Hot on the heels of two decidedly un-Hawkwind-y singles; following in the footsteps, too, of the defiantly transitory Astounding Sounds, Amazing Music album, Quark Strangeness and Charm was the first full flowering of Hawkwind's newly-honed drive towards brittle pop, sharp wit, and crystal-clear intent -- attributes that, if they'd ever existed in the past, had been entirely overwhelmed by the sheer grandeur of the space rock rocket blast. Now it was the propulsive riffs and deep space echoes that were held in abeyance, and Quark opened as it meant to go on, with "Spirit of the Age"'s tight keyboards, unobtrusive washes, and the utterly captivating -- if totally skewed -- story of love across the light years. It is hard to visualise just how shocking the change must have been to loyal fans of the era; how they must have trembled before the electrifying jolt of concise lyricism and accessible melodies. Airplay followed, and the band even made their first mainstream U.K. TV appearance in some five years, performing the new album's title track on Marc Bolan's teatime TV pop show. Robert Calvert wore an aviator's helmet and carried a stuffed falcon on one hand, odd apparel indeed for an ode to Albert Einstein's lack of luck with the ladies. Or maybe not so odd, after all.A handful of songs fed back into the traditional Hawkwind mythos -- the post-apocalyptic "Damnation Alley," the near-industrial instrumental "Forge of Vulcan," and the weary, dream-is-over nostalgia of "Days of the Underground." "Hassan I Sabha," an epic of Middle Eastern terrorist rhetoric, even recalled the prosaic realities of the old favorite "Urban Guerilla," although a haunting Arabic refrain and instrumentation catapulted it to a different realm regardless.And so it went on -- Hawkwind's most unexpected album to date and, today, one of their most endearingly enduring; charming, strange, and, if not quark, then certainly quirky.

(by Dave Thompson, AMG)

But look, here comes something entirely different. This is the beginning of a new-look Hawkwind, with Nick Turner's sax out of the band and the emphasis placed on simple rhythms driven forward by Brock's guitar and Simon House's keyboards. All of a sudden, Hawkwind become restrained and moderate, and this, of course, raises the question - can they? Can they be as good as ever without the wild wild wild sci-fi metallic fury of the days of yore?
Well, on this album at least, they can. With the sound stripped of most of the old gimmicks, they just rely on playing rhythm - and they play rhythm like no-one else can. Somebody in the band's camp probably had listened to Kraftwerk, because where their earlier sound owned it all to Amon Düül II, these minimalistic rhythms certainly own more to the robotic monotonous punch of Hutter and Schneider; except that Hawkwind aren't that snotty to let their songs drag on for ten minutes or more. Most of the grooves on Quark are pretty well-timed. And, oh yeah, it's actually a living band playing, not just a bunch of pretentious icy dudes imitating music on a bunch of pretentious icy synthesizers (that doesn't mean that I can't appreciate Kraftwerk's pretentious icy synthesizers, but I'm just trying to point out why this period of Hawkwind's career is actually so praise-deserving, so don't shoot me!).
Two other things rise to the forefront. One is Bob Calvert, who apparently had a short break from his usual fits of schizophrenia and ended up writing most of the lyrics for the album - and you can certainly see how this guy far superates Brock and Co. as lyricist. The other thing is closely tied in: it's humor and quirkiness, and it's Calvert who brings it in, yes, you heard, it's that same Calvert who was declamating Michael Moorcock's fantasy poppycock onstage a few years ago. Just listen to the title track, for God's sake! It's more Bob Dylan than Hawkwind. 'Einstein was not a handsome fellow/Nobody ever called him Al/He had a long moustache to pull on, it was yellow/I don't believe he ever had a girl/One thing he missed out in his theory/Is something that makes it very clear he/Was never gonna score like you or me/He didn't know about quark, strangeness and charm'. All this sung to a monotonous riff that's Hawkwind, for sure, but it might as well be Bob Dylan, you know, somewhere around the Highway 61 period. Funny, isn't it? Guess it is, funny and driving and energetic and featuring good solos.
But that's not all - this album is pretty diverse, and yeah, I know we're talking Hawkwind here, but as far as we're talking Hawkwind, this album is their White one. 'Spirit Of The Age' is a cute little sci-fi dream that manages to be witty and absolutely unpretentious, and with charming pop harmonies as well. 'Damnation Alley' is Dylanish, too, but add just a wee bit of speed and you got yourself a real punkish delight. What a cool title for a punkish song, too. From there on, we proceed into the atmospheric charms of 'Fable Of A Failed Race', which is not any less beautiful than any selected ballad off Dark Side Of The Moon, and is one of the few Brock-sung tunes on the whole album. (This is Calvert's glory hour indeed).
'Hassan I Sahba' is the dark horse of the album - but heck, if we like something like Queen's 'Mustapha', I can't see why one should despise the Eastern overtones of this pseudo-Muslim epic. The lyrics, when there actually are lyrics, might be trite and cliched, but I really like the way they arrange the harmonies, and it's a true stroke of genius when Calvert ridiculizes Muslim religious foundations by chanting 'petrol dollar... petrol dollar... petrol dollar... petrol d'allah!' Plus, where else will you get such cool violins? Where else will you get such a cool vibe? Who's gonna puff you and huff you and ridiculize you and make you feel giggly all over like good old Hawkwind? Revel in the 'perfumed gardens of delight', that's what you gotta do!
Or at least in 'The Forge Of Vulcan', with its Kraftwerk-like/Vangelis-like synth loops and ominous hammerfalls. And what about 'Days Of The Underground'? If it's a hidden tribute to the Velvets, it's appropriate - combining the usual vocal catchiness of Hawkwind with the nihilistic guitar-bashing of the Velvets. But the lyrics don't deal with the Velvets: the lyrics are clearly nostalgic, looking back at the fury and chaos and revolutions of the past decade with sorrow and yearning. And yet, it's not the 'looking back' of a washed-up old patch of coots; it's a firm, self-assured re-evaluation of past values by a bunch of older, wisened people who know they'll no longer be changing the world but who are totally able to live with it. And just to let us know they still care, the record finishes with the mighty metallic slab of 'Iron Dream', in all of its two-minute glory.
Hmm. Looking back at the songs, I see there's not a single one I don't actually like. I'm truly amazed: with Lemmy and Nick Turner gone and the band's better days beyond them, I was clearly expecting something rotten and boring, but what I see is a new and fresh twist on a classic sound, with beautiful clean production, lots of ideas and catchy riffs and vocal melodies, not to mention Calvert's funny singing voice and odd sense of humour. Well - nature does have its surprises, after all. Then again, maybe 1977 was just a year that vitalized everybody? You know - our obligatory answer to the punk vermin and everything?

(George Starostin, Rating: * * * * 1/2)