That period in which David Johansen adopted the Buster Poindexter personna and issued his ultra-righteous Here Comes the Night was way the hell too short. I mean, Jesus!, just one LP??? Dammit! Ah, but, if you, like me, can't get enough of that fare, then Candye Kane's Coming Out Swingin' is going to go a long way to lifting the chagrin you undoubtedly share with grinnin' bopsters like myself. Okay, okay, I know you're thinking "Wait a minute…Candye Kane, the nudie cutie who appeared in Hustler and elsewhere, ran around with the punkers, and stuff like that there, that Candye Kane is also a singer who digs jazzy, juggy, hillbilly-y, down-lo music???"
Yep, my friend, that's the one. Now, don't get me wrong, I would never ever ever look at nekkid wimmens, NEVER!, it would interfere with my churchgoing schedule (three times a day, five on Sunday), so I can only go on what I'm being told as I hold Satan and his horny hordes at bay, but, well sir, I can see why such lissome Jezebels would tempt the righteous onto a path of hedonism and sin. I mean, is it fair that these wily Liliths are also granted the talent to be dance-hall sirens and lure men onto rocky shoals? By damn, it is not!, and as soon as I put down this moonshine (from a snakehandling good ol' boy) and communion wine (from a Catholic priest who…well, the less said the better), and as soon as I finish my scientifical researches on the origins of sin the hooch initiated, I'm gonna jump up on the dance floor, and…
…hey, whoa!, I do believe that horn section's getting under my defenses and, hoo-ee, the bustiered Ms. Kane is surely a sight for sore eyes…and…and…my feets is out of my control. I swear it's not of my doing! I did not consciously approach that floozy by the bar and start doing the Lindy Hop, it was the music and the minions of Belial who guided my clodhoppers, but, oh no!, now Kane's singing a weepy vamp song of feministical nuance (Invisible Woman), and I'm nodding my head in knowing rue! What's happening here? What will Rush Limbaugh say? Now she's doing a Morricone-ed I Wanted You to Walk (Right Through that Door) and I'm toestepping like Barney Fife going to visit Mt. Pilot and The Fun Girls. Can no one help? Is this the end of Rico? My soul's in jeopardy and…
…well, actually, heh!, I kicked that thing to the curb an hour ago, when the guitar player announced that almost everything I've been listening to was in fact written or co-written by Ms. Kane (often with another Eve of destruction, Laura Chavez), and I do believe I'm gonna to marry me that woman, maybe both of 'em. As soon as I get done swamp-doggin' to this cool-ass Marijuana Boogie, I'm making a bee-line for the stage, and…whoa! hold on, what on Earth am I going to tempt her with? My gap-toothed smooth talk? That country-weevil trailer trash jive I speak in? My collection of Budman beer steins? Oh man, I'm S.O.L. unless…unless…hey, I've still got the 'shine 'n the wine in my paint-peel DeSoto. Heh! Yeh, that oughtta do the trick. Make way, peasants, I'm fixin' on doin' me some mean courtin'!
Edited by: David N. Pyles
Copyright 2013, Peterborough Folk Music Society.
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