Odds and Sods

Many Chicago-related artists have been moved to their own page.

Aerosmith

Things were changing around 1973.  Most West Coast bands were dead, irrelevant or into country rock.  Prog-rock, glam, and early metal were now mainstays of music, and even the Stones were into country and gospel.  What to do then to find some middle ground not really tainted by folk, jazz, country, classical or any of those other pesky genres that got stirred together in the late 1970s?  The answer is affectionately referred to as cock-rock: taking the old blues and R&B sound (a la Stones), adding loud metal-level guitars without the speed or technical precision (a la Sabbath on quaaludes) and keeping the lyrics relatively simple.  Granted, a lot of what I just wrote is conjecture - I need to hear more Montrose, early Kiss and others before really passing judgment.  This sort-of movement is probably analogous to Britain's pub-rock scene, I am entirely ignorant about how it sounds since the latter never really crossed over into the US.

Aerosmith (1973), ***1/2
It would be real easy to dismiss these guys as Stones knock-offs, but there's more to the story.  At their base, Aerosmith took the early Stones' R&B and made it heavier and louder.  Vocalist Steven Tyler's voice (sometimes you can almost hear the Jagger swagger), his old-school harmonica ("One Way Street") and the occasional added saxophone ("Mama Kin") all attest to this influence.  They even close the album with the same song that concludes the Stones debut (the slightly goofy "Walkin' the Dog").  But while the real Stones were messing around with the real blues, gospel, country and God knows what, Aerosmith only truly breaks the mold once (the excellent "Stairway to Heaven" carbon copy "Dream On" which became a hit when re-released a few years later), and only approach actual blues once (the beginning of "Movin' Out").  All of that being said, the album is quite good because the songs, while relatively straightforward and interchangeable, are for the most part good.  Even their filler doesn't rely on formula (some unexpected shifts in "Movin' Out") unlike some old British R&B bands.  The instrumentation isn't built around speed like a metal band, and solos sound more like solos than riffs.  The guitars are simply good, sticking with a simple power chord deviation which can get tiring, but still better than say, Slade.  So - loud, easy to understand, direct and not terribly innovative, but still a good time.  Band is Steven Tyler (vocals), Joe Perry (lead guitar), Brad Whitford (rhythm guitar), Tom Hamilton (bass) and Joey Kramer (drums).  Tyler wrote most of the songs.  Produced by Adrian Barber. (LP Columbia PC 32005).

Man, that is one cheap album cover.

Arbuckle

Arbuckle (1972), *
Strike 1: Naming your band after deceased, disgraced film star Fatty Arbuckle.

Strike 2: Blowing AM Gold. Arbuckle plays that sort of light folky/country music sold on TV infomercials as “AM Gold.” The genre has not aged well, and rarely rocked. There are some good AM Gold artists – Jim Croche, Hamilton, Jo Frank & Reynolds had that one song, the obscure Clean Living, maybe a couple others, but mainly just a lot of wussy, unpopular stuff.

I won’t even bother breaking down the album’s individual tracks. The group appears to have been lead by Ronnie Fierstein, who sings lead, and does some guitar and keyboard work. Fierstein is not a good singer. He’s not terrible, but lacks a strong voice, has an odd little accent, and his vibrato is goofy. When the first person he reminds you of has a strong Lancashire accent (Pat Moran of Spring) you know this is trouble. While Fierstein sings some moderately bad lead vocals, what caps this album off is the songwriting. These lyrics suck. Suck in a real bad way. Every song runs like this: I think the world is beautiful, now that you are here, or I was wondering, but now I found you, or blah blah blah. It is all the same, with a couple of minor exceptions (equally bad), and Fierstein wrote most of it. Thanks, Fierstein.

About the guitars – there seem to be a lot of them. Did I mention there are six people in this band? Six, with three playing some guitar. That’s an awful lot of not very interesting guitar. Nobody in the band does much musically – there is only one noticeable guitar solo on the whole record from lead guitarist Steve Addabbo, and it only supplements the none too interesting chord changes these guys use. You will never see this album, but if you feel like AM Gold, get some Jim Croche instead. Bad, bad, bad.

The band is Ronnie Fierstein (lead vocals, acoustic guitar, some keys), Jan Flato (keyboards), Steve Addabbo (guitars), Gil Bowen (more guitars, flute), Rolf Berntsen (drums), and Joe DeChaves (bass). I think these guys were from New York, as the label (Musicor – never heard of it either) and studio were located there. Produced by Vic Millrose and Alan Bernstein. Addabbo later produced Suzanne Vega and a host of other artists in that vein. Everyone else is a ? Airto Moreira plays percussion on a few tracks.

(Strike 3: Everything else.)

Bachman-Turner Overdrive

Aside from their radio hits like "You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet" and "Takin' Care of Business" the group played by-the-book 70s hard rock. Unfortunately this particular book had the merit of a cheap romance novel. Randy Bachman had previously been in the Guess Who, achieving fame with songs like "American Woman".  He was never the greatest of guitar soloists, but he left and after eventually formed BTO after a few years of doing crap.  Nobody in the group was a great musician, although they were competent, with Randy being much better at occasionally turning up something interesting.  The real problem was that aside from Randy, nobody knew how to write a good song, or even a decent one. Turner sung like a second rate John Fogerty, and Randy has that weird-sounding voice. But what can you expect from a group that named themselves after a trucking magazine?  My advice: stick to a greatest hits compilation for your own health.

Bachman-Turner II (1973), *1/2
Ugh, what a mess.  This is sloggy hard rock.  With the shortest song clocking in at just under 4 minutes, there is plenty of time for either the same damn riffs over and over again or Randy to make boring solo runs.  The result is a mess of uninteresting guitars (the atonal, overblown ending of "Stonegates").  Most songs are filler, using the same formula over and over again, with the low point being the scarred lyrics of "Tramp".  The light Caribbean "Welcome Home" is better, thanks to the jazz solo tacked on at the end, but still too repetitive to be good.  The only saving graces here are "Let It Ride" with its background vocals, little soloing and rhythm guitar, and the classic "Takin' Care of Business" with its tasteful piano part and sing-along chorus.  Otherwise the album would be complete crap.  Produced by Randy Bachman.  Band is Randy Bachman (guitar, vocals), Tim Bachman (guitar, vocals), Rob Bachman (drums), C.F. Turner (bass, vocals).

Bachman-Turner Overdrive: Not Fragile (1974), **
After the success of their previous album, the group improved for Not Fragile, although not by much.  The songwriting is better, although there are still some obnoxious self-lauding songs ("Rock Is My Life and This Is My Song").  The riff usage has also improved, but still not entirely under control, as shown by "Sledgehammer" or the title track.  Randy's soloing is better, even though his crazy solo in "Second Hand" is marred by the annoying persistent riff underneath.  Blair Thornton, who replaces Brother Tim, contributes a couple of decent Southern Rock knockoff tunes.  Turner's "Roll on Down The Highway" is obviously a tribute to the majority of BTO's audience - truck drivers.  But the best song by far is Brother Randy's "You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet", which uses the same formula as their previous hits - a light guitar underneath, good soloing on top and a catchy chorus.  But the rest of the album pales next to that song.  An overall improvement, but still unspectacular.  Produced by Randy Bachman.

The Band

Music From Big Pink (1968), ****1/2
If you go out to the Midwest or the Plains States, you'll find smaller communities whose downtown centers are a dusty, well-worn preserve. You won't find a big-box store there, and maybe they built a highway outside of town, stranding the old methods of life. The Band, formerly Bob Dylan's backing group, and formerly Ronnie Hawkins' as well, had been around since the start of rock and roll, and their debut was bridge between the contemporary bluesy, singer-songwriter work of Dylan and old-time sounds. Music from Big Pink is roots-rock; a musical retreat. But while the Grateful Dead explored Americana with an emphasis on extended passages and had a user's countenance, the Band were succint and lyrically elliptical. Music from Big Pink rarely has solos, the playing is deceptively basic and the band members don't overshadow each other.

Certainly their connection with Dylan helped them gain notoriety, but Music from Big Pink is a deliberate and well-rehearsed rejection of contemporary music trends. Five men, dressed in a manner reminiscent of the Cripple Creek miners they allude to on "The Weight". Or so it seems, while some psychedelia does leak into the album ("In a Station" is a bit tripped-out), and the organ intro to "Chest Fever" has oddly classical intro leading into a get-down beat. Dylan's own writes (the prison hymn "I Shall Be Released") or his co-writes ("Tears of Rage", "This Wheel's on Fire") are not so different from the excellent indigenous material. Guitarist Robertson wrote most of the material ("To Kingdom Come", "Caledonia Mission", "The Weight", "Chest Fever"), while Manuel's is more varied ("We Can Talk", the annoying "Lonesome Susie" or the aforementioned "In a Station"). You can bang out the songs on here yourself, and they have a real populist tinge to it: R&B, gospel and country all appear in one guise or another. The un-Hendrix, the Band may have been the most imaginative bar band in the world. Thoughtful music for the roadhouse crowd.

The Beau Brummels

Introducing the Beau Brummels (1965), ***1/2
The Beau Brummels have achieved the status of "great band that never was" for those who are overly interested in mid-60s rock.  In truth, they were never that great, nor all that successful, outside of two hit singles right off the bat.  You see, in 1964 with America's shores being invaded by hoards of innocuous subjects of Her Majesty the Queen wearing matching suits and the like, America needed to strike back.  Following an adage no doubt derived from some moralistic cartoon (at least that's how I learn) America decided that if they couldn't beat them, they would join them.  Word was sent out from the White House, and the Beau Brummels were charged with the task of infiltrating American shores, disguised as a British rock group.  They would then save teenage girls' hearts from being stolen, harvested and sold on the London black market.  Now you know the real reason the Kinks couldn't tour the U.S. for several years.

Seriously, the Beau Brummels are infamous as being one of America's first cognizant answers to the British Invasion, even if was mostly trying to be just like the Invasion. Even the Rolling Stones still dressed nicely at this point, but these guys wanted to slot in somewhere between the Beatles and the Zombies, with a great debt owned to the former. Their two hit singles, "Laugh Laugh" and "Just a Little" are the peak of faux-British harmony rock.  Both tracks do an excellent job of echoing "And I Love Her" era Beatles with alternating leads on crisp electric or acoustic guitars, tight harmonies, sorrow-filled vocals and minor keys. At the same time, the Brummels distinguish themselves by sometimes employing the reverb-saturated guitar tones associated more with crazed surfers like Dick Dale.  Yet, guitar chord sequences such as those on "I Want More Loving" would be a staple of the Zombies sound for the next few years. The album displays all the hallmark of its era - some Everly Brothers harmonies ("I Want More Loving"), a fun throwback twist number ("That's If You Want Me To") reminiscent of the Beatles' cover of "Twist and Shout."  There are some flaws - "Stick Like Glue" is downright annoying, and the vocals on ("They'll Make You Cry") sound like a drunken impression of a Liverpudlian accent (likely not the voice of lead vocalist Sal Valentino).  Somewhere in there you can hear the underpinnings of folk-rock, and they do cover both a country song ("Oh, Lonesome Me"), and a clean-cut version of "Ain't That Lovin' You Baby."  Still, those are the only covers on here - as guitarist Ron Elliot shows himself to be a master of all these forms, at a time when this wasn't expected.  Plus, their British Invasion copying really is impressive, down to the trick of ending with two beats and different chord, and the rhythm harmonica.  In the long run, this does date the music, so it really sounds like 1965, if not 1964 or before. There's something American about them though - maybe that country track is belted a little too well, and the ballads have more of the loping gate of an American country and western.   

All in all, it's mostly a imitation, rather than the significant advancement which would come with the Byrds, but it is impressive enough to have plenty of merit.  I'm sure who produced the album, but at least "Laugh Laugh" was produced by Sly Stone (still going by Sly Stewart at this point).  The band is Ron Elliot (guitar), Sal Valentino (vocals), Ron Meagher (bass), Declan Mulligan (guitar), and John Peterson (drums). 

I have their third album, Beau Brummels '66, which is all covers.  Thank the dunderheads at Warner Brothers Records for that idea.  They then ventured off into country-rock a little earlier than most, without success.

Black Sabbath

Black Sabbath (1970), **
If music were a soap opera, Sabbath would be the drugged out, Satanic younger sibling of Led Zeppelin.  Regretfully, this is not the case, so this is just an unfocused rip-off of Zep.  Sabbath might have stolen the riffs, but that's all they got, or at least that's all they use.  Ozzy's lyrics are mystical and slightly clunky, but nothing special outside of subject matter.  The band relies on Iommi a lot, and he winds up playing and playing, without going anywhere.  Everything sounds the same, with the exception of "N.I.B.", which is a Cream (vs. Zep) ripoff with Satanic lyrics.  If I was forced to pick one song to listen to it would be the slightly amusing "The Wizard" with Ozzy's embarrassing harmonica playing.  I wonder if he would have used it if Robert Plant hadn't.  Band is Tony Iommi (guitar), Geezer Butler (bass), Bill Ward (drums) and "Ossie" Osborne (vocals).  That's how it's spelled on the back cover - Ossie. Produced by Roger Bain.

Paranoid (1970), ***1/2
This album gives Black Sabbath an identity, in addition to/place of a bad reputation.  While Zeppelin was in many ways a traditional blues band taken to new levels (New Yardbirds, anyone?) and still dealing with the same issues of "lost my woman," Sabbath came from a mixed background.  They combined the pessimism and regret of the blues with an awareness of the world around them, seen in the lyrics dealing with atomic holocaust, drug overdoses and the like.  It is not fair or accurate to say that they were simply an offshoot of Jethro Tull, but it is true that Sabbath's music came from the same place, and simply went to a logical extreme (the bridge in "Electric Funeral", or the entertaining "Fairies Wear Boots" demonstrate this style).  Hand in hand with these lyrics went the gloomy leaden guitar of Iommi and the wailing of Osbourne - combining to make Paranoid a view of the world that's found in all aspects of the album.  Even the quietest track (the fascinating "Planet Caravan" with Iommi demonstrating that yes, he can play in a jazzy way) seems like a post-apocalyptic moment - all too-quiet compared to the rest of the album.  Of course, it goes without saying that this album is far better than their self-titled debut, but still has flaws.  The group seems more focused, playing clearly delineated songs as opposed to the ramshackle nature of some of their earlier work.  Iommi also shifts away from playing and playing and lets his eerie doom riffs do the talking.  Granted, that does lead to some dead time where you expect a solo to crop up ("War Pigs"), but on the whole it's as effective as the riffs are.  And, for the most part, the riffs are successful - after all, this album does contain what is one of the best riffs of all time ("Iron Man" which is probably their most well-known song), even though there are some relatively ineffectual ones (the repeating 4-bars of the title track).  The lyrics (Ozzy's?) also are vastly improved ("Hand of Doom" which refers to drug use as "giving death a kiss" for example), and the vocals and guitar pretty much trade off being in front.  The album also benefits from some real production, with Ozzy's voice receiving various treatments, and even the sounds of an air raid siren pop up in the opening seconds.  But, the dead space does add up and things like drum solos ("Rat Salad") and hokey production tricks to end songs ("War Pigs") don't help.  An entertaining classic, but a flawed one.  Produced by Bain again.

The Blossom Toes

Blossom Toes: We Are Ever So Clean (1967), ****
I finally deliver on my aim of obscure artists.  This album is orchestral rock, if the Moody Blues trying to imitate the Beatles.  It may be derivative as hell, but it is well written and tons of fun.  There's lots of lush Moodys-style vocal harmonies ("Look at Me I'm You"), and tasteful orchestration ("Mr. Watchmaker", "Love Is"), but no organization along the lines of Days of Future Passed.  Not to mention the Beatlesque trumpet runs, and Ringo-ish drumming which pop up occasionally.  The songs aren't love ballads, but more British whimsy, with a few almost Kinks-like numbers here and there ("People of the Royal Parks").  The band does have an ear for interesting chord changes occasionally ("I'll Be Late for Tea"), but nothing striking.  That is, with one huge exception, "The Remarkable Saga of the Frozen Dog" which has broken backup vocals and a droning sound to it, set over the usual nonsense lyrics that mark the period.  (The band were Beefheart fans, if that tells you something). Otherwise the album is fun, light, and guaranteed to delight.  The only problem will be finding a copy, as the original didn't sell well, and the CD is way out of print.  If you decide to assemble it yourself, don't forget to include their even rarer single that came after this, the amusing "Postcard/Everyone's Leaving Me Know" which appears on the real CD.  Of course, the CD used that single to replace two other tracks "The Intrepid Baloonists' Handbook Vol. 1" and "Track for Speed Freaks", which is one of those album condensed into brief period of time tracks.  Band is Kevin Westlake (drums), Brian Belshaw (bass), Jim Cregan (guitar) and Brian Godding (guitar).  Cregan later showed in Family, and then as a Rod Stewart sideman.  Produced by Giorgio Gomelsky.  The group released a hard rock album two years later (If Only for a Moment), becoming one of the first bands with twin lead guitarists.  From what I've heard it is nowhere as interesting.

Blues Image

Blues Image (1969), **
Ah - journeymen, those musicians who pass from one group to another without any real stability. In some ways they are a step above session-men because they are actually members of a group, but they may not have the security or the success of a session life. On this album we have future examples of both. This album itself is well performed, well produced and fairly boring blues-rock. Well, it's not entirely blues rock - the liner notes claim that Latin Rock is "their own development." Santana's snub aside, the Latin influence is fairly weak. There's a couple of tracks that have touches and some lyrics in Spanish ("Outside Was Night" and "Yesterday Could Be Today") but mainly the claim appears to be grounded in the fact that they have a dedicated percussionist, future session man Joe Lala. Guitarist (and future journeyman) Mike Pinera has a good grasp of various blues styles (he'll play loud, he'll play soft, he'll play hard), but his vocals are admittedly vanilla. Lala sings on the album's only two decent tracks ("Take Me to the Sunrise" and "Leaving My Troubles Behind" conveniently placed as the first and second tracks on the album), so you have to wonder why he didn't get more leads. Like I said before, it's not badly performed, just really uninspired stuff (the slow traditional "Lazy Day Blues") or with fairly bad lyrics (the chorus of "In Front Behind You" contains the line "a whisper in a broken dream cannot be heard at all"). Lots of skills and potential, but not a whole lot else. Later on they scored a Top 10 hit with "Ride Captain Ride", a good song, and one that is not on this album. Pinera left soon afterwards to join Iron Butterfly and begin his wandering days with middle-road bands. Lala became a top session percussionist after the group broke up the next year. This album has not been re-released on CD, and there's absolutely no reason to track it down on vinyl. Produced by Bill Halverson.

The Blues Magoos

Blues Magoos: Psychedelic Lollipop (1966), ****A prime piece of 1966, consisting of pretty hard R&B. The band had too much talent and structure to be a real garage band, and both lead guitarist Mike Esposito and drummer Geoff Daking were excellent.  Ralph Scala's puny organ and minor chords made them sound like the Animals in their prime ("Sometimes I Think About", "Love Seems Doomed" to a lesser extent) even though Ralph's vocals were not as emotive as Eric Burdon's. While they don't reach the level of the Who, they are heavy enough ("Gotta Get Away", "She's Coming Home"), and could have nicely slotted into Pete Townshend's coined "power-pop" (the fun "One by One"). Of course, the big-deal track is the Top-10 hit "(We Ain't Got) Nothin' Yet" which has all of the attitude and grittiness of garage rock, but with tighter playing. It's pretty early to be as psychedelic as the cover and title may suggest, and this is more like what the English would call "freakbeat" but with some Indian drones as well. They may not be the Who, but Esposito has his share of cutting-edge guitar moments, culminating in a fantastic cover of "Tobacco Road" where he leads the band to a destructive break-down with guitar launched feedback, until the entire band is pretty much just making noise in rhythm.   Most of the band's material is original which is impressive, and it's really only on the covers that they waste time (the folky ballad "Queen of My Nights", James Brown's "I'll Go Crazy", "Worried Life Blues").  Clearly a strong American response to the British Invasion, pointing towards the harder sounds which would come out of Detroit a few years later.  The rest of the band is Emil "Peppy" Thielheim (guitar) and Ron Gilbert (bass).   Produced by Bob Wyld and Art Polhemus.  

Bodine

Bodine (1969), ***
Hey kids, ever heard of this album? I thought not.  With so much garbage on CD, the fact that this album has not been re-released is a shame.  Bodine were a bunch of no-names with skill, but after this album I can't find record of the members doing much.  As for this album, it is a good mix of rock, scratchy guitars, country-rock and songwriting talent.  The most obvious comparison is Buffalo Springfield, but I've never been able to find their records.  That being said, there's only about half an excellent album on here, but man it's a great half.  For example, their take on country-rock is pretty good, with the opener "Short-Time Woman" chugging along with strong rhythm guitars.  In fact, one thing I can say about this group is that they can lay down a monster beat sometimes.  Just listen to "Easy to See", which has to be the best song on here.  It just draws you in, and you feel the fun they had in the studio.  Otherwise, there are some fine attempts at regular rock ("Into My Life", and the 60s epitaph "Oakland").  "It's Just My Way" is a decent acoustic ballad (with a ridiculous organ solo), and goes on a bit long, but still merits mention.  The back side is less strong, with only "Keep Lookin Through Your Window" and its awesome bass line standing out.  They even go so far as to do one of those Dylan-impersonation songs ("Disaster"), but it avoids living up to its name.  Most of the songs were written by guitarists Steve Lalor and Eric Karl, but you wouldn't know that looking at the album.  The group declined to give their last names on the inside photos, as well as which instruments they played.  Bassist Kerry Magness used to be in the Kingsmen (y'know "Louie, Louie", but not original lineup) and did session work for the Doors.  The other members of were David Brooks on keys (largely superfluous) and Jon Keliehor on drums (partially responsible for the monster beat).  Produced by Bill Cowsill, Jr. (of the Cowsills for pete's sake.)  For where I got my info go to http://theregents.net/bodine.html.

John Keliehor wrote me an email about Bodine, which is a bona-fide feature.

The Crazy World of Arthur Brown

The Crazy World of Arthur Brown (1968), ****
Somewhere in England a nuclear accident occurred in the mid-60s, and ordinary club R&B/jazz musicians were transformed into mutant musicians with psychedelic powers. Singer Arthur Brown gained a fantastic intensity and range, becoming a vocalist transcending almost all others. He could be a expansive as Ethel Mermen, or soft and soothing, then raving like a lunatic, or burst into an astonishing falsetto vibrato. Organist/pianist Vincent Crane played his parts with a skillful dementia, and without relying on any of the gimmicks used by Keith Emerson. Drummer Drachen Theaker was only affected to the extent that he tried to play like Ginger Baker, but cannot successfully execute it, losing his timing in the fills. (Bassist Sean Nicholas seems to have acquired the ability of infrequent usage). The result is music that was as heavy as you could get without a guitar, light and whimsical, and immensely creative psychedelia. Brown's lyrics are quite excellent throughout the album, a cross between a revival preacher's sermon and an acid freak, with a good cadence to them. Even though these images are rather striking, there's an undercurrent of Biblical references as well ("Come and Buy" or "Spontaneous Apple Creation"). In other words, he is a modern William Blake with a theatrical bent large enough to blow all the album's earnings.

As for the music, the first side of this album is a loosely a story about an acid trip. An acid trip where Brown meets the devil, which we all know can only lead to bad things. This is set up with "Prelude-Nightmare" which sounds like a jazz/R&B trio becoming enthusiastically demonic, and Brown introduces his insane falsetto. This falsetto is a direct precursor to almost all heavy metal singing - Ian Gillan's famous delivery is almost certainly copied from Brown. This leads into the wonderful "Fire Poem" where Brown starts out talking normally, but the lyrics rapidly become psychedelic and surreal, and his vocals become accordingly hysterical and paranoid. Of course, all it does is set up the infamous "Fire."

The quintessential Brown track, "Fire" features him screaming "I AM THE GOD OF HELLFIRE" as a introduction, and demonstrates the intensity and range of Brown's delivery. One minute he's soothingly advising the listener "all of it's going to burn" and the next he's crazily shouting "you're gonna burn, BURN BURN BURN". The track is everything good about this album - Brown's hypnotic and flexible vocals and Crane's driving organ work and smart arranging. A nice combination of batshit insanity, aural bi-polarity, and some catchy music. It was also a hit in the UK and the US. The rest of the story (featuring reprises of the "Fire" burning) with "Come and Buy" and "Confusion" are comparative letdowns, saved by Brown's less frequent vocal histrionics. Still, even in these less inspiring songs, the band's smarts show up in smart writing/arranging, with changes in pace, and good instrumentation ("Confusion" opens with an organ/xylophone pairing, for example).

Still, Brown's vocals make the album, even more so on its second half. His cover of Screamin' Jay Hawkins' "I Put a Spell on You" is the sort of performance the song cries for. Alternating between informative to downright creepy when it sounds like he's arguing with himself to "stop it! STOP IT! stop it!". The other cover is a straight cover of James Brown's "Money" where he gets to air his voice out. Other places where he becomes more quiet, he sounds more explanatory than untrustworthy (the excellent R&B song "Rest Cure") while in "Fire" his soothing voice is akin to a stranger with candy. "Spontaneous Apple Creation" is a bit of a happy psychedelic cheesecake with Brown narrating and singing a bit of nonsense containing one of my favorite lines "and 3000 people ate one strawberry." The song is so light, it makes me think of bright colors and dancing cartoons. Only "Child of My Kingdom" is a relative clunker, and cops the James Bond theme.

Produced by Kit Lambert, with Pete Townshend as "Associate Producer," this was the only album released by this line-up of the Crazy World, with Theaker getting replaced by Carl Palmer. Then Crane and Palmer split to form Atomic Rooster. Brown later regrouped with the rarely heard Kingdom Come in the early 70s, before embarking on a varied solo career, sometimes interacting with Crane and Theaker. However, this album is unrestrained, and intensively creative, providing a fascinating glimpse of the late 60s.

Buffalo Springfield

Buffalo Springfield (1967), ****
Buffalo Springfield's debut helped mark the advent of political awareness and more adventurous American music. The group's lone hit, Stills' "For What It's Worth," is a strong transitional statement - dealing with political events, paranoia, and seems to crop up on any documentary about the 60s (it's the one that goes "Stop, hey, what's that sound? Everybody look what's going down."). Interestingly enough this track was added to the album in early 1967, and the remainder is quite different. In its original form, Springfield's debut continued the shift towards melodic Beatles-influenced Americana, in contrast with more frequently heard straight blues, R&B or folk-rock. No 12-string guitar leads, fewer strummed basic folk tunes, and in their stead, more complicated songs with tight harmonies. This is Rubber Soul plunged deeper with Americana, resulting in country inklings ("Hot Dusty Roads", "Nowadays Clancy Can't Even Sing"), more folk, blues ("Leave"), long enough for a couple of minutes of good harmonies and intricate guitar leads. Yes, the Beatles are a powerful influence ("Out of My Mind", the fuzz on "Sit Down I Think I Love You"), but Steven Stills and Neil Young's songs are stronger than mere knock-offs, setting the group apart from the dozens of bands groping in the Beatles' wake. Young was the better songwriter at this point - writing poetic, sometimes obtuse lyrics, and matching them with relatively complex chord changes ("Nowadays Clancy Can't Even Sing"). Stills' talent is marginally weaker, writing more direct lyrics (usually woman-aimed), and musically simple melodies, although all of the Springfield's songs could be sung by one person with a guitar. Stills' reliance on repetition does result in the album's only true weak spots ("Hot Dusty Roads" and the Eastern-influenced "Everybody's Wrong"). The luxury of having both Stills and Young play lead guitar has a large impact on their sound, allowing them to have two different styles within the same song. The singing is also really good. Nowadays, most people are more familiar with Young's warbly tenor or Stills' folksy baritone, but the producers utilized Ritchie Furay's sweet tenor for a good portion of the album's lead vocals, and the others harmonize well in all configurations. The production is a bit dated, falling for the 1966 trap of sound squashing, and rendering Bruce Palmer's bass nearly impossible to hear. While Mr. Tambourine Man may have been America's response to the Beatles of 1964, but Buffalo Springfield was made as the response to the Beatles of 1966. With the addition of "For What It's Worth", the band advanced beyond simple response.

Last Time Around (1968), ***1/2
Buffalo Springfield splintered during this album's recording, leaving only Furay and new bassist/producer Jim Messina at the end. While on Buffalo Springfield the band's members integrated their sound, the reverse is true for Last Time Around. Here, members have plenty of space, and subsequently the album is almost free of creative tension. Messina's production uses acoustic bass or discreet horns to give most of the album a low-key feeling, allowing Furay to use his tenor voice for all it's worth (the Young/Furay song "It's So Hard to Wait", Young's "On the Way Home"). Furay comes oddly close to orchestrated pop, relies almost solely on his voice to carry the overwrought "The Hour of Not Quite Rain", one of the album's true mistakes. Messina applied this quiet approach to his own mumbly countrified blues, "Carefree Country Day", notable mainly for an odd skat section. Furay/Messina may be low-watt, but Stills has energy left, and he uses it to piece together the elements of his style heard with CS&N and beyond. Here, his interests in Spanish/Mexican music (the guitar lines in the hushed "Pretty Girl Why", the mariachi feel of the fun "Uno Mundo"), or keyboard paced mix of blues and soul ("Questions", "Four Days Gone", "Special Case" with his flecked organ), are inlaid with sustained guitar, and strongly point towards his later work. Young barely appears, contributing some backing vocals and his "I am a Child", a pleasant little solo acoustic song. As the last members of the group, Furay and Messina had the last word, and the album's last track, "Kind Woman", presages their work with Poco. The track is a nice little country-rock song with good pedal steel guitar leads from future Poco member Rusty Young. Barely a group album, but Stills work is pretty strong ("Pretty Girl Why", "Four Days Gone", "Uno Mundo") as is anything Young helped write. Stills went on to Crosby, Stills and Nash, Young started a solo career, while Messina and Furay formed Poco.

The Byrds

The Byrds: Mr. Tambourine Man (1965), ****1/2
America's response to the Beatles, and the birth of folk-rock.  The Byrds combined American folk music, 12-string guitars, Beatlesque harmonies and Dylan lyrics into the smash hit title track, and the rest of the album generally sticks with that formula (with the exception of the lyrics).  Their debt to the Beatles is enormous, right down to the open strum endings on some songs.  However, their pace is slower, and sound less harsh - relying more on acoustic guitars and an electric 12-string.  But while the Beatles were the best and most well-known group to come out of the Mersey beat explosion, this album almost single-handedly established folk-rock, and influenced everybody from Jefferson Airplane to REM.  Heck, they could write their own songs, relying on Gene Clark for gems like "I'll Feel A Whole Lot Better" and gentle country-influenced "I Knew I'd Want You".  Amazing how I feel like I've said it all, without actually saying anything.  Just to recap - lots of fun, historically significant, well done.  I've read that it was recorded with a pile of session men but the listed group members are Jim McGuinn (12-string guitar), David Crosby (guitar), Gene Clark (guitar), Chris Hillman (bass), and Mike Clark (drums).  Produced by Terry Melcher.

Catapilla

Catapilla (1971), ***1/2
What if there was an alternate universe with an evil jazz-rock band?  Well, Catapilla's not evil per se, just really, really dark.  To construct this Catapilla take a rhythm section (including guitar) which could have come out of the Blues Revival of the late 60s, some jazz-blowing horns with Third/Fourth style arrangements, brooding lyrics, and the most out-to-lunch female vocalist ever, Anna Meek.  There are many alternate theories that can be constructed to explain Meek's singing, but I'll venture only a few of them.  Most of the time she has an odd accent that sounds either Scandinavian, aristocratic English, or Grace Slick with her vocal passages unnaturally widened. Meek is over-the-top and then some - she screams, she coos, she's usually off-key - all within the same song ("Promises"). She sounds like some hammy horror villain who would say "I've gone mad, mad, mad, mad!" with a cackle. I could learn that she was violently insane and not be surprised. She might be the female Ozzy, but he sounds better.  All in all, this recipe makes a very odd combination, but fortunately there's plenty of instrumental sections.  The opening track, "Naked Death" has a lot of laid back sax lines (and wah-wah horns?!) and a generally creepy feeling otherwise.  Then comes "Tumble Weed" which is very traditional sounding, both in horn usage and lyrics, and subsequently falls flat on it's face.  It's followed by "Promises" which is sort of a traditional horn rock/Third hybrid with Meek showing her full range of whatever it is she has a full range of.  The real kicker (and jewel of the album) is the whole back side, given over to "Embryonic Fusion", which alternates the straightforward jazz playing of the horns with Meek's creepy vocals and guitar based jazz-rock, all the while doing nice time signatures like 14/8.  Canterbury on dangerous destabilizing drugs?  Atmospheric at the least, it's both creepy and cool.  Produced by future Black Sabbath manager/producer Patrick Meehan, Jr.  The only band members of historical note are Robert Calvert (sax) who may or may not be the one associated with Hawkwind, and Dave Taylor (bass) who seems to have become a longtime member of Bryan Adams' backing band.  

Chilliwack

Chilliwack (1971), ** (including 1/2 for sheer uniqueness)
Forget the rating for a moment, and marvel at this minor historical oddity.  This album consists of a Canadian roots rock band recording a double-album of their own brand of art-rock.  Yes, art-rock! No, this doesn't involve complex time signatures and classical leads.  The gatefold picture (something you may miss with a CD version) is a perfect reflection of the group's sound - a small island with no other land in sight.   This is an atmospheric album, not one that will grip you or give you melody to hang onto.  You can almost feel the wind blowing through the record.  Other bands might have done a random noise collage or two, but nothing like this.  This was the only way this band could use their skills in an pretentious arty way.  Their lead singer (either guitarist Bill Henderson or bassist/flautist Claire Lawrence) has a wailing tight-throated voice that could annoy the hell out of you.  Henderson's guitar skills are fine, but nothing spectacular. Their songwriting, when it exists, is fine, but most of this record is improvised and thus not so fine.  If you trimmed this down to only one record it would still only rate about **1/2.  So, let's go through this one side at a time, using the following descriptions excerpted from the back cover of the album:

"Side One contains songs we hope are suitable for A.M. play."  It's kind of funny to think of bands aiming for the AM radio market, but this was the early 70s.  This stuff is perfectly fine, the sort of thing that a guy can sit down and play with a guitar and sing along to.  For the most part one might really want to sing along here for a few tunes - "Lonesome Mary" was a hit single in Canada, and "Rosie" is nice stately dark song.  When they break out the vocal harmonies it's a pleasant surprise, helping the vaguely CS&N-like "Ridin'" easily become the best track on the entire album.  But there's some annoying filler, like the dull blues "Eat" with thankfully muffled vocals, and "Ride Out" where Henderson diddles around on acoustic guitar for an eternity.  Jorma Kaukonen he's not.   The first song on the next side ("Always") also should get lumped in here, as it's a nice spacious acoustic ballad.  The best side of Chilliwack, by far.

"'Changing Reels' on Side Two, is a long sectional composition.  The lead vocals in the last section are improvisations, and the song was written around the afterwards."  Here's where they start to get a touch pretentious, but in a unique way.  Imagine an old-fashioned barn dance in the West, with people spinning around and a steady beat from the band.  That's how this starts out, but then after a few minutes gives way to a blues section with Henderson inhabiting that middle ground between impressive and embarrassing.  Eventually they go back to a reel section, but there's really no reason to listen for that long - it's like digging all the way down to the bottom of a box of cereal only to discover that the prize is a coupon for more cereal, or the dreaded "Thanks for Playing - You are Not a Winner So Go Kill Yourself after Spending Your Last Remaining Dollars On Our Products" slip.  For the insanely curious, here's what happens - they start shouting things like "the REEL!" back and forth and Lawrence drags out a saxophone to no great end.  Probably they were just shouting about running out of tape during the recording process to begin with, and did a good job changing the application of those vocals.  

"'Music For a Quiet Time' was performed by Bill and Claire sitting in an echo chamber for a couple of hours."  Uh-oh.  This is like that great recurring thing on David Letterman - "Is This Anything?" where he and Paul "Cueball" Shaffer watch "something" and try and determine if someone is actually doing something that takes skill or is just crap the producers cooked up.   It's a suite that opens up, oddly enough, with  the two guys just slowly bouncing harmonies off each other ("Shine"), and it sounds like Gregorian Chants.  After that it gets more abstract or minimal (can you guess what "Claps/Chants" is?) and all with an empty sound thanks to the echo chamber.   Bizarre, and probably not "anything" under the Letterman test. "Sleep Music" indeed.

"'Night-Morning' is the result of a studio full of instruments and microphones set up to record any free-form music we might want to play.  Ross [Turney, the drummer] sat at the organ and started to play sounds with hands, head and elbows.  Bill and Claire joined in with piano, flute, and vocals, and the piece grew from there."  Ack.  The description makes it sound much worse than it actually is. This is ultra-atmospheric, with dissonant organ and spooky flute noises from Lawrence.  It's a creepy mood piece, and a fairly effective one at that.  This passes the "anything" test, even though it's not much and the band are a bit pretentious to think they could pull something like this off.  A unique experiment.

So that's Chilliwack - strange, fairly dull, but a real interesting approach to making music.  Cut out "Changing Reels" and most of "Music For a Quiet Time" and a couple of lesser tracks on Side 1, and this could be halfway decent.  As it is, you simply have to wonder who gave the green light on giving the band so much time in the studio.

Alice Cooper

Billion Dollar Babies (1973), ****
With his elaborate stage shows Alice Cooper may be the closest thing America had to glam-rock.  There are substantial differences of course, as Cooper focused on the sadistic, shocking parts of life on stage and in his music.  I really mean "on stage" because Cooper was foremost an excellent showman, which shows up on the first track here ("Hello Hooray") where you can almost feel him building off an audience.  But behind it all was excellent songwriting, playing and vocals.  David Bowie crossed with Screaming Lord Sutch?  Something like that anyway, especially with call to be elected ("Election").  Don't be fooled by his appearance - Cooper was based much more in melodic 60s power-pop (the la-la choruses and the hit "No More Mister Nice Guy" are the best examples) than heavy metal, although he drew from that also.  Of course, there's always the possibility for musical plagiarism, which happens in the socially indicting "Generation Landslide" which manages to borrow from the opening of "Dear Prudence" as well as Tommy.  But the hard-hitting metal style works well with Cooper's shock approach such as on the creepy, riffy title track (with Donovan on co-lead vocals) or the dragging "Sick Things", but strangely not on "Raped and Freezing" which is such a good time you hardly notice the subject matter.   However, sometimes his attempts to shock simply don't have much value, as on "Unfinished Sweet" a song which seems to be an excuse to use a dentist's drill and the James Bond theme, or an overblown tribute to necrophilia ("I Love the Dead"), complete with fast breathing noises.  But overall the musicians here are excellent, while Cooper changes his vocal style almost track to track; from a nasally rasp, to open-throated yelling, to a "normal" voice for the simple piano ballad "Mary-Ann" (which seems out of place until you think about the lyrics).  The end result is an album which is a much more than a teenager's tool for rebellion.  Produced by Bob Ezrin.

Curved Air

Air Conditioning (1970), **1/2
Strange days indeed, when this album made number eight on the British charts. Or maybe not--why not take two of the more popular musical strands and combine them? Procol Harum may have been a blues band with classical interpolations, but Air Conditioning is an odd alliance of roaringly distorted rock guitar and classically inclined prog-rock. Francis Monkman's guitar is uses almost entirely for dirty, dirty blues leads, often played off of Darryl Way's classically tilted violin. Monkman has both sides covered actually; he was a classically trained pianist, and his songs and frequent keyboards are more staid. But even if you were not listening to Monkman's squwaling guitar, you probably would notice Sonja Kristina, one of the few female vocalists in prog-rock (or even rock). Kristina's singing is more calculated than natural ("Hide and Seek"), possibly because her voice is better at lower intensities. The band's unique approach has some strange results. For example, the bluesy "Stretch" sounds like a contemporary Jefferson Airplane track with male and female vocals, violin and crapped out guitar. Even more unusual are the hushed vocals, acoustic guitar and simple percussion on "Blind Man", eerily foreshadowing Suzanne Vega! It is not quite Rick Wakeman meets Peter Kaukonen, and the "let's please everyone" integration approach of rocking guitar and classical causes is not always smooth--the album's opener, "It Happened Today" opens with Monkman splaying blues lines over pounding proud piano and Kristina's imprecisely double-tracked falsetto (hitting you with two crests), before abruptly shifting into a slower, Way-led section. The album has a more serious, darker tinge to it, thanks to the instrumentation, and their operating in the realm of bombast ("Vivaldi"), classical/folk (the dispirited "Situations", "Screw"), and blues ("Hide and Seek"). On top of everything and the band also had an experimental streak, (the name was derived from Terry Riley's A Rainbow in Curved Air, after all) with Way's Four Seasons synthesis mutating into something that sounds like a strange synthesized noise, which turns out to be a distorted violin. The less than satisfying production also has some odd twists like non-synced vocals ("It Happened Today") or guitars ("Proposition"), in an nod to Riley's experimentation with overdubbing. Still, Air Conditioning is more a process of discovery than playing to the group's strengths. Monkman's blown-out blues trend is nowhere near as compelling as Way's violin work on "Vivaldi" or "Vivaldi with Cannons". Only on one track do they realize their full potential: the stately "Screw" which has a great hook (oft repeated) and where Monkman's guitar slowly burns as a counterpoint. Otherwise, Air Conditioning is more about the journey than what you find at the end, placing it closer to American bands such as Sweetwater and the Jefferson Airplane than their British contemporaries.

Dire Straits

Dire Straits (1978), ***1/2
"It ain't what they call rock and roll" - a line in Dire Straits' big hit "Sultans of Swing" which sums up the band's approach to music. Not that guitarist/singer/writer/leader Mark Knopfler was saying that it isn't rock and roll - just that it's not what's in vogue with the young kids. This is the Counter-Reformation to the young revolution of the Clash, the Sex Pistols and everyone else. Knopfler harkens back to the clean, cool blues of the 70s (think Eric Clapton), but employs all the modern trappings of New Wave. This goes along with his songs of broken or lost love - you won't find any society-directed anger or frustration. The rhythm section of 2nd guitar (Mark's brother David), bass (John Illsley) and drums (Pick Withers) is trim, nimble, and remarkably consistent - just what you'd expect in the New Wave era. But here, all that lack of sound only emphasizes the punctuation that Knopfler's guitar makes when he solos. And it does punctuate - Knopfler is rather fleet-fingered, and has his own distinct style right from the start, mixing blues with the older country forms, and shades of jazz thrown in.  Not surprising then, that "Sultans of Swing" is about a Dixieland band who gets no respect.

However, it's not terribly authentic. Knopfler was in his late twenties, yet his singing makes him sound like he's 40 at least. He either sings like he's making off-handed comments, or just growls his way through (the generally creepy "Six Blade Knife"). The band tweaks it's clean blues formula just enough throughout to prevent it from being boring, but there's still a few instances of Didn't I Just Hear This Song? (recycling the 50s electric country-blues feel of "Setting Me Up" all of two tracks later in "Southbound Again"). The few attempts with acoustic instruments ("Water of Love") aren't enough to offset this. The band is so low-key that they drift towards Adult Contemporary ("Wild West End") or soft-core pornographic soundtracks ("Lions"). The faster and more energetic the performance ("Sultans of Swing", "Down to the Waterline"), the more successful.

Is it New Wave then? Or a Counter-Reformation? I'd think its influences are too recent to be New Wave, and it's contemporary enough with Punk and New Wave to be a real Counter-Reformation.  Mark Knopfler started out in the same pub rock bands that punk grew out of - he just went in a different direction. Produced by Muff Winwood - and yes, he's Stevie's brother. 

Dust

Hard Attack (1972), ***
Where the American metal bands were in the early 70s has always been a mystery to me. The Detroit scene was in the process of fizzling, and outside of that I'm hard pressed to name another group that would qualify as early metal outside of Blue Oyster Cult (but that's another story).  So are Dust an early metal band? Well, I haven't heard their debut from the year before, but according to this, occasionally yes.  Guitarist Richie Wise clearly has drawn his inspiration from the loud English blues groups of the late 60s, but he hasn't evolved much, still firing off snappy little blues lines here and there on his cranked-up guitar like it's 1969 ("Ivory").  But the group's sound is also grounded in country/folk, and Wise uses a fair amount of acoustic guitar both on the harder-edged songs (most visible on the mildly schizophrenic "Pull Away/So Many Times") and in a couple of down-home songs.  It's a bit odd to hear an angry breakup song with loads of slide guitar ("How Many Horses") right next to a thunderous tune along the same lines but with darker lyrics ("Suicide").  Lyricist Kenny Kerner must have been hanging with Keith Reid on that pre-Home bender, as they lyrics here are either on along these post-breakup or suicide contemplation lines, the latter sometimes paired ironically with the music ("I Been Thinkin'" is a poetic ode to the latter).  This comes out in "Thusly Spoken" which sounds like a pairing of a Procol Harum tune with the scale of Bowie's "Oh You Pretty Things" as Richie casually describes the apocalypse over strings and gentle piano.  The fantastic rhythm section consists of Kenny Aaronson, who pulls plenty of weight on bass and slide guitar, and Marc Bell (the future Marky Ramone) who's driving style is only made absurd by the fact that he was about 16 years old when this was recorded!  This album's problem is that while the group has a fairly diverse sound, Wise is not that good a guitar player, and the band's material isn't too distinct.  Take "Ivory" for instance - a great track which finds the band engaged in the titular hard attack, but Wise isn't able to go anywhere beyond his rather ordinary line, where there's plenty of room for him to solo.  This is what makes them seem more like a really loud depressed rock group at times (the great "All in All" with plenty of who-like power chords, "Walk in the Soft Rain").  Still, this is an interesting album to listen to, if not essential.  Kerner and Wise produced, and they later did that as a team after the group's breakup (the Stories which Aaronson joined, and Kiss).

The Electric Flag

"A Long Time Comin'" (1968), **
Guitarist Michael Bloomfield's liner notes proclaim the Electric Flag to be "an American Music Band," and then lists the various forms of "American Music."  He neglects to mention that the band manages to drain every last one of them of entertainment.  But the music is a poor counterpart to Blood, Sweat and Tears' Child Is Father to the Man - blues, soul and pop, plus a horn section. The musicians are professionals, but most of the time they sound like a generic Motown backing band. It didn't have to end up this way - Bloomfield was a talented blues guitarist formerly with the Butterfield Blues Band, and his companions also were of some note.  However, Bloomfield is the band's only stand-out soloist, and he's limited to the blues ("Killing Floor", "Texas").  Drummer Buddy Miles manages to blow his vocals on the soul songs (which might as well have been labeled soul in big letters next to them) and kills the promising "Over-Lovin' You" and "You Don't Realize".  The band's sound is so big it's hard to find a place for everyone, and organist Barry Goldberg as well as the horn section never really stand out.  The album also isn't helped by dated psychedelic tape effects ("Another Country"), or wretched mixing decisions ("Groovin' Is Easy" or "She Should Have Just" which bury most of the band in the center).  Plus the Flag's songwriting is shockingly weak.  Vocalist Nick Gravenities was a songwriter, but strangely does not contribute anything here.  Instead, the band plays a trio of horribly dated pop duds by Quicksilver Messenger Service's manager Ron Polte including ("Groovin' Is Easy") matched by their own in-house stinker (Goldberg's "Sittin' In Circles").  The only completely likable song is a swinging boogie-woogie arrangement of "Wine".  Botched on all levels at various points.  Produced by John Court.  The CD version includes the non-LP single "Sunny"/"Mystery" with the A-side being a cover of a song I disliked to begin with.  It also has a couple of unreleased tracks for those who can't get enough (masochists).

You can thank the public library for this one.

Elephant's Memory

Elephant's Memory: Take It to the Streets (1971), ****1/2
New York had its fair share of bands, but because the city was (and still is) so diverse it's hard to say that there was a distinct New York sound (outside of the 60s folk circuit), unlike places like Detroit or San Francisco.  Take It to the Streets reflects this, as the band demonstrates skill with a multitude of styles.  But instead of mixing them together, the band tends to shift between genres mid-song, and as a result there's little emphasis on soloing.  So what does Elephant's Memory sound like?  Like a crazed rock band with auxiliary horns (Myron Yules on trombone and lead vocalist Stan Bronstein on saxophone) and left-wing pro-revolution lyrics.  The opening track and supposed hit single "Mongoose" is a good example. One of their more conventionally structured songs, it sounds like a rough-and-tumble Chicago - African rhythms, gravely lead vocals, horns and a catchy chorus.  But the very next song, "Power", showcases their radical political views with a primitive fast paced Detroit-sounding song driven by Rick Frank's 1-2 drumming and shouts of "hey" (you can almost hear the fists being pumped in the air).  The middle section turns into a trade off between two people shouting revolutionary advice before the horns completely change the tone of the song by entering mariachi style, without a change in the the beat.  But hand in hand with their protest lyrics is a good sense of humor, seen in lines like ("Rip up the judge / rip up the mail") or tracks like pianist Myron Yules' "I Couldn't Dream" which is a catchy parody of overly serious hipster jazz, right down to the nonsensical lyrics.  The rest of the album is at complete odds any attempt to simply think of them as "rock-jazz," because it is mostly angry left-wing country rock.  But it's cleverly done - "She's Just Naturally Bad" is a trashy delight with a women sing-along line in the chorus ("I'm just naturally bad," of course).  Another example is "Piece Now", where Detroit meets San Francisco in terms of sound, but the song is constructed with a counterpoint.  Or what do you do with "Damn", where the Beatles-country-rock ends, only to be followed by a Memphis Soul horn section that gets prolonged in hilarious fashion?  The album is fascinating and smart, with only one track that doesn't quite match the rest ("Ivan" another country rock tune).  The band is Stan Bronstein (lead vocals, tenor sax), Myron Yules (trombone, piano), Rick Frank credited as Reek Havoc (drums), John Ward (bass), David Cohen (guitar, keyboards), Guy Peritore (guitar) and Mike Rose (guitar).  Bronstein and Frank are the only consistent ones credited with writing the songs (along with other members).  No, I have no idea which guitarist does what. Produced by Ted Cooper.

Oh, these guys were fairly well known back in the day.  Some of the music was on the Midnight Cowboy soundtrack, and John and Yoko used them for backing the next year in NYC (that's Elephant's Memory on the live albums from that year).  Lennon also produced the group's next album, and then Elephant's Memory backed Chuck Berry on an album in 1973, before recording their final album the next year.  

Elephant's Memory (1972), **1/2
A group of goofy left-wing radicals in the studio with John Lennon and Yoko Ono sure sounds like a recipe for success.  But, as with most of the Beatles' Apple label releases (excepting their solo work and Badfinger) the result is disappointing.  Most of the old members of Elephant's Memory were gone, with only Frank and Bronstein remaining.  They also transformed from whacko rock group with horns to an average guitar-rock band, with country tendencies and a saxophone.  Sure, Bronstein's faintly Wolfman Jack/John Kay - like vocals are still distinctive, but the music isn't.  New guitarist Wayne "Tex" Gabriel only distinguishes himself by using a slide, and then not with any imagination (the sax/slide jam in "Baddest of the Mean").  Their political stance is still present, but toned down to be simply lyrically goofy, not musically cool.  The single "Liberation Special" typifies this approach - fairly radical lyrics to a straightforward rock song, and the train-whistle vocals don't add much.  There's plenty of generic 50s revivalism to go around ("Chuck 'N Bo", "Power Boogie", "Cryin Blacksheep Blues") and some decent hard-rock ("Gypsy Wolf" and "Madness"), but it lacks the humor or just plain nuttiness that made their previous album so much fun. While the album is stylistically consistent, the tracks written by the newer members are either bleh (Gabriel's "Life"), or just plain terrible (bassist Gary L. Van Scyoc's terrible "Wind Ridge" which repeats its chorus ad infinitum).   The album's only inspired moment is the herky-jerky "Local Plastic Ono Band" which Bronstein makes sound like the Chiquita banana song gone awry.  Lennon contributes some innocuous piano and guitar in places and Ono sings, and their production just bounces the sound around.  Kind of ironic, that the teaming of a whacko horn-rock group with a pair of conceptual avant-gardists turned out to be rather ordinary.  The other member of the group is Adam Ippolito (keys).

The Free Spirits

The Free Spirits: Out of Sight and Sound (1966), ***
The Free Spirits were a group of New York jazz cats making rock music, and man, it is hip!  This music is jazz-rock before anyone was doing it, and the band really creates a unique sound, blending jazz instrumentation into contemporary sounds.  The people involved, tenor sax player Jim Pepper, guitarist Chip Baker, bassist Chris Hills, drummer Bobby Moses and guitarist/singer Larry Coryell, were good musicians, and most of these guys went on to bigger things (notably Larry Coryell's solo career). When it gels, the chaotic sax lines, jazz drumming, affected vocals make an interesting experience ("Don't Look Now (Your Head is Turned Around)" or "Bad News Cat").  There are big glaring holes in the whole experience, though, which scuttle the album.  One is that Coryell (or is it Baker?  who knows?) is not much of a singer, and his delivery is best described as either consciously cool ("LBOP"), or more of the Lou Reed spoken variety (the nice "Angels Can't Be True" or "Blue Water Mother", where two people singing different lyrics simultaneously on the verses).  The harmonies are of the shouted imprecise type ("Early Mornin' Fear"), rather than the get the notes right type.  Maybe these guys were too creative to be bothered with such details.  This would not be so bad if the band had not focused so heavily on their antiquated lyrics, mainly written by guitarist Chip Baker.  He (and Coryell to some extent) tried to be clever in a Beat Poet manner which pegs them as mid-60s (the album's opening line is something like "Take me out a-sailing on a muddy stream of consciousness").  This decision or premise almost designates the album as a historical item ("Cosmic Daddy Dancer", "Bad News Cat" are among the song titles).  It may have been cool, it may have been the scene, but it sticks out like an Edsel on the racetrack.   Some of their music choices are dated also - "I'm Gonna Be Free" is a sitar and flute number straight out of the background music from Help!, and there's some lesser folk as well ("Girl of the Mountain", "Storm").  Coryell fans will likely come away disappointed, as he doesn't make any real jazz solos, occasionally producing the blues ("Cosmic Daddy Dancer" if it is not Baker). Instead, Jim Pepper's squiggly fast tenor sax lines get all the showtime ("Don't Look Now", "Sunday Telephone").  The band has a good sound here when they stick more with the jazz-rock, but their lyrics and vocals prevent this album from being more than a time capsule of mid-60s NYC, and a minor footnote in the history of jazz-rock.  Sometimes the hep cats can be a little too hep.  Produced by Bob Thiele.

Godfrey Daniel

Godfrey Daniel: Take a Sad Song... (1972)
This isn't a review, merely a heads up.  Here is this album's concept - take a bunch of respected rock songs and record them in older styles with hilarious results.  Can you imagine a doo-wop version of "Hey Jude" or "Whole Lotta Love"?  Or how about "Hey Jude" as done by Righteous Brothers knock-offs.  How about the Rascals' "Groovin'" done as if it was on the vaudeville stage?  Buddy Miles' "Them Changes" as by the Glenn Miller Orchestra?  The real brilliance is the exact nature of these replicas - if they were sloppy or done tongue-in-cheek it would have ruined everything.  None of the perpetrators (musicians) are identified, but it was produced by Andy Solomon and Dave Palmer (both ex-Amboy Dukes) and endorsed by "radio station KAKA".  (LP Atlantic SD 7219).

Gracious!

Gracious! (1970), **1/2
Simply put, Gracious were an OK English progressive-rock band who made an OK debut.  Guitarist Alan Cowderoy uses the common loud, distorted, blues-based approach, while keyboardist Martin Kitcat is more about atmosphere.  The rhythm section of Robert Lipson (drums) and Tim Wheatley (bass) is a write-off.  Wisely, the band shuffles instrumental passages since they lack any soloist who can hold a listener's attention for very long.  This method tries to sound dramatic (the symphonic opening of "Heaven"), but often there is a sense of disconnect between the segments.  They are not particularly interesting in most of them - classical, jazzy, even easy listening.  They sound pretty good only when Cowderoy does his bluesy thing (the hard rock of "Introduction", and portions of "The Dream"), or the album uses guitar-based menace ("Hell" once it gets cranked up with Kitcat using Rare Bird-like distorted electric piano, some of the earlier segments in "The Dream").  Gracious! had fairly lofty ideas/plans, but not enough talent to execute them well.   

While their instrumental skills don't stand out, the band's lyrics are dated to the point of being awful.  There's a concept side to the album - featuring an "Introduction" followed by "Heaven" and "Hell."   The side's opening sounds like the soundtrack to a horror TV movie, with Cowderoy's threatening guitar working with Kitcat's harpsichord, making it one of the album's better tracks.  But sure enough, vocalist Paul Davis lets us down gently with the lyrics, starting off with a nice anachronism like "Let your mind trip to things that we do."   The whole Heaven/Hell topic is appropriate enough for a group that formed in a religious school, but it is all tongue in cheek.  Thus, Heaven is a boring stately place, with vocalist Paul Davis asking if we have a clean mind, and will we be able to give money to the church before death, in order to compensate.  Hell is supposed to sound like more fun, with Kitcat dragging out some barrelhouse piano, but Davis crams his voice through his nose here.  Truth be told, neither "Heaven" nor "Hell" is much fun.  (Amusingly enough, Davis later played Peter on the Jesus Christ Superstar album.)

The final track, "The Dream", is where the real lyrical chestnuts lie.  It's just as slow and pompous as the rest of the album, but the band has moments here amidst lines like "In the presence of myself, I see a gathering of people to hear the music play / Seated on velvet and looking / I am aware of one child / She is turning me on."   The band then pulls out a nice section when Davis discusses this girl, with lots of echoed atmospheric keyboards.  Of course this is followed by another classic line: "Hey you - what about that bread you owe me?" and then a brief Hey Jude parody moment.  Probably great stuff in concert, but painful (or downright hilarious) to listen to.  

Their saving grace?  "Fugue in D Minor" which is straight classical music led by acoustic guitar and harpsichord.  Not the first time this was done (the intro to Renaissance's "Wanderer" is better), but a pretty good example of rule-following.  A bit sad it is the best track on here. So, here's your sketch: classical and blues juxtaposed, with the Cowderoy's blues really outshining their low-rent progressive rock and the lyrics being outshone by everything.  Produced by Hugh Murphy.

The group released a second album, This Is ...Gracious!, before dissolving.

Greenslade

Greenslade (1973), ***
Back in the day there must have been plenty of groups that attempted to hitch their fortunes to the ascending prog-rock star.  Greenslade might fall into the category of johnny-come-latelies playing another round of Look at My Time Signatures, in which case it would be proper to dismiss them outright and move on.  But Greenslade cannot be entirely overlooked for a few reasons.  First off the players, while hardly winning any contemporary NME polls (or even garnering a place on the ballot) have respectable pedigrees.  Both keyboardist/band namesake Dave Greenslade and bassist Tony Reeves had been in the jazz-rock band Colosseum, a band of good repute and respectable chart placing, and drummer Andrew McCulloch holds the title of one-time King Crimson drummer.  If you think pedigrees don't matter, then consider this: vocalist/keyboardist Dave Lawson is the weak link in the chain.  He's of rather bad voice, and his lyrics are sometimes awful (the non-starter "Feathered Friends" where he abuses his poor falsetto, and the silly Eastern flavored "Temple Song").  Of course, a lineup with two keyboard players and no guitarist attempts to answer the seldom-posed hypothetical "What would Yes sound like if Tony Kaye had never left, and Rick Wakeman replaced Steve Howe?"  The scary thing is that I am only half kidding - this is a recapturing of the more rock-oriented Yes of only a few years previously, although without any real soloists.  McCulloch and Reeves sound a heck of a lot like Bruford and Squire respectively, although neither achieves Yes's level of playing.  Greenslade and Reeves, like Rick Wakeman, stay away from moogs and instead delight in stationary Hammond organs (Tony Kaye style), mellotrons, and electric piano.  Heck, Roger Dean did the cover art and the calligraphy inside.  There's really only one true Yes impersonation (the fantastic "Melange" with a good deal of lead bass), in part because they don't give themselves over to longer multi-part songs (although the instrumental "Sundance" comes close), they're busy going off in other progressive directions (the neo-hymn "Drowning Man"), and they don't attempt any unusual time signatures.  The song furthest out of the Yes orbit is Lawson's harder rocking "What Are You Doin' To Me", which even with classic 70s man-cheated-on lyrics is surprisingly good.  So, all in all, if you like classic Yes this album is certainly worth a shot.  Produced by Greenslade, Reeves and Stuart Taylor.

Hackamore Brick

Peter Hammill

Peter Hammill, Fool's Mate (1972), **1/2
Hammill was the singer, songwriter and rhythm guitarist/pianist of Van Der Graaf Generator, and a unique talent. That band had either already broken up, or was about to do so when this was recorded in mid-1971. Unlike Generator tunes, those on Fool's Mate are short and poppy. Well, more poppy than VDGG; the songs are still world-weary and depressing. Hammill's notes indicates that the bulk of this material was written three to four years prior, which would place it in the 1968-69 era. Those were lighter years of naiveté and innocence, and if these songs would have been right at home next to albums like From Genesis to Revelation. While one can picture a contemporary Peter Gabriel wondering amidst a wood striking out against school society with his notebook, it is likewise easy to see Hammill sitting by himself, jotting down phrases of dejection to pass the time ("Solitude" is the perfect example). What sets him apart from others is the extent of his self-centered nature. His is a world of heavy sighs - Why are you gone? Why am I alone? When are you coming back? Why have you left? I wish I were elsewhere. The two exceptions are the songs co-written with a "Smith" (probably one-time Generator drummer Chris Smith) - "Imperial Zeppelin" and "Viking". Hammill loosens up on the former, has some fun, as seen by lines like "of course we all knew it wouldn't work, but what the hell." "Viking" is more serious, although not excessively so, and tells the little tale of viking trip. In effect, this song was a precursor to the Generator's longer epics, although without the complexity or length. These two songs are very much the exception here, and notwithstanding them, this album is the romantic's great triumph of self-expression.

While Hamill's naïve lyrics and singing may fully realize his thoughts, they do not make the album an entertaining listen. There are no "House with No Doors" here, as musical hooks are far less frequent. He does have some success with choruses ("Candle", "Summer Song"), but otherwise there is very little of interest. Hammill's withdrawn and self-pitying lyrics only take an intriguing turn in a few places. Otherwise they are simply the notes of a fragile and spurned youth ("I Once Wrote Some Poems" is self-explanatory). His vocals are either the soft voice of the wide-eyed youth ("Solitude", "Vision" among others), or laced with dramatic flairs similar to David Bowie ("Re-Awakening", "Imperial Zeppelin"). All of the Generator folks lend support, as are others including Bob Fripp and some Lindisfarne folks. It therefore does sound like a Generator record, and reproduces one of that group's main faults - the lack of a strong soloist. Fripp filled that hole on H to He for a portion of the time, but he does not do the same here, and neither does anyone else. So, we are treated to the very easily bruised Hammill lamenting, which becomes depressing after a short period of time. One wants to shake him by the collar - socialize him - do something so that he breaks free of this ennui. If you listen to this record in its entirety, someone may need to do the same to you. Produced by John Anthony.

Peter Hammill, In Camera (1974), *1/2
Perhaps there were legions of Peter Hammill fans anticipating this release back in 1974. Pale young boys without much ability to make aesthetic distinctions. Boys (for I doubt very much many girls were interested in Hammill's work, except those who favor the sad, self-pitying type), boys with light complexions, Questions About the World, who wore doubt like slacks. Those that inhabit college coffee shops and burn with the intensity that suggests they have probed the surface of Society and found it a sham. Revelations behind a screen that are both miraculous, unsurprising and cause an urge to proselytize.

Enter Hammill, a man whose lyrics have now turned from schoolboy jotting to overwrought essays. A man whose preferred vocal style is better suited to operettas - an over-dramatic, spoken/singing style appropriate to the sole-worn stages of the West End or Broadway. A man who attempts to compensate for recognized playing limitations (on an album where he supplies everything but drums, no less), with sound effects and treatments that had long become the equivalent of parlor tricks.

Still, Hammill is trying some new things. His quasi-operatic vocals are now sometimes turned to growling ("(No More) the Submariner"). The sound effects stuff is also different, but just annoying. "Fear and F" is the only partially decent song on here - another empty folk song with Hammill overlaying swooping David Gilmour-like guitar lines. Other bits of not quite praise - "Again" is another self-pitying folk tune, much like the bulk of Fool's Mate, and "Tapeworm" could have been a kick ass song ... if Sabbath did it. Hammill's presentation makes it a self-loathing intellectual ode. Beyond that ... his bass playing is decent. However, the one-two punch of lyrics that have the defiant, self-questioning stamp of a pretentious high schooler about them ("(No More), "Tapeworm" or the unbearable "The Comet") and the the fact that Hamill wouldn't know a hook if he was standing in a meat locker, makes this anathematic to anyone outside of the aforementioned self-identifies subculture. It all culminates in "Gog" and "Magog", a sort of anti-church service (the lyrics swimming in a sub-Heretical Squid squirty, evil way), which combines a lack of music interest with a level of pretention that may be toxic.

Hawkwind

Hawkwind (1971), *
In 1971 Hawkwind released a single - "Hurry on Sundown" backed with "Mirror of Illusion". 

In 1971, Hawkwind released this album with "Hurry on Sundown" as the first track, and "Mirror of Illusion" as the last. 

Everything in between is garbage.

Hawkwind absorbed all of the wrong things from good influences. Thus, they pull the hippie mysticism and aimless noisemaking of the early Grateful Dead (think Aoxomoxoa era) but completely miss the melodies and clever lyrics ("Seeing It as You Really Are"). Or they pull the grand experimental space-rock noise of Pink Floyd, and ignore the underlying structure behind it. Instead, these tracks are one collective mess with a galloping Saucerful of Secrets beat, illuminated only by random scatterings by the rest of the band, and infrequently punctuated with ridiculous lyrics ("Be Yourself").  Their attempts at being spooky or creepy are utterly simplistic (rising diminished chords in "The Reason Is?" or the one creepy riff overused in both parts of "Paranoia") such that Floyd was light years ahead of them.  The soloing is pretty aimless ("Be Yourself" has some rote blues leads by Huw Lloyd), and intermittent (Nick Turner's sax seems to come and go at will). 

Seeking to understand what the band is up to, we can turn the back of the album. There the band explains that "We started out trying to freak people (trippers), now we are trying to levitate their minds, in a nice way, without acid, with ultimately a complete audio-visual thing. Using a complex of electronics, lights and environmental experiences." So, their approach is based on these three things - electronics, lights and environmental experiences. Unlike the CD version of Pink Floyd's Pulse, there are no lights involved here. Dikmik's electronics seem to consist of making wind noises at various frequencies, squelches and slide whistle noises. You'd be hard pressed to find notes in there. So, scratch electronics, unless it's part of "environmental experiences." The environment is tripped out and spacey as hell, but with a nice dash of hippie "insight" thrown in. So, my advice is that if you want to enjoy these tracks (as songs may be too nice of a word), buy yourself a lava lamp, draw all the shades, get high out of your mind, and put this on.

Unfortunately, the B-Side/last track "Mirror of Illusion" is also junk. No fisher king here. So ultimately this album boils down to the question of ¿How good is "Hurry on Sundown"?. The answer is - it's pretty good, but nowhere near enough to carry the album by itself. It's far different from the rest of the album - being more like a good acoustic based folk song with a nice driving beat.  "Mirror of Illusion" has the same folk-gone-slightly-awry feeling, but the band is deliberately layering their sound, like the rest of the album and trying to more experimental.  Listen, if it's 1971 and you want to trip out to something, go listen to Floyd, or some Can or something. 

The band is Dave Brock (vocals, guitar) who wrote everything, John Harrison (bass), Huw Lloyd (lead guitar), Terry Ollis (drums), Nick Turner (sax, percussion), Dikmik (electronics). I have no doubt their other albums are better, as the personnel changed - Harrison's pretty worthless, although Ollis sounds like a more focused Nick Mason deprived of his vast percussion collection.  Produced by Dick Taylor and the group.

The Hollies

Stop Stop Stop (1966), **1/2
While many groups claim to have been the Beatles biggest competitors in the early days, the Hollies' claim actually has some merit.  Not too much, but they had a good run of hits with their brand of high-end pop-rock.  By this time, however, the Beatles had pulled away (and into more folky material) while the Hollies continued with their tried and true formula.  This was the first album written entirely by the band, and they experimented with their formula (high-pitched harmonies, simple rhythm section, romance-related lyrics) with limited success.  First of all, there's a surprising amount of banjo (the fun album opener "What's Wrong With The Way I Live" among others), and the signature harmonies (which wear on the ear after a while) are not on every track.  They even play around with changing the time signature in a song (chorus vs. verse of "Pay You Back With Interest" and the odd reverb piano intro).  But even some of Graham Nash's attempts at being more "serious" either sound forced (the downer romance of "Clown") or are not terribly interesting ("Crusader" has minor-major changes and fairly advanced lyrics, but lacks momentum).  Among the other tracks there's a middling Byrds impression ("Suspicious"), a goofy orchestrated Allan Clarke spotlight track ("High Classed") and a great Latin-tinged number with actual guitar lines ("Tell Me To My Face").  The US title track ("Stop Stop Stop") is the only real classic song, as the band puts a manic banjo line and rather disturbing lyrics in a nice shiny pop package.  Nothing is offensive (other than sustained listening to their harmonies), nor could it be.  The Hollies were good, but rather straitjacketed, as a pop-rock group, contributing to Nash's departure and their increasingly out-of-touch sound in the following years.  The band is Allan Clarke (vocals), Graham Nash (vocals, rhythm guitar), Tony Hicks (guitar), Eric Haydock (bass) and Bobby Elliott (drums).  Produced by Ron Richards, and ex-Manfred Mann member Mike Vickers adds orchestration on some tracks.  Released as For Certain Because in the UK.  

Locomotive

Locomotive (1969), *1/2
I have two conflicting opinions of this album.  On one hand, Locomotive is a pile of bluesy and slightly gruff blues-influenced rock of the sort that was popular at this time, and ultimately only leaves a small impression of distaste.  On the other hand, Locomotive was probably a perfectly decent blues-based bar band, and they have some talent, and their music isn't irksome - just in one ear and out the other.   Thus, it's a perfect candidate to get two stars, which is admittedly my dumping ground for albums that are not too good, but not that annoying either.  Sort of the reviewing cut-out bin.  It's getting dumped down to one and half stars because at least other 2 star wonders had a couple songs that I liked, and made an impression. Normally, one has to do something really bad to fall below two stars, but Locomotive does not vary their formula enough to be bad.  It does feel like I'm passing judgment on the genre, and not the music, which is something I do not want to do, so if you're a fan of roots/blues rock from this era, feel free to add an additional star. 

Locomotive's lineup was pretty standard with guitar, bass, drums, organ, which would have been made sense for a local band.  The cover photos also reflect this - leather vests, blue jeans, big belt buckles, and out by the railroad tracks.  You get the feeling they presented themselves as a blue-collar band with some grit, not studio creations, and not grubby hippies with jam music.  Despite this no-nonsense appearance, their material is flat out boring.  This music just pours over you, with all the flavor of purified water.  It ranges from obnoxious ("Big City Car") to pleasant ("Barbara Jean"), but there's little to discuss.  The repetitive lyrics are all about girls going free, girls not understanding, buying shiny new cars, etc.  Repetition applies to the music also, as the blues always has the danger of luring people into the same old scales and chord patterns ("Get on Away" is one of the one-riff ponies on here).  At least Blues Image claimed to invent "Latin Rock," even if it got them nowhere.  Guitarist John Ussery wrote almost all the songs, and he is a functional blues player with an appropriately slightly scratchy voice.  But the band has an almost ceaseless approach to blues-rock with some contemporary roots rock thrown in for good measure.  Ussery occasionally uses acoustic ("Barbara Jean"), and Ussery occasionally uses a wah-wah ("Wah-Wah," "All Come Free" which is sort of psychedelic), otherwise it's the same sound.  I even like the band's sound, but just not what they (don't) do with it.  I sure would not mind seeing the band as they worked in the Seattle area, and I bet they were real crowd pleasers.  But unfortunately, this isn't a review of a live show, and their music betrays the fact that they don't have anything new to say.  Give these guys a pile of Rolling Stones, Muddy Waters, or other blues covers, and they'd be better.  Produced by Chris Houston.  There's no real reason to own or listen to this.

Ussery is still active and sitting on railroad tracks for album photos wearing leather and blue jeans.  On the off-chance that he's reading this, I'd just like to say your playing is decent enough, but if all I remember from your album is you bawling about wanting a "big-city car," well then you need to do better.   I do like the bad-ass mustache you now sport. 

Of course, one of the main reasons I bought this for the stunning price of one dollar was that it was reviewed by Rolling Stone in the same review as Bodine, also on the erstwhile crappy MGM label. Yes, did you know you can search the Rolling Stone archives on line?  I looked up Bodine as a test, to see how in depth the reviewers got, and was surprised that it was covered.  The reviewer made the annoying decision to lump both bands together and not talk about specifics, which ticked me off.  Unfortunately, his words rang true for Locomotive.  

Also, this isn't the English Locomotive, which had future Traffic member Chris Wood.  

Man

Revelation (1968), ***
At heart Man was a bluesy hard rock rock group, but given the time and place and all, they had yet to realize it.  Thus, they decided to record a concept album, and incorporate an appropriate amount of artiness.  When you have a name as ambiguous as Man, you could be either grandiose or down'n'dirty.  The album does a bit of both, as the band runs around and does a bunch of different things, and then tries to shoehorn them into the concept.  What is the concept?  It's never quite clear, but the album appears to be the story of the evolution of mankind.  You are better off just forgetting that it is a concept album.  The album opens with "And in the Beginning", and closes with "The Future Hides Its Face" which are the same song with different lyrics.  This is the Church of the Blues, featuring a ceremonial and paced service, and filled with pretentious lyrics ("The ageless face of time / smiles briefly and is gone / and in its wake leaves nothing / save future yet to come").  There's even someone doing little spoken word lines, exactly like Bible readings.  Who is the preacher here?  Vocalist Deke Leonard, who sings like a acid prophet or a very young wizard (he bubbles enthusiasm all over "Don't Just Stand There (Come in out of the Rain)".  He sounds like that guy who's so high, he's got the entire world figured out.  He could produce the unifying theory connecting Newton and Einstein, if only someone would run down to the store and get him something to eat.  He sounds like a street preacher, Bob Dylan, and a drug dealer rolled into one.  "The Future Hides Its Face" tells us where man is going.  (Answer: Space.)  The album then ends with an excerpt from some anonymous NASA mission.  Space-rock?  More like spaced-rock.  

It is not even funny how much better formed their blues numbers like "Sudden Life" and the barrel-house fun of "Blind Man", both written by Leonard, are compared to the rest of the album.  In fact, most of the album was recorded live, with overdubs added, and it is clear that this was the band's stage show. Man could kick some roadhouse butt when they chose, as guitarist Micky Jones used a good, loud distorted tone without sacrificing clarity, and was able to distort it when needs arise (the end of "Sudden Life").  Even though the band got off track occasionally, they were a cohesive unit, pretty much everyone is a good player and they mesh remarkably well.  The rhythm section is unusually good without turning to either the jazzy sound employed by groups like Jethro Tull or the standard hard rock patterns of a Led Zeppelin.  Organist Clive John gets some nice faux-classical runs in here and there ("Empty Room", the fun "Don't Just Stand There") but does not overdo it.  Clearly, their strength lay in this area.

Outside of the blues tracks, the album is the usual psychedelic grab-bag. There's the infamous "Erotica", where the band took a jazzy jam recorded live and then overdubbed a woman faking sex noises.  Admit it - you knew someone had to tried this.  The merger works pretty well, and the jam is good with John doing some nice Doors-like work on the organ.  (You know which organ).  There's a fair amount of what could be either be interpreted as "artiness," psychedelic grandstanding, or filler.  "Puella! Puella! (Woman! Woman!)" tries to be very dramatic, with its wordless vocals, and rather unexpected bad flute playing.  Yet, the whole arty dramatic thing works with Jones' "And Castles Rise in Children's Eyes" which has a thunderous "Hall of the Mountain King" type of rock, and has a nice repeating riff.  Otherwise there's some real filler (psychedelic nonsense in "The Missing Pieces," and the acoustic "Love" which belongs more in the repertoire of a French chanteuse).  

Thus, this is just what you'd expect from a hard rock band in the midst of a haze of hallucinogens - good when on target with the blues, and completely erratic otherwise.  Produced by John Schroeder.  

I have their second album, Two Ounces of Plastic with a Hole in the Middle, which is more blues-rock with a surprising dose of artiness as well, and some of their mid 70s albums like Rhinos, Winos and Lunatics which are pretty much straight hard/pub-rock sorts of affairs.

Metro

Milkwood Tapesty

Milkwood Tapestry (1969), **
This has to be one of the stranger albums I have come across - not for any zaniness or strange sounds (a la Zappa, or any of his ilk), but for their strange dualistic approach to music.  Milkwood Tapestry was an off-kilter folk/rock duo, by which I mean they play folk, and they play rock, but no real combination of the two.  It is not exactly Peter, Paul and LSD, but that should give you the general idea.  On the rock songs they resemble a lackluster West Coast hard rock group, thanks to Roland G. Antonelli's bluesy guitar playing and the clunky and obvious session work along with him ("Journey-less Ride").  But the key component is his partner - singer Joseph Ransohoff, who contributes poetry to all the songs (including the heavy ones) and turns his vibrato-laden voice (one of the most annoying vibratos along with that guy from the Bee-Gees) into derangement ("Beyond the Twelve Mile Zone"), screams and screeches on the "hard" tracks.  The mixture is decidedly odd - for example, "Signs of Invisible Chalk" opens with the line "All the little ballerinas / Have pink tights on" to chugging accompaniment with screeching thrown in later.  The result is one of the most unintentionally funny tracks I have ever heard.  The best example of their off-kilter rock sound is the eerie "Tockless Time Morning". On the other lighter side, the album has twittering light songs about love, window-sills and the like, frequently done with Antonelli's light baroque orchestration.  To make it even odder, despite Ransohoff's lame-o smiley-faced sound, it is done with all the earnestness of a pair of children's performers.  There is something child-like about these songs ("Seas of Marshmellow Bees" a doped-up love song with the most elementary rhymes in existence, or "Look at the Chi