The original name of this station was "The Pink Pussycat Lounge, " and that name sometimes still pops up in promo materials, DJ comments, etc. Sorry for the confusion! We've moved the Lounge to the secret VIP room in Sheena's. But there really was a Pink Pussycat Lounge in ye olde Hollywood. The Rat Pack hung there (hence the punny name of some of their dancers), and gals could learn the tools of the burlesque trade there. Look, "Peeler Lawford" is performing tonight!
Makin' the comix scene now with "The Jolly Pineapple," an exclusive web-comic. This serialized adventure into a tiki bar in the neighborhood of Sheena's Jungle Room is drawn and written by our own Don-O, host of Fridays' "Hour of Crap":
This past Wednesday marked the debut of the now big two Two TWO hour "Medium Cool." Your host Martinibomb took the coolness factor from 'medium' to 'large' as he spun an extra dose of ultra swanky, snazzy, jazzy, loungey cha-cha, greasy rock'n' roll, as he will do for two solid hours EVERY Hump-Day from now on.
In the 1950s, there were parodies of everything from children's stories to Shakespeare speeches done in hip jazz slang. TV comic Steve Allen published and recorded "Bop Fables," radio DJ Don Morrow recorded the similar "Hip Fairy Tales," and monologist Lord Buckley practically made a career out these wiggy goofs. (Dig Don-O's tribute to Thee Most Hip Aristocrat.) I think there's still a lot of mileage left in this entertaining strategy, and so, in an effort to resurrect this now-neglected genre, I have attempted to make hip the least hip, nerdiest thing in all of squares-ville: 'Star Wars.' Can it be done? Can "Star Wars' actually be made into something cool?! Cast your glimmers onto what I'm blowin' here, and diggeth for yourself:
A long time ago, in a galaxy real far out, a hip stud named Luke Streetwalker was opening up an album of some kooky electronic jazz that he found in a thrift store when an 8 x 10 glossy of a real gone gal fell out. It was signed "to Oobie-Doobie Kenoobie...Love, 'The Pineapple Princess' Kumoniwanna Laya." "Crazy!," exclaimed Luke, eyeballin' the doll, "Man, that is like some fiiine dining." Flipping the pic to its b-side, he saw that she had written a note asking for help, some jazz about being held prisoner by one DJ Cross Fader. Thinking that Oobie-Doobie Kenoobie might be related to that OG Ben Kenoobie, Luke made it to Ben's pad and found him looking as pimped-out as ever in a green suit, matching hat, and cane, scat-singing over a Lou Reed track. Ben admitted that, yes, Oobie-Doobie was his old stage handle, and that he'd been beefin' with Cross Fader for years. "The two of us go back like spinal column," said Ben. "Man, that cat is the squarest. I'd be throwing down, say, some Johnny Cash, and he'd be makin like Donny Osmond. We're talkin cube city, dad. Now Miss Laya is the queen of the scene. He knows if he can keep chicks like her off the stage, the Top 40 Army can take over." Luke just about flipped his lid: "We've got to make with the rescue routine, Jack, like nows-ville!" "Cool your jets, youngblood," said Ben. "I know someone who can help us: Han "Sax" Solo. This cat's a baaad Mutha Theresa. Let's split for the Sheena's Jungle Cantina. Man, that joint's the most!"
Ben wasn't woofin'. Sheena's Cantina really was the most, with a side of toast. Giant, space-suit wearing tikis stood guard by the front door, while inside, green-skinned Martian babes in beehive hairdos and bikinis were dancing the Physicist Twist, while Robbie the Robot was doing The Robot, and Mr. Spock was breakdancing. The bartender Cornelius the chimp was serving his signature exotic cocktail, the Mai TIE Fighter. Some patrons were still wearing the glasses they handed out at the latest cinema craze, 4-D movies. On stage, the fave poet of space-beatniks, Alien Ginsberg, was reciting: "Man...or Astro-Man..? THAT is the question!," while backing him, Han "Sax" Solo was blowin', as his hairy trumpet player was layin down some Miles-type vibes. And, just to confuse things, his vibes player was layin down some Miles-type trumpet. After their set, they all sat together, and Luke said to LeeBacca, the hirsute sideman, "Spiffy duds! Where'd you collar that costume, dad?" When the creature let out an inhuman roar, Luke realized that he had goofed - LeeBacca was an alien, a wookie, to be precise. "Sorry pops, I just figured you were a 'furry'!" Sax Solo said he could get them to Cross-Fader's club, the Death Bar, in his souped-up '65 Ford "Millennium" Falcon, but once they hit the spot, they'd be on their own. When they pulled up to the Bar and saw the long line of punters trying get past that all-black painted exterior, they knew that the scene was gonna get hectic. First, they had to deal with the doormen. Saying "We're on the list" or "I'm with the band" didn't cut it. When Luke tried, "Hey man, like, we're here to rescue Laya, dig?" the goons came on all frantic-like and told security on their walkies to get hip to the party crashers. Taking advantage of the confusion, Luke flashed his fake i.d. and they all barged inside, including Solo and LeeBacca. Those two had come off all commercial at first, but now they wanted to sit in? Maybe some things were more important than making that dough-re-mi after all...like, makin' Laya. Inside the bar was mad hecticism. Luke and his band were buggin' out left and right trying to dodge all the white-and-black clad security ickys. At one point they were almost crushed to death by falling record crates in the dj booth. The whole scene was starting to look like a stone-cold drag until Luke found Laya hiding under the pool table. Despite all she'd been through, she was looking all reet in her form-flattering sarong. Luke let out a low whistle, then said, "Baby, we got to boost. It's gonna get real EC Comics around here pretty soon. Y'know, like, gruesome?" "I'm hip," Laya said, grabbing his hand. "Let's blow this popsicle stand." Meanwhile, Oobie-Doobie Kenoobie and DJ Cross Fader confronted each other, and their inevitable showdown began. Turns out they had both studied martial arts under the famed grand master Yoda Man. Cross Fader said in his high nasal voice: "You're such a sucker, Oobie-Doobie! Why don't you join the Square Side? It will be like old times!" "Like when we played together in the Jet Eye Nights? Man, you were so cool back then you were practically a bag of frozen peas. And this bar used to be so hip, it was half pelvis. Why you jivin' now, Fader? " "You know what happened, Kenoobie," answered Fader, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I saw how much money..." "Don't say it!" "...I could make in..." "Noooo!" "COUNTRY LINE DANCING!" Visibly weakened, Kenoobie nonetheless attempted his lethal trademark move, the Flying Ewok Fist. But Fader knocked him flat after zipping thru the air and kicking him in the head. A little too late to the gig, Luke crashed the scene and smacked Fader with a pool cue. Dazed, Fader fell into the alley out back and was promptly rolled by a gang of greasers. Inside, the celebratory shindig was just getting started. Cats and their kitties were sippin' fine wine, blowing gage, and even started kickin the gong around. Solo and Lee commandeered the bandstand and were really cookin', and I mean with gas, baby. Tho, despite requests, Solo announced LeeBacca would not play "Wookie Wookie, Lend Me Your Comb": "He hates that song." Laya chirped a few numbers with them, then came down to cut a rug with Luke. Finally she said, "Say daddy, I wanna fall back to my pad. What say we make like a tree and leave?" "I'd like to Laya!," said Luke eagerly, before realizing how uncool that sounded. He then said: "I mean, I'd like to...Laya." And that is the ultimate, I mean like, the end.
Today, Wednesday, GeorgyGirl welcomes a new innovation in radio - a robot DJ! Yes, Marion the Librarian spins the finest vintage production library soundtrack music at 3pm EST. Apart from Marion's hilarious jabber, you'll dig the cool, crazy, kooky tuneage. Only, and I mean ONLY, on Sheena's Jungle Room.
Two joints in the South Bay area of Los Angeles. "Say baby, why don't you come out to see my show? I'm playing at the Sands. Yeah, then I got a gig at Caesars...Well, no, not exactly the ones in Vegas...Ah c'mon darlin', don't be like that. This Caesars is on Pacific Coast Highway! Man, you gotta dig that ocean view! Baby...baby..?"
And the veritable avalanche of new shows keeps comin! Tomorrow (Wednesday), following "The World's Worst Records," DJ GeorgyGirl debuts her OTHER show (she of Friday's '60s nugget-fest "The Flange and Frigate"), "High Waisted Modernists." It's a groovy trip thru mostly '60s/'70s lounge soundtrack/library instrumentals + spoken word/dialogue bits. 3pm-4pm Eastern time. And that's followed by "Medium Cool,'" hosted by long-time Portland-area radio legend Martinibomb. Check out his cool loungy sound-collage beatz! Some of which can be heard in the Jungle Room stream. Wed., 4-5pm EST. It's called Hump-Day, so let's get a-humpin'!
According to classicsandiego.com:(1950-1965) The Aloha Club was a burlesque tiki bar on Third Avenue’s sailor’s row, under management of Gaspare ‘Jasper’ Matranga. Jasper hailed from Sicily, as did his brother and cousins. He was the enforcer for the Matranga family, allegedly a hitman in the Los Angeles mob. His family moved in and started taking over downtown bars in the late 1940s. Along with their other clubs next door The Cuckoo Club and the Club Royal, The Aloha Club stayed open until 2am nightly. It featured music Billy Jones and his Beachcombers, a five-piece combo, with sultry burlesque acts of Dorothy Eddy,Vivian Lee, Joy Damon‘in the flesh!’
And B-Girls galore – waitresses who mingled with the sailors, enticing them to gamble, buy more drinks, and God knows what else. The city passed an ordinance outlawing the practice, giving San Diego Vice one more excuse to raid the bars. In 1954, Matranga was arrested for felony assault against one of his patrons. During an argument, he hit Alvero Gonsalves in the face with a bar glass. The fisherman required 21 stitches, and courageously pressed charges. Matranga spent a week in jail, after which a friendly judge saw the altercation as merely a misdemeanor, and let him off with a $1000 fine, giving Jasper permission to go back home to Sicily for ‘a long-planned’ vacation." Quite a joint, eh? Since the goons were sent packing, we can enjoy our imaginary night at The Aloha in peace, with Sheena's Jungle Room providing the soundtrack. Mai Tais all around!
Yet another new show hits the Jungle Room: this Monday 2pm EST marks the debut of 'Record Roulette Club,' hosted by a guy who is actually named DJ! Clearly, Daniel J. Henry was born to jockey them disks. And what might one expect in this hour of power? "Kind of like taking your parents record collection and getting drunk in a Radio Shack. Rock and Roll, Rhythm and Blues, Garage Punk, Regular Punk and Old-Fashioned Weirdos. Hopefully you have the patience for this fast-paced sonic impatience. Not recommended for the fan of 4 minute songs." Conveniently working within this channel's sound-collage aesthetic, Henry throws in all manner of groovy sound bites in between songs. Today's nerdy, uptight, sexless society would have you believe that rock (among other things) is dead. Yeah, well, we think THEY'RE dead. So let's re-work that Bay City Rollers chestnut to sing, "M-O-N! D-A-Y! Afternoon!"
Don’t miss the debut of “The Cratedigger’s Lung Adventure Hour,” tomorrow, Nov. 30 at 7pm, EST. A one-hour exploration of excavations from the farthest reaches of humanity’s hellish collective brain, through records, tapes, CDs, mostly scoured from country bumpkin thrift stores, creepy charity shops, backwoods junk stores, and even the internet. We don’t judge, we just play ‘em. Hosted by Rich in Washington. Rich is a long-time DJ at Portland’s KBOO, host of “Radio Lost and Found,” and “Kill Ugly Radio,” and fill-in for WFMU’s Tony Coulter show. WILD sounds, kids, you’ll want to be huffin’ this stuff!
Joining the crew of live show DJs is best-selling (well, at least 'pretty good-selling' writer) Darryl Bullock, of the great blog "The World's Worst Records," and it's two spin-off books. If all goes well - keep in mind, this station is in it's infancy - the show will debut tomorrow (Wed, Nov 14) at 2:00 pm EST for an hour of merry music and investigative history into the mental-cases that made these records. It's info-tainment!
Greetings, my friends! Welcome to the internet's new home for lowbrow radio, an audio stream running 24/7. Parental guidance suggested! Yes my friends, being up to no good has never felt so good. Join the lowlifes living' the high-life! Elvis himselvis once sang,"Hey buddy, don't you be no square." But if you are, fear not! Simply by listening to this station, you ARE cool. In a back room cluttered with bowling trophies and errant g-strings, Mr Fab, whose prior convictions include the Music For Maniacs blog and the sound-collage project RIAA, is programing the station, as live-show DJs Otis Fodder, Don-O, GeorgyGirl, and Spacebrother Greg prance merrily about in an orgy of pagan hedonism. We cannot keep this a secret any longer. Let us punish the innocent. Let us reward the guilty. My friends, can your heart stand the shocking facts about...Sheena's Jungle Room?!?