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Had the following technical communication conversation with my wife earlier today:

WIFE: You know when people are sending texts, and they use abbrevaitions like LOL, OMG -- what do they call that? Abbreviations? That doesn't sound right.

ME: I don't know. I know what you mean, though. Abbreviations sounds old-fashioned. [Consults almighty Google.] Well, Wikipedia mentions abbreviations, and then goes into SMS -- Short Messaging Service.

WIFE: But that's outdated, isn't it?

ME: I think so. I don't think those who text say they're using SMS Language.

So, texting folks: What do you call your little abbreviations? I'm not talking about emoticons, or the Dr. Zoidberg/Homer Simpson shapey-thingies (though it sounds like I need a little help on those as well).

Help a fossil out here. Before I go off for a scuttle.

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Fossilized Fud Music: That '30s Sound

I guess I have to blame my mother for this.

She was born in 1936, so this music is a bit older than she. It is the stuff she grew up with (well, not necessarily the first one, but the rest).

Back then, it was radio. Yes, they had vinyl, but not everyone had a record player. So you had a radio. I know we're tired of radio today, but back then I imagine it was a magical place, with more than music -- lots of drama and comedy shows. I listen to a lot of them.

There's that '30s sound. Lots of brasses. Clarinets and piccolos, from the winds. And lots of swoopy, drippy violins, as in the Rudy Vallee tune.

Then there's that jazz sound, epitomized by Cab Calloway's "Minnie the Moocher."

Fossilized Fud Music: Herman's Hermits

All you have to see is Ed Sullivan. All you have to hear are the word "Manchester" and all the high-pitched girlie shrieking from the audience and you know Herman and the Hermits are part of the '60s British Invasion:

In my brain, they're classified in two ways:

1) The one-hit wonders that wrote and sang the song "Henry the Eighth," as you've just heard, and,
2) Oh. They wrote and performed other songs?

Like this one:

And this one:

Somehow, they look really, really weird in color. And in modern clothing. Not as endearing. Not nearly as goofy, particularly if you pay attention to the marionette-style dancing in the first video (of course, their marionette dancing is much better than Ed Sullivan's typical marionette-like delivery, but only moderately so).

In this color video, and with their aged, hippie fans in the audience, they look more like they're directing exercises at an old folks' home rather than performing at a concert. But then again, these are my kind of people: Mellow. Kinda boring. Not likely to raise a fuss and not really likely to scream their heads off so much at a concert I go home not being able to hear.

But back to the one-hit wonder thing. Perhaps it's because I simply don't pay attention, or that all these British invasion bands sound, well, so much alike. It's easy to think that they're one-hit wonders because their one hit song gets played and played and played so much on the radio that you forget they recorded anything else.

Ew. That musical finale at the end of that third video reminds me why I don't like to go to concerts. I'm much happier with the studio version of most songs, since they typically -- and I know it's not true for every song -- don't get overblown like that.

Fossilized Fud: Mac Davis, Assorted Hippies, and Myself as A Babe in the Woods

Earlier this evening, my wife said she didn't realize how much of a "babe in the woods" I am because I didn't know who Mac Davis was.

I do now, of course. Thanks to YouTube, she's educated me.

And I do know who he is, or at least recognize his music. This is probably his best-known song (at least in this neck of the woods):

And here he is trying to teach Beaker of Muppets fame how to eef, while he eefs and hambones:

I think for 2011, I'll make it my new years' resolution to learn how to eef. We've got so many classical musicians in the family -- well, at least in the Brower part of the family -- that maybe having someone learn to eef and eef well will bring some balance back to the force. Or make me look really, really stupid. Either way, it's win-win.

Then there's this collection of flannel-clad hippies singing their signature song. Wikipedia tells me they were part of a wave of music called the Jersey Shore Sound, which entails such artists as Bruce Springsteen and Bon Jovi -- neither of whose music I ever got into, nor could ever get into. Too loud and screechy. I'm too steeped in Wuss Rock, I suppose. Such music, per 'pedia, focused on the lives of everyday joes working in the industrial cities of northern New Jersey and those who were "underdogs" in any way. No explanation, of course, for the hippie look. Sign of the times.

Fossilized Fud Music: Roy Acuff

As much as I loathe modern country music, I think I could get into some of the older stuff quite easily. Roy Acuff is one of them.

Take his song "The Wabash Cannonball." I heard this a lot when I was a kid. Had no idea what they were singing about; I just liked the sound of the word "Wabash" and that one of the Smoky Mountain Boys could sound like a train whistle.

And to use an over-used phrase, I like the old-timey feel of Acuff's "Lonesome Joe," as it has that Christy Minstrels, real country music feel to it, not the manufactured pseudocrap that passes for country music today.

Like it or not -- and I'm sure not many would like it today -- this kind of music is a huge part of the American musical legacy. Country, and especially southern country, is, in my opinion, the single most significant and original contribution this nation has made to a world of music. I say that because the songs, the tunes, springing from the rural backwoods, speak more of the American experience than any other genre, with perhaps the exception of Black gospel music, of which I'm also a fan.

My only worry with this kind of music is that the messages -- of love, of the gospel of Jesus Christ -- are going to fade so that they're cultural relics of an ancient time with no meaning in today's world. George Orwell, in his novel 1984, fretted that Newspeak would eliminate words from our vocabulary -- but that's not the issue. What is the real issue is that the deep, self-seated meanings of the words and concepts that were once revered and enjoyed fade and are now, for many people, just a cultural thing to enjoy while listening to the music, but to forget once the banjo and fiddle have stopped.

Fossil Music: Harry Nilsson

This is one of those songs you recognize instantly, whether you like it or not:

Again, i have to wonder why the songs I heard in childhood are the ones that I recall with the most fondness, and why they seem to be embedded in my mind. Just hearing the opening strains of this one sets the entire song playing in my brain. Especially the part where he's singing like Charlie Brown's teacher.

Never knew it was Nilsson singing. I wasn't all that into knowing who was singing, just that they were singing.

He also covered that hit from Casablanca, "As Time Goes By." He does an excellent job.

Though Louis Armstrong is the one most associated with this song, I have to say that despite his ownership and despite Nilsson's good cover, this song, in my mind, will always belong to Dooley Wilson. Don't be deceived by the erroneous label on thsi next video. It may say Armstrong, but it's all Wilson. This I did not know: Wilson was a drummer, not a pianist, but nonetheless he pretended to lay the piano in 1942's "Casablanca."

Fossilized Fud Music: Petula Clark

I don't know why, but this song always makes me happy. It's so singable. So hummable. It's a bit escapist in its lyrics, telling people to go downtown to avoid their problems. But we all need that, don't we -- a place to go where our troubles and cares don't follow us?

And this is unquestionably Petula Clark's song. Again, I'm not saying this because hers is the version I'm most familiar with -- I like that she's not only singing about a bassanova beat, but also in a song that's got that nice bassanova beat. Some of the more modern versions of the song try to rock or jazz it up a bit more than it needs to be.

Here's another one from Clark in the same vein:

Once again, a song about after work, hanging out -- a song about nothing long before Seinfeld made his show about nothing. And how can you top the hip little bit of hip-slappin' she does in this video? These are videos from the Ed Sullivan Show, when videos were about the music, not necessarily about the weird images folks could throw up on the big MTV screen.

Yes, I am a fossilized fud. Check out the title of the post, bub.

Here's another happy --- GAH! What IS that dress she's wearing? It looks like a cross between a swimsuit top and a Slip 'n' Slide bottom. But it is a happy song. Gale Garnett. A fine version. But I think I like this one better:

This is Helen Reddy's song -- and the fact that she sings it here with a dancing camel is only a bonus. This scene from The Muppets always fascinated me. How much practice did it take those two camel performers to do this right? Lots, I imagine.

Fossilized Fud Music: Roads Go Ever, Ever On

Like most of the songs I know, this one was introduced to me via television. This is about the only thing I worry about in thinking that we don't have broadcast or cable TV in the house -- where will my kids get their introductions to the world around them?

Oh yeah. Through me. Because of me, they've seen "The Hobbit," from which this song comes. And thanks to my many years of watching the Muppets, they've seen the likes of Harry Belafonte, Danny Kaye, and others. So they are getting an education of sorts.

Here's more from Glenn Yarbrough.

 And this one. I really dig the groovy hippie chicks clapping mindlessly in the background.

Great Fossilized Fud Music

I'm not one who's much for country music. But I qualify that. I enjoy a great deal of "country" music, as long as, for the most part, it's not the modern crapola. This is the kind of country music I like:

What a voice on this gal. This is back when country music was about voices and songs and melodies and such, not about beer and tattoos and, let's face it, mostly skanky ladies. And not too twingy-twangy. So maybe it's not really country music. It's probably more rock-influenced country. And that's fine, because that's what I like.

"Smipley Awesome!"

One of the things I enjoy about my fozzilized fud music is that I was around when most of this music was popular the first time. Whenever I go onto the BYU-Idaho campus and hear one of those youngsters -- now born in 1990 or later; 1990 being the year I graduated from high school (and yes, I'm a young'un compared to many others) -- and I hear them (the BYU-Idaho folk) singing these very songs, I can say, hey, I got to hear that one on a scratchy AM radio. Or on an LP.

Like this one:

And this one:

(The title of this blog post is taken from a YouTube comment on this next one:)

Ah, The Four Tops. "Seven Rooms of Gloom," one of their more obscure hits, is absolutely great for their knackery at rhyme.

Til There Was You

There are some singers who rock every single song they sing. Take Peggy Lee, best known, perhaps, to this generation, as the torch-singer mutt in "Lady and the Tramp." Listen here to her sing "Til There Was You," from Meredith Wilson's "The Music Man."

Magnificent, from the sultry voice to the minimalist arrangement. She sings it like she means it.

Here's the original for comparison, with Shirley Jones singing:

This is definitely her song in the musical, and she does it well, and it's always entertaining to watch Robert Preston's facial expressions as she sings.

Then there are The Beatles, who also sang this song:

Now I like The Beatles, but this version is absolutely lifeless. Paul McCartney may like the song, but nobody else does, and their sad little rock arrangement of this wonderful ballad -- and his delivery -- are spineless. There are many songs The Beatles sing well. I did exercises to "Penny Lane" when I was in elementary school -- evidently the instructor was a Beatles fan -- so I have fond memories of their music. This song, however, they deliver terribly.

So points here to Peggy Lee, best to deliver "Til There Was You."

Grinning Ghosts and Running Mice

One of the things I enjoy the most about Disney -- and yes, I can enjoy Disney, get off your high horses and get that pole our of your kiester -- is the music. But not just the big-time Sherman Brothers music from Disney's Golden Age, nor even the Broadwayized schtick we get today. I'm talking incidental music, from the theme park rides to the cartoon shorts.

Take "Grim Grinning Ghosts," by Disney composer Buddy Baker. An awesome piece of music and narration for one of my favorite rides at Disneyland. Never knew that until today. And there's more -- he did music for films like "The Fox and the Hound," the Apple Dumpling Gang series, and Hot Lead and Cold Feet. He also was a professor of music at LA City College where he taught another of my favorite composers, Jerry Goldsmith. (And it's also hard to miss Thurl Ravenscroft's distinctive voice as the narrator.)

He earned an Academy Award nomination for the score to "Napoleon and Samantha," Jodie Foster's first film, which I've never even heard of.

That's not all of Disney's musicians, however, just doing their jobs without really gettting the kudos or the fame that others have received working at the studio.

There's Artie Butler, who penned the music for this scene, the best one from "The Rescuers."

(I know that's a partial. The full embed-disabled scene is here.)

Even as a kid I would want to watch this scene over and over and over again just for the music. I even wanted to pick up piano lessons again just so I could learn to play it.

Butler, of course, was a composer and arranger outside of Disney, too. He arranged music for the likes of Barry Manilow (the unforgettable Copacabana) Helen Reddy (You and Me Against the World), and worked with the likes of Louis Armstrong and Barbara Streisand. Maybe it irks him he's best known to me as the composer of the "Organ Scene" in "The Rescuers." No matter.

Johnny, Roberta, and Susan: More Fossilized Fud Music

As much as I do not like driving on snow, shoveling snow and having to stare at snow six months out of the year, I love Christmas. Something like this is a principal reason why. Don't be squeamish, it's Johnny Mathis singing the Bach-Gonoud version of "Ave Maria." You rarely hear this song -- any version of it -- on the radio, even on those all-Christmas all the time stations. I don't know why. It's such a beautiful song.

But that brings me to the man singing the song -- Johnny Mathis. He is one of the top artists that say Christmas to me.


But let's moe on to something else: A Johnny Mathis/Roberta Flack Song-Fight with "Killing Me Softly." First, Johnny:

Now, Roberta:

Now, as much as I like Johnny Mathis, I have to give this one to Roberta Flack.

True, the next artist here isn't necessarily a fossilized fud. But I'm going by the song here, not the artist.

I know Susan Boyle's hot in musical circles now, but I still have to give the song to Mrs. Flack.

Just a note on Susan Boyle, though. Proof you had damn well not judge a book by its cover. I love watching and re-watching the video linked here, just to see first the rather snotty reactions from the audience as she announces her intentions, followed by their reactions after they hear her sing. It's a powerful reminder to me to listen first, get to know first, consider first, and such, before making any decisions, hasty or not.

Monday, Monday. Morne Plaine.

I am, betimes, an imperceptive soul. It took me until I was in my early twenties to realize that my father, immigrant, bricklayer, gardener and dreamer, didn't like to go to work. Especially, he didn't like to think about going to work on Sundays. One evening we were sitting on the porch as the sun set, listening to the robins and the meadowlarks. He gave a big sigh. Someone asked what the sigh was about. "I don't like Sunday evenings," he said, "It means I have to go to work in the morning."

He wanted to be a farmer. He became a bricklayer. Damn good one, too. I can still drive around the area and point out the brick work he did. Still, he didn't like to think about going to work on Sundays. Neither do I.

Another Monday song. I'm getting depressed. So on to the social commentary. This video is so '70s. The lights. The soft focus. The awful, awful hair. Then there's the Mamas and the Papas -- so sixties, right down to the minimalist set -- I kept waiting for Krusty the Klown to emerge to begin discussing the modern labor movement with George Meaney -- and the goatee.Whee, looka mee, I gotta goateeee. And the little Nehru jacket. This man is too cool to be kept anywhere but the freezer.

Don't whine. I love the M&P and the Carpenters. It's just odd looking at this stuff and thinking it passed for cool. Grampa Simpson was prophetic:

"I was with it, then they changed what it was. Now what I'm with isn't it, and what is it is weird and scary. It'll happen to you!"

Even More Fossilized Fud Music

Today's Fossilized Fud Music Selection features first, the New Christie Minstrels singing "Today." My sister Marina used to play her guitar and sing this song when I was a very small boy. Now, every time I hear this song, I am transported back to childhood, sitting on the floor in her room, listening to her sing and watching her fingers dance over the strings of the guitar. I'm sure I never told her at the time, but I loved to listen to her sing and play. Good times.

This one, she didn't sing, at least to my reocllection, which is probably a good thing, because it kind of freaks my kids out. "Why is she so mean," They ask. I have to say, "Well, it's just a silly song." They don't quite understand. I'm not sure I do either. But it's such a catchy tune . . .

Then there's this guy. Hillbilly music. Not the kind of condescending city-folk music that Myrna Minx might descend out of Manhattan to play at bars and such in Mississippi, but real hillbilly music. Not that she'd sing that kind anyway -- too white, of course.

More Fossilized Fud Music

First, Blondie. A No. 9 hit in the United States in 1981 with "The Tide is High." And I think after watching this video, I'm proud to say that I was not part of the MTV generation. Of course, I was only 9 at the time this song was popular, meaning my connection to it was just that same old AM clock radio in the kitchen, the radio that played this song a lot while we were eating breakfast and waiting for the bus.

Not that videos make a lot of sense these days, but what the heck was she trying to say in this video?

1. Get the ugliest troupe of guys in New York City together for a video.
2. Sing to Darth Vader, who inexplicably looks like he has an enormous coin slot in his head.
3. Sing while wiping up water on the floor.
4. Sing while tramping down the street.
5. Suddenly switch over to 1970s rocketry.
6. Then back to some city where naked men are carried through walls made of cardboard boxes.

I can take some comfort in knowing that, as I watch this video, Blondie is as bad at dancing as I am.

Here's the original. It's even worse than Blondie's version. My wife made me shut it off.

Then there's a group called the Atomic Kittens that covered this song. They're worse than The Paragons. Their version of the song is bleh, and they look like Bratz dolls. Hillary Duff also recorded it. I'm not even going to bother looking.

Back to Blondie. She looks SO BORED in this video. I can't figure it out. Maybe it's that 80s disinterested cynicism showing through. Or the unfamiliarity with singing in a music video, which is obviously dubbed. It kinda looks like something Playtone would put together.

BJ Thomas Before He Went All Hasselhoff

More fossilized fud music.

Most fun are the background dancers. Look at all the poorly dancing space hippies.



And more. I love that Moog sound.

And this one. Noticing a pattern?

More Fossilzed Fud Music

So, why does this song remind me of the time I spent at Ricks College? Not that I was into beau-catching all that much, mind you. Just ask my wife. Suave and debonair I am not.

I LOVE Being A Fossilized Fud

I love being a musical fossil. Because I can enjoy songs like this one (from the great Roger Whittaker) just for the fun of it, not because it's hip or retro or whatever. I love the fact that I'm old enough to remember this being played on a cranky old AM alarm clock radio as I was eating my sugar-laden cereal before heading out to the end of the gravel driveway to catch the bus to school.

The songs they play nowadays just make me want to go out to the end of the driveway and shout "Get off my lawn!"