LET'S SPEND THE
DECADE TOGETHER:Get out your bongs, turn on your lava lamps and burn your draft cards, hippies and freaks... we're going to travel back to the Summer of Love!
What the Beatles were doing: Sgt Pepper's Lonely Heart Club Band, Magical Mystery Tour, "All You Need is Love", "Hello Goodbye"
Top song: "To Sir With Love" by Lulu. Top Movies: The Jungle Book, The Graduate, Guess Who's Coming to Dinner
I'm one of those rock fans that always found Jim
Morrison to be overrated as both a singer and a lyricist. The
man
had talent, I can't deny it, but he always struck me as being, I'm not
sure how to say this, kind of a
jerk. God knows, he came by it honestly - I don't think it
was an
act; the man was truly troubled. I think my main problem with The
Doors, and why I can only listen to them in small doses, is that there
is nothing funny about them. Everything is so deadly serious.
The Kinks, The Beatles, The Who, even the Stones, could make you
smile with happy little songs that weren't not all that serious.
When The Doors tried simple pop stuff, they often sounded like
their hearts weren't in it (though later simplistic hits like
"Hello I Love You" and "Touch Me" are exceptions).
But there is no argument that that
Morrison and The Doors put out a series of albums from 1967 to 1971
that, for the most part, still stand up today. These guys had their
share of unforgettable songs, stuff that makes what passes for hits today
seem like the pre-fabricated crap they are at heart. When
"Love Me Two Times", "Riders on the Storm" or "People Are Strange" come on the radio, I'm right there listening.
Their first album made them instant stars and it is easy to
hear
why. Songs like "Break On Through" (which sounds like it's
going
to be "Tequila Part 2" until Morrison comes in with his vocals),
"Twentieth Century Fox" or "Light My Fire" are rock classics.
The
combination of Morrison's husky vocals that practically demand you
listen to him and Ray Manzarek's spooky keyboards made for a sound unlike
anybody else at the time - you can usually tell a Doors song
within the first five or ten seconds. There is an element of
doom, gloom and despair through most of this album, climaxing in the
overrated "The End", 12 minutes of eerie guitar and keyboards and even
eerier Morrison mutterings. Side One is the better side.
(Or, for those of you who have upgraded to this new-fangled
'compact disc' technology all the kids are talking about, the first
half is better. And for those of you shuffling Doors tunes on
your I-Pods, you're on your own.)
½
Sweet and mellow acoustic ballads, some boppy,
psychedelic
rockers, and lovely, loose harmonies all over the place.
Just about everybody in the band contributed vocals, but
Grace
Slick's stand out above everybody's, even if she sings lead on only two
songs, which just happen to be the two classics that everybody still
remembers today: "Somebody to Love" and "White Rabbit". One
of
the earliest albums of The Summer of Love, and one that still
holds up all the way through today without embarrassment, at
least
until the third and final verse of the final song "Plastic
Fantastic Lover". "The electrical dust is starting to
rust/her trapezoid thermometer taste"... excuse me, but...
whAAAT???. Still a cool song though. For me, good melodies
transcend time, and Surrealistic
Pillow has
good melodies all over the place. I love this album. I
don't listen to it all that often, ever since my turntable died in the
middle of Roy Orbison's "Leah", but whenever I listen to it now in mp3
form, I have to listen to it all the way through.
Unfortunately, "The Airplane"
(see, I'm cool!)
got caught up in the whole Haight-Ashbury, tune in turn on drop out,
flower power, let's never bathe anymore movement and became one of the
most self-indulgent bands of the late sixties and early seventies (and
that's saying a lot!). They would never make another album
like Surrealistic Pillow- they wouldn't
even come
close. And I know, because I actually bought most of them years
ago, one after the other, not realizing until it was too late that Surrealistic Pillow was a one of a kind thing.
½
Also known as "The Banana Album", The Velvet Underground
and Nico didn't sell when it first came out and
hasn't stopped
selling since. Deceptive
little puppy too, for those five or six people who actually bought this
album in 1967. It starts off with a pretty little song called
'Sunday Morning" that sounds like it could be any band from the sixties
doing a sweet Top 40 ballad. And once you're settled
in for a relaxing album of similar tunes, the guitars and pianos start
rolling and Lou Reed is singing about heading to Lexington Avenue to
score some heroin. And when you've recovered from that,
Nico's
deep, Germanic deadpan voice (deeper and deadpanner that Lou Reed's!)
is singing
about a woman who "builds you up just to put you don - what a
clon". And so it goes, for an entire album: odes to
drugs, street walkers, sadomasochism, you name it. The Velvets (see! I'm
cool!) have a reputation for being one of rock and roll's most
subversive, influential bands, but listen to them today and you'll find
that from day one until the end, they excelled in writing cool
three-minute rock tunes that stick in your head. It was at this period
in history (and this period only) that Lou Reed could actually sing a
melody, even if just barely. A hint for those who have never
listen to the VU: avoid their
cacaophonous second album, White Light
White Heat until you've fully absorbed
everything else by them.
½
Jimi Hendrix rarely if ever had to bring in orchestras,
outside
musicians, french horns, sitars, what have you - whatever
sound he
needed, he found a way to do it with his guitar and his recording
equipment. Hedrix only released three albums in his lifetime,
and,
except for greatest hits packages, Are
You Experienced is probably the best place to start with
Hendrix. You can then work your way through his second album Axis: Bold as Love (also 1967) and
the double album Electric Ladyland
(1968). Unfortunately, like many albums of this time, the
American release was a bastardization of Jimi's actual intentions.
The Reprise label chopped off a few of the songs and added
several of The Jimi Hendrix Experience's ht singles, such as the
classic "Purple Haze" and the lovely "The Wind Cries Mary".
The
most recent release of this album features Jimi's original lineup of
songs, with all the hit singles as bonus tracks, which, in the age of
compact disc, is as good a compromise as any. You can appreciate him for his mind-blowing guitar
work, his production techniques and use of stereo, his voice, his lyrics, his melodies,
or any combination thereof. In my mind, he was the most talented of the
famous sixties musicians who died way too young. We will
never
know what rock music would have been like had he lived to continue to
create music. 
Attempting to capitalize on his groundbreaking working on both the
Pet Sounds album and the classic single "Good VIbrations", Brian Wilson
conceived of a "teenage symphony to God" originally titled Dumb Angel
and later Smile.
The album would consist of many musical themes
tracing the history of America in the form of a trip across the entire
country, from Plymouth Rock to Hawaii. Or something like
that. You would have to be on the drugs Brian Wilson was to
actually hear how the myriad songs, snippets and musical doodles of Smile actually add up to anything resembling what Wilson claimed. Smile
is instead as close a look as you could ever get at the workings of
Brian Wilson's brain at the peak of the man's genius, just before it
all came crashing down. As such, the album (as put together by
various bootleggers from the original sessions tapes and other sources)
is fascinating, not to mention extremely enjoyable. Only three
songs can be said to be complete ("Heroes and Villains", "Surf's Up"
and "Good Vibrations"), while others are more akin to those
half-finished snippets that make up most of Side Two of The Beatles'
Abbey Road. Melodies and instrumenation change at the drop of a
hat, one unforgettable hook (with unfathomable lyrics) disappearing to
make way for another unforgettable hook (with even more unfathomable
lyrics.) Some arrangements feature the Beach Boys' most
complicated and rich vocal work, such as the opening "Our Prayer" or
the pulsating "Child is the Father of the Man". All of it is a
feast for the ears. Whether it makes sense or means anything is
up to you. It might have been the most influential album of all
time, or one of the pop music's biggest flops, had it been released in
1967. But pressure from the group itself, plus Wilson's fear that
The Beatles had already beat him with the Sgt. Pepper album (itself
influenced by Pet Sounds), were just two of
the many things that caused Wilson to abandon the project. Until
2004, that is, when he recreated the album as Brian Wilson Presents SMiLE.
As wonderful as Brian's recreation is, 2004 was way to late for a
Beach Boy, or any great 1960s artist, to have any impact at all on the
music scene. To hear the original Beach Boys version, seek out
collecters of unreleased music. That's all I'll say.
½
Smiley Smile, which was released in 1967, is the album In which Brian
Wilson and The Beach Boys comb through the scraps of the abandoned Smile album andturn it in to a combination of an aural nervous breakdown and a very loud "screw you" to the fans.
It's hard to believe that a group responsible for the likes
of
"Surfer Girl", "California Girls", The
Beach Boys Today! and Pet
Sounds could actually release an album as carelessly put together as Smiley Smile.
Okay, it was 1967, in which a lot of weird stuff was
passed
off as music, but this was The Beach Boys! The only
song
worth listening to all the way through is "Good Vibrations",
which,
sure, is one of the greatest singles in rock history, but one good song
on a Beach Boys album, only months after the release of Pet Sounds?
How could such a great group go bad so quickly?
Some
may point to "Heroes and Villains", the album's opener, as the other
good song on the album, but it never did much for me. It has
a
good melody, but not a very pliable one, and Brian Wilson tried
millions of times to mix it into just the right arrangement, but to my
ears, never quite got it right, and the mix on this album is the
poorest of them all. As for the rest of the album, it shows
that the little tunes
that
were to make up the bulk of Smile do not amount to much when they are
not making up the bulk of Smile.
The boys managed to put out one decent album just before 1967
came to a close, but by then it was too late. 
Aside from Spinal Tap or The Crickets, The Kinks were the unluckiest band in the world. From
1966 through 1969, they released several superb albums that are
now considered classics, yet at the time, most of them barely charted. Something
Else by The Kinks
was songwriter Ray Davies' first masterpiece, albeit with some good
contributions from his brother Dave. Typical of how things went for The
Kinks during these years,
the album sold like cold hotcakes, especially in the US.
Smack
in the middle of an era of social upheaval and artistic
innovation,
Ray had begun writing songs about normal
people and music hall ditties about how lovely things used to
be in England. So Something
Else
has
a head-bobbing song about the headboy at school ("David
Watts"), jaunty singalongs about the joys of a good smoke and
a
cuppa ("Harry Rag", "Afternoon Tea"), an acoustic samba apparently
written for Astrud "The Girl from Ipanema" Gilberto ("No
Return"), odes to love and nature ("Lazy
Old
Sun", "End of the Season") and little character
sketches galore,
including the beautiful "Waterloo Sunset", about a
man who
spends every evening looking out his window at lovers meeting at the
Waterloo underground station - typical Ray Davies stuff.
Brother
Dave Davies clocks in three songs of his own,
including the catchy powerchord rocker "Love Me Til The Sun
Shines" and
the hilarious Dylaneque "Death of a
Clown", a hit
single in the UK along with "Waterloo Sunset" (neither tune went
anywhere in the US).
Nobody cared back in 1967, but Something Else is still one of the most enjoyable, playful and tuneful albums of The
Summer of Love. "Waterloo Sunset" notwithstanding, Ray Davies
rarely wrote gorgeous melodies the way Brian Wilson or Paul
Mccartney did, but he wrote fun and surprising tunes that
so easily get lodged in your brain you'' find yourself a week later whistling a tune and not know what the heck it is,
and then suddenly realize it's "Tin Soldier Man", just to name one. My
current favorite Kinks album, and possibly my favorite album from all of 1967.
½
Back in the day, some bands used to put out
two albums a year - imagine such a thing. The Doors second album
of 1967 sounds like part two of
their debut album released in January. Not counting the
spoken-word (or, more to the point, screamed-word) poetry track titled
"Horse Latitudes", Strange Days is another album filled with tightly-written, expertly-played rock and pop songs and, also in the tradition of The Doors, one epic album closer. It doesn't rock as hard as The Doors,
but each song sounds like they could have come from the same sessions,
and, indeed, several songs had already been written while the band was
recording their first album. There's nothing that immediately
grabs you like "Break On Through" or that elaborate organ intro to
"Light My Fire", but it features the popular songs "People are Strange"
and "Love Me Two Times", which were Top 40 hits in the U.S., making The
Doors one of the most successful new bands of 1967. The album
cover fairly accurately captures the mood of the album - the music is
weird and creepy in the way only the early Doors could be ("Moonlight
Drive" sounds like a tango that could have played at Stephen King's
wedding), climaxing in the eleven-minute "When The Music's Over", a
moody classic that somehow never gets boring despite revolving, for the
most part, around two chords and a simple but memorable organ riff
by Ray Manzarek. 
Remember those episodes of The
Brady Bunch where Greg or
Peter would say something like "We're going to go up to our room and
listen to some groovy new records!". Wouldn't it been cool if
they put a platter on the mono record player and the opening
guitar chords of Cream's "Strange Brew" blasted out of speaker?
Nah. Would never happen at the Brady house.
Anyway, random Brady Bunch jokes
aside, Disraeli Gears
is
Cream's second album, and probably their most accessible overall.
Cream always battled between being a pure blues band and a
guitar-based pop band, and this is the only Cream album where both
sides of Cream blend together perfectly. "Strange Brew",
"Sunshine of Your Love", "SWLABR", "Tales of
Brave Ulysses", "Take It Back" and "Outside Woman Blues" are all Cream
classics. The lesser moments, of
which there are only a few, do not detract from the greatness of this
album. It is the quintessential "groovy record" and it would have
made Greg and Peter's heads melt, leaving nothing but a lot of hair on
their shoulders. If Disraeli Gears is not in your collection, get it now.
I'll
wait.
½
Days of Future Passed, a rock symphony by The Moody Blues, describes
one
entire day in the life of an average person, with their well-played and
divinely sung pop tunes supported by the London Symphony
Orchestra. It
pretends to be classical, but the
orchestral arrangements sound less like Beethoven and Mozart and
more like a really romantic John Barry score from a James Bond movie.
Two minutes into the opening overture, you may
be expecting
Matt Monro or Nancy Sinatra to chime in with lyrics about a man with a
license to kill.
But the whole album
is so mellow, earnest and heartfelt, without a hint of an ironic wink anywhere,
it's hard to fault it for being overblown and
pretentious. The two songs you may know from the radio are "Tuesday Afternoon" and "Nights in White Satin". Some
sixties albums were probably more enjoyable under the influence of pot
(I wouldn't know about such things). Days
of Future Passed
is probably more enjoyable if you are in
a recliner by a warm fire smoking a pipe and reading the liner notes.
There should be a faithful dog at your feet too for complete enjoyment.
½.
As if trying to imitate The Kinks on Between
the Buttons wasn't
bad enough, the Stones now tried to make their own Sgt. Pepper.
And to top it off, Bob Dylan was about to make them (and a
bunch
of other acts) look really silly just before the year was over.
The trouble with The Rolling Stones in 1966 and 1967 was they
forgot to be The Rolling Stones. Instead of relying on their
strengths, which would always be rhythm and blues and other roots music, they tried to be a pop
band. And in 1967, especially after the release of Pepper, most
pop bands went psychedelic. Their
Satanic Majesties Request
is
filled with all the trappings of psychelia - the random noises, the odd
instruments, the quest for deep, inscrutable lyrics tied to vaguely
middle eastern melodies. On the one hand, "2000 Light Years
From
Home" and "She's a Rainbow" rise above their trappings and deserved to
be on any compilation of the Stones' greatest hits, and "2000 Man",
"Citadel" and Billy Wyman's first and only official Stones composition
"In Another Land" are all pretty good. On the other hand,
much of
the album features the Stones diddling around on various instruments
trying to be deep ("The Lantern", "Gomper") or jamming badly to fill up
some space (both versions of "Sing This All Together"). This is
the last album on which multi-instrumentalist Brian Jones was any sort
of a factor, and, as on Aftermath and Between the Buttons, his contributions do enhance the album. It's
interesting all the way through, even during the bad parts, but the
world was probably much
relieved when they followed this album up with the rocking single
"Jumping Jack
Flash" and the back to basics album Beggar's
Banquet the following
year. By the way, I have this one on vinyl, with the original
3D cover. Cool!
On The Who's third album, they parody pirate radio
by
weaving fake
advertising jingles and radio announcement in between songs.
They took the concept pretty far too, with some of
the songs, such as
"Odorono", named after actual
products. Like Ray Davies, Pete
Townsend was a master at writing about little moments in life, as in
"Tattoo", which is about a boy coming of age. However,
Townsend's
character sketches were a bit odder than Davies:
"My dad beat me 'cause mine said
"Mother"
But my mother naturally liked it and beat my brother
'Cause his tattoo was of a lady in the nude
And my mother thought that was extremely rude"
The biggest hit on the album
was the classic "I Can See for Miles". The failure
of "I
Can
See for Miles" to make it to number one as a single caused Townsend to
give up trying for hit singles and concentrate on album-length stories.
The result over the next few years were the classic double
album "rock
operas" Tommy and Quadrophenia, and one of the
greatest rock albums
ever, Who's Next, the
result of another potential "rock opera"
(Lifehouse) that didn't
quite come together. But none of this should prevent you from enjoying
the simpler pleasures of The Who Sell
Out. 
To be fair, Wild
Honey is
not a bad album. With Brian Wilson pretty much confined to his bed with
mental problems, brother Carl takes command. Although Wild
Honey lacks the rich vocal
harmonies
that are the trademark of The Beach Boys, it is a pleasant little pop
record with some soul overtones, and almost feels like an apology for
the travesty that was Smiley Smile.
There's a number of good tunes tunes
including the bouncy title cut and "Darlin'" (which fades out way before it should), and the album hangs
together nicely, at least up until the soon to be requisite
leftover Smile track that
ends the album, "Mama Says", a song which once again shows that Smile
tracks were not meant to be listened to individually. So Wild
Honey is a decent album - pleasant tunes, pleasant voices. It's just that... well,
you know that
feeling of disappointment when you listen to a bunch of Beatles albums
and then you move onto something like Paul's Ram
or John's Mind Games?
It's like that. After discovering the joys of albums like All Summer Long and The Beach Boys Today (Exclamation Point!), as well as revisiting Pet Sounds for the thousandth time, Wild
Honey is just... okay. It's nice to have on in
the
background. It fills up the air with agreeable sounds, but no
pet
sounds. 
While just everybody else crazy goin' nuts with the backwards guitars, the sitars and the
thousand chanting monks, Bob Dylan was recuperating from a motorcycle
accident in Woodstock, in the company of his
touring band The Hawks, who would soon become The Band. After
spending a summer laying down dozens and dozens of silly and not so
silly songs on a two-track recorder with these friends, Dylan would
return to the recording studio with only a drummer and a bass player
and
record John Wesley Harding in
a three-day spurt. The album contained mostly
three-verse-long parables sung to simple folk melodies (some
original, some borrowed). It was rootsy, it was folksy, it was
somehow deep
and
spiritual, and it was Dylan's answer to all the weird and wacky stuff
that
was going on in 1967. While the rest of the pop world spent
months in their studios trying to see what kind of sounds they could
coax out of their antiquated recording systems, Dylan just laid down a
few tracks with some friends and turned out an understated masterpiece.
Some bands would continue searching for the lost chord (The
Moody
Blues, Pink Floyd), others, like The Beatles and especially The Rolling
Stones, would get the message and get back to basics. Take off half a star if you are not a complete Bob Dylan head like I am. 
Part One: 1963-65 Ready for the Closeup The Stuff You Gotta Watch