Thirty Minutes Dept. - In Lost Albion

There's nothing jingoistic about this, no anthems, no patriotism. It's not about a nation, or the characteristics of its people, even as it is all absolutely English*. It's an evocation of the spirit of Albion - the lost Eden, the garden of heaven, which is gone now, even as a prayer. Just as the land shapes the people, so the people shape the land, and the Albion of William Blake and Samuel Palmer is so twisted out of shape as to be unrecognisable. Yet the dream still lives, in memory. We can see it in Powell and Pressburger's A Canterbury Tale, in Palmer's luminous vision (that's his genius adorning the cover), and hear echoes of it in Sandy Denny's heartbreaking voice.

This is a dream (as the repetition of the word might suggest), and has the shifting, disjointed non-linearity of a dream. There are four undefined sections, merging into each other: Pastoral, At War, The Dark Side Of The Maypole, and At Sea. It does not pretend to be an overview of English musical tradition, or to tell any kind of story.

This has been by far the most labour intensive and satisfying Thirty Minutes I've made. Many days researching, assembling, editing and mixing, with countless playbacks and adjustments. Unlike my other Thirty Minute projects, most of the elements were unfamiliar to me; I started with a vague idea (as Picasso recommends) and found what helped to express it, and what didn't, by experimentation rather than design.The biggest surprise for me has been opening my ears to Delius - better late than never.

Link 

Words and music include extracts from (in no particular order): Williams Shakespeare and Coleridge, Bert Jansch and Sandy Denny, the Third Ear Band, Arnold Bax, Wilfred Owen,  Ralph Vaughan Williams, John Tavener, Fredericks Delius and Kelly, Arthur Machen (guest Welshman*), Al Bowlly, Trad Arr, Peter Warlock, George Butterworth, and, exploiting the compiler's privilege, myself.

Thanks to Archie Valparaiso for his technical assistance! And, if you did, you, for reading and listening.

 

 

 

From Th' IoF© Library O' Books Dept. - The Fan Man

William Kotzwinkle's The Fan Man is about this guy Horse Badorties, right, and it's awesome, and you should like, read it, well, I don't mean should, right, it's your trip, man, but it'd be kinda cool if you did, or you could just like dig the pictures. Have a nice day!

 

 

 

 

Tripping Thru Th' Kaleidoscope-Scented Pretzel Of Your Mind Dept.

Oboy. Wus I ever wrong about dese guys. I'd tossed these albums into a dump-bin hard drive along with - uh - well, stuff too embarrassing to talk about right now. But as I was rooting around in it yesterday or so, I decided to give them a last spin to confirm the correctness of my judgement, harsh tho' it be. And boy, was I ever wrong. They're swell! Fey as færie underpants, but this ain't The Dictators, so wit' th' sneering, enough awready. It takes a certain kind of courage to be this gentle, especially in Detroit, where Parrish made his album.

The Forest Of My Mind, from '68 because of course it is, boasts a gorgeous, spacious production from Motown's Clay McMurray and features Funk Brothers sessioners (including Bob Babbitt, whose playing graces the Douglas Hendrix albums). Imaginatively arranged by Dennis Coffey and Mike Theodore, it's a long way from funk, and a world away from Detroit. File under baroque psych-folk-pop. Parrish went on to a successful singer-songwriter career, but it's this first, glittering album that's truly special.

 

In '68, because of course it was, Bosstown's own Alan Lorber was busy producing Ultimate Spinach, Chamaeleon Church and a bunch of other first rate second tier psych acts, and had enough clout to bus in Grade A jazzbo sessioners for Bobby Callender's debut Rainbow, including Richard Davis, Bernard Purdie, Eric Gale and Hugh McCracken, and pioneer sitar-strangler Collin Walcott. What they thought was happening is anybody's guess, but it ain't jazz. This is sitar-sodden, effects-drenched psych-pop.

Callender's overt spirituality was not a psychsploitation move, as his utterly sincere and almost unlistenably mystic second album (included in the Freeload™) was to prove. The beady-eyed Lorber was keen to cash in on the hippie craze, but there's not an unmusical note on the album. If you love the first ten seconds you'll love it all. If not, play Go Girl Crazy! Nobody cares! What you like and think is not important here - this is the internet, where no mind is changed.

Both these albums have a distinctively English Whimsydelia™ vibe going for them, which leads lazy online reviewers to claim they're Donovan knockoffs, but neither sounds like him. They're just gently harmonious, tinged with melancholy, and built on beauty, a fine foundation. We've lost something special if we dismiss them as charmingly camp period pieces, a kind of smirking Hallmark© cosplay. They're as authentic in their way as John Lee Hooker.

Addendum post scriptum:

I've been listening to The Way (Callender's second album) and found the length of shrift I'd given it to be too short by a few nautical light years. A tad too much spoken word, but a quality music album (he's backed by Oregon), deserving more attention that it gets. Which is like, not much shading into none at all. Here's what to look for at your local gas station:

Encouraged by my open-mindeness, I dug out his third album, from '72, and I wus shocked, I tells ya! With a title like Le Musée de l'Impressionnisme, the cover, and a load of very short tracks with titles like Nadars (The Baptism Of Impressionism) you'd expect some delicately nervous, Eno-esque meditations on Art and Life and Shit, with washes of ill-advised New Age synthesiser. You'd be way off beam - as I was. This is SOUL MUSIC!!! FUNKIFIED FREAKING SOUL (FFS)!!! His voice has an edge to it - the guy can sing - the full big soul band is smokin' hot, the backing vox wail, the groove is propulsive, the hooks lift you out of your seat, and this is not only the biggest surprise a record's given me for lo these many years, it's MY RECORD OF THE YEAR. Ignoring the fact that it's from '72 (because of course it is). Who's counting?

Batshit bonkers. And astonishing, really.

 

(This post funded in part by the Jazzbo Funkateers For Free Love Society, Pork Hollow, CO)

Crawlspace Collectables Dept. - Jimi's Lost Albums

Album art copyright IoF© Art Department O' Art Dept.

In 1975, five years after Jimi Hendrix's death, producer Alan Douglas painstakingly overdubs A-list session musicians live onto tapes from his vault, using production and editing techniques that Teo Macero used with Miles Davis, and would later win Lennie Niehaus awards and critical praise for his "pioneering" treatment of Charlie Parker's recordings. And in a move he'd regret, Douglas claims composing credits in behind-the-scenes skullduggery, and comes across as arrogant blowhard in interviews.

The two albums sell well. Frothing fanbois cry foul, preferring *cough* "ragged glory" of original recordings.

Albums quickly go out of print as the *cough* "Hendrix Estate" gets her claws into his catalog, becoming sporadically available on import. Douglas haters and Eddie Kramer groupies continue to clutch their pearls, everyone else who gets to hear the music thinks it's swell and can't see what the fuss is about.

 

Five years later, Douglas edits studio jams he'd set up for Hendrix with Miles Davis alumni Larry Young and Dave Holland (among others). Predictably, Nine To The Universe gets sneered at by weirdos who think production techniques are a crime, but again, it's a valuable and enjoyable recording. It's Hendrix, ffs.

 

 

 

 

Suddenly, it's 1995, and Hendrix again enters the charts with Douglas' Voodoo Soup, an impeccably compiled and produced album that had the fanbois frothing at the mouth, especially for replacing Mitch Mitchell on a couple of songs. That's just one of the many things critics still don't understand because they want the anti-Douglas narrative to continue: Douglas brought in Mitchell to replace his own tracks, but he arrived at the studio too drunk to perform, asking to be let off the gig. Another is the oft-repeated claim that this is Douglas' "attempt" to create First Rays Of The New Rising Sun. Well, it just ain't. As Douglas told me, he chose a new title for a new album, as only Jimi could create First Rays - something that didn't occur to the *cough* "Hendrix Estate". Considered by many to be the finest post-mortem Hendrix studio album, and many are right. All these albums are long out of print. They shouldn't be,

12" version of story here.

Box set version of story here.

Link to albums in comments.

 

In spite of my vow to recycle old pieces, I did an Alan Douglas with this one and overdubbed new screed. I love these albums, have a lot of respect for Alan Douglas, and know things about Janey Hendrix (the *cough* "Hendrix Estate") that would make you toss your ribs.

It Crawled From Outta Th' Crawlspace! Dept. - Wilf Brimley's Seatrain

Meet Wilford Brimley [left - Ed.], star of NBC's popular Uncle Ignatz Psychedelic Pshack Pshow!


Hey kids! It's me, Uncle Ignatz! Take a load off! Now what we have here for your delectation is a buncha sweet biscuits from the Psychedelic Pshack, but before we get to them we have to deal with the problem of that final Blues Project album, Planned Obsolescence. Now, a lot of folks round these parts - especially "One Nose" Willa down at the General Store Head Shop - have nothing good to say about that album. They use the term contractual obligation, and they dismiss it out of hand. So let's a get a couple of things straight. The Blues Project - fine band - changed their line-up, changed their name, and signed a new contract. Those were the conditions under which they recorded the album. It was never intended to be a Blues Project album, and shouldn't be considered as one. They were Sea Train by then - two words - and the album wasn't a contractual obligation to their old label but a fresh start at a new one. Turns out things weren't that simple. Life never is, right? Their old label claimed the new album was owed to them, and released it as a Blues Project album, which by whillickers it ain't.

So what we have here is that first Sea Train album, in its *cough* original sleeve [above - Ed.] - ain't that a beaut? - with the single included, as the good Lord intended, both sides. How about them apples? That title is what you might call ironic, seeing as how this fine album has indeed been Lost In The Shuffle. Listening to it now, there's no way this is a Blues Project album, and it's kinda easy to see why folks took the set against it they did. There's so much going on here it makes my whiskers bristle! And next up, this may or may not be familiar to you folks out there in Foamland®, is actually the second Sea Train album. Called Sea Train [left - Ed.]. Which gets a mite confusing later, when they shortened their name to Seatrain - one word - and released an album called Seatrain. One word. Anyways you cut the baccy, it's another rockin' album, and you can hear the smooth transition from Lost In The Shuffle. If you know what the heck is going on with that cover, you be sure to get in touch with your Uncle Ignatz!

1970, they move to Capitol Records, and cut a swell album with George Martin.

1971, their second for Capitol, Marblehead Messenger. 

1973, a change in style for the verrrrry sliiiightly less interesting Watch. Kinda groovy, though. 

Unofficial recording from the Fillmore East, back in '71. Mmm, nice!

 

 

 

 

 

 

It is my fondest hope that you enjoy these albums as much as I do, and hear Lost In The Shuffle as it was always meant to be heard, so many years ago! This is your Uncle Ignatz, saying see ya - back at the Pshack©! [Fake studio applause, twangy teenbeat-style theme under superfast credits]

 

This Crawlspace Legacy Post comes to you from 2019, when some of youse bums was still alive! It has been artificially enhanced with mildly interesting new content, for bogus immediacy and relevance!