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Tag Archives: Western

Indian Love Call, vinyl, record, mp3, 320 kbps

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I wish more than anything that Slim Whitman was my grandpa. His mustache, while somewhat sinister to the untrained eye, would have been a constant source of comfort. The scent of sun-heated Brylcreem would evoke memories of neighborhood baseball games. The feel of rough nylon garnering flashbacks of sweet Slim hugs.

Imagine a visit to Grandpa Slim’s house, if you will. You’re 7-years-old and visiting Grandpa Slim’s plantation house during an early summer in rural northern Florida, just far enough from the swamps and their pesky mosquitos but still clear from the ruckus of the interstate. It’s been a while since you’ve seen Grandpa because he’s been on an extended tour in England. They love him in England, almost as much as you do. Your ma says that’s where the Queen lives in her castle.

The morning starts with Grandpa Slim gently waking you by softly yodeling the intro to “Indian Love Call”. Him and Gramawmaw Rose Marie always refer to you as their little Geronimo, their little blue-eyed chief. Your room at the plantation is set up with cowboy and indian wallpaper, leather-tinted shag carpet, and a bunk bed that’s built to look like a trail-tested Conestoga wagon. The closet if full of white jeans and heavily embroidered, pearl-buttoned shirts.

The day starts as any other day would with Grandpa and Gramawmaw. Honey-cured bacon, jumbo eggs sunnyside up, buttermilk biscuits, grits with salted butter n’ sugar, white toast with blackberry jam, and buckwheat pancakes with pecan maple syrup that’s all washed down with a big, cold glass of whole milk. A growing boy needs a hearty breakfast to see him through a big day and there aren’t many days bigger than Founder’s Day. You’re gonna need energy if you’re going to win the potato sack race this year.

Grandpa Slim opens the Founder’s Day celebration with the most heavenly rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner” the South’s ever heard. Even the town’s general store owner and self-proclaimed Jefferson Davis historian Jacob Pearson was seen wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. Yes, this year’s festivities are just going to be magical. You can just feel it.

As with every year the day starts out with the Daughters Of The Confederacy’s Annual Swamp Sunflower Pageant. There’s no prizes or ribbons given for the most beautiful Swamp Sunflower because competition is unbecoming of a southern belle.  However, Gramawmaw Rose Marie assures you that if there did happen to be a judge on hand her batch of swamp sunflowers would give Miss Annabelle Johnson’s wilted abominations a thorough shellacking.

Pageant is followed shortly by Troop 334’s Soapbox Derby Race down Cutler Hill. You watch on with cripping jealousy as the older kids race at breakneck speeds down the county’s biggest incline. A boy from Grant Intermediate wins first place and you watch with hungry eyes as he’s presented with a trophy that’s almost as tall as you. Grandpa Slim musses your hair and gives you a wink. “Don’t worry, Geronimo. That’ll be you before you know it, as sure as I’m standing here. Your grandpa’s got some old racing tricks up his sleeve. Yes sir, some real whoppers.”

The hole left in your gut from watching some punk kid take your rightful trophy is soon filled by lunchtime’s smorgasbord of Southern cuisine. Hot dogs, hamburgers, pulled pork, brisket, fried chicken, and bar-b-que ribs serve as the stage up on which corned pudding, oyster stuffing, green bean casserole, sweet potato souffle, and coleslaw dance into your quickly ballooning belly. Just as your intestines are about to bust a seam, Gramawmaw Rose Marie sets a heaping plate of banana fosters and apple pie in front of your widening eyes. These delicacies soon disappear down a baby-tooth lined hatch, followed shortly tidal wave of Royal Crown Cola.

After lunch you listen to a little guitar strumming, courtesy of Grandpa Slim. “It aids with the digestives,” he says. Grandpa Slim lays down a  hoppin’ little diddy, left-handed on his six-string acoustic. The missing fingers on his left hand, the fingers that  (according to your Uncle Billy) got cut off turning a steer into a cheeseburger, always freak you out a little bit, but in a good way way. He’s like Frankenstein a little bit and Frankenstein’s pretty cool.

A little digestion is just what you needed because, after all, who wants to run in the Founder’s Day potato sack race with a full tummy? Last year’s second place finish was truly heartbreaking because that cheater Jimmy Willard used a Yukon Gold potato sack. Rules state only Idaho potato bags are allowed in the competition, everyone knows that. But when you cried foul Jimmy had already switched out bags. You don’t know how he did it without the judges seeing but he did. The sly little grin he poured down on you from from his advantageous position on the podium will be forever burned in your memory.

This year, though, Jimmy won’t be a problem because Jimmy’s dead. He took an unfortunate fall off of the big slide down at Seminole Park at the end of last summer. Only thing is, nobody knows Jimmy took that spill, nobody except you and Grandpa Slim. After you pushed him as he summited the slide’s last step, something you did with that sly little grin blinding your better judgment, Grandpa Slim had been there to clean up the mess.

With the same shovel he used to dig the concrete foundation for your basketball hoop, Grandpa Slim to buried Jiimmy Willard beneath the big oak that supports your treehouse. It’s Grandpa Slim’s and your little secret. Now, every time you go out to play secret agent in the treehouse you say you’re “going out to play with Jimmy,” and you and Grandpa Slim always have a good laugh.

With Jimmy now feeding that big oak you’re sure to win the potato sack race. Cheaters never really win, Grandpa Slim always says.

He really is the best Grandpa in the whole wide world!

>>>Click here to download Grandpa Slim’s Very Best


A1 Indian Love Call
A2 Ramblin’ Rose
A3 My Happiness
A4 Room Full Of Roses
A5 Blue Eyes Cryin’ In The Rain
A6 When My Blue Moon Turns Gold Again
A7 Have I Told You Lately That I Love You
A8 There Goes My Everything
A9 My Heart Cries For You
A10 Let Me Call You Sweetheart
B1 Rose Marie
B2 Vaya Con Dios
B3 Roses Are Red
B4 Somewhere My Love
B5 I Love You Because
B6 Una Paloma Blanca
B7 I Can’t Stop Loving You
B8 Sail Along Silvery Moon
B9 You Belong To My Heart
B10 Red River Valley

Chris Isaak Silvertone Vinyl MP3 320 Flac Wav CD 1985 Wicked Game Heart-Shaped World

Welcome to the 150th album post on Rebuilt Tranny Records. Yes, there are now 150 albums to choose from across the musical, and not-so-musical, spectrum on this site. The majority of these albums are random finds I’ve picked up during my years of vinyl scrounging through musty thrift-store shelves, Midwestern record stores, and scary horse barns. More often than not these weird finds end up being new favorites. Of course, there the few that literally get tossed out of the window like unwieldy frisbees. Try it sometime–it’s very therapeutic.

And then there are albums on my list of must-haves for which I continually hunt. At the top of this list was Chris Isaak’s Silvertone. I guess you could call it my white whale. Well, not really a white whale but more of a white coyote, given its dark western, cursed desert sound. Each and every time I’ve visited a record store for the past few years I’ve made a B-line to the “I” section looking for this mysterious LP. And every time I’d come up with nothing. No Chris Isaak to speak off, let alone Silvertone.

Now, you may be asking yourself, “Why didn’t you just hop on eBay and pick up a copy? You could have saved yourself a bunch of time and avoided many vinyl dust-induced sneezing fits.” To those people I say that yes, many times I thought about PayPaling my way into Silvertone possession. But the more I physically looked, and the longer I put off online gratification, the more determined I became to find this on my own. I became infected with the passion for the hunt.

Anyone can log online and pick up whatever they want from the endless number of fine internet record stores. Many times this is a completely acceptable method for bolstering one’s collection; mainly when pre-ordering albums from a record label’s store. However, the fact that just anyone can pick up anything  at any time online is what I’m getting at. When you point and click your way into a 33.3 rpm dream it takes away from the sense of achievement.

It’s like feeding a lion chopped Filet Mignon in captivity instead of letting it chase down a speedy antelope on the Serengeti. Yes, that steak sure is tasty but the king of the jungle craves the chase as much as the meat.  Spotting a baby antelope in the grass, the feel of hard-packed dirt beneath his claws, using those claws to grasp and tear the prey to shreds. And finally, when that most primal ritual has been fulfilled, the king relishes the taste of hot, wild blood at his leisure. He’s earned this feast–this winning.

The vinyl hunt is very much the same thing. Of course I love that I’ve found this record and have been playing it over. But at the same time it feels even better to know that I earned it. I had to check every possible spot it could be at every single record store. I found Silvertone last week while on my hands and knees searching through a bottom rack of used rock albums at Grooves Inspiralled Vinyl (and also found a sealed copy of Chris Isaak’s 1987 self-titled release for $6). Yes, it was bad for my back but it was good for the soul, god dammit! It’s like finding the Golden Ticket, something you wanted so badly–more than any other boy in this whole wide world!

But yes, I could have had this years ago. What’s the big deal about earning it? Well, let me put it this way: I would have missed out on boatloads of other music had I not been searching for this single, solitary disc. I wouldn’t have had a few laughs with Dr. Demento, never have been introduced to the eerie electronic world of Tomita, and never learned just how badass Canadian trains really are.

Additionally, I wouldn’t have been able to peep into lives of families from the 70s and 80s. Visiting thrift stores and looking through records is almost like looking in on someone’s living room. You can usually discern where each collection begins and ends in the bins, and through this collection you can see what tastes, or lack of, a family had. Oh, this person had a lot of Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass–they probably used doilies on their sofa arms and had a room where you couldn’t step on the carpet. These other people had lots of Chicago albums–their house had blown glass sculptures and shag carpet tapestries. Lots 0f Culture Club and Grace Jones in this one–this family had a “confused” son they kicked out of the house when he turned 18.

What would happen if one day your vinyl shelves fell on you while you were looking for that Morrisey bootleg and smooshed the life right out of you?  And what if your vinyl collection was inexplicably turned over to the local Goodwill? What would vinylistas say of your collection? Would they say, “My word, this guy/gal was truly a hunter. Someone with an eye for the unique and a hunger for the divine. He fought the good fight and listened the good listen. Pour one out for this brave hunter! HOORAH, HOORAH, speed the soul of this golden ear to the bosom of the Gods!”

Or would they just flip through, saying, “I have this, have this, lame, lame, have this, boooring,” in the blink of an uncaring eye?

>>>Click here to download Silvertone at 320 kbps


A1 Dancin’ 3:44
A2 Talk To Me 3:04
A3 Livin’ For Your Lover 2:56
A4 Back On Your Side 3:14
A5 Voodoo 2:44
A6 Funeral In The Rain 3:18
B1 The Lonely Ones 3:12
B2 Unhappiness 3:10
B3 Tears 2:44
B4 Gone Ridin’ 2:36
B5 Pretty Girls Don’t Cry 2:24
B6 Western Stars 3:12


Guitar – James Calvin Wilsey
Producer – Erik Jacobsen
Vocals, Guitar – Chris Isaak

If you’re a proud American that loves Civil War-based western movies, written and directed by Italians, that are filmed in Spain you MUST download this soundtrack.

I’ve been working my way through the Dirty Harry films lately and was reminded how much of a badass Clint Eastwood used to be. Long before he was directing films about girls that punched other girls Clint Eastwood was blasting motherfuckers on the silver screen. Not a couple of ne’er-do-wells, mind you, but a battalions-worth of sweaty outlaws.


the good the bad and the ugly

Of course sheepskin vests are tough. You don't know what you're talking about.


Clint took the Western crown from the bloated head of John Wayne and made it cool. Yes, he didn’t say much on screen but he didn’t need to. His sharp-tongued Harder/Spencer rifle did the talking for him from a 1000 yards away.

And over the chatter of Clint’s peacemaker boomed the sonorous roar of God with Hugo Montenegro conducting.


Click here to download the soul of a gunslinger at 320 kbps.



A1 The Good, The Bad And The Ugly 2:43
A2 March With Hope 2:25
A3 The Story Of A Soldier 2:59
A4 The Ecstacy Of Gold (From The Film “The Good, The Bad And The Ugly”) 2:33
A5 Theme From “A Fistful Of Dollars” 2:04
B1 For A Few Dollars More 2:39
Co-producer – Al Schmitt
B2 Aces High 3:10
B3 The Vice Of Killing 2:15
B4 Sixty Seconds To What? (From The Film “For A Few Dollars More”) 2:18
B5 Square Dance (From “A Fistful Of Dollars”) 2:06
B6 Titoli (From “A Fistful Of Dollars”)