Yeah, the band name and the album title do not inspire confidence, do they? I had visions of confused, experimental ramblings, layer on layer, building to an apocalyptic cacophony before breaking off into the sound of kittens and car horns in the distance.
Way to be open minded, PD.
It begins with a guitar solo, punctuated by the bass and drums. The solo is in the high octaves with a very tight distortion and I'm nervous because too much of that is gonna become an irritation sooner rather than later. It only goes on for a few bars though before giving way to an easy blues groove and the vocals enter. Psychedelic lyrics from a voice that's pretty conversational for the subject matter. It's not a great voice but it's in tune and comfortable on the ear. It's a short track, not a proclamation of genius by any stretch but you get the sense it's gonna get better rather than worse.
The next track is a slinky little groove called Not So Sweet Martha Lorraine. There's a high, reedy organ sound decorating much of the tune that is sailing very close to the wind, however. If I'm distracted by the contribution of a single instrument then the song is not being served in my book.
Death Sound Blues is as you might predict, an uneventful slow blues littered with that tight, whiny guitar. He plays really well and the bass and drums are tight but I can't help feeling that his tasty phrasing would've been better employed in the middle of the neck.
It's a very tinny sound really and I feel a bit robbed cuz these songs have interesting words and good grooves but the piercing pitches of organ and lead guitar keep harshing the mellow.
Oh bollocks. Happiness Is A Porpoise Mouth delivers on its promise of being pretentious twaddle for every one of its 171 seconds. This is followed by 7 minutes and 24 seconds of confused wank entitled Section 43. If you ever had a jam on drugs - acid in particular, you'll recognise the common failing of the substance to keep your attention on what the rest of the players are doing. It's a journey, sure but you depart a unit of musicians working on something recognisable. You arrive a collection of individuals who are no longer aware of each other, making random noises that more by luck than judgment are still in the same key.
Then suddenly we're back in the land of the mentally competent. Superbird is a very groovy little protest song about Vietnam. It seems that way to me anyway. Talks about sending Lynden Johnson back to Texas. Great tune and followed by an inoffensive pop number that even though they're not good enough singers to pull off the harmonies they're going for, I'm still grateful it's not another 7 minute acid jam.
Love has a false start. But it's done quickly enough to escape my wrath and it's a groovy tune. I'm starting to rediscover my faith in this album not being a dead loss. But I spoke too soon.
The next one's called Bass Strings. Okay. So we can't even be fucked to think of titles any more. It's very Doorsy and that's just about as damning a summary as I can give.
The Masked Marauder sees the organ actually discover a lower octave which is a blessed reprieve at this point but it's too little too late. It's an instrumental piece with two sections but never really finds its feet in either.
Electric Music For Mind And Body concludes its pioneering sojourn in the land of psychedelic rock with 7 minutes of exactly the sort of thing I was talking about a few paragraphs back. It's fine if you're fucked out of your mind. But who wants to slip themselves a musical roofy?
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