Named after the famous song by BullMoose Jackson, Big Ten Inch is the category where we pull a great old dusty shellac 78 RPM record from the vault and present it here on Jukebox Heart. This time, it’s the original version of Hound Dog, in all its nasty glory. Can you imagine the mess in CBS studios if Elvis sung *these* lyrics in front of all those teenage girls???

Willie Mae ‘Big Mama’ Thornton only notched one national hit in her lifetime, but it was a true monster. ‘Hound Dog’ held down the top slot on Billboard’s R&B charts for seven long weeks in 1953. Alas, Elvis Presley’s rocking 1956 cover was even bigger, effectively obscuring Thornton’s chief claim to immortality.

That’s a damned shame, because Thornton’s menacing growl was indeed something special. The hefty belter first opened her pipes in church but soon embraced the blues. She toured with Sammy Green’s Hot Harlem Revue during the 1940s. Thornton was ensconced on the Houston circuit when Peacock Records boss Don Robey signed her in 1951. She debuted on Peacock with ‘Partnership Blues’ that year, backed by trumpeter Joe Scott’s band.

But it was her third Peacock date with Johnny Otis’s band that proved the winner. With Pete Lewis laying down some truly nasty guitar behind her, Big Mama shouted ‘Hound Dog,’ a tune whose authorship remains a bone of contention to this day (both Otis and the team of Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller claim responsibility) and soon hit the road a star.

Many thanks to Brad Rogowski for pointing me to the following Youtube clip:

But it was an isolated incident. Though Thornton cut some fine Peacock follow-ups — ‘I Smell a Rat,’ ‘Stop Hoppin’ on Me,’ ‘The Fish,’ ‘Just like a Dog’ — through 1957, she never again reached the hit parade. Even Elvis was apparently unaware of her; he was handed ‘Hound Dog’ by Freddie Bell, a Vegas lounge rocker. Early-’60s 45s for Irma, Bay-Tone, Kent, and Sotoplay did little to revive her sagging fortunes, but a series of dates for Arhoolie that included her first vinyl rendition of ‘Ball and Chain’ in 1968 and two albums for Mercury in 1969-70 put her back in circulation (Janis Joplin’s overwrought but well-intentioned cover of ‘Ball and Chain’ didn’t hurt either). Along with her imposing vocals, Thornton began to emphasize her harmonica skills during the 1960s.

Thornton was a tough cookie. She dressed like a man and took no guff from anyone, even as the pounds fell off her once-ample frame and she became downright scrawny during the last years of her life. Medical personnel found her lifeless body in an L.A. rooming house in 1984.

In this new category on Jukebox Heart, we pay homage to our women. Timi Yuro is a good place to start, because her impact is just so fuckin YUGE; she just sets the tone for the whole diva experience. And this song is just brilliant. I’ve heard other versions of ‘Hurt’, by white bread artists such as Eddy Howard and others, but this song was just waiting for Timi to shred it the way she does. It’s hard to believe she was 18 when she recorded this, because her voice already has the 20-years-of-coffee-and-cigarettes thing going on. Timi Yuro’s ‘Hurt’ is sheer agony.

Timi Yuro promo shot, circa 1961.

Timi was born Rosemarie Timotea Aurro (thus, Timi Yuro) in Chicago in 1941. She moved with her family to Los Angeles in 1952, where she sang in her family’s Italian restaurant. She had a Mediterranean heritage and was influenced by some of the great Blues singers, to the extent that many people mistakenly thought that she was black.

Timi signed a contract with Liberty Records in 1959. She worked with songwriter/producer Clyde Otis and put 11 songs in the top 100 from 1961 to 1965. The biggest of these was her first, Hurt, featured here, which reached the top ten nationally. Brenda Lee was probably the hottest female singer at the time, but Timi’s songs had a soul sound to them that were in contrast to Brenda’s recordings. Timi put several such records on the charts, including What’s A Matter Baby [Is It Hurting You], Gotta Travel On and Make The World Go Away.

Timi went into retirement but decided to come back in 1980. She assembled a 14-piece band and began rehearsals, but then was troubled by health problems. Doctors at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York performed surgery to remove nodules from her larynx and esophagus. This was followed by six months during which she was not allowed to talk, much less sing.

A video of here performance of Hurt during this comeback period is below. What a pwerful singer, even though you can see she’s beginning to feel her illnesses. Much respect.

When she regained her voice, Timi went to Nashville and recorded All Alone Am I. It was released in Europe by Dureko Records in Holland in 1981. In 1982 she headlined at the Sands in Las Vegas to a packed showroom every night for two weeks. Timi went to Amsterdam to promote her new album and it proved to be immensely popular in Europe. In Rotterdam she performed before an audience of over 20,000 along with Olivia Newton-John, Janice Ian and Art Garfunkel, and brought down the house. Timi Yuro was back. Timi had three more European tours and three more albums followed, including one that she recorded with her old friend Willie Nelson in 1984 titled Timi Yuro Sings … Willie Nelson.

In the late 80’s Timi had more throat problems and sang less and less. In the late 90’s cancer was detected. It began to aggressively attack her throat and larynx, and in early 2002 this fine singer’s larynx was removed to save her life. Her illness finally caught up with her and Timi died at her home in Las Vegas on March 30, 2004.

Timi’s top ten recording of Hurt remains as one of the best vocal performances of 60’s pop music. Here is a 1964 Scopitone clip of one of her lesser known masterpieces, “If”.

And for my collector geek buddies, here are images of the original LP and 45.

As I was driving to work this morning, I was falling in love all over again with Allison Shaw, vocalist of The Cranes. As I’ve pointed out to so many friends, everytime I hear The Cranes, the most unlikely association pops up, the song featured in today’s Lost 45s. I fiorst published this in my other on-line music thing, the now defunct Moonlight Radio, back in 2006. But just in case you missed it…

The article below is excerpted from a fan’s tribute website, and I have to say, I agree with most of it. This is a captivating song, and, I think, influential in a variety of subtle ways. The phrase _just like heaven_ pretty much originates in this song, and it appears in many rock songs as recently as The Cure’s ‘Just Like Heaven’. And her vocal styling - I’m not sure if innocent is the word I’d use. It’s kind of stylized in the sex-kittenish tones of the day, and her humid adenoidal slur is the foundation for many female rock vocalists from Deborah Harry to Alison Shaw of the Cranes to Stanton Miranda (of Arsenal with Kim Gordon and of Thick Pigeon). The article below explains a lot about the record - like how it escaped onto the market with such a terrible instrumental break, and why it sounds like it was recorded in a tin can - it WAS.

This is the quintessential 45, and no one’s record collection is complete without it. And I mean no-one, from the rock-n-roll purist, to the 45 RPM historian, to the kitsch-culturist, to the hippest new wave vinyl junkie to the most post-modern noisehound. There were millions pressed, so there is no excuse NOT to own one. (I even have an extra copy for sale…)

Here’s a shot of Rosie’s solo album for Brunswick Records, circa 1963.

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Rosie was born in Oregon, lived in Alaska and eventually settled in Southern California in 1956. She attended Granger Jr. High School in National City, California, and was active in the glee club. It seemed that there was always music or entertainment of some sort in the Hamlin household and Rosie was exposed to a variety of genres at an early age. Her Dad played guitar and her grandfather played banjo and harmonica. Her grandfather even had a _travelling medicine show_ complete with _Hamlin’s Snakebit Oil!_ Sometimes, Rosie would hide behind the couch so she could stay up and listen to them play, falling asleep to the sounds. One of her earliest memories was at the age of 4 standing on a box in her back yard pretending it was a stage and putting on a show.

When she was just 13, Rosie’s friend Alfred Barrett encouraged her to enter a talent show at their junior high school. While babysitting with a friend, Rosie spotted an ad in the paper for a group looking for a singer. She called them on the phone and they asked how old she was. Rosie told them she was 16 and she proceeded to sing Dark Moon over the phone. They liked what they heard and asked her to come to their rehearsal. She had to sneak out of the house under the guise of going to a babysitting job. When she got there, Rosie had the group thinking she was 16, partly because of some make-up she borrowed from her mother. She performed with the group and was a regular with them for a while at gigs in the San Diego area including the famous Bostonia Ballroom in El Cajon, California, which was her professional debut. _My legs were shaking,_ recalls Rosie.

That year, two important things happened that would change Rosie’s life forever. First, her mother bought her an old upright piano and her aunt began teaching her how to play it. She would play by-ear music she would hear on the radio. She learned old honky tonk, blues and boogie songs many of the _twelve-bar_ variety. Her uncle’s girlfriend later invited some other musicians over to the house to _jam._ These guys were David Ponci (guitar), Noah Tafolla (guitar) and Tony Gomez (bass). They would eventually become the Originals with two other guys joining in and Tafolla would later become her husband.

The other important thing that happened when Rosie was 14 was her putting down to paper the classic Angel Baby. It started out as a poem about a boyfriend written in her school notebook. Later, Rosie would add the melody for it. Rosie says that the melody was not, as some have reported, based on the song Heart and Soul, although Rosie acknowledges that it was probably influenced by a number of songs that she learned to play on the piano of the _Heart and Soul_ variety. Anticipating that it could be a special song, Rosie recalls that she mailed herself a copy via certified mail to prove the date that she created it. This would turn out to be an important decision later on when she needed to prove authorship.

After a few months of jamming together and playing some shows for friends at school, the Originals decided it was time to record. But rather than drive all the way to Los Angeles, the group decided to try a local recording shop in the rural desert community of San Marcos, California - about an hour’s drive away. They arrived at the place which turned out to be an abandoned airplane hanger! The owner was in the process of converting over from an airplane supply company and had airplane parts all over the place. In one corner, was his small, makeshift two-track studio. The group prepared to record. Only one problem - their sax player - Alfred Barrett hadn’t arrived. After calling Barrett, they learned he wouldn’t be joining them because he had to cut the grass at home! The group improvised. Noah taught the sax part to bass player Tony Gomez who had played some horn in school. The group then set off to record Angel Baby.

In all fairness, the setting wasn’t the greatest - an abandoned airplane hanger, a simple two-track machine, an inexperienced sax player and probably a nervous rest of the group. It took _all day_ recalls Rosie to get what the group thought was a decent version of the song. To listen to it now, it certainly wouldn’t win any awards for recording quality [he’s totally being kind…the instrumental break completely sucks! LOL! Listen to it! Now I understand how it got cut that way! - Paul]. But the record is so simple and innocently-beautiful that it actually matches the lyrics and melody. It actually works as-is. Had it been taken into a studio, recorded with high quality equipment and a professional orchestra, it may not have been a hit. It probably would have been _over produced_ like many records of the time and may have been overlooked. Instead, the record is so simple and sweet, it has a unique appeal.

Maybe it’s a latent effect of a distant post-Valantine’s Day stress syndrome that has me obsessed with songs about the vartious aspects of love that inform this edition of Jukebox Heart, but it’s true; I’ve been obsessed by love songs lately, not-so-silly and otherwise. Though now June, the fact that this edition of JBH has been in the can since March notwithstanding, VD is a single day with aspects so subtle and far-reaching that even now, months after the hit, even the most disaffected among us are affected in one way or another. Maybe it’s the chain of events all leading up to sweeping changes in my personal life about to unfold that have me needing a little more warm-fuzzy stuff in my music lately. Maybe it’s my deepseated personal distrust? Mabe I’d better shut my mouth, since the angels are listening. But whatever, the Jukebox Heart mix has always been a snapshot of what’s been hitting the decks lately and this collection simply reflects what has been heard around the house, in the truck and in the office over the past few weeks. Love songs work best, in my opinion, when they don’t just simply nod with a stoopid grin in deference to the many splendored thing, but are most successful when they debunk it, deflate it, destroy it, dismay it, discard and otherwise defecate on it. I think you are getting my drift. Splendor, schmlendor. And now, with a nod to Man Ray, we bring forth Jukebox Heart 015, “All We Have Is Kisses”, possibly and ironically the most accessible Jukebox Heart mix to date. I get very territorial when I get in one of my moods. *wink*

With the Jukebox Heart update comes an update to the Press To Play feature. This time, a vintage radio program of mine from September 2002 featuring the band Ludus. It was part of the Test Pattern series, a regularly scheduled program where different DJs host the program and do an in-depth presentation on an artist featured in the show. In addition, as usual, 4 videos to check out. Scan the above video boxes, there’s a lot of fun to be had with them.

So here, finally, is the JukeboxHeart 15 playlist. Images, rlease details and other information is all below the cut:

The Frames - Sideways Down
Talk Talk - Talk Talk
She Wants Revenge - Sister
Earlimart - The hidden Track
Red Jacket - Dumbstruck
Flare - (Don’t Like) The Way We Live Now
Cibelle - Instante de Dois
Plone - Busy Working
La Volume Courbe - Hanging Around
Lali Puna - 6-0-3
Maximum Joy - Silent Street
Cassius - La Mouche
Robert Pollard - Make Use
Astorria - Length of Common Rafters
Schlammpeitziger - Mango Und Papaja Auf Tobago Remix - Mouse On Mars
Violet Indiana - Purr La Perla
Elbow - Ribcage

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Clearlake - Cedars
(Domino Records, 2003)

Another gem yanked up from the depths of the Newbury Comics Wicked Cheap bins, and another astonished “How did I miss this?” response from me.

Cedars is the second album from the Hove-formed indie guitar combo, Clearlake, who are led by Jason Pegg, and produced by Cocteau Twin, Simon Raymonde. Their sound has been compared in the press to artists such as Blur, My Bloody Valentine and David Bowie, but I would describe them as a triad of The Smiths, Tindersticks and The Go-Betweens. And dare I say it…the Beatles. (ducking…) But yes, the Beatles. Some of the harmonies arranged here can’t deny it. But we love the Beatles! How much of all of what we love would have happened without them?

This album and I have a kind of relationship similar to reluctant lovers. One trial after another, you realize you keep ending up with someone who you’d never even considered a possibility, but suddenly, there he is and you wondered how you hadn’t seen it all along. And while a couple of the songs initially moved me enough to scoop this out of a local bargain bin, it was weeks later that I realized just how sensational this album is. Consequently, the very first words uttered by the singer in the opening track, “Fine, I’ll admit, I may have been wrong / but I never knew that we’d get along” are pretty much spot on. Unfortunately, the album is out of print, so I’ve included four of the tracks here to motivate you to search the used eBins wherever you happen to shop on line for your music.

Almost the Same:

I half-expected Almost the Same to dive right into a sappy love song fodder, which would have been fine given its rushing, heady, clear-toned guitar crying out like an angel and blowing through the opening tunnel on bouncing wheels of deep drums and a simple bassline. But instead it’s all about unresolved doubt and the waning reluctance to proceed despite this open issue. In fact, he needs enough convincing that he has to sing the same set of lyrics twice. Fine…whatever it takes.

I’d Like to Hurt You:

It’s creepy. It’s conflicted. It’s where others would be tempted to cite Radiohead and even Coldplay. But I’m aiming my reference gun at the Go Betweens here. This, and “Just of the Coast” are in a square alignment with the Go Betweens’ early masterpiece, Send Me a Lullaby.

Can’t Feel A Thing:

This, and “Almost the Same” prove the band can really rock out, and even throw a curve ball at you in their complex arrangement of this seemingly simple track. But listen close; there’s a lot going on…

Treat Yourself With Kindness:

And through all this, the band finds it in their hearts here, along with “Keep Smiling”, to admonish us to go easy on ourselves. Good advice; I, for one, am my own worst critic. Just haunting.

For initially sounding so harmless, I’m continually surprised how much Cedars continues to climb in my esteem. It is vastly more complex than its first few listens let on, more sinister than its pop gloss initially reveals, and if you can find a copy in the bargain bins, a really cheap date…

Another new catgory in Jukebox Heart. Queer Street. Jazz. It’ taken from an old song by Count Basie, and the phrase was used to mean an imaginary street where people in difficulty live. This slang term was recorded in 1811 in an updated version of Grose’s Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, entitled Lexicon Balatronicum: A Dictionary of Buckish Slang, University Wit, and Pickpocket Eloquence:

QUEER STREET. Wrong. Improper. Contrary to one’s wish. It is queer street, a cant phrase, to signify that it is wrong or different to our wish.

The phrase is often associated with debtors, although not exclusively so. Queer Street may have been imaginary but it where it was imagined to be was certainly London. By 1821 the term had found its way into Pierce Egan’s Real life in London:

“Limping Billy was also evidently in queer-street.”

One of my favorites by Count Basie, it’s a fitting tribute to label our jazz selections or Jukebox Heart after that famous track.

The first entry in this new category eatures King Pleasure. Along with Eddie Jefferson, King Pleasure was one of the early masters of vocalese — a style in which lyrics are written and sung to the solos of jazz instrumentalists. Although Pleasure cited Jefferson as his main influence and said that Jefferson was embracing vocalese before him, Pleasure’s sax-like phrasing and scat singing proved equally influential. The charismatic improviser (who recorded for Prestige, Aladdin, Jubilee, HiFi Jazz, and United Artists) is best known for his 1952 hit ‘Moody’s Mood for Love,’ for which Jefferson wrote lyrics to tenor saxman James Moody’s 1949 improvisation on the standard ‘I’m in the Mood for Love.’ Pleasure was also praised for his interpretations of classics like Lester Young’s ‘DB Blues,’ Charlie Parker’s ‘Parker’s Mood,’ and Gene Ammons’ ‘Red Top’ in the 1950s, and he had a direct or indirect influence on Jon Hendricks, Annie Ross, Bob Dorough, Mark Murphy, Al Jarreau, Lou Lanza, and even the Manhattan Transfer. But his recording career didn’t last very long. Pleasure was still recording in the early ’60s, but after that, he faded into great obscurity — although the impact of his early work would remain long after his death on March 21, 1982 (only three days before what would have been his 60th birthday). In the late ’90s, one could hear Pleasure’s influence on such promising vocalists as Ian Shaw and Lou Lanza.

Here I present three versions of the song most famous by King Pleasure. The main version is the most popularized, in style as well as impact on the culture at large. This is the one we’ve heard in various TV commercials, and it is the most ‘polished’ of the three. Released in 1963. Of the other two, the Aladdin records version was released around 1956, while the Prestige version (kinda beat up, but pressed in red vinyl and quite a collectible record) was a minor hit in 1952.

Here’s the most famou version, from his 1963 LP for United Artists. The cover art shown here is from a later reissue.

Earlier, the famous Aladdin imprint. From 1956.

And finally, what is believed to be his first version, 1952.

ARTIST: Recordio One-Off records
TITLE: One of One
TRACK: 10. Eat To LIve
LABEL: Dish Recordings
FORMAT: CD

As the wait for the next full-length podcast continues (Jukebox Heart 015: All We Have Is Kisses), I’m bringing you another single-track category to give even more breadth and depth to Jukebox Heart. This new category takes its name from a book describing films of a similar nature, “Incredibly Strange Movies”. Invariably, the styles of music presented in this category could easily be soundtracks to these movies.

But rather than kicking off this category by brining you an actual ’strange’ record, I am presenting a really unique compilation of recordings called ‘One of One’. If you are a record collector, you immediately get the joke; for decades, artists and labels strapped for cash have compensated by creating a mystique of highly desirable obscurity and unavailability by labeling their output as ‘limited, numbered edition, 100 copies only’ and so on. In fact, even predating this compilation, one of our favorite labels up in Lowell reportedly canceled a regular release, but released the single test pressing as a limited edition of one.

So, this compilation, ‘One of One’, pushes that to its limit by stating the records documented by this collection existed as single copies only; the owner of which owned the entire, hopelessly obscure edition of one copy.

I am referring, of course, to those objects of a time-gone-by, the recordio-gram. Recordio-grams were blanc discs invented to be recorded in real time by anyone with access to a recording device and then playable on any home record player. They were in commercial use for decades along beachside boardwalks and then for in-home use, as shown on the cover art above, to record sound direct-to-record for loved ones far away. Obviously, the advent of magnetic tape and ultimately of digital optical techniques would render this medium obsolete. Nevertheless, thousands of these historical documents can be found in thrift shops everywhere. These are moments captured in time - letters to loved ones overseas at war, first birthday parties. Taken individually, these are sappy and irrelevant, but you don’t have to be much of a romantic to feel your heart tugging after listening to a collection of them.

I have not been able to find any additional information on this CD, and i am surprised a second volume has not yet appeared. I selected this particular track in the spirit of the Incredibly strange Theme usually posted here, as it is the oddest of the bunch. Given that these were made as single copies, for whom could this possibly have been intended?

In 1966, this New York group came off very much like a Lovin’ Spoonful Jr., scoring a minor hit with a cover of John Sebastian’s ‘Younger Girl’ and then chalking up their only Top 20 single with the very Spoonful-esque original ‘Mr. Dieingly Sad.’ The group’s soft harmonies and pop folk-rock were in a considerably lighter vein than their Kama Sutra labelmates, though. Much of their material was self-penned, though they also benefited from compositions by Jackie DeShannon and Brill Building tunesmiths Pete Anders, Vinnie Poncia, and Doc Pomus. Recording quite a few singles and an LP for Kama Sutra from 1965 to 1967, their gentle pop/rock was rather lightweight, with the exception of their best singles. After a final Top 40 hit in 1967 (’Don’t Let the Rain Fall Down on Me’), principal songwriter Don Ciccone was drafted, and the group struggled on with a couple albums for the Project 3 label before splitting.

I just think this is a fabulous song because of the couplet ‘…you’re so mystifyingly glad./I’m Mr. Dieingly Sad.” So many of my navel-gazing friends and fans of The Clientele everywhere desperately need to know this song.

While visiting my nephew and his wife in Virginia a few weeks ago, they put on some kids’ music and we laughed as we watched my baby great-nephew wiggle and dance to the music. But that voice. I know it. and the buzz rode up in me and nagged at me until my nephew said. “I love this guy’s music. He used to be in this band a long time ago, in Boston…” and just as he said the name of the band, it burst out that dark closet in my mind as well. Of course. The Del Fuegos. That’s Dan Zanes!

Suddenly, it was 1982 again, at the Inn Square Men’s Bar (Ladies Invited!) in Cambridge, where I’d seen the Del Fuegos, along with The Neats, The Lyres, The Turbines, and countless others countless times. That voice is just unmistakable.

The DelFuegos were a staple in the post-punk roots rock revival thing going on back then, and the crowd was distinctively a raucous punk rock crowd. Untold amounts of beer was consumed, to the point of never quite being able to find my car…a blessing in disguise. But I digress.

A Side: I Can’t Sleep

B Side: I Always Call Her Back

So here is the first single the band put out, for tiny indie label Czech Records. It doesn’t appear on their official discography, and only the B Side got reissued in 1993, on the fantastic DIY: Mass. Ave. - The Boston Scene (1975-83) compilation CD. The A Side, presented here, remains out of print. The B Side got considerable airplay on my own radio program.

The Del Fuegos won critical favor and a loyal, if not ravenous, cult following at home and on the road for their passionate, no-frills style. Formed in 1980, the Del Fuegos consisted of guitarist and singer Dan Zanes, his brother Warren Zanes on guitar, bassist Tom Lloyd, and drummer Steve Morrell. They began to gain support outside of Boston with the band’s first few low-budget tours. While the Del Fuegos began recording an album for legendary local label Ace of Hearts Records, who are most famous for Mission of Burma, but whose back catalog is just SOLID and is worth your time to research, in 1984 the famed Los Angeles indie Slash Records (who gave us X and The Violent Femmes among many others!) stepped in and signed them, releasing their first album, The Longest Day, in the fall of that year. By now, Steve Morrell had parted ways with the band, and former Embarrassment percussionist Woody Giessmann had taken over the drum kit. The Longest Day’s mixture of attitude, guitar firepower, and heart-on-the-sleeve emotion clicked with both critics and fans, and the Del Fuegos seemed poised for a commercial breakthrough with their second album, 1985’s Boston, Mass.

While “Don’t Run Wild” and “I Still Want You” earned enough radio and MTV airplay to make you crazy and the album received rave reviews, it wasn’t the hit some were hoping for, and the more self-consciously hip members of the music world began to turn their backs on the band after it appeared in a widely seen beer commercial. Actually, it wasn’t the commercial itlsef, it was the dumbass line “Rock n Roll is folk music cuz…it’s for folks!” that sent everyone away incredulously sighing.

The band began reaching for a more ambitious sound and wider musical range on its third album, but 1987’s Stand Up received harsh reviews and little support from fans, despite the Del Fuegos’ appearance on an extended tour with noted fan Tom Petty (who also guested on Stand Up), in which the group shared the opening slot with the Replacements. After Stand Up’s disappointing reception, Woody Giessmann and Warren Zanes both quit the Del Fuegos, and the band was dropped by Slash. In 1989, Dan Zanes and Tom Lloyd decided to give the band another chance, bringing aboard guitarist Adam Roth and drummer Joe Donnelly and cutting a new album, Smoking in the Fields, but while critics were kinder to the new set than Stand Up, the album was a commercial bust, and within a year the Del Fuegos were history.

Dan Zanes went on to a solo career and in time found success with a series of acclaimed children’s albums, at least one of which is responsible for me digging up this gem and making this Lost45s entry here in Jukebox Heart.

The featured artist category takes a closer look at one of the artists in Jukebox Heart. We kick off this new category featuring the artist known as Colleen.

Parisian sound sculptress Colleen’s music is more atmospheric than a room full of nervous ghosts. Her liking for 17th Century instruments is obvious and itself fascnating. Whether it’s the viola da gamba (a 7-string ancestor of the cello), the spinet (a variation of the harpsichord), the clarinet, crystal glasses, the guitar, or simply a sample, Colleen’s creations have always used the lush, mesmeric qualities of a bygone era to evoke the atmospheric gloom of the ethereal music she makes today.

It seems a shame to tarnish the delicate perfection of Colleen’s music with words - this is music that needs to be listened to late at night, free of everyday distractions. You’ll find yourself entranced by a mesmerising spider’s web of sounds that sound like they’ve been beamed in from another place, another time.

Colleen’s simple but effortlessly charming music is an entrancing potion laced with magical details - naïve instrumentals filled with warmth, melody and soul, played on a broken music box, a glockenspiel or a guitar, phasing in and out, on the verge of collapse. Above all, this is wonderfully human. Another girl, another planet.

This track is called “Ritournelle”

Everyone Alive Wants Answers is the haunting 2003 debut full-length of work of then-26-year-old Parisienne Cecile Schott. No more tangible thoughts were conjured from the stark jumble of digital mandolins that stumble so meticulously throughout the title track of this album than a walk through a park where you can almost hear eeryone else’s thoughts. Colleen has surveyed the landscapes of organic music made digitally and done it more successfully than most, given the immediate grandeur and impact of Everyone Alive Wants Answers. ‘Ritournelle’ plays like a ballroom dance scene in a Tim Burton movie, all delicate chimes and sweeping strings. This full-length debut is absolutely gorgeous, a warm inviting swirl of ambient symphonics and contemplative interludes. It’s an amazing thing to spring this CD on someone when traveling late at night alone through country roads…

This track is called “Summer Water”

To describe the ten hand-crafted compositions that comprise The Golden Morning Breaks as minimalist psychedelia would be both an oversimplification of the genres and a disservice to the musings Colleen, whose complex combinations of melodic guitar, glockenspiel, keyboards and found sounds recall neither John Cale nor the 13th Floor Elevators. Still, her second album for the Leaf label, bounds forth in both directions with equal aplomb, resulting in a sound that is at turns disturbing, humorous, playful and dreamlike – simultaneously seductive and reductive.

Even a cursory listening to this all-instrumental offering reveals a number of intriguing influences. ‘Floating in the Clearest Night’ and ‘The Happy Sea’ share not only a disposition for precious song titles, but also a common musical vernacular with Flying Saucer Attack and the occasional Bardo Pond record. Truly, a number of the songs on The Golden Morning Breaks seem to have been recorded with a barely-melodic vocal track in mind, only to have it removed at the last moment. The absence of lyrics, though, is scarcely a fault, exemplified best by ‘I’ll Read You a Story’ – seven minutes of fleeting, plucked melodies that unfold and develop just like the title implies.

In contrast to the Bliss-Out tendencies on a number of tracks lies the more-playful, if occasionally less-fulfilling, psychedelic tinge of compositions like ‘The Sweet Harmonicon’ and ‘Mining in the Rain.’ Certainly rooted in the same percussive territory as other songs found here, and bearing a marked similarity to recordings by Pipa-ist Min Xiao Fen, these songs sound not as much like self-contained compositions as lost fragments from a Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd album. Undeniably intriguing, if occasionally precious, Schott’s gift for controlled improvisation makes these songs tenable interludes in an otherwise thoroughly-engaging album. Underscoring this point, perhaps intentionally, is the remarkable 10-minute closing track ‘Everything Lay Still,”’ which combines playful chimes, droning guitar and keyboards into a single magnificent theme that displays at once both sides of Colleen’s dual nature.

This track is called “What is a Componium, Part 2″

‘It seemed like a dream opportunity to explore further the miniature continent of sound that music boxes in all their variety generate,’ says Colleen’s Cécile Schott in response to the carte blanche handed to her by national radio station France Culture’s Atelier De Création Radiophonique to record music for a special broadcast. The commission would have remained just that, but Schott was so pleased with the results she decided to give the nod for the recordings to be released on this 38-minute EP, under a temporarily revised artist name.

No stranger to the use of music boxes in her recordings and live performance, the consciously limited palette yields extraordinary dividends; this is arguably the most intimate and wonderfully melodic release of her career to date. Composed entirely using music boxes (but for one track), the pieces use everything from miniature boxes hidden in 1940s birthday cards to large Victorian boxes. Not content with the orthodox sounds produced by the boxes, Schott hijacked them, playing them with her fingers or with mallets on the comb. She re-sampled and affected pitch and delay in a quest to produce unique sounds and melodies.

Utilizing the natural loop in each box, the different boxes move in and out of time, evoking memories of childhood. This playful nature ebbs and flows throughout the EP like a stream unsure of its chosen path. Sounds reminiscent of harps (’What Is A Componium? Part 2′), xylophones and Fender Rhodes (’Your Heart Is So Loud’), and electronics (’Calypso In A Box’) appear and then disappear on the landscape, fooling the listener into believing that the noises emanate from more than one type of instrument.

This track is called “Sea of Tranquility”

On her album ‘Les Ondes Silencieuses’, Parisienne sonic sculptress Cecille Schott aka Colleen has abandoned the samples and loops which characterised her previous long players, preferring instead to employ natural sounds and tones. But, ever inventive, this approach led to the 26-year-old Parisienne using Baroque instruments such as the viola da gamba and the spinet, a smaller relative of the harpsichord. The end result is a shimmering, evocative collection of homespun, frequently fragile musical moods which showcase Cecille’s considerable compositional talents. She also recently scored ‘Serie’ - the last dance work by the acclaimed French-Swiss choreographer Perrine Valli and has completed a successful UK tour with her label mates Triosk.