MARIA SANDRA Patropi TROPICALIA PSYCH CHICO MAGNETIC 45

$

20

WHAT WE HAVE HERE IS…

MARIA SANDRA "Patropi Merci" b/w "Mr. Et Mme. Patropi"

Original 1972 on the Dutch CBS label

Pic sleeve is in VG(+) shape

Vinyl:  Plays VG+ to VG++

Psychedelic flower child Maria Sandra, dressed in her Lilith Fair finest and shown with the same color filter that made the members of Captain Beefheart's Magic Band far more mysterious and trippy than they really were, here tries to rally up interest in a new dance craze called the Patropi, and gets the longhairs in wig-out freak psych Gods the Chico Magnetic Band to back her up!  I know, I know, that's kinda like Little Eva dressing like Stevie Nicks on acid and hiring Blue Cheer to sell the Locomotion.  And hey, if there's an alternate universe where this actually happened, I'd like to go there now.  But quantum physics aside, here in OUR universe, the closest we got was this little anomaly, the upbeat tropicalia dance craze shaker "Mr. & Mme. Patropi," all hip-swingin' Caribbean rhythms and cotton candy melodies, that is, until the overpowering flurry of distorted wah wah guitar pushes its way in like a heroin-frenzied Snuffleuppagus crashing through the produce section of Mr. Hooper's General Store.  You didn't think a color-filtered little Spanish flower like Maria Sandra could keep the mighty Chico Magnetic Band at bay FOREVER, did you?  Oddly enough, this single appeared to have been released in MANY different countries, and every picture sleeve tends to show Miss Sandra in a different pose, always in full Beefheart color filter glory though.  And if you'd like to hear what Julian Cope's website thinks about this little number, here is, reprinted from Head Heritage:

The longevity of dance crazes have been generally short and sweet affairs in the recent decades gone by, while only salsa seeming to enjoy one of the more enduring successes in recent memory. Time was when they’d originate on a small scale in local dancehalls then spread across a circuit of dancehalls into larger ballrooms and eventually being brought to the most widespread attention possible only to culminate into instant termination and promptly fade away to make way for the next hot’n’heavy hyped sensation. And they did in a quick succession in the sixties with The Twist, The Swim, The Mashed Potato, The Hully-Gully and a whole host of others. And each and every one fell by the wayside once quickly subsumed by dance floor denizens worldwide until -- with scant exceptions -- there was little sign of any new organised series of movements emerging anytime soon in the early seventies. Which was a pity: for those that dance are closer to the spark of life, to life itself, and to re-connecting with their inner spirit and the forces that fuelled them into existence in the first place.

With that said, I don’t think “Le Patropi” caught on to any significant degree in on either side of the Atlantic, equator, Equatorial Guinea or even in Mademoiselle Sandra’s own native France. And despite the 12 photographs that grace the opposite side of the sleeve in an attempt to illustrate the proper moves for prospective inductees into the dark arts of Patropi, it still looks like a modified version of a Babylonian Bull devotional crossed with The Freddie.

But luck being what it is, my passport to the land of 1001 dances is currently stamped in bold red ink with the single legend: “PATROPI.”

I needed no entry visa, no vaccine, and I didn’t even need a ticket. All I needed was to locate the PATROPI inside me, and to feel its power glowering and spreading and I was off and running. Then several visions came to me:

PATROPI is not benign, but spreads like a vicious and malignant rhythmic virus.

PATROPI is not a drug.

Those who grasp PATROPI in its essence will behold spectacular results with the opposite sex, for

Women love PATROPI and men aspire to PATROPI.

PATROPI will allow you to touch your partner (despite what the illustrations depict on the verso side of the picture sleeve and besides; art without improvisation is a mean and dusty entombment of the spirit.)

PATROPI is willfully playful and un-intellectual as f***.

PATROPI is like eating an ice cream cone, riding a horse and watching your favourite movie all at the same time (Well, sort of.)

With PATROPI, life is unlocked to its fullest.

PATROPI is a dance, but only in the same way ‘the dance from which all dances come’ (See R. Derminer: “My Life As A Honky: Black To Comm,” Ann Arbor University Press, 1966) is a dance. For along with every other dance under the sun (except St. Vitus’, natch) it’s a freeing of everything: you mind, your body, your senses. And it brings you closer to a sense of living in the moment with every step.

The sung word “Patropi” is dispensed with more times on this single than even “Blue Jean” on Bowie’s hit of the same name,1so after incessant spins, it started gaining in mystical power and I still don’t know what “Patropi” means. I don’t care, either for I am losing myself in a place where all is Patropi and Patropi is all. Especially when “Paaaaa-tro-pee, Paaaaa-tro-pee, Patropi! Patropi! Patropi!” gets sung as the chorus (or more to the point, as the incantation) for the umpteenth time and it’s an incantation that is currently hogging constant Top 10 AM radio rotation during the A-side of this veritable “Patropi” fest named “Patropi Merci” for this is where the Great Goddess Patropi is being invoked in order to render thanks for allowing another bountiful harvest and keen supply of Patropi, sending forth well-wishes and safe flight back to the land of Patropi, where she will spend half the year minting new Patropi by the bushel.

The back sleeve also states, “Avec le participation de la rythmique du CHICO magnetique Band” which can only mean one thing: that Chico Magnetic Band are the backing band here(!) This is getting weirder by the minute and although their contributions save the rigourous percussion are isolated to one channel of the mix on “Patropi Merci” (here operating as a furiously festive “Main Theme From Patropi”) where guitarist Bernard Monneri can be heard riffing hard on fuzz guitar and even inserts darkly forming Middle Eastern accenting during the chorus to shore up this chant-led piece to no end. Unfortunately, the vocals of Chico The Man get no dish whatsoever on the record for instead it is the voice of Maria Sandra that will continually return to lead the chorus into yet another rhythmic round of “Paaaaa-tro-pee, Paaaaa-tro-pee, Patropi! Patropi! Patropi!” over light flute trills, tambourine and congas galore.

The B-side, “M. & Mme. Patropi” continues with a more sprightly and upbeat a tempo and is far more Caribbean in feel; like theme music from early seventies TV commercials beckoning instant travel to the sunny tropical paradise of your choice. That is, until the middle section where everyone’s chanting “la-la-la” and the male vocal (ostensibly those of Germinal Tenas, the man responsible for the writing and arrangements) slides aberrantly into tones remarkably like those of Grover from ‘Sesame Street.’ But even such a howler can’t bring down the buoyancy of this infectious outbreak of chant’n’dance as people trill in the background over massed percussion and background wah-wah’ed guitar washes. For

PATROPI is more than a dance...it is a way of life.

Or more specifically, Patropi IS life.

Or maybe even more specifically: love of life.

And here’s to it.

PATROPI!

 HEAR IT!

(THE LESS EXCITING STUFF...)

First class shipping is $4.00 in the US, with each additional record only $1 additional shipping.  Delivery confirmation included in the shipping costs.  Air mail shipping to Canada starts at $6 US, each additional record $2 shipping.  Air mail shipping everywhere else in the world starts at $8 US, with each additional record only $3 shipping.  

I try to grade as best as I can, and I list as many blemishes/imperfections I can find (writing, ringwear, scuff marks, etc.) – Also, please note that I DO listen to these albums – I may not listen to every track, but my grades are based on LISTENING, not just looking at it, since chances are you’ll be listening to the record you buy, not just looking at it.  Most of the albums I sell are the ones I’ve enjoyed for years – and I treat my records with kid gloves.  But sounds speak louder than words, so check out the sound clips below – they’re from the actual record you’re bidding on. 

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NOW IT’S YOUR TURN…

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