Night of the Living Dead
George Romero couldn’t have written it any better; a stifling hot summer night, a long drive on a deserted country road ends up with the car breaking down right in front of a rural honky-tonk saloon advertising icy cold beers and all you can eat home cooking. We walk in and are immediately confronted with a scraggly haired, miscreant on crutches who croaks out a sultry “wanna ride, hon” before stumbling off into the darkness.
Next our attractive, but under aged hostess, seats us at a large table bursting with a family of ten; smiles all around, and not one carrying a full set of teeth. And then the music begins with a local five piece group called “the sheds.” They bang out a 45 minute set playing hard-driving ska tunes and I swear not one of them is over 17, with the guitarist barely pushing 13, which begs the question, where does one reference ska in Agoura Hills? But these questions will have to wait for after a short setup, mayhem suddenly descends on the Canyon Club as the Zombies take the stage.
Few bands from the 60s had such a unique sound as the Zombies, and yet today they are primarily known for their three smash hits, Time of the Season, Tell Her No and She’s Not There. But their 1968 gem, Odeyssey and Oracle, delivers another half dozen or so concise masterpieces, of which Beechwood Park is but one. Note first Chris White’s trippy, tremolo drenched guitar, Rod Argent’s Bach influenced organ and then focus on Colin Blunstone’s signature vocal stylings, has anything ever sounded more bittersweet.
I get English countryside; drippy rain filtering through a heavy mist, a chimney belching smoke as the forsaken lover to-the-manor-born, reminisces on what might have been. This one gets added to the breakup mix as well as Sunday brunch with the Vicar. Ta.
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