Pawns In High Spain: In Defence of "Bluejeans and Moonbeams"

Yes, it has been a while since I last posted on this here blog thing.  But I’ve finally found the time to pick an unfairly maligned subject and try to prove that they have some worth.  This time, it’s the turn of Captain Beefheart & The Magic Band’s 1974 album Bluejeans and Moonbeams.

I have been a massive Beefheart fan since I was a teenager, going in right at the deep end with 1969’s monumental Trout Mask Replica.  Even now, there’s still so much to unpack, savour and marvel at – one-of-a-kind arrangements, supremely intricate musicianship and a truly mad genius front and centre, throwing words and musical notations around the room just to see what happens.

 

 
Enough has been written about Don Van Vliet – ranging from Bill Harkleroad’s revelatory “Lunar Notes”, Mike Barnes’ wide-ranging biography “Captain Beefheart” and John French’s long-winded “Beefheart: Through The Eyes Of Magic” – that there really is nothing worth adding, and let’s not forget Elaine Shepherd’s 1997 documentary “The Artist Formerly Known As Captain Beefheart” and the impeccable Captain Beefheart Radar Station website (www.beefheart.com) which is chock-full of information and resources.  So instead, let’s turn our attention to an album of his that is considered the lowest point of his musical career.  One that’s glossed over as quickly as possible.

1974 was possibly Mr Van Vliet’s nadir, at least in terms of his musical career.  Having decided to tone his musical output down with the aim of commercial success, he had cut two albums (The Spotlight Kid, Clear Spot) which showed that he and The Magic Band could make relatively commercial slices of uncategorizable rock without completely compromising and making a proper effort.  Clear Spot in particular is probably his most coherent and engaging effort, combining stellar musicianship and the perfectly attuned production courtesy of Little Feat collaborator Ted Templeman.  It was a miracle that they all pulled it off, however the record only made it to #191 in the US charts and failed to chart in the UK, where Beefheart had a loyal and dedicated fanbase.  Beefheart left his current label, Warner Bros, and tried to find a new manager that would finally give him the big break that he wanted.

The infamous Andy DiMartino came on board and got Van Vliet and co. signed to Virgin (in the UK) and Mercury (in the US).  The band at this time featured Trout Mask/Decals-era stalwarts Bill Harkleroad, Mark Boston and Art Tripp, as well as the returning Alex St Clair Snouffer, the man behind the original Magic Band’s formation.  The resulting album Unconditionally Guaranteed is a disaster.  To me, this album is THE worst Beefheart record.  There is no life or spark to the album whatsoever.  The songs are trite, the band have been shorn of their edge and creativity and even Don sounds bored and tired.

The Magic Band then quit on him prior to a European tour, so DiMartino corralled some last-minute replacements who then had to scrape together a set within days of departing.  The resulting line-up has often been referred to as ‘The Tragic Band’ but to be fair they did the best they could at such ridiculously short notice.  In fact, their performance of ‘Upon The My-O-My’ on the Old Grey Whistle Test is far superior to the LP version, if only for the more powerful and snarling vocal performance.  A live version of ‘Full Moon, Hot Sun’ from a French gig, while pedestrian is still more lively than the official cut.

Shortly afterwards, the band fell apart whilst Van Vliet and DiMartino figured out what to do next.  The former’s plan involved meeting up with ex-Mothers of Invention and on-off Magic Band guitarist Elliot Ingber and his brother Ira to write some simple catchy tunes, possibly as a last ditch Project: Mersh attempt.

In an interview for the “Captain Beefheart: Under Review” documentary from 2006, Ira Ingber explained: My brother, myself and a fellow named Mark Gibbons, a very gifted keyboard player, got together here in Los Angeles and I think at the time Don was still living in North California…so we started writing songs.  It seemed innocent enough…Don had some ideas, he had lots of lyrics as I remember.  We ended up rehearsing then started recording…I think consciously we were staying away from [the] Magic Band because I think anything even remotely resembling Magic Band for Don was something where he didn’t want to go…but because of who he is they went that direction anyway.

Hitching up with Tragic Band members Michael Smotherman (keyboards), Dean Smith (guitar) and Ty Grimes (percussion),  as well as Jimmy Caravan (keyboards), Bob West (bass) and Gene Pello (drums), this makeshift unit were shoved into Stronghold Sound Recorders, a budget studio within North Hollywood in August 1974 to put an album together.   Smotherman later recounted that the album took 2 days to record.

When interviewed for Mike Barnes’ 2000 book, Smotherman said: Don was just as confused as he could be throughout the whole process.  He would sit there in a chair and sing, and he had no idea when to come in or when to stop.  Count-offs didn’t mean anything to him,  One time, about two o’clock in the morning, I had to go out and sit beside him in a chair.  When it was time for him to sing, I had my hand on the back of his neck and I would push his face up to the microphone and he would start singing.  And when it was time to stop I would pull him back gently.

Of particular note, you may notice that aside from two co-writing credits, Elliot Ingber is absent from the credits on the album.  Van Vliet himself claimed that Elliot’s parts were wiped from the tapes by DiMartino, but as the man made bizarre and contradictive remarks about the same subject many times over who knows what the real story is.  If his claim is true and Dean Smith is responsible for all guitar parts, he does a more than serviceable job, with some neat Spotlight/Clear Spot fuzzy slide work throughout, and unlike his contributions throughout the ill-fated 1974 tour, he kept his proto-Knopfler licks to a minimum.

If Van Vliet was considerably disorientated throughout the sessions, his voice (for the most part) remains in fine fettle and is a damn sight more convincing and confident than on the previous album, particularly in the opening number: ‘The Party Of Special Things To Do’.  Even if the opening verse (“the cowboy wore a nightie in the party of special things to do”) doesn’t have the same original spark of Trout Mask the song is more than serviceable and still full of Southern-fried boogie involving the Red Queen and the One-Eyed Jill (“all the cards”).

A serviceable cover of JJ Cale’s ‘Same Old Blues’ comes up next, featuring a reasonably gruff and moody Van Vliet vocal accompanied on the choruses by Smotherman, who later elaborated to Mike Barnes that “All those obnoxious vocals that you hear in the background – that’s me.  There were supposed to be some other people singing background and then DiMartino thought he could get me to sing all the background for cheaper.”

‘Observatory Crest’ follows shortly after and is possibly the highlight of the album for me.  The musical accompaniment is full of open space and the guitar playing is appropriately tidy and tasteful.  Van Vliet sings about him and his missus watching a concert where they “heard all the best” before stopping near an observatory where “the sand was hot/she wanted to dance.”  Simple enough, but it has a nice laid-back melody and was often picked out by reviews as possibly being the brightest spark on the whole platter.  Mercury Rev later covered the session for a BBC Radio session in 1999, and even my wife loved the song (this song was playing in the registry office while everyone was being seated, so go figure…)

“Is he talking to me? Right…” asks a befuddled Captain as ‘Pompadour Swamp’ starts up.  Another pleasant (noticing a theme here?) number which is not as disposable as some reviewers claim.  For an album that was recorded in a hurry almost as an afterthought, this track is a fine example of some effort being made in song arrangement.  On the whole, the album has a bit more spark and life to it than the repetitive, uneventful plod-plod-plod of Unconditionally Guaranteed.  Van Vliet is in fine form with the rasping delivery of yore conjuring an abstract tale, the title of which was borrowed from one of many works-in-progress originally demo’d back in 1972 (the original music was eventually revised as ‘Suction Prints’ on 1978’s Shiny Beast).

The closing track on side 1 is still a bone of contention and somewhat of a mystery. ‘Captain’s Holiday’ may not even be a Magic Band recording.  Smotherman: “As a matter of fact, I think that track was on a 24-track reel that nobody had picked up.”  As an unidentified chorus of ladies coo “Ooh captain, captain/play your melody” the instrumental track goes on as some half-hearted harmonica playing and soft-rock guitar action take turns popping up here and there.  Maybe it’s me living in hope, but there may be more to the song than that: Smotherman’s main choice of keyboard during the Tragic Band tour was a clavinet which can also be heard on the track, and the harmonica playing does have a slight hint of Van Vliet.  There’s no doubting Andy DiMartino’s pragmatic pilfering of the multitrack, but overdubs may have been attempted as a way of trying to make it blend in with the rest of the album.  Is it worth elaborating further?  The track is nothing special.  As Don himself sang on the previous album “lazy music’s got me laying back and laying down.”

‘Rock ‘n’ Roll’s Evil Doll’ greets us at the start of side 2 with some fuzzed and wobbly slide guitar playing and squelchy clavinet as Beefheart weaves a simple tale of said doll chasing him down “rock ‘n’ roll’s evil hall”.  Yet again, nothing special but it’s serviceable enough.  Co-writer Ira Ingber makes a good stab at some bass work near the end, as does Dean Smith’s multi-tracked guitar work.

Don Van Vliet transmogrifies into the Walrus of Love for ‘Further Than We’ve Gone’, a self-penned ballad that honestly cannot hold a candle to the genuinely beautiful and tender ‘Her Eyes Are A Blue Million Miles’ from Clear Spot.  There’s no denying that this song goes on a bit and while frothy and syrupy it’s superior to the same year’s horrid ‘This Is The Day’.

‘Twist Ah Luck’ brings the pace up a bit and is like a livelier version of Unconditionally Guaranteed’s closer ‘Peaches’, as if the latter has had a quick gulp of Lucozade to get some energy going.

The closing number ‘Bluejeans and Meanbeams’ is a nice and gentle little slow burner, replete with acoustic guitar picking and what sounds like a Mellotron.  Like the rest of the album, there’s not much substance to this number but is a welcome change of pace to the usual Beefheart aural assault (or the “exploding note theory” as he later described it).  It really is quite lovely with some delicate electric guitar runs and a basic-as-basic-can-be snare and bass drum accompaniment.  Even the prominent synthesizer twinkles near the end don’t spoil the overall atmosphere of the track and is more proof that Beefheart could genuinely sing in tune when the mood took him.

Upon its release in November that year, reviews for Bluejeans and Moonbeams leaned towards the negative.  Melody Maker’s Allan Jones (and future alt country-enabler) mentioned that the title track was “almost worth the price of the album” but apart from that, he wrote that “this album has some difficulty in justifying its existence”, all under the headline “NO MORE MAGIC.”  Lou Reed’s best mate, Robert ‘Toefucker’ Christgau gave it a B-, preferring it to Unconditionally Guaranteed.

Retrospective reviews are still considerably negative but are not content to write the whole thing off.  In a 1999 review on the Perfect Sound Forever website, Scott McFarland remarked “the record has its moments of minor-league charm, but bears little relationship to the rest of Beefheart’s extraordinary catalogue” and also says that Bluejeans is much more preferable to its predecessor, though is still greatly flawed:  “The songs are less overtly maudlin, and the sound is more relaxed…the music is well recorded, which at times just highlights the vacuousness of the whole project.”

As for the musicians present in the sessions, Ira Ingber later commented: I was disappointed…it sounded like there [were] way too much gratuitous effects – there was some early synthesizer stuff that sounded just godawful to me.  The crispness and the tightness of Clear Spot was gone.  It seemed very watery to me, it didn’t seem to have the impact that I remember it having in the studio…I was very disappointed [with] the way it sounded and very disappointed obviously with the reviews that I saw here because they were predominantly very, very negative. (Under Review, 2006)

As for the Cap?  Once the album was done and dusted, he immediately went out into the desert and DiMartino exited the picture.  Before simply refusing to discuss his DiMartino-produced albums entirely, he moaned that Mercury put Bluejeans out without his knowledge, that the original drum parts he arranged were wiped and re-recorded by someone else, etc.  For all of his unique talents, Don Van Vliet had a most unfortunate habit of blaming others for any faults in his work – read up on his underrated 1968 LP Strictly Personal for more details – but as Barnes pointed out, Van Vliet should’ve been more honest and take an equal portion of the blame for how the record turned out.  He wanted a stab a commercial success and despite the dispiriting path it took him down, it was his decision and no-one else’s.

After retiring to the desert to think about things (and not become a lumberjack as he reported to the press at the time), he decided to put together another iteration of the Magic Band (featuring John French, Elliot Ingber, Jimmy Carl Black and Bruce Fowler) in time for a triumphant performance at Knebworth Festival in 1975 followed by a short European tour.  With these performances considered a true return-to-form, the reinvigorated Beefheart and his conveyor belt of Magic Band inductees recorded four more wonderfully inventive and spiky albums up until Van Vliet’s decision to retire from music in 1982 and concentrate on his art.

In French’s book “Through The Eyes Of Magic” he recounts a story of bumping into Don not long after the album was released.  Don remarked that “the only good thing about this album is the cover”.  Painted by Van Vliet’s cousin, Victor Hayden, the cover is quite delightful and seemingly features what could be a deer jumping or gliding over a fence.  Yet again, another plus over Unconditionally Guaranteed, whose cover was messy, poorly executed and with borderline unreadable text plastered on the bottom.  The Bluejeans cover, like ‘Observatory Crest’ is uncluttered, full of space and pleasing.

Over the past decades, a few affectionate nods towards Bluejeans and Moonbeams have appeared.  In an interview with Smash Hits Magazine in December 1980, Kate Bush nominated the album as part of her top ten favourite albums, claiming “…this is the Beefheart album where he writes love songs like nobody else.”  As well as Mercury Rev’s aforementioned cover listed above, The White Stripes covered ‘The Party Of Special Things To Do’ for a 2000 Beefheart tribute EP bearing the same title. 

While Bluejeans and Moonbeams certainly does not represent Captain Beefheart’s oeuvre as a whole, and I am certainly not trying to claim that it is, it is certainly worth reinvestigating and it has been a fun experience examining it and noting that it does have some redeeming features.  In fact, if you squint a bit, it can comfortably sit beside 1978’s First Taste by Juicy Groove, another gang of misfits including Mars Bonfire of Steppenwolf as well Beefheart alumni Gary Marker and Elliot Ingber.

Sketch For Summer: Ten Albums For A Stifling Season

 

After a massive rainy delay, summer is finally here.  When I was younger I used to hate the summertime (mainly because I was quite sensitive to hayfever as a kid), but now I am far more amenable to it.  I much prefer the time of the year – despite the sticky sleepless nights – it’s much more preferable to freezing your bits off while trying to sleep, or worrying about your heating bills.

 

In the spirit of the wonderful inferno surrounding us, I have decided to share 10 (or 11 if you're trying to catch me out) of my favourite go-to summer tapes.

Gene Clark – White Light (1971)

I heard this gem only a few years ago.  I loved his work with The Byrds (although he didn’t appear on their finest song – “Lady Friend” – his contributions were always the highlights) and read about his mythical solo albums via Barney Hoskyns’ chronicle of the LA singer-songwriter scene of the 60s and 70s (Hotel California).  It was probably Brian Walsby’s biographical comic strip (available in his book Manchild #1) that made me take the plunge.  He made me a fan of Bl’ast! so why not have a gander at Mr Clark’s oeuvre.

His work has been covered in far more detail by far more scholarly types, but I’ll just say his initial run of spiritual and mournful yet sagely and cosmic country balladry was an intoxicating delight.  Sorrow and cynicism run throughout from a voice although defeated in the spirit, was still there in the mind albeit marinated in drugs and booze. While his 1974 follow-up No Other gets all the love, White Light is the keeper for me.  With a simple production combining Gene’s ethereally-mixed voice with Jesse Ed Davis’ wonderfully effective guitar work, it sounds stark yet gorgeous.  It reminds me of the depressive side of the booze starting to take effect while out and about, leaving you lost in thought, ruminating and second-guessing outside in the warm August air. 

Side 1 is full of great stuff (opening selections “The Virgin” and “With Tomorrow” work as excellent showcases for Clark’s heartbreaking voice and fully fleshed out arrangements), but Side 2 is the side that almost brings out the tears and is so casually performed that it really delivers a devastating blow.  Starting off with “For A Spanish Guitar”, Jesse and Gene deliver a stunning performance that even Bob Dylan lavished praise on.  Bringing in a few more players, “Where My Love Lies Asleep” carries on in this vein until we hit the definitive cover of Dylan’s “Tears Of Rage.”  I adore this version.  It is magisterially subtle and deliberately underplayed and Gene’s sorrowful delivery could melt the hearts of the most stony faced cynic.  This version works and excels far beyond The Band’s whining, overwrought proto-bank advert version, much like a sniper rifle to Robbie Robertson’s antique Canadian musket.

Clinic – Internal Wrangler (1999)

I bought this as a teenager living in East Anglia, just starting to buy the music press monthlies.  This recommendation came with the highest recommendation from Uncut magazine, just before their descent into endless issues devoted to alternative country.  Luckily for me, I started checking it out while it was still full of stuff that I wanted to devour: interview with Jim Jarmusch, articles about the recently unbanned The Driller Killer and editor Allan Jones’ hilarious tales of getting shitfaced with Nick Lowe and Dr Feelgood.  If I remember rightly, Clinic’s debut album came out around the time summer broke and it was the perfect soundtrack for an anxious fatso furiously sweating his way around Ipswich town centre, avoiding eye contact with everyone while these short and sharp claustrophobic blocks of catchy noise-rock blasted through my eardrums.

The whole album is impeccably put together for a 30-minute full length.  Even the quick throwaway tracks work as transition pieces.  Everything has its place, with the angry melodica-driven swagger of “The Return Of Evil Bill” and the speed-and-whiskey driven punch of “2/4” blending seamlessly next to the low energy malevolence of “The Second Line” and enigmatically knackered “Earth Angel” and “Distortions”.  For me the highlights of the set are the Velvets-meet-Chinnichap ditty “2nd Foot Stomp” and “Goodnight Georgie”, one of the best sign-offs pressed to plastic.  Subsequent albums just repeated the formula and were a gradual exercise in disappointment. Walking With Thee went to the shop after a week and Winchester Cathedral went back on the day of purchase.  Still, Clinic gave us the furious majesty of their early EPs and Internal Wrangler and they never get old. 

 
The Durutti Column – Sex And Death (1994)

Manchester’s secret weapon, The Durutti Column have been releasing tons of albums bringing in influences as varied as folk, classical, electronics and world music, but never sound cliched.  Although the opening track from their debut The Return Of The Durutti Column (1979) gave this article its name, the remainder of the album as well as subsequent ones always had a cold and distant quality to them.  That’s not a slight at all – the uninitiated should investigate LPs such as The Return…, LC (1981) and Vini Reilly (1988) – but Sex And Death is probably the only DC tape that has a warm enveloping sound to it.

Considered by quite a number of people to be one of the weakest Durutti albums, this album holds a special place in my heart for a number of reasons.  It holds up a lot better than the reviews would suggest.  Tracks like “The Rest Of My Life”, “For Colette” and “Fado” burst with colour, which singles this album out as an anomaly.  Although some of their material remains stuck in the time it was created (Another Setting and Obey The Time), DC founder Reilly has a unique way with regards to mixing.  Even on albums such as this and the follow-up Fidelity (1996), he had a knack at getting some unusual effects out of the all-digital recording mediums he utilised from this point forward.  He was able to take digital reverb plug-ins and exaggerate them to glorious effect, highlighting its drawbacks and making something positive out of them.  The track “Fermina” is a fine example of this.

One word of warning: this album contains an appearance by Peter Hook (and his bass tone is ugly as fuck, as one would expect).

 The Girls' Scene

When I met my then girlfriend/future wife, she was (and still is) into the whole Sixties trip, with a record collection packed full of obscure stuff housed in well worn sleeves.  When I delved further, I was particularly drawn to a series of CDs that Decca released in the mid 90s covering their impressive collection of one-shot 45s from a ridiculous variety of acts that were quickly discarded if the single didn’t get suitable airplay or sales.  Hence tons of discs full of mod, beat combos and psychedelia, as well as stuff that formed the backbones of the Northern Soul and Freakbeat scenes.  I discovered some real jewels, The Flirtations (“Nothing But A Heartache”), soul boy-era Bolan (“The Third Degree”), Fire (“Father’s Name Is Dad”) and Timebox (“Gone Is The Sad Man”).  But the one I gravitated to was The Girls’ Scene – full of great tunes like the other discs, but as you can guess from the title, focused on the ladies of the roster from 1962-1968.

There are some syrupy clunkers but there are far more big hitters on here with some absolute stompers: Louise Cordet (“Two Lovers”), Dana Gillespie (“You Just Gotta Know My Mind”), Shapes & Sizes (“Rain On My Face”) and The Orchids (“Oo Chang-A-Lang”) for example.  You also get some effective slow numbers from Vashti Bunyan (“Some Things Just Stick In Your Mind”), Truly Smith (“The Boy From Chelsea”) and Barry St John (“Hey Boy”).  Marianne Faithfull, Dusty Springfield and an unknown Olivia Newton-John also make appearances.

The rapid production line carried on but it doesn’t exactly blur into one amorphous shape as the CDs devoted to early rock ‘n’ roll and skiffle demonstrate.  You can hear voices of the confident and the hesitant backed by the likes of Jimmy Page, Big Jim Sullivan, Clem Cattini and merrily tipsy string and brass ensembles, all under one roof and given 3 hours to cut two sides ready to be shipped out.  Some of it may be a bit sappy or one-dimensional for some, but I cherish this disc.

When me and the missus was courting an’ all, this compilation got played a lot and the youthful giddiness emanating from this disc is made for hot weather and long drives.  In fact, the highlight of this disc was Lulu’s “Try To Understand” (we considered it ‘our song’ even though it’s all about finding out that your true love is a cheating bastard).  Although the diminutive Scot can be a one-yelp-wonder at times, her righteous and empowered howl really gives this song a whallop.  I also love the oddly reverb’d piano on this one.

 

Insides – Euphoria (1993)

The 90s had a brief yet wonderful alternate timeline of homemade electronica bubbling beneath, ranging from the manipulated found-sound-scapes of Main to the quirky pop ditties of The Freed Unit, and up there with the best of them are Insides.  Hailing from Brighton, Insides created a wonderful yet underrated antidote to the impending tide of moronic Britpop sludge.  Combining a mixture of homemade electronica and near-the-knuckle lyrics, their debut album Euphoria is a flirty, woozy and lyrically intimidating study of sex and intimacy, full of idiosyncratic rhythm programming, the odd guitar wafting through the mix and playful yet intimidating vocals.

The album conjures up the mental image of playfully toyed with by Saint Etienne’s flirty cousin, glass of wine in one hand and a Silk Cut in the other.  It’s almost as if these songs are being sung by Jill from Nighty Night in a particularly cruel frame of mind.  Euphoria brings to mind waking up over the weekend in someone else’s bed, the sun beaming through the red patterned curtains warming up the room to the point where it’s stuffy and the windows need to be opened, but that means the sound of traffic breaking into your world.  Your mouth still tastes of Golden Virginia roll-ups, you’re feeling a bit hungover or high from the night before and you could kill for a pint of water.  But would you dare to ask anything from whomever you’re with, lest you be thrown out of the house and sent stumbling unsteadily back home past normal people?

Considering the subject matter and the sparse arrangements, you would expect a cold and stylised sound, but it is actually quite warm sounding and suspiciously comforting, from the opening cut “Walking In Straight Lines”, through to the almost upbeat sounding closer “Skykicking”.  One of Insides’ secret weapons is their trick of creating a lovely and upbeat musical backdrop and underpinning it with some quite disturbing and surprisingly upfront lyrics on tracks such as “Darling Effect” and “Skin Divers”, both of which have a Hex-era Bark Psychosis half-asleep/half-awake atmosphere to them.  Euphoria is a little gem which should hopefully get some love now that it has been reissued.

 
Lifetones – For A Reason (1983)

After the demise of This Heat, guitarist Charles Bullen occupied himself with studio work at his former group’s place of business, Cold Storage in Brixton.  Throughout 1983, Bullen enlisted drummer Julius Samuel for his only album under the Lifetones banner.  Unlike the austere and claustrophobic soundscapes that This Heat proffered, For A Reason presents a world of colour, musical ideas influenced by Eastern and Asian culture and an overall theme of travelling.  Spices, busy streets, sun bleached walls and bicycles.  One of the criticisms of this album is Bullen’s rather nasal delivery but I don’t find it off-putting in the slightest – I’ve heard worse.  Both he and Samuel are locked in throughout and the album is densely yet concisely wrapped very well, with the title track being a fine example of playful and constantly evolving musical patterns.

This album brings to mind the time I was living in the surprisingly large flat that was on top of Lloyds Bank on Gloucester Road alongside my missus as described earlier, climbing through the window of one of the spare bedrooms and onto a small fenced veranda on the roof, rolling a joint and blasting this in my headphones.  Ideally this would be on a day where I was off work, there was no threat of rain and the place was deserted.  This space offered the perfect view of this busy street’s daily hustle and bustle, on a safe precipice.  I know it’s not setting a good example of a role model, but it was a lovely day to spend most of my day.  The ideal time of day was prior to the 5pm rush to get home, as it tended to be quite vibrant, the sun was starting to go down and the low-level smog was ebbing and flowing.  For A Reason was one of the perfect accompaniments to this slowed-down Koyaanisqatsi fly-on-the-wall eavesdropping.

 

My Bloody Valentine – Ecstasy & Wine (1987) / Loveless (1991)

Loveless needs no explanation.  It remains as vivid, layered and colourful as ever and has not diminished with age.  I associate this album with being in my parents’ back garden, next door to a park with tons of overshadowing trees.  Essentially,  “To Here Knows When” is the sound of summer to me.

‘Ecstasy & Wine’ (combining the Strawberry Wine EP and Ecstasy mini-LP) is an unsung gem that Kevin Shields needs to make available once again.  In fact, if he could shoehorn in the ‘Sunny Sundae Smile’ EP, the resulting compilation would result in 40 minutes of poppy shrieking joy.


The great stuff didn’t just start with “You Made Me Realise”, it all kicked off a year earlier with these sunny jangly ditties.  I associate songs such as “Strawberry Wine”, “Never Say Goodbye” and “(Please) Lose Yourself In Me” with sweat-drenched bike rides home from work and trying to cool down in the back garden amongst the plentiful shade with an ice cold can of Red Stripe, or the journey home from last year’s holiday in Cornwall and searching for that lovely little roadside café near the motorway so we can stuff our faces.  A sense of indulgent jubilation, possibly.

No Age: A Compilation Of SST Instrumental Music

An odd choice from the much-maligned SST label, once a champion of material ignored by others before dissolving amid allegations of unpaid royalties, lawsuits and endless unlistenable solo efforts by the label’s boss Greg Ginn.  From 1981 to 1991, they were an unstoppable force that provided countless moments of joy and confusion.  Halfway through this time period, SST went full steam ahead and released an absolute plethora of albums, sometimes up to 70 a year.  Naturally there was going to be a fair amount of chaff, but there’s some moments of brilliance to be uncovered.  While No Age is probably not the perfect primer, it has withstood countless listens on interminable bike rides from work to home (back when the distance between was far longer) and post-bath/pre-sleep chilling on a gradually cooling summer’s evening.

It’s not perfect – there are two tracks by poetry-improv outfit Paper Bag, the worst SST act alongside the angry and unfunny Zappa-copying proto-incel Zoogz Rift – but there’s some really surprising nuggets here and there.  Lawndale’s schizo-surfer “March Of The Melted Army Men”, Black Flag’s “Southern Rise” off the mighty Mahavishnu-on-steroids Process Of Weeding Out EP, the Synclavier-driven mess of Henry Kaiser’s “Sugagaki For Conlon” plus the poppy strut of “Cinecitta” by Pell Mell, these are a million miles away from the likes of “Nervous Breakdown”.  Greg Ginn’s post Flag outfit Gone naturally get a choice cut with “Insidious Distraction” from their first LP (those two Gone albums from 1986 are great), and even Fred Frith makes an appearance.

For me, two solid gold efforts on the whole comp are “Dark And Light” by Blind Idiot God and “Let’s Go Places And Eat Things” by Scott Colby.  New York jazz-reggae-noise trio Blind Idiot God’s self-titled debut is a non-stop rollercoaster ride through fast thrash licks meshing with hardcore punk drumming and Jah Wobble at 78rpm bass work.  It sounds horrid but trust me, it’s wonderful.  The dub-centric side 2 is nothing to snorted at either.  It all works.  Former Zoogz accomplice Scott Colby’s Slide Of Hand is probably the most unexpected and surprising SST release in the label’s history: Colby’s impressive slide work collides with irregular and snappy time signatures, ranging from breakneck speed-fuelled blues, solo pieces accompanied by thumb pianos and lovable quirkiness.  Combine this with guest appearances from Beefheart alumni such as Bruce Fowler and John French, and you have a wonderful combination of blues, Cajun influences, art rock and post-punkiness.  These two albums sit in my Top 10 SST releases alongside You’re Living All Over Me, Surviving You Always, Negativland’s infamous U2 EP and the four Saint Vitus LPs; radically different from the likes of the label’s heavy hitters and countless unfocused efforts that the label shat out during that year, and all the more wonderful because of it.
 

Sly & The Family Stone – There’s A Riot Goin’ On (1971)

If most of the albums in this piece resemble a jubilant sunny day that brings the mind to life with things to do and places to go,  Riot is either the soundtrack to a blistering afternoon in an overcrowded area and being perpetually terrified of an oncoming panic attack, or a very humid sticky day where the act of blinking can result in a serious case of dehydration.  The kind of day that starts with a dull headache and ends with you losing your shit in Aldi.  The nearest album that shares this feeling of dread and disintegration is Fun House (1970), the Stooges’ finest hour, and its kindred cinematic spirit Do The Right Thing – these feelings are slowly simmering and will eventually start bubbling and hissing.

The start of Sly's iconic drum machine-led malevolence has roots in the brief run of singles he created for his Stone Flower subsidary label.  Light In The Attic put them all together for the indispensable compilation I'm Just Like You: Sly's Stone Flower and one listen to Joe Hicks' intense "Life & Death In G&A" above will prove that this run of singles was no dry run.  It's already there.







As opposed to the jubilance and optimism of previous Family Stone albums, the numbed despair running through tracks such as “Just Like A Baby” and “Time” go well with the ever-threatening spell of rain that tends to swallow up that valuable British Summer Time, not even a jubilant shower that hits the pavement and lets off that nice stony smell into the atmosphere.  Nope, just pouring bloody rain.  Elsewhere, you have the relentless never-ending deep grooves of “Poet” and the pair of jams that close out each side, whilst tracks such as “You Caught Me Smilin’” and “Running Away” initially have that catchy snap of the Family Stones from days past, but listen closer and you can witness the beginning of Sly’s eventual psychological untangling.  It’s yet another album that’s probably been over-analysed to death, but this album and the eventual follow-up (Fresh, 1973) remain my favourite Sly Stone albums.

Yo La Tengo – And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out (2000) 

Indie perennials done good, Yo La Tengo created another momentous album for this impressionable youngster back in the day.  At thought, I was going to take it back for a refund, because I heard that this lot could get noisy and it was all about the noise back then, but I stuck with it and eventually found myself falling for it big time.  This album creates and cultivates an atmosphere that never loses its momentum throughout its 78 minute running time.  It’s a very humid album, but unlike the Sly Stone LP which feels claustrophobic and all-enveloping, this is a pleasant type of humidity that doesn’t sap your energy and promises a nice breeze soon.

It always makes me think of balmy summer evenings as the punishing heat and sun and gradually wind down.  You’re tired and exhausted but unable to sleep due to heat-induced insomnia.  As the traffic dies down bar the occasional boy racer or lorry and the street lights start to come on.  For me, the body heat can become too much so I’ll try to grab some shuteye on the settee near to the side window, propping the curtain slightly in the hope of a slight breeze whistling through.  Either that or black and white tiled kitchen flooring, harsh lights flicking at you, etc.  But it’s all rather reassuring and welcoming.  Tracks such as “Saturday” (with a beautiful organ accompaniment beeping in and out of the mix), “Tears Are In Your Eyes” and “From Black To Blue” really help to conjure this atmosphere really well, and the long drawn out closer “Night Falls On Hoboken” is almost somnambulant in pace but never gets boring.  It carries on for as long as it wants to and has a nice mellow groove to it that makes it a satisfactory way to finish off the record.

And with that, time to finish off and loop straight back to Uncut magazine’s golden era before they starting jazzing themselves over the latest Hamell On Trial CD.  Their free CDs were full of the dire and the wonderful, and this song always struck me as a summer jam that ranks alongside the best of ‘em. Soak all these recommendations up, if anything they will take your mind away from the infernal heat.

Other recommended listens during the warm and sticky summer months include Czech shoegaze outfit The Ecstasy Of Saint Theresa’s Sussurate (1992), any of the first three Public Enemy tapes, Alice Coltrane’s kaleidoscopic and utterly gorgeous Universal Consciousness (1971) and Rock Bottom (1974) by Robert Wyatt.