Scott McKenzie: “San Francisco (Be Sure To Wear Flowers In Your Hair)” (The Voice of Scott McKenzie, 1967)

Every once in a while, pop culture attempts to mythologize a place or time become self-fulfilling. That’s what happened with this song. Written by John Phillips of the Mamas & Papas for McKenzie to celebrate what Phillips saw as the birth of a vital subculture whose ideals promised a better world, the song actually inspired people to go to San Francisco.

So many people came to San Francisco in the late 60s, in fact, that they drove a lot of the original flower-wearing hippies out as the Haight-Ashbury district was overrun by people trying to glom on to the moment. That’s hardly McKenzie and Phillips’ fault, though. Their song was written as a tribute to the counterculture, but recorded as a pop hit in waiting, with Hal Blaine on drums and booming production that gave McKenzie’s great voice a nearly perfect vehicle.

McKenzie and Phillips knew each other from their childhoods on the East Coast and had sung together in a folk trio called the Journeymen before Phillips rose to fame with the Mamas & Papas, so Phillips knew the voice he was writing for. 

I’ve loved this song since I was a kid—I can see how someone in a little, uptight middle American town might have heard it in 1967 and said, “yeah, I should go there and figure out a new way to live.” McKenzie’s vocal is powerful but not showy, a charismatic travel agent for a city he didn’t live in and a generation he wasn’t part of (he was born before World War II). 

Even the album cover left a lot of room for his voice—there he is, singing, but he’s all the way down in the corner, with a big, black field of negative space that he can pour his vocal into. 

McKenzie died last year at 73, but he’ll live for a long time in this song, an emissary of the pre-mythologized 60s that have been handed down to us by radio. 

Frank Wilson: “Do I Love You (Indeed I Do)” (Soul S-35019, 1965)

Frank Wilson died yesterday at the age of 71. It wasn’t widely reported because Wilson wasn’t particularly famous, but he did have a pretty interesting entry among the footnotes of American popular music. 

WIlson was a songwriter and producer. Born in Texas, he grew up in LA, and when the Motown Recording Company opened its LA branch in 1965, Wilson joined the team. That same year, he recorded “Do I Love You (Indeed I Do).” Berry Gordy didn’t especially like it, and Wilson wanted to focus on producing, so the 250 test pressings of the 45 that would have been Soul S-35019 were ordered destroyed. 

Somehow, a couple of copies escaped annihilation (one of these sold recently for over $25,000), and the song was extensively bootlegged in Britain, where it became a favorite of the Northern Soul scene. So a song that was never supposed to see the light of day became the soundtrack for kids dancing all night at Wigan Casino.

Wilson produced records for Brenda Holloway, The Four Tops, the Supremes, the Temptations, Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, and the Miracles, among others for Motown, and also had his own publishing companies. He quit Motown after a decade behind the boards there, became born again, entered the ministry, and ended up writing some big-selling inspirational books (he also kept making music—his last credit was in 2006 for John Legend).

His lone solo recording, rescued from oblivion by some unknown twist of fate, is all the inspiration I need from him, though. That pedal guitar part, the charging rhythm, the color saturation of the orchestration, and Wilson’s own vocals, hanging on for dear life, are so obviously the makings of a classic, that the song couldn’t help becoming one in spite of the long odds. 

Jefferson Airplane: “Today” (Surrealistic Pillow, 1967)

This morning, I listened to Jefferson Airplane’s Surrealistic Pillow all the way through for the first time in years. Nothing in particular led me to do it; it had just been a while, and I was looking at the tracklist and trying to remember what “3/5 of a Mile in 10 Seconds” and “D.C.B.A.-25” sounded like (turns out they’re both pretty great songs).

Back when I first bought the album, in 1999, the songs that really jumped out to me were the Grace Slick-led acid rock ravers, “Somebody to Love” and “White Rabbit.” They were what I bought the album for in the first place—those and “Embryonic Journey,” Jorma Kaukonen’s crystalline acoustic guitar piece, which is still as gorgeous as ever. Aside from “Embryonic Journey,” though, the song that stood out to most this morning was this one, “Today.” 

Probably because he was in a band whose biggest hits featured Slick’s powerful vocals, Marty Balin is something of an overlooked vocalist. I think he had a really great voice, though, particularly for this kind of low-key, folky material. He’s front-and-center in the mix here, the only thing in the whole song not recorded to sound as though it’s a mile and a half away. Even Slick’s backing vocal is set well off in the distance, leaving Balin alone and lonely in the foreground.

It’s a really nice use of production to emphasize the content of the song; it also has the effect of making a song called “Today” feel like a journey into the past.

Speaking of which, I actually remember the exact circumstance under which I bought this album. I was home for summer after my first year at college. During college, my wife and I lived several states apart year-round, and we’d alternate months flying to see each other. She had visited me in Connecticut for a long weekend, and I had just dropped her off at Bradley International Airport. It possible to take the freeway most of the way from my parents’ house to the airport, but I always preferred the backroad route that took me along 140 through Ellington and East Windsor.

East Windsor’s western edge is the Connecticut River, and the place where Route 140 crosses the river is located in the village of Warehouse Point, named for a shipping warehouse built in 1636 by the founder of Springfield, Massachusetts, William Pynchon. This spot is located just below the last natural falls in the river; from there south, it’s a clear shot for an ocean-going vessel to the open sea. 

Warehouse Point has a grocery store (still the locally-owned Geissler’s, the last time I drove through), a few places to eat, the Connecticut Fire Museum, a Trolley Museum my brother and I loved as kids, a couple banks, and plenty of house—it’s a true village. Back in 1999, it also had a record store. I may be misremembering this, but I think it was called The Disc. I’m positive that its small storefront shared a building with an ice cream place. It was across the street from what’s currently a karate academy.

I only ever went in there once, on that drive home from the airport, and the only thing I bought was a used copy of Surrealistic Pillow, for $8.99. It was the original CD issue, which had horrible sound and no liner notes. Actually, in place of notes it had an advertisement in the inner fold for other CD releases on RCA, including albums and greatest hits collections for Dolly Parton, Alabama, John Denver, Eurythmics, and Taco.

The front cover also includes an incredibly ugly RCA CD emblem in the lower left corner—when record companies first started issuing their old catalogs on CD, they rarely expended much effort on giving the buyer any extra value. Perhaps they thought the novelty of a new format was enough. They certainly thought that the new format was worth bragging about. 

This kind of thing is one of the reasons I still love having a physical music collection (and I should note that the mp3 above is from a much later remaster of this album, which I have digitally). I can go through my shelves and find “Nice Price” stickers I never removed, occasional prices tags, advertisements for other releases, and notes from previous owners (this is especially true of my vinyl collection).

At one point, I had a drawer full of those inserts that record companies used to put in CD cases inviting you to order their catalog or send away to the band for more information—an oddly large number of British bands directed these messages to addresses in Leamington Spa in Warwickshire. I assume there was a company there that handled these things for numerous artists or record companies. 

I guess I might open the properties of an mp3 and find a note in the comments reminding me which blog originally posted the song for me to take it, but it’s not quite the same as a faded price tag building an association with and actual place where you once spent time. The Disc, or whatever it was called, is long gone. I don’t know what took its place. But I do remember the hand-made bins they kept their used CDs in, the tattered name cards that aided searchers, and the pull the store’s sign had on me every time I drove by all those years ago. 

The Parliaments: “All Your Goodies Are Gone (The Loser’s Seat)” (Revilot RV 211, 1967)

Before there was Parliament and Funkadelic, there was The Parliaments, George Clinton’s vocal group, which he formed at a Plainfield, New Jersey, barber shop in 1955. Comprised of Clinton, Calvin Simon, Fuzzy Haskins, Ray Davis, and Grady Thomas, they began as a doo wop group and recorded a trickle of singles that trace their evolution into a hard-edged r&b band playing funky Northern soul. 

“All Your Goodies Are Gone (The Loser’s Seat)” was one of the singles they recorded for Detroit’s Revilot label during 1967, the year they became suddenly very prolific (its b-side, “Don’t Be Sore at Me,” is nearly as good) and established their own identity. It’s my favorite song by the group when it was still called the Parliaments, and one of several they’d later revisit under the Parliament and Funkadelic banners. 

There are hints of psychedelia creeping in already, especially in the intro, and I like the way they kick it off by jumping into the chorus rather than a verse (it also pulls back on the choruses and ramps up for the verses, a nice inversion of usual expectations). 

The thing that made me think of this was hearing the 1974 version by Parliament on shuffle while I was driving the other day. That version unfailingly gets this version stuck in my head. 

Stevie Loraine & the Clansmen: “If You Always Say” (Philips ME-0196-SE, 1967)

I hardly know anything about Stevie Loraine. She was a singer from Singapore who had a brief career in the mid-1960s, releasing two four-song EPs, one with backing by a band called the Dukes, and another with backing by the Clansmen.

They both came out on Philips, which seemed to have people everywhere in the 60s—the label released music in dozens of countries, covering a huge range of styles. There was money to be made, of course—recording local beat groups in Southeast Asia served the needs of a then-burgeoning market—but in the process of turning profits, Philips gave us an enormous gift by documenting thousands of bands that never otherwise would have had the chance to record. 

One of my fantasy places would be a complete Philips vault, actually. Every release that ever came out on the label and its subsidiaries, all in one building, waiting to be listened to. You could take quite a journey across the 20th Century, through highlife, MPB, French ye-ye, progressive rock, early metal, jazz, electronic music, garage rock, New Wave, punk, disco, beat from every continent, ethnic recordings, and classical music. Fontana and Vertigo were Philips imprints. It was the first company to sell CDs commercially. 

No such vault exists, of course, and a lot of the label’s more far-flung operations didn’t preserve their original tapes, so it would be hard to even make one retroactively. From what I’ve read, their Singapore operation was one that didn’t keep its tapes.

The records are still out there, though, and a lot of them are really good. This one is among my favorites. I love Abdullah Abu’s lead guitar on this—his work on the intro makes this song feel as though it’s emerging from the mist of time. The rest of the Clansmen (rhythm guitarist Derrick Nunis, bassist Raymond Lazaroo, and drummer Philip Monteiro) are as solid as can be, too. They recorded at least one single on their own.

There’s really no American or British pop single that this song, one of two originals on the EP written specifically for Stevie by Terry Marsden, can’t hang with. Loraine’s voice was powerful, and she clearly was a true English speaker—the hesitation in the pronunciation is often one of the few things holding singles like this from around the world back. Nothing holds this one back, though—it’s a perfect song.

UK Prog, Volume One Notes

UK Prog, Volume One: 1963-1967 Dawning

Volume One has to start somewhere, and it might as well be the beginning. There’s no particularly convenient point of origin for what we came to call progressive rock. It’s more like a tree with a lot of roots, and what I’m trying to do on this volume is expose some of the roots and how they fed into the evolution of the genre, which itself never really had one trunk so much as several springing from the same root system.

I’m saying it’s complicated to define exactly what is and isn’t progressive rock, and my criteria are going to be as subjective as anyone else’s, though I should note that I’m trying to be as eclectic as possible on these volumes. I’ll be skipping over plenty—most years will be represented by two CD-length volumes, so omissions are unavoidable—so apologies to Dantalian’s Chariot and others who didn’t make the cut. Here’s what’s on Volume One and why I included it:

  1. Delia Derbyshire & Ron Grainer: Dr. Who Main Title 2:10 (Opening title theme of the BBC show “Dr. Who” 1963-1970, Decca F.11837, 1964)

    The Dr. Who theme seems as good a place as any to start. Composed by Ron Grainer, it was then re-composed and electronically assembled by the BBC Radiophonic Workshop’s Delia Derbyshire, who built it entirely out of samples and tape snippets. It’s a startlingly modern-sounding piece of music, and I think it’s a landmark—most of the musicians you’ll hear on these volumes heard it, and it must have been an ear-opener. I toyed with the wobbly early synthesizer parts on the Tornados’ 1962 hit “Telstar” for an opener, but Dr. Who seems to loom larger for where the music went. For direct evidence, see the mid-section of Pink Floyd’s “One Of These Days,” in which they quote this theme.  

  2. The Yardbirds: Happenings Ten Years Time Ago 2:57 (A-side of Columbia 45 DB 8024, 1966)

    The Yardbirds were one of the greatest talent incubators of the London scene in the 60s, and with time nearly everyone in the band went on to do some work in or at least near the prog rock realm. “Happenings” finds its way into this running order mostly because of the ambition of its arrangement and the sophistication of its production. This is psychedelia about a year ahead of schedule, and it bursts with the kinds of riffage and on-a-dime turns that would become trademarks of the symphonic prog subgenre.

  3. The Wilde Flowers: Impotence 2:10 (Unreleased recording, possibly 1966; this version could have been recorded as late as 1969)

    The Wilde Flowers never actually released any music during their lifetime, but they made some recordings, and from a historical perspective, it’s hard to find a band that harbored more 70s prog luminaries during their early years than this one, which was basically Ground Zero for the Canterbury scene. Hugh and Brian Hopper, Richard and Dave Sinclair, Robert Wyatt, Kevin Ayers, Daevid Allen, Pye Hastings and Richard Coughlan all passed through its ranks—without the Wilde Flowers, there may have been no Caravan, Soft Machine or Gong. Wyatt sings lead on this demo, which may have been recorded during a brief re-convening of the band in 1969—I know that the song existed in ‘66, though, and the band is an essential root of the prog tree.

  4. The Beatles: Tomorrow Never Knows 3:00 (From the Parlophone stereo LP Revolver, 1966)

    A lot of people point to Sgt. Pepper’s as the true proto-prog document, but honestly, I think the Beatles were there much earlier. Their love of experimentation gave scads of musicians, established and neophyte, the inspiration to take things in new directions. I considered going with something less obvious, such as George Harrison’s raga-rock workout “Love You To,” but really, if there’s a true opening shot for prog, it has to be this, with its strange beat, weird loops, and mystical lyrics.  

  5. The Who: A Quick One, While He’s Away 9:11 (From the Reaction/Polydor LP A Quick One, 1966)

    Or, for another option, how about this nine-minute embryo of the concept album by the Who? Pete Townshend laid the groundwork for Tommy here (the plot is even somewhat similar), and the song’s suite-like construction became, for better or worse, one of the cliches of prog rock.

  6. Pink Floyd: Interstellar Overdrive (Sound Techniques version) 16:53 (Recorded at Sound Techniques, January 1967; from the soundtrack to Tonite Let’s All Make Love In London)

    Strictly speaking, the first release of “Interstellar Overdrive” was the album version from Piper at the Gates of Dawn, but this version, recorded earlier, is much more illustrative of what Pink Floyd was like in concert, and it was onstage in 1966 and 1967, with their light show and penchant for expansive free improvisation, that the band cemented its place as the inventor of cosmic rock. The Paul Butterfield Blues Band got on record with group improv first with 1966’s “East West,” but this was something further out.

  7. The Jimi Hendrix Experience: If 6 Was 9 5:33 (From the Track Records LP Axis: Bold As Love, 1967)

    Wait a second, Hendrix was American. Right? Well, yes. But during 1967, he had a British band (Noel Redding and Mitch Mitchell) and a British producer (Chas Chandler) and was very much a part of the London scene. The Experience headlined the definitive proto-prog package tour in November and December, 1967, with the Move, Pink Floyd, Outer Limits, Eire Apparent, Amen Corner, Pete Drummond, and the Nice, and the studio and compositional experimentation of the Hendrix Experience albums was an important stepping stone on the way to prog.  

  8. Jeff Beck: Beck’s Bolero 2:55 (B-side of Columbia 45 DB 8151, 1967)

    Classical pretensions are another of the great prog rock cliches, and here we have one of the earliest examples. This is not actually a cover of Ravel’s “Bolero,” but that piece of music was what Jimmy Page and Jeff Beck had in mind when they cut this track in May, 1966 with a band consisting of themselves, Keith Moon, Nicky Hopkins, and John Paul Jones. It wasn’t released until 1967, and then only as a b-side, but this laid out a template for the many, many bands that would follow with their own interpretations and references to classical music.

  9. Traffic: Heaven Is In Your Mind 4:15 (From the Island LP Mr. Fantasy, 1967)

    Traffic are one of the great gray-area prog bands. Most of their music doesn’t quite fit the mold, even when the mold is defined liberally, but on their early records especially, you can hear seeds being planted, particularly in the shifting rhythms and eclectic instrumentation. The saxophone is one of the most important instruments in certain types of prog rock, and Chris Wood’s use of sax in Traffic helped establish a different style of playing, integrated with the band, rather than as a strictly solo or section-based instrument.

  10. Kaleidoscope: A Dream For Julie 2:47 (From the Fontana LP Tangerine Dream, 1967)

    The lyrics are a veritable buffet of psychedelic cliches (tangerine clouds, strawberry monkeys, etc.), but the Kaleidoscope’s widescreen approach to psychedelia represents as well as any other the kind of expansiveness that most prog musicians were grasping for, particularly in the early going.

  11. The Syn: 14 Hour Technicolor Dream 2:56 (B-side of Deram 45 DM 145, 1967)

    This song is written about a fundraising concert, headlined by Pink Floyd, for the International Times, the then-fledgling counterculture newspaper (The Crazy World of Arthur Brown, The Move, Soft Machine, The Pretty Things, Savoy Brown and Sam Gopal were also on the bill). It was a major cultural moment for Swinging London; in paying tribute to it, The Syn were grabbing a little bit of the zeitgeist for themselves. The band was also a sort of precursor to Yes; it was the first band bassist Chris Squire and original Yes guitarist Peter Banks played in together.

  12. The Pretty Things: Defecting Grey 5:14 (A-side of Columbia 45 DB 8300, 1967)

    As The Pretty Things began work on the first full-length rock opera, S.F. Sorrow, they recorded a few songs that fell outside the scope of the project. One of them was “Defecting Grey,” released as a flop single in late 1967. The song features the suite-like union of disparate sections, one a sort of lilting, slow-motion two-step, and the other a nasty, up-tempo psychedelic barrage. My favorite moment is when the bass kicks in after that dry guitar introduces the up-tempo section. You feel the whole song shift into overdrive instantly. The Pretty Things didn’t ever get to take their rightful place in the prog vanguard, toiling in commercial obscurity through 1970, before breaking up. They re-formed in 1972, but lacked stability and just never broke through. They’ll have settle for being there at the beginning.

  13. Procol Harum: Cerdes (Outside The Gates Of) 5:06 (From the Regal Zonophone LP Procol Harum, 1967)

    Procol Harum are one of the pre-eminent proto-prog acts. “A Whiter Shade of Pale” quoted Bach and topped the chart, and they toyed with concept albums and even released one of the earliest side-long tracks (of which more on Volume Two). I chose “Cerdes” over “Repent Walpurgis” mostly because “Repent” was featured on Rhino’s Supernatural Fairytales prog box back in the 90s, and I’m trying not to repeat that set. “Cerdes” makes my point nicely in its own right, though, with its slow, sort of funk-derived beat, and in particular Robin Trower’s blistering guitar solo, which pointed toward the role extended solos and lead playing would figure in the music going forward.

  14. The Moody Blues: Love and Beauty (mono) 2:26 (A-side of Decca 45 F 12670, 1967 (double A-side with “Leave This Man Alone”)

    I thought of going with “Nights in White Satin,” because, well, it’s awesome, and it has pretty much every ingredient you might want for a compilation exploring the advent of prog rock, but it occurred to me that there aren’t a whole lot of people who need to be introduced to that song. If you don’t find it, there’s a good chance it’ll eventually find you. Instead, I’m going with “Love And Beauty,” which found the reconstituted Moody Blues dumping their old r&b sound in favor of a lush pop direction. Michael Pinder’s Mellotron makes its first appearance in the band’s music here, and this is also one of the earliest uses of the instrument on a pop record. And anyone who loves prog knows that the Mellotron is pretty much the mascot of progressive rock.

  15. Chad & Jeremy: The Progress Suite: Epilogue 5:12 (From the Columbia LP Of Cabbages And Kings, 1967)

    Chad & Jeremy are best known for their 1964 folk-pop hit “A Summer Song,” and they’re not a name that comes immediately to mind when someone mentions prog rock. On their 1967 LP Of Cabbages And Kings, though, they had a major brush with proto-prog, covering side two of the album with “The Progress Suite,” five related and heavily orchestrated songs and instrumentals that work as a cycle. It’s also stuffed with sitar and very heavy-handed lyrics on the state of the world, but it’s undeniably ambitious, and this final section works pretty well. Not all of prog’s roots are in places you’d expect.

  16. The Nice: Rondo 8:18 (From the Immediate LP The Thoughts Of Emerlist Davjack, 1967)

    And here we are. This is prog rock in its most undiluted form. This is a cover of Dave Brubeck’s “Blue Rondo Alla Turk,” but organist Keith Emerson just can’t help himself, throwing in a bit of Bach “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor” during his long solo (he made a habit of playing it opposite-handed in concert, during the same routine in which he attacked his organ with a knife given to him by future Motorhead leader Lemmy, who was a roadie for The Nice). It’s bombastic and unabashed in its pretensions, and it’s also pretty damned exciting. The Thoughts of Emerlist Davjack (the band members were Emerson, guitarist Davy O’List, bassist/vocalist Lee Jackson and drummer Brian Davison) is sometimes cited as the first full-blown progressive rock album, and it is a good candidate, dropping at the end of 1967 and fairly well synthesizing all of the developments we’ve been reviewing to this point. The funny thing about it is that they took Brubeck’s song from a tricky meter (9/8) to the much more straightforward 4/4.

UK Prog, Volume One: 1963-1967 Dawning

Here is Volume One, which explores the music that laid the groundwork for progressive rock. Tracklist below, comments to follow in the next post. Get it here

  1. Delia Derbyshire & Ron Grainer: “Dr. Who Main Title” 2:10
  2. The Yardbirds: “Happenings Ten Years Time Ago” 2:57 
  3. The Wilde Flowers: “Impotence” 2:10
  4. The Beatles: “Tomorrow Never Knows” 3:00
  5. The Who: “A Quick One, While He’s Away” 9:11
  6. Pink Floyd: “Interstellar Overdrive” (Sound Techniques version) 16:53
  7. The Jimi Hendrix Experience: “If 6 Was 9” 5:33
  8. Jeff Beck: “Beck’s Bolero” 2:55
  9. Traffic: “Heaven Is In Your Mind” 4:15
  10. Kaleidoscope: “A Dream For Julie” 2:47
  11. The Syn: “14 Hour Technicolor Dream” 2:56
  12. The Pretty Things: “Defecting Grey” 5:14
  13. Procol Harum: “Cerdes (Outside The Gates Of)” 5:06
  14. The Moody Blues: “Love and Beauty” (mono) 2:26
  15. Chad & Jeremy: “The Progress Suite: Epilogue” 5:12
  16. The Nice: “Rondo” 8:18

First Five On The Shuffle 2

Dennis Wilson: “Love Remember Me” (Bambu (The Caribou Sessions), 1978)

I’ve had Bambu hanging around on my hard drive for a long time but have never listened to it. So this is the first bit of it I’ve heard, and I guess I can see the potential of this material, but in execution, it’s pretty rough. There’s something innately powerful about the big, repeated chorus with all its layers—the phrase “love comes tumbling down on you” could be read a lot of ways, but Wilson’s fried lead vocal makes me think he’s either headed to a dark place or already there. It could have done without the bombastic lead guitar, certainly. It’s hard to reconcile this Dennis Wilson with the quite surfer and beach bum that he was in the 60s. He was the only surfer in the group when they formed, but died at 39, drowning while diving to find things he’d thrown off his boat. This is one of those recordings that just feels a little too close to someone’s personal deterioration for me to listen to comfortably.

The Louvin Brothers: “Don’t Laugh” (Handpicked Songs 1955-1962, 1955) 

Dennis Wilson’s life had its share of strife (I didn’t mention the chapter starring Charles Manson above), and strife was also familiar to the Louvin Brothers. Charlie passed away last year after a long, productive and pretty stable life, but the other Louvin Brother, Ira, was the complete opposite, a drunk who died in a car accident in 1965 after being married to four women, one of whom shot him after becoming fed up with his abuse. Together, they made some really great music, and “Don’t Laugh” is a really fine song. Recorded in 1955, it wasn’t released until 1968; my mp3 is from Light in the Attic’s recent Louvins compilation, and it was chosen for the set by the Byrds’ Chris Hillman.

Cortijo y Su Nuevo Combo: “Tum-Bin” (Champions, 1975)

Rafael Cortijo was a Puerto Rican percussionist about whom I know very little aside from his origins and the fact that he lived from 1928 to 1982. Oh, and that this is a bright and fleet-footed song with great horns and a totally infectious rhythm. My mp3 has “salsa” as the genre, but I think a more correct tag would be bomba, though I’m not really an expert on Puerto Rican styles and could be wrong—it’s just that salsa’s more of a catch-all term than a true genre designation. Anyway, that’s hand-wringing. This is hip-shaking.

Pink Floyd: “The Amazing Pudding” (Broadcasting From Europa 1 bootleg, 1970)

Ah, yes, “The Amazing Pudding.” This is really just another title for the “Atom Heart Mother Suite,” and is usually applied to versions played only by the four-piece band, without the choir and the horn section. Generally, I like these versions more than the orchestral/choral ones, because one of the best things about Pink Floyd in the late 60s and early 70s was their improvisatory inventiveness and the way they made the same six or seven pieces of music into something different each night. They always sound hamstrung playing with that orchestra and choir, but these four-piece versions of that piece of music open right up. This is one of the very best recordings of “The Amazing Pudding,” taped for radio broadcast in France at the Theatre Champs-Elysees in Paris on January 23rd, 1970. I love what Rick Wright does with those ponderous horn parts when he transposes them to the organ. Incidentally, the Broadcasting from Europa 1 bootleg also includes an orchestral version of the suite and is worth tracking down (it’s available on quite a few blogs).

The Ventures: “Western Union” (Super Psychedelics, 1967) 

After sixteen minutes of Pink Floyd’s monumental take on psychedelia, I get a little bit of whiplash taking in the Ventures’ bouncy idea of the same thing. Really, this just signals that the Ventures were groping for a way forward as psychedelia passed them by. Which is not to say it doesn’t have its brightly colored charms, because it does (really, it’s like a sonic equivalent of a Runts dispenser). The Ventures were past their prime when they recorded this, they were still a good band,and this is fun stuff to have around.

Hear these tracks here.

The Rolling Stones: “2,000 Light Years From Home” (Their Satanic Majesties Request, 1967)

The Rolling Stones didn’t understand psychedelia at all. Mostly at the behest of Brian Jones, they’d done plenty of interesting things with arrangements—think the marimba on “Under My Thumb” and the sitar on “Paint It, Black”—but when they tried to make their own psychedelic opus along the lines of Sgt. Pepper, which came out in June, 1967, the result was uneven at best and laughable at worst.

They spent all of 1967 working on that opus, recording from February through October and finally releasing Their Satanic Majesties Request in December. During this period, Keith Richards, Mick Jagger and Brian Jones were all tied up in court cases surrounding their drug use. Bill Wyman and Charlie Watts were the only guys that consistently showed up on time, ready to work, without big entourages. Producer Andrew Loog Oldham was so disgusted with the band’s lack of progress that he quit, leaving them to produce the album themselves.

Wyman expressed his bemusement more constructively by writing a song. “In Another Land,” which features Wyman himself delivering the lead vocal through a thick hazy of Leslie speaker and processing, is basically a parody of psychedelia written to poke fun at the band’s drug-related legal problems. It’s terrible, but I get the impression that Wyman is the Rolling Stone I most would have liked to hang out with.

The rest of the LP is full of moves that feint toward various elements of counterculture without fully embracing them. “Sing This All Together” is both communal sing-along and freakout and isn’t good as either, and there are patched-in horn arrangements and diversions into sound sculpture that sound like no one was really running the show. And with Oldham out of the picture no one was.

As a look at where the Stones could have gone but didn’t, though, it’s a record worth listening to at least once, and it does have its moments. “She’s A Rainbow” is amusing Technicolor pop-psych—not brilliant songwriting, but John Paul Jones’ string arrangement and creative use of Mellotron saves it.

The best song is “2,000 Light Years From Home,” which is unlike anything else the band did. Some of the sonics are datable to their era (though I wouldn’t call them dated, really), but the overall feel of the song and the way the rhythm slips along strike me as very ahead of their time. Rock wasn’t usually about groove during this period, but I think this song is.

Mick Jagger supposedly wrote the lyrics while sitting in prison awaiting word on his appeal of a drug conviction. They make a lot of sense in that context—in prison, you might as well be millions of miles away for all the interaction you get to have with the world.

What I think works best about this song over the others on Their Satanic Majesties, though, is that it doesn’t sound like a band running to catch up with the psychedelic crowd. They’re doing something unique in the context of the moment—even the guitar tones are forward-thinking.

The Stones never even tried to go here again. Instead, they got back to basics and made some classic rock album that I don’t like as much as a lot of other people do, but I credit them for understanding their strengths and returning to them after this experiment.

My version of SMiLE

So here’s my version of SMiLE. It’s set up programmatically, with call-backs to “Heroes & Villains” that occur less frequently as the album progresses to the end. Side four also includes a very brief callback to “Our Prayer” at the end of “In Blue Hawaii.” It of course ends with “Surf’s Up,” followed by a vocal wisp called “You’re Welcome” that I think works pretty nicely to clear the air at the end.

Side One 16:09

  1. Our Prayer 1:06
  2. Gee/Heroes & Villains (extended edit) 6:42
  3. Cool Cool Water 3:03
  4. Barnyard 1:20
  5. Do You Like Worms? 3:59

Side Two 15:19

  1. The Old Master Painter/You Are My Sunshine 1:10
  2. He Gives Speeches 0:55
  3. Wonderful 2:01
  4. The Child Is Father To The Man 1:52
  5. Cabinessence 3:32
  6. Earth Chant (instrumental) 4:14
  7. Bicycle Rider 1:38

Side Three 15:26

  1. Good Vibrations 3:35
  2. Look 2:39
  3. Vegetables 3:27
  4. Holidays 2:25
  5. Wonderful (insert) 0:52
  6. Wind Chimes 2:31

Side Four 14:26

  1. Water Chant 0:56
  2. In Blue Hawaii 2:58
  3. Mrs. O’Leary’s Cow 2:13
  4. I Wanna Be Around/Friday Night 1:30
  5. I Love To Say Da Da 1:32
  6. Surf’s Up 4:12
  7. You’re Welcome 1:07

Download this version here.