| 
Lester Abrams – drums, vocals, organ,
acoustic piano, percussion
Arno Lucas – vocals, percussion
Leslie Smith – vocals
Rick Chudacoff – electric bass, backup
vocals
Ron Cooley – electric and acoustic
guitar
Geno DeVaughn – trumpet
Percy Marion – tenor saxophone, flute
Michael Patterson – alto saxophone
|
Discography | Personnel
| Photos | History
by Egon
L.A. Carnival
Would Like to Pose a Question
... the lost album – IN STORES NOW
Read
a review.
 |
This funk collecting thing is beginning to
resemble Roger Patterson’s famous and debated Bigfoot
Super-8 film. Tales of near glimpses and claims of non-existence,
hunters camping out in unlikely geographic locations –
the search for secret funk could just as well be the search
for the Yeti. Some of the records now being reissued on this
and other dedicated labels may in fact be rarer than the Sasquatch
itself, with count-on-the-fingers copies surviving the thirty
year wash. Word of mouth was how a Pacific Avenue record was
sold in early ‘70s Omaha, and word of mouth is how the
record found the interested parties thirty years later. One
collector tells another that he may have trapped something
that resembles the Real Thing, and that other collector does
the necessary legwork to prove its correct existence. For
the arm-chair tracker, new records such as the one you are
holding in your hand should incite feelings of mystery and
privilege as direct as those felt by the compiler upon discovering
a long forgotten parcel of soul. In the case of the L.A. Carnival,
a small snapshot exhumed from the depths of the Midwest provided
for a full-length movie in the form of an unreleased long
player. Like unknown footprints set in plaster, the 45 RPM
single has provided enough clues to uncover the entirety of
the beast in its full glory.
The Midwest is full of surprises such as the
L.A. Carnival, but it takes dedication and a little courageous
sleuthing to tempt them from their lairs. The home has become
the new warehouse, as large deposits of 45 records (clues)
have largely gone the way of the Dodo. The basement of someone’s
mother’s house has become the den of mystery when trying
to locate recordings that were only distributed to family
and friends. Collecting today has seemingly reverted back
to the earliest days of record scavenging, with canvassing
neighborhoods not entirely out of the question. The hammered,
barely playable 7-inch rescued from the garage of a careless
owner might be the last clue remaining on earth as to the
aural identities of an unknown minority. Clues are gathered
and the hunt begins. But as we know the Yeti is a roaming
creature, and so too are musicians. The trapper sighs in dismay
when a particular record’s credits read only T. Jones
or R. Williams, for the territory is far too expansive to
locate an exact match. Yet the search continues.
This LP stands as a definitive indication to
the breadth of the Midwest funk sub-strata, and there are
still hundreds of other undiscovered recordings slowly disappearing
into the earth with their original owners and makers. This
document should be the crying sentinel, it shall announce
to the world that funk is as American an art form as Blues,
Gospel and Jazz and it is right time to stop ignoring and
discounting it. Fleeting glimpses of this strange animal will
never be enough, for we need engrossed exposure in order to
fully understand its beauty and relevance.
On his deathbed, Roger Patterson denounced his
scintillating film as a fraud, momentarily smashing the hopes
of the faithful and elating the naysayers. Yet there are still
staunch disciples of the wild creature and it has firmly concretized
itself in the American folk patchwork. The emerging being
that is unknown funk will never have last breath vituperations
because it is itself a breathing and vital organ in the body
of American music. Antipodeans beware, this is music to be
believed in.
Dante Carfagna
Click here to read Egon's liner notes.
|
