"Sour Milk Sea" is a song written by George Harrison in early 1968 during the Beatles' stay in Rishikesh, India. It was given to Jackie Lomax to record and released as the latter's debut single on the then-new Apple Records label, in August 1968. "Sour Milk Sea" was among Apple's first batch of releases, another of which was the Beatles' "Hey Jude" single. The recording of "Sour Milk Sea" is notable for being the first of many extracurricular musical projects produced by Harrison, and a rarity among non-Beatles songs in that it features three members of the band. Along with Harrison, Ringo Starr and Paul McCartney, the backing musicians on the track were Eric Clapton and session pianist Nicky Hopkins.
In one of its first seasons in syndication, the Lawrence Welk Show had one of its most surreal music performances.
Mike Brewer and Tom Shipley were a musical duo known as Brewer and Shipley. The men were folk singers known for their intricate guitar work.
Their biggest hit was a song called “One Toke Over the Line” in 1971.
The song’s title (and chorus) is a pretty explicit reference to drugs, as it is referring to taking a “toke” from a marijuana joint.
However, it is not like the whole song talks about drugs constantly – the line “one toke over the line” is the only time drugs are mentioned, so if you did not know that “toke” was a drug reference, which is very reasonable at the time for a certain segment of the population, then the rest of the song seems normal enough.
Here’s a sample verse…quote:
One toke over the line, sweet Jesus, one toke over the line
Sittin’ downtown in a railway station, one toke over the line
Waitin’ for the train that goes home, sweet Mary
Hoping that the train is on time
Sittin’ downtown in a railway station, one toke over the line
If you miss the “toke” reference, then the song just sounds like a normal pop song.
And that was what the producers of the Lawrence Welk Show were thinking when they had one of the recurring musical acts on the group, Gail and Dale, perform the tune on the show (referring to it as a modern day spiritual).
Reasonable mistake or not (or heck, perhaps a surreptitious joke by a Lawrence Welk staffer), it sure made for an utterly bizarre moment in Lawrence Welk Show history.
NAZARETH, Pa. — For guitar aficionados, a visit to the C. F. Martin & Company factory is akin to a religious experience. They talk in reverential tones about the handcrafted instruments that have been coming off the production floor here for more than 150 years, even referring to certain models in online discussion forums as “the Holy Grail” of the acoustic guitar.
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A new book due out on Tuesday, to be followed by a yearlong exhibition of Martin guitars at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, will surely add to that aura. The book, “Inventing the American Guitar,” argues that Christian Friedrich Martin, who founded the company in 1833, was not only a sublime craftsman and canny entrepreneur, but also a design and technology innovator of the first order, responsible for many features accepted today as standard on stringed instruments.
Up to now, collectors and researchers have tended to regard the period between World Wars I and II as the company’s golden era of innovation, not its first decades. Chris Martin, a great-great-great-grandson of the founder and the company’s chairman and chief executive, said in an interview here that the new book “has forced me to rethink our own history, and made me want to know more about those earliest years.”
The most important of those new influences, “Inventing the American Guitar” demonstrates, was Spanish. Most notably, Martin abandoned the Austro-German system of lateral bracing to reinforce and support the guitar soundboard in favor of Spanish-style fan bracing, which he then adapted into the X-bracing style that is the hallmark of Martin and other modern guitars.
“The most fundamental features, things that we take for granted in Martins, he wasn’t doing before he discovered Spanish guitars,” said Mr. Szego, an architect and collector. Adopting those techniques made Martin’s guitars “bigger, louder and more resonant than before that time,” in keeping with what an emerging American market wanted.
You could call it the magical mystery chord. The opening clang of the Beatles’ 1964 hit, “A Hard Day’s Night,” is one of the most famous and distinctive sounds in rock and roll history, and yet for a long time no one could quite figure out what it was.
In this fascinating clip from the CBC radio show, Randy’s Vinyl Tap, the legendary Guess Who and Bachman-Turner Overdrive guitarist Randy Bachman unravels the mystery. The segment is from a special live performance, “Guitarology 101,” taped in front of an audience at the Glenn Gould Studio in Toronto back in January, 2010. As journalist Matthew McAndrew wrote, “the two-and-a-half hour event was as much an educational experience as it was a rock’n'roll concert.”
One highlight of the show was Bachman’s telling of his visit the previous year with Giles Martin, son of Beatles’ producer George Martin, at Abbey Road Studios. The younger Martin, who is now the official custodian of all the Beatles’ recordings, told Bachman he could listen to anything he wanted from the massive archive–anything at all.
Bachman chose to hear each track from the opening of “A Hard Day’s Night.” As it turns out, the sound is actually a combination of chords played simultaneously by George Harrison and John Lennon, along with a bass note by Paul McCartney. Bachman breaks it all down in an entertaining way in the audio clip above.
There's a certain Je ne sais quoi about a guy holding a guitar.
Or so says a new study from France, which suggests that a man is perceived as more attractive to women if there’s a guitar in his hands. The study's results are similar to the findings of a 2012 study from Israel.
The French study, which was conducted by researchers at the Universite de Bretagne-Sud (University of South Brittany) and published in Psychology of Music, was centered around a 20-year-old man “previously evaluated as having a high level of physical attractiveness.”
One day, this fellow approached 300 women ranging in age from 18 to about 22. He said hello and added, “I think you’re really pretty” (which sounds very nice in French) and asked for their phone numbers. During a third of the encounters, he was carrying a guitar case. For another third, he was holding a sports bag. For the last third, he wasn't holding anything.
When he was carrying the guitar case, 31 percent of the ladies gave him their phone number. Only 14 percent gave him their number when he was empty-handed, and that figure dropped to an unhealthy 9 percent when he was holding the sports bag.
On to the music of today. The shitty, shitty music of today. The teenage-girl garbage fest that passes itself off as music that has infected our culture. This shite is insidious. It has spread quicker and farther than AIDS in Africa. There’s no escaping it. Traditional bastions of male-dom are being invaded by this teen chick music. I was in the chair at the aforementioned Mexican barbershop and they were pumping Miley Cyrus. Worse, I was at a sports bar in the San Antonio airport at nine A.M. trying to enjoy a preflight Bloody Mary and Lady Gaga was blasting from the speakers. Because there’s nothing guys who frequent sports bars in Texas during prime hangover hours enjoy more than the music of Lady Gaga. My travel companion, Mike August, asked the bartender to turn it down. The bartender replied that he wasn’t allowed to.
my buddy Daniel was in town and we made plans to go out after the show to a high-end steak joint in Manhattan called STK.
Before we even sat down, I was annoyed. The jams were being pumped. I looked over and saw a live DJ on a riser at one end of the place. When the waitress came over to take our order, she had to shout the specials at us like you do at your deaf grandmother when you visit her in the home. “IT’S NOT A TRADITIONAL CRAB CAKE . . . NO, CRAB CAKE . . .” I shite you not, the techno was so loud I had to act like a UN interpreter between the waitress and the guy sitting next to me. “SHE SAID THAT ONLY COMES WITH TWO SHRIMP, SO WE SHOULD PROBABLY DO THREE ORDERS!” We all got a nice side order of tinnitus with our asparagus.
And they were not just any jams. No, this DJ was doing it mash-up style. So not only were we treated to Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe,” but it was mashed up with the bass from “Roxanne.” And to add insult to injury there was ten seconds of relief when they played the intro to Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York.” I thought, “Oh, thank God. Finally, a little Sinatra in a New York steak house, the world is right again.” And then came the Alicia Keys.
And that’s the point. How about some Sinatra or jazz? Would people light the place on fire and throw chairs through the windows if you played a little Dave Brubeck? Is this a steak house or a fashion show? I came here for a porterhouse and some mashed potatoes, not a rave.
Of course I had to talk to the waitress about this. I asked, “Do people like the music so loud they can’t hear the specials?” She gave me two very unsatisfying answers. First she said, “I know. Everyone complains about it.” Then why don’t you do something about it? Is there a city ordinance that the music must be louder than a jet engine? The second part of her answer was worse. When I asked why the DJ cut Sinatra, she said the owners wanted it that way to make the place more friendly toward women. I thought, “Women or eleven-year-old girls?” Because that’s who this “music” is appealing to.
I was at an event at the Tribeca Film Festival and the white DJ, who I’ve lovingly dubbed DJ CrackerJew, was pumping up the jams as if the room was full of thirteen-year-old girls with learning and hearing disabilities. I went up and asked him politely to turn it down and he said no. I asked, “Do you see anyone dancing?” He replied that he didn’t. So I asked again if he could turn it down and he said no again. Then I snapped, “No one likes your shitty music.” He said, “I do,” and turned it up. I wanted to find this guy’s parents and kick the shite out of them. Just never stop kicking them until my shoes were covered in teeth and blood. Can we get black people DJing again? White guys have too much to prove.
Seriously. Remember when party DJs were lovable black guys in Run-D.M.C. sweatsuits whose shoes were untied? (Unclear if they were trying to cultivate a look or if it was the morbid obesity that prevented them from doing so.) They played some Temptations, they played some Marvin Gaye, they dutifully honored the “Walking on Sunshine” request, and then went the frick home. Now they’re spindly, obnoxious white guys in front of a Mac laptop with their hats on crooked looking like a cheap Chinese bootleg of a Beastie Boy. This guy doesn’t seem to notice he’s in a room full of people whose average age is fifty-one and average skin color is Meryl Streep. This is just jacking off, they don’t care what their audience wants to hear, as long as they look and feel cool doing it and get to take a coke break once in a while.