My Favorite Albums of All Time (Part 5)

 

My Favorite Albums of All Time (Part 5)

The Museum of Tosh by Tosh Berman

 

The Museum of Tosh by Tosh Berman

July 6, 2014

July 6, 2014

Today being the first Sunday of the month, it’s record swap meet day at the Pasadena City College, but alas, I can’t go, due to my daily job of writing a journal entry everyday this year (2014).  I could have cheated by writing one last night, and posting it early in the morning, but that would be not fair to me or to my readers.  The truth is I’m pretty much defined by not only by my everyday writing here, but also my vast collection of books and records.  In fact, when I die, I want to make my collection to be a part of a museum - which now, I think it should be the “Museum of Tosh.” This of course will be organized after my death, which in all honesty, is probably around the corner.  Nevertheless it never is too early to plan one’s estate and how it should benefit the general public, or at the very least a definite percentage of that public.

If you put a money value to my collection, it will not be significant, but what is important is that it is very much a self-portrait.  In fact, I would argue that compared to a photograph of me, or a “selfie,” my collection totally exposes my concerns, my loves, my passion, and in other words, the total world that is “me” and only “me.” Therefore if I was going to leave anything on this planet after my spirit leaves the earth, it should be my book and record collection.  Not to be played or read really, but more to the fact that one can enter my house and look at the bookshelves and see how my albums are stacked in various parts of the house. What I have is not really rare in the sense of recording being in its original pressing, but more of the ‘taste’ factor in having such a record in my collection.  Also bear in mind the fact that I have only albums that have great graphics.  One thing I can’t stand is an album that looks bad in my collection.  The cover can be torn up, the recording scratched up, but it needs to be a really cool looking album cover at the very least.

I think I have around 1,000 albums, which is not a lot, but the art of my record collection is keeping the inventory low, and the quality high.  Records that were made in the early or mid-60s is a significant interest for me.  I only obtain albums that are mono, because I feel the artists that time only listened to the mono mix.  That was the format, and stereo was just for Hi-Fi goons.  When I play one of my mono albums, I imagine the artist hearing that record with me.  I actually transport myself to a definite time and place, with that musician hearing this music for the first time.

I have this obsession with The Shadows’ first bass player, Jet Harris.  You need to understand that music is not only for the ears, but also the eyes, and therefore it is important for me that the artist is either good looking, or at the very least, interesting appearance.  Jet is unique to me because he is sort of a lead bass player, and most important of all, he looked incredible.   I collect Shadows albums, but only if Jet was in the line-up.  Also he must be on the album cover as well. In all honesty, The Shadows made great recordings throughout their long career, but the ones that are the most interesting, of course, are the early years with Jet Harris.  For me it’s the matching suits, the dance steps, and the spare sound of their instruments that makes it the classic Shadows world.  Also note, Jet Harris had blonde hair, and the rest of the band had dark hair.   For a band which had such a strong uniformed look, it’s amazing that they allowed Jet to keep his blonde hair in this band.  I also feel the same way with Brian Jones in The Rolling Stones.  The fact that his hair was blonde, compared to the rest of the band, made Brian stand out.  It is ironic that when Jet and Brian left their bands, they were replaced by musicians who had dark hair.

With respect to the Pasadena Record Swap Meet, the two most interesting albums I purchased there, are now my most favorite recordings.  The first album I bought there was Liberace’s “Liberace At Home” that came out in 1956 and on the Columbia record label.  It’s a fascinating album because it is just Liberace and his piano, and I don’t know for sure if he recorded the album in his house, but it is a very intimate recording and warm sounding.  Also the album is kind of a dark pit in Liberace’s soul.  Songs like “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes,” “I’m Always Chasing Rainbows,” and “Solitude” are almost overwhelming in its ability to place the listener in a blue funk of despair, yet we need the poison to appreciate the beauty in life.  Without the darkness, there would be no light.

The second album of interest is “A Picnic Cantata, Sonata for Two Pianos” by piano players Arthur Gold and Robert Fizdale.   The interesting part of this album is side one, which “A Picnic Cantata” composed by Paul Bowles, with lyrics by the poet James Schuyler.  The album came out on Columbia Records in 1954, but only released in Canada for some odd reason.  I know very little of Bowles music, but he is one of my favorite prose writers, and I love Schuyler’s poetry.  So this purchase was a no-brainer for me, and I have to say it’s an incredible piece of music.  Lyrically it is about a group of women who have decided to go on a picnic, and that is basically it.  The fact that the narrative is like a straight line from beginning to end, is superb to me.  No highs and no lows.  Just one consistent hum with beautiful music by Bowles sang for three operatic singers.  Both albums are perfection and the fact that I bought two such classy recordings at an indoor parking lot in Pasadena makes it even more important to me

Although once I’m gone (really gone) I don’t think I’ll miss the lack of attention, but now that I’m living (at this time) it’s important that I get notice and attention.  Therefore the thought of the museum is extremely important to me.  Afterwards, probably wouldn’t be an issue.

May 16, 2014

May 16, 2014

When I was 18, I was right in the middle of the Chinn-Chapman world of a series of singles by The Sweet.  Totally disposable pop for disposable times, that served disposable people, and that includes yours truly as well.   I was totally focused on getting wasted, but at the very least, I wanted to pass out with a copy of “The Picture of Dorian Gray” on my lap, and idealistically at a little round cocktail table at Rodney English Disco on Sunset Bouvelard.  It was a very difficult culture for me, because I wanted to go to Rodney’s because all the girls I have admired at Taft High School went there, and sadly, all the girls went for the older guys who hung out there as well.  So I felt like a double-loser both in the school yard as well as this school yard, otherwise known as Rodney’s.

At the time, it was very difficult to hear the Chinn-Chapman bands The Sweet, Mud, and Suzi Quatro, because American radio basically ignored these records that came out of the U.K. In the early 70s.  I was attracted to their bands, not by their photographs, but by their song titles.  “Little Willy, ” “Wig-Wam Bam, ” “Tiger Feet, ” “Devil Gate Drive, ” The Sixteens, ” and so forth.  On one level they were very silly, but on a deeper plane they fed my soul, that was very vacant at the time.  My late teenage years wasn’t one of exploration, but just trying to conform to what was routine in the world that was the San Fernando Valley.  Which meant to hang out with the glam girls, while they spent hours trying to find the right outfits to wear, as well as supplying me with liquor and vinyl on the portable turntable.  The girls I knew didn’t really have impressive records in their collection.  Mostly Queen albums, which I always felt were an imitation of something that is out there, but I didn’t know what at that point and time.  The songs were nice, but just so plastic sounding to me.  At least the Chinn-Chapman records knew they were plastic, and they sort of conveyed a world that is plastic, surface, and teenage.  The beauty of Mud, Sweet, and Suzi Quatro was that they were teenage music, and me being at that age, they totally reflected on what was happening in my life.

Sadly, and on the other hand, I also had an interest in serial killers.  No, no not Charles Manson. I couldn’t stand that stupid hippie culture stuff.  I wanted the real thing.  H.H. Holmes was my main man.   Sometime around 1893, he built his own hotel during the World’s Fair that took place in Chicago.  The unusual aspect of this hotel was made for one purpose, and that was to use the building as a killing factory.  There were at least 100 rooms built without windows.   Holmes would have women stay at his hotel and each room was a death trap of some sort.  Usually he would suffocate or gas them, whenever his mood served his desire.  After their deaths, he had a secret chute built-in all the rooms that led to the basement.  Once there, the bodies were dissected, stripped of flesh, crafted into skeleton models, and then sold to medical schools.

Now what interested me was not him specifically, but the fact that he went out of his way to build this huge structure, to only serve his fantasy (well for him it was real) lifestyle.  It is always bizarre to me that someone would make their perfect world, yet somehow evil would creep in, with respect to the big picture of it all.  For some, having that structure of a building would be enough, but he didn’t build it for aesthetic reasons, but mostly to feed his sick passions.

Then there is someone like Liberace, who built his world, but more for an aesthetic pleasure than anything else.  Perhaps designed to avoid the outside world, which was so different from Liberace’s sense of utopia.  Whenever I go to Las Vegas, I always visited the Liberace museum, and I loved it, because I’m surrounded by a world that is artificial, and totally against nature.  Through out my life I sought to build my own inner world, where everything else is totally outside that world.

When I got older, I left the serial killer fixation at the station ‘teenager’ and seriously started collecting records.  As of now, when I check my collection, I truly see it as a self-portrait.  But interestingly enough, I see nothing of the Rodney years in my collection.  I sort of edited that out of my life, and now I enjoy my new identity as an adult, with a long memory.

January 6, 2014

January 6, 2013

Yesterday I purchased an old vinyl called "Liberace At Home" and it reminded me when I met Liberace some years back.  I was a young man around 20, and it was my first trip to Las Vegas.  I was wondering around the Fremont Hotel, checking out the one-arm bandits, when I was approached by a gentleman who told me I shouldn't really spend a lot of money on these things.  I told him that I was just passing time, with no purpose or plan.  He then told me that he is a friend of Liberace the entertainer, and would I like to go to his home with him.   I said sure.  He told me to meet him in the front of the hotel in a hour, and I did so. 

He came by with a small van, with three other guys.  All the guys were like me, alone, and it seems all of us never been to Vegas before.   it was a fascinating trip to Liberace's house, because we left the bright neon lights of Vegas for the desert highway.  One of us had to take a pee, and our host pulled over to the road, and we all went out of the van.   What struck me was the total silence of the desert, except you can hear something out there in the dry bushes.  Maybe a snake or some sort of larger animal.  I don't know, because I can't see anything in the pitch black landscape.  The only lighting was the headlights of the van and once in awhile a passing car.  

We eventually made it out to the house, and it was incredible looking.  It was an one-story mansion that's for sure.  A butler opened the door for us when we knocked.  He seemed kind of young to be a butler.  When I think of butler, I picture Jeeves from the great series of PG Wodehouse novels.   Someone older and British.  But he seemed to have a strong Southern California accent, and his hair looked like it was bleached blonde, not natural blonde.  In fact nothing in this household looked natural.  I immediately flashed on the novel "À rebours" (Against Nature) by the French writer Joris-Karl Huysmans.  Some would be creeped out by this, but I actually prefer artificial environment than something natural if you know what I mean.

Liberace showed up in the living room. He greeted each person, by taking his time, in getting the person's name, and small talk. When he came to me, he wondered where my name Tosh came from. I told him that I didn't know, but I imagine that it has something to do with the British slang word for "Tosh" meaning nonsense. He laughed when I told him this, and he sort of patted my hand. I immediately liked him. 

He offered us drinks, and as we sat around the living room, he wondered over to his piano. We're all talking and eventually he became totally lost on the keyboard. It was amazing to see his concentration on the music he was playing. If memory serves me correctly he was playing Beetoven's "Moonlight Sonata, 3rd Movement." Such a beautiful melody, and his playing was so passionate. Everyone became quiet, and when he finished the piece we all had tears in our eyes. Including Lee, as he was called among friends.