(Why was this piece, perhaps more suitable to All Hallows Eve season, dropped now? Because every day is Halloween in the icy hearts of the wrecking undead.)
In decades prior to Psychobilly's malevolent sculptings, such horror songs as existed tended to be of the innocuous trick-or-treat ghosties rank.
They were a far piece from modern morbitities thrashed by, say, Daniel deLeon or Rene D La Muerta. (Closer to contemporary monstermen was obscure-in-own-moment Hasil.)
But collectors hip to the spectral tip -- whether they be gatherers of vinyl obscurities or Lux / Ivy compilation CD hoarders -- know well that some bygone-lagoon creature ditties offered merits.
Besides playing on macabre themes (even if in jest), they drew creatively on classical ominous airs and, it could be argued, turned sod from under which P. Paul, Sparky, and a gallery of amped aberrances eventually took legs. (Then, too, there's the chortle factor.)
Pay no heed, then to the innumerable exhumations of "Monster Mash" and Purple People Eater" that seem ubiquitous every October (delightsome though those novelty prancings be).
Because six feet down, you'll locate waxings beyond the mundane. Here are but a few:
Did you ever take a walk on a pale-moon night through a deserted cemetery? / Spooks all around. Shadows on the ground. Didn't know it could be so scary.
The dirge supporting that 1958 query (which is voiced with echoed somberness) falls to piano-juiced get-up that rollicks elatedly. Initially undertoned, Larry flares into celebration of "Ghost Rock'n'Roll!"
Portland horror-film hostess Tarantula ("Taranch" to fans) was Suzanne Waldren, and her Gravediggers were actually band the Starlighters. "GR" was the flipside of 1959 "King Kong" (on Meadows Records). It bopped animatedly, vocalized in good humor by a male R&B shouter and further vivified by knockaround sax. Taranch's contributions existed solely of sporadic, breathy intonations of the title.
"Now, you've heard of the Purple People Eater, and you've heard about the Witch Doctor too. Well, both those songs sold a million copies. Well, I got one to sell a million too..."
This is perhaps the best-known side included here, not only because Jackie's uncanny marble-orchard scenario is still marketed, but owing also to numerous reinventions by various successors. Among endangered souls who've aped Morningstar's initial scare-giggle are the Guana Bats, Ghostriders, Smell of Kat, Full Moon Cherry, Niteshift Trio, and Roy Loney and the Phantom Movers.
"Wait a minute, boy. Wait a minute, wait a minute before you run away..."
The coolest kind of vintage, which one reflexively augments with handclaps. There's a party all over the place. Finger-poppin', hip-dippin', plasma quaffin'. Only listeners will know the deflating conclusion.
Sinister soirees were common occurances in this eerie splinter-genre. Squeaky harpies inquire "Igor, Igor, funny little man. Standin' there grinnin' with a shovel in your hand...what's your plan?" To which the malshaped miscreant retorts "Goin' out tonight and dig a Rock'n'Roll band!" Across the song's skippy (though subtle) trajectory, structure is lent by either claves or fibula on skull.
The first-hand relation of monster sprees (and ensuing atrocities) is offset by Luther's odd whimsicality. He sounds unconcerned -- even amused -- about the inhuman trompings to his credit. Behind him scampers jitter-onward musicianship that digs how to rock and shakes moneymaker with jazz stank.
A Virginny DJ, Warren Miller recorded for United Artists under his given name, and as Cris for Colt 45 Records. For the latter, he issued 1959 single "Have Gun Will Travel" with this spookish cut on the flip. Howling rain-storm gusts lash in opening seconds; what ensued was a guitar/voice cautionary message set to a tune so jaunty that it (and "goblins" forecastings) impress that the titular creep joint was raised by some Fisher Price precursor.
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