SEX AND THE ART OF ROCK ’N’ ROLL

SEX AND THE ART OF ROCK ’N’ ROLL

Q: DOES SEX SELL RECORDS?

BY LESTER BANGS

Remember the good old days? When album covers were symbolic (even in non-concept albums), when they really meant something deep and intricate and heavy? When each group had to outdo the next group’s cover as well as their music? When super-stars-in-their-own-right illustrators were hired at outrageous prices for their work which was supposed to illuminate the concept of the album? Or how the Rolling Stones had to out-Sgt. Pepper the Beatles by having a pseudo-3-D album cover?

Well, those days are gone. Didja check that Stones Black & Blue ad with the chick in ropes and charcoal? Well, that was their idea of an artistic concept cover ca. 1976, until Atlantic nixed it, fearing that stores just wouldn’t stock something like that. What they forgot was that the Rolling Stones are the state of the art, and the state of the art now is the hell with Peter Max; just stick some broad with her bazooms hanging out on there and it’ll sell, and be a hell of a lot more symbolic, too.

This, of course, is not a new idea at all, with the possible exception of the rope. Back in the Fifties, you could barely buy an album without getting an eyeful. Most LP covers were apparently designed by sailors who hadn’t been on leave in three years. (Except, interestingly, the rock ‘n’ roll covers; rock ‘n’ roll and sex have always been considered to be synonymous, but the purveyors of Ricky Nelson didn’t wanna corrupt the feckless tykes buying his ululatkms. Even Elvis never put a gam on a jacket to this day.)

4: LET US COUNT THE WAYS.

DES IMGOFITSd PLd( F HOMOR

Yes, there ha e male-sex-oriented covers be fter, as well as bac v s consisting of close-ups of d mck sides (ci. Nei~Yóu After the Goldrush). But th h been a jacke~quIt is blatant In its mockery of I syndrome, an he es have never had a cover this c r artistic (as o d rty) since. Cheers. Andy.

THE GOOD OLD DOTS

There were, however, exceptions. In the days when LP cover art direction was a mostly as yet undiscovered art-form, the occasional spot of brilliance, or at least psychological revelation, would pop up. Then again, there were the out-and-out purveyors. Below are a few classic modes from the Fifties and Sixties.

Ah, the wholesome Fifties, Frankie gazing down on two swoonbirds, who may encounter someembarrassment in procuring a motel room tonight, because if you look closely, there's no ring on her left hand.

Miles is doing a bit more gazing himself, although his reaction is, characteristically, more ambiguous than Frank's. Miles also used this babe on more than one album cover. Maybe he got tired of scowl ing at the lens.

Now here we enter the realm of the truly erotic avant-garde, and from Jimmy Smith of all people. Jim and this fox are tight. So was, maybe, whoever thought up this cover concept. But it’s immortal.

Ahh, Conchita, you got maybe somefrijoleforme? No? Well, anyway, Charlie Mingus was nevera man to sweep his feelings under the rug, and this autobiographical concept cover was no exception.

Lenny Bruce got all the credit for deflowering American record grooves, but his records were tame, smutwise, compared to the leer-’n'-giggle epics of Rusty Warren, who had a voice like the Texas ChainsawMassacre and a sensual subtlety to match.

Black "Party" records have always been a prime source of spizz-spew risibilities, and have sported some of the classic covers of all time. You may think this joke exploits women and black people, but this is where Richard Pryor and Redd Foxx got theirstart.

Meanwhile, the mid-Sixties arrived, andthecounta-kulcha wastumescing everywhere, most notably in the work of the Fugs, whose name speaks for itself. They didn't sell many records, but aside from certain black Fifties R&B sides, they were the first introduction of blatant sexual reference, not to mention fourletter words, into rock V roll

Ah, p little art at last. Somebody finally got the idea that people were gazing 'pon these covers for qualities that in certain respects transcended T&A. Above, a classic item from 1970 which turned out to be.better than the record inside.

This is what people putting out rock 'n' roll nostalgia albums in the Seventies thought rock 'n' roll (white, at least) sexuality in the Fifties-early Sixties was like. They were right.

USING UJOIYIEN TO SELL IY1EI1

Now, as previously established, the placing of a bounteous babe on an LP cover to move copies is time-honored, so it was only natural that when the rock honchoes got around to it they'd try to do it in the most blatant, outrageous way. And they would use it to get rack jobbers to stock more prominently, rock critics to listen more readily, and consumers to buy more blindly. Ah, well—there's one born every minute. Below, some notably pulchritudinous packages.

This was the cover of the English edition of Jimi Hendrix's Electric Ladyland. Note conceptual integrity. You may remember that the American cover was not quite the same, four market just wasn't ready f or it yet. Bawdy bunch, those limeys.

Not a woman, this; but a sprouting young sylph. This album cover was one of the harbingers of the little girl craze that culminated with the "twelve-year-old" featured in a revealing Penthouse spread. Quite shocking when this Blind Faith album first came out . . . (yawn) . . . Guess everybody forgot how boring it is to watch your snot-nosed little sister get undressed .

The winner and still heavyweight champ in the let it all hang-out division is still John & Yoko for the cover (this is the back) of their 1968 album Two Virgins. But can it really be called sex? If so, it sure didn't help them sell many copies of this pre-Meta/ Machine Music LP. It sorta stiffed out.

This was the British and original American cover of Roxy Music's third album. Roxy are a glitter/ camp-associated group who like to put ladies in various stages of deshabille on their album covers. They think tits and ass give them more class. (They're right.) But the American market didn't agree and, seven years after the Hendrix cover, withdrew this and substituted more leaves.

Anglo-American relations in action: above, the British cover of the recent debut album by Boxer. Below, the American version of same. Boxer have as yet failed to break in theU.S. Wonder why?

Ahhhhhhhhhh, liberation at last. And by our black brethren (who else?). The Ohio players have distinguished themselves with a whole series of album covers explicit enough for the insides of Penthouse or Hustler or even (some of 'em) the bizarrest of whips *n' chains mags. They used to have this bald bitch with S&M paraphernalia on all their covers, but that was a bit much even for them, although at the height of the Snuff movie craze they featured a pic of a woman stabbina her lover in the back with

a gore-smeared knife. (LP title: Climax.) Also depicted: the latest Isaac Hayes cover. Bet you wish you were standing where Isaac is. Even if you can see the girls' bikini bottoms if you look close.

Art rears its erect head again. Now, the women, at last, are being freed of the yoke of pure sexual oppression, and reduced to sheer objectification. Like the TV and the buttons in Palmer's hand (which must activate something), the girl is just a prop, a part of the total composition. But that ass is something, a hell of a lot better than whatever's being symbolized on TV, and even shy old Robert is looking at it himself in much closeup on the back. American records can finally be as creative as the British product. Congratulations.

jSpeaking of asses and British product, it would seem that Keith Moon (who else?) here has had the last word on this whole subject of use-the-girl-to-sell-the-record. Only question is, whose ass is it? How do we know it's female, even? That Keith, ever the sly bugger.

uiomEn WHO SELL THEPTISELIIES

It seems rather specious to talk about sexual exploitation when there are so many ladies around vying for the dollar by eliminating the middleman and putting their own tushes and nay-nays on the covers of their own albums with their own playing and singing. Right on, sisters!

Remember vyhen there were nice girls and then that other kind? So does Brenda Lee. Look at that face. Now think about the things you might lijce to do to it. Now go on to the next picture. And remember that porno is in the eye of the beholder.

Barbra's always had lots of class— proof of it is that she never thought she was too big a star to cocktease a bit. Or, as she sang in one song on this great album, "Who Will Buy?" We will.

Topical Relevance Dept.: This lady started out with a ditty called "Now That The Buffplo's Gone," a rage-filled lament for her Indian kinsmen and women who were plowed over by the white settlers. Here she looks more fitting for a settee, singing originals like "Sweet, Fast Hooker Blues." Oh well, that'sshowbiz.

Oh Linda, sweet Linda, if you couldn't sing a lick those lips would still carry you a lot farther than oh, say, Chi Coltrane. Unfortunately, this may have been your finest hour.

Everybody knows Maria. Here we see her, looking demure ifopenbodiced on thecover of herfirst LP. Now, of course, her whole schtick has become so blatant and obvious it may well have peaked. Buf if ever anybody used sex to sell records, well... "Put your camel to bed"??

Playing possum indeed. From the leggy cover of Anticipation, the nips on No Secrets, to this, her finest hour, it is a fact; that as Carly's music has gotten blander and more characterless, she's milked (so to speak) the pru/ient packaging angle ever more1;1 fiercely. We heard that for her latest, she was gonna pose straddling a jukebox, but hubby James nixed it. Lousy New England puritan.

All right, bold soul sisters. Black music has always been as sexist as they come and probably always will be, and just as Isaac Hayes and Barry White are not about to throw any sops tp Women's Lib, so there will always be a black female artist of the month baring all, or at least the most provocative parts, on her album jacket. Just imagineMiles Davis (or better yet, Charlie Mingus) stretching languorously on his cover in nothing but a black bikini. Noway, Jim.

Speaking of Miles Davis, here's his ex-wife, Betty. Betty makes no bones about what she's purveying, from her cover to her lyrics. (Sample: "He was a big freak/l used to beat him with a turquoise chain.") Like Dana Gillespie, Betty epitomizes the freak fringe that's unafraid to take it from the cover to the grooves. Voulez-vous couchez, you bettum.

HACK'EIYI UP dND SELL'Em

Recently, we have seen the rise of a disturbing new trend in exploitation covers: the piecemeal mutilation of human bodies in faceless closeups for (presumably) maximum audience response. I mean, who cares about seeing many more than the blunt basics—to paraphrase an old aphorism, you don't buy the face. So now we get giant closeup body parts, photographically severed and thrust upfront, usually on disco records, which somehow seems appropriate. Herewith, some examples of this disturbing trend.