From the JTL Archive: The Smallest Hits of 1979

Flashing back on my collection of "mini-discs"

Greetings, Jagged Time Lapsers!

First of all, I somehow managed to send Thursday’s JTL post out only to my paid subscribers. It was the bourbon-soaked conclusion to my epic 2002 interview with Lemmy Kilmister of Motörhead, and while it was indeed intended for paid JTL subscribers, the preview of it should have shown up in everyone’s inbox. I apologize for the (quite possibly NyQuil-induced) error. Here’s the link, if you’re interested…

---

Sunday, Lemmy and Me, Part Five

---

Second, I’d really hoped to be firing on all cylinders by now, but the Christmas cold (and general state of exhaustion) that followed my first COVID bout in a year and a half still has me dragging. I’ll be back with some new writing very soon — including a piece on my favorite album of 2023 — but for now here’s a slightly revamped edition of one of my favorite JTL pieces from 2022, which I figure most of you haven’t read since it was initially posted back when I only had a few hundred subscribers…

As someone who has moved a lot over the course of his life (including eight times in the past 16 years), I can say from experience that one of the true upsides to the upheaval is how it gives you the opportunity to rediscover things that you’d completely forgotten about. Books, records, t-shirts, paintings, photos, souvenir shot glasses — items that might slip your mind if you were asked to do an impromptu accounting of your belongings, but still make you smile with unabashed delight when you randomly pull ‘em out during the unpacking process.

The tiny purple plastic box in the above photo (Blistex tube included for scale purposes) is a perfect example. “Here, this fell out of something,” one of my movers said, handing it to me as they unloaded the contents of their truck into my new bachelor pad in scenic Kerhonkson, NY. I had completely forgotten about the tiny box and its even tinier contents; but holding it in my hand at that moment, I was suddenly overwhelmed with relief that it hadn’t been lost forever…

---

---

Back in the late ’70s and early ’80s, my sister was really into miniatures — you know, dollhouse furniture of the high-end, historically accurate sort. Having spent my childhood building scale models of WWII airplanes, battleships and tanks, I was pretty fascinated by her miniatures collection — the period-correct detail, the realistic rendering of household objects on a much smaller scale, etc. — but I kept my interest largely to myself. For an adolescent boy circa 1979, dollhouse furniture fell firmly into the category of “girl stuff”. None of my pals would have flipped me any shit for, say, hand-painting my miniature Dungeons & Dragons figures; but openly enthusing over the impressive verisimilitude of a miniature French Provincial armoire would have been a bridge too far for them.

Also, as the first-born child, I had long demonstrated a marked tendency to impose my own interests and opinions onto my younger sibling. But I was starting to become more conscious of this as I got older, and so in this case I figured that maybe I should just step back and let my sister enjoy her new “thing” without completely smothering it with my own interference or enthusiasm. Still, I thought this stuff was pretty cool, and I wanted to play with it, too…

I ultimately decided that, as my sister slowly amassed the furniture that would eventually fill her lavish future dollhouse, I would get involved by providing a record collection for the house’s future residents. So in early September 1979, shortly before I began 8th grade, I sat down with a piece of cardboard, an X-Acto knife and some art pens borrowed from my Uncle John — though I apparently neglected to also borrow a ruler — and proceeded to create a series of miniature album covers for my sister.

These album covers were inspired by artists I really loved at the time (Beach Boys, Boston, Earth Wind & Fire), as well as ones I didn’t particularly care for but whose names could be worked into some kind of mouse- or rat-related pun. In retrospect, I’m not entirely sure why I came up with this “rodent” theme, especially since few things to this day bum me out harder than rats. Maybe I envisioned my sister’s dollhouse as being home to a cute cartoon family of mice instead of people? I can’t remember.

[EDIT: My sister has now read this and chimed in — “The reason you chose a rat theme is because rather than human-like dolls, my dollhouse tenants were mice dolls,” she recalls. “They were a lot like the ones in this picture, but I’m pretty sure they had white fur, not gray. Far more elegant.”]

In any case, I had clearly decided on a concept before I got to work; not only were (most of) the album artists renamed rodentially, but the backs of the albums often highlighted one of the artist’s songs in a similarly punning manner. For instance:

Here’s R.A.T. Speedwagon with their big hit…

Clever, eh? My favorite of these album covers follow below, but I’ll spare you images of the flips since they didn’t feature anything other than my inept penmanship. Looking at them brings me back to how much fun I had with this little project, and also provides a little window into where my head was at, musically, as the Summer of ‘79 came to a close. Had I put these together just another month or two later, this “mini-disc” collection would have been much heavier on the hard rock and new wave stuff…

The Beach Mice, featuring their international smash, “Slurping USA”.

John Denvermin, singing his big hit “Take Me Home, Country Rats”.

Miceton’s first album, featuring the FM classic “Peace of Cheese”.

Earth, Wind and Mice’s I is, featuring the slow jam “After the Cheese Has Gone”.

Okay, here’s a huge blown opportunity — in retrospect, I probably just didn’t know enough about Gino Vannelli at the time to make a drawing that riffed on his leonine mane. I still like the name “Cheeto Vanilla” though.

Changing Carole King to Carole Rat wasn’t particularly inspired, nor was the highlighted hit (“Will You Still Love Me To-Mow-Rat”). But the album title and cover concept definitely gets a high-five from across the ages. Well done, 8th grade Dan.

Okay, “James Ratlor” is pretty weak as well, but my retitling of his 1979 hit album Flag as Gag stands as clear (and proud) evidence of a childhood spent reading MAD magazine…

Billy Mole’s 52nd Sewer, complete with a sewer grate that kinda looks like piano keys — this might be my masterpiece. (The hit? “Mice Life,” of course!)

Actually, I’m pretty proud of this one, as well. I wrote “My Bologna” on the back — though I have no memory of whether or not I’d already heard Weird Al’s “My Bologna” on The Dr. Demento Show at this point. No lawyers were ever called, in any case.

How can anyone forget Eatgood Smack’s blockbuster 2-LP set Musk? I have, however, completely forgotten why this album has a red and green border, since Fleetwood Mac’s Tusk looked absolutely nothing like this.

I must not have known that BTO were a bunch of seriously beefy dudes, because I’m sure I would have come up with far more inspired artwork here if I had. More MAD influence on the hit single, though: “You Ain’t Seen Nothin’… Yecch”.

And finally, one that’s not based upon anything other than my affection for my Italian heritage and handlebar mustaches in general…

The hit here is “Eh Cumpari,” because I once won a talent contest in 1st grade by dancing around to the Julius La Rosa novelty tune of the same name, a feat which made my Italian grandfather extremely proud…

There was one box of records that actually did get lost in my most recent move — a box of 45s by artists beginning with the letter “R” — though it has thankfully since been tracked down and recovered. But much as I don’t want to ever have to re-buy all those Rolling Stones, Otis Redding and Paul Revere & The Raiders singles, I would have hated to lose this tiny purple box of “mini-discs” even more.

---