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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Gorilla was the 1967 debut album by the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band, who would thereafter drop the "Doo Dah" from their name and establish themselves as the greatest satirical British pop band of all time. Their first effort is far more tentative and tamer than their second and third albums, when they hit their stride by expanding their musical and topical recklessness. The Bonzos, after all, did not begin as a rock band, or even a pop band, but as a somewhat vaudevillian comedy outfit that owed a great deal to British music hall traditions. This album may be low-key, but that's not to say it doesn't retain a good deal of charm. The humor is extremely dry, subtle, and British, leaning more toward their trad jazz roots than the churning London pop/rock scene. It nonetheless includes a few great moments: the deadpan jazz vamp "The Intro and the Outro" (wherein a smarmy MC introduces a bevy of historical figures in a show band, including Adolf Hitler on vibes), the film noir satire "Big Shot," and their vicious send-up of "The Sound of Music." It's not recommended as a starting point, but those who already appreciate these wonderful British eccentrics will find this an enjoyable document of the band's more restrained roots. AMG.
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Without a doubt, no Rolling Stones album -- and, indeed, very few rock albums from any era -- split critical opinion as much as the Rolling Stones' psychedelic outing. Many dismiss the record as sub-Sgt. Pepper posturing; others confess, if only in private, to a fascination with the album's inventive arrangements, which incorporated some African rhythms, Mellotrons, and full orchestration. What's clear is that never before or after did the Stones take so many chances in the studio. (Some critics and fans feel that the record has been unfairly undervalued, partly because purists expect the Stones to constantly champion a blues 'n' raunch worldview.) About half the material is very strong, particularly the glorious "She's a Rainbow," with its beautiful harmonies, piano, and strings; the riff-driven "Citadel"; the hazy, dreamlike "In Another Land," Bill Wyman's debut writing (and singing) credit on a Stones release; and the majestically dark and doomy cosmic rocker "2000 Light Years from Home," with some of the creepiest synthesizer effects (devised by Brian Jones) ever to grace a rock record. The downfall of the album was caused by some weak songwriting on the lesser tracks, particularly the interminable psychedelic jam "Sing This All Together (See What Happens)." It's a much better record than most people give it credit for being, though, with a strong current of creeping uneasiness that undercuts the gaudy psychedelic flourishes. In 1968, the Stones would go back to the basics, and never wander down these paths again, making this all the more of a fascinating anomaly in the group's discography. AMG.
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The band chills out considerably here, largely eschewing the creeps for lazing-by-the-country-stream picking. Laurence Hammond's vocals are still uniquely pained, and cuts like "Equinox" and "Academy Cemetery" show traces of their facility for haunting guitar lines, but it doesn't come close to the impact of their debut. Countercultural hero Richard Brautigan makes an appearance on "Love's No Way to Treat a Friend." AMG.
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Procol Harum's self-titled debut album bombed in England, appearing six months after "A Whiter Shade of Pale" and "Homburg" with neither hit song on it. The LP was successful in America, where albums sold more easily, but especially since it did include "A Whiter Shade of Pale" and was reissued with a sticker emphasizing the presence of the original "Conquistador," a re-recording that became a hit in 1972. The music is an engaging meld of psychedelic rock, blues, and classical influences, filled with phantasmagorical lyrics, bold (but not flashy) organ by Matthew Fisher, and Robin Trower's most tasteful and restrained guitar. "Conquistador," "Kaleidoscope," "A Christmas Camel," and the Bach-influenced "Repent Walpurgis" are superb tracks, and "Good Captain Clack" is great, almost Kinks-like fun. Not everything here works, but it holds up better than most psychedelic or progressive rock. AMG.
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Kaleidoscope's second album is the best non-compilation showcase of their legendary eclecticism and versatility. It takes in a blues-rocking cover of Willie Cobbs' "You Don't Love Me"; Doug Kershaw's Cajun "Louisiana Man"; a scary old folk song ("Greenwood Sidee," about a woman who kills her two babies); a hilarious country-ish indictment of marriage ("Baldheaded End of a Broom"); two good acid-folk originals ("Life Will Pass You By" and "I Found Out"); and two completely dissimilar ten-minute-plus originals: the Middle Eastern "Taxim," and the psychedelic workout "Beacon from Mars." Every one of these disparate styles is performed with authority and commitment, and the result still has the power to amaze. AMG.
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The final album with Jim Morrison in the lineup is by far their most blues-oriented, and the singer's poetic ardor is undiminished, though his voice sounds increasingly worn and craggy on some numbers. Actually, some of the straight blues items sound kind of turgid, but that's more than made up for by several cuts that rate among their finest and most disturbing work. The seven-minute title track was a car-cruising classic that celebrated both the glamour and seediness of Los Angeles; the other long cut, the brooding, jazzy "Riders on the Storm," was the group at its most melodic and ominous. It and the far bouncier "Love Her Madly" were hit singles, and "The Changeling" and "L'America" count as some of their better little-heeded album tracks. An uneven but worthy finale from the original quartet. AMG.
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Since Traffic's debut album, Mr. Fantasy, has been issued in different configurations over the years, a history of those differences is in order. In 1967, the British record industry considered albums and singles separate entities; thus, Mr. Fantasy did not contain the group's three previous Top Ten U.K. hits. Just as the album was being released in the U.K., Traffic split from Dave Mason. The album was changed drastically for U.S. release, both because American custom was that singles ought to appear on albums, and because the group sought to diminish Mason's presence; on the first pressing only, the title was changed to Heaven Is in Your Mind. In 2000, Island reissued Mr. Fantasy in its mono mix with the U.K. song list and five mono singles sides as bonus tracks; it also released Heaven Is in Your Mind, the American lineup in stereo with four bonus tracks. Naturally, the mono sound is punchier and more compressed, but it isn't ideal for the album, because Traffic was fashioned as an unusual rock band. Steve Winwood's primary instrument was organ, though he also played guitar; Chris Wood was a reed player, spending most of his time on flute; Mason played guitar, but he was also known to pick up the sitar, among other instruments. As such a mixture suggests, the band's musical approach was eclectic, combining their background in British pop with a taste for the comic and dance hall styles of Sgt. Pepper, Indian music, and blues-rock jamming. Songs in the last category have proven the most distinctive and long-lasting, but Mason's more pop-oriented contributions remain winning, as do more light-hearted efforts. Interest in the mono mix is likely to be restricted to longtime fans; anyone wishing to hear Traffic's first album for the first time is directed to Heaven Is in Your Mind. AMG.
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A transitional album on which the band moved from Syd Barrett's relatively concise and vivid songs to spacy, ethereal material with lengthy instrumental passages. Barrett's influence is still felt (he actually did manage to contribute one track, the jovial "Jugband Blues"), and much of the material retains a gentle, fairy-tale ambience. "Remember a Day" and "See Saw" are highlights; on "Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun," "Let There Be More Light," and the lengthy instrumental title track, the band begin to map out the dark and repetitive pulses that would characterize their next few records. AMG.
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The 1997 remastering of this disc somewhat improves the sound on the band's most personal album, although the difference is less dramatic than on the other classic seven albums, and fans may miss the lyrics that were formerly included. Oddly enough, this was also the group's poorest-selling album of their psychedelic era, taking a lot longer to go gold -- for all of their presumed connection to their audience, the band was perhaps stretching that link a little thinner than usual here. The material dwells mostly on time and what its passage means, and there is a peculiar feeling of loneliness and isolation to many of the songs. This was also the last of the group's big "studio" sound productions, built up in layer upon layer of overdubbed instruments -- the sound is very lush and rich, but proved impossible to re-create properly on-stage, and after this they would restrict themselves to recording songs that the five of them could play in concert. There are no extended suites on this album, but Justin Hayward's "Watching and Waiting" and "Gypsy" have proved to be among the most popular songs in the group's history. The notes in the new edition also give a good account of how and why the Moody Blues founded their own Threshold label with Children's Children and their growing estrangement from Decca Records. AMG.
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