Friday, Oct. 27, 2017 KSFR, Santa Fe, NM Webcasting! 10 p.m. to midnight Fridays Mountain Time Host: Steve Terrell 101.1 FM
Email me during the show! terrel(at)ksfr.org
Here's my playlist :
OPENING THEME: Buckaroo by Buck Owens
(It's a) Monster's Holiday by Buck Owens (Ghost) Riders in the Sky by Marty Robbins
Frankenstein's Monster by Legendary Shack Shakers
I Flipped by Ray Condo & The Ricochets
Hot Dog That Made Him Mad by Carolyn Mark
Don't Say it by Margo Price
Delta Dawn by Hellbound Glory
Keep Your Mouth Shut by Beth Lee & The Breakups
You Gonna Miss Me by Eilen Jewell
Don't Mess with My Toot Toot by Fats Domino & Doug Kershaw
Harder Than Your Husband by Frank Zappa with Jimmy Carl Black
The End by The Imperial Rooster
The Tombstone Hymn by Rev. Tom Frost
Let it Roll by Dinosaur Truckers
Wrong Honky Tonk by Phoebe Legere
Honky Tonk Halloween by Captain Clegg & The Night Creatures
Eatin' Crow and Drinkin' Sand by Jesse Dayton
I Wish You Knew by Dale Watson & Ray Benson
Marie Laveau by Bobby Bare
Up to No Good Livin' by Chris Stapleton
Honky Tonk Flame by Tyler Childers
Let's Have a Party by Wayne Hancock
Back When We Was Young by Joe West
Sentimiento by Al Hurricane
Mi Madrecita by Baby Gaby
Who's Gonna Fill Their Shoes by George Jones
Just Because I'm a Woman by Dolly Parton
Sweet Cruel World by Max Gomez
Lindsey Button by David Rawlings
You Don't Hear Me Crying by Modern Mal
Never Come Home by Robbie Fulks
The Pilgrim by Emmylou Harris & Kris Kristofferson CLOSING THEME: Comin' Down by The Meat Puppets
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A version of this was published in The Santa Fe New Mexican Oct. 27, 2017
When people think of Halloween rock ’n’ roll songs, they normally think of whimsical novelty tunes dealing with the supernatural — ghosts, vampires, zombies, werewolves, witches, and Satan. But there are plenty of songs out there that are appropriate for Halloween because they are in themselves frightening and or at least deal with frightening — you might even say “monstrous” — topics like murder, insanity, blood, and gore. And while most of these don’t actually deal with spooks, many are spookier than the ones that do.
Here are some of my favorites:
* Too Dark Parkby Skinny Puppy. Let’s start with some music that actually terrified me one night. Back in the summer of 1991, I was driving alone and trying to get back home to New Mexico. I’d taken a wrong turn south of Reno and somehow crossed back into California, where some redneck kid at a gas station recommended a shortcut back to Nevada — a two-lane road with lots of little hills and no sign of civilization. I popped in a cassette tape of Skinny Puppy’s then most recent album, Too Dark Park, which made this stretch seem even more otherworldly.
This Canadian group made what was called “industrial” music, complete with jackhammer drum beats; growled, shouted, and incomprehensible vocals; samples of people screaming; and an occasional woman’s voice saying “Scared?” As I drove along that dark, lonesome road, there were no lights. No gas stations, no motels, no other cars. And most disturbingly, no road signs saying how far I was from anywhere. As Puppy pounded in my speakers, I kept thinking how this area was the kind of place Charlie Manson’s Family might choose to live. I started envisioning Charlie’s dune-buggies zipping along the desert alongside the road. And to add to my anxious state of mind, every few moments a rabbit would dart across the road, only to die under my wheels.
Finally, sometime after the end of the album, there was a junction and a road that led me back to Nevada. I don’t listen to much Skinny Puppy these days. Every time I hear them, I go right back to that never-ending road and all those suicidal rabbits.
* “Season of the Witch” by Vanilla Fudge. On their 1968 album Renaissance, the Fudge took Donovan’s mysterious little psychedelic folk-rock song, slowed it down, and turned it into an intense nine-minute saga. What creeps me out is the very end of the track, where the singer screams, “God. God, hey! / If you can’t help us, you better listen! Please!” Then he pauses, and as the organ plays its spookhouse noodles, in a frightened voice, just above a whisper, the singer says, “Momma, I’m cold.”
* “Ballad of Dwight Fry” by Alice Cooper. Not only is this track from 1971’s Love It to Death Alice’s greatest song, it’s also his funniest song — and his scariest. It’s about a tormented guy locked up in a mental hospital. Since the first time I heard it, my favorite line is when he talks about how much he wants to see his four-year-old daughter: “I’d give her back all of her playthings / Even the ones I stole.”
* “The Kindness of Strangers” by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. One of many highlights on Cave’s 1996 album Murder Ballads, this song tells the sad story of an Arkansas girl who wanted to escape her podunk surroundings. The song begins, “They found Mary Bellows cuffed to the bed / With a rag in her mouth and a bullet in her head / O poor Mary Bellows.”
* “Brand New Girl” by Angry Johnny & The Killbillies. From the backwoods of New England, Angry Johnny is a master of hillbilly horror. This gruesome little tune, from his mid-’90s masterpiece Hankenstein, features a noirish sax and lyrics about an Ed Gein-like character who threatens his girlfriend: “I’m gonna skin you alive and make a suit out of your hide.”
* “A Psychopath” by Lisa Germano. Germano herself was stalked for years by an obsessed fan, and this tune expresses her fears during the ordeal. This song, from her Geek the Girl album is downright eerie, with Germano singing in a hushed, resigned voice, “I am alone, you win again / I’m paralyzed. ... I hear a scream, I see me scream / Is it from memory?” Adding to the terror is an actual police dispatch recording of a terrified woman calling the cops because the stalker is breaking into her house.
* “D.O.A.” by Bloodrock. This had to be the most popular radio hit on local radio the week I graduated from high school in the spring of 1971. It’s a tune so sludgy and so dreary that it makes Vanilla Fudge seem like Herman’s Hermits. With sirens blaring in the background, the singer tells the story of a survivor of an airplane crash. He’s bleeding, unable to move, and surrounded by dead passengers. Slowly, he realizes he’s dying as well.
* “Demon in My Head” by Joe Buck Yourself. Never before has a banjo sounded so evil. This is just a simple song from this Nashville maniac who’s also played with Hank Williams III and Legendary Shack Shakers. He sings of an inner struggle with his dark impulses, a battle he’s obviously losing. “There’s a demon in my head and he wants you dead. … Glory glory hallelujah.” That night in 1991, while I drove on that lonesome road listening to Skinny Puppy and killing daredevil rabbits, my biggest fear was that my car would break down and I’d come across some deranged redneck like the guy in this song.
For all you Spotify users, here's a handy dandy playlist which includes all but one of the above songs:
Also, check out my 10th annual Big Enchilada Spooktacular, which is up and creeping around the internet. I gathered bones from all over the rock ’n’ roll graveyard to create a monster of a show. Listen to it below and enjoy all the Halloween shows HERE.
On Monday night, while editing one of my stories about the career of the late Al Hurricane, my editor Howard Houghton had a question about a reference to Fats Domino. Fats was in the story, of course, because Hurricane had toured with him briefly as a young man. Howard, a serious blues fan, asked whether we should identify Domino as an "early rock giant" as I had done in the piece, or an "early R&B giant." While either description is accurate, I argued that more people probably know him as a rock 'n' roll star.
"He's one of the last of the early rockers left," I said.
Like Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Buddy Holly and the other founding fathers, I remember loving Fats Domino's music before I even started grade school. Maybe, being a fat kid myself I had a certain affinity for The Fat Man. But it's deeper than that. Just hearing him sing and play piano made me feel happy deep inside.
More than a quarter century ago, before my son was born, I wanted to name him "Antoine" to honor Mr. Domino. My then-wife wasn't quite sold. She thought such a French-sounding name might sound too affected, So we compromised and named him "Anton." It would be nice if I could say my son became a huge Fats Domino fan. He's not -- but he has an open mind and a healthy curiosity about music, so maybe one day.
By the way, as soon as I learned about Fats' death I sent Howard a link to theNew Orleans Time Picayune obit. When I got to work, he threw this part of the story right into my face:
Mr. Domino was one of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame's first 10 inductees. But in a 1956 interview, Mr. Domino said, "What they call rock and roll is rhythm and blues, and I've been playing it for 15 years in New Orleans."
Lord keep you, Mr. Domino. Here are some of my favorite (and not overplayed) tunes from the late giant. Here's his first hit, "The Fat Man."
The Beatles always cited Fats Domino as a major influence. The first time I heard "Lady Madonna" in 1968 I thought it was an obvious tribute to the man from New Orleans -- and Paul McCartney has admitted as much. I guess Fats liked it too. Just a few months later he released his own version.
This is a fairly recent (2011) version of a fairly obscure Domino song from 1956.
In the mid 1980s, Domino teamed up with another Louisiana star, Doug Kershaw to cover "Don't Mess With My Toot Tooty," a song that not long before had been a hit for zydeco singer Rockin' Sidney. (Check out the guest appearances by David Carradine and Louisiana Gov. Edwin Edwards in this video.
Finally, here's a sweet tribute to The Fat Man from Albuquerque poet Hakim Bellamy, which he released Wednesday after Mr. Domino died.
This one I can't believe. Just one day after Al Hurricane ...
George Adelo died yesterday. He was a friend of mine. At this point I don't know the exact cause of death, but apparently he'd been very ill for at least several days.
A Pecos resident, George had a local band called White Buffalo. I saw them many times, once, a few years ago, backing rock 'n' roll sax giant Bobby Keys at Buffalo Thunder casino. Sometimes he played under the name of Georgie Angel.
Late last month White Buffalo lost its drummer, Jimmy Varela who died at the end of a performance in Pecos.
He also had been a member of Junior Brown's road band. (Like George and me, Junior went to high school in Santa Fe in the late '60s and early '70s.)
But, believe it or not, my first dealings with him -- except for a few times we might have crossed at parties during our high school and college years -- was not related to his work as a musician, but to his legal practice.
I was covering a story about 3 Northern New Mexico kids who broke into a bar and used the money to go to California where two of of them eventually were convicted for the murder of a woman on Zuma Beach. George was representing the kid who wasn't charged. That was back in the days when newspapers had travel budgets, so they sent me to California to cover the trial of the other defendants.
I called George for comment and said, "Hey George, I'm calling from LA ..."
Before I could go on, he said, "You son of a bitch!"
I had a feeling we'd be friends from then on.
A funny Adelo story that popped in my head this morning while trying process George's death: One night several years ago he called me at KSFR when I was doing The Santa Fe Opry. "Hey Steve, cold you play a real romantic song for me. I'm with this beautiful woman ..."
One of the songs I had cued up was the Frank Zappa/Jimmy Carl Black song "Harder Than Your Husband." I couldn't resist. Before playing it, I said "Here's a romantic song for my friend George ..."
He called up immediate yelling "What the hell are you doing to me?!?!?!"
I loved George.
He was a sweet, funny, caring man who loved music, loved New Mexico, loved his family and friends ... So much more I want to say.
George, you son of a bitch!
George Adelo talking with Boris McCutcheon at the 2006 New Mexico Music
showcase at South by Southwest
Boo! Welcome, my fiends, to the 10th annual BIG ENCHILADA SPOOKTACULAR!!!!
We're gathering bones from all over the rock 'n' roll graveyard to create a monster of a show.
I was on the air doing my radio show last night when I learned of the death of Alberto Sanchez, better known as Al Hurricane. He died from prostate cancer, He was 81. Anyone know of any gatherings, tributes, memorials for Al? Let me know. E mail me at sterrell(at)sfnewmexican.com thanks Al was the undisputed king of New Mexico music. I've been a fan for about 40 years but I didn't get to meet him until 1998 when I interviewed him for the New Mexican. At that point he still was going strong as a musician. Here's a copy of that interview
A version of this was published in The Santa Fe New Mexican June 7, 1998
It's star time New Mexico style.
The band is pumping a Norteno beat and the audience is warmed up. Literally. It's an outdoor show on a hot afternoon, but nobody seems to mind the sweat and the sun.
"Are you ready for the star of the show?'' the man behind the keyboards asks. The crowd roars in approval.
"Well, sorry. We're not bringing him out yet.'' But the bandleader's smile gives away his little joke. "No, I'm just kidding. Here he is, ladies and gentleman, the star of the show, the Godfather of New Mexico music, and my father, Mr. Al Hurricane!''
The Godfather emerges from his tour bus parked to the left of the stage as all eyes turn to him. He cuts a dashing figure white suit, white shoes, a mop of black curly hair and a face marked by a black eye patch a grim souvenir of a life as a traveling musician turned into a celebratory trademark of a man and his music.
"Orale!" Hurricane shouts, waving his hand in greeting and grinning. Some shout back. Others just clap and cheer louder. By now it's a standing ovation and he hasn't even started.
He basks in the moment. This more than the money, he says is what propels Alberto Nelson Sanchez, the man behind the Hurricane.
For about 40 years Sanchez/Hurricane has been making a living with his music. He owns his own record company, Hurricane Records, which still thrives in the age of the compact disc. In past years his family also owned its own recording studio and nightclub in Albuquerque.
And while the entertainment business is full of stories of careers destroying family relationships, the musician's road seems to have had an opposite effect on the Sanchez clan.
Hurricane has shared the stage with his younger brothers "Tiny Morrie" and "Baby Gaby," who was part of a recent show at Camel Rock Casino. He has seen his son, Al Jr., grow up to become his bandleader, and his nieces and nephews find musical careers of their own. He currently is working with his youngest daughters on what he hopes will turn into a recording project.
But the road has had its share of pain and loss for Hurricane as well.
He lost an eye in an automobile wreck on the way to a gig in Colorado in November 1969.
Both of his marriages ended in divorce, the second one with extremely tragic consequences.
In 1986, soon after his second divorce, his ex-wife's boyfriend killed his 2-year-old daughter. The boyfriend, Ruben Lopez, and Hurricane's ex-wife each were convicted of charges of child abuse resulting in death. Both served time in prison. Hurricane had a heart attack soon after the killing.
But his family, his music and his fans all helped him heal and go on.
The Godfather! ("Don't call me `El Padrino'," he later cautions a reporter. "There's a singer down in Texas who goes by El Padrino.") As the crowd outside of Camel Rock Casino cheers, it's easy to see that the man called Hurricane has won a big spot in their hearts. And you can tell he feels that love. Maybe that's why he doesn't immediately take the stage, but goes right for the center of the crowd.
Holding a wireless microphone, Hurricane sings his first several tunes right there among the people. Between songs he shakes hands with his fans, tells jokes with the men and flirts with the ladies. (Nothing raunchy, mind you. Not far away in the audience is Bennie Sanchez Hurricane's mother). During one song, he dances with a little girl who has come to the show with her parents.
Indeed, it's an all-ages show. As Hurricane finally joins his band on stage and more couples start dancing, you can see many generations. Men and women who look old enough to be the parents of the 61-year-old Hurricane dance next to couples in their teens not to mention small children who scamper about the concert area.
It's an inter-generational gathering on stage also. Hurricane's son, Al Jr., 38, leads the band and is a recording artist in his own right. At the recent Camel Rock gig, two daughters, Erika, 20 and 13-year-old Danielle the twin sister of the girl who was killed sang a few songs. Other sons and daughters have played with him in the past.
Hurricane has been playing music in public since he was younger than Danielle.
He was born in Dixon in 1936, but spent most of his early years in Ojo Sarco. His mother gave him the nickname "Hurricane'' as a child.
"I couldn't reach across the table without spilling a bunch of things and knocking everything over," he said in a recent interview at one of his favorite Mexican restaurants in Albuquerque.
The Sanchez family moved to Albuquerque when Al was 9 years old. At first he found himself picked on because of his light complexion and natural blonde hair. (His jet black toupee is one of the worst-kept secrets in New Mexico entertainment circles).
But his music helped him win acceptance. Both his mother and his father, Margarito, who died in 1979, encouraged him in this direction, he said.
As a youngster he worked as a strolling troubadour at restaurants in Albuquerque's Old Town. As a student at Albuquerque High School he formed his own band.
During the late 1950s and early 1960s, Bennie Sanchez began a career of promoting rock shows at the old Civic Auditorium in Albuquerque. Among those who performed were James Brown, Chuck Berry and Elvis Presley. Hurricane said he played with Chubby Checker in Santa Fe at a show his mother produced.
The young Hurricane's group was frequently chosen to open the show for touring national acts and sometimes was hired as a ``pickup'' band for famous singers coming through town without their own backup groups.
This is how Hurricane hooked up with Fats Domino. For a short time he traveled with Domino, though he said he turned down a chance to tour Europe as a part of Domino's band in the early 1960s because he did not want to leave his wife and young children.
Hurricane had married his high school sweetheart Nettie. The couple had four children Al Jr., Darlene, Sandra and Jerry.
Hurricane said he also played some concerts as a guest guitarist with Marvin Gaye's band in the mid-1960s.
While he loved rock and soul music, by the late 1960s he realized "people here were hungry for Latino music."
The Godfather-to-be cut his first album Mi Saxophone in 1967 for a small independent record company. Soon after that, he and his family started Hurricane Records, which produced albums for Hurricane, Tiny Morrie and Baby Gaby, and later Al Jr.
More than 40 albums would be released on vinyl during the next couple of decades. Like other record companies in recent years, Hurricane now only deals in CDs and tapes. Hurricane said he has six of his own albums currently available on CD.
Meantime, brother Morrie and his mother set up a family recording studio on San Mateo Boulevard, purchasing recording gear from Norman Petty Studios in Clovis. "Norman Petty offered us a deal on his Buddy Holley equipment," Hurricane said.
And noticing that there was no venue in Albuquerque for Chicano music, the family bought the Far West nightclub on west Central Avenue.
Thus the Sanchezes became a mini-music industry of their own recording music at their own studio, distributing it on their own label and playing live at their own nightclub.
The family toured quite a bit in those days, mainly through the Western states with cities that had sizable Hispanic communities.
It was on the way to one of those out-of-state gigs that Hurricane lost his right eye.
"It was November First, 1969, in Walsenberg, Colorado,'' Hurricane recalled. "We were in our way up to a show in Denver. I was in a car, there were six of us, band members, you know. We were pulling a trailer with our equipment. Tiny, Gabe and my mom were behind us about two or three hours.''
The car hit an icy bridge and started to slide, Hurricane said. ``It turned over five times and I came out of the driver's side.''
There was a shard of glass stuck in his eye.
Hurricane's wife and children came to the hospital, he said. They got off the elevator as nurses wheeled him by in a gurney, "I heard my wife tell my son, `Look at that poor man. I hope your dad is not in that bad of shape.' My face was so swollen up my own wife didn't recognize me.''
The accident and the new eye patch didn't stop the music. But his first marriage soon came to an end. Hurricane remarried in 1971.
With his new wife, Hurricane had four more children Nelson, Erika and the twins Danielle and Lynnea.
By the early 1980s, Hurricane decided to sell the nightclub and the recording studio.
Tiny Morrie and his family moved to Mexico, where his son Lorenzo Antonio became something of a teen idol. Morrie's daughters would form a Spanish-language pop group called Sparx a few years down the road.
Baby Gaby by this point had decided to quit the music business. He became a postal worker but still performs occasionally.
The mid-1980s became the most horrible time in Hurricane's life the second divorce, the killing of Lynnea, the heart attack, which he says came about due to the stress of losing his little girl.
Lynnea Sanchez was pronounced dead on arrival at University of New Mexico Hospital on Nov. 5, 1986. An autopsy later showed that she died of blunt trauma to the back or the abdomen.
Hurricane's wife, Angela Sanchez, then 34, and her boyfriend Ruben J. Lopez, then 44, were arrested. In September 1987 a jury convicted both of child abuse leading to death.
Lopez was sentenced to nine years in prison. He was released in 1992 and is still on parole. Angela Sanchez was sentenced to six years and served about half her term.
Hurricane said he had no choice but to go on and be strong. "She went to prison and suddenly I had to be the mother and the father of my children, '' Hurricane said. "You know it really touched me. Last Mother's Day my son Nelson called me and said `Happy Mother's Day, Dad. You were my father and mother.' ''
These days Al Hurricane has slowed down. Not nearly as much touring, just a couple of gigs a week. He says he's working on a new album but doesn't want to say when to expect it. "Whenever I say, it would be later,'' he said.
But he still loves the music, still loves the applause, still loves it when a fan interrupts an interview to get an autograph and a kiss.
And the Godfather loves passing his music on to a younger generation. He recalled a recent show at a school in Las Vegas, N.M. The students he said were just as enthusiastic, if not more, than his regular audiences. "They were grabbing me, caressing me, '' he said. "I told the vice principal later that I felt like Elvis Presley. He told me, `You are our Elvis Presley.' "
Here are some videos, starting with one that was produced by Natalie Guillen for The New Mexican two years ago:
