Paul McCartney - RAM 1971

After the breakup, Beatles fans expected major statements from the three chief songwriters of the Fab Four. John and George fulfilled those expectations -- Lennon with his lacerating, confessional John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band, Harrison with his triple-LP All Things Must Pass -- but Paul McCartney certainly didn't, turning toward the modest charms of McCartney, and then crediting his wife Linda as a full-fledged collaborator on its 1971 follow-up, Ram. Where McCartney was homemade, sounding deliberately ragged in parts, Ram had a fuller production yet retained that ramshackle feel, sounding as if it were recorded in a shack out back, not far from the farm where the cover photo of Paul holding the ram by the horns was taken. It's filled with songs that feel tossed off, filled with songs that are cheerfully, incessantly melodic; it turns the monumental symphonic sweep of Abbey Road into a cheeky slice of whimsy on the two-part suite "Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey." All this made Ram an object of scorn and derision upon its release (and for years afterward, in fact), but in retrospect, it looks like nothing so much as the first indie pop album, a record that celebrates small pleasures with big melodies, a record that's guileless and unembarrassed to be cutesy. But McCartney never was quite the sap of his reputation, and even here, on possibly his most precious record, there's some ripping rock & roll in the mock-apocalyptic goof "Monkberry Moon Delight," the joyfully noisy "Smile Away," where his feet can be smelled a mile away, and "Eat at Home," a rollicking, winking sex song. All three of these are songs filled with good humor, and their foundation in old-time rock & roll makes it easy to overlook how inventive these productions are, but on the more obviously tuneful and gentle numbers -- the ones that are more quintessentially McCartney-esque -- it's plain to see how imaginative and gorgeous the arrangements are, especially on the sad, soaring finale, "Back Seat of My Car," but even on its humble opposite, the sweet "Heart of the Country." These songs may not be self-styled major statements, but they are endearing and enduring, as is Ram itself, which seems like a more unique, exquisite pleasure with each passing year. AMG.

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Boz Metzdorf - Signs of Seasons 1979

Boz Metzdorf’s album Signs of Seasons, a cosmic folk ode to and from America’s heartland at the turn of another century, is given new space for its enduring charisma with a first-ever digital reissue on Anthology Recordings.

The album traces Metzdorf’s personal journey and mind’s eye ruminations on youthful infatuation (“Childhood Sweetheart” set to lap steel-accented country rock), the pure, untainted love for a child set to baroque and classical guitar figures in “Music Box,” and the eternal nourishing force of nature in the love letter to the Earth Mother in the title track (resplendent with swelling strings).

Metzdorf retreats from the ruined world to off-the-grid country simplicity (“Down On The Farm”), and the depression and despondency that forced him from civilization after a disappointing band split and his hopeful return( the late psych / AOR glide of “Sails Across The Sea” and the Pacific Highway soft rock of “Calling You Home,” respectively). Metzdorf concludes Signs of Seasons with “Making Waves,” a witty, jovial ’n’ jazzy anti-establishment ditty carrying some of his mother’s musical influence via Dan Hicks and His Hot Licks, or early Loudon Wainwright III.

Originally issued in the summer of 1978 on the fly-by-night Centurion Records (seemingly, another tale in the tax scam records saga), the scarce collection of richly melodic, rural singer-songwriter Americana tunes which comprise Signs of Seasons can finally be accessed to dance in the imagination of all “city settlers and country slickers. 

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Eddie Mottau - No Turning Around 1973

Boston-born guitarist Eddie Mottau has enjoyed a five-decade career that has carried him across a dozen or more crazes, waves, and other trends in music. From a boyhood interest in folk music, he formed a team with his friend Joe Hutchinson as Two Guys from Boston, who got to record a single for Scepter Records with Paul Stookey, of Peter, Paul & Mary, as producer. The duo eventually became the psychedelic folk-rock band Bo Grumpus, who relocated to New York to be recorded by Felix Pappalardi. That group -- which for a time assumed the name Jolliver Arkansaw -- lasted until 1970. Mottau returned to Paul Stookey's orbit, playing guitar and serving as co-producer of the latter's first post-Peter, Paul & Mary solo album, Paul And. That project led to his crossing paths with John Lennon, which resulted in his working with Lennon's live band, and to a gig playing with Lower East Side music rebel David Peel. Mottau recorded and released his first solo album, No Turning Around (MCA) -- produced by Stookey -- in 1973. And he was back working again with Lennon the following year, on Walls and Bridges, and again in 1975 on Rock 'n' Roll. Another solo album, No Moulding, followed in 1977. Mottau continues to play and record, but out of New Hampshire -- where he has lived since the 1980s -- rather than New York City. AMG.

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Brandywine - Aged 1970

A product of the folk-revival boom of the early 1960s, the Brandywine Singers were led by twin brothers Rick and Ron Shaw, who were born and raised in New Hampshire. Encouraged to pursue a career in music by folkie Terry Gilkyson, the siblings formed the group in 1962, and during the next three years they enjoyed significant popularity on the college folk circuit before war duty forced them off the road. In the years which followed, the Shaws continued performing as a duo, and as members of the Hillside Singers, they scored the smash "I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing." Finally, they reformed the Brandywines in 1992, reuniting with original member Les Clark and rounding out the line-up with singer/songwriter Taylor Whiteside. The reconstituted group issued World Class Folk in 1993. AMG.

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Neil Young - Time Fades Away 1973

Anyone who has followed Neil Young's career knows enough not to expect a simple evening of mellow good times when they see him in concert, but in 1973, when Young hit the road after Harvest had confirmed his status as a first-echelon rock star, that knowledge wasn't nearly as common as it is today. Young's natural inclinations to travel against the current of audience expectations were amplified by a stormy relationship between himself and his touring band, as well as the devastating death of guitarist Danny Whitten, who died of a drug overdose shortly after being given his pink slip during the first phase of tour rehearsals. The shows that followed turned into a nightly exorcism of Young's rage and guilt, as well as a battle between himself and an audience who, expecting to hear "Old Man" and "Heart of Gold," didn't know what to make of the electric assault they witnessed. All the more remarkably, Young brought along a mobile recording truck to capture the tour on tape for a live album and the result, Time Fades Away, was a ragged musical parade of bad karma and road craziness, opening with Young bellowing "14 junkies, too weak to work" on the title cut, and closing with "Last Dance," in which he tells his fans "you can live your own life" with all the optimism of a man on the deck of a sinking ship. While critics and fans were not kind to Time Fades Away upon its first release, decades later it sounds very much of a piece with Tonight's the Night and On the Beach, albums that explored the troubled zeitgeist of America in the mid-'70s in a way few rockers had the courage to face. If the performances are often loose and ragged, they're also brimming with emotional force, and despite the dashed hopes of "Yonder Stands the Sinner" and "Last Dance," "Don't Be Denied" is a moving remembrance of Young's childhood and what music has meant to him, and it's one of the most powerful performances Young ever committed to vinyl. Few rockers have been as willing as Young to lay themselves bare before their audience, and Time Fades Away ranks with the bravest and most painfully honest albums of his career -- like the tequila Young was drinking on that tour, it isn't for everyone, but you may be surprised by its powerful effects. AMG.

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Asgard - In The Realm Of Asgard 1972

As this record came out on the Moody Blues' Threshold label, it's inevitably gotten some comparison to their patrons of sorts. It's not all that much like the Moody Blues, however, other than sharing the trait of being more pop-influenced than much progressive rock. Its more bombastic than the Moody Blues in its strident vocals, melodies, and serious arching lyrics. While it's not extremely similar to Kansas, it might hold some appeal for fans of the kind of American art rock Kansas purveyed as well, in part because of its pop-flavored gravity, in part because violinist Peter Orgil is a big part of Asgard's sound. For all that, it just doesn't stick in the mind nearly as much -- regardless of whether you consider that a good or bad thing -- as the more accessible prog rock bands like the Moody Blues and Kansas do, in spite of the premium they place on straining vocal harmonies. Lyrically it fits in snugly with the more naïve side of prog rock's probing visions, as reflected by titles like "Children of a New Born Age" and "Starquest," the latter track decorated by dated swooping synthetic sounds. AMG.

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Beck, Bogert & Appice - Beck, Bogert & Appice 1973

One of the great things about Jeff Beck is his utter unpredictability. It's also one of the most maddening things about him, too, since it's as likely to lead to flights of genius as it is to weird detours like Beck, Bogert & Appice. It's hard to tell what exactly attracted Beck to the rhythm section of Vanilla Fudge and Cactus -- perhaps he just wanted to rock really loud and really hard, beating Led Zeppelin at their own game. Whatever the motivation, the end result was the same -- a leaden album, with occasional interesting guitar work smothered by heavy riffs and rhythms that don't succeed on a visceral level. It's a loud, lumbering record that may be of interest for Beck archivists, provided they want to hear absolutely everything he did. AMG.

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Quintessence - Quintessence 1970

While Quintessence's second album had a guileless sincerity to its spiritual striving that was uncommon in pop music, it's very much a relic of its hippie age. The good points? An uncalculated, genuine wish to both reflect the era's ideals and to use its music as a tool to achieve them, as well as a willingness to blend aspects of jazz, Indian music, and religious invocation into an overall psychedelic-progressive rock structure (complete with flute and some acid rock guitar). The bad points? An absence of conventional songwriting chops, exacerbated by the band's tendency to ramble on in formless jam-like passages, though actually none of the tracks here exceed six minutes. Certainly it's eclectic, with a commune-like vibe permeating the proceedings, though the recording's quite professional. "Jesus, Buddha, Moses, Gauranga" sounds rather akin to the We're Only in It for the Money-era Mothers of Invention, though minus any hint of satire or irony in the over-the-top beatific lyrics. Overall, though, it feels a little like listening to the house rock band of a pan-religious cult that doesn't have anything of particular value to sell. [The 2004 CD reissue on Repertoire adds a live version of "Jesus, Buddha, Moses, Gauranga" (originally released on the first pressing of the 1970 Island compilation Bumpers) as a bonus track.] AMG.

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Neil Young - After The Gold Rush 1970

In the 15 months between the release of Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere and After the Gold Rush, Neil Young issued a series of recordings in different styles that could have prepared his listeners for the differences between the two LPs. His two compositions on the Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young album Déjà Vu, "Helpless" and "Country Girl," returned him to the folk and country styles he had pursued before delving into the hard rock of Everybody Knows; two other singles, "Sugar Mountain" and "Oh, Lonesome Me," also emphasized those roots. But "Ohio," a CSNY single, rocked as hard as anything on the second album. After the Gold Rush was recorded with the aid of Nils Lofgren, a 17-year-old unknown whose piano was a major instrument, turning one of the few real rockers, "Southern Man" (which had unsparing protest lyrics typical of Phil Ochs), into a more stately effort than anything on the previous album and giving a classic tone to the title track, a mystical ballad that featured some of Young's most imaginative lyrics and became one of his most memorable songs. But much of After the Gold Rush consisted of country-folk love songs, which consolidated the audience Young had earned through his tours and recordings with CSNY; its dark yet hopeful tone matched the tenor of the times in 1970, making it one of the definitive singer/songwriter albums, and it has remained among Young's major achievements. AMG.

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Geronimo Black - Geronimo Black 1972

This is the only LP from the incipient version of Geronimo Black -- a supergroup of sorts featuring contributions from former Mothers of Invention membersJimmy Carl Black (drums/vocals), Buzz Gardner (cornet), his brother Bunk Gardner (flute/trumpet/bassoon/sax/organ/vocals), and Denny Walley (guitar/organ/vocals). Evidence that Frank Zappa initially worked with these musicians for their tremendous instrumental prowess is obvious throughout this self-titled effort. The angular and Baroque progressions of "Quaker's Earthquake" recall Zappa's orchestrations circa the Uncle Meat (1969) project. "Siesta" allows Bunk Gardner to unveil his tremendous versatility on what is undoubtedly the most pleasant surprise for listeners expecting an album of nothing but avant-garde and R&B material. The gentle tune recalls Erik Satie's 3 Gymnopédies (1888), with multiple melodies that diverge and reunite in an effortless interaction. The more introspective performances sit remarkably well beside the hammer-down ethos of "Low Ridin' Man" and the equally gritty "Bullwhip." As a rock & roll band, Geronimo Black foreshadows the sonic attack and verve that informed many of Captain Beefheart's Magic Bands. This is prominent throughout the cut "Other Man," which boasts a rhythmically off-kilter introduction and gallop that is strikingly similar to "Safe as Milk." The horn section takes the combo into the realm of jazz fusion. However, rather than leading the group, as per Chicago or the Loading Zone, they simply augment the arrangement à la the Tower of Power horn section, which adds a bite of brass within the context of R&B and soul. "L.A. County Jail '59 C/S" is an odd blues that invokes the spirit of the Electric Flag's "You Just Don't Realize." The straight-ahead rocker "Let Us Live" is a protest boogie that rises to the occasion with some nifty little horn riffs punctuating the emphatic vocals. The band re-formed in the early '80s on its way to becoming the Grandmothers -- which also incorporated the talents of another ex-MOI, Don Preston. While the initial attraction of Geronimo Black might lie in its Zappa connection, this effort firmly stands on its own merits and an equally unique consortium of versatile talents. AMG.

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Ian Carr with Nucleus - Solar Plexus 1971

Carr played an important role in the development of jazz-rock fusion, playing with John McLaughlin and then forming one of England's first jazz-rock fusion groups, Nucleus, in 1969. Carr woodshedded his band and signed them to Vertigo. That year he played on Blossom Dearie's That's Just the Way I Want to Be, Garrick's The Heart Is a Lotus, and Bob Downes Open Music's Electric City (that also included guitarist Ray Russell and trumpeter Harry Beckett). That year Nucleus released its debut album Elastic Rock. The group included Clyne on bass, Karl Jenkins on reeds and electric piano, John Marshall on drums, Brian Smith on saxes, and Chris Spedding on guitar. That year Carr and Rendell also appeared as featured co-billed soloists on Ardley's masterpiece, the jazz-cum-prog-cum-classical concept offering Greek Variations & Other Aegean Exercises.

In 1971, while Carr was recording Solar Plexus and We'll Talk About It Later with Nucleus, he was asked to participate in the historic sessions that netted the Keith Tippett-led Centipede's Septober Energy. AMG.

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Rainy Daze - That Acapulco Gold 1967

Psychedelic pop combo the Rainy Daze formed in Denver, CO, in 1965. Comprised of singer/guitarist Tim Gilbert, his brother Kip on drums, lead guitarist Mac Ferris, bassist Sam Fuller, and keyboardist Bob Heckendorf, the group started as little more than a covers act, nevertheless parlaying a string of frat party gigs into a local television appearance that reportedly caught the attention of famed producer Phil Spector, who extended a management contract. A massive publicity campaign was in the planning stages when the spectacular failure of his magnum opus, Ike & Tina Turner's "River Deep, Mountain High," left Spector's career in shambles; the Rainy Daze were among the collateral damage, and only in 1967 did their debut single, "That Acapulco Gold" -- written by Tim Gilbert in collaboration with his college roommate John Carter -- appear on Denver producer Frank Slay's Chicory label. When the single caught fire locally the fledgling UNI label snapped up national distribution rights, but with "That Acapulco Gold" at number 70 on the Billboard charts, the bottom fell out. Once radio programmers finally intuited the song's pro-marijuana content, it was pulled from play lists coast to coast. The Rainy Daze quickly resurfaced with "Discount City," which went nowhere. The follow-up, "Fe Fi Fo," was quickly deleted and reissued under the new and improved title "Blood of Oblivion," even securing a U.K. release but still failing to crack pop radio. After an LP, That Acapulco Gold, and a Tim Gilbert solo single, "Early October," UNI dropped the group. However, by this time Gilbert and Carter were earning notice as a crack songwriting duo, and via Slay earned a crack at revamping a demo track cut by an unknown psych-pop outfit known as Thee Sixpence. Gilbert and Carter added lyrics and a new melody, titling the finished song "Incense and Peppermints." Thee Sixpence cut the new tune, renamed themselves the Strawberry Alarm Clock immediately thereafter, and in late 1967 topped the Billboard pop charts. No doubt the success of "Incense and Peppermints" contributed to splitting the Rainy Daze in early 1968, but Gilbert nevertheless signed to White Whale to record one final Daze single, "Make Me Laugh," backed by L.A. session players. He and Carter next masterminded Horses, a country-rock quintet whose eponymous 1969 LP was a victim of White Whale's pending bankruptcy. Gilbert soon after retired from music, but Carter forged on, later writing for Sammy Hagar and the Motels. He also produced two songs on Tina Turner's 1984 comeback smash Private Dancer before moving into artist management.

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Paul Simon - Songbook 1965

The first album to use this title is one of the most mysterious in Paul Simon's output and almost belongs more with Simon & Garfunkel's discography, given its 1965 recording date. Following the failure of Simon & Garfunkel's first, all-acoustic folk revival-style album, Wednesday Morning, 3 AM, Simon headed off to England to see about pursuing music over there. While he was in London, he found himself in demand as a visiting American "folksinger" (though Simon's credentials in this area were rather limited), began building up a following in the coffeehouses, and was eventually pegged for a performing spot on the BBC. Suddenly, there were requests for Paul Simon recordings, of which there were none -- as a result of his being signed to Columbia Records in America, however, he was brought into the London studios of British CBS and recorded this album with only his acoustic guitar for backup. The resulting album is spare, almost minimalist, as Simon runs through raw and unaffected versions of songs that he was known for in London, including "The Sounds of Silence," "The Sun Is Burning," "I Am a Rock," "A Simple Desultory Philippic" (in its earliest form, and far nastier than the version later done by Simon & Garfunkel), and "Kathy's Song." The notes are very, very strange, but a bigger problem is the production by Reginald Warburton and Stanley West, which isn't terribly sympathetic; the sound isn't very natural, being very close and booming, but the album is a fascinating artifact of Simon's work during the interregnum in Simon & Garfunkel's career. And there is one fascinating number here, "The Side of a Hill," which eventually resurfaced as the countermelody song in the Simon & Garfunkel version of "Scarborough Fair" (a song curious by its absence here, considering that Simon was doing it in his coffeehouse appearances) two years later. AMG.

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Yusef Lateef - The Blue Yusef Lateef 1968

Though there is some confusion about what happened to the 32 Jazz label, producer Joel Dorn's other project, his label M, is following closely in its footsteps; unique packaging and a wealth of fine material licensed from Dorn's years as a jazz producer at Atlantic Records seems its sole M.O.. On The Blue Yusef Lateef, listeners get an amazing chapter from the late '60s, an amazing period when everything in the world of jazz was changing. Lateef was big on concept recordings. He and Dorn did no less than ten during their tenure together at Atlantic. This one examines, in a painterly way, all the different ranges of emotion contained within the blues genre. With a band that included Detroit jazz gods Roy Brooks on drums and Kenny Burrell on guitar, Blue Mitchell on trumpet, Hugh Lawson on piano, Sonny Red on alto, Bob Cranshaw on electric bass, and a very young Cecil McBee on acoustic bass, you get the idea that Lateef was after something different. Lateef performs on not only his tenor and flute, but bamboo and pneumatic flutes, tamboura, koto, and others; Lateef was exploring the outer reaches of the blues as they might appear and appeal to Eastern as well as Western cultures. From the opening moments in "Juba Juba," everything comes in one package -- the slow, snaky groove only the blues can provide, with the Eastern scale modalities and polyphony attached via Lateef's flute and Brook's percussion. But before becoming too ethereal, Mitchell chimes in with a barrelhouse muted trumpet and Buddy Lucas wails a shuffle on harmonica. There is also an unidentified female gospel chorus humming in the background -- reminiscent of the Staples at their spookiest. Next up is the even-more Eastern-tinged "Like It Is," sounding like it was left off "Blues from the Orient." Lawson's minor key explorations and Brooks' spontaneous actions with a variety of percussion instruments usher in a groove that only Lateef could create. It is very slow, harmonically complex, and lush in a manner that suggests exotica sans the corniness of Les Baxter. It quietly roars with a melodic polytonality courtesy of Lateef's tenor, joined by Lawson's striking mode changes in his solo. Then comes the barrelhouse romp of "Othelia," the Japanese psychedelia of "Moon Cup," and the samba-fied bluesiana of "Back Home," citing Afro-Cuban pop Machito arrangements inside a Brazilian carnival-chant created of vocal overtones and greasy rhythms. You get the picture. The Blue Yusef Lateef is one wild album. In sound, it is the very best the '60s had to offer in terms of experimentation and accessibility. This is blues you can dance to, but also meditate to and marvel at; a pearl worthy of the price. AMG.

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Ben - Ben 1971

It is one of the unwritten laws of record collecting that some of the most passionately sought LPs are often among the most disappointing albums ever made, the kind of things that you would never even give houseroom to if they weren't essential to the collection. Among connoisseurs of the British Vertigo label, an avid army who've been known to offer limbs in exchange for certain objects of high-priced desire, Ben's eponymous debut album certainly falls into that sordid category. Cut wholly in the jazz-rock shadow of labelmates Nucleus, Ben offers a shade over 38 minutes worth of aimless noodling, interspersed with flashes of soulless riffing, and crowned by drummer David Sheen's dry, dull (but mercifully underemployed) vocal. Musically, it's clear that Ben know their stuff -- technicians might well sit back and marvel at the band's actual playing abilities. But the nearly side-long suite "The Influence" simply wanders along without ever justifying the presence of the seven sub-movements that divide it up, while side two's opening, "Christmas Execution," never lives up to what is, after all, an extremely intriguing title, even if it does sound a bit Christmassy in places. Reissues on Repertoire in 1991 and Akarma in 2003 have done much to discourage all but the most avid vinyl fetishists from seeking out the original swirl-label version of this album. But, even at a reasonable price, it remains a distinctly disappointing release. AMG.

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