With everything the Temptations released pretty much guaranteed to turn to gold, not to mention platinum, even their tripped-out forays into sweet '60s psychedelic experimentation were sure to fire a string of hits. 1970's Norman Whitfield-produced Psychedelic Shack -- while perhaps a system shock to those fans who grooved to the band's lame-suited, Motown dance-routined R&B classics -- was a magnificent stretch into an epic that ultimately emerged as another in a long line of enduring sets. Deviating from form across the first songs, it was with the whimsical and willful title track (and a big thanks to the band from Georgia retro-ists the B-52's, who took their own homage, "Love Shack," to the top of the charts in 1989) that the Temptations broke their own mold with the acid-drenched party chant: "Psychedelic shack/That's where it's at." Opening that door and venturing outside the nonstop celebration, the band retains that vibe while returning to a slightly more staid stance on "Hum Along and Dance," leaving both the oddly paced "You Make Your Own Heaven and Hell Right Here on Earth" and the totally tripped-out "Take a Stroll Thru Your Mind" out on their own plane entirely. With such a strong collection of songs, it couldn't get much better than that. But, of course, it does, as the Temptations blister through the groovers "It's Summer" and "Friendship Train." And that, of course, just leaves the Whitfield-penned classic "War" to round out the mix. While fellow Motown-er Edwin Starr has etched what is now considered to be the definitive version of the song into the history tablets, the Temptations certainly took their own inspiration and added a unique spin as well. Not much else can be said, except that this is an absolutely outstanding album -- one which has stood the test of time, sounding as fresh as it did upon initial release. AMG.
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Recorded in the midst of 1966, naturally after the spring release of their debut but before "Pushin' Too Hard" climbed into the national charts in the spring of 1967, A Web of Sound finds the Seeds pushing their sound into new dimensions, happily keeping pace with their Los Angeles contemporaries Love and the Doors. That the Seeds never received the respect accorded to their peers, either then or now, may be partially due to their lack of lyrical ambition, or it could be due to the Hollywood teenage sleaze that seeped out of this quartet led by garage rock icon Sky Saxon. Whatever the Seeds did, it sounded somewhat dirty, a maxim that applies to A Web of Sound even if it lacks singles as hard and filthy as "Pushin' Too Hard." Instead, this is a proto-psychedelic trip, kicked off by the cheerful, swirling "Mr. Farmer" -- the Kinks transplanted to a Middle American fable as refracted through the prism of the West Coast -- and "Pictures & Designs," which falls into the "Pushin' Too Hard" progression by its chorus. Thing is, A Web of Sound was cut long before that single turned into a hit, so neither "Pictures & Designs" in specific or the album as a whole functions as a cash-in. Rather, it's an expansion, downplaying grit and grunge in favor of expansive organ-fueled pop fantasias, minor-chord stomps, an elastic blues burner ("A Faded Picture"), and veiled odes to drugs and sex, all wrapped up via the monumental live-in-the-studio workout "Up in Her Room," nearly 15 minutes of sneering tension and release. "Up in Her Room" compares favorably to Love, and Saxon and Arthur Lee did run in the same circles, but decades later Saxon's downscale aspirations are blindingly apparent; he wasn't seeking transcendence, he was exploiting the moment. As such, A Web of Sound feels more thoroughly tied to 1966 than most of the Los Angeles rock of that year and that's both its blessing and its curse: it brings the era rushing back but it doesn't suggest any of the future. And yet, that transience is precisely why the album is so enjoyable. All the organs, all the minor-key riffs, all the desperate desire to be a star coalesce into a quintessentially L.A. trip, a harbinger of all the wasted good times that could be found on the Sunset Strip. AMG.
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Released on the heels of the stilted, static Cahoots, the double-album Rock of Ages occupies a curious yet important place in Band history. Recorded at a spectacular New Years Eve 1971 gig, the show and album were intended to be a farewell of sorts before the Band took an extended break in 1972, but it turned out to be a last hurrah in many different ways, closing the chapter on the first stage of their career, when they were among the biggest and most important rock & roll bands. That sense of importance had started to creep into their music, turning their studio albums after The Band into self-conscious affairs, and even the wildly acclaimed first two albums seemed to float out of time, existing in a sphere of their own and never having the kick of a rock & roll band. Rock of Ages has that kick in spades, and it captures that road warrior side of the band that was yet unheard on record. Since this band -- or more accurately its leader, Robbie Robertson -- was acutely aware of image and myth, this record didn't merely capture an everyday gig, it captured a spectacular, in retrospect almost a dry run for the legendary Last Waltz. New Orleans R&B legend Allen Toussaint was hired to write horn charts and conduct them, helping to open up the familiar tunes, which in turn helped turn this music into a warm, loose, big-hearted party. And that's what's so splendid about Rock of Ages: sure, the tightness of the Band as a performing unit is on display, but there's also a wild, rowdy heart pumping away in the backbeat of this music, something that the otherwise superb studio albums do not have. Simply put, this is a joy to hear, which may have been especially true after the dour, messy Cahoots, but even stripped of that context Rock of Ages has a spirit quite unlike any other Band album. Indeed, it could be argued that it captured the spirit of the Band at the time in a way none of their other albums do. AMG.
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The group's ballsiest album to date, a surging, hard-rocking follow-up to Bursting at the Seams, which debuted a new lineup, Richard Hudson, John Ford, and Blue Weaver having left to form their own group. In their places, ex-Nashville Teens keyboard man John Hawken and the more muscular rhythm section of Rod Coombes and Chas Cronk make their debut, on what is the Strawbs' first fully electric album. Dave Cousins' songwriting (augmented by Dave Lambert, who also contributes some slashing electric lead guitar) is still as romantic as ever in various spots ("Shine On Silver Sun," "Deep Summer's Sleep"), but also boasts dark visions ("Round and Round") which, coupled with new band's muscular playing, made the Strawbs one of the hardest-rocking progressive bands in the world. They should have been able to blow acts like the Moody Blues off the stage, so what went wrong with this album and the tour? One suspects it was a little too serious and complex for kids who were just looking for a soundtrack to their drug experiences, and it rocked too hard for the "sensitive" English-major types who got off on Cousins' lyrics -- in a sense, the Strawbs were squeezed out of the middle in a very small-scale, subtle 1970s version of the old folk-versus-rock battles of the '60s. Hero and Heroine deserved better, being one of the best guitar-driven progressive rock albums of its period. AMG.
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For all but the most dedicated record collector, Lee Dorsey's terrific singles for Amy -- including the hits "Workin' in a Coalmine" and "Ride Your Pony" -- are all anybody knows about Lee Dorsey's collaboration with Allen Toussaint. Those were the recordings that were the hits, those were the recordings that were played on oldies radio, and those were the recordings that were reissued on CD, while the two albums Dorsey and Toussaint made in the '70s seemed lost, never reissued and rarely mentioned in either's discography or biography. That's not to say that the first of their '70s efforts, 1970's Yes We Can, didn't have an impact. Several of the cuts were covered by major artists throughout the decade -- the Pointer Sisters had a hit with the title track, Robert Palmer covered "Sneakin' Sally Through the Alley" for the title track of his 1974 debut, Ringo Starr cut "Occapella," and the Meters' loose-limbed, eclectic groove set the pace for a lot of rock and funk for the '70s (most notably Little Feat, who did a faithful cover of Dorsey's 1971 non-LP single "On Your Way Down"). So while it was possible to hear the reverberations of this album, it was impossible to easily hear this music until it finally saw the light of day on Raven's 2005 two-fer Yes We Can/Night People (which also included "On Your Way Down" and another non-LP single, "When Can I Come Home?," as bonus tracks).
Musically, Yes We Can is closer to Toussaint's solo LPs for Warner -- collected on Rhino Handmade's excellent 2003 two-disc set The Complete Warner Recordings -- than Dorsey's '60s sides, but it's the best overall album Dorsey ever made and one of the greatest soul albums of the '70s. Here, Dorsey, Toussaint, and the estimable supporting band of the Meters are at an absolute peak. Song for song, this is Toussaint's strongest writing and it's given lively, imaginative interpretations from the Meters. Hardly just a routine collection of New Orleans funk, Yes We Can dips into rampaging Stax-Volt soul on "When the Bill's Paid," diamond-hard funk on "Gator Tail," stylish updates of Dorsey's Amy sound on "O Me-O, My-O" and "Sneakin' Sally Through the Alley," smoky nighttime grooves on "Riverboat," and utterly modern protest soul on "Who's Gonna Help Brother Get Further?" while ending on the hilarious standup comedy riff of "Would You?" Not only is there a great variety of styles, sounds, and moods here, but Dorsey, Toussaint, and the Meters all make it sound easy, when it really was the most sophisticated funk and soul of its time. Maybe that sly sophistication is why the album sank commercially in 1970, maybe it's because the music was at once too earthy and elegant to compete with the sound of either Hi or Philadelphia International, maybe it just didn't get the right promotion, but the years have been nothing but kind to Yes We Can, which stands as one of the great soul albums. AMG.
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Though this album is far more a collector's record than an actual "turntable staple," it is a significant improvement from Davis' first solo outing. During the title track in particular, as well as a cover of Merle Haggard's "White Line Fever," Davis' voice achieves a ragged glory that makes the listener realize why sloppy rock & roll can be so much fun. Other standout moments include a version of the tune that Davis co-wrote with Taj Mahal, "Further on Down the Road," and the Davis-penned "Reno St. Incident." In all, it is the fun record that you would expect from a standout session player like Davis. AMG.
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Black Widow may have enjoyed a reasonably long and defiantly varied career. But to anyone who cares, they will be remembered for just one song, "Come to the Sabbat" -- not a hit single, but a standout on a cheapo label compilation in the early '70s, and destined to live on for decades after the band. Naturally, the accompanying Sacrifice album has bounced along in its wake, first as an increasingly expensive vinyl collectors' item, more recently as a regular on the CD reissue circuit, and here it comes again, this time bearing more primal Black Widow than you could ever have dreamed of hearing. Ultimate Sacrifice: One opens, naturally, with the original seven-song album. More fascinating, however, is the chance to hear five of the seven ("Way to Power" and "Attack of the Demon" are absent) in their original demo form, where they are revealed, if anything, to be even more dramatic than on the final vinyl. "In Ancient Days" in particular profits from the looseness of the performance, while "Come to the Sabbat" packs a feel of abandonment that makes the familiar version seem quite sedate. Of course, the bonus tracks are really only of interest if you truly worship the original record, and, once past "Come to the Sabbat," there probably aren't many people who feel that strongly. But the liners tell the band's tale well, the remastering is impressive, and if you're not doing anything next weekend, you might well want to drop by Black Widow's house. AMG.
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A touch lightweight at times but fun anyway, this set (reissued on CD in 1998) mostly puts the spotlight on vibraphonist Johnny Lytle. His backup group (organist Milt Harris, bassist Bob Cranshaw, drummer William "Peppy" Hinnant and percussionist Willie Rodriguez) is primarily in a very supportive role with Harris' often-bombastic solos looking more toward Wild Bill Davis and early '50s organ stylists than to Jimmy Smith. "The Village Caller" was a minor hit at the time and like most of the songs on this date (four Lytle originals and four rearranged standards) it is a bit catchy. Most of the selections on this date are treated rhythmically, either R&B-ish or with a Latin feel. The results will not reward close listening, but Lytle plays well and this CD will be considered quite satisfying at parties. AMG.
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musical study. Fourth is the band's free purging of all of that knowledge, woven into noisy, smoky structures of sound. Their arcane rhythms have a stop-and-go mentality of their own that sounds incredibly fresh even though it is sonically steeped in soft and warm tones. Obviously, there is a lot of skillful playing going on, as the mix of free jazz, straight-ahead jazz, and Gong-like psychedelia coalesces into a skronky plateau. Robert Wyatt's drumming is impeccable -- so perfect that it at times becomes an unnoticeable map upon which the bandmembers take their instinctive direction. Mike Ratledge's keys are warm throughout, maintaining an earthy quality that keeps its eye on the space between the ground and the heavens that Soft Machine attempts to inhabit. Elton Dean's saxophone work screams out the most inventive cadence, and since it's hardly rhythmic, it takes front and center, spitting out a crazy language. Certainly, the band is the preface to a good portion of Chicago's post-rock output, as the Softs undoubtedly give a nod to Miles Davis' Bitches Brew experiments, which were going on in the U.S. at the same time. AMG.
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Joan Baez's most unusual album, Baptism is of a piece with the "concept" albums of the late '60s, but more ambitious than most and different from all of them. Baez by this time was immersed in various causes, concerning the Vietnam War, the human condition, and the general state of the world, and it seemed as though every note of music that she sang was treated as important -- sometimes in a negative way by her opponents; additionally, popular music was changing rapidly, and even rock groups that had seldom worried in their music about too much beyond the singer's next sexual conquest were getting serious. Baptism was Baez getting more serious than she already was, right down to the settings of her music, and redirecting her talent from folk song to art song, complete with orchestral accompaniment. Naturally, her idea of a concept album would differ from that of, say, Frank Sinatra or the Beatles. Baptism was a body of poetry selected, edited, and read and sung by Baez, and set to music by Peter Schickele (better known for his comical musical "discoveries" associated with "P.D.Q. Bach," but also a serious musician and composer). In 1968, amid the strife spreading across the world, the album had a built-in urgency that made it work as a mixture of art and message -- today, it seems like a precious and overly self-absorbed period piece. Baez lacks the speaking voice to pull off an album's worth of readings, though her interpretations of Federico García Lorca's "Casida of the Lament" and "Gacela of the Dark Death" show her achieving a level of compelling expressiveness that is lacking elsewhere; and the recording of Countee Cullen's "Epitaph for a Poet" features some beautiful accompaniment by Schickele. Additionally, the sung portions, including "Old Welsh Song," "Who Murdered the Minutes," "The Magic Wood," and "Oh, Little Child" by Henry Treece, "Of the Dark Past" by James Joyce, "All in Green Went My Love Riding" by e.e. cummings, and the lullaby "All the Pretty Little Horses" are beautiful and sustain those portions of the album. Baptism is primarily for Baez completists, however, although it is also a singular reminder for '60s history buffs that not all of the antiwar movement's music, or the work coming out of the folk scene in 1968, was necessarily loud, harsh, or bitter. AMG.
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The 13th Floor Elevators were seen as oddball one-hit wonders in most of the United States during their glory days from 1966 to 1968, but they were heroes (at least for a while) in their native Texas, and plenty of psychedelic acolytes from the Lone Star State cited them as a major influence. It would be hard to name a band that borrowed more from the Elevators, or did it to better effect, than Austin's the Golden Dawn, whose debut album, Power Plant, sounds like a folkier companion piece to Easter Everywhere. Lead vocalist George Kinney was friends with Roky Erickson and they briefly played together in a teenage garage band, and while Kinney lacks Erickson's feral intensity, his voice bears an uncanny resemblance to the open and quietly passionate tone Erickson was reaching for on songs like "Splash 1" and "Dust." As a songwriter, Kinney couldn't quite match the acid-fueled philosophizing of Tommy Hall, but his lyrics are thoughtful and insightful, reaching for something deeper than the "listen to the sound of purple" clichés that dogged many psych band of the era. The opening cut, "Evolution," uses a set of wind chimes to punctuate the arrangement much in the same way the Elevators used Tommy Hall's jug, and the lovely melodic sense of "This Way Please" and "Reaching Out to You" recalls the more mellow moments of the Elevators' folk-influenced numbers. While the Golden Dawn could rock out when they were so inclined on tunes like "Starvation" and "I'll Be Around," their approach is informed by a gentleness that sets them apart from their contemporaries -- there's a grace in this music that's uncommon for any era, and the interplay in the guitar work of Tom Ramsey and Jimmy Bird shows a subtle sophistication that makes Kinney's melodies all the more compelling. Kinney has frequently told journalists that Power Plant was recorded before Easter Everywhere, and though it's hard to believe that the Golden Dawn didn't learn a lot from the 13th Floor Elevators, the music on this album is good enough to insist they weren't stealing, just following a similar path, and it takes them to a very fine place on Power Plant. Sadly, the Golden Dawn broke up before they could record another LP, but Power Plant shows them to be one of the best bands to emerge from the Texas psychedelic underground during their brief renaissance in 1967. AMG.
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Although he'd been a fixture on the East Coast folk circuit for several years, Arlo Guthrie did not release his debut album until mid-1967. A majority of the attention directed at Alice's Restaurant focuses on the epic 18-plus-minute title track, which sprawled over the entire A-side of the long-player. However, it is the other half-dozen Guthrie compositions that provide an insight into his uniformly outstanding, yet astoundingly overlooked, early sides on Warner Bros. Although arguably not 100 percent factual, "Alice's Restaurant Massacree" -- which was recorded in front of a live audience -- is rooted in a series of real incidents. This decidedly anti-establishment saga of garbage dumps closed on Thanksgiving, good ol' Officer Obie, as well as Guthrie's experiences with the draft succeeds not only because of the unusual and outlandish situations that the hero finds himself in; it is also his underdog point of view and sardonic delivery that maximize the effect in the retelling. In terms of artistic merit, the studio side is an equally endowed effort containing six decidedly more traditional folk-rock compositions. Among the standouts are the haunting "Chilling of the Evening," which is given an arrangement perhaps more aptly suited to a Jimmy Webb/Glen Campbell collaboration. There is a somewhat dated charm in "Ring-Around-a-Rosy Rag," a sly, uptempo, and hippie-friendly bit of jug band nostalgia. "I'm Going Home" is an underrated minor-chord masterpiece that is not only reminiscent of Roger McGuinn's "Ballad of Easy Rider," but also spotlights a more sensitive and intricate nature to Guthrie's craftsmanship. Also worth mentioning is the first installment of "The Motorcycle Song" -- which was updated and discussed further on the live self-titled follow-up release Arlo (1968) -- notable for the extended discourse on the "significance of the pickle." AMG.
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