Choosing records is quite a ritual. It is difficult to describe how involved the process can be unless you have witnessed it first hand. I need a lot of records. Part of my job is to find more records for my gigs. I look for them everywhere, the flea market, thrift stores, yard sales and record stores. Our cabin is awfully tiny and there are approximately 4,000 records sitting neatly organized on shelves, the other half is in the basement. In our little cabin an afternoon of going through records results in a floor littered with stacks of vinyl of all kinds. With a DJ schedule of five nights out of seven this week our place is sure to be a disaster by Saturday.

Creating an atmosphere with a set of records is an art form and can easily take an entire day. It is rarely recognized as part of the DJ’s working process because it usually occurs behind the scenes. People don’t get a chance to see the inner workings of building a set. When I am focused on a sound for a particular gig (for example my record hop on Wednesday night) I can spin easily 100 rhythm & blues, rockabilly and guitar instrumental 45s. I never know when I might want to change direction in the middle of a set so for a gig like this one I bring 200.

I like to start with a “root” record that the entire set will be based around. Every tune after that will grow from it and will be connected to that single piece of music. I begin the process by “pulling” 45s from their sections that I will definitely want to spin at some point in the set. Those records go straight into stacks on the floor according to genre. After that I go through the sections again and pull records that are strong possibilities. I listen to them and sort them into their respectful genre stacks. The last step in the initial pull is when I go back through the sections one more time and see if there is something that I missed. It is always a good idea to check b-sides and records that have been sitting for a while. I am surprised at how often I find a neglected gem of a record just sitting on the shelf.

When I am satisfied that I have found the basic sound for the set I listen to every single record and visualize the venue and the space. This is when I do the fine tuning. Many records don’t make the grade in this portion of the process. Each record is carefully scrutinized and checked for skips, cleanliness, sound quality, lyrical content and my emotional response to the song. Many of my records come from people’s dusty basements or crusty boxes from flea market sellers. Often times they have been sitting in piles, with no sleeves for 60 years or more. Cleaning records is a drag but it is a necessary task. It also takes up valuable time but the result is more often than not worth the effort. Records with skips get put back on the shelves. Joining them will be anything that didn’t pass the cleaning test, records that are just too scratchy and records with questionable lyrics. Songs that instill an emotion in me are mentally noted and will be placed in the set at the appropriate moment.

Now that I have my records picked out and in clear stacks I begin the important process of organization. This is where I will beat my head against the wall trying to create some sort cohesive system for finding records faster and easier at the gig. I start with one stack at a time a subdividing each pile into separate piles which are unrecognizable to the average person. For this gig I will have six to nine stacks of 45s of three basic genres; rockabilly, rhythm & blues and instrumentals. Those stacks are divides again into fast songs, slow songs and strolls.

The most finely detailed step is to make sure that all of records in the stacks have a corresponding sleeve. I spend as much time matching sleeves to 45s as I do searching for records. Every 45 in the set with its original sleeve gets a plastic outer sleeve to help preserve its condition. There is something special about reuniting an original 45 with its original sleeve, it completes the restoration process and makes it easier to identify the records in a high pressure situation in a dark venue. This is important because I do not plan the order in which the records will be played. All the organization is done in advance to allow me the freedom to create a random music experience that can ebb and flow with the atmosphere of the venue and the crowd.

When it is all said and done I look down at the neatly organized stacks, a couple hundred 7” square pieces of paper filled with lost aural treasures of wax and I can’t help but think what a beautiful thing. The box is alive with history and untold stories that have passed through time from the original owner, to the basement, to the yard sale, to my hands and back into a world where more people know what an ipod is than a turntable. I lovingly place each pile into the 45 box, close the lid and secure the latch, these records are ready to be reintroduced to the world and their luster has been preserved for another generation.

Photographs by Rosey Lakos at roseylakosphotography.com.

The changing world of the 1960s opened the door for strong political music. It could be heard everywhere. Bob Dylan recorded “Masters of War” in 1963. This was a gritty response to Eisenhower’s warning of the military-industrial complex. Five years later Eric Burdon’s “Sky Pilot” was released, this was the story of a military priest’s conflicting emotions of his place in the war. In 1969 Edwin Starr recorded a
tune called “War” this was a furious commentary on the futility of war and destruction it creates. In 1971 Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On” shot up into the #2 position in the pop charts (#1 on the R&B charts.) This showed a significant change in the country’s atmosphere and soon radio became a new outlet for political expression.

Fiddlin’ Steve Ledford was born in North Carolina in 1906. He had recorded and played with traditional music icons Wade Mainer, Clyde Moody and Roy Hall in the 1930s and Bill Monroe in 1940. He spent half a year in New York recording for the American Recording Company then eventually returned to North Carolina in 1941 to raise cattle and hens. He continued to play music with family and friends until his death in 1980.

Fiddlin’ Steve, his brother Wayne and his nephew James played music together as the Ledford String Band and recorded a song in the fall of 1971. It was about the war’s effect on a loving mother and father, it was called “He’s Comin’ From Vietnam” it was a somber bluegrass tune about a father waiting for the return of his son at a train depot. The LP was released in 1972 on Rounder Records (#0008) under the title Ledford String Band.

Ledford String Band – “He’s Comin’ From Vietnam” (mp3)

In the first few lines, it seems that a Norman Rockwell type scene is about to unfold: a father in a suit and hat, anxiously waiting and searching for a sign of his uniformed boy. But that image quickly dissolves as the fiddle begins and the real story unfolds, “One morning when the office had opened, a man called old in years, stood by the express office showing signs of grief and fear. And when the clerk approached him, with trembling words he said, I’m waiting for my boy Sir, he’s comin’ home today. He’s comin’ home to mother, not comin’ as I am; he’s comin’ home in a casket Sir he’s comin’ from Vietnam.” The confused clerk thinks that the man is at the wrong office and begins to explain that the passenger pick-up is at the station across the way. Then the source of the confusion becomes clear, “You don’t understand me Sir, the old man quickly said. He’s comin’ not as a passenger but by express instead. And when the whistle pierced the air and the train came in on time, the old man rose in a brisk less pace and quickly rushed outside.”

Soon a coffin appears and the clerk begins to understand the father’s grief and fear. As the workers begin to lower his son’s casket down onto the platform it causes nervous reactions in the people at the station that have gathered to watch. He asks them to be careful and suggests that they are not sympathetic to how he feels, “Do not treat him roughly boy. He contained that barring jack, he went away as you boys are, this way he’s comin’ back. He broke his dear old mother’s heart when he left her alone and this is the way they all come back when they join the boys in blue.” The devastation the father feels is overwhelming and he blames his son for the mother’s despair. But here is a song that avoid politics all-together. This is not about discontent with the government; it is not about war or peace, it is not even about soldiers. This song is about the ones who are left at home while the killing and dying is conducted. It asks nothing and points no fingers. However it does remind us that the casualties of war are not always soldiers.

Wars are fought on many levels. In 2006 I attended the wake my dear friend Damon who killed himself after fighting in the Iraq war. I saw the faces of his mother and his father, I held his wife’s hand and when I looked across the room I saw family, friends and comrades. I did not hear arguments about Iraq. I did not see war protesters or supporters. I saw tears and pain in the eyes of us who were left behind. I saw the effect of combat at my own front door. We can not possibly comprehend the experiences of soldiers in combat nor can we imagine the confusion and paradoxes that can be found in every situation but surely the dead have something to teach us about our world.

I have listened to this record two dozen times in the last few days and I wonder if Fiddlin’ Steve knew this father. I wonder how this man from the mountains of North Carolina felt about the war in Vietnam and I wonder how this song would be interpreted today by the North Carolina Tea Party Patriots? It seems that today we are given conflicting information on how we should view our American war dead. For 18 years there was Pentagon ban on showing photographs of dead American soldiers in flag draped coffins. On one hand we are told that the dead are heroes, yet on the other hand we were not trusted to honor those heroes by viewing the hidden costs of war and being allowed to acknowledge their sacrifices. When you listen to this tune consider that by 1975, 58,230 boys were lost to the war, and 116,460 mothers and fathers never saw their sons alive again. Then consider that somewhere in this country today a family is waiting to pick up their boy at the station.

During the summer of 1951 in the mountains of Korea, just days before the truce talks in Kaesong began, RCA-Victor released what was to be the very first tune about the Korean Conflict to come from the battlefront. Earlier that spring, the Korean battlefields were dominated by fierce grenade battles and brutal trench warfare between US forces and the North Korean troops and the Communist Chinese. Lt. Stewart Powell, an American Special Services Officer who spent his time traveling back and forth from the Korean front to Tokyo, scribbled down a few lines about being lonesome and far from home and would eventually make a small contribution to war music history.

The tune was called “Rotation Blues” (rca-victor #48-0494) an A-side Hank Williams-style hillbilly number about the loneliness of war. The flip side contained a western-pop number called “Cowpoke.” “Rotation Blues” may have remained simply a personal piece of writing if it hadn’t been for Louis M. “Grandpa” Jones and yodeler Elton Britt, two prominent country-western recording artists who were introduced to the tune while entertaining the troops with the USO (United Service Organization) near the Korean front. For the exhausted soldiers and Marines thousands of miles from home the tune hit a familiar note and became popular very quickly.

“Rotation Blues” mp3

Britt played the song on the AFN (Armed Forces Radio Network) and received so much mail following the performance that he contacted publisher Nat Tannen and strongly suggested he get the song recorded. Tannen, a man who could easily recognize a unique tune immediately contacted Lt. Powell in Korea via transoceanic phone calls and convinced him to make a deal for the recording rights over the phone. Weeks later Elton Britt and The Skytoppers were in the RCA-Victor Studio in New York putting it down on shellac. Later, Bill Monroe put a bluegrass flavor to the tune and recorded it for Decca, followed by Hoagy Carmichael’s jazz version.

The simplicity of the lyrics and kitschy-hillbilly music mask the deeper emotional state of the American soldier’s isolation in a country at war. The Korean “Conflict” (1950-53) was never officially declared a war and many folks back home were still coming down from the end of World War II. American troops who were on occupation duty in Europe and Japan had been streaming back to the states for the last six years and nobody thought that an American call to arms would come again so soon, but in 1950 it did.

This is one of the first American pop songs to shed some light on the lives of the contemporary foot soldier on the battlefield. It is a glimpse into the monotony of a soldier’s day to day experience–far away from the comforts of home, the one place that everybody in Korea wanted to be. The tune starts off with a simple guitar, steel guitar, piano and bass, then a signature Elton Britt yodel wails; “I got the ro-oo-oh-ta-a-tion blues. I’m a lonely soldier sittin’ in Korea. I’m a lonely soldier sittin’ in Korea. But rotation’s comin’ so I shouldn’t have no fear.” The subject of the fear is only implied by the use of the word. There is no mention of destruction and suffering on the front lines, no dying or killing, just a few sad words from a man waiting patiently for his rotation papers.

While in 1951 it may have been good news to the boys in the trenches and mountains that truce discussions had begun it would still be another two years before anything realistic came out of the talks, besides the troops were experiencing an overwhelming pre-occupation with survival. Any serious hope of a truce seemed trivial when you were living on the frozen dirt. In the meantime soldiers and Marines were still living, killing and dying in the icy rain, mud and snow but that did not stop them from daydreaming about leaving; “I’m gonna pack my bags and sail back over the sea. I’m gonna pack my bags and sail back lover the sea. ‘Cause the A-frames in Korea don’t look good on me” There is no sense of patriotism or gung-ho American stereotypes, just a mention that his duffel bag and a trip home may be more his style than an “A-Frame” the slang for the wooden packs that the villagers used to carry massive loads on their backs. It is no wonder that Lt. Powell’s song became so popular with the grunts, this was music written by a soldier for soldiers, and it spoke their language, he was one of them.

“Rotation Blues” is an example one of the first times a pop song put an American soldier’s mental stability into question: “Rotation had better hurry up and set me free, I’m buggin’ out. Rotation had better hurry up and set me free, section 8’s gonna get me. The honey pots in Korea done started smellin’ good to me” A Section 8 is a military term for being discharged from service for reasons of mental-illness or problems, like post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) which back in the 50s was called battle fatigue. In the last part of the lyric we are introduced to another daily problem of the GIs and Marines; “honey pots” these were Korean toilets that were kept inside the house until they were full then they would empty them into roadside ditches, by the time they were full they resembled the sight and smell of honey very little. If an attack occurred the first spot a soldier would instinctively seek was the roadside ditches. This soldier is slowly losing his grip and ‘buggin’ out’ is just the first sign.

Listening to this record 63 years after it was recorded, I can’t help but wonder what it would have sounded like to sit next to Lt. Powell and hear him play it in out in the field. I wonder what his voice and playing would have added to the meaning and impact of the lyrics. I wonder what his buddies may have felt inside as he sang and I wonder where their experiences may have led them. I can only hope it was home.

The group was called the Prairie Ramblers (formerly the Kentucky Ramblers) and by 1938 they had made a respectable name for themselves by recording a wide range of genres. When Patsy Montana recorded with the group in the early-30s she would soon be the first female country artist ever to sell over a million copies of a record. Towards the end of the great depression up-tempo rhythms of the big and small swing bands were the thing. Artists like Benny Goodman, Glenn Miller and the Dorsey Brothers ruled the popular airwaves with their slick and clean dance records. In an industry more interested in bigger sales than content, ARC records began a “3 records for a dollar” program and issued and pressed over 30 labels including Columbia, Vocalion Brunswick. In the winter of 1938 Columbia Broadcasting System (CBS) bought the ARC complex and absorbed most of the ARC catalogue.

The tune was originally slated to be ARC recordings #17354-1 and was called “The Ghost in the Graveyard.” It featured Roland Gaines singing, Floyd “Salty” Holmes on guitar, Charles Chick Hurt on mandola, Jack Taylor on bass and Tex Atchison on the fiddle. People during the depression may have been disinclined to buy a record about murder, infidelity and the ghastly justice of a bitter revenant, but despite that on May 18^th 1935 it was recorded. The Ghost in the Graveyard is a macabre story of a man with a murderous past who has a chance meeting with the dead great-grandson of one of his victims while strolling through a graveyard one night. It begins as many spooky stories do, with a raspy laugh like a maniacal Popeye the Sailorman and a cold dead wind that fades just as the guitar, mandola, fiddle and bass quietly slip in.

We are introduced to the scene through the eyes of the murderer. The clichéd lyrics of the opening line are somehow naturally fitting: “It was a dark and stormy night, not a star was in sight, in a graveyard by a church way up on the hill.” It is not until he hears a voice speaking to him that he begins to realize his misfortune. It would seem that on this night, deep in the hills of Kentucky, justice is going to be served.

The ghost eventually confronts the man in a gravelly voice and exclaims; “I’ve got you where I want you. I’m gonna keep you where I got you, for you the one who shot my great grand-pa, ha ha ha ha. Now I told you I would get you, now if I saw you now I’ve got you, for you the one who stole my great grand-ma, ha ha ha ha.” It is clear that the man not only killed the great-grandfather but also stole away his great-grandmother. The ghost has no intention of letting this man out of his grasp.

Roland Gaines’s unique vocals mimic a dialogue between the ghost and the man. As a cat fight breaks out his fear becomes overwhelming; “Now you know I couldn’t stand there, I didn’t like them cats, you should know that. And I didn’t like them ghosts either. So I looked down at my feet and said; feet now come on and do your duty and carry me home.” But the ghost has already brought him home and intends to keep him there. The vocals almost sound goofy but the delivery is serious enough to make one think twice. The length of the song is woven together with strange sounds effects made by manipulating various instruments like the kazoo, fiddle and trumpet. There are spooky voices in the form of screaming tom cats, cold blowing winds and other odd sounds from the mysterious land of the dead.

Even after CBS’s purchase of the ARC complex, the recording number was changed to Columbia records #C2406-1 but was again left to sit upon the shelves in obscurity until 1981 when it was finally released in the US on the Columbia Special Products division box-set “Legendary Songs of the Old West.” (CSP P4-15542) which features another un-issued Prairie Ramblers tune featuring Smiley Burnette’s singing called “Minnie the Moocher at the Morgue.” This song was also part of the ARC catalogue and like “The Ghost in the Graveyard”, sat on a shelf in obscurity for years after it was recorded. The two tunes would have made a great two-sided record.

Perhaps it was the dark-bluesy mood of the tune that kept it from being released. Maybe it was the bleak nature of the subject or the strange and supernatural vocals that kept it on the shelf for so many years. It is interesting to note that there were dozens of songs with similar themes from the same time period that were released, including The 5 Jones Boy’s “Mr. Ghost Goes to Town” (1936) and Cab Calloway’s “The Ghost of Smokey Joe” (1939), and later Pee Wee King and his Golden West Cowboy’s “The Ghost and Honest Joe” (1946). All of these tunes were loaded with macabre imagery and subject matter. We may never find out why ARC and later CBS decided against pressing some of the most unique sounds in early country music history but one thing is certain: someone at CBS records recognized the importance of these recordings and it is because of them that we are able to enjoy these lost tunes. It is a shame, however, that we will never be able to listen to them on a crusty old 78rpm or a wind-up Victrola.

There is a moment after you set the needle down on an old 45, during the first few revolutions, when a muted and dusty crackle defines a world within those grooves. It persuades us to close our eyes and dig the sound. I have spent the last 16 years seeking out and playing for the world unique recorded music that is dark and lovely. I am especially pleased when I can find a piece of music that moves me enough to fit into one of my DJ sets.

Whether it is a love ballad, a barn burner or just an instrumental, the common ingredient that I appreciate is a high level of seriousness in the delivery. For me this means a certain balance of lyrics, voice and instrumentation that may not fit into my standard method of identifying and categorizing music. When it comes to my record shelves I call this category the “weird stack.” Deep within the weird stack resides a fantastic universe: the darkest and most interesting records on my shelves.

Among the records in this magical area are two that epitomize the sound of the weird stack, Chuck Berry’s “Down Bound Train” and Bo Diddley’s “The Great Grandfather”. Both tunes, written in the 1950s, focused on the dark side of American culture. While many of their popular songs were the usual radio-friendly rhythm & blues, there was something undeniably sinister stirring in the words and music.

In 1956 Chuck Berry recorded a song for the Chess label titled “Down Bound Train” (Chess 1615). It was the b-side to “No Money Down” and it featured Willie Dixon on bass, Otis Spann on piano and Eddie Hardy on drums. This was the tale of an alcoholic’s nightmare trip to hell, after a night of drinking too much hooch that ended with blacking out on the floor. When faced with eternal damnation, the nameless drunk realizes he shares the same horrible fate as his fellow passengers, but before he arrives at his fiery destination he discovers he may have a choice in the matter after all, and that he could struggle to redeem himself before it’s too late.

The gravity of the situation is evident in the descriptions of his fellow riders: “The passengers were mostly a motley crew; some were foreigners and others he knew. Rich men in broadcloth, beggars in rags, handsome young ladies and wicked old hags.” We can taste and smell the interior of the train: “The engine with blood was sweaty and damp and brilliantly lit with a brimstone lamp, and imps for fuel were shoveling bones while the furnace rang with a thousand groans.” We sense that American culture’s seedy underbelly of culture will not likely escape this nightmare and so the unceasing motion of the engine drags us furiously along for the ride.

Out of a mist of darkness the tracks hum with a furious rhythm, the click-clack of the sticks and the echo of fingers upon bass strings draws each instrument out of this mysterious dream at an ever increasing intensity “As the train rushed on at a terrible pace sulphuric fumes burned their hands and face, wider and wider the country grew, faster and faster the engine flew. Louder and louder the thunder crashed, brighter and brighter the lightning flashed.” The anxiety of the experience leaves us desperate to be anywhere else, but the devil himself has other plans in mind for us. As a result, we succumb to the situation so as not to prolong our imminent suffering.

Three years later in 1959 Bo Diddley recorded a Dave Bartholomew tune for the Checker label called “The Great Grandfather”. This was the flipside to a popular number called “Crackin’ Up” (Checker 924) featuring Willie Dixon on bass, Lafayette Leake on piano and either Clifton James (or Frank Kirkland) on drums. The tune was a deeply haunted tale burdened with the hard times experienced by a man surviving out in the country in the 1800s. There was a depth and substance to the minimal atmosphere of the music that suggested that this was no love song and was certainly unlikely to be played at the local record hop.

It begins with a solitary guitar string and a single sad drum, heavy with the steps of hard tired men, the drumsticks cracking like bones under skin. Within a faded glance, cracked fingers tap somberly on a piano lonely like men crying alone. The deep steady slap of the bass draws the great-grandfather forward into the earth; soon a broken voice bears the weight of the story “the great grand-pappy when the land was young barred his do’ wit’ a wagon tongue, oh ohh, when the times got tough and the Redskins smart said his prayers wit his shotgun cocked oh ohh..”

In the lyrics we are reminded that people in the early days of this country experienced hardships and fears that are hard for us to imagine today, such as bolting the door of the shack with part of a wagon and protecting oneself with only a 12-gauge shotgun. As the tune creeps along ponderously, the dirt under the nails begins to show as we soon learn that the great grand-pappy cleaned his teeth with his knife, only owned one suit and was blessed with 21 children in his lifetime.

It is clear that the early tradition of the blues paved the way for music with this kind of substance and meaning. A popular artist didn’t have to stick to accepted ideas of American music culture and this philosophy still stands today. After 40 years these two songs hold more weight than most popular tunes being recorded today and they have certainly earned their honorable place among the weird stack.