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Down and out

“Psycho” didn’t get much attention … it was too far ahead of its time.
— John Capps, K-Ark Records

It was at this low juncture that Noack recorded “Psycho.” His motivations are unknown (it’s not even clear how the song found its way from Payne to Noack) but he must have felt he had nothing to lose. Perhaps it was a prank – a middle finger aimed at a country music industry he felt had abandoned him. Maybe he hoped that something startlingly different – a modern-day variant on the old murder ballads – would jumpstart his moribund career. Or was he simply drawn to “Psycho’s” dark themes because they mirrored the dark state of his life? Did he relate on some level with the song’s stuporous protagonist – who, like the alcoholic, can’t control his impulses and recalls his actions only blearily, between blackouts?

After “Psycho” stiffed, with his prospects unimproved, Noack soldiered on at K-Ark. He issued another single (“House On a Mountain,” b/w “Stolen Rose”) to industry disregard, then unexpectedly returned to the murder-and-madness theme of his previous record. The spooky “Dolores” (1970) is essentially a Noack-penned rewrite of “Psycho,” framed as a worried husband’s warning to his wife to stay indoors because a killer’s on the loose. A brisk four verses (with no chorus) tells the tale, and Noack’s descriptive writing is strong:

Please stay inside the house tonight, Dolores
Lately there’s been violence in the streets
The moon is full but hearts are dark, Dolores
Danger in every stranger that you meet

Eddie Noack: “Dolores” (1970)

“Dolores” 45 (K-Ark Records, 1970; rateyourmusic)

The song’s breezy backing – all Latin-tinged guitar and lightly brushed snare rhythms – is even more perversely pleasant than “Psycho’s.” Its melody is lovely – expansive and soaring where “Psycho’s” was bluesy and clipped. 

There’s a killer in the neighborhood, Dolores
A man who sees a girl and goes berserk
And you’re just the kind of woman that he preys on
And my mind stays so upset it’s hard to work

Maybe “Psycho” sold better than is known. It’s hard to imagine why else Noack would take another stab at a first-person murder song, unless it was some sort of cutting contest to prove he could match Payne’s songwriting chops. If so, he holds his own capably, but “Dolores” too closely resembles its predecessor to make much impression. If anything, it’s a little too tasteful – a classicist’s take on monsters of the Id, minus the borderline batshit qualities that make “Psycho” an unforgettable listen.

Like its predecessor, “Dolores” ends with a Tales from the Crypt-style reveal: the singer is in fact the killer, and in the final verse he kills his wife by mistake, then posthumously rebukes her for straying from home into his pathological purview. Dolores, how could I know that it was you? he keens in the fadeout, then hums insanely to himself. The song contains a morbid in-joke: Noack’s first marriage, undertaken at 22 and lasting less than a year, was to a woman named Dolores.

Fadeout

Now don’t try to judge me by what you’d like me to be
For my life, it ain’t been much success
— Eddie Noack, “These Hands” (1956)

The rest of Noack’s career tragically mirrors his life: cyclical ups – a cover of a Noack original by George Jones or Johnny Cash, briefly renewed interest, even a mid-‘70s tour of England (his first live performances in years, and by all accounts, disastrous) – followed by let-down and rote dissolution. Short periods of clearheaded sobriety followed by worsening crashes of booze and black moods. In “The End of the Line,” a Luke the Drifter-style recitative with spare guitar/steel accompaniment released the same year as “Psycho,” he shares thoughts on life with a rising star in the music business who might just as well be his younger self. The tone isn’t bitter but resigned, and after recapping his own bipolar career, he counsels his young charge to think of the job like a marriage.

So treat the profession and wife the same way
It’s fine while you’re making the hits
But if you start to feel either one slipping away
Try once again, and then call it quits

Left: Maudean and Eddie, early 1970s (“Psycho” CD booklet, Bear Family, 2013). Right: Noack’s tribute to Jimmie Rodgers (sadly out-of-print) (Wide World Records, 1970)

Noack tried once again at marriage. In 1970 he exchanged vows with his fourth wife – a pretty divorcée from Tennessee named Maudean McDonald. The pair seemed mutually devoted, even happy, but as with Noack, a hereditary crack lay dormant in his new wife’s psyche. She too had spent part of her childhood with one parent – her father – while her mother was institutionalized. Like Noack, she also had been thrice married, including – incredibly – to an imposing ex-Marine who brutally murdered a 39-year-old waitress and mother of three, just weeks after Maudean filed for divorce. While he awaited trial, Maudean’s 15-year-old son from another marriage took his own life. The boy’s pitiful note (“Don’t cry over me because I’m not that good for anybody”) suggests major depression, as does his chosen method – a literally heartbreaking bullet though the chest.

Despite such baggage, for a time the couple thrived. Maudean helped Noack stay sober, and he achieved his final career high: a tribute album to country music legend Jimmie Rodgers. It didn’t sell much, but Noack was proud of the project. Overall, though, his fortunes stayed static or in decline.

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