Familiar Obscurities Dept.

Peanuts Molloy brought this guy up on a mainland internet forum, and it occurred to me that Michael Chapman might not be as widely known, especially in the Benighted States, as I assumed.

So these are for the One Or Two Out Of The Three Or Four Guys© who haven't yet heard (of) him, so they can brag to their lowlife pals at the racetrack dey wus always into dis guy.

His first three "proper" albums, 69-71, presented at a hauntingly lifelike 192. Like, digsville.

Music To Conceive To Dept.

Make-out music for the cocktail generation. In the two-car garage, his Buick Skylark, and her Nash Rambler. And spinning on the hi-fi console, Lover's Rhapsody.

Pilsbury Greaseboy Jackie Gleason, much lampooned by Mad Magazine for his Renaissance Man pretensions and today widely forgotten, cut this 10" in 1953, writing and arranging the suite that takes up side one. So - if my calculations are correct - this is the first pop concept album, just sneaking ahead of Frank Sinatra's from the following year.

It's whiter than White Christmas, but there's something naggingly Not Shit about it. It's not camp, it's not cheese. There's some real skill here - composition, arrangement, and performance, and at the root of it, artistic intent. Sure, go ahead, yok it up, you juvenile delinquent you. Or - you know - fire up a couple of Daiquiris and let it do its stuff. Even if your own stuff is past its strut-by date.

Country Rock Melting Permafrost - Claim

Today's offering is Heartsfield, who gigged strongly in support of the biggest acts of the time, released major-label albums, and yet remain just under the radar for most. The problem wasn't chops - these guys could play and sing almost anybody off the stage. The problem was lack of great songs. They wrote their own material, and it never, not even for the space of one song, rises above the level of "very good". Which is good enough, and not enough. Good enough for us to have some fun listening to the albums, not good enough for great.

We don't care, here on Th' Isle O' Foam©. Not everything has to be great all the time, and sometimes good enough is good enough. The great music looks after itself - it's albums like these that need a little encouragement.

Their first three albums in the comments. There's a fourth, and some related releases, which I don't gots.

Play "Who's In My Box?" With TV's Elizabeth Montgomery! - Dept.

"Can I be in your band?"

You'll know Elizabeth Montgomery from her role as Corabeth Godsey in TV's long-running series The Brady Bunch, but few know she's something of an authority on "psychedelic" rock, the teen craze that's sweeping the nation!

That's right! Luscious Liz owns over twenty "psychedelic" rock albums, and regularly "trips out" to their swingin' now sounds!

When I dropped by her "pad" on LA's happening Melrose Strip recently, she 'fessed up to wanting to appear in our popular Who's In My Box? feature. In fact, she already had someone in her box!

In an exciting upgrade from previous shows, we're asking you, Mr. John Q. Public of Lovely Your Area, to recognize who's in Ms. Montgomery's box by identifying the following lyric. So put your ear to her Magic Box and tell us who's in there! Are you ready already! Hoo boy!

"All is quiet in the make-believe of business and success, and you've decided you've got time to take a ride ..." 

Edit: No clear winner this time - JKC obviously knew but very sportingly left it for someone else to name - well done, Hermann! 71.8 Foampoints© added to your account! Link in comments.

Doctor Strangely Strange's Incredible Medicine Show Dept. - Part I

There's a corner of th' Isle O' Foam© given over to rainy weather, pixies, and magic mushrooms. There's a crackling wood fire in the grate, and spliffs are rolled on album covers in the firelight. Very likely a Clive's Original Band (C.O.B.) cover.

Their two albums capture the essence of Wyrd Acid Folk® before it was even a thing. Back then - another lifetime, another world - there was just music, not endless categories of sub-genres. And music was, for some, very nearly the most important thing in all the world. It could sound like Clive Palmer, or Carl Palmer, or Carl Wilson, or Wilson Picket. It was all good.

Maybe there's a corner of your island where you can still listen to stuff like this, where you can look up at the stars and feel like the universe is still mostly magical, in spite of our unceasing efforts to turn everything to shit (King Midas In Reverse).

Here's some Clive Palmer fo' yo' asses. The first Incredible String Band album, the first Famous Jug Band album, and the two C.O.B. albums. That mushroom is big enough for us all to sit under.