Happy Lupercalia

Once, long ago, two days after the Ides, on February 15, there took place in Rome a mysterious ritual called the Lupercalia, one of the many festival days named on the pre-Julian calendar. According to the ancient Roman scholar M. Terentius Varro, considered a reliable source on Roman religion, the Lupercalia consisted of a sacrifice made at the Lupercal (the cave where legend has it the she-wolf suckled Romulus and Remus) by the Luperci. Varro refers to a goddess named Luperca, whom he associates with the aforementioned she-wolf of Roman legend, and hence with the founding of Rome. But Ovid and Plutarch, in contrast, refer to a she-goat, suggesting for some scholars of ancient religions that no single god or goddess was necessarily associated with the festival. The ritual associated with Lupercalia is generally considered to have been a purification and fertility rite involving the sacrifice of goats and a dog. Once the sacrificed goats were dis-membered, the Luperci ran amok, lashing the participants with strips of flesh. Apparently wives were especially eager to be lashed by the Luperci with these bloody pieces of flesh, believing it promoted fertility and facilitated childbirth. (The goat-like satyr -- a later Roman conflation with Faunus, analogous to the Greek god Pan -- was to become a conventional symbol of carnal appetite.) The Lupercalia also consisted of great revelry and drinking, allowing one to infer that the birth rate in Rome significantly rose about nine months after the end of the festival, around the month of November.

No wonder, then, that the Lupercalia survived the onset of Christianity, which required a different form and a different deity, the Roman martyr (as legend has it) Saint Valentinus. (The love for which he died, however, was of a higher form, not that of Eros.) The ancient form of expenditure, ritual sacrifice, is now, of course, replaced by a different kind of expenditure, a financial one, involving the purchase of expensive diamonds and jewels, the value of which is so dear because the financial loss is so tremendous.

Mellow Yellow

In yet another development regarding the ongoing search for John Lennon's white 1965 Rolls Royce Phantom V (see the previous and related posts), Steve Barratt in the UK, having read my post which started it all, The Ballad of John and Yoko's Rolls, kindly sent me a message in connection to the past history of EUC 100C. He correctly surmised that I would be quite interested in the following picture taken in 1971 featuring EUC 100C parked next to the automobile which he now owns (center), the Mercedes-Benz 6.3 once owned by Sixties pop star Donovan. Information on JMO 9K, and the fascinating story of its restoration, is available on Steve Barratt's website.

Image taken 1971 at Arbourfield Cross, Wokingham, England

Mr. Barratt's extensively restored Mercedes is classed as one of the best right hand drive models around, and was once on display at Mercedes-Benz World in England. I have not been able to verify the assertion, but Mr. Barratt believes the driver of EUC 100C at the time of the above snap was the famous rock 'n' roll bodyguard Alf Weaver. Eric Roberts, who has been conducting extensive research on the current disposition of EUC 100C, keenly observed about the state of the white Rolls in the above picture: "The twin inlets beneath the headlights are there, but the trophy "badges" usually mounted in front of the radiator are missing. Which is odd. (These "best of show" trophies must have come with the car - they are attached to PPB 1 in Georgy Girl.)" For images of the car as it appeared in Georgy Girl (1966), see the video attached to the previous blog post below.

Like many of us, Mr. Barratt wants to find out the current whereabouts of EUC 100C, but he has a slightly different motivation: he would love to arrange to have a photo of JMO 9K taken next to EUC 100C again, thus reuniting the two famous vehicles after forty years. Mr. Barratt says, "Hopefully the current owner [of EUC 100C] should take me seriously when I find him and ask him about having a picture taken after forty years."

I for one would love to see it happen.

Postscript: Interestingly, the car worth the most money in the picture in today's market is the car at the far right, a Shelby. Apparently it is now worth a fortune, but was not so in 1971.

Special thanks to Steve Barratt for permission to reproduce the above photograph.

Ballad of EUC 100C

Frequent guest blogger Eric Roberts has assembled a short informational clip featuring images of the 1965 Rolls Royce Phantom V once owned by John Lennon, license plate EUC 100C, the whereabouts of which remain an ongoing search. The video, available below, consists of extracts from four archival sources:

1. Georgy Girl, 1966

2. ITN NEWSREEL, December 1985

3. DUTCH TV NEWSREEL, Amsterdam Bed-In for Peace, 1969

4. BALLAD OF JOHN & YOKO Music Clip, 1969

This video is presented for informational purposes only. Copyright is retained by the respective owners of the material.

During the first months of 1966 in London, a hire company in Chelsea supplied the latest model Rolls Royce for the film Georgy Girl (filmed approximately January – March 1966, released the summer of 1966) starring Lynn Redgrave, James Mason, Alan Bates, and Charlotte Rampling. Shot in black and white, it is impossible to tell the color of the Phantom V, which plays a prominent supporting role in the film. Later the same year, around the time he met Yoko Ono, Lennon purchased this particular 1965 Phantom V from the hire firm. He ordered it to be re-sprayed and reupholstered in pristine white, and at the same time, an 8-track stereo, mobile phone system and polarized windows were installed.

Please note: The number plate of the Phantom V in Georgy Girl is PPB1. Rob Geelen left the confirmation of this on the International Movie Car Database forum: "1965 Rolls Royce Phantom V Limousine By H. J. Mulliner, Park Ward design 2003 5VD63, delivered May 65 to to Patrick Barthropp Ltd., registered PPB1, and used in the movie Georgy Girl (UK, 1966), and subsequently by the Beatles. So not ordered new by Lennon."

When in 1971 John and Yoko decided to settle in New York City, virtually everything they owned was left behind at Tittenhurst Park, including, presumably, their white 1965 Rolls Royce. Ringo Starr acquired Tittenhurst Park from Lennon in September 1973 and lived there until early 1988. At the end of 1985, EUC 100C was put up for a charity auction organized by Christies of London. It was withdrawn from sale and has not been seen in public since.

After moving to New York, it appears that Lennon and Ono acquired a right hand drive white Phantom V to replace EUC 100C. Since 1999, Lennon's American Phantom V has been one of the main attractions in the Tebo Auto Collection in Colorado, USA.

For more about EUC 100C and the search for its current whereabouts please visit: http://www.60x50.com/search/label/John%20Lennon.

Coq au Vin

Yardbird is a slang word for the chicken, usually after having been prepared as a meal. Apparently jazz saxophonist Charlie Parker loved fried chicken, which earned him the nickname “Yardbird,” or most commonly, “Bird.” “Anyone seeking an understanding of American music,” writes Michael Jarrett, “could start by pondering the chicken” (287). Or even, I might add, human culture itself: the excellent PBS documentary, The Natural History of the Chicken (2000) suggests that we must understand the chicken through the stories we have told about it. The chicken isn't simply an animal, but a sign of something other than itself: chickens, like all animals, are symbols representing different relations to larger reality. In other words, any number of issues surround the role of the chicken in human culture: sex, class, race, identity, and other issues. Hence it follows that songs about chickens aren't really about chickens. The name of a couple famous rock bands invoke the chicken, suggesting its importance at least to a few of that music's practitioners. Chicken Shack, Christine Perfect’s first band, named themselves after Jimmy Smith's highly esteemed album released in 1960, Back at the Chicken Shack, the record that popularized the Hammond B-3 organ for a generation of rock musicians. The name of the British quintet, The Yardbirds, also invokes the chicken. Although the band's name would seem to be an homage to Charlie Parker, it also may be an allusion to yet another meaning of yardbird, an untrained military recruit or prison convict. The Yardbirds may have counted on the connotations prompted by this other meaning of the word, to suggest, according to Mike Jarrett, "an outlaw aesthetic that seemed explosive and undisciplined" (287).

A 12-Piece Box Of Tunes And Albums:

The Beastie Boys – “Finger Lickin’ Good” (Check Your Head)
Mel Brown – Chicken Fat (1967)
Cab Calloway – “Chicken Ain’t Nothin’ But a Bird” (Are You Hep to the Jive? 22 Sensational Tracks)
Ry Cooder – Chicken Skin Music (1976)
Steve Goodman – “Chicken Cordon Bleus” (Somebody Else’s Troubles)
King Kurt – Big Cock (1986)
Little Feat – Dixie Chicken (1973)
Charles Mingus – “Eat That Chicken” (Oh Yeah)
Jimmy Smith – Back at the Chicken Shack (1960)
Southern Culture on the Skids – “Eight Piece Box” (Peckin’ Party)
Big Joe Turner – “The Chicken and the Hawk (Up, Up and Away)” (Big, Bad & Blue: The Big Joe Turner Anthology)
Link Wray – “Run Chicken Run” (Rumble! The Best of Link Wray)

Hip And Corn

There's hip, and then there's corn, what Louis Armstrong in his autobiography, Swing That Music (1936), calls "corney." Most likely it was Armstrong himself who introduced both of these terms into the American vocabulary. The terms are often used to imply binary oppositions: if hip names some sort of positive existential condition, corney is its opposite. What do we mean by saying something is corney? The terms, vaguely, seem to distinguish the new (the hip) from the old (corn), but corn also seems to mean anything that is déclassé, antiquated, "old-fashioned." Thus hip and corn are what Fredric Jameson calls ideologemes, seemingly neutral or banal words that actually designate different relations to political or cultural domination.

In the late 1930s, by which time swing had caught on, the jazz of the Twenties had become "corney," that is, held in contempt. Previously a slang term within jazz subculture for non-jazz (meaning popular) music, "corney" was redefined by Armstrong in Swing That Music as "the 'razz-mah-jazz' style of the Twenties." It's possibly a metaphor derived from traditional Southern food: fried chicken, barbecue ribs, corn bread, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, and collard greens. Thus the word corney implies something common and everyday, ordinary, routine, overly familiar. A basic, if bland, staple. In his marvelous book, Visions of Jazz, Gary Giddins believes that corn is the "negative face" of hip. He writes:

Hip is witty and daring. Corn is meretricious and safe. Hip, because it is honest and takes risks, may withstand passing fashions. Corn incarnates those fashions. (89)

How are we to understand GIddins? Hip implies otherness, subjects standing outside of the dominant culture. To be hip is to be real, that is, authentic or genuine, detached from the mainstream, values associated with individualism, and hence with jazz. In contrast, corn suggests the masses (the corn-fed), that which is common or vulgar, that one is a follower of trends and fashions, and hence artificial. If you're hip, you swing, which is to say, you seek genuine pleasure. You acknowledge desire. If you're corney, you displace and defer pleasure, preferring instead material commodities and promoting utilitarian ethics. You're a creature of duty and of habit.

The Standard

There is no general agreement on what constitutes a "standard," although the existence of the standard requires, implicitly, a distinction between amateur and professional musicianship. According to the definition found here, a "standard" is "a musical piece of sufficiently enduring popularity to be made part of a permanent repertoire, esp. a popular song." Hence the idea of a "standard" applies to popular music and not to what is commonly known as "classical" music. Assuming the collocation, "sufficiently enduring popularity," means, in colloquial terms, that a song has lasted, at what point in its existence does it stop being a mere "song" and undergo the transformation into a "standard"? Is it a matter of sheer repetition or reiteration (re-recording)? And if, by widespread consensus, a song is considered a standard, does that mean it forever remains so, that it shall for all time be considered a "classic"? Alec Wilder, in his highly regarded American Popular Song: The Great Innovators, 1900-1950 (1972), shows how the vast majority of the songs considered standards were a consequence of the institutional forms of songwriting known as Tin Pan Alley, Broadway musical theater, and the Hollywood musical. Obviously this is yet another way that "popular" is distinguished from "classical" music (the latter played almost exclusively by professionals), that the standard is a consequence of a certain level of industrial organization that allowed for the manufacture and distribution of music stored in a durable medium: material artifacts (records and sheet music), and methods of dissemination (movies and radio). I therefore note that "storage," in the sense of a storehouse filled with stock, that is, a repertory or archive (repertoire), is essential to the idea of a "standard." The latter practice--the publication of sheet music--also helped bolster the idea of "popular" music, since the printing of sheet music enabled songs to be sold to amateur musicians (beginning in the late nineteenth century, largely comprised of fledgling pianists) in private homes. The publication of sheet music also allowed for the formation of the aforementioned archive, since there could be no such archive without printed music.

Hence the rise of the "song plugger." Song pluggers occupied a curious niche; they were pianists and singers who earned their income selling songs in order to promote the purchase of sheet music, demonstrating the virtues of an individual song rather like a door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesman demonstrated the virtues of the latest home-cleaning appliance. However, the singers who first recorded the songs that became standards were not considered amateurs, but professionals; they were not song pluggers. That is, in order for a song to become a standard, it almost certainly had to be recorded by one of the dominant singers or performers on Broadway and in Hollywood during the period Wilder identifies, 1900-1950: Fred Astaire, Ethel Merman, Judy Garland, and Bing Crosby, to name just a few. Many of the songs that became standards were written especially for these highly-regarded singers who were appearing on Broadway and in Hollywood musicals. Most often, standards became more or less identified with the singer that introduced them--they became, as it were, "validated." Hence the standard became a sort of shibboleth: a required performative test, the  purpose of which was to determine the authenticity of the vocalist. The standard became a means of including and excluding authentic performers: in order to demonstrate your "mettle," you had to perform a standard. Every singer "worth his (or her) salt," as they used to say, had to record a standard. Paradoxically, although the very idea of the standard required the existence of printed music, individual performance was valued over the strict adherence to the written composition.

According to Donald Clarke, in The Rise and Fall of Popular Music (Penguin, 1995), by 1950 or so standards were no longer originating in the places they had before (that is, in Tin Pan Alley, in Broadway and Hollywood musicals): "By the early 1950s, however, everything had changed. Blacks were doing their own thing in a new era, for labels created especially to sell to the black market; and good white songs were becoming scarce. The Berlins, Gershwins and the rest had died or retired, and the classic songs they had written could not be imitated" (366). Hence Clarke, among others, subscribes to the view that the decline of Tin Pan Alley coincided with the rise of rock & roll. Perhaps he's right.

As a postmodern art form privileging recording (engineering) over live performance, rock & roll was popular music largely written and performed by amateurs, not professionals, operating outside of the traditional music writing and publishing institutions, making records for small labels that were sold to niche (often regional) audiences. The decline of Broadway and Hollywood musicals, ensemble forms, coincided with the rise of the singer-songwriter, which championed individuality. There were, comparatively speaking, fewer new musicals created in the 1950s than in the preceding decades. One way to understand the rise of the singer-songwriter is to understand that they working outside established institutions such as the Broadway and Hollywood musical. When Elvis (for instance), decided to record songs written by Otis Blackwell (for instance), the cultural continuity suggested by the "standard" was broken. Rock & roll, music played by amateurs (Elvis had no professional training) thus represented a break in established traditions. It should therefore be no surprise that the first important record consisting entirely of standards emerged during a period of nostalgia, the early 1970s. That record was Harry Nilsson's A Little Touch of Schmilsson in the Night (1973), released during the period which saw the popularity of "oldies" groups such as Sha Na Na and nostalgic films such as American Graffiti (1973). Contemporary records such as Rod Stewart's "Great American Songbook" series represent a continuation of this trend in what is now the decline of the rock era.