Rock

Deep Purple “Fireball” (1971)

Deep Purple’s 1971 and 1972 releases were a true one two punch of Deep Purple’s Metallic might at the very height of their prowess. The first, 1971’s Fireball was, outside of Black Sabbath’s first three albums, the heaviest thing on the planet at that time. Fireball’s songs are towering, crunching, Proto-Metal monsters of the highest order. The album is built around one of the greatest songs of Heavy Metal’s original Era, the invincible Demon’s Eye. It’s kind of difficult to discuss the individual musical performance of Fireball because they are all so good. Deep Purple Mark II was a super tight cohesive unit at this point, and everyone in the band is at their individual apex. The Mule is simply incredible. Fools cooks. No One Came is astoundingly good. Anyone’s Daughter is pure fun. And No No No is fantastic. Five utterly perfect stars. —Karl

Van Dyke Parks “Song Cycles” (1968)

In 1968 Warner Brothers were preparing to make pop music history by releasing an album by a young musician and songwriter called Van Dyke Parks. Song Cycle’s budget at the time made it the most expensive album ever recorded back then. The Warner bosses weren’t worried, they knew it was going to be the biggest thing since Sgt. Pepper and probably bigger. They were wrong, they were very wrong.

When Song Cycle was released it just didn’t sell. It had received unprecedented pre-release rave reviews saying it things like: “The most important, creative and advanced pop recording since Sgt Pepper”; “a work of creative genius”; “the most vital piece of musical Americana since Gershwin”. Parks also had an impressive pedigree as a musician on The Byrds ‘5D’ and the first Tim Buckley album; songwriter for Harpers Bizarre and others; a musical arranger on Disney’s ‘The Jungle Book’ and most famously as a collaborator with Beached Boy Brian Wilson. Despite the advance press and the pedigree it’s hard to see how on earth Warners thought this was going to be a real big seller. It is undoubtedly a work of unique vision and ambition. Truly a masterpiece but with zero “radio friendly” 3 minute sound bites packed with catchy hooks. Even today Song Cycle is not an easy listening experience but it is a challenging and ultimately rewarding one.

I can think of no other record like it. Song Cycle is a musical travelogue, a sonic trip across the America of Mark Twain, John Steinbeck, Busby Berkeley musicals and John Ford Westerns. It has moments of real beauty such as ‘The All Golden’ and ‘Donavan’s Colours’ but just as you’re beginning to feel like you know which direction you’re moving in, it whisks you up like a hayseed in the wind and then lands you somewhere completely different.

Warner Brothers reaction to the lack of sales was a strange but entertaining one. They started to run a series of adverts in the press stating they didn’t care they, ‘lost $$,$$$ on the album of the year’, because it was a great album and people shouldn’t worry about them, as they could afford it as they were making lots of money from lesser artists. Then they offered people the chance to send their worn copies of the album with one penny to Warners and they would send back two new copies, ‘one to educate a friend with’. After all they had so many copies pressed up. Whether or not this reaction by Warners was a bluff or not they have stuck by Van Dyke Parks, continuing to finance his self indulgent, uncommercial but often wonderful fare. The latest of these releases being a collaboration with Brian Wilson ‘Orange Crate Art’. For me ‘Song Cycle’ remains his finest work. —D Stewart

Electric Light Orchestra “Time” (1981)

Time is a concept album, a story of a guy who is taken from 1981 and dumped in 2095 by time travelers. Despite driving “the latest hover car” and having a robotic replica of his 1981 sweetheart, he yearns for his life back in the early 80s (don’t we all?) and begs to be taken back. It was a radical departure from Lynne, it really shouldn’t work, yet it’s a fantastic album. The story is short and well versed, the melodies are as crisp and catchy as any of Lynne’s 70s output and the production is superb. It also boasts some of ELO’s greatest singles, including the brilliant Hold On Tight. —Mogs

Black Sabbath “Black Sabbath” (1970)

Hearing Black Sabbath for the first time was like dusting off and cracking open some ancient tome of infernal knowledge, with a nefarious collection of witches, warlocks, and Lucifer himself lurking around the corners of songs like “N.I.B.,” “The Wizard,” the chilling paralysis of “Behind the Wall of Sleep,” eerie acoustic drift “Sleeping Village,” and of course “Black Sabbath,” it’s diabolus in musica riff cracking open the egg on this thing called heavy metal. Hiding behind that hazy, creepy cover shot was a suite like arrangement of songs almost entirely devoted to exploring supernatural fears, rife with horror-themed imagery and the threat of unseen evil, delivered with a crushing blow rendered in stark, black and white production. Though the album drifts in it’s second act, with the extended workout on Retaliation’s “Warning” and a primitive Crow cover, “Evil Woman,” appearing on UK issues, US audiences were treated to the superior, stoned rumblings of “Wicked World.” Castle’s 1996 CD contains both tracks, though missing in action on this and subsequent Sabbath reissues are subtitles like “Wasp,” “Bassically” and “A Bit of Finger,” originally appended to the US release to pull in more publishing royalties to the band, but just adding another layer of enigma for those of us already lost in the forest, with nowhere to run as the figure in black drew closer. —Ben

Harry Nilsson “Pussy Cats” (1974)

I’ve always been maddened by Nilsson albums. They are so schizophrenic in musical and tonal approach that I’ve often found it hard to take them all that seriously. On Pussy Cats–famously produced by John Lennon–Nilsson manages to retain (for the most part) emotional consistency. It is a wistful, almost sad album, that wreaks of mental and physical exhaustion. Nilsson’s vocal cords were apparently injured during the sessions for the album, and the result isn’t all that apparent save for the unusual gruffness of his voice here. Years of hard partying with the likes of Keith Moon, Lennon, and Ringo Starr could not have helped matters either. Surprisingly, Lennon’s work as a producer has a distinctive character. Compared with his then-recent efforts, Walls and Bridges and Rock ‘n’ Roll, Pussy Cats bears a remarkable dedication of purpose. His arrangements really add depth to tracks like Jimmy Cliff’s “Many Rivers to Cross,” his own composition “Don’t Forget Me,” and his transcendent take on “Save the Last Dance for Me.” The relative dolorousness of these cuts is balanced out with upbeat takes on Bob Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” the classic “Loop de Loop,” and Bill Haley’s “Rock Around the Clock.” Not everything works on here (see “All My Life” and “Old Forgotten Soldier”). But this time, Nilsson’s more goofy tendencies (think “Coconut”) aren’t an anchor on the record. Though often derided as “the beginning of the end” of Nilsson’s years of peak productivity, Pussy Cats is a record in need of a critical revisitation. —Yerblues

Moby Grape “‘69” (1969)

“We have promised each other no more gimmicks, no more hypes, no egos, nothing ever again but the music…” So read the sleeve notes of Moby Grape’s third studio album (or fourth, if you count the listless, blues-noodling Wow leftovers of Grape Jam). Talk about a band with self-esteem issues!

Certainly, by the end of the ’60s the Grape did have a lot to be sorry for, and their bad luck of biblical proportions is now the stuff of legend. Their 1967 debut album, one of the best of the decade–or perhaps ever–was buried under an avalanche of one of the most idiotic major label marketing campaigns in the history of the recording industry. Its follow-up, Wow, eschewed their trademark punchy and concise triple guitar attack in favor of studio gimmickry and various period excesses (although it is still worth a listen). Along the way, they lost their driving creative force, Skip Spence, when, during one of Wow’s recording sessions, the increasingly drug-addled and unstable guitarist tried to kill drummer Don Stevenson with an axe. (Thankfully, he failed). It’s a wonder that Moby Grape was able to continue on at all, but in 1969 they returned to the studio, sans Spence, in an attempt to redeem themselves. Surprisingly, this last ditch effort birthed a minor masterpiece.

’69 has no business being as good as it is, but against all odds it’s a triumph, a record that reminds us of what made Moby Grape so great in the first place. “Ooh Mama Ooh”, showcases the band’s playful side and inimitable harmonies, with a surprising twist: Its doo-wop choruses reflect the 50s nostalgia beginning to permeate the pop-culture subconscious at the time. “Trucking Man” rocks equally as hard as “Omaha” or any of the other uptempo tracks on their debut. But perhaps ’69’s greatest strength is its ballads. “Ain’t that a Shame” and “I’m Not Willing” prove Moby Grape to be masterful early adopters of country rock, these songs’ very presence alone placing ’69 in the canon alongside Sweetheart of the Rodeo and The Gilded Palace of Sin. Conspicuous in his absence throughout most of this is Spence, but the album’s final track,”Seeing”, gives him the last word. With parts of the track recorded shortly before his admittance to a mental hospital, his fragile and damaged vocals, coupled with roaring guitars, comprise one of the era’s most darkly psychedelic epics.

One would think that after this return to form that great things lay ahead, but for Moby Grape, twas ever thus. Bassist Bob Mosely was the next to lose his mind, shocking his bandmates by cutting his hair and joining the Marines. Now down to a trio, Moby Grape returned to the studio in 1970 to record Truly Fine Citizen, another album that should have been a lot worse than it was considering the circumstances. But despite some inspired moments, as a whole it showed the mojo beginning to fade. It lacked the shine and fleeting optimism of what came before, thus cementing ‘69’s place in history as the last moment of true genius for a band who should have had many more. —Richard P

Brand X “Moroccan Roll” (1977)

Any band or artist that was blessed with Phil Collins presence on the drums in the 70’s would instantly improve their sound. Brand X, of course, was no exception. In fact, If I had to choose one band to prove the greatness of Phil Collins behind the drum kit, it would be Brand X. As much as I love Genesis, it’s here that he seems most confident to create whatever he feels like and to develop a style with no restrictions. In Genesis he was brilliant on the drums, but he was always conscious of the boundaries imposed by Peter Gabriel and Tony Banks compositions. In Brand X he sounds like there’s nothing he can’t do. The other guys are brilliant as well, but it’s Phil Collins that makes them sound so tight.

The music is unmistakingly late 70’s funk-prog-fusion with a jazzy flavor. This is fusion that never becomes tiring and self-absorbed. It’s music for people who love to get lost in a sound filled with intricate patterns and cool atmospheres created by musicians in perfect control of their own vision and who know how to explore new boundaries without losing their sense of fun on the way! —Som

“L” is a collection of perfectly crafted pop songs, with the rare quality of combining complex structures and progressions with familiarity and tunefulness. But saying “L” is some sort of easy-going pop album, reassuring, limpid and immediate would definitely be a mistification. Godley & Creme are the masters of cleverness and displacement, and there’s no song in “L” which does not evoke an impregnable sense of disorientation. The sophisticate nightclub/jazzy music structures are enshrouded of a detached and artefact allure, and some obscure deconstructionist element always crawls in the background making the songs subtly disturbing.

The style calls for mixed comparisons: from Queen at their most retro-sounding mellowness peak, to The Residents’s cynicism or Frank Zappa’s multi-instrumental intrications and Eno/Bowie/Fripp decadent atmosphere and sound. But I must admit none of these comparisons is actually able to describe the uniqueness of such a composite style, which despite all manages to keep light, cohesive and personal and – most of all – to produce memorable, ever-surprising songs. —Marco

Kate Bush “The Dreaming” (1982)

Here Kate Bush graduates from quirky teenage musical prodigy to full-fledged artiste. I think it speaks volumes about this strange and wonderful album that the lead-off single was the wonderfully un-commercial “Sat in Your Lap,” a heady stew of thundering Burundi drums, horn punctuations, and Kate wailing away like a madwoman on the nature of knowledge. EMI Records execs probably wet their pants when they heard it! In fact, I’m surprised this album got a major-label release at all, at least in this form!

Even the more “normal” songs on this release (“There Goes a Tenner,” the jaunty “Suspended in Gaffa,” the Celtic folk-lilting of “Night of the Swallow”) have a certain something that renders them deeply “odd.” Or perhaps its just the proximity of the other songs that’s colouring my perception: witness “Leave It Open” with its Chipmunk backing vocals or “Get Out of My House” with its angry ranting and donkey braying. This is almost Kate’s version of John Lennon / Plastic Ono Band, her own personal primal-scream therapy swathed in digital electronics as a sort of purging of her early precocious piano-maiden persona. This is the next step beyond Nina Hagen’s West German albums, and is one of the most eye-popping musical statements [of all-time]. A vital release. —Progbear

Pretty Things “Parachute” (1970)

While Parachute is less innovative than its predecessor, SF. Sorrow, it shows the Pretty Things at their most mature, lyrically and musically. It begins with a medley that stretches through the majority of side one, one that vaguely resembles the one on The Beatles’ Abbey Road. While it doesn’t reach the cathartic heights of that medley’s finale, it’s melodically stronger than it’s counterpart.

The noisy Scene One is a discomforting opener, with wild drumming that establishes a manic atmosphere. But then it goes away, and you get the peaceful beauty of The Good Mr. Square, which immediately makes it clear that the Pretty Things have improved melodically since their last album, and almost all of these songs boast strong melodies and breathtaking harmonies. Even better yet, they spin that melody into a lovely gospel song in She Was Tall, She Was High, and it’s interesting to see how, in the space of a minute in a half, the song builds up and falls with its soaring chorus Then we get the gorgeous in the Square, with a melody so great, that Radiohead decided to rip it off for Paranoid Android. The song also starts introduce the dichotomy of the city and the country that’s such a prominent theme in this album. Then we get a terrific rocker in the form of Miss Fay Regrets, with it’s fantastic riff, and almost schizophrenic lyrics, and Grass, one of the album’s highlights, with its brooding piano line, and it’s lovely rising melody. The song sounds like a less self-indulgent Pink Floyd with similar production values, only, not only does it predate that classic sound, it actually exceeds it, achieving it’s lovely atmosphere without the use of any of the sound effects Pink Floyd cherished.

As the album hurtles towards its end, we get She’s a Lover, another fantastic rocker, with its Phil May’s lovely falsetto chorus and surprising middle 8 After that, we get What’s the Use, which stuffs three different songs into less than two minutes. It’s a little confusing, and I sorta wish the three parts could’ve been developed more, because they’re all strong, but that’s all made up for with the title track, which is gorgeous beyond words, and features some of the best harmonies this side of the Beach Boys. And that build up, when the drums and piano join the guitar, has to be the most cathartic moment on a Pretty Things record. The best part, is that rising synthesizer near the end, it just keeps soaring up and up and is almost overwhelming, and then the song stops. It’s a great and daring ending for an album, and is just another display of the bands great mastery of atmosphere. This is a fantastic album! —Foxtrot

Jerry Harrison “The Red and the Black” (1981)

This album provides irrefutable proof of Jerry Harrison’s contribution to arguably Talking Heads finest moment; ‘Remain in Light’ …1980-81 was a creatively productive time for ‘Head’s front-man David Byrne and his partner-in-experimentation, producer Brian Eno – the pair famously teamed up to make ground-breaking album ‘My Life in the Bush of Ghosts’ in 1980 (it wasn’t released until 1981 however) before enlisting the rest of the ‘Heads to enact their Afro-funk blueprint for the release of ‘Remain in Light’ later that year. As 1981 rolled around, Byrne went off to record his first solo effort, ‘the Catherine Wheel’, which mined similar ground covered on ‘My Life in the Bush of Ghosts’ and ‘Remain In Light’ with excellent results – both Eno and Harrison were recruited for assistance on some tracks for Byrne’s album.

The busy arrangements and psychedelic flourishes on Jerry Harrison’s first solo effort show that he was in-synch with this progressive-funk vibe, and spotlight the talents of the most overlooked member of the celebrated New York quartet. Jerry Harrison’s effort tends to adopt a more melodic sensibility than any of the other three Talking Heads-related releases from that ’80-’81 period mentioned earlier – the backing singers are given free reign and the results echo and equal the layered-vocal cleverness present on ‘Remain in Light’ – also, Harrison’s own keyboard talents are more obvious here than his often-subtle contributions with Talking Heads; ‘the New Adventure’ revolves around Harrison’s sinewy, convoluted synthesizer melody, ‘Worlds in Collision’ is soaked in dramatic, shimmering keyboard washes before breaking into a highly-funky clav riff which somehow manages to sound both progressive and retro. ‘the Red Nights’ is more ambient than anything Talking Heads ever attempted, a lush instrumental soundscape where Harrison’s own playing and melodic-leanings are once again brought to the fore.

Overall this is easily the most interesting of Jerry Harrison’s 3 albums. By virtue of it’s release date and his association with Talking Heads, it’s hard to avoid comparing the results of ‘The Red and the Black’ with those of ‘Remain in Light’, ‘My Life in the Bush of Ghosts’ or ‘the Catherine Wheel’. And whilst it never quite attains the transcendent power that those albums achieved, there are moments on ‘the Red and the Black’ every bit as compelling as anything on the aforementioned trinity. —Denny

Chicken Shack “40 Blue Fingers, Freshly Packed and Ready to Serve” (1968)

Formed in 1967, Chicken Shack consisted of Stan Webb on guitar and vocals, Andy Sylvester on bass, Christine Perfect (later known as Christine McVie, as a part of the great Fleetwood Mac), on vocals and keyboards, and Alan Morley on drums.

“40 Blue Fingers” is an excellent example of the booming late 60’s blues scene in & around London. With John Mayall & Alexis Korner creating benchmarks for the British blues scene, Chicken Shack were absolutely in the right place at the right time. Stan Webb is another under-rated guitarist of the late 60’s British Blues Scene along the lines of Paul Kossoff (Free). Christine McVie is a Goddess featuring a very powerful, soul-driven voice that’s very clearly influenced by the great John Mayall.

Chicken Shack made their public debut at the Great Britain’s National Blues & Jazz Festival at Windsor along with Fleetwood Mac on August 13, 1967. “There were two stages at Windsor, the main one an open-air ramshackle structure, the other inside a marquee. Fleetwood Mac had their initiation on the main stage but much was made of Chicken Shack’s tented debut.” All said and done, Christine McVie’s performance and Stan Webb’s charismatic guitar playing make this album a worthy buy. —Warchild786