Vanilla Fudge - A Welcome Blast From The Past

The song blasted from the box in my car like a welcome punch to the solar plexus. God bless those New Albany High School deejays for continually foisting such chestnuts on us. A gem a day keeps the doc away. I couldn’t stop smiling during the entire seven-and-a-half minutes.

At the bombastic faux seriosity.

At the simplistic yet soaring riffs from the Hammond B-3. It’s rock’s greatest instrument, you know?

At the sitaresque guitar licks, Bronx Italoharmonies and Carmine Appice’s thunderdrumming.

At the stolen moments from The Supremes, Berry Gordy’s signature Motown girl group.

At the band’s telling yet effective moniker, Vanilla Fudge.

“You Keep Me Hanging On.” Indeed.

The song, introduced by a single organ note played to brittle, fragile dissonance, hit the airwaves in ‘67. While FM big rock radio had settled in certain locales, most of us were still mired on AM. No matter. The song heralded a ten year run of pompous energy that defined the music of the counter culture.

There’s a music critic from Memphis named Robert Gordon. (Do not confuse with the rockabilly poseur of the same name who came and went for fifteen minutes back in the day.) Gordon the critic defined rock & roll as “white boys trying to play black people’s music.’ I always thought that pretty observant and trustworthy. Especially if you’re considering, as I am here, Vanilla Fudge.

Louisville guitar legend Wink O’Bannon was once asked to list his five favorite players. Neil Young made the list. An odd choice. O’Bannon’s reasoning: Every guitar solo Young plays sounds like his first. Yes. Prescient. Especially if you’re considering, as I am here, Vanilla Fudge.

The group’s arrangement and chops on this song sound as if they’d been playing for, oh, nine months or so, had gained a minimum of proficiency. Elemental is the word that comes to mind. Then, one night they dropped acid and “The Supreme’s Greatest Hits” played endlessly on the turntable.

There isn’t a song — save “Light My Fire” — as resonant of the anschluss of the Rock Music Era (as opposed to rock & roll, a different beast entirely).

Vanilla Fudge — get it — was called by some, “the first of the heavy bands.” Maybe. The Young Rascals might also stake a claim. Others, more herbally enervated, referred to them as “doyens of the punk mysterioso.” Maybe. Not a lot of punk bands wore ruffled shirts with 16th century cuffs though.

Whatever. Vanilla Fudge could cover others’ songs in a manner that stamped the renditions as totally their own. Be it “You Keep Me Hanging On” or “Eleanor Rigby” or “People Get Ready.” Slow the tunes by a half. Go heavy on the backbeat and bleating organ. This quartet aspired to the anthemic. They were big screen, 3-D, Dolby surroundsound, Technicolor and generally devoid of any sense of subtlety.

It worked. And, as a testament to a sound long gone, still does.

So, the other afternoon when the day was monochrome and the sky was spitting cold snow showers as I was driving on the Snyder, life turned bright with that first organ riff. I turned it up. This is music meant to be played and heard loud. I sang along. My mind drifted back to a moment in Daytona Beach when I heard a cover of this cover by some group from England. I smiled again as I did then.

White boys, stealing riffs from Negroes, striving to find some Caucasian soul. Playing rock & roll. Basic as if written in Genesis.

I’m still grinning days later. I checked out youtube for some live versions. I have no desire to be set free.

It keeps me hangin’ on.

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