Chasing Rainbows

Art copyright Isle O' Foam© Department O' Art Dept.

You might think The Story Of Simon Simopath is a quaint little curiosity, not without charm, but too lightweight to be taken seriously or enjoyed unironically. Yes, it has historical value as the first album release by a pop group on Island records, and as the first pop opera, in the sense of it being a suite of songs with some kind of vague narrative thread. Much like real opera, then. But does it still hold up musically, as it did back in '67 when John Peel described Pentecost Hotel as "the loveliest song you'll ever hear"?

Nirvana was never a band, but the close partnership of the strangely strange yet oddly normal Patrick Campbell-Lyons and Alex Spyropoulos, backed by the cream of the cream London session and studio talent. Chris Blackwell didn't stint, and even the cover was an expensive (and unusual, for the time) gatefold. But the ten track, twenty-four minute running time was a head-scratcher. Pop albums back then were generally twelve tracks, even if that amounted to only half an hour on the spindle. Nobody timed albums, but I could count songs, and I knew we were being short-changed. Studying the *cough* story on the inner gatefold gave a clue; Tiny Goddess was mentioned, but not capitalised as an included song like the others. Tiny Goddess - their hit single - had been lifted from the album. Why? Who knows? It was on the second album, so the idea that hit singles shouldn't appear on albums doesn't apply - especially as All Of Us also featured Rainbow Chaser, their biggest hit single. A mystery.

Tiny Goddess was backed by I Believe In Magic, no b-side throwaway (Nirvana cut plenty of those) which fit thematically. The melody pivots on a disturbing - and quite deliberate - flat. These two additional songs bring the album up to a respectable run time and complete the story - Tiny Goddess in the position indicated by the sleeve notes, between Pentecost Hotel and I Never Had A Love Like This Before, and I Believe In Magic as an entirely appropriate, and much stronger, album closer.

Lyrically, the fairy-tale is dated, but the gentle vocals are delivered with an unaffected and touching sincerity, nothing camp or arch, Donovan fey or U.K. Kaleidoscope twee. The essential innocence (the uncharitable might say naivety) of the era is held like a dragonfly in amber. The idea that the songs could hang together as a story - concept albums didn't exist back then - didn't occur to the writers until they were half way through recording. And it's deceptively heavy stuff, involving alienation, mental institutions, and a side order of centaur, with an unconvincing happy ending.

Melodically, it's rich and generous, tunes all over it, under it, running through it, endlessly refreshing, never running dry. A key contributor was mæstro of schlock Syd Dale [left - dude! - Ed.], whose career is otherwise an artistic bust. Here, for some reason, working with what is essentially a pop chamber ensemble, he was inspired to create original arrangements, often putting the musicians through tricky time changes that never sound jarring or forced, perfectly complementing the melancholy beauty of the songs. Syd done good. Listen to the drumming - there's no place-holder time-keeping here. Restrained string and woodwind sections add texture and melodic counterpoint, and often it's the subtle instrumental figures within the arrangement that light the corners of your memory.

Nirvana's subsequent recordings are a queasy mood swing from Champagne to sheep dip. The tension between wanting to rock out, get Euro-pop chart hits, and wallow in show-tune schlock was untenable. Their filler would be filler on Now That's What I Call Filler. So I made a personal selection of the tracks from All Of Us and To Markos III that hang together as an album, consistent in tone and quality. The songwriting chops on Chasing Rainbows are very much in evidence, the melodies as effortlessly memorable, but the chamber clarity is gone - the sound is denser, more electric, and the strings tend to the generic. Lyrically, it's more mature and better written. often with a welcome personal directness. The final track, Black Flower, is as powerful as anything from the era, with its extended coda of (anonymous) wah-wah guitar wailing over the orchestration.

But Simon Simopath, especially in its complete form as here, may well be among the loveliest things you'll ever hear. Don't let the lyrical whimsy - the least important element - distract you from one of the subtlest, and most seductive, pop narcotics. 

Tin Pan Alley in its dying days. The most colorful year in London's history shown in typically chilly black and white. Patrick comes across as quiet, sincere, Alex confesses to personal anxiety being the fount of his creativity. Anxiety about what, Alex?

Cover Notes: The art for Chasing Rainbows (which took me, like, forever) goes against their approach for both the second and third albums [left - Ed,]; grim exercises in black despair and horror, maybe reflecting what they felt at the death of the 'sixties dream. They're undeniably powerful images, but would be more appropriate for Black Sabbath. Let's send them out in a blaze of Technicolor (or at least Todd-AO) glory; full-on, unapologetic psychedelia, and a last wave of the freak flag.