Soft White Underbelly Of Love Dept.

For youse bums what don't dig th' Blue Öyster Cult, this may be your gateway drug. Forget - if you knew - that the Stalk-Forrest Group evolved from The Soft White Underbelly and into BÖC. Forget everything, in fact - it'll help. That's why we're here, on Fabulous False Memory Foam© Island - remember?

For fans of 'sixties psychedelic rock, which is you, this album presses all the right buttons. Hoo boy! For starters, ixnay on growly hard rock covalsay. Don't be scared! These vox is super-swell! For seconds, songs, out th' ass. More hooks than a butcher's truck. For thirds, weirdness: FX, batshit-crazy lyrics. Acid Garcia guitar. And - no, really - country rock.

Only two things working against this album, to whit - non-release at the time. What th' creeping fuck were Elektra doing? And later, on belated release, being dismissed as nascent BÖC lite. On th' Isle O' Foam, this was released at the tail end of the 'sixties and clasped to the Love Generation's skinny bosom like th' Eye Of Agamotto. Like, digsville.

Not The Pretty One Dept.

Shaved Fish, anyone?

John Lennon's solo work sounds better over the years. Not his angsty Yoko material, the primal scream I want my Mommy tantrums and political fist-fucking and greaser rock n' roll stuff. That sounds the same as it ever did - not so great, you ask me. The commercial albums.

When the guy reined himself in (and fought off the New York scag monkeys, gutter drunks and crack whores he was so comfortable with) he was capable of fine craft. Paul McCartney's solo work sounds like stylistic affectation in comparison, glib and coy. It all came too easy for Macca, but Lennon worked at it, worked it out, and crucially - had something to say. Macca's message? Ever? Beats me.

If Lennon's foot was often in his mouth, his heart was on his sleeve and his finger on his aberrant pulse. Unlike the Pretty One, he wasn't getting up on his hind legs to be liked. Here's a re-imagined Shaved Fish (going out of his way to hurt sales with title and cover), Walls & Bridges (featuring his side twist May Pang, Bizarro Yoko), Mind Games and Single Fantasy, my Yoko-Free assemblage. Yes, I know I should respect Yoko as artiste and pioneering activist and strong role model, and I should feel guilty about thinking she's a fucking nuisance.

Incidentally, when I showed Kwai Chang the Mind Games cover, he immediately spotted the (unconscious, unintentional) placing of O.D. centered on his eyes.

Weird Giant Statue Found On Isle O'Foam© Dept. - Evidence Of Alien Visitors?

During a team-building mission with Kreemé recently, we stumbled on this weird giant statue, half buried in the sand! Evidence of alien visitation? Or incredible monument to a lost civilization with unimaginable skills?

Back in our Laboratory Of Science©, samples from the statue revealed that the colossus - perhaps a primitive god? - is constructed entirely of chicken fat.

Everything You Know Is Wrong.

From Good Times To Hard Times To The Worst Times Of All - The Craig Smith Story

You need wiki for this. Really. It's a heartbreaking story and I would bust into sobs if I recounted it in detail here. Mike Stax (Ugly Things supremo) had his part to play - wotta guy - and wrote a book about it. Broad strokes, then - take a deep breath; Craig was a bright and likeable kid groomed for stardom. That's him in the Good Time Singers - I'm guessing front n' center on the cover. They win a regular spot on The Andy Williams Show, cut an album, and break up when they're not invited back for the new season. Uh oh.

Craig starts his own band The Penny Arkade, writes some pop hits (the Monkees' Salesman is his), and gets an album produced by Nesmith which gets shelved. Uh oh. And then things start to go badly wrong. He gets involved with the Manson Family, goes on an L.S.D. diet to lose weight, friends, and his mind, makes the trip to the Mystic East, gets beat up/raped in Kandahar, thrown into an Afghan insane asylum ... oh jeez.

Back in the U.S.A., he's damaged goods. He cuts a couple of wigged-out solo albums as Maitreya Kali, attacks his Mom, gets institutionalized, and dies homeless and broke and insane. His family don't collect his ashes. Mike Stax does. The Penny Arkade album (eventually rescued by Sundazed with their usual respect and attention to detail) is psych-pop just short of greatness, even if it's obvious that Nesmith had yet to learn his way around the studio. These guys deserved better luck - but not even a lottery win could have saved Craig Smith from his life, and his lonely, fucked-up death.

Note: the album sleeves aren't shown in chronological order because new blogger layout interface.

It's 1970! Just Time To Record That One-Off Album Before Everybody Forgets What The Sixties Were For!

Wild Butter were straight outta Akron, OH. One of these guys went on to play with post-whatever artrockers Tin Huey, the others warped to a parallel dimension and set up a vinyl upholstery repair franchise. Their album is Prime Foam, being swell and unknown.

The Wizards From Kansas were from Kansas!  They were called Pig Newton before the record company made them change their name. The album - swell - sounds like it was recorded in San Francisco because it was. Not untypically, by the time the album came out the band weren't around anymore, and neither were the 'sixties.