#0081: Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band - Safe As Milk [*]

I'm not gonna beat around the bush, here.  I'm expecting this to be a pile of unmitigated wank.  I'm encouraged to discover the good Captain is not actually a pseudonym of Frank Zappa's but he is closely associated with the man and my experiences of Zappa to date have been uniformly unpleasant.

And this is a double album from the looks of it.  Nope.  Just extra tracks for the CD reissue.  Deep joy.  I may stop at 12 tracks.  That's all they had to suffer in the 60s and they had LSD readily available to distract them.

Okay, then: on with the unbiased, no preconceptions, artistic assassination.

It took a couple of tries to get thru this, I admit.  The first track is a pretty reasonable effort based on a very simple pentatonic riff with some standard variations to break the monotony but then, even though the next few tracks all have different tempos, the instrumentation and vocal style is similar enough to get tiresome.

The singer sounds a lot like the guy from Creedance Clearwater Revival but lower and lacking the variation in texture.  Without that, it's just like laryngitis-man playing a broken kazoo.  After 4 tracks it's not even cute any more.  The sheer lack of invention in the guitar work coupled with this persistent abuse of the gravel effect just makes you more sensitive to its imperfections.

Even songs that start with a promising riff you come to recognise as false hope.  The so-called song "Electricity" is a perfect example of a mediocre, but workable idea placed in the flipper hands of a musical dilettante.  The atmospheric noises and such like are just a cacophonous camouflage over the tortured sound of a song being run into the ground that wasn't even very good to start with.

"The following tone is a reference tone, recorded at our operating level."

Well, that was interesting.  Tuneful, short and concise.  Why can't they all be like that?  I'll give it one star for that, although this is, of course, just an introduction to another steaming pile of blue turds.  

Where There's Woman could have been a good song I think if the personnel were completely swapped out, including the engineer.  

I just read some of the Wikipedia page on this idiot and aside from the word "experimental", I really can't reconcile any of what they're saying with this dog shit. 

The most positive thing I can say about this is that Zappa made 100 albums and this guy only made 13.  

Oh.  And they're both dead, of course.

#0080: Buffalo Springfield - Buffalo Springfield Again [****]

Opening with a riff that is too close to Satisfaction for comfort, Mr Soul is the stomper you would expect given my preamble.  The lyrics quickly rescue it from being another hack 60s copy of something successful by coming in earlier than expected and carrying that intriguing weirdness of psychedelia so typical of the time.  I can imagine a couple of listens in, I'll enjoy this song more and more.

So, what now?  Buffalo Springfield is a name I vaguely recognise among the Springfields I have known, the others being Dusty and where the Simpsons live.   Not being immediately recognisable as an iconic artist name I just assumed the next track would continue where the first had left off.  But no, it's a pleasant country stroller that quits while it's ahead.  It is followed by an equally short and equally violent deviation in style from the previous track.  This one, Everydays, a soft blues with very nice piano support.

Track 4 is an ethereal song that floats by inoffensively, although there's something about it that demands another listen.  There are layers there that I haven't quite latched onto - mainly because I'm writing this with an ear infection.

And we're back.  Bluebird is another stomper and it seems the pattern is being set for this album to hold my attention by flitting between these four styles with deft studies in each.  It finishes with a lovely little cadenza on acoustic guitar that leads smoothly into a jangly banjo, country playout that wouldn't sound out of place in Deliverance.  

Hung Upside Down isn't really a blues but it carries a lot of that flavour with its crashing rock anthem feel and the chorus as proudly, stadium-singable as the main guitar theme.  

You come off the back of this feeling a bit drained, like you've just had an unexpectedly energetic shag.  You lie exhausted but satisfied, praying for the ride not to start again and as if reading your mood, the album presents you with a delicate, swishy love song on acoustic guitar that would grace the mix-tape of any lurve pad.  

Okay, break's over people.  It's time for the horns and the funky bass to make their entrance on Good Time Boy.  This is pure soul from start to 2:11 when it stops, leaving me begging for the solos to continue.

Rock And Roll Woman quickly makes me forget my disappointment, however, with its beautifully layered harmonies and sounding very much the harbinger of Steely Dan.

This unexpected display of magnificence is rounded off by Broken Arrow, a song of mixed styles and sections, which at six minutes (and given the album's average song length of two and a half minutes), is comparatively a progressive rock epic.  The sections are really crammed with odd displays of virtuosity, singsong melodies, rousing crescendos and irregular time changes.  Then a low clarinet pops up out of nowhere like When I'm 64 and it plays out into a heartbeat to fade.

I am dumbfounded at the scope of this recording.  So I look up a track list I can refer to while writing this review and discover this is the work of Neil Young and Stephen Stills.  

D'oh.

#0079: Country Joe & The Fish - Electric Music For Mind And Body [**]

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?

#0078: The Beatles - Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band [*****]

In 1987, to mark the 20th anniversary of this iconic, standard-setting work of pure fucked-up genius, the artists of the day recreated the entire album and called it Sgt Pepper Knew My Father.

You may remember from my review of Rubber Soul that I had never heard Sgt Pepper due to a printing error.  In point of fact, SPKMF was the first time I had heard these songs in order.  It occurred to me that I was incapable of judging those covers cuz I had no frame of reference.  So I went out and bought the remastered original.

It is impossible for me to recreate my response to my first listen and to tell you the truth, I know this album so well now I could write this from memory.  Even weaker tracks over the further 20 odd years since the remaster, have become beloved to me even if just by virtue of repetition.

Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band

The sound of an audience at the start of a show creates anticipation.  For those who bought this when it came out, it must've echoed their own nervous excitement because the Beatles had been away constructing this for quite some considerable time and the fans knew a change was coming.

Then exploding out from the hubbub the riff, dirty and jagged like the lid of a hand-opened tin can, tears its way through to the front.  The vocal is gutsy, the harmonies panoramic and the grand crescendo as the title line is delivered is a promise any right thinking person would struggle to believe could be delivered.

With A Little Help From My Friends

But the seamless transition into this two-edged stomper is all the reassurance you need.  So Ringo's singing and you might be forgiven for thinking, "We're only one track in.  It's a bit early for a shit one."

But again the harmony support, the entrance of the bass and drums for the chorus and the power of its melody and message makes you forget that Ringo has the weakest voice of the four.

The harmonies that come in on the second verse are my favourite part.  Exquisite.

Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds

Ever done acid?  I've listened to this song before and after my awakening and I honestly don't care if Lucy is code for Lysergic or not.  This song is trippy as fuck.  Is that a harpsichord picking out the opening theme?  Again, the instrumentation is daring.  But the bass line is the unsung hero of the verses, for my money.

This practice of a soft verse with a hard chorus I have a feeling was pioneered on this album[*].  It's a form that has been used to great effect on any number of all time classics.  Elton John, on his version of this (which I prefer in some ways, like his version of Pinball Wizard), make much more of the bouncy, glam drums but that would sound out of place here.

And the lyrics are arguably the best space-cadet words in songwriting history.  Kaleidoscope eyes.  Fucking genius.

Getting Better

The octave on the guitar pattern here is the hook.  Simple as a smack in the face and just as effective at getting your attention.  It's very McCartney and it's one of those songs that makes me smile whenever I hear it.

Fixing A Hole

The bridge parts of this aren't among my favourites either lyrically or musically and it's a shame really cuz the verses are amazing.  The plaintive words and melody express mature themes with an unpretentious philosophical tone that can comfort and inspire when you're reevaluating things.  And that descending pattern on the guitar that comes in after the irresistably singable "where it will go".  So the middle bit's a bit shit.  I've made my peace with it.

She's Leaving Home

It's been too long and the NME compilation with the Billy Bragg version has long since been lost from my collection.  This song is a salutary lesson in counterpoint that is entirely appropriate for its treatment of the subject matter.   It deftly handles the upset, confusion and even anger the parents feel but also the daughter's perspective.  Played on conventional instruments it would still be a brilliant song but the use of harp is a stroke of scene-setting brilliance that is outshone only by the cello doing what cellos do best - haunt and make the heart ache.

Being For The Benefit Of Mr Kite

After the somewhat harrowing track preceding, a bit of light relief is in order but nobody expected this absurd little interlude.  It's another one that I've come to like over the years.  Does it have any hidden meaning?  Or is it just a load of bollocks?  The instrumental section - i.e. the accompaniment for Henry The Horse's waltz - is pretty great actually.  The fairground organ puts me in mind of a carousel and the scene in the Elephant Man where Elphick's character shows up and gets into the house somehow and they're spinning Merrick around and pouring whiskey into his mouth?  It's quite a disturbing scene really.  Throw a horse dancing into the mix and you've got yourself a nervous breakdown.

Within You Without You

Okay.  Now this is why you don't get six stars.  This entire time I was ready to breach the five star system in the other direction and I genuinely thought this would be one of them.  But I always forget about this cuz it's George Harrison and his bloody sitars.  It's not an unpleasant sound I suppose but I just don't get on with this directionless meandering about the scale.

When I'm 64

This is a perfectly placed song.  Wakes me up after the weird ones.  Try to forget its use as the theme tune to shows like Points Of View.  The image of Barry Took isn't going to be conducive to capturing the 30s atmosphere created mostly by the clarinets.  

Lovely Rita

I always get this tune in my head whenever I see a police woman.  I know it's wrong on some level but it's not like I decide to do it.  It just pops in there.  It's such a funky song when you think about it.

Good Morning Good Morning

This is the kind of track you might have chosen to open side 2 but here, approaching the end of the album the statement is made that this collection still has some balls. It kinda plays the same part as Got To Get You Into My Life on Revolver.  It's a thumper of a tune.  Yes, there are time changes but each section has its own addictive rhythm.  Not sure about the fox hunt noises at the end, mind.

Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band (Reprise)

So good they played it twice.  This double tempo reprise of the title track is the finale.  This is the kind of music cast members can walk to the apron to and take a bow.  Some progressions just have that quality.  The album could quite easily end here and you'd leave satisfied but they've planned an encore and what an epilogue it makes.

A Day In The Life

Hailed by many as the greatest Beatles song ever written**, this is a ground breaking song format still emulated today by Coldplay and the Foos to name but two of the biggest bands in the world right now.  I've never been able to make much sense of the words so I don't feel very emotionally attached to it lyrically but the music is a masterful display of arrangement.  It builds from simple beginnings to a powerful crescendo and then drops right back down to the piano but at double tempo and builds again before the opening theme comes crashing back in for the close.  It's ambitious and daring and a perfect ending to the album.

"Never Could Be Any Other Way"?

Is this part of A Day In The Life?  The weird loop at the very end?  I think I remember somebody at school saying if you played that backwards it said "Paul is dead".  I've never tried.  I could never be arsed.  

* - I could be wrong.  I don't do a lot of research for these reviews.  If I have the wrong info in my head, please feel free to correct me in the comments.
** - and certainly by this site 

#0077: Nico - Chelsea Girl []

There is something very odd about the sound of this woman's voice.  Is that a German[*] accent maybe?  It's a very low voice, too.  I mean, she might be a tenor.  The accompaniment is a clean electric guitar sound with support from flute and a few strings.  The melodies are packed full of perfect 4th and 5th intervals, which is fine in context but when that's _all_ you do it's a fucking ballache to listen to.

There's something else about that voice, too.  It's ever so slightly out of tune.  Not enough in tune to be quirky and not enough out to be Marc Almond but right there in the middle of a zone I like to call "oh, for fuck's sake".

I am presently in the middle of an 8 minute assault on my resolve as a pacifist called "It Was A Pleasure Thing".  Nothing could be further from the truth.  This expressionless and slightly flat man's voice, ineptly stumbles around over the earlier tracks but at least you could hear what she was going for.  Now that the experimental bollocks has started, we descend into harmonic anarchy.  Feedback, which I'm sure is supposed to be "atmospheric", from the guitar teams up with the vocal, which I'm sure if transcribed by Terry Pratchett, would appear in upper case.  The two coalesce to form an instrument of sonic torture so inhumane they wouldn't even use it in Guantanimo.

Title track.  Another one over 7 minutes.  Oh god I want to beat her face in with a brick and stick that flute up her arse.  Fucking horrible noise: skip to the very end of the track and listen to the last note.  Why did the engineer not demand another take?  You can't fix a paucity of talent in the mix.

Next track - oh good, same key.  There is absolutely no phrasing, no variation in tone whatsoever. This has got to be some kind of practical joke.  Not even the most sinister nepotism or sexual harassment could explain the presence of this musical torpor in recording history.

I say only 5 minutes to the end of the album but I am almost in tears.  Each succeeding note is cutting through my chest now and drawing grimaces from my face usually reserved for watching the Walking Dead.

Oh please.  PLEASE make it stop.

* - Apparently, she is German.

#0076: Astrud Gilberto - Beach Samba [**]

"Stay and we'll make sex with music."  It's a pretty clumsy opening line, you've got to be honest.  But her voice, with its light, airy quality and the slight Hispanic hue to her accent seem to give it charm.  The flute work is of particular note.

I don't have a good history with Latin music but like anything, if it's done well it can satisfy my finicky tastes.  This is done well but if I close my eyes I can smell the disinfectant on the floor of the supermarket this is playing in.  I can feel the mechanism of the elevator.  I can see the credits of the 1970s couple caper on TV.  It's cheese.

Then A Banda.  Sounding like Billy Smart's Circus is in town but at least having the decency to have lyrics pertaining to the big top, it trumps across the aural landscape, parping and tooting like an old people's home on mouldy sprouts Thursday.

Normal service is then resumed.  And by normal service, I mean this well executed, softly intoned, ice-cream-headache-inducing-ly inoffensive wank.  The string arrangements and the interleaving of the flute are expert.  There's really nothing wrong with it but that's kinda the problem.  Who is this woman?  "I had the craziest dream last night".  Really?  Did you finish a game of mahjong with a tile left over?  Did you find your Sound Of Music DVD in the Wizard Of Oz case?

I mean Christ.  Ted Rogers wouldn't've booked this shit for 3-2-1 during the World Cup.

Oh but the flute.

You know what?  Fuck the flute.  I'm half way thru and I'm already sick of falling back on that as the saving grace.

My Foolish Heart has to be a standard, though.  It's a beautiful song.  I'm guessing she was some kind of mind-spinning hottie cuz her voice is only a song's worth of charming.

There was a show in the 80s that David Jacobs (God rest his soul) presented called "Where Are They Now?".  If you're looking for this chick, try La Tasca first.  She'll be the haggard, slightly surly waitress, foundation-soaked, fighting-the-HRT-flab and being careful not to smile too broadly cuz her teeth might put you off your food.

Now she's singing with a kid.  In unison.  Big mistake.  Kids don't hold a tune so well.  What you end up with is a quarter-tone discord.  Why do you think school choirs sound so shit?  They're all out by that much.  Utterly horrifying.

Okay, get me the scissors.  I'm five tracks from the end and there is no end in sight.  I've now figured out what it is about her voice I don't like.  There is absolutely no expression in it.  It's like she doesn't really speak English and the producers have told her the songs are about futures contracts on shoe lace wax.

Call Me, not the Blondie song, is probably famous.  Billy Crystal sings this in When Harry Met Sally during the montage of him calling her over and over.  He does a better job on a shitbox karaoke machine than this insipid bint.  I like the song very much but she's pissing in its mouth.  And not in a good way.

Can we just assume the remaining tracks passed without incident?  No, actually.  There's a classy piano solo on Tu Meu Delirio.  Skip to 2 minutes in to avoid the vocals.  Unless you like ghosts singing.  That's not really fair to ghosts, I grant you.  I've seen Corpse Bride.

#0075: Nina Simone - Wild Is The Wind [****]

I confess to panicking a little when this started.  The opening track is a strutting blues not unlike the last 2 albums I've listened to.  Don't get me wrong, this woman's voice elevates the form above its everyman ennui but I was surprised, given what I know about her.

Four Women, I'm sure must be a famous song in some circles.  I'd never heard it before but from the first line it was clearly important.  The lyrics are four verses, each describing a woman in the first person.  Each one is representative of a black woman and together plot a path from slavery to the bitterness of militant anti-white attitudes of the time.  The album comes up against the backdrop of the Civil Rights Movement, Dr Martin Luthor King, a time of significant change in the saga of racial tension in America and this song is particularly poignant when considered in context.

Separated by the ethereally dark Lilac Wine, two off-the-rail Simone smoochers simultanously haunt and soothe with their soft swing.   I can imagine That's All I Ask being covered by soul singers to this day but a quick search reveals it has been tragically overlooked, with only Jeff Buckley appearing to have done it.

Break Down And Let It All Out is bit more of a ballsy soul number but she is much more at home in the gentle climate of misty agony and though the words consistently express the sorrow of love's multi-faceted propensity to deliver pain, it seems the faster rhythms are present mostly for variety.

The title track didn't trigger recognition until it started.  Bowie did this on Station To Station and the two versions seem like entirely different songs.  I never really liked Bowie's version and indeed until now I thought he'd written it.  It apparently first written for Johnny Mathis.  I haven't heard his version but I would struggle to accept another rendition as the definitive version having heard Nina Simone's treatment.

The rest of the album goes on in much the same way and reveals itself to be music played in a darkly lit room, where old friends sit and talk until late or lovers hold each other in the fragile afterglow, the trickling piano and breathy vocal fusing them together in eternal beauty no matter the inevitable pain forthcoming.

#0074: The Yarbirds - Roger the Engineer [**]

I was given to understand that the Yardbirds were the yardstick of Blues.  Well, while the presence of blues influence is unmistakably felt on many of the songs, this is a lot more of a pop album than in it is a 101 of blues mastery.

Rather than gravel bitten solo lamentations from the well of despair, the vocals are enriched with harmonies that even though nowhere near the red zone are definitely on the Beach Boys/Beatles spectrum.  The guitars, also, do not play the dominant role they usually have in blues music.  There are tracks with even a tinge of the psychedelic about them, almost foreshadowing the early sound of Pink Floyd.  Not such a surprise, you may say, Floyd having combined the names of blues musicians to make their name.

Standing out from the generic sixtiesness is Hot House Of Omagarashid - a straight, snare-on-the-one driver, which in spite of the weak vocal is the most interesting melody and progression on the album.

None of it was really offensive though until Turn Into Earth, which is only a two minute song but whose first 90 seconds yawns into eternity before snapping back into a godawful trite play-out section that shouts "we've run out of ideas" as loud as any seventeen minute experimental finale.  Thank the good lord for small mercies, there isn't one of those but the trippy, trying-way-too-hard-to-be-deep Ever Since The World Began at 2:56 is more than a bit testing on the old patience.

#0073: John Mayall & the Bluesbreakers - Bluesbreakers with Eric Clapton [***]

I like blues in isolation.  But there don't seem to be many variations available within the form to keep it interesting over a whole album.  Its simplistic structure makes it very accessible for listeners and players but that also makes it easy to play badly.

That said, this album starts with a strutty kinda groove that breaks into that driving compound three you hear on tracks like Sweet Home Chicago.  It's sung clearly, the guitar is precise and tuneful and it doesn't bang on for too long.  There is a feel change in the next track too and I see a pattern forming.

Track 3, a fast straight 4 comes and goes in its already bland competence.

But just as I was getting bored, there's a very short track of just harmonica and claps with singing over the top.  It's a clever little interlude that wakes me up again and gets me ready for some more guitar.  What we're then treated to is that deep plunging, slow 6 so definitive of the genre.  The track opens with a flourish on the piano and then it all kicks in but again, it's only a few minutes.  No self-indulgent 10 minute solos.

There's a very nice cover of Ray Charles' What I'd Say with some tasty and understated organ work.  The drum solo, while providing variety wasn't in itself particularly interesting (and I'm a fan of drum solos in general) and even within a four and a half minute song was too long but when the song comes back in, the guitarist employs the riff from Daytripper over the main groove and the band add some dynamics that bring it all to a satisfying close.

The album goes on through fast skiffle rhythms peppered with pristine harmonica licks (Parchman Farm), broad stompers with horn support (Key To Love) and another slow 6, but this time lead by saxophone with a thick, gooey organ pad that separates it from the previous one.

Have You Heard, however is almost six minutes long and after the vocals come in, it gets tired quick.  Robert Plant on vocals, it would've carried but whoever's singing has too soft a voice to pull this off.  After three and a half minutes there's the telltale crescendo and the guitar breaks into solo.  Nice work.  Can't fault that young man, really.

Now this is interesting.  It's another slow 6 but just piano and guitars.  I say interesting but its appeal ends with their choice of instrumentation.  Same scales, same progression, same lacklustre vocal.  Bit of a non-track really after a promising start.

Stepping Out is a show-stopping instrumental with lavish horns and a brazen guitar riff and then the album closes with a fast skiffle featuring harmonica again.

As far as blues goes, this is as good as I've heard and they've certainly worked hard to keep it interesting.  I just can't ride that 1-4-5 train for more than a few stops.

#0072: The 13th Floor Elevators - Psychedelic Sounds of the 13th Floor Elevators [**]

I had to clean my house urgently.

I'm not a very domesticated animal.  Things get messy fast when I live somewhere.  But it's not usually that long before I reach what I call "critical mess" and have a thorough clean and tidy up.  Then the cycle starts again.  Cleaning a bit less regularly every week until finally there's no point even trying to find a bin cuz the floor will do.

Having said that, I have had the benefit of living with a few very fastidious, let's face it, OCD nightmares who hoover twice a day etc.  So I know _how_ to get a place clean and how to stay on top of it.  I just tend to lose my way very easily.

I recently had a house inspection that caused a bit of a panic so I decided to set an alarm on my phone every day at 7pm to motivate me to stop what I was doing and go do half an hour's cleaning.  I divided the house up into zones and started in Zone 1 until the half hour was up.  The next night I would start where I left off.  My reasoning being that by the end of each week I would have cleaned the entire house at least once.

I needed the alarm tone to be something arresting and inspiring so I chose Iron Maiden's Phantom of the Opera.  I'm trying to deny to myself that this had anything to do with Lucozade or Daley Thompson.

While I was setting up for a gig a few days ago, my cleaning alarm went off.  The band who had just finished all remarked "Awesome ring tone!".

Having scored some rock n roll points from the kids, it would have been unwise of me to tell them what it was really for.

What does that have to do with this album?  Fuck all, really.  Except that I was trying to listen to it while I was cleaning the house up for the inspection.  What I found was that the album finished and I had completely different music going round in my head.  Clearly my subconscious felt that the soundtrack to my cleaning efforts should be something it liked.

It's clangy and tinny and so saturated with reverb it could indeed have been recorded in an elevator shaft.  There are loose, droney jams on here that are quite reminiscent of The Doors but I'm saving my spleen to vent for when Morrison and Co actually appear.  

The lyrics are indecipherable but that is a problem with the recording rather than the singer's diction, I think.  I've made several attempts to listen to this and even sat here listening intently it still can't hold my attention.  

I don't really know how to judge it cuz technically I still haven't heard it.  So, I'll go with a random two.  Two says, "So dull I never made it through a complete sitting."

#0071. Simon & Garfunkel - Parsley Sage Rosemary And Thyme [*****]

Can you be a big fan of an artist without owning or at least knowing all of their recordings?  I'd like to think so.  I have a couple of S&G collections and I adore them but I've never got around to listening to an album.  

This is apparently their third offering and it begins with the intertwined contrapuntal masterpiece Scarborough Fair/Canticle.  If you think you know it, listen to it again and really focus this time.  The layers added, round upon round are diaphanously subtle.  The changes come in the form of vocal harmonies on both the melodies and the intricacy of the incidental harpsichord and a second guitar.  Putting it that simply robs the song of praise for this is magical arrangement and coupled with their crystal clear and breathy voices, the result is acoustic nirvana.

The songs are short, most coming in under three minutes and using minimalist percussive hooks or bass lines along with the inventive melodies distinguish themselves clearly one from the other.  

Paul Simon's lyrics are an inspiration and a masterclass in capturing the intangible detail that makes ordinary life beautiful and succinctly expressing the agonies of existence.  I find I have to consciously veer my attention from the lyrics in order to hear the accompaniment properly.

There was a time, many years ago, I was travelling back to Swansea for Christmas.  I was standing on the platform at Reading waiting for the through train from London Paddington to take me home to Wales.  I had a Panasonic Walkman that I had recently bought, of which I was very proud because it was smaller than a cassette case and had a remote control.  Yes, I said "cassette"!  

In this time of iPods where 1000s of songs can be carried with us, that's not so impressive but as I sit here listening to "Homeward Bound", it is that memory that floods my inner vista so eagerly I can smell the engine diesel and feel the chill of the wind on that December day.  It is a bitter irony that my perception of "home" was to change dramatically over that holiday and indeed I would never be the same again.  There are times even now I look back wistfully on those days of innocent discontent and "all my words come back to me in shades of mediocrity".  It is Homeward Bound that somehow expresses my transient longing and my weariness of the world.

We don't spend the whole time lazily kicking up leaves around the eccentric folk framework.  The Big Bright Green Pleasure Machine gives you a blast of a harsh rotor organ and a rockier drum pattern and some bluer notes, a lift in pace that is maintained in The 59th St Bridge Song.  It's a totally different feel, of course.  Feelin' Groovy (its alternate title as many know) has to be up there among the Happiest Songs Of All Time not to mention Most Distinctive Double Bass Lead-ins.   

I think the first time I heard it might've been Nana Mouskouri covering it when I was a child.  Either that or somebody who looks like her was singing it on Sesame St.  No I'm not saying she looked like a muppet[1]. 

The gravitas is given a boost with The Dangling Conversation as timpani and cellos enter the fray but the swooping drama of the arrangement fails to distract from the piercing observations, eloquently painted by the words.  I would love to quote from this song but I honestly cannot choose a single couplet over the others.  Tell you what; just read them yourself.   

   

When I saw the title A Simple Desultory Phillipic, my heart sank.  When I heard the introductory chords, my eyes widened in terror.  But when I heard the stomach curdling nasal whining kick in, I truly thought someone had gone back in time and convinced Hitler not to invade Russia.  This sound was unmistakably emulating Bob Dylan.  So somebody must have got a Delorean and changed history so radically it resulted in Simon & Garfunkel being shit.

But as I listened, I began to notice things.  Firstly, the arrangement sounds like somebody is listening to the band and making decisions about who should be heard and when.  This is not just a stereo picture being taken.  This is a stereo film being shot.  

Second, when Simon begins to sing he is imitating old rat face but there are notes in that forced speaking style; notes that follow the chords implied by that distorted riff.   It is choice musicianship even in this restrictive style designed by necessity to forgive the imperfections of its innovator.

Third, the lyrics don't directly deride Dylan but quoting from Rainy Day Women ("The man ain't got no culture, But it's alright, ma, Everybody must get stoned.") and then finishing with "I lost my harmonica" I get the sense that the pretentious title, and the deft handling of how the style _should_ be rendered are nothing short of the most invidious satire.  Genius.

The album closes with 7'o'clock News.  This is a clever piece of social commentary, delivered in the form of a very simple arpeggio accompaniment on piano with Silent Night being sung on one side and the news being read on the other.   

Thought provoking, entertaining and adept from edge to label, this is staying on my playlist for a long time to come.

[1]:  I'd've totally shagged her, btw, but she doesn't look the sort to put out to be fair.  Found this while I was fact-checking, though so not Sesame St as it turns out  

[2] If it turns out to be homage I shall be very disappointed and will be drafting a strongly worded greetings card to Mr Simon. 

#0070: The Rolling Stones - Aftermath [****]

It was policy in the 60s to release a different version of UK albums in the US.  The version I have of this is the US release and I'm not entirely happy about that.  Nevertheless, that's the version this review is based on.

This cut begins with Paint It Black.  It's not on the UK version cuz in those days the singles were not included on the album.  That says a lot to me about how music was marketed.  Singles weren't used to promote an album or if they were you had to buy the single as well if it was what motivated you to buy the album.  It's not like they didn't have room on the vinyl.  

Paint It Black is a great song but for me it loses its way half way through.  I've heard it many many times and when it comes on I think "Yeah, great" but I've never got to the end without losing interest.

That aside, these songs are slinky beat babies and if I had to pick something the Stones had over the Beatles it's that.  They were funkier.  Even the more obviously blues rooted tracks like Flight 505 have a quality that I cannot pinpoint to a specific instrument or rhythmic signature.  It's in the audaciously worded Stupid Girl, Under My Thumb, Think; an incorporeal funkiness that makes me buck and grind right here at the table.  

One exception to this is Lady Jane and it's here I was impressed.  Mick Jagger shows a versatility with his vocal I've been unaware of all these years.  The harpsichord, dulcimer and acoustic guitars produced a beautiful, mellow sound and the lyrics, while grandiose in their mock-Elisabethan court style somehow escape sounding pretentious.

The drums are a bit messy on High and Dry, otherwise a good country stomp.  It's Not Easy has a sneaky little organ jabbing almost indetectably low in the mix that puts a cherry on top of this already magnetically animalistic tune.

So far, this is a delight.  Then comes I Am Waiting.  It's got a functional chorus that kicks in with drums after a verse carried by guitar and dulcimer/harpsicord and I can't help but feel like I _am_ actually just waiting for that chorus.  Not so great, really.

The last track is Goin' Home.  It's 11 minutes long.  Long closing tracks seem to be very common on albums from this time and in my experience to date, they destroy all the good work an album may have done.  Why do they do it?  Is it self indulgence?  Is it to fill time?  Do they think it lends credence to their image as "artists" to be able to play the same pattern round and round for four song lengths?  

This album is no exception.  11 minutes of one of the groovy ones with some extended solos might've been something but it's just a very loose quasi-skiffle on the same bass note with Jagger improvising over the top.  

To put it in perspective it is at least tuneful, which is a lot more than I can say for other Closing Epic Offenders.  But it's soooo tedious.  And to think they cut 4 songs from the UK version in order keep this.  It beggars belief.

I went and found those four tracks and they were great.  Take It Or Leave It was borderline but still a damn sight more engaging than Goin' Home.

I wanna make sure I come back to this so I'm giving it a 4 but only on the understanding that I will be making my own hybrid playlist that excludes that last track.   And probably I Am Waiting now that I think about it.  There.  Perfect.

I was born too late, y'no?  Think of the suffering I could've saved everyone.

#0069: Frank Zappa & The Mothers of Invention - Freak Out []

I don't think I have ever listened to a single Frank Zappa album in my life.  I've heard of Joe's Garage but I have no idea what it might sound like.  Friends of mine think Frank Zappa was a true genius.  Based on what I've heard in conversation, I get the feeling it's going to be too avante garde or experimental for my patience but I'm going to keep an open mind.  He apparently released over 300 albums before his death so it's in my interest to like this as it will give me a nice, juicy catalogue to pursue.

It's a double album, which makes me nervous.  Having sufficient material to fill 4 sides of vinyl is not enough to justify recording a double album.  The material needs to be of consistent quality with the best songs you intend to include.  Anything that doesn't meet your best should be tossed or used as B sides.

Blonde On Blonde was the first (rock) double album by a week followed by this.  Blonde On Blonde wasn't worth cutting down to a 7 inch single let alone a single LP and I really hope there's more to this than funny titles.

Case in point: Hungry Freaks, Daddy.  The opening track explodes onto the aural landscape with urgent pace and the tambourine used like closed high hat and a fat bass line playing a line reminiscent of the Stones' Satisfaction in unison with a tightly distorted guitar.  I'm on board.  Even when the almost-spoken vocals start, I am still engaged because he's double-tracked it and makes it interesting.  By the next section though, it becomes clear this is a distraction technique.  On its own the vocal would be quite poor.  As soon as the "singing" gives way to the instrumental sections, things improve again.  There is some great guitar work and I can even put up with the cazoo at the end of each turnaround but it's novel at best.  

I Ain't Got No Heart is a more traditional title but it's a kung fu B movie soundtrack interrupted by the same atonal political whining.  Painful, yes, but evidently there was worse to come.

Who Are The Brain Police is the sort of track that would be really funny if I was on acid.  During my experimental phase I would've even tried to like this.  It's got a very odd melody, which I'm sure I could explain if I concentrated hard enough.  But who wants to listen to music you have to explain?  It's unpleasant already but then goes into an arrhythmic, reverb-soaked playout section that has me reaching for the scissors.  Thankfully, it ends before I start to look like Snake Plisskin.

The next few songs seem to return to this planet, or at least to the solar system.  They're accessible rhythm-wise, the voices are singing melodies and if the arrangements are weird then it serves to separate them from how they would have sounded if produced by the Soul and RnB engineers of the time whose genre these closest resemble.
  
Wowie Zowie bounces along in a poppy kind of way, every so often declaring "I don't care if you brush your teeth" and then we're back to popular styles in a hall of mirrors.

That's what it is.  Every few songs there is something utterly alien like "You're Probably Wondering Why I'm Here" and then there is what must've been a song at some stage distorted and blurred and Pollack speckled with random instruments and effects.

It's evenly distributed between senseless excrement (Help I'm A Rock for example) and satirised pop but the melodious, accessible stuff isn't nice enough to counterbalance the fucking hideous racket interleaving. 

The last twenty minutes of this album are just agony.

For the first minute and 20 seconds of It Can't Happen Here you get random vocal noises, clicks and the title phrase repeated.  Then a drum beat sort of comes in for a bit and then we're back to the vocal crap.  It's like somebody left a few wooden spoons and empty biscuit tins in a psych ward and left the tape running.  But there was still worse to come.  

The Return Of The Son Of The Monster Magnet, the remaining twelve minutes of what was a promising album for 8 bars, is pure SDT.  That's Sensory Disorientation Treatment if you're not a fan of 24.  

It begins with the words "Suzy?  Suzy cream cheese?" and so heralds the start of something that made me truly wish I had never started this project.

Frank Zappa may have been gifted as a child but in the pursuit of frontiers, he lost sight of what was important.  This isn't entertaining, it's torture.  I'm trying to imagine somebody listening back to this inexcusable shit in the studio.  Of course, he produced the record but even so.  

In Rain Man, Raymond farts in the phone box and Charlie exclaims the question "How can you you stand that?"  I guess a visiting producer could ask the same question of Frank Zappa.  

How.  In the FUCK.  Can ANYONE.  Stand.  This.  Shit.  

No word of a lie, they are playing the SPOONS and repeating the words "cream cheese" over and over again.  And now playing that back sped up by a factor of 4 or 5.  For TWELVE minutes!

Remember what I said in the beginning about justifying the length of the album?  Yeah.  This could've been an inventive, ground-breaking, maybe even inspirational 35 minutes of actual music.  Instead, I feel a responsibility to not award even the two stars I was going give this so that I don't unwittingly lead you to walk onto the blade of this mindless cunt fudge.

#0068. Paul Revere And The Raiders - Midnight Ride []

Chaaang Chaaang a chukka chang chang.  Now keep doing that for 42 minutes and you've pretty much reproduced this.  There  - I just saved you a fiver.  Please send £1 to my PayPal account for my pain and suffering.

There's nothing specifically wrong with it I suppose.  I just don't get why I could not die without hearing this.  It's so ordinary.  When it does veer from the not-even-particularly-well-executed machine pop it's to baleful, stinky cheese wank like Melody for an Unknown Girl.  It's a sweet enough tune but surely if Acker Bilk wasn't willing to play guest clarinet on it then maybe that's a sign.

I have no idea if Acker Bilk was even approached by the way but it's something to talk about while this unimaginative dross is spiraling down the plughole of my attention span.  

How dull is it?

It's so dull I got up and tidied the living room while it was on just so my hands would be too busy to poke myself in the eye repeatedly.

It's so dull I pumice stoned my feet and counted the flakes of skin that came off (93).
  
It's so dull you could use it to cure addiction.  Simply give the addict as much alcohol, cigarettes, drugs or biscuits as they want and play this album while they consume their chosen poison.  They'll be so bored by the end they won't want to partake of it ever again.  Of course, they would then need to be treated for narcolepsy.

Point made?  I think so.

#0067: The Mamas & the Papas - If You Can Believe Your Eyes And Ears [***]

I didn't remember until the track came around the half way mark that California Dreaming was this lot.  I'm learning not to just assume it was their song but I have confirmed it was written by two of them a couple of years prior to the release of this album.  From my perspective it's their most famous song yet Monday Monday (the opening track) was their only number one.  

Maybe that's not so weird.  Cultural importance can push things to the forefront more effectively than record sales perhaps.  If that's true, I think that's a good thing in general.  But it does expose the extent of how fucked up the world is that a laborious dirge like California Dreamin' could outstrip a song like Monday Monday.  

Here was a tune that starts with a catchy tag but has the self awareness to get away from it before it causes irritation.  It not only uses those hooks sparingly but the changes create blue notes and genuine shiver points that mitigate the record sales.  It is a travesty then that a progression as arduously repetitive and lyrics so boring Dido could've written them could exceed the cultural endurance of this plaintive requiem for the weekend.

Their harmonies are without question, beautiful and that is sustained throughout this album.  I'll say no more about it.  Just assume that if I comment or don't comment on a track, I think the harmonies are lovely.

There are times when they're too nice, mind you, and in those moments the saccharin levels rise to nauseating levels that are only made worse by the arrangements.  Specifically, these low points are Do You Wanna Dance, Spanish Harlem and I Call Your Name, proving that I am not dyed in the wool with regards the Lennon and McCartney catalogue. 

Got A Feelin is a well placed song on the album, being a slow song at track 3, chilling us out after the up beat very-obviously-about-drugs Straight Shooter.   Got A Feeling is a song of suspicion in a relationship and concludes with a dark foreboding that the unfaithful will get what's coming to them.  Throughout the song the rhythm emulates the ticking of a clock, symbolising that time is running out for the subject, which I like.  

It appears Aretha Franklyn did the most successful version of Spanish Harlem.  I've not heard it but I can't imagine it's up to much considering the base material.   In context, this now means five tracks on the spin have been a disappointment with California Dreamin only offering relief cuz it's familiar.

In short, after a good start with the first 3 tracks, it's all starting to look a bit dicey for the foursome but then, just in the nick of time Somebody Groovy comes along.  This is a five star song on a two star album and thankfully, it is every bit as groovy as the title suggests.

Sadly, Hey Girl is a Beatles emulation that doesn't really hit the mark and You Baby, whilst a considerably better paint-the-fence[1] boogie is still not up to the standard I had hoped would endure throughout.  

The album closes with another addictive groove monster in The In Crowd and with the girls taking the lead vocal it's very reminiscent of Darlene Love or Nancy Sinatra and there's fuck all wrong with that.

It's short and at points it's very sweet but it lets itself down too often.  I can see that perhaps it was done in the pursuit of variety but they strayed too far from the path of grooviness for my liking.

[1] I don't know what the dance is called if it has a name at all.  But it's that 60s step where you alternate your weight every other up-beat from side to side while doing an exaggerated "paint the fence" move from The Karate Kid.  

#0066: The Kinks - Face To Face [*****]

The first thing that struck me was how much like the Beatles it sounded.  Indeed the opening track even had all the cheeky mischief of some of Lennon's more comical output.  But once that initial impression had faded, it became clear this was much more than another cloned cash-in on the Fab Four's era-defining sound.  

These songs have great character both lyrically and musically.  From the first song I knew that I was in the hands of a songwriter of skill and imagination.  Clearly defined and smoothly navigated A and B sections with melodies that negotiate each turn in a manner that delights and impresses.  

The production is interesting too.  From track to track, still operating in that reasonably primitive 60s framework, it's not just a formulaic treatment of the composite tracks with regards reverb and panning.  

Even on tracks that give way to what could easily be an endless and tiresome jam (Rainy Day In June), the spontaneity and transience of the idea is preserved by not making too much of it.  They appear as interludes used as epilogues.  

Occasionally we get sound effects interlaced with the songs and as introductions.  The lyrics discuss everything from big houses to the weather, and while those are fairly bland topics to explore in every day conversation it is the carefree delivery that stops it being dull.  I've a feeling Blur may have been influenced by The Kinks.

Little Miss Queen Of Darkness is a stand out track for me.  It's such a happy-go-lucky tune but the lyrics present quite an acerbic view of the subject.  Even here at what perhaps constitutes satire, still they manage to sidestep the pretentious.

12 tracks in and I'm enjoying it so much the idea of whether a song I know might be on here hasn't even entered my mind.  And then there it is; Sunny Afternoon.  Bold as a mandrill's buttocks it sits there in the penultimate position, familiar and comfortable and you would expect it to seem out of place among the album tracks.  But the fact is it's no better than any of the songs preceding it.  

I've always liked what I've heard of the Kinks but never got around to hearing more.  This is an album that is consistently good with very few weak points and even then they're not really stinkers.  I'm Not Like Everybody Else and Dead End Street didn't really grab me but these were only included on the 1998 re-issue as a bonus track along with a handful of others.

So I can breathe a sigh of relief.  I really didn't want to be let down by this one.

#0065: Monks - Black Monk Time [*]

I shouldn't have looked.  It's a big 60s, cavernous sound and the opening track is a thrashing, 2-beat - a polka set at breakneck pace.  It sounds clean and spacious though and it's not looking too bad until the vocals come in.  It's at this point the question presents itself to my conscious mind.

"What the fuck is this?"

It's a guy shouting about Vietnam for a bit and then they launch into a chant-style chorus purporting that it is "Monk time".

Fair enough.  Not my bag and at just over two and a half minutes, it's not a total turn off.  The term "monastic silence" doesn't come from nowhere however and I do fear that by the end of this I may be praying for exactly that.  But not wanting to dismiss it out of hand just because they wanted to make an entrance I reserved judgement.  

I did a little background reading.  They were a group of US soldiers stationed in Germany.  They only made one album.  Like I said, I shouldn't have looked.  I shouldn't have looked because now instead of "musicians trying to do something new", I've got "boys having a knock about, working out their frustrations".  

The next track, ironically is called "Shut up" and it's a kind of fucked up tango - could be a foxtrot too, thinking about it but still fucked up.  It's got a slow, ascending, chromatic hook line played on an organ, which is quite reminiscent of the Doors.  Although we've yet to encounter any of their stuff on the list yet.  It's different from the first track which works in its favour but it's still kinda loud and unskilled.  

See?  I'm tainted.

It's still playing now while I form these thoughts and I have to say I'm blocking it out so I can concentrate.  If this was on, even quietly while I was trying to work or have a conversation, it would raise my blood pressure and make me very tense and uncomfortable.

Apparently a cult following has built up around this group, who have been touring since 1999 without recording any new material.  

There are tunes.  I just don't like them.  There are arrangements.  I just don't like them.  There are solos and harmonies.  I just - don't - like them.  Now, if I could just leave it there, things would be so much easier but I have to listen to the rest of the album.

The variety of rhythm isn't quite diverse enough to offer a break from the overused floor tom.  The bass follows the chord so predictably as to be unnoticeable.  The neanderthal sexism in some of the lyrics is particularly pitiful and the stereotype of the rape-and-pillage GI mindset is woefully supported in that respect.

The keyboard player can go quite fast on the one scale he knows but loses his way quickly and his phrasing is choppy and awkward - all the signs of someone playing with too much enthusiasm and not enough confidence.  

Drunken Maria is a very short song that could've done with being shorter.  I think it's a baritone sax that makes the arrangement interesting and the tune is peculiar and entertaining.  But once the words kick in, it just sounds like all the other songs.  Cut that second minute, or even replace it with a variation and they might've been onto something.

Love Can Tame The Wild offers a long overdue display of competency and I actually like it.  There is texture here and character.  The harmonies are well placed and balanced and the piano is quirky and interesting if still a little clumsy.

One star or two?  As far as likelihood that I'll return to this, it's one.  Yet, in spite of how much I disliked the sound, you can still see how much love has gone into this recording.  But giving points for effort sets a dangerous precedent.  When the arm returns to the cradle, this is just another 40 minutes I had to waste to get to one song.

#0064: Bob Dylan - Blonde On Blonde []

I suppose I should be grateful that all 35 of this self-satisfied, eternally ready for a close-up of his own prostate's drivel are not on the list.  It's not surprising he's so prolific.  At my most prolific I was writing 8 songs a month.  I go for a shit twice a day.  Case closed.

This particular collection of slowly putrefying offal is #9 on the Rolling Stone list and the second most highly rated of his albums.  Considering what a ball-piercing waste of time Highway 61 Revisited-Over-My-Dead-Body was I will not afford this the same attention.  It's not like I haven't listened to it before.  I remember being told his definitive work was to be found on this and Blood On The Tracks.  I listened to them both at the time - a good ten years ago - and didn't get on with them then.  I think that's when I started developing my fierce animosity towards him.  How dare he squander my attention with this appalling display of amateur doggerel?

Onto the album.  Rainy Day Women #12 and #35 is the opening track and I like the oompa slash New Orleansy kind of feel but after the novelty of that and the cheeky giggle you get on "everybody must get stoned" you're left with "they'll stone you" followed by a random reference which if it does have meaning is esoteric and shuts off the piece in a pretentious little box.  And what a stupid title.  Do the lyrics shed any light on it?  Of course not.  What a cunt.

The next track - who gives a fuck what it's called - is a vehicle for his shit-sucking harmonica playing.  Harsh and abrasive, it cuts through my head like a bread knife through a tin of beans resulting in instant migraine and fury.

"They sent for the ambulance and one was sent.  

They said he got lucky but it was an accident."

He says that like it's meant to be clever.  Wanker.

Visions Of Johanna starts well and indeed has a nice groove but there are three things working against this piece.  His voice, his harp and the fact he refuses to edit his words so we end up with 7:34 of extraneous bum mustard.  There's still 5 minutes left of it but I've heard enough of this tosser to know it's not getting any better.  I've had hangovers where I felt less suicidal than listening to this.

"These visions of Johanna kept me up past the dawn."  

Well maybe they did, Bob.  Maybe they did.  But maybe they kept you up so late because there's three hundred and seventy fucking eight of them!

More of the same dry heaving vocal for another couple of tracks until we get to the next seven minute editing fail.  No effort made to make the song interesting.  Just verse after verse after random, senseless, tuneless verse.  

A few interminable tracks later, "she makes love just like a woman but she breaks like a little girl".  That's nicely put I suppose.  There's a bunch of reputable singers who have covered this.  Maybe I'll listen to their versions.  Actually, I think anybody who covers a Bob Dylan song should be given a writing credit for the melody they sing.  It's not like they had one to start with is it?  Somebody should get the credit who actually did the work, right?

Temporary Like Achilles is an interesting title.  Let's see what an abortion he can make of it.  Yep.  Same "note" repeated for the words, same hideous harmonica like a buzzsaw through a creche.   Five minutes and three seconds later, I'm thinking he needs to look up "Temporary".

Listening to this is like being in a sort of Hellish Narnia.  The witch Dylania cuts the webbing between your fingers and toes with a blunt razor soaked in chilli sauce and does it slowly over the course of 3 hours and when you come back to this world only a minute has passed.  How in the name of all that's holy can anyone bear to listen to this?  It is physically painful.  It is so shit that no stars is not low enough.  I'm gonna have to go back and take a star off one of the other reviews to make up for it. 

Last track.  Sad Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands.  Eleven minutes twenty one seconds.  What can you possibly have to say that the preceding three sides of the album did not already cover with saturated ambiguity?  Huh? 

"With your silhouette when the sunlight dims
Into your eyes where the moonlight swims"

Good words but not exactly a new idea is it, genius?  Why don't you fuck off, Bob? Fuck off and die in a fucking hole with a live piranha up your arse you fucking detestable little twat.

#0063: The Byrds - Fifth Dimension [*****]

I don't know much about the Byrds other than they are near the top of a very long list of artists who have pulled Bob Dylan's execrable wank out of the u-bend of Mount Effluent and turned them into classics.

The stereo picture of these songs is beautiful.  The 60s trend of left and right panning separate instruments is followed here but whereas in other works you feel like your headphones are broken, an elegant balance is struck widening the sonic experience to heavenly levels.  Over the top of this is a canopy of harmonic cloud, full and fluffy and quite reminiscent of Crosby, Stills and Nash.

So I go look it up on Wikipedia to discover that most of the songs were co-written by David Crosby.  Duh.

I am finding time and again with these albums that the good stuff has variety within a clearly defined style but the Byrds demonstrate a versatility of style ranging between classic folk and almost rockabilly pop.  I don't know how I never listened to these sooner.  It is one of the hopes I had when I began this project that I would discover things that will become a regular part of my listening patterns.  It's this level of songwriting, musicianship and sound engineering that make it worthwhile suffering the worthless guff in between.

Stand out tracks include 5D, Mr Spaceman, Eight Miles High and a version of Hey Joe.  The much-covered Hendrix version was in fact written by a guy called Billy Roberts.  This rendition is almost unrecognisable from the crashing, heavy lead laden classic so familiar to most.  It's fast, a real driving song and not without its own intricate guitar flavours.

And then out of the back of that frenetic tale of murder and abscondment comes Captain Soul.  I'm thinking about doing a cover version of it.  It's bloody fantastic.

The remainder of the album continues to surprise and delight with interesting production ideas and lyrical hooks and basically I can't find fault with it.  I think I've just come in my (not broken) headphones.

#0062: Fred Neil - Fred Neil [*]

Heavy on the tremolo, please and sing it like your dog just died.

It's almost early Pink Floyd-esque how spacey the guitar sounds on this and then his voice comes in.  Deep and resonant, yes, a very good voice but it's incongruous to the sound.  As the album drags on - sorry, did I say drags?  I meant draaaaaags.   As it plods along, they dial back the tremolo and it sounds a lot more like traditional country-folk crossover.  

It sounds like he's trying to write Everybody's Talkin from Midnight Cowboy.  Oh wait, that is actually on here.  Oh so _that's_ who sings that.  Okay.  My bad.

So the guy spends half an album coming up with the best song on there and then doesn't have the imagination to try a different recipe or the sense to recognise that that idea isn't going to get any better.

He's got a really nice voice but for this style of music you've got to like the words and I don't really connect with them or the sound.  There are some great moments: the harp solo on Dadi-da is excellent and certain people would've done well to investigate the existence of actual musicians like this when they recorded their septic cock drippings. Mentioning no names.

Faretheewell is track 5 out of 12.  Oh how I wish it was.  You little bastard.  Still haven't got to Everybody's Talkin yet and already I wanna wipe up the guck on my cooker and drink it down with the bleach it's soaking in.

Oh thank god.  Everybody's Talkin.  Oh no, what's this?  This is a different version. Where's the lovely guitar riff and the skiffle drum beat?  Oh ffs, you utter wanker.  Why _why_ WHY would you fuck up a classic like that?  Ah ok.  Harry Nielson recorded the good version.  Thank you Harry for spotting the potential in this song.  This version is just stick-a-nail-up-your-jacksie boring.

I'm properly fucked off now.  I was really looking forward to hearing that and now I've got to suffer the rest of this twaddle with no hope of reprieve.  

Great harmonica on Sweet Cocaine but the song itself is too reminiscent of Cocaine Blues, which is a far more dextrous exposition of the substance that should've been called Instant Arsehole.

Green Rocky Road is the one track I actually like.  It's got a feel that carries you forward and a tune you want to sing along with.   It's too little too late but maybe it's just one of those albums that gets good at the end.

Nope.  The closing track is an eight minute hot skewer down the urethra called Cynicrustpetefredjohn Raga.  There is the suggestion of a skiffle beat somewhere among the previously redeeming but now directionless harp but it's lost in the cacophony.  Exacerbating the torture are the sitars, which are irritating at their best but in this case appear to have been left out in the sun covered in bird seed and what we're hearing is what happened when the pigeons arrived.  

You see?  This is what happens when you do too much cocaine.  You start thinking this sort of noise is acceptable or in some way constitutes art.  Preach subjectivity all you want but there have to be limits surely?