Author Archive

Grateful Dead “From The Mars Hotel”

| Americana,Psych

From The Mars Hotel

For some reason I came late to the Grateful Dead. A perceptive workmate introduced me to Workingman’s Dead and American Beauty in the mid-70’s, and then loaned me this, their latest release, which subsequently became a lifelong favourite.

Now nobody’s ever going to claim this period as the Dead’s golden age. Their collective creativity was heavily diluted by the loss of two original members and a slew of solo and side projects; their organisation was financially mired by its 300-plus employee wagebill, massive organised bootlegging of their first independent release Wake Of The Flood and the spiralling cost of their cocaine habit; and their new fifty-ton PA system, the notorious “Wall Of Sound”, demanded yet further intensification of their already exhausting touring schedule to recoup its outlay. Somehow out of all this they managed to produce in 1974 an immaculate studio album, which despite its quality still remains largely under the critical radar.

The eight songs here all feature taut songwriting and, in contrast with the legendary loose nature of the band’s live shows, gratifyingly tight performances. All would lend themselves to funky stretchout treatment on stage, yet benefitted from the distillation necessary to fit them into a studio collection. Jerry Garcia still finds space to weave his magical, sparkling lines among the verses, and the tight three-man rhythm section (only Bill Kreutzmann on drums here) effortlessly surmounts the exotic, often shifting rhythms. Keith Godchaux provides a new versatility on keys – acoustic piano, synth and harpsichord as well as trademark organ – and his wife Donna gives a new Grace Slick-like edge to the harmonies so saccharine-sweet on American Beauty.

From the opening jaunty shuffle “U.S. Blues”, which captured good-humouredly the cynical yet defensive national attitude following Watergate, to the brooding, diminished-chord-laden Dylanesque closer “Ship Of Fools”, there really are no weak tracks here. For me the standouts include Garcia and Hunter’s oh-so-funky “Loose Lucy” which gallops along on one of Captain Trips’s most irresistable riffs, and Bob Weir’s highly enjoyable reinvention of the old Motown standard “Money” as “Money Money”, in which the avarice is transferred to his unidentified lady friend and the original riff neatly subsumed into a new chord structure and irregular time signature. Phil Lesh finally attains composer recognition with the hazy, shimmering “Unbroken Chain” and the lilting “Pride Of Cucamonga” on which guest pedal steelist, Cactus’s John McFee, provides tremendous accompaniment to Lesh’s earnest tenor. The most gifted singer in the band is of course Garcia, and my personal favourite is his rollicking “Scarlet Begonias” which forefronts the Captain’s delightful plaintive whelp either side of a brief, exemplary Garcia/Godchaux instrumental dialogue, plus some exhilarating Lesh bass on the jazzy coda: definitive 70’s Dead stuff. Oh, yes, and the album title refers to the nickname of an itinerants’ hostel around the corner from the studio.

This album could be the Dead’s best kept secret. Go discover.

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“Pride of Cucamonga”

:D CD Reissue | 2006 | Rhino | at amzn ]
:) Vinyl | 1974 | Grateful Dead | at ebay ]
8) Spotify link | listen ]

Chris Bell “I Am The Cosmos”

| Pop

I Am The Cosmos

I dithered about reviewing Chris Bell’s I Am The Cosmos for months, in part because I was struggling to decide exactly what I wanted to say about it, in part because of its ambiguous status: formerly considered a “lost album” but nowadays a recognised classic (for the measure of its current standing, read the heartfelt reviews on Amazon.com), whilst actually not an album as conceived, but a compilation of tracks laid down over the six years before his death in 1978 and only issued in collected form fourteen years later to cash in on the renewed interest in Alex Chilton’s tempestuous career. Whatever: such an exceptional record deserves a slot on The Rising Storm.

Chris Bell’s history is extensively available on the Internet, so I’ll eschew my usual historical perspective and offer a purely personal appreciation. I bought the CD in 2001 as a clearance bargain, the insert booklet having gone missing; hence I do not have, and have not read, the highly-rated explanative booklet essay by Chris’s brother David. I knew of Chris as an ex-founder member of Big Star, but I knew nothing of his subsequent music, nor of his repressed homosexuality, clinical depression, heroin addiction and untimely ending, and it was mostly the mystique of the title I Am The Cosmos that prompted me to pick the album up. It didn’t turn out to be the neo-psychedelic exposition the title suggested, but one of the most intimately personal and bittersweet singer-songwriter collections I’ve ever heard: twelve absolutely exquisite compositions, mostly despairing songs of unrequited love, barely leavened with a couple of gently evangelical, faintly optimistic near-hymns.

Musically, the album runs the whole gamut from harsh, primitive electric tracks, all splintered guitars, thunderous drum fills and Spectoresque reverb, to sweet acoustic numbers with the softest possible string or woodwind coloration. Among the many original touches, “Speed Of Sound” pitches the acoustics against “violin-ed” lead guitar, marimba and swelling synth, whilst the quirky “Fight At The Table” features barrelhouse piano and an odd, wah-ed bass line, and the gentle Fender Rhodes on “Though I Know She Lies” is complemented by a crying George Harrison-like slide guitar. Despite all this variety the overall feel is homogeneous enough to almost convince you that the album was recorded as a single entity. Chris’s vocal throughout is high and keening, and mostly double-tracked with a dissonance that lends yet further pathos to his lyrical delivery. I don’t often attach the greatest importance to lyrics, preferring to hear the voice more as a principal instrument, but given the nature of this record they’re a quintessential and indivisible part of the package: simple, almost naïve and childlike, but utterly honest and expressive – just incredibly sad, without a trace of the cynicism present in some of Alex Chilton’s writing.

If you feel like getting emotionally wrung out one evening, try playing this end-to-end with Neil Young’s Tonight’s The Night, Kurt Cobain’s In Utero and Elliott Smith’s eponymous second album. It’ll either make you feel much better or have you reaching for the razor blades.

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“Speed of Sound”

:D CD Reissue | 1992 | Rykodisc | at amazon ]
8) Spotify link | listen ]

Skip Battin “Skip”

| Country Rock

Skip

Byrds historians would have you believe that Cecil Ingram Parsons III was the squarest peg ever to occupy one of the legendary band’s round holes. Not a bit of it: that honour has to go to Clyde “Skip” Battin, who held down the bass chair from 1969 till the breakup of the band in 1972. Progeny of Italian immigrant parents, Battin was born in 1934, which makes him a hoary 35 years old when he joined McGuinn & Co. In fact he was the oldest Byrd ever, by eight years. Further, whilst all previous Byrds had cut their teeth on Greenwich Village folk or Nashville bluegrass in the early sixties, Skip’s musical genesis came in the novelty music era which followed the initial surge of rock’n’roll in the fifties. With his heroes being Fats Domino and Tom Lehrer, it’s no surprise that his forte turned out to be witty narrative songs with a piano spine, mostly written with assistance from maverick lyricist Kim Fowley. If you’re familiar with the moderately successful single “America’s Great National Pastime” taken from Farther Along, you’ll get the essence. Surprisingly, in the latter days when all but McGuinn were merely salaried Byrds members, the Leader allowed a handful of Battin’s distinctly oddball songs on to the final three albums.

Even before the breakup, Skip obtained a contract with Signpost Records of LA on the strength of “Pastime”, and his first solo album, Skip, emerged rapidly. Battin handles piano duties as well as bass, and his voice is warm and husky. All the Byrds’ final lineup contributed, including McGuinn in amusing circumstances: the track “Captain Video” is a delightful pastiche of the Byrds singing Dylan, and McGuinn guests on 12-string Rickenbacker whilst Skip himself sings the lyrics dedicated to Roger, who allegedly never realised that they were about him. Clarence White is everywhere, including some of his best-ever B-Bender wailing on “The Ballad Of Dick Clark”, more of the same plus amazing mandolin on “Four Legs Are Better Than Two” and what sounds like Fender electric mandolin on “Valentino”, providing an appropriately Italian flavour. In fact much of the record combines Bakersfield country licks with typically Italian polka two-step rhythms, as Skip wears his two cultural hearts on his sleeve. Towards the end the pace slackens for the wistful, witty paean to a 1940s baseball team, “St Louis Browns”, on which Clarence flatpicks superb dobro licks, and the closing, gentle “My Secret Life” in which Battin artfully lays his own soul bare.

The late ’72 timing of the album was not good; Skip’s touring commitments with the ailing Byrds meant that it was barely promoted, and sales were poor. Nonetheless, a second album was mooted by Signpost, by now part of Atlantic, to be entitled Topanga Skyline, but Clarence White was killed the day before recording was due to begin. It went ahead assisted by members of Country Gazette plus Al Perkins, but the heart had gone out of the project and the completed tapes were shelved. Skip went on to serve with New Riders Of The Purple Sage and the reformed Burritos, but his two other solo albums were released in the 1980s solely in Italy, to which he made frequent visits; these featured some songs sung in Italian, and remain rare collectors’ items. In Sept 2009 Skip’s son Brent financed the belated release of Topanga Skyline on Sierra Records as a fortieth anniversary commemoration of Skip’s first appearance with the Byrds. For an affectionate Skip Battin tribute website, go to http://www.skipbattin.com.

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“Four Legs Are Better Than Two”

:D CD Reissue | 2003 | Collectors Choice | at amazon ]
:) Vinyl | 1972 | Signpost | ebay ]

Quatermass “Quatermass”

| Prog

Quatermass

When the British Blues movement morphed into the riff-rock wing of progressive music, the focus of most groups remained the heroic lead guitarist. It was a brave outfit that elected to do without the fretboard god altogether. Having been persuaded by the success of Keith Emerson’s guitarless latterday Nice that it could work, a select few elected to structure themselves as a trio comprising a showboating keyboard player, a punchy drummer and a bassist who could handle lead vocals. Emerson recruited Greg Lake and Carl Palmer into his eponymous ensemble; Dave Stewart salvaged Egg from the remains of his school band Uriel, sans Steve Hillage; and three veterans from the British Beat Boom came together as Quatermass. One of these three acts would go forward to worldwide acclaim and the sickly smell of excess, the other two to a brief second-division career and oblivion.

Quatermass could have been as big as ELP; they had the chops, the experience and the contacts. Bassist/vocalist John Gustafson had been in the Big Three, the Liverpool guitar trio that all the other Cavern/Hamburg bands looked up to for their musicianship. Drummer Mick Underwood had served time with Joe Meek’s legendary house band, the Outlaws, alongside Richie Blackmore. Keyboardist Peter Robinson had backed hugely popular R’n’B shouter Chris Farlowe. All three were also in-demand studio sessioneers. They came together in a late lineup of Episode Six, the band that had provided a further two-fifths of Deep Purple, and decided to stay together when the Six finally folded. Taking their name from the classic sci-fi TV show, and rapidly signing to premier UK prog-rock label Harvest, their first album appeared in May 1970 . . . and despite strong reviews, undeniable quality and a splendid gatefold sleeve by Hipgnosis (of Pink Floyd fame), disappeared just as rapidly from the shelves. Its poor sales, an unsuccessful US tour and demand for their services from other nascent bands ensured that there wouldn’t be another. Quatermass broke up in April ’71.

Forty years later the reissued, extended album still exudes quality. Gus was a funky, syncopative Fender bassist with a strong cock-rock voice in the Rodgers/Gillan mould. Robinson combined fruity blues and soul licks with a sly jazzy atonality and just enough classical nous not to become overbearing like the ELP mainman, whilst freely overdubbing Hammond organ, electric and acoustic piano, Mellotron and Moog. Underwood provided the solid, John Bonham-style groove that held the three musicians tightly together. The whole had a no-nonsense rocky edge distinctly uncommon in keyboard-centric prog. The album mixes short, precise three-minute songs like the soulful single “Black Sheep Of The Family” and the gently psychedelic, harpsichord-led “Good Lord Knows” with eight-minute keyboard workouts typical of the live act, notably the ferocious bluesy soloing on the riff-based “Up On The Ground”, the jazzy, fully-orchestrated block chording on “Laughin’ Tackle” and the ring-modulated funk of the instrumental outtake “Punting”. Robinson’s genuinely exciting yet tasteful keyboard skills, especially on the B-3, ensure that none of these outstay their welcome. Keith Emerson might usefully have taken note.

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“Good Lord Knows”

:D CD Reissue | 1996 | Repertoire | at amazon ]
:) Vinyl | 1970 | Harvest | search ebay ]
8) Spotify link | listen ]

Gene Parsons “Kindling”

| Americana,Country Rock,Folk

Kindling

Sometimes it’s the less visible members of a great band who turn out to be the most interesting. Gene Parsons was the drummer with the Byrds from 1968 to 1972. If you’ve ever even heard his name, there’s a fair chance that you’ll confuse him with his near namesake who was with the same band less than a year and achieved a disproportionate notoriety. It’s indicative of Gene’s character that when Chris Hillman quit the Byrds to form the Flying Burrito Brothers with Gram, Gene refused the invitation to accompany him, choosing to stay with the seemingly over-the-hill outfit out of loyalty, particularly to close friend Clarence White, rather than take a giant leap with the hotly-fancied new boys.

Gene’s career continued to be defined by his unassuming, sensitive personality. When Roger McGuinn finally fired Gene and Clarence before the ill-fated reunion of the original band, Gene went into Warner Brothers to record an album of the songs he’d been unable to persuade McGuinn to perform with the Byrds. The project had support from Clarence throughout, with guest appearances from legendary bluegrass artists Vassar Clements on fiddle and Ralph Stanley on vocal. But the biggest surprise was the appearance of Gene Parsons, lead vocalist and multi-instrumentalist, who beside thumping the tubs proved to be a butt-kicking five-string banjoist and also contributed acoustic and electric guitars, pedal steel, harmonica and bass. Gene’s earnest vocals front seven originals plus covers by Lowell George, old partner Gib Guilbeau, Stanley and Skip Battin. The feel of the album is as refreshingly homespun as might be expected, with an air of bluegrass that predates the genre’s eighties traditionalist revival and compares with the slick commercial country rock then being produced by the various other Byrds alumni and their contemporaries. The sparse, bright production by Russ Titelman is exemplary.

The album garnered strong reviews from Rolling Stone and other music press biggies and might have prefigured a profitable, if appropriately low-key, solo career for Gene, but shortly after its issue Clarence White was killed and, in despair at the loss of his friend and collaborator, Gene withdrew from his Warners contract and retired to his California farm to concentrate on developing the Parsons-White String Bender. It would be three years before he ventured on a stage again, joining the reformed Burritos for a three-year tenure during which Gene finally found peer acceptance in a group milieu as composer and vocalist. Since then he’s continued to make public music at intervals whilst devoting his main effort to production and further development of the String Bender. He still has the trademark “soup strainer” moustache and professes contentment with life in a style typical of the man.

Kindling has been reissued by Sierra Records as The Kindling Collection, which bookends the whole album with seven neglected Parsons originals from the Byrds’ albums and four more from the later Burritos era. Clarence White features heavily on the former cuts and Sneaky Pete Kleinow on the latter, and the whole package is an excellent chronicle of Gene’s first-division career.

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“Monument”

:) Vinyl | 1973 | Warner Bros | search ebay ]
:D CD Reissue | 1995 | Sierra | buy from sierra ]
8) Spotify link | listen ]

Ian Dury “New Boots And Panties”

| Pop,Punk

New Boots And Panties

In the wake of pop’s rediscovery of itself, prompted by the blitzkrieg success of punk, 1977 proved to be a splendid year for debut albums, indeed perhaps the best since 1969 kicked off the Golden Age Of Prog Rock. Most of the artists concerned were promising newcomers, but a fair number were veterans in new guises. In the UK, musicians who had cut their teeth in the back-to-basics pub-rock bands of 1973-75 recombined into new units or declared themselves solo artists and, riding on the New Wave of energy generated by punk, sought to combine their established chops with its novelty, brevity and audacity. While the younger hardline punks disdained all previous genres for ground-zero three-chord originality, the second-time-around outfits leavened the new energy with earlier styles; the Stranglers displayed a clear Doors streak, Elvis Costello evinced more than a pinch of Gram Parsons, and the Motors borrowed heavily from both the Beatles and the Byrds.

Former Kilburn & The High Roads frontman Ian Dury took his lyrical influences from the music hall performers of the thirties and the Carry On films of the fifties, filtered through Ray Davies’s wry observations of London society in the sixties, to produce a uniquely English, witty product which nonetheless chimed with the impending social upheavals of the late seventies in true punk fashion. Like the Kinks’ mid-term catalogue, Dury’s songs portrayed contemporary suburban characters and their lifestyles but, eschewing Davies’s gentle, rose-tinted, middle-class mockery, Dury unashamedly painted his subjects in stark black-and-white with all the sexual innuendo, scatology, and profane language of the working-class Cockney. The contrast was heightened by the presence of the Blockheads, a killer backing band who could deploy their formidable and highly danceable playing skills effortlessly in the directions of jazz or art-rock, soul or reggae, disco or doo-wop as befitted the song in hand. Guitarist-keyboardist Chaz Jankel also provided the music and arrangements to Dury’s lyrics; bassist Norman Watt-Roy and drummer Charley Charles were a fearsomely tight rhythm section, whilst seriously leftfield saxophonist Davey Payne took his deranged cues from Roland Kirk and Ornette Colman.

The debut album New Boots And Panties and non-album single “Sex And Drugs And Rock And Roll”, credited only to Dury but featuring the Blockheads throughout, immediately scored glowing music press reviews in Britain, the scribes praising their originality, energy, theatricality and occasional unbridled venom (New Musical Express journo Roy Carr described the album as “Max Wall with a backbeat: Max Miller on mandies”). “Billericay Dickie”, “Clevor Trever”, “Plaistow Patricia”, “Sweet Gene Vincent” and “My Old Man” are all affectionate and occasionally bawdy portraits to characters of Dury’s acquaintance – some with names changed to protect the guilty – while “Wake Up And Make Love With Me” and “I’m Partial To Your Abracadabra”, along with “Sex And Drugs And Rock And Roll” and its B-side “Razzle In My Pocket”, both included on the deluxe CD reissue, are funny and inoffensive (depending on how sensitive you are) homages to Dury’s favourite vices. For an example of Dury’s poetic lyrical talent, in the MP3s below contrast the lazy, loping alliteration in “Trever” with the stroboscopic acapella parts echoing the “black, white, black, white” theme in “Vincent”. The cover art shows The Man posing archly in appropriate Doc Marten footwear outside a typically seedy East End men’s outfitter’s; the equally cocky-looking urchin with him is his son Baxter, who would become a singer himself.

Whilst very much of the New Wave, the highly original, uniquely theatrical and impressive musical qualities of New Boots And Panties render it apart from the best of the rest. Though yielding many more individual gems, notably the tremendous hit singles “Reasons To Be Cheerful, Part 3” and “Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick”, the consistency of Dury’s subsequent work would suffer from the departure of Chaz Jankel, whose relationship with the frontman had always been somewhat spiky, and from Dury’s own physical deterioration as his uncompromising rock’n’roll lifestyle took its toll on his polio-weakened body.

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“Sweet Gene Vincent”

:D CD Reissue | 2005 | Fuel | at amazon ]
:) Vinyl | 1977 | Stiff | search ebay ]
8) Spotify link | listen ]

The Monkees “Head”

| Pop,Psych

Head

Head isn’t the best Monkees album; in fact it contains just six pieces of music, only one of which is a copper-bottomed classic. But it does best symbolise the wonderful set of contradictions that made up the Monkees and their brief top-flight career.

The Monkees were first really brought to my attention in 1967 when my kid sister pinned a tearout picture from Fab 208 teeny fanzine on her bedroom wall. It showed the band members goofing around in Victorian style striped swimsuits. Her comment was “Haven’t they got nice legs?”. You can imagine the response she received from this then ultra-serious psychedelia and Memphis soul admirer. Actually I had appreciated the excellent first single, “Last Train To Clarksville”, but had not been impressed by the follow-ups, including the turgid “I Wanna Be Free” and the simplistic “I’m Not Your Steppin’ Stone”. Nothing to lay alongside Pepper, Hendrix and Wilson Pickett there, then. The TV series just irritated me: A Hard Day’s Night reduced to twenty-five-minute knockabouts. And if I did manage to catch the Head movie – I can’t remember if I did or not – its plotless, formless, apparently pointless structure would have had the same effect.

Fast forward to the new millenium, and after decades of derision the Monkees suddenly became hip again in the wake of Britpop, New Psychedelia and other sixties revival movements. I discovered to my surprise that Mickey Dolenz was a peerless pop vocalist, and Mike Nesmith a confident, strident songwriter; that the best songs had been penned by the aristocracy of Goffin and King, Boyce and Hart, Neil Diamond, John Stewart and the Harries Chapin and Nilsson; that with musical backing by Glen Campbell, James Burton, Clarence White, Ry Cooder, Tommy Tedesco, Neil Young (yes, that one) and other A-team sessioneers from both coasts, those tracks were, in retrospect, sublime nuggets of pop; and that Head the movie was a definitive sixties cinematic experience. I came to sympathise with the group’s struggle to escape from the straitjacket of the exploitative entertainment industry, so splendidly satirised in Head in “Ditty Diego – War Chant”. From witless boy-band to The Next Beatles via psychedelia and country-rock, I saw the Monkees for what they really had been: a genuinely ambitious and progressive outfit with real musical integrity, their career cut short by their inability to shed the ludicrous image they’d been saddled with at the start. (OK, maybe scratch Davy Jones, who had zip musical or vocal talent, but provided eye-candy in the same way as Paul McCartney did for the Fabs and Brian Jones did for the Stones, and also shared Macca’s unfortunate penchant for Vaudeville. Nobody’s perfect.)

Head the movie and Head the album represent the Monkees’ final, ill-fated, attempt to break through the cultural barriers. Read about the movie on Wikipedia, if you will; the entry is very good. The album comprises the aforesaid six songs plus a bewildering collage of dialogue and found sounds from the film, deliberately reassembled, reverbed, varispeeded and otherwise twisted to produce a supremely trippy experience not unlike Frank Zappa’s experiments on Uncle Meat. (In fact Zappa also has a cameo in the film.) Of the songs, “Porpoise Song” (Goffin & King) is possibly the best psychedelic single ever released. The live version of Nesmith’s “Circle Sky”, unaccountably passed over on the original album for the inferior studio version, is good enough to have been included on Nuggets. And the reissue CD also includes the original mix of Peter Tork’s “Can You Dig It”, his homespun vocal fitting this deeply psych song better than Micky’s smooth, poppy delivery as used on the final version.

Both movie and album bombed, of course. But the Monkees’ true legacy can be found in the excellent psych artifact which is the reissue CD of Head, and on the absolutely stunning 2008 Rhino 4-CD compilation The Monkees Music Box. Also indispensible is Andrew Sandoval’s definitive book The Monkees: The Day By Day Story. Go explore, and happy hunting.

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“Porpoise Song”

:D CD Reissue | 1994 | Rhino | at amazon ]
:) Vinyl | 1968 | Colgems | at ebay ]
8) Spotify link | listen ]

Richard Hell & The Voidoids “Blank Generation”

| Punk

Blank Generation

After the uncertainty as to into which genre his previous band’s magnum opus ought to be placed, Richard Hell’s first album as bandleader turns out to be refreshingly and unambiguously punk, from whichever side of the Atlantic you define it.

Like Marquee Moon, the Voidoids’ debut offers a twin-guitar attack, but there any resemblance ends; devoid of any art-rock pretensions, the band and the album sit proudly and squarely between the New York and London incarnations of punk, yet with some surprisingly original touches. Hell’s spiky hair and ripped clothing, eagerly adopted by the Sex Pistols and their acolytes, contrast with the balding, bearded, bespectacled Bob Quine, hardly a punk icon. The guitars too are spiky, but Quine’s nervy, occasionally shrieking leads are closer to Richard Thompson’s edgy electric style than to either Tom Verlaine’s crystalline confections or Steve Jones’s simplistic Keef knockoffs. Hell is a better vocalist than either Verlaine or John Lydon, with clearer diction and a wider range of both pitches and effects; the heterodyne yowl he employs on “Love Comes In Spurts” and “Liars Beware” would be copied, irritatingly to excess, by Adam Ant. And Hell’s lyric writing is suitably rebellious in content, but steeped in the Romantic poetry which was his other muse.

The songs too provide unexpected variety. “Love Comes In Spurts” features a distinctive orgasmic guitar figure, and a chugging beat and repetitious refrain that suggest the thrusts of sexual intercourse. The slower “Betrayal Takes Two” has an almost Spectorish progression. “Down At The Rock And Roll Club” sounds like a demented outtake from the Who’s Tommy, right down to the brief appropriation of the riff from “I’m Free”. The title track employs a walking chord and bass pattern not dissimilar to Brian Setzer’s “Stray Cat Strut”, and has a fascinatingly ambiguous lyric: optimistic or nihilistic? “Walking On The Water” is a radically punked-up cover of a John Fogerty song, but the Voids playfully follow it with “The Plan”, an original performed to perfection in Creedence style complete with mellow country-rock leads from Quine. The eight-minute “Another World” is as close as they get to Televison, both lyrically and musically, but lacks the subtlety and dynamics of “Marquee Moon”, and the long, howling fadeout definitely outstays its welcome. However the only real dog is the CD reissue bonus track, Hell’s inexplicable and inept cover of Sinatra’s “All The Way”, which is nowhere near as repugnant as Sid Vicious’s later “My Way” but falls just as flat.

Intriguingly, Hell allegedly claimed that the “blank” in “Blank Generation” was not an expression of hopelessness for youth culture, as per the “no future” in the Pistols’ “Anarchy In The UK”, but an invitation to youth culture to insert its own definition. In a similar vein, on the original cover art, which differs from that used on the reissue CD, Hell has written across his bare chest “You make me ____ ”. What? Again, that’s for you to decide.

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“Love Comes in Spurts”

:) Vinyl | 1977 | Stiff | search ebay ]
;) MP3 Album | download @ amzn ]
8) Spotify link | listen ]

The Moody Blues “In Search Of The Lost Chord”

| Classic Rock,Pop,Prog,Psych

In Search of the Lost Chord

It took a while for the Moody Blues to catch on in the US, though their retrospective catalogue scored quite well there after 1971. At home in the UK, however, the Moodies were huge during what I think was their best period, 1968-1970, when their highly individual and sophisticated mix of psych and prog was always spinning on the platters of more cerebral music lovers.
After the band’s 1967 reshuffle their yearning to combine pop and classical musics surfaced strongly. The first effort, Days Of Future Passed, interleaved some good early Moodies songs with second-rate orchestral interludes resembling B-movie soundtracks, and was therefore a patchy affair. Then Mike Pinder discovered the Mellotron, and everything clicked into place.
Pinder is probably the most accomplished Mellotron practitioner of the era, and during the period 1968-70, when miking of acoustic pianos was still hit-and-miss, it was the only onstage keyboard he employed. Its sound in his hands is absolutely fundamental to the Moodies’ output of the times. This is not to downplay the musicianship of the other members; especially notable are John Lodge’s bass playing, his picked Fender Jazz lines and arpeggios functioning as a further lead instrument, and Ray Thomas’s flute solos and obligatos, this instrument being rare in rock at the time.
The songs on In Search Of The Lost Chord feature lyrics of the sort that would ultimately make the Moodies a bit of a laughing stock for a while: plenty of hippie mysticism and Oriental metaphysical musing typical of the era. But they are delivered by four fine solo voices, often combining to produce immaculate harmonies. The melodies and accompaniments are top quality and there’s plenty of variation in keys and time signatures. Above all this there’s a spirit of experimentation typical of the times, with band members tackling unfamiliar instruments – Pinder on harpsichord, Justin Hayward on sitar, Lodge on cello, Thomas on oboe, Grahame Edge on a kit of cardboard boxes – and a production which belies the limitations of the recording equipment then available to the band, with segues, fade-ins and fade-outs galore.
“Legend Of A Mind” is part of a short suite, bookended by “House Of Four Doors” Parts One and Two, but stands alone quite capably. Like many other tracks on the album, this tongue-in-cheek paean to LSD guru Timothy Leary and its bracketing tracks feature some breathless sound effects. These achieve their zenith in “The Best Way To Travel”, whose stereo effects were quite startling to a generation unused to the new mode of sound reproduction. Of the other tracks, “Ride My See Saw” is a galloping rocker often reserved for a show closer on stage, while “Om” incorporates an Oriental chant with huge drum sounds and vocals that sound like a revved-up football crowd.
Very much of its time, and subject to ridicule a decade later, today In Search Of The Lost Chord represents what was best in the days when psychedelia was mutating into progressive music. The follow-up, On The Threshold Of A Dream, offered the same high quality and experimental edge, with subsequent works becoming rather safer and more predictable, if even more grandiose.
PS: this is one that doesn’t work in mono!

It took a while for the Moody Blues to catch on in the US, though their retrospective catalogue scored quite well there after 1971. At home in the UK, however, the Moodies were huge during what I think was their best period, 1968-1970, when their highly individual and sophisticated mix of psych and prog was always spinning on the platters of more cerebral music lovers.

After the band’s 1967 reshuffle, their yearning to combine pop and classical musics surfaced strongly. The first effort, Days Of Future Passed, interleaved some good early Moodies songs with second-rate orchestral interludes resembling B-movie soundtracks, and was therefore a patchy affair. Then Mike Pinder discovered the Mellotron, and everything clicked into place.

Pinder is probably the most accomplished Mellotron practitioner of the era, and during the period 1968-70, when miking of acoustic pianos was still hit-and-miss, it was the only onstage keyboard he employed. Its sound in his hands is absolutely fundamental to the Moodies’ output of the times. This is not to downplay the musicianship of the other members; especially notable are John Lodge’s bass playing, his picked Fender Jazz lines and arpeggios functioning as a further lead instrument, and Ray Thomas’s flute solos and obligatos, this instrument being rare in rock at the time.

The songs on In Search Of The Lost Chord feature lyrics of the sort that would ultimately make the Moodies a bit of a laughing stock for a while: plenty of hippie mysticism and Oriental metaphysical musing typical of the era. But they are delivered by four fine solo voices, often combining to produce immaculate harmonies. The melodies and accompaniments are top quality and there’s plenty of variation in keys and time signatures. Above all this there’s a spirit of experimentation typical of the times, with band members tackling unfamiliar instruments – Pinder on harpsichord, Justin Hayward on sitar, Lodge on cello, Thomas on oboe, Grahame Edge on a kit of cardboard boxes – and a production which belies the limitations of the recording equipment then available to the band, with segues, fade-ins and fade-outs galore.

“Legend Of A Mind” is part of a short suite, bookended by “House Of Four Doors” Parts One and Two, but stands alone quite capably. Like many other tracks on the album, this tongue-in-cheek paean to LSD guru Timothy Leary and its bracketing tracks feature some breathless sound effects. These achieve their zenith in “The Best Way To Travel”, whose stereo effects were quite startling to a generation unused to the new mode of sound reproduction. Of the other tracks, “Ride My See Saw” is a galloping rocker often reserved for a show closer on stage, while “Om” incorporates an Oriental chant with huge drum sounds and vocals that sound like a revved-up football crowd.

Very much of its time, and subject to ridicule a decade later, today In Search Of The Lost Chord represents what was best in the days when psychedelia was mutating into progressive music. The follow-up, On The Threshold Of A Dream, offered the same high quality and experimental edge, with subsequent works becoming rather safer and more predictable, if even more grandiose.

PS: this is one that doesn’t work in mono!

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“The Best Way to Travel”

:D CD Reissue | 2008 | Polydor | at amazon ]
:) Original Vinyl | 1968 | Deram | at ebay ]
8) Spotify link | listen ]

Television “Marquee Moon”

| Art,Pop,Punk

Marquee Moon

From the start it was difficult to understand how Television came to be identified with the punk movement. OK, so Marquee Moon appeared in 1977, but so did Dire Straits’s debut, and nobody ever put them in the punk bracket (though Elvis Costello’s also did, and he was lumped in with the punks initially. Ho, hum.). Richard Hell was their first bassist, but he was asked to leave pretty quickly when he proved antipathetic to their carefully constructed tunes and well-rehearsed playing. And while they played CBGB’s, that was in 1974, before punk was identified as a new and separate musical current. And what red-blooded punk singer would take as his stage name that of a nineteenth-century French Symbolist poet?

Television has been described by other reviewers as a minimalist rock band, eliciting comparisons with everyone from the Velvet Underground to Philip Glass. Televison’s clean, sinuous twin-guitar interplay and complex musical arrangements have no real roots in the Underground’s fuzzy two-chord oeuvre. Oddly, the nearest point of reference may be Neil Young with Crazy Horse; just listen to the title track from this album, then play Young’s “Down By The River”. Agree?

The sound throughout the album is pretty homogeneous, with chiming, crystalline Fender guitars and Tom Verlaine’s high, nasal New York voice constantly to the fore, but the songs vary greatly in tempo, key, and arrangement. There are guitar solos, but these are cleanly choreographed, lean and spare, without a note wasted. The lyrics are often opaque, frequently Dylanesque. The heavily solarized portrait of the band on the front cover, by art photographer Robert Mapplethorpe, breathes intruigue. This is genuine art-rock we’re talking about here.

Unfortunately there’s not really room on this webpage for the magnificent ten-minute title track, but it holds the listener’s attention right from the deliberately ambiguous timing of the intro to the unexpected recapitulation in the coda. Of the two MP3s below, “Venus” floats along on a glorious arpeggio – and has a wonderful surrealist lyrical refrain about falling right into the arms of Venus de Milo! – whilst “Friction” comes closest to that Crazy Horse groove, with heavily-vibratoed modal lead guitar, staccato block chords and a funky bassline.

While researching this album I was surprised to find that on original release it did almost zip in the band’s home country, though it was very popular in Europe and especially here in the UK. Its high reputation in Britain has persisted; in 2003 the influential New Musical Express declared Marquee Moon to be the fourth best album of all time. (Certainly it’s in this reviewer’s top twenty.) Perhaps this Rising Storm post will introduce it to a newly appreciative audience in the States.

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“Friction”

:) Original Vinyl | 1977 | Elektra | ebay ]
:D CD Reissue | 2003 | Elektra | amazon ]
8) Spotify link | listen ]

Pink Floyd “Soundtrack from the film More”

| Psych

More

Pink Floyd’s milestone albums are today so embedded in the public consciousness that it’s become more necessary than ever to explore their lesser-known offerings. This can often lead to discovering some unexpected treats. Their soundtrack to the otherwise forgettable 1969 French film More is one such work. Perhaps Floyd’s last album to be imbued with the spirit of Syd Barrett, it comprises a collection of short songs and instrumental pieces, the acid-pop overtones, gentle chillout textures and generally taut construction of which offer a considerable contrast to the lengthy, plodding, half-improvised instrumentals which had become their standard fare, following the loss of Barrett’s lysergically-fuelled, wonderfully erratic songwriting. Roger Waters is the main composer and lyricist here, thankfully before his gloomy, introspective leanings really took over.

Although the album was commissioned as a film soundtrack and the pieces were written to order to fit scenes in the movie, the whole work can be enjoyed as an album of music with no reference at all to its raison d’être (I’ve never seen the film, and frankly have no wish to, given the nature of its plot). Six of the thirteen tracks are proper, complete songs rather than just instrumentals. The range of musical styles is truly eclectic, and no track ever outstays its welcome. Spacey reverbed Farfisa licks, folksy acoustic guitars, found sounds, latin percussion, musique concrête, piano jazz, flamenco, proto-heavy metal and even a touch of uncharacteristic country-pop make successive appearances. “Quicksilver”, the only lengthy track at just over seven minutes, shows the influence of Georgy Ligeti’s atonal orchestrations as used in 2001: A Space Odyssey. The jazzy, freeform piano-and-percussion “Up The Khyber” loops wildly around the stereo plane. “The Nile Song” is grunge twenty years before Nirvana and Mudhoney, though its bewildering series of key changes would certainly bemuse such later acts. “Cirrus Minor” is delightful space-rock with an incongruous accompaniment of birdsong. The gentle “Crying Song” features vibes and a gorgeous, nagging bass riff hook.

Perhaps the most surprising thing about More is that it was completely written and recorded in just two weeks: a contrast to the increasingly lengthy compositional and recording periods that Floyd were employing for their mainstream albums. Truly, sometimes less can be More.

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“The Nile Song”

:D CD Reissue | 2004 | EMI | at amazon ]
:) Original Vinyl | 1969 | Harvest | at ebay ]