Hey, remember MAD magazine? What, me worry? I read MAD“? Alfred E. Newman? “
When I discovered MAD back in junior high, it was like The Holy Grail to my annoying little prepubescent, die-laughing-at-farts stage of immaturity.
I can recall that back in junior high some of my buddies’ moms frowned hard on MAD magazine, one even going so far as actually forbidding her son to even look at them. (Yeah, he had to sneak peeks at such porn over at my house, but only when his mom was safely out of town.)
We didn’t have the phrases “helicopter moms” or “the dumbing down of America” back in the fifties, but that particular periodical seemed to strike disgust in the hearts and minds of those humorless moms who’d already prematurely hitched their fifth graders’ wagons to the Harvard or Bust star.
I didn’t get it then and I still don’t get it now, not really. I mean, did MAD damage me? Quite the contrary. Sure, it bent me, but in a good way. What it did is teach me about the power and value of satire, which I quickly learned to emulate. It taught me the joys of puns. The joys of poetry, as well (well, considering the source, I guess… doggerel would be the more correctly descriptive terminology at that stage of my development). And despite some parents’ negative opinion of said magazine, by very early on it had sent me well on my way to becoming a wordsmith, a writer, and a serious lifelong reader. So no, my MAD years certainly didn’t hamstring me literarily.
Oh, I admit I was a mediocre student in school (in most classes that is, but never in English!). True, I’m one of those who became the solid scholar after getting my bachelor’s degree. But the truth is I was an “English major” before I actually became an English major.
But OK. Time for me to get down to brass tacks, to nail down the theme of this post. So yeah, what’s the actual theme here? Well to begin with, ever hear of one… Dr. Demento? No? OK:
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FROM WIKIPEDIA: “When Barret Hansen, better known as Dr. Demento, recently ended his weekly show, he had spent 55 years spinning weird, silly, or otherwise strange songs on the radio or online. No mere fringe figure, he was an influential figure in American comedy and one of the most important cultural libertarians of his era.
“That might seem far-fetched to people who grew up in a post-SNL, post-Seinfeld world. But in the early 1970s, all that lay in the future. Television shows still had to pass strict censorial review to be aired, and the same code policed much of what could be heard on mainstream radio. Hansen’s program pushed against those strictures.
“Listeners never knew what Hansen might play. One moment might bring a sweet, old novelty song like the Playmates’ “Beep Beep” about a “little Nash Rambler” that turned out to be more powerful than the Cadillac it was racing. The next moment you might hear a risqué song about sex, like Ruth Wallis’ “Davy’s Dinghy” (it’s not about his boat). There was drug humor, from the relatively tame “Friendly Neighborhood Narco Agent” to a mid-’90s parody of “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” called “The Devil Went Down to Jamaica” (“Johnny roll a ball of hash, and make sure it’s the bomb/’Cause the devil’s got the kind of stuff they smoked in Vietnam”). “Cows With Guns,” about bovines revolting against slaughter under the leadership of Cow Tse-tung, would compete with classic comic songs from Spike Jones and Tom Lehrer.“
COWS WITH GUNS by Dana Lyons
So in short, all I really want to do here is to beyour Dr. Demento. Just for a day. I wanna play being a DJ, just for you. And I’ve selected 13 recordings right here from my collection of funny-bone novelties, and I’m sincerely hoping you give my humble collection a shot. I believe we’re all in dire need of some smiles here in the world of 2026. So… whattaya say? Huh? You game?????
(Click below before scrolling for some healthy little belly laughs)
By the way, Dr. Demento helped bring “Weird Al” Yankovic to national attention.
Dr. D and Weird Al
OK, but the theme here is not to be Dr. Demento per se, but the genre of the recordings he was known for collecting and sharing: novelty songs. Humorous little, often-one-hit wonders, all very much molded in the same vein as MAD magazine’s satirical humor.
Dr. D was a Pied Piper of Hamelin to me over a sizeable span of my younger days.
So please, indulge me. Buckle up my friend. Sit back and enjoy what I’m about to share with you. You’re going for a ride.
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Most of you are probably familiar with the artist, Peter Sellers, who played Inspector Clouseau in the original Pink Panther franchise. He was also featured prominently in the political satire and black comedy film, Doctor Strangelove Or : How I Learned to Stop Worryingand Love the Bomb.
So check him out in this one..
SHE LOVES YOU (BEATLES’ COVER) by Peter Sellers
OK. So, moving right along. Here’s another. And I seriously doubt George Carlin needs an introduction. Enjoy,
ICE BOX MAN by George Carlin
THE HOCKEY SONG by Warren Zevon
Now when I think of Warren Zevon, “Wererwolves of London” is the first song that pops into my mind. “The Hockey Song,” however, is a much lesser known ballad, but even more creative and humorous in my own humble opinion. I’m always surprised at how many tell me they’ve never heard it.
But you know, even if you’re not into hockey, I’m betting this one will score a smile on your face…
But now for something completely different:
THE SONG OF THE SEWER by Art Carney
The actor, Art Carney, played Ed Norton, Ralph Cramden’s (Jackie Gleason’s) city sewer-cleaner sidekick on the 1950s sitcom, The Honeymooners. This one-hit wonder of his however surprisingly climbed nearly to the top of the charts back in 1955. Novelty songs can sometimes do that.
(I apologize for poor quality of the algorhithm-generated captions in many of these videos. Right from the start, “I work in a sewer” gets displayed as “I wake in a sewer.” But whatta you gonna do?)
This next one is absolutely insane. It was recorded in Mr. White’s hometown of Lynn, Massachusetts, which you’ll be able to quickly recognize by his Massachusetts accent and by the story itself.
Don White is an award-winning American folk singer/songwriter, comedian, author, and storyteller from Lynn, Massachusetts. I once performed a cover of this one at an open-mic, and because of the lyrics… suffice it to say it was a big hit.
THE BALLAD OF LIJAH THE PRECOCIOUS ORCHARD QUEEN by Don White
(Ditto on the poor captions.)
THE MUSHROOM STORY by Todd Snider (a football story??)
According to a Rolling Stone obituary, Todd Snider was a witty, sarcastic, and sometimes dark singer/songwriter whose genre was labelled alt-country. He wasn’t the most successful artist to come out of Nashville, but he had the knack for becoming the favorite artist of hardcore music fans.
And now, Happy Halloween:
DINNER WITH DRAC PT. 1 by John Zacherle
When you think of Halloween music, very like it’s “The Monster Mash” that automatically comes to mind. I’ve always found The Mash entertaining, but “Dinner With Drac” is a close second, in my humble opinion. Take a listen.
FLUSHED FROM THE BATHROOM OF YOUR HEART by Johnny Cash
Old Johnny Cash needs no introduction whatsoever. But he did put out a handful of well-known novelty songs in his lifetime. Like “Boy Named Sue” (written by Shel Silverstein). and “That Dirty Old Egg Suckin’ Dog.” But this one I actually found useful each year when I was teaching my freshman classes about similes and metaphors. I always referred to this one as The Metaphor Song.
IN SPITE OF OURSELVES by John Prine and Iris Dement
OK. here’s a perennial hoot, on the slightly risque side. John Prine himself explains this one in his introduction.
BLACK DENIM TROUSERS AND MOTORCYCLE BOOTS by Vaughn Monroe
OK. And long before “Leader of the Pack,” this old badass motorcycle ballad hit the top 100. This is the one that back in ’55 inspired me to clothespin an ace of spades card straight into the spokes of my bicycle to produce that desirable revving motorcycle roar as I pedaled. Yep. On the sidewalks of Dover-Foxcroft, I would “transform” into The Terror of Highway 101.”
I GOT STONED AND I MISSED IT by Shel Silverstein
Most parents and middle school teachers have known Shel Silverstein as the poet who wrote the classic children’s books like Where the Sidewalk Ends. But meanwhile, the other half of the adult world knew him as the wild and crazy singer/songwriter who wrote nearly all the wild and sometimes drug-addled hits by a group known as Dr. Hook and the Medicine Company. Hits like “Freakin’ at the Freaker’s Ball,” “Cover of the Rolling Stone,” “Penicillin Penny,” and “I Got Stoned and I Missed It.”
Have a listen.
OK. That’s enough for now. Good enough for government work anyway. There’s a lot more out there, believe me. A lot. Just type “Dr. Demento,” or “Novelty Songs” into the search engine of YouTube, and they’ll fall right into your lap.
So it’s adios for now. Thanks for listening and sharing a little of my music with me. But in parting, I’ll leave you this little ditty of sage advice from the group that never knew how to heed their own:
DO DOWNS by Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show
By the way, if you like my stuff and might be interested in a little bit more, type your email into the space below in order to get a text notifying you of any future posts on the horizon.
So, whatta you think??? Please leave me a comment in the field below, if you’re so inclined. I always respond.
(This song was composed and performed by an actual gas station attendant, albeit one with a creative and humbly self-deprecating sense of humor at times. One who lived with a big monkey of a MUSEon his back that relentlessly compelled him to compose and record songs all about 75% of whatever might come down the pike of his experience. And what had come down the pike in the case of the goofy smile was a trip to a dentist and, consequently, an embarrassing gap-toothed grin.)
All my life I’ve been an observer, discoverer, and sharer of what appears (to me) as the interestingly unusual. Such finds entertain me, teach me a little more about the world I live in, and make for intriguing conversation with others. I’m a storyteller after all, so interesting and unusual tidbits are my bread and butter. But see, in this blog it’s my job to share with you a motley variety of “roadside attractions” I’ve picked up along the turnpike of my own journey. Basically I suppose that makes me kind of a local yokel version of one of those washed-up History Channel celebrities, like William Shatner hosting The Unexplained.
And this particular singer/songwriter is just one more subject of my many episodes of Tom Lyford’s The InterestinglyUnusual.
Joel was nothing if not an amazingly indefatigable songwriter. The good, the bad, and the ugly? All of it was fodder for the imaginings that would inlay their way into his various rock and roll, blues, folk, patriotic and/or protest songs, country and western ballads, and tributes. And this guy conjured up hundreds of songs. Literally. I would know, because I was the friend who voluntarily recorded a library of most of his output. On CDs.
Not the complete discography
I’m talking CDs you’ve never seen nor even heard of though, CDs featuring a singer/songwriter who’s “as unknown as they get” (to use the artist’s own words). How’s this for odd: pouring a lifetime of effort into productions destined to be sampled by exactly noone! Well, except for the same old baker’s dozen of his very few close friends (which you could count with the fingers of one hand) and family.
Despite the fact that Joel’s output was industrious, he viewed much of his talent and work with humility.
(Please click on the link below, and follow along)
Joel, the singer/songwriter. I was his biggest fan. I’ve selected here a variety of what I consider to be among Joel’s best. I realize his music may not be for everyone. But I’ve always felt it was a shame that his stuff never really got to see more of the light of day. So… I’m just here to give him his due. Posthumously.
Some Odds and Ends About Joel’s Life
The Beginning
Hanging out in the band room (at the expense of his English, math, science, and social studies) was the only thing that motivated Joel in school. In the music department’s classrooms he took piano and guitar lessons, and this led to music becoming an integral part of his life. The idea of becoming a lifelong musician was suddenly all he could think and dream about.
At some point in high school, he made the rash decision to drop out. He was going to put together a band. And he did. More than one. But the very idea of a rocker’s exciting lifestyle, even in middle school back in the 70’s and 80’s, invited rock musicians to take certain risks.
I sold my record collection just for dope and cash
Must have cost a new car into smoke and ash
Crispy fried to a crackly crunch
So damn wasted so out to lunch
Crispy fried to a crackly crunch
It’s too much
First time I ever got drunk was on a bottle of wine
It cost me 99 cents and almost made me blind
Next mornin’ I had a head felt like a medicine ball
That’s been bounced up and down and around the hall
Crispy fried to a crackly crunch
So damn wasted so out to lunch
Crispy fried to a crackly crunch
It’s too much
At fifteen I thought I was hip
Dancin’ around in my very first acid trip
First time I tried cocaine I got a wicked good buzz
It became one of my favorite loves
More than once I was snorting to a pile
Spillin’ it all over the bathroom tile
Crispy fried to a crackly crunch
So damn wasted so out to lunch
Crispy fried to a crackly crunch
It’s too much
I did a lot for a long time to my brain
Now it looks like I might never be the same
Crispy fried to a crackly crunch
So damn wasted so out to lunch
Crispy fried to a crackly crunch
It’s too much
Crispy fried to a crackly crunch
So damn wasted so out to lunch
Crispy fried to a crackly crunch
It’s too much
And consequently Joel ended up having a dark and wildly adventurous past. He got drafted into the Army. But of course the fact that he’d never had any patience with authority figures didn’t bode too well for him militarily. So duh, that didn’t end well.
He went A.W.O.L.
He took off on one of those rite-of-passage cross-country odysseys with little but his guitar and backpack, all by his lonesome. And when his bus fare cash ran out, he hitch-hiked and took up some odd jobs along the way. He made it a good three quarters of the way to the Pacific Ocean before some grifters who’d offered him a ride just drove off with both his guitar and backpack while he was in a convenience store.
He turned himself in at a nearby Air Force base. Was arrested and returned to the Army. Where he convinced his superiors that he was never going to be a soldier, and was (I imagine dishonorably) discharged. And then he was right back in his little old hometown of Dexter, Maine where there were few prospects, and even fewer for a hopeful musician. He got a job at a shoe factory and made enough dough to eke out a life. Got a new guitar and joined a band or two. And composed songs.
Joel married, had a daughter he loved dearly, and got divorced. And time passed
I met him back in the early 90s. Turned out he and I both had one friend in common. Ever hear of him? Some old guy named Bill W. We didn’t hit it off right away. We were from different worlds. I was the high school English teacher, and 50+% of America’s population ends up notliking English teachers. Joel was one of those in the negative 50. He had a kind of gaunt, scruffy look about him, always showing up in an old beat-up Army field jacket. He never spoke much. Kept to himself a lot. His appearance (to me) cried outlaw. And I made him out to be a stoner. And I was right.
We were two different kinds of cat. We had little in common. At least not until I discovered his favorite musicians were exactly the same as mine! Bob Dylan, The Stones, Neil Young, The Beatles, Tom Waits, Bruce Springsteen, Steve Earle, John Hiatt, Tom Petty, Eric Clapton, Warren Zevon, Townes Van Zandt, and Willie Nelson. And then lo and behold, it turned out that he was into poetry too, especially the Beat Poets and Outlaw Poetry. Hey, so was I. And then on top of that I discovered he was literate! Not just literate. Very literate.Sure, he was a drop out, but over the years since high school he’d gone on to become a life-long reader, an aficionado of the great classics, the poets, the histories, and the philosophers. He had a library card and used it. He’d become a knowledgeable, self-educated soul. I mean, he was only one of two guys I ever knew who’d actually read War and Peace cover to cover. And no, I wasn’t the other one.
I found myself wondering, Who IS this guy?
Well for one thing, he was this counter-culture freak deep into Jack Kerouac. And when I heard him perform his “Jack Kerouac” at an open-mic one night, I had to sit up and take notice.
And then? And THEN…? Well, it turned out that like me, he was also a big fan of the sleaze bag novelist and poet, Charles “Hank” Bukowski! I couldn’t believe it. One of my underground favorites. And when I heard him sing his very own “Bukowski” at an open-mic, I was knocked for a loop for a loop.
Charles Bukowski lived a life of drunken, squalid raunch
With pitted face and tiny hands and alcoholic paunch
Writing the tales of a dirty old man was Charlie’s bread and butter
Lived on whiskey, wine, and beer– his mind was in the gutter
Hot damn, Bukowski, I woulda had a drink with you
A literate kind of scoundrel who wouldn’t turn down a screw
Hot damn Bukowski, a novelist and a cad
You sit upon my book shelf spillin’ the best of what you had
About the lowlife laureate of American literature
So worthy and jaded his poetry was pure
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He wrote a screenplay called Barfly, based upon his youth
Drinkin’ and fightin’ in alley ways, man, he tells the truth
Hot damn, Bukowski, I woulda had a drink with you
A literate kind of scoundrel who wouldn’t turn down a screw
Hot damn Bukowski, a novelist and a cad
You sit upon my book shelf spillin’ the best of what you had
And they called him Hank
And he always drank
Loved many a skank
Took it to the bank!
He worked for a while sorting mail, post office in LA
Hanging out with whores and gambling all his blues away
He became the darling of the LA underground
And ended up in Hollywood, the Toast of Tinsel Town
Hot damn, Bukowski, I woulda had a drink with you
A literate kind of scoundrel who wouldn’t turn down a screw
Hot damn Bukowski, a novelist and a cad
You sit upon my book shelf spillin’ the best of what you had
And they called him Hank
And he always drank
Loved many a skank
Took it to the bank!
Well, hot damn, Bukowski, I woulda had a drink with you
A literate kind of scoundrel who wouldn’t turn down a screw
Hot damn Bukowski, a novelist and a cad
You sit upon my book shelf spillin’ the best of what you had
You sit upon my book shelf spillin’ the best of what you had
So we started visiting each other. And then we did it. We became frends. Good friends, though strange bedfellows for sure. We spilled our guts to each other about our long, often unhappy lives.
Joel was many things. A member of a pretty sketchy looking rock band, The Breakers. He was an admitted alcoholic. Plus he’d experimented and gotten hooked on and off every drug known to man, plus a few others. Even acid. I was way out of his league. Overall he’d striven to live a life as raunchy as his patron saint himself and, like Bukowski, he was no stranger to the occasional jail cell or two. Plus from what I learned, his life had also been one long, dangerous, sexually permissive adventure. Half the songs he wrote were rife with wild women who’d populated his life.
I don’t know how successful he actually was at the dating game, but he’d outgrown that part of his life by the time I met him. He still missed it of course. Because Joel had been, and still was, a Don Juan wannabe. His songlist was laden with a prurient and randy nostagia.
I know Joel was feeling betrayed by the aging process.
When I’d gotten to know him, he was a loner who kept himself squirreled away in his little rented apartment with his pencils and notebooks, his guitar, his stereo, his cassette tape recorder, and a cat named Crash. There he worked his craft like a monk in a monastery, writing day after day. Rewriting. Recording his rough drafts. Listening to the playbacks booming out on that megawatt stereo (and how the apartment dwellers in that building didn’t call the cops with noise complaints I’ll never know). And then going back to the drawing board all over again. For more.
The solitary life took its toll. I know he preferred to be alone, but at the same time missed company.
He was constantly taking inventory of himself in is songs. He was good at that, stepping outside of himself and doing self-exams. His lifestyle may’ve been unhealthy, but his habits inspired his dark, razor sharp lyrics. Joel was nothing, if not a lyricist.
The man wrote and wrote and wrote. And I feel privileged to have been welcomed to spend so many hours, days, weeks, and months of his life– me, sitting at his kitchen table while he, sitting across from me with guitar in lap, played me some brand new one he’d just started working on maybe, or one he felt and hoped was a done deal. And he allowed me to be a tiny part of his process, using me as a soundboard now and then.
I’ll tell you what I love about Joel’s songwriting. His lyrics. In so many of his songs it’s the imagery, and the way he’d string well-chosen words together for the greatest effect. I would loved to have had him as a student in one of my English classes.
I’ll also tell you what I love about Joel. His honesty, his humility and his courage. He was one of the most honest men I’ve ever met.
He was a best friend. And yes, our relationship was one of opposites, The “strange bed fellows” thing. Butit was a soul adventure for me. And our friendship spanned more than a couple of decades.
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