You would think that the town that produced Buddy Holly would maintain at least a small power pop scene, but my semi-hometown of Lubbock, Texas (actually, I was born in Denver City, about a hundred miles away, a town that makes Jon's hometown of Pratt, KS look like Paris) has never had a particularly active local music presence despite being home to the rather huge campus of Texas Tech University. When I was attending high school in Lubbock, the Nelsons were pretty much IT when it came to decent local bands, but as far as the kids at Monterey High were concerned, they were full-on rock stars. Pretty much the only new wave-influenced band in Lubbock through the first half of the '80s, the Nelsons took a lot of cues from the likes of the Rezillos and the B-52's, producing a jumpy, herky-jerky take on new wave bubblegum that favored scratchy-scratchy guitars, a cheap organ and a goofy comic outlook. (Singer Donnie Allison's closing spoken-word rant is saved from total dorkiness only by the gleeful abandon with which he delivers it.) It worked, for a while, and the Nelsons actually flirted with mainstream success, winning one round of MTV's Basement Tapes contest (remember that? It was like a battle of the bands where a lot of local bands sent in really crappy homemade videos in and we all sat around and laughed at how awful they were) with a deeply silly video for this very song. But then Ricky Nelson died and the Nelsons changed their name out of respect when they found out that his twin sons Gunnar and Matthew were using it in L.A. Only problem was, they changed their name to Unexplained Cattle Mutilations. Yeah, pretty much nobody ever heard from them again.

-Stewart Mason

I know for a fact that there's a total of 17 people out there who are familiar with this song, because that's how many copies of this single I sold. This was the final release on my label Flamingo Records, which lasted from 1995 to 1998, and to this day, I feel really bad about the way this single just barely limped out, lost in a morass of personal and professional traumas on my part. (A lawsuit against a pressing plant in relation to Flamingo's sole CD release, a reissue of R. Stevie Moore's 1976 LP debut Phonography, was what led most directly to the label's protracted demise.) Although this was not meant to be the label's final release -- I was also bankrolling and producing sessions for two bands in my former hometown of Albuquerque, the Ant Farmers and Luxochamp (three members of which went on to semi-fame as the Rondelles), around this time, until the studio was condemned and the tapes frozen, which is a WHOLE other can of worms -- there were two sadly appropriate portents scratched into the runoff grooves. Side A read "January 11, 1929" (my mother's birthdate; she'd died just before this single went off to the pressing plant) and side B read "Purr purr snag," a tribute to my now-wife Charity's recently deceased cat Toby Dammit and his charming late-life habit of settling in on Charity's chest when she was asleep, contentedly purring for a while and then suddenly sneezing directly in her face.

Anyway, the song. The Larch (yes, they were named after the Monty Python bit) were a New York City band, but the crisp Britpop of "Free Kick" wasn't an Anglophiliac affectation: singer/songwriter Ian Roure was from Portsmouth, England, and the sardonic "Free Kick" sounds like Nick Hornby's football memoir Fever Pitch set to an old Dentists single. Big ups must be sent towards Paula Carino, then of fellow Flamingo signees Regular Einstein, who mailed me the Larch's demo cassette, and apologies again to Ian and the boys for dropping the ball so thoroughly on what I really thought was the best single I ever put out.

-Stewart Mason

Little Hits guest spots. I'm sure others of you have suggested it, but Stewart Mason did so most recently, so he gets to go first. Contact me if you're interested. Brain Kirk is also on board.

After seeing the replies from Andrew Chalfen and Fantom, it occurred to me that this may be a good way to keep Little Hits interesting for 2006. I love doing this blog, but I don't think I want to do it every day any more. So if you're interested, drop me a line at jonhar@sunflower.com. I'll have to run everything by the guys, (especially Mickey, who likes to perch himself on my person while I'm working on LH) but as Stewart pointed out, most of you have a pretty good idea what goes on here. If enough people are willing to help out, we can maybe still do a song a day for quite a while.

Thanks again,

Jon

Friends-

I want to take a moment to express once again my thanks for all of your kind words and suggestions. I also want to apologize for being so far behind.

That said, it's going to get worse before it gets better. I will be out of town for the Thanksgiving holiday, so no posts this week. The posts will then appear sporadically until Dec. 6th, when I have a huge school project due. After that, it will get easier, so I'll be doing some "rock blocks" to make up for lost time at that point. I still want to have 365 songs up by the end of the year.

As for 2006, I think I'll continue doing this, but not at the rate of a song every day. The big news (I hope) for 2006: Little Hits will become a record label. Our first disc will be a 45 by Lawrence Girls In the Garage, the Shebangs. The hit side is a cool punk RnB shaker with a freakbeat guitar solo entitled "Maybe Yes, Maybe No." The flip is a tuff folk-punk cover of the Saints' "A Minor Aversion." We intend to release great pop and rock 'n' roll 45s until it becomes obvious that it's a complete financial disaster, so if you've got a truly great song that you don't ever intend to see any real money out of, keep us in mind.

Best wishes,

Jon

Byron Coley on Chris Knox: "He may insist on playing his songs over backing loops that sound like sumo wrestlers pulling crescent wrenches out of each other's wet asses, but a song as lovely as "Not Given Lightly" remains world class pop in spite of it's chunk-burl arrangement." Insights like that are what kept me reading Forced Exposure even though they hated most of the records I liked and heaped praise on things I couldn't fathom like Jandek and Borbetomagus.

Chris Knox's melodic gifts seem to get shinier with every passing year; lyrically he has always been a fascinating character with a variety of moods, capable of the most horrific imagery imaginable one moment, touching philosophical insight the next, and exquisitely expressed romantic sentiment immediately afterward. "One Fell Swoop" tends toward the latter, a lovely pop tune in the mold of the much-beloved "Not Given Lightly." "Song Of the Good Wife," on the other hand, shows Knox's gift for rather more depressing subjects. I really like the mournful cello, and the lyric is just brutal; it could be from the Davies School of Social Observation, but it's way too pointed and accusatory, and not nearly so arch.

As a bunch of you know, this was the first record by Kendra Smith and David Roback (Dream Syndicate and Rain Parade respectively) who would eventually become Opal. (This track appears on the Opal Early Recordings LP.) It's possible that neither Roback nor Smith have topped this particularly haunting goth-pop-psych since. We love its loping groove and consider it perhaps Smith's best vocal performance. There was a nice, much perkier cover by the Pale Saints on one of their LPs.

Worth every penny. I was spinning this the other night while the most amiable Shamrock J. Cat sat on the arm of my chair and grinned his handsome grin. Mickey came prancing in and said "Hey this is cool. But what's up with you guys? I thought Shammy liked punk rock." Mr. Cat replied patiently that in his estimation playing music this wimpy and singing with fey English accents in Memphis in 1965 was likely to get the performer beat up, and that therefore this was punk rock. Then he offered to beat Mickey up so that he could be punk rock too. Mr. Cat is getting a bit cranky in his old age.

I tried to encode this at a better rate to make up for the craptacular sound quality.

My favorite track from this band which features a Flamin' Groovie and a Barracuda.

I know I'm in the minority, but I find the Nashville-recorded Bradley's Barn far more interesting than Sweetheart of the Rodeo. I think it's a more inventive leap off the same platform, and I love the way Sal Valentino's voice occasionally sounds like Roger Miller's. Bradley's Barn was, along with 1967's Triangle, a great one-two punch from a truly gifted band who had been horribly mis-managed up to that point. For evidence, look no further than their two big national hits, "Laugh Laugh" and "Just a Little;" and consider how sophisticated they are in terms of composition and production (the latter by Sly Stone). Unfortunately, despite some fine material, the band weren't consistently high in the chart, and with all of the tomfoolery foisted upon them in ugly attempts to remedy that state of affairs (specifically the all-covers Beau Brummels '66), it is a testament to their fortitude that they were able to shake it all off and create two marvelous, though commercially ignored LPs. Both albums are currently available on Collector's Choice.

In case you didn't realize just how popular the Jam were in England by the early 80s, here are a couple of 45s by bands who very much would have liked to be Weller and Co. While they are able to ape only superficial aspects of the Jam's sound and were subsequently left in the dust by Weller's growth as a songwriter, it must be said that they, along with their obsessively-dressed peers produced dozens of cool singles, (and in the case of the Chords, a surprisingly strong LP) many of which are rounded up on Anagram Records' This Is Mod series.

With each passing year I become more convinced that the debut LP by Chicago's Green is worthy of those Mojo/VH1/Spin/ lists of the top 20 or 50 or 100 rock albums of all time:

1) It looks great. Using the tired old punk rock formula of "insouciant ragtag kids standing against brick wall with band name scrawled across top," the cover manages to look exactly like the record sounds. The dimestore mod poses on the back only add to the fun.

2) The record shows a strong grasp of diverse musical sources, from the British Invasion to T. Rex to Motown to Prince to the Jam to every one-shot that a seven-year-old might have heard heard on an AM Radio. And despite their lifelong dedication to their homework, Green sound like nothing else but Green.

3) The songs, all by Jeff Lescher, are great. I wouldn't even be making this argument if they weren't. They seem to have been churned out effortlessly, with an impressive variance in mood and tone. What's interesting is how coverable they are. Nearly every song on it has a classic feel that suggests that like the first Modern Lovers LP, every decent band in the world should be able to play at least haphazard versions of a couple of the tunes.

4) The aforementioned Jeff Lescher, while nowhere near as smooth as Sam Cooke or powerful as Otis Redding, has an abundance of that elusive and precious quality that we call "soul." White teenage soul? Maybe. As if that makes it any less valuable.

5) While some critics have suggested that the extremely primitive production inadequately showcases Lescher's marvelous songs, I'd argue that the no-frills recording actually throws the variety and craft of the songs into sharper relief, while the lack of trendy drum sounds that would tie this record to a certain era ensures that it will always sound fresh and timeless.

Last I checked, the LP was still available at Widely Distributed Records for $10. There is a CD-R version of the record available through No Cigar, but it isn't cheap. Although I admit I haven't done a very good job of keeping up with the band since the early 90s, I'd recommend searching out the White Soul/Bittersweet CD in particular. The band's website has plenty of additional information.

The Finders, from San Francisco, were basically the same band as the Rockers, who had released a four-song 7" EP the previous year on Alcatrazz Records. The Rockers has more of the Merseybeat sound, while the Finders has a bit more modern AOR production. Both are fine examples of the power pop of the period. I got this 45 in the early 80s via a mail order place called Rather Ripped Records (also in SF? They had an awesome catalogue.), then lost it in the mid 80s, then paid ten times what I originally paid for it in the late 90s on eBay. Live and (don't) learn. There's a real good Finders Bio here.

The Gigolo Aunts have been mix-tape regulars for a number of years now, owing largely to great singles like "Bloom," and "Where I Find My Heaven." This, however, is my favorite Aunts track. We like a good story, and the realtionship between the narrator and the song's title character is recounted with marvelous attention to detail, wry humor, and most importantly, a touching and genuine warmth.

Most of you beat music fans out there are already familiar with this fantastic Dutch band, but dear me, they were awfully good. Fortunately there are a plethora of releases currently available where you can sample their wares, from a couple of tracks (including this one) on the Nuggets II box set, to the half-dozen or so on the Nederbiet 63-69 box set, and several CD re-issues of their proper albums (this track is on Revival), as well as a singles compilation or two. Then you may want to go back and pick up all of the Motions and Outsiders stuff. Then the Bintangs. Perhaps the Haigs. And the Sandy Coast. And so on...

John Otway deserves far more description than we could ever provide here, so we'll just mention that he is one of the highlights of the film Urgh! A Music War, that he has a charming autobiography entitled Cor Baby That´s Really Me (Rock And Roll´s Greatest Failure), and that this B-side of "Really Free" is our favorite Otway tune, and that we covet a copy with picture sleeve.

One of the coolest things that has happened to me as a result of being in a band was that I struck up a friendship with an affable fellow named Patrick Hawley after he played drums on the first What Gives record. He was an excellent musician who seemed to be involved in a number of projects, but he was particularly excited about a band he was playing in called Twiggy. Shortly thereafter, I went to visit him in Champagne, and met his roommate Todd Fletcher, who not coincidentally was Twiggy's singer/songwriter/guitarist. I remember Todd being shy, intelligent, and gratuitously talented. They sat me down and played a tape of this for me; it was slated to be released soon on Parasol. I was a little annoyed because their record was much better than ours. Still, I loved hanging out with those guys in Champagne, getting to meet people like Nick Rudd and Charlie Dold. It was a wonderful time.

Years later, this remains one of my favorite records, and the only reason I'm not just posting the whole thing is because I keep thinking Parasol is going to do a comp of all of the Twiggy recordings at some point. The Stamey-influenced "Beaujolais" was drawn out of a hat, but the other two tracks are also fantastic.