Outrageous Cherry – The Book of Spectral Projections (Rainbow Quartz)

Television Personality Dan Treacy may know where Syd Barrett lives (although his own whereabouts over the past five years or so is another song which begs to be written), but Outrageous Cherry's Matt Smith sounds like he's been subletting the back room round the Barrett household for years now. The Spirit of St. Syd is all over "Spectral Projections," from the psychedelic, rubblesmania melodies to the tastefully short, but imminently recognizeable solos from lead guitarist Larry Ray. You'll swear you've died and gone to the Perfumed Garden of Delights as you sit back and absorb the vibes that bear that same epiphonic "a ha!" that crawled across your face upon first hearing those first three Floyd singles.

But before you cast your pearls before the swine writing these words and pooh pooh, "not another Barrett clone," Smith and his Cherries take off for the outer space rutuals of vintage Hawkwind on "Shadow of My Universe," right down to the echoed sci-fi liturgical readings. "The Unseen Devourers" is a mouthful of a title, but it redeems itself as soon as its swaggering melody reminds you of "She Bangs the Drums" from the Stone Roses' masterpiece of a debut album, and "Fate's Strange Parade" wraps itself inside an old Neil Diamond riff (back when he was writing hit singles for The Monkees) and will bring a warm smile to the lips of all you old '60s AM radio junkies out there. "The Hour Glass" finds Robyn Hitchcock fronting The Dukes of Stratosphere and sits comfortably amidst the best of both parties.

With twenty tracks, there's bound to be a few turds out on a bum ride, and although "My Demon Friend" and "Of Transparent Versions" showcase Smith's powerful vocal chords, they lack a melodic structure; "Through Parallel Dimensions" threatens to be swallowed up by its pseudo Bo Diddley riffage, and "It's Only Sorcery" seems slightly out of place what with its dark, eerie Lords of The New Church aura. But these are minor quibbles on what may be the best slice of psychedelic pop music to hit these ears since Dipsomaniacs' "Stethoscopic Notion," which was only last year's best album!

It's back to the highs for a quick meeting with "The Astral Transit Authority," the best Jesus and Mary Chain track you've never heard--the musos over at Q, Mojo and NME would be creaming in their jeans searching for superlatives if they ever heard this. Not to be chauvinistic, the girls'll be changing panties at an alarming rate when they get a load of "History of Magic," a dream marriage between The Verve and Ride, and as majestic as anything that fantasy union could conjure. Hell, if anything on Ashcroft's solo LP was half this good, the lad'd have a second career for himself.

Elsewhere, "Everything's Back To Normal" combines, of all things, the riffs from both Led Zep's "Misty Mountain Hop" and Fanny's "I'm Satisfied" (from Mothers Pride), and "Electric Child of Witchcraft Rising" is an incredible Butterfly-era Hollies tribute. All things considered, this is highly recommended as one of the two or three best releases I've heard all year.

The Grip Weeds - Summer of A Thousand Years (Rainbow Quartz)

On the other hand, Rainbow's other recent release, the third from New Jersey's Grip Weeds (named after the John Lennon character in How I Won the War), is one of the weakest. Despite starting off with "Save My Life," which sounds like a lost Byrds' track from their Fifth Dimension/Younger Than Yesterday/Notorious Byrds Brothers heydey, and "She Surrounds Me," which uses backwards guitars and wonderful harmonies to create an upbeat rocker that sounds like it could have been written by a fly on the wall at The Beatles' Revolver sessions, the remainder of this "summer bummer" is populated with bland ballads and meandering melodies, the likes of which vanished 20 years ago with one-hit hairbands like Night Ranger, Great White, and Europe. "Life and Love, Times To Come" at least bears an interesting wyrdfolk arrangement with sitar, tablas, flutes, and mellotron, but sinks under weak vocals (a problem throughout) and an even weaker melodic structure. Not even an unusual cover of the obscure Who track "Melancholia" (sung by lead guitarist Kristin Pinell) can save this drowning ship. As a fellow Jersey resident, all I can say is, "I'm sorry." If you really want to appreciate what we have to offer, go pick up The Catholic Girls disk we raved about last month. 

Tommy Keene - The Merry-Go-Round Broke Down (Spin Art)
http://www.spinartrecords.com

Keene has always reminded me of a ballsier Roger McGuinn, from the raspy vocal inflections and a gift for writing  catchy, though not always memorable pop tunes. Unfortunately, after 20 years and about a dozen releases on half-a-dozen labels (from the big time - Geffen, to the semi-pro - Matador), Keene has been unable to replicate the majesty of his magnum opus, Songs from The Film from over 15 years ago. With "Merry-Go-Round" he's unlikely to win any new fans for, while the songs are pleasant enough, (I might even find myself playing "Technicolor," "Big Blue Sky," and "Time Will Take You Today" again sometime in the future), they slide by like a whiff of perfume floating on a summer breeze: pleasant and enjoyable while you're experiencing it, but totally forgotten five minutes after it's left.

The song everybody will be talking about, "The Final Hour" is actually five songs for the price of one and  should have been so delineated. No one in this day and age is going to sit through a 16 1/2 minute power pop song. That's about as welcome as a Hepatitis C diagnosis from your physician. Both are painful reminders of the seemingly good times of your youth, and "Merry-Go-Round" is painful evidence of Keene's failure to fulfill the exciting promise demonstrated on Songs from The Film all those years ago. Perhaps this is indeed Keene's "final hour."

The Lucky Bishops - Grimstone (Woronzow)
http://www.woronzow.co.uk

The Dorset (UK) clergymen's sophomore effort finds them jettisoning the prog influences that floated across their debut for a lighter, poppier sound with mixed results. "The Children" is a dreamy, organ-driven dirge highlighted by some tastefully fluid guitar lines from Rich Murphy, whose radio-friendly "Find Out" is a little pop gem and an early candidate for the leadoff single, although I could have done without the little ephemera and studio effects appended to the end of the track. Keyboardist Tom Hughes presumable sings his own composition, "In Everthing I Saw," in which, after recovering from the shock of his near-falsetto voice, you'll find remnants of Difford & Tilbrook at the peak of their songwriting skills demonstrated throughout their early Squeeze releases. The same holds true for bassist Alan Strawbridge's "Life in Hell," although nothing can prepare you for the brief "wordless vocals" at the end of his "Napoleon," which sounds like something lifted straight out of those Brit comedies filmed in swinging London in the mid-'60s.

A groovy, loungy vibe permeates "Wait for No One," as dry and refreshing as a shaken-not-stirred martini on a humid summer day, although, once again, the 90-second studio tomfoolery should have been left on the editing room floor. Not everything is successful, however, and things deteriorate rapidly on side two: "Doppleganger" has a hard time getting out of its own way and is too fast by half for its own good; "Pigeon" is merely a collection of sound effects and wacky instrumentation in search of a melody; "Rock Stars" is too disjointed to be appreciated, with a jarring, raucous chorus slicing into an otherwise tender ballad; "Strange Times" is a failed experiment in synchronicity (aren't they all?) where one half of the band sings the chorus at 90 miles an hour in one room while the other half sing a seemingly unrelated song in another; and "I Hate This Town" is eminently forgettable. And don't bother waiting for a "hidden song" at the end of track 12 - it's just someone reading a poem for about a minute that seems to have nothing to do with the rest of the record. So, although not altogether avoiding the infamous "sophomore slump," Grimstone will certainly appeal to all you Squeeze fanatics out there. I just wish there was a little more structure to the tunes and a little less experimentation in the studio.

Various Freaks and Assorted Head Cases - The International League of Telepathic Explorers (Free City Media)
http://www.freecitymedia.com

A lot of people ask me how I ever keep up with all the latest psych bands and who can I recommend (obviously a reflection of the woefully sorry state of music rather than any inherent trust in what I have to say, but no matter). Nick Bensen at Free City Media (freecitymedia.com), a marvelous site that everyone should bookmark immediately, has made my life a lot easier by releasing this compilation of some of the hottest new psych bands around, so if you're wondering where to begin, look no further.

Norway's Aquarium Poppers kick things off with "Magic Luxury," one of the better tracks from their recent Beatles-esque EP, followed by Bensen himself, whose "Never Coming Down" eschews my recent comparisons to all things Frond with a catchy, Witch Hazel Sound-ing flowery summer of luvfest that approximates Beach Boys on acid. It's a pleasant Curt Boetcher, melting wall o' sound that Sean O'Hagan and his High Llamas would kill for. The Frond hisself contributes "Being You," another of his patented bedsit psychedelic pop tunes: three minutes of pure pop for now people followed by three more minutes of brain-frying guitar pyrotechnics.

Bitter Little Cider Apples offer "Crocodile Head," a catchy little stomper with a Lucky Bishops' connection (see above; here, bassist Alan Strawbridge drums and produces, while keyboardist Tom Hughes rides his Hammond B organ into the paisley sunset with a neat little "Time is Tight" riff) that marries XTC to The Clean and sprinkles Squeeze into the mix to keep things accessible. thebrotheregg abandon their Olivia Tremor Control fixations which sunk their debut album for me, and offer a quirky ballad "Mercury Retrograde" that Robyn Hitchcock is set to claim parental visitation rights for.

Next up, the Norwegian Pajamas, a.k.a. Dipsomaniacs, who gave us 2001s finest release in Stethoscopic Nation, have another run through the John Lennon songbook with the gentle acoustic ballad "How To Fall." Scott Grimm's latest Dunlavy offering is the hard-to-handle, "The Guest." Vocalist John Crevasse begins sounding like Tom Waits and ends sounding like Neil Young, and the melody explodes in too many different directions at once, leaving me starry-eyed and somewhat dazed and confused.

The aforementioned Lucky Bishops once again pillage the Rubbles series of psych obscurities for a rainbow's worth of colorful melodies that make up "The Silent Car," which ends abruptly, then changes its mind and decides to reprise the chorus. Perhaps the fumes from recording in an outhouse has overcome the lads? They return with a short instro, "Animal Kingdom" which suggests they've also had Past & Present's "Instro Hipsters A Go-Go" comp on repeat play in the CD player. It sounds like something pilfered from the DeWolfe film library or The Pretty Things' "Electric Banana" series. Groovay, baybay! Like, shagadelic!

Germany's Mandra Gora Lightshow Society are off to the races with "Horse-Race On A Rollercoaster," whose detached organ runs and stoner vocals are a little too meandering for my tastes. Perhaps the explosion at the end is at the wrong place? The Minders rescue things somewhat with "Someday Soon" (not the Judy Collins song), which starts out as a perfectly pleasant pop tale but fucks things up with a ridiculous middle section that sounds like they've been listening to too much Bee Fart. I did enjoy tripping with Norway's Motorpsycho, who "Go To California" to armwrestle Sean O'Hagan over who can best rip off the spirit of Brian Wilson. Early results:
Motorpsycho - 1, High Llamas - nil.

The one-man Photon Band that is Art Di Furia brings us to wah-wah heaven with "Magic Lantern." It's a great mid-60s AM radio-styled hit, only suffering from an awkward edit to drop his solo into the mix. Polar Arc's "The Bride of Completion" illustrates what "On The Beach" might have sounded like if it was recorded by Procol Harum in the wilds of Alaska: lots of organ and Soft Machine weirdness. Australia's Sand Pebbles' "My Sensation" is a pleasant promo for their debut long player, "Eastern Terraces" on Camera Obscura. As I mentioned in my current set of reviews on the website, it still sounds like Smokey Robinson coming to your "emotional rescue," but don't let that scare you away - there's lots more to like on the LP, even if, like me, you hate the Stones.

A remixed version of Ade Shaw's "Symbiosis" is a bit slower than the original (from Head Cleaner) and sounds like Kevin Coral and his Witch Hazel Sound were locked in an echo chamber - that's a compliment, Ade! This may best be appreciated on a sailboat in the middle of the Atlantic with the sun beating sown and the cool ocean breezes prickling your saltcovered skin. The only downside is that Ade's screaming guitar solo at the end sounds like it was fed through the plastic tube hanging out of Peter Frampton's mouth. No, Pete, I don't feel like you feel. 33 Tiger Infinity bring "Everything [is Everything"] to a grinding halt with the wall of distortion whose lyric consists of the title repeated over and over on top of directionless noise masquerading as melody. Best left to aficionados of Acid Mothers Temple and their room-clearing cacophony.

So, despite a few speedbumps along the way, these telepathic explorers deliver one of the finest introductions to the current state of psychedelia with a poppy slant. Order directly from Nick at Free City Media and enjoy!

Remora/Pale Horse and Rider/Rivulets - The Alcohol EPs (Silber)
www.silbermedia.com

"22 bottles of beer on the wall, 22 bottles of beer...." Brian John Mitchell's Silber Records' 22nd release celebrates the death of John Barleycorn with a concept album dedicated to "personal struggles for growth." With bartender Tom Waits serving up double shots of JD, the mood is somber throughout - no loudmouthed, barbrawling lagerlouts here - but, as the press release offers: "substance abuse is not glamorous." So what we have are three pseud-anonymous solo artists peering through a haze of barroom smoke wondering aloud why their pots at the end of the rainbow are overflowing with vomit and cheap rent-a-piss.

Remora (Mitchell) buys the first round with the punnily titled "I Told Jesus Christ How Much I Love Her," whose meaning reveals itself in the course of the sad ballad of our narrator who's lost his girlfriend in a car accident and has turned to the bottle for solace. "First Call" (the tracks should have been reversed) is an instrumental mood piece wherein Mitchell strums a guitar over a set of backwards tape loops and sets the stage for the remainder of the album, which thematically regresses into drunkeness (or alcoholism over the long term), recalling what a friend once told me about that "first call:" the first drink of the evening always tastes the best and you spend the remainder of the evening chasing after its elusive "rush."

"Built" is a quiet, depressing confessional that sounds like Michael Gira on 'ludes, and will appeal to everyone who misses the mood of the final Swans' albums. And speaking of JD (and depression), the world's most depressing band is the titular subject of "Joy Division." A friendly word of advice: one thing you don't want to do after your lover's left you is put on a JD record and settle into a comfy chair within arm's length of the liquor cabinet. Mitch at least hasn't gone over the deep end just yet - there's a glimmer of hope in the closing lyric, "I don't want to put a rope around my neck/I'm listening to Joy Division."

By the time he reaches "Oblivion," a lengthy, ominously strummed instrumental that illustrates the false sense of nirvana that alcohol de/in-stills, you'll be reaching for a bottle yourself. By then, "Hope is Gone," and old John Barleycorn has got his claws stuck into you and you have nothing to look forward to but a Sisyphusian climb out of the bottom of a bottle that will haunt you for the rest of your life.

New Yorker Jon De Rosa has recorded under nearly half a dozen different monikers (including Pale, Still, Dead Leaves Rising, and Aarktica), and his latest incarnation is Pale Horse and Rider. When I interviewed him a few years ago he expressed his fascination with the work of the "man in black," and his four tracks here offer the opportunity to mix Johnny Cash and Hank Williams (with a little bit of ice and a lemon twist.) Jon lives over a bar and he told me that he writes a lot of his material downstairs with the aid of a sixpack and a notebook, just watching the world go by. "You've Been Keeping Secrets Again" has the feel of an Olde English ballad about the descent into madness, or in this case alcoholism. I'm also reminded of some of those old ballads that McGuinn used to reinterpret with The Byrds. It also illustrates Reason #46 why people turn to drink: to drown their sorrows while questioning why loved ones have such a difficult time being honest with us. I can picture Jon at the end of the night sitting alone at the table after the customers have stumbled out, extemporaneously contemplating life's mysteries. 

All of you who've been present at too many "closing times" will appreciate the sentiment of "Open Letter To An Empty Bar," and you certainly can identify with our hero's "Pincushion Hands," another morose ballad ruing love's labours lost. If you're familiar with any of De Rosa's other projects, this is closes to the acoustic melancholia of Dead Leaves Rising (with a Tequila chaser); if you're not, imagine Mark Eitzel getting thrown out of every American music club for too much drinking and you're in the neighborhood (bar).

Alcoholism is, of course, inherited - the gene sometimes lies dormant for years until an event triggers the wakeup call that will ruin the rest of your life. It's amazing how often that trigger is the loss of a loved one (literally and figuratively) and both sides of that trigger are explored across the 14 tracks on this full-length split EP.

The only thing I can make out of Nathan Amundson (aka Rivulets)' "Anaconda" is that he's using it as a euphemism for a suffocating relationship. Unfortunately, I had to sit through 12 minutes of him repeating the title before he got to the (spiked) punchline: "I always knew you'd leave." "Gimme Excess" sounds like it was recorded on a boombox in the next room. It consists primarily of Nathan strumming the shit out of his sixstring for 7 minutes and stream-of-consciously talking to the pink elephants and "spirits" of the night until it sounds like he falls out of the chair and Nathan and said guitar go crashing to the floor. A female companion shouts "Nathan!" and seems to rush to his rescue, so it might not be an act!? Well, that's one way to end an evening, but it's a bit too much "method singing" for my liking.

"Shakes" is surprisingly beautiful in light of the foregoing and is reminsicent of the naked honesty of Nick Drake's Pink Moon  sessions. THe whole bender comes to a close with "Your Light & How It Shined" that benefits from a driving beat that shuffles along with equal parts David Crosby trying to remember his name and John Sebastian having a dream. Overall, his segment should appeal to fans of Songs:Ohia (Jason Molina), Daniel Johnston, and Jandek. Unfortunately, I'm neither.

As to the release itself, granted it starts in the gutter and proceeds to trickle down the sewer of depravity, self-pity, and self-loathing, but it's unique as perhaps the first release dedicated entirely to alcoholism, and its aforementioned message that "alcoholism is not glamorous" is to be congratulated and bears repeating. Alcoholics may find it about as comforting as an AA meeting, vicariously reliving their own personal demons with a knowing "been there, done that" nod; teetotalers, on the other hand, will probably shake their heads and remind the participants that no problem was ever resolved "under the influence;" while the social, on-the-cusp drinkers might want to stick this on next time they're feeling in a particularly melancholic mood, and wallow in the misery within these grooves rather than the bottom of a bottle. Imagine if all the characters in Jean-Paul Sartre's No Exit were alcoholics and you'll have an idea of what this AA meeting from hell sounds like. The press release says all the songs were either inspired by, or written under the influence of alcohol. Whether they were performed under the same condition is for you to decide.

Guided By Voices - Universal Truths and Cycles (Matador)

To me, GBV have always been the aural equivalent of Cliff's Notes to classic literature or a Reader's Digest extract from a full-length novel: you get a taste for the complete work and if you like it you want to read more. So it is with GBV albums. Most of their best songs sound like traditional "reprises" wherein an artist takes the best one or two minutes from a longer work and repeats it - sort of like an aural flashback. The frustrating thing for me listening to the GBV catalog over the years is that mainstay Robert Pollard has a wonderful ear for a catchy melody, but a minute later, the song's over. This tendency to record and release anything that pops into his head results in about 10-15 minutes of music I'll never forget buried under a half hour of shit.

With 19 songs in 45 minutes, you know this annoying habit is bound to continue and the lead off track, "Wire Greyhounds" is 35 seconds of Elvis fronting The Clash...and then it's over. "Skin Parade" boasts one of their heaviest beats ever, but ultimately comes off like Nick Lowe with a headache and deteriorates into an agonized Trent Reznor screamfest. Annoying song #2, "Zap" has a pleasant cha-cha backbeat, then leaves the area after a minute. "Christian Animation Torch Carriers" (no, Pollard hasn't lost his penchant for  annoyingly meaningless titles) has enough ideas for ten songs - unfortunately, the band try and play them all at once and the resulting mess is as dizzying as a traffic jam in Times Square on New Year's Eve.

Pollard hiccups "Cheyenne" in a falsetto voice that sounds like someone shoved a guitar neck up his ass, and annoying song #3, "The Weeping Bogeyman" takes a minute-an-a-half to go nowhere just as fast. Annoying song #4, "Love 1" takes all of 53 seconds to rip off the bassline from The Stone Roses' "She Bangs The Drums," and the 90 seconds of annoying song #5, "Factory of Raw Essentials" end just as they start to develop into a nice Ian Hunter-styled ballad. "Lady Madonna"-like strings break up the monotony on "Pretty Bombs," but they also interrupt the song at the most inopportune times and turn what could have been a pretty pop song into an unsettling listening experience.

Pollard does a great Roger Daltry impression on "Eureka Signs" and "Wings of Thorn," the best Who songs I've heard in the past 20 years. Rather than wearing his influences on his sleeve, in case you haven't gotten the joke by now, he decides to smack you over the head with it and title one track "The Ids Are Alright." Ouch! Annoying song #6, the 70-second "From A Voice Plantation," also ends before it begins, and the whole mess is wrapped up with a last-ditch effort to wrangle at least an annual revisit to the album with just about the worst pop Christmas song ever written, "Father Sgt. Christmas Card."

It's about time somebody put their foot down and called Bob aside and told him, "look, just because you've written 10,000 songs, doesn't necessarily mean we're gonna release all of them. Now get back in the studio and trim some of this fat and complete some of those other songs that at least have an idea attached to them." That's why the best GBV albums were the ones with Tobin Sprout around to take some of the album space away from Pollard's half-baked demos. [That, and the fact that he's a better songwriter - just compare their solo efforts for evidence.] Until then, we'll be forced to suffer through garbage like this. This reviewer is taking the first step: this is the last GBV album you'll see promoted in these pages until there's something worth writing about. The buck stops here.

The Green Pajamas - Narcotic Kisses (Camera Obscura reissue)
www.cameraobscura.com.au

Some artists are just too damn prolific for our own good. Take Jeff Kelly for example. In a little less than 20 years, Kelly has released seven solo albums, nearly a dozen full-lengths and EPs with his main project, The Green Pajamas, and another full length with his side project, Goblin Market (with fellow Pajama, Laura Weller.) And this doesn't even include the limited edition (some as few as 25) cassette-only releases that he's handed out to friends and family (eg., November, Halloween, Twenty-Five). And as if that weren't enough product to keep fans and completists on an Internet scavenger hunt for years trying to track down, he's also contributed over two dozen tracks to fanzines (such as Ptolemaic Terrascope, The Broken Face, and Chunklet), tribute albums, and 7" singles. I can't imagine a sleepless-in-Seattle night, daily commute, or coffee or bio break goes by without Jeff whipping up at least the rudimentary idea for a song, if not a few chord progressions and a chorus. This is where Australian imprint, Camera Obscura's 52nd release (no, they haven't all been Green PJs records!) comes in. The Green Pajamas return to Oz with their best release since All Clues Lead To Megan's Bed, widely hailed as '99s finest release. The second collection to gather assorted singles, outtakes, and compilation appearances (the first, Get Hip's Indian Winter is a marvelous collection of flotsam and jetsam from the first half of their career, which was my first introduction to the band and remains, song-for-song, their finest release), Narcotic Kisses gathers outtakes from recent releases, original versions of songs that later appeared on the Goblin Market Ghostland cd (also on Camera Obscura), and some mp3's and singles that Camera Obscura originally made available in limited quantities. In fact, Narcotic Kisses itself originally appeared in a vinyl-only, limited edition  of 300, which sold out (on pre-order) before it was officially released! This CD reissue appends an additional half hour of material.

Kelly begins the lengthy six-minute opener, "I've Got A Crush On You" with a bagpipe-like accordian solo that sounds like the melody from "Amazing Grace;" the song proper is an incredible, bottom-heavy pop gem with a memorably melodic bass line from Joe Ross. Both sides of the exceedingly rare and now ridiculously expensive (if you could even find one) "Vampire Crush"/"These Are The Best Times" single are here. Originally issued as a clear, lathe-cut 7", the questionable sound quality quickly relegated it to a collectable novelty item, so most people, included owners of said collectable will be hearing these songs as they were intended for the first time. The latter, in particular, is the epitome of the term "Lennonesque," and should be accompanying commencement exercises for years to come (alongside Ross' "Graduation Day," available on Strung Behind The Sun). I also love the lilting ending lifted straight out of the coda from the Redd Kross classic, "Bubblegum Factory" (off Third Eye). The A-side features horns, a killer chorus, and one of Kelly's sexiest vocals, and it's immediately apparent why this would be chosen as a single.

"The Demon Lover" is a slow, moody ballad reminiscent of Kelly's solo material. There are also several cinematic references across Narcotic Kisses, both intentional ("Just Another Perfect Day" was written, but ultimately dropped from a forthcoming soundtrack) and unintentional ("Drowning" contains a lyric about "the deep end of the ocean," which, at the time, Kelly was unaware was the title of one of those silly Oprah Book of the Month selections that was eventually made into a movie. To this, I would add "If Tomorrow Comes," also the title of a 30 year old TV movie of the week starring Patty Duke. The track at hand, however, is one of the PJs finest rockers and easily one of the highlights of the collection. 

The string driven thing that is "Ballerina" is a waltzy ballad that hearkens back to Kelly's Leonard Cohen-inspired solo material. You'll also find alternate  versions of "Song for Christina" and "The Ravenna Witch" as well as half a dozen bonus tracks that did not appear on the vinyl edition. Of these, the best are "Deadly Nightshade," which previously appeared on the Ptolemaic Terrascope benefit release Succour, and which is a Green Pajamas song in name only (Kelly told me in an interview that he played all of the instruments on this amazing track, whose swirling "Blue Jay Way" vibe wouldn't have been out of place on Harrison's All Things Must Pass), and "If He Should Go Away," an epic story/song with a heart-wrenching vocal and killer melody that you'll be humming for days. In fact, you may already have done just that, as it bears more than a passing resemblance to "Megan's Bed"'s "Queen of Sunshine."

Green Pajamas novices are heartily encouraged to pick up this (and its aforementioned Indian Winter counterpart) for an excellent overview of all phases of the PJs' career, and completists will certainly enjoy the convenience of having all these songs gathered together in one place, especially as the originals are long gone.

Hex - The Gold Dust Sessions (Hex Records)

When last heard from (three years ago at the Terrastock III festival in London), 14 year old Debbie Saloman was fronting her dad, The Bevis Frond guitarist and Woronzow label head Nick, in a pleasant little pop duo calling themselves Petrocat. In spite of a teaser for a forthcoming LP, "The Big Cheese," which appeared on the Woronzow sampler (and source of this month's punny column heading) Like It? It's Yours, nothing more was heard from this dynamic duo. In an interview on KFJC-FM in Los Altos Hills, California a couple of years ago, Debbie said she was working on material for an album, but wouldn't return to it until she finished her schooling (and, she added quite innocently, dad finished writing it! Out of the mouths of babes...!) Apparently having abandoned the pop concept of Petrocat, Debbie returns (fronting the quartet, Hex), with a 6-song EP of lounge standards ranging from "Summertime" and "All of Me" to "Cry Me A River," Joplin's "Piece of My Heart," and Classics IVs "Spooky."

The leadoff track is a good indication of the direction the EP will take, as by the time we reach the concluding "Cry Me A River," we've experienced a bundle of excitement that combines the emotional, soul-stirring delivery of a Billie Holiday or Liza Minelli with the powerful-beyond-her-years vocal chords of former Stiff teenage recording sensation, Rachel Sweet. Whether there is a market for this type of music is debateable, and whether Debbie will continue in this direction or return to her earlier pop leanings is undetermined, but on the basis of these (officially released) demos, the young lass certainly has a promising future which may bring her to Broadway or some London West End musical in the not-too-distant future.

NOTE: Although dad is credited with guitar throughout, Frond completists should be aware that Nick's work is buried so far down in the mix as to be rendered inaudible. Besides, it's daughter Debbie who's the main star of this vehicle (ably assisted by the melodic, walking bass lines of Tim Hussain, the nimble-fingered, jazzy keyboards of Phil Grosso, and the unobtrusive drumming of (current Bevis Frond drummer) Jules Fenton.) Special mention is also due guest Lindon Riley, whose trumpet weaves around Miss Saloman's voice like blue smoke in an over-crowded cocktail lounge. This disk can be purchased directly from Debbie for 6 pounds (inc. postage), at 75 Melville Rd., Walthamstow, London, E17 6QT, UK.

Black Sun Ensemble - Live at KXCI (Slowburn)
www.slowburn.net; slowburnrecords@aol.com

This self-released (on bassist Eric Johnson's label) live album (with interviews interspersed throughout) was recorded on the "eve of destruction," 9/10/01 at a radio station in the band's native Tucson, Arizona. Consisting exclusively of songs from the sextet's current Camera Obscura album Hymn To The Master, the band is exceedingly loose throughout as evidenced by the hilarious interview material, which includes, among other things, leader Jesus Acedo reading excerpts from his book of poetry ("The Lyceum"), and explaining the meanings behind several of the songtitles, as well as the reason for the appellation "Prince Master Blaster" that he appended to his name. The sound is excellent throughout--this is not a quick cash-in bootleg recorded off the radio by some fan. Sax player Brian Maloney explained to me that they pressed the disk off the original mixing board tape, which was located in the studio, prior to the signal going out over the radio.

"Loki's Monster's Brood," an early highlight, is even more rocking live than on record, with chord changes and angular misdirections that approximate King Crimson playing surf music (imagine Dick Dale jamming with Fripp & Co.) The funky "Hymn of The Master" sounds like "Main Street"-era Stones: sloppy and raunchy with Parliament/Funkadelic-styled riffs punctuated throughout, ruined only by Acedo's attempts at "singing"--a similar fate marred the otherwise wonderful studio album. If nothing else, original vocalist Odin Helgisen added another dimension to the previously all-instrumental psychedelic swarm. However, the original Tucson gypsy left the band several lifetimes ago to (allegedly) escape the overwhelming demands of his 27 children and, for reasons unfortunately not explored by the DJ, Acedo decided to take it upon himself to provide the throat noises masquerading as "vocals." 

"669" loses the plot somewhat, being merely rambling and anonymous jamming, as does "Lamplady Vision," wherein the band seems hesitant and unsure of which direction Acedo wants to lead them. As a result it doesn't really go anywhere and comes across as a lengthy intro to "Song for Precious," my personal favorite both here and on the studio LP (there is no studio banter between tracks, strengthening the former's general introductory feel.) It's one of Acedo's prettiest songs, and titularly reminds me of Arthurly's "Song for Pretty," although, once again, the DJ doesn't ask Jesus if there is any connection between this and the old Love song.

Other than these minor quibbles and a little wind-out-of-the-sails sagging in the middle of the set, it is an otherwise excellent representation of where the Ensemble are in their on-going development (at one point in the interview, Jesus says he feels this is the best lineup of the Ensemble that he's worked with to date), and fans and completists alike are encouraged to seek this out while they eagerly await the "in the can being mixed" next studio album, Starlight and Starbright.

Linda Thompson - Fashionably Late (Rounder)

The title refers to this being the first solo album from the former Fairport Convention vocalist in 17 years. It is also very much the family affair, with contributions from ex-husband Richard (his distinctive fingerpicking adorns the leadoff track, "Dear Mary"), their son, Teddy (acoustic guitar throughout) and daughter Kamilla (harmony vocals). An unrelated Thompson, Danny, contributes bass to one track. In fact, with engineer John Wood, strings arranged and conducted by Robert Kirby, and appearances by the two Daves: Pegg and Mattacks, it features most of the session players on Nick Drake's first two albums, who just so happened to be members of two of finest purveyors of the early British folk/rock sound: Fairport Convention and Pentangle. And as if that's not enough of an enticement to go out and buy this without hearing even one note, how about appearances by Van Dyke Parks (accordian and Hammond B-3 organ), Rufus Wainwright,  Jerry Donahue (also from Fairport/Fotheringay), and, last but certainly not least, the godfather of British folk (and American, too, for that matter), Martin Carthy (whose daughter, Eliza also adds fiddle.)

So, with all that talent helping out, the cynics out there may still find themselves asking, "Is it any good?" Well...not exactly. And the problem can be summed up in two words: nepotism, songwriting; i.e., too much reliance on the former to the detriment of the latter. For in spite of a marvelous opener, "Dear Mary," featuring all five Thompsons and benefiting from a swaying, Dylanesque melody, much of the ensuing work is filled with the same childlike, nursery rhyme melodies, sparse, minimalist (bordering on) catatonic arrangements, and a general failure to give that all-star lineup anything to do. Indeed, I doubt the album would have sounded any different if it was populated with anonymous session musicians.

Someone must be held accountable and I have to point the finger directly at Linda, who, whether it be nepotism or motherly pride, consented to perform songs arranged and written/co-written by her son and, quite frankly, let's just say he didn't inherit dad's gift for songwriting. Most of the songs are lifeless and unadventurous, with childish, nursery rhyme melodies that aren't developed beyond their simple blueprint. For me, this record should herald Linda's return - yea, shout it from the mountaintops for all to hear. It should have life pouring from the grooves, like a big, overblown Italian wedding. Instead, it lies comatose, like a family reunion where all the children have grown up and developed their own lives and now find they have nothing much to say to each other. 

But let's look on the bright side for a moment: "Nine Stone Rig," based on an ancient Scottish ballad from the time of Sir Walter Scott, and the nearly a capella "The Banks of The Clyde," featuring evocative "smallpipes" from Kathryn Tickell, and wrapped in Linda's sincerest Scottish brogue (which, strangely, sounds like Buffy Sainte-Marie in places) both recall the early Fairport/Steeleye Span adoption and respect for the traditional British folk tale, and are interesting diversions; "No Telling" blurs the boundaries between British folk and American country & western music and just barely falls into the former's court. I also had a flashback to mid-period Melanie while listening to this track, who I think would be able to do wonders with it if she decided to make her own comeback album.

However, it's the remainder of the album that leaves this reviewer out in the cold. There's no escaping the C&W vibe of "Evona Darling," originally intended for a Lal & Mike Waterson tribute and the only song not written by the Thompsons. Despite a brief, but memorable accordian solo from Van Dyke Parks, the song fails to generate any excitement, and their duet comes up flat and emotionless. I half expected them to break into a few "yee-hahs!" as they rode off into the sunset. "Weary Life," recorded in half a dozen different studios (including the mysterious "Chez Boyd" in NYC - Joe Boyd's home?) has a marvelously rollicking, sea shanty melody and should jump out of the speakers in fine drunken, singalong, pub rock fashion. However, again the arrangement is so spartan and deliberate it seems as if Linda's afraid to break into a sweat and relax and let herself go. The less said about the dull and trite "All I See" the better, and the elaborate and interminably long "Paint and Powder Beauty" featuring Martin Carthy on acoustic guitar, nearly half a dozen violins, violas, and cellos arranged and conducted by Robert Kirby (who performed the same tasks on Nick Drake's best LPs), and a beautiful vocal performance, lacks a melody to hang all this on and, as a result, represents another missed opportunity to take advantage of a potentially exciting and memorable reunion--instead the song just lies there like a fallen soufflé. Also, listening to Linda's voice (which is marvelously fresh and crystaline throughout) on this and several other tracks, my mind couldn't help wandering back to some of my Carly Simon and Janis Ian records, particularly the former's "Haven't Got Time for The Pain" and the latter's Aftertones LP, or, closer to home, Sandy Denny's Like An Old Fashioned Waltz.

Linda and her Thompson Twins (O.K., bad pun, but at least the surname fits, which is more than can be said of the '80s sextet) are the only participants on the closing "Dear Old Man of Mine," which left me cold and unimpressed, but perhaps that's as it should be. It doesn't take a flying mallet upside the head to assume who they're singing about, but the total lack of emotion, given this opportunity to publicly exorcize their demons, may indicate that they've already done so.

The uneasy dichotomy between leaving the past behind, yet inviting the major participants in that chapter of your life to return and guide you in your current endeavors, may be another reason the album seems hesitant and aloof. The lack of deja vu that I was seeking after glancing at those credits may be intentional on Linda and Teddy's part, acknowledging once and for all that you can't go home again, or, as Nick Saloman of The Bevis Frond once wrote, "It won't come again." However, they seem to imply, there's nothing wrong with incorporating the best part of those memories into your everyday life--extracting the good and leaving the pain behind. Fair enough, but I still can't help wishing there was better material to welcome Linda back into the 21st century.

Simon & Garfunkle - Live in New York City, 1967 (Columbia Legacy)

Backed only by Simon's acoustic guitar, this 35-year old concert (recorded in Philharmonic Hall at Lincoln Center) finds America's favorite folk duo at the height of their powers. Running through 19 tracks from their first three albums, the harmonies are immaculate throughout, particularly on "A Most Peculiar Man," "Benedictus," and slightly slower versions of "Leaves That Are Green," "Homeward Bound," "Feeling Groovy," and a naked "Hazy Shade of Winter." (Damn if the mind doesn't automatically fill in the missing brass sections.) And see if you agree that Simon is playing the riff from Chuck Berry's "Memphis" under the chorus of "Richard Cory"! 

The between-song banter and song introductions are conversational and witty to the point that the whole experience feels like the duo are playing in your living room and just chatting about the songs they're playing, adding an anecdote here or a title explanation there. The highlight of these is surely Art's hilarious explanation of the cover photo on their debut LP (Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M.) during the introduction to "A Poem on the Underground Wall." (And it's only now that I understand what "underground" refers to.) The attentive may also catch Art's oblique reference during his opening remarks to his old alter ego, Artie Garr, who released several 45s around the time this was recorded.

"The Sound of Silence" is presented, obviously, in it's less-familiar, though personally preferred  acoustic version as originally presented on the debut LP before Tom Wilson overdubbed an electrical backing against the pair's wishes (and, apparently without their knowledge). Not until the end of the show, following this track's raucous ovation, does the audience actually get "into" the event, shouting requests and encouragement at the stage--Simon at one point adopts a Lennon impersonation, telling them essentially to shut up. Given that the final three songs, beginning with Garfunkle's spotlight moment, "For Emily...," seem to be presented in a livelier setting, I would imagine that these were the encores, carefully edited onto the end of the disk. Finally, the decision to end the night with the title track of their debut album illustrates just how much the duo were devoted to their unencumbered folk side, minus all the studio trappings, overdubs, and string arrangements. 

For folk purists who abandoned Dylan when he went electric and bypassed Simon & Garfunkle because they overlooked their marvelous and criminally neglected "purely acoustic" debut, this is an essential purchase. Others may find the bare-bones, stripped down approach exciting and may enjoy "A/B-ing" these demo-like versions against the more familiar, electric ones (believe me, your mind will do it automatically if you're even a casual fan). In either event, this is an important archival release, documenting a moment in time (on the eve of the so-called "Summer of Love") when all seemed right with the world, and a couple of folkies invited the neighborhood over for a relaxing evening of music, conversation, and fun. In contrast to the Thompson album, here, it is deja vu all over again, and this old softie prefers that kinder, gentler era.

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