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.

(by Bruce Eder, All Music Guide)

Adventure has to count for something. When the Rascals dropped the word "Young" from the front of their name, it offered listeners and fans the signal was that everything would be different from then on. While the band could — and would still — write infectious, sophisticated blue-eyed soul numbers, they'd heard Blonde on Blonde, Pet Sounds, and Sgt. Pepper's. They were also keenly aware of the time they lived in. Once Upon a Dream, issued in February of 1968, was their first reach into previously uncharted territory, being constructed as an album instead of as a collection of singles. In the 21st century, it stands as one of rock's great overlooked classics with its ambitious production, multi-part expanded songwriting exercises, and some of the most ambitious vocalizing the band had yet attempted. But if that outing had been ambitious and even visionary, Freedom Suite, released in 1969 as the group's fifth album, was off the map. The band dug in and wrote a single LP's worth of solid tunes including a quartet of fine singles. First, there is "People Got to Be Free," which spent five weeks at Number One on the pop (and hit number 14 on the R&B chart as well). Then there's easy summer soul and gospel groove on "A Ray of Hope," which may have only gotten to number 39, but it's among the most enduring cuts in the Rascals legacy. The track "Heaven," which closed the first disc of Freedom Suite, was also wrapped tightly in urban gospel.

"People Got to Be Free" is not typical of the Rascals massive offerings, but neither is it atypical of the first LP in the collection, which contains 11 more or less conventionally written (by Rascals standards) songs. While the four previously mentioned cuts stood out from the rest, there wasn't any filler on that first platter, either. Arif Mardin co-produced with the band and arranged and conducted strings and large horn sections. Some of the soloists included King Curtis on "Of Course," and David "Fathead" Newman on "Adrian's Birthday." Tom Down engineered a couple of cuts, but Adrian Barber did the rest of the session. Eddie Brigati and Felix Cavaliere wrote all but three songs on the first disc, and were as tight a team as ever. Gene Cornish wrote a pair on the first platter including the killer piano soul-jazz cum rock number "Me and My Friends." But it's disc two that flips out everyone at first, wondering if this is indeed the Rascals after all. There's the jazzed up (think Ramsey Lewis Trio groove) "Adrian's Birthday," which was downright funky with popping bass by Chuck Rainey, fuzzed out stereo-effects guitar from Cornish, and a loose as a goose feeling more like a basement jam than a Rascals cut, especially with the gutbucket tenor break from Newman.

But it is a portent of things to come with the two nearly side-long cuts that follow. First, there's "Boom," which clocks in at nearly 14 minutes. It's a Dino Danelli drum solo, all of it. True, Danelli, who'd played with New Orleans jazz legend Henry "Red" Tyler and Lionel Hampton's band could play the hell out of the drums, but 14 minutes on a rock & roll album? Then there's "Cute," running over 15 minutes, which is a jam, period. Beginning with Cavaliere's Hammond B-3 and Danelli's popping drum kit, Cornish digs deep into his soul-jazz hit. This sounds more like a Prestige date by Jack McDuff up until a third of the way through, with one of the three session bassists (Rainey or Gerry Jemmott or Richard Davis; the player isn't named), pulling out he stops and driving the trio. At about five minutes in it begins to slip into tripped out, improvisational territory. For most acts this would be the death knell, but not for these cats. They let it wander for a minute or so and bring the groove back and then let it wander and come back, but Danelli takes too long a drum break given you'd just had nearly 14 minutes of one a track earlier. It's excessive, but it rocks too. The jam works as such for most of its length because the grooves are so dirty and heavy, and the cracking rhythms with killer breakbeats are just what the doctor ordered after an album of pop tunes. But its excesses do overreach, and therefore, that second disc in the set becomes all but superfluous. Freedom Suite reached number 127 on the chart, because of its reach, and would be the second to last Rascals album to produce any singles in the Top 40. The CD version is actually easier to handle with the skip factor, and after "Adrian's Birthday," can be pulled. Still, one needs to hear "Cute" at least once.

(by Thom Jurek, All Music Guide)

Cale quit right after White Heat followed the debut album into obscurity, and was replaced by popster Doug Yule, a nice-meanin' kinda guy who, unfortunately, earned a strange reputation among Velvetheads which I could only compare with the reputation of Patrick Moraz among Moody Blues fans. I do not think, though, that it was Yule's fault that the band moved away from feedback experiments and began rapidly advancing in the direction of becoming a 'normal' band; rather it was the lack of Cale, who was indeed the catalyst for all the weirdness. Anyway, this album is a perfect start for your VU collection - especially if you are, like me, upset about the likes of 'Sister Ray' or 'European Son'. I'd say that overall the songwriting level is a bit of a let down as compared to Nico: few of the songs managed to grapple me at once, but, once they did, they managed to convert me. So this one wins out as the best VU album simply because of its consistency (I mean, Loaded is also consistent, but it's a bit too un-Velvetish to get all the honours).

VU is actually quite different-sounding from the early stuff. If you ask me, the music perfectly matches the album cover - our heroes, dressed in perfectly normal and homely clothes, are sitting on a perfectly normal and homely sofa in what looks like a perfectly normal and homely living-room (okay, maybe it's a basement, it's dark in there; even so, it's a perfectly normal and homely basement). And the music, too, is inviting and homely, with the production stripped-down to an absolute minimum - most of the time, it's just a quiet guitar, soft percussion and an uninvolving bassline. And it's horrendously quiet - the guitars are either acoustic or, if they are electric, they're soft and inoffensive, the singing is inobtrusive and a bit muffled, and even when there are rockers ('What Goes On', 'Beginning To See The Light'), there's not an ounce of aggression or even energy about them. This is the kind of album that you are indeed able to make in your living room - just set up a recorder and a couple of guitars, and you can knock it off in two hours. Not that I actually imply that they did knock it off in two hours, mind you, because it's obvious that it took a long time to pen these terrific songs; but somehow I doubt that they really spent too much time in the studio. In any case, they probably didn't have much of a budget to experiment with sitars or phasing, what with their total lack of commercial success and all.

Of course, the main drawback of this approach is that for many a weak soul among us the record will serve as a great cure for insomnia - I myself sometimes feel like dozing off at the last minutes of 'Pale Blue Eyes' or even 'Candy Says', my favourite song on here. But that's not because the songs are boring, mind you, or bad, or poorly written. They're more like great lullabies, see - now you wouldn't want to call a lullaby 'boring' because it makes you go to sleep? That's what lullabies are for! If you really fall asleep to the sound of 'Candy Says' or 'Jesus' or 'Pale Blue Eyes', that's quite healthy. In fact, this is one excellent album to put on before turning off the lights (maybe even after turning them off) - so nice and soothing and calm and brilliant. Kinda like Dylan's Selfportrait, but don't kill me for saying that. Selfportrait is pretty underrated, by the way.

In any case, like I said, there are tons of great songwriting here. The only track that somehow connects it to the 'bizarreness' of old is the nine-minute 'Murder Mystery', a 'psycho' experiment where all the band members pronounce endless stream-of-conscience speeches all at once that they set to two alternating melodies. This can be mind-numbing at times, but both the melodies are cleverly constructed, and the piano coda is nice, too, so, if not a masterpiece, the number is at least much more tolerable than 'European Sun' or even 'Heroin'. Plus, it's got Moe Tucker singing (see below)!

Elsewhere, you get just a couple buzzing rockers - 'What Goes On' is partially ripped-off from the same-titled Beatles song (for some strange reason, nobody notices that, even if Lou croaks the line 'What goes ooon in your mind?' exactly in the same way as Ringo does it), but only partially, and the chainsaw solo in the middle is by far the most rousing moment on the whole album; and 'Beginning To See The Light' has some subtle repetitive charm of its own, like in 'Waiting For The Man', only this time there's no real weirdness around, just a crazy simulation.

But the album's true bliss lies not in the rockers - Lou and company have striken upon a golden mine of balladry, alternating one minor chef-d'oeuvre with another. 'Candy Says' is a song that heralds a series of firsts: it has the first time Doug Yule is singing lead vocals (and he does it pretty well, too), it's the first song with the title constructed according to the formula '[female name]+says' (cf. 'Stephanie Says', 'Caroline Says', 'Lisa Says', ad infinitum), and it's also the first song in the Velvets' catalogue that could be called 'sappy' - but it's the wonderful kind of sap that makes you shed tears and not feel even a little guilty. The melody is so awesome, and Yule croons out the lyrics devoted to an Andy Warhol drag queen with such tenderness and devotion, and the little silly 'doo-doo-wah' chants at the end are so cute, that it's easily the best number on the album. 'Pale Blue Eyes' has been called one of the world's greatest love songs by the Rough Guide to Rock, and while I could hardly agree, it's certainly charming and extremely touching in its almost childish naivety. And, of course, the lines 'thought of you as my mountain top/thought of you as my peak' are sheer genius. And 'Jesus'? Why - that's almost a religious hymn, people, and they seem to take it seriously. 'Help me in my weakness 'cause I'm falling out of grace'. What the hell is that? And, most of all, why the hell is it so beautiful? If you listen hard, you'll understand that it's actually based on a blues pattern, but they twist the melody in such a dazzling way that you could never guess. I only guessed after looking at the lyrics sheet...

Just to remind you, though: this is the Velvet Underground. Dem Velvets ain't no sissy gospel revival schlock. Dem Velvets used to sing 'bout SEX, remember that? That's why they have 'Some Kinda Love' on here, too - you can actually hear Lou giggle as he grumbles out: 'the possibilities are endless/And for me to miss one/Would seem to be groundless'. Indeed; if it's possible to put this jolly ode to kinkiness on the same side with a humble religious prayer, then the possibilities are truly endless. Another possibility is croaking out a convincing 'soul' tune ('I'm Set Free'), and another possibility is to let Moe Tucker bring the album to a close with a short, acoustic-driven ditty about death. Actually, if 'After Hours' hadn't been undermined by the steady 'grunt - grunt - grunt - grunt' of Yule's bass holding up the acoustic guitar, it could have easily been mistaken for a 'live' recording of a 'homemade' tune sung by some camp girl taking a hike with her friends. Poor Moe, she can't sing at all - she's terribly off-key, but in a certain way, this only makes the song more charming and innocent. Just as 'Candy Says' is the perfect album opener, 'After Hours' is the perfect closer to the VU's most consistent, listenable and impressive fourty-five minutes.

Why this record never sold much is a mystery to me; the only explanation I can offer is that the rock public was by then far more keen on bombastic, pretentious types of music - hard rock was in full bloom, and prog was just taking off. In that way, this album's initial failure to gain the public's eye can probably be compared only to the bombing of the Kinks' Village Green: both were quiet, humble, moderate records that never guaranteed much excitement but should be listened to in a relaxed, self-composed condition, with no drugs or stimulants in sight. Fortunately, time has corrected that mistake, and we should finally give both of these classics their due. So go out and buy it today, if your parents never bothered to buy it thirty years ago!

(from George Starostin's Reviews)

Upon first release, the Velvet Underground's self-titled third album must have surprised their fans nearly as much as their first two albums shocked the few mainstream music fans who heard them. After testing the limits of how musically and thematically challenging rock could be on Velvet Underground & Nico and White Light/White Heat, this 1969 release sounded spare, quiet, and contemplative, as if the previous albums documented some manic, speed-fueled party and this was the subdued morning after. (The album's relative calm has often been attributed to the departure of the band's most committed avant-gardist, John Cale, in the fall of 1968; the arrival of new bassist Doug Yule; and the theft of the band's amplifiers shortly before they began recording.) But Lou Reed's lyrical exploration of the demimonde is as keen here as on any album he ever made, while displaying a warmth and compassion he sometimes denied his characters. "Candy Says," "Pale Blue Eyes," and "I'm Set Free" may be more muted in approach than what the band had done in the past, but "What Goes On" and "Beginning to See the Light" made it clear the VU still loved rock & roll, and "The Murder Mystery" (which mixes and matches four separate poetic narratives) is as brave and uncompromising as anything on White Light/White Heat. This album sounds less like the Velvet Underground than any of their studio albums, but it's as personal, honest, and moving as anything Lou Reed ever committed to tape.

(by Mark Deming, All Music Guide)

On the Threshold of a Dream was the first album that the Moody Blues had a chance to record and prepare in a situation of relative calm, without juggling tour schedules and stealing time in the studio between gigs -- indeed, it was a product of what were almost ideal circumstances, though it might not have seemed that way to some observers. The Moodies had mostly exhausted the best parts of the song bag from which their two preceding albums, Days of Future Passed and In Search of the Lost Chord, had been drawn, and as it turned out, even the leftover tracks from those sessions wouldn't pass muster for their next long-player project -- but those albums had both been hits, and charted well in America as well as England, and had overlapped with a pair of hit singles, "Nights in White Satin" and "Tuesday Afternoon," on both sides of the Atlantic. Their success had earned them enough consideration from Decca Records that they could work at their leisure in the studio through all of January and most of February of 1969; what's more, with two LPs under their belt, they now had a much better idea of what they could accomplish in the studio, and write songs with that capability in mind. Equally important, they'd just come off of an extensive U.S. tour (opening for Cream) and had learned a lot in the course of concertizing over the previous year, achieving a much bolder yet tighter sound instrumentally as well as vocally, and they could now write to and for that sound as well. So this album is oozing with bright, splashy creative flourishes in two seemingly contradictory directions that somehow come together as a valid whole. On the original LP's first side (which was the more rock-oriented side), the songs "Lovely to See You," "Send Me No Wine," "To Share Our Love," and "So Deep Within You" all featured killer guitar hooks (electric and acoustic) and fills by Justin Hayward; beautiful, muscular bass from John Lodge; and vocal hooks everywhere. It's also a surprisingly hard-rocking album considering the amount of overdubbing that went into perfecting the songs, including cellos, wind and reed instruments, and lots of vocal layers -- yet it even found room to display a pop-soul edge on "So Deep Within You" (a number that the Four Tops later recorded).

Side two was the more overtly ambitious of the two halves -- after a pair of songs dominated by acoustic guitar and heavy Mellotron, "Never Comes the Day" and "Lazy Day" (the latter a piece of social commentary showing that Ray Thomas, at least, still remembered his roots in Birmingham), the remainder of the record was devoted to the most challenging body of music in the group's history. Justin Hayward's deliberately archaic "Are You Sitting Comfortably?," a piece that sounds almost 400 years out of its own time, evokes images out of medieval and Renaissance history laced with magic and mysticism, all set to Hayward's acoustic guitar and Thomas' flute, leading into Graeme Edge's poetic contribution, "The Dream," accompanied by Mike Pinder's Mellotrons in their most exposed appearance to date on a record. And all of that flows into Pinder's three-part suite, "Have You Heard, Pt. 1"/"The Voyage"/"Have You Heard, Pt. 2," a tour de force for the band -- check out Edge's and Lodge's rock-solid playing on "Have You Heard" -- and for Pinder, whose Mellotrons, in conjunction with Thomas' flute and supported by some overdubbed orchestral instruments, push the group almost prematurely into the realm of progressive rock. This synthesis of psychedelia and classical music, including a section featuring Pinder on grand piano, may sound overblown and pretentious today, but in 1969 this was envelope-ripping, genre-busting music, scaling established boundaries into unknown territory, not only "outside the box" but outside of any musical box that had been conceived at that moment -- perhaps it can be considered rock's flirtation with the territory covered by works such as Alexander Scriabin's Mysterium, and if it overreached (as did Scriabin), well, so did a lot of other people at the time, including Jimi Hendrix, the Doors, the Who, et al. To show the difference in the times, the Moodies even brought this extended suite successfully to their concert repertory, and audiences devoured it at the time. Amazingly, On the Threshold of a Dream was their first chart-topping LP in England, and remained on the charts for an astonishing 70 weeks, a feat made all the more remarkable by the fact that the accompanying single, "Never Comes the Day" b/w "So Deep Within You," never charted at all.

(by Bruce Eder, All Music Guide)

"They say when you get lost in the woods, you should walk downhill until you find the river and then Revival, America was never that simple. They showed you why on their third album, the August 1969 masterpiece Green River. John Fogerty sings about a river, pure and unpolluted, with the power to "let me remember things I don't know." But his green river is alive with the noise of all the drowned souls it carries -- the ghost cries of flatcar riders and crosstie walkers, Pharaohs and Israelites, husbands and gamblers. Creedence bang out nine great songs in under thirty minutes as the pastoral beauty of "Green River" flows into the sexy nightmare of "Sinister Purpose."
CCR got looser and jammier on Green River, soaking in the Northern California air, but they stood apart from the San Francisco psychedelic bands - partly because of their blue-collar earthiness and partly because their drummer didn't suck. Fogerty's spit-and-growl voice was the purple-mountain majesty above the fruited plain of phenomenal rhythm section Doug Clifford and Stu Cook, California's answer to Wyman and Watts. The guys rambled their tamble while Fogerty ran down the road, chased by a tombstone shadow under a bad moon rising. Absurdly underrated as a lead guitarist - just listen to his terrifying one-note solo in "Tombstone Shadow" - Fogerty sang his hairy ass off in soulful ballads of struggles personal ("Lodi") and political ("Wrote a Song for Everyone"). Still, CCR were staunchly committed to the public pleasures of rock & roll, making music anyone could love at first listen, which is why their songs have been sung by everyone from Richard Hell to Def Leppard, from Tina Turner to the Minutemen, from the halls of Bonnie Tyler to the shores of Bon Jovi. In short, for a year or two there, Creedence were as great as any rock & roll band could ever be."

(Rolling Stone US)

If anything, CCR's third album Green River represents the full flower of their classic sound initially essayed on its predecessor, Bayou Country. One of the differences between the two albums is that Green River is tighter, with none of the five-minute-plus jams that filled out both their debut and Bayou Country, but the true key to its success is a peak in John Fogerty's creativity. Although CCR had at least one cover on each album, they relied on Fogerty to crank out new material every month. He was writing so frequently that the craft became second-nature and he laid his emotions and fears bare, perhaps unintentionally. Perhaps that's why Green River has fear, anger, dread, and weariness creeping on the edges of gleeful music. This was a band that played rock & roll so joyously that they masked the, well, "sinister" undercurrents in Fogerty's songs. "Bad Moon Rising" has the famous line "Hope you've got your things together/Hope you're quite prepared to die," but that was only the most obvious indication of Fogerty's gloom. Consider all the other dark touches: the "Sinister purpose knocking at your door"; the chaos of "Commotion"; the threat of death in "Tombstone Shadow" you only return to the idyllic "Green River" once you get lost and realize the "world is smolderin'." Even the ballads have a strong melancholy undercurrent, highlighted by "Lodi," where Fogerty imagines himself stuck playing in dead-end towns for the rest of his life. Not the typical thoughts of a newly famous rock & roller, but certainly an indication of Fogerty's inner tumult. For all its darkness, Green River is ultimately welcoming music, since the band rocks hard and bright and the melancholy feels comforting, not alienating.

(by Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide)

RELEASED IN AUGUST 1969, a month before Woodstock, Green River is a crystalline expression of its time, a throwback to early rock'n'roll, and a visionary work that Imagines the world yet to come.

The album is bound to its time because it includes some important links in the string of remarkable hiss with which Creedence Clearwater Revival helped shape its era. "Green River," "Bad Moon Rising," "Lodi," and "Commotion" dehne the everyday quality of the band's music, the melodies and rhythms you seem to have known forever before you've heard them all the way through once.

That's what makes these songs throwbacks to pre-psychedelic rock'n'roll. Their kinship with the music of the '50s and the pre-Beatles '60s comes across in John Fogerty's New Orleans drawl and Doug Clifford's "Susie Q" backbeat, in the homage to Ray Charles in "The Night Time Is the Right Time" and the hints of rockabilly raveup in "Green River" and "Commotion". Even when he's taking guitar liberties that are absolutely late '60s, John Fogerty's songs distill an essence of rock'n'roll.

But this is not the late '60s in Haight-Ashbury; it's the late '60s of poor boys from an unhip town in the East Bay. The Green River album portrays the Future in darker terms than any other '60s rock band would have dared. Fogerty's fatalistic, desperate insights—a kind of realistic paranoia—crop up in the very first lines of the very first songs "Let me remember things I don't know," he sings and suddenly, you Sense that there's grimness lurking even in the bucolic bliss that is "Green River," a place that defines sweetness and joy. This guy is lost in a world grown cold—he's a modern Robert Johnson by that measure—and the only place he can think to turn is very likely a myth. ("Let me remember things I don't knovv Gould have been the motto of the greatest mythmaker of all, Ronald Reagan.)

The turmoil of the era is as real as 4/4 time and if what comes out of it isn't going to be a love revolution, disaster impends. That's the way Fogerty Sees it. He takes it personally in "Tombstone Shadow," vvith its very conscious echo of Johnson's "Crossroads", and "Lodi", which is the life he'd have lived if "Proud Mary" hadn't scored. But that's small potatoes. "Bad Moon Rising" offers a complete, social cataclysm. Fogerty sings in an Old Testament prophet's voice, warning the righteous and unrighteous alike. He sings like these Images and ideas—the earthquakes, the lightning, rivers overflowing, the voice of rage and ruin, the dread in the bass live—are pulled out against his will. He sings, in short, like the truth of the matter is just coming clear and leaves him with about half a prayer: `Hope you have got your things together / Hope you are quite prepared to die," Now the nature that offered solace in `Green River` has itself revealed a sinister purpose.

Within Green River, there is also another vision. It is halting, unsure of itself, but in the end it's just as powerful. "Wrote a song for Everyone" is perhaps John Fogerty's lost classic, a Statement of profound fatedness, related somehow to that scathing Strother Martin live from Cool Hand Luke — "What we have he-ah is a fail-yuh to comMUNikate" in a Southern voice exactly as affected, precisely as credible as Fogerty's. "Wrote a Song for everyone / And I couldn't even talk to you." If you knew soldiers stumbling home from 'Nam, civil rights workers crawling back from the South, revolutionaries who wound up face down in the mud of some farmer's field, then what Fogerty had to say fiere was past, present, and Future all wrapped up in one: "Saw the people standin' / Thousand years in chains / Someone Said it's different now / Look, it's just the Same."

It's not just that Fogerty can't communicate, that he's cast into some existential isolation. That would be a righteous boxe, as hordes of singer-songwriters sonn proved No, the thing that really makes him desperate is that John Fogerty is a true rock'n'roller and what he wants, more than anything, is to drill his point home, to make you believe that all he says is true, that if we don't stop turning our backs an love and one another, we really are going to wind up nothing but the shadow of our own headstones. Even more, he needs to know that he's drilled it down in the depth of his bones, and if he can't feel it, he's lost.

This is as far from `Green River" as you can get. It's not just a world where face overrules hope; it's a world where almost all that exists is despair. In a way, it's amazing that anyone this bitter, scarred, and scared Gould rise out of bed, let alone make music so heartbreaking.

Fogerty gets himself out of it in the usual fashion. He goes to church. That's all "The Night Time Is the Right Time" is, really. Sheer gospel, the letting loose of all the rage, yearning, and depression that these excursions into damnation have bottled up. Fogerty cuts most of it loose wich his mouth shut, through a blistering guitar solo. You can't say it's great gospel—it's not gospel any gospel Binger would recognize—but it purges Fogerty's soul, and that counts.

All that reflects a memory of things we don't know; it's not how Green River feels when you think back on it. I remember "Green River and "Bad Moon Rising" sluicing out of the radio, their beat an antidote to pretension, offering the joy inherent in hearing a great rhythm section speak its mind—a mind that may, indeed, have been at Cross purposes to the lyrics but then that's the whole purpose of having a band, right? Doug Clifford, Tom Fogerty, and Stu Cook were maybe the most underrated rhythm section in rock'n'roll in those days and just listening to them roll on these tight, dramatic Songs is sheer pleasure.

But when you listen, rather than just recall, there's an undertow that pulls you toward the nightmares and won't let go. Maybe it comes from the singularity of Fogerty's vision, or maybe it's just the residue of playing all those nights in "Lodi"-style bars. Maybe it's the commotion that 1969 left in everyone's head, maybe it's what happens when you have enough Stardom to look down and See where you came from, how far you now have to fall. (This was, after all, only Creedence's third album, only its second big hit.)

In the tumultuous world that its greatest album foresaw, Creedence Clearwater Revival is no longer mistaken for a teenybopper hit Singles band. Long after the hippies have been filed and forgotten, these East Bay working boys reign. And they should. They gave us everything they had—past, present, and future, vision and reality, love and fear—and it is not at all their fault that we have lived down to 1969's worst expectations. In a funny way, the fact that so mang of the permanent strangers who inhabit the black world of the 21 st century can still relate to the heart in this music is one of the few things that makes me want to live in it.

(DAVE MARSH, April 2000)

Nach einem eher unbekannten Solo-Album namens „Boz“, welches in Schweden entstand, stieg Boz Scaggs bei der Steve Miller Band als Gitarrist und (zeitweise) Sänger ein. Das hielt nur zwei großartige Platten lang und Scaggs sollte `69 sein erstes "richtiges" Soloalbum aufnehmen, gloriose 44 Minuten, die er nie wieder übertraf.

Dazu ließ er den Psychedelik-Westcoast-Sound hinter sich und begab sich zur ersten Adresse im Süden: 3614 Jackson Highway, Muscle Shoals, Alabama.

Zu der Muscle Shoals Hausband mit den Gitarristen Jimmy Johnston, Eddie Hinton, David Hood (Bass), Barry Beckett (Keyboards) und Roger Hawkins (Drums) gesellte sich ein junger, mehr oder weniger unbekannter Gitarrist namens Duane “Skydog” Allman, der mit seinem atemberaubenden Spiel diesem Meilenstein den Goldstaub verpasste. Das 12-minütige “Loan Me A Dime” wurde durch die Gitarre-Gesang Call-und-Response-Technik von Duane und Boz zum weißen Bluesklassiker und Highlight ihrer Karriere. Aber neben Blues bot Boz auch siedend heißen Southern Soul, so wie das abschließende “Sweet Release”, welches sich mit Bläsern und Backgroundchären zu einem beinahe orgiastischen Ende steigert, dem sweet release halt. Mit “Waiting On A Train”, dem klassischen Jimmie Rodgers Hobo-Song, zeigt sich Scaggs von der Country-Seite, “I´ll Be Long Gone” ist ein weiterer schmachtender Blues-Song mit Soul-Feeling – alles perfekt. Ein Album für die Insel.
Und wer Scaggs von seinen späteren gelackten Lounge-Platten kennt (die auch immer wieder ihre kleinen Juwele hatten), der sollte das schnell alles vergessen – “Boz Scaggs” ist ein schwieliges, erdiges Southern-Soul-Blues überwerk.

Das Album wurde 1977 remixt und klingt auch ohne aktuelles Remastering wundervoll. Die Jungs (unter anderem wurde Rolling Stone Herausgeber Jann Wenner als Produzent gelistet) wußten, was sie taten."

Produced by Jann Wenner and featuring crack accompaniment by the Muscle Shoals house band, Scaggs's solo debut is a near-masterwork, mingling the pathos and heartbreak of vintage honky tonk with the celebration and release of Southern soul. The highlights of the album also flaunt its diversity: "Loan Me a Dime," an extended blues dirge, which features some of Duane Allman's finest work, and "Waiting on a Train," Scaggs's marvelous revamping of Jimmie Rodgers's classic hobo song.

(by Bruce Eder, All Music Guide)

It was a very happy record," said producer George Martin, describing this album in The Beatles Anthology. "I guess it was happy because everybody thought it was going to be the last." Indeed, Abbey Road -- recorded in two months during the summer of 1969 -- almost never got made at all. That January, the Beatles were on the verge of breakup, exhausted and angry with one another after the disastrous sessions for the aborted Get Back LP, later salvaged as Let It Be. Yet determined to go out with the same glory with which they had first entranced the world at the start of the decade, the group reconvened at EMI's Abbey Road Studios to make their most polished album: a collection of superb songs cut with an attention to refined detail, then segued together (especially on Side Two) with conceptual force. There was no thematic link, other than the Beatles' unique genius. John Lennon veered from the stormy metal of "I Want You (She's So Heavy)" to the exquisite vocal sunrise of "Because." Paul McCartney was saucy ("Oh! Darling"), silly ("Maxwell's Silver Hammer") and deliciously bitter ("You Never Give Me Your Money"). George Harrison proved his long-secret worth as a composer with "Something" (later covered by Frank Sinatra) and the folk-pop diamond "Here Comes the Sun," written in his friend Eric Clapton's garden after a grim round of business meetings. And Lennon, McCartney and Harrison reputedly sang more three-part harmony here than on any other Beatles album. Let It Be was the group's final release, but this album was their real goodbye: The completion of "I Want You (She's So Heavy)" on August 20th marked the last time all four members were together in the studio they had made famous.

(Rolling Stone)

Total album sales: 12 million
Peak chart position: 1

Bronx-born Laura Nyro was a jazz-poet white soul singer-songwriter years before Joni Mitchell and Rickie Lee Jones. She soon became known as a hit songwriter, as her tunes became hits for Peter, Paul and Mary, the Fifth Dimension, and others. After a disastrous appearance at Monterey Pop in 1967, Nyro recovered with a couple of idiosyncratic, allusive, almost stream-of-consciousness LPs that were suprisingly successful. But she spent most of the next thirty years in retirement before her death in April of 1997, and her reputation is mostly built on what she accomplished in her late teens and early twenties.

(DBW, Wilson&Alroys Record Reviews)

Although New York Tendaberry was nearly as strong a record as its predecessor, Eli and the Thirteenth Confession, it wasn't as accessible. In large part that's because, unlike her first two albums, it didn't have three or four songs that would become instantly recognizable hits in the hands of other artists. But it was also because the mood of the record was considerably darker and the production quite a bit starker. It was hardly a gloomy affair, but the emphasis was on soulful laments and arrangements that often featured, in part or whole, nothing but her voice and piano. Without at all sounding blatantly derived from gospel, it often sounded very much in the spirit of gospel in its fervid passion, though using melodies from a wide pop/blues-soul canvas and addressing concerns far more secular and personal. There were crafty, dramatic punctuations of orchestration, yet these were far more subdued than they had been on the more jubilant Eli and the Thirteenth Confession. "Save the Country" (along with the upbeat section of "Time and Love") is really the only song here that has the immediate uplifting impact of her most famous early tunes, and even that track could have benefited from a less-bare setting. It's a rewarding album, but one that takes some effort to fully appreciate. The 2002 CD reissue adds two bonus tracks: the mono single version of "Save the Country," which has a far fuller arrangement than the album take, and the jaunty, previously unreleased "In the Country Way."

(by Richie Unterberger , AMG)

Nyro's Stimme, ebenso tröstend wie voller Verzweiflung, nimmt beide Songs mit auf ihre ganz eigene, verwickelte Reise. Man stellt sich 24 Stunden im Leben einer urbanen New Yorkerin vor, sie ist dabei ebenso Beobachterin wie Objekt. Sie wacht auf, als ihr Mann sie verlässt ("You Don't Love Me When I Cry"), nimmt uns an die Hand um ihr in die U-Bahn zu folgen um dort freudvolle Harmonien mit dem Echo der Züge zu singen ("Mercy on Broadway") um dann zur "Gibsom Street" zu fahren. Es wird Ihnen, wenn Sie empfindsam sind, ein Schauer den Rücken herunterlaufen, denn man hängt streunende Katzen in der Gibsom Street. Am Ende, in der kraftlosen, tiefen Nacht, eine kurze Feier in ihrer Nachbarschaft mit explodierenden Knallfröschen, Staub und Dahingleiten. Doch sie kommt zurück auf den Boden der Tatsachen, als sie durch silbernen Tränen auf die Menschlickeit, die ihr Leben begleitet, blickt ("New York Tendaberry").

Dieser letzte Song der LP ist der Höhepunkt der LP. Laura Nyro's unglaubliche Stimme und Darstellungskraft sind aus dieser Zeit, jetzt. So war es und wird für alle, die diese außergewöhnliche Künstlerin lieben und ihr zuhören wollen, immer sein.

(MINT, Oktober 2022)

The group's definitive album, and one of the most daring debut albums ever recorded by anybody. At the time, it blew all of the progressive/psychedelic competition (the Moody Blues, the Nice, etc.) out of the running, although it was almost too good for the band's own good -- it took King Crimson nearly four years to come up with a record as strong or concise. Ian McDonald's Mellotron is the dominant instrument, along with his saxes and Fripp's guitar, making this a somewhat different-sounding record from everything else they ever did. And even though that Mellotron sound is muted and toned down compared to their concert work of the era (e.g., Epitaph), it is still fierce and overpowering, on an album highlighted by strong songwriting (most of it filled with dark and doom-laden visions), the strongest singing of Greg Lake's entire career, and Fripp's guitar playing that strangely mixed elegant classical, Hendrix-like rock explosions, and jazz noodling. Lineup changes commenced immediately upon the album's release, and Fripp would ultimately be the only survivor on later King Crimson records.

(by Bruce Eder, All Music Guide)

„Music From Big Pink“ war erschienen und bekam durchweg glänzende Reviews, war aber ein Gegenentwurf zum augenblicklichen musikalische Trend und dem Lebensgefühl der späten 60s („It was `Don´t trust anybody over 30. Hate your mom! Hate your dad!´ And a lot of other things that didn´t really make a lot of sense“, erklärt Levon Helm). So dauerte es etwas, bis sich jeder über die einsame Klasse dieser Platte im Klaren war. The Band gab keine Interviews und Liveauftritte konnten keine anberaumt werden, weil Rick Danko sich bei einem der vielen Band-Autounfälle zwei Halswirbel brach („I was a little too drunk, a little too high“). Für touren war eh nicht viel Zeit, denn die Band bereitete schon die Aufnahmen für ihr zweites Album vor, welches sie „Harvest“ nennen wollten. „It was like we had planted our seed“, erklärte Robertson, „and this was the fruit that we were finally getting from all the work we had done in all those years“. Man entschied sich später für „The Band“, weil es tatsächlich um ihren Namen einige Verwirrung gab.

Das idyllische Woodstock in Upstate New York war zu diesem Zeitpunkt zu einem völlig überlaufenen Städtchen verkommen. Jeder wollte Dylan beim Einkaufen treffen, und so zog The Band es vor, ihr zweites Album in L.A. aufzunehmen.

Um die gewohnte Big Pink Atmosphäre des ungezwungenen Musizierens nachzustellen, mieteten sie das Anwesen von Sammy Davis Jr., zogen mit ihren Familien ein und bauten das Poolhaus zu einem Studio um. Fenster wurden vernagelt, Wände schalldicht gemacht und man richtete es sich bequem ein (das kann man im Innencover der LP und JAP-CD gut nachverfolgen). Capitol kam aber einen Monat nicht mit dem Recording-Equipment ran, sodaß man im zweiten nur 9 der 12 Songs aufnehmen konnte. Richard Manuel besorgte jede Menge Amphetamine, um die Aufnahmen zu beschleunigen.

Die Arbeit begann Abends um 7 Uhr mit dem Kreiren der Arrangements. Produzent John Simon dazu: „We took great care with every instrument to make it sound different for every song and appropriate for every song“.

Nach einem reichhaltigen Abendessen wurde geübt, gefeilt, verworfen und geändert. Nach Mitternacht rollte dann die Bandmaschine. Als der Rest der Band ins Bett ging, veredelte „Honey Boy“ Garth Hudson die Songs noch mit Keyboards und Bläsern. Ein Großteil des Materials war zumindest teilweise schon zu Big Pink-Zeiten geschrieben worden, hatte den gemeinsamen Formungsprozess aber noch nicht gänzlich durchlaufen.

Es war Anfang `69 und The Band war auf der Höhe ihres Schaffens. Das Ensemblespiel hatte traumhafte Ausmaße angenommen, die Verschmelzung der drei Lead-Stimmen geriet nie besser, und die Instrumente wurden je nach Song getauscht. So sitzt bei fast der Hälfte der Aufnahmen Richard Manuel am Schlagzeug, der einfach unglaubliches leistet. Nachzuvollziehen am besten beim „Classic Albums“ Video, wo Levon oder Robbie so manches mal nur die Schlagzeug-Spur laufen lassen und vor Freude ins Gnicheln geraten.

The Band war wirklich eine der wenigen Bands, die aus fünf gleichwertigen Individuen bestand, die ihr Können in den Dienst des Ensembles stellten. Keinen hätte man austauschen können, ohne den Bandsound nicht grundlegend zu verändern und der alte Spruch, „die Summe der fünf Musiker war weit größer als ihre Einzelteile“, passte nie beser als hier.

Nachdem 9 Songs in LA eingespielt waren, mußten die Sessions unterbrochen werden, denn The Band hatte Impressario Bill Graham den Zuschlag gegeben, drei Auftritte in San Francisco´s Winterland zu spielen. Es waren die ersten Gigs nach 3 oder 4 Jahren, es gab keine Press oder Interviews, nur Fotos von 5 bärtigen Hinterwäldlern. Die Erwartungshaltung des Publikums wuchs ins Grenzenlose. „We were scared shitless“, sagt Levon Helm und es kam vor dem ersten Auftritt zum psychosomatischen Totalzusammenbruch von Gitarrist Robbie Robertson. Nach zwei Vorbands (Ace Of Cups und Sons Of Champilin) mußten die 5.000 Konzertbesucher ganze 3 Stunden warten, bis ein Hypnotiseur Robbie so fitmachte („Your legs are like iron springs“), daß er 35 Minuten durchhielt. Natürlich fühlte sich die Menge betrogen. Die Show am Freitag und Samstag liefen besser, ebenso die 4 Auftritte im Fillmore East einige Wochen später.

Im April `69 stellten sie ihr zweites Album in der Hit Factory New York fertig, „Up On Cripple Creed“, „Whispering Pines“ und „Jemima Surrender“ wurden hier aufgenommen.

„Summer of `69. No interviews, no publicity, really, and we´re still a mystery.“ (Aus Levon Helm´s Buch). Auftritte beim Toronto Pop Festival und Woodstock folgten und einige Wochen danach spielten Bob Dylan & The Band auf der Isle Of Wight.

„The Band“ erschien im September `69 und erreichte Platz 9 der Charts. Die ausgekoppelte Single „Up On Cripple Creek“ kam bis auf Rang 25 und blieb die einzige Top-30 Single der Band.
Die Reviews waren ekstatisch und „The Band“ taucht bis heute regelmäßig als „Klassisches Album“ in Listen wichtiger und unwichtiger Leute auf. Für mich ist sie die Inselplatte!

Das ganze Album klingt reif und abgeklärt, wie ein Relikt aus einer längst vergangenen Zeit, and die man sich gerne erinnert. Das reicht vom Frontfoto (5 erwachsene, düster dreinblickende, bärtige Männer) über die braune, erdige Grundfarbe des Covers bis hin zum Foto auf dem Backcover, wo sie glatt als Stringband aus dem 19. Jahrhundert durchgehen könnten.

Die Verbindung vieler musikalischer Traditionen mit den bildreichen Texten über den amerikanischen Bürgerkrieg, das Leben im frühen 20. Jahrhundert, als noch Minstrel-Shows, Scharlatane und Jahrmärkte durch das Land zogen und den genau gezeichneten Figuren – von Virgil Kane bis Ragtime Willie – funktionierte besser als je zuvor. Songs wie „Rockin Chair“ und „When You Awake“ vermittelten das Bild von zufriedenen alten Leuten auf ihrer Veranda, bereit Geschichten aus ihrem langen Leben zu erzählen. Dazu sind Songs wie „Across the Great Divide“, „The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down“, „Up On Cripple Creek“ und „King Harvest“ über die Jahre zu absoluten Klassikern geworden.

Der zweite Song „Rag Mama Rag“ zeigt die Arbeitsweise der Band aufs Beste: Rick Danko an der Fiddle, Garth Hudson am funky Piano, Levon Helm mit der Mandoline, Richard Manuel am Schlagzeug und John Simon an der Tuba. Kein Bass. „To me this track had the makings of a hit single. It had this rhythm, it was over quick, and danceable. But I´ve been wrong before.“ (Levon Helm). „The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down“ ist eine Geschichte über den Bürgerkrieg aus der Sicht der Südstaaten und einer der überzeugendsten Story-Songs aus Robertson´s Feder. Natürlich war die Stimme des Arkanasas´ Boys Levon Helm wie geschaffen für diesen Song. Auch „Up On Cripple Creek“ hat dieses gegerbte Old Time Feeling: Garth Hudson jagt sein Calvinet durch ein WahWah-Pedal und erzeugt so eine Art Maultrommel-Sound. Mit „Whispering Pines“ folgt einer der wunderschönsten Songs des Albums, der zwar selten zu den Highlights gezählt wird, aber zu meinen absoluten Favoriten zählt. Diese von Richard Manuel gesungene Ballade hat mich noch nie unbeeindruckt gelassen.

Auf dem vorletzten Song „Unfaithful Servant“ hat Rick Danko als Sänger eine Sternstunde. Die faulkneristische Geschichte aus den Südstaaten beeindruckt weiterhin durch das Akustikgitarrensolo und das traurig-schwebende Klarinetten-/Saxophon Duett, mit dem der Song perfekt ausklingt.

Schließlich erzählt „King Harvest (Has Surely Come)“ vom Leiden der Farmer der Depressions-Ära, für die ein Sommer ohne Regen oftmals das Ende bedeutete. Der 3-stimmige Chorus ist leiser als die von Levon mit Leidenschaft gesungenen Verse. Nach dem Chorus steigt diese unglaubliche Doppel-Bassnote ein, die den Songs förmlich nach vorne boxt (Robertson weist im Video auf diese Stelle hin). Der Song endet mit einem fast 40-sekündigen Gitarrensolo, eines der wenigen auf der ganzen Platte. „It was the last thing we cut in California, and it was that magical feeling of `King Harvest´ that pulled us through. It was like, there, that´s The Band.“ (Levon Helm)

Robbie Robertson soll mal gesagt haben, daß die Songs auf „The Band“ wie Kapitel in einem Buch seien. Tauscht man die Kapitel aus, verändert man die Geschichte. Nicht bescheiden, aber völlig richtig.

(Glitterhouse)

The Band's first album, Music From Big Pink, seemed to come out of nowhere, with its ramshackle musical blend and songs of rural tragedy. The Band, the group's second album, was a more deliberate and even more accomplished effort, partially because the players had become a more cohesive unit and partially because guitarist Robbie Robertson had taken over the songwriting, writing or co-writing all 12 songs. Though a Canadian, Robertson focused on a series of American archetypes from the union worker in "King Harvest (Has Surely Come)" and the retired sailor in "Rockin' Chair" to, most famously, the Confederate Civil War observer Virgil Cane in "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down." The album effectively mixed the kind of mournful songs that had dominated Music From Big Pink, here including "Whispering Pines" and "When You Awake" (both co-written by Richard Manuel), with rollicking uptempo numbers like "Rag Mama Rag" and "Up on Cripple Creek" (both sung by Levon Helm and released as singles, with "Up on Cripple Creek" making the Top 40). As had been true of the first album, it was the Band's sound that stood out the most, from Helm's (and occasionally Manuel's) propulsive drumming to Robertson's distinctive guitar fills and the endlessly inventive keyboard textures of Garth Hudson, all topped by the rough, expressive singing of Manuel, Helm, and Rick Danko that mixed leads with harmonies. The arrangements were simultaneously loose and assured, giving the songs a timeless appeal, while the lyrics continued to paint portraits of 19th century rural life (especially Southern life, as references to Tennessee and Virginia made clear), its sometimes less savory aspects treated with warmth and humor. The 2000 CD reissue featured seven bonus tracks.

(by William Ruhlmann, All Music Guide)

This hour-long CD is one of the best bodies of British psychedelia ever released. It contains the complete Mighty Baby album from Head Records, expanded to 13 tracks with the addition of five tracks cut by the Action during its 1967 transition period. The opening number, "Egyptian Tomb," sets the tone for the entire album -- in terms of content, structure, and beat, it sounds like the early Allman Brothers, or maybe the Grateful Dead in one of their harder-rocking moments, jamming with Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young on an impromptu version of CSN's "Pre-Road Downs." The beauty of the original Mighty Baby album tracks is that they're psychedelia with a solid beat, none of that noodle-rock that drugged-up Brits usually engaged in. "A Friend You Know But Never See" mighthave passed muster on the Byrds' Notorious Byrd Brothers album. Other songs noodle around too much, but overall this is some of the most energetic psychedelia to come out of England, and anyone who enjoys psychedelic guitar will love Martin Stone's and Alan King's work on this album. The bonus tracks, all "lost" demos, are even better: highly rhythmic, driving rock (check out "Understanding Love") with lots of spacy guitar and tougher-than-normal flower-power introspective lyrics, with some gorgeous harmonies dressing it all up -- a near perfect meld of garage rock and psychedelic sensibilities.

(by Bruce Eder, All Music Guide)

One of the great debut albums of all time by the UK's Mighty Baby.

Mighty Baby- "Mighty Baby" [Head Records 1969] Sometimes refered to as the "Egyptian Tomb" LP.

by Bob Mickey Spillane, host of The Dangerous R&R Show

Mighty Baby's self titled debut, one of the greatest of all psychedelic records of the 60's, was languishing in obscurity for over 10 years before Psycho Records reissued it in the 80's. After what was a limited pressing it went back in limbo until the advent of CD's when the word eventually got around and it's now considered a psychedelic classic. Hard to find on vinyl when it came out and even harder to find these days at garage sales, attics, musty & moldy basements, or even auctions, it's a skillful blend of psych, jazz, great melodies & songwriting. At it's core the music is wrapped around the instrumental dexterity of Martin Stone and Ian Whiteman's mesmerizing woodwind and keyboard passages.

Mighty Baby was formed in 1968 around Alan "Bam" King [guitar), Mike Evans (bass) and Roger Powell (drums), all were founding members of one of the UK's greatest Mod groups, The Action. Late-period arrivals Martin Stone (guitar, ex-Savoy Brown) and Ian Whiteman (piano, saxophone) completed the lineup and Mighty Baby was born. Stone & Whiteman actually joined the latter days of The Action making what would be known as "The Action/Mighty Baby Demos". Most of my record collecting acquaintances bow their heads and speak in hushed tones when the subject of Mighty Baby comes up. "You donzt have an extra copy kicking around? Do you? It doesn't have to be Mint....I'll take a beat up copy.. just so I have one, you know?"

But I digress.....as mentioned before, the roots of Mighty Baby lie in The Action, a mod band from London who formed in 1963 and gained a healthy following due to their powerhouse live shows and a clutch of five finger poppin' singles released between the years 1965 and 1967 on the Parlophone label. But as the mid 60's turned into the late 60's, striped bell bottoms and frilly chest baring Rod Stewart tops were being turned in for kaftans and acid tabs all around London. [Has anyone told Rod that he's a wee bit not happening these days? I mean really....The Cole Porter Songbook?!!??] Musical barriers weren't just being kicked down they were demolished and conciousness was being expanded. The Action was there front and center ready to mount their assault.

The initial change came when Action acquired guitarist Martin Stone and pianist Ian Whiteman into their fold. Stone was fresh from a stint of trying to psychedelicize Savoy Brown. As the story goes, Stone got Savoy Brown busted for drugs when he was searched at the airport and was promptly tossed out on his arse.....who knows how these rumors start?....you be the judge. One day I will have Martin Stone on The Dangerous R&R Show and we'll ask him. With two highly proficient and willing new members, The Action saw their opportunity to "Tune In, Turn On & Drop Out".

The Action loved jazz and while Mingus & Miles were admired they adored the king of freedom, John Coltrane. When Ian Whiteman joined the band they developed their particular style of "freeform" by covering Coltrane's INDIA. Mighty Baby's recording of this song is only available on a CD entitled FROM THE ATTIC. A live recording made in 1971, discovered in the attic of one of the members, and released by the band. The CD claims "That's all there is, there is no more". When Mighty Baby started playing their rock-fueled version of India with a belly full of enthusiasm and a head full of blotter, they confused the mods and sent dope soaked hippies into outer space.

The quintet's self-titled debut album, released on Head Records in 1969, starts with what is considered their theme song....

EGYPTIAN TOMB: What is this glorious racket coming out of my speakers? What instruments are creating that melody? From the opening my ears are standing up straighter than Lyndon B. Johnson's beagle at a photo shoot. Whitemans' sax [left channel] and Stones' guitar [right channel] are seamless and yet altogether miles apart. Then all of a sudden the chorus comes crashing down and I'm on my knees asking...no.. begging for more. A wonderful blend of jazz, rock and melody seemingly improvised but somehow you know that this isn't possible! Martin Stones' over amplified guitar notes seem liquid.....caressing every nuance....gaining momentum until it's dissipated finality. 5 minutes / 30 seconds of brilliance.

A FRIEND YOU KNOW BUT NEVER SEE: is lighter fare... maybe ....rolling piano, powerful drumming and guitarwork that is certainly skinny dipping in the "Oil-0-Joy" with a riff that The Bevis Frond might have borrowed for "African Violet" this is one outstanding track. I'VE BEEN DOWN SO LONG: the band dips into the west-coast vibe, Whiteman trading in his sax for piano and again the interplay between he and Stone stands out. Michael Evans flexes his muscle on bass and it's Stone's turn to pan left to right. Ahhh.....it was almost 1970 but the lads were keeping the 60's alive for sure.

SAME WAY FROM THE SUN: Martin begins in the left channel working his way to the middle setting the stage for Alan Bam King..excellent vocal! The song morphs into a psych rave this time Stone jamming with himself. Just when it seems that the song is over [a big psych crash] the band comes fading back, speeding up things and here Whiteman shines on the big B-3 Hammond.

HOUSE WITHOUT WINDOWS: the laid back vibe is evident. Stone setting the pace, Whiteman picking it up for the first verse, a staggered chorus then back to the main theme, second chorus leading into another Stone mind-melting solo! Big business, Atom bombs, fighting for the Queen, reasons to exist again...."in a house without windowsz in a house where no wind blows"... Indeed.

TRIALS OF A CITY: rockin' in the Status Quo vein here..excellent production.. guitars, piano, sax, bass, drums....fun stuff with one of my favorite studio tricks, hand claps.

I'M FROM THE COUNTRY: opens with Stones' acoustic but it only takes a couple of bars before the band is in full bloom with their early take on "Americana". Martin Stone demonstrates that he's comfortable with a variety of styles, here taking on the Clarence White [Byrds] style of country rock guitar.

AT A POINT BETWEEN FATE AND DESTINY: recalls the pastoral musings of fellow countrymen, Barclay James Harvest. The rhythm is laid down with the acoustic guitar and Whiteman adds some soaring B-3 organ. Every passing minute gets you closer to the patented Mighty Baby jazz/rock improvisation. The tension is there teasing you but never quite fulfilling the promise making you want to turn the record back to side one for more.....brilliant IMHO.

Having dipped into that intoxicating world of psychedelia, I can say that this is perhaps one of the best debuts of the 60's, most certainly on every psychedelic record collectors top 10 list.

(Bob Mickey Spillane, It's Psychedelic Baby Magazine, 23.12.2013)

... Sein Debütalbum zählt auch fast 30 Jahre später noch zu einer der Sternstunden von Albions Singer/Songwriter-Gilde. Rainmaker lebt von Chapmans filigraner Melodieführung, seinem hingenuschelten Gesang, seinem markanten Akustikgitarrenspiel - und von begnadeten Begleitern wie Drummer Aynsley Dunbar, den Bassisten Danny Thompson und Rick Kemp oder Gitarrenlegende Clem Clempson. Schillernde Folk-Kleinode, leichtfüßige Instrumentals und als Sahneklecks obendrauf fünf teils ultrarare Bomustracks: Ein Meilenstein harrt seiner Entdeckung.“

(ME/Sounds. 6 Sterne)

In 1969 British singer/songwriter Michael Chapman took the U.K.'s folk-rock world by surprise with his debut album, Rainmaker, on the Harvest label. In an era when each week garnered a new surprise in the music world, gathering serious and widespread critical acclaim wasn't easy, and finding a buying public near impossible. Rainmaker showcases a new talent who holds nothing back for himself. Every songwriting principle and trick, killer guitar riff, and songwriting hook in his bag makes an appearance here (something he would never do again). As a result, there are several truly striking things about the album that makes it stand out from the rest of the Brit folk-rock slog from the late '60s. One of them is Chapman's guitar playing. A true stylist in his own right, he holds a middle line between John Martyn and Bert Jansch with the provocative electric rock funkiness of Martyn juxtaposed against the rock solid folk traditional so wonderfully espoused by Jansch. Another is Chapman's lean, carved, sleek lyrical style, preferring the starkness of poetry to the lush elements of the song styles usually found on records of this type. Both are put to fine use on the opener, "It Didn't Work Out," a gorgeous broken love ballad with a philosophical bent, along with Chapman's doleful resigned vocal; the electric guitars cascade over fingerpicked acoustics, and acoustic and electric basses -- courtesy of Rick Kemp and Danny Thompson. Here, the old-English melody style was welded to a rock backbeat and fused into a whole, rhythmic, elegant, but sparse tale of broken love. The fiery emotions were carried through the measures by Chapman's tumultuous guitar leads. On the title track, an instrumental with thunderstorm sound effects, the weave between electricity and natural sound grows tighter. When playing in traditional or blues styles, such as the dark, menacing folk-blues of "No One Left to Care," Chapman fuses the rock pulse to the folk or blues song, open-tuning his guitars to such a degree that drones created multiple tones and a solid bottom for his voice to pounce down upon. They also create a sense of emotional honesty not so prevalent on the scene at the time -- artists were given to interpret old songs with an air of academic distance -- Chapman chews his words and spits them out while rifling off guitar riffs at every turn that are as gnarly and venomous as anything by Richard Thompson at the time. Not to mention the stunning instrumental "Thank You, P.K., 1944," with its silvery 12-string work that turns the tonal qualities of the instrument inside out so completely you could swear there were three guitars players -- despite the fact that none of the guitar parts were overdubbed -- or the shimmering, high-whining slide work on the rock growler "Small Stones." The CD reissue contains five bonus tracks, a shorter single version of "It Didn't Work Out," and its B-side, "Mozart Lives Uptown," as well as a second part to that track, "On My Way Again," and the humorous but poignant "Bert Jansch Meets Frankenstein" (the latter three previously unreleased). As auspicious a debut as Rainmaker was for its fine songwriting, history has proved it to be more so because it's the only record in Chapman's distinguished catalog where he ever showcased his truly virtuosic talent as a guitarist. Why, is anybody's guess?

(by Thom Jurek, All Music Guide)

Original Recordings was Dan Hicks' initial solo effort as well as the debut of his "Hot Licks." Unlike the overamplified electric jug band music that the Charlatans had been creating during Hicks' stint as their drummer and occasional vocalist, this new band performed a refreshing blend of jazz swing with country & western. Their understated performance style stood in stark contrast to the burgeoning heavy metal and acid rock that were en vogue as the '60s became the '70s. Featured on this album is a seminal version of the "Hot Licks" that were only together briefly. Included are John Weber (guitar) and Terry Wilson (drums) as well as vocalists Tina Viola Gancher and Sherry Snow. Both Sid Page (violin/vocals) and Jaime Leopold (acoustic bass) would remain with Hicks (guitar/vocals/spoken word) as core members of the band. Of the 11 original compositions on this disc, "How Can I Miss You When You Won't Go Away" followed Hicks from the Charlatans, while "Canned Music," "I Scare Myself," and "Shorty Falls in Love" would be slightly reworked for their inclusion on the upcoming long-players Where's the Money? and Striking It Rich, respectively. Perhaps because of Hicks' background as a drummer, his sense of timing is a key element to his deceptively complex melodies. Likewise, this has a great deal to do with the success of the call-and-response vocals between Hicks and the female background vocalists he would dub "the Lickettes." Within these pastoral melodies and slightly askew lyrics is the somewhat out-of-sync and acid-tinged "It's Bad Grammar, Baby." In retrospect, the prominently distorted acoustic guitar lead overwhelms the track -- which would have otherwise fit nicely within the context of the remainder of the album. This might have had something to do with it being conspicuously left off the 2001 Sony/Legacy reissue Canned Music: The Most of Dan Hicks & His Hot Licks. Those who can locate a copy of these Original Recordings are urged to do so. For Hicks-ophiles or Dan-ophites, it is a vital entry into his canon.

(by Lindsay Planer, All Music Guide)

I saw Charlie Musselwhite for the first time in 1969. I bought this album soon after and have never stopped listening to it. This is a phenomenal blues band at the top of their game. Besides Musselwhite playing beautiful harp and singing beautifully, the band features Skip Rose on piano, Tim Kaihatsu and Larry Welker sharing the guitar duties, Carl Severied on the bass, Lance Dickerson on the drums, Fred Roulette on the pedal steel guitar and Rod Piazza sits in with a chromatic harmonica on "Blue Feeling Today"
One of the things that is great about the blues bands back in the sixties and seventies is that there seemed to be more emphasis on everybody in the group playing instead on just one or two featured players. "A Nice Day For Something" and "Christo Redemptor" feature solos by at least four people each. Musselwhite also gave room on each of the albums in this period for Rose to feature one of his own songs. The rest of the material includes songs by the likes of Willie Dixon, Little Walter, Duke Pearson, Fenton Robinson as well as a couple of songs by Musselwhite.
This was a time period that was a golden age for the blues. Magic Sam, Muddy Waters, Butterfield, Buddy Guy, Otis Spann, Junior Wells and many others were in their prime. It was still possible to hear some of the great country blues players like Son House or Mississippi John Hurt or Fred McDowell. Many of the players from the generation inbetween like Sam Hopkins were still around. It was possible to hear the whole history of the genre being performed live and to hear the extensions of the genre that people like Butterfield were making. Musselwhite is as good as anybody from that period. And this album is one of his best.

(Greg Taylor, gefunden bei Amazon)

The addition of jazz pianist Skip Rose gave a new dimension to the ensemble sound, and provided a perfect foil to Charlie's own soloing — especially on the re-take of "Cristo Redentor," extended to 11 minutes, shifting to double-time in spots. Rose's instrumental, "A Nice Day for Something," is a welcome change of pace, and Musselwhite's "Blue Feeling Today" compares favorably to fine covers of Little Walter and Fenton Robinson tunes.

(by Dan Forte, All Music Guide)

The original group's debut album was a then-groundbreaking meld of progressive rock with classical and jazz influences. The album is a little clunky by today's standards, and far druggier than the later group in its ambience (cofounders Keith Relf and Jim McCarty were the heavily psychedelic half of the final lineup of the Yardbirds, which made them anathema to Jimmy Page), but vocalist Jane Relf had a striking individual style, and the classical influence was unique for its time.

(by Bruce Eder, All Music Guide)

In 1969, Pharoah Sanders was incredibly active, recording no less than four albums and releasing three. The band on Jewels of Thought is largely the same as on Deaf Dumb Blind and Karma, with a few changes. Idris Muhammad has, with the exception of "Hum-Allah-Hum-Allah Hum Allah," replaced Roy Haynes, and Richard Davis has permanently replaced Reggie Workman and Ron Carter, though Cecil McBee is still present for the extra bottom sound. Leon Thomas and his trademark holy warble are in the house, as is Lonnie Liston Smith. Comprised of two long cuts, the aforementioned and "Sun in Aquarius," Jewels of Thought sees Sanders moving out from his signature tenor for the first time and delving deeply into reed flutes and bass clarinet. The plethora of percussion instruments utilized by everyone is, as expected, part of the mix. "Hum-Allah" begins with a two-chord piano vamp by Smith and Thomas singing and yodeling his way into the band's improvisational space. For 12 minutes, Sanders and company mix it up -- especially the drummers -- whipping it first quietly down into the most pure melodic essences of Smith's solo and then taking the tension and building to ecstatic heights with all manner of blowing and intervallic interaction between the various elements until it just explodes, before coming down in pieces and settling into a hush of melodic frames and the same two-chord vamp. On "Sun in Aquarius," African thumb pianos, reed flutes, sundry percussion, and orchestra chimes are employed to dislocate all notions of Western music. Things get very quiet (though there is constant motion); the innards of the piano are brushed and hammered quietly before Sanders comes roaring out of the tense silence with his bass clarinet, and then the tenor and bass share an intertwined solo and Smith starts kicking ass with impossibly large chords. It moves into another two-chord vamp at the end of 27 minutes, to be taken out as a closed prayer. It's more like a finished exorcism, actually, but it is one of the most astonishing pieces by Sanders ever.

(by Thom Jurek, All Music Guide)

Die LP IN THE PLAIN lebt in der Hauptsache von der skurrilen un melancholischen Stimme der Sängerin Annisette. Darüber hinaus bietet die dänische Gruppe, die langsam auch in Amerika bekannt wird, eine recht eigenwillige Musik, die nie krampfhaft versucht, angelsächsischen Vorbildern nachzueifern.

(Sounds, 1969)

In the Plain by Denmark's Savage Rose has a striking cover photo with psychedelic color coordinated band members surrounded by wild pink lettering of the group name. Inside is innovative music, pretty much living up to the typical Polygram hype from this era written on the back cover. "Let's See Her" sounds like Ten Wheel Drive meets Vanilla Fudge; brothers Anders Koppel and Thomas Koppel wrote seven of the eight tracks, and created with this one clever sound and arrangements. The sleeper on In the Plain, though, is the one non-original, five minutes and 38 seconds of "Ride My Mountain," a composition by Jade. It's a wonderful production number where Anisette's vocal scream out over the very together instrumentation. The back cover photo reflects the intensity of "Ride My Mountain," the band looking like exiles of Charles Manson's clan in the positive of the back cover photo, a larger negative version above it making this import very hip. The Savage Rose look like they are auditioning for the film The Savage Seven. The opening track reminds one of a hipper Peanut Butter Conspiracy, and there is no doubt that Savage Rose find more inspiration in their music than similar bands from the era. The production is somewhat like Davd Briggs' work on Alice Cooper's Easy Action, while titles like "The Shepherd & Sally" are as experimental as anything on that early Cooper disc. Having the male vocals on "His Own Happiness" is unnecessary, sort of like Big Brother & the Holding Company letting Janis Joplin take a time out. Thankfully, Anissette comes back after a mini-instrumental interlude for a rare look at the band's sangfroid. It is also interesting to hear Thomas Koppel's to-be ex-wife, Llse Maria Koppel, on harpsichord backing his next wife, Anissette. "Evening's Child" is like a psychedelic powwow of jazz-influenced garage rock which cascades into the dirge that is "A Trial in Our Native Town." Without the polish producer Jimmy Miller would bring to the mix on Refugee, In the Plain is a very good look at a highly creative band.

(by Joe Viglione, All Music Guide)

In the cross between the anti-war in Vietnam and Black Panthers marching to the beat and stopping wars along with the music of Psychedelic and rare Progressive Rock, the Savage Rose represented everything that was political and with a message for peace of pure rock and roll. The group was formed in the late '60s by the Koppel brothers (Anders and Thomas), they knew something that what they were about to do was going to be beautiful and dynamic at the same time. It was the late writer for Rolling Stone Magazine, Lester Bangs who championed them, could see the difference as much as organist Anders and the explosive vocalist Annisette which makes you feel that the voice is coming right behind you and gives you a chill to the bone.

When the group released their self-titled debut album in 1968, and after being signed by Polydor, They knew there was another part of their music that was up their sleeve. Being bigger than Cream and the Beatles, The Savage Rose were like a flower that has just been given birth to a newborn with a taste of music up its hands and along with their second album, In The Plain, in which the late Thomas Koppel mentioned in the liner notes of the reissue in 2001, he knew that this was a breakthrough for him and the band. "We were happy, creative & powerful, with no fears and ready to go anywhere with the music."

Thomas concept of making the next Sgt. Pepper was right on and came with a magnum opus with a golden cover of the band sitting on a lawn that was more of a cross between Bebop Jazz meets The Beatles meets John Coltrane. Its idea, strangely similar to the protest of the war that was strict and like troops coming home to see a band that had the ingredients it needed for a political psychedelic rock album, seemed at the right place at the right time. Once the pounding piano introduction that sounds pre-Glam Rock, starts off with Long Before I Was Born, where the band go into a whirlpool of terror for militant rock, the glorified upbeat number alongside other tracks that looked like an explosive device sounded fresh as Anisette's vocal arrangments that were magnificient for its time.

If Long Before I Was Born had represented the problems with the War in Vietnam with screeching vocals and clapping rhythms with the organ going a little bluesy while the drums go into a panic mode, the rest of the album was no suprise at all. Compositional pieces opened up the door including the jazzy virtuoso funeral ballads; His Own Happiness/God's Little Hand, I'm Walking Through The Door, The Shepherd and Sally, and Let's See Her went through strange and various changes; Ride My Mountain (Jade) went through a ornamental dramatic story around a young girl who's lost on top of the mountain of a lost of a child, combine with a church like sound of the background vocalist singing the line:

Ride my Mountain
I shall receive you
Ride my Mountain
I shall receive you

And the beat has a 4/4 measure with an Jimi Hendrix-like guitar solo from Nils Tuxen while Alex Riel does some early jazz beats per measure on the drums that reminded me of Elvin Jones and Ringo Starr working together as Thomas does thunderous piano work to set the scenery of the music as Anisette seems that she's fighting back tears while singing the glorified piece; Evening's Child has once again an upbeat folky acoustic classical piece followed by a small bossa nova piece on the drums that delivers a statement for Jazz listeners; and In The Plain ends on a high note on the 7-minute gloomy piece A Trial in our Native Town, a twisted world of hell and other words, oddly normal.

With the group getting ready to go in the '70s to be followers of the Black Panthers and James Brown and refusing to perform in Vietnam, The Savage Rose were almost a psych-punk-jazz movement during that time period. And its that quality of the late Thomas Koppel's songwriting and composing music for ballet a few decades earlier with Dodens Triumf that wasn't pretentious, makes the Rose such almost the danish version of Classical Jazz Punk Rock. Almost as if John Lydon meets Beethoven in Arthur Brown style as if they would do something that was outrageous.

Almost the conceptual post-apocalyptic album, The Savage Rose represented the hellish world a little bit, opening up the doors of a new generation of fans to take the music of garage and jazz at the same time. No wonder David Fricke plays it nonstop on his turntable and maybe playing about 600 times.

(www.headheritage.co.uk)

Mit TRAVELLIN' scheint mir Savage Rose ihr bekanntes Erfolgsrezept vervollkommnet zu haben. Gut produziert und besser arrangiert stellt die Musik immer noch vor allem auf die wirklich einzigartige Stimme Annisettes ab. Die Divergenz zwischen dieser geschliffenen Babystimme und der oft pathetischen Musik hat eine gewisse Faszination. Ohne diese Stimme hat die Gruppe noch kein eigenes Gesicht.

(Sounds, 1969)

More excursions into soul-rock territory dominate one of their less distinguished albums. Highlights include the more serene and melodic cuts ("Travelin'," "Sailing Away") and the shockingly titled (for 1969) "My Family Was Gay, " with its rather straightforward hints of incest.

(by Richie Unterberger, All Music Guide)

Leon Thomas' debut solo recording after his tenure with Pharoah Sanders is a fine one. Teaming with a cast of musicians that includes bassist Cecil McBee, flutist James Spaulding, Roy Haynes, Lonnie Liston Smith, Richard Davis, and Sanders (listed here as "Little Rock"), etc. Thomas' patented yodel is in fine shape here, displayed alongside his singular lyric style and scat singing trademark. The set begins with a shorter, more lyrical version of Thomas' signature tune "The Creator Has a Master Plan," with the lyric riding easy and smooth alongside the yodel, which bubbles up only in the refrains. It's a different story on his own "One," with Davis' piano leading the charge and Spaulding blowing through the center of the track, Thomas alternates scatting and his moaning, yodeling, howling, across the lyrics, through them under them and in spite of them. It's an intense ride and one that sets up the glorious "Echoes." This tune is Thomas at his most spiritual and uplifting, carrying the mysterious drift of his tune entwined with Spaulding's flute and a set of Pan pipes, fluttering in and out of the mix before his wail comes to the fore as a solo. The end of side one reaches into Thomas' past (he sang with everyone from Count Basie to Grant Green and Mary Lou Williams) for a highly original read of Horace Silver's classic "Song for My Father." Thomas imbues the tune with so much emotion, it's a wonder he can keep it under wraps. Side two is more free from in nature with "Damn Nam," a near rant, but one possessed with melodic vision and harmonic invention with this band. There's also the deeply moving "Malcolm's Gone," a co-write between Thomas and Sanders that features the latter's gorgeous blowing, hard and true in the middle of the mix, and a wildly spiritual Eastern vibe coming through in the improvisation. It's the longest track on the record, and one of the most criminally ignored in Thomas' long career. The album closes with Bell and Houston's "Let the Rain Fall on Me." It's a shimmering straight jazz number with a beautiful piano solo by Smith. It sends out a visionary album out on a sweet, soulful note. Ultimately, this is among Thomas' finest moments on vinyl, proving his versatility and accessibility to an audience who, for too long already, had associated him too closely with the avant-garde and free jazz.

(by Thom Jurek, All Music Guide)