Why 'dishonest'? God only knows, I had to say something stupid. Anyway, here's the news: having reviewed most of the artists whose output I'm familiar with to the point of being able of formulating an opinion about them - that is, writing an intro paragraph and attributing an overall rating - I found out that I still have a rather large massive of records by artists/bands that haven't earned their pages simply because I have too few records of each one taken individually. So, instead of writing about two dozen hastily assembled crappy individual pages and writing up profound thoughts based on one album, I decided to follow the example of Wilson and Alroy (clever lads) and get them all together on one page (the title is taken from a Who album of outtakes, if you have problems with that).

Note that I'm eagerly willing to acquire as much new albums by artists reviewed below as possible, even if I'm not always fascinated by their output. This means that sooner or later these creative personalities are bound to be upgraded to a full-status page of their own - as soon as I get enough albums to make out a more or less clear picture of his/her/their art as a whole or at least at a certain stage in their career. Normally, this page should not include more than three records by a certain artist/band, but I guess that there can be some exceptions - at times. Usually, though, as soon as I reach four reviews, I get the courage to upgrade the artist to a full-size page of his own.

Note also that, since there are yet no band ratings available for artists/bands reviewed below, there will be only one rating scored for these records - the overall rating, taken, as is the standard, on a 1-15 scale. On being upgraded to a full page, all the records will naturally get a record rating as well.

! The Allman Brothers Band, Amon Düül II, Argent, Badfinger, the Bee Gees, Black Sabbath, Brian Eno, Captain Beefheart, Crosby, Stills & Nash, David Bowie, Elton John, Family, Frank Zappa, Gentle Giant, the Grateful Dead, Iron Butterfly, Jeff Beck, Lou Reed, Mott The Hoople, Mountain, Move, Neil Young, the Nice, Peter Gabriel, Pete Townshend, Ringo Starr, Roxy Music, Roy Wood, Soft Machine, Stevie Wonder, Taste, T. Rex, and the Velvet Underground have finally graduated to their own pages. Also, the reviews of solo albums by Keith Richards and Mick Jagger have been moved to the Appendix section of the Rolling Stones page.

Now, on to the reviews. The records featured on this page were originally classified according to the year of release, because I feared they might take a little too much space in one HTML document; but recently I've been transferring much of the 'odds & sods' to full-status pages, so in order to simplify the task and avoid multiple errors in the links (that are already becoming a big pain in the neck), I put them on a single page again; then the single page had been divided in two parts due to its largeness again, based on the alphabetic principle. Bands/artists from A to N are reviewed in this part; click either here, or on any album from the list below, or on the link at the bottom of the page to access the second part
Here's a complete list of artists and records reviewed on the Odds and Sods page. Click on a link and it will take you directly to the album:

• Blue Cheer: Vincebus Eruptum; New! Improved!
• Faces: Long Player; Ooh La La
• Fairport Convention: Unhalfbricking; Angel Delight
• Humble Pie: As Safe As Yesterday Is; Rock On
• Mamas & Papas: Deliver; The Papas & The Mamas; People Like Us
• Nazz: Nazz; Nazz Nazz
• Pretty Things: The Pretty Things; Get The Picture?; S. F. Sorrow
• Quicksilver Messenger Service: Quicksilver Messenger Service; Happy Trails
• Ronnie Lane: Kuschty Rye
• Ron Wood: Slide On This; Slide On Live
• Spirit: Spirit; Twelve Dreams Of Dr Sardonicus
• Steeleye Span: Please To See The King; Below The Salt
• Steely Dan: Katy Lied; The Royal Scam; Aja
• Stooges: Fun House
• Todd Rundgren: Something/Anything?
• Zombies: The EP Collection

(bands/artists A - N)

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VINCEBUS ERUPTUM

Year Of Release: 1968
Overall rating = 10

Louder than Hendrix - that's about the only redeeming quality for this album, but what a fun quality for 1968!
Best song: SUMMERTIME BLUES

I nearly laughed my pants off when I first heard this album. Remember somewhere else on this site I used to ramble about 'profanation' and how every respectable genre of the late Sixties/early Seventies turned out to be profanated in the late Seventies/early Eighties by all these loads of talentless bands who copied the form but entirely missed the essence? Like how brainless punks were profanating the Who and stupid metalheads were profanating Led Zeppelin and overblown ambitious 'post-proggers' were profanating ELP and Genesis and suchlike.
Well, turns out that genre profanation existed as early as 1968 - when Blue Cheer burst on the San Francisco scene with their debut album. Because this is, in all honesty, a complete and unabashed profanation of Hendrix and his hard rock style of 1967-68. Everything about this record is kinda fake, starting from the very title itself. Vincebus Eruptum? This is supposed to be Latin, but to my humble knowledge, the form 'vincebus' cannot really exist in Latin - I can't even figure out if it's supposed to be a misguided verbal or nominal form. The closest thing I could imagine is that the correct title for the record would look something like 'vinculis erupti', which would make perfect sense - 'broken out from chains'. Because they do sound like they're unchained. Well... unstraightjacketed, that is.
The Hendrix influence is felt from the very start: even if the first song on here is their version of Eddie Cochran's 'Summertime Blues', they break into Hendrix's 'Foxy Lady' riff first, and only go on to Cochran from there. But it's not that guitarist Leigh Stephens is a suitable Hendrix disciple. The volume and the amount of distortion are indeed overwhelming; with their Marshall amps, it's obvious that the main aim is 'can we have that thing louder than everybody else's?' Meanwhile, Dick Petersen screams his head off (although I can't hear the basswork very well - maybe I'm not supposed to at all?), and drummer Paul Whaley thumps far louder than Mitch Mitchell; actually, he's got a proto-John Bonham kind of mastodontic sound, even if it's nowhere near as precise, and, frankly, I don't suppose Whaley had gotten his drugs/vodka fill to Bonzo's extent, which prevents him from going completely overboard. So, at any rate, the album is a great choice for putting on at around 3 A.M. with your speakers aimed at your neighbours' windows if you want to find the easiest way to get arrested for international terrorism.
Unfortunately, the guys kinda forgot everything else. For instance, they forgot that they really needed to learn how to play their instruments - Stephens' guitar playing techniques are primitive and can't be compensated by even the maximum level of distortion possible at the time. Not to mention singing: Peterson's screaming is okay in certain places, but it doesn't seem like he's actually capable of doing anything else. And, of course, they don't even try writing actual songs: half of the album are covers, and the other half is a mess of nearly atonal, chaotic jams that could only be called 'songs' because they are listed separately on the album cover and are (sometimes) structured according to the verse/chorus pattern.
So it's a profanation all right. What saves the record from utter disaster is that it's one of the earliest profanations in rock, and so, without maybe even knowing it, this record became an influence on the later metal scene, including Zeppelin and Deep Purple. Second, at least it's a consolation to know that Blue Cheer weren't just one of the innumerable bands to mindlessly rip off Hendrix; they had a specific identity, and they were quite an unusual outfit for the West Coast at the time. The uncompromising nature of the record - six heavy sludgefests without a break - must also be admired; not even Iron Butterfly, their main competition in the genre, were that obstinate. And third, what the hell, it's a fun record. It's a Sixties record, see; it's pretty interesting to hear a 'profanation record' out of the Sixties, whatever be. At any rate, I'd much better headbang to Vincebus Eruptum than to anything by Cinderella or Def Leppard.
Turning to the actual songs, I'd like to point out that their version of 'Summertime Blues', while nowhere near as scorching and impressive as the Who's live rendition of the song, is still pretty impressive and deserved to be a minor hit which it was. I don't know why they preferred to throw out the 'deep bass vocal line' out of every verse, though; my feeble guess is that it has something to do with Pedersen's lack of vocal ability. But Stephens' vibratos on here are unbeatable. The blues covers 'Rock Me Baby' (copped from Hendrix?) and 'Parchment Farm' (copped from John Mayall?) aren't particularly impressive, though, but at least they're familiar songs (to me), and that's all right with me. Out of the originals, 'Out Of Focus' is probably the best because it has something about it which, in a better life, would be called a 'riff', and 'Second Time Around' has a groovy amateurish chaotic section that's not too innovative (sounds like it was derived from Hendrix's 'EXP'), but it's also louder than Hendrix, and that's interesting.
A stupid and derivative album it is, for sure, but it just goes to show you why the Sixties were the best rock decade after all: even such a blatant profanation had its moments, if only because it was still requiring some originality and a certain freshness of sound - this sounds like a real band playing real rock'n'roll music, not like a robotic outfit playing technically perfect, but soulless and formulaic drivel. Of course, it doesn't have a lot to do with the members of Blue Cheer themselves; had they been all born fifteen years later, they would all be forming a generic Eighties' hair metal band for sure. Yet another proof of how the epoch and the environment actually have such a great influence on people.

Doctor please cure me with your ideas

NEW! IMPROVED!

Year Of Release: 1969
Overall rating = 9

Psychedelic and ballsy, but without too much of an identity this time.
Best song: FRUIT & ICEBURGS

A big change of style occurred here, on Blue Cheer's third record - with Leigh Stephens calling it quits and his being replaced first by Randy Holden and then by Bruce Stephens, their sound has shifted significantly. Somehow they managed to leave all their infamous heaviness behind, and apart from a couple gritty guitar workouts (particularly on the two lengthiest tracks on Side B), this sounds nothing like Vincebus Eruptum. This is both for the better and for the worse in certain respects. The good news is that with the addition of a new guitarist and an extra keyboard player (Burns Kellog), the band's playing skills are definitely up: the album is far less monotonous than before, and they rarely resort to odd distortion and fuzz tricks so as to mask the lack of technical proficiency because they finally got that technical proficiency. Bruce is a far more inventive guitarist than Leigh, and his solos and riffs never sound boring - with Leigh, one's initial feeling was 'wow, that dude really kicks ass', but once your ear adjusted to the high volume level, those solos just started sounding primitive and stupid. And that piano player is pretty good at his keyboards, too. In all, Improved! is definitely 'improved' because I can no longer call Blue Cheer music 'profanation': it's not that the record displays a hell of a lot of originality, but it at least displays some good taste.
On the other hand, sad as it may seem, the band's old gritty style was their main identity and their crucial point which separated them from everybody else at the time, at least, on the West Coast. No sooner have they abandoned the unabashed heaviness that the songs just started sounding generic and faceless. They now turn to face psychedelia and folk/country, and if one wanted to really pigeonhole that style, I'd say they present us with something like an American version of Traffic with a little bit more heaviness and roughness. So they manage to outdo Traffic in the singing department (Peterson is now developing a completely authentic bluesman roar) and, of course, the energy level is consistently higher. The problem is, their compositional talents are at an all-time low, and the songs are even less memorable than on your average Traffic record; any deviation from the 'blues cover' formula results in something pretty forgettable.
The first two songs are more or less tolerable - 'When It All Gets Old' sounds oddly like a Stones number, and could easily be mistaken for an inferior Satanic outtake, with the same type of spacey harmonies and overall psycho atmosphere, but it misses a good riff and is only distinguishable through a catchy chorus. Likewise, 'West Coast Child Of Sunshine' has an interesting structure for a pop song, but the muddy production and the clumsy shifts between the faster/slower parts of the song prevent it from hitting the listener real hard - you'd have to be a diehard to fall in love with it.
Then there's the album centerpiece, the seven-minute mastodont 'Peace Of Mind' - perhaps the crowning achievement of the band's 'psycho' yearnings. To give the band their due, the only cheap gimmick here is the percussion fade-in in the intro; later on, the psycho effect is achieved 'moderately' by means of the dreary, hypnotic guitar/vocals mantraic interplay. The climactic point comes in with the overdubbed guitar solos: pretty simple, they still manage to find all the weak spots in our souls to achieve a near-cathartic effect. Kinda reminds me of Big Brother...
Still, not even the terrific solo is enough to guarantee the excruciating seven minute length - is that a joke or what? So I far prefer the more bluesy numbers on here, the best of these being 'Fruit & Iceburgs', which looks as if the band were paying tribute to their colleagues in Iron Butterfly: a superb bass riff, a catchy vocal melody, a lot of tension and excitement, and some more first-rate guitar solos, like an embryonic primal version of Jimmy Page's work. Well, actually, some people far prefer 'primal' guitarwork to technically perfect, and this is an excellent choice for the potential caveman (although he'd better be advised to check out the Stooges first). Also excellent is their performance on 'I Want My Baby Back', with a very involving transgression from the barroom piano intro to the main fast boyd of the song; Peterson's vocals are kinda funny, as he roars out these ultra-stupid lyrics like an exemplary Neandertal gentleman, and the guitar solos drive the song forward as successfully as possible.
Bonus tracks on the CD issue also include two contemporary single bonus tracks - 'All Night Long' is well worth the price of admission, as it's hard to meet such a groovy piano boogie on any other Blue Cheer record, and it's a fine tribute to the British Invasion (did I mention that I hear quite a bit of the Kinks and the Pretty Things on this record, too? Well, keep that in mind); as for 'Fortunes', I'd bet my life it's nothing but an uncredited version of the classic 'Fortune Teller', reworked to near unrecognisability, but still recognisable; I don't have anything against the principle, actually, as I strongly suppose that many fabulous songs had been born by simply reworking and gradually modifying older fabulous songs (am I the only one who suspects the riff to 'Jumpin' Jack Flash' is just a very simple reworking of the riff to 'Satisfaction'?), but at least the guys could have modified the lyrics! If you're stealing a song named 'Fortune Teller', don't call it 'Fortunes', for Chrissake! Did they think people would be so stupid so as not to take the hint?
In any case, I don't think the album is really worth hunting for - the style is not idiosyncratic, and the percentage of filler is overwhelming; but just like so many other albums not worth hunting for, it does have its little share of classics, so don't be afraid to pick it up if you see it on sale for a penny or so. Oh, and you actually might get a kick of their cover of 'It Takes A Lot To Laugh', too. Peterson roars like a wounded boar on that one!

When it all gets old, mail your ideas

LONG PLAYER

Year Of Release: 1971
Overall rating = 10

Booze and blooze all night long. A lot of headbanging and effective riffage with no particular purpose (then again, it's what the Faces are all about).
Best song: HAD ME A REAL GOOD TIME

The Faces had entirely worked out their formula on their second LP - so, without further thought, they just named it 'LP' for short. And that formula? Play whatever you want, however you want and for whatever purpose you want. Long Player is essentially 'punk for bluesheads': your typical barroom band guaranteed to give you enough pleasure while you sit and sip at your beer, but - for some perverse reason - elevated to the position of superstars.
Oh well. Perverse, maybe, but not accidental. The biggest problem with this record is that it goes for far too long without being completely adequate: there are, like, maybe two or three minor original ideas on the album, and even when they take somebody else's idea, they hardly manage to improve on it. Need proof? Just put on track number five, a live rendition of Paul McCartney's 'Maybe I'm Amazed'. It's actually not bad at all - apart from the fact that Ronnie Lane sings the first verse and he's got even less of a singing voice than Ronnie Wood. But no amount of piano heroics courtesy of Mr McLagan and even no amount of wailing by Rod Stewart himself are gonna make me prefer this version to the original, simply because a song like 'Maybe I'm Amazed' isn't supposed to be played that way. That is, the song is perfectly suited for an arena-rock atmosphere (and it was probably envisaged that way), but it has to be played tight, compact and improvisation-less, just to let the listener catch hold of all the subtle details of the melody. These guys just sound like they had one too many Martinis. 'Just about warming up and getting into it right about here', Rod says at the end, and it seems like the absolute truth - problem is, these guys always sounded like they were 'just about warming up and getting into it right about here'.
Nevertheless, the sheer raw enthusiasm of several of the tracks on here and the Faces' instrumental prowess do compensate for the bad, 'distracted' sides of the record. Ronnie Wood opens the album on a great note, with a sneering, ragged riff that constitutes the meat of 'Bad 'N' Ruin', and the band rips into one of the best rockers of their career: Stewart's screams of 'MOTHER YOU WON'T RECOGNIZE ME NOW!' will light the inner fire in your soul and wake the sleeping dragon in your heart, if I might use a couple cliched poetic metaphors. (Actually, I hate cliched poetic metaphors; that's probably why I'm so keen on using them.) And if that's not enough, 'Had Me A Real Good Time', the album's heaviest and most uncompromised track, is even better, with Kenny Jones kicking away with a nearly John Bonham-ish force and the band reveling in their braggard, raunchy style for all its worth. I, for one, wish Stewart's powerhouse vocals were a wee bit higher in the mix (which reminds me of a problem - the glorious word 'shit' is too melodious an epithet to describe the album's production), but then again, maybe it's only for the better: the vocals blend in with the screeching guitars and boogie pianos to form a single, multi-headed monster of a sound. Those who don't seek anything but innovation in music will probably be horrified, but those who emphasize sincerity and effectiveness will be delighted more than a wolf in sight of a lamb. (Today's my day for idiotic metaphors, it seems). And to top it all, Stones' veteran Bobby Keys adds some delightful sax solos in the 'Can't You Hear Me Knocking' vein.
Of course, they almost manage to ruin it by including an eight-minute live version of Big Bill Broonzie's 'I Feel So Good', but there are three factors that redeem it: (a) it's a generic blues cover, and who can resist a great generic blues cover?; (b) the boys play like drunk schizophrenics, which is great fun; (c) Rod totally delights in his functions, especially when he fools around with the audience, urging it to sing along. Hmm. I actually see that out of the three reasons above, only the last one can qualify as a pro argument. Never mind, let's move on.
The rest of the album is considerably softer - a couple ballads and a couple countryish/folkish ditties. When it comes to ballads (quite funny, that one), it becomes quite clear, at least, to me, what exactly makes a typical folk ballad superate a typical soul ballad. Namely, Lane's 'Tell Everyone' is monotonous, repetitive, simplistic and only highlighted by a sincere enough Stewart vocal delivery, while the entire band's 'Sweet Lady Mary' is a definite highlight of the record: beautiful interplay between acoustic and electric guitars over the background of a swirling, winterish organ is complemented by the most passionate, tender and loving vocals on the entire record. The song is a perfect ballad for your beloved one - just substitute the 'Mary' for whoever you want and whoops, you have your serenade ready. Just don't forget to grab Ronnie Wood along when you head for your beloved one's windows, as nobody but the man is able to play these delightful slide fills in the instrumental part.
Ronnie Lane contributes two more forgettable tunes - I've never been able to really get into the stupid, brain-pounding 'On The Beach', and 'Richmond' is only slightly better, with some really impressive steel guitar parts. The steel guitar is also resurrected for the album's big question mark, an instrumental version of the traditional hymn 'Jerusalem' that forms the coda to the album; it sounds like Ronnie Wood recorded it in the studio alone, late at night, and secretly pasted it onto the end of the record so that nobody would guess the fact until it was too late. Don't try to prove I'm wrong.
On the other hand, I feel like I'm getting a bit too harsh. After all, dem Faces are dem Faces, 'sall. Dem Faces have to be taken like they have to: with all their flaws and misfires. If you accept the Faces' flaws and misfires as a lawful part of the whole package, you might even understand why the All-Music Guide gave this album a 'best-of-genre' rating. But just one small request of you: before you buy this, buy Sticky Fingers. Please. For me.

Tell everyone to mail their ideas, please

OOH LA LA

Year Of Release: 1973
Overall rating = 10

Gee, these guys couldn't write an original and/or catchy melody to save their life. But it rocks, and it's a fun kind of sloppiness, too.
Best song: BORSTAL BOYS

This was the Faces' fourth and last studio album, and there's not even a single sign of artistic growth or anything like that. Like, you know, it's just a standard Faces record: a bunch of clumsy, erratic, homemade rockers and a bunch of similar-style ballads, and all of this sounds as if they wrote, arranged, recorded and produced the whole record in a pub between endless mugs 'o beer and more serious stuff. No drugs, though. Definitely no signs of drug addiction here. Just booze.
Personally, I would prefer listening to contemporary Rod Stewart albums - they're just a wee bit more sensitive, and certainly more carefully arranged. On Ooh La La, you'll never find no pretty mandolins or weird congo beats, and, what's more important, you won't find such a diversity of style or such heartfelt confessions as can be found on the best Stewart albums. On the other hand, one thing that can be said in favour of the Faces is that this album rocks the house down. Well, at least in parts. The record seems to be strangely divided into a 'harder' and a 'softer' side (a trick that Stewart later employed on his post-Wood solo albums, though with far lesser efficiency), and the first side boogies along with much more crunch than ninety-nie percent of anything Rod ever recorded solo: from the ridiculous, exciting power chords of 'Silicone Grown' to the aggressive thunderstorm of 'Borstal Boys', you're just gonna get it.
However, it is not the hard rock of the Zeppelin-ish type, nor is it hard rock of the Stones-ish type. The Faces, and their notorious guitarist Ronnie Wood in particular, were far worse trained to match the technical precision of Led Zep, and they were far less inspired songwriters to ever hope to match the impeccable riffs of Keith Richards. Instead, they just put their hopes on spontaneity - you know, stuff a riff here, cross it with another riff there, deafen the audience by booming, crashing drums (Kenney Jones shines throughout, particularly on 'Borstal Boys'), toss off a smutty lyric now and then, and boogie on. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, but the question here is really whether you might enjoy music made-on-the-spot or prefer a more accurate approach to songwriting. Me, I have nothing against both approaches, so I'm just as happy with Ooh La La as with my trusty Sticky Fingers.
???
!!!!
No, no, of course, I'm joking. How could you ever believe that I'm really able to throw these two together? Sticky Fingers is, and will always be, an absolute classic, a cult favourite, while Ooh La La is just a stupid throwaway. But it is an exciting throwaway, at least. First of all, the boys really give it their all: Rod Stewart shouts at the top of his lungs, Ronnie neglects careful playing in favour of loudness, aggression, and distortion on some tracks and in favour of simplistic, but catchy riffing on the others, and Kenney thumps and bashes just as well as Mick Waller thumped and bashed on Stewart solo albums. And Ian McLagan adds some delicious boogie piano chords in the best traditions of Ian Stewart. Anyway, the first side here is all a massive load of fun. 'Silicone Grown' tackles delicate matters of teenage pregnancy and, well, silicone, and the driving guitar is so powerful and enthralling that you end up not noticing the song's total lack of melody. Then there's the folk-rocker 'Cindy Incidentally' where the guys innocently steal the melody of Dylan's 'I Don't Believe You'. Which actually means that you could be angry at them for ripping off Dylan, but which also means the song is thoroughly enjoyable. Just forget the insincere 'Wood/Stewart/McLagan' credits and pretend they're doing a cover of Dylan, and things will be all right: we all know, don't we, that Rod Stewart is one of the best Dylan imitators? 'Flags And Banners' is somewhat short and strangely confessional. It's also sung by Ronnie Lane, but that's okay, he doesn't ruin this particular number, their most Byrds-ey tune on the album. 'My Fault' has an amusing, chugging melody emphasized by Kenney's war-style drumming, and do not forget, repeat, do not forget, that the song contains the lines that pretty much summarize the entire Faces career: 'If I have to fall on my head/Every night on the week/It's gonna be my fault, no one else'.
Of course, the honour of being the fastest, the most pumpin', most energetic, aggressive, spit-fire garage rocker on the album falls to the Faces' copyright version of 'Jailhouse Rock', the wonderful 'Borstal Boys'. Lyrically, it's somewhat more philosophic and certainly much more social-critique-oriented than 'Jailhouse Rock', but who cares? Again, where's the melody? The verses start out fine, in the finest R'n'B traditions, but the refrain sounds as if Rod just keeps forgetting the words and stutters every bit of nonsense ('call out your number, who's a nonconformer, not me babe') that gets into his head. But why worry when this is some of the best chemistry that good ol'-style rock'n'roll can present you? A rip-off it is, but I wish modern bands could make a rip-off that good.
Now the second side is just not that interesting for me. Apart from one hard-rock instrumental, the pointless 'Fly In The Ointment' (starts off fine, with a naggin' little riff and some good guitarwork, but soon becomes an unbearable noisy mess), it's all stuffed with Ronnie Lane ballads which are probably okay, but not special. At least the 'hard' side is saved by the boys' drunken, heated-up energy level: these ballads don't seem to preserve the energy (well, ballads aren't supposed to, are they), but they don't compensate with beautiful melodies, either. Okay, 'If I'm On The Late Side' at least has some touching lyrics, and there's a beat that's supposed to remind us of similar (and superior) Stewart efforts, but 'Glad And Sorry' just plain sucks, a bunch of sentimental piano chords backed with feeble vocals. And, of course, there's the famous title track where Lane tells us about his women problems: it's good, and I suppose it can even be moving, in a rather perverse way, but a classic it ain't, just because the melody is so raw and plain unelaborated.
In fact, after listening to this record it's easy to understand why the Faces seem to have been completely forgotten over the years. It's good, but it's so inessential and unsubstantial that I don't see anybody but crazy collectors (like your humble servant) rushing out fists first to buy it. And yet, there is some definite charm here which can't be replicated on any other record. Admit it - what other band is able to achieve so much with so few? And don't forget that, even though most of the (hell, all of the) Rolling Stones Seventies' albums are superior to this, Ooh La La is at least not just a piece of product - like It's Only Rock'n'Roll or Some Girls. It all comes straight from the heart of your average snotty rock'n'roll guy. And man! What am I talking about? It has Rod Stewart singing on it and Ronnie Wood playing on it! Go out, get out of your cozy chair and buy this, buy this now before it goes out of print and into the archives!

If I'm on the late side, that doesn't mean I won't post your ideas

Your worthy comments:

Martin <M.VAN.DER.GAAG@ppsw.rug.nl> (17.09.99)

At the time it was released, OOH LA LA was regarded by almost anybody as quite a letdown, indeed forecasting the Faces' demise. But together with A NOD'S AS GOOD AS A WINK TO A BLIND HORSE, their third album, this is the one you will play repeatedly if you like what the Faces stand for: boozy rock&roll-ish fun with a touching, heartfelt edge here and there (FIRST STEPS is merely a try-out, LONG PLAYER separates in 50% very good and 50% unmemorable, and OVERTURE AND BEGINNERS is boring and only for completists). 'Cindy incidentally' is exemplary for an amalgam of this description: there's a mid-tempo rocking guitar, and a friendly melody, its feel somewhere near the verge of sentimentality. 'Silicone grown' and 'Borstal boys' represent the tougher Faces side and they actually make me thirsty, they're so full of energy! 'Ooh la la' works just like you say of other songs here, that one tends to forget is has no melody; it's cute, but not sissy. And it's actually sung by Ron Wood and not Ronnie Lane, as far as I know it's a Wood/Stewart song for which at the time the recording commenced Rod failed to show up - he was working on his own album instead - and Ron got so pissed off he sang it himself and released the album immediately afterwards. 'Fly in the ointment' is strange 5/4 rock, and 'Glad and sorry' is a bit too tired, but the real bummer here is 'My fault', it goes nowhere melodically and the lyrics are hopeless posing; it sounds like somebody defending himself here while there is no evidence of anybody accusing him of anything - hopeless people in general who do this in everyday life, let alone on records. OOH LA LA is a good record, perhaps more boozy than rocking compared to the reverse on A NOD.. which is a bit better and certainly longer, hence more for your money (OOH LA LA clocks in at little more than 30'). Don't spend too much time finding this, it's pleasant, but not essential, especially compared to the recently released greatest hits collection featuring 'Pool hall Richard' for the first time on CD - a forgotten Faces classic.

UNHALFBRICKING

Year Of Release: 1969
Overall rating = 11

Some clever and moving folk rock on here - all listenable, but not all that exciting.
Best song: GENESIS HALL

The most popular album ever by Britain's most artistically successful folk rock band ever (okay, so this title can also be coveted by Steeleye Span; I won't really bother with trying to select the best o' the bunch). Probably so, although I have mixed feelings towards it - frankly speaking, I expected more, considering that folk rock, especially British folk rock, had always attracted me. Unfortunately, Unhalfbricking is not the kind of album that's immediately likeable - you have to have some patience and grow yourself some appreciation for that jangly, moody, lazy, almost lethargic style that holds the record in its grip. In a certain way it might remind you of a cross between the Velvet Underground and the Jefferson Airplane - the instrumentation is sometimes very close to the Velvets' spaced out viola jams, and Sandy Denny's voice bears an awkward resemblance to the one of Grace Slick, being just a wee bit higher. In this way, let me make an assumption: while the best stuff by the Velvets and the Airplane was better than almost everything Convention ever tried to smear on record, the latter beat these two bands by simply being more consistent - despite their initially 'unwelcoming' style, there isn't a single major stinker on record, and even the 'jams' are vastly superior to the kind of pseudo-artistic garbage that the Airplane and the Velvets were pouring out in loads on songs like 'Hey Fredrick' or 'European Son'.
Fairport Convention were at its emotional peak at the time, and the 1969 line-up was probably the most solid, including ace guitarists Richard Thompson and Simon Nicol and lead vocalist Sandy Denny (she's present on every track but Thompson's vocal spot 'Cajun Woman'). This also means that most of the songs are self-penned, two by Sandy, two by Thompson. Sandy's compositions are probably the weakest links in the chain (although it's debatable), particularly the dreary 'Who Knows Where The Time Goes?', a true ode to hypnosis. 'Autopsy', with its two different melodic parts, is better, particularly because of some untrivial vocal tricks that Sandy pulls off splendidly, but still not a masterpiece. Both, however, are embellished by her magnificent singing voice - she was unquestionably the best British female singer of the epoch, and, truly and verily, I rarely heard a voice so rich in emotions and undertones in rock music. (Well, Grace Slick really comes close, but she's more on the aggressive side of singing, and isn't really comparable to Sandy in many respects).
Thompson's contributions are a little more 'generic' - he was always the standard folk-writer, but that's okay by me. In fact, 'Genesis Hall' is downright great, with the ominous refrain about being 'helpless and slow' and not having 'anywhere to go' really sending shivers down the spine (and spines up the butt, because the song has just more than a little irony and sarcasm). 'Cajun Woman' is a throwaway, though, just a generic little country send-up, but the fiddle (played by guest Dave Swarbrick) is enthralling, and it's interesting to hear the band dabble in a genre that they are certainly no true experts in.
The rest of the record consists of one lengthy, eleven-minute jam based on a traditional folkie song and three (yeah, right) Dylan covers. Out of the covers, I count one splendid rendition of 'Million Dollar Bash' - along with the Byrds, FC had a talent to grab Bob's Basement Tapes material and transform it from raw, hardly accessible rehearsal material into minor masterpieces - the song, with its rollicking banjo, band members taking turns to sing the verses, and that mighty 'oo-wee baby, oo-wee' chorus, makes one terrific album closer. The two other covers are slight letdowns. 'Percy's Song' (I really don't know where they took that one from - maybe it was Bob's donation to the band?) is annoying in its repetitiveness, being saddled with a sticky 'turn, turn again' chorus, and the fact that it runs for almost six minutes is no consolation. And their cover of 'If You Gotta Go, Go Now' could be a real treat, if not for the stupid decision to have it translated and sung... in French! Which means that those who don't know French won't be able to sing along (wouldn't you look stupid if you sang along in English to a song in French?), and those who know French (like your humble servant) will be angered at the bad pronunciation - if you don't know how to spell French 'r', don't sing it. Not to mention the horrible quality of the translation that in most cases takes the original and just renders it literally, not bothering about preserving French grammar norms. Oh, and there are no rhymes, either. Why they didn't just stop their ballsiness and let Sandy sing this in English is beyond me. Maybe they were trying to mask the lyrical content, misogynic as it is?.. Oh well...
That leaves us with the already mentioned eleven-minute jam. 'A Sailor's Life' is one song that you'll either get wild about or just not get into at all. At first, it sounds just like one slow, monotonous musical phrase repeated over and over for thousands of times; but sooner or later, a great melody will pop out of it for you, and anyway, you just have to take it because it perfectly captures the essence of a traditional Celtic ballad. Not to mention Sandy who could ruin the song if she wanted to, but instead turns it into another showcase of the almost unlimited possibilities of her voice. Later on, however, the leading roles are assumed by Thompson and Nicol whose dual guitar battle is intoxicating: listen to their magical convoluted soloing and witness the greatness!
Ah, I feel that I seriously underrate the album by giving it a 'just very good' rating, but what can I do, after all? Let me take some time for it to grow on me, because right now I feel that the band still didn't have the real rockin' chops, nor enough imagination and fantasy to make something truly groundbreaking. But this is indeed as far out as professional folk rock ever gets. Beats Jethro Tull's Songs From The Wood all to Hell, if you ask me.

Who knows where the time goes? Mail your comments before it's too late!

Your worthy comments:

collins.invercargill <collins.invercargill@xtra.co.nz> (01.08.2000)

Although I'm not familiar with all the early Fairport albums I have listened a lot to Unhalfbricking and Leige and Leave. For me the latter record is by far the better of the two,especially the magnificent,moody, Tam Lin which builds such a great story and must be the high point of the relationship between traditional English folk and electric rock. I don't like any of the Dylan covers on Unhalfbricking, do like 'Who Knows where the Time goes' and Sandy Deny's voice.
If Unhalfbricking rates an 11 the Leige and Leaf would have to be at least 3 points higher,in a different league really.
P.S. just had another listen to Liege and Lief and might have to up my previous rating even higher, forgot just how good some of the other songs like Matty Groves were. The interplay between violin and guitar of that track, weaving around Deny's voice carry that dark tale of love and violent death wonderfully and I'd love to have to prove that there's anything better on Unhalfbricking.

<Justinekrnz@aol.com> (24.08.2000)

i used to own evry fairport up to full house{wich is every one with richard thompson).one day i realized what a wonderful band they were pre-liege and realized how grossly overrated liege was.why?because the band went from being open-minded band to a stylized band and the genre they were tapping,irish folk music,never sounded quite right adapted to electric instruments.the famous"matty groves"(i believe thats the one)from liege is a prime example of how horrible they had become at this point...while the music is competant it seems harnassed to a set of lyrics wich would be best listened to in a simplistic environment where the lyrics are the prime focus.nothing wins:the music is stifled by the story and the story is almost absurdified by the music.the incredible stringbands effort with celtic music were far more imaginative...

Michael Warren <bearfat@doitpc.net> (01.11.2000)

Unhalfbricking is a very good record, though tiresome at times. 'Who Knows Where The Time Goes?' is a lovely, wistful, melancholy song. I think 'Percy' has a great melody; but the sanctimonious, stupidly rebellious mode that Bob Dylan's writing sometimes slips into, is present in the lyrics.(just my impression--maybe I misunderstand the spirit of the words). 'Million Dollar Bash', as you said, is spirited fun. 'Genesis Hall', a minor classic. Well, I just have one thing to say: Why didn't you review Liege And Lief on this page ? (actually, Fairport deserves their own page)..........TO ONE AND ALL: If you don't own Liege And Lief, BUY IT TODAY ! One of the greatest albums ever made ! ! ! The combination of Rock heaviness and authority with the weird, yet natural, beauty of old Celtic/English musical ideas and stories is ......well......close to sublime. Listening to 'Matty Groves' makes me want to pull forth my ancient sword and slay a dragon......oh, I don't have a sword?.......ok, maybe pick up an axe and hew down a mighty oak......but I'm too out of shape...... well....maybe lift my hands to the sky and shout "Yeah!". Like after seeing a Deep Purple concert when Ritchie and Purple were in their prime......you know, that feeling when the wind is wild and cold and you look up at the sky through the branches of bare trees, and it's dark and grey, but the colors and shapes of the grass and trees and rocks and bushes somehow seem more clear and beautiful than ever before, and you almost feel scared of the awesome power of the raging wind and cold, but you also feel exultant...... thrilled to be alive.......

ANGEL DELIGHT

Year Of Release: 1971
Overall rating = 10

Heavily recommended only for diehard British folk lovers - but for diehard British folk lovers, recommended heavily.
Best song: LORD MARLBOROUGH

By 1971 both Richard Thompson and Sandy Denny, the stalwarts of creativity, had deserted the band, and since none of the remaining members (which by now were Simon Nicol on guitars, Dave Mattacks on drums, Dave Swarbrick on violin and the freshly-arrived Dave Pegg on bass) were terrific songwriters, most of the effort was put into bringing back to life old British folk classics by electrifying them and, well, trying to really put them into the rock pattern. In this way, Fairport Convention are really much more of a true 'folk rock' band than any of their competitors, the Byrds included: these songs are really rockin' and folky at the same time. (I mean, they're not any more 'folky' than the Byrds, but more 'rocky').
Of course, this means that the album is, well, somewhat 'limited in resources', in other words, it will be fairly dull to anybody without any special interest in British folklore. Luckily, I happen to respect Anglo-Saxon folk music to a certain degree (for me, it works much better than any other folk music, Russian included), so I have no problem assimilating most of the songs of the album and even liking quite a few of them. While this freshly-formed gang under the leadership of Nicol certainly had a lot of problems with finding creative ideas (read below), they definitely had loads of talent for reinterpreting and assimilating the ideas of others. In fact, the departure of Thompson and thus, the loss of that enthralling guitar interplay between him and Nicol is excellently compensated for by bringing Swarbrick's violin upfront and confronting it with Nicol's guitar instead - the guy's really good at his instrument, and he manages to breathe life even into such passable tunes as the short instrumental 'Bridge Over The River Ash'. Mattacks is a clever drummer, and Dave Pegg's bass sound, while probably the least folksy-sounding instrument on the record (no wonder that Dave later left for the electronics-dominated later bastardized incarnation of Jethro Tull), is still incredibly strong, heavy and thick. Likewise, the absence of Sandy Denny, while it deprives the band of one of the best female singing voices in rock, is almost compensated by Swarbrick's vocals - besides being a master of the violin, he's also a master of his voice, and quite a suitable personage for a medieval minstrel impersonation, if you ask me.
That said, there is still a fair shair of stinkers on the record, which explains the 'so-so' rating. Like I said, the guys can hardly write a note: the two numbers that are written by Swarbrick and Nicol are really boring, especially the lethargic, plodding 'Wizard Of The Worldly Game' where Swarbrick proceeds to annoy you with a four-minute personal revelations of a lonely tree. I hate slow pseudo-folk songs with no hooks and unexpressive vocals. They couldn't even make the best of that guitar solo over there - it's lost deep in the mix, and it's about the best thing about the whole number. However, the noodling, derivative title track with its unclear lyrical content and silly la-la-las comes close. It really takes guts to write an authentic folk-rock tune, it does.
Salvation comes in the form of collaboration with Thompson, who is sometimes capable of making the band's self-penned folk stylizations catchy - the light-hearted, singalong 'Journeyman's Grace' is a good example, with its raising, almost 'authentic' chorus. Still, even Thompson can't salvage 'Sickness & Diseases', the presumably 'horrifying', pessimistic number that closes the album: this one totally lacks 'authenticity' and could never really hope to pass as a true folk number.
So my advice is to concentrate on the traditional numbers and enjoy the beautiful rearrangements that the guys give 'em. My personal favourite is the opening 'Lord Marlborough', but practically all of them are good (except 'Banks Of The Sweet Primroses' that's damn slow, repetitive, lyrically unfascinating and just as charming as 'Wizard Of The Worldly Game'). Strange enough, at least two of them are devoted to, er, intimate problems: 'Sir William Gower' is about an incest, while the lyrical matter of 'The Bonny Black Hare', er, hmm, almost makes me blush, you know! Sure it's no Frank Zappa, but how on Earth did they unroot a song that goes 'I laid this girl down with her face to the sky/And I took out my ramrod and bullets likewise'? And why? Dirty little bastards! I wonder if they'd all been anxiously waiting for Sandy to leave the band to unleash this kind of material?
Nevertheless, the melodies are just fine. I haven't yet mentioned the pretty 'Instrumental Medley', with three distinct parts that are each in turn dominated by lovely bouncy guitar, pretty screechy fiddle and tender subtle flute... well, that pretty much sums it up. And hey, when we're talking "authentic", it must be said that it's hard to find a British folk song that sucks, anyway - unless you're a hip-hop fan, of course, in which case they probably all suck with no exceptions. These melodies have been worn smooth and polished to perfection through centuries, and no arrangement is going to spoil them, much less the intelligent arrangements of Fairport Convention. And if, by any chance, you get to lay your hands on this album (which is a pretty feeble chance, considering that FC records aren't as readily available in the States as Puff Daddy), be sure not to sleep through the gorgeous instrumental medley of several folk tunes on the second side - it's so Robin Hood-ian that you almost see yourself strolling through Sherwood Forest at dawn. Have a nice life, all you folk lovers.

Sickness & diseases will get ye, sure as hell, if ye do not mail your ideas

AS SAFE AS YESTERDAY IS

Year Of Release: 1969
Overall rating = 7

Well, as safe as yesterday is, maybe they should have looked forward to tomorrow - originality these guys have not. Hell, they don't even have melodies.
Best song: NATURAL BORN BOOGIE (bonus)

Humble Pie was formed by Steve Marriott after the breakup of his original band - the Small Faces (a band whose albums I'm still painfully trying to find for a decent price). Having recruited former Herd guitarist Peter Frampton and a rhythm section consisting of Greg Ridley on bass and Jerry Shirley on drums, he went on to transform his new group into a solid arena-rock outfit that could, well, with certain limitations be called the third best Seventies' bluesy outfit after the Stones and the Faces. Special note to all those who are allergic to the name 'Frampton': the guy only lasted in Humble Pie two or three years and was actually quite good and cozy while staying there. It's his solo career that can be vomit-inducing for some; leave the Humble Pie period alone.
Although, judging by this record you could hardly say that this band had a lot of things in store for it. Jesus Lord Sweet Mary, I swear I have never actually heard anything like this before. When I first read Wilson & Alroy's review of the album, I thought they must have been exaggerating when they said that there ain't a single memorable song on here; but unbelievably, that is indeed so. It's just that it is way beyond my limited comprehension to try and understand how come a relatively unpretentious, rootsy rock'n'roll record can not have even a single hook - okay, I don't necessarily require innovation or peculiarity, and I'm not the plaintive type: I could easily get away with a couple simplistic blues numbers. Nadah. No way. Ten lengthy tracks that go well over fourty-five minutes, and it all has the feel of a slippery, hostile piece of dough which just cannot be shaped into a pie (much less a humble pie), no matter how you try - it just keeps slipping through your fingers and overflowing in all directions.
It's all the more amazing considering that Steve is responsible for five of the tunes on the record (a sixth one - the title track - is co-written with Frampton), and in his Small Faces days he was certainly no slouch when it came to songwriting. What was he - doing deep drugs at the time? We the nasty reviewers are used to pinning everything on drugs, but really, I can't find any other suitable explanation. And it's even more amazing considering the band's chops: in fact, this is the only thing that saves the record from full damnation - it rocks. There are no melodies at all, but it still rocks; if you ever needed proof that it is possible to sincerely rock out 'on an empty spot', As Safe As Yesterday Is is the sole argument you'll ever need. The rhythm section has more energy than Steppenwolf, especially Jerry Shirley, who pounds out a thunderstorm on the rockers and fills all the possible empty spaces with his percussion on the 'softer' tunes. The guitars roar and tear - but not in a Big Brother mode, where musicians rely on loudness and distortion rather than anything else; no, Steve and Pete really bend these strings carefully and thoughtfully, and rock out with enough sincerity and passion. The organs and pianos, handled by three of four members of the band, are quite professional and powerful; the harmonicas are well-controlled, and from time to time they even insert something 'weird', like a sitar, to suit the times. In all, this record can easily work as solid background listening - loud for parties, quiet for your personal pleasure, whatever.
And yet, background or no background, it's impossible to get away from the fact that these guys just did not bother to write melodies. There are rhythms, there are solos, there are lyrics; but I think that picking out the chord progressions wouldn't even be a complicated matter - it would be a ridiculous one. For starters, where are the riffs? 'Butter Milk Boy' starts out deceptively, as a fast riff-driven rocker, but as soon as Steve enters with his vocals, the tune falls apart and, as far as I understand, only the bass really carries forward the 'melody'. And a mighty, overdriven riff suddenly appears out of nowhere on the last minute of the title track - as an unexpected surprise for those who had enough patience to sit through the entire first side to get to it.
Second, where are the hooks? This all sounds like an interminable jam session with a bunch of emphatic, ardent players who have nevertheless completely run out of creative ideas and just sit furiously bashing out the chords, trying to find a groove and always failing. 'Alabama '69' stands out in the context of the record with its country-esque arrangement and mock-redneckish vocals, and the sitar in the instrumental introduction to 'I'll Go Alone' is quite welcome, too; the tune is given an obligatory Eastern feel which, however, disappears as soon as the vocals step in. That's about it. Every other single track is structured according to the formula 'play whatever gets in your head, as long as it's energetic and corresponds to a certain time signature'. And they reduce everything to this formula: starting from the never ending, dreary cover of Steppenwolf's 'Desperation' and ending with Marriott's stupid screamfest 'Bang!' and Frampton's throwaway rocker 'Stick Shift'.
Sometimes it seems to me that several of these songs could have worked better if they weren't so terribly overproduced. The principle is 'wall-of-sound', but there's no Phil Spector in the studio, and the band literally falls on their faces: instead of ideally complementing each other, the instruments seem to drown out each other, not to mention the actual singing. Shirley's drums, with heavy emphasis on the cymbals, are at the center of the sound all the time, and the guitars are often mixed way too low so that they mingle with the overpowering keyboards and can't help but result in an unlistenable mess. So I couldn't really say for sure that all of these songs are musically incompetent; but believe me, I just don't have the desire to sit through this stuff more than the appropriate three times to try and find out.
The CD issue adds two bonus tracks to this mess, both credited to Steve - 'Wrist Job' is just as cacophonous as everything else, but 'Natural Born Boogie' is quite a hoot, and currently it is my best bet for the record. Of course, Steve's credit for that one is kinda feeble: I can't even call it a rip-off of Chuck Berry's 'Little Queenie', because the ripping-off is so obvious and evident, so I'd better call it Steve's 'Variations on 'Little Queenie'. It's hardly guitar-heavy at all, with mostly electric organs propelling the song and just a few moderate guitar solos around, but it significantly deviates from the general formula in that the instrumentation is distinctive, and at least it's just a plain old-fashioned boogie, not an original 'composition' - which means that a melody is guaranteed. How easy is it to butcher a song like 'Little Queenie'? Not that easy, I tell you.
In the end, I think, a seven might be too high for this album, but what the heck, I'll add it one more point just because it's so unique. When something is so uniquely bad, you know it might turn out to be great one day. Dialectics rules.

Desperation sets in. Mail your ideas, please

ROCK ON

Year Of Release: 1971
Overall rating = 11

What a great set of rootsy bloozy grooves. Highly recommended for fans of tasteful early Seventies hard-rock.
Best song: 79TH AND SUNSET

Criminy! Is this the same band that recorded As Crappy As Yesterday Was, Today Is Even Crappier a couple years ago? Apparently it is, and they didn't even have no member changes. But this is so, so much better that I really come to the conclusion that the band's debut album was either hashed out in a couple hours or in a drug craze.
Everybody agrees that Rock On is one of the Pie's better moments, if not the best one. On this album the band really proves why in the early Seventies it was considered one of Britain's greatest R'n'B outfits. They are becoming thoroughly Americanized by this time, much more so than their principal concurrents, the Faces: country, blues and bluegrass influences are all over this album, but Steve Marriott adds to everything his impeccable vocal stylizations, really bothering to sing and, okay, maybe 'articulate' instead of just barking and shouting his way through all the songs. And the band shows itself a tight and compact unit; not as tight as the Stones, but I don't blame them for that. I mean, none of the songs ever really fall apart or degenerate into noisy bummers; Shirley's drumming is tight enough to prevent them from doing that, but loose enough to give the band some opportunities for improvised jamming. Meanwhile, Marriott tosses out crunchy, awesome riffs, Frampton blasts the house to pieces with magnificent leads, and occasional guests, like Bobby Keyes on sax, provide great embellishments as well.
The heavy tracks should be played really loud in order to feel their power, especially the monstruous jam 'Stone Cold Fever' - a track after listening to which I hardly understand the need for Aerosmith's existence on the planet. Marriott howls out the 'paleolithic' lyrics like a prime caveman while beating the shit out of his guitar, Frampton gives out an impressive impersonation of Santana, and the track ends with a little guitar heaven as both play that generic, but unbeatable riff in unison. There's also a terrific cover of Howlin' Wolf's 'Rollin' Stone', heavily recommended for all heavy lovers of heavy blues; Steve's singing on that one is magnificent, a prime example of 'putting the soul and spirit into the blues', and Frampton really intrigues me with his playing on that one. The solo part is awesome once you listen to it in headphones; Wilson & Alroy were right in comparing Frampton with Page on that one - he plays the same barrages of echoey, flashing licks that distinguish Page's work on Led Zep's best album (the first one), and that's a fantastic listening experience.
However, the album is diverse enough, and it's not just the heaviest numbers that make the grade. Many subgenres of roots-rock are tackled in many interesting ways, some of which are quite unique. Okay, maybe 'A Song For Jenny' isn't too unique, but you can't get away from the fact that the main acoustic melody of it is just as memorable as it is gorgeous, which is only proved for the fact that McCartney later nicked that same acoustic riff for his pretty ballad 'Mama's Little Girl' - be it intentionally or subconsciously, it really doesn't matter.
But what about '79th And Sunset'? I love that song, and, shame on me, I even like the misogynistic lyrics. They rank among the most interesting misogynistic lyrics I've ever witnessed, by the way. How about this: 'Well this yellow haired snake sits snug as a bug/Got more angle than a toby jug/Star lock hair pins, honey has faults/Shows her legs when opportunity knocks/Underneath her red sweater/She's a big-deal go-getter/There'll be some dramas inside your pajamas tonight'. And I could go on, too, but I won't, because I'm not here to give away the lyrics. Instead, I'll just say that the saloon piano is tremendously tasty, Marriott's tongue-in cheek intonations are hilarious, and the doo-woppy backing vocals and Frampton's simplistic, but enthralling licks are absolutely endearing.
Frampton's main highlight on the record, a Bo Diddley stylization entitled 'The Light', is quite catchy as well; bassist Greg Ridley breaks in with an overtly stupid country rocker ('Big George'), highlighted by its own stupidity and Bobby Keyes' beautiful sax solo. And the magnum opus of the record is a really strange number appropriately called 'Strange Days' which begins its life as a piano-guitar fast jam before turning into an eerie chant about an FBI employee - three years before Mick Jagger took the theme and perfected it on 'Fingerprint File'. Again, Steve is the main hero, turning this into a real theatrical performance: his singing ranges from a shaky, trembly murmur to all-out screaming, and the song can get really scary at times.
I'm sure the record will keep on growing on me yet, like most prime R'n'B recordings do. There's probably nothing particularly great about it if one just disassembles it to individual pieces, but when all the elements of the band's 1971 style are taken together, this makes up for some truly great R'n'B and a style you certainly couldn't find anywhere else. Like I said, this is the vibe that Aerosmith were probably feeding on in the beginning of their career - they just made everything a wee bit heavier and faster and swapped the funny and interesting lyrics for idiotic ones. If you're a big Stones or Faces fan, try it, you'll like it.

Shine on, and don't forget to mail your ideas

DELIVER

Year Of Release: 1967
Overall rating = 11

Blistering harmonies on a typical California-happy record; some songwriting lows are here too, though.
Best song: DEDICATED TO THE ONE I LOVE

The Mamas & Papas' third album was their last to enjoy any serious commercial success (and pre-heralded the exhaustive compilation with the ominous title Farewell To The First Golden Era), and presumably not their best; since I don't have the first two, though, this is currently my best bet for a Mamas' and Papas' record. It pretty much follows the formula set on the band's previous releases, though, and third time around the formula was already getting a little thin. From the very first listen it becomes rather obvious that the blistering first side of the record, containing not a single weak cut, pretty much contrasts with the lacklustre, not too inspiring second side, and it certainly can't be a coincidence that the first side is mostly based on covers, with just two original compositions, while the second side is entirely composed by the band's one and only significant songwriter, John Phillips.
Now I don't really have anything serious against John; after all, how could one really dismiss the songwriting abilities of the reverend author of 'If You're Going To San Francisco'? Would be a total blasphemy; few other people symbolized the innocent, peace-lovin', 'normal' hippie side as well as poor Mr Phillips. But come on now, did you ever sit through the blandness of his cuts on the second side? And yes, I know that 'Look Through My Window' is often considered as a definite pop classic, but to me, it's easily one of the least interesting tracks on the record. Basically, it's just a sappy, sentimental, disproportionately orchestrated ballad with a good, but not spectacular use of vocal harmonies, and I don't even speak of any discernible instrumental melody here - there's none. Likewise, I don't care much for the instrumental 'Frustration': hey, I didn't pay my money to actually hear dem Papas play a rudimentary harpsichord tune basing on just about a couple of chords throughout. It's a total embarrassment, like, dude, absolutely. Likewise, what the hell is that 'John's Musical Box' snippet that closes the album? Sounds like a musical box, indeed; but I'd be far more pleased to get myself a real musical box in my house instead than having the band provide me with one. Likewise, I find Michelle Phillips' vocal spot, the funny story 'String Man', painfully weak - the way the song stretches out to its multiple harmony climaxes is entertaining, but I don't suppose the song will do anything for me, as it's neither catchy nor emotionally resonant nor even interesting from a general, er, historico-cultural point of view.
So there's just but two songs on the second side that I find really enthralling. The first one is the subtle, spooky 'Boys And Girls Together': from the opening creaky bassline and to the ridiculous, pompous Latin-style brass interludes in the chorus, the song is a solid tour de force, building up on a luxurious, heartwarming vocal duet, plus the dumb lyrics about 'boys & girls - you know they're birds of a feather' have their hidden charm. Maybe I'm an idiot (I've always suspected that). As an idiot, I also like 'Did You Ever Want To Cry', a sad, melancholic, pretty and pretty unpretentious ballad that's probably the only reminiscence of the world's troubles and worries on this otherwise happy, romance-and-love-drenched collection. The banjo sounds pretty cool there, too - as if it were plucked by a five-year old who accidentally mistook it for a sitar. In other words, highly unprofessional (the Papas, in fact, were some of the worst instrumental players that ever came out of sunny California, and that really means something - Californian bands aren't usually known for a lot of professionalism), but quite captivating in all of their ingenious simplicity. Naive and beautiful, just as it should be with all the beautiful people.
Now the first side is what really makes the grade - it's almost painful to see the album start on such a high note and then slowly roll downhill. 'Creeque Alley' is the most notorious song from here, which is more due to its historical significance: in just a few minutes' running time it manages to present an account of all the band's history up to the present time, and in pretty good details, too, not to mention their sense of humour ('and nobody's getting fat except Mama Cass' - a hint at both Cass Elliot's weight and her relative commercial/artistic success in the pre-Mamas days). Musically, the song is fairly simple - just your basic strummed acoustic guitars with some harmonica embellishments, plus a cutesy flute solo - but it's the clever harmony twists and twirls that make it so enjoyable, with male/female voices constantly coming in and getting out of the picture, creating a kind of 'objective band picture'. 'Free Advice' is also fun, with the fat trombone sound contrasting with the gentle flute and the band's harmonies leading the song to a series of happy, joyful climaxes: upbeat, punchy and certainly ear-pleasing.
Even better, though, are the covers: there are four of them, and each one's a gem. The best one is the album opener - their version of the Shirelles' (if I'm not mistaken) 'Dedicated To The One I Love', with both of the girls making this routine soul 'classic' their own; but they don't embarrass themselves on Smokey Robinson's 'My Girl', either - I still can't decide whether I prefer their version or the contemporary Rolling Stones' performance, but I guess each is in a class of its own, so there's just no need to compare. The Mamas, of course, make their version tons more sappy and sweet than Jagger could ever hope to with his nearly tongue-in-cheek delivery, but whether that's good or bad is definitely a matter of your personal taste, not mine or his or hers or the stupid little dog's. Their delivery of 'Twist And Shout', though, is the dang funniest I'd ever heard - if the very name of the song brings Beatles reminiscences on your mind, shake 'em away baby (twist and shout): John and Denny start the song with the sweetest, most tender tone you ever heard, and strip it down from a raunchy sexual rocker into something that could only be described as a gentle love ballad. Yep, you heard right: not many people have got the talent to transform a rocker into a ballad. The Mamas & The Papas definitely had such a knack, and should be acclaimed for that. Finally, Mama Cass shines brilliantly on the jazzy 'Sing For Your Supper', a tune that showcases the unstoppable grandeur and fascination of her vocals better than almost anything on here, and in a perfect world this, not the stupid 'let's put it on record and see what happens' approach of 'John's Musical Box', should be the most suitable album closer.
Then again, maybe my judgement is a bit too harsh on what could perhaps be the only hippie-produced record of 1967 that managed to evade falling into the perilous traps of psychedelic experimentation, instead concentrating on 'eternal musical values'. In that respect, Deliver, whatever might be said, has dated to a far, far lesser extent than quite a few lauded efforts from same year. Simply fresh, exciting, harmony-drenched luvvly hippiesque pop that's guaranteed to make you smile against your will, much like Mr Stevie Wonder. Yup, a bit more refined songwriting couldn't hurt, but I'll take it even as it is. With a Coke, please.

Did you ever want to cry when no-one mailed his ideas to you? Well...

Your worthy comments:

Richard C. Dickison <rdick@mag.com> (14.12.99)

Ahhh, I like these guys. It's hard not to, this is a soundtrack from my childhood during the 60's. My parents loved these guy's. Of course then my mom went on a Neil Diamond kick, well... we won't talk about that, oh the humanity. Anyway, this was the last of their great albums and boy did it pack a wallop. Side one is beautiful to say the least. Vocals are perfect and Mama Cass was prime. She really was all that. So, if your looking for the female versions of CSNY, go here. I'd have loved to have seen Mama Cass take on that wailing Neil Young, he would have been one whining pitiful pancake. And no matter how fat she got, she had more talent and class than any of those scrawny hippy dippy guys. Take that Mr. Crosby and stick it up your pipe.

THE PAPAS & THE MAMAS

Year Of Release: 1968
Overall rating = 10

A particularly intricate and complex approach to harmonizing here - unfortunately, it doesn't stand up for excellent results.
Best song: MIDNIGHT VOYAGE

The band's last album before the break-up finds the Mamas and the Papas on a downward slide - but rather than being a complete disaster, this is just somewhat disappointing. And I really mean it: the record actually contains more than jumps out at the listener upon first subjection. Did that make sense? Definitely not. Okay, scrap that false introduction, and proceed to the real review.
This is a good record, and that's more than a fair remark about a record with not even a single instantly memorable tune. After the giant hooks of stuff like 'California Dreamin' or 'Dedicated To...', The Papas & The Mamas produce a sour impression indeed. The band seems to have undergone a radical change of attitude: while their earlier output was more or less cheerful and bouncy, you know, in a real poppy and upbeat kind of way, these songs are moody, atmospheric and even introspective, in a certain way. The melodies get slower and smoother; the vocals get smoother, too, with both the solo voices and group harmonies built up in a relaxative, mantraic way - with no bottoms and peaks, that is. This, in turn, seriously influences the memorability department: songs where nothing sticks out aren't exactly my definition of ultra-catchiness. In all, the first couple of listens were very painful - hey, we're all supposed to love this band because of their upbeat cheerful stuff, and this is nothing of the kind! What the heck?
Later on, though, the melodies begin to shine through, and with them, the realisation that some of these songs are actually quite solidly written and performed. Yes, the sound is smooth, but much too often, there are delicate, intricate twists in the harmonies that you don't discern at once, and hoopla, all of a sudden there's a kind of witty subtlety that completely redeems the song. A typical example is the lead-in number, 'Safe In My Garden' (actually, the lead-in number is a stupid two-verse poem, but that's just me nitpicking on myself); contrary to what many might think, this isn't just a soft mid-tempo orchestrated ballad, this is a brilliant, complex, wonderfully harmonized and ideally structured chant. Unlike 'Meditation Mama', which is just as stupid as its title suggests: floating around at the same pace, it has none of the previous song's vocal intricacies and could have been recorded in five minutes. Pure atmosphere - pretty atmosphere, but eminently forgettable. This is the problem, then - to separate the fruit from the chaff, a task that's extremely hard and actually requires more than three listens. That much I know.
Let's see now, what do we have next? 'For The Love Of Ivy' is one of my personal favourites on here, another magnificent chant that comes as close to a hook-filled song as possible. The coda to the song is particularly impressive - the band members all chant the title in different keys, producing a brilliant symphony of overdubbed vocals. The cover of the jazzy standard 'Dream A Little Dream Of Me' is very nice, too, and many consider it the main highlight of the record; but it's actually a bit too generic to be the real highlight - I mean, I love that number, and it is indeed the most attractive ditty on first listen, but you really don't need the Mamas & Papas to present you with that kind of stuff.
After that one, it's the John Phillips show all the way, with songs seriously differing in quality but all united by that 'meditation' scent. I have to suppose John was pretty high when he wrote all those songs, because the best way to inhale them is when you're half-comatose or something. Loosen up, let your jaw hang low, shut off your brain, and stuff like 'Mansions' will probably turn you on. Me, I'd better take the cool 'Gemini Childe', the most hard-rocking track on the album (the only hard-rocking track, in fact, because there ain't no single trace of distortion of any kind anywhere else on the record). I really love the way the song easily flows from minor hard-rock piece to a moody piano ballad and back. And then, of course, there's the gorgeous 'Midnight Voyage', with Michelle's (I assume it's Michelle?) best vocal on the whole album; though also jazzy, it doesn't rely on formula like 'Dream A Little Dream' does, and so scores extra points from me.
I still give the record an overall rating of 10, because the vast amount of filler prevents it from climbing any higher; however, I am hesitant about calling this the final verdict, because two listens ago I wouldn't have rated it any more than an 8. In any case, this is a good listen for any California pop fan, but be forewarned: this is really not an easy record to sink into, because you gotta have a really good ear for witty, subtle harmonies. I consider myself as having a good ear, for instance, and yet it took me ages to realize the album's potential; and perhaps repeated listenings will bring out more? Who knows? Unfortunately, the world wasn't particularly amused by this new twist back in 1968, and the record only made it to #15 in the charts, the absolute lowest that the Mamas & Papas had scored up to that point. Of course, maybe it was more due to objective factors (the hippy age was dwindling, and California flower pop was beginning to lose its cool among trend-imbibing listeners), in which case any M&P record could have flopped, even if it were packed with monster hooks from top to bottom; but the fact remains that the album sold less and the Mamas & Papas disbanded a little bit later. Coincidence? I think not.

Dream a little dream of me when you mail your ideas

PEOPLE LIKE US

Year Of Release: 1971
Overall rating = 8

Shucks. Pretty routine pop for a band that used to be something more than pretty routine pop.
Best song: BLUEBERRIES FOR BREAKFAST

The existence of this record, recorded and released in a hurry almost three years after the band broke up, is perfectly justified. The Mamas & Papas had some nasty contractual obligations to meet. Not that the record company got its due - this was the band's poorest-selling album, and I can easily see why. This sounds nothing like the classic Mamas and not even like the classic Papas. On the front cover, they're all smiling and happy and exuberant, but once you take a peep inside, you'll see that the record is actually quite confused, and that the band really did not understand what the hell they were still doing all assembled together in one place. The album title is cool, of course, and can be read as two completely different sentences, depending on the meaning of the word 'like'. However, I'm slightly in doubt as to whether People Like Us = People Are Fond Of Us, as nobody could really be fond of such a record, and John Phillips and company couldn't have thought otherwise. I'd much rather think People Like Us = People Similar To Us. Because, indeed, the album is recorded by people similar to the Mamas & Papas, but these are not really the Mamas & Papas we've grown to like.
Okay, the lengthy introduction aside, let me just tell you why on earth this album blows so much. First of all, there ain't a single instantaneous classic on here. The hooks do seem to come out from time to time, but they're rather slow on the move and have to be tickled, like bears in their lairs, in order to come out and grab you (nasty allegory, that one, but it should work). The songs were all written by John, and that's the main problem: his songwriting sure wasn't at a peak at the moment. Most of the material is represented by third-rate sappy ballads with derivative, hard-to-find melodies, ultimately generic lyrics and bland, unimpressive instrumentation. Now this problem could have been resolved - after all, the band were known to compensate every known weakness with immaculate vocal harmonies. But see, this is exactly where the second problem lurks. The second problem is that these vocal harmonies STINK! And first of all - where the hell is Mama Cass? She doesn't seem to get even a single lead vocal on here, being relegated entirely to vocal harmonies, and as such, the record lacks the strength and gargantuan energy of their classic releases. I have nothing against Michelle, of course, her tiny angelic voice is lovely and soothing, but there's only so much lovely and soothing angelic female vocalization I can take on any selected record. And twelve tracks are, obviously, a bit too many.
So this is what you'll get: interminable streams of sap squeezing out of the rotten melody trunks. On first listen I thought I hated the album; with fists, teeth and nose clenched firmly, I did endure three or four more listens, which enlightened my position a bit, but nothing will ever make me think of People Like Us as a good Mamas & Papas record because, obviously, a bad Mamas & Papas record will NEVER AGAIN have the potential to become a good Mamas & Papas record! This doesn't really depend on the number of times you listen to it.
A quick runthrough over the good stuff, now. Presumably out of a desperate feel for balance, the band (or should I say John Phillips?) have included a couple funny pop rockers, which accidentally happen to be the most tolerable out of everything on here. 'Pacific Coast Highway' is okay, I guess, an unsubstantial, lightweight, but pleasant ditty graced by occasional saxophones and wah-wah guitars (and no, it's not a big band thingie, don't you worry). Even better is 'Blueberries For Breakfast', perhaps the closest thing to a potential classic on here - with its memorable refrain and funny, childishly naive lyrics, this countryish tune is by far the only one which managed to imprint itself in my memory. Not that I have a bad memory, mind you - it's just that it's poorly suited for all the loads of crap John Phillips ever wanted to put out.
Out of the ballads, I could only pick up a pair, as well (the others are far too slippery to be picked up, you gotta understand that). 'Snowqueen Of Texas' has some of the dumbest retro-hippie lyrics I've ever seen, but these dumbest retro-hippie lyrics happen to be tied to one of the catchiest refrains on this record. Yup, this doesn't say much, but dammit, I'm trying to take an objective approach, can't you see? 'I'm on my knees, your Majesty, save a cold kiss for me'. In Texas, yeah right. But there's just something very, very nice about these little naggin', itchy guitars and the little bell tinkles and the tenderness in Michelle's voice as she describes Her Majesty to us. And the other 'highlight' is 'Step Out', an unbearably oversaccharine tune that makes Paul McCartney's 'My Love' sound like Ozzy Osbourne in comparison, but at least John sings the song well, and this is the only moment on record when the band succeeds in recapturing some of the past majesty, with some intricate, wonderfully crafted vocal harmonies. Basically, that's all.
Everything else on here ranges from passable schlocky pop, like the pathetic, synths-drenched title track, or the sleazy dance number 'Lady Genevieve', to terrible, most banal hogwash, like the rags-to-riches story of 'I Wanna Be A Star' where Michelle impersonates a beginning actress and her dialogue with her director and overdoes the trick so grossly that I wanna cry out loud. What's with those lyrics, anyway? 'Mr producer/Don't seduce her/Until you've heard her sing'. I mean, after he's heard her sing he probably can seduce her all right. No problem, Mac.
Oh yeah, 'European Blueboy' sucks, too; whatever made them induce stupid Latin influences into their work? They blow! They all blow! Holy criminy, I won't really discuss the rest of the songs as I really don't remember them. Whatever for? Please stay away from this album. The Mamas & Papas were never meant to be a generic Seventies' pop band, which is just the way they present themselves on here. Their hippieism and their harmonies and their candour belonged to the Sixties and there they still stay. Luckily, they realised it too, and didn't essay another comeback until it was too late, as Mama Cass tragically died three years later of a heart attack. Not that they really needed Mama Cass for this record, but still...

People like us will certainly want to mail their ideas

Your worthy comments:

Bob <Trfesok@aol.com> (14.02.2000)

The band actually wasn't assembled in one place! They, as you said, had broken up and scattered to the four winds. So, in order to meet the contractual requirement, Phillips overdubbed each member's vocal parts separately whenever they happened to be in town. They were never all together at any one time, except maybe for the photo shoot for the front cover. Combine that with the fact that Phillips's drug abuse was starting to overtake his talent, and you've got one depressing album. It was a regular occupant of cutout bins for years -- I'm amazed it even get re-released on CD.

NAZZ

Year Of Release: 1968
Overall rating = 10

Not bad Brit-pop instincts for four young grizzly Americans, but do they really beat anybody at it?
Best song: OPEN MY EYES

Judging from the liner notes to the CD, and later on - judging from the music itself, the Nazz originally assembled with one and only one purpose: to prove that four young American lads could actually do formulaic Brit-pop plus formulaic Hendrix-rock (all lumped together in one - remember, Hendrix was always treated as a British import back then, since he was only able to let his talents shine through on English soil) better than the Brits. Leader and creative soul of the band, young guitar whiz Todd Rundgren, as it seems, was keen on fulfilling that exact dream, and he almost jumps out of his very skin to achieve the goal. Unfortunately, he cannot but fail: due to the copycat tendency, Nazz suffers from the very thing that would forever mar Todd's successive career - a frustrating lack of identity. Out of the ten songs presented here, none are really bad: there are some well-written melodies, some neat production tricks and some carefully constructed harmonies. But there's also not a single speckle of innovation: Rundgren and company explore the kinds of sound that had already been well-mined previously by just about everybody, starting from the Beatles and the Who and ending with Hendrix and Floyd. It is very symbolic that the very first track on the album, the excellent 'Open My Eyes', starts with a ten-second snippet of the 'I Can't Explain' riff: the rest of the song has nothing to do with the famous Who hit, but it's like some kind of statement, maybe on the subconscious level. It's like 'we're ripping them off and we don't give a damn'. Add to this that the hooks on most of these tunes are not very obvious: unless it's your first rock record or something like that, nothing really jumps out and grabs you. The songs just grow and grow on you - very slowly, but at least I can say I got used to the sound and I'm easily awarding this album an overall rating of 10. Any more and I'll be betraying my rating credo: a record with not an ounce of innovation and without monstruous hooks can't really get anything higher than a 10.
Like I said, Rundgren is the creative soul here, yet he never sings lead vocals - that role is relegated to Robert 'Stewkey' Antoni, who's got a pretty ordinary teenage pair of chords, but at least he doesn't get off key or anything. Meanwhile, Carson Van Osten, who is also quite a skilled bass player, keeps inserting mighty fluent lines now and then, and drummer Thom Mooney is fairly professional as well. In all, these guys really took themselves seriously: they were definitely more than just another band in an endless stream of bands, they were determined to make a statement. Whatever complaints I really have, I must say that this is still one of the most impressive American rock albums of 1968 outside the whole West Coast scene, particularly seeing as the Velvet Underground never put out anything that year. And, certainly, nobody was able to ape the essence of Brit-pop as faithfully and convincingly as these guys.
What ensues are my recommendations for those who have already sat through the album one time and - just like me the first time around - found it an unenlightening bore. (So if you don't have the record, please go buy it first). The record is neatly divided into the 'soft ballad' part and the 'gruff rocker' part: no 'medley principle' is being employed anywhere, and it's clear that Todd doesn't really go for 'art-rock', preferring to stick to the basics at this starting point.
The 'soft ballad' part is somewhat hard to take unless you realize that the main thing about it are the harmonies and the subtle vocal hooks. Thus, the single 'Hello It's Me', later re-recorded by Todd in a more upbeat and Seventies-ish manner on Something/Anything?, is just a plain drag without the magnificent middle-eight ('it's important to me that you know you are free...') and the dreamy intonations of the main melody. 'See What You Can Be' has some extremely Beatlesque harmonies, with an exciting vocal crescendo at the end of each verse and a soaring, shrill refrain that's certainly able to draw one's attention. But the best of the ballads is certainly the gorgeous 'If That's The Way You Feel', featuring Todd's first ever attempt at a strings arrangement. It's not that it's all that different: it has the same hypnotic, dreamy atmosphere of 'Hello It's Me' and the same vocal crescendo of 'See What You Can Be', but both elements are used to better effect, and the strings also help make the music more 'mature'.
As for the rockers, they're all pretty good, my favourite one being 'Open My Eyes' - that's the one starting with the (subconscious?) Who quotation, but then it goes into this totally ass-kicking riff that has nothing to do with the Who, plus there's a lot of phasing, and how could you resist a lot of phasing? 'Back Of Your Mind' is a good one, too, sounding like some particularly well-performed Yardbirds tune (by the way, did you know that the Nazz took their name from a Yardbirds single - 'The Nazz Are Blue'? Looks very representative to me), and 'Lemming Song' and 'Wildwood Blues' are fast, effective pieces of boogie, even if the latter is seriously marred by a stupid lengthy chaotic coda. While the best thing about the ballads was essentially the singing part, the best thing about the rockers is the guitar part: Todd's playing is raunchy and vicious, and he takes special care to make as many overdubs as he needs. Normally, it's a two-tracked solo along the lines of Clapton's 'guitar symphonies' in Cream; the difference is that Todd is playing faster and with less precision, but more raw youthful energy. For a prime example of that sound, don't miss the instrumental break in 'Lemming Song': sharp, hard-hitting drum sound + melodic pulsating bass lines + two slightly different guitar solos running off at once = rock heaven, at least, rock purgatory.
And that's it. If the information above isn't enough to make you want to own this record, nothing is, because I certainly won't praise it as something particularly exceptional or a timeless masterpiece. This is where the subjective matter steps in, see? I Like This Album. I suppose that's what an overall rating of 10 stands for, anyway: albums that I like and don't give a damn if somebody proves to me that they're kinda shitty. Kinda like the Monkees (but hey, this sounds nothing like the Monkees - the poor apes could only wish they could play as swell as Todd does).

Open my eyes with your ideas

Your worthy comments:

<Jndiller@aol.com> (02.07.2000)

'Hello It's Me' is simply delivered with much more conviction here than in Rundgren's remake, the bridge of which sounds more "dental" to my ears than any of poor Mr. Gilmour's stuff. Otherwise, we be in agreement.
An aside: Sounds like this was an influence on Hall & Oates. Big deal...

Nome Poem <NOMEPOEM@aol.com> (12.12.2000)

It's like one of bizarre yet wonderful things. For instance ...I bought "hey Joe" as a reprise single with one of those photo jackets that 45's used to come in. The flipside was a little known and/or heard ditty named 51st Anniversary. Unlike all of the posthumous releases of Hendrix, some of which had musicians spliced into them who Hendrix never knew(let alone played with)and some that were produced by people who took the license to actually delete tracks (that were actually recorded by Hendrix himself) in favor of something they felt would go over better, 51st Anniversary was one of those cuts that never made it onto any of the albums that were released during his lifetime .......yet was an authentic Jimi release......complete with his feel and live presence. I say that because even though it took until ElectricLady for Jimi to completely take over and dominate the producing reins...........you could still unmistakingly recognize anything that was released that he had any say so or live energy input into it. I mean...you can just HEAR it seeping out of the grooves.ie: his 1st two albums. Well with all of the recent repackaging of Hendrix i'm sure that 51st Anniversary has finally been re-released somewhere. And that's good. But i say all of this to say that i felt that because of it's anonymity since 1966 or 7 it was like mine. My own private cherished secret. Something that not many people were aware of and i claimed it greedily and selfishly. Sort of like "Hey Hey What Can I Say" which was never released in it's heyday on any Led Zep album but was the flipside single to "Immigrant Song" i believe. That too ....i used to play and covet and no one was aware. It was an authentic release in as much it had the original Zep band on it complete with Bonham.......and plus it was good enough to be on any of there albums....It was just a matter of fate and decisions and circumstance that it never turned up on one. I hear it played on classic rock stations all of the time so i have to assume that it has since been released on some compilation disc. Just like currently i've been listening to the current saviour of all musickind (since the death of Hendrix) .....Milton Nasciemento from Brazil. He's my little secret yet i'm sure that when he dies he'll be hailed as the GOD and SALVATION that he is. That's Life .
Well back to Nazz. I discovered this album while working in the talent agency that represented them back in 1968. I was a mailroom worker so new albums came through my grubby hands all of the time. I played them and went through a break up with a girlfriend with them and "If that's the way you feel " is emblazoned on my subconcious as an ultimate love lost song. Every 7 or so years i go back to this album and play it for about 4 or 5 days. The cuts are strong today as they were 33 years ago......and that's saying a lot because your vision can become obscured with time by all of the derivatives you've been forced to withstand.
Even then ....they weren'y run of the mill by those heady and creative 60's times and yardstick. The ballads were touching,real and poingnant and heralded the coming of what and who was to become a premier songwriting and rock genius/enigma of our times.....Rundgren. The pure youthful energy and innocence not only touches me now in a nostalgic era lost and yearning for it kind of way............but they had that fragile quality even then when i was a 18 year old youth right along with them. I was an urban boy but i felt and accepted there cry of suburban angst for its authentic core ...which made it so universal. Wildwood Blues and the other rockers had more of that Cream tightly spur wound metal splinters flying ensemble sound than it did a Hendrix sound. But young Todd was serious with it ...he meant it ...and was taking no prisoners and you had to meet him on those terms as opposed to holding them up to some other band's yardstick. and then to cap it all off you had serious off the cuff topical songwriting gems like "When i get my plane". Imagine my suprise when i just happened by your review of this album which has been a serious part of MY LIFE which i really didn't think that anyone else ever gave a serious listen to. I hope somebody reads this

NAZZ NAZZ

Year Of Release: 1969
Overall rating = 9

More of the same (what same? - good question!), albeit with more pretense and less craft.
Best song: GONNA CRY TODAY

Despite the even more pompous and shaneful liner notes, the band's second album is clearly a serious letdown. People will tell you that the Nazz have successfully expanded and diversified their sound on their second record... where? Forgive me please, but I just don't see it. All I hear is more or less the same formula: jangly, not too memorable pop rockers and lethargic, dreamy ballads. I cannot truly think of any serious improvements, but I can sure think of many flaws that pester this record as opposed to its predecessor.
By now the Nazz were completely immersed in British culture - they even moved to the UK for three weeks to record this album - but they were still focused on completely disregarding Pop Rule # 1 ('Every Ditty Must Be Catchy') and Pop Rule # 2 ('Every Album Should Have A Face Of Its Own'), which, in turn, leads to the fact that you won't remember a single tune first time through the album. Well, this ain't a tragedy - I expected the record to grow on me just like Nazz did; unfortunately, this time the 'growing' procedure was very slow and painful. Apart from the fact that they just repeat the formula, it gets worse because there are no fast songs - everything's taken at the same rotten midtempo, no distinguishable riffs - Todd is going for simplistic strumming instead, and very few hooks.
Okay, so the first half of the record turns out to be pretty enjoyable after a long long while. 'Forget All About It', bookmarking the album, is a classic example of a 'pop formulaicness': here's a band striving to write a catchy, upbeat pop anthem but it's so artificial and full of seams that it's plain ridiculous. I can almost see them wracking their brains trying to think of a hookline for the main monotonous, bland main melody and finally coming up with the magnificent falsetto in the chorus (when they go 'forget all about it awhiiile...'). But it's so highly incompatible with the main theme that, acceptable as the song is ultimately, it simply cannot be passed for the 'real thing'. More or less the same can be said about the other songs on the first half of the record, even though in none of them the 'hookline' stands as much at odds with the main melody. 'Not Wrong Long' stumbles and crumbles along like a huge lumbering bullsquid, with a huge drumsound, deep vocals and a fat organ tone, but apart from the somewhat catchy main melody, it's just a big fat nothing. And 'Rain Rider', with its gruff, exemplary bassline and funny singalong chorus, is an interesting attempt at a psycho rocker... 'nuff said.
The most interesting stuff is sandwiched somewhere in the middle of the record, where you'll meet the beautiful 'Hello It's Me' clone called 'Gonna Cry Today'; fortunately, there's a very well constructed vocal melody there, with real chord changes and atmospheric choruses based on an elaborate, symmetric verse/chorus structure. The 'gonna cry today, gonna cry today' refrain, in fact, is one of the most gorgeous moments in the entire Nazz catalog (which isn't all that expansive, I give, but this only emphasizes the statement). And there's also the deeply lyrically weird 'Meridian Leeward' which I've grown to be really really amused with - how can't you be amused by a song which begins with the lines 'I'm a human being now but I used to be a pig/'Til they shortened up my nose and they made me wear a wig'? It also has a very unusual melody for the Nazz - something like a country tune crossed with Latin rhythms. Of course, most critics condemn exactly that one song for being too far out, but why don't we just disregard the critics for a while? Not a bad idea.
And so? There's also the second half of this album which sucks completely. I presume I should have mentioned that the album (which was originally planned as a double one, to be released under the title Fungo Bat) was supposed to be an even bigger statement than the first one, with the Nazz drawing upon all styles, playing all kinds of instruments, and Todd even learned to read music in order to come up with more complex orchestration. To that end, the closing number - 'A Beautiful Song' - is one of the most daring compositions of 1969, but it manages to bore me out completely. Eleven minutes of various musical ideas, mostly instrumental, mostly midtempo, sounding suspiciously like uninspired jams, at times guitar-dominated, at other times organ-dominated, sometimes orchestra-dominated; when the main vocal section comes on, you'll be regretting your very existence, but it's even worse - dreary quasi-accappella singing with poorly rehearsed and sloppy, incoherent vocal harmonies and each phrase being sung out for what seems an eternity. Occasional punches of energy in the form of blistering Rundgren solos do help relieve the drag atmosphere, but they're only occasional and definitely insufficient for an eleven-minute running time. If this is a statement, it's a very rhetoric one - these guys really had nothing to say.
To make matters worse, you only arrive it after sitting through two rather generic rockers ('Under The Ice', 'Hang On Paul'), two very generic bluesy numbers ('Kiddie Boy', 'Featherbedding Lover'), and one atrocious attempt at a 'rambling' ballad - I could have penned a song better than 'Letters Don't Count' in ten minutes without knowing a single note. While the rockers manage to grow on you a wee bit after a while, nothing else does, and even Rundgren's guitar gets annoying and gimmicky after a while. He did master some great technical moves, I'll admit, but by 1969 there were so many more kick-ass guitarists around that you really couldn't get away with guitar playing alone.
And anyway, I'm not surprised that the record never produced much fans for the Nazz. It's not the worst record I've ever heard in my life, but hey, it pretends to be a powerful pop album (not 'power-pop' - that's a different thing), and it's completely inadequate in that respect. I mean, yeah, if you're not gonna innovate, don't pretend you are. Just write good melodies and don't be so ambitious. To paraphrase a little, ambitions killed the cat, and no amount of ambitions can provide a good substitute for a timeless melody. Reasonable lyrics tho'. Rundgren quit after this album (which surprises me - I'd expect everybody else to quit instead), and the rest of the band released a Fungo Bat outtakes record next year (Nazz III), but something tells me it didn't go that high in the charts...

Gonna cry today if you don't mail your ideas