TRANSFUSION M & MICHAEL FERENTINO: THE SUNSHINE REMOVAL SYNDICATE

Transfusion M, helmed by maestro, Michael Ferentino, knows how to fix a tasty dish, but also how to serve the nips and tucks that give such a plate a twofold, artistic spin, as in the new, Dada Drumming release, The Sunshine Removal Syndicate. 

There's sugary material included, but it isn't really sugary per se, as much as it's swirled with a layer of cynical syrup, cherry-topped by appetizing realization.

For instance, "Gingerbread Sweet" may sound like delectable pudding (the funky, rifting sort), but its popping, praise-the-Lord thread (its absorbing, lamenting refrain) is crusty along the edges, forging a sardonic substance that one probably shouldn't nibble, but does anyway. 

"Popsicles and Lemon Drops" fortifies the theme (along with another sticky, jammin' vibe), but the flavoring is more promise-filled for the second try. The composition speaks of marriage, having a baby ... possessing a cottage and garden (all those quaint ideas people feel inclined to gain), but just because the mawkish dream is dangled doesn't mean it'll come true.

And even if the dream did reach fruition, how would it resonate over time? Perhaps it might smack of "Blackberry Bramble/Royal Tang," a regal rhyme that inspires one to gamble with life's choices, but once it goes down, there's that inviolable aftertaste. 

And through that aftertaste, there are several, potent tracks that break free of the frosting. 

For example, the titular "The Sunshine Removal Syndicate" creates a synthetic, hired-gunned scour, sucking away the remnants of sweet filling, leaving a whirling, symbolic sourness that turns light into dark.  

Within the dim residue, one skids to "Dullsville," a mounting, 1980s-primed, Carpenter-bent tune that establishes a rotational bout. Here one waits by the phone, but no matter how patient one is, the damn thing never rings.   

The infuriating letdown epitomizes "The Middle Way," a peculiar pitstop on the corner of ambivalence, where the world's weight crushes one down to the knees. One hungers and thirsts at this niche, with each clang and bang recalling the morsels ("the flowers, trees and honey bees") that never came due to fear and doubt. 

All the while, one searches for scraps, and maybe "The Book of Nonsense" will reveal their locations, but the invocation waddles like a drunken duck, sometimes defiant through its squiggles and piano pings, but always secretly sad, its harmonious stream designed for only one thing: induced glee over calamity. 

In a way, the album's tendency to juxtapose rests right in its thriving opening, "Amore Fate," which dictates how one might love life through killing time. It holds a Patrick McGoohan twist, where the answer was upfront all along, so that even if one listened to this track first, one must listen again. In other words, the first dish is the last, and the last is the first, and no matter the misdirecting plea, fate can only be digested (and welcomed) at face value and nothing more.   

Ah, what a clever, full-circle concept, and as far as concept albums go, The Sunshine Removal Syndicate can be served either warm or cold, as it runs the palatable spectrum of where one's going and where one needn't be. 

Enjoy Transfusion M's succulent tutorial at 

http://michaelferentino.bandcamp.com/album/transfusion-m-the-sunshine-removal-syndicate

MICHAEL FERENTINO'S OLD NICK AT MY THROAT AGAIN: DEVILISH EMPATHY

Michael Ferentino's latest, solo effort (via Dada Drumming Records), Old Nick at my Throat Again, dispatches a heartfelt exploration, which shreds the walls of pretentiousness so that sheer, untrampled (dis)honesty dominates. 

It speaks of the devil on one's shoulder, the Hyde that eats at one's pride to perpetuate (if it can) an air of lasting doom.

"Old Nick" is the album's haunting greeting, a guitar-strummed lament that requests grace and camaraderie (in hopes of a humble, easy-going condition), as it begs demonic forces to stay interred. It becomes a repeated prayer for any and all losing streaks, but how can such ever cease, when an inner voice presses defeat? 

"Early in the Morning" is an apt, angry answer, beckoning symbolic sleep to cloak the blaring light of day. All the while, it derides the insolent idiots and engine-reeved frustrations that honk along the way. The track is yet another infernal explosion of one's ever rounding routine. 

"Mother. Defacer." swings the torch a tad farther, beginning with a brush of rain (the surrogate tears that purge one's fears). It covers never-chance goals, motherless madness, intolerable patience and an insisted faith for a greater, blameless creator, though not without tireless questioning attached, voiced again through a devil's dictation.

In that anchoring refrain, one juggles "The Pros and Cons of Faceplanting," ripping out one's bleeding heart, searching for that burning, lost chord. The melody here is open yet clandestine (thanks to Ferentino's intrinsic craving), pitting a ruse against sincerity on a parachute-less path toward a possible prize, its edge bladed, always cutting; but fear not, for a relaxed hand will catch one's fall. 

"Song for Daniel Johnston" performs as the hole in that hand, in tribute to a cuddly, outskirts artist. It's a wishful, poetic, Tin Pan Alley piece, played straight from the curb, an ode to a hobo or bum who's anything but, denounced by a know-it-all depletion of truth. 

And so the untruth becomes the faux absolute, commemorated by "On Golden Throne." For this one, Ferentino sounds like a stressed formerly-known-as-Prince, where romancing a princess has been replaced by more submissive fodder and an aggressive dose of rueful self-deprecation.  

There are signs that solidify the verdict, traced in "The G.O.A.T.," in which Ferentino asks one to pinpoint the vain virtue of any brown-leaf scheme by discerning what "the little voice inside you" sings within the world's emblematic extremes. (Just because one's told something's the best of all time doesn't mean it is, and the same can be said of one's loftiest aspirations.)

And yet, despite the torsion, there's always another venue to seek, perhaps even the implacable unlikelihood of escape. "Turn Away from Hell" etches this in a sweet, gradual creep that details promise within an antithesis. As one trades polish for spit, the diamond-studded road turns dull and trite, leaving one (as Lennon so aptly put it) a mere "2 feet small." (At this diminutive range, how can one even try?)   

The realization is hard to break, as it creaks from one's humble hub, a "Happy Flat," or metaphorical room where one hunts sardonic memories as a "means to an end." It unveils the flatness of the soul, never knowing where to turn, where to roam, what to pursue or believe, beyond the aforementioned try-and-try-again. 

The album concludes with "Singing Yer Blues," which shoots high with a final decry that feels right and robust. It works as the blues were meant to work, warning of the wretched bits that shine. Contempt for Nick has finally hit, with an acknowledgment to avert his bland bling. (And besides, when one digs deep enough, others may have it just as bad, maybe worse.) With this in mind, why not redirect the shine past the grime, despite that damn devil inside?

To listen to Old Nick ... is to dart into Ferentino's weathered spirit, and through this sacred source, his words, his silver-tongued tonalities, sculpt a tart yet empathetic lesson that one can't help but keep close.  

https://michaelferentino.bandcamp.com/album/old-nick-at-my-throat-again

FOR THE FUN OF IT:

 

R.I.P. DARRYL HICKMAN

You had a neat, recurring stint on your brother Dwayne's sitcom, The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis, based on Max Shulman's sentimental, short stories, and then there's The Tingler, William Castle's unforgettable fright-fest, where you joined forces with Vincent Price and your then wife, Pamela Lincoln, against the monster we all harbor inside. 

But what some fans don't realize is that your career was lengthy and diversified, running from childhood to adulthood, containing earthy (if not pulpy) elements that characterized action/adventure, musicals, comedies and even noir.

Among these slices of Americana, one will find The Iron Sheriff; Black Gold; The Persuader; Prairie Law; Many Rivers to Cross; Jackass Mail; Ricochet Romance; Southwest Passage; Northwest Rangers; Captain Eddie; Salty O'Rourke; Two Years Before the Mast; And Now Tomorrow; The Set-Up; The Strange Love of Martha Ivers; The Grapes of Wrath; Leave Her to Heaven; Meet Me In St. Louis; The Devil on Wheels; Keeper of the Flame; The Human Comedy; Men of Boys Town; Boys' Ranch; Henry Aldrich, Boy Scout; Glamour Boy; Joe Smith, American; Song of Russia; Dangerous Years; Assignment in Brittany; Sign of the Wolf; Young People; Submarine Command; Sea of Lost Ships; Mystery Sea Raider; Untamed; The Sainted Sisters; Destination Gobi; Island in the Sky; Tea and Sympathy; The Tragedy of King Lear; Looker; Sharkey's Machine; and Network; with special spots on Alfred Hitchcock Presents; Climax!; General Electric Theater; Perry Mason; The Untouchables; The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp; Wanted: Dead or Alive; Rawhide; Gunsmoke; and as a regular on the Civil War drama, The Americans and Wonderful World of Disney's Texas John Slaughter. 

You also wrote scripts for The Loretta Young Show and became a long-term, associate producer for the popular soap, Love of Life, all the while making your mark as an in-demand, voice actor, covering such animated content as GoBots: Battle of the Rock Lords; Sky Commanders; The Greatest Adventure: Stories from the Bible; The Bisketts; PacMan; Pole Position; D.A.R.E. Yogi Bear; and Super Powers Team: Galactic Guardians, as Diana Prince's intrepid compatriot, Steve Trevor.  

Behind the scenes, you helped a lot of people in the acting field, Mr. Hickman. You were, therefore, ever present throughout the decades, never forgotten, always appreciated, weaving a heritage that has stood the test of time and will continue to motivate as the years go by.  

WISE WORDS:

R.I.P. RICHARD M. SHERMAN

During Disney's golden age, you played (along with your equally talented brother, Robert) a huge role in its untrammeled ebullience. 

For one, your tunes for Mary Poppins introduced words and melodies that are now part of the cultural norm. 

You also composed contagious tracks for The Jungle Book; The Aristocats; The Sword and the Stone; The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh; The Tiger Movie; Christopher Robin; Big Red; The Parent Trap 1961 & 1998; In Search of the Castaways; The Happiest Millionaire; Follow Me Boys; The One and Only, Genuine, Original, Family Band; Iron Man 2; Captain America: The First Avenger; Avengers: End Game; and made "It's a Small World (After All)" the most recognized anthem in all of amusement-park-dom. 

Beyond Disney, you wove cheerful tracks for Chitty Chitty Bang Bang; Snoopy Come Home; The Magic of Lassie; Magic Journeys; Summer Magic; Charlotte's Web; The Adventures of Tom Sawyer 1973; The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn 1974; Bedknobs and Broomsticks; The Slipper and the Rose; and Little Nemo: Adventures in Slumberland.

Because of you, Mr. Sherman, we always came away humming and always will. For that we owe you a ton of supercalifragilisticexpialidocious gratitude!