Secondhand Recs
Western MA’s Favorite Bar Band, Plimpton Plays For Yuks, Nancy & Lee In Las Vegas
A couple things recently recommended to me.
Animal Piss, It’s Everywhere, Grace (Sophomore Lounge Records)
Given that they’re apparently based right here in western Mass, this band should have been on my radar, but somehow I missed them. Maybe if they had a more distinctive name.
Luckily, three-thousand miles west in San Diego, Jim Ruland picked up the signal and sent a Bandcamp link my way, perfectly teeing it up as “Kurt Vile filling in for a country crooner on a booze cruise.”
The description on the site envisions a scenario where “an early Jimmy Buffett LP took a wrong turn down a dark alley somewhere between the poolside cabana and neighborhood crab shack.” It’s an alley I’ve enjoyed spending time in over the past couple weeks.
Grace pairs well with the new long-awaited Beachwood Sparks record and it’s been a good hang while riding my bike, walking the dog, and burning one on the porch in these last drawn-out days of summer headed down into fall.
Plimpton! Did You Hear The One About…?
This second rec also comes from way out west, this time by way of Tucson, Arizona and the formidable book editor and comedy aficionado Sean Murphy.
Part of a series of called The Plimpton Specials, this hour-long documentary aired in 1971 and follows George Plimpton as he tries his hand at stand-up comedy. Most of it covers the build-up to a performance in Las Vegas. Plimpton spends a month in Los Angeles where he teams with a pair of Laugh-In writers to cobble together a tight five, while also collecting advice from a line-up of comedy legends.
See him hit the links with Bob Hope, visit Phyllis Diller at home, and unsuccessfully try to learn to do impressions (Nixon, Duke Wayne, William F. Buckley) from David Frye. Jonathan Winters is in there too, Plimpton-proper in a turtleneck and sport coat combo. Brilliant as he can be, I’ve never taken to Winters (or his protégé Robin Williams). The veil between the wacky humor and the bottomless need is too thin. I prefer a ratatat gagman like Jack Carter, who accompanies Plimpton to Sy Devore’s famous tailor shop in Hollywood to get outfitted with a tux for the big show.
At Devore’s, Carter delivers some material-themed material (“Somewhere in town there’s a Volkswagen with the seat covers missing” “You sure you didn’t get the swatch from Truman Capote?”) before explaining the phenomenon of “flop sweat.” In the early aughts, I did a comedy zine called Flop Sweat, which I’ll tell you about another time. Here, Carter beautifully explains what it’s like for a performer to experience it: “You’re going along and you know in your heart it’s over…The flop sweat starts to pour and suddenly you’re swimming in your shoes.”
More sweat pours when Plimpton joins Buddy Hackett for a sauna session. Bug-eyed and barechested, Hackett winds up a classic, “How fat WAS she?” joke before segueing into an emotional story about starting out, getting his first big laugh, and how he just wants to be loved.
Along the way, Plimpton tests his act on strangers, including an unimpressed counterman at the iconic Tail O’ The Pup hot dog stand and a hotel valet who gives him a D grade for a tattooed lady joke. The Thief of Bad Gags himself, Mr. Milton Berle, loans him the old chestnut about a guy who was sent to hijack a jet and came back with Joe Namath. When Plimpton tries it on a couple of airline stewardesses on the flight to Las Vegas, the joke doesn’t fly (womp womp).
Plimpton’s primary wingman through all of this is Steve Allen, who imparts the final gift of a foolproof, iron-clad ad-lib: “If an airplane should happen to pass over Caesar’s Palace when you’re onstage, look up and say, ‘I hope it’s one of ours.’”
Once the action moves to Las Vegas, we’re treated to one of my favorite cinematic tropes: the Strip marquee montage. Something about the roll call of long-dead performers at long-gone casinos always gets me. Sammy Davis and Louis Prima at the Sands. Jimmy Durante at the Frontier. Finally we pull up to Caesar’s, where Plimpton will serve as the warmup for the 5th Dimension and Paul Anka. He looks out at the sea of white tablecloths in the empty Circus Maximus Room, remembering what Woody Allen (with his longer Bananas-era haircut) told him earlier: “It could be fun, but I doubt it.”
Backstage in the moments leading up to the performance, Plimpton fusses with his enormous clip-on bowtie and stalls for time. Unfortunately, Steve Allen tells him that he just spoke to the governor and the execution is going to take place on schedule.
One quick one from me.
Nancy & Lee in Las Vegas
While we’re on the subject of Sin City showbiz in the seventies, check out this Swedish TV doc which chronicles Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazlewood’s 1972 run at the Riviera.
At the time, it had been a few years since “These Boots Are Made For Walkin’” was on the charts, so this residency, presented by Dean Martin, is an attempt at a nostalgia cash-in. The crowds aren’t great and the performances are hit or miss—Lee’s mustache doesn’t even bother showing up to the gig—but as a time capsule it’s incredible. Some fun appearances from Billy Strange, Hal Blaine, and others. And starting around the 32-minute mark, there’s a stellar example of one of those marquee montages I talked about earlier. Set to Nancy singing “Machine Gun Kelly,” it’s pure joy to watch.