Pony writes somes words upon the country artist Elton Britt’s full length 1956 vinyl record released MAGNIFICENTLY called Yodel Songs
by Matthew PonY Bones Proctor
THere he is. THere he is brand new friend. There’s our man...strolling unscathed in the dusk of the morning. Let me explain! It's all there in the color tones. THe daytime of strange sunshines looks a shady tone coloring of green vomit. Almost but not quite. Yes, almost my brand new friend but not quite plumb.
You see this and tha don’t forget. Being almost don’t make any winners.
Elton Britt himself be an analogue photograph developed commercialized artistry for the sorrow sown so deeply in the spiritual soil of every turbulent throttled romped U.S. citizen.
You see so sudden subtle the rise of the monstrous successing MId twentieth century Modern american Music industry. Do not start boisterous bolstering about Elvis. HE was only a bit player. Let me instruct you that the King was GOdDamN a luckY man to have died in his manner. You see there were things amongst all the spirit world chasms that were absolutely ready to deliver a horrific death in the flesh slow cruel and crawling as compared to the King Presley’s sloven sloppY derelictica suicidal sappin entropy of emotions slobbered sullied till death wrought by every good absolute pure quality product of everys drugs...every illicit high that has evers evers been possibles.
Let's get back to the 1950s. Amphetamines and barbiturates were very easy easy to procure…...jes like simply talking an apple off an apple tree. In the 1950s one could not sometimes tell if one is inside or outside the neon colored gelatin of the ubiquitous JELLO SALAD.
SO back to the INDUSTRY and our material. The man they called Elton Britt. So Mr. Britt manifested into existence photo processed developed rite outta that cajoled drool..the blackness abyss bloody ooze …..of a black and white photograph.
RolL (roLL)
The LOnelY crueL fate of Nathan Bedford Forest
And all the craftsmanship in most trades and careers was still stupefying present in the pink hair waxed 1950s. Cumshots and girl bopper juice squirts on tha shark fin chromes…..plymouth's….was a portent. The pilgrims landing on PLymouth Rock---that one disastrous acT that peddled syringe injections of persons into our meat blood bone wetness plasma and the ectoplasms of the soul.
So they still applY technicolor film techniques here in the 1950s. Just look at that guilty half ass cowboY called THE ELTON BRITT. His tonal colors are more than suggestive of darkly pink in white purplish.
Yes, he is a man that Elton Britt….whose some partial stylizations derives form from the well pool of Victorian Parlor songs…
rugged/ruKeY//SuLLy//RustY…….
RUsted out sentimentality. THats whats gonna happens to every singles ones of yous Drapers and Drapets...rock a bullion rockabillY rebellions…...to gore forget that EUropean Jewish Holocaust. You see ya bunch a KOOL cats (actuallY)....yal just a buncha cold cats. Yal ain’t cooL at all. I feel pathos. The empathy of pathos. THe empathetic tragedy.
Yodel Songs. THe album is called Yodel Songs. No trickery here except the musicality of the songwriting seems to threaten to truly split at the seams.
Britt must be given credit for not being another Jimmy Rodger’s mass produced crack pottery spiritualism lechery rip off of just yodeling like he learned from those haunted JimmY Rodgers 78s. Britt goes to the spring well source. He is a nuclear transmission straight direct from the Alpine Mountains. Real swedish folk music. One is even treated to a song that is certainly salaciously solicitously titled “The Alpine Milkman.” The swedish youth. Boys and girls with that blond look and that real alabaster pain fade to their skin. Boys and girls and Girls and Boys waiting in line to each get a chance at the milkman from the Alpine mountains. IT was jus like a cow milkin that cock.
Side A is the strangest and has the most strangely example. THere is a song called “Saint James Avenue.” THis is a confusin rewrite of you guessed it that old morbid stand by “Saint James Infirmary.” SImilar melody and a badly done attempt at modernizing a timeless song. SOmehow you get that big band jive feel of Duke Ellington being rippled off.
Matthew pony payroll bones
SO to tell you all off in grandeur….Elton Britt is a Nietzschean nuclear fire neoned haunting ghost sensory phantom radar apparatus from tha sexually mangled hard bone 1950s.
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