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(Review #71)
NEW
AGE: All Around (R D Records, 1967/2007)
Rating: 9 out of 10
Sounds best on: ayahuasca
More info: http://www.rd-records.com/releasedprojects_vinyl.htm
Availability:
currently in print
Patrick
Kilroy's rapid rise in stature, from that of an obscure name in Elektra's
back catalog into a highly respected pioneer of acid folk, is one of the
more remarkable rediscovery stories of recent years. The buzz lost no
momentum when David Biasotti's eminent feature in UT#25 showed that Kilroy
the Man was just as extraordinary and passionate as his 1966 "Light Of
Day" album indicated. Thus this release of "lost" recordings
from his subsequent project, the avant-folk trio New Age of 1967, is one of
the most eagerly anticipated folk/psych retrospectives of 2007. Hush-hush
previews seemed to indicate something truly special.
A vital realization concerning Patrick Kilroy is that he was neither a hit
music artist, nor a hippie. He was a serious, near possessed, folk musician
who, unlike Donovan or the Byrds, went straight from folk to psychedelia,
without ever passing "pop". Many artists, most famously the
Incredible String Band, would later explore similar paths, but in 1966 and
early 1967, Kilroy's combination of elements was groundbreaking. Predating
and untouched by "flower power" softness or Sgt Pepper
whimsicality, his music is dark, arresting, intense. A couple of tracks on
side 2 of his Elektra album seem fully developed expressions of his vision,
but they were mixed with remnants of an earlier, more typical Village
folk-boom style. With New Age, Kilroy and his two associates left the coffee
house scene far behind.
This is the Rolls Royce of early acoustic Eastern trance recordings. The
emotional commitment and presence is absolute, almost scary. Some of Tim
Buckley's most intense moments may spring to mind, although it doesn't
really sound like him. Comparisons could be drawn to contemporaries such as
the Seventh Sons on ESP or the Estribou-Pickens "Intensifications"
LP, but those albums were basically acoustic jams, while the music of New
Age gives a sense of being composed, even as the three musicians (given
excellent support by Mark Levinson on bass) set off on hallucinatory
journeys into the Indus valley. Special mention must be made of Susan
Graubard's flute playing. As her detailed liner notes indicate, she was the
consummate musician, the kind you may expect to find performing Bartok in
prestigious concert halls. It's her album as much as Patrick Kilroy's, while
Jeffrey Stewart's percussion (mainly tabla) communicates flawlessly with
Kilroy's guitar excursions and Graubard's tamboura flourishes. The
occasional vocals and chants are so integrated into the advanced raga folk
mood that it appears as an instrumental album, even with several lines of
spiritually charged lyrics sprinkled about.
Patrick Kilroy was dying as he recorded this music, literally. Only a few
days after completing the sessions at Warner Brothers Studios in LA, he was
admitted into hospital with a terminal diagnosis of Hodgkin's Disease. While
psychedelic culture exploded across the western world, the almost unknown
Kilroy passed away in a San Francisco hospital bed in late 1967. This
outstanding release from RD Records should finally set the record straight
on the depth of his achievement.
- review by Patrick The Lama, previously
published in Ugly Things #26
(Review
#72)
INSTANT
ORANGE : Five Year Premiere (Shadoks 2-LPs, Germany 1973/2007)
Rating: 7 out of 10
Sounds best on: SoCal
weed
More info:
Availability:
Currently in print
Original 1973 LP sleeve; the reissue is altered
Kicking off their unfailingly obscure recording
career with a local 45 at the tail end of the garage era in 1968, San
Bernardino's Instant Orange were something of an anomaly. As the world
around them "progressed" into various new forms of music, they
remained true to their amateur mid-60s folkrock roots, and in the mid-1970s
would release two EP:s and even a whole album in that style. The jangly
guitars and light vocals recall early Love in particular, if you imagine
Love recording demos in a San Berdoo basement while smoking weed and
drinking beer. Comparisons could also be drawn to other 1970s time
travellers such as Creme Soda or the News.
The band's private press "Five Year Premiere" album from 1973 was
discovered only a few years ago, and constitutes the first disc of this
deluxe double LP retrospective. The primitive Love/Byrds sound makes for a
charming and atmospheric experience, with "White Album"-style
chatter and brief audio experiments between the songs, but the music may at
times seem bland if you're not in the mood. Most memorable to me is the
aggressive garage sound of tracks like "Silent Green" and
"Ballad Of The RTD". The second disc features the band's various
7-inch releases, and is more successful to my ears. The debut 45 is a
teenbeat delight, and there's stronger focus and direction, even with a
couple of instros that sound like backing tracks where someone forgot to add
vocals. The doomy "Plight Of Mary Celeste" from a 1975 EP is the
band's highpoint to me, and again a departure from their core sound. All
over, the band would perhaps have been better served by a single LP
condensation, although a case can be made for this "warts and all"
route too, especially with the extreme rarity of all the original
discs.
Weighing in at almost 2 lbs, this orange colored gatefold set is as
beautiful as anything Shadoks has come up with, and the remastered sound of
the "5 Year Premiere" album is clearly superior to the original
1973 pressing. There's also liner notes, band pics and a color insert with
label photos. In view of the Inland Empire origins and partial excellence of
the music, this release should interest some people, but beware
- you don't get a Porsche production value without paying a Porsche price.
- review by Patrick The Lama, previously
published in Ugly Things #26
(Review #73)
HUGH
ROMNEY : Third Stream Humour (World Pacific, US 1962)
Rating: 7 out of 10
Sounds best on: a
beatnik roach & psilocybin
More info:
Availability:
seldom seen
Before
transforming himself into performance artist, westcoast scenemaker, and
hippie commune godfather Wavy Gravy, Hugh Romney hung around the beat scene
on both coasts, and made some recordings. This poorly documented album,
titled "Third Stream Humour", dates from 1962 and is a live
recording (at least partly) from a stand-up performance at the Renaissance
in Greenwich Village — incidentally, the last night before the club
closed.
Apart from the overall interest as a Beat and Merry Prankster artifact the
LP is quite enjoyable. Romney has a good, atmospheric voice, and shows
remarkable skill in his microphone technique, producing sound effects and
voice alterations this way. The text material is frequently surreal, and
some of it obviously draws on psychedelic experiences — Romney refers
directly to Mexican mushrooms in one of the monologues. There's also lots of
hip jazz talk & dope references, at the tail end of the original Kerouac
era.
The crowd is in a good mood and laughs generously at the two most successful
pieces on side 1, while side 2 is less funny and more bizarre and poetical,
with an Eastern zen-like feel. Released on World Pacific it's probably not a
major rarity, but I haven't seen many copies of this floating around.
Here's an audio clip with 4
minutes from Finger Snap
- review by Patrick The Lama
(Review #74)
EXTRADITION: Hush (Sweet
Peach, Australia 1971 /CD Vicious Sloth, 2003)
Rating: 8 out of 10
Sounds best
on: A starry night in the garden of your mind
More info:
Availability:
the CD reissue should be findable
Australia produced its fair share of good folk and folkpsych albums during the
1970s, but prior to being exposed to the obscure Extradition outfit via a “gray
area” vinyl reissue a few years back, I hadn’t really come across anything to
rank among the sacred COB:s and Stone Angels of Olde England. To be honest,
Hush didn’t really blow me away on the first play either, but there was
enough mystique and atmosphere in there to have me return, until one late
evening with headphones on the coin fell down with an audible “clonk”. It must
be heard that way I think, for even among delicate folk trips this is a cerebral
excursion particularly ill-suited for casual background spins while sniping bids
on eBay or re-reading old music zines.
Actually, “folk” may not be the proper genre for such a marvellous stroll by
quiet monastery gardens and running brooks; it’s rooted in anglo folk and global
ethnic sounds but the ambition and end result is more Meditative than anything
else. This may sound scary, and indeed most LPs in this style are either dull
and overly private or collapsing under their own pretensions, but somehow this
Sydney 3-piece, none of whom created much of significance before or after,
manage to get every tricky detail right. The soundscapes are simple yet
extremely evocative, using organ and exotic percussion to paint for each song a
vivid stage set full of nocturnal whispers and shadows, in front of which Shayna
Karlin’s beautiful vocals serenade the moon, running water, the sun and, well,
Meher Baba.
The religious angle used to have me think that Hush might have been
recorded for spiritual purposes only, which seemed to fit with its mood and
rarity. However this new official CD reissue downplays the Meher Baba angle,
stashing away his photo inside the booklet and letting some of the band members
distance themselves from that presence. Apparently the somewhat loose
Extradition line-up was influenced by members of progressive Sydney band Tully
who were deep into the Master and also appear on a few tracks on the LP. In any
event, while the actual story is interesting I miss a bit of the eerie guesswork
that came with the earlier vinyl reissue.
In addition, the CD liner notes oddly lay special praise on the album’s only
moment of weakness, the track “Ice” on side 2 where Extradition for a few
minutes sound just like any bombastic prog-rockers, full of sound and fury
signifying nothing. The subtle “Song For Sunrise” that follows repairs most of
the damage but can’t fully reinstate the transcendental, hypnotic nature of the
first halfdozen tracks. The CD closes with some fine bonus tracks of the band
playing live before a huge audience at a local folk festival in 1970. While the
master tapes are lost, the sound is remarkably good and all over this reissue
confirms Extradition’s status as my favorite folkpsych album from the Antipodes.
- review by Patrick The Lama,
previously published in Ugly Things #22
(Review #75)
YAHOWA 13: Penetration (Higherkey
US 1974 /various reissues)
Rating: 9 out of 10
Sounds best
on: Psilocybe Cubensis (moderate dose!)
More info: Gary
Bearman's interview
Availability:
the most recent, legit reissues are in print
It was fun being a Yahowa (or Yahowha -- the spelling varies) devotee back in
the 1980s when all you knew was that they were some sort of L A acid cult led by
a middle-aged prophet who looked like Moses and on their most famous LP was
shown having sex with a pretty young hippie lady. Inside the sleeve you found
well-played, crudely recorded extensions of Avalon guitar-psych with Father Yod
rapping, howling and whistling in the most unrestrained manner. Every other year
a new, previously unknown Yahowha album would surface, adding to their canon and
furthering the mystery until it took on Area 51 proportions. For students of the
utmost reaches of psychedelia, this was manna from heaven.
Then in 1998 the Japanese came out with a glossy box set of 13 CDs that covered
(almost) the entire Yahowha oeuvre, a massive testament of Yankee-Nippon
weirdness to put on proud display when “square” friends are paying a visit.
Shortly after, an extensive interview with four of the main band members was
published on the Internet, documenting their whole story for the first time. Now
there’s newsgroups and reunions and biographies and what have you, and while
much about the Source Family and Father Yod turned out to be as bizarre as it
had seemed, you can’t help but miss some of that original mystique.
The good news is that their recordings are so heavy they keep the balloon from
bursting. After a Florida-based label failed to deliver, Swordfish Records in
Birmingham have taken up the vinyl reissue cross, presenting us with the first
legal microgroove reprints ever of Father’s teachings.
I’m Gonna Take You
Home – the 2 LP set with the Svengali Sex Tarot cover – came first, and most
recently we have this companion piece from 1974. Penetration seems to be
the fave YHWH album for many (although personally I rate
Expansion and
Contraction even higher), including several of the brethren themselves, and
thus a good starting point for those interested in being brainwashed and
subsequently deprogrammed. But let’s not jump ahead of ourselves.
Housed in a glorious color cover showing Father in action behind his slave
galley drum, Penetration is as darkly tribal and ritualistic as they ever
got. Less improvised and ad libbed than the bulk of their catalog, this album
shows obvious signs of preparation and arranging, building and dissolving
awesome cinematic mindscapes with a percussion/bass/piercing acid fuzz guitar
interplay as seamless as Quicksilver ’68. Penetration is not a Yod sermon
but a sinister journey through genetic memory, a cerebral initiation rite; a Yma
Sumac 10” interpreted by Ash Ra Temple. The uncanny telepathy of the
arrangements and the intense purity of the moods sends it into a spiritual
domain beyond rock music, yet at the same time it’s a psychedelic basement trip
not unlike “Fantasies” by the 50 Foot Hose. Even if the hippie cult aspect makes
you cringe you must hear this music, which is hard, eerie and occasionally evil.
White robes optional.
Update: the most recent reissues of Penetration are Tee Pee (vinyl) and
Cold Sweat (CD); both are legit 2008 releases for the US market. - review by Patrick The Lama, previously published in Ugly Things #22
(Review #76)
THE BACHS: Out Of The Bachs (Ro-To
US 1968 /various reissues)
Rating: 9 out of 10
Sounds best
on: carefully calibrated amounts of liquor
More info: Mike
Dugo's interview
Availability:
reissues are in print, but they suck (details
below)
This review consists of two parts. The first half, which we might call the
“Happy” part, begins like this: coming out of Chicago’s shorefront suburbs in
the mid-1960s, the Bachs were a group of high school punks who played their home
turf with above-average success, winning band-battles, securing high-paying
gigs, and bringing home young ladies after each club show. Their story – told
terrifically in Misty Lane #18 – is an upbeat one from an upbeat era, yet
ultimately not different from 100s of other teenbeat sagas from the Days Of ’66.
What is different is the longplaying album they left behind,
Out Of The Bachs,
pressed in 150 copies and barely released at the time (1968), but today the
stuff of legend and changing hands for insane sums. And no wonder.
Looking over my notes for this review, the words “unique” and “unusual” occur
frequently. Out Of The Bachs is that rare bird, the white elephant in a
jungle of uninspired Stones covers: a garage band LP with 12 originals, sounding
like nothing else. Vague references to the British invasion and certain folkrock
bands could be made, but ultimately the Bachs come across pretty much only like
the Bachs. Part of this is due to the band’s sound, which is a jigsaw puzzle of
irregular pieces. The vocals are raw, crude, dramatic: as real as anything I’ve
heard. The rhythm guitar is upfront and played without distortion, no fuzz or
gadgets – just pure guitar, like the opening chord on “A Hard Day’s Night”. The
rhythm section chugs along, sometimes not entirely on the same wagon, while
vintage paraphernalia such as maraccas and tambourines are used to good effect.
Put this band in a butcher shop converted to a makeshift studio, point some
microphones their way, adjust the levels, set the Echo switch “On”, and go out
for lunch while the band lets it rip. The result: a record with a rare, timeless
quality and a seeming complete lack of contrivance. It’s as naturalistic a face
as the “garage” era ever displayed; challenging, at first listen almost
disencouraging in its warts-and-all realness. It doesn’t really sound like a
1960s LP, but seems to exist outside of time, which is perhaps also why it has
gained so many fans.
Apart from the sparkling folkrock hymn of “Tables Of Grass Fields”, the songs
are played in minor keys. Unusual, eccentric chord progressions are employed, as
are tempo changes and skillful arrangements that contrast nicely with the raw,
upfront nature of the recording. A couple of the songs are simplistic in a
classic garage style and seem almost unworthy the band, although they help
create the album’s diversity. The folkrock-inspired downers such as “Free Fall”,
“Sitting” and “Answer To Yesterday” could perhaps be seen as the band’s most
archetypal sound, but it’s the middle third of the LP that leaves all other
moptop contenders behind. Beginning with “Independence Day” the Bachs deliver 10
minutes of razor-sharp teenage rock’n’roll that is unparalleled from a local,
unknown 1960s band. It’s complex, challenging music, covering a wide emotional
spectrum, from the nihilist anthem of “Minister To A Mind Diseased” to the
joyful lovesong of the aforementioned “Tables”. The tracks that precede and
follow this triple-play outburst are almost as good, yet take the shape of intro
and outro for the Bachs’ buzzing core of creativity.
Truly great local 60s teenbeat LPs are rare. Mostly they’re unexceptional cover
version jobs with a certain charm. The Tempos on Justice and the Savages on
Duane are respectworthy 12-inchers often summoned, but to my ears the only real
challenge posed to the Bachs as the best genuine garage LP of all time is the
Mystery Meat (reviewed in Ugly Things #20 & on this website), who oddly were
also from Illinios and also released their LP in 1968. Which one is the best of
these two $3000 behemoths is one for our children’s children to ponder. No one
who likes 1960s music can afford to miss them anyway.
This review could have ended here, and I certainly would have preferred that.
However, I have a reissue to consider, and so the “Sad” part begins.
I have played the Gear Fab CD on three different players, through headphones and
speakers, and the outcome is the same: it doesn’t sound any good. It’s a
washed-out, thin sound lacking bottom and dynamics and presence. I would compare
it to what you may hear on a flexi disc, or through a cheap radio. Some may be
tempted to conclude that this simply is Out Of The Bachs nature, but
since I know what a Ro-To label 1968 original sounds like, I can tell you that
it most definitely isn’t. The original recording was crude in terms of
engineering, but it had lots of presence and warmth and dynamics. Furthermore,
due to levels not being correctly set and the band’s inexperience in the studio,
it is a recording with a lot of “peak” values (such as an unexpectedly loud
vocal), and these were obviously beyond the capacity of whatever digital
equipment Gear Fab uses. As a result there is high-end distortion in some
places, and a weird rumbling bass effect in other spots. Track #4 “I See Her” is
the worst victim, it sounds just atrocious. I also caught some digital mastering
skips on my CD, one at the beginning of track 6, and one halfway through track
12. Adding this all up, and listening to it side by side with an original, I
would deem this reissue CD technically defective, and it should be recalled.
The really sad, almost heartbreaking fact, is that the Bachs LP has never been
properly reissued. The 1992 vinyl reissue from Del-Val was mastered 2% too slow
and had somewhat muddy sound, and a subsequent European CD bootleg was sourced
from the Del-Val reissue, not an original, which of course propagated both these
problems onto the new format. Since this recent Gear Fab failure is a legit
reissue in cooperation with the band, it will be some time before the Bachs get
another chance in the recycling game. Considering the extraordinary nature of
the original 1968 album, this is a disgrace, but also typical for the
amateurish, careless approach of most reissue labels active today. Gear Fab is
just one of several offenders, and the Bachs CD is just one of many substandard
reissues floating around. Why should we put up with this?
Update: after 3 years of nothing but the inferior Gear Fab reissue on the
market, Void Records in 2008 decided it was time for another round of Bachs.
Good news in theory, except that the Bachs curse continues. For inexplicable
reasons, Void decided to use the poor Gear Fab master for their reissue! Lord
knows what they were thinking, since the poor quality of the Gear Fab reissue is
generally acknowledged.
This whole saga is taking on surreal proportions. A ray of hope is offered via
the CD-R transfer from a clean Bachs original which has been distributed among
garage fans, and should be findable via some internet inquiries. Several people
have told me that the sound quality of this CD-R reveals qualities in the Bachs
album that none of the reissues capture.
- review by
Patrick The Lama, previously published in Ugly Things #22
(Review #77)
SCHIBBINZ:
Livin' Free (no label
Argentina 1967 /various reissues)
Rating: 7 out of 10
Sounds best
on: soda pop
More info:
reissue liner notes
Availability:
Guerssen reissue; the original is impossible to
find
For many years, only one copy was known to exist of this
album, recorded by three American teenagers and one native son down in
Argentina, 1967. Cassette dupes flew around the world and were often met with
excitement, as the music reflected a kind of innocent ‘60s beat that made things
like the first New Colony Six LP a favorite among the moptop cognoscenti. The
only problem was that positively no one, not even Argentinian collectors, knew
anything about this record or where to find it. Then in 2009, an ex-member
suddenly popped up in Texas, and spoke in a local newspaper article about his
teenage adventures with a group called Schibbinz. Spain’s renowned Guerssen
label were quick on the ball, and thus we now have a band-authorized, annotated
reissue of a record that had seemed destined to remain a mystery.
None of this brouhaha would have mattered if Livin’ Free
was a disappointment, but many people (including myself) feel that its
reputation is mostly justified. It’s not the unique garage visions of the Bachs,
or the searing fuzz orgies of the Litter, but it is a well-written, highly
atmospheric slab of moody ‘60s pop and folkrock, which in its best moments (like
“The Ring Of Bright Water”) crosses over into pure magic. The Schibbinz’
aesthetics are reminiscent of the New England style of the Summer Sounds or the
Rising Storm, but with a slightly different compass bearing – it’s less Zombies
and Rubber Soul, and more the turtleneck folk-pop of duos like Simon & Garfunkel
and early Chad & Jeremy, the latter whom supply one of the album’s three cover
versions. The young band shows remarkable skill in both songwriting and vocal
harmonies, and the consistency of style impresses.
The recording isn’t exactly dynamic, but tinny and somewhat
muddy, which contributes to the atmosphere, but may annoy mainstream ears. The
great old New England Teen Scene series offers a good stepping stone
towards the Schibbinz soundscape. I saw someone complain about the sound of this
reissue, but since I have access to a original copy, I can report that
the Guerssen repro is pretty close. More curious is that the liner notes detail
the band’s story without answering the most obvious question: what were these
yankee kids doing in a remote part of Argentina? That minor quibble aside, this
is a nicely done reissue of one of the last missing pieces in the pre-Sgt
Pepper ‘60s LP puzzle.
- review by
Patrick The Lama, previously published in Ugly Things #30
(Review #78)
FORTUNE TELLER:
Inner City Scream (private
press US 1978/reissue)
Rating: 8 out of 10
Sounds best
on: Bud & buds
More info:
reissue liner notes
Availability:
Anazitisi reissue; the original is pretty
expensive
Contrary to what you may have read in the Rolling Stone
History Of Rock, early-to mid 1970s America was full of bands playing
straightforward teenage rock’n’roll. Neither hippies nor headbangers, they took
their cues from the Stones, Creedence and old ‘60s radio hits to write basic
3-chord tunes about girls and Saturday night partying. Since rock historians are
usually too arrogant to look outside the big music centers, and too lazy to
listen to any LP not on a ‘real’ label, these bands have remained more or less
unknown for the past 30 years.
The very real-looking quintet of Fortune Teller came together
in the streets of mid-‘70s Baltimore to play club gigs and avoid work, and left
behind this self-financed, crudely recorded album. Inner City Scream bears some
resemblance to Baltimore’s classic proto-punk LP Jungle Rot by George Brigman
(who doesn’t recall ever hearing about these guys), but its connection to ‘60s
garage music is stronger than Brigman’s. Indeed, the great “Looking Glass World”
sounds just like one of those rare 45 tracks off the old Psychedelic
Disaster Whirl comp, with raw fuzz leads and acid-punk lyrics. The chord
progressions and song structures are very much in a ‘60s modality, and in fact
some of the songs had been written as early as 1968. At the same time, Fortune
Teller’s greatest strength may be their ability to reflect the tough reality of
the urban blue collar 1970s, and in that sense they resemble the more openly
sarcastic Brigman.
A tinny recording even by private press standards, this LP
offers a formidable task for a reissue label, but after close comparison with my
original I’m happy to report that Anazitisi have done an excellent job. In the
interest of full disclosure, I’ve written enough about Fortune Teller (see Ugly
Things #24) in the past to be thanked (wondrously misspelled) on the sleeve, but
I have no involvement with this reissue.
- review by
Patrick The Lama, previously published in Ugly Things #29
(Review #79)
ONE
ST STEPHEN:
same (Owl US 1975/reissue)
Rating: 7 out of 10
Sounds best
on: hashish
More info:
reissue liner notes
Availability:
Anazitisi reissue; the original is pretty
expensive
Originally released in Ohio 1975, One St Stephen has been on
the map among private press collectors for many years. A cheaply done vinyl
bootleg appeared as early as 1987, soon followed by a CD version from the same
Austrian source. After that the album has been somewhat overshadowed by flashier
discoveries, and it had in fact never been officially reissued until 2009.
While not a perfect work, One St Stephen contains a number of
powerful, skilfully realized tracks that could be laid on your average rock fan
and have him exclaim ‘hey, that’s actually pretty good’. Unlike many dubious
finds touted these days, you don’t have to be a field specialist to enjoy the
spooky Edgar Allen Poe channelings of “November Edgar”, or the powerful,
late-Doors moods of “Nightly Drift” – it’s simply very good ‘70s underground
rock, with mystic-psychedelic overtones and eerie moog ornaments. The moody
vocals and ambitious lyrics are above average, and it’s not far-fetched to see a
major label back then take interest in this work – which they’d probably strip
of all its best qualities. Alas, ‘Stephen’ (real name Don Patterson) felt the
need to shake his ‘rock’ bone on some tracks, and to me the sarcastic glam-punk
postures of “You May Be Religious” and “Junkie’s Lament” break the elegiac Poe &
Doors spell in an unfortunate way. That still leaves us with 2/3rds of a
mid-‘70s underground classic, rich in talent and atmosphere.
The reissue is one of the best I’ve seen all year, with a
glossy color poster and booklet containing the man’s previously untold story
(including QCA pressing plant censorship) and some remarkable artwork.
- review by
Patrick The Lama, previously published in Ugly Things #29
(Review #80)
PERRY LEOPOLD: Experiment In Metaphysics (no
label US 1970/reissues)
Rating: 9 out of 10
Sounds best
on: a late night acid trip
More info:
below & reissue liner notes
Availability:
legit reissue from Guerssen; originals are very expensive
Long before anyone had heard of ’loner folk’ or even ’acid
folk’, Perry Leopold was an underground legend. He had made enough of a mark on
the ‘70s club scene in Philadelphia to trigger vague reminiscences among local
elders, and when word on his self-released 1970 album started getting around in
the mid-1980s, its uniqueness was quickly realized. Decades later,
Experiment In Metaphysics remains a
dark beacon among ‘70s underground folk records, a $1000 yardstick against which
recent genre discoveries are measured and usually found lacking.
It’s not just
a question of fulfilling the basic criteria of good songwriting, vocal ability
and instrumental prowess – and here we’ve already left most of the acoustic
private press competition behind – but intangible elements such as atmosphere,
presence, and artistic vision. These are qualities found in Tim Hardin or Nick
Drake, very hard to define through language, but easy to experience by listening
to their albums. Anyone can make a record with just acoustic guitar and words,
but almost no one can make that record memorable for years to come.
Back in the Summer of 1970, between street busking and
coffee house gigs, Perry Leopold recorded this album in a 5-hour session in the
basement of a shoe repair shop in Philadelphia. A person in attendance remembers
it as “…one incredible evening of altered and accentuated creativity”. Probably
intended as a demo only, 300 copies were pressed, most of which were given away.
Adding to the mystique, the record came in a thick, textured gold sleeve with
only a tiny sticker indicating the artist and contents. Leopold would later
record an ambitious prog-folk album titled
Christian Lucifer, which remained unreleased until 1999, and a
somewhat disappointing EP in 1978. After this, nothing, until he was contacted
many years later.
Experiment In Metaphysics
is deliberately and intelligently arranged. Side 1 – marked as ‘Kommercial’ on
the label – opens on a fairly conventional note, with a few Hardinesque verses
about alienation: “You never see your face… Never in your lifetime will you know
your friends”. Suddenly the mood changes, and the first of the album’s many
doors into the psychedelic experience opens. A philosophic monologue of the kind
sometimes found on avant-jazz albums follows, urging us to “look at the walls of
the universe”. After a couple of minutes inside this half-spoken trip, Leopold
returns to baseline and wraps up his song with no loose ends left dangling. The
‘Kommerical’ side continues to move like this, from
brooding folk into the trip space and back. The
modern hobo lament of “Cold In Philly” is followed by “And Then, The Snow Came”,
refracting the drifter mood through a psychedelic lens of intensely
concentrated, unorthodox guitar figures.
Indeed,
Leopold’s steel string guitar playing is one of the most remarkable aspects of
the album. Originating with John Fahey and Davy Graham, avant-folk guitar
emerged as a vital stream within the ‘60s folk-boom, one that kept nourishing
local solo artists through the 1970s. A friend who is an expert in the field
suggests that Perry Leopold’s playing may draw on Bert Jansch and John Renbourn,
who of course in turn were deeply indebted to Graham. Leopold is not necessarily
a better technician than anyone else, but somehow, via his two Martin guitars
and perhaps that ‘altered and accentuated creativity’, he manages to instill
atmospheres and images that are transcendental.
It’s highly
appropriate that side 2, where the label instructs the listener to ‘Drop’ (LSD),
opens with another arresting instrumental, and the two epic tracks that follow
also contain extended acoustic guitar passages. “Everything Goes (When You’re
Gone)” marks the album’s apex, with both lyrics and music traversing Leopold’s
trademark path from human reality into the far reaches of psychedelia. At first
a love song, then a metaphysic encounter with Satan and/or Jesus Christ, and
then an extraordinary climax with dual guitar interplay. The authority and
presence is absolute, untouchable. Perry Leopold sounds as big a star as Tim
Buckley. He was inventing a genre, and he may even have known it. Maybe that’s
why the label of his 1970 record says ‘Acid Folk’, about 25 years before that
term became trendy.
- review by
Patrick The Lama, previously published at the Anthology Recordings and
Grounded Magnet websites
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