Nervous Norvus [pseud. Jimmy Drake], "The Fang" c/w "Bullfrog Hop," Dot 45-15500 (rel. 9/1956)
Despite all odds, middle-aged eccentric alcoholic Jimmy Drake, a disciple of zany comedian-musician Red Blanchard, got a Top Ten pop hit with "Transfusion," a song that generated some controversy, in the spring of 1956. Its morbid theme, gallows humor and crude sound effects, coupled with Drake's mild-mannered vocalizing and ukulele plinking, were something new in popular music. That a man of his age, who ought to've known better, performed such material shocked the blue-noses who'd had it up to here with all this Elvis nonsense.
Jimmy Drake shared something with Elvis: he was born in Memphis, Tennessee, though he preceded the King of rock 'n' roll by over two decades. Drake saw the world from 1912 to 1968 and his small window of fame came late in an unsettled and unhappy life.
The story of Drake's life is told by music historian Phil Milstein in THIS ESSAY and in the liner notes of the essential CD Stone Age Woo: The Zorch Sounds of Nervous Norvus (Norton Records, 2004). Milstein did the legwork and uncovered a story sad and funny (like life itself). By his forties, Drake worked as a truck driver (another Elvis parallel!) and was sick of like on the road. As said, he was a fan of DJ/humorist/musician Blanchard, who created a zany patois inspired by that of Black jazz eccentric Slim Gaillard. Blanchard made a name for himself via radio, as music host and on-air wit. His essential word was zorch, a phrase invented by his comedy writers, who gave the ex-big band trombonist a hipster cache in post-war San Francisco.
Blanchard made some records, including his manifesto-in-music, "Zorch!" Columbia Records issued the single in 1955 and it brought Blanchard's quirks to wider attention. His humor appealed to Drake, who began to curry favor with the radio personality. He wrote a song inspired by Blanchard's persona, "The Bully Bully Man," which was recorded in 1953 by female pop trio The Paris Sisters (later to have national hits via another eccentric, producer-songwriter Phil Spector).
Jimmy Drake shared something with Elvis: he was born in Memphis, Tennessee, though he preceded the King of rock 'n' roll by over two decades. Drake saw the world from 1912 to 1968 and his small window of fame came late in an unsettled and unhappy life.
Blanchard made some records, including his manifesto-in-music, "Zorch!" Columbia Records issued the single in 1955 and it brought Blanchard's quirks to wider attention. His humor appealed to Drake, who began to curry favor with the radio personality. He wrote a song inspired by Blanchard's persona, "The Bully Bully Man," which was recorded in 1953 by female pop trio The Paris Sisters (later to have national hits via another eccentric, producer-songwriter Phil Spector).
Around this time, Drake developed a side hustle in the emergent song-poem racket. In this all-American grift, amateur lyricists mailed in their mishappen stanzas; for a fee, a detached musician would slap a melody to them, regardless of inept cadences, and do a rough, quick recording. A handful of copies were pressed and a vague promise of possible fame when the would-be genius' work was discovered by someone with clout. (This never happened once.)
Milstein notes that, by the time he became Nervous Norvus, Drake boasted that he'd made 3K song-poem recordings at seven to 10 bucks a pop. Not a bad racket, and his soothing, down-to-earth voice and uke presentation likely haunted the dreams of these would-be Ira Gershwins and Irving Berlins as they went through their humdrum daily duties.
The Nervous Norvus persona ('nervous' being Blanchard slang for terrific) was Drake's salvation. In a California newspaper, Drake read an account of a grisly car wreck. He was inspired to pen a black comedy about this traumatic episode, and pitched the song to Blanchard, his idol. Blanchard was taken by Drake's run-down voice and persona and felt he couldn't equal that drab magic.
Blanchard suggested sound effects be added and offered to cut them in. From a radio station's music library he selected an iconic track, "Auto Skids and Crashes," made some crude tape edits and a future hit was born. Blanchard championed the yet-unissued "Transfusion" on his radio show and listener demand brokered a deal with Dot Records, a Nashville concern eager to get a slice of the Elvis pie.
Coupled with the hipster manifesto "Dig," "Transfusion" was a surprise smash and would be Norvus' lone hit. Cover versions popped up, including one by Scatman Crothers, co-star of Stanley Kubrick's The Shining. An invite from The Ed Sullivan Show terrified Drake: no way was he gonna appear before a live audience! That appearance would be treasured today for footage of this unique musician in his prime; alas, it was deemed impossible by this boozy recluse.
"Transfusion"'s impact allowed for two follow-ups on Dot; neither clicked with the mainstream public. Today we'll hear Drake's final Dot 45--a tough one to find but well worth the search.
"The Fang" opens with sound effects that suggest a convention of vacuum cleaners in a dusty cavern. In a minor key, Drake's humble, agile voice delivers the first-person account of a Martian visitor to Earth, who delights in the company of human hipsters. He gets all the girls, pitches woo, then rockets back to Mars. sated from his experience.
Sparse, crude and lonesome-sounding, "The Fang" opens a window into a sad, private life. Drake's finale, in which he launches a cantorial wail, is hard to reckon: a moment of wild inspiration or the cry of a worn-out 45-year-old who hits the bottle a little too much?
Milstein notes that, by the time he became Nervous Norvus, Drake boasted that he'd made 3K song-poem recordings at seven to 10 bucks a pop. Not a bad racket, and his soothing, down-to-earth voice and uke presentation likely haunted the dreams of these would-be Ira Gershwins and Irving Berlins as they went through their humdrum daily duties.
The Nervous Norvus persona ('nervous' being Blanchard slang for terrific) was Drake's salvation. In a California newspaper, Drake read an account of a grisly car wreck. He was inspired to pen a black comedy about this traumatic episode, and pitched the song to Blanchard, his idol. Blanchard was taken by Drake's run-down voice and persona and felt he couldn't equal that drab magic.
Blanchard suggested sound effects be added and offered to cut them in. From a radio station's music library he selected an iconic track, "Auto Skids and Crashes," made some crude tape edits and a future hit was born. Blanchard championed the yet-unissued "Transfusion" on his radio show and listener demand brokered a deal with Dot Records, a Nashville concern eager to get a slice of the Elvis pie.
Coupled with the hipster manifesto "Dig," "Transfusion" was a surprise smash and would be Norvus' lone hit. Cover versions popped up, including one by Scatman Crothers, co-star of Stanley Kubrick's The Shining. An invite from The Ed Sullivan Show terrified Drake: no way was he gonna appear before a live audience! That appearance would be treasured today for footage of this unique musician in his prime; alas, it was deemed impossible by this boozy recluse.
"Transfusion"'s impact allowed for two follow-ups on Dot; neither clicked with the mainstream public. Today we'll hear Drake's final Dot 45--a tough one to find but well worth the search.
"The Fang" opens with sound effects that suggest a convention of vacuum cleaners in a dusty cavern. In a minor key, Drake's humble, agile voice delivers the first-person account of a Martian visitor to Earth, who delights in the company of human hipsters. He gets all the girls, pitches woo, then rockets back to Mars. sated from his experience.
Sparse, crude and lonesome-sounding, "The Fang" opens a window into a sad, private life. Drake's finale, in which he launches a cantorial wail, is hard to reckon: a moment of wild inspiration or the cry of a worn-out 45-year-old who hits the bottle a little too much?
Cash Box reviewers assessed the sweeping changes in popular music with a chipper optimism. Thus, a record as unsettling as "The Fang" is welcomed as if it's just another light-hearted novelty.
On the flip, "The Bullfrog Hop" sounds like a demented Tin Pan Alley song c. 1925. Accordion and a faint rhythm section back Norvus as he scat-sings his way through an alleged new dance step. Said scatting is hypnotic; an entire recording of this might have altered history.
Odd as it is, this brief song has some commercial appeal. It might have reminded kids of eccentric relatives with cluttered basements and smelly, arcane hobbies they were delighted to haul out at family gatherings. This is the music those odd uncles might have made.
Odd as it is, this brief song has some commercial appeal. It might have reminded kids of eccentric relatives with cluttered basements and smelly, arcane hobbies they were delighted to haul out at family gatherings. This is the music those odd uncles might have made.
Things went downhill fast for Jimmy Drake. He made more recordings, but none of them went anywhere. I will leave Mr. Milstein's account to tell the story. I've been out of touch with Phil for years, but perhaps he'll see this post. If so, hi, Phil: it's been a while.
Stone Age Woo the CD comes highly recommended; it contains an expanded and fascinating booklet by Milstein. It's a lopsided Cinderella story that, American to its core, fuses dark and light. In an ideal world, a six-part Nervous Norvus TV series might dramatize this down-to-earth saga to fine effect. I nominate Harry Melling for the role of Jimmy Drake.
Tomorrow: searing Nashville soul from Ted Taylor, via a flammable 1963 OKeh Records platter. As expected, one side is a song by Robert S. Riley.
Well gosh, that was a twisted listening. 'Red hot daddy with a thousand volts' Uh, I'm sorry, you said what again? Norvus' scatting is well, uh, scat—but in a good way.
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