Tupelo Honey is typical of Van Morrison's early-'70s work in both sound and structure; after dispensing with the requisite hit -- here, the buoyant, R&B-inflected "Wild Night" -- he truly gets down to business, settling into a luminously pastoral drift typified by the nostalgic "Old Old Woodstock." At the heart of the record are a pair of stunning love songs, "You're My Woman" and the hymn-like title cut, one of Morrison's most enduring and transcendent compositions.

(by Jason Ankeny, All Music Guide)

"Van Morrison's "Caledonia soul"--his unique blend of Irish mysticism and spiritual questing, literary allusion and blue-eyed R&B--can be as beautiful and deeply emotional as any music ever made. That's certainly the case on 1971's Tupelo Honey, one of the finest albums of Morrison's long career. Kicking off with the classic "Wild Night," Tupelo Honey is as completely joyous as the normally bitter Van gets, particularly on the title track and the unabashedly grateful, slow-building "You're My Woman," both among the most moving love songs he's recorded."

(David Cantwell)

"Although Tim Buckley's early career as a desolately beautiful acoustic singer-songwriter would be enough to guarantee his subsequent rock canonisation, his later phase is his most artistically ambitious. Buckley had been at the peak of his success in 1969, having just completed a visit to the UK and releasing his most successful recording, Happy Sad, on Elektra. Yet his next two releases, Blue Afternoon and Lorca, saw him caught in a downward spiral of melancholy and regret. 1970's Starsailor is simultaneously his bleakest and most rewarding work, a totally idiosyncratic album that sounds like nothing else that was happening at the time. The title track is a fantastic jazz hybrid, with saxophones crying over ritualistic hand percussion and heavy bass in a way that sounds most like Miles Davis's electric groups. Down By The Borderline takes it even further with Buckley grunting like an ecstatic James Brown over some uptight brass and strutting rhythms. However, it's Song To The Siren that's the real standout. Although endlessly covered, no-one can do justice to Buckley's angelically quivering voice, a little boy lost beset by hallucinatory, Blakean visions all illuminated by distant angelic voices and a lone tremulous guitar. Heartbreakingly beautiful."

(All Music Guide)

Musically, there is little to delineate the fourth long-player from Quicksilver Messenger Service, What About Me, from their previous effort, Just for Love. Not surprisingly, material for both was initiated during a prolific two-month retreat to the Opaelua Lodge in Haleiwa, HI, during May and June of 1970. The quartet version of Quicksilver Messenger Service -- which had yielded the band's first two LPs -- expanded once again to include Dino Valenti (aka Chester A. Powers, Chet Powers, and most notably on this album, Jesse Oris Farrow) as well as British session keyboardist Nicky Hopkins. The additional talents of Mark Naftalin (keyboards) were incorporated when Hopkins was unavailable. This began his short stint with Quicksilver Messenger Service, which lasted through their sixth LP, Quicksilver (1972). The most apparent change in Quicksilver Messenger Service's sound can be directly attributed to the return of Valenti. The group has departed the long, free-flowing improvisations that prevailed on both their self-titled debut and follow-up, Happy Trails. The songs are now shorter and more notably structured, with an added emphasis on Valenti's compositions. The title track, "What About Me," became an ethical and sociological anthem with challenging and direct lyrical references to the political and social instability of the early '70s. Valenti, whose songwriting credits on this disc are both numerous and attributed to his Farrow persona, also comes up with some passable introspective love songs, such as "Baby Baby" and "Long Haired Lady," as well as a couple of interesting collaborations with Gary Duncan (bass/vocals). The psychedelic samba "All in My Mind" also highlights the often overlooked percussive contributions from Jose Reyes. Two of the more distinguished entries on What About Me are John Cipollina's raunchy blues instrumental "Local Color" -- replete with a driving backbeat reminiscent of their take on the Robert Johnson standard "Walkin' Blues" -- as well as Nicky Hopkins' emotive "Spindrifter." (by Lindsay Planer, AMG)

The group Man evolved from the Bystanders, a mid-'60s Welsh combo whose blend of Beatlesque harmonies and blue-eyed soul yielded a number of well-received singles, most notably the progressive and poppy "Royal Blue Summer Sunshine Day." That side was indicative of the direction they would take after changing their name to Man. Perhaps due to the eponymous moniker, this album has long been mistaken as a debut effort. However, prior to this title, they had already released a pair of LPs, Revelation (1969) and the somewhat more centered and ambitious follow-up 2 Ozs. of Plastic with a Hole in the Middle (1969). By the time of this platter, Clive John (organ/piano/electric guitar/harpsichord/vocals), Deke Leonard (guitar/vocals), Martin Ace (acoustic guitar/bass guitar/vocals), Terry Williams (percussion/drums), Roger Leonard (acoustic guitar/piano/electric guitar/steel guitar/vocals), and Micky Jones (acoustic guitar/electric guitar/vocals) had settled into what most enthusiasts consider to be a seminal aggregate. In addition to their exceptional improvisational skills, Man would display a more aggressive sound. The opening track, "Romain," instantly gels into driving blues behind Leonard's woozy steel guitar interjections. "Country Girl" is reminiscent of the New Riders of the Purple Sage, complete with a distinct West Coast county-rock lilt. Both of the extended pieces, "Would the Christians Wait Five Minutes?...The Lions Are Having a Draw" and "Alchemist" are pastiches of well-developed instrumentals, although at times they come off as somewhat dated. There is plenty of inspired interaction, however, especially on the latter song as they unleash some definitive heavy metal licks that could easily be mistaken for seminal Black Sabbath. "Daughter of the Fireplace" is another highlight as a compact and attitude-heavy rocker. Interested parties should note that the CD reissue of Man [Bonus Tracks] (2003) augments the original five cuts with the 45 rpm edits/mixes of "Daughter of the Fireplace" -- which has been amended from five-minutes-and-19-seconds to just under three minutes -- and "Country Girl [Single Version]." The audio is exceptional and the liner booklet includes a short essay by noted musicologist Chris Welch.

(by Lindsay Planer, All Music Guide)

Despite the departure of organist Matthew Fisher, Procol Harum survived, and this album is ample proof. Fisher was one of the prime architects of the Harum sound, and his work on such classics as "Shine on Brightly" and, of course, "Whiter Shade of Pale" underline that. Procol continued as a four-piece, and it was indeed a good thing that they decided not to replace Fisher. The sound of the band on this album is a bit sparser, but definitely not without dimension and dynamics. "Simple Sister," one of the finest Gary Brooker/Keith Reid compositions, is truly glorious, with Robin Trower's frightening lead guitar work juxtaposed nicely against a wonderful string arrangement. Several other tracks are first rate, including "Power Failure" and "Playmate of the Mouth." Along with Little Feat, Procol Harum was a great survivor among rock bands that have lost a key member. The proof is in these grooves.

(by Matthew Greenwald, All Music Guide)

Gene Clark's 1971 platter, with its stark black cover featuring his silhouette illuminated by the sun, was dubbed White Light -- though the words never appear on the cover -- and if ever a title fit a record, it's this one. Over its nine original tracks, it has established itself as one of the greatest singer/songwriter albums ever made. After leaving the Byrds in 1966, recording with the Gosdin Brothers, and breaking up the Dillard & Clark group that was a pioneering country-rock outfit, Clark took time to hone his songwriting to its barest essentials. The focus on these tracks is intense, they are taut and reflect his growing obsession with country music. Produced by the late guitarist Jesse Ed Davis (who also worked with Taj Mahal, Leon Russell, Link Wray, and poet John Trudell, among others), Clark took his songs to his new label with confidence and they supported him. The band is comprised of Flying Burrito Brothers' bassist Chris Ethridge, the then-Steve Miller Band-pianist (and future jazz great) Ben Sidran, organist Michael Utley, and drummer Gary Mallaber. Clark's writing, as evidenced on "The Virgin," the title cut, "For a Spanish Guitar," "One in a Hundred," and "With Tomorrow," reveals a stark kind of simplicity in his lines. Using melodies mutated out of country, and revealing that he was the original poet and architect of the Byrds' sound on White Light, Clark created a wide open set of tracks that are at once full of space, a rugged gentility, and are harrowingly intimate in places. His reading of Bob Dylan's "Tears of Rage," towards the end of the record rivals, if not eclipses, the Band's. Less wrecked and ravaged, Clark's song is more a bewildered tome of resignation to a present and future in the abyss. Now this is classic rock.

(by Thom Jurek, AMG)

Often referred by the title Free Electric Sound, Gila's debut is an amazing work, full of acid guitar freakouts, spacy organ and mellotron, exotic rhythm structures, and loads of electronic effects to fully realize the psychedelic visions. From the Floyd-ian space rock of the first two tracks the record moves into even stranger realms on the four segued pieces that make up the second side of the original vinyl. "Kollaps" starts off with ritualistic drumming, a creepy organ riff, a crying baby, and guitar licks that threaten to explode at any moment. After some electronic effects "Kontakt" goes in an entirely different direction with airy acoustic guitar and keyboards and no rhythm section, like suddenly emerging into sunlight after the darkness of "Kollaps." As the track progresses seamlessly into "Kollektivivtat" and then "Individualitat" it again picks up momentum, adding electric guitar riffs and an interesting mixture of bongos and snares as the organ cuts loose, until finally everything dies except the thundering percussions on some quasi-ethnic workout with some electronic sounds thrown in.

(by Rolf Semprebon, All Music Guide)

Tim Hardin was mostly known as a singer/songwriter, and a most prolific one at that, based on the number of originals he generated on his albums during the second half of the 1960s. Bird on a Wire was, thus, something of a surprise, turning up as it did with only six originals on it. Perhaps Hardin was in a bad way creatively -- given what fans know now, it's difficult to picture a time in his life after 1966 when he wasn't, at some level -- but as compensation, he did beautifully soulful renditions of the title track (a Leonard Cohen song), Hoagy Carmichael's "Georgia on My Mind," John Lee Hooker's "Hoboin'," and more. Ironically, Cohen was supposed to be Columbia Records' resident singing literary figure, but in "Andre Johray" and "Moonshiner," Hardin merged serious personal poetry and his compositional and interpretive skills in a startlingly intimate and affecting manner. The singing is exquisite, poignant, and powerful and the production is as tasteful and eloquent as any in Hardin's output. This might not be the place to start listening to Tim Hardin (though there are worse places for that as well) in terms of finding out what he was about, but it's also as essential as anything in his output and a lot closer to the core of who he was than, say, Tim Hardin 4. This was also Hardin's last American studio recording and one of the last records that he made before the physical consequences of his drug problem became obvious.

(by Bruce Eder, All Music Guide)

This is the album that made John McLaughlin a semi-household name, a furious, high-energy, yet rigorously conceived meeting of virtuosos that, for all intents and purposes, defined the fusion of jazz and rock a year after Miles Davis' Bitches Brew breakthrough. It also inadvertently led to the derogatory connotation of the word fusion, for it paved the way for an army of imitators, many of whose excesses and commercial panderings devalued the entire movement. Though much was made of the influence of jazz-influenced improvisation in the Mahavishnu band, it is the rock element that predominates, stemming directly from the electronic innovations of Jimi Hendrix. The improvisations, particularly McLaughlin's post-Hendrix machine-gun assaults on double-necked electric guitar and Jerry Goodman's flights on electric violin, owe more to the freakouts that had been circulating in progressive rock circles than to jazz, based as they often are on ostinatos on one chord. These still sound genuinely thrilling today on CD, as McLaughlin and Goodman battle Jan Hammer's keyboards, Rick Laird's bass, and especially Billy Cobham's hard-charging drums, whose jazz-trained technique pushed the envelope for all rock drummers. What doesn't date so well are the composed medium- and high-velocity unison passages that are played in such tight lockstep that they can't breathe. There is also time out for quieter, reflective numbers that are drenched in studied spirituality ("A Lotus on Irish Streams") or irony ("You Know You Know"); McLaughlin was to do better in that department with less-driven colleagues elsewhere in his career. Aimed with absolute precision at young rock fans, this record was wildly popular in its day, and it may have been the cause of more blown-out home amplifiers than any other record this side of Deep Purple.

(by Richard S. Ginell, All Music Guide)

Total album sales: 3 million - Peak chart position: 4

by William Ruhlmann

In comparison to its predecessors, Cahoots, the Band's fourth album, may be characterized as an essentially minor effort that nevertheless contains a few small pleasures. These pleasures begin with the leadoff track "Life Is a Carnival," a song that continues the theme of Stage Fright by emphasizing the false nature of show business and its impact on reality. The song features a lively Dixieland horn chart courtesy of Allen Toussaint. "When I Paint My Masterpiece," a Bob Dylan song making its recorded debut here as the second selection, is another welcome track, buoyed by mandolin and accordion in a charming arrangement appropriate to its tale of an odd trip to Europe. "4% Pantomime" is a duet between the Band's Richard Manuel and Van Morrison that is entertaining to hear, even if the song itself is slight. Unfortunately, that just about completes the list of the album's attractions. Annotator Rob Bowman claims that the overriding theme of the songs is "extinction and the sadness that accompanies the passing of things that once were held to be of great value"; actually, there is no overriding theme to the minor songs written by Robbie Robertson. Several of the songs' lyrics come across as half-baked film scenarios, but they fail to be evocative, and they are paired to music lacking in structure. The failure is solely in the writing; the Band sounds as good as ever playing the songs, with singers Manuel, Levon Helm, and Rick Danko all performing effectively and primary instrumentalist Garth Hudson filling in the arrangements cleverly. It's just that the material is not strong enough, particularly in comparison to the three impressive albums the Band had released previously. By adding four good bonus tracks, the 2000 reissue significantly strengthens the collection.

Inga Rumpf's Frumpy was among the most startling bands on the entire German rock scene of the early '70s, an act so diametrically opposed to the Krautrock boom beloved by critics elsewhere that first impressions of their music always leave listeners scratching their heads. If Frumpy has any role models, it is a collision between Meddle-era Pink Floyd and a less-precocious Uriah Heep. Frumpy 2, unsurprisingly their second album, features just four tracks, but all are soaring slabs of emotive guitar and keyboards, deeply progressive of course, but unquestionably pop as well. Even at a shade over ten minutes, "How the Gypsy Was Born" sounds like a hit single, while the churning Hammond organ brings Deep Purple to mind in full on "Black Night"/"Woman From Tokyo" mode. Rumpf herself, meanwhile, has a range and depth comparable to Curved Air's Sonja Kristina, with an emotive strength which seems all the more remarkable when you remember that English is not her native language. The shifting, complex "Take Care of Illusion" brings the best out of her in every way imaginable, while the lengthy instrumental break during the closing "Duty" allows her bandmates to shine with equal aplomb. The guitar and keyboard solos and duels which take place above the tumultuous rhythms are as spectacular as anything else in the genre. But even while you're sitting slack-jawed in awe, it is very difficult to play favorites. Frumpy, like Rumpf's Atlantis after them, has antecedents aplenty, and their influences peep out behind every corner. But the manner in which they've been sewn together owes little to any Anglo-American role models and little to any Krautrock basics, too. Quite simply, Frumpy 2 is the prog album you'll be returning to long after the others have all dulled into wallpaper.

(by Dave Thompson , All Music Guide)

Judee Sill's debut album (as well as the debut of the Asylum label) heralded a major new talent in the airy, contemporary folk world of the early '70s. The album employed the production skills of Sill's ex-husband Bob Harris, as well as ex-Turtle, ex-Leaves Jim Pons, and Graham Nash (on the album's sole single, "Jesus Was s Crossmaker"). Judee Sill featured all original compositions, many of which relied on Sill's own brand of cosmological Christian imagery to make their point. By turns spare and lavishly orchestrated, there is still a cohesive feel to all of the album; her lyrics are exceptionally poetic (to the point of being almost flowery) and her voice is smooth enough to bear heavy overdubbing with itself, giving every song a shimmery feel. The essence of the music is folk, the execution pop: the songs feel like a comfort blanket, a statement of hope from a troubled soul.

(by Alex Stimmel, All Music Guide)

Ms. Sill's sound is the epitome of Laurel Canyon's easy, groove conscious folk rock, but it would be a horrendous mistake to leave it there. Ms. Sill explored multiple avenues to get her songs recorded as she heard them. She wrote string and horn charts right out of the Bach manual for Baroque, she layered a warm nylon string guitar over everything, and employed pedal steel, gospel music, and straight rock structures in her songs. She also wrote lyrics and melodies that, once they were laid down, were and still are profound beyond the pale.

For this album Ms. Sill re-recorded the two minor hits she wrote for the Turtles and the Hollies, "Lady-O," and "Jesus Was a Cross Maker," respectively. Her own versions are less sweet, but more lush. They don't feel ironic, but more like statements of life and death. Indeed, in "Jesus Was a Cross Maker," Sill talks of Christ and the Devil as different sides of the same coin, turning her desire for one inside out to have it mirror her desire for the other. With a gospel choir and a full string section falling across an upright piano, when she sings of darkness and light in her plaintive croon, there is no opinion or perspective: this is the truth.

Likewise, in "Ridge Rider," Sill speaks of a stranger who may be her mythical self, or may be God: "He rides the ridge between dark and light/Without partners or friends/He's courageous enough to be scared/But humble enough to win...Since the great fall he's been ridin' hard/ Thinkin' bondage is sin/Hopin' someday the path'll turn gold/And the weight'll turn to wind." Pedal steel guitars, French horns, and a clip-clop rhythm carry this track forward; it is graced by the lonely whine of a harmonica at its nadir. In the grain of Sill's voice is the acceptance of a balance that can never be settled, of a rest that will never be earned, only hoped for. The original 11 tracks all highlight a redemption that is not only desired, it is imperative. Whether from God, amorous love, or self-reliance, redemption for an all-consuming darkness is the only alternative to being swallowed whole.

What's devastatingly seductive about these tracks is that there is no despair in the voice of the singer's confessional narratives; they're articulated through a faith that simply cannot fail or be misplaced. Each song is a brick in a landing strip for an awkward, determined angel to land. Filled with its multi-textured arrangements, and lavish orchestrations, "Lopin' Along Through the Cosmos" features a funky L.A. horn section on top of everything else, and still it's not a mess. Judee Sill [Expanded] is a powerful potion of spiritual and erotic longing, an album that dares to challenge heaven on its own terms, and reveals its dark heart bleeding in the darkness, and longing for light wherever it can be found.

(about the Rhino-Handmade-Reissue by Thom Jurek , All Music Guide)

It is amazing given the exposure Rita Coolidge obtained through the Mad Dogs & Englishmen soundtrack that her second album for A & M is such a cult item. Covers of songs by Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Graham Nash, and participation by names like Al Kooper, Glyn Johns, Bruce Botnick, and Marc Benno should have made this record her breakthrough. Instead, it took quite a few more discs before she would hit the Top 40 on her own with her eighth solo album, Anytime, Anywhere. Asylum Choir member Marc Benno's "Family Full of Soul" opens the album with wonderful bluesy pop resplendent in guitars, vibes, and Coolidge's distinctive voice. As guitarist Benno gets two compositions on this album, so does keyboardist Mike Utley, and his co-write "You Touched Me in the Morning" is a far cry from the slick, similarly titled Diana Ross hit. These authentic tunes and performances are so soulful and moving it is stunning to think that it takes a bright and intelligent audience to seek out and find music this important, music this good. Parallel to the sounds generated by Bonnie Bramlett's various ensembles, the title track by Marc Benno is sheer brilliance; but then again, so is "I'll Be Here," which leads off side two, the swelling organ raising Coolidge's voice into the space where angels dwell on this Jimmy Lewis tune. Graham Nash's "Better Days" works so well in this company as the band changes their approach to the music, David Anderle's production brimming with deep drumbeats and a more majestic go at the sound created by labelmate Joe Cocker and his Grease Band. "Lay My Burden Down" is laced with gospel, and you can hear the future hit sound as Coolidge takes Dylan's "'Most Likely You'll Go Your Way" and makes it her own. Neil Young's "Journey Through the Past" also is transformed by this band, producer, and singer, creating an atmosphere that demands attention. A pity that the radio-listening public doesn't have the opportunity to hear what is inside this beautifully packaged and well-crafted set of recordings. (by Joe Viglione, AMG)

None of Miles Davis' recordings has been more shrouded in mystery than Jack Johnson, yet none has better fulfilled Miles Davis' promise that he could form the "greatest rock band you ever heard." Containing only two tracks, the album was assembled out of no less than four recording sessions between February 18, 1970, and June 4, 1970, and was patched together by producer Teo Macero. Most of the outtake material ended up on Directions, Big Fun, and elsewhere. The first misconception is the lineup: the credits on the recording are incomplete. For the opener, "Right Off," the band is Miles, John McLaughlin, Billy Cobham, Herbie Hancock, Michael Henderson, and Steve Grossman (no piano player!), which reflects the liner notes. This was from the musicians' point of view, in a single take, recorded as McLaughlin began riffing in the studio while waiting for Miles; it was picked up on by Henderson and Cobham, Hancock was ushered in to jump on a Hammond organ (he was passing through the building), and Miles rushed in at 2:19 and proceeded to play one of the longest, funkiest, knottiest, and most complex solos of his career. Seldom has he cut loose like that and played in the high register with such a full sound. In the meantime, the interplay between Cobham, McLaughlin, and Henderson is out of the box, McLaughlin playing long, angular chords centering around E. This was funky, dirty rock & roll jazz. There is this groove that gets nastier and nastier as the track carries on, and never quits, though there are insertions by Macero of two Miles takes on Sly Stone tunes and an ambient textured section before the band comes back with the groove, fires it up again, and carries it out. On "Yesternow," the case is far more complex. There are two lineups, the one mentioned above, and one that begins at about 12:55. The second lineup was Miles, McLaughlin, Jack DeJohnette, Chick Corea, Bennie Maupin, Dave Holland, and Sonny Sharrock. The first 12 minutes of the tune revolve around a single bass riff lifted from James Brown's "Say It Loud, I'm Black and I'm Proud." The material that eases the first half of the tune into the second is taken from "Shhh/Peaceful," from In a Silent Way, overdubbed with the same trumpet solo that is in the ambient section of "Right Off." It gets more complex as the original lineup is dubbed back in with a section from Miles' tune "Willie Nelson," another part of the ambient section of "Right Off," and an orchestral bit of "The Man Nobody Saw" at 23:52, before the voice of Jack Johnson (by actor Brock Peters) takes the piece out. The highly textured, nearly pastoral ambience at the end of the album is a fitting coda to the chilling, overall high-energy rockist stance of the album. Jack Johnson is the purest electric jazz record ever made because of the feeling of spontaneity and freedom it evokes in the listener, for the stellar and inspiring solos by McLaughlin and Davis that blur all edges between the two musics, and for the tireless perfection of the studio assemblage by Miles and producer Macero.

(by Thom Jurek, All Music Guide)

This is a classic, the epitome of the band's early Daevid Allen phase with Ph.P.'s (pothead pixies) in full, blazing glory. In its infancy, Gong was a unique prog rock band that branched out in all directions at once while most other prog bands chose simply one path or another. Camembert Electrique is a testament to that. The band's eclectic "electric cheese" rock is a mixture of psychedelic rock, spacy atmospherics and lyrics, and doses of jazz often presented with a pop sensibility, yet always intense. From the first cut on Camembert, you are transported to planet Gong via the voice of a "radio gnome" who drops in intermittently to remind you you're not in Kansas anymore. Daevid Allen leads the band through several compositions musically (not lyrically) reminiscent of, and possibly influenced by, early King Crimson -- a hard, raw-edged sound propelled by a strong guitar-sax-percussion combo. Drummer Pip Pyle played on only a few Gong sessions; he is a major figure here, as is saxophonist D+6idier Malherbe. Both are up front on the wailing progressive rocker "You Can't Kill Me," which also features guitarist Allen in top form. Allen's declarative "I've Bin Stone Before," the first part of an inventive three-song medley, is of particular interest; introductory church organ and avant-garde sax make this another unique Gong experience. But the real gem on Camembert is "Tropical Fish: Selene." This jazzy composition is the most involving and intricate piece on the recording. The band moves tightly through several progressive movements and Gilli Smyth scores with her trademark "space whispering." Camembert Electrique remains undated after almost 30 years and hovers "strong and steamin'" over most of the Gong catalog.

(by David Ross Smith, All Music Guide)

In Search of Space strengthened Hawkwind's science fiction-type brand of progressive rock, gaining bass player Dave Anderson and galactic poet extraordinaire Rob Calvert, while losing John Harrison at the same time. The album opens with the mind-numbing galactic haze of "You Shouldn't Do That," a spooky little 15-minute excursion that warps, throbs, and swirls with Dik Mik's "audio generator" and the steady drum pace of Terry Ollis. Then comes the ominous whispering of the title, set to the pulsating waves of Dave Brock's guitar and Turner's alto sax, with Dettmar's synth work laying the foundation. Wonderfully setting the tone, "You Shouldn't Do That"'s improvisational looseness and rhythmic fusion smoothly open up the album into the realm of Hawkwind. The peculiarity never ceases, as "You Know You're Only Dreaming" and "We Took the Wrong Steps Years Ago" delves even deeper into obscurity, sometimes emanating with the familiar jangle of the guitar which then has its acquaintance overshadowed by the waft of the keyboard. Just as "Master of the Universe" chugs and rolls with a foreboding rhythm, "Adjust Me" retaliates with its moaning verse and tonal fluctuations fading into oblivion. The groundbreaking sound which Hawkwind achieved on In Search of Space helped to open up a whole new avenue of progressive rock. This album would lead to their most successful release in Space Ritual, coming two years after In Search of Space, with their interplanetary groove already set for takeoff.

(by Mike DeGagne, AMG)

This record is really great... for about six or seven minutes. These first six or seven minutes are the period when eclecticists and sci-fi fans might go hand in hand and wonder at the exquisite marvels of the sound. But at the end of this period, the eclecticists will shake their head, grumble 'it all sounds the same and it's sooo dang primitive and repetitive, man' and head away to their Frank Zappa and Monkees records, while the sci-fi fans won't even notice because they're already wriggling in ecstasy and ascending the skies in their silver machines!
Naturally, I tend to follow the eclecticists, although there are a few reservations. What Dave Brock and his pals are trying to do here is present a perfect soundtrack for pocketbook fantasy: a perfect soundtrack, which is what distinguishes them from such talentless wankers as Uriah Heep. I mean, Dave Brock and his pals might not have been more talented than the Heepsters when it came to penning a decent melody, but in matters of arrangement and instrumentation they certainly gave the pioneers of 'fantasy metal' something to chew on. Although what's that I'm saying? Uriah Heep didn't actually start penning 'fantasy metal' until 1972, and obviously, they were already influenced by Hawkwind...
Anyway, an extra important presence here is bass player Dave Anderson, formerly of Amon Düül II. He is only credited for co-writing 'Children Of The Sun' with Dave Brock, but I feel his influence has been far more important than that, because Hawkwind's sound essentially rips off Amon Düül II. The basis of Hawkwind's sound is as follows: lengthy monotonous rhythmic grooves, usually based upon heavy looping guitar riffs, against the background of which different band members produce all kinds of noises - including 'astral' synth passages, 'psychedelic blues' guitar solos, and 'mama was a wanker' saxophone vibratos. This is exactly what used to characterize Amon Düül II on such albums as Yeti.
To tell the truth, I am often tempted to dismiss In Search Of Space as just a rip-off of Yeti and nothing else - and an inferior rip-off at that. But inferior or not, there is still something endearing and truly hypnotizing about this stuff. It is a little bit more accessible, and it serves its purpose well: the guys are determined to take you with them on a 'space ride' or two, and instead of declining the offer, I suggest we take it. It's cheap, yes, cheap and phoney, but it's a product that's done almost immaculately, and that's astonishing, considering that the album was created by just a bunch of long-haired smelly potheads. And anyway, I don't see how somebody could love 'Interstellar Overdrive' and at the same time twirl his nose at this record - it's so much more engaging and diverse.
Describing the individual tracks would be a hard task, though, they do sound the same indeed. Indeed! I'm not pullin' yer leg! I guess the centerpiece just gotsta to be 'You Shouldn't Do That' in all of its fifteen-minute glory, but basically, its only difference from the follow-up ('You Know You're Only Dreaming') is that it's faster and more rhythmic. Plus, I gotta give some credit to the guys for excellent vocal melodies - Dave Brock doesn't exactly seem fond of singing, but the short vocal parts of all the tracks are done in a very good and catchy way.
My favourite song on the album, though, is and will always remain the crunchy 'Master Of The Universe'. The double-tracked riff of the track (heavy Sabbath-like tone in the left speaker, distorted Hendrixey tone in the right speaker) is a marvel, and all the effects and sonic experiments are excellent as well. It's clear that the musicians aren't really virtuosos, but it's not the quality of their finger-picking, it's the amount of different things they try out and the fact that they try out all the right things at all the right times that's so amazing.
Oh, and if you really get tired of the never-ending groove, relax! The boys have included a couple of nice 'n' gentle acoustic interludes - 'Children Of The Sun' and 'We Took The Wrong Step Years Ago' are both pleasant, if not particularly memorable, little ditties that don't bleed so heavily on your ears. And if you get the EMI CD release, you'll have a few bonus tracks thrown in, the most important of which is the true Hawkwind anthem, 'Silver Machine'. Now that's a cool song! Cheesy, yes, but I just gave a vow never to use the word 'cheesy' in a Hawkwind review because ninety nine percent of Hawkwind's output is cheesy - you have to get over that and just appreciate the talent.
And believe me, these guys were talented, in their own perverse way. I suppose that 'academic stature' reviewers like Wilson & Alroy would get a heart attack at the mere idea of sitting through a Hawkwind album even once, but everything has to be measured according to its own standards, and in the world of sci-fi and hypnotizing 'fantasy metal' Hawkwind undoubtedly put themselves at number one with this album. Okay, okay, this is not the most well-reputed laurel wreath in the musical world, but you know how it goes. Better to be the first guy in your little village than the second guy in Rome.

(George Starostin, Rating: * * *)

The plodding rhythms laid down by a coterie of British rock stars for this set make one long for King's road-tested regular band. But it was the fashion in 1971 to dispatch American blues legends to London to record mediocre LPs with alleged rock royalty (the lineup here includes Ringo Starr, Peter Green, Alexis Korner, and Klaus Voorman.

(by Bill Dahl, All Music Guide)

The Pentangle were always great at creating musical fusions, and on this album, they once again came through. The opening song, "Wedding Dress," is a fabulous meeting of Celtic, country, and, believe it or not, funk. It's one of the few songs of theirs that actually rocks. The rest of the record is classic Pentangle, with Bert Jansch's and John Renbourne's acoustic guitars intermingling so well that it would make even Neil Young and Stephen Stills a little envious. Jacqui McShee, as usual, has some exquisite vocal moments, namely the previously mentioned "Wedding Dress" and an excellent reading of "Will the Circle Be Unbroken." This track shows how the group was further exploring new musical ground, this time with traditional American folk/gospel. The group's rhythm section of Danny Thompson (upright bass/cello) and Terry Cox (percussion) -- easily one of the most inventive on the planet -- shines on every cut, creating solid ground for Renbourne, McShee, and Jansch to do their high-wire act on vocals and guitar. One of their finest all-around albums.

(by Matthew Greenwald, All Music Guide)

Trading the cinematic aspirations of Tumbleweed Connection for a tentative stab at prog rock, Elton John and Bernie Taupin delivered another excellent collection of songs with Madman Across the Water. Like its two predecessors, Madman Across the Water is driven by the sweeping string arrangements of Paul Buckmaster, who gives the songs here a richly dark and haunting edge. And these are songs that benefit from grandiose treatments. With most songs clocking in around five minutes, the record feels like a major work, and in many ways it is. While it's not as adventurous as Tumbleweed Connection, the overall quality of the record is very high, particularly on character sketches "Levon" and "Razor Face," as well as the melodramatic "Tiny Dancer" and the paranoid title track. Madman Across the Water begins to fall apart toward the end, but the record remains an ambitious and rewarding work, and John never attained its darkly introspective atmosphere again.

(by Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide)

Bless the Weather, the first release following two records with his wife Beverley, is a transitional effort for John Martyn. The Glasgow-born singer-songwriter's third solo album emphasizes a darker, smokier sound built around his increasingly jazzy vocals, plus sometimes aggressive, sometimes gentle acoustic guitar work, and Danny Thompson's double bass, which skirts in and out around Martyn's voice and guitar. It also contains the extended instrumental "Glistening Glyndebourne," which highlights his early experimentation with the Echoplex, a sound that would become a major part of his work in the coming years. Bless the Weather, with songs such as the title cut and "Head and Heart," stands as a fine representation of Martyn's early work.

(by Brett Hartenbach, All Music Guide)

Long a fan favorite, Man's fourth studio album was recorded in 1971 during a harried one-week studio session that found the group having to write nearly the entire album, barring the tight and rocking "Angel Easy" and the group's multi-part masterwork "Many Are Called but Few Get Up." Frankly, the album sounds like a record that was largely jammed in the studio; the eight-minute-plus jams that close each side, "We're Only Children" and "Love Your Life," are particularly tiresome, good instrumental and lyrical ideas stretched well past their breaking points. However, besides the superior "Angel Easy" and "Many Are Called but Few Get Up," the album does include the rather wonderful "All Good Clean Fun," a showcase for pianist Clive John and lead guitarist Deke Leonard that has a delightful prog pop playfulness akin to some of Genesis' more lighthearted early moments or the daffiness of the later band Hatfield & the North. The album may be only half good, but that half is among Man's very best work.

(by Stewart Mason, All Music Guide)

Die Greta Garbo des Folk

Erinnerungen an eine andere, überwundene Welt

»She says I'm leaving here tomorrow / To find a new town far away«

Allenfalls Insider vermögen 1970 jene rastlose Annie zu identifizieren, von der Sandy Dennys Song »The Pond and the Stream« erzählt. Erst im Jahr darauf erscheint (auf »Topic«) das Debütalbum dieses stetig fließenden Stromes Anne Briggs, und sofort nimmt sich »CBS«, einen »Folkboom« witternd, des neuen Talentes an. Fünf Alben in fünf Jahren sind das Produktionsziel, und selbst Nichtpropheten sehen voraus, daß diese, in nüchternen Kaufmannshirnen geborene Vorgabe den Fluß unnatürlich stauen und vollends aus seinem Bett tragen muß. Tatsächlich braucht es die Handvoll Alben nicht, schon 1973 ist alles vorbei. Anne Briggs zieht sich, wie von Sandy prophezeit, aus dem Gewerbe zurück, nach einer in jeder Hinsicht vollendeten und einer von der Künstlerin selbst verworfenen Platte. Ein Ereignis, das im vielstimmigen Chor von Britanniens fulminanten Sängerinnen wohl eine Lücke hinterläßt, als unersetzlicher Verlust jedoch erst später begriffen wird. Da ist Anne – es läßt sich ja nicht vermeiden – schon Mythos; die Greta Garbo des Folk, Jerome D. Salingers weibliches Pendant.

1962 reißt ein Mädchen von zu Hause aus. Am 29.9.1944 in Toton/Nottinghamshire als Tochter einer Nordirin und eines Engländers geboren, hat sie nach dem frühen Tod der Eltern den größten Teil ihrer Jugend bei einer Tante verbracht, ein »schwieriges«, weil eigensinniges Kind, das Kunst studieren möchte, doch dann anläßlich eines von der Gewerkschaft organisierten Folkfestivals spontan auf die Bühne steigt, zwei Lieder zum Besten gibt – und plötzlich weiß, was es will. A.L. Lloyd, mit der künstlerischen Leitung des von Ort zu Ort ziehenden Spektakels vertraut, engagiert Anne sofort für den Rest der Tour, und das Mädchen, noch nicht volljährig, verläßt seinen Teich. In London, wo sie alle landen, tingelt Anne durch die Clubs und trifft einen flüchtig Bekannten wieder, den Nicht-mehr-Gärtnergehilfen und Noch-nicht-Gitarrenhelden Bert Jansch. Sowohl privat als auch beruflich vertiefen sie ihre Bekanntschaft, gemeinsame Songs entstehen, die man später in beider Repertoires finden wird.

Nein, in ein »stehendes Gewässer« ist Anne hier nicht gesprungen. London, das daran arbeitet, sich den späteren Zusatz »swinging« redlich zu erwerben, ist in dieser ersten Hälfte der Sechziger auch quirliger Brennpunkt eines neuen Interesses für Folk. Das Archivieren überlieferten Materials, wie es etwa Lloyd oder Hamish Henderson, auch er ein Mentor Annes, betreiben, geht dabei Hand in Hand mit seiner teils behutsamen, teils revolutionären Umgestaltung durch junge Musiker wie Jansch, Davey Graham, die Watersons. Auf den ersten Blick paßt Anne Briggs eher in das Schema einer willigen Adeptin der Traditionalisten: Für Lloyds »Iron Muse«-Projekt, eine Liedersammlung aus der Zeit der Industrialisierung, singt sie zwei Titel, die erste EP »The Hazards Of Love«, 1963 eingespielt, konserviert ebenso eine streng nach den Regeln des Authentischen verfahrende A-cappella-Sängerin wie ihre vier Beiträge zu »The Bird In The Bush« von 1966.

Aber so einfach und umkompliziert ist die Geschichte nicht. Im Gespräch mit seinem Biografen Colin Harper überliefert Jansch eine Charakterskizze der jungen Anne: »Was Anne betrifft, so war sie einfach wild. Sie ging betrunken auf die Bühne und kippte jedesmal um. Wenn sie eines Songs überdrüssig wurde, brach sie ihn mittendrin ab und sagte: 'Okay, vergeßt's. Ich sing euch 'nen anderen.' Man muß verstehen, daß sie auf ihre Umwelt eher wie ein Punk wirkte und nicht wie etwas, das man in dieser Szene bisher gewohnt war.« Auch Lloyd weiß ein Lied von Annes anstrengendem Wesen zu singen: »Sie in ein Aufnahmestudio zu bringen ist so, als lockte man einen wilden Vogel in einen Käfig.« – Wild? Gewiß; aber es gibt ein Synonym für diese Form der Wildheit, und sie trifft den Kern des Phänomens genauer: Scheu. Wann immer Anne vor Publikum auftritt, hat sie Angst. Um sie zu überwinden, fletscht sie mit den Zähnen. Alle wilden Tiere, in die Enge getrieben, tun das.

Im Sommer 1965 besucht Anne erstmals Irland, die Heimat ihrer Mutter. Für die Sängerin ist es ein Heimkommen, sie gehört hierher. England spielt fortan nur noch die Rolle des Ortes, an dem Geld verdient werden muß, um in Irland über die Runden zu kommen. Der neue Freund Johnny Moynihan, mit dem sie über die Insel zieht, wird 1966 Gründungsmitglied von Sweeney's Men, und Anne schließt sich dem Troß an. Zwar tritt sie nie als reguläre Mitstreiterin der irischen Folkrockpioniere in Erscheinung, wirkt jedoch inspirierend – und wird selbst inspiriert.

Anfang der Siebziger – Anne hat noch immer kein Album herausgebracht – steigt sie endgültig zum Geheimtip unter Londons Folkfreunden und Musikjournalisten auf, und jetzt muß der wilde Vogel halt doch zum Zwitschern in den Käfig.

Zehn Songs wählt sie für ihr Debüt aus, acht traditionelle (darunter altbekannte wie »Reynardine« und der Opener »Blackwater Side«) und zwei eigene, »Go Your Way« und »Living by the water« (Annes Liebe zum Wasser ist legendär und Gegenstand zahlreicher Anekdoten der Freunde). Sechs Stücke werden a-cappella vorgetragen, zwei mit Gitarrenbegleitung, zwei mit Bouzouki. Abgesehen von »Willie o' Winsbury«, einem Höhepunkt des Albums, wo auch Moynihan zum griechischen Nationalinstrument greift, ist »Anne Briggs« eine Sololeistung seiner Namensgeberin.

( Dieter Paul Rudolph, www.folker.de)

Die ziemlich einzigartige Sängerin Karen Dalton hat zeitlebens nur 2 Platten herausgebracht. In My Own Time von 1971 ist die bessere von 2 herausragenden! Von der Musikpresse (die sie langsam entdeckt und berechtigterweise zum Kult erklärt) und sogar vom Sticker auf der CD völlig idiotischerweise als Acid Folk klassifiziert, legte sie hier ein formidables variationsreiches Roots-Album vor. (Folk-)Traditionals, Soul- und Blues-Covers stehen neben je 1 Song von Richard Manuel und Dino Valente (Quicksilver M.S.). Es produzierte und wirkte mit ex-Electric Flag und Dylan-Begleiter Harvey Brooks (sie spielte mit Dylan und Fred Neil übrigens schon 1961! Beide waren große Bewunderer, wie auch Nick Cave und Devendra Banhart, die sie gar zu ihrer Lieblingssängerin erklärten und hier neben Lenny Kaye Linernotes beisteuern). Ihre Stimme (oft, nur z.T. zu Recht, mit Billie Holiday verglichen) ist der Hit: Sehr eigen, hoch emotional, hier und da ganz leicht brüchig, kippend, zurückhaltend wie extrovertiert, schmückt sie die Melodien reich aus, umkreist sie, incl. großer Tonsprünge, und phrasiert auch in sehr diffiziler Manier, teils wirklich wie Holiday. Toll wie gewöhnungsbedürftig. Sie wird oft elektrisch begleitet (exzellente ökonomische wie filigrane und kernige Gitarre, u.a. Amos Garrett!) zwischen Country/Folk (Rock) und sehr bluesigem Sound (auf eine manchmal Dylan-eske Art), auch mal soulig, überwiegend relativ relaxt. Häufig sind Pedal Steel (Bill Keith; teils fast bluesig eingefärbt!), Piano und Geige (die 2x eigenständig wunderbare Melodien kreiert!) dabei. Dazu kommt 3x ganz sparsamer/ländlicher/trad. Folk/Country/Hillbilly mit Banjo bzw. Ak.Gitarre, in 1 Fall ergänzt von Drone-ähnlichen Sounds (was ein Effekt!). Super Entdeckung!

(Glitterhouse)

In My Own Time is the second and last album the mercurial singer Karen Dalton ever cut. Following It's So Hard to Tell Who's Going to Love You the Best, producers Michael Lang and Harvey Brooks (Dalton's longtime friend and the bassist on both her records) did something decidedly different on In My Own Time (titled after the slow process of getting the album done — in Dalton's relaxed and idiosyncratic manner of recording), and the result is a more polished effort than her cozy, somewhat more raw debut. This time out, Dalton had no trouble doing multiple takes, though the one chosen wasn't always the most flawless, but the most honest in terms of the song and its feel. The album was recorded at Bearsville up in Woodstock, and the session players were a decidedly more professional bunch than her Tinker Street Cafe friends who had appeared on her first effort. Amos Garrett is here, as is Bill Keith on steel, pianist John Simon, guitarist John Hall, pianist Richard Bell, and others, including a star horn section that Brooks added later. If Lang was listed as producer, it was Brooks who acted as the session boss, which included a lot of caretaking when it came to Dalton — who began recording in a more frail condition than usual since she was recovering from an illness.

In My Own Time is the better of her two offerings in so many ways, not the least of which is the depth she is willing to go inside a song to draw its meaning out, even if it means her own voice cracks in the process. The material is choice, beginning with Dino Valente's gorgeous "Something on Your Mind." Brooks' rumbling single-note bassline opens it with a throb, joined by a simple timekeeping snare, pedal steel, and electric guitars. When Dalton opens her mouth and sings "Yesterday/Anyway you made it was just fine/Saw you turn your days into nighttime/Didn't you know/You can't make it without ever even trying/And something's on your mind...," a fiddle enters and the world just stops. The Billie Holiday comparisons fall by the wayside and Dalton emerges as a singer as true and impure as Nina Simone (yet sounds nothing like her), an artist who changed the way we hear music. The band begins to close in around her, and Dalton just goes right into the middle and comes out above it all. She turns the song inside herself, which is to say she turns it inside all of us and its meaning is in the sound of her voice, as if revelation were something of an everyday occurrence if we could only grasp its small truth for what it weighs.

When the album moves immediately into Lewis and Wright's "When a Man Loves a Woman," Dalton reveals the other side of Percy Sledge's version. This woman who was so uncaged and outside the world that she died homeless on the streets of New York in the 1990s was already declaring the value of loving someone even if that someone couldn't return the love as profoundly — which doesn't mean it isn't appreciated in the depths of the Beloved's being. Dalton sings the song as if wishing that she herself could accept such a love. Her voice slips off the key register a couple of times, but she slides into her own, which is one of the hidden places in the tune that one didn't even know existed. The layered horns don't begin to affect her vocal; they just move it inside further. And the woman could sing the blues in a way that only Bob Dylan could, from the skeletal framework of the tune toward the truth that a blues song could convey — just check her reading of Paul Butterfield's "In My Own Dream," with some gorgeous steel playing by Keith. Her version of Holland-Dozier-Holland's "How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved by You)" has her singing completely outside the time and beat of the tune; floating through the tune's middle, she glides, slips, and slides like a jazz singer in and around its changes.

Another standout is Richard Manuel's "In a Station." As a piano, rolling tom-toms, and an organ introduce it, Dalton is at her most tender; she feels and communicates the understatement in the original, and lets her voice flow through even as the band plays on top of her. And when her voice cracks, it's as if the entire tune does, just enough to let in the light in its gorgeous lyric. Of course, it wouldn't be a Dalton album if there weren't traditional tunes here, and so there are three, including "Katie Cruel," with Dalton playing her banjo and finding the same voice that Dock Boggs did, the same warped cruelty and search for the brutality of love. "Same Old Man" is another banjo-based tune set in an Eastern modal drone. Only the stark loneliness and outsider presence of Dalton's voice shift and move through the large terrain provided by that drone and create the very substance of song from within it. It's spooky, otherworldly. George Jones' "Take Me" is transformed from a plea to a statement; it's a command to the Beloved to deliver her from her current place outside love to become its very substance. It's still a country song, but there's some strange transgender delivery that crosses the loneliness of Hank Williams with the certainty of Tammy Wynette, and is rawer than both.

If one can only possess one of Karen Dalton's albums, In My Own Time is the one. It creates a sound world that is simply unlike any other; it pushes the singer outside her comfort zone and therefore brings listeners to the place Dalton actually occupied as a singer. Without apology or concern for technique, she could make any song her own, creating a personal narrative that could reach outside the song itself, moving through her person and becoming the truth for the listener. The fine Light in the Attic label reissued this set — originally on Paramount — on compact disc in 2006. It's in a handsome package with remastered sound and a beautiful booklet that includes a slew of photos and essays by Lenny Kaye, Nick Cave, and Devendra Banhart. It's a handsome tribute to a nearly forgotten but oh so necessary talent.

(by Thom Jurek , All Music Guide)

Miriam Linna once opined that the Roy Loney-era lineup of the Flamin' Groovies suggested what the Rolling Stones would have sounded like if they'd sworn their allegiance to the sound and style of Sun Records instead of Chess Records. If one wants to buy this theory (and it sounds reasonable to me), then Teenage Head was the Groovies' alternate-universe version of Sticky Fingers, an album that delivered their toughest rock & roll beside their most introspective blues workouts. (In his liner notes to Buddha's 1999 CD reissue of Teenage Head, Andy Kotowicz writes that Mick Jagger noticed the similarities between the two albums and thought the Groovies did the better job.) While the Flamin' Groovies didn't dip into the blues often, they always did right by 'em, and "City Lights" and "Yesterday's Numbers" find them embracing the mournful soul of the blues to superb effect, while their covers of "Doctor Boogie" and "32-20" honor the originals while adding a energy and attitude that was all their own. And the rockers are among the best stuff this band ever put to tape, especially "High Flying Baby," "Have You Seen My Baby?," and the brilliant title track. And unlike Flamingo, Teenage Head sounds just as good as it deserves to; Richard Robinson's production is clean, sharp, and gets the details onto tape with a clarity that never gets in the way of the band's sweaty raunch. While Flamingo rocks a bit harder, Teenage Head is ultimately the best album the Flamin' Groovies would ever make, and after Roy Loney left the band within a few months of its release, they'd never sound like this again.

(by Mark Deming, All Music Guide)

Roy Harper achieved some acclaim with releases like his debut, Sophisticated Beggar, and Flat Baroque and Berserk, but 1971's Stormcock was his first effort that was a fully realized success. Even though all four long songs on the record were arguably superior in subsequent live versions, this is one of only a handful of Harper's albums that has no weak cuts. "Hors d'Oeuvres" had been previewed two years earlier in a faster incarnation, but this version is pleasingly lethargic in a way much like Pink Floyd's "Fearless." "The Same Old Rock" is an extended musical poem about the narrow-mindedness of organized religion and features several movements, including one of Jimmy Page's best solos, even though the notes list Page as S. Flavius Mercurius. After the strangely melodic "One Man Rock and Roll Band," the album ends with the grand "Me and My Woman." This version, while slower than the definitive live take from Flashes From the Archives of Oblivion, features lush orchestration by David Bedford. All four lyrics could stand on their own, showing Harper's vision to be much more profound than the typical stoned poet. His musicianship on acoustic guitar is revelatory, at once thoughtful and hard-edged. Stormcock, in fact, epitomized a hybrid genre that had no exclusive purveyors save Harper — epic progressive acoustic. In this style, Harper amalgamated the best elements of associates Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, and folk artists like Bert Jansch into a winning stew of thought-provoking acoustic music. Harper dabbled in this style with mostly good results for the rest of his career, but never again would one of his albums exclusively have these type of songs on it. Stormcock represents a truly original vision comprised of oft-heard parts rarely assembled and therefore is on par with other heavyweights from the class of 1971 such as Led Zeppelin IV or Meddle.

(by Brian Downing, All Music Guide)

Bobby Hutcherson's late-'60s partnership with tenor saxophonist Harold Land had always produced soulful results, but not until San Francisco did that translate into a literal flirtation with funk and rock. After watching several advanced post-bop sessions gather dust in the vaults, Hutcherson decided to experiment with his sound a bit, but San Francisco still doesn't wind up the commercial jazz-funk extravaganza that purists might fear. Instead, Hutcherson and Land stake out a warm and engaging middle ground between muscular funk and Coltrane-style modality; in other words, they have their cake and eat it too. Joined by pianist/keyboardist Joe Sample (also of the Jazz Crusaders), acoustic/electric bassist John Williams, and drummer Mickey Roker, Hutcherson and Land cook up a series of spacious, breezy grooves that sound unlike any other record in the vibist's discography (even his more commercial fusion sessions). The selections -- all group-member originals -- often skirt the edges of fusion, but rarely play it as expected; they might float some spare tradeoffs over a loping, heavy bass groove, throw in an oboe solo by Land, or -- as on the slowest piece -- keep time only with intermittently spaced piano chords. It's all done with enough imagination and harmonic sophistication to achieve the rare feat of holding appeal for traditional jazz and rare-groove fans alike. It's a shame Hutcherson didn't explore this direction more, because San Francisco is not only one of his best albums, but also one of his most appealing and accessible.

(by Steve Huey, All Music Guide)

Led by ex-folkie Toni Brown (the principal composer) and ex-blueswoman Terry Garthwaite (whose three rhythm songs sizzle joyously), this may not be your idea of rock and roll. The music revolves around Brown's piano, which rolls more than it rocks, and the band goes for multi-percussion rather than the old in-out. I find it relaxing and exciting and amazingly durable; I can dance to it, and I can also fuck to it. The musical dynamic pits Brown's collegiate contralto against Garthwaite's sandpaper soul, and the lyrics are feminist breakthroughs. "Too Late, but Not Forgotten" remembers a trailer camp while "Red Wine at Noon" touches international finance, but the two protagonists are united by one overriding fact--they're victimized as wives. And it's about time somebody in rock and roll said so. A

(Ronbert Christgau)

The British psychedelic band Mighty Baby grew out of the Action, the Liverpool-based R&B outfit signed to Parlophone by George Martin in 1965. Long considered one of Martin's best discoveries this side of the Beatles, the Action consisted of Reggie King (vocals), Alan King (guitar), Pete Watson (guitar), Mike Evans (bass), and Roger Powell (drums). After Watson left in 1967, he was succeeded by keyboardist Ian Whiteman and blues guitarist Martin Stone, a veteran of the Savoy Brown Blues Band. This new lineup evolved beyond the R&B/soul sound that the original Action had played and into a top-flight experimental group, incorporating the kinds of long jams and folk/blues influences that the West Coast bands were starting to export around the world.

They hooked up with ex-Yardbirds manager Giorgio Gomelsky in 1967 and recorded an album's worth of material that went unreleased. Reggie King was gone by early 1968 to record a solo album, and the remaining members went through a number of name changes, at one point calling themselves Azoth. In 1968, they hooked up with the managers who represented Pink Floyd and T. Rex and cut a new series of demo recordings featuring Whiteman (who wrote most of the songs) and Alan King on lead vocals. These demos were even more ambitious than the 1967 sides, extending the structure of the group's songs with long, beautiful guitar progressions and soaring choruses. Unlike a lot of R&B outfits that tried the psychedelic route and failed, they were suited to the new music by inclination and temperament.

The president of the band's new record label, Head Records, for reasons best known to himself, chose "Mighty Baby" as the group's new name. The self-titled album that followed was a masterpiece of late psychedelic rock, with long, fluid guitar lines and radiant harmonies; still, Mighty Baby didn't sell very well, although the group continued to play live shows to enthusiastic audiences. Their record label folded in 1970, and the group eventually signed to the Blue Horizon label, where they released a respectable if not wholly successful second album, A Jug of Love. It was clear by then, however, that their moment had passed, both personally and professionally. Mighty Baby broke up in 1971, although several of the members periodically played together on various projects -- Evans and Whiteman even played back-up to Richard and Linda Thompson in the late 1970's.

(by Bruce Eder, All Music Guide)

Newbury jumped from Mercury to Elektra and in 1970 recorded the second of his amazing trilogy that concluded with Heaven Help The Child. Produced by Dennis Linde, a songwriter, and recorded at the same converted garage studio (Cinderella Sound) Looks Like Rain had been, 'Frisco Mabel Joy adapts its title from a song on the previous album. Once again, texture, atmosphere ands above all mood and mystery were the central tenets of what would become Newbury's trademark sound. The album opens with Newbury's arrangement of what he called "The American Trilogy," a suite containing three songs that have their origin in the Civil War. If this sounds familiar, it is: Elvis Presley made a much more bombastic version of this the centerpiece of his Vegas shows. Newbury's version, full of soft strings, guitars, Charlie McCoy's haunting harmonica bleeding into a muted brass section, is full of drama and pathos. Looks Like Rain moves into an entire series of songs that talk of dislocation, emptiness and endless searching through regret, remorse, and ultimately acceptance and resignation. And Newbury's vocal abilities are just astonishing. He has a different voice for literally every song. It is tempting to write about every single song here, but it would be fruitless. Newbury's tunes are so slippery and mercurial. They shift shape and disappear into a puff of smoke the minute you think you have them pinned down. And if the stories and arrangements aren't enough to confound the listener, the melodies, all of which have their roots in country music, are so much more deceptive, they turn in on themselves and extend each measure with complex phrasing and mode changes.

(by Thom Jurek, All Music Guide)

So, there I was scouring through the racks in a little known second-hand CD store. I come to the jam-packed folk section. I find this, I find that and put them aside. Then I see this face on a cover. David who? David Wiffen. Never heard of him. I put the CD back in the rack and carry on looking. I pick four CDs from the store to purchase and go up to the till. I'm the only person in this small store apart from the hippy looking fellow behind the counter. As I'm handing over the CD covers to the shop assistant, I keep thinking of that sad face on the cover of the David Wiffen CD. Such sad, lonely eyes I was thinking. The guy behind the counter is finding the CDs for the covers that I gave him. I stroll back to the folk section to retrieve the dust covered cover of the David Wiffen CD. I just can't get those staring, despairing eyes out of my mind. I look for a release date on the partially shrink-wrapped CD cover. It looks late 60s, early 70s maybe, but all the information that I can find from the outer sleeve is that it's a import from Italy. I take the CD up to the counter for further investigation. I then ask the hippy chap:"Ever heard of this guy or know when it was recorded?" The assistant looks at it: "nah, never heard of him. Been there for months that one, put the price down twice. Nah, never heard of him, sorry". "Any chance you could maybe play a bit for me?" I ask. "Well, it's shrink wrapped y'know, don't like doing that really". "Please, won't hurt, I'll put the wrapping back on yeah?" "Hey, OK, you've got my curiosity going now". He smiles, and proceeds to remove the shrink-wrapping. The hippy man puts the CD into the player, and the music begins. I hear a sad voice to match the eyes on the cover, a Scott Walker, Fred Neil, David Ackles hybrid is the best way to describe it. I check the inside of the packaging for further information, but nothing, no release date, no recording date. I get as far as track two, and my mind is made up, I just have to buy this. That voice, those eyes...who the hell is this guy? At this point, I really just cannot wait to get home to seek out further information on this wonderful singer by the name of David Wiffen. When I finally do get home, the disc is slotted into the CD player so I can hear for the first time the album in full. It covers folk, country, honky tonk, bar blues and torch singing, all sang in this immaculate, wonderful tenor voice. The final track on this remarkable album...."More Often Than Not", talks openly about Wiffen's trouble with the bottle....Alcoholism. That track was the major pointer as to whom David Wiffen really was. David Wiffen was born in the UK, immigrated to Canada at an early age and worked with artists such as the likes of Joni Mitchell and Bruce Cockburn. I find out that David Wiffen's self-titled album was originally released in 1971. I also discover that David Wiffen suffered a major back injury that halted his music career and was a self-confessed alcoholic. The album David Wiffen is one of the greatest albums in that genre of music that I've ever heard. It's a tragic listen, eerily so. Sad and mournful, just like those eyes on the cover that made me buy it in the first place. My Mother always used to say to me when I was younger.."always look into the eyes, it's the eyes that tell the truth". Everyone knows that your Mother is always right.

(gestolen von rateyourmusic.com)