National Health - National Health 1977

Purchasers of National Health's 1977 debut album might have looked at the band's lineup and figured that the group was Hatfield and the North with a new bassist, but the back-story was actually more complicated. The band was originally conceived by keyboardists Dave Stewart of the Hatfields and Alan Gowen of Gilgamesh as a merger of the two groups, which would have resulted in a rather massive nine-piece aggregation. But this grandiose scheme arose precisely at a time when rock listeners and, of course, labels were turning away from progressive rock toward punk. Or, as Stewart wrote in the liners to the 1990 East Side Digital comp National Health Complete, toward "some of the most crass, simplistic, brutal, ugly and stupid music imaginable, in an atmosphere where an admitted inability to play one's instrument was hailed as a sign of genius...." Well, true enough, but Stewart did pick "rock" as his art form, and rock has always been mainly for teenagers and twentysomethings, so maybe he should've seen punk coming. Plus, nobody likes a whiner. Anyway, back in the mid- to late '70s, National Healthwould briefly fight the good fight against all that crassness, simplicity, brutality, ugliness, and stupidity. Prior to this debut album's release, however, the struggle proved sufficiently daunting to force a paring down of the initial Stewart-Gowen dream to a quartet lineup consisting of Hatfields members Stewart, guitarist Phil Miller, and drummer Pip Pyle, plus bassist Neil Murray (later of Whitesnake fame; go figure) -- with Gowen relegated to guest status along with former Northette vocalist Amanda Parsons, Canterbury mainstay reedman Jimmy Hastings, and percussionist John Mitchell (later of Nixon/Watergate fame; no, sorry, that was a different John Mitchell from a different country).
At times, National Health's four lengthy multifaceted suites present the Hatfield-esque instrumental Canterbury sound at its most accomplished. Gowen, with writing credits for "Brujo" and "Elephants," came to be known for a jazzy, improvisational sensibility in contrast to the more thoroughly scored compositional approach of Stewart, who penned "Tenemos Roads" and "Borogoves," but National Health presents a perfect meld of their styles, utterly without tension between them. There are vamps over which Stewart, Gowen, or Miller solo (great fuzz organ from Stewart; fluid Moog from Gowen; inimitable phrasing and tone from Miller), but most notable is the music's organic flow through its twists and turns of melody, harmonics, rhythm (Pyle again proving both his dynamism and sensitivity), texture, and timbre. Music this complex and densely varied, particularly in the rock realm, seldom feels as light and breezy. Parsons' high-flying soprano vocals, whether she is singing wordless "la-la-las" in the Hatfield style on "Borogoves" or doubling Stewart's memorable "Tenemos Road" theme, add considerably to the ethereal mood. The result might be considered an equal-parts mash-up of Tarkusand Light as a Feather, as inconceivable as that might sound. What the heck, throw in some Stravinsky. It's rare to hear music as wonderful these days. Whine, whine, whine. AMG.

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National Health - National Health 1977

Purchasers of National Health's 1977 debut album might have looked at the band's lineup and figured that the group was Hatfield and the North with a new bassist, but the back-story was actually more complicated. The band was originally conceived by keyboardists Dave Stewart of the Hatfields andAlan Gowen of Gilgamesh as a merger of the two groups, which would have resulted in a rather massive nine-piece aggregation. But this grandiose scheme arose precisely at a time when rock listeners and, of course, labels were turning away from progressive rock toward punk. Or, as Stewartwrote in the liners to the 1990 East Side Digital comp National Health Complete, toward "some of the most crass, simplistic, brutal, ugly and stupid music imaginable, in an atmosphere where an admitted inability to play one's instrument was hailed as a sign of genius...." Well, true enough, but Stewart did pick "rock" as his art form, and rock has always been mainly for teenagers and twentysomethings, so maybe he should've seen punk coming. Plus, nobody likes a whiner. Anyway, back in the mid- to late '70s, National Health would briefly fight the good fight against all that crassness, simplicity, brutality, ugliness, and stupidity. Prior to this debut album's release, however, the struggle proved sufficiently daunting to force a paring down of the initial Stewart-Gowen dream to a quartet lineup consisting ofHatfields members Stewart, guitarist Phil Miller, and drummer Pip Pyle, plus bassist Neil Murray(later of Whitesnake fame; go figure) -- with Gowen relegated to guest status along with formerNorthette vocalist Amanda Parsons, Canterbury mainstay reedman Jimmy Hastings, and percussionist John Mitchell (later of Nixon/Watergate fame; no, sorry, that was a different John Mitchell from a different country).
At times, National Health's four lengthy multifaceted suites present the Hatfield-esque instrumental Canterbury sound at its most accomplished. Gowen, with writing credits for "Brujo" and "Elephants," came to be known for a jazzy, improvisational sensibility in contrast to the more thoroughly scored compositional approach of Stewart, who penned "Tenemos Roads" and "Borogoves," but National Health presents a perfect meld of their styles, utterly without tension between them. There are vamps over which Stewart, Gowen, or Miller solo (great fuzz organ from Stewart; fluid Moog from Gowen; inimitable phrasing and tone from Miller), but most notable is the music's organic flow through its twists and turns of melody, harmonics, rhythm (Pyle again proving both his dynamism and sensitivity), texture, and timbre. Music this complex and densely varied, particularly in the rock realm, seldom feels as light and breezy. Parsons' high-flying soprano vocals, whether she is singing wordless "la-la-las" in the Hatfield style on "Borogoves" or doubling Stewart's memorable "Tenemos Road" theme, add considerably to the ethereal mood. The result might be considered an equal-parts mash-up of Tarkusand Light as a Feather, as inconceivable as that might sound. What the heck, throw in someStravinsky. It's rare to hear music as wonderful these days. Whine, whine, whine.

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National Health - Of Queues And Cures 1978

Of Queues and Cures is one of the last and finest examples of the instrumental Canterbury sound on record during the 1970s. This somewhat sweeping claim for National Health’s second album is made not only because of the complexity and quirkiness heard throughout, but because of the presence -- quite rare in the years to follow -- of fuzz organ, here played by Dave Stewart prior to his departure from the group and the return of the arguably jazzier and less fuzz-inclined Alan Gowen as sole keyboardist. Aficionados know that the fuzz organ, as played by Stewart in this band and his preceding Hatfield and the North, Caravan’s Dave Sinclair, and of course Soft Machine’s Mike Ratledge, was central to the Canterbury sound, and although Ratledge was the groundbreaker, Stewart really pushed the envelope on this one. Phil Miller’s “Dreams Wide Awake” calms down in its midsection, but it begins with one of the most crazed organ solos put to wax by anybody, Canterbury or not. “Phil made the mistake of asking me to go a bit mad on the organ solo at the beginning of the number,” Stewart commented with characteristic Brit understatement in the liners. And “a bit mad” it is indeed, as Stewart begins his solo -- over a rocking vamp from guitarist Miller, bassist John Greaves, and drummer Pip Pyle -- with the burning tone typical of the style but escalates the mayhem and transforms the organ into a roaring, screaming beast, upping the ante on Keith Emerson during his organ-stabbing days with the Nice.
Elsewhere, the politeness factor of Hatfield and the North and earlier National Health is roughed up by newcomer Greaves, formerly of Henry Cow. Greaves’ vocals are less polished than those of the Hatfields’ Richard Sinclair -- and certainly less lovely than Amanda Parsons' soprano -- not trying quite so hard to “make it sound nice” (as Sinclair sang on the Hatfields' debut). Greaves croons (as he is credited) through the skewering of TV addicts during Pyle’s “Binoculars,” a tune that could be applied to smart phones and video games today. “The Collapso” -- a joke on “calypso,” ha ha -- is crammed full of change-ups apparently designed to thwart attempts at dancing, and features steel drums from guest Selwyn Baptiste, as well as the sound of Pyle breaking glass from a greenhouse during an interlude sounding suspiciously close to the beginning of Stravinsky's "Ebony Concerto." In “Squarer for Maud,” Stewart seems provoked by a brief spoken word interjection from the erudite Peter Blegvad to get down and dirty on acoustic piano, followed by more of that quintessential organ fuzz on an extended segment leading to a multiple-explosive finale. And the entire album is given a suite-like feel by the bookended themes of “The Bryden 2-Step,” more scalar and less tuneful than “Tenemos Roads” from National Health but given added power from its layered buildup and the presence of cellist Georgie Born. AMG.

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