Garage Rock

Lyres “On Fyre” (Ace Of Hearts, 1984)

Tenacious Lyres leader Jeff “Monoman” Conolly passed away in July at age 69, and a lot of the obits and eulogies praised his ultra-passionate music and compelling vocals while also noting his, uh, difficult personality. Yes, Conolly was yet another headstrong musician with a monomaniacal vision who sometimes ruffled the feathers of others in his orbit. But it seems most forgave his faults, thanks to Lyres’ combustible and soulful brand of garage rock that has stood the test of time—especially their first two LPs: 1984’s On Fyre and 1986’s Lyres Lyres.

As some of you may recall, the ’80s were boom times for ’60s garage-rock revivalists. You had Chesterfield Kings, the Fuzztones, Plasticland, the Fleshtones, the Pandoras, Miracle Workers, and many others plucking the seeds out of their electric prunes. Many of these bands had the sound, the attitude, the haircuts, and the clothes of the garage-rock scene from 20 years ago down to a science. But it’s doubtful any group replicated that bygone era’s steez with more conviction than Lyres. Singer/songwriter/keyboardist Conolly and his band mates lived, breathed, and bled this stuff.

On Fyre begins with one of the coolest fade ins ever on “Don’t Give It Up Now.” This garage-rock stomper just keeps accruing intensity and desperation as it goes. Conolly’s Vox Continental organ maintains a keening drone throughout, underpinning Danny McCormack’s righteous guitar riffs. Hall-of-fame material, right off the bat! It’s followed by “Help You Ann,” another all-time garage-rock classic, powered by a distorted, tremolo’d guitar riff and jagged dynamics. There’s a lot of fantastic, chaotic interplay between McCormack, bassist Rick Coraccio, and drummer Paul Murphy. “I’m Tellin’ You Girl” is punchy, staccato garage-rock ideal for peak-time shenanigans, while “Dolly”’s midtempo rock rollicks with an abundance of swagger.

Another area where Lyres excel is in their choice and execution of covers. They do two Kinks revamps here, and show excellent taste in that very great British group’s repertoire. Dave Davies’ second-best song, “Love Me Till The Sun Shines,” is a series of euphoric explosions and devotional romantic expressions, and Lyres capture those qualities in all their glory. A bit less successful is Lyres’ charmingly awkward interpretation of “Tired Of Waiting,” although it still shoots jolts of adrenaline into the Kinks’ wonderful, ennui-laden original. The rendition of New Colony Six’s beautiful, undulant “I Confess” reveals Conolly’s more tender vocal side. Digging deeper into the obscurity pile, Lyres pull off hearty versions of Mickey & The Clean Cuts’ “Soapy” and original Beatles drummer Pete Best’s “ The Way I Feel About You.”

Lyrically, all of these songs deal with “girls” and various relationship entanglements, in keeping with garage-rock tradition. But no matter. The songs on On Fyre are so strong, Conolly could be reading the manual for a box fan and they’d still rule.

PS: I highly recommend the 1998 Matador Records CD reissue of On Fyre, which has a grip of great, previously unreleased bonus cuts. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Harumi “Harumi” (Verve Forecast, 1968)

Harumi Ando is part of that rarefied club of one-and-done artists: musicians who released one great LP and then peaced out for various reasons. My own pantheon would include Skip Spence, the United States Of America, McDonald & Giles, Friendsound, Spoils Of War, and Hermann Szobel. There are more, but we don’t have all day here.

What makes Harumi’s case even more interesting is that he seems to have vanished from everyone’s radar in the decades following the release of his 1968 self-titled debut album. Mystery pervades Harumi. How did an unproven Japanese solo musician hook up with accomplished—and uncredited—New York players in a studio helmed by Tom Wilson, producer of classics by the Velvet Underground, Mothers Of Invention, Nico, Simon & Garfunkel, and Bob Dylan? Why did Verve allow him to cut a double LP whose second disc consists of sidelong excursions with zero commercial potential? I mean, it was a risky move even when they did it with Frank Zappa & co. Could the reason really be down to Verve’s execs being high on hallucinogens and the notion that “this is what the kids want”? I would like to think so.

Harumi begins brilliantly with “Talk About It,” phased drums leading the way on a glorious sunshine-pop tune. There’s a warped guitar or keyboard sound surging in the background that pushes this into mindfucksville. And right away, Harumi establishes his solid grasp of English and dramatically vulnerable voice, which is not technically “good,” but is effective in the context of his beautifully ramshackle psych-pop songs. “First Impressions” bursts into life with a horn-heavy fanfare, powering bubbly, Age Of Aquarius pop à la 5th Dimension. “Hello” is a tough little gem with a killer cyclical bass line and enigmatic organ swell. The slyly groovy “Sugar In Your Tea” is an introverted, naïve psych nugget in the Paul Parrish vein.

The soaring “Caravan” should’ve been a hit; I can imagine it seguing well into Tommy James & The Shondells’ “Crimson & Clover.” No wonder it was covered with astonishing panache by Rotary Connection. The towering, wide-screen orch pop of “Hunters Of Heaven” will sweep you off your goddamn feet. Again, the bass line snakes its way into your consciousness, leaving you dying to know who’s playing it. (I wouldn’t be surprised if it were Carol Kaye or Chuck Berghofer.) Oddly, “Hurry Up Now” sounds as if it could be a B-side of a single by an obscure Motown artist (compliment!). “Fire By The River” is the closest thing Harumi has to a dance-floor banger; it features the album’s most robust drums, chill vibes, incandescent organ, and biting guitar stabs. Harumi really belts it out on “Don’t Know What I’m Gonna Do,” but the square, melodramatic pop with strings and vibes is the LP’s nadir.

Harumi could’ve ended the album there and we’d have a nice little cult classic. But he went and added another slab of wax with the 24-minute “ Twice Told Tales Of The Pomegranate Forest” and the 18-minute “Samurai Memories.” This is how legends manifest. In the former, a deep-voiced thespian and Harumi trade observations, which most contemporary listeners will dismiss as faux-profound philosophizing or hippie hoo-ha. A procession of passages on glowing vibes, piquant shamisen strums, tabla, shakuhachi, congas, etc. serves as a bed for our narrators’ chatter. They discuss life, love, freedom, “the miracle of reality,” “the lost chord,” and “a mountain of ice cream.” Heavy, bros. “Samurai Memories” starts like a soundtrack for a swinging ’60s LSD party and gets progressively more complex and chaotic, then waxes and wanes in its own peculiar drug logic while Harumi or somebody else speaks in Japanese. These epics compound the WTF? factor of this enigmatic oddity. Harumi, if you see this review, please shed some light on your flawed masterpiece.

(The Austrian label Ebalunga!!! is reissuing Harumi on black and color vinyl on June 23. It ain’t cheap, but it’ll be less expensive than most copies on Discogs.) -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

The Stooges “Fun House” (Elektra, 1970)

In retrospect, it’s hard to believe that the Stooges’ first two albums—foundational documents for punk rock and heavy music, in general—were difficult to find in shops throughout the ’70s and ’80s. (Talk about “Not Right”…) For a long time, the only records by Michigan’s most influential rockers that stayed in print for extended periods were Raw Power and Metallic ‘KO. Great LPs, for sure, but to this longtime listener, the Stooges thrusted deepest on The Stooges and Fun House. While I love the former’s wah-wah-intensive attack, sleighbells, cavalcade of indomitable guitar riffs, and the intense dirge of “We Will Fall,” I find the latter to be Iggy Pop and company’s apex. What’s more, esteemed figures and serious record collectors such as Henry Rollins and Jack White rate Fun House as their favorite album of all time. I’m almost there right with them.

Among other things, Fun House (at least side one) ranks as one of the greatest soundtracks to sex. (Try it, you’ll see.) Produced by Don Gallucci, the seven-song album possesses no ballads, unless you want to count “Dirt.” Seven of the sleaziest and most lubricious minutes in rock history, this song proved that guitarist Ron Asheton and bassist Dave Alexander were truly gifted and nuanced players, not just purveyors of raw power (not to diminish that aspect of their repertoires). And there was a deceptive, slack funkiness in Scott Asheton’s beats; no wonder the Jungle Brothers sampled them. The lyrics suggest that Ig was coping with romantic rejection (“Oohh, I’ve been HURT/And I don’t care”), but he also displayed some of his most artful crooning.

No exaggeration, Fun House‘s first three songs form a trilogy of sonic violence and lustiness that could energize a superpower’s army. Inspired by Howlin’ Wolf’s vocals, Iggy kicks off “Down On The Street” with a grunt and a feral snarl, as guitarist Ron Asheton, bassist Dave Alexander, and drummer Scott Asheton create a tornado of primal rock heat. “Loose” is simply one of the filthiest songs in rock history. Covered by Australian wildmen the Birthday Party, “Loose” sounds like Fun House‘s cover looks: a fiery vortex radiating pure id. How can you listen to this and not feel impelled to fuck and fight? Speaking of which, “T.V. Eye” concludes the epochal triptych with more pile-driving libidinousness. “Ram it!” Iggy repeatedly shouts, telegraphing the song’s theme.

Side 2 roars into a whole other realm, one dominated Steve Mackay’s free-jazz sax exclamations. The epitome of rampaging rock, “1970” abounds with avalanching riffs, culminating in a peak of Dionysian rock. (Makes sense that the Damned covered it, retitling it “I Feel Alright.”) Count how many times Iggy growls “I feel all right!” because, after all, he’s out of his mind on a Saturday night. Mackay’s tenor-saxophone wails spur Iggy to extreme vocal expulsions, from which the singer likely never recovered. On the title track, Iggy still feels all right while Alexander pushes out his most pugilistic bass line and Mackay skronks, anticipating Contortions’ infernal churn by about nine years. This track stalks like a panther, coils like a motherfucker, and ratchets up the intensity till you’re ready for the loony bin. Album finale “L.A. Blues” may be the closest an American rock group has come to Albert Ayler’s free-jazz eruptions. Marvel as Mr. Osterberg screams beyond the end of his tether on this dome-cracking lease-breaker. This is how you end an album.

I can’t say that reviewing Fun House was the best idea right now, as my tinnitus has flared up into partial hearing loss. But fug it, I just read Jeff Gold’s Total Chaos: The Story Of The Stooges As Told By Iggy Pop (published by White’s Third Man Books), and inspiration took hold. So I took a ride with the pretty music. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Count Five “Psychotic Reaction” (Double Shot, 1966)

Talk about one-hit wonders… American garage rockers Count Five harnessed all of their creative and instrumental energies into “Psychotic Reaction,” one of the touchstones of garage rock, as Lenny Kaye astutely noted by placing the track on the vastly influential first Nuggets comp. (The legendary critic Lester Bangs fell hard for it, too, writing a fascinating 1971 essay that imagined all the subsequent albums that Count Five would never record.) Sure, “Psychotic Reaction” took cues from the Yardbirds’ “I’m A Man” and other rave-up-enhanced tunes by that British group, but Count Five took that steez to a crazier level. You might say that the song was their psychotic reaction to Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck, and company.

No question, Count Five captured lightning in a bottle with “Psychotic Reaction.” The emotional turmoil of young people heartbreak is/was/always will be a catalyst for extraordinary art, including speed-freak rock and roll. Here, the band locked in on some of the most primal, unstoppable guitar riffs and drumbeats ever, and then proceeded to rocket out to the farthest zones that 1966 had to offer, leaving behind the 13th Floor Elevators and perhaps even Love’s “7 And 7 Is.” But also take a moment to think about an America in which a track as gonzo as “Psychotic Reaction” could peak at #5 on the singles chart. How far we’ve fallen as a nation…

Let us note that Psychotic Reaction is more than just its cataclysmic title track. The LP opens with a potent 1-2 punch: “Double-Decker Bus”’s agitated, harmonica-augmented garage rock with a tense, hair-raising rave-up that’s not as explosive as “Psychotic Reaction” (what is?); and “Pretty Big Mouth,” a cool, sleazy, mid-tempo dancer about “making a woman mine”—a common topic among ’60s garage-rockers. In fact, that subject also arises in the next song, “The World,” which is in a similar musical vein to “Pretty Big Mouth,” but it has dorkier vocals. It’s important to remember that all of Count Five’s members were 18 and 19 when this album came out.

The first of two (!) Who covers here, this “My Generation” proves that it’s a fool’s errand to try to interpret one of ’60s rock’s foundational anthems. Sadly, Count Five just aren’t up to the task, but you gotta admire the balls on these guys… Simply put, Count Five—including main songwriter, guitarist, and vocalist Sean Byrne—don’t have the Who’s instrumental chops or vocal charisma (especially the latter) to approximate the original’s firepower. The other Who selection, “Out In The Street,” makes one ask “Why?” I mean, it’s a brave attempt at one of Townshend’s brash, youthful statements, but Count Five don’t really deviate from the original. Wasn’t there a non-Who song that these dudes could’ve covered?

Speaking of emulating British Invasion artists, Count Five delve into some 1964-era Beatles worship on “She’s Fine” and “Can’t Get Your Lovin’,” but—let’s not mince words—singer Kenn Elner kind of sounds like a doofus. Better is “Peace Of Mind,” which is the perfect counterpart to the Red Crayola‘s “Hurricane Fighter Plane.” It’s the album’s second-best song, a driving garage-psych beast that, of course, has been overshadowed by the title track. And DJs should be aware that the woozy, watery rock of “The Morning After” would segue well into Nilsson‘s “Coconut” or Three Dog Night’s “Mama Told Me (Not To Come).”

Look, I’m not going to sit here and tell you that Psychotic Reaction is a classic album. However, it does have enough interesting takes on primitive garage-rock moves to make it a keeper. And with a running time of under 26 minutes, the record efficiently delivers its rambunctious and boozy pleasures. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

The Electric Prunes “The Electric Prunes” (Reprise, 1967)

For many people, the Electric Prunes were their gateway into the wild worlds of garage and psych rock. Lenny Kaye’s Nuggets (Original Artyfacts From The First Psychedelic Era 1965-1968) comp featured the Prunes’ 1966 single “I Had Too Much To Dream (Last Night)” at side 1, track 1, which surely boosted the LA band’s profile. And rightfully so. The song begins low-key and full of intrigue—Ken Williams’ buzzing-bee guitar intro is iconic—and then bursts into one of the most thrilling hybrids of garage and psych ever, its wicked fuzz-tone guitars and sighing, faux-violin undulations perfectly supporting James Lowe’s vulnerable-to-urgent vocals.

The weird thing about the Electric Prunes is they had little creative control, but still sounded as if they were absolutely invested in the material, as if it came out of their very souls. According to liner notes writer Richie Unterberger, they expressed their frustration at only being able to place two original songs on their self-titled debut LP. Even more strange for an all-male group, most of the tunes on this LP were written by women composers, e.g., Annette Tucker, Nancie Mantz, and Jill Jones. (The first two wrote the classic title track.) Tucker and Jones penned the record’s second-most-famous cut, “Get Me To The World On Time,” one of the definitive monuments of garage-rock’s first—and best—wave. The tension/release dynamics here—replete with a Bo Diddley beat-boosted bridge and whistling-comet guitar—are *chef’s kiss*. “Try Me On For Size” is lascivious, alpha-male garage rock, written by those two cool chicks, Tucker and Jones. Paradox rocks!

Sometimes, though, having women songwriters just feels off for these guys. Tucker/Mantz’s “Are You Lovin’ Me More (But Enjoying It Less)” sounds like a girl group hit reluctantly played by dudes, which does bring a certain tension to proceedings. A straight love ballad earnestly sung by guitarist James “Weasel” Spagnola, “Onie” is limp and should’ve wound up on the cutting room floor. Similarly, “About A Quarter To Nine” is a spare, old-timey ballad co-written by Harry Warren, who was born in 1893. WTF?! Worst of all is “Tunerville Trolley,” the sort of zany, vaudeville-influenced bullshit that afflicted many ’60s rock albums.

It’s baffling why half of The Electric Prunes contains such fluff, when they had killer jams like “Train For Tomorrow” in their arsenal. A low-lit psychedelic chugger that’s the epitome of cööl, “Train For Tomorrow” is DJ gold and proves that the Prunes should have been given more leeway in the studio. “Luvin’,” written by Lowe and bassist Mark Tulin, is a psych-blues delicacy that gives Chocolate Watchband a run for their effects pedals. The Prunes were allowed a bit more freedom on their sophomore album, Underground, but they still had outside writers thrust upon them. Bummer.

The Electric Prunes possesses sky-scraping highs and embarrassing lows, which set the tone for the band’s vexatious career. They would encounter further obstacles later in the ’60s when producer Dave Hassinger brought in the phenomenal soul-jazz producer David Axelrod to take the group in a whole other, liturgical-psych direction, with minimal input from the Prunes. This group deserved better. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.