Remembering Reg Presley of The Troggs

... Or How I Learned To Stop Wearing Diapers And Love Rock and Roll.

Music has always been a part of my life.  My maternal grandmother was the pianist for the Winter Park Baptist Church in Wilmington NC, and could throw down a mean version of “Bringing In The Sheaves”.  Her piano now sits in my living room; name a song in a Southern Baptist hymnal and I’ve got it covered.

Growing up in the 60s, we had an enormous “stereo” in our house in Jacksonville, FL.  It looked a lot like the one in the accompanying photograph, and I’m sure that in case those pesky Cubans across the way got any ideas, it could have doubled as a fallout shelter. 

I recall my parents having 78 recordings of the musicals “Desert Song” and “Pajama Game”, as well as “Carousel” and “Oklahoma!”  (When I saw John Raitt in a dinner theater in 1979, I was the only person in the audience (A) under the age of 45 and (B) under the age of 45 who knew who he was) 

My father was also a big fan of Glenn Miller and Tommy Dorsey, and I used to annoy him with repeated requests to play “In The Mood” and “Pennsylvania 6-5000”.  Although he loathed “that rock and roll crap”, he *did* own a copy of Duane Eddy’s “Twangin’ the Golden Hits” because I used to also bug him to play the great instrumental “Raunchy”.  My mother leaned more towards Frank Sinatra.  Mom was, in some convolutedly hazy way, related to Ava Gardner and Frankie could do no wrong in our house. 

Once I was deemed capable of operating electronic devices (or what passed for electronic devices in 1966), I received my first record player.  It came with this amazing gadget and records, and I have to tell you kids that this thing was more fun than any iPod or Xbox out there.  *They* don’t have a praxinoscope!  And get off my lawn!

Those Red Raven records were obviously the gateway drug.  Once I got a taste of them (ask me to sing “Little Green Frog”), I started seeking out the harder stuff.  You know…things like “Here We Go Looby Loo” and “Tina the Ballerina”.  I was hooked.  It was only a matter of time before that first record player was replaced with a shiny, snazzy Close N Play.

We also had a television “set” in our house that was only slightly smaller than the stereo, and I learned how to operate the channel changer rather quickly.  Of course, since it only involved turning a knob, it wasn’t exactly a brain drain to learn.  My mother would tell me later that I would always loved the dance shows like “Hullabaloo” and “Shindig!” and that I would dance along with the music. 

The first “real” 45RPM record I ever received was “Wild Thing” by The Troggs ~ dig those crazy suits, man...you know they inspired Austin Powers!  I’m not sure why it was such a favorite of mine – I am deadly certain that the lyrics were never dissected in our home and my father had to have been horrified at the haircuts on those people!  All I know is that I liked it.  A lot.  And one day, there it was in my record player.  Sweet!  I like to think I had pretty good musical taste for a 6 year old.

After that, it was a short trip to the highway to hell that is rock and roll.  First, it was The Monkees; even then, I favored tall, nerdish guys and I had a huge crush on Mike Nesmith (I still think “You Just May Be The One” is one of the best songs…ever)

After a short detour into teen pop (Bobby Sherman, he of the Justin Bieber haircut and 1000000% more talent, and David Cassidy), and a fortunately brief segue into disco, I ran back to the fold.  Thank you, Elvis Costello and The Clash.

The lead singer for The Troggs, Reg Presley, died this week at the age of 71.  The Monkee I thought would never die, Davy Jones, sadly did just that last year at the absurdly young age of 66.  In retrospect, not only did they form my early musical tastes, they left me with a pathological letch for men with British accents. 

Rest in peace, Reg, and thanks for setting me down a path I’m glad I followed.

bonus tracks:  "The Trogg Tapes" - audio recording of the band having a meltdown during a recording session.  This allegedly inspired "This Is Spinal Tap".  Warning:  more f-bombs in these 10 minutes than in the entirety of Scarface!