Old Woolhat's Tin Ear Produces Sow's Ear

The Prison, released in '74, was a beautifully illustrated book with a soundtrack album, handsomely published in a box. The book wasn't the kind of book you'd want to read as, well, you know, a book. It was more like a sketch of an idea that needed a whole lot of work. The length of a CEO's introduction to a company report, and about as engaging, it was padded out with a superfluous French translation. Worse, it had no connection with the few lyrics on the album. Yet you were supposed to read it while listening to the music and let this - finger-waggle - "Third Thing" happen, a holistic synergy if you will, that opened a different state of consciousness. It was bullshit, of course, but an endearing kind of bullshit, well-intentioned and inventive. Give him credit for trying something different, rather than blame him for its failure. It was his first album for his own label, Pacific Arts, and it's unlikely RCA would have risked putting it on the racks.

The music was quietly revolutionary. Mostly instrumental, just him and Red Rhodes, ambling through songs like fields of wheat [oh, very good - Ed.]. A metronomic drum machine pattering like soft summer rain [oh, stop - Ed.], some minimal synthesizer. As if Kraftwerk had produced his previous album, And The Hits. It was a unique sound for unique material. Those wanting more country rock tunes were disappointed. Those seeking a holistic synergy were disappointed. But for those who let it take the time to work its magic, it became a much-loved and essential record. With Pacific Arts' limited distribution and mail order, it limped unnoticed out of print.

Nesmith clearly thought this was the fault of the music, because when he got around to re-releasing the project in 1990, that was the part he messed with. He should have entirely rewritten the book - better yet, just trashed it - and let the music be, but no. He shamefully kicked Red Rhodes into the distance, barely audible. He slathered on a sticky mess of new age synth washes and faerie keyboard tinkling. He added a mystical reverb to his vocals. And like Frank Zappa, he fucked up. Unable to admit his mistake (Texans don't make mistakes) he doubled down on the ghastliness with another two albums, the irredeemable The Garden and The Ocean, exhausting our critical leniency. Never mind. We don't have to listen to them, and dammit, we're not going to. But the original Prison is, in its quietly soothing way, one of his very loveliest albums.

Both the original and the remix are included in the loaddown. This FoamFeature© repurposes and reimagines (you know - copies) antecedently featured screed. You don't care. You're not reading it this time, either, and why should you.