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(Review #51)
PALMER
ROCKEY:
Rockey's Style - Movie Album (AB Rock US 1979-1981)
Rating: 9 out of 10 (for the
1979 pressing)
Sounds best on: Vodka Martinis
charged to a stolen credit card
More info: Right
here
Availability: Maybe in
Dallas area bargain bins
"Don't ever contact me about this
again."
- Palmer Rockey
Way back in review #38 I suggested that
"in cases such as Palmer Rockey, the background story is the entire
LP". In typically slow fashion it has since dawned on me that such a
statement needs qualification on several levels, especially since only about
11 people in the world even know who Palmer Rockey is. Rather than expanding
my old remark, I've decided to take this Texas bull by its sequined horns
and dive headfirst into a netherworld of hair tonic, shady car deals and
half-empty Holiday Inn lounges. For what
follows I am indebted in no small part to record supersleuth Rich Haupt, who
discovered and explored the Rockey trail to its hostile conclusion in a
cheap Hollywood back office, and to strange music aficionado Stefan Kery,
who has valiantly carried the Palmer torch into the third millennium.
The business
card
Sometime around 1978 Palmer Rockey arrived in Dallas high society out of
Los Angeles, presenting himself as a "movie producer" and looking
the part too in his fur and slicked-back hair. He spent his time rubbing
elbows with wealthy Dallas housewives trying to get money to fund a new film
project he was working on. Every time he raised some cash he shot footage, and
reported on the progress to his financiers to keep them happy. The whole
process took over three years and only rarely would the same actor come back
to work for the demented Mr Rockey, so the film actually has different actors
playing the same role (much like "Plan 9"). Some of the film is in black
& white while other parts are in color, again a result of sporadic fund
raising. When the film was finally complete Palmer booked a local movie
theater and had a "premiere". He managed to get both of the local
papers to write big articles about this "local film" and apparently
had a fairly good crowd for the showing. As the movie ended and the critics
and sponsors exited the theater in disbelief at what a poor film they had just
watched, Palmer was overheard telling one of his "moneymen" that the
Mafia was after him and he would have to leave town immediately. No one saw
Palmer in Dallas again after that night and he apparently left owing a bunch
of people money.
The man
After piecing together the scenario above, Rich Haupt was able to track
Palmer Rockey down, with the aid of Mike Weldon of "Psychotronic"
movies fame. Palmer was working on another movie back in L A, where a guy
at a local film processing outfit reported that he would come in from time to
time to edit his "film". Haupt managed to pass a letter on to Mr
Rockey via the film company, and several months later he received a reply. It
was very brief and simply said that Rockey was not interested in speaking
about the Dallas film and to NEVER contact him again. As far as I know, Palmer
got his wish. At this point noone has been able to track the movie reels down
for a re-launch, but reports indicate that "Scarlet Love" (Rated:
PG) is a beauty, including a part where Rockey has scantily clad women tied to a
"Wheel Of Fortune" type device which he throws knives at as they are
spinning.
While the movie may be lost forever the soundtrack LP very much exists, in
three different pressings no less. As a listening experience it is not easy to
describe, and I am not sure how it would appear if none of the above was
known. But knowing what we know I must say that "Rockey's Style" is
a total trip, as it extends and deepens Rockey's flim flam/con man vibe in the
best manner imaginable. To my ears it sounds like a guy who has a working (not
good, but working) voice that has never sung before.
While hitting the right notes he's clueless as how to bring any soul or
finesse to the material, and the stale lounge afternoon atmosphere is
heightened by a pick-up band of local studio musicians who mechanically
deliver generic styles such as "rock" and "funky rock".
Several song lyrics consist only of Palmer going "rock,
baby, rock" and odd digressions that sound 100% ad libbed.
That said, the LP cannot be dismissed as a quickie scam, because between
the twilight zone loungeabilly moves there are also several smooth ballads in
which we are allowed to peek into Palmer's soul, catching a glimpse of - among
other beings - Elvis Presley. The shaky-voiced, half-spoken version of
"Are You Lonesome Tonight" rivals any Elvis impersonator, and it
does not require much imagination to picture Mr Rockey singing these
words for some aging Dallas beauty queen, staring meaningfully into her eyes,
dollar signs filling his own. The Marriott hotel VIP lounge fund-raiser
romance is explored further on "Sunday Love", which Palmer sings a
capella for a few verses, then goes into an unbelievable spoken section:
... I know I said some things that were wrong,
and you said some things that weren't right... You know babe, someone said
that the world's a stage, and each of us must play a part. I play the part
of falling in love... with you.
But even that is not all. The Palmer universe has a third level that hits you
like a 150 MPH curveball, being the mysterious, downright spooky "Scarlet
Warning" where we are thrown into a Tinseltown b-movie take on the Book
Of Revelations. Against a seductive background of flamenco guitarpicking he
ominously intones:
Scarlet warning 666, written long ago
People wondering which way to go
Love made its motion
Against the cunning notion
666 will make his move, people must be told
Lovers and old friends must be bold
Words of courage, not surrender
[eerie piano break, like in an old horror
movie]
666 will be cool, label all lovers fools
My people for love must rise
Challenge him from every side
Then will come the matchless one
With love and fun for everyone
On a regular lounge LP this would be weird enough, but in the context
of "Rockey's Style" it becomes truly surreal, throwing any coherent
interpretation of the LP and the artist into question. Whatever critical
faculties we have available fail to fully describe the impression left by this
album, and so it can only be identified as MUSIC in its purest form. Still,
the
Palmer Rockey experience is not for everyone, in fact it's likely to appeal to
the tiniest fraction of the record-buying population, but for those ready to
surrender at the feet of an enigma of uniquely American character, it will be
unforgettable.
Oh yeah, those different pressings. Noone knows why, but the LP was pressed
three times with variations in both packaging and track selection. Leading
Palmer Rockey expert Stefan Kery has it figured out as follows:
"Scarlet Love" (AB-Rock Music PR-1-LP)
1979
Comes in a "1980" copyright sleeve but looks exactly like the 1981
pressing sleeve. The label has different fonts. Includes two tracks that are
not on the other two pressings: "Lonesome Tonight" and
"Sunday Love". Most other tracks features alternate mixes.
"Rockey's Style" (AB-Rock Music PRR-2-LP)
1980
Same tracks and mixes as the 1981 pressing. Sleeve has different
prints of the photos. They are smaller but clearer than on the others.
"Rockey's Style" (AB-Rock Music PRR-2-LP)
1981
Same tracks and mixes as the 1980 pressing. The sleeve looks like the
1979 pressing.
- review by Patrick
the Lama
(Review #52)
DAUGHTERS OF ALBION: Daughters of
Albion (Fontana, US 1968)
Rating: 9 out of 10
Sounds best on: this is being researched
More information: Completely ignored over the years, so, none.
Availability: Still plentiful and cheap. Fontana seems to have printed
an optimistic number of them, as they were available in cutout bins for years.
Here we have an album that’s both 100% peculiar and 100% commercial at
the same time. In 1968, the record buying public was as open-minded as they’d
ever be, so it’s a mystery why something with as many commercial hooks as
this wasn’t an absolute monster. Maybe the ridiculously inappropriate
cover turned people off, as it gives off a stark downer vibe, rather than
hinting at the lush upbeat pop within. Whatever the reason, everyone missed
out on one of the most addictive records they could ever hope to hear. Every
song sounds like a hit; they’ll stick into your memory after just one
listen. It’s the long lost great album every pop geek collector seeks, a
sticky-sweet confection subversive enough that the most jaded satirist can
appreciate it, and full of enough freaky ideas that the most pop-phobic
psych-head will approve. Much of the album was intended to be “of its time”,
but it has aged extremely well. The production techniques remain fresh and
the political lyrics have proven to be prophetic. It’s not dated; it’s a
sharp look back at the time that was, and the wisdom of 35 years make it
seem smarter and more on target than ever.
Daughters of Albion is a duo, Kathy Yesse and Greg Dempsey. Leon Russell
produced, and the songs were played by a host of talented (but uncredited)
session folk. Over the years Russell has gotten most of the credit for the
album’s creativity, but I have to guess that Dempsey is the genius here,
as Russell’s own albums never employed this many unusual ideas. In perfect
pop song fashion, every song but the closing suite is between 2:49 and 3:19.
The songs are impeccably structured, and filled with brilliant experiments
and twisted arrangements. The major-to-minor chord progression and “ba ba”
refrain on “Yes, Our Love Is Growing” shows that Dempsey has learned
every great pop-hit songwriting trick in the book. Yes, it’s derivative,
but so is most of the best music. When you first listen to this song, you’ll
swear you’ve heard it before, except that somehow it’s better now. And
it’s true, because you’ve heard the chord progression, but never with
such a great melody. Or maybe you’ve heard the melody, but never with such
fantastic singing. “1968” is similar. This must be an update of some
great 50s song, right? No, it’s just a sparkling melody heightened by the
singing of an angel. Yesse’s voice is an amazingly powerful instrument. It
is crystal clear, expressive, and her range is phenomenal. Dempsey, who
sings maybe a third of the time, strains here and there, but Yesse has no
problem hitting impossibly high notes such as those on “Hey, You, Wait,
Stay.” Even more mind-boggling is “John Flip Lockup”, which speeds up
the voices to create a high-pitched Alvin & The Chipmunks-like effect.
On the next verse, with the speed back to normal, Yesse sings the exact
same notes.
Some of the album’s most effective production tricks take several
listens (or a good listen through headphones) to discover. Check out the
whispered backing vocal on “Yes, Our Love Is Growing”, or the way the
backing vocals surround each other in “Still Care About You”. Note that
Dempsey is singing two sets of lyrics at the same time on “Sweet Susan
Constantine.” All of the songs have elaborate vocal arrangements, and
instruments like bells, xylophones, harps and clarinets are used to
tremendous effect. It sounds like they spent more time in the studio than
Pink Floyd. Horns and strings abound, but their moments are chosen wisely.
You never find yourself thinking “hey, this song has horns on it”. Even
on a song like “I Love Her And She Loves My”, which approaches
arrangement overkill, the unexpected two-guitar solo shows that every
listener’s expectations will be shattered. What could have been cheesy
survives with dignity (“Good to Have You” and “Still Care About You”
are what the Carpenters would have sounded like if they were good).
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Psych fans may lament the lack of fuzz guitar, but it’s hard to imagine
anyone not being taken to a higher plane by “Well Wired.” It takes the
album’s catchiest melody (which is to say the catchiest melody of 1968)
and completely deconstructs it. The lyrics degenerate into non-sequiturs,
one verse ends with farting sounds, in some parts the instruments and sound
effects drown out the singing, in others the instruments disappear. At times
the backing music fades in and out as if someone is messing with a radio
dial. The instrumental accompaniment is not once fully intact during the
chorus, and by the end Yesse’s vocals shine proudly while everything but a
lone keyboard drops out behind her. It takes balls beyond belief to gut a
potential hit like this, and while they probably blew their best chance at
radio play, in doing so they created an eternal masterpiece. “Still Care
About You” uses a similar technique, dropping instruments out and
returning them while a hearty set of strings chug away in the background. It’s
possible that Daughters of Albion failed commercially because they just didn’t
care if the clever lyrics, weird arrangements, and left-field moments
usurped the radio-friendly melodies. They were having too much fun to
control themselves. They don’t play a single song completely straight.
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The lyrics go well beyond love song clichés. Sometimes they goof off:
after the break on “Hat Off, Arms Out Ronnie” Yesse starts singing too
soon, then says “oh, sorry.” There’s a sense of tragedy too, most
notably on “The Story Of Sad”. Elsewhere, Dempsey’s songs are as
politically astute as Phil Ochs and as satirically sharp as Frank Zappa. The
closing suite, “1968/John Flip Lockup”, (which does more for the rock
opera format in seven minutes than the Who could do in two albums) is an
utterly surreal, spot-on sendup and summation of the late 60s. Just a few of
the song’s highlights: Imitations of Dylan, Beatles, Rolling Stones and
the Pope, a repeated chorus of “alms and qualms and kumquats Charlie”
(what??), Alvin Chipmunk singing “He’s smearing berries on his face and
jumping to the ground”, John Lennon saying “and he turns out to be Pope
Paul in drag,” a circus barker shouting “see the amazing Lee Oswald. He
can shoot from five, count ‘em, five directions at once.” (Keep in mind
that even Bob Dylan bought into the lone gunman theory with “He Was a
Friend of Mine,” as did the Byrds when they covered it in 1965. The
majority of the public wouldn’t begin to fully believe the conspiracy for
many years yet. I’ve always longed for some enterprising band to cover the
Stones’ “Sympathy For The Devil” and change the lyrics to “They
shouted out who killed the Kennedys/after all, it was the CIA!”)
Elsewhere, a lone voice says “by the way, Lou, whatever happened to all
the kids’ money from Monterey?” Ho ho!! Read “Slouching Toward
Bethlehem!” Watch GIMME SHELTER! Listen to the Mothers’ WE’RE ONLY IN
IT FOR THE MONEY. Then listen to this song and maybe the 60s “peace and
love” myth will explode for you.
I’ve played this album for many friends over the years, and the
response is either “that’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard. Let’s
listen again” or “She has a nice voice and that ‘Well Wired’ song is
cool”. If you fall into the first category, you’ll find your love for
this album to be, er, growing after many listens. The melodies hook you
immediately but the arrangements and oddities keep it eternally fresh. It
may help to be amenable to poppy melodies, but you don’t need wussy taste
to like it: this isn’t the Association, or even Sagittarius. It has guts.
It is a cracked masterpiece, and just about the most entertaining listen in
my record collection.
A beautiful voice alone can not carry an album, as shown by the next
Dempsey and Yesse collaboration, AMAZING. In 1973, known as Kathy Dalton,
credited as a solo artist, and backed by Little Feat, Kathy gave her all to
a pleasant but ultimately dull set of Dempsey songs. I can’t think of
another songwriter who so blatantly lost his talent from one album to the
next. If there’s any argument for Russell’s influence, this is it.
Regardless, the Daughters of Albion album works best as a one-shot anyway.
It’s hard to imagine anything following “1968/John Flip Lockup,” which
is the apotheosis of rock and roll political humor. The amazing energy in
that song (when they sing the ridiculous “alms and balms…” part the
band is rocking with abandon) is something that could only be destroyed and
softened with experience and age. What we have here are young hippies who
still felt “the love,” though they were just beginning to experience and
express rage. A week later and they would have crossed over into a place
that wasn’t anywhere near as much fun. We should be thankful and enjoy
this album, which could not have happened in another place and time.
- review by Aaron Milenski
(Review #53)
FOLKAL POINT: Folkal
Point (Midas 003, UK 1971)
Rating: 9 out of 10
Sounds best on: A
meadow lea
More info: nothing on
the Net
Availability: ha-ha-ha!
Seriously though, a reissue may be coming.
Since noone else seems to be doing
it we continue our examination of overlooked British folk titles,
based on the assumption that they some day will be reissued, as they
must. Of four such folk obscurities I recently got to hear thanks to the
generosity of a fellow country-man the unspeakably rare album by FOLKAL
POINT was clearly the best. The LP came out on the hallowed (among less than
50 people) Midas record label, an operation masterminded by the same cunning
gentleman that ran the Folk Heritage operation; his Midas £1000 stable also
includes the slightly better known Gallery LP and a couple of less rare
titles by Janet Jones, one of which I've heard and wasn't impressed by.
Bristol area outfit Folkal Point on the other
hand is an obvious delight, with elements likely to attract almost anyone
with an ear for gentle rural 1970s sounds with psych overtones. Sweet female
vocals is the poison of many a folk fiend and this has an abundance of it,
in fact the sounds emitting from Cherie Musialik are gorgeous to a point
where I have to cast a wide net to come up with comparisons; but if you can
imagine a warm tone halfway between the girl-child charms of Vasthi Bunyan
and the lush village-beauty sound of early Mandy Morton, then I guess we're
in the right shire. So appealing are these vocals that they become the
defining characteristic of the album, and fortunately the Folkals seem to
realize this as they play a selection of material that is absolutely right
for the asset; haunting minor chord ballads with obvious debts owed to
American 60s folk as well as the psychedelic sounds of subsequent years. If
you expect a marvy "Scarborough Fair" from this description,
you've got it. "Once I Knew A Pretty Girl"? Yes. Both are done in
a manner closer to Shide & Acorn than Shirley Collins, with the
arrangements displaying a clear bias towards the "rock" rather
than "trad" side of the equation. The liner notes refer to the
band playing electric on occasion and while this is an acoustic-oriented
album, it's easy to imagine it being re-recorded with a full electric
setting, the imaginary result recalling the Trees at their best.
Beginning at the beginning, there is a
version of gospel tune "Twelve Gates Into The City", although
there isn't much gospel left after Folkal Point have chased it through their
enchanted forest. Then there's
"Scarborough", which is followed by "Sweet Sir Galahad",
whose artfully descending stair of minor chords may crown it my favorite on
the whole album. Cherie's vocals are just stunning, it's like if one of
those princess girls serenaded by Donovan suddenly started singing back. The
hippie folkpsych takes on trad material progresses successfully through
"Lovely Joan" before a contemporary note is introduced with
"Circle Game" and its clever carousel metaphors. The footstomping
US folk boom Pete Seeger sound of "Cookoo's Hollerin'" is less
appealing, not because it's bad but because it fails to take advantage of
the band's strengths. Luckily, it's the shortest track on the LP. Then there
is a Spriguns-like take on "Edom O'Gordon" before the modern theme
resurfaces in Tom Paxton's "Victoria Dines Alone", whose theme of
female loneliness and depression seems highly poignant in 2003. It's a
flawless performance, and likely to be the favorite track of listeners of a
less folky persuasion. The Americanisms linger via a charming take on
Dylan's "You ain't going nowhere", although it would have been
more interesting to hear this one with female vocals -- but I guess the Folkal
boys wouldn't settle for just picking guitar on ALL tracks.
Entering the last quarter the LP tightens its
grip on the listener again, presenting the unorthodox chord structures and
wave-like rhythms of "Anathea" which the liner notes credit to
Lydia Wood, although the lyrical content is essentially the same as
"Seven Curses" as done by young Bobby Dylan and others. This dark,
despairing story is given a matching presentation by the band, opening doors
to an eerie "downer folk" cellar not found elsewhere on the album.
This is followed by the atmospheric, ensemble-sung "National
seven", after which an excellent, folkrock-style take on "Once I
Knew A Pretty Girl" closes the book on 40 minutes that are as
impressive as anything you can hope to find within the genre. According to
UK folk expert Ian at Ammonite, 500 copes were pressed of which half were
lost in a flood. Let's hope it gets reissued ere the next millennium.
- review by Patrick
the Lama
(Review #54)
LINDA PERHACS:
Parallelograms (Kapp, US 1970)
Rating: 9 out of 10
Sounds best on: Hawaiian weed
More info: The CD has brief, but useful,
liner notes. The album has been reviewed in a number of places. A web search
will reveal much information.
Availability: The current Wild Places CD
reissue is the version to get.
PARALLELOGRAMS is the unquestioned queen of the hill of female
psychedelic albums. Fans of the genre are as unanimous in their praise of
this album as mainstream critics are for Joni Mitchell’s BLUE, almost to
the point where it’s unthinkable that anything else can be better. The
Mitchell comparison is an important one here, whether it accurately
describes the music or not. Every American female folk-influenced
singer/songwriter is immediately compared to Mitchell (and British
singer/songwriters to Sandy Denny), and, invariably dismissed as an inferior
copy. Perhacs’ one and only album suffered this very fate. If critics
wouldn’t take anyone but Joni seriously, why would they bother with this
“hippie variation of her style?” It’s a curious form of self-conscious
sexism on the part of 70s rock critics (some of which were female) that as
long as they gave good reviews to Joni Mitchell, and occasionally Carole
King or the rare oddball like Dory Previn or Essra Mohawk, they could ignore
and dismiss every other woman in the business. Even thirty years later, we
have John Mellencamp on TV saying (I’m paraphrasing) “I’m sorry to
have to say this but when it comes to women in rock, there’s only one,
Joni.” (This comes from an overrated buffoon whose own backup violinist,
Lisa Germano, has released four or five albums that blow away anything his
sorry ass ever did).
Even in the collectors’ world, what could have been a quality attempt
to explore the role of female artists in psychedelia, the HIPPIE GODDESSES
compilation, was sunk when its creators decided to play up the “sexy
hippie” angle. The compilation had a topless photo on the cover, and put
The Happy Hooker and other stupid pornography side by side with tremendous
music by serious artists like Sally Eaton, Margo Guryan and Perhacs herself.
It didn’t even list the last names of the artists it included, which is
just as well because their work was so cheapened by the context. Obviously,
it’s against all odds that the reputation of PARALLELOGRAMS has grown as
far as it has, yet it’s to the point where the album easily sells for
around $200 (despite not being anywhere near as rare as the hype would make
you believe) and it has now been released on CD twice. As annoying as the
Mitchell comparisons are, they’re probably what drew Perhacs to the
attention of people outside of the world of psychedelic record collectors.
It’s hard to imagine fans of, say, Tori Amos or Jewel, having C.A. Quintet
CD on their shelves, but many of them have been able to make the leap from
BLUE to PARALLELOGRAMS.
So what is it that makes PARALLELOGRAMS stand so far ahead of the pack?
It’s very simple. There is essentially no other album by a woman where a
personal vision is fully realized (without production interference, cover
versions, inappropriate arrangements, etc), and that vision includes not
only tremendous songs but a distinct psychedelic flavor. There’s a lot of
debate about how to define “psychedelic” music, but by any definition
there’s no doubt that this is it. It’s there in the free-form freakout
of the title track, the “I’m spacing out/I’m seeing silences between
leaves” lyrics to “Chimacum Rain,” the “colors dripping” lyrics to
“Morning Colors,” and the sound effects behind “Moons And Cattails.”
Though the music is wholly different, these songs create the same vibe as
the highlights of the first Country Joe & The Fish album. There are some
killer psychedelic tracks by other women, but nowhere else is there such a
consistent and organic whole over an entire album. For example, Grace Slick’s
songs on AFTER BATHING WITH BAXTER and CROWN OF CREATION are extraordinary,
but she isn’t the Airplane’s only songwriter; the Jan & Lorraine
album clearly shows strong influence from the men who produced and played on
it; Sally Eaton’s album has one absolute knockout trip of a song amongst a
mixed bag; Carolyn Hester’s two “psych” albums, despite some great
songs, feel like her heart isn’t 100% into the style, Risa Potters sings
lyrics like “God must have been stoned when he made me” but her album,
musically, is simply soft rock; Gayle Caldwell mixed one killer psychedelic
song into what is otherwise just a piano based singer/songwriter album, and
so on.
It’s possible to name hundreds of women who embraced and/or
experimented in the same way as male musicians, and certainly a whole batch
of better-conceived HIPPIE GODDESSES-type albums could be created.
Nonetheless, I’ve dug up every single album of the type I could find, and
the fact is that over a full 40 minutes, none of them come close to
PARALLELOGRAMS. (The only compelling case that can be made is for the album
by These Trails, a band with a female leader and an even more distinctive
sound than Perhacs. This album’s 1973 release date and its Hawaiian exotic
feel put it in a different “category,” but it’s certainly arguable
that in its own way it’s an equally challenging and successful work. It
does, however, include the work of some male co-songwriters.) This isn’t
to say that PARALLELOGRAMS couldn’t have been matched. If anything, we
have to marvel at the kind of creative control Perhacs was given over her
own album, when so many hundreds or records by female artists had their
artistic vision twisted and softened by the men who produced, managed,
arranged, and played the instruments. It’s probable that somewhere out
there an equally good album was waiting to be made. We’ll never know.
PARALLELOGRAMS starts off subtly with “Chimacum Rain.” It introduces
us to Linda’s rich, expressive voice, here supplemented only by an
acoustic guitar, brief electronic sound effects and multi-tracked harmonies
sung by Linda herself. Her singing style tends to be awfully serious; while
she doesn’t exactly seem pretentious, it’s fair to criticize the album
for being humorless. On a song with harmonies as gorgeous as these, one is
unlikely to notice. On a lesser song, though, like the closing “Delicious,”
a more effortless form of singing would have been welcome. Her tone and
style are perfectly suited to the album’s two
near-“rock” songs, “Paper Mountain Man” and “Porcelain Baked Cast
Iron Wedding,” both of which sound positively sinister. They sport
enigmatic lyrics; it seems that she’s as fascinated by the man’s brute
sexuality in the former as she is disgusted by the bored rich promiscuity in
the latter. In both cases she’s showing a wisdom that undoubtedly went
over the head of the few who heard the album at the time. Both songs are
low-key but sharp blues rock, more intelligent and ultimately more powerful
than the kind of heavy bluesy stuff that was all over the charts at the
time. The rest of the songs are softer, and arranged in a simpler way.
Perhacs’ melodies aren’t particularly ambitious, but she hits the right
high notes when she needs to, and songs like “Sandy Toes” and “Hey,
Who Really Cares” really sneak up on the listener.
Though a variety of instruments are used on these songs, the arrangements
are still simple and uncluttered. The electric guitar on “Sandy Toes”
has a perfect tone, and is used to color the overall artistic palette, not
to draw attention to itself. It shimmers beneath the bass (which is mixed
high and provides much of the melody.) A quiet organ in the back of “Hey,
Who Really Cares” similarly heightens the mood without changing the
overall nature of the song. An unexpected middle section with horns (yet
again, used in a subtle way) turn “Morning Colors” from a good song into
an excellent one. An even sparser guitar and voice accompaniment works
perfectly on songs like “Chimacum Rain” and “Call Of The River,”
where backing vocals add depth and the occasionally dissonant melodies and
chords create tension. On a more conventionally pretty song like “Dolphins”
or “Delicious” a few more instruments would have been welcome. These
songs, the album’s two weakest links, are nice, but generally float by the
listener without leaving much of an impression.
The title track is the song that first attracted the attention of
psychedelic collectors, and rightly so. A simple 10-line circular melody, in
which several voices snake around each other, is interrupted by a startling
drumbeat, then a series of vocal and musical effects. When this trip ends,
the song returns, and the listener hears the second verse with a transformed
state of mind. Fittingly it ends in a wash of echo. “Moons And Cattails”
is equally far out. Perhacs lets her voice waver up and down at the end of
the lines, mimicking the sound effects beneath. When she sings “come
along,” you hear wind in the background, drawing you with her.
PARALLELOGRAMS isn’t perfect, for reasons discussed above. Nonetheless,
it’s a pure and honest listening experience, a masterpiece. While the Joni
Mitchell comparisons will go on for time eternal, the fact is that this is
an original a work as you’ll find by anyone from 1970, and that 30-plus
years of time have only served to heighten its greatness. The lack of love
song lyrics, alone, is enough to distance Perhacs from the pack. It’s an
album that should be in any comprehensive psychedelic or folk or
singer/songwriter collection. It’s an album that John Mellencamp and a
legion of Rolling Stone-type critics should be ashamed of themselves for
dismissing.
The current CD issue on The Wild Places label is unquestionably the best
version of PARALLELOGRAMS. The LP itself was released twice (the second
pressing probably very soon after the first.) Word on the street is that the
second pressing is better (though a few of the sound effects are missing,
for some reason), but no one disputes that the LP has a flat, washed-out
sound and suffers from poor quality vinyl that causes pops and tics even on
first play. Linda herself was so disgusted by the sound quality of the
record that she shelved it instantly and only listened to a cassette she
made from the master tapes. The first Wild Places CD reissue was made from a
vinyl transfer, and while it was free of surface noise, the effort to remove
the noise heightened the flatness of the sound. The second Wild Places CD
issue, from master tapes, is an absolute revelation, bringing amazing
fidelity to the sound. The instrumentation is cleaner and clearer, the use
of reverb stronger, and the overall sound denser and spacier than ever
before. It’s remarkable that the album had been correctly labeled a
masterpiece even with the original murky sound. Now there’s no doubt
whatsoever. Most of all, the subtle and low-key songs have suddenly revealed
themselves as much better than we had ever noticed (i.e. it took this
reissue for me to fully appreciate “Moons and Cattails” and “Morning
Rain.”) This reissue also has some interesting bonus tracks, including
alternate versions/mixes, a clip of Perhacs discussing production ideas with
her engineer (proof that the thoughtful sound effects and arrangements were
her own ideas), and two versions of a previously unreleased song, “If You
Were My Man.” This new song is more commercial sounding that the album
proper, and its piano arrangement puts it into a less folk-oriented
singer/songwriter mode. It was obviously omitted from the original album
because it didn’t fit. Nonetheless, it’s terrific, and shows that had
Perhacs continued her career she could have moved successfully in a new
direction. It’s a rather tantalizing glimpse at what may have been, and as
such a fascinating addition to the album. There is also a concurrent Korean
vinyl reissue, with the new, superior sound and some of the bonus tracks,
including “If You Were My Man.”
- review by Aaron Milenski
(Review #55)
HOI' POLLOI: Hoi' Polloi
(Custom Fidelity US 1972)
Rating: 8 out of 10
Sounds best on: A fine
burgundy & weed
More info: Interview
at the Lama Workshop
Availability: No
reissue
One of the more curious phenomena I have
encountered during 15 years of probing the underbelly of American
psychedelia and hardrock is what I call "the Ohio River effect".
This refers to the unexpected and statistically significant number of great
private press 1970s albums that emanate from the tri-state area of Ohio,
Indiana and Kentucky. While I'm not suggesting that some local Prankster
branch had dosed the water with a gallon of Hofmann's finest, the Ohio River
link is as good an explanation as any for this regional outbreak of St
Anthony's fire, which produced acknowledged classics like Zerfas, Anonymous,
Hickory Wind, McKay (all from IN), Stone Harbour, One St Stephen, Estes
Bros, Dragonwyck, Morly Grey (all from OH), and Kristyl, Top Drawer, Marcus
(all from KY).
The above roster of 12 deadly discs is what
comes up after 5 minutes of brainracking, and a more thorough analysis would
yield dozens more, while a few unknowns seem to pop up on the radar screen
every year. The seldom discussed album by Indiana college band HOI' POLLOI
is an example of a local obscurity with qualities as strong as any famous
act from either coast, yet its origins made it a concern mainly for friends
and family. If it hadn't been for the unhealthy curiosity of record hounds
it probably would have remained unheard of, but after Hans Pokora listed the
LP in one of his "Collector Dreams" books it only took a few
months for a copy to find its way to me. Better still, I was able to trace
the record back to its roots and connect up with some of the guys involved in it,
which lead to a piece on them at the Lama Workshop site (link above). For
this review I'll concentrate on just the music.
There aren't many albums I know with such a
gap between the message the sleeve artwork sends out, and the vibe rising
from the vinyl grooves. Looking at the "Hoi' Polloi" front cover
and factoring in that the back cover is blank you'd be excused for thinking
it was a crude hardrock excursion like Poobah or Soup, while it comes in
fact from the completely opposite end of the spectrum; a refined and
sophisticated music project painstakingly put together despite limited
resources. Apparently the recording and pressing emptied the budget on hand,
which is why the cover came out as it did. There is an insert with personnel
and session details, but no band photos or images of any kind. If nothing
else this anonymity directs full attention to the music, and the music
deserves it.
Opening with Charlie Bleak's undeniably catchy
"Who's gonna help me", side 1 is a delight from beginning to end.
Several things hit you as it progresses; the skill of the arrangements, the
quality of the musicianship, the originality of the songwriting. A number of
possible references arise in the listener's mind but fail to take hold, the
reason being that more than anything else the Hoi' Polloi album resembles
itself, as its' distinctive style unfolds over the song cycle. A friend I
played it for invoked the "late Beatle-psych" tag-line, and there
are indeed traces of "Abbey Road" on this album, just like there
is on Zerfas. The smooth vocal harmonies and extensive use of piano may
recall the Dialogue LP from Pennsylvania (which in turn resembles a
later-day Left Banke), while a couple of tracks remind me quite a bit of
Merkin. Band member Bruce Wallace mentions Traffic and Procol Harum in our
recent interview, and once clued into it I was able to hear traces of both
bands. This hopeless jumble of references helps to illustrate the
originality of Hoi Polloi through my incapacity to nail it down short and
sweet. This is a good sign, of course.
The second track, Bruce Wallace's "Old Bootstrap" is
perhaps my favorite on the LP, and one which explores the band's deft use of
piano/organ/guitar interplay in full. Great moody chord shifts and naked
vocals project a nocturnal mood of that particular Indiana kind, like a
college kid staring out into the night-empty streets of Middle America,
wondering what goes on elsewhere in the world. This alone makes the album
memorable. After an atmospheric guitar section that extends the late-night
mood things get downright psychedelic on "Last Laugh" with its
startling backwards vocal effects, a path explored further on an impressive
sound collage that may recall the experimental sides on the first Pink Floyd
LP. Cool-jazz elements recur throughout the LP and lead into the extended
"Satisfaction Guaranteed" by Charlie Bleak and Dan Mack, which also has some of the band's best
lyrics, perfectly matched by a confident, understated instrumental build-up
that is allowed to fade out as the side closes. Impressive on many levels,
with intelligence and taste walking hand in hand, this opening half of the
LP had me in a pretty excited state after the first spin.
Side 2 of "Hoi' Polloi" is similar,
only not quite as strong. There is a keyboard/saxophone light-jazz excursion
about halfway through which, although enjoyable, jars a bit with the
song-oriented nature of the rest of the LP. Similarly, "15 miles"
is a good LA-style countryrocker, but somewhat out of step with the band's
smooth late-night mood. The other tracks are excellent and more typical, but
the coherent song-cycle experience of side 1 cannot be recreated in full on
side 2. This may keep the LP from attaining full "classic" status,
but it's nevertheless an excellent collection of songs and moods whose
smartness and maturity is likely to surprise most listeners.
- review by Patrick
the Lama
(Review #56)
YAYS
& NAYS:
Yays & Nays (Neo US 1968?)
Rating: 9 out of 10
Sounds best on: Dixie
beer
More info: zilch
Availability: $750 may take
you there
The majority of LPs that fall into the
"incredibly strange" category do so to no fault of their own, but
as an effect of a marked disconnect between whatever artistic vision that
went into them, and how the work is perceived by a listener in another time
and place. A band such as the Kaplan Brothers obviously thought they had
created a deep, meaningful statement with "Nightbird", while most
people who listen to it hear... something else. This is all fine and doody
and a testament to the lasting quality of popular music springing from
experience and honesty, no matter if clever, misguided, or just strange.
But then there is a rarer type of bizarre vinyl
testaments which we can enjoy because the band knew exactly what they were
doing, and what they were doing remains unusual and imaginative to this day.
After listening many times to the remarkable LP by Southeastern band the
YAYS & NAYS I'm prepared to put them in this upscale category of
strangeness. The misleading descriptions you may see on the rare occasions
it's offered for sale is another indication of its elusive qualities. I
don't know any LP even remotely like it, yet it's highly listenable, even
commercial in parts.
The line-up of three guys and three girls is
unique, but a logical cause and effect of the theme of the LP.
You see, this is a concept LP dealing with gender oppositions, a "war
between the sexes". Some of the tunes are sung by the guys, from a guy
perspective, others are sung by the gals from a gal perspective, and on the
incredible "If" we are treated to a Aristophanic dialogue between
the two camps throughout the song. Try to hear this in your third ear, sung to a tough
Kinks '64 chop-chop riff:
(excerpt)
GUY:
If it wasn't for you women
we wouldn't have such a hard time
If it wasn't for you women
Wouldn't have such a worried mind
Now what you got to say?
GALS:
If it wasn't for us women
And the things we dare
You no-count men
(Guy: No-count, whaddaya mean no-count?)
Wouldn't be nowhere
GUY (getting
agitated):
Now I'm gonna tell you something
If it wasn't for you women
Us men wouldn't have such many bills
If it wasn't for you women
Wouldn't have so many ills
You painted women
Make a man a slave
What with those things you got
Put a man into an early grave
Now what you got to say?
GALS:
Hey, big talker
(Guy: Whatcha
mean big talker?!)
If what you say is so
You know that deep in your heart
There ain't no better way to go
If it wasn't for us women
To take care of you
(Guy: Well... I...
I...)
(etc)
This track, and the LP as a whole, is smart
and hip on so many levels that it's difficult to sort out, but I'll
give it a shot. To begin with the vocals, the guys are typically
solo and sing in a tongue-in-cheek, "manly" Johnny Cash/Lee
Hazlewood style that works as an ironic deflation of the macho content of
their lyrics. The result projects the 1950s family provider
husband as an increasingly powerless and slightly neanderthal creature,
clueless in the emergence of a modern era of liberated women. The women in
turn usually sing ensemble, like the chorus of a Greek play, their
high-pitched feminine voices aggregating power when heard together -- and
this clever solo <-> ensemble juxtaposition is no accident. The gals can sing
pretty and romantic, like they do on a few songs, but they can also be tough
and uncouth, thus given a wider range of expression than the guys. The
lyrics follow a similar pattern, the guys delivering sentiments and desires
from a by-gone era, while the gals usually express a sense of freedom and
independence. The whole thing plays like an inspired fratty college musical
sendup of the Lee &
Nancy and Sonny & Cher duets.
The opening track "Gotta Keep Traveling'" is an uptempo garage ditty sung mixed ensemble that works as a gender-neutral
starting point for the album, with typical 60s lyrics about doing your own
thing and escaping a dull, conformist society; the 1950s vocals of band leader "Big Daddy" adds an appealing beatnik touch
in line with the subject matter. This is followed by "Nature is my
mother", a partly-French sung tune that comes closest to
"hippie" sounds on what is mostly a raw folkrock album. The
gender theme is then introduced in full with the hilarious "Some Do,
Some Don't", where-in "Big Daddy" laments the fleeting nature
of his ladies' promises with lines like "Down with the ones who say they
will/And then later say they won't". The gals back him up with a
mocking gleam in their eye. This subject matter is extended into
"Contrary Mary" wherein the 1950s macho crooner retroism is put to full use; the male lead asking Johnny Cash-style
his girl for a bit more stability in their relationship.
The rest of the album continues in this same
convincing manner, each track both an excellent standalone item and a piece
in the bigger Yays & Nays puzzle. One reason it works so well, and
stands up for repeat plays with no loss of impact, is that the songwriting
and arrangements are remarkable, worthy any name release from L A or the
Brill Building. The style is an eclectic 60s bag of P F Sloan folkrock,
tough upscale r'n'r like the Raiders, Eastcost girl-group sounds and
Broadway musical, all held firmly together by the strength of the lyrical
content and the idiosynchratic, self-referential vocals. You'd be hard
pressed to find another local, unknown item that delivers on all levels like
this -- no matter where you press, it's there; the lyrics, the concept,
originality, creativity, zeitgeist, even rare attributes such as irony and
internal logic.
Here at Lama Reviews we have a tradition of
lamenting the unjust lack of success for artists that were in the wrong place
or on the wrong label, but that line doesn't really cut it for the Yays
& Nays, because even on Vanguard or Elektra I think this would have
flopped at the time -- it's such a multilayered, double-edged trip that
requires many plays to grasp, and thus probably better fit for our age than
the fast and flashy 1960s.
- review by Patrick
the Lama
(Review #57)
NOMADDS:
The Nomadds (Radex US 1965)
Rating: 7 out of 10
Sounds best on: fake ID beer
outside a high-school dance
More info: ain't much
around
Availability: legit reissue is out
now or soon
There's still a bunch of good mid-1960s LPs
out there that haven't been reissued, and probably won't be either, due to
the "45s only" tunnel-vision epiphany of garage guys combined
with the "psych only" tunnel-vision epiphany of LP collectors. I
ain't complaining as this allows me to pick up and muse over these suburban
reflections of Ed Sullivan hysteria without a dozen guys trying to beat
me to it, in much the same manner that I've been able to round up a stack of
killer guitar-psych/hard rock 45s from 1969-1972 at almost no cost.
Nevertheless, I must admit that the criticism often leveled against these local
mid-60s albums -- such as them being lame-ass selections of top 40 covers
noone wants to hear -- carries certain weight, no matter how much I like to
romanticize around the circumstances that produced some zitbag custom label
album from Iowa 1967. If you're sane, you might not see the greatness of the
Ha'Pennys, and you might be right.
But some of these LPs aren't just atmospheric snapshots of a time and place;
they actually contain good music. I've had the rare LP by Illinois
five-piece the NOMADDS on hand for many years, and have always felt it to be
"different", but never quite got around for a microscope analysis
until now. The band came out of Freeport and were known for years as the
best live act around, mixing covers with several good originals. They had
been going for some time when moptop-mania began in '64, but their
adjustment is flawless and seemingly without effort.
The most notable aspect of the Nomadds LP is that it derives from a very
specific
moment in time, which is the American teen scene after
the British Invasion had hit, but before the
eruption of crazed garage sounds in 1966. This is an LP that looks to
Merseybeat rather than Mick Jagger for inspiration. And when I say
Merseybeat I ain't talkin' about no Beatles. No sir, the band poster most
likely pinned up in the basement where the Nomadds
rehearsed was of the late, great Gerry & the Pacemakers. I'm not sure in
what position the Mojo magazine-type "hip/unhip" switch for these
Liverpudlians rests in at the moment, but over in our household their
name has always carried a certain respect.
The Pacemakers' fingerprints are all over this LP, from Dean Kuehl's excellent Gerry
Marsden-influenced lead vocals and the plaintive three-part harmonies to the
stripped down, slightly reverbed instrumentation, as well as traces of late
1950s US pop that was in demand on both sides of the Mersey back in '63. I
haven't caught any Lonnie Donegan but I'm sure he's in the Nomadds bag too,
right next to the Everly Bros and Buddy Holly on a return trip across the
Atlantic. This is not the Litter, you can believe that.
The LP opens most impressively with one of five Nomadd originals, the
catchy, sublime and just plain great "You Can Fall In Love"; a
simple melody hook baiting the listener into swallowing a sweet minor
chord bridge before getting delightfully gutted by a brief tempo shift that
these guys probably were alone in their zip code area to pull off. As
far as 1964 beat sounds go, this is masterful. A flawless cover of
"Shame Shame Shame" follows, done Cavern-style, which means an
understated, subtle approach far from any unpleasant Roger Daltrey
"rock" postures. I said I wasn't going to bring in the Beatles,
but have to point to the Fabs' superb 1963 BBC recording of "Memphis,
Tennessee" as a blueprint for this sound. The Nomadds then
deliver another flawless original with "In Transit", an uncanny
recreation of the best aspects of early Liverpool-mania, carrying the
unabashed teen woes of 50s pop into the guitar band era. The
vocals are superb, better than almost anything I've heard on a local LP from
the era.
Two "rockers" follow, paying tribute to forefathers Little Richard
and Chuck Berry respectively, flawlessly done with lots of little details
that suggest a backbone of several months of rehearsal and club dates before
the Nomadds worked up the nerve to cut their album. Side 1 closes with
another band original, and another moody minor chord winner, the title being
"There Is No More" and the band displaying their effortless grasp
of tempo shifts and advanced verse-bridge-refrain structures like Brian
Epstein might walk in the door any minute. Side 2 opens with the always
popular "Just Like Me" which works up a bit of a frenzy and even
some wild teen screams, suggesting briefly that the 'Madds (a nickname I
just invented) were just another top 40 cover band gone haywire on asthma
pills. The throbbing bass line and angular vocal harmonies that make up
"Don't Cheat On Me" tells you that they weren't, the message being
"garage" but the sound being all beat.
A slow, last-dance take on "Tragedy" reminds you that crooner
ballads were still a mandatory ingredient on both sides of the Atlantic at
this point, unless your last name happened to be Lennon. Speaking of John
Winston I'm convinced he would have nodded in approval of the clear-cut
'Madds take on that old Neal Cassady favorite, "Love Potion #9", a
song I wish more 60s bands would have done. The drug theme is expanded
further on "W.P.L.J" a teen booze-hound favorite extolling the
virtues of White Port and Lemon Juice, in case you weren't around at the
time. It's a fine rendition, but like the two preceding covers, that unique
Nomadds' touch doesn't fully carry over into the non-originals. Realizing
the jeopardy they're in, the band slides back into your cortex with the
supremely atmospheric original "Enter Into My Life", with a teen
vocal so haunting that Gerry Marsden would have gone back to driving a milk
truck if he'd ever heard it. A muffled, slightly reverbed guitar solo
captures the timeless essence of the teen experience as skillfully as the organ solo on Phil & the Frantics "I Must Run",
and when the guy starts humming along with the guitar towards the end you
realize that this is the major league company in which the Nomadds belong,
whenever they worked up the cojones to write their own songs. All five
originals on this LP are truly great.
There aren't many local US teenbeat albums
from 1965, simply because the notion that it was possible to emulate the Beatles and the Stones needed time to sink in, in addition to visible
avatars such as the Beau Brummels, Sir Douglas Quintet and the Byrds, all
three of which were just getting around at the time. Listening to the Nomadds
often brilliant LP, and adding the Fugitives equally fine 1965 LP on Hideout
into the equation, it seems obvious that the few local bands that made it
onto microgroove weren't many steps behind the McGuinns and Sahms of the world.
The Nomadds LP is close to an unknown classic, and would have gone there
with the addition of maybe just one more band original on side 2. Even
without such fantasies it still blows away a whole bunch of more obviously
"garage"-minded LPs from 1966-67.
- review by Patrick
the Lama
(Review #58)
C.O.B:
Moyshe McStiff
& The Tartan Lancers Of The Sacred Heart (Polydor Folkmill UK 1972)
Rating: 10 out of 10
Sounds best on: your
next crucifixion trip
More info: surprisingly
scarce
Availability: bootlegged
on vinyl in the early 1990s and again (with bonus 7" and poster) in
France 2001 (SKR); bootlegged on CD in 1995 (Elegy) and recently (Lotus, US).
Both CDs include the non-LP 45 tracks.
This second LP by C.O.B is among the most complex
and challenging items ever produced by the British folk scene. Crude chants
and delicate ballads stand side by side; religious brooding leads into
pastoral hymn, then back again. But running through it a certain mood, or
world-view, emerges, a unique experience which is not easy to describe.
I've spent years trying to uncover the layers that constitute "Moyshe
McStiff", as the album title is commonly shortened. The closest I've
come is the image of a late-medieval crusader-knight who at the end of his
career has returned to England, where he contemplates upon the many years of
travel, his Christian faith and the Church, as well as family
life at his rural homestead, with faint echoes of a long-gone childhood. His
mind moves freely along these axis of space and time.
The protagonist's complex nature is further indicated by his name, combining
the uncommon but obviously anglo-saxon "McStiff" with the hebrew
"Moyshe". The cross-cultural theme extends into the LP
artwork with its scene of three knights slaying a dragon to rescue a fair lady; the
prevalence of Judeo-Christian symbols such as crosses, a star of David and a
grail, and the surrounding desert landscape, suggests that this is no mere
Camelot fantasy image. The cover painting was commissioned by Polydor with
no input from the band, yet in a case of fortunate synergy similar to that
of CA Quintet, it both supports and expands the listener's interpretation of
the music inside. The overall impression is that of layers of time atop each other, like cultural
sediment, England in 1972 and the 14th Century; Jerusalem in the 14th
Century but also in the days of the earliest Christians.
Opening with the earthy, dirge-like tones of a harmonium organ that dominate
"Sheba's Return", the brief instrumental soon segues into the
vocal "Lion Of Judah". Listed side by side on the back cover,
these are apparently to be seen as one track in two parts. The title
"Sheba's Return" is a reference to the time of King Solomon, whose
name appears again later on the LP. Sheba was a queen from ancient Ethiopia whose
visit brought Israel to heights of unseen glory, and her return to her own
country began a deterioration of Solomon's reign and religious practice. The
phrase "Lion Of Judah" may today be known mainly as a rastafari reference
to Haile Selassie, but of course its original meaning was the Messiah. The
words occur in the prophecies of Isaiah, but there is no explicit link in
either direction to King Solomon or the Book Of Kings. A speculative
connection is the son given birth to by Sheba, who appears as both a descendant
of the line of Judah, from which the Messiah will come, and as the first
king of the pre-Islamic Ethiopian dynasty, which still today traces its
roots to the Solomonic kings.
While the intersection of Jewish, Christian and Islamic elements in this
story is interesting, it is probably not the main point of C.O.B:s opening
song. Rather, the lyrics of "Lion Of Judah" focus upon the
resurrection of the Church and the coming of Christ in a time of profane
decadence, artfully compressed into the image of a "golden chain":
And the Lion Of Judah still smiles
And his army can't break the golden chain
Yet the people still laugh away their sins
Whilst the peasants are proud to wait for rain
For the seasons are sure to bring them gain
As the landlords and princes cross the land
To the farmers taking all their crops away
For the merchants of a church that's built on sand
While the faithful pray for freedom every day
In the cities where the wise and rich decay
These words are presented in a musical style certain
to take most listeners by surprise; a raw, perhaps deliberately crude vocal
from Mick Bennett over a sparse but oddly engaging rhythmic combination of
harmonium, acoustic guitar, bass and percussion. I guess it's British folk somehow, but it
seems too ritualistic, almost like an African work song. The performance is
fearless, beyond any compromise. Some may be
put off by this naturalistic face grinning at them in the very first song,
which may be intentional. Indeed, the superb lyrics and the advanced rhythmic
pattern suggest that what we encounter is according to an elaborate plan.
And the Lion Of Judah still smiles
As his kingdom like a flower grows again
In the splendour of the harvest he now lives
Though he is dying with the love that he has gained
And he's fearless of the circle and the flame
The second song introduces the second theme; that of
British countryside meditation. "Let It Be You" is likely to be
many's favorite on the album, due to Clive Palmer's typically mournful vocals
and the deep, introspective nature of the melody. The use of dulcitar and
flute recalls some of the best-loved tracks on C.O.B:s debut LP, such as
"Music Of The Ages" and "Evening Air". Nowhere
else on "Moyshe McStiff" is the link to the slightly more
conventional "Spirit Of Love" album as clear as on this melancholic
love song.
The human gods of C.O.B
After this testament of earthly love, the
harmonium/violin-led "Solomon's Song" works as a bridge and
continuation of the religious theme of the opening, returning us to the same
pre-Christian landscape as "Lion Of Judah". Despite the title, this is not
a verbatim recreation of the famous Bible book "Song Of Solomon",
but a condensation and purification:
I am comely because I am black,
As the tents of Kedar, as Solomon's veil
Because the sun has scorched my skin
As the cedar trees of Lebanon
My beloved is unto me
As a cluster of camphires
In the vineyards of Engedi
These opening lines by C.O.B are drawn from several
different places in the original song; the same is true for the rest of the
lyrics. The metaphors have been compressed or changed altogether, but not a
single foreign word has been introduced. In that respect the effort resembles
that of Ezra Pound when he reworked the eleventh chapter of Homer's
"Odyssey" into his Canto I. With reference to the biblical song the
focus is changed somewhat in C.O.B, with a stronger emphasis on the
lyrical-hymnlike element, reducing the numerous images of physical features
and removing the warfare references altogether. The end result is a more
uniform poetry, classical in a Greek sense, not unlike Sappho.
A typical theological interpretation of "The Song Of Solomon" is
that rather than an intra-human love song it deals with the emergence of the Church, and
the relationship of the faithful soul to the Lord. This reading is weakened,
not strengthened, by the C.O.B rewrite; yet at the same time the liturgical
mood of the music and Mick Bennett's soulful vocal do point towards more than
"just" a love song. My impression is that the era and language of
the bible passages are used as a source of inspiration for an expression of
religious feeling that goes in a similar direction, but is less literal and
more emotional.
The beautiful pastoral "Eleven Willow" is the only track sung by
John Bidwell, a mid-tempo folk ballad with ethereal female harmonies and a
lute-like guitar figure skillfully weaving a parallel melody to the words;
apart from its instant musical appeal the song combines the rural Albion and
Christian themes, in a surprising lyrical turn near the end:
This valley is a cradle for the sun
And for the silent one
Who wears the coat of many colors
"I Told Her" is perhaps the most difficult
track on the LP to figure out. Sung by Mick Bennett with typical fearless
gusto, the lyrics and the music seem to pull in different directions. The
musical sophistication of the opening tracks has been replaced by something
that rings of ale-house and sea shanty; like a sad, but not entirely
serious, lament from a young rascal who has left some loose ends dangling in a
relationship back home. A joyful "yippee" and brief laugh at the end
enforces such an image, even while the lyrics when laid out on paper look
quite serious:
Times I told her not to cry
She said she wouldn't, but she tried
And she cried until she was satisfied
That I could not love her
A possible link to the album as a whole would be to
see this track as the voice of the common man, a paid crew member on a ship leaving
Britain for the Holy Land, but even as such the placement of the number in the
key spot at the end of side 1 seems a bit awkward.
The supremely beautiful "Oh Bright Eyed One" that opens side
2 combines all the best musical elements of the album; the atmospheric
harmonium and flute, intricate guitar figures, a timeless minor chord ballad
form, and Clive Palmer's humble yet expressive vocals. In theme it belongs to
the meditative pastoral style of "Eleven Willow", although a
Christian exegete may interpret the lyrics as directed to Christ rather than a
loved one. The overall impression is reminiscent of the extraordinary
"Sweet Slavery" on the band's debut album, and almost as powerful.
The same double impression of love and religious feeling can be found in
"Chain Of Love", which creates an archlike structure over a typical C.O.B theme of travel and eternal longing:
[first verse]
I have no news to bring you, said the messenger
The rain goes to the river just the same
And still I watch you laughing in the garden
For the flame upon the altar is still burning
[last verse]
And if the road should lead me to the ocean
Then I would turn my face toward the wind
And see you in the morning bringing water to me
So silently the flame turns to an ember
An interesting tension is created between the lyrical, strongly poetic
words and the musical framework, which lead by Mick Bennett's powerful and
unpolished vocals takes us as close to folkrock as the LP ever gets.
Opening with incessant banjo-picking, "Pretty Kerry" points towards
more traditional sounds, both in words and music. Not to be confused with trad
songs such as "Pretty Polly" this number still approaches conventional "folk music",
painting a picture of horse-drawn carriages and young country folks at a rural
marketplace. Yet even in this context the Christian elements seem to briefly
surface:
Shrine or temple,
silent sanctuary
We could not find for love or money
Taken as a reference
to Joseph and Mary in Bethlehem this passage also marks a step from the Old
Testament into the New, which paves the way for the single song on this
strongly Christian-flavored album that deals directly with the Life Of Christ,
"Martha And Mary". For 4 minutes and 45 seconds of dazzling beauty,
this combines all C.O.B:s unique skills and craft into the culmination of an
album which is so strong throughout that the idea of a "culmination"
seems impossible. The "folk" label again is inappropriate, and
one might instead consider the renaissance court music of John
Dowland, supporting lyrics that have the power of a Shakespeare sonnet:
These frail extremities
Express a grief
Of pure impartiality
The story of Martha
and Mary, as told in John 11-12, is usually seen as a parable of two different
attitudes towards the religious life, Mary's approach being that of the
devoted student, while Martha remains at a distance, carrying on her daily
chores yet paying attention to the master's words. The story has been depicted
many times through the history of art, and interestingly one of the more
famous representations can be found in the National Gallery of Edinburgh,
Clive Palmer's mid 1960s homebase.
"Christ in the house of Martha and Mary"; Vermeer 1654-55
Sung with supremely balanced melancholy by Mick
Bennett, the C.O.B interpretation does indeed juxtapose the two sisters, but
true to form they do not follow any standard path in doing so. Relegating the
teacher-disciple image to the back the lyrics instead focus on the
physical aspects of their relationship to the visitor. The
image of hands, Mary's touching or praying, Martha's reaching or busy with
work, become the nexus of the lyrics as a whole; brilliantly capturing the
sisters' differing personalities:
Precious little birds O so gently
Folded wings of tragedy
Hands of Mary comfort me
[...]
Constant touch of change unfolding me
Yielding blossoms from the tulip tree
Hands of Martha reaching out for me
The lines are essentially lyrical-emotional and
non-religious, yet a religious psalm-like feeling pervades, as it should in a
poem which has in fact Christ speaking. Perhaps a reference to the Master's
ultimate fate at the cross, not far away at this point, can be found in the
exquisite bridge passage:
Calm her grace grows, thorn of healing
Pure the white rose, open wound of feeling
See how the stars are falling, like the tears of Mary
See the stars are falling
I'd like to quote and examine this amazing song-poem in
its entirety, but the laws of proportional space dictates that it will have to
wait until another time. I can only state that the album reaches an
appropriate climax, both musically and lyrically, with "Martha &
Mary", and doing so on the penultimate song seems perfect.
After the delicate monastery mood of "Martha & Mary", the
energetic guitar chords and loud vocals of "Heart Dancer" jolts the
listener onto another track, and a cryptic presence of Evil makes itself known
for the first time, although the "golden chain" of
decadence from the opening song may echo in:
Sin for Satan's sake
Ruthless grins the foster child
Sits remorseless, smiles and smiles
Spirit you can't break
The song shifts into a droning style reminiscent of
the more psychedelic leanings of the preceding "Spirit Of Love"
album, and the final lyrics work as a summing up and clarification of the
spiritual journey expressed through "Moyshe McStiff's" cyclical structure:
Land of plenty
Somewhere inside to be
Found and cherished
Travel the old country
Held quite firmly
Just for a moment
Be whole completely
Oceanful our promised land
Someone referred to this album as "gnostic"
and while I've always thought both the Biblical-Christian elements and the
human-emotional elements much too strong for gnosticism, it still points in
the right direction. Many songs build on religious material, but seem to
interpret this material as dealing with human love; conversely the songs that
deal with rural folk imagery and relationships seem loaded with religious
feeling. Approaching us from two, or maybe three directions, "Moyshe
McStiff" uncovers a common meeting ground for human love, religious
belief and pastoral mysticism. This is no mean feat in itself, but its power
becomes aesthetically overwhelming as this thematic union comes across as
wholly aware and deliberate on every level; lyrically, musically,
structurally. The end impression is similar to T S Eliot's religious
conversion poetry, like "Ash Wednesday" and the Ariel poems:
Lord, the Roman hyacinths are blooming in bowls
And the winter sun creeps by the snow hills;
The stubborn season had made stand.
My life is light, waiting for the death wind,
Like a feather at the back of my hand.
(from "A Song For Simeon", 1928)
Classic poetry is all over the album,
but there is an even stronger element of visual imagery that seems
inspired by pictorial art. There may be more immediate sources for the
"Moyshe McStiff" song cycle than the ones I've been exploring here,
if so these remain shrouded in mystery at this point.
While C.O.B means "Clive's Original Band", I find the
defining characteristic of the LP's unique qualities in Mick Bennett's vocals,
which are quite unlike anything I've heard -- crude and almost over-powering,
as real and true as life itself in its crucial moments. Recalling the ageing
crusader-knight I envisioned as "Moyshe McStiff" at the beginning of
this review, this seems to be his Voice, ringing boundlessly across time and
space.
"Moyshe McStiff and the Tartan Lancers of
the Sacred Heart" is, as far as I am concerned, the greatest LP ever
recorded in England. I hope to come across something even better someday, but
honestly doubt it will happen. Curiously, one of its few strong competitors is
C.O.B:s own debut album "Spirit Of Love", an extraordinary work that I hope
to deal with in the future.
PS
"C.O.B" can also been interpreted as "Clive's Own Band",
it appears that this was the original meaning which was quickly changed to
"...Original...".
- review by Patrick
the Lama
(Review #59)
HELP
YOURSELF: Help Yourself
(first LP) (Liberty UK 1971)
Rating: 8 out of 10
Sounds best on: uh, weed,
man
More info: Good
piece in the Ptolemaic
Availability: Rarer
than their other LPs, but a Beat Goes On CD exists
"We were also
incredibly stoned all the time."
- Richard Treece
How many times can a band be called "underrated" and still
remain so? I don't know, but I would wager that Albion's late, great HELP
YOURSELF hold some sort of record in that department. Almost everyone that
hears their music loves it, and there is no real lack of articles and
reviews that suggest them to be a lost treasure either, yet their standing
is nowhere near that of a Mighty Baby, although it may deserve to be.
Sometimes the stars aren't properly aligned, but examining Help Yourself's
history it would seem the band brought some of the bad luck on themselves.
You needn't look further than the first track on this first album to get a
view into that complex. Housed in a nice friendly cartoon cover a la Bay
Area 1970, "Help Yourself" opens with an inexplicable piece of
Christian gospel-rock that (1) sounds nothing like the rest of the LP, (2)
truly sucks, in a cheerful, bouncy way like the weak tracks on the Rainbow Promise
LP, (3) sets a religious tone to a typical westcoast marijuana LP. It's so
out of place that often when I put this LP on confident I'm in for a good
time, I have to check I put the right album on after the first 30 seconds.
I don't wish to think so, but I believe that this lame-ass opener is the
reason that several Help Yourself watchers -- including ardent fans -- fail
to see the greatness of the debut LP. Because once "I must see
Jesus" is out of the way, the rest of the album is an utter delight, as
good as anything from the time and place that I can think of. Of course this
is a bit of a trapdoor statement as the style is California 1969 rather than
England 1971, but even set up against obvious prototypes like
"Everybody knows this is nowhere" and "Workingman's
Dead" Help Yourself needn't be embarrassed. All the right stuff is
there, the strong songwriting, the laidback vocals (with a mid-Atlantic
accent, even), the guitar tapestries, and that special Marin County mood,
upbeat yet thoughtful. In short, these are Brits dreaming that ol'
California dream again, and they do it just as swell as on "Jug Of
Love".
"To Katherine they fell" is a tremendous lament, subdued rhythm
section supporting multiple layers of guitar picking high and low, while
Malcolm Morley's melancholic vocals start and halt the song like a sad
memory reluctantly brought to the surface. "Your eyes are looking
down" follows on a more decisive note, displaying the Neil Young
inspiration clearer than anything on the LP. Well, there's some more
vintage Neil on "Old man", in case the title didn't warn you,
although the tune switches to a more folkrocky lane, then continues to move
between the two styles while cruising down Ventura Highway to the tune of
Richard Treece's marvy guitar figures. You can tell that they listened to
"Down by the river" a lot... and so should you.
"Look At The View" is a shorter tune displaying an impressive,
almost Relatively Clean Rivers-like control and maturity, while there's more
of the rural rock on the 45 pick "Paper leaves", not bad but
adding nothing new in light of its position on the LP. "Running down
deep" does however bring in a change of pace, adding congas and a
slight club/trucker bar sound -- it reminds me of the best stuff on
Bear Mountain Band and Zini, with images of teenagers in Camaros and flatbed trucks out
on summer cruising far away from any Topanga Canyon artist colony. Another
tremendous ballad, this time with some marvy piano playing, brings in a
singer-songwriter spectre like on Greenwood, Curlee & Thompson, but it's
safe to say that "Deborah" is better than anything on the GC&T
album. Excellent lyrics given additional depth by Morley's beautiful vocals,
a sad but memorable confession that is probably the most British-sounding
thing on board, if one by "British" means Nick Drake and Richard
Thompson type introspection. The LP reaches an appropriate close with
"Street Songs" which isn't exceptional but manages to collect all
the threads stretched from rural California to rural England by these five
young men. As far as debut LPs go, this is very very good; as far as British
rock LPs from 1971 go, "Help Yourself" is nothing less than a
revelation.
You will notice that I'm referring to a number of obscure US private
press albums above, apart from Neil Young & the Dead, and this is no
coincidence as I believe that at least part of the album's appeal for me is
the obvious love for the big-time westcoast music. Like many local US bands
it seems Help Yourself are paying off a debt in a respectful manner, and
contrary to old rock critic bullshit axioms this humble approach can lead to
truly great music. This is also why I differ from most in proclaiming the
debut album the band's best, rather than the commonly cited "Beware
the shadow". That one is a very good LP too, but in line with my religious
beliefs I feel that some of the purity and warmth has been lost as the band
matured and perfected their sound. You may disagree. In any event, I would
have gladly given "Help Yourself" a 9/10 if it hadn't been for
that bizarre opening track which I believe presents a riddle that will never
be solved.
- review by Patrick
the Lama
(Review #60)
CHRISTIAN
YOGA CHURCH:
Turn On!! Music for the hip at heart (Ecumenical US 1967)
Rating: 9 out of 10
Sounds best on: LSD
More info: Esoteric
secrets are not easily unlocked
Availability: In
an alternate reality, this might be reissued
Virginia City, Nevada, Summer 1965. You know what's going on
here. Inside the Red Dog Saloon a sharp-looking young band of acidheads from the
Bay Area called the Charlatans are playing weird folkrock for an equally
stoned audience. Some consider this the birth of psychedelic rock music, or
whatever. You've heard the story before.
So why not just once skip past the Red Dog, and continue down the main
street, and up above a hill into a secluded area? There you'll find an
odd-looking monastery inhabited by the Christian Yoga Church, adherents of
Kriya Yoga, one of many Eastern disciplines crouched away in the valleys and
glens of Western America long before the rise of hippie-dom and New Age.
Kriya Yoga was an old-school, non-cheesy way of life for honest,
hard-working sadhaks looking for something else. Contemplating their
teachings I find little out of the ordinary for the Himalayan
headtrip scene, and they were apparently serious enough to survive into the
2000s.
In other words, I was unable to come up with anything that could explain the
extraordinary LP that was released in the Christian Yoga Church's name in
1967. In fact, I long doubted its origins, because each piece in the puzzle
is so unusual that it seemed impossible to connect into something that made
sense. But enough clues survive to tell you that this is all for real, although
I'm still not able to present a coherent image of its meaning.
Looking at the album title and front cover artwork, you might mistake this
for some flower power exploitation album released by Crown, Mark, or other
fine repackagers of studio hack music to fit whatever trend was going on
that week. "Christian" AND "Yoga" in the same sentence?
Whew, that's pretty shrewd. Except that this Church does exist, as evident
from our trek into the Nevada hills. Over on the back cover one "Father
Christos" tells us that this is music for "going within",
while a John Doe explains in detail how the recording session was set up,
after which "Father Hilarion" sums it up by pointing out that this
is not an amalgamation of the East and West, but a rediscovery that East and
West speak the same truth in different ways. This appears to be the core
development of their Kriya Yoga studies, and is certainly a notion that has
fuelled many an acid trip project -- remember "Easter Everywhere"?
Then there is a reference to that same Himalayan Academy up in Nevada, side
by side to a street address in San Francisco, both of which are apparently
able to provide instructions on how to listen to the LP if you write them.
Geographical and synchretistic confusion expands with a reference to a PO
Box at the L.A airport (!) and a thank-you to the engineer, for whom
"Allah be praised". A convoluted production credit is given to Bob
Keene, who may or may not be the Del-Fi label honcho that watched Richie
Valens and Bobby Fuller become stars & subsequently croak.
You have to respect an album where the cover alone provides enough oddball
visions and ideas to carry you through a full work-week, but the Christian
Yoga Church trip doesn't reveal its full glory until you drop the needle on
the lead-in deadwax and enjoy the cosy, familiar ambience of a cheap
pressing. And then the music begins. Now, as pointed out by Will Louviere in
his excellent presentation
of this album, there are literally hundreds of religious commune albums from
the good old daze, although few of them are as early as 1967, and NONE of
them hits this particular spot. Think Velvet Underground rehearsing on cough
syrup in mid-1966. Think Alan Watts rounding up his pals from "This Is
IT" for a late-night session full of weirdness and introspection. Think
Beat Of The Earth, unplugged.
"Turn On" consists of one continous 50-minute track, recorded
live as it happened and without edits. You can hear players coughing and
occasionally making mistakes. It goes through many changes as various church
members -- credited as "classical yoga students" on the label --
enter to do their musical thing for a few minutes. A spooky reed organ is
present throughout, droning through a sequence of modal chords that
perfectly carries the East/West theme. On top of this all sorts of
instruments enter and leave, mainly percussion -- tablas and gongs, bells,
chimes, castanets, kazoos, a tuba and a french horn, high-pitched flutes --
and things that don't sound like instruments at all but people spinning
coins on a wooden floor, clinking glasses or banging on tables. Inside this
droning maelstrom sanskrit mantras come and go, done with American accents in a fairly
mundane manner and occasionally interspersed with meditative
"ommmm" chants.
It could have been a mess, but is instead an intense tranced out organic
exploration into the Absolute Now, with a human-spiritual atmosphere as
thick as anything I've ever heard. In line with its background one might be
inclined to take "Turn On!" as one of those "trip music by
accident" artefacts we sometimes stumble across, but as the liner notes
show, the lysergic nature of the beast was deliberate:
"... that Memorare recordings is releasing a most decidedly
Psychedelic Music album on an Ecumenical series might be a surprise to
some, but not to those who firmly believe that we 'go through all things
to God'..."
Ah, this is as true psychedelia as you ever can find -- about halfway
through side 1 the music subsides and we are treated to the sound of running
water, not from some lame sound effects library but there and as it
happened, although I have no idea how it was achieved -- because you can tell
that it is a LOT of water running. The intensity builds and dissolves,
builds and dissolves, a gigantic gong chimes when you least expect it, and
the spooky Twilight Zone Search Party reed organ is always sneaking around
in the background. It's impossible to review this music in a structured way
-- like "the plastic flute player is good, but the guy knocking on a
table sounds unrehearsed" -- but trying to gauge the acid flow of the
50 minutes, I would say that some of the most impressive vibes of all can be
found at the beginning of side 1, opening an easy-access door into
"Turn On!" for anyone looking for esoteric kicks on a world-class
level.
- review by Patrick
the Lama
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