THE WALKMEN
A Hundred Miles Off
(part 2 of 2)
The last notes of the last song just buzzed down and drifted away, and no, yesterday wasn't a mirage, wasn't any trick of the light or sham of the afternoon. This is a terrific record, one to be kept on the easy-to-reach shelf.

Other listening on a 97º day off

Highlights of the early Beatles, 1962-63: regenerative roughage for the soul and body, reminder that every overstatement as to their greatness falls short of stating the true case;

a few Gary Puckett hits (hey, they stand up at least as well as, say, the Fugs);

and a couple of deep-soul anthologies, of which there have been so blessedly many these past few years: all crammed with near-hits and never-weres from fan enclaves and enclosed markets from Southern California to Southern Louisiana, all dripping with revelation of regional brilliance. Such fervor in the singing; such invention and reach in the arranging; such wallop in the musicianship. Barely a track doesn't ring, resonate, thrill. How is it these songs weren't enormous hits? That names like Bettye LeVette, Maurice and Mac, Bessie Banks, and Jean Wells go largely unrecognized by any but those in the deep-soul nut bowl? More on this later: time has come to make one's oblations to Our Lady of the Lost Masterpiece, and dig into some serious obscurities.

Walkmen, Beatles, lost soul, and sure why not, even "Lady Willpower." With music like that, you begin to think you don't need friends.