Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Chuck Berry performing his rock and roll classic, Maybelline.
CD Review
The Golden Age Of Rock ‘n’ Roll, Volume 10, various artists including Chuck Berry, Ace Records, Ltd., 2002
Scene brought to mind by the photo that graces the cover of this CD: Friday night, maybe Saturday, but probably not because that day is real date night, not girls night out time waster like Friday night. If it is summer- it’s school’s out jail-break out time and by the look of the cherry two-toned pink convertible fully down it is a no rain summer day turn into night. And it could be any night, except definitely not a Saturday date night, because the three vixens, 1950s style vixens okay, sitting side by side in the front seat of that chariot would not be wasting their time on that night girls cruising the Olde Saco beach night but would be busy holding off some sidewalk Lothario, or kind of, half kind of, holding off said mad man, down at the “submarine” races Squaw Rock end of the beach.
Ya, it had to be Friday night because this threesome have just come from Jimmy Jack’s Diner on old Main Street (really Route One but everybody calls it Main Street, well, to be from Main street okay). And right now Jimmy Jack’s, the local teen heaven place of earthly delights (read: boys for girls, girls for boys, whatever), is zero, nothing but a zero because the place is filled with grandpas and grandmas having their weekly thrill minute on Jimmy Jack’s Friday night special platter or touristas looking for some relief from the sand and sun. Squaresville. Try back later when the rubes vacate the premises and the jukebox jumps with the latest from The Coasters, Searchin’, and stuff like that.
So off goes our threesome, kind of hungry, but not the kind of hungry that Jimmy Jack’s can do anything about. And if Jimmy Jack’s had turned into zero then the only other place to be was down at the fringes of Olde Saco Beach. No, not the Squaw Rock end, that’s for later successes, for the midnight ‘til dawn fighting off the lotharios patrol. Right now our damsels- in-distress are headed for Larry’s Loop (everybody, every under twenty-one body and maybe a few older too, knows where that is and if you don’t just ask around and someone will tell you because that’s not the real name of the place. The real name is some rube name, some general from the Civil War or Spanish-American War, or something). The loop is where everything kind of starts out-from the ancient mating rituals (only slightly updated with the advent of the automobile) to the midnight hour doings just mentioned, the fame “submarine races,” to the dark hour “chicken” runs.
Yes, the girls are on the prowl. Oh they have names, Marge, Jo (short for Joann), and Barb (short for, come on now, you know). And they are just average, or just kind of average for looks although they all have plenty of personality but what gives them cachet, gives any just average girl cachet in the Olde Saco scheme of things, hell, maybe everywhere that has enough teenagers to make a difference, is that father-bought boss cherry 1956 two-tone pink convertible. That is their entrée into the loop night. And so plenty of guys, guys with cars and without, especially without are giving them plenty of once overs and making some calculations about where the night might be headed. See, no body goes to the loop, including our three young ladies, without something in mind, something to do with sex if you really couldn’t figure that out and just had to know for sure. Just don’t go there otherwise. It is written in stone. So while strikeouts are not uncommon, not uncommon at all, everybody knows the score.
And that includes one Joshua Lawrence Breslin, fifteen, but who looks older, and who is just now standing dead-ass against Stu Miller’s cherry ’57 fire red Chevy that has all the girls crying for a ride(and getting in line, Stu’s line). Josh is Stu’s “shot-gun” this night (and many others) every since Josh stepped aside and let Stu go full-bore with a local Lolita that Josh was working on.
“Hey, girls looking for me?” Josh yells out as our threesome ritualistically slowly goes by that hell fire Chevy. The car stops and Marge yells back, “Maybe, got any friends?” ‘No, I’m traveling solo tonight,” answered Josh. Now Josh not only looks a little older but is just enough good looking to be sweet candy to this set of girls and so someone, not Marge, yells back, “Come on, maybe you’ll bring us luck.” And so Josh splits from his fire red perch and jumps over into the back seat of the convertible just as Roy Orbison comes over the car radio blasting his cool-hand Ooby Dooby.
And all the while Josh is steaming thoughts that with three chances he is sure, sure as hell, sure as Larry’s Loop hell to get lucky himself, never mind bringing luck.
And that is the funny part, although not for Josh. Somehow having Josh, king of the two-toned pink convertible night in the backseat acted as a deterrent to other guys making a move on the girls. Like maybe he was a younger brother keeping sacred guard overt the harem or something. Or maybe it wasn’t in the cards that night for just kind of ordinary girls to get some Squaw Rock action. But the way they talked among themselves upfront and to him he knew, he knew just as sure as he was born, that they were hungry and so he suggested they go down to Squaw Rock and see what happened. They all agreed in unison.
See though when this carload got there and after a lot of hemming and hawing they couldn’t decide who was going to “be” with Josh (although in his mind his had an idea, a crude, vulgar, but inspired idea to “be” with all three of them). He could see that they were toying with the idea themselves but then just as quickly gave it up when Hank Bowen and his girlfriend showed up a few yards away. No it wasn’t going to work. So our boy Josh learned a serious lesson that night. The next time you see three dames in a boss convertible avert your eyes and be silent, silent as the ocean night.
CD Review
The Golden Age Of Rock ‘n’ Roll, Volume 10, various artists including Chuck Berry, Ace Records, Ltd., 2002
Scene brought to mind by the photo that graces the cover of this CD: Friday night, maybe Saturday, but probably not because that day is real date night, not girls night out time waster like Friday night. If it is summer- it’s school’s out jail-break out time and by the look of the cherry two-toned pink convertible fully down it is a no rain summer day turn into night. And it could be any night, except definitely not a Saturday date night, because the three vixens, 1950s style vixens okay, sitting side by side in the front seat of that chariot would not be wasting their time on that night girls cruising the Olde Saco beach night but would be busy holding off some sidewalk Lothario, or kind of, half kind of, holding off said mad man, down at the “submarine” races Squaw Rock end of the beach.
Ya, it had to be Friday night because this threesome have just come from Jimmy Jack’s Diner on old Main Street (really Route One but everybody calls it Main Street, well, to be from Main street okay). And right now Jimmy Jack’s, the local teen heaven place of earthly delights (read: boys for girls, girls for boys, whatever), is zero, nothing but a zero because the place is filled with grandpas and grandmas having their weekly thrill minute on Jimmy Jack’s Friday night special platter or touristas looking for some relief from the sand and sun. Squaresville. Try back later when the rubes vacate the premises and the jukebox jumps with the latest from The Coasters, Searchin’, and stuff like that.
So off goes our threesome, kind of hungry, but not the kind of hungry that Jimmy Jack’s can do anything about. And if Jimmy Jack’s had turned into zero then the only other place to be was down at the fringes of Olde Saco Beach. No, not the Squaw Rock end, that’s for later successes, for the midnight ‘til dawn fighting off the lotharios patrol. Right now our damsels- in-distress are headed for Larry’s Loop (everybody, every under twenty-one body and maybe a few older too, knows where that is and if you don’t just ask around and someone will tell you because that’s not the real name of the place. The real name is some rube name, some general from the Civil War or Spanish-American War, or something). The loop is where everything kind of starts out-from the ancient mating rituals (only slightly updated with the advent of the automobile) to the midnight hour doings just mentioned, the fame “submarine races,” to the dark hour “chicken” runs.
Yes, the girls are on the prowl. Oh they have names, Marge, Jo (short for Joann), and Barb (short for, come on now, you know). And they are just average, or just kind of average for looks although they all have plenty of personality but what gives them cachet, gives any just average girl cachet in the Olde Saco scheme of things, hell, maybe everywhere that has enough teenagers to make a difference, is that father-bought boss cherry 1956 two-tone pink convertible. That is their entrée into the loop night. And so plenty of guys, guys with cars and without, especially without are giving them plenty of once overs and making some calculations about where the night might be headed. See, no body goes to the loop, including our three young ladies, without something in mind, something to do with sex if you really couldn’t figure that out and just had to know for sure. Just don’t go there otherwise. It is written in stone. So while strikeouts are not uncommon, not uncommon at all, everybody knows the score.
And that includes one Joshua Lawrence Breslin, fifteen, but who looks older, and who is just now standing dead-ass against Stu Miller’s cherry ’57 fire red Chevy that has all the girls crying for a ride(and getting in line, Stu’s line). Josh is Stu’s “shot-gun” this night (and many others) every since Josh stepped aside and let Stu go full-bore with a local Lolita that Josh was working on.
“Hey, girls looking for me?” Josh yells out as our threesome ritualistically slowly goes by that hell fire Chevy. The car stops and Marge yells back, “Maybe, got any friends?” ‘No, I’m traveling solo tonight,” answered Josh. Now Josh not only looks a little older but is just enough good looking to be sweet candy to this set of girls and so someone, not Marge, yells back, “Come on, maybe you’ll bring us luck.” And so Josh splits from his fire red perch and jumps over into the back seat of the convertible just as Roy Orbison comes over the car radio blasting his cool-hand Ooby Dooby.
And all the while Josh is steaming thoughts that with three chances he is sure, sure as hell, sure as Larry’s Loop hell to get lucky himself, never mind bringing luck.
And that is the funny part, although not for Josh. Somehow having Josh, king of the two-toned pink convertible night in the backseat acted as a deterrent to other guys making a move on the girls. Like maybe he was a younger brother keeping sacred guard overt the harem or something. Or maybe it wasn’t in the cards that night for just kind of ordinary girls to get some Squaw Rock action. But the way they talked among themselves upfront and to him he knew, he knew just as sure as he was born, that they were hungry and so he suggested they go down to Squaw Rock and see what happened. They all agreed in unison.
See though when this carload got there and after a lot of hemming and hawing they couldn’t decide who was going to “be” with Josh (although in his mind his had an idea, a crude, vulgar, but inspired idea to “be” with all three of them). He could see that they were toying with the idea themselves but then just as quickly gave it up when Hank Bowen and his girlfriend showed up a few yards away. No it wasn’t going to work. So our boy Josh learned a serious lesson that night. The next time you see three dames in a boss convertible avert your eyes and be silent, silent as the ocean night.
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