Truly, this is becoming a very bad habit for me.
This horror is courtesy of my friend Carolyn's son Jonathan. He saw this treasure at a library book sale, and instantly thought of me. Thanks a lot, Jonathan.
"From David With Love" sounds like more of a threat than an endearment. And the leering grimace over the title, to the awkward postures scattered over the rest of the cover, this just has "I'm your creepy neighbour, better close your drapes" written all over it.
I particularly like the lower right-hand corner; David is posing in a raffish manner, complete with brightly striped, terrr-cloth bathrobe and a cigarette at a jaunty angle. He's like Hugh Hefner's low-rent, smelly cousin.
Also, note the pose in the lower left hand corner....who relaxes with their elbow cocked up to ear-level? (A guy who's trying to hide something, that's who.)
The photo above doesn't do his hair justice, but it looks like it has been molded entirely out of plastic, like a Ken doll's.
On the back of the album, it gives a complete biography of David, including the scintillating information that he was born on Feb. 2 1926, and his eye and hair colour, and his height, and used to work for the Hull Condrete and Stone Company. I think they just copied this off his driver's licence. Also, it tell us that "after he was discharged [from the Navy], nobody seemed to care whether he could sing, dance or juggle". Well, the singing and dancing anyone can do, but juggle? I care! I love that they included that particular nugget of humiliation for David. Somebody at this record company really hated this guy.
I didn't get a chance to play this particular album, because A) we have no turntable since I made the Mister toss ours away when we last moved, and B) Carolyn's husband dragged his office chair over the vinyl when it was still at their house. A sad end for David, I really hope things got better for him, because nobody deserves an end like this.
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