Pleased to announce the return of The Drumless Drum after a short sojourn following relocation.
To start the ball a-rollin' again here are 5 records that have fed the soul over the last couple of months. As always all comments/lists welcomed.
Gérard Manset - La Mort d'Orion
Truly out-there French gothic prog record with huge orchestral arrangements. Manset still remains relatively unknown outside of French-speaking circles which is criminal. Epic.
Black to Comm - Alphabet 1968
Marc Richter's avant-electronica continues to amaze. Record of the year candidate.
Om - God is Good
Latest installment of metallic investigations from Messrs. Cisneros and co.
Laurence Vanay - Galaxies
Early 70s solo offering from this Magma-associated singer ticks all my boxes.
Boris Gardiner - Elizabethan Reggae
Love this 70s reggae anthem. Infact, love the original as well.
Since posting my original "Monoliths and Monsoons" keyword list I've had a couple of enquiries about this term (one of the more mainstream "head speaks" in my humble opinion) and how it was applied so here goes...
Crash/Crash Out
A phrase popular from the late 60s through to the late 70s which can refer to an individual having reached a state of physical,mental or emotional exhaustion leading that person to fall into sleep or unconsciousness.
The phrase or word was most often utilised in the following types of sentence structures:-
"Do you mind if I crash here tonight?"
"I can crash on the floor in the front room if thats cool"
"He's crashed"
"I'm going to crash out"
"Crash" was most favoured as a term by young people and students of the hippy persuasion whose living spaces and lives were generally unstructured and hence easily accommodated the ad hoc arrival of overnight guests.
Quicksilver Messenger Service - 'Mona' ('Happy Trails' - Capitol, 1969)
As you may have noticed guitar noodling has been a subject of discourse for me on the blog of late. As I've reflected on this trying habit (which often masquerades as being an expression of musicality when deployed by underwhelming instrumentalists) I've started to review and re-listen to some of my records which could arguably be seen to be the result of the close relative of noodling known as jamming.
Now there's good jamming and there's bad jamming, and there's inevitably far more of the latter around, in my humble opinion, than the former. However, when jamming is good, then it's very good and Quicksilver Messenger Service's take on 'Mona' falls very much into that league.
Taken from that rarest of all records - a great (almost totally) live jam album - 'Mona' allows for John Cipollina and Gary Duncan to execute one of the greatest double lead guitar interplays/jams to emerge from the belly of the beast that was blues-based psychedelia.
I remember being told in my university days by an acquaintance of mine that he new a bloke who had visited the flat of a rampant west coast music freak in South London and that in that flat, mounted on the wall was one of John Cippolina's electric guitars supposedly donated to this chap after a Man gig. To my often clouded mind this story was akin to knowing that the guitar equivalent of Excalibur resided in a Vauxhall squat waiting only to be removed from it's wall mounts and claimed by a fretwelder capable of making it sing like Cipollina could. Then again, it was much more likely that the whole story was a load of old bollocks dreamt up one evening by my pal after imbibing one too many herbal cigarettes. But, you never know...
p.s. Anal West Coast Music Fact
Did you ever notice the striking similarity between the girls featured on the cover drawing of 'Happy Trails' and the first It's a Beautiful Day album or am I alone?
As with my first post on this subject please feel free to comment, elucidate or debate any of the definitions below...
Straight
1.Any member of the general public deemed to be involved in any of the following activities:-
Being employed.
Paying off a mortgage.
Wearing a suit/tie.
Listening to any form of crap mainstream pop music as defined by you and your mates.
The above list is but a truncated selection of qualifying activities to give a sense of some of the themes that were most often focussed upon. In fact in principle this list could continue on ad infinitum dependent upon the depth and passion of your countercultural beliefs. It could also alter with additions and deletions being made ad hoc and applied subject to you, your peers and your countercultural heroes current take on matters and the status of your life. e.g. if you were bereft of money then a light form of work in an acceptable discipline would become permissible.
2.Any form of pre-rolled cigarette. Traditionally in the 70s the key 'straight' brands in the UK appeared to be Embassy, Player's No.6 and Benson & Hedges.
Hard Rock
A precursor to Heavy Metal, Hard Rock was used as a catch-all term to describe any British/American bands with a propensity to play loud blues-anchored rock in the early 70s. Hard Rock ran alongside Progressive Rock as a 'super sub-genre' which with Psychedelic Rock and 'Singer-Songwriter' effectively defined the rock landscape in broad brushstrokes for most devotees.
Key Hard Rock acts included Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Deep Purple, Lynyrd Skynyrd and Blue Oyster Cult amongst others.
After pulling together the keywords listing for my last post on Stonehenge I was particularly struck by the period-piece nature of phrases like "crash out" and how evocative and powerful these tribal/cultural semantics are for me, especially when associated with music.
With this in mind I've decided to start an occasional feature to document for posterity a few of these phrases and words along with their personal meanings which have helped to make them key linguistic totems at various points in my life.
In all the cases the resonance of these words with the reader is a real unknown to me. In fact certain phrases and their usages and meanings may only strike a chord with a small coterie of people often defined by their age, home location (down to which streets they were brought up on and schools they attended) and the music they were into. Whether these variables are important will hopefully all come to light via any comments people care to leave.
So here are the first couple of phrases for your delectation supported with short definitions informed by my somewhat addled memory for which I apologise in advance. I look forward to reading your comments...
Noodling
1.The practice of picking up an acoustic guitar, in a social situation or alone, and playing nauseatingly well-known riffs/intros over and over again often under the influence of mood altering substances. Noodling classics included 'Blackbird' by The Beatles and Deep Purple's 'Smoke on the Water'.
2.The act by a professional musician (generally an electric guitarist) of playing extended and often extremely tedious solos, either onstage or through the medium of a live album. Originally often associated with the Progressive and Heavy Rock movements of the late 60s/early 70s (although there was a definite proclivity to noodle present in the more jam-orientated psychedelic rock of the late 60s), professional noodling has continued to rear its ugly head in rock music since these first sightings.
Longhair
A cultural subgrouping of predominantly young British males who tribalised via their anti-hair style consisting of uniformly long, centre-parted hair (minimum length being to the shoulder, no maximum length specified). The style was maintained through occasionally combing and washing along with the optional application of a small amount of cheap patchouli oil used for both its strong perfuming effect and for its own specific tribal significance.
Style influencers and references for this look included Gong-era Steve Hillage and Paul Kossoff.
Period of existence: The Longhair was at its height circa 1970-1979 (approx.) with a strong presence across the whole of the UK. Strongholds appeared to be in the West Midlands, the north of England and Scotland.
Accounting for some of my most formative and eye-opening experiences at any music-based festivals, the annual midsummer gathering at the 'henge in the 1980s was in many ways a perfect counterbalance to the cultural slash-and burn of Thatcherism.
Not so much a hippy gathering as a meeting of anarchically motivated freaks and their mates this free festival was a galvanizing point in the calendar for the nations countercultural masses, a gathering of the tribes to coin a phrase from an earlier era.
I'm currently writing a longer piece about my experiences during my first Stonehenge visit in 1980, extracts of which will be posted on The Drumless Drum in due course, but as a precursor here's a small list of the keywords that have emanated from this writing process which I hope will give the reader a faint sense of some of the key themes associated with being at the festival. Naturally all additional comments etc from readers gratefully received.
Tim Buckley - 'Song to the Siren' ('Starsailor' - Straight, 1970)
My obsession with the music of Tim Buckley first reared its head through the circuitous route of reading about 'obscure' rock artists as a teenager, often prior to having heard anything by those artists.
The NME Book of Rock was my bible and entry point at that time and it contained a particularly glowing entry about Buckley citing many of his albums as being effectively indespensible Rock classics.
Fueled by these plaudits from such a reputable source I delved further into whatever writing I could find on Buckley hoping to identify the most pertinent record of his to invest in, assuming, that is, that I could find a copy of any of his records secreted in my towns laughable record buying experience, an unchanging permafrost of below average hard rock racked out in the local WH Smiths.
The information that I gleaned through my research concerning Buckley's 'Blue Afternoon' and 'Goodbye and Hello' whetted my appetite for both of these albums, but as was often the case with my perverse selection policy I was more drawn to the supposedly "difficult" 'Starsailor' and the apparently 'erotically charged' 'Greetings from LA' as a way into Buckley's art. I thus resolved to keep an eye out for these two lp's on my travels, realistically believing that there was less than a cat in hells chance of either of them coming to light in a backwater like my home town.
So it was to my total befuddlement that one day I came across a copy of 'Greetings...' secreted in my local newsagents bargain bin selection of MFP albums. Slightly dazed by my discovery I could only rationalize the records presence as being because the wholesale supplier responsible for filling this execrable box was either a chancer with a 'Greetings...' overstock or a comedian. Whichever way you cut it though I was a grateful and very happy camper that day as I made my way home, my newfound treasure under my arm, anticipating a deeper spiritual engagement with music than I had ever previously had, at least that's the way Buckley's music seemed to affect his loyal fans so I'd read.
Listening to 'Greetings...' for the first time was, however, a much more perplexing, and slightly embarrassing experience than the one I had prepared myself for. Expecting a slightly more polite singer-songwriter type listen I found myself having to kick the door of my bedroom door shut to muffle the orgasmic yelps and risque lyrics pounding out of grooves. I was a little confused.
It took me a lot of concerted listening, and growing up, to really get 'Greetings' fully and as my relationship with this record deepened my desire to hear more and more of Buckley's extraordinary canon really took hold.
In thoses days much of the Buckley catalogue was difficult to track down as many of the titles had apparently lapsed into deletion. I particularly remember the joy I felt when I finally found a secondhand copy of 'Starsailor' on one of my trawls of the secondhand record bins in Birmingham. It was expensive, but if I was to pass up the chance to purchase this record I sensed that I would rue the missed opportunity and I was right. That record purchase changed my life.
'Starsailor' remains to this day one of those records that I revisit regularly only to discover new depths and nuances on each return. Of all of the albums tracks 'Song to the Siren' still remains a huge favourite. It's a song that consumes the listener in an ocean of sonic beauty. If this was the only song that Buckley ever wrote then that song alone would be enough to elevate him to the pantheon of Rock legends. Essential.
A brief post after the summer hiatus to get my eye back in.
Been drawn back to this song with alarming regularity lately. The alarm is due to the fact that '4 + 20' usual re-appears on my playlists in late september to welcome the extra layers of clothes, evoking memories of huddling outdoors warmed by clandestine Players No.6 and Strongbow.
Autumnal hues descend upon me as I watched this mesmerizing performance by Stills on The Dick Cavett Show. There even seems to be a virtual campfire on the set around which Joni, Jorma, Crosby and other hippy demigods sit in rapt attention, away in that Woodstock comedown.
Right, I'm off to dig out the first Manassas album. 'Johnny's Garden' kills me...
My first trip to Paris as an 18 year old was a huge event riddled with a raft of rite of passage experiences which have gathered significance with time and hindsight.
I was en route to the Cote D'Azur to pick a few grapes, drink a lot of wine and to occasionally sleep on the nearest beach. My mode of transport to the south was the infamous Magic Bus, the cheapest coach to take you all the way from London to the Cote.
I'd booked the trip as two legs with an overnight stop-over in Paris to allow me to check out the city, and with all the devil-may-care attitude that youth provides and age seems to remove I hadn't bothered to book a bed. I was, after all, a poor student and the cheapest and most appealing approach to this sojourn seemed to be to stay up all night wondering the Parisian streets and bars. I only had 14 or so hours before leaving for the south, why waste any of them sleeping?
Deposited close to Gare du Nord in the late afternoon of a summer day I was immediately assaulted by the smell of Paris. Petrol fumes, drains, coffee and Gauloises all competed for my nasal attentions with differing levels of success.
I headed to a café, armed with a few spare francs and ordered up a Croque-monsieur and a demi of rouge, which I chased down with inky black coffee and copious smokes as I browsed the pages of a Paris paper sewing together a semblance of meaning with my poor schoolboy French.
Feeling very "Godardy" I decided to see what movies might be showing. This was Paris after all, the home of truly great cinema and Paris didn't let me down. Ironically it wasn't a festival of French New Wave movies that caught my eye as I might have expected, it was a late night sub-titled screening of 'A Clockwork Orange' , a movie still banned in the UK a that time.
I'd read and heard much about Kubrick's masterpiece (one of many by him in my humble opinion). The fact that it could not even be granted an 'X' certificate had transformed the film into some mythical beast, a perverting life-changing mangle of a movie. My evening was definitely sorted.
Around midnight I arrived at a small arthouse cinema close to the Jardins Du Luxembourg, a particularly beautiful and bourgeois part of Paris. I was told that all seats were sold out but that I could pay to sit on the floor if I so wished. This suited me fine.
Entering the screening room I was greeted to site of room packed to the rafters with a mixture of rucksack carrying foreigners like myself and Parisian hip kids. I found a space against a wall and fags and wine at hand got comfortable for the show. A sense of excitement grabbed me.
To say this movie rocked my world would be the height of understatement. Every element that Kubrick weaved into this work of art left me aghast but one of the most impactful elements for me was the extraordinary soundtrack. Walter Carlos's reconfigurations of classical music were unlike anything I'd heard before. Contextualised within this amazing movie the music became truly staggering. I left the cinema that night with my perspectives profoundly shifted.
After a short kip in a stairwell in some Pigalle building - brought about by the surfeit of wine and the exhaustion of the traveling - I ambled out into the Parisian dawn back towards Gare Du Nord to catch my coach to the sun, the echoes of Carlos's electrifications still circling inside my head.
My 14 hours in Paris had ticked just about every bohemian box that I had as a wide-eyed young man. As I walked to the gare I somehow felt that I had graduated in life, that I had metamorphosed from a gawky English suburban undergraduate into an existential, world-wise hipster thanks to being exposed to Paris, Kubrick and Carlos and I'm pleased to report that exposure to any of these 3 elements still brings about an emotional response within me to this day, with or without sleeping in a stairwell...
New Order - 'Face Up' ('Low-life' - Factory, 1985)
Ever since I've seen your face This life of mine has gone to waste I was young and you were old And I always knew you were cold At the start you had a heart But in the end you lost your friend Can you see your own dark face? It's dieing in a lonely place
Oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you I said, oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
As we get old, we lose our place Reflecting back the world's disgrace I feel so low, I feel so humble Sometimes in life we take a tumble Don't let anybody tell you that you're no good Cause you know they would Don't let anybody tell you what you should do Cause it's not that way and...
Oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you I said, oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you We were young and we were pure And life was just an open door I said oh, oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you
You were me and I was you This world of ours it felt brand new You took me a little further... I heard it all before, I've heard it all before I can't hear it anymore Your hair was long, your eyes was blue Guess what I'm gonna do to you
Oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you I said, oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you We were young and we were pure And life was just an open door I said oh, oh, how I cannot bear the thought... Oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you I said oh, oh, how I cannot bear the thought of you We were young and we were pure...
Not a lot to add really. My favourite New Order lyric hence the quotation and my favourite "woo's" as punctuation within a song courtesy of Bernard Sumner.
Attending an 'experimental' comprehensive school for my secondary education had it's pros and cons. Alongside a rather laissez-faire approach to the daily curriculum that most pupils abused within this relaxed environment there also existed a large number of after-school clubs aiming to widen pupils horizons. Bizarrely, most of these afterhours gatherings seemed to enjoy slightly higher levels of attendance than many of the regular lessons.
One term it was announced there was going to be a new weekly evening gathering called the Rock Club which would be run by our mildly hyperactive biology teacher. Curious to find our what on earth he considered to be 'Rock' I signed myself up.
Attendance on day one was rather poor. The few of us who were there were beckoned to form a circle with our chairs around Mr. Biology and a trusty pine-cased record player, standard government issue for schools music departments in those days.
For no apparent reason the meeting opened up with our teacher delivering a rather impassioned monologue deriding Glam Rock as being "musical nonsense", an unexpected opening gambit but amusing nonetheless mainly because of the vitriolic manner of the delivery of said rant.
Mr. Biology's antidote to Glam and the effect it might be having on us youngsters malleable minds was to introduce us to the joys of "serious" Rock music by "serious" artists. With that news, I bolstered myself for the unedifying experience of an evening of listening to Uriah Heep.
More surprising insights then followed. After the tub thumping anti-Glam speech we were informed by Mr. Biology that he had just finished writing a biography of Joni Mitchell, whom he considered to be the greatest talent in Rock today, and that he was in the process of seeking a publisher for this tome. With increasing passion and zeal our teacher then proceeded to give us a potted history of Joni's career. His sermon completed, he pulled out a battered copy of 'Blue', the album that he considered to be her greatest work and placed needle to vinyl.
Up until this juncture my only reference point for Joni Mitchell had been 'Big Yellow Taxi', a song that I thought was pleasant enough when it made an occasional appearance on the radio. I therefore wasn't overwhelmed by the idea of listening to a whole album of similar ditties. However, from the opening track 'All I Want' Joni's sublime voice drew me into an album which I now also consider to be one of the most complete and perfect Rock records ever made.
Throughout 'Blue' Joni's lyrical and melodic genius are on full throttle. Tracks like 'River' and 'A Case of You' traverse emotional landscapes in a way that I certainly hadn't heard the likes of prior to that Rock Club listening session.
'California' still remains a personal favourite, though highlighting one track within this ridiculously good record is to do the other tracks a great disservice. It's a song that evokes an emotional empathy whist painting a picture of the possibility of a halcyon existence led free from life's day-to-day drudgery and turmoil.
The Rock Club unfortunately petered out after a few weeks through diminishing attendance. Those few gatherings however did ignite my love for Joni's music, with 'Blue' still being my favourite records of hers followed closely by 'Hejira' and 'Court and Spark'.
I'm sure Mr. Biology would be pleased to know that he succeeded in cultivating a lifelong love for the music of Ms. Mitchell within one of his charges, though alas, it did not lead to me dismissing Glam Rock wholesale thanks mainly to the talents of Bowie and Bolan amongst others. Variety is the spice of life is it not?
West coast rock was a staple ingredient of the music diet of my late teenage years with the focus mainly being on Bay area artists for quite a few years.
My starting points were unsurprisingly The Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane and from this core I took time to get to know the music of Hot Tuna, It's a Beautiful Day, Joy of Cooking, Moby Grape, The Charlatans and many more Golden Gate Park alumni.
It was therefore with a certain amount of arrogance that I arrived at university convinced that I'd just about boxed off the most relevant and worthwhile music from the San Francisco scene. Not surprisingly more was soon revealed to me.
In my first year I got to know some of the final year student freaks through hanging out at the campus record store. One of the guys soon became a good friend of mine as we found many similar musical passions and we regularly decamped to his slightly squalid digs to play through and discuss recent music purchases in a suitably relaxed environment...
On one particular spring afternoon we were indulging ourselves by listening to the wonderful 'Return of the Durutti Column', a record that appealed to just about every music fan I hung out with at the time irrespective of hair length.
As side two of the record melted to an ending my friend reached over to his sizeable album collection and pulled out a record with two stark black and white portraits on the sleeve, one on either side.
I didn't recognize one of the guys who I was later to find out was a guitarist by the name of Tom Hobson, but from the fleeting glance that I'd got I thought that the other guy might be Jorma Kaukonen of Jefferson Airplane/Hot Tuna fame. I was puzzled as to what this record was all about, mainly because it implied that there were some San Francisco scene records out there that were still unknown to me.
As the needle dropped onto 'Genesis', the first track on side one, I prepared myself for something akin to the heavier blues inflections I associated with the Tuna. Instead I was treated to a hypnotic acoustic guitar line which had all the qualities of Kaukonen's playing on the seminal instrumental 'Embryonic Journey' that he had gifted to Jefferson Airplane's 'Surrealistic Pillow' album.
If that wasn't enough then there was Jorma's voice - a thing of plangent beauty that had never registered with me before for some unbeknown reason. As the song moved on a plaintive string arrangement appeared in the mix and with this the song went steller. It was all I could do to stay seated to hear the rest of the record, I was all for hitting any open record shop so that I could pick up a copy right then.
The whole of 'Quah' was similarly a total revelation to me. Not only is it a record that I believe ranks alongside the very best singer-songwriter/acoustic guitar albums of that time it's also arguably the greatest record to come out of the whole Airplane/Tuna axis.
Fans of John Martyn, John Fahey and Bert Jansch are urged to investigate.
The Box Tops - 'The Letter' ("'The Letter'/'Neon Rainbow'" - Bell, 1967)
There isn't a period in Alex Chilton's fascinating career that's not left an indelible mark on my soul through some sacred song.
From 'In the Street' and 'September Gurls' to 'Holocaust', 'Bangkok' and his version of 'Waltz Across Texas', the errant genius has continually turned the popular song inside out be it with the everyones favourite cult act Big Star or as an often unfathomable solo artist.
The Box Tops was the first sighting the world had of a teenage Chilton and 'The Letter' - a huge number one in the States upon its release - and it showcased staggering vocal abilities which belied Chilton's youth.
'The Letter' is arguably the ultimate snotty pop song, a swaggering 1:53 of pop genius. If this vocal performance was all that Chilton's career consisted of then he would still be due a seat at the high table of Rock 'n' Roll. That his muse took him to such extraordinary places thereafter is something all music fans should be grateful for.
Like many people of my generation my initial exposure to the music of Stevie Wonder came through the radio. Classic singles recorded by Wonder in the 60's like 'Signed, Sealed, Delivered I'm Yours', 'Uptight (Everything's Alright)' and 'For Once in my Life' regularly peppered the airwaves and weaved themselves into my consciousness becoming important threads within my world of pop music. My relationship with Wonder's music changed monumentally though when I was first exposed to some of the incredible songs that make up his album 'Innervisions'.
'Living for the City' and Don't you Worry 'bout a Thing' first came to my attention through a particularly adventurous jukebox which was housed in our local sports centre. Both cuts floored me but in subtly different ways. The harrowing narrative of 'Living for the City' sung by Wonder with both anger and defiance was a riveting tableaux whilst 'Don't you Worry...' swung irresistibly and contained a more optimistic lyrical quality. Both tracks however possessed an unparalleled funky spirituality conjured up by a young man who was amazingly just 23 at the time of these recordings.
Based on these two cuts I decided to invest in a copy 'Innervisions' which I tracked down quite surprisingly in my local WH Smiths record department. For my first play I decided to try out some of the songs I hadn't heard yet and dropped the needle at the beginning of side 2. I was immediately pinned down by a keyboard line so ridiculously funky it defied belief. As the track uncoiled around this insistent riff Wonder, in full testifying mode, delivered a vocal brimming over with spiritual hope and kinetic soulfulness the likes of which I'd never heard before. This was my introduction to 'Higher Ground'.
Much as I adore this astounding track it has to be stressed that it is but one song on a nine-track album masterpiece, and that 'Innervisions' is in fact the fourth album in a staggering run of six back-to-back records by Stevie ('Where I'm Coming From', 'Music of My Mind', 'Talking Book' , the afore-mentioned 'Innervisions' 'Fulfillingness' First Finale' and 'Songs in the Key of Life') that were released in just seven years. This extraordinary outpouring of musicality is pretty much unique within popular music, but the fact that Wonder was aged 19 to 26 when he created this canon of work is quite unbelieveable. Truly this man is deserving of being described as a genius.
Earth - 'An Inquest Concerning Teeth' ('Hex; or Printing in the Infernal Method' - Southern Lord, 2005)
There have been rare occasions where records have come along that quite unexpectedly embrace a host of my favourite musical elements within their sonic DNA whilst also managing to sound utterly unique. This album, and in particular this track, do just that.
I had been enthralled by the journey that Dylan Carlson had taken his band Earth on from their earliest Sub Pop recordings right through to the crunching rock of their 'Pentastar...' album, but none of these records had prepared me for their 2005 album 'Hex...'.
Here is an album that seems to exist in a sonic space inhabited by the most powerful aspects of early Black Sabbath along with the dusty ambience of 'Paris, Texas' era Ry Cooder but which also embraces some of the stylings of avant-garde/far eastern drone. It's a record which also evokes a mythical vision of America as strongly as Aaron Copeland's 'Appalachian Spring' or the recordings of Robert Johnson. The fact that with all of this going on the album that emerges is in fact a triumph and not some over-reaching sonic car wreck is remarkable.
'Hex..' helped singlehandedly to refresh my relationship with the essence of Heavy Metal by extrapolating some of the key elements making them heavier, slower, longer and louder mutations of their former selves, thus creating a perfect storm of controlled sonic overload.
Carlson and co. have further interrogated similar elements in their most recent recordings, but there also clearly exists an imperative within the band to continue on the journey that they have embarked on, to wherever it may take them. Marry this to the rigour and discipline that Earth apply to there music-making and it seems probable that we will be confronted by new albums from this band every bit as arresting as 'Hex..'.
Fleetwood Mac - 'Dragonfly' (7" Single - Reprise, 1971)
When I first began to familiarise myself with pubs in my late teens there were certain key elements which would transform any hostelry from an occasional haunt of convenience into "Our Local". Cheap beer and a pool table both figured quite highly as non-negotiable necessities, as indeed did the presence of a high ratio of unattached girls. However, even if all of these elements were present the pub would still have to be disregarded if it possessed a shoddy jukebox.
Finding a decent jukebox, was the equivalent of discovering the Holy Grail where I was brought up. There seemed to be a surfeit of machines stocked with the worst examples of top 30 pop hits imaginable along with a smattering of older classics by the likes of Elvis and Jim Reeves for the older regulars.
There were, however, some strange jukebox anomalies to be found. We would regularly frequent one pub in our town which was universally considered to be one step above a public convenience when it came to comfort and sartorial elegance, but for some unknown reason this pub's jukebox contained Love's 'Alone Again Or' along with 'Riders on the Storm' by The Doors. Such vagaries led to me pondering whether the bloke who changed the jukebox records every month was actually a man of eminently good taste whose only means by which to find joy in his job was to secret the occasional quality single amongst the chart fodder? Was he also, in fact, the one-man army responsible for ensuring ever pub in the West Midlands always had a copy of 'Silver Machine' for people like me to wear out? One could only speculate.
When I left home to go to university one of my fantasies was that the students union bar would own a jukebox that reflected the eclectic tastes that I'd imagined the student populace would revel in. On my first night on campus my ill-founded dreams were cruelly smashed.
Wishing to appear as cool as possible in this new environment, I had ambled across to the union bar jukebox to select a few songs and thus send out a message to all gathered there that here was a man in possession of taste by the bucketful. I popped in enough change to allow myself 3 plays and started to scan the columns of songs thinking that my problem was going to be restricting myself to 3 songs from a huge selection of great music. Within 30 seconds I came to realise that my problem was going to be finding 3 songs to play, period.
Eventually I came across a small selection of reasonable songs. 'Layla' and 'All Right Now' swallowed up two of my plays, but then I was struggling again. Was I going to have to play 'Layla' twice? Luckily, I caught sight of the ever dependable 'Silver Machine' and the harrowing selection procedure was complete.
As I took my seat circumstances took a bad turn. Instead of the iconic guitar intro to 'Layla' we were now being treated to the opening bars of 'Oops Upside Your Head". Had I pushed the wrong buttons? Apparently not. I would later find out that the vagaries of the jukebox were such that the it played songs in a random order. As this was unknown to me at that time the issue I thought I had to deal with was that it appeared that I had somewhat dubious taste. To make matters worse any hope I might have had of redeeming any credibility was disappearing before my eyes as 'Romeo and Juliet' by Dire Straits made an unexpected appearance on the bar sound system. I drank up quickly and left.
For months I steered clear of the jukebox, happy to let other people try and find something respectable to listen to, until one lunchtime when quite unexpectedly the bar was suddenly awash with the sound of song so exotic as to appear truly out place coming as it did from a machine which generally served up Dire Straits singles.
I made my way over to the jukebox where a bloke, who was probably a couple of years older than me, stood contemplating his next selection. I enquired as to what was playing and with some pleasure he told me it was 'Dragonfly' by Fleetwood Mac and that in his opinion there was at last a decent song to be found on the jukebox.
Up until hearing 'Dragonfly' I had had little interest in Fleetwood Mac, due wholly to having overdosed on their ubiquitous hit single 'Albatross', a record that I'm afraid I've never really got. 'Dragonfly', however, turned that position around. This gorgeous song was the first Fleetwood Mac release to appear after Peter Green had left the band, however it was the Peter Green Fleetwood Mac that I initially got into through 'Dragonfly'.
Inexplicably,'Dragonfly' stayed on the jukebox at my student union for the whole of my higher education. Maybe the engineer for the university machine was indeed that Hawkwind fanatic of my hometown pubs doing me one last good turn. If it was then God bless him.
Ironically (and as an example of how one cannot necessarily disregard any band on the basis of one bad track) one of my all-time favourite dance records is a track called 'Outstanding' which is performed by those erstwhile purveyors of 'Oops Upside Your Head' - The Gap Band. It's a funny old game isn't it?
The Bulgarian State Radio & Television Female Vocal Choir et al - 'Polegnala E Todora' ('Love Chant') ('Le Mystère des Voix Bulgares' - 4AD, 1986)
My introduction to this song and album is probably very similar to that of many music fans of my generation.
Back in the mid 80's I was a devotee of Ivo Watts-Russell's record label 4AD. In the great tradition of labels like Chris Blackwell's Island Records every element of a 4AD release seemed to both respect the individuality of their extraordinary roster of artistes whilst also maintaining a clear label aesthetic visually translated through the gorgeous artwork created by Vaughan Oliver.
By 1986 4AD was established in my mind as a gold-standard record label with The Cocteau Twins, Colourbox, Dead Can Dance and the This Mortal Coil project all issuing riveting music on the label. At that time I felt as if 4AD had something of value to say to me with each new release and I was more than willing to pay them rapt attention based upon this peerless track record.
When 'Le Mystère...' arrived in record stores I had already been entranced by the story of Peter Murphy of Bauhaus playing Ivo a battered cassette of the choir which had set him off on a mission to find and release their music. This passionate endorsement of Watts-Russell was enough in itself for me to shell out for this record with no qualms whatsoever.
It's very rare for me to be transfixed to one spot when I first listen to a new record, but with this album I really had no choice because of the state I got into. Cliché-ridden as this may sound I had never hear anything quite like it in my life and by the time I had got to 'Polegnala E Todora' - the last track on of the album - I was reduced to floods of tears as is often the case to this day.
I owe Ivo a huge debt of gratitude for following his heart and soul and releasing this record which has undoubtedly enriched my life and for also helping me to discover Tim Buckley, Big Star and many other treasures via the This Mortal Coil records. Ivo and 4AD introduced me to new musical pastures which played a huge part in shaping and broadening my tastes. I only hope that I can repay the debt to Ivo in the same spirit some day...
The genius of Brian Wilson first got a hold of me through three key Beach Boys albums. 'Pet Sounds', 'Surf's Up' and 'Holland'. All classic albums and all huge favourites of mine.
After this induction, I became more and more fascinated by the Brian Wilson songbook, and also started to become aware of his body of work outside of The Beach Boys. I was thus first exposed to a record called 'Guess I'm Dumb', which for me ranks as one of Wilson's finest pieces of work, thanks in no small part to an extraordinary performance by Glen Campbell.
Glen Campbell was for many years someone who I considered to be the epitome of that dreaded blight known as "light entertainment" that seeped out of our TV sets almost every Saturday evening from the 60's through to the 80's.
Unfortunately, this dreadful TV era and Glen's 'Rhinestone Cowboy' period were both contemporary to my graduation to listening to "serious Rock music". It was therefore simply inconceivable for me to listen to Campbell in any way or form.
It wasn't until years later that I began to re-assess and appreciate Campbell through his work with Jimmy Webb on songs like 'Galveston' and 'By the Time I get to Phoenix'. As I began to purchase Campbell's albums from this period, I also began to become aware of his close professional proximity to much of Brian Wilson's greatest work through his session guitar work as part of the legendary Wrecking Crew. Through these connections I first read about 'Guess I'm Dumb' - a Brian Wilson/Russ Titelman composition that was gifted to Glen as a single in 1965.
Naturally, I was curious to hear this track as soon as possible. It's recording date placed it in close proximity to the classic 'Pet Sounds' recordings but for some reason I'd never seen the single in a shop nor heard the track on the radio. Was it awful?
I was finally introduced to the song by a Beach Boys obsessive I'd got to know as my own Beach Boys obsession grew, who when questioned about the track insisted I should go round to his place immediately to hear it, as my life would "never be the same again".
I agreed to this trip and we made the trek to my friends house post-haste. Upon arriving I sat in rapt anticipation as my host placed the single onto his record deck as if he was handling the crown jewels, which in effect he was.
The 3 odd minutes of my first listen to 'Guess I'm Dumb' quite literally left me speechless. I experienced two strong emotions, firstly amazement at the staggering beauty of the song, and secondly annoyance that I'd not discovered the track for myself prior to this playback.
'Guess I'm Dumb' feels like it was mined from the same creative seam which contained 'Pet Sounds' - arguably one of 5 greatest albums ever recorded. As such, it ranks as one of the greatest singles of all time, which makes the fact that it is still relatively unknown thoroughly bemusing.
If this post is your introduction to the track I'm thrilled for you but I also must admit that I envy you that first listen to this track. If it's anything like mine was your life will indeed change! Enjoy!
Van Morrison - 'Comfort You' ('Veedon Fleece' - Warner Brothers, 1974)
From previous posts, you may have sensed that my introduction to certain artists and records has been rather dependent upon an element of randomness in the past. As a teenager, and a nascent music obsessive, my small hometown was frustratingly bereft of decent record buying opportunities. Hence, I often found that instead of finding the record I really wanted to hear by an artist I would often than not be presented, at best, with another record from their canon of lesser repute.
Despite these record buying challenges I began to develop "Must Hear" and "Must Purchase" lists to help inform any potential purchase choices (if I was lucky enough to be presented with them) from my poorly stocked local outlets.
The "Must Hear" list was a rolling document of artists/records that had caught my eye as being worthy of further investigation as I sucked up music information. It's a tool that I still continue to use to this day. The "Must Purchase" list was a process that I applied in those early, heady days of music obsession. It was made up of albums which were deemed by critical consensus to be undeniable classics, and therefore seemed to be mandatory purchases for any decent Rock record collection. Sitting proudly within this list, due to its seemingly unanimous critical praise, was Van Morrison's 'Astral Weeks' an album that I had managed to build up to being a mythical Rock touchstone through the information I had gleaned about it prior to having heard a single note.
On one particularly average Saturday afternoon during my teenage years I had ambled into town to browse the thinly populated racks of my local WH Smiths yet again. As per usual I checked the 'M - Rock' section incase I might come across a copy 'Astral Weeks' ,which as per usual wasn't there. However, on that day a previously unseen Van Morrison record came into view as flicked past the familiar copy of 'Fly Like an Eagle'. It my first siting of 'Veedon Fleece' in the wild.
Although it wasn't 'Astral Weeks' I'd read enough about Morrison's catalogue to know that 'Veedon Fleece' was considered by many to be worthy of checking out. In fact, the record had already earned itself a place on my "Must Hear" list. In a pattern which I have often repeated since I convinced myself that I should snap up the record immediately rather hearing it prior to purchase as I had previously planned to do with any records on the "Must Hear" list. I took the plunge and, although there have been many cases in my record buying life where that rush of blood to the head has lead to impulse purchases I have come to rue, in this particular case I've never had any cause for regret.
For me 'Veedon Fleece' sits alongside 'Astral Weeks' and 'Moondance' within the pantheon of Morrison's very best work. It's a beautiful cycle of impressionistic, spiritual songs which I've always tended to listen as one complete piece rather than on a track-by-track basis, which for me is a reflection of it's consistent brilliance. However, 'Comfort You' has to be my favourite track on the album. It's Van Morrison taking "Route A" to the listeners heart and soul as only he can, and it never fails to give me goosebumps.
'Veedon Fleece' soon grew to become one of my favourite records and I naturally began acquiring more Van albums as and when I could. I soon discovered that 'Astral Weeks' was every bit as monumental as the reviews i'd read had intimated and it's a record that I still end up re-listen to in-depth at least once a year and which never fails to deliver new resonances. 'Veedon Fleece' affects me in a slightly different way. It's a record that holds a special place in my heart because I initially engaged with it with such intensity at a such a relatively young age.
With other records in Morrisons catalogue deservedly recieving immense plaudits 'Veedon Fleece' often seems to me to be slightly overlooked but I'd always recommend people unfamiliar with Van's music to try out 'Veedon Fleece'. At least in this day an age we have every opportunity to hear the album prior to purchase - a fact that seems to have failed to temper my impulse purchase habit completely...
It's not often that I feel compelled to comment on new releases as I prefer to have lived with a record for a while before passing judgement, but in the case of this startling album - released today - I wanted to jot down a few initial notes having been immersed in it for the best part of the day.
Immersive listening experiences - Means and environments
Immersion via iPod (non-static) - Overwhelming by day. Anticipated to be crushing by night.
Immersion via in-room speakers (high volume) - Immense.
Initial notes detailing some of the key sonics for reference
Trombone, Oboe and Harp parts on 'Alice'.
Introductory distortion and vocals on 'Hunting & Gathering'.
The choir on 'Big Church'.
Dung Chen drones on 'Aghartha'.
A more extensive post on 'Monoliths & Dimensions' will follow...
It seems that I can't help but listen to some songs through "rose-tinted headphones" with the music acting as an emotional time machine depositing me back into episodes of my life irrespective of my wishes to go there or not. 'Long Time Gone' is one such song, but additionally its appearance within the film 'Woodstock' has ensured that the tracks impact on me has been profound ever since first seeing the movie in the dim and distant past.
Back then, 'Woodstock' seemed to amount to a rite of passage, a lifestyle guide and a fantasy "des res" all rolled into one. I saw it as a portal into the "World of Hippy" for those like me who weren't fortunate enough to experience the time and the place first-hand. Hence, when I took my seat in my local arts centre for that hugely anticipated first viewing of the film I was fully prepared, and indeed fully expected, to have my 'mind blown'.
Performance-wise I have to admit that I did struggle somewhat with some of the acts (stand up John Sebastian), but there were some critical moments that did blow my mind, and which still make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end to this day.
Jimi Hendrix's sonic maelstrom out of 'The Star-Spangled Banner' and into 'Purple Haze' was awe-inspiring in a way that only Hendrix could be. Santana's Latin energy flash was truly electrifying but the visual sequence which accompanied 'Long Time Gone' at the opening of the film was destined to be the moment from the movie that would hit me most deeply.
'Long Time Gone' has always been one of my favourite CSNY associated moments. Musically, it has a loose funkiness which is counterpointed with an astounding harmony chorus delivered in that inimitable CS&N style. Lyrically, it's David Crosby at his hippy/yippy best and it remains a resonant lyrical snapshot of a generation just prior to the descent into the mire of the 70's. What really floored me in the film though was the visuals that ran along with the song. They conjured up a rural hippy paradise of long-haired guys and gals riding through the lush American pastures working together to build a 'City of Freaks'. It was a fantasy that I bought into hook, line and sinker. I later found out that I was not alone.
I very rarely watch 'Woodstock' these days. It has a permanent place within my memories which probably better serves the movie than a screening would, but I do return to the first CS&N album all the time. It is, as cliched as it may sound, a timeless record brimming with amazing songs and performances and whenever I hear 'Long Time Gone' I'm scooting across that festival site in my head all over again. Maybe the dream is never over...
There's been a few times over the years when I've been totally ensnared by a band's name (and the promise that the name conjures up) prior to having heard a single note of that band's music. More often than not the actual listening experience that then follows has tended to be disappointing. However, one massive exception to that rule has been The Taj-Mahal Travellers.
When I first heard about the band it seemed that all the elements of their back story were just too perfect to be true. Firstly, there was the exoticism of their name which embraced the very essence of mystical hippiness in my mind. Added to that was the fact that the ensemble consisted of a bunch of extremely cool-looking Japanese longhairs, whose mission in life seemed to be to extract otherwordly drones from various musical sources and to then mutate them via electronics. I was hooked.
The first record I got to hear from The Travellers very small catalogue was 'July 15.1972'. The immersive experience of listening to the group as they dissected and rearranged sounds to create their slowly mutating audio tableau met up with every hope and expectation I had for their music. I had discovered the perfect marriage of avant-garde electronics, modern classicism and oriental instrumentation all wrapped up in this one collective.
With the current underground penchant for all things drone helping to highlight some truly wonderful new music, I've recently felt the need to revisit the recordings of The Taj-Mahal Travellers for reference, comparison and ultimately for pleasure. I've found all of their records sound as breathtakingly future-modern as they must have when they were first released. That, for me, is qualification enough to recommend their purchase to any fan of electronic music and/or minimalism. Essential and beautiful music.
Neil Young - 'Computer Age' ('Trans' - Geffen, 1982)
I've had an ongoing love affair with the music of Neil Young ever since I was first introduced to him as a teenager through a library copy of 'After the Goldrush'. Fueled by this great record, I then began to explore the Young catalogue and started to discover a bunch of extraordinary songs all of which display different elements of Young's errant genius to startling effect.
Take, for example, the monolithic one-note guitar solo which rips through the heart of 'Cinnamon Girl'. Any other artist would have elaborated on that solo just a tad more. Not Young. In fact, what we end up with is arguably one of the most ecstatic guitar interventions to be heard in the Rockcanon.
Now check out the vocal on 'Mellow my Mind' from 1975's desolate classic 'Tonight's the Night'. When Young's voice cracks in the chorus as he reaches for that unachievable high note, more is said about the nihilistic destruction which dwelled in such close proximity to the making of this album than any amount of lyrics ever could.
For me, 'Computer Age' is another prime example of Young's refusal to pander to any preconceptions about how his records should sound, and I have to admit to being one of those listeners who was slightly bemused by why the man had decided to embrace the vocoder with such voracity.
These days though I find myself listening to 'Trans' more than I ever did when it came out and 'Computer Age' in particular seems to have either aged exceedingly well or has benefited from a modern day recontextualisation as todays Pop music continues to single-mindedly worship at the altars of Auto-Tune and Electro Pop.
As a measure of its rehabilitation in my eyes 'Computer Age" is consistently present in the track-listing for my fantasy Neil Young's 'Greatest Hits' package. That album would also have to include 'Cinnamon Girl' and 'Mellow my Mind' along with a few more predictable classics, but I do have to admit to being slightly controversial by regularly including an excerpt from 'Arc' in there for good measure. Nothing wrong with a bit of noise in my book, right?
I think that the best way that I can give you a sense of how life-changing 'I Want Your Love' was to me when I first heard it, is to attempt to paint for you a picture of that fateful moment.
That evening I had been tempted along to a local disco by some mates, mainly by the unlikely possibility of us "chatting up" some girls.
It's worth noting that as a dyed in the wool Prog Rock fan at that time, the merest mention of the word "Disco" sent me into a cold sweat. In those days the Prog tribe and the Disco tribe were to all intents and purposes mutually exclusive groupings.
Once ensconced in the venue all my pessimistic expectations for the evening seemed to come true in rapid succession. Firstly, there seemed to be no girls there without their escorts and secondly the wall-to-wall Pop Disco that the DJ was playing was truly lamentable.
As the evening appeared to be descending down the toilet I planned an escape strategy that would placate my friends granting me safe passage out and decided to execute it with immediate effect. It was at that precise moment that - to slightly misquote Indeep - a DJ changed my life...
Out of the musical mire that had been the soundtrack of the night there emerged an overwhelmingly beautiful blend of strings, tubular bells and doubled-up lead female vocals all married to that bass and that guitar. In the space of one listen this long-haired Prog zealot had been converted to the power of Disco by 'I Want Your Love', one of many perfect musical constructs written by Chic's chief architects Nile Rodgers and Bernard Edwards. Infact, the conversion I experienced was so overwhelming that the song literally drove me onto the dancefloor, looms and lank long hair flapping, whilst my friends observed me with a mixture of bemusement and slack-jawed disdain.
Chic helped open up a door for me onto a musical world that I've never been able to shut since. As House, Techno, Belgian Nu Beat and a myriad of other dance genres have emerged blinking into the day so my relationship to the music of the dancefloor has both continued and deepened. I will forever remain indebted to Messrs Rodgers and Edwards for shining that initial (strobe) light for me to follow...
Mahavishnu Orchestra - 'Wings of Karma' ('Apocalypse' - Columbia, 1974)
Back in the dim and distant past I had the pleasure of attending a rather radical alternative to a standard Comprehensive School for my secondary education. The establishment was described as a "Community School" and it's teaching philosophy - as laid out by the Headmaster and his teaching staff - would now be considered to be quite relaxed by any standards.
I distinctly remember being asked by one of my teachers whether I'd "care to attend" his lesson after the morning break. When I replied in the negative, said teacher shrugged his shoulders in a nonplussed manner before departing to teach any of my classmates who could be bothered to turn up.
Mathematics lessons in particular embraced a rather unique form of pupil participation. Taught by a long-haired freak with a penchant for eastern mysticism and a disdain for any form of disciplinary action, these classes routinely spiralled into utter chaos, whilst being unemotionally observed by our tutor. This man was, as you may sense, not a great traditional educator. Bored with the "standard teaching thing", he would often digress into monologues about esoteric religious beliefs and other counter-cultural topics which slightly bemused his confused teenage charges.
In one particularly raucous lesson, it was noticed that I had a newly applied Led Zeppelin logo emblazoned across my new exercise book. "Zep are cool, but, they're rather mainstream!" he snorted. "So, who are you into then?", I asked. "I'll show you next week!" came the knowing reply. Was I finally about to learn something useful in one of these lessons?
"Ok, Maths or Music?" I was asked as I arrived the following week. Naturally, I chose Music and was ushered into the Maths department office where a record player sat ready upon the desk. I was handed a copy of 'Apocalypse' by the Mahavishnu Orchestra and was told to listen to it and then to report back with what I thought of it and whether it had any interesting mathematical traits!
I'd never heard of Mahavishnu John McLaughlin but his exotic monicker immediately grabbed my attention. I surveyed the details on the sleeve, noting that the album was produced by George Martin, and decided to start off the lesson by listening to the interestingly titled 'Wings of Karma'. My first reaction to the track was bemusement as a full orchestral introduction courtesy of the London Symphony Orchestra came flooding out of the grooves, but then at around 2 minutes in bemusement changed into surprise as all hell broke loose sonically speaking.
Hearing John McLaughlin's incandescent guitar licks for the first time blew my mind as intended. I'd heard Hendrix, Page and Clapton and kind of thought that they were the ultimate exponents of the electric guitar. McLaughlin overturned that assumption in approximately 60 seconds. What I was experiencing was unlike any other music I'd ever heard.
I abjectly failed to pick out any mathematic insights from 'Apocalypse' (but I'm sure they're in there somewhere), however, what I was able to proclaim after that one listen was that McLaughlin was "the best guitarist in the world" - a statement I delivered to my teacher with all the confidence that youth endows you with.
From 'Apocalypse' I ventured onwards to discover 'Birds of Fire', 'The Inner Mounting Flame' and all of McLaughin's work with Miles Davis and Tony Williams. Many of these records still remain firm favourites of mine until this day.
We never dallied with music appreciation again after the 'Apocalypse' experiment, which was no big deal as I'd ironically developed a fascination for Maths as a subject in it's own right. However, the introduction I had received in that lesson to Jazz-Rock, arguably the most polarising of all sub-genres in the Rock canon, may have been one of the most impactful learning experiences of my school life. Amazing what effect an unusual time signature can have on you!
Mary Margaret O'Hara - 'Year in Song' ('Miss America' - Virgin, 1988)
The old adage that you can "never have too much of a good thing" is a bittersweet truism for me when it comes to the recorded work of Mary Margaret O'Hara. Since the release of her debut album 'Miss America', sightings and recordings of the elusive Ms. O'Hara have been few and far between, which only seems to make me cherish the immense beauty of her first album even more.
Crystallised by Michael Brooks' beautiful production, 'Miss America' introduced the world to a formidable songwriter who also happens to possess a unique voice resplendent in it's otherworldly fragility.
'Year in Song' has always been a favourite track of mine from 'Miss America'. I fondly remember being emotionally destroyed by Mary's breathtaking performance of it at London's Dominion Theatre back in '88; a petite woman seemingly possessed by spirits, one arm spasming in apparently involuntary gestures whilst her stark, tremulous voice cut straight through to this listener's soul.
On reflection, the sparseness of the MMO'H canon brings to mind another often quoted cliché, that "less is more". When the 'less' includes a record like 'Miss America', then the 'more' is self-evident to anyone with ears.
Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band - 'Ice Cream for Crow' ('Ice Cream for Crow' - Virgin, 1982)
By the time of the release of 'Ice Cream for Crow', I had completed my initiation into the musical world of Captain Beefheart and was a fully-fledged believer. As I've mentioned in previous posts, I initially struggled at an early age with 'Trout Mask Replica' before finally getting 'Moonlight on Vermont' and the host of other luminous musical charms that make "Trout..." one of the greatest records ever made. From there it was inevitable that I would also succumb to 'Clear Spot', 'The Spotlight Kid', 'Strictly Personal' et al. in double-quick time.
For me 'Ice Cream for Crow' was, and still is, a classic piece of Beefheart from the get-go. I was totally transfixed by the elastic charms of the record from the day I bought it. What was particularly wonderful for me was that as well as getting a new Beefheart album I also got a chance to see Beefheart and the Magic Band play live.
Along with a couple of friends I secured tickets, and in due course made my way to the Birmingham Odeon, at that time one of the major stop-offs for any big UK tour, anticipating a life-changing affair.
The atmosphere in the hall that evening was decidedly more electric than the Tangerine Dream show that I'd recently attended at the Odeon, which I thought was somewhat ironic as it seemed that the stalls were filled by men with an average age that was at least twice that of the typical T.Dream show attendee.
When Beefheart finally came out on stage with the wonderful new line-up of The Magic Band the audience erupted with all the vigour of Old Trafford saluting a George Best hat-trick. It was then that one of the most enduring images of my gig-attending life unfolded before me.
As the first chord of the first track crashed out a deluge of 'older men', most of them proudly wearing a badge emblazoned with the legend "aka Don Van Vliet" , jumped out of their seats and cavorted down the central aisle of the Odeon as if they were marionettes under the control of some maniacal hippy puppeteer. I looked on with a mixture of admiration and disbelief as this gyrating mass of corduroy and elbow patches continued their communal freak-out for the duration of the extraordinary show.
The shamanic qualities of Beefheart's music, which possessed those guys at the Odeon, are still present and accessible to me whenever I play one of his records. I'm pretty sure that any dancing that his tunes may coax out of me these days must be of an equally bizarre nature to what I witnessed that night in 1982. I just wish I still had my "aka Don Van Vliet" badge to complete the look.
Babe, Terror - 'Nasa, Goodbye' (Babe, Terror online EP - 2008)
Very straightforward reason for posting this video, it's the only online sighting of Claudio Szynkier aka Babe, Terror I can find. It also gives you a great sense of the man's strikingly beautiful music.
The EP, from which 'Nasa, Goodbye' is lifted and his downloadable album 'Weekend' are both highly recommended for listeners caught in the musical locus created by Tropicalia, The Beach Boys, Robert Wyatt and Avant-Electronics.
Whenever the perennial question arises with friends about what records we'd choose to take away as 'Desert Island Discs', then as a rule Love's 'Forever Changes' always appears high on my list. It's a record that has consistently enthralled me throughout my adult life, and I confidently expect it continue to do so until my dying day.
I've also been known to pick 'De Capo', the precursor to 'Forever Changes' to pack into my desert island rucksack. The six tracks on Side One of this album are as brilliant as anything Love, or any other band of that era, produced. In fact, their greatness easily compensates for being saddled with Side Two of the album which consists of the 19-minute long jam 'Revelation', unfortunately not one of Love's greatest moments.
Regardless of 'Revelation' - and a few other career low points - I still consider Love's mainman Arthur Lee to be a prime example of Rock 'n' Roll genius, primarily on the basis of the first three Love albums. I also regard MacLean's contribution to Love during this period to be equally exceptional. Not only, did he write 'Alone Again Or', 'Orange Skies' and 'Old Man' - all undeniable Love classics - but his performances on these records continue to be one of Love's most enduring and identifiable signatures.
When 'ifyoubelievein', a collection of MacLean's solo recordings, was released in 1997, I was a little anxious. Hearing any new material by MacLean was a thrilling thought, but there was the fear that the stuff just wouldn't be that good. I needn't have worried.
The outstanding track on 'ifyoubelievein' is the opener 'Barber John'. Recorded in 1967 - the year of release of 'Forever Changes' - it has all of the weird, melodic beauty of MacLean's songs as we know them via Love. It re-affirms that MacLean's songwriting gifts were every bit as potent as Lee's, or indeed any other songwriter of that period. Add to this an astounding vocal performance and you're left in no doubt that MacLean was a rare talent.
Buffy Sainte-Marie - 'God is Alive, Magic is Afoot' ('Illuminations' - Vanguard, 1969)
Some of the greatest successes and grandest follies in Rock music have been borne out of artists stepping outside of their comfort zones to embrace foreign trends and genres. I'm particularly fond of the "mind-expanding" experimentations that were the flavour of the day in the late 60's/early 70's and which were often embarked upon by middle-of-the-road artists lured, no doubt, by the potential commercial upside of making a record that appealed to the counter-cultural masses.
Take, for instance, Barbra Streisand's spectacularly strange 1973 album "Barbra Streisand...and other Musical Instruments", a record that embraces everything from Armenian folk flavours through to the use of a vacuum cleaner as a musical instrument. Yentl, this ain't...
Equally odd is 'Inner Views', the 1967 solo record by Sonny Bono of Sonny & Cher fame. If the album title didn't alert you to the fact that this record was attempting to be a far-out experience then listening to tracks like 'Pammy's on a Bummer' would certainly clarify that fact.
Alongside these bizarre projects other albums were emerging that seemed to sincerely be about sonic experimentation and embracing the future. Buffy Saint-Maries' 'Illuminations' strikes me as being one such record.
I have to admit that prior to being introduced to 'Illuminations' I was not a major fan of Buffy's. When it was suggested to me by the owner of my favourite secondhand record store that I should give it a listen I was sceptical to say the least. "You'll thank me!" he suggested. I acceded to his wishes and realised as soon as the first track kicked off that thanks may well be in order.
'Illuminations' augments Buffy's traditional folk instrumentation with an electronic score composed by an NYU School of the Arts academic named Michael Czajkowski, and is synthesized entirely from Buffy's own voice and guitar. On the opening track 'God is Alive, Magic is Afoot' (featuring text taken from Leonard Cohen's novel 'Beautiful Losers') the sonic manipulation is of pure psychedelia with Buffy's treated vocals being spun and shot across the soundstage to great effect.
'Illuminations' remains a fine example of how a mainstream musician can successfully embrace the avant-garde. However, at it's time of release I'm sure it confused the hell out of Buffy's folkie fan-base. Because of its nature the album has all the hallmarks of a record that probably fell between the cracks when it first came out. However, 40 years after it's release the album's sonic adventurousness now affords it a modern day relevance and appeal, and I swear I can't hear a Dyson in there anywhere.
Van der Graaf Generator - 'Theme One' (7" single - Charisma, 1972)
VdGG always had the reputation for being an acquired taste within my group of friends at school. This always struck me as a tad unfair, particularly when we regularly had the dubious pleasure of having to wade through someone's Gentle Giant live double album of a rainy afternoon.
With respect to the VdGG canon 'Theme One' is something of an anomaly. It's a George Martin written instrumental that was only ever originally available as a single, and I love the fact that by implication this track must have then been considered to be a possible contender for some chart action. If only that were the case.
These days, I seem to listen to VdGG on a regular basis. Their wonderful catalogue still seems to demand my attention with 'Theme One' always getting a regular airing. On the other hand as far as Gentle Giant are concerned...
Whilst I was spuriously engaged in higher education I attended many live events at our local student union building, usually motivated more by the late licenses and drinks promotions than by the music. It seemed that the bands that were being booked never quite dovetailed with my tastes. However, on one particular evening that all changed.
On the day in question I was ambling past the union building in the afternoon only to be stopped in my tracks by the sight of a mountain of homemade bass bins being hauled into the union. My curiosity led me into the hall where I watched the speakers being placed so that they encircled the dancefloor, rising to a height of 6ft. off the floor. On stage, along with another wall of speakers that would have done Pink Floyd proud, there was a single record deck with what appeared to be a modest selection of amplification units, mics and effects boxes.
Still unclear as to what was going on I left the hall only to witness the arrival of 10 coaches-worth of gig attendees from London, 100 miles down the road. As they disembarked I asked one guy what he was here for. "Sound clash...Mackabee and Shaka from 6." he replied. The dedication of those 500-odd Londoners to travel so far to a gig so early in the day reinforced in me that I had to attend the gig that night.
At 5.45 I returned to the hall to find the room rammed and the crowd primed. At 6pm exactly the needle on the record deck hit it's first 7" single of the night and the walls came tumbling down.
The volume of both Shaka and Mackabee was so high that all the bars were shut in the building as the bar staff could not hear peoples orders. This seemed to have little effect on everybodies enjoyment of the event. The crowd skanked unstoppably for the whole of the evening.
For that 8 hours I was transfixed by a dub assault unlike anything I had ever experienced before. I owned some Lee Perry and King Tubby records but my best endeavours at ringing out as much bass from these LP's as possible could never had prepared me for the sheer physicality of that nights music.
At 2am it was all over. The supporters of each Sound boarded their respective coaches to Coventry and London, disappearing almost as quickly as they appeared. In a slightly dazed state I made my way home, knowing that I had just been through a life-changing musical experience.
I never found out who booked that evening, but I owe them a huge debt of gratitude. With their help my life-long love affair with all things bass had begun.
When I first started my journey towards the outskirts of Rock 'n' Roll I treasured my paperback copy of 'The NME Book of Rock'. It acted as a surrogate tour guide to unexplored musical lands, and as I read it I was drawn to artists that were cited as either being 'groundbreaking', 'seminal' or 'difficult'. It was therefore predicatable that I was keen to hear material by Captain Beefheart as soon as was possible, which in those days was entirely dependent upon my variable fiscal health and on being able to find a record of his to buy.
One weekend our family went on one of our occasional Saturday afternoon "drives out" with no particular fixed destination. We ended up in a small Midlands market town, not dissimilar to the one where we lived. With no real enthusiasm I headed off to the local high street in the hope that there may be at least a WH Smiths with a record department to trawl. Sure enough, there was a Smiths and it did have the standard record department of little note, but a few doors down from it I caught sight of a sign saying 'Secondhand Records - Bought and Sold'.
The emporium I entered seemed to contain all the necessary accoutrements to deliver me a satisfying shopping experience. There was a suitable hirsute shop manager (obviously on of 'us' rather than 'them', maaan... ),dimly lit racks of record sleeves filed under headings like 'Heavy Metal' and 'Jazz-Rock' and the exotic whiff of a low quality patchouli joss stick in the air.
I waded into the stock and almost immediately found one of those records that had reached mythic proportions in my mind through the reviews I read - Captain Beefheart's 'Trout Mask Replica'. Here, at last, was a record that I sensed could be the portal into a new musical dimension for me, replete in its cover featuring the good Captain wearing, unsurpisingly, a trout mask. Thrilled with my purchase, I couldn't wait to get home to hear what all the fuss was about.
With my first listen I was, to say the least, confused. The music seemed chaotic and the Captain's vocals were nothing short of frightening. This was no Jazz-Rock record...
I grappled with 'Trout Mask Replica' for over a year, spurred on by further glowing tributes to the record that I found in other books and magazines but I still was not really "getting it " until one day when it all seemed to come together in one big, beautiful noise. The portal I had imagined opened and the record became to me what it has been ever since - a unique work of visceral beauty.
Bolstered by this breakthrough, I further investigated the Beefheart catalogue and began dipping my toes into the original Blues recordings which seemed to inform his work, and it's proved to be an area of rich musical pickings for me ever since.
When I first heard Bram Devens aka Ignatz latest album 'III' I was aghast at what I heard and felt. I knew his earlier work and liked it, but with this record he immediately delivered the same killer punch that I got from 'Trout Mask Replica' but without a years intensive listening. It was as though this young Belgium guitarist was channelling the spirits of the Delta Blues and re-appropriating them for the early 21st century listener, rather like Beefheart had done in his heyday for the Baby Boomers.
To be taken aback by a piece of music is still one of the biggest thrills in my life. It still happens to me on a regular basis, and Ignatz's track 'The Water' delivers this effect with every listen I give it. Thankfully this is not dependent upon the lighting of a joss-stick - patchouli or otherwise.
Suicide - 'Dream Baby Dream' (12" Single - Ze/Island, 1979)
This Vega/Rev classic is a vital part of the soundtrack to my life - and has been forever.
It's an indispensable record; a perfect future-pop single that's ingrained with timeless modernity and scuzzy optimism. A record that can uplift you and break your heart in one fell swoop.
A friend of mine subscribes to a theory that there exists for him some sort of personal pre-ordained "Life Playlist". The playlist consists of all the songs he will ever hear in his life, along with the number of times he'll hear each of them. He's of the opinion that he has already consumed his "life-listens" of 'Sugar Baby Love' by The Rubettes, but strongly believes there's some more plays left for him of 'Love Will Tear Us Apart'.
I don't personally subscribe to his hypothesis, primarily because I think it's patently stupid, but also because I couldn't bare to consider that there may be a time when my limit would be up on 'Dream Baby Dream'. The Rubettes on the other hand...
William Sheller - 'Introit' ('Lux Aeterna' - CBS, 1972)
Britain's relationship with French Pop music has been, to say the least, interesting for time immemorial. We've flirted in the past with the songs of Bardot, France Gall and Françoise Hardy but that was often more to do with the fantasy of French womanhood rather than some deep-seated musical interest. Very occasionally, singers from the Chanson tradition such as Charles Aznavour, Sacha Distel and Gilbert Becaud enjoyed UK hits with English language songs, but these records were generally assigned to the Easy Listening dumper.
The bad hypothesis that French Pop music was "not very good" was further fuelled by the yearly fiasco of the Eurovision Song Contest. From the 50's until today Eurovision is most Brits only opportunity to experience any form of music that is not from an English-speaking country, thus helping to perpetrate the myth of the relative quality of French/European popular music as compared to its British/American counterpart. Add to this brew the ever antagonistic cultural "relationship" between the two nations (manifesting as the "'Allo, 'Allo!" syndrome in the UK), throw in the linguistic disconnect and it's not surprising that French music has been neglected somewhat in the past in the UK.
In the 90's there began to develop a new relationship in GB with all things French. The newly opened Channel Tunnel helped to symbolically and practically bring France and its culture closer to the Brits. Interestingly, within the world of music a new relationship with French Pop also emerged. Through the work of the renowned DJ and soundtrack composer David Holmes amongst others, the Trip-Hop generation, raised on a diet of Massive Attack and Portishead, were primed to be introduced to the heavy beats and louche delivery of France's greatest latter-day musical hero, Serge Gainsbourg. Up until this, Gainsbourg was best known in the UK for the steamy hit single 'Je T'aime', featuring the vocals of Jane Birkin, and for his legendary propositioning of Whitney Houston on French TV whilst being slightly "under the weather". Sweep this fluff about him aside and you'll find a catalogue of material that rivals any artists in its brilliance.
Undoubtedly, Gainsbourg's finest recording is the concept album 'Histoire de Melody Nelson', an album that perfectly melds cinematic orchestral arrangements and cutting edge rock instrumentation with his unique vocal delivery. The record was adopted in the UK as a cult classic, kick-starting a major reappraisal of Gainsbourg's work in the late 90's. As well as this new-found appreciation of Gainsbourg, the late 90's also saw the emergence of the unfortunately labelled "French Touch" acts, with the likes of Daft Punk and Air becoming major attractions in The States and Britain.
French Pop may have suddenly morphed into the coolest thing on the planet, but for me, it was Gainsbourg's music that was the jumping-off point to investigate French Rock more deeply rather than the new wave of talented French acts . It was Gainsbourg who effectively sent me to Paris to search out the "Rock Français" in various secondhand record stores, and it was on one such trip that I came across a record that, to my mind, is every bit as good as 'Melody Nelson'.
William Sheller is a French musician who has enjoyed a healthy following in his native country throughout his long career. His material is generally mainstream, but back in 1972 he composed an experimental rock suite for a friend's wedding entitled 'Lux Aeterna'. When I was first played the opening track entitled 'Introit' in one of my favourite Parisian record shops it was as if I had found a new musical holy grail. Here, was a psychedelic amalgam of choirs, orchestral strings and heavy studio electronics which seemed to come at your head from every direction at once. It ticked every box that I needed ticking. I returned to London a happier, but poorer, man.
I'm sure that if you're curious to hear 'Lux Aeterna' then it shouldn't be too difficult to track it down on the Net, and believe me, it really is worth hearing. It's a record that set me off on a journey that led me to discover the music of Gerard Manset, Gilles Elbaz, Emmanuelle Parrenin and many others as I've delved deeper into the French Rock canon. The trip's been great so far and is ongoing. If you haven't yet set off on it yourself, I must say I'm rather jealous of what you have in front of you. C'est trés bon!
Todd Rundgren - 'A Dream Goes on Forever' ('Todd' - Bearsville, 1974)
It's a typically wet English bank holiday, which always evokes a degree of melancholy in me. This mood is often accentuated by trawling through some of my favourite ballads as a soundtrack for the day. There are a plethora of balladeers out there that I love, but for me there is no finer exponent of the art than Todd Rundgren, whose skills in this area were unexpectedly revealed to me when I was a fledgling rock obsessive.
'A Dream...' came to my attention through the first Rundgren album I ever bought, a marked down 'cut-out' copy of 'Todd' that I came across in my local Woolies and took a punt on.
My decision to buy was based on a few shreds of information. I'd already heard Todd's band Utopia at a mates house and enjoyed their bombastic Prog stylings. I'd also read a couple of glowing pieces about Runt's solo work in trusted journals, but to be honest what really pushed me into taking a chance was the sleeve, and in particular Todd's multi-coloured shoulder length hair. To me, it was the epitome of cool.
The first play of 'Todd' caused me some concerns. Yes, there was a good smattering of Heavy Prog gems on the record along with some patently weird material, but the album also contained a clutch of love songs, and teenage lads whose favourite bands were Yes and Camel didn't really do love songs...
I overlooked these aberrations as the majority of the record was to my liking, but as time passed I noticed a change in my preferences. The love songs and ballads became the tracks I'd move the needle to rather than the rockier material, and 'A Dream...' in particular began to get it's grooves worn out.
Today the track remains one of my favourite Todd moments. It's classic Todd as this clip from the legendary 'The Old Grey Whistle Test' ably demonstrates, and it's romantic optimism is the perfect antidote to any wet afternoon, bank holiday or otherwise.
The Residents - 'Laughing Song' ('Duck Stab' - Ralph, 1978)
I first got wind of 'Laughing Song' through a flat mate playing me a Residents compilation album entitled 'Nibbles'. The record often seemed to make an appearance at the later stages of one of our 'cultural evenings' and never failed to deliver the nights musical KO with aplomb.
Hopelessly addicted to 'Laughing Song', and saddled with a devil-may-care attitude to life, we embarked one afternoon on a pilgrimage to Leicester - a major undertaking from our Kenilworth digs - to see the live incarnation of the band, in a performance curiously entitled 'The Mole Show'.
Students of The Residents will know that the most arresting element of this show was the giant eyeball heads adorned with top hats that the band wore on-stage to maintain their closely guarded anonymity. This strange apparition still trumps pretty much every other bizarre costuming episode I've had to endure at live shows - and I've endured a few.
I left Leicester that night having banked an experience that has lived with me ever since, along with a desire to delve further into the less heavily populated crannies of rock 'n' roll where the 'weird stuff' like The Residents lives. Today I'm still delving, although my quests have never taken me back to Leicester yet.
Emeralds - 'Alive in the Sea of Information' ('What Happened' - No Fun Productions, 2009)
I do love big ole slabs of noise in my music like the best of us, and sometimes I need that type of music to be administered to me at tinnitus-inducing volumes. Every so often I have to dig out Lou Reed's 'Metal Machine Music' or Neil Young's 'Arc' to blow out the cobwebs, and I'm glad to report that in my gaff the Ohio-based trio Emeralds also regularly supply this type of sonic therapy.
'Alive...' is nearly 8 minutes of exquisite instrumentation that remind this listener - for some peculiar reason - of a very off-key version of the intro to 'Baba O'Riley'. The layers of drone and melody build in volume until - at around 5 minutes in - you're clinically banjaxed by a choir of disembodied voices.
From their inceptions both 'Metal Machine Music' and 'Arc' were generally considered to be "musica non grata" by the music press and consumers alike. With hindsight, and in the context of the current Noise/Drone zeitgeist, both records are now due for serious reassessment.
I believe that Emeralds ever-growing catalogue of recordings will not suffer the same degree of harsh critique as Neil and Lou's recordings initially did, due in part to the current musical landscape which they inhabit. Because of this context it is possible that Emeralds' music will even reach out beyond their current coterie of listeners to a larger audience. I must however admit that, although appealing, the thought of hordes of commuters imbibing Ohio-derived Drone from their iPods as they scale the Victoria line does seem somewhat unlikely.
João Gilberto - 'Águas de Março' ('João Gilberto', Polydor - 1973)
Now, there's music...and then there's music...
At a time when the Western world was wallowing in a mixture of Progressive rock indulgences and "tired and emotional" singer-songwriters, a Brazilian troubadour called João Gilberto was singing his introspective songs to quite staggering effect.
Gilberto's mesmeric reworking of this classic Antonio Carlos Jobim song still stands out today as one of the finest pieces of recorded music ever made - period. With the most subtle of instrumental backing supporting him, Gilberto literally whispers a melody made in heaven directly into the listener's ears.
Tell you what, the rest of the record aka 'The White Album' (!) ain't that bad either!
The most narcotic record of 2008 continues to get rewinds at Drumless Drum Mansions in 2009 - a testament to the nasty genius of the tune which is modern as hell but also seems to evoke a certain "ecstatic classicism" from a bygone era.
File next to 4Hero's 'Wrinkles in Time' and 'The Sound of Music' by Nookie.
Grayfolded - 'The Speed of Space ('Grayfolded' - Swell Artifact, 1994/Fony, 2004)
Ok, I'll admit it, I'm a Deadhead for my sins. I don't sing the whole of the company song when it comes to their oeuvre, but I couldn't call a house a "home" if there weren't copies of at least a couple of Dead albums in situ. Given this, it'll be no surprise that I revisit the 'Live/Dead' version of 'Dark Star' on a regular basis.
'Dark Star' is the call to arms of any self respecting Dead devotee. There are numerous versions in circulation, from official releases sourced from the band's archives through to the many live bootleg versions amassed through the Deadhead communities proto-filesharing ethic. However, back in the mid 90's John Oswald aka Plunderphonics reassessed this cornerstone of the Grateful Dead catalogue in a fascinating manner.
Oswald had already made an impression on me with his experiments in cut-ups which recontextualised music that I'd often disregarded as being puerile or throwaway into acerbic cultural commentaries. (If you get a chance grab a listen to the infamous 'Dab' taken from his 1989 'Plunderphonics' album). Now, courtesy of Phil Lesh and the rest of The Dead, Oswald had been given access to all of the band's 'Dark Star' recordings with a brief to construct a new version of the track.
When I heard about this project I was half-hoping that Oswald's takes might be something like my favourite 23 minute version of 'Dark Star', only longer! They weren't. What Oswald in fact delivered were a pair of 'Dark Star' collages, each clocking in at over 45 minutes. Using a variety of studio techniques, he had constructed two fascinating and beautiful reinterpretations of the song that managed to amplify the "'Dark Star' listening experience by maintaining the essence of the song.
I never quite know where to file my copy of this CD. I'm anal - everything is arranged in A-Z by artist. Should it go under 'O' for Oswald or 'G' for Grateful Dead/Grayfolded? Currently, it sits next to 'Live/Dead' and 'American Beauty', which isn't a bad thing. At least I know that if, perish the thought, the house was burning down I could easily grab at least 3 CD's in one hand that'll make life a little easier.
Test Dept. - 'Total State Machine' ('Beating the Retreat' - Some Bizzare, 1984)
I fondly remember attending a Test Dept. gig where the "support act" was infact an instructional film which aimed to demonstrate to miners the correct way to lift heavy weights. The film was accompanied, to the best of my recollection, by the viciously loud playback of some electric-era Miles Davis. This still did little to prepare me for the onslaught that was Test Dept. live.
Music which still resonates with me today as much as it did on that night.
John Cale & Terry Riley - 'Church of Anthrax' ('Church of Anthrax' - Columbia, 1971)
So it's a cold winter evening in 'The Smoke' and I'm running to try and catch a train from Charing Cross to the Kentish hinterlands. Thankfully, I make my train with about a minute to spare and manage to grab a seat. As the train departs and I engage the iPod in shuffle mode, preparing myself for what is one of the finest commuting moments to be found in London Town - crossing the Hungerford Bridge at night.
On this particular occasion my iPod decided that it's role that night was to ensure that the next 9 minutes of my life where going to be 9 minutes that I'd never forget.
As my train heads across the bridge and night-time London twinkles, the track in question kicks in complimenting the visuals like a great film soundtrack.
The theme song to the movie in my head that evening was 'Church of Anthrax' by John Cale and Terry Riley, one of the greatest examples of hypnotic, droning grooviness around. Driven along by an insistent, freaked out organ, 'Church...' sits right up their in the pantheon of great experimental rock music. It's one of the very few tracks that can demand usage of the "repeat" mode on my iPod on a regular basis.
Both Cale and Riley have continued to surprise and challenge their audiences since this collaboration. Indeed, prior to this coming together both parties had already written impressive pages in the history of rock 'n' roll in their own rights, but for me 'Church of Anthrax' is a sweet spot in both their careers.
Now, go buy yourself a return to Tunbridge Wells and load your Pod. You'll never be the same again.
Blind Faith - 'Can't Find My Way Home' ('Blind Faith' - Polydor, 1969)
When I started delving into rock music seriously as an enthusiastic teenager I first experienced the joy of discovering records that emotionally engaged me to the point of obsession. At that time I fell hard for 'Andmoreagain' by Love as I did for 'River' by Joni Mitchell. But, one of the most affecting discoveries I had was Blind Faith's 'Can't Find My Way Home'.
Here was a song that sounded like nothing else I'd ever heard. I remember being pole-axed by Steve Winwood's vocals which seemed to conjure up Benares and Merrie England simultaneously, whilst Clapton et al delivered a perfect raga-folk backdrop.
If ever a record deserves to be described as transcendental then 'Can't Find My Way Home' does. Today, as I sit and listen to the track again (now using Spotify because I'm too damn lazy to get out the record or the CD) I still feel that I'm in the presence of something special, and that feeling's been undiluted by time.
I have to admit that as I began writing this post I was still a little unsure about which song I would feature as my first post.
The solution? fire up iTunes, stick the kettle on and see what songs make an appearance. First up was Fleet Foxes' 'Tiger Mountain Peasant Song' which has been a big favourite since its release. Then came the sheer unadulterated joy of 'Samba de Flora' by Airto Moreira, but what came out of my laptop's speakers next was a song that has the ability to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up no matter how many times I hear it.
'Kevätrumpu' is taken from the album 'Laulu Laakson Kukista' by Finland's Paavoharju. The group's record label Fonal describe the band as "a collective project of ascetic born-again christians". Not your standard pop stars then, but what they deliver with this song is truly great non-standard pop music.
Ok, so what does it sound like you may ask? Well, if Kate Bush had recorded some ethereal Techno inFinnish utilising a selection of children's toy instruments you'd be somewhere along the way, but that comparison does all parties a huge disservice. It's a unique and beautiful song which stands out in todays often bland pop music landscape and that, in itself, is enough. First post problem solved then!
Let's be frank, there's a plethora of Music Blogs out there commenting on just about every semi-crotchet that's ever been recorded. So, why am I bothering to post another you may ask?
The profusion of music-related noise on the Net is a corollary of how important music is to people. It's the sound-bed to key moments in our lives from the cradle to the grave and it's no different for me, but what is unique is that the soundtrack to my life is all my own.
The Drumless Drum will be a Blog about 'My Soundtrack'. It will, by default, furnish you with various snapshots of my life not only through the songs that I select but also through my personal contextualisations for those songs. Sound a tad self-absorbed to you? What Blog isn't in one way or another.
Thanks in advance for taking the time to read, comment, link etc and a big shout out to Twink for the inspiration behind the Blog title. Now excuse me whilst I endeavour to kiss the sky...
