It's maybe fair to label these guys Hallmark Psychedelia. On the first ten tracks of this probably-complete-works collection their barbershop roots show all too clearly, veering a little too far into the comfort zone for comfort. But something happened between recording that first album [Sing Valley Of The Dolls - Ed.] and their second [Featuring ... - Ed.], which rounds out this sumptuous pop-psych package. That something was either dropping acid (unlikely, given the Mormon Tabernacle insurance salesman look) or a contact high from the pizza guy. They don't jettison the gorgeous harmonies or the lush production or the cover-version æsthetic (hey! Slate readers! æsthetic!), but the adaptations are startling and wholly successful. The detailed production, haunting and very slightly weird vibe (man) make the album something of an underrated classic psych-pop iconic classic album album. And a sugar rush that'll get you hooked like a fish.
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It tanked, of course, although their stunning chamber-pop version of The Letter was a minor stateside hit. They all went into advertising and made several shitloads of easy money singing soap-powder jingles. I hope they micro-managed their self-loathing, anyway.
I snagged the songs from the fabulous Pop On The Run blog (to whom, my undying thanks for turning me on to this and other treasures), where they were presented separately, half in an irritating file format, and with their original and wretched sleeves. Date Records obviously left their sleeve design to Some Guy Or His Brother down at the print shop. It is my fervent desire that I will one day travel back in time and submit this new artwork to the label. In the mean time, it's included absolutely free in this small package of value. Because, as The Arbors aver, Love Is A Groovy Game.
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| Hi! I'm Cody! |
The revised/expanded Obscured By Clouds post [Burning Bridges - Ed.] is enjoying a tsunami of interest amongst the FMF© diaspora! I see from my stats feedback that well over three people have "visited" the "page"! Doubles all round!
Hoping to milk this heartening surge in enthusiasm, I'm now offering my Private Reserve Immersion Edition® of Echoes (see the Roger Waters interview below for the full story and the edited-for-radio 50 minute version). It benefits from an extra six lush minutes of Actual Floyd Soundscape material - recorded contemporaneously - to enhance the listening experience to almost unbearable levels of cosmic ecstasy. But you will need an hour to yourself and some headphones that don't make your ears sweat, requirements that will put this experience beyond the reach of the working stiff who falls exhausted into his mean cot after the night shift at the abattoir. Luckily we care naught for him.
If you missed it before, get this instead. If you grabbed it already, trash it and get this. And please remove your shoes before entering the blog next time.
EDIT: I see one of my interns has added a selfie of herself to this piece in the hope of attracting a greater readership. I apologise. Once I've found out how to remove it I most certainly will.
Can't have too much Nesmith, right? Well, this is the collection that says, yes, you can. This is everything I could find that's not on an album, but I'm sure
there are a few more songs out there that slipped the net. A chakra-numbing sixty-five tracks that not even the most swivel-eyed Nesfan will find time to sit through. Four hours, if you think you're hard enough. But that's not the point. You can dip in and out as you like, assemble coherent playlists, or just feel good about having it without ever getting around to playing it. It's a ragbag collection of frayed threads from the intellectual of the group, from his earliest home demos and singles through to the New Age Synth Years, including Elephant Parts, alternate mixes, live tracks (except the Roundhouse Concert, available separately) and a few songs that were released as expanded edition bonus tracks after I collected them. Some of it is revelatory - Curson Terrace, an early single, shows the unlikely influence of Bo Diddley mentioned in his autobiography. If you like Nesmith, there's not a track you won't enjoy, but snack, don't binge!
There's a whole slew of Little Feat bootlegs sizzling quietly on my digital griddle and I'll be slopping them onto the tin plate of the internet every so often. Never the most industrious of bands, they were content to play the same setlist at nearly every gig, with minor exceptions. This is because writing and learning new songs is hard work, and they had twenty million better things to do with their time, like fulfilling their drugs n' sex quota and then sleeping it off in the shade. The Feat and The Dan are like a couple of brothers. Steely Dan went to college and got a law degree and a Beamer. Little Feat goofed off and worked in the auto shop when they needed money for dope. Steely Dan floated silver bowls of coke in the infinity pool overlooking the bay. Little Feat filled the project GTO with bong smoke. I miss them both like air. They stretched the sixties into the seventies and shared their too much fun* with the rest of us, out here on the fractal fringe of the fun zone.
This is (I think) from '74, the Santa Monica Civic. Odd songs of note: Eldorado Slim and Chevy '39. Quality is perfectly listenable - I don't keep shitty audience recordings - and I like to think Lowell would have got a chuckle out of my nuanced cover art. I got nuance out the ass.
*Millennials! Ask a grown-up what fun was!
Apart from most of it being sung in Spanish [Portugese - Ed.], this album has a lot going for it. Tunes a-plenty, smoky vocals, and crisp, quietly virtuoso instrumentation. Ana Moura is (it says here) the world's most famous fadista, so if you're interested in getting to know her you could do worse than to start with this gorgeous piece of work from 2012.
Not understanding the lyrics shouldn't be an impediment - most songs don't have lyrics worth writing down anyway, and Moura gets across the meaning of the songs in her understated, passionate, and intimate delivery. There's a pretty intense version of Joni Mitchell's A Case Of You, and the whole thing makes a refreshing change from all that Finnish Gore Metal you've been listening to.
