Frank Gutch Jr: Earlier, On Planet Normanium (Part One)— Research Turtles Redux and Baseball As We Never Knew It; Plus N-n-n-notes!

Some things just will not let go.  Seven years ago I discovered the Research Turtles.  For the last two, I had hoped for a reunion.  I now know it will not happen.  Even if they got back together, they would be a different band.  They have grown as individuals and probably matured musically beyond that band and could never capture what they once had, but for five years I envisioned success and that period gave me hope in a world pretty much without hope, the music business morphing into something beyond my recognition, the Eks and the Westergrens of the world using what I consider stolen music to build huge bank accounts for themselves and others off of the labor of musicians.  That Research Turtles do not today exist is not surprising, for who would want to hand their creations to someone else for a pittance while they made millions.

Frank Gutch Jr: John ‘Buck’ Ormsby: Maybe Out of His Tree, But Never Out of His League; Plus, Artists Who Should Have Made It (A Musical Roundup)

This morning was cold and wet with a chill that went to the bone, the clouds threatening, the rain off and on but somehow consistent.  I knew it would be.  Yesterday, my friend John Hicks had posted a message that Buck Ormsby had died.  No way, I thought, because I had had contact only a few days previous— just a note, but contact.  When I approached Hicks, he said that he had found out from Ormsby’s son’s page.  He sent me the link and there it was.  We are sorry to report… and the words became a blur.   While it hardly seemed possible, Buck was gone.  Is gone, for none of us will hear from him again and that is truly a sad thing.

Frank Gutch Jr: Music Reviews On the Fly (and these are real beauties); Crushed Out Makes Their Move; Plus Notes

I review lots of records on a consistent basis and pretty much have a policy of giving each album/EP its due.  Usually that means a solid ten listens all the way through with extras for the songs which strike home.  The reason?  I once listened to an album a couple of times and sent a note to the artist explaining why I could not give it a straight-out five star review.  It was possibly the most pompous note I have ever written and one I wish I could have taken back.  Ten or so listens later, I gave it that five star review I had so bombastically refused and pledged to give every album from that point on a fair chance— a real fair chance and not one based upon a needledrop (a term which refers to radio in the sixties and seventies when the single was king— disc jockeys and music directors would listen to the first few seconds of each 45 submitted for airplay to “weed the crop”, i.e. to eliminate the clunkers).  What?  You didn’t think the records charted themselves, did you?