977, Fox Studios was going to lean on Damnation Alley, a science fiction film based on a novel by Roger Zelazny, as a tent-pole film.  The article is a good piece of reading, check it out by clicking here:

In my mid-teens, the flick was being broadcast late at night, which is probably where it belonged.  I remember being horrified by the opening 17 minutes which depicts a nuclear war from the point of view of underground missile silo operators and sundry other military personnel.  We get George Peppard, Jan Michael Vincent, Paul Winfield, and a dead-silent Murray Hamilton who was probably thinking Jaws felt a hell of a lot more than two years prior at that point.  Also, after the apocalypse fades, we get to enjoy the company of Jackie Earle Haley, hot off of his role as Chico Bail Bonds' slugging center fielder, Kelly Leak, in the previous year's Bad News Bears.  Long before his brilliant turn as Rorschach in Watchmen.

Anyway, at the age of my viewing, nuclear war was my biggest fear.  You can tell that from my own words here: Fear of the atom

Damnation Alley ended up looking as terrible as it did because, according to that article, Fox kept siphoning budget money to shine up its other 1977 release.  That flick being one you may be familiar with:  Star Wars.   It was ridiculous how antiseptically clean the military facility and its technology looked, just to then be juxtaposed with a filthy desert wasteland after World War III.  I guess we all know where the money went.  

Cut.  Everybody load up for New Mexico!

As I was reading the piece, I kept wondering who in the hell running the studio was thinking that this movie, (and don't get me wrong, if executed properly it could have been better than B movie trash) with its dead-serious and uber-dark opening sequence could have been the centerpiece of a studio's release line-up.  The events opening the film are far scarier than Darth Vader could ever be, (even when executing Order 66 which came years later in a prequel).

It would have sent me running up the damn aisle!!  The End of the World as a plot device for one of a studio's main pieces of profit-searching?  That's some poor judgment.  I wonder if the choice for greenlighting this was made by the same cat that gave the thumbs-up to Star Wars?

Another question, here: Ya gotta wonder who the target audience would have been for this film at full budget.  No one, (at least I hope not) took their kids to see stuff like this in 1977.  Hard to imagine Burger King cups with the cast of Damnation Alley on them.

When I finished watching the film (which got progressively worse) I went to bed that night thinking that it was just another Roger Corman-type dart at the wall; it was that bad.  

I had no idea!

The Santa Project : Fatman

I'm always game for a Christmas movie that's a bit off the beaten path.  And boy did I find it here. 

Now I know a lot of people have their hatred for Mel Gibson.  I'm not going to pretend to know more than what the press has said about his words.  Most of which were said battling alcoholism.  Drunk or not, anti-semitism is stupid and unacceptable. Despite those in his corner, He has apologizing to do. Also, for what it's worth, some teetotalers who've said and done worse, manage to get elected president in this country. 

I'll move on: 

Fatman is a bizarre, but somehow enjoyable Christmas movie where the strangest things happen.  Mel Gibson plays Santa Claus (Chris Cringle, here) and business is bad.  Kids around the world are being assholes, and he's dropping more coal than gifts.  He feels his affect on children around the world is lagging.  That he's failed.

We have a young, rich shithead who literally employs hitmen to do dirty work when he feels wronged.  In this case, the hitman is a wonderful Walton Goggins (Justified, The Unicorn) who also has a history with Santa, so when called into action by this uber-brat for getting coal on Christmas, he's more than eager to take the gig.  Goggins has a serious problem with OCD, as well as letting things go.  The only thing he seems to care about is his hamster.  His sociopathy is almost as bad as the brat who employs him.

As I said earlier, Santa's business is in trouble, so he and the elves take a contract. From the government.  That's right. In order to save Christmas, The Workshop temporarily becomes part of the military-industrial complex.  Now that's hilarious in theory, and in the current modern global zeitgeist, it's fitting.

But yet, the scene where Gibson has to tell the elves of this necessary lowering of themselves is actually pretty powerful.  Mel Gibson plays this role with all the conviction he did Martin Riggs and Max Rockatansky.  Decorated actor Marianne Jean-Baptiste (Jack Ryan) plays his wife, Ruth, and together they actually have some pretty damn strong chemistry.  Ruth is wise, and proves herself the anchor Mrs. Cringle should be. 

The Workshop is adorable, yet rugged enough to fit the film's overall tone.  The elves are mechanical geniuses, dedicated, and in admirable servitude to Christmas and Giving, symbolized by Gibson's Cringle. Santa's impressive lived-in powers come from his generosity.

The film is part comedy, part action, yet neither.  It is such an odd construction that my laughter was mixed with cocked eyebrows quite frequently.  But in a good way. 

I highly recommend Fatman.  Disregard many of the critics, because despite the adult R-rated humor and graphic violence, its heart is in the right place.

The Santa Project: Ziggy's Gift

One winter in the very early 80's was one of the last of the big family get-togethers for Christmas.  Siblings from afar were attending.  Cousins, aunts, and uncles were to make appearances.  However, this was one of the coldest Christmases I can remember, to add some drama.   And this was Wisconsin. 

That Christmas Eve, 1982, reached -31 degrees, with a wind chill pushing 70 below.  The floorboards frosted on the INSIDE of the house.  We feared glass cracking, and the furnace pretty much ran around the clock.  Nonetheless, everyone made it safely, and the house was full of beating hearts overnight for safety's sake.  And I'm not gonna lie, it felt even more like Christmas as we were all snug in some form of our beds.

That year, on December 1st, Ziggy's Gift aired on ABC.   I remember myself as a child trying to hang desperately on to the holiday spirit that I felt was slipping away, due to life's events over the previous several years.  Chuckle all you want, but an exceptionally moving animated television special was actually a bit of a lift.  Especially the program's story, which can be felt by those of all ages.

If you don't believe me, the show won a damn Emmy the following year for Outstanding Animated Program.  Ziggy, Tom Wilson's creation, becomes a street Santa, and a good one, among the crooked without uttering a word.  Even at 11 years old, I remember getting teary-eyed at the end, in spite of myself.

I guess for a year where family and friends gathered whole-heartedly for one of the last times (There were a couple others; I remember a particularly touching holiday in Wausau, circa 1988) this little program was apropos.  Still reaching for elements of life that were enriching after those several years of electrified strife, I found a little Maraschino cherry to top off the sundae of what was a pretty good year for Christmas (It was a year where I really needed it to be a good one) in that Ziggy special. 

It was a good Christmas despite temperatures from some kind of Siberian Hell as well, a good Christmas against all odds.

And who would think that Maraschino cherry would be a one-panel newspaper comic character, and a down-to-earth holiday adventure on prime time television.

The Santa Project : Harry Connick, Jr.

Harry Connick, Jr. has been someone I've long admired.  His career started uber-early as a pre-adolescent piano prodigy (check out his jazz album Eleven, title reflecting his age) out of Louisiana.  Amongst jazz faire he recorded, he also flexed serious prowess as a Sinatra-styled crooner with the same big band kick.

Hollywood was next; he scored films, and he starred in them.  Roles varying from romantic comedies to serial killers proved no serious challenge.  He has game.

Then, to top it all off, he hosted a daytime talk show.

I'm here today however, to discuss what may be the best Christmas album ever recorded.  No, I'm a sucker for Christmas tunes, but I prefer to start off after Thanksgiving with my listening. That is unlike some fools who jump on board with the 1st of November, quietly increasing potential exposure to Mariah Carey.

Harry's first of three Christmas long-players is perfect for Thanksgiving evening.

   

Opening with the big band swing of his killer Sleigh Ride,  this rollicking jazz jam method doesn't have to be the style across the board, however.  Let it Snow,  Frosty the Snowman, O Holy Night, and What Child is This? are classics that are all stylistically different, but excellent examples of what Connick does best.

Half the album are Connick originals including the title track that oozes that heartwarming feel associated with the holidays.  A gospel tune, I Pray on Christmas, just fits in here like a puzzle piece.  Two nifty curveballs are a super version of Ave Maria that is in no way out of his reach, and a potential tradition starter called What Are You Doing New Years' Eve?, perfect for those not ready or willing to stop the holiday musical embracement.

When it comes time to break out the music that accompanies "the most wonderful time of the year", Harry Connick, Jr. is usually the first disc I break out.

And just in time for this year, (and heck, as bad as the last couple years have been, we deserve it), Harry's back with his fourth Christmas record, Make it Merry.

Here's a sample:

The Santa Project : The Christmas Tree (1969)

 

It's well known for whoever reads this thing that not too long after my father passed away from Cancer, I spent a lot of time engaged with late night television at an early age (for better or worse, there are examples all over this thing).  I did this television dance when time allowed, of course.

Despite having only the three networks and a handful of UHF options, there were ways to find time-passage within the tube.

On one particular Christmas break, I still struggled with sleep after Dad passed, and often spent my time with the television late at night.  The TV being in a darkened living room, lit only by the soft glow of the Christmas tree. 

One late night feature being aired was a William Holden film entitled The Christmas Tree.

It was fucking devastating.

Holden's character is a wealthy and busy man raising his son alone in the French countryside due to the death of his wife.  One day on a boating expedition in the Mediterranean, a bomb explodes while Holden is underwater, and his son Pascal is still seated in the boat.  There is nuclear material in that detonation and it's not long before we learn Pascal has radiation poisoning. 

Holden makes a solemn vow to make the boys remaining months the best they can possibly be.  For a reason hidden in my memory, Pascal is able to communicate with docile wolves who live in the home.  

One Christmas eve, as Holden comes home, he exits his vehicle to the howling of those wolves.  He rushes into the house to devastatingly find Pascal motionless under the tree in the act of opening gifts. He's been claimed by his sickness. It's a heart-rending experience for any viewer, especially a 9 year old child who is just off of losing his Dad.  The role reversal had me weeping on the floor in front of my friend, the television.  My dog Ginger nudging me quizzically.  All of this to the sound of howling wolves and a grieving father. 

The message is not lost.  But it sure hurt.  It even burned.

This was the most painful film-watching experience I've had to this day.  I can never see The Christmas Tree again, for self-preservation's sake, but for some reason, I'm glad I did the one time.  

There may have been a catharsis in that, that one isolated movie viewing of a film being aired by a local UHF station during the holiday season.

There was no Jimmy Stewart running through town shouting like a fool, there were no Bing Crosby carols, there was no goose given to Tiny Tim by Ebenezer Scrooge. 

It felt like a message.  Ginger and I walked to bed that night with it delivered in full.

Those Quiet Moments: Comic Book Pacification in Beaver Dam

 

As my Dad's battle with Cancer neared an unfortunate end, a trip was planned to Beaver Dam, WI, where my aunt, uncle and Grandmother lived.  At the time, I thought it was another of the common trips to that town we made to visit those folks.  Some things my Mom did and said, however,  brought the hammer down that this trip was different.  Not exactly the same social gathering. 

I didn't know that Dad was terminally ill at this point.  Before we headed Northwest, my Mom took me to the drug store to stock up on comic books.

I would need to spend some time by myself on this particular go-round.  Reading was a good way to while away some of that weekend.

The trouble was I couldn't find the kind of stuff I normally got at this stop.  No Batman, Daredevil, or other costumed heroes were in the racks.  None of the silly Harvey or Gold Key cartoon comedy that I could often entertain myself with.  My mom was frustrated, so I did what I could and chose what I thought would be the best options.  

The two issues I remember were a copy of Marvel Presents, which was a special monthly used to introduce a character.  This one was gunslinger Caleb Hammer.  The other was a jumbo sized "Dollar Comic" of G.I. Combat .  That's right, war stories for kiddos.  I actually enjoyed the cinematic nature of that book, to be honest.  There may have been one or two more, or a Mad Magazine thrown in there, too.  So I did some heavy newsprint page turning that weekend.

If Mom meant to help me occupy myself and my own time, it worked.  If she meant to distract, the plan failed. 

Family members were wandering in and out of rooms, cheeks wet with tears, emotions on full display in full ugly color, more vivid than the pages of the comics I was reading. 

Something was awful wrong. Something which I had a vague notion of, but I buried it, until this particular day arrived:  January, 1980.

At that age, I didn't know how to empathize easily, how to hold those in pain, especially as confused as I was.  Everyone's behavior was a dance of mysterious grief, so I elected to perform an act of obliviousness to the suffering.  I hate myself for that now, even though my mom's intent was to shield me from that emotional struggle filling my aunt's house that weekend.

Knowledge was being shared, and the best way to avoid being educated as to what it was, was to act like I had no clue what was going on.  Which I really didn't completely.  Not yet.

A 9 year old really does battle with himself in situations like that.  So I read until my eyes were so tired that I had no relief for them, but to sleep.

After all, tomorrow might be different.

The Santa Project : Holiday Soda Variants

It's become almost ridiculous the availability of different soda variants that exist, and it is compounded if you take a gander at the ones you see online that don't even make it to your region.

But I'm a seasonal guy, and I'm down with that methodology.  Being a fanatic for Halloween for example, I've enjoyed how Mountain Dew has released an annual "Voo Dew" flavor for the last 4 years.  It's always a mystery flavor, and if you're a kid at heart like me, you just find shit like that to be fun.  Even if it's not necessarily tasty.  (It usually is).

But PepsiCo breaks my heart every year.  In 2004 and '06 they released a really seasonal-attached variety called Pepsi Holiday Spice.  Its flavor fit its name.  It tasted really good, and I can actually imagine drinking it warm.  The company has been stubborn in its refusal to re-issue it as:

     1.  There is a large annual online outcry among soda geeks for it to be brought back.  Observe.

     2.  They don't seem to have an issue releasing bizarre flavors left and right otherwise.  Ones that don't seem to have functional ties to much of anything at all.

Just like Voo-Dew, I can see Holiday Spice getting a limited release just as November rolls around without causing anybody any trouble.  But the last I've read, they've no plans to bring it back. 

So, you'd think Coca-Cola, the kings of the Santa Claus bottles and cans, may take a shot at something similar? 

Nah.  They're too busy with Coca-Cola Starlight and Dreamworld.  I mean what do those taste like. 

Wait a minute!!  I just spotted Coca-Cola Cinnamon!!!

Head's up, Aisle 9! get the hell outta my way!!!

The Santa Project: Bob & Doug's 12 Days of Christmas

 

I've written a few times on this collection of my memories and ramblings about SCTV.  SCTV, of course, was a comedy series based out of Toronto, centered on a fictional and dysfunctional television channel.  Its cast was composed of members of Second City - Toronto.  The series eventually gained enough juice to be picked up and syndicated for a couple of seasons on American television.  This is where I discovered and fell in love with it.

   

Two of its more popular characters were a pair of Canuck brothers, Bob & Doug McKenzie.  They hosted a show called The Great White North while pounding beers and pretty much acting like fools.  Their popularity eventually spun into a major motion picture, one that was in actuality Steve DeJarnatt's hilarious modern Canadian take on Hamlet, with Bob & Doug as Rosencrantz & Guildenstern.  The film, Strange Brew, wasn't a hit upon its theatrical release.  I discovered it on HBO and was overwhelmed enough by its wacky creativity to add it to my VHS library (a TDK tape I think) for repeat viewings. 

Before Hollywood came calling, the McKenzie Brothers cut an album that included a track that always rang in the holidays for me in my pre-adolescent years.  That song was The 12 days of Christmas.  Of course nothing on their song list was anything anyone outside of these two weirdos would want and that's where 12 Days warmth and hilarity came from. 

 

Before the days of 24 hour radio station Christmas November format changes, and Lifetime year round Christmas movie channels, the holidays picked their spots. In my pre-adolescence, I listened to primarily AOR radio stations.  Southern Wisconsin, represent!  WRKR,  Kenosha's WJZQ,  Milwaukee's 93QFM, and WLPX were my primary stations that I dialed through.  At this time, a Christmas song by these two beer-swilling morons would be a Christmas song playable on even the most hard-rocking stations, including all of these mentioned.  The song pricked up my ears at the beginning of the holiday season. It lit the flame that primed my imagination; that once again the most wonderful time of year was upon us. 

So take off, ya hoser. Eh?

The Santa Project: Little Golden Books

As I've stated before when I think back to my childhood and the holidays, I get a warm, fuzzy feeling.  The scent of candles, Christmas cookies, trees, lights, decorations and the family get-togethers.  Not to mention the holiday specials on TV, and the Kenosha News Santa coloring page contest.  These are my childhood holiday memories. 

I've still got some of those pieces of ephemera left.  Who can forget the Little Golden Books?  (Printed in Racine, Wisconsin no less).  I've had cousins and such who had stacks of these pre school mementos, but I myself had just a handful. 

But only two really mattered.  The only 2 I needed.

"Rudolph" and "Frosty".  The soft blue backgrounds on the covers, the retro designs of both characters and indelibly burned into my memories. The simple stories exceeded the still terrific Rankin-Bass TV specials because I could hold them in my tiny hands and behold the glow.

The meaning, the feel of the holiday season seemed to drip out of the little books and seep into my very being. My Mom and Dad read them to me as I sat cozily in their laps and that's when it originated. The warmth of the season.

And I could carry them with me wherever I went and look at them myself, and recharge that holiday warmth. 

Guess what?  It still kinda works.

 

The Santa Project : Compare and Contrast

 

Which one works best for you?

 

and remember it was originally done by SNL's Horatio Sanz and Jimmy Fallon.