Featured Essay: Fish Heads and Dead Puppies: In Search of Demented Vinyl

by Ronald Gross

There was a time when the airwaves carried the odd, the absurd, and the delightfully bizarre straight into our homes. A time when an eccentric DJ named Dr. Demento gave a national platform to the kind of songs that might otherwise be forgotten, lost in the annals of musical weirdness. And for me, a lifelong vinyl collector with an obsession for the strange and offbeat, tracking down the original releases of these demented classics became more than a hobby, it became a mission.

My collection started, fittingly enough, with Barnes & Barnes’ “Fish Heads.” I first heard the song on a scratchy cassette recording of an old Dr. Demento broadcast. The nasal, robotic vocals, the surreal imagery of fish heads rolling in the street, it was everything I loved about novelty music. But finding an original pressing of the 1978 7-inch single proved to be a challenge. Most copies had been relegated to dollar bins or lost in basements, but after months of searching, I finally secured a copy through an online auction. Holding that record in my hands felt like holding a piece of radio history.

From there, I plunged deeper into the world of novelty vinyl. One of my next quests led me to Ogden Edsl’s “Dead Puppies.” The song, a darkly comedic ode to neglected pets, became one of Dr. Demento’s most requested tunes. Released in 1977, the original pressing was even harder to track down than “Fish Heads.” When I finally unearthed a copy at a flea market in Garden City, the vendor gave me a knowing smirk. “Dr. Demento fan, huh?” he said. I nodded. He threw in a battered copy of “Shaving Cream” by Benny Bell for free.

One of the crown jewels of my collection is an original pressing of Tom Lehrer’s Songs by Tom Lehrer from 1953. Lehrer’s razor-sharp wit and subversive lyrics made him a staple of Dr. Demento’s playlists. Lehrer’s records were self-released in limited quantities before gaining wider distribution, which made tracking down an original copy a serious challenge. When I finally got my hands on one, complete with Lehrer’s smirking face on the cover, it felt like finding a rare manuscript. My favorite tracks are “The Masochism Tango” and “Oedipus Rex”, he was such a master at satire!

Another prized possession is a Japanese import of Napoleon XIV’s “They’re Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!” The song, released in 1966, is a manic, unsettling novelty hit about a man descending into madness. I already owned a U.S. pressing, but when I discovered that a Japanese version existed, with different artwork and an alternate B-side, I knew I had to find it. After months of scouring Japanese record shops online and reaching out to international collectors, I finally struck gold. The sleeve, covered in kanji, adds an extra layer of absurdity to an already bizarre song.

Of course, no collection of Dr. Demento classics would be complete without “Beep Beep” by The Playmates. This 1958 novelty hit, which tells the story of a Cadillac being overtaken by a Nash Rambler, remains one of the funniest and most charming examples of speed-induced paranoia ever put to vinyl. I found my copy at an estate sale, hidden in a box of 45s labeled simply “Oldies.” The moment I saw the sleeve, I knew I’d struck gold.

Then there’s “Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh” by Allan Sherman, a song that perfectly encapsulates the novelty music tradition, witty, topical, and endlessly replayable. Sherman’s humorous take on summer camp misery became an instant classic, and I had the good fortune of finding an original 1963 pressing at a swap meet. The record was in surprisingly good shape, and playing it on my turntable transported me right back to the era of mid-century comedic songwriting at its peak.

Steve Martin’s “King Tut” was another must-have. Martin, a comedic genius in his own right, took novelty music to the mainstream with his 1978 parody of the Tutankhamun craze. Released as a single from his Wild and Crazy Guy album, the song was a staple on Saturday Night Live and an unlikely chart success. Finding a mint-condition copy was tough, given how many were played to death at parties, but after much digging, I secured a near-pristine pressing.

And, of course, there’s Weird Al. No Dr. Demento collection is complete without the man who arguably owes his entire career to the good doctor’s radio show. My most treasured Weird Al record is his self-titled debut album from 1983, which includes classics like “I Love Rocky Road” and “Ricky.” I could stare at the art work by Brazilian artist Rogerio for hours. I also tracked down Weird Al’s early singles, including “My Bologna” and “Another One Rides the Bus,” both of which were first played on Dr. Demento’s show before launching Al into stardom.

What makes collecting these records so rewarding isn’t just the thrill of the hunt, it’s the preservation of a uniquely weird and wonderful moment in musical history. These songs weren’t just funny; they were subversive, surreal, and completely unafraid to be different. In an era before YouTube, TikTok, and viral memes, Dr. Demento provided a space where the offbeat could flourish. Owning these records feels like safeguarding a time capsule of a countercultural movement that thrived on pure, unfiltered absurdity.

Every time I drop the needle on one of these old 45s or LPs, I can almost hear Dr. Demento’s voice introducing another demented hit, a relic from a time when radio dared to be weird. These records are more than just vinyl, they’re artifacts of a golden age when humor, music, and strangeness collided in the best possible way. And as long as I can keep hunting them down, the spirit of Dr. Demento’s show will never truly fade away.

Ronald Gross is a seasoned music industry professional with over three decades of experience spanning radio, event programming, and music journalism. His career began in the late 1980s when he served on the Nassau Community College Concert Committee, followed by an internship at WPLJ radio. He went on to host a jazz show at WPIR, showcasing his deep appreciation for the genre.

In the mid-2000s, Gross contributed his expertise to major branded music initiatives, writing about Heineken’s Red Star Soul and AmsterJam programs. Since 2007, he has established himself as a respected independent music reviewer, contributing to multiple platforms including BNN (Blogger News Network), Stereo Subversion, Eburban, Soundcheck, and Every DejaVu Records.

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