THE WILDMEN, "KING OF THE JUNGLE" C/W PEREZ & BRANA, "THE CRAZY CUBAN," COLUMBINE 101 (REL ?/1958)

 

Today we have the kind of record I wish I could serenade you with every Saturday. Alas, there aren’t a lot of them. Though the A-side is the star of the show, both exhibit a what-the-hell spirit that has made this rare 1958 release a favorite of DJs and rock bands, including The Cramps, who included both sides of various compilations of disturbed oldies curated by them or adjacent to them.

There is no information on where this pair of performances was made (I’d guess New York City) or who the performers might have been. Library of Congress song copyrights were logged for the record’s A-side by its composer, Jules Frederick and by Philadelphia Music, who published the manuscript in 1958.

One might hazard a guess that the likable lead voice on “King of the Jungle” by The Wildmen is Jules Frederick. His singing has the appeal of a Gene Vincent—pleasing but a little unsettling. Against a lunatic backdrop of parodic sounds heard in Tarzan movies and their many el cheapo knockoffs, it’s a winning love song with unusual chord patterns and a little rhythm section (seldom heard over the goofy mock-tribal chants and tiger roars provided by, I’d wager, a well-chosen selection of Bellevue patients on a special day-trip). It’s the perfect rock ‘n’ roll record—guaranteed to upset parents and civic leaders, of questionable taste and performed as if it’s the most perfect thing ever conceived.

Released on the Columbine label, an apparent one-shot affair, since no other records have surfaced in almost 70 years, this rare item showed up in a seller’s stock that I just happened to peruse, after all else had failed. Said vendor had replenished his tired stock—records I knew like old friends—with a motley crew of new selections, this among them. I had one of those cartoon doubletake “what in th’--?!?” reactions and gathered up my selections from this new stuff and laid down cash on the barrelhead.

“The Crazy Cuban” is credited to Perez and Brana. This was a real-life duo of Herman Brana and Louis Gonzalez Perez. They copyrighted a few songs with the LoC—instrumentals, I’d wager—but this 90-second goof sounds improvised. It may have been copyrighted as “El Dorado,” which is logged in the January-June 1958 LoC music copyrights volume. It’s a torrid minor-key Cuban mover with King Curtis on saxophone against a bed of Latin percussion and tense piano. Wacky vocal effects trade off with Curtis’ sax.

If only it were longer! But it was just a B-side, and no one thought about its appeal beyond a couple of weeks post-release. Ten minutes of this would be fantastic, but 91 seconds is all we get.

And that’s it. If copies were sent to the music trade magazines, they were ignored. Which is a surprise, as Cash Box would’ve reacted well to these sides and deemed them “top teen coin” or some other bit of encouraging jargon. Thus, this impossibly obscure single has lingered in the twilight zone. Known by collectors and DJs, but hidden from the public, it’s one heck of a glorious racket!

Tomorrow: from the same dig, a superb 1967 soul outing by Jean Wells, with a pair of great songs and performances on the Calla label.