I don’t like to pick on album covers, it’s not sportsmanlike. But Reader’s Digest records can take a hit. This particular album is “pleasure programmed.”
I’ve done a little research, and as far as I can tell, “Pleasure Programmed” is some kind of threat. Polka Parties. Mood-Music for Dining. Best of Hammond Organs. The Smooth, Sultry Sounds of Edna Vance, Southern West Virginia’s Queen of Dulcimer, with stirring Sounds from Parliament-Funkadelic. There is the smallest chance I made that last one up.
Anyway, the entire record line features inexcusably blodgy, weirdly achromatic, and, well, distinctly late 60’s images, concepts, and threats. But it’s clear that by this point, Pleasure Programmed had moved onto bigger, better things, and was ready to open the 1970s with…this.
This IS the last word in music–a nine-LP set of orchestral covers of classic hits. Seriously, after this, there was no nore music for like six years. It was made a controlled substance by Nixon after The People of West Virginia vs. Benny Goodman and His Orchestra. Apparently, Reader’s Digest found a way to make “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head” even more insipid.
But you gotta admit…she does look happy.
Ready to take to the skies in her beautiful balloon, or ease the night away to the sweet strains of “La La La (If I Had You.)” Or, possibly, spin around and slice through someone’s carotid artery with her strange, cruel, claws. Look at that hand. Does this person not have some serious “American Werewolf in London” thing happening here? Or maybe she’s just cupping her hand to her mouth to whisper, “The Altairans come tonight. Wear silver lamé boots and for the love of god, know how to Watusi.”
Up, up, and away!
St. Vincent De Paul’s Thrift, near 620 and I35, Austin. It was there six months ago, and, still, is there.