Eric Burdon & The Animals - Love Is 1968

It's an eyebrow-raising experience to encounter the cover of "River Deep, Mountain High" that opens the Animals 1968 album, Love Is. Clocking in at nearly seven and a half minutes, it's the weirdest version of the song ever cut. Self-produced by the band, it juxtaposes vocalist and bandleader Eric Burdon's staggering abilities as a rhythm & blues singer with few peers with then-modern-day psychedelia. The Phil Spector, Ellie Greenwich, Jeff Barry-penned vehicle for Ike & Tina Turner was never envisioned like this. There are moments of pure greatness in the track, a rough, garage-hewn rock and R&B foundation underscored by Burdon's blues wail is, unfortunately, completely messed over by the sound effects and his insistence on yelling "Tina, Tina, Tina..." ad nauseam in the bridge. And this is just the beginning. This version of the Animals contained enough serious players that they should have known better: Burdon, keyboardist Zoot Money, drummer Barry Jenkins, bassist John Wieder, and a young guitarist who'd been booted from Soft Machine after a very brief period named Andy Summers. For those who found charm and even inspiration in the Twain Shall Meet and Winds of Change -- both recorded in San Francisco -- Love Is may hold some sort of place in the heart. For those who looked back to the Animals catalog that included such dynamic albums as Animalism and Animalization as well as a slew of killer four-track EPs, this must have seemed like the bitter end. On the other hand, this trainwreck of an album has some interesting moments -- mainly for hearing how hard they tried to imitate other acts who were successful while at the same time trying to forge a new identity from the ruins of who they once were as a band whose day had come and gone. The utterly awful reading here of "Ring of Fire" is almost laughable. Other covers include a rave-up cum psychedelia version of Sly Stone's "I'm an Animal," Traffic's "Coloured Rain," and the Bee Gees "To Love Somebody." The latter -- which has to be heard to be believed -- begins with Summers playing Chuck Berry licks as an intro before it slows down into a completely over-the-top Don Covay-styled soul shot with Burdon underscored by a female backing chorus which counters to push him into the stratosphere. Despite its cheesy organ sound, it has enough power drumming, crunchy guitar, and a neat little piano break by Money to make it work. It's easily the best thing here even if it is absolutely mental. Burdon had heard ex-bandmate Chas Chandler's young guitar protégé Jimi Hendrix's "Third Stone from the Sun" from the Jimi Hendrix Experience's debut album as well. In fact, he enlisted Money's buddy, guitarist Steve Hammond (of Johnny Almond's Music Machine) to come up with a long-form psychedelic suite that evoked it and some of Pink Floyd's weirder experiments at that time. The end result, "Gemini," is hysterically funny now, and must have just seemed to be ecstatically drug-addled tomfoolery at the time. The closer, "The Madman (Running Through The Fields)," by Summers and Money would have been a killer single if they'd edited the acid-fried middle section out of it. As it stands, Love Is was a mess from a band who, once great, had completely lost its way and was on its last legs. AMG.

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Cosmic Michael - Cosmic Michael 1969

"'I am a child of Woodstock nation, I've come a long way from my home...' So sings the one and only Cosmic Michael, on this the opening track of his second album released by the Bliss label in 1970. An album now high on serious psych collector wants lists too... Cosmic Michael. Well, some regard him as a 'Godhead,' the ultimate spiritual hippy, with songs of love, freedom & peace, all delivered with just piano, vocals and kazoo...A true guru... But, what of the music? I guess these days you'd call it loner psych, but back then the term 'freak rock' might have been applied to such a release. After his eponymous, and equally enigmatic debut album released a year earlier, he'd witnessed the Woodstock festival, absorbed the vibe, and relocated to Los Angeles where he then recorded After a While, seemingly quite quickly...'I've seen The Who, and Ten Years After, Jefferson Airplane they nearly blew my mind....' The nine tracks on After a While are stoned '60s DIY rock 'n'roll. You can call it lo-fi or home made, but the message remains: Cosmic Michael preaches love and freedom, and he's a mean boogie-woogie player too. The songs run one after the other, as if part of one spontaneous recording -- the moment one ends, he's into the next, and so on. After a While is of its time, a snapshot of innocence when it was believed music could change the world, and maybe it will yet."

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Alan Silva - Seasons 1970

Don't let the miserable packaging of the reissue on CD deter you from purchasing this remarkable gargantuan effort by bassist and composer Alan Silva, for which the term "masterpiece" is not too far a stretch. The original three-LP set has been compacted to two full-length CDs. Unfortunately, there are no liner notes, and you may need a magnifying glass to decipher the list of more than 20 participating musicians, who read like a who's who of avant-garde jazz at the time this was recorded. As there are no individual tracks and the "composition" is more than two hours long, there is also reproduced from the LP a detailed time log listing the instruments at any particular moment. Unfortunately, the log is virtually useless as it corresponds to the six sides of the original LPs. That aside, this is a magnificent, rambling, chaotic, lavish, and often meandering spectacle that should be heard in one sitting to be completely appreciated. It takes the concept of "sheets of sound" to the next level. Even with its deficiencies, it is a spectacular presentation, with snippets of melodies (or more precisely, riffs) interspersed among the soloists, who include Silva, Steve Lacy, Lester Bowie, Joseph Jarman, Roscoe Mitchell, Robin Kenyatta, Michel Portal, and Joachim Kühn, to cite the more recognizable names. The results are absolutely thrilling, if not always inspiring, and there are many high points. While individual improvisers are difficult to identify, the level of improvisation remains consistently at the highest levels. It is wild and free, and the listener receptive to free improvisation is likely to be held in rapturous attention. Destined to be a classic of its genre, Seasons offers a full-scale radical bombardment from many perspectives, resulting in a smorgasbord of delights. While listening to so much at once is a challenge, the patient listener willing to put in the effort should be fulfilled and rewarded amply. AMG.

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John Saxby, Lionel Gibson With Cirkus - Future Shock 1977

In 1977 Cirkus made an unusual move by touring in a somewhat zany theatre production called “Future Shock”, with John Saxby and Lionel Gibson. Based on the musical, an LP of the same name was released, although none of the band members wrote any of the material. The LP was issued by Shock Records and is now very rare. The music is of a whimsical and offbeat nature, a far cry from the outfit’s prog-rock roots and therefore of limited appeal. A year later a Cirkus track called “I’m On Fire” was featured on a “Battle Of The Bands” LP but this proved to be their final offering before the five went their separate ways in the early ’80s.

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Tear Gas - Piggy Go Getter 1970

Tear Gas, the Scottish rock outfit, released a pair of albums in the early ’70s that vividly highlighted their talents for guitar-based rock. Though the band kept up a rigorous touring schedule, it only really paid off once a few band members joined with Alex Harvey as The Sensational Alex Harvey Band. Still, Esoteric’s reissues of Piggy Go Getter (in its first-ever official CD release) and its follow up Tear Gas show the band’s early promise.

The Glasgow-based group originally formed in the tail end of the ’60s and included Eddie Campbell on keys, Zal Cleminson on guitar, Chris Glen on bas and vocals, Gilson Lavis on drums, and Andi Mulvey on vocals. By 1970, their lineup had changed. For Piggy Go Getter, Wullie Monroe, late of Ritchie Blackmore’s abortive pre-Deep Purple band Mandrake Root, replaced Lavis (who’d go on to play in Squeeze) and David Batchelor succeeded Mulvey. The band cut their teeth performing gigs all over Glasgow, performing originals and selections from Jethro Tull, Deep Purple, and The Jeff Beck Group (in fact, Tear Gas’s version of Beck’s “Jailhouse Rock/All Shook Up” medley appears on their self-titled album). Their live act caught the attention of Tony Calder, one of The Rolling Stones’ managers. He signed Tear Gas for the Famous Music label, a subsidiary of Paramount, and the group joined up with producer Tony Chapman and engineer Tom Allom to record their debut.

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Michael Gibbs - Tanglewood '63 1971

A landmark record in the evolution of British jazz-rock, Tanglewood '63 assembles a who's-who of contemporary musicians -- guitarist Chris Spedding, bassist Jack Bruce and trumpeter Kenny Wheeler among them -- to create vividly majestic music of remarkable scope and energy. Mike Gibbs' ingenious arrangements suggest a pop art incarnation of a traditional big band -- assembled from blistering guitar riffage, fiery brass and deeply idiosyncratic rhythms, Tanglewood '63 nevertheless retains the soulfulness of conventional jazz, and for all its mind-expanding consciousness, the music speaks to the body as loudly as it does the intellect. Most impressive is the tactile sumptuousness of Gibbs' sound -- the music boasts as many tints and textures as a Pantone Color Guide. [Reissued in 2005 as one half of a Vocalion two-fer alongside Gibbs' self-titled Deram debut.] AMG.

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Chicken Shack - O.K. Ken 1969

This was Chicken Shack's most popular album, making the British Top Ten. If you're looking for relics of the British Blues Boom, however, you'd be much better off with Ten Years After, to say nothing of legitimate artists such as Fleetwood Mac and John Mayall. British blues at its best could be exciting (if usually derivative), but it's difficult to fathom how this relentlessly plodding, monotonous effort met with such success. Stan Webb took most of the songwriting and vocal chores, emulating the slow-burning Chicago boogie with little skill or subtlety (though he wasn't a bad guitarist). Christine Perfect did write and sing a few songs, but these unfortunately found both her compositional and vocal chops at a most callow stage of development. To nail the coffin, most of the songs were preceded by excruciating comic dialog that made Cheech & Chong sound sophisticated in comparison. AMG.

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James Carr - You Got My Mind Messed Up 1967

If ever there was a soul singer who rivaled Otis Redding's raw, deep emotional sensuality, it was James Carr, and the proof is in the pudding with You Got My Mind Messed Up. Carr was one of the last country-soul singers to approach any chart given to him as if it was a gift from God. Carr was Redding's rival in every respect if for no other reason than the release of this, his debut album recorded in 1966. The 12 songs here, many of them covered by other artists, are all soul classics merely by their having been sung and recorded by Carr. Among them is the Drew Baker/Dani McCormick smash "Pouring Water on a Drowning Man," George Jackson's "Coming Back to Me Baby," a handful of tracks by O.B. McLinton, including "Forgetting You" and the title track, and the Chips Moman/Dan Penn hit "Dark End of the Street." And while it's true that few have ever done bad versions of the song because of the phenomenal writing, there is only one definitive version, and that one belongs to Carr. In his version he sings from the territory of a heart that is already broken but enslaved both to his regret and his desire. This is a love so pure it can only have been illicit. When he gets to the beginning of the second verse, and intones "I know time is gonna take its toll," he's already at the end of his rope; he knows that desire that burns like this can only bring about ruin and disaster, and it is precisely since it cannot be avoided that his repentance is perhaps accepted by the powers that would try him and judge him. He holds the arrangement at bay, and unlike some versions, Carr keeps his composure, making it a true song of regret, remorse, and a love so forbidden yet so faithful that it is worth risking not only disgrace and destruction for, but also hell itself. As the guitar cascades down the fretboard staccato, he can see the dark end of the street and holds it as close to his heart as a sacred and secret memory. By the album's end with the title track, listeners hear the totality of the force of Memphis soul. With Steve Cropper's guitar filling the space in the background, Carr offers a chilling portrait of what would happen to him in the future. Again pleading with the beloved in a tone reminiscent of a church-singer hell, he's in the church of love. He pleads, admonishes, begs, and finally confirms that the end of this love is his insanity, which was a chilling prophecy given what happened to Carr some years later. This is one of theMemphis soul records of the mid-'60s, full of rough-hewn grace, passion, tenderness, and danger. A masterpiece. AMG.
 

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Rita Lee & Tutti Frutti - Atrás Do Porto Tem Uma Cidade 1974

Atrás do Porto Tem uma Cidade was the first album that Rita Lee recorded without assistance from the other Os Mutantes members, Arnaldo Baptista and Sergio Dias. On this album she was instead backed up by her new band Tutti-Frutti, with whom she would work for several years to come. Thus, Atrás do Porto Tem uma Cidade represents one of the major breaking points of Rita Lee's career. The typical Os Mutantes sound that was still very noticeable on Lee's first two solo albums was now completely gone, and replaced with a much more straightforward, but still not mainstream, rock sound. Several tracks are very good, and one that really stands out is the beautiful string and piano-based ballad "Menino Bonito." The space-themed "Eclipse do Cometa," "Ando Jururu," and the funky "Círculo Vicioso" are other highlights. Atrás do Porto Tem uma Cidade is an excellent album, although it isn't quite as consistent or spectacular as the rock classics Fruto Proibido and Babilonia, which Rita Lee and Tutti-Frutti would record later. AMG.

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LaBelle - Pressure Cookin' 1973

The road to reinvention proved to be a long, hard-fought battle for Patti LaBelle and her Blue Belle sisters. At the onset of the ‘70s, Labelle established themselves across the pond and back as vocal powerhouses with surefire determination, sensuality, and fierceness. Their gospel-charged voices contained intense emotion in every wail, coo, and shout. This sorely forgotten 1973 gem, (the lone album they cut for RCA Records), Pressure Cookin‘ signaled the group settling into their groove just a year before they catapulted into the stratosphere. Cookin’ flaunted Labelle’s versatility and Nona Hendryx‘s songwriting in a hybrid of righteous funk and meditative ballads that reflect the changing social landscape. It’s one of Labelle’s rarest, best albums, and a must-hear for classic soul and funk enthusiasts who believe “Lady Marmalade,” and possibly its parent album, their 1974 breakthrough, Nightbirds, is the end-all to be all of Labelle’s legacy.

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Mink DeVille - Return to Magenta 1978

The follow-up to Mink DeVille's critically praised debut arrived just a year afterward and pretty much covers the same shadowy back alleys as its predecessor. At this early stage, Willy DeVille was still rocking out on Moon Martin's "Rolene," his own R&B chugger "Soul Twist," the Bo Diddley driven "Steady Drivin' Man" and the too brief set closer "Confidence to Kill," the latter ripping off as much greasy punk attitude as anything in his catalog, all in less than two minutes. But it's the soaring ballads and retro doo wop infused urban slow dance gems that make this sleeper a keeper. It takes nerve to open an album with the ominous heartbeat of "Guardian Angel" with its Righteous Brothers vibe enhanced by strings and a brooding Phil Spector "Be My Baby" dramatic, thumping drum pattern. Yet it perfectly foreshadows and adjusts the lights for Willy and the boys' N.Y.C./New Jersey street savvy pop/rock. Producer Jack Nitzsche, returning from the first album, was the perfect foil for the band, keeping the sound lean, mean, raw when necessary, and colored in shades of well, magenta. The legendary Doc Pomus, a guy who knew how important it was to match a good tune with a great singer, writes short but sweet liner notes that anticipate his co-writing contributions to the following album, 1980's Le Chat Bleu. Frontman DeVille is a natural singer as adept at grinding out the rockers as delving into the emotionally burning slow songs such as "I Broke That Promise" that would ultimately define his persona. He's clearly a man out of time, more comfortable with the '50s than the decades after, but never self-consciously retro. The album's only Nitzsche co-write is "Just Your Friends." It's a churning, charming inner city lament with a cascading melody that makes it a lost gem; one of those hidden tracks that never makes it on a greatest-hits collection but helps define this set. The ten tunes are over in 32 minutes but there isn't a wasted note or tossed off track, which makes Return to Magenta (the title is oddly absent from the cover) a somewhat difficult to find yet essential addition to any Willy DeVille collection. AMG.

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The Other Half - The Other Half 1968

This album has been kicking around for ages, first in cut-out bins in the 1970s and subsequently on want lists, ever since "Mr. Pharmacist" (which was not on this long-player) turned up on Rhino's Nuggets, Vol. 12. It turns out to be not at all bad, if not exactly distinguished -- the Other Half were a much better garage band than they were a psychedelic outfit, their frantic, crunchy rockers (which dominate this record) being far more memorable and impressive than their efforts at trippy, spaced out, languid psych ("Wonderful Day"). "I Need You," and "Feathered Fish" give lead guitarist Randy Holden the opportunity to stretch out in the best Jeff Beck manner (circa the Yardbirds' Roger the Engineer), and even their more primitive numbers, such as "Oz Lee Eaves Drops," are good showcases for the group. Holden and rhythm guitarist Geoff Westen also get into some entertaining faux mandolin sounds on "Morning Fire," but when the band tries to get too serious, as on the two-part "What Can I Do for You," the results are fairly dire, which makes the last ten minutes of the original LP (which didn't even run 30 minutes) easily dispensable. AMG.

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McCoy Tyner - Asante 1970

The final McCoy Tyner Blue Note album found the innovative pianist during a low point in his career. His records were not selling that well, his mentor John Coltrane had passed away three years earlier, and it was not obvious that Tyner would be able to continue struggling successfully to make a living out of music. Fortunately, his fortunes would soon rise when he signed with Milestone in 1972 and the critics began to rediscover him. Asante is a bit unusual, for the emphasis is on group interplay rather than individual solos. The four originals feature Tyner with altoist Andrew White, guitarist Ted Dunbar, bassist Buster Williams, drummer Billy Hart, Mtume on congas, and two spots for the voice of Songai. Worth investigating. AMG.

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Ruby Starr - Smokey Places 1977

Singer Ruby Starr was best-known as a backup singer for '70s macho man rockers Black Oak Arkansas, but also issued several recordings as a solo artist as well. Born Constance Henrietta Mierzwiak in Toledo, OH, in 1949, the future rock singer got her start at the age of nine (performing renditions of Brenda Lee songs) before changing her stage name to Connie Little and forming the Phil Spector-esque Connie & the Blu-Beats. Following stints in such obscure outfits as the Downtowners and the Blue Grange Ramblers (aka BGR), the latter of which mutated into the outfit Ruby Jones (a name that the singer was going by at the time). Signed to Curtis Mayfield's Curtom label, the recording of Ruby Jones' 1971 self-titled was even supervised by Mayfield. Shortly after the album's release, Black Oak Arkansas frontman Jim Dandy spotted Starr singing in an Evansville, IN, club and persuaded her to join his band, as she assumed her best-known stage name Ruby Starr. Starr toured with the band for several years (appearing on the albums Street Party and Balls of Fire, as well as their lone hit single "Jim Dandy") before leaving the group to form the Ruby Jones Band in 1976, and issuing Scene Stealer the same year. By the dawn of the '80s, Jones/Starr had formed Grey Star, issuing a pair of recordings -- 1981's self-titled debut and 1983's Telephone Sex -- before forming the group Henrietta Kahn in the late '80s. In the '90s, Starr was diagnosed with cancer, eventually passing away at home in Toledo in January of 1995. After her passing, several archival releases that featured Starr were issued, including the live Black Oak Arkansas recording, King Biscuit Flower Hour Presents, and a reissue of Ruby Jones' debut album, retitled as Stone Junkie. AMG.

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Lyn Collins - Think (about it) 1972

At the time of the release of Think (About It) in 1972, Lyn Collins had been a member of James Brown's performing revue for about two years. Her full-throated voice had earned her the nickname "the Female Preacher" and a shot to record her own album. Of course, the Godfather was in the producer's chair, writing four of the nine tracks, directing the J.B.'s as they laid down their usual funky grooves, and liberally adding vocals throughout. The title track is the main point of interest here; from Collins' throat-ripping vocals to the track's nasty groove to Brown's background interjections, this is a killer. (Rob Base & DJ E-Z Rock later sampled the track for their rap classic "It Takes Two"). The rest of the record is a little uneven: "Just Won't Do Right" is a good doo wop-ish ballad with some churchy organ and great vocals by Collins and Brown, "Wheels of Life" is a nice little groover that sounds like vintage Aretha Franklin, and "Women's Lib" is a very slow ballad that lets Collins show off her anguished yowl of a vocal to its fullest. Where the album stumbles is on the covers of familiar songs. Her versions of Bill Withers' "Ain't No Sunshine" and the Gamble & Huff classic "Never Gonna Give You Up" are mediocre, and worst of all is her leaden take on "Fly Me to the Moon." Still, the record is worth tracking down for hardcore James Brown or funky soul fans. The less devoted should look for "Think (About It)" on one of the many compilations on which it appears. AMG.

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